Rise of the Planet of the Apes Review

Rise of the Planet of the Apes

Directed by Rupert Wyatt

Released in 2011

A little over a month ago I visited the Bronx Zoo with my family for the first time in almost eight years. It was a tradition to see the toucans, sea lions and exotic mice as a child, so the visit was a little childhood send-off. As exciting it was to see the Egyptian Spiny Mouse once more, I was taken back during the visit to the outdoor primate exhibit. One gorilla sat upright, against a stump, seemingly indifferent to the visitors and conditioned to their presence. He gazed not at children beating on the glass, nor even his own kind, but upwards. He could have been daydreaming in the clouds above. I do not think a fish knows it is a fish, cognizant of its own existence. But I am confident (as are scientists as a quick Google search will show) that a gorilla, and all great apes for that matter, are capable of existential reflection, aware of their own existence. They boast qualities of humanity, a trait, surprisingly enough, almost exclusively reserved for humans. They are also capable of extreme brutality, as that horrifying story of the woman whose face was literally ripped off from a supposedly tame chimpanzee will attest. With strength that overshadows our own and a sense of purpose, monkeys kept in captivity makes for a risky game. With modifications to intelligence that allow comprehension of the injustice they have been served, we face a significant threat. Such thought provides conflict for Rise of the Planet of the Apes.

Why studio executives decided to reboot a franchise that had no winners since its inception in 1968 - and the abysmal Tim Burton/Mark Wahlberg remake still leaving a bad aftertaste - is beyond me. But that they did so with unsuspecting feeling and humanity leaves me surprised. That the filmmakers utilized computer effects as the primary vehicle to engage the audience emotionally shocks me even more. There are pleasant surprises to behold as Rise enfolds; they taper off by the end but this blockbuster still boasts a higher IQ than the norm, like our protagonist Caesar. James Franco's name has been attached to this title but even the release poster only displays Caesar, the chimp created by computers and a very dedicated Andy Serkis. Make no mistake:  this primate of pixels is the star of the show, and an incredibly convincing one at that. 

An alternate version of a prequel to the Planet of the Apes saga, the story explains, well, the rise of the apes over the humans who have controlled them for so long. A chimp with superior intellect - inherited from his mother who was applied an allegedly Alzheimer's-curing drug before turning rabid - becomes the harbinger of this revolution. But under the care of soft scientist Will Rodman (Franco), Caesar is as sensitive as a child and similarly seeking answers. He defies the classification of "pet" but still cannot meet the next true level. Frustration boils underneath his tender exterior, a genius wanting bigger and bolder things. But he genuinely cares for his family, and devotes much time to comfort Will's ailing father (John Lithgow), whose severe onset of Alzheimer's may be a more powerful motive for Will's tireless research. Caesar is one with the family until an extreme circumstance forces him out of the house (the brunt of which the incredibly unlucky neighbor receives). As he lives in a zoo he begins to communicate with other apes, notably a very wise orangutan, and exercises his intellect over the rest. The "prison" scenes, if you will, are akin to Shawshank Redemption in a sense:  abused at first, a man uses wit to win over the heavies and wields intimidation and persuasion to unite those who wish to rever him. We have seen it before, but not like this. 

Unfortunately, the story loses steam as the fight turns physical, escalating to a brawl on the Golden Gate Bridge. What once was a fresh meditation on the nature of humanity turns to Roland Emmerich fodder. It stops asking those moral, existential questions, and the script seems to side with the apes when there is still so much grey area. When human law prevents a father and son (Will and Caesar, respectively) from being together, is it right for the son to take out so much anger on the father? Is this catalyst a fitting reason to believe your cause for species dominance is just? It is a small, personal reason, and these struggles appear so miniscule in the larger picture, yet so overwhelming to the individual. As an audience, we both sympathize and empathize, as we know how that feels, so it may be a wise choice.  But, in the larger picture, the apes' cause is portrayed as the absolute right one - for dramatic effect - when the sensible approach would be more objective. 


This is a story of man - or in this case a monkey - and his loss of innocence. In this case, his genius intelligence amplifies this already significant revelation, for while he mopes after realizing his species' true stratum against humans, he takes action.  It is sad to see Caesar make such a choice, for most of the film Will nurtures Caesar out of selflessness, though Franco's occasionally stiff acting not always communicates this. Nonetheless, we care about their bond, and it is this relationship that occupies the majority of the film's runtime. This is great, because the mandatory though unoriginal action scenes are as short as they can be. And this is not say those scenes are bad, for chimps and orangutans playing a life-or-death game of monkey bar under the Golden Gate Bridge makes for great entertainment. But it does not tread the abstract pavement much of the film so boldly dares to walk. 


The equally risky decision to make the protagonist a digitally rendered monkey that is not an anthropomorphic cartoon reaps unforeseen rewards. Here is a full-bodied, expressive, fluidly-drawn character that we believe. Avatar laid admirable groundwork in the field of advanced computer, erm, avatars. However, Caesar carries more emotional nuances and without saying a word (!!). Bliss, melancholy, mirth, anger, love, and envy all pour from this marvel of computer and acting wizardry. Andy Serkis is the greatest proponent of this technique, and while fellow chimp Kong and cinema icon Gollum, especially, were fascinating works of his, Caesar represents even more advanced leaps in technology and a deeper, dominating role.  If no other aspect of this film appeals to you (which I can understand given this series' track record), see it for Serkis' performance alone.


Other actors fascinated, in varying ways. John Lithgow steps into the shoes of an Alzheimer's victim, one slowly fading away and aware of his tragic descent. The eyes, he nails the eyes, for they wander and wander until they affix on your own, and there is the sinking feeling that they do not recall the history both pairs have shared. My grandfather spent the last years of his life afflicted with the terrible disease, the leech that sucked away even the most powerful memories of love. For the record, five added years of not just life, but full neurological function and ability to recall all moments with loved ones and still be able to create more is not a failure, as Will states of the drug trial of his father. It is an incredibly immature conclusion to make, and another example of the film's frequent moments of jumping to resolutions far too eagerly and decisively. There is much grey area in the real world that this screenplay does not seem to acknowledge.


On a lighter note, the other casting choice worthy of note is Tom Felton, playing Draco Mal-uh Dodge Landon, the abusive monkey handler. There is little difference from this role to Draco Malfoy, which suits a Potter fan like myself just fine, and I swear he delivers that trademark Draco sneer at least once. After all, "monkey" and "Mudblood" sound awfully similar. This Dodge Landon kid seems to have every job at this facility:  he feeds, locks up, tases, and shoots darts at the apes, and even guards at the outdoor post. He is the son of the owner (spoiled, privileged son? Tom Felton??? No!) but you'd think he would not handle every aspect there. But I digress. It is great to see Felton, even if his role is not original in really any way. One of the cheapest shots in the screenplay but also most downright fun is the regurgitation of Charlton Heston's immortal line from the original film. It is there, all glorious nine words. And Felton delivers it well, as badass as he could, I think. Where this man's career will go I do not know, but if he is destined to play pseudo-Draco roles for the rest of his young adult life, I will be there to observe. Until the novelty wears off at least. 


Anyway, back on track, Rise of the Planet of the Apes is a blockbuster film really unlike that I have seen before. The special effects are as crucial to the storyline and theme as they could be, and even when director Rupert Wyatt and the FX team wants to have fun, as in that mesmerizing tracking shot of young Caesar navigating through the house, it does not feel thrown in, but purposeful. Serkis' portrayal of the chimp fuses primality and vulnerability in a character more alive than any other actor on the screen. The distinct flaws fidgeting under the surface are there, though do not detract as much as annoy. I did not even touch upon the vestigial Freida Pinto character who serves little purpose. But the film seems to get away with these defects for, with all the grade-A computer alchemy, it is a B movie, albeit one of the few in existence with such philosophical ideas as the cognizance of animals and the just treatment of sentient beings. The sometimes brilliant, sometimes banal direction, irregular pacing, and predictable but alluring screenplay all point to mindless fare. But that it is so much more than that is where this film's pleasures unfold. It asks us to consider our place in the world among those we coexist with, sometimes too briskly, but that it treads this ground at all far surpasses the expectations it set for itself. A viewing of Rise will garner entertainment, thought, and maybe even some apprehension at the ape exhibit next time at the zoo. 


Final Verdict: 
3.5 Stars Out of 5

Cowboys & Aliens Review

Cowboys & Aliens

Directed by Jon Favreau

Released in 2011

A movie's title should communicate not only the concept of the film but some of the tone as well. We should determine whether or not it is a comedy, drama, action film, etc just from the name. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is a crazy title; fitting then, huh? Snakes on a Plane, on the other hand, sounds so self aware that it must be drenched in irony and camp. Cowboys & Aliens carries so little conviction that it should follow the same path. However, the filmmakers attempt to fuse two genres, western and alien invasion, and fail to fulfill either's potential or even basic principles. 

The first shot consists of a sprawling desert landscape, panning right until our hero Jake Lonergan (Daniel Craig) bolts upright into the shot, gasping and searching around for his bearings. He has no memory of who he is or why he is so vulnerable. A promising start. From there the driving Morricone-esque score by Harry Gregson-Williams kicks off as Jake strolls into the local town. The town looks like that Western town we have all seen before; it is believable but without distinction. Same can be said for the costumes:  good work, yes, but nothing we have not seen countless times before. It all works, but lacks consequence. 


Jake arrives just in time, for as the local gang leader's mess of a son (Paul Dano, further establishing himself as the subservient coward character actor of his generation) accidentally shoots the deputy sheriff out of carelessness and pulls Jake into the whole mess too. Just as they board the carriage to take them to the federal marshal, Jake's mysterious wristband begins to buzz and flash as lights in the sky do the same. In the dead of the night a flight of extraterrestrial spacecraft launch a guerrilla attack on the town, plucking several men and women from the ground, conveniently providing reasons for a crew to then set off to find those aliens and, of course, their loved ones. Paul Dano, unsurprisingly, is abducted, so Harrison Ford, his grizzled father Dolarhyde, sets forth beside his former rival,  who now sports that curiously powerful wristband. There is no explanation, ever, as to why the aliens abduct those hapless humans. It is just an evil thing for them to do, providing conflict and fulfilling the stock alien invasion type. Equally unfulfilling is their reason for invading Earth; it is painfully unoriginal. 


Such issues can be whittled down to one reason: there are too many writers. The credits place nine different screenwriters/story developers/comic book writers as the creative force behind the script.  No natural character development or restrained story arc will survive after encountering so many hands. The first half follows the Western progression of new tough man in town,  unwillingly messing the place up, and then vowing to fix it and embarking across the desert with those he affected. In fact, such a worn plot was breathed new life in the excellent Rango earlier this year. 


Not only does this film lack such inspiration, it does not complete the journey our protagonist should complete. The aliens reveal their true form far too early  (Spielberg is attached to this, you'd think he would oversee the cinematic lesson that is literally taught in film school today), and the film begins to switch its gears to alien takedown flick in the vain of Independence Day. A multi-cultural band of enemies unite in order to take down the greater threat; this group includes Jake and Co., Jake's former deadly gang he now disowns, and a surprisingly inoffensive troop of Native Americans. The latter thankfully have some depth in their image, not overly barbaric or unremittingly tied to the spirits around them but somewhere comfortably in between. With the help of those who traveled with him, Jake unites these factions and they all collectively overthrow the intruders. Not enough attention is placed upon Jake, however, as we feel that he only solves the issues from a "shoot the baddies" perspective while the moral choices and reconciliations are left to the love interest, Ella Swenson (Olivia Wilde). By the end, Jake has changed, but it is not his choices that got him there.


The casting contains curiosities, both good and bad. As great as it is to see Harrison Ford in 2011, the man immortalized through the space gunslinger Han Solo has since lost that drive. His performance has some highlights, particularly as he confesses to his right-hand man (Adam Beach) how he wished his son had half his goodwill and courage, and as he finally reunites with his son in the end we feel for him. But we never care for him before these moments, and while that may be by conscious choice, it is not a smart decision for us to barely think of the character when he is off-screen. It takes far too long for us to feel effect, and far too late. After playing the futuristic model of a woman in Tron: Legacy, it feels grossly anachronistic for Olivia Wilde to strap on cowboy boots in the 19th century. She lacks abilities as an actress, specializing in that glazed, seductive stare she exercises so often. Hollywood has been forcing Wilde onto screens lately and I am not sure why, besides the obvious (and I believe overstated) reason. 


The actors who stand out hint at what could have been if the acting ensemble was tighter and script much more focused. Sam Rockwell, unsurprisingly, excels even with his limited material and admittedly bland character. But he has mastered quirky comic delivery as well as an effective state of emotional distress when his character calls for it. His physical struggle to shoot a gun pays off when he finally saves his comrades and takes control of his manhood.  And the best character is the short-lived preacher played by Clancy Brown, the prison guard from The Shawshank Redemption. His down-to-earth spirituality lends weight to the film's thematic potential, suggesting that faith will heal the wounds left by those who harm. But his death (yes I spoil, it is not a big deal) arrives so soon, and this theme, fleetingly touched upon again in the Native American camp, never truly finds its footing. 


I respect that Jon Favreau and the whole outfit of screenwriters approached this film as more than a campy panache. But they take themselves too seriously, and are reluctant to inject any comedy into a product that demands it. The plot wanders, rife with holes and stumbling aimlessly for theme. Much like Jake in the beginning frames. With added levity and, let's say, a Western story arc with alien elements added more naturally and less intrusively, this action film from the director of Iron Man could have been a witty, engaging summer flick. And for godsakes the title is not helping. 


Final Verdict:
2 Stars out of 5

Horrible Bosses Review

Horrible Bosses

Directed by Seth Gordon

Released in 2011

Michael Scott may be an ineffectual business negotiator, or even a social debacle, but he is a caring man at heart. He considers his employees family, in the way Papa Bear looks after his young. Not the same with these bosses. Made and set in a time when our country's economic outlook could be equated to a partisan, agonizing sinkhole, Horrible Bosses offers a dream scenario for those cubicle sheep out there sick of their employer but not willing to bite the hand that feeds. Three buds take aim at the source of their unyielding misery, and with hilarious results.  

Jason Bateman, Jason Sudeikis and Charlie Day comprise the hapless trio. They, for different reasons, loathe their bosses so much they conceive an idea, while drunk of course, to kill them in order to return to happiness. Kevin Spacey slithers with a deadly bite as Dave Harken, the bane of Nick Hendrick's (Bateman) existence. He is brilliant, brilliant in his methods of manipulation that confound and humiliate his reluctant man-servant Nick. And evil as well, with a dark side that reveals itself verbally until physical introductions. Kurt Buckman (Sudeikis) leads a content work life, with his boss a loving father figure (a warm Donald Sutherland). That is, until the unexpected happens and his soulless tool of a son tacks his name on his daddy's desk. His depravity is not so self-aware, but part of his blood; he does not know how to not be offensive and shamelessly covetous. His addiction to cocaine only exacerbates such qualities. The last of the three differs, drastically. Dentist Dr. Julia Harris, an alluring Jennifer Aniston never acting or looking better, targets her assistant Dale (Day) as the object of her sexual desires. All would be fine if Dale was not engaged to be married to a loving fiancé. Dale's struggle is looked down upon by his friends, but Dale has the right moral center even as Julia yearns to corrupt it.

The three leads and their evil counterparts define the film in its unrelentingly comical, raunchy glory. But a number of other familiar faces appear for amusing moments. Modern Family's Julie Bowen is Harken's wife, polar opposite in affection and faith to her husband. Jamie Foxx surfaces multiple times as the hitman the three consult. His name itself is unfit for print and he makes for amusing racial commentary. Even Mr. Fantastic himself, suave British bloke Ioan Gruffudd, appears for a cameo that is as confusing as it is priceless. 

But it is the leads here that excel. Bateman is the best "straight man" in comedy around, and while that is the core of his role, he surpasses it in moments like while cleaning up the mess Charlie Day made. Day is the real standout of the film. In this scene in particular, the manic, fumbling style he shines with in It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia has quite the literal stimulus, but all induced by Day's acting alone. He possesses a distinctive, shrill voice that makes for laughs even when he isn't delivering winning lines. The always-solid Jason Sudeikis has, much like the characters in the movie, for years filled small roles without much recognition. But with Hall Pass and now (and more notably) this film, he is gradually making his way to a leading man. His character usually is the overly confident, but strong-willed dude who gets into trouble but seeks for redemption. It is not an original role for him but he makes it work. 


Colin Farrell's tenure could have been more fleshed-out; this is after all the actor who mixed mirth and tragedy to brilliant effect with In Bruges. And his American accent is nowhere near as fun as his natural Irish quaver, really. He makes the clichéd cocaine-fueled businessman role not feel too stale, however. Spacey is the most convincingly evil of the bunch, but as a two-time Academy Award winner can likely achieve, he brings a little more to it. He is psychotic, a devotee to schadenfreude. He feeds on the pain of others, and, as he says, "it feels good". Aniston may be the surprise of the whole film. She has slummed it in so many romantic comedies we forget she is a winning comic item, not to mention a very sexy one as well. Her seductive thirst for men feels voluptuous but genuinely creepy, just what the script is aiming for to reach equality amongst the three. I cannot imagine anyone else filling this part, at least more effectively. 

Horrible Bosses does not seek to inspire or enlighten, and it really does not want to comment on the current state of employment other than repeat that, hey, bosses suck. The meditation on the inability of three middle-class men to carry through with such a heinous task is all too short; tears don't have to be shed but the psychological effects could have been addressed to greater, and campy, extent. Oh, and what a deus ex machina of an ending. But such qualms do not detract from the enjoyment, which, as box office numbers so far have shown, many have experienced. It moves at that "laugh a minute", and often greater, pace, not losing steam. And while directed without much style or distinction, there are some clever touches here and there, especially the well-timed overhead shot of the three leads awkwardly pulling out of a parking lot. The maladroit dexterity the characters hold on their own ludicrous premise is in the end why the film's premise prevails.

Final Verdict:

3 Stars out of 5

Captain America: The First Avenger Review

Captain America: The First Avenger

Directed by Joe Johnston

Released in 2011

When the good guy is a little guy, you know he will use his wits to defeat the big bad guy and win in the end. When the good guy possesses such mindful tactics and is still jacked up with super soldier serum, the bad guys have no chance. Once comic books were recognized as more than just pulp entertainment but a tool for propaganda, Timely Comics (precursor to Marvel) bolstered Captain America as a hero for all of us, especially the little guy. With his red, white and blue tunic and indestructible shield, Captain America - whose real name is the comfortably normal Steve Rogers - was an incredibly effective symbol of patriotism in tough times. It is not so much the "punching Hitler in the face" gambit that maintains the Captain's image today, but his bravery when forces beyond his control hold him down, as well as his substantial, though not ordinate, powers. He can throw a punch like no other, but he is ultimately mortal and modest with his powers. The 70 year old hero finds new life, and a new audience, in this satisfying, polished 2011 reboot. 

The Nazi menace threatens the freedoms of all in the world, and millions are enlisting to help. Unfortunately, short, sickly Steve Rogers cannot make the cut. Asthma is just the first of his ailments. But determination runs through his blood; he would rather spend the night volunteering for what surely would be another failed inspection than spend a night on the town. Stanley Tucci, as Dr. Abraham Erskine, takes notice, running Steve through a training course where he and Colonel Chester Phillips (Tommy Lee Jones, never more grouchy or entertaining) pick the worthiest soldier for an experimental enhancement procedure. Steve's selflessness and gallantry wins out, and what was once a gaunt, petite "boy from Brooklyn" transforms into a buff, nimble symbol of American offense and science. Nazis are not even the main enemy; that would be the anarchic branch, HYDRA, within the Third Reich in charge of weapons so powerful its leader, Johann Schmidt (Hugo Weaving), deems der Führer unworthy of harnessing the might of the gods. 

Preparing for the role with an exercise program fit for the gods, Chris Evans balances his action star looks with genuine down-to-earth humility. Captain America has the strength that perhaps his entire country is relying on to bring peace, but he remains likable by never abusing it and always looking out for others. It makes for an almost too perfect protagonist:  there are little flaws in the Steve Rogers' character, leading him to remain about the same throughout the film. Same can be said about the love interest Peggy Carter (Hayley Atwell), who sees an admirable figure in Rogers before the transformation and only likes him more as he proves his abilities (and sports washboard abs to boot). It is better than a woman only interested in the protagonist's newfound looks and power, but it makes for a rather uncommon arc for romance. All that aside, it takes painfully long for "the kiss" so the payoff manifests in typical, overdue fashion. 

The numerous actors filling the supporting roles are talented and well-suited. Tommy Lee Jones channels not No Country for Old Men's solemn meditation but more Men in Black's deadpan. Never content and always discouraging the risky route (read: the right route), Col. Phillips gradually gains respect and confidence in the Captain over the course of the film. Jones has winning lines but it is his worn, grizzled mug and demeanor that bring wit and charm to a archetypal character. Stanley Tucci excels, as always, whether he regales through clever banter or cautions Rogers to never lose the charity he so embodies. While the time on-screen is awfully brief, Dr. Erskine does not create as so secure the ideology Captain America sees the world through. 

Dominic Cooper is a young Howard Stark, looking nothing like the John Slattery middle-age version that is seen in Iron Man 2. However, it is an excellent character, one I found to be a great, rather unlikely addition that does not only tie together the Marvel universe but sheds light on some truths the movie aims to reach. With short-skirted dames beside him, he unveils a prototype flying car at New York's World Fair early on for an eager, scraggly Steve Rogers to see. The playboy persona appears untouchable, of another lifestyle and class. But as he affixes his (stylish) lab goggles by the super soldier machine, little Steve Rogers' mouth drops that such an illustrious figure would help him reach his potential. Stark's aid does not end there, for he flies, experiments, builds, scavenges, fabricates, does science, fondues, and so forth throughout his generous tour. Such a character comments on the idealistic image of the most privileged sacrificing so much for the cause of war. Very admirable, and unfortunately not too true, Howard Stark's benevolence certainly carried over to his like-minded son and champions such figures.

The rest of the crew alongside Captain America, as seen through a well-placed kick-ass montage, looks out for one another and can inflict some serious damage, even when beside a cellularly enhanced beast of a man. Rogers' best bud throughout, Bucky Barnes, played by Sebastian Stan (most likely remembered as "that guy from the bar" in Black Swan), strengthens the heart of his friend and reveals in the mighty Captain what matters most. Band of Brothers' Neal McDonough sports a classy bowler and burly mustache as Dum Dum Dugan, a soldier who clearly revels in enacting revenge upon his former captors. And there is clever social commentary with Kenneth Choi's character Jim Morita. An Asian-American, Jim exasperatedly sighs "I'm from Fresno" when he receives a few skeptical glances from the others in his squad. That is all they need to hear.


Heath Ledger spoiled us, for we expect so much from our comic book villains now. Remember that it was our own Tommy Lee Jones who played Two-Face before The Dark Knight. But when expectations are higher, quality must improve as well. For this reason I found the antagonist here underwhelming. Not Toby Jones' Dr. Arnim Zola, however. A brilliant scientist aiding Johann Schmidt out of fear more than loyalty, Zola is given gravitas by Jones. He watches from the sidelines as what he creates destroys so much, perhaps an analogy to Einstein. But Hugo Weaving's Johann Schmidt aka Red Skull chews the scenery relentlessly, and with a faux German accent. Weaving's greatest success was at a villain who purposely embodied a flat stereotype in the Matrix films; that is not to speak down on the actor but only that his bad guy persona is fairly one-dimensional. He brings menace to the megalomaniac but not much more. The blame can be pointed more to the visual effects department, for he suffers a Hulk effect in which, no matter how good the actor is, once the face morphs into CGI, a human connection is lost. 


The connection between the audience and Captain America, however, never falters. Chris Evans always stole the show in other action flicks like Fantastic Four and The Losers, and in his first title role he leads with reserve and revelation, as a man in many ways adolescent discovering himself and the world around him. He does not instantly jump into the battlefields of Europe, but tours the country first in a War Bonds promotion, gaudy tights strapped on and shield in hand. The story flows with an easy energy, not rushing to get to the next set-piece, and certainly absent of any kinetic editing that we are used to with Zack Snyder and Guy Ritchie's wacky fare. It is deliberately old-fashioned, with an old-fashioned aesthetic and old-fashioned characters. They kick and punch in impressive action scenes with special effects that do not override the human story at the heart of the film. Director Joe Johnston does not possess gifts to prevent the choreography and action, however, from getting stale in the final battle, nor do he or screenwriters Christopher Marcus and Stephen McFeely provide much of a journey for the characters, where they learn, adapt, convert. But in that sense it is fit for the serialized comic book influence it so directly aspires to be (and tailored for sequels no doubt). It is an underdog story with extreme modifications, slick and built to please.


Final Verdict:
3 Stars Out of 5

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 Review

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2

Directed by David Yates

Released in 2011

So long, childhood. I’ll miss ya, but I would be hard-pressed to think of a better way to end. There is no product of the imagination in our time, in any medium, that resonated with more youth, and even adults for that matter, than the Harry Potter saga. J.K. Rowling’s scripture – which created an exhaustively detailed, unique universe to promote such lofty morals as love and loyalty in the face of adversity, and ultimately overcoming such forces of evil – ended four years ago. It is now time for the film series to follow suit. What has been a remarkably consistent streak (what other series of four, five, let alone eight, films maintained such a level of quality?) has now reached its peak in the final film, showcasing inspired filmmaking and harboring more than ample affection for the millions of fans who made the series the literary, cinematic and cultural touchstone it was.


Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 faces Harry against ultimate evil, Lord Voldemort, in one final battle. Or two, or three, or ten, because this film is effectively a war movie. As fate may have it, Hogwarts serves as the final battleground, laying waste to what was once beautiful in the bedlam of war. Significant life is lost, as fans already know, plus an added minor – and particularly gruesome – death that may catch you by surprise.  The comedy that cavorted so freely with our adolescents before is still present, but notably relegated to the backburner for the somber emotional ties to reveal themselves and the plot strands unravel. With the exception of a trip to Gringotts Bank that, while very well-done, felt more like a preview for what surely will be ride at Universal Studios’ Wizarding World of Harry Potter, the action feels grounded, real, even as colorful spells whiz across the screen. Director David Yates and screenwriter Steve Kloves set the stakes for this violent conflict high. Perhaps even more effectively than Rowling’s material, the filmmakers illustrate what, or mainly who, hangs on the precipice of death and destruction. Much of this can be attributed to the wonders of editing, wherein images of others can be easily interpolated with Harry to establish connection. The soulful, purposeful special effects (the anti-Transformers effect) actually raise our empathy as well; when the invisible, dome barrier disintegrates to smoldering embers, a true sense of fear instills. Or as the camera sweeps over an army of Death Eaters charging the school – in what surely is a fraction of the actors actually physically present, a nod to Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings style of visual effects – we loathe the intruders, full-aware of the evil they have already committed and what they can further destroy. Here, the effects, directing, story, and acting intersect in such a deliberate, artistic way that is rarely witnessed in blockbuster action films.


And what diverse, numerous acting wonders are on display here. The three leads have shown such steady improvement over the years, and to start from what was really no more than a children’s movie to this film – which in content, theme and execution is certainly not – it is fortunate they grew into their roles so well (and didn’t age awkwardly for that matter, either). Rupert Grint abided to the narrative's details by growing exponentially over the years, to the mountainous presence he is now. From cute little girl to Vogue cover girl, Emma Watson matured with class into a role that demanded a vessel of it. The long-brewing romance between Watson and Grint's characters works here with that final payoff even non-readers knew was approaching. And both actors work familiar chemistry with the main star, Daniel Radcliffe, surely because they are the best of friends in real life after all these years. Notably, Hermione's tears when she comes to terms with a long-time truth of Harry's is heartbreaking. Such heavy material is what all of the actors have to make their own, and Radcliffe delivers his best performance as he translates Harry's pain, strife and ultimate heroism to the screen. Perhaps in part due to the media's proliferation of Dan's image, but it is indisputable that Daniel is Harry. A role that once espoused such lines as "There's no Hogwarts without you, Hagrid", Harry Potter has grown to one of the strongest leads in movie franchise history. As Dumbledore astutely notes, the "brave, brave man" that is Harry sacrifices all while wielding the most powerful weapon, love, against the surrounding fog of evil. Radcliffe has proven the choice surrogate for such a powerful and inspirational character of our times.


Ralph Fiennes personifies evil in haunting style. Previously the terrifying Amon Goeth in Schindler's List and In Bruges' infuriated hitman, Fiennes possesses a proclivity for such roles of poor moral stature, but acting can be at its best when depicting humanity's worst (Daniel Plainview and The Joker for our recent times). His face, with those reptilian slits of a nose on skin resembling palish green cartilage, contorts in fury, euphoria and even laughter. With phenomenal special effects making his mask the sickly sight it is, the sinister, soulless creature Fiennes uncovers still rumbles beneath. Note his hand gestures as he elegantly waves a wand, treating his weapon as an extension of himself. Or as he awkwardly embraces Draco, showing compassion while genuinely showing none. Or as he, with a blasé flick of the wrist, kills his own obsequious kin. As the Horcruxes protecting his soul are destroyed with rapid efficiency (a notable difference from the last film), we feel the fear of a god turning mortal. A villain for the ages, Voldemort bears a venomous bite but, an extant, though long-rotten, heart. Those stubborn Academy voters should take note of one of our time's most consistently impressive actors, Mr. Fiennes.

Or better yet, recognize the strongest character of the saga, not only due to Rowling's prose, but the tour-de-force portrayal Alan Rickman gave all for Severus Snape. Certainly the most complex and perhaps most tortured of Rowling's creations, Snape surpasses the grossly intolerant but admittedly shallow character that enunciated such memorable lines like "Page three-hundred and ninety four" (though his scene-stealing pronunciation is made light of in an early scene). What he is here is so much more. In what may be the greatest passage of the entire series, Snape's backstory is revealed, turning him from a slithery source of dry humor to a great figure of modern literature. The film's interpretation fulfills the lofty expectations readers held, and then some. The amusing lines of the text are stripped, making for a solemn sequence of tragedy. Edits flow seamlessly and logically, and any cuts made by Kloves from the source material are sensible and unworthy of debate. But it is Rickman's acting here that makes for the emotional apex of the film, and perhaps the whole series. We watch, stunned, as he oscillates between lust, fear, anger, and ultimately loss. The use of Nicholas Hooper's score from Half-Blood Prince (this film is actually composed by Alexandre Desplat for the most part) establishes a connection to previous events and successfully, thought not overbearingly so, wrings emotion from the audience. Snape's tears become your own as you form sympathy for the devil, or someone who may not be after all. It is a beautiful scene with so many wise choices, but anchored first and foremost by only Rickman.


This film series has served as a modern British acting powerhouse - such a weird phrase to use to what will likely become one of the highest grossing films of all time - and the wealth of great actors populating the wizarding universe provides for a blockbuster on such a rare plane of quality. Maggie Smith returns as Professor McGonagall, and she is no longer a passive observer of the horrors taking place at her school but a leading force in relinquishing them. Her role as maternal figure to Harry is visited again, telling him "It's good to see you again" in a way only a mother could deliver. And her giddy excitement to exercise one of the most powerful - and coolest! - spells in her arsenal is a comic highlight. This occurs when the film really kicks off, as the allied teachers, Order of the Phoenix members and students arm Hogwarts' defenses. It is both nostalgic and quite fitting to see all of the faces reunite for the final battle, as those who aided Harry on his path are there with him until the very end. Jim Broadbent's Professor Slughorn is shown all too short; he owned his intrinsic role in Half-Blood Prince with drunken antics covering a guilt-ridden conscience. His role in the final book was slightly larger (only a few added lines really). It would have been great to see more of him. Time is given to others though, as Robbie Coltrane's Hagrid returns, Harry's original portal into the magical world. His role appears late but still completes an emotional circle.  Actor Warwick Davis works overtime as the useful but scheming goblin Griphook and the charming (pun certainly intended), powerful Filius Flitwick. Such disparity in the morals of both characters proves Davis as a nimble, graceful actor. Even Filch makes one last appearance, and his miserable demeanor thankfully subsides in such testing times (his job, however does not).


Molly Weasley is back (!), as is most of the Weasley clan (no Percy redemption, sorry). Molly's final duel is as satisfying as action scenes go. Matt Lewis slips a cheesy one-liner here or there as Neville Longbottom, and while some may view his St. Crispin's Day's speech as overly sentimental, it contains themes so tied to the story I empathize with its inclusion. And, besides, his killing blow in battle casts a memory modification spell on those who recall him as an awkward, forgetful youth. Evanna Lynch's Luna Lovegood isn't caught up in the clouds as much as before, and as she rebukes Harry for ignorance, we see, and hear, both a character and actor who have come a long way. Tom Felton tosses and turns in the mind of Draco Malfoy, a closet good heart being pushed to the dark side. He redeems himself besides his mother, played by Helen McCrory, whose powerful facial expressions speak louder than words.  Meanwhile his father, the true source of his inherited hardship, flees unloved by any side. Bellatrix Lestrange, of course, stays evil to the end. Helena Bonham Carter absorbs the darkness in a way that would cause even the Dark Lord to bat an eye. It is a delight to then watch her play Hermione play her own character in a doomed-to-fail disguise. Good girl Hermione cannot meet such levels of vileness. And Ciarán Hinds, almost unrecognizable, plays Aberforth Dumbledore, the brother. He casts a shadow of doubt over the prospect of victory, but, again, redemption is such an integral theme to these stories that his progression is very satisfying.

A nice surprise apparates with Michael Gambon's Albus Dumbledore in a short, but crucial, scene. Steve Kloves wisely kept nearly all of Rowling's original lines for this exchange, and the lighting and design likely matches what many readers visualized. Sticking close to the source material works wonders here, as there are some really brilliant quotes. And how welcome is it to see Dumbledore before not just his prize, but closest friend, Harry, one last time.


David Yates marks his fourth time in the director's chair with this one, more than any before. Order of the Phoenix was poorly paced and lacked the drive of all the previous films. Thankfully with Half-Blood Prince he was able to show his talent that was apparently muffled from exterior sources for his first endeavor. At least according to him. Nonetheless, the last three films (including the Deathly Hallows Parts 1 and 2) have been the strongest consecutively, and he focuses all of his strengths for the final hurrah. The pacing, thanks to Kloves in part, shoots by with nary a dull moment, yet does not feel too short (though it, at 130 minutes, is the shortest film by far). Occupying that many characters on the screen, yet still prioritizing the leads and finishing their story, must be the secret.


Action flows with an energy that can only be described as exhilarating. As Hogwarts' defenses are set - not even one "Stupefy!" or "Expelliarmus" cast yet - excitement and anxiety builds for what happens once those barricades break. A skyset camera captures the crystalline, clear dome as it is built, and while the entire shot is likely all CGI, a united spirit radiates from the screen. We believe real people are enacting a fortress to fight for their lives. Since when have computer effects and green screens done that? Thoughtful direction makes all the difference.

While books describe images to be interpreted individually by the reader, film is a visual medium. Yates is aware of that. Voldemort's undoing is achieved with shots of artful composure, occasionally with the bare minimum of audio and no dialogue whatsoever. The silent prologue shows the last scene of Part 1, as Voldemort exhumes Dumbledore's grave to retrieve the Elder Wand. His silent depiction of requited lust is chilling. Even more so, later he drifts through a shockingly bloody pile of corpses, looking down at those fallen beneath him, a madman at the monarch. And the scene at the boathouse is immaculately staged; Yates has a future in stage direction if he so chooses. Once Voldemort turns desperate, failing again and again to slaughter the boy who brought upon his downfall, we see whatever man there is slowly disintegrate to nothingness. As he flies through the air with Harry (a noted addition not in the book), slashing and gnawing, all primal fury expels and his collected composure dissipates. This strange, but wisely included, encounter leads to their final faceoff, both stooped, taking aim. Yates believes in the dramatic significance Rowling prescribed this battle, and even takes it up a notch while maintaining thematic consistency.

It is so worth to recognize all the forces that make the film's setting so convincing, who add their artistic touches in each frame. Cinematographer Eduardo Serra knows that the devil is in the details, and, with Yates direction, turns a group of students entering school into a Hitler Youth rally. He utilizes this fictional England they create - with ravines and hills more representative of, say, Switzerland - to utilize depth, as in that final leap of faith Harry and Voldemort make. Nick Dudman, supervisor of make-up, transforms an actor (Warwick Davis) into two different characters, each convincingly lifelike. Stephenie McMillan, Barry Wilkinson and Stuart Craig - set decorator, property master and production designer, respectively - fill the Room of Requirement with knick-knacks and all sorts of fascinating bits of magical "trash". You feel bad for the ultimate fate of the room. The vivid, numerous costumes led by Jany Temime are among the best in Hollywood. John Richardson helms special effects, including the stunning dragon at Gringotts. Its pause upon breaking free, taking in the air and land it has long been deprived of, makes the collection of pixels and rendered models into flesh and blood.


As I have already noted, screenwriter Steve Kloves makes many wise choices when translating the book to film. No matter what length the film would have been, content would have to be cut and fans would demand blood. I understand such thinking; everyone has a favorite scene that they want to see on screen. And there are a few curious absences:  no follow-up with Peter Pettigrew? Perhaps a subtle nod to the cloak? (it's in the title, after all). We all have our individual gripes, and it is this reason that shows how much we care about the characters, the original text. The films have served as a companion to the books; it is in the pages we read for the first time where are imaginations served scenes of Hogwarts in its most intimate form. The films flesh out what we already are close to, occasionally offering a different interpretation. Britain's finest fill the roles, bring life to the characters on-screen. Alan Rickman's portrayal of Snape is even more stately, sad than the book's version. How magical that the books and films can coexist, crossing each others boundaries yet ultimately stay separate artistic entities. Anyone who has not read the novels gets much less from those who do; even knowing all that happened beforehand offers rewarding surprises in watching your vision realized, or perhaps tweaked. Even butchered, it offers a personal experience. The script caters to those who read the book:  for instance, a mention of Lupin and Tonks' child late in the film comes as common knowledge. However, the child was never acknowledged in the movies previously; only in the book. Those who stuck with it for the longest get the most out of it, in the end.


The last entry in the highest grossing film series of all time has no obligation to be good. In fact, a montage of the best moments from the previous films might have even broken records. But, in such a rare instance of filmmaking and production, in a time when robots, lustful vampires and comedy remakes passed as sequels rule, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 marks the highest artistic achievement of its creators yet. All the aspects mesh together just as the story's jigsaws fall into place. Most humbling of all is to watch the actors, those dozens of grade-A stars and child actors that grew up before our eyes, surrender all for a story they believe in. It is a story of one boy, and so many others beside him, using love to defeat irreconcilable evil. I cannot think of a more heartwarming theme. Now, it is time for us to shelf our collection, hang our robes. I will revisit my childhood; there is no question I will. The books and Blu-rays have more wear and tear to come. But eventually little hands will wonder of such a story their parents have long kept on display, a light film of dust beginning to settle. We will be more than happy to satiate such curiosity. And so the cycle begins again.


Final Verdict:
4.5 Stars Out of 5

Midnight in Paris Review

Midnight in Paris
Directed by Woody Allen
Released in 2011

We all wear our rose-tinted glasses when looking back at the past. When time cements itself in history, only captured through the technological and cultural means of yesterday, it codifies the events, making our present look featherweight in comparison. Such literal backward-thinking frames the characters of Midnight in Paris. It fittingly serves as the folly for them as well. 

Woody Allen's 41st feature length picture strolls through fantasy while still lightly harnessed by reality. There is surprise in the very nature of the story, in how it deviates from what is likely expected from a film billed as a "romantic comedy".  Paris, a character of such pronounced beauty, wonderfully captured by cinematographer Darius Khondji, housed the great intellectuals throughout history. Their contributions and spirits have left an imprint on the city to this day, as if their aura still lingers in the air. And in Midnight in Paris, not only does their ambiance remain, but their flesh and blood as well. See, the main character Gil Pender (Owen Wilson) transports back to a 1920s version of Paris by midnight, via an antique Peugeot. He freely interacts with them, and they with him, until the night is no longer young. The science behind such time-travel is never explained, and it does not need to be, for the audience's suspension of disbelief is willfully checked in with the coat hanger from the start. 


Gil is visiting Paris with his fiancée, Inez (Rachel McAdams), and her two parents, played by Kurt Fuller from Wayne's World and Mimi Kennedy, the nagging Karen Clark from In the Loop. Gil falls in love with the city (who doesn't?), though Inez does not share such a passionate bond. It does not help that Inez's two old friends appear without invitation, dictating their trip's events from then on. They are Paul (Michael Sheen) and Carol (Nina Arianda), the former "didactic" and a "pseudo-intellectual" espousing trivia of such obscurity to cover their falsity, and the latter simply fawning over her prize. It is no surprise Gil and Inez take notice, but for different reasons. Paul's arc from insufferable hack to something more stands by as nothing more than a minor subplot but is both entertaining and interesting as it is not hard to imagine Allen's critics labeling him the same in the past. The company Gil finds himself with Paris by day is rather dull, and certainly by conscious choice. 


But of course everyone will look unappealing when put beside Paris. Yet, Allen proves us wrong. He fills The City of Light with an equally bright set of faces. Tom Hiddleston (also in Thor this summer) perfectly embodies F. Scott Fitzgerald, as does Alison Pill as his wife, Zelda. Corey Stoll's Ernest Hemingway speaks with such profound formality that either serves to prod at our current lack of eloquence or perhaps reveal the romantic view Allen himself regards these subjects. Perhaps it is neither, but rather a parody (he is basically drunk the whole time) that remains completely unironic and respectful. Kathy Bates actualizes the strong-willed Gertrude Stein whose Paris years are so storied. There are so many other familiar costumes donned, hair styles recognized, names dropped that threaten to push this film into a cameo circle of famous flappers and sheiks. But Allen directs the nods so respectfully and with enough restraint, and the actors fill their respected roles so brilliantly, that it never sinks into a panache but remains a loveletter to a place and time. To reveal any more names would rob a sense of surprise (do not look at a cast list for your own good), but I will say to be ready for a lively appearance from Adrien Brody.


There probably is not another actress alive who better personifies the elegance, maturity, and, of course, beauty of Paris than Marion Cotillard. Her grace and looks do not belong to our time it seems - filmmakers have taken note by casting her in period pieces like Nine, Public Enemies and her Oscar-winning La Vie en Rose - and she turns in a dignified performance as the mistress of the arts that eventually catches Gil's eye. Her character, Adriana, is similarly stuck idolizing a past she knows not much of like Gil. Their shared infatuation for the yesteryears forms a special bond, one that ultimately faces conflict as they face reality. There is an endless longing for what came before throughout mankind that ultimately inhibits progress if pursued to action, or inaction. We must face the realization that the history books are not written until after our time, at which point the longing to return to a time before the most recent stretch of progress, technology and life seems so enticing. Allen explores this theme with interesting results, both heralding the past yet not declaring it the be-all and end-all. 


Owen Wilson fits into the Woody Allen mold remarkably well, handling such lofty themes and variable moods with ease. Watch The Darjeeling Limited for proof of the skills of the Drillbit Taylor star, and then this film will cast aside any lingering doubt. The lines, of course written by Allen, are witty and quick, filled with references to pop culture yet not to the point they are esoteric. Gil's first midnight stroll produces hilarious reactions of disbelief and stunned silence, and Allen creates realistic situations (as realistic as they can be in a fantasy really) that Wilson handles with subtlety that never turns outrageous. A successful but shallow screenwriter searching for depth as he struggles with composing a novel, Gil encounters the dream scenario when he hands his manuscript to Stein. His story, about a man who owns a nostalgia shop ("what's that?"), and the insightful critique Stein offers, helps him reconcile with his true self and his own time. 


There is so much to admire in Allen's direction; you would think after 40 films he would take the easy road but that is not his style. The early scenes when Gil, Inez, Carol and Paul stroll through Versailles display Allen's talents as equating blocking to power. Paul leads and dominates the frame, for he craves the reverence. Gil is a stronger man than he, and when he calls Paul's bluff on his lack of knowledge (with a piece of info acquired through a rather humorous circumstance), he simply walks out of frame, leaving Paul to answer to the two cheerleaders who may raise doubt. Allen provides such careful coverage of the party scenes as well, surveying the scene with purpose, showing key faces, hiding others to find out later of their presence. He is an undisputed master, and Midnight in Paris may as well be his 21st century triumph showing his skills have not faded but only aged like the wine they drink so liberally here. 


I love Midnight in Paris. It is one of the more charming films to arrive in some time, reminding me much of the aforementioned The Darjeeling Limited in its respectful treatment of such a beautiful locale, transferring to a rich celluloid feel that is best seen in a cinema. The dialogue is witty and lacking pretense, and offers a new look - and perhaps renewed interest - in such critical figures of our Western culture. It digs even deeper, however. Its mediation on love, of its weight and potential for eternity, ties with its views on the past, for both must be carefully considered before diving into. The initial glamor can wear off, for only time can tell what is true. Only time...


Final Verdict:
4.5 Stars Out of 5

Super 8 Review

Super 8
Directed by J.J. Abrams 
Released in 2011

I have not written any movie reviews for almost a year now. It was a pastime I loved but, well, let's just say things got in the way. One of those things was making not one but two movies myself, working with a group of other talented filmmakers my age. I saw Super 8 with these friends and, alas, I am back.


Super 8 loves the art of film, and anyone who shares the same passion will love this movie. The title itself refers to the affordable 8mm film cartridges that fueled the amateur films of young filmmakers, many now accomplished artists themselves. J.J. Abrams, the director of Super 8, clearly spent his childhood committing his fantasies to film, and it is commonly known that his mentor, Steven Spielberg, did the same. Quite fitting then, that in Abrams' attempt to create the E.T. of his time, the master sits besides him in the producer's chair. Abrams emulates the tone and aesthetic of Spielberg's early films, and does so while adding his own (sometimes literal) flair. 


The film opens in rural Ohio, 1979. The date is never explicitly mentioned but you will definitely catch it with the liberal references to "My Sharona", the new Walkman, and Three Mile Island. Young Joe Lamb (newcomer Joel Courtney) has just lost his mother in a tragic accident and is now under the solitary care of his distant father, the deputy sheriff of the town, Jackson (Friday Night Lights' Kyle Chandler). A fortunate distraction presents itself through his friend, Charles (Riley Griffiths) and the Super 8 zombie film he is making with his friends. They film a risky nighttime scene by the railroad tracks when a traumatic crash occurs, letting loose a secret government project. The army sweeps in and tries to cover it up but the kids luckily caught it on film. Extraterrestrial mumbles crescendo, leading to an explosive symphony by the last third of the film. 

And the perspective stays in the eyes of the children. In a move that surely concerned the studio execs behind the funding of this picture, Super 8 focuses on its young actors, none that well-known. For a sci-fi film set as a summer blockbuster, that is a risky move (and one that did not totally succeed from gross reports so far). However, Abrams made the right artistic choice. The banter between the youth crackles, consistently witty and grounded to the age of the characters. Cary (Ryan Lee), the pyro-cameraman, steals every line as the immature, garrulous adolescent we all knew. His lines are fewer than other characters but you will remember each wise-cracking remark. The other characters probably fit a mold of someone you know or used to know: Preston (Zach Mills) acts tough but lacks the backbone when tested, and the lead actor of Charles' film, Martin (Gabriel Basso), tends to break under pressure. Such lack of facility reveals the vulnerability of adolescence, while also providing a humorous venue to display such naivety. So, when the surrounding state turns to bedlam, the natural responses of a teenager - liberal (though PG-13) profanity and comical disbelief - are thrown around, which, while immature out of context, totally fits the characters.

And the chaos sure looks good. Abrams nailed an attractive, rich aesthetic with Star Trek, and, while there are less colors to work with this time around, he and cinematographer Larry Fong (who worked on stunning works like 300 and Watchmen) breathe life into such a banal setting. The image affords a greater clarity than most other films today, and reveals the finer details of both the characters and the perfect time capsule of a town they found to film at. Dolly and crane camera movements dominate over the handheld style of that other recent alien invasion movie District 9. The cacophonous train crash mixes computer animation and setpieces deftly well, creating ultimate carnage while preserving reality. As the children run through a deserted town later, with only tanks and guns blasting all around them, we see the expanse of their environment:  there is no green screen and the old-school approach to Hollywood action lives on. It is classic Spielberg, and clearly Abrams is learning from the master. 


No one remembers ET for any action scenes, however. While Super 8 is a different beast, one that features destruction prominently and more than ably, it does not let the visual eye candy become the crux of the film. Abrams clearly aims for a childhood parable the same way Steven did almost 30 years ago. Joe is as alien to his father as the mysterious creature outside. He finds comfort in the misfits who run around in zombie makeup, and his father does not agree with his son's choices. The dad downright condemns any interaction with Alice (Elle Fanning), the dream girl Charles hooked to play the female role in his film. Turns out her father has an unfortunate history with his own family. But the Montague-Capulet flame of tension burns stronger as love. Alice may have the looks to attract the guys but she bears the emotional scars of a loveless past. Joe understands her, and the burgeoning romance evolves maturely and nary a gimmick. Elle Fanning scales taller dramatic heights than her sister did in Spielberg's own 21st century alien film, War of the Worlds, and displays so much potential for an excellent career to follow. Joel Courtney - without any previous acting credentials in Sophia Coppola films unlike his counterpart - shines as the cute, sensitive protagonist. He cares about his friends and sees the good in the world, and Courtney achieves the delicate pathos the role requires. Much like Henry Thomas as Eliot in ET, a newcomer was chosen for the main role, and this tactic succeeds to preserve such unadulterated innocence in his character.


The coverage of the father and son relationship lacks consistency, but the payoff works despite a missing link in their dynamic bond. Not only does Joe find love in a girl of his dreams, but in the solemn man he never connected to in his life. Kyle Chandler delivers in the emotional intensity of a man on a mission to connect. His son sees the good in him that his sandpaper heart has concealed for too long. Joe's final "test" will prove his beliefs, and his father is there to grasp what he has been missing for so long. Over the emotional interchange, and the whole rest of the film, exists Michael Giacchino's beautiful score, reaching levels of John Williams-esque opera in broad shots, while still resorting to that delicate solo piano known from Lost in the most intimate scenes. Giacchino has, unarguably, been a main factor in the emotional resonance of any film or television show he has touched. 


Super 8 exposes the creature behind all the carnage in due time, but it should be commended for revealing the alien we all harbor. We all carry our passions that seem ridiculous to others. Above all, the level of time spent studying, watching and visualizing the art of film puts it at odds with other activities many deem more important. Yet film, the language Abrams and so many of us speak, communicates truths unlike any other medium. Its prevalence grows while the influence remains intact; the visual fidelity and means of distribution in 1979 are lightyears from today's benchmark but the connection remains the same. It is rather perfect I saw this film with those I created alongside as well. We saw each other in the characters on-screen. We had a back-talking, know-it-all Cary. The butt of jokes in our own Preston. And, as I was reminded more than once, the bossy, idealistic director seeking the best "production values" in myself.


Final Verdict:
4 Stars out of 5