BROMANCE, ROMANCE, SHROMANCE: “This Means War” A Surprising Action Rom Com Flick

Men…go see the rom com This Means War.

You read that correctly, I said "men".

At the moment, I am hard pressed to remember a film that blends romantic comedy and action with such balance and panache; it is as much a “guy film” as it is a “chick flick”.

The premise is the standard romantic triangle: two buddies “FDR” (Chris Pine, Star Trek, Smokin’ Aces) and “Tuck” (Tom Hardy, Star Trek: Nemesis, Inception, Warriors, the forthcoming The Dark Knight Rises) vying for the affections of the same girl (Reese Witherspoon). The twist here is that they happen to be crack field agents in the CIA.

Chris Pine transplants his "Captain Kirk" persona into modern day Earth with the character of “FDR Foster” (with a couple of tongue in cheek references to the iconic character Pine has inherited, including his penchant for “intergalactic relations”). He imbues in his character a confluence of rakish charm of both Kirk and Harrison Ford’s “Han Solo” yet Pine plays it with a bit of guardedness. Hardy’s "Tuck" is the more “sensitive” of the two, but has enough macho swagger to balance it out. And one particular scene he makes a throwaway line given to Pine at the beginning of the climax especially poignant. He is a very talented actor, and it is surprising that someone who could play the sociopath Charles Bronson can juggle a role such as this. In their interactions Pine and Hardy have a wonderful chemistry together. It is easy to believe that these two have been practically brothers when you first meet them on screen. The comedy comes mostly from their knack of comedic timing coupled with their game of macho gamesmanship.  Their affability offsets the inherent discomfort one would get if one were to sit back and ruminate on the tactics they use to sabotage the other and insinuate themselves in their objective’s graces (misuse of government funds and equipment is an understatement here).

As the object of their mutual desire, this film is an interesting choice for Witherspoon. She may have top billing but her story takes a back seat to that of her co-stars. Yet she makes the most of what she has and holds her own. She defaults back to the plucky persona she’s managed to cultivate throughout her career but refreshingly absent this time is the smug self-awareness that tinged it. She is delightfully lacking in self-consciousness and gives the most natural performance she has in quite a while. Her “Lauren Scott” is competent, self-assured, and slightly neurotic, but none of these are played as stereotype. Complementing her performance is Chelsea Handler. While she is not a revelation as Tom Arnold was in “True Lies” so many years ago, her character is surprisingly nuanced. Her trademark delivery is in evidence but her persona is sublimated to suit the performance, which is marked with a surprising down to earth sensitivity. Rosemary Harris has little more than a cameo in her role as Nana Foster, but she brings a lot more spunk than she did to “Aunt May” in the Spider-Man films. It is easy to see where FDR got that aspect of his personality from.  

Sadly, the resolution the love triangle is practically telegraphed in the beginning of the film. If you’ve seen the original Star Wars trilogy then you will know how things will end up. In this case, however, the fun really is in the journey not the destination.

As a director, McG has been blasted for being all flash and having very little, if any, substance. However, with each subsequent outing, his films, while entertaining on the surface, begin to carry with them a little more emotional heft. One important theme in his films (and yes, this includes the “Charlie’s Angels” franchise) is the importance of familial relationships. This film showcases the importance not only of a fulfilling romantic relationship but that of the filial bond as well. As aforementioned, the “bromance” plot line overshadows the romantic one. In showing the agents as adversaries, the audience is treated to exactly why they need each other. They complement each other in a way only real companions can. Yet he also demonstrates why these men would go after the same girl and why she would be torn between the two. Quite possibly, despite the farcical ludicrousness of the proceedings, this may be McG’s most adult/mature film to date.

His pacing of the film is mostly balanced. The quiet moments are almost as gripping as the comedic ones, which come fast and furious and are genuinely funny. Where McG drops the proverbial ball is with his treatment of Til Schweiger as “Heinrich”, the film’s ostensible antagonist in the sense that his scheme of revenge is less than a “C” plot. The audience never feels any sense of jeopardy because his character is hardly present; he is more conspicuous by his absence. By the time he makes his move against the warring agents, it feels like almost a tacked on, deux-ex-machina afterthought. Also egregious having an actress of the caliber of Angela Bassett and give her what amounts to maybe two minutes of screen time as a Starskey and Hutch desk supervisor stereotype; an expositional plot device and little else. It seems as if the only direction he gave her was “do what you did in Green Lantern, but angrier.” The film could have arguably moved along fine without her, which is more indictment of the script than the talents of the pigeonholed Bassett.

This Means War is an almost perfect balance of what Hollywood looks for in its films: a film that will satisfy both genders. As of this writing it is lost in the shuffle of other, bigger budgeted and hyped films and that is to its detriment. Despite its minor flaws, it is a wonderfully executed film that is sure to please both genders and delivers on laughs and action.

BLAZE OF NOT-SO GLORY: While flawed, “Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance” Is Superior To Its Predecessor

When plans were announced to make the Marvel Comics character “Ghost Rider” (created by Gary Freidrich, Mike Ploog and Roy Thomas) into a film, I was skeptical.  When Nicholas Cage was announced to play Johnny Blaze, I became even more so. When the film was finally released in 2007, my skepticism was well justified. What should have been, in hyperbolic parlance, a “balls to the wall”, “in your face”, fire and brimstone actioner, was instead a Disneyesque, watered down version of the story of Blaze, who enters a deal with Mephistopheles to exchange his soul for the life of Blaze’s father. While it made decent box office, it was poorly received by critics.
 

“Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance”, directed by Mark Neveldine and Brian Taylor, is an anomaly in cinema in that it is a stealth-reboot: It stands alone without referencing its predecessor while retaining Cage in the title role. Even if it were a sequel, it would have been that other rarity: the sequel that is superior to the original.

The Ghost Rider is called upon by a warrior named Moreay (Idris Elba, perhaps the most entertaining performance in the entire film) to protect the Gypsy Nadya (Violenta Placido) and her pre-adolescent son Danny (Fergus Riordan) from his father, the Devil himself, Roarke (the character, played by Ciaran Hinds, takes the place of Peter Fonda’s Mephistopheles in this new continuity). “Spirit of Vengeance” succeeds by taking what could have been another entry into the tired “Anti-Christ” genre and making it entertaining by refusing to take itself seriously. Given that tone, one can see why Cage was kept. His bizarre shtick of quirky pauses and ticks, usually a liability in other roles, are perfectly at home in an environment in which the world is through a lens of “Dante’s Inferno” meeting “The Looney Tunes”. It’s a cartoon film come to life, with ham fisted acting (Hinds) juxtaposed against pathos (Placido, Cage in quieter moments). The films also has some pleasant tongue in cheek additions to the cast, like Anthony (Stewart) Head as part of a secret organization called to “watch” over the boy, or Christopher Lambert as a zealot priest priest who is part of an ancient order that resides on holy ground, bringing to bear a curved blade (a scimitar in this case) to behead someone. Johnny Whitworth also brings some menace to his role of Ray Carrigan, who also makes an unfortunate deal with Roarke. The action sequences are, like the film itself, over the top. However it also has that rarity in film, a balance between the heavy and the light. When the film threatens to take itself too seriously, a bit of often perverse levity is thrown in.  This time allowed to play the character in full, Cage brings a smart ass dimension to the character of Ghost Rider himself, his very stance a giant “F*** you” to those he is about to punish (a scene that had been shown in the teaser trailer is expounded on for a couple seconds more in the film, and it defines the character beautifully).  Interestingly, a couple of times writing this review I have written Johnny “Cage” instead of “Blaze”; not due to any love of Mortal Kombat but because I get the impression that Cage is essentially playing his quintessential cinematic self – the same type of character he played in the more experimental, quirky phase of his early career. In one sense, he seems to be sleepwalking through his role. On the other, this persona is exactly what the character needs. Cage is Blaze, and vice versa.

The direction was somewhat disjointed, as though two different films were made and mashed together into one piece. There are times, especially in the first half hour, where the shaky cam effect is overused to the point of dizziness; even in scenes wherein the characters are standing still. Further, a couple of moments go on a lot longer than they should (the sequence initially establishing Ghost Rider’s powers is especially egregious) while others are at least somewhat entertaining (Blaze’s transformation into the Rider mid-ride as an example). By the last third of the film, the direction becomes more tight and focused, leading to a very resounding, though made for TV movie or cable, climax.

“Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance” is not going to make anyone forget the upcoming super-hero releases of 2012. However, it is a film that provides an entertaining hour and a half-plus and more than makes up for the deficiencies of the film that preceded it. The film may not blaze across the box office, but it will light your fire.

HALF-MAST...OR HALF THOUGHT OUT?

The late Whitney Houston was afforded the dubious honor of having the American flag flown at half-mast for her funeral today.

There is no doubt that Whitney Houston was a singular talent. She could sing like nobody's business. Her voice was equal parts sweetness and sass, powerful yet melodic; an acoustical Olivier in terms of artistic delivery and nuance and the ease which she presented both. Her beauty was, for a time, exotic and almost incomparable; her poise and grace on stage belied her modest New Jersey upbringing. But for all her artistic achievements, for all her celebrity, Ms. Houston was one of us; a flawed human being.

What demons drove her to addiction to drugs, alcohol and by all accounts abusive marital relationship we, the public, may never know. But suffice it to say that this is a story that has been seen before in public bas relief: Judy Garland, Natalie Wood, James Dean, John Belushi, Elizabeth Taylor, Jim Morrison, Elvis Presley, Michael Jackson...The true nature of her death is, as of this writing, unknown other than presumed drowning. Yet it is no secret that prescription drugs were found in her hotel room and with such sparse evidence, the collective court of the Internet has espoused its belief that drugs and/or alcohol were directly or indirectly involved.

It is a sad occasion for those lives across the globe her voice touch, but nowhere near the devastating despair that must be touching her immediate family and friends. That loss is immeasurable. We are left with the gift of her recordings and one last star turn in the forthcoming film "Sparkle".

As to why it is a "dubious honor"... are all these achievements and considerations worth having the flags at half-mast?

According to the requisite codes regarding flag etiquette, New Jersey Governor Chris Christie was wrong to order flags across his state. Section 7(m) of the Flag Code states, in pertinent part:

By order of the President, the flag shall be flown at half-staff upon the death of principal figures of the United States Government and the Governor of a State, territory, or possession, as a mark of respect to their memory. In the event of the death of other officials or foreign dignitaries, the flag is to be displayed at half-staff according to Presidential instructions or orders, or in accordance with recognized customs or practices not inconsistent with law. In the event of the death of a present or former official of the government of any State, territory, or possession of the United States, or the death of a member of the Armed Forces from any State, territory, or possession who dies while serving on active duty, the Governor of that State, territory, or possession may proclaim that the National flag shall be flown at half-staff, and the same authority is provided to the Mayor of the District of Columbia with respect to present or former officials of the District of Columbia and members of the Armed Forces from the District of Columbia... The flag shall be flown at half-staff 30 days from the death of the President or a former President; 10 days from the day of death of the Vice President, the Chief Justice or a retired Chief Justice of the United States, or the Speaker of the House of Representatives; from the day of death until interment of an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court, a Secretary of an executive or military department, a former Vice President, or the Governor of a State, territory, or possession; and on the day of death and the following day for a Member of Congress.

Nowhere are provisions made for celebrities, nor provisions for the Governor of any state to do so. Whitney Houston was neither a politician nor served in the armed forces. Similarly, Steve Jobs, another civilian, was accorded the same courtesy...also against the national flag code regulations. Whereas in the last ten plus years, thousands upon thousands of servicemen and women in our armed forces have died daily, without media coverage or a half-mast flag signifying their sacrifice. They are, at least in the collective popular mind, our modern unknown soldiers.

Yet, again, one cannot discount Jobs' contribution to our way of life with the technological revolutions he spearheaded, nor can we obviate Ms. Houston's artistic contributions to the pop culture landscape. Sure, she profited by those contributions but it can be argued that they did not give her complete solace of spirit. However, her music allowed people to forget their problems at least for a moment. Her voice had been heard in proms, weddings, dance clubs, movies...and at even just "one moment in time", her voice and by extension her "soul", touched the heart.

Whether Governor Christie's gesture was heartfelt or a political move is unknown but immaterial. Legally, it was wrong and to many a slap in the face in terms of what that gesture represents. But humanly, after a day of rumination, I've come to consider it a gesture acknowledging the fundamental human experience. She was a mythical Siren made flesh, but that god-like gift did not extend to her being. She struggled like the rest of us. It is an acknowledgement that even the seemingly best of us can fail. It is also an acknowledgement that her gift touched us, made us smile. Does it make it any less egregious? In our culture, where celebrity can be gotten with the release of an infamous sex video, absolutely not. But if we choose to "honor" those people then there are certainly other ways of doing it (such as the blue lighting of The Empire State Building upon the passing of "Old Blue Eyes" Frank Sinatra, as Americans an entertainment institution can be but still not accorded a half-mast flag).

Regular readers of my blog will recall my encounter with "John", a World War II veteran who regaled me on a Saturday morning with stories of his service and the personal sacrifices made in the line of duty and afterwards. In the coming years, he will pass on. His story closed, his sacrifices but to a select few, unremembered. It is highly doubtful that flags will be lowered to half-mast for him.

Yes, Whitney Houston's death is a tragedy.  Any loss of life, whether that of prince or pauper, is a diminishment.  But reserve the half-mast gesture for those who the provisions were made for; those multitudes that, sadly, have earned but will not receive that acknowledgement.

The Man With The Satisfied Smile – “The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo” Is A Disturbing Must See.

[There be slight spoilers – you have been warned]

Without equivocation, David Fincher is a bad ass director. This is said not so much due to his directorial style but rather his ability to take on controversial, even disturbing, subject matter yet still make it palatably acceptable to the general movie going public; even making heroes out of individuals who under normal societal conceits would be considered “deplorable”. Despite the anarchist nature of Fight Club’s “Tyler Durdan” or the anti-socialism of The Social Network’s “Mark Zuckerberg”, Fincher makes them characters that one can, if not root for, at least understand. He performs the same feat here in The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, a remake of the foreign film starring Noomi Rapace, both based upon the novel by Steig Larsson (adapted for screen by Steven Zaillian). Lisbeth Salander (Rooney Mara in an arresting performance) is an insane ward of the state. She is also a more than capable investigative hacker. She is also a cypher, brusque beyond rudeness and vicious when called for, and in this film it is more than called for.

But then, in a film laden with misogynistic overtones such as this, such a heroine is demanded, since the plot itself hinges on the investigation conducted by disgraced reporter Mikael Blomkvist (Daniel Craig) to solve the of the murder of one Harriet Vanger (Moa Garpendal) at the behest of Vanger patriarch and industrialist Hanrik (Christopher Plummer at his most ingratiating). Set in the dead of a Swedish winter, the story itself is as bleak in tone as the stark, gray weather represents.  The film is replete with situations and imagery in which various women are brutalized, humiliated, and demeaned and it is most epitomized in Salander who suffers indignities of her own. However, she also exemplifies the reclamation of women taking back their lives form the hands of their oppressors (a few scenes had women in the theater I attended cheering and a couple of men squirming in their seats). This is a delicate balancing act that Fincher is able to manage almost effortlessly, aided by Mara’s star making, layered performance. The actress has a balancing act of her own.  Physically waif-ish and pale, her physicality belies the steel at her character’s core (symbolized by her character’s piercings and tattoos). However, Mara also manages to imbue an innate vulnerability to the character, a girl who wants to know love in a world she cannot accept and refuses to accept her. Fincher uses her judiciously. When she is not on the screen, her absence is decidedly felt. When she is, the events crackle. She and Fincher bring to light the more disturbing aspects of the film, putting them in bas relief so that the viewer has no choice but to confront some of the baser desires of a misogynistic nature, but by the same token showing that such things need not be accepted.

However, the film has a top billed star in the form of Daniel Craig. While he does not quite take a back seat to Mara, this is one film that is not completely on his shoulders. In fact, it is an “reverse-Bond” film (despite a) the rather Goldfinger-esque nature of the opening credits and; b) that the film contains a former “Bond” villain in the form of Steven Berkoff and one of Craig’s rival for the “Bond” role, Goran Visnjic), as it is the woman who has all the gadgets, is highly promiscuous, and saves the day. Craig, as a reporter who is disgraced due to publishing an inaccurate expose of industrialist Wennerstrom (Ulf Friberg), brings a different sort of edge to Blomkvist, one that comes from a place of helplessness. The reactive Blomkvist is a far cry from Craig’s more proactive Bond;  the juxtaposition of which, whether intended or not by Fincher in the casting, makes the performance more effective. When the character is in dire straits, it is much more compelling in spite of Craig’s association with the iconic super-spy. Legend has it that part of the reason that George Miller’s The Aviator (1985) failed because Christopher Reeve’s association with “Superman” was so ingrained that audiences could not accept him as a pilot who could not fly out of his predicament. Craig manages to transcend that particular tightrope here, effectively sublimating his usual on-screen tough guy persona to marvelous effect.

They are supported by a wonderful supporting cast, most notably in the performances of Plummer, Stellan Skarsgard, Robin Wright, Steven Berkoff and Yorick van Wageningen. Each character has a moment to shine and all of them deliver.

The film is a taut, suspenseful thriller though not without its slow spots, especially in the first twenty minutes or so; something that should be expected given that the source material is over 500 pages long. However, it is necessary to fully establish what the two main characters are about, what motivates them, what separates them, and what ultimately brings them together. The best part is that it is the characterization and the pace that engenders the suspense. What little there is by way of gunfire and explosions are almost an afterthought and never seemed tacked on for their own sake. The performances and the direction are all that are required to hold the audience’s attention. In fact, is some cases the usual Hollywood violence tropes almost seem as intrusive to the proceedings.

The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo has generated a lot of buzz both within and outside of the industry prior to its release, making it a film with high expectations. The film meets them and more. If you wish to have your sensibilities challenged this holiday season, then this is the film to see.

Get A Clue: Seeing "Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows" is...Academic***

In life, there are rarities. Among them are blue moons, dolphin sightings, Courtney Love in sobriety and, most specifically, a sequel that surpasses the original. Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows definitely falls into that latter trend. While a direct sequel from the events of the first Holmes, this is a stand alone outing; the story "assumes" that the audience is familiar with the players, saving introductions only for the new additions such as Holmes' more intelligent (by his own admission) brother Mycroft (played with great deadpan, cheeky delight by Stephen Fry) and the finally revealed Professor James Moriarty (a decidedly Machiavellian Jared Harris). A rule of thumb in great drama is "start small...and build". In comparison to this new outing, the sophomore Sherlock Holmes was the small start. For returning director Guy Ritchie does in a few minutes of prologue what most directors need almost a half hour to accomplish: he changes the stakes of the game by commencing the film in a controversial fashion which will not only undoubtedly enrage Holmsian/Conan Doyle purists, but also establishes the credibility of the villain.

And build it does: Sherlock (Robert Downey, Jr.) is more "on" than ever, his countenance that of a person who has taken mass quantities of cocaine to cram for a final exam (given the shared historical predilection between the literary Holmes and the living Downy, Jr. for this particular drug, an apt metaphor), his mania focused on outwitting and outmaneuvering his arch nemesis. His faithful companion, Dr. John Watson (Jude Law) is more determined than ever to marry his beloved Mary (Kelly Reilly) despite Holmes efforts to thwart same. The explosions are bigger, the action is more frenetically intense and, in another rarity in most actioners of recent memory, the suspense is excruciating. The literary Holmes was fond of string instruments, and Ritchie's tight direction plays the events, and the audience, like a Stradivarius, choosing the right amount of storytelling beats to ratchet up the drama. He is one of the few directors who utilizes the current conceit of slow motion to pulse-pounding, nail-biting effect. He deftly manages all of this while keeping the film going at a brisk clip, accompanied by the ambitious score by Hans Zimmer, who in music mirrors the changing, bi-polar moods of the story, relying on heavy use of percussion to showcase the movie's darker undertones. However, Zimmer never loses sight of the whimsical motif he established for the titular character.

The teleplay (written by Michelle and Kieren Mulroney loosely based on the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle) is, for the most part, solid. While it does take the time to explain a couple of clues through exposition, most of the clues are visually explained and left for the audience to extrapolate to avoid slowing down the action or muting the tension. In short, it's yet another rarity: the intelligent actioner.

The performances which carry the film are sublime and highlight a key subtext: Relationships. Downey Jr.'s Holmes' is a study of contrasts: cerebral yet physically centered (and capable), manic yet pensive, superficial yet deep, irreverent yet soulful.  The beauty of the performance is how easy he makes such a juggling act look. His chemistry with Jude Law is akin to that of Tony Randall and Jack Klugman's in the television version of Neil Simon's The Odd Couple, bringing the complexity of that relationship to beautiful realization. Their performance and banter alone is worth the price of admission. The true problem with Watson's marriage to Mary is that he's already been married to Holmes for years; they play "The Bickersons" with panache and aplomb. 

Of course, the other key relationship is that between the adversaries.  While on the surface their battle is one of wits, it is also a battle between morality and amorality. Harris plays Moriarty as sociopathic chessmaster; one who only shows emotion when he is outmaneuvered. On the flip side, Holmes shows particular resolve when the life of his "bromantic" partner Watson is endangered. Downey Jr. and Harris crackle in their exchanges. One can actually believe that each seeks to destroy the other despite the genteel assertions of respect for the other's intellectual prowess. He tests Holmes on every level (intellectually, physically and even emotionally) so that by the time the have their "final" confrontation, it is climatic, riveting, and uncertain. 

Unfortunately, the film is not without its drawbacks. Rachel Adams' Irene Adler, who plays a very important part in terms of story development, has too little screen time; as does Reilly as Mary Watson. Unfortunately, Noomie Rapace as Romany fortune teller Simza Heron does little to fill the void.  Her character is a blank slate who propels the action forward by story design only and barely elicits audience engagement. There are some instances where deux ex machinas are incorporated, the lead-up to the "The Final Solution's" climax is a tad obvious (admittedly, only for those familiar with the original Holmes stories), and its run time may be a bit long. However, when it seems the film's tone of suspenseful foreboding threaten to overwhelm the proceedings, Ritchie performs a tonal sleight of hand and brings his humorous sensibilities to bear; as in his established Holmes/Watson banter and a little tongue in cheek homage to the Clint Eastwood/Shirley MacLaine classic Two Mules for Sister Sara, for example. It's a bait and switch that works.

Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows is really is a rare feat. It is an intelligent actioner that does not talk down nor bog down its audience. Furthermore, it's also one of those rare films that justifies multiple viewings.  Ultimately, it's one of the most fun movie going experiences this year, a thrill ride that should be partaken of posthaste. What are you waiting for? The game's afoot!

  

 *** (What, did you think I was going to say "Elementary?" :-P)

300 LIGHT OR SUPERMAN SCREEN TEST? IMMORTALS Visually Stunning Though Dramatically Generic (Minor Spoilers)

To say Sin City and 300 were visual game changers in film would be a major understatement. Their CGI was specifically tailored to reflect the films' comic book (yes, "comic book", not "graphic novel") origins, giving them an otherworldly feel that is somewhat divorced from reality. Film is an escapist medium and that pioneering CGI did much to reinforce that state of unreality.  Immortals, directed by Tarsem Singh (The Cell), follows that trend.  It is visually stunning and perhaps one of the better representations of motion art in recent memory. Many scenes are shot as though they were paintings come to life.  Rich tones of luminescent gold and vibrant crimson red dominate the film, with darkest marble and dark blue hues supplied in contrast, especially to show the difference between the divine (the Greek Gods) and the secular (humanity). However, this approach works both for and against the film. Instead of a war of gods, we are presented with a superhero comic book film dressed in mythological attire. 

Evil Hyperion (a somewhat out of place Mickey Rourke), a ruler with a grudge against the Green Pantheon, seeks the Epirus Bow, a mythical weapon powerful enough to free their nemesi the Titans from the bowels of Mount Tartarus in order to bring about the Gods' destruction. The Gods are forbidden to interfere (though it is never explained why) unless and until the Titans are freed, so Zeus (Luke Evans), in mortal guise (John Hurt, doing his best Obi-Wan impression), prepares Theseus (Henry Cavill) to lead the world of men for the upcoming battle. With the aid of virgin Oracle Phaedra (Freida Pinto) and thief Starvos (Stephen Dorff), Theseus races to obtain the bow before Hyperion.

The film moves along at a furious pace with little by way of dead spots or unnecessary exposition. While this makes for flowing narrative it unfortunately sacrifices character development. Any emotional attachment seems cursory, the closest semblance to same comes in Theseus relationship with his mother (Anne-Day Jones), but it is in short supply. Even the requisite love scene between Theseus and Phaedra comes off as perfunctory. The score by Trevor Morris helps move the story along but the only thing it seems to inspire is foreboding, even in the quiet scenes. However, it is virtually indistinguishable from any other generic score, almost sounding like a Tyler Bates riff.

But then, this isn't an Ivory Merchant film production. What it sacrifices in emotional heft it makes up for in stunning visuals, combining CGI and actual set pieces. I've often said that slow motion bullet time is overused and overrated as a device, but at least here Singh uses it creatively by juxtaposing the fighting styles of the Gods/Titans with those of the human forces. The mortal fight scenes are gritty brutality whereas the Gods/Titans battles are stylized, CGI ballets. Kudos go to the fight choreographer as well as the sound master. The viewer is made to feel every blow viscerally with or without 3D (the version I saw was without) and there are very few films in recent memory that invoke that response.

Unfortunately, the Gods give us no reason to root for their survival. The Greek Pantheon were never presented as saints in literature so arguably they run true to form here. And according to Hyperion's  backstory he is justified in his actions against them to a degree. Perhaps if Singh had chosen to make the Gods more sympathetic by explaining why their proverbial hands were tied in human matters or at least show remorse for their inability to prevent tragedies the story would be more satisfying. However, it is a missed opportunity. If it weren't for the fact that Hyperion is a thoroughly unlikable character, they sympathies could have gone either way.  Also, it doesn't help that the entire Panthenon (and the majority of humanity in the film for that matter) look as though they've just come out of a session at LA Fitness or Bally's. Yes, they are Gods and the humans live in a brutal landscape that would engender various degrees of fitness. Yes, if one was Immortal and had the power to do so their desire for physical perfection would be a foregone conclusion.  Oddly, the actors do not project that feeling. They don't have the comfortable ease or ambivilance at their physical perfection. Instead, they strut and pose; especially the Gods, who don't quite carry of the fantastical garments that adorn them (Poseidon's "Princess Leia" helmet being the most humorously egregious).

Currently, Cavill is "Clark Kent/Superman" in the currently shooting Superman: The Man of Steel which is set for release in 2013. While it may be a tad inappropriate, it cannot be helped to consider Immortals as a hint of what Cavill will bring to the role. With his square jaw and being clad in a cloak worn in similar fashion as the Man of Steel, Cavill brings an old fashioned heroic earnestness to his portrayal. However, given the subject matter there is very little in the way of humor to his performance. He shows promise, but at times his performance here is one note rage; something which may be attributed to the direction. A speech that should have been rousing falls somewhat short, for example. Cavill tries with the material at hand but is inconsistent in terms of his success.

As Hyperion, Mickey Rourke seems lost half the time while on the other half he is appropriately menacing. But on the whole he seems bored with the whole thing. There is no real character here; just Rourke doing his patented tough guy shtick transplanted in a mythological setting. The only time he truly comes alive is when he is engaged with Theseus. He may be there for just for the paycheck, but when it really matters he delivers the goods and earns every penny.

In the end, Immortals is pretty to look at but it takes itself way too seriously. Even the recent remake of Clash of the Titans had moments of humor to offset what passed for the drama. If you're into a celebration of carnage with copious amounts of throat slitting and blood letting in better than technicolor, then this movie should satisfy. In terms of gripping drama and character development, you might be better off waiting for The Muppets.

SCHIZOPHRENE - "J. Edgar" Cannot Decide What It Wants To Be

"Schizophrenia", as defined by the Merrian-Webster dictionary:

(1) a psychotic disorder characterized by loss of contact with the environment, by noticeable deterioration in the level of functioning in everyday life, and by disintegration of personality expressed as disorder of feeling, thought (as delusions), perception (as hallucinations), and behavior; (2) contradictory or antagonistic qualities or attitudes.

"Paranoid Schizophrenia" as described from the same source:

(1) schizophrenia characterized especially by persecutory or grandiose delusions or hallucinations or by delusional jealousy.

These definitions, figuratively, literally and meta-textually,  describe "J. Edgar", written by Dustin Lance Black and directed by Clint Eastwood. The story centers on the life of FBI founder J. Edgar Hoover (Leonardo DiCaprio) in non-linear fashion, jumping between time periods showcasing the most important moments of his life as well as his relationships with his mother Annie Hoover (Dame Judi Dench), lifelong secretary Helen Gandy (an almost unrecognizable Naomi Watts) and second in command/lifelong companion Clyde Tolson (Arnie Hammer).

Now, it would be kinder, perhaps more "PC" to state that the the overriding theme of the piece is duality, inherently epitomized by the eponymous character. After all, here was a man who, according to reports,  believed in the Machiavellian ethos of "the ends justifying the means", often circumventing the laws he was sworn to protect in order to safeguard the country. He was a fastidious man who wanted the adulation of the people even when he was quick to suspect them of treachery. He tried to project heroic masculinity even as he hung back and had other agents do the grunt work, all the while waging an internal war within himself regarding his sexuality. As Hoover, DiCaprio walks a difficult tightrope between empathy and loathing in the viewer. Nevertheless, he portrays the FBI powerhouse with single minded, dogged devotion to his profession. DiCaprio's Hoover is genuine, despite his boundless vindictiveness.  A crusader in youth, a Gollumesque power monger in old age, DiCaprio's Hoover is a study of contrasts.

But then, so is this movie.  For a film about one of the most powerful voyeurs this country has ever had, this celluloid treatise seems oddly cursory. The film examines Hoover's life but offers no judgments nor conclusions.  It offers hints at the origins of aspects of Hoover's life that have become legend. However, it does not delve too deeply into it's more controversial aspects. For example, it does postulate a reason for Hoover's penchant for cross dressing, but leaves it there. While implication is a powerful storytelling tool, here it seems almost cloying; as if shying away from controversy.

The film implies that Hoover saw the world in black and white, and Eastwood films it as such. Even scenes set in broad daylight are presented with muted, even graying, colors; a panorama of monotone that makes up the film's general feeling. Some scenes are filmed with a documentary graininess while others with a muted clarity, as if to emphasize the docudramatic nature of the piece. Unfortunately, there is little drama to be had. The time jumping structure actually undermines moments that could have heightened actual drama, such as a physical altercation between Hoover and Tolson. As prior scenes have established the bond between the two characters is life long, the confrontation looses any dramatic heft it could have had. While their relationship is a matter of historical fact, much of the movie going public may not be aware of it. Thus, a key dramatic moment is lost; one among many in this movie. Eastwood's direction is serviceable.  The film as a narrative whole is, in a word, flat.

This is not to say that the film does not have power. The power lies in the performances. As Annie Hoover, Dench makes MI-6's "M" look like a kindly den mother. Her portrayal makes it understood how Hoover could be construed to be a "mama's boy". Hers is also a performance of duality: Her diminutive stature belies the cold steel she is. Her delivery as to why a childhood acquaintance of J. Edgar's was called "Daffy" is among the most chilling expressions of racist homophobia ever filmed due to its cold, matter-of-fact banality.

Naomi Harris' Helen Gandy is a cypher. Early on in the film as they engage in a first date, Gandy tells Hoover that she is loyal to her profession, and the film affirms that statement. However, there always seems to be something going on in Gandy's eyes, a hint that her devotion to Hoover is beyond the professional despite it being presented as totally platonic. 

Arnie Hammer is an actor to watch. Currently best known for his performances as the Winklevoss twins in "The Social Network" and soon to mask up in Disney's adaptation of "The Lone Ranger" alongside Johnny Depp's "Tonto", Hammer gives the film an emotional anchor. His Tolson is cocky, closeted charm with leading man good looks and a ready charismatic smile, yet he infuses it with the sense that he really does care for Hoover, in both the professional and personal sense. Despite the arguably horrendous aging make up (though arguably my reaction to the make up may be due to the dramatic difference between the character as represented in two stages of life), it is when he plays the older Tolson that Hammer truly shines.  He takes risks with the character, expressing a dignified vulnerability with minimal effort. So good is his performance that the audience feels his pain even as he attempts to mask it, to the point that one moviegoer at the screening I attended yelled an obscenity to Hoover on Tolson's behalf. DiCaprio and Hammer's chemistry, despite dangerously teetering into octogenarian caricature at times, is so spot on believable it draws one in.

This series of acting vignettes fine in an anthology film. However, these parts do not make "J. Edgar" a cohesively satisfying whole.  It's a weird instance where the multiplication leads to a quotient.  "J. Edgar" does not know what it wants to be. Like the film itself, I am torn. It is likable but not engaging. It somehow sterilizes a subject matter that should be rife with intrigue and titillation.  Its a film that seems to go far longer than it should but gives the audience very little to ruminate on. As engaging as it is at times, "J. Edgar" as a film is as clinical a dissertation as a cold case file and just as unsatisfying.