Into the Storm / ** (2014)

Movies like “Into the Storm” are an endurance test – not merely for the attention span of the audience, but for the patience of minds like mine that are exhausted by repeated visits to the tired and storm-battered corners of middle America. They seem to be manufactured rather than made, assembled out of parts of any number of pictures that highlight the framework, then spliced together by hands that have been convinced they can still pass as solid entertainment in a culture that has ready access to their older (and often better) predecessors. Only occasionally will they be dressed up in the skin of something novel, although there always remains the question of purpose: if the source was good enough to redo in the first place, what are the odds of doing it better a second time? For a good way through this latest excursion in volatile tornado alley, I was at least cautious in my disdain: perhaps under new direction, through the “found footage” camera lens that is a go-to for just about all things, something more interesting could be done with the concept of ambitious disaster pictures. But fate, alas, is not on anyone’s side here – least of all those watching it all happen. When a character holding a camera up to his face announces “this is the biggest tornado I’ve ever seen” while foolishly standing just a few yards from its swirling vortex, I had not fear or concern for him: only the hope that he would get sucked up and the movie would be over.

Pompeii / **1/2 (2014)

Had I still been a naïve teenager obsessed with the mythos of ancient volcanic disasters, a movie like “Pompeii” would have provided one hell of a visual wet dream. Here is an ambitious production mounted in the tradition of old Hollywood epics, stretched beyond the scale of a mere screen, and hitched to that dependable staple of disaster films that seek to show us an array of grandiose visions that are both terrible and awe-inspiring. Unfortunately, time and experience often separates us from simpler pleasures, relegating our measurements of entertainment to comparisons of other, more sophisticated endeavors. A read-through of the premise immediately conjures up all those conventional comparisons: among other things, the story contains a main character obsessed with revenge while fighting for his own life in public arenas (“Gladiator”), ancient roman political intrigue (“Troy”) and a blossoming romance between young faces that are separated by class divides (“Titanic”), all set in the foreground of a catastrophe looming in the distance (any number of well-known blockbusters of the past thirty years). Take away all those call-backs, and what you are left with is basically a competent action picture that retreads to the safety of its formulas, primarily because it doesn’t have the desire, much less the thought, to pursue more challenging avenues.

Annabelle / ** (2014)

One of the most exhausted devices of supernatural horror is a creepy-looking doll with murderous tendencies wreaking havoc on its owners. Long before Chucky there was a homicidal clown in “Poltergeist,” and before that was Talking Tina, one of the prominent menaces of “The Twilight Zone” – their commonality was that the victims always were oblivious to dangers until far too late, perhaps because no one involved could really believe a small toy had the capability of causing great harm to others. That is the first mistake of the characters in “Annabelle,” who are given enough warning signs to facilitate the dread: the emphasized arrival of said doll, its strange facial expression, an ambush by satanic cultists who die with it in their possession (one of them bleeds into the doll’s eyes), creepy noises from around corners, and rocking chairs that come alive by themselves even when no one is nearby. Then there is a moment where the husband, granting suspicion to his paranoid wife, throws the doll away in a garbage can. Shouldn’t it amount to something startling, then, when it then appears packed away in a box, as if no such decision transpired? If there were a persistent sentiment amongst the demonic spirits that inhabit them, it’s that you always have a chance to endure if you find yourself in the home of flyweight suburbanites with only a dozen functioning brain cells between them.

It Follows / *** (2014)

Two of the most elusive lost values of horror movies are mood and social commentary, a detail that rises to prominence in the very fascinating “It Follows.” They both converge spectacularly in a climax that most other films would find dreary or out of place, but for the framework of David Robert Mitchell’s endeavor fit comfortably among a plethora of unorthodox sensations. To see them is to sense the filmmaker removing himself entirely from the populist agenda of his genre; what exists on the screen is not a straightforward scarefest or even an experiment in teenage endurance, but a silent meditation on the horrors they impose on themselves. These are characters seemingly so alienated by the mainstream way that they only have their isolation to comfort them. But that also makes them fertile hosts for a wide variety of horrific possibilities – legitimate or self-imposed, who knows? – and when one such girl runs away to the beach in an early scene before being brutally murdered by an unseen predator, it’s not what she sees or what happens to her that anchors the audience’s engagement – it’s the fact she is aware at all of what is coming that rattles all perceptions.

Unfriended / **1/2 (2014)

So rarely has a single genre of movies been as eager to adapt to the shifting dimensions of pop culture as that of horror. With each pass of time comes an eagerness to push the proverbial line of standard – some visual, others thematic – and inevitably the scope of the moviegoer is challenged to see beyond its routine. Oftentimes that requires the abandon of patience or personal judgment, especially when it comes to a concept that may be harrowing to confront. Those that are more interested in pressing on intellectual buttons are much more fun and refreshing to deal with: they understand the possibilities of novel techniques, at least if they are used to creative means. Think of both angles of that prospect as you move cautiously through the material of Leo Gabriadze’s “Unfriended,” a strange film about a vengeful spirit who comes back to haunt – and murder – a group of cyber-bullies who once claimed to be her friends. If one is to mention that the entire endeavor occurs on the computer screen of a teenage girl who flips between social media sites for 83 minutes, would you be annoyed by the concept, or intrigued by the method?

As Above, So Below / ***1/2 (2014)

If I was to describe “As Above, So Below” as a handheld horror movie about a group of archaeology enthusiasts who wander into the Paris catacombs and discover the gates of hell, most readers would be inclined to respond with guffaws. But if I were to tell you that the premise lays the groundwork for a rather thrilling assemblage of shocking twists and turns, would those scoffs become intrigue? It is our instinct as seasoned moviegoers to dismiss the ideas of an endeavor if it is in the service of a tired gimmick, and who can blame us? The “found footage” device – sometimes referred to as the “queasy-cam” technique – has persisted vehemently through the fabric of the modern horror genre, and seldom to the benefit of intriguing stories or serviceable characters. But this, a relatively unassuming excursion with simple goals, carries something simmering under the surface that goes to violate the quintessential acceptance of these movies, which often stumble on a tightrope that reduces dialogue to nonsensical shouts and the images into a blurry collage of details. And that doesn’t even count the narratives, which are often circular exercises designed to set up momentary jolts or elaborate death sequences

Amorous / ** (2014)

Generally speaking, a movie must usually be tasked with two primary objectives: setting a scene, and then filling it with plot and characters. Joanna Coates’ “Amorous” has the former down to a science; the camera catches images within the lens that are evocative and spacious, and serve the purpose of creating a world well suited to what is about to transpire. Then the question becomes one of direct concern: what exactly do these images mean to the faces that are about to populate them, and what must drive them beyond the necessity to be caught up in all sorts of random frivolity? The four leads, each of whom have come together after apparent alienation in the big city to lead a life of contentment in the English countryside, are less displaced by a sense of cultural alienation and more caught up in the confusion of the impulse. They don’t even seem eager or happy to wind up where they have arrived. And that’s troubling for any audience that is attempting, wholeheartedly, to find an entry point into this story in order to generate empathy or general interest in what transpires. What they get is not so much a study of characters as it is a simplified examination of behaviors, all of them too far out of context to be the source of any significant dramatic depth.

What We Do in the Shadows / *** (2014)

There’s a challenge at the start of “What We Do in the Shadows” that supplies audiences with a fascinating quandary: what kind of lives would vampires lead if they were not privy to the glitzy glamour of gothic romance novelists or horror film architects? For most, the implication might not have involved something so tongue-in-cheek. But here is a movie that suspects there would be no other option beyond characterizations so seemingly absurd; caught in a world that recognizes their elaborate curses from a place of silliness, it tells the story of a group of close-knit bloodsuckers who engage in wild nightlife antics that are neither strategic nor threatening, and often culminate in elaborately disastrous consequences. Beyond the gruff exterior of pale skin, sharp fangs and insatiable bloodlust, these are beasts that possess none of the preconceived characteristics of a vampire and simply emerge as nocturnal simpletons. If only their appetites – and their decision-making skills – were as sound as the legends painted them to be.

Saving Christmas / zero stars (2014)

He begins his diatribe as most do in the precursors to holiday yarns: seated at the front of a crackling fire, a Christmas tree in the backdrop and stockings hanging from an elaborate mantle façade. His smug, unsavory smile cloaks a disgust for inclusive perspectives, and his words – clearly improvised – rattle on about the contemptuous nature of differing opinions. No, these are not the joyful invites into a world of good cheer and worldly connections; they are the damning indictment against any person in the audience who has ever shared a more broad view of the holiday meaning, especially one that includes considering anything beyond fundamental Christian values. If these warnings had come from anyone less devoted to the cause than Kirk Cameron, we might have just assumed innocence, or even irony. But knowing that they belong to this, a self-proclaimed authority of the teachings of Christ, is to find oneself trapped in the embrace of a self-indulgent ideology. The concept itself would be dimwitted if it weren’t so dangerous.

The Taking of Deborah Logan / *** (2014)

The mind may be a tool of immense possibility, but in a weakened state it can also become the nucleus for chilling prospects. Horror movies have gotten exceptionally convincing at supplying that rationale in order to validate some of their menacing ideas, but they come to an intriguing crossroads in “The Taking of Deborah Logan,” in which the source of terror appears to originate in, of all possible places, a victim of Alzheimer’s disease. She is an elderly and kind lady of proper upbringing who lives out in the great countryside, and when a trio of college students come to document her case for a filmic dissertation on the saddening nature of the illness, their cameras seem to burn a hole through the fabric of their expectations (not to mention the blinders of her caregivers). Sure, a terminal case like this can make any normal person do a number of incoherent things… but is Alzheimer’s itself entirely responsible for violent tendencies? Self mutilation? Or worse yet, moments of delusion in which a house might react with violent warning? Strange things are gradually overtaking the Logan family, and here are cameras that are unwilling witnesses to a plot that will have everyone involved questioning the validity of what they experience.

The Purge: Anarchy / ** (2014)

Sometimes a long stretch of time between two horrible moments can transpire in a rapid flash (at least if they are planned for). A good year or so went by between the arrival of the first and second “Purge” movies, but I would wager that our fearful anticipation could never match that of the characters, many of whom are not so much witnesses to dreadful realities as they are victims earmarked for extermination. For them, a year must move by in a blink of awareness. That’s because they occupy space in a world where the politics of power forces are interlaced with the cruelest (and most narrow) perspective of Darwinian superiority. Every year, on one night for a straight 12 hours, the “New Founding Fathers” of America commence the annual “purging,” a nationwide ceremony in which all crime is legalized and ordinary people are given the opportunity to “free the beast” from within, assuming they aren’t killed by someone else possessing an even more bloodthirsty urge than their own. What that means – at least in the movies – is that the human race becomes a living example of corruption in action. Who are the ones who take advantage of their rights? Who is more successful? In a world landscape where lower income classes are circumvented by the pull that comes with having money, the rich must become the target of study in a picture like this, otherwise there is little need to ponder how else a situation like this might play out in a genuine civilized society.

Tusk / 1/2* (2014)

Mere words cannot adequately describe Kevin Smith’s “Tusk” – only obscene gestures. In the lengthy pass of time we spend discovering bad movies, so rarely does one come along that fills our heads with such toxic impurities, and does so on part of some cheeky in-joke that only the director and his close buddies seem to understand. Based entirely on a dare that originated from one of Smith’s very own podcasts, what exists on screen is an exercise in random debauchery, a self-indulgent vomitorium that knows no limits of tact or plausibility, and misses every note in orchestrating an effective rhythm in carrying its bizarre ideas forward. The greatest tragedy, I suspect, is the intention. What gave Smith, a guy with a fairly established directing career, the shameless conceit to put any of this on screen? Did he really find it funny (or worse yet, scary)? A great many disgusting things occur in abundance here for the majority of the 100-minute running time, but none of them even approach the discomfort we feel in knowing just how pathetic these filmmakers look. One hopes they all remind themselves that they were once good at their professions before sinking further into this maw of stupidity.

The Babadook / ***1/2 (2014)

“If it's in a word, or it's in a look, you can't get rid of ... The Babadook.”

“The Babadook” is a work of implicit realizations, of painful memories that rise to the surface when two wounded souls encounter a malevolent force lurking in the shadows of their home, and attempt to disarm it without understanding its underlying nature. Why has it drifted out of obscurity to stalk them? Most urban lore suggests that such beings exist because they feed on the negative emotions of others. It is the requirement of this plot, therefore, to tether the entity to those who represent the extremes of that value. Consider the deadened demeanor of Amelia (Essie Davis), who occupies space as a withdrawn woman incapable of escaping self-imposed isolation. That reality comes from a distant memory: the moment when, on the way to the hospital to deliver her son, her loving husband was killed while driving their car. She survived the crash, and so did the unborn son; years later, there is an indifference in her to the possibility of moving on, and her heart is frozen in a stasis of unending grief. Adding to that tragic implication is the personality of her son, whose wide traumatic eyes and shrill voice are the outlet for a very vivid imagination that believes ghosts and demons are always lurking under the bed. Watching him, one can only imagine what fate has in store for his adult years.

Foxcatcher / ***1/2 (2014)

A single question in the early moments of “Foxcatcher” serves to frame the impending experience of characters: “what do you hope to achieve?” For three men brought together by love of a competitive sport, their initiatives are stirred from emotional currents. Mark (Channing Tatum) is an Olympic gold medalist whose prestige from one of the “lesser” competitive events has not done much to curb his sense of isolation. His older brother, the more family-oriented David (Mark Ruffalo), keeps watchful eyes on his loner of a sibling all while observing his success with some sense of humility. In between them stands John du Pont (Steve Carell), heir to the du Pont fortune, whose love and dedication to the sport of wrestling has made him somewhat of a radical enthusiast – to what end, one wonders with cautious curiosity. Is it simply the love of it all (or the rigorous training that comes with it) that makes him such an avid champion of competitive training? And how much of that comes from an upbringing that reduced him to a background distraction on part of a mother who adored her riding horses more than doting on her own son? Each of these individuals is out to prove something to someone – to others, themselves, or to family members – and in almost all of those examples their obsessions only mask an insecurity that has the capacity to bring them to dangerous epilogues.

The Imitation Game / ***1/2 (2014)

“Sometimes it is the people who no one imagines anything of who do the things that no one can imagine.”

When Alan Turing demands in an early voice-over that we “pay attention” to what we are about to see, it is less a plea to notate intricate details and more a statement on the behavior we come to witness. This is not a man marching to the beat of any traditional drummer. Much of that is clear from a key interaction with one of the first human faces he engages with; during a closed-door interview with a military commander seeking cryptologists for a classified mission, dialogue contrasts personalities working from two opposing engines. It is not as obvious to Denniston (Charles Dance) that Alan is communicating from within altering mental patterns, but of course it isn’t: human psychology seemed like a fantasy to the populace of the 1930s, and poor Mr. Turning’s brilliant mind could hardly conceal him from the baffling dismissals of more socially mainstream observers. But most significant history hardly rests on the laurels of the common either, because if it did there would be scarcely a reason to contemplate our own place in a world built on the successes of outcasts.

Earth to Echo / **1/2 (2014)

When three friends wander away from home after receiving cryptic clues of some unknown disturbance in the desert, they invite us into one of the oldest known premises in the movie handbook: the dangerous suburban adventure that alters the lives of youngsters in a world of menacing adults. If a handful of endeavors scattered across the recent past don’t serve as reminders on how popular the concept remains in the scheme of moviemaking, the consider the base implications; a young mind is often starved for a story in which they can affect the outcome of something ambitious and forbidden, especially in the presence of aged superiors that seem to exist for the sake of squandering their passions. Generally speaking, that thought process has yielded some of the unforgettable fantasies of our time – including Steven Spielberg’s “E.T” and Richard Donner’s “The Goonies” – and now, with the advent of new technologies at the disposal of those sorts of unlikely heroes, the potential to expand on the sentiment continues to persevere in the presence of our modern awareness. It’s just too bad that the ambition is seldom matched with stories equally as compelling.

Whiplash / **** (2014)

A talent that lacks management is a talent easily led astray, but he who is consumed by it will pursue perfection to the zenith of psychological collapse. The young hero in Damien Chazelle’s “Whiplash” teeters on this tightrope with silent contemplation, pushed there not because he really cares all that much about being great, but because he has something to prove to all those within his sphere of awareness. His problem is that the one standing at the focal point of observation also happens to be the most toxic. His name is Terence Fletcher (J.K. Simmons), and he walks with almost predatory authority through the halls of the Shaffer Conservatory of Music. All those within sight of his piercing gaze dare not stare back or instigate conversation; they are clearly all spare parts in his toolbox of supplies, to be used at whim if he ever deems it necessary. Young Andrew (Miles Teller) does not wonder where such a man managed to acquire such commanding influence over so many subjects, and the results speak for themselves: he is a champion competitor with a long line of achievements cementing his power, and all who play jazz in the lower echelons foolishly wait for the day when he will wander into their midst and offer a nod of acceptance.

A Most Violent Year / ***1/2 (2014)

“I woke up this morning feeling very good about this.”

Feelings play an integral part in the framework of “A Most Violent Year,” not in the sense that they open up proverbial emotional states or expose mental wounds – although we suspect they do trickle beneath the surface – but more directly in regards to how they rouse the heart of a man who refuses to stray from a personal philosophy. In an integral moment of dialogue, his words strip him of all illusion and façade: “When it feels scary to jump, that is exactly when you jump, otherwise you end up staying in the same place your whole life.” A man who does not feel things does not abide by such conviction, otherwise he wouldn’t be so deadpan in living that mantra even as the eroding social realities of life could disrupt that prospect. It is because his heart and spirit are stalwart that he is able to reach this point in his destiny without a tarnished perspective. Some would refer to the outlook as idealistic, others still foolish. But it is a road so few travel that there is a deep-seeded fascination we have in how such ideals could endure against unstoppable forces. It’s a lonely world for any man at the wrong end of a crime spree, and certainly it must say something for one’s own feelings to stare back at the barrel of a gun without compromising against the fear.

Boyhood / ***1/2 (2014)

The gulf of time is frequently condensed into a passing reference when we reflect back on the journeys of the past, but how much of it all will resonate beyond the echo of feeling? Richard Linklater’s incredibly ambitious “Boyhood” is about the effects of such moments. At its worst, here is a very straightforward chronicle of how a growing kid can be shaped by the decisions of others during the most formative years of personal evolution, and at its best it is a film fully enamored by the organic desire to observe the pure uncultivated stretches of youthful perspective without the need to bog it all down by plot or movie formula. For the viewer, the experience of seeing this all – in a very ambitious endeavor that was filmed over the course of 12 years, no less – comes as naturally as watching one of your own children age before your eyes, and as it grinds through years of solitary experiences, our unending fascination with observation is equaled only by our acknowledgment of the remarkable commitment made of these dedicated actors and filmmakers. Francois Truffaut’s “The 400 Blows” was the benchmark of coming-of-age dramas regarding boys on the rough road to becoming men, and here at last is the most perceptive film of that nature since, a picture that wastes no time in creating sensationalized accounts of personal histories and instead seeks to just, you know, tell it all like it is in the world of the average kid on the cusp of discovering who he really is.

The Interview / *1/2 (2014)

What is it about the pairing of James Franco and Seth Rogen that inspires such screwy exploits? Isolated, here are actors with plausible conviction in a diverse array of material, but together they bring about a level of bizarre physical abnormality, like friends in a college frat-house who get off by making everyone around them believe they have suffered brain injuries. That is perhaps less amusing than it sounds, but try telling that to either of them; their synergy and enthusiasm is so beyond persistent that it’s almost infectious, even when it is directed towards trivial fluff or disposable internet shtick (case in point: the endless supply of YouTube videos they have put together over the past year). They are definitive occupants of that dreaded “bromance” moniker, but it’s impossible to dislike the good-natured purity of their shared antics, and there are moments when we smirk at their mutual audacity for whatever obstacles they are up against. It’s just a shame that their robust friendship has to play out in the frames of very bad comedies.