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Fast & Furious 7 (2015)
More Furious Than Fast, But Still Just as Fun
A film critic I follow once made the following analogy: "In a world of junk food, there's a huge difference between store bought cookies and your mom's homemade chocolate chips." Fast 1-4, for better or worse, never managed to be anything than Chips Ahoy. But from Fast 5 onward, I've been enjoying nothing but warm goodness right off the pan.
The Fast franchise's recent momentum has unquestionably been driven by their keen decision to have each installment top the last one. Fast Five started the escalation game by being bigger and better than Fast and Furious. Fast and Furious 6 was bigger, better, and crazier than Fast Five. Furious 7 is in some ways bigger and in some ways crazier than Fast and Furious 6, but I can't say it's better. It keeps the over-the-top craziness in full swing while giving its ensemble fun, action-packed things to do while they trot across sleek and sexy destinations all around the globe. But while Furious 7 does a lot right, and trust me, it's a great ride; unfortunately, there's several big things it does wrong that stalls the expected evolution of the series.
The good is really good. The action is still ridiculous, balls-to-the-wall fun that defies logic and sometimes expectations. In addition, this movie really beefs up its emphasis on showcasing hand-to-hand combat, and the results are a blast. A climactic showdown between Diesel and Statham is gangbusters, and watching Statham eat a Rock Bottom through a glass table had twelve-year-old me squealing. The cast all continue to nail their respective talents; and even though he gets much less screen time, The Rock is still as charming and awesome as ever. Most of the new additions fit in snugly, with Jason Statham being the best he's been in years and Ronda Rousey being used efficiently enough to make her appearance a memorable one. The undisputed champ of the newcomers is Kurt Russell as a charismatic government agent so cool, Lando Calrissian would buy him a Belgian ale. James Wan manages to adapt to the franchise's look and feel with ease, but he still manages to fit some of his trademarks into the fold. A montage of glamor shots during the opening Race War segment contained the kind of fast zooms, whip pans, and shaky cam footage straight out of the Saw franchise, and overall, it works.
The bad however isn't a deal-breaker, but it certainly holds the franchise back in my eyes. The plot is a little too over-involved for a series that has always kept things straight-forward. I don't mean that in the sense that it's "too complicated," I mean that in the sense that there's so much going on that some of it didn't warrant my concern. Chief-most: Djimon Hounsou, who shows up half-way in as a terrorist leader at the heart of a sub-plot involving hackers and surveillance technology. Not only is the role a complete waste of Hounsou's talents, but ultimately, neither Hounsou or his army are as compelling or as interesting a threat as Jason Sthatam's Deckard Shaw. The surveillance plot is timely I guess, but the entire conceit of it (That Dom and his crew need to steal back this surveillance technology and its creator from Hounsou in order to find Shaw) is rendered moot when the film has Statham constantly showing up wherever the gang is anyway. It drags down the plot, elongates the run-time, and even manages to take some of the satisfaction away from the final confrontation between Dom and Shaw.
Earlier I mentioned the greatness of the film's hand-to-hand combat. And while that's an ultimate plus, I realized that it's a huge problem considering that all the human fight scenes ended up entertaining me more than that actual car stunts. The Abu Dhabi car jump was thrilling, and the bus chase (the parts that weren't in the trailer) is great; but none of them managed to be more fun or inventive than Paul Walker and Tony Ja violently sledding down flights of stairs on a door, or Diesel and Statham sword fighting with wrenches and car parts. When you have a franchise built around cars, put more work into showcasing the actual cars.
But those gripes aside, Furious 7 continues the tradition of being loud, silly, and fun in the best way possible. Popcorn fare at its best. I'm unironically looking forward to the recently announced Fast 8, hoping that it gets over the hiccups of Furious 7 and drives the franchise onward and upward.
Seventh Son (2014)
Seventh Son - So Bad It Doesn't Deserve a Clever Review Headline
Do you remember seeing trailers for Legendary Pictures' Seventh Son in theaters as far back as 2012? I do, because I have no life. But more importantly, it's because this movie was due out 3 years ago. Instead it was delayed, shelved, and passed between studios so many times it's embarrassingly telling. Now it's finally seeing the light of day, and honestly, it should've stayed somewhere dark and damp. Like the bottom of the ocean. Because Seventh Son is a waste of time, talent, and money so egregious, everyone involved should have to perform community service.
It's dumb. And not just dumb but eye-rolling dumb. It has the scope and style of The Lord of The Rings but matches that with all the substance of an 80's adventure movie. And not one of the good ones either. The LOTR comparison may sound cliché, but it's fitting because just from the poster, you can TELL this is a film delayed from the era of studios trying to make their own LOTR knock-offs. Remember Eragon? The Seeker? 47 Ronin? This is a film commissioned by studio execs who KNOW what LOTR is but don't understand WHY those movies worked.
What do I mean by that? Seventh Son's failures in the contemporary fantasy department start from its opening moments, when characters start spouting off dialogue that implies a whole universe of lore without any context or background. Some of it is simple, easy to grasp. Holy order of knights fighting off witches? Sure. I'll buy that. But then the sleep-walking actors start unenthusiastically throwing up all this mythical importance about Spooks and Seventh Sons and Blood Moons; until ultimately I stopped trying to pay attention and started trying to think up a Seventh Son drinking game. If the filmmakers couldn't put effort into making sense of this movie, then why should I put any effort into being sober for this movie?
The baffling questions left unanswered throughout the film are so offensive they should be considered a hate crime against the audience. Is Jeff Bridges' Gregory supposed to be a holy man or a mercenary for hire? Because he does some jobs out of nobility but then others he's demanding money. Is Tom Ward, the Seventh Son, a destined hero or some dude Jeff Bridges literally bought like a slave? Because we keep getting stressed the importance of those who are "Seventh Sons" but Gregory seems to see Ward as a completely disposable intern. And in the end, the Seventh Son doesn't fulfill his destiny in any meaningful way; instead defeating the antagonist through what amounts to a sucker punch AFTER another character does all the work. Imagine Luke Skywalker stabbing Emperor Palpatine in the back after Palpatine fought a Stormtrooper off for twenty minutes. Satisfying? Heroic? Didn't think so.
Scene geography. What? Scenes start on grassy fields and inexplicably end on mountain tops. Competent pacing and editing structure. What? Big reveals come about with no build up, seemingly important scenes last 20 seconds while visceral nonsense lasts forever. An entire genocide happens as payback for actions by Gregory and Ward, and there's NO payoff to it. Sensical character development. What? Big sub-villains are introduced and thrown away a scene later. One of them, called the "King Of Swords," loses a sword fight to a helpless character with no combat experience MINUTES after we watch this King kill 4 guys at once in a sword fight. Performances. What? To call these paycheck performances is an insult to paycheck performers, because nearly everyone in this movie sounds like they want to be doing something else. Moore has some fun vamping it up as the film's big bad, but the material is un-savable. Bridges spends the entire film doing a poor man's Ian McKellen, and in general, is as miscast as Elizabeth Olsen would be as the lead in a Barack Obama biopic.
I could go on forever. This is a movie so bad it leaves you angry after its over. When Universal teamed up with Legendary pictures last year, I was so pumped. Legendary's previous partnership with Warner Bros gave us Christopher Nolan's Dark Knight Trilogy, 300, Inception, Watchmen, The Hangover, Godzilla, and The Town. Not all masterpieces, but all LEAGUES above the quality they now churn out with Universal. Together thus far they've pumped out nothing but middling tripe, until finally hitting the bottom with this. Seventh Son holds no merit. Tie it to a rocket and throw it into the sun. Please, someone, do that. Now.
The Theory of Everything (2014)
The Theory of Eh-verything
The curse of most biopics about famous individuals is that the films in question always boil down a subjects life to a "greatest hits" reel and then stuffs the rest of the run time with a sub-narrative to tie all these moments together. More often than not, this sub-narrative is a love story, which isn't inherently bad; it's just that when a proper balance isn't struck between the major themes and the filler, the results are usually lackluster. "The Theory Of Everything" charts the tumultuous marriage of legendary physicist Stephen Hawking and his wife Jane as they struggle to keep their life together while Stephen slowly succumbs to the symptoms of ALS. And while it puts all of its efforts into trying to be a heartbreaking portrait of a strained marriage (a portrait that at times is quite beautiful), the movie seemingly forgets that one of its subjects also happened to be one of the most brilliant minds of the 20th century.
Stephen Hawking (Eddie Redmayne) and Jane Wilde (Felicity Jones) meet in college and forge a bond through the universal law of "opposites attract". Jane believes in romance and poetry and God, while Stephen believes in logic and reason and the rejection of what he calls a "celestial dictatorship". Jane is pursuing an education in the written word while Stephen seeks to find a unifying theory that can explain life, the universe, and everything. The two fall in love, only to face a roadblock when Stephen is diagnosed with a neurological disorder that threatens to destroy his motor skills one by one, giving him two years at most to live. Jane pledges to stay by his side, and although Stephen beats the odds and manages to live year after year, the struggles of caring for her crippled husband take their toll on Jane.
If the above description seems like it forgot to mention that Stephen Hawking was a world famous physicist whose theories were revolutionary and world changing, it's because for the most part, the movie forgets this too. The most we see of Stephen's career is regulated to the beginning and end of the movie, with passing mentions made to the evolution of his work made whenever the film needs to remind the audience of where we are in history; such as in a moment shortly after the birth of Stephen's third child, when his father mentions that Stephen is "world famous". Having never seen Stephen working on anything beyond giving a lecture or two, we never actually see how he got to this point. It's frustrating, because the film doesn't seem to want to find a way to balance "Stephen the Husband" with "Stephen the Physicist", and so we watch as The Physicist is shoved to the margins.
Not that the story of Jane and Stephen is terrible, it's just that its good moments are few and far in between. A lot of these struggles manifest in tropes so familiar, there was a point when I really felt that this could've been any story about a husband and wife dealing with the pain of a partner's disease. The fact that it involves Stephen and Jane Hawking is, at times, almost entirely inconsequential. These flaws aren't helped by some of the film's problematic directing and editing choices. Certain scenes seem to trail on after they clearly should've ended, and important characters are thrown into the film far too late, only to disappear again without mention. When Emily Watson showed up almost an hour in without being identified, I was left baffled until Felicity Jones drops a "Mum" in her line to signify who she's speaking to. Why are we meeting such an important person in Jane's life, played by such a serious actress, this late in the movie? It's just one example of some of the sloppy structure choices made by director James Marsh.
It's only Eddie Redmayne, who truly makes his presence as an actor known here, that keeps the movie from sinking into the muddy bog of familiarity. As Stephen loses more and more of his basic motor skills, Redmayne finds ways to make every movement count, whether it's a playful smirk or a downward glance of pain. His chemistry with Felicity Jones, who turns the inner conflict of Jane's struggles into a revelatory performance of its own, is endearing; and when the two are allowed to flex their acting muscles they create some of the films greatest moments. Honorable mentions also go to Benoît Delhomme's gorgeous cinematography and Jóhann Jóhannsson's powerful score.
Ultimately "The Theory Of Everything" has joined the ranks of "Ray" and "Jobs" and "Dallas Buyers Club": performance pieces more concerned with winning acting awards than telling a good story. As memorable as Redmayne and Jones are, their talents only serve to turn a film that would've been completely forgettable into "good but not great". The Hawking's deserved better.