Archive for category: Reviews

No boxing-movie-cliche goes unturned in this Rocky sequel, but the film is so genial and so devoid of any pretense of originality that you really don’t hold that against it. Stallone, especially, is so subdued – an actor with nothing to prove, probably more invested in his producing – that he’s good company onscreen. Michael B. Jordan has the heavier acting load, and although his talent is undeniable he’s rather unrealistic as a light-heavyweight championship contender. The climactic 12-rounder contains more action than a dozen of Floyd Mayweather’s title fights combined, but doesn’t seem quite so brutal now that I’ve been exposed to clips of Ultimate Fighting.

An almost flawless movie that, more significantly, was important. It offered sympathy for victims of abuse and condemnation for the Catholic Church hierarchy, but most resonant for me was the plug for journalism. The Boston Globe reporters knocked on doors, used their contacts, pored through clips and records, went to court and trusted their instincts, sacrificing their private lives for the story – a herculean effort not likely to be duplicated by the internet bloggers that are taking their place. Indeed, the fragility of the investigative Spotlight department was telegraphed at the film’s outset, when the new editor is rumored to be a cost-cutter and we hear Michael Keaton describe his team’s mandate: four people working six months or a year on a closely held story that may or may not pan out. Near the film’s climax when we see the newspapers coming off the press, bundled and sent out in delivery trucks, our sense of nostalgia tempers our excitement: is this film a swan song for the printed paper?

If so, it is a worthy send-off, on a par with All the President’s Men, which famously heralded a golden age of investigative journalism – and the presence of Ben Bradlee Jr. as Spotlight editor further cements the link. The film is careful not to demonize, and by making the “bad guys” human the story, and the tragedy, are made more real. Cardinal Law is given a moment in the sun, and the one molesting priest we see is more confused than evil. The bad lawyers have their good side, and the good lawyer has his bad. Even the press is less than perfect: much is made of the fact that the Globe, and Michael Keaton, sat on this story for many years before the new editor brought it up.

I said “almost” flawless only because I was troubled by a couple otherwise worthy performances. Mark Rufalo, who got lead billing, was wonderful for an hour, but then his performance got too histrionic for me and his yelling too loud (maybe I was just sitting too close to the screen). Liev Schreiber was similarly impressive at the outset, but by the end I found him too diffident for his role as managing editor. Maybe he perfectly channeled Marty Baron, whom I’ve never seen, but he didn’t act like the many editors I have seen – in person and on screen. Conversely, Rachel McAdams was perfect.

(Smoking: The obligatory cigarette was seen about five minutes into the movie, then never again – despite all the “stress” the characters were under. Makes me wonder.)

This one is all about acting and psychology: how do you feel about what each of the characters lives through, and how well do they portray it? Brie Larson is amazingly equable in a seemingly insupportable situation; when she cracks you’re only surprised it didn’t happen sooner. The kid plays a kid – he’s the remarkable one. William H. Macy makes one wonder what he’s doing in this movie; and for some reason, Joan Allen’s face was unwatchable for me. I cringed every time she appeared onscreen. Other than the usual knocks on the media, the film seemed refreshingly agenda-free. It was, in the end, a study of people coping.

I look on this as a mood piece with a riveting score, maybe an homage to the Coens’ No Country for Old Men, with Benicio del Toro in the Javier Bardem role. Or it could be a domestic analogue to Zero Dark Thirty, with torture and extra-legal black ops producing the assassination of the Mexican drug kingpin. Looked at as a realistic plot, however, it made about as much sense as The Martian. There was also the continual question of what Emily Blunt – or more exactly, Emily Blunt’s character – was doing in this movie. I kept wondering what particular skill set she had that qualified her to be chosen for the “interdepartmental team.” When we learned that her job was to stay out of the way and keep quiet, it was even clearer that someone – whether the casting director or the estimable Victor Garber – had grossly miscalculated. Even more puzzling was what her (African-American) sidekick was doing on the team, especially since he had been expressly rejected – “No lawyers!” – at the outset. It was a kick to watch Josh Brolin and del Toro waltz through their tough-guy roles: I chortled with pleasure at their drolleries. But the more I thought about the movie afterward, the more annoyed I became. But what should I expect from a French-Canadian director’s take on an American anti-drug mission in Mexico?

A delightful road trip down to New Orleans with Ryan Reynolds and Ben Mendelsohn, portraying, respectively, a natural winner and a born loser. The ending was not exactly what the story set us up for, but I won’t complain about a little fantasy. For all the gritty shots of Iowa, St. Louis and Memphis, this was still just a movie. Mendelsohn, especially, made us believe.