I think I liked J.J. Abrams’ latest foray into the first of two huge sci-fi series he’s been given control over, and I think that my like for it is fairly similar in intensity to the way that I felt about the debut of the series back in 2009. Let me reach four years into the past to quote myself, because I think it will serve as a good conversation starter toward discussing Star Trek Into Darkness. My feelings on the first film are best summarized in this passage:

Star Trek essentially serves as a jumping board, the first in a pretty obligatory series of films, intended mostly to introduce the viewer to this ragtag group of culturally diverse humanoids. No, Abrams’ intent here is not to probe the depths of human emotion or to make any grand, sweeping statements. No, the intent is instead to show his young actors being likeable and having space battles. The point is to be fun and not much else, and the film certainly accomplishes that.

Still, it’s difficult not to be disappointed by the fact that the movie plays out like cinematic cotton candy – sweet, but empty.

A significant burden was therefore placed on the first of those obligatory sequels, then. After a mild start, would the series embark on a truly stunning journey of cinematic exploration? Or would the movie fall into the well-worn rut of the summer blockbuster – chockablock with one-liners, mindless action sequences, an attempt at some last-minute pathos, maybe, but ultimately content to puff up the fluff so long as it gets people into theater seats? In short, though the first Star Trek might be able to get by on the rush of seeing familiar faces brought to life again on the big-screen, it would require more for this viewer to take the whole enterprise seriously.

Alas, Star Trek Into Darkness is more than happy to oblige shallowness if it looks cool. Yes, there’s vague notions about the bonds of friendship and the meaning of leadership, but they’re drawn in shades simultaneously broad and hazy; just enough to represent something of an emotional center. Then again, “center” isn’t really the right word: an emotional border. Which is to say that Kirk is reprimanded for not doing things by the books at the beginning of the film, a fact which leads him to question his command of the crew of the star-ship Enterprise at occasional moments to remind the viewer that this is a thing. Spock is chastised for not caring about things at the start of the film, and the movie allows him to acknowledge this supposed issue every so often. But they don’t feel essential to the film. In fact, it’s a wonder that the screenwriters (who are also to blame for the Transformers series and Prometheus) even bother with the pretense of emotional momentum at all. The Star Trek of the twenty-first century is about action sequences and hilaaaarious jokes, after all. Who cares about all this psychological nonsense when Dr. McCoy could be saying some variation of his, “I’m a doctor, not a ______” catchphrase?

There is a ton of that, by the way: catchphrases and one-liners. Why this insistence on being quote-unquote “funny”? I suppose I’m likely the lone hold-out here, given that the audience in the theater erupted into laughter each time Kirk hurled some sarcastic bon mot or Scotty spoke some silly line, but I see this as “Exhibit A” in the case for the worthlessness of this series. The lame attempts at humor in the 2009 film (e.g. Kirk’s hands becoming balloons) were among my biggest gripes with it, and nothing has been altered here. If anything, it’s been expanded to the point that every character gets to be funny. Listen to Spock and Uhura argue like children as they prepare to go on a dangerous mission! Hahahaha! And now they’re pulling Kirk into the argument! No. No, this isn’t funny. It isn’t cute. It’s all filler: D-grade sit-com crap that’s a short-hand substitute for real human interaction. It gets the idea of emotional interaction across without actually having to deal with anything messy like subtlety or thought.

And then it’s off to space battles. There’s a frenzied shoot-and-punch fight with Klingons that abruptly ends, lots of star-ships firing at one another (the Enterprise at one point has the back third of its body blown off, but it doesn’t seem to matter much), an idiotic bit about stabilizing the ship, and at one point Kirk ignores warnings about asteroids before flinging himself through propelled by jetpack. It’s all so big and loud and fast-paced to keep you entertained. I’m not saying that action sequences are inherently bad, but when they’re just an invented obstacle added simply to add tension where there is none in the primary plot, it’s ugly. I’m looking at you specifically, jetpack jumping scene. And maybe bad guys don’t necessarily need to have as much motivation as good guys do, but is “I’m evil” really enough to cut it? Once again, the movie limply waves toward deeper characterization by giving its villain(s?) a family, thus humanizing them negligibly… but ultimately, who cares about that when there’s people punching each other on top of speeding trains!!!

And a girl in her underwear, yes!!

So I come back to what I said at the start: that I think I liked J.J. Abrams’ latest. I know that statement seems suspect after the derision I’ve heaped upon it, but I stand by it. I liked the movie, but as a guilty pleasure because I know that it’s not made to challenge or engage its audience as anything more than mere spectacle. It’s on the screen and it’s bright and buzzing around and Benedict Cumberbatch is here to lend it some semblance of gravitas, and in the moment that’s enough. But though that was enough in 2009, when the series was just beginning, it’s not enough now. Star Trek Into Darkness confirms that even in a series ostensibly about exploration and human knowledge, inoffensive mediocrity trumps any attempt at artistry. Pandering to the many outweighs provoking the few.

Amour 4 out of 5 stars
Anna Karenina 3.5 out of 5 stars
Argo 4 out of 5 stars
Bedtime for Bonzo 2.5 out of 5 stars
Breaking and Entering 4 out of 5 stars
Carrie 4 out of 5 stars
Cloud Atlas 3.5 out of 5 stars
The Croods 3.5 out of 5 stars
The Dead Zone 3 out of 5 stars
Dear Zachary 4.5 out of 5 stars
Fire in the Sky 3.5 out of 5 stars
Flight 4.5 out of 5 stars
Holy Motors 2 out of 5 stars
The Imposter 3 out of 5 stars
The Killer 3.5 out of 5 stars
Killer Joe 3.5 out of 5 stars
Lincoln 3.5 out of 5 stars
Madea’s Witness Protection 1 out of 5 stars
Magic Mike 2.5 out of 5 stars
Mousehunt 3 out of 5 stars
No 3.5 out of 5 stars
Planes, Trains & Automobiles 2.5 out of 5 stars
The Player 4 out of 5 stars
Premium Rush 3 out of 5 stars
The Queen of Versailles 4 out of 5 stars
Rope 3 out of 5 stars
Rosemary’s Baby 3.5 out of 5 stars
Searching for Sugar Man 3 out of 5 stars
Seeking a Friend for the End of the World 3 out of 5 stars
Seven Psychopaths 3.5 out of 5 stars
Silver Linings Playbook 3.5 out of 5 stars
Spring Breakers 3.5 out of 5 stars
Stolen 2.5 out of 5 stars
Take This Waltz 2.5 out of 5 stars
Taxi Driver 4 out of 5 stars
Ted 2 out of 5 stars
Twilight: Breaking Dawn, Part 2 2 out of 5 stars

Last Updated: 5/12/2013

I guess I’d just heard about Mad Max and its sequels, to a vague extent, and that had me expecting something different from this late ’70s low-budget action-thriller from Australia. I imagined hulking, armored cars; I imagined total lawlessness and speeding shoot-outs. Mostly, I expected that Max would be mad from the get-go. Later installments will probably prove those expectations right, but in the beginning, “Mad” Max goes on an idyllic vacation with his wife and child. Is this the right movie?

Of course, the more cynical among you might see this as a shallow attempt to give the character some motivation for when he later embraces “Mad”-ness. If we see how happy and seemingly perfect his home life is, the pain is easier to sympathize with later when that happiness is inevitably stripped from him. It’s a reason for the good cop to go rogue, to take-the-law-into-his-own-hands, as they say. But then again, how does that work in a world on the brink of utter chaos? How does that work in a world where the police already engage in high-speed pursuits with the criminally insane (referred to as “terminal psychos”) while attempting to stop them with a well-timed shotgun blast? The law is barely hanging on by a thread already, so what is it really that Max is taking into his own hands?

I submit that he’s doing no such thing. The critical line, for me, is when our man Max (Mel Gibson) tells his boss that he’s quitting the police force. Even though he was introduced at the start of the movie as a de facto hero – the camera tracing its way up his leather boots, viewing his determined glare in the rearview mirror, etc. to prove his inherent badassery – Max has been shaken to his core following a particularly gruesome interaction with a biker gang that’s out to get him for exploding their leader in a construction zone car crash. You’d think it’d be just another day for Max, and… well, that’s just the problem. “Look, any longer out on the road,” he says sternly, “and I’m one of them.” The chaos and ruthlessness of the business has gotten to him; he’s smart enough to be aware of it, and he doesn’t want to end up like his father – distant and cold. So he takes a vacation.

I didn’t expect to see Mad Max playfully splashing about in a lake or lying blissfully on its shore, whispering sweet nothings into the ear of his beloved. Heck, I didn’t expect Mad Max to have a beloved. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? At this point in the film, despite the title, this is not “Mad” Max. If anything, it’s concerned Max and somewhat relieved Max, glad Max to be free Max from the stressed Max he was as police officer Max. He’s gone from his introduction as the perpetually cool action star to just a regular guy. He’s traded his leather jacket for a sensible periwinkle striped button-up. But alas, that levity is short-lived. Before long, the biker gang which was still on a rabid tear – unbeknownst to our man in blue – catches up to the family and starts wreaking havoc. What else is a biker gang to do – especially one populated by terminal psychos who refuse to get a decent job? So havoc is wreaked, right on schedule, and here is where it starts to get interesting: Max is becoming mad. What does that mean? Well, in the short term it means that he’s committed himself to a single-minded goal of destroying every member of the biker gang who wronged him. Naturally. That’s a given. But the thing is that as his vengeance progresses, it begins to feel a little less like justice and a little more like sadism. He’s, in effect, becoming “one of them”. When he chains a young man only nominally connected to the previously mentioned havoc to a wrecked automobile, then gives the guy the Saw-like choice of burning to death or mutilating himself, it’s hard to view as eye-for-an-eye justice being doled out. Instead, it feels like Max has totally embraced his dark side; the black leather is back, but now it feels less like the outfit of an Arthur Fonzarelli meets Clint Eastwood type – instead, it feels like the dark garb of the grim reaper himself.

And then, spoiler alert, this is where the movie ends. I couldn’t help but be impressed by that, because it felt like the movie had taken the narrative arc the audience expects and shaken it up. Instead of the normal guy who rises to the call of duty and becomes a hero, or alternately becomes a vigilante, or instead of the hero who is tested and then reaffirms his heroism, Max’s story is peculiar. He starts out as the hero, then is downgraded to regular guy, and ultimately finds comfort in… well, not outright villainy, but a hard emotionlessness. Imagine if Luke Skywalker began Star Wars as a Jedi Knight, then decided he wanted to be a moisture farmer, and ultimately cut off Darth Vader’s extremities one at a time. That’s the sort of bizarre story-line that Max is given in Mad Max. And then, it ends! It just stops, right after we really get to the full promise of the film’s title. What now, for Max? He certainly can’t go back to his home life after this, so what kind of a person is he now? The movie leaves the viewer hanging, and that is beautiful.

I know there are sequels, of course, and as I mentioned earlier my suspicion is that they conform better to the expectations I’d had in my head. Max no doubt becomes a vigilante, doling out violent justice to criminals across the Australian outback. But I haven’t seen those movies, and I’d really like this to stand on its own. I’d like to keep the options open for Max. It doesn’t seem like simply providing retribution to the biker gang is enough for him now, but it’s impossible to tell what lies in his future. The film ends on an ambiguous note, leaving the viewer unsure of who Max has become now or how we should feel about it. In some ways, the film matches the beats of the action genre with cool car chases/crashes and masculine posturing from the protagonist and antagonists; in others, it subverts the traditional narrative by burning the hero down and reshaping him into something foreign and unknowable.

Then there’s the argument that I’m really putting way too much effort into analyzing the psychological evolution of a character in what is essentially an adrenaline-fueled action flick. Maybe so, but I find that looking for human concerns in fantastic worlds is often incredibly rewarding. I wouldn’t have gotten nearly as much out of the Predator series, for instance, if I hadn’t been constantly thinking about the nature of the aliens’ culture. If anything, I think I’m more justified in focusing on Max’s shifting personality than in trying to understand what the Predator’s seeming understanding of English means about the race as a whole; it seems Mad Max DOES want the viewer to consider these thoughts about Max’s transformation into full-on “Mad”-ness, although perhaps not as unwaveringly as I have. In any case, whether Mad Max is just a rollicking adventure or whether it’s a dark slice-of-life with no clear answers, altogether the movie is a great watch.

I haven’t written a full-length review in a while now, although I’m trying to maintain some sense of continuity by posting short ones on the GTTM Facebook page. Though I apparently have enough time to watch movies, I’ve felt that I don’t have enough time to write full reviews as a law student. But my first year of legal learnin’ is almost at an end, so it feels like it might be time to stretch the ol’ reviewing muscles again. What better way to do that than to pick up right where I left off on The Letter Game when I fell off in – gasp! – May, last year. Wow, has it really been that long? Yow. Crazy. In any case, what better place to start than a stone-cold classic, the 1946 Academy Award winner for Best Picture… director Billy Wilder’s The Lost Weekend.

The short version is that the movie chronicles the downward spiral of New York novelist Don Birnam (Ray Milland) as his alcoholism gets the better of him over the course of a long weekend. Giving voice to those afflicted with the disease has become something of a mainstay in cinema lately – coincidentally, my father sent me a text message asking if I had seen Flight, in which Denzel Washington struggles with alcoholism, just as I began viewing The Lost Weekend. Yet at the time of the film’s release, it was seen as a shockingly taboo subject, one that made the studios reluctant to release the film at all. The alcohol industry lobbied to have the movie suppressed, out of fear that it would ruin their reputation; temperance groups lobbied for suppression, too, fearing the film celebrated the bottle. The latter could have relaxed: the movie paints a gruesome picture of alcoholism.

Birnam is an antihero, fully aware of his limitations but unable to prevent them from taking over. He compares himself to Jekyll and Hyde, the “other Don” rising to the surface when his blood-alcohol content gets too low. He’s aware of the harm he’s doing to his body, of the terrible burden he places on those who love him, of the scornful looks of strangers on the streets, of his own life being ruined… and yet, somehow he can’t break free. As soon as his best girl Helen (Jane Wyman) and his brother Wick leave the apartment, Don wastes no time tearing the place apart in a desperate search for a hidden bottle of rye. His intake of alcohol is more than an addiction; it’s become a physical need. When he goes without it, he gets weak and pale. Later, as predicted by a nurse in a rehab center, he experiences horrific hallucinations of bats and mice locked in a bloody duel in the night. His body cannot function without drinking, although by the same token he cannot function socially. He breaks dates with Helen and with another girl, Gloria, and instead of apologizing begs for money to buy another bottle of whiskey. He gets a gun to kill himself and end the misery, but the “other Don” hocks it at a pawn shop for more drinking money before he can  fire a single shot.

Although the movie ends on a relatively positive note, everything that comes prior is positively dour. This is no romantic tale of alcoholism where two shattered souls find each other and help one another weather through the rough times. This is no glorification of the drink as a writerly aid in the creative process – in fact, when the thirst takes hold Don can get no further than the title page of his great American novel. This is no movie about making the right choices or coming to one’s senses, either. The Lost Weekend makes no bones about the fact that Don is sick. He is ill. And as the movie progresses, as he reminisces about the time three years ago when he first met Helen and attempted to hide his addiction from her, he becomes increasingly defined by that sickness until he can barely move at all.

To my knowledge, I’ve never known someone in real life as truly immersed in the disease as Don is, but I appreciate Ray Milland’s portrayal of the character. He doesn’t slur his words like many actors playing drunks tend to do; rather, he simply becomes more insistent, more easily set off. In addition, I read that Milland ate less as the shoot went on in an effort to recreate the forgetfulness of someone actually suffering from the disease. At one moment, Don is busting out a marvelous soliloquy rationalizing his actions, at the next a disjointed mess too sad to even pick up his shot glass, instead lapping it up like a dog. It’s essentially a one-man show, because although there are several supporting characters – Helen and the conflicted bartender Nat most prominent among them – they’re all so much buzzing in Don’s ears; restating their concerns and offering to help, but unable to do much more than watch in agony as Don downs another shot of rye. But Milland carries it well, giving life to the character’s increasing desperation until it reaches a fever pitch.

I am disappointed by the final moments of the film due to their suddenly sunny outlook. I’d like to interpret it as a misdirect, that the moment will break as it inevitably has before, but I can’t say that was truly the intent. I’d like to imagine that the studio objected to the glum nature of the proceedings and demanded some kind of resolution to the whole of the thing. But again, I can’t say that’s an accurate appraisal of the situation. I am comforted by the wistful way that Don refers to those like himself, whom he believes are seen by the public on the streets as “comic fellows”. It’s a dark line of dialogue because by everything we’ve just seen, anybody who lives like Don is far from a clown. Those “comic fellows” are suffering from a debilitating, seemingly inescapable depression. So yes, The Lost Weekend ends with an eye toward the sky. But that doesn’t suggest it’s forgotten the storm clouds.

Enough jibber-jabber. These are the movies from 2012 that you should be watching right now…

#10 – The Queen of Versailles

In the short review of The Queen of Versailles that I posted on the GTTM Facebook fan page, I compared the film to the work of Steve James (Hoop Dreams). James has an amazing talent for wringing the drama out of the everyday lives of his subjects to the point that their stories seem almost scripted for how perfectly they play out. A lot of that is simply an intense dedication – James spends years with his subjects, searching for the right elements. Similarly, Lauren Greenfield spent what seems like two lifetimes with David Siegel and his wife Jacqueline. The story began as a picture of an outrageously wealthy family prepared to construct the largest single-family home in the United States. But through a combination of poor financial management and nationwide economic collapse, the Siegels’ dreams come crashing down. While they retain their lavish lifestyle despite this newfound hardship, it’s a muted version – one that keeps them housed in a mansion, yet forces them to cut back on frivolous thinks like maids. The stress of their slightly less comfortable environ combines with the unblinking eye of the camera to throw the cracks in the family’s happy facade into stark relief. Yes, the film is occasionally funny (as when Jacqueline is shocked to find that her Hertz rental car doesn’t come equipped with a driver), sometimes sad, and always sure to leave a viewer with his or her jaw dropped in amazement. Greenfield’s choice to surreptitiously interview the Siegels’ housekeepers, many of whom have families they haven’t seen in years, adds even greater dimensions to an already twisted tale by reminding the viewer just how great the chasm between the lives of the Siegels and the lives of those around them truly is. All in all, it makes for a film you just can’t look away from.

#9 – Cloud Atlas

Alright, let’s face it, Cloud Atlas is something of a mess. But it’s such a beautiful, singular mess that it’s hard not to feel some measure of affection and respect for it even if you don’t quite connect with the thing. But don’t get the wrong impression: Cloud Atlas is by no means a bad movie. Spanning many centuries, the story tells of the inter-connectedness of the universe by casting its stars (including Tom Hanks, Hugh Grant, and Halle Berry, just to name a few) in multiple, diverse roles. Hanks alone morphs from a grimy “doctor” seeking treasure on a ship in the 18th century, to a Cold War era scientist, and then to a jungle-dwelling member of a primitive clan coming in contact with a seemingly alien race. The film’s scope is audacious, and that alone makes it some kind of wonder in the same way that a miss like Richard Kelly’s Southland Tales is. Which is to say: it’s clearly a labor of love, and it’s unlike anything else you’re likely to see in the multiplex in this or any other year. Movie loves owe it to themselves to support the kind of filmmakers who are willing to swing big on the off-chance that it will result in a grand slam. The minds behind Cloud Atlas include Tom Tykwer (Run Lola Run) and the Wachowskis (Speed Racer), filmmakers whose previous work has been dazzlingly bold. This movie is equally bold. It races from genre to genre, fragmenting its many plots and letting them play off of one another. The themes may feel alternately clouded or empty, yes, but the fun is in the form. Cloud Atlas is certainly breath-taking. That’s something to admire in and of itself.

#8 – Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance

I already know what you’re thinking, but hear me out on this one. I’ll concede that part of my positive feelings for this sequel to 2007′s abysmal Ghost Rider come from the fact that I am a fan of the star Nicolas Cage. But check it out, I just called this film’s predecessor “abysmal” – I’m not blind. What makes Spirit of Vengeance one of the best movies of the year is the fact that it is the rare example of the sequel that outshines the movie that came before. Where the earlier movie treated its supernatural character as some sort of hero meant for worship, here the Rider is treated appropriately: as a monster. The Ghost Rider isn’t something that can be controlled – it will attack anybody with the slightest hint of immorality in their bones, meaning that even the “good” guys are in danger when the creature takes control. Yes, the Ghost Rider is scary. Further, where the 2007 film made Cage’s Johnny Blaze into a silly stunt rider, here he has all the brooding intensity and bat-shit craziness that makes the best Cage roles (I don’t know why Cage rolls around on the ground of a cave screaming “Merry Christmas, you assholes!” and I don’t want to know – just let me enjoy this). Plus, the movie introduces a new weapon in the Rider’s arsenal: the power to transform any vehicle into a flaming monstrosity. This opens up the door for an incredible sequence involving some heavy machinery, and it’s all shot with an expert eye for kinetic action scenes thanks to the hyperactive stylings of directors Neveldine and Taylor (Crank), back on their A-game after the failure of Gamer. So maybe Spirit of Vengeance isn’t as heavy and “important” as other titles on this list. What it is is a thrilling actioner that totally overshadows its predecessor. It really packs a punch.

#7 – Zero Dark Thirty

I’ll be the first to admit that I wasn’t blown away by director Kathryn Bigelow’s 2008 hit The Hurt Locker, a film which I wrote provided “little of real worth”. While her follow-up may as well be an unofficial sequel, I found it a lot weightier than its predecessor and not only because it recounts the capture of America’s greatest enemy, Osama bin Laden. In fact, as the elite group of soldiers grow ever closer to their target, it’s easy to forget that we already know how the effort will ultimately play out. Compare this against another big name from 2012, Lincoln, which has the specter of the 16th President’s assassination looming large over the entire proceeding. With Jessica Chastain (Take Shelter, Tree of Life) as its lead, providing a typically strong performance as a woman bucking the system to put her entire weight into this manhunt, the film moves fast even in office-bound conversations about public policy. And much like The Hurt Locker, there’s a constant sense of tension borne out of the inherent danger of a war-zone. Even when there seems to a tenuous peace between American and Afghani forces, there’s always an unrest bubbling just under the surface that could lead to an all-out firefight before the scene is over. Again, this is comparable to one of ZD30′s contemporaries – Ben Affleck’s Argo – but where that film rode is tension to ridiculous extremes, here it’s played with a sense of decorum. It may not be an accurate portrayal of the capture of bin Laden, understandably dramatized for the screen, but as a movie about an epic manhunt that spans many years and multiple countries, it’s a thriller that easily maintains an edge throughout.

#6 – Friends With Kids

Until probably the last two months of 2012, I was convinced that I was going to name Friends With Kids the top film of the year. Surprisingly overlooked in its theatrical run, it’s a movie over-flowing with stars – including Kristin Wiig (Bridesmaids), Jon Hamm (“Mad Men”, Bridesmaids), Megan Fox (Transformers), and Adam Scott (“Parks and Recreation”). I think a lot of people might have been scared away by the fact that, in some ways, the movie follows the beats of a typical romantic comedy except with the twist that main characters Jason and Julie have a child first, then fall in love later. But what makes the film such a treat isn’t the star-power or its sometimes very funny dialogue. What makes it so amazing is that this movie, unlike many of its kind, treats its characters with a humanity. It’s in small moments (as it often is), but those small moments speak volumes. Take, for instance, an early scene where the three couples meet up for dinner. Newly-formed couple Ben and Missy are constantly touching each other, kissing to celebrate happy news their friends impart. It’s not the focus of the scene at all, but instead a little touch that imitates how people really act. Or take the long-married Alex and Leslie, whose bickering over household chores seems rough to outsiders yet so casual to the couple that they continue trying to entertain their house-guests while yelling across the room at one another. And yes, I’ll admit it, the blossoming romance between Jason and Julie grabs the viewer by the heartstrings, too, because it does the right thing: building the relationship slowly, showing the man and woman to be friends who genuinely enjoy the company of one another rather than taking the lesser route of suggesting they’re merely fated to be together. So Friends With Kids is the rare light-hearted romantic comedy which really seems to understand how human beings actually act, and that makes it something kind of awesome.

#5 – Moonrise Kingdom

Director Wes Anderson has gotten to the point, seven films into his directorial career, that his stylistic tics have become expected. You can bet on a slow-motion scene set to some classic folk-rock score and yellow title letters showing up just as sure as you can be certain the sun will rise in the morning. And yet somehow he still managed to make something special out of it with Moonrise Kingdom, which tells a relatively small story about two children who meet cute, fall in puppy love, and trek out to a deserted cove to live together. That’s really about it, or at least that’s all it needs to win over the viewer. It’s a movie that treats the love that these two children feel with a respectfulness. Yes, they’re young and impetuous and don’t really know enough about “the real world” to really understand the way that they feel, but for these two, at this time, in this place, everything feels right. Anderson captures that feeling spectacularly, and on top of this he stages each shot exquisitely, so that the frame is both sparse and yet immensely expressive at the exact same time. I don’t know if he’ll be able to maintain this delicate balance again, but I really think this film and The Fantastic Mr. Fox have served Anderson’s style well – blending a child-like sense of wonder in the color palette of the production design and an adult ennui in the matter-of-fact, sometimes profound way that the characters speak to one another. It feels natural and real and inviting, and I think the “goofiness” of the cartoonish scenarios in the two films perhaps plays toward Anderson’s strengths where a more serious “adult” film might feel constrained by the style (I have never returned to The Darjeeling Limited, for example). As I wrote in my review for this film, after seeing it twice in the theater: “[W]atching it makes me happy.” That’s a good feeling; this is a very good film.

#4 – The Loneliest Planet

I have no doubt that The Loneliest Planet will be extremely divisive for any future viewers, especially those who hear the word “slow” as a death sentence. This is a slow movie, absolutely – but that’s not the same as saying that nothing happens. Something happens. It would be wrong to say more than that, but the movie gets an incredible amount of mileage out of the unspoken communication between its three primary characters. Unspoken through their silence as they interact with one another, unspoken through the words they don’t say when they do talk, unspoken in their unconscious biases or cultural understanding of one another. This emphasis throughout the film on non-verbal communication (or alternately, lack of communication entirely) becomes uncomfortable as the film progresses… and I mean that as a compliment. Because we don’t get to hear the characters discuss their feelings or make revealing comments or yell at each other, we as viewers are forced to feel out the tone of the scene from our own perspective, to stew in the implications of events without any guide (it’s ironic that the movie concerns a couple on a guided tour through the Caucasus Mountains in the country of Georgia, yet the audience is left unguided through the maze of emotions the characters keep bottled up inside). And at the same time, this is how the characters themselves are left: unguided through the emotional valleys they’re traipsing through, uncertain whether they’ve fallen off a metaphorical ravine already. If you’re able to get past the “slow” aspect of it and it manages to get a hold on you, The Loneliest Planet can be a stunning and powerful film.

#3 – Flight

I’m a little surprised that Flight, director Robert Zemeckis’ first live-action film in more than a decade, is not being talked up this awards season than it is. Following a harrowing crash landing which is handled with a greater sense of realism than ads for the film would have you believe, the film follows airline pilot Whip Whitaker (Denzel Washington) as he struggles to control his addiction to alcohol and drugs so that he can face a hearing on the crash sober. Washington gives an amazing performance here, with the addiction handled – for the most part – gracefully and humanely. Whip’s determination is tested repeatedly, and he finds himself returning to the bottle almost unconsciously. But the movie doesn’t handle this in a sappy way, and when Whip finds himself befriending a fellow addict any thoughts you might have about the movie resigning itself to the trope of two “wrongs” making it right are way off base. It’s just not that simple. Zemeckis’ choices in filming add subtly to the tone of the film, as when a gathering church congregation is briefly visible during the eponymous flight, or when the camera pans out when Whip is drinking at home to reveal just how deeply his addiction has taken him. But it’s worth repeating that everything is anchored by Washington’s stellar performance: the best kind, the kind where the actor avoids playing it broad and screaming or crying for the camera to really “show” emotion, instead allowing a furrowed brow or a hard stare into space tell the story. That’s appropriate here, especially, because the conflict here isn’t man vs. man or man vs. world… it’s man vs. himself. That the conflict is kept largely internal, even as it infringes on the lives of others, seems like a perfect choice. Sometimes the movie goes into more garish scenes (watch out any time John Goodman shows up), but mostly it maintains a smart sense of what is really at stake here. Not Whip’s career, but his sanity.

#2 – Life of Pi

When I left the theater following a viewing of Life of Pi, I had no strong feelings about it one way or the other. In the days afterward, however, I couldn’t stop thinking about it and seeking out different interpretations of what the film was truly “about”. The fact that the movie got me so engaged afterward, thinking about the philosophical aspects of its story and what different events may have represented, made it into one of my favorites of the year. Even were it not for how readily it sparked thoughts about its characters’ primal nature in my mind, there’s a lot to love about Life of Pi for how gorgeous it is. There is no film from 2012 which can match the mind-blowing imagery here. And I’m not just talking about a hallucinatory sequence of kaleidoscopic design midway through the film, or the by now well-known image of a luminescent whale splashing down next to our protagonist’s life boat after he gets lost at sea. In fact, one of my absolute favorite moments in the film comes early on while an adult Pi tells the tale of how he got his name. The camera is placed inside of a swimming pool, the water pristine and clear, with characters from within Pi’s story floating by, seemingly suspended in mid-air. It’s a beautiful, visually inventive moment – and par for the course for what is to come. The event which leaves Pi stranded with only a man-eating tiger for company, by the way, is equal to or greater than the event in Flight for emotional impact and stunning horror. And then the movie somehow manages to make a boy and a tiger, drifting aimlessly through the ocean, into a consistently engaging and thrilling experience. I could go on to talk about the stark realism of the mostly CGI tiger, the expert use of the 3-D technology, the careful way the relationship between Pi and the tiger evolves. Instead, let me say only this: Life of Pi is a sumptuous and captivating; it is an amazing example of the power of cinema.

#1 – 56 Up

Speaking of “the power of cinema”, there is no greater evidence of the magic of the movies than the Up series. While 56 Up wasn’t technically released state-side until the beginning of 2013, it played in its home country in May 2012, so I think I’m justified in calling it a 2012 release. I can’t talk about this series enough. Director Paul Almond began interviewing several British children from different social strata in 1964 when they were seven years old, asking questions designed to elicit controversial or thoughtful responses. Every seven years since then, the crew has come back (now headed by Michael Apted instead of Almond) to meet with the group again to see how their lives have changed. You’d think that there would be little to say now that the group is 56 years old! And yet this entry feels like the best of the series yet, putting its subjects in new configurations and providing insight into their feelings about life, death, their involvement in the series, the economy – no subject is taboo. Some feel that Apted goes easy on the participants, and to some extent that may be true, but he flat-out tells one that he seems like a racist, and he brings another to tears by forcing him to confront his own and his parents’ mortalities. Yet through 56 Up there’s a definite sense apparent that Apted is fond of each of the participants, even the ones who hold some antipathy toward the series, and that fondness shines through to make this entry one of the most engaging, funny, moving, and thoughtful of the entire group of films. I hope that the series doesn’t end, but if 56 Up wound up being the final entry in the Up series, it would seem appropriate. This feels like a fitting finale, and that feeling of conclusiveness makes for an extremely rewarding experience for anybody who has been following these children as they’ve aged. I could watch this movie again and again. I know I will.

In 1964, a short documentary was created for British television called 7 Up. I wonder at the time if the creators fully realized the scope of what they had begun. The theme that the film hammered on at its denouement was a Jesuit saying: “Give me a child until he is seven, and I will give you the man.” The suggestion here is that the children at age seven have, in some ways, given viewers clues into the way that the group would turn out once they became fully-formed adults. But of course, how could viewers know that without seeing the group as adults? To that end, the cameras returned to give British viewers (and eventually audiences world-wide) a glimpse into the lives of these children every seven years. We saw them at age fourteen, 21, 28, and so on. They are now 56 years old.

I’ve already given the 7 Up series, as a whole, a five-star rating because there is nothing in cinema that can compare. Each film is hugely philosophical, planting questions in the viewers’ minds about whether the children have turned out as expected, what their parentage or class or demeanor did to affect where they’ve found themselves at later stages in life. And as they grew up and became far more self-aware, the influence that the series itself has had on their lives becomes a major topic of conversation. Imagine if you were forced to re-live sometimes painful moments from your past every seven years, to be viewed on the world’s stage; imagine if every person who watched your brief participation in the documentary thought they understood who you are entirely, and perhaps cast you as a “bad guy” because of the honest answers you gave. How would that experience affect you? The majority of the participants see their role in the series as something of a curse, albeit one they feel some responsibility to continue (the only person who has entirely divorced himself from the series is Charles, ironically a documentarian himself). Nick describes this curse as “sort of Biblical – seven days of filming every seven years.” One phrase that I’ve heard said more than a few times throughout the series regarding multiple items of conversation is this: “You can’t really understand it unless you’ve gone through it.” Most recently, this thought has been applied to the almost half-a-century of introspection with which the group has been pummeled. It’s no wonder this continues to be a major theme that emerged as the series progressed.

But really, what you get out of the series is whatever you want to get out of it. Director Michael Apted asks probing questions, sometimes aggressive questions designed to get an emotional response – such as when he asked the homeless Neil at age 28, “Do you feel you’re going mad?”; or when he suggests to the sometimes insular Tony at age 56 that he comes across as racist – and that allows the film to cast the “characters” in a certain light, to suggest a narrative through-line to these people, to suggest that they can be reduced to certain elemental traits. But then, this might change completely by the next movie. Observe, as an example, the incredible transformation of Suzy, whose formative years were spent as a sullen brat, but who has aged into a cheerful, thoughtful, loving mother of three. Who could have guessed? The way their lives are presented do not define them, though it’s clear that many who watch the series are inclined to think that way. I’m no less guilty of it, I’ll admit… I’ve been prone to refer to John as “the asshole” in short-hand because of the way he defends his upper-class upbringing as unquestionably good, but in 56 Up, for maybe the first time, he seizes the opportunity to show a softer side of himself and comes across as far more likeable than previously imagined.

It’s all about context, really. Don’t understand what I mean? Take Andrew, as an example – he was grouped with John and Charles in the beginnings of the series as one of “the rich kids”, and there’s no denying that that is exactly what they were. Hell, they talked about checking the price of stock that they owned at age seven while their less fortunate peers could sometimes barely form a coherent sentence. As they’ve aged, they’ve largely maintained that same station in life, yet being “rich” alone does not make one a bad person. Andrew married young and they’ve been shown to have a happy relationship throughout the years. He bought a barn and has spent his life fixing it and the surrounding land up until it has become a gorgeous home for his family. Andrew has been positioned as a “nice guy” throughout the series, while John has been positioned as sort of an antagonist. Their lives really aren’t dramatically different, so why the opposing presentation of who they are? Part of it is clearly Apted’s decisions on how to show each of the participants (i.e. intentionally drawing distinctions, as when he moves from the effervescent Sue to the anxious Paul in 56 Up), a combination of a cuttingly honest portrayal of the participants’ unthinking tells (e.g. body language, word choice, dress, etc.) with their carefully chosen phrasing (e.g. 56 Up has the return of Peter, keenly aware of the negative attention he received when he last opened himself up to the cameras and careful not to repeat history), and finally viewers’ own expectations and biases.

I’ve often felt that Nick was the one child of the bunch who truly understood what the series was attempting. John and Andrew view the films as a treatise on the iniquity between the classes in British society, and in the past it’s been suggested that Jackie and Lynn feel the same way; others admit they don’t see the utility or believe it to be merely entertainment, a kind of extended “reality television” for the masses to consume feverishly. Perhaps that’s true to some extent, that the series is to a large degree entertainment, but Nick seems to hit the nail on the head when he sums up the series: “It’s how a person, any person, how they change. It’s not an absolute accurate picture of me, but it’s a picture of somebody.” It’s a picture of everybody involved – the children who were selected in 1964, the director who has led the discussion every seven years, the audience who has been witnessing the growth of these people and adding their own experiences to flesh out who they believe these children have become.

It’s an amazing, singular experience to watch 56 Up – in fact, this just may be the best entry in the series to date. Whether it’s a product of this simply being the most recent in the series or the affection for each of the participants that shines through this entry, it almost feels as though this would work as a cap to the series, letting the children enjoy the rest of their lives in peace. It’s a warm, funny, sometimes extremely moving piece of cinema. It’s another segment in a vast masterpiece. Whether the series continues from here or not, 56 Up is an extraordinary work.

I think that this is a case where the whole works better than the parts. It’s almost an understatement to say that The Loneliest Planet is a divisive movie for audiences. At times, it can be almost unbearably slow as it follows three characters – Nica (Hani Furstenberg), Alex (Gael Garcia Bernal), and their tour guide Dato (Bidzina Gujabidze) – on their trip through the Caucasus Mountains in the country of Georgia. Often, the camera will be stationed from afar while strains of screeching music plays and we watch the actors so small on the screen as they plod across the frame. It’s understandable that some viewers would reject this simmering rising action, taking it as a sign that the film is plot-less or has been unnecessarily padded to make a short story into a feature-length film. Truthfully, I found myself entertaining those same thoughts, at times. But then there is an incident that occurs which changes everything for the characters.

Whether to provide even that much information is a bit of an ethical dilemma. I agree fully with the AVClub’s contention regarding the incident that “[s]poiling it here would diminish its power and surprise”, but reading through comments from other viewers there seems to be disagreement on whether knowing in advance that there is such a significant incident enhanced or reduced enjoyment of the film as a whole. Ultimately I feel that, for myself at least, knowing that there was an incident for which I should be watchful and the uncertainty of what it might be left my stomach in a twisted knot throughout this rising action. I kept looking for signs of what was to come, and when during their hike through a valley Dato suddenly stops the tourists and motions for their complete silence, the tension was thick. The characters stand stone still and listen carefully around them. For what are they listening? Footsteps? Voices? Thinking about what it would mean if there were another set of footsteps following behind them, our minds can’t help but jump to the worst-case scenario. I don’t intend to give out any clues about what sparks the incident, but I do believe that being put on notice made me uneasy in a way that I found very rewarding afterward.

A major theme within The Loneliest Planet, which you may have been able to surmise by my having revealed that the movie is so slow and “uneventful” for much of its runtime, is that of nonverbal communication. Rather, communication in general is the theme: whether it be nonverbal, misunderstood, or non-existent. At the start of the film, Alex and Nica are speaking with locals and laughing with them in their native tongue. There is no translation via on-screen subtitle as one might expect, and after a few minutes of this I began to wonder whether perhaps I was watching a copy of the film which had been released without subtitles accidentally. But no, that confusion is intentional. When the three travelers begin their journey and Dato begins to tell a story about Chinese castration in broken English, it is unclear what point he is trying to make, whether it is a true anecdote or merely a politically incorrect joke, or how the young couple is expected to respond. It would be unseemly to ask, so they laugh as they believe they are supposed to. But there’s so much more communication between the lines: take, for example, the way that Alex follows close behind Nica throughout the trip, the way the two of them remain together as they go off to explore areas away from Dato, their affectionate touching and rolling around in the grass. What does the opening shot of a nude, soaped-up Nica waiting to be rinsed off by Alex say about the nature of their relationship and their reliance upon one another? There is a lack of verbal exposition – this is a movie that is consciously building its characters and their dynamic via unspoken cues. A lot of movies do that, obviously, with the use of color and music and the way that the actor carries him or herself or the way the character is dressed. But I can’t think of many which have put such an emphasis on non-verbal communication and/or the important role that lack of communication makes in actuallyfunctioning as a form of communication. And that lack of verbal contact between the characters allows only suggestions of the internal struggle that each has. When Dato stops the troop cold in the scene I described above, the uncertainty of what to expect is as much rushing through the characters minds unspoken as it through the viewer’s.

Communication is hardly the sole theme of the film, though again the others go mostly unspoken. There’s a certain emphasis on the (perceived?) importance of sex – biologically speaking, not pornographically – which our attention is obviously drawn to by the opening shot, but which comes up multiple times later as Nica slips on some loose gravel on a hillside, for example. The men reach out to steady her, but she pushes off their assistance and indicates that she is alright. Dato previously expressed concern that Nica would be unable to carry a large backpack on such a long hike, suggesting that he thinks of her as “weaker” in some way and this misstep brings that thought to top of mind again. Do Dato or Alex see her as weak in that moment, as a result of her sex? Does she see herself that way, or feel that they see her that way and feel the need to over-correct? None of it is spoken aloud, of course, leaving these tensions bubbling just under the surface. And then there is the very powerful question of instinct versus choice, of who a person truly is. For example, do the character dynamics change when Dato reveals that he was a soldier in a war two decades ago? Certainly we see him in a new light, but at his core is he a “soldier” now that we know that, and if so what does that mean? All of these lines of thought are invited by the incident, making for a suspenseful, beautiful, philosophical film.

There’s no question that The Loneliest Planet is not going to appeal to everyone. But those who are able to appreciate its methodical presentation, its ambiguity and its rich well of emotion will find it endlessly fascinating. It’s a movie that feels its way through mysteries rather than shining a light directly upon them, and that choice puts a renewed focus on the texture of those mysteries, to wonderful effect.

At the beginning of The Life Zone, three women awaken to find themselves in a dimly lit dungeon outfitted with little more than their three beds and a couch stationed in front of a bank of television sets. They’ve been drugged and kidnapped, their captor an older man sitting in shadows appearing on one of the television screens. “You have all committed a terrible sin,” he intones gravely, insisting that this is the reason that they have been robbed of their liberty and locked in what amounts to a dirty cell with one another. It’s not long before the women begin to remember where they were last: each on the operating table preparing to receive an abortion. “Ready to commit murder,” corrects Dr. Wise, the woman who works for their kidnapper. They were carted away before going through with the deed, and now will be held in detention for the next seven months until they give birth to their children… simultaneously. It’s like a version of Saw or The Human Centipede for the pro-life set, an oddly uncompelling offering from “Justice for All Productions”.

Essentially the movie is an extended conversation about the morality of abortion, purporting to show different views on the emotionally charged issue and ultimately coming to the sensible conclusion that abortion isobviously always evil and anybody who feels otherwise should go to Hell. The conversation is held by laughably bad actors – watch one of the women wake up and immediately start screaming at one of her sleeping cellmates, “WHO ARE YOU?” To be fair, the lines they’re given are often ridiculous as well. Dr. Wise sneers at one of the women for being a lawyer, derisively asking whether she graduated at the top of her class. “I was number one, yes,” the woman responds. Wise goes on to suggest that the woman was also prom queen in high school, to which the lawyer questions the question’s relevance. Wise scoffs: “Oh, that’s a legal term, isn’t it?” No, sorry, that’s just a regular word. Considering that you’re in a movie that forces kidnapped women to watch clips of creepy-crawly insects, people shooting drugs, Nazis, vampires, tornadoes, and.. um.. Africans in an effort to make a connection with abortion, it’s no surprise that words with multiple syllables are assumed to be some kind of fancy Satanic book-learnin’.

The women are later forced to watch an earlier short film written by Ken Del Vecchio, the same man who wrote this movie. That short is called O.B.A.M. Nude and is a bizarre propaganda piece which suggests that Barack Obama was trained by Lucifer on how to rule the United States in Communist tyranny. Del Vecchio himself plays the Obama stand-in, while the devil laughs maliciously about his heinous plan to become a community organizer! Bwahahaha! The Life Zone excerpts one segment from the short, however, when Satan and “O.B.A.M.” have a conversation about abortion which pits the pro-choicer against this unassailable logic: it doesn’t make sense that a collection of cells could magically change into a person overnight. The way the characters all turn up their nose while using the phrase “magically change” demeaningly is kind of hilarious given that in the same breath they’re able to say without blinking that there’s a magic God in the sky, but that’s not really important to this discussion.

“Would it be okay to kill a baby one day before it was born?” O.B.A.M. asks Satan, who is playing the pro-choice opponent. Satan says no, of course not. Well, how about a week before it was to be born? Again, Satan says no. How about a month before it was to be born? For a third time, Satan says no. When Satan provides an estimate of three months from birth for abortion to be morally acceptable, O.B.A.M. jumps on this – ah-ha! So you’re saying that there’s a magical change once a baby has been gestating for six months that makes a baby a “person” which was not there a day prior? The devil is defeated. The movie makes sure not to investigate the extent of this line of reasoning any further, but please allow me to continue the conversation because the exact same line of questioning could be easily used to topple Del Vecchio’s own argument. If an unborn baby is a “person” at six months, is it a person the day prior? Of course, the answer would be yes. A week prior? Yes. We go back, we go back, we go back… how far? Does a “person” exist the day after an egg has been inseminated? Is a single cell that has just divided into two a “person” in the same way that you or I are? I have to believe that most would respond to this question in the negative. Therefore, there is a point where a collection of cells becomes a “person”. This is where the conversation might rightly be centered, because declaring a baby moments from birth to be not a person is clearly illogical and declaring two cells the same as an infant is the same.

As The Life Zone is a propaganda film, it’s not interested in having a sincere discussion about a very heavy topic, choosing instead to demonize those who dare question its tenets. It’s a minor spoiler, but at the end of the film all three of the women do end up having their babies – including one woman who was never convinced by their kidnappers’ brainwashing and as a result refuses to see the child once it has been born. I couldn’t help but laugh. For all the time the movie spends talking up the immorality of abortion, it doesn’t bother with discussing the need to actually take care of the child once it is born. If the mother ignores the child, it’s no biggie so long as it got to starve to death outside of the womb rather than being aborted two months into gestation. The movie doesn’t address this new responsibility mandated by giving birth to an unwanted child because it has no interest in approaching the question from an honest, critical perspective.

Neither entertaining nor enlightening, The Life Zone is a waste of time.

(P.S. Incidentally, the movie does provide a rather striking moral quandary without intending to do so. What is the moral duty of a woman who is kidnapped by psychopaths and forced to carry an unwanted child to term? What if she escapes with days left in the pregnancy, for instance? Is it a moral imperative for her to birth the child and take care of it for the next several years because its “personhood” makes its life inherently valuable, even though the child was generated as a form of torture? These are extremely difficult and emotionally volatile questions, when handled with seriousness. The Life Zone is just not a serious movie.)

Time travel is a difficult concept for movies to tackle and often it’s covered with less attention to the content of the story than to its mechanics, because often time travel means keeping track of multiple “time lines” that intersect with one another, avoiding characters’ past selves seeing their “present” selves, and any number of rules which writers use to limit themselves. Don’t step on any butterflies when you’re in the past! Safety Not Guaranteed bypasses these concerns by not really being about time travel, but instead choosing to focus on the far smaller story of the growing relationship between a magazine intern named Darius (Aubrey Plaza) and a potentially insane man named Kenneth (Mark Duplass). As in Another Earth, a monumental science fiction concept is filtered through the narrow lens of a low-budget “indie” film, the kind that meanders about for a bit before getting to its goals.

Darius has come to this small Washington town in order to do a story on how crazy Kenneth is, but of course he isn’t aware of that. He allows her to get close to him because of her droll quirkiness, a sad humility that he finds attractive. So Darius is recruited as a potential partner on a trip to the past (the year 2001, to be specific) using a time machine that Kenneth says he has invented. The pair spends their time discussing their childhoods, playing around while firing guns at targets, eating lunch together, laughing, and so forth. It will come as no surprise to you when I say that the couple grows to have romantic feelings toward one another. This is the heart of the film; to quote the AVClub: “strip away the time travel, which is easy enough, and what’s left is a winsome but insubstantial romance.” I tend to consider romance my favorite genre of film; among my favorite titles are Atonement, Say Anything, and Rocky – all heart-breaking in the sincerity of their romantic pairings. If I were trying to explain what I find so powerful about those three films, I would say that the slow build of the leads’ relationships feels, to me, to be entirely natural. It feels real. When I watch those movies, I feel like I am looking at a true-to-life coupling taking place, the awkwardness and passion and honesty on full display.

I didn’t get that from Safety Not Guaranteed, which makes it easy for me to agree with the description of the movie’s central plot as an “insubstantial romance”. What’s interesting about this is that Plaza and Duplass have an extraordinary chemistry together, and it is precisely that chemistry which sells the movie in spite of a lack of substance otherwise. Though their pairing is driven by plot contrivance, they seem to have fun together and that attitude is infectious. A scene where the two sit on a beach and share with one another their reasons for wanting to travel a decade plus into the past is moving for the sober tone it takes, with one looking blankly past the horizon while recounting tragedies past, the other listening intently. It’s difficult to put into words why Plaza and Duplass could have such easy chemistry together, yet the film itself doesn’t strike the same chords with me as the previously named titles did. I suppose in a way it was inevitable that, say, Adrian would find herself dating Rocky Balboa after all; there I felt as though his gentle understanding and her self-deprecating reticence paid big dividends when Adrian finally allowed her suitor’s affection to break the barriers she’d built around herself. I don’t know how, but it felt immediate and intense. With Safety Not Guaranteed, Kenneth has similarly erected barriers around himself (as has Darius), but I guess they seem made-for-breaking, if that makes any sense.

Let me try to explain this way: I watched the pilot episode of “The West Wing” recently and at the start of the episode, a character notes that the pager of a woman he is sleeping with and his own are almost identical. Immediately, it was clear that the pagers would be accidentally switched and that plot “twist” was set up in a groan-inducing way by a single line of dialogue. It’s possible to do a pager-switch subplot in a far more organic manner – perhaps showing both parties throwing their devices down in the heat of passion and briefly showing the two pagers toppled on top of one another without stating future events so explicitly. With regard to the film at hand, it seems like there’s got to be a better direction to take than matching up a crazy guy with the one girl who understands him. It feels too pat, too easy, even if the actors are able to make it workable. How could it have been handled differently? Perhaps by not throwing the two together instantly. As it stands, Darius and Kenneth meet cute and spend their time alone together constantly. Two other people from the magazine who have come on the trip to Washington just kind of hang around on the fringes of the movie. Truth be told, Darius’ boss Jeff had his own subplot about rekindling a high school relationship, but this is inessential to the movie and has no resolution. Maybe the movie could have had the three journalists working together and through their interactions with Kenneth, a bond grows between himself and Darius which begins to draw the two away from the group as a whole.

Or maybe the movie is fine as is and I’m just trying to rationalize why I just didn’t connect with it. I found Darius and Kenneth an enjoyable pair, but I never felt engrossed in their story. I liked watching the actors together on screen, but I never was particularly worried about their future together. The final act builds into a tense showdown as government agents begin to give chase to Kenneth and he must finally prove whether or not there is a bluff to be called. Once again, this just didn’t do anything for me. If Safety Not Guaranteed is a song, then a lot of the movie is made up of familiar beats played in agreeable ways… nothing particularly noteworthy, but perfectly hummable nonetheless.

For some time now, I’ve been telling people that I’ve seen every Nicolas Cage film. It’s difficult for me to admit that until now, that assertion wasn’t entirely accurate. For you see, until now I had never seen Never on Tuesday, the 1989 debut feature from director Adam Rifkin (The Chase, Detroit Rock City). To be fair to myself, Cage doesn’t even get a credit in the film – that’s how slight his appearance in the film is – with the movie not recognizing him by name and IMDb relegating him to the status of ‘Man in Red Sports Car’. In truth, though his cameo lasts less than 60 seconds, the young Cage is at his most bizarre in the role. Wearing a prosthetic nose for no particular reason and affecting an alternately exasperated and maniacal air, his portrayal of ‘Man in Red Sports Car’ leaves me wishing there had been a feature-length film about this character alone. Unfortunately, this is almost the entirety of my praise for Never on Tuesday.

A low-budget comedy, the film takes place almost entirely in the middle of the desert after friends Matt (Andrew Lauer) and Eddie (Peter Berg) begin rough-housing during their trip to California and crash into the car of the ethereal Tuesday (Claudia Christian), totaling both vehicles. Matt and Eddie were going to the west coast in order to soak up the sun and score with as many nymphomaniacal California girls they could get their hands on, but they’re not too distressed about their lousy fortune given that Tuesday has long legs and blonde hair and will suffice for the time being. The remainder of the film has the threesome talking and playing games by the side of the road, their frivolity occasionally being interrupted by another uncredited cameo – a very young Charlie Sheen and Gilbert Gottfried both show up to provide a few chuckles. Also, the action cuts away every so often to romantic/sexual fantasies that the guys are having about Tuesday. The most uncomfortable of these fantasies has Tuesday straddling Matt in a feather-bed in the middle of the desert, he groping her bare breasts while a half dozen seven-year old girls in tutus dance around them in a circle. I can’t imagine the pride of the parents who got to see their daughters in that scene.

Matt and Eddie’s plan to take turns having sex with the woman they’d collided with on a desert highway is complicated by the fact that Tuesday turns out to be a lesbian. While Matt is generally able to accept this, Eddie is convinced that the girl is simply confused about her sexuality and needs a man to “convert” her. His attempts at conversion are limited to goofy smiles. The three play catch with a football, tell ghost stories, have a picnic, and just have a lot of fun slowly dying of hunger and thirst on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere while the merciless sun beats down on them constantly. While the ghost stories are being told, we witness zombies rising from the desert and walking toward the group of friends – they disappear when the story is over. When Sheen shows up later as a ruthless thief, the scene turns “comic” while he takes an inventory of each of the items the group has in their respective cars, indicating which records he would like to steal and which to leave behind. I assume these touches are meant to be vaguely surreal, the sort of wacky circumstances that could only come to fruition during an ’80s road trip. Yet none of it is funny, or interesting, or particularly inspired. With the exception of Cage, the cameos leave no impression at all and feel less like a hilarious chain of events than a plodding series of distractions. The fantasy sequences, meant to be elaborate visions to contrast the mostly mundane environment the three have found themselves stranded within, also accomplish little more than providing some partial nudity. In fact, I can’t tell what their purpose is otherwise except to reinforce that the boys are attracted to Tuesday.

By the time the movie began nearing its conclusion, I found myself thinking that nothing had happened. It’s not a case of it being slow, or reserved, or contained or some other high-minded justification for limited forward momentum. Instead, there’s just no growth between the characters at all despite how the movie wants to sell itself as being about their interactions as personal conflict being overcome. At the start of the movie, the dialogue goes around in circles about whether the cars can be fixed; at the end, their goodbyes to one another are similarly protracted. It almost feels like buying time, trying to fill out a movie that has little to say. It’s also, as mentioned before, a first-time outing with a limited budget – perhaps that context may help to explain away the weak-kneed student-film vibe the movie projects, the yawn-worthy “comedy”, the laughable insinuation made by Matt that this movie shares any similarities to The Breakfast Club. Even so, the movie is a chore to get through (and to write about, for that matter).

For Nicolas Cage completists, Never on Tuesday is essential viewing because the man gives a stellar albeit much too brief performance. Once he exits the movie, however, you’d be forgiven for doing the same.