Category: Narrative

By Joe Bendel. If a future generation ever really wanted to create their own unique identity they would study hard, eagerly join the work force, and compulsively save. Of course, hedonism is more fun – especially when there is a hipster filmmaker around to pretend you invented the dissolute lifestyle. True to the Bret Easton Ellis tradition, Alexandra McGuinness casts a glossy eye on the London smart set in Lotus Eaters, which opens tomorrow in New York.

Except for Alice, nobody in her circle of frienemies has ever held a proper job. She happens to be a model. She would like to transition into an acting career, but that looks unlikely for reasons of talent (or lack thereof). Everyone else spends all their time doing drugs, having sex, and playing mind games with each other. This especially includes her not-so reformed heroin-addict on-again-off-again boyfriend, Charlie. She would like to make it work with him, but he seems too self-destructive even by her friends’ standards. As a result, she starts responding to the duller but wealthier Felix. His ex is none too pleased, whereas master manipulator Orna seems to enjoy the chaos.

All critics seem to agree on how striking Gareth Munden’s Herb Ritts-inspired black-and-white cinematography is, which is all well and good. As a screen drama, though, Lotus is pretty much a mess. The characters are dull, the situations predictable, and the tone is ridiculously self-important. At least McGuinness is not afraid to cut lose. Frankly, by the third act, Lotus seems be deliberately parodying itself and other pretentious art films, concluding with an outrageously over-the-top finale that will either cause your jaw to drop or your sides to ache. That might not be what McGuinness was going for exactly, but at least it makes the film distinctive.

As Alice, the waifish Antonia Campbell-Hughes tends to blend into the white backgrounds unobtrusively. Likewise, the Byronic bad boy thing folksinger Johnny Flynn does as Charlie gets old quickly. Strangely, a lot of the flavor comes from the supporting cast. While some are rather clunky, Cynthia Fortune Ryan is an intriguing presence as Orna while Jay Choi adds some mischievous flair as Lulu.

Oddly enough, Lotus Eaters is really quite a retro viewing experience. It is all about its surface sheen and neo-new wave soundtrack. Had it come out in the 1980’s it would have been a sensation, but three decades or so later just feels like empty sound and spectacle. Recommended for fans of Mommie Dearest and similarly overwrought cult oddities, Lotus Eaters opens today (4/5) in New York at the Village East.

LFM GRADE: C-

Posted on April 5th, 2013 at 4:49pm.

By Joe Bendel. There is nothing like eternity to teach atheist materialists a thing or two. A malevolent supernatural entity is out to demonstrate the soul’s existence to those who unfortunately lack faith in Måns Mårlind & Björn Stein’s 6 Souls, which opens this Friday in New York.

Dr. Cara Jessup has no patience with bogus multiple-personality diagnoses. She is perfectly willing to testify against such claptrap as an expert witness for criminal prosecutors. It takes a lot out of her though, because she is a practicing Christian. Her faith was recently tested by the random murder of her husband, yet it remains strong. The same is not necessarily true for her father, Dr. Harding, and her young daughter.

Also a psychiatrist, the old man is more apt to buy into trendy theories. As a challenge to his orthodox daughter, he presents her a particularly volatile but convincing split personality case. Accepting the challenge, Jessup discovers the man’s presumably adopted personas correspond to tragic deaths not far from his hill country roots. In each case, the deceased’s faith had been undermined by misfortune before their actual deaths. It all might involve a snake-handling Hillbilly sect and its spiritual leader, the “Granny.” Of course, while Dr. Jessup follows her clues all the soul-sick people in her life start dying like flies.

If Julianne Moore had created such a sympathetic portrait of a woman of faith when playing Sarah Palin, Game Change would have been the toast of CPAC. Frankly, 6 Souls is more than a bit muddled in its presentation of religious belief, but Moore clearly conveys her Christianity as a source of strength for Jessup. It is smart, earnest work. And then there’s everyone else.

To be fair, veteran character actor Jeffrey DeMunn (the Stephen King prison movie specialist, appearing in Green Mile and Shawshank) is quite engaging as Dr. Harding. Alas, Jonathan Rhys Meyers is far from a suitably sinister presence as Harding’s patient[s]. Indeed, there is no getting around it—he is just plain dull.

6 Souls opens with a grabby sequence that nicely establishes both Dr. Jessup’s character and an atmosphere of foreboding. Unfortunately, it is not really connected to the rest of the narrative. Mårlind & Stein try to maintain the moody vibe, but they keep the proceedings so murky it seems like they might have shot with layer of caked-on mud covering their lens. There is a worthy lead performance and the kernel of a promising idea in 6 Souls, but the execution is too dark (in a literal sense) and erratic. Best reserved for genre die-hards who like their supernatural horror with some Appalachian seasoning, 6 Souls opens this Friday (4/5) in New York at the Village East.

LFM GRADE: C+

Posted on April 3rd, 2013 at 12:52pm.

By Joe Bendel. Huldra are not your typical mythological woodland creatures. These tailed women from Scandinavian myth are very blonde and can be a lot of trouble. Two forensic cleaners might have one on their hands in Aleksander Nordaas’s Thale, which opens this Friday in New York.

Elvis is not really cut out for his friend’s Leo’s industrial strength cleaning service. Their primary gigs are grisly crime scenes. The work doesn’t seem to bother Leo much, but it keeps Elvis close to a bucket. Their latest assignment has them scouring about for the pieces of an elderly recluse, killed under mysterious circumstances. As they proceed, they stumble upon a secret cellar with a naked woman hidden in a bath tub.

It seems the old geezer had kept her prisoner down there since she was a young girl. While the deceased evidently performed various experiments on her, the cassettes he left behind seem to suggest he was also protecting her from outside parties. As if on cue, we start to see strange, shadowy figures darting through the woods. The feral Thale, as the old man called her, also bears watching. Good luck, dudes.

Although billed as a horror film, Thale is long on set-up and short on gore. This is not necessarily a bad thing. There is a bit of character development in their disparate reactions to splattered blood and entrails that pays off later in the film. Nonetheless, there is not so much to satisfy hardcore genre fans. Instead, Thale plays like a dark Nordic version of Splash.

Nordaas deliberately emphasizes Thale’s animal-like vulnerability. Silje Reinåmo taps into that raw primal innocence. It is a rather brave performance, especially considering she is naked for nearly the entire film. It is hardly erotic, but Seth MacFarlane will clearly be able to see her breasts. Erlend Nervold and Jon Sigve Skard are also relatively engaging as the everyman carnage cleaners. They have bits that stay with viewers well after the initial screening, which says something for the genre. Unfortunately, the third act’s perfunctory lack of ambition is disappointing.

Considering the dearth of huldra movies previously available, Thale undeniably fills a void. In terms of tone and subject matter, it certainly has the virtue of being something different. Despite the simplicity of its narrative, cult film enthusiasts should consider it when it opens this Friday (4/5) in New York at the Cinema Village.

LFM GRADE: B-

Posted on April 1st, 2013 at 11:13am.

By Joe Bendel. If you shoot a movie in Schenectady, you surely qualify for those New York State tax credits. However, if you just move there looking for regular work, you are likely to get frustrated, especially if your primary skill is motorcycle stunt riding. As a result, drifter Luke Glanton turns to crime, setting in motion a wave of bad karma that will outlive him in Derek Cianfrance’s lumbering family saga, The Place Beyond the Pines, which opens today in New York.

Once a year, Glanton blows through town with the carny, performing his steel cage act. Ryan Gosling obvious spent hours in the gym and having a barrelful of temporary tattoos applied so we will buy him as a steely bad cat. Of course, it fails, putting the film in a credibility hole right from the start. Still, we can believe he is rather thick-headed. That is important, because Glanton will make some very bad decisions.

Romina, his hook-up from the previous year, turns up after his show – but she is acting weird, giving him the Heisman. Dropping by her place to take another shot, Glanton learns she had his baby, but is now engaged to a responsible adult. Much to her surprise, he quits the carnival, intending to settle down and be a father in Schenectady. The only straight gig he finds is low paying mechanic work with the grizzled Robin Van Der Zee. His drinking buddy-boss has other ideas, though.

The idea to start holding up banks involves Glanton’s skill as a driver and Van Der Zee’s cargo truck waiting to whisk him away. Frankly, Beyond’s heist scenes are surprisingly well staged. Regrettably, from this point on, Cianfrance vividly illustrates the principle of diminishing returns with the subsequent story arcs. In the second act, we follow law school grad-police officer Avery Cross, whose path fatefully crossed that of Glanton.

Guilt-ridden and gun-shy, Cross finds his career at a standstill, despite his questionable hero status. He is also uncomfortable with the Schenectady force’s systemic corruption. This is fairly standard stuff, somewhat enlivened by Ray Liotta’s dependable crooked copper turn. However, Bradley Cooper never feels right as Cross, looking too old and reserved for a rookie patrolman and too young and bland for a seasoned Attorney General candidate in the third act.

Indeed, the final segment is largely a disaster, aside from the intriguing reappearance of Ben Mendelsohn’s Van Der Zee. Cianfrance drives his “sins of the father” theme into ground when Cross and Glanton’s sons become high school frienemies. Dane DeHaan is cringingly sensitive and damaged as the son Glanton never knew, while Emory Cohen’s inarticulate AJ Cross would be more convincing as the spawn of Cro-Magnons rather than a reasonably educated couple like the Crosses. Forget boarding school, he ought to be kept chained in the attic.

Hardly a subtle stylist, Cianfrance beats on the paternal issue like a rented mule. A talented editor could probably rescue a respectable short from the Glanton section, but with its taxing one hundred and forty minute running time, Beyond is simply far too long and overly melodramatic. Not recommended (unless viewers are intrigued to see the Schenectady experience on the big screen), The Place Beyond the Pines opens today (3/29) in New York at the Landmark Sunshine and Loews Lincoln Square.

LFM GRADE: D

Posted on March 29th, 2013 at 9:01am.

By Joe Bendel. As if the taxes and wildfires were not bad enough, here is yet another reason to avoid California. Trapped in his SUV, an ambitious advertising exec asks how the Golden State can have mudslides when there isn’t any water. It is a fair question, but it is obviously rhetorical in William Dickerson’s claustrophobic survival drama, Detour, which opens today in New York.

Jackson was on his way to a pitch meeting (sort of like that three hour cruise) when the picturesque stretch of coastal highway suddenly turned to mud. Buried underneath who knows how much gunk, he has no cell service and a limited supply of food and water. For temporary distractions (and exposition purposes) he can play videos on his smart phone, allowing viewers to meet his wife. Evidently she is pregnant, but he did not receive the news with spectacular good cheer.

As the mud presses in on his vehicle’s structural integrity, Jackson improvises reinforcements. He is actually pretty handy for an ad man. In fact, Dickerson and co-writer Dwight Moody are quite faithful observing the constraints they impose on their hapless protagonist. However, their flashbacks and delusional interludes are nakedly manipulative.

Despite its apparent simplicity, the one-man-against-the-elements genre (in the tradition of 127 Hours) is hard to pull off. Staginess is obviously an inherent pitfall. Still, Neil Hopkins soldiers through reasonably well. While he is forced to mutter to himself quite a bit, he largely sells the messages he leaves on his iPhone, perhaps for posterity. Unfortunately, the sequences outside the mud-trap are flat and awkward. Odder still, it is difficult to tell whether the final scene is meant to be inspiring, ironic, or ambiguous, which is clearly an execution problem.

Detour is far from classic, but it is certainly presentable by b-movie standards. Nonetheless, it is tough to justify at full Manhattan ticket prices, particularly with Aftershock, the Eli Roth-penned Chilean disaster smack-down, waiting in the wings. At least worth falling into eventually on cable, Detour opens today (3/29) in New York at the Cinema Village (and is now available on VOD platforms).

LFM GRADE: C

Posted on March 29th, 2013 at 8:59am.