“This is the way the world ends/ This is the way the world ends/ This is the way the world ends/ Not with a bang but a whimper.” So states T.S. Eliot in “The Hollow Man,” demonstrating that Mr. Eliot was not only a gifted writer but a fortune teller as well, predicting back in 1925 that our world will end just about now. The villain is not Iran or North Korea, not Venezuela or the Taliban, not Al Queda but…wait for director Steven Soderbergh reveals all in the final minute of his new disaster movie “Contagion.” We’re all fascinated by stories of the end of our planet, so long as the culmination of life is on the page of a book or an e-reader or the movie screen. First there was Noah’s Ark, then “Armageddon,” now “Contagion.” The trouble is that while there’s something almost comedic about how Noah’s animals lined up, two by two, always a male and a female however unhip that appears today, “Contagion” is without humor. While Michael Bay’s “Armaggedon” could center on a single asteroid the size of Texas heading for Earth, the source of obvious tension as to where it would land, “Contagion,” which takes place around the world and has Peter Andrews’s camera zipping around everywhere from Hong Kong to Tokyo to Minneapolis, is too diffuse to carry much tautness. There you have it: a film without humor, without tension, but with an all-star cast that the studio hopes will draw in the crowds.
As Soderbergh imitates the six o’clock news, largely foreign but mostly home grown here in the U.S., we watch how a virus spreads from one person-from the likes of Gwyneth Paltrow of all people-to twelve million. Paltrow’s character, Beth Emhoff, is married to Mitch Emhoff (Matt Damon), but finds herself in Hong Kong sans her husband, having a good time after hearing from a fellow with whom she spent a night at a hotel. But adultery has its punishments: Beth is the first to die, breaking out in a cold sweat, soon winding up examined in a autopsy which spares us in the audience the closeup of her brain but gives us enough of a hint of gore by showing the surgeon peeling back the top of her head. That’s just day 2 of the outbreak: Scott Z. Burns’s script saves day 1 for the final minute.
“Contagion” plays not like a solid narrative, but then not all movies need to use that format. “Traffic” did quite well scurrying about, for example. But “Contagion” comes across throughout like a news broadcast, with all the news from all parts of the world just about the same. A few characters propel the story forward. Dr. Ellis Cheever (Laurence Fishburne) is the most rock-steady individual, spewing alarm by phone and behind lecterns as number one man at the Centers for Disease Control in the U.S. Dr. Leonora Orantes (Marion Cotillard-whom I expect to burst forth with “La vie en rose) serves this time as World Health Organization bigwig, kidnapped for a ransom of vaccine. Elliott Gould furthers his career as one of many scientists groping for a cure, while Kate Winslet as Dr. Erin Mears pushes for a quarantine. Strangest of all, Jude Law operates as freelance journalist Alan Krumwiede, telling us not to believe in what the government is propagating while trying to enrich himself with a fake homeopathic cure for the disease called forsythia.
The obligatory riots break out when crowds hear that the vaccine is available but is being given to government favorites. Looting and murder takes place with the breakdown of society. Ultimately “Contagion” is flawed by its absence of edge-of-seat-disaster tension, its major plus being that the movie is not shown in 3-D.
Ever wonder why no humans have stomped their boots on the moon in nearly 40 years? Well, if you believe the pundits, the answer's simple: Once the race to beat the Soviets to our crater-studded satellite was over, the political will to return (which is to say, the money) evaporated as quickly as tears on a hot griddle.
But that's the official story. And there are a lot of red-blooded Americans who make it their life's work to deride official stories. Now Hollywood is catering to the conspiracy cultists by revealing a hideous secret concerning NASA's Apollo program.
In the latest entry, the new film "Apollo 18" directed by Gonzalo Lopez-Gallego, the secret isn't that we faked the lunar landings, although that beyond-bonkers idea is believed by roughly 15 percent of the populace. No, it's that we landed there one time too many! [Top 10 Apollo Hoax Theories]
The ingenious premise of "Apollo 18" (which opened Sept. 2) is that in 1974, shortly after the Apollo program had been cancelled, the space agency sent a trio of astronauts on a clandestine mission to the moon’s south pole. Their ostensible brief was to set up some military radar equipment. The actual purpose was to check out some strange happenings involving alien presence.
The guinea pig astronauts were literally flying blind, as they weren't told about the real reason for their lunar jaunt. Indeed, the fact that they had been sent to the moon at all was kept secret from their families, from the public, and — it seems — from tens of thousands of NASA employees. You might think that this last group, at least, would have a "need to know."
But as the opening credits announce, now all of us can "know" what happened on this incognito foray, thanks to historical footage recently made public and niftily edited together into a feature-length entertainment. [Interview: 'Apollo 18's' Real-Life Flight Director]
The movie maintains this clever storytelling artifice with a visual style that mimics video and 16mm film footage throughout, nearly all of it hand-held and relentlessly festooned with scratches, light streaks, sync dropouts, and gate dirt — all calculated to provide that extra dollop of authenticity. Your dad's old home movies are in better condition.
"Apollo 18" is, at root, a haunted house story, in which a small group of basically nice people — temporarily isolated from the outside world — are confronted with cryptic horrors. The aliens who ruin the astronauts' whole day and whole stay are crabby in every respect, and are particularly adept at wreaking havoc at inopportune moments.
Mind you, even aside from the obvious question of how this species of crater creatures survives on the moon (What do they breathe? More than that, what do they eat?), there's always the question of motive. Why are they there and what’s their game plan?
It doesn’t matter. This film is a combo platter of "Alien" and "Blair Witch Project," both of which could be faulted on logic, but neither of which could be accused of taking your ticket money without delivering the goods.
"Apollo 18” will keep you riveted to your seat (except for those moments when it causes you to rise out of it), even if it does little to further your understanding of planetology or astrobiology. This trip into space is not the friendly, final frontier of "Star Trek," but a tale of horror in which help is a quarter-million miles away.
But there's one thing that's got me wondering. Do you think they made this picture using the same movie set used to fake the moon landings four decades ago? Nah.
Hot coeds and a lake full of hungry sharks, all popping out at ya in 3-D should be an easy win. We loved last year's awesome Piranha 3D, and really wanted this movie to have bite. Something's off though, since it's really not a picture about sharks going all Jaws on its victims at all. Nope, this Night is more about the haves versus the have-nots which in our recession era could be interesting, but it's so not. Plus, with a PG-13 rating, the shark attacks are mostly botched in dark, dim 3-D waters.
The Bigger Picture: Louisiana native Sara (Sara Paxon) wants to show her city classmates a good time with a weekend of fun in the sun. So she's invited them all to stay at her family's island paradise on the lake. Four dudes, three gals. At first, the only pesky thing is no cell phone reception. But things get way worse when star football player Malik (Sinqua Walls) gets his arm torn off...by a shark. Shortly after that, a shark takes a bigger chunk out of his girlfriend Maya (Alyssa Diaz).
A shark? In a lake? How is that even possible? Do you even care? Well, even if you don't, the script is going to stop dead in its tracks to explain it all. And then stop again, to show that the real villains are hillbilly stereotypes.They even named one of them Red, as in redneck. His teeth are razor sharp...like a shark!
If the "poor rednecks are evil" storyline was played for laughs we could have forgiven having to sit though the Southern baddies angle, but it makes the tone of the film mean-spirited and ugly. Idol's McPhee is as sexy as you'd imagine, but having her strip down to her underwear at gun point doesn't feel dramatic, just exploitive.
Ya see, Shark Night 3D is less a horror film—the suspense barely comes from the sharks—and more a made-for-TV drama about Sara's old friends terrorizing her new ones.
Which is strange, because director David R. Ellis has been a great fit for the kind of trashy fun that you'd think a film titled Shark Night would have been. (He's made not one but two Final Destinations.) Maybe that's because the PG-13 rating robs Ellis of his gift for shooting crazed but entertaining kills.
Still, the cast is uniformly solid. Paxon is a sympathetic girl-next-door and the southern baddies convince. Clearly, Ellis was going for something more than just a dumb dead teenager film. He deserved a script that didn't play like warmed-over Texas Chain Saw Massacre.
The 180—a Second Opinion: Donal Logue does what he can as the local sheriff on the lake. Even a part below his talents still manages to give him a few fun scenes as the leader of more than just the local law.
Yes, there’s the saying, “nice guys finish last,” and that’s certainly the case for Our Idiot Brother‘s Ned (Paul Rudd) quite often, but when you’re considering movies, nice movies can get a bit of a boost even when they don’t entirely deserve it. Our Idiot Brother is undoubtedly flawed, but director Jesse Peretz turns up the charm with ease, bringing the best out of his talented cast and some impressively honest, humorous and heartwarming dialogue to overshadow nearly every fault.
Ned is, well, Miranda, Liz and Natalie’s (Elizabeth Banks, Emily Mortimer and Zooey Deschanel) idiot brother. Perhaps the term “idiot” is a bit harsh; Ned is just incredibly peppy and a bit too trusting. Then again, most would call a guy who opts to appease a uniformed cop looking for some weed an idiot. After serving eight months in prison, Ned is released, turned away by his girlfriend and denied ownership of his beloved dog, Willie Nelson.
With no job, no home and a criminal record, Ned turns to his family for support. Everyone welcomes him with open arms, beginning with his mother. However, Ned’s happy-go-lucky ways have the tendency to get him in trouble, forcing each of his sisters to eventually kick him to the curb and send him onto the next.
Our Idiot Brother straddles the line between character piece and ensemble film. The opening scene is absolutely perfect. We meet a friendly, loving and, unfortunately, too understanding Ned who hands over some rhubarb and a bag of weed to an officer who claims to be desperately in need of a high. Sure, it was a dumb move, but the scene solidifies Ned as the victim, earning your sympathy within minutes. Post-title card it’s rubbed in a bit more as Ned heads back home to his biodynamic farm and girlfriend, Janet (Kathryn Hahn), to find that she’s shacking up with another man, Billy (TJ Miller). While these subsequent moments aren’t nearly as tight as the initial introduction, Janet and Billy make for amusing oppositions.
From then on, Our Idiot Brother is an ensemble film and the adjustment can be a bit jarring. This portion of the piece is just as enjoyable, it just takes a little time to switch gears and spread your attention to a group rather than just giving it all to our main man. However, the well-established family dynamic certainly eases the transition.
Each of Ned’s sisters rocks a stereotype; Miranda is the grueling workaholic, Liz the hovering mother and Natalie the more free-spirited of the bunch. Not only do each present engaging solo situations, but the relationship between the three is impressively authentic. Plus, each has a unique connection to Ned. The variety creates a multi-dimensional depiction of the family that really makes you feel like you’re part of the bunch, rather than someone in a theater getting a fleeting peek into their lives. The only one that gets thrown to the wayside is the mother, Ilene (Shirley Knight). While she is the one to catch Ned when he falls just after getting out of jail, once he makes his way to his sisters, Ilene is completely forgotten until well into the film and, even when she is re-introduced, her impact is minimal.
This isn’t much of an issue as Ned’s sisterly trio offers more than enough idiosyncrasies to keep you entertained. There are a handful of particularly amusing moments involving Liz’s son, River (Matthew Mindler), the best of which comes during a private school interview. Banks is superb as the snippy magazine writer desperate for a big scoop, as she manages to earn some sympathy even while resorting to some dishonest tactics. Natalie is probably the least interesting of the three, as her predicament isn’t presented in as profound a fashion as it deserves and partially because she’s slapped together with a tactlessly dressed girlfriend. (Rashida Jones).
Our Idiot Brother also comes with a few believability issues, either because something is just downright impossible or because it’s not backed with enough information. Liz and Dave’s (Steve Coogan) relationship isn’t established well enough to make Dave’s mean streak passable in the least and everyone’s eagerness to just blame Ned becomes a bit too predictable. The film is also lacking in transitions, bopping from sister to sister to Ned and back again with abandon. Oh, and nobody would ever allow a child, let alone a dog, to visit a man in prison.
Sure, when you think about it, these problems could be off-putting, but Our Idiot Brother is so well paced and the humor ever flowing that you won’t have the chance to think twice about anything – at least until after the credits. This is certainly a film about a dysfunctional family, but, even when they’re at their worst, this is a group that’s particularly pleasant to spend time with, especially Ned.
This much-anticipated Guillermo del Toro-penned remake is a project you really want to like. But…
…the end result, as co-scripted by Matthew Robbins and directed by Troy Nixey, eventually wastes all the benefits of all the doubts you may have given it. To be clear, I’m not one who doubted this new Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark from the get-go, who felt it inherently doomed for taking a 1970’s lo-fi classic and giving it a slick CGI-polish for today’s audiences. That would almost be too easy, and certainly would too deeply discount Del Toro’s contributions—anyone recall how he gave new life to the Blade franchise? Indeed, Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark is a property that could have benefited from amplification of some sort, especially the gaslit backstory that helps explain how its ageless little monsters came to reside in the particular house in which we now find them.
As luck would have it, this is exactly where the film really excels: the first few minutes. From the opening shot on, Nixey shows such skill working with the period elements—he crafts scenes that are atmospheric and visceral at the same time—that you’re utterly transported. The horror elements thus come across as original, mysterious, ominous… and yes, therefore powerful.
But then, following the title sequence, all of that power slowly dissipates like an air mattress with a tiny, but ultimately fatal pinprick. Indeed, you might not notice all the deflation until well into the second act—that promising opening, plus the level of talent involved keeps expectations moderately high. In fact, if you’re like me you might almost feel guilty for noticing the things that don’t work. A prime example is the whisperings of the little critters; they’re not only not scary, but actually kind of laughable and then, sadly, even irritating. I kept thinking, “Maybe it’s just me. Maybe others will be creeped out by this kind of stuff.” But, no, let’s be honest... few general audiences are apt to be consistently frightened by this film, and horror audiences are even less likely to be moved. In the end, it probably would have been better to conceive and position this Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark as a PG-13 outing straight down the line: a creature-driven haunted house flick for ten-year-olds but with enough wit, style, and surprises to make happy the grownups who buy the tickets.
Yet instead of sly humor, plot twists, and new takes on old tropes, the filmmakers have played things very conventionally, and the result is a film that takes itself very seriously...but doesn't take the horror fan particularly seriously—not the kind of fan, that is, who's like Del Toro himself, someone who knows the genre inside-out. Thus we get a bathroom sequence that seems poised on the edge of doing something original with this frequently-used horror movie setting… and then doesn’t. We also get an absurdly staged dinner party scene that’s almost cringe-worthy in execution. This same scene, though, could have been neat if the tone being targeted was more in the horror-comedy vein, but a funny bone—even if just to relieve tension—is conspicuously absent in the film. In the end, then, it becomes a bit of a chore just to make it to the closing credits.
Oh, and a final note on the acting, as the cast may be one reason folks have for catching this film. Bailee Madison emerges with her reputation as a talented child actor pretty much intact. Still, it’s not the breakout platform she could have hoped for—her character seems too derivative of the protagonist in Pan’s Labyrinth (which Del Torro actually wrote subsequently), so that the part doesn’t really serve her abilities as well as it might. True, there’s room for some interesting character development, particularly regarding her shift from befriending her malevolent housemates to, well, wanting to avoid them. However, either the script doesn’t sufficiently throw this theme into relief, or Nixey was unable to guide Madison to underscore that through-line in her performance. Either way there’s a missed opportunity. Ditto for Katie Holmes, who’s actually trying very hard here and can be a better actor than people give her credit for. Her role likewise gives early hints of being dimensional but then quickly descends into a variation on the standard trope of the stepmother-trying-to-earn-the-love of-the-stepchild. Worst of all, by far, is the fate suffered by Guy Piece. After reliably solid work in recent films such as The King’s Speech, Animal Kingdom, and The Hurt Locker (not to mention years of interesting starring roles), here he’s reduced to Generic Dad status. You keep thinking as you watch Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark that the film has something up its sleeve, that his character will break out of his blandness any minute—and that that’s when Pierce’s talents will really shine, in those moments of stunning reversal. But he remains generic, despite your waiting for things to kick into another gear and jolt you with innovation, or edginess, or even old-fashioned but effective shocks…
Like a 5 a.m. alarm — loud, insistent, unwelcome — "Conan the Barbarian" warns that the dreamy summer is coming to an end. A re-make of the loopy 1982 sword-and-sandals classic — loosely based on Robert E. Howard's 1930s stories — the new version has poured gold into special effects, not to mention star Jason Momoa.
Virtually his own special effect, the studly Momoa arrives fresh from his turn as Khal Drogo in HBO's "Game of Thrones." He is the 21st Century's go-to guy for monosyllabic wandering warriors.
This plot sends him on a long and fruitless search for a good bit of dialogue. The last Conan's limited usage of English catapulted him into the California governor's mansion, but we've seen how that turned out.
The new version begins with some family bonding. First, Conan's mother dies giving birth to him on a battlefield. Next, 12-year-old Conan impresses his dad by bringing him the heads of several enemies.
Then, evil warlord Khalar Zym (Stepehn Lang) arrives with his warriors to overrun Conan's village and force Pops to kill himself to save his son. Oh, and he also makes off with a magic talisman, the final piece of a mask that will enable him to do something bad, or worse, just not yet.
The rest of the movie swings from one bloodletting to the next, set at three volumes: loud, too loud and painfully loud. Think of "Conan" as an opportunity for a modern double-feature. You can still listen to it while watching another movie in the next hall of the local multiplex.
For all the head-chopping, thumb-screwing, town-sacking, arm-slashing, horse-punching, boulder-rolling and nose-hacking, what this Conan truly eviscerates is a sense of humor. Director Marcus Nispel is best known for the 2003 remake of "The Texas Chain Saw Massacre." He doesn't do witty.
Fun fact: Arnold Schwarzenegger had to cut back on his lifting and steroids regime for the previous "Conan," because when rehearsals started he was too musclebound to wield a sword. That's why many of his fight scenes focused more on flexing and ponderously raising the weapon.
As a director, Schwarzenegger had batshit but dedicated John Milius, who worked over a story by Edmund Summer and an initial script by Oliver Stone. Milius infused it with his crypto-Nitzschean philosophizing, but also a fractured reality.
Over the years, production designer Ron Cobb has said their goal was to faithfully recreate an imaginary era, with distinct cultures drawn from Romans and Persians and Milius' beloved Mongols.
That Conan's description of what is best in life — "to crush your enemies, see them driven before you and hear the lamentation of their women" — is a simplified version of a quote attributed to Genghis Khan in "The Secret History of the Mongols."
The remake has no such pretensions, or aspirations. This Conan says, "I live, I love, I slay and I am content." Script credits are assigned to Thomas Dean Donnelly, Joshua Oppenheimer and Sean Hood, who wrote with the certainty that computer graphics would distract the audience from their work.
At times, they do. After having inadvertently rescued female monk Tamara, whose blood Zym needs, Conan faces sand-and-gravel warriors conjured by Marique, the evil warlord's evil daughter.
There are glowing Maxfield Parrish-settings for soaring minarets and castles, a long-tentacled watery monster, and the occasional distant procession of extras left over from "The Lord of the Rings."
But there's no image quite as useful of the Wheel of Pain in the first movie, with the young Conan chained to push with other slaves in a scene that shows years passing in moments, until he walks alone, fully and even excessively grown.
With two — count 'em — significant female roles, as well as topless serving wenches and topless tavern dancers, "Conan" also does something to fight unemployment among well-endowed actresses.
As Tamara, TV favorite Rachel Nichols starts out strongly enough, although she's later called upon to do a whole series worth of screaming. Like Momoa and unshaven nomads, when you need an evil daughter, Rose McGowan is your girl, even if she looks like she's been trapped in a "Babylon Five" time warp.
But neither one is Valeria, the sword-fighting thief played by Sandhal Bergman who equaled and even rescued Conan in the 1982 movie. And of course, Lang is no James Earl Jones, the monumental villain of that first production.
My Cimmerian ancestors may not be rolling over in their burial mounds over the state of Conan. Even Howard's pulp fiction has little to do with the origins claimed by the royalty of the Franks, who traced their lineage to King Antenor the Cimmerian, who died in 443 B.C.
But I do think the current version would be better if done by Conan O'Brien. As it is, it already amounts to "Conan the Barbarian, please stop."
As we’re drowning in a flood of big screen remakes, we ask ourselves time and time again; is it worth it? In Fright Night‘s case, yes. As we’re drowning in a flood of 3D features, we ask ourselves time and time again; is it worth it? In Fright Night‘s case, no, but, luckily for director Craig Gillespie, he’s working with some solid source material and an absolutely stellar cast, both with the power to stake that extra dimension right in the heart. If only it’d burn up and evaporate for good.
For anyone familiar with the Tom Holland original, this synopsis is a bit redundant as Gillespie’s Fright Night is quite similar. Charley Brewster (Anton Yelchin) is your average teen living with his loving mother (Toni Collette) in a quaint little neighborhood – that is until Jerry Dandridge (Colin Farrell) moves in next door and rips out the locals’ throats as he pleases. Why? Because Charley’s new neighbor is a vampire.
Peter Vincent (David Tennant) is still present and accounted for, but now he hosts “Fright Night” the live stage production, chugs Midori and dons skintight leather pants. When Jerry snatches up a couple of Charley’s friends, Charley’s got no choice but to head to the Vegas Strip to get some advice from the showman. Too bad the act is primarily a façade and Vincent lacks the nerve to put his extensive weaponry collection to use. With no one to turn to, Charley’s mother and girlfriend, Amy’s (Imogen Poots), lives are in his hands.
Fright Night’s opening sequence provides an excellent taste of what you’re in for; a vampire film that isn’t particularly scary. Sure, the 1985 movie is a horror comedy and offers a nice amalgamation of the genres, but this updated version definitely highlights its funny bone. While the favoritism makes for a weak opening, Fright Night is amusing enough to carry on as a comedy with a little grit and gore to it.
Christopher Mintz-Plasse is one of the funnier of the bunch as Charley’s ex-best friend, Ed. Ed holds a grudge after Charley ditches their geeky past for cooler friends, but when another buddy, Adam (Will Denton), goes missing, Ed turns to Charley for help in hopes he’ll believe his vampire theory. Sure enough, he doesn’t. Think about that for a moment; Mintz-Plasse as the school nerd attempting to convince someone that vampires are real; the role is made for him and Mintz-Plasse seizes the opportunity. He works wonders with the friendly, but testy banter between Ed and Charley and, later on, has no trouble switching gears to show off his darker side. Tennant also earns some laughs embellishing Vincent’s idiosyncrasies, but he’s held back by his character’s cliché rock star woes – a drinking problem, hard exterior but soft core and childhood troubles.
As for our leading ladies, only one matters, Poots. Collette does a fine job as Charley’s mother, Jane, but the role is particularly menial. Poots, on the other hand, is right by Charley’s side from beginning to end, and thrives on some rather original traits and solid chemistry with Yelchin. Amy isn’t your average teen movie girlfriend; she’s got sass and a mind of her own. Rather than care for the couple because they seem to fit together in idealistic movie land, Charley and Amy work on an impressively authentic and charming level.
Plus, her main man is quite endearing. Yelchin is an ideal Charley Brewster. He’s sweet and loving, yet it’s entirely believable when watching him lock and load to defend the women he loves. Yelchin has an exceptional amount of range when it comes to working with his co-stars. He establishes a solid mother-son relationship with Collette, lets the sparks fly with Poots and turns on the wit when bickering with Mintz-Plasse. But, best of all, he’s got quite the opponent in Farrell. Farrell has an absolute blast as Jerry. It shows and it’s also very appropriate. Part of the reason the new Fright Night works so well with its more comedic twist is because of its unintentionally funny Jerry. Jerry enjoys tormenting his victims in the most outlandish ways. Farrell is a thrill when showing off his supernatural vampire skills and is surprisingly just as compelling when exercising his intellect in a one-on-one conversation.
The acting is top notch and the writing solid enough to earn your interest; the problems are in the visuals. There is absolutely no reason for this movie to be in 3D. As many scenes take place during the night, quite a few are frustratingly dark. Plus, the only time the 3D is even noticeable is when it’s too noticeable, like when Gillespie makes a conscious decision to throw a paint can or cross in your face. But, even if the film lost the extra dimension, it’d still have technical problems. Sure, Fright Night establishes itself as more of a comedy than horror film, but some of the effects are a bit too cartoonish. There’s a car chase scene that feels more like one of those virtual reality rides in an amusement park than multi-million dollar special effects work.
Still, these are only minor distractions in a primarily enjoyable piece. It’s labeled a modern take on the 1985 original and that’s exactly what we’ve got – a hot new location, better makeup design, subpar yet more realistic effects, pop culture references, Twilight namedropping and a contemporary soundtrack. As fantastical as the piece is, it’s oddly relatable and just too much fun to dismiss.
