The best boxing matches are roller coasters of emotion, full of twists, shifts in momentum and ungodly displays of skill. Unlike a classic big-time fight, Southpaw, starring Jake Gyllenhaal as a short-fuse champion prizefighter who falls from the top of the mountain and crawls his way back up, offers no such surprises or knockout performances. Its title, which refers to the unconventional left-handed boxing stance, couldn’t be more ironic considering how conventional and easy-to-read this movie is.

Cliché is king in director Antoine Fuqua‘s store-brand boxing drama, and a valiant tough-guy transformation by Gyllenhaal just isn’t enough to keep things interesting. Scrunching his perpetually swollen face, flexing his bulging muscles in fits of rage and slurring his words in hopes of garnering punch-drunk sympathy, Gyllenhaal gives “his everything” as Billy “The Great” Hope, the movie’s meathead hero. Billy fights with a death wish, dropping his hands and welcoming his opponents’ haymakers with reckless abandon; unlike most boxing movie underdogs, however, Billy’s got everything to lose.

We meet Billy at the top of his game, on a 43-fight win streak as the light-heavyweight champ of the world. He’s got a nurturing wife, Maureen (Rachel McAdams), who grew up with him in the same Hell’s Kitchen orphanage; she’s been there from the jump, and he worships her for it. She organizes every aspect of his life so that he can concentrate on bludgeoning his heavy-handed dance partners. Their precocious daughter, Leila (Oona Laurence), wants nothing more than to watch her dad in the ring, though the thought is too much for Maureen to stomach. As Billy spits up blood after his fights, Maureen sends Leila two-word texts: “Daddy won.”

In a tragic turn of events that has a snowflake’s chance in hell of surprising anyone, a heated scuffle at a charity event between Billy and smack-talking rival Miguel Escobar (Miguel Gomez) gets out of hand: shots ring out in the hotel lobby, and the scene ends with Billy cradling his dying wife in his arms. This sends him on the obligatory downward spiral of suicidal, drunken rage; he loses his money, house, cars, friends, more than a little bit of his sanity, and most regrettably, Leila, who’s taken away by child services. His Don King-like manager/promoter (50 Cent) offers moral support, though even he turns on Billy when he decides to jump ship and manage Escobar instead.

Floundering in abject poverty, Billy seeks the tutelage of old-timer Tick Wills (Forest Whitaker), the former coach of the only man to ever beat Billy in the ring (in Billy’s mind, not the split-decision scorecards). Wills “doesn’t train pro fighters anymore,” instead dedicating himself to mentoring troubled youths and teaching them discipline through via the “sweet science.” But who are we kidding? Wills, of course, eventually changes his mind and trains Billy to fight Escobar for the world title in the film’s final, epic(ish) battle.

Fuqua cakes on grimy imagery of in-ring brutality and low-lit interiors to reflect the darkness inside Billy’s soul (or something faux-poetic like that), but none of it yields any dramatic dividends; the movie just looks gross. With the fight scenes, the filmmakers try to mimic modern televised boxing presentations while throwing in quick cuts of jabs, hooks and body shots seemingly at random. Basically, the fights look like every other fight in every other forgettable boxing movie. First-person shots from both Billy and Escobar’s perspectives are butt-ugly and laughably distracting.

Gyllenhaal is a better storyteller with his facial expressions and body language than screenwriter Kurt Sutter is with his uninspired dialogue. As Billy learns to be a smarter, calmer fighter both inside and outside the ring, Gyllenhaal’s mannerisms reflect his newfound ability to not lose his shit at the tiniest aggravation. It’s a slow-burn character arc, and he conveys each stage of maturation with careful articulation. He’s the only thing in the movie that whiffs of any passion.

Southpaw is nothing more than a loosely-stitched patchwork of ideas ripped straight out of every boxing movie ever. It always feels like we’re five steps ahead of the story, and that’s because we’ve seen this stuff a million times before. The movie was originally designed as a showcase film for Eminem (heaven knows what kind of disaster that would have been), and though it’s far from a success, Gyllenhaal (barely) keeps Southpaw from staying down for the count.

Good-natured geeks get pulled into the quicksand of LA gang culture in Rick Famuyiwa‘s Sundance hit, Dope. It’s an unpredictable coming-of-age comedy that earns every laugh with its smart writing and well-crafted jokes that never feel cheap. Unlike other films addressing similar social and racial issues, Famuyiwa’s film isn’t a hero’s tale or some urban fantasy about rising above prejudice. It’s not a story about being a good person; it’s about being a survivor.

The underdog at the center of the story is Malcolm, played by a flat-top-rocking Shameik Moore. Malcolm’s a bright high school senior living in the Inglewood neighborhood called “The Bottoms” with his mom, a bus driver (his father left a long time ago, his only meaningful remnant a gifted VHS copy of Superfly). He’s a self-professed geek, spending most of his days obsessing over ’90s hip-hop culture (hence the flat-top), manga, porn and playing in a punk band with his two best friends. Kiersey Clemons plays Diggy, an outgoing, out-of-the-closet scrapper who’s always got Malcolm’s back. The third member of the hip-hop bohemian tribe is a scrawny fellow they call Jib, played by Tony Revolori (he was Zero in The Grand Budapest Hotel).

It’s explained early on (via slightly awkward Forest Whitaker narration) that The Bottoms is a pretty unfriendly place for them. Fights and shootings happen all the time, so getting bullied at school by Bloods (an everyday occurrence for Malcolm) is considered a relatively trivial complication compared to the gruesome stuff that happens on the block. Malcolm tries to avoid trouble as best he can, especially since he’s got Harvard in his crosshairs as his first-choice school. Nowhere in his application letter does he mention his under-privileged upbringing; instead, he analyzes Ice Cube’s Good Day as a way to stand out from the crowd of Harvard hopefuls. Upon reading the letter, Malcolm’s professor, who’s facilitating the application process, is frustrated that Malcolm—a straight-A student with a sterling record—thinks he can get into Harvard without using his hard-knocks upbringing to garner sympathy. “Who do you think you are?”

Later in the film, Malcolm’s in a dingy warehouse back office making a deal with a snarling thug involving inordinate amounts of molly (ecstasy), a thumb drive, and wads of dirty cash. The gangster tells Malcolm exactly who he is: “A man who don’t give a fuck.” How did Malcolm, a model teenager with a clean conscience, fall into such shady business, business that could derail his future?

It all starts with Dom (A$AP Rocky), a charismatic dealer who runs his block with a clenched fist. He takes Malcolm under his wing, using the nervous teen as a messenger pigeon to ask a pretty, smart girl up the block (Zoë Kravitz, channeling Nia Long in Friday) to come to his birthday party at the club. She agrees, but only if Malcolm goes, too. Malcolm develops a quick crush, of course, so he shows up to the party, Diggy and Jib in tow. In the chaos of a drug deal gone-wrong and a subsequent police raid, Malcolm winds up with a gun and tens of thousands of dollars worth of drugs in his backpack.

Thus begins Malcolm’s descent into a world of narcotic traffickers, racketeers and killers, with the geeky trio scrambling to figure out how to get rid of the drugs while trying to stay alive. The series of unlucky events cascade like falling dominos, and though things get dicey, the humor is always there, sustaining the film’s vigor.

Malcolm’s is a veritable whiz when it comes to academics, but when it comes to his new drug-slinging street life, he’s completely out of his depth. Whether he’s being seduced by a sultry drug empire princess, talking on the phone with a growly debt collector, or shivering as he points a gun for the first time, he’s always got a stupefied, almost cross-eyed look on his face. Moore’s great in the role because he’s effortlessly sympathetic; you can’t help but like him (the awesome Fresh Prince, De La Soul-inspired throwback attire doesn’t hurt, either). The rest of the cast is mostly very good, though Roger Guenveur Smith stinks up the joint as a borderline-comatose drug lord. Clemons and Revolori play solid confidants, but at the end of the day, Moore runs away with the movie.

Famuyiwa and DP Rachel Morrison’s visuals are vibrant and crisp, utilizing split-screen and unexpected freeze-frames and interludes to electric effect. The film’s always on the move, just like its protagonists. A late, unforgettable sequence in which Malcolm addresses the camera directly is a breathless show-stealer, a chilling monologue that’s easily be one of the best movie moments of the year. As far as soundtracks go, it’s Dope‘s track-list is going to be tough to beat. Narratively weaved-in classics from Nas (“The World Is Yours”), Public Enemy (“Rebel Without a Pause”) and A Tribe Called Quest (“Scenario”) are invaluable in defining the film’s style and vibe.

Like Dear White People, Dope is a movie about identity and perception. Malcolm’s struggle to reconcile his Harvard aspirations with his current, Walter White-ish situation is the movie’s drive, and the final resolution is a piercing observation on being someone of color, someone who society expects less from than the white mighty majority. The movie doesn’t get weighed down by the serious business, though: it’s a terrific hangout flick in the vein of Cooley High and Friday. Dope‘s dopeness is off the charts.

When you consider Out of the Furnace is packed with a star-studded cast and a director who demonstrated outstanding talent in his previous film (Crazy Heart), it is disappointing that the biggest surprise of the film is just how underwhelming everything turns out. Much of the film relies on telling the audience how to feel rather than actually making an emotional impression. Scott Cooper’s atmospheric character drama greatly benefits from its cast, but its predictable narrative lacks too much ambition to allow for the characters to truly shine.

Right off the bat Out of the Furnace begins with a deplorable opening scene that lets you know what you are getting yourself into. The drug-dealing villain named Harlan DeGroat (Woody Harrelson) force-feeds a hotdog to his date at a drive-in theater before her screams are heard by others parked around them. One bystander comes to check on her, prompting Harlan to get out of the car and swiftly beat up the innocent man. There is so much commotion caused by all of this that everyone is pauses from watching Clive Barker’s The Midnight Meat Train on the outdoor screen to see what is happening. While the film never reaches the same level of spontaneity or pacing as this scene had, it does at least set a gritty tone from the very start.

The film centers around an off-duty solider Rodney Baze Jr. (Casey Affleck) who has racked up a great deal of gambling debt owed to John Petty (William Dafoe). Rodney’s older brother Russell (Christian Bale) just finished some prison time after a drunk driving accident caused a couple people their lives. Now Russell works at a mill in town and does what he can to help Rodney pay off his debts. Rodney insists on entering underground boxing matches to help with his debts, even though Russell practically begs him to get an actual working job. But Rodney’s stubborn personality prevails and eventually leads him to enlist in a high-stake fight that crosses paths with Harlan and his gang.

Although there are times when the characters express emotions, they are rarely ever felt. For example, it is easy to understand that their father’s passing would be difficult to deal with, yet the film does not do a great job with making the audience actually empathize with its characters. The same can be said about the subplot between Russell and his ex-wife (Zoe Saldana)—save for a brief moment later in the film. The other part of the problem is that the film does not spend enough time with the more stimulating characters such as Affleck and Harrelson, and instead we are forced to spend the most time with the inert Christian Bale.

The best assets of Out of the Furnace by a long shot are the performances from the talented cast members. Despite the script not allowing Bale’s character a lot of depth, he does a good job commanding the lead role when its needed—especially considering what he had to work with. While the fate of Affleck’s character was destined for destruction from the very beginning, he breathes life into the film that desperately needed it. The roles of Forest Whitaker and Salanda were so secondary that they were merely serviceable despite their commendable efforts.

While the beginning scene blindsides you with its unpredictable action, the rest of Out of the Furnace stays on the same level of excitement without any real surprises. Because of this, the second half of the film is only mildly interesting enough to keep watching. The slow and methodical approach works better when there is something to sink your teeth into as a viewer—this offers little more than some atmosphere and good acting. Unfortunately when the film does attempt to spice up its narrative with some minor “twists”, they end up not carrying the significant impact that they should.

Out of the Furnace trailer

Zulu, the film that closed the Cannes Film Festival this year, now has its first (NSFW) trailer. The movie stars Forest Whitaker and Orlando Bloom in an intense crime thriller set in South Africa in the aftermath of Apartheid. Director Jérôme Salle (Anthony Zimmer, Largo Winch) makes his English language debut in a somewhat familiar genre; high speed nail-biters certainly aren’t foreign to him, even if the language is. He also adapted the script himself (another exercise he is familiar with) from a Carol Férey novel of the same name.

The movie follows Whitaker and Bloom playing homicide detectives on a case in Cape Town which leads them on a brutal, winding investigation of deadly drugs, nefarious science experimentation, and the remnants of a race war. Judging from this preview, there will be action and twists in large supply.

Acclaimed film composer Alexandre Desplat handles the score. After his work on, among other well-received productions, Moonrise Kingdom, Zero Dark Thirty, and Fantastic Mr. Fox, I am excited to see what he does with this.

This Pathé, M6 Films, and Lobster Film joint production has yet to receive an American release date, but check out the trailer below (again, not at the office) and keep an eye out.

Watch the trailer for Zulu:

Lee Daniels’ The Butler is a chronicling of the civil rights movement through the eyes and ears of a black butler in the White House, based on a real man, Eugene Allen, who served 7 U.S. presidents from 1952 to 1986. Daniels and screenwriter Danny Strong (Game Change) take “dramatic liberties” with Allen’s personal life here, but the events that transpire in the White House are apparently true-to-life. The film stars Forest Whitaker as the titular servant.

As a historical drama, the film fumbles; it’s a cameo-parade that reduces some of the most interesting and socially significant people in our nation’s history to diminutive sound bites and fleeting, trivial (and inaccurate) caricatures. It’s a biopic (one of my very least favorite types of films) that looks and feels familiarly “Gump-y”, but without the exhilarating sense of narrative movement or unforgettable riffs on key historical moments (Strong’s riffs are woefully unremarkable). However, if you wipe away all of the spectacle, age make-up, presidential impressions, and on-the-head historical allegories, there’s an eloquent, affecting father-son tale that miraculously breathes life into a narratively encumbered film.

The film opens in the 1920’s Deep South with a jab to the heart; a gruesome image of the very worst consequence of post-slavery mentality that I am choosing not to describe in detail here, even though the image is tasteful and vital to the story. Cecil Gaines (Michael Rainey Jr.) is a young cotton picker who enjoys spending time in the fields with his father, but when his old man gives the plantation owner the tiniest bit of lip, he’s gunned down right in front of Cecil’s eyes. The boy is promoted to house worker by the covertly sympathetic Vanessa Redgrave, and over the next few decades sharpens his skills and works his way up to being one of the most respected and beloved butlers in the White House (he’s now played by Whitaker.) The climb from dank to swank is told through uninspired montage with a few emotional nuggets sprinkled in.

Within the white walls, Cecil serves a slew of presidents that are played by loud, well-known actors that can’t be disguised by any amount of makeup you pile on. Robin Williams (as Eisenhower), Alan Rickman (as Reagan), and John Cusack (Nixon) are so miscast and awkward that they’re guaranteed to jerk you right out of the movie and even make you laugh in bewilderment. Their presence is showy and hokey and not worth your time. On the other side of the coin, there’s Live Schreiber (as Johnson) and James Marsden (as Kennedy) who actually do a great job and disappear into their roles. Still, it feels like these appearances are doubly-distracting double cameos. “And now…John Cusack as Richard Nixon! Applaud! Laugh!” Cringe.

Though Cecil’s career is going swimmingly and he’s able to provide a cushy lifestyle for his wife Gloria (Oprah Winfrey) and two sons, Charlie (Elijah Kelley) and Louis (David Oyelowo), home life isn’t so peachy. Gloria, a stay-at-home mom, grows weary and neglected as Cecil is constantly caught up with his work at the White House. Louis, however, provides the most disruptive element to the family dynamic, as he becomes actively involved with the Freedom Riders and the Black Panthers, opposing the government his daddy serves, the same government that puts food on the table and gave him the house he grew up in.

This enrages Cecil (remember, he lost his father due to a transgression that’s tiny compared to Louis’.) Louis is fighting for civil rights aggressively, tooth and nail, while Cecil is quietly subverting black stereotypes by being a humble example of a great African-American man in the most influential building on earth (this observation is highlighted ham-fistedly in a scene between Oyelowo and Nelsan Ellis, as Martin Luther King Jr.) Cecil and Louis’ violently clashing views on how to foster change in the nation splits the family in two. Their opposing philosophies finally implode their relationship in wonderfully intense family dinner scene. Watching the father and son’s paths sharply diverge and then eventually meet again on the other side (in the current time of Obama) is the film’s one true joy.

Whitaker is so good here that he’ll often fool you into thinking you’re watching a great film. His range is staggering: he can smile the warmest smile you’ll ever see and make you feel safe, or he can stab you in the chest with a venomous glare. Likewise, all the main players (in contrast to the presidential cast) put forth strong performances, from Cuba Gooding Jr. and Lenny Kravitz as Whitaker’s ribbing, chummy fellow butlers, to Winfrey, who handles her morally complex role eftly here, though her character’s arc feels somewhat superfluous.

Like I said, as a historical drama, Lee Daniels’ The Butler falls flat (though the filmmakers’ intentions are pure and good.) However, as a family drama, there’s something to it; the well-acted inter-familial relationships are undeniably effective and the moving father-son storyline unfolds elegantly. It’s a shame that the excellent central storyline gets so obstructed and mucked up by all the noise, spectacle, and pageantry (and that god-awful Cusack performance that I can’t seem to shake off. Yuck.)

Lee Daniels’ The Butler trailer