Rudderless

As Sam Manning (Billy Crudup, Watchmen, Big Fish), having just landed the big deal, walks into a sports bar eager to celebrate with his son Josh a news story catches his attention. A shooting had taken place at his son’s college. The heart swells into his throat as he can only idly watch his worst fears come true.

Two years have passed since his son’s death and Sam’s life has spiraled. No longer living the ritzy life of an advertising executive, he now makes a living painting houses. One day, his now ex-wife brings him a box of Josh’s old stuff, among which are a number of CD’s containing the music his son made before his death, Sam starts playing the songs himself as a way to reconnect with his son.

“Rudderless,” the name of the band that Sam eventually joins, certainly has a haunting quality that keeps audiences invested. The emotional magnitude of the film is well buoyed by the folksy soundtrack as well as the overall wistful tone. As a tragically topical and relatable issue, it is certainly a film that will hit everyone’s sentimental core.

The film is also the directorial debut of William H. Macy (Shameless, The Sessions) who also has a small part as the bar owner where Sam plays. There are definitely praise-worthy attributes to Macy’s effort, such as a clever use of the soundtrack to makes for seamless pacing. However, for the most part, there was nothing from a directorial standpoint that stood out. That is not to say “Rudderless” was directed poorly, just rather safely.

As much as this movie stuck with me on an emotional level, I really wished that the film would have dug a little deeper into the complexity of grief. Instead of providing a thorough exploration how both individuals and communities negotiate with trauma, “Rudderless” only wades into issue. For a film concerned with meditating on the trials of loss and catharsis, it never really does enough to provide truly novel insight into an issue that is plaguing our society.

I’ll call this a bit of a warm up for Macy’s directing career. He certainly didn’t bite off more than he could chew with this project, but didn’t do more than was asked of him. Macy got his sea legs for the directors chair and hopefully he’ll be more courageous with his choices for his next film. It would be a shame to see him move forward completely rudderless.   

Mood Indigo

I’m still not entirely sure how I feel about “Mood Indigo.” The surreal world created by Michel Gondry (Of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind fame) and Luc Bossi could, at worst, be described as messy and undercooked, and at best be described as a stylistic emotional roller coaster.

Its protagonist, Colin (Romain Duris, Populaire) is a well-off eccentric who doesn’t care for much. While he certainly cares about the people who help him, he doesn’t seem passionate about much; his life revolves around him. He shoves plates into the trash when he’s done, he invents a piano that makes cocktails when played, and (when his best friend Chick announces he’s in love) decides it’s time for him to be in love as well.

On paper (and a bit in the movie, to be honest) he sounds like a bit of a dick. The movie’s magical realism aspect just always seem to align to fulfill Colin’s every whim. Duris’ aberrant acting somewhat plays against him, but overall he manages to convey a sense of vulnerability in the role.

It’s played nicely off of Chloé (Audrey Tautou, Amélie), the sweet girl who’s taken by Colin’s awkward love for her. Thanks to all the wacky mis-en-scene their love is full of vibrant whimsy and quirk. And as their relationship grows and the movie turns dark, Gondry’s talent for combining oddity and emotion shines, creating an atmosphere of loss without ever invoking it too literally. As the sadness creeps into their lives the color glowers, the sun can’t get through the unstoppably dirty windows, and the walls inch closer and closer to the couple, the movie takes a dark turn and Gondry clearly paints a picture of illness without ever expressly saying it.

For all the visual appreciation I have for “Mood Indigo,” I wouldn’t say I found it to be Gondry’s most compelling work. The idiosyncrasy can often be — and I mean this in the kindest way — exhausting and borderline incomprehensible. It feels as if the film just keeps throwing gorgeous and clever ideas on the screen to the point where it’s a bit overwhelming and distracting. While it uses its fresh take to unravel familiar ideas; underneath all the layers of the sugar-coated layers of imagination. With the first ten minutes Gondry will blow your mind with his inventiveness, but the next 80 will weaves a bit of a knotted mood.

About Alex

Director and writer Jesse Zwick’s debut film “About Alex” picks up right as Alex (Jason Ritter) tweets out a suicide note. Yup — tweets. As news spreads to his best friend Ben (Nate Parker) and his long-time girlfriend Siri (Maggie Grace) they pass along the word to their gaggle of college friends, and they all come out to Alex’s country house for a weekend away.

Sound familiar? If it does it’s because it’s essentially the same premise of the 1980s film “The Big Chill,” except in that one Alex’s suicide is successful. Here, Zwick uses Ritter’s sheepish style to provide a catalyst for all the simmering tension and jealousies that run rampant through the group. Sarah (Aubrey Plaza) has a tricky sexual past with Josh (Max Greenfield), but also has always had a thing for Isaac (Max Minghella), who comes to the weekend with his new, younger girlfriend Kate (Jane Levy).

With all those balls in the air, “About Alex” is tackling too much and too little, all at once. Beyond the depression and disassociation current that haunts the house, the characters themselves are dealing with “millennial problems:” Their careers haven’t quite gone the way they thought, and they’re weighed down with emotional baggage left and right. It’s a lot for any movie to grasp.

Clearly “About Alex” isn’t the first of its kind, and it likely won’t be the last. The strength in this incarnation lies in the actors, who find a sort of low-key intimacy in their relationships. They carry their problems on their shoulders into each scene, resonating value and nature of well-established friendships.

And yet, Zwick never really manages to make the dramatics feel like more than the whims of the screenplay. Where real relationships are a product of details and lives lived, “About Alex” expects its audience to fill in the cracks — a device that would be realistic if it wasn’t also riddled with awkward exposition.

Ultimately, the movie just isn’t as deep as it thinks it is. There’s plenty of emotion to be had, but “About Alex” seems to ask the audience too become too enthralled by the raw, overdetermined reactions. For all its flaws though, it still manages to be a sweet and moving portrayal of twenty-somethings grappling with the world. It’s satisfying and sweet, even in its familiarity, bringing an indie quirk with Zwick’s oversight. Although the memory of the film might not make a lasting impression, there’s certainly enough emotion to set the tone of your day.

Verdict: Not entirely original or innovative, but the film is still all about the heart.

Boyhood

Every once in a while there comes a movie so ambitious, so extensive, that it’s hard to believe the film itself could live up to the hype. Richard Linklater’s “Boyhood” seemed like the textbook definition of such a movie. 

Shot intermittently over 12 years, the eponymous boyhood belongs to Mason Jr. (Ellar Coltrane) who the audience sees through snapshots of his life starting when he’s only six years old. The film follows his growth and relationship with his divorced parents, Mason (Ethan Hawke, Before trilogy, Gattaca) and Olivia (Patricia Arquette, Holes, TV’s Medium), all the way through to when he’s just another 18-year-old leaving for college. 

The description of “Boyhood” seems like a project that’s cool in theory but couldn’t quite come together — how could it, carrying the narrative of one kid over the course of twelve years? But luckily, thanks to Linklater’s talent for realism and natural dialogue, the movie is a masterpiece.

If his “Before” trilogy was a sort of microcosm, examining the lives of two people within a certain number of hours, then “Boyhood” is the macro-cosmic other side of the coin: 12 years in only three hours. Its stance is vast, covering everything from divorce to abuse, to revelations of personal philosophies. 

There’s no three acts, no grand finale, per se. “Boyhood” barely even gives its characters a chance to stop and establish the changing years; the audience is left to deduce it from a character walking through a door and suddenly having braces, or a mop haircut.

But between the period-laden effect of the soundtrack, or clues left as time markers, the actors bring surprising honesty and authenticity to their roles. Hawke and Arquette are just as much in the thick of growing up as Coltrane is. It’s both rare and refreshing that “Boyhood” leaves its protagonist without a life-changing heart-to-heart with one of his parents, leaving him instead to develop his own sense of life.

Though most major events happen off screen, in between the episodes and snippets that Linklater chooses to show, the effects are still felt rippling through, providing an odd — but poignantly realistic — sort of narrative that carries throughout the film. Linklater sidesteps the “big” moments of Mason’s boyhood, what are normally considered the meatier action bits, to knowingly create a whole new way to capture adulthood.

Based on the way people are talking about “Boyhood,” it sounds as if it verges on pretentious, but the movie’s ability to stick to its simple nature, exploring the supposedly boring space between life’s bigger moments and revealing in them how much definition of our own character is there, keeps it grounded and authentic. 

The audience may not have gone through the same experiences Mason Jr. does, but there’s a little bit of everyone in Coltrane’s Mason Jr. As we watch him struggle with his crushes, his classmates, his sister, or his parents, we can all hearken back to a time where our growth crossed paths with his. 

As the film progresses, the characters become more nuanced, the actors become more experienced, and the whole production seems to knit itself together in a way no other movie really can. That’s probably the hand of Linklater’s stylized realism at work, mirroring how Mason Jr. might actually be recalling his boyhood. The coming-of-age cliches are stripped down and the traditional rites of passage removed until all that’s left is a simple boyhood; perhaps the most true-to-life coming-of-age film so far.

Verdict: A magnum-opus for all involved, “Boyhood” is the most realistic coming-of-age film yet

Obvious Child

There are bad days, and then there are terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days. Brooklyn comedian Donna Stern (Jenny Slate, Parks and Rec’s Mona Lisa Saperstein) is having one of those. She finds herself dumped, fired, and pregnant just in time for Valentine’s Day. And then she does the rom-com unthinkable: she schedules an abortion.

It may sound like no small feat, but honestly, this simple choice alone is groundbreaking as far major cinema goes. Despite their relative frequency here in the U.S., abortion remains a pervasively stigmatized topic. People who have dealt with abortions feel a need to hide their experiences.

So while there’s a place for the Juno MacGuff’s in the world, there’s a quiet revolutionary element to a movie where the female lead has her heart set on obtaining an abortion. And thanks to Robespierre’s backdrop and Slate’s delightfully nuanced performance, Obvious Child is, without a doubt, the best abortion comedy you’ll see all year.

Not that it needs all those qualifiers. I’m serious guys, this movie is A++; delightful, and charming to boot. Donna is quick-witted, awkward, and observant; the perfect mix of millennial stereotype with honest woman in unfamiliar territory. Slate carries the film with an elegant realism; breathing character and voice into an experience that feels free from any sort of judgement. In Obvious Child women freely discuss their past experiences with abortion, and it’s clear that a baby — or pregnancy, as the case may be — is not in the stars for Donna Stern.

There’s still a sense of gravity to the film (how could there not be over such a third-rail topic?) but it never bogs the movie, or Donna, down. The movie remains inviting throughout, making it an easy and obvious choice to pop in when you’re having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

Lucky Them

Granted, music journalists are a special breed. The best of them will judge you for your taste in music but never write you off. Bad ones are so swept up in the pretension that you want to drown them in pop music. But it’s a safe bet that no matter which one you meet finds their field in a state of flux.

Which is the case for Ellie Klug (Toni Collette, Hitchcock, Little Miss Sunshine), a middle-aged, Seattle journalist; a holdover from the bygone days of Seattle’s hotspot rock and grunge scene. Coming up on the anniversary of indie rock-god (and ex-boyfriend) Matthew Smith’s CD release, she’s too busy boozing about and flirting with young musicians to care. But she quickly finds herself teamed up with an eccentric, amateur, documentary filmmaker (Thomas Haden Church, Heaven is for Real, Easy A) to hit the road in search of answers.

It’s a quirky take on the mid-life crisis flick, littered with Sub Pop memorabilia and strong performances from its leads, that proves largely forgettable. If there’s anything to be said for it, it’s that it’s an actor’s showcase of channeling emotion into effective carrying.

Church is delightful, as always, nailing the comedic timing with his dry enthusiasm. His sarcastic deadpan all at once brings affection and disassociation making his performance a key element of the movie. Collette similarly proves herself capable of anything, including turning an honest and complexly flawed character from a script that only supplies the bare bones. The plot swims by; intriguing enough to finish out the mystery, watch the chaos of Ellie’s life collect, and see the Seattle streets slip by.

“Lucky Them” makes the most of its hour-and-a-half runtime with heart and unlikely friendship. If that sounds corny it’s because it is, but Collette and Church’s chemistry is so delightfully kooky it comes off as a fluid companionship between two very different people. Getting to the end of their journey may not make you feel lucky, but it’s definitely not a bad flick to pull of Netflix to warm your heart.

God’s Pocket

By the end, “God’s Pocket” feels like an exercise in what could’ve been. What if, for example, 22-year-old Leon (Caleb Landry Jones, X-Men First Class) hadn’t threatened a man at his work, leading to his untimely death? He might’ve saved his stepfather Mickey (the late Philip Seymour Hoffman in one of his final roles, The Master, Capote) and his mother Jeanie (Christina Hendricks, Drive, TV’s Mad Men) a whole lot of heartache and questioning.

Based on the 1983 novel of the same name, rundown columnist Richard (Richard Jenkins, Cabin in the Woods, Killing them Softly) comes to the town of God’s Pocket to write about Leon’s death, and things go from bad to worse. Soon Mickey finds himself with a distraught wife, a large debt, and a body in the back of his freezer truck.

It could have been a great film. It’s got an all-star cast with acting talent to boot. Luckily, the actors all fade into their roles as down-on-their-luck, small towners. Helmed by John Slattery of “Mad Men” fame, who serves as director and co-writer, “God’s Pocket” has a charm that Slattery brought to the episodes of “Mad Men” he’s directed in the past.

Richard’s columns (and voice-overs) describe a town full of people lacking ambition, staying housed in bars for hours, that turn into years, of their lives. Slattery’s debut feature film manages to do justice to the setting of its source material, but the efforts, unfortunately do not save the film. His style walks the line between canonizing and demonizing the blue-collar workers who make up God’s Pocket.

But, alas, there’s wasted potential running amok through the streets of God’s Pocket. Mickey’s attempts to handle the details of the funeral with no money to pay for it make up the loose plot of the film, but it feels largely episodic.

It doesn’t help that the tone shifts between scenes — and even between characters. It’s not always clear what characters’ motivations are, and “God’s Pocket” seems more concerned with making things happen than letting them happen organically. It seems like Slattery and his cast do what they can for those without the support of details to shore up their authenticity, but the script is so sparse on specifics that there’s not much left between scenes.

It can be serious and it can be funny, but it never seems to be enough of either to stake out any territory. Perhaps a more experienced director could have smoothed out the kinks and made for a more consistent tone.

Fortunately, there’s enough talent in the cast to at least somewhat carry the plot. This being the first of Hoffman’s posthumous releases, there’s a distinct twinge of melancholy that plays right into the air of God’s Pocket. It also furthers the general feeling throughout the film that “God’s Pocket” exists in a reality somewhere close to a well-told story. But by the end the story you are left right back where you started: hoping to see something great from a collection of talented actors. 

The verdict: The first of Philip Seymour Hoffman’s posthumous releases comes close, but isn’t good. 

Only Lovers Left Alive

In a time oversaturated with vampire movies, it takes a lot to stand out. No longer is it enough to just humanize the creatures of the night, and vampiric love stories are just so passe. So perhaps it’s strange that “Only Lovers Left Alive” is a breath of fresh air to the vampire canon, when its only real focus is in civilizing its supernatural sweethearts.

Adam (Tom Hiddleston, The Avengers, Thor series, Midnight in Paris) and Eve (Tilda Swinton, Moonrise Kingdom, The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe) are modern day bloodsuckers, against the backdrop of a romantically desolate Detroit and Tangier, respectively. Eve travels to visit Adam, a deeply depressed underground musician. Their centuries-old love story is soon interrupted when Eve’s infamous younger sister Ava (Mia Wasikowska, Stoker, Alice in Wonderland) also stops for a visit. 

Its plot is sparse, sauntering in no particular direction and in no hurry, as writer and director Jim Jarmusch is wont to do as he has demonstrated in his past indie darlings like “Ghost Dog.” Its protagonists idle about, lacking a general mission in life aside from worrying about the human race, or “zombies” as they’re called. Where typical vampires spend time establishing cliche rules about what they are able to do, Adam and Eve meander through the plot, basking in an air of pretension that can only come from experiencing thousands of years of artistic opinion.

But what it lacks in motivation it more than makes up for in aesthetics and mood. Adam and Eve lead their lives amid vintage knick-knacks and gorgeous old rock ‘n’ roll equipment with a subdued elegance. It’s hung up in the bleakness of the genre, but that doesn’t let it get in the way of characterization. Their ennui has stretched across multiple decades and they’ve got an amalgam of pop culture knowledge to show for it and shape their worldview.

Considering the film only has six real roles and no straightforward plot to speak of, if any of the characters were to falter or be at odds with the other players “Only Lovers Left Alive” would flounder. Luckily, Swinton and Hiddleston are perfect for the roles of the pallid nightwalkers, and their pale complexion is only the beginning of it. Both actors blossom into their roles, flawlessly bringing Eve and Adam, respectively, to life in their afterlife.

Even as their minimalist brooding sweeps across the screen, Hiddleston and Swinton’s wit and chemistry infects the screen. Their droll and languid cool is so natural that it’s no surprise that Ava and Ian (Anton Yelchin), Adam’s instrumental errand boy, eagerly hope to orbit their lives.

Their existence is as fascinating and enthralling as it is aimless, and the film takes advantage of its gorgeous scenery to speak volumes about the melancholy of its protagonists. The moody atmosphere of “Only Lovers Left Alive” lingers in the air long after the final shot, which is a perfect cherry on top of a blood sundae. 

The verdict: As languorous as it is captivating, Jim Jarmusch brings life to the stale vampire genre with this well-acted and moody drama.

Better Living Through Chemistry

It’s always the ones you never expect. Doug Varney (Sam Rockwell, The Way Way Back, Seven Psychopaths) is a small town pharmacist who seems to be a bit of a doormat. There’s no freedom in sight until, one night, he meets unhappy trophy wife Elizabeth (Olivia Wilde, Deadfall, Tron: Legacy, Her) who inspires him to cut loose, live free, and dip into his own pharmaceutical supply for a little fun.

It’s another stab at the standard story of learning how to grow up and solve problems, but instead of an anxious adolescence it’s an anxious mid-life crisis.

There’s not much to say for innovation plot-wise, and the execution of the movie doesn’t go above and beyond either. “Better Living Through Chemistry” largely stays light and quirky, though not to a degree to truly set itself apart from the pack. The movie is at its best when the actors are able to shine through the average dialogue.

Varney’s character is so vanilla it’s tough to watch an actor as fun as Rockwell stay caged up inside his shy and nerdy mannerisms. And it’s a move made all the more tough by the sheer pile of sad sack they bury him under. Kara (Michelle Monaghan), his domineering wife, doesn’t see eye-to-eye on how to raise their troubled son, and his overbearing father-in-law (Ken Howard) refuses to let him fully take the reins in the family pharmacy.

It’s no coincidence that the movie picks up once Rockwell gets a little wild as Varney channels his inner Walter White. It’s a breath of fresh air, and the chemistry between Wilde and Rockwell becomes a lot more electric.

The actors actually manage to do a pretty good job working with characters who are mostly two-dimensional. Wilde and Rockwell get the most screen time and do what they can to ground their characters in reality for the second half.

“Better Living Through Chemistry” suffers from switching gears to establish a lasting atmosphere for the narrative. Scenes seem to be strung together only in the sense that they needed to happen. It doesn’t help that the filmmakers’ attempt to tie the whole movie together with a self-aware narration by Jane Fonda becomes a bit more cloying than cutesy by the end.

The film does a reasonable enough job balancing what darker and more real moments it has with the overall chipper, wish-fulfillment side of its romantic comedy plot. By the end of the movie — while it may feel a bit stilted — it is clear that Varney has upgraded his blah exterior for a backbone and is a legitimately stronger character. And while it’s cool to watch a character actually achieve an honestly better living, it seems like there should’ve been a bit more tweaking to the formula.

Verdict: It’s breaking not great. 

At Middleton

He’s the buttoned-down stick-in-the mud who hasn’t ridden a bicycle. She’s the free spirit who’s never let rules stop her from having fun. When they meet on a college tour, at first they can’t seem to get along. But before too long they can’t pull themselves apart. A timeless premise, now with a twist: they’re not students, but parents of students on the tour.

Meet Edith (Vera Farmiga) and George (Andy Garcia), on a tour of Middelton College with their respective children: Audrey (Taissa Farmiga, playing her sister’s daughter in the film) and Conrad (Spencer Lofranco). When Edith and George desert the campus tour, all four learn a bit more about who they are and what they want.

“At Middleton” is clearly trying to be a love story for an older generation, emulating the “Before Sunrise” movies (which follow a couple of strangers as they meet, explore the world, and find solace in each other). And, perhaps with a bit more perseverance, this movie could be strong enough to be an insightful romantic comedy in the way that the “Before” trilogy is: observant and astoundingly human. But, alas, it’s not.

Between the adult’s love story and the teen’s coming-of-age, there’s a lot going on. The movie focuses mostly on the parents, who essentially spend their time abandoning their kids and reverting back into eager 18-year-olds in first love, and the children’s secondary plotline ultimately starts to feel like a completely different movie. If the resolution of their plotline has almost no impact on their parents’ love story, why is it examined so thoroughly?

Between the kids and the parents there’s certainly some comic relief along the way, and the movie’s not slow enough that you forget to laugh. But everything in “At Middleton” seems half-baked: The writing is stuck somewhere between simple and lighthearted and complex and practical. There are allusions to backstory and resentment which are never fully discussed again, which ends up painting the characters as stereotypes of involved, well-meaning parents helping their ungrateful and undeveloped teens.

The warmth in this movie lies in the chemistry between Garcia and Vera Farmiga. As the dialogue and plot lines slowly grow more infuriating than cutesy — basically acting the way only people in rom-coms can — their spark mostly manages to hold its own. By the end the audience might be concerned for their parenting skills, but it’s hard to deny their acting charisma.

Ultimately, “At Middleton” finds itself reconciling its desire to be all that and more, but the film can’t realistically wrap up all its plotlines in a satisfying way. The movie very much wants to be a deep and perceptive look into aging and relationships, but when it’s over the audience was wondering why they were ever supposed to care.

The verdict: A cute but forgettable love story that doesn’t really make the cut.