Sometimes you walk out of a festival movie and wonder precisely WHY it was afforded a slot in the first place. Not because the movie's a rotten piece of junk, but because it's just kinda ... there. Standard, familiar, predictable, meh. And certainly nothing you'd expect to find at one of the most prestigious film festivals in the world. But then I remembered that Ernie Barbarash'sThey Wait is a Canadian-produced thriller -- and also that the Toronto Film Festival does like to spread a little love to the local guys.
So that explains why a perfectly watchable but in no way superior little chiller like They Wait earns a spot. Last year it was the surprisingly effective End of the Line, and this year it's the dry but half-decent They Wait. Anyway, here's the plot: Jaime King and Terry Chen are a married couple with a young son named Sammy. They're required to travel from Shanghai to Canada to attend the funeral of a beloved uncle, but poor little Sammy stumbles across an ancient (undead) secret that you'll be able to figure out less than 45 seconds after the plot threads are introduced. It's like "J-Horror Lite," if that works as any sort of selling point.
Noah Baumbach's The Squid and the Whale, a semi-autobiographical film about a Brooklyn family's experience with divorce, was the sleeper indie hit of 2005, and after its success Baumbach shot to prominence as a director to watch. His highly anticipated follow-up effort, Margot at the Wedding, returns to similar themes of family love and loathing; it stars Nicole Kidman as Margot, a high-strung writer who, along with her son Claude (Zane Pais), goes on a pilgrimage of sorts to her childhood home, where her estranged sister (Baumbach's wife Jennifer Jason Leigh) is marrying an unemployed painter (Jack Black) she just met. Baumbach -- who, it must be noted, bears an uncanny resemblance to Adrien Brody -- sat down with us in Toronto to talk about New York, family dynamics and just what's up with all those masturbation scenes.
Cinematical: After Squid and the Whale, a lot of people looked at you as a Brooklyn artist, the way they might look at someone like Jonathan Lethem. Did you have any temptation to make another movie set in Brooklyn, or did you deliberately move away from that?
Noah Baumbach: It wasn't deliberate or not deliberate -- I started writing this movie and it became what it was. It wasn't a response to anything in particular. I feel a real connection to Brooklyn, certainly, because I spent 20 years of my life there, but I don't think of myself as a Brooklyn artist any more than I think of myself as a male artist. I will say that when people would respond to Squid with a kind of Brooklyn-centric reaction I was pleased with that, because obviously Brooklyn means a lot to me.
Like most folks who enjoy the art of screenwriting, I'm a pretty big Paul Schrader fan. So when I heard that the writer / director's latest film would be playing at the Toronto Film Festival, I drew a big, red circle around the title. "You know what it's about, don't you?" a friend of mine asked me, to which I responded "Kinda. Woody Harrelson plays a gay D.C. socialite who covers up a murder and lives to regret it, or something like that." OK, good point: Doesn't exactly sound like my cup of tea, plot-wise -- but hey, it's Paul Schrader.
I just figure after Taxi Driver, American Gigolo, Raging Bull, The Last Temptation of Christ and the highly-underrated Light Sleeper, Mr. Schrader has earned the benefit of the doubt. And yes, that's taking into account his lastfewscreenplays. But it turns out my friend was right: The Walker is about a gay rich guy who lives off his family's money and acts as a friend / companion / alibi to many of Washington D.C.'s most important housewives. Carter Page plays canasta with swanky gals played by Kristin Scott Thomas, Lily Tomlin and Lauren Bacall -- and they all seem to love their amusingly non-threatening companion. But when one of the ladies' lovers ends up dead, Carter starts lying to the police to protect his "friends" and quickly discovers his true place in the beltway hierarchy.
Lovely to look at and packed with some solid doses of charm and wit -- but sorely lacking in historical accuracy and romantic chemistry -- Gillian Armstrong'sDeath Defying Acts tells the story of a brief but (mildly) interesting relationship between Harry Houdini and a beautiful con woman in the summer of 1914. How much of the film is actually factual I have no idea, but I do know that Harry Houdini looked more like Gene Wilder than Guy Pearce, but hey ... this is full-bore Hollywood fantasy all the way. Only some of the names are unchanged to keep you interested.
So, fine: Guy Pearce as Harry Houdini. I'll bite. And the guy delivers a fine and firmly affable performance; I just never really bought him as THE Harry Houdini. As the single mother with a flair for fake fortune-telling, Catherine Zeta-Jones is just as lovely as ever. Her character isn't given too many shades to work with beside "sneaky" and "doe-eyed," but the gal oozes old-school movie-star vibes whenever she walks across the screen. And young Saoirse Ronan makes for a plucky little sidekick / daughter, just in case you happen to bring your kids to the movie.
You know how certain amusement park rides (usually the really scary or herky-jerky ones) have warning signs that say "Look, if you're pregnant enough that you can rest a mug of coffee on top of your belly, then you're definitely not allowed to get on this ride"? I'm paraphrasing there, but already you get my point: Certain rides are too physically strenuous for pregnant women to deal with. Well, I'd like to propose that the ferocious French horror flick À l'intérieur (aka Inside) get one of those signs. Bottom Line: Not since Rosemary's Baby has there been a film to freak out the preggos. I think my water broke three times during À l'intérieur.
Another question: You know how Japanese horror took the film festivals, the arthouses, and the remake machine by storm a few years ago? I was generally underwhelmed by most of those movies. But this new wave of freaky French fright flicks? Dang, all of a sudden I'm a big fan. From Calvaire and Haute Tension to new arrivals like Frontiere(s) and À l'intérieur, I'm starting to think the French take their horror fare very seriously. And I know it's popular nowadays to dislike the French, but if they keep offering imports like this one, I may just pull a Johnny Depp and purchase a palace in Paris.
The plot is a wonderfully stripped-down affair: An extremely pregnant young woman (who recently lost her husband in a terrible car accident) is scheduled to have her baby the next day. So her plan is to spend Christmas Eve alone at home -- miserable gal that she is -- and then check into the hospital in the morning to give birth. Sounds simple enough. Unfortunately there's this outrageously crazy psycho bitch who's entirely convinced that our heroine's unborn baby ... is hers. And let's just say our villainess is not averse to getting her hands (ahem) dirty while extracting the unborn child. That's pretty much it: Two women, one night, several unlucky bystanders, and more fake blood than Herschell Gordon Lewis ever dreamt of.
At last year's Fantastic Fest I caught a flick called Broken, which I thought was an interesting if somewhat flawed piece of ultra-grungy survival horror -- but still a solid enough movie to make me wonder what newcomer Adam Mason would come up with next. So I'm pleased to note that Mr. Mason's latest effort, a tale of demonic insanity entitled The Devil's Chair, is a marked improvement over Broken -- which is still worth seeing, by the way, once it hits DVD next month ... but only if you're a serious horror freak.
Anyway, Mason's second effort is a gore-drenched tale that focuses on a strange chair that's located in a horrible old lunatic asylum. We open with a horny young couple of lovers who (very unwisely) decide to do some drugs and have some sex in the abandoned loony bin -- but when the pretty young gal sits down in the DEVIL'S CHAIR, all sorts of splattery hell breaks loose. Poor Nick is then shipped off to a (functioning) asylum for about four years. And then a powerfully short-sighted psychology professor signs some papers, springs Nick from the nut-house, and demands a guided tour of the home of the demonic chair.
And then all splattery hell REALLY breaks loose. Suffice to say that not only do our main characters come across the mysterious chair -- but at one point or another they all decide to sit in the thing! (Gah! Morons!) Seems that this chair acts as a rusty and clamp-laden portal to another dimension in which a ravenous demon resides. To say much more would spoil some of the fun -- but it's not like The Devil's Chair is a densely-plotted affair. Matter of fact, it's quite refreshingly simple and straightforward. You'll get a few slick surprises along the way, but The Devil's Chair is not out to re-invent the wheel ... just to give it another bloody little spin.
One thing you'll probably notice if you watch a lot of festival movies is this: When you dig beneath the big-time, A-list, "gala titles," you come across a lot of medium-sized flicks that come from relative newcomers -- but feature some great work from veteran actors. Renny Harlin's Cleaner is one such example: It's a so-so movie that's probably worth seeing just for the performances of Samuel L. Jackson and Ed Harris. Brad Furman'sThe Take is another one of those flicks: It's got a passably compelling story, a half-decent screenplay, some nifty touches from a young director ... and a lead performance by John Leguizamo that's really quite excellent.
Written by Josh and Jonas Pate (Deceiver), The Take opens by introducing us to a firmly middle-class (but entirely admirable) nobody: Felix De La Pena (Leguizamo) is an armored truck driver who gets kidnapped and shot in the head during a vicious robbery. Against all odds, Felix survives and (with the help of his devoted wife Marina) slowly starts down the road to recovery. But Felix isn't the same man anymore. Although he's still able to walk, talk, drive and otherwise function pretty reasonably, he's also quite a bit "slower" in the head ... plus he's now fostering one nasty little temper. Meanwhile the brutal crook who led the robbery (Tyrese Gibson) is busy tying up a bunch of loose ends -- and you just know the two men are bound to butt heads again.
A potentially compelling film noir story delivered in an irritatingly bright and overzealous package, Cleaner has two very excellent things going for it -- and their names are Samuel L. Jackson and Ed Harris. If you're a serious fan of either actor (and if you're not, you should be), then you'll definitely want to rent Cleaner once it (eventually) pops up in your local theater video store. Beyond the contributions from Jackson and Harris, however, there's very little worth talking about where Cleaner is concerned.
We start off with a potentially juicy concept: Sam Jackson plays a 'hazardous waste cleaner' who gets framed for a murder he (probably) didn't commit. And when I say 'hazardous waste cleaner' I mean that this is the guy who'd come to your house to eliminate the gore if someone happened to have their brains blown out in your living room. So things look pretty promising at the outset: We've got a great actor playing a strange role and doing a fine job of it -- and then the plot kicks in.
Seems that our "cleaner" has just cleaned up a murder that the police know nothing about. And even if they DID have a clue, they'd probably be thrilled about it because the victim was a stool pigeon who was about to blow the lid off some serious police corruption charges. So when Cleaner guy realizes that he forgot to return the house key, he's distressed to learn that The Wife (Eva Mendes) knows nothing about any bloodshed in her living room. But, oddly enough, her husband has just gone missing. (dun dun dunnnnn)
There are some films that simply defy description. There are some films so packed with extra-colorful weirdness that you could write 1,000 words and still not cover it all. And then there are films like Hitoshi Matsumoto's Dai Nipponjin (aka Big Man Japan) -- which is most assuredly a combination of those two descriptions. I could rattle off the film's catalog of lunacy (and I will) but it still wouldn't adequately explain how outlandishly, amusingly WEIRD the thing is. Definitely one of those "not far all tastes" imports, but if you're a fan of Japanese action flicks, monster movies and strangely amusing mockumentaries ... then this is one you're going to want to search for.
Here's the basic gist: Masaru Dai Saito is the host of a Japanese reality show in which he (literally) transforms into a giant club-wielding butt-kicker whenever his homeland is visited by another freaky monster. And this happens a lot. So much, apparently, that the chaos and destruction are old-hat by now -- and our poor hero has trouble bringing in any television ratings at all. (Not even the corporate logo tattoos plastered across his gargantuan belly seem to be helping much.) Earth-shattering battles with "Squeezing Baddie" and "Jumping Baddie" do little to impress the masses, but when a nasty new RED "baddie" appears on the scene, it looks like our sad-sack do-gooder is about to hit the big-time.
I need to come up with a new phrase for comedies like Just Buried. Something like "not exactly laugh-out-loud funny, but certainly amiable, clever and diverting enough to warrant some attention." (But something shorter than that wordy mouthful.) Chaz Thorne'sJust Buried offers a novel concept, several winning performances, and a few amusing surprises -- but I certainly wouldn't call it a fall-down-on-the-floor laugh riot. And that's OK with me. Sometimes a big batch of small chuckles, a few strong performances and a quietly amusing concept are enough to keep a comedy afloat, and that certainly seems to be the case here.
Jay Baruchel (best known for his hilarious lead performance in the awesome Undeclared) plays a nervous little twitcher of a nerd who inherits his estranged father's funeral home. Our jittery sorta-hero is completely unprepared for the gig: He can't stand to be around corpses, his professional demeanor is lacking at best, and he has this strange habit of bleeding from the nose whenever he gets nervous. But hey, Ollie's still willing to give the old funeral home a shot. (The presence of a lovely mortician called Roberta (Rose Byrne) definitely factors into his decision-making process.)
Now this one's going to be a tricky flick to review, and here's why: If I go into a lot of details about the plot or rattle off a list of movies that The Passage borrows (and semi-steals) from, then I'm spoiling the whole package for anyone who wants to see the film. And even though I didn't exactly adore the flick, I certainly wouldn't think of ruining the thing for anyone. Suffice to say that any horror fan worth his salt will figure out where The Passage is headed after only about 25 minutes -- and then it goes precisely there. The scenery is handsome and the screenplay's not half-bad, but there's always something to be said for a little originality, and unfortunately that's one thing that The Passage lacks. Big time.
Stephen Dorff and Neil Jackson play a pair of thinly-drawn buddies who are spending some time in Morocco for a vague-yet-upsetting reason. (I'm not spoiling anything by saying that they're getting over a sad tragedy together.) But when Luke (Dorff) meets up with the stunningly beautiful Zahara (Sarai Givaty), his mopiness subsides for just a few minutes. So imagine our hero's excitement after Zahara invites him on an overnight trip to a far-away hotel. (Getting the clues yet?) Meanwhile, Adam (Jackson) stays behind and plans to meet up with the couple the next morning.
Needless to say, things don't even remotely go according to plan.
Fear not, Romero junkies. The old guy still has it. Apparently more than energetic enough at an impressive 67 years of age, the creator of the zombie genre has popped back up with a new indie flick that's sure to entertain anyone who's followed the guy's career for the past 30-some years ... like me. After teaming up with a big studio to deliver the adequate-if-unspectacular Land of the Dead, George A. Romero returns to his grass-roots indie-style origins and comes up with Diary of the Dead -- which is easily his most entertaining horror film since 1985's Day of the Dead.
Just to be clear: Diary is not another chapter in the series that began with Night of the Living Dead and continued on with Dawn, Day and Land of the Dead. Instead it's a stand-alone and entirely fresh take on the inevitably impending zombie apocalypse, as seen through the eyes (and the camera lenses) of a bunch of film students who head off into the woods to make a horror flick ... and end up making the nastiest horror documentary ever imagined. So yeah, it's a zombie flick crossed with the visual approach of The Blair Witch Project. But it's also quite a bit more than that.
All the horror fans love Stuart Gordon's Re-Animator, and the really hardcore horror fans are also well-versed on titles like From Beyond, Dolls, Fortress, Dagon and King of the Ants. Hell, even Gordon's relative misfires (Robot Jox, Castle Freak, Space Truckers) are more entertaining than most genre fare. Plus the guy's a well-respected stage director in Chicago, a close personal friend of David Mamet, and a filmmaker who sometimes steps away from the gory stuff and delivers a really crafty flick like Edmond.
So clearly I'm a fan of the guy's work. And when I saw that the Toronto Midnight slate was offering the director's latest project, I was pretty psyched indeed. (It doesn't hurt that the slate also includes new offerings from guys like Romero and Argento, but I'm digressing like a geek.) Anyway, Stuart Gordon's latest film is a welcome return to his old genre stomping grounds. More of a twisted thriller than an out-and-out horror movie, Stuck is still more than generous with the thrills, chills, and gooey gore-spills. Plus it has a sly and simple streak of social commentary, which adds a satisfying dash of subtext to a brutally bizarre story.
After Haute Tension hit the scene and caused a little bit of buzz (if very little attention from the U.S. box office), it only seemed to be a matter of time before a few new freaky French horror flicks would rear their unseemly heads. And here's one of 'em: A patently over-the-top piece of gore-drenched survival horror called Frontiere(s). The debut from writer/director Xavier Gens (who also has a studio flick called Hitman on the way), Frontieres feels like half Texas Chainsaw Massacre and half Hostel, with some liberal dashes of Haute Tension (and even a little bit of The Descent) tossed in to keep things juicy.
We open in the near-future, and France is suffering through a socio-political firestorm. A "right-wing" police state is in effect, and as we settle into the story we're introduced to five criminals on the run: Four hateful men and one pregnant woman. (Guess who's the hero(ine).) After one of the gang members drops dead in a hospital, the remaining quartet splits up and makes plans to meet up at an isolated hotel on the French border. To say these idiots choose the wrong hotel would be a stunning example of understatement.
Without giving too much away, I can tell you that the hotel is run by an extended family of Nazi cannibal mega-freaks. And needless to say, they're not very nice. Once both cars arrive on the scene, the cat & mouse carnage can begin in full force. A few of our anti-heroes are dispatched in decidedly unpleasant fashion, but of course we're not suffering through all this slaughterhouse insanity with no promise of catharsis on the horizon. Plot-wise, it's all very familiar and frequently quite predictable -- but boring? Absolutely not.
When it comes to the feature-length anime-action stuff, I consider myself a fan of the stuff -- but by no means any sort of passionate enthusiast or trivia-filled expert. My problem with most of these movies is a pretty common one: Despite all the stellar animation, cool characters and mega-nifty mayhem -- most of these movies have stories best described as ... indecipherable. Fortunately the latest by Japanese filmmaker Fumihiko Sori (Ping Pong) is cleanly-plotted and enjoyably accessible. Relatively speaking, anyway ...
Plus it has some of the most eye-popping animation this side of Miyazaki.
Vexille takes place in a semi-distant future in which Japan has hidden itself away from the rest of the world. Expelled from the United Nations and hidden behind a powerful satellite cloaking device, the country is knee-deep in a civil war of sorts. The evil company known as "Daiwa Heavy Industries" has taken to populating Tokyo with a race of humanoid cyborgs -- but here comes a team of do-gooders intent on kicking evil's ass! Most of the heroes are interchangeable gun-toters, but they also come complete with elaborately cool suits of flying body armor. And that's always fun.
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SCOOP: Spider-Man 4 and 5 Might be Shot at the Same Time!
Cinematical Seven: Disney's Awesome Live-Action Kid Adventures
