Halloween Reboot a Shapeless Disappointment

There are few movies that I anticipated more eagerly than David Gordon Green's direct sequel to the 1978 horror classic, Halloween. The early reviews were promising, the trailers were enticing, and Green's track record encouraged a focus on setting and character development that the franchise has mostly lacked. Most importantly, Jamie Lee Curtis was returning to her star-making role as Laurie Strode, the sole survivor of the babysitter murders on Halloween 1978.

I am happy and unsurprised to say that Curtis is excellent. Her portrayal of Laurie as a PTSD-stricken survivalist who has spent the last 40 years training for the return of her tormenter is all the more admirable considering the story in which she's operating.

It kills me -- pun intended -- to say that the film as a whole is a lazy, tonal mess. Screenwriter Danny McBride, a fine comic performer and writer, proves here to be overmatched by the source material. It's perfectly acceptable to feature humor in a horror movie, but when it plays simultaneously with moments that should be frightening, the horror gets diluted.

The most egregious crime committed by McBride and Gordon Green is their commitment to rehashing scenes and plot points from every previous Halloween film. It baffles me that the filmmakers, who were adamant that this installment of the franchise would be a reboot that ignored all of the sequels, would devote so much time to copying scenes from them. The second half of the movie plays like Halloween's Greatest Hits instead of going down a wholly original path.

The first 45 minutes of the film are promising, as we meet a true crime podcast duo recording an episode on Michael Myers and the babysitter murders. In a tense scene, they approach Myers with the permission of Myers' psychiatrist, Dr. Sartain, in the prison courtyard. The podcasters stand behind Myers and hold out his mask (how they obtained it is left unanswered) in the hopes of eliciting a response from him, but he remains stoic and doesn't engage them. The podcasters come across him one more time, and needless to say, the encounter doesn't have a happy ending. But it does return the horror icon's mask to its "rightful" owner.

From here, the movie jumps straight into Halloween night and sets Myers loose on his inevitable killing spree. There's a wonderful tracking shot that follows him into multiple houses, letting us witness him spell the doom of unfortunate Haddonfield residents. It's here that we are reminded of what makes Michael Myers terrifying: the patient walk, the pale, weathered, emotionless mask, and his indiscriminate choice in victims. He's the embodiment of an enigma, but when he again turns his focus to Laurie and those close to her, we're left to decipher that she represents something to him even though the filmmakers make it a point to clarify that the two are not brother and sister.

I mentioned the Dr. Sartain character, which is meant to fill the role played memorably by wonderful British actor Donald Pleasance. Sartain nearly single-handedly derails the movie with his conspicuous motives serving as an unnecessary distraction to the proceedings. Sartain's purpose is so unimaginative that you wish the filmmakers had made the obvious decision to eliminate the character altogether.

It's inevitable that Myers and Laurie must clash, but the plot machinations that bring them together are forced and inorganic. The film could have redeemed itself with a strong finale, but it falls short here, too. There are a few suspenseful moments as the two foes play a game of cat-and-mouse in Laurie's house (Judy Greer as Laurie's daughter has a particularly crowd-pleasing moment), but the ending is strangely rushed and perplexing. I liked the idea of Laurie, her daughter, and granddaughter (aptly played by newcomer Andi Matichak) teaming up to take down a monster in a nod to the Me Too movement, but it's an indictment of the writer and the director that you leave the theater not feeling galvanized and invigorated, but rather, confused and frustrated.

Look, it was still exciting to see Michael Myers and Laurie Strode back on the big screen. These are two iconic characters that will always be worth visiting when the weather cools and the leaves start falling. I believe in the potential for an inventive sequel that will better service Michael and Laurie. Unfortunately, this isn't it.

Training Day

When we first meet Detective Alonzo, he is reading the paper at a greasy diner in inner-city Los Angeles. His all-black attire, gold jewelry, and Zen-like focus are offset by a pair of eyeglasses, giving the first impression of a man who is unwaveringly confident yet aware of his limitations. Throughout the course of Training Day, the former assumption is confirmed unequivocally while the latter is blown to shreds.

Officer Hoyt is on his first day in the Narcotics division. He wakes up to find his wife feeding their newborn baby girl, and it doesn't take long to decipher that Hoyt is a good man. He's also nervous as hell, seeing his promotion as an opportunity to move his family to a safe neighborhood. Throughout the course of Training Day, his career ambitions devolve into a fight for survival during his ride along with Alonzo.

Alonzo dispenses his form of street justice.

Training Day paints a nightmare vision of Los Angeles and its police department that, based on recent history, is sadly believable. And at the center of the nightmare is Alonzo, the boogeyman with a badge and a gun. Denzel plays Alonzo as man who combats the danger and bureaucratic red tape of his job with sheer bravado and braggadocio. When he and Hoyt come across criminals that Alonzo doesn't deem worthy of the time needed to arrest and process them, he delivers punishment through shocking acts of violence and threats that best be heeded.

Hoyt is horrified by the actions of his partner, but Alonzo manages to provide semi-sound reasoning for his decisions. As narcotics officers, he explains to Hoyt, their job is to go after the high rollers. Let the patrolmen worry about the riffraff. Hoyt's intelligence affords him the ability to see the logic in Alonzo's approach. But one forced drug consumption and orchestrated murder-robbery later, and his sensibilities are betrayed.

Hoyt's day goes from bad to worse.

Director Antoine Fuqua shot much of Training Day in some of LA's most violent, gang-infested neighborhoods, and every scene feels drenched with menace (the scene in the Mexicans' house is on par with the basement scene from Zodiac in how it builds a sense of dread). The character of Alonzo may border on caricature, but the possibility of his existence is not far-fetched. I see him starting out on the force with a cocky attitude and a violent streak that he employs to mask his fear and self-loathing, and as he moved his way up the ladder of the LAPD and was given a longer leash by his superiors -- we meet a few of them in a frightening scene in a dimly lit steakhouse -- his morality and restraint succumbed to his survival instincts. And what better way to survive the streets than by turning yourself into their most terrifying monster?

Alonzo's famous "King Kong ain't got shit on me!" monologue at the end of the film is fascinating not just because of Denzel's blistering delivery, but because we are witnessing a larger-than-life character's facade come crashing down. It's here we realize that Alonzo's flashy clothes, souped-up car, and acts of violence belie a childlike fear of dismissal and loss of power. Alonzo is a bully and a dictator, and when he finds the tables have been turned on him, he erupts. It's a powerful scene that all but guaranteed Denzel's eventual Oscar win.

I mentioned earlier that the character of Alonzo is not implausible. Indeed, Denzel modeled his appearance and behavior on Rafael Perez, a former officer who was at the center of the LAPD Rampart scandal in the 90s. Perez was a member of the LAPD's now defunct anti-gang task force known as CRASH, and during his tenure, he was involved in crimes ranging from felony drug theft to shooting and framing a teenage gang member who was left paralyzed from the waist down. Monsters do exist, and it's terrifying to know that some are tasked with protecting us.

Movies for All Seasons

Sure, it's spring, but that feels more like a technicality than a fact right now. The onslaught of freezing temperatures, brutish winds, and bothersome snow have many of us feeling trapped in the throes of a winter that refuses to retreat. My favorite pastime for combatting the bleak weather is to grab a bag of tortilla chips, stake claim to my favorite couch cushion, and pop in a movie.

My movie-viewing tendencies tend to pair up with the current season, and given the frigid and dreary state of the weather, I find myself returning to my wintry standbys. 

Fargo

Goon

The Grey

Hot Tub Time Machine

The Lookout

Out Cold

The Shining

Slap Shot

The Verdict

Wicker Park

Winter's Bone

The Wrestler

Zack and Miri Make a Porno

"I knew these people..."

A middle-aged man in a weatherworn suit and red ball cap walks dazedly through the south Texas desert. We don't know where he's coming from, where he's headed, or why he's wandering beneath the punishing sun in what was once his Sunday best, and it makes for a fascinating opening sequence that ends with the man passing out on the floor of a sweltering, filthy establishment that he happens upon. A German doctor arrives to examine the man, who doesn't speak, and finds a card with a phone number on it. The number belongs to Walt, the brother of the wandering man, and Walt makes the trek from Los Angeles to this tiny border town to retrieve his sibling, who we come to learn has been missing for four years.

During their journey back to Walt's home in Los Angeles, we pick up tidbits about the man and his life prior to taking to the desert. His name is Travis, and he had a girlfriend, Jane, and son, Hunter. There was a falling out between Travis and Jane, and Hunter was sent to live with Walt and his wife after Travis disappeared. Despite Walt's increasingly exasperated efforts to coax details of what happened out of Travis gaining no traction, he does succeed in getting his brother to start speaking again. 

Once they arrive in Los Angeles, Travis lets it be known that he wants to develop a relationship with his son. Walt is understanding -- his wife, less so -- but the couple is honest with their son about who Travis is, and they allow the two of them to start forging a bond. Hunter is receptive and curious about Travis and the mother he doesn't remember, and part of what makes Paris, Texas the intimate and grounded experience it is is the unaffected performances from the cast, most notably Hunter Carson as Hunter and Harry Dean Stanton as Travis. 

Also lending the movie its verisimilitude is the use of the Texas locales that capture the state's at-odds combination of vastness and small town isolation and claustrophobia. It calls to mind the Outback, with tiny pockets of languid civilization being strangled by the omnipresent sun and fruitless terrain to which they cling. Ry Cooder's spare and twangy score feels born of the land, and the screenplay by recently deceased actor and writer Sam Shepard is a masterclass in writing with an ear for not just what people say, but how they say it. 

This brings me to the film's hallmark scene between Jane and Travis, which culminates in an uninterrupted monologue by Travis that is among the most beautifully written in the history of cinema. Travis has tracked down Jane in Houston and finds her working at a sleazy peep show venue, where the men on one side of a booth can see the woman on the other side while they remain unseen. It is here that Travis, invisible to Jane, tells her the story of two people he used to know who were very much in love, but whose relationship deteriorated due to the man's jealousy, insecurity, and self-loathing. He starts off speaking in generalities before dropping in pointed details about the tumult that arose between the couple, and it's wrenching to watch Jane's playful interest slowly dissolve as she comes to the realization that the story is her's and Travis's own. Though not as lengthy, her response to Travis is equally affecting in its honesty and depth of feeling. It's a small detail, but note how each character chooses to turn their back to the other when sharing their side of the story, unable to bear the pain of sharing such truths, afraid of the love they still share but which once gave way to destructive bouts of resentment. This scene could be cut into a short film, and it would stand on its own as a masterpiece.

Director Wim Wenders, a native of Germany who has oft explored themes of loneliness and isolation in his acclaimed career, found in Shepard's script the opportunity to probe both. It's easy to feel trapped when it feels like your surroundings are closing in on you. For some folks, it might help to walk out into the desert night and find that there are no barriers keeping them from going further.

How "Hardball" Dropped the Ball

Daniel Coyle's 1994 novel "Hardball: A Season in the Projects" was a nonfiction account of a group of Chicago businessmen, Coyle included, who volunteered to coach a little league baseball team in Cabrini-Green, Chicago's most notorious public housing project until its demolition. In telling the story of that eventful season, Coyle alternates between summaries of the team's games and the trials and tribulations of its players and coaches, both on and off the field. Coyle details the effect Cabrini and life within its treacherous high-rises has on the players who reside there, lending context to the coaches' struggles to unite, let alone field, a team that consists of children essentially residing in a war zone.

The Kekambas

I don't often condone critiquing movies based on novels by their faithfulness to the source material, but having read "Hardball" after viewing the movie multiple times, I feel that the filmmakers whiffed on the opportunity to convert an engrossing true story of urban poverty, inner city violence, and the unifying force of baseball into an edgy, engaging, and insightful movie. Instead, they resorted to timeworn cliches and formulaic plotting that resulted in a watered down version of Coyle's
novel.

Now, I understand that film adaptations of books don't need to be dutiful retreads. But, in the case of Hardball, the filmmakers made a series of missteps, and it resulted in a hackneyed tale of personal redemption via sports.

To begin, Keanu Reeves is horribly miscast as the coach, Connor O'Neill. The character in the movie is not a successful professional, but a gambling addict with a drinking problem. Reeves has never  been highly regarded for his emotional range, and here, he attempts to emote with the most gratuitous and distracting hand movements I've ever seen in a movie.

Keanu Reeves, talking with his hands.

The plot: after getting in deep with a couple of nefarious bookies, O'Neill goes to the Wacker Street office of a wealthy friend to beg for the money to pay off his debts. Instead of writing a check, the friend offers O'Neill $500 a week to coach an inner city little league baseball team with him. O'Neill begrudgingly accepts, and thus becomes the head coach of the Kekambas.

The team, of course, is comprised of a ragtag group of kids whose speech is laced with PG-13 profanity, who can't catch or hit, and whose uniforms are vastly inferior to the rest of the teams for no other reason than to remind us of how bad they are. Would you be surprised that the best team in the league has the nicest uniforms, or that they have the league's best hitter, who happens to be at the plate during two crucial at-bats against the Kekembas? Bonus points if you can figure out who comes out on top in these showdowns. An attempt is made to enhance the conflict between these two teams. The opposing head coach is a cartoonish caricature of the overbearing disciplinarian who cares about nothing more than getting his trophy by repeatedly busting players on the Kekambas for petty league rule infractions, but it's so forced that no real tension is produced.

Hardball also suffers from the common underdog sports movie ailment of the team transitioning from utter ineptitude to formidability despite no apparent coaching or strategy that elevates their gameplay. The players simply becomes good because the plot requires the team to appear in the big game at the end. Does Reeves's character know anything about coaching baseball? Aside from a brief scene of him hitting routine grounders and popups to the players, he doesn't provide the team with a lick of baseball insight, advice, or tutelage. Baseball is a complicated game, but you wouldn't know it watching Hardball.

DeWayne Warren as G-Baby

Finally, Hardball's greatest misstep is its focus on the Reeves character. Although he's an established Hollywood star and commanded the largest salary of the cast, more attention needed to be paid to the kids on the team. What are their hopes and dreams? What are their home lives like? We get three perfunctory scenes showing the menace of life in the projects (the movie was filmed at the now demolished ABLA homes on Chicago's west side), but these three brief scenes are all we see of the kids' home lives. We don't get to know any of them on a personal level. The film's most affecting scenes revolve around the death and funeral of the team's youngest player, G-Baby (adorable scene-stealer DeWayne Warren), and they demonstrate how the movie's emotional core should have been centered on the struggles and triumphs of these wonderful kids instead of on the personal redemption of their foolish coach.


I'm well aware that my thoughts may come across as dubious with this disclaimer, but I do not hate Hardball. I own the movie and have watched it several times, and I'll admit that I enjoy a standard underdog sports movie as much as the next person. I enjoy the performances of the child actors, the quirky John Hawkes, the radiant Diane Lane, and G-Baby is one of my all-time favorite movie characters. I love the idea of the pitcher who finds his rhythm through Notorious B.I.G.'s "Big Poppa." Hardball could have been so much more, and whether it's the fault of studio heads, the director, or both, this movie had the chance to transcend its genre instead of being another run-of-the-mill offering.

It's been 15 years since Hardball's release; maybe a remake is in order. If this pipe dream of mine were to come to fruition, I hope whoever decides to tackle it doesn't -- pardon the sports axiom -- drop the ball.

My Christmas Top Five

1. It's a Wonderful Life

"Here's to my big brother George, the richest man in town." So says Harry Bailey as the town of Bedford Falls comes to the rescue of his brother, George, who faces a financial crisis just before Christmas. Harry's toast reflects the message left for George by the angel Clarence: "No man is a failure who has friends." 

I loathed It's a Wonderful Life as child, probably for no other reason than it was in black and white and therefore must be boring. I've since grown up, and for me, no other movie captures the meaning of Christmas as well as this classic from Frank Capra. Much like George Bailey, many of us have experienced the frustration of life getting in the way of plans for the future, and many have been through times when life, if even for moment, appeared hopeless. But, as George discovers, there's nothing more rewarding than the love of your family and friends. And if you treat your friends like family, you'll never be at a loss for one.

2. A Christmas Story

Perhaps I'm partial to it because of its Northwest Indiana setting, or because I'm in the minority of people who can genuinely laugh when the old man reads the newspaper article about the clodhopper from Griffith swallowing a yo-yo, but A Christmas Story's status as a holiday classic is by now well established. A box office flop that gained in popularity after being released on video, it's easy to see why A Christmas Story is beloved by so many and plays as a 24 hour marathon on TBS every December 25th. The childhood anticipation for Christmas is clearly felt through the experiences of Ralphie Parker as he pines for a Red Rider BB gun, pays a visit to the world's worst mall Santa, and deals with the town bully, Scut Farkas. 

Everything about A Christmas Story feels authentic and true to growing up in an ordinary Midwestern town. The father is stern but loving, the mother is a fountain of warmth and comfort, and everyone in the family finds joy in the little things, whether it be Little Orphan Annie on the radio or a prized leg lamp that will forever be a part of movie lore. The movie is worth watching if only for the leg lamp and Chinese restaurant scenes. Regardless of your age, A Christmas Story is sure to remind you of why you love   

Christmas and that your family is what makes it special.

3. The Muppet Christmas Carol

This imaginative take on the Charles Dickens classic is a family favorite for a reason. The inclusion of the Muppets in the proceedings takes some of the dark edge off the story and lends genuine laughs to a story whose movie adaptations are usually devoid of humor. It's a welcome counterpoint to the dark and sobering adventure of Ebenezer Scrooge on an eventful Christmas Eve as he revisits some of the most heartbreaking moments of his past. 

That's not to say the movie doesn't pack an emotional punch; the scene of Belle singing "When Love is Gone" is devastating, punctuated by Scrooge weeping in his bed after being returned home from the memory. But this is a light, funny, and accessible version of a timeless classic, and the character of Scrooge has never been played better than it was by Michael Caine.

4. Scrooge

I watched this version of A Christmas Carol so many times when I was a child that my parents still refuse to watch it. Once my mom's favorite Christmas movie, my year-round obsession with it had the effect on my mom of vomiting after eating a favorite meal. The thought of giving it another chance just makes her nauseous. Watching this lesser known take on Charles Dickens' story now, I can't explain what drove my overwhelming affinity for it, but it does still hold a special place in my heart. 

Despite Scrooge being a musical, Albert Finney, who played the title role, is a terrible singer. Most of the musical numbers are cringeworthy, none more so than the song "Thank You Very Much." The song is performed by the townsfolk with great jubilation as Scrooge, accompanied by the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, witnesses his coffin being delivered through the streets of London on its way to the cemetery. So celebratory is the occasion that several citizens take to dancing on Scrooge's coffin. It's made all the more morbid by Scrooge singing along, oblivious to the fact that it's his body in the coffin.

For all of its flaws, Scrooge is a dark and ambitious take on the source novel. There are two haunting scenes that I've not seen included in any other movie version of the story. The first is of Scrooge and Marley flying through the night sky, surrounded by hundreds of tortured spirits. The second is Scrooge's visit to Hell that ends with him being chained up in an icy rendition of his office. 

5. Love Actually

A part of me feels guilty for including this popular British rom-com on my list. It's by no means a secular Christmas movie, as it's replete with profanity and sex with a dash of infidelity. But aside from one particularly sad storyline, Love Actually is an unabashed celebration of the pursuit of love. Set in London in the weeks leading up to Christmas, the movie follows a motley assortment of Brits seeking significant others or vying to overcome difficulties in their love life. There's the young man who hopelessly and silently pines for his best friend's wife, the adorable little boy who takes up drumming to impress his crush after his mom passes away, the new prime minister who falls in love with his catering manager on his first day in office, and the aging rock star who realizes the most important person in his life is his chubby, underappreciated manager.

Love Actually's cast features some of Britain's finest actors, including Hugh Grant, Bill Nighy (stealing every scene he's in), Emma Thompson, and the late Alan Rickman. The movie runs a bit long and has a couple storylines that easily could have been scrapped, but this is a heartwarming, hilarious go-to at Christmastime. 

The Reader

The Reader, based on the novel by Bernhard Schlink, is a human tragedy played out in the shadows of humanity's greatest atrocity.

Set in Germany soon after the end of the Holocaust, the movie opens with teenager Michael Berg (David Kross) stumbling through the rainy streets of his hometown, delirious with scarlet fever. After vomiting in the street, he is cleaned up and sent home by Hanna, a local woman returning from work. After several months of bed rest, he returns to Hanna's apartment to thank her, and she wastes little time before making love to him.

Michael will spend many more days with Hanna during the course of the summer, racing home from school to her bed. What begins as a strictly physical relationship morphs into something more, as Hanna begins to require Michael to read to her before they make love. This development doesn't seem significant at first but is of enormous importance later in the movie.

What do we make of Hanna? Here is a confident, focused, beautiful woman whose every movement is assured and precise. Yet she's given to fits of anger and volatility that seem to erupt from a deep well of wounds and hastily repressed memories. It is apparent that there is no one else in her life. Kate Winslet is remarkable in this Oscar-winning role, giving what could have been a caricature a tremendous amount of depth and making Hanna an unforgettable character.

The two spend the rest of the summer in bed. It is a blissful time for both Michael and Hannah, though Michael's euphoria seems born of the sex while Hanna's derives from Michael's reading to her. Then, without notice, Hanna disappears.

Michael is leveled by her leaving, and as the movie flashes forward to the present, we see that Michael (played now by Ralph Fiennes) never recovered from the emotional toll of the relationship's sudden end. Now a lawyer, Michael is polite yet detached from the world around him. He admits as much to his daughter from a failed marriage, telling her he is not open with anyone, including her. We learn that Michael didn't return to his hometown for many years, not even for his father's funeral. Everything is a reminder of Hanna. It wasn't just Hanna's disappearing that burdens Michael, but also the guilt associated with a crucial decision he made the next time he saw her.

When we see Michael again, he is a promising law student taking a seminar focused on German guilt in relation to the Holocaust. His professor, played by famed German actor Bruno Ganz, centers the course on the nearby trial of several women who served as Nazi guards at Auschwitz and led a death march of women and children that ended in all of the prisoners, save for a mother and daughter, burning alive in a church after a bombing raid. Despite the screams of the prisoners, the guards refused to unlock the door and allow them the chance to escape.

Michael and the rest of the class attend the trial, and he hears a familiar name during the roll call of the defendants. He looks up to see Hanna. As the trial progresses and Hanna's involvement in the deaths of thousands is made clear, Michael is thrown into an emotional turmoil. Here is a woman with whom he shared the most intimate of experiences, who left with no explanation, and who is now on trial for her role in the Holocaust. Winslet is a marvel in the courtroom scenes. She answers every question truthfully and readily admits her involvement, and she is so genuine that it's not impossible to empathize with her.

When the judge attacks Hanna after she admits to sending women and children to another camp where she knew they would be killed, she immediately asks him what he would have done. His inability to answer answer begs the question, what would any of us have done? Hanna, exasperated, says she was just following orders. She was doing as she was told.

It's easy to level judgement on her and everyone else who worked the camps, but consider that the rest of the country knew what was happening and did nothing to stop it. How far does the guilt extend? There were many monsters in the Nazi ranks, but most Germans were decent, law-abiding citizens with values and morals. Are they just as responsible for the deaths of millions as those in the Nazi army? These are questions the movie takes seriously, and we see the conflict raging inside Michael as he tries to reconcile Hanna the lover with Hanna the war criminal.

It all comes to a head when Hanna's fellow defendants accuse her of composing a report that stated they knowingly kept the prisoners locked in the church. It is clear the charge isn't true, but when the judge asks Hanna for a sample of her handwriting to match to the report, she inexplicably refuses and accepts responsibility for the report, sealing her fate. Michael is baffled, but quickly ascertains the secret of which Hannah is so ashamed. She is illiterate. Michael is torn over what to do with this knowledge. If he presents it to the court, he might affect the sentencing of a war criminal. He consults his professor, who tells him he has a moral obligation to present it. Michael decides to speak with Hanna to convince her to save herself, and although he makes it as far as the prison, he decides to turn back and withhold the information. Much like the generation before him, he says nothing. And, like the generation before him, he is ravaged by the guilt of his inaction.

The Reader stirred several debates upon its release in 2008. Some thought there was too much focus on the sex scenes, while others argued that the movie equates the shame of illiteracy with Holocaust guilt. The sex scenes are certainly graphic, but they aren't meant to titillate. It's what Michael and Hanna's relationship consists of, and Hanna uses it as a means to be read to. It's fair to wonder why she so desires to be read to, and the movie never tries to explain it. Maybe the stories allow her an escape from her memories. We all have things we love, and we all have secrets of which we are ashamed.

As for equating the shame of illiteracy with Holocaust guilt, that is not what the movie does. It does appear at times than Hanna feels more ashamed of her illiteracy than she does guilty for role at Auschwitz, but that doesn't mean it's the stance of the movie. When Michael does confront Hanna many years later about her involvement, she explains that there's no sense dwelling on it because "the dead will still be dead." However, her illiteracy remained a part of her life, an ailment she could not overcome. The movie doesn't make excuses for Hanna, and it doesn't make any attempts to tell us how we should feel about her. It is why the character is so memorable and effective.

The Reader is a devastating, challenging movie that asks questions I'm not sure have answers. Roger Ebert described movies as "empathy machines." After watching The Reader, you might be surprised at what, and who, you are capable of empathizing with.


Note: The music for The Reader was composed by Nico Muhly, and it is one of the most effective, heartbreaking scores I have heard. 

Not so Squad Goals

We're bad guys.

Five minutes into Suicide Squad, I wanted to jump up and ask the projectionist to start it over from the beginning. Flashbacks meant to illustrate the main characters’ backstories were launched into so quickly that I was convinced the real start of the movie was accidentally skipped over. The effect was jarring, and as proved to be the case with the remainder of the film, the scenes were so rapid, disjointed, and sloppily edited that you get no real insight into any of the characters’ lives and motivations. The failure to successfully establish the members of the Suicide Squad means we never grow to care about the majority of them, and their actions and behaviors seem driven by the plot rather than born of their characters. 

To summarize the inane plot, ruthless government operative Amanda Waller, played by Viola Davis in one of the film’s few effective performances, recruits the “worst of the worst” villains and metahumans to defend the world against the possibility of an otherworldly attack following the events of the similarly dreadful Batman vs. Superman.

The team is swept into action when Enchantress, a centuries old witch possessing Dr. Joone Moone (Cara Delevingne), takes control of Midway City with the help of her spirit brother, who possesses the body of a random subway rider. Enchantress, lacking the creativity to devise a truly diabolical method of world domination, designs a machine that turns ordinary folk into mindless fighting zombies with heads resembling an amalgamation of pulsating boils. If it sounds ludicrous and hokey reading it, you should see it in poorly rendered CGI for the full effect.

The team goes through all of the predictable tiffs and smarmy banter expected of a group of misfits before coming together at the end to battle the comically unintimidating Enchantress, who writhes about like a jonesing crack addict. In a riff on Satan’s temptation of Jesus in the desert, Enchantress attempts to seduce the Squad by promising to fulfill their greatest desires. Deadshot, Harley Quinn, and El Diablo are all given glimpses of their ideal life, while Killer Croc and Boomerang are completely ignored. Apparently, they have no hopes or dreams. 

Jai Courtney (Boomerang) finds out how few lines he has.

The cast, for the most part, is the movie’s one redeeming quality. Will Smith is charismatic as ever as the world’s deadliest hit man with a soft spot for his daughter. Jay Hernandez hits the right notes as El Diablo, who is reluctant to commit violence after a horrific incident involving his family.

Margot Robbie’s performance as Harley Quinn is a bit more uneven. At times she comes across as unhinged and sadistic, but for the most party, she plays Quinn like a moody schoolgirl who sometimes has a thick New Jersey accent. Jai Courtney is given nothing of consequence to do as Aussie hillbilly Boomerang. Killer Croc looks intimidating and is given a few one-liners meant to provide comic relief, but unfortunately, no one in the theater I attended seemed able to understand what he was saying.

Joel Kinnaman, who I loved in AMC’s The Killing and has done good work in other films, is all over the map as Rick Flag, the special ops leader of the Squad. He seems to have no clue what emotions he’s supposed to be conveying, and his lines feel stiff and forced. We’re supposed to be emotionally invested in him because of his romantic relationship with Dr. Moone, but their relationship is glossed over so briefly that we never really care about the outcome.

Then, there’s Jared Leto as the infamous Joker. After hearing stories of Leto throwing a dead pig on the table during  a script reading and sending his fellow cast members unsolicited anal beads, I was expecting a memorable performance of one of cinema’s great characters. Unfortunately, the Joker has such little screen time that we don’t get an idea of how great Leto might have been if given more to work with. In the few scenes he is in, he’s fairly intimidating and bizarre, but nowhere near as complex and frightening as Heath Ledger’s rendition in The Dark Knight. As with Dr. Moone and Rick Flag, the relationship between the Joker and Harley Quinn is established so sloppily that it never resonates or seems believable.

The Joker, searching for more screen time.

How could this movie have gone so wrong? It has an A-list cast, intriguing characters, and a director who helmed the excellent cop thriller End of Watch and the gritty, violent World War II film Fury. Hell, anyone not named Zack Snyder would have been cause for celebration. When reshoots began after filming was completed, rumors swirled that it was to add more comedy after the backlash against the grim Batman vs. Superman; I hope that wasn’t the case. Batman vs. Superman wasn’t bad because it was dark. It was bad because it was bad. Then, there’s the case of the Enchantress. Roger Ebert once said a movie is only as good as its villain, and the Enchantress is not the least bit menacing or compelling. Perhaps more focus should have been given to the Joker, an infinitely more interesting character.

Now, I know the fanboys and fangirls get their respective underwear in a bunch whenever a film adaptation of a beloved comic series gets panned. This time, they thought they’d stick it to critics by starting a petition to shut down Rotten Tomatoes. I have never been a reader of comics and knew nothing of the Suicide Squad before seeing the first trailer, but if I was a fan of the comics, I would be exceptionally pissed off at what I saw on screen. I can’t believe that the comic series would have such ardent fans if it was of the same quality as this jumbled, incoherent disappointment of a promising movie. 

The Value of Memories: "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind"

I did not chance upon my second viewing of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I arrived home from work on a Friday, less than three weeks after a breakup, and I was sad. Logic told me to reach out to friends for company or find a mindless comedy on Netflix to pass the time, but I was sad and didn't much care to fight it. So, I sought out the movie about a mismatched couple who decide to have their memories of each other erased. 

The movie begins with Jim Carrey, playing against type beautifully as the sad and introverted Joel, spontaneously ditching work to go to the seaside town of Montauk. It's freezing out and the beach is deserted, save for a woman with striking blue hair and a bright red sweatshirt. She is Kate Winslet's Clementine, all impulses and spontaneity.

Joel and Clementine are unable to shake each other the rest of the day. They end up at the same diner for lunch, casting curious glances at each other, before finding themselves sharing the same train home. It's here that they have their [first] conversation, which consists of Clementine spewing her every thought while Joel nods politely. They're polar opposites, but at this moment, they couldn't be more perfect for each other. By the end of the day, Clementine has already told Joel she's going to marry him. As he leaves to go home, in one of the movie's most memorable lines, Clementine implores him to wish her a Happy Valentine's Day when he calls her the next day, simply because "it would be nice."

If Eternal Sunshine sounds like standard romantic fare, I encourage you to seek it out on Netflix so you can have the joy of being proven wrong. The movie snakes its way back and forth through time as we discover that Clementine had her memories of Joel erased once their relationship soured. Confused and upset, Joel visits Lacuna, Inc., the provider of Clementine's and many other's memory erasures. It doesn't take him long to decide to have his memories of Clementine purged.

Eternal Sunshine's best scenes ensue during Joel's operation, in which he relives his memories with Clementine and, despite the tremendous hurt she caused him, decides he wants to keep these memories after all. As each one fades and dissipates, Joel desperately clings to Clementine and attempts to hide her away in memories where she doesn't belong. It all culminates in a heartbreaking scene. The two are sitting on the beach where they first met, and Clementine informs Joel that she'll be gone soon and asks him what they should do. Instead of continuing his fight to hold on to her, he calmly replies that they should enjoy the time they have left. 

There are many reasons why Eternal Sunshine so strongly endears itself to viewers, even landing in the top 100 movies of all time as voted by users on IMDB. To me, aside from the innovative visuals and camera tricks, the film's greatest quality is its incredibly honest portrayal of romantic relationships. We get many glimpses of the great times between Joel and Clementine, but we also witness the moments when they hurt each other and the seeds for their relationships's demise were planted. 

Eternal Sunshine poses a difficult question. Given the opportunity, would you choose to have your memories of a failed relationship removed? I think I decided to revisit the movie because it reinforced my answer. In my recent experience, I found the good memories to be the most painful, and they were the ones I kept revisiting. Those memories still hurt, but I would be lying if I said I don't cherish them. Those moments were magical, and the sadness of knowing there won't be more with that person is outweighed by the gratitude for having experienced them. I think Joel and Clementine come to the same realization.

Identity Crisis in Charlie's Country

There is an extended shot of actor David Gulpilil's face late in Charlie's Country that is devastating in its authenticity. Gulpilil's Charlie, behind prison bars, his dark hair and white beard shaved, has lost all sense of his identity.

Like many Australian Aborigines, Charlie is a stranger in his own country. His home is a government settlement in Arnhem Land, a region of Australia's Northern Territory. He spends his days walking the dirt streets of the village, voicing his concern over the lack of quality food in the only market store, making small talk amidst the constant buzzing of insects, and sleeping in his government paid for housing, which amounts to nothing more than a wooded platform and a mattress.

Charlie has his frustrations, but he maintains a sense of humor and camaraderie with the other villagers. That begins to change after a couple of run-ins with the white policemen stationed in the village. Charlie and a neighbor get their guns and truck confiscated after shooting a water buffalo for meat. Still wishing to hunt, Charlie carves a traditional spear, only to have the police take it as well.

Charlie's inability to provide for himself as his ancestors did, governed by prohibitve rules established by outsiders in his native land, drives him to the bush to live off of the land. The venture starts off well. Charlie fashions a hut, spears fish and cooks them beneath burning embers, and his inherent connection to the land and his heritage springs forth from hibernation. Then, a health setback leads to an emergency flight to a hospital in Darwin. Separated from his village and the land he calls home, Charlie's mental state and sense of self begin to deteriorate. He flees the hospital, falls in with a group of displaced Aborigines living in a wooded area just outside the city, begins drinking heavily, and ends up in prison.

What makes Charlie's Country so moving is the palpable sense of inner turmoil Gulpilil conveys with little dialogue and spare facial expressions. Gulpilil has lived this life, feels these frustrations, and can't be said to be acting here. With every distrusting look he receives and injustice he suffers, he embodies the collective pain of his people, who have lost so much and cling to their tradition and pride like life preservers.

Australian cinema has produced several frightening examinations of its nation's soul. Wake in Fright focused on aggressive male bonding and alcoholism in a brutal Outback town; Picnic at Hanging Rock used the unexplained disappearance of a group of boarding school girls to tackle themes of repressed sexuality; and Walkabout, also starring Gulpilil, looked at the consequences of the communication gap between white and Aborigine culture. With Charlie's Country, which is more straightforward in its approach to Australia's cultural divide, we are presented with an Australia that is teeming with history and mysticism. But like Charlie's Country's title character, Australia risks the loss of its true identity.