Kill List (2011)

-->

I made the mistake of reading Roger Ebert’s review of “Kill List” before writing my own. Stupid. As you might expect, he articulated many of my own questions and observations about the film more eloquently and insightfully than I ever could. Still, it’s reassuring when someone as perceptive as Mr. Ebert shares some of your thoughts and feelings. It’s validating. 

I read his review immediately after watching the film because I was confused. I wasn’t sure exactly what I’d just seen, if it made sense or not, or if somehow I’d just missed something. Had parts of it flown over my head, existed in my blind spot, or did I just not get it? 

The movie unfolds slowly. As it opens, we’re introduced to a married couple: Jay (Neil Maskell) is unemployed; his wife Shel (MyAnna Buring, one of the spelunkers from “The Descent”), a transplanted Swede. They have a 7-year old son, Sam (Harry Simpson). There is tension between the parents, ostensibly because Jay hasn’t worked in eight months. But the film’s tone suggests perhaps there is another, deeper reason.

One evening Jay’s friend Gal (Michael Smiley) comes for dinner, with his date Fiona (Emma Fryer). The conversation feels forced (with the sulking Jay and angry Shel taking passive/aggressive jabs at one another), and the meal uncomfortable. Jay finally snaps, wrecks the dinner table, and storms off to the garage. It’s there that Gal offers Jay a chance at some “good money,” if he’s willing to do what sounds like an ominous “job.” What that job is exactly isn’t explained. However, Gal toys with an automatic weapon Jay has tucked in a suitcase, and the pair speak of “that time in Kiev.” All of which suggest things messy, violent and wholly untoward.

In the meantime, we see Fiona alone in the bathroom. She curiously removes the mirror from above the sink, and carves a mysterious symbol on the reverse side. Why? What does it mean?

The film gains momentum as Jay and Gal leave on their business trip. I won’t divulge what their task actually is, but know that “Kill List” contains scenes of some of the most brutal and unsentimental violence I’ve ever watched on film. They are harrowing, believable, and difficult to view.

As Ebert writes, the 3^rd act of the film is in no way suggested by the first two. During the final 30 minutes, I literally felt like I was watching an entirely different film. Not a bad one, just one which wasn’t connected to the first hour. Abruptly, “Kill List” goes from a fairly standard British crime film to something much darker and more sinister.

I’ve intentionally left many of the film’s details out of this review, not wanting to spoil its surprises. That said, it should be noted that the cinematic quality of “Kill List” is first rate. Director/co-writer Ben Wheatley and cinematographer Laurie Rose have made a film that appears much more polished and expensive than its undoubtedly modest budget could afford. It looks and sounds great. The music, in particular, is creepy, effective, and serves to heighten anxiety. In addition, it is acted with precision and skill. Specifically, the back-and-forth between Jay and Gal is realistic, and darkly funny. This is a group of filmmakers who know what they’re doing.

I’m not sure how “Kill List” came to be in my Netflix queue. I think because I’d read positive reviews about another, more recent film by Wheatley (called “Sightseers”), on the Guardian website. Either way, I’m glad I saw “Kill List,” even if I didn’t understand it entirely. It’s well paced, interesting, and never boring.

In his review, Ebert says something to the effect of “’Kill List’ feels like a better film that it is.” I agree.

It also feels like the early work of an up-and-coming, imaginative and creative talent. This puzzling-yet-entertaining effort suggests writer/director Wheatley is someone to remember.

Iron Man 3 (2013)

-->

Iron Man 3 is much as you might expect: lots of terrific looking special-effects shots where the hero zooms through the sky, top-notch production values, endless loud, banging, metallic sounds, Robert Downey Jr. quipping ceaselessly, and several menacing villains. It is an enormous-budget, superhero movie, after all.

Something I didn’t expect, however, was to be surprised by some of the plot twists, ones which seldom exist in summer-action films, especially those marketed to teenagers. So it’s got that going for it.

The film begins with Tony Stark (Robert Downey Jr, reprising his role) tinkering with the latest iteration of his iconic Iron Man suit. This one has parts that (like a dog) come when called, the pieces magically assembling upon him. It’s a neat effect, but one he hasn’t completely perfected, quite yet.

That he spends most of his time trying irks live-in love interest Pepper Potts (once again played by Gwyneth Paltrow). She spends most of the film sulking, angry that Stark spends more time focused on his toys, rather than her. Would Lois Lane ever react this way?

But all is not routine domestic banality. Deadly explosions have occurred all over the world, for which the mysterious new villain the Mandarin takes credit. Played with psychopathic menace by the only British actor (Steven Colbert points out) who’s not in any Harry Potter films, Ben Kingsley is essentially a terrorist, who’s given to threatening rants of pseudo-philosophical nonsense, wraps himself in terrorist iconography, and occasionally takes over television airwaves. They’re puzzling, these bombings, because there’s none of the evidence that usually accompanies such a crime: no powder, blasting caps, housings, or chemical residue. The question isn’t who’s behind the bombings, but how are they being committed?

After his trusty chauffeur Happy (Jon Favreau, stepping back from his directorial duties) is caught in one, Stark boldly gives his home address on national television, daring the Mandarin to face him mano-a-mano (a phrase which always reminds me of Dice Clay, in “Ford Fairlaine”).

A showdown which (of course) takes place. In an impressive scene involving helicopters, missiles, infinite rounds of automatic-weapons fire, explosions, and Stark’s staggeringly-opulent mansion tumbling into the Pacific, (a similar scene occurs in writer Shane Black’s 1987 Mel Gibson movie “Lethal Weapon”), it appears the wealthy Stark has finally met his equal.

But this is a superhero movie, so we know that can’t be the case.

To his credit, writer/director Black makes the interesting choice of forcing Stark to sometimes face foes without the seemingly invincible Iron Man armor. Instead, in this third go round Stark’s forced to be clever and resourceful, rather than simply overwhelming his latest enemies with superior firepower. This is one of the genuine creative inspirations of Iron Man 3.

The plot also includes a handful lesser villains, Don Cheadle as red-white-and-blue version of Iron Man dubbed the “Iron Patriot” (formerly “War Machine”), and mysterious chemical compound, capable of recombining existing DNA.

Full disclosure: anymore, superhero movies leave me feeling mostly indifferent. With the exception of “the Dark Knight Rises,” their familiar formulas of good-guy-gets-in-trouble, all-appears-lost, hero-miraculously-saves-the-day I just don’t find very suspenseful. Sure, the explosions (and production budgets) are bigger and louder, and the visual effects more convincing. But there aren’t really any 3-dimensional characters, with whom to identify. The action feels over-the-top and cartoony, not genuinely scary. I feel like I know the basics of what’s going to happen before I take my seat. Which might be true with most films. However, it’s the movie’s job to distract me from knowing that.

Perhaps all these kinds of films aspire to be are escapist entertainment? I can imagine some saying I’m overanalyzing a picture that’s based on a comic-book. But Indiana Jones and Star Wars were popcorn movies, and they had dramatic tension. I don’t feel much escape, when all I’m seeing and hearing on the screen are a bunch of brightly-colored things loudly crashing and burning. There’s never any doubt the good guys will win. Or much question about who will live and die. Like the old G.I. Joe cartoons, after all the ammo’s spent, the good guys are rarely even hurt (much less mortally), in these films.

When “Austin Powers” came out, James Bond films were essentially ruined for me. Mike Myers keenly poked fun at how absurd it is that, despite all the overwhelming waves of unimaginable violence Bond faces, he rarely gets so much as a scratch. Without any sense that our hero might be in some actual danger, where’s the suspense and intrigue? We know for certain that he’ll always get up, come back, and defeat the evil super villain.

Superhero films of late similarly lack any sense of perceived peril. I had the same problem with Thor, the Avengers, and the much-better Captain America. Without the exhilaration of suspense, I haven’t thought of any of them again since, even once.

Iron Man looks great, and all. Everything appears very realistic. I’m sure it took much effort to achieve, and is an authentic technical accomplishment. It will undoubtedly makes tons of money, and likely inspire another sequel. It has some interesting plot devices, too. But after all as is said and done, once the last missile is fired, the final explosion extinguished, the bad guy vanquished, and the hero finally rides off into the sunset with his best gal, do I really care?

Duck Soup (1933)

-->

Is it really worth the effort, reviewing the Marx Brothers’ 1933 classic “Duck Soup?” I mean honestly, are people going to be interested in reading about an 80-year old film? How many have actually seen it? And if not, are they likely to change their minds now?

I decided in favor of posting this review in hopes that people will take the time to discover how truly funny Groucho was/is. His jokes are sharper, cleverer, more biting and simply laugh-out-loud funny all these years later than anything by Adam Sandler, Jim Carrey, Kevin James, and most other contemporary comedic actors. Watch and see. He kills.

I’m not sure the plot matters much, but here it is anyway: the small country of Freedonia is financially troubled. Rich widow Mrs. Teasdale (Margaret Dumont) has the means to help, but will only lend the government some of her vast wealth if the current president resigns, and Groucho’s wisecracking Rufus T. Firefly is appointed leader.

Meanwhile, ambassador Trentino (Louis Calhern) from neighboring Sylvania has designs on seizing control of Freedonia, by wooing Teasdale himself. To aid his plot, he enlists the slapstick duo of Pinky and Chicolini (Harpo and Chico Marx) to spy on Firefly. Trentino’s exasperation growns, while Firefly bumbles through his presidential duties. Teasdale, of course, finds Firefly endlessly charming, and is tirelessly forgiving of his relentless rough edges. Also, there are a few song-and-dance numbers thrown in. Hilarity ensues.

Never mind that all of this is implausible and ridiculous. It’s basically little more than a framework, from which the Marx team ply their comedic trade. With his trademark exaggerated moustache, eyebrows and ever-presenst cigar, Groucho tosses off one liners left and right. Chico ceaselessly tortures a poor straight man (who exists for no other reason than to be tortured), while Harpo pulls all manner of comedic props from his trousers.

There’s a sight gag involving a mirror (one you’ll recognize instantly; you’ve seen variations in everything from Bugs Bunny cartoons, to the 3 Stooges, Gilligan’s Island, and even the X-Files, countless times), that ranks with “Who’s on First?” as one of the funniest, most ingeniously witty comedy routines I’ve ever seen.

I could’ve done without the musical numbers. The acting is of that particularly unrealistic, old-school, overblown, acting-with-a-capital-A variety, that Jon Lovitz used to ridicule, on Saturday Night Live. And Harpo and Chico’s slapstick got old after a while.

But Groucho? Kills! I could watch him drop zingers for days. He’s just as funny, all these years later, as Seinfeld or Larry David, or Dave Chappelle, or anyone else I can think of. After seeing “Duck Soup,” I’m convinced Woody Allen’s screen persona would not exist without him.

Near the end, with his country under military siege, Firefly finds himself pinned down in a basement. Artillery shells repeatedly fly through the room. Desperate, he radios for help:

“This is Rufus T. Firefly coming to you through the courtesy of the enemy. We're in a mess folks, we're in a mess. Rush to Freedonia! Three men and one woman are trapped in a building! Send help at once!

…if you can't send help, send two more women!”

Genius.

PS- Via Wikipedia, I learn that “duck soup” was American English slang at that time, meaning “something easy to do.”

Being as consistently funny as Groucho certainly isn’t.

Killing Them Softly

Jackie and Frankie share quality time

 Let me first say that I liked this movie very much.

…but it’s an austere, sparse, mostly-quiet film, about angry, cynical, hard, desperate men, who are neither sentimental, nor forgiving.

At the outset we meet two petty criminals, Frankie and Russell (Scoot McNairy and Ben Mendelsohn; the latter convincing in the recent “the Place Beyond the Pines”), who are just scraping by. They are disheveled, looking like they haven’t showered in a week. What meager means they have is provided by walking dogs (who would trust their pet to either of these jamokes is another question). Beyond that, their prospects appear bleak.

Though reluctant about Russell’s erratic behavior, an acquaintance/mentor of Frankie’s (“Squirrel,” played by Vincent Curatola; Johnny Sack from the Sopranos) hatches a scheme for the inept pair to knock over an illegal card game, helmed by Markie Trattman (a pleasantly dialed-down Ray Liotta). As it happens, the game’s been hit before—by its host, no less—who lacked the good sense not to brag about it afterwards. They reason that, given its troubled history, Markie will be blamed again, while they’ll be free to split the spoils. Reasonable enough.

It’s abundantly clear to us well before the robbery, however, that the trio’s ambition clearly outstrips their questionable smarts, skill, experience, common sense, and ability to keep quiet. Russell recklessly uses heroin, then gets talkative. Both the confident Squirrel and diffident Frankie offhandedly talk about previous stints in jail. There seems little planning, other than getting rickety-looking guns, masks, and yellow dishwashing gloves. It’s hard to imagine these three successfully masterminding the robbery a neighborhood lemonade stand, much less a mob-run card game. They see an opportunity, but profoundly fail to grasp the inevitable consequences.

Brad Pitt is the film’s biggest star. He plays Jackie, a greased-back mob hitman, who arrives shortly after-the-fact, to punish those responsible. Fairly quickly he sums up what’s happened. All that’s left is getting clearance from the higher ups, and deciding how best to dole out retribution.

Finally, James Gandolfini plays another hitman, the careless, undisciplined, hard-drinking Mickey. Because one of the targets has worked with Jackie before, Mickey’s flown in from NYC, to help.

Director Andrew Dominik (The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford) has made a film that comes off more like a play: it’s got few characters, and most of the action takes place in the conversations between them.

Not to say that there isn’t swift and blinding violence, because there certainly is (especially in one highly-stylized, slow-mo shooting/car crash scene). There’s also the familiar and threatening organized-crime tough-guy posturing, as well as a scene where one character takes a brutal beating (which called to mind the graphic, difficult-to-watch scene from “The Killer Inside Me”). However, the bulk of the movie exists in dialogue exchanged in old, clunky, American cars, skuzzy bars, and hotel rooms.

At just 97 minutes, the film doesn’t have much fat. It is, however, oddly paced in sections. We get to know much of Mickey’s backstory through a couple of overly-long, dialogue-heavy scenes. Unlike Jackie (who’s all about business), Mickey lacks focus. He drinks constantly, goes on at length about the strain his job puts on his marriage, and spends almost all of his down time with prostitutes. It’s an odd choice (both in terms of characterization and pacing), that we learn so much about a relatively minor character, while learning next to nothing comparable about anyone else.

Also, throughout the film there are conspicuous references to contemporary American political figures. On radios in the background, we hear George W. Bush and Barack Obama delivering speeches. TVs show candidates’ sound bites, and familiar talking points. There’s a pointed shot of a split billboard, with McCain on one side, and Obama the other. Near the end, these unnecessary elements are sorta explained, when two characters react to President Obama’s soaring rhetoric blaring from a bar TV. The film seems intent on making a statement about the parallel natures of American politics, capitalism and organized crime (search Google images for various posters from the film, and you'll see how intentional this theme is). But it never really pulls it off. Perhaps the notion of Markie stealing from clients, off whom he's already making money, is supposed to conjure images of Goldman-Sachs, but I don’t buy it. It seems too great a stretch. Just because one character mentions the inefficiency of committees, and says something about how the price of criminal services is dropping "in this economy," that doesn't amount to an obvious thematic allegory, indicting U.S. capitalist democracy. First of all, the parallels aren't ever made plain, until that final scene. And even then, they're weak analogies, at best. Second, the character's sentiments would’ve made sense and worked just the same, without the conspicuous inclusion of this thematic element everywhere. Pitt's character gets off a good line, but the comparisons still feel forced and unclear. It's distracting, not illuminating or enriching.

Still, I enjoyed almost every minute of this film. It’s well written, visually interesting, and deftly acted (McNairy, in particular, is not only very effective, but also executes the always-difficult believable Boston accent, despite mispronouncing “Haverhill”). Plus, there’s more going on here than simply an engrossing surface story. “Killing Them Softly” captures a little bit of the same desperation, anxiety and despair that Scorsese so skillfully captured in “Goodfellas” (albeit to a far lesser extent). Both show weary, marginalized characters, whose lives are so awash in the day-to-day business of crime, that they never have the chance to rest, catch their collective breath, and enjoy life. They are always either excitedly contemplating their next caper, or looking nervously over their shoulders. Regardless of where one exists on the criminal food chain, that’s gotta be a tough way to live.