Dig, if you will, the pictures in this week’s Screening Room:
Don’t Breathe
by Hope Madden, MaddWolf.com
Filmmaker Fede Alvarez announced his presence on the horror film scene with authority. His 2013 Evil Dead reboot was not only critically and commercially successful, it was also the bloodiest movie ever made. Nice.
For his sophomore effort Don’t Breathe, the director dials down the blood and gore in favor of almost unbearable tension generated through masterful deployment of set design, sound design, cinematography and one sparse but effective premise.
Young thugs systematically robbing the few remaining upscale Detroit homeowners follow their alpha into a surefire hit: a blind man (Stephen Lang) sitting on $300k.
The depleted urban landscape makes for an eerie reminder of the state of the once proud Motor City, but it’s also the perfect locale for a B&E – there are no neighbors left to call 911.
Unfortunately for our trio – Rocky (Evil Dead’s Jane Levy), Money (Daniel Zovatto) and Alex (Dylan Minnette) – this blind man is not the easy mark they’d predicted.
This is a scrappy film that gives you very little in the way of character development, backstory or scope. Instead, Alvarez focuses so intently on what’s in front of you that you cannot escape – a tension particularly well suited to this claustrophobic nightmare.
A masterwork in efficiency, Don’t Breathe wastes barely a frame. So few elements are telegraphed that the rare overplaying of a hand – a camera holds too long on a mallet or lingers on a framed photo sitting upside down on a mantle – feels like a real disappointment.
Rodo Sayagues’s taut screenplay wastes little time, relying instead on Pedro Luque’s panicked camera to convey as much as we need to know about the predicament these three friends have gotten us all into.
The always effective Lang cuts an impressive figure as the blind veteran with mad skills and crazy secrets. Wisely, Alvarez sidesteps easy categories. Though you may think you recognize each character as they first appear, no one is as easy to pigeonhole as you may think.
As he does with so much of the rest of the film, Alvarez makes excellent use of what little we know about the characters to keep us anxious.
But that’s not all – there are surprises enough to confound and amaze. You may think you have the old man’s secret figured out, but so do our hapless felons. Things get a little nuts as the tale rolls on, but thanks to the film’s breakneck pace and relentless tension, you’ll barely have time to breathe, let alone think.
Southside With You
by George Wolf, MaddWolf.com
Even if you knew nothing about the characters involved, Southside With You would be a sweet, smart, refreshingly grown up romance. It does nothing more than follow two people over the course of their first date.
But these people are Michelle Robinson and Barack Obama during a very hot Chicago day in 1989, and writer/director Richard Tanne, in a confident feature debut, finds plenty of resonance in an otherwise uneventful afternoon that changed the course of history.
As Barack (Parker Sawyers) and Michelle (Tika Sumpter) visit a museum, attend a community event, see a movie and get ice cream, Tanne’s dialogue lets us glimpse not only the beginning of one particularly important love story, but also more universal themes of identity, racism, sexism, political compromise and social justice.
Both leads are exceptional. We know these people, but not like this and not back then, and the actors are able to find that delicate balance between conveying first date curiosity and foreshadowing future achievements.
Sumpter (also one of the film’s producers) brings grace and measured defiance to the future First Lady while Sawyers nails Mr. Obama’s gait and speech pattern without the slightest hint of caricature or impersonation. As the couple flirts, argues and engages in a wonderfully free flowing conversation, the actors’ chemistry is irresistible.
Thought-provoking, slyly aware and unabashedly romantic, Southside With You could be the start of an exciting relationship with a talented new filmmaker.
Hands of Stone
by George Wolf, MaddWolf.com
Early in Hands of Stone, legendary boxing trainer Ray Arcel (Robert DeNiro) is schooling future legendary boxer Roberto Duran (Edgar Ramirez) on technique versus strategy. The film tells us there are vital differences, then shows us these differences aren’t just in the ring.
Like a fighter too caught up in the moment to remember the plan, the film boasts solid fundamentals but employs a tired strategy while exploring more openings than it can safely land.
Duran was born in Panama, rising to stardom against a backdrop of poverty and political unrest in his homeland. So of course his story is told from the old white guy’s point of view. Trainers are a natural element in boxing movies, true, but anchoring this one with Arcel is just bad strategy. I mean, Mickey was great at telling us that women weaken legs, but he never altered the long game: telling Rocky’s story.
Writer/director Jonathan Jakubowicz’s respect for Duran is evident, and sincere enough to not shy away from some of the unflattering aspects of Duran’s past. Equal confidence that his story could be told on its own terms would have been welcome. Ramirez rises above it with a terrific performance, capturing the early hunger and eventual crash of a gifted champion who often seemed plagued by contradictions.
DeNiro brings a nicely underplayed grace to the wise narrator’s role while Ana de Armas is dynamic as Duran’s wife Felicidad, showing her recent one-note role in War Dogs was a complete waste of both time and talent.
The fine performances do much to keep the film grounded as it struggles to find a consistent voice. Jakubowicz wants us to understand the social, political and familial forces that nagged Duran, but also lament how great boxing used to be and appreciate Duran’s rivalry with Sugar Ray Leonard (nicely done Usher Raymond).
It’s a crowded narrative, even before Arcel’s own family dramas and mob connections come to call.
Hands of Stone shows admirable heart and strong technique, but is often derailed by scattershot focus and a questionable strategy. Call it a split decision.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1W1L0WnVnjY
Mechanic: Resurrection
by Hope Madden and George Wolf, MaddWolf.com
Who smells hot trash? Is it a dumpster fire?
No, it’s just the latest Jason Statham movie.
Mechanic: Resurrection revisits the by-the-numbers Statham character Arthur Bishop. Back in 2011, Statham reprised the role first held by Charles Bronson in a middling-to-fair remake of The Mechanic. That film inexplicably merited a sequel that was not direct-to-home-viewing. Why that is confounds us.
Get nervous Gods of Egypt and London has Fallen – Mechanic: Resurrection wants that “worst film of the year” award, and it is not above soiling itself with incompetence to get it.
“WHO SENT YOU??!!”
Bishop faked his own death years back so he could escape his pointless existence as an assassin, but an old enemy has tracked him down. And brought henchmen! And kidnapped master thespian Jessica Alba! Damn this confining shirt!
“WHERE’S CAINE?!!”
Statham removes his shirt no fewer than 8 times in the film’s 99-minute running time. That’s almost once every ten minutes. The man is 49, so good for him, and for that core audience he’s built over a career of shirtless man-on-man action.
“PLAYTIME’S OVER!!”
Alba’s character development is more nuanced. She keeps her shirt on, but it’s always clingy and sometimes…even wet.
Remember how great Statham was in last year’s Spy? His turn as Rick Ford, uber-macho super agent, was hilarious specifically because it was sending up ludicrous movies just like Mechanic: Resurrection.
Bishop criss-crosses the globe with nary a toothbrush, yet at a moment’s notice he has access to countless bomb-making chemicals, ammunition, kick ass scuba equipment and multiple expensive watches. Then, before Bishop has to dive into shark-infested waters, the film is careful to show him applying a shark repellent lotion (patent pending), just to keep it real. Come on, by that point we’re expecting any sharks to have lasers on their heads on a direct order from Dr. Evil.
The sad thing is, this movie could have been saved. Make a few edits, give it a new score, call it Spy 2: Ford Gets His Own Movie, and you’ve got comedy gold. As is, this film is so bad John Travolta is jealous.
The Land
by George Wolf, MaddWolf.com
In case you’re not hip to the lingo, “The Land” is Cleveland, city of champions! Sure, that recent RNC downtown was a tire fire, but a basketball championship and a contending baseball team have brought some new found respect home to the North Coast.
Writer/director Steven Caple, Jr.’s gritty feature debut keeps the winning streak going.
Cisco (Jorge Lendeborg, Jr.) is a restless Cleveland teen, skipping school and skateboarding around the inner city streets with his crew Junior (Moises Arias), Patty Cake (Rafi Gavron) and Boobie (Ezri Walker). Stealing cars for quick cash, the boys pop one trunk to uncover a large stash of MDMA capsules, and quickly enter a more lucrative business.
There’s never a doubt that the local drug pusher (a terrific Linda Emond) will come calling, and the familiar genre trappings that follow do hamper the film’s ambitions. That Caple is able to prop them up with other stellar elements says much about both his raw talent and future potential.
His eye for atmospheric detail is sharp, as Caple contrasts intimate settings of the boys’ tough homelife with more panoramic shots of familiar Cleveland landmarks, achieving a nicely subtle reinforcement of the desire to escape.
Impressive instincts for camerawork are here as well, especially during the skateboarding sequences, but Caple has enough restraint to never become overtly showy. The urgent, pulsating soundtrack is another plus.
Even better, and the main reason The Land rises above its lack of freshness, is Caple’s obvious rapport with his cast, and the effective characterizations that follow.
Lendeborg and Arias have the look of real keepers, but all four youngsters are able to convey a desperation that resonates. Kim Coates and Michael Kenneth Williams provide veteran support while Emond channels Jacki Weaver from Animal Kingdom, stealing every scene with polite menace. In a smaller role, Cleveland native Colson Baker (aka rapper “Machine Gun Kelly”) again shows a charisma that could bring more substantial film offers.
There’s nothing in The Land we haven’t seen before, yet there is a style and a vision here that’s welcome, more than enough to brand Caple as a filmmaker full of promise.