by George Wolf
Furious 7
So, I went to a car racing movie and the next Avengers broke out. And that’s okay.
After six installments of Fast & Furious, a savvy new director is smart enough to go all in and take number seven to the superhero playground that the previous installments were yearning for.
The entire premise puts the “donk” in redonkulous anyway, so why not go..ahem, full throttle? Remember, these are street racing criminals that have “won” their freedom and are now working for the Feds to take down drug lords and mercenaries. Up to now, the films were just too earnest about what they were shoveling. Credit director James Wan for a welcome “let’s just have fun and do some cool stunts” attitude.
Wan (The Conjuring, Insidious, Saw) lets you know this is a different sort of ride even before the first credits, with a fluid opening full of action and style. After that, we learn that ex-British black ops killing machine Deckard Shaw (Jason Statham) has come to avenge his brother from part 6, which means Dominic (Vin Diesel) and his gang have to take Shaw out first.
That mission is sidetracked by Mr. Nobody (Kurt Russell), a covert intelligence honcho who offers Dominic a deal. Track down a hacker who has invented the world’s best surveillance program (“God’s Eye”!), and get the the full support of U.S. black ops in return.
Ooh, it’s on!
Turns out, though, the hacker gave her program to some guy in Dubai, so it’s off to the UAE so she can sport a bikini and Letty (Michelle Rodriguez’) can fight Ronda Rousey and Dom can fly a super car between two…check that…three skyscrapers!
Wan makes sure that stunt and many others, both car and fist related, look fantastic. In particular, the sequence with Brian (Paul Walker) escaping as a bus falls over cliff is likely to bring roars of gleeful approval.
Dwayne Johnson is still huge, Vin Diesel is still as wooden as his dialogue, and the plot is much more convoluted than necessary, bloating the film by at least thirty minutes. A faster Furious is a leaner, meaner, better Furious.
But there’s fun here. As the gang fights a terrorist and blows up half of downtown LA in the process, just think of these cars as Iron Man’s newest super suit, and go with it.
Kumiko, The Treasure Hunter
Films based on true stories are a dime a dozen. Kumiko, the Treasure Hunter is, appropriately enough, based on confusion.
In 2001, Japanese travel agent Takako Konishi’s body was found in the snow of North Dakota and, through a series of misunderstandings, the urban legend developed claiming that she’d made the trip from Tokyo in search of the money Carl Showalter (Steve Buscemi) buried in the snow in the film Fargo.
In 2003, Paul Berczeller made a documentary short to sift through the truth and the myth of Konishi’s death, but Kumiko co-writer/director David Zellner is more interested in the legend. With the help of a magnificent Rinko Kikuchi (Oscar nominee for Babel), he weaves a dreamy dark comedy that’s both visually stunning and hypnotic.
In the wrong hands, Kumiko could easily have fallen into caricature: socially withdrawn, delusions of grandeur, general misanthropy. But that would have undermined the lilting melancholy of Zellner’s script (writing again with his brother Nathan), and would have tiptoed far too close to mocking the honest tragedy on which this film is loosely, imaginatively based.
Luckily, Kikushi’s were the right hands, and it’s hard to imagine anyone doing more right by this character. With no real friend besides her bunny Bunzo, Kumiko’s world is so utterly internal that she remains a fascinating if awkward enigma throughout the film. Through a mostly physical performance Kikushi both articulates the off-kilter logic that drives this character and shows off the most bittersweet comic timing.
Like a little red-hooded Don Quixote, the more desperately invested Kumiko becomes in her fantasy the tenderer we feel for her, which is a great contrast to the way a film like this often works – the deeper into the zany adventure, the nuttier and nuttier the protagonist becomes. Zellner and Kikushi pull the opposite direction, giving the film an honest emotional tug.
Zellner’s inspiration is the work of the Cohens almost as much as it is the myth surrounding Takako Konishi’s death. While his cinematic style can’t quite touch that of those masters, with the help of a phenomenal central performance and his peculiar flair for storytelling, he’s created a truly memorable film.
Find more of my reviews at MaddWolf.com!
Photo credit: AP Photo/Universal Pictures, Scott Garfield