Less than grand Grand Guignol, “Tale of Tales” (Il racconto dei racconti), is an insistently gruesome fairytale shocker from modern Italian maximalist Matteo Garrone (“Gomorrah,” “Reality”). The gaudy, bawdy, ugly, disturbing excesses of “ToT” are strangely inert in this adaptation of three fairytales about three Renaissance royals in three kingdoms by seventeenth-century Neapolitan writer Giambattista Basile. Read the rest of this entry »
Deadpan allegory without a single straight answer: Yorgos Lanthimos’ fourth precise, absurdist comedy (after “Dogtooth” and “Alps”), and his first in English, is the answer to the question: Is one of the worst bad-date movies ever made also one of the great ones? Oh yeah. Read the rest of this entry »
Another Marvel left-field choice of a seemingly unlikely director pays off, in slightly different fashion than “Captain America: The Winter Soldier,” directed by the Russo brothers as a politically charged gloss on 1970s paranoia thrillers. Co-writer-director James Gunn’s 2010 no-budget “Super” had its share of appalling violence, but he still manages to thread abrupt violence and casual malice into the huge expanses of the outright comedy and fine sarcasm of “Guardians.” And most of the meanness is funny, after a cartoonish fashion. Any moment that could be drenched in earnestness is either beautiful—a bereft child’s ascension in a beam of light to a spaceship that will wrench him from Earth—or mocked from the get-go. Chris Pratt plays the grown boy, Peter Quill, as a would-be cock-of-the-galaxy who describes himself at one point, hopefully, as “an a-hole, but not one-hundred-percent a dick.” Read the rest of this entry »
Scottish director Lynne Ramsay’s last released feature was 2002’s “Morvern Callar”; among the heartbreaks along the way was “The Lovely Bones” being wrested away from her for a directorial project for Peter Jackson, whose strange, cruel, bloated adaptation pleased no one. The Criterion edition of Ramsay’s 1999 “Ratcatcher” also holds her shorts “Gasman,” “Kill the Day” and “Small Deaths,” two of which were rewarded with Cannes honors. Simply, she’s a great, bravura, visual, sensual director. Even if you’ve never seen one of her films, you’ve missed her: she’s the kind of intelligent, unsparing filmmaker we could use a dozen of. Read the rest of this entry »
A lifelong master of investigating the dramatic potential of confined spaces and encroaching claustrophobia, the seventy-eight-year-old Roman Polanski prepared his adaptation of Yasmina Reza’s boulevard comedy-cum-sketch “God of Carnage” during his confinement to his Swiss chalet while resisting deportation to California. The result, “Carnage,” is confined to a single apartment in Brooklyn, patterned within a Restoration Hardware-inch of its life by veteran production designer Dean Tavoularis (“Bonnie & Clyde,” “The Godfather: Part II,” “One from the Heart,” “Apocalypse Now,” “Zabriskie Point”). Even on a small screen, every element is pointed, as you’d hope from a Polanski picture. Take even the characteristic Brooklyn fireplace plopped at one end of the living room, whether ersatz or even Carrera marble, it’s a modest arch not known for triumph, but simplest hominess. The accuracy of each element as the camera roams the rooms is devastating, as is the hard accumulation of each character’s agitated—yet keenly right—posture and gestures. They, the entire quartet, are dismal shits, quarrelers whose life rises above the script’s homiletic disdain by some heavy lifting by each actor. Read the rest of this entry »
By Ray Pride
No matter even if you truly wanted to, there’s no way a single viewer could give you an overview of an international film festival with more than a hundred events: you can surmise all you want, based on what festival films have played or have been reviewed at already, or the filmmakers’ reputation. Even festival programmers miss out on sections they’re not part of. I’ll be curious to see statistics after this year’s CIFF to see how many programs the average, but dedicated moviegoer, is able to attend. It’s tough even if you’ve been to a few prior festivals, seen a fistful of advance screeners, availed yourself of advance screenings. But, as luck, fortune or programming may have it, Chicago International has more programs of note in its second week, and a growing number of them have further distribution in the near future. (Disclosure: I was a program consultant for this year’s Docufest section.) Read the rest of this entry »
By Ray Pride
After summer’s somersaults, autumn through Christmas is when the grownup movies come out to play, and the forty-seventh edition of the Chicago International Film Festival has a lot to celebrate. In this rundown, I’ll keep “great” as a random adjective to a minimum. (Disclosure: I was a program consultant for this year’s Docufest section.)
From the highlights of the program, it seems like it’s going to be a strong season for good, solid movies in coming months. The range of films being shown that have been submitted for the Best Foreign Language Film Academy Award seem to be uncommonly strong as well. While there may well be other discoveries to be made, most of the films recommended here will show up in commercial or art-house release. Screenings can sell out in advance, which may partly be due to the capacity of the smaller screens at River East. The festival is keeping a running tally of shutouts on their Facebook page. Read the rest of this entry »
One of the beauties of the three most recent features by Azazel Jacobs, “The GoodTimesKid,” (2005), “Momma’s Man” (2008) and now “Terri,” is how patient he is in finding and shaping narrative rhythms, scaling them to his characters and the actors who inhabit them. Gerardo Naranjo, a sorrowful-eyed silent-movie sad-sack in “GoodTimesKid,” moves curiously through a blurry Los Angeles; in “Momma’s Man,” a son returns home to his parents’ curiosity shop of a loft in Manhattan and refuses to leave. The perambulation of the first and the inertia of the second are patiently calibrated. “Terri” is a California-set teen comedy, but not a teen comedy, not really, another of the latter-day burst of reinvestigations of that genre, a gentle story about the slow emergence of an outsider into his own identity. Read the rest of this entry »
Thirty-four-year-old Brown Star Insurance agent Tim Lippe (Ed Helms, “The Office”) from Brown Valley, Wisconsin takes his first airplane ride in “Cedar Rapids.” He lands in a sweetly moral comedy set in the Iowa city hosting a regional insurance convention. Implausibly simple, Lippe may as well be Truman’s cousin from “The Truman Show.” He checks into the Royal Cedar Suites, where caricatured midwesterners are prone to cornball wordplay. Badger State writer Phil Johnston and director Miguel Arteta (“The Good Girl,” “Chuck & Buck”) tease politely as Tim competes for an annual award. For two years running, a colleague from his office won. A last-minute session of auto-erotic asphyxiation gone wrong takes him out of the running this year. “Community, country and God” are the bywords of the convention organizer whose unsuspected corrupt streak will test Lippe’s unmocked integrity. Formulaic defaults include a hooker sweet on a sucker, squares making a getaway from a white trash party, new pals rallying to save the day, and our hero coming clean and shaming a schemer in a tell-all soul-baring climax. More remarkable than the flyover-state condescension of “Cedar Rapids” is its winning Pollyanna stance. Producers Alexander Payne and Jim Taylor earlier brought us “Election,” “About Schmidt” and “Sideways.” With John C. Reilly, Anne Heche, Isiah Whitlock Jr., Stephen Root, Kurtwood Smith, Alia Shawkat, Mike O’Malley, Rob Corddry, Seth Morris, Sigourney Weaver. 86m. (Bill Stamets)
“Cedar Rapids” opens Friday at Landmark Century.
Louis Ives (Paul Dano, “There Will Be Blood”) entertains notions of living in Manhattan as a novelist, but his fate is to live like a character in a novel, or a film based on a novel. The only novel he is ever seen reading in “The Extra Man” is “Washington Square” by Henry James. Never is he shown writing, or thinking or talking about writing. An indiscretion with a bra in front of the mirror in the faculty lounge cost him his position as a prep-school teacher. He moves into the apartment of Henry Harrison (Kevin Kline), a mannered Manhattanite who once knew prospects as a playwright. After squandering his inheritance abroad, he’s lived for decades as a freeloader and flatterer amidst society ladies in need of gentlemanly attention. “I can advance you socially,” Henry promises Louis. Neither character is little more than a fussy drawerful of quirks. Louis is curious about cross-dressing. He gets nowhere with co-worker Mary (Katie Holmes) at the environmental magazine where he ineffectually sells ads. A diverting guest at dinner parties, Henry spouts an opinion on the literary advantages of partitioning of men and women in society: “The Muslims might produce another [F. Scott] Fitzgerald.” Director-writers Robert Pulcini and Shari Springer Berman (“The Nanny Diaries,” “American Splendor”) adapt a novel by Jonathan Ames for a mildly comic study of eccentric parasites. The screen, though, may not offer this pair the same comforts as the pages of James and Fitzgerald. “The Extra Man” is itself a tony hanger-on ill-suited to earn its keep. With John C. Reilly, Marian Seldes, Jason Butler Harner, Alex Burns, Cathy Moriarty. 108m. (Bill Stamets)
“The Extra Man” opens Friday at Landmark Century.