Oldboy 2013

Let me start off by saying that, when I first found out that Spike Lee would be directing the American remake, I was over the moon. He seemed like one of the few American directors who could do the film justice. Keep the soul, the suffering and the heart of the tale intact. I felt that it was a blessing that the undoubtedly neutered, Spielberg and Smith remake would never see the light of day. Boy was I fucking wrong. The movie reeks of unnecessary American remake syndrome, no soul, no heart. Like a teenage boy it puts the little head, before the big head.

Before we get into the bad stuff, let us get the few good bits out of the way. The performances are really the only good bits. Josh Brolin gives a rock solid performance. No, it doesn’t come close to rivalling Min-sik Choi, but with a better script, Brolin might have. He carries the pain and confusion as if it were a rock left upon his back. Sharto Copley and Sam Jackson both had loads of fun with their respective roles by the looks of it. Their screen presence is undeniable as they chew through each scene with glee. If anything, this film once more proves that being a villain is far more fun than being the hero. This is where the positives end and the shit sandwich begins.

The film  itself follows the plot of the original almost scene for scene, only diverging at the end and a few little things here and there, so if you’ve seen the original there really is no need to watch this remake.  Actually, some of the changes that are actually made only serve to damage the film. Take Joe’s friend Chucky, in the original the character owns an internet café. This is how Joe was introduced to computers and the internet. In the remake Chucky, owns a bar. Apparently every American badass is only allowed to have bartenders/owners as friends.

I said that the performances are the only good bits, I really should’ve said they are good in spite of the script. You must give the actors credit for overcoming the grand over simplifications imposed on them Protosevich. He peels away all the layers of each and every character, until only one core feature is left per character. Combine them all and maybe you will have a fully fleshed out character. Well that or Voltron, who knows.

The villain is stripped of all complexity and depth. He is no longer a broken man who can balance his desire for vengeance with keeping up appearances. No, now he is an offensive gay stereotype. In the original his vengeance wasn’t imposed by meaningless violence, it was calculated to a perverse sense of justice that could let him have a modicum of peace. In the remake, this complexity is thrown out the window, he is made into a one dimensional stereotype. They take a broken man, who lives in a sort of moral grey space and turn him into sadomasochistic gay stereotype. Lee and co., take no time to establish his frame of reference as was done in the original. In the original, his point of view is essential to establishing his mentality, but it is not present in the film. The POV explains his mentality, it gives us the flip side of the coin to the protagonist. It turns them both into monsters and messed up avenging angels. How could the man who has made so many classics let that tanker sized detail slip through the cracks? It is downright offensive.

Then we have Joe. Like Copley’s villain, in the original, Joe’s character is a complex character that exists in a moral grey. In the 2003 version, the violence aimed for a stylized realism. The violence perpetrated by Joe was part of his characterisation; it told us tons of detail about his pain and desires without ever spilling it out in a vomit of words. In the remake, the over-choregraphed violence, strips that away from Joe. There is the scene where Joe beats up and possibly kills several jocks in broad daylight. In the original, Oh Dae Su is not the aggressor, he does his best to end the fight as quickly and efficiently as possible. Joe is not a broken man trying to find meaning, he is an 80’s action star in a serious drama and that my friends, fails on every fucking level possible. In the remake, they try to make it all style and all flash, Joe is the vigilante aggressor in an over stylized fight. Instead of efficiently moving past the obstacle to go continue to his goal, he stops and fights. He kills not out of necessity, but rather in service of fulfilling the assumed blood lust of the audience. Yes that can be cool too watch, but not if that’s not what your film is about. Like sex in violence must have contextual reason in any film, otherwise it is a distraction. It should fit logically and meaningfully. Here it is jarring for all the wrong reasons. It betrays the film itself by depicting brutality as stylish rather than cringe-worthy. This leads us to the hallway fight.

Yes they kept it in the film and boy did they butcher the fight. Where the original fight was a brutal marathon of endurance, shot with a low key and grimy style, this new fight exemplifies everything wrong with the remake. Everyone involved struggles to make the fight even cooler than the original and in the process, misses why the original was so cool. Lee’s fight is all about style and flash, it’s about having Joe make cool looking kills and fancy blows, but they’re all fluff. The stylishness draws attention to the fact that the scene is over-choreographed. In the original, you would cringe with the blows, because you could see the restraint, the fear, the exhaustion in each of the participants faces. The attacks have an air of disunity to them. Every blow, block and stab left its mark on the viewer. In the original, the fight showed that Joe is a brawler, not a trained fighter. This was done to establish that even though he could fight goons, Joe could not stand up to trained professionals. By stripping this brutality from the remake they serve to create confusion when Joe does finally confront a trained fighter. Fuck you Lee and Protosevich for shitting on one of the best fight sequences ever filmed.

The costume and art design is yet another tumble down a cliff. It’s as if the costume designer thought that the outrageous outfits from superhero comic books would actually look good on screen. They dress up Sam Jackson as some sort of pimp who’s a bit to obsessed with Sin City. The man chews up every scene he is given, but I’m sure he was left famished as he hunted for a role that was a far more filling then the scraps of this train wreck.

This only scratches the surface of what’s wrong with the film:

-the scene with Joe on a bicycle belongs in a comedy

-the showdown at the bar with the scraggly looking goons who look like mercenary hobos

-the American desire for a thong wearing sex puppet assistant who’s more furniture than person

-every time Copley plays with his fingers

-why the fuck is it that only two characters have aged over the course of 20 years?

The ending, like everything else in this film, it tries to outdo the original in the ickiness factor. In some ways it does, but unlike in the original where the revelations are heartbreaking, in the American version the revelations are push so far beyond the boundaries that one can’t help but laugh as it dives head first into a comedy. It’s like Mark Protosevich simply did not understand it.

The film is like a circus freakshow. It begs to be gawked at. It calls for your attention with its vapid displays of shocking moments and CGI arterial spurts. It takes, truly heart wrenching moments and turns them into carnival amusment, defeating the entire point of the manga and the 2003 film.

In the end, you can see that the effort and desire was there. I truly believe that everyone involved thought they were making a good film. It is too bad that they decided to focus on how to make it cooler than the original instead of making something with soul. I guess Spike Lee just really needed a cash influx.

Only for those with morbid curiosity about how badly an Oldboy remake could be.

Hannibal, Season 2 ep 1-4 review

Okay so maybe we aren’t officially midway yet but who cares, I’ve been putting this off for way too long. Where season one was merely an entrée, season two serves up the goods in the most delectable of ways. Season two builds upon every aspect of the first in staggeringly beautiful of ways. The acting, the colour palette, the story arcs they are all wonderfully realised. So far any ways. This is the best cable show, not on cable.

Season one left us with Will Graham locked away for Lecter’s crimes, while the eponymous Hannibal was left free to not only to continue his spree but also, steal Will’s life. In the first half of the season we have seen away with, killer of the week stories as a main focus. Instead they have been shifted to the background while the main course is, us watching Graham and Hannibal play a game of chess, using all the other characters as piece in their deadly game of the mind.

Firstly, my hat goes off to Brian Retzell, James Hawkinson and Karim Hussian. These three, under Fuller’s vision one would assume, have created a texture so engrossing, it is hypnotizing. The sound and visuals of the show are so striking that they captivate you with every episode, every scene, every shot.  The lack of harsh contrast in shots, lets you forget that you are watching a show about serial killers and instead drops you into a gothic mural of the macabre. The sound is a delight to the auditory senses. Every scene is scored perfectly, none of that emo, flavor of the month band providing you with, been there felt that music. The music never steals the scene, it plays harmoniously with the visual cues to deliver the best possible experience. The mixture of these two flavors is absolutely stunning to behold.

The next kudos goes too Brad Milburn and the other art directors who dress these scenes in such a perfect meld of modernity and gothic styling. Every little detail is just so rich and dare I say, flavorful. Yes, yes I dare say it. As well, the costume designers do a phenomenal job at giving each outfit a story to tell. The outfits and makeup tell us more than words ever could. In particular there is one scene where both Lecter and Graham are suiting up, the contrast is palpable. One takes time to get every little detail just right, while the other goes through the motions. Yes, that is direction, but the choice of suits to demonstrate this differing philosophy on preparation is just as important.

These things of course would have little consequence if they were not in service to a great story and Mr. Fuller and company, certainly have a great story to tell. Think of season one as a prologue, or maybe the first book in a series. An introduction to the characters and the struggles. The themes and styling from where we can leap into the abyss of madmen, doing mad things. Season two, the sequel, builds of each and every single point, elegantly, leaving no detail unexplored unless it serves a purpose to be left unturned. Where the Hannibal films progressively degenerated into torture porn, relying on shock value to give the audience a thrill, the show goes for subtlety. It leaves the most gruesome of details up to the viewer to imagine. Yes their is blood, yes there are organs a plenty, but they all serve to build on the story. Unlike certain other serial killer themed shows (The Following), Hannibal does not wallow in unnecessary guts and gore. Instead it focuses on the why and how. Why does Hannibal do what he does? How is Graham going to get himself out of this predicament? This all leads to another great aspect of the show. Dramatic irony. Here it is used marvellously, it is no crutch from point a to point b. Instead it is used for tension. The goal is not how the killer does what he does, nor is it how the cops will catch the killer of the week. By throwing away these fake surprises, Hannibal goes for the jugular in ways that only cable dared to do until now. In essence, we care more about the character who is doing the act rather than the act being portrayed. The intricate murders are merely a stylistic gateway to lure you into a deeper, far richer world, much like a honey trap.

Now for the performances. Well start, obviously enough, with Mads Mikkelson. By god is he incredible, if he does not get an emmy or globe nod, shame on the people who hand those out. He portrays Hannibal with a complexity far greater than in any of the Anthony Hopkins performances. He plays it as innocently as a child burning ants. Hannibal, knows that what he is doing is wrong, but he just can’t grasp as to why it is wrong. Mads, captures this childlike ignorance, wrapped in a cloak of elegance perfectly. He portrays a fake sympathy with utter ease and in a moment’s notice he turns it into violent, focused madness as if on a switch. Mikkelson surrounds himself with an air of curiosity and innocence that is so genuine, that at times you forget that he plays the boogeyman. He does it so well, you may feel truly justified for rooting for him instead of the good guys.

Speaking of the good guys. Where Norton played Will Graham as a generic, great analyst, Hugh Dancy, gives the character soul. In the first season, he played a gifted but lost soul. He was innocent, aware of the evil of the world, yet somehow untouched, distanced from it. In season two, Graham has been, not only touched, but corrupted by the evil that surrounds him. Hannibal’s betrayal has left him, not shattered but, focused. Graham knows his goal and has let go of understanding the why and now focuses on the how. The how being, how he can free himself of his shackles and get revenge. Dancy, dances pound for pound with Mikkelson, bringing a subtle, yet simmering loathing to his performance. It is nuanced and natural. A breath of fresh air into the geeky yet head first protagonist which we have had pounded into us for so very, very long. Dancy carries the air of corrupted innocence, extremely well.

Now, for Fishburne. Oh Larry, how glad am I that you ditched the formulaic and mediocrity of CSI and came over to a program that truly deserves your talent. Where in season one, Fishburne played almost a generic boss, with a few flourishes of real character rather than caricature, in season two we see his character develop into a real human being. Crawford becomes more than simply an FBI boss, he is made into a man struggling to juggle his quickly collapsing personal life with the heavy demands of his position within the bureau. Fishburne carries with him a sincere sense of regret about what he believes is a personal betrayal of Will Graham, by himself. The scenes between him and his onscreen wife, Gina Torres, are sublime. In fact, the fourth episode, without spoilers, is heart devastating. The two of them play out there roles, with touching devastation. You can feel their pain even as the two are forced to make light of events to keep their days going. The best part about all of this, is how seamlessly it is integrated into the main focus of the plot. Hannibal is not their therapist because he is the best, they choose him because they are friends. They fall prey to Hannibal false compassion. It is a terrible shame that Torres’ character has an expiry date that is set in stone.

Then we have the three musketeers, wisely enough reorganized for this season to be more than simple gimmicks. Aaron Abrams and Scott Thomson have seen their roles reduced but, also refined. By reducing their screen time the writers have left them with only scene stealing moments. Their dialogue scraped down to the most efficient and witty, possible. Thompson and Abrams carry this with zest and a wonderful sense of begrudging chemistry. Almost as if they had spent twenty years together. It also helps that, by the end of the season we will probably see their roles greatly increased. Hettiene Park’s, Beverly Katz on the other hand has seen her role greatly increase, at the expense of another character. Park and the writers do great job of retooling her as Graham’s doubt ridden champion. The only actual problem with the three musketeers, is that they are all job, all the time. Unlike the other characters on the show, we have yet to even glimpse at what their lives are outside the office. I wish they would give a small glimpse into the characters personal lives. Maybe show them grabbing lunch and have them talk about what they’re doing on the weekend? That would be nice.

Lastly and sadly the only real downer in the season so far, is Alana Bloom, played by Caroline Dhavernas. Dhavernas is serviceable in her role and could probably be better, the problem though is that she hasn’t been given much to work with. It’s almost as if the writers came up with the season and then realized that they had left out Bloom. Unlike the necessity to the character in the first season as both, counter-point to Crawford and confidant too Graham, here she is just, there. Most of her position has been filled by Katz, a logical move based on how this plays out and where the series is going.  I can understand why she has been reduced, but her appearances serve mostly to remind me that the character is borderline useless this season.

Mr. Fuller and co., your adaptation so far, has elevated the show beyond simple hackneyed network slasher fare. Unlike The Following which relies on blood and shock to grasp the viewers’ attention, Hannibal seduces you with truly intriguing characters. Their actions and inaction in the story is secondary to allowing us to delve into their motivations. Watching Hannibal imitate people, by reducing humanity to a flip of a coin is carried out with such panache. Watching Will Graham blossom from timid professor too, vengeance hungry anti-hero is completely engrossing. All the while, the show finds time to focus on the inhumane humanity of the serial killers that are featured. Broken beings, who like Hannibal simply do not know how to be normal, nor do they understand what it is.

Hopefully, the second half of the season stays strong and we see some more love for this show come awards season.

Dallas Buyers Club

Dallas Buyers Club is a film about Ron Woodrof, a slick talking, homophobic, bare backing cowboy who live by his own rules. Living his rough and tumble style of life is all fun and games, until an on the job accident leads him to learn that he has HIV. What could have been a generic by the numbers biopic, is instead this tender, small scale film about human connections. The soul of the tale is captured in the three leads and how Vallee and his crew maneuver their gear to showcase, not only their vulnerability, but also their strength.

The greatest strength of the film really comes from its scope and lack of grandiosity, oddly enough this is also its biggest flaw, but more on that later. There is no national campaign, no fervor to turn the lead into the messiah with the world of the film. No, Borten and Wallack instead choose to center the story on a deeply flawed man, who makes a change in his community. Aside from several moments, where Woodroof feels more like the cog in a movement, you never get to see the impact of his actions beyond Dallas, but in truth, that probably do more to hinder the film. It allows the work to breathe and accept its own surroundings. It allows the characters, leads, extras and everyone in between, to really lose themselves in the surroundings.

The writers seemed to have gone for this all along. Unlike American Hustle, which suffers from being a timeline Borten and Wallack prefer the smaller scale that makes this film be more than a circus freak show of lights and extravaganza. Part of this is how they don’t flood the film with scene stealing, yet ultimately over-bloating characters. Dallas Buyer Club does have a big cast, but they always get their time and it is always meaningful. Why? Because they serve to drive the thematic core forward. Steve Zahn’s character for instance, ultimately a minor character, but one who serves to work as an audience guidepost to the progression of Woodroof throughout the film. Really, unlike American Hustle, Dallas Buyers Club knows how to use its characters to serve the plot. It also helps that a wide number of real life people where sewn together to give us these detailed, if only fleeting, portraits of those who were there at the start.

It is in this atmospheric environment that we really get to experience why this film is so lauded, the performances. Matthew McConaughey is a dazzling delight. His gaunt, emaciated look is only part of what makes him great in this role. Yes, it is immediately arresting and it is always stunning to see what a dedicated actor will go through for something they believe in, but Matt brings more than that. His vast experience in rom-coms and his forays into thrillers from the nineties have given him a strong sense of timing that he brings perfectly to this. He brings soul and conviction to his lines and movements. McConaughey perfectly captures the transformation from ignorant homophobe, to educated activist without losing the audience in his wake. The ingrained tics from the start of the film remain, even if the outlook has changed.

Jennifer Garner too has a strong role as Dr. Saks. Sadly overlooked, Garner is sandwiched between two juggernaut performances. The role itself is pretty generic, the amiable doctor with a heart of gold but Garner brings to it a sense of earnestness and fire that helps it rise above mediocrity. When you first meet her in the film, with her eyes alone, she is able to portray what her character has seen and lived through. Like with McConaughey, Garner has this cocoon that dissolves slowly throughout the film, letting in not only other characters, but us, the viewers as well. It’s a terrible shame that her role was overlooked, even if it is for the simply reason of her co-stars doing such an amazing job. Frankly speaking, she should have taken Amy Adams’ spot on the awards nomination docket.

The final performance to speak of is Leto. Jared Leto, why did you ever think that leaving acting to sing for some shitty emo band was ever an option?  His role as Rayon, is one of those roles that will define him for the rest of his career and rightly so. The depth of the performance is staggering. The physical and personal transformation is like Bale at his best. Dropping all sense of identity, Leto melts into the role and creates this beautiful human, with their own glories and failures. His performances does not rely on hokey fun or shock value but rather it relies on finding the clicks and patterns. From the way he strikes up small talk to the way he moves, everything seems to have this deeply real flow too it. Mix that with the soft spoken ferocity that intimates a level of suffering without ever spelling it out and what you have is an iconic performance. The role is made all the more better as the characters and the audience learn that there is no happy ending. They are all wearing masks, the only difference is that Leto is allowed to break that mask and show us the pain and fear that is just sitting beneath the surface.

Credit must also be given to Jean-Marc Vallee, as a director he saw this small, intimate tale of woe and faceless bureaucracy and brought it to the screen with a magical touch. The choice of camera movement through the scene to ultimately maximize the impact of each scene is done stupendously.

All this gushing praise said and done, one must also consider that, due to the scale of the film, and the constant impending sense of doom, the tension kind of fizzles out by the end and the ending itself is kind of flat. Unlike Philadelphia, there is no grand zeitgeist type feel that will ever really take you away. I always found myself sitting there, knowing I was watching a movie, even if the characters seemed real. Secondly, when the end does come, it kind of just happens. The buildup is flat and the catharsis just is not there. It’s more of a whimper to the bang that these films have drawn us to expect. But I guess, it’s not really there in real life either when you can see your expiry date around the corner, rather than on the horizon.

Part of the heart break watching this film, is watching the ignorance of Woodroof slowly disappear as his misconceptions wash away, before realizing that this type of problem still exists. The film at its best highlights, not only how much we’ve overcome, but also how little we’ve come over the past thirty years. As heart breaking as this film may be, it truly is deserving of two hours of your time.

House of Cards Season 2, Sophomore Slump? *spoilers obviously ahead*

                Meticulously shot, writing so succulent that its flavour lasts upon your lips, long after the line was spoken. Topped off with acting so meticulous, it leaves you with the shivers. The show’s second season is as to be expected, a vicious labyrinth and macabre display of twisted nature of power and those who wield it, all lovingly narrated by one of modern televisions most loveable villains. That said, the show suffers a fair bit in its sophomore season. Much like Homeland, it seems like the first go around left the writers in a bit of a pickle as to how they’ll top their first majestic performance.

                The second season begins with Frank sizing up his post and figuring out what his next move should be. As he sizes everyone up in relation to his new post, they fawn at him. The only ones who seem to truly understand how ruthless and methodical the Underwoods are, are the journalists from season one. As Zoe continues her investigation, we are led to believe that Frank will have to contend with the Nancy Drew of the journalistic world, even as he tries to drag president Walker out from Tusk’s heel. Sadly, this is not to be. In retrospect, after having seen the full season, the shocking end of the first season is kind of the first crack within what is undoubtedly Netflix’s best show. But we will get to that later.

                As usual, every shot, every scene, every episode, they are all shot and framed impeccably. The use of tones and shades alongside a perfect blend of contrasting colours is a work of genius regardless of anything else that comes from the show. From the creamy tones of the oval office, to the dark full colours of the Underwood home, the viewer is never looking at a dull or monotonous screen. The colour and set design as usual also serve to give the characters, more character without them ever having to say a word. Let’s look at Frank, throughout the show he is working on a model battlefield from the civil war. Building a model battlefield, mimics what we see on screen. He is creating his own battlefield, choosing who goes where and what colour they wear. Whereas his political battles show us that he is still a man who is grasping for the ultimate power. The miniature battlefield shows us how Frank sees himself. A god among men, making them do his bidding, something all but Claire are blind too it.  Another example is that of Raymond Tusk at the twilight of his arc. We find him in an elegant hotel, but it is fairly sparse and extremely clean. Off course since this is near the end of the season he is looking at the sunset. A lot more obvious than Frank’s battlefield, but no less striking. A man of power, at the twilight of not only him, but his empire as well. The show has also managed to capture the feeling of isolation perfectly. Even when the screen is filled with actors and happenings, the principles always seem to feel alone and separate from everyone else. The framing of the shots gives the audience a taste, of the rarefied air which the shows real life counter parts must breathe. Even when they meet those of equal stature, the isolation never leaves, probably due to the fact that they’re all ready to stab each other in the back, before they’re done turning.

                The dialogue is this show’s spice and vigor. It layered on so many levels that there are no straight conversations. Every single sentence has at least two, if not more, insinuations or layers. The care with which each line of dialogue is written is astounding. The writers took care to cross their T’s and dot their I’s. Frank’s soliloquys are as usual are a verbal delight. It’s verbal masturbation on the writer’s part and performance ejaculation on Spacey’s part, but when it sounds and looks this good, who would say no to such a fantastic jerk?

                The acting is usual, simply top notch. Spacey never misses a beat as the conniving Underwood. Penn, is as cold and methodical in her portrayal of Claire as Spacey with his rambunctious performance of Francis’. But in truth, it’s not the leads that hold our attention. It almost never is, the leads are anchors of the series, but it’s the other characters that make the world live and breathe. Molly Parker for instance is dazzling in her performance the new whip, Jaquelin. In credit to Parker and the writers she is devilish fun to watch as she tumbles into the moral abyss, even as she denies it and even lies to herself about how much she has fallen. Molly Parker brings earnestness even as she coldly tears down obstacle, read people, in her path. Her face offs with Claire are in many ways better than those Frank has with his numerous belligerents, and many a time, far more interesting. The writers make great use of two wonderful female characters as they battle over sex, but not in a salacious way, always intelligently and scathingly, twisting presumed expectations.

                Doug Stamper, played creepily by Michael Kelly has a fantastic and tragic arc. As a man who has towed the line of the abyss for so long, it is bittersweet to see him succumb to his human failings. In Doug we first get a glimpse as to why Remy is spoken so highly of. Remy lived and made himself into a legitimate contender, while Doug, dies at the hands of Rachel, his impromptu prisoner, while narrowly avoiding Frank’s chopping block due to his growing infatuation with Rachel. Kelley manages to bring the tough, hard demeanor, one would expect from his character. But, in between, the writers show us his humanity, the cracks in his supposed perfect mask and how his addictions get the better of him. This along with the detour into Freddy’s, Frank’s rib guy, life bring so much colour to this slick and oily world. Reg E. Cathy is grand as a man whose life is catapulted to luxury, only to be sucked back down and destroyed by one slight misstep. The anger and acceptance seep through his teeth as he growls the lines. Cathy’s growling throughout the series is one of the many minor delights a show of this expertise offers.

                Then we have Remy, played wonderfully by Mahershala Ali. In season one, we only got a glimpse of Frank’s former protégé. We heard little bits and pieces about who he was and why he left. We always heard how good he was, but it was never really justified. This season we finally got to see Remy in action and sadly, the results are more tepid than hot. Ali does a wonderful job, but Remy’s character arc seems to tip toe a fine line, far too carefully. Maybe it’s because we didn’t see much of him in season one, but his softer side, seemed to hover over him like a wet cloud. Only when we get biting moments of Remy’s true intelligence to we as the audience get to peak at why Frank tread carefully around Remy, even if he jokes about the man’s lack of foresight. Simply put, Remy is quite possibly the show’s best bet at giving Frank a true adversary, rather than the mishmash we have gotten so far. Truly, Remy and Jaquelin could, together form a power couple as magnetic and charming as Frank and Claire. It’s only the writers insistence that Remy still has a little bit of heart left that keeps this from coming true.

                Speaking of adversaries, well this is one of the shows problems. Tusk and Walker seem more like stumbling blocks, rather than true threats to Frank’s dreams. Are we truly to believe that Tusk, a man with pockets so deep  and resources so great, that he can shut down the power grid of an entire coast line on a whim, would go down so easily against Frank, a politician who is openly reviled by much of his own party? In the same corner we also have Walker. A president so ridiculously inept that he makes Bush seem like a fantastic political choice. He is so clueless that Frank can basically sing and dance around the man, proclaiming his intentions as he pleases. This is one of the show’s biggest problems. The writers seem to be afraid of giving Frank a real challenge. They make his opponents either cartoonishly dumb, or handicap them by rules that the Underwoods can ignore, even if said opponent occupies the same murky world of morality and ethics.

                This is where my praise and love of the show must be truly put aside as I explain why the show took a step back in many ways. For a show such as this, stagnation is truly a stab in the side and at many times this show it would seem, simply sat on its laurels, succulent dialog. As I said earlier, the death of Zoe Barnes, was in retrospect a sign of the cracks too come. This is because, it basically gave Frank a free slate. It was so neatly wrapped up that Frank had nothing to fear, as if the writers got bored of the story line and wanted to through it away. But they didn’t, they kept dragging it along, first through Lucas then through Gavin as a set up for season three. It’s as if they had second thoughts about dumping that line but were not quite ready to let go. And of course Gavin is a great hacker, who listens to techno at super high volume while having a wine cabinet in his basically vacant apartment with a super high ceiling! Sorry, got a tad carried away their. But at the end of the day, this is more a minor problem. The real problem lies in how they have positioned Frank.

                In season one, we see that Frank is above almost if not everyone. We can buy into the fact that he should be in the next league up. We were led to believe that the risks would be greater. With a disappointed sigh, I must acquiesce that this is not so. Frank is so adept with toying with his opponents, that at times it loses its fun. You never get the sense that Frank is truly in any danger. For all we are told about the potential fall of Frank, the season never really feels like it could happen. His hubris is always justified, as is his villainy. Thus we never get to see the consequence for his actions, only the rewards. Rewards, which the show doles out too freely.

For a show so meticulous with its words and framing, it seems awfully anxious to put Frank in the chair. This makes the entire season feel almost as if it’s a point A to point B affair. Rushing through plot points with wondrous dialog, simply to show us a monster sitting at the head of the white house. It makes no real effort to make Frank grow as a character. He simply stagnates and begins to slowly congeal as the words spoken by Kevin Spacey, dance between your ears. Think of the way Homeland’s second season stumbled about trying to recapture the magic of its first season, that’s what House of Cards season two feels like.

                The last three paragraphs said and done, I would still highly recommend this show to anyone. The dialogue is amazing, quite possibly the best on TV today. A mixture of theatre with reality that poetically ensnares the viewers’ attention with an iron grip for fifty minutes at a time. The acting, sublime and nuanced, the roles are played perfectly, even if the role is that of a dunce. The visual grace of the show is operatic in scope. After watching this show you will wish that the same crew and DOPs light everything you watch. The sights, stick with you just as the dialogue does. For days and days and days. My final word of praise is left for the final shot.

                Frank, takes it all in as he waltz’ into his new office. After taking it all in, he turns to the audience and puts on his new class ring, which he got as a gift from Claire. He coolly stares at us, no lectures, no jokes. His gaze is a mixture of mockery and admonishment, as if he knows that we condemn and vilify him. But his stare shows us that we are no better, that our enjoyment is only possible through his villainy. Then he knocks his class ring to the desk and credits roll. What a site. Bring on season 3.

Jeff, Who lives at home

            I have just finished watching this Duplass Bros. feature, staring Ed Helms and Jason Segel. For those who don’t know who the Duplass brothers are I can’t completely blame you, that said, you should know who they are. In fact if you watch the glory of The League you already know one half of the team, Mark aka Pete. Just don’t go into this movie expecting the same sort crude humour. Instead, the Duplass brothers deliver an amazingly touching film with some great performances.

The film takes place during one day in the lives of Jeff, a man child afraid of the world, his brother Pat, a dick; I mean he drives a Boxter Porsche, and lastly their mother Sharon, a grown woman just looking for something new. All three deliver wonderfully touching performances. Segel plays Jeff and at first seems like he’ll be playing his regular shtick, but the script and direction of the Duplass Bros., gives his performance calculated calmness that is truly endearing. The last time Segel was able to deliver this kind of earnest performance was in Forgetting Sarah Marshall and ever since then he has been mimicking it with varied results, but never has he reached that pinnacle. Until now, he may have even surpassed it. Meanwhile Helms’ portrayal of Pat, was also a bit worrisome of me, but yet again Duplass Co., manages to deliver something fresh from a well-worn sock. He plays an asshole with few to no social skills, kind of like Andy Bernard from season two of The Office. The main difference in Pat from Andy is that where the writers from The Office struggled for years to give Andy soul, but because Andy is a caricature, a joke, a shtick, they were ultimately unsuccessful. Mark and Jay on the other hand succeed marvellously, simply because they make Pat a person and Helms just sprints along with it all without fumbling. Sarandon’s performance is probably the only one that brings up a gripe in me. This isn’t because it is bad but simply because there isn’t enough of it. Her story is simple and acted really efficiently, but unlike Jeff and Pat, her character never has room to breathe and soak up the events. This is a consequence of an ultra-lean 83 minute runtime.

This ultra-lean runtime has its pros and its cons. In its brevity the movie never meanders about with meaningless stand still. Every scene works with utmost efficiency, even if the characters have their heads in the clouds. This makes the film hard to simply dismiss or walk away from, since every scene is important. The cons on the other hand involve things like Sharon’s moment of crisis and growth feel rushed and at times over looked. The sense of urgency also means that we as an audience have no room to soak up the atmosphere, it’s always go-go-go, like the line at the soup Nazi’s kitchen. Though, one can pretty much ignore the con, because the end is just so damned good and brings everything together into one neat little bowtie without feeling forced, mainly due to the acting.

At the end of the day, this film fantastic. Not in a way that I might say, rush out and tell all your friends, but one of those nice movies that the next time you’re sitting at home on a Saturday night with a bucket of ice cream and a box of Popeyes, you definitely shouldn’t skip this over. Stop, check your clock, make sure you have a spare 83 minutes, you can skip this part because who are we kidding, if you’re home alone on a Saturday night using ice cream as chicken dip, you’ve got nowhere else to be that night, or possibly ever. Also, ice cream does not go well as Popeye’s dipping sauce.

Frances Ha or alternatively, A middle aged white man has more insight on mid twenties women than Lena Dunham

                Frances Ha at first seems like it’s going to be your typical indie film about a struggling artist fighting the good fight for an hour and some before finally breaking through and showing everyone around them, that yes they did indeed have the power. As it turns out, thankfully, Frances Ha is not that film and frankly I should have known better, seeing as this yet another Buambauch triumph, Greenberg, Squid and the Whale, hipsters and film studies students should have queued up their film boners right about now. Instead what we get is a film about a woman who has just entered the real world and struggles to find her place in it.

                Frances is young, beautiful, in a frumpy natural sort of way, and completely relatable. This rests solely on Gerwig, who performs marvelously. She is magical as the whimsical Frances. A neurotic mess, but not a creepy one, rather compassionate and soulful to a fault. Gerwig deftly mixes in jittery exaggerated movements to liven up her words as she uses carefully chosen enunciation and pauses to further involve the viewer in the character’s insecurities. Gerwig is simply sublime yet sadly overlooked in this year’s boisterous awards season.

                The secondary character’s all serve to further along Frances struggle through life. Adam Driver plays a variation of his Girls role, a quirky artist with questionable morality and social sense. Except, he isn’t an over bearing piece of furniture in this film. He is a full-fledged character with a real personal philosophy rather than a series of quirky moments.

Michael Zegen is the other standout in a secondary role. This guy is on a role, taking on all manners of roles of varying temperance and knocking each one out of the park.  Zegen brings life and maturity to a character that’s already been done to death. He is not annoying, nor is he tiresome, both these things have equal due to the acting and the writing.

                Baumbauch and Gerwig have written an exquisite narrative that is whimsical, baffling, heartwarming and enlightening all at the same time in many instances. The characters are all written with care and tenderness, they aren’t caricatures of clichés, rather they are reflections of the real world, only ever slightly exaggerated to prove a point. The dialogues in large groups cross cuts frantically and eloquently allowing you to follow each narrative strand, even as jokes and witticisms fill the air.  There are even moments of banality in the dialogue that conveys meaning and spirit in the words not said as the awkward pauses commence. The narrative, much like Frances, is a disjointed mess of quick cuts that take the character through a short time in her life an extremely fast pace. The film doesn’t really have a true narrative, but rather through a series of moments in one woman’s life held together through the glue of themes.  It’s grand adventure, whimsical like a Wes Anderson film but grounded enough in reality to remain relatable with a modicum of real rather than kitsch. Buambauch and Gerwig navigate the angst of the new working generation with care and grace. Further the finale is extremely fulfilling, specifically because it does not give in to viewer expectation. You don’t get to see what you want or expect, Gerwig and Baumbauch give you what you need.

                The film isn’t simply a wonderful narrative strung together with performances, its cinematography is striking and the music is engrossingly well chosen. Shot in black and white, with all the right angles, its use of contrast never ceases to amaze. The way the light shines off Sophie’s glasses in the darkness, or the way Paris looks under the black and white gaze is striking to say the least. It reminds one of Sin City, except it’s natural and not shot on green screen. It’s natural, beautifully so.

                The music is wonderfully picked. It’s all low key hipster stuff, but without making one feel like a douche for enjoying it. Not that faux hip underground stuff you get in mainstream, young adult movies. No this is the real deal and it serves to heighten every scene. It’s almost as if Baumbach and Gerwig stole the music selectors from HBO and made them choose the most perfect music all without ever making you feel like a douchebag for enjoying it.

                The film is a great statement to the world. It’s not about following your goals or telling you how special you are. It’s focused on reality. It doesn’t need cutesy hipsterism and the latest fashion trends to prove its point or drive its story, I’m looking at you Girls. It doesn’t need a colour palette from an acid trip and characters that all fall under the category of quirky oddball, Wes Anderson. It gets by on strong narrative, exquisite performances and a narrative that is wonderfully endearing while simultaneously touching. Anyone who is a fan of Baumbauch or Girls should watch this film. It will bring warmth and joy as it resolves, even if it isn’t what you hoped that resolution would bring.

Girls S3 E4

This week’s episode gets off to an awkward start with some great moments and some ‘why is this here?’ moments.  While Hannah’s story arc starts off great, a bit of black humour weaved into a terrible tragedy.  It’s too bad we are quickly whisked off to watch Marnie run around the city. And chin up, several extremely fake looking chin ups. I guess it was supposed to show her trying to move on with her life or something like that. It really isn’t clear since, having a post workout snack doesn’t really instill a sense of empathy or endearment within me.  It’s okay though, since Dunham and co. make up for this later.

The episode centers on Hannah’s inability to feel any kind of empathy after the death of her publisher David. She is fully committed to the idea that she and her upcoming eBook is what is truly the victim of this tragedy. Along the way we encounter what are some clichéd moments that are wonderfully dark and comedic. Hannah’s detachment from the entire affair is perfect. Dunham finally gives relents and shows Hannah for what she is, a horridly self-interested young woman who makes believe that she is a good person. The end of the episode, with Hannah sitting there, spinning her faux tale, is probably one of the best written indictments of Generation Y put to screen. The way Hannah steals Christine’s story without a hint of remorse or sheepishness is diabolical.

This is where we see Adam finally shine, aside from one moment early in the episode which can be easily brushed off. For two seasons the show has used Adam as a piece of furniture until now, this season he finally shows signs of growth. He calls Hannah out on her lack of empathy and generally carries on with an insightful intelligence that has only been hinted at before. It’s kind of odd that it took the show this long to actually develop a character.

The other bright spot of the episode is Marnie, who for the first time this season is not a waste of screen time. The scene where Marnie rips into Ray and his boss is mature and verbally brilliant in its delivery. Her moment of comedic weakness forever haunts her, but Marnie uses it as a jumping platform to finally break out from her funk. The great thing about this is that it perfectly captures the frustration of gen Y. Told to go to school, earn good grades and follow your dreams. Congrats now you can work at a coffee bean! Marnie’s frustration with this is palpable and finally finds common ground between her whiny bitch character and the audience she serves.

Sadly not all is wonderful, as great in this episode at this point my review will change tone, drastically. Christine, as Adam warned us in the last episode, has vastly over stayed her welcome. The whole time Hannah spends with Christine and Laird is one big cluster fuck of wasted time and potential. It’s full of zany and quirky moments, god I wish you could hear the sarcasm in my voice as I type these words. Cartwheeling in graveyards, dead turtle in bottles and Laird even cries as he and Christine has a psychotic emotional connection. Fuck you Dunham! The last half of the episode is bloated with all this zaniness. It’s as if, while writing they couldn’t decide what zany thing the crazies should do. Instead, they decided to cram it all together into one shit meatball which reeks of the show’s great failures. The forcefulness of the scene robs all the emotion from the meaning and Christine dissolves into nothing more than a wacky for the sake of wacky character.

Another problem is Jessa and Shoshanna. Firstly, Jessa needs a new shtick. Her pseudo-freshman psychology bullshit has outgrown its tiny boat. It goes nowhere and just makes the show look dumb. Then after this all said and done we get what Dunham thinks is an apology? A joke? A reference? I’m not sure what it’s meant to be, but it sure as shit doesn’t work on neither a dramatic nor comedic level.  Jessa winds up finding that one of her supposedly dead friends isn’t dead and is really just trying to ditch Jessa. It’s quite pointless up until the caricature from the IT Crowd strolls in. He’s black, he’s got a fro and he’s hip, aka he’s got no fashion sense. The scene is so douche and handled so poorly that you’ll exhale in relief as soon as the scene is over.

Finally, we have Shoshana. She has no story arc, no growth and almost no screen time. In fact, she shouldn’t even be in the episode, but I guess Dunham wanted to stroke her own ego by showing everyone that she’s just like Seinfeld and David and can include every character in every episode. And that’s how we learned about Shoshana’s bandana collection. Just ignore it, it doesn’t last long and it’ll be forgotten by next week.

The last three paragraphs said and done I must say, the episode is good. Dunham uses Hannah in this episode as possibly the greatest critique of my generation thus far. Vain, self-involved and out of touch with what should really concern us. While possibly the smart commentaries on this new media literate generation it is half the time to bloated to be completely effective, filled with unnecessary quirkiness that steals attention from what matters. Marnie’s story gets off to a rocky start but actually pulls through ahead and for the first time this season.  Jessa’s terrible arc can be largely ignored, mainly due to the strength of the philosophy and good, sharp writing.

Halfway through the season and we have yet to see a terrible episode. Maybe, the show has turned it around. I’d like to think so, but on the other hand I have a sinking feeling that when the show does trip and fall, it will be the biggest slap to its viewership in the shows history. Prove me wrong Dunham, prove me wrong.