Cop thrillers are ubiquitous, but it’s fairly rare to see a movie that takes as its primary focus other emergency responders. That novelty is but one of several factors that help distinguish and elevate The Call, an enjoyably nerve-racking thriller of imperilment that takes as its heroine a distraught 911 call center operator. Solid performances by Halle Berry and Abigail Breslin abet a rigorous, smart packaging from director Brad Anderson.
If much of the enjoyment of The Call is not necessarily in what happens so much as how it happens, the movie still imparts good, popcorn-level tension and thrills. Further adding to its differentiation, The Call also delivers a nice end twist that isn’t so much a wild revelation as just a little spiky add-on of moral ambiguity. This is pop Hollywood filmmaking done right — stirred cocktail of tension, with the ability to also actually spark a conversation. For the full, original review, from Screen Daily, click here. (Sony, R, 94 minutes)
Daily Archives: March 14, 2013
Language of a Broken Heart
Language of a Broken Heart is exactly the movie that one expects it to be — a frustrating quality for some, perhaps, but smooth medicine for those who trust and like writer-actors’ puppy dog tales that unfold loosely in the vein of the work of Edward Burns. An earnest, uncomplicated and funny-around-the-edges little romantic comedy about a guy on the rebound but still stuck in psychological orbit of his ex, multi-hyphenate Juddy Talt’s movie works best as a showcase for his talents.
The story is paper thin, even by genre standards. Nick (Talt) is a best-selling author who can write eloquently about feelings and love, but can’t ever seem to find a woman that doesn’t cheat on him. (There’s some truth-in-therapy insights about his romantic picker to be tilled, but this isn’t that movie.) When his fiancée Violet (Lara Pulver) suggests a break after a dalliance with another man, Nick leaves New York City and heads home to reconnect with family and friends, including best pal Cubbie (Ethan Cohn) and his mom Mimi (Julie White). A luggage screw-up leads him to meet free spirit Emma (Kate French), who wears berets, shoots a mean game of pool and pushes Nick out of his comfort zone.
Emma is of course a total cinematic fantasy construct — the perfectly made-up girl with beaming white teeth and “dorky hip” glasses who, you know, also manages an unopened antiquarian bookstore she recently inherited from her grandmother. She’s fun-loving and “spontaneous,” and uses words like scallywag. And Nick, as written, isn’t necessarily much better developed; he’s kind of clueless, and a doormat, which doesn’t track with his professional success.
Still, just when one might be ready to either punch themselves in the head or the filmmakers in the nuts over the preciousness of said logline and description, it’s a pleasure to report that Language of a Broken Heart wins out — at least on the margins, for those predisposed to have an interest in laid-track rom-coms — by way of its way of its performances and interplay. It’s kind of nice that Talt doesn’t resort to slapstick-y hijinks or gross-out humor; his screenplay, however functional the characterizations, is at least rooted in the interactions and recognizably human frustrations of those characters. Oscar Nuñez, of The Office, contributes a funny supporting performance as Nick’s therapist, who’s undergoing his own divorce, and there are some smart little well-observed barbs, too, as when Cubbie, in only the manner a best friend can, takes the piss out of Nick by saying, “I read somewhere that depressions effects losers the most — that’s just science.”
Talt, who sort of recalls Owen Wilson by way of Chris Evans, is an appealing peg on which to hang Language of a Broken Heart, even if it is a well-worn jacket. And French is beautiful and appropriately, engagingly flirty. Apart from a nice time-lapse bit in Times Square, director Rocky Powell delivers a fairly straightforward and blandly shot interpretation of the script. There’s never a real suspension of disbelief here — one always knows they’re watching a movie. But it’s a popular track for a reason, so rom-com fans with an indie appreciation might enjoy just saying, “Play it again, Sam.” For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. For the movie’s trailer and more information, visit its eponymous website. (House Lights Media, R, 98 minutes)
The Girl Redux, Yet Again
David Riker’s The Girl, starring Australian-born Abbie Cornish as a negligent Texas single mother who becomes embroiled with a young, would-be illegal immigrant, opened last December for a brief, awards-qualifying stint, and after bowing in New York City last week hits Los Angeles and other cities this week, starting tomorrow. Ergo, this re-set of my review.
For Ellen
A somewhat pedestrian and air-quote small story of blue-collar despair, familial fracturing and choking uncertainty, writer-director So Yong Kim’s mastery of tone and elements turns For Ellen into a thing of tender, forlorn beauty. Anchored by a strong performance from Paul Dano, this wonderfully wrought character study is a spare, intimate treat that should find welcome reception with arthouse audiences.
Struggling singer-songwriter Joby Taylor (Dano, quite good) takes a break from life on the road — and rather purposefully leaves behind girlfriend Susan (Jena Malone) — to come in and try to amicably settle his impending divorce from wife Claire (Margarita Levieva), whom he has not seen in a very long time. Joby’s willing and ready to sign off on the house and other assets, but is distraught to learn that Claire does not want him to have any visitation rights to Ellen (Shaylena Mandigo), their six-year-old daughter that he long ago abandoned. As his buttoned-up lawyer, Fred (a bearded Jon Heder), tries to negotiate matters, Joby reflects on whether he can really walk away from Ellen for good.
Korean-American Kim, born in Pusan, South Korea but raised in Los Angeles, has a deft touch with alienation expressed through environmental chilliness. This was especially true of In Between Days, her semi-autobiographical feature debut, which in 2006 picked up a Special Jury Prize at the Sundance Film Festival, and it remains true here. Working with cinematographer Reed Morano, Kim crafts a movie whose haunting, beautifully captured wintry landscapes are a physical stand-in for the roiling, distressed and self-destructive inner feelings of Joby.
Kim’s works also frequently touch upon issues of parental separation and abandonment, and it’s her comfort level and communicative skill with this theme that make Joby’s eventual visit with Ellen so arresting. Spanning more than 25 minutes, this sequence between Dano and the young Mandigo is masterfully orchestrated — almost a short film unto itself, full of carefully dosed regret, pain, ambivalence. Plenty of other films, and filmmakers, could (and have) tread the same terrain Kim does in For Ellen. She makes it personal, however, which — combined with her shrewd powers of observance, reservoir of passion for her characters, and refusal to indulge in a pat or “correct” conclusion — make her movie something special.
Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case in turn stored in a cardboard slipcover, For Ellen comes to DVD presented in a nice 1.78:1 widescreen transfer, alongside a 5.1 Dolby digital audio track that more than adequately handles the movie’s spare aural design. The only bonus feature, unfortunately, is a very short, three-minute behind-the-scenes featurette that seems almost as concerned as touting the sponsor of the movie’s Tribeca Film Festival premiere, American Express, as imparting much of consequence about Kim’s work. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here; if brick-and-mortar retailers are still your thing, by all means do that. B+ (Movie) D+ (Disc)
ShockYa DVD Column, March 13
Hey, do you feel like you want to read words about the new Star Wars fandom documentary Jedi Junkies, Katy Perry, Jean-Claude Van Damme, former Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet and more? Then my latest Blu-ray/DVD column, over at ShockYa, is right up your alley. Click here for the read; commemorative patch sold separately.