Happy New Year!

Al's Omniflick would like to wish you all a Happy and Prosperous New Year! See you in 2015!

The Gambler

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Rupert Wyatt/Starring: Mark Wahlberg, John Goodman, Alvin Ing, Brie Larson, Jessica Lange and Michael Kenneth Williams

I'll never quite fathom remakes. Unless a director or producer feels the original was an utter pile of bat guano demanding re-tooling, then I suppose the effort makes sense. But Hollywood history is littered with cinematic rubbish some producer or director felt needed to be retold or made current. I've seen very few remakes that best the original. And what do such ill-conceived endeavors often produce? Useless, vacuous, retreads that lack the original film's dramatic power, wit, humor, charm or spirit.

So movie screens are carrying director Rupert Wyatt's remake of the 1974 film of the same name and I again find myself asking rhetorically: Why? And why The Gambler? Did James Caan not perform his part well, or did the film suffer in some way that made Wyatt or the current producers (Wahlberg among them) itch? Was there an impassioned movement, membership a million strong, clamoring for a remake? If so, why was I not made aware of this? I suppose I could devote a blog-post solely to questions regarding remakes but I won't exhaust your eyes with something so pointless.

Mark Wahlberg plays Jim Bennett, literature professor, author and pathological gambler. When we first see him, he is having a run of luck at a blackjack table in an illicit gambling establishment. Rather than playing sensibly, Bennett transfers his winnings to the roulette table, where he places all his chips on black, but the ball falls on red. His all or nothing approach to gambling is his MO in the film, which brings him misfortune and trouble.

Bennett's freewheeling gambling habit leaves him with prodigious debts to underworld figures who become a ubiquitous presence in his life. A Korean kingpin named Mr. Lee (Alvin Ing), whose illegal gambling houses Bennett frequents, allows the professor to run up a $250,000 debt, which he demands in seven days time. Another shadowy wraith to whom Bennett is indebted is Neville Baraka (Michael Kenneth Williams), who is keen to level his own threats.

When not gambling, Bennett teaches literature at a local university and in his class is a young woman named Amy Phillips (Brie Larson, in a thankless, underwritten role), who is employed in one of Mr. Lee's establishments.

I'm not sure Mark Wahlberg makes a convincing literature professor. I can't picture him actually picking up a copy of Albert Camus' The Stranger or sharing his insights on the book in class. Actually, it may be one of the only books mentioned in his course. Bennett takes up a lot of class-time (and screen time) hectoring his students about their lack of writing talent, though he singles out Amy for her exceptional writing skills. We have to take his word for it; we never see any evidence in the film that would substantiate his value judgement.

A romance between Bennett and Amy percolates, which his dire gambling situation complicates. The relationship is very unconvincing. The lack of chemistry between the two is one of the film's salient failings. Aside from Bennett's lofty praise and her link to his extracurricular life, the relationship is the screenwriter's far-fetched contrivance.

As the days to the deadline are counted onscreen, Bennett seeks out his mother Roberta (Jessica Lange, doing terrific work in a small role), whose wealth offers him his only recourse to debt alleviation. World-weary and edgy, Roberta receives her son's plea for an exorbitant amount with a degree of outrage but she agrees to his request; citing fear of losing another family-member as her means to justifying her action. The subsequent scene in the bank of Roberta and Jim sitting before a puzzled manager is one of the film's best moments (of which there are a scant number).

Rather than eliminate his debt, the self-destructive, volatile Bennett decides to gamble with the money; a catastrophic act that is too mind-boggling to imagine and too painful to watch.

What are the psychological underpinnings of Bennett's gambling? One might say it is merely a gambling addiction but that practical explanation isn't enough to characterize his reasons for such aggressive, manic behavior. It's hardly the thrill of risk, for Bennett doesn't exhibit any elation or high from gambling. A flimsy, existential motivation is subtly posited but no explanation is really satisfying. Except maybe profound stupidity.

Having foolishly and recklessly gambled his mother's money away, Bennett has little choice but to borrow a sizable sum from a dangerous loan shark named Frank (John Goodman), who issues his own vague but ominous threats. But unlike Mr. Lee and Neville, Frank takes a paternal interest in Bennett, though the threats remain.

With the deadline only days away, Bennett hatches a plan that involves offering a basketball star in his class a chunk of cash to moderate his performance on-court to cover the spread on the odds. Bennett's plan to satisfy all his debts with the winnings is risky, dangerous and contingent on the player meeting his end of the deal.

I don't know about the original film--I haven't seen it in years--but this iteration seems more than just a bit silly. Wahlberg's over-the-top classroom theatrics don't resemble that of any literature professor I encountered in college. Wahlberg is a terrific actor given an appropriate role, but his broody-cool demeanor isn't mysterious, just hokey. Brie Larson, whose breakthrough performance in Short Term 12 showcased some fine acting, may as well be a hologram for all that is expected of her in the film. Her motivations are limited to; adore Jim Bennett and then adore him some. The more intriguing performances belong to Lange, John Goodman as the Jabba-the-Hut-like loan shark and Michael Kenneth Williams, who also does much with so little.

Whatever motivates Bennett seems nebulous and nonsensical. Nothing about his character or his predicament is recognizably human. Does he learn anything from his follies? It is hard to say; Jim Bennett remains a cipher to the end.

The ending is what it is; hardly unexpected and unsatisfying. But what does one expect of a remake? I wish I could recommend the original but as I mentioned earlier, I haven't seen it in years so I can't vouch for its quality here.

I'm sorry to say this will be the last film for which I offer an impression in 2014. If only my last posting could have been A Most Violent Year, a film I have yet to see but is earning rave reviews. That will have to wait until January. For now, let my final blog-post for the year end with a whimper and a groan, while I hope for better cinematic experiences in 2015. See you there.

Unbroken

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Anjelina Jolie/Starring: Jack O'Connell, Domhnall Gleeson, Garrett Hedlund and Takamasa Ishihara

Based on Laura Hillenbrand's bestselling book, Unbroken , Anjelina Jolie's film of the same name comes as somewhat of a surprise. Even before its release, the shark's circled and the early assessments of the film were scathing and negative. I must admit I was loading my own harpoon, waiting draw blood from I what I was sure would be an egregious mess. Jolie's first feature film, In the Land of Blood and Honey, vanished immediately from the few theaters it actually played; critical response was overwhelmingly negative and many sniggered that Jolie's hubris knew no limits.

I can honestly say her new film, while hardly being a towering, cinematic achievement, is also not as bad as one might expect. I didn't say it was good, mind you; only that I've seen worse on movie screens this year. It is watchable and sometimes almost moving. That might not galvanize anyone to speed to the local multiplex but after seeing recent rank sewage like Horrible Bosses 2, Jolie's film comes off comparatively well. That in itself is not exactly fulsome praise.

It was a shrewd move to hire the Coen brothers and veteran screen-scribes Richard LaGravenese (The Fisher King) and William Nicholson (Shadowlands) to adapt a book that was probably screen-ready in conception.

Unbroken tells the incredible story of Louis Zamperini, a WWII bombardier whose plane went down into the Pacific during a rescue mission. One of three who survived the crash, Zamperini and fellow crew-members endured blistering heat, sharks, thirst and starvation before being captured by the Japanese Navy then laboring in POW camps for the duration of the war.

But the story isn't solely concerned with his indelible experiences; it is also about a man's indomitable spirit; one his maritime ordeal or unimaginable brutality he suffered in POW camps couldn't erode.
The film begins with Louis as a young man; son of Italian immigrants, surviving in a small, Californian town sometime in the 1920s'. Louis finds himself subject to racist, anti-immigrant bullying; much of it meted out by neighborhood kids. When he isn't fighting off kids his age, Louis is prone to mischief and petty crime; stealing, drinking and smoking, and often on the run from the authorities, literally and figuratively. His running skills come to the attention of his older brother's track coach during a school meet. While his brother Pete (Alex Russell) warms up, Louis is discovered under the bleachers; peeking under skirts. He eludes his would-be captors with some nimble running, which impresses his brother and the coach.

Louis' channels his sprints from the authorities into track; which proves to be a more practical and constructive outlet. He excels in track, first in high school, then later in the 1936 Olympic Games in Berlin. Louis doesn't win but his astonishing closing speed impresses the crowd.

Later, after WWII breaks out, Louis finds himself serving in the Pacific. One harrowing bombing mission leaves the plane riddled with bullet holes and on the return to base, the pilots barely bring the craft in for a landing intact.

Not long after, during said rescue mission, an engine failure causes the plane to crash into the ocean. Two inflatable rafts become home for Louis and two fellow crewman. Forty-five days at sea bring them into contact with sharks, fish and a seagull, who they catch and eat when their rations run out. A shot of the three men vomiting over the sides of the raft, expelling the inedible fowl, is somewhat amusing. The men are able to stave off starvation by catching and eating sharks raw. On another day, an aircraft they wave down turns out to be a Japanese fighter plane, which strafes their raft. They emerge from the incident unharmed and manage to repair the raft.

After one of the men perishes from their sea-going adversity, Louis and his fellow crew-member are rescued--by a Japanese naval vessel.

One might think a month and a half on a life raft would be trying enough, but Louis finds his suffering has only begun. After a brief incarceration in a Japanese camp, he is transferred to a POW camp on the Japanese mainland which holds many American, British and Australian soldiers. Louis becomes quickly acquainted with the sadistic camp officer Mutsuhiro Watanabe (Takamasa Ishihara), who torments him after Louis' ill-advised eye contact during a troop inspection. Watanabe strikes Louis with his bamboo cane; the first of many such beatings. He manages to also break his nose in the process. More humiliations and torturous incidents follow.

Louis' troubles seem to wane when he learns Watanabe is to be promoted and transferred. But when the prisoners are also transferred, he discovers Watanabe has been assigned to his camp. Shortly thereafter, Watanabe resumes his brutal agenda; and the abuse and degradation come to a head in a final test of endurance and pain, which tests Louis' motto "If I can take it, I can make it;" motivational words he borrows from his older brother.

The story itself is powerful. Jolie handles material usually reserved for male directors well. The story is well paced and the performances solid but the film is told in a straightforward manner; nuance-free and without any serendipitous departures from the trailer. Though I knew nothing about Zamperini's experiences prior to the film, I felt the trailer really told the whole story. Unfortunately, this happens a lot with American movies.

Jolie shows us Louis' travails but she doesn't transmute the experiences into wrenching drama. We know Zamperini suffered abominably but we don't get a sense of the physical or mental trauma he endured. I imagine part of the problem may lie in the casting of Takamasa Ishihara as the vicious Sergeant. A projected on-screen photo of the real Watanabe is seen after the film and based on what is seen, I felt Ishihara's face to be too soft; lacking the square-jawed features of his real-life counterpart. Ishihara behaves petulantly rather than menacingly, unlike Ralph Fiennes' Amon Goeth in Schindler's List, whose very presence in that film made one tremble. Ishihara affects brutishness, but he doesn't frighten or intimidate, which is one of the film's major shortcomings.

Rather than establishing pathos as the film's overriding emotion, I was left feeling not much of anything other than surprise that the film wasn't as bad as I anticipated. Maybe I've seen too many films like Unbroken. The Railway Man from earlier this year also dealt with prisoners in a Japanese labor camp and also told a true story. Fatigue has definitely taken hold. Or maybe the film suffers from--as one critic put it--conventional storytelling. Could be.

Kudos to Jolie for taking on a film that might be too big for her limited experience. I don't want to consign her just yet to irrelevance. Given the limited roles for women in the film industry, Jolie deserves the opportunities her male film-making counterpart enjoy; certainly as much as that paragon of lunkheadedness, Michael Bay

Many of my fellow cinephiles say they have little interest in seeing Jolie's film. I can't say I blame them but if the film pales next to the season's best, it has also proved to be no worse than The Hobbit or Exodus: Gods and Kings.

Yeah, I know; that isn't exactly fulsome praise either.

Big Eyes

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Tim Burton/Starring: Amy Adams, Christoph Waltz, Danny Huston, Krysten Ritter, Jason Schwartzman and Terence Stamp

The artist Margaret Keane, famous (or infamous, depending on your perspective) for her portraiture of children with exaggeratedly large, round eyes, is the subject of Tim Burton's entertaining new film Big Eyes. Whether Keane's work can be considered art isn't Burton's concern; his real focus lay in the story of how her former husband, Walter Keane, defrauded collectors and the public by claiming authorship of the paintings

Margaret Keane (played by the prodigiously talented Amy Adams) began painting in the 1950s', when sexism was more socially pervasive (not that is has completely ebbed now).

It also infected the art realm, where female artists were held in lower regard than their male peers. When we first see Margaret, she is moving frenetically around her home, gathering possessions and urging her daughter Jane to the door to flee an unhappy marriage. The misery she escapes is only the beginning of her travails with members of the opposite sex, who prove to be an unshakeable burden in her life.

She meets up with her friend DeeAnn (Krysten Ritter) in San Francisco, who shows her the lay of the city as Margaret attempts in earnest to start over. With little job history, she interviews for a position; painting portfolio in hand, only to be scolded by the employer for not remaining at home to care for her husband. In spite of the employer's chauvinism, Margaret manages to land a job utilizing her painting talents; detailing baby cribs and other furniture. A medium shot of Margaret toiling as the lone woman at her job is an eloquent statement about the dearth of female bodies in the 1950s' workplace.

Burton's cinematographer, Bruno Delbonnel; known for his work on Amelie and Inside Llewyn Davis, paints 1950s' America in exaggerated bright pastels, a perfect visual companion for her paintings. We get the feeling something sinister lurks beneath the sunny Californian surface though we aren't privy to what it might be at this point in the film.

Dedicated to her art, she pursues her work extracurricularly; participating in sidewalk fairs, where she paints portraits for a small sum. We see her work area decorated with her paintings; children with over-sized eyes, sentimentally rendered. While painting a child's portrait, she overhears a blowhard in a neighboring space waxing philosophical about his own art to two beautiful women, which elicits an eye-roll from Margaret. Moments later, he approaches Margaret and introduces himself as Walter Keane (Christoph Waltz). He charms her into a dinner date at a local restaurant, where one of his paintings rests on wall above their table. In the course of conversation, Walter discusses his Parisian-street-themed painting and experiences as art student. Enchanted by his stories and his winning personality, Margaret is soon won-over by Walter.

When Margaret receives a letter from her husband challenging her custody of Jane, Walter suggests they marry, which they consummate soon after.

Margaret is soon acquainted with Walter's exceptional gifts for self-promotion and marketing. He talks a nightclub owner into reserving a space on his walls for his and Margaret's art, though he finds the space set aside for their work is in degrading proximity to the restrooms.

Walter's canny instincts for publicity bring him into the sphere of newspaper columnist Dick Nolan (Danny Huston), who witnesses a fight between the nightclub owner and Walter himself over the shabby space he's been allotted. The fracas appears in Nolan's front-page column, which draws the public's attention to the bar and Margaret's paintings. The owner and Walter exploit their new-found notoriety, which lead to robust sales for Margaret.

As Walter spends more of his time at the nightclub, he basks in attention meant for Margaret by patrons who express a fascination with her work. He seizes the opportunity to claim her work as his own, which Margaret soon discovers during an impromptu appearance at the club. When she confronts Walter about his lies, he dismisses her objections by citing his need to project male authorship. Faced with a mini-scandal and fraud, Margaret has little choice but to accede to Walter's claims.

Employing his promotional instincts, Walter opens a gallery devoted to her work across the street from another gallery, whose owner Ruben (Jason Schwartzman) had once rejected space on his own walls for Walter and Margaret's respective paintings. In spite of her painting's popularity, Ruben and local artists sneer at her work; dismissing it as kitsch.

As exposure spreads, Walter begins presenting her paintings to dignitaries visiting the city. And in an impressive publicity coup, he manages to secure prime exhibit space at the 1964 World's Fair in New York; an act that draws the ire and the supercilious disdain of famed New York art critic John Canaday (Terence Stamp). Canaday expresses contempt not only for the means by which Walter accomplished the feat, but for Margaret's art itself, for which he too shares a low opinion.

Meanwhile, the windfall from painting sales and mass-produced posters and cards of Margaret's work make it possible for the Keanes' lifestyle to be radically upgraded when they move into a comfortable home replete with a swimming pool. As Margaret is pulled deeper into the deception, her anger and frustration mount. She also notices her relationship with Jane deteriorate as Walter's fraud is further perpetrated. Her contempt for Walter reaches a fever pitch when she discovers that he has painted his name over the real author of the Parisian paintings he has claimed as his own all along.

An angry, drunken tirade prompts Margaret and Jane to leave Walter as they seek refuge in Hawaii's sunny climes. Divorce proceedings follow and in a liberating and courageous act, Margaret finally announces her authorship on a local radio show, which eventually leads to a courtroom showdown with Walter.

Burton's film, like Margaret Keane's work, is hardly great art. Burton appropriates Keane's aesthetic in telling her story, which is as much visual as biographical. He seems to excel at telling stories about kitschy personalities; Ed Wood falls into this category as well.

Both Amy Adams and Christoph Waltz, as one might expect, are quite well-cast. Adams' big, blue eyes are a visual echo of Margaret's subjects and Waltz has a knack for playing seductively charming scoundrels. I would have liked to seen more of Terence Stamp but we have to be content with his modest serving of screen-time.

There is something that cheats Big Eyes of loftier artistic status. What could it be? Burton is a director always content to have his stories look good rather than play well. Sound narratives have never been his strong suit, but his movies are always eye-honey. Nevertheless, I found his film enjoyable; a reaction I haven't had to one of his films since the aforementioned Ed Wood, which seems like eons past. It is satisfying and maybe that's all Burton intended his film to be. How could a film about an artist of dubious artistic distinction; whose work is undeniably sappy, be anything more? Still, Burton never condescends to his subject; he never treats his heroine as a clueless buffoon. When asked why she paints her subjects with large eyes, Margaret talks about how the eyes' power to express emotion. The scene isn't played for a laugh but is a touching expression of Margaret's aesthetic raison d'etre.

Burton's film is a diverting, holiday experience; a palate-clearing aperitif. I'm glad he brought the story to the screen but I wish it had been more.

The Theory of Everything

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: James Marsh/Starring Eddie Redmayne, Felicity Jones, David Thewlis, Emily Watson and Simon McBurney

I intended to skip a post for James Marsh's The Theory of Everything and to be quite frank, I also intended to skip the movie, which is out of character for a cinephile like myself. Given its numerous Golden Globe nominations (which mean as much to me as the Oscars, which isn't much), I figured I had better not let it pass without at least a cursory assessment. And given the quality of so many late-year films, the trailer for Theory left me feeling apathetic; with an I-bet-I-can-plot-out-this-flick-without-spending-a-penny-on-it attitude. I've come with tidings--though not necessarily with great joy--to tell you folks that my reservations were sadly realized. The only bright spot in attending the screening was the free medium popcorn I earned with my frequent visitor theater card. If I had only earned a free ticket.

If anyone is deserving of a biopic, it's Stephen Hawking. The brilliant cosmologist has made significant contributions to the fields of astrophysics and astronomy and his book, A Brief History of Time has been an international best seller.

Marsh's film is based on Hawking's former wife Jane's memoir Traveling to Infinity: My Life with Stephen, which chronicles her ill-fated marriage to the scientist.

As the film begins, we see the young Stephen Hawking (Eddie Redmayne)preparing for his doctorate exams at Trinity College at Cambridge University. The bright but undisciplined student finds himself with his brainy chums at a black tie function, where he meets a young woman named Jane (Felicity Jones). The two hit if off, in spite of their divergent academic pursuits. To Hawking's cosmology is Jane's Art, but differences extend to their respective perceptions of the world. Hawking's atheistic view is fed by his scholarly pursuits while Jane makes it clear she is a member of the Church of England. The differing perspectives highlight an interesting, philosophical contrast.

As Hawking prepares for his doctoral defense, he begins to suffer from motor control problems; failing to adequately grasp objects with his hands and stumbling. When the problem becomes acute, he visits a physician, who diagnoses him with Motor Neuron Disease, or as its come to be known, Lou Gehrig's Disease. The prognosis is grim, as Hawking is given two years to live. The devastating news leaves Hawking alienated from his friends. His disease does little to discourage Jane's romantic ardor as she manages to draw him out of his uncommunicative morbidity. In spite of his grave condition, Stephen refuses to abandon his studies. He eventually earns his doctorate as his professors recognize the originality of his theories; one involving a black hole in the creation of the universe.

It becomes clear after some time that the disease isn't fatal, which makes it possible for Jane and Stephen to have children in spite of his severely diminished physical state. And though he survives, his condition demands he occupy a wheelchair and be fed, clothed and assisted in other physical functions.

We begin to see how Stephen's constant care impacts Jane as she divides her attention between her husband and her children. She is able to convince Stephen to take on help and in doing so, she finds it serendipitously. Jane befriends Jonathan (Charlie Cox), her choir master and as he becomes welcomed into the Hawking household, he also assists in caring for Stephen. Over time, it becomes clear Jonathan and Jane are fighting an obvious mutual attraction, which is consummated after Stephen transfers his affections to his next caretaker; a woman named Elaine Mason (Maxine Peake).

Meanwhile, Stephen achieves international fame for his theories and his book A Brief History of Time. Though Stephen and Jane divorce, he invites her to accompany him to his knighthood (an honor he rejects), which involves meeting the Queen. One can imagine the respectful gesture satisfying part of a debt to Jane, whose tireless care ensured Stephen the means to pursue academic and scientific work.

Aside from filling in details for the trailer, the movie does little to make his life as fascinating as his theories. Yes, behind most brilliant and famous men are wives or significant others who toil thanklessly behind the scenes, ensuring greatness isn't troubled with the pesky, mundane details of life but Marsh fails to translate this to compelling cinema. And the theories that made Stephen Hawking a peer of Newton and Einstein are mentioned and explicated in expository dialogue but they seem to be given short shrift. We get a sense of Hawking's fame but not how he achieved it. Or why he was awarded the very prestigious Lucasian Professor of Mathematics at Cambridge; a position held by England's finest mathematicians; including Isaac Newton. I understand the story is, in a large part, Jane's but aside from her fierce, loyal devotion, why did this story need to be told?

It's tough to make a wheelchair-bound individual a riveting presence on film, even someone with a formidable mind like Hawking's. Try as he might to mimic Hawking's contortive physicality, Eddie Redmayne can't articulate the emotions and thoughts of someone who is bodily inert. And the famous, computerized voice that conveys Hawking's thoughts suffers the same emotive limitations.

But the film in general feels like an assembly-line biopic, in spite of the subject. Where one imagines the story will proceed is where it does, plain and simple. Those two adjectives could effectively characterize the film as a whole.

One effect of a mediocre or bad film is how it makes one eager to see a better film on the same subject. After watching The Theory of Everything, I couldn't help but think of Errol Morris' engaging A Brief History of Time, which not only attempts to make Hawking's theories accessible without dumbing them down, but makes them vital and exciting. Marsh's film seems like a condensed and dramatized, Reader's Digest version of Morris' documentary.

Rather than a Theory of Everything, we get a Theory of Not-Much. Another feat of mediocre film-making is to make a genius like Stephen Hawking seem so prosaic and dull, which this film does exceptionally well. The film also does little to make Jane Hawking appear as anything other than a pretty, put-upon caretaker who once loved Stephen Hawking.

Maybe the story should have been a biopic about Hawking's computerized voice. Hmmmmm....it has possibilities. Maybe I'll cast Nicolas Cage as the Voice. Could be interesting. Or at least more interesting than this film.

The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Peter Jackson/Starring: Ian McKellen, Martin Freeman, Richard Armitage, Luke Evans, Cate Blanchett, Orlando Bloom, Christopher Lee, Ian Holm and Billy Connolly

So we've come to the end of a trilogy, that quite frankly, is something of a non-event. I can't remember ever seeing a Jupiter-sized budgeted franchise with a plot predicated on adventure and thrills fail to deliver much in the way of...well...er...uh, adventure. The total expenditures for the trilogy--the latest estimates anyway--are close to $800 million. If I were to use a precious gem simile, I might say the series looks like a diamond but cuts like Cubic zirconia.

Peter Jackson's other trilogy was armed with bloated budgets but it delivered as promised. So much seemed at stake in Middle-Earth in those films. With The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies, I only felt impatience and relief that such a middling series was finally coming to an end.

The film is no cheap-jack production. With its turgid budget, one expects a film to at least meet high visual standards and it succeeds on that count admirably. In retrospect, as I thought about Laketown burning in the opening scene, I asked myself who really got torched; the citizens of that charred municipality or those of us who shelled out the scratch to sit through the flick? Yeah, I know Pete Jackson didn't coerce me into seeing his movie, but I had hoped the series might conclude satisfactorily and redeem the other film's mediocrity.

I can't imagine anyone would need a synopsis for a story so universally familiar. As one might expect, the Battle with Smaug carries the opening sequence. Bard the Guardsman (the charismatic Luke Evans) manages to free himself from Laketown's jail to take on the terrible dragon single-handedly. Unfortunately his arrows glance off Smaug's impenetrable, scaly chest. As the beast reduces the town to cinders, the legendary Black Arrow manages to find its way into Bard's hands via the desperate exertions of his son. Aware of the vulnerable spot on Smaug's nigh-impregable chest, he takes aim. We all know what happens next.

Meanwhile, the dwarves occupy Lonely Mountain. Thorin resists the company's and Bilbo's pleas that he satisfy the conditions of the dwarves' Laketown contract with the promised gold payment. The staggering cache of gold seduces Thorin, leaving him deaf to entreaty. Before long, the townspeople, lead by Bard himself and the Wood Elves, represented by Thranduil (Lee Pace) lay claim to part of the treasure, which creates a combustible situation which is hardly ameliorated by Gandalf's intervention.

Overcome with gold delirium, Thorin chooses war over the dwarves', woodelves' and the men's reasonable claims to a portion of the treasure. But as the armies assume battle positions outside the gates of Lonely Mountain, Thorin's hopelessly outnumbered company is joined by his cousin Dain's force, which arrives just as the battle is to commence. While the dwarves, former Laketown inhabitants and the woodelves wage war over the treasure, legions of orcs, lead by the brutish Azog, make their way to Lonely Mountain to forcefully establish their own claim to the treasure. And as the three armies' blades and arrows are drawn, Azog's invasion force arrives. After an initial melee, the orc army pivots to assault the abandoned town where the Laketown residents temporarily reside. Bard organizes the defense of the town as all armies clash, while Thorin and Bilbo race to the hill where Azog views the battle in an attempt to slay him; an act they hope will weaken the automatous orc army. The attempt on Azog's life leads to an inevitable showdown between Azog and Thorin, which shares screen-time with the battle at large. The various outcomes need not be mentioned here.

Aside from a few moments in the early battle and the impressive CGI we've come to expect from Jackson's Middle-Earth series, everything seems pro forma. Part of the problem is trying to feel the tension of battles already beautifully and excitingly depicted in the Rings Trilogy.

We've seen it all before. We've already seen the orcs and their nightmarish, mindless titans laying siege to bastions. Are we watching The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings? I sometimes couldn't tell the difference.

The arrival of the Eagles in the novel was something miraculous, but in the film their appearance is anti-climactic, as are the goblins that arrive late to join the fray.

I never cared for the liberties Jackson visited on the story, such as Legolas' presence and the contrived romance between Kili (Aidan Turner) and Tauriel (Evangeline Lilly). I don't know why Jackson felt it necessary to connect The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings when each could have easily stood alone. Yes, there is a subtle connection in the books but nothing that would call for what Jackson perpetrates. I realize it isn't really that big a deal. My real beef is the story and how it fails to seduce us as Frodo's quest did for three epic-length films. And of course the criticism that Jackson split one novel into three films has always been a valid gripe.

Too bad, I thought as I left the theater, but also good riddance. I think I've had more than my fill of Middle-Earth. 6 epic-length films in thirteen years have worn me out. I feel I'm ready to retire to the Shire too.

I'm sure I'll revisit the Rings Trilogy again and again but as for this trilogy--I don't think so.

I think Jackson is a very talented director and I'm eager to see what he pursues next. I'm sure he's quite ready to move on, as we all must feel. I'm relieved Tolkien has nothing significant for Jackson or anyone else to adapt, though I wouldn't discount someone's ill-advised attempt to bring The Silmarillion to the screen.

As of this blog-post, the film's opening, worldwide receipts are somewhere in the neighborhood of $350 million--a number that will no doubt swell obscenely with more box office. I'm sure the millions have entranced MGM and New Line Cinema execs as the mountains of gold mesmerized Thorin. As the bromide goes; the end justifies the means...at least for the guys in suits.

If only those grosses had bought an absorbing experience.

Al's Omniflick Spotlight: Harry Dean Stanton

There are many actors and actresses who have distinguished themselves onscreen but are never celebrated and tend to toil under cloud cover no matter how exceptional they may be. Some manage to have breakthrough roles late in their careers but never seem to secure a place in Hollywood's Hallowed Halls.
Harry Dean Stanton fits that description. Through his long career on television and the big screen, his offbeat presence and performances have earned him the right to be feted.

Roger Ebert once compiled a list of movie rules as addenda in his books of reviews. Among them was the Harry Dean Stanton Rule, which states; No movie with Harry Dean Stanton in it can be all bad. Whether this holds to up to scrutiny is for each movie-lover to determine. But I'll coin my own Rule: Any movie, irrespective of its quality, can always be made better with Harry Dean Stanton in it. And I'll ferociously defend that rule.

Stanton was born in West Irvine, Kentucky on July 14, 1926. His mother was a cook and his father earned a living as a barber and tobacco farmer. He served in the U.S. Navy during WWII and upon his return to civilian life, he studied radio arts and journalism. He also performed in school productions and considered a career as writer before appearing in a University production of Pygmalion. He soon embarked on an acting career and subsequently moved to California to perform at the Pasadena Playhouse. Before long, he pursued roles in film and television. He made his screen debut in the modest 1957 film Tomahawk Trail but it wasn't until the film Cool Hand Luke that film-goers began to take notice.

Stanton's work on television and films continued, leading to small roles in 70s' movie fare like The Godfather 2, Kelly's Heroes and The Missouri Breaks. His Jerry Schue in the under-appreciated 1978 film Straight Time is a role that typifies his career; playing non-lead characters who make a dramatic impact.

A part in Ridley Scott's Alien showed Stanton could take on genre work without sacrificing artistic credibility. He continued this trend into the 1980s' with a role in another sci-fi classic Escape from New York and the cult film Repo Man, where Stanton's flare for comedy helped make a small, independent film enduringly charming.

In a role he will most likely be remembered for, Stanton's Travis Henderson in Wim Wenders' 1984 masterpiece Paris, Texas is a powerful, tour de force performance; showing deep and dark psychological depth. The scenes of Stanton wandering through the desert have become iconic in their own right.

His versatility was made manifest with John Hughes' Pretty in Pink and before the decade became history, he appeared in Martin Scorsese's controversial The Last Temptation of Christ as Paul; very inspired and unusual casting.

In the 1990s', Stanton became a fixture in David Lynch productions with Wild at Heart, the hit television series Twin Peaks and later the strange but fascinating The Straight Story. An amusing performance in another small role in The Green Mile book-ended his work for the decade.

Lynch called upon Stanton again for his 2006 Inland Empire and to the present day, he has lent his voice to animated features, T.V. shows and small roles in film. He tends to pop-up where one might least expect, like The Avengers but he is still occasionally cast in films that seem tailor-made for him, like Seven Psychopaths.

That he has never received an Oscar or Golden Globe nomination doesn't mean much, considering performances by insipid hacks like Julia Roberts and Sandra Bullock have been considered Oscar-worthy at times, especially recently. The fact that Stanton's work will most likely never earn him the praise he sorely deserves is disappointing but at least those with discerning tastes will have his work to appreciate and admire when Hollywood's paper gods and goddesses are swept away in the tsunami of time.

It's comforting to know he's still at it as I write this. Wherever and whenever he appears onscreen, I'll be sure to notice...and be aware of how much better movies seem to be with him in the cast.

9 Harry's

1. Cool Hand Luke (1967)
It might have been Paul Newman's movie but Harry makes his presence known, particularly with his rendition of Just a Closer Walk With Thee, which he sings to his own guitar accompaniment.

2. Straight Time (1978)
Stanton plays a former ex-con who agrees to his friend Max's (Dustin Hoffman) heist plan; more out of boredom with his suburban life than a need to score cash. Stanton's performance is tough and edgy and is as indelible as Hoffman's.

3. Alien (1979)
Donning a cap, cargo pants and a Hawaiian shirt, who can forget Brett, crew member of the spaceship Nostromo? Stanton joins an ensemble cast, lead by Sigourney Weaver but is hardly lost among so much talent. Poor Brett, he isn't spared the alien's predations.

4. Escape from New York (1981)
Returning to the sci-fi world, Stanton plays Brain, a powerful mobster in the walled-off prison known as New York City. Again, his presence and performance ensure he isn't overwhelmed with an ensemble cast that includes Ernest Borgnine, Kurt Russell, Donald Pleasence, Lee Van Cleef and Isaac Hayes.

5. Repo Man (1984)
As Bud, veteran repo man and mentor to the young Otto (Emilio Estevez), Stanton is amusing and delightful. The role seems very Stantonian; quirky and off the beaten track.

6. Paris, Texas (1984)
A brilliant and moving performance as an amnesiac who is estranged from his brother (Dean Stockwell) and son (Hunter Carson), and a wife (Natassja Kinski) who abandoned the family. The rapprochement he seeks comes at a heavy, emotional cost. Wender's film and Stanton's performance are for the ages.

7. Wild at Heart (1990)
The first of several collaborations with David Lynch, Stanton was an ideal casting choice for a film populated by magnificent weirdos, dangerous ghouls and bizarre beings. I particularly like the scene where Stanton barks at a T.V. show where wild dogs tear an animal apart.

8. The Straight Story (1999)
Stanton plays Lyle, the stroke-afflicted brother of Alvin (Richard Farnsworth), who drives his tractor through Iowa and Wisconsin to see his brother before he passes. Based on a true story, Lynch's film is carried by Stanton, Farnsworth and Sissy Spacek's excellent performances. He also reprises Just A Closer Walk With Thee over the closing credits.

9. The Green Mile (1999)
I'll never forget Stanton's character Toot-Toot, who sits in an electric chair during a mock execution. His supposed last words are amusing and a comic moment in a movie that was anything but comical. Too bad we didn't see more of him but at least he made a mountain out of a small role.

I hope I characterized Stanton's career well and have sufficiently sung his praises. Please feel free to comment and mention a performance you may have found memorable.

Cool Hand Luke, Straight Time, Alien, Escape from New York, Repo Man, Paris, Texas, Wild at Heart, The Straight Story, The Green Mile.

American Sniper

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Clint Eastwood/Starring: Bradley Cooper and Sienna Miller

Based on the book: American Sniper: The Autobiography of the Most Lethal Sniper in U.S. Military History , Clint Eastwood's American Sniper is an intense, pulse-quickening drama detailing the life and war experiences of legendary Navy SEAL sniper Chris Kyle, who was credited with over a 150 kills during his four tours of duty in Iraq.

Though we've seen many films about the Iraq war in recent years, including Kathryn Bigelo's excellent Hurt Locker, Eastwood's film claims its own distinction by offering us a biopic about a man dedicated to his deadly craft; who, like many who fought in Iraq, was scarred by the experience.

The film fritters little time immersing us in the action as we see an American tank with soldiers in tow entering a rubble-strewn town square. Straddled on a rooftop overlooking the scene is sniper Chris Kyle (Bradley Cooper) with a spotter at his side. As he scans the square for possible threats, he sees a woman hand a child an explosive device. Hesitant to fire his rifle at the child, he receives consent from command to proceed at his own discretion. Unsure of the child's intent but concerned for the safety of the soldiers below, his finger begins to tighten on the trigger. The scene is a very effective opening sequence and it lays the dramatic groundwork for the combat we see later. Will he pull the trigger knowing he could, as his spotter warns, face a prison term in Leavenworth for an illegal killing? Eastwood knows enough, with his exquisite storytelling instincts, to defer the outcome.

How did Kyle become a skilled purveyor of death? A flashback shows him on a hunting trip as a child; his father at his side. Chris brings down a buck with his rifle, which leaves his father beaming with pride. After Chris carelessly drops his gun, his father offers advice about caring for his weapon.

Another scene from his childhood shows Chris delivering a vicious beating to a bully after his younger brother Jeff is bloodied in the schoolyard. Later, as the family is gathered at the table for a meal, his father lectures his sons about protecting one's own family after seeing Jeff's bruised face.

The film cuts to Chris as an adult, leading a rough and tumble life in the rodeo as a bronco-buster. After he returns home with Jeff (Keir O'Donnell), he finds his girlfriend in bed with another man. He forcefully evicts the man while his girlfriend angrily cites his constant absence as her reason for her infidelity. Shortly thereafter, he ejects her from the house too. Her complaints about Chris not being around carries some foreshadowing, for which we see why later in the film.

After watching a T.V. news report about a terrorist attack directed at Americans in Kenya, Chris' outrage and patriotic fervor move him to visit a local Navy recruiter, who suggests he test for the elite SEALS. Intrigued by the challenge, which requires almost superhuman physical and psychological stamina, Chris signs on. A sequence follows where we see he and other hopefuls endure torturous physical tests but he emerges from the ordeal a Navy SEAL. Immediately following, we see him on a firing range receiving specialized training as a sniper.

Hanging with the other SEALS at a local watering hole, Chris meets a beautiful woman named Taya Renae (Sienna Miller). Though Taya resists Chris at first, she warms to him, and before long, the two marry.

After watching news footage of the 9/11 attack, Chris' soldierly resolve is strengthened and in spite of Taya's anxiety, he is later shipped off to Iraq.

We return to the moment where Chris rests on an Iraqi rooftop, watching the child and mother handle a deadly explosive. The scene's hair-raising intensity marks the beginning of Chris' harrowing and often frightening four-tour service in Iraq.

Eastwood paces the story and the action masterfully; slowly building suspense with a first-person account of combat and all its extremes, which threaten the body and try the mind. We're never but an arm's length from Chris as he mans a sniper's nest or when he follows or leads ground troops in their operations, which involve perilous searches of Iraqi homes.

During his first tour, Chris learns of two dangerous antagonists who prove to be the ground soldier's bane; one, a highly skilled Syrian sniper named Mustafa (Sammy Sheik); formerly an Olympic gold medalist marksman and a brutal, sadistic warlord nicknamed The Butcher, whose capture is given the highest priority. Mustafa serves as Chris' arch-enemy and the film's principal villain. Both enemies prove to be slippery and elusive and their elimination provides the film (and maybe Chris) with a quest of sorts, which gives the story a nervy energy.

No less tense are the home-front scenes, as Chris' deployments begin to abrade his marriage. Complicating his relationship is his prolonged absence from his children and his wife, who he seldom sees.

The theme of protection introduced earlier in the film is restated, as Taya recognizes Chris' motive for returning to combat is borne of a brotherly, protective feeling he has for the troops as that he once showed for his brother.

It isn't long before the tours begin to take their toll on Chris' mental health and behavior, which don't escape Taya's notice. The film handles the home-front anxieties and PTSD quite effectively. We get a sense of the effects of combat stress when certain sounds, like a neighborhood lawnmower, draw Chris' attention for reasons we can immediately identify. We also feel Taya's frustration as her repeated attempts to fathom Chris' emotional state prove fruitless. But in spite of marital problems and frequent absences, the irresistible pull of combat and duty beckon Chris. The audience is also aware of the lingering threat Mustafa and The Butcher pose to the ground troops.

The combat scenes are brilliantly directed. Though it is reasonable to expect audiences to experience fatigue from so many films and documentaries about the experiences of American soldiers in Iraq, Eastwood demonstrates that the subject has yet to be exhausted. This is achieved by Eastwood's maestro-like command of the material and some outstanding editing by long-time Eastwood collaborator Joel Cox and co-editor Gary Roach.

Bradley Cooper is exceptional, more so when we consider he isn't the most obvious choice for the role of a Navy SEAL sniper. His performance stretches his boundaries as an actor, which leads me to believe he is up to any dramatic challenge. I must say Sienna Miller has the tougher task of making the home-front as gripping as the battle scenes. Though the anxious-wife-at-home is a staple of most American soldiers-in-Iraq dramas, she manages to make her lonely suffering compelling, particularly in one scene where she overhears the sounds of combat while talking to Chris on a cellphone.

Aside from one character questioning the war's meaning, the film avoids the morality of the War, which makes sense. The story is about a deadly sniper and Navy SEALS are usually the last to question our nations motives for waging war. As for Chris' moral response to his 150 kills, we hear him say to a therapist that god will judge him for his actions.

As Chris' reluctantly wears the mantle of hero for his unheard of kill count and for saving the lives of many soldiers, the horrors of war finally weigh on him. And the protective, god-like care for the troops that motivated him in his tours, is re-purposed in peace time, as he finds so many who have returned from the war--many worse off than he--need his help.

The ending is a shock; its cruel irony would seem so contrived if it weren't true.

American Sniper is a terrific film. I wasn't surprised to discover that it has resonance, and even day or two after seeing it, it still occupies my mind.

At 84, Eastwood shows not a mote of mellow in his storytelling. It is almost unheard of for a director of his maturity to stay relevant but here he is in 2014, doing the unexpected; making one film about Franki Valli and the Four Seasons and another about a famous sniper. He may well stay relevant into his 90s'. It's quite possible.

For now, we have this marvelous film to behold.

Exodus: Gods and Kings

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Ridley Scott/Starring: Christian Bale, Joel Edgerton, John Turturro, Sigourney Weaver, Ben Kingsley, Ben Mendelsohn, Aaron Paul, Maria Valverde and Hiam Abbass

Ridley Scott is a director who never met a big screen spectacle he didn't like and after watching his new Biblical opera Exodus: Gods and Kings, you might come away with the feeling that a 3D version might be redundant (2D is quite adequate, thank you very much). Scott has never kept counsel with subtlety though he's proven he can wring some entertainment from his bloated enterprises. Taking on the Biblical story of Exodus, one can be forgiven for making the story monumental but its grandiosity needs to be tamed and I'm not sure an epic-minded director like Scott is up to the challenge, though I was pleasantly surprised with his interpretation of the character of Moses.

Exodus is occasionally fun to watch but what dazzles are the expertly rendered CGI landscapes and visitations of God's wrath. It also has its intermittently clever flourishes but one will find the film's charms dissolving like Alka Seltzer before one can pull away from the theater. Too bad, because Scott has gathered considerable talent to realize his story but unfortunately, some never have an opportunity to make much of an impact. More on those unfortunates later.

I really like the casting choices for Moses and Ramses (Christian Bale and Joel Edgerton, respectively). Rather than play the Hebrew prophet as a majestic, Biblical statue, Bale brings more of an every-man dimension to his portrayal, as does Edgerton.

Scott shows some creative flourish in his characterization of Moses but isn't fussy with the narrative. He establishes Moses and Ramses relationship quickly; creating and maintaining adversarial tension. This Moses isn't the Lord's passive and peaceful shepherd; we see him join Ramses in the Egyptian army's battle against the Hittites early in the film. He and Ramses are not only sons to Pharaoh Seti (a gloriously miscast John Turturro) but his enforcers who keep enemies and the Hebrew slaves who labor to build monuments and temples in check.

I'll assume everyone is familiar with the story of Moses, either from the Biblical source or from Cecil B. DeMille's film so I won't waste time with a synopsis. The issue of Moses' Hebrew heritage seems to arrive quickly in the narrative and when Ramses catches wind of it, we know Moses will be exiled into the desert wilderness.

Scott uses CGI effectively, showing us the ancient Egyptian city of Memphis in all its glory and construction. It all looks more convincing than Sigourney Weaver in Egyptian finery, who is given little to do in the film other than plot Moses' death. The same can be said for Hiam Abbass, the excellent Syrian actress, who plays Moses' surrogate mother Bithia. The Old Testament has little use for women, as does Scott. Moses' found wife Zipporah (the hypnotically lovely Maria Valverde) has the distinction of being the female character we see most (and that isn't much, given the story is two and a half hours).

After Moses marries, we know the Burning Bush awaits, which he encounters on the rocky slopes of Mt. Horeb. Scott's conception of God is one of the more inspired moments in his film. Rather than portray the Almighty as smoldering shrubbery broadcasting a stentorian voice, God appears to Moses as a little boy. I found this unexpected, fascinating and entirely appropriate. God usually acts like a angry child in the Old Testament; stomping his feet when things don't go his way or his humans thumb their noses at him, as Ramses does often. We see God's child-like petulance as he voices his impatience with Ramses and his refusal to free the Hebrew slaves. Through it all, Moses seems a little skeptical of God and his power; he doesn't grovel before Him like a toady as we might expect.

Though Moses' staff plays an integral role in Exodus, Scott strangely denies him that which harnesses God's power. We do see Joshua (played by Breaking Bad's Aaron Paul; another peculiar casting choice) wielding Moses' wood but it never really earns its mythic reputation in the film.

After Moses follows God's mandate to return to Egypt to demand his people's freedom, the naturally recalcitrant Ramses tells Moses to take a hike. Of course we know the plagues will soon follow--and how! Again, Scott uses CGI to great effect; swarms of locusts, toads and the superbly blood-rendered Nile waters are catastrophically convincing and create a hellish nightmare for Pharaoh. All is accomplished matter-of-factly by Moses, who carries out the Almighty's wishes without succumbing to melodramatic displays of power. Ramses and his people aren't spared the uglier plagues, like the disease that disfigures faces and the choking swarms of flies.

Soon after, Pharaoh's heart softens and he agrees to free the slaves. In the Hebrew's exodus from Egypt, God's general leads the ragged masses into the wilderness and in Scott's determination to show us a more human Moses, the Prophet betrays moments of doubt and indecision; unsure where to deliver those he helped free.

Eager to avenge his son's death by the Hebrew God's plagues, and to assuage his wounded ego, Ramses and his army give chase to Moses and the refugees and in doing so, we come to the much-anticipated moment in the film when God's chosen find themselves trapped between Pharaoh and the deep blue sea--the Red Sea, that is. As in the film The Ten Commandments, we expect to see a spectacular parting of the waters but again, to Scott's credit, he shows some restraint. Instead of a massive, watery furrow being ploughed through the Red Sea, we see the waters gradually shallow then trickle away as the Hebrews make their way across the damp seabed. As Ramses and his legions edge ever closer, a towering wall of water approaches, threatening to engulf Hebrew and Egyptian alike. One would think God would ensure Moses' safety but along with Ramses and his chariots, he too suffers the force of the wave. And of course Moses survives (Scott isn't brazen enough to rewrite Biblical history--too bad) while a chastened Ramses also emerges from the sea to exit the story and history.

Finally, on the upper slopes of Mt. Sinai, as the wayward Hebrews frolic and sin and erect golden idols, Moses sits with the boy God taking dictation on stone tablets. God asks the ever-contentious Moses if he agrees with his Commandments, to which he offers his assent. It is a wonderfully mundane exchange that further humanizes the story; making a significant Biblical event seem accessible.

So let it be written--no, wait, that's the other story of Exodus. Let's deal with Scott's.
In spite of his attempt to bring the story down to Earth and to rehabilitate Moses' action figure stature, I couldn't help but ask myself; did this story really need to be told or reinterpreted? Aside from Scott's creative re-tooling of details, it is essentially The Ten Commandments sans Technicolor. Though we see a few other characters share the spotlight--Ben Mendelsohn's Viceroy Hegep and Aaron Paul's Joshua, most of the other characters make appearances as brief as the passing shots of stately Egyptian temples and pyramids.

And what is Scott trying to get at in his re-telling? If one wants to spend $140 million dollars for the express purpose of humanizing a Biblical story, then I question that person's motives. As much as I find Bale and Edgerton to be fascinating actors who do terrific work in Scott's film, they can only help make the film a fun romp, rather than something powerful. For all the hokum in DeMille's telling, I still prefer it to Scott's. All its color and pomp never seem to dull. I can't say the same for Exodus: Gods and Kings. Though I enjoyed it (in spite of itself), I can't imagine it will make me want to revisit it again the way DeMille's film does. Is it unfair to compare two films separated by almost 60 years? Probably. I'm guessing half the audience who sees Scott's film will be under 35 and will have no knowledge of the older interpretation so any comparison would be irrelevant to them but bear in mind that DeMille's film is still playing on television in the 21st century. Will Scott's enjoy the same longevity?

I respect Scott's reinterpretation much in the way I respected Darren Aronofsky for retelling the story of Noah (please let there be a moratorium on religious-themed movies in 2015!) in more humanist terms but I didn't like Noah any better for its earthiness; in spite of that quality.

So where does that leave us? I had fun watching the film; if only for the leads and to see what tricks Scott might have up his sleeve. But now that I have a few days of separation from the screening, it has already begun its own exodus from my memory. Mr. Scott, I liked your Moses but I think I'll stick to Heston and Brynner and DeMille's Barnum and Bailey Biblical imaginings.

And yes...So let it be done.

Sorry, I couldn't resist.

Viktoria

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Maya Vitkova/Starring: Irmena Chichikova, Daria Vitkova, Kalina Vitkova, Mariana Krumova, Dimo Dimov and Simeon Tsolov

It seems fewer and fewer foreign films are finding distribution in the U.S. If one is unlucky enough to miss any film not-American at a local movie theater, then it means one can only hope a sought-after flick might be found on Netflix. In other words, you're screwed.

I feel fortunate I'm near a theater that plays all manner of foreign and independent films and if it weren't for the rich programming, I would never have seen such a beautiful and beguiling film like Bulgarian director Maya Vitkova's Viktoria, which recently played in the Making Waves: New Romanian Cinema 2014 series at the Jacob Burns Film Center in Pleasantville, New York. The series was curated by Romanian film critic Mihai Chirilov and featured 6 films from the past year.

Based on a true story, the film is an odd salad of surreal imagery, family saga and political allegory. If that seems like too much for a 155 minute film, you might be surprised to find it isn't. Vitkova's film moves seductively; slowly drawing us into the lives of a grandmother, mother and daughter in 1980s' Communist Bulgaria.

Irmena Chichikova plays Boryana, a women who finds life under Communist rule unbearable while her mother, Dima (Mariana Krumova), a mute, supports the ruling party, which creates an adversarial relationship already strained by an unhappy history. Boryana's husband Ivan (Dimo Dimov), is a doctor who wants nothing more than to have a daughter and works earnestly toward that goal in spite of his wife, who finds the idea repugnant, which we can infer has much to do with life under Communism.

The three share a small apartment in Sofia; a cramped, too snug place for two women at odds with one another. Boryana only means of escape is her job as a librarian.

Unhappy with life in Bulgaria, the ever-somber Boryana and her husband plan to flee the country for Venice. But she becomes pregnant, in spite of her almost violent efforts to prevent it, which incurs her mother's wrath.

Boryana's desire to be free even finds expression in the most mundane things, including her Statue of Liberty cigarette lighter, which holds talismanical power for her. She also keeps a bottle of Coke in the bathroom tank; a symbolic defiance of the state and her mother.

When Boryana finally delivers, her baby is born with a physical peculiarity, for her abdomen is missing a navel, which causes a nation-wide sensation; attracting the attention of both the government and Head of State Todor Zhivkov. Another baby is born almost at the same moment but with a malformed foot and he, along with Boryana's baby, are presented to the country as something akin to miraculous gifts.

When Boryana finally arranges clandestine passage out of the country, their escape is foiled by the authorities, who have no intention of allowing the Nation's miracle baby to be a political refugee.

The film moves ahead some years as we see Boryana's daughter--Viktoria--has grown into an enfant terrible. Pampered ludicrously by the State, Viktoria's behavior shows alarming signs of being out of control. Such behavior includes showing up at a theater-filled music recital for the nation's talented youth, shoving aside a peer then banging on the keys discordantly while an attendant Zhivkov leads an accommodating audience in raptuorous applause. During her lavish, State-sponsored birthday party, we see Zhivkov and government officials chase a bratty Viktoria around the grounds as she gambols merrily, thereby making a mockery of the buffoonish Party officials. Vitkova captures the sequence in aerial slo-mo, which accentuates the absurdity of the situation.

Viktoria even has a phone in her room with a direct connection to Zhivkov, who she doesn't hesitate to contact at ridiculous hours to issue demands. Meanwhile, Viktoria is openly contemptuous of her parents and makes a ritual of treating the nation's other beloved child, Stefcho (Simeon Tsolov) with violent disdain whenever he appears. Her fascination with her navel-less abdomen compels her to force classmates to bear the indignity of showing their bellybuttons while standing in a line as school administrators look on helplessly.

As Viktoria's id runs amok, Boryana spends her days brooding, bearing an in-home estrangement from her daughter and alienation from her mother.

With the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1989, Viktoria receives a call from Zhivkov on her bedroom phone informing her that "it is all over," whose ambiguity carries not only a political message but a personal one, as the government's fairy-tale romance with her begins its decline.

In reaching her teens, Viktoria becomes a go-between for her mother and grandmother, who refuse to be in the same room. When her grandmother insists she bring government-rationed milk to Boryana, Viktoria stops en route to puncture the package and empty its contents on the ground. Milk is a major motif in the film. Its feminine/maternal, elemental quality links all three women in a fascinating, symbolic way.
Another motif is the umbilical cord. The image looms large, as one might imagine, in Viktoria's life. In one scene, she dreams a phone cord serves as an umbilical connection and later, when her phone rings, she cuts the cord with scissors--adding emphasis to the intriguing symbol.

As democracy takes hold, Boryana gives up her dream of living abroad though she fails to reconcile with her mother. The film ends with a devastating event which affects the women's lives. In the larger, political realm, Zhivkov is placed on trial and arrested for misappropriating State funds. His sentence serves as kind of coda for Bulgaria's Communist past.

One can find so many fascinating and poetic images in the film. I really liked the numerous, aerial long shots and the eccentrically framed compositions. I also liked the milk imagery. Two shots that come to mind are of a breast spraying its milk in slow motion toward the screen and later, Boryana is deluged by a milky rainfall as she stands in the middle of a field. It drips from her coat just as her amniotic fluid does earlier in the film when her water breaks.

Vitkova is a visual poet; her use of color is particularly striking. The reds of Communist Bulgaria and the blues of the Democratic party share space as the film's two dominant colors.

Political allegory is also rampant. Boryana's mother represents the country's monolithic, Communist past while Boryana is its democratic future. It isn't coincidental that mother and daughter would clash just as Boryana does with a daughter who is a darling of the regime.

The film's delights are many but the qualities that recommend it most are its visuals and its surreal story. The film ends ironically and in an unexpected way, which in retrospect seems almost inevitable.

Viktoria makes my list of favorites for 2014. The fact that it only played one night at the local cinema and the fact that I might have missed it makes me shudder. It is gratifying to see a director's first feature show so much aesthetic maturity and vision. I hope Maya Vitkova becomes a household name in years to come. There is certainly nothing household about her perspective.

Where Are You Bucharest?

Director: Vlad Petri

The last fifty years of Romanian history have been anything but halcyonian. Nicolae Ceausescu's oppressive rule met a violent end in the late 80s', which helped usher in a democratic government, which has endured to this day. Unfortunately, progress has meant more unrest and social upheaval.

Romanian director Vlad Petri took to the Bucharest streets with his camera in 2012 to record the protests directed at current President Traian Basescu's government, which many Romanians regard as corrupt.

Petri immerses himself in the impassioned crowds, capturing the varying views of the citizens, who often trade heated words on the subject of the President and the Romanian state of affairs. In spite of the anger and hostility, the protests are mostly peaceful but some bloodshed seems inevitable, as do (unfortunately) the police batons that occasionally find their way to the protestors' bodies. The protestors often direct their frustration at the shield-wielding, baton brandishing police--for want of better targets--who are omnipresent and vigilant.

It is always astonishing to witness the participatory zeal in which foreigners approach their politics. Men and women, young and old, gather in clusters to chant or debate and as one might expect, the views are disparate and dogmatic. Pro-Basescu gatherings shout at clusters of anti-Basescu contingents and though much debating is focused on the President, the ideas are numerous and nuanced; even like-minded protestors occasionally demonstrate subtle, ideological differences. Though we see many young demonstrators, we also see middle-age and elderly chanting slogans and voicing their opinions as vigorously as their youthful counterparts.

The tension is ratcheted up when Basescu is suspended from office and when a referendum is conducted the same month, a majority vote calls for his dismissal. But the subsequent plebiscite was declared invalid due to feeble turnout, which is odd, given the Romanian's disdain for apathy.

Amid all the cries for change, we only hear a few protestors consider sensible solutions to the problem or viable alternatives to Basescu's administration (regime?).

In the end, as Petri's film shows, the Romanian people end up where the protests began, with an uncertain future and widespread discontent.

Petri's film gives us an over-the-shoulder perspective of protest but he fails to adequately give us a context for what we see onscreen. We see a protest but we're given no particulars that might make us better understand--and empathize with--those occupying the streets. I realize he may have deliberately kept the details vague to give the film a this-could-be-anywhere kind of appeal, which is effective but I wanted to know more about the local version of the worldwide economic crisis.

I did find a scene where a protestor and a police officer calmly discuss an earlier, violent confrontation between them comical, as one might find two combatants gathering to reflect on mutual hostilities the day after a battle.

I think Petri's film is interesting but only that. The chanting and shouting gives us a glimpse of Romanian politics but even at a lean 80 minutes, I felt the film could have been trimmed further. I also think Petri gives the audience the benefit of the doubt where our knowledge of Romanian politics is concerned. A few prefatory facts might have helped.

A follow-up film in ten years might be worth the effort. Given the volatile nature of Romanian politics, anything could and will most likely happen. Seeing Petri's film and knowing something of Romania's bleak past, we can only hope for a happy outcome, or at least something not-Ceausescu. We'll see.

Flickread: Of All the Gin Joints: Stumbling Through Hollywood History

Author: Mark Bailey

Screenwriter, filmmaker and author Mark Bailey has collected a trove of entertaining and engaging Hollywood tales of benders, binges and salacious behavior in his new book Of All the Gin Joints: Stumbling Through Hollywood History. If you're looking for journalistic gravitas, your train just left the station. If you're curious about the drinking habits of the Hollywood gods and goddesses of yesteryear and their particular means of getting f'ed up, you've come to the right place.

Like a potent and delicious cocktail recipe, Bailey's book is one part feats of inebriation, a splash of Hollywood legends' cocktail recipes and a dash of famous watering holes and hotels where all manner of raging and carrying on took place. We also learn how film sets were often troubled by an actor or director's excessive drinking and in one case, during the filming of John Huston's Beat the Devil, the director actually encouraged drunken revelry on the set. Gin Joints is a quick read but a heady one and it knows when too much of a good thing is too much; it refuses to wear out its welcome by leaving the party gracefully.

The book's structure is concise; brief biographies of actors and actresses precede narrative-like stories relating to a star's prodigious imbibing habits, which are followed by said recipes and finally, histories of famous establishments frequented by stars, directors and screenwriters. The book is divided into Eras', beginning with the personalities of silent films, then continuing on through the studio, post-war, the swinging 60s' and hedonistic 70s'. I suppose Bailey could have let the book run to the present day but by the time we reach Natalie Wood's partying habits, I felt quite sated.

Written with a casual, conversational informality, Bailey is given to crafting sentences with eccentric beginnings like, "So yes, the liquid did provide courage for his arrival at Columbia," or "You see, Odets was in Hollywood working on a film..," or "Funny thing is..." In a book with an earnest approach to biography or history, such quirks might grate but in Bailey's writing it comes off as idiosyncratic and not inappropriate.

And of course the tales are juicy and yes--often scandalous.

And what amazing things we learn! Silent film legend John Barrymore could not only drink prodigiously, he also found it necessary to relieve himself wherever and whenever he could. Bailey writes:

The volume of fluid he could consume was untouchable, as was, accordingly, his need to relieve it. (Barrymore) was famously indiscriminate in his choice of urinals. First it was sinks. Then it was windows. Soon it became anywhere-elevators, cars, the sandbox at the Ambassador Hotel (which banned him), nightclub draperies.

Barrymore was also given to affectionately assigning the name "Shithead" to those close to him, particularly John Carradine, who made up part of a gang of industry drunks who terrorized the town; the others being W.C. Fields, Errol Flynn, John Decker, and screenwriter Gene Fowler. The group was known as the Bundy Drive Boys, with Barrymore as the ring-leader. We also learn Barrymore's favorite drink was Pimm's Cup, whose recipe is provided within the book.

Another relates a fun story involving silent screen siren Louise Brooks, whose partying exploits included downing tsunamis of gin and having sex with both men and women. She once had a two-month fling with Charlie Chaplin and enjoyed regaling people with a story about his "glowing red penis." In Bailey's words:

Chaplain had heard that a drop of iodine on your penis could prevent venereal disease. During a three-day sex bender with Brooks and another couple, he decided to be extra cautious. He emerged from the bathroom naked, with an erection, his storied "eighth wonder of the world" penis completely covered with red iodine. He proceeded to chase the screaming girls around the suite.

Not enough for you?
Ava Gardner, yet another champion drinker, actually detested the taste of alcohol but enjoyed getting drunk and the faster, the better. Her favorite drink was something of her own design called Mommy's Little Mixture, which called for pouring every type of alcohol one could find into a jug, pitcher or punch bowl before serving. British actor Oliver Reed enjoyed something similar he called Gunk, which was essentially an ice bucket full of every kind of liquor he could coax from a bartender. Apparently the hell-raising, hard-drinking Reed found a kindred spirit in Who drummer Keith Moon, whose wild antics and Olympian drinking made him a worthy companion. One game the two invented involved Reed running through fields outside his estate while Moon tried to run him down with his car.

Hollywood's past is rife with drunks, each with his or her own drinking tales: Robert Mitchum wed his bouts of drinking to an 8-joints-a-day marijuana habit; John Wayne once drank with Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev, and asked the communist leader a question that elicited a fascinating and almost unbelievable response; Richard Burton's daily liquid diet of 3 bottles of vodka ("If you can't do Hamlet straight through with a hangover, you ought to get right off the damn stage."); Dennis Hopper's early 80s' daily substance consumption of a half-gallon of rum, twenty-eight beers and three grams of coke; Steve McQueen's love for Old Milwaukee, peyote, hash, cocaine and amyl nitrate and Sam Peckinpah's excessive drinking on movie sets, which prompted actor James Coburn to say, "Peckinpah was a genius for four hours a day, the rest of the time he was a drunk" are but a smattering of the movie factoids and quotes found in Bailey's book.

Bailey never wags a finger or assumes a moral high ground when recounting stories and facts. He (like me) merely views the stories matter-of-factually and with a healthy sense of humor. As Elizabeth Taylor once said "The problem with people who have no vices is that generally you can be pretty sure they're going to have some pretty annoying virtues."

The book is very thorough in its history of the famous and infamous bars and hotels where Hollywood royalty frolicked. A few of the many mentioned: Romanoff's, Hotel Bel-Air, The Troubadour, Whiskey A Go Go, The Brown Derby, are characterized in detail with unique features that made them hot spots for the hot and famous.

Of All the Gin Joints is an enjoyable book and a quick read, even at 303 pages. It will titillate cinephiles and the casual lover of Hollywood lore and provide some laughs along the way.

One of my favorite chapters, which is reason enough to read Bailey's book, is of Richard Harris and Peter O'Toole's mythic drinking bouts, which often led to hilarious high jinks and misadventures. During theatrical performances, O'Toole and Harris would often visit a local pub at intermission, always being mindful of the clock. During a break in one performance, the two puckish thespians lost track of time. As Bailey tells it:

...And so the two Irishmen slammed back their beers and took off for the theater. Just as Harris hit the stage door, he heard his cue and frantically scrambled toward the stage. His entrance, however, did not go as planned. Right as he was about to appear on the set, he tripped over a wire, sliding all the way down to the footlights, where his head landed practically in the lap of of a woman in the front row. Catching the scent of alcohol on his breath, the woman shouted, "Good god, Harris is drunk!"
"Madam," Harris replied without missing a beat, "if you think I'm drunk, wait until you see O'Toole."