Hiển thị các bài đăng có nhãn *. Hiển thị tất cả bài đăng
Hiển thị các bài đăng có nhãn *. Hiển thị tất cả bài đăng

Thứ Sáu, 7 tháng 8, 2015

THE TWILIGHT SAGA: ECLIPSE - Review By Greg Klymkiw - There's so little to bother discussing about this dreadful pile of crap and third in the interminable series, that we're forced to discuss the hunky, mouth-watering pecs and abs of Taylor Lautner and how awful the cinemas are which were first launched with the theatrical release of this "film".


The Twilight Saga: Eclipse (2010) dir. David Slade
Starring: Kristin Stewart, Robert Pattinson, Taylor Lautner, Bryce Dallas Howard

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Wading through this vat of raw sewage, I came to the conclusion that only one of two types of people in this world might enjoy watching it - those who have a good time nailing their titties or testes to the floor and/or completely brain dead vegetables.

There is, however, a third.

I wandered into the living room this weekend to find my sharp, quick-witted daughter watching this movie on Blu-Ray. "Why do you keep watching these Twilight movies over and over again?" I asked. She put the picture on pause. The horrifying image of Taylor Lautner's pectorals greeted me. She looked at me with that typical teenage expression which says, "Why do you think I'm watching this?" She then assured me that the next movie she'd be watching was Pitch Perfect 2. "And don't worry, Dad" she added. "I'll still watch a depressing Italian Neo-Realist movie with you tonight."

Relief.

In any event, I'm compelled to discuss The Twilight Saga: Eclipse because of this event, but I find I have little to say and much bile to expel.

Replete with endless, dull, poorly written conversations punctuated occasionally with uninspired, sloppily directed bursts of violence, I can only shake my head in disgust at how low our civilization is sinking. Call me a curmudgeon, assume I am pathetically uncool, accuse me of sounding like my father - I don't particularly care. Today's youth - those who actually think this crap is good - are pathetic, pure and simple.

When I was a lad, my idea of a vampire movie included great actors like Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee squaring off as vampire hunter and vampire respectively against the backdrop of garish colour schemes. heaving bosoms and atmosphere thicker than Shelley Winters's waistline in the original Poseidon Adventure.

The first instalment of Twilight at least had the virtue of a relatively well-directed and watchable opening 40-or-so minutes. The second helping was a complete mess. Now, due to millions of boneheads watching the previous entries, Hollywood has foisted upon us a third portion of this interminable "saga". I use the word "saga" loosely, if at all, only because the filmmakers have chosen, somewhat erroneously to include it in the title and thus, label it as such.

A saga in the traditional sense would normally have something resembling epic qualities, which this film and its predecessors are sorely lacking. In fact, much of the world created by the movie feels - in spite of being set against the great outdoors backdrop of Washington State - strangely claustrophobic. The soap-operatic ruminations of the three central characters belong on weekday afternoon television, not a big screen.

This is not to say that melodrama is out of place in vampire and werewolf tales, as it is indeed the backbone of such genre items. That said, there's good melodrama and bad melodrama. The legendary Dan Curtis delivered a consistently creepy and sexy horror soap opera on his daily television serial Dark Shadows in the 60s and wowed us with an astounding big-screen version in the 70s called House of Dark Shadows.

Alas, these first three Twilight pictures (a godawful money-grab-of-a-two-parter followed) are rooted in revisionism of the clunkiest kind and are so gently precious and tame that they not only drag the whole genre down, but, as stated earlier, reflect the pathetic state of today's youth for buying into such pap.

Again, we who are possessed of brain cels must suffer through the triangle established in the second instalment New Moon involving Bella (Kristen Stewart), the mixed-up mortal with a desire to become a vampire and her romantic obsessions with the pale, thin bloodsucker Edward (Robert Pattinson) and the buff werewolf Jacob (Taylor Lautner). The details beyond this are meaningless save for the physical attributes of the film's third wheel in the menage of monster-lovin'.

Lautner's pectorals and abs of steel are genuinely impressive and might have even rivalled the milky cleavage content of Hammer Horror pictures if everything else in the movie was as awe-inspiring as his shirtless glory. It's not. In fact, the shirtless man-boy Lautner-pectoral-porn on display is as wasted as John Travolta wearing those delicious form-fitting shorts in the ill-fated Moment By Moment where we were forced to succumb to the vomit-inducing sight of him having to swap saliva with Lily Tomlin.

This episode of Twilight is especially disturbing since it is helmed by a solid director. David Slade, who delivered the tense, creepy Hard Candy and the genuinely malevolent 30 Days of Night, one of the scariest vampire pictures in years, seems largely absent here. The dialogue scenes are covered like a standard dramatic television series, the action sequences are poorly shot and choppily edited and the whole enterprise is so bereft of suspense and style, that one assumes Slade did a paint-by-numbers job in order to secure himself bankability by handing over an unexceptional platter of mediocrity to satiate the boneheads who moronically continue to make this franchise a hit. Either that, or the studio interference was just so ludicrous, that he settled for cashing his cheques and punching the time clock.


About the only thing worth discussing is that I first saw the picture five-years-ago in one of the then-new theatres in Canada that the Cineplex chain branded and expanded (with a healthy price-grab from consumers) as "UltraAVX" - a supposedly new and exciting approach to motion picture exhibition. I'll agree that the digital image is unbeatable - utterly pristine and crystal clear. The sound is also successfully "immersive" as described - in fact, it's so effective that at times, the bass seems to almost make you jiggle in your seat not unlike that of the 70s oddball exhibition feature called "Sensurround ".

The three other major attributes of UltraAVX are less impressive. The wall to wall screen is as advertised, but the top and bottom of the frame's not masked properly. It's a little more than annoying as it takes one out of the supposedly immersive quality of the image. The bigger, supposedly more comfortable rocker chairs in these cinemas are, in fact, extremely uncomfortable - one sinks into them too deeply and the rocking-effect pulls you back too far.

In fact, for all the hype about this new seating, leg-room is still an issue in UltraAVX cinemas. Ironically, when they first burst upon the scene, ushers annoyingly paraded back and forth telling people to take their feet off the chairs in front of them. Now they annoying saunter in every half hour or so with the lowly heads ever-so low and go down to the front of the cinema to flick on a flashlight and annoying scribble something on a sheet of paper affixed to the wall before departing in the manner they arrived.

Finally, the reserved seating feature is just a major pain (and price-grab). If you're stuck anywhere near boneheads blabbing or eating with their mouths open (the latter an especially common and disgusting habit in movie theatres these days) then moving to a different seat becomes problematic. Luckily, I prefer the front row (which is always empty) and I just sit there instead of listening to people eat popcorn and nacho chips more grotesquely than pigs at a trough.

Then again, maybe movies like the Twilight series are perfect for UltraAVX since the cinemas purport to bring back the magic showmanship of movie-going, but are designed to appeal to undiscriminating, mindless, swill-lapping hogs.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: * One-Star

All the Twilight movies, including this one, are available on various and endless special Blu-Ray and DVD editions from that entity of quality, E-One Entertainment.

Thứ Sáu, 31 tháng 7, 2015

SOUTHPAW - Review By Meraj Dhir - The Film Corner's Ghee Time Scribe Craps on Fuqua

Ladies and Gentlemen, it's GHEE-TIME again as Klymkiw is too shagged to write and the Film Corner's trusty Ghee-Time Columnist, Harvard PhD candidate Meraj Dhir steps in to take a solid crap upon Antoine Fuqua's by-the-numbers boring melodrama SOUTHPAW.

Click image just above to get
more info on MERAJ DHIR
Southpaw (2015)
Dir. Antoine Fuqua
Starring: Jake Gyllenhaal, Forest Whitaker,
Rachel McAdams, Victor Ortiz
Curtis "50 Cent" Jackson

Guest Review
By Meraj Dhir
The Film Corner's
Ghee Time Columnist


If you've seen the trailer for Southpaw, there's no reason to see the intolerably dull film. The trailer deftly encapsulates what otherwise takes 124 lugubrious minutes to slog through. However, if you're amenable to gazing at Jake Gyllenhaal's chiseled torso, Curtis "Fifty Cent" Jackson's ivory white veneers and Forest Whitaker spewing out a veritable geyser of scene-chomping dialogue, all amidst plenty of predictable boxing melodrama with dashes of crime sprinkled on, then please help yourself.

Antoine Fuqua (The Equalizer, Training Day) is one of the most reliably boring paint-by-numbers directors working in major motion pictures today, but he cant be solely blamed for this dross since the screenplay, penned by Kurt Sutter (Sons of Anarchy) resembles a computer-engineered piece of software (the softer elements of said ware residing mostly between Sutter's ears) to generate a generic fight picture.

Bursting with the force of a hamster in a microwave oven, all the necessary by-rote fucking-up, redemption and rehabilitation plot points, shoehorned into all the "proper" places, results in a movie we've seen many times before. Though it will please anyone who buys into the generic rules belched out by screenwriting gurus like Robert McKee, the rest of us (unless we're as brain dead as this movie's filmmakers) can snore through every second of this film.


Here's a handy checklist of the events of the film.

I bet you haven't seen any of this before:

Fighter loses everything because he is a fuck-up.

The losses include the death of his wife to the bullet of a thug and custody of his daughter (because on both counts he's a fuck-up of the highest order and brings tragedy upon himself).

He requires one last fight to make his comeback.

In order to achieve this, our hero must accept humility and control his anger in and out of the ring. Cue rousing training montage a la any Rocky film (take your pick - all or one).

Crawl to a dull climactic fighting match with plenty of in and out of the ring editing and bargain basement Raging Bull camera pyrotechnics a la Raging Bull. This might be enough to keep one's attention, but bothering to do so instead of nodding off will merely hammer home the fact that the movie has been solely crafted to offer Jake Gyllenhaal a decent Oscar Nomination and/or free training to get into the best physical condition of his life.

There are movies, like Gavin O'Connor's Warrior and David O. Russell's The Fighter, which push the genre forward, but Southpaw does little more than vaguely hold one's attention until one realizes it's doing little more than fulfilling the aforementioned checklist.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: * One-Star

Southpaw is a Weinstein Company release through eOne.

Chủ Nhật, 22 tháng 3, 2015

LATE NIGHT DOUBLE FEATURE - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Horror Spoof not scary or funny


Late Night Double Feature (2015)
Dirs. Navin Ramaswaran, Zach Ramelan, Torin Langen
Starring: Jamie Elizabeth Sampson, Nick Smyth, Jeff Sinasac, Colin Price, Caleigh Le Grand, Sandra Da Costa, Brian Scott Carleton, Rich Piatkowski

Review By Greg Klymkiw

The noble tradition of comedy and horror omnibus films has generated a cavalcade of genuinely good and even great pictures - everything from the 1945 Ealing Studio masterpiece Dead of Night to the stylish 70s Amicus E.C. Comics adaptations which yielded the Freddie Francis-directed Tales from the Crypt and Roy Ward Baker's Asylum. These were classy portmanteaus featuring several cool short horror snappers held together by clever wraparound stories.

The 70s saw a new hybrid enter the omnibus arena - perversely dark and lovingly satiric items which attempted to recreate a typical indie TV station's broadcast day. Delivering a variety of commercial, news, gameshows and drama (usually of the exploitation variety) these portmanteaus of hilarity included the immortal John Landis laugh-fest Kentucky Fried Movie and Ken Shapiro's glorious celebration of idiot-box cheese in The Groove Tube. The humour was often played so straight that the humouous jabs came close to the thing being satirized, allowing a window to open upon the social and cultural events of the day.

Late Night Double Feature attempts to climb up a step or two further, but on its way up, it plunges to the nadir of this genre hybrid. It offers us one fateful night in a small town indie TV station which is unspooling “Dr. Nasty’s Cavalcade of Horror”, aimed the insomniacs of the Kawartha Lakes inbred country surrounding Peterborough, Ontario


We get to see commercials, trailers, station IDs and host segments involving a mad scientist and a buxom babe sidekick in full nurse regalia. Just below the programming itself, we're delivered a wraparound plot involving abuse, exploitation and eventually, a mad orgy of violence.

On paper, it sounds just fine. In execution, Late Night Double Feature is a nasty, unfunny and incompetent mess which lacks anything resembling style or tone. The trailers and commercials are strictly bottom-feeding spoofs and the two features, “Dinner for Monsters” (involving a chef corralled into preparing a meal out of a dead human body) and “Slit” (an ugly bit of torture porn) are neither scary, nor funny. They do serve up plenty of violence and gore for those craving that and that alone.

The wraparound story is a cliched affair involving the female hostesses's dissatisfaction with the on-camera-and-off abuse she must put up with by the crazed host and the sleazy producer-director of the late night production. The tone of the pieces on-air seems rooted in a never-never-land which exists only for the film itself and the wraparound is obvious and bereft of any narrative interest whatsoever.

Late Night Double Feature has direct-to-VOD written all over it, though frankly, I suspect word will spread quickly amongst the geek brigades about how lame it is that the woeful film will find its way easily enough to illegal torrent downloads for less discriminating fans of gore for the sake of gore.

The movie might think its being clever, funny and fun but that's one of its biggest problems - just conjure up the most denigrating antonyms for the aforementioned words and you'll have a more than apt description for this steaming platter of viscous faecal matter that it attempts to force-feed us with.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: * One Star

Late Night Double Feature plays at the Canadian Film Fest 2015.

Chủ Nhật, 18 tháng 1, 2015

DESECRATED - Review By Greg Klymkiw - All those who watch this movie desecrate themselves, though not quite as badly as those poor souls who have to act in it.

"Hi. My name is Haylie Duff. I am Hilary Duff's sister. I play Michael Ironside's daughter in this awful movie. Woe is me!"
Desecrated (2012/2015)
Dir. Rob Garcia
Starring: Haylie Duff, Gonzalo Menendez, Michael Ironside

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Haylie Duff's little sister Hilary never had it this bad. Never! Hilary, of course, was the star of the series and movie Lizzie McGuire and even had an exclusive line of tweenie-bopper clothing called "STUFF by Hilary Duff" at the now-defunct Zeller's department store chain. Haylie, however, has starred in a whole whack of dubious movies and toils as a Food Blogger. She might also be vying as the heir apparent to Sarah Jessica Parker's crown of Equine Princess of Hollywood.

In the thoroughly dreadful thriller Desecrated, Haylie Duff desecrates herself as Allie McClean, the upright, two-legged ungulate mammal heroine who drags a bunch of her obnoxious friends to an isolated country estate for a weekend of fun and frolics. Luckily, her Dad (Michael Ironside, looking a wee-bit embarrassed), is not present. Though his beloved wife is recently deceased, he's partying-down on his yacht with a bevy of sexy babes much younger than his daughter. This leaves Haylie and company in the trusty purview of caretaker Ben (Gonzalo Menendez).

Ben is a psychopath.

He decides to slaughter the youthful weekend funsters one by one in order to blackmail Haylie's Daddy into signing over the property to him, which he believes is rightly his. He believes this to be true because he murdered Dad's wife so the old lecher could score a major insurance settlement. Ben has also been joyously murdering anyone who comes onto the property, which Dad also knows about, but has kept his trap shut on since he doesn't want the truth about hiring Ben to kill his wife to ever come out. He promises Daddy Mike Ironside to leave our horsey heroine for last. Ben might be crazy, but he's an honourable veteran of the Afghanistan War and would prefer not to slaughter the whinnying lassie.

82 risible minutes pass before this horrendously written and directed "thriller" comes to an end. Poorly executed chases and killings, unbelievably stupid dialogue, endless wastage of meagre dramatic beats and detestable characters who we all want to die, manage to cram this pathetic excuse for a movie that doesn't even have the virtue of unintentional laughs. About the best that can be said is that somewhere between its 2012 production and its current 2015 straight-to-video release, the film managed to shed 24-minutes of its inexplicably lengthy original running time.

It's a tender mercy, however, since watching all 82-minutes will be time you'll never get back. Hopefully, its sheer incompetence will filter out of your memory banks in time for the last few minutes of your life and not a single image from Desecrated will desecrate all the images flitting before your eyes during the final precious moments you'll experience before death.

If God forbid, this does happen, it'll give new meaning to the phrase, "Death Be Not Proud."

The Film Corner Rating: * One Star

Desecrated is available on DVD from Anchor Bay Entertainment.

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Thứ Bảy, 18 tháng 10, 2014

WOLVES - Review By Greg Klymkiw - North American Premiere Toronto After Dark 2014


Wolves (2014)
Dir. David Hayter
Starring: Jason Momoa, Stephen McHattie, Lucas Till, Merritt Patterson

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Wolves purports to be in the style of 70s/80s monster movies like The Lost Boys (pretty much a piece of shit anyway) and Near Dark (a near-masterpiece that Wolves isn't worthy of to lick the ass clean after a runny dump) and, in fact, feels like a horrendous cellar-dweller country cousin to the abominable Twilight series.

The screenplay by first time helmer David Hayter plays out like a soap opera with man-to-wolf transformations and lots of blood, but bereft of the style infused in something like Dan Curtis's great TV series Dark Shadows. This is simply dull, dumb nonsense involving a young man who discovers his true pedigree as a noble-class werewolf amidst a passel of white-trash hillbilly werewolves. He falls for a hot babe werewolf, also of his "class", but a mean-ass werewolf, also of the noble line, wants to mate with her.

Lots of poorly executed werewolf mano a mano follows.

The movie is not without basic competence, but has no voice, no style and very little to recommend it save for the welcome presence of stalwart character actors Stephen McHattie and Jason Momoa who both add a whole lot of sizzle to this otherwise cheap cut of werewolf steak.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: * One-Star

Wolves enjoys a Noirth American premiere at Toronto After Dark 2014, followed by a perfunctory release by E-One

Thứ Bảy, 11 tháng 10, 2014

PREDESTINATION - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Toronto Premiere - Toronto After Dark 2014

In search of a hermaphrodite & humanity.
Predestination (2014)
Dir. Michael and Peter Spierig
Starring: Ethan Hawke, Sarah Snook, Noah Taylor

Review By Greg Klymkiw

This is the kind of annoying science fiction time travel picture that gets film critics all hard and/or wet due to its "clever" gender-bending calisthenics amidst time-bending aerobatics which yield "deep humanity" twixt the thrills.

Alas, there's nothing especially exciting about this adaptation of a Robert A. Heinlein tome. Since I've not read the original, this movie may well, for all I know, be relatively faithful to it, but if so, then I can't imagine the original's much good.

The Spierig Twins, who've never displayed anything especially unique as filmmakers, save from being identical, have generated a dull as dishwater tale of a "Temporal Agent" (Ethan Hawke) who's on the trail of a criminal through the intricacies of time travel.

He's yet to nail the bugger and both his existence and that of the known universe is dependent upon it. His target appears to be a hermaphrodite (Sarah Snook) who birthed a babe as a woman and pulls off terrorist activities as a man. The terrorist activities haven't happened yet, though they have, actually, but they won't, really, if Hawke manages to do his job properly.

Much of the movie is comprised of endlessly talky scenes in a pub wherein Hawke works as a bartender (undercover, 'natch) and chats up the young fella who was once a woman and moonlights as a "true confessions" style columnist called "The Unmarried Mother".

Ugh.

With great indie time travel films around like Time Lapse and decent mainstream items like Looper, the existence of Predestination seems dubious at best. Someone will like it, though.

Precious, pretentious critics, no doubt.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: * One-Star

Predestination has its Toronto Premiere at Toronto After Dark Film Festival 2014.

Thứ Sáu, 3 tháng 10, 2014

LEFT BEHIND - Review By Greg Klymkiw - The Best Comedy of 2014 save for nutty Christian fundamentalists

Here's some dialogue that might have improved the
already-loathsome, though often hilarious dialogue

in this dreadful God Squad disaster debacle.
Left Behind (2014)
Dir. Vic Armstrong
Starring: Nicholas Cage, Chad Michael Murray, Nicky Whelan, Cassi Thomson, Lea Thompson, Jordin Sparks, Michael Klebba, Alec Rayne, Quinton Aaron

Review By Greg Klymkiw

There are movies more dreadful than Left Behind, but few as funny. It's a slightly bigger budgeted reboot of an early 90s version starring Kirk Cameron which, I've not seen but is perhaps even funnier than this one, but until I partake of that, this will do nicely. What we're dealing with is a cellar-dweller disaster movie with an inept screenplay, oh-so blessed with an irredeemably Christian fundamentalist slant.

A somnambulist airline pilot (Nicholas Cage) contemplates an adulterous tryst with a hot stewardess (Nicky Whelan) because his loopy wife (Lea Thompson) has found Jesus H. Christ. Cage's hot daughter (Cassi Thomson) isn't too crazy about Mom's new marriage to the Son o' God, either, but she's still cheesed at Dad for never being at home and ogling a young lady who's young enough to be his daughter and, uh, bears a not-too-dissimilar look to her (blond, perky, sexy and well-proportioned for humping).

It seems Daughter Dearest is wet for a hunky journalist (Chad Michael Murray) who'll be flying in first class aboard Daddy's plane, but not before the two potential sack-mates engage in an interminable conversation within an airport cafe (which is supposed to be LaGuardia in Queens, but looks suspiciously like no airport in New York State). Once the plane heads across the pond to Blighty, Cage's daughter goes to their suburban family home, looking suspiciously like a neighbourhood nowhere near the isle of Manhattan.

As Mom prays to Jesus, Darling Daughter grabs her little brother and heads to the mall, looking like no mall from the neck o' the woods in which the movie is supposedly set. Soon, the fake airplane Cage flies is sailing through the skies and we cross-cut twixt this locale and the mall. And wouldn't you know it, but on the plane and at the mall - at the same time, no less - every single child and quite a few adults completely vanish into thin air, leaving behind piles of their previously-adorned (though freshly-cleaned-and-pressed) clothing. Seems like something sinister is afoot.

God only knows what.

Speaking of God, He, as in God, the Father, that is, appears to be the Holy Culprit behind this mystery. The fake airplane encounters major troubles and the leafy, suburban paradise in New York is hit with all manner of Hellish activity and hysteria. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that, Our Lord has snatched up all the Believers to keep them safe in Heaven, while all the non-Believers suffer disaster and violence within a veritable apocalypse, rendered not-too convincingly on the movie's supposed budget, most of which has clearly been spent on Nicholas Cage's salary. Given that Cage expresses only two emotions (I'll not spoil them for you), one suspects the producers might have been financially cold-cocked by his agents.

In addition to one hilariously unintentional line of dialogue after another, the movie delivers a midget who is a racist and a devout Muslim who is NOT saved by God because, he is, well, a Muslim.

And this, believers and non-believers alike, is how this awful(ly) funny movie rolls. Christians, especially of the fundamentalist variety, are not too bright to begin with, but any of them who swallow this bilge water are no doubt completely and utterly bereft of brain.

The rest of us, though, can have ourselves a good, old, knee-slapping frolic through The Rapture.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: * One-Star

Left Behind is in wide theatrical release via eOne.

Thứ Tư, 10 tháng 9, 2014

THE CONNECTION aka LA FRENCH - TIFF 2014 - TIFF GALA - Review By Greg Klymkiw


A whole lotta spiffy-dressing Frenchmen in spiffy cars,  in spiffy digs with spiffy babes, dining in spiffy bistros, sipping spiffy French wine, adds up to a whole lotta spiffy nothing.
The Connection (aka La French) (2014)
Dir. Cédric Jimenez
Starring: Jean Dujardin, Gilles Lellouche, Céline Sallette, Benoît Magimel

Review By Greg Klymkiw

In 1971 director William Friedkin knocked the world on its ass with The French Connection, a film that even now has few equals in the genre of crime and cop thrillers. Based on the real-life adventures of New York detectives Eddie Egan and Sonny Grosso, Friedkin brought the hard-hitting grittiness of a documentarian and the sheer kinetic virtuosity of a razzle-dazzle showman to detail one of the biggest drug busts in American history for the silver screen.

One would think, based on Friedkin's great film and the solid, but unexceptional John Frankenheimer sequel French Connection II, that on the other side of the pond in Marseilles, our Gallic law-enformement officials were doing little more than eating cheese and drinking fine wine.

Well, it's over forty years later and a new motion picture has come along to prove that there were indeed law enforcement officials on the French side who did a little something to break the case.

The Connection (known in France as La French) might as well be about eating cheese and drinking wine. At 135 plodding minutes, this is one of the most dull crime pictures made in, well, let's say over forty years. Focusing upon the spiffy, snappy dresser of a prosecuting magistrate (Jean Dujardin) and his attempts to nail an untouchable drug kingpin (Gilles Lellouche), director Cédric Jimenez mounts a slick, but empty cat and mouse affair that places most of its emphasis upon back room dealings and occasional forays into the drug trade underbelly.

Jimenez tosses a whole lot of herby-jerky handheld camera work and occasionally quick cutting to let us know we're not watching a movie about well-dressed Frenchmen eating cheese, but it's all for nought. The Connection is an endlessly talky, convoluted and predictable low-key policier that only proves one thing - Americans did it first and better and if anything interesting or exceptional happened in this case on the French side, other than the ingestion of curds and grape, this is not the movie to prove it.

Aside from a whole lotta spiffy-dressing French dudes driving spiffy cars and living in spiffy digs with spiffy babes and generally being, uh, spiffy as they dine in spiffy bistros, the movie delivers a whole lotta spiffy nothing.

If anything it puts a blight on an otherwise noble tradition of French crime pictures by being so boring.

And, I guess, being spiffy - for no real reason.

THE FILM CORNER rating: * One-Star

The Connection is a Seville/eOne/Drafthouse release playing the Gala slot at TIFF 2014. Visit the TIFF website HERE for further info.

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Chủ Nhật, 7 tháng 9, 2014

REVENGE OF THE GREEN DRAGONS - Review By Greg Klymkiw TIFF'14SpecialPresentation

Revenge of the Green Dragons (2014)
Dir. Andrew Lau, Andrew Loo
Screenplay: Michael Di Jiacomo
Executive Producer: Martin Scorsese
Starring: Ray Liotta, Justin Chon, Kevin Wu, Harry Shum Jr, Shuya Chang, Geoff Pierson

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Some pictures bring a solid pedigree to the table so that you're pretty much guaranteed a mega-quality product. Revenge of the Green Dragons is registered to an extremely prestigious stud book (the gold standard of registries in animal husbandry). One half of the picture's directing team is the prolific dynamo who launched the 2002 Hong Kong crime hit Infernal Affairs and its prequel and sequel, which, in turn, eventually yielded the American remake The Departed, Martin Scorsese's longtime-coming Oscar-winner as Best Director. Here, adding to the pedigree, Scorsese also serves as Executive Producer of this sprawling saga of Asian gangland warfare in NYC during the 1980s.

Alas, "pedigree" in the case of this new film is best linked to animal husbandry rather than anything else since Revenge of the Green Dragons is a mangy, drooling dog that's more of the mongrel rather than purebred variety.

There isn't a single original element in this ploddingly familiar tale of childhood immigrants who grow up as members of a powerful mob dynasty. Michael Di Jiacomo (whose own dubious pedigree is linked to a few obscure indie pictures) is the purported writer of the dull screenplay which trots out the usual blend of mixed loyalties, betrayals and excuses for competently-helmed sequences involving a surfeit of gunplay - none of which has much impact since the characters aren't even interesting enough to be called cardboard cutouts. The movie is full of expository narration, all meant to infuse the picture with a sense of history and epic sweep, but serving little more than to provide opportunities for posturing and over-scored, lame-duck montages of the most bargain-basement-Scorsese kind.

Ultimately, Revenge of the Green Dragons proves that no matter what the pedigree, aberrations are always a distinct possibility. This one is especially hobbled and deformed. It doesn't even have a particularly engaging spirit so it can be pitied.

This doggie is fair game for euthanasia.

And speaking of assisted suicide, the film features an especially egregious misuse of a pasty, disinterested Ray Liotta (Henry Hill from Scorsese's Goodfellas) who somnambulistically shuffles through the proceedings as an FBI agent who, on paper, is intent on breaking the mob, but in practice just looks like he needs another drink or snort.

It'd be great to see a good, kick-ass hybrid of Asian and American criminal shenanigans. This, however, is most assuredly not it.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: * One-Star

Revenge of the Green Dragons is a Special Presentation at the 2014 Toronto International Film Festival and distributed in Canada via VVS Films. For tix, times and venues, visit the TIFF website HERE.

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Thứ Ba, 2 tháng 9, 2014

ADIEU AU LANGAGE (GOODBYE TO LANGUAGE) - TIFF 2014 - Review By Greg Klymkiw


Adieu Au Langage AKA Goodbye To Language (2014)
Dir. Jean-Luc Godard
Starring: Héloise Godet, Zoe Bruneau, Kamel Abdelli, Richard Chevalier, Jessica Erickson, Alexandre Païta, Dimitri Basil, Jeremy Zampatti, Isabelle Carbonneau, Gino Siconolfi

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Jean-Luc Godard figured out a long time ago that a good way to cram as much socio-political nonsense, obtuse plotting and general artsy-fartsy wanking into his films, and still get them released whilst inspiring critics to gush Bukake-like all over his face, was to cram in as many scantily clad or preferably buck-nekkid babes into them as possible. This isn't to say his early output bored and/or annoyed me to the point of inducing anal fissures where the sun don't quite shine for me, but for the latter half of his career, Godard has been full of that stuff he expunges from his hoary, wrinkled orifice de fèces. His new movie, Adieu au langage, is so pungently aromatic of said substance corporelle d'expulsion that sitting in a theatre watching it feels like being in a sewage treatment plant when the intake valves are opened wide.

And it's in 3-D, no less.

However, I'll give Godard a bit more credit here since he has, in addition to inserting plenty o' ganders of a major babe of the French persuasion in various states of dress and undress, but he's brilliantly come up with a recurring image to warm the cockles of pseuds everywhere so they can proclaim Godard is infusing the work with spirit and humanity (as opposed to nonsense). Yes! Godard gives us nudity galore, but he also delights us with endless shots of a cute dog. For all I know, the dog is probably his and he had enough home movie footage so he wouldn't actually have to shoot as much. After all, the movie is plenty lengthy to begin with at a whopping 70 minutes.

So what do we get for our troubles of keeping our eyelids open with toothpicks? Plenty, brother. Let me tell you, plenty. There are a whack of titles and inter titles on top of each other which look ultra-groovy in 3-D. Not only that, but they are THOUGHT-PROVOKING. One of the first blasts of titles we get is - WAIT FOR IT - "Those lacking in imagination take refuge in reality if non-thought contaminates thought." I guess he might be referring to me here. It's okay, Jean-Luc. I'm taking it with a grain of salt.

Get this: soon after the aforementioned declaration, the word "3-D" in thick red letters appears over simple white on black letters that read "2-D" and underneath that, a glob of colour that seems gloriously prismatic or, in fact, is an out of focus medal. Or something. Cosmic, man! Layers of language, meaning and colour are all blended together in eye-popping glory. And soon after, we get one of the first shots of the cute dog who, by the way, appears to be providing the voice-over narration in addition to a whole whack of other voices who could well be people we see on-screen and/or Godard himself.

Good one, Jean-Luc. You've got me scratching my noggin big time over that.

Of course, he also provides inter-titles to tell us what each segment of the film we'll be dealing with. Yes, this is very important, just in case we don't get, for example, that the first thematic concern of the film will be: "LA NATURE" (in simple white on black, but with a huge, thick, red-coloured "1" on top of it). The movie is full of these provocative signposts. He throws us one jump cut after another, one canted composition after another, plenty of old news footage and old movie clips, some old dude going on about Solzhenitsyn and Dostoyevsky, plenty of lamentations about the physical properties of books in juxtaposition with seeing language on smart phones, a passel of claustrophobic shots of the aforementioned naked babe AND as a special bonus, her naked hubby while they yammer on endlessly about God-knows-whatever philosophical ruminating Godard is concerned with.

One of my favourite 'tête–à–têtes includes the naked man taking a crap (replete with the plop-plop sound effects) as he and the naked babe talk about, God knows what. And just so we're not too claustrophobic, he inserts plenty of shots of leaves, trees, flowers, sky, butterflies and, of course the DOG, our (I think) narrator.

And at the halftime, we appear to get an older couple yammering on. I assume it's the same couple, but who knows? Maybe it isn't. Maybe it doesn't really matter. From time to time, you see, we get shots of a bathtub spattered with varying degrees of blood and at one point shots of a paint brush mixing paint and someone offscreen yammering about the properties of watercolours. Is someone murdered? Is it art? I think so. What I do know FOR SURE is that Godard treats us to an absolutely horrendous recreation of Mary Shelley, Percy Shelley and Lord Byron on the night "Frankenstein" was written, though the whole sequence takes place outdoors with awful costumes and in broad daylight. I do believe it is Jean-Luc's intent for this sequence to be dreadful.

Finally, though, we run out of nudity and news footage and movie clips and philosophy and we're left, simply, and beautifully with the cute dog. He sleeps silently, dreaming, no doubt of getting the hell out of this movie.

We cut to black. Over the end titles, we hear a baby. The circle of life is complete. We can leave the theatre. I think. No, I stay anyway, just in case Godard has tossed in a few segments from a gag reel.

Adieu au langage, indeed.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: (IF YOU ARE STONED): ***** Five Stars
THE FILM CORNER RATING: (IF YOU ARE NOT STONED): * One Star

Adieu au langage plays during TIFF 2014 in TIFF Masters.

Thứ Tư, 23 tháng 7, 2014

GMO OMG - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Annoying, 1-sided personal doc about the GMO controversy misses boat.

Is it possible to take a documentary
seriously that incorporates the moronic
social networking acronym OMG in its title?
Yes. If the movie is actually good.
This one isn't.
GMO OMG (2013) *
Dir. Jeremy Seifert

Review By Greg Klymkiw

I sincerely believe everyone should see this film - not because it's any good, but because it's important for audiences to experience how egregiously an independently produced, but one-sided, misguided and all-over-the-map propaganda picture like GMO OMG can be just as dangerous to progressive thought and exploration of issues that affect all of us, as propaganda on the flip side from heavily-financed-and-approved corporate/political interests can be.

Let it be said, though, that these days, I have a fairly strong bias of acceptance when it comes to films dealing with environmental concerns. Firstly, I've always been against corporate culture, ideology and bureaucracy. I believe it's downright evil. Secondly, I've also been extremely skeptical about any political process and feel it's usually little more than legal organized crime devoted primarily to nest-feathering of the most blatant and petty kind. Thirdly, and most importantly, I'm somewhat ashamed to admit I came late in life to caring about our world in any green sense, but frankly, to use the well-worn, but perfectly reasonable expression: better late than never.

I've become especially committed to animal rights and hugely aware (and mindful) of both energy and environmental issues. To the latter, I've gone so far as to live completely off the grid, grow my own consumable food product (including free-range animal product of the egg variety) and rescuing animals from torture and inhumane slaughter. When I encounter films dealing with any of the aforementioned, I prick up my ears, sharpen my eyes and drink in the myriad of cinematic perspectives on such issues. That said, I demand the films be good - aesthetically and by extension, ideologically. GMO OMG is neither.

Filmmaker Jeremy Seifert is just your regular garden-variety Dad who became alarmed when he discovered just how much food he and his family consumed was derived from genetic modification. He chose to become a bargain basement Michael Moore and explore the world of GMOs by making a film about it. Fair enough, but what he's wrought is not only poor filmmaking, but does little more than preach to the (ignorant) converted. Even worse is that it places a valuable tool in the hands of scumbag corporations like Monsanto which employs vicious strong-arm tactics to foist their product upon food producers and consumers.

At the beginning of the film, Seifert professes to know very little about GMOs until hearing about them, so he first engages in what will be his uncompromising approach to investigative journalism as he asks ordinary Americans in the street what they think about eating GMOs. Well shucks, it turns out that the folks he approaches known nothing about GMOs and frankly, have never even heard of them. What this proves is the ignorance of the American people, or at least, the ignorance of the American people he approaches in his random fashion.

What the film ignores, is that many Canadians are well aware of GMOs (and proudly) since Canadian scientists at the University of Manitoba in the 70s first developed the exquisite and healthy Canola Oil (modified Rapeseed) which has become one of the biggest crops in North America. Yes, corporate scumbags in the 90s began adding herbicide resistant properties to the seed, but the only real threat here has been of the patent copyright variety. The only mention of Canola in Seifert's film appears to be in one of the many slick animated charts which look and sound like they're providing solid information, but are, in fact, delivering a whole lot of nothing.

Seifert includes images of Haitians burning GMO seed donated to them from Monsanto. Fair enough, the people of Haiti wish to grow their own natural variety of seeds and have bought into the anti-GMO lobby, but there's no investigation as to the corporate ramifications of rejecting Monsanto's donation and a whole lot of negative information about the dangers of not using "natural" products. Last I heard, human beings were "natural" and while some have used their considerable natural brain power to genetically/chemically treat a lot of things that are generally considered bad for you (Big Tobacco, anyone?), the film never makes any attempt (save for getting nowhere with Monsanto) to explore what the positives might be with respect to GMOs.

He interviews a variety of farmers about GMOs - some agin, others for and yet many on the fencepost. His line of questions are just plain scattered. At one point, and seemingly by default, he engages in a decent enough conversation with one farmer, then interrupts the flow, fumbles for a stupid question (which most of them appear to be throughout the film) and idiotically asks the gentleman if he's a God-fearin' church-goer and how this affects his use of seeds that might well be seen (moronically) as playing God. This is a dumb question on a number of levels, but mostly because it's a cheap (and clumsy) attempt to play into Right Wing Christian morality with respect to GMOs and, of course, the fact that many thinking people don't believe or are rightly skeptical of the notion of God within the context of what's been seeded (so to speak) by organized crime, oops, I mean, religion.

And let us, for a moment, get back to the Monsanto issue. The real problem here is that they are forcing farmers to use their product in a manner in which the corporation decides, at prices the corporation sets and then engages in endless legal harassment (the right of all God-Given Corporate assholes) of those rejecting them on a number of levels. Seifert touches on this, but he's more interested in getting Monsanto and its ilk to discuss and/or release their own scientific findings with respect to the safety and production issues of their seed. This is fair enough, but all we get here is the fact that Seifert's getting the runaround on the telephone (Duh! No surprises here, really) and when he physically enters Monsanto, all we hear is an audio recording of his conversation at the front desk wherein he is told to leave. The cameras remain outside until he returns to express his frustration.

Bud, if you really want to be Michael Moore, why aren't you in there with your cameras and worse yet, why are you giving up so easily? Afraid of getting arrested? That's commitment for you.

Okay, so Monsanto doesn't want to reveal any of this info and is being sneaky about it. The fact remains that the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) of the U.S. of A. has its own guidelines with respect to GMOs and has not only given them an okay, but seeing as it's based upon what Seifert and many others charge is a potentially low level of scientific investigation, where are the raft of scientists not employed by Monsanto and/or the FDA who agree with this? Where are all the politicians and bureaucrats who do agree? Why do we only meet one anti-GMO politician who wants greater openness with respect to the whole issue? Aren't there more? If not, why not? Seifert even whines about the legality of patenting seeds. How, he wonders, can life be owned by a corporation? Hey Bud, try taking a Business 101 course sometime.

While Seifert dredges up one scientist in Europe who's come up with some fairly damning evidence against GMOs, were there no others who could agree with him? And what about those scientists who refuted the findings? What do they have to say about it? Specifically, that is. Could they be right? Who says so? Why? Beats me. The film sheds no light on this.

Aside from what feels like a whole lot of personal home movie footage in the movie, Seifert engages in a series of conversations, photo-ops and experiments (strictly for the cameras) with his own kids. One of the little shavers always looks especially terrified - not, I suspect, by truly understanding the ramifications of GMOs, but by his potentially crazy Dad making him do a bunch of stuff that seems a whole lot scarier (to me, anyway) than any of the doom and gloom Seifert espouses.

One jaw-droppingly stupid and seemingly unnecessary "experiment" is when Seifert talks about how kids used to be able to run free and wild through corn rows, but that nowadays, because of genetic modification, the corn is full of potentially poisonous pesticides hard-wired into its DNA, making it dangerous to do so. What does the filmmaker do? He adorns his kidlets with heavy-duty, scary-looking body suits and gas masks, then forces them into the cornfields for the edification of the cameras. The suits are heavy and hot and once they're doffed, he and the children are drenched with sweat and out of breath. One of the kids is upset and crying.

Perhaps this isn't child abuse to the precise letter of the law, but it sure damn well feels like it. This and other such sequences with the kids seem so creepy, I almost think that if the film were directed and produced by someone other than Seifert, it might have, Sherman's March-style, turned into being about something altogether different from what it started to be about: that is, a documentary about a committed, well-intentioned Dad who goes in search of answers to his concerns about GMOs, then morphs into a documentary about a committed, well-intentioned Dad with a bunch of half-baked ideas who runs around trying to prove them and puts his kids through hell in order to do so.

I might have actually enjoyed that movie instead of having to infer it from the available footage in this one. Watching Seifert's kids gaze longingly out the window on a hot summer day as an ice cream truck rings its bell and seeing that they can't run out and grab a yummy cone because Dad tells them it has GMOs in it, has got to be seen to be believed.

There are many outright laughable items in this movie, but one of the biggest for me is that it would have you believe everything is genetically modified. There is, however, such a thing as ages-old breeding: all natural and all part of the long-accepted practice of shaping our agricultural product, uh, naturally. Seifert takes us to the famous Norwegian underground storage facility where every known seed to man (including those of the ancient variety), but all this does is make thinking viewers realize even more than man has been selectively modifying seeds since the beginning of time - doing it genetically does not necessarily mean it's a bad thing.

On a separate note, the movie is jam-packed with a whack of slanted, sentimental montage sequences meant to bolster Seifert's thesis (whatever it ultimately is, anyway) and using some of the most sickeningly twee original music I've ever had the displeasure to suffer through, I was more compelled to upchuck than be moved by the "sad truth". The tunes are warbled by a group called The Jubilee Singers. If, God forbid, you actually like the music, I'm sure it's available on the film's website along with other paraphernalia related to the film. It's strictly of the Kumbaya, My Lord variety, but if you're into it, knock yourself out.

Here's what I think you need to do. See this movie. However, see it at the myriad of independent cinemas that are playing the film across North America - you'll at least be putting money in their pockets. God knows, they deserve it. If you miss it on a big screen, though, skip it. No need putting money in the pockets of anyone else associated with this dreadful and, in its own way, dangerous, ill-informed propaganda.

GMO OMG opens for a limited run at Toronto's first-rate independent cinema, The Royal, on July 25, 2014. It's also playing in a variety of independent theatrical and non-theatrical venues across North America.

Here are some genuinely GREAT documentaries dealing with a variety of environmental issues (and/or just plain great documentaries) that you can buy at Amazon via accessing the various links below directly, and in so doing, assisting with the maintenance of The Film Corner.

Thứ Năm, 17 tháng 7, 2014

THE HOOLIGAN FACTORY - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Lame Goodfellas of Hooliganism Wannabe @FantAsia2014

I demand you see my un-funny comedy.
The Hooligan Factory (2014) *
Dir. Nick Nevern
Starring: Jason Maza, Nick Nevern

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Danny (Jason Maza) is an unemployed slacker and football hooligan forced to fend for himself when his Grandfather leaves England to live in Australia. Now homeless, he's plucked from poverty and obscurity by Dex (director Nick Nevern), England's most notorious hooligan. Danny will soon be mentored in the fine art of brutishness by the best of the best. Dex has just been released from an extended stay in the hoosegow and he's yearning to get his old crew back together and wreak vengeance upon his prime hooligan rival. The problem is that times have changed and Dex is living in the past, but for good honest blokes, rekindling former glories and learning some valuable life lessons all round (or not) is within reach for those with the passion and fortitude to make it happen.

Ugh!

Frantic, frenetic, but ultimately never funny, the purported comedy The Hooligan Factory resorts to hoary male-bonding cliches to try endearing us to a clutch of dull, brutish and generally brain-bereft sports hooligans.

I've always found the notion of hooligans vaguely amusing. What's not to love? You've basically got a bunch of pathetic losers who are behind their regional football team so passionately that they're ready to engage in gang warfare fisticuffs with fans of rival teams. They're supposedly team booster clubs, but really, they're a herd of idiots who booze themselves into a rage before engaging in wanton destruction, vandalism and violence. They're little more than street gangs and in reality are probably the lowest order of organized criminals imaginable.

Well, maybe they're not so funny after all.

That said, there's probably a lot of room to extract humour from this subculture, but I think it would only work best within a strictly satirical context (which this movie unsuccessfully flirts with) or as straight-up kitchen sink crime melodrama with dollops of absurdist humour rooted in the extreme behaviour patterns of hooliganism (which it also tries to tackle). The picture mucks about a myriad of approaches, but does none of them well. The movie's goals are far below the bars of satire or straight-up, though, since it's basically trying to spoof the UK genre of hooligan movies while trying to be a decent hooligan comedy in its own right. Spoofs are the easiest thing to do and yet it takes considerable mastery to pull them off well (e.g. the ZAZ Boys' Airplane, Naked Gun, etc.) which The Hooligan Factory is too incompetent to be capable of doing even half-assedly.

Those unlucky enough to have to sit through this execrable nonsense will be faced with a movie that's about as funny as having a humungous infected cyst lodged deeply in one's rectum being lanced with a sharp razor that's been sterilized fresh off a Bunsen Burner. Everything is pitched as if it's meant to be funny, but is in reality just plain loud, moronically broad, so tiresome it borders on being deathly dull and worst of all, is saddled with a predictable been-there-done-that storyline.

It's bad enough that The Hooligan Factory is woefully derivative of fellow Brits Edgar Wright (Shaun of the Dead) and Guy Ritchie (Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels), but without their natural sense of humour and virtuoso directorial prowess, but when the screenplay pathetically attempts to ape Martin Scorsese's Goodfellas, the movie crosses into territory from which you absolutely know is going to result in a dreadful picture. In that respect, it doesn't disappoint. It's as bad as you know it's going to be within the first five minutes of watching it.

The Hooligan Factory had its Canadian Premiere at the FantAsia International Film Festival 2014 in Montreal.

Thứ Hai, 14 tháng 7, 2014

DAWN OF THE PLANET OF THE APES - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Chuck Heston, why hast Thou forsaken me? Why must I put up with this abysmal contemporary reboot?

2014: Boy-crush hug twixt
Jason Clarke & Andy Serkis
1968: Hot open-mouth kiss twixt
Kim Hunter & Chuck Heston
2014: When men are wimps
1968: When men are men among men
2014: When women are bedraggled hags
1968: When women are Linda Harrison as "NOVA"
Dawn of the Planet of the Apes (2014) *
Dir. Matt Reeves
Starring: Andy Serkis, Jason Clarke,
Gary Oldman, Keri Russell, Toby Kebbell, Kodi Smit-McPhee

Review By Greg Klymkiw

I pity all of you. Some came of age to (Ugh!) Star Wars, others came of age to (Ugh!) John Hughes or (Ugh!) The Goonies, yet others came of age to (Ugh!) Toy Story or (Ugh!) Jurassic Park, and even worse, many came of age to (Ugh!) Harry Potter, and then, perhaps worst off of all are those who will come of age to (Ugh!) stupid, noisy superhero comic book movies and those who will be completely bereft of originality will come of age to (Ugh!) reboots like Rise of the Planet of the Apes and its (Ugh!) dull, mediocre sequel Dawn of the Planet of the Apes. What's next? Afternoon of the Planet of the Apes? Tea-Time of the Planet of the Apes? Night of the Living Dead Planet of the Apes? Seriously, all of you not only have my pity, but my condolences for childhoods that could really be little more than living the death of a thousand cuts to thine brain and soul. About the best that can be said in favour of Dawn of the Planet of the Apes is that it's not as dreadful as Rise of the Planet of the Apes. This is predominantly due to the fact that it has a real director, Matt Reeves (Cloverfield, Let Me In) at the helm. Alas, he struggles valiantly, but unsuccessfully with an utterly boring screenplay and no real reason (artistically) for the picture to exist.

In fact, the entire reboot exists only to fill the 20th Century Fox coffers with dough from a lot of desperate and stupid movie-goers. The Original Five (kind of like the N.H.L.'s Original Six) is a perfectly fine series of films and frankly, Franklin J. Schaffner's original 1968 Planet of the Apes is not only a bonafide masterpiece, but it's so terrific that it holds up beautifully to this day on levels of both storytelling and craft that dazzles. As everyone knows, the first picture took us on a thrilling journey to a topsy-turvy planet by way of time travel and subsequent films offered a series of entertaining, often exciting and boldly satirical adventure films which perversely added up to one massive time warp - one which led to a never-ending cycle of the same mistakes wrought by humanity and an ever-present and always inevitable reality that nuclear annihilation is, was and always would be the end result.

The sheer genius of this within the context of popular entertainment is one thing, but that each film was infused with buoyant snap, crackle and pop by way of thrilling classical adventure always tempered with great humour - some black, some satirical and often, just plain hilarity emanating naturally out of the drama - is what made the original film and its sequels immortal.

The reboot is dull on several fronts, but the most egregious flaw in its storytelling is to begin, literally, with the beginning. The second big problem is just how dour, serious and irredeemably humourless the whole thing is. There's one laugh in all of Dawn that's surprisingly clever - so much so I won't ruin it for you save to note that it's rooted in the kind of satire so prevalent in Schaffner's 1968 original and that wended its way through the sequels - and involves an ape equivalent to the antics of a Steppin' Fetchit or Mantan Moreland to curry favour with the "dominant" race in films of yore.

Dawn begins ten years after Rise. The virus which sprouted in the last movie has decimated almost the entire human race. In the city of San Francisco, those humans who were resistant to the terminal illness, live in isolation and fear that their meagre power supply will soon run out. The apes, on the other hand, are living idyllically in the forests of northern Cali and getting stronger and smarter. Caesar (Andy Serkis) is still their leader, but his authority is being challenged by Koba (Toby Kebbell), a violent warmongering ape. The human beings are led by Dreyfus (Gary Oldman), a stirring orator of the fascist variety who grudgingly allows Malcolm (Jason Clarke) a few days to try and peacefully negotiate with the apes for access to the nearby power dam in order to get San Fran up and running again.

Malcolm drags Alexander (Kodi Smit-McPhee), his sensitive (Ugh!), artistically-inclined son and Ellie (Keri Russell), his (Ugh!) supportive, loving and oddly haggard nurse girlfriend along with a few other fellas to do their power dam magic. Everything twixt human and ape in the jungle seems reasonably "Kumbaya, My Lord" until bad apes pull bad shit and bad humans pull bad shit and hell breaks loose.

Eventually, order is restored, but a storm's a brewin' with imminent all-out war for the next sequel.

Dullsville!

Both the performances and characters of the humans are strangely lacklustre and the apes (save for Caesar and Koba) are indistinguishable from one another - a far cry from the indelibly-etched characters on both sides of the equation in the 1968 classic and its sequels. While there is an inevitability of doom and despair in the 60s/70s Apes pictures, nothing is ever oppressively dreary and predictable the way it is here.

Reeves handles some of the action sequences with the sort of aplomb one would want, but because we have no real investment in any of the characters, his efforts are all for naught.

There's a lot of noise and thunder here, but finally, this is a film which is perfectly emblematic of the sheer unimaginative roller coaster amusement park rides that major studio films are transforming into. The 3-D, as per usual, adds nothing to the proceedings save for inducing headaches and muting the colour and sharp contrast of the visuals.

Again, all I can do is offer my pity to audiences so starved for a good picture that they're willing to suffer through this unoriginal mess that been crapped upon them by a studio system that's increasingly losing its way into a miasma that I suspect cinema might have a hard time recovering from.

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes is in humungously wide release via 20th Century Foz and predictably drawing in audiences throughout the world.

For more elaboration on the Original Five and my vitriol about Rise of the Planet of the Apes, feel free to read my review of that film HERE.

Thứ Tư, 9 tháng 7, 2014

DOC OF THE DEAD - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Ho-Hum feature-length doc on zombies a lame DVD extra at best.

How can a self-respecting documentary purporting to be the ultimate of its
kind, not deal with the astonishing zombie output from poverty row studios
that gave us classics like KING OF THE ZOMBIES with Mantan Moreland?
Doc of the Dead (2014) Dir. Alexandre O. Philippe *

Review By Greg Klymkiw

I have no idea who this movie is for.

By purporting to be the ultimate feature-length documentary about the zombie phenomenon in popular culture, it sets itself up for the big fall. This woefully inadequate picture fails miserably on all counts. It doesn't even cut the mustard as a glorified DVD extra which it most closely resembles. On the zombie movie front, it includes nothing any self-respecting genre geek wouldn't already know (leaving out tons of important references) and worst of all, meandering all-over-the-place when it leaves the movies behind and delves into the cultural aspects of zombies.

The historical and anthropological notions of zombie-ism (eg. voodoo and its relationship to zombies in Haitian culture and the like) gets short shrift in favour of ludicrous notions about apocalyptic zombie visions coming out of 9/11. Spending way too much time dealing with fan-based loser-dom is also beyond the pale. If the movie is not just supposed to be about zombie movies, then sadly, it doesn't even begin to the scratch the surface of what would have been truly fascinating. Never mind voodoo, what about Santeria, somnambulism and other weirdness in the real world that are tied ever-so fascinatingly and inextricably into the whole fabric of living dead activities?

As far as its attention to zombies in the movies, Doc of the Dead pretty much blows chunks. It spends far too little time on early zombie movies of the White Zombie variety and commits the ultimate sin by proclaiming it as the first to delve into the "living dead" when such elements like corpse reanimation and (yup, my favourite) somnambulism run rampant through silent cinema (The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, anyone?). The doc indulges in an equally egregious blasphemy by skipping over a wide swath of zombie or zombie-like elements in 40s, 50s and early 60s movies, especially some truly great work from the poverty row studios and independents. It doesn't delve deeply (if at all) into the Italian, Spanish, Asian, Mexican and even Soviet zombie cinema until finally settling into the birth of the contemporary zombie movie phenomena via George A. Romero's 1968 classic Night of the Living Dead and onwards.

Not that Romero's film is a slouch in that department. I first saw it as a kid on a 16mm film print at the age of ten and it not only scared the living shit out of me, but it holds up to this day as one of the creepiest horror movies of all time. My major quibble is just how much zombie material in cinema Doc of the Dead ignores.

Of course, it's always fun to listen to irascible old masters like George Romero, Tom Savini and Bruce Campbell talk at length and happily, the movie doesn't skimp in this direction. I could, however, have used less footage from panel discussions and I found the whole fast zombie versus slow zombie and infection versus reanimated corpses debates, deathly dull - wearing out its welcome to distraction.

I could also have used less of Simon (Shaun of the Dead) Pegg. I love the man's movie, but his manner of addressing the subject annoyingly wavers twixt self-serious and tongue-in-cheek and proves to be more bothersome than insightful. I pretty much even objected to dealing with the "World War Z" phenomenon, especially considering that the film version ranks as the worst zombie movie of all time.

And really, I've always had no use for the knot-headed fans who doll up in their zombie finery and engage in zombie parades (or zombie walks as they're most often referred to). I'm sorry the movie even bothers with them. If I wanted to attend a Star Trek convention on film (but with zombies instead of Kirk and Spock lookalikes), I'd probably be in the market for a cheap razor and hot bath.

Life, even after death, seems a tad too short for this movie. I had to see it. You don't.

Doc of the Dead is in theatrical release via Kinosmith.