Page One: Inside the New York Times (USA) Directed by Andrew Rossi Written by Andrew Ross; Kate Novack

Page One is an examination of the inner workings of The New York Times, a newspaper that has been on the vanguard of journalism for the past one hundred and sixty years, but rather than a strict procedural the film is more succinctly about the changing nature of media, and the ways The Internet is contributing to the demise of traditional outlets, in part by shifting the very business model it has depended on.

The institution that published the Pentagon Papers, and long served as a standard bearer, and the pinnacle aspired to by other papers and journalists all over the world, The Times hit a rough patch in recent years. Along with the systemic crash in advertising, subscription, and readership dollars, as well as the massive layoffs that followed, several scandals rocked their once unimpeachable reputation. These included widespread plagiarism by reporter Jayson Blair, and wildly inaccurate, fabricated articles written by Judith Miller about weapons of mass destruction in Iraq.

The film focuses on several individuals who work for the paper, most prominently David Carr, who reports on media through the media desk. Carr is an interesting character, an ex-crack addict from Minnesota, who raised two kids as a single father and managed to turn his life around. Red faced, slightly hunchbacked, with a raspy voice and accent straight out of Fargo, Carr is a tenacious reporter, who eloquently posits about the future of his own paper (conceding he is an unabashed fan), and print media in general, and during the filming a well-publicized controversy erupts over Carr’s investigative work digging into the bankruptcy of The Chicago Tribune and it’s billionaire owner Sam Zell.

Others featured include younger reporters like Tim Arango and Brian Stelter, and editors Bill Keller (who stepped down as executive editor earlier this year) and Bruce Headlam, giving us several voices, and a wider look at how stories get written and approved. The phenomena of WikiLeaks also plays out during the filming, further deepening the dialectic about news sources, and the role traditional newspapers now hold in a wider media landscape, one that has potentially altered long held journalistic ethical considerations and procedures.

While the pace is frenetic, and the film doesn’t completely deliver on the promise of the title, some interesting, relevant discussion is carried out concerning the concept of print newspapers providing much of the content for newer channels to filter to their audiences, and what might happen if these powerful traditional entities with the deep pockets and clout to stand up to other powerful institutions (big business, government, et al) were to disappear, and the question of where exactly then would investigative reporting come from. While Internet news sites can disseminate information to their audience quickly and expediently, there are still real questions about whether they have the necessary infrastructure available to spend months digging into stories that need reporting - covering wars, exposing well entrenched corruption. There is little doubt that all reportage involves some degree of bias, but what to make of a future spearheaded by the likes of Julian Assange, who falls somewhere in a gray area of computer hacker/journalist/activist/information terrorist.

Director Andrew Rossi does an excellent job bringing forth conversation about Gawker; Pro Publica; The Huffington Report and some of the other leading Internet sources, and interviews with famed Washington Post/Watergate reporter Carl Bernstein; author Gay Talese (who wrote a famous book on The Times, Kingdom and the Power (1969); and author and journalist Sarah Ellison (War at the Wall Street Journal), to provide insight and color. While this is not actually a narrow view of the day to day working of a paper, nor is it a much needed examination of the failure of traditional media to do the kind of salient investigative reporting it touts itself as doing, it is a prescient look at a wider question that speaks to the implications surrounding how we will get our information in the future.

Bad Teacher (USA) Directed by Jake Kasdan Written by Gene Stupnitsky; Lee Eisenberg Starring Cameron Diaz; Jason Segel; Lucy Punch; Justin Timberlake; Phyllis Smith; Thomas Lennon; Molly Shannon; Eric Stonestreet

While Bad Teacher is not much different from some of the better R rated studio comedies of the recent past (i.e. Bridesmaids; Cyrus; Get Him to the Greek; Horrible Bosses; The Hangover; Wedding Crashes; Superbad; 40 year Old Virgin, et al), it is closest to a film with a similar title and premise, Bad Santa (which in turn owed a tip of the hat to Bobcat Goldwait’s 1991 Shakes the Clown). From a script penned by two writers from The Office, Lee Eisenberg and Gene Stupnitsky, Jake Kasdan (The TV Set; Zero Effect, Walk Hard) directs this unapologetically misanthropic story of slutty, potty-mouthed middle school teacher Elizabeth Halsey (Cameron Diaz), who, after getting dumped by her rich fiancee, is biding her time at a job she loathes before landing another sugar daddy. Diaz joyfully embraces the despicable nature of her character, who demonstrates far fewer redeemable qualities than in most similarly set up comedies of the type. The supporting cast includes Jason Segel as good guy gym teacher, Russell; Lucy Punch (with a horrible American accent) as goody-two-shoes foe and fellow teacher, Amy Squirrel; Justin Timberlake as new teacher, Scott; and John Michael Higgins as Principal, Wally Snur. Though the story is paper thin, it is to the writers and director’s credit that Bad Teacher manages to be so self-contained, rarely venturing from the confines of the school building, and deviating little from the premise. The film also carries out its mission with little concession to the standard main character learning arc that is usually played out in excruciatingly deliberate fashion. True, there is some “growth” along the way, but it happens by accident, and almost grudgingly, and still, one can’t help but wish the powers to be pushed it even further and refused to allow any kind of satisfying wrap up (think Todd Solondz). There is so little depth that the film feels like little more than a series of scenes knitted together, as opposed to a fully fleshed out entity, but there is some definite fun to be had.

Horrible Bosses (USA) Directed by Seth Gordon Written by Michael Markowitz; John Francis Daley; Jonathan Goldstein   Starring Jason Sudekis; Jason Batemen; Charlie Day; Colin Farrell; Jennifer Aniston; Kevin Spacey; Jamie Foxx; Donald Sutherland; Lindsay Sloane; Julie Bowen

Seth Gordon (Four Christmases; Freakonomics) directs this mostly fun (and funny) comedy about three put upon employees who decide to help one another out by killing the others’ boss. Horrible Bosses manages to feel freewheeling without resorting to overindulgence, so while clearly scripted, the comedy has that improvised feel to it without getting into Cannonball Run territory. Jennifer Aniston seems to delight in her role as a foul mouthed, sexually predatory dentist, and the same can be said for Kevin Spacey as a vicious, dictatorial corporate exec, and Colin Farrell as Bobby, the balding, coke sniffing owner’s son, his physical transformation reminiscent of Tom Cruise’s turn in Tropic Thunder. Jason Sudekis; (the always solid) Jason Batemen; and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia’s Charlie Day (who is turning out to be the breakout film actor of that show’s bunch), make for an amusing trio of friends, sharing the kind of chemistry only possible with decent writing and well honed comic timing. Only some extra dollops of absurdity having to do with plot, and perhaps too little attention to what made the guys friends in the first place, keep the film from being memorable, though there are plenty of laughs to be had.

Bill Cunningham New York (USA) Directed by Richard Press

Fascinating and engagingly human portrait of New York Times fashion/society photographer Bill Cunningham, an octogenarian whose regular photo columns, On The Street and Evening Hours, have been mainstays for the publication’s print and online versions for over thirty years. Cunningham is a unique character, fascinated with documenting the fashions displayed by NYC pedestrians since the early sixties, maintains his incredible collection of photos in multiple file cabinets that dominate his meager, longtime apartment at Carnegie Hall. During the making of the film, Cunningham is, along with the few remaining elderly resident artists remaining in the building, evicted from his home. We observe Cunningham as he does his duties for the paper, riding his bike day and night along the streets of Manhattan. The photographer long ago chose a kind of spartan, monk-like existence, his time devoted by his work. Throughout the film, he expresses his nearly lifelong passion for clothes, claiming a complete lack of interest in the celebrity that surrounds the industry. Through the years, Cunningham has built a solid reputation in the fashion world as someone with an encyclopedic historical knowledge with the ability to keenly spot recurring trends and make connections with the past. It is his odd sensibility, however, that is perhaps most interesting - a disdain for any and all luxuries, a lack of interest in his own clothes, and an overall refusal to take any money beyond what he needs to live. He is so principled that he has never even taken a snack at the swank events he covers, and says he wouldn’t know what to do if he went to a fancy restaurant. His refusal to compromise his strict set of moral codes once led him to leave a solid position with Women’s Daily Wear. Raised Catholic in a conservative Massachusetts household, he is a genteel soul with an abhorrence for anything he considers not nice. At the same time, he maintains a sense of humor about himself and his own habits, his conversation often punctuated by a unique giggle. Director Press was once a Times employee, who only managed to get his subject to agree to the film because they knew one another previously. The painstakingly shy Cunningham seems genuinely befuddled as to why it is being made in the first place, and was reportedly reluctant to continue at various times throughout the filming. Ultimately, the film’s most poignant moments occur during the director’s last interview with his subject, when he carefully asks the very private Cunningham about his sexuality and past romantic relationships. It is here where we see get a glimpse into the full depth of a complex man who has carried on a love affair with fashion for the entirety of his life, but may have given up some in the process.

Submarine (USA) Directed by Richard Ayaode Written by Richard Ayoade  Starring Craig Roberts; Sally Hawkins; Noah Taylor; Paddy Considine; Yasmin Paige

Based on a 2008 novel by Joe Dunthorne, this British production stars Craig Roberts as fifteen year old nerd Oliver Tate, from Swansea, Wales, a young man with limited social skills who longs to be in a relationship with a girl. The object of his desire is the enticing, enigmatic, eczema plagued pyromaniac Jordana (Yasmin Paige), an elusive creature with a bold streak who becomes enamored with Oliver’s strident devotion to her. The cast is a good one, consisting of the marvelous Noah Taylor (as bored father Lloyd) and Sally Hawkins (as bored mom Jill), as well as Paddy Considine, doing one of his far out characterizations as new age motivational speaker with a mullet, Graham Purvis. Making his feature debut, thirty four year old writer/director Richard Ayaode is clearly a talent to watch, and demonstrates a sure hand in establishing a consistent tone. The precociousness of the younger characters and deadpan delivery of the actors resembles a kind Wes Anderson Rushmore/ Tenenbaums vibe, mixed with seventies American Cinema (think Harold and Maude); with a dollop of Catcher in the Rye for good measure. Once upon a time one can imagine Michael Cera in an American version of the film, doing a riff on his outsider character who’s so square he’s hip (Scott Pilgrim; Youth In Revolt; Superbad et al). Oliver narrates the proceedings with a wry, often skewed view of the world, while trying to capture his beloveds heart, mind (and of course, body) and repair his parents failing marriage. While there are times when the film teeters on either side of the sentimental/ ridiculous ends of the spectrum, for the most part Ayaode manages to keep the ship steady as he attempts to meld emotionally honest performances with highly stylized/fantastic, trappings.

Moneyball (USA) Directed by Bennett Miller  Written by Aaron Sorkin; Steve Zaillian  Starring Brad Pitt; Jonah Hill; Phillip Seymour Hoffman; Robin Wright Penn; Chris Pratt; Spike Jonze; Kerri Dorsey; Robert Kotick

Based on Michael Lewis’ 2003 book Moneyball: The Art of Winning an Unfair Game, Moneyball is made in the same vein as another recent popular film based on a non-fiction bestseller, The Social Network. Perhaps this should come as no surprise since both well-crafted scripts bear the stamp of Aaron Sorkin (this time sharing credit with Steve Zaillian (American Gangster; Schindler’s List), who wrote a polish on the initial script). Like David Fincher before him, Director Bennett Miller (Capote) manages to take recent history and spin it in such a way that the events never seem boring, or drawn out, or cliche.

On paper, a film about the General Manager of the 2001 Oakland A’s and his battle to compete in an unfair economic landscape, really shouldn’t work, which is partly why this project took so long getting to the screen. Once upon a time Stephen Soderbergh was set to direct, but the plug was pulled some five days before shooting was to begin due to controversy over Soderbergh’s own version of the script, which relied heavily on interviews with real life people, and eliminated fictionalized elements. 

When one thinks about it, Moneyball takes many of the conventions of the traditional sports pic - that is, it gives us a rag tag bunch of misfits who no one believes in; a flawed, but ultimately selfless leader, driven by demons, who goes out on a limb to prove something to himself; a cutesy kid who wants to spend more time with her father; a crusty coach and bottom line owner, and so and so on… and yet…

In film it’s all about tone. And Sorkin/Miller et al understand that there is beauty to be derived in the very basic idea of a good tale told well. Thus, although all of the usual plot devices may be hanging out for all to see, the film somehow feels fresh. Perhaps, in part, it’s the depiction of the main characters and the way they relate to one another - the fact that Billy Beane (Brad Pitt) is obviously a lonely man, and yet the subject isn’t something that is ever actually discussed; the odd working friendship that develops between he and assistant Peter Brand (in real life, Paul DePodesta, who unlike Hill’s character was an ex-college player/scout), played by, Jonah Hill, that never gets sappy; Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s nifty portrayal of Manager Art Howe (who has complained about being inaccurately portrayed), and the way that his interaction with Beane is played for some laughs, but never allowed to verge into parody.

The film itself is sweeping in the sense that it covers a year or so in time pass, using woven flashbacks to cover Beane’s personal history, but ala The Social Network, screen graphics, and key inserts help to provide pace and feed us lots of information in a clever way. Under the eye of DP Wally Pfister (The Dark Knight; Inception), there are a host of nicely composed shots of Beane alone in contemplation, real and constructed baseball highlights, empty parks, a hitter in a batting cage, all married in an a masterful editing job (Christopher Tellefsen) that deserves to be noted.

The rest of the cast, which includes Robin Wright Penn, Chris Pratt, and Spike Jones (in an amusing cameo), is solid as well, though it all revolves around Pitt (who fought to bring the story to the screen and is one of the producers), who manages to convey the affable, cocky manner of an ex-jock, easygoing and smiling, but with an intense desire to win boiling underneath the facade. Pitt’s partner in crime, Hill (in his first big dramatic role), also proves to be an excellent choice, doing his deadpan best as a nerdy Sabermetric guy from Yale who Beane plucks from The Cleveland Indians. Their scenes together are some of the best in the film.

Though clearly a number of liberties were taken with the real life events (e.g. in real life the A’s had one of the best pitching staffs in baseball), Miller chooses to employ a host of non-professional actors, who work well to create an authentic feel. The scenes at the table with Beane’s grizzled team of scouts are examples of getting solid performances from non actors, something that can only be accomplished by a skilled director. Likewise, the baseball scenes range from stylized to doc-like, but the look and feel always comes across as intentional, as opposed to so many sports films that, hampered by budget or actors who aren’t athletes, wind up reading false. Ultimately, Miller delivers an impressive meld of realism and stylization, an alchemy that more often than not proves difficult to achieve.

Moneyball has its flaws - several scenes with Beane’s aspiring musician daughter (Kerri Dorsey) come dangerously close to schmaltz, recalling similar ones repeated in Showtime’s Californication; and while Pitt is certainly a handsome man, there are at least a couple too many beauty shots of him brooding, driving by himself, and sitting in an empty park (we get it already, he’s haunted by his past failures and wants to succeed); and of course there is little attention paid to the fact that, unlike other small market teams like The Tampa Bay Rays; and Florida Marlins, Beane has never been able to win a championship. There is little doubt, however, that this will stand as one of the better films coming out of Hollywood this year.

Win Win (USA) Directed by Thomas McCarthy  Written by Thomas McCarthy Starring Paul Giamatti; Amy Ryan; Bobby Cannavale; Jeffrey Tambor; Burt Young; Melanie Lynskey; Alex Shafffer; Margo Martindale

Win Win is writer/director Thomas McCarthy’s follow up to his timely 2007 critical darling, The Visitor. It is only McCarthy’s second film since his debut, The Station Agent, in 2003. His lack of output as a director is likely correlate to the demand for McCarthy’s skills as an actor. Since 2005 he has been a regular on The Wire, and has appeared in films like Good Night, and Good Luck; Syriana; Mammoth; Duplicity; Fair Game;and Jack Goes Boating. The forty five year old director again brings us a drama grounded in realism, but filled with characters in varying degrees of crisis. Paul Giamatti plays everyman schlub Mike Flaherty, a small time New Jersey attorney and high school wrestling coach. Flaherty’s business is failing, but he is too ashamed to let his wife Jackie (Amy Ryan) in on the news. Instead he devises a plan to make some additional income, and along the way comes Kyle, a champion high school wrestler from Ohio, who just might be able to help reverse Flaherty’s flailing team’s fortunes. Solid supporting cast with Ryan, Bobby Cannavale as Mike’s buddy Terry; Jeffrey Tambor as assistant coach, Stephen, Burt Young as client Leo, and a miscast Melanie Lynskey as a drug addicted Mom. The biggest chance taken here though was the selection of non-pro Alex Shaffer, a real life New Jersey High school wrestling champ. It is always a risk using an inexperienced actor amidst a very experienced cast. While Shaffer is noticeably wooden at times, his awkwardness ultimately works for the character, and his obvious ability on the mat helps redeem some of the failings he demonstrates as a thespian. Win Win may not stand up to Vision Quest as a classic high school wrestling film, but Giamatti is his usual solid self, and there are a number of nice moments about family and the importance of love, trust, and fidelity among those in our life circle. Though the lives of those depicted here may be rather small or ordinary in scope, McCarthy recognizes the poignancy to be mined by the day to day struggle to do the right thing.

The versatile Steven Soderbergh has made films stretching across myriad genres, while embracing a wide range of production models, throughout a career that includes directing over twenty features, as well as producing and directing a host of other narratives, documentaries, and television.

If not for his connection with the Ocean films, Soderbergh’s career might be judged in a somewhat different light, but those grossly commercial efforts forever stamp him as one of the few directors in recent memory who have the ability to move fluidly between projects of diverse budgets and ambition, and the attendant criticism that goes with the implication of his having sold out. Sure, if you are McG, or Michael Bay, or Brett Ratner, there is no expectation that you will ever create anything of the slightest artistic import. If you are Steven Soderbergh, however, you clearly know better.

It is perhaps this very ability to move in whatever circles he chooses - call it power, or adaptability, or whatever one might deem it, that makes Soderbergh something of an enigma. What is hard to deny is that he is one of the top visual storytellers in cinema (who also shoots his own films), and his compositions are often startlingly original. The man who made Che; Out of Sight; Solaris; Traffic; The Limey; and Sex Lies and Videotape is an intelligent, thought provoking artist with deep pockets of skill at his disposal.

If it were not for the likes of The Ocean Series; and, for instance, Erin Brockovich, one might more easily compare Soderbergh to someone like Michael Winterbottom, another filmmaker who is nearly impossible to categorize or define. Unlike most auteur directors, who traditionally mine personal territory throughout their careers, both of these men continue to take chances, making films about a variety of subjects, and bouncing around with such alacrity that it is challenging to define the themes of their work. The difference, of course, is that Winterbottom (by choice or necessity) doesn’t make films with the kind of budgets at Soderbergh’s disposal.

As Soderbergh talks about taking a sabbatical from filmmaking, we get Contagion, a big, finely crafted, vaguely dystopic/apocalyptic pandemic drama about government health institutions and what might happen if an infectious disease spread throughout the world. The film hearkens to some of the recently made films about world politics like Syriana (Soderbergh was one of the producers) and Babel, and to some extent Soderbergh’s own, Traffic, films that cross language and cultural divides, and seem to point toward our ever flattening world.

Creating a cohesive film with such a sweeping scope is no small task. Contagion was made for sixty million dollars, a huge amount of money to be sure, but nothing close to what is now considered de rigeur for most films of this size, particularly those in the sci fi realm. The idea has been done before, most notably, in Outbreak (1995), but Soderbergh’s entry is masterfully executed, moving though several storylines with whirlwind speed, while managing to give a stratified view of an event over a period of time.

Normally, this type of film suffers from overdone special effects/CGI; sappy, moralizing speeches; maudlin, melodramatic family moments; actors playing technical people who awkwardly spout science to explain the story to an audience; clipped storylines that ultimately leave an audience unsatisfied, or all of the above. Here, Soderbergh (working from a Scott Z. Burns script) mostly manages to stay the course by keeping the pace brisk and judiciously choosing scenes and montage sequences that illuminate without hammering us over the head.

The cast is superb, an embarrassment of riches that includes Gwyneth Paltrow as Beth Emhoff, an American woman who gets sick while traveling to Hong Kong on business; Matt Damon, as her befuddled husband, Mitch; Laurence Fishburne as Doctor Ellis Cheever, a high ranking member of the CDC (Center for Disease Control); Kate Winslet, a CDC investigator working for Cheever; Jude Law as Alan Krumwiede, a blogger concerned with government cover up; and Marion Cotilliard as Dr. Leonora Orantes, a researcher for the World Health Organization.

It seems obvious that Burns and Soderbergh, et al, relied on their research, and consultant Dr. Ian Lipkin (head of the school of Public Health at Columbia), for the science feels right. Only a few stumbles (the janitor storyline; a cloyingly saccharine scene toward the end), mar what is an extremely well done procedural examining bureaucracy, the connectivity of the nations of the world, and personal morality in the face of widespread catastrophe.

Meek’s Cutoff (USA) Directed by Kelly Reichardt  Written by Jonathan Raymond  Starring Michelle Williams; Paul Dano; Will Patton; Bruce Greenwood; Zoe Kazan; Neal Huff; Tommy Nelson; Rod Rondeaux

Based on a script from frequent collaborator Jonathan Raymond, Oregon native Kelly Reichardt’s fourth feature represents a departure of sorts, at least in the sense that it is a period piece - however, her austere, no nonsense aesthetic remains, making this a kind of foray into neo-realistic anti-Western territory. Based on actual events, the film tells the story of Stephen Meek (Bruce Greenwood), a man who led a party of settlers in 1845 along the largely untraveled Oregon trail, through the cascade Mountains, with mixed success at best.

Reichardt re-teams with the superb Michelle Williams (as Emily Tetherow), and it is a testament to her and the rest of the small, impressive cast that they participated in a project with such limited dialogue, though the talented Reichardt is obviously the draw. The ensemble reportedly stayed in a hotel that was some two hours from set, and the seamless work of Shirley Henderson, Paul Dano, Zoe Kazan, Will Patton et al, bring a quiet, understated authenticity to the proceedings.

At two million dollars, this is big budget according to Reichardt’s standards, but the director always manages to use her lack of resources as a strength, concentrating on the human beings enmeshed in the struggles she depicts. Shown in a 4:3 aspect ratio, meaning the picture is nearly square, one is forced to concentrate on the small group, their wagons, and animals, as opposed to the panoramic wide-screen ratios of more traditionally composed westerns, employed to encompass the lovely vistas and sweeping plains of the American west.

As always, Reichardt and Raymond are intent on telling stories without neat packaging. The film plays out with Beckett-like minimalism, the repeated shots of the monotonous journey serving as kind of life metaphor. We open with the party knowing they are lost, and throughout the film the group’s choices are obfuscated by the unknown, every decision loaded with possible dire consequences and benefits. Though the ending was reportedly influenced by budget considerations, there is an aptness to a conclusion open to multiple interpretations.

Based on a book by James Sallis, Drive also shares a number of similarities with the 1978 Walter Hill/Ryan O’Neal cult classic, The Driver. In both films the main character is a getaway driver, never referred to by name, whose silence is a prominent running theme. Like Hill’s actioner, Drive is strongest when it manages to remain grounded in a minimalistic approach that marks long passages of each film - however, both are also ultimately weakened by a series of plot excesses, and particularly in the case of Drive, over the top violence.

Danish Director Nicholas Winding Refn (the Pusher trilogy; Valhalla Rising; Bronson), 41, is no stranger to brutally violent films - in fact, his career to this point has been made up exclusively of work featuring violent protagonists. Gosling’s hand picked man impressively imbues the film with 80s flourishes, and, from the pink colored titles, to the electronic based soundtrack, to Gosling’s satin racing jacket and gloves, one cannot help but feel the overwhelming influence of films from that period - including Hill’s aforementioned fraternal twin; Friedkin’s 1985 cop drama, To Live and Die in L.A.; and particularly Michael Mann’s Miami Vice (84-90); Manhunter (1986), and Thief (1981).

Earlier in his career, Refn’s portrayed violence with far more restraint, making these well chosen/crafted scenes more disturbing, explosive, and realistic. His last two films, however, have seemed to take an increasing interest in revelling in all the blood and guts, ala Quentin Tarantino. What starts out as a moody, atmospheric neo-noir, compelling, even hinting at potential greatness for the first forty minutes, eventually devolves into utter cliche, becoming yet another cartoonish revenge action thriller.

Predictably, Gosling is the standout as the mysterious, soft spoken Driver (also referred to as ‘The Kid’), but there is some interesting casting going on - Albert Brooks, against type, as Bernie Rose, one half of a bad guy duo of sorts (in fact, the other half, Ron Perlman’s character Nino, seems in retrospect unnecessary); Christina Hendricks, underutilized as trashy Blanche; and Oscar Isaac as ex-con/other man Standard. Carey Mulligan is love interest Irene, and Bryan Cranston grizzled boss, Shannon, and their performances, like those of the rest of the cast are fine; unfortunately, the trod upon nature of the plot somehow eventually works to cast a shadow over the stronger elements of their individual turns.

It’s as if director Refn and screenwriter Hossein Amini didn’t trust that the style, pace, and the budding relationship of their leads could sustain for an hour and a half and felt the audience needed distractions aplenty as the film progresses. Though we start out with an edgy, restrained piece of cinema that seems to be easing into its story at a pleasingly leisurely pace, we are suddenly forced into an amped up roller-coaster ride that, unlike the previously referred to Thief, doesn’t feel at all earned. The third act is thusly filled with answering questions to a plot no one cares about, forgetting all about what was interesting in the first place.

Early on, though presented with a hackneyed set up, we as audience are willing to take the ride because the tone is so well attenuated, and there is mystery involving the people we meet. However, just as the intrigue is mounting, further character development is abruptly halted by a series of clumsily handled Charles Bronson moments, where a man who doesn’t carry a gun becomes an avenging angel of the highest order. There are plot details galore, including a tacked on ‘twist’, and all that wonderful subtly dominating most of first half of the film simply dissipates in a puff of smoke.

The real magic here is Gosling, and (for the first half anyway) an overall moodiness recalling an under-appreciated sub genre of films. What could have been a spare neo-noir with a slick retro vibe, instead becomes another hyper-violent, over-plotted action flick.