Review: "The Purge: Election Year"

For those who have yet to experience the (non-existent) delights and pleasures of The Purge horror franchise, here is the concept - in an America apparently suffocating from crime and overpopulation, the U.S. government implements a new policy wherein citizens have a 12-hour period annually in which all criminal activity, murder included, is legal. This will give the populace the opportunity to both "purge" themselves of their anger, hatred and hunger for violence and cleanse the citizenry of unwanted presences, namely political enemies and low-income folks.

The first Purge flick was a rather generic and boring home invasion yarn, in the mold of Panic Room and Funny Games. It was also headlined by a sleepwalking Ethan Hawke, seemingly only on-set to pick up a paycheck. The second, The Purge: Anarchy, wasn't exactly great cinema, even by modern day horror standards, but at least sported an intriguing, gritty Escape from New York-like atmosphere, and had a strong leading man in Frank Grillo.

Grillo, who very much brings to mind a late-'80s-era Stallone, is back for the series' third entry, The Purge: Election Year, and while there is some guilty pleasure entertainment to be found here, the film by and large feels like a carbon copy of the first sequel. There's nothing new or exciting to be seen here.

Grillo is head of security to a U.S. Senator (Elizabeth Mitchell), who is the presidential nominee of the anti-Purge party. On the evening of the Purge, several members of the Senator's staff and security turn out to be pro-Purge traitors, sending Grillo and Mitchell on the run from her home, eventually joining forces with a local deli owner (a badass Mykelti Williamson) and some of his fellow anti-Purge colleagues.

All of the action and choreography here feels like microwaved leftovers from Anarchy. Much like Saw around the time of its third entry, this series seems to be woefully out of steam and ideas. If not for Grillo and Williamson, this picture could serve as the sort of torture pro-Purge citizens like to inflict on their prey.

C

Review: "The BFG"

Somehow, growing up, I never got around to reading Roald Dahl's 1982 children's book The BFG. I'd tackled Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Matilda, James and the Giant Peach, The Witches, heck I even managed to make it through the patience-testing Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator, but The BFG never ventured into my grasp.

I will no doubt have to change that in the near future, as Steven Spielberg's take on the Dahl tale is, perhaps just second to The Jungle Book, the most enchanting picture of the year, thus far.

The BFG opens on Sophie (the delightful newcomer Ruby Barnhill), a bright but terribly lonely orphan who one evening, after having spotted the mysterious Big Friendly Giant (Mark Rylance, in a turn 10 times more moving and engaging than his overrated Bridge of Spies performance) outside, is plucked out of her orphanage by the "BFG" and transported to his home in Giant Country.

Initially scared, Sophie soon comes to find the BFG is really just a 24-foot-tall mountain of warmth and love and the two embark on a marvelous dream-catching adventure in the sky.

Alas, there are of course villains here who want to rain on Sophie and the BFG's parade, a group of ugly, man-eating giants who love pushing the BFG around and want to chow down on the leading lady. Sophie and the BFG decide to appeal to Queen Elizabeth (a very funny and game Penelope Wilton) to crack down on these mean monsters, leading to a showdown between these gruesome giants and the Queen's soldiers.

The BFG, which marks the second (and sadly final, given Mathison's passing) collaboration between Spielberg and screenwriter Melissa Mathison, is awfully reminiscent of their comparably heart-tugging work on E.T: The Extra Terrestrial. This is, after all, another picture focused on the friendship between two lost, sensitive outcasts, with John Williams' soaring music swelling in the background as tears inevitably start to fill the eyes. It also has a number of true laugh-out-loud moments, particularly in the picture's second and superior half, involving the Queen (and her precious corgis).

Having checked this out in its second weekend, I can say I think it's an absolute shame The BFG has thus far struggled at the box office. I would hope today's youngsters have the patience for a picture of this length and nuance. I surely hope its reception does not deter Spielberg, who is such a master at this sort of thing, from making more similar films in the future.

A-

Review: "The Shallows"

Looking back, prior to Jaume Collet-Serra's The Shallows, there have really only been two or three truly great pieces of shark cinema - Jaws, obviously, plus Open Water and then, to a lesser extent, Renny Harlin's uproariously campy Deep Blue Sea. (One, I suppose, could make an argument for Jaws 2 as well, though I see it as merely watchable, a middling retread of the classic first.) For the most part, it seems the shark genre has been hijacked by the SyFy Channel and its egregiously silly, low-budget TV movie programming.

Collet-Serra's picture, while no Jaws, is enjoyable on the same level as the Harlin film - a fun, if fleeting B-movie, perfect for a film night while on a beach vacation.

Blake Lively, in a performance much-improved from, well, just about everything she's done thus far, carries the film as Nancy, a medical student who seeks solace at a secluded, nameless beach following the death of her mother. In gorgeously filmed scenes that are right on-par with the original Point Break in excitement, Nancy embarks on a day of surfing and strikes up a conversation with a couple of local surf bros.

Trouble strikes, however, when Nancy comes upon a whale carcass afloat, about 200 yards from shore, and draws the interest of an aggressive and awfully hungry great white shark. An injured Nancy manages to swim over to a nearby rock for safety, where, like Tom Hanks to Wilson, she befriends an injured seagull (who at times manages to upstage Lively), but it's inevitable that if Nancy wants to survive this mess, she'll need a plan of action to get back to shore without becoming shark supper.

At 86 minutes, The Shallows flies by in no time, especially with the action starting fairly early on in the picture. Collet-Serra employs a few audience-interactive devices on the screen that are a bit distracting at first but more effective as the film progresses. The script, by Anthony Jaswinski, has its fair share of clunky, cornball dialogue, particularly in the early-going, but once Lively moves into Linda Hamilton mode, the picture becomes far more a feast for the eyes than ears.

I've read comparisons between The Shallows and Gravity, with water, Lively and a seagull, instead of space, Sandra Bullock and George Clooney. I think that's a decent parallel but the film also reminded me a lot of 127 Hours - that is, a nicely photographed one-man/woman-stranded show, headlined by an performer not typically known for their acting gravitas, yet committed-enough to make it all work.

The Shallows, while not quite must-see material, is nonetheless one of the more pleasant summer surprises.

B

Review: "The Conjuring 2"

As The Conjuring 2 opens with paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren (Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga) investigating the infamous murders at the Amityville house, it's all but impossible for a die-hard horror film buff not to recall the atrocious snooze that was 1979's The Amityville Horror, which squandered the spookiness of Jay Anson's 1977 best-seller and resulted in a series of comparably dreadful sequels that made up arguably the dreariest of all the major horror film franchises.

With this nod to Amityville, it's as if filmmaker James Wan, who himself has an admittedly spotty record as filmmaker (Dead Silence, anyone?), is suggesting to horror lovers that his Conjuring series is setting out to make up for the thrills and chills the Amityville franchise so miserably failed to deliver.

Alas, while I did have a generally fun time with The Conjuring 2 and it is an unimpeachable step-up from say, Amityville 2: The Possession, and frankly the bulk of the genre's lame offerings out there as of late, I wasn't genuinely scared or surprised for a moment. If anything, The Conjuring 2 reminded me most of another lukewarm haunted house sequel, 1986's Poltergeist II: The Other Side.

The Conjuring 2 focuses on a London family, single mom Peggy Hodgson (the always-terrific Frances O'Connor) and her four children, who are terrorized by paranormal events in their creaky home. (Even without the demonic spirits, I wouldn't set foot in this place, for fear of falling through the floor at any time.) One of Peggy's daughters, Janet (Madison Wolfe, in the film's strongest performance, looking like a pitch-perfect mix of Shelley Duvall and Danny Lloyd in The Shining), becomes possessed by the spirit of an elderly man who once lived in the house and wants to kick the Hodgsons out. Once Janet starts talking like Mercedes McCambridge in The Exorcist and scaring the bejesus out of her siblings and mother, it's obviously time for Ed and Lorraine to step in.

Following an impromptu performance of Elvis Presley's "Can't Help Falling in Love" by Ed (a nice reminder of Wilson's singing chops), shit of course hits the fan on a dark and stormy night, with furniture flying through the house, lightning taking down trees, Lorraine battling a demonic nun and, well, you get the drill. It's at once enjoyable and kind of frustrating to watch Wilson and Farmiga mercilessly ham it up, given the rich, complex work they've recently turned in on projects like Fargo and Bates Motel, respectively.

I'm not sure there is a single particularly original or fresh idea in The Conjuring 2. Like the aforementioned Poltergeist II, which too featured a creepy old man and demonically possessed toys, it feels very much like a microwaved retread of its predecessor - not bad but not terribly remarkable and certainly extremely familiar.

The film is, however, worth a look for Wolfe's commanding performance alone - it's really about on-par with Linda Blair's - and if you're going to see a CGI-stuffed spectacle like The Conjuring 2, might as well see it on the big screen, and preferably with an audience that'll find this silliness scary.

B-

Reviews: "De Palma" and "The Lobster"

Growing up, even prior to adolescence, I had seen an array of Brian De Palma pictures, including the likes of Mission: Impossible, Scarface and The Untouchables - really just the filmmaker's greatest hits. I was an admirer for sure but it wasn't until high school, when I first caught Dressed to Kill (I believe it was on Cinemax), that I truly fell head-over-heels for De Palma's work.

I was flat-out entranced by De Palma's 1980 film, and by the museum scene in particular, which remains one of my all-time favorite sequences captured on film. The combination of his mastery of the Steadicam, the brilliant and beautiful Pino Donaggio score and of course Angie Dickinson's incredible performance left me in awe. When I sought out pictures like Blow Out, Body Double and Raising Cain shortly after, De Palma quickly emerged the top of the heap among directors for me. Over the years to follow, I got around to Obsession, Sisters and Femme Fatale, among others, and while I wasn't always as thrilled as with Dressed to Kill, I was most certainly never bored.

So, when I heard the talented filmmakers Noah Bambach (The Squid and the Whale) and Jake Paltrow (The Good Night) were embarking on a De Palma documentary, I was of course over-the-moon in excitement, and even more delighted to realize just how involved De Palma would be in the project.

The finished product, which runs just short of two hours in length, is an immensely entertaining rundown of De Palma's filmography, chock-full of movie clips and engrossing anecdotes.

We learn, among other things, of the pain-in-the-ass that was Cliff Robertson on the set of Obsession; United Artists' mixed feelings about Carrie at a time when the studio was pushing more "serious" Oscar contenders; the importance of the art direction in Scarface and Carlito's Way; how directing Robert De Niro in 1987 was a vastly different experience than working with him 20 years prior; the aggravating screenwriting conflicts behind Mission: Impossible; and why Mission to Mars proved the ultimate disenchanting Hollywood experience for the filmmaker.

All of this is a lot of fun and I suspect even accessible to non-De Palma die-hards. But while the film does a fantastic job showcasing these pictures, I wish it had spent a bit more time fleshing out the filmmaker himself. We're told of De Palma's affection for French cinema and, of course, Hitchcock, and are treated to a synopsis of his family upbringing but otherwise it seemed to me that, in a virtual blink of an eye, the picture dove right into the Greetings/Hi, Mom era. I wanted to learn more about how Universal Pictures paid to get De Palma through school and was also hoping for more on his relationships with fellow filmmakers at the time, i.e. Spielberg, Scorsese and Lucas, who make all-too-brief appearances. In hindsight, I actually think Julie Salamon's The Devil's Candy, about the making of De Palma's disastrous The Bonfire of the Vanities, in some ways was more enlightening and honest in getting inside the filmmaker's head, and about contrasting the career trajectories of his' and other directors of the time.

With that said, however, this is still a very impressive love letter to one of the most fascinating filmmakers of the 20th century and an absolute must-see for De Palma devotees.

B+

I had never been much of a fan of the "dystopian society" picture - films like Brazil, Gattaca and the Planet of the Apes series, for instance, left me cold, as I felt the focus was so honed-in on the look of the pictures that the storytelling and characters were never properly fleshed-out. That changed a bit in recent years with films like Children of Men and Never Let Me Go (both among my top 10 films in their respective years) as beyond the art direction, I found the pictures supremely interesting and, in both cases, quite heartbreaking.

Those two films were exciting and had moments of beautiful subtlety and both of those elements are gravely missing in filmmaker's Yorgos Lanthimos' The Lobster, a picture that proved a sensation at last year's Cannes but struck me as heavy-handed and manipulative, a film with an intriguing presence that's merely dreary in the early-going and borderline-unwatchable with more than a half hour to go.

Colin Farrell, in a turn that walks a fine line between charmingly awkward and annoyingly stilted, portrays David, whose wife has just abandoned him for another man. In this particular dystopian society, single persons are transported to a resort (imagine the Swiss spa from Youth, crossed with Shutter Island) in the middle of nowhere where they are given 45 days to find a partner among the other hotel guests. If they fail, they are turned into an animal of their choice - for David, it's the lobster, which enjoys a long, fertile life and has blue blood, "like an aristocrat."

This set-up and the first half hour or so of the picture is mostly watchable, as David befriends a couple of fellow resort guests (John C. Reilly and the terrific Ben Whishaw) and, in the film's best sequence, in an effort to avoid the transformation, embarks on an amusing and shocking partnership with the hotel's "heartless woman" guest (Angeliki Papoulia). Still, all of this should be far more engrossing than it ultimately is. The atmosphere is lethargic and most of the cast seems to be sleepwalking through the picture.

Where the film really skids off the tracks is when David at last escapes from the resort and joins up with a crew of "loners," who with the exception of one member (Rachel Weisz), prove just as suffocating as the folks back at the resort. David and the Weisz character privately strike up a romance and what the loners' dictatorial leader (Léa Seydoux) does in an effort to tear them apart will undoubtedly go down as one of my top "are you fucking kidding me" movie moments from 2016.

There are close to no moments of The Lobster that are neither boring nor bombastic.

C-