A Clockwork Solution

James Sandin (Ethan Hawke) and his Wife Mary (Lena Headey) and son try to survive a night of Freudian release.

Western civilization has an extensive history of repression of things we deem “taboo,” yet it’s odd that violence is rarely seen of as one of these. Despite its destructive nature, media and news seem both all too eager to report it, and then move on from it as though violent acts were nothing more then a human tornado whose inevitability we must accept and grow stronger as we rebuild our shattered human nerves. There are some who would argue that as long as we continue to treat violence like necessary evil of the world, we will never achieve a truly enlightened sense of harmony with our fellow man.

But what if we could limit that violence to only one day a year? One day to live as savages in exchange for 364 days of peace and prosperity?  Could channeling violence stop it from ruling our lives, and in this “Purge” of primal lust would we become more or less human?

We repress our hidden desires behind masks of normalcy, but on Purge night we mock the need for such thing.

Billed as a “Speculative thriller,” The Purge takes this scenario and applies it to the familiar “home invasion” movie set in a dystopia that really isn’t any different from our own. In this theoretical future of America, our new “Governing Fathers” enacted The Purge ten years ago as a measure to combat our massive economic distress and poverty by unifying the nation. While it is in effect, all emergency services are disconnected and all violent crimes are permissible, with the somewhat cheeky exception being the government itself. It’s an idea Sigmund Freud might have dreamed up, only to dismiss it as too radical despite the various talking heads on TV that repeatedly mention how it has improved the average quality of life in the country.

All across America the streets empty as the social order mutates into something unthinkable.

While some of the high class purchase comprehensive security systems like the one designed by James Sandin (Ethan Hawke) that turn the annual Purge into a 12 hour lockdown, others take the opportunity to hold “parties” where they re-enact the pig scene from The Lord Of The Flies and hunt the lower class with radical Darwinism as their calling. These two worlds come to a head for James and his wife Mary (Lena Headey) and their two children when a moment of compassion for a torn and bloodied outsider (Edwin Hodge) results in group of masked strangers marking him and his family as new targets in this night of bloody release.

No good deed goes unpunished, not when the government sanctions the “extermination” of the lower class like this bloody stranger.

Despite the terrifying “Home as violated space” trope that feeds the horror on the outside, The Purge exists more in the realm of movies like Dredd 3D that enhance their plots through the surrounding ideas and themes that permeate the world. James’ place as a man who has profited from The Purge makes his decisions and interactions more meaningful then if he were just a victim of it, and his rationalizations provide the moral gray area that forces us to consider whether there is a difference between participating in The Purge, and standing by idly to watch it behind barred windows.

James Sandin is forced to confront the true horror of the night he has built his families’ livelihood on.

As characters, the Sandin family are not groundbreaking, yet strangely old-fashioned. Ethan Hawke initially shows us James’ ego-driven personality that could lead him to treat the event as just another challenge in the business world, yet the instant he and his family are under lock and key the facade begins to weaken as he is confronted by the sudden change in the world outside their doors.

Hawke summons determination to his sallow features that quickly becomes sweaty and shaking like a man in with a sniper trained on his head. Though he seems an odd choice for a leading man, Hawke’s recent stints in fellow horror films Sinister and Daybreakers illustrate that his performance is largely linked to the character’s range, and as such James Sandin is a serviceable if not memorable role for him.

Lena Headey finally plays a mother who doesn’t dote on a psychotic boy king.

If James’ must be the traditional masculine protector, then Mary Sandin is the character that experiences the most emotional and character growth. Lena Headey, known for playing cruel and manipulative she-wolfs (Cercei Lannister of Game of Thrones and Madeline Madrigal of the aforementioned Dredd) underplays her domestic side to show a woman who knows deep down how wrong The Purge is, but has no other resource like her husband does to protect herself and her children.

These housewives are only “Desperate” to kill each other.

In this way, while most of James’ best scenes involve him tackling the problem head-on, Mary’s are when she is dealing with an overenthusiastic neighbor with an I’m-going-to-kill-you expression, or when confronting the home invaders with the righteous fury that has been dwelling in her eyes. In the end, she is a character first and a mother second, showing depth beyond just wanting her children to be safe.

Max Burkholder is timid, yet questioning, which leads him to reach out with compassion when a stranger stumbled into their security feed.

Their kids, Charlie, and Zoey, are slightly more interesting then the usual “innocent child” and “vulnerable young girl” archetypes. Charlie has long black tech geek hair that differentiates him from the blond crewcut that would mark his “childhood” status, and spends most of the movie utilizing a bizarrely archaic remote controlled robot to view the house. He’s the one most disturbed by The Purge, checking his vitals like a hypochondriac even when his father tries to rationalize the purpose of the event, and there is subtle symbolism in the way he tries to put the outside world behind a screen, until reality intrudes.

Zoey Sandin, wearing what the movie clearly thinks is standard schoolgirl attire.

In contrast to her brother, the first shot of Zoey is a barely restrained glimpse of thigh under a movie-length schoolgirl skirt, not so subtly showing Adelaide Kane’s youthful charms. She’s probably the closest character to a trope, with a vague anger at her father and the fact that she is dating an older guy who thinks it’s fine because she’s “mature for her age.”  Being the teenage daughter, she is also the first to be threatened by the mixed sex party of delinquents, yet the movie shows admirable restraint in not making her safety a major cause for concern, with only two remarks hinting at such uncomfortable subject matter.

Hiding under the bed is the oldest cliche in the book, but Zoey doesn’t have any other choice.

Her room suggests a diligent student who is both smart enough to call bullshit on The Purge, but her character is so mired in unspecified teenage angst that the potential for an intellectual opposite of James is neutralized.  Strangely enough though, it’s through her character that The Purge throws its first narrative curve-ball, even though that ball seems to vanish out of frame and remain unexplained for the duration of the movie.

The “Purgers” who invade are led by a sophisticated sociopath in a business suit with the twisted aura of Patrick Bateman and the unsettling grin of The Joker. This “Polite Stranger” (Ryhs Wakefield) approaches the night with the passion of a delusional zealot mixed with the indignant privilege of an Ivy League grad so that he is both instantly hateable and instantly watchable in equal parts.

Rhys Wakefield is all smiles, especially on a night where he doesn’t need to worry about hiding the true evil behind that smile.

His homicidal collaborators all appear to have come from the same economic bracket, alternatively weird and disturbing in grinning masks like a drama class from hell. In their glee for The Purge they reveal the true intent of it as hidden call to class slaughter, the worst sort of evil that breeds whenever someone can justify the inferiority of another group in their own minds.

Ethan Hawke takes up arms to protect his family from the monsters who have invaded the night.

One of the unique touches of The Purge is how it portrays this free-for-all of violence and the horror that accompanies it. The invaders are not supernatural maniacs (Though they do tend to pop up when the Sandin’s are looking the other direction a lot) instead they are vandals who dress up to give themselves an aura of the uncanny to frighten their prey. Armed with dangerous looking knives and lyncher’s shotguns, they initially reside on the outside of the house, content to freak out the Sandins with creepy laughter and threatening poses on their security cameras. In one uniquely sadistic scene, they even tickle a person while restraining them, clearly drunk on the power of the night.

The Monsters Are Due On Maple Street…

The Purge shows an abruptly practical sense of the Sandin’s struggle against them, opting for short bursts of action rather then elaborately choreographed take downs. It makes sense that a good number of encounters begin with both parties entering the room at the same time without noticing the other, while the winner turns out to be the one who brought the most useful weapon to the fight.

This realistic take on the scenes also underlines the ironic nature of being able to get away with anything violent, in that though lots might like to, they probably have so little experience that they don’t know how to.

After all the sneaking around and woefully inadequate flashlights in dark corners, The Purge initially seems to be heading towards a deus ex machina style ending, only to twist itself into a horrible knot combining so many themes and buzz words it feels in danger of going of the rails into ridiculously overbearing allegory. It’s saved however by a denouement that is powered by human fragility instead of ideology, one which is unrealistic yet still feels thematically resonant in light of all evil that has supposedly been “Purged” that night.

The social commentary in The Purge is not subtle, but it is highly resonant with many of our current problems.

By the film’s conclusion it’s hard to say if The Purge really exercises anyone of his or her violent impulses, but we are reminded that there is another way of dealing with the beast within us. And that is to tame it rather then letting it consume us.

Into The New Dark Age

Kirk’s first face-to-face confrontation with the other, a man who appears human, but is eerily off.

It’s said that the best way to reintroduce a story from the past is to do so in a way that makes it relevant to the public and the issues that they are presently facing. Though people might disagree on the exact specifics of what made Gene Roddenberry’s Star Trek so topical, one of the most notable things it attempted was to build a picture of the future as a time of unity, broadcasted to a world which was anything but. Fast forward to the new series of Star Trek films by director J. J Abrams and we notice a distinct change from this to a world where humanity seems in perpetual danger from something outside itself.

Luckily for the males at least, there will always be exotic alien girls to kibitz with.

As a sequel to the 2009 reboot, Star Trek Into Darkness (never forget the verb) at first appears to merely be going through the same, albeit entertaining motions. Captain James T. Kirk (Chris Pine) is still sleeping with whatever species has a female member, while remaining a determined leader who will flaunt Star Fleet’s rules and regulations if his crews’ safety is at sake. His ideological opposite, Spock (Zachary Quinto), is of course butting heads with him while he also struggles with his feelings for intergalactic language officer Uhura (Zoe Saldana). And Doctor “Bones” McCoy (Karl Urban) is of course still bemoaning the fact that he is woefully under qualified for doing anything other then his medical duties at anyone who will listen.

Bones is THRILLED at finally having some actual doctor’s work to do, rather then just dealing with ungrateful captains with swelling limbs.

All this changes however with the emergence of a mysterious ex-starfleet officer named John Harrison (Benedict Cumberbatch), who attacks Starfleet command in a dangerous display of cunning and ruthlessness that affects Kirk personally and snaps him out of his previous devil-may-care mindset. Acting on orders from commander Alexander Marcus (Peter Weller), Kirk and his crew depart on a mission to bring Harrison to justice, not knowing the true forces at work behind the mission.

The team is all assembled, including the obligatory “Red Shirt”

While Star Trek has dealt with the concept of the “Other” before, never has it been so apparent as in Kirk’s mission to capture, or kill Harrison. It’s easy to draw parallels with the hunt for the perpetrators of the world trade center attacks because both bring up a question of what justice really means when faced with a mission that boils down to being a legal assassin. Not only this, but command explicitly authorizes Kirk to use a new kind of weapon to do the job, one which the ship’s faithful engineer, Scotty (Simon Pegg), is loath to even have on the ship due to its destructive potential.

Montgomery Scott (Simon Pegg) receives some unwelcome news about some late additions to the ship’s weapon stores.

Since Harrison has retreated to an uninhabited area, Kirk is reassured that there will be no collateral damage, but he still struggles with the morality of killing him instead of returning him to Earth to stand trial. When we have technology to solve our problems with merely a button press, what does our responsibility become for that button? If we can kill a suspected terrorist with a remote drone strike with low chance of casualties, how do we decide when it’s justified?

Kirk, Uhura, and Spock come under heavy fire by hostile forces, and dark screen filters by the marketing department.

This rather dark turn into uncharted territory drives both the story and the characters as what appears to be the correct and moral path flips without warning, particularly when John Harrison is so convincing when it comes to playing both the vengeance-driven ubermensch, and the wronged outsider who still believes in honor. One of the greatest moments of this occurs when a new crew member discovers a deeper reason for why the Enterprise has been tasked with carrying the new weapons.

James Tiberius Kirk, still the leading cause of penis envy among male viewers.

Luckily, all of the movie’s actors are game for such weighty subject matter. Chris Pine continues to play his playboy hotshot like a cross between Van Wilder and Han Solo, an interstellar frat boy whose greatest challenge is guiding his crew when he can’t always be sure they’ll be able to escape unscathed. Playing off Zachary Quinto gives him a chance to show a desire for connection that is closer to camaraderie then his interactions with any of the other crew, while also showing how Spock is the one character who can really pierce his macho armor.

Zachary Quinto as Spock finds a way to look approaching death in the face in way which is both logical, and badass.

As Spock, Zachary Quinto continues to evolve his relationship with his human half, partially out of his affection for lieutenant Uhura, and partially out of a desire to understand the sometimes illogical behavior of the humans he accompanies. It’s still a treat to watch him display everything from curiosity to confusion with only his eyebrows and Beatles bowl-cut, and when desperation breaks out across those features it feels well earned.

Nyota Uhura blazes a trail as she fights SKYNET to prevent an apocalyptic future. And chastises Kirk in her spare time.

Uhura’s love for Spock is only the tip of her character however, and Zoe Saldana shows just as much determination as Pine when it comes to both fighting the physical battles, and the mental battles of ideological warfare. She is never boring, never underused, and can always be counted to bring a certain gravity to her scenes, even when they are something as ridiculous as a couples’ fight in the middle of a chase scene.

“You just sat that man down at a high stakes poker game with no cards and told him to bluff.”

The rest of the crew form a strong backbone of determination and bravery, beginning with Helmsman Sulu’s (John Cho) stare down of a dangerous criminal with nothing but his dangerously calm voice. Bones is still the lone voice of reason that Kirk listens to, and Chekov (Anton Yelchin) continues to amuse with a Russian accent that sounds like he has a kid Dracula up his nose. Joining is Carol Wallace (Alice Eve) who gets not only to casually show her well-toned stomach, but also demonstrate nerves of steel and a hyper-fast mind when it comes to disarming planet-obliterating bombs.

Alice Eve gets between Kirk and Spock, but not in the way you’d think.

Playing an anti-villain is no new thing to Benedict Cumberbatch as his much talked of turn on the BBC’s Sherlock as a so-called “High functioning sociopath” will attest to, and he embraces this side as the enigmatic “John Harrison”. Possessing a moon-white face more like any alien then the actual aliens featured, Benedict mesmerizes both Kirk and the audience with a tactile grace and eerie calm that make his more-than-human nature apparent in every scene he’s in. He is “The Other,” cold and remote, and yet we want to feel for him because we can still see that outline of humanity that deceives our eyes.

With a face like the right side of the uncanny valley, and eyes like twin lasers, Benedict Cumberbatch comes out with all guns blazing and fells every fangirl in the house.

It’s through these eyes that the viewers are drawn into the murky politics and real danger of Kirk’s mission. There are fantastic scenes of space combat, and thrilling rescues aplenty, but once the true stakes of it are known, the film heads for its dire descent and isn’t afraid to put it’s characters in potentially life-ending situations. It’s a shame that the final moments are handled so flimsily then, preferring to wrap up loose ends and return to status quo with a feeling of empty optimism rather then the dark unknown that the title promises.

Kirk suits up and prepares to launch himself into the new future.

Perhaps it’s fitting though, since, like the dark ages which were a harrowing period of history where the unknown seemed all around us, this new Star Trek enters it’s own Darkness, only to emerge not unscathed, but more aware of ourselves and the importance of not losing to the darkness that threatens from within our own hearts. This above all else is a message our modern audience needs right now in our uncertain trek to the future, where our only solace is that we do not travel alone, but journey together on the infinite mission of The Starship Earth.

(Slight spoiler below)

“We have met the enemy and he is us.”

A Cold-Blooded Family Man

Richard Kuklinski’s family thought he was a skilled businessman, not knowing how bloody his business truly was…

Violence in cinema inherently fascinates audiences because it represents an imitation of an irreversible act in real life; but even more then this, violent characters have an almost innate ability to captivate moviegoers. Once more, it seems as though we are able to “forgive” the gut churning violence through a combination of cognitive dissonance and identification with a character. How a film manages this is very significant, since the most extreme the violence, the further away we tend to shy from rooting for or sympathizing with the people in it.

All this is highly relevant because the main character of Ariel Vromen’s new film The Iceman is based on a factual cut and dried psychopath who was a real mob hit man with no conscience to speak of. A man who, as the film will remind us as almost an afterthought; is believed to have killed over one hundred individuals. The Richard Kuklinski that Michael Shannon portrays is this man, but he must also show us something in him that is admirably human as well. That Shannon succeeds to the degree he does is a testament not only to the spell of the film’s narrative but to his remarkable physical prowess.

“The only God I believe in is a loaded pistol with a hair trigger.”

From the first gravely syllable that rolls of his tongue, Michael Shannon is unrecognizable as the heavyset, square jawed man whose eyes hold a cold indifference that will prove his namesake. He’s adept at socializing only to the extent that it is expected of him, and even then an isolating distance is always present in those grey eyes. Kuklinski is a man of few words not because he lacks them, or because he chooses them carefully, but because they mean as little to him as the lives of the people they come from. Looming in almost every frame, Shannon dominates the film with his impassive; yet moldable features that time and time again fool us into forgetting about his cold-hearted nature.

Who does Kuklinski see when he looks in the mirror? The mafia killer, or the doting father?

When he meets gangster Roy Demeo (Ray Liota) who offers him a job as a disposer of human liabilities, it’s nothing but a means of making money to support his wife Deborah (Winona Ryder) and his families’ lifestyle. His tenderness with his two daughters shows an attachment that is utterly absent from his face while on the job, and the juxtaposition between the family man and the mob killer is the film’s primary point of interest.

Spanning a period of twenty years, the film mostly depicts the brutal aftermath of his crimes, preferring instead to chart the slow dissolution of Kuklinski’s employment and its effect on his family life. During the latter he meets a fellow murder-for-hire named Robert Prongay (Chris Evans) who turns him onto the ghoulish practice of storing bodies in the freezer of his ice cream van in order to disguise the time of death. These scenes of them storing bodies in a freezer while discussing their lives are perhaps the most disturbing, since both the characters and the film treat this as though it were just another day at the office.

Kuklinski and Prongay store bodies in a walk in freezer that’s as cold as their consciences

All of his co-stars are allowed just enough time to build a convincing relationship so that Kuklinski’s eventual fall has weight behind it. As his wife, Winona Ryder captures a woman who has just enough insecurity to shrug off her husband’s mood swings from aloofness to textbook psychopathic outbursts. Ray Liota also does well and doesn’t phone in his performance for once in a long time, but infuses his mafia boss with frustration that illustrates his more human side.

If there is any stand out it would have to be Chris Evan’s mercilessly deranged hitman for his casual display of amorality that feels arresting even in comparison to Kuklinski’s sociopathy. Known as “Mister Freezey” to the neighborhood children, Evans looks like the Unabomber on holiday with wild Charles Mason hair and a dark pair of aviators—the sort of person you’d forbid your kids getting a Creamsicle from.

“I tracked her down and force-fed her a puffer fish. I’m keeping her in back for a month then I’m gonna dump her up near the coast”  Chills.

Where Kuklinski has a strangely old testament code—no women or children—Prongay has no such qualms about killing witnesses in ways ranging from bombs, to poison administered in truly unsettling manner. Kuklinski’s relationship to him is one of simple convenience, but it’s still perhaps the most damning evidence of Kuklinski’s separation from the rest of the human race.

The Iceman works because Shannon is able to make Kuklinski’s love for his family a redeeming side, rather then using them as a barrier to mask his true self. By surrounding him with even worse killers and gangsters, his motivation to protect and provide for his family feel justified and, in a word, sympathetic. Kuklinski is a killer, but unlike say, Patrick Bateman, this is only his job.

Roses are red/ violets are blue/my Annabel is golden/as the light of the moon. The poetic soul of a father, and a killer.

In everyday life he was an iceman, a cold, blocky giant thawed from some patch in the remote wilderness, who never truly desired anything in this world he entered into, and so had no reason to care for anyone in it; until perhaps in a strange twist of fate, he found he was suddenly responsible for life himself. We do not ultimately know if this love he maintained for his family was reciprocated, but the last words Shannon says in the film are taken from the man directly;

“I’ve never felt sorry for anything I’ve done except hurting my family. That’s the only thing I feel sorry for.”

Your willingness to believe this hinges on whether you believe Michael Shannon truly captures the dichotomous essence of the man, or if it is merely an idealized portrait of a twisted father, husband, and ultimately serial killer; who was so alien and mystifying to regular people that we could never hope to know the truth of him.

Secrets of the Father, Sins of the Daughter

No two people grieve in the exact same fashion, but India is utterly unreadable in hers.

The coming-of-age drama is a popular staple of both cinema and literature, most likely because the experience of growing up is universal and it speaks to a deep need we have to understand who we are and how we should live our lives. One of the most essential traits in this narrative is vulnerability, and conveying this through a character is often tougher then you might think; because a character’s vulnerabilities so often are used to define them rather then strengthen them. Moments of uncertainty and weakness are the ideal times for character growth, and the provocative family drama that plays out in the refreshingly vampire-free Stoker uses them in such a low key manner that you’re never quite sure what the source of that weakness is until it all comes together in the end.

India plays in the garden of Eden, unaware of the snakes under her feet…

While the protagonist of Chan-Wook Park’s elegantly twisted new thriller is uncertain about who she is, she is also very good at hiding this under a guise of normalcy. She is India Stoker (Mia Wasikowska) and you would forgive her for being a little emotionally detached given that her father Richard was recently killed in an unexpected car accident, on her 18th birthday no less. Her mother, Evelyn (Nicole Kidman) is soothing her widow’s grief with a steady supply of red wine, and all her attempts at getting India out of her seemingly sullen shell are unsuccessful.

Uncle Charlie offers India an umbrella, and finds her response rather stormy

However, the arrival of her never before seen Uncle Charlie (Matthew Goode) under the pretense of helping Evie through her emotional turmoil has a strange effect on India’s life. At first she resents Charlie’s claim that he simply want to be friends with her, but as he continues to pursue her with a strange mix of paternal care and mentoring advice, India gradually finds herself attracted to him for reasons that even she doesn’t understand.

The need for order in the wake of her father’s death leads to India creating some out of whatever is available

Stoker thrives the way it does by telling the story not through its actor’s dialogue, but with their performances and interactions with the environment around them. From the opening images of blowing grass and crimson flowers, to unusual framing shots that place characters in the same scene without sharing the physical space, the film achieves a haunting sense of other world-ness that highlights a number it’s themes. It is helped along by the light but mesmerizing score of Clint Mansell (Requiem For a Dream) which adds an aura of dark whimsey to to the otherwise sinister tone of the events.

India doesn’t take kindly to Charlie trying to muscle in on her family OR her piano.

Each actor’s performances carries an undercurrent of mystery, which escalates from a question of intentions to a wider notion of just who they really are. Mia Wasikowska keeps India’s expressions neutral throughout the film, but allows us to see her curiosity about her Uncle and how it motivates her actions. She’s introverted, yet doesn’t appear shy and rather seems to resent the attention of people, so her attraction to Charlie becomes all the more telling. This attraction is best conveyed during a piano duet between them that starts as a battle of wills and quickly twists into a type of lust that is not all it appears on the surface. This incident comes full circle during a shower scene that at first seems to be showcasing a genuine moment of weakness, until it becomes something else entirely.

Even though Evelyn and and her daughter are close together while brushing her hair, there remains a strange distance between them.

Initially, Evelyn’s infatuation with Charlie seems like her sole defining characteristic, making her a deserved source of scorn for India. But while Evelyn Stoker’s treatment of her daughter appears on the surface to be neglectful, Nicole Kidman slowly deepens our understanding of their relationship until we understand the truth. By wearing a tacked on smile of gaiety, and expressing uncertainty over why her daughter was so close to her father, it grows clearer that she has been hiding emotions that could not be expressed when her late husband was alive.

Evelyn and Charlie Stoker play the part of Gertrude and Claudius respectively, while India as Hamlet watches from behind the curtain…

As the the enigmatic Uncle Charlie, Matthew Goode is tasked with portraying a man who can blend into fine company with his sophistication and worldly charm, yet is distinctly off in a way that only India takes notice of. His name an homage to the similarly mysterious uncle from Hitchcock’s Shadow of a Doubt, Charlie makes no secret of his pursuit of India, but does so in a way that intrigues her instead of repulsing her. Goode is versatile enough to summon a smile that is charming to Evie, and then display an almost child-like care for India that turns his obsession with her into something more tender. His true characterization of Charlie is not in what he says to her, but how he seems to understand her better then anyone, and this is made especially notable in the scenes they share which play out entirely without dialogue.

The film is worth watching for these visual metaphors alone, which are sometimes simply clever, and other times gloriously evocative.

It’s this last thing that characterizes Stoker’s subtlety, and demonstrates how a simple story can be much more provocative if the pieces to it are alluded to rather then made explicit. The attraction India has to Charlie as well as her apparent jealousy of her mother lends the film a palpable theme of sexual tension, only for it to be blurred and turned on it’s head as we realize that not all seductions are lustful. Likewise, numerous hints about India’s background feel as though they are leading towards a damaging reveal, only for it to become apparent that the truth is far more meaningful to India’s character and our interpretation of her.

                              India takes careful aim at her destiny

Stoker is a film about dangerous secrets, about the reasons they are kept and the consequences for knowing the truth; and yet the the answers are not as important as what each means to the person who discovers them. While any film could use violence to illustrate these, few films do in a way which feels as integral to the characters as to the audience. Compared with the violence of his previous revenge thriller Oldboy, Park uses it sparingly but effectively, all the more to unnerve us when it breaks through the docile surface of the family. In keeping with this theme, Charlie may be family, but India learns though the course of the film that not all family is related by blood. Some are related by what’s in the blood.

Oz The Gweat And Tewwible

“Quick! Take my hand and we’ll escape from this thinly veiled Alice In Wonderland imagery!”

Who is Oz? While not the central question (That would be “How do I get back to Kansas?”) of the classic 1939 film which ushered in color to the film industry, this was nonetheless the inquiry which drove young Dorothy Gale and her compatriots to the doors of the Emerald City, each hoping to acquire a symbolic character attribute. What they found was not an all-powerful wizard as they expected, but a weak and rather timid figure (Frank Morgan) who taught perhaps the most recognizable lesson to many young children regarding the appearance of something in juxtaposition to the truth behind it. Oz ruled through the sheer force of his legend, and now that Oz The Great And Powerful has finally opted to fill in the the history of this enigmatic figure, and though what we learn is intriguing, it’s presented in a somewhat perfunctory yet needlessly twisty fashion.

In his earlier, older incarnation, Oscar proved that once again, men would always leave Dorothy behind. Her shoes on the other hand would always get her where she needed to go.

The film begins with a pleasantly old-fashioned prologue featuring our anti-hero Oscar Diggs (James Franco) showcasing his equal talents at wowing an audience of yokels with a parade of cheap illusions and wooing the various ladies of the traveling circus he reluctantly accompanies. He’s not quite a true sleaze though, as he shows a genuine compassionate heart for the suffering of others. It just seems that he thinks with his ego, which makes him still well overdue for a test of character, coming in the form of a nearby tornado which whisks him and his hot air balloon to the other side of the rainbow. Once there he meets a parade of characters starting with the wide-eyed witch Theodora (Milla Kunis) and her sister Evanora (Rachael Weisz) who harbors more reservations then her sister about a supposed “Wizard” who will descend from the sky and save the land from the Wicked Witch who has killed the king and plunged the land into chaos.

It’s worth noting that though the acting from all the cast is rather stiff, this may in part be due to trying to capture the slightly campy style the original film. Unfortunately this does not extend to Franco, who does an okay job when it comes to playing a slightly ego-driven charlatan, but rarely gets a chance to express genuine emotion. He’s simultaneously too cartoonishly scheming and too soft hearted (Imagine George Clooney from Oh Brother Where Art thou?, but without the flair of humility) Knowing that the part was first offered to Robert Downey Jr, and then Johnny Depp it’s obvious that the part called for charisma, but the con-man grin Oscar sports throughout much of the film feels too fake to charm Theodora’s heart, let alone the audiences’.

Hey guys, I just smoked some Pineapple Express and now I think I’m in a 1930s movie about wizards and flying monkeys…

With a not entirely convincing leading man at the helm, what Oz really needs is for the witches to be both compelling and interesting, but again the film falters due to the nature of the story not allowing this sort of complex characterization. Though we learn little more about the politics or demographics of Oz, the witches seem to be key players in the land, yet their relationship to it remains nebulous. Oscar meeting Theodora would seem to give a perfect opportunity to provide exposition on who she and her sister are and what their purpose in Oz is, but its gimicky narrative actually restricts this from happening in favor of setting up a somewhat loaded storyline that sends Oscar away from them and prevents them from interacting for much of the rest of the movie. This is a real shame, because Oscar’s relationship with Theodora and her’s with her sister is without a doubt the most interesting part of their characters, and it seems a crying shame that it is put aside so casually after focusing on it so much.

However, she makes up for her wooden performance with a hat which would make Carmen Sandiego jealous.

As it is, Milla Kunis as Theodora plays tragic naivete well for the first part, but her later scenes try too hard to invoke the original movie and wind up coming off as pale imitations. Rachael Weisz adds an air of the debonair to her shifty sorceress, but her actions start to feel forced rather than organic, making her ultimately lackluster. We can see the reason she might do some of the things, but we lack enough background on her to believe that she would, especially when these actions appear to result in her only believable source of emotion which is sadly not dwelled upon. The inclusion of Glinda the Good (Michelle Williams) also fails to provide any more meaningful material to get invested in, as forced close-ups between Franco and her feel strange and unmoving, as is her continual faith in a man who freely admits to her that he has no powers and has also curiously forgotten the affections of a by now volatile Ms. Kunis.

“When you said you wanted to “Blow me a bubble,” I thought you were just playing coy!”

Where Oz shines the brightest is in everything that is not the characters or the script sadly. Sam Raimi of Spider-Man and Evil Dead infamy crafts some truly breathtaking scenes of splendor that Franco feels strangely indifferent to, while showcasing additional ingenuity in several scenes whenever the action takes a darker turn. Tenderness is not his strong point, but a moment involving a little girl made of fragile china shows an affection for these characters that just can’t be evoked from the sight of a dozen little munchkins breaking into song. The climax is a fantastic example of thrilling set piece that still feels hollow because the conflict fueling it has been relegated to exposition and hidden in plot twists rather then put out in the open. And once you see the reason for complicating everything, it feels like a magician explaining a trick and makes you wish you could take the explanation back so you could preserve the magic for yourself.

Rachael Weisz proves that the color green runs in the family, as well as Raimi’s other flying characters…

There are times when Raimi seems somewhat reluctantly dialing back what could be a potentially creepy yet mesmerizing movie, opting to smooth over the edges of real danger and preventing Oscar from truly coming across as the silver-tongued womanizer which would damage the audience’s belief in him. In many ways his character is most similar to the devilishly charming yet selfish Tony (As played by the late Heath Ledger) from Terry Gilliam’s The Imaginarium Of Doctor Parnassus. Only where Raimi tried to outline the character’s darkness, Gillian wasn’t afraid to let it bleed through and show us that even though he was the main character, he was still a slimebag. Missing the tone and scaring the kiddies? Perhaps, but as we should all remember “We’re not in Kansas anymore…”

Have Some Candy, Motherfucker!

                           Gingerbread houses blow up nice when you’re this cool

If there were any justice in the world, people would realize what a piece of daring and progressive work Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters truly is. It doesn’t just add delirious action scenes or a plethora of weapons straight out of a steampunk arsenal, to a culturally ingrained story. Instead, it takes the classic tale of parental abandonment and stranger-danger/too many sweets admonishment and extrapolates it into a fairly tale for young adults that’s tasty as a gingerbread house spiked with Jack Daniels.

Surely we must recognize the genius of turning Johannes “Hansel” into the archetypal brave and handsome “prince,” played with cool confidence and a snicker of wit by The Avenger’s Jeremy Renner. Due to a shared trauma involving a misunderstanding with the homicidal resident of an edible abode, he bonds with his sister, Margaret aka “Gretel,” and instead of running off to save princesses, locks away his sugar-coated PTSD and channels his rage into killing every witch in the land.

And Gretel, rather then dissuade her brother on his eternal quest for vengeance, stays by his side and transforms herself into an equally adept witch killer with no intention of ever needing rescue from any imaginary “Knight in shining armor.” Gemma Arterton (known most widely perhaps for her brief roles as the tongue-in-cheekly named “Agent Strawberry Fields” from Quantum Of Solace) makes her all business and no play, except when it comes to beating the tar out of witches. Even still, her face looks just as pretty when she’s smiling as when she head butting the snivelingly stubborn sheriff played by Peter Stormare.

Gretel is amused by their fan Ben’s (Thomas Mann) book of their past deeds, while Hansel probably just wishes he’d stop hitting on his sister.

The film’s deliciously anachronistic humor and curses gives the actors a post-modern feel, as though they just stepped off the set of an R-rated action comedy and got lost on the set with no breadcrumbs to lead them back. Luckily this keeps things from becoming too overbearing, since the witches encountered look like grotesquely creative demons escaped from a dark re-telling of Macbeth. The baddest of these sisters is played by Famke Jansson, whose wonderfully pointed face is perfectly suited for the witches pallor. She glides around on a piece of pine wood like a medieval fighter jet, and takes great glee in making a man eat his weight in bugs before making him explode all over our intrepid hunters.

Famke Janssen goes from pretty, to pretty ugly in two seconds flat.

The film’s commitment to keeping its character’s trait’s and language present day (Hansel, for instance, requires insulin injections from a needle, a consequence of the candy at the witches house) juxtaposed with the magic and lore of the fairy tale world is a useful premise. Thanks to this, it’s both possible to enjoy it as a straight story of familial relations, and a parody of the primitive times the original tale was set in.

Nearly every convention present in the film corresponds with a modern trope, easily recognizable and yet entertaining. How can we not, when they include an obsessive fan of Gretel who she catches trying to dab at her buxom chest with a wash cloth after awaking from an unconscious state? Or when an accused witch that Hansel saves later entreats him to take a dip in a pool of water with her? Hansel & Gretel comes courtesy of Will Ferrel’s production company, and thus carries a playfully unorthodox tone that makes it feel as though it’s the movie itself and not the actors winking at us.

Probably one of the coolest production logos in the biz

As a film this works perfectly, entertaining us with scenes of action and creative use of the fairy tale mythos, but as a product of our culture it is both illuminating and subtly progressive. That Gretel is not made a petty love interest, and that the siblings devotion is by the end of the film remains most prominently on each other is evidence of gender-equality not often seen in film’s of it’s ilk. Perhaps the film’s ultimate message is that only by facing the shriveled crone of old-fashioned values that hides within the sickly sweet cottage of society, can we stand together and walk away from the experience not as traumatized children, but equally capable and badass adults.

Southern Discomfort

Franco Nero ( Star of the 1966 movie from which Django takes his name) passes on the torch to Django Freeman, who accepts it with cool confidence.

The marks of slavery are so deep and affecting that it’s curious how many films in the time frame give it only a brief mention; anxious perhaps that to do so would conflict with our progressive views we consider second nature in our society. The ugliness of the plantation and brutality of the masters whip are often examined through the lens of historical documentary, seeking to educate those who were born a couple hundred years later the importance of respecting the dignity of man. But Quentin Tarantino’s new tale of the immoral South takes this in a more dynamic direction, and puts the whip in the hands of the slave in order to deliver some much needed revenge on those cruel white (And black) men.

The vessel for this historical retribution is Django (Jamie Foxx) who is freed by a German Bounty Hunter, Dr. King Schultz (Christoph Waltz) in order to help him locate a trio of outlaws. A friendship develops between the two as Django trains in the way of the gun, his eyes set on the rescue of his wife Broomhilda (Kerry Washington) from the sickly clutches of plantation owner Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio)

This theme of vengeance is not so much an obsession of Tarantino’s as it seems his primary inspiration. With Inglorious Basterds it was against the Nazi high command, and with Kill Bill part one and two it was against a clan of assassins who tried to murder the Bride and stole her daughter. If we follow this pattern, a Southern revenge on slave owners by a freed slave was the next logical step in the director’s pantheon of pop-grindhouse homage’s. It’s an old hat that is admittedly wearing a mite thin, but what Django lacks in plot-originality, it makes up with style, humor, and a deliciously politically incorrect sense of the Southern justice.

Dr. King Schultz and Django Freeman share a keen sense of justice, as well as a smokin’ fashion sense

As the man at the center of the tale, Jamie Foxx projects the persona of Django as a simmering skull full to brimming with rage smoothed over into a public face of cool unconcern. In his moments of levity he reveals a deep drive to rescue his wife, which conflicts with the era’s lack of autonomy that prevents him from rushing in with guns blazing, at least at first. The camaraderie he shares with Schultz is light and effortless, with his time training as a bounty hunter next to him a particular highlight of the film. Despite this, the character lacks the dangerous intensity of Uma Thurman, and though by the end he has metamorphisized into a kind of gunslinging Don Juan, he comes across as the least interesting character of the tale.

Christoph Waltz’s effortless turn as the loquacious Dentist-turned-bounty-hunter Schultz is equal parts charming and formidable. Though he doesn’t shy away from the violence of his trade, reminding Django that “I kill people and then turn their corpses in for money,” he is subtly repulsed by the treatment of the slaves on Calvin’s plantation. His friendship with Django is affecting, and while he has numerous scene of verbal gymnastics that are a treat to listen too, his most memorable moment comes perhaps when he is forced to shake the hand of this disgustingly cruel individual who represents everything he detests.

Pictured: Everything wrong with people hidden under a veneer of “High Society”

This snake in dandy’s clothes is Calvin J. Candie, played with gleeful slime by Leonardo DiCaprio as the epitome of Southern hypocrisy. Calvin may sound like the typical scene chewing villain that you can’t help but watch, but in practice he is a despicable monster who believes wholeheartedly in the inferiority of the black race and derives sick amusement from watching two Mandingo fighters beat each other to death. His slick manner and clothes disguise rotten teeth, a side of himself he shows during a tense confrontation with Django and Schultz that breaks his façade and exposes the murderous racist underneath.

Monsieur Calvin J. Candie would just as soon kiss your hand…

…As bash your skull in with a Ball-peen hammer, viewing his black servants as toys to be broken if they fail to amuse him.

Despite all his poisonous personality however, it is his black former house slave Stephen (Samuel L. Jackson) that is the most notable and dangerous. As a slave whose loyalty to his master is without question and contempt for his own race a shocking bit of realism, Jackson is harrowing in the role that allows no mercy in his gaze, and sports a demeaning accent that’s played straight despite It’s racial caricature. When he exclaims in disbelief “Is that a nigger on a horse?” it is a statement rooted deep in an attitude of appeasement and racial self-hatred.

Stephen may act like a sycophantic stooge around Candie, but behind the scenes he’s the true master, instantly suspicious of Broomhilda’s familiarity with their guests.

As a Quentin Tarantino film Django Unchained is honor bound to include a character actor in a small but memorable roles, and it obliges with an achingly funny scene involving Don Johnson as a plantation owner whose attempt to lead a mob of Klansmen is thwarted by the awkwardly cut eyeholes in his mask. These scenes of humor are in sharp contrast with some of the disturbing realities of the slave trade, which are depicted in physical and emotional detail and make the film more grounded and somber in accordance with its tone. And of course, squibs spew blood everywhere like the actors were exploding fruits, a sight that never fails to amaze given it’s old fashioned impracticality.

Don Jonson proves that it doesn’t matter how handsome we are on the outside, while wearing a bag over our heads we all look equally stupid.

Is Django Unchained a wish-fulfillment fantasy made by a white guy who is more interested in the violence and homage’s then moral quandaries? Yes. But it’s also something unique and welcome in the world of cinema where action scenes are too shaky to be compelling and don’t seem willing to break out of the box for fear of alienating audiences. Heck, they made a movie called Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter and no one said it missed the point by not being about the 13th amendment. There’s a time and a place for everything, and now that it’s been 150 years since a white man brandished a whip at a black man on a hellish plantation, isn’t it time Django Freeman illustrated to him why they’re still stuck in the past?