All in Film

Four words: Nicolas Cage on OVERDRIVE! Destined to be a cult classic, this irreverent Shaun of the Dead meets Parenthood mash-up starts with a bang and doesn’t let up. When unexplained events cause parents to turn on their children, the results are equally horrifying and laugh-out-loud funny—it’s a good sign when the audience around you is vocally invested in the onscreen carnage and hilarity. Although flashback scenes hinder the pacing, seeing Nic Cage sledgehammer a pool table to oblivion while screaming “The Hokey-Pokey” is worth the price of admission alone. But wait until the grandparents arrive . . . 

I should’ve known from the opening sequence that I was tiptoeing around manure. Watching Vince Vaughn destroy a car with his fists was a dead giveaway. The dry conversation with Jennifer Carpenter felt like an exercise in Acting 101. But the sheer audacity to create one-note characters, flat dialogue, and laughable violence is appalling, given the fact that the movie rates so high. Whatever the critics are smoking, someone tell them I’d like a toke. Nevertheless, I chuckled my ass off for most of the 132 minute run time. So bad, so bad. If you want to laugh at something that’s not comedy, give this a shot. 

The Polka King is billed as a comedy, but tonally, it can’t decide whether it’s zany or melodramatic. In this true story about a bandleader who fleeces his elderly fans of millions in a polka-fueled ponzi scheme, we’re offered up dueling performances of tenderness and over-the-top slapstick. It’s a jarring combination that doesn’t blend well. Jack Black works hard to create a charming and sympathetic “Polka King” con man Jan Lewan, and Jacki Weaver pulls out all the stops in accentuating the zaniness of Jan Lewan’s mother-in-law Barb. Someone didn’t get the right memo, and unfortunately, I’m not sure who. 

Over the course of a nearly five-decade career in film, Steven Spielberg has utilized many tricks to help draw an audience into his stories. The problem with The Post is that it features all of those tricks at once, resulting in an atonal mish-mash. Every scene is either a tracking shot or a dramatic push-in that screams “WE’RE GETTING MERYL ANOTHER OSCAR AND THERE’S NOT A DAMN THING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT”, which renders a relevant story inert.

Also features pandering asides to the Trump era and the women’s movement that might as well be catnip to Academy voters.

As with The Secret of Kells and Song of the Sea, Golden Globe-nominee The Breadwinner boasts simplistically breathtaking animation. But its true beauty lies in the heart of its story. After her father is arrested, a young girl named Parvana cuts her hair, disguising herself as a boy, to save her family from starvation. Equally moving and at times heartbreaking—a scene where Parvana’s mother is beaten for being outdoors during the day brought tears to my eyes—The Breadwinner reminds us of the importance of family and standing up for what is morally right in the face of adversity.

Unconcerned with genre, Hostiles instead grapples with the enormity of Western Expansion. Scott Cooper’s methodical character study finds Captain Joseph Blocker (Christian Bale) tasked with returning a cancer-ridden Cheyenne Chief (Wes Studi) back to his people’s valley in Montana. Along the way, his escort rescues Rosalie Quaid (Rosamund Pike), whose family was massacred. Although beautifully lensed and expertly acted, Hostiles second act meanders and features a contrived final confrontation. Yet, the sum of its parts proves the Western’s heart still beats, even as it goes out in a good way as Blocker wishes for Yellow Hawk as he nears death. 

I, Tonya is the perfect homage to a bizarre story, capitalizing on the media’s villainization of Harding. As the first figure skating film that’s not considered a romantic comedy, it does everything it should. The romance is replaced by abuse. Abuse from her mother, from her husband, and now, America.

The film falls short on its ability to characterize Harding as more than a trashy ice princess, but it shines in its ability to maintain Harding’s innocence, blaming the media and its idealized perception of the female athlete in a ‘feminine’ sport.

The film isn’t perfect, but neither is Harding.

IFC Midnight’s Devil’s Gate earns the title of First Bad Horror Film of 2018. The film follows an FBI agent (Amanda Schull) and deputy sheriff (Shawn Ashmore) as they investigate the disappearance of a mother and son. Things get weird from there. Aside from a strong booby trap kill within the first ten minutes and passable creature effects, a weak script full of religious and extraterrestrial clichés that don’t gel, stilted acting, and God-awful color timing—seriously, skins tones look like Hellboy for half the movie—bring down this junkship of a film with no chance to phone home.

Gabriel Ricard looks back on the (screwed up) year that was 2017 and ahead to the (hopefully less screwed up) year that will be in 2018, in his latest Captain Canada column. 

Featuring: Amarcord (1973); Twin Peaks: The Missing Pieces (2014); Fantastic Planet (1973); Thor: Ragnarok (2017); Justice League (2017) 

Phantom Thread, at its heart, is about control—the lengths we will go to grasp it and who we choose to yield it to. Luckily, control is what Paul Thomas Anderson does best. Don’t let the first half of this movie, which pretends to be about a fashion designer (Daniel Day-Lewis, brilliant for, supposedly, the last time here) who takes in a young waitress turned model (Vicky Krieps, brilliant for the first time here), fool you—Anderson is spinning a fiendish yarn, with surprises so dark they make 2017’s other provocateurs, Darren Aronofsky and Yorgos Lanthimos, look like rank amateurs.

The Greatest Showman has all the razzle dazzle you’d expect, but was as fake as the original circus P.T. Barnum put together. The film was too short to tackle the complexities of the Barnum story, using catchy tunes to distract from the fact that there was no real story. While the song with Zac Efron and Hugh Jackman was the duet we never knew we needed, the music was not enough to carry the film and the fact that they abandoned character development and plot. Even at the height of conflict, the film failed to be ‘the greatest show’.

The strength of the Star Wars prequels (and, yes, there were strengths) was that George Lucas didn’t allow his fanbase to tell him what they thought Star Wars should be. The Force Awakens gave fans only things that they knew to be Star Wars™. Rian Johnson’s The Last Jedi splits the difference, and is stronger for it. Though whole plot lines could be jettisoned, the core of the film, and the way it wraps up the 40-year-long journey of Luke Skywalker, make it one of the most compelling installments of a franchise we all need to stop arguing about.

To say that I love Mel Brooks would be an understatement that borderlines ridiculous. It’s a poorly-kept secret that if you can make me laugh, and if you can make me laugh often, you’re going to generate a lot of goodwill from me. I don’t think I’m unique in that respect, but it’s still something I take seriously. Chances are, if you’re making me laugh on a regular basis, then you’re saving my life. I mean that.

I have to be honest. Even with a few dozen guns to my head, I don’t think I could choose just one decade for horror movies. If you ask me, it can’t be done, man.

There are decades that I like more than others. What I can’t do is choose the 70s over the 80s, or the 90s over the 60s. Or any decade over them all.

This isn’t the first themed edition of Captain Canada’s Movie Rodeo (one of these days, I’ll do another Halloween special), but it’s definitely the first time I’ve ever tried a theme this specific. I guess it’s just something that never really occurs to me. I work with a stricter criteria for my Make the Case column at Cultured Vultures, so I guess I just like that Captain Canada’s Movie Rodeo doesn’t really have to do anything except get written. The only real rule is that I can only draw from the films I’ve seen since the column started, which at this point was a little over five years ago.

The summer movie season is moving along, and all I can think about is Twin Peaks.

We’re closing in on the end of the long-awaited third season, or at least what will have to do for an ending. At this point, most TV shows, even a “limited event” series, would have given you a working idea of how things are going to end. With the current Showtime run of Twin Peaks, we have less of an idea, and more of a grave suspicion that our expectations on every level are going to be reduced to ashes. David Lynch and Mark Frost are not fucking around.

Since I can only handle this horrible timeline of ours up to a certain point, I’ve been keen to find things that will keep me just ever so slightly distracted. Just enough to forget that the United States is finally becoming the country The Simpsons always said we were. Going through the entire Mystery Science Theater series while I work has been a great adventure in necessary distraction. This is also one of the best television shows of all time, and it’s been fascinating to revisit seasons 1 through 10, after the new Netflix season was released to such an excellent reception (I liked it, too).