In Alejandro González Iñárritu‘s The Revenant, Leonardo DiCaprio plays survivalist legend Hugh Glass, a frontiersman betrayed by both his land and fellow man, left ripped and ravaged without anything left to live for. Inch by inch we watch Glass crawl and tumble across miles and miles of picturesque Great Plains scenery, and little by little it becomes clear that, despite the film’s impossibly grandiose, elaborate, labored production, its story is relatively uncomplicated. Sitting firmly in the annals of American Myth, Glass’ journey is about little more than the unexpected fruits of grit and resilience, a classic survivalist tale through and through.

It’s an interesting thing marrying such a straightforward narrative (based loosely on Michael Punke‘s 2002 novel The Revenant: A Novel of Revenge) with Iñárritu’s overblown sense of spectacle and cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki‘s floating, balletic long-takes. The combination works, but on a level that likely isn’t as high-minded or deeply spiritual as the filmmakers intended. The sights are soar, the sounds swirl, but what keeps things grounded and compelling are the hardworking actors and the simple satisfaction of watching a man on a mission, fighting tooth and nail to reach his target.

The target is a cantankerous, slippery brute called Fitzgerald (Tom Hardy) who earns Glass’ ire thoroughly. The rivals are a part of an expedition for the Rocky Mountain Fur Company, scouring the land for pelts to trade. While gathered on the Missouri river, the group is attacked by the Arikara tribe in a dizzying, dazzling bombardment of grotesque tomahawk and arrow kills punctuated by blood-curdling screams of agony all around. The men barely make it out alive, their numbers severed. When a grizzly bear mauling leaves Glass fatally wounded, the captain of the hunting party (Domhnall Gleeson) deems it too dicey to transport him via stretcher across the rocky terrain, leaving him under the care of Fitzgerald and a boy scout-ish tagalong (Will Poulter). They’re offered extra pay to stay behind and give their dying comrade a proper burial upon his all but inevitable death, and while Fitzgerald hasn’t got an ounce of compassion in him, he needs the cash considering they were forced to abandon their precious pelts in the escape from the Arikara. Once the rest of the party leaves, however, he plots a scheme more befitting of his nefarious attitude.

Glass was a real man, though what we see in The Revenant has gone through three filters of fictionalization—the history books, Punke and Iñárritu. After the Fitzgerald betrayal, the film follows Glass as he uses his frontier skills to nurse himself back to health while he tracks down the man who left him for dead. It’s a big, heaping plate of revenge and outdoors survival that’s meaty enough on its own, though Iñárritu and Lubezki add unneeded garnishes (shallow spirituality and white-guilt symbolism) that almost spoil the meal.

DiCaprio’s performance is tremendous in that he uses every inch of his body to tell Glass’ story. It’s a mostly non-verbal role that sees him expressing a wide range of emotion with his eyes (in the chunk of the story where Glass is incapacitated) and with his entire body as he slowly rehabilitates and traverses the unforgiving terrain. Overwhelmingly, this is a story of despair and tragedy, but we do get to see love in Glass’ eyes early on. In flashback, we see his Pawnee wife and their teenage son (Forrest Goodluck), who he raised to be a tracker like himself. Their fates, of course, aren’t sunny because…Iñárritu. DiCaprio. Tragedy is their jam, man.

Iñárritu and Lubezki teeter on the line between visual splendor and artistic arrogance so precariously that it adds to the excitement of their films in an almost meta way. Sometimes the imagery is ingenious; when Glass is all but crippled, Lubezki presents the surrounding landscape as not beautiful, but paralyzingly frightening in its endlessness. But then a bird flies out of a dying woman’s chest and you can’t help but laugh at how silly it looks. The ambition is bloated and these guys are totally caught up in their artsy maestro bullshit, but even the weakest shots in this movie (most of them involving iffy CG elements) have enough flair to them that you can hardly turn your attention from the screen.

Subtlety and thematic complexity aren’t Iñárritu’s strengths, so when The Revenant lets go of its “big ideas” and focuses on Glass’ manhunt, things get really good. Hardy plays a terrific scumbag, so when Glass finally get his hands on Fitzgerald, it’s both gratifying and insanely intense. Admittedly, the pleasures found in the excessively gory final showdown are decidedly testosterone-driven, but if you approach the movie as a primal tale of bloody revenge (á la Kill Bill and Mad Max: Fury Road, for example), there’s no reason to apologize for reveling in all the limb-hacking and eye-gouging.

If there’s one thing about The Revenant that irked me, it’s Iñárritu and co-writer Mark L. Smith‘s decision to push the story as a revisionist western in which the sins of the Native American genocide are examined through the eyes of a bunch of white guys. It’s an insult to both the Native American perspective, which is almost always grossly underrepresented in these kinds of stories, and to the real Glass, whose extraordinary ordeal is more than worthy enough of a movie on its own without faux-mystical themes muddying everything up.

Editor’s Note: This review was written with a spoiler-free mindset; my intention was to preserve the film’s major secrets and revelations so that you may discover them on your own.

With a deep sigh of relief, Star Wars fans can finally rest easy: Star Wars: The Force Awakens is a bombastic, high-energy, eye-popping space opera with loads of heart and soul (two key ingredients the prequels tragically lacked). It doesn’t quite capture the storybook magic of the original trilogy, but the classic Star Wars spirit lives on via returning cast members and some scrumptious fan-service callbacks. What’s most intriguing is the new stuff: a hungry young cast putting on worthy performances; a savvy director whose eye for action makes the series’ signature space battles pop and sing like never before; an exhilaratingly dominant female presence. The film gives several of the series’ longstanding traditions a loving kiss goodbye while also forging forward, setting the tone for what Star Wars will be now and in the future.

The story, by director JJ Abrams and co-writers Lawrence Kasdan and Michael Arndt, picks up thirty years after the events of The Return of the Jedi, with the Empire long-fallen. Taking the Empire’s place is the First Order which, in all honesty, looks and operates exactly like the Empire (they’ve even got armies of stormtroopers, and fleets of TIE Fighters and star destroyers). The Rebels have been replaced by the Resistance, led by general Leia Organa (Carrie Fisher). The good-guy and bad-guy factions’ shared mission is to locate a digital map which contains the location of the long-missing Jedi Master, Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill). Harboring and guarding the map is an adorable, globular droid called BB-8, who’s stranded on the desert planet Jakku when his master, Resistance ace pilot Poe Dameron (Oscar Isaac), is captured by the First Order.

On Jakku, BB-8 meets tough-skinned scavenger Rey (Daisy Ridley) and stormtrooper-gone-rogue Finn (John Boyega). Both are charismatic and have rich histories and a few secrets to hide. Poe is star quarterback-cool and makes a big impression though he’s less of a presence than Rey and Finn and looks to have more of a central role in future installments. Looking at the movie as a sort of baton pass from old characters to new, it feels like a clean, seamless handoff. The new heroes feel as organic and fleshed-out as their predecessors did in their respective debuts in A New Hope. The nature of heroism has been a primary theme throughout the series, and it’s further explored here; one of the protagonists could in a certain light be considered a bit of a coward. But there is no courage without fear, of course.

Personifying the dark side of the force this time around is the sinister Kylo Ren (Adam Driver), a volatile, loquacious villain with dreams of picking up where Darth Vader left off (he keeps Vader’s charred helmet as an object of inspiration). The movie’s open sees him slaughtering a small village on Jakku in search of the map-guffin, and in later scenes, we learn the source and extent of his inner rage. He works for a bigger bad (I’ll let you discover who that is on your own) and also has a peer/rival in General Hux (Domhnall Gleeson), a tyrannical, barking military leader who’d be a Third Reich shoe-in in our galaxy. His pet project is a massive, world-ending new weapon he can’t wait to unleash on the Resistance.

In what instantly becomes one of the series’ best aerial action sequences, Rey, Finn and BB-8 stumble upon a “garbage” spacecraft in a junkyard and use it to take out pursuing TIE fighters. Little do they know, they’ve just hopped into the legendary Millennium Falcon—Rey mans the cockpit, Finn takes control of the same swiveling turret Han and Luke once did, and a spectacular, careening, nostalgia-dipped dogfight ensues (this sequence really is a wonder). After successfully evading their enemies and exiting the planet’s atmosphere, our young heroes eventually find the ship’s original owners, Han Solo (Harrison Ford) and Chewbacca (Peter Mayhew), who reluctantly agree to help them deliver BB-8 to the Resistance (and Leia, who Han hasn’t seen in quite some time).

Seeing the returning actors reprise their roles is a delight though unsurprisingly there are occasional lapses in conviction on Ford’s part (when the movie calls upon him to run and gun he puts on the face of a morning jogger). The prop throwbacks and easter eggs get tiresome after a while (the film will often all but pause for applause when showcasing these classic movie relics) but they’re sure to make fans go wild and maybe even draw a tear or two. The larger narrative pays homage to the first films as well (search for lost Jedi Knight, blow up big enemy weapon) and, uninspired as this is, Abrams and co. introduce enough twists into the formula to make old tricks feel new again. What makes the returning characters’ involvement worthwhile are plot developments that are best kept a secret, though what I will say is that the ongoing Skywalker/Solo family drama is kept alive in exciting, unexpected ways.

Something that feels sorely missed in this seventh installment of the long-running space opera is, well, operatic speech. There was a theatrical, melodramatic thrust to some of the original trilogy’s classic lines that, while cheesy to some, made those iconic movie moments feel timeless and momentous. Shakespearean, even. With the exception of one exchange during the film’s most emotional scene, there aren’t many lines I can point to as being quotable or particularly weighty. Perhaps time and rewatches will prove me wrong.

The two standout actors of the film are, without question, Ridley and Driver, both of them sharing strong chemistry with the rest of the cast and, most of all, with each other. Rey and Kylo Ren are grade-A characters who are easy to invest in and bring a new energy to the Star Wars universe. Boyega, Isaac and Gleeson do fine jobs as well though I suspect those characters’ greatest moments are still yet to come. A major frustration for me was Iko Uwais and the rest of The Raid crew’s wasted casting—these guys are the best movie martial artists in the business, and they’re given nada in the way of fight sequences. Big shame.

One of the main points of anxiety for Star Wars fans anticipating this film is the implementation of CG effects. While for the most part the digital elements look fantastic (Lupita Nyong’o‘s character, Maz Kanata, is an incredible CG creation), some of them look downright out of place, like Kylo Ren and Hux’s master. This is the first successful marriage between Star Wars and digital effects, but the marriage ain’t a perfect one by a long shot.

There are moments when Star Wars: The Force Awakens feels like a modern action-adventure classic; the climactic, snowy-forest lightsaber fight, for example, ranks up there with the best in the series (in fact, the entire third act is unbelievably good). But where the movie falls short is in continuing the original trilogy’s spirituality angle. Star Wars has always been about faith and family—Abrams nails the latter, but has somewhat forsaken the former. We acquire little to no new understanding of the force and its mysteries, and the characters who do struggle with faith don’t do so in a way that we haven’t seen before. The movie gets more right than wrong, however, and all things considered, it delivers where it counts. This thing is an entertainment orgy of galactic proportions, a fun-filled, planet-hopping, visually breathtaking adventure that gets the next generation of Star Wars stories off to a good start.

Stories centered around the American immigration experience in many ways seem akin to the creation myths of much older countries. But whereas gods and goddesses may have divined their countries from the stars or sea or some other mysticism, America was built slowly over time. Be it migrant Asian natives who would form the beginnings of Native America, wandering from a now non-existent peninsula 24,000 years ago, or the slow but steady trickle of peoples from every nation on the planet seeking shelter, work, and freedom. Nothing inspires American pride more than tales of how we got here. John Crowley‘s Brooklyn isn’t exactly a creation story, in fact, it takes place in the ’50s years after the immigration boom to America, but this story—adapted by Nick Hornby from Colm Tóibín’s novel—encompasses that very real part of being American: balancing history with the future and learning to belong.

The young woman walking that fine line is Eilis Lacey (Saoirse Ronan), an Irish girl who is given the chance to move to America when job prospects in her small Irish town run dry. Her part-time job working in a convenience store is easy to say goodbye to—what with her boss being a stuck up gossip and all—and even her friends have romantic prospects and more contentment in their small town life. The hardest part for Eilis is leaving her elder sister Rose (Fiona Glascott) behind with their mother Mary (Jane Brennan), but she is assured by Rose that this is the right decision.

So Eilis departs, traversing literal rough seas on the voyage to America. Her bunkmate aboard the ship advises her, giving her a crash course in how to survive being alone in America so far from home. But nothing really prepares Eilis for just how homesick she becomes. Her boarding house-mother, Mrs. Kehoe (Julie Walters), holds nightly dinners, and these scenes are by far the most hilarious of the film, perfectly showcasing the variety of young women making their way in America, from old-fashioned to flashy and stylish. Mrs. Kehoe is the perfect blend of old Irish propriety curbed with sharp modern spunk and the way she chides Eilis’s more rambunctious cohorts and advises the girls on their skin regimens is just one of many great examples in the film of the way the women around Eilis are her greatest support system. When Eilis’s homesickness pushes her to sullen depression it prompts her new boss, Miss Fortini (Mad Men‘s Jessica Paré), to call in the priest who sponsored Eilis’s trip to America. Jim Broadbent plays Father Flood, who enrolls Eilis in a bookkeeping school in order to give her something to focus on to distract her from her sadness.

The plan works remarkably and as Eilis begins to invest in her future she starts to let down her guard. At a church dance one Saturday night Eilis is asked to dance by Tony (Emory Cohen), a young man who is instantly quite taken with Eilis’s quiet charm and fierce intelligence. He pursues her vigilantly, and to Eilis he is so completely American. His family is Italian, but their cultural background differences only make them more drawn to one another. Eilis’s spirits raise considerably—her wardrobe even brightens, and indeed the costume design is among the many details that elevate the film—and she and Tony allow themselves to fall head over heels.

But when tragedy strikes back home in Ireland, Eilis is thrust back into her previous world, and when she returns home she has to face her old life as a new person. Ronan magnificently portrays Eilis’s depth of feeling and inner struggle with choosing what sort of life she wants to mold for herself. Now an independent young woman, she finds herself to be more desirable than ever back home and she is given very real temptation in the form of Jim (Domhnall Gleeson), a tall and successful young Irishman who seems to have the same sort of ambition as Eilis combined with a love for their home country.

Eilis’s decision essentially boils down to choosing whether she wants to choose to be Irish or Irish-American, each choice attached to a very different man who promises a very different future from the other. This conundrum feels so very close to the heart of American patriotism. That those who formed this country, whether it was on the Mayflower or many years later as an immigrant, each had to choose to be American. Crowley keeps Eilis’s decision harrowing to the end, maintaining that it isn’t necessarily about choosing correctly, as there is no clear path, it’s about choosing one’s own identity.

Brooklyn is at once inherently American and incredibly multi-cultural, showcasing just how intricate and emotional the immigration experience was for many who came to this country. That it uses the perspective of an empowered and vibrant young Irish woman is what makes Brooklyn an excellent story. It’s an across-the-ocean love triangle yes, but it’s the battle within Eilis that is most interesting. Yves Bélanger’s cinematography makes 1950’s Brooklyn both exciting and alien at first but ultimately more romantic as Eilis’s experience there changes. The imagery of Ireland feels much more spacious, open and home-like. Ultimately the film is beautiful, but it’s Ronan’s sparkling eyes and subtle expressions that cause not only Tony and Jim to fall in love with her, but in fact everyone else in the film and all in the audience as well.

A perfectly crafted romance and pride-inducing immigration tale, Brooklyn feels very much like reading an engaging book. One you just can’t put down and immediately want to re-read once it’s finished.

Ex Machina is as much a nerd’s cautionary tale as it is a nerd’s wet dream. It’s about two tech experts (nerds) who conduct an experiment on the world’s first true sentient AI, a mesmerizing, beautiful thing made up of plastic and metal and sinewy wires in the shape of an attractive young woman. Her name is Ava. She walks and talks and flirts and makes small talk just like us, only her skin is synthetic and we can see her insides. (See? Nerd’s wet dream. I kid. Sorta.) But how smart is she? Her human captors try to test her limits as a sentient being, but what they discover is something not even men as ingenious as them could have prepared for.

Sounds pretty intense, right? Well, it is, but that’s not to say novelist-turned screenwriter Alex Garland‘s directorial debut is a piece of tech-panic horror. Rather, it’s a crafty piece of thinking-man’s sci-fi, a ponderous, level-headed exploration of the implications we’d face as a species should we birth true AI. There are more than a few fascinating ideas and themes floating around in the film, enough to make it one of the most thoughtful and idiosyncratic films about robots, well, ever. Still, the movie’s first priority is entertainment, and on that front it doesn’t disappoint.

The story’s mastermind is Nathan (Oscar Isaac), the muscly, intellectually imposing CEO of a Google-like search engine tech company. He’s Ava’s creator, and he’s found her a playmate in Caleb (Domhnall Gleeson), a lanky, timid programmer who’s won a company-wide lottery that’s gifted him the extraordinary opportunity to spend a week at Nathan’s secluded, ridiculously expensive home, nestled into a mountainside at some undisclosed location not meant for common folk. Upon arrival, Nathan springs the surprise of a lifetime on Caleb, informing him that what he’s really there to do is interact with Ava, performing a kind of post-Turing Test in which he’s to determine whether she can pass as authentically sentient, despite Caleb knowing with complete certainty she’s man-made. If the Turing’s imitation game is blind, Nathan’s removed Caleb’s blindfold.

There’s another, reverse Turing Test of sorts going on as well, outside the confines of what we see on-screen. Ava’s played by a person, Swedish-born ballerina Alicia Vikander, but she, with the help of Garland and his visual effects team, must convince us, the audience, through various forms of movie magic, that what we’re seeing on-screen is not flesh and bone, but a humanoid mass of electronics. The illusion is key, as it’s the foundation the rest of the movie builds upon. Thankfully, it’s as impenetrable a visual trick as I’ve seen in years; I was in a constant state of amazement at how believable Vikander looks as a robot with a see-through midriff and limbs. I was stumped, and it was awesome.

While Ava is partly a grand feat in digital effects and conceptualization, what truly makes her convincing is Vikander, whose body vocabulary represents a sterilization and streamlining of the human body in motion, the aches and pains, tics and stutters sanded away. It’s a bizarre thing to watch Vikander glide around the room, her mechanical joints purring softly, as you find yourself forgetting she’s, in reality, draped in digital confections. For her controlled, inspired performance, Vikander deserves all the praise we can muster.

Let’s not forget the boys, though; they get work done, too. A large chunk of the film is driven by the layered, between-the-lines game of wits and intimidation played by Nathan and Caleb. Ostensibly, Nathan seems to just want to be Caleb’s “bro dude man” rather than his boss’ boss’ boss. But there’s a bit of predatory menace lurking underneath Nathan’s “tech-bro” image that’s represented in his burly physique and un-blinking glare. (When Caleb first meets him, he’s walloping the shit out of a punching bag. Coincidence? I think not.) As Caleb clocks in more and more sessions with Ava (who’s kept behind a wall of thick glass, but is irresistibly charming nonetheless), he begins to see Nathan and Ava not as an inventor and his invention, but as a monster and his imprisoned damsel. The point is, Caleb begins to feel for this machine, to the point where he wouldn’t be above doing her some favors. Is he a pawn in Ava’s scheme…or Nathan’s?

Nathan is the best cinematic intellectual oppressor since Christoph Waltz’s Hans Landa. Isaac is as good as he’s been in anything, and his physical transformation is arguably on-par with Vikander’s. Gleeson’s great too as the shy, slouched Caleb; while Isaac and Vikander’s characters are fully-formed and stay on a steady path throughout the story, Gleeson’s given what’s easily the film’s most dramatic character arc. He’s the audience’s proxy, primarily, but he lends a complexity and pathos to Caleb that pays off in spades by film’s end. Though Ex Machina is a cerebral movie for sure, Vikander, Isaac, and Gleeson’s performances anchor the film and make it feel wonderfully chaotic and raw as opposed to clinical and sober.

Garland’s got balls to tackle so many controversial topics at once, and that he pulls it off so smoothly proves he’s got skill on top of his nerve. There are tons of ideas swimming around in the film, some of which could fuel a movie on their own. Ava, for example, isn’t only the embodiment of AI and its ramifications regarding humanity, but a walking question of gender identity (she’s made of synthetic parts; and yet, she’s a she). Nathan and Caleb’s intellectual sparring matches are an examination of male ego, there’s more than a whiff of Blue Beard and Pygmalion in the narrative, and on top of that Garland brings up the freaky reality that our search engines know more about us than our loved ones do. Needless to say, I’m still chewing on this stuff weeks later.

What’s really cool about Ex Machina is that, despite its high-brow inner-workings, it’s still an easily accessible, small-scale thriller that offers as many genre pleasures as it does philosophical head-scratchers. It’s stylish, sleek and intellectually stimulating, but most importantly, it’s a lot of goddamn fun.

Alex Garland, a novelist-turned-cinematographer, has written some of the most geeked-about movies of the past 15 years: Sunshine, The Beach, 28 Days Later, and even a terrific video game called Enslaved: Odyssey to the West (if you haven’t played it…play it). Now, with Ex Machina, Garland is making his directorial debut, and it’s an indie sci-fi doozy. The film follows Caleb (Domhnall Gleeson), a young coder at the world’s largest tech company who’s invited by his boss, Nathan (Oscar Isaac), to participate in the grandest experiment in human history, involving a robotic girl named Ava (Alicia Vikander), the world’s first sentient AI. Mysterious, smart, and full of surprises, Ex Machina is about as awesome a feature debut a director could have, and we had the privilege of speaking with Mr. Garland in a roundtable interview during his visit to San Francisco to promote the film.

Ex Machina is playing now in New York and Los Angeles, opens tomorrow in San Francisco, and expands wide next Friday, April 24th.

What’s sexy about the uncanny valley to you?
You inadvertently flatter me with that question. The uncanny valley in this movie is, for me, something that is exhibited within Ava specifically in her movements. The way Ava moves is not robotic; it’s like a too-perfect version of how humans move. And in the perfection of those movements it feels a bit “other”. It’s quite hard to say why. I just feels a bit off, a bit “other.” The reason I’m saying you’re inadvertently flattering me is that, that had nothing to do with me at all. It was something Alicia Vikander arrived with. She was a ballerina since age 11 and she’s got incredible control of her physicality. The uncanny valley was brought here by Alicia as a way to approach playing this robot, and as soon as she said it I thought, “This is absolutely brilliant.

I’m trying to have a conversation, partly, about where gender resides. Is it in a mind, or is it in a physical form? Is there such a thing as a male or female consciousness, or is that a meaningless distinction? Maybe the gender resides in the external, physical form, or maybe in neither. There’s a broader question about what you call this creature: Do you say “he”, “she”, or “it”? It would be quite easy to present an argument saying Ava has no gender. That said, calling her “he” just feels wrong, with the way she looks. To use the word “it” feels disrespectful. You end up with “she”, and you end up with the strange thing of, is she a ‘she’? And just to be clear, of the questions that are posed in the film, some of them don’t have answers. But that doesn’t mean posing the question is wrong.

When it comes to sexuality, there’s a different thing going on there. Essentially, it’s about the fetishization of girls in their early twenties. Now, that’s not about gender; it’s a completely separate issue. I know there appears to be a Blue Beard narrative and a savior narrative in the film, but basically what you have is both a seeming protagonist and an audience being tasked with something, which is, “Tell us what is going on inside the mind of this being. Is it thinking?” Then, obstacles are presented to both the protagonist and the audience, which effectively get in the way of the question, “What is Ava thinking?” In the end, the thing the characters fail to do is establish what she’s actually thinking, and that allows her to trick them.

I think people are a little anxious and fearful of artificial intelligence, but you actually think it’s a good thing, perhaps even an improvement on human beings.
I do, and I also think that a lot of the stuff that’s perceived to be anxiety about artificial intelligence has actually got fuck-all to do with AI. There are two separate things going on: You’ve got Stephen Hawking and Elon Musk saying artificial intelligence is potentially really dangerous, being possibly anti-AI. And I’m talking about strong AI, not video games and mobile phones. That’s potentially true and potentially reasonable, but you could say the same thing about nuclear power. It’s potentially dangerous, and that doesn’t necessarily stop us from using it. The question is [about] how it’s used. With humans, it tends to be the case that, when something’s possible, we then do it.

The question to ask is not, “Should we do it or shouldn’t we do it?”, because we’re going to do it no matter what if it’s possible. The question is, “How are we going to deal with it when it happens?” That aside, I think a lot of the anxiety doesn’t actually come from AI. There have been a lot of stories about AI in film lately, from Transcendence, to my film, to Age of Ultron. There are tons of them that suggest this zeitgeist in the air. Why is that? Has there been any real breakthrough in AI? Not really. I think it’s probably got nothing to do with AI. I think it’s to do with tech companies. It’s because of our laptops and our phones. We don’t really understand these things, but they know a lot about us. So what you get is a sense of anxiety, either consciously or unconsciously. I think these AI stories are a consequence of that anxiety rather than anything specifically to do with AI.

There are a lot of little things Oscar does with his face that convey a lot to the viewer without giving anything away. Was that a conscious decision on your part?
People say a director got a performance out of an actor. I didn’t get any performances out of any actors. This is something Oscar brought because he’s an incredibly gifted actor. What I think you seek from an actor is that they will elevate everything to do with their character and find things that you never even thought of, improvements and stuff like that. That’s true of the DP, the production designer, the brilliant composers…and true of Oscar.

Does that suggest that you give your actors free rein on-set, or do you like to have some sort of collaboration?
The way I see it, I perceive myself as being a writer, primarily. I write the script and present it as a blueprint to people. Then, I’m not looking to control anybody. It’s almost like what you’d ideally want anarchy to be: a group of people, quite autonomous but also collaborative, working together with a shared goal. That’s my approach to filmmaking, broadly. I don’t like auteur theory. I find it boring and misleading and inaccurate a lot of the time. It’s definitely not what I am. I’m part of a team, and I like that. Years ago I used to work on books. You sit in a room, and you write a book. That’s “auteur.” There is no real comparison to working on a film with a lot of other people. Actually, the thing I dig about film is that it’s collaborative. That’s the pleasure in it.

Can you tell me more about the relationship between Oscar and Domhnall’s characters?
There are two things going on there. One is, [Nathan] is deliberately winding this guy up, presenting himself as something from which this machine needs to be rescued. He’s presenting himself as a bullying, misogynistic, predatory, violent man so this kid can rescue the machine from him. Now, there’s a question: Is that a complete confection? Is that just an act he’s doing? Or is he amplifying something that’s within his own character? That’s one of the hovering questions going on in the story. There’s another thing he’s doing, the “dude, bro” stuff. For me, it’s slightly trying to represent the way some tech companies try to represent themselves. It’s kind of like going, “Hey dude, hey bro, we’re pals! We’re a bunch of hipsters listening to music! By the way, can you give me all of your money and all your information? Thanks, dude!” That kind of speak cracked me up a bit.

So Domhnall’s character is administering a Turing Test…
Sort of. It’s pedantic, but it’s sort of a post-Turing Test. It’s a blind test. A Turing Test is really a test to see if you can pass the Turing Test. You can pass the Turing Test and not be sentient. What he’s saying is, this machine would pass the traditional form of the Turing Test; I want to know if I can show you it’s a machine, and you still think it’s sentient. It’s a step up.

There’s a kind of Turing Test going on between your team and the audience. You’re trying to convince the audience, through Alicia’s movements and visual effects, that she’s a synthetic thing walking around on-screen.
Initially. And hopefully, people are forgetting that.

Most of the legwork for the illusion is done by Alicia, but the visual effects are pretty incredibly. They had me stumped.
The effects are really brilliant, and they were run by this guy called Andrew Whitehurst, with a big team under him. I’ve met some really smart people in my life, [but with Andrew,] I did sometimes think, “You are literally the smartest guy I’ve ever met.” He has enormous creative instincts. I remember him saying early on, “I want to hang these plastic strips inside her torso that will diffuse light and make these structures inside her look slightly more mysterious.” It was a really subtle, nuanced idea that was very typical of him. Very late in post-production, there was a problem to do with the way the camera rendered pixels. It was going to cause us a huge problem, and he said, “I’ll fix this.” He wrote a bit of code that basically reworked the pixels and fixed it, and it fucking blows my mind that he’s able to do these things.

Can you comment on any movement for a Dredd sequel?
Not really. Not because it’s one of those coy things, like I’m demurely going to say “no.” It’s because there isn’t, as far as I can tell, going to be a Dredd sequel. The basic mechanics of film financing say, “If you make a film that loses a ton of money, you’re not going to get a sequel,” and that’s basically what happened. I understand and appreciate the support the film has had, the campaigns that have existed for it, and it’s extremely, genuinely gratifying. I love it in all respects except one, which is when I hear about people buying copies of the DVD in order to boost sales and change the figures. What I want to say to them is this: Don’t do that. Keep your money. The people who are making the decision are much colder and harder than that. The graphs they’re looking at aren’t going to be sufficiently dented by it. The support for the film is truly appreciated, but if there is going to be a sequel, it’s not going to be from me and the team who worked on the previous film. It’s going to be another bunch of people, and good luck to them. I hope it happens, and I hope they do a better job than we did.

Unbroken‘s most hard-to-watch, brutal scenes see WWII U.S. Airforce bombadier Louis Zamperini (played by a commanding Jack O’Connell) getting thrashed and beaten to oblivion at the hands of a sadistic Japanese prison sergeant called “The Bird” (Japanese singer Miyavi). Over and over again, we see The Bird torture and ridicule Zamperini, and over and over again we watch the Italian-American soldier endure. About the resilience of one man’s mind, body, and spirit in the face of unending pain and indignity, Angelina Jolie‘s POW prestige piece (“a true story”, according to the film’s intro) is an excruciating watch, but the too neatly-packaged structuring and presentation act as something of a blockade between us and Zamperini’s mind. Never do we feel like we’re experiencing his suffering with him; we’re watching from behind the glass of an exhibit at the Hollywood History museum.

An olympic runner before his stint carpet bombing Japanese bases from the Southern Pacific skies and getting in dogfights with Zero planes, Zamperini was aboard a B-24 along with a handful of comrades when it crashed in the middle of the ocean. He along with remaining survivors Francis “Mac” McNamara (Finn Wittrock) and Alan “Phil” Phillips (Domhnall Gleeson), survived for over a month on a raft, dodging fighter plane fire and hungry sharks. “Mac” didn’t make it past day 33, but Louie (as his friends called him) and “Phil” held out for two more weeks before being apprehended by an enemy naval ship. From the moment Louie stepped foot in the Japanese prison until the end of the war, he was treated like trash, kicked in the stomach, punched in the face from sunup ’til sundown by his fellow American captors (they were forced to by The Bird, as part of one of his sick torture strategies), and subjected to all manner of mental and physical abuse. He weathered the storm like only a hero could, and when the war (and the beatings) ended, he went on to raise a happy family and live to the age of 97. (He died last year of pneumonia.)

Zamperini’s story (told in the autobiography written by Laura Hillenbrand the movie is based on) is as awe-inspiring as any you’ll hear, but Jolie and screenwriters Joel and Ethan Coen (yes, they do write scripts once every blue moon) take a storytelling approach that’s too rudimentary and overly respectful. Unbroken should feel like a horror movie (I can’t imagine a more frightening existence than Zamperini’s time in the prison), but instead feels like a pedestrian, gussied-up biopic. Flashbacks to Zamperini’s youth are so overly poetic sometimes it feels icky. “A moment of pain is worth a lifetime of glory,” his brother says to him with perfect diction as he rolls away on a train to go to war.

Cinematographer Roger Deakins (one of the greats) does what he usually does and composes some stunning, immaculate images. What I wonder, though, is if Jolie’s influence caused Deakins to pretty up the movie’s aesthetic a bit too much; some close-up shots of O’Connell, even when he’s being smashed in the face, feel too glossy and borderline-glamorous for the subject matter. Whether this was Jolie’s artistic choice, Deakins’, or both, the beautifully-lit, unadventurous visuals don’t pair well with the crushing misery Zamperini lived in, nor does the moody, melodramatic score.

What the Hollywood, restrained style does speak to very well, though, is Zamperini’s abnormal level of nobility. O’Connell is wonderful, the definition of a leader, a man whose shoulders could hold up a nation. In one of the film’s most advertised scenes, The Bird forces a starving, injured Zamperini to hold up a steel beam above his head, ordering his lackey to kill him if he drops it. Portraying her subject in an overtly Christ-like fashion wasn’t the most palatable choice in my estimation; when O’Connell pushes the beam up to the heavens overhead and roars with primal rage at his tormentor The Bird, the film abandons its anchor in reality and things get uncomfortable. You can’t fault O’Connell, though, as he gives every scene his all, no matter how cringe-worthy the material gets. Miyavi is a perfect heel in his screen debut, exuding an almost sexual delight when punishing his hapless prisoners. There’s a palpable spark between the two young actors and for any scene that’s successful in earning Zamperini sympathy, Miyavi deserves half the credit.

“There has been an awakening – have you felt it?” Thus begins the all-new teaser for J.J. Abrams‘ Star Wars: The Force Awakens.

It’s a short teaser, that debuted in a select few theaters today and iTunes, but true fans will take whatever morsels Abrams gives us. Not much plot was revealed, and the teaser focuses on the tension around the force apparently waking up. The teaser focuses on the tech goodies, a new droid on a rolling ball, stormtroopers preparing for battle, a lightsaber that looks like a sword with a hilt.

We do get a slight glimpse at newcomers John Boyega and Daisy Riddle. They join Adam Driver, Oscar Isaac, Andy Serkis, Domhnall Gleeson, Max von Sydow, and original cast members Harrison Ford, Carrie Fisher, Mark Hamill, Anthony Daniels, and Peter Mayhew.

What fans will undoubtedly be amped most about is some awesome action by the Millenium Falcon. This is the seventh film in the franchise and will take place 30 years after Return of the Jedi.

Star Wars: The Force Awakens will hit theaters December of 2015. One more year guys, one more year.

Leave a comment, tell us your thoughts.

A trailer for the directorial film debut from Alex Garland (writer of Sunshine, 28 Days Later, and the upcoming Halo film) is now up. Looks like Terminator: Genisys won’t be the only robot movie in theaters next year. Coming out next April, Ex Machina stars Domhnall Gleeson as Caleb, an internet programmer who wins a competition to spend a week at an out of the way mountain compound to meet with Oscar Isaac‘s robot scientist Nathan Bateman. Nathan has chosen Caleb to test his latest AI specimen, Ava, played by Alicia Vikander (with some Her-like smooth talking).

From there it looks like this ultra intelligent, and emotionally cognitive, robot messes with the minds of the men as Caleb tests (falls in love with) her. The movie looks to be filled with some great technicolored tension.

Check out the trailer below

No matter the mixed criticism of Frank, one thing the film makes obvious is more bands should be using theremins. That’s not just a frivolous statement, it’s part of the movie’s sugarcoated message on the value of sticking out, embracing your limits, and not concerning oneself with the number of views one’s video gets on YouTube. Once the movie stops being a whimsical comedy about a troupe of misfit musicians, it starts to take itself a little too seriously and all of a sudden the xylophone stops and the brooding drama starts. This drastic tonal switch from quirky silliness to serious quirkiness ultimately drags Frank down from being a good comedy to being just a mediocre dramedy. But hey, it has Michael Fassbender playing a guy who wears a ridiculously oversized head so that alone will be enough for some viewers.

Dominic Gleeson takes on the role of Jon, an inspiring singer-songwriter who has 14 followers on Twitter and punches the clock in a dead-end office job. As fate would have it, he witnesses a man trying to drown himself who happens to be the keyboard player of an underground eccentric pop band Jon admires. When he tells the band’s manager Don (Scoot McNairy) that he too plays keyboards, he gets the gig, and without further ado finds himself traveling to a remote cabin to record an EP as the band’s new keyboard player. Headlining the band is the mysterious Frank (Fassbender) who is like a walking-talking bobble head because of the outlandish mask he refuses to take off (even while showering.) Rounding off the band members are Clara Vagner (Maggie Gyllenhaal) on the Theramin, Nana (Carla Azar) on the drums, and Baraque (François Civil) on the guitar. Once he gets to the cabin, Jon realizes that this is no mere band practice session, and decides to completely devote himself to the band; seeing it as an opportunity to better his own skills. As the Twitter followers grow, and the band spends months preparing to record, an upcoming gig at the South By Southwest festival in Austin creates an opportunity for their biggest show yet. But, with everyone’s eccentricities engaged at maximum levels, how will this band ever be able to cope with fame?

Before the third act sours up the mood, Frank is an enjoyable enough romp filled with a colorful cast of characters and a pleasant atmosphere. Although, it must be said, the insufferable score by Stephen Renicks and Gleeson’s narration evocative of an adventure in Middle Earth or a Hogwarts school excursion paint the picture in way too thick of a dainty coat. With the way the characters are written (we’ll have a French guy who only speaks in French but everyone understands him! We’ll have the bitchy one who hates conformity! Etc.) and the overemphasis on Frank’s free spirit, it all leads to an aggravating sense of self-awareness and attention seeking. The only saviors end up being Gyllenhaal’s hilarious performance (watch her deliver lines like “Your furthest corners? Someone needs to punch you in the face” with perfectly bottled angst), some of Frank’s unpredictable characteristics which include speaking perfect German to an unsuspecting family, and the genuine humor protruding through the dainty surface. And for those wondering about Fassbender’s performance: I’ll just say that he’s best when he’s got the head on and leave it that.

Also deserving of praise is James Mather’s cinematography, adding a nuance that is unexpected. Images of Frank meditating in the forest, or characters caught lamenting by the windowsill are artistically captured and do well to boost the film’s qualities. Alas, the film starts to change clothes before growing into them and while the SXSW section provides some of the biggest laughs (Frank’s most likeable song is a personal favorite of mine,) they ultimately can’t compensate for the transparently calculated conclusion and message, which brings the whole self-awareness aspect right back on centre stage. Fans of Gyllenhaal and Fassbender will still enjoy themselves with Frank, but my advice is not to take the film as seriously as it takes itself and simply enjoy sharing the company of weirdos.

In theaters August 15

Saturday at the Los Angeles Film Festival has been full of laughers, but the quirkiest among them is likely Lenny Abrahamson’s Frank. The film first premiered at Sundance in January and will get a limited release in August. Following musician wannabe Jon (Domhnall Gleeson) as he randomly connects with a bizarre pop group called Soronprfbs (don’t worry, no one in the film knows how to pronounce it either) playing one random show with them before they quickly adopt him to be their keyboardist and whisk him away to a remote cabin in Ireland to record their album. Led by the eponymous Frank (Michael Fassbender), who at all times wears a large cartoonish head in the style of Frank Sidebottom (writer Jon Ronson played in Frank Sidebottom creator Chris Sievey’s band and based the script on some of his experiences), Jon is thrown into the oddest of circumstances.

He observes the off-beat musical styles of his bandmates. Clara (Maggie Gyllenhaal) and her electronic frequency manipulator, Nana (Carla Azar) the drummer, Baraque (Francois Civil) the guitarist, and the most mental of them all, the band’s manager Don (Scott McNairy). Frank’s unusual music methods put the band members in awkward and hilarious situations as they wait for inspiration to strike before they begin recording their album. A door opening and closing is music to Frank’s ears, drills up and down the lawn inspire musical expression, hours and hours of non-stop playing for Frank’s high standard of perfection. Jon documents their endeavors with YouTube videos and Twitter updates, to the point where without having much to show for themselves, the band has a small cult following. The band finally records their album and though Jon’s blown through his inheritance to fund the band, he feels on the verge of a personal musical breakthrough. When the band is asked to take part in the SXSW music festival, Jon argues against the fiercely protective Clara to get Frank and his band to enter the mainstream world and play in America. Inspired at the thought of others loving their music, Frank agrees and they set out for Texas. However, when Jon encourages last-minute changes to their music to appeal more to the masses, his egotism costs them greatly as Frank becomes derailed from being true to himself.

The film is charming and at parts laugh out loud funny. Despite having any sort of face to work with, Fassbender creates a likeable if disturbed portrayal of Frank. Maggie Gylenhaal is guaranteed to shine when allowed some venom in her characters and she can be truly frightening with her mania. The film’s juxtaposition of pop culture and indie culture and the fine line between them makes for humorous irony. Audiences will laugh at the ridiculousness, but may not be moved in the end when it attempts to infuse a little humanity into the absurdity. While it ends poignantly, the film loses its steam by insulating Frank’s world and marking it unapproachable to outsiders. The song he sings at the end, mostly repeating his love for all, feels somewhat false, as catchy as it is. And considering the gravity Abrahamson choice to infuse in the end, the friendships Frank has seemed based on all around denial.

Whether audiences are able to live in that same land of denial is entirely subjective, but anyone wanting to laugh at the creative process at its quirkiest will enjoy Frank immensely. At its essence the film does show creating for oneself before others is a truer path to happiness, and with great performances all around, that theme is doubly felt.

Frank

An aspiring keyboardist named Jon (Domhnall Gleeson) stumbles into an impeccable opportunity when he walks passed a band that just so happens to need a keyboardist after theirs recently tried to drown himself in the ocean. The best part about this band is that the lead singer, Frank (played by Michael Fassbender), wears a giant papier mache head at all times—even while sleeping and eating, making those situations hysterical. When Jon asks the band member how Frank is able to brush his teeth, he is given the perfect reply, “You’re going to just have to go with it.” It’s this kind of tongue-in-cheek attitude that makes Frank so entertaining to watch.

Unfortunately, Frank doesn’t always bother to follow its own rules. Inside of the third act, the film felt obligated to explain too much of its self, disrupting the go with the flow mentality that came before it. That being said, Frank is still an absurdist comedy about discovering inner creativity that is worth seeking out–especially at SXSW since the festival makes an appearance in the film.

RATING: 7.3

The Guest

Perhaps the most exciting collaboration in the horror genre as of late is director Adam Wingard and writer Simon Barrett. Together the duo has previously worked on the V/H/S series and more recently in the horror/comedy You’re Next. Continuing with their trend of genre mashing, their latest effort in The Guest takes the action and badassery of The Terminator and mixes it with the style and sound of Halloween.

A solider (Dan Stevens) shows up at a door claiming to know the owners son before he passed away in the war. He is a charming man with hypnotic blue eyes and is handsomely built. The family accepts him into the house after he plays his cards right, radiating more cool than even Ryan Gosling could exude. Eventually one of the family members begins to grow suspicious of him after showing signs of trying to hide his true identity.

Using the same equipment used on the soundtrack of John Carpenter’s Halloween 3, the energetic synth soundtrack in The Guest superbly produces the pacing for the mayhem that unfolds. Even though the main character is clearly the villain, I found myself still rooting for him at times—like when he helps one of the family members from being bullied at school. The Guest is like an atmospheric 80s action thriller that is intentionally overacted and exaggerated. The story is not very elaborate, but that doesn’t matter when you’re having this much fun.

RATING: 8.2

Richard Curtis, the sentimental writer/director behind charming British rom-coms Love Actually, Notting Hill and Bridget Jones’s Diary, is easily England’s male Nora Ephron. His films burst with dry British humor and bashful lovable socially awkward leads. In Time gives every indication it’s setting out to be another cute tale of romance, but is instead a touching embrace of life and the many moments that make it up.

In the way of warning, let it be said that those concerned more about space-time continuums or time travel paradoxes would best either leave their sense of logic at the theatre door or simply pass on this film. This isn’t a sci-fi film with a dose of romance, it’s a romance with a dose of sci-fi. On his 21st birthday, Tim (Domhnall Gleeson) is called in by his father (Bill Nighy) for a father-son chat wherein he learns that the men in his family have always had the unique ability to travel in time through their own lives upon turning 21. Skeptical at first, Tim soon finds this to be true and promptly fixes the rather disappointing end to a New Year’s party in his recent past. While they do address the butterfly effect and the many implications of time travel, it’s quickly dismissed as something that hasn’t seemed to manifest as a problem. Warned against the dangers of using his new gift for monetary gain or other worldly things, Tim decides instead that what he really wants is a girlfriend. He sets his sights on his sister’s visiting girlfriend. Flashing back in time to fix every little flub and embarrassment, he learns that he can travel through time as much as he wants, but nothing can make a person fall in love with you if they were never meant to. Thus he embarks on his adult life, moving to London to live with an ornery playwright and one fateful night he meets the girl of his dreams, Mary (Rachel McAdams), and she seems just as interested as he is. But when uses his ability to help a friend, he mistakenly erases their meeting and has to start again.

Mary and Tim’s romance, while cute, isn’t ultimately the love story that makes this movie worth watching. Even the time travel element, an endearing comic device, doesn’t use it’s full potential for mishaps and mayhem. Instead it’s Bill Nighy’s wry, book-loving father who ends up being the emotional core of the film. His encouragement of his son, and even his guidance in how to use this gift of theirs to appreciate every moment of life, repeatedly, teach a lesson in true love. Gleeson is perfectly cast as the goofy geek who seems to always have trouble in love in these movies, and yet who every woman in the theater has been pining to meet. He’s easy to cheer for and charming to watch. McAdams has played this role more than once and continues to be enchanting, if not necessarily innovative.

Curtis has proven he can build on his reputation for romantic comedy. While I certainly don’t recommend he try penning the next great sci-fi romance, he’s successfully added another layer of emotional depth to his usual repertoire. About Time has a deserving place among the heartwarming escapist films that audiences are always craving.

About Time trailer: