Director Alejandro Monteverde explores the subjects of war, racism, faith, and God with the grace of a bull in a china shop in Little Boy, a WWII-set, theologically tipsy melodrama. I spent most of its 105-minute runtime staring at the movie screen quizzically, trying to figure out what exactly Monteverde was trying to say with his small-town tale about a racist half-pint trying to pray his father back from the front lines. The storytelling is manipulative, bludgeoning you over the head with blunt symbolism so incessantly you’re too punch-drunk (or uninterested) to know (or care) what’s going on. At best, the film’s messaging is outdated; at worst, it’s insensitive and difficult to bear.

The story revolves around Pepper Busbee (Jakob Salvati), a 7-year-old with a stunted-growth condition that’s made him the primary target of the bullies prowling the sunny streets of his coastal home town, O’Hare, California. He finds solace and inspiration, though, in his father, James (a miscast Michael Rappaport), his “only friend.” Pepper’s got his mom, Emma (Emily Watson), and his boorish teenage older brother, London (David Henrie), but his dad is his world; they go on imaginary adventures together, fighting evil-doers and pumping each other up with the rallying cry, “Do you believe you can do this?”, which is almost as cheesy and awkwardly written as The Imitation Game‘s, “Sometimes it’s the people no one imagines anything of who do the things no one can imagine.”

As broad as Morten Tyldum’s Alan Turing tribute was, Little Boy makes that movie look like a Lars Von Trier art piece. Little Pepper embarks on a pilgrimage of faith when James gets sent to the front lines in the Japanese-occupied Philippines. A local priest, Father Oliver (Tom Wilkinson), hands him a “magical list” of good deeds the boy must complete to bring his father home, and Pepper immediately gets to work. An extra task is tacked onto the end of the list, however: Pepper must befriend Hashimoto (Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa), the universally hated Japanese-American man who lives on the edge of town. Pepper and London had trespassed on his property the night before, throwing rocks at his house as they screamed “Jap!!!” at the top of their lungs, so Father Oliver thought it best to teach the kid a lesson in acceptance.

Though the two don’t get along at first (Hashimoto is a bit of a curmudgeon and Pepper…well, Pepper greets him by saying, “Hi, Jap! I want to hang out!”), they soon find a common bond in that they’re both town outcasts, Hashimoto for his ethnicity and culture, Pepper for his diminutive stature. (It’s clear who got dealt the worse hand, but the film treats their struggles as if they were equal, because racism.) The hot-headed London disapproves of his little brother’s new friendship to say the least; when he comes home to find Hashimoto sitting at the kitchen table, eating hot dogs with his family, his gut reaction is to stick a rifle in the poor man’s nose.

One of the movie’s most uncomfortable motifs is born out of Pepper’s fanaticism for a popular traveling magician, Ben Eagle (Ben Chaplin). Eagle stops in O’Hare on his national tour and invites our tiny hero up on stage to help him with an illusion, asking him to move a glass across a table with his mind. Pepper stretches his arms out in front of him like Magneto, makes the most horrendous sound you’ve ever heard (think constipation) and…presto! The glass slides toward him, Jedi-style. He attempts the mind trick over and over again throughout the film, with the occasional contrivance making it appear (to the dimwitted townsfolk, at least) as if the boy were a miracle worker of some sort.

History spoiler: “Little Boy” is the name of the atomic bomb the United States dropped on Hiroshima in 1945. Monteverde and co-writer Pepe Portillo handle the catastrophic event in the most agonizing way possible, showing the citizens of O’Hare rejoicing in the streets as they smile and scream at Pepper, “You did it, Little Boy! You did it!” What the hell? I couldn’t believe my eyes and ears. The thought crossed my mind that someone might be playing an elaborate prank on me; I half-expected the theater lights to raise, everyone in the audience to turn their heads, point, and laugh in my face. It was a true Twilight Zone moment.

To be clear, the filmmakers don’t advocate the Hiroshima bombing (I don’t think), but that they had the nerve to use a historical event that cost the lives of 129,000 Japanese men, women and children as a plot device in the story of an American boy who misses his dad is obnoxious.

In a film about supernatural saviors, the only true saviors are Watson and Wilkinson, whose intermittent appearances act as the only gasps of breath you’ll get in this goopy vat of preachy nostalgia that’ll only appeal to aging Christians, preppy youth counselors and their little minions. Christian rock music sucks not because it’s about Christianity, but because the music sucks. That principle can be applied to Little Boy as well; its faith-based cinema that’s well-intentioned enough, but fails badly because, as a piece of cinema, it’s decidedly sub-par. In the end, that’s all that really matters.

It almost feels like Ken Scott’s Unfinished Business was originally intended to be a somber drama about a broken workaholic scrambling to glue his home and work lives back together, but then someone said, “This sh*t ain’t gonna sell! Throw some dumb jokes, boobies, dicks, and beer in there, and we’ll have a real winner on our hands, fellas!” This movie is wretched. It lacks focus, style and ambition, and not only is it the unfunniest comedy I’ve seen in recent memory (I just watched Hot Tub Time Machine 2, by the way), its strangely depressing tone totally bummed me out. (I took a sadness-induced nap when I got home from the theater. No joke.) Since the Apatow era began, Hollywood’s manufactured dozens of test-tube movies designed to plunder the pockets of dim-witted dude-bros, but Conrad’s film may be the most defective piece of junk to slide down the assembly line yet.

The film’s premise is laid out in the first five minutes, with businessman Dan Truckman (Vince Vaughn) being slapped with a five percent pay cut by his boss, Chuck (Sienna Miller), as a reward for working so hard he hasn’t eaten in three days or had time to spend with his family. (The film’s explanation of exactly what kind of business they’re involved in is cursory at best; they deal in goods of some sort and shake hands with other suits, but that’s pretty much all we know.) In a strangely blasé act of defiance, Dan quits on the spot, telling his co-workers to walk out the door with him if they want to join him in his exciting new venture. Cut to Dan walking out the door and into the parking lot…alone.

But by some fluke, he actually ends up finding two partners before he reaches his car: Tim McWinters (Tom Wilkinson), an elderly horn-dog, and Mike Pancake (Dave Franco), a meek, ebullient young man who may or may not be mentally challenged. Old-timer Tim is carrying a box of office supplies because he’s just been let go due to his age. Mike’s also carrying a box of office supplies, not because he’s been let go, but because he had a job interview that day and wanted to “look confident”. For better or for worse, these two dumbos complete Dan’s underdog squad. Flash forward a year later, and the three amigos are flying to Portland, Maine to close their first deal, a real game-changer (something to do with a product made of leftover metal called “swarf”). Just as Dan’s gearing up to seal the lucrative deal with the all-important “handshake,” his nemesis Chuck swoops in and threatens to trump Dan once and for all. Not willing to lose to his former company and boss, Dan flies with the boys to Germany to meet with the man at the head of the business of which they’re pursuing partnership.

Dan is a tragically deflated version of the smart-talking, chauvinist cool-guys Vaughn’s played in the past. While the Wedding Crashers star isn’t exactly known for his range, you can always count on him to at least bring a bit of energy and spunk to the table. He’s a good actor, and with his charm and large frame always fits nicely into leadership roles. (How many times have we seen him give motivational, “We can f*cking do this, guys!” speeches in ensemble comedies?) In this movie, though, he’s incredibly mopey and unenthused, his every line sounding half-hearted to indifferent. Vaughn is a shell of himself, leaving everything appealing about him at the door.

Making the movie even dumpier is a secondary plot involving Dan trying (and failing) to be a good dad and husband via phone and Facetime. While he’s in Germany partying and drinking like a fool, his son’s getting bullied at school for being fat, and his daughter gets caught on camera “beating the sh*t” out of an Indian girl in the cafeteria. Despite Dan’s negligence, his wife (June Diane Raphael) is unusually forgiving, even being so generous as to hit him up for phone sex while their children are probably crying themselves to sleep in their bedrooms. It all feels very off-putting and sour, and I can’t imagine the film would have suffered had Dan’s family been cut from the picture altogether.

Believe it or not, I did enjoy one aspect of the movie. Franco is exceedingly fun to watch; his hilarious malapropisms and winning childishness make him feel like a quieter, more lovable take on Charlie from “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.” The youngest adult actor in the film, Franco overachieves and manages to elicit some smiles in an otherwise dismal affair. Raphael and Wilkinson are criminally underused, as are Nick Frost and James Marsden, who play the good and evil employees of the sought-after business, respectively. There isn’t much room for their characters to do much because most of the movie is spent following Vaughn as he hangs his head and drags his feet through terrible sight gags and party scenes that feel swept up from the cutting room floor of The Hangover. My brain melts a little every time I have to watch a slow-mo montage of late-night debauchery and drink-spilling, but alas, such is the fashion in comedies these days.

Beyond the fact that it’s laugh-less, unoriginal, and bland, there’s a deeper problem with Unfinished Business. Had it been played as a straight drama, it actually might have been pretty good. There are little golden doors of opportunity throughout the film where, had Scott pushed through them, real emotion might have been found on the other side. Instead, we see Franco fall face-first into a flaccid dick hanging out of a glory hole. ‘Nuff said.

Ava DuVernay’s Selma, about Martin Luther King Jr.’s organization of three marches from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama in 1965 (protests that led to the Voting Rights Act), was produced for about $20 million. The film was privately funded (it was picked up for distribution by Paramount following completion) and that meant DuVernay had artistic autonomy, but it also meant that she didn’t have the dough to buy the rights to King’s famous speeches. For those expecting Selma to be a biopic about a legendary leader (it’s not), this may seem like a critical omission, but the absence of the speeches ends up being one of the film’s biggest boons; this is a story not about a great man’s famous sound bites, but about a flawed man, the burdens of greatness, and the scars they left on his mind, body, and heart.

Selma‘s a focused film that covers a pivotal moment in American history (about 90 days), with no flashbacks to King’s upbringing or the march on Washington. The story’s concern is Selma, and what King did there. The pertinence of the film to the issues of today is undeniable, and is most evident in its most horrific sequence, in which we’re shown the gory results of the March 7, 1965 march. The march ends in a sickening bloodbath as we see white police officers savagely brutalize King’s protesters without mercy. While the imagery is rightly appalling and explicit, it isn’t the most disturbing thing about the film: What’s most disturbing about Selma is how relevant today, in 2015, in light of current events, the image of a white “protector” murdering an unarmed black man is. It’s been 50 years. That’s the most disturbing thing. It’s not the most interesting thing about the film, though.

What’s most interesting is that the film is a human history lesson, not a mythical one. Prolific English actor David Oyelowo takes a more grounded, sensible approach to playing King than anyone could have expected. His King is a man of intense focus and imperfect ego. Jealous. Neglectful. You expect him to channel the commanding presence and oratory prowess of King, and to be sure, on that front he delivers: He makes the speakers rumble when on the podium or pulpit, mobilizing large crowds to take a stand. It’s thrilling to watch, and he sounds just like King, and it’s all very, very impressive. But the real key to Oyelowo’s performance is when his mouth is shut; that’s when you’ll quiver.

The best scene is an uncomfortable domestic impasse. After listening to a surveillance recording that’s supposed evidence of her husband’s infidelity, Coretta King (a strong Carmen Ejogo) launches a low, slow, burning set of yes-or-no questions at King (concerning his mistresses), who looks puny sitting in a chair as she towers over him. Having Coretta impose her will by commanding her husband, one of the greatest speakers in history, to answer yes-or-no questions, is brilliant. He looks weak, and bruised. In a later scene, Coretta visits King while he’s behind bars after being arrested following a public protest. She mentions that she’s met with Malcolm X, who’s willing to give King his support. He’s hurt upon learning his wife met with his rival, and even dares to suggest that she’s infatuated. It’s these moments of sheer vulnerability, off the front lines, that honor King’s life like no history book or documentary ever could. It’s a thoughtful perspective. To truly appreciate his accomplishments, we must remember that King breathed and bled and hurt like all of us, and yet still did all the things he did. He was strong, not invincible.

In the film’s first incarnation, which was written by Paul Webb and was to be directed by Lee Daniels (who eventually passed the project up to do The Butler), the story centered heavily on King’s negotiations with President Lyndon B. Johnson. When DuVernay was brought on to direct in 2013, however, she revised the script (with Webb, who stayed on as penner), shifting its focus significantly, concentrating more on King’s organizing in Selma. LBJ is still in the movie (Tom Wilkinson plays him very well), but his presence is limited and is clearly de-emphasized from the original script. DuVernay makes it crystal clear that the President is no white savior (he’s mostly utilized as a force of opposition), though the film has come under criticism for allegedly misrepresenting LBJ’s level of cooperation with King on the Voting Rights Act.

Also in the film as government officials are Tim Roth, as AL Gov. George Wallace, and Dylan Baker, as J. Edgar Hoover. Their malevolence feels largely overplayed, and though Roth’s turns as weaselly heels are always fun, he and Baker (who’s not nearly as good) feel like they’re in a separate film. Oprah Winfrey, Common, Martin Sheen, and Cuba Gooding Jr. also play supporting roles, with Winfrey making the biggest impression as a Annie Lee Cooper, a woman fighting tooth and nail for her right to vote as an American citizen (she was also a producer on the film).

Selma is a phenomenal movie when it operates as a character study, showing us King having one-on-one conversations with different people around him, revealing layers of his personality in a nuanced, elegant way. When the film zooms out however, as in the big marching scenes or the handful of times King takes the pulpit, the film loosens its grip and becomes a less rich, less grounded affair. Whiffs of “prestige picture” arise now and again (especially near the film’s close), but Oyelowo does all he can to maintain the film’s sense of immediacy. There’s an emphasis on chronicling King’s perceptive maneuverings and strategies when orchestrating the marches, but these sections ultimately feel like detours on the more compelling, emotional journey of getting to know the man behind the scenes.

Like I mentioned earlier, we hear none of the famous speeches. DuVernay wrote new speeches in their stead, and remarkably, they sound 100% in accordance with King’s voice and philosophy. (To be fair, I’m no MLK historian, but for what it’s worth it was totally believable to me that he wrote these things.) Because they’re tailor-made, the new lectures and sermons fit into the film’s larger narrative much better than the original speeches would have, and in fact, had the original speeches made it in, they probably would have pushed the film into the realm of hagiography in earnest.

DuVernay proves that she’s a terrific director, especially when it comes to collaborating with her actors. Oyelowo, a young veteran, has his proudest outing as an actor here, and we miss him every moment he’s not on-screen. Like Steve McQueen’s 12 Years a Slave, Selma‘s cultural significance is critical and will inevitably permeate all conversations about the film. As a reviewer, I must stress that its cinematic value speaks for itself, even when you swipe away the context of today’s struggles.

Partway through The Grand Budapest Hotel, there’s an argument between Dmitri (Adrien Brody, looking brilliantly evil) and his deceased mother’s lawyer (Jeff Goldblum). The lawyer refuses to hand the dead woman’s fortune over to her son as the details of her murder haven’t been cleared up. Dmitri angrily leaves, and his henchman (Willem Dafoe) casually tosses the lawyer’s cat out of a window on his way out. It’s a cruel act, and a funny visual gag, until the lawyer peers out his window and the camera cuts to his cat’s splattered body below.

Writer/director Wes Anderson uses these shock moments of sudden violence more than once throughout the film. The dead woman (Tilda Swinton, unrecognizable with pounds of old age makeup) is Madame D., an old rich countess who frequented the titular hotel. Located in the mountains of the Republic of Zubrowka, a made up European nation, the hotel is a gorgeous and highly popular establishment. Gustave H. (Ralph Fiennes) is the hotel’s concierge, a charming man who was also taking Madame D. to bed during her visits (one of Gustave’s many duties as concierge included sexually satisfying the rich old ladies who visited). When it’s revealed that she put Gustave in her will as the recipient of a priceless painting, Madame D.’s family frames him for her murder.

Gustave receives help from Zero Moustafa (Tony Revolori), a young lobby boy that Gustave has taken a shine to. The story, taking place in 1932 during some unnamed war ravaging the country, is narrated to us by an older Moustafa (F. Murray Abraham) in the 1960s. He’s telling his tale to a young author (Jude Law) over dinner at the hotel, now well past its glory days. Law narrates the 1960s segments, which are actually from a novel being read to viewers in the 1980s by (presumably) a now much-older author (Tom Wilkinson). The nesting-doll structure may seem frivolous, but Wes Anderson’s films thrive on frivolity.

The multi-layered narrative also establishes Anderson’s attempts to comment on memory and nostalgia. Moustafa’s story in the 1930s, shot gorgeously in 1.33:1, is stylistically Anderson’s best work to date. The set design, meticulous framing, whip pans, quick zooms, and use of animation and miniatures, among Anderson’s other visual trademarks, operate at a level that more than matches his story’s large scale. Anderson and cinematographer Robert D. Yeoman are clearly having a field day, and it shows. The charming style also shows Moustafa’s nostalgia for this period of his life, as if these “good ol’ days” represent something that’s never to return.

Anderson is aware of how dangerous this way of looking at the past with rose-coloured glasses is, which is why he throws in scenes like the one with Goldblum’s cat. He is purposely breaking the spell his film casts, reminding viewers that the time period was still a tumultuous one. The hotel is not so much a shining example of long-lost civility and politeness as it is an escape from the harsh realities of wartime and poverty. These two worlds of fantasy and reality eventually come together, but through Anderson’s lens the stylistic flourishes still remain. The final scene of the ‘30s timeline, also the bleakest part of Moustafa’s story, switches to black and white, showing how Anderson still finds a way to fill his heavier moments with aesthetic quirks.

While Anderson’s toying with memory and nostalgia is interesting, it fails to make any impact to the film overall. The handling of violence makes for an awkward juxtaposition, one that’s more admirable in its intent than execution (I never thought I’d say this, but Anderson should take some tips from Quentin Tarantino in this area). The war going on in the film’s background is wiped of any details, save for some vague allusions to the SS. The obscuring of these elements only muddy the water, and the dense plotting of Anderson’s screenplay make his thematic points get swallowed up by the film’s aesthetics.

Not that the aesthetics are a bad thing; The Grand Budapest Hotel is still a treat to watch. Fiennes is perfect as Gustave, and Anderson’s script is filled with plenty of hilarious moments. The massive ensemble, where seemingly every role is filled with a well-known actor (supporting cast includes Edward Norton, Harvey Keitel, Saorise Ronan, Jason Schwartzman and Owen Wilson just to name a few), work together perfectly. While The Grand Budapest Hotel works well, it only does up to a certain point. What the film amounts to is nothing more than a well-done and admirable piece of fluff.

The Grand Budapest Hotel trailer

I will begin by saying, this is a must see film; an absolute must see film. If you’re confused by my recommendation on your first viewing of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, then watch it again, but this time – really see it. Follow every line, and understand every visual, take it all in and let the film run away with your mind. Eternal Sunshine is without a doubt an extremely polished film that delivers on all fronts; it ticks all the boxes.

The storyline is complex and totally far fetched, but is utterly unique and something very beautiful. Joel Parish (Jim Carrey) is an ordinary guy with an ordinary existence. When we’re first introduced to his character he starts the day off with the aim of going to work, but whilst waiting for the train, something out of the ordinary happens to Joel; he runs across the platform and jumps on a train to Montauk – a completely spontaneous act. Whilst Joel walks across Montauk beach he sees a girl with an orange sweatshirt on, also walking along the sand. Clementine Kruczynski (Kate Winslet) introduces herself on the train and that is where their story begins or so you would believe.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is anything but ordinary. The film takes you down so many different visual paths that you find it difficult to place each scene. You find yourself understanding Joel’s anger towards what has happened in his life but you also feel the pain of his past when he’s confronted by his memories. Early on Joel decides to undergo a ‘new-age’ therapy that will eliminate all the memories that cause him pain and betrayal he felt during his relationship with Clementine; we find out soon enough that he regrets this decision.

Clementine is a character that can be defined by her own words “Too many guys think I’m a concept, or I complete them, or I’m gonna make them alive. But I’m just a fucked-up girl who’s lookin’ for my own peace of mind; don’t assign me yours.” This speech she gives to Joel is one of the most realistic and direct definition of what women like Clementine are portrayed as through film. She doesn’t pretend to be another ‘Ruby Sparks’ or ‘Allison’ (from Yes Man! also starring Jim Carrey) – she isn’t the girl that breathes life back into the empty chests of men without colour or direction to the world they live in. Clementine is simply a girl who makes mistakes and is looking for some direction of her own.

Opposites surely do attract in Eternal Sunshine. Joel is “boring” and Clementine, “impulsive” – quite a clash in terms of the chemistry within a relationship. Due to their conflicting personalities, harsh realisations are made apparent and the couple are left to deal with the emotions that are brought to the surface. During the course of the film we get to see both sides of their relationship through various memories Joel is reliving. Through this we get to see the good, the bad and the downright ugly; yet when their relationship is good, it’s beautiful. A memorable scene that demonstrates this is when Clementine describes a deep rooted childhood memory to Joel, from where she first decided she was ugly; Joel begins kissing her and tells her she’s pretty over and over again until they fade into a new memory. With fantastic use of cinematography, the director (Michel Gondry) and the DOP (Ellen Kuras) produced phenomenal shots and scenes (including the one just described) by using light, colour and intense intimacy between the subjects, they bought to life the powerful emotion of each memory. This is outstanding filmmaking.

This said, I must also give credit to Carrey and Winslet for their performances as both were out of their comfort zones. Carrey, more known for his humour and comedic roles and Winslet for her super serious Britishness – both delivered fresh and very realistic portrayals of what two people in a dysfunctional relationship are like and how they survive through the love and understanding they share for one and other. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is a breath of fresh air when it comes to on screen romance and I rate it highly among the films I adore.

The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel is a film about adapting to new circumstances and learning to trust from the most unexpected places. Converted into a screenplay by Ol Parker based on the novel These Foolish Things by Deborah Moggach, comes a film about elderly British citizens who are about to embark on journey that will expand their horizons.

Each with their own reason, a several British senior citizens decide to spend some of their retirement time in India. We are introduced to each of them separately because they do not yet know one other. However, together they sit next to one another in the airport as they await their flight to India. The one thing most of them share in common is that they all seem to have some level of racism.

Evelyn (Judi Dench) is going in hopes to start her life over. Graham (Tom Wilkinson) is going back to resolve an issue he had there from his youth. Couple Douglas (Bill Nighy) and Jean (Penelope Wilton) are looking to save money after losing much of their retirement savings. Muriel (Maggie Smith) is on an experimental medical program where surgery takes place in India. Norman (Ronald Pickup) is a on the prowl to pick up woman (preferably half his age) to feel young again and Madge (Celia Imrie) is seeking a rich man to take care of her.

When they arrive at the hotel it is suddenly apparent that the advertisements for The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel were a little misleading. It was promised to be a beautiful luxurious hotel when in reality it is a major work-in-progress that is infested with cockroaches and birds. The owner of the hotel is the kind and ambitious young entrepreneur Sonny (Dev Patel) who inherited the failing hotel from his father.

Most of the group is completely overwhelmed by the vast amount of people and how difficult the culture is in India. One describes it like a wave; only if you resist it will it knock you over. While other struggle in various amounts, the exception in the group is Graham. He is confident and understanding of the culture because he grew up there.

While the whole cast is noteworthy, Judi Dench and Tom Wilkinson steal the show. Both deliver performances that are charming. Though the purpose of Dev Patel’s character tries to play the jack of all trades but focuses on comic relief he comes off as over-the-top.

Director John Madden not only received a lot of help from the cast but also the location of the film. Lots of vibrant and contrasting colors pop off the screen to represent India. Overcrowded streets with tiny vehicles zooming by also helps surround the viewer in the exotic setting. The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel is simply gorgeous to look at.

The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel does not do much heavy-lifting but rather lets the veteran cast carry the film. It is an incredibly easy film to watch because it is mostly cheerful and uplifting. But it is also very safe so it plays out just exactly how you would expect it to. For these reasons it is easy to see why it is a hit for the targeted audience but it falls short of something spectacular.

The Samaritan is something of an enigma to me. I honestly wasn’t expecting too much from the film as the previews really didn’t intrigue me too much. The film starts out with some promise and along with the casting choices (Tom Wilkinson and Samuel L. Jackson are two major players), I start thinking that this could actually be something worthwhile. For a while, it actually is. The Samaritan begins with a bang. Literally. The first scene has Jackson pointing a gun at a man’s head. The man begs for his life. It doesn’t work.

The film starts out with our hero, Foley (Samuel L. Jackson) who is getting out of prison after twenty plus years. Foley was a grifter and plans on starting over. He wants nothing to do with his former life. Grifting to me is a fascinating lifestyle. Your life revolves around conning people out of money. When I was younger I used to have these film noir fantasies that I, along with others, would travel the country planning elaborate cons. The great thing about being a grifter, other than the potentially vast amounts of money you could amass, is that you can essentially be who you aren’t. You got to make up biographies and be someone that you weren’t.

So Foley is now out of prison and ready to start over. He meets his parole officer and he tells Foley what every parole officer in every other movie tells him. You make one mistake you’re going back in. Foley already has no intention of going back. He is given a job at a construction site, one which he hates but takes it because anything is better than prison.

Foley spends his nights at bars drinking his ugly memories away. I experienced this first hand years ago when I worked a construction job. I myself never really hit the bars after work, but knew many who did. It’s an ugly lifestyle, although Foley has plenty more to drink about than any of my coworkers did. On one of these late nights Foley runs into a man who brings back some dark moments in his life. The man is Ethan. We find out that Ethan is the son of Foley’s ex-grifting partner. Oh yeah, he’s also the son of the man who is shot in the opening scene. Ethan doesn’t want revenge, but he does believe Foley owes him a favor. Ethan wants one more job out of Foley that will make them both rich.

Ethan insists Foley joins him at a nightclub one night. Ethan half owns the night club with another man who is a ruthless. His name is Xavier (Tom Wilkinson). Our first scene with Xavier has him shoving a broken Champaign bottle into a man’s face repeatedly. Even more relevant during this nightclub visit, Foley is offered a young woman for the night by Ethan. He declines the offer, even insulted by it.

On one of these dark and depressing nights at his favorite spot, Foley sips on his drink when all of a sudden the young woman offered to him previously walks in with a man who is heavily intoxicated. They drink more through the night and eventually make their way into the bathroom where the man tries to rape the woman. Her name is Iris. Foley comes in to save the day and now the woman is actually smitten with him.

This starts an actual very sweet part of the film. Iris and Foley begin a legitimate relationship, one that benefits them both. Foley fresh out of prison has something real to cling on to, someone who will seemingly take him away from his past. Iris a young woman addicted to drugs and is in the wrong business as a prostitute, now she has a man who genuinely loves her and not because he’s paying for it. But remember in film noir, nothing or no one is ever what they seem. There is always a dark current that runs under what is visible. The Samaritan is no different, bad things are coming.

What happens next will not be described here. The film actually has some pretty interesting twists and turns. One of them, I had no clue was coming and the handling of it is pitch perfect. What I enjoyed mostly about The Samaritan was how much the film depends on characters and their choices and not by having to fill the plot of a movie. These people make their own choices based on who they are and their wants and needs.

What makes Samaritan interesting is that it really doesn’t have a plot. It’s more or less a character study that just unfolds for 90 minutes. For the first hour of the film you just watch these characters as they are basically trying to get by, it’s not until the hour mark when something really galvanizes the movie to something remotely close to a plot. I actually kind of liked that.

One thing I’ve always struggled with film noirs is how they keep the viewers at a distance from their characters. Most characters in film noirs are bad people with bright spots. The Samaritan is no different. I’ve always found it hard to root for people when the film keeps you far from them. The film does a good job of letting you get close to a couple, but others that are important you’re left wondering why you should care for them.

What’s really unfortunate about the film is how routine it becomes. As a film noir you know certain things have to happen in order for the plot to succeed. The last 15-20 minutes of the film goes down the same old road most film noirs have gone before. It’s too bad because The Samaritan actually showed some real promise by dancing to its own tune. It’s too bad that tune becomes the same old song and dance. It’s is a miss, but not by much