movie reviews by PvtCaboose91

"Where is he? Leslie Chow stole twenty million from me, and I figure the Wolf Pack have the best chance of finding him! Doug is my insurance!"

Billed as the final entry in the Hangover franchise (though the box office will likely dictate further pictures), 2013's The Hangover Part III is another sequel that fails to live up to the hit film that spawned it. Although there is a certain hate train for 2009's The Hangover all these years later, it holds up in this reviewer's eyes; it's a riotously funny and refreshing R-rated comedy with high replay value. And now, four years on, Part III is a slight step in the right direction following 2011's disappointing part deux, and it does deliver a few quality gags throughout, but it's underwhelming as a whole. Ultimately coming up short in terms of laughs, Part III crosses the line too often, becoming pointlessly black and cruel, whereas the 2009 film supplied heart and a good-natured spirit.

42-year-old man-child Alan (Zach Galifianakis) has hit a rough patch. Still living at home with no job prospects and no girlfriend, he also becomes tabloid fodder following a freeway accident, and his father (Jeffrey Tambor) dies from a heart attack. An intervention is set up involving his mother (Sondra Currie), brother-in-law Doug (Justin Bartha), sister Tracy (Sasha Barrese), and pals Phil (Bradley Cooper) and Stu (Ed Helms), looking to convince Alan to agree to rehab. En route to the clinic, Alan and his Wolf Pack are attacked by crime lord Marshall (John Goodman), who kidnaps Doug as a bargaining chip while he sends the rest of the boys to track down recent prison escapee Mr. Chow (Ken Jeong). It turns out that Chow ripped off Marshall to the tune of $21 million, and now he wants to exact revenge on the cocaine-crazed Chinese gangster.

Part II was justly criticised for rehashing practically every narrative beat of its predecessor, and it seems Phillips took such criticisms to heart while embarking on this second sequel. Thus, Part III heads in a whole new direction, only retaining the conceit of Alan, Phil and Stu setting off together on a mission, thus smartly avoiding the blackout gimmick of the previous films. In fact, there's no hangover here at all, and only minimal drinking; the hangover of the title actually refers to the events of the original film, as Part III is intrinsically tied to the 2009 picture, bringing back a few characters and even delving further into the life of Black Doug (Mike Epps). It's fun to check in with a few returning characters, including the infamous baby from the original film who's now walking and talking. Black Doug, though, is pretty much betrayed to his very core here, going from an amusing presence to a nasty prick without appropriate motivation.

The Hangover was almost line-by-line hilarious, with belly laughs in every scene. The screenplay was genuinely witty, and Phillips and the actors only made it funnier. Part III fails to live up to this. The script (by Phillips and Part II writer Craig Mazin) makes things less fun and more callous. In fact, it's a needlessly dark movie that is only sporadically funny, focusing less on laughs and more on the adventure. I understand the need to do something different after Part II, but the execution is lacking; although it's skillfully assembled with first-rate technical specs, Phillips rarely overcomes the lacklustre script. The first film was a string of hilarious and memorable set pieces - Alan's speech on the rooftop, the scenes with the cops, Chow emerging from the boot - but Part III cannot compete. Although some moments work, others are less successful, including the sight of a chicken being smothered with a pillow, which is far less amusing than it sounds. Added to this, the pacing is a little awkward at times; it stops and starts, seldom maintaining much momentum.

Alan was Galifianakis' breakout role back in '09, as it was a genuinely iconic performance. Alan was dumb but endearing, and Galifianakis played the part to perfection, turning a potentially one-dimensional role into a brilliant comedic force and a surprisingly believable moron. Here, Alan is more of an arsehole than a charming idiot, and his stupidity often feels forced. One does not feel as inclined to hang out with this guy anymore, and that's a problem. Alongside him, Helms and Cooper still do not have a great deal to do beyond leaning on their usual shtick. They're still solid in their roles, but there's not much for them to chew on. Meanwhile, Bartha, as usual, has absolutely nothing to do. It's disappointing that he yet again spends most of the movie out of the picture; it would've been nice to see him actually join the Wolf Pack at long last. More successful, though, is the supporting cast. Jeong scores several laughs as Chow, while Goodman sinks his teeth into his antagonist role. But it's Melissa McCarthy who steals the film. McCarthy is only in a handful of scenes, but she gives the movie a spark of life, and her interplay with Galifianakis is outstanding. Less memorable, though, is Heather Graham, who returns for one scene simply to help with some exposition.

Like its immediate predecessor, The Hangover Part III works in pieces rather than as a whole. While it remains watchable and does some interesting things with the characters, it only occasionally displays the type of charm and creativity we saw in the original film. The Hangover now feels analogous to The Matrix; the first film was strong, earning insane box office receipts and unexpected critical praise, but the follow-ups feel unnecessary and disposable. Unfussy Hangover fans will still have some fun with Part III, but it isn't essential viewing for casual movie-goers. Oh, and stick around for an extra scene a few minutes into the credits.

6.3/10

"What if I made arrests for him?"

If you come to 2013's Snitch expecting a fun action fiesta that makes good use of Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson's brand of charisma and machismo, this picture will disappoint. The marketing is a tad misleading, as this is more of a father-son crime drama, more concerned with family dramatics than big pyrotechnics. It's a tempting offer, but the execution is lacklustre despite solid production values, with stuntman-turned-director Ric Roman Waugh unsuitable for outright drama while The Rock is ill-suited for the role of an Average Joe. Snitch actually opens with the "Based on a true story" caption, though we've grown to take such claims with a massive grain of salt.

Agreeing to receive a delivery of ecstasy, 18-year-old Jason (Rafi Gavron) is promptly arrested and sent to prison, awaiting sentencing that could result in the college-bound lad being locked up for a decade. Jason refuses to be a snitch to get his sentence reduced, so his estranged father, John (Johnson), cuts a deal with federal prosecutor Joanne Keegan (Susan Sarandon). If John goes undercover and aids in the arrest of a drug dealer, Jason will face less prison time. With the help of ex-con Daniel (The Walking Dead's Jon Bernthal), John finds himself becoming involved with local crime lord Malik (The Wire's Michael K. Williams). John proves his worth by transporting drugs, and impresses major drug kingpin El Topo (Benjamin Bratt). As the stakes continue to increase, DEA Agent Cooper (Barry Pepper) grows wary of the outcome.

Snitch wants to be a dense crime picture like The Departed but lacks the sophistication to make it soar. The story is painted in broad strokes of black and white, with the good guys all noble while the drug traffickers are pure cartoons. It should have grit and surprise, with this grimy, drug-fuelled world full of horrific details and devious players. Instead, Snitch is a simplified television movie. It also uses several familiar action movie clichés, with unrealistically streamlined politics (it ends too abruptly and easily) and preposterous moments (it turns out Everyman John is a great driver and a decent marksman who can outsmart drug cartels and the DEA). This type of stuff is fine and forgivable in action films since they're fun and are not meant to be taken seriously, but such tosh in an agenda-oriented drama is hard to swallow. Snitch is an action film without the mindless fun and a message movie without the depth.

Admittedly, the look of Snitch is commendable, portraying this unsavoury world with unrelenting grimness. But the cinematography is extremely poor, leaning too hard on irritating shaky-cam and camera placements far too close to the action. It honestly feels like the picture has been zoomed in after the fact at times, and the cameramen keep suffering epileptic fits even while filming small dialogue moments. More bothersome is the pursuit of a PG-13 rating, which detracts a crucial sense of threat and makes this world less gruesome than it should be. Snitch's plot required a tougher treatment to make it work. As it is, it's generic and bland. Still, some moments work, including a pretty impressive finale. The technical contributions are also solid for the most part, except for the nauseating camerawork.

By putting Johnson in a dramatic role, the filmmakers were not playing to the actor's strengths. He's a movie star and a distinguished screen presence rather than a nuanced performer, and he makes sense as a hulking mass of muscle who kicks ass and takes names. Here, he does exude a degree of charisma, and he seems committed enough to the material, but he's not believable, especially when a few street punks manage to beat him to the ground with zero effort. The rest of the cast is decent, though. Sarandon is particularly good due to how hammy she is, rendering her scenes some of the most entertaining in the picture.

As Waugh closes the film, he condemns the first-offence prison sentences in the United States but doesn't specify who we are supposed to be angry with. The laws? The policy makers? The federal prosecutors? The judges? The parents? Or the idiotic kid who decides to accept a massive bag of drugs in his mother's home and sign for the package using his real name? Snitch wants to deliver a profound message amid its dramatics, yet it doesn't possess the complexity to register as anything more than meaningless entertainment. And as meaningless entertainment, the film comes up short due to how solemn it is.

5.4/10

Lost in La Mancha is one of the most painful documentaries on the subject of filmmaking, yet it's also a brilliant and spellbinding examination of the motion picture process. The documentary concentrates on Terry Gilliam, a member of the Monty Python troupe who dabbles in directing and animation. Outside of his Python involvement, Gilliam directed such offbeat gems as Time Bandits, 12 Monkeys, The Adventures of Baron Munchausen and his masterpiece, Brazil. But the thing about Gilliam is that he's an artist and a perfectionist, and he's notorious for encountering troubles and setbacks while making his highly visionary auteur films. Directed by Keith Fulton and Louis Pepe, 2002's Lost in La Mancha is an intimate look at Gilliam's creative process on a doomed project.

For years, Gilliam dreamed of creating his own cinematic incarnation of The Man Who Killed Don Quixote, and this documentary chronicles his attempt to finally achieve that vision. In the summer of 2000, Gilliam was ready to start shooting in Spain, but from the beginning, troubles were rampant, and there were echoes of Gilliam's troublesome endeavour to make The Adventures of Baron Munchausen back in the 1980s. He lands $32 million from European investors to budget The Man Who Killed Don Quixote, but that is only half of what a film of such scale would typically cost. Due to this, the production had to proceed without a hitch on meagre resources to make the film work. Unfortunately, it's a failure from the get-go, with troubled weather delaying shooting and the actors not arriving in time to accommodate proper rehearsals. The leading actor of the film, Jean Rochefort, suffers ailing health from the beginning, becoming so overwhelmed with pain that he can no longer ride a horse. Rochefort is hospitalised, and his absence is perpetually prolonged. Planes also fly overhead during the shooting of one scene, destroying the production audio and deafening the performers. It keeps getting worse and worse from there.

Fulton and Pepe intended to make a television documentary about the development and production of Gilliam's passion project, and in the process, they captured several turbulent events on camera. Hence, Lost in La Mancha is not a post-mortem dissection consisting mainly of interviews; instead, it's primarily fly-on-the-wall footage of production meetings, rehearsals, conversations between cast and crew, on-set activities, and, ultimately, behind-the-scenes havoc when the project degenerates into every director's worst nightmare. It's also interesting to see Johnny Depp here, completely candid and natural. Furthermore, Lost in La Mancha highlights the irony of the whole enterprise. You see, Don Quixote is a notoriously cursed character to bring to the screen. Even Orson Welles continually tried to make a Don Quixote movie over several decades, but the filmmaker failed to complete the project before his death.

Lost in La Mancha is a brutally honest documentary piece that takes us behind the curtain and gives us unparalleled insight into this condemned production. Having spent time on film sets, I can say that this represents the most candid depiction of the stresses and exhilarations of being on-set, even emphasising the importance of one of the greatest unsung heroes of the business: the first assistant director (in this case, Gilliam's right-hand man Phil Patterson). Lost in La Mancha refuses to sugar-coat anything - as a matter of fact, many moments are extremely confronting. We see Gilliam's temper flare constantly, and it's heart-wrenching to witness the frank conversations that lead to the conclusion to scrap the picture. We even get a penetrating shot of Gilliam looking over footage after production has shut down, his face affected by disappointment and depression. If there's anything to criticise about this documentary, it's the brisk length. Lost in La Mancha clocks in at around 90 minutes, which frankly seems too short. The ending, in particular, seems a tad rushed, and it feels like more could have been done.

What's remarkable about Lost in La Mancha is its ability to underscore exactly why filmmakers love what they do while conveying that film sets can be both mundane and frustrating. This is a fascinating and highly captivating documentary, leaving me curious about what Gilliam's movie might have looked like. We see snippets of the footage that was shot and glimpses of the costume and props department, not to mention storyboards and script pages. It looks as if this would've been another wildly creative and quirky Gilliam gem. (Gilliam would eventually make The Man Who Killed Don Quixote many years later but with a different cast.) For film buffs and Gilliam fans, Lost in La Mancha is a must-see.

8.3/10

"I'm starting to think this is the most spiritual place I've ever been."

Spring Breakers represents the exact type of audacious cinematic vision that we do not see enough of in the 21st Century. It's a uniquely breathtaking experience from director Harmony Korine, one of the finest movies you will see this year and undoubtedly the most polarising. The rather limp box office performance is unsurprising, as Spring Breakers will not appeal to all viewers. Some will hate the flick, perceiving it as a flashy gimmick since it features former Disney stars in risqué roles. Others will simply see it as empty, hedonistic exploitation, unable (or unwilling) to pierce the dense veneer of gaudy depravity on the surface to see the real film underneath. Korine's film is an uncompromising snapshot of our modern culture, capturing and even critiquing the allure of a modern spring break excursion while presenting an unpredictable story that veers into dark territory. It's a culture-defining film, and it almost defies explanation.

Bored out of their minds at college, friends Candy (Vanessa Hudgens), Cotty (Rachel Korine) and Brit (Ashley Benson) yearn to join the spring break festivities in Florida and hope to bring along their Christian classmate, Faith (Selena Gomez), for the ride. Lacking the necessary funds to travel, the girls rob a local chicken shop with water pistols and hammers to acquire cash, and soon, they're en route to Florida for the best week of their lives. The four ladies are eventually arrested for drug possession, but they're unexpectedly bailed out by drug-dealing thug Alien (James Franco), who aspires to become King of Florida. Alien takes the girls under his wing, seeking to make the young ladies part of his harem.

The narrative more or less plays out like an extended music video montage; Korine fills the screen with a kaleidoscope of colours and images, often disregarding coherency as scenes and events blur into one another. There is not much of an underlying plot here, and there's a certain aimlessness to the proceedings, yet Korine never lets the picture out of his control, refusing to let it transform into a meandering mess. The filmmaker has the good sense to keep Spring Breakers trim and tight, with the door closing at around the 90-minute mark before the assortment of hallucinatory visuals outstays its welcome. Indeed, there are very few dead spots throughout the feature, as it maintains its energy and continues to display heightened creativity. If a less dexterous director were in the driving seat, the film would grow tedious after the first five minutes.

Spring Breakers especially comes to life during the party sequences, when Korine's camera hypnotically swirls around to capture the dubstep-fuelled insanity of hot youths consuming alcohol and drugs. For a while, Korine provides a rowdy, context-free walking tour through the types of insane debauchery that run rampant during spring break, which is enthralling to watch. The technical specs are first-rate, with the energetic cinematography by Benoît Debie (shooting on 35mm film) and the propulsive score by Cliff Martinez and dubstep outfit Skrillex creating pure audio-visual poetry. When Alien arrives about 40 minutes into the show, Spring Breakers becomes darker and more frenetic as the wannabe rapper gives the girls access to the real party. At first, it looks as if Korine will travel down a clichéd route and eventually reveal Alien as a scheming, murderous predator, making the girls realise they should've listened to their mothers. But Spring Breakers is too intelligent for that, and what follows is wholly unexpected.

Franco abandons his usual slacker persona entirely here to disappear into the role of Alien, and it's a performance that will change people's overall impression of the actor. It's an astonishingly well-judged turn from Franco, the type that steals scenes and earns Oscars. Who knew Franco had such acting gusto within him? Spring Breakers has been especially provocative because it features former Disney Channel girls in grown-up roles. Indeed, we get to see Selena Gomez and Vanessa Hudgens in various stages of undress and intoxication. But their acting goes beyond the surface novelty of seeing formerly good girls acting bad; the ladies are fantastic here, delivering nuanced performances that feel completely unforced and demonstrate their ability to undertake mature roles. Ditto for Ashley Benson and Rachel Korine (the director's wife), who are every bit as brilliant as their co-stars. Korine's lavish images would've been null unless they were supported by strong actors; fortunately, his ensemble is up to the task of carrying the film.

Regardless of what you think of it, Spring Breakers will likely go down as one of 2013's most important and vital works, as it embodies the exact culture and moment in time when it was produced. The only reason I did not award the film a higher grade is due to how frank, brutal and repulsive it is. This is admittedly a strength since it pulls no punches, but there is not much replay value. That's about the only thing there is to say about Spring Breakers that's remotely negative. It's hard to predict any individual's reaction to this movie, but in my eyes, it's an immersive phantasmagoria that deserves to be seen by a wide audience.

8.2/10

"911, what is your emergency?"

The Call displays tremendous promise during its opening hour, with several moments of white-knuckle tension compensating for a few of the script's shortcomings. Alas, in its final act, the film hopelessly falls to pieces, climaxing in an exhaustively stupid fashion guaranteed to have cinema audiences ridiculing it on their way out. With plot holes galore, some hammy acting, and a very moronic, easily telegraphed screenplay, The Call shifts from watchable diversion to outright insult, which obliterates its replay value. This is one of the most retarded motion pictures I have ever seen, and I've also seen many of Uwe Boll's movies.

In Los Angeles, Jordan (Halle Berry) is a seasoned 911 operator, but she's confronted with a disturbing call one night concerning a home invasion. She screws up, leading to the death of a girl. Six months later, Jordan has turned to teaching the new recruits in order to stay out of the line of fire. However, Jordan is thrust back into duty when teen Casey (Abigail Breslin) is abducted from a shopping mall by prowler Michael (Michael Eklund). Stuffed in the trunk of a car, Casey calls 911, but the cell phone she's using is hard to trace. As the LAPD scrambles to find her location, Jordan keeps the frightened teen on the line, reassuring her that she will be saved and instructing her about how to use surrounding items to her advantage.

With films like Session 9, The Machinist and Vanishing on 7th Street to his credit, Brad Anderson has made a name for himself in smart, challenging movies, but The Call finds Anderson as a gun-for-hire. The script is credited to Richard D'Ovidio (Exit Wounds, Thirteen Ghosts), his wife Nicole (a screenplay first-timer), and Jon Bokenkamp (Taking Lives, Perfect Stranger). The movie was also initially set to be directed by Joel Schumacher and was co-financed by WWE (yes, World Wrestling Entertainment). That's the type of flick we're dealing with. Characters disappear (Casey's friend is quickly forgotten about), while other characters are ignored completely (where are Casey's parents amid the crisis? Wouldn't they come to the call centre?), and the film plays out like more of a thrill-ride than a mature suspense movie.

Thankfully, Anderson's handling of the material is competent. His filmmaking is at its best during a brisk opening segment that introduces us to The Hive, the call centre for 911 operators. It's pure chaos, and we get to viscerally experience the commotion, watching Jordan as she deals with the fateful call. And, once Casey is kidnapped, there are a few moments that strike an unnerving chord; it's harrowing to watch a hysterical Casey trapped in a car trunk, and we get the sense of how frightening such an experience would be. The material is admittedly predictable, but Anderson plays the expected notes with finesse, keeping Casey's ordeal involving and terrifying. But the cracks in the script keep appearing, revealing The Call as an idiotic thriller that deserves to go straight-to-video.

Plot points throughout The Call are telegraphed well in advance; Jordan instructs the trainees to remain detached and never make promises, but she expectedly breaks both rules before the story's end. Likewise, Jordan's boss chastises her for misconduct early into the film but later applauds her for practically taunting Casey's kidnapper. The only thing that actually surprised me was the climax because I would never have guessed that any major motion picture release would traverse such moronic territory. Jordan decides to take matters into her own hands for the ending despite being a meek "by the book" type of person. This wouldn't be too problematic if Jordan were an FBI agent (a la Silence of the Lambs). But she's a 911 operator, and she suddenly changes into a "girl power" figure, showing herself to have more intelligence and investigative might than the entire LAPD. However, this is minor compared to the dreadful final two minutes of the movie, which single-handedly drop the film's value by several notches.

The Call is a powerfully dumb movie, even by Hollywood standards. The cops are painfully inept and never achieve anything worthwhile, and the characters are a roster of dull clichés. Michael's inability to discover Casey's cell phone will make you bang your head against a wall, and he keeps having to kill people in public in broad daylight, but no bystanders appear to witness the crime or do anything. The timeline is skewed, as well; Casey is abducted in the morning, but less than two hours later (as gauged by the phone's call timer), it's suddenly late afternoon, and the sun is going down. The battery life of Casey's phone is unrealistic as well; it still runs for a solid half-hour on its final flashing bar of life. Furthermore, when the situation with Casey breaks out, nothing else happens in The Hive. In fact, it comes to the point of pure silence, with other operators watching Jordan instead of fielding calls and no operators in the background stations doing their jobs. Apparently, everyone in the city conveniently decided to stop committing crimes for a few hours. Added to this is the ludicrous Hollywoodised technology used by Jordan, who can apparently turn up the background noise of a recording. Huh?

Certainly, The Call is watchable for the most part due to its visceral nature and the strength of its first hour, but you walk away disappointed that the filmmakers tried to keep things uncomplicated and generic for the sake of box office dollars. Honestly, the movie should not have detoured into depravity and formula since it works so well as a 911 nail-biter. With artistic integrity relinquished, The Call is a bust - it's a film begging for a more talented team of writers.

5.2/10

"We are investigating paranormal activity in suburban Los Angeles..."

According to Marlon Wayans, A Haunted House is not exactly a parody but instead a horror flick with "funny characters" doing the opposite of what typical white people do in similar movies. I call bullshit: this is a spoof film, plain and simple, constructed in a way that brings back painful memories of such Friedberg/Seltzer catastrophes as Disaster Movie and Meet the Spartans. There are maybe three or four amusing moments in this entire film - as for the rest, A Haunted House is a banal endurance test, an early contender for one of 2013's worst movies. The best thing that can be said for the film is that it's an R-rated comedy, unlike Scary Movie 5, but that's about the only shred of positivity I can offer.

Taking its cues from the Paranormal Activity franchise and 2012's The Devil Inside, the plot concerns Malcolm (Wayans), who moves in with girlfriend Kisha (Essence Atkins) in the suburbs. Malcolm purchases a video camera to document every facet of their new life together. He even sets up a camera at night overlooking their bed to film their bedroom Olympics. Kisha suspects that their housekeeper may be stealing from them, so they also install some surveillance cameras around their home. But Malcolm's cameras capture evidence that a ghostly presence may be in the house, compelling the pair to call upon a psychic (Nick Swardson), a pair of ghost hunters (David Koechner and Dave Sheridan), and a coke-snorting priest (Cedric the Entertainer).

Wayans was working without any of his brothers here, but he still retains all of the recognisable trademarks of a Wayans production: stupid, unfunny jokes about farts, poop, sex, dicks and masturbation. The material grows increasingly limp and uncreative the more it chugs along, with racism and ghost-rape also popping up. In the right hands, just about anything can be funny, but director Michael Tiddes is not the right hands. As a matter of fact, nobody involved in creating A Haunted House constitutes the right hands. Hence, if you have the mental capacity of a ten-year-old, this sophomoric effort may be to your liking. But the rest of us will see A Haunted House to be the pile of shit that it is. Gags run on for far too long, with Malcolm at one stage engaging in sexual acts with stuffed toys for several minutes. Other jokes are simply repeated to exhaustion - the psychic is gay and tries to cajole Malcolm into being his lover, which is not funny the first or second time, let alone the twentieth. The film eventually starts spoofing The Devil Inside and The Rite, apparently forgetting that audiences found those movies to be hilarious self-parodies in the first place.

There is only one scene in A Haunted House that made me laugh out loud. After Malcolm witnesses compelling evidence that a poltergeist is indeed inside his residence, he immediately flees the house, packing up his gear and tearing off to safety, leaving Kisha behind. But he soon realises that it's impossible to sell a home in today's wretched market and is subsequently forced to move back in. It's such a clever concept amid the scenes of gross-out gags, gay jokes and drug-taking, and it's executed with unexpected precision and comedic gusto. It's so on the money, in fact, that I'm convinced it was created by an entirely different creative team from the rest of the movie. What a shame this goodness lasts for about a minute. There may be a few other amusing lines here and there, but A Haunted House is slim pickings for the most part. If all the worthwhile jokes from this ninety-minute film were edited down into one bite-sized chunk, we'd be left with barely five minutes.

A Haunted House is not worth your time. There's absolutely no subtlety, wittiness or sense of pacing here. It doesn't even feel like a real movie. Compare A Haunted House to something like Ghostbusters or The Naked Gun, and the difference is day and night; whereas the aforementioned '80s comedies have stories to tell and were brought to life via creative scripts and actual filmmaking artists, A Haunted House is a limp "comedy" assembled by self-indulgent filmmakers. This was Tiddes' first movie, and you can tell; it feels more like a student project than a proper theatrical production. Unfortunately, it turned a profit, earning in excess of $40 million from a $2 million budget. A Haunted House 2 is coming, a sure sign of the apocalypse.

2.2/10

"This girl's dead. That guy's dead... That guy in the corner is definitely dead."

Although Warm Bodies seems like a blatant attempt to cash in on the "supernatural teen romance" subgenre popularised by the abominable Twilight saga, the similarities start and end with the idea of a human falling in love with a supernatural creature. In fact, Warm Bodies has more in common with Edward Scissorhands, as it's a quirky, incredibly endearing romance that's wonderfully acted and directed. It's a peculiar hybrid of Shakespeare and zombies, but the result is pure bliss, with writer-director Jonathan Levine (50/50) pulling off an ostensibly impossible tonal juggling act to tell this oddball tale of zombie romance. It may not match films like Shaun of the Dead or Zombieland in terms of laughs or thrills, but it packs a great deal of heart.

After an apocalyptic world disaster, the planet is overrun with the walking dead. Human survivors live behind huge walls, while the zombies are left to wander around aimlessly, looking for fresh meat. Residing in an airport, R (Nicholas Hoult) is a sensitive creature who feels guilty about feeding on humans but is compelled to do so to survive. During an attack on a group of humans, R spies a woman named Julie (Teresa Palmer), and he suddenly begins to feel emotions he's long forgotten. Wanting to protect Julie from his zombie brethren, R takes the frightened girl back to his shelter within an abandoned plane, trying to communicate through his actions and the limited number of words he can utter. Julie is horrified at first but begins growing a hesitant trust for the zombie as they spend time together. Their relationship cannot last, though, as Julie's father (John Malkovich) oversees the military team assigned to slaughter zombies. But R starts to display human-like qualities the more he hangs out with Julie, beginning a trend in the rest of the undead.

As plot complications continue to pile up, you begin to wonder how everything will end up being resolved, but Levine (adapting Isaac Marion's novel of the same name) does a superb job of wrapping everything up without making the ending too overwrought or prolonged. Plus, the film closes with a happy ending that doesn't feel like a total cop-out, which is miraculous. Warm Bodies manages to breathe fresh life into zombie lore as well. The film actually evokes memories of George A. Romero's Day of the Dead in its depiction of the living dead learning to use vehicles and weapons. Luckily, Levine doesn't pussify zombies (a la Twilight), instead merely presenting a balanced and thoughtful perspective on them, which is refreshing. Nevertheless, the undead still have real bite here; although R is sensitive, there are packs of skeletal zombies known as "Bonies" which are ferocious and add genuine threat to the tale.

Clocking in at a brisk 95 minutes, Warm Bodies progresses at a nice clip and never outstays its welcome, yet more narrative development would've been beneficial. The film hinges on our belief that the zombies can be rehabilitated as they get in touch with human feelings again, but it's never quite believable enough as it's too rushed. It needed more breathing space and time to gestate; it all happens too quickly, making a number of things hard to swallow. Added to this, the script is tacky from time to time, with a few eye-rolling lines of dialogue. This aside, there's little else to complain about in Warm Bodies, which is otherwise a solid film. Levine keeps things playful and fun, with the script emphasising R's buzzing brain. See, although R can only speak a few words at a time, we're privy to his interior monologues; hence, there's a lot of effective voiceover narration that adds context to his actions while providing some wry humour.

There's no getting over the fact that Warm Bodies is patently ridiculous; the scientific underpinnings of the premise and a few aspects of the narrative are a bit too cutesy for their own good. But the film overcomes this because Levine commits to the premise with absolute sincerity. Levine was last seen behind the cancer comedy 50/50 for which he displayed a miraculous ability to mix the sweet and the sour, and he retains this skill for Warm Bodies. He strikes a perfect tonal balance, playing the horrific elements completely straight while also providing some exceptional comedy and a sense of sweetness. Indeed, the relationship between Julie and R feels fully human and gains more emotional traction than most Hollywood romances. The payoff is rewarding, as we get the chance to feel invested in the relationship. Warm Bodies is also a handsome and well-made motion picture despite its modest budget. Cinematographer Javier Aguirresarobe shot the film on 35mm, which gives it a gorgeous cinematic look.

Levine has a secret weapon in Hoult, who impresses mightily as zombie R. Hoult's body language and tender line delivery sell the role perfectly, and his demeanour is believably zombie-esque, especially with a layer of impressive make-up that further sells the illusion. Meanwhile, as Julie, Australian newcomer Palmer looks remarkably like Kristen Stewart, inviting even more Twilight comparisons. However, Palmer is a terrific choice; she's the hot version of Stewart and can actually act. Indeed, whereas Stewart is emotionless and stiff, Palmer is a genuinely expressive actress able to convey emotion and nuances. Hoult and Palmer share wonderful chemistry, too. Fortunately, there's solid support from several actors, including Malkovich as the badass military leader, Rob Corddry who's often amusing as R's kind-hearted zombie pal, and the lovely Analeigh Tipton playing Julie's best friend.

Warm Bodies is no masterpiece, and it won't pick up any Oscars, but it's a sweet, good-natured romantic comedy, and I was surprised by how much it won me over by the end. Comparing it to Twilight is wrong; Warm Bodies is so much smarter, thematically deeper and charismatic than the Stephanie Meyer franchise, and it doesn't deserve to be associated with Twilight. Although the movie is primarily aimed at young ladies, it will also appeal to males, who won't be embarrassed to watch this one with their dates.

7.1/10

"Your commanders have committed a crime I cannot forgive. None of you are safe. Have I got your attention now?"

Director J.J. Abrams's second venture into the cosmos aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise, 2013's Star Trek: Into Darkness is a smoother, more engaging experience than its predecessor, and it shows that there is still plenty of mileage left in the decades-old franchise. This is a follow-up that lives up to and surpasses the movie that spawned it, retaining the 2009 film's sense of energy and excitement but upping the ante with a stronger villain and a more interesting narrative. The most impressive thing about Into Darkness is that it's an entertaining blockbuster both for Star Trek fans and the uninitiated. Indeed, there's fan service aplenty, and Trek fans should find the film an absolute godsend. Non-Trekkies, meanwhile, will find this sequel to be an exhilarating, involving sci-fi action extravaganza. You can't ask for much more than that.

After a Starfleet mission goes awry and Spock (Zachary Quinto) reports the wrongdoings, Captain Kirk (Chris Pine) is relieved of his command, but the expulsion does not last long. Rogue Starfleet agent John Harrison (Benedict Cumberbatch) begins staging devastating terrorist attacks around London, resulting in the deaths of civilians and several Starfleet employees. Reinstated as the captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise, Kirk and his crew are tasked with seeking out and killing Harrison, which takes them to the Klingon world of Kronos. However, the mission provokes unease amongst the crew. Engineer Scotty (Simon Pegg) does not trust the torpedos supplied by Admiral Marcus (Peter Weller), while a mysterious new crew member (Alice Eve) piques Spock's interest.

Written by Damon Lindelof, Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci, Into Darkness is smarter than the average summer blockbuster, showing a keen interest in sophisticated dialogue and themes. While the mechanics of the plot are sometimes too vague, and more explication would be appreciated, this is only a mild hindrance. Pretty much everything else about Into Darkness is a raging success: it's a relentless action-adventure filled with bombings, chases, hand-to-hand combat, space battles and shootouts. Yet, the in-between stuff is also strong, and there's a particularly notable heartfelt scene in the third act that packs so much of a punch directly because of how intense the past two hours have been. This is a surprisingly character-rich film, giving the central characters a distinguished presence and purpose, though Alice Eve's role is a tad underwritten (and her underwear scene is every bit as gratuitous as the trailer suggests). Furthermore, the dialogue is a consistent joy, with sharp one-liners and moments of satisfying humour that feel surprisingly organic amid the heavy drama and excitement.

Abrams inserts an unusual sense of genuine peril into the proceedings, with unexpected character deaths and a lingering feeling that some of the protagonists might not survive. It gives the movie an added edge and makes the action sequences all the more stimulating. Star Trek: Into Darkness is a handsome picture, as well - it is full of well-staged set pieces and carries a brisk pace that keeps the film continually entertaining. Daniel Mindel's cinematography is lavish and competent, while the score by Michael Giacchino amplifies the sense of intensity during the thrilling action scenes. As to be expected from a big-budget blockbuster, the production values are astonishing, and the CGI borders dangerously close to photorealism from time to time. As a matter of fact, especially during the finale, it's hard to tell what's live-action and what's digital. That said, though, Abrams cannot overcome one of the primary missteps of the last movie: his directorial tendencies - with frenetic cinematography, a hyper-polished look and the goddamn lens flares - are too much at times, which can be distracting.

All the leading players from the 2009 film return for duty here, but it's newcomer Cumberbatch who steals the show as John Harrison, the tale's antagonist. He's genuinely terrifying here, but the brilliance of Cumberbatch's performance is how multi-layered and manipulative he is. At times, Harrison does not even seem like a villain due to how placid and charming he is. When he strikes, though, he's one of the most menacing bad guys you will ever see. Meanwhile, the returning faces are also great, with Pine upping his game and Quinto remaining superb as Spock. The two are a great screen pair, and their interactions are frequently compelling. Also standing out is Pegg, who handles the comic relief exceptionally well, while Karl Urban makes for a scene-stealing Bones. Another notable newcomer is former RoboCop star Peter Weller (who was actually in a couple of episodes of Star Trek: Enterprise), turning in an engaging performance as Admiral Marcus.

Into Darkness is presented in 3D, a decision made by the studio heads at Paramount rather than Abrams. Hence, money rather than artistry motivated the choice to go 3D. The last film was fine in plain old 2D, automatically making the extra dimension seem redundant. Nevertheless, the conversion is solid, with several impressive shots and scenes that look natively 3D. Still, the experience plays more smoothly in 2D, mainly due to Abrams's shaky-cam trademark that sometimes makes the glasses tough on the eyes.

Ultimately, Star Trek: Into Darkness solidifies a franchise reborn. 2009's Star Trek instilled a lot of promise for the future, and this sequel does not disappoint. It's been four years since the last film, and Into Darkness was initially slated for a summer 2012 release date, so it's marvellous to finally see this new adventure come to fruition. It's a hugely appealing and thrilling action film that should reel in a new generation of Trek fans and appease the veteran Trekkies.

8.4/10

"We came, we saw, we kicked its ass!"

Three decades on, Ghostbusters is still as hilarious, spooky and marvellous as ever: an absolute hoot of a horror-comedy engineered by talented moviemakers in the prime of their careers. Directed by Ivan Reitman (Stripes) and written by Dan Aykroyd and Harold Ramis, it's a grandiose spectacle of comedy and special effects enhanced by sharp, quotable dialogue and a pitch-perfect cast. Ghostbusters was an unexpected box office smash upon its release in the summer of 1984, grossing almost $300 million worldwide against its $30 million budget, and it still feels fresh and original in 2013. With its spot-on tone, absurd plot devices, hysterical one-liners, gut-busting physical humour and over-the-top performances, it's no wonder that movie-goers keep calling on Ghostbusters for their entertainment needs well into the 21st Century.

Kicked out of Columbia University after their funding is pulled, parapsychology scientists Peter Venkman (Bill Murray), Ray Stantz (Aykroyd), and Egon Spengler (Ramis) decide to go freelance, setting up a ghost removal service and calling themselves the "Ghostbusters." Operating out of an abandoned firehouse and seeing a steady increase in demand for their services, the gang also recruit a sardonic receptionist named Janine (Annie Potts), as well as a fourth member named Winston (Ernie Hudson), who does not have a science background but needs a job. The Ghostbusters are soon approached by Dana Barrett (Sigourney Weaver), a beautiful cellist who notices strange supernatural happenings in her apartment building. After Dana and her nerdy neighbour, Louis Tully (Rick Moranis), are possessed by supernatural entities, it's up to the Ghostbusters to save New York City from destruction at the hands of Gozer the Gozerian.

Most of the movie's comedy is generated from the interactions and conversations between the main characters, who seem to disperse an endless array of witty dialogue. For a PG-rated film, the script is surprisingly risqué, though most of these gags will probably fly over kids' heads while adults will have a hearty laugh. On top of the intelligent bantering, Ghostbusters delivers terrific situational comedy and an all-around charm and zaniness that feel spontaneous instead of forced. The narrative also has an excellent flow; perhaps no filmmaker other than Reitman could smoothly transition from an ominous standoff with a demigod to a goofy battle involving a Godzilla-like giant marshmallow man. Additionally, Reitman keeps the proceedings somewhat grounded and establishes real stakes; the Terror Dogs are pretty unnerving, and there are scares amid the laughs. But while there are serious moments, the film keeps the comedy coming thanks to funny bantering and the hammy nature of the creatures (see the iconic Slimer or the gigantic Stay-Puft Marshmellow Man). The only real problem with Ghostbusters is a subplot involving an environmentalist played by William Atherton (Die Hard). It's too much of a standard-order story thread, and it occasionally threatens to spoil the fun. However, Atherton's presence does pave the way for numerous comical exchanges.

Contemporary spoof movies and comedies are not often skilfully assembled, yet Ghostbusters is bursting with talent in terms of cinematography, editing and direction. The opening library scene is a masterpiece of deliberate pacing and tension, and one can't help but smile when the theme kicks in and the title appears on-screen. It's an immaculate opening for the picture. Similarly, the cinematography is unusually strong throughout, with a careful eye towards composition and lighting, which makes the movie look interesting and moody. Ghostbusters is a special effects-heavy production, with numerous ghosts and creatures appearing throughout. Most of the practical effects stand up to this day, while the more obvious effects shots (specifically the green-screen compositing) only amplify the film's charm and absurdity. The stop-motion animation and puppetry for the ghostly creatures do look goofy, but it all still works in the context of a screwball comedy. With modern filmmakers overusing CGI, there's something endearing about watching old-school effects from a different era, with matte paintings, optical shots, vast sets, models and puppets. Also exceptional is Elmer Bernstein's score, which captures the essence of the film and sets the tone for every scene; it's playful, light-hearted and comedic, yet the music is also foreboding at times to underscore the horror elements. The superb technical execution of Ghostbusters is precisely why comedies from this era are superior and more respected than their modern counterparts: it feels like a proper film pulled off with genuine skill and care instead of a slapdash creation thrown together by a bunch of juvenile filmmakers.

The screenplay makes fantastic use of the cast, playing well to each performer's strengths and inviting improvisation. The Ghostbusters gang carries a terrific camaraderie as if they've been friends for years, which helps us feel comfortable whenever they interact on-screen. Bill Murray is at his comedic best here with his deadpan delivery, sarcasm and witticisms shining through in every scene. Nobody does humour quite like Murray - he's an enormous asset to the picture. Meanwhile, Ramis is a top-notch straight man, delivering the science-heavy exposition with abandon and charm. Then there's Aykroyd, who absolutely nails his role and provides several big laughs. The last of the four central Ghostbusters is Hudson, who ably fulfils his duties as the token black guy and shares fantastic chemistry with the other three boys. The role of Winston was initially written with Eddie Murphy in mind, but the actor choosing to star in Beverly Hills Cop resulted in Hudson's casting. Also worth mentioning is the side-splitting Potts as the Ghostbusters' receptionist, who is responsible for numerous comedic highlights. Weaver, who holds her own against her fellow actors, and Moranis, who's never been funnier, round out the cast.

Wonderfully executed and smartly written, Ghostbusters is a seminal '80s comedy that stands the test of time and deserves to be seen, even by those who do not usually enjoy movies of this vintage. The production is the rare result of the right creative minds doing what they do best at the right time, creating a lightning-in-a-bottle blockbuster flaunting the perfect mix of comedy and horror. Much of the iconography throughout Ghostbusters remains memorable all these decades later, from the instantly recognisable monsters and ghosts to Ray Parker Jr.'s smash hit theme song that is now a staple at annual Halloween parties. Even though it spawned an inferior second film and an atrocious 2016 remake, we still have this first film, and we can be forever thankful for that.

9.1/10

"Oh, you're just having a bad dream, that's all baby. That's all it was. Bad dreams make you think you're seeing things that you haven't."

Watching the early scenes of 2009's Triangle, you may feel like you've seen it all before. It drops a handful of standard-order characters into what seems like a slasher premise, and it looks as if the film is about to adopt the clichéd structure of people getting murdered one-by-one by a mysterious person or entity. But writer-director Christopher Smith has something different and more substantial up his sleeve, mounting a film full of Twilight Zone-level strangeness that's too delicious to spoil. Triangle is not what the trailers made it out to be - it's more like a twisty Alfred Hitchcock picture with splashes of Memento and The Prestige. But even if you watch the movie with this in mind, Triangle still defies your preconceptions.

A single mother with an autistic son, Jess (Melissa George) rarely gets time to herself anymore. With a day off, Jess agrees to spend her free time on a sailboat with a few companions, organised by casual acquaintance Greg (Michael Dorman). Also along for the ride is deckhand Victor (Liam Hemsworth), friend Heather (Emma Lung), and couple Downey (Henry Dixon) and Sally (Rachael Carpani). Unfortunately, a vicious storm suddenly hits, overturning the yacht and leaving Heather lost at sea. Standing atop their capsized boat, the survivors take refuge inside a passing ocean liner. However, the vessel seems deserted, and Jess cannot shake feelings of unease as she wanders the eerie hallways.

Triangle was the brainchild of Christopher Smith, who previously helmed the Danny Dyer vehicle Severance and 2004's Creep. Smith reportedly spent two years working on Triangle's script, hashing out the narrative and meticulously planning every twist and turn. Hence, this is not your stereotypical throwaway horror-thriller with little lasting value. On the contrary, Smith creates a mesmerising ride that pulls the rug out from underneath you whenever you think you've figured out what the hell is happening to these characters. Psychological concerns also underpin the story, as Smith explores how much you would be willing to endure to be with somebody you love, or to correct your mistakes.

Smith stated that he was influenced by 1994's Pulp Fiction, with its play on time, and Stanley Kubrick's The Shining, with its claustrophobic atmosphere within an isolated location. It seems the director also took influence from 1962's Carnival of Souls, and there are a few similarities to Donnie Darko. Triangle is competently constructed by Smith, who displays a firm grasp on tension-building and mise-en-scène. The initial period onboard the ocean liner is unbelievably creepy, with empty, dank hallways and a lingering sense of mystery that grabbed this reviewer's attention. Triangle never concentrates on gore but nevertheless provides an unflinching front-row seat to a nightmare in progress. The cinematography by Robert Humphreys is a huge strength, and the movie is filled with striking imagery. If there's anything to be criticised, it's the CGI, which reveals the movie's low-budget limitations. The storm resembles something from an animated film, and some shots depicting the large ship look like something from an Asylum production. It's not a deal-breaker, but such moments take you out of the movie.

Although Smith hails from England, Triangle was shot in Australia and features an entirely Aussie cast. Luckily, he coaxes marvellous performances from the actors, all of whom do a superb job of hiding their native accents. If you were none the wiser, you would believe these people to be American. At the centre of the picture is Melissa George, delivering a complex and assured performance as Jess. An attractive actress, George sells a sense of apprehension in the film's early stages and nails the character's transformation to something much darker by the film's conclusion. She's aided by a more than capable supporting cast, including Liam Hemsworth, who was taking all the work he could get at this early point in his career.

Suffice it to say, movie-watchers who like to watch films in which everything is tied up in a dainty little ribbon may not like Triangle. It's one of those movies with layers upon layers of content to examine, compelling you to rush to internet forums to discuss your interpretations and read the conclusions of others. It's the sort of film that keeps you asking questions long after the credits have expired, and one that deserves to be watched over and over again. The fact that Smith pulls off the movie with virtuoso technique is another bonus, as Triangle is atmospheric and very intense.

7.8/10