Film Review - THE WRESTLER: A Gripping Grappler Drama.

While very few memories of my early childhood still remain present in my increasingly over-taxed frontal lobes, I still hold preciously vivid memories of attending the WWF spectacular at the PNE Coliseum in the now distant year of 1986. Over the course of an enchanting evening, which surely put my mom’s infinite patience to the test, the audience was treated to a litany of unforgettable sights such as Bret “The Hitman” Hart, in his ever-present hot pink tank top, sneering and spitting on a rowdily appreciative crowd, as well as Jake “The Snake” Roberts lugging his trademark python around the ring to mass applause and adoration.

While silly in retrospect, those unforgettable sights over-powered my 6-year-old imagination like a Flux Capacitor on a DeLorean, and as I’ve grown older they’ve remained encapsulated in a hazy golden glow of nostalgia. Yet, watching Darren Aronofsky’s new film The Wrestler, which arrives on a tidal wave of goodwill for newly resurrected comeback kid Mickey Rourke, I found those wistful childhood memories frequently dragged kicking and screaming into the present.

Playing Randy “The Ram” Robinson, a once great superstar in the WWF tradition, who is now a lonely trailer-park denizen with bad knees, a hearing aid and an over-reliance on prescription medication, Rourke disappears under a cloak of physical and emotional pain. As he travels to beat-up gyms and dingy community centres to perform in violent low-level wrestling matches for cash and perhaps one last chance for glory, Randy’s disappointment and understanding of his rapidly dwindling celebrity is reflected through the battered eyes of Rourke, a once-great talent also very familiar with lost potential.

For all his flaws, injuries and emotional shortcomings however, Randy remains a sadly loving individual who yearns to connect with those around him. Between visits to a scuzzy local strip club, where he pines for a middle-aged pole dancer named Cassidy (Marisa Tomei), he clumsily attempts to repair his broken relationship with his rightfully resentful daughter (Evan Rachel Wood). Captured with near-documentary precision by Aronofsky and cinematographer Maryse Alberti, these relationships and affecting encounters, as well as Randy’s quest for relevance, form the central narrative of The Wrestler, a film which eschews typical Hollywood story-telling in favour of in-depth character study and profound emotional truths.

With his long, tacky bleached blonde hair, as well as an imposing stature and craggy features which bring to mind Marvel Comic’s The Thing, it’s amazing how winning Rourke comes across, and how he manages to convey the experience of living within Randy’s skin to the audience. From the exhilaration of standing in front of a crowd of enthusiastic screaming fans, to the humiliation of being forced to work for low wages at a measly deli counter job, there is an uncanny sense of transference at work, washing Randy’s joys and sorrows over us in unstoppable waves. To call the performance a masterwork is to sell it short; Rourke is the pulsating exposed heart of The Wrestler, delivering a performance so steeped in reality that it’s often difficult to separate the creator from the creation.

Rourke’s co-stars prove to be equally up to the daunting challenge of matching his go-for-broke portrayal. Tomei, an actress who seems to be hitting her professional stride in recent years, is a fine counterpart to the commanding star. A mirror reflection of Randy’s own battle to remain viable in a youth-driven field, her stripper character walks a fine line between loving and distant. She recognizes as much good in him as bad, and Tomei’s brave performance allows us to sympathize with her at the same time we crave for a solution to Randy’s crippling loneliness. Similarly Evan Rachel Wood creates an honest and gripping three-dimensional portrait of bare childhood wounds in just a few short but invaluable scenes.

The performances would be for nought though, if it weren’t for Aronofsky’s steady directorial hand, unobtrusively revealing the layers of Randy’s world and allowing his actors supportive free reign over their environment and performances. There isn’t a single clumsy moment or false sentiment in The Wrestler, and Aronofsky’s effortless mastery over the film’s key scenes, such as Randy’s heartbreaking beach-side walk with his daughter or a gruesome extreme wrestling match featuring staple-guns and barb wire, further solidifies him as one of our most important of new directors.

For all of his dreams, virtues and faults, Randy “The Ram” Robinson goes on the short-list of the greatest of modern film characters, an individual who I felt strangely richer for having been able to be introduced to. The Wrestler is a stirring exploration of the human spirit, as well as a painful reminder of one of life’s many tragedies: that our heroes, no matter how romanticized or forgotten, are ultimately destined to grow old along with us.

5 out of 5

*Originally printed in SFU's The Peak: Jan. 19th, 2009.

Film Review - THE UNBORN: Kill It! Kill It!

When reviewing a truly stupid and clunky film, it’s often tempting to avoid critical thought and instead simply hurl an endless assortment of pithy puns and one-liners in a self-conscious attempt to feel superior to the lame subject at hand. For example, in dealing with the Michael Bay-produced The Unborn I could simply snidely refer to it as being “poorly conceived”, “labourously delivered” or, perhaps more crudely, “a messy afterbirth”. But I shan’t let these alluring temptations sway my course in properly informing you of how truly pitiful and dunderheaded The Unborn truly is.

Set in a very murky looking Chicago, The Unborn opens with that most treasured standby of hacky horror scribes: the surreal dream sequence. In this particular nightmarish-reverie, young Casey Beldon (Odette Yustman – last seen playing monster fodder in Cloverfield) strolls uneasily through a lonely, foreboding suburban street where she encounters a paper-masked dog and a blue-eyed demon-child. Despite her friends’ and families’ dismissive attitudes toward these nocturnal terrors (not to mention her sudden change in eye colour), it becomes swiftly apparent during a particularly hellish babysitting gig that otherworldly forces are at fiendish play.

With a little light research, Casey discovers two vitally important facts: that she is of Jewish ancestry, with familial ties to Nazi concentration camps and experimentation, and more importantly, that she once had a twin brother who died while still in utero. In bringing these shocking revelations to light, our intrepid heroine learns that she is being supernaturally hounded by a dybbuk, a malevolent spirit famed in Jewish folklore, who yearns to enter into our world through her. With the aid of slumming special guest star Gary Oldman, playing a friendly neighbourhood rabbi, young Casey must valiantly attempt to exorcise the pesky demonic nuisance and forever close the book on her family’s own frighteningly tumultuous past.

Now, in theory, the concept of a Jewish variation on The Exorcist is a great idea. Why should the Catholics have all the fun in banishing paranormal trouble-makers and kicking undead ass? Unfortunately though, writer/director David S. Goyer (the screenwriting guiding force behind Wesley Snipes’ Blade trilogy, who also acted as a collaborator of increasingly dubious importance on the recent Batman films) is unquestionably not the man to accomplish so noble a task.

From the outset, in failing to establish a compelling canvas for his characters, Goyer bungles the whole project. The best atmospheric horror flicks, like The Shining or Poltergeist, depend on well-established relatable characters who involve us in their day-to-day lives, drawing us into a false sense of comfort before the screaming starts. The Unborn, unfortunately, ditches this philosophy and utilizes the Slasher film motif, which calls for one-dimensional Calvin Klein models who speak solely in the robotic type of teen-speak best known by forty-year-old Hollywood writers.

In addition, Goyer fails to create an interesting environment or back-story for Casey, his bland heroine. It’s hard to feel much empathy or fright when we’re asked to spend 87 minutes with frequently underwear-clad nonentity. Yustman, a pleasant Megan Fox lookalike, may possess talent but, judging from her often laughably overly sincere performance, lacks the charisma and skill to carry a film. (Yes, even this one!) Her limited range is especially apparent when acting opposite Gary Oldman, a pro even under the direst of circumstances, who understands the importance in adding dimension and idiosyncratic flair to tone-deaf dialogue and flat characterizations.

While Goyer fills his oddly self-important horror show with some creepy visuals, such as a dog with an upside down head and a freaky twisted-up old man who walks like a crab, he too often relies on annoying shots of his generic evil child antagonist shrieking. At this point, after sitting through umpteen Ring and Grudge clones, the days of finding well-dressed demonic children frightening are well behind me, not to mention endless chase scenes through moonlit abandoned gothic sets.

The fact that The Unborn is so cheerlessly dreary and persistently dull makes it almost impossible to really fire up much critical wrath over it. This is the type of artless quick-buck scary movie created to win a slow box-office weekend before vanishing into the nether realms of your local video store’s dusty horror section. You could almost pronounce it “stillborn” upon arrival... Not that I ever would, of course.

1 out of 5

*Originally printed in SFU's The Peak: Jan. 19th, 2009

Epi-Cast: Episode 3 - "The Curious Case of Bigoty Clint."

Hey guys, gals and that very specific group of weirdo degenerates that classify themselves as "other". Just dropping you all a quick note to clue you in on myself and co-host Tom Wytrwal's latest blast of aural pleasure: the newest, screwiest Epi-Cast yet!

To download, right-click and save on the green episode title above and then listen/suffer to your heart's content.

Epi-Cast: Episode 3 - "The Curious Case of Bigoty Clint."
Cam and Tom search their inner selves for an answer as to whether Clint Eastwood's Gran Torino manages to out-offend even their own combined ignorance, as well as nitpick, high-five and sternly approve of the film itself. As well, they journey well outside of their respective comfort zones both in debating President Obama's potentially unfortunate effect on Hollywood, as well as deciding whether Tyler Perry's movie output is an insult to his intended audience. When not inflaming race riots, they discuss films such as: Revolutionary Road, Amazing Grace, Watchmen, X-Men Origins: Wolverine, Body Of Lies and Cape Fear (1962).

The Bottom-10 Worst Films of 2008

Howdy folks, here's the companion piece to my "Best of" list from last week. Unlike that particular list, it was not an awe-inspiring task to find ten cringe-inducing films to fill out a proper compilation of cinematic suck-fests. It actually pains me to exclude Hancock and Eagle Eye from the main body of the list, but what can you do? I should also mention that I never got around to checking out The Love Guru or Twilight, I'm content with the amount of dreck which I did manage to witness. As an aside, I'd just like to throw out my opinion that Revolutionary Road was the worst of the Oscar-bait flicks this year, but was obviously nowhere near as awful as what follows. Enjoy, for I sure didn't...

1) "YOU DON'T MESS WITH THE ZOHAN." aka "Adam Sandler Hates Us All!". No single film on this list was anywhere near as unpleasant a viewing experience as Sandler's latest crime against humanity. A dismal attempt at mining humour from animal cruelty, groan-worthy sex jokes and flippantly irresponsible racism, Zohan is a black hole of comedy which over and over again attempts to earn laughs through sheer mean-spiritedness. There's truth in the title though, as sitting in the theatre for what felt like eternity, I realized that life would have been better had I not messed with Zohan at all.

2) "10,000 BC." Remember the famous scene in Stanley Kubrick's 2001 where a prehistoric man continually beats his fallen opponent over the head with a bone until he's dead? Stretch that scene out to 109 minutes, and you can imagine the agony of enduring director Roland Emmerich's latest patience-tester. Featuring a cast of wooden model-types in fur outfits and bad wigs battling ravenous giant ostriches (!) and poorly rendered mammoths, the film would be a kooky riot if it didn't take itself so flippin' seriously. Instead, it's a gloomy reminder of how completely empty a slap-dash CG-fuelled action epic can be.

3) "MAX PAYNE." It would seem that, among other things, 2008 was truly the year for wretched Mark Wahlberg performances (See entry #9 as well), as evidenced by this lobotomized video-game adaptation. Seemingly impersonating a corpse, and communicating only through grimaces and mumbles, Wahlberg wades sullenly through a Sin City-on-downers universe filled with inexplicable demonic angels and an all-too-perky Mila Kunis. I'm not sure what director John Moore had in mind when pasting this schizophrenic, catatonia-inducing mess together, but the film's eye-rolling bullet-time action scenes had me almost wistfully yearning to revisit the Matrix sequels. And that is just plain wrong!

4) "RIGHTEOUS KILL." Geez, who peed in Robert De Niro's high-fibre breakfast cereal? The once fiery talent of Raging Bull and Taxi Driver conceals his once amazing vitality under a blanket of sour, dour glumness in this dreary cop thriller co-starring a David Lynch-haired Al Pacino. From the now-bloated De Niro's stomach-turning rough-sex scenes with the gorgeous Carla Gugino, to a hilarious little moment where the 68-year-old Pacino inexplicably springs into ninja mode, Righteous Kill packs all of the tediousness and bungling production values of a late night made-for-cable sleep-aid.

5) "THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA: PRINCE CASPIAN." It seems unthinkable that Disney, a studio famed for unbridled creativity, could produce a two-and-a-half hour fantasy epic devoid of a single original idea or second of fun. Rather, Prince Caspian is a badly acted, overstuffed bore which rips all of its ill-fitting parts from better films such as Lord of the Rings, 300 and Shrek 2. The Mouse House made a smart move in unceremoniously dumping this soggy franchise, as another trip to Narnia would all but guarantee fewer trips to theatres.

6) "DECEPTION." What would happen if you made an erotic thriller pairing neurotic, sleazy men with bedraggled women who looked as if they had just escaped from a tacky Southern Californian porn set, and gave their dalliances all the sinful sizzle of a Zeller's lingerie advertisement? The answer, of course, would be Deception, an almost hilariously unbearable sludge through post-Basic Instinct drudgery. As Ewan McGregor whines and twitches like Woody Allen, and Hugh Jackman leers like a particularly unsavoury gym teacher, the film devolves into a series of predictable twists, double crosses and repellent close encounters of the lurid kind.

7) "PROM NIGHT." Who was the MENSA genius that concocted the bright idea of producing a PG-13 rated slasher flick bereft of scares and, well, slashing? Watching the "film", it's hard not to pity the attractive and usually talented Brittany Snow, who is made to look like a High School drama drop-out. As she braves an endless series of false scares, insipid, tone-deaf dialogue exchanges and encounters with a very oily Johnathon Schaech -whose inexplicably odd eyebrows are far more disconcerting than any of the bloodless (off-screen) slayings – we begin to realize that the most gruesome aspect of the film lies in the sheer number of career suicides simultaneously occurring on-screen.

8) "DIARY OF THE DEAD." It appears that George A. Romero, the horror icon behind the fright classics Night of the Living Dead and Dawn of the Dead, has become infected with the same mind-rotting virus which produces his shuffling, brain-dead zombies. How else to explain this pathetic and shallow attempt at satire which features an annoying band of unconvincing film students, who spit an endless barrage of childish, leaden criticisms relating to media culture, all the while capturing a zombie invasion on hand-held cameras. By the end of this stagnant snoozer, one can't help but be bored as stiff as one of Diary's many undead antagonists.

9) "THE HAPPENING." Mark Wahlberg's second entry on this prestigious list comes courtesy of once great, now disgraced director M. Night Shyamalan's gloriously campy killer-plant blockbuster. Featuring stunning moments of camp-tastic excess, such as arm-eating lions, a sputtering, hand-slapping, head-smashing Betty Buckley and numerous shots of mannequin-like characters musing about hot dogs and attempting to outrun the wind, The Happening is a momentous achievement in so-bad-it's-good cinema. As well, between this film and Nic Cage's The Wicker Man, it's safe to say that a moratorium is officially now in effect against any and all film dialogue which dares to mention, reference or pertain to bees or bee-related activities.

10) "STAR WARS: THE CLONE WARS." As a long-time Star Wars apologist, watching George Lucas' latest perversion of his once revered space opera series was akin to being successfully reprogrammed after escaping the warped confines of a brain-washing cult. After being subjected to this cheap animated bottom-feeder, which features slug-like homosexual caricatures, jailbait Jedi's and a wailing Hutt baby referred to as "Punky Muffin", I now recognize the true horror and perversity that the disenfranchised masses had long seen seeping into their beloved universe. It's tragic that, unlike Darth Vader, Lucas has proven that one doesn't require a Death Star to destroy a galaxy...

Dishonourable Mentions (In no particular order): "THE SPIRIT", "HANCOCK", "EAGLE EYE", "JUMPER", "THE DAY THE EARTH STOOD STILL", "BE KIND REWIND", "LEATHERHEADS", "THE MUMMY: TOMB OF THE DRAGON EMPEROR".

*Main content originally printed in SFU's "The Peak": Jan. 12th, 2009.

The Top-10 Best Films Of 2008!!!

Ahhhh, what a year 2008 was. Of all things, it will likely be remembered as a time when summer blockbusters were at their highest peak - intelligent, well written and technically superb - and fully deserving of the cacophony of hype leading up to them. Iron Man? The Dark Knight? Incredible Hulk? Wall-E? Fuggedaboutit. I imagine impending summer 2009's strong slate (Wolverine, Transformers 2, G.I. Joe, Star Trek) will more than meet these high standards (Eye-roll). Curiously, however, this passing year will also be recalled as one of the weakest of Oscar-bait years, with disappointing wannabe award's winners like The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, The Reader and Australia fumbling their chance for the greatest of glories. Oh well, here is my top ten of the year, selected from the 85 films I wasted my precious hours attending. Hope you enjoy, and please note that at the time of this list's compiling, Gran Torino, The Wrestler and Revolutionary Road have yet to reach my neck of the woods. I also didn't see Twilight, though that's probably neither here nor there...

Without further adieu...

1) “THE DARK KNIGHT.” Even though the backlash (Batlash?) is well underway, there’s no getting around the fact that five months after first viewing, Christopher Nolan’s dense, disconcerting superhero crime epic continues to amaze. Heath Ledger’s darkly comical performance as the preening Clown Prince of Crime aside, the key to The Dark Knight’s brilliance lies in its seemingly effortless weaving of pulse-pummelling action and intriguing moral conundrums into a world made troublingly familiar. The Caped Crusader’s latest epic tale is a stunning reminder of what the magic of the movies can achieve, and hopefully inspires future comic-book adaptations to think a little more outside the panel.

2) “SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE.” Director Danny Boyle’s kinetic and life-affirming story of a young Bombay orphan, whose journey of self-discovery leads him to true love and a chance for financial windfall on the Indian version of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. In following the film’s young hero, Jamal, from childhood to maturity amidst settings alternately grimy and arresting, Boyle and screenwriter Simon Beaufoy never shy away from the ugly truths of the boy’s reality. Their commitment and unique personal vision has created an exhilarating coming-of-age film and a gorgeous filmic fable destined to inspire viewers for many years to come.

3) “MILK.” Just when you thought you had Sean Penn nailed down, he shows up in a film like Milk and completely blows all expectations to smithereens. This triumphant and moving biopic, which follows the life and career of Harvey Milk, the first openly gay U.S. government official, is a sincere and touching examination of an individual’s power to create change, and a sincere plea for tolerance and understanding for all human-beings. Lovingly directed by acclaimed director Gus Van Sant, and featuring great character work by Josh Brolin, James Franco and Emile Hirsch, Milk is an inspiring story told at precisely the right time.

4) “THE ORPHANAGE.” While technically a cheat, due to an international release and assorted film festival appearances at the tail-end of last year, first-time director Juan Antonio Bayona’s ghastly, ghostly horror fable is too spookily brilliant to go unrewarded. Coated with a thick atmosphere of unrelenting dread, the film follows a grieving mother, powerfully played by Belen Rueda, who journeys into the world of the supernatural in search of her missing son. Featuring the most suspenseful supernatural séance put to film, The Orphanage is a relentlessly gripping bone-chiller that, surprisingly, may actually bring a tear to your eye before the final fade to black.

5) “THE VISITOR.” No man has eyes as alternately sad and hopeful as actor Richard Jenkins, who gave one of the year’s best performances in this criminally overlooked gem. Playing a withdrawn economics professor, whose newly-formed bond with an illegal Syrian immigrant (the effortlessly charming newcomer Haaz Sleiman) is threatened by the U.S. immigration department, Jenkins’ Walter Vale is a refreshingly honest and heartbreaking portrait of frustration and helplessness in the face of overbearing bureaucracy. Writer/director Thomas McCarthy has a wonderful eye and ear for human truth and, through examining Walter’s relationship with actress Hiam Abbass, also fashions one of the most authentically stirring adult romances in recent memory.

6) “HELLBOY II: THE GOLDEN ARMY.” The astonishing success of 2006’s Pan’s Labyrinth thankfully allowed visionary director Guillermo del Toro to run rampant with this follow-up to his 2004 demonic superhero sleeper. Following the further exploits of Ron Perlman’s surly scarlet badass, Hellboy II immerses viewers into a rich universe of voracious tooth faeries, ominous troll markets and gleaming mechanized clockwork armies. Employing a skilful mastery of adventure and off-beat humour, as well as an unwavering dedication to the power of fantasy, del Toro crafted one of the year’s most vivid transportive experiences.

7) “FROST/NIXON.” While Batman and the Joker may have been 2008’s definitive duelling duo, second place surely goes to Frank Langella’s wily fallen president and Michael Sheen’s underdog journalist in Ron Howard’s riveting semi-fictionalized historical recreation. From spot-on period detail, to a cavalcade of searing performances from a cast which also includes Sam Rockwell, Oliver Platt and Kevin Bacon, Frost/Nixon manages to take the most uncinematic of concepts – the static interview form – and conjures up one of the year’s most intelligent and provocative films.

8) “WALL-E.” C-3P0 and R2-D2’s mantle has officially been passed, as the diminutive binocular-eyed star of Pixar’s latest is the new ambassador for lovable robotic beings this galaxy and beyond. His movie isn’t too shabby either, a poignant and amusing underdog tale with an adorably sweet love story, which mixes in surprisingly provocative classic sci-fi concepts, inspired by films such as 2001 and Silent Running, to rapturous crowd-pleasing effect. From Wall-E’s lonely trash-filled planet, to his and EVE’s enchanting dance amongst the stars, Wall-E proves that when it comes to creating unforgettable visuals, Pixar continues to reign supreme.

9) “RACHEL GETTING MARRIED.” Sometimes momentous failure leads to great things. After releasing a duo of cinematic turkeys, Oscar-winning director Jonathan Demme regrouped and seized hold of first time screenwriter Jenny Lumet’s brilliantly acidic and perceptive examination of middle-class dysfunction under pressure. With captivating performances by Anne Hathaway as a bitter recovering addict, and Bill Irwin as the conflicted family patriarch, Rachel Getting Married is captured with virtuosic near-documentary precision by Demme, a sharp directorial talent hungry to prove his worth again. Fortunately for the viewer, his triumphant success is our great pleasure.

10) “CHOKE.” This filthy little triumph, all but ignored in its theatrical run, is a smutty, filthy little valentine for film-fans exhausted and infuriated by off-the-shelf Hollywood rom-coms. Sam Rockwell stars as a sex-addicted ne’er-do-well with serious mommy issues (though with the slyly cruel Angelica Huston as his mother, it’s not hard to see why...), an adorable but nutty girlfriend (Kelly Macdonald) and, quite possibly, a divine lineage. Choke’s cleverness lies in its ability to mix its off-beat attitude and perversions, wacky plot-turns, and sweet love story into a truly original entertainment that manages to mix some “awww’s” amongst the gags.

Honourable Mentions (In no particular order): "RAMBO", "FORGETTING SARAH MARSHALL", "RELIGULOUS", "MAN ON WIRE", "IRON MAN", "THE INCREDIBLE HULK", "IN BRUGES", "SNOW ANGELS", "DOUBT".

*Main content originally printed in SFU's "The Peak": January 5, 2009.

Jan. 11th Edit: Gran Torino and Revolutionary Road are well out of Top-10 contention, but The Wrestler would have likely ended up in the upper 5 had it been released at a more opportune time. Sorry Mickey, you'll have to settle for an Oscar...

Epi-Cast: Episode 2 - "Tilda Swinton On Da Brain."

Peace to the geese! Despite the fact that I've yet to write up anything even approaching substancial (other than a weirdo Punisher: War Zone review that was written when I'd forgotten to take my meds. Don't ask...), I'm giving you all another free podcast featuring myself and my jovial co-host Tom Wytrwal. This one's a bit less over-stuffed, and definately more concise and on-par. Hope you all enjoy it.

To download, right-click and save on the green episode title above and then be aurally satisfied to your heart's content.

Epi-Cast Episode 2: "Tilda Swinton On Da Brain."
In this sleeker, tighter follow-up to a true classic original, Cam and Tom find themseves frequently distracted by Tilda Swinton's overwhelming sense of oddness. When not pontificating on their middling attractions to her, they delve deeply into Tom Cruise's comeback vehicle Valkyrie, muse about Brad Pitt's value as an actor and movie star, and discuss films ranging from The Reader and The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button to Make Mine Music and The Wind That Shakes The Barley. It's a full hour of politically incorrect info-tainment guaranteed to get a rise out even the staunchest Tilda Swinton fanatic. Perhaps even the alien lady herself...

Epi-Cast: Episode 1 - "Oscar-bation!"

It's been pretty quiet here for the last little bit here at Pop-Culture Episodes, but for good reason. Now, there is an official film dicussion podcast featuring myself and my esteemed co-host Tom Wytrwal to go along with the witty word-play you all see and love here.

Simply right-click and save on the Podcast title above.

Epi-Cast Episode 1: "Oscar-bation!"
In our bloated behemoth of a podcast debut episode, we fawn over the brilliance of Danny Boyle's Slumdog Millionaire, jeer and throw feces at Australia (the movie, not the country), debate the merits of the Wolverine trailer, and hem and haw over random film topics like Role Models, Blood Diamond, Punisher: Warzone, Man on Wire, Shakespeare on film and Empire's ridiculous "Greatest Film Characters of All-Time List". It's a glib, frustrating, and occasionally offensive trip down the dark pathway of film-geek whimsy.

Interview - James Franco for MILK

Every now and again, a great film manages to arrive at the perfect time and place, when the political zeitgeist seems to cry out for a brilliant all-encompassing artistic statement. Acclaimed director Gus Van Sant’s triumphant new film, Milk, is such a movie. Starring Sean Penn, the film chronicles the life and untimely death of Harvey Milk, who in 1977 became the first openly gay man elected to American public office. With the recent passing of California’s Proposition 8 -an act which officially restricting same-sex couples from entering into holy matrimony- Milk has suddenly achieved an unexpected level of relevance in our culture, which may help the emotionally stirring, yet hard-to-market film find its way into the hearts and minds of mainstream viewers.

In a conference call with actor James Franco, who plays Harvey Milk’s one-time lover and staunch supporter Scott Smith, the buzz surrounding California’s controversial decision was lurking behind every question. The talented young actor, previously featured in crowd-pleasers such as Pineapple Express and the Spider-Man series, was initially drawn to the film, not so much its issues, but rather as a chance to work with the esteemed director.

Franco, who proudly labels himself “the biggest Gus Van Sant fan”, fondly remembers repetitively watching the auteur’s indie classics My Own Private Idaho and Drugstore Cowboy. “This was before I was doing any acting”, he recalls, reminiscing that “I just fell in love with his movies”.

After meeting Van Sant through mutual friends, Franco says “I got to know Gus a little bit and then my agents called me and said [that he would be] doing Milk.” Motivated by the opportunity, he “did a little research on Harvey Milk, found out who he was, and found that Gus had been trying to do this movie for 10-15 years.” The director’s passionate dedication to the project, for the actor, promised “an amazing movie”.

In tackling the role of Scott Smith, the actor felt a deep-rooted responsibility to do his role justice. “It’s telling the life of a figure who meant so much to a lot of people, so I felt, and everybody who worked on the movie, felt a big responsibility to get it right”. In researching the role he began by watching Rob Epstein’s Oscar-winning documentary The Times of Harvey Milk, as well as poring over Randy Shilt’s non-fiction work The Mayor of Castro Street: The Life and Times of Harvey Milk. Ultimately, however, he found a more obscure source of inspiration in the form of “an old reel of film that had an interview with Scott Smith from thirty years ago that nobody had seen in all that time”. For Franco, this footage “was like a goldmine for seeing what he was like”.

As the film centres mainly on Penn’s Harvey Milk, Franco feels that “the real function of Scott in this movie is to show a real loving relationship”. The actor continues by stressing Scott’s important role as a “political wife”, who was “Harvey Milk’s partner for four years – the longest relationship of Milk’s life”. Similarly, Scott was present for all of the “big moments in [his] life” and ended up being “one of the main people to help carry on the memory of Milk”.

However, his performance aside, he hopes the film will help spread Milk’s message to audiences who yearn to end intolerance within society. Franco says “it’s sad that I didn’t know much about Harvey Milk growing up, and I think a lot of people don’t. They should know about him.” “He was an incredible politician who did some amazing things like helping overturn Proposition 6, which would have kept gay teachers from being able to teach in schools”. And while he admits that such education is unlikely to happen in High Schools anytime soon, he does argue that “it can certainly happen in universities!”

As for California’s Proposition 8, Franco, who voted “No” in an absentee ballot and later accompanied “Gus Van Sant and [Milk writer] Dustin Lance Black to one of the protest marches”, hopes that his film can help “tilt that fight”. However, he notes carefully, “Proposition 8 shows that change doesn’t just roll in and happen miraculously, it takes people to stand up and really make change happen”.

In terms of the Milk’s effect on the actor, he credits his experience in making the movie, along with Harvey Milk’s shining example, for stirring his own inner-activist: “It inspired me to help fight for civil rights for whoever. Obviously Harvey Milk was... a lot of his fight was for gay rights, but I think his example shows that I think you can be inspiring not just for people like you, but civil rights for everyone”. Franco takes a breath and continues: “When one group says “you can’t have the same rights as...”, to me that’s just wrong. I don’t care who the group is!”

Film Review - QUANTUM OF SOLACE: Or Perhaps Better Known as Marc Forster's "Quantum of Follies"...

In 2006, long-time Bond producers Barbara Broccoli and Michael G. Wilson made an uncharacteristically daring move: they decided to rejigger their forty-plus year-old franchise from the ground up. Gone were the invisible cars, jet-packs and alligator-modelled submarines of yesteryear, along with the legions of villains packing steel dentures, decapitating bowlers and feline fetishes. In addition, nubile, starry-eyed babes with come-hither monikers like Pussy Galore, Plenty O’Toole and Jenny Flex found themselves unceremoniously kicked to the curb. Say nothing of Bond himself, who suddenly seemed a lot more serious... and more inclined to knock a baddie’s teeth through the back of his skull than engage in encyclopaedic discourse regarding the merits of vintage cognac.

Amazingly, the gamble paid off, and the resulting film, Casino Royale, was the kick in the ass that the spy series needed, instantly making Grandpa Bond once again relevant, and dare I say sexy, for the young and old alike. In casting rough-edged, no-nonsense Daniel Craig –Britain’s delayed answer to Steve McQueen- and stressing sophisticated story-telling and naturalistic characterization, audiences suddenly became a lot more invested in when James Bond would return again. Too bad that Bond’s 22nd film, the pompously titled Quantum of Solace, ignores Royale’s strengths and seems destined to moderately dampen the paying crowd’s goodwill for the next instalment.

Once again starring magnetic blonde bruiser Craig, Quantum of Solace picks up about, oh, 007 seconds after the end of Royale, with Bond making a mad dash to safety with the disagreeable Mr. White (Jesper Christiansen), a criminal of questionable ranking in a super-secret criminal group called QUANTUM, who possesses valuable information relating to the death of James’ true love. However, after Mr. White proves more eel-like than expected, and makes a violent getaway, Bond, against the orders of boss-figure M (Dame Judi Dench), embarks on a globe-hopping journey to get to the bottom of QUANTUM’s sinister machinations.

His search leads him to Haiti where, through Bond-ian circumstances, he meets up with Camille (Olga Kurylenko), a beautiful mystery woman with secret ties to creepy-eyed environmentalist Dominic Greene (Mathieu Amalric). Through a scatter-shot series of chase sequences and labyrinthine plot developments, Bond discovers that Greene is secretly planning to use his monopoly over one of Earth’s most precious resources to upset the government of Bolivia, and help the loathsome General Medrano (Joaquin Cosio) achieve dictatorship. As this is a Bond film, subtlety is out of the question, and 007, aided by Camille and CIA man Felix Leiter (Jeffrey Wright), is soon shooting, stabbing and strangling his way through an endless assortment of low-level goons, on a feverish quest to cut Greene off at the knees... permanently.

Dominic Greene and General Medrano aside, Bond’s greatest adversaries in Quantum of Solace are director Marc Forster and editors Matt Chesse and Richard Pearson, who have taken enjoyable material and crafted it into a cinematic Rorschach test. While the series has never been known for having comprehensible storylines, Bond 22 is an often a slightly exasperating experience. In their quest for a faster, sleeker Bond (Quantum packs the shortest running time in the series’ history), the filmmakers chop out all the necessary character beats and exposition and simply attempt to convey information through endless locale changes and about a dozen disgracefully edited action sequences.

And oh, those action scenes are a big problem... From a head-scratching car chase featuring three nearly identical cars, to the film’s (anti)climax in a absurdly flammable hotel, Forster presents endless mish-mashed montages of blurry one-second edits, convulsive camera-work and a cacophonic soundtrack. Only one set-piece, featuring 007 and a nemesis hanging from ropes attached to construction scaffoldings, manages to overcome the director’s ham-fisted style and rouse some genuine excitement. Strangely, the only time the camera actually holds still during an action sequence is in a lingering close up of a would-be rape victim’s crotch. Really, Mr. Forster!

What prevents the film from toppling into the dregs of mediocrity is its brilliantly committed cast. Craig is fully-charged and commanding, and continues to remind the world why he was the man for the job, and Dench is his perfect foil. As Greene, French actor Amalric works wonders with an underwritten character, while Kurylenko follows Royale’s Eva Green in creating a charismatic, three-dimensional Bond-girl. Also, Giancarlo Giannini, as world-weary former-agent Mathis lends unexpected gravitas to an obviously light-headed film.

If only Forster and company had taken a lesson from Royale helmer Martin Campbell and allowed the action and story to speak through the characters. For sure, Quantum of Solace is a causally engaging, if disappointing, vehicle, but it lacks the light touch which confidently eased along the best of Bond's 21 previous adventures. In moulding Bond into a Bourne-again action hero, they’ve lost the joyous exhilaration and witty humour which has kept 007 vibrant since 1962. Hopefully Quantum’s faults will remind producers once again that Bond-fans generally prefer being stirred to shaken.

2.5 out of 5

*Originally printed in SFU's The Peak: Nov. 24th, 2008.