Adapted from a novel by Ben Sherwood, and starring Zac Efron and Amanda Crew, Charlie St. Cloud is a passably effective melodrama that should play like catnip to its
star’s core female audience but hardly anyone else. An inoffensive,
worshipfully photographed, yet at times dramatically stolid
interpretation of swelling adolescent feeling, the movie wrings maximum
consequence out of Efron’s dewy-eyed, cherry-lipped pin-up
sensitivity. For the full review, from Screen International, click here. (Universal, PG-13, 99 minutes)
The feature film debut of writer-director Ryan Piers Williams, The Dry Land centers on James (Ryan O’Nan, below right), an Iraqi War veteran who struggles to reconnect with family and friends, including wife Sara (America Ferrera), upon returning home to small town Texas. Riddled with post-traumatic stress disorder and unable to reconcile his experiences overseas with the staid life he left at home, James sets off on a road trip to Walter Reed Hospital in Washington, D.C., hoping a wounded pal can shed light on the combat accident he can’t remember.
As James’ homebound friend and fellow vet, respectively, Jason Ritter and Wilmer Valderrama alternately inject some soulfulness and squirrelly energy into the movie. But, almost beat by beat, all the dramatic conflicts here are very familiar in both construction and source, from quick-trigger sexual aggression and communicative dysfunction to boozy masculine bonding gone wrong.
Meanwhile, the film’s female characters — shrews or wounded doves, all — are mostly underwritten to a ghastly degree. And while there’s lip service about “understanding,” in none of the supporting characters’ actions do they ever seem to reflect a realization that direct confrontation is not the best form of engagement with psychologically fragile soldiers. Viewers needn’t have seen either Coming Home or Army Wives for this to ring essentially hollow. Narratively, The Dry Land just goads when it’s convenient and shrinks when it suits its purposes, never feeling like an honest exploration of its characters’ problems. For more information, click here. (Maya/Freestyle, R, 92 minutes)
I’ve had many a conversation over a beer, or glass of wine, about how humankind’s knowledge of its own mortality is pretty much the root cause of all of our anxieties, aggressions and troubles. The lurking recognition of a finite period of time in which to luxuriate, however much we try to cram that deeper into the recesses of our minds, warps our thinking, and leads to fitful acting out or otherwise perverted rationalizations. After all, who doesn’t want more of life, just on their own terms?
Well, some folks, of course. Life is hard, and psychological thriller After.Life, written and directed by Agnieszka Wojtowicz-Vosloo, centers on someone for whom it might just not be worth it anymore, no matter the recent trajectory. In telling the story of a young woman caught up between life and death, it assays in intriguing fashion a unique viewpoint — the forlorn depressive — not frequently accorded much front-and-center screen time.
Elementary school teacher Anna Jordan (Christina Ricci) has suffered through plenty in her life, some of which is spelled out and some of which is only hinted at. She’s built up a wall around herself, though, that much is evident — even though she has a boyfriend, Paul Coleman (Justin Long), who clearly loves her, and wants to take their relationship to the next level. An argument at dinner one night leads to a car
accident, after which Anna wakes up to find herself on the preparatory table of local funeral director Eliot Deacon
(Liam Neeson). He calmly tells her she’s dead, and that her
funeral is in three days time. At first Anna doesn’t believe him. Does Eliot truly have the
gift to talk to the dead and help them transition to the afterlife? Or
is he concealing a more sinister secret? As time passes and her funeral service looms, Anna becomes resigned to passing on into whatever realm awaits her, but Paul launches his own investigation, unconvinced of her death.
After.Life, Wojtowicz-Vosloo’s feature debut, has a quiet, unfussy sense of cool menace, in addition to low-fi style to burn, told as it is in claustrophobic fashion in a muted palette of greys and blues, with Anna’s blood red slip purposefully serving as a visual signifier of her predicament. (The filmmaker’s choice of end credit music, Radiohead’s haunting “Exit Music for a Film,” further underscores her arthouse inclinations, and clear preference for emotional murkiness.) For most of its running time, this dance of tenuous reality works. At a certain point, however, the grip of its hold starts to loosen, mainly the result of a narrative strand involving a student of Anna’s, which feels either like a wholesale miscalculation or fumbled execution (take your pick). Unarguably, though, after so trading on ambiguity in a facile manner, the movie in its last six minutes tacks on one too many appended twists, aiming for a more corporeal and “complete,” forward-leaning payoff that just isn’t necessary.
If Ricci isn’t afforded quite enough meaty dialogue to fully color her character and take the film’s mopey doom and gloom to truly dizzying heights, the acting here is still
engaging, and in particular some of the scenes involving Neeson’s
character holding forth on death have an eerie quality, given the
still-recent passing of his wife, Natasha Richardson. At the very least After.Life deserves points for the atypical nature of its effort. If Wojtowicz-Vosloo doesn’t fully follow her instincts, but instead seemingly yields to her idea of what an air-quote commercial take on such subject matter would be, well… it’s hardly the most venal of filmmaking sins.
After.Life comes to Blu-ray presented in 1080p, in 2.40:1 widescreen, with Dolby digital 5.1 surround sound and PCM 5.1 audio tracks, as well as optional English SDH and Spanish subtitles. Its supplemental features, in addition to its own preview and trailers for forthcoming DVD releases of Spartacus and The Disappearance of Alice Creed, consist of an audio commentary track with Wojtowicz-Vosloo and a fairly short making-of featurette in which she is also the chief figure. Both are heavy with spoilers, and in the latter, somewhat surprisingly, the filmmaker actually addresses her work’s ambiguity, answering outright the question of Anna and Eliot’s respective states, and — not unlike Richard Kelly’s deflating Donnie Darko audio commentary track — taking some of the punch out of her work in the process. To purchase the Blu-ray via Amazon, click here. If DVD is your thing, meanwhile, click here. B (Movie) C+ (Disc)
As the public debate over homosexuality pivots from generalized tolerance and more toward the issue of marriage equality, it’s becoming harder for many under 30 or so to remember a time when the idea of a public homosexual identity was actually such a big deal. Word Is Out, which debuted in 1977 as the first feature-length documentary about lesbian
and gay identity made by gay filmmakers, and now three-plus decades later makes it DVD debut, takes viewers back in time to that era.
Formed in the mid-1970s, the Mariposa Film Group consisted of Peter Adair, his sister Nancy Adair, Andrew Brown, Rob Epstein (The Times of Harvey Milk), Lucy Massie Phenix (Winter Soldier) and Veronica Selver. They were a group that sought to create a simple and straightforward film free of political didactics — a movie that would reflect the complex experience of both growing up gay and coming out of the closet in America. After conducting 140 interviews, the filmmakers narrowed their focus to a couple more than two dozen people encompassing various races, ages and regional backgrounds. They then simply let the cameras roll, and recorded their stories.
Both through a theatrical release and prime-time television broadcasts, Word Is
Out quickly became a sociocultural landmark in socially-minded independent cinema, helping untold numbers of people accept themselves, and also introducing to friends and
families the notion that gay people weren’t somehow radically different than them. As a film, Word Is Out holds up because of its inherent emotional honesty; one senses the almost subterranean electrical charge coming off of some of these subjects, as they verbalize feelings for the first time in their lives. (On that front, it’s tangentially interesting to observe how many interviewees
enjoy the crutch of a smoke or beer while they recount feelings of isolation, desperation and the like.) The stories crackle with energy, and run the full gamut of human emotion.
The Outfest Legacy Project and UCLA Film & Television Archive worked
in painstaking fashion to restore the film, and this DVD release is pegged to the 40th anniversary of the first Gay Pride marches. That this stirring nonfiction work, a prima facie document of considerable humanistic import, can now move, charm, engage and perhaps further galvanize future generations is a good thing.
Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, Word Is Out comes to DVD with English SDH subtitles, and a wealth of fairly engaging bonus material that properly contextualizes the film. A 25-minute, then-and-now retrospective includes interview material with the filmmakers and many of the film’s participants, as well as David Bohnett, whose generous contribution helped make the high-definition video restoration of this DVD premiere possible. Another featurette, quoting liberally from an article penned by Peter Adair, entitled “So You Wanna Be a Collective,” assays the collaborative nature of the movie’s production, and a separate tidbit also provides a more detailed breakdown of the Mariposa Film Group’s history. A trailer for the movie, afterthoughts by participants, a standalone chat with the aforementioned Bohnett and an Outfest Legacy Project PSA round out the supplemental material. To purchase the DVD directly, phone (800) 603-1104, or click here. Or if Amazon is totally your thing, click here. B+ (Movie) B+ (Disc)
A slow-burn rural drama that seems to unfold somewhere between real-life and deep-fried folk tale, feature debut director Aaron Schneider’s 1930s-set Get Low centers around Felix Bush (Robert Duvall, again trading in crazy-old-coot mode), an irascible hermit who lives in a cabin at the wooded edge of a small Tennessee town, where everyone seems to have heard a frightening story about him. Felix approaches funeral services director Frank Quinn (Bill Murray, amusingly projecting both self-interest and sincerity) and his assistant Buddy Robinson (Lucas Black), wanting to throw a funeral party… for himself, while he’s alive. Concocting a plan wherein townsfolk gather to share tales about him and he auctions off his land via lottery, Felix tries to work up the courage to share his own story. When he finds himself increasingly nervous as the date approaches, however, he turns to a figure from his past for some help.
The mystery driving this narrative forward, of course, is the nature of Felix’s self-imposed four-decade isolation, and that small stakes X-factor mostly works for the movie in a fairly low-key way. In the end, the dramatic payoff here is pretty mundane — a personal unburdening involving a former beau (Sissy Spacek) that has no real cathartic consequences for anyone else, and barely even really for Felix. It might not completely warrant Get Low‘s malingering pace, but serves as a reminder that the pleasures of life as frequently lie in the journey as the destination. Fans of Secondhand Lions, Starting Out In the Evening and Junebug take note. (Sony Classics, PG-13, 100 minutes)
