Review: Inception

     Christopher Nolan's Following is a masterful labyrinth of a film. It is also his first feature, and a trend-setter for his later films. Memento (2000), Insomnia (2002), Batman Begins (2005), The Prestige (2006), and of course The Dark Knight (2008) are his repertoire. An oeuvre of epic proportions. Each film is a mind-bending look into our fears. That we committed our worst crime, that we become the villain we so desperately try to take down. Inception is no exception.
     Dominic Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio) is the best extractor in the field. He can enter a person's dream and steal their most valued ideas, thoughts and secrets. Lately he's been performing corporate espionage, stealing people's thoughts for a profit. But he is running from his past, trying to escape the accusations of murder, all the while hoping to find a way home. His most recent client, Saito (Ken Wantanabe) has the answer: If Cobb can do the opposite of his job and plant the idea in the son of Saito's business enemy to break up his father's business, Saito will make some calls allowing Cobb to return to America.
     To plant an idea, one must enter into the deep subconscious of one's mind (here being a dream within a dream within a dream). This is where Nolan provides the brunt of the suspense in the film. In order to get out of a dream you need what's called a kick (essentially free fall in the real world) so that you are ripped out of your dream. In order to get out of the dreams within dreams, you need to have a kick in the first dream world. And in order to get out of the dreams within those dreams within dreams, you need a kick in the second dream world. The question is, can the characters achieve all their goals before the kicks occur? Each level of dreams is twenty times faster than the level before it, so that if you're asleep for 1 minute, your dream world is twenty minutes long, and the dream level before that is seven hours long etc., which gives the actors plenty of time, as long as they are deep in the subconscious.
    The film is entirely comprehensible, and fully engaging. The characters literally make the movie-goer excited for what's happening and what's about to happen. And of course, we're never let down. Each dream level is fascinating and enthralling, mesmerizing and beautiful, dangerous and scary. Nolan keeps the characters as entertained as the audience, throwing them into the worlds of dreams, where anything could happen next. It is hard to find fault with the cinematography, the CG or the sets. It's nothing new, but it retains a certain air of appeal.
     With a lineup of actors as good as this, it is surprising to find that none really blew the ship out of the water. DiCaprio was alright, giving a Shutter Island (Scorsese, 2010) performance (without the accent), Ellen Paige was good, but nothing extraordinary. Ken Wantanabe Cillian Murphy and Tom Hardy all did admirably, yet they weren't as prominent of characters and therefore didn't have much billing time. Marion Cotillard may never live up to her Edith Paif portrayal, while Tom Berenger and Michael Caine had such small roles, it was hard to tell if they did well or not.
    While the story was astoundingly complex and layered, with conflicts up the wazoo, there was little there. What you see is what you get with this film. There's little deep to talk about, since the deepest part of the human conscious is materialized, something that isn't quite possible. As soon as we see that to be trapped in the mind is as simple as building your own worlds, we lose all wonder and astonishment. The mystery of the mind is simplified too far for the film to have anything worth discussing afterward.
  

J.J. Abrams Double Feature

    From the very moment the finale of the Lost pilot episode finished, I found myself hooked. Its sheer magnitude and quality blew me away: how could a television show look so much like a film? The answer was not just money (the episode costing over 11 million dollars), but also the genius behind the camera. Director J.J. Abrams proved himself that day I watched Lost, and it was not until 2006 that I realized just how genius this man truly is. Mission Impossible III looked promising in trailers, and despite the troubles Cruise was having with my comrades, I ventured to the theaters to watch what I quickly realized it was a masterpiece. 

     The quick cutting was not new. The spy tools weren't new. What was new was the non-stop action, the beautifully crafted story, and the sheer beauty of the film. To anyone unfamiliar with the IMF concept, it's a fun, engaging and entirely engrossing film, and to anyone who knows IMF like the back of their hands, the film is fun, engaging and engrossing, while feeling fresh: Ethan Hunt pumped with adrenaline and revitalized. 

     Now in retirement, Ethan Hunt, IMF (Impossible Mission(s) Force) agent, is engaged to a beautiful, loving women. When he is called to perform one more mission to save one of his trainees, he finds himself entangled in a web of lies and deciet that lead him to Rome, Berlin, Tokyo and Shanghai in search of "the rabbits foot." 

     The film is J.J. Abrams' first feature film, one that no one can deny is edgy and exciting. The use of color to set the mood is used so well that you could watch the raw footage without sound and get the right emotion. The use of exposure and lighting only enhances the color, and makes the appropriate things pop on screen. Music, provided by Michael Giacchino (and based on Lalo Shifrin's original theme from the tv show) builds on the emotion even further. And finally, the editing brings it all together.

     Even further, the direction given the actors and the acting itself is superb. Tom Cruise may play the only character he knows how to, but it Abrams makes it fit, makes it work as part of the story, the drama. The co-stars keep up with Cruise's ego with their own impeccable acting, and it all comes together to make the best Mission impossible (and one of the best Cruise) films yet.

     Three years later, Abrams' Star Trek is released in theaters. It is his second film, and an attempt by studios to revitalize the Star Trek franchise. Like the six year period between Mission Impossible II and Mission Impossible III, the seven year break Star Trek took from producing another film was a well-needed one. Although the series had made the switch from the first Generation to the Next Generation, the films quickly lost value, and Star Trek: Nemesis (2002) earned a 44% on Rotten Tomatoes Top Critics.
     Like M:i:III, Star Trek (2009) brought new life to the series. Something fresh, bold and exciting. Although many Trekkers might say that the film isn't a true Star Trek film, since the storyline and characters don't follow the original plot. Even though this is true, the story maintains that everything that has happened since the beginning of Star Trek remains true, we've simply traveled back in time to create an "alternate reality."
     This reality is fun, fast and action-packed. There's really a non-stop flow of action and adrenaline pumping through the film at all times. It's all at once new and familiar, with enough suspense to hold your breath and attention through the entire film.
     Abrams' use of color is still present, each planet popping, every deck on the Enterprise blindingly colorful. The lighting has that familiar play with exposure, with something new added: Lens flares. Some might get sick with all the light flashing in their eyes, but it makes the entire world of Star Trek seem more brilliant and bright. Of course Giacchino's score expounds upon the film's brilliance again, pulling the film together after it's beautiful editing cut it apart.

    Abrams has continually wowed me both at the theater (as director and producer) and on the TV (Lost, Fringe), and I don't doubt that I'll once again be amazed with his upcoming feature Super 8 due to be released in 2011.

The Boondock Saints II: All Saints Day (2009)

       Troy Duffy returns to the streets of Boston with a sequel to his 1999 cult hit despite such a follow-up being both unnecessary and unwarranted.  And in the places that many found acceptably over the top and gratuitously stylish are hinted at and returned to unsubtly and ineffectively.  I have not found a reason for the widespread appeal, at least for the target demographic, of the first film because I do not share the enthusiasm.  Regardless, it is obvious with this film that many of the marks set by the first are erroneously duplicated to banal result and its presence more taints than supports its predecessor.

            A copycat killer emerges thirsty for blood in Boston church and commits a crime with intended effect of rousting the Saints out of hiding in the Irish countryside where they are camouflaged in years of uncharted facial hair growth.  The plan inevitably works as they arrive stateside to clear their name, commit some more gratuitous violence, and take on a misplaced and annoying-as-can-be sidekick whilst evading the FBI and law enforcement alike.  The supporting cast of cheesy cops is so sophomorically written and pathetically conceived that it is difficult to decide whether dialogue or delivery is worse.  It is matters not, however, as either way their placement is surely and clearly aimed but poorly and inaccurately fired. 

Revisited: Matchstick Men (2003)

            Taken from Eric Garcia’s novel of the same name and caliber, this unlikely Ridley Scott film is a straightforward adaptation of a rather serene novel.  It is as much a story about family as it is about psychological condition as it is about the con game.

            Cage stars as a successful con man whose tics and obsessive tendencies are as much a benefit to his game as they are a detriment; they ensure his precise and careful construction while at other moments almost blow the take.  Scott takes every opportunity to subject the audience to the characters point of view, a technique that years ago bothered my viewing but today are rather tame.  The jump cuts, blurred vision, intensified sound and color lend themselves appropriately to the subjective experimentation that filmmakers have been exploring since the birth of the medium.

            The film’s only glaring detriment is its low potential for a rewatch.  It has been years since I last saw it and months since I read the book, but knowing the precise narrative end ruins its surprise.  And it doesn’t, as it probably should, force one to reevaluate every scene and look for clues; the ones that exist are obvious when seen in the right context.

            Given personal affection for caper films, it is unfortunate that this one is so forgettable.  There is a sharp and crisp visual style that plays well for the story, yet with its conclusion there is not much to dwell on; everything has been patched and lives are in order.  I’ll blame Hollywood for the just heck of it.

Pumping Iron (1977)

Yes, this is the Arnold documentary where the now world famous strongman/actor/governor compares the act of weightlifting to sexual gratification.  And such comparisons never hurt his political career.  While he may not show it now, in his aged and endured state, back in the day he was ripped from head to toe, more so than in Terminator.

            Labeled as a documentary, there are many confessed falsities revealed in a follow-up documentary about the film’s making.  Regardless, the content within is energetic and testosterone infused, making it all the more entertaining and impressive.  There seems a natural peculiarity in the sport itself, where one builds loads of muscle then poses on stage to scores of screaming fans and everyday weaklings.  Perhaps there is something vicarious in a muscle-bound mammoth of a man displays the potential of the human body, a potential that none of us normies will ever reach.

            At the same time there is just as much oddity in the event.  It is like a freakshow, a collection of strange people, who in this case have something in common.  But unlike that malformed or bizarre, these people have intentionally transformed their body into something more.  And more is better.

            The film creates a battle between Arnold and an East Coast nemesis who weighs in at 275 pounds of solid muscle.  His father is his trainer, he is partially deaf, and his gym is like a torture chamber where he gruels away the days.  On the other side of the country is Arnold pumping weights at Gold’s Gym and Venice Beach and posing in photo shoots with bikini-clad women.  And this rivalry was created for the film, regardless of whether it would have existed itself; it was embellished by the filmmakers for the sake of conflict.

            This is not altogether a bad thing, but labeling it a documentary stretches the definition to a degree.  A degree that, in my opinion, is not even necessary in the first place.  The body building culture, which is still effectively portrayed throughout the film, is fascinating in its own right.  Legions of screaming fans and scores of muscle magazines and groups of the manliest of men encouraging each other to lift a little more.  Much of this film is consists of groaning interludes with specific music that, if one were to close their eyes, could be mistaken for an old-school adult film.

            But ‘tis not the case and this 1977 feature is as motivating as it is curious.  A definite must for the cult fan, doc snob, and muscle head. 

Review: Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time

     If there was one review that I whole-heartedly agree with, it would be Manohla Dargis' Before the Sword Fights, Cue the Harem Girls. The film, directed by Mike Newell in his second film since Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (2005), is a "high concept" video game with money behind it. Jerry Bruckheimer, who produced the film, has a clear hand in everything from content to form. The characters, the comedy, and the action all feel like a failing attempt at Pirates of the Caribbean (Gore Verbinski, 2003, 2006, 2007).

     Unfortunately, as Dargis points out, the film takes a political stance against America's current involvement with Iraq, using weapons (of mass destruction?) as an excuse to attack an otherwise innocent city. The weapons are, of course, never found, and a deeper plot is exploited throughout the run of the film. Continuing on the same line, Alfred Molina's character begins complaining about taxation and the bad effect it has on small businesses. Reallly, the film could have done without any of it. (but what would have been left, then?)
     Generally, the film's strengths lie in the visuals (John Seale) and the music (by Harry Gregson-Williams) which generally hold one's attention. The action sequences are fairly well-pulled off, and Dastan's (Jake Gyllenhaal) acrobatics, in a very video-game-like way, are enough to leave one dizzy, but entertained. But despite his ability to pull off these moves, Gyllenhaal fails to impress with his acting skills, especially with his "British" accent. The other actors are equally as bland, Ben Kingsly seemingly type-cast as the same character in every movie, and Molina giving an intriguing, if not so unique, character to laugh at.
     Overall, there's not much here. Just another film pumped out from Hollywood to entertain (or at least to attempt to).

Ewan McGregor Double Feature

            The possibility that Roman Polanski might not make another film renders The Ghost Writer an important piece of the director’s work.  The fact that it is so classically suspenseful and darkly tonal makes it worth just as much discussion.  It also stars Ewan McGregor, which marks its only obvious connection to Trainspotting.  Dark in its subject and humor, it is much more energetic and youthful and a more fitting entry for the early stages of McGregor’s body of work.

            Renton and his droogs are chemical pounding twenty-somethings whose only interest is scoring hits and having fun.  It is nearly impossible not to have just as much fun watching their convoluted antics render the situations more horrifying and delightful.  But there is more than mindless indulgences of chemical companionship and street-level scores.  However sickening and gross, they seem intent on not learning from their mistakes.  The death of a baby only serves as motivation to shoot up.  Even today, and perhaps because of its longevity, the film feels as edgy as modern fare and much more calculated.

            Calculated would be a proper word to describe Polanksi’s moody and dreary thriller.  The sun exists not in this East Coast intrigue and, having been filmed mostly in a studio, we should not be surprised.  Unlike the grimy street feel of Boyle’s film, Polanksi remains enclosed in a smoothly lit if still entirely inhospitable environment.  This is not to say it feel like a story world, it is just gritty-less in comparison.  And this is as it should be.  The story follows a clean-cut ghostwriter who steps into his predecessor’s shoes to pen the prime minister’s life story.  And as the trailer clearly tells us, nothing is as simple as it seems.

            In a squared cement house situated next to the ocean, the writer recomposes the 600+ pages of explication laid down by the work before him.  And as he delves deeper into his subjects career, and associates with his wife, finds the story not so clear-cut.  The usual twists and turns play out in a cold, largely shadowed arena.  The film remains evenly paced and taut from start to finish and concludes in a typically un-American simplicity. 

            Taken back-to-back, the films span almost the entirety of McGregor’s career and both are valued entries.  As is obvious by his casting, they represent age-defining entries as portraits of both his youth and maturity.  The no holds barred energy of his youth mark descriptive foil to his matured and composed aging.  And if anything, his endured diversity proves he has much work ahead of him.

Winged Migration (2001)

            For a film about birds flying, Winged Migration is one of the most memorizing and choreographed pieces of documentation ever conceived.  As a product of human accomplishment, it showcases the much more amazing accomplishments of the natural world.  The yearly migration of millions of birds from across the world is captured in unprecedented intimacy and detail.  It will likely stand as a supreme document of the natural world and shall remain long after many of its subjects have perished.

            The film opens on a river.  It is surrounded by lush greenery only moments after being assaulted by driving snow.  The time-lapse reveals a flock of geese about to commence the titular narrative.  One remains behind, its foot caught in a fishing net, but is saved by a young boy.  It is one of the minor points of misfortune in the film.  The human element, already inherent in the existence of the film, is unnecessary in its content.  Save for the moments of destruction, hunting and oil spills, the birds remain detached from the Homo sapien confines.  For some reason, and perhaps providing a point of connection that for many makes the film worth watching, the filmmakers felt the need to include us.  Regardless, and only aided by the carefully chosen soundtrack, we identify the human characteristics present in the birds, their social and personal behaviors, and ascribe them to ourselves.  It should be no point of contention that we are part of the animal world, and like the bird that devours the young of its fellow avian, we have stamped our own brand of destruction upon their world.

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Dancer in the Dark (2000)

            Von Trier seems incapable of not pushing the modern movie making boundaries in any film he does.  The intoxicating carnality of Antichrist is a testament to his depression.  The Five Obstructions has him literally forcing another filmmaker to experiment.  And his co-creation of Dogme 95 is only the beginning.  So the fact that he employed over 100 cameras for his 2000 musical was just another notch on his belt.

            Bjork stars as an immigrant working a dangerous factory job with deteriorating eyesight to pay for an operation so her son doesn't follow in her footsteps.  She also has a love for musicals where the characters break out into song for no apparent reason and plot elements are satisfactorily concluded, at least for their characters.  In this film, the musical numbers are set within the construct of the mind, and in their conclusion, we return to the unchanged diegetic world and nothing has been resolved to the benefit of the protagonist.  Rather, it was just a bunch of singing and dancing existing entirely as escapist fare.

        It was von Trier’s attempt to shoot this musical numbers, with the 100 customized Cinemascope-ish lenses, as a live event.  With this number of cameras running the event would only have to happen once and could be cut in real time.  DVD interviews show von Trier displeased with the failure of his experiment.  The rest of the film is not representative of the failure von Trier talks about.  The harsh elements Bjork encounters only expand to the point of no return.  Von Trier makes the point clear that in his musical, singing and dancing will not overturn the narrative course of events and that even such usually good-natured fun can end sour.

            It is another case of von Trier pushing his female leads to the extreme and on-set relations between the two are notoriously strained.  The film strays from the usual cheery lighting of commercial musicals thus grounding the film a bit further in reality.  In fact, it would be safer to not to call it a musical but rather a dramatic and depressing narrative with self-mocking musical interludes.