Reviews by PvtCaboose91

Initially conceived by Steven Spielberg over a decade prior to its eventual release, Eagle Eye is a highly derivative action-thriller that combines WarGames, Nick of Time and Enemy of the State. Spielberg was originally attached to direct the movie, but was compelled to surrender the position due to scheduling issues. D.J. Caruso instead took the helm (with Spielberg serving as executive producer), reuniting with star Shia LeBeouf after their collaboration on 2007's Disturbia. Caruso drew inspiration from Alfred Hitchcock for Disturbia, but it appears Caruso doesn't wish to follow in Hitchcock's footsteps after all...with Eagle Eye, it seems he's vying for the title of the next Michael Bay. This is a big-budget, explosive Hollywood blockbuster filled with everything except common sense and believability. Caruso has designed an actioner that discards logic, physics, and reason to generate a nonsensical blur of hyper-stylised explosions and overclocked jabs at tension. An implausible action film beset with the type of visual diarrhoea typically associated with Jerry Bruckheimer and Michael Bay, Eagle Eye is smart in concept but overproduced and absurd in execution. It's certainly entertaining, but be sure to leave your cranial luggage at the door.

The story centres on amiable slacker Jerry Shaw (LeBeouf) and single mother Rachel Holloman (Monaghan). Following the funeral for his recently-deceased twin brother, Jerry discovers his bank account stuffed with thousands of dollars and his little apartment packed with a wealth of terrorist equipment...and federal agents are on their way. Contacting him on his cell phone is a mysterious female voice (an uncredited Julianne Moore) with specific instructions for his escape. With a bang, Jerry is off and running for his life, soon crossing paths with the frightened Rachel as they're guided through a series of perilous situations. The voice on the other end of the phone line can not only control Jerry's phone connection, but seemingly every other piece of technology on the planet as well...

From there, Eagle Eye is one long hyperkinetic chase across the country. The film starts with great promise with its first act introducing plenty of intrigue, passable characterisations and a few pulse-quickening developments. Yet things rapidly crumble as soon as the central plot twist is finally revealed. Once the identity of the female caller is disclosed, Eagle Eye takes a massive nosedive. Needless to say, the actual 'Eagle Eye' of the movie isn't as fearsome or as devious as it should be...it's laughable. The motive is even more unbelievable. Eagle Eye tests a viewer's tolerance for enduring blundering stupidity when the payoff is hardly worth the wait. Director Caruso does an acceptable job of attempting to hide the script's stupidity by keeping the pace fast and furious. In reality, though, the chase sequences are pointless as they never advance the plot - the characters are mice on a treadmill, endlessly running but not getting anywhere. Did Caruso truly think the fast pace would prevent someone from realising the sheer absurdity of the story?

The premise hinges on our advanced world of mobile phones and surveillance cameras, and how this invasion of privacy could be used against us by any force, be it friend or foe. The brain-dead screenplay - stitched together by a quartet of writers - plays on the fears of a post-9/11 society made skittish by the government's increased intrusion into private communications. Jerry & Rachel are pestered by an assortment of mundane technologies, such as electronic billboards and GPS systems, as they're pushed and pulled in various directions while always being closely watched. It's a chilling thought.

Artificial Intelligence is a primary part of the premise as well. However, we've seen movies warning us of the dangers of Artificial Intelligence before, one of which even starred Shia LeBeouf (2004's I, Robot). The plot even seems to borrow countless ideas from Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey. Perhaps ten years ago when Spielberg conceived the story, the film's message would've been somewhat timely. All these years later, however, it's merely a trite reiteration. It's a shame Spielberg's story was on the backburner for so long.

The key flaw of Eagle Eye (one of several) is not difficult to discern. If an entity has the ability to access and control all networked computers and electronic devices worldwide, why does it need a couple of humans to do its bidding? Furthermore, if it chooses to use them, why send these humans on an unbelievably long and convoluted wild goose chase when the same end could be accomplished more simply? This large issue is impossible to be ignored by anyone who allows a thought to pass through their mind while watching the flick. The word "preposterous" is too moderate to describe Eagle Eye as it contains barely a single mildly plausible moment. For instance, somehow a computer system can remotely disconnect power lines! Ripples in a coffee cup are even monitored in order to listen to a conversation at one stage. The film commences on a ridiculous note as well. For said opening, a spy plane in the Middle East spots a suspected terrorist leader and military computers calculate there's a mere 51% probability it's the guy they're looking for. Instead of waiting for the suspect to head back out into open spaces, they bomb an entire village and kill hundreds of civilians! Eagle Eye is aimed at the brain-dead and the catatonic.

With its contrived message about the dangers of modern technology, Eagle Eye could easily be misinterpreted as an understated, intelligent thriller. Instead, it's an action fiesta. Caruso, who hadn't previously directed a pure action film, feels confident enough here to try a plethora of big-budget stunts. Unfortunately, the Disturbia director isn't interested in breaking new ground - instead he sets up a formulaic game of cat-and-mouse, stealing from the Michael Bay book of blow-'em-ups to lazily engage the audience. Caruso manages to pull off a perfect imitation of a Bay action flick, complete with the irritating, pointless shaky cam technique which wastes potentially interesting stunts by failing to film them correctly. Caruso lacks both the instincts and the subtlety to engage an audience using this technique as he simply shakes the camera for no reason other than to disorient a viewer. Happily, though, a great deal of the stunt sequences were executed with very little CGI. The pace is also brisk and the suspense is admittedly nail-biting, even if the action grows tiresome.

As for the cast, Shia LeBeouf manages to hold his own as the hero at the core of the film. Yet the star continues to play characters within his comfort zone without ever truly testing his limits as an actor. In Eagle Eye, he's the same sort of character we've seen him play in such recent titles as Transformers and Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. How boring. Michelle Monaghan's natural charisma is useful here, but she's predominantly forgettable. There's nothing wrong with her performance in particular...the problem is that she's just playing a bland, standard "girl in a Hollywood thriller" role. Monaghan was much better in the brilliant Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. Billy Bob Thornton and Rosario Dawson appear to be on hand merely to pick up paychecks. It's particularly disappointing to see Thornton in such a thankless role considering his excellent work in recent years (Bad Santa, Monster's Ball, Sling Blade, etc). Michael Chiklis is mildly memorable as the Secretary of Defense, and Anthony Mackie is terrific when thrust into the spotlight for the climax.

Eagle Eye is a big disappointment, taking a topical subject and turning it into action tosh for an action-saturated market. It's comatose and predictable, not to mention it's also a facsimile of nearly every action film from the past decade (right down to a multitude of repetitive, zoom-happy car chases). The film shows all the earmarks of a once substantive script that was endlessly prodded and cut until all intelligence was wrung out of it. It's still possible to see the cautionary message it tries to convey, however - something about the danger of giving computers too much control. But this done-to-death topic has formed the fulcrum of countless sci-fi stories over the years, like the Terminator series, The Matrix, and WALL-E (arguably 2008's best movie). Admittedly, though, the constant action is well staged and somewhat exhilarating, and the whole production is slickly produced. It remains an enjoyable guilty pleasure guaranteed to satiate action fans as it packs quite a wallop. So really, it's not awful - it's just empty-headed.

4.9/10

If Judd Apatow is the Jesus of modern cinematic comedy, Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer are the Anti-Christ. Disaster Movie, the latest Friedberg/Seltzer "effort", is not only the worst film of 2008 (dethroning the pair's own Meet the Spartans for the dubious honour), but it's also a contender for the worst film in history! Yet another bottom-feeding cash-grab that exploits current events, takes cheap-shots at pop culture and ridicules recent movies, Disaster Movie is obnoxiously unfunny, poorly-paced, cheap, stupid garbage which defiles the very medium of cinema. If peeking into the toilet after taking a dump makes you laugh at least a little, you'll have double the entertainment value that's provided by this excruciating spoof. The title is indeed unbelievably ironic, especially when it comes to the Unrated "Cataclysmic Edition" (it's actually called that, honest!) which manages to be marginally worse than the theatrical cut.

In a nod to Cloverfield (I think), Will (Lanter) endeavours to save his ex-girlfriend Amy (Minnillo) while their city is being hit by asteroids and maybe being attacked by a monster... (A tornado even makes an appearance. Maybe they were trying to parody Twister?) For his quest, Will is joined by his friend Calvin (G. Thang), Calvin's girlfriend Lisa (Kardashian), and (for absolutely no reason) a Juno imitator (Flanagan). Eventually the plot transforms into Indiana Jones when a Crystal Skull randomly enters the equation...apparently it's the cause of this Armageddon and it has to be returned to its cushion to end the rampant destruction (seriously, the film is so low-budget that the skull rests on a fucking cushion).

As you've probably ascertained from the (very short) story outline, there isn't much to Disaster Movie. It's a five-minute-long story pumped up to 75 gruelling minutes, using the same ol' tired formula to pad out the runtime. Granted, the plot doesn't matter in a spoof movie, but there needs to be something funny going on (Airplane!, The Naked Gun! and Top Secret! are examples of spoofs with a shallow plot but are made enjoyable with constant clever laughs). In Disaster Movie there is not a single mildly amusing gag to behold. Practically the whole film involves Will's group watching someone from a movie or from popular culture being imitated while something colossally unfunny goes down. If you've endured the prior instalments of this horrific "Movie" franchise, you know the formula: introduce a character who has no reason to be there, make a joke, overexplain the joke through close-ups and dialogue clarification, and then introduce a predictable gag to get rid of this character (Hancock flies upwards into a street light, Indiana Jones swings out of a conveniently-placed window, and so on). Friedberg and Seltzer cling to this simplicity for dear life. Words do not exist in the English language to express how bad and agonisingly unfunny Disaster Movie truly is.

The title would likely lead one to believe that this flick is actually a spoof of, you know, disaster movies. Of course, it'd be stupid to think such a thing (about as stupid as deciding to watch this train wreck). Friedberg and Seltzer instead do precisely what they did for Date Movie, Epic Movie, and Meet the Spartans - they spoof unrelated blockbusters and reference pop culture regardless of how it fits into the title concept. Thus the movie provides imitators of Iron Man, Batman, Hellboy, the Incredible Hulk, Beowulf, Juno, Hancock, Indiana Jones, Prince Caspian, the Superbad guys, the kids from High School Musical, the gals from Sex in the City and more, which are blended with spoofs of Wanted, The Day After Tomorrow, Night at the Museum, Cloverfield, 10,000 BC and The Love Guru (and more) before mixing in Justin Timberlake, Amy Winehouse, American Gladiators, the Macbook Air, Facebook and Hannah Montana. God, even Michael Jackson shows up! This nonsense is brought to life using downright illiterate filmmaking. Sadly, none of this spoofing results in anything even remotely funny. Laughs are non-existent, and nearly every scene suffers from repulsive slapstick humour or primitive dialogue. Whether it's an Amy Winehouse lookalike burping for about a minute, Dr. Phil trying to get laid at a party, the Hulk losing his pants or a Juno wannabe beating a male Carrie Bradshaw, the list of dire moments is endless.

When Seltzer and Friedberg run out of movie trailers to quote, they toss in some really long and utterly pointless scenes to extend the film to its contractually mandated minimum runtime. One particularly painful sequence rips off Alvin and the Chipmunks and is bloated with three songs before they go rabid and gnaw on our heroes' balls. This abovementioned sequence could be the worst five minutes in cinematic history. There are countless moments, including the High School Musical dance number and the Kung Fu Panda fight, during which I temporarily departed from my physical body and entered a sort of limbo for an indefinite period of time before re-entering my skin and thinking "It's still going?”. At least this Fresh Hell breaks at the 75-minute mark (not counting the fucking woeful closing credits, which are played over an incompetent song & dance sequence as well as a bunch of boring outtakes). As this tosh plays out, there's a cast one genuinely pities. Their performances once again lower the bar - each joke is poorly delivered, and all that's missing is a corny wink.

No longer housed at Fox, and taking up residence at the much smaller Lionsgate, Friedberg and Seltzer worked with less backing here. The lack of budget is highly evident as this slapdash motion picture looks as if it was filmed on a vacated condo. The picture looks enormously amateurish, with pathetically inept versions of Iron Man, Batman and the Hulk. Alvin and the Chipmunks are turned into dime-store hand puppets and Kung Fu Panda is a man in a cheap fluffy costume that a usual costume shop would be embarrassed to stock. There's an obvious allergy to special effects as well, leaving inert spoofs of Night at the Museum and 10,000 BC looking bizarre and conceptually embarrassing.

Disaster Movie is godawful. It's not deep or profound or memorable or even slightly entertaining, and it caters to the lowest common denominator. To Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer, all one needs in order to make a great spoof is a list of summer blockbusters and a subscription to a monthly gossip magazine. With a continuous stream of pop culture icons stepping in front of the camera to say their name before either farting, burping or getting crushed by something, creativity is at an all-time low. Portraying Amy Winehouse as a sabre-toothed alcoholic is not funny. Saying Sarah Jessica Parker looks like a man is not funny. Puerile beyond all comprehension, the only thing this dross gets correct is the title. A horrific waste of time, money and oxygen, Disaster Movie is unquestionably the worst movie I've ever subjected myself to (coming from someone who has endured multiple Uwe Boll films). Fortunately, the film flopped in America (only $14 million domestically), meaning we might - might - be spared of further spoofs.

0.00/10 (it's still getting more than it fucking deserves!)

Written and directed by John Patrick Shanley, Doubt - an expert screen adaptation of Shanley's own Pulitzer Prize and Tony Award winning play - is a complex and uneasy moral thriller shaped by words and characters that relays a story of doubt and certainty in direct conflict. This intellectually and emotionally fatiguing experience is a drama of the highest calibre which concerns a nun and a priest caught on opposite sides of an alleged scandal. This sets in motion an inquisition of morals, values, character, and faith - not just faith in God, but in themselves as well. It's also a tale that enters a moral quagmire from which it never fully emerges. Films often provide resolution and catharsis, but these are qualities rarely uncovered in real life situations, and this is mirrored in Shanley's screenplay. With enough dramatic meat to chew on for days, one is likely to finish watching Doubt pondering the plethora of evidence found within the movie but will be no closer to truth than any of the characters. With assured direction, a superior script, and staggering performances, Doubt isn't a comfortable experience, but it's certainly an engrossing one.

Set during the mid-60s at a Catholic School in New York, Doubt centres on the charismatic Father Flynn (Hoffman) and the strict, poisonous Sister Aloysius (Streep). When the naïve young Sister James (Adams) communicates to Sister Aloysius her guilt-inducing suspicions about the possibly inappropriate bond developing between Father Flynn and the school's sole African American child (Foster), the elder nun embarks on an unrelenting personal crusade to expose the truth. Without a single shred of evidence to corroborate her suspicions, Sister Aloysius locks in a battle of wills with Father Flynn as his sanctity and integrity as a priest is brought into question. Based on merely circumstantial evidence and her innate distrust of Flynn, Sister Aloysius first obliquely then directly accuses him of sexually abusing the boy.

The fundamental question at the core of Doubt relates to the nature of the relationship between Father Flynn and Donald Miller (the African American boy). There are several possibilities, and Shanley supplies evidence to support virtually every one of them. Shanley doesn't stack the deck and, crucially, he refuses to present the definitive truth. (Would anyone expect anything different from a movie titled Doubt?) The picture is also set in an era when priests were trusted implicitly but during which such trust was abused in certain cases (according to court cases, news reports, etc).

Lensed with arresting autumnal weight by cinematographer Roger Deakins, Doubt generates an overpowering religious grip immediately, taking the viewer into a Catholic church divided where the line of power was drawn only by gender. Shanley's feature is thinly plotted and is marred by the occasional narrative lull, but it's nonetheless enthralling. Doubt asks a simple question: did Flynn molest the boy? Writer-director Shanley employs the hook of curiosity to keep an audience riveted as the script examines the bigger picture, tackling the responsibility of power and the struggle of faith. This is packaged elegantly, but not easily. Shanley is wise enough to keep building up apprehension as Aloysius insists herself further into the fray, and while Flynn guards his innocence with less power and more desperation as the conclusion draws nearer (an ending which presents new and enduring conundrums).

Red herrings are plentiful in Doubt. Sharp framing as well as other sly cinematic devices are employed to spawn an aura of suspicion surrounding everything. Curiosity is piqued, creating a feeling of discomfort in which the viewer questions every little detail. What did that facial expression mean? Why did that character say that the way he said it? Different viewers can process this information in different ways and reach a different conclusion. This is the beauty of the screenplay and the masterful acting - it does not dictate, but instead asks each viewer to draw their own conclusions. Some may call this approach unsatisfying and manipulative...this reviewer calls it brilliant. Doubt does falter in one aspect, however. Religious allegories are overused, and eventually become intrusive. For instance, Aloysius' light bulb dies during a verbal gladiatorial match and the weather radically changes from time to time.

The world of Doubt is excellently enclosed, and separate from goings-on beyond the boundaries of this Catholic School. With a few minor exceptions, the film plays out entirely within this primary location. It certainly helps that production values are top-notch and the atmosphere is impeccably established. Deakins' cinematography is particularly mesmerising, while Howard Shore's brilliantly gentle, sparsely-used score is the icing on the cake. Shanley is skilled enough to ensure music is an ancillary device to generate power as well...the camerawork and the stellar cast are his primary tools.

To say the acting in Doubt is first-rate could be perceived as an insult; the work here is perfection. This is a showcase for the four main actors, all of which were nominated for Academy Awards.
Doubt features yet another superlative performance courtesy of Meryl Streep. The actress always takes the time to understand every character she plays. As Sister Aloysius, Streep is in fine form. She vanishes into her role, and everything - including posture, body language, mannerisms, physical appearance, accent, etc - is nailed by the award-winning actress. Philip Seymour Hoffman is one of the very few actors capable of holding his own in a scene with Streep, and that's precisely what he does. His portrayal of Father Flynn is strong and self-assured, displaying compassion and depth while his characterisation also keeps us wondering. Streep and Hoffman in particular make the film's runtime fly by with their spellbinding vocal combat, yet the interactions involving the supporting cast are equally mesmeric.

Caught in the middle of the verbal battle between the two protagonists is Amy Adams as Sister James. Shanley extracts a truly remarkable performance from Adams. Her role is less showy and more subdued, displaying credible wisdom and despair. The fourth brilliant performance is that of Viola Davis, who is simply a marvel during her 10-minute appearance. She plays the extremely minor role of Donald Miller's mother with such courage and candour that she changes the complexion of the story during the course of ten minutes.

Doubt is a powerful, provocative motion picture...undoubtedly one of the greatest movies of 2008. Vehemently a cautionary tale, it warns of the dangers of blindly following unsupported assumptions as well as displaying the serious outcomes of following such assumptions. Those who enjoy moral dramas not wrapped up in absolutes will adore mulling over what they've seen; ultimately unable to determine the best conclusion. Writer-director John Patrick Shanley's goal was to foster doubt, and he has succeeded tremendously.

8.7/10

An assuringly unique and refreshing vampire story from Sweden, Let the Right One In is a motion picture of extraordinary mood and imaginative directorial potency. Instead of a customary genre feature, this Swedish sleeper is in fact a hushed, gentle tale of provisional friendship, the ordeal of adolescence and the curse of vampiric immortality. A spellbinding motion picture from start to finish, Let the Right One In is a marvel; an ingenious horror film able to frighten and disarm in the same instant, and one of the most resonant, haunting cinematic experiences of 2008. And it has already been targeted for a Hollywood remake...

During 2008, movie-goers greeted two similar vampire movies, both of which partly focused on adolescent love but each with a different marketing strategy. Twilight, based on Stephanie Meyer's best-selling novel, takes the simple approach - aiming to entice a teenage audience with a hackneyed romance parable featuring one-dimensional, condescending characters merely required to look pretty. Let the Right One In (also based on a novel) by contrast targets a mature audience with a deep, amazingly original coming-of-age tale about a prepubescent child's love for a member of the undead. Forget the disposable Twilight...in ten years, this Swedish feature will be remembered as the real deal (and the right one, if you will).

Written by John Ajvide Lindqvist (adapting his own novel), this film tells an absorbing tale which transpires in Stockholm during the 1980s and which centres on a morbid child named Oskar (Hedebrandt). Bullied unremittingly at school, Oskar is a socially and emotionally withdrawn boy who spends his free time collecting and reading newspaper articles about murders. Things take an uplifting turn for Oskar one night when he meets an enigmatic young girl named Eli (Leandersson), who is in fact a carnivorous vampire. Oskar is oblivious to Eli's blood-drinking habits, but he's perfectly happy to overlook her peculiar behaviour as the two tweens strike up a hesitant friendship. They playfully communicate and bond, eventually clinging to each other in the hope of staving off their crushing social isolation.

Let the Right One In is no standard horror-fest; it has greater ambitions. The vampire subplot lurks in the shadows while the film conveys a story about the camaraderie and empathy that develops between two of society's misfits. And this isn't an overblown, melodramatic romance - there are elements of a burgeoning love story, but they are tentative and lacking overt sexuality. The film isn't endowed with the cheesy gothic romance of Stephanie Meyer's Twilight series or the humour of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (and its offspring). Let the Right One In alternatively strikes a low-key melancholy tone, bolstered by both the location and the effective de-dramatised approach. Admirably, the feature doesn't beat a viewer over the head with Eli's history and it only permits brief glimpses stemming from vampire lore. Not only does this aspect make the film intriguing, but it becomes easier for us to lose ourselves within the story.

Rest assured that Let the Right One In doesn't leave out the genre elements, though...it contains a fair amount of violent blood-draining scenes. Blood looks good on the Swedish snowscape, and the instances of horror violence are nearly as impressive as the subtler moments. A miscalculated ending is one of the movie's sole drawbacks - it's a gory, competently-handled vampire attack let down by its clichéd nature.
Unlike what you'd expect in a Hollywood vampire movie, at no stage does Oskar research the details of vampiric etiquette as it simply isn't necessary. Everyone knows the basic powers and limitations of vampires, and the creators are intelligent enough to realise this. Eli's brand of vampire adheres to a lot of the ground rules established in Bram Stoker's Dracula. We never learn whether a stake through the heart will kill Eli or whether she can transform into a bat, however - there are no opportunities to test such myths. The brilliance of Let the Right One In is that events and scenes serve the story and characters, with no scenes included merely to exploit vampiric abilities (unlike Twilight). But there are minor flaws in pacing, with a bit too much time spent with some of the locals who become Eli's supper.

Director Tomas Alfredson accomplishes lots through images and sound, and he very rarely relies on dialogue. The cinematography is extraordinary; each frame is a work of art and the stylish camera angles quietly ensnare a viewer. Alfredson renders the crisp stillness of a Swedish winter nicely, letting the landscape evoke a multiplicity of feelings. Let the Right One In is consumed with mood; it's filled with long takes and features action staged around stark snowscapes which is photographed with brilliant menace by cinematographer Hoyte Van Hoytema. The camera moves languidly; observing but never intruding, and only moving in close to capture moments of vulnerability.

The camerawork also adds to the mystery. Shadows conceal objects and characters until the exact moment we're required to see them, for example, which allows for amplified shocks. There's a great deal of mystery to be explored in Let the Right One In, and it progresses without feeling the need to explain everything - gruelling explication and back-story is virtually non-existent (such things will no doubt accompany the American remake). With sparse dialogue, Alfredson skilfully refrains from answering some of our questions. For instance, who is the older man travelling with Eli and what is their relationship? Why does Eli continually insinuate that she isn't a girl? Why are Oskar and his father so distant? Apparently some of these questions are answered in the novel, but Alfredson (and screenwriter Lindqvist) show great judgment by omitting these answers. With their exclusion, the ending can either be perceived as happy or tragic.

The relationship between Oskar and Eli is another aspect communicated without many words. Alfredson instead employs gorgeous, soft-focus close-ups in addition to Johan Söderqvist's delicate romantic score to convey the developing intimacy. He's also aided (in no small degree) by great performances from first-time actors Kåre Hedebrandt and Lina Leandersson. Hedebrant, with his blonde hair and pale skin, is an excellent Oskar. He exudes pure innocence and looks the part of a societal outcast while also making the character seem remote, withdrawn and a tad creepy. Alongside him, Leandersson possesses an alluring charisma and comes across as an individual both mysterious and compelling. She's a standout in the challenging part of Eli, capturing both the weariness of an ancient vampire and the sweet vulnerability of a young girl. Unlike Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt, her vampire portrayal is smelly and grotty, and with the awkwardness of a pre-teen. These two leading performances give Let the Right One In true heart...something beyond the fangs and wooden stakes that usually define the genre.

Grotesque, unnervingly gentle, delicately forbidding and ethereal, Let the Right One In manages to reenergise modern vampire cinema. This Swedish masterpiece observes naïve sensuality involving pre-teens, treats death with a frightening visual poetry, and is directed with superb tonal control by Alfredson. Let the Right One In can technically be classified as a horror movie, but it's more of a coming-of-age story. The blood and gore isn't excessive as director Alfredson is more interested in touching emotional chords. The story unfolds gradually and this slow pace may prove maddening for some viewers, but this rare blend of art house and horror is both entertaining and unusually affecting.

8.2/10

For the Coen Brothers, Burn After Reading is a refreshing departure from the brooding, staid tone of 2007's No Country For Old Men (a superb movie that earned the twosome a handful of Oscars). Such a searing thriller as their 2007 Best Picture winner is a hard act to follow. As is often their style, the filmmaking duo elected to go in another direction with their follow-up film - delivering an absurd, Coen-esque black comedy. Burn After Reading can best be described as either a thriller with a high quotient of comedic elements, or (if you prefer) a dark comedy with a high quotient of thriller elements. As is frequently the case with features created by Joel & Ethan Coen, this is a difficult film to categorise, but it doesn't make it any less enjoyable.

Burn After Reading is definitely not for the cynical film-goer - it's fundamentally without a plot as it's mainly concerned with presenting various amusing character vignettes. Not even the Coen Brothers themselves would be able to tell you the point of their 2008 project, nor could they clearly outline the plot. To quote Ethan Coen, the film is more or less about "the covert world of the C.I.A. and internet dating". And to this formerly untapped mixture of indolent espionage and modern internet dating, they also add '70s conspiracy thriller elements and personal training, not to mention sexual deviancy as well. In a career steeped in peculiarity, this is another classic example of the Coen Brothers' penchant for tossing an assortment of wacky ideas and movie references into the blender to see what flavour materialises.

Burn After Reading spotlights a collection of characters too wrapped up in their own vanity to take even the slightest notice of their outlandish actions. At the centre of the story (if it can even be called as such) is Osbourne Cox (Malkovich), a C.I.A. analyst who quits his job in a fit of pique when the agency demotes him. The disgruntled Cox then decides to write a tell-all memoir, but a disk containing a copy of these hastily-penned revenge memoirs falls into the hands of two unscrupulous gym employees: Linda (McDormand) and gung-ho personal trainer Chad (Pitt). The witless duo, believing they've found something of great value, attempt to turn this disk into cash, blackmailing Osbourne into paying them for the return of his memoirs. When Osbourne refuses to pay for the disk's return, Linda and Chad set out to steal more and sell it to the Russians. Also in the mix is Harry (Clooney); a married Treasury agent who's having an affair with Osbourne's wife (Swinton) while also cheating on his mistress with Linda. A few additional melodramatic subplots are also included for best effect.

As you'd expect, the Coen Brothers continue to pile it on, deepening the plot and incorporating a number of shock moments made all the more effective due to the matter-of-fact way in which they are delivered. The screenplay (also penned by the two directors) never takes itself too seriously, with comedic moments scattered around haphazardly. Some of these are merely amusing, others are clever, and the rest are just downright hilarious. A pair of conversations between two C.I.A. honchos (played by David Rasche and J.K. Simmons) are by far the funniest scenes the film has to offer (at one point Simmons even tells Rasche to report back to him when everything makes sense; a bit of a reflection on the script). A back-stabbing, double-crossing, exhaustively absurd caper with black comedic enrichments, Burn After Reading is a beauty; an electric symphony of impetuous idiots left to their own devices, leaving behind a trail of violence and bewilderment with every move they make. Backed by an enchanting score from Carter Burwell and lensed by ace four-time Academy Award winning cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki, this Coen Brothers production fearlessly dives into a dense mess, keen to capture every single beat of surprise.

An intriguing combination of Fargo, Raising Arizona and The Big Lebowski, Burn After Reading is one of the better films from the mind of the Coen Brothers (unquestionably better than the dire Intolerable Cruelty). In a nutshell, the film is an odd screwball comedy concentrating on a group of idiots who engage in idiotic conversations and make utterly ridiculous decisions. None of these clowns ever truly think about what they're doing, and watching them being forced to deal with the consequences of their silly actions is absolutely delicious. The material allows the directors to play to their strengths, i.e. their sense of devious comic timing. The script's witty dialogue is often hysterically funny as well. There's also a fair amount of violence thrown in for good measure, but said violence is usually brutal and unsettling to the point of distraction. The use of such brutal violence in a light-hearted comedy is jarring...it kills the laughs. The film is hampered by this serious fault. The overall plot also lacks both real direction and an anchor, which is another drawback of an otherwise solid movie.

The kinetic and inventive visual style of the Coen Brothers as well as the precision of their writing is frequently discussed, but the directorial duo's greatest gift may lie in their ability to assemble an impressive ensemble cast and coax remarkable performances from the entire ensemble. The casting for Burn After Reading is pitch perfect, and virtually all of the characters were written with these precise actors in mind (Tilda Swinton is one of the only exceptions). By employing members of their large acting family in addition to able newcomers to the Coen universe, the brothers ensure there isn't a weak performance to be found. The star-soaked ensemble cast is huge, but there is no main star - screen time is split fairly evenly between John Malkovich, George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Frances McDormand, Tilda Swinton and Richard Jenkins, with the hysterical duo of J.K. Simmons and David Rasche thrown in from time to time to give the film its standard Coen Brothers tone.
Brad Pitt steals the show with his high energy performance that borders on self-parody. With the exception of Pitt's character (who's energetic and enthusiastic about everything), every character is struggling with some form of misery. Frances McDormand (Joel Coen's wife) places forth a mesmerising performance as Linda, who's worried about her appearance and is longing for plastic surgery. Frances does excellent screwball work alongside George Clooney, who turns down the charm and enhances the sleeze in the unusual role of a sex addict. Watching Clooney interact with Tilda Swinton is terrific, especially considering that they played rivals in 2007's Michael Clayton. The bristling John Malkovich does what he does best - acting weird before eventually losing it. Malkovich is truly impeccable as he angrily shouts at his co-stars (one of the funniest aspects of this feature).

Returning to the sharp comedy that has defined most of their prior features, which is accompanied by a crime-laced plot that also recalls several of their past films, the Coen Brothers take absurdity to a new level with Burn After Reading. Watching the film's eccentric characters bumbling about is nothing short of a wildly entertaining experience, with a supporting turn by J.K. Simmons as the perturbed head of the C.I.A. nearly worth a viewing in itself. The portrayal of the C.I.A. as a clueless agency that doesn't appear to take intelligence very seriously makes Burn After Reading more of an espionage spoof than anything else. This story of spies, personal fitness workers, and their diverse struggles through middle life, encompassing blackmail, perversion, death, and infidelity, is the darkest of comedies, and is an easy recommendation for any fan of the Coen Brothers who'll effortlessly embrace the film. Absurdity rules supreme in Burn After Reading, and that is exactly why this flick is so refreshingly enjoyable. It's merely a quirky tale about unintelligent intelligence...that's the Coens for you.

7.8/10

A brisk, bone-crunching modern re-imagining of the 1975 Roger Corman B-Movie classic, Death Race delivers precisely what its title promises: cars and carnage. There are a lot of things for serious critics and film-goers to hate about this film - it's a loose big-budget remake of a true grindhouse classic, there's plenty of gory violence for the sake of exploitation, it's undeniably sleazy, and it pretends to be a social commentary - but (in a very tangible way) this is truly missing the point, as Death Race was created to revel in meaningless sadism. Director Paul W.S. Anderson has assembled a fun, hardcore action flick that's weak in terms of plot and characterisation, but strong in the visceral action sequences (something the target audience will likely be seeking). Screenwriters Robert Thom and Charles Griffith bring the vehicle combat of Corman's Death Race 2000 into a penal environment where hardened criminals race for a shot at freedom. Pedestrian bystanders (which were run down by the drivers for points in the original) are removed from the equation entirely - drivers are instead required to just eliminate their adversaries. In this regard, only the very basic premise and the names of the two main drivers are carried over from the 1975 film (a few other sly references are also thrown in, though).

Death Race is set in the year 2012. With America's economy in tattered shreds, unemployment rates through the roof, crime rates on the rise, and gladiatorial sports growing more popular, the corporate forces managing the penal system devise a brilliant plan to raise funds and efficiently deal with the inordinate amount of criminals overcrowding the country's prisons - armour-plated cars are rigged with machine guns (as well as an assortment of additional weaponry), convicts are placed behind the wheel, and these prisoners strafe their way around the deadly track for a chance to earn their freedom. It rapidly becomes an internet pay-per-view sensation, overseen by the prison's icy warden (Allen) and featuring a bunch of colourful drivers. But the most popular participant of the Death Race, Frankenstein (Carradine, who played the character in the original film), is unfortunately killed following his latest race. Framed for the murder of his wife, Jensen Ames (Statham) is sent to Terminal Island prison where the Death Race takes place. He's given the opportunity to partake in the brutal sporting event, racing in the place of the deceased Frankenstein. Given a kick-ass car armed to the teeth with a variety of weapons and defensive gadgets in order for him to commit vehicular destruction on a massive, chaotic scale, Jensen races for victory and his freedom.

Let's be realistic - the plot is worthless. Death Race is all about hard driving, bullets and mega explosions, of which there are plenty. Each vehicle (the designs reminiscent of Mad Max II) is equipped with a variety of Gatling guns, missiles, napalm, oil slicks, swords, flame throwers and every other weapon imaginable. The drivers do everything possible to inflict life threatening injury on the other competitors using said weaponry. For good measure, the warden also throws in a number of obstacles intended to cause widespread destruction to the Death Race participants.After introducing all the disposable characters and setting up the paper-thin plot over a half-hour, the race commences. As one would expect, there are several mini-climaxes as Jensen faces off against a motley assortment of scumbags, including the vicious Machine Gun Joe (Gibson). The climax is a tad unexpected and slightly unconventional, although it is telegraphed pretty early. The conclusion is perfunctory and, surprisingly, doesn't offer the true satisfaction some might desire.

Roger Corman's Death Race 2000, while being hilariously entertaining, set its satire gun on the American public's lust for violence. With Death Race, director Paul W.S. Anderson takes plenty of stabs at the requirement for ratings, sensationalism, and pay-per-view sports (slightly reminiscent of The Condemned as well as Arnold Schwarzenegger's The Running Man). This satirical edge is underwhelming and dull, however, largely due to the fact that the flick is so claustrophobic. The makers place so much emphasis on the races and the pay-per-view setup that no viewers outside of the prison are ever shown. There is so much talk of ratings, of millions of viewers paying to watch, and yet the film never offers any images of families crowding around their televisions lusting for blood. But can we really expect a feature of this nature to present a clear and effective social commentary? After all, the more you ponder the picture and its premise, the more plot-destroying questions you stumble upon - for instance, if the majority of Americans are poor and jobless, how can they afford to spend $250 to watch the Death Race?

Of course, Death Race is all about the testosterone. The well-choreographed action is the real reason to watch this flick, and it's accompanied by a head-banging musical score courtesy of Paul Haslinger. The film is a noisy hard-R affair that pours the action on thick and violently at the 30-minute mark and never looks back. The usual Paul W.S. Anderson rapid-fire editing still remains, but it's not as pronounced or as distracting as one might expect. While it's true the cars are far less imaginative than those in Death Race 2000, they're still pretty cool in that fetishistic Mad Max kind of way. None of the vehicles are slick or sleek - they're armed and armoured tanks. While the scenery gets a bit drab after a while (the racing always occurs on the same track, whereas Corman's original had bright, picturesque locations), interesting gimmicks are introduced in each new race to prevent us from getting bored. Director Anderson's adherence to practical stunts and effects as opposed to cartoonish CGI results in some impressive, intense, thrilling races punctuated by gunfire, fireballs, rolls and spectacular collisions. These effects are refreshing to say the least, and lend a gritty feel to the movie. They're also extraordinarily violent, as drivers (and their female navigators) are splattered at high speeds; ripped to shreds by bullets or buzz-saws, or atomised by enormous explosions. It's not called Death Race for nothing!

Director Paul W.S. Anderson has Mortal Kombat, Alien vs. Predator and three Resident Evil films under his belt (all video game adaptations), but Death Race is more like a video game than all five of 'em combined! The cars even have power ups! These deadly cars are armed to the teeth, but the drivers are unable to unleash any firepower without driving over a sword-shaped icon on the racetrack. Their defensive gear - smoke bombs, oil slicks, etc. - will only kick in after driving over a shield icon. There are even death icons, which trigger a lethal object to rise out of the track and destroy the doomed car. All that's missing is a health bar in the corner.

An impressive cast has been assembled for Death Race. Apart from the eminently likable Statham, Tyrese Gibson plays the villain, and (to the horror of film critics everywhere) Joan Allen also appears. Jason Statham has rapidly ascended to star status over recent years. Such films as the Transporter trilogy, Crank, Cellular and War have established the actor as a charismatic action star. In Death Race, his appealing mixture of toughness and sympathy gives us a hero worth rooting for amidst the otherwise one-dimensional selection of characters. Meanwhile, Tyrese Gibson appears in the role of Machine Gun Joe - a character originally growled by a young Sylvester Stallone in the original 1975 flick. Gibson is a stereotypical, customary action movie villain who detests the hero and is willing to kill even members of his own crew. For someone of Joan Allen's stature to appear in this movie is simply baffling. She adjusts herself well, however, presenting Warden Hennessey as a badass in a skirt and high heels - the type of woman viewers love to hate. Her profane diatribes are quite amusing. In the supporting cast, Ian McShane comports himself appropriately as one of Frankenstein's mechanics. And that's about it when it comes to the main cast. There aren't any truly stand-out performances here, but everyone does an adequate job of allowing the film to move smoothly from A to B.

An ambitious combination of The Condemned, The Running Man and Mad Max, Death Race is just an enjoyable, fast-moving exploitation action flick, which (against all odds) is superior to the 1975 Roger Corman classic on countless levels. Characters are barely developed, and the script avoids creating meandering subplots, so the flick just screams along for a brisk 95 minutes. The runtime is probably longer than it should be, but the pacing is rapid and there's hardly a dull minute. There's nothing even remotely original about the story (with a wronged, vengeful hero, some one-note villains, an obligatory romance, etc.) and the satire aspect is fairly dull, yet Anderson has still crafted an entertaining guilty pleasure - exactly the type of film he wanted to deliver. Let's face it...an action flick with the title Death Race was never going to appear on any annual Top 10 lists or anything. This is just a big, loud, gloriously dumb action romp overflowing with over-the-top vehicular slaughter. It ain't a particular great movie, but the mayhem is highly enjoyable. Sometimes that's good enough.

6.7/10

A treasured cult classic from much-loved B-Movie producer Roger Corman, Death Race 2000 can be described as a lot of things - it's cheesy, it's overwrought, it's stupid, it's campy, the special effects are appalling, the plot is idiotic... And it's great fun! The average viewer or critic will almost certainly look distastefully at the film's low production values and the poor acting, and dismiss the flick entirely (Roger Ebert did award it zero stars). To the less cynical, however, this is top-notch campy filmmaking; taking a low budget in exchange for absolute freedom to be as ridiculous and unconventional as possible. With its absurd premise, a macabre sense of humour as well as its dizzying combination of racing and pure ultra-violence (of the bright red tomato sauce variety), Death Race 2000 comes off as a mindlessly entertaining '70s exploitation romp...the kind of fluff one would watch at the drive-in cinema all those decades ago.

Set in the far flung future of the year 2000 (well...it was far flung back in 1975), Death Race 2000 presents America as a fascist empire now run by a powerful dictator after a major global turmoil leaves the world in dismal shape. The ultimate sporting event is now the Transcontinental Death Race - a futuristic annual road race during which skilled drivers gun their customised four-wheeled killing machines from one side of America to the other, and contestants can score points by murdering innocent pedestrians (the more helpless the person, the more points the driver receives). This year, the formidable and popular champion Frankenstein (Carradine) has a new challenge in the form of arrogant rookie driver 'Machine Gun' Joe (Stallone). A twist at this year's Death Race also comes in the form of an organisation trying to bring an end to the immoral sport.

Death Race 2000 is wonderfully compact at a meagre 80 minutes, resulting in a fast-paced, darkly funny comic-book action film. Like most of Roger Corman's movies, Death Race 2000 was quite obviously shot on the cheap. Corman (who served as producer) had a talent for making the most of a restricted budget, and by the time Death Race 2000 entered production he had more experience making successful low-budget movies than anyone else before him. Corman's talent really pays off when it comes to films like this. The cars (though they just look like plain old consumer vehicles given minor body work) look fairly convincing as the speedy, pedestrian-slaughtering station wagons of death. Certain things, such as the futuristic backgrounds at the beginning of the movie, look extremely fake and unbelievably cheesy. This is not necessarily a bad thing, though, as this constitutes half the film's appeal. In traditional with this type of cinema, there's also a sleazy satirical subtext beneath the on-screen violence.

Despite some ham-fisted moralising about violence in American culture, Death Race 2000 is by no means a serious movie - it's infused with Corman's trademark brand of black humour. People get run over in hysterically fake ways (resulting in bright red ketchupy splats), and doctors even wheel the elderly out to the middle of the road for the drivers to hit. It's not the (distinctly lacking) plot or the creative ideas that make Death Race 2000 so enjoyable, but the characters and the cheesy action. The campy qualities of this flick simply cannot be overstated. It's almost impossible for an audience to feel sorry for the innocent pedestrians who are killed mercilessly because it's so entertaining to watch them die! The appalling special effects, the disjointed editing and the shonky film adjustments (when shots are sped up, it's very obvious) make Death Race 2000 a downright hilarious watch. Like most of Corman's work, this has become a cult classic for a good reason.

Director Paul Bartel attempts to compensate for a noticeable lack of plot by throwing in an assortment of colourful oddball characters and moments of comedy, but the frequent narrative lulls become more and more problematic as the film progresses. In fact, the entire story is a one big mess, not to mention the screenplay is fundamentally a congregation of lousy dialogue, shallow characters, a muddled plot and traces of a deeper social meaning. Death Race 2000 is simply so awful that it's good. Only über-producer Corman could produce rubbish of this surprisingly watchable standard.

Face it: you didn't settle upon the decision to watch Death Race 2000 hoping to witness some true acting talent. The movie is crammed with barely passable acting, which is to be expected for a film of this ilk.
Sylvester Stallone's typical tough-guy persona serves him well here as the aggressive Machine Gun Joe. This is one of Sly's earliest performances (in his late twenties here), and he bellows out each line as if he's drugged on PCP. As you'd expect from an action film, Stallone's performance is watchable but very contrived. Oddly, for such a manly man he's clad in an astonishing amount of pink. At the opposite end, David Carradine appears as Frankenstein; a scarred road warrior in a corny costume of a black leather suit and cape (the production values are painfully evident while observing this campy outfit). Where Stallone delivered his dialogue like a kid on a Trix high, Carradine's Frankenstein is more of an anorexic Darth Vader. He ominously mumbles and grumbles as he disperses cryptic musings.
Meanwhile, the other three competitors of the Death Race appear in the form of Mary Woronov, Roberta Collins and Martin Kove - all of whom are forgettable.

Low in budget, high in chutzpah - Death Race 2000 is '70s schlock exploitation filmmaking at its finest. It's a fun, thoroughly campy piece of work let down by the terrible script and a distinct lack of plot. Yet, it isn't difficult to understand why the movie has endured over the years, particularly given the unabashed violent tendencies and the genuinely thrilling racing sequences. The greatest thing about Death Race 2000 is that it's very short, succinct and entertaining. There's plenty of cartoonish action to enjoy, and even when the racing pauses there's gratuitous nudity as well as the spacious, orange-décor hotel suites to keep one rapt. The goofy narrative also concludes satisfactorily. The combination of slapstick humour, satire, and plain camp ensures this movie a place among Corman's finest.

Followed by Death Sport. A re-imagining (not exactly a remake as only a few character names and the general premise are retained) was also released in 2008.

5.7/10

An ambitious historical drama helmed by the legendary Clint Eastwood, Changeling is without a doubt one of the best pictures of 2008; a thoroughly engrossing, powerful film able to entertain as much as it provokes. Eastwood's latest masterwork is based on a true story, and it chronicles the appalling events surrounding the Wineville Chicken Coop Murders that occurred between 1928 and 1930. It must be stressed that this feature isn't just a simplistic story of a mother's heroic quest for truth... Beneath its exterior, it's an excellent exposé of crime and corruption during the early 20th Century. Changeling is the first of Clint Eastwood's two 2008 productions (the brilliant Gran Torino being the other), and it is a mature, mesmerising saga made far more compelling by the director's masterful handling of the material. Eastwood has employed the same sparse, unadorned yet exceedingly watchable filmmaking style throughout his several decades as a director, and this style is prominent here. His films rarely drag as well - they're lean and efficient; rarely wasting energy or becoming bogged down in sentimentality. Considering the subject matter, Changeling could've been created as a maudlin, melodramatic mess with exaggerated performances and telegraphed emotion. Under Eastwood's direction, however, it is none of those things. Changeling is unforgettable... It's unforgettable for its extraordinary story, for the cinematography of ethereal beauty, for the haunting performances and for Eastwood's stylistic directorial style. But most of all, Changeling is unforgettable for its sheer impact. This is a devastating and touching story which has been beautifully told by a filmmaker who remains at the top of his game.

The story commences in 1928 Los Angeles. Hard-working single mother Christine Collins (Jolie) returns home from an impromptu shift at work to discover that her 9-year-old son Walter (Griffith) has mysteriously vanished. Five months after Walter's unexplained disappearance, the LAPD - anxious to get some good publicity to help their tarnished image - insists they've found Christine's son. Delight soon turns into horror, however, when Christine lays eyes on the young boy the police have found and instantly realises it's not her child. But the LAPD, worried about further bad press, arrogantly refuse to admit their mistake. As she questions the tactics of the police on an escalating scale of hysteria, the LAPD attempt to silence Christine through iniquitous methods and begin using the press to discredit her claims. But when a campaigning clergyman named Reverend Gustav Briegleb (Malkovich) comes to Christine's aid, the whole rotten system of lying officialdom is tackled and they begin to expose the LAPD's epic web of deception. As the mystery of her missing son deepens, Christine is forced to face an awful possibility about what might have actually happened to Walter...

During 2008, Eastwood turned 78 and still shows no sign of stopping. Most people in any trade retire at 65, but Clint was merely warming up; going on to produce some of the finest work of his directorial career (Oscar-winning films like Million Dollar Baby, Mystic River and Letters From Iwo Jima). The esteemed actor-director has effortlessly segued into a no-nonsense, old-fashioned filmmaker in the mould of John Ford, Sergio Leone, and (his mentor) Don Siegel.
For Changeling, Eastwood allows the events to unfold slowly and quietly without resorting to the over-the-top performances or a roaring soundtrack a lesser director would have employed to highlight the drama - Eastwood recognises that this tale requires no exaggeration. Put simply, Eastwood is the best classical filmmaker working in contemporary Hollywood: his pictures are never flashy or gimmicky, as he recognises these as distractions from his primary job, which is to pay service and respect to a story. However, the man is not a simplistic filmmaker either. Here, Eastwood has crafted a motion picture that moves with ease and grace from potent drama to dark thriller to a tale of corruption echoing such films L.A. Confidential and Chinatown. The ability to work on various levels and shift gears with such skill comes from years of practise...Changeling represents another career high point of one of this generation's finest directors.

Historical relevance notwithstanding, Changeling emerges as a contemporary morality tale as well. After all, Walter is abducted when Christine agrees to work on her day off (a day that she promised she would spend with Walter). By agreeing to work, Christine not only chooses her job over spending time with her son, but she also breaks a promise. The consequence of this decision is that she loses her young boy forever. The film is possibly making a statement regarding single mothers, as well as reasserting that nothing is more important than family and moments spent away from children are moments lost forever.

No original book or magazine article exists detailing the Christine Collins case. Screenwriter (and former journalist) J. Michael Straczynski had to conduct meticulous research, developing the story using newspaper files and old records (from city hall, the courthouse, and the city morgue). The extraordinary story of Changeling starts as a flapper Erin Brockovich before turning into Silence of the Lambs by way of L.A. Confidential. Truth is stranger than fiction, as they say. The fact that Eastwood's flick manages to morph from one genre to another is a measure of how truly unusual the story is. It can certainly keep an audience off balance...there are a lot of surprises. Admittedly, Changeling boasts a story far better than the screenplay, as Straczynski's inexperience as a feature film writer is occasionally evident. The one fault of the script is simple: the dialogue sounds a tad too contemporary from time to time. The period detail mixed with this modern-ish dialogue can be very jarring. Dialogue aside, though, Changeling is pervaded with an immense emotional weight that consistently feels earned and sincere as opposed to cloyingly manipulative.

The most striking element of Changeling is the look of the film. With top-shelf production values and excellent visual effects, Eastwood's feature is imbued with an evocative mood of Depression-era L.A. without missing a beat. The digital recreations of 1920's Los Angeles are marvellous, and there are moments when it looks as if Eastwood managed to get his cast and crew into a time machine. Every cent of the $55 million budget (estimated) is used sparingly and put to great use. Tom Stern (Eastwood's expert cinematographer since 2002's Blood Work) paints a muted palette of dehydrated colours reminiscent of the 1920s, punctuated with subtle splashes of colour (like Jolie's red lips) as beacons of hope.
Not only does the aging Eastwood direct his pictures, but he also produces and carries out several additional duties (hence the astounding low-budget nature of his films). Changeling has been beautifully scored by the director himself with lilting pianos and blustery strings. This sweetly melancholic music subtly comforts our souls.
If there's one thing to savour about Changeling, it's the graceful way it transports the audience, taking them back in time to this famous era with traditional Eastwood ease. The 140-minute runtime (approximately) may seem daunting, but it never really seems that long. All pieces of the puzzle merge together, forming a remarkable motion picture which rarely feels its tremendous length.

Clint Eastwood has the ability to coax the best from his actors. Changeling is propelled by an array of wonderful performances, headed by Angelina Jolie whose shattering portrayal of Christine Collins was deservedly nominated for an Academy Award. Choosing to underplay her character's rage and sadness, the actress escapes into her role, painting Christine as a determined woman whose sombre and steadfast nature in the wake of her son's disappearance occasionally gives way to an incendiary temper... Jolie brings every ounce of motherly love and anguish to this part. Appearing in most scenes and carrying the emotional weight of the entire picture, Jolie gives one of the most nuanced performances of her entire career.
There is scarcely a bad performance in the entire film. Jeffrey Donovan is arrogantly loathsome and slimy yet entirely credible as Captain Jones, who seems bereft of humanity as he tries to defend the inexcusable behaviour of the LAPD in unacceptable ways. Playing his superior with gusto, Colm Feore's Chief Davis is equally adamant to push the dirt under the rug without any regard for justice or for Christine. Also first-rate and suitably hateful are the actors portraying the unscrupulous doctors supportive of the corrupt cops - Denis O'Hare as the psychiatric hospital's nasty head doctor, as well as Peter Gerety and John Harrington Bland. Michael Kelly is an especially memorable addition to the cast playing the detective who investigates the dreadful Wineville Chicken Coop Murders. As the psychotic Gordon Stewart Northcott who executed these murders, Jason Butler Harner is exceptional. The moderately unknown actor paints one of the most skin-crawling portraits of pure evil in recent cinematic memory.
John Malkovich is a particular standout as the crusading clergyman who uses Christine's plight to further his own agenda. He's understated and terrific, bringing considerable authority to his character of Reverend Briegleb who's armed with a radio station microphone and rants against the corrupt cops of Los Angeles.

Changeling is one of 2008's best movies. What begins as a simple mystery-thriller soon takes a number of devastating twists and turns, bordering on noir before dipping into dark, bloody horror, and culminating in a courtroom drama for the well-paced and tense climax. Changeling travels to dark places, with scenes and circumstances that will haunt you long after the credits expire. It's not exactly an easy movie to watch, but it's very classy and it adroitly avoids exploitation for the sake of drama. The muted colours, the simple but effective period design and the plot-driven editing grab our attention and emotions with a firm grip as Eastwood tells this elegant story. Changeling is visually sumptuous as well; both its cinematography and art direction were justly nominated for Academy Awards. As long as Clint Eastwood continues to make new movies, this reviewer will continue to pay to watch them. This is a gorgeous, underrated masterpiece and a perfect example of fine art...how the Academy overlooked this tour de force for Best Picture is simply beyond me.

9.5/10

The Reader is one of those motion pictures which feels specifically tailored for a December release. An adaptation of Bernhard Schlink's 1995 international bestseller, this is a mature historical drama laced with nudity, compelling themes, suppressed emotion and a few twists. It's quite telling that producer Harvey Weinstein rushed the film's production to ensure its place in the 2008 Oscar race. At any other time of the year, such a movie would frankly feel out of place. Directed by Stephen Daldry (his first feature since 2002's The Hours), The Reader is blatant Oscar bait, but the makers' overconfidence in their product is palpable from the outset...and the result is closer to a near miss than a rousing success. While Daldry's Oscar-nominated film is brimming with emotion and provocative moral ambiguity in the context of a melodrama, The Reader is an unrelenting journey into dreariness and one-note drama with thinly-drawn characters. This is strictly by-the-numbers, conventional Oscar bait which quickly descends into abject boredom. Not skilful enough to be genuinely engaging, and truly lacking in substance, this is a cold fish of a film which falls short of the greatness for which it strives. It's even strangely detached from emotion when it should've been brimming with poignancy. The Reader is not a particularly bad movie per se...it's just an average, boring one. It's frankly bewildering that this film was nominated for Best Picture at the Academy Awards.

The mainstay of the story begins in Germany in 1958, when 15 year old Michael Berg (Kross) falls ill on the street and is comforted by a stranger named Hanna (Winslet). Months later, after he overcomes his grave sickness, Michael returns to thank Hanna for her kindness. But the young man finds himself attracted to this older woman who willingly beds the overeager virgin. This brief, sensual, passionate affair combines sex with foreplay during which Michael reads passages of literature to Hanna. It is throughout this section that the film alternates between chapters and sex, sex and chapters. This leads to the inevitable heartbreak when, despite their intense bond, Hanna mysteriously disappears. Eight years later, and Michael is a student at law school. Through a coincidence barely allowable in a movie like this, his law class is given the chance to witness a Nazi war crimes trial...and Hanna is one of the defendants. Michael figures out a secret which would exonerate his former lover, but is too embarrassed to share it. The story unnecessarily stretches into Michael's adulthood (now played by Ralph Fiennes) when he has become a man plagued by relentless regret and shame.

The Reader is notable for its first-rate performances, the handsome photography, and the elegant music. The preceding praise may sound generic, but so is the movie. Production values are admirable, and everything is brilliantly subdued, but nothing pierces, shocks, engages or challenges. The interesting undertones and themes are occasionally compelling, but for the most part everything interesting dissolves into disconcerting blandness.

If there was any real passion or feeling behind it, The Reader might've felt like more than a mere space-filler on the inexorable march towards Oscar night. Despite the best efforts of the three talented main actors and a competent director, The Reader just lies on the screen demanding the audience to care and engage but never offering them much to grasp onto. Daldry also appears to have a difficult time with the film's tonal shifts. The director makes a peculiar choice to paint Michael's raw sexual awakening on a dull palette of bleached, muted colours. Regardless of all the nudity and constant love-making, The Reader is about as sexy as a brick wall. The tone additionally contradicts Kross' openhearted, wholly amorous performance as the smitten teenager. The picture is also structured in a pointlessly choppy and non-linear fashion, losing momentum and focus once the proceedings move beyond the trial. The segments taking place in the '90s lack the foundation of the preceding chapters. A viewer can understand that as an adult, Michael is still obsessed with Hanna, and his obsession isn't healthy, but that's virtually everything we manage to glean from about 40 minutes worth of film. Ralph Fiennes is a fine actor (who also starred in 2008's In Bruges and The Duchess), but his portion of the film is let down by the screenplay.

Reportedly, The Reader is a predominantly faithful adaptation of Bernhard Schlink's book when it comes to major plot points (and it gets points for it), but the devil is in the details. Intricacies and nuances that exist in the novel and which can be presented in the first-person narrative are absent from this more straightforward motion picture.
The first two thirds of The Reader are by far the strongest. These scenes (which chronicle the affair and the impact the revelations about Hanna's past have upon Michael), provide rich drama and pose some troubling philosophical questions, even if Daldry grossly mishandles the material (why he was nominated for a Best Director Oscar for this film is a mystery for the ages). It has to be said that the slow pace of the film also allows an audience to realise the gaping plot holes. (An illiterate person able to work as a ticket checker on a tram?)

As stated previously, producer Harvey Weinstein forced director Daldry to rush the production. At times, this intensified schedule shows in the finished product. A lot of the dramatic transitions aren't as tightly focused as they should be. The giant leaps between timelines are baffling, particularly the initial transition from 1995 to 1958. Character motivations are seldom explored in David Hare's shallow script (also curiously nominated for an Oscar). The characters are therefore presented merely as two-dimensional caricatures. Hanna is just a horny male's fantasy, while Michael is merely a horny teenager. Both of the aforementioned choose to withhold crucial information in fear of embarrassment. As we can't understand the motivations of the characters, we don't understand why Hanna chooses to face a lifetime in prison when a simple piece of humiliating information could soften her sentence. Crucially, we don't care either. A suicide also happens towards the film's dénouement, but why this character chooses to take their life is unknown. Most of these faults are due to the film's faithfulness to its source material, but this doesn't excuse them.
What does work is the stunning cinematography by Roger Deakins and Chris Menges (the latter coming onto the feature after the production schedule was changed by the producer and the former suddenly dropped out due to scheduling conflicts). The cinematographers were nominated for an Academy Award for their great work.

Both Kate Winslet and David Kross commit unequivocally to their roles. Winslet plays the character of Hanna throughout the entire movie; going through a gauntlet of old age make-up in the process. Winslet's Oscar-winning portrayal of Hanna is note-perfect, but she's unable to overcome the thinly-sketched nature of her character - the actress is adrift with no coherent character to grab onto. Kross and Ralph Fiennes are engaging enough, but the character of Michael Berg isn't much more interesting than Hanna; the transition from callow youth to guilt-ridden man never made clear.
In a supporting role, Bruno Ganz is authoritative as the law professor who poses pertinent questions to Michael about the human condition. Hannah Hertzsprung is also marvellous in the small but pivotal role of adult Michael's daughter. The acting across the board is great, but the contrivance inherent in playing this German tale in English for an international audience detracts from its authenticity. It isn't as affecting as, say, The Lives of Others or Downfall.

The weakest addition to the 2008 Oscar race, The Reader is a plodding, meandering drama plagued by a glacially slow, shallow screenplay. Still, there's enough intelligent material here to make it worthwhile as a meditation about the post-World War II implications of the Holocaust upon the German psyche. It also works as a tale of the tragedy suffered by one man because, at a young, vulnerable stage time of his life, he fell in love with the wrong person. While never making excuses for those who committed atrocities in the Holocaust, The Reader becomes the latest Nazi-related feature to question whether redemption is a possibility for a person responsible for monstrous acts. The stylish cinematography, coupled with Nico Muhly's florid, somewhat overbearing score makes this motion picture seem like the type of movie one ought to take seriously. Don't be fooled by the elegant exterior, though, as The Reader never fulfils its promises of relevance and depth. R.I.P. Anthony Mingella and Sydney Pollack.

Frost/Nixon is Ron Howard's cinematic adaptation of Peter Morgan's hugely successful Broadway play of the same name. Morgan (who also penned the screenplay for this motion picture appropriation) based his production on the series of television interviews featuring British journalist David Frost and disgraced former president Richard Nixon (conducted in 1977). Judging from this premise, one would likely expect a dry, historical and contrived drama... But Frost/Nixon is instead a delicious contest of wits, complemented with top-notch acting and a narrative which is both gripping and dramatic even despite the foregone conclusion. Director Howard has crafted a powerful, compelling duel involving two iconic figures, which (in spite of liberties taken with well-known facts) offers multiple hard-earned truths and an intricate portrait of one of the most controversial Presidents in American history. It'd be easy to demonise Nixon, especially in today's political climate, but the makers circumvent this lazy pathway. Howard and screenwriter Morgan have transformed this fascinating tale into something more than an embellished re-telling of modern history. Nominated for five Oscars (Best Picture, Best Actor, Best Adapted Screenplay, Best Editing and Best Director), Frost/Nixon can definitely be counted alongside 2008's best films.

There's so much more to this dramatisation of Frost's televised interviews with Nixon in '77 than one would realise. Beginning with the President's resignation after the Watergate fiasco, the film tracks Frost as he puts his entire life and career on the line to execute the greatest television accomplishment of his career. Howard's picture also pays close attention to the power plays and behind-the-scenes machinations that went into making these interviews which became the most-watched in TV history at that time.

The movie opens in August 1974, presenting a series of news reports and interviews as United States President Richard Nixon (Langella) announces his resignation. For the better part of three years, he remained in exile, disgraced by the Watergate conspiracy which brought down his presidency. Up until 1977, Nixon shunned the media and refused to give interviews. But in this year, David Frost (Sheen), a British talk show host longing to return to his glory days, is given the chance of a lifetime when Nixon agrees to appear in a series of interviews regarding aspects of his presidency. For Nixon, these interviews are seen as an opportunity to rehabilitate his image in the eyes of the American people, and gambled that Frost would only lob him softballs. David Frost, however, perceived the interviews as a chance to establish his credibility and make headlines, especially if he could manage to coax an apology or an admission of guilt out of the former US President. Gathering a squad of investigators (portrayed by Macfadyen, Rockwell and Platt), Frost begins planning his verbal offensive. As the cameras began to roll, a charged battle of wits ensued. Frost finds Nixon (also known to many as Tricky Dick) a shrewd man capable of controlling any room he enters with aplomb. After three catastrophic interview days, Frost fears ruin, but it was in the final day that the foppish interviewer managed to force a moment of honesty in which Nixon gave the confession and apology the public hungered for.

In adapting his own play (not an overly difficult job, as this was a very cinematic script to begin with), screenwriter Morgan wisely converts the direct-to-audience monologues into documentary-style direct-to-camera interviews. Ron Howard is not a director one might consider for this type of material, but he navigates Morgan's script with proficiency and precision. The result is this crisp motion picture; a literate, riveting vocal tango that successfully examines a well-worn historical footprint without ever feeling fatigued. The power of the close-up is something Howard evidently appreciates, and this sole factor alone deems this cinematic adaptation necessary. On stage, small details aren't visible. On film, the camera can capture every brilliant facial expression which conveys a story in itself. It's Howard's willingness to let his camera linger and capture every bead of sweat that affords Frost/Nixon a great deal of its impact. He guides the film with an inspired smoothness that renders the picture quite digestible, even despite the labyrinthine historical backdrop of Watergate which is not sufficiently explained (indeed, one will want to constantly pause the film in order to research facets of the Watergate cover-up, and it will only run incredibly smoothly to an audience with extensive knowledge on the topic).

Approximately 50% of the picture is recreated material from the 1977 interviews, which have been shifted, shaped, and edited to augment the drama. Obviously, a great deal had to be cut given that the broadcasted version of the interviews spanned about six hours (with several additional hours of footage not shown). Howard wisely focuses on the segments that are most remembered and/or that made history. The verbose, dynamite interview portion makes up the film's final hour, and the psychological nuance is simply spellbinding. Most commendable is Howard's ability to engage without much assistance from Hans Zimmer's music. It's during the film's concluding moments in particular (as Frost at last decides to take the interview seriously) that director Howard ratchets up the intensity, slamming home his movie's place in the 2008 Oscar race. Howard's extraordinary work earned him an Academy Award nomination.

In one of the film's most dramatically potent scenes, Nixon calls Frost in his hotel room late at night on the eve of their final on-camera confrontation. For this scene, Frost is depressed over the failure of the interviews thus far, and Nixon has downed a few drinks. As the former President begins to talk, he starts drawing parallels between his inquisitor and himself in regards to their backgrounds and struggles. During this scene he's more or less taunting Frost...but Nixon's motivations are brilliantly vague. Morgan's exceptional screenplay suggests that Nixon was pushing Frost to amp it up...that somewhere deep inside his dark psyche, Nixon wanted to confess, and when he realised that Frost wasn't working hard enough to elicit this confession from him, he pushed the naïve talk show host. According to many sources, this phone conversation is pure fiction...but at least it's compelling fiction.

Peter Morgan's script does deviate from reality on several occasions, and there are a few major instances worth mentioning. Nixon's controversial view on presidential power ("When the President does it, that means it's not illegal!") was not part of the Watergate interview (this was apparently uttered in an earlier interview) as portrayed here. Reportedly, the climactic Watergate interview was also not interrupted in exactly the manner depicted in the film. Granted, it'd be impossible for Morgan's Oscar-nominated script to be completely accurate, but the movie would be superior if the screenwriter didn't take these particular liberties.

Truly a tale of two verbal gladiators facing a critical moment of professional and personal candour, Howard's film is right at home with Frost and Nixon as they enter the gladiatorial arena of public scrutiny and face off over several days. The smartest creative decision was retaining Michael Sheen as Frost and Frank Langella (who won a Tony for his performance in the play) as Nixon. Both are magnificent, and make for absolutely riveting opponents. These actors never try to mimic the real Frost and Nixon, but to instead embody their respective characters through sheer force of performance.
While there are issues with Frank Langella's physical appearance as Tricky Dick, his body language is truly mesmerising, and he creates a Nixon of media charisma who's constantly at war with his abrasive instincts. The character is not predicated on surface imitation or caricature. Instead, Langella undergoes an amazing transformation during the film. Especially during the interviews, we feel as if we're seeing Nixon...not an impersonation. In order to make his acting easier, Langella never broke from character on-set and asked the crew to call him "Mr. President". He whole-heartedly deserved the Oscar nomination for Best Actor.
It's extremely tragic that Michael Sheen wasn't given any recognition at the Oscars. The actor's performance is every bit as brilliant as Langella's. Sheen also transforms himself, but his direction is one of cocktail-hour discontent as his character of Frost confronts his own issues of integrity and financial pressure. He portrays David Frost as a playboy and as a dabbler; he's obsessed with celebrity culture and disinterested in politics. Thankfully, Sheen possesses the boyish charm to effectively pull this off and present Frost in the classic role of the underdog. Frost's naiveté allows him to be outmatched in the early rounds of the vocal gladiatorial match, but Nixon's overconfidence ultimately paves the way for his own downfall.

The supporting cast is filled with some of the best character actors working today, such as the impeccable Kevin Bacon as Nixon's post-resignation chief of staff Jack Brennan. Playing David Frost's team of researchers is Sam Rockwell, Matthew Macfadyen, and Oliver Platt, all of which are uniformly superb. Rebecca Hall (who earned a Golden Globe nomination for her role in Woody Allen's Vicky Cristina Barcelona, also released in 2008) is first-rate as Caroline Cushing, Frost's love interest.

The tone of Frost/Nixon is extremely staid, as befits a movie covering this subject matter, yet there are compelling dramatic currents beneath the sometimes calm surface. This is a gripping, unrelenting motion picture that convincingly travels back in time and recalls (albeit imperfectly) how a national nightmare finally faded. Movies for mature adults these days are few and far between, so when a film as stimulating, witty, and smart as Frost/Nixon is released, attention should be paid. Equal parts entertaining and engrossing, masterfully acted, excellently directed and exceptionally well-written, Frost/Nixon is one of the most extraordinary films of 2008; a modern masterpiece laced with tension and potent human drama.

8.8/10