Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street / ** (2007)

There is a cold and menacing presence lurking in the shadows of Tim Burton’s “Sweeney Todd,” but it has nothing to do with characters or their histories; rather, the feeling is one of unrelenting despair, obstructing our ability to see past the gothic production and find the humor (or indeed the purpose) of the material. Much of what we accept as value in stage musicals is dependent on a general sense of interior cognizance that can carry us through all of the absurd fantasy, but a lot of that has depended upon the precision of skilled modulators who know of the delicate balance between art and theme. But in nearly every incarnation I know of Hugh Wheeler’s infamous revenge story, I sense the agony of the scenario but far less about a specific reason. Is there a dramatic purpose that I am missing? An agenda far too intricate for me to comprehend, perhaps? So detached are the characters from their plight that when they sing, they aren’t convincing enough to create the impression that they are legitimately living in this hell; they play through the material more like silent aggressors who have lost all contact with sanity and seek only to make everyone else wallow in the pain they inflict.

The Jungle Book / *** (2016)

Readers of Rudyard Kipling’s novels are apt to find some kind of  profound statement running within the veins of fantastical adventures, but to encounter “The Jungle Book” is to sense disconnect between intention and result. The plague of the premise comes down to our inability to find logic in the context of the idea: what was the author driven by when he wrote the stories of Mowgli, a young and innocent face who was destined to be raised by wolves in the thick of a menacing jungle filled with carnivorous predators? As an observer of Disney’s animated 1967 film, I felt uneasy with the very idea of any child – even one with some level of awareness of his surroundings – placing his safety in the hands of talkative panthers and bears. What if they were hungry, I wondered? What if lackluster food sources forced their natural instincts to take over? Not one iota of the premise grasps reasoning beyond that of lurid fantasy, and the quests he is destined to partake in seem burdened by an unspoken expectation of doom, as if all those claiming to be his friends are only doing so for the sake of getting closer to his young and ripe flesh.

10 Cloverfield Lane / ***1/2 (2016)

There have been an ample supply of movie premises involving maniacal tormentors rescuing and imprisoning helpless victims after some sort of accident or crisis, but “10 Cloverfield Lane” is the first I can recall that pairs the idea with an even bleaker reality — namely, that what may exist beyond the walls of confinement involves something more monstrous than what is isolated within. The movie doesn’t come right out to establish such certainties until a pivotal moment of the climax, but up to that point the ambiguity of the scenario pulls at us with profound duality. It begins when young Michelle (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) is seen in the early scenes fleeing her apartment, apparently after becoming estranged from her boyfriend, who calls her repeatedly over a road journey to make amends (reasons are never clarified). When she is struck on the highway and her car is sent tumbling down a hill, invisible hands pull her from the wreckage and she comes to consciousness in a small empty room, where she is hooked up to an IV and chained to the wall by her leg. Who pulled her from the wreckage? His name is Howard (John Goodman), and he is a stone-faced and foreboding entity who intercuts his proclamations of caregiving with frightening demands of respect. She wants to leave, fearing abduction. He announces that the world beyond the doors has been destroyed by nuclear fallout, unconcerned with her impulsive fears. And for a good duration of the film that particular detail is left in doubt – perhaps as a way to amplify the suspense, or maybe even to underscore the notion that a world apocalypse can (and will) turns its survivors into monsters.

Moulin Rouge! / **** (2001)

Baz Luhrmann’s “Moulin Rouge!” is one of the great movie spectacles of this generation, an undertaking of vast scope made all the more fascinating by how it transforms commonplace undercurrents into rich sensations for every frame it possesses the screen. That is not an easy feats to achieve for an endeavor that uses fairly common ideas – of which there is an ample supply – but no one involved is content to regard what they participate in from eyes of relative acceptance, either. Artists, philosophers, lovers and ambitious thinkers all have a place in the decadent halls of the famed Parisian nightclub, but to watch them engage in the rituals of excess is to suspect similar minds standing behind the camera lens, orchestrating the foreground like conductors of an exciting visual symphony. I have visited those joyous corridors countless times over the years, and with each new outing I find myself cheerfully seduced by its values: the wonder of the images, seemingly created by magicians, and the richness in conviction of the story, which recounts the affair of two young lovers destined for tragedy.

Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice / *1/2 (2016)

Jesse Eisenberg has a kind of obstinate charm that is equal parts zany and startling, and in many of his roles there is a sense that he's driven by some facet of self-arrogance, as if overly cognizant of the fact that his characters are the smartest ones in the room. Usually that means his personas can also come across as unhinged beyond comprehension, especially when they face tremendous obstacles; to see him chew through the conflicts of a screenplay is to make rather unflattering assessments of the tactics he implores, which frequently involve vindictively untethering the routines of more modulated sorts. There is no doubt that his endeavors in “The Social Network” and “Now You See Me” were reason enough to see him as an apropos choice for the daunting role of Lex Luthor – they seemed destined to one another, like a man visiting the altar of his own creation. And yet so thorough are his capabilities that one finds them soiled when they are taking into the context of the movie that surrounds him with few interesting things to do, as is the case with his newest foray. Unfortunately, that also means poor Eisenberg has to overextend his creative pitch in order to sell the characterization; by the end, one gathers he has accepted the material as a humongous joke, with him being the only one in on the punchline.

Hard Candy / ** (2005)

Jeff Kohlver is one of the most thoroughly smarmy characters in recent years, and his oppressor Hayley Stark one of the most transparent. Their existence in David Slade’s “Hard Candy” – a movie as unpleasant as its own participants find it – serves to fuel an agenda that would be no more persuasive in the hands of a more skilled filmmaker, because dealing with this subject is a matter of nearly impossible resolution. Sure there are more certainties we can all arrive at when it comes to dealing with a scenario this stark, but what are we supposed to feel in terms of emotional involvement? Are we supposed to care about either person’s strange or tragic history when they convey themselves in a manner that bypasses the grey areas? Seeing them on screen creates just as much of a fascinating conundrum as it does a glaring aftertaste; they are toxic exemplifications of their ideals and yet thoroughly dislikable to the point of sickness. The fact that the characters are portrayed so convincingly by their respective actors only complicates the issue of our involvement.

Zootopia / *** (2016)

Disney’s wildly inventive “Zootopia” is the rip-roaring realization of all the quintessential values of modern feature animation – it has color, enthusiasm, whimsy, likable characters and cheerful comedy, and wraps them in a story that excites as easily as it conveys dependable messages about social diversity. The fact that it accomplishes so much all while showing us locales beyond anything we’ve seen before only adds to the astonishment. Sure, we are accustomed to taking adventurous excursions into places made entirely in the minds of eager animators, but how many of them show the level of detail of a city of civilized animals? A casual stroll through the streets of this fabled metropolis is a marvel all its own, and certainly propelled by the screenplay’s suspicion that much more is going on in the alleys than the visuals let on. However you approach the film will depend on what your expectations have come to be of movie cartoons in the age of limitless possibility, but after savoring its details in the wake of “Wreck-it-Ralph” and “Frozen,” it is clear that the pioneering studio of this genre has finally returned to the standard of consistent and reliable family-oriented output.

Little Children / ***1/2 (2006)

Drastic tonal shifts are among one of the more difficult chords for directors to master in filmic orchestration, and in the wrong hands they can derail a story’s momentum just as quickly as bad acting or shoddy plot development. Sometimes that means they must become fluent on the tact of transitions in order to neutralize such opportunities, or at least become cognizant of their usage; because certain subject matters can emphasize extreme opposing values, it can be rare to move between sadness and laughter without the transitions feeling contrived, especially if they are used to exhausting indecency. I can only imagine what sorts of questions came to Todd Fields’ mind when he was confronted with those dubious possibilities in “Little Children,” and certainly it must have seemed like very foreign territory; having only directed the stark “In the Bedroom” up to that point, this was a man seemingly accustomed to the forlorn nature of premises where there could be no opportunity for lighthearted considerations. What was on his mind as he directed this picture, a suburban drama about dysfunctional adults behaving like irresponsible adolescents? Were those fragments of humor convincing in the screenplay, or did it require added effort to convey them plausibly?

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

Cloverfield / ***1/2 (2008)

Consider the identity of the primary witness in first-person horror films. When a handheld recording device winds up in the hands of any unfortunate onlooker during a random catastrophe, it becomes just as much a lifeline as it does a record of truth. Perhaps something about the existence of an instrument of documentation provides the advantage of personal security; for the victims, often perplexed beyond coherence, a barrier between themselves and the action can be empowering to their fragile sense of perspective, creating an illusion of endurance that inspires them to capture and preserve all the mayhem occurring around them. Because the underlying rules also suggest that such a position in a tragic event must also mean they can be spared from the inevitability of death, the lens seemingly drives them to look far deeper into the conflict than any innocent bystander might be willing to do. Because after all, when the chips are down and everyone around is caught in the snare of great pain and suffering, who else is going to make it out alive to tell the story besides the one carrying around the most detailed personal evidence?

Triumph of the Will (1934)

Among the hundreds of endeavors of the 20th century that helped define the intricate language of cinema, two in particular were made from the fuel of dangerous personal ideologies. The first was D.W. Griffith’s “The Birth of a Nation,” and the second was Leni Riefenstahl’s “Triumph of the Will.” Both movies represented a time when historical doctrines could (and often did) disrupt the social progress of their audiences, and yet through them a few of the most revolutionary technical achievements were realized – some that would even go on to set the tone for nearly all filmmakers that were to follow. But to watch them now and regard their aesthetic triumphs is to struggle with the context in which they are used, sometimes to an end that creates alarming moral uncertainty. Can we suspend that which we are at odds with for the sake of admiring the indelible techniques that were born from their ambitious frames, or must we, indeed, consider art as an impossible measure when it is done in the provision of evil deeds?

Spotlight / **** (2015)

If it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a village to abuse one.

One of the first rules a young journalist must learn in the newsroom is often the hardest pill for them to swallow: good ones never betray the principles of their profession. As a fresh face in college quietly observing the rationale of reporters throughout history in classroom case studies, I was silently baffled by the moral gray areas they routinely danced on to get a story, even apart from their dichotomous reasoning (whether it be for information or sensationalism). That risk-takers could equally produce both great correspondents as well as tabloid vultures wasn’t an uncommon phenomenon, but the stigma of the latter certainly helped to undermine the reputation of genuine newspaper sleuths, whose work on the field could often be met by the suspicion of partial truths and lurid exaggerations. Part of that thought process worms its way into the fabric of Tom McCarthy’s “Spotlight” at various intervals, and yet the obstacles these reporters face are valid concerns: there is a shocking story to tell, but many of those targeted have waited too long for some semblance of justice to assume that the media is willing to publish unfiltered versions of their stories.

The Witch / ** (2016)

They want you to believe the hype. They have sold the illusion well. Everywhere you turn – whether it is in media plugs or face-to-face acknowledgments – “The Witch” is the latest commodity hot on the lips of filmgoers, who have lauded the endeavor as a bold new precedent in the method of modern horror movie approaches. What that practice entails, however, isn’t nearly as profound as so many colleagues and observers have bought into. Perhaps the relative ambiguity of it all gives it a quality of fascination, and it’s easy to see why; we live in the clutches of a horror genre now drunk on the blood of its own gratuity, and the mere suggestion that all of it can be restrained for the sake of evoking a mere mood seems like such a novel concept. But it is one, in either case, that is already familiar to anyone who has ever taken the time to look beyond the mainstream supply of hack-and-slash vomitoriums. Psychology is the driving force of the most resonating scarefests, and good ones will take their time to silently unravel our security before hitting us with the sensational stuff. Unfortunately for this one, that trajectory is uncertain in a premise that seems orchestrated from an absent-minded perspective.

Contention in the Contest: A Final Word on the 2016 Academy Awards

Audiences who descended on the Dolby Theater in Hollywood on Sunday night were certainly expecting active discussion about the diversity issue at the Academy Awards, but when Chris Rock took the stage to open this year’s ceremony, they probably didn’t expect it to be as sharp and insistent as it wound up being. What it also was, even amongst the numerous laughs, was an opportunity for the comedian to use his tongue to spread around the underlying blame of the issue, even to those on his side of the aisle. In one of the night’s most memorable jokes, his aim fell directly on Jada Pinkett-Smith, who lashed out after her husband, Will Smith, wasn’t nominated. “Jada boycotting the Oscars is like me boycotting Rihanna’s panties,” he shot back. “I wasn’t invited!”

A Movement of Trophies: 2016 Oscar Musings and Predictions

As we draw closer to the 88th Oscar telecast, a very visible dark cloud has nestled over the motion picture academy in what many are calling a divisive year of contention. It is a scenario made all the more prominent by the very public outcry made by members in the voting body, who have called for a boycott of the ceremony because of a distinct lack of diversity in the actor’s playing field – namely, a shortlist that includes no black actors. Spike Lee, one of the more vocal members, refuses to participate or watch. Others have suggested that Chris Rock, who is assigned hosting duties, to resign from participating. And with various other members of the debate lending support – or opposition – to the cause, the prevalent feeling is that all the attention of possible winners has been absorbed by the politics of the scenario, creating distinct divides that have both escalated the issue and opened old wounds.