Animal Kingdom (USA) Directed by David Michod  Written by David Michod  Starring Ben Mendelsohn; Joel Edgerton; Guy Pearce; Luke Ford; Sullivan Stapleton; James Frecheville; Dan Wyllie; Jacki Weaver; Laura Wheelwright

In recent years, there has, seemingly, been a dearth of meaningful cinema arising out of Australia. One has to hearken back to the 70s and 80s and the films of Paul Cox (a Dutch native), Peter Weir’s Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975) and Gallipoli (1981); and well respected offerings such as Walkabout (1971); The Chant for Jimmie Blacksmith (1976); and Breaker Morant (1980) for a time when Australia was consistently producing relevant films. Though the last decade has brought us The Proposition (2005); Cate Shortland’s Somersault (2004); and Rabbitt Proof Fence (2002), there has been an overall lack of critically lauded films enjoying a life on the US stage.

Australia has continued to turn out excellent actors, of course - their ranks including the late Heath Ledger, Nicole Kidman, Russell Crowe, Guy Pearce, Eric Bana, Toni Collette, Naomi Watts, Cate Blanchett, Geoffrey Rush, and newcomers like Sam Worthington and Abbie Cornish. Interestingly, the Aussies have also managed a relatively consistent stream of gritty dramas focusing on crime and drug abuse, with Chopper (2000); Candy (2006); Little Fish (2005); and Gettin Square (2008) some of the more recent examples of the kind.

Continuing in the tradition of his native land’s genre crime output, Animal Kingdom also represents the feature debut from writer/director David Michod, who employs a cast that includes several of the country’s most respected actors. Michod utilizes a background encompassing several documentary shorts to good ends, working from his own minimalist script to tell the story of the bank robbing Cody family.

The protagonist here is young Joshua “J” Cody (age undefined, but seeming to be around 18/19), who, in the opening, loses his mother to a heroin overdose. His blase reaction to watching his expiring/expired mother on the living room sofa gives evidence to the troubled life he has likely led. He naturally calls his closest relative, maternal grandmother Janine, who has been estranged from J and her daughter for a number of years, but is quick to take him in.

Michod doesn’t feel compelled to give us much back story, providing, for example, no information about J’s father, though we do hear the young man’s thoughts in an unnecessary intro voiceover as he speaks with the perspective of having gone through the events that will eventually unfold before us. This is a violent, unsentimental story that relishes the realism and naturalistic acting on display, employing plenty of hand held camera to mirror non-fiction filming.

In actual life, J is barely conversant, delivering mostly monosyllabic responses to the questions posed to him, barely able to confide even the smallest of secrets to doting girlfriend Nicky (Laura Wheelwright).  Separated from the tribe though he may have been, he is also well aware of and attuned to the capabilities and unpredictability of his dangerous uncles Barry (Joel Edgerton); Pope (Ben Mendelsohn); Craig (Sullivan Stapleton); and Darren (Luke Ford). Mendelsohn’s eldest brother Pope is particularly psychopathic, with his eerie offers to listen to his relatives problems melded with his ongoing psychological menacing of all involved.

There are Shakespearean themas at work here, including the Oedipal relationship between omnipresent Janine (or “Smurf” as she is called) and her devoted offspring (replete with lingering kisses on the lips). A sickness is present among these people that is never fully explained, but all of the brothers seem in their own way to be suffering from some form of mental illness - at one point, Janine even suggests that Pope should get back on his medication. Barry too is seen taking pills, and the amount of self-medicating going on further elucidates the fact that something is seriously amiss in the blood of this clan.  

Guy Pearce, the actor most well known to American audiences, plays a detective here, going about his job methodically, intent on crumbling the family from the base, while members of the bank robbery task force have a decidely more direct approach to eradicating their suspects. Michod refuses too to pad Pearce’s character with additional motivation, showing us only glimpses of his family (underlined by the ominous though not overly aggressive score) and several glances that indicate a hint at a morality which most of the others on both sides appear to lack.

Animal Kingdom represents a well-constructed first effort from a director who clearly aimed to create a quality genre entry, while endeavoring to subvert many of the conventions of the type. At 112 minutes, the film has some pacing issues and may have benefited from some well placed trimming to achieve additional needed fluidity. Though the idea was clearly to avoid standard crime thriller build up and pay-off, the lack of focused narrative drive leaves the piece meandering in the late second and third acts, at the exact point when we as audience get increasingly anxious for unveiling.

A bit too in love with its own aesthetic perhaps, Animal Kingdom nonetheless represents a valiant stab at the kind of spare and tightly controlled crime drama so exquisitely achieved in Jacques Audiard’s A Prophet. One hopes the effort marks the beginnings of what might be an interesting career from a newer director, and perhaps even representative of a new cinematic era arising out of the country from which it was birthed.

Life During Wartime (USA) Directed by Todd Solondz  Written by Todd Solondz  Starring Allison Janney; Shirley Henderson; Paul Reubens; Michael K. Williams; Ciaran Hinds; Dylan Riley Snyder; Ally Sheedy ; Chris Marquette; Charlotte Rampling; Michael Lerner; Emma Hindz; Gaby Hoffman; Renee Taylor; Rich Pecci

Todd Solondz, maker of stylized, misanthropic dramas about Jewish families based in New Jersey, relocates to Florida (though filmed in Puerto Rico), taking many of his characters from Happiness (1998), and even a few whom he originated in 1995s Welcome to the Dollhouse (Mark Wiener makes his third appearance),  for another offbeat ensemble piece touching upon pedophilia, self-involvement, guilt, and screwed up adults passing on their own messiness to their offspring.

Some have contended that Solondz’ work represents a deep form of humanism because he delves into aspects of our condition and psyche that many artists shy away from. Life During Wartime might even represent Solondz-lite, or at least presents a slight shift in attitude regarding ideas of forgiveness and redemption, as well as a more open and/or generous view of the possibilities of the power of healing. But to say that Solondz’ overall take on human nature has progressed, grown, eased up, or undergone some sort of metamorphosis might be something of a stretch. At most, his newest work represents a variation on well traversed territory, a continuation of the same general dialectic running throughout his career.

Following his practiced formula, Solondz parades another gruesome lineup of hard-to-like grotesques before our eyes. The central plot focuses on the three sisters from Happiness, now middle-aged and all played by different actors: simpering, vulnerable social worker Joy (Shirley Henderson); high strung, opinionated, newly in love Trish (Allison Janney); and pompous, self-involved (and now rich) screenwriter Helen (Ally Sheedy).

Trish is still ensconced in rebuilding mode following her husband Bill’s (Ciaran Hinds) incarceration years before for raping several neighborhood children. Her son Billy (Chris Marquette), now college-aged, is away at school, but younger son Timmy (Dylan Riley Snyder) represents a favorite Solondz type, the slightly effeminate, pre-pubescent adolescent racked with existential angst and a heap of questions about the world. Trish has fallen in love with an older, divorced Jewish man, Harvey (Michael Lerner), whom she describes as unattractive and not particularly well-off, but is nevertheless overjoyed by the fact that he is “normal” and not “pervy”.

Solondz excuses us from some of the more intensely excruciating moments that have marked his past films, including the younger Billy (Rufus Read) asking his creepy Dad (Dylan Baker) if he would ever rape him, though he still manages to induce some cringing (Trish relating to Timmy about getting wet when her new love interest touched her shoulder). And yet, though he hardly deviates from the thematic totems of his entire oeuvre, there is still a vaguely sanitized feel at work, or perhaps it’s merely that we have become inured against some the shocking bluntness related to Solondz’ confrontation of various taboo social topics.

There are other stylistic differences here as well, including a one scene interlude (that seems flown in from another film) involving newly released Bill’s hook-up with a self-described “monster” Jacqueline (Charlotte Rampling); and the inclusion of an abusive dream ghost, Andy (Paul Reubens), Joy’s ex who committed suicide when she broke up with him years before. These devices deviate from Solondz’s usual base of flatly rendered domestic suburban scenes populated by disaffected oddballs who exhibit various forms of arrogance, superciliousness, self-delusion, and self-destructive, nihilistic behaviors impacting those around them.

As demonstrated by his use of eight very different actors to play his female lead in the abortion-themed Palindromes, Solondz enjoys toying with the very idea of casting - perhaps, at least in part (and as obvious as it may be), a meta commentary on the dual nature of the human make-up. Here, though he peppers his cast with some renowned European actors (Hinds; Rampling; Henderson), some of the choices are indeed odd ones (e.g. African American Michael K. Williams playing a role originally inhabited by Phillip Seymour Hoffman).

Fifty one year old Todd Solondz began making fiercely independent, low budget films in the 1980s for a somewhat specialized audience. In the twenty years since his feature debut he has hardly been deterred from his initial course, continuing to explore the themes and motifs arising from the depths of his obsessions. Though his work is nothing if not an acquired taste, and the individual offerings have wavered some in terms of the precision of their execution, he remains an unapologetic outsider in a landscape increasingly dominated by those aspiring toward the mediocrity of the middle.

The Kids Are All Right (USA) Directed by Lisa Cholodenko Written by Lisa Cholodenko; Stuart Blumberg   Starring Julianne Moore; Annette Bening; Mark Ruffalo; Mia Wasikowska; Josh Hutcherson; Yaya DaCosta; Kunal Sharma; Eddie Hassell; Rebecca Lawrence

Lisa Cholodenko has made a career focusing on triangulated relationships of various kinds. One of the few gay American women making widely released  films, Cholodenko (who has also worked in episodic television) has only  produced three features (and one of those was a Showtime original) since her critically acclaimed 1998 debut, High Art. Here, working from a script she co-wrote (with Stuart Blumberg), she tells the story of a lesbian couple Jules (Julianne Moore) and Nic (Annette Bening), their two children, Joni (Mia Wasilowska) and Laser (Josh Hutcherson), and the introduction of the kids biological father/sperm donor Paul (Mark Ruffalo) into their lives.

The story is pleasingly narrow in nature, which allows an audience the feeling of living with the characters, though there is some small degree of torpor owing in part to the number of scenes taking place inside Jule’s and Nic’s home. Still, Cholodenko and Blumberg infuse the script with richly drawn characters, fun but realistic dialogue, and a number of humorously awkward moments that help propel us forward. Said characters are also given a breadth of complicated and sometimes conflicting traits that helps deflect some of the stiltedness of the limited locations and obviousness of some of the plotting.

Moore, Ruffalo, and Wasilowska (In Treatment; Alice in Wonderland) are the standouts here, with Moore giving the kind of relaxed, understated performance we don’t see often enough from her. With the facility to readily access a wide range of emotions, Moore is often fitted into roles that have her doing plenty of showy emoting, but here she plays an insecure woman who goes through a plethora of shaded feelings, while staying within reach of solid baseline.

Though the major plot twist is, debatably, a movie cliche, Cholodenko allows the characters their own individual arcs, making the set up more palatable. Ruffalo’s Peter Pan-like Paul stumbles upon this ready made family and becomes enchanted with the idea of being a part of their lives. Wasilowska is exceptional as a recently graduated high school senior butting up against her own perfectionism and prudishness, and both her character Joni, and half brother Laser, feel very much like real adolescents - intelligent, impressionable, reactive, frustrated, and indignant. Bening’s uptight Nic is a bit too reminiscent of her iconic role in American Beauty, though she is also effective and believable as a domineering Mom and doctor, filling the traditionally male role in the marriage.

Ruffalo too demonstrates the kind of laid back charm we saw in You Can Count on Me, reminding us why he is one of the more likable actors out there. The performance, and his character, are both deceptively simple. Restaurant owner/organic farmer Paul is a man with an affable, cool guy facade, who has been unable to commit to anyone in his life. Though that fact is highlighted by his casual relationship with the beautiful, younger Tanya (Yaya DeCosta), it isn’t harped upon further, and, as is the case with most of these characters, his behavior is not explained by relating detailed past personal history.

Despite the obvious sexual politics at work here, for most of the film we are left to decide for ourselves what we think of these people and their lives. The denouement, however, takes a sharp (albeit, to some extent, perhaps inevitable) turn, and one is left with some level of confusion about the intent. It’s difficult to pinpoint whether the end is an indictment of certain individuals, an affirmation of gay people having successful long term relationships and families, or a commentary on the frailty and humanness of people in general, but there is a level of cruelty demonstrated that seems somewhat incongruent with the rest of the film, with only a subtle, though vitally important gesture included to offset it. In the end, regardless of the message being sent, it is nice to see the portrayal of characters who behave in real ways, with both the pettiness, jealously, and selfishness, but also the generosity, kindness, and loyalty that implies.

Inception (USA) Directed by Christopher Nolan  Written by Christopher Nolan  Starring Leonardo Di Caprio; Ellen Page; Marion Cotilliard; David Gordon Leavitt; Tom Hardy; Michael Caine; Cillian Murphy: Tom Berenger; Ken Watanabe; Peter Postelwaite; Dileep Rao; Lukas Haas

It is probably not the best sign when a film spends a goodly portion of its run time explaining the cryptic plot through the mouths of its characters. Brit Christopher Nolan has taken a foundation built on lower budget indies (Following; Memento); a medium budget remake of a foreign film (Insomnia); a bigger budget period mystery (The Prestige); and two mega budget comic book franchise entries, (Batman Begins; The Dark Knight), and created an intricately plotted psychological thriller/Sci-Fi actioner of monumentous proportion.

While enormous budgets are helpful, and perhaps even essential, in pulling off these modern day filmic  extravanzas, there is such a thing as too much, and as much as any film (possibly ever) Inception has too much everything. There is no denying the brilliance of the set design (Guy Hendrix Dias), cinematography (regular Nolan collaborator, DP Wally Pfister), or the skills of a fairly awesome cast, but the film is elongated by at least an 1/2 hour to 45 minutes, and the repetitiveness of the dialogue and myriad action sequences make what should be nothing if not a thrill-a-minute visual hyper-fest lag in too many places.

Nolan is a filmmaker who goes full out, and his sincere commitment to the world he is painting is obvious. Down to the dramatic, overbearing Hans Zimmer score there is no room for irony in this house. The conceptualization of the logistics of what is laid out before us seems likely based on what is known about dreams, the imaginative paths drawn up as we navigate this sinuous roller coaster likely bolstered by a foundation of real, or at least plausible,  science. Still, whether the mounting implausibilities that manage to amass on screen are the result of some intentionally less than fully explained real science, an inability by this particular viewer to comprehend all of the details, sloppily thought out and/or delivered plotting from those too deeply immersed in the project to see the light, or a case of a labyrinthian plot run amok (or some combination thereof) is tough to discern. It seems likely, however, that Nolan either wants to compel us to see his work multiple times in order to figure it out, or he’s hoping the events are so convoluted that we’ll all forget about trying and simply enjoy all the vividly compelling images without asking too many questions.

Inception seems like the kind of film that would benefit from a huge budget, and it does, to an extent. The scope is a wide one - principal photography on this 160 million dollar monster (with another 100 mill spent in marketing) took six months in Los Angeles, Calgary, Tangiers, and London. Some of the set pieces and super slow mo scenes are, no doubt, “cool”. But, as was the case with his overpraised Batman films, Nolan’s fascination with his own talent, and seemingly unlimited access to the best technology money can buy, leads to an excess of drawn out action scenes filled with an unyielding supply of inept bad guys who repeatedly prove unable to kill their targetsn regardless of how many wide open high powered rifle shots or close quarter grappling chances they are presented with.

No matter how enthralling the crisply shot visuals (in 35 and 65mm) might be, many of the full throttle battles and car chases on display are still simply too long, and one particular interminable sequence on snow filled mountains  feels more than a little derivative (perhaps the intent is homage?) of so many actioners of the past (think several Bond films, which Nolan is reportedly a fan of). There are undeniable moments of beauty here, especially when Nolan plays with time and camera speed (a van falling; glass shattering), and some of the CGI is excellent as well (cities changing form; buildings imploding), but though Arthur’s (Joseph Gordon Leavitt) no gravity hallway fight might be something to see, its power diminishes greatly as it continues to play out, intercut with other sequences, and stretched to the point of tedium. And despite the claims of innovation, Inception (unlike, say Avatar) doesn’t feel all that different from the The Matrix or Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, or some other big budgeters that were on the technological cutting edge upon release.

The bewildering plot, which involves individuals who enter other people’s dreams in order to steal business secrets (and eventually plant information), has been explored in various ways before (Dreamscape (1984);The Matrix (1999), existenZ (1999), etc.), though definitely not with this kind of intricacy. There are times when the cast seems as perplexed as some of the audience though, fighting to get the words of explanation out to narrate what is happening as they go. DiCaprio, as expert dream thief and fugitive Dominic “Dom” Cobb, certainly gives it his actorly all, and Marion Cotilliard as his deceased wife Mallorie “Mal” Cobb, is excellent in places, but for most of the film she is left as stranded as she was in Michael Mann’s Public Enemies. Ellen Page too is fine as architectural student/dream designer Ariadne, though one can, in certain moments, imagine her thinking, “Am I really saying this stuff?” as she spits out some of the cliche-ridden dialogue.

Ultimately, one’s opinion of Inception comes down to an an expectation of what film is supposed to be. For those unabashed Avatar devotees desiring a theater experience involving a high speed jolt with intense,  mind bending visuals, who are less concerned with all the dots of the story connecting, this is the latest and greatest in  filmmaking. For those in search of a logical tale about relatable human beings, you have come to the wrong place, my friend.

Cyrus(USA) Directed by Mark Duplass; Jay Duplass  Written by Mark Duplass; Jay Duplass  Starring John C. Reilly; Marisa Tomei; Jonah Hill; Catherine Keener; Matt Walsh

The Duplass Brothers made their bones creating low budget, low tech films (The Puffy Chair; Baghead)  characterized by their examinations of socially awkward situations and an improvised-feeling, relatively plot-less, free flowing vibe. As two of the leading members of the Mumblecore movement, they have been the recipients of both the increased attention and exposure brought on by the publicity surrounding the discovery of a “new thing,” and also the backlash of pointed criticism emanating from those who feel these films to be generally unworthy of all the hype.

Regardless of what one’s feelings are about the Mumblecore aesthetic and its place in cinema, some degree of respect has to be given to these brothers, who have spent years making low budget cinema. Though they surely benefited from being part of a wave of DIY films that captured the imagination of the festival circuit, they have still managed to turn the opportunities presented to them into the reality of a bigger budget feature backed by Ridley and Tony Scott, who executive produce through their company, Scott Free productions. Here, they get to employ some exceptional, experienced actors, making good use of the benefits more money provides.

The promos would have one believe that Cyrus is something of a wacky revenge comedy along the lines of another John C. Reilly vehicle, Step Brothers, but this film is decidedly more dark and dramatic than your typical straight comedy. Though not uproarious, Cyrusis funny, and while requisitely uncomfortable (it is, after all, a Duplass brothers film) it isn’t overly or manipulatively so, and certainly the brothers have in mind a piece with an intricate emotional layering that extends beyond most big budget comic romps.

Despite the increase in said budget, the brothers remain true to their established methodology and style, shooting in sequential order, refraining from table reads, rehearsals, or extensive blocking, and though referring to a script, using healthy doses of improvisation and a kind of on-the-fly spontaneous style that allows them to continually shift gears and present scene and dialogue alterations to the actors as they shoot. Using multiple cameras, they also retain a mostly hand held look, which is perhaps the one technical area that may have benefited from some toning down. In an effort to reproduce the feel of their low budget offerings, they incorporate a plethora of re-framing, re-focusing, and zooms to mirror a verite, documentary-like feel, but though effective in places, there are times when the visuals feel somewhat forced, the devices unnecessary. There is no doubt that their look has improved some with more experience and the exponential increase in funds, but hopefully will benefit from further refinement as their careers continue.

Like all of their previous work, the story is a tightly compact one, encompassing only a handful of characters and rarely leaving the narrow focus on the three individuals who comprise the non-traditional love triangle at the center of the plot. We begin with John (John S. Reilly), a depressed, lonely, divorced forty-something freelance editor who meets single Mom, Molly (Marisa Tomei), at a party he has reluctantly agreed to attend. Things begin swimmingly, if oddly (John compares himself to Shrek in the forest at one point),  until John meets Molly’s twenty two year old live-in son, Cyrus (Jonah Hill), a portly, outwardly polite, neatly dressed nutjob who proceeds to surreptitiously engage the new suitor in a battle of wills for the prize of Molly’s attention.

The brothers do well giving us a fairly cliche set up, but refusing to walk a straight line down the expected path. Part of the films’ strength is its meandering quality, with a plot that strays from a typical structural framework. The skill of leads Tomei and Reilly is evident throughout as both actors obviously remained open enough to adapt to this way of working. Both of them continually surprise and enchant with interesting and naturalistic line readings and reactions. There very much exists the feeling of real people behaving in real ways, no small accomplishment given that this is, at heart, a comedy. Catherine Keener as John’s ex wife Jamie too gives another in a long line of excellent performances.  Only Hill, a less studied dramatic performer, is a bit one note; though, as an experienced improviser and comedic actor, he brings great timing to the table, and is, in part, responsible for some of the film’s funniest moments.

It is no accident that Cyrusfeels somewhat different than anything we’ve seen before, perhaps because there is a kind of meld going on between the Mumblecore sensibility and style and the comedic elements of the Apatow-like comedies of recent years. It is impossible to say who or what is influencing who or what here exactly, but artists are constantly inspired and effected by the world around them, as well as their peers  working in a variety of mediums. In the same way that Noah Baumbach’s recent film, Greenberg,  clearly owed a tip of the hat to Andrew Bujalski, Joe Swanberg, and the Duplass brothers themselves (who have become friends with Mr. Baumbach), what we get here is an example of filmmakers maturing and hitting their stride, utilizing their talents to create on a bigger stage.

Next for Jay and Mark Duplass is Jeff Who Lives at Home, starring Susan Sarandon and Jason Segel, and produced by Jason Reitman. It will be interesting to see if the brothers continue to retain a substantive portion of what made them special in the first place, or if they will eventually be absorbed by the Hollywood monster. So far so good.

Burma VJ (DAN) Directed by Anders Ostergaard

There are rare documentaries (Sorrow and the Pity; Harlan County USA; The Tittcut Follies; Shoah, et al) that contain subject matter so compelling and universalthat their importance as a teaching mechanism virtually eclipses any would-be conversation about structure, or for that matter any other technical detail one might normally critique when examining non-fiction work. Burma VJ (Video Journalist) is one such film.

Documentary film, like the best of written, photo, and tele journalism, has the power to advocate for politicaland social change. Burma VJ  endeavors to provide a context for the grouping of footage shot during the protests in Burma that occurred mostly in September 2007. The unrest was originally brought on by a hike of some 500% in oil/gas prices in August that immediately caused massive hardship for the poorest of the country’s people.

Burma, or officially, Myanamar, has long been the subject of worldwide controversy due to a fascist military leadership responsible for countless human rights violations throughout the history of the regime. It had been almost twenty years since the country experienced any significant organized protest, a period replete with countless state sanctioned arrests, imprisonment, beatings, kidnappings, torture, and murders. This time also included the house arrest (for fourteen of these years) of opposition leader Aung Sun Suu Kyi, who has become a martyr of sorts for the Burmese people. In a country that spends less on public health care than any other in the world, there are 488,000 troops in Burma, and the Junta essentially maintain a constant police state that strictly outlaws all unsanctioned speech in any form.    

The film centers on “Joshua,” one of the leaders of the DVB (Democratic Voice of Burma), a group dedicated to exposing the government’s many abuses by employing camcorders, the Internet, and satellite TV to shoot and smuggle the video out of the country. During the 2007 protests they were directly responsible for providing the BBC, CNN and multiple media outlets across the world with up to date evidence of the historical events unfolding on the streets of Rangoon. 

With his face obscured, Joshua is filmed mostly in a single room where he speaks with various VJs and others by cell phone and email about the events as that are unfolding, mostly in realtime. Obviously, there was some creative license that went into the shaping of Joshua’s communication, which is clearly dramatized for the purposes of the film, but these kinds of details are fairly inconsequentialal when one considers the gravity of what is at work here.

The VJs are literally risking their lives as they film, and the danger escalates as they further expose themselves over repeated days. In fact, some will wind up facing life in prison for their “crimes”. The imagery they manage to obtain, though often shaky in quality, is compelling, with scenes of government sanctioned beatings and shootings occurring on the main streets of the city. There is a feeling of being there with the camera person as often they narrate what they are filming, including some harrowing moments when they themselves are in imminent danger of being exposed.

Perhaps the most compelling visuals though are those of the protesting Buddhist monks, who also risk their lives to take a stand against an unjust government. The sight of hundreds of maroon robed monks marching and chanting protest slogans, some holding overturned alms bowls over their heads, is one that is difficult to erase from the memory bank. With 400,000 in their ranks, the monks knew that they were the only ones with enough leverage to attempt to stand up to the oppressors.

The bravery displayed by the monks, students, and average citizen alike is an incredible thing. Given that 3,000 were reportedly killed in 1988, the last time the Burmese people took to the streets, there is no doubt in any of the protesters minds that they might be shot or thrown in prison at any moment.  They march to speak for those who have previously died for the cause, for their children, for future generations, for their country.

This Academy Award nominated film, which is now available on DVD, is as important as anything one is likely to see this year or any other.

The Killer Inside Me(USA) Directed by Michael Winterbottom   Written by John Curran  Starring Casey Affleck; Kate Hudson; Jessica Alba; Elias Koteas; Ned Beatty; Simon Baker; Bill Pullman; Tom Bower; Jay R. Ferguson

Michael Winterbottom is one of modern cinema’s most interesting directors, though defining his perspective as a filmmaker proves no easy task. One reason for this is that he keeps floating from one seemingly disparate project to another, the eclectic list of films on his growing resume characterized by little more than a decided lack of discernible linkage. Here he takes on Jim Thompson’s first person novel, a book that has been adapted before (a little seen 1976 version directed by Burt Kennedy and starring Stacey Keach).

Casey Affleck does not spring to mind as an obvious choice for the lead, small town deputy sheriff Lou Ford, but stranger still are the casting of Kate Hudson as girfriend Amy, and Jessica Alba as prostitute Joyce, with neither actress exactly known for art house drama roles. Alba looks beautiful and manages to get through her scenes, while Hudson reminds us that once upon a time (see Almost Famous)she actually acted. Affleck is fittingly disaffected as Ford, doing a version of a character who is nothing if not polite and amiable on the surface, but with the exception of the sly, slightly deranged smile that occasionally slips across his lips, shows us his dark nature only in the spankings he enjoys administering in bed, and later in bursts of violence that arise from the depths of his soul, from what he terms in the novel as “the sickness”. Speaking of which,  Affleck’s Lou Ford is little like the one of the novel, a man perceived by the local citizenry as so dimwitted as to be nearly above suspicion.

Lou Ford is a reader who listens to classical music. With a history of childhood abuse (as victim and victimizer), we are shown glimpses of the source of his sexual depravity through flashbacks that are interposed with a developing sadomasochistic relationship with the gorgeous Joyce, and his ongoing one with local good girl Amy Z, which is also tinged with Ford’s predilection toward rough sex. Affleck’s Ford is a weasley sort, and despite the bits of narration, we simply cannot connect to him in the way it is possible to as reader. Thompson’s Ford sucks us in with his warped logic and unreliable depiction of events, making his acts, as abhorrent as they may be, seem somehow vaguely plausible. Winterbottom’s/Affleck’s Ford is almost entirely unlikeable, his boyish looks, reedy voice, and overall countenance translating as just as whiny and sneaky as Affleck’s other Ford character, Robert, in The Assasination of the Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. Somehow, the matter-of-fact nature of the sociopathic protagonist’s actions that set the tone in the printed version gets lost, or at least altered, in this film account.

Set in West Texas in the late fifties (the book was published in 1952), though filmed in Oklahoma and New Mexico, the soundtrack is composed mostly of upbeat period country tunes, juxtaposed, often too closely, with the action on screen. Regardless of whether the music is intended as ironic, or even offered as some sort of inside joke/meta commentary, it fails to add much to the aforementioned tone, which plays as flat as Lou Ford’s demeanor, punctuated only by the extreme moments of sex and graphic violence, with one beating scene in particular standing out for it’s brutal, unflinching refusal to look away.

Winterbottom and screenwriter Curran have managed to remain faithful to Thompson’s source novel, though this is perhaps one of the main issues here. The versatile British director has made a career out of mixing elements of documentary and fiction, but has never established a specific point of view as an artist, and similarly there is perhaps a failure to express a commanding one here. Though one can appreciate fidelity to original material, especially an iconic piece of pulp such as this (though opinions of its literary merit vary), it is possible to stay true when adapting another’s work and still miss out on the essence of what made the piece special in the first place. 

Though appealingly shot, the film fails to hit the shadowy notes of black and white period noirs, or even of a brilliantly rendered neo-noir like The Coen Brothers Blood Simple, which had a wicked sense of humor related to the genre it was mirroring. Here, the noir is played straight, losing some of Thompson’s  playfulness, the standout feature being the graphic violence and rough sex on display. This modern handling plays in direct opposition to the period setting and otherwise straightforward telling, though in and of itself fails to make much of a statement and/or elevate the material.

In a piece that would seem rife for some tasty character turns, none of the minor players manage to stand out, with the possible exception of Bill Pullman’s Billy Boy Walker, who shows up a little late to have much of an effect. In fact, Simon Baker’s Howard Hendricks and (an over the top) Elias Koteas’ Joe Rothman, present to question and prod Ford about his dastardly deeds, prove as annoying (or worse, dull) to the audience as they presumably are to the man they are intent on provoking. One can recall M. Emmett Walsh as the detective in Blood Simple as an example of an actor relishing the playing of a sleazy misanthrope.

The end is something of a departure, and similar touches throughout the rest of the film might have dually set the groundwork for such a denouement, while assisting in formulating a cinematic interpretation that ascended beyond a mere well-handled visual representation of the source.

Get Him to the Greek  (USA) Directed by Nicolas Stoller  Written by Nicolas Stoller  Starring Jonah Hill; Russell Brand; Rose Byrne; Colm Meaney; Sean P. Diddy Combs; Elisabeth Moss; Aziz Ansari

Director Nicolas stoller’s Forgetting Sarah Marshallwas one of the best comedies of 2008. With Jud Apatow again producing and writer/director Stoller reprising the offbeat duo of Russell Brand (as Sarah Marshall  rock star Aldous Snow) and Jonah Hill (here playing Aaron Green, a different character), there was every reason to believe we might be in for another entertaining romp. Not so fast.

Get Him to the Greek is based on the kind of boys on a road trip behaving badly scenario constituting the plot of The Hangover. Perhaps it’s not coincedental either that, like The Hangover, much of this film takes place in Las Vegas. Like many of the offerings that comprise the recent Apatow produced and directed spate, Get Him to the Greekrelies on the premise of a lead nerd boy character who, though in a long term, committed relationship with a domineering woman, has never understood how to relate to members of the opposite sex and thusly harbors some degree of regret over the sexscapades he imagines missing out on.

The beginning of the film is a kind of prologue consisting of a series of faux interviews and clips from celebrity/entertainment shows, using some of the actual reporters from the real programs themselves to aid the authencity factor. These are combined with similarly constructed Aldous Snow music videos and concert footage. There are a couple of laughs sprinkled into the mix, and all of these re-creations are well designed and shot, but though the music too is skillfully created, none of it is that funny. As far as parody goes, the content of the songs aren’t satirical enough to make anything but the most cursory of social commentary, and while vaguely absurd, they’re not (unfortunately) that far away from actual pop songs.

Mario Lopez; Lars Ulrich; Christina Aguilera; Billy Bush; Kurt Loder; Tom Felton; Rick Schroder; Pharrell Williams; Meredith Viera; and Paul Krugman are some of those who show up playing themselves, though none of them stand out as being particularly funny or surprising. Snow’s latest single African Child  is purposefully offensive, though even this abomination feels somehow watered down, and we as audience are perhaps far less outraged than we should be.

There are plausibilitiy issues in Get Him to the Greek, starting with the notion that a multi-millionaire tycoon who owns a record company and twenty two Koo Koo Roos would allow his underling to escort a huge rock star with serious drug issues on a commercial flight when he had big money riding on said star’s impending appearance. Moguls own private jets, or at least have access to them, and these kinds of gaps in logic tear away at the walls of believability necessary even in the most absurd of comedies. The eventual abrupt shift in character made by Aaron’s uptight girlfriend Daphne also feels unrealistic, or at least like an adolescent’s plot-line solution, although admittedly the utter lack of sexiness helps to undercut this fact some. Still, the film’s young, clueless nerd perspective again feels at worse misogynistic, and at best severely arrested. Whatever “learning” takes place at the end comes across as a flimsily concealed attempt at actual drama - infused, like the rest of the more serious aspects throughout, to make us buy these broadly drawn characters as human beings.

To his credit, Sean P. Diddy Combs as boss man record exec Sergio Roma, allows his image to be subverted, and his playing against type fuels several of the films best bits. Supporting players Elisabeth Moss (as Aaron’s girlfriend ,Daphne); Colm Meany (as Aldous’s father, Jonathan); and Rose Byrne (as Aldous’s ex wife and fellow pop star, Jackie Q.), are all fine, though their characters are one dimensional and the few dramatic moments they participate in mostly fall flat. The film is at its best in small exchanges between the two leads and also during stretches when the pace is amped up, ala the hotel set piece, which careens from one ludicrous moment to the next. However, even during the best of these sections, one can’t help but recall similar set ups in a host of recent comedies, and much of the plot feels both telegraphed and warmed over.

Apatow is something of a master of the type, but he isn ‘t the director here, and the alchemy of these films is of an acutely precarious nature, with a mix of elements that require precise tonal massaging. The film has enough laughs to keep it out of flop territory, but ultimately fails to hold together as anything more than a lightweight diversion.

Looking for Eric(BRIT) Directed by Ken Loach  Written by Paul Laverty  Starring Steve Evets; Eric Cantona; Gerard Kearns; Stephanie Bishop; John Henshaw; Greg Cook; Smug Roberts; Stefan Gumbs; Lucy-Jo Hudson

Seventy three year old Ken Loach is one of modern cinema’s masters of social realist drama, the majority of his oeuvre consisting of stories about citizen workers on the lower rung of the economic ladder. Though Loach has a fondness for casting British comedians in supporting roles, and interlacing moments of humor into the mix, essentially his plots are of a more serious nature, and he is not shy about allowing his staunchly held political convictions to play out in his narratives. The director has therefore come under some degree of criticism over the years for his steadfast commitment to socialist ideals, which can, at times, manifest as verging on the didactic.

The past decade though has shown a more versatile Loach than at any time in his career, and his output has included a romantic comedy of sorts (Ae Fond Kiss) and an historical drama (The Wind That Shakes the Barley). Long forced to fight to get his films made, he has struggled through several dry periods, but has benefited from major festival awards and positive critical response, and during this, the latter part of his career, has been quite prolific - Looking for Eric being his fourteenth feature in the last twenty years.

Teaming with regular collaborators screenwriter Paul Laverty, producer Rebecca O’Brien, and cinematographer Barry Ackroyd, this time out Loach gives us a comedy, and for good measure he even includes some surrealistic touches, clearly breaking from his long established comfort zone. The story focuses on depressed middle-aged postman Eric, who lives with his two stepsons Ryan (Gerard Kearns) and Jess (Stefan Gumbs), the children of his unseen second wife, who left them seven years previous. Eric is a nice guy, who enjoys a pint at the pub with his work mates, but he’s also a pathologically passive sort who gets walked on by his two rather unruly wards.

Early on we learn that the famed Manchester United footballer Eric Cantona is Eric’s hero. The Frenchman (played by Cantona himself) even begins appearing to him as kind of advice giving sage (think of Bogie in Woody Allen’s Play it Again Samor Elvis in Tarantino’s True Romance ). The forty four year old Cantona is actually a legitmate actor, having appeared in a number of French films since his retirement from soccer in 1997. He does a solid job, though the accent is thick and subtitles might have been appropriate.

As the story unfolds, we learn about Eric’s past, which includes the fact that he abandoned his first wife and love of his life, Lily (Stephanie Bishop) and daughter Sam (Lucy-jo Hudson). He maintains a relationship with the adult Sam, however, and his assisting her efforts to balance school exams and a new daughter, Daisy, leads him to a meeting with Lily, whom he hasn’t seen in many years. The regrets and sadness Eric has lived with coalesce when he is forced to confront his past actions. Loach uses flashback to good effect, recalling beautifully photographed glimpses of the young couple’s time together. 

A subplot having to do with Ryan’s trouble with a local hard case is less effective. Though it infuses the story with tension and danger it also takes valuable time away from the relationships that are the heart and soul of the film. It’s as if Laverty/Loach are afraid to explore the deeper emotional ramifications of complicated human interaction, and resort to a conclusion that, while amusing, falls a little flat.  

Per usual, Loach elicits naturalistic performances from a mix of experienced and non-experienced actors. Evets and Bishop are particularly good as older people who have endured all that life has thrown at them.

Le Donk and Scor-zay-zee (BRIT) Directed by Shane Meadows  Written by Shane Meadows  Starring Paddy Considine; Dean Palinczuk; Shane Meadows; Richard Graham; Olivia Colman

Shane Meadows is one of the UKs best young directors. At thirty eight, this ultra low budget mockumentary is his seventh feature. Though he has made a number of bigger films, which gained theatrical releases in the U.S. , he and producer Mark Herbert (who, along with other producers, appears as himself) have come up with a concept for their Warp Films, which involves shooting features in only five days. Le Donk and Scor-zay-zee represents their first release using those guidelines.  

Meadows and his frequent collaborator and longtime friend, actor Paddy Considine, came up with the Le Donk character when the two were teenagers and have used him in several shorts before this. The nickname is never explained (short for ‘The Donkey’ might be an apt guess), but Le Donk (played by Considine) is a half-witted roadie/wannabe music producer/manager whose life is in shambles. Separated from his very pregnant girlfriend, Olivia (Olivia Colman), his dreams rest with a young overweight rapper, Scor-Zay-zee (played by real life Nottingham rapper, Dean Palinczuk), who rents a room in his house.

The conceit is that Meadows (playing himself) is making a documentary about Le Donk (at one point he references UK doc Southpaw ) and a small crew, with Meadows shooting, follows him from his home to his three day roadie gig for The Artic Monkeys (who appear as well). In the vein of Spinal Tap, Le Donk is exposed as an egotistical, self-involved, misogynistic jackass who argues with Meadows, constantly asks him for relationship advice, and whose true motivation seems to be getting famous himself, despite his claims to want to promote the career of his protege.

The film rests on the awkwardness induced by Le Donk’s stupidity and general lack of awareness as to the folly of his own life. Meadows, Colman, and Palinczuk do well as straight men, and the humor is nicely controlled by the director, who keeps things from degenerating into the absurd. It is evident though that more takes might have refined the humor and allowed for additional improvisation (Considine is clearly enjoying himself), which might have exponentially increased the laugh quotient. One can feel certain scenes left less than fully explored, and in several that include Olivia’s new boyfriend (played by Richard Graham, who edits), the actor (as opposed to the character he’s playing) seems on the verge of laughter in instances where it doesn’t fit.   

The idea is a good one, though, and just right for the squeezed schedule, but perhaps owing to the shooting time it is still paper thin, and at 71 minutes barely makes it as an actual feature. The same was true of Meadows’ previous feature, Somers Town (2008), which (at the same 71 minutes) went into shooting as a short and got extended by the director, a process which may have led him into this kind of further experimentation. The difference was that while Somers Towndidn’t have much of a plot, it benefited from solid characters and a heartfelt, nostalgic tone.

Le Donk and Scor-zay-zeeis amusing and the talented Considine is, of course, solid, but ultimately the film suffers from a lack of depth/complexity. Meadows is known for hard hitting dramas set in the Midlands and no one can blame him for having fun and trying something new, but more time and money might have led to something a bit more palatable to actual paying, theater going audiences.