The November Man

**Spoiler Alert**
Director: Roger Donaldson/Starring: Pierce Brosnan, Luke Bracey, Olga Kurylenko and Will Patton

The problem with The November Man is that I can't recall the names of the other movies whose plots it mimics, re-works or merely robs. Strangely enough, it didn't evoke a yawn and thanks to Pierce Brosnan's magnetism, it proved to be mostly digestable.

The film resuscitates the elder-agent-trains-a-protege-who-is-one-day-asked-to-liquidate-his-father-figure/teacher-thereby-causing-angst-doubt-and-trepidation-for-the-former-student plot that has been given a workout in recent years. If that seems like one too many dashes for you, know I spared you many more.

Pierce Brosnan plays Peter Devereaux, a former CIA agent now living in Switzerland sans the occupational hazards he faced in his former life. In the film's opening scene, we watch Devereaux in action during a past operation in Montenegro which took place five years before. Devereaux's protege is the young, handsome David Mason (Luke Bracey), who is warned about getting involved with women after the callow agent shares an intimate moment with a waitress in an outdoor cafe.
Not long after, the two men are part of a task force assigned to protect an ambassador. During the Ambassador's public speech, Mason mans a sniper rifle inside a hotel room, monitoring the crowd for potential targets. When a shooter reveals himself, Mason's gunfire not only strikes his target but a small child as well. The incident casts a dark cloud of failure as a mentor on Devereaux and is supposed to serve as an harbinger of future conflict between the two men.

In present-day Switzerland, Devereaux is coerced out of retirement by a former fellow CIA colleague. His mission is to pull an agent working close to a Russian politician named Arkady Federov (Lazar Ristovski), out of the country before her identity and mission are exposed. The CIA wants information on Arkady, which concerns an incident in his past that is sure to cripple his Presidential ambitions if brought to light. The agent working close to Arkady is a woman we learn is Devereaux's ex-lover, Natalia Ulanova (Mediha Musliovic), who is also the mother of his child. Mason, who is now a veteran CIA operative, leads a mission which works at cross-purposes with Devereaux's, as he is assigned the task of eliminating Ulanova. During a high speed pursuit, Ulanova's car crashes, leaving her exposed to Mason, who picks her off with his sniper rifle. Before Devereaux can escape, Mason identifies him, which brings him to the attention of Mason's superiors at Langley.

The story shifts to Belgrade, Serbia, where a young woman named Alice, (Ukrainian actress Olga Kurylenko) who operates a refuge for former prostitutes, becomes a target of Federov. The Russian presidential-hopeful is hell-bent on eliminating everyone from his past who may know something about his nefarious, mysterious deed, including Alice. Federov's assassin, a nasty piece of work named Alexa (played with venom and malice by Amila Terzimehic) is on Alice's trail, as is Mason, who has also been assigned the task of killing Devereaux for obstructing the CIA operation in Moscow. Devereaux becomes Alice's protector from all who want her eliminated. Get all that?

We eventually learn what dark, devastating secret both the CIA, Federov and Alice are concealing. Mixed into this tangle of a plot is the cat and mouse game between Devereaux and Mason, which becomes an uninteresting narrative thread but one Donaldson must pursue obligatorily to its end.

The story holds one's interest for most of the film. Donaldson is a seasoned pro with thrillers and is able to keep the byzantine plot from bogging down in confusing details. The problem with the plot, which is supposed to be the film's narrative centerpiece; is the dual between Devereaux and Mason. Their conflict interrupts the momentum of Federov/Alice story, which is the film's plot strength. It also burdens the movie with some implausible moments, like Devereaux seeking out Mason in his apartment, where he holds a knife to his girlfriend's throat. If the scene is supposed to ratchet up the tension between the two it comes off more as a head-scratcher. Why seek out your would-be assassin and give him an opportunity to kill you to make a point that seems nebulous at best? It hobbles the narrative and creates a lapse in logic that causes the movie to stumble.

The Devereaux/Mason melee is also just not very interesting. Though Bracey learns Devereaux gave him a failing grade on a CIA trainee assessment report, we never feel he overcomes his mentor's assessment. I wish Mason were as intriguing as Alexa, whose lethal single-mindedness made her a more formidable character.

So we have a former Bond and a former Bond girl (Kurylenko) together onscreen again. Devereaux is less suave than Bond but he's just as indestructible.

The film exceeded my low expectations, but didn't budge any further than that. It was an acceptable excuse to escape a warm and steamy afternoon. It didn't lull me into REM sleep but if you ask me about the film next weekend, I may have trouble recalling any details. If pressed, I'll say I remember Brosnan, an exotic Ukrainian woman and some dull American actor as the film's co-stud. I might even remember...er...uh--wait a minute, what were we talking about?

20,000 Days on Earth

Director: Iain Forsyth, Jane Pollard/With Nick Cave, Ray Winstone, Kylie Minogue and Blixa Bargeld

You may or may not be familiar with Australian rock legend Nick Cave and his band The Bad Seeds but one response the film 20,000 Days on Earth might elicit is a hunger to know more about him and his music.

How to categorize the film is problem. Is it a documentary? A docu-drama? A narrative film? What clouds the issue is the writing credit, which reads: written by Nick Cave, Iain Forsyth and Jane Pollard, which suggests not all of the film is objective (if that term really applies to any film). But as we see in the film, a kind of narrative shares space with that which is documentary.

Nick Cave's career spans some 35 years and though his formitive musical years could be classified mostly as punk, other styles have crept into his sound, like blues and jazz.

Much of the film is set in Brighton, England, where we see Cave recording songs for an album in both a studio and in a house.

We also see what is a deliberately contrived interview which might also function as therapy session, with Cave answering questions posed by someone who could be a journalist or a therapist. When the interviewer/therapist asks Cave what he fears most, the musician cites the loss of memory. Remembrances and memory figure prominently in the film. While sitting with the interviewer, Cave recalls a time in his early childhood, where his sisters dressed him up in girl's clothing. After seeing his son parading around the house, Cave's bewildered father admonishes him about becoming a man.

But remembrances aren't relegated to a single interview; bandmates and friends in Cave's life also share memories, such as his guitar player Warren Ellis. In one scene, Cave and Ellis volley enchanting stories about their experiences with singer Nina Simone. Before a performance, the singer asks Cave--in a manner that can hardly be called amicable--to introduce her. He descibes her as being particularly nasty but is keen to mention her powerful, spellbinding performance.

One of the film's many eccentricities are several separate conversations between Cave and friends in his car. Among the interlocutors are British actor Roy Winstone, Cave's fellow country person Kylie Minogue and Bad Seeds guitarist Blixa Bargeld. As Cave drives, each conversation sheds light on some aspect of his artistic past and his creative methodology. The camera first frames both Cave and the respective friend as they chat, then only Cave. When the camera returns to both conversationalists, we see only an empty seat beside him or behind him. The here-then-gone-again effect creates a startling illusion, as if the conversations only exist as memory rather than what we perceive in the moment. The camera trick fogs the drama/documentary boundary; leaving us with something fascinatingly surreal

As Cave sings in the studio, we hear some of his lyrics, which are darkly poetic. Later, when we see him perform the songs live, we are able to see how his words, music and performance merge to create a hypnotic effect on the viewer and listener. Abetting his performance is Cave's signature look; suits that suggest a Elvis/Aleister Crowley cross-breed, characteristic jet black hair and a brow that gives him an angry, malevolent appearance.

At another point in the film we see archivists combing through Cave's collection of photos and clippings from his career and life. Photos from the bands early days mingle with several from his youth. It is particularly amusing to see Cave in a boyhood photo; his characteristic, furrowed brow already apparent, while what look like disgust and contempt are communicated in a snarl.

When discussing his reasons for choosing Brighton as a place in which to record, Cave talks about the mercurial weather; its unusual variations; meteorological phenomena he hasn't seen elsewhere. When he talks about how he feels his moods control the weather he says "the weather can be controlled; it's my mind that can't."

We finally see some of his live performances late in the film; how he entrances an audience-- especially young women--while the effect is no less mesmerizing on the movie audience.

The 20,000 days in the title refer to the number of days Cave has been alive. To him, the significance of the number relates to the precious few he's lived. The number also serves to inspire; to discourage him (and maybe us) from frittering life away.

It is almost a relief to see Cave arrive home one day to sit with his children, eat pizza and watch Scarface on television. The scene lightens the broody film with a moment wonderfully mundane; a refreshing counterpoint to his shadowy stage personality and music.

We might be tempted to say we've learned much about Cave but it would be foolhardy to do so. It is quite apparent the man has chambers and passages in his psyche and soul we could forever explore without ever detecting a border.

Iain Forsyth and Jane Pollard--as well as Cave himself--have given us a sketch of a fascinating human being; one presented as both narrative and documentary. I left the film wondering why I hadn't troubled myself to know more about him more before. I had better make haste in doing so because as the film title subtly suggests; the ephemera in our lives are hopelessly measured in a paucity of days.

If I Stay

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: R.J. Cutler/Starring: Chloe Grace Moretz, Mireille Enos, Jamie Blackley, Joshua Leonard and Stacy Keach

Based on the novel by Gayle Forman, If I Stay is a tardy arrival in the Summer movie season but not too late to provide teen movie audiences a needle full of sentimental syrup with a supernatural chaser to top off the fix. I avoided a blogpost for The Fault in Our Stars; the Summer's other teary bacchanalia featuring teens dealing with loss. I found it an unchallenging target though R.J. Cutler's film is pretty weak prey too. I figured I couldn't let both films escape my clutches.

I came expecting a movie but got an ABC Family drama instead. Nothing in the film is terribly upsetting; any 6-year-old could watch the film with his or her sleep patterns undisturbed and intact.

The story is rather simple. Mia Hall (Chloe Grace Moretz) is a promising cellist hoping to study music after high school. Her parents (annoyingly played by Mireille Enos and Joshua Leonard), who are irritatingly hip and maniacally supportive of her musical dreams, gave up their own respective musical dreams to marry and raise a family.

Chloe meets the heartthrob of her school, named Adam (Jamie Blackley). He is first seen walking through a school hallway in slo-mo as the female students swoon and cast coquettish looks his way. Mia is surprised to find herself being wooed by the young Adonis.

The fact that Adam fronts an rock band with big time ambitions is supposed to be a sharp contrast to Mia's passion for classical music. As one might divine from the plot description, the couple's disparate musical aspirations cause friction, which tests their relationship and their career goals.

A dramatic plot wrinkle unfolds on a snowy day as Mia's family are critically injured in a car accident. Mia finds herself wandering frantically around the accident site, trying to learn the fate of her family, only to find she is now a spirit. She sees her unconscious body being wheeled into an ambulance, which she follows to the hospital. As she learns the devastating news about her parents and brother, family friends and relatives arrive at the hospital to lend support.

The story then becomes a will-she-or-won't-she-survive weepy while narrowing its narrative focus to her relationship with Adam.

I can't say I was bored with the film but I was hardly sitting wide-eyed and attentive. The film really boils down to a half dozen or so confrontations between Mia and Adam in flashback, which are supposed to lend the movie a kind of urgency that never really feels all that urgent.

If I Stay is a film that allows female teens a romantic escape; one that asks would my dreamboat visit me on my deathbed and risk his dreams of stardom for little old moi? I wish the film had the fire of The Spectacular Now, which felt true to teen life with all its awkwardness, doubt and confusion. Cutler's film bears some of those qualities but they feel artificial and forced.

This is Cutler's first feature film. He is better known for his documentaries The September Issue and The World According to Dick Cheney. He brings a documentarian's matter-of-fact narrative approach to the film, which is by no means bad but the film never frees itself from the chains of straight-forwardness and stubborn attachment to emotional surfaces.

I found it implausible that someone who just lost her entire family in an auto accident (sorry about that disclosure) would be so concerned about her loverboy's presence in the hospital.

I also found it puzzling that someone like Stacy Keach would be cast in such a one-dimensional role as a grieving grandpa. He was recently seen in Sin City: A Dame to Kill For as one of the city's slithery creeps. I wished I could have switched his character in that film for his character in If I Stay. Wouldn't that give the film just a dash of delicious darkness and danger? No? Oh, well.

The film concludes with some more of that hokey, divine light stuff, which should comfort movie-goers who find If I Stay emotionally harrowing (a demographic I wouldn't care to meet). I think I liked Chloe Grace Moretz more as an ass-kicker in Kick-Ass and as Stephen King's Carrie. She will have better roles and better opportunities to flower as an actress. For now, let's forget about this one, shall we?

Al's Omniflick at 100: The Pantheon of the Overrated, the Overpraised and the Oppressively Empty-headed

I find myself at a blog milestone with my 100th posting. To celebrate, I thought I would carve up some sacred cows and question the sanity of those who unjustly heap mountains of praise on film history's undeserving.

You might ask about my criteria in making my selection and all I can say is that I chose those who came readily to mind and who have tormented me the most. You may notice I only chose five targets because one must be careful not to overindulge oneself in temple desecration. Five seemed liked a reasonable number. I realize readers might be rankled by my selections and although that isn't necessarily my aim, it's an inevitable hazard I risk. Everyone has their own list they keep inside their heads; mine merely escaped the fortress of unexpressed thoughts to go on a gleeful rampage.

As always, feel free to comment and provide a list of your own if you too feel the itch.

The following are listed in no particular order or ranking:

1. Meryl Streep
This feels like a no-brainer. 18 Oscar nominations for either Best Actress or Best Supporting Actress with several wins under under her belt, which doesn't include the numerous Golden Globe or BAFTA nominations showered upon her. If it seems like I've made an egregious error in judgement after that opening comment, trust me, I haven't.

If anyone has bothered to really watch Streep at her so-called best, they will notice an actress who, as Pauline Kael once put it, "hides behind accents." Aside from that criticism, her performances tend to be the movie rather than an integral part of it. Her roles also tend to crowd out the story and other performances one might otherwise notice and appreciate. Case in point: The Iron Lady, one of Streep's Oscar-nominated performances. The movie isn't really about Margaret Thatcher, England's first female Prime-Minister, it's about Streep's accent and her ability to mimic Britishness. I can't honestly recall the rest of the cast or specific scenes, only Streep's circus-stunt acting. It's almost as if she puts on the affectation along with the make-up.

Streep isn't a bad actress and in fact, she can manage a solid performance now and then but come now, does her acting merit all the praise, attention and award nominations? She can be interesting when she isn't doing impersonations, but even at her most intriguing, she doesn't awe me. In 2011 and 2012, Jessica Chastain had a streak of terrific roles, including Take Shelter, Tree of Life, The Help, Zero Dark Thirty and only a month into 2013, she was in the horror film Mama. When one considers the richness of her acting choices and her terrific performances in each, it's easy to appreciate a talent that has yet to find full flower. I couldn't imagine Streep taking on any of these roles in her youth without a gimmicky affectation to buttress her acting.
And I haven't even mentioned how Streep's acting ability suffers in comparison to her peers across the pond. Helen Mirren, Kate Winslet and Emma Thompson are but a few examples.

One can even visit the recent past to sample her hamminess. In the recent August: Osage County her over-the-top performance as the cynical family matriarch is an acting seminar in scene-chewing, as Streep sprays the walls with her broad character-interpretation.

Coincidentally, I was looking over the NY Times T.V. section this morning when I came across a listing for the film Proof, which mentioned Streep's role as the Catholic School nun/Principal. The blurb contained an exerpt of critic Manohla Dargis' review, in which she says of director John Patrick Shanley and Streep:

"His work with the actors is generally fine, though it's a mystery what he thought Ms. Streep, with her wild eyes and an accent as wide as the Grand Concourse, was doing. Her outsize performance has a whiff of the burlesque, but she's really just operating in a different register from the other actors, who are working in the more naturalistic vein of modern movie realism. She's a hoot, but she's also a relief, because, for some of us, worshiping Our Lady of Accents is easier on the soul than doing time in church."

No, it isn't; and I despise church.

2.The Nouvelle Vague
Or as it is commonly known in America; The French New Wave.
I include this with strong reservations because I admire the French New Wave for its revolutionary techniques and its tremendous impact on American movie-making in the 70s'. I even find some of the movement's films to be classics, like Breathless, A Band Apart, The 400 Blows and The Umbrellas of Cherbourg. But Jean-Luc Godard, François Truffaut, Éric Rohmer, Claude Chabrol, Jacques Rivette, Agnès Varda, Jacques Demy have also been worshipped all out of proportion, especially when one considers their respective bodies of work. The German Expressionists and the Italian Neo-realists have a considerable portfolio of great, watchable films but aside from The New Wave's ground-breaking techniques, what would compel one to to watch their films? Even in the 60s', Godard's heyday, he made some films that were nigh unwatchable. After the 60's he has a catalogue of films that aren't watchable at all. The other directors have fared better. The group has managed to make some terrific films the past twenty years, like Rivette's La Belle Noiseuse, Chabrol's La Ceremonie, and a few Rohmer films but as a group, I find them outrageously overrated. Of course my opinion of the Nouvelle Vague is susceptible to revision. I feel really guilty including the movement in this group but maybe tomorrow I won't. It wouldn't take much to convince me I messed up here.

3.Casablanca
Like the Nouvelle Vague, I feel some regret targeting Casablanca, the American public's selection for Best-Film-of-All-Time. Though I really like the film, to me it is preposterous to regard it as the best American film. I don't even consider it my favorite Humphrey Bogart movie. I enjoy The Maltese Falcon and The African Queen more and I still hold dozens of American films in higher esteem, like Citizen Kane, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Chinatown and Nashville. Don't get me wrong, Casablanca belongs in such an august assemblage; just not at as lofty a perch as many might place it. It is beautifully shot, acted and it has an urgency that is WWII-compatible but it doesn't stand head and shoulders above America's best cinematic efforts and it certainly doesn't fare any better when we factor the best foreign films into the mix.

4.Forrest Gump
Zemeckis' film falls into the category of the Oppressively Empty-Headed. Not only is the film about a simpleton, it appears that it was written by one too. I find the line "Life is like a box of chocolates..." so vexatious to my ears it gives me vertigo. The film's message seems to be that good-natured innocence and feeble-mindedness make a virtuous amalgam or if you're dumb but nice enough, success is all but assured.

I can't adequately express the intensity of my contempt for this film. Its brain-dead optimism and sickly-sweet cuteness are only a few of the film's unforgivable shortcomings. That the AFI included the film on its list of greatest films should alert one to the institute's suspect suitability as arbiters of greatness. How it beat out Pulp Fiction for a Best Picture Oscar might be the most mind-boggling conundrum in movie history.

Salvador Dali once said that whenever someone asked him his Zodiacal sign, he never phoned that person again. I feel the same about people who say they like Forrest Gump. I think Dante set aside the nether-most circle of hell for those who like Zemeckis' movie. May they simmer in a scalding cauldron there for all eternity. 'Nuff said.

5.The Sound of Music
I thought about dozens of actors and films that could have made this list but one film that caused a throbbing in my temple was The Sound of Music. Though it isn't as loathsome as Forrest Gump it isn't far behind. Everything about the von Trapp family makes me ill. I realize the story is based on historical fact and that the von Trapps narrowly escaped the Nazis but somehow even that doesn't make me abominate the film any less. The family is annoyingly chirpy and though the family's escape from the Third Reich's clutches is harrowing, I find myself rooting for the Nazis. I truly hope I never have to sit through the movie again.

As I mentioned earlier, I could have included more on the list but maybe we'll leave some for a future posting. Thank you for taking the time to read my Pantheon and for helping me celebrate my 100th post. Looking forward to more.

Sin City: A Dame to Kill For

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Frank Miller, Robert Rodriguez/Starring: James Brolin, Eva Green, Mickey Rourke, Joseph Gordon Levitt, Rosario Dawson, Bruce Willis, Jessica Alba, Powers Boothe, Stacy Keach and Dennis Haysbert

The creeps, grotesqueries, femme fatales and ghoulish denizens of Sin City are back in all their black and white rendered seediness. Adapted from Frank Miller's graphic novel series, the Sin City films own their own distinctive comic book look, where colors only make cameo appearances; accentuating physical characteristics, like eyes, hair or lips or blood.

The film is essentially a multi-threaded narrative with overlapping characters. In one story, a young card-stud named Johnny (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) takes on the evil Senator Roark (Powers Boothe)--a powerful Sin City low-life who is more crime-lord than public servant--in a high stakes card game. In another, a city tough known as Dwight (Josh Brolin) tries to free himself from the seductive snares of Ava (an equally seductive Eva Green); who was once his lover but is now married to a man of wealth whose death she plots. Protecting Ava is a stalwart named Manute (Dennis Haysbert, on loan from Allstate), a dangerous tough who thrashes Dwight when he catches him trying to invade Ava's home.

In yet another story is the stripper Nancy (Jessica Alba); who is haunted by the death of her lover Hartigan (Bruce Willis). A very welcome return character is Marv (Mickey Rourke); Sin City's biggest bad-ass, who doesn't have a story of his own but who allies himself with Dwight more as a means to kill boredom than as an act of altruism. That Marv tends to back the underdog and the sympathetic characters makes him an appealing figure in a city of human landfill.

As the film-noirish story-lines cross or skim one another, we meet many other colorful citizens, such as Gail (a very vamped Rosario Dawson), whose team of killer vixens reside in the most dangerous part of the city and who come to Dwight's aid. Another is Wallenquist (Stacy Keach), Ava's associate, who could be Jabba-the-Hut's sibling with his bloated face and unsightly skin.

True to noir, everyone in the film seems to be tormented by something or someone from their past save for good ol' Marv, who can't seem to stay the menacing clutches of ennui. Also, true to noir, much of the film's narration is told in voice-over by the characters themselves.

And what good would a Sin City flick be without copious servings of sex and grisly killings? As in Frank Miller's other 2014 comic book adaptation; 300: Rise of an Empire, Eva Green generously offers her nude body for audience delectation. In Sin City, there is much more of her to ogle at. The deluge of blood in the film is confined to white splashes, though some gruesomeness manages to follow Marv around, including an eyeball freshly harvested from an eye socket. That Marv, he's such a card.

My favorite line from the film was uttered by Dwight in voice-over during a scene he shares with Eva. Demonstrating an unwillingness to swallow some of Eva's lie-saturated chatter, he says, "I was born at night, but not last night." It gave me a good chuckle.

Like the first film, the second is fun in a way that's mentally undemanding which doesn't necessarily mean it's dumb. It relies heavily on style, exaggerating the pulp qualities of detective novels and the hard-boiled elements of film noir.

I enjoyed the film but I noticed its charms faded some near the end. I suppose another installment is an inevitablilty, and as I'm wont to ask rhetorically about all movie franchises: how much inspiration remains and how much tolerance do we have for more? When one considers how much skin the sirens of Sin City bear and how delightful it is to watch Marv decorate the streets with broken bones and swaths of blood, I can honestly say I wouldn't mind at least one more serving. But maybe only one.

The Expendables 3

**Spoiler Alert--wait a minute, is this really necessary, what exactly will I spoil?**

Director: Patrick Hughes/Starring: Sylvester Stallone, Jason Statham, Antonio Banderas, Harrison Ford, Arnold Schwarzeneggar, Mel Gibson, Wesley Snipes, Jet Li, Dolph Lundgren, Randy Couture, Kelsey Grammer, Terry Crews, Victor Ortiz, Ronda Rousey, Kellan Lutz and anyone who happened to visit the studio during filming

I was thinking of creating a separate post for the cast list but oh well. I seriously thought about skipping The Expendables 3 because I had already invested enough time and money in the first two movies, which were mildly fun but very disposable. But I reconsidered; after all, I managed to see all the Harry Potter movies in theaters and perplexed myself by doing the same with the Twilight series, so why not the Expendables?

There is something about the movie that renders it impervious to any criticism. It's inherently dumb and all involved are well aware it's a farce so how can one possibly pan it? That said, I can say I didn't come to bury it but I also won't recommend the movie unless one's Verizon Fios is on the fritz, you have nothing to read, your iPad has lost its charge, Seven Samurai can't be found on any movie channel, you're too lazy to play frisbee at the park (do people still do that?), you finished digging a trench for a sprinkler system, or it's just too early to turn in. Then maybe I'd recommend The Expendables 3, but only at matinee prices.

The Expendables 3 begins with a daring rescue by the core members of the Expendable team: Barney Ross (Sylvester Stallone), Lee Christmas (Jason Statham), Gunnar Jensen (Dolph Lundgren), Caesar (Terry Crews) and Toll Road (Randy Couture) as they break into a maximum security prison in some third world country to rescue a fellow member who has been incarcerated for 7 years. The feat is accomplished in true Expendables fashion by commandeering a train and crashing through the doors of a concrete fortress. The liberated member is Doc (Wesley Snipes); a former Expendables medic and like Lee, a bad-ass knife-wielder.

The team is hired by a government suit named Drummer (Harrison Ford) for a mission involving a Somali port, but are thwarted by a former associate of Ross' named Stonebanks (Mel Gibson), who is now an arms dealer operating outside the purview of international law. Stonebanks manages to escape but not before wounding Caesar by sniping at him from a helicopter--an act meant to humiliate Ross.

Irked by Ross' failed mission, Drummer offers him a redemptive opportunity to lead a mission to capture Stonebanks, who is holed up in a third world despot's stronghold somewhere on the Asian continent.

Feeling his group has aged beyond optimum functionality and afraid to imperil their lives in another mission, Ross dismisses his group. They naturally reject his edict but Ross is adamant, brooking no objections.

While his former unit lick their emotional wounds, Ross searches for a new group; assisted by a whizbang recruiter named Bonaparte (Kelsey Grammer). The new unit comes with a specific array of skills but also a she-tough named Luna (MMA Fighter Ronda Rousey). The youngsters manage to get themselves captured by Stonebanks and his client's army in a rubble-strewn, cold war-esque complex. Stonebanks then goads Ross into rescuing the unit.

The rest of the story is hardly mysterious. You know Christmas, Doc, Jensen, and Road will find a way to re-join Ross, which will provide them a means to show their testosteronic (my word) virility. And of course everyone in the cast will have his allotted time onscreen.

You might be delusional if you think E3 offers any narrative surprises. Seeing the film is like a visit to McDonald's--one expects nothing but the traditional fare. It would be unseemly to complain about the absence of McFoie Gras in the chain's gustatory offerings. The same can be said for E3. What you see and titter at in the first film is precisely what fatigues your eyes in the third, so why expect more?

Sure, the movie is ferociously meat-headed and only a smidgen less cartoonish than a computer game, but with its phonebook cast and bloodless mayhem (I think I saw more people bleed in The Hundred-Foot Journey), it all went down like a bag of Cheetos. At least The Expendables 3 has a sense of humor, which prevented its fall into the abyss of self-serious tedium.

Does the franchise have one more bullet in its chamber? Is Expendables 4 a possibility? If so, I would like the producers to cast some of the few people on the planet who haven't appeared in the franchise. I would like to see Judy Dench play a blood-thirsty MI6 operative with demolition expertise who returns from Ross' past to liquidate him after steamy hot-tub sex. Maybe Julie Andrews and Dame Maggie Smith could make appearances too...in the hot-tub.
That's all.

The 78 Project Movie

Director: Alex Steyermark/Producer: Lavinia Jones Wright

Based on the acclaimed web series, The 78 Project Movie documents director Alex Steyermark and producer Lavinia Jones Wright's quest to capture performances of American musicians using a vintage, 1930′s era Presto direct-to-acetate disk recorder. The small, mobile but relatively heavy recording machine allows one to record a phonographic record on location, using a black lacquer disk.

Inspired by Alan Lomax, the famed ethnomusicologist and folklorist who combed the American hinterlands recording folk songs sung by local denizens, Steyermark and Wright attempt the same, though with a different approach and a set of parameters not unlike those encountered by musicians from the first half of the 20th century.

Musicians were asked to choose an American song from the nation's past; not of the hit parade variety but ones known and sung by local cultures. They were allowed to choose a recording site, indoor or out with only one take in which to record. The pressure-intensive conditions not only posed an exciting challenge to the musicians, but to Steyermark himself, as he had only one take in which to capture the performances on film. Adding drama to the proceedings were the mechanical limitations and idiosyncracies of the Presto recorder; a machine we learn much about in the course of the film. The performers were also to use only one microphone (of a vintage variety); a technological crudity Lomax's musicians also endured.

The unwieldy Presto's innards were subject to frequent maintenance, which made it necessary sometimes for Steyermark to disassemble the machine, replace tubes or such, then reassemble. It was also necessary during recording for Wright to apply a brush to the disk to keep the black lacquer shavings produced by the stylus from accumulating; a hazard that threatened every recording.

As we see Steyermark and Wright recording in various locations around the country, we hear some startling performances. The musicians often discuss how they first heard the song they've selected and a little of its history. One performer mentions the 18th century origins of the song she performs and, providing food for thought, comments on how the song was only heard when one person performed it for another until the advent of recording. The performances are often as hauntingly beautiful as the archival recordings, which suggests the timelessness of song and its ability to move people decades or centuries removed from one another. We also see and hear the musicians themselves react to the playback of the songs on the disks, which they often find startling and wonderful.

Between locations and songs, we learn the history of the Presto recorder from experts; its attributes and shortcomings. We also hear from musical archivists at the Library of Congress and the Smithsonian, who lovingly (I can't stress that word enough) care for the immense collection of acetate and vinyl recordings made and collected by people like Alan Lomax. It is fascinating to see samples of the collection, whose sleeves bear the scribblings of those who presided over the recordings. Information about the singers and musicians is often scant, which carries a whiff of the tragic. Equally so is the knowledge that our country's musical heritage is kept preciously--and precariously on acetate, a material not entirely suited to longevity. Some of the musicians seen in the film have their own collections--which are also precious and culturally priceless.

Steyermark is also keen to show us a plant where acetate disks are manufactured; making his subject thoroughly informative.

He gives us a touching experience; one that carries the subtle, disquieting notion that much of our country's musical heritage--one very much vital and alive--is stored in boxes and shelves, demanding our attention and care. Efforts are being made to transfer the music digitally but will something be lost in the transfer? As the film demonstrates, the first recordings were pretty much a one shot deal, with no margin for error or the luxury of multiple takes, which makes the manner of recording as immediate as the performances. This is mind-boggling to consider. Everything was of the moment. Digital storage means the music will be preserved--a very good thing--but will we forget the beauty of the ephemeral; the painstaking efforts to record the music in its moment and time? As we hear the lovely, sometimes dark sentiments in songs that expressed the common man's laments and joys, we get the sense that what moved someone one or two hundred years ago or what moves one today is immutable, as demonstrated in all the performances. It is quite possible that someone in the year 2114 will be just as affected by an old folk or blues tune as are the performers in the film.

The 78 Project Movie is a synergistic alliance of music, technology and history, which makes for a terrific documentary; one that could conceivably spawn sequels, for the subject matter is rich and worthy of further exploration.

Steyermark and Wright's project is a labor of passion and one I hope they continue to pursue. I also hope the film finds the audience it so richly deserves.