Fave Flicks of 2012

2012 was an odd year for film. There were, as always, some great original ideas and amazing performances, mostly from the margins of the indie and mainstream realms, but this was not the most consistently amazing year for film. But, it didn't have to be. There was a lot of middling crap, but there were a handful of films that really stood out--or at least stuck with me after the credits rolled--that were spectacular in their own ways. 

That said, I offer my sort of comprehensive list of ten favorites from this year that managed to make me smile, think, or laugh a little bit more than the rest of this years releases.

10. Cabin in the Woods

Joss Whedon had kind of a big year, and if you ask the Scoobies and Browncoats, such recognition is long overdue.  Whedon's first big splash this year came in the form of the long-shelved horror movie satire, Cabin in The Woods. Cabin is far more intelligent and legitimately scary than any horror movie parody can ever hope to be, and while it doesn't rewrite the rules of horror movies, it offers a clever twist on the tried and tired formulas that have fueled horror franchises for decades. Best of all, Cabin is responsible for bringing us the unforgettable army of monsters.

9. The Raid: Redemption/Safe House/Safe (tie)

Far from the best movies this, or any, year--though The Raid is easily one of the best pure action movie in years--this trifecta of action flicks reminded audiences that good old-fashioned balls-to-the-wall mid-range action movies still have a place in the cinema. The Raid brought us brutal martial arts action to rival the best of Tony Jaa's output over the past few years while Safe House delivered spy action that was far more visceral and less restrained than 90% of the best spy fi from Abrams, Cruise, or the Broccolis. Safe, on the other hand, was clearly the lesser of the three, but it was a chaotic, brutal, and fast paced actioner that was far less neutered than most of Statham's disposable action flicks. 

8. Wreck-It Ralph/Rise of the Guardians (tie)

Fall brought us the one-two punch of Wreck-It Ralph and Rise of Guardians, two animated films with more heart and genuine thrills than most of the live-action cartoons Hollywood releases in the summer. The nostalgia-drenched Wreck-It Ralph was Disney's best shot at creating their own brand of Pixar magic, complete with heartwarming relationship between lost souls and the main character's search for self. Conversely, Rise of the Guardians is Avengers-lite, an all-star team-up superhero movie with fantasy characters like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny that is as well-crafted as the big-time Avengers, minus some of the plot gaffes.

7. Paperman

Playing in front of Wreck-It Ralph, Paperman was a delightful animated short that recalls the best qualities of 2012's Best Picture winner The Artist. Paperman hearkens back to the silent film era, following a salaryman and his comical, yet infinitely charming, pursuit of a cute-as-a-button secretary. With its charming characters, beautiful score, and gorgeous animation--courtesy of Disney's new Meander animation technology--Paperman encapsulates the heart and wonder of old-school romances with an amazing contemporary sheen.

6. Paranorman

Preceding the fall's animated delights was Paranorman, a sharp and touching stop-motion animation feature from Laika, the good people beyond the similarly creepy and affecting Coraline. Paranorman is a smart tale about forgiveness wrapped up in a classic, hilarious zombie comedy that actually does a better job of turning the genre on its ear than many of the more daring deconstructions that have hit theaters in the past decade. Filled with characters that were as three dimensional as the animation and a meaningful moral to boot, Paranorman was one of the true surprises of the summer.

5. Chronicle

Early this year, we finally got the live-action Akira movie we've been waiting for, and hopefully, the one that will halt Hollywood's plans to attempt a big budget remake. Josh Trank's Chronicle is Akira in all but name, only with a far more focused and cohesive plot, one in which Tetsuo is the center of the story and the overblown melodrama of post-apocalyptic Tokyo's warring factions are replaced by a taut examination of the toll of abuse on the fragile mind, and the damage that mind can do when it grabs the power to burn down the world.

4. Skyfall

Sam Mendes' soft reboot of the 007 franchise was one of the year's biggest blockbusters, and rightly so. Drawing influences from Nolan's Dark Knight trilogy, boasting some of the most amazing cinematography to grace the screen this year, not to mention one of the best Bond themes ever, Skyfall brought Bond back to his roots, telling a wonderfully simple tale of revenge and rebirth while demolishing and honoring the continuity of the past decade. Bond is ready for the future, and judging by the box office receipts, so are audiences.

3. Django Unchained

Quentin Tarantino's slave revenge fantasy may draw on the Boondocks' Legend of Catcher Freeman episode, but it does so with such craft that it canot be denied as a potential new classic. Jamie Foxx finally finds a role where his cockiness and vulnerability are not a handicap, but he is still outclassed by scene stealers Samuel L. Jackson, Christoph Waltz, and Leonardo DiCaprio in a flick that is consistently fun, funny, and furious, just like a slave revenge fantasy should be.

2. The Avengers

The Avengers was unquestionably the highlight of Joss Whedon's big year. With the Avengers, Whedon brought fun back to the superhero narrative after years of grim tales of brooding sourpusses dominated the silver screen. As much as it was every true Believers dream come true, Avengers also happened to be a generally light-heartened, fun experience that was more ride than movie. It also brought us one of the single most exciting third acts in superhero films ever committed to film. With Whedon now the "head" of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the future of Marvel's movie future looks bright in more ways than one.

1. Looper

Great sci-fi makes you think. Great movies make you feel. Looper does both. Rian Johnson's third film continues a short streak of perfection that began with high school noir Brick. Looper may be the tale of time-traveling hitmen, but it is truly a story about consequence, the power of compassion, and the ability of love to make us better people. Looper is that rare film that leaves audiences thinking about how they can better themselves while entertaining them with a clever plot and deep, affecting characters. Looper is a modern classic, no question about it, and one can only hope it is a sign of many more great things to come from Johnson.

Django Unchained: How Tarantino Brought Catcher Freeman to Life

"Knock'em dead, kid"

I've never been a fan of Jamie Foxx. I always felt he was way too cocky for his own good, despite being clearly, if middlingly, multi-talented. That said, Foxx has made some decent movies, cockiness notwithstanding. With Django Unchained, he's finally at the center of a movie that matches the flair for cockiness and dramatic vulnerability that has defined his roles since his turn as Ray Charles. It just so happens that he does so in a movie most of us thought we'd never see: a live action version of the Legend of Catcher Freeman.

Django Unchained is unquestionably Tarantino's stab at bringing a Boondocks episode to life, right down to Samuel L. Jackson playing Uncle Ruckus. And what a magnificent stab it is. Django, like Inglorious Basterds before it, is the best kind of revisionist fantasy: violent, hilarious, and surprisingly sobering--all of which are expected from Tarantino. That Django is a ridiculously audacious sort-of masterpiece is no surprise, what is a surprise is the sheer fact that Tarantino can make audiences laugh so consistently at the single ugliest era of American history while still making them cringe. legitimately Granted, some members of the audience are gonna cringe at the buckets of blood Tarantino throws at the screen, but even more will cringe at the real, and occasionally exaggerated-but not too exaggerated--treatment of African-American slaves during the height of the Antebellum Era, an amazing feat that makes Django one of the most affecting--far more than the trailers would lead the audience to believe--exploitation homages in years.

With Django, as with most of his work, Tarantino takes a simple plot and runs with it in the most audience-pleasing manner possible. It all begins with German bounty hunter, Dr. King Schultz (played with immeasurable charm and grace by the consistently exceptional Christoph Waltz)--indeed, the irony of that character is not lost--and his search for a particularly nasty band of outlaws, The Brittle Brothers. In search of a way to identify the Brittles, the enlightened Schultz, who is positively baffled by this slavery malarkey, "purchases" former runaway slave Django (Foxx) on the condition that he will "free" Django if he helps him find the Brittle brothers. Their pursuit of the Brittle siblings leads the two to form a fruitful, long-term mentor-mentee partnership and begin a journey to save Django's wife, Broomhilda (Kerry Washington), who resides in hellish Candieland plantation in the heart of Mississippi run by dandy Calvin Candie's (Leonardo Dicaprio finally looking like he's having fun on screen) and house negro supreme, Stephen (a particularly evil Samuel L. Jackson knocking the Uncle Ruckus impression out the park).

As to be expected of a Tarantino enterprise, Django is an alternatively talky and violent affair elevated by amazing performances. At two hours and twenty minutes, much of Django's runtime is devoted to the colorful diatribes between the equally vibrant characters, though the dialogue is far more pointed and careful, considering the time period and the lack of widespread pop culture touchstones that would usually pepper Tarantino's dialogue. Of course, the big to-do over the dialogue is Tarantino's furious use of "nigger", which is essentially much to do about nothing considering this is a tale about a slave turned bounty hunter in the Antebellum South. If Tarantino didn't allow his characters to use nigger he would be courting the greater danger of being inauthentic; thus rendering much of Django's effectiveness mute by neutering the antagonists and diminishing the quality of the conflict. Indeed, some in the audience will be offended by Tarantino's flagrant, racially-charged expletive fest, but this is par for the course with Tarantino as is the ultraviolence on display. 

Within the first ten minutes, a horse's and a man's heads are decimated in a manner that is so gloriously over-the-top that it long jumps over realism into the realm of Looney Toon violence. While most of the violence is cartoonish enough for reasonable audience members to dismiss, there are moments of brutality that no matter how exaggerated will make even the boldest viewers flinch, but it is all done in a way to emphasize the cruelty of the characters rather than glorifying gore for the sake of gore. For all intents and purposes, the violence in Django is more punctuation than pure spectacle--though it is undoubtedly spectacle--and it is only relentless in bursts, which should be heartening for those with weak stomachs. However, audience members who are thinking about seeing Django should inform themselves about Tarantino's work before making the choice to see this flick. 

Dialogue and violence aside, Django is enlivened by uniformly strong performances with the real standouts being Samuel L. Jackson, Christoph Waltz, and Leonardo DiCaprio. Jamie Foxx may take top billing but he's saddled with a typically stoic hero, albeit one with more pain behind his eyes than the average hero, who doesn't really become larger than life until the climax, and Kerry Washington is a tad underutilized in the damsel-in-distress role. Meanwhile, Jackson, Waltz, and DiCaprio get to have all the fun playing outsized characters. Jackson is particularly entertaining as the repugnant Stephen, an evil, quick-witted slave who runs Candieland with greater efficiency and cruelty than DiCaprio's "slave master". Stephen's dialogue is so vitriolic that he Jackson seems to spit every word, but it also teeters into inexplicably modern Sam Jackson, BAMF, territory that it becomes unsettlingly comical. Waltz, on the other hand, is consistently appealing as Schultz, the total flipside of his relentless but no less affable Col. Landa. Schultz is almost the living embodiment of white guilt, to a fault, and he displays overwhelming earnestness and grace that counters the duplicitous hospitality of the Southern gentility. Schultz effectively serves as a counterpoint to every slave master he and Django encounter, especially DiCaprio's Candie. Candie is the result of what would have become of Amsterdam Vallon if he embraced the ways of Bill the Butcher. He is a devilish fop with an affinity for Mandingo fights and humiliating his slaves. He is probably, and sadly, the most fun character DiCaprio has played on screen.  In fact, this may be the most DiCaprio has ever smiled in a film since Titanic. DiCaprio, Waltz, and Jackson may run away with the show, but even "bit players" like Don Johnson and Jonah Hill shine in small roles. 

From performances to plot, every ounce of Django is masterful. Tarantino shows great maturity and restraint here, opting to tone down, but not eliminate, some of his trademark flourishes like the 70s score and old school on-screen graphics while delivering some great shots of the frontier. Yet, for all the mastery on display, I can't help but think all of the ground covered in Django was addressed with the same audacity, humor and violence in the Boondocks' "Legend of Catcher Freeman" episode, not to mention the Dave Chapelle's time traveling pimps who pleasantly introduced slave owners to a pistol.  By the same token, Samuel L. Jackson's Stephen is Uncle Ruckus through and through, just a bit more foul-mouthed. That's not to say that Django isn't a welcome addition to the canon of slave vengeance narratives; it's just not as original as it seems. But, what is? Still, it is an unabashed pleasure to watch a film as well-crafted and entertaining as Django based around the simple premise of a former slave dispensing righteous vengeance on his "masters". As Django says, "what's not love?"

Jack Reacher: The Joke's on You?

"Oh, I'm serious...snicker...DEAD serious"

Jack Reacher is ridiculous. The character and the movie.

As essentially the illegitimate child of Tropic Thunder, Grindhouse, Knight and Day, and Last Action Hero, it brings all those wonderful parodies of under-cooked action thrillers to life in a way that is so gloriously tongue-in-cheek in its late 80s/early 90s aesthetic and construction that it will undoubtedly leave most of their audience scratching their heads and asking: "Is this a comedy or an action flick?" The answer is both, yet Jack Reacher is so much more than that. It is, in fact, the latest stop on Tom Cruise's "Pardon My Madness" Tour in which he gleefully acknowledges that he is probably glib, smirking, nutcase who takes himself a bit too serious, but not serious enough to make fun of himself and the disposable entertainment he's made for the past few decades.

Jack Reacher is, by my count, the second film, the similarly eponymous Alex Cross being the other, this fall to attempt to recapture the spirit of thriller adaptations that kind of ruled the screens in the late 90s and kept Ashley Judd employed. Directed by new Cruise collaborator Christopher McQuarrie, Reacher revolves a basic mystery killer plot that kicks of with a extremely tense opening that may be challenging for some viewers to digest in light of the Sandy Hook tragedy and one that surely would have got this movie pulled when the D.C. Snipers were terrorizing the streets of our fair Prince George's and Montgomery Counties. When the police nab the perfect suspect, Tom Cruise, or Jack Reacher--same difference--shows up to reluctantly, at first, take the case. Now, I'm not at all familiar with Lee Child's Jack Reacher novels, but word on the'net is that Reacher looks more like Arnold Schwarzeneger than Tom Cruise. That said, Cruise swallows this role in so-much of his persona that it doesn't matter what Reacher was supposed to look like; he is Tom Cruise, no way around it. The rest of the flick plays out with a pretty standard litany of cliches and tropes, all wrapped around a mystery that is telegraphed in the first fifteen minutes, which is to say: there is no mystery--at all. Yet, the narrative is irrelevant to an astonishing degree because this is essentially another edition of the Tom Cruise Show, played tot he hilt in a way we haven't seen since the rise of Les Grossman.

Cruise is playing the same character he has been playing for years, only amped to an absurd degree that is similar to how Denzel Washington has consistently amped his decade-long performance of Alonzo Harris, and I appreciate it more in this film than I have in any of Cruise's films from the past five years. Cruise's Reacher is an unrepentant smartass who is clearly the smartest and toughest guy in the room, no matter what. If you are his enemy, you cannot hope to defeat him or outsmart him. If you are a woman, regardless of your affirmed sexual orientation, you will never resist him. Thus, Reacher becomes an exercise in full-tilt movie star  worship, not unlike this summer's Rock of Ages. But, why does Reacher work where Rock of Ages flopped? Simple, most members of the audience are accustomed to an audacity that borders on the stupidity in action movies. That audacity allows Michael Bay to 360 and  demolish his way to box-office gold with crap like Transformers; it is the same audacity that enabled Arnold Schwarzeneger to rule the box office for years despite some often questionable charisma. We suspend our disbelief so fully when we watch these broad far-reaching action flicks that we enter into a sort of "uncanny valley" where we no longer shirk from the absurdity and embrace it because it exists so far out of recognizable reality--a phenomena certain movie stars [coughTomCruiseWillSmithDenzelWashingtonNicolasCageetccough] are also experiencing--and taps into a subconscious desire, among most but not all, to become snarking badasses. Then, the flick laughs at us for thinking that way, and we laugh too, mostly because it's damned entertaining to see someone spit out lines like "I'm going to beat you to death then drink your blood from a boot"--which joins the hallowed ranks of lines like "King Kong ain't got $#!+ on me" and "Mahalo, motherf@#$er"--with just the right amount of winking and conviction.

Ultimately, that delicate balance between parody and ham-fisted seriousness, which is found in spades in Jack Reacher, will confuse a good chunk of audience. Many folks will go into Reacher expecting an action movie, and they will get that, albeit one that is decidedly retro in its aesthetic and narrative structure and generally middle of the road in terms of action. But, they will also find a phenomenally intentionally and unintentionally hilarious send up of contemporary actioners built around Holmsian supermen as well as a pretty stinging, if again unintentional  dig at Tom Cruise movies, in the vein of Knight and Day--only this time we, and the wide-eyed leading lady (Rosamund Pike) actually see the action. When viewed through this lens, Jack Reacher appears to be an elaborate joke, one that you need at least cursory knowledge of Cruise's oeuvre to truly understand. Indeed, it's possible that I may be the only who gets the joke, but I highly doubt it as audiences are always far smarter than Hollywood gives them credit for. Thus, going into Jack Reacher with the understanding that it is essentially a long gag, a false movie brought to life with only the barest of plots and cheapest action but a preponderance of earned and unearned laughs, will lead to surefire enjoyment, the likes of which have not been seen since another movie bait and switched seriousness for unintentional  and lasting hilarity. That equally thinly plotted and ridiculously cliched yet eminently enjoyable movie: Training Day.

Same Old Vanilla Fantasy: Why It's No Surprise that The Hobbit is Just Okay

"Hashish, you say?"

What a difference a decade...

and seven harry Potter movies...

and four Twilights...

and three Dark Knights....

and more than a dozen other fantasy epics...

....makes.

Ten years ago, Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings trilogy was something special. it was a never-before-seen event that delivered a fantasy world more tangible than any that had preceded it. It was expansive at a time when fantasy and sci-fi, outside of Star Wars, was still treated with a light touch and barely a modicum of respect from audiences and auteurs. But Jackson's LotR trilogy changed things. More specifically, the success of the trilogy changed things. Jackson showed Hollywood that big-budget fantasy not only had a place in the market, but it could dominate the market, kick off a franchise, earn awards, produce multiple DVD releases, and force audiences to sit in awe at a 3-hour video game--albeit with a gripping story, stunning effects, and amazing performances--all after a marathon filming schedule. The result: today, we are inundated with  fantasy, sci-fi, and superhero epics and franchise starters by the boatload. Few of which even bother to demonstrate a hint of either gender, racial, or cultural diversity among its casts. Fewer still indulge in anything other than broad, rote examinations of the sweeping moral, ethical, and social issues that form at the core of their narratives. Thus, LotR, with its lily-white exaltation of wartime brotherhood, begat the current trend of ambitious but generally oblivious epic entertainment that now welcomes The Hobbit. The Hobbit is indeed gorgeous and technically proficient with a delightfully slight and inoffensive, if not particularly electric, narrative that has been extended to epic proportions. Yet, aside from its 48 frame per second frame rate--which makes the movie either look like an awesome 3D ride or a sped-up soap opera--Jackson's latest is no different than anything that has graced the silver screen in the past ten years, and that's okay because only the most die-hard Jackson apologists and Tolkienites expected anything different.

The 1977 animated adaptation of The Hobbit, clocking in at a scant 77 minutes, was the first adaptation of The Hobbit I ever saw, and one of the earliest "feature" length pieces of animation I recall watching. It wrapped the tale of Bilbo Baggins and his journey to defeat the dwarf-smashing dragon Smaug with such completeness and brevity that I was shocked it was only a precursor to a much longer, darker tale. Unfortunately, as much of the online community is well aware, Jackson abandoned such brevity in favor of kickstarting a new Tolkien trilogy. Despite all arguments and proclamations to the contrary, there's no way that was a decision dictated purely by creative desires. Essentially, Jackson has turned The Hobbit into a multi-film experience in the vein of Deathly Hallows and Breaking Dawn. It has been split into a series to meet the supposed needs of an audience that craves serialization, despite the very real possibility that said audience is likely growing tired of such nakedly greedy shenanigans. More to the point it reduces, ironically, a swift, light-hearted tale to a cardboard cut-out epic, with a HFR!

The best response to this movie came from my girlfriend:

"They went all that way and spent all that time, and they still didn't get to that damn dragon? Come on!"

Sadly, my response was:

"With Lord of the Rings movies, that's pretty much how it goes."

That is heartbreaking. As an audience, we should not be so accustomed to such ploys. Yet, in the age of the geek epic, such is to be expected, for good and ill. In the case of The Hobbit, the expansion mostly works against the material, as there is a clear, if unnecessarily complex, impetus for the narrative to move forward as quickly as possible: Thorin Oakenshield and a company of dwarves from the demolished dwarf-kingdom of Ebenor "The Lonely Mountain" must reach a secret gate at an opportune moment so they may sneak into their former kingdom and reclaim it from the evil dragon, Smaug. Simple. And, in any standard quest action flick or heist flick, which this resembles to more of a degree than Jackson and company may be willing to admit, this would take two maybe two and a half hours of screen time to wrap up. Extending the narrative only serves to draw attention to foibles that could have easily been accepted or glossed over in a shorter, more surefooted narrative.

Instead, The Hobbit is a bit of a slog, mostly in the beginning as with most LotR movies. It spends a significant amount of time on a gathering of heroes that develops maybe 5 out of its 15 heroes. Admittedly, that's a lot of character work to cover, and I understand and applaud Jackson's decision to focus on the needs of the few over the many. However, the audience knows they're going to be with these characters for at least two more years, so some attention should have been devoted to ensuring that we at least knew every dwarf's name. That said, the central characters of this installment are fairly worthy attention, despite being retrograde rips on Frodo, Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas. Martin Freeman does solid work job as the unsure, but secretly thrill-seeking Bilbo. He gives Bilbo an eagerness and bristling nature that makes the character tougher than Frodo yet still a bit uncomfortable amongst the warrior dwarves. Richard Armitage's Thorin is essentially Aragorn as an angry, stubborn dwarf, but one whose story is far more personal than Aragron's ever was, which allows the audience to better connect with the character. Ian McKellan brings the requesite mischevious pluck and wit to Gandalf that makes Gandalf a far cooler wizard than Harry Potter will ever be, but not quite as cool as Dumbledore. Of course, Andy Serkis is on hand to bring life to everyone's favorite manic-depressive, ring-addicted Halfling, Gollum, just to show everyone on board how to bring some real life to the party. The rest? Well, I'm still trying to remember their names. 

Character development is but one, odd, victim of The Hobbit Franchise Expansion, as the pacing is the element that suffers most from Jackson and the studio's franchise planning. Granted, all LotR movies are long, with a tendency to meander into moments of awe and philosophical navel-gazing before breaking out into full-on Orc slaughterfests, but in the case of The Hobbit, sluggish pacing works against the narrative and alienates an audience that is losing the capacity for long-term attention spans by the second. The Hobbit is a narrative that is as propulsive as it is episodic. Sure, there are diversions along the way, such as the giant spider battles and the rescue from the Wood-Elves, but the narrative is mostly focused on Bilbo getting the dwarves back to Ebenor, a task that is Herculean in terms of commitment required not duration. Essentially, adding a cliffhanger at the 2:30 mark turns The Hobbit into a very expensive mini-series, one that needed no such narrative cliffs and would have been better served as one complete, potentially 3-hour, film. More to the point, The Hobbit was designed as a children's fantasy novel. Parents out there: how many of you think any kid under 14 is going to sit through this experience after surviving 8 Harry Potters and four Twilights? Honestly, even for those of us with a high tolerance for long features, this is pushing our ability to stay focused and awake.

The saddest flaw the expansion spotlights is the lack of diversity. Yes, Tolkien's European -style fantasy has always been lily-white and male-dominated, but after years upon years of these narratives--looking at you, Avengers. Opting for Hawkeye, who is for all intents and purposes visually indistinguishable from Captain America, over Black panther is pretty inexcusable--is tiring. In 2001, LotR was so novel that its vanilla-ness was less of an issue, albeit one that was noticeable. In 2012, kids know that an African-American can be President just as sure as they can recognize the population of the world is not one color; an all-white, predominately male--Cate Blanchett's Galadriel is literally the only female with appreciable screentime--cast in a European fantasyland may be acceptable--and I wouldn't encourage Jackson to change a thing about the source material--but it starts to really seem unnatural, which is par for the course. Now, Jackson has no responsibility to comment on changing demographics or gender equality, but one has to wonder at what point a contemporary audience should start to balk at being fed the same stories about the same people over and over again. Maybe this is just my breaking point, and it's not yours. It doesn't have to be, but after a decade, I wonder if it wouldn't kill Hollywood to let a director give this kind of treatment to the Arabian Nights or the Journey to the West. Just for a change. I know it might not be profitable over the oceans, but would it hurt to give it a try?  

All things considered, The Hobbit may be a mildly entertaining technical wonder and a step forward for 48 fps cinematography, but it is a relic that reflects just how behind the curve Hollywood can be, as if that was ever a surprise.

SPOILERS: Reboot, Soft Reboot: How Skyfall and James Bond do reboots right

"Ah, Britannia, never change...or should you?"

This shouldn't be news, but the Bond franchise has been doing reboots right for 50 years. The travesty is that most movie studios don't adhere to their basic "monkey see, monkey-do" nature and follow the lead of one of the most successful film franchises in history. With billions in box office receipts, the Bond franchise is clearly doing something right in maintaining its franchise. Meanwhile, the studios, particularly those in charge of comic properties like Spider-Man and Superman, are rebooting franchises to diminishing returns (adjusted for inflation, yes, but still diminishing).

With Skyfall, the Bond franchise nearly perfects the soft reboot. Rather than reinventing the wheel from scratch and tossing it at audiences, Skyfall organically, thoughtfully introduces a new era to the Bond franchise while honoring the staid legacy of the series. Without revealing too much, the denouement of Skyfall reinvigorates Bond's supporting cast and gives the Crown's top agent renewed focus as he darts forth into an age of espionage that is far muddier than it has ever been. Skyfall effectively and ably does for the Bond franchise what Amazing Spider-Man and Superman Returns should have done for their respective franchises. It makes the old new again without sacrificing the craft in its storytelling, much of which is due to Sam Mendes' able direction and a plot that is, thankfully, less byzantine than Quantum of Solace.

Interestingly, Skyfall apes the structure of the sequel to one of the most successful reboots in years, Nolan's The Dark Knight--confirmed explicitly by director Sam Mendes--to create an entry that is  highly effective as a point of entry for new and old audiences alike. Skyfall succeeds as much because of its easy-to-follow plot as the amazing villian at its core. Bond 23 is built around Javier Bardem's Silva, who is every inch the anti-Bond, and his vendetta against M, a point that was broached with 006 in Goldeneye. Silva is effete and desperately opposed to physical activity, yet he is cunning and seemingly ten steps ahead of Bond, M (the ever reliable Judi Dench), the audience, and much like Heath Ledger's Joker, the plot. Just as the Joker was a walking plot monkey wrench that sent the franchise into the stratosphere, Silva is one of the key draws in an entry that has already broke box office records around the world by sticking to the basics, both in terms of story and mythos, and easing the audience into transition rather than foisting it upon them.

Transition is a cornerstone of the Bond franchise, and it is one that has been ably managed by the Broccoli family to mostly positive effect. To date there have been six actors to play the role, and rarely, if ever, has the revolving casting door ever prevented the audience from connecting with the character. Sure, there's some occasional grumbling from the outliers when anybody who isn't Sean Connery takes the role--especially poor Daniel Craig, who was apparently too thuggish and blond to receive 00 status--but generally most of the audience rolls with the punch and accepts the Bond of the moment. Contrast the generally positive public response to the changing face of Bond with the outcry from critics and fans about the new Spider-Man/Peter Parker, Andrew Garfield. Many critics felt he was too smarky and harsh to embody Peter Parker's earnest everyman qualities, while others were convinced his aggressive geekiness would sink the franchise. It didn't, but the fact that Sony made kind of a big deal about a new Spider-Man may have had a lot to do with those responses. Conversely, nobody is complaining about the Bond franchise being derailed after Daniel Craig took the mantle. In fact, most have applauded the change in direction.  It is a testament to the Bond series, and its producers, willingness to move forward without making a ridiculous amount of hubub.  Instead, the Broccolis keep calm and carry on, as does the series. As a result, the James Bond of Casino Royale, Quantum of Solace, and Skyfall is your father's Bond, yet he is not, and few moviegoers have a problem with it.

SPOILER ALERT

Skyfall capitalizes on this ever-forward movement by installing new faces in old roles with amazing finese. Most folks know that there is a new Q this time around, but Mendes manages to introduce a new M and Moneypenny, not to mention an arch-villian, in a way that personally and profoundly connects them to Bond and the mythology of the series. Essentially, Skyfall becomes an origin story, albeit the origin of an era rather than a character, plopped right into the middle of a franchise. What's inherently brilliant about this new origin story is that it was unadvertised. There are faint clues that most smart viewers will pick up on early, but truthfully, there is very little made of the transition. It happens, and we are invested because we experience the transition rather than being told to simply accept the new status quo. There's also a reverence in Skyfall that acknowledges the past as it transitions to the future, complete with pretty on-the-nose nods like the return of the DB5 Aston Martin and a pit of komodo dragons. Yet, Mendes does not harp on this reverence the way Bryan Singer did in the undeservedly assailed Superman Returns. By nodding to continuity but not making it critical to the storytelling, Mendes embraces the loose approach to continuity that has defined the series but without making the narrative a slave to continuity.

This is a lesson that movie studios that deal with comic properties and long-running franchises are learning the hard way: respect history, but don't be enslaved by it. The other half of the lesson--the part the studios aren't quite grasping--is that reboots, or transitional entries, needn't exist outside of narrative. In fact, organically integrating soft reboots, as opposed to hard reboots that radically reorient a series, into a strong narrative, which it goes without saying should be paramount, can help ease audiences into a transition and garner a greater appreciation for the changes. With franchise filmmaking becoming Hollywood's primary focus these days, it is imperative that they become as good at executing reboots as possible, and the best way to do that is to incorporate reboots into transitional narratives that can stand independently as solid works of art while moving the mythology of a franchise forward.

Ideally, Hollywood would abandon franchise moviemaking and focus on creating original stories that move us. However, with the landscape resting under a cloud of rationalized fear, there is little chance Hollywood will wholeheartedly embrace a return to making tentpoles and potential blockbusters based on wholly original ideas anytime in the very near future. That said, it may be best to brace for the continued onslaught of reboots and franchise watering that is bound to greet us at our local cinemas by encouraging the studios to be a bit more thoughtful and artful when introducing these glorified cash grabs. Hopefully, the assured success of Skyfall will show Hollywood that it is possible to reboot without rehashing and alienating audiences, all while crafting a solid, engaging narrative that spins a good yarn while pushing a mythology ever towards the breach.

Nothing's Original: TMNT Beat Avengers to the Punch with Battle Montage

I happened to catch the woefully underrated 2007 animated Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie, TMNT, this morning on cable.There is a scene near the end where the Turtles, April, Casey Jones, and Splinter are storming the gates of pseudo-evil corporate warrior, Winters (voiced regally by Professor X himself, Patrick Stewart), Stark-tower-esque headquarters. Along the way, they encounter an army of Foot ninjas and engage in a harrowing battle that looks very familiar:

Now, where has this scene popped up recently? Only one of the biggest movies of all time (pardon the hyperbole, it's Marvel; it's expected. Excelsior and all that good stuff).

Both scenes are solid feats of computer wizardry that move audiences away from viewing battles as chaotic car crashes and more as fluidly choreography scenes where an army of highly trained soldiers are utterly decimated by a unit that is a fraction of its size. Ultimately, these two scenes  prove two things: superheroes are insanely skilled at navigating chaos, and if Whedon is cribbing from the Turtles, then nothing is truly original, as if anything ever was.

(credit to Yahoo, Marvel and Youtube user Lovely Bones for the clip)

Looper: Easily One of The Best Films of 2012.

Not even a silly futuristic comb over can smudge the gleam on this masterpiece.

 Grade: A

Profound.

That's the best word to describe Rian Johnson's third film, Looper.

Rarely have I had the opportunity to say that a film has moved me, but Looper is such a film.

I'll admit I have loved Rian Johnson's work, which is only two films and a handful of Breaking Bad episodes deep right now, since Brick, but he has truly exceeded even my highest expectations of his talents with Looper.

On its surface, Looper is a Terminator-adjacent tale of a man, Joe (Joseph Gordon-Levitt, continuing an absolute bang-up year of work), who kills for the mob of the future by blasting away unsuspecting (read: bound, gagged, and blinded) targets sent back in time through illegal time travel. Joe is a looper, a rather short sighted group of assassins who get a significant payday after they close their loop by killing their future selves, thus closing the 'loop' and tying up all loose ends for the mob. Joe enjoys the good life as one of these select few individuals who manage to prosper in a time when the world has become 99.9% occupied by the 99%. When the time comes for Joe to close his loop, his older self (a crustier, crankier, sadder Bruce Willis than we normally get) is not quite ready to face down the barrel of a Blunderbuss (the futuristic short-range shotgun favored by loopers). Older Joe disarms his stunned younger self and launches a mission to change the future, but is he the hero, the villain, or just a man possessed? And how does Emily Blunt's hard scrabble recluse farmer and her pensive child, Cid (Pierce Gagnon), play into all this time-skipping action that culminates not with an epic CGI battle through time and space but with three people on the outskirts of a Kansas farm?

As much these questions seem like the setup for some trite exercise in convoluted, contrived sci-fi action--looking directly at you Total Recall remake--they actually lay the groundwork for one of the most heart-rending examinations of the human condition committed to film this year. Looper is not really about time travel or gangland assassins. It is about selfishness and the reasons we grapple with this terrible and beautiful emotion. It is also about companionship and love, and the reasons we need people and they need. It is a movie with something to say in an era where most films, of any genre, have stopped speaking to us in favor of yelling about nothing.

A few weeks ago, Drew McWeeny over at HitFix said this film moved him to tears, and I am not ashamed to say he is right. It was hard to be unaffected by Looper because Johnson clearly went out of his way to craft characters who are far more than the cliched afterthoughts they so often are. In the process, he makes us care deeply for characters who do some pretty deplorable things. Yet, you never feel guilty about that empathy because it is based on an understanding of characters with very clear purpose. Young Joe is, for most of the film, a selfish, mopey wisp of a man who is visibly disturbed by his profession (as evidenced by his growing addiction to drops), but he is a man who wants to see the day when he no longer has to watch his stopwatch and wait for some poor sucker to pop up in his Blunderbuss' sights. His older self is just as broken, but he is driven by a love that has given him a resolve he never had as a care-deficient youth. Blunt's Sara is haunted by the mistakes of her youth in a manner much like Older Joe, but she is resolute in her desire to atone for those mistakes and give her son a better life than he would have lived without her. Cid doesn't want to make his mom sad, which is a far more challenging task than it appears to be. It is each characters desires and the very human, natural quality of those desires that make Looper so resonant. These characters are each utterly, perhaps irreparably, broken, but they are trying, desperately, to make correct their errors, not for themselves, but for the ones they love. A quality so rare in today's more popular movie's that it's more heartbreaking than Looper's denouement.

Yet, Looper's quality extends beyond its dense story and exceptional character studies to include an earthy visual style that renders the world of 2044 in tangible terms. With only a few features under his built, Rian Johnson proves himself an absolute master of the language of cinema. He understands the value of "show don't tell" in a way that few of today's filmmakers do. Near the middle of the film, Johnson executes a montage that traces Joe's life as he ages from Joseph Gordon-Levitt to Bruce Willis. It is a stunning, purely visual sequence that captures that character's demoralizing tumble into depravity and his eventual rescue. It is a masterful series of shots that are economical and purposeful in a way that few montages are. It also reveals, in short measure, the depth of Johnson's talents. Johnson, for a such a relatively "young" director, is quickly proving himself a maestro of style and substance. His compositions are masterful. His close-ups exquisite.The world he built is distant yet familiar. So much of the craft and artistry that makes Looper amazing comes directly from Johnson's masterful direction, and the quality of the overall experience is enhanced because of Johnson's singular vision.

The remaining strengths of Looper can be traced to the Gordon-Levitt, Blunt, and Willis' amazing performances. Gordon-Levitt continues a banner year with his role as young Joe. Aided by a prosthetic that makes him look like Moonlighting-era Bruce Willis, Gordon-Levitt does a masterful mimic of Willis, capturing all of the sly, self-deprecating mannerisms that have madeWillis such an endearing talent. Beyond his interpretation of Willis, Gordon-Levitt brings a squinty soulfulness to Joe that occurs at the dangerous intersection between naivete and ambition. Joe is clearly a man possessed by short-sightedness, but he is not an evil, amoral man; he is simply practical and desperate, traits which Gordon-Levitt so subtly imbues in Joe that they may go unnoticed. Meanwhile, Willis brings his signature slyness, wry wisecracks, and exasperated cool to older Joe, but this time he saddles his character with a thick melancholy and a desperate level of obsession. What's great about Willis' performance is that his Joe is not limited to those typical Willis moments. There are scenes where he is lost in love then there are a few where he is so consumed with rage that it's hard for the audience to empathize with him. Blunt, on the other hand, continues to show why she is such a valuable component of any production. Her poise and rawness makes Sara accessible, but it is the moments where she is most vulnerable that show just how great she is. Her Sara is just as wounded as Joe, but she has a resoluteness that carries Sara through some very challenging moments, partcularly with the amazingly poised Pierce Gagnon.

From performances to direction to story, Looper is a complete package, an incomparable experience that demonstrates the best of what film can be. Granted, the film is enthusiastically dense with a second act that drags slightly, and some might even find this hews too closely to Terminator. I would encourage those who find these to be points of consternation to recognize that these are only minor snags in a fantastic masterwork. Looper should make Rian Johnson a hot commodity, he surely deserves to be, but if it doesn't, cinema, as a whole, will certainly suffer for it.

The In Between Notes:

• The future is indeed drab, but it must be pretty bad when Miatas are considered classics
• Blunderbusses, gats? Are we talking about guns or Steampunk cosplay props?
• I feel worse for Willis having to sport the ridiculouos wrestler comb over for a scene than I do for Gordon-Levitt's probiscous prosthetic
• SLIGHT SPOILER: Hopefully, Hollywood can now drop its pursuit of remaking Akira.

Review: Surprising Dredd Reboot May Signal The Future of Superhero Movie

"These shades are awesome. You've got to get a pair."

Grade: B+

We haven't seen a superhero movie like Dredd in a while, but hopefully there will be a lot more like it. Not more reboots or 3D cash grabs, but more comic adaptations that eschew the origin formula and jumps right into telling stories about heroes in progress. Also, Dredd may signal the beginning of a time where superhero movies are no longer seen as a genre to themselves but more of a flashy variation on the standard action movie, a move that will only further cement their already undeniable mainstream appeal.

Dredd may not be perfect, but it's one of the most effective reboots of any franchise this side of Nolan's Dark Knight Trilogy. Dumping all the overcooked, over-designed, over-the-top hullabaloo of the 1995 big screen adaptation starring Sylvester "I EM DE LAW" Stallone, director Peter Travis' Dredd brings the character closer to his roots as one of the Judges--spartan cops who act as judge, jury, and executioner--of post-apocalyptic megalopolis, MegaCity 1. Rather than adapting Dredd's origin or the story of his battle against his greatest foe, Travis opts to tell the tale of Dredd (Karl Urban) and psychic rookie Judge Anderson (Olivia Thirlby), as they find themselves trapped inside a 200-story tenement in the MegaCity slums after a bust gone wrong. Dredd and Anderson raise the ire of drug kingpin MaMa (Lena Headey), who has been flooding the streets of MegaCity 1 with a designer drug called SLO-MO that, rather pointedly, makes users fell like time is slowing to a crawl, when they arrest one of her top lieutenants for his part in a gruesome triple homicide. Locked in the tenement building with no backup and no place to go but up, Dredd and Anderson must find a way to outwit a veritable army of drug-adled psychopaths before they become the latest victims of MaMa's violent power grab.

Yes, Dredd sounds exactly like The Raid, or any variation on Die Hard for that matter, but that's the beauty of the interesting "little" movie. It aspires to do what superhero comics have done for the longest time: graft superhero tropes onto an existing narrative structure in an effort to add a new wrinkle and a little bit of razzle dazzle to a staid genre. As much as Dredd appears to ape The Raid or other more famous actioners, it still possess enough uniqueness to seem backwardly revolutionary. For one thing, Dredd indulges in a level of ultraviolence that rivals the Raid in artistry but nearly surpasses Gareth Edwards' instant classic in sheer gruesomeness. Within the first five minutes, as there at least three ridiculously bloody deaths and the body count continues rise in increasingly gory ways throughout the flicks' tight 95 minute runtime. While the violence is over the top, the design of the world is earthy, dirty, and far removed from the candy-coated "grimness" of the '95 movie, where MegaCity 1 looked more like a super-sized Times Square instead of a dusty, uninhabitable slum.

That reach for naturalism extends to the performances in Dredd, with Urban, Thirlby, and Headey avoiding theatrics and significant scenery chewing in favor of something resembling subtlety and nuance. Granted, the actors in Dredd still deliver lines with the bombastic aplomb required of any action or superhero movie, but their delivery is nothing compared to goofy, on-the-nose exchanges found in the earlier movie. Even when Urban's Dredd announces that he "is the law," it is a line executed with purpose and a degree of menace that is far more threatening than posturing. As much as the changes in the performances and visual design reflect the propensity for "realism" in today's superhero flicks, neither appears to be the result of a desire by Travis or the cast to make the flick "real" for the sake of coolness (although it's very likely) but more for a basic respect for the material and a desire to make the spectacular shine against a, relatively, realistic backdrop.

Ultimately, Dredd succeeds because Travis and his cohorts seem to believe that this story is not inherently silly, and they treat it as such not by ditching the fantastic elements but by thoughtfully grafting them onto one of the most reliable templates of the genre. Sure, Dredd is not the deepest superhero flick, as it only tangentially references the issues of class struggles that could potentially exist in a teeming megalopolis where space and resources are clearly limited. Even the action in Dredd appears a bit slower paced in the shadow of the Raid, but that does not take away from the palpable tension and suspense that builds steadily once the Judges enter the PeachTrees tenement. With an admittedly B-movie plot and structure centered around a hero with little cache among American audiences, Dredd may seem like a total afterthought. But, it deserves to be so much more than that. If it does well this weekend, it could show the studios that not every superhero movie has to be the first Spider-Man, and it could give birth to a resurgence of mid-range action flicks that dress reliable narratives in superhero skin, thus making an experience that satisfies both new and old fans of action and superhero flicks.

Review: Glee-ful Pitch Perfect Nails The Laughs, Warbles On Originality

"We're probably gonna be the only people to hold this together. You with me?"

Grade: B-

Pitch Perfect undeniably proves two points: Glee is, at best, a finite concept, and Anna Kendrick probably would have made a better Bella Swan than Kristen Stewart.

Based on Mickey Rapkin's novel of the same name, which documented Rapkin's year of covering competitive collegiate acapella, Pitch Perfect apes a lot of what made Glee very popular in its first season: ragtag misfits brought together by their love of song, self-aware riffing on competitive singing, and a fondness for mash-ups. Director Jason Moore melds all those qualities in with some decent performances to make a flick that is frequently funny yet fails to fall into the very traps it spends half its runtime making fun of. 

Anna Kendrick is at the center of Pitch Perfect as Beca, a Barden University freshman who would rather pursue her dreams of becoming a DJ than attend Intro to Philosophy. After slumming  and moping for a semester, her college professor father makes a deal with her: one more semester of giving it the college try and making friends in exchange for the chance to go to to LA and pursue her dreams, with full financial support and no questions asked. To appease her father, Beca joins one of Barden's many competitive acapella groups,  the all-female Barden Belles, a group trying erase a legacy of losing Barden's star  acapella group: the, pompous, Treblemakers. Immediately, Beca's alt-pop style clashes with lead the Belles, Aubrey (Anna Camp) and Chloe (Brittany Snow), and their Pan Am cum Mad Men airline attendant aesthetic, but her pipes, and those of a collection of misfit toys that includes Rebel Wilson's spunky Fat Amy, are just what they need to win regionals, nationals, etc, and become glee club...I mean...competitive acapella champs.

By compressing what is effectively an entire season of Glee, with scraps of every entry in the Bring It On franchise thrown in  for some padding, into a roughly two-hour package, Moore has made a far more palatable version of a narrative that has become insufferable and disposable thanks to more than a decade of overexposure. Granted many of plotlines and jokes are nakedly recycled from Glee, Bring It On, and any number of ripoffs of both, Pitch Perfect possesses a willingness to be deliberately wacky and ribald that exceeds many of its predecessors that makes it more consistently funny than either series has been in a very long time. When the comedic highlight of the movie revolves more around pure gross out humor rather than silly misunderstandings (though the misunderstandings are there), it shows that is Moore is playing on a slightly different level. Not to mention, ninety percent of Wilson's antics as Fat Amy are slightly more clever and far more hilarious than anything found in a typical episode of Glee or any of the Bring It On flicks since the first.

Kendrick and Wilson are, unsurprisingly, the major components of Pitch Perfect's success. Kendrick, who is youthful and deft enough to have played a high school student, college student, and post grad professional all within five years, brings a Tina Fey-like wryness to her role as the girl who is clearly to cool for all this acapella foolishness. She delivers sly digs with an ease and drollness that would surely have made her a better fit to bring life to a dry character like Bella Swan. Conversely, she also handles the more dramatic moments with more subtlety than deserved, even if her romance with Dane Cook-alike, Skylar Astin, is far too tepid to even register as barely interesting. On the other hand, Rebel Wilson delivers solid gags with alarming frequency, most of which are, sadly, at the expense of her characters weight and antithetical overconfidence rather than her any intrinsic cleverness. But, hey, Hollywood. Anna Camp makes a valiant effort to squeeze some life out of her thankless role as head Belle, but it is mired in too much cliche to be special. Elizabeth Banks and John Michael Higgins are, however, a pretty welcome presence as a pair of jaded color commentators covering a "sport" with such visible disdain that they almost act as the purest audience surrogates to ever infiltrate such a flick.

Despite some solid performances and fairly consistent laughs, you've seen Pitch Perfect before, likely on a Blockbuster/Redbox/Netflix/VOD night. The plot goes exactly where expected and there are few if any surprises to be found in any of the characters individual narratives, which should be enough for the Gleeks and Cheerios. The musical performances are fairly engaging, with a few memorable mashups, as long as you are willing to believe that every actor is using their real signing voice. Pitch Perfect is the type of flick that appeals explicitly to a certain demographic, almost to the exclusion of all others, and often ends up as a guilty pleasure to those who fall outside of the target demo. But, those who might find themselves accidentally, or intentionally, enjoying Pitch Perfect needn't be ashamed. There's a modicum of talent behind and in front of the camera, and the flick is unquestionably entertaining for most of its runtime. So, to that end, Moore and his cast and crew have done achieved their relatively modest goal of crafting a fluffy piece of entertainment that does little to enlighten or educate but constantly delivers laughs, intentional and otherwise. And, really, how much more could be expected from such a modest endeavor?

In-Between The Scenes Observations

• Anna Kendrick can sing...or can she?
• Rebel Wilson is hilarious, but watching her, you can't help but countdown her fifteen minutes. It's sad, but comedians with a specific schtick usually have a short fame-span.
• With a little less star wattage, this would have gone straight to ABC Family.
• We now have an idea of how Glee will continue into the college years. It will become: Acapella!

Review: Brutal End of Watch Blurs Line Between Cop, Horror Films

"That boot from the OC actually thinks he can chase down every perp on foot?"

 Grade: B+

I'm not ashamed to say that Training Day is my second favorite movie--in life. I also have a healthy respect for Training Day writer David Ayer and his oeuvre, so I'm practically predisposed to kind of love End of Watch. But, there's no way around it: End of Watch is Southland: The Movie.

As reductive as it sounds, that's not a bad thing.

End of Watch doesn't necessarily surprise or change the game for cop film, but it goes a long way to making the fear and uncertainty that cops live with every day as tangible as it is terrifying. With a Paranormal Activity aesthetic and enough jump scares to match anything coming out of Lionsgate's October offerings, End of Watch is as much a horror film as it is a slice of life psuedo-docudrama.

David Ayer returns to his favorite well--the grimy, unflinching world of the cops, crooks, and gangbangers who populate the streets of South Los Angeles--with End of Watch, this time following  LAPD patrolmen Brian Taylor (Jake Gyllenhaal) and Mike Zavala (Michael Pena), a pair of dudebro "supercops" who epitomize the gung ho warrior spirit that drives young men and women to put their lives on the line for a citizenry that hates and fears them in equal measure. When Taylor and Zavala return to the streets after justifiably shooting a pair of gangbangers, the two "Ghetto Gunfighters"--clearly, Keanu's Tom Ludlow was not the  last of these legendary figures--they manage to anger a small time gang and a stumble onto the operations of a major Mexican cartel, both of whom are seeking to establish a foothold in South LA's crime-ridden streets. As Taylor and Zavala go about their days of patrolling, saving lives, and building families, danger follows them to every call, waiting for the opportune moment to strike and make sense of the title End of Watch.

Ayer takes his third shot at directing with End of Watch, opting for the now-exhausted found footage approach, and manages to make something that is both wholly derivative of his earlier  work yet remarkably purer. Taking cues from  underrated network-then-cable hit Southland, he smartly follows the daily adventures of his two central patrolmen while letting the main arc simmer in the background until the riveting third act. Keeping the action focused on Taylor and Zavala's patrolling proves as effective on the big screen as it does on the small screen because, despite the best efforts of the networks to push detective-based police narratives, patrolling officers invariably get the most action of their brethren in blue. Yet, their position as the tip of the spear means they are constantly in the line of fire, an unnerviing state that Ayer wisely highlights with some superb scenes where Taylor and Zavala have no earthly idea of the danger lying around the next blind corner, an approach that culminates in a harrowing final act that proves that bravery rarely replaces brains in any combat situation. That's not to say End of Watch is solely a harrowing, suspenseful experience. Quite the contrary. Ayer peppers End of Watch with the same type of slice of life moments that are riotously, absurdly funny--especially an early scene that sees Zavala fist fights a perp, who may seem familiar to Training Day fans like myself, in an attempt to defend his personal honor.

80% of End of Watch's success comes from the exceptional work done by Gyllenhaal and Pena. Gyllenhaal retreads much of the same ground he covered as shell-shocked marine--Taylor just so happens to be an ex-Marine--in Jarhead, but we see a man who is a little better adjusted--and supported--and drifting closer to happiness. Granted, it's still a typical Gyllenhaal performance, which means he's a little too wired, too unsettled to make anyone entirely comfortable in his presence. Pena, on the other hand, continues to prove himself an invaluable character actor who can easily switch from dramatic to comedic postures. From a distance, the interactions between Pena and Gyllenhaal resemble the traditional buddy-cop formula, but both Pena and Gyllenhaal ground the characters in enough earnest, off-the-cuff humanity that they make Taylor and Zavala's overdone masculinity seem just like the act it truly is. Anna Kendrick and Natalie Martinez both do a decent job of providing anchors as Taylor and Zavala's respective significant others, but neither has enough screen time to register as more than vaguely motivational afterthoughts. America Ferrera and Cody Horn offer a better counterpoint to Gyllenhaal and Pena as two female officers who have been irreparably hardened by their time streets. While most of these ladies do adequate wotk with the small roles their given, the undeniable MVP of the ladies hovering in Taylor and Zevala's orbit is Latin rapper Flakiss (government name: Yahira Garcia) as a Chola Snoop. Flakiss may sport clearer delivery than Felicia Pearson but their gangster girls share a spirit that guarantees wildly inappropriate, and often violent, moments that recall some of the more offbeat moments from The Wire.

Performances and aspects of Ayer's direction aside, End of Watch is so similar to Southland that Ayer should probably be staring down an IP case right now. From the hand-held camera style--which is fairly inconsistent--to the patrolman focus, Ayer does little to distinguish End of Watch from its TV contemporary, which leads End of Watch to fall victim to many of the same failings as other cop narratives, including telegraphed plotting and one-dimensional character work. Mostly, End of Watch fails to do anything overly different or unique with the traditional day-in-the-life of a cop narrative, and it rarely seems ambitious enough to make any cognizant statement on the lives of its heroes aside from "life is hard for those cops out there." Truthfully, this is to be expected from Ayer because as good as he is at stirring potboilers, he's less skilled at crafting a larger, deeper narrative about cops and bangers that looks beyond the battle on the street to find the depth in souls and stories of these conflicted warriors and their mixed-up opponents. That said, End of Watch is still a solidly entertaining diversion that should tide you over until Southland starts its new season or new episodes of COPS surface.

On the side:

• The sheer presence of real Bone from Training Day implies that End of Watch probably exists in the same universe as Training Day and Street Kings.
• At some point the camera switches from first person to third person perspective within minutes. Way to watch for consistency, Ayer.
• Anna Kendrick is going to have a busy fall and will probably compete against herself in the coming weeks. Who does she think she is ? Leonardo DiCaprio.
• Can we be done with found footage? It rarely makes a narrative any more realistic, and it's leaning towards being more intrusive now than it did when Blair Witch popularized it.
• Why did no one else think of framing the cop experience as a horror experience before now? It's so simple it's brilliant. If only, they could do something like this on Southland...

Review: Paranorman is sharp, scary, and just shy of spectacular

"AHHH!!! It's the Mystery Machine! We're so dead."

Grade: A-

There's a moment near the end of Chris Butler and Sam Fell's Paranorman where it is clear the movie was aiming squarely at adults.

It's a moment that I won't spoil, but it is one that got more audible gasps from the screening audience than any other scary scene in the movie. It is also a moment that cements the theme of Paranorman in such a delightfully subversive way that it will surely put a smile on the face of most of the adults in the audience.

Essentially, Paranorman is about the tried moral: "Don't judge a book by its cover." The second feature by the company behind stop-motion instant classic Coraline, Laika, Paranorman centers on a middle-schooler Norman Babcock (Kodi Smit-McPhee) who can see and talk to the ghosts hanging around his small Massachusetts town. Norman's ability is a source of consternation for his father (Jeff Garlin), concern for his mother (Leslie Mann), and annoyance for his boy-crazy teen sister (Anna Kendrick). his ability also guarantees daily abuse from his classmates, especially lunk headed bully Alvin (Christopher Mintz-Plasse, voicing way against type). Despite his rep and clear desire to shoulder his burden alone, Norman finds a friend in the relentlessly optimistic Neil (Tucker Albrizzi), who also deals with his fair share of abuse due to his chubbiness. Oddly, Norman's harassment seems at odds with his hometown's claim to fame. As the site of a colonial era witch trial, almost every business in town, plus a statue in the town center, is based around witches. What the town doesn't know is that the witch that fuels their livelihoods actually placed a curse on the town, and only a creepy malcontent (John Goodman) who can talk to ghosts has been able to keep the witches curse at bay for years. When the grumpy old ghost whisperer dies suddenly, it's up to Norman and his friends to find a way to satisfy the witch before her curse raises the dead.

As the first film by Laika after Coraline, Paranorman has pretty high expectations to live up to, and while it doesn't quite ascend to the heights or dig to the depths that Coraline did, it still works as a focused, charming, and sharp fable. In many ways, Paranorman is the descendant of the same 80's Speilbergian kid adventure flicks like Goonies and ET that inspired JJ Abrams' Super 8. The characters are broad but lovable archetypes, with Neil and his musclebound brother, Mitch (Casey Affleck), being the real standouts, that have enough pathos to be far more relatable than characters with more unique characteristics. The well-paced plot  centers around the kids interaction with an unnatural force, but its subtext is filled with a sharp, witty, and thematically consistent examination of a moral that is increasingly relevant to today's kids. Yet, Paranorman tackles its central theme with an honest, earnest tone that never speaks down to anybody in the audience, regardless of age. It is this approach that, unfortunately, leads to Paranorman's central weakness. 

As a "kids" movie, it may be too heady and scary for its target audience. Granted, animated features have never been squarely targeted a kids, but that's what the marketing teams would like moviegoers to think. This means that many parents are going to take their kids to Paranorman expecting something goofy and lightweight and finding something far heavier. To a degree Paranorman is a bit slight, especially as it is intensely focused on a theme that most older children may have already grasped and most parents certainly should have grasped, but it is that focus that enabled Butler and Fell to allow Paranorman to move so confidently, and effectively, between scares, laughs, and drama. The on-point voice performances also help Paranorman excel because the reticent scenery chewing and over-the-top antics are all grounded in character issues that draw back to the central theme. Speaking of character, Butler, Fell, and the Laika team have done an absolutely phenomenal job with the stop motion animation, especially the character designs, which are all charmingly unique and varied but in a way that makes the characters seem disturbingly human. All things considered, it's almost rare to see this kind of thematic and character focus in an animated feature outside of Pixar, but then again, looking at Laika's work so far, it should be expected.

Paranorman may not be anywhere near as bright, bubbly, and riotous as this summer's other animated entries, but its heart is in the right place and that heart has pumped out some talented meaningful work that kids, parents, and those without either to accompany them to the theater should not miss.

In-Between the Scenes Observations:

• If only one episode of Ghost Whisperer ended the way Paranorman did, I assure you it would have been even more popular.
• Guns, knives, and brass knucks are drawn at the mid point of the film; Mild ultraviolence ensues. parents beware.
• Sadly, there is at least one loud, angry Black woman stereotype; can't win'em all.
• The 3D enhancement was totally unnecessary and only makes the film even darker. But, hey, tickets!
•  There's no twist at the end, but after about an hour away from Paranorman, the impetus for the witch's curse will hit you pretty hard.

Review: Timothy Green's life isn't odd, just old fashioned

"Yeah, I don't know what to tell you. We love our leaves on Krypton."

 Grade: C+

For years, pockets of society have railed pretty hard against Disney for making slight, unambitious entertainment that tries to please all but clearly only satiates a very specific majority: children.

As if that's a crime.

Disney has never had to make edgy, sharp entertainment; it's great if they do, but they never needed to develop fare that pushes the boundaries of art, nor should they be expected to, because their audience simply doesn't demand such "sophistication". Does this mean that Disney deserves any less regard as a credible creative force with the power to affect the masses? Not really, and even if the company did receive less regard for lacking creative ambition, I'm sure they could use a spare hundred or two from their coffers to dry their scant tears. So, when Disney releases something as rote, cute, and middle-of-the-road as Peter Hedge's The Odd Life of Timothy Green, there should be no cause for alarm (there won't be) or inflammatory criticisms. Simply, audiences should adjust their expectations and accept the fact that hedges flick won't set the world on fire, but the kids and families will get a mild kick out of it before their memory of Timothy Green's odd life falls away like leaves on an autumn tree.

Odd Life centers on Jim (Joel Edgerton) and Cindy (Jennifer Garner) Green, a small town couple who have struggled to bring a child of their own into the world. At the end of their rope after years of trying every medical option available, Jim and Cindy write down their wishes for a perfect kid and bury those wishes in their backyard garden, which seems suspiciously on-the-nose in its cutesy progressiveness. That same magical night upside-down rain falls from the heavens and out from the ground, literally, pops Timothy (CJ Adams), the most adorable and precocious 10-year old since Disney's last movie or show starring a precocious ten year old. With the exception of the leaves growing from his ankles, Timothy is the absolute child of Jim and Cindy's dreams. Once adjusted to the shock of having "birthed" a magical plant child, Jim and Cindy quickly open their hearts and home to Timothy, who has that ever-elusive power to positively change the lives of everyone within spitting distance, especially Jim and Cindy's less-than-loveable families. As his "parents" and the town come to love the eccentric Timothy, especially teen outcast and potential crush Loni (Odeya Rush), and his propensity to absorb sunlight for energy like Superboy's skinny cousin, the young man struggles to keep a devastating secret from Jim and Cindy that will change the course of their lives.

Hedges film, based on a story by Ahmet Zappa, handicaps itself early by working with a framed structure that telegraphs an ending that would have been far more effective without the framing. That structure, in combination with a languid pacing that is typical for prestige picks and films made before the turn of the century, may be a bit of a turn off to moviegoers still attuned to the flash and fire of the Summer Movie Season. Yet, the pacing is absolutely central to telling this type of psuedo-Oscar bait story about a relatively heavy topic as it lends some somberness in the moments where Timothy isn't letting his precociousness generate a few chuckles and chortles. Despite the slightly somber tone, Odd Life builds some humor out of the central conceit that Jim and Cindy's wishes were a tad incomplete, which makes Timothy appear to have his head firmly entrenched in the clouds as he doles out sage down-to-earth advice. Granted, Odd Life is far from a riotous experience, especially once the central joke wears thin, but it is amusing enough to keep the younger and younger at heart members of the audience from dozing.

Star CJ Adams does most of the heavy lifting with the comedy in Odd Life, bringing an easy charm and restraint to the proceedings that recalls Freddie Highmore's turn as Charlie in Tim Burton's Charlie & the Chocolate factory adaptation.Adams imbues Timothy with that fictional balance of old soul wisdom and childlike innocence to make Timothy a lot more bearable and lovable than he could have been. Making Adams job easier are Edgerton and Garner, who are both a tad saccharine and square but acceptable as Timothy's parents and straight man/woman. Edgerton acquaints himself fairly well, though he is mostly reduced to staring in shock or frowning as he grapples with a daddy-issue storyline. Garner, on the other hand, seems to have abandoned any pretense of embracing her athleticism and sexiness as she did at the height of Alias' popularity and become a real-life mom. On screen, there is little to hint that Garner was once kind of a big time action star as she ladles on the doting and a relentless stream of hugs and kisses. Together, the three make a cute (there's that word again) and reasonably convincing if not particularly memorable family who most won't mind spending an hour and a half with.

The family at the center of Odd Life, and the accompanying performances, is a perfect encapsulation of all that is wrong and right with Odd Life. It is twee but inoffensive. Slightly charming but possessed with a great potential to incite eye-rolling. Heartwarming but rote. Life-affirming but not particularly memorable. I can't begrudge Hedges and his crew for not aiming higher because they don't need to. Odd Life doesn't have to be a gritty affair that plunges into the depths of a marriage struggling under the weight of the couple's failure to reproduce. it merely has to be a mildly funny and sometimes spritely little tale about how one magical little boy changed one couple's, and a handful of townsfolk's, lives.In aiming for that target, Odd Life succeeds, just don't expect much more than that.

In-Between Observations:

•  David Morse, Ron Livingston, and Diane Weist all occupy small roles that add up to a handful of extended cameos; a sad waste of talent.
• Timothy Green's Odd Life is very much like the early days of kal-El's Strange Life; up to and including absorbing energy from the sun.
• CJ Adams has moments where his posture makes him look 62 rather than 12. If this is acting, great job; if not: poor kid.
• Mila Kunis+Sarah Hyland=Odeya Rush; there is nothing cookie cutter at all about Hollywood casting.