A buzzy American premiere at this summer’s Los Angeles Film Festival, director Sebastian Cordero’s low-boil, sci-fi thriller Europa Report has racked up rapturous reviews in large part because of the stark contrast in which it stands to most like-minded genre efforts. Undeniably, it is elegant, understated and wonderfully designed. Unfortunately, it’s also frustratingly hackneyed — a solidly cast, interesting budget concept absolutely wrecked by cross-cutting and needless voiceover.

Penned by Philip Gelatt, the film centers on a mission to Jupiter’s titular icy moon, to investigate the possibility of alien life within our solar system. Six astronauts from all over the globe (Sharlto Copley, Michael Nyqvist, Daniel Wu, Christian Camargo, Karolina Wydra and Anamaria Marinca) are selected for the mission, and after a forced correction on their landing leaves them 100-plus yards from their designed spot for settling, they soon experience a loss of communication with their Earth-bound handler (Embeth Davidtz), plus a shocking discovery more profound than they could have imagined.

Europa Report is anchored by its visuals; cinematographer Enrique Chediak helped design an innovative eight-camera system, wherein lenses are given fixed positions throughout the spaceship, which was created in concert with Oscar-winning production designer Eugenio Caballero. This makes for a unique low-budget experience — one that conveys both the wonderment and claustrophobia of outer space travel.

Director Cordero’s framing and editing choices are terrible, however — full of woeful miscalculations from almost the outset, where mixed direct-address monologues create more of a sense of confusion than audience identification. The story, a bit of speculative/alternative history a la Apollo 18 or Transformers: Dark of the Moon, is in and of itself fine, but the manner in which Europa Report ping-pongs back and forth between different time periods, settings and modes — pre-launch interviews from Earth, omniscient camera footage from the craft, Real World-style confessionals from the craft, press conferences from Earth, etcetera — becomes at first wearying and then just ire-provoking.

There are moments of wonder here — Bear McCreary’s pulsing music, and the austere artfulness of a character drifting off to death in the void of outer space — but Europa Report is a movie that is less than the sum of its parts. For low-fidelity science-fiction, try Moon instead. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. (Magnet Releasing, PG-13, 90 minutes)

Deeper meaning rises sneakily to the surface in the offbeat, austere Prince Avalanche, writer-director David Gordon Green’s re-imagined, loose adaptation of a 2011 Icelandic film, Either Way. A posed man-child statement of surprisingly substantive feeling, the film connects easily and most readily as a quaint little comic bauble — an odd-couple tale with slow-peddled seriocomic detail — largely because of its two affable stars, Paul Rudd and Emile Hirsch, and the uniqueness of its desolate setting. In savvy fashion, though, this meditative film makes an unexpected statement.



The movie unfolds in rural Texas in 1988, in the aftermath of what a simple insert card tells viewers was a devastating wildfire that destroyed more than 1,600 homes. Alvin (Rudd) and Lance (Hirsch) work by themselves as road-stripers, painting traffic lines on lonely stretches of highway that run through this burnt-out wasteland. Apart from occasional interactions with a gruff trucker (Lance LeGault) who passes through the area, they are virtually alone. Alvin is the foreman, a head-down, nose-to-the-grindstone kind of guy (“I have a lot of prescription medications… but I try not to use them”) and the younger Lance, the brother of his girlfriend, is a characteristically shortsighted loafer who just lives for the weekend, when he heads to the city and tries to get laid.

Beautifully shot by frequent Green collaborator Tim Orr, Prince Avalanche doesn’t do much more than chart this duo’s bickering and uneasy détente, and yet it achieves a sort of mesmerizing hold, for the manner in which it assays notions of place versus home, and loneliness versus being alone. There’s an abstruse yet meaningful and even semi-poetic quality to the dialogue in many of Green’s indie efforts, like All the Real Girls, Undertow and especially his debut, George Washington. That quality is again quite on display in Prince Avalanche, married to evocative music by Explosions in the Sky and David Wingo.

Rudd and especially Hirsch are great. Their characters (especially Lance) are air-quote dumb or foolish as a kind of distillation of the essence of oft-unarticulated male feeling and neediness, and the actors capture this with a piercing grace and honesty. Nowhere is this more evident than in an extended monologue of sexual frustration Lance delivers late in the film, relating his weekend to Alvin. It’s quietly hilarious in both its detail and pure haplessness, but it’s when the story is later revealed to have been at least partially misplaced in its emotion that Prince Avalanche really blooms. Everybody hurts — even men who may not yet be in the position or emotive state to fully realize it. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. (Magnolia, R, 94 minutes)

Breaking Bad fans, foreign film cineastes and gangster flick aficionados should all find something worthwhile in Johnnie To’s taut, impeccably staged Drug War, an involving, atmospheric cops-and-criminals import. For years, To’s films struggled to find Stateside distribution, while lesser action filmmakers burnished their reputations ripping off his style. That changed by degrees with a stretch of films from 2005 to 2007, including Triad Election, Exiled and Triangle, which did mostly boutique box office in the United States but solid home video business for distributor Tartan.

The 58-year-old, Hong Kong-born To (whose name rhymes with “row”) often delivers films that touch upon themes of fate, exploiting his knack for keen, offhand social observation while never sacrificing a highly stylized visual aesthetic. His first mainland production leans more toward an exercise in style than some of his previous fare, but Drug War still serves up a gripping if familiar police-sting narrative along with the filmmaker’s characteristically brawny, well-edited action theatrics. Doom hangs over the movie like a low-lying cloud, and there is certainly metaphor in the air if one looks for it. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. (Variance Films, unrated, 105 minutes)

A huge portion of the buzz surrounding 2006’s The Break-Up had to do with costars Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston taking their offscreen relationship public, and the chattering class dissecting how sincere that was or was not. It became its own little tabloid thing — a more demure, B-story callback to the alleged production hook-up of Angelina Jolie with Aniston’s ex, Brad Pitt, on Mr. & Mrs. Smith — and subsequently drowned out what should have been the more interesting story: namely, of Vaughn’s debut as a writer-producer, developing the idea of a comedy rooted in the dissolution of a relationship that was never meant to last forever.



I Give It a Year takes the kernel of that same premise and, with a bit less bite, spins it off into a fun, amusing, will-they-or-won’t-they confection — a love rhombus wherein a hastily married couple grapples with mutually wandering eyes. Written and directed by Dan Mazer (Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan), and superbly cast, the London-set movie sells an utter fantasy, sure (romantic fissure absent any real churned-up emotional turmoil), but it does so in so good and entertaining a manner — in compact, funny strokes and a breezy, winning tone — as to sidestep all but the most piddling of complaints.

When novelist Josh Moss (Rafe Spall) and ambitious advertising executive Nat Redfern (Rose Byrne) cap their whirlwind seven-month courtship by getting married, none of their friends — a group that includes Dan (Stephen Merchant) and the married, bickering Naomi (Minnie Driver) and Hugh (Jason Flemyng) — much expect it to last. Nine months later, Josh and Nat are stuck feeling the same thing. With the bloom of romance having worn off, their incompatibilities are cast in a starker light. Joint romantic temptation, then, arrives in the form of Chloe (Anna Faris), Josh’s ex-girlfriend, and Guy (Simon Baker), a smooth new American client of Nat’s. As they attend counseling, things at first don’t seem to be getting much better, but they decide to stick with it and push onward, toward their one-year anniversary.

It’s true that Mazer sketches the strife of Josh and Nat in the broadest strokes possible, and doesn’t much root down into hot-flash acrimony in the way that The Break-Up rather admirably did. But if one excepts and accepts that element of I Give It a Year as a sort of general placeholder for the initial flush of a romantic relationship, when every action of the other party (like misunderstood song lyrics, for instance) takes on an enchanted quality that will eventually not only lose its luster but become downright annoying, then the movie works fine.

This mostly owes to some funny yet unforced set pieces and Mazer’s deft touch with quips, which run the gamut from pointed observational humor to more barbed putdowns (“Oh, look at you — somebody swallowed a copy of Eat Pray Love!”). I Give It a Year is a film that very much connects on the strength of its joke-writing and delivery.

Mazer has a great cast, too, but this isn’t merely some slice of wind-up cinema, with actors set loose and left to their own devices. He directs them quite well, giving the film’s ensemble scenes real liveliness and pop. Driver and Flemyng give delightful supporting performances, and Olivia Colman is equally enjoyable as Nat and Josh’s snappish therapist. Other players are cast in a bit of a new light. Byrne, so good on Damages, has almost always given off something of a cool vibe, but here she’s relaxed and loose — completely at home and in touch with the material. Faris, meanwhile, has always rather specialized in characters that exist in their own special mental orbit, but Mazer elicits one of the most subdued, focused and performances of her career. She plays Chloe mostly “normal” and straight — flustered and confused by her ever-present connection to Josh despite his marriage — and is no less engaging for the choice. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. In addition to its theatrical engagements, I Give It a Year is also presently available across various VOD platforms. (Magnolia, R, 97 minutes)

Mid-level animation meets a slapdash, achingly familiar story in the lackluster animated adventure tale Planes, billed as a spinoff to Disney’s successful Cars franchise. Absent much in the way of any special Pixar pixie dust, however, Planes shifts into autopilot early on, and rushes through a checklist of underdog self-actualization in a manner more dutiful than inspired. All but the youngest viewers may leave feeling they’ve overpaid for this flight. For the full, original review, from Screen Daily, click here. (Disney, PG, 92 minutes)

Acute moments of heartbreak punctuate the new documentary Off Label, a collage-type snapshot of runaway pharma-culture which otherwise struggles to find a topic sentence or cultivate a cogent point-of-view. A nonfiction competition title at the Tribeca Film Festival, directors Michael Palmieri and Donal Mosher’s movie is an example of well-intentioned cinematic social advocacy undone by haphazard, point-and-shoot construction.

Off Label ostensibly centers around seven subjects (or family members of same) who have served, either wittingly or unwittingly, as test subjects for drug manufacturers or doctors nominally in their employ. And certain of its narrative strands are undeniably hugely compelling. Iraq War veteran Andrew Duffy, a one-time medic stricken with post-traumatic stress disorder, talks about being directed to use 14-gauge needles on Abu Ghraib prisoners for their IVs, as part of effort to psychologically break them. A montage of gruesome photographs, meanwhile, shows some of the other horrors of war to which he was subjected.

Equally affecting are the reminiscences of Mary Weiss, the mother of a mentally ill young man who committed suicide during a 2004 University of Minnesota clinical trial of the drug Seroquel. There’s an eerie tranquility to many of her musings, but the chilling, graphic recounting of the specifics of her son’s death (“This is what the drugs do — if Dan simply wanted to kill himself, he wouldn’t have done that”) provides Off Label with an unnerving moment of piercing, wretched sadness destined to be rarely surpassed on the screen this year.

The problem is that directors Palmieri and Mosher evidence little instinct for corralling their story into something manageable and salient. Their efforts to select a broad cross-section of people whose lives are impacted by Big Pharma is commendable, but they get caught up in secondary details or character traits (the marriage of a bohemian couple who have lived largely off of income as compensated test subjects; the gambling habits of another such young man) without first establishing many of the specifics of their respective stories.

Off Label can’t see the forest through the trees; its makers get lost as to exactly what sort of story they’re telling. Is it about the immorality of forced drug trials from the 1960s on prison inmates whose consent was at best coerced? Is it about psychiatrists dealing with poly-pharmacy generated by primary care physicians prescribing medications about which they have little expertise? Is it about the continued lack of substantive national dialogue on mental illness as it relates to health care? Passionate and jumbled, Off Label is a conversation-starter, but as much for its shortcomings as for what it says about the state of drugs in America. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here; to visit the movie’s website, click here. Off Label opens this week in Los Angeles at the Laemmle Royal; it expands in weeks following to a limited national release. In addition to its theatrical engagements, though, the movie is also presently available across VOD platforms. (Oscilloscope, unrated, 80 minutes)

A rising tide of dread and desperation marks Jug Face, a low-budget, independent slice of Southern Gothic characterized by a solid technical package. The freshman feature effort of writer-director Chad Crawford Kinkle, this psychologically rooted horror film recalls the movies of Lucky McKee — and with good reason, since the May and Sick Girl director serves as an executive producer here.

The story unfolds in a rural, backwoods community, where moonshine seems to be the only connection to the outside world. Teenager Ada (Lauren Ashley Carter) is set to be married off to Bodey (Mathieu Whitman) by her father Sustin (Larry Fessenden) and mother Loriss (Sean Young). What they don’t know, however, is that Ada’s walks in the woods with her brother Jessaby (Daniel Manche) are more than innocent strolls — and that she’s pregnant.

All this would be a simpler tragedy if not for the fact that the community indulges in occasional human sacrifice to a mysterious pit. The pit supposedly heals wounds and sickness, but also requires fealty in the form of a corporal offering when potter Dawai (Sean Bridgers) goes into a trance and carves the visage of someone onto a ceremonial jug. When Ada discovers she’s been tabbed as the next sacrifice, it sets off a scramble for survival — with far-reaching consequences for her entire burgh.

There’s a simple, streamlined narrative quality, and corresponding restraint, to Jug Face. It feels properly scaled. Though it does get bloody, the film eschews much in the way of gore in favor of steeped atmosphere and tension. It mostly works, even if Ava and Jessaby’s sibling bond could use a deeper and more sincere exploration, and Kinkle doesn’t quite figure out the most compelling bridge between the movie’s second act and its ending.

What gives Jug Face its punch is Kinkle’s instincts for construction; they’re superb, and extend to composer Sean Spillane, who offers up a great, memorable and evocative leitmotif as part of his score. Chris Heinrich’s cinematography is also quite nice, fitting the naturalistic aesthetic of the movie. For genre fans there’s more of moody interest than not here in Jug Face — a film of modest intentions, but solid execution. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. Jug Face opens this week in Los Angeles at the Laemmle Music Hall, and in addition to its theatrical engagements it’s also available across VOD platforms. (Modern Distributors/Modernciné, unrated, 81 minutes)

A mythologically-infused adventure quest with a reluctant hero archetype straight from the notes of Joseph Campbell, Percy Jackson: Sea of Monsters works as a delivery vehicle for unabashed B-movie pleasures aimed squarely at the preteen set. A solid sequel to 2010’s Percy Jackson & The Olympians: The Lightning Thief, this predictably plotted but nonetheless fun and engaging offering harks back to matinee serials of yore, where moderated, all-ages peril and derring-do were the name of the game. Several of the youthful performances favor a certain demonstrativeness that doesn’t linger much on the brain. Lorgan Lerman (above left), though, ably embodies Percy’s can-do spirit and awakening, while Nathan Fillion in particular serves up a wry, winning supporting turn. For the full, original review, from Screen Daily, click here. (20th Century Fox, PG, 106 minutes)

A satisfying, enormously likable genre cocktail, Cockneys vs. Zombies not only delivers upon its title promise, but does so with wit and fleet-of-foot aplomb. Director Matthias Hoene, working from a screenplay by James Moran and Lucas Roche, delivers an entertaining romp that successfully purées its many disparate antecedents, imparting flecks of cheeky homage while also standing steady, firm and fine on its own two feet. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. In addition to its theatrical engagements, Cockneys vs. Zombies is also available across VOD platforms. (Shout Factory/Dada Films/Film Collective, unrated, 88 minutes)

 

A willfully muted chamber piece, The Time Being is a curious thing. Centering mostly around a struggling artist (Wes Bentley) and his mysterious new benefactor (Frank Langella), the film touches on themes of loneliness, family and social need, but doesn’t sketch out its characters in interesting or dynamic enough fashion to ever blossom into anything more than a meditative curio.

If it resolutely lacks any sort of cathartic roundhouse kick, The Time Being is never really outright boring mainly because co-writer Nenad Cican-Sain is also a disciplined director, and also oversees a beguiling if austere technical package that hints at roiled inner landscapes the screenplay proper doesn’t much address. What The Time Being lacks is something to stand in starker contrast to its spartan aesthetic. As written, Bentley’s character isn’t the most proactive, but the actor also plays him in a blank-faced manner that makes him seem divorced from any rooting interest in his own life, almost as if he’s trying to out-sublimate Langella. This is, needless to say, not a winning strategy. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. In addition to its theatrical dates, The Time Being is also currently available across VOD platforms. (Tribeca Film, unrated, 88 minutes)