2013
Rated PG-13
90 minutes

****

“I hate space.”

So says our protagonist, Ryan Stone (Sandra Bullock) at one of her more perilous moments in a series of harrowing happenings that make up the plot of “Gravity.” I know how she feels – a lifetime of watching movies about the space program has left me with a gripping phobia of that which lies beyond our nurturing, oxygen-rich atmosphere. “Gravity” only fuels my fear. Never have I ever been so relieved to tell myself, “It’s only a movie.”

Alfonso Cuarón’s (“Children of Men”) latest film begins with a couple of terrifying facts about outer space, that all add up to one conclusion: “Life in space is impossible.” We can send highly trained geniuses there in carefully crafted ships and put in place plans B, C and D, but we can’t prepare for everything. Awe-inspiring as it may be, space is also a cold, unsympathetic place. Our mere presence there defies the impossible. We may have been born there, but our mother does not want us back.

While Dr. Stone is screwing in the final bolts of a Hubble telescope repair mission, shuttle commander Matt Kowalski (George Clooney) laps her on a jetpack joy ride, as he lightheartedly attempts to break the space walk record. It’s literally his last day on the job before retirement so his space suit might as well be red. Minutes after he jokes that he has “a bad feeling about this mission,” they receive a panicked order from Houston to hightail it out of there. A shower of rogue debris from a Russian satellite is heading their way at top speed. But hightailing is another thing that’s impossible in space (a fact that frequently contributes to suspense, as the characters are forced to move in slow motion). Impeded by the lack of (titular!) gravity, they barely have time to formulate an escape plan before they realize it’s too late. The debris destroys the shuttle, kills the remaining crew and sends Stone spiraling into space. The camera spirals with her and we experience her extreme disorientation, with no idea when it will stop. Kowalski’s voice still reaches her, but for all she knows, she’s been hurled miles away from him by a chunk of scrap metal.

And that’s just the first scene! Much of it takes place within one literally incredible shot. You can (and should) read about how Cuarón and his special effects supervisor Tim Webber made this space adventure so realistic. It’s no wonder it took four years to complete. For my money, it’s the most majestic marriage of special and practical effects ever shot on film. Normally, I frown upon films that mandate a theatrical 3D screening because it usually points to a flimsy narrative. But the nature of this film practically requires it.

Such as it is, “Gravity” is more than just a film. It’s an experience, a marvel. The objects floating in space are an easy bit of CG, but the actor’s movements are so fluid and realistic, and the surroundings are so seamless and enveloping, that you feel like you’ve come along for the ride. It sells the story hook, line and sinker. I know the “thrill ride” comparison is overused in film reviews, but after the credits roll on “Gravity,” you really do expect to exit the theater into a theme park.

Auteur that he is, Cuarón’s film is more than just a nail-biter. It’s also a thing of beauty. With the aid of his longtime cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki, practically every frame makes for a picturesque still shot. There is also quite a bit of visual symbolism both religious and amniotic. But there’s not much time to take it all in before the next terrible thing happens.

Speaking of religion, there are apparently no atheists in space. Miraculously, whether by accident or design, religious references don’t feel ham-handed. Cuarón and his co-writer/son Jonás deftly leave spirituality to the characters without implying any real contribution to the events at hand. There is some form of iconography on every spacecraft dashboard. Stone addresses her loved ones in the afterlife, but she also admits that she’s afraid to die.

Most of the time, Stone is speaking “in the blind” to Houston, hoping to keep them abreast of the situation and half-heartedly wishing for a rescue mission (a clever way to naturalize expository monologues). Bullock plays the shit out of what’s sure to be an award-winning role. She exudes empathetic emotion. Though you’re never able to forget that you’re watching huge stars drift among the stars, you still desperately want Sandy and George to live, damnit!

The bow on this psychological horror package is the sound design, which keeps non-diegetic music to a minimum. Space, as you may know, is chillingly quiet, so for the most part, the only sounds are heartbeats, breath, and ominously beeping machines. Steven Price’s (“Lord of the Rings”) score is used so sparingly, that it’s a relief when it kicks in. It reminds you to take a breath. It snaps you back to the realization that no matter what happens to Stone and Kowalski, your feet are still on terra firma. Thank God.

Originally published on FilmThreat.com (now defunct).

October 4, 2013
Categories: Filmpinions . Tags: filmthreat . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment

2013
Rated R
109 minutes

****

This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but with a bender.

“The World’s End” is the final installment in Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg’s Cornetto Trilogy that includes “Shaun of the Dead” and “Hot Fuzz.” It’s easily the most British of the three, invoking “Doctor Who” and Douglas Adams into their archetypal genre love letter. In many ways, Edgar Wright is the British Joss Whedon. Along with Pegg and co-star/collaborator Nick Frost, they have an epic cult following amongst the Comic-Con set. Their fans love to compete in Easter Egg hunts, brag about being the first to discover “Spaced” (the TV show that began it all) and work their dialog into their everyday conversation (“Skip to the end”). I’m sure they have casual fans as well, but I can’t speak from personal experience.

Their final act continues the Cornetto tradition of combining emotional truth with a fantastical premise. In this case, it begins with a morality tale about the dangers of letting nostalgia stand in the way of maturity. Gary King (Simon Pegg) hasn’t changed one bit since his “sixth form” graduation (that’s British for “high school”) back in nineteen hundred and ninety. He still sports the same dyed black hair, matching trench coat and Sisters of Mercy t-shirt. He drives the same gremlin of a car and blasts the same Soup Dragons-laden mix from the “tape deck” (that’s old person for “mp3 player”). But despite his youthful exuberance, he harbors one regret: never finishing The Golden Mile – the 12-pub crawl down the main drag of his pocket-sized hometown of Newton Haven.

After regaling his AA meeting with his “best night of my life” tale, he has a breakthrough. He decides that the only way to get back on track is to round up his old mates and recreate that fateful night. Only this time, he will finally make it to the 12th pub: The World’s End.

What Gary doesn’t count on is that the other four members of his gang would grow up in the intervening twenty-odd years. With careers and, in some cases, families, they have put their boozing ways behind them and Gary even further behind. But Gary’s single-minded alcoholic wiles kick in and he manages to round up the whole reluctant lot, including his now teetotaler estranged best friend, Andy (Nick Frost).

If this sounds like a lot of set up, you’re not wrong. It does take a while for the film to come to the point. But that may be because, thanks to the trailer, I knew there was a point to come to. Just as these former mates have just about had it with each other, they are derailed by the discovery that robots have replaced many of their hometown residents. They don’t know what the robots want beyond bathroom brawls, so Gary decides that the best course of action is just to keep calm and carry on until they come up with a better plan. Amazingly, his cohorts agree to this plan, which is either the film’s first plot hole or an extreme example of British politeness.

It’s at this point that the Wrightness kicks into high gear, with the resolution of all the carefully laid foreshadowing, rhythmic editing to a killer soundtrack and plenty of video-game style fight choreography. This is the point at which Cornetto fans begin to soil their knickers. It wasn’t until I meditated on it later that I noticed some cracks in the foundation.

At times, Gary’s antics flirt with Vince Vaughn-level insufferableness. Meanwhile, the members of the posse who aren’t Frost or Pegg all blend together into one bland British man. I know that Martin Freeman is the one with the Bluetooth grafted to his head who used acronyms in place of actual swearing. And that Paddy Considine is the one who fancies the token lady love/female voice of admonishment (Rosamund Pike). And that Eddie Marsan (“Happy-Go-Lucky”) is another guy who is there to tell Gary he’s a prick. But none of these characters are necessary in the grand scheme of things. As per usual, it’s all about the relationship between Pegg and Frost. A pub crawl with only two might look a lot less like a good time and a lot more like alcoholism, but they could have advanced the plot more smoothly without all the extra weight.

Another thing that might hurt its stateside box office performance is it’s aforementioned acute Britishness. The concept of binge drinking doesn’t really exist in the U.K. and all the jokes about pubs being “Starbucked” might not resonate as much with Yanks. It also enters “Hitchhiker’s Guide” territory when it posits that humanity exists, against the odds, through a miraculous combination of hubris and dumb luck.

But for Anglophiles and Cornetto-heads, there is plenty to love from the first sip to “The bitter end… or the lager end.” “The World’s End” is an invitation to the Wright/Pegg/Frost Ewok after-party complete with the smiling ghost of Jedi Douglas Adams. I wouldn’t miss that for the world. Jub jub.

Originally published on FilmThreat.com (now defunct).

August 23, 2013
Categories: Filmpinions . Tags: filmthreat . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment

2013
Rated R
104 minutes

****

“The To Do List” adds to the mounting evidence that ladies are more than just wedding planning balls of emotion. They might actually have both a libido and even interests that go beyond penises. Brandy Clark (Aubrey Plaza) in fact has so many other interests, that she forgot to make time for that crucial pre-college sexual exploration (sexploration) that will ease her into her bowl of wild oats. Writer/director Maggie Carey kills with a fresh take on a familiar premise and continues the loooooong overdue trend of female-driven anti-romantic comedy.

It’s the summer of 1993 and class valedictorian Brandy Clark is preparing for her freshman year at Georgetown. But while she’s compiling her task list, she realizes how woefully behind she is in the sexual arena. Not only is she a virgin, she doesn’t even know the definition of almost everything in the porno top twenty. Remember kids, in 1993 our version of Google was the Encyclopedia Britannica, and they didn’t cover rim jobs.

Brandy solicits the help of her more experienced girlfriends (Alia Shawkat, Sarah Steele) to make a checklist of sexual acts as a precursor to losing her big V to the object of her lust: rock douche Rusty Waters (Scott Porter, “Friday Night Lights”). She burns through the first few items with her former lab partner, Cameron (Johnny Simmons) who harbors a secret crush on her and completely misreads her sudden interest. Thus, Cameron is nicely set up for heartbreak when Brandy expands her sample size to include fellow lifeguards at her summer job. Complicating matters is her degenerate boss with a heart of gold (Bill Hader), who takes an inconvenient interest in her purity and her well-meaning Ditto Head dad (Clark Gregg) who can’t stand to see his baby girl become a woman.

Female perspective aside, what sets “The To Do List” apart from other teen sex comedies is the decade it is set in. The early ’90s has officially become nostalgic, as the carefully chosen clothes, hair-dos, accessories and soundtrack demonstrate. It’s difficult for me to tell how many of those references were meant as punch lines as opposed to set-design because some members of the audience I was with felt compelled to name each one aloud. So I’m going to give Carey the benefit of the doubt on using the period as a humor crutch. Audience aside, this movie still managed to “American Graffiti” me back to my own adolescence and very rarely felt like pandering.

I really have no idea how the majority of film-goers are going to react to “The To Do List,” but for my money, Carey’s debut feature is a rousing success. She got her start writing for failed sitcoms and Funny or Die sketches but she has clearly studied feature-length comedies and runs a tight ship. She never gets hung up on one joke. If a gag doesn’t work, you barely have time to notice before something better comes along. That’s a restraint that other comedy writer/directors (ahem, Apatow) seem incapable of. Carey also makes great use of husband Bill Hader, allowing him to explore his goofiness whilst dropping the occasional emotional spitball.

Aubrey Plaza, best known for her role as the monotone cynic April Ludgate (TVs “Parks and Recreation”), shows her range in the follow-up from last year’s turn in the brilliant “Safety Not Guaranteed.” Plaza is an incredibly gifted physical comedienne. She’s famous for deadpan delivery but she knows how to make the perfect face to accompany her lines and she can take a pratfall like nobody’s business. (Have you tried pratfalling? That shit is not easy.)

Of course, my favorite thing about “The To Do List” is the female perspective. Too long we have settled for either the John Hughes romantic version of adolescence or the horn-ball sex romps like “Porky’s” in which women are nothing more than set pieces and plot devices. Hughes’ female protagonists tend to be doe-eyed idealists who are too hung up on the idea of love to realize that teenage fornication doesn’t have to be heart-wrenching and you don’t have to wait for “the right guy” to get your rocks off. I’m not saying those girls are a myth. But they’re not as prevalent as the movies would have you believe. My group of friends in high school looked a lot more like Brandy’s than, say, Andie Walsh in “Pretty in Pink.”

Brandy is very upfront about her designs on Rusty Waters. He makes a good “First Time” story but she doesn’t want anything more to do with him. Though Brandy doesn’t know much about sex she at least knows that it’s not as big a deal as everyone makes it out to be. It’s nice when you really like the person you’re with, but it can still be a lot of fun even if you don’t. She doesn’t get hung up on whether or not she’s “good enough” or “sexy enough” whilst discovering what she likes and doesn’t like. Her sexual views, uninformed as they may be, are the healthiest of any young female protagonist in recent memory and I would be thrilled if my own daughter one day held a similar outlook. “The To Do List” is not just a hard R sex comedy, but also an important player in film diversification.

Originally published on FilmThreat.com (now defunct).

July 26, 2013
Categories: Filmpinions . Tags: filmthreat . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment

2013
Rated R
117 minutes

****

Before “The Heat,” it didn’t occur to me that there was a female buddy cop movie void or that said void needed filling. It’s not because ladies don’t make good cops but because the formula itself is pretty stale. It turns out that a female buddy cop movie is an awesome idea. While “The Heat” does employ the basic tropes, it also reinvigorates the genre. Mullins’ (Melissa McCarthy) plainclothes cop grittiness isn’t any more credible than Axel Foley’s (Eddie Murphy in “Beverly Hills Cop”) wise-ass ways. But seeing a woman steal the film as effortlessly as Eddie Murphy used to do is absolutely thrilling.

Mullins’ foil and reluctant partner is FBI agent Ashburn (Sandra Bullock), a by-the-book sort who invents a whole new sort of prim frump with her button down shirt and slacks ensembles. She excels at her job but it is at the expense of her likeability. So long has she had to prove herself in her line of work, she has forgotten how to be anything other than competitive. Mullins has a working class Boston upbringing to thank for her tough-talking aggressiveness. This classic odd couple pair is forced to work together to bring down a Beantown drug lord who happens to have a personal vendetta against Mullins’ recently paroled brother (Michael Rapaport).

The flimsy storyline serves as an unapologetic set piece in order to get these two personalities to interact. But you can say the same of every other successful film in the genre. You don’t remember what Danny Glover and Mel Gibson were after in “Lethal Weapon” so much as you remember the wild man and the too-old-for-this-shit dynamic.

It might seem like people are making too big of a deal about the gender of the leads. But when you think about it, why the fuck hasn’t there been a female buddy cop movie before? We’ve accepted that women can be FBI agents and cops, but never together. Even in “The Heat,” the presence of women feels like a novelty and there is something wrong with that.

Neither McCarthy nor Bullock has ever been funnier. Credit is clearly due to the film’s scribe, Katie Dippold, who brings the same balance of witty wackiness and heart that she employs on TV’s “Parks and Recreation.” But you can’t write physical comedy and “The Heat” has that in spades. The hilarious things that Bullock and McCarthy do with their bodies are a sweet reminder that there’s more to the art than just falling down a lot. It requires a careful balance of abandon and precision. McCarthy in particular is an absolute genius at this and Bullock has obviously been taking notes because she’s come a long way from the stumbling-in-heals broadness of “Miss Congeniality.”

Refreshingly, Mullins and Ashburn don’t encounter opposition at every turn. Instead of the angry captain, screaming about field days, they each have very even-tempered bosses who recognize the commitment and value in their troublesome employees but are nonetheless exhausted by their insubordination.

While the script doesn’t steer entirely clear of the romantic element, it never once suggests that either woman needs a boyfriend. The first thing that Mullins and Ashburn bond over is their marriage to the job and the pursuit of justice. Mullins actively rebuffs second dates from her one-night stands and only ridicules Ashburn for her lack of sexual conquest rather than the need for a male counterpart. Everybody needs to get laid once in a while.

The handling of violence is another strong suit in the film, as injuries (apart from a botched tracheotomy) have realistic consequences. Feig presents violence just lightly enough to let everyone move on quickly but graphic enough to make an impression.

Perhaps someday, “The Heat” will prove a mediocre example of a female buddy cop film. But seeing as how it’s the only female buddy cop film, it automatically rules. I’m not super thrilled that we live in a world in which simply changing the gender of a character is considered a radical move, but I am glad that since we do live in that world, someone is taking a chance on it. Baby steps, right?

Originally published on FilmThreat.com (now defunct).

June 28, 2013
Categories: Filmpinions . Tags: filmthreat . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment