Love Conquers All | True Romance (1993)

Getting blown on the road when the cops show up.

Dir. Tony Scott

A quintessential 90s film, True Romance offers a gritty alternative to the wholesome grunginess of contemporaneous movies like Reality Bites (1994) and Singles (1992).

Written by Quentin Tarantino, True Romance is a launchpad for the legendary body of work that will follow his seminal directorial stint with Reservoir Dogs (1992), released the year prior. Though he’s not in the director’s chair in this instance, Tarantino literally writes himself into the character of protagonist Clarence Worley (Christian Slater), with his professed love for comic books, Sonny Chiba kung-fu flicks, and a geekiness that belies a violent predisposition.

Tony Scott delivers a visually attractive film, the exterior sequences of snow-kissed Detroit being a prime example of how the utterly drab is rendered somehow compelling. As part of his star-filled cast, Brad Pitt—who plays the ultimate, couch-bound stoner, Floyd—is enjoying a meteoric rise to stardom, in between his roles in A River Runs Through It (1992) and Interview with the Vampire (1994).

Not to be outdone, Hollywood veterans Dennis Hopper (as cop-dad Clifford Worley) and Christopher Walken (as mobster Vincenzo Coccotti) flex serious acting chops. Hopper’s Sicilian monologue, while skirting the line of what’s considered offensive, is a classic moment in indie film.

Reformed, one-time prostitute, Alabama Whitman (Patricia Arquette) shines as half of the anti-romantic couple that is the focus of Tarantino’s version of a (blood-drenched) love story. As Alabama’s new love, Worley takes it upon himself to liberate her from her pimp, the dreadlocked drug-dealer Drexl Spivey (Gary Oldman), a cut-throat wigger of entertainingly psychotic proportions.

True to form, Samuel L. Jackson enjoys another all-too-brief cameo. As two-bit criminal Big Don, he gets shot and killed in the same scene he first appears in.

Playing the gold-suit-wearing ghost of Elvis, Val Kilmer turns in a creepy performance, appearing to Worley in mirrors and egging him on to violence. The motif continues with Worley adopting gold Elvis shades and later naming his first-born after the iconic rock and roller.

It’s part and parcel of the snide humor that abounds, in particular surrounding the Hollywood players who Worley’s friend, Dick Ritchie (Michael Rapaport), as an actor trying to make it in L.A., is keen to impress.

The result is the ultimate coke deal gone bad. The buyer, Lee Donowitz (Saul Rubinek), is a ludicrously over-the-top Hollywood producer, but it’s his assistant Elliot Blitzer (Bronson Pinchot) who gets busted. After getting pulled over for swerving—due to getting a blowjob while driving—Blitzer gets in a petty fight with his girlfriend, who, refusing to hide his cocaine from the cops, sends the bag of uncut blow powdering indelibly across his face.

Nothing Unites Like Revenge and Honor | The Magnificent Seven (2016)

The mighty, maladjusted, and malcontent as unlikely bedfellows.

Dir. Antoine Fuqua

A remake of a remake, The Magnificent Seven is the stuff of cinema legend. The 1960 version directed by John Sturges and starring Yul Brynner and Steve McQueen is based on Akira Kurosawa's Seven Samurai, a classic Japanese film in which poor farmers hire rogue killers to fight a gang of bandits plaguing their village at harvest time. For the Wild West version of events, the trope is reimagined for the dusty New Mexico plains where the townsfolk of Rose Creek find themselves fighting for their land rights against an unscrupulous mining concern headed by playground bully, Bartholomew Bogue (Peter Sarsgaard).

The Magnificent Seven is engaging from the start, the impassioned debate among the Rose Creek residents in the church just the first of many dominos that are sent tipping over, setting in motion this revenge-based action drama. Anyone familiar with Kurosawa’s oeuvre knows the fields will be strewn with the bodies of the dead.

As protagonist Sam Chisolm, Denzel Washington reminds the world of the mastery of his craft in this rarified role that dignifies his position as a black man in a white man’s world, a tricky proposition for a film set in the Wild West. It’s a performance that stands in stark contrast to Samuel L. Jackson’s lamentable role in Quentin Tarantino’s The Hateful Eight. As Chisolm, Washington renders an iconic enactment of the cowboy ideal, a fighter for justice and a defender of the downtrodden, like a modern day John Wayne but more deadly on the trigger.

The Magnificent Seven bears a pronounced steampunk vibe with its preoccupation with the explosive technologies of guns and dynamite, kicking things up a notch with a Gatling machine gun that delivers three cartridges of havoc. In terms of visual flair, Fucqua makes a obvious nod to the spaghetti western, with sumptuous visuals that highlight the rugged beauty of the terrain. The bright exteriors are never blown out, the shadowy interiors are never murky, and Denzel’s visage is never unflattering—all a testament to the extent to which cinematographer Mauro Fiore lights every scene with care.

           

The present day team of magnificence has been re-scripted to include a slew of minorities such as Comanche warrior Red Harvest (Martin Sensmeier), Chinese knife expert Billy Rocks (Byung-hun Lee) and Mexican outlaw Vasquez (Manuel Garcia-Rulfo). Completing the antiheroic bundle are ex-Civil War sharpshooter Goodnight Robicheaux (Ethan Hawke), haunted by the ghosts of dementia and PTSD, and the bearish Jack Horn (Vincent D’Onofrio), quietly out of his mind with high-pitched mumblings that often quote scripture each time he heads out to battle.

Josh Faraday (Chris Pratt) is an inherently likeable rapscallion. While he’s good at heart, he’s not all the way kosher. Emma Cullen (Haley Bennet) presents a strong female presence in a film where most of the women are either mothers or whores hanging out in the background. No shrinking violet, she’s not only the instigator of the plot to hire killers to avenge her husband’s death at the hands of Bogue, she’s first in line to take up arms to defend the town’s land rights.   

For those who wish to wax nostalgic, a tribute is paid to the 1960 film during the closing credits when the classic score by Walter Bernstein plays.

The Good, The Bad, The Fugly | Splice (2010)

Dren plays dress up with mommy's make-up.

Dir. Vicenzo Natali

A creature feature in the style of a SyFy Network made-for-TV movie, Splice is a handful and delivers quite a mixed bag.

For starters, the theme of genetic engineering with human tissue is treated sort of strangely. Central subject Dren (Delphine Chaneac) appears like a cross between a scorpion and a bald-headed Bjork that goes Jurassic when it’s angry. Chaneac isn't bad in the role, which is good considering she carries the movie.

What compounds things is the pair of cocky scientists behind the ethics-defying research that spawns Dren, darlings of Wired Magazine and overall nerd rock stars, Clive Nicoli (Adrien Brody) and Elsa Kast (Sarah Polley). Their flippancy misses the mark, but if groans are what count then Splice scores majorly.

The maternal attachment of Elsa to baby Dren (Abigail Chu) is milked for high drama, but just wait and see what counts for discipline when Dren becomes a rebellious teen. Later things take a bizarre twist when first Clive then Elsa have weird squirm-inducing sex with the gender-morphing creature. Elsa’s subsequent pregnancy clearly hints at a sequel, but for better or worse, no signs suggest a project is in gestation.

Simona Maicanescu offers an interesting performance that bears mention as Francophonic, tough-as-nails CEO Joan Chorot, representing the money interests behind the gene projects.   

The Final Frontier is Spacey | Star Trek Beyond (2016)

Bad tidings in the post.

Dir. Justin Lin

With its faithful and almost quaint keeping to the Gene Roddenberry ethos of pluralism and tolerance, Star Trek Beyond reads like an extended episode of the original television series. In a universe where minority races and beyond find equal footing, gender, color and other differences are rendered meaningless in the face of galaxies teeming with exotic life forms, the green-skinned Shrek-looking aliens being a fast favorite. 

The inclusiveness refreshingly extends to the gayness of Sulu (John Cho), a fact subtly hinted at when Sulu’s partner shows up with their daughter to rendezvous with the travel-weary crew as they arrive for shore leave on Starbase Yorktown.

Gay or otherwise, the characters in Star Trek Beyond seem for the most part blander than their original counterparts. The new Kirk (Chris Pine) eschews the original’s megalomaniacal grandstanding in favor of self-sacrificial existential angst. Spock (Zachary Quinto) turns completely flat, wrapped up in his interminable inner conflict that pits his unassailable rationality with pesky interjections by his human side. Even Uhura (Zoe Saldana) has lost a lot of the strong black woman vibe that characterized Nichelle Nichols’ quietly powerful performances in the past. 

Only the new Chekov (Anton Yelchin) really punches life into his character by acting  and sounding like a hyperactive Scotty (Simon Pegg) the entire time, and the new Dr. Bones (Karl Urban) with his confrontational dry humor evinced by corny one-liners also lives up to the original role. 

The main storyline isn’t entirely uninteresting, but it suffers from periods of action-induced doldrums, those tedious moments where excessive jump-cuts, explosions and yelling substitute for weak plots points. Instead of taking cues from Star Wars space battles, the film could have been better served by taking a less cavalier attitude toward the wonders of science, the physics of space travel and the biology of sentient interstellar life.     

Director Justin Lin makes a little room for tenderness, though, reserved mostly for Spock who, in the most confusing aspect of the film, learns that Ambassador Spock (played in absentia by Leonard Nimoy) has died. Adding to the mess in logic, Ambassador Spock bequeaths an old snapshot to the younger version of himself that features the crew of Star Trek V from the Final Frontier days, a fitting homage in which the original principles have started to show their age.

Young Spock greets the news with semi-emotion, something his logical side can’t fathom, but perhaps his bafflement has more to do with the alternate reality plotline set up by the prior instalment of the franchise with the photograph underscoring the question of the characters’ double existences. Aren’t these both the same Spock, just existing in different universes? Is Spock looking at himself in the future, dead?    

Whatever the case may be, the picture of the original cast is not just a touching tribute, it's easily the best moment in an otherwise lackluster film.

Marshall Swan Song a Total Tearjerker | Mother's Day (2016)

Painful in pink, Bradley performs hip-hop karaoke.

Dir. Garry Marshall 

The last of a trio of holiday-themed movies by producer-director extraordinaire Garry Marshall, Mother’s Day takes a slightly jumbled, somewhat disjointed look at the modern world of relationships through various families whose lives semi-intertwine in Atlanta. There’s a lot going on here—maybe too much—but a roster full of A-list stars and an upbeat, heartwarming disposition sprinkled with plenty of light humor make it worth sticking around for the final frame.   

A comedy of manners, Mother’s Day derives most of its gags from dissecting issues of race and homosexuality. This occurs in the context of a retired married couple, Flo (Margo Martindale) and Earl (Robert Pine), paying a surprise visit to their daughters, Jesse (Kate Hudson) and Gabi (Sarah Chalke), one of them married to a woman, the other married to an Indian guy. The sisters, each with kids of their own, have kept their weddings secret from their conservative folks, lest they conjure just the conflagration the movie begins with and follows.  While its heart is in the right place, the resulting humor is mildy funny at best, embarrassingly not so at others.

An overreactive anti-terrorist racial-profiling scene is one of the latter. It comes at the conclusion of a 10 mph cop chase through the suburbs involving a mobile home and a parade float gussied up as an enormous womb-vagina. Jesse’s husband Russel (Aasif Mandvi), wearing little more than a hastily-borrowed pink sateen robe, is forced face down on the asphalt at gunpoint. He’s the only one in the otherwise white group of those involved made to do so by the police and it takes the black female police officer (Donielle Artese) to recognize Russel as her doctor to de-escalate the situation. Perhaps the moment serves as social commentary, but as a means to elicit laughter it quickly turns uncomfortable.

Another principle plot line follows recent divorcee Sandy (Jennifer Aniston), struggling to find her place in the world now that her GQ-looking ex-husband Henry (Timothy Olyphant) has recently remarried, this time settling down with Tina (Shay Mitchell). Tina is drop-dead gorgeous, a tad on the younger side and as their new stepmom, Sandy’s kids love her.

As she tries to get her life sorted out, Sandy crosses paths with widower Bradley (Jason Sudeikis), the melancholic and goofy father of two girls, one of them in the flower of her youth (a brilliant performance by Jessi Case as Rachel). Sandy and Bradley’s interpersonal dynamics provide as much pathos as hilarity. Jennifer Aniston truly shines.  

But Mother’s Day is really Julia Roberts’ show. As Home Shopping Network host Miranda Collins, Roberts’ emotionally retrained embodiment of an economically-strong public figure is next level stuff, affording some of the film’s most enduringly sentimental sequences. At times she’s teary-eyed (meeting her granddaughter for the first time), at others comedic (carrying said grandaughter for the first time). The HSN-fashioned television segments with Miranda in Oprah-style glory are spot on. 

As in all his films, Marshall brings back Hector Elizondo, this time playing Lance Wallace, Miranda’s agent. Marshall astutley references Pretty Woman, the 1990 blockbuster he directed that made Roberts famous, when Miranda, sitting by herself at a table in a fancy-ish eaterie, hears approvingly from Lance, “Yes, that is the salad fork.” For a rarified moment in cinematic history 26 years in the making, it’s a scene that’s strangely easily missed. 

Either way, it’s a fitting role reprisal in what would turn out to be Garry Marshall’s final film. Marshall, who died on July 19, 2016 at 81 was the famed producer of such American classics as Happy Days, Mork & Mindy and Laverne & Shirley (starring sister and future director Penny Marshall). His spectral presence throughout the film holds everything together with a lasting message best summed up by playground philosopher Jesse assuaging a fellow mother worried about her kid's exposure to germs in the sandbox: In the end everything is going to be alright.    

(Oh, and a huge thumbs up for John Lovitz as pug-carrying comedy club owner, Wally Burn.)

A Tale of Christ | Ben-Hur (2016)

Judah Ben-Hur, from prince to slave and back.

Dir. Timur Bekmambetov

            A Jesus movie in no lesser terms, Ben-Hur ranks as one of the best re-tellings of the messianic story. Like Star War’s Rogue One, its focus is on an ancillary drama within the larger universe of an already popular franchise. Whether the Roman-occupied world of Jesus or the storm trooper-occupied world of the Empire, both settings couch an action-packed drama within, each referencing the universal struggle for self-determination in the face of injustice and corrupted authority. 

The fictional account of Judah Ben Hur (Jack Huston), a Jewish prince living in Jerusalem at the time of Christ, comes from the homonymous Lew Wallace novel published in 1880 which, thanks to its riveting plot and deep introspection on themes of the Christian canon, became one of the most best-selling books of the 19^th century, later adapted for the stage, film and television on multiple occasions.   

There is a profound message, subtle as it is powerful, within this fast-paced film. As opposed to the Zealots, whose revolt draws parallels with today’s Muslim extremists, the Jesus movement is shown to be the truly subversive revolution—anathema to empires—that must be subdued and eradicated, initially through the cross and later through co-optation. It’s the message of Love, in the face of abuse and oppression, a salve for the anger in the hearts of those who fight and resist the powers that be.

In a world where crucifixions and circuses are tools of conquest and empire, a lowly carpenter (movingly depicted by Rodrigo Santoro) preaches of another way. Esther (Nazanin Boniadi), of whom a keen biblical reference is made, is an early convert. Like the hippies of the 1960s, she drops out to follow the message, demonstrating a revolutionary non-participation in the system. It's the path of peace, of putting down the weapons of war, the leaving behind of hate and the thirst for revenge, regardless of how seemingly justified. 

After the break up of his house, Judah is confounded by love-interest Esther’s transformation, clues to which he garners through their rushed, secret encounters. Eventually the shattering understanding hits him like an inner surrender, signaled by his breaking down in the pelting rain of Golgotha. Later, even Messala (Toby Kebbell), Ben-Hur’s adopted Roman brother, whom he faces down in the story’s iconic chariot race, will literally lay down the sword in reconciliation. It is one of several miracles Ben-Hur delivers, not least of which is the turning out of an exciting yarn for new generations to enjoy this classic of American popular culture.