“Nick’s been a bad boy.” This line, a form of self-evasive parody worthy of a bad comedy sketch, appears somewhere amidst the cacophony of Golden Exits, still sticking out as an egregiously distasteful line. Still, the phrase feels right at home in the filmography of Alex Ross Perry, New York’s newest canonically petulant, neurotic, virulent cinephile child. Lambasted at Sundance and reclaimed as divisive at Berlinale, Perry’s newest, Golden Exits, finally rumbles into theaters, over a year later. When I first walked out of the film at BAMCinemafest back in June of 2017, I found myself irked and puzzled. After seeing the film a second time (albeit at home), it soured even further. This is the year’s heretofore weakest film.
Perry’s previous work has been some combination of derivative fan-fiction and willfully misguided and lame experimentation, but it has remained wickedly engaging and even smart (“Hang on while I put my head in this sweater.”) Golden Exits continues Perry’s fascination with facial expressions, the power of the close-up to distort reality. Here is where the film’s most prominent strengths lie. Robert Greene’s editing is, once again, a marvel, conjuring empathy between shots, appropriate for a film where absence breeds its strongest artistic current. Sean Price Williams‘ cinematography is an incredible feat, a world lived-in, aging millennial/Gen-X aesthetics. Yet these end up supportive measures, in service of a peculiar and horrid work.
Bypassing the more artificial structures of, say, Listen Up Phillip, Perry is not an adept enough writer to juggle so many characters. Beyond the frankly ludicrous dialogue is a more overarching slack in the narrative. The sisters are shrill and lonely, the men callous and silly – which improperly serves to excuse their ill behavior. It most neatly falls into narratives: An art world Western, where Emily Browning’s foreigner Nina saddles up as the cowboy, and a ruthlessly inane and inconsequential—even by the film’s own dramatic standards—tale of infidelity.
The film’s total lack of people of color, or New York citizens outside the very narrow artistic and socioeconomic status, is less an issue to this relentlessly closed-off world, but that the film lacks any philosophical perspective, further amplifies the pain of this gorgeous folly. This is a view of a New York dead zone, cut off from those outside the film’s orbit, even geographically. It’s a block that spans an entire world but remains crushingly claustrophobic. The screen feels insulated and privileged, a compendium of techniques without soul, tracing out a diagram of the actor’s faces and postures without ever offering psychological insight. There is an apathetic attitude to the actor’s experiences, a strained auteurist arrogance.
The work is not a collaboration with its performers or even an exploitation of their craft. Rather, it’s totally disconnected from the dramatics at play, tethered to a weak script with a camera whose compositions sketch out a totally irrelevant vision. That same distortion of which Perry is so fond remains, but without the absurdism that gave it purpose.
Lily Rabe, an actress with an immense amount of dexterity and range, is saddled with a ton of verbose and stupid dialogue and handles it masterfully, emerging unscathed and leaving the lackluster film in her wake; in a film designed as an intricate series of limp-dick domestic disputes, her words gain a sharpness and prickly balance so sorely missing elsewhere. Emily Browning is perhaps on the other end of the bell curve in this regard, which is a shame, as Perry re-contextualizes this uncertainty as a sexualized wistfulness. The film offers many instances of observing Browning wandering, yet the film never seeks anything beyond the cleavage below her lip-bite, partially obstructed by lengthy hair strands to give the illusion of depth.
That the film leaves its male characters to mere caricatures seems to function as an excuse for its deep-seeded grossness. The camera leers at the female characters, transforming the female bodies into crude aesthetics. Its women are catty and desperate and the film, abject and plain, nurtures a deep contempt for them. Perry’s relative restraint, after the puzzle-box density of Queen of Earth’s image, face pressed against the screen, can be admirable. Yet it reveals an insecurity with the classical, something Exits desperately need. Laid bare, the visual formalism is dull and ineffective.
Golden Exits believes itself to be Rohmerian, though perhaps it more closely resembles Ibsen (if we are being generous). Rohmer allows for the sort of cutting and heavily structured spaces of banality that a film as inexplicably plot-heavy as Golden Exits has no interest in, nor the capability to sustain. The film settles instead for a particularly distasteful kind of venom. Linklater, with the phenomenally bland Before trilogy, misread Rohmer’s talkiness and controversial politics from an easy romanticism; Perry, on the other hand, makes his hyper-articulation as evasive and anxious, a refusal to acknowledge beyond towards the more troubling and guarded traits of character. It resembles the worst of cinephilia’s tendencies, the shrugging misogyny and asshole hypocrisy, the window dressing philosophy that everyone is equally bad and flawed built to ignore and, by extension, indulge. It is a high melodrama without a hint of consideration, dismissing emotionality in favor of barbed-wire gladiator battles that say nothing. Golden Exits is a work that pro ports to be of sin, but ultimately offers the moral equivalent of a puddle.
Where the hell was Chloë Sevigny, anyway?
‘Skyscraper’ review: Dwayne Johnson towers over action tropes in his latest summer blockbuster
NEW YORK (AP) — I like to imagine what King Kong, as a popcorn-chomping moviegoer, might make of “Skyscraper,” the latest summer actioner starring Dwayne Johnson. Would he, watching a goliath ascend the exterior of a high-rise with helicopters and klieg lights swirling, woundedly mumble, “Hey, that’s my gig.”
But in Rawson Marshall Thurber’s thriller, there is Johnson steadily — and without too much trouble, really — swinging up a 100-story-high crane to then leap across a mammoth chasm and land in an open window on the burning 220-story tower where his wife and twin kids are trapped.
It goes without saying that if you’re the sort to scoff at a tale’s implausibility, “Skyscraper” may not be the movie you’re looking for. Experts in fields including physics, thermodynamics and screenwriting should proceed cautiously. But then again, few go to a movie starring the Rock and a tall building (they do have great chemistry) for sensible and realistic rescue methods. They go for the dumb fun, the crazy stunts and, above all, the Kong-sized appeal of Johnson, the towering movie star whose on-screen powers easily exceed those of any other action star today, superhero or not.
The Hong Kong-set “Skyscraper” is a kind of West-meets-East “Die Hard,” but without the gritty flair of John McTiernan’s film, nor anything like the villainous heights of Alan Rickman’s Hans Gruber. Johnson’s protagonist, too, is a polished family man, the inverse of Bruce Willis’ unshaven divorcee.
Johnson plays Will Sawyer, a former military man who, after a haunting hostage encounter, has become a security systems consultant. “I put my sword down,” says Sawyer, who has a prosthetic leg from the incident — a welcome touch in a movie world where disabilities are seldom represented.
Along with his former combat surgeon wife (the nice-to-see-again Neve Campbell, whose part exceeds the stereotypical spouse role) and their two kids (McKenna Roberts, Noah Cottrell), Sawyer is in Hong Kong to ready the security for “The Pearl,” a state-of-the-art skyscraper promoted as three times the size of the Empire State Building. With a swirling turbine midway up and a tennis ball-like sphere at the top, it looks a little like a giant World Cup trophy.
The building is the pride of billionaire developer Zhao Long Ji (Chin Han), who has filled it with extravagant attractions, like a kind of digital hall-of-mirrors that will inevitably serve as the setting for a “Lady From Shanghai”-like shootout. He presides over it from the penthouse, more than 100 floors above anyone else in the unfinished high rise.
The Singaporean star Han is one of the many Asian actors who populate the film, clearly fashioned to appeal as much to Chinese filmgoers as American ones, though their roles are largely peripheral.
Sawyer’s family is installed on floor 96, a precarious spot when, just below them, a band of terrorists led by Kores Botha (a ho-hum Roland Moller) sets a floor on fire, blazing a crimson line across the night skyline. (“Skyscraper” is lensed by Robert Elswit and it regularly looks better than you’d expect it to.)
Their aim, like countless bandits before them, is to smoke out Zhao. It’s an overly elaborate plan considering they mostly desire the flash drive Zhao carries with him. But what bloodthirsty international mercenary isn’t a big fan of “The Towering Inferno”?
That the timing felt right to Thurber and Johnson (who previously teamed for “Central Intelligence”) for a film about a skyscraper under terrorist assault is itself noteworthy. Such a movie would have been unthinkable in the years after Sept. 11, and for some, still is. But this year, for whatever reason, seems to close a chapter in the post-9/11 disaster movie. In April, “Rampage” (also with Johnson) didn’t hesitate to topple urban towers in clouds of dust.
“Skyscraper” doesn’t have any such thoughts — or, really, any thoughts, period — in mind. It’s counting on your amnesia to the past, on screen and off, and it will readily supply you with two hours of mindless escape. It does the job better than most, thanks largely to its hulking hero. When Johnson makes his crane leap — the movie’s much-promoted central set piece — throngs surrounding the building ooh and aah. It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s the Rock.
“Skyscraper,” a Universal Pictures release, is rated PG-13 by the Motion Picture Association of America for “sequences of gun violence and action, and for brief strong language.” Running time: 102 minutes. Two and half stars out of four.
Follow Jake Coyle on Twitter at: http://twitter.com/jakecoyleAP
‘Ant-Man and the Wasp’ review: Paul Rudd and Evangeline Lilly deliver small-scale heroic fun
After the release of Avengers: Infinity War earlier this year, it became clear that fans needed a nice breath of fresh air after that horrid ending. Luckily, Lang and the gang are here to provide just that. Ant-Man and the Wasp is a light, yet exciting Marvel film that solidifies these titular characters as some of the most enjoyable in the MCU. While it may not necessarily be groundbreaking, this film is a much-needed escape from the dark future of our favorite heroes.
Ant-Man and the Wasp takes place after the events of Captain America: Civil War (but before the events of Infinity War) where we find Scott Lang (Paul Rudd) placed under house arrest for his international crimes in Germany. Estranged from Hope van Dyne (Evangeline Lilly) and her father Hank Pym (Michael Douglas), Scott and his former associates’ paths meet up once again in order to reveal some secrets from their pasts. Meanwhile, a new threat known as Ghost (Hannah John-Kamen) appears to threaten the heroes while they are on the run from the FBI.
The most exciting part of this film is the addition of the new characters and how their stories work together for the overall plot. Hope finally takes up the mantle of the Wasp and the arc with her father made for an interesting dynamic. While they are attempting to locate the whereabouts of Hope’s mother, Janet van Dyne (Michelle Pfeiffer), they are forced to reunite with Scott to accomplish that goal. This all happens while the three are on the run from many different characters. The FBI, a vengeful gang leader named Sonny Burch (Walton Goggins), and Ghost along with her mentor Bill Foster (Laurence Fishburne) are all trying to get their hands on Pym’s technology and will stop at nothing until they do so. These storylines are blended very well together and kept the audience engaged all the way through.
Rudd and Lilly, like the first installment, have the best performances of the whole cast. Rudd maintains Lang’s sarcastic and fun-loving personality while showing that he is truly the best dad of the MCU. His daughter Cassie (Abby Ryder Fortson) provides his motivation throughout the film, as he is once again attempting to prove that he can be a great father regardless of his past. Lilly was fantastic in her fiercely determined role as Hope, and it is refreshing to see the strong chemistry shared between her and Rudd. Thankfully, this film did not dwell on or force any kind of romance until it was well-deserved.
The antagonists in this film, however, were very underwhelming and unfortunately forgettable. Even though Goggins’ character worked well within the context of what was happening to Hope and Hank, he could have easily been cut from the story. John-Kamen’s Ghost was also not as developed as she could have been. Her tragic backstory led to generic motivations as she tried to retrieve the technology to fix her deteriorating condition. This made for a very weak villain, but she did serve her basic purpose.
Humor is one of the strongest elements in this film, and it is written very well. It is not over-the-top, but it fits the tone of the movie perfectly. Luis (Michael Peña), Dave (T.I.), and Kurt (David Dastmalchian) are honestly comparable to the Three Amigos and this trio brings some of the best laughs.
On the technical front, the effects and the choreography truly stood out. Visual effects supervisor Stephanie Ceretti, SFX supervisor Dan Sudick, and their respective teams helped make this film absolutely gorgeous. In particular, every shot inside of the quantum realm was stunning to see and made the microscopic world seem enormous in comparison. George Cottle, the stunt coordinator, made the action sequences captivating, especially those with the Wasp. Her scenes were pure exhilaration and provided agile, action-packed entertainment.
While Ant-Man and the Wasp is quite dismissible in terms of world-building, it is as delightful as the first installment, if not more, and is one of the strongest summer blockbusters of the year. And of course—like every other Marvel film—don’t forget to stick around until after the credits.
‘Incredibles 2’ review: Pixar delivers a dazzling sequel worthy of its beloved predecessor
Fourteen years after the release of the original, everyone’s favorite super family (sorry, X-Men) returns in Incredibles 2, which audiences will undoubtedly enjoy just as much as its predecessor because of the many parts that make the film so…ahem…incredible. It’s a worthy sequel that our current superhero-ridden American film scene so desperately needs.
Incredibles 2 picks up right where Pixar’s beloved 2004 animated classic left off: with a villainous new threat to the city known as The Underminer looking to wreak havoc. The Parrs and other superheroes are still seen as criminals, but when Elastigirl (Holly Hunter) is recruited by a pair of philanthropic siblings (Bob Odenkirk and Catherine Keener), they believe they will be able to change the public’s perception for good. While Mr. Incredible (Craig T. Nelson) struggles to stay out of the spotlight and control the kids, a new threat arises known as Screenslaver, who is determined to put an end to supers once and for all.
Like many others, I was initially upset when I found out that this movie occurred directly after the events of the first, but it thankfully provides a smooth transition into the next part of the Parrs’ story. Even though the two films were released more than a decade apart, it seemed like no time had passed at all in this universe and the movie even contains more relevant social issues while keeping it entertaining for children—the main focus being Elastigirl, who is certainly the shining star of this film.
Hunter brings so much life to this character, as she is able to portray both the nurturing mother side and ass-kicking heroine side excellently. Elastigirl’s arc provides a great, original premise that is still reminiscent of the first movie yet is geared towards a new, more critical generation of moviegoers. This makes for a great dynamic between Elastigirl and Mr. Incredible, as the latter is constantly being forced to deal with his own masculinity. Having to take care of the kids while his wife is away saving the city was obviously tough for the macho man, but his development and acceptance throughout the course of this movie was progressively pleasant to watch.
Another character with interesting development was baby Jack-Jack (Eli Fucile). We were left on a bit of a cliffhanger from the original Incredibles movie that Jack-Jack had an abundance of peculiar powers, and in this film, those powers are explored even more. Along with the monster that he can turn into, shooting lasers from his eyes, and setting himself on fire, seeing Jack-Jack’s naive infancy clash with his crazy abilities made him a hilarious scene-stealer.
The humble daughter Violet (Sarah Vowell) and the reckless son Dash (Huck Milner) unfortunately have less memorable roles in the film, but it’s worth noting that the re-casting of Dash (he was originally voiced by Spencer Fox) was a smart move, though, as Milner has a much more child-like sense of wonder and confidence in his voice. Other fan-favorite characters making a return in the sequel include Frozone (Samuel L. Jackson) and Edna Mode (Brad Bird) and they still live up to their previous, legendary reputations.
For an animated feature, editing is never much of a specialty, but this film shatters that expectation. Some of the most comedic moments in the film were made hilarious due to the Stephen Schaffer’s quick, efficient editing, which helps add to the overall excitement on the film. Brad Bird’s (who also directed the film) script is excellent too, as the twisting reveal of the antagonist was hidden quite well. However, Screenslaver did not get as much physical screen time as the character deserved and, throughout the entirety of the film, the villain had a digitally eerie presence that could have been much more flushed out, but there was still plenty of substance to make the character threatening.
One of the most memorable parts of the first film was its jazzy and high-energy score, which Michael Giacchino once again delivers in this second installment. The best new element of this sequel, though, was its more fluent choreography and action scenes. All of them involved Elastigirl (rightfully so), as her scenes were just pure, exhilarating, fun. As for the animation, it’s just like any other Pixar movie we’ve seen in recent years: gorgeous.
Incredibles 2 succeeds expectations in almost every possible way, as Disney and Pixar once again prove that they can make a better superhero film than, well, many other studios out there from the past ten years. While sequels that come this late are usually hit or miss, this fantastic family film doesn’t just hit, but smashes. Oh, and for all of the ’90s babies out there: get ready for the nostalgia to really kick in the moment the movie starts.