Molly’s Game

Jessica Chastain gives an exceptional performance as real-life “Poker Princess” Molly Bloom

Aaron Sorkin, best known for his vast array of film and TV writing credits, has long held off directing. That is until now. And he couldn’t have picked a better movie with which to put his directorial talents on display than Molly’s Game.

Molly’s Game tracks the rise and fall of real-life “Poker Princess” Molly Bloom. Once an Olympic skier (one of the best in the world, Molly tells us in one of the film’s frequent and energetic voiceovers), she had her whole professional life planned out until a skiing accident in her twenties ended her Olympic dreams.

The opening minutes of the film already provide us with a great set-up. When you’ve spent your life training and preparing for one thing, what do you do when it’s suddenly taken from you?

Cut to a few years later. Molly has recovered from her disappointment and is looking forward to a gap year before starting law school to let loose, have fun, and enjoy being young in Los Angeles, something which her tough Olympic training and drive to stand out from her also high-achieving brothers didn’t permit her to do.

It’s here in LA that her rise in (and inevitable fall from) the world of high stakes poker begins—working as a cocktail waitress before being offered a job as an assistant to a guy who runs a weekly poker game. But Molly has more passion, smarts, and drive than her position’s responsibilities. And while assisting with the games (doing the books, contacting players, etc.), it’s not long before she realizes she could be running her own games. And that’s exactly what she does.

The movie wouldn’t exist without Molly, and Jessica Chastain is perfect in the role, playing Molly with electricity and passion that allows Molly’s characteristics to shine: determination, independence, and at times, vulnerability. She doesn’t fall into any of the generic “woman in film” stereotypes. She’s not a coquettish vixen. Or a timid and eager-to please housewife. Or a pottymouthed rebel with a manufactured toughness. Or someone touting feminism in the streets. As a character, Molly is her own person, existing outside of the box Hollywood seems to paint for women in film. She just…is.

It’s challenging (both on film and in writing) to make a character seem real, as if they just exist as opposed to being created, so a real credit goes to both Aaron Sorkin (who also wrote the film, as if the whipping, back-and-forth dialogue didn’t give it away) and Jessica Chastain for pulling it off. Molly has both positives (she’s tough, independent, and always looking to achieve) and flaws (her drug usage and illegal pot-skimming), the film accentuating both, so kudos for crafting her as a complex character.

Though her flaws aren’t wiped away by her positive traits, they do shine a light on them. It’s always easier to make a character simply greedy or reckless to show them as “bad,” so it’s especially refreshing that Sorkin and Chastain (and, arguably, Molly Bloom herself, whose book the screenplay was adapted from) provide an emotional link to the reasoning behind Molly’s choices and actions—to be someone; to heal the wound of a dashed Olympic future; to excel at something her brothers wouldn’t have the chance at beating her; to gain the approval of her father (and prove him wrong).

During her upwards trajectory, it’s fun, exciting, and nerve-wracking to spend time as a fly on the wall in the actual poker games (much as Molly herself was) to not only see the ins and outs of the high-stakes (monetarily, personally, and professionally) nature, but to see—and understand—how easily it would have been to be transfixed by them, their dreamlike quality, and the possibilities they present.

A film comprising multiple years of its subject’s life holds the potential to be choppy in its editing, either quickly glossing over large sections of time, or devoting unequal amounts of screentime to its different parts. But here, the film’s smooth editing lends to its “along for the ride” nature and its never-jarring flashbacks help illuminate events in the present in an engaging way. The pace is also well done, Sorkin spending just enough time on each important moment in Molly’s life that also leads well into the next (though I wouldn’t have minded a little extra time devoted to the details and self-reflection of her downfall).

Pacing and editing are all well and good, but we can’t talk about an Aaron Sorkin film without talking about the dialogue, can we? Molly and her (at first) reluctant lawyer (Idris Elba) have their moments of long, powerful, emotional monologues, but moreover, it’s the skillful way the characters talk and narrate throughout the film (all rapid-fire responses where the perfect words come tumbling out) where Sorkin’s signature screenwriting prowess really shines.

I can’t find much about the film to take issue with aside from a moment between Molly and her father (a great, understated and thoughtful Kevin Costner) that, while one of the film’s best and emotional scenes, was a little too coincidental; that and the film, at two hours and twenty minutes, was a bit on the long side.

Molly’s Game is a cautionary tale for 2018—a story of falling down the seemingly innocuous rabbit hole and getting swept up by something bigger than yourself. But it’s also a great redemption story of someone who made something from nothing, and recognized her wrongdoings (and the emotional reasoning behind them), to once again start over.

Starting over. It’s a concept feared by many and embraced by few. But as Molly tells us near the end of the film, it’s the willingness to not only face it, but do it, that separates the real winners from the losers. And if that’s the case, Molly is most definitely a winner.

9/10

The Dark Tower

Idris Elba and Tom Taylor are the standouts of The Dark Tower, perfectly capturing the spirit of the books

Confession time: if the filmmakers behind The Dark Tower would’ve made a straight adaptation of the first book in the book series, The Gunslinger, I would’ve hated it. Though the series has a rabid fan base, it’s no secret—even among uber King fans—that The Gunslinger is a bit on the slow side. Not only that, but it’s kind of weird in the sense it’s very easy to picture fans reading it and thinking, as I did, “What is this? Is it a western? Fantasy? Sci-Fi?” It definitely doesn’t conform to any one specific genre. So when news broke that a film version of The Dark Tower was in production (for real this time!), I was both concerned and intrigued that it would be a mixture of aspects from the series instead of a page-by-page adaptation of The Gunslinger.

Having seen the film, is it—and the future of a potential Dark Tower film franchise—better for it? In some ways, yes; in others, no. Combining aspects of the books (specially book one, The Gunslinger, and book three, The Wastelands) makes sense on a thematic and storytelling level since the characters of Roland and Jake are tethered on an emotional level. The film’s partial New York setting also allows viewers a place they recognize which offsets the otherworldly qualities of the worlds and places familiar to Roland. On the other hand, it maybe introduces a bit too much of the series’ sprawling mythology that might throw casual viewers for a loop (pun completely intended).

So do the Pros outweigh the Cons? Is it a faithful adaptation? Is the future of The Dark Tower film series in danger? Let’s talk it.

For those unfamiliar with the basic premise, the film follows Roland (Idris Elba), the last of his people (gunslingers, sworn to protect the titular Tower) pursing revenge against a nefarious enemy called the Man in Black (Matthew McConaughey) for killing his family. But all of that changes when he meets Jake (Tom Taylor), a boy from our world plagued by dreams of Roland, the Man in Black, and a score of other things of which he should have no knowledge.

It is usually the case in book-to-film adaptations that viewers are pleased the characters look the same, but complain the essence isn’t there—the intrinsic sense of what makes them them. In The Dark Tower, the opposite is true: the characters may look a little different from their literary counterparts, but the essence—the coldness, single-mindedness, and skepticism of Roland; the innocence and bravery of Jake—is totally there. And so I wonder of viewers saying the opposite: would they be happy either way?

Idris Elba is fantastic as Roland, perfectly matching the source material counterpart’s cold, loner exterior, his single-minded determination, and proficiency with guns. He’s a commanding on-screen presence and brings an intensity to the role with his body language and expressions that the script sometimes doesn’t quiet achieve, not to mention great comedic one-liners as a fish out of water. He marvels at Coke, hot dogs and, in a particularly humorous scene, gives a New York City doctor a pair of ancient coins for her services.

McConaughey also gives a great performance as the Man in Black, harnessing the psychic abilities of children in attempt to bring the Tower down. He’s darkly comic, both fearsome and enticing, and plays the Man in Black with a sense of dark glee that lets you know he clearly enjoys causing chaos wherever he goes.

But as good as Elba and McConaughey are, it’s Tom Taylor as Jake who’s the real standout. Jake is saddled with much of the film’s big moments and Taylor couldn’t be more perfect. Ranging from portraying a haunted sadness that no one believes his dreams, to fear of the Man in Black’s pursuit, to an awe and boyish innocence regarding Roland’s origins, to a particularly pained moment in the film’s third act, Taylor nails the role and Jake’s emotional journey and it’s not hard to see why the decision was made for the film to feature him so prominently.

As good as Elba and Taylor are individually, it’s when they come together—the Roland-Jake relationship—that’s the highlight of the film. Jake’s innocence and candor softens Roland’s hard exterior, while Roland provides the role of a father figure Jake’s been missing. The scenes of them bonding, trusting, and learning about each other are pure magic, completely capturing the spirit of the books, and sure to make dire-hard Dark Tower fans pleased the filmmakers understand the relationship’s emotional beats. (Among their screen time together, one scene of Roland teaching Jake how to shoot while reciting the gunslinger’s credo gave me both chills and watery eyes.)

In addition to the film’s action sequences and Roland’s exciting final confrontation with the Man in Black (which I would’ve liked to be a bit longer), one of the things the film got completely right was the landscape of Mid-World—harsh, dry land; craggy mountains; a barren, alien landscape. The location scouting and landscape utilization is a definite plus. However, it makes it disappointing in a way because when the film got something so completely right as this, it’s barely featured before we’re whisked off to the next location or set piece—the Manni village, an ancient theme park, the Dixie Pig, Devar Toi. All of them work, but the short amount of time we’re afforded to spend in each makes me think they didn’t utilize all the cool settings to their advantage since everything moved so quickly. It’s kind of the equivalent of going to a carnival, seeing a cool ride, and your parent grabbing you by the hand to move you onto the next thing when you’ve only had a taste of the one preceding it.

Which leads into my main issue with the film: pacing and editing. The opening of the film should’ve been a smooth introduction into the world(s) viewers were about to see, but the editing, especially in the film’s first third, was so choppy, sloppy, and jarring, that all I could help thinking was that there had to have been a better, simpler, more streamlined way to introduce viewers to the characters, quest, and worlds of The Dark Tower. Early on, we bounce between Jake, his visions, flashbacks of Roland, and present-day Man in Black. It’s a little much early on. (Aside: as much as I love Jake, I feel like the film should’ve started with our protagonist, Roland the gunslinger.) Because of runtime and budgetary restrictions, it seems they were trying to introduce too much at once instead of letting the audience become introduced to the story’s various pieces at an organic, relaxed pace. It does allow itself to wind down after the climax, but the abrupt ending does leave a little to be desired. A kind of, “that’s it?” without feeding the viewer any morsel of information or intrigue to give them any reason to hope for a sequel.

To say The Dark Tower has a rich mythology is an understatement. Not only are we introduced to a mythical Tower that, if it falls, chaos will reign supreme, but there’s also the aspect of the beams that keep the Tower in place, Taheen, vampires, and ominous graffiti that reads ALL HAIL THE CRIMSON KING. Fans of the books will no doubt recognize the terminology and its implications, but it’s a lot for the casual moviegoer to take in when everything moves so quickly. I’m not so sure the film’s mythology would be completely grasped upon first viewing. While it offers exciting possibilities for potential future installments, it wouldn’t have hurt to have more expositional detail about the more fantastical elements of the story and why we should care.

Ultimately, the film is a case of “More please!” Would I have liked more action? More Roland interacting with the Man in Black, perhaps giving the viewer a deeper insight into their relationship and the mythology surrounding them? More time spent in the Manni village, the Dixie Pig, and all of the film’s other cool locations? Yes, definitely, because these are good things. What’s in the film works; there’s just not enough of it.

I have a feeling I wouldn’t have enjoyed The Dark Tower quite as much as I did if I wasn’t a fan of the books. It’s not a straight up, page-by-page adaptation (structurally or otherwise) and the editing and pacing is a little off, but it’s a good introduction into Roland’s world. The characters and acting all work, it’s escapist entertainment in the best way, and most importantly, the spirit of the novels is fully intact.

The road to a Dark Tower film was a long and rocky one, but now with its foot is in the door, there’s more than enough material for future installments and adventures in Mid-World if we are lucky enough to be invited along on them.

8/10

Suicide Squad

Leto’s Joker and Robbie’s Harley Quinn are easily the best parts of Suicide Squad

I’d been looking forward to Suicide Squad for a while now. The promise of lesser-known DC anti-heroes brought together to stop a greater evil? Sign me up! And it didn’t hurt that once the trailers were released, they rocked: quirky characters, dark humor, and well-paired music that let the viewer know they were in for a crazy ride. Unfortunately, expectations for the film’s success grew after Batman v. Superman didn’t do as well in box office numbers or critics’ reviews. As a result, almost overnight, the hope of quality and profit in the continuing DC Cinematic Universe seemed to be riding on its red-headed stepchild.

I purposefully avoided many Suicide Squad reviews prior to seeing the movie so I could make up my own mind about the film (re: taint my excitement), but the ones I have read definitely reek of what many have already suspected: viewers going into the movie prepared to hate it (and DC films as a whole, since the same critical reactions can be read in reviews for Batman v. Superman). So, after reading these reviews and seeing the movie for myself, I have to ask: What are these “critics” smoking?

The first half of the film is great and just what I was hoping it would be: a great introduction to the Squad members, a morally shady figure in the form of Amanda Waller (Viola Davis), great Batfleck cameos tied to the Squad, and a premise with the promise of unique styling, intense action, moral ambiguity, and great characters.

Most of the characters (though there are a few too many, some being relegated to the sidelines) were great, especially Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie) and the Joker (Jared Leto), who are the highlights of the film, character- and plot-wise. I’d read a lot of complaints Mr. J wasn’t given much screen time, which had me worried, but he’s in a decent-enough amount of scenes to both satisfy (his role is more backstory and subplot than “A” storyline) and leave you wanting more. And Leto kills it. His Joker is more than satisfying—totally captivating, like popcorn-hand-paused-midway-to-mouth captivating—ranging from persuasive sweet-talker to scary mob boss, bouncing between affection for Harley and psychotically unhinged craziness. Which can also be said of his female counterpart and partner in crime, torn between wreaking havoc with her Puddin’ and settling down to have a normal family. As a result, Leto and Robbie’s chemistry really shines, their psychotic codependent relationship the film’s highlight. So much so that I would have loved to see more of them, relevance to the main plot be damned. Bring on the Harley-Joker spin-off!

Speaking of characters, I was also really happy that the film used the songs featured in the trailers and marketing promos. I wasn’t so sure they would. They fit with its characters and the film’s zany, balls-to-the-wall tone that it works really well.

My main issue with Batman v. Superman was that Snyder crammed so much stuff into the film that it lacked focus. Thankfully, Suicide Squad doesn’t have that problem. It has another, though, which I’ve realized is my main problem with all entries of the DC Cinematic Universe so far: the supernatural, and what I’ll refer to as The Big Threat. Man of Steel had Zod (an alien) and his terraforming device (The Big Threat), intent of destroying the world. Batman v. Superman had Doomsday (both an alien and The Big Threat), also intent on destroying the world. Which leads me to my problem with Suicide Squad’s second half. Five months after the beginnings of the Justice League first formed on the big screen to stop such otherworldly havoc, comes Enchantress. Possessing the body of explorer June Moone, Enchantress is an ancient witch (supernatural…again) upset to realize the world worships “machines” instead of entities such as herself. And because she’s upset, what does she do? Builds a machine (The Big Threat) to, you guessed it, destroy the world.

Are we noticing a pattern here?

When every DC movie has the main villain attempt to destroy the world (or even an entire city), complete with airborne circle of brightly-colored debris, it lessens the stakes quite a bit. Which is a weird kind of irony being that you’d think a world threat would raise the stakes. But because we know there’s a cinematic universe in play and that the films will continue, it disarms the threat since we know that—however it comes to happen—everything will be okay. Not only that, but in this case, Suicide Squad has an embarrassment of riches with great characters. And when they’re facing a supernatural threat, it removes the sense of surprise and excitement that should come with a film’s climax; we know the odds are against these human anti-heroes but are confident they’ll prevail anyway. Not to mention that the action sequences come dangerously close to boring repetition.

I would have preferred (and believe it would’ve made a better film) for the Squad to face off against a decidedly more human threat. For example, what if the Joker was the villain of the film, Harley torn between stopping him and joining him? Having Mr. J in this role would have given the film potential for more grounded character-driven beats and stakes that I would’ve loved to see (not to mention more focus on the Harley-Joker relationship).

But I didn’t make the film.

Instead, Enchantress—though she looks really, really cool—is kind of vanilla. If you’ve seen one superhuman (or, in DC-talk, metahuman) intent on destroying the world, you’ve seen them all. If every DC movie didn’t have the same third act with some kind of supernatural and/or alien threat, it might’ve felt a little more fresh.

Thankfully, this issue—though it’s kind of a big one, being that it revolves around the whole purpose of the Squad’s forming—is one of the film’s few. The characters, performances, soundtrack, and off-beat humor make it both an entertaining and unique entry to the DC Cinematic Universe. And while it’s not a perfect film—or even the film it could’ve been—it’s far from a disappointment.

If only critics—of both the professional and couch variety—would step back from their eager hate for popcorn entertainment enough to see it.

8/10 (right now, but I have a feeling my rating will be bouncing between an 8 and a 7.5)

Ex Machina

Who knew translucent robot torsos could be so cool?

Just because you can do something—especially in science—doesn’t necessarily mean you should.

In Alex Garland’s (28 Days Later, Never Let Me Go) directorial debut, Ex Machina, Caleb Smith, a 26-year-old computer coder who works for a big search engine company, wins a Willy Wonka-esque contest to spend a week with the company’s CEO Nathan Bateman (Oscar Isaac).

Nathan’s house (complex is more like it) is in the middle of nowhere, and only accessible by helicopter. Add that to the fact that most of the property is a windowless subterranean compound, and that should be Caleb’s first clue that something’s not quite right here.

And he’s right.

Caleb hasn’t been brought to spend quality time with Nathan and drink some beers. It turns out that Nathan has developed a fully sentient AI—named Ava—and wants Caleb to see if her intelligence and being is distinguishable from that of a human.

When we’re introduced to Ava (played excellently by Alicia Vikander with both cold detachment and human longing), it’s clear she’s unique from other movie robots, both in her (very cool) appearance and personality. Her limbs and torso are translucent, revealing a mess of wiring and mechanics beneath, “skin” only on her face and hands (an interesting choice to keep the more sensual parts of the body human-like, and the rest mechanical). Ava’s quiet, innocent, and longs to travel beyond the rooms in which Nathan keeps her. And it’s in her talking with Caleb that we start to wonder who to trust here: Ava, or Nathan?

The scenes where Caleb and Ava have their “sessions” are some of the film’s most captivating, due both to the acting and screenplay. Domhnall Gleeson is also very good as Caleb. He has an earnestness about him that plays well into Caleb’s character. You can see his poorly-concealed giddiness at interacting with an AI, his interest—and the workings of his scientific-minded brain—in trying to understand her, and his desire (and then possible shame) of realizing he may want a physical connection with her. It’s also commendable that these sessions feel like real conversations, making for interesting scenes that also further blur the line between human intelligence and AI.

Ex Machina raises some interesting questions. Does a creator have ownership of his creations? What if we can’t distinguish between an AI and a human? If it resembles a human, acts like a human, but we know it’s not, does that change anything? Does it matter? These questions add an interesting layer to the film—and I applaud Alex Garland for asking them—but unfortunately they’re never really explored as much as they could be. Which is ultimately an issue with the film’s overall tone.

Surprisingly, Ex Machina isn’t the thriller the trailers make it out to be. Don’t get me wrong—it has thrilling moments full of tension and dread—but, as a whole, it’s actually quite dramatic (and a little poignant). The paranoia and uncertainty about who (and what) to believe continues until the end but then, once we get there, it’s kind of an Oh, that’s it? (There’s also a slight twist regarding Caleb’s involvement with Ava that seems inconsequential.)

There are moments where the film wants to break out and be that balls-to-the-wall thriller the trailer and TV spots make it out to be, and also times where it aspires to be a quieter meditation on science and artificial intelligence. Both are admiral efforts but wavering between the two makes it seem a bit tonally uneven.

Regardless of its shortcomings, Ex Machina is the kind of thought-provoking Sci-Fi we need more of. It’s not perfect, but hopefully it’s helped pave the way for Hollywood to be on the right track.

8/10

Foxcatcher

Steve Carell’s performance as John du Pont is the highlight of Foxcatcher

I really, really wanted to love Foxcatcher. I’ve been waiting to see it ever since news broke about Steve Carell taking on a dark, dramatic role. But instead of loving it, I find myself questioning its praise and Oscar nominations—five including Best Supporting Actor (Mark Ruffalo), Best Director (Bennett Miller), and Best Original Screenplay. The only one that seems to make sense here is Steve Carell for Best Actor. For a film boasting five nominations, a dark turn for Steve Carell, and being based off of a true story, it feels awfully bland.

Steve Carell plays real-life figure John du Pont, heir to the du Pont chemical fortune, who assembles a wrestling team at his estate, Foxcatcher Farms, to compete in the world championships. Included on his team are brothers Mark and David Schultz (Channing Tatum and Mark Ruffalo). Mark agrees to du Pont’s proposition fairly quickly and they establish a sort of friendship, while David takes quite a bit more persuasion to join the team since he doesn’t want to uproot his family to live at Foxcatcher.

There’s been no shortage of hype surrounding Carell’s role as du Pont, especially since it’s a fairly large departure from the more comedic roles he’s known for in projects such as The Office. His performance is good, playing du Pont with laser focused eyes, wheezy voice, and an uncertain, calculating air about him that makes us feel uncomfortable. Carell nails the physicality of the performance and it’s clear right away that he understands the character and is fully committed to the role. Which makes it all the more disappointing that he isn’t given much to work with. There’s just not enough meat to du Pont as a character. Despite the head-scratcher of a Best Original Screenplay nomination, it doesn’t allow for any moments of character development or getting into John’s head. Who is this guy? What makes him tick? We get glimpses of answers, but they’re never fully formed. The character details and insights are there if one looks hard enough—the crippling insecurities, the desire for friendship that he never had, and a host of mommy issues just barely hidden beneath the surface (Vanessa Redgrave as Jean du Pont is fantastic, despite her few scenes)—but we shouldn’t have to. There’s a difference between ambiguity and omission.

Channing Tatum is also surprisingly good as Mark. When we meet him he’s living alone in a small, sparse apartment, tired of living in his brother’s shadow despite the fact that they’re both Olympic gold medalists. Which makes it all the sadder when we see how he is treated by John—built up, then torn down, cast aside like a child grown bored with a toy. A scene where Mark opens his horse stall-shaped front door feels like a wink from Miller to show how he’s treated as a pet. As Mark, Tatum is silent, but hulking, and it’s the subtle ways that Tatum portrays him that give us the best glimpses into his character. Whether it’s the way he moves his jaw, his blank expressions, or almost ape-like way of moving, where the screenplay fails in character development, Tatum makes up for with the physicality of his performance.

Though there are a few occasions where it seems as if the plot and characters might escalate and shake things up, it stays relatively low-key. I was waiting for something to happen, for John or Mark or anyone to do or say something that would propel the film forward, but nothing of the sort happens. It just sort of drags on at a leisurely pace with the film’s volume—both in dialogue and score—barely rising above a whisper. Bennett Miller seems to be content keeping the characters (and film as a whole) restrained, confined to a stable like one of Jean’s prized horses. Even a big scene near the end of the film (which should’ve been climactic and held some sort of emotional stakes) is treated as if it’s a minor occurrence rather than something with incredible repercussions.

One of the things that initially sold me on Foxcatcher was the dark, almost frigid atmosphere shown in the trailers (think David Fincher—The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo or, most recently, Gone Girl). An atmosphere with a muted color palette and low score. Right away you can tell that something ominous hangs in the air, that there’s something about John du Pont that’s just not right, waiting to become unhinged, to snap. Now, the atmosphere in the film is cold, is bleak, but unfortunately it’s never utilized to draw us into the characters or become invested in them. Disappointingly, Miller keeps the viewer at arm’s length, making us feel detached from the narrative.

Foxcatcher has all the ingredients to truly have been great. Unfortunately, with its sub-par editing, making it difficult to distinguish just when the film is taking place, and keeping its characters underdeveloped and at a chilly distance, it settles for just good.

7/10

Wild

Reese Witherspoon gives a fantastic performance in the adaptation of Cheryl Strayed’s 2012 memoir

Films revolving around the main characters ‘finding themselves’ is hardly anything new. Ranging from 2007’s Into the Wild to 2010’s Eat Pray Love, the solo-journey-to-self-discovery sub-genre is well trodden territory. So right off the bat Wild (based off of the 2012 bestseller) has the difficult task of giving the viewer a reason to care about this one. And it does. Regardless of the similarities between the films, each character has their own separate journey that makes the film engaging and worth watching. Wild is no exception.

Reese Witherspoon plays Cheryl Strayed, a woman whose life is falling apart. She’s an ex-heroin addict, her marriage has crumbled due to her promiscuity, and her optimistic mother Bobbi (a great Laura Dern that manages to do a heck of a lot with her supporting role), the center of her world, has recently died. Everything that mattered in her life—and everything that she knew about herself—seems to have died along with her. So, in an effort build herself back up to her best self, she sets out on a three month, 1,000-plus mile solo hiking trip on the Pacific Crest trail.

Cheryl’s journey is harrowing, heart-breaking, inspiring, and hilarious—the last of which evidenced by a funny scene with her “Monster Pack” (which becomes a running joke) that shows how hard her journey is going to be before she even starts it). And just like life, it can’t be categorized by one thing. Witherspoon, washed out and make-up free, gives a great performance as a woman desperate to be the person she (and her mother) knew she could be. It’s raw, believable, and her stripped-down appearance and attitude fully gives the viewer the opportunity to relate to her. Though there’s quite a bit of scenes where it’s just Cheryl and the wilderness, Witherspoon plays her wonderfully as she goes back and forth from being guarded to incredibly emotive and vulnerable, putting to bed any doubts about her acting skills in the process. In Wild, you’re not watching Reese Witherspoon; you’re watching Cheryl Strayed. Witherspoon also produced the film and her passionate involvement pays off. She brings Cheryl to life as much as the role does for her.

Though it would’ve been nice to see more scenes or reflections about her past, hardships, and time spent with her mother (any excuse to see more of Laura Dern’s beautiful performance, please), we’re given enough that we can understand Cheryl on a personal level and fill in the blanks ourselves.

With the focus of the film staying on one character’s journey, it would’ve been very easy for it to fall prey to monotony. However, this isn’t the case. The film is never boring as the hiking scenes are interspersed with flashbacks to Cheryl’s past in addition to her interactions with people that she meets along the way—some for the better (which is some of where the film’s humor comes from)—some not so much. In one of the films more hilarious scenes a man mistakes her for a hobo, unbelieving her claims that she’s a hiker and that a woman would willingly set off by herself.

Due to the reflective quality of the film, Wild does jump around in time a bit (which is a little jarring at first, but flows better as the film progresses) but not enough that it becomes confusing. It would’ve made for a better flowing film if the flashbacks had smoother transitions, but the flashbacks themselves are equally captivating as the present action that it almost doesn’t matter when they appear. Each segment is like a little treat, a look back at Strayed’s life before her hike. In showing the highs in her life (her relationship with her mother, mainly) along with the bad (her promiscuity, drug use, and generally self-destructive behavior), we’re given an unbiased look at her life; and though she admits that some things from her past are difficult to revisit, her reflection on them gives us an emotionally honest portrayal of a woman who truly wants to heal.

Like this year’s Nightcrawler was for Jake Gyllenhaal, Wild is very much a character study of Cheryl in addition to a meditation on life, being your best self, and to what degree our life experiences (no matter how undesirable) have made us the people that we are. And while it’s uncertain if anyone setting out on a journey like Cheryl’s will have similar healing effects, Wild at least lets us know that it—finding inner peace through self-reflection—is possible.

8.5/10

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes

In a summer of relatively disappointing films and box office numbers, apes, despite wiping out humanity, are proving to be a salvation to the box office (and prepositional phrases).

Whether a disinterest in theaters’ offerings of big-budget sequels and blockbusters, movie time spent instead on family events and vacations, or a combination of factors, it’s safe to assume that this summer’s box office totals will come in less than last year’s record-breaking amount.

Release Date: July 11, 2014
Runtime: 130 minutes

Regardless, moviegoers are flocking to theaters to see Dawn of the Planet of the Apes (which grossed a respectable $73 million during its opening weekend), raising the question: why such a large opening when other films (original ideas and sequels alike) have failed to reach that amount? The film’s gross seems to hint both at a built-in fan base and the quality of the film itself.

The sequel to 2011’s surprise hit Rise of the Planet of the Apes, Dawn picks up ten years later from the end of the film that saw apes beginning to assert their separation from (and authority over) humans. Humanity has slowly become wiped out due to the ALZ-113 virus and apes, in their absence, have thrived. They’ve set up their own community, caste system, rules and, most importantly, haven’t seen any humans for two years, signaling that they have become extinct. However, this changes when a group of humans shows up in the apes’ territory in the Muir Woods.

Like most sequels, Dawn features a return of old characters in addition to the introduction of new ones. Andy Serkis returns as Caesar, the leader of the ape population, and if he was good in Rise, he’s perfect in Dawn, conveying every emotion, every thought of Caesar with such nuance and clearly thought-out emotion that you don’t even miss the humans. Of course, you can’t have Caesar without special effects, and they are so impressive that I imagine they will go unappreciated by the average moviegoer. In the film, the apes aren’t CGI creations; thanks to motion-capture performances by actors such as Andy Serkis and Judy Greer, they’re real. There isn’t one scene, one second of footage, where the apes look like computer simulations. Never for a moment do the effects take the viewer out of the movie or its realness and this time around Serkis and Caesar get top billing in the credits (and rightfully so). It’s clearly their film, and Serkis’ work is both technically and emotionally impressive and gratifying. (He should be nominated for an Oscar, but won’t be due to the Academy snubbing motion-capture performances.)

Unfortunately, and to the film’s detriment, the same can’t be said for the human characters. Despite boasting a cast of Jason Clarke (Malcolm, an ape sympathizer who shares Caesar’s hope that man and ape can live peacefully together), Keri Russell (Ellie, a grieving parent), and Gary Oldman (Dreyfus, determined to restore the balance of society no matter the cost), we’re never given any particular reason—either in their traits, flaws, emotions, or desires—to care for them. Instead, they’re merely used to add conflict with the apes and to raise the question if apes and humans can peacefully co-exist (if you’ve seen the marketing for the film, with apes toting machine guns and riding horses through the flame-ridden streets of San Francisco, the answer is pretty obvious). But there are times when the film makes us think that it’s possible. And it’s with these scenes of interaction and genuine emotion between humans and apes that makes me wish that the film had focused more on this rather than its antsy-for-the-climax action sequences. The reason the action worked so well in Rise was a steady and tense build-up before the eventual payoff. However, here, although we know the general aspects of where the story intends to go, the specifics are slightly unclear—Is this the climax? we wonder, Or is this? The emotional journey of the apes is loud and clear, but the human one less so, making the climax, while visually exciting, a little less emotionally involving.

Despite its deficits with its human characters and an abrupt ending, Dawn of the Planet of the Apes is a solid film with Oscar-quality effects and performance by Andy Serkis. We already care about the apes and their journey (both emotional and physical). That’s something that both Rise and Dawn have done incredibly well. But if you’re going to create a movie where the entire human population is about to become extinct, give us a reason—whether we’re for or against them—to care.

8/10

Philomena

Judi Dench plays the hilarious and heartbreaking Philomena Lee in an adaptation of the true story

Films that are character pieces usually deliver on their promise: introducing a character, completely fleshing them out, and giving us reasons to care for the emotional ringer that they’re put through over the course of the film’s runtime. All, however, at the expense of an engaging or fully developed plot. Surprisingly, Philomena doesn’t fall into this category. It’s a character piece but the plot that accompanies it is just as engaging as the characters themselves. And it’s a real treat.

Directed and co-written by Steve Coogan, the film follows BBC reporter Martin Sixsmith as he travels with elderly Irishwoman Philomena Lee in search of her long-lost son that was separated from her when she was younger. Philomena’s hoping to reconnect with him after years of guilt and shame, while Martin sees the story as more of a journalistic opportunity. What follows, surprisingly, is more than the stereotypical “I gave up my baby for adoption and now I feel bad” story.

Philomena is a typical old lady: she loves all-you-can-eat buffets, carries snacks in her purse, and excites at anything free—in one funny scene on an airplane, Philomena denies a beverage but when Martin tells her they’re included with the fare, she beams with delight. She’s a humble person, reads cheap romance novels (and describes the plots in detail to Martin), and enjoys the simple pleasures of life, while Coogan’s Martin, well…doesn’t. And a lot of the film’s humor comes from the gentle colliding (not quite crashing) of their classes. Philomena’s trip with Martin is her first visit to America, so it’s both telling of her perspective and hilarious when she expresses that one of her worries about her son is that he turned out to be obese. “Because of the portions!” she says, explaining her concern.

But for all the times that she fills the typical old lady stereotype, there are also moments where she’s timid, moments where she’s afraid, shameful, even, at the thought that her son might’ve thought that she didn’t love him. After all, she’s kept the secret of her child—Anthony—for fifty years, spending every day mulling the situation over in her head.

In lesser hands, the portrayal of Philomena could have gone one of two ways: either the extremely crotchety route, or the cute-little-old-lady route. Judi Dench blends and balances the two perfectly in such a well-crafted performance so that we’re not actively noticing what characteristics constitute Philomena; rather, she just is Philomena. Dench manages to make her both a complex and sympathetic character.

Coogan also gives a great performance in the film. Though he originally agrees to hear Philomena’s story because of its journalistic potential, he comes to care for her on a personal level, too. Coogan’s balance of seriousness and humor plays nicely off of Dench’s Philomena and the two characters couldn’t work any better together.

I won’t spoil it here, but the result of their search comes fairly early in the film and is fairly shocking in its early reveal. Though, this allows the viewer to mirror and share in Philomena’s shock and range of emotions. It’s also a bold choice because at that point, you begin to wonder: where can the story possibly go from here—and still manage to be entertaining—now that we know the end  result? Any worries or concerns are quickly swept aside because what follows in the second half of the film is captivating, emotional, and filled with such character-driven and –focused drama and humor that you can’t imagine it being any other way. It’s also a testament to the script just how deeply engaging it is without being overly comedic or melodramatic.

“We’ve come full circle,” says Philomena at the end of her and Martin’s journey together. And they have. They physically end at the location that they started, not just for the sake of wrapping up the story in a neat bow, but to highlight and reflect upon the levels of emotion that the film that painted throughout the journey: apprehension, fear, surprise, and finally, acceptance. It could’ve used another scene or two to wrap up, but the film’s sense of completion is satisfactory.

Walking in to it, I wasn’t expecting to like Philomena as much as I did and the fact that it’s so good is a surprise because it’s unassuming. It’s a modest tale of a modest woman and that, like Philomena itself, is part of its charm.

9/10

The Wolf of Wall Street

There’s been a lot of talk over the past few months revolving around the runtime of Martin Scorsese’s The Wolf of Wall Street. Is it too long? Do the scenes of debauchery and corruption dominate (and cause boredom over) the three hour runtime? Ironically, I felt it could have been longer. Sure, scenes of depravity take up a good chunk of the film’s runtime (though they don’t feel nearly repetitive as some viewers claim), but the real reason it needs to be longer is to make room for scenes of non­-depravity.

Release Date: Dec 25, 2013 Runtime: 179 minutes

Leonardo DiCaprio’s Jordan Belfort and his band of law-breaking stockbrokers are loud, rambunctious, and in more cases than not, hysterical. Most of them, like Jordan, have ascended the economic ladder from the middle-class to the uber rich. They take drugs, have wild parties, buy cars, clothes, and women, and can’t believe their luck. Their wide-eyed incomprehension of their wealth makes for some funny moments on screen (namely, Jordan crumpling and chucking hundred dollar bills into a trashcan). They can engage in whatever bad behaviors they want, but while they’re doing them, there’s no reason for the audience to care about the characters behind them. We don’t praise them, we don’t condemn them; without any great amount of character development, they’re just corrupt people doing corrupt things.

Though, Wolf isn’t totally devoid of character development. Jordan’s scenes with Kyle Chandler’s FBI agent Patrick Denham are one of the highlights of the film. Both characters’ contempt for (and jabs at) each other fills the screen with such a tension, that it’s a shame there are only a handful of scenes like it over the three-hour runtime. Where Wolf focuses on the great differences between the wealthy one percent and the lower-middle class do-gooders (firemen, teachers, and law enforcement officers, like Denham), the film really sizzles, showing how much more interesting it could’ve been if it had turned itself into a socioeconomic critique of money and class in today’s society—or the consequences of greed (an intensely captivating argument between Jordan and his second wife, Naomi (Morgot Robbie), comes to mind). And to a point—with Jordan’s vast excess, careless behaviors, and big-spender-from-humble-beginnings attitude—it does. However, the time spent waiting for these gems are too few and far between.

In addition to DiCaprio’s wild turn as Jordan Belfort, co-stars Jonah Hill, Matthew McConaughey, and Rob Reiner (as Jordan’s hilariously hot-tempered father) are a real treat to watch, Hill especially, whose quirky performance as Jordan’s awkward right-hand man is arguably the highlight of the film. With such energetic characters, the main problem with the film isn’t the excessive scenes of chaos, drugs, and sex, nor the performances. That’s the curse of Wolf: it’s got so many interesting characters, but when they actually go somewhere, it’s not very far. In a way, money, not Jordan, is the main character.

The Wolf of Wall Street has a lot going for it: it’s entertaining, funny, thought-provoking, and its tight editing keeps the runtime from feeling like a chore, but despite these features, it’s hard not to think that it could’ve been much more.

7.5/10

Dallas Buyers Club

“Welcome to the Dallas Buyers Club.”

In Dallas Buyers Club, Matthew McConaughey plays real-life figure Ron Woodroof, a straight man disgusted to discover that he’s been infected with HIV. Woodroof considers himself to be the epitome of masculinity (he drinks beer, rides bulls, and curses like a sailor) and refuses to accept his diagnosis, consistently appealing to his friends and doctors that he couldn’t be further from the stereotypical HIV patient.

After coming to terms with (and seeking treatment for) his condition—eventually finding something that works to alleviate the symptoms of HIV, but not get rid of it completely—he recognizes that there are other HIV-positive people who would no doubt pay for the drugs he’s taking. And so he sets up what he deems the ‘Dallas Buyers Club,’ where a four hundred dollar a month buy-in gets you membership access the drugs needed to keep the full effects of HIV at bay.

The beginnings of Woodroof’s business are interesting, but the transformative performances from McConaughey and Jared Leto (as Woodroof’s business partner, Rayon) totally steal the film. When the pair are on screen, either together or apart, everything else becomes secondary and you become totally transfixed by their honest portrayals of these two characters facing their own personal adversities, brought together by chance to fight them. There’s not one moment in the film where you’re seeing McConaughey or Leto, or being consciously aware of their acting. Like Cate Blanchett in this year’s Blue Jasmine, they become the characters, solidifying 2013 as the year of the actor.

Woodroof’s journey from intolerant homophobe to socially aware and caring activist is a slow-moving, yet rewarding one. And as his attitude shifts throughout the film, the social aspects surrounding it are interesting to consider. Does he only have concern for the HIV community now that he, too, has the virus? Woodroof and Rayon’s relationship plays off of this in interesting ways. Though, for a film with quite a few scenes that pack an emotional punch, the biggest, seemingly intended blow to our emotions (I won’t spoil it here) doesn’t linger long enough to be as emotional as it could’ve (and probably should’ve) been.

The story’s plot does seem to suffer from a wavering focus at times. At the beginning, it zones in on Woodroof’s fight to survive. From there, though, is its intent to focus on Woodroof’s desire to help other patients? Or does he just want to make money, unconcerned for social stigma of HIV and the plight of those associated with it? The answer becomes increasingly clearer, but it isn’t until the end of the film that it’s really solidified. In the latter half of the film, the focus seems to shift again, this time on the unethical aspects of Big Pharma. It’s obvious that the film wants to shed some light on multiple economic and social issues (and there’s nothing wrong with that); I just wish it would’ve been done in a more seamless way.

There’s a point in the film that finds Woodroof—and, consequently, the audience—so caught up in his Club and trying to buy time that he’s not really doing anything with the time that he’s bought himself. “Sometimes I think I’m fighting for a life I ain’t got time to live,” he says. And it’s true. He’s not living. And though he first sets up the Club for the money, by walking in the footsteps of those who he’s mocked and ridiculed for so long, by coming to a place of understanding and love, then he’s truly living.

8/10