• New to DVD/Blu-ray: “Side Effects”
  • Review: “Before Midnight”
  • Review: “Black Rock”
  • Review: “Star Trek Into Darkness”
  • First Look: “Iron Man 3″
  • Review: “Pain & Gain”
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Because we were all wondering what the “Wolfpack” and Mr. Chow were doing in the interim, “The Hangover Part III” is meant to send the gang out in style. Box-office success was enough incentive, apparently, to turn 2009′s “The Hangover”—a brashly funny, often inspired surprise that has become something of a frat-boy classic—into a trilogy. Writer-director Todd Phillips must have realized his lazy but more-funny-than-not 2011 sequel “The Hangover Part II” was just a Xerox copy, so he and fellow screenwriter Craig Mazin racked their brains to diverge slightly from the formula and twist expectations a little. It’s a small blessing that this third and presumably last installment tries out a darker, more dangerous tone, but it’s no longer a raunchy comedy or a comedy, period.

No one actually gets hung over this time, unless you count the mid-credits “morning after” epilogue, which substitutes for these movies’ obligatory slideshow and happens to approximate the only belly laughs. Off his medication before his father (Jeffrey Tambor) suffers a fatal heart attack, Alan (Zach Galifianakis) becomes the center of an intervention staged by his family and friends, including Phil (Bradley Cooper), Stu (Ed Helms), and brother-in-law Doug (Justin Bartha). The road trip to a rehab clinic begins and then ends when the four guys are run off the road by Marshall (John Goodman) and his pig-masked goons. Holding Doug as collateral (can Bartha ever catch a break?), the gangster orders the three to find Mr. Leslie Chow (Ken Jeong), who has escaped from a Thai prison, and steal back his $21 million in gold. Tracking the insane, slippery Chow takes them to Tijuana and Las Vegas, where more hilarity and mayhem ensue. Continue reading

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After scoring with Haywire and Magic Mike just last year, eclectic and prolific director Steven Soderbergh insists that Side Effects will be his last theatrical film before retirement. That’s too bad because his latest, an icy, craftily constructed pharmaceutical mystery-thriller, is a pretty potent thrill, even for a genre exercise. Soderbergh instantly evokes a distinctly Soderberghian but undeniably Hitchcockian mood, an entrancing slow-burn that begins with a Psycho-esque opening shot. Very slowly, the camera creeps over the cityscape to one window of an apartment complex. Next, from what we see inside that apartment, one could imagine Hitch doing a movie promo and dropping the line, “And in this apartment, the most dire, horrible events took place.”

Here’s what you’re allowed to know: 28-year-old New Yorker Emily Taylor (Rooney Mara) has just reunited with her husband, Martin (Channing Tatum), who’s spent four years in prison for insider trading. While Martin attempts to recover his lost wealth, Emily continues to fall into the throes of a deep depression that could potentially harm her. Even a garage attendant at her ad-agency workplace could tell you she’s not quite right. Her psychiatrist, Dr. Jonathan Banks (Jude Law), soon prescribes a new drug, Ablixa, which is recommended by Emily’s former shrink, Dr. Victoria Siebert (Catherine Zeta-Jones). Ablixa is supposed to produce more serotonin in the brain but comes with some pretty dangerous side effects that won’t bode well for anyone. To reveal what happens next would have to come with a blinking “spoiler alert,” so why waste the electricity? Continue reading

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It’s rare that a film shows us true, enduring love. We’ve seen plenty of romantic movies in which love endures the obstacles of distance or time, and they almost always end with the couple finally getting together and presumably living happily ever after. But what we don’t frequently see is love enduring itself. Romantic films tend to be about “getting together.” Before Midnight is about “staying together.”

The third part in what director Richard Linklater calls his “accidental trilogy,” Before Midnight picks up nine years after the second film – Before Sunset – and 18 years after the first – Before Sunrise. If you haven’t seen the first two (like me), have no fear, as Before Midnight is a remarkable stand-alone film and an early candidate for Best Picture.

The film begins with Jesse (Ethan Hawke) dropping his son Hank (Seamus Davey-Fitzpatrick) off at the airport after spending the summer in Greece. A native Texan, Jesse left his wife and son nine years before to be with the love of his life, Celine (Julie Delpy), in Paris. The pair first met 18 years prior on a train to Vienna, and ended up spending one magical day together. After a chance reconnection during Jesse’s international book tour, the two stayed together and started a family of their own. Though he loves his two daughters and adores Celine, Jesse finds himself thinking of Hank a lot lately. He hates only seeing him during the summer and wishes he could be more of a permanent fixture in his life. This small feeling lays the groundwork for the dramatic bulk of Before Midnight. Jesse suggests in a cloaked manner that he and Celine should discuss moving to Chicago so he can be closer to Hank. Celine, recently offered her dream job and not keen on living in the US, is resistant. Continue reading

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If you ever wondered how 1972′s Deliverance would play out with women—minus the inbred banjo players—on a smaller, cost-effective budget, Black Rock would be the result. But that comparison undersells what this film has going for it. With the story conceived by actor-director Katie Aselton and the script written by her husband, mumblecore auteur Mark Duplass (2011′s Jeff, Who Lives at Home), this KickStarter project is a collaboration of two disparate sensibilities that work well together. This begins as a laid-black, slightly spiky character-driven slice-of-life with a driving music score and then grows into a lean, mean indie survival-thriller with a layer of feminism. What it isn’t is a vile, gratuitous revenge-of-the-woman exploitation picture like, blech, I Spit On Your Grave (either version will do).

Thirty-something Sarah (Kate Bosworth) tricks her two squabbling/estranged girlfriends, Lou (Lake Bell) and Abby (Aselton), into camping on a remote island off the coast of Maine for the weekend. With Sarah being nostalgic about “The Goonies,” her plan is to follow their map (from when they were all 10 years old) to a treasure. The other two try putting a sore spot aside (Lou drunkenly slept with Abby’s then-boyfriend), but the three of them sharing one tent becomes mighty trivial when running into three guys on the island. One of them is Henry (Will Bouvier), an Iraq-Afghanistan soldier whose older brother went to high school with them and had a crush on Lou, and the other two (Jay Paulson, Anslem Richardson) are vets who deem Henry to be a hero for saving them. They’ve only been back eighteen days after being dishonorably discharged from overseas. Before long, both sets of trios sit around a campfire, leaving Abby to work up some liquid courage, hook up with Henry in the woods, and accidentally kill him in self-defense when he gets too rough. Things consequently turn ugly and when push comes to shove, it’s kill or be killed. Continue reading

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Not all that long ago, Star Trek was not “cool.” It was low-budget fare that made up for its glaring lack of high-gloss action sequences by espousing philosophies on the nature of scientific discovery and the art of war. It mirrored the current geo-political climates of its respective generation to populate the world with contrasting ideologies. As the budgets grew from series to series and movie to movie, the nature of discovery and politics changed but at the core Star Trek was, tonally, the metaphor of the current generation. I hate to be the one to inform you but, according to Star Trek: Into Darkness, our generation is the one of vacant emotions and esthetic obsession.

Being a Trek fan meant being a social outcast. It meant holding onto the ideals of a greater society than ours while engaging with the social debates on the ethics of science, war, and exploration. Suddenly, fair-weather fans of the Trek universe have come out of the woodwork. Like Oakland A’s “fans” suddenly taking an interest when they make the play-offs, the new Trek “fans” from the 2008 outing haven’t earned the stripes to call themselves fans. I would not call myself a Trekkie but I was a fan long before 2008 and will be long after but that’s what makes Into Darkness so frustrating. It has almost nothing to do with the Star Trek universe. Continue reading

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After its kinetic rejuvenation in 2009, the Star Trek franchise – captained by J.J. Abrams – once again takes flight, boldly going where no CGI has gone before.  Captain James T. Kirk (Chris Pine) is still up to the same rule-breaking, womanizing shenanigans that in any other universe would have him discharged from military service, but here earns him his own ship. That is, until his ever logical right-hand man Spock (Zachary Quinto) sells him down the river for violating the “Prime Directive” of Starfleet. Stripped of his post, Kirk is forced to relinquish control of the Starship Enterprise to its former Captain, Christopher Pike (Bruce Greenwood).

The demotion doesn’t last long when Starfleet is attacked by one of its own: a baritone-voiced ubermensch named John Harrison (Benedict Cumberbatch). After launching multiple attacks that kills civilians and Starfleet members alike, Kirk is returned to his old ship and urged by Admiral Marcus (an awful Peter Weller) to follow Harrison into Klingon territory. The Klingons are a belligerent race that will interpret any Starfleet presence in their region as a provocation of war. With eggshells under foot, Kirk leads his crew into deep space and learns the truth behind Harrison’s actions. Continue reading

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Courtesy of Spielbergian wunderkind J.J. Abrams and crew, 2009′s Star Trek rejuvenated original creator Gene Roddenberry’s franchise out of the cheesy, for-Trekkers-only black hole and into a prequel-cum-reboot that was more accessible to even the uninitiated. Moving at a warp speed with spectacular action set-pieces and first-rate special effects, without forsaking humor and character interactions, it could be taken seriously but not too seriously that it wasn’t fun. The franchise couldn’t stop its long and prosperous life there after Abrams surpassed expectations, so naturally, four years later, here’s the sequel Star Trek Into Darkness, and it is quite a doozy. You don’t have to attend the annual Star Trek Convention to be in agreement that this sequel is just as exciting and engaging and even better.

Picking right back up with the alternate timeline of Abrams’ reinvention, Star Trek Into Darkness immediately plucks us into a visually striking opening set on the civilization of Nibiru with its indigenous people chasing Captain James T. Kirk (Chris Pine) and medical-minded Dr. Leonard ‘Bones’ McCoy (Karl Urban). After violating Starfleet Command’s principle by exposing the USS Enterprise to Nibiru in order to rescue the rule-abiding Spock (Zachary Quinto) from a volcano, Kirk is demoted to first officer, Admiral Christopher Pike (Bruce Greenwood) reassuming as captain. Then, beginning in London, an ex-Starfleet officer named John Harrison (Benedict Cumberbatch) commits an act of terrorism and targets his former headquarters next. Tracking the cold and calculating Harrison on Kronos, who intends to attack the Klingon population, Kirk, Spock, and Uhura (Zoë Saldana) are told by Admiral Marcus (Peter Weller of RoboCop fame) to hunt and capture him. Could the Enterprise crew (as well as all of mankind) be doomed? Vendettas are sought and sacrifices are made. Continue reading

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How do you even begin to explain a film as unconventional as Upstream Color that defies categorization, description, and total understanding? Let’s start here: Shane Carruth, an engineer turned self-taught, multi-hyphenate filmmaker, only had a $7,000 budget when he first made himself known in stumping us with 2004′s nifty, knotty time-travel puzzle Primer, which won the Grand Jury Prize at Sundance. Nine years later and still wearing multiple hats, Carruth is the writer-director-actor-producer-cinematographer-editor-composer and self-distributer—a fiercely independent and ambitious auteur, wouldn’t you say?—for his more accomplished sophomore feature.

Upstream Color, an experimental tone poem about hypnosis, ice water, grub worms, pigs, and Henry David Thoreau, is as intellectually demanding as it is frustratingly baffling and unique as it is obtuse. No dinky description can really do justice to the experience of watching it for yourself, but here goes nothing. Kris (a fragile, heartbreaking Amy Seimetz) is accosted at a bar, only to become the guinea pig for a mind-control experiment by a mysterious thief (Thiago Martins). Being drugged with special grub worms that float around her system, she completes a series of rituals, steals from herself as instructed, and harms herself. Later, snapping out of the spell, she is stripped of her memory, depleted of her life savings, and unemployed. On a commuter train, Kris meets Jeff (an understated Carruth) and they begin a relationship. The couple starts finding their memories to be entangled and part of something bigger. Perhaps The Sampler (Andrew Sensenig), who has a pig farm and records ambient noises, has something to do with it. Continue reading

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F. Scott Fitzgerald probably had no idea his 1925 “Great American Novel” would receive three more film adaptations after 1926′s silent version. If any director could bring Gatsby’s rich, decadent, and grandiose lifestyle to the screen, it would thought to be Baz Luhrmann. Evidently drawn to tragic love stories, Luhrmann brought vibrant, dizzyingly audacious visions to 1996′s Romeo + Juliet and 2001′s Moulin Rouge! For all their hyperkinetic energy, visual pizzazz, and boldly anachronistic music choices, the stories themselves still felt tragic and deeply romantic. One would be ready to call The Great Gatsby an exhilarating, rhapsodic gush, but in effect, our chaperone renders the glitz and gloss all too literally, regrettably making the film ring hollow and artificial. It’s very much razzle-dazzle over substance, and that’s disappointing.

Told through a flashback framework, Luhrmann & Craig Pearce’s screenplay uses penniless, disillusioned writer/bondsman Nick Carraway (Tobey Maguire) as our narrator and conduit through the summer of 1922 in New York. From a sanitarium, he tells a doctor who’s treating Nick for morbid alcoholism about the time he moved into a little cottage on the coast of Long Island’s West Egg. During that time, Nick visits his cousin, Daisy Buchanan (Carey Mulligan), who’s married to old-money athlete Tom Buchanan (Joel Edgerton), Nick’s Yale chum. They live directly across the bay in East Egg from Nick, who comes to realize he’s living next door to the elusive Jay Gatsby (Leonard DiCaprio). Gatsby holds lavish, champagne-flowing parties at his mansion and opens the doors for anyone; Nick only observes them, until he receives a formal invitation. Rumors circle the true identity (is he a war hero, a criminal, a bootlegger, etc.?) of their generous, self-made 32-year-old host, who rarely shows himself to his guests. That one night, Gatsby shows his face and befriends Nick, asking to reunite him with Daisy, whom he’s been in love with all this time after they met five years earlier. As it turns out, everything has been for Daisy all along. Then the party is over when Tom finds out, but you already know Gatsby cannot repeat the past if you did your English homework. Continue reading

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Once a week or so, I will be looking back at films that have garnered negative reviews in the past and I will try to find some redeemable quality about them. The key to this being that I have to like that quality un-ironically. Enjoy!

Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance (2011): French Idris Elba (played by British Idris Elba) recruits the Ghost Rider (Nicolas Cage) to find a child that very well may be the Anti-Christ. Things happen.

Let’s get this out of the way right now. This film is directed by the duo of Neveldine/Taylor, the same duo responsible for films like Crank, Crank: High Voltage, Gamer, and the script for Jonah Hex. I don’t care for what they do. I find them classless and artless. They teeter on the edge of insanity without going over, which becomes increasingly frustrating because they don’t make the restraint worthwhile. They aren’t enhancing their work with any kind of stellar dialogue or directing. They should let themselves embrace all of the insanity. This is going to be unpleasant and off-putting. And I don’t want to hear stock comments like, “If you turn off your brain, you can enjoy it” or “Why can’t you just enjoy yourself?” Does anyone really think that is a valid answer? Continue reading

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