In a 2011 CBC Radio interview, Beach Boys frontman Brian Wilson was asked why the sun was such a central theme in his famous pocket symphonies. His answer: “Because it’s California sunshine, you know?” (He then proceeded to sing an impromptu, acapella version of “Do It Again.”) It was a delightfully straightforward, almost childlike answer given by a man who wrote heavenly songs to bat away the demons that terrorized and ravaged him in his waking life.

Love & Mercy, an unconventional biopic based on Wilson, isn’t so much about sunshine as it is about his demons. The focus is the anguish and isolation that plagued him from his early days as a musical prodigy and deep into his adult years, when drugs and anxiety nearly reduced his mind to mush. It may be the best musician portrait of the millennium so far, for its artistic ambition, supreme sound design and chilling performances.

It’s a hard enough thing telling someone’s life story in two measly hours, but when your subject is Wilson, a man whose life is so legendary it could easily fill a 1,000-page book, the Wikipedia biopic approach simply won’t cut it. Bad biopics try to shove a life story into a bottle; good ones take on a life of their own. Director Bill Pohlad and screenwriter Oren Moverman get it: instead of going with the “rock ‘n’ roll rise ‘n’ fall” approach, they use two critical, defining slices of Wilson’s life to render a beautifully complex, abstract interpretation of the man who gifted us “Good Vibrations” and “California Girls.” Despite covering only two portions of Wilson’s life, Pohlad and Moverman’s film feels rounded, complete, and faithful to its subject’s soul and spirit.

The narrative is stereophonic, in a way. It tells two stories, phasing them into a larger arc with clever scene arrangement and seamless editing that echoes the fluidity of Boyhood‘s invisible time jumps. Paul Dano plays a young Brian in the ’60s, whose artistic awakening has coincided with the emergence of a debilitating anxiety disorder; John Cusack plays him in the ’80s, a chemically imbalanced mess who’s unsure of every word that escapes his lips.

’80s Brian is a man on a leash, held captive by Dr. Eugene Landy (Paul Giamatti), a shady therapist who’s taken charge of Brian’s life and, conveniently, his funds. (Landy’s moved into Brian’s Malibu mansion, moving Brian to a smaller house up the coast.) Brian meets his savior and future wife in Melinda Ledbetter (Elizabeth Banks), a savvy car saleswoman who he asks on a date while sitting in a car she’s in the process of selling him. Melinda and Brian’s romance and camaraderie and her efforts to liberate him from the imperious Dr. Landy drive their half of the film.

The earlier time frame covers the Beach Boys in their prime, topping the charts and competing for pop culture dominance with The Beatles. An early scene has the camera slowly circling Dano’s Brian, sitting at a piano and playing a kernel of a song that, as the movie progresses, turns into “God Only Knows,” which would become widely regarded as one of the best songs ever written. His gift comes with a curse: severe panic attacks begin to wreak havoc on his psyche, torturing him as he creates Pet Sounds, an album that would become his preeminent masterpiece.

Wilson led a turbulent life from the start, going from being the son of an emotionally and physically abusive father and straight into the arms of Dr. Landy. He didn’t live life on his terms, instead resigning himself to the role of peon for most of his adult life. The only time he had absolute control was in the studio, where he was notoriously meticulous about the execution of his musical arrangements. Pohlad recreates the famous Pet Sounds sessions in brilliant detail, in the same studio where Wilson and The Wrecking Crew laid down the classic record. Dano gets Wilson’s obsessive perfectionism down, well, perfectly, vocalizing to the musicians exactly how he wants each note played. He yells to the cello player from the booth: “Taka-ta-taka-ta-taka-ta-taka!”

Love & Mercy glides forward gracefully, flitting from side to side between the two time periods like a well handled hockey puck. Its shape doesn’t resemble any biopic I’ve ever seen, and that’s its strongest quality. It jumps forwards and backwards in time, but the story’s movement feels lateral, not linear. The way Pohlad accomplishes this is by letting the two stories breathe and develop on their own terms and on their own time, apart from each other. They’re weaved together with sharp filmmaking technique, but beyond that they’re completely discrete.

The most glaring proof of this is the fact that Dano and Cusack look nothing alike. Their interpretations of Wilson are unique, and there doesn’t seem to be any sense of continuity between their performances. This is a good thing. If they’d used makeup to make them look more alike, it would have soured the pot from the get-go.

Looper comes to mind: What sold Joseph Gordon-Levitt as a younger Bruce Willis wasn’t the creepy-looking makeup; it was his performance. It was the twitches, the way he spoke, the way he walked, the way he held his hands, the way he raised his eyebrow. Cusack looks nothing like Dano or Wilson, but when he’s in motion—dangling his arms at his sides, whispering like a child with a secret—he sounds and moves and feels just like Wilson. He had a steeper hill to climb than Dano (who’s a dead-ringer for a young Wilson in every way), but he makes it to the other side without the aid of prosthetics or CG tomfoolery. Impressive.

This is the most subtle, measured performance of Dano’s career. He’s always been a standout, but always seems to be aggressively trying to steal scenes in an almost competitive, selfish manner that occasionally undermines his on-screen partners (he does this in Looper to Gordon-Levitt, actually). The fact that he’s playing such an iconic man (who happens to still be alive) in this movie seems to have calmed him down a bit and allowed him to explore nuance in a way he never has before. As a bonus, he plays the piano and sings himself, an extra detail musicians will no doubt appreciate. (Nothing’s worse than the disconnect of hearing a lovely piano tune as an actor flails his fingers across the keys like a faulty marionette.

(Cue “Heroes and Villains.”) Banks and Giamatti’s contributions to the film shouldn’t be understated. They’re both phenomenal, and in fact share a handful of scenes together, one of which may be the film’s best. In the throes of a nasty legal battle (Landy was Wilson’s legal guardian for a time), Dr. Landy pays Melinda a visit at the car dealership, pounding on her locked office door like a threatened gorilla, screaming obscene threats. Eventually, Melinda swings the door open. The look on Banks’ face as she stares down Giamatti is more badass than anything you’ll see in any action blockbuster this summer. She’s killer.

Wilson devotees will likely be moved to tears by Love & Mercy (“God Only Knows” is waterworks material for me no matter the context), thought the experience of the uninitiated will be no less special. This man is a certified American icon, and for his legacy to be preserved in a way that comes ever so close to matching his artistry is a wonderful thing. The film’s only major obstacle is Cusack’s resemblance issue. If you can’t get past it, you may find yourself repeatedly thrown out of the movie every time he saunters into frame. If you can get past it (it took me a while, but I did), you’ll have a film experience to treasure for years to come.

I’d been fearing for years that, once a film about Brian Wilson was made, it would be one of those painfully formulaic biopics that have become so stale as of late. The Beach Boys frontman deserves a more artful big screen tribute than that; aside from being a veritable musical genius, he’s lived one of the most turbulent, awe-inspiring lives in documented rock and pop history.

Bill Pohlad‘s Love & Mercy, I’m relieved to report, is no soup-to-nuts hagiography, but rather an abstract, moody interpretation of two very important slices of Wilson’s life. Paul Dano plays a young Wilson in the process of writing the songs that would become Pet Sounds. An older, more mentally damaged Brian is played by John Cusack. Paul Giamatti joins Cusack’s half of the film as Dr. Eugene Landy, who in the ’80s exploited Wilson’s wealth and health, overmedicating him while he shacked up in one of Wilson’s mansions. Elizabeth Banks plays Melinda Ledbetter, Wilson’s soul mate who attempts to wrest Brian from Dr. Landy’s poisonous grip.

The film’s fragmented approach allows it to reach a stunning level of intimacy with Brian and his mind. During his visit to San Francisco this past April for the San Francisco International Film Festival, I spoke with Pohlad about the film and his experiences with Wilson, as well as the shining contributions of the rest of his team. Love & Mercy opens wide tomorrow, Friday, June 5th.

What did you like about Oren Moverman’s script that drew you to the project?
To be honest, it happened the other way around. There was a script floating around about Brian called Heroes & Villains that came to us. I read it and didn’t really like it, but I liked the idea of doing a movie about Brian Wilson. I met with Brian and Melinda and got a sense for trying to tell this story in a different way. I was never really interested in doing a biopic. In meeting them, I learned that she actually did meet him without knowing who he was and was kind of attracted to him, even though he was a bit quirky and odd. Then, she learned who he was and that all this weird stuff was going on around him. I thought it was a great way to get into his story. I was intrigued by that chapter of his life and the Pet Sounds period when he was so super-creative. It felt like those two strands would be the way to go to tell a story. We interviewed a bunch of writers, but Oren was a standout. It was one of those things where you immediately connect with somebody. We got along very well. It kind of took off from there.

I remember in high school buying the big Pet Sounds Sessions box set. The green one. I loved it. I listened to it front to back over and over. It had all these different versions of songs and Brian getting annoyed with everyone. [laughs] It was emotional for me to see those studio session recreated.
I did the same thing, buying that box set and being entranced by it and listening to it all the time. It was exciting to think about trying to recreate that. It was a magical time during the shoot, and the whole shoot honestly had a magic to it that doesn’t always happen in film production. We shot that studio section first, and it was great to be able to be in that studio, which is the actual one he recorded most of Pet Sounds in. I wanted it to have this spontaneous feel that I had appreciated in years growing up with Let It Be or Sympathy For the Devil, films like that where you’re able to get an inside look at what it’s like in the studio when guys are creating music like that. We actually hired real musicians, not actors, and gave them sheet music like they would get in a session. Paul would go in after listening to the Pet Sounds sessions over and over to get a sense of how Brian works, and we’d just let him go. We had two 16mm cameras and shot it like a documentary.

At my wedding my wife walked down the aisle to “God Only Knows.” That scene where Paul’s writing that song at the piano killed me; I got very emotional.
Shooting that was emotional, but the whole project was emotional, to be honest. The second thing we shot was the scene when he’s writing “Surf’s Up” at the piano. Paul sat and played “Surf’s Up” for, like, three hours in front of the crew. He was amazing. That was really emotional because I knew what Paul and all of us had invested in this. We were kind of doing this shot-by-shot recreation from a documentary. The “God Only Knows” thing was equally emotional because, yes, I love that song. It’s such a great song. I wanted to capture this progression of moments. When you first see him it’s like he’s just coming up with this song, and then it develops. He gets more sure of it, and by the end he’s playing it for his father. Showing that progression was really special.

Is it tricky selling John Cusack as Brian Wilson since, frankly, he looks nothing like him?
First of all, he does kind of look like him.

You think so? I don’t see it.
He just looks like him from another period. If you look at shots of Brian from the ’80s, he’s this big, bearded behemoth, almost. Then, he’d look like this skinny, emaciated guy. He was working with Landy, and his weight was going up and down. We were really trying to figure out which look we’d go with and who would portray him. I watched the Don Was documentary I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times, which was shot in the early ’90s. There’s a shot early on of him in a leather jacket, and he looks like John. People say they don’t look alike occasionally, but Melinda and Brian say to them, “Yes he does!”

But I didn’t want them to be doing things like using prosthetics to make John look more like Brian or Paul. I also didn’t encourage John and Paul to work together. I wanted them to find their own, organic way into the character. You kind of let them find it. John did it by spending time with Brian and the Smile sessions. Paul did it by spending time with the Pet Sounds sessions and trying to get a sense for Brian back in that time. He said working with Brian wouldn’t have been as productive as John working with Brian.

John got Brian’s walk almost exactly, with his arms turned forward.
I’ve had psychologists and doctors say that the way John walks and the way he holds his hands are all indications of when somebody is over-medicated or getting the wrong medication.

Paul resembles Brian so much.
It’s spooky at times.

What was it like meeting Brian for the first time?
It was amazing. The first thing I’ll admit is that I grew up as a Beatles guy, and I think that’s good, in a way. There were a lot of people who wanted to be involved in the picture because they loved Brian, but it’s almost like they were too close, too big of fans. I’ve gotten more into Brian and his music over the years, and very into it about 15-20 years ago through Pet Sounds. But I think it’s good to have some objectivity. When I met Brian, it was a thrill, but I didn’t fall over. The key thing is to represent the human side of him. The celebrity and musical genius side is important, and we want to get that across, but what I want more than anything is to be able to relate to this guy. If you want to put him up on a pedestal and survey his life, you do that in a biopic. I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to relate to this guy. I think the mental health issues he went through carry a more important message than saying how great a guy he is. It’s about how we treat people and how we make assumptions about people who have those challenges.

Giamatti is killer.
It’s tough, because a character like Landy…[pauses]. I couldn’t find anybody who had anything positive to say about him. He’s dead, so we don’t have a lot to go on, but you don’t want to create a one-dimensional character. You want to relate to what drove him to this and brought him to this place. There are a lot of subtleties, and having Paul Giamatti navigate those waters is huge.

One of my favorite moments in the movie is when Elizabeth Banks opens that office door in Paul’s face. She looked like such a warrior.
All of that happened [in real life]. She was in the office with the door locked and he was yelling outside. Honestly, with Brian’s story, there are so many things that happened that you would just never put in a script because they’re unbelievable. [laughs] At the end when Brian walks out in front of Melinda’s car, we struggled with that for a long time. We thought, nobody’s going to believe that! It sounds like a movie thing! It literally happened that way. Brian walked out in front of the car and she almost ran into him. As a filmmaker, it’s hard to pull it off without people thinking it’s a movie convention or something.

Favorite Beach Boys song?
“God Only Knows.” But it’s tough. “Don’t Worry Baby” would be up there.

“Good Vibrations” is my number two.
“Surf’s Up” is really great. I could go on and on.

Talk about your approach to sound. I assume that’s high priority in a film like this.
Oh, totally. Brian has aural hallucinations, not visual. Your default thing in a movie is to put all these weird things on-screen and create a “trip.” But this is what he’s hearing in his head, all these disparate chords and harmonies. They’re a part of his genius, but he can’t turn it off, so it becomes part of his nightmare as well. I wanted to figure out a way to depict that so people understood it. I thought “Revolution Number 9” off the Beatles’ White Album would be a good model. We sat down with Atticus Ross and he got it immediately. Beyond the “mind trips,” the score itself is Brian’s music, just rearranged. We’ve taken the stems from the original recordings, taken one from one song and one from another, and weaved them together. I hope Atticus’ story of what he did on this movie comes out, because it’s extraordinary.

I loved how audacious those hallucinations are. You’ll hear a weird sound mixed very hard to the right, and then a loud chord all the way on the left. Crazy stuff.
Our sound mixer Chris Jenkins’ contributions are as valuable as Atticus’ or mine.

What was the hardest thing for Brian to watch?
Brian’s quite hard to read. He’s very asocial. It’s not his thing. But I wanted to make sure he was onboard and made sure the film [was credible], so we had a table read for him early on, just the script. At times I thought he wasn’t paying attention at all or that he was sleeping. An hour later, he’d come back with these really insightful notes. The guy was listening the whole time! When he saw a rough cut the first time, he watched it alone. I heard he liked it, but I didn’t get to watch it with him until Toronto. He never shared what the hardest thing about it was, but he says reliving that whole process is hard for him.

He’s a curious guy. if you ask him about Landy now, he’d say, “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Landy,” even though he knows everything Landy did to him. He still sees it in a childlike way, a purity that’s just fascinating. But then, for the rough cut, he said we were being too kind to Landy. He thought our portrayal was a little softer than he actually was.

To say that John Cusack has been in a slump of late might be an understatement. The actor, who can be undeniably great when given the right material, has become something of a muted Nic Cage, with last year’s Drive Hard and The Bag Man (to name just two). But this year it looks as though the actor might be turning that all around with some far more interesting roles on the horizon. One of which arrives in the form of Love & Mercy alongside the ever great Paul Dano.

The film, directed by Bill Pohlad, is an unconventional portrait of Brian Wilson, the mercurial singer, songwriter, and leader of The Beach Boys. Dano and Cusack share the duties of portraying Wilson, with Dano taking the younger as he battles to preserve the vision of his music during the production of Pet Sounds, and Cusack the elder as he struggles to free himself from the oppressive thumb of Eugene Landy.

Love & Mercy left TIFF 20114 with some solid buzz, and now the teaser trailer is here so we can get a taste for ourselves. With the familiar faces of Paul Giamatti and Elizabeth Banks rounding out the cast, it’s safe to say we’re excited for this one.

Check out the trailer below:

Love & Mercy trailer

Writer-director Sara Colangelo expands her 2010 short film Little Accidents into her first full-length feature, which recently received an Independent Spirit Award nomination for Best First Screenplay. The film provides a gritty, ugly look at the consequences of a tragedy and the way guilt eats at the souls of the denizens of an American blue-collar town. There’s enough talent on display, from a promising filmmaker to a breakout cast, to make Little Accidents a modest watch, but its paper-thin characters, awkward romantic subplot, and predictable conclusion reduce the overall effectiveness of the film–a shame, because it’s the type of small independent film you want to root for.

Word travels fast in small towns. Little Accidents reminds us of this and shows how tragedy is able to divide the small community of Beckley, West Virginia when ten coal miners die in a collapsed mine. The sole survivor, Amos Jenkins (Boyd Holbrook), feels the weight of a guilty conscience as locals pressure him into silence to protect the main source of the town’s income. When interrogated on the safety of the coal mine, Amos squirms in his chair, his eyes to the floor as he insists on having no memory of the accident. We watch Amos, physically and emotionally damaged by the tragic event, conflicted as to whether a large settlement is worth shutting down the town’s mines. He remains at odds but never seems tempted by the money.

The mining accident sets off a domino effect of bad fortune throughout the small town. Mining executive Bill Doyle (Josh Lucas) and his wife Diana (Elizabeth Banks) receive their share of backlash from locals who blame them for the accident, ranging from a smashed windshield to violent threats. As if that wasn’t enough, their lives (and marriage) get more tense when their teenage son JT (Travis Tope) suddenly disappears. What they don’t know is that their son often bullies a boy named Owen (Jacob Lofland), who sticks up for himself during an altercation that leads to a fatal accident. The only witness is Owen’s younger brother who, like Amos, gets pressured into staying silent on the manner.

In connecting the three stories of Amos, Owen, and Diana, Colangelo stirs up some intrigue. Owen and Diana’s connection is the most terrifying of the two. He forms an appreciation for Diana while hiding information about her son that the audience is aware of, making it downright eerie to watch the two of them interact. Guilt-ridden, Owen volunteers yard work services to the family, eventually realizing he can’t make up for his involvement in their turmoil. Meanwhile, Amos stumbles into an affair with Diana, which seems not only far-fetched but a silly distraction from the more compelling drama at hand. The fault isn’t in the varied stories, but rather on how they’re manufactured to connect with each other. Perhaps Colangelo attempts too much in playing with an intertwining narrative in her first film.

Despite great performances all around, in particular from the young up-and-comer Jacob Lofland (Mud), it’s difficult to sympathize with these underwritten characters. While it’s understandable for them to keep their distance from the small-town society and their rumor-spreading, it makes the viewer feel alienated, so it’s difficult to comprehend what the characters are actually thinking. Holbrook’s excellent performance expresses his inner turmoil with limited dialog, but there’s more ambiguity than necessary. Given Little Accidents was written and directed by a female, it’s ironic that Banks received the most dull, stereotyped role in the film, playing a privileged housewife who turns a blind eye to the wrongdoings of her husband and eventually cheats on him. Lofland rules the screen with his ability to carry the weight of guilt and suffering on his shoulders better than most actors twice his age.

Little Accidents suffers most from a conventional ending that undermines an otherwise elegant story and steers it into familiar territory. The film’s heartfelt intentions, solid acting, and moody presentation are not enough to overcome its watered-down characters and predictable story.

Following the money-doubling strategy that maximized the lucrativeness of the Harry Potter and Twilight franchises, the third book in Suzanne Collins’ dystopian-epic Hunger Games series has been split into two movies, the first of which, The Hunger Games: Mockingjay – Part 1, hits theaters today. Halving the franchise’s third act is a smart business move no doubt, but there’s an artistic compromise involved that Mockingjay‘s shortcomings can largely be attributed to. This doesn’t feel like a fully-formed movie; it feels like an episode, a placeholder, a transient experience that’ll get you excited for the series’ explosive conclusion, but doesn’t offer much sustenance on its own to encourage revisiting (unlike its excellent, re-watchable predecessor, Catching Fire). The movie’s abrupt, randomly-placed ending is frustrating and off-putting because, well, it happens in the middle of the book. It’s not an ending at all, really. But hey, in the big-budget landscape of Hollywood, where two tickets are better than one, them’s the breaks.

Mockingjay is the darkest entry in the series, in more ways than one. Gone this time around are the glitz, pageantry, and blood-soaked spectacle of the games themselves, with fierce rabble-rouser Katniss Everdeen’s defiance of the tyrannical President Snow instead taking center stage. Katniss has been positioned (whether she likes it or not) as the symbol for the brewing insurgency sparked by her survival of two Hunger Games in a row, and throughout the film we follow her as she grows into her new role as “The Mockingjay”, the rebellion’s goddess of war.

The film largely takes place within the bowels of District 13, a forgotten, underground compound that looks like a dreary doomsday silo and now acts as headquarters for the rebel forces. Running the show down below are the benevolent President Coin (Julianne Moore, a series newbie) and Capitol turncoat Plutarch (Philip Seymour Hoffman), who together use Katniss and her image to stoke the flames of the revolution. Also roaming the halls of District 13 is former Hunger Games fashion consultant Effie (Elizabeth Banks), who misses her giant wigs and is none too pleased by the drab jumpsuits she’s now forced to wear.

J-Law’s casting as the durable, tormented Katniss continues to be the franchise’s greatest boon. She has a knack for making scenes that, while perhaps silly on the page, come off as totally convincing on screen. In a scene that serves as both an exhibition of her acting skills and a meta examination of the franchise’s mass appeal, Katniss, dressed in warrior-queen armor and standing in front of a green screen, awkwardly postures and regurgitates cheesy lines for a rebel propaganda video. It’s all good for a laugh, but it also succinctly expresses how unready she is to be a revolutionary symbol, as well as how distressed and divided she is on the inside. Also affecting are recurring scenes in which a watery-eyed Katniss is tortured by broadcasted videos of baker boy Peeta Mellark (Josh Hutcherson), who’s being held captive by President Snow (again played by the naturally dastardly-looking Donald Sutherland) and is looking more sickly with each televised appearance.

Moments like these–in which the characters act in front of a camera to further a political agenda, echoing the duplicitous nature of politics in our own society–are a trademark of the series. The device is growing a little stale, but the message still rings true. The key theme here, though, is liberation from oppression. Peppered throughout the film are sequences of citizens fighting back against Capitol forces, as well as images of mass slaughter (a rebel raid on a Capitol dam is breathtaking). The amount of action in Mockingjay is considerably less than its predecessors, as the focus here is more on the larger costs of war rather than intimate acts of violence. (That isn’t to say the film isn’t violent, though: a multi-district execution scene’s lurid presentation is particularly startling.) The stakes feel high, and that’s a good thing.

What isn’t so good, however, are the film’s momentum-less pacing and shapeless plot. The story never finds its purpose, because its purpose lies in another movie, which we won’t see until next year. The climax we’re given around the series’ most insipid sub-plot: the love triangle between Katniss, Peeta, and Gale (Liam Hemsworth). The thing that appeals to me most about Katniss as a character (besides her being a legitimately dangerous badass) is that, unlike most other Hollywood heroines, her existence isn’t defined by her romantic life. In fact, she barely has one! She’s more than compelling enough on her own, and to be honest, it’s hard to think of more uninteresting characters than Gale and Peeta, whose personalities are virtually interchangeable. They’re both heroic, they both really love Katniss. One’s tall, one’s small. Blah, blah, blah. Who needs ’em? To be fair, the the story isn’t so fascinated with the boys. But in this film more than the others, I questioned whether or not I care about them at all.

There’s a lot of talking in Mockingjay: talking in rooms, talking on rubble, talking at TV screens. No one is given much to do besides skulk and strategize in their drab living quarters and war rooms. It’s obvious that underneath all of the motivational speeches and propaganda videos, what this movie is really meant to do is bide time until Part 2 hits next year. I’m willing to bet that, in the grand scheme of things, Mockingjay won’t be viewed as such a trudge of a movie. I’m hoping Part 2 blows us away and gives Part 1 some much-needed context and payoff. I just wish I didn’t have to wait so long to gulp down the chaser for this bland, bitter drink of a film.

The One I Love

The One I Love is a genre-bending psychological, comedic (in some parts), dramatic romance story that follows Ethan (Mark Duplass) and Sophie (Elisabeth Moss), an unhappily married couple seeking new thrills through their couples therapy sessions. The story is well written and the film is excellently executed. Duplass exemplifies the emphatic character with his extremely likeable mannerisms and familiar character traits. The dramatic reflection of married life is well paced and had the audience emotionally invested as their story progressed. Using only one location, Duplass and Moss were able to express a very personal experience to the unlikely implications of a relaxing “weekend away” to rebuild their relationship. In the end, The One I Love is a surreal, surprising, and enjoyable fantasy version of marriage counseling.

RATING: 8.7

Little Accidents

Pinpointing the exact reason why this film is worthy of this rating is difficult, there are so many. Little Accidents is not only a beautifully shot film, but it also had the collectively incredible cast whom were unwavering in their individual performances to portray isolation, betrayal, heartache, and the wonder of the human spirit in the face of sorrow. Elizabeth Banks, Boyd Holbrook and Jacob Lofland are the films driving force and carry the weight of their character profiles extremely well. Little Accidents is a heartbreaking story of loss and the pressure of a society that has conformed to a poverty stricken way of life. The towns inhabitants work their fingers to the bone and some are at risk of life threatening conditions all to put food on their tables and a shirt on their back.

Little Accidents was shot entirely on location in West Virginia and has a very convincing authenticity about it. The grey, misty atmosphere, the natural forest backdrops and rundown neighborhoods are all suggestive that what you’re seeing is real. It’s easy that this traumatic event had a lasting effect on the town.

RATING: 8.8

The Voices

The town of Milton is home to pink overalls, pink trucks, pink forklifts, and a population of 4,000 including one disturbed young man named Jerry (Ryan Reynolds). This endearing, yet mentally unstable, factory worker initially tries his very best to blend in to society–volunteering to help organize the office party, doing his best to always wear a smile. However, as unfortunate events occur, Jerry loses his ability to lead a normal life and becomes increasingly more involved and allied to his psychosis and is unable to identify what is reality.

The Voices aims to bend the rules of the psychological comedy genre by featuring a unique storyline. Reynolds plays a fantastic l”oveable” psycho serial killer and the comedic values he brings to this film are brilliant and welcomed. The film is a tremendous accomplishment. I’m sincerely optimistic for it to have a universally enjoyed worldwide release.

RATING: 8.9

Much like its successful predecessor, The Hunger Games: Catching Fire–directed by Francis Lawrence (I Am Legend) and based on the book series by Suzanne Collins–features rock-solid performances, great writing, and inventive action set pieces set in a sci-fi dystopia. The Hunger Games was a largely enjoyable and entertaining blockbuster romp, but its sequel betters it in every respect, a tightly-woven, thrilling, adrenaline-pumped beast of a film with a 146-minute running time that feels like 60. Like a bulldozer, the film plows forward, never stopping, sweeping you up in its sci-fi action clutches and never letting go.

As the film begins, we find our teen heroine Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence, the backbone of the film) in a traumatized state after “winning” the last Hunger Games–a Battle Royale-style arena challenge used as a tool of oppression by a totalitarian government called “The Capitol”–for the people of District 12, the place she calls home. She and her friend Peeta (Josh Hutcherson), who represented District 12 with her in the games, found a way for them to both survive the contest, outsmarting the Capitol and irritating President Snow (Donald Sutherland) in the process. The bow-wielding huntress’ cunning defiance has made her something of a symbol of hope for the destitute, violently oppressed districts of Panem. In retaliation, the malevolent Snow has finagled the next games so that Katniss and Peeta are thrown in again, along with other winning tributes from previous games.

As Katniss and Peeta are sent on a Capitol-mandated “victory tour”, paraded around in front of the districts whose tributes they’ve killed in the games, they wrestle with overwhelming PTSD and winners’ guilt (they’re plagued with constant night terrors and visions of death), though they’re forced to feign happiness (and love for each other) when in public. Katniss is reluctant in her new role as revolutionary, to say the least. Disgusted is a better word. Though she’s ignited a spark of revolution in Panem, all she really wants is to keep her loved ones safe and lead a normal life–a fool’s dream at this point, tragically.

The tension is thick and the stakes are sky-high from the opening moments of the film, and the intensity never ever lets up. This is mostly thanks to Lawrence, who sells the gravity and magnitude of the drama every second she’s on screen. With the Capitol bearing down on her and the rebellion holding her up her up, she’s being crushed in the middle, and the anguish is written all over her face.

In a terrific scene, Katniss stands in front of a district whose deceased tribute was one of her allies in the games. She sees the family of the tribute, and guilt, sorrow, fury, and regret slowly crush the pretty princess charade forced onto her by the Capitol. She gives an impassioned, mournful eulogy of her fallen friend, and inadvertently inspires the downtrodden citizens to show transgressive signs of revolt against the Capitol guards, who respond with lethality. Katniss is dragged away, heart shattered by the consequences of her accidental incitation, and we see her soul break in front of our eyes. The grand, sweeping themes of gender expectations, mental oppression, feminism, and violence as entertainment are siphoned through a relatable, layered, human character in Katniss, and Lawrence gets the message across superbly.

The supporting cast rises to the occasion, too. Phillip Seymour Hoffman, a new, fantastic addition to the cast (no surprise there), plays the new “game designer” (a sadistic position, in the context of these “games”.) Stanley Tucci returns as the absurdly jubilant Hunger Games host, and matching his pizazz is the also returning Elizabeth Banks as the gaudily attired Effie Trinket, Katniss and Peeta’s den mother, of sorts. Jena Malone is a standout as Johanna, an axe-wielding, F-bomb-dropping punk queen who spits in the face of the Capitol.

The love triangle between Katniss, Peeta, and hunky huntsman Gale (Liam Hemsworth) is downplayed here, as are the games themselves. It’s appropriate, since the real story here is one of people vs government. Fear not; nearly half of the film is spent with Katniss fighting for her life in the games, but the light of the rebellion and shadow of the Capitol pervades it all. Like the first film, the actions scenes are slick and imaginative, and Lawrence sells the games’ danger just as well as she does the dramatic beats. Francis Lawrence has a good eye for action, and infuses the action set pieces with so much suspense and terror it can feel like a horror movie at times. The set and costume design are also excellent, and Lawrence’s lush visual style magnifies their craftsmanship.

The one major weakness of the film is an unavoidable one: the ending is such a cliffhanger (it follows the book to a T) that it makes the film feel more like an episode than a complete, contained story. It’s noticeably manipulative, but for the life of me I can’t begin to think of an alternative narrative route. This is a series, after all.

Despite sharing a similar narrative structure with the first film, Catching Fire ups the ante and heightens every element of the storytelling, from the drama to the stakes to the performances to the action. All of the elements of the film work so well in concert that it’ll capture your attention entirely, and you’ll forget that it’s a tentpole studio film meant to sell merchandise. It transcends the category of “young adult cash-grab” many are so quick to shove it into, next the Twilights of the world. It’s so much better than that; this is a high-quality science fiction series for a new generation, and it’s one they can be proud of.