In traipsing Old-Hollywood comedy Hail, Caesar!, sibling duo Joel and Ethan Coen reflect on the cyclonic nature of showbiz, much like its spiritual predecessor, Barton Fink. That movie (which, my god, is now 25 years old) is nastier and more idiosyncratic, skewering the film industry with voracious (and incredibly funny) disdain. The Coens’ 2016 offering is more relaxed and lighthearted, but what it lacks in crackling energy and forward momentum it makes up for with finely tuned, detail-oriented jokes and an overabundance of charm.

The charm factor is in effect no more than during one of the film’s several movie-within-the-movie, genre-parody scenes, in which Channing Tatum (playing Burt Gurney, a Gene Kelly-like hoofer) performs a jaunty tap number in a sailor suit. (Few current screen actors can move like this man, and the Coens don’t squander the chance to let him tear up a song-and-dance routine.) The movie’s set in 1951, predominantly unfolding on the grounds of Capitol studios (the same fictional studio from Barton Fink), and Gurney’s ditty is one of the many movies being filmed on the sunny studio grounds, including a glittery synchronized-swimming production (starring an Esther Williams-channeling Scarlett Johansson) and “Hail, Caesar!,” a Ben Hur-style epic starring self-involved, strong-chinned leading man named Baird Whitlock (played by George Clooney in the vein of Charlton Heston).

While most of the characters we see are cleverly-packaged homages to the stars of Dream Factory heyday, one is taken straight from the Hollywood history books. Capitol is absolutely bustling with chaotic activity on a daily basis, and one man is responsible for holding the whole operation together: Eddie Mannix, a real-life, legendary studio exec who put out fires at MGM for years. He’s embodied by Josh Brolin, who leads the charge as the main focus and anchor of the otherwise scattered story. Mannix is a bulldozing man on a mission, zooming around the lot and around town making unblinking threats and using cool-headed negotiation tactics to keep all of his pictures running on schedule and in harmony. There’s no one better, and a lucrative job offer from Lockheed has him considering leaving the loopy microcosm of Capitol to make a bigger buck, albeit for dirtier work.

Much is made of Mannix’s soul searching; the film opens with him repenting in a confessional, a place we see him return to twice more as he considers the Lockheed offer and reflects on the more questionable facets of his moral make-up and career choices. Brolin and the Coens have always had a fruitful partnership, and while Mannix isn’t as monumental a creation as Llewelyn Moss, for instance, he’s still interesting enough to stand out amid the crowd of larger-than-life personalities running around the rest of the film.

One such personality (my favorite, in fact) is Hobie Doyle (Alden Ehrenreich), a singing cowboy star who can perform eye-popping, impossible feats on horseback and has a gift for lasso acrobatics, but can’t read proper dialogue for squat. When he’s shoehorned into a production that calls for him to wear a tuxedo and walk into a room full of aristocrats speaking in Mid-Atlantic accents, it makes for one of the funniest scenes I’ve seen in recent memory (watching the baby-faced buckaroo do his involuntary cowboy strut in a tuxedo nearly killed me). The comedy’s all in the details, like how the stuffy production is under the hilariously named “Laurence Laurentz Presents” banner. Hobie isn’t a mere caricature, though; later on, he plays a key role in the film’s plot that shows us that he’s a true hero (which explains why he’s so awkward on a proper movie set; he’s too genuine to fake anything).

The dilemma at the center of the story that keeps the movie from being a randomly arranged series of unrelated scenes involves the kidnapping of Baird Whitlock by a stable of scorned communist screenwriters. As Mannix tries his best to handle the situation, he’s bombarded by a litany of on-set issues: Johansson’s starlet is looking to avoid a pregnancy scandal; the great Laurence Laurentz (Ralph Fiennes) refuses to tolerate Hobie’s atrocious line-reading skills. On top of that, he’s stalked by the film’s resident Hedda Hopper-esque columnists, persistent twin sisters played by a fantastic Tilda Swinton.

Mannix’s plate-spinning is involving enough, but I couldn’t help but yearn for more time with the rest of the cast. Johansson, Swinton and Tatum are super entertaining and part of me thinks it would have been nice to make Hail, Caesar a true ensemble piece, downsizing Mannix’s screen time a bit to give the others more room to do their thing. The Coens seem to be having a lot of fun stepping into the shoes of filmmakers from classical Hollywood and drinking in its grandiosity all while skewering the absurdity and silliness of its inherent artifice. They’ve become such assured storytellers and filmmakers that, even when they take it easy, we’re on the edge of our seats, grinning from ear to ear.

Quentin Tarantino’s last few films have crept closer to cinema’s theatrical roots. Sequences occur in contained rooms, recalling the claustrophobic, object-driven narrative environment established by the physicality of the stage. These scenes are dominated not only by the director’s trademark dialogue but also by an assured language of compositional details, which guide our eyes through the frame and divulge information with a meticulous sense of craft. Tarantino’s detractors are bothered by his compulsion to bloat his works with references to cinema’s long, colorful history, as well as an occasional penchant for comically distorting his vested tone. But after recently having the opportunity to re-watch Inglourious Basterds, it became clear that the work overall was more significant than the handful of lame gestures that prevented me from outright embracing it. A filmmaker calling attention to himself is often irritating, especially when he uses dialogue to inject his own opinion of what he’s created. But this isn’t, and shouldn’t be, anything but an unfortunate stumble along a journey that’s far more complex and rewarding than the singling-out of that gesture would imply.

The Hateful Eight is Tarantino’s most confined feature yet, which initially calls into question his use of the 70mm format. Upon first blush, the decision registers as an arbitrary homage to the golden age of American Westerns. While it is that to some degree, it’s also a method to capture minuscule details in the expressions and appearances of each duplicitous character.

The film begins in the early stages of a Wyoming blizzard as John Ruth “The Hangman” (Kurt Russell, channeling The Duke) nears the end of a journey to collect his reward, Daisy Domergue (Jennifer Jason Leigh). Along the way, they encounter two stranded individuals who Ruth reluctantly adopts as passengers. The first man is the clever and cruel Major Marquis Warren (Samuel L. Jackson), a bounty hunter we learn fought in the union army during the Civil War and the closest thing the film has to a lead character. The second scoundrel to be happened upon is Chris Mannix (a viscerally animated Walton Goggins), who identifies himself as the newly appointed sheriff in the town of Red Rock, where the entire ensemble is headed.

The four arrive at Minnie’s Haberdashery, a cramped, one-room lodge where they meet the remaining faces that make up the titular hateful eight. Bruce Dern’s Sanford Smithers was a Confederate general during the war. He has made the trek to Wyoming in the twilight hour of his life hoping to learn how his son was killed. John Gage (Michael Madsen), is a reserved, weathered cowboy who is almost certainly hiding something. Oswaldo Mobray (Tim Roth, chewing scenery in the best possible way) is a sly Englishman who claims to be Red Rock’s new hangman. Last but not least is Bob (Demián Bichir), the suspiciously gauche steward purporting himself as an employee of Minnie, thus the caretaker of the haberdashery in her absence.

It’s easy to argue that the narrative in which characters trapped in an inescapable setting are driven to face one another has been cinematically exhausted in decades prior. But Tarantino’s perspective on popular hatreds harbored throughout American history is strangely essential and unpacked with a necessary dose of self-awareness. He illustrates the tight-knit relationship between prejudice and contempt by procuring a tonal delirium punctuated by comic terror. Underneath lines of dialogue, which are programmed to register as humorous, lie disturbing implications about who our characters are and what they represent. At first, animosity is personified only through verbal slander. When tensions begin to rise, Mobray decides to split the room in half, sending Confederate sympathizers to one corner and supporters of the Union to the other. Later on, as viewers familiar with the sensibilities of Tarantino would predict, this animosity is emulated through the graphic mutilation of flesh. The segregation, however, isn’t the first instance in which folly manifests itself physically.

A percentage of those who see The Hateful Eight will be crushed by the weight of unflinching cruelty that man is capable of. But the film, circumventing all expectations, has the audacity to end on a note of coarsely drawn optimism. We’re shown the worst sensibilities of the soul through bloodied eyes, and as the tumult begins to dissipate, it becomes clear that someone’s hatred eventually had to be compromised. In a sea of gore with no redemption in sight, a subconscious shift in mindset embodies what is perhaps the most vulgar step toward progress ever captured on film.

It’s a very special episode this week as Bernard presents Sound Conversations, a collection of interviews with directors, documentarians, actors, festival programmers and, most importantly, sound designers, about the art of sound in film. Technique, philosophy, tradition, experimentation—all angles of sound design are covered as we explore one of the most underappreciated aspects of filmmaking with some of the most talented people in the biz. Joining the show are the sound-obsessed artists behind Love & Mercy, The Diary of a Teenage Girl, 10,000 km, Gett: The Trial of Vivianne Amsalem, Foxcatcher and many more. Listen in and listen close—it’s Sound Conversations!

Topics

• Bel Powley & Marielle Heller (2:23)
• Carlos Marques-Marcet (5:17)
• Shlomi Elkabetz (11:57)
• Chris Strachwitz, Chris Simon, Maureen Gosling (35:39)
• Bill Pohlad (21:45)
• Oren Moverman (25:57)
• Anita Monga (33:06)
• Paul Hsu (38:31)

Articles Referenced

The Diary of a Teenage Girl Interview
10,000 km Interview
Gett: The Trial of Vivianne Amsalem Interview
Love & Mercy Interview
Anita Monga Interview
Time Out of Mind Interview
This Ain’t No Mouse Music Interview

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It came as a bit of a shock how much fun I found myself having as I watched the bronzed, gyrating man-tasy that is Magic Mike: XXL. It’s the follow-up to Steven Soderbergh‘s unexpectedly artful 2012 film Magic Mike, which starred Channing Tatum and was based on the teenage stripper chapter of his life. Like its predecessor, XXL takes a vocation that’s been culturally passé for about two decades and makes it fun again.

Director Gregory Jacobs goes even deeper (*ahem*) and gets to the heart of the matter, taking a look at the virtues of “male entertainment,” from its rejuvinative properties to its nature as an outlet of expression for its oily practitioners. The movie isn’t as fun when the studly cast members start spinning their wheels with the comedically impotent dialogue-driven segments, which take up too much of the swollen (*ahem*) two-hour runtime; the real “magic” happens when the guys start speaking with their bodies.

Take the first routine we see: Mike (Tatum) is hard at work, grinding not a blushing female, but some metal parts for his new furniture-making business. He’s alone at night in his tiny workshop when suddenly his jam, Ginuwine’s “Pony,” hits the speakers like a sticky handful of dollar bills slapped on a cleanly-shaven buttock. As if compelled by the stripper gods, he begins undulating, thrusting, and swinging around the cramped environment like a bulky, after-hours Gene Kelly. The choreography is so cheesy and so smooth that you can’t help but smile, and that pretty much sums up the type of enjoyment the movie offers. At the expense of their dignity, these bros just want to make you happy, by any means possible.

Sick of toiling away on tables and bookshelves, Mike rejoins his old troupe of stripper buddies on a road trip from Central Florida to Myrtle Beach, where they hope to blow minds at the annual stripping convention. Jacobs and returning penner Reid Carolin seem determined to make the road-movie schematic more than just a way to cart us from dance routine to dance routine, protracting the male-bonding scenes and stuffing them with idiotic banter that’s semi-charming and natural sounding but woefully unfunny. I would have preferred putting the story on the fast track.

Big Dick Richie (Joe Manganiello), Ken (Matt Bomer), Tarzan (Kevin Nash) and Tito (Adam Rodriguez) each have a certain charm, and the actors seem to be having a genuinely good time bickering and taunting each other, but they’re the kind of guys who are most interesting at parties. On their off time, they’re high-fiving morons, for whatever level of entertainment that’s worth. Watching them drink on the beach and ride around in a cramped ice cream truck (with their trusty chauffeur, Tobias, played by Gabriel Iglesias) is grating, though their travels introduce us to new characters like a young, cagey photographer (Amber Heard) and a bad-bitch stripper overlord from Mike’s past, Rome (Jada Pinkett Smith).

Mike hits up Rome for a favor after Tobias crashes the ice cream truck, leaving the burly outfit without transport. She runs a steamy establishment in Savannah, a sprawling Victorian mansion lit like a sexy haunted house of sorts and run like 24/7 strip show, where dry-humpy performances can pop up in any room at any given time. This section is the movie’s best showcase, seeing a slew of talented male dancers (including a ridiculously spry Michael Strahan) blow the minds of the hoards of black, female beneficiaries. To earn Rome’s help, Mike is forced to take up his former “White Chocolate” persona and put on the show of his life. He obliges, putting on a borderline pornographic display that’s unbelievably entertaining in its silliness.

It’s true that Magic Mike: XXL is a shameless excuse for women (and men) to whoop and holler at the hard bodies on screen, but that ain’t a bad thing, not at all. That’s the whole point of the story: these guys are here to please and make their audiences feel special. It’s one of the worst feelings in the world to feel neglected and invisible, and for a man to devote his entire body and attention to a woman for a dance or two is a beautiful thing. (Male onlookers aren’t left out of the equation, either; a delightful early segment sees the guys compete at a drag bar to see who can queen it up the most.)

It’s an honest-to-goodness good time, and on a cinematic level, it’s far from trashy (though he’s still “retired” from directing, Soderbergh is credited as a producer and cinematographer). The camera moves and lighting are great and show off the zany choreography perfectly. Tatum’s career as an actor has been a lot of fun to watch, and it’s nice to see him be so expressive with his body in a time when everyone seems to be clamoring for more “serious,” talky performances from him. He’s a tremendous physical actor, and he continues to evolve that aspect of his repertoire. Magic Mike: XXL is a perfect movie to unwind to after a long work week, and no one will judge if you doze off during the boys’ banal chit-chat.

Director Bennet Miller gets that the complexity of true events and historical people make for the most engaging onscreen experiences. In Moneyball he managed to make the men behind baseball statistics be as compelling as the sport itself. And in Capote he showed that the ongoing relationship of a pair of murderers with the man who wanted to tell their story is every bit as complex and fascinating as the murders they committed. In Foxcatcher Miller melds the strengths of both these films by capturing the intrigue of competitive sportsmanship and the psychological study of one of the most disturbing men to have been in a place of a wealth and power in America. While the film has one of the year’s best performances (by Steve Carell) there isn’t a single person in this bleak but gripping film who doesn’t enthrall with their historical portrayal — shedding light on one of those strange stories that seem too impossible to be true, and showcasing the sort of rare personality that incites fear in all of us.

After having won Olympic gold in wrestling Mark Schultz (Channing Tatum) is at a low point in his career, delivering speeches to restless kids at elementary schools. His elder brother David Schultz (Mark Ruffalo) has also won gold and continues to work as a coach, working with his brother to train for the world championships. Mark seems to have lived in the shadow of his brother’s accomplishments and good nature for much of his career, and having been mostly raised by his brother he is at odds with his desire to impress his father-figure and excel on his own. The spotlight seems to have finally made its way to him when he gets an unexpected phone call from John du Pont, heir to the du Pont fortune (the same family who hands out the prestigious science award) and a self-proclaimed sports-enthusiast and benefactor.

Du Pont flies Mark to his sprawling Pennsylvania estate, Foxcatcher Farms, and presents an irresistible offer: to come train at his facilities and help him build an award-winning wrestling team. From there Mark finds his motivation once again, training for the world championships and recruiting a team of wrestlers, always with encouragement from John to try to get his brother Dave to come be on the team. From their first encounter, John du Pont is painted as an awkward man, secure in his wealth and eccentric in his passion for ornithology (the study of birds) and philately (stamp collecting). His fascination for wrestling seems as much about raw — somewhat erotic — sportsmanship as it is a yearning for team brotherhood and the parent-like relationship of coach and player. Steve Carell’s every interaction on-screen is nail-biting. His prosthetic nose is at first a distraction and then becomes yet another way that Carell and du Pont seem to merge completely. He speaks with a slowness that at first seems to hint at his dim-wittedness but over time makes apparent his calculated way of getting what he wants. He’s the fascinating product of wealth, a single-child upbringing, and hard to please parents. His mental instability is so subtle it’s hard to tell if it’s always there, or if it wavers in and out.

Tatum continues to prove his range, for while he clearly has a believable body for a wrestler, it’s his portrayal of Mark’s immature devotion to whichever father figure is available to latch on to, and his twisted expectations for his own athletic performances (going so far as physical damage to himself), that show he’s capable of capturing a different sort of mental illness than the one du Pont manifests. Mark Ruffalo as David is the only real outlet for positivity in the film, and his representation of David as an ideal older brother and mentor is almost too sweet, causing confusion as to why Mark could be so easily led astray. But his pedestal-standing character only makes the film’s inevitable historic ending that much more heartbreaking.

For anyone who’s managed to avoid reading about the history of the Schultzes and John du Pont, I won’t spoil the story, but I will say that Miller has done an excellent job of focusing less on the scandal and more on the people involved. It’s a therapist’s psychoanalytical nightmare, having so many neuroses on hand. Miller did right in focusing the story on Mark and John, rather than David and John, despite where history inevitably led. With Mark and John he’s able to explore the bond between two men looking to fulfill impossible needs, each hoping their salvation lies in the other. In one of the film’s most fascinating scenes, Mark and John ride in a helicopter together to a benefit dinner and Mark practices his intro speech for John. John snorts cocaine out of a fancy leather pouch and makes Mark repeat the words “ornithologist, philanthropist, and philatelist” over and over until he can say them with confidence, reiterating his own ideology that given enough time and prodding, he can indoctrinate anyone into showing him respect and possibly love. It’s creepy and compelling all at once.

The true crime nature of the film is a draw, but the performances of the film are what solidify it as one of the year’s best, marking Bennett Miller as a nuanced and capable director. His aesthetic and understated work with cinematographer Grieg Fraser allow the characters to tell their own story and set the sort of realistic tone that adds no note of Hollywood sensationalism. Foxcatcher is chilling, sobering, and the sort of film that will cause audience members to question the people they meet on the street. It’s the sort of cold reminder that within us all lies the capability of strange and frightening behavior. A morbid sick reminder that almost no one can help but be drawn to.

Universal Studios announced that the next Coen Brothers project, Hail, Caesar! has been slotted for February 5, 2016, according the EW.

The film looks to be a return to pure comedy for the Coens, their first since 2009’s A Serious Man, and stars George Clooney as a Hollywood fixer in the 1950s. The overall cast is very strong, including Scarlett Johansson, Ralph Fiennes, Tilda Swinton, Josh Brolin, Channing Tatum and Jonah Hill.

On first thought, the February date is a bit surprising and disappointing, considering the month is typically reserved for films that studios decide to dump while people are still focused on the upcoming Oscars. Also considering the film was initially thought to be released in 2015, this may be a bit of a bad sign. However, since the Coen Brothers are behind the project I wouldn’t be too concerned yet.

You might be thinking “Already?!” but yes, award season is already starting. Today, New York’s Gotham Independent Film Awards put out their nominees, a list filled with pleasant surprises and some very obvious choices.

Let’s start with the obvious choice: Boyhood. Any indie award would be insane to deny Richard Linklater’s film, possibly the indie event of the year, some love, so Gotham understandably gave it four nominations: Best Picture, Best Actor (Ethan Hawke), Best Actress (Patricia Arquette) and Breakthrough Actor (Ellar Coltrane). Also unsurprising is Birdman nabbing three nominations for Best Picture and Best Actor (Michael Keaton). Expect to hear even more about Birdman in the months to come.

Because the Gotham Awards are about independent film, that gives some great underrated films and performances the chance for some exposure through a nomination. The biggest surprise might be Under the Skin and Scarlett Johansson scoring nominations for Best Picture and Actress. It’ll be unlikely for Jonathan Glazer’s strange sci-fi to get much love outside of critics’ circles this year, so nominations like these are nice to see. Another great choice by Gotham: Giving Ira Sachs’ wonderful Love is Strange a Best Picture nomination. Sachs’ film, a quietly heartbreaking drama, seems bound to get left out this year once the awards race kicks into high gear (if Best Actor weren’t so competitive this year, John Lithgow and Alfred Molina would have been locks). Any recognition for Love is Strange is a huge plus.

Read on below for the full list of nominees, including the nominees for Breakthrough Director and Actor. For those more interested in the bigger awards, take note of Oscar Isaac’s nomination for A Most Violent Year. The film hasn’t come out yet (it opens AFI Fest next month), so this nomination might be a hint of another shake-up in the coming weeks. And if anyone’s wondering where current Best Actor frontrunner Steve Carrell is, Gotham decided to give Carrell and co-stars Channing Tatum and Mark Ruffalo a special award for their ensemble performances in Foxcatcher.

The Gotham Independent Film Awards will hold their awards ceremony on December 1st.

Best Feature

Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)
Boyhood
The Grand Budapest Hotel
Love Is Strange
Under the Skin

Best Actor

Bill Hader in The Skeleton Twins
Ethan Hawke in Boyhood
Oscar Isaac in A Most Violent Year
Michael Keaton in Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)
Miles Teller in Whiplash (Sony Pictures Classics)

Best Actress

Patricia Arquette in Boyhood
Gugu Mbatha-Raw in Beyond the Lights
Julianne Moore in Still Alice
Scarlett Johansson in Under the Skin
Mia Wasikowska in Tracks

Best Documentary

Actress
CITIZENFOUR
Life Itself
Manakamana
Point and Shoot

Breakthrough Actor

Riz Ahmed in Nightcrawler
Macon Blair in Blue Ruin
Ellar Coltrane in Boyhood
Joey King in Wish I Was Here
Jenny Slate in Obvious Child
Tessa Thompson in Dear White People

Bingham Ray Breakthrough Director Award

Ana Lily Amirpour for A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night
James Ward Byrkit for Coherence
Dan Gilroy for Nightcrawler
Eliza Hittman for It Felt Like Love
Justin Simien for Dear White People

It’s a given that children’s movies will fall into certain plot paths. Characters and story devices are often obvious; themes and lessons are overly sentimental. Given the right mix of well-placed maturity throughout, this doesn’t have to mean a children’s movie feels “dumb.” Pixar has been doing it right for years. Dreamworks has started catching on with How to Train Your Dragon. Twentieth Century Fox has mostly stuck to animal films, and Reel FX Animation has hardly produced anything, but the two companies are certainly branching out with their latest, The Book of Life. Full of some vibrant and excellent animation, fraught with detail, the film gives some much overdue appreciation and attention to Latino culture. But the film is limited in its innovation, leaning heavily on its imagery while being weighed down by stock children’s cartoon characters with Mexican accents (though not even consistently).

Produced by Guillermo del Toro and directed by feature first-timer Jorge Gutierrez, The Book of Life tells the story of La Muerte (Kate del Castillo) and Xibalba (Ron Perlman), the rulers of the Land of the Remembered and the Land of the Forgotten respectively, who make a wager regarding three children: empathetic and quick-witted Maria (Zoe Saldana), musically inclined Manolo (Diego Luna), and the heroic and orphaned Joaquin (Channing Tatum). Separated at a young age when Maria is sent off to boarding school in Spain, Manolo grows into a sentimental musician forced into the family business of bullfighting, while Joaquin — aided by a magical pin the sneaky Xibalba gave him ensuring he can’t be hurt — becomes a prized soldier like his general father before him. Maria returns all grown up and the wager for which of the men will win Maria begins. But Xibalba doesn’t play fair, and when Maria begins to fall for the crooning Manolo (women are so predictable) he sends his venomous snake to do away with Manolo. This sends Manolo on an adventure among the dead, determined to reunite with Maria.

In a somewhat telling parallel, the film’s story is told by a museum tour guide to a group of unruly white kids. This isn’t the only way Mexican director Gutierrez panders, working in many recognizable Mexican elements (churros, moustaches, mariachi) almost as if to soften the heavier subject of the Mexican view of death to white audiences. It wouldn’t be so bad except that the script meanders and fails in its likability to make up for such things.

The love triangle is generic, with very little motivation behind the men’s competition other than their view of Maria as a muse (Manolo) or a prize (Joaquin). And while she asserts herself, Maria’s feminist stance is barebones and rather moot in the face of almost no character development. Instead generic themes erupt as if trying to fill some sort of quota — teamwork wins, love prevails, good conquers evil, death is not the end, friendship is greater than or equal to love, etc. They’re all there, but none of them really stick. And when about 8 new characters are introduced in the second half of the film, there is just too much going on for there to be real connectedness to anyone.

The puppet style of the characters, with their hinged limbs, is an interesting animation choice, but doesn’t necessarily tie in to Día de Muertos directly. Overall the abundance of detail can be somewhat feverish and points to a director whose background lies primarily within animation. The sunset coloring is at first striking, and then numbing. It is undeniably skillful, but some restraint may have made it that much more impressive.

The Book of Life is overstimulating, holding all its energy in its colors and the constant action of its characters, but when broken down, while everyone is doing so much, there are almost no moments of originality or chances for emotional affinity. I can’t decide if Gutierrez and co-writer Douglas Langdale underestimate children’s ability to notice when clichés are being thrown at them, or if there was some sort of self-doubt that accounts for their over saturation of trite techniques in the film. Given so much to look at and experience, the film ends up offering very little, even when it seems obvious real talent lies behind the effort.

Three of our most anticipated films at the Mill Valley Film Festival played on Day 9 in the 11-day stretch, and they didn’t disappoint. From Bill Murray’s performance as the grumpy titular character in St. Vincent; to Steve Carell’s long-awaited dramatic turn in Foxcatcher; to Marion Cotillard’s incredibly vulnerable performance in the Dardenne brothers’ Two Days, One Night, the festival is still going strong as we approach the final days. Stay with us through the weekend as we continue to bring you more coverage from Mill Valley!

Patron Saint of Despicability

[Ananda]

Opening today in New York and Los Angeles, Theodore Melfi’s St. Vincent is almost as quirky as the story behind its main star signing on. In a Q & A after the Mill Valley Film Festival screening, Melfi described what exactly is involved in getting Bill Murray to agree to do your movie. First you call his 800 number, leave a lot of messages, and hope he calls you back. Then you snail mail him a description of the film to a PO box provided by his attorney.  If you’re lucky, like Melfi, he might just call you out of the blue, tell you to meet him in an hour at LAX and proceed to drive you around for 6 hours into the desert to discuss the project, at the end of which a handshake seals the deal. And while Melfi has plenty of fun stories about Bill Murray — he demands avocados, chocolate, and Mexican coke in his trailer — anyone who has seen the movie will say whatever it took to get Murray, it was worth it.

Acting opposite Jaeden Lieberher as small-for-his-age Oliver, Murray plays Vincent, a curmudgeonly old alcoholic in Brooklyn with a load of debt, a gambling addiction, and a “professional” relationship with a pregnant Russian prostitute, Daka (Naomi Watts). Oliver and his mother Maggie (Melissa McCarthy) move in next door to Vincent, and due to her late working hours (necessary because of the custody battle she’s in) Maggie is forced to ask Vincent for help as Oliver’s babysitter. Only ever concerned with earning a spare buck, Vincent thinks very little of his duties, shlepping Oliver to bars, the race track, and to visit his alzheimer-consumed wife in the home she lives in. The film is funny, due in major part to Murray’s delivery, but much of the true cleverness is given to Lieberher, who holds his own with a skill much larger than his age. Somehow the film manages to avoid the typical conventions of the reverse parenting gimmick, focusing less on transformation and instead on forgiveness.

St. Vincent is warm and well-told, but it’s the excellent chemistry between Murray and Lieberher that makes it worth watching.

Gold Medal In Crazy

[Ananda]

We’ve seen some truly impressive performances this week. In fact our Oscar prediction list is getting so long that narrowing things down later in the year is going to be a serious challenge. But having seen many of our most anticipated films of the fall now, I think I can say with confidence one performance that will undoubtedly surpass any cut to that list is Steve Carell in Foxcatcher. Whether you know anything about the true story of Mark and David Schultz, the Olympic gold winning sibling wrestlers representing the U.S. in the ’80s, or whether you enter into a screening of Foxcatcher completely unaware of the history behind it, I guarantee the film will have you hanging onto every scene transition, wondering when it’s all going to cave in.

The Schultz brothers were two successful wrestlers in the ’80s, and after both winning gold in the ’84 olympics they went on to coach. In the film, Mark (Channing Tatum), the younger brother, was practically raised by his brother David (Mark Ruffalo), and, since David was the more sought after wrestler, Mark often interpreted his success as having some connection to his older brother. So when billionaire John E. du Pont (Steve Carell and a foreboding fake nose) reaches out to Mark wanting to hire him to help build an award winning wrestling team, Mark finally finds the attention he has been craving. Carell as du Pont is disturbing from the get go. While the transformation of his face is distracting at first, the perfect awkwardness of Carell’s delivery quickly becomes the focus. His shuffling gait, his too big smile, his lack of eye contact at times, all paint du Pont as a man whose subtle madness hovers just below his surface at all times. Whether by wealth, loneliness, bad parenting, or an innate mania, du Pont is a slow building volcanic eruption waiting to happen. And with the physicality of wrestling, it seems an obvious choice of obsession for a depraved and disconnected man. Just as compelling is the chemistry between Ruffalo and Tatum. As brothers, their connection is ever-present, driving the film forward, each each other’s motivation in life.

Bennett Miller seems to have followed a direct path from Capote to Moneyball to Foxcatcher. The first dealing in a murderous mind, the second in a competitive sport, and the third throwing the two together. While undoubtedly grim, Foxcatcher is historically-based filmmaking at its best. Providing a speculative insight into the lives and minds of people who have lived events so bizarre and tragic that no similar Hollywood fiction could be remotely plausible. It’s a hard watch, but the kind that reminds viewers that every person is a story unto themselves.

On Her Hands and Knees

[Bernard]

Like Vittorio de Sica’s Italian Neorealist classics Umberto D and Bicycle Theives, Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne’s Two Days, One Night (one of my favorite films at Mill Valley) is so relevant, so aware of the socio-economic climate of its time that it’s hard not to surrender yourself to it completely. This is a film for those who struggle; it understands how money—or more specifically, the lack thereof—can trick us into becoming lesser people than we ought to be, forgetting that self-worth is the most invaluable treasure we own.

Marion Cotillard plays Sandra, a factory worker who’s been dismissed from work due to issues with depression. On a Friday, her 16 co-workers have voted to keep their bonuses rather than let Sandra keep her job. There will be a second vote on Monday, however, giving our heroine the weekend to convince her colleagues to forego their much-needed bonuses for the sake of she and her family. 

Cotillard is the biggest star the Dardennes have worked with yet, and she gifts them with one of the best performances of her career. She can be anything—glamorous, dangerous, sultry—but here, she bares her soul for all to see. Tremendously vulnerable and earnest, Cotillard has our vote from the beginning. As with the Dardenne’s other work, the plot and camerawork is elegant and simple, giving the actors all the room they need to tell their story. A bracingly truthful film.

Bennett Miller’s follow up to Moneyball, the Brad Pitt-starring baseball-but-not-really-about-baseball movie, is Foxcatcher, the Channing Tatum-starring wrestling-but-not-really-about-wrestling movie. It’s undoubtedly one of the marquee films competing for the Palme D’Or; featuring an intriguing cast with Tatum in the lead, Mark Ruffalo in supporting, and Steve Carell overshadowing in his first villainous role, directed by one of America’s brightest emerging talents, and with an Oscar buzz that began before cameras rolled. Monday was officially Foxcatcher Day in the French Riviera. We here at Way Too Indie felt the itch with this one too, featuring it in our Top 10 most anticipated Cannes list. After missing the first screening at the ridiculous 8 a.m. time-slot, and reading the (mostly) rave first impressions, I knew there was no way Monday was ending without me catching this one. But, in large part, I am left with regret for not opting for one of my other picks.

The story follows Olympic gold medalist Mark Shultz (Tatum), a very determined young man whose solitary lifestyle revolves around training, eating microwaveable food, talking about wrestling, and… wrestling. It’s beyond passion; it’s his entire livelihood. Influenced, mentored and trained by his older brother Dave (Ruffalo) who is also an Olympic gold medalist, but whose life is much more balanced with a family and a sense for the business of the sport. One day, randomly, Mark gets a call from John Du Pont’s people and is invited for a visit and a chat with John Du Pont (Carell) himself. Du Pont, a billionaire with a family dynasty to preserve and upkeep, is a big wrestling fan and expresses his desire to become Mark’s coach and help him achieve his goal of becoming the best wrestler in the world and win gold at the next Olympics. He wants this for himself, for Mark, but most of all, for America. The characters and events in this film are based on a true story, and it’s a juicy one, but Miller – with everything at his disposal – found a way to make a forgettable film with it.

Let’s get the acting out of the way, because if anything will give this movie the strong legs it needs for Oscar season it’s that. Steve Carell will be hogging all the attention that’s only justifiable for Ruffalo and Tatum. The latter is especially impressive, as he uses his bulky fitness to create a truly sympathetic character, brimming with insecurity yet physically intimidating with every swing and stretch. Ruffalo doesn’t get much to do, but he’s one of the easiest actors to watch thanks to his natural talent to demand attention by never showboating, so he’s consistently great in the film. And Carell does bring the comedy here, the Eagle bit is for the highlight reel and his deliveries of “good” have rightly reminded people of Mr. Burns’ “excellent”. But, the make-up and the larger-than-life character do much to disguise what is ultimately a solid performance and not much else. The reason he will be a major Oscar contender is due to the novelty of having a comedian break bad, and not the actual performance itself; something many others with the same make-up could have pulled off.

The real troubles with Foxcatcher lie in the way the drama unfolds; every beat predicted (ah, he wants to step out of his brothers shadow; of course, he will start taking drugs now; oh right, he’s got mommy issues so now we know why he is the way he is) and when it’s not, like two crucial character shifts of attitude, it feels fumbled and graceless like handing a blade to a wrestler and telling him to fence. You don’t win gold medals like that. The cinematography and the editing are something of unexpected accomplishments here, but still don’t help this major fault in the storytelling.

With all the ingredients at his disposal Miller managed to make a film that’s barely compelling, helped mostly by the performances of Tatum and Ruffalo, and the mere presence of a sickly repugnant creature played with decent amount of slime by Carell. The symbolism of America as wrestling (Miller is becoming a pro in utilizing athletics in very thematically engaging ways at least) and the commentary on the debilitating effects of wealth on human spirit are enough to make good conversation pieces. But the execution is so lacking and the overall experience made so bland, that the subject of conversation will quickly change.

The first clip for Bennett Miller‘s Cannes Drama Foxcatcher has arrived. Based on true events, the film recalls the fascinating story of Olympic Wrestling Champion Mark Schultz (played by Channing Tatum) who befriends an eccentric multi-millionaire (Steve Carell) to train at his new state-of-the-art training facility, but the wealthy man is driven by selfish motives. Foxcatcher is ultimately a story about misguided loyalty and the corruption that comes with great power and wealth. Carell sports a prosthetic nose and tons of aging makeup, making him nearly unrecognizable.

Below is the teaser trailer for Foxcatcher as well as the first clip that shows the two characters meeting for the first time.

Foxcatcher teaser trailer

First Clip – “I Want To Win Gold”

Utilizing the script from Scott Z. Burns, Steven Soderbergh delivers a mostly satisfying thriller that presents several twists and turns along the way to keep the audience guessing until the very end. Side Effects starts off as a film about exposing the unethical sides of the pharmaceutical industry but then changes directions several times just as you begin to think the film is about a singular subject. As long as you do not nitpick on the ways the film purposely uses its misdirection to fool you, Side Effects is, at the very least, an entertaining film from the prominent filmmaker.

The brief opening shot of the film is not in chronological order of the story. It shows blood-stained footsteps that lead to model sail boat and an envelope resting on a chair. The film then jumps back three months earlier to show the events that led up to that scene. Side Effects contains many twists that slowly reveal themselves once layers are peeled back, most of which are spoilers, so for your benefit I will not go into great detail about those.

Emily Taylor (Rooney Mara) is eagerly awaiting the release of her husband Martin Taylor (Channing Tatum) who spent four years in prison for insider trading. Although she welcomes Martin with open-arms back into her life, you get a sense that Emily has been dealing with depression ever since he was away. Her mental illness is confirmed very quickly when she heads straight for a brick wall with her car without the intention of hitting the brakes or swerving away. The near-death incident lands her in therapy sessions with Dr. Jonathan Banks (Jude Law).

It is revealed that it is not Emily’s first time in therapy and that she has previously not reacted well to the antidepressants that were previously prescribed to her. This prompts her new therapist to write a prescription for a new drug called Ablixa, which does eliminate her suicidal tendencies at first, but as the title suggests, there are side effects of this drug. And anyone who has heard the long-winded disclaimer at the end of medical advertisements knows, the side effects of medicine can potentially be just as dangerous as the symptom it treats.

The major theme found throughout Side Effects is that things are not quite what they seem at first glance. The film deceives the viewer into believing the film is about one thing right before it quickly changes into something different. Side Effects first presents itself as a study about a person who is out of sync with the world, then as a dark look at the pharmaceutical industry, shifting to the unethical practices of psychiatry, all while making the innocent seem guilty and vice versa. The problem is the final twist ends up being more of a gimmicky eye roller than any of the other possible outcomes.

There are a lot of things to admire about the film. Soderbergh uses all the right camera techniques to convey the appropriate message. For example, he uses a lot of angled mirror shots to illustrate the altered perspective of that person, precise focusing and blurring to mimic foggy state of mind, and removing the camera from the steadicam in some scenes to create energy. Then there are the terrific performances from both Mara and Law. Both were at the top of their game which gave the film the validly it needed.

Because Side Effects purposely misleads the audience there is a constant whodunnit mystery that makes for an overall entertaining watch. The first act of the film is deeply engaging as many layers start to unravel. Although the story starts to get a little too procedural in its second act, the final act kicks everything into high gear again by twisting the plot several times before settling (and that is what it felt like) on the final twist. Unfortunately, some of the misdirection ends up feeling more like swindling than intriguing in an otherwise well-made film.

I’ll be up front with all of you immediately. I was excited for Magic Mike ever since I saw the first preview back in early Spring. Channing Tatum, who is easily my choice for breakout star of the year, doing a film with Steven Soderbergh? Yeah, I’m there. Soderbergh has been on an interesting run in the last 5-6 years. Other than Ocean’s Thirteen, which I felt was complete dreck, he’s been on fire. Lately it feels like he’s been trying a more naturalistic approach to filmmaking. More on that later, let’s get to the meat of Magic Mike (pun intended). Mike is played by yes, the ubiquitous Channing Tatum. Tatum is actually the catalyst for the story behind the film as it’s inspired by his life exploits as a male stripper from years ago before he was famous.

So I found myself in the theater with my girlfriend and slowly watched it fill with eager women of all ages. Some of the younger ones were literally running into the theater to claim a spot as if it was a piece of land in the Louisiana Purchase. This land grabbing wasn’t as vicious I suppose but still it was fun to watch. So here I am in this theater full of women, I’m maybe one of four guys in this place and yet I think I was as excited for the film as any of the other ladies. Of course, our reasons couldn’t have been more different. I was there for Soderbergh’s approach to the material and the women for well, yes, tons of male stripping.

The story has been told a dozen times, sometimes better but mostly worse. It’s more or less the story of a young man Adam (Alex Pettyfer) who is completely strapped for cash and is slowly searching for his place in the world. He lives with his sister Brooke (Cody Horn) who is a nurse. She supports him at times but doesn’t hesitate to push him to become something better. He is hired on at a construction site where he is paired with Mike to work on the roofs of new buildings. The partnership only lasts the day as the foreman accuses Adam of stealing and swiftly fires him.

Later that night, Adam is out with Brooke and her boyfriend at dinner, when Adam decides to take a walk. He coincidentally runs into Mike outside of a bar. The two make their way in and begin talking to some young women. Mike tells the women to meet him at a specific club later and they will get the night of their lives. Adam is unsure if he wants to tag along, but Mike has a certain charm to him and is able to convince Adam to go. I mean, he’s magic right? Adam finds out that Mike is a male stripper by night. As soon as Adam gets to the club he finds himself stripping. He ends up with a job doing it nightly earning tons of money and soon enough, tons of trouble.

The club Mike strips at is run by Matthew McConaughey. Every time McConaughey was on screen I made a mental note to do more crunches. There is a running gag among film fans that McConaughey hates wearing shirts and in Magic Mike I honestly don’t remember a scene where he dons one.

The plot of the film really didn’t interest me as much as the aesthetics did. It’s by no means terrible; it just felt pretty routine and at times really lazy. Let’s be real here though. The film was sold on Channing Tatum’s sex appeal and the fact that it’s him stripping for 2 hours, not Soderbergh’s name. The film that is actually present is a complete 180 from what the previews make it out to be.

There are a lot of great ideas in Magic Mike but I don’t feel like they were fully realized. Mike is good at what he does, but knows that he has time against him. He is harshly reminded of this fact by McConaughey late in the film. He actually has a plan with his money that he earns. Of course, a romantic subplot starts between Mike and Brooke but it never really takes off.

What I did like about the film is the way Soderbergh kills any sexual tension that builds throughout the film. It had to be a deliberate choice. Yes, I’m sure women are going to love all the scenes with men stripping, but anything else remotely appealing in terms of sexuality are quickly quelled by Soderbergh. This choice of editing was quickly voiced by women in the audience, which actually made me laugh.

Another thing Soderbergh did that I really liked was his stripped down approach (pun intended, okay that’s the last one) to the filmmaking. Much like his previous effort this year Haywire, he chooses to shoot the film in a completely naturalistic way. I don’t think there was any artificial lighting. Nearly all the lighting came from what you saw on screen.

I also must mention how Soderbergh uses sound in the film. The film’s sound was completely mono the entire time. This combined with the natural lighting makes me feel like Soderbergh is going for a throwback to 70’s filmmaking. The old school Warner Bros. logo kind of reinforces this theory of mine.

One thing last thing must be said. Channing Tatum.The guy is having one hell of a year. Haywire, The Vow, 21 Jump Street and now Magic Mike. Each different from one another, all successful at what they are trying to do. Tatum is picking the right films at the right time in his career. He’s also picking the right filmmakers to work with. A year ago I would’ve laughed in your face if you had told me the guy had a shred of talent, but my feelings about him have changed.

I don’t know if Magic Mike works completely on its storytelling, but from an aesthetic level the film is well done and was enough to keep me interested.

Haywire is the new icy cold globe-trotting film from veteran director Steven Soderbergh. It’s a lean and mean thriller that starts in Upstate New York and works its way all over the world. From Barcelona to Dublin to the desert of New Mexico and back to New York again, Haywire is everywhere. I personally saw Haywire as a great throwback to spy and espionage thrillers of the 70’s. Everything from the music, to the cinematography and editing seemed to be celebrating that generation of secret agents.

Former real life MMA fighter Gina Carano takes lead in the film as Mallory, a freelance black ops operative who seeks revenge against her employers who betray her after a rescue mission in Barcelona. She is beautiful, mysterious and most of all, deadly.

The film begins with Mallory sitting in a booth at a small café in Upstate New York. She sits. She waits. Suddenly a man walks in and sits down at her table. The man is played by Channing Tatum. He asks her to turn herself in. Make it easier on herself. She declines and the within seconds Mallory is fighting for her life.

Mallory escape the café brawl with a young man in tow. They take his car and flee the scene. While this happens the movie cuts to the Barcelona job where we Mallory leading a team of operatives to the aid of a hostage. This team includes Tatum’s character with whom Mallory hooks up with after the mission is complete. This makes the opening scene all the more interesting.

Once the Barcelona job is done, Mallory returns to the States only to be recruited on another European mission by her employer played by Ewan McGregor. He is a snaky and sly person who seems to never be telling the truth with anyone. Mallory is sent to Dublin to meet up with another secret agent. He is name is Paul and is played by Michael Fassbender. Fassbender is having one hell of a career at the moment. He seems to be everywhere.

In Dublin, Mallory and Paul are in Dublin pretending to be a married couple. We soon find out that Mallory was sent there to be killed by Paul. This leads to an extremely brutal fight in a hotel room between the two. I can’t remember the last time I saw a fight on film that was so barbaric. The first that comes to mind is the climactic fight in William Friedkin’s The Hunted. They beat each other to a pulp.

At this point Mallory discovers she has been set up and sets out to exact revenge on those who betrayed her. After Dublin, she is back in the U.S. And now in terms of the plot we are back at the beginning of the film in New York.

Haywire if anything is a very efficient thriller. Like I said earlier, it’s extremely lean. The movie doesn’t concern itself with anything other than its main objective, Mallory’s quest for revenge. The movie is edited in a very slick manner. Cutting back and forth between previous missions and present time, the movie is constantly alive.

Soderbergh uses different colors and hues to distinguish which setting we are in. This makes it easy for the audience to figure out where in the timeline we are. Barcelona uses a warm palate, Dublin more of an icy blue.

The cinematography (by Soderbergh himself) is very well done. The brighter scenes have really nice warmth to them, reflecting the sunny locations of Barcelona and other parts Spain. When the blues are present they crisp and cold, hinting at the loneliness of the life of a secret agent.

The big talking point about Haywire seems to be Carano and her acting. When the film began I’ll be honest I wasn’t that impressed. But as the movie wore on, I honestly couldn’t picture anyone else in the role. Carano is a good choice because she isn’t known as an actress. She doesn’t know how to be a flashy movie star. She’s known for kicking butt, something she does very well in this film. Soderbergh doesn’t give her a lot of dialogue to begin with, but when she has some she delivers it just fine.

Another person I want to bring up is Channing Tatum. A few years ago I could not stand him as an actor. He seemed so awkward on camera, almost as if he didn’t belong there. But recently his choices of films have been great for his career. He’s having a great 2012 at the moment. He was first in Haywire. Then The Vow, which even I thought was pretty decent. Then he did 21 Jump Street, which was a critical success. Next he’s in a film called Magic Mike by none other than Soderbergh.

Haywire is smart, brutal and at times very fun. It’s a very confident spy film that doesn’t insult its audience. It plays to its strengths and has almost no weaknesses. The film has no fat on its bones and moves along at a consistent enough pace to keep the viewer interested and like most great espionage films has a lot of style.