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UNBREAKABLE & SPIT FILM SPECIAL + REVIEW + SUMMARY

Earlier I posted on my Facebook account the new trailer of Glass, which will be part 3 of the series about people who think and believe in being a super heroe.

Follow me on FB for more trailer and special plus exclusive Hollywood news.

Tonight let's have a review on part one and two of this movie series, which will create its own universe in the future. 

Unbreakable (2000)


Cast

Bruce Willisas David Dunne
Samuel L. Jacksonas Elijah Price
Robin Wright Pennas Megan Dunne
Spencer Treat Clarkas Jeremy Dunne
Written and Directed by

M. Night Shyamalan

Action, Fantasy, Science Fiction, Suspense, Thriller

Rated PG-13 For Mature Thematic Elements, Including Some Disturbing Violent Content, and For A Crude Sexual Reference

107 minutes
 
 

At the center of "Unbreakable" is a simple question: "How many days of your life have you been sick?" David Dunne, a security guard played by Bruce Willis, doesn't know the answer. He is barely speaking to his wife Megan (Robin Wright Penn), but like all men, he figures she remembers his life better than he does. She tells him she can't remember him ever being sick, not even a day. They have this conversation shortly after he has been in a train wreck that killed everybody else on board, but left him without a scratch. Now isn't that strange.

The question originally came to him in an unsigned note. He finds the man who sent it. This is Elijah Price (Samuel L. Jackson), who runs a high-end comic book store with a priceless stock of first editions. Elijah has been sick a lot of days in his life. He even had broken bones when he emerged from the womb. He has spent a long time looking for an unbreakable man, and his logic is plain: "If there is someone like me in the world, shouldn't there be someone at the other end of the spectrum?"
"Unbreakable," the new film by M. Night Shyamalan, is in its own way as quietly intriguing as his "The Sixth Sense." It doesn't involve special effects and stunts, much of it is puzzling and introspective, and most of the action takes place during conversations. If the earlier film seemed mysteriously low-key until an ending that came like an electric jolt, this one is more fascinating along the way, although the ending is not quite satisfactory. In both films, Shyamalan trusts the audience to pay attention, and makes use of Bruce Willis' everyman quality, so we get drawn into the character instead of being distracted by the surface.

The Jackson character is not an everyman. Far from it. He is quietly menacing, formidably intelligent, and uses a facade of sophistication and knowledge to conceal anger that runs deep: He is enraged that his bones break, that his body betrays him, that he was injured so often in grade school that the kids called him "Mr. Glass." Why does he want to find his opposite, an unbreakable man? The question lurks beneath every scene.

This story could have been simplified into a -- well, into the plot of one of Elijah Price's old comic books. Shyamalan does a more interesting thing. He tells it with observant everyday realism; he's like Stephen King, dealing in the supernatural and yet alert to the same human details as mainstream writers. How interesting, for example, that the Robin Wright Penn character is not simply one more bystander wife in a thriller, but a real woman in a marriage that seems to have run out of love. How interesting that when her husband is spared in a crash that kills everyone else, she bravely decides this may be their opportunity to try one last time to save the marriage. How interesting that David Dunne's relationship with his son is so strong, and that the boy is taken along for crucial scenes like the first meeting of David and Elijah.

In "Psycho," Alfred Hitchcock made us think the story was about the Janet Leigh character, and then killed her off a third of the way into the film. No one gets killed early in "Unbreakable," but Shyamalan is skilled at misdirection: He involves us in the private life of the comic book dealer, in the job and marriage problems of the security guard, in stories of wives and mothers. The true subject of the film is well-guarded, although always in plain view, and until the end, we don't know what to hope for or fear. In that way, it's like "The Sixth Sense." 

There is a theory in Hollywood these days that audiences have shorter attention spans and must be distracted by nonstop comic book action. Ironic, that a movie about a student of comic book universes would require attention and patience on the part of the audience. Moviegoers grateful for the slow unfolding of "The Sixth Sense" will like this one, too.

The actors give performances you would expect in serious dramas. Jackson is not afraid to play a man it is hard to like -- a bitter man, whose intelligence only adds irony to anger. Willis, so often the centerpiece of brainless action movies, reminds us again that he can be a subtle actor, as muted and mysterious as actors we expect that sort of thing from -- John Malkovich or William Hurt, for example. If this movie were about nothing else, it would be a full portrait of a man in crisis at work and at home.

I mentioned the ending. I was not quite sold on it. It seems a little arbitrary, as if Shyamalan plucked it out of the air and tried to make it fit. To be sure, there are hints along the way about the direction the story may take, and maybe this movie, like "The Sixth Sense," will play even better the second time -- once you know where it's going. Even if the ending doesn't entirely succeed, it doesn't cheat, and it comes at the end of an uncommonly absorbing movie.

Split (2017)


Cast

James McAvoy as Kevin
Anya Taylor-Joy as Casey
Haley Lu Richardson as Claire
Jessica Sula as Marcia
Betty Buckley as Dr. Fletcher
Kim Director as Hannah
Brad William Henke as Uncle John

Director

M. Night Shyamalan

Writer

M. Night Shyamalan

Cinematographer

Mike Gioulakis

Editor

Luke Franco Ciarrocchi

Composer

West Dylan Thordson

Drama, Horror, Thriller

Rated PG-13 for disturbing thematic content and behavior, violence and some language.
 
116 minutes

 





Within the process of watching an M. Night Shyamalan film, there exists a parallel and simultaneous process of searching for its inevitable twist. This has been true of every film the writer-director has made since his surprise smash debut, “The Sixth Sense,” nearly two decades ago. We wonder: How will he dazzle us? What clues should we be searching for? Will it actually work this time?

Increasingly, with middling efforts like “The Village” and “Lady in the Water”—and dreary aberrations like “The Last Airbender” and “After Earth,” which bore none of his signature style—the answer to that last question has been: Not really. Which makes his latest, “Split,” such an exciting return to form. A rare, straight-up horror film from Shyamalan, “Split” is a thrilling reminder of what a technical master he can be. All his virtuoso camerawork is on display: his lifelong, loving homage to Alfred Hitchcock, which includes, as always, inserting himself in a cameo. And the twist—that there is no Big Twist—is one of the most refreshing parts of all.

“Split” is more lean and taut in its narrative and pace than we’ve seen from Shyamalan lately. Despite its nearly two-hour running time, it feels like it’s in constant forward motion, even when it flashes backward to provide perspective.

It’s as if there’s a spring in his step, even as he wallows in grunge. And a lot of that has to do with the tour-de-force performance from James McAvoy as a kidnapper named Kevin juggling two-dozen distinct personalities.

From obsessive-compulsive maintenance man Dennis to playful, 9-year-old Hedwig to prim, British Patricia to flamboyant, New York fashionista Barry, McAvoy brings all these characters to life in undeniably hammy yet entertaining ways. There’s a lot of scenery chewing going on here, but it’s a performance that also showcases McAvoy’s great agility and precision. He has to make changes both big and small, sometimes in the same breath, and it’s a hugely engaging spectacle to behold.
His portrayal of this troubled soul is darkly funny but also unexpectedly sad. Kevin is menacing no matter which personality in control, but the underlying childhood trauma that caused him to create these alter egos as a means of defense clearly still haunts him as a grown man. Flashes of vulnerability and fragility reveal themselves in the film’s third act, providing an entirely different kind of disturbing tone.

First, though, there is the abduction, which Shyamalan stages in efficient, gripping fashion. Three high school girls get in a car after a birthday party at the mall: pretty, chatty Claire (Haley Lu Richardson of “The Edge of Seventeen”) and Marcia (Jessica Sula) and shy, quiet Casey (Anya Taylor-Joy), who was invited along out of pity. But they quickly realize the man behind the wheel isn’t Claire’s dad—it’s Kevin, who wastes no time in knocking them out and dragging them back to his makeshift, underground lair.

Repeated visits from Kevin, with his varying voices and personae, gradually make it clear that their kidnapper harbors multiple personalities. Only Casey, who emerges as the trio’s clever leader, has the audacity to engage with him. As she showed in her breakout role in “The Witch” as well as in “Morgan,” Taylor-Joy can be chilling in absolute stillness with her wide, almond eyes—as much as McAvoy is in his showiness. She makes Casey more than your typical horror heroine to root for, particularly with the help of quietly suspenseful flashbacks that indicate how she acquired her survival instincts. Her co-stars aren’t afforded nearly as much characterization or clothing, for that matter.

But we also get a greater understanding of Kevin’s mental state through the daily sessions he (or, rather, a version of him) schedules with his psychologist, Dr. Fletcher (an elegant and soulful Betty Buckley). A leading researcher in the field, she believes having dissociative identity disorder is actually a reflection of the brain’s vast potential rather than a disability. Their conversations, while exquisitely tense, also provide a welcome source of kindness amid the brutality.

And they help us put together the pieces of this puzzle—which is actually a few different puzzles at once. There’s the question of what Kevin wants with these girls. There’s the question of how they’ll escape. But the fundamentally frightening element of this whole scenario is how the various personalities interact with each other—how they manipulate and intimidate each other—and whether there’s an even more fearsome force gaining strength.


Still, it’s exciting to see Shyamalan on such confident footing once more, all these years later. Make sure you stay in your seat until the absolute end to see what other tricks he may have up his sleeve.

A SIMPLE FAVOR (2018) - FILM REVIEW

A Simple Favor (2018)


Cast

Anna Kendrickas Stephanie Smothers
Blake Livelyas Emily Nelson
Henry Goldingas Sean Townsend
Andrew Rannellsas Darren
Linda Cardellinias Diana Hyland
Director

Paul Feig
Writer (based upon the novel by)

Darcey Bell
Writer

Jessica Sharzer
Cinematographer

John Schwartzman
Editor

Brent White
Composer

Theodore Shapiro

Crime, Mystery, Thriller

Rated R for sexual content and language throughout, some graphic nude images, drug use and violence.
119 minutes
 
 
"A Simple Favor" is a pretty delicate balancing act. It's a thriller told with a broad sense of humor (even slapstick at times). One false move could have been deadly, resulting in a film self-serious, or straining to be "relevant," or—worse—just plain old boring. But "A Simple Favor," directed by Paul Feig, has its cake and eats it too. It's suspenseful, but also hilarious. It's insightful about the head games women can play with each other, but it doesn't burden itself with trying to be "meaningful." It's not trying to "say something" about "how we live now" or anything like that. What a relief to watch a film unafraid of letting its hair down.

The funky stylized credits sequence (designed by David Clayton) clues us in immediately that this isn't going to be a gloomy by-the-book thriller. A throwback to 1960s comedies or spy capers, the credits involve single-color images of stilettos and purses moving around in angular cut-out shapes, a collage of conspicuous consumption, with one of the many classic French pop songs blaring behind it. The soundtrack is filled with Serge Gainsbourg songs, including "Bonnie & Clyde," his duet with Brigitte Bardot, plus "Une Histoire de Plage," "Laisse Tomber les Filles," and Jean Paul Keller's "Ca C'est Arrange." Mood-setting is one of the most important aspects of film-making, and so many films fail to establish the proper mood from the jump. "A Simple Favor," written by Jessica Sharzer, an adaptation of Darcey Bell's novel, knows exactly what it needs to do to establish the mood for all that will follow.

Anna Kendrick plays Stephanie Smothers, a single mom who runs a popular "vlog," where she shares recipes, parenting tips, and DIY how-tos. She's a type-A personality all the way, over-volunteering at her son's school, making other parents feel like slackers. In a couple of swift scenes it's established that Stephanie is virtually friendless ... until Emily Nelson (Blake Lively)—whose son goes to school with Stephanie's son—strolls into her life. Emily has a high-powered job "in the city" (New York), and ropes Stephanie in to drinking martinis after picking up the boys from school. The two sit in her palatial glass-walled home, and get drunk. Stephanie is dazzled. It's not hard to see why. Emily is casually gorgeous, wearing high heels and pinstriped suits complete with gold watch chains. (Renee Ehrlich Kalfus deserves a lot of credit for her costume design.) Emily swears like a sailor (even in front of the kids), and has a direct way of speaking: she looks right at Stephanie, intimate, encouraging. Stephanie can't believe she has been "chosen" to be this fabulous creature's friend.

There are some red flags in Emily's behavior, which Stephanie ignores. Stephanie takes Emily's picture once, without Emily's consent, and Emily, in a tone that could cut glass, tells her to delete the photo. Emily's beauty is a smokescreen for an intimidating and mercurial personality, warm and encouraging one moment, slightly scary the next. Stephanie constantly apologizes for things, and Emily tells her to stop: "It's a fucked-up female habit." She's right. But Emily always keeps Stephanie just slightly off-balance. Both actresses are in high gear here. Kendrick is so awkward you yearn for Stephanie to just relax, but her awkwardness is why the performance is so funny. And Blake Lively is the reincarnation of Julie Christie in her best work in the 1960s and '70s: ruthless and charming, sexy and detached, a completely destabilizing presence to men and women alike. This is a great role for Lively.

And then, Emily goes missing. The police are called, and Stephanie finds herself the center of attention as Emily's "best friend." She helps Emily's husband Sean (Henry Golding) out with the kids, supports him in his grief and anxiety, and gives updates on her "vlog" (her follower count goes through the roof). But slowly, Stephanie starts to wonder if there might be more going on than meets the eye. What does Stephanie really know about Emily? Who is Emily? Even Nicky refers to his wife as a "beautiful ghost." Stephanie, underestimated and mocked, intimidated by Emily's cool gaze, finds a strength she didn't know she had, and "A Simple Favor" shifts, fluidly, into Stephanie: Girl Detective. She tries to piece together Emily's past, looking for clues. The whole situation is so gratifying because Stephanie is the same mousy overachiever, dressed in cute little combos from The Gap, only now she's sneaking through apartments and offices, breaking into filing cabinets, doing things she never thought she would—or could—do.

One of Paul Feig's gifts as a director is working with strong charismatic women, giving them space to whoop it up, work off one another, be co-creators. There's space in his approach, space left for behavior, humor, spontaneity. (Think of Melissa McCarthy and Sandra Bullock in "The Heat." That pairing could easily have become a franchise, should have become a franchise.) "A Simple Favor" has an intricate plot, with many surprise reveals as well as some truly spooky sequences, but it doesn't feel over-planned. Stephanie, at one point, goes into a panic, and shouts at Nicky, "Are you trying to 'Diabolique' me? Oh my God, you're trying to 'Diabolique' me!" It's a funny line, requiring you to know "Diabolique"— a remake of 1955's "Les Diaboliques," directed by Henri-Georges Clouzot—about a wife and mistress conspiring to kill the man they share in common. Those French pop songs don't dominate "A Simple Favor"'s soundtrack for nothing. The plot shares some similarities with "Gone Girl," but that's where the comparison should end. "Gone Girl" took itself very seriously. "A Simple Favor" doesn't take itself seriously at all. And that's a good thing.

HALLOWEEN (2018) - FILM REVIEW

Halloween (2018)


Cast

Jamie Lee Curtis as Laurie Strode
Judy Greer as Karen Strode
Andi Matichak as Allyson Strode
Will Patton as Hawkins
Virginia Gardner as Vicky
Nick Castle as The Shape
Miles Robbins as Dave
Toby Huss as Ray
Jefferson Hall as Martin
Director

David Gordon Green
Writer (characters)

John Carpenter
Debra Hill
Writer

Jeff Fradley
David Gordon Green
Danny McBride
Cinematographer

Michael Simmonds
Composer

Cody Carpenter
John Carpenter
Daniel A. Davies

Horror

Rated R for horror violence and bloody images, language, brief drug use and nudity.
 
109 minutes
 
As much I hate to say this, I’m not sure that David Gordon Green, Danny McBride and the people behind a new sequel to John Carpenter’s “Halloween” really understand what made the first film a masterpiece. Their highly anticipated take on the legend of Michael Myers is admirable in its thematic relation to Carpenter’s vision, but the no-nonsense, tightly-directed aspect of the influential classic just isn’t a part of this one. Carpenter’s movie is so tautly refined that the sometimes incompetent slackness of this one is all the more frustrating. As is the complete lack of atmosphere, another strength of the original. In that first movie, you can hear the crunch of the leaves and smell Fall in the air. This one always feels like a movie, never transporting you or offering the tactile terror of the story of The Shape. Green and McBride are playing with some interesting themes and there’s a female empowerment story of trauma here that’s interesting (but underdeveloped), but do you know the biggest sin of the new “Halloween”? It’s just not scary. And that’s one thing you could never say about the original.

What I like most about the new “Halloween” is that its message could be boiled down to something as simple as “Don’t Fuck Around with Evil.” Don’t try and study it, or understand it, or do a podcast about it, or whatever—just kill it. Laurie Strode (Jamie Lee Curtis) learned this lesson the hard way the night she survived an attack by Michael Myers, who has been incarcerated for the 40 years since (this movie pretends all of the sequels never happened, even number two, and even has a character make fun of the stories about Michael being Laurie’s brother and things like “revenge” and “curses” in a way that comes off as snarky more than clever). Laurie has lived as her own kind of prisoner since that night, completely terrified of the day Michael would come home, basically becoming a doomsday prepper, turning her home into a heavily armed bunker. She also obsessively taught her daughter (Judy Greer) how to fend off the ultimate attacker, so much so that she’s nearly estranged from her.

“Halloween” opens with a pair of podcasters going to meet Michael and Laurie for a piece they’re doing, allowing for a lot of the last paragraph’s “what have they been up to” exposition. Michael has been completely silent for four decades, never saying a word, but the podcasters think it a good idea to bring him his mask on the day of the interview, meaning they (and it) will be nearby when Mike later escapes and beats them to death. As he makes his way back to Haddonfeld on Halloween, a dozen or so victims stand in his way, including Laurie’s granddaughter and some of her teenage friends, some hapless cops, and a few other locals. There’s an excellently staged sequence as Michael’s killing spree starts and Green’s camera stays mostly outside of homes, watching the icon go about his work through windows.

And yet even this moment feels almost too precious. Green makes a number of explicit references to Carpenter’s film with dialogue and even shots, but there’s a difference between referencing something and actually incorporating it into a new vision. The former is just an echo, and that’s often what I felt watching “Halloween”—the echo of the original is loud, but that’s ultimately hollow compared to sequels that truly build on what came before instead of just expressing how much they love it.

Worst of all, Green bungles the ending. I would never spoil it, but you might imagine that an evening massacre that its central characters have been anticipating for four decades has to really stick the landing. At its best, “Halloween” is about a woman dealing with trauma for more than half her life, and only able to exorcise her demon when she faces him again. That sets up a great deal of pressure on the closing scenes, and—other than one nice twist—“Halloween” just doesn’t deliver when it needs to most of all.

I walked into “Halloween” wanting to feel the magic of the original again in some form. Carpenter's film is one of my favorite films of all time. And David Gordon Green and Danny McBride are clearly smart guys, bringing a higher pedigree than nearly any other horror sequel, allowing for optimism. And there are, of course, elements that display Green’s craftsmanship more than, say, Dwight H. Little (director of “Halloween 4: The Return of Michael Myers”). I’ve heard a number of people say that it’s the best “Halloween” sequel, to which one almost has to laugh at the low height of that bar. And shouldn’t we expect more from a project this high profile than “better than H20?” Especially when the answer to that question is "just barely."

This review was filed from the Toronto International Film Festival.


THE NUN (2018) - FILM REVIEW

The Nun (2018)


Cast

Bonnie Aarons as The Nun / Valak
Demián Bichir as Father Burke
Taissa Farmiga as Sister Irene
Charlotte Hope as Sister Victoria
Ingrid Bisu as Sister Oana
Manuela Ciucur as Sister Christian
Jonas Bloquet as Frenchie
Jonny Coyne as Gregoro
Jared Morgan as Marquis
Sandra Teles as Sister Ruth
Boiangiu Alma as Demon Nun
Director

Corin Hardy
Writer (story by)

James Wan
Gary Dauberman
Writer

Gary Dauberman
Cinematographer

Maxime Alexandre
Editor

Michel Aller
Ken Blackwell
Composer

Abel Korzeniowski

Horror, Mystery, Thriller

Rated R for terror, violence, and disturbing/bloody images.

96 minutes
 
 
A little bit of The Nun goes a long way.

With her cheekbones jutting like daggers from her chalky-white skin, her eyes a piercing yellow beneath her habit and her ravenous, bloody fangs, The Nun served as a deeply unsettling image in brief but potent glimpses throughout various films in “The Conjuring” universe. Now, we get an entire film devoted to her: the appropriately titled “The Nun,” which simultaneously serves as an origin story for the entire franchise. And a presence that initially was disturbing grows repetitive and almost predictable over the course of an entire film.

It’s sort of like the Minions. (Hear me out on this.) The Minions were the best part of the “Despicable Me” movies. They provided quick blasts of adorable insanity with their denim overalls and dazed expressions, their gibberish and their general incompetence. But a whole movie about them—again, the appropriately titled “Minions”—grew tedious pretty quickly when it came out on 2015.

I’m not saying that The Nun is literally like an evil version of a Minion, although she does run around in a uniform, wreaking havoc and doing her master’s bidding. But there is a similarity to the shallow nature of these crucial supporting characters that reveals itself when a feature film focuses on them.

But director Corin Hardy’s movie, based on a screenplay by “It” and “Annabelle” writer Gary Dauberman, has no shortage of mood. Set at a remote abbey in 1952 Romania, “The Nun” grabs you with Gothic dread from the get-go with its candlelit stone passageways, creaky sound design and the mesmerizing tones of deep, droning chants. Fog shrouds the overgrown grounds, which are dotted with makeshift wooden crosses. The feeling of foreboding is inescapable throughout. This place is cursed, and no amount of prayer from well-intentioned, young nuns can redeem it. 

But after one of these devout, promising ladies hangs herself from her bedroom window at the film’s dramatic start, the Vatican sends demon hunter Father Burke (Demian Bichir) and Sister Irene (Taissa Farmiga), a novitiate on the verge of taking her final vows, to determine what forces are plaguing this holy site. Young Irene has been plucked for this dangerous assignment because she has a history of experiencing visions; in a clever touch that unifies the series, she’s played by Farmiga, younger sister of Vera Farmiga, who starred as supernatural seer Lorraine Warren in the original “Conjuring” movies. The younger Farmiga has a similar steely presence and a quietly authoritative way about her.

Burke and Irene are joined by local farmhand Maurice (Jonas Bloquet), a flirty French-Canadian who goes by the nickname Frenchie. He serves as their guide, provides necessary comic relief and warns them that they’re about to enter the Dark Ages. But he has no idea just how dark the situation will get.

The Vatican’s emissaries have the Sisyphean task of trying to interview the remaining nuns to determine how such a sad and sinful fate could have befallen one of their own. But they get stuck in one section of the abbey when giant, metal gates shut for the night, or they find that the sisters are in the midst of mandatory silence until sunrise. They’re spinning their wheels, and we feel like we are, too. Through it all, The Nun (Bonnie Aarons) wanders the dark hallways, an elusive yet menacing force. Seeing a glimpse of her habit is good for a jolt here and there, at first. But Hardy goes to that tactic repeatedly, showing us The Nun—or maybe just A Nun—kneeling in prayer from behind or from the side, or sneaking up on someone, hidden by reams of black material. This cheap thrill happens over and over, like clockwork.

Hardy employs some visual acrobatics to liven things up in this cramped and clammy place; a couple of overhead shots are inspired, especially one in which Irene, in her white habit, is surrounded by her fellow nuns dressed in black and kneeling in desperate prayer. But by the end, “The Nun” has become an almost entirely different kind of movie, a puzzly “Da Vinci Code”-light, which sounds redundant, I realize. We eventually get full-frontal Nun—more Nun than you can shake a cross at—but even while she’s all up in our faces, it’s unclear what exactly she wants beyond run-of-the-mill possession.

The “Conjuring” movies—especially James Wan’s original two, and not so much the “Annabelle” prequels—stood apart from so much demon-themed horror with their well-drawn characters, strong performances and powerful emotional underpinning. “The Nun” feels like an empty thrill ride by comparison. Once it stops and you step off, you may still feel a little dizzy, but you’ll have forgotten exactly why.


PEPPERMINT (2018) - FILM REVIEW

Peppermint (2018)


Cast

Jennifer Garneras Riley North
John Gallagher Jr.as Detective Stan Carmichael
John Ortizas Detective Moises Beltran
Juan Pablo Rabaas Diego Garcia
Annie Ilonzehas FBI Agent Lisa Inman
Director

Pierre Morel
Writer

Chad St. John
Cinematographer

David Lanzenberg
Editor

Frederic Thorval
Composer

Simon Franglen

Action, Crime, Thriller

Rated R for strong violence and language throughout.
 
102 minutes
 
 
There's a morbidly hilarious dark comedy buried not-so-deep inside the lousy revenge thriller "Peppermint." It's just probably not the movie that director Pierre Morel ("Taken," "District B13") and screenwriter Chad St. John intended to make. In "Peppermint," a newly-widowed mother seeks revenge on the cartoonishly evil Latino drug-dealers who killed her husband and young daughter. This generically traumatic event sets former bank employee Riley North (Garner) on a rampage despite glaring psychological trauma that she refuses to treat (she's prescribed Lithium and anti-psychotic medication, but doesn't take them). Riley's instability is so prominent—represented periodically through sped-up, out-of-focus, and over-exposed subjective camera-work—that nobody in a position of power believes her when she says that she remembers the faces of the three men who killed her family.

Still, moviegoers are supposed to root for Riley because her husband and daughter's killers—a bunch of joint-smoking, booze-drinking, gun-toting monsters—are still on the loose, and the system is rigged, and other complaints that were made before (though not necessarily better) in the 1980s by lackluster sequels and ripoffs to "Death Wish." Somebody's got to pay, even if Riley's PTSD-like breakdowns suggest that she probably shouldn't be venting her spleen by murdering every complicit and therefore ostensibly deserving person she can. But again: "Peppermint" isn't a critique of Riley's privilege. She's just a white woman whose sole purpose is railing against a broken justice system and slaughtering a group of stereotypically ruthless Latino gangsters who literally work in a piñata store (as is announced three times during a news report within the film). How is this not a black comedy about our troubled times?

The producers of "Peppermint" may be French and Chinese, but the film's heroine still (unintentionally) exemplifies an ugly strain of contemporary American thought that insists that you are the one who is really being bullied if somebody tells you that you are bullying them. You don't even need evidence to support your counter-claim. Just look at all the ways that Riley's creators excuse their decision to use racist caricatures as straw men antagonists.

Riley's actions are supposedly justified by her self-image as a working class martyr. She's not as rich as Peg (Pell James), a snobby rival mother who, during a flashback, tells off Riley and her daughter Carly (Cailey Fleming) by saying that they aren't real Girl Scout material. But we're supposed to think that Riley's anger speaks for Los Angeles' fed-up, disenfranchised residents, as we see based on a flurry of tweets (showcased during the cops' official investigation of Riley's crimes) and one wall mural that's erected in the "Skid Row" part of town (identified as such by a Google Maps-like search, also during a police investigation). Riley's an underdog since she's fighting untouchable crook Diego Garcia (Juan Pablo Raba), a high-powered crime boss who's protected by an LAPD mole, a high-powered lawyer (Michael Mosley), a corrupt judge (Jeff Harlan), and dozens of gun-toting heavies. So it's up to Riley to do what a corrupt system won't: the exact same things that were already done by Frank Castle, Paul Kersey, Harry Callahan, John Rambo, the Duke, the Boondock Saints, and everyone else in the pantheon of Red-Blooded American Avengers.

The only problem with cheering Riley on is that there's more evidence to suggest that she's a highly effective (but also kinda goofy?) monster than there is proof that she's an antiheroic voice of the people. Riley threatens Peg at gunpoint until James' character urinates all over herself. She also stabs Harlan's character and then blows him up. Riley also carries a gun that's about at least half of Garner's size. When she breaks into Garcia's home, she stalks her prey like Steven Seagal at a buffet table, hoisting her gigantic rifle in front of her like a, well, you get the idea.

Almost everything about Riley's backstory and circumstances should make her seem more sympathetic. Unfortunately, Morel often seems more desperate than eager to please. In a flashback, we see that Riley's boss hates her, and made her work late on her daughter's birthday. Mere days before Christmas, at that! How could you not root for Riley, whose husband (Jeff Hephner) is asked to participate in a crime, but is so innocent that he backs down moments before so he can spend time with his family, making his death that much more tragic? And again, just look at the bad guys she's fighting! Garcia's men are defined by their tacky surroundings, whether it's the Las Vegas-chic (marble tiles and glass decanters) of his home or the Grim Reaper-like Santa Muerte effigy that ostentatiously looms over his various warehouses.

Morel also tries to preempt accusations of racism by making the two cops and an FBI agent that investigate Riley's case—played by John Ortiz, John Gallagher Jr., and Annie Ilonzeh—a racially integrated and gender-balanced group. And don't get me started on the inevitable unmasking of the double agent who's secretly working for Garcia. Ortiz even delivers an unbelievable line about how "the difference between [the cops and Garcia's men]" is that the cops should care while the criminals simply don't.

All of this pitiable self-victimization is significant to the film's plot and message, but probably not in the way that Morel thinks. His lip service apology for the film's inherent sketchiness doesn't justify the icky spectacle of Garner shooting and stabbing her way through a legion of stick figure villains, but rather suggest that the film's heroine is unwittingly perpetuating the same imbalanced system of power that she's railing against, no matter how many dead family members, and POC allies have her back. "Peppermint" is kind of funny, but never intentionally.


THE PREDATOR (2018) - FILM REVIEW

The Predator (2018)


Cast

Boyd Holbrook as Quinn McKenna
Trevante Rhodes as Nebraska Williams
Jacob Tremblay as Rory McKenna
Keegan Michael Key
Olivia Munn as Casey Bracket
Thomas Jane
Alfie Allen
Sterling K. Brown
Jake Busey
Yvonne Strahovski as Emily
Director

Shane Black
Writer

Fred Dekker
Shane Black
Director of Photography

Larry Fong

Action, Adventure, Horror, Science Fiction

Rated R
101 minutes








Shane Black’s “The Predator” is a fun, brutal, fighting machine that wastes no time getting down to business—not unlike its title character. It’s not big on wasted dialogue or too many attempts at meta humor, playing both like an homage/throwback film to the action of the ‘80s and something that feels new and fresh. There’s nothing pretentious or whimsical here as we so often see in films that almost parody ‘80s action instead of trying to figure out why these movies have endured in the first place. It’s easy to mimic or mock something. It’s much harder to ask why the first “Predator” captured lightning in a bottle and then try to catch it again. With a fantastic cast and razor-sharp pacing, the fact is that this is what you want from a movie called “The Predator.”
Black wastes no time, actually opening the film on a predator ship hurtling towards Earth. A sniper named Quinn McKenna (Boyd Holbrook) is on a job when he’s practically hit by an escape pod containing one of the legendary creatures. McKenna gets his hands on some of the alien’s gear, sending some of it home and hiding one particularly bad-ass piece, well, somewhere nowhere will find it. Instead of going to his P.O. box, the mail ends up on his doorstep, where his son Rory (Jacob Tremblay) opens the package, finding a predator weapon and mask.

Meanwhile, a science teacher named Casey Bracket (Olivia Munn) is brought in to examine the predator that McKenna incapacitated, pushed around by a smug asshole named Traeger (a fantastic Sterling K. Brown, proving he should play villains more often). While that’s about to go predictably haywire, McKenna is put on a bus of fellow military prisoners, including Nebraska (Trevante Rhodes, who should be an action star if there’s any justice), Coyle (Keegan-Michael Key), Baxley (Thomas Jane), Lynch (Alfie Allen), and Nettles (Augusto Aguilera). Nicknamed “The Loonies,” the gang eventually connects with Casey, and they all try to catch up with the predator before he gets to Rory to retrieve his stuff.

Co-written by another ‘80s icon in Fred Dekker, this is a movie that keenly understands what its audience wants and endeavors to provide that, which is something more action filmmakers could learn from Black. There’s a rhythm and a structure to “The Predator” that’s easy to take for granted but much harder to pull off than people will probably give this film credit for. It’s in the way Black jumps from scene to scene and beat to beat, giving each character just enough dialogue and development for them to register as more than bodies for the predator to hunt but not lingering long enough for viewers to get impatient. Black is assisted greatly by an incredibly charismatic cast, and he knows how to use them to amplify their strengths. Holbrook and Rhodes are the buddy action movie duo you never knew you wanted, Munn holds her own (although her character kind of takes a back seat in the second half), and Jane and Key are fun comic relief.

Casting aside, what really elevates “The Predator” above the disaster that it easily could have been is the way Black and Dekker manage tone. They lean into the old-fashioned aspect of “The Predator” in that they’re clearly trying to recreate the ragtag crew from the first movie to a certain extent, but they also play with a few other staples of ’80s action movies like “the kid who knows more than the adults about aliens” and “the initially-difficult government guys who will eventually need our hero’s help to survive.” And yet “The Predator” never plays like a pure parody. So many '80s-inspired movies look back at that era with something like mockery. You get the sense that Black loves these tropes, and so he never mocks them as much as he tries to figure out why they worked and still work for so many people.

By the time “The Predator” gets to its climax, it has lost a little bit of steam. Some of the final scenes are a bit messy in terms of editing, especially when compared to what came before. I liked some of the earlier set pieces more, as we are getting to know the characters, especially the initial predator breakout and a great scene with…wait for it…predator dogs. Yes, this movie has predator dogs. Dear reader, you probably know if you want to see a movie with predator dogs or not. If you do, I can’t imagine you won’t be happy with this one.

This review was filed from the Toronto International Film Festival.


DESTINATION WEDDING (2018) - FILM REVIEW

Destination Wedding (2018)


Cast

Winona Ryderas Lindsay
Keanu Reevesas Frank
DJ Dallenbachas Ann
Director

Victor Levin
Writer

Victor Levin
Cinematographer

Giorgio Scali
Editor

Matt Maddox
Composer

William Ross

Comedy, Drama, Romance

Rated R for language throughout and sexual content.
90 minutes
 
 
 
A lot of people are not going to like “Destination Wedding,” because the characters never shut up and complain all the time. But I thought it was a hoot. Winona Ryder and Keanu Reeves, in their fourth film together, are clearly having a blast, and they won me over.

Lindsay (Ryder) and Frank (Reeves) meet at the airport, waiting for an eight-seat plane to take them to California wine country for a wedding. After they have bickered at the airport, the hotel, the rehearsal dinner, through the games and activities and the wedding itself, and are now back at the hotel, they are at the moment when love should be triumphing over all with a tender embrace. But this isn’t that movie. Lindsay asks Frank, “What if the real destination is falling in love?” Frank’s response is, “What if you never say that again?” He means it.

The title of “Destination Wedding” may make it sound like a Hallmark Romance film, but this is a romantic comedy with very little romance, and the comedy is not based on gentle misunderstandings. It is strictly in the hyper-verbal, twisted category.

Frank and Lindsay start arguing seconds after they meet, when he steps in front of her at the airport gate. She accuses him of trying to get a better seat and compares him to “investment bankers, politicians, terrorists,” and everyone else with no manners. He says he stepped away just to get farther from her. It begins to dawn on them that they may be going to the same event. Lindsay: “How many destination weddings can there be in Paso Robles?” Frank: “I was hoping there were two.”

The music shifts from low-key but cheery jazz from the charming score by composer William Ross to a trumpet trill like the opening of a bullfight as we see the film’s title, followed by its more telling alternate: “A Narcissist Can’t Die Because the Whole World Would End.” Subsequent chapter title cards let us know that we are not here to be beguiled by the ostensible charms of the countryside or the festivities, by the welcome baskets or the tour of the winery. The real feelings of Lindsay, Frank, and the movie itself about the various events are revealed because what they think is shown but scratched out: “Just what the world needs – Another Goddamn sunset wedding.”

Lindsay is the groom’s ex. Frank is his half-brother. Neither of them wants to be there. They don’t like the couple getting married. They don’t like anyone at the wedding. In fact, they pretty much don’t like anything, except maybe for not liking people, gatherings, or the idea of love.

Professionally, they appear to be opposites. Frank works for JD Power, which gives out excellence awards to corporations. Lindsay goes after companies for bias and poor citizenship, or what Frank terms “a career in reverse fascism.” But their jobs have something significant in common. They both judge everyone. And at the tedious rehearsal dinner, they find a companionable rhythm in coming up with wordy but hilarious comments on the other guests, who exist in the film only to be insult fodder.

Frank and Lindsay are the entire movie. The rest of the cast is dressed in neutral tones and hardly get a chance to say a word. Ryder and Reeves stand out in dark clothes and never stop talking nonsense and complaining about everyone, even in the midst of what has to be one of the most ridiculous sex scenes ever filmed. But when Frank and Lindsey are annoying each other most, Reeves and Ryder still have an easy charm and a sparkling chemistry together that gives their characters’ anxieties enough good humor to keep us on their side.

Writer/director Victor Levin (“Survivor’s Remorse,” “Mad About You”) has clearly suffered through cutesy weddings where the welcome basket includes fun facts about the history of the area and coupons for foot massages. You know, the weddings where the couple puts out helpful baskets of flip-flops labeled “Walkin’ Shoes,” because guests have to trek through mud and grass in party clothes to get to the picture-perfect ceremony. This is his revenge, like your snarkiest friend’s nasty commentary on a wedding video, or the romantic comedy version of David Foster Wallace’s essay on cruises, “A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again.” As with Wallace’s cruise, the destination wedding might not be fun, but seeing Reeves and Ryder suffer through it is. 


THE LITTLE STRANGER (2018) - FILM REVIEW

The Little Stranger (2018)


Cast

Domhnall Gleeson as Dr. Faraday
Ruth Wilson as Caroline Ayres
Will Poulter as Roderick Ayres
Charlotte Rampling as Mrs. Ayres
Kate Phillips as Diana Baker-Hyde
Alison Pargeter as The Maid
Josh Dylan as Bland
Lorne MacFadyen as Dr. Calder
Director

Lenny Abrahamson
Writer (novel)

Sarah Waters
Writer

Lucinda Coxon
Cinematographer

Ole Bratt Birkeland
Editor

Nathan Nugent
Composer

Stephen Rennicks

Drama, Horror, Mystery

Rated R for some disturbing bloody images.
111 minutes
 
 
With his profound, Oscar-winning 2015 drama “Room,” Lenny Abrahamson illustrated the horrors of domestic claustrophobia through an unflashy yet unwavering handle on restrictive spaces. With “The Little Stranger,” his elegant, cold-to-the-touch blend of drama and gothic horror, the filmmaker proves his specific artistry around confinement was no coincidence. In this slow-burn psychodrama of visceral majesty—craftily adapted from Sarah Waters’ novel by Lucinda Coxon—he brings to life a stately mansion frozen in time, unearthing its bygone beauty and ghastly appeal beneath its frigid, decaying surface. Along the way, as he also did in “Room,” Abrahamson allows the airless interiors to inform an ensemble of characters, all suffocated by layers of trauma in their respective predicaments.

The manor in question is the once-glorious Hundreds Hall, where Dr. Faraday (Domhnall Gleeson, alarmingly icy with a steady expression) has countless memories, having been raised by a mother working there as a maid nearly three decades ago. On a random day in the scorching summer of 1948, he unexpectedly gets summoned to the storied English countryside home—not to attend the kind of party the venerable Ayres family used to throw once upon a time, but to tend to the ill housemaid Betty (Liv Hill). The sad, crumbling state of the post-war Hundreds Hall isn’t the only unpleasant surprise that awaits Faraday. He quickly learns that Betty has faked her sickness to get sent home urgently. Something frightens her, Faraday discovers. An unexplained evil presence runs through the veins of Hundreds Hall, aiming to rid it of its few remaining inhabitants: the young heir/disfigured WWII veteran Roderick (Will Poulter), the frustrated loner Caroline (Ruth Wilson, intensely acidic and vulnerable) and the calculating matriarch Mrs. Ayres (Charlotte Rampling, underutilized).

Slowly, the lives of the Ayres family begin to interweave with Faraday’s. The doctor’s frequent visits to the mansion, from which he once secretly plucked away an ornate piece of molding (that perhaps metaphorically started its downfall), leads to his romantic involvement with Caroline—frumpily dressed out of nonchalance (through brilliant costuming choices by Steven Noble) and ever-irritated with her dead-end life prospects. The closer Faraday gets to the ill-fated Ayreses, the severer their troubles seem to become. The family’s beloved dog Gyp mauls the young daughter of a guest one evening and seals his unfortunate fate (a special warning for dog people—be prepared.) The restless Rod, now living out of the ground floor library and threatening to sell the mansion, grows increasingly distraught by a curious burning smell with no source. Service bells incessantly ring for no reason and strange sounds continue to disturb the peace of the household. Could it be Caroline’s long-deceased sister Susan causing all the paranormal activity? Savagely haphazard engravings of the letter “S” the inhabitants discover around the house certainly suggest as much.

Though Coxon’s script (admittedly, faultily) postpones the tale’s meaty segments, it cleverly navigates the flashback-heavy source material in a mostly screen-friendly manner, juxtaposing the dispassionate affair of Caroline and Faraday against the post-war realities of a splintered Britain. But throughout “The Little Stranger,” the social divide between the upward working class and the vanishing aristocrats receives a thoughtful portrayal. There's even ample blood and a handsomely puzzling twist to round off the gothic story; one that will bury many in deep thought long after the credits roll. Equally lingering will be Gleeson’s portrayal of Dr. Faraday, a poker-faced man of destructive obsession and leachy persistence. Easily among the actor’s best work, Gleeson’s brilliantly haunting performance gets under your skin.

The film’s genuine frights take their time to arrive, but a consistently ominous mood, present in dusty, mahogany-heavy rooms and shadowy hallways, proves worthier than the petty jump scares “The Little Stranger” sidesteps for the most part. This might initially frustrate viewers who may have gravitated towards Hundreds Hall for chills akin to Peter Medak’s “The Changeling” or Stanley Kubrick’s “The Shining.” But those who submit themselves to the film’s unhurried pace and distancing coldness (aided by a splendid, ghostly production design by Simon Elliott) will be treated to a sophisticated yarn, closer to Robert Altman's “Gosford Park” in its mysterious thrills and social class themes than to any customary haunted house flick. 


 
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