Archive for the 'Reviews' Category

I have to admit upfront that I’ve read the first five Scott Pilgrim books, and I don’t think it’s possible for me to review the movie without drawing comparisons.  I’ll do my best to be accessible to those that haven’t read the comics, but really my recommendation is that you just read the comics, and then see the movie, and then come back and read my review again.

I’ll start out by saying that Scott Pilgrim vs. the World is every bit as good as I hoped it would be, and much better than it likely would have been had anybody but Edgar Wright directed it.  Wright has proven in the past that he has a particular skill for action comedies that come at their genre blending in new and unique ways, which is  exactly what this film calls for.  Wright achieves that perfect balance between cartoony violence and genuine emotion that makes Brian O’Malley’s comics so memorable, and expands that balance in new cinematic directions.  As in the comics, Wright makes it clear that the video game-esque battles are a metaphor for the tribulations of a messy love life, while also establishing that the battles are just as real, diegetically, as anything else in Scott’s life.

That said, battles with seven evil exes crammed into one movie make it a little wearying.  It’s helpful that two of the exes are twins who challenge Scott simultaneously, but by that time you’re already wondering how long it’s going to take to get to the main guy.  Other than the twins, though, all of the exes are very distinct, which is nice.  Brandon Routh (the last guy to play Superman) and Chris Evans (the next guy to play Captain America) are both standouts, and Mae Whitman is a welcome addition to any ensemble.  Jason Schwartzman is good too (like that’s a surprise), but by the time he shows up the whole ex-battling conceit just seems tired.

On the subject of casting, I understand that some people are tired of him, but I think Michael Cera was absolutely the right choice to play Scott.  The whole thing about Scott Pilgrim is that he has this ridiculous talent for super-fighting, even though he seems like the last guy that would.  If he was portrayed by an actor who’s even the tiniest bit more conventionally masculine (like that kid from Zombieland, for instance) the balance wouldn’t work as well.  The same thing applies, for different reasons, to Scott’s clumsy mistreatment of the women in his life.  Michael Cera is this guy who’s well into his 20′s, but you can believe he’s still basically a little boy.  If he seemed like a full grown man, he’d just come off as a tool.

The women in Scott’s life are handled well, although they do seem to suffer the most for the condensation of the story.  It’s most glaring with Ramona, because the need for her to be enigmatic in the beginning ends up leaving very little time for real characterization.  She escapes the ‘Manic Pixie Dreamgirl’ trap, but she’s far closer to it than she ever came in the comics.  Kim Pine is pitch-perfect, but also comes off as much less complex than her comic book counterpart.  Knives Chau fares the best of all the female characters.  She still loses some scenes (and her father is entirely cut from the story), but her slow transformation from desperate-and-naive to cooler-than-Scott is portrayed to perfection by Ellen Wong.

I could name plenty of other things I liked (the music, Kieran Culkin as Wallace) and disliked (Scott never moving out or getting a job), but I think I’ve said enough for now.  The movie is no substitute for the comics, but it’s a great adaptation, and ought to make you happy whether you’re already a Pilgrim fan or just a filmgoer looking for something with plenty of indie rock, romance, and ninja fights.

In retrospect, maybe that’s what Garden State was missing… ninja fights.

Yes, I finally got around to watching Antichrist.  I’ve always been a von Trier hater, but there was so much talk about this film last year, and it’s Instant on Netflix, so I couldn’t stay away.  At the outset, I’ll say these two things: 1) I really liked it, and I’m glad I watched it. 2) I still think Lars von Trier is a raving misogynist (even on the “male film auteur” scale, which sets the bar pretty high).

Visually, von Trier reaches a new level with this film.  Every shot is gorgeous, even the ones that are terrifying and disgusting.  He seems to have let go of the last vestiges of the Dogma 95 aesthetic and embraced a lush, painterly style of filmmaking that’s relatively unconcerned with realism (being anti-realism myself, I’m in favor of this).  I loved the way the shots of the woods have a kind of ripple to them, hinting that reality is in flux.  The surreal scenes with the animals were also great, particularly the one with the fox.  I had heard about the fox plenty of times, but I still wasn’t prepared for what it was actually like.  In fact, I think I exclaimed to my roommates, “That’s the best thing I’ve ever seen in a movie!”  It probably can’t really contend for that honor, but it was an amazing moment.

In addressing the misogyny, I don’t want to give the impression that I think von Trier is putting forward some sort of coherent anti-woman message.  The characters discuss the idea that women are inherently evil, but I don’t really think the film comes down on either side of that question.  Of course, not coming down on the “of course they’re not, that’s stupid” side of that particular question implies a degree of misogyny all on its own.  If I’m charitable toward von Trier, I could say that he’s trying to work out his own deeply ingrained personal issues with women, in the same way that Charles Bukowski and R. Crumb do in their work.  If I’m less charitable (which I’m inclined to be, since it’s von Trier), I might suggest that he knows that a huge contingent of filmgoers think he hates women, and he’s pushing their (our) buttons on purpose.  If you’ve ever seen him interviewed, or watched The Five Obstructions, you have to admit that seems like him.

I’ll also add that horror is clearly the genre von Trier was meant for, and I hope he sticks with it for a while.  His storytelling style revolves around a continual escalation of misfortune for his protagonist.  In a melodrama (even one in which Björk sings) this becomes unbearable, because the tragedy gets worse and worse to the point that it no longer seems even vaguely realistic.  In a horror film, on the other hand, this works perfectly.  You start with a couple fighting, escalate, escalate, genital mutilation, escalate, one of them strangles and burns the other one- congrats, you’ve made a successful (and very creepy) horror movie.

And yes, I realize I’ve spent this entire review talking about Lars von Trier and his past work, but I feel like he’s the kind of artist who makes it impossible not to do that.  After all, he certainly wants the attention.

I can’t really call myself an animation blogger, but I’m certainly a film blogger who has a vocal love of animation (particularly classic American animation).  As such, I felt obligated to see The Princess and the Frog, Disney’s return to hand drawn musical fairy tales, but I wasn’t terribly enthusiastic.  The trailer was a jumble of too many disparate elements, and to be honest I was a little annoyed they didn’t hire someone more daring than Randy Newman to do the music.  I love Newman’s work, and I know he knows his way around the music of New Orleans (and everywhere else), but it would’ve been nice to see the job go to someone younger, hipper, and maybe, you know, black.

Newman does, of course, pull through just fine.  The music isn’t knock-your-socks-off spectacular, but it’s fun while it’s happening and it moves the story along.  In addition to the swinging jazz that plays in the New Orleans sequences, there’s also some zydeco (performed by fireflies) when the story moves out into the bayou, and a great (spiritually nonspecific) gospel number by the wise woman character, Mama Odie.  I was disappointed that the Shadow Man’s big number wasn’t a little stronger, because villain songs are often my favorite.  “Friends on the Other Side” starts out great, but it peters out for too long when the tarot readings start, and the climax seems to come from nowhere.

The story follows a pretty simple romance/quest/overcoming adversity formula, but it stays pretty engaging throughout.  Disney also does their best to make amends for some of the damaging messages they’ve injected into the culture in the past.  The explicitly stated moral of this story is that you have to work to build the life you want- you can’t just wish on a star or wait for your prince to come.  I loved how they deal with Prince Naveen’s acknowledgment that his pampered upbringing has left him with almost no useful skills.  I also thought it was a nice touch that the spoiled rich girl, Charlotte, turns out to be a decent person and a good friend, just a problematic one.  Making her a villain in the end would have been both easier and far less interesting.

As far as the race thing which many people (myself included) were just waiting for Disney to screw up, I think they did okay.  The movie feels a little focus-grouped at times, but I’d call that an improvement over egregious racism.  If the protagonist were white, the portrayals of the villain and helpful wise woman as black would be unfortunate, but with a majority-black cast everything seems pretty balanced out.  The ambiguity of Prince Naveen’s race is a little strange, particularly in the way he seems to be regarded by the film’s version of 1920′s society as an acceptable partner for either black or white women.  Regardless of where he’s from (my guess was somewhere in French-colonized North Africa), it’s hard to believe that the Americans he meets wouldn’t want to immediately box him into a racial identity they understand and keep him there.  Perhaps this is meant to be his aristocratic privilege mixed with the unique cultural dynamic of New Orleans?

The look of the film was beautiful, taking the old school Disney aesthetic and bringing it adeptly into the 21st Century.  I loved the character designs, except for the Cajun firefly, who was a little too overtly silly-looking for me.  Mama Odie was especially great, particularly the way her skin hangs off her face in the manner of the very old.  Charlotte’s design was also a standout.  You can see how she’d be regarded as a pretty girl, but her pug face has none of the classic Disney beauty about it.  Tiana, in contrast, is immediately recognizable (for better or worse) as a “Disney Princess,” despite any efforts to give her recognizably black facial features.  The frogs that she and Naveen transform into capture their human personalities to an impressive degree, while still maintaining their frogness (frogocity?).

Marketing aside, will The Princess and the Frog stand the test of time and be regarded as a Disney classic?  Eh.  Who knows what that even means anymore.  It will certainly stand up better than anything they’ve made since The Lion King (all respect to the dedicated fans of The Emperor’s New Groove and Lilo and Stitch), which is no small feat.  I hope that it leads to more big-scale animated musicals, and particularly more that are set in the last hundred years, and more protagonists of color.  For all the problems people have with the stuff Disney produces (many of which I agree with), I’d love to see them go back to being a force to be reckoned with in the animation world, instead of continuing to focus their energy in the realms of television and pop music.

What is there left that hasn’t been said about Avatar? First of all, yes, it’s gorgeous to look at. James Cameron really puts the emphasis on immersing you in a weirdly beautiful world of fluorescent trees, glowing dandelion pods, and flying dragons.  The big blue people are beautiful (and yes, sexy) as well, moving through the jungle with preternatural grace.  The fight scenes are big, but they’re not poorly edited and impossible to follow as in the style of so many action movies these days.

Second, to agree with the second point everyone else has raised, the story is mindnumbingly predictable post-colonial white guilt claptrap.  The dialogue is almost George Lucas bad, and everything that’s going to happen is telegraphed ages in advance (sure, let’s spend a whole scene describing some great heroic act that only happens every few generations- you don’t suppose the hero will do that very thing before the end of the movie, do you?).  I agree with the comparisons to Ferngully and Dune and Dances with Wolves (although I admit I’ve never watched Dances with Wolves, I’ve pretty much got the idea). The one comparison that sprang to mind which I haven’t heard anyone else make is to The Dark Crystal, in which the creators got so wrapped up in building a beautiful and internally consistent world from scratch that they didn’t leave any time for building an equally interesting and unique story.

I think Annalee Newitz is right that this film has a serious problem in its (metaphorical but inarguable) depiction of race, and I further think that SEK is right that we should go ahead and call that problem what it is: racism.  Cameron sets out with clear intentions of respecting indigenous people, but you can’t just fall into the same old “noble naked savages with feathers in their braided hair communing with horses and being one with the Earth Mother” trope and act like that’s okay.  It’s not okay, and we need to move past it.

I did think it was kind of interesting how Cameron finds a reasonably believable pseudo-scientific justification for the whole “connection to all living things” idea by giving the aliens a cluster of tendrils (like a biological USB port) that they can connect to plants and animals to communicate psychically with them.  Usually, when science fiction features psychic powers, there’s a big suspension-of-disbelief pill to swallow in the idea of dualism (that our minds exist outside our brains), since real science has repeatedly found that it just doesn’t hold up, as much as we might like it to.  By creating a physical, nervous connection between two discrete beings, Cameron gets around that problem.  Of course, when it’s all in the service of creating an imaginary race that’s even more like we want American Indians to be than American Indians actually are, it’s hard to really appreciate this innovation.

I also have to say that I’m really, really sick of the “military asshole” archetype embodied here by Colonel Miles Quaritch.  Wasn’t this exact same guy in District 9 too?  The problem with a character like this (aside from the fact that he’s obnoxious for every moment he’s on screen) is that it embodies everything that’s wrong with militarism in one cartoonishly villainous character, and then the audience waits in great anticipation for the scene where he gets his, and then he does, and everyone cheers “Hooray, we’ve defeated militarism!”  I’m sorry, Hollywood screenwriters and action movie fans, but you can’t kill a noxious ideology by putting arrows through some asshole’s chest.  For that matter, you can’t rid the world of greed by packing Giovanni Ribisi into a spaceship and sending him away, but whatever.

In closing, I’ll say this: If you have any interest at all, even a little bit, in ever seeing Avatar, SEE IT IN THE THEATRE.  The spectacle is all it has going for it, and it will be totally pointless on a TV (no matter how big, flat, and HD).

It goes without saying (since I already said it months ago) that my expectations were extremely high for Where the Wild Things Are.  I tried my best to keep them in check, but there was no hope.  Now that I’ve finally seen it, it’s taken me a couple of days to feel ready to sit down and write about the experience.  In a way, the movie doesn’t feel real to me; it feels like a dream I had.  With a movie like this, I can only regard that sensation as a mark of overwhelming success on the part of the filmmakers.

From here on, there will be what you could call spoilers, but if you’ve read the book you already know that Max’s supper is still hot at the end, so you’re probably safe reading on (but see the movie as soon as possible anyway).

To begin with, the structure of the narrative was everything I could have hoped for.  From the trailers, I was expecting Max to travel back and forth more than once between the real world and the home of the Wild Things, which I felt would be an unfortunate departure from the book.  I was pleasantly surprised to find that this is not the case.  He only goes there and back once, preserving the importance of the journey, and of the goodbyes between Max and the creatures he’s befriended.

On the other hand, there was one key point of departure from the book that I felt was absolutely the right choice.  In the film, Max’s bedroom does not become the forest.  Instead, he leaves his house and finds an actual forest through which to travel.  I’m fine with the “it’s all a dream” aspect of the book’s story, but in films that’s already an overdone trope that’s very rarely satisfying.  Of course we know the Wild Things are all in Max’s head- where else would they be?  We don’t need to have that telegraphed for us with scenes of Max falling asleep and waking up.  For Max, it’s all really happening, and we get to see it that way too.

The Wild Things themselves are as perfect as they could be.  First of all, every Wild Thing that appears in the book is in the movie (unless you count the Sea Monster as a Wild Thing, which I never have).  Secondly, there are no new Wild Things created for the movie.  We meet a few other creatures in that world, but they’re all recognizable animals rather than hulking amalgams.  The combination of costumes and CGI used for the Wild Things creates a phenomenal effect.  They have real weight to them in a way that CGI creatures rarely do, but their faces are far more expressive than animatronics would allow.

James Gandolfini gives an exceptional performance as an emotionally erratic Wild Thing named Carol.  The other Wild Things are great too, particularly Lauren Ambrose as KW (the redheaded one) and Chris Cooper as Douglas (the cockatoo headed one).  Nobody does a growly monster voice, which is a relief (fortunately, Christian Bale was not asked to play a Wild Thing).  The kid who plays Max is so perfect that it feels like he stepped off the page, and Catherine Keener gives us some memorable moments in a small role as his mother.

The thing that really won me over about Where the Wild Things Are, more than anything else, is its emphasis on the emotional core of childhood.  This is the most nakedly, unapologetically psychological kids’ movie I’ve seen in a long time.  I love that the story of the Wild Things is all about their relationships.  There’s no villain – no evil force threatening their homes which Max is their only hope of defeating – there’s just a collection of big, clumsy creatures who are even worse than Max at controlling their emotions.  The Wild Things exist to teach Max how to be a part of a family, and they serve this function elegantly.  There’s no pithy moral or “this is what I’ve learned” speech, just a growing understanding that loving others doesn’t always make it easy to get along with them, and that everyone has their monstrous moments, even those people we care about the most.

There’s a lot more I could say about this film (I haven’t even touched on the music, the cinematography, or that dog), but I’m going to end this review for now and leave the door open for more posts later.  I can’t wait to hear other reactions (I’m sure they won’t all be as positive as mine), so if you’ve seen it, let me know what you think.

Prior to this film, I admit I’ve stayed away from the Mumblecore movement.  Not that there was anything I objected to about it, just that I’ve been otherwise occupied.  So I can’t really comment on how Lynn Shelton’s Humpday fits into that context.  On its own merits, though, it definitely lives up to the positive buzz it’s received.

This is a pretty simple movie about two straight guys who decide to have sex and film it.  Having been aware of this premise going in, I was really impressed with how believable it was.  Thanks to a fully realized dynamic between the characters and an escalating sense of pressure, I was ready to buy that these were two genuinely heterosexual men who were seriously planning to sleep together.  Andrew (Josh Leonard) is a globetrotting Bohemian who calls himself an artist but has a problem finishing actual projects.  Ben  (Mark Duplass) is his best friend from college, who has settled down with a wife and an office job.  When the idea of them screwing on film comes up at a party, neither of them is willing to be the sort of person who can’t do something like this.  Andrew knows he’s 100% straight, and feels on some level that being thus limited is a betrayal of his values.  Ben loves his wife and the life he’s built with her, but feels like he might have settled down before he really figured himself out.

The acting is what really makes this film work, and it is stellar.  The naturalistic dialogue is believable enough, but the facial expressions of the actors, particularly in the many moments of awkward silence, approach the sublime.  Leonard, Duplass, and Alicia Delmore as Ben’s wife Anne are all so exceptional I’m not sure I could even pick a favorite.  Although sex is central to the plot, Humpday is all about intercourse in the other sense of the word.  The joy of the movie is in watching these three people pair off in every possible combination for intense, awkward, and funny one-on-one conversations.

The view of masculinity presented in the film is extremely refreshing.  In fact, it makes the stuff that passes for groundbreaking in Hollywood (the emotions expressed between men in Judd Apatow films, for example) seem absurdly limited.  There’s also a lot of truth expressed in the argument between Ben and Andrew about whether or not there’s an uncrossable line between their lifestyles.  It turns out that Andrew, who’s supposedly the open-minded one, has a more black and white view of things than Ben.  Ben’s frustration at this rings true for anyone who’s ever gotten trapped in the role of the square in a group of artists.

As the big event draws closer, it remains impossible to predict whether or not the guys will go through with the deed.  Once the question is answered, though, it seems impossible that it could have gone any other way.  My one complaint about the film is that aspects of the ending seem slightly by-the-book for an indie film, but every previous moment is so perfect that I’m more than willing to overlook that minor problem.

The hardest thing about reviewing Inglourious Basterds is that it took me a week to see it, and I haven’t been able to avoid the thoughts and reviews of others. So many diverse and intelligent things have been said, I have no way of knowing what I’d think if I was really going in fresh.   Karina Longworth makes a good point about how the movie depends on our knowledge of Nazi atrocities, since they’re never really discussed on screen.  But then Mark makes the argument that our culture’s near-universal hatred of Nazis is a key component of Tarantino’s message, which does make a great deal of sense.  Mark’s review is probably my favorite, so you should probably just go read it first.  Meanwhile on this week’s Slate Culturefest, there was much understandable fretting about the idea of an enjoyable “holocaust romp.”

The big question with a Tarantino movie is usually, “Just how smart is this guy anyway?”  I mean, we all know he’s a genius at synthesizing the history of cinema- making these amazing movies where every single element is a reference to or a direct swipe of something that came before, and yet the sum of the parts feels fresh.  But while he’s doing that, is he also talking to us about the real world?  Does he have something to say about life, or is he just talking about movies that have something to say about life, so a larger message trickles down?  I’m really not sure.

What I am certain of is that Tarantino continues to develop as a cinematic storyteller.  Visually, this film is gorgeous.  Even the close-up knife violence is well shot, although that doesn’t mean I enjoyed watching it.  The pacing is also excellent.  I’ve trained myself to sit through long movies, but I usually get antsy at some point during anything longer than two hours, and I never did here.  The chapter titles were a nice touch, breaking up the story and giving us a sense of things progressing.  I know some reviewers have disagreed, but I thought the disparate threads of the story were woven together perfectly- the Basterds, Shosanna, the Nazis.

The acting is also great across the board.  As everyone else has already said, Christoph Waltz is a standout, particularly in his ability to act in every language with equal comfort.  Mélanie Laurent is fantastic as Shosanna, the “face of Jewish vengeance.”  The scene of Laurent and Waltz eating pastry together, in which she knows who he is and he has no idea who she is, is amazing.  Brad Pitt does a fine job, although I didn’t believe for a second that that was an East Tennessee accent.  Samm Levine, BJ Novak, and Mike Myers were all welcome surprises in their small roles.  Eli Roth works as the burly “Bear Jew” (and I definitely like him better as an actor than as a director), but I’m a little sad the role didn’t go to Adam Sandler as I’ve heard was the original plan.  I’ve certainly never before uttered the words, “It’s a shame Adam Sandler wasn’t in this movie,” but when I think of the character’s entrance into the film, it would have been amazing to see Sandler do that, and to hear the audience reaction if he had.

So is Inglourious Basterds a gleefully violent “holocaust romp,” or is it a comment on how violence tears apart nations and individuals?  It is just an homage to Tarantino’s favorite war movies, or does it have something to say about war?  I honestly have no idea, but I’m going to keep thinking about it.  I will say that I’ll definitely see the film again, and recommend it to others.  If nothing else, I’m curious in everyone else’s opinions on these tough questions.

For the first fifteen minutes or so of Neill Blomkamp’s District 9, I kept feeling like I was watching a South African edition of The Office.  The documentary style, the awkwardness of the characters, and the self-conscious banality were all strikingly reminiscent of both the American and British versions.  The lead character, Wikus van de Merwe, is even rather similar to Michael Scott.  He has a position of authority that seems to exceed his abilities, and he spends much of the film’s first act trying to sound knowledgeable for the camera while his actions betray his complete lack of a clue.  The key difference is that van de Merwe isn’t in charge of a paper company, but rather a paramilitary unit that’s been assigned to evacuate a bunch of insectoid aliens from the slum they’ve been living in for 28 years and herd them into a concentration camp outside of town.  Inevitably, things go very wrong with this plan.

The idea of human/alien relations as a metaphor for racism, which seemed so prevalent in the trailers and even in the film’s opening sequence, falls by the wayside as a more typical summer action blockbuster narrative takes over.  There’s a car chase, a reluctant partnership that grows into friendship, and a lot of things (and people) getting blown up.  Also thrown into the mix is a surprisingly large of dose of body horror, much of it lifted pretty directly from Cronenberg’s The Fly.  Amid all the explosions and mutations, there’s no time to explain anything about the culture or technology of the aliens, which ultimately leaves far too many questions unanswered.

Also, for a movie where the central metaphor seems to be about racism, District 9 doesn’t actual handle issues of race very well.  For one thing, the aliens seem created to embody the worst stereotypes about refugees and minorities.  Most of them seem to be lazy and violent, and they display no interest in trying to better their situation.  Perhaps this is meant to reflect the humans’ unenlightened perspective, but if there’s more going on with them, Blomkamp could’ve at least dropped some hints.  Furthermore, the film presents an incredibly negative view of black Africans.  Nigerians in particular are singled out as gangsters and believers in witch doctor hoodoo.  The only black character who’s at all positive is van de Merwe’s assistant (whose name I can’t find at the moment), and he comes off as nothing but a yes man until the very end of the film.

The documentary style doesn’t really work either, unfortunately.  It’s fine in the beginning, built on the conceit that cameramen are following the unit into District 9 to document the alien relocation program.  Then we meet the alien protagonists, and are left wondering who’s filming them, and why they aren’t reacting to the camera’s presence.  When the plot really gets going, the documentary conceit is entirely abandoned, but the shaky handheld camera remains, thus destroying any suspension of disbelief that this was ever a documentary to begin with.

Having said all that, there were a few things I did really like.  First-time actor Sharlto Copley gives a great performance as Wikus van de Merwe.  The aliens also turn out to be surprisingly good actors.  As CGI creatures go, these are some of the best I’ve seen, particularly in the expressiveness of their eyes.  Also, for a bug thing with tentacles, the alien child turns out to be surprisingly cute.  In fact, I found myself liking Copley and the aliens enough to wish that they’d been given a better movie in which to appear.

In the creator commentary for the classic State sketch, “The Bearded Men of Space Station 11,” Robert Ben Garant remarks that you can always recognize the serious, gritty, realistic science fiction films of the 1970′s because they feature men with beards.  So it tells us something when we first see Sam Rockwell in Moon and he’s at least as shaggy as Tom Skerritt in Alien.  This is a serious, gritty, realistic science fiction film, and one that deliberately harkens back to that fertile period of thoughtful cinematic sci fi that stretched from 1968′s 2001: A Space Odyssey to 1981′s Outland.  Moon alludes to both those films, as well as Silent Running and the original Solaris, among others.

Rockwell, as astronaut Sam Bell, really carries the film.  I mean, he has to, since he’s the only actual human character to appear, the other actors being confined to video screens, dream sequences, and the voices of computers.  I’ve always accepted Sam Rockwell as a good actor, but never found him particularly charismatic.  Here, though, he overcomes the sleaziness of his past roles to create an incredibly sympathetic portrayal of a profoundly lonely man who has begun to doubt his very humanity.  I don’t want to give away too much of the plot, but some very complicated things are asked of Rockwell, and he lives up to every moment.

The only other important actor in the film is Kevin Spacey, who gives his best performance in 10 years as GERTY the computer.  There are shades of 2001‘s HAL, but what makes GERTY so interesting is how different he is from that character.  GERTY has gone off his rocker a bit, but he illustrates that just because an aging supercomputer has gained a bit of personality, maybe even gone a little crazy, that’s not the same thing as being evil.  GERTY was programmed to be a friend to Sam, and in the end, that’s what he turns out to be.

Duncan Jones is a first-time director, but you’d never know it from his steady hand with visuals and pacing.  The scenes depicting the exterior surface of the Moon are particularly striking.  The effects for these scenes were done the old fashioned way- with models and miniatures- and they look perfect.  In interviews, Jones has discussed the Moon’s “mythic nature,” which is something I’m with him on.  There’s a primal beauty to that black and gray wasteland, and Jones portrays it beautifully.  The only aspect of the film that felt at all amateurish was the distractingly overbearing piano melody that dominated the soundtrack during the most emotional scenes.  Fortunately, such excellent acting, writing, and direction can more than make up for a little bad music.

Short on time lately, because I’m in the midst of a big move, but there’s not much to say about Orphan anyway.

First of all, don’t bother.  I went in expecting it to be enjoyably bad, and mostly it was just boringly mediocre.  Jaume Collet-Serra (whose IMDb page makes me embarrassed that I chose to watch something he directed) tries to maintain a slow burn of suspense for most of the film, but he’s just not a good enough director to pull it off.  There’s a huge chunk of the movie’s middle where it’s been revealed to the audience that Little Orphan Esther is crazy/evil (which we knew going in anyway), but the other characters are getting a painfully slow series of hints that there might be a problem.  Even when the rest of the family is catching on, they spend way too much time trying to go about their regular lives, while Esther’s actions just escalate.  By the time the climax finally comes, the audience is half asleep and no longer cares.

The one positive thing I have to say about this movie is that Isabelle Fuhrman, the young actor who plays Esther, gives a really incredible performance.  The script asks things of her that no 11-year-old should be expected to pull off, but she totally does.  My hope is that she continues to find work as she gets older, and avoids horror movie “creepy girl” typecasting.  Unfortunately, it seems the next thing on her plate is a television remake of Children of the Corn, which doesn’t bode well.