"Edge of Tomorrow" (2014)

Tom Cruise, by virtue of his charm, charisma and ageless good looks, is one of those leading men that can sell the hell out of a movie simply by his presence. His job, stemming back to a lineage of stars such as Cary Grant, is to be the bedrock which makes the plot around him sing no matter how ludicrous it may be. But when the plot around him is also sharp and smart, like the proficient popcorn thrills of Mission: Impossible – Ghost Protocol, it elevates everything to a new level of efficient, involving entertainment. This is the case with Edge of Tomorrow, a sleek, smart, action-packed, sci-fi watch-a-ma-call-it that benefits as much from its no frills plot as it does from Cruise’s likable presence.

Cruise stars as Major William Cage, a former member of the military who now uses his advertising skills to market the war being waged in the near future against an invading alien race, referred to as Mimics. The war, going on five years now, is going badly for humanity, and the human race intends to mount one last counter-offensive with everything they have. Cage is told by the leader of the military forces, General Brigham (Brendan Gleeson) that he will be embedded to cover the war effort from the front lines, and Cage, who has no intention of being near the action, strongly refuses and angers the stubborn general. When Cage wakes up, he learns that the general has sent him to combat, stripped him of his ranks and sent out a formal order stating he’s a deserter.

Cage is flown into combat for the Western European insurgent operation. The event is like D-Day re-imagined as if set in the future, bigger, more bombastic, more explosive and sleeker. Soldiers are in combative, robotic exoskeleton suits that make them look like super-soldiers or beefed up members of Starship Troopers. The aliens are squid-like, wriggling tentacles and the wisping mobility of phantoms; there are shades here of the Predator and the alien from the Alien films and the sentinels from The Matrix, but they stand on their own as something familiar but not bland. 

It turns out the aliens were waiting for the attack and it turns into a massacre. The aliens serve as mostly a plot device, a MacGuffin even. The film’s real interest lies in killing off Cage early … and then bringing him back to life at the beginning of his day, aware of the events to come. The film’s central conceit, which it uses cleverly and buoyantly, involves having Cage re-live the day over and over Groundhog Day style, attempting to save humanity from their doomed fate. In this mission Cage is helped by Sergeant Rita Vrataski (Emily Blunt), who had previously experienced the time jumping and attributes it to coming into contact with the blood of a special set of Mimics. 

The film plays out almost episodically. Cage learns of his circumstances and tries to convince anyone around him to listen (and mostly just fails). He’s unprepared for combat and is taught how to fight by Rita. Cage and Rita map out a way to get to the Omega, the central consciousness of the Mimics and the force responsible for the time reset. Doug Liman’s direction and Christopher McQuarrie, Jez Butterworth, and John-Henry Butterworth’s script are playful and emphasize the progression of Cage’s exacerbation and growth of knowledge in each of the contained scenarios. The film is at its most enjoyable when it considers in detail the consequences and possibilities of its neat central idea. Cage dies and the film often cuts immediately back to that same moment as Cage fixes his mistakes. Cruise has a lot of fun playing someone who has gradually accrued a wealth of knowledge of the situation he’s in and is slightly amused and tired of the tedium of it all. The film also gets a great deal of mileage out of the audience’s lack of certainty as to just how many times Cage has been through any given part of the day; sometimes it’s more than he leads on, and it adds to the thrill and uncertainty of where the film is headed. 

Liman shoots the film for maximum action, and the fight sequences have an immersive, you-are-there quality. While Liman’s background includes The Bourne Identity, the film adopts Bourne’s brisk, energetic pace and action setpieces, but doesn’t have its choppy, quick-cut editing or shaky steadicam shooting. It’s more carefully framed and uses wider angles more consistently. James Herbert and Laura Jennings’ editing must be given praise; the film’s editing adds to its fleetness. It’s tight, controlled and fluid – so seamless and integral to the action, like the best editing, you forget it’s being done. The film flows so smoothly and assuredly. It knows where it wants to head and it knows how long to hold a particular plot point before shifting to a new one. 

There is a video-game-y quality to the film. Not in the Paul W. S. Anderson and Resident Evil way, but in way that speaks to real time strategy and role playing games. The design of the Mimics and the military equipment could resemble anything from Warhammer to Mass Effect. The mechanisms for the film’s plot are isolated puzzles that need careful problem solving. The film’s immersion stems from placing you in the moment of the film’s reality and taking you along for its propulsive ride. We don’t question the logic of it because it becomes so compelling and vital; once it has created a logic unto itself, Edge of Tomorrow becomes addictive, and just plain infectiously hard to resist. 

Edge of Tomorrow could probably stand to have some greater meaning or purpose. It lacks the idea-driven nature of, say, Inception, and it doesn’t have the stealthy profundity of its clearest parallel Groundhog Day. The film lives and dies by how inventively and adeptly it makes use of its premise. Thankfully it mostly lives. And then dies. Then proceeds to live and live some more. 

Grade: A-

"The Fault in Our Stars" (2014)

Author John Green writes funny, smart Young Adult novels about funny, smart teens asking and thinking about Big Important Questions. In his most recent and most popular book The Fault in Our Stars Green matched the urgency and immediacy that faces young adults with a set of life and death stakes to make all that earnest pondering about the meaning of existence feel all the more pressing and poignant.

Hazel Grace Lancaster (Shailene Woodley) is a sixteen year old with terminal thyroid cancer. She was diagnosed at thirteen and miraculously has been living on borrowed time due to a trial drug. Hazel’s life consists mostly of homebound boredom and constant intakes of medication; the rare occasions that she sees the outside world are to go to the mall, where she gazes longingly at non-sick teens, and to attend a support group. 

At one of these meetings Hazel attends mostly to appease her mother (Laura Dern, great despite her minimal presence), she, by chance, encounters Augustus Waters (Ansel Elgort). Gus has recovered from osteosarcoma and lost a leg as a result of his cancer. Hazel and Gus bond and relate over more than just cancer but over a shared sense of humor (this is often, unexpectedly, a very funny film) and a desire to create meaning in a life limited and likely to be shortened by illness. 

This doesn’t sound like the beginnings of a swooning, star-crossed romance. But driven by an awareness that life is short, especially given their circumstances, and heightened by the expiring days inevitably left, they fall for one another slowly but earnestly and purposefully. The romance is never oversold and is fairly grounded for all its intensity. It’s sweet and tender, and Woodley and Elgort have significant chemistry together. 

The adaptation too often awkwardly literalizes Green’s narrative and does a little too much fan service (Some of the book’s most well-trotted quotes make their way in one form or another, occasionally awkwardly). That being said, for all its shortcomings, it must be remembered that technically the film is aimed at teens and in this regard the film and its thoughtful story feels like a welcome alternative to so many other mainstream films (It also, in my opinion, works just fine for anyone who isn’t a tween or familiar with its source). 

In particular, I’m pleased to see a complex female protagonist in a mainstream film (and one that isn’t about dystopian futures). Woodley demonstrates yet again why she’s one of today’s most promising talents. Notice the micro-emotions; Woodley is capable of making small moments feel weighted with purpose and complexity (Elgort is also good but Augustus feels a little underwritten – as Kimber Myers writes, “if his lines were said by another, less talented actor, we might have rolled our eyes more than sighed, but that wasn't the case”). I also like seeing such sincere portraits of young people; smart and articulate, but believably vulnerable. They’re not archetypes or stereotypes (This isn’t a John Hughes movie, thankfully). 

The Dissolve described the film as a “feel bad” film. One of those films we watch going in aware that it will likely depress and move us, perhaps even make us cry. At face, the film might sound like just attractive people dying from disease. But it’s more than a manipulative tearjerker. This is, in part, due to Green’s book, which bucks conventions even as it often plays to them and which has a tremendous amount of sensitivity towards its subject matter. These are good people who have been dealt a bad hand and who make the most of the lives they have. 

Josh Boon’s direction and Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber’s script do play to the sentimentality and heart-tugging a story like this entails, but there’s also real wisdom and hard, hard-earned truths about life. The film can be overly precious and cute, but it’s also often enough bracing and uncompromising. Hazel is always recognized to be staving off the inescapable, and the film doesn’t provide easy answers or convenient outs for all the difficulties and heartbreaks it presents. Hazel is going to die (whether it’s within the two hour timespan or not), but so is, as the film notes, everyone eventually, and it’s in drawing those connections and asking those universal questions that The Fault in Our Stars never stoops to being insufferable or maudlin. It’s honest; the clear-eyed honesty of a sixteen year old, and think just how painfully earnest we all were at sixteen. 

Grade: B+

Game of Thrones: "The Watchers on the Wall"

 ** Spoilers Follow: **

Game of Thrones episodes rarely stand out. They often seem to blend together. Though they’re typically exciting and entertaining, if I were to name an episode title, odds would likely be against you telling me anything that specifically happened in any given episode. That is, possibly, with the exception of the show’s standout penultimate episodes.  During these episodes, the creative team behind the series seems to decide to pull out all the stops and produce some of the best episodes not just of this series but that will air on all of television this year. Whether that’s Ned’s beheading in “Baelor” or the gruesome Red Wedding in “The Rains of Castamere”, the show simply knocks it out of the park.

The episode that immediately comes to mind while watching “The Watchers on the Wall” is “Blackwater”, the self-contained battle at the end of the show’s second season. “Blackwater” took time to focus on one location and set of characters and in spending a greater amount of time with them and pushing the show’s budget to its very limit to produce the largest battle to date, the series created one of its finest hours of television. 

“The Watchers on the Wall” is almost a response to “Blackwater”. It’s a different location and characters but of the same mind, but sets out to also be bigger and more explosive. At times, “The Watchers on the Wall” is almost less elegant than “Blackwater”. This is for a number of reasons. The first being that the episode tries to eke out a lot of plot in the episode -- more than it probably should. Another is that the Wall has far less recognizable characters to reliably draw upon than King’s Landing did. And the criticism most in the episode’s favor is that the episode is far too ambitious for its own good and, at times, overreaches.

But some very minor quibbles aside, “The Watchers on the Wall” is Game of Thrones at it bests. It leans into the aspect that makes Game of Thrones stand out. Mad Men is deeper; Hannibal is rawer; Orange is the New Black has a better handle on its large cast. But Game of Thrones has a majestic sweep quite unlike any other show. The courtly politics are part of the show’s pleasures but it’s the unique sprawl, the sense of a vast, lived-in world we’re only just beginning to scratch the surface of, which makes the show so endlessly watchable. 

In no other show could you see large armies clash with the epic scope of The Lord of the Rings. This was an hour-long action film delivered into our homes. Yet it was more brutal and intimate than your mainstream action flick. The episode begins by providing some quiet calm before the storm as characters waited for the inevitable reckoning to come. And these small moments are quickly succeeded by grueling fight scenes. The Wall is attacked from both sides and the undermanned, undersupplied Nights Watch fights for dear life, taking heavy losses, including senior members. 

The show brought back Neil Marshall, who previously directed “Blackwater”, to direct, and Marshall brings a great eye to the action sequences. They are packed with a visceral intensity. Marshall keeps emphasizing the scale on which things are occurring. There are small, throwaway moments that reinforce the sweep of things. For instance, the first movement of the wildlings on the Wall, from either direction, is marked by a remarkable breadth to match the urgency. 

I’ve mentioned throughout this season that Game of Thrones storytelling structure ends up being damaging to the story it tries to tell, despite it being seemingly the only way to manageably tell Martin’s books. But episodes like “The Watchers on the Wall” demonstrate what the show could and can do when it takes time to settle in on one of its many little worlds. And in doing so, like Joffrey’s wedding earlier in the season, it demonstrates how rich and worthy of exploring these many different stories and locations are. 

There may have been characters I missed stopping in on, but it was absolutely worth it for an episode as excellent as this.

Stray Thoughts:

-Ygritte dies, perhaps not surprisingly, and she’s given some great sendoff moments, whether it was her speech pre-attack at the campfire or the depths of pain and betrayal expressed in her encounter with Jon. Rose Leslie will be greatly missed. 

-Gilly returns and Sam kisses her and all but professes his love. He also plays lawyer by justifying his behavior as it doesn’t violate the actual letter of the Nights Watch Oath. 

-Favorite shot: the tracking shot of the all action at Castle Black. Chaos and violence and brutal majesty. 

Grade: A

"Proxy" (2014)

Esther (Alexia Rasmussen) is nearly nine months pregnant when we first meet her. As she’s leaving her OBGYN from her last ultrasound test, in a great tracking shot, we watch her walk to her car, only for her to be abruptly and viciously attacked by an unknown assailant. Esther’s baby dies from the assault, and at the behest of a nurse she joins a support group where she meets Melanie (Alexa Havins), a woman who says she’s lost her son and husband.  

Early on Proxy, consumed by Esther’s grief, is haunting and melancholy. Rasmussen’s performance is intriguingly understated and Kevin Donner and Zack Parker’s script reveal little of who she is or what’s going through her head. The film proceeds initially as an examination of trauma from a fragile woman, and Rasmussen, right from the first scene, plays the character with a compellingly dead-eyed, handle-with-care appearance. Even before the horrible accident, Esther looks like she’s in need of saving, and this becomes further apparent as the non-existence of human connections in her life becomes abundantly clear. 

And then things get very, very strange. From it’s opening on a black screen matched with a crescendoing, unsettlingly dark score, Proxy televises itself as a film that will be playing around in the sandbox of horror. But for all of the visual grammar of horror Proxy consistently makes use of, it only comes across in small doses that what is occurring is set in the horror genre. But the film doesn’t situate itself as horror in the expected sense; it’s a film about soured psyches and unhinged personalities. Blood is spilt, but Parker’s direction suggests a fascination with mystery and a desire to leave things ambiguous and unresolved. It’s horrific without being horror, thrilling without being a thriller, and mysterious without being a mystery. 

To be completely honest, there’s a certain point in Proxy where I’m not entirely sure what’s happening. Some will argue that about mid-way through Proxy loses track of its larger narrative and goes completely off the rails (And for a time, this argument is somewhat sound but the ending manages to bring the two threads together in an oddly satisfying, but admittedly mismanaged, way). But there’s another argument to be made that the back-half of the film remains true to the vision of the earlier portions of the film, and that each piece’s elusive craziness appropriately ping-pongs off the others'. Still, as is, the film feels like two very different films separated by significant tonal shifts.  

Esther becomes fixated on her relationship with Melanie, in part, because she seems to have no one else to turn to and, in part, because she’s increasingly unstable. This becomes doubly true when it becomes discernable that Melanie is possibly not being entirely honest about her reasons for pursuing group therapy. It’s as the film shifts from the grounded psychological tenors at its start to more expressive, abstract horror as it advances that it will likely lose and baffle some (okay, most) audience members. 

Proxy places Esther and Melanie as a study in contrast. Both could not be more different, in terms of appearance, demeanor or personality. Esther is a willowy, softs-spoken brunette, plain in almost every regard; Melanie is an attractive, sociable blonde, immediately appealing and put-together. Yet both are fundamentally broken and use the other for their own ends (in a way that befits the film’s title), and there’s a feverish, Persona-like suggestion that they may be one and the same, if not literally than undoubtedly psychologically. 

Proxy never takes for granted any of its immediate surface appearances, building an allure out of questioning what motivates its characters. Eventually the film attempts a few too many reveals to beggar belief, but in needling its own foundations the film asks us to be as confused and pained as its characters and feel their unmistakable emotional turmoil. 

Grade: B

"The Sacrament" (2014)

After mining the past for two assured horror films, The House of the Devil and The Innkeepers, writer-director Ti West looks to present day horror for his latest film The Sacrament. The film adopts the popular, in-vogue conventions of found footage horror with mixed results. 

To say West doesn’t look to the past isn’t entirely true though. The classical model of slow-burning, mounting dread that made his previous features so good remains. But West also borrows from the literal, recent past, drawing upon certain events from an infamous late 1970’s religious cult in an exploitative and obvious way.

This is to say nothing of how the limitations of found footage hamstring West at nearly every turn. West begins with a limited premise and traps it in limited film-making techniques and storytelling options.

Reporters for VICE Sam (AJ Bowen) and Jake (Joe Swanberg) join their co-worker Patrick (Kentucker Audley) to meet his sister Caroline (Amy Seimetz), a recovered drug-addict living at a secluded Latin American commune called Eden Parish. Sam and Jake are hoping to record their latest story on this oddball place that requires them to secretly take a helicopter to a remote location and pass through a gate with armed guards -- despite this supposedly being a peaceful, hippie-like community. 

Patrick suspects he’s going to need to convince his sister to leave this crazy place, but to his and his co-workers’ surprise Eden Parish appears normal, outwardly anyway, at least. This being a horror film though, that obviously is not the case, and West provides a lot of anxious-laden interviews amongst the members of the commune. It all appears normal and pleasant but West keeps surreptitiously hinting that something is slightly off. This primarily comes from the portent mentions of the camp’s leader called simply, eerily Father (Gene Jones). 

West smartly keeps Father off-screen for a good thirty minutes before revealing him in the film’s excellent, unsettling centerpiece in which Sam interviews Father in front of all the commune’s inhabitants. Jones is great as Father suggesting menace behind a veneer of Southern, grandfatherly goodness, and throughout the interview he works the crowd like a priest and a conman. 

West is great at the build-up but he plays into every bit of familiarity that you suspect here. The commune is exactly what we assume it to be, and though it isn’t Jonestown in name it might as well be for how much West utilizes those images to uneasily and unfairly create a reaction. West skids into all the simple preceding suggestions and it saps the horror and excitement from what occurs. Beyond this, West doesn’t add anything original to the genre of found footage; there isn’t anything here that hasn’t been endlessly played out since The Blair Witch Project. 

Grade: C

"Cold in July" (2014)

Violence has become an increasingly easy means for films to create conflict and tension, but the frequently arbitrary nature of that violence makes the bloodshed feel very hollow. Cold in July has large amounts of style and numerous squibs of blood but it often seems to have little clue how to put either to good use. What begins as an interesting, if facile, exploration of the morality of self-defense killing descends into a sprawling, un-compelling conspiracy.

In 1989, Richard Dane (Michael C. Hall) is a sweaty, dorky, mullet-sporting law-abiding Texan who kills an intruder breaking into his home. Richard and his family’s life (and “family” is almost always a relegatory element in the film; more symbolic than tangible) is put in danger when the dead man’s imposing father Ben Russell (Sam Shepard) begins harassing them. The cops place the family under their protection, and Cold in July kicks into thriller-mode. 

And that’s before things really kick into high gear in a convoluted and very unearned way, as the film eats through plot like it's life depended on it, casting aside better plots in the name of sustained intensity (Corrupt cops, seedy cover ups, the Dixie mafia, illicit porn peddlers -- these are all just isolated catalysts for self-contained romps). Put simply, this is a the seedy underbelly of Blue Velvet meets a revenge flick; a John Carpenter-indebted, ceaselessly action-packed throwback. That likely makes it sound much better than it is. But it’s really all just luridness for its own sake. 

Director Jim Mickle and director of photography Ryan Samul shoot the film with a grimy impressionism, a frenzy of bright and dark colors, reds and blues. It provides a requisite sense of moody atmosphere and of rotten masculine violence, and it helps builds tension. But it too often seems to serve no purpose; it’s lots of style with no substance.  

Grade: C+

Game of Thrones: "The Mountain and the Viper"

** Spoilers Follow:**

“He should have just fucking gotten it over with” –My dad on the trial by combat

That gem of a quote from my dad (who I happened to watch this episode with) refers to the trial by combat fight sequence that caps off “The Mountain and the Viper” but it also might as well be referring to Game of Thrones as a whole. This is a show that often has no clue how to plot a story. It can land the big moments like Joffrey’s Wedding or Littlefinger tossing Lyssa out of the Moon Door, but a lot of the things around the edges of those moments can feel like table-setting in a very deliberate and obvious manner. 

In a lesser series that might feel like stalling (and even, in some instances, in Game of Thrones it is so totally stalling) but what sets Game of Thrones apart is the journey itself. We watch shows for two distinct reasons, I think. The first is in a theoretical sort of sense: the desire to see a story told and to wonder how the plot will unspool. The other is the more literal, though often more indefinable, reasons; it’s the texture of the viewing experience, the moment to moment things that make a show entertaining.

“The Mountain and the Viper” is a busy and scattered episode. This is partially due to where it’s situated in the season. As the third to last episode, it can only largely hint at big things to come -- the events destined to unfold in the penultimate episode where Game of Thrones is wont to place them. Yes, Oberyn fights the Mountain and it’s really effing exciting, and Oberyn ultimately loses leaving Tyrion’s fate very uncertain. But think about what really happens in this episode, otherwise. Not much honestly. 

The wildlings continue apace with their march on the Wall, and we get an intense scene where Gilly and her baby’s life are threatened. But then Ygritte spares her life. It’s a small moment in an episode filled with lots of small but significant moments. This season has largely lost track of Ygritte (which is a shame because Rose Leslie is one of the best performers on this series); in the process, it has done a lot of demonizing that has lost sight of how she’s not really a bad person but simply on the opposing side of the Nights Watch. I think you can see that in the contrast of the Thenns and Ygritte. The Thenns are monsters; Ygritte’s just another complicated female character. Granted, I doubt the series would have killed off Gilly at this point, but that moment between her and Ygritte felt totally earned. 

The Boltons secure their control of the North with the help of Theon, restored temporarily to his real identity and not his adoptive one of Reek. Theon helps rid Moat Cailin of Iron Islander holdouts. Theon claims he’ll give them peaceful terms but (in a great match cut) Ramsay ends up massacring all of them in gruesome fashion (Sometimes the show indulges its desire for brutal images and acts just a little too much, as if it’s constantly trying to top itself). Theon’s identity crisis is made very palpable and disturbing in this small task and Alfie Allen plays it superbly. Theon looks down, starts shaking uncontrollably and mutters confused and scared. Some of last season’s efforts to establish Theon as he is now felt excessive but the payoff this season has been rather good. 

Both of these storylines are literally people moving across the map. They’re necessary and serve a purpose, but there’s also a sense they could have happened at any of a number of points in the past few episodes. Roose tells Ramsay to take Moat Cailin in the second episode of the season and it only just happened. The Wildling’s appearances, like the Boltons and Theon, have only been sporadic throughout the season. The Boltons move to takeover Winterfell, but it’s all symbolism for now; the fallout remains to be seen. 

The fight is honestly not even the most fulfilling, or even devastating, part of the episode. When I refer to the texture of experience, part of that is getting to know characters and see them grow and change. Sophie Turner gets a great, Emmy-worthy scene where Sansa re-writes the narrative of her relationship with Littlefinger and the events surrounding Lyssa’s death for the suspicious lords of the Vale. But there’s an even more subtle, really fucking disturbing, character choice later where Turner shifts her posture and the register of her voice ever so slightly (and this is helped tremendously by the lighting and costuming choices) causing Sansa to feel transformed in a very sinister and hard to believe way. That’s a four seasons in the making moment that requires the patience of spending time in this world. 

Another long in the making moment is Jorah’s departure. Jorah finally receives the pardon King Robert (yea that guy) gave him all the way back in season one before he fully got on board with Dany’s quest for power. Ser Barristan Selmy is given it accidentally and Jorah is forced to confess, painfully and reluctantly. This is the dissolution of one of the few remaining character pairings that dates back all the way to the first season, and it’s really heart-breaking to witness. 

The dragons and the clash of swords don’t matter; that’s all just window-dressing. No, it’s the anguished look on Tyrion’s face when Oberyn loses the fight. That’s what makes table-setting episodes land. 

Stray Thoughts:

-I loved Arya laughing at the news of her aunt’s death. It’s one of those “of course, she did. Fuck my life” moments where no other reaction makes any sense and it feels right after all the shit Arya has been through and will no doubt continue to go through. 

-The fight was well shot by director Alex Grave, but Oberyn’s motivations just don’t quite land for me as much as they’re intended to. The fight also is really short considering how many sequences have been allowed extra time this season. 

-I have no clue what to make of the Missandei and Grey Worm scenes. I like that the former slaves in Dany’s orbit are getting more screen-time and I want to see more of it. But this feels just a little unnecessary. 

-What to make of Tyrion’s story about his cousin Orson? As Tyrion asks: “What was it all about?” I took it as a representative question for a lot of these characters: why are these things happening to them (like the bugs); they don’t deserve it other than this society is forcing it on them. What do you all think?

Grade: B+