Grade: A

I know, I know, I’m late on this. ‘The End of the Tour’ opened at the Varsity in early September. No one saw it in theaters. It grossed under $3million in total and was only shown on 355 screens across North America. It was released on Blu-Ray/DVD this past Tuesday and is now downloadable on iTunes – you owe it to yourself to see this movie. ‘The End of the Tour’ is one of the best films of 2015.

The plot has an understated simplicity reminiscent to ‘My Dinner with Andre’ from 1981. ‘The End of the Tour’ chronicles the 5-day interview between Rolling Stone reporter David Lipsky (Jesse Eisenberg) and acclaimed novelist David Foster Wallace (Jason Segel) during the final leg of a multi-city book tour for his 1,079-page bestseller ‘Infinite Jest’ in 1996.  I’ve never read ‘Infinite Jest’; during my most recent visit to Indigo, I picked up this 3-lbs book and was already intimidated by it. The cover looks fabulous, so I trust the book is as well. Over those five days, Lipsky and Wallace eat junk food, down soda, smoke cigarettes, talk…and talk….and talk – the film’s pleasures are largely vernacular.

Roger Ebert once said “Every great film should seem new every time you see it”. ‘The End of the Tour’ has significant re-watch value. On first viewing, you might watch it from Lipsky’s angle – from the point of view of a guy who is interviewing a celebrity writer, a writer who has reached a level of success that Lipsky has not yet achieved; Lipsky looks up to him, but is also extremely envious of him, which can make things challenging when everything is on the record. On second viewing, you can see it from David Foster Wallace’s angle – a writer who is clearly able to have a friendly connection with another writer but is unable to connect on a personal level because he can’t trust the man with the tape recorder. These are men with competing, contradictory impulses: being torn between dispirited seclusion and an eagerness for connection, exploring the channels of publicity and being weary about the insincerity of it all.

‘The End of the Tour’ isn’t going to be for everyone. If you are looking for a towering cradle-to-the-grave story, I don’t think this going to deliver what you want. That movie might get made someday, but with the movie we have today, director James Ponsoldt wisely focuses on a crucial period in Wallace’s career. The window may not be sufficient enough to understand the man, his work, or his metaphysics. What it is, however, is a scintillating commentary on the moral quagmire our celebrity-obsessed society anchors on the gifted and the undistinguished alike. These are two men at different junctures of professional success within the same field. One wants to be the other. The other wants something else. The movie’s insights into professional jealousy, public perception, and the fragile connection between writers obliterate the sort of reservations I typically have with biopics.

A friend informed me that the screenplay was structured around the published transcripts of those tape-recorded conversations. That explains why the accelerated repartee between these two feel lived-in and organic as opposed to a product of screenplay workshopping. This is a marvelous screenplay, one that acknowledges the uncomfortable silences that punctuates these conversations. There is warmth, humor, and a curiosity about human nature. It made me wonder how Wallace would have responded to it; the conversations engage the mind, but there is also an emotional honesty within it. Wallace and Lipsky can have weighty conversations about what it all means, and moments later can turn off their brains to enjoy John Woo’s cheesy actioner ‘Broken Arrow’.

I’m not sure the Motion Picture Academy is going to recognize Jason Segel’s outstanding work in ‘The End of the Tour’, but they really should. You forget you’re watching Segel – his portrayal, regardless of whether it captures the true Wallace or not, is touching and sensitive – you hang on to his every word. We get a glimpse of Wallace’s neurotic behavior – his outburst at Lipsky, and his addiction to television. But he is also funny, and thoughtful. And Eisenberg, who has played everyone from a dorky park attendant to an a-hole genius tyrant, nearly equals Segel. I can’t imagine anyone else in these roles.

Though the movie opens in 2008 as Lipsky hears of Wallace’s death before going back a dozen years, the movie isn’t interested in doomful foreshadowing. There is no attempt to explain why Wallace killed himself, or define the less appealing aspects of his persona. “You don’t crack open a 1,000-page book because you heard the author was a regular guy. You do it because he’s brilliant.” Lipski conjectures. This is a movie about great minds made by people with great minds. QED.

Grade: A-

2015 may go in the books as the year Hollywood decided to recondition well-established franchises for a new generation (with the upcoming ‘Star Wars: The Force Awakens’, the abysmal ‘Jurassic World’ from this past summer, and now ‘Creed’).

The first ‘Rocky’ movie, released in 1976, took home the Best Picture Oscar. There would, assuredly, be a sequel; at the time, Sylvester Stallone said he would end the series with ‘Rocky III’ and kill off the titular character. Of course, the series didn’t end there, and Stallone trifled with the idea of killing off Rocky in ‘Rocky V’. Stallone is now 69 years old, and he is reprising his role as Rocky Balboa for the seventh time in ‘Creed’.

In the prologue, we are introduced to 12-year-old Adonis Johnson (Michael B. Jordan), the illegitimate son of Rocky’s former opponent, trainer, and friend Apollo Creed. Donnie bounces between juvenile detention centers in LA until Apollo’s widow, Mary Anne (Phylicia Rashad), adopts the young man and gives him a home. Seventeen years later, we see Donnie resigning from his finance job to pursue his love of boxing. He heads to Philadelphia, tracks down Rocky Balboa who is still wearing that hat and still tending the restaurant named after his late wife. Donnie convinces Rocky to train him, and this is where the past and present merge.

The seventh movie in the series doesn’t deviate too far from the classic formula used in the previous six pictures. But, thanks to this screenplay co-written by director Ryan Coogler and Aaron Covington, Coogler’s steady hand behind the camera, and Jordan’s engrossing performance in front of it, ‘Creed’ emulates the established formula faultlessly. Stallone has mastered this role, and slips into it very comfortably.

The movie tries something new without betraying its roots. There are tie-ins to previous films but not as much as you would expect. We see the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art only once, and Bill Conti’s signature score operates with restraint and is reserved just for those big moments. Donnie does have a love interest – an affable musician named Bianca (Tessa Thompson). The relationship between these two echoes the sweet, supportive one between Rocky and Adrian.

Donnie, like Rocky 39 years ago, is the underdog who is training for a fight against the world champion, while Rocky takes on the role that previously belonged to Mickey – the old mentor figure who finds a reason to keep going. Jordan and Stallone are just as great together as Stallone with was Burgess Meredith in the first three ‘Rocky’ films, and there truly are moments of beauty in seeing the former champ now pass on the knowledge that was imparted to him, not just about how to handle oneself in the ring but also outside the ring.

One of the best scenes: Rocky places Donnie in front of a mirror and tells him that the greatest opponent he will ever fight (in the ring or in life) is the reflection staring back at him. It’s a line of dialogue that took me back to ‘Rocky II’ – even though the film’s tagline stated that this was the rematch of the century, the villain wasn’t Apollo Creed – it was Rocky himself and his overblown ego. The mirror scene is also representative of Donnie’s identity crisis; Donnie Johnson, and Adonis Creed – in fulfilling his father’s legacy or fulfilling his own expectations. Rocky, too, faces a battle and I won’t say anything more about this. A scene involving Rocky trekking up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art nearly brought me to tears.

There are some great filmmaking choices here. We see the statistics of every boxer as an onscreen graphic superimposing a freeze frame. The fight scenes in ‘Creed’ are expertly handled: tracking shots, chilling close-ups, and the refined sound design which allows us to hear Rocky’s voice from the ringside – we are in the ring with Donnie. The better entries in this series aren’t exactly about boxing – they’re about a boxer and the colorful people surrounding him; the boxing scenes in the first ‘Rocky’ picture amounted to maybe ten minutes of screen time. The results of the fights, rousing as they have been, never mattered as much as why our protagonist was fighting. At 133 minutes, ‘Creed’ is the longest entry in the ‘Rocky’ series but I can’t think of a scene I would take out. We are drawn into the lives of these characters the hard way; not as a nostalgic corollary, but through a sharply penned screenplay that takes its time with fully fleshed-out characters. That’s why you believe in the relationships between these characters, and that’s why when that big fight inevitably arrives, you’ll find yourself with sweaty palms.

Coogler and Jordan teamed up for the director’s first feature-length film, ‘Fruitvale Station’, in 2013 (well worth seeing). We’re in the early stages of a very exciting filmmaking career and acting career for these two. Who would have thought we needed another ‘Rocky’ movie? ‘Creed’ is arguably the best movie in the series since the original ‘Rocky’. I say bring on ‘Rocky 8’. QED.

Grade: A-

You’re probably reading this review on your Mac or your iPhone or your iPad and even if you aren’t, I’m certain I don’t have to explain who Steve Jobs is to you.

I didn’t know what to expect going into Danny Boyle’s ‘Steve Jobs’. In 2013, I’d witnessed Ashton Kutcher play the titular character in the atrociously bad ‘Jobs’. Shortly after, I’d read Walter Isaacson’s terrific 656-page biography ‘Steve Jobs’. And so, I’d entered the picture hoping to have a good experience, but with a measure of cynicism that I wasn’t going to see anything I hadn’t seen before. I was wrong.

Aaron Sorkin’s first-rate screenplay splits the movie into three parts, each based on a product launch orchestrated by Jobs. The first involves Jobs (magnificently embodied by Michael Fassbender) moments before the 1984 launch of the Macintosh computer (and shortly after the famous ‘1984’ Super Bowl ad). The second takes place in 1988 when he is preparing to launch his educational computer, Cube, via his tech company, NeXT, after being ousted from Apple. The third is Jobs back with Apple for the 1998 launch of the iMac. Essentially, this is a three-act stage play for the screen. And I love how daring and eccentric this storytelling choice is in selecting these pivotal moments in Jobs’ career. Both this movie and the recent ‘Love & Mercy’ break free from the leash of the standard, cradle-to-the-grave biopic blueprint. With its minimalist set design, and walky-talky histrionics, it isn’t hard to imagine ‘Steve Jobs’ as a stage production.

In the first act, Fassbenders’ Jobs has the appearance of a villain. Wearing a suit and bow tie, he threatens to publicly disgrace his subordinates if they can’t make things perfect by the time he gets on stage to introduce the Mac, and he is quick to repudiate his ex-girlfriend Chrisann Brennan (Katherine Waterston) and his 5-year-old daughter Lisa (Mackenzie Moss).

The same recurring figures in Jobs’ life appear backstage just moments before each product launch. I really doubt John Sculley (Jeff Daniels) asked Jobs how he felt about being adopted seconds prior to the unveiling of the Mac, but given the film’s structure, the script would have to place these conversations here – otherwise, it would just be technical jargon without any sort of glimpse into Jobs’ inner life.

Within these three glimmers, no attempt is made at redeeming these characters of their flaws. It’s a depiction that Jobs would be proud of. I recall Walter Issacson commenting on Jobs not wanting any control over what was written in his biography. He wanted people to speak honestly and was completely aware of how candid they would be. We see him how he was, warts and all. There is a tendency within us to instinctively anoint those who passed on for sainthood.

A different format is used for each of the segments: the first act was shot in 16mm film, the second in 35mm, and the third in washed-out digital, all to illustrate not only the time period, but also Jobs’ focus becoming more lucent as he emerged.

The filmmakers assume that you’re going into ‘Steve Jobs’ with a certain level of knowledge about his life. It won’t fill in the blanks for you. If you don’t know about the Apple 1 computer built in Jobs’ garage in Los Altos, or his long and bumpy friendship with Steve Wozniak (played amazingly by Seth Rogen here), this exploration into Jobs’ psyche may be lost on the viewer.

The energy is unrelenting and the actors more than meet the challenge of being able to deliver Sorkin’s dialogue with aplomb – after three seasons of ‘The Newsroom’, Jeff Daniels has mastered this. With the exception of two brief scenes, the movie takes place entirely within interiors; Sorkin loves his uninterrupted walking and talking through every hallway, stairway, and doorway. This gives the movie a sense of propulsive motion and energy and if Sorkin isn’t deviating much from his trademark, at least the aesthetic aligns with the storytelling choice since all the characters are backstage. Personally, I think he is as talented a screenwriter as anyone working today. Seth Rogen delivers the best line; Wozniak, after a heated confrontation with Jobs in a crowded auditorium before the 1998 iMac says: “You can be decent and gifted at the same time. It’s not binary.” Jobs didn’t have Wozniak’s sense of empathy, but in some ways this relentless drive – the need to dismiss the problems in front of him, and look towards his next move helped him accomplish all the things he set out to do. The argument could be made that Jobs wasn’t necessarily all that indecent but for someone who was a brilliant innovator, we held him to such a high standard in all regards.

A nearly unrecognizable Kate Winslet is outstanding as Joanna Hoffman, Jobs’ poised yet mighty marketing guru and the voice of reason. Because she’s delivering dialogue penned by Sorkin, there is speechifying, but she brings a quiet intensity to the role. The banter between her and Fassbender are among the picture’s highlights and it’s a delicate feat – being able to make such rapid-fire dialogue seem like a piece of cake, but of course, it takes a lot of work to get that timing down perfectly.

Both ‘The Social Network’ (also penned by Sorkin) and ‘Steve Jobs’ are about real-life technology pioneers, and Sorkin is great at creating a portrait of total genius as a monster. “Computers aren’t supposed to have personality flaws, so I’m not going to design this one with yours.” Wozniak tells Jobs early on.

This dialogue doesn’t direct itself and Danny Boyle’s kinetic talents perfectly align with Sorkin’s supercharged writing. This enclosed structure is the right fit for Boyle – in ‘127 Hours’, he made a movie about a guy trapped under a rock so much more cinematic than anyone could have possibly anticipated. If I do have a quibble, it has to do with the reliance on montages to transition from one act to another. Sure, the majority of audience members would prefer to know what took place during the intervening years, but as an already innovative piece of cinema, I think it could have gone even further by simply providing a blackout which would have felt truer to its theatrical presentation.

Like the tech products released by Apple, this is a brilliant, ingeniously designed motion picture. Michael Fassbender and Kate Winslet will be in every awards conversation between now and the night of the Oscars. Expect Oscar nominations for Best Picture, Best Actor (Michael Fassbender), Best Actress (Kate Winslet), Directing, and Screenplay. QED.

I realize as I write this that attempting to provide a recap of TIFF15 is an exercise in futility. I managed to catch 34 films at the festival and this only covers about 9% of the line-up. Within the confines of that delimitated experience, I can say that it was indeed a very good line-up – in other words, I chose well (26/34 or 76% of the pictures I saw were good enough to earn a recommendation). Here are my Top 5 picks from TIFF15.

1) Anomalisa
Charlie Kaufman’s beautifully rendered stop-motion animated puppet drama is a masterpiece. The plot couldn’t be any simpler. Michael, a famous motivational speaker struggles with his inability to connect to people. One night, on a business trip, he meets Lisa and his life begins to change. You may wonder why Kaufman’s visual vocabulary is so different. Once you observe the uniformity in the faces and voices of the characters, the answer becomes clear as the film’s form becomes inseparable from its themes. At no point did I have any idea what kind of movie this was or where it might be going, and I was delighted to be truly surprised. It is a hilarious comedy about the mundaneness of business travel, a wildly romantic love story about the connection between two people, and a serious contemplation of depression, loneliness, alienation, insecurity, and identity, among others. For a picture enacted by puppets, it has more to say about the human condition than any movie I’ve seen in a very long time. Paramount wisely purchased ‘Anomalisa’ during the fest and plans on releasing it in the US (and hopefully Canada) on December 30th. I’d love to see it get not just a Best Animated Feature Oscar nomination, but stand alongside the top-tier live-action films in the Best Picture category. This was the sardonic comic highlight of the festival. And so perfectly sad.

2) Spotlight
As I walked out of the screening room when ‘Spotlight’ ended, I was certain I had just witnessed one of the biggest rebounds by a filmmaker in the history of the cinema. How did Tom McCarthy go from making ‘The Cobbler’ with Adam Sandler to this? ‘Spotlight’ tells the true story of the Boston Globe’s investigation into the widespread pedophilia scandals and subsequent cover-ups with the Catholic Church. It takes a system of good to obliterate a system of evil. No one person could have uncovered this story on his or her own. It took a team. I love this movie. Sure, it will speak to the journalist within most film critics and they will respond to it on a more personal level. But, it is an intensely accomplished picture, one that functions more as a thriller than a traditional biopic primed for Oscar voters. A lesser filmmaker could set this material to easy emotional beats – McCarthy instead uses sharply penned dialogue to keep this story moving at an electrifying pace. Its ensemble cast includes Rachel McAdams, Michael Keaton, Mark Ruffalo, Stanley Tucci, Liev Schreiber, Billy Cruddup, and John Slattery. It’s hard to pick a favorite here, but I’m going with Mark Ruffalo, and I hereby declare him our most lovable actor.

3) Room
I didn’t know what to expect going into ‘Room’ (I hadn’t read Emma Donoghue’s novel of the same name nor was I familiar with director Lenny Abraham’s body of work), but I certainly wasn’t expecting an experience this heartrending. The story is told through the eyes of a five-year-old boy named Jack (Jacob Tremblay) who has lived all his life in the sequestered confines of a soundproof garden shed. For seven years, his Ma (Brie Larson) has been locked up and abused by a man she calls Old Nick. I won’t say what happens beyond this point even though the film’s theatrical trailer is content with giving it away. I can’t overstate the emotional impact of this picture. Like ‘Spotlight’, the emotional power of ‘Room’ derives from its hopefulness for the future – in this particular the case, hope of reconditioning an ordinary childhood. Larson knocks it out of the park – this is as good a performance as I’ve seen in a movie all year (I’d be okay if we gave Brie Larson all the acting prizes during this upcoming awards season). And young Tremblay is unforgettable. You’ll want to bring some tissues to this one.

4) 45 Years
Andrew Haigh improves upon his superb low-budget ‘Weekend’ with ’45 Years’, a two-hander of a drama that builds in emotional intensity as it unfolds and contains a pair of sublimely understated performances. The two leads masterfully communicate the thoughts and emotions their characters are conditioned not to express vocally. In the week leading up to their 45th anniversary, Kate (Charlotte Rampling), and Jeff (Tom Courtenay) receive an unexpected letter containing news that could change the perspective of their marriage. With systematic precision, this film offers a portrait of a marriage, and explores themes such as lost time, whether the knowing or not knowing of secrets is more poisonous, and whether a love so forceful and time-tested can be undone by a thing of the past. Haigh often beautifully shoots these two performers (who are as good here as they have ever been) in long takes. This is a movie that bypasses the usual melodramatic beats that typically accompany these sorts of revelations in favor of something more muted and contemplative. ’45 Years’ is devastatingly superb – one that will linger in the mind long after you leave the theater. And my goodness, the final shot…

5) Sicario
I’m thinking it, so I might as well say it: Denis Villeneuve isn’t just one of the best Canadian filmmakers, but among the very best of filmmakers working today, period. Kate Macy (superbly embodied by Emily Blunt) is a tough, idealistic FBI agent who joins a secret CIA operation to take down a Mexican cartel boss, but she may not be equipped to deal with world. The fundamental rules of audience identification are tossed aside and a moral horror is presented. The violence in this picture is startling, but never for a moment does it feel sensationalized; yet, every moment from the first to last is suspenseful. Kate’s reflexive stoicism is compellingly deliberate which is perfectly served by Blunt’s steely ferocity, Villeneuve’s skillful direction, Roger Deakin’s always-brilliant cinematography, and Jóhann Jóhannsson’s unrelentingly pounding score. I’m not sure all viewers will respond to its unconventional dramatic center and I suspect some will write it off as another drug-war tale before seeing it. It is much more subversive and sonorous than it appears on the surface. ‘Sicario’ is a brutal plummet into hell, and it provided me with one of the most heart-pounding cinematic experiences of 2015.

Included below are my scores for the films I saw at TIFF15:

45 Years: A-
A Tale of Love and Darkness: B-
Anomalisa: A
Bang Gang (A Modern Love Story): B
Beasts Of No Nation: B+
Black Mass: B-
Chevalier: B
The Danish Girl: C
Demon: C
Dheepan: A-
Embrace of the Serpent: C
He Named Me Malala: C+
Ixcanul: B
James White: A-
Journey To The Shore: B
The Lobster: B
London Road: C
Louder Than Bombs: B+
Mia Madre (My Mother): C
The Martian: A-
Mississippi Grind: B
Mustang: A-
Legend: C
One Breath: B
Our Brand Is Crisis: C-
Room: A
Sicario: A-
Son of Saul: A-
Spotlight: A
The Assassin: B
The Treasure: B+
Victoria: B+
The Witch: B+
Youth: B-

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Guy Ritchie’s spy thriller ‘The Man From U.N.C.L.E.’ is an adaptation of the television series which ran from 1964-1968. I have never seen an episode of the show, but I suspect most moviegoers haven’t either given that fans who tuned into the program are now in their 70s.

Mr. Ritchie’s picture is only sporadically diverting. The scenes that do work are all the more frustrating because they are shoehorned into a baffling story that doesn’t involve us. Every successful gag is followed by an unrelenting amount of exposition and plot reveals. The movie is all surface – there is nothing here to sink into.

The plot, not that it matters, involves two war spy enemies Napoloeon Solo (Henry Cavill) and Illya Kuryakin (Armie Hammer) who team together to stop a criminal organization from creating an atomic bomb.

The movie opens with a slick and effective shootout chase in East Berlin. The Americans task Solo with extracting a young auto mechanic (or is she) Gaby Teller (Alicia Vikander) from the communist state. But, the Russians task Kuryakin with the exact same thing thus building to a crescendo involving all three parties in which one of them physically rips off the trunk of a car.

I was wondering why these guys were divulging international secrets in a crowded outdoor café where they could easily be overheard – and then the rug was pulled from underneath me in one of the film’s best visual gags. I wish there were more moments like this, though there is one bit of inspired lunacy that had me laughing so hard, I almost had to excuse myself – for those of you who see it, and I don’t recommend you do, it is when a minor villain is given a taste of his own medicine.

In terms of backstory, all we know is that Solo is a master thief, and Kuryakin is a frenzied muscleman with unresolved daddy issues who only exercises patience when he is playing a game of chess. This provides Cavill and Hammer with lively bits to perform, and they are game. They look great in their custom suits and sunglasses, yes, but that isn’t enough – they are posing, not acting; they have zero chemistry together. And so, top billing deserves to go to Joanna Johnston, the costume designer.

The picture does use the lack of magnetism between its leads to humorous effect though – after a frenetic chase, Solo sits out on the action in the cab of a trunk whilst Kuryakin is pursued by some baddies on his own. The movie itself sits out on the action for the most part as well. At least until a final chase involving a jeep, an osseous all-terrain vehicle, and a motorcycle unfolds in chaotically spectacular fashion – the point of view shots and overhead shots of the topography shifted so quickly, it was as if everyone was fighting for the controls of a videogame.

As for the filmmaking, if you’ve ever seen a Guy Ritchie picture, you know that you’ll get a flashy, highly stylized product. Mr. Ritchie wants to luxuriate in the ambience of the 1960s – the production design evokes a ‘Mad Men’ feel (the suits, hats, handbags, beautiful locales). Even the soundtrack doesn’t have the sort of vitality and liveliness that it should – when we think back to the music of this era, Roberta Flack, and Louis Prima aren’t exactly the artists who come first to mind. The outrageous material is discharged on minor key – it is as if the script for ‘Austin Powers’ ended up on Tarsem Singh’s desk.

Vikander demonstrated more emotional range as an android in ‘Ex Machina’ (one of the best films of 2015) than she does here. This is a waste of her talents and screen presence. The same can’t be said of Hugh Grant – his emanant return in the last half hour, after a brief introduction earlier in the movie, gives the picture some much-needed tiger blood. Grant’s character births the entire U.N.C.L.E. concept (the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement), which from my understanding is like a Marvel shared universe for spy agencies – the affixing of the KGB, C.I.A, and MI6.

My rewrite of this script would have much more Grant – establishing the U.N.C.L.E. concept from the get-go rather than the film’s final minutes, and operating as the brains of the organization. If the movie makes more than its $75 million budget at the box office, we can expect a sequel (which might resemble my vision). With ‘Mission: Impossible Rogue Nation’ in theaters, why bother with ‘The Man From U.N.C.L.E.’? The former is one of the more enjoyable releases of this summer movie season – when you see this second tier stuff, it suffers in comparison by a significant margin. ‘The Man From U.N.C.L.E. should be ashamed to present itself in the same theaters playing ‘Mission: Impossible Rogue Nation’. QED.

??1/2

Wikipedia informs me that ‘Southpaw’ underwent a number of production changes. Initially, this screenplay penned by Kurt Stutter was written with Eminem in mind for the lead role. Antoine Fuqua was set to direct (that seems to be the only constant here). The picture went from being a DreamWorks production to an MGM one to a Columbia Pictures one until finally The Weinstein Company ended up distributing the film. Instead of Eminem, we have Jake Gyllenhaal as the lead.

This is one of the more challenging reviews I’ve had to write in recent memory. Not because the plot is difficult to break down by any means. No, it is because this is one of those rare “on the one hand, on the other hand” experiences. Is the glass half full or half empty?

I dunno. I sort of liked it. But, at the same time, I was disappointed that this movie wasn’t even remotely interested in surprising us even a little bit. Throw every boxing movie ever made (from ‘The Champ’ to ‘The Fighter’) into a blender and you get ‘Southpaw’. Mr. Stutter’s script is about as intelligent as the mumbling hero of the picture (even if it fares well with boxing details and has a big heart), but the cast gives it their all, and it is almost enough to make it work. Almost.

When we first meet Billy “The Great” Hope (Jake Gyllenhaal), he is at the height of his fame. Billy and his wife Maureen (Rachel McAdams) are products of Hell’s Kitchen orphanages, and the two do everything they can to ensure their sweet, 10-year-old daughter Leila (performed wonderfully by Oona Laurence) doesn’t have the kind of upbringing they had. A lot will be said about Gyllenhaal’s physical transformation for his role here, but McAdams is equally impressive and fully embodies a much tougher character than we’re used to seeing her play.

Billy is a world heavyweight champion with a 43-0 record. So, of course, something awful has to happen. After being taunted into a brawl with an up-and-coming, trash-talking boxer (Miguel Gomez), tragedy strikes. Billy spirals into self-destructive behavior and loses his wife, his mansion, his cars, his title, his manager, his career, and his daughter to child-services.

With brooding eyes and infrangible abs, Gyllenhaal plays a haunted soul just about perfectly. He delivers his lines slowly (this is a movie that knows just what a concussion can do to someone’s brain), and when his raging bull tendencies kick in, chairs and tables are tossed. There are a lot of close-ups so you can see the bereavement on his face. If this sounds like a painful watch, just remember his last name is Hope, so you can guess where this story goes.

Billy has to learn to live smart, and then fight smart – maybe the defensive maneuvering he learns inside the ring will help him become a better person outside the ring. Following his downfall, Billy walks into a dingy New York gym to seek the help of Tick Willis (a battered Forest Whitaker). I can’t make this appear any less clichéd than it is, but the actors elevate it with a depiction that is as complex as it is perfectly calibrated.

The performances are first-rate (though I could have done without Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson and the movie underutilizes Naomie Harris). ‘Southpaw’ tries very hard to yank on our heartstrings, especially during the family court scenes. Gyllenhaal and young Laurence make such a great matched pair that we don’t mind being manipulated, if we’re completely aware of it.

Mr. Fuqua has always been great at staging action, and even if the fight that concludes the picture looks like many other fights we have seen in the movies, it still packs quite a visceral punch. Eminem didn’t get a starring role here, but at least his music is featured in one of the training montages, which is an abrupt change from the touching and delicate musical score by the great late James Horner (the film is dedicated to his memory). Like the titular boxer, this picture comes through as a light heavyweight – this story of redemption may not be exactly convincing, but if you can accept it as an R-rated fairytale, it is sort of effective. What we have here is a split decision. It’s a win for the actors, but the movie loses to conventionalism. Reluctantly, I can’t quite recommend ‘Southpaw’. But, I wouldn’t for a second dissuade you from seeing it. QED.

???1/2

‘Amy’ is a portrait of the fast rise and ultimately sad demise of British singer and songwriter Amy Winehouse. Director Asif Kapadia has an abundance of archive footage to pull from: home videos, concert material, publicity interviews, and recording sessions. I suppose this is no longer a surprise with contemporary documentaries, especially when their subject spans a time period in the digital era. ‘Amy’ comes at you in allusive snippets. Waves of information come at the viewer, giving the picture an intensely intimate feel. One thing I’m growing weary of with recent documentaries is an overreliance on talking head clips to tell the story. ‘Amy’, thankfully, doesn’t have any talking heads and Mr. Kapadia is much more interested in providing us with a glimpse into her brief life; the interviews with friends and colleagues function as audio over existing photos and videos. Documentary filmmakers take note: with a wealth of footage, there is absolutely no need for talking heads.

As the picture opens, we see Amy at the age of 14 puttering about with some of her best friends. A few of them begin to sing ‘’Happy Birthday’ out of tune. Winehouse finishes the song and we realize that before the eyeliner, tattoos, and bouffant, that expressive, vacillating voice was there.

She was uncomfortable with her fame (“I don’t think I could handle it, I’d probably go mad, I mean it, I would go mad.” she says). Those closest to her exploited her and did not have her best interests at heart. Her husband, Blake Fielder, was the first to introduce her to crack cocaine. When I first heard the track ‘Rehab’, I more or less accepted it as a catchy pop tune but after seeing this documentary, I will never hear it again the same way. Mr. Kapadia displays her lyrics on screen as she sings them, so we are able to see the chief components of her songs as they mirror her obstreperous life. We read that sad line in the chorus: ‘My daddy thinks I’m fine”. Her father, Mitch Winehouse, comes off as one of the most horribly villainous figures here. He wanted her on the road, raking in the cash, rather than getting the help she unquestionably needed. Later, she flees the tabloid fray for St. Lucia where she was attempting to go clean, only to discover that her father has brought a reality-show camera crew there to chronicle his conjectural involvement in her revitalization. Three years after the release of ‘Rehab’, Amy would die of alcohol poisoning at the eerily horrific age of 27, an age the Grim Reaper seems to be fond of for musicians: Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, Janis Joplin, Brian Jones.

If there is a quibble in this very powerful and very moving picture, it is the absence of some connective material. We are told that Amy’s father abandoned the family for another woman when she was 9 but returned, presumably, once she achieved fame. What we don’t get a sense of is what that transition must have been like. The same goes for her husband: he dumps her for another girl, and returns once she is famous (the lyrics of the album which skyrocketed her to fame, ‘Back to Black’, was entirely about the heartbreak she experienced when he left her the first time). The two have understandably damned the film by characterizing it as inaccurate, but Mr. Kapadia didn’t need to go to great extents to make them appear detestable – the images speak for themselves.

Amy approached her parents about her bulimia when she was a teenager: “I have this great diet. I eat what I want and then throw it up.” Her parents didn’t know how to respond so they ignored it thinking it was just a passing phase. And so begins her self-destructive orbit, the amplitude of her problems dismissed by those around her.

The more heartbreaking moment (and there are many sad moments) occurs towards the end. At the night of the 2008 Grammy Awards, Winehouse is at a private party in London, watching this gleaming extravaganza unfold. Tony Bennett is reading off the nominees for Record of the Year. When Bennett, her lifelong idol, announces that she has won, she stands on stage wide-eyed, dazed, and flabbergasted. There is an innocent vivaciousness in this moment, which made me think back to the Amy I saw in home movies at the start of the film. But seconds after her big win, Amy signals her best friend to get onstage, the two go backstage and she reveals, “This sucks without drugs”. Winning five Grammys sucked because she wasn’t high.

‘Amy’ is a great documentary – one that starts out pleasantly and becomes progressively more uncomfortable to watch. It is an engrossing, mesmerizing, and devastating commentary of modern celebrity and the collateral damage precipitated by fame. QED.

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‘Love & Mercy’ is not only one of the best films of 2015, but it is as good a musical biopic as I have ever seen. This is a movie that hits all the right notes, foregoing genre clichés for something more introspective and interesting. It reveals the gloom hidden within the most luminous of Beach Boys songs.

In ‘Love & Mercy’, we witness the anguish at the center of the Beach Boys. That center belongs to Brian Wilson. The first image we see in the movie is of his ear, and it is clear right from the start that we are going to be inside his head and hear the world passing through this ears.

This intelligent, compassionate film marks the directorial debut of Bill Pohlad whose filmmaking sensibilities breathe new life into a genre known for conventional modes of storytelling. Credit the terrific nonlinear screenplay penned by Oren Moverman and Michael Alan Lerner.

The two actors who play Wilson at different life stages are Paul Dano (1965 – 1968) and John Cusack (1980s) and both give the best performances of their careers – mostly restrained and subtle but electric and expressive when the moments call for it.

It is Cusack’s Wilson that we first meet – his shoulders slouched, his speech unhurried – when he visits a Cadillac dealership. There, he meets a saleswoman named Melinda Ledbetter (Elizabeth Banks) who he takes an instant liking to. Wilson is shopping with an enigmatic therapist and legal guardian, Dr. Eugene Landy (Paul Giamatti).

How did this man before us, deftly embodied by Cusack, eventuate from Dano’s Wilson? This cryptogram is deciphered enticingly, as the picture seamlessly and fluidly shifts between these two time periods.

Around the apex of Beach Boys monomania, Wilson has a panic attack on an airplane, and withdraws from a demanding touring schedule to write new material. The result: the 1966 album ‘Pet Sounds’ which was Wilson’s solo record in all but name and considered one of the greatest albums of that era (for the record, it ranks among my all-time favorite albums – puns always intended).

Most films of this sort would demonstrate a fall from fame related to substance abuse that the artist would have to overcome before a moment of triumph during a live performance. They would try really hard to recreate the period details and the live concert settings. ‘Love & Mercy’ goes into stranger and deeper places than movies of its kind would ever dare to. It is also more interested in process and artistic methodology. We spend a lot of time with Wilson in the studio experimenting with the knobs and buttons on a music console to get that distinctive sound for the ‘Pet Sounds’. These scenes demonstrate how Wilson’s innovative drive helped him create a work of art without giving into the pressures from record labels. And it also showcases Pohlad’s directorial chops – he makes the creation of a familiar record as exciting as hearing it for the first time. Pohlad may be sitting in the director’s chair for the first time, but he is an accomplished producer: ’12 Years a Slave’, ‘Brokeback Mountain’, ‘The Tree of Life’, ‘Fair Game’, ‘The Runaways’, ‘Wild’. With such a varied filmography, ‘Love & Mercy’ demonstrates he has learned very well from some first-rate filmmakers how to orchestrate diverse styles and approaches.

I haven’t been big on Dano in the past but his work here is gently infallible and we see how he eventually becomes the whispery and defenseless Wilson inhabited by Cusack. Cusack and Banks are fantastic together. Any other picture would have smothered Ledbetter with the Good Samaritan character type and she is all the more believable as Wilson’s liberator because Banks doesn’t play her that way.

Wilson had an appallingly abusive father (Bill Camp) who was the Beach Boys’ manager until he was replaced by Landy. Wilson conforms to a lot of Landy’s apocryphal methods because he is viewed as a father figure. Landy was just as abusive – he was just able to conceal it in the guise of therapy .A curiosity: I’m failing to recall scenes between Landy and Wilson from the 1960s. I suppose it isn’t all that important – the movie isn’t interested in making any Freudian assertions of Wilson’s trauma.

The best biopics are the ones that do not chart the entire course of the subject’s life but provide a window sufficient enough for the viewer to understand why the story was worth telling. By focusing on these two stages (and ignoring the events of the intervening years), we get an exquisitely moving, and unforgettably complex portrait. And, of course, they pave the way for the stage that 72-year-old Wilson will be occupying as he tours the US and the UK over the next 4 months. This is a picture that mirrors the artistry of its subject. You won’t see a better biopic this year. QED

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Why even bother with a review? ‘Jurassic World’ has already set a record for the biggest domestic opening weekend of all time. All the same, something should be said about the film’s atrociousness. With a franchise built on best-selling novels, three earlier films (the first two of which were directed by Steven Spielberg), and theme-park attractions, how could the end product reach such unacceptably low levels? Never again will this happen. ‘Jurassic World’ will be presented as a success story in future Marketing lecture modules. It won’t, however, be included in the Film Studies curriculum other than as a footnote to demonstrate how a film could assail all senses, including common.

The brain-dead plot involves the escape of a new and dangerous breed of genetically cloned dinosaurs on an island designed as a dinosaur theme park. The director is Colin Trevorrow whose previous lone feature was a small indie called ‘Safety Not Guaranteed’ from 2012. It was modest but sweet, heartfelt, and filled with Spielbergian influences. So, I guess it is no surprise that Trevorrow was approached to take the reins on ‘Jurassic World’, but it was an offer he should have refused. The leap from his independent film project to this gargantuan-scaled blockbuster is just too much, and Trevorrow struggles mightily with this blundering edition of the franchise that was put in motion 22 years ago.

I like both ‘Jurassic Park’, and ‘The Lost World: Jurassic Park’. Spielberg was able to blend (what was back then) state-of-the-art special effects with memorable characters and a cautionary tale about humans trying to play God. The dinosaurs were incredible and the filmmaking visceral. He is the executive producer for ‘Jurassic World’, and the film has a number of Spielbergian nods – my favorite being an enormous amphibious creature devouring a great white shark: in other words, ‘Jaws’ was so 40 years ago and this is what a contemporary summer blockbuster looks like today. I recently revisited ‘The Lost World: Jurassic Park’ and although that movie is 18 years old, it is a much better looking picture than ‘Jurassic World’ is. This is a problem.

Apparently, a $150million budget doesn’t buy you a coherent screenplay. How did these actors repeat their goofy lines with a straight face? The shameless product placement on display would make Michael Bay blush – Mercedes Benz, Coca Cola, Triumph Motorcycles, Samsung, Brookstone, Starbucks, and Margaritaville to name a few. I was unclear about the conflicting coalitions. At one point, our film’s hero joins forces with a nutcase who wants to militarize the dinosaurs and use them in America’s foreign wars.

Chris Pratt plays a dinosaur expert and Bryce Dallas Howard is the corporate puppet whose character is borderline offensive. I’m not sure I understand why her character was so exorbitantly dolled-up. Or why just because she is a successful businesswoman, her vocabulary would only be limited to sales performance metrics. Or why she couldn’t crack a joke if her life depended on it. And the movie’s stupidity can be summed in a single image of her outrunning a T-Rex in high heels. Over cement. Through mud. The heel didn’t break. Oh, more product placement! Pratt’s natural charm and charisma cannot elevate such clumsy material – the filmmakers have succeeded in taking the biggest movie star working today and making him boring. The picture wallows in clichés with its odd-couple pairing – he trains raptors, she runs and screams.

When the classic John Williams theme is revealed, it is for the moment in which we are first taken into the theme park. Not when we first see any dinosaurs. There is about 40 minutes of exposition and setup. The genetically engineered dinosaur doesn’t appear until about the halfway mark. Trevorrow is trying to follow Spielberg’s ‘Jaws’ template (if you recall, we didn’t see the shark until very late in the picture), but what he doesn’t have are interesting three-dimensional characters, or a plot that generates suspense or tension. The chase scenes aren’t nearly as exciting as they should be – just when you think the movie is going to pick up in terms of action, the narrative machinery kicks in trying to juggle many of its unnecessary subplots, most of which aren’t seen through to any kind of resolution.

What is the lesson here? When all you care about is money, awful things happen. Why after three disastrous encounters between humans and dinosaurs would this park be recreated 22 years later? The answer, I guess, can be found on the top line of their income statement. The filmmakers should have taken their own advice. Their motivations for building a bigger and louder sequel are box office returns and the end result is as chaotic as the reptile dysfunction it depicts.

Note: I saw ‘Jurassic World’ in IMAX 3-D. The movie was converted into 3-D post-production and adds nothing to the experience. Personally, I would have preferred 0-D. QED.

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With a title as Sundancy as ‘Me and Earl and the Dying Girl’, it is no surprise the film was the winner of both the Grand Jury Prize and the Audience Award at this year’s Sundance Film Festival. I’m sure this will be labeled as ‘The Fault In Our Stars’ for the Criterion crowd (there are some Wes Anderson influences and more than a couple references to Werner Herzog).

The terrific screenplay (by Jesse Andrews adapting his own novel), assured direction from Alfonso Gomez-Rejon (his second feature), outstanding cinematography from Chung-hoon Chung, the perfect musical score by Brian Eno and Nico Muhly, and uniformly excellent performances make ‘Me and Earl and the Dying Girl’ a wonderfully energetic teen weepie – one that avoids most of the clichés of this genre while infusing the remaining ones with warmth and humor.

Greg Gaines (Thomas Mann) is an awkward high school senior who tells us this story with sharp perspicacity. His only friend is a kid named Earl (RJ Cyler), who he refers to as more of a coworker given that they work on elaborate parodies of classic films together. Greg’s eccentric father (Nick Offerman) is a humanities professor who appears to spend all his time working on a unique culinary creation – he introduced Greg to Werner Herzog at a young age, the auteur that sparked his passion for cinema. And so, here are some example of the films Greg and Earl make: ‘A Clockwork Orange’ becomes a ‘A Sock Work Orange’, Jean Luc Godard’s ‘Breathless’ becomes ‘Breathe Less’ and they are packaged into fake Criterion covers. It’s a perfectly suitable hobby for someone who wants to fortify himself from the social scene, which is exactly what Greg and Earl do – they spend their lunch break in their history teacher’s (John Bernthal) office.

Greg is persuaded by his mother (Connie Britton) to befriend a sweet-natured but unpopular girl named Rachel (Olivia Cooke), who has recently been diagnosed with leukemia. And so this beautiful friendship begins, which the film’s subtitling of events labels as “the doomed friendship”. Just when we’re starting to think that this may play out like a variation of ‘The Fault In Our Stars’, Greg is there to remind us that this is not a touching, romantic story. This relationship unfolds in ways you would not expect.

The very best pictures of this genre feature the confident storytelling and outstanding performances that we get here but what really distinguishes ‘Me and Earl and the Dying Girl’ is how exceptionally well made it is. Chung’s low-angle shots, tracking shots, long takes, stop frame interregnums, and use of foreground and background compositions are a just a few examples of the visual intricacies employed. There is a pivotal moment between Greg and Rachel framed with her in the foreground and he in the background rather than the shot/countershot we would typically expect and Chung’s approach amplifies the emotional intensity. Eno’s and Muhly’s score is devastatingly effective; they discard the all-too-familiar sweeping strings for something more powerful – their score is a big reason the final act is such a punch to the gut.

‘Me and Earl and the Dying Girl’ may transition from madcap comedy to tearjerker drama a little too abruptly but I believe this shift is inherent of the film’s design. This story is told from Greg’s perspective and the film’s light tone is maintained for as long as Greg remains in denial. Yes, this is movie is about that doomed friendship between Greg and Rachel. But, it’s also about the artistic temperament. Greg’s fake movies are intentionally horrible mainly because he didn’t have that powerful immediate human experience to share. Until now. Great art springs from adversity and he now has the stage to say something deeply personal.

Most importantly, it all feels organic. Films of this sort are far too obvious in manipulating our emotions. Greg, Earl, and Rachel look, feel, and speak like teenagers. We hear the ums and ahs. They sometimes say the wrong things and appear incoherent. You can’t smell the screenplay workshopping. We feel their frustrations because we were once as confused as they were. Even the quirkiest characters register as real people. It’s clear that Andrews and Gomez-Rejon love these characters. We enjoy spending time in their company, and we care for them deeply. ‘Me and Earl and the Dying Girl’ is no disease-of-the-week flick pick. It is clever, honest, and artfully assembled. The tears it leaves you in feel earned. QED.

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In ‘Tomorrowland’, a young girl, Casey Newton (Britt Robertson) and a bitter, grizzled man, Frank Walker (George Clooney), use a magical pin to transport themselves to a futuristic utopia to make things right back on Earth before it is too late. Brad Bird’s high-powered new film, a well-polished live-action spectacle from Disney, is a jollification of inspiration, idealism, and elation.

It isn’t supposed to be this way. I have been known to embrace movies that swing for the fence. Mr. Bird, whose previous directorial efforts include ‘Mission: Impossible: Ghost Protocol’, ‘The Iron Giant’, ‘The Incredibles’, and ‘Ratatouille’ (which ranks alongside ‘Whiplash’ as one of the greatest pictures ever made about the pursuit of artistic greatness) hasn’t made a run-of-the-mill Disney family adventure. ‘Tomorrowland’ tries to be “about something” – it is ambitious and has some truly visionary moments but it comes off as an ‘Atlas Shrugged’-lite spluttering misfire.

What is at stake here? Aside from a literal ticking clock, I’m not sure it is ever clear. There is some narrative intrigue early on – that is to say I liked ‘Tomorrowland’ until the characters arrive at Tomorrowland. The film establishes the Casey-Frank storyline, and how they are intertwined with each other, very well and their banter is always fun to listen to. I liked the ideas behind this movie and the positive message but none of it manifests in a compelling way. Once the characters get to Tomorrowland, Mr. Bird wants to dazzle us with eye-popping visuals but also wants to lecture us on how we are own worst enemy.

For a film that advocates http://premier-pharmacy.com/product-category/skin-care/ inventiveness and creativity, ‘Tomorrowland’ gets in its own way. The colorful widescreen compositions showcase some PG-rated action, most of it overwrought, little of it exciting. Its idea of the future is incomplete – it presents to us a prototype that fails to detail how the various moving pieces would function together and instead just asks us to believe that they will. We have to believe that the most gifted of us will conjure up a plan to eliminate the problems of this planet.

There is also an icky subplot involving a robot in little girl form that connects Casey with Frank. When Frank was a little boy, he had a crush on her, and that feeling appears to still be there. As a grown-up, he still pines for this person who clearly isn’t a little girl but looks like one, and there are moments of affection between the two, which made me feel uncomfortable. I should note that the young actress playing this robot is Raffey Cassidy – she has a very charismatic and commanding screen presence and as far as the performances go, she is the standout here.

Even though ‘Tomorrowland’ appears to be about Walt Disney’s higher principles, I was relieved to discover it wasn’t just a $190million ad for Disney (though there is a giant Coke ad in the mid-section). ‘Tomorrowland’ is released right between ‘Mad Max: Fury Road’, and ‘San Andreas’, two movies that conceive this world as an irreparable mess. I admired how hopeful this movie was. But good intentions alone do not make a good movie. QED