Film: Escape Plan

Director: Mikael Hafstrom
Genre: Action
Source: USA (2013)
Rating: R
Location/Format: Glynn Place Stadium Cinema
Grade: B-

"They don't make 'em like they used to," you lament.

"Why can't I find a movie these days where the men are men and the women (both of them) can only have weird nonsexual chemistry with the clearly unattractive older male figures?

"A movie where MacGuyver does his thing, but in prison.

"A movie where Sylvester Stallone hints at an emotional backstory by trying to contort his leathery meatbag face into more of a frown than normal.

"A movie where Sam Neil slums it and plays the one person who apparently didn't know what kind of job he was signing up for.

"A movie where Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone can both play geniuses.

"A movie where the age old question Just how puffy will Vincent D'Onofrio get? will finally be answered.

"A movie where Jim Caviezel can play a villain busy twirling his mustache so hard he twirls it right off.

"A movie where plot twists obvious from ten minutes in will literally be greeted with the line 'I didn't see that one coming!'

"A movie where the 80s can live and breathe again, if only for a far-too-long 115 minutes.

"Is that too much to ask?"

My friend, have I got a movie for you.

Film: Nightmares in Red, White and Blue

Director: Andrew Monument
Genre: Documentary
Source: USA (2009)
Rating: R
Location/Format: Netflix Instant Watch
Grade: C+

Nightmares in Red, White and Blue does not break any new ground about the meaning or importance of horror films, but it does serve as a nice overview of why the genre continues to speak to viewers today--even (and sometimes particularly) viewers who should have "grown out" of the teenage thrills of the genre (chills, erotic thrills, and blood spills). In fact, director Monument (and creepy-voiced narrator Lance Henriksen) remind us, horror continues to thrive because it reflects, both directly and indirectly, the fears and concerns of its era. Whether it's the bomb, teenage risk-taking, or consumer culture, the best horror films have the power to show us the distorted fun-house mirror of the age in which it's produced.

That's not a new concept, but it does bear repeating, and Nightmares does a good job hitting the high points, while also serving as an overview of the changing face of horror over the years. Yes there is more blood and more nudity (especially in the 80s), but there are other changes as well. What monsters are we afraid of? One interview subject suggests that our fears can always be broken into two kinds: As we're sitting around the campfire, are we afraid of what's out there in the dark, or are we afraid of who might be sitting in our circle? And that sums it up nicely. Is the real source of fear the Other, the Unknown, or is it Ourselves? He who fights monsters, Nietzsche reminds us, should see to it that he himself does not become a monster. Horror films allow us to explore both sides of that equation.

I can't tell if it was the quality of my Netflix connection at the gym where I was watching it or if it was the film itself, but it definitely has a bit of a cheap feel to it. The video quality and text effects looked very "90s computer software" to my eyes, but if the visuals of the documentary aren't very good, there's still plenty of meat to back it up. Interviews with a lot of major forces in the genre--from John Carpenter to George Romero--and clips from a number of really significant films really do elevate the material, so content was solid even if production quality wasn't.

Ultimately, it's a nice intro for someone with an interest in the history of US film horror, and it provides a nice intro to film analysis of this particular genre. Probably worth a look for film or horror aficionados.

Film: Room 237

Director: Rodney Ascher
Genre: Documentary
Source: USA (2013)
Rating: R
Location/Format: Netflix Instant Watch
Grade: B

The "theories" in Room 237 about the real meaning behind Stanley Kubrick's The Shining have been getting all the press, and I understand why. They are fascinating (the structural inconsistencies of the Overlook Hotel), infuriating (no, I do not see a face in the clouds), and utterly ridiculous (The Shining is Kubrick's apology for faking the Apollo moon landing. Evidence? Danny Torrance wears an Apollo 11 sweater). But to get caught up on the plausibility or implausibility of these theories is to completely miss the point. This is not a film about the "true" meaning behind The Shining. It's a film about how we make meaning for ourselves. It's about the act of interpretation, of how we find significance, of how "truth" means something different to each of us, even if there is shared ground. And it's about how sometimes we get lost in the labyrinth of our own heads. 

Director Rodney Ascher sets a few rules for himself early on. First, we never see the theorists, are never allowed to judge them for their crazy hair, or their studious tweed, or their wall of books, or their homemade art. We are only invited to explore their ideas, not their whole being, and it provides a nice distancing technique to help us focus on the message instead of the messenger. Second, nearly all of the visuals come from Kubrick's own films. Part of the unstated question to the film is a) how much control did Kubrick exercise over every aspect of his films (the Internet lore says he is responsible for every stitch and every inch on screen, which means EVERYTHING is purposeful, which means EVERYTHING has meaning. There is no room here for continuity errors, or set designers, or tricks of lighting. Every Kubrick shot means something to these theorists, and so nearly every shot in the film comes from Kubrick). But then Ascher starts pulling a few tricks. Screens from the film (such as the television set in the Overlook or from the Torrance's house) start being occupied with other images, images not from the original film. Is this a commentary on our own ability to insert meaning into films? Is it about our unconscious versus reality? Is it just a clever visual game? Third, Ascher doesn't always tell us who is speaking. Is this voice someone with a crazy theory or someone whose analysis has some weight? Should I put stock into what I'm hearing right now or dismiss it? How am I making meaning--of The Shining, of Room 237, of Kubrick, of Ascher--at this moment?

The result is a maze of ideas, where interesting concepts--the importance of the hedge maze (not in the book), the idea of the Minotaur--bump up against absurdity--that picture of a skiier? That's supposed to be a Minotaur, actually. Just as these critics of Kubrick's film have focused on pieces of the whole to create their theories, so too do we as viewers pick and choose pieces of each speaker's ideas to create our own versions of the truth. Perhaps I question the idea that a German typewriter means the film is about the holocaust, but I can appreciate the way Kubrick's editing can transform a group of people into a pile of suitcases. Perhaps I don't think Kubrick every purposefully intended to have the film run forward and backward at the same time (superimposed over each other), but I do see how doing so reveals some interesting concepts of how Kubrick frames and composes shots and uses the space of the screen. Perhaps I don't think a Calumet can means anything particular, but maybe something else stands out as meaningful to me. 

Ultimately, the film acknowledges that determining Kubrick's "real" meaning is a fool's game, but that the beauty of complex and sophisticated art is that it allows us to be a part of creating meaning, and that, in turn, is what makes the art meaningful. Is The Shining about Native Americans, or genocide, or Apollo conspiracies, or anything that deeply encoded as to be practically invisible? Not to me, and yet I also enjoy the maze of getting lost in interpretation, whether it be literary, religious, or otherwise. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, but sometimes it's not, and sometimes it's something different to you than it is to me. The fascinating part is when we compare our interpretations and come out of the conversation with a third interpretation, different than either you or I had originally, but taking pieces of both. That is the heart of communication.

Like its interpreting voices, Room 237 gets a little lost in itself, but that doesn't mean it's not interesting. What it does mean, I'll leave up to you.

Book: The Natural

I'll admit up front that part of my problem with The Natural is that the movie casts a long shadow. For those who encountered and fell in love with the book first, I can see why the movie would be absolutely infuriating. Major (and I mean MAJOR) differences in both Roy's character and the novel's plot--including a complete 180 on the climax--turn them into wholly different animals with little more than shared DNA: a talented kid, a tragic shooting, an old rookie, a struggling team, a girl named Memo. Reading the novel after my familiarity with the film felt like stepping into an alternate reality.

But credit where credit is due, Malamud's world is as fully fleshed and full of iconography as anything in the film. It just also happens to be a darker, sadder place, full of disappointed heroes and missed opportunities. Roy Hobbes is a harder to character to like here than in the movies. He is both more Godlike in his prowess and more frail in his weaknesses, and thus somehow harder to connect to than a Sandy Koufax pitch. I wanted to like him, but I also wanted him to be better, and that's part of the genius of the story. As the novel progresses, we become like the boy Roy encounters on the final page, pleading "Say it ain't so, Roy," even as we see him stumble and fall to his knees. He may be a natural, Malamud tells us, but he is also fallible, and sometimes we, like Roy, wait too long to make up for past sins.

Is this a Greek myth? A classic tragedy? A biblical allegory? It's all of those things, and it's the story of Shoeless Joe Jackson, and it's a crackling 30s noir, and its about America's fall from grace. It is whip-smart writing, full of the lingo of the baseball diamond and the chalk and dirt of legends. It's good. It really is. It's just . . .

It's just that I love the movie, for all its cheese and schmaltz. Despite the facts that it goes for the syrupy sugar when the novel goes for the jugular. Despite the fact that it's clearly dumbing down the complexity of Malamud's novel. Despite the fact that it doesn't want to question our myth-making so much as codify it. Despite all that, I look back on the movie the same way that Redford and Levinson seem to be looking back on the golden age of baseball itself--with rose colored glasses that somehow seem able to forgive a lot of obvious flaws. It reminds me of being a kid, and of my brother, and of being filled with hope. And it reminds me of the present, and showing it to film students and seeing them jump when Harriet Bird fires that gun, and of getting a little misty-eyed when those lights get blown apart. 

So even if the novel came first, it feels a little like it's kicking at a piece of my personality that is good and optimistic and full of life. So I can respect the book, but at least for now, I can's say I love it. Icons and heroes fall--I know they do--and yet I don't have to love it when they do.

Sorry, Judge, but I still believe in the goodness of man. I can respect the tragedy here. But I can't love it.

Grade: B

Film: Admission

Director: Paul Weitz
Genre: Comedy
Source: USA (2013)
Rating: PG-13
Location/Format: Video On-Demand
Grade: B

Perhaps because I work in a private school and spend a lot of time thinking about (and writing recommends for) college admissions, but I ended up really enjoying this Tina Fey/Paul Rudd romantic comedy. Tina Fey plays uptight pretty well, though she seems a little bit flat as a character, and Paul Rudd specializes in playing guys who are comfortable in their own skin. His characters pretty much always roll with the flow, handle life's challenges with only minor inconvenience, and wear a sardonic smile the whole time. It makes him pretty easy to like, but I also like it when that comfort and assurance is revealed to be only a facade for someone trying to get by just like the rest of us. I think that's what makes him work here. 

The film has a few gimmicks it really doesn't need--when Fey reads applications to Princeton in her role as an admissions counselor, she "sees" the student in front of her pleading their case, and then watches with guilt as many of them are dropped down a trap door due to her (or others') rejection. It's silly and overly complicates the process--we already get that tons of great kids are turned away from college, we don't need to be hit over the head with it. Similarly, the film is just a little too insistent on dealing with themes of parenthood, giving us all kinds of dumb parents who don't realize they're living for themselves and not their children, and not really spending any time on the one set of parents who it implies are doing just the opposite. It's makes the film kind of lopsided, as I would have liked to get to see a few more "types" of parents in the film.

Still, it's not as bad as the reviews indicated. Yes Fey's climactic "choice" is kind of dumb and undercuts some of the film's message, and yes Rudd's "school" seems to be full of perfectly brilliant students doing perfectly amazing things in a way that is just a little too idealized, but there is plenty to enjoy here, and there are some good laughs as well. It may not be eminently memorable, but Chris Weitz already made his memorable movie (also, interestingly, about parents and learning to live for others): it's called About a Boy. That is clearly a better film, but Admission isn't a waste of time. It's just not ground-breaking.

Film: The Shining

Director: Stanley Kubrick
Genre: Drama/ Sci-fi
Source: USA (1980)
Rating: R
Location/Format: Blu-ray
Grade: A-

It's hard to separate a viewing of The Shining from all the talk around The Shining (Stephen King hated it! Kubrick practically tortured Shelley Duvall! It's about the faked moon landing! And so on and so forth!). What's apparent from my second full length viewing of the film is that it is probably not quite as terrifying as you remember (particularly if your wife refuses to watch it at night so you're watching it at 3 in the afternoon), but it is profoundly unsettling in a way that builds over the course of the film thanks to Kubrick's deliberate (as always) pacing. The section titles here speed up (A Month Later, one reads, and then a weekday countdown begins, and then we get the time on the final day) in the same way the film does, with long drawn out shots early on leading to increasing franticness by the film's end. Thus the editing of the film mimics the slow build of Jack's insanity--and the fever pitch it eventually reaches.

As in 2001, Kubrick shows himself again to be a master of sound, as from the opening shots (a leisurely drive through the mountains) the music serves as a horrifying counterpoint to what we actually see, and then eventually matches it by the films end. The horror was there all along, the sound tells us, lurking beneath the surface. We--like Danny and Wendy--were never safe, even when we thought we were.

I think it's fair to say that the film works in large part due to Jack Nicholson. He exudes menace here, and whether it's the weight of his off-screen persona or the numerous "crazies" he's played throughout his career, he always comes off as a man on the verge of cracking up, so much so that it's hard to say where exactly the crack-up began. Was it with the first appearance of the ghost at the bar? Was it when Wendy finally crossed him? Or was it before the film even began, when he dislocated Danny's shoulder? He never seems like a "well" man, and so the slide from one side of sanity to the other is almost invisible--and that makes it all the more terrifying.

I was struck this time through at the comedy of the film--and it is there, though it's a very black comedy to be sure. I found it particularly to be the case with the way Kubrick treats Dick Hallorann.  When Kubrick cuts to Hallorann in Florida, he uses two zooming out shots to show not just Dick on the bed watching tv, but Dick on the bed watching tv in a room dominated by paintings of two nude black women (one of whom as an afro as large as her torso). It struck me as deliberately comic to see Dick--presented as a kind of Wise Black Sage archetype--hanging out under these paintings. And then, with Kubrick's truly dark sense of mirth--we spend ten or twenty minutes watching his slow progress to the Overlook, only to have him dispatched immediately. There's a sense of trickster anarchy to that, because though Dick does provide the hope of safety to Danny and Wendy, he is dropped so soon after his arrival that it's a bit of brilliant irony.

Of course, this film spends a lot of time on movement and journeys--not just Dick's but Danny's movements around the hotel, the twists and turns of the maze, and so on. It is a film obsessed with navigation and space in a way that unsettles us. The steadicam (I assume) shots that follow Danny around the hotel while he rides his Big Wheel are beautiful, but they are also disturbing: we know, at some point, that something bad is going to be around one of those bends. (The sound, as he transitions from wood to carpet, again adds a lot of richness to the scene). I'm not sure exactly why Kubrick wants us to feel these journeys so much. To understand the size and sale of the Overlook is an obvious answer, but I think there's more to it. Perhaps it is about the way we each get lost and disoriented so easily--even when we think we aren't. Just as Wendy thinks Jack's abusive behavior is under control and she thinks she understands where things stand, the reality is that we're never fully on safe ground. In abusive scenarios in particular, but in all of life in general, at any moment we can turn a corner and be confronted by true horror, even in our own homes--where we should feel safest. 

That is what makes The Shining work for me. It's the normalcy-gone-wrong. Jack in the picture? Who is the woman in 237? What about the bear/dog suit man? That might all just be misdirection. The real horror could be lying in bed in the next room--or right next to us.

Film: Chillerama

Director: Adam Green, Joe Lynch, Bear McCreary, Adam Rifkin, Tim Sullivan
Genre: Horror 
Source: USA (2011)
Rating: R
Location/Format: Netflix Instant Watch
Grade: F

Came home sick from work and wanted a "fun" horror movie to put on in the background while I fell asleep on the couch. Netflix recommended this one, and good gravy, it was terrible. A horror anthology centering on the conceit of the last night of a drive-in movie theater, Chillerama turns out to be dumb, unfunny, and a real waste of time. Even the supposedly likable characters are completely obnoxious, and the film wants so hard to be something like Kentucky Fried Movie meets Grindhouse meets horror that it pretty much fails on all fronts. Five directors working together somehow managed to make one of the worst movies I've seen all year.

Not worth your time.