I read his email fifty times and somehow missed that it said “Michael” Spielberg, not “Steven”. After finally realizing that Steven Spielberg would not contact an unknown writer and include his personal cell phone number, my next step was to check Google. Were Michael and Steven brothers? Hell, I’d settle for second cousins.
There’s a dark beauty twinkling from the muzzle flares of guns in John Wick, a tantalizing sense of the fantastical that entrances viewers in Keanu Reeves’ dance with Death in what can only be described as an action masterpiece. Brutal. Bloody. Colorful. It’s a return to form – a methodical, stylized movie filmed without the reliance on shaky cameras or out-of-focus violence. Each shot captures well-choreographed bouts of brawn, the camera lens soaking up the vibrant hues that color the criminal underworld John Wick stains in his quest for revenge. Each sequence orchestrates a visual array of destruction that excites the audience in an innocent, almost gleeful way, rendering us children gazing at a dazzling display of fireworks blazing across a red mist sky. One man’s vengeance is an audience’s poetry, and the ride is as stunning as it is pulse-pounding.
Birdman is moving poetry masquerading as a movie. There’s a gimmick, in that the movie appears to be done all in one take, which is always a fun high-wire act when you notice it happening in a film. It’s an optical illusion, though, as the movie does not even take place in real time. We go through a dark hallway and come out the other end and it’s the next day. The camera never, ever stops moving, even managing to slowly move in for close-ups on someone’s face to show them reacting to something and then quickly pulling out again so we can see what it is they’re reacting to.
The Cabin in the Woods is easily one of the most well-made contemporary horror films. It may not be the scariest (Sinister and The Conjuring would have something to say about that) but it is most certainly one of the most complete. Directed by Drew Goddard and produced by Joss Whedon, it was originally set to release in 2010 but was delayed until 2012 due to studio financial difficulties. Some say it only got a wide release because Chris Hemsworth became a breakout star as Thor in the interim. Whatever the reason it was finally released, The Cabin in the Woods will be considered a rare classic: a good horror film that can still be enjoyed by non-horror fans thanks to clever writing and a compelling script.
As someone who loves war movies to the point that I watched Black Hawk Down so often it caused screen burn on my old TV (don’t fall asleep when you own an LCD TV, kids!) I figured I was the perfect person to review Fury. But it’s been a day and I’m still no closer to making up my mind.
If anything this movie seems to spend a bit too much time reveling in the violence rather than using it as a means to an end.
Twice now, the Drunk Monkeys film department has participated in what we call a Drunk Monkeys Movie Club event. It’s a fairly straightforward concept. The editorial department picks a movie, I write up a little carnival barker advertisement for it, and then we generate interest on social media. We’re going to watch the movie, and we’re going to talk shit about it on Twitter every step of the way.
Robert Downey Jr. wants to remind us he’s neither Iron Man nor Tony Stark in The Judge. He plays a quick-witted, fast-talking, big shot Chicago lawyer named Hank Palmer, who takes airplanes from Chicago (whose city limits touch Indiana) to some fictional town in Indiana called Carlinville, and he’s got a problem. Two problems, actually. No, make it three. In fact, Hank Palmer’s got a gargantuan web of problems that tangle together when the death of his mother draws him back to sleepy, rural Carlinville. This sets in motion an armada of conflicts in this courtroom family drama so drenched in melodramatic tropes that The Judge manages to make daytime soap operas blush.
"The two most harmful words in the English language are ‘good job’”. So says JK Simmons as Terence Fletcher, respected and feared music teacher at prestigious academy where Miles Teller’s Andrew attends school. This much is known: Fletcher is a physically and verbally abusive prick who is never going to inspire his students to stand on their desks in tribute. In fact, they’re much more likely to be fleeing the classroom in tears. But Fletcher would tell you there is a method to his madness, that the only way to inspire true greatness is to push others far beyond their limits until any vestige of humanity is eradicated and only the artist in his purest form remains.