Trailer Watch - Star Trek

So, Star Trek is coming... Yawn...

Ok, so I'm not a Trekkie but honestly, how are there any Trekkies anymore? Surely being beaten into the ground by crap like Star Trek: Insurrection makes you question your faith? No? How about the endless torture that was Enterprise?

Still there?

Ok so the guy who created lost and directed the last mess of a Mission: Impossible film was exactly who Paramount wanted to reboot one of thier most prized franchises. At this point, no one could make a bigger mess out of it so personally I think they should have saved 100 million dollars and gotten Uve Boll and a couple dozen rabid monkeys to type up the thing but maybe thats why I'm not a movie producer.

Star Trek 11 (yes ELEVEN!) works as a prequel to the Kirk/Spock timeline as well as a reimagining of the whole Trek universe. It even (God forbid!) goes against canon in its depiction of the early years of Kirk and Spock and thier initial meeting at the academy. While the trailer is undoubtedly well produced (which, from a major studio, it should be) the whole endeavour screans 90210 in space and Thunderbirds - all mixed into one big, uber-shiny mess.

You can all judge for yourselves come May 2009.


Star Trek from Yuri Prado on Vimeo.

Coming Soon - The Wrestler

Say what you like about Darren Aronofsky but he makes films which do not compromise themselves for the sake of the mass market. His frenetic, black and white debut Pi and 2000's blistering Requiem for a Dream exploded notions of genre, battered down walls of censorship and lingered in the conscious mind for days. It was a long six year wait until his next film but The Fountain eventually emerged from a maelstrom of delays, casting difficulties and budget cuts and it, predictably, polarised critics and viewers alike. Filled with dazzling images created without the use of any CG, it told a tale both epic and intimate, spread over a millenia and from one end of the galaxy to another. To say that what Aronofsky was trying to do was ambitious barely stratches the surface. I, for one, was mesmerised by the length and breath of the story and by the surprising subtlety of the whole endeavour but the lack of any definitive answers to any questions is something which most viewers will find unforgivable. Regardless, The Fountain is a unique and wonderful film which everyone should try to see once.

Which brings me to my actual point. Darren Aronofskys latest is heading to you local multiplex in January, after rave reviews at the Cannes film festival earlier in the year. The Wrestler tells the story of a washed up fighter (Mickey Rourke) who is coaxed out of sedentary retirement by the promise of reliving his glory days. But this is no simple martial arts story with an cliched final fight and an uplifting ending. The focus is not on the fight in the ring but the emotional, mental and social scars which this battered long-time loser carries with him. The central performance from Rourke has been touted as truly Oscar worthy. As a washed up former star playing a washed up former star, compounded by Rourke's own, truly terrifying post cosmetic surgery features, we have one of those rare occaisons where actor and character meld into one.

With Aronofskys sterling reputation and flair for examining some of the most complex issues in existence in a thought-provoking way, combined with Rourke's powerful performance, The Wrestler could be something truly special.

Check out the refreshingly raw and despairingly dramatic trailer and do your best to support this film on what will, no doubt, be a limited run...


"The Wrestler" Movie Trailer 2008 from Fred DeMetrovich on Vimeo.

Burn After Reading

'Report back to me when it... makes sense'





After No Country for Old Men the Coens brothers no doubt had free rein (and a blank cheque) for their next project. That they chose to waste that potential on something as flaccid and underwhelming as Burn After Reading is bitterly disappointing and proves once and for all that the brothers are not as talented as we would like to believe.

Burn After Reading is about morons and, not incidentally, that also seems to be its target audience. It is a cliched ensemble piece - a panapoly of characters are introduced which appear to have no real connection between them and slowly the links are revealed. This simplicity would be forgivable if there were a single charming or clever element in the piece but sadly it all seems like a bad joke. The characters are composed of nothing but ticks and grimaces; McDormand looks like she is in a no man's land between 2 minor strokes (and is eerily reminiscent of Johnny Depp as Willy Wonka) while Clooney confirms that the sum of his comedic acting ability is his willingness to contort his face. Pitt is the only major player who comes off more or less unscathed (he seems to embrace the absurdity, rather than trying to act through it) but his role is too minimal to save the film. The script is unwieldy, veering from confusing to overly simplistic and has a somewhat peurile sexual focus.

Good points are few are far between. The supporting players are generally good - with J.K. Simmons and Richard Jenkins especially memorable. Indeed the formers interactions with his intelligence community subordinate, as they try to figure out what the hell the main characters are up to, provide the films only consistent humour.

Burn After Reading is a black comedy with too much milk and sugar - the result is anemic and lacking the grown up sensibilities of the brothers' better films. Fargo, for example, is extremely funny at times but laces that humour with a real sense of human desperation and a respect for the audiences intelligence.

It seems pretty obvious to me that this film would not exist without the success of No Country for Old Men, a film which I thought was effective but rather overrated. Perhaps if more people had felt like I did we wouldnt have had to suffer through this flat, laugh free 'comedy'.

Burn After Reading is about morons, for morons and (quite possibly) made by morons. Avoid.

The Midnight Meat Train

'I have a train to catch...'




The Midnight Meat Train is the latest film to be (however indirectly) associated with Clive Barker. This used to be a good thing, especially between the time of Hellraiser (1987) and Candyman (1992), but as both spiralled into the depths of serial trash (Hellraiser is on its 9th iteration) he has become more associated with sub standard slasher films. Whatever you may think of his garish and brazenly obscene writing style, the themes he confronts are strong and generally quite cinematic – voyeurism and the clash of the ordinary with the extraordinary, as well as perennial favourites fetishism and sadomasochism.

The Midnight Meat Train tells the story of Leon Kaufman (Bradley Cooper), a photographer who, in looking for inspiration for his work, is drawn to the subway in the pre-dawn hours. Initially hooked by a minor brush with the darker side of the city (he stops a gang from assaulting a girl) he is invigorated by the experience, and delves deeper. Here he find a mysterious man (Vinnie Jones) who rides the shrieking metal subway cars alone at night. Intrigued by the man’s forbidding presence and spurred on by the praise he receives for his latest series of photographs, Kaufman returns to the unending night of the subway, determined to explore this terrifying and exhilarating new world beneath the sleeping city.

The movie is adapted from a short story in Barker’s Books of Blood and, apart from the now customary producer credit, that is where his involvement ends. This is a real shame, as the material added to expand the script to feature length could have done with some of his inspired mix of squeamishly detailed viscera and surprisingly subtle characterisation. The story made a virtue of its brevity – requiring no set up and building to a pay off with minimal fuss (and maximum bloodletting). The script, however, loses itself early on in its frantic, almost childish need to play with your gag reflex. The opening scene is liberally slathered with agreeably viscous blood, and before the film is half over we have seen eyeballs knocked out of sockets (then stepped on), heads mashed with hammers and have careened through a skull in bullet time before exiting through the eye (eyes in general have a pretty hard time of it in The Midnight Meat Train). Likewise Kaufman’s descent, literally and psychologically, comes off as half-baked. His morbid, possibly self-destructive curiosity is a familiar theme that can be effective but here there is not enough set up to make the journey believable. There is no attempt to explain exactly what would make him seek out these extra-curricular thrills. Indeed, his life with his girlfriend (Leslie Bibb, trying valiantly to wring something from her meagre material) is painted as pretty idyllic. The film also settles into a formula far too quickly: a kill scene is followed by a scene with the couple at home, as a counter-point to the supposedly harrowing gore and violence. Then there is some investigation, some minor stalker/slasher interplay between Jones and Cooper and another disjointed, unnecessarily explicit horror interlude. The ending shakes things up a little, and it builds to a suitably despairing denouement, but by then its effectiveness has been so diluted by 90 minutes of on camera vivisections and Coopers surprisingly placid performance that the final credits merely seem like welcome respite.

It’s not all bad though. The premise and the idea of the ending, coming directly from Barker’s story, are a cut above those of your average horror film and a testament to the strength of the original. Likewise, the direction (by Versus helmer Ryuhei Kitamura) is certainly energetic and his cacophony of camera angles, speed changes and in-camera effects are enough to keep you awake during the films slower moments. Unfortunately this over-the-top style – combined with some unnecessarily flamboyant (though generally well integrated) CG – also has the effect of negating any real sense of tension or unease in the few moments of the film that attempt to create suspense. The cinematography is crisp and manages to make itself stand out a little from the horror crowd, preferring stylistic (though perhaps a little too smoky) compositions to the gritty and grainy semi-realism of some recent offerings. The music is extremely jarring – reaching almost laughably frantic levels during the final fight and overpowering any scene which does not heavily feature the sound of metal on bone. As for the performances, Cooper’s Kaufman is all grimaces and curiously underplayed, while Jones remains mercifully mute but generally looks more mystified than mysterious.

The Midnight Meat Train is another let down for Barker fans and, unfortunately, for horror fans in general. You may, if you are so inclined, get some enjoyment from the kill scenes – which are at least agreeably the other side of PG-13. You may also experience a little Outer Limits style shudder of approval at the ending that might make you reconsider your next nocturnal subway ride. But, ultimately, there simply isn’t that much to The Midnight Meat Train and it is destined to ride the mediocre movie midnight train alone into obscurity.

A Review of Deathrace (2008)

Deathrace is a car crash of a movie – you know you shouldn’t watch but you can’t bring yourself to turn away.




Borrowing little but a producer from the 1975 original, it tells the story of a wrongly imprisoned man who is given one chance to win his freedom; compete in and win the Deathrace – armed and armoured vehicular chaos within a maximum security prison.
The director and writer, Paul W.S. Anderson (just so you don’t confuse him with the Paul Thomas Anderson, as if that could ever happen) does a good job with the action but falls flat with the script. Some of Joan Allen’s lines are among the worst you will ever hear. Jason Statham does many physically impressive things while still managing to look like he’s trying to solve a crossword puzzle (his singular talent) and Ian McShane steals the show – something he’s become very good at post Deadwood.

Anderson wisely limits his use of CG here, and the car crashes are satisfyingly meaty and occasionally almost whoop-inducing. The cinematography is crisp and the music is some of the loudest I’ve ever had vibrating my skull.

Deathrace is not a film to be taken seriously but it is also, unfortunately, not quite as much fun as it could have been. It manages to be outpaced in wit and ridiculousness by the original – a film almost 4 decades its senior and with a fraction of the budget.

However, taken on its own, Anderson has got enough reasonable ideas here and enough insanely loud punch ups, explosions and metal on metal impacts to keep me entertained for 90 minutes. If I had one suggestion for the directors cut, it would be to trim that superfluous ending. In a film this vapid, a little mystery at the end would have gone some way towards adding a little bit of John Carpenter-lite to the proceedings.

And I think if you listen very carefully over the credits you can hear the sound of Joan Allen’s agent being slowly roasted over hot coals…

A Review of Rogue (2007)

Greg Mclean’s follow up to Wolf Creek is much more than another belaboured creature feature. It is a wonderful exercise in well-crafted tension, avoiding the horror movie pitfalls of staid and superfluous splatter. The plot is simplicity itself but the direction and generally naturalistic performances keep it from falling into cliché. The initial gentle pacing leads to a genuinely thrilling middle act, with a truckload of tension-creating devices slowly exerting more and more pressure on the dwindling human snacks.

The practical effects are squeamishly impressive and a pulsing vein of pitch black humour provides expertly timed release between the thrills. As with Wolf Creek, Mclean captures the terrifyingly isolated beauty of Australia, with every insect intact and the sense of unrelenting heat truly palpable. Unfortunately, the final act disappoints – having neither the careful pacing nor the plausibility of the previous hour. This, combined with some slightly distracting creature CG, means Rogue is not quite a classic but it has a lot more to offer than the average Hollywood fare.

A Review of Taken (2008)

In Taken, Liam Neeson plays an overprotective father with a violent past whose paranoia is proven right when his daughter is snatched while on a trip to Paris. Mere hours later he is on the ground in the French capital, determined to find his daughter and punish those responsible. What follows is a haphazard series of fights, interrogations, car chases, more fights, several smashed windpipes and an ending totally at odds with the film which preceded it.

The action should have been harsh and brutal and while it is sometimes effective it is crippled by being framed too close and by the PG-13 rating. Who thought that a film dealing with violent revenge, dozens of deaths, torture and prostitution rings should be watched by people in their early teens?

Taken is all the more disappointing given the talent behind the camera. Luc Besson may not always come up with masterpieces when he’s credited as a writer, but he can usually be relied on to churn out something that is fast paced and fun (Unleashed, The Transporter, etc). Likewise the director, Pierre Morrell was last responsible for the ridiculous but exhilarating free running action of District 13. Yet together they have managed to come up with one of the most underwhelming action films in recent memory. As for Neeson, he handles the few emotional scenes with his usual impressive restraint and, with his size and reach, looks like he might actually pack quite a punch in real life. But when the action pulls out a little and he’s forced to run or throw himself through the air to avoid a hail of gunfire his 6’4” frame just looks unwieldy and slow – essentially a really big, easy to hit target. There are also endless moments where Neeson suddenly appears behind another nondescript soon-to-be-corpse which always made me wonder what magic massive closet he had found to hide himself in. He is fine when he’s hitting things and emoting but I think his career as an action star will be rather short lived.

I wanted to like Taken. It had potential as a gritty revenge film with the realistic action so popular since the advent of the Bourne series. Neeson is always a likeable lead and the Besson pedigree with the French setting should have worked in its’ favour. Unfortunately, the weakness of the story and random, unmotivated nature of the violence is simply boring, the potential wasted. Taken also shoots itself in the foot with its choice of subject matter. By delving into the subject of kidnapping tourists for prostitution it appears as though initially Morrell and Besson have some moral lesson for their audience. It soon becomes clear that they were merely looking for a backdrop for the action and the ugly stereotyping of the Eastern European characters in the film is irresponsible, even for a film of this type. Also, for a film rated suitable for young people, the lessons imparted by the hero are less than reassuring – if something bad happens to someone you love you really have no option but to kill dozens of people mercilessly until you reach some kind of resolution. This is fundamentally at odds with the initial plot of the film, as Neeson is trying to leave his past behind in an attempt to reconnect with his teenaged daughter (played with vapid gawkiness by Maggie Grace – proving her vacuous performance in Lost was not an accident). I’m not suggesting every film should have a blatant message of peace and love and there’s no denying that nihilism can be cool but when it is taken to this level it has an effect on the overall coherence of the film.

Disappointing and bland, if this film was kidnapped in a foreign country I’d leave it there.

A Review of Postal (2008)

Postal is the latest movie from the much maligned German director Uwe Boll. It is, like every film he’s made since 2003's House of the Dead, based on a video game and, also like that film, has very little in common with its' source material. Postal follows a rather unique day in the life of a recently sacked factory worker (Zack Ward) who starts out at a job interview and ends up trying to save the human race. Along the way he is aided and thwarted (mostly the latter) by an eclectic mix, including: a bunch of bloodthirsty townsfolk, a cult comprised almost entirely of scantily clad models, terrorists, homicidal policemen, a dwarf who voices a popular (genital shaped) kids toy, Osama Bin Laden and … Uwe Boll! There is no real plot – the action proceeds from location to location seemingly on a whim as the Postal Dude’s day becomes more and more bizarre.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I’ve been a champion of Boll’s work but, unlike most critics, I’ve actually watched most of his English language films rather than just jumping on the bandwagon and automatically deriding him. Most are mediocre, and some are stupefying awful (yes In the Name of the King: A Dungeon Siege Tale, I’m looking at you) but the man is an industry unto himself and, until recently, was making a very healthy business out of it. With Postal, Boll has wisely returned to the openly ridiculous style of House of the Dead, while also turning the comedy dial up to 11. This, coupled with the complete disintegration of any sense of moral decency delivers what can most favourably be described as a unique film.

Boll gets many things wrong here, but the tone, while being his greatest liability, also manages to be his greatest strength. What works here works really well and the way the film unfolds is strangely mesmerising – you literally cannot guess what will happen next. Nothing is sacred and this approach is so all encompassing that he can’t help but hit the mark from time to time. The humour vacillates from quite effectively satirical to utterly tasteless. I would one day like to meet the people who find scatological gags funny. Actually I wouldn’t like to meet them but I would be willing to help sponser the creation of a gulag just for them. Occasionally, to its detriment, Postal crosses the line from tasteless to misanthropic – a moment involving a baby carriage and a fast moving truck comes to mind. However for the most part the content, while undoubtedly crude and misguided, is surprisingly good natured. No segment of society is particularly targeted and Boll’s willingness to make fun of himself (literally) is quite refreshing.

The performances are generally serviceable and sometimes effective. Ward does a good job with some difficult material and manages to strike a balance between playing the clown and the action hero. Verne Troyer is memorable in a bit part which manages to not be demeaning (despite the excessiveness of his eventual fate) and JK Simmons pops up in a strangely unobtrusive cameo. Boll has a reputation for making even talented actors seem terrible (Ray Liotta, get a new agent) but the cast here do a fine job. And even when they don’t, the ridiculousness of the plot and the lightness of the overall tone makes the film practically immune to criticism.

Postal is without a doubt Uwe Boll’s most accomplished movie to date. Some people would say that’s like the difference between doing a frontal lobotomy with a fork or a spoon but it doesn’t change the fact that it represents some maturation in his work. It is by no means a great film, nor by most standards a good one, but it has such boundless, manic energy that you can’t help but get caught up in it. The film is like a huge, mentally challenged, blood-soaked, foul-mouthed Labrador. With a gun. And nuclear weapons. If you are willing to give it a chance and get in the right mind-set (possibly some substance abuse might be helpful) then Postal is a bit of nonsensical fun.

It is also a film in which our hero uses a cat as a silencer.

Yes you read that right.

Enough said.

:)

A Review of Transsiberian (2008)

Brad Anderson is one of those directors who everyone thinks they like until they look him up. Since getting attention with his creepy (but unsatisfying) Session 9 in 2001 his only feature of note was 2004's The Machinist - a movie which will always remain more famous for the extraordinary physical transformation of its star (Christian Bale) than its effectiveness as a creepy thriller. This is partly because Bale's emaciated form was genuinely mesmerising but mostly because the movie just isn't very good. So, after a few years directing TV episodes, Anderson had something to prove with his latest - Transsiberian.

I've never really thought of Emily Mortimer as a leading lady. She’s always seemed either hopelessly insipid or appears to be battling some unrecognisable accent and a cold at the same time. It may come as a surprise then to learn that she is one of the best things about Transsiberian but unfortunately that statement comes with a number of disappointing caveats. In the film Mortimer and a mis-cast, toupee sporting Woody Harrelson play a husband and wife heading home to the US after completing charity work in China. In a decision which screams ‘bad choice’ to the ever watchful audience, they forgo a simple flight home in favour of the famous 8000 km rail journey through the snowlocked Russian wastes. Hence the title of the film.

What results is billed as a twisty action thriller, with multilayered secrets and lies and the familiar device of a claustrophobic location surrounded by scenic wilderness. This may not sound particularly original but, done well, it could amount to an enjoyable few hours of escapism. And, in fairness to the film, it starts well – meandering slowly through the mystery laden landscape of character development, planting seeds of murky histories and maintaining a convincing sense of unease and displacement – 2 American tourists in the time warp of undeveloped Russia. Events occur in a fashion that makes sense, uncomfortable situations get steadily worse and, around the time Ben Kingsley shows up as a Russian detective, everything seems on a wonderfully dramatic collision course with the revelations of the final act.

But then the ‘twists’ begin. Not twists in the normal thriller sense of the word but closer to the M Night Shyamalan meaning ie: twists that spoil a perfectly watchable film. The final act of Transsiberian dispels any sense of tension and unease by blowing the films internal logic to smithereens. I’m not suggesting for a second that the follies here are on the level of the denouement of Signs (or the entirety of Lady in the Water), but they do manage to bring the films momentum to a halt. Both The Machinist and Session 9 had problems with their endings, Anderson seems to believe that if everything doesn’t reach an overedited fever pitch he isn’t doing his job correctly. This is a shame as the deliberate but inexorable pacing of the plot was one of the films strong points.

Ultimately, Transsiberian is a missed opportunity. Some good performances and impressive cinematography are not enough to smooth over the eccentricities of the final act. It cannot maintain the tension well enough to be a thriller but is too mild to fall into the category of suspense/horror. If it is a drama about the fate of foreigners abroad then why does it descend into near Outer Limits territory towards the ending? Brad Anderson may well have potential as a talented filmmaker but so long as he continues to make films which are only halfway effective he will remain in that halfway obscure list of directors-you-have-to-look-up-on-IMDB.

A Review of Redbelt (2008)

'Where can I strike you...
... don't stand there'



David Mamet has had a rather checkered history on the silver screen. As the man responsible for the screenplay of Glengarry Glen Ross and the director of minor classics like Heist he was rightly praised but rambling misfires like Edmond and the taut but slightly ridiculous Spartan have made his move from the theatre less than seamless. Mamet’s latest is Redbelt, for which he assumes writing and directing duties, and it is a mixed bag – indicative of his obvious talent as a storyteller but also his continued unease with the medium of film.

Redbelt tells the story of a martial arts teacher who, through a series of events, becomes embroiled in a morally bankrupt world where his way of life, his personal unwavering philosophy, is threatened. It is an archetypal story in many ways: the lone man with an unbreakable code, often associated with violence but somehow not corrupted by it. Archetypes in movies are necessary, they create shortcuts for the audience, allowing them to accept and understand characters and situations almost instantly. Problems arise when these shortcuts are also adopted by the filmmakers. In Redbelt, the main character is archetypal and nothing else. He is a cipher for the misunderstood hero; reacting to each situation in the most clichéd way imaginable. This would be forgivable if the lead were Steven Seagal or Jean-Claude VanDamme and if we were living in the 90’s but its not and we aren’t. As discerning movie-goers we demand a little more of our martial arts spiced character studies, and Mamet seems unable to deliver.

The worst part is that the movies faults are not that apparent. While the construction of the main character is undoubtedly flawed, Chiwetel Ejiofor's performance is simply mesmerising. He projects a palpable sense of restrained power and wisdom, and this is just the latest in a string of memorable roles. Let’s hope that it gets him the attention he deserves. Likewise the martial combat (when it happens) seems relatively fluid and real, at least by comparison with the stroboscopic editing of most contemporary action. The film is also nicely shot and peppered with a cast of impressive names. But technical competence and a single standout performance are not enough to save it film from its fate of curious mediocrity.