I really, really didn't like Frances Ha. I know many people did, but I wasn't one of them. And now Noah Baumbach has teamed up with Greta Gerwig yet again for Mistress America. Let me tell you that this collaboration is much more successful than their previous effort.
Oh, what a wonderful surprise Frank is. On the surface it seems to be a wacky comedy about a nutjob band leader wearing a giant fake head at all times. What could have been a throwaway gag stretched to feature film length becomes a small cinematic miracle.
The Internet's Own Boy is a wonderful documentary. It is smart, it is insightful and at its heart it is very, very angry. Which makes it all the more important to be seen by as many people as possible.
Last year Philip Seymour Hoffman died and we lost a great screen presence and formidable actor. One of his final roles was in A Most Wanted Man, an adaptation of a fairly recent John Le Carré novel. While it was well reviewed at the time of its release it didn't really find an audience and seemed to have quickly been forgotten. So I sat down to figure out whether people should have paid more attention or whether they were right in ignoring it.
Dawn Of The Planet Of The Apes is the sequel to 2011's surprise success Rise Of The Planet Of The Apes and is not to be confused with Escape From The Planet Of The Apes, Beneath The Planet Of The Apes, Battle For The Planet Of The Apes, or Conquest Of The Planet Of The Apes. Which begs the question: who can keep all these movies in any kind of order? And which silly, overused word are they going to slap in front of the next Planet Of The Apes movie? How about resurrection? Or extinction? Those worked great for the Alien and Resident Evil franchises.
Listen Up Philip is a film about horrible people. From the first frame to the last it is a film obsessed with persons so intolerably arrogant, insufferable, and completely full of themselves that it becomes a challenge to the audience. Whether you're willing to sit through it is your call but be prepared to work for you enjoyment.
Avid readers of my blog have probably already picked up on my little obsession with directors. Yes, I am a mostly devoted follower of the auteur theory, the idea that a film just like a book can be traced back to a single driving force, its author for books, and, normally, its director for movies. And yes, I am also aware that making movies is a collaborative process that involves dozens if not hundreds of people, covering everything from writers, producers, actors, cinematographers, gaffers, everything. Nonetheless, you cannot watch a movie by, say, Wes Anderson or David Lynch and not agree that there are plenty of common visual and stylistic elements that are consistent across their bodies of work. Now you're probably asking yourself, where the heck am I going with this lengthy intro? I am not trying to write an outline for a critical analysis of the auteur theory, instead am I trying to make it clear from the beginning that I am blaming the ultimate failure of Interstellar on its director, Cristopher Nolan.
So, I went to see Gone Girl in theaters a couple of weeks ago. In Mexico. In Puebla to be exact. First time seeing a movie in a Mexican theater for me. And wouldn't you know it, Spanish subtitles are not as distracting as I feared they would be. And I've been lazily sitting on my notes since then. But enough of that nonsense, let's get to the review, shall we?
