Kill or Be Killed - Kill film review

I had high hopes for this Hindi action film billed as the most violent film to ever be produced in India. Sadly, it gets bogged down in a cheesy neo-Romeo & Juliet love story-meets-Under Siege (you know the plot: villains hijack a large commercial vehicle only to discover that a badass military dude happens to be on said vehicle. Augmenting this all-too-familiar tale is extremely cheesy dialogue (if we are to believe this film as an accurate representation of modern India, then men call each other “bro” way too much over there). Toss in an an all-too-obvious (and common) thread about the caste system and inequality in India to top it all off. 

None of this would raise an eyebrow if the film actually tweaked the formula, but it fails to elevate the containment action film, in this case the ever-popular “stuck on a train” sub-genre.

To be fair, there are some brilliant moments of gonzo ultra violence, but they all too often get lost in the thin storyline, corny verbal repartee, and one-dimensional characters. Sure, there is some bristling action, grimace inducing gore (a scene involving a toilet is sufficiently jarring and another utilizing Zippo lighter fluid is somewhat inspired), but also moments of missed opportunity (the kill shot using a fire extinguisher ends up fizzling out).

The film rolls along at a decent enough pace until the 40-minute mark where it goes off the rails for a good 30-minutes. But then it looses steam.

It doesn’t help that one fight scene takes place in almost total darkness, which is a complete cop-out. It also doesn’t help that the final boss is ultimately lame and our hero dispatches him with ease. 

In a year that has been filled with revenge oriented action films—Monkey Man and Boy Kills World, specifically—this one falls a bit short (though I found it slightly better than BKW).

Honestly, I kept waiting for the cast to break out into an item number in the tight confines of the train aisles. Now that woulda been killer!

Killing Them With...- Kinds of Kindness film review

After two semi-mainstream, over-the-top comedies—The Favourite and Poor Things—Yorgos Lanthimos returns to his misanthropically demented roots with this film, which re-teams him with his Greek screenwriting compatriot Efthimis Filippou. The duo were responsible for some of Lanthimos’s most twisted and eerily fantastic early films.

Here they unleash a triptych of stories that all revolve around one omnipresent character mysteriously named R.M.F. Aside from that, the thematic through line tends to focus on dominance and submission in a variety of extremes ranging from mutilation to rape and everything in-between. The film is not for those faint of heart, that’s for sure.

It’s all delivered in Lanthimos and Filippou’s wonderfully deadpan and detached manner, which will no doubt be off-putting to many; much 
of the dialogue is delivered in stiff, lurching, often unemotional vocal patterns. Yet for those willing to stick it out, the film is rife with numerous WTF moments and is gloriously saturated in sparse and glaring atonal music that amps up the emotional fortitude to 11.  Ultimately, the entire event feels like a sick-and-twisted update on The Twilight Zone.

The assembled core cast of Jesse Plemens, Emma Stone, Willem Dafoe, Margaret Qualley, Hong Chau, Mamoudou Athie, and the enigmatic Yorgos Stefanakos, are all mesmerizing in their displays of fetishism, subordination, anger, confusion, and the like.

There are many jarring elements dotted throughout the stories that will undoubtedly induce cringes, grimaces, and unease in some viewers (I exclaimed “FUCK ME!” under my breath more than once) and those expecting the loopy absurdist fantasy elements that populated Poor Things will have another think coming as this film is edgy and mean spirited, but also funny in a bizarrely satirical manner.

Of 'Roids and Romance - Love Lies Bleeding film review

Aside from the obvious comparisons—Thelma & Louise, Bound, Wild Things—director and co-screenwriter Rose Glass’s latest genre blast has more in common with the early work of John Dahl (Kill Me Again and Red Rock West) and that classic of American lit, Of Mice and Men, than anything else. She also seems heavily influenced by Nicolas Winding Refn, as well.

On the surface it’s an unabashed love story concerned with one Lou (fantastically portrayed by Kristen Stewart), a deceptively meek and mild manager at an industrial gym and drifter cum wannabe bodybuilder Jackie (an uber ripped Katy O'Brian). Things go horribly awry when the two hook up, become lovers and the latter finds a taste for steroids. Oh yeah, the whole endeavor is laced with quick-flash lurid sex and ultra-violence. 

Furthermore, if one wishes to get academically introspective, the story also examines toxic femininity and what happens when women adopt the traits of toxic masculinity in order to navigate the twisted patriarchy of bodybuilding and the late ‘80s underworld of Albuquerque gun running.

Lensed in a neon like dream haze that’s more nightmare hallucinatory gonzoness than anything else, the film is additionally drenched in a sonic maelstrom of electronic oomphs! courtesy of Clint (Pop Will Eat Itself) Mansell, not to mention mind-numbingly intense sound design.

As for the Steinbeckian connection? Read into that as you will, but I found the lead characters of Lou to be akin to George with Jackie taking on the role of Lennie. Feel free to draw your own conclusions, but this story follows many of the same themes as the 1937 novel.

Honestly, though, when stripped to its core, this is a wickedly paced, slick and frenetic ode to steamy 1980’s noir B-movies. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

RIYL

Good Time; Vengeance; Rumble Fish; Wild at Heart

Swimming the Seas of Cheese - Meg 2: The Trench film review

If Chester Cheetah worked in the film industry he most likely would have produced this flick.

Teeming with more cheese than the name brand snack the cartoon feline shills, this sequel to 2018’s The Meg is a tasty low-fat, low-calorie diversion that won’t hyper your tension or clog your arteries (unlike a bag of Cheetos).

The screenwriting trio of Jon Hoeber, Erich Hoeber, and Dean Georgaris—who were responsible for the first film—obviously locked themselves in a room and watched all the Jaws films, chased those down with the crappy Jurassic Park sequels, maybe went old school with It Came From Beneath the Sea, and probably tossed in every shark themed film ever aired on SyFy or produced by The Asylum for good measure. They also borrowed heavily from DeepStar Six, Leviathan, Underwater, and Deep Rising.  Plus a glorious dollop of Deep Blue Sea.  

If you haven’t figured it out by now, Meg 2 is an unabashed B-movie which presents very little in the way of originality. Yet it’s kind of a glorious cinematic snack.

Helmed by Ben Wheatley, who, following in the footsteps of Adam Wingard (Godzilla vs Kong), is the latest cult director to preside over a giant monster movie. Wheatley, best known for quirky and cool offerings such as Kill List and A Field In England, keeps things moving at a brisk pace so you have nary a minute to ponder the absurdity of it all. 

Aiding the director in keeping things afloat is Jason Statham, a man who has single-handedly kept the late 80s/early 90s action film legacy of Arnie, Stallone, Willis, Van Damme, and Norris alive and well for the past 22 years. Yes, I am an unabashed JS fanboy, but beyond that the man has a knack for turning even the most routine of action films into something watchable thanks to his shining pate and lovably gruff ass-kicking manner. Additionally, both Cliff Curtis and Page Kennedy add some comedic chops to Statham’s straight man (Kennedy also has a break-out scene where he unleashes some surprisingly deft pummeling action).

I’m actually confused by the abysmal RT critics rating (28%) since this is by far the most fun I’ve had at the cineplex in quite some time. Sure, the CG is kinda shoddy and the story is cobbled together from that long list of films I mentioned above, but it revels in its ludicrously conflated imitation.

So, yes Meg 2: The Trench is stupid...stupid fresh!  Or, if you prefer: it's simply highly entertaining.

No Lifeguard on Duty - Infinity Pool review

I was initially hesitant to see this film as the trailer made it out to look suspiciously like a rehash of Riley Stearn's sublime 2022 effort Dual. Thankfully, that wasn't the case. Sadly, Infinity Pool isn't nearly as clever or perverse as that film. Nor is it even in the same league as writer/director Brandon Cronenberg's previous release, Possessor.

On the surface, young Cronenberg's third film suffers from arriving at the tail end of the glut of films that have skewered the entitled rich set over the past year--Bodies Bodies Bodies, The Forgotten, The Menus, Glass Onion, Triangle of Sadness, amongst others. But it also gets ire down in some all-too-famliar tropes without even really trying to tweak them enough to make them feel fresh. 

Without giving too much away, the film follows a sad sack hack writer on vacation with his sugar mamma wife. Desperately seeking recognition and approval, he falls in with the wrong crowd and his mundane holiday soon turns into a strangely dystopic nightmare filled with hazing and humiliation. It plays on the foreigner in a foreign land trope, the outsider longing to belong to the cool clique trope, as well as the whole entitled douchebags getting away with murder because they have endless $$$$. All of these themes we have seen in other films, where they were handled with more aplomb.

Perhaps the most frustrating thing about the film is that it look great--the cinematography and production design are stellar--and the cast is terrific. Mia Goth rules the film with a deceptively devilish performance that starts out quiet and unassuming then builds into a smoldering malevolence that is unnerving and uncanny. The supporting cast lend additional rich textures to the proceedings. Yet none of the cool visual elements or strong thespian turns can make up for the half-baked (or perhaps over-baked?) story.

And The Walls Came Tumbling Down... - Babylon film review

Imagine Singin' in the Rain sans musical numbers, mashed together with The Artist and Nickelodeon, then re-imagined by Quentin Tarantino. Well, Babylon is slightly more batshit bonkers than that.

While writer/director Damien Chapel continues to mine his unabashed love for the spectacle and grandeur of the great Hollywood musicals, especially the aforementioned Gene Kelly classic, here he seriously flips the script and instead of an upbeat love story he chooses instead to expose the soft white underbelly of Tinsel Town.

The opening pre-title sequence bursts out the gate with such over-the-top bravado as to surpass the gooey gross-out moments of Monty Python's The Meaning of Life, Stand By Me, The Exorcist, and Triangle of Sadness all combined; the sheer gag inducing reflex here is damn near unparalleled. The rest of the film is liberally peppered with sex, drugs, and big band revelry; Chazelle's longtime musical cohort, Justin Hurwitz, delivers a deliriously whiz-bang of a score.

On the surface, the film is both a sprawling love story and an examination of the decline of a matinee idol. These two main storylines are intermingled with a bit of behind-the-scenes Hollywood excess and a pointed commentary on the racism of the time, specifically how actors and musicians of color had to endure being admired as exotic curios rather than talented human beings. The rest of the film peeps back the allure of the Silver Screen to reveal debaucherous bacchanalia with such unabashed glee and hubris that you often don't know whether to laugh, cry, scream or squirm (I did all four regularly).

Sadly, the film seriously stumbles in the final 10-minutes with a terribly misguided ode to 2001: A Space Odyssey, almost as if Chazelle fell into a refractory coma after prolonging his orgasmic insanity for the previous 2 hours and 59-minutes. That said, what a joyously demented top is lavished upon us up until those closing moments.

Memory is the diary... - The Fabelmans film review

 Steven Spielberg's latest effort is a multi-layers affair.

On the surface it's about filmmaking and the pure love of the escapist aspect of the movies. But it's also about a dysfunctional family, nostalgia, and most potently it's about memories and how, why, and what we choose to remember from our past.

Because of this thematic hodgepodge, it can at times. feel disjointed, but then that's what memories are: disjointed recollections of the past that continue to change over time.

To label this film "heartwarming" might be a slight disservice, but it may very well make you smile, cry, and feel a broad range of emotions depending on what your family was like growing up and based on your own personal connection to the movies.

One thing is for sure: The Fabelmans will make you realize that Spielberge is a gifted and diverse director who has always drawn upon his family's rich and eccentric history in regards to the films he has made.