The uncompromisingly anti-Russian, anti-Soviet, and anti-communist stance maintained by Child 44 stands as one of its few redeeming qualities, and arguably its most significant. The decision to set the narrative strictly in 1953—the year of Stalin's death—is both deliberate and wise. Naturally, the film uses the past to comment on the present, though it does so with zero subtlety; there is an excess of heavy-handedness here, including certain early references to the Ukrainian famine that feel somewhat forced by the time they pay off later in the story. However, no one forced Putin's censors to rise up and defend Stalin's legacy. The issue, much like with any direct and blunt demonstration of ideology, might be that Ridley and his creative team leaned into this approach specifically to stir the pot. They focused so heavily on making a statement that the film itself begins to unravel at the seams. Beyond its rigid political stance and a barrage of loaded references—the famine, World War II, Stalinist paranoia, aggressive communist propaganda, a repressive society, and, for good measure, the killer Chikatilo—the movie offers very little else of substance. Noise and fury, as a rule, serve only to mask poor material and structural flaws.
more at: http://film-na-dan.blogspot.com/2015/06/child-44.html
The issue with Maggie is fundamentally different: the film is simply tedious. While there are a handful of jarring lines of dialogue scattered throughout, they are far too sparse to carry any weight. Most of the runtime consists of aimless wandering and the repetitive cycling of narrative patterns established in the opening act. Beyond that, the explanation regarding the virus's origins feels nonsensical, and the lack of meaningful government intervention—or even a visible apocalypse, given that one logically necessitates the other—makes it impossible to take this story seriously. As a debut effort, Maggie feels like an experiment attempting to subvert genre tropes, yet it fails to find its footing. It remains entirely possible that a future filmmaker might succeed where Maggie fell short.
read more at: http://film-na-dan.blogspot.com/2015/05/maggie.html
I would, however, prefer to devote my attention to a film I squeezed in between two viewings of Mad Max—one that suffered the misfortune of hitting theaters at the exact same time as what was likely the biggest blockbuster of the year. Do me a favor and show some solidarity by doing the same. The film is titled Danny Collins, a comedy-drama purportedly based on true events (though ninety-nine percent of it is pure fiction), centered on an aging pop-rock star navigating a fundamental life transformation and eventual redemption. Naturally, there is nothing groundbreaking about the premise; one can recall at least a dozen titles with a similar setup, but the crux of the matter is that Danny Collins is an example of a film that is executed flawlessly from start to finish. We have seen films of this ilk before, ranging from saccharine Hallmark Channel drivel to relatively serious art house features, as the tension between a public persona and the actual individual remains one of cinema's eternal themes. The moral rebirth of characters, their redemption, the shedding of outdated ideologies, or even their ultimate transition into maturity during their later years, are all perfectly legitimate cinematic subjects. The writer clearly exerted more effort regarding Danni; he is a well-written, fully realized character supported by a wealth of specific details. Some are standard tropes but serve their purpose, such as his signature, syrupy song Hey Baby Girl, which bears a striking resemblance to Neil Diamond's Sweet Caroline, or the cross necklace that doubles as a cocaine container. Other elements of his behavior are written with near-genius precision, such as his theatrical approach to his private life, dragging a piano into a hotel room, and the sheer volume of semi-conscious and unconscious lies he blathers out almost incidentally. Al Pacino delivers an absolutely masterful performance. We do not typically remember him for playing these types of lost, eccentric "rockstar" figures, but the dose of theatricality with which Danny is conceived aligns perfectly with Pacino’s sensibilities. As the director, Dan Fogelman grants him total freedom, and Pacino utilizes it to its fullest potential; in his hands, Danny becomes an incredibly colorful and memorable character. It is worth noting that Pacino selects his roles with great care to ensure he shines even in an average film, and eccentric artists have become his new forte. One need only recall the HBO film Phil Spector (2013) or the relatively recent The Humbling.
more at: http://film-na-dan.blogspot.com/2015...y-collins.html
The quality of that trash is questionable at best. It should have been on the first pitch, though regardless, it was still an excellent play. Don't hassle the Hoff.
It couldn't have been all that long ago; the film was released back in 2015. Perhaps you are thinking of the Dutch version, because this one is absolutely dreadful...
The redeeming quality of Mann is that he doesn't force hidden meanings upon the viewer through tired tropes or, even worse, heavy-handed exposition. With his work, one can extract context from the data he leaves behind, and what is particularly refreshing is the sheer freedom of interpretation granted to the audience. It is entirely possible to sense his perspective on modern global crime while simultaneously forming—or even validating—your own. The issue, however, lies in the execution on a purely cinematic level: Black Hat is so riddled with holes that it feels arbitrary, bordering on "style over substance," though not in a fun, trashy way, but rather in a somewhat pretentious manner. To begin with, the characters lack depth. They aren't mysterious; they are simply either hollow or constructed as mere checklists of desirable traits for a given situation. One gets the impression, especially when certain characters exit the narrative, that this is all just Nick's struggle, driven by stock motivations and met with stock problems. In reality, this entire plot could have been resolved in a ninety-minute film, perhaps just someone working on a laptop in a prison library. On a positive note, the hacking scenes are finely detailed; actual hackers served as consultants, and it is a welcome change to see actual Linux being used on screen rather than those generic green-text displays reminiscent of the 70s. But no, the film opts for an "epic" scale, aiming for a massive global thriller, which results in Nick ballooning into a "one-man army" type... Since we are discussing epic scale, the problem with Black Hat is its inability to maintain engagement. It catches your attention momentarily, only to let go, which compounds the feeling of randomness bolstered by convenient, generic resolutions. Logical inconsistencies arise throughout the process—though listing them all would be an exercise in futility—yet the film never reaches a true action-packed climax nor establishes a clear stance on its theme. Quite simply, for a film with such ambitions, Black Hat is mediocre. Given that it runs well over two hours, one might even call it bloated.
more at: http://film-na-dan.blogspot.com/2015/05/blackhat.html
It is a rather interesting bit of trivia that Dawn of the Dead was essentially an amateur undertaking, filmed purely on sheer enthusiasm during weekends over the course of four years. Despite this, the film doesn't come across as amateurish; it might lean slightly toward a fan-driven aesthetic, but it certainly avoids being dilettantish. While the cast consists of unknowns, that does not preclude them from being professionals, and they were quite excellently cast and utilized. The Roache-Turner brothers clearly possessed a very firm grasp of their creative objectives, and they succeeded in meeting them. Ultimately, Dawn of the Dead is a perfectly decent film that manages to feel fresh and genuinely entertaining, even when working with a tired premise and rigid genre tropes.
more at: http://film-na-dan.blogspot.com/2015...d-of-dead.html
The fundamental issue here is that attempting to fuse courtroom drama with thriller elements and a nostalgic family melodrama simply doesn't coalesce, and more egregiously, the runtime is nearly unbearable. While the legal proceedings serve as the film's backbone and manage to hold their own somewhat, we have seen this exact formula before, and frankly, better versions exist. The Judge never once ascends to the caliber of The Verdict or 12 Angry Men, nor does it approach the quality of the Grisha adaptations from the nineties. The legal process feels clumsy and poorly structured in terms of logic, and its descent toward the climax is nothing short of a disaster. The domestic scenes involving Sam are watchable, largely due to the performances and occasionally sincere, well-crafted dialogue, yet most subplots lack any meaningful impact on the central legal narrative. The father-son dynamic is significant and executed well, and the older brother’s role is typical, though it fits reasonably well. The real failure lies with the younger brother, who is entirely superfluous; none of his actions carry weight within the broader story. He seems to exist merely as "comic relief" through inappropriate outbursts. This trope is also applied to the local attorney, whose comedic incompetence is forced into a running joke centered on him being physically ill in court. To be fair, the film does have a few successful comedic beats that don't rely on bodily fluids. Perhaps the best instance of this is the jury selection scene where Hank chooses jurors based on bumper stickers, operating on a philosophy of "the stupider, the better." It is predictable, yet still amusing. The greatest disappointment, however, remains the lukewarm and tepid romance between Hank and Sam, which at its peak is nothing more than a collection of clichés relying on grand gestures while leaving much unsaid. Not to mention—and I will avoid spoilers here—the glaring continuity error born from a desperate attempt to shock the moralists in the audience. Downey and Farmiga are excellent performers in their own right and share a certain onscreen chemistry, but that offers little consolation when the script fails to allow them to develop their relationship into something truly life-like.
more at: http://film-na-dan.blogspot.com/2015/02/the-judge.html
It’s a decent enough watch, though the cast really carries the weight here—especially the two leads. Heist movies are inherently entertaining; you basically have to try really hard to make them feel like failures. That scene featuring BD Wong is a total standout, much like those intense rants from McRaney throughout the film.
To go into more detail: http://film-na-dan.blogspot.com/2015/03/focus.html
It strikes me that the toxicity presented here is merely a byproduct of trauma. Everything about her suggests she was once a desperate housewife, perhaps clinging to a sense of dark humor as a coping mechanism. Throughout the entire film, she exists in this sort of limbo—utterly fascinated by death and suicide, yet lacking any actual impulse to act on those morbid curiosities. It is a quintessential indie film trope.
Just because he didn't pull it off doesn't mean there wasn't a calculated plan behind it. I saw the math being done in real-time. Honestly, the only thing truly captivating here is her toxic persona.
Tim Burton has, perhaps for the first, second, or even third time, attempted to tackle a subject with actual weight. For the first instance, we have a completely serious film, stripped of his usual visual extravaganzas. Secondly, we have a biopic, though Big Eyes is significantly more "straight" than Ed Wood. Thirdly, there is an attempt to convey a message rather than merely providing mindless entertainment—assuming one counts Planet of the Apes as a sincere effort rather than a mere exploitation of the original novel and Schaffner's film. The crux of the matter is that Burton simply does not seem accustomed to being serious, and it shows. On the whole, this is your run-of-the-mill biographical drama about a painter with a relatively modest background (some unremarkable art school in the Midwest) whose primary claim to fame was painting figurative works during an era dominated by abstraction. Her marriage to Walter is nothing out of the ordinary either; we have seen countless stories of such unions between a capable, salt-of-the-earth woman and a con artist on film, television, and those ubiquitous true crime channels. To be fair, even Burton's approach lacks originality. Perhaps it is unique only because the film isn't even remotely gothic and bears no resemblance to his animated style, aside from Margaret's paintings, but Big Eyes serves as a textbook example of a biographical film churned out at the tail end of award season. The core of the issue might lie in this "gothic" persona he maintains. Much like Burton's films, gothic culture is visually interesting in its own idiosyncratic way, yet ultimately superficial. It often lacks both wisdom and sincerity, functioning as little more than performance and style. It seems Burton knows how to work with a specific type of actor, but Amy Adams and Christoph Waltz do not fall into that category. Regardless, Big Eyes stands as an exceptionally unsuccessful experiment for Burton.
more at: http://film-na-dan.blogspot.com/2015/01/big-eyes.html
Despite the powerhouse performances delivered by Gandolfini and Tom Hardy, The Drop remains merely a decent, if somewhat uninspired, piece of cinema. While the narrative is handled with a certain level of sophistication and intrigue—the slow pacing actually serves the story quite well—it is easy enough to overlook the rather questionable premise regarding the "drop bar," or the establishment functioning as a makeshift vault. Even the supporting cast, many of whom aren't given much room to breathe, deliver performances that aren't bad per se, though they certainly lack the weight established by Gandolfini and Tom Hardy. The fundamental issue is that The Drop offers nothing groundbreaking. These gritty crime dramas centered on the fringes of society have become a cinematic staple, appearing far too frequently these days. The problem with this genre is its inability to capture the effortless cool of Mean Streets or the sheer emotional scale of Mystic River. All such films can really offer is aesthetic: a carefully crafted atmosphere built on moody, dark cinematography, though even that feels a bit tired due to overexposure. The Drop is a competent, solid film, but I find the entire stylistic approach to be somewhat exhausted. If there is any consolation, however, it is that The Drop isn't a bad movie, and Gandolfini's final performance is anything but lackluster.
more at: http://film-na-dan.blogspot.com/2015/01/the-drop.html
See, I actually prefer this departure from the standard documentary format. There aren't any gratuitous, shocking images used just to provoke an emotional reaction—though one does wonder how much footage actually survived—and there isn't some heavy-handed, lecturing narrator telling you what to think. Instead, we get this surrealist setup: just an ordinary guy reenacting the very scenes where he took lives, accompanied by his partner who dresses up in drag. The most devastating part is the total absence of any remorse whatsoever. Look, even in the heat of war, whether you're on the winning side or simply on the side of justice, people don't typically find joy in killing others. If they're human, that is. These animals genuinely relished what they did; they’re still proud of it. They feel zero empathy for their victims, regardless of whether those victims were enemies, communists, or whoever else. Yet, when you look at them, this Anwar figure seems like just some random old man rambling on about nothing, while the other one comes across like a cabaret performer. They appear so utterly harmless. That is a far more profound horror than most horror films could ever hope to achieve. I can't recall a movie affecting me quite like this in a long time.
This didn't win an Oscar. Instead, they handed the trophy to some film about girls singing backup vocals—something called *20 Feet from Stardom*. I can certainly grasp the intended social commentary regarding class dynamics and such, but *Schindler's List* is devastatingly powerful. It appears Americans simply weren't prepared to confront the reality of what a regime they wholeheartedly supported actually accomplished.
I must admit, I have spent nearly a year procrastinating on this film. It wasn't due to any doubt regarding its quality; in my estimation, it missed out on an Oscar solely because its political undertones didn't sit well with certain members of the Academy. Rather, I simply had a nagging intuition that the experience would be grueling and deeply unsettling. That assessment proved accurate; the film is as pitch-black and hopeless as a moonless night. Yet, amidst all that absurdity, surrealism, and pure nightmare fuel, there is a sense of humor so profound that I found myself torn between laughing out loud and biting my tongue to keep from doing so. The Act of Killing is truly something singular. I am now eagerly anticipating the "sequel," The Look of Silence.
more at: http://film-na-dan.blogspot.com/2014...f-killing.html
Movies are my thing. I simply lack the discipline required for series. There is certainly high quality to be found there, but it demands either an almost obsessive level of commitment to follow a specific TV schedule or a manic habit of binge-watching for several hours every single day. Since I tend to overindulge in films, I just can't find the time to keep up with television shows.