We have arrived at the pitcher. I will concede that the work lacks subtlety, yet the drama is intentionally constructed to be blunt, darkly comedic, and somewhat parodic. It is quite fascinating to observe how, when one critiques the pillars of American dramatic literature—think O'Neill or Williams—the subject matter is immediately elevated to the status of an instant classic.
Do you recall those massive Band Aid charity events and similar "all-star" gatherings in the pop and rock world? Those moments when icons like Bono, Sting, Eric Clapton, and Paul McCartney all congregate just to perform a spontaneous jam session of an evergreen classic like Hey Juda. We have seen this dynamic translated to cinema quite often—sometimes in a breezy, lighthearted way reminiscent of the Ocean's series, and other times in a much more somber fashion, typically through adaptations of stage plays. August: Osage County represents the latter category, adapted from a Tracy Letts play that has already established itself as a modern American classic, boasting a cast of the highest caliber. The most recent example of this specific approach was the masterful Carnage by Roman Polanski, which relied on just four characters confined to a single apartment. Here, we are presented with a somewhat weathered old villa in Oklahoma, a dysfunctional family, and several cinematic beats that suggest a seamless transition from the stage to the screen. However, when adapting a play or any significant literary work, it is imperative that everyone involved—the screenwriter, the director, and the actors—possesses a deep understanding of the text and respects its intended tone. August: Osage County falters significantly in this regard. The issue arises when a performer of Meryl Streep's magnitude fails to grasp her character or attempts to fundamentally alter their essence. Violet is conceived as a wicked, cynical, and selfish matriarch, dealing with early stages of dementia but remaining largely lucid and venomous. In the original play, she is portrayed as broken yet provides a comedic spark. The play is a black comedy through and through, even if it occasionally drifts into melodrama. Meryl Streep's interpretation struggles because she attempts to imbue her malice with a sense of humanity and elegy, trying to soften the caricature; unfortunately, this shifts the entire tonal balance of the script. A more forceful director than Wells—perhaps someone like William Friedkin, who has previously tackled Letts's Killer Joe—might have found the strength to restrain the leading lady and steer her toward the correct path. Instead, Wells allows the actress to essentially hijack the film, leaving the rest of the cast to follow her lead as best they can. While they generally manage to hold their own, there are moments where the film loses its momentum entirely. Ultimately, August: Osage County is a decent cinematic experience, though far from perfect. The primary reason to sit through it is the quality of the acting and the fact that the material continues the tradition of classic American drama. You will likely find entertainment in it as well, particularly if these characters remind you of a particularly hellish version of your own family or your spouse's side of the tree. As for me, while the film is solid, I find myself wishing I had simply watched the play instead.
more at: http://film-na-dan.blogspot.com/2014...ge-county.html
Inside Llewyn Davis is simultaneously coherent and confusing, brimming with references that perhaps don't point to anything specific. While it is set in the past and based on a real figure (Van Ronk), it isn't particularly historical or biographical in nature. It adheres to the essence of a Coen film in terms of theme, style, and philosophical outlook—regardless of the era, for every person who succeeds, there are a hundred who fail, and life remains difficult, futile, and absurd, though it can be entertaining or at least amusing to observe. However, the directors eschew the typical Coen irony regarding their characters. They seem to identify with the title character, adding an interesting autobiographical note: talent and hard work are no guarantee of success, evidenced by the fact that they, four-time Oscar winners, had to seek funding across the Atlantic. Yet, much like our protagonist, they neither desire nor solicit any sympathy for themselves. It is a truly peculiar movie. The story takes place in 1961, in New York City, centered around the folk revival scene in Greenwich Village. It captures a sort of transitional period where the Beats were fading out, yet the hippie movement had not yet ascended. The folk scene around Greenwich Village was more of a tight-knit circle than a full-blown industry, and Bob Dylan is nowhere to be seen. Of course, there are folk artists who managed to break through primarily by flirting with the pop scene, but Llewyn Davis is not one of them. Once part of a moderately successful duo, he is left alone on the stage following his partner's suicide, penniless and homeless, left entirely to the mercy of friends, acquaintances, and colleagues. It is clear from the start that the Coens are going to run him through a metaphorical torture machine, as he is the quintessentially atypical-typical Coen loser. Much like Burton Fink, he is an artist whose very existence is under threat, but unlike him, he possesses undeniable talent in his craft. Like Ulysses Everet McGill (Brother Where art Thou), he wanders through a merciless world, but unlike him, he lacks a fixed objective. This isn't an odyssey; it's just drifting. And finally, like Larry Gopnik (A Serious Man), Llewyn is plagued by incredible bad luck, such that "everything he touches turns to shit," as one line suggests. But this isn't due to some cosmic conspiracy or ancestral sin; when things go wrong, Llewyn is largely responsible for his own mess.
more at: http://film-na-dan.blogspot.com/2014...wyn-davis.html
The movie makes it pretty obvious that an FDA official lets him bring products into the country—as long as they’re for "personal use." No big deal, right? Take them, just don't sell them. The real issue starts when they use a membership fee as a cover to distribute unapproved substances.
@Jamie Turner80. The FDA has departments and dozens of officials dedicated to certifying clinics and foreign locations they partner with, and that goes both ways. It’s efficient and saves a ton of time. But obviously, sometimes extra time is needed, and that's where the massive catch is—because a terminal patient doesn't have time to wait. I honestly think the movie manipulates our lack of knowledge about how this process works just to crank up the drama. Or, as Professor Dawkins would put it—wherever evidence and science end, faith takes over (alternative medicine supporters can check out their own beliefs or his documentary "Enemies of Reason").
And then science becomes the bad guy.
One shouldn't overlook the timeframe and the general mindset of the nation back then. Political correctness didn't exist. These were the Reagan years: ultra-conservative and bordering on racist. Research into AIDS was slowed down because the disease was categorized as a "gay disease," and gay people weren't exactly held in high regard. You can find a minor reference to this in the film Philomena, which is British and deals with different matters entirely. (I mention this only because the fact that the treatment of AIDS during the 80s was ethically questionable is considered common knowledge). I am not claiming that "evil corporations are hiding the cure for cancer just to maximize profits," or any similar absurd conspiracy theory. I am simply stating that the medical ethics of a regulatory agency were highly questionable.
Melissa Collins6 said:Calling the FDA hypocritical is a bit of an easy target. I get it—for the sake of movie drama, someone has to be the villain. But attacking official institutions where thousands of actual scientists work, all to favor some alternative guy with zero formal training? That's highly questionable thinking. And pretty dangerous, too.
Even today, alternative clinics for terminal patients thrive in Mexico. You can't blame anyone for fighting for life until the very last second. There are tons of clinics in Tijuana that mostly operate on the so-called "Issels Treatment"—boosting the body's immune system—just like in the movie. Not a single one of these clinics has ever submitted their results for peer review. Mexican authorities often shut them down in cooperation with Americans. Or maybe they shouldn't be shutting them down at all? Maybe we should just let anyone open an alternative clinic wherever they feel like. Who needs regulators? Besides, everyone could just play dumb and claim they aren't treating people, just selling memberships.
I'll drop a link here from another forum where a young scientist and doctor describes what happens when parents decide to trust foreign alternatives while viewing doctors as suspicious types corrupted by a wicked pharmaceutical industry. This kind of oversimplification and borderline conspiracy thinking—where experts are completely dismissed—happens all the time. Since you're bringing up what's dangerous to human lives, maybe you should read this one person's story from a doctor's perspective. Imagine how a future movie might look if the roles were reversed.
You aren't listening to me; I am not advocating for alternatives. Even though hospice centers often yield better outcomes in cancer treatment than aggressive therapies—basically providing patients with opioids and allowing them to say their goodbyes—that process of letting go is often longer and higher quality than a desperate struggle via chemotherapy. Secondly, if I want to experiment on myself, don't tie my hands. As a staunch liberal, I believe it is my fundamental human right to smoke, drink, choose whether to visit a doctor or a healer, or shop for my own medications. As long as it doesn't involve others or imposing my views on anyone else, I should be able to do whatever I want with my own body. Furthermore, by what "divine" logic does the FDA operate when its priority seems to be pushing processed food onto the market rather than foreign medications or vitamin and mineral cocktails? I seriously doubt their ethics are stronger than the influence of lobby groups, and I especially doubt the ethics of the FDA or any government or non-profit organization in America were at a high level back in the 80s. That is why I insist that we are talking about Japanese and French medications and preparations, which are approved in two countries that possess decent healthcare systems, solid educational institutions, and competent regulatory bodies. Why would it be an issue to verify their documentation, conduct additional research, and allow the drugs onto the market? I repeat: these are industrial products from highly developed nations based on scientific methodology, not some cocktail concocted by some backyard doctor in a kitchen.
The discussion centers on the rigorous standards and regulatory frameworks maintained by counterparts to the FDA in countries like France or Japan, contrasted against the benchmarks held by equivalents in nations such as Nigeria or Bangladesh, assuming any comparable oversight exists there. We are essentially examining the caliber of educational institutions, the overall level of technological sophistication, and both the quality and volume of medical research produced. A pharmaceutical drug is the culmination of an incredibly lengthy process, and at every single stage of that journey, exhaustive documentation is required. It is a matter of intellectual integrity to scrutinize this documentation and eliminate any lingering doubts. (I included France, Japan, and Israel merely because they are referenced in the film. While Nigeria and Ghana aren't explicitly mentioned, one must consider how thoroughly their domestic pharmaceutical companies have vetted their products before releasing them to the market.) On the other hand, the FDA is an inherently hypocritical institution. They will undoubtedly approve those foreign supplements eventually, but they’ll remain buried at the very bottom of the priority list, far behind inferior American supplements and processed foods. This happens because major American pharmaceutical and food conglomerates exert massive influence through lobbying and bribery to ensure their own products jump to the front of the line. It isn't merely rude or unfair; it is fundamentally dangerous to human life.
Dallas Buyers Club serves as a quintessential example of an ideal indie production. It is lean, direct, and captured with a gritty, verité-style aesthetic, draped in dark tones yet driven by a noble mission: telling the true story of a man’s heroic struggle against his own demons, a ruthless pandemic, and the noise of a malicious, if not outright corrupt, bureaucracy. On a surface level, this is a biopic about Ron Woodroof and his metamorphosis from a bigoted individual into an AIDS activist fighting for the rights of marginalized groups—prostitutes, addicts, and others—to access dignified medical treatment that the pharmaceutical lobby and the FDA are selfishly withholding. At this level, Dallas Buyers Club is a decent, albeit somewhat manipulative, cliché-ridden film with relatively shallow supporting characters who function merely as stepping stones for the protagonist. The other two dimensions are far more compelling, elevating Dallas Buyers Club to one of the finest cinematic achievements of last year and making it my dark horse pick for the Oscar. First, there is the clinically precise, unvarnished depiction of a recent era defined by human ignorance, phobias, and a slide into various absurd conspiracy theories. Back then in America, the prevailing thought was that HIV was a virus transmitted only by certain subcultures, spreading through malice and specific social groups. Ron, once a mere troublemaker, quickly becomes a victim of the very ignorance he once practiced, eventually emerging as a quiet hero. In this sense, Dallas Buyers Club acts as a valuable cinematic reminder of that shameful period, though it lacks the ambition to step outside its specific narrative to offer a broader sociological survey. Consequently, on a third level, Dallas Buyers Club approaches near-perfection regarding last year's film output, as it exposes the sheer malice and cynicism of American bureaucracy and the stubbornly outdated attitudes toward healthcare, protection, and ethics—where capital interests consistently override human ones. This is illustrated through the battle waged by Ron and Rayon against bought-off doctors, a corrupt FDA, and greedy pharmaceutical giants. It begs the question: how is it that while the financial sector enjoys total deregulation, drugs tested and validated by scientists in Japan, France, or Israel are deemed unreliable and unavailable in the US? Plenty of films touch upon the filth of lobbying lately, but they often do so timidly and on the periphery. Dallas Buyers Club is refreshingly blunt in its commitment, standing firmly on the side of Woodroof and his club. The film depicts a collision between two Americas: one greedy, cynical, and indifferent to long-term damage if short-term profit is on the table, and another disenfranchised, heterogeneous, yet deeply solidary group. The film points to the continuity of this struggle even today, where small but powerful interest groups attempt to undermine what might be a clumsy but absolutely essential health insurance system. This brand of rebellion for the sake of the common good is a cornerstone of the US, and just as vital to the American spirit. The reason this film has captured the public eye lies with its two leads, both of whom are now frontrunners for an Oscar—McConaughey for Best Actor and Leto for Best Supporting Actor. Both men underwent terrifying physical transformations, risking long-term health issues for the sake of their craft, which raises ethical questions about actor exploitation, but also a purely technical debate: in the hunt for awards, what matters more—the acting or the transformation? Here, there is no need for debate or dissection; the transformation and the acting are one and the same, rather than one being a substitute for the other.
more at: http://film-na-dan.blogspot.com/2014...yers-club.html
Yes, quite frankly. I happened upon a list somewhere of relatively fresh and intriguing scripts currently sitting gathering dust in studio drawers... however, it is far more efficient to simply produce a remake, a sequel, a prequel, or perhaps an adaptation of a comic book or some gritty pulp literature. They come with a pre-established fan base already intact.
The FDA functions as the villain here because they essentially serve the interests of Big Pharma, allowing massive corporations to bypass hurdles through aggressive lobbying and systemic corruption to clear a path for their specific drugs. Meanwhile, effective medications developed by independent researchers or smaller institutions in places like Mexico, Japan, or Europe simply don't stand a chance, primarily because they lack the deep pockets required to fund an FDA-level promotional blitz. A similar pattern—albeit on a slightly smaller scale—played out across Europe with those pandemic vaccines; governments weren't necessarily prioritizing the most effective product available, but rather the one that had successfully dominated the market through corporate marketing blitzes.
Being a protected witness isn't exactly a walk in the park, primarily because you are constantly being hunted by incredibly dangerous and highly organized criminals. On the flip side, this lifestyle offers certain perks: government agencies provide you with an apartment, round-the-clock physical and technical security, subsidize some of your lifestyle expenses, and even help set up job opportunities or social circles. The more valuable you are to them, the more they are willing to invest in your survival. Your sole objective is to blend into the background and abandon whatever old habits landed you in this mess. The issue with The Godfather, specifically regarding Manzoni's crew, is that every single one of them is a complete lunatic. It certainly doesn't help that the patriarch has been a gangster his entire life—a third-generation mobster who essentially crushed his own The Family just to save his own skin. The Godfather is a disjointed Film that markets itself as a comedy, though it weaves in elements of gangster cinema and action; it slides erratically from violence to sentimentality and back again, and it makes no effort to hide its heavy reliance on cinematic references. It performs best when operating as a standard farce, proving to be just as entertaining as it is illogical and forgettable. Watching the actors navigate overtly absurd situations is a genuine pleasure, even if both Robert De Niro and Michelle Pfeiffer are essentially revisiting archetypes from their previous roles. There is a particularly engaging scene where Fred guest stars at a local film club meeting, where a mistake in the film library leads to the wrong movie being screened: instead of Minnelli's Some Came Running, they accidentally project the ultimate gangster classic, Goodfellas. It is brilliant to watch Robert De Niro as Fred Blake reacting to Robert De Niro as Jimmy. Although he receives a standing ovation from the audience for his portrayal of a cinematic (and otherwise) gangster, it is painfully obvious that he has completely blown his cover. Luc Besson is arguably one of the most significant and intriguing directorial names on either side of the Atlantic, if only due to his sheer hyperactivity and prolific creative output. He has directed at least two globally significant films: La Femme Nikita (1990) and Leon: The Professional (1994), maintained total control over what was once the most expensive European production, The Fifth Element (1997), wrote over 50 screenplays, and produced upwards of 100 titles. Among these is the Taxi trilogy, which serves as perhaps the most expensive and chaotic advertisement for a commercial product ever made. He effectively transplanted the American B-movie aesthetic into a European setting and founded Europacorp, the first European film mega-corporation operating across multiple continents and diverse cinematic landscapes, including territories like the US (think of a major studio like Paramount). He amassed a fortune with The Transporter series, and with the Taken series, he hit upon a clever new tactic: casting established American actors in European productions to reincarnate the tradition of American B-movies. For one man, this is enough to earn him the status of a cinematic demigod; it wouldn't surprise me if he took a bet and produced an entire film in six days, only to show up at the premiere on the seventh. That brings us to the primary issue with The Godfather: that very hyperactivity, which frequently manifests as superficiality. It hardly matters that such a film would fall apart under analytical dissection, as its strength lies entirely in its potential for entertainment. The problem is that this potential isn't fully realized, as the screenplay feels rushed and moves clumsily from one cliché to the next.
more at: http://film-na-dan.blogspot.com/2013/12/the-family.html
The narratives lack cohesive cohesion, leaving one questioning why these specific individuals and their particular perspectives were selected over any other potential viewpoints. A story centered on the dysfunctional cooperation within the intelligence community and their internal power struggles is a tired trope, already exhausted by countless Hollywood films and political debates. On the other hand, given the specific aspects the filmmakers chose to highlight, the movie would have benefited significantly from an additional thirty minutes to better weave those threads together. Ultimately, I believe the most effective approach would have been to treat each of these angles—and perhaps several others that were overlooked—as individual episodes in a documentary series, as that aligns much more closely with the tone of Parkland. Not to mention that the hospital staff, Zapuder, and Robert Oswald each possess stories compelling enough to warrant a feature film of their own. Review at: http://film-na-dan.blogspot.com/2013/12/parkland.html
When an actor begins relying solely on a single physical attribute for their craft—for instance, leaning heavily on being a conventionally attractive young star, an athlete, a fighter, or a dancer. When an actor becomes typecast, essentially trapping themselves within a specific role or genre, resulting in any attempt at something different feeling entirely underwhelming. Later on, when their career choices inevitably become misses. When they simply lose interest in the art of acting, despite having once been quite competent performers. When they grow stagnant, doing just enough work to secure a paycheck without any real passion. When they begin to overestimate their own range or talent. Conversely, there is the phenomenon where an actor matures as a person and gains self-awareness, causing the quality of their roles to skyrocket even if their screen time diminishes. (I used to think Lucy Liu was merely a walking irritation capable of nothing more than being annoying, yet she absolutely commanded the screen in a brief moment in Detachment, an indie drama far removed from the typical Hollywood machine.) Name me a single actor or actress who has never delivered a single bad performance.
What, is there no discussion left? We spent so much time talking about this film... It’s an intriguing, unconventional piece with an incredible emotional weight, though it does stumble occasionally. The soundtrack is undoubtedly the film's standout feature. Here is my more extensive review:
cosmicharbor49 said:The moment I saw it was labeled as found footage, I was completely turned off. I have an inherent distaste for that whole found footage gimmick.
True, however, this doesn't strictly fall into the found footage category; the stylistic choice is actually justified by the script and lacks the amateurish quality typically found in horror movies.
In a post-9/11 landscape, an attack on a target of such immense profile would be practically impossible due to the sheer density of security protocols and constant vetting. While villains might successfully kidnap a president at some other location, it simply wouldn't carry the same weight. Consequently, the narrative would need to be set no later than the 1990s. This necessitates a careful selection of the antagonist to ensure maximum impact—whether it be Russians, Arabs, Chinese, militants, or perhaps even rogue elements within the military or the CIA; essentially, someone possessing sufficient power or deep ties to the administration. Casting a figure like Butler as the hero could work quite well, but one must be cautious with the supporting cast. They shouldn't be too high-profile, lest they become distracted by their own perceived importance, merely going through the motions of a minor action sequence while waiting for the dramatic role that might actually earn them an Oscar nomination. The action itself doesn't require profound intellectual depth, but a definitive choice must be made: will this be an over-the-top spectacle, or will it remain somewhat restrained to allow the thriller elements to take center stage?