Iron Man 3 (2013), directed by Shane Black

Ladies and gentleman, welcome to the Summer Movie Season.

This is it, Iron Man 3 has officially kicked it off. From now until the end of August we will see nothing but explosions, CGI, crude comedy, Hollywood stars and huge opening weekends, all in 3D.

Some people live for summer movies. Quite frankly I prefer the treasure hunt of spring or the limited release tsunami of winter, but there’s still the child inside of me that does get pretty stoked about the prospect of seeing that perfect Hollywood blockbuster; that film which brings together the star power with the dazzling action sequences, the hot romance, the one-liners and just plain all-out thrills me.

And I have to say, as the first potential candidate, Iron Man 3 nearly gets there. Nearly

By my count there have now been seven Avengers-related movies, with the eighth, a Thor sequel, coming up later this year. And then there will be a Captain America sequel. And an Avengers sequel.

The truth of the matter is, though, that some of them are pretty darn good and in terms of the Summer Movie Season, these films have been a highlight for the past five or so years.

Iron Man 3 is no Iron Man, but it’s heads above Iron Man 2. That basically sums it up.

But we’re here for criticism so I’ll try to figure out why.

First of all, there’s Robert Downey, Jr. playing Tony Stark as a man damaged by the events of the Avengers movie, which adds a nice layer to the plot and brings some much-needed complexity to the character. He has panic attacks and hasn’t been the same man since he, what was it?, almost got sucked into a wormhole trying to jettison some sort of missile out of the earth’s atmosphere? Is that right?

Anyway, sure, it’s a pretty shallow portrayal of psychological health issues (his panic attacks are primarily humourous), but at least the film takes the character in a different direction and it honestly benefits from that.

Then you have Guy Pearce and Ben Kingsley stepping in for the villain roles, and they’re both rather excellent. I firmly believe campy is the way to go if you’re playing a Marvel villain and these two thespians clearly agree.

Kingsley especially is fabulous as The Mandarin, an Osama Bin Laden-like baddy who manages to turn what looks like a stereotype-riddled plot device into something much more interesting and fun.

The main thing I enjoyed about the film was its parred-down approach. There isn’t an action sequence for at least the first half hour, Downey spends far more time out of his suit than in it, and the film puts most of its efforts into building compelling characters the audience will be interested in. It’s quite a novel approach.

It’s like the Bond films that get back to basics by getting rid of the gadgets and focusing on story and character. They’re usually the best ones.

If the film has flaws, and I believe it does, it’s that it fails to duplicate its somewhat unique take on the Iron Man story and transplant it to the action. Some of the sequences are thrilling, but the less Downey dons his iron duds, the better the film works, which is a problem for a film titled Iron Man.

Its finale is a high-octane, no-holds-barred cluster, ahem, that stands out as a disappointment compared the restraint the rest of the film showed. Sure, it has to build to something big, I understand, but the film kind of goes from, let’s say 60 to a 160 km/h, and it spoils it all a bit. I would have been happy at 120.

But it’s a summer blockbuster and it’s meant to be extreme. People don’t go to Iron Man movies for interesting character studies, they go to watch stuff get blowed up.

I believe this is a standout in the series which could have been even better with a little bit of restraint towards the end. I also believe this is a worthy kickoff to the Summer Movie Season, which will hopefully maintain this level of quality.

We’ll see about that though.

Iron Man 3 is in cinemas now.

Pain & Gain (2013), directed by Michael Bay

I must admit I’m one of those people who makes fun of Michael Bay despite hardly having seen any of his movies.

I’ve seen the Bad Boys flicks (meh), the first Transformers movie (which I thoroughly enjoyed, although that could be attributed to the fact I saw it in a theatre in Holland, having not seen a movie for weeks, while drinking Heineken) and The Rock (14-year-old me LOVED it).

No Armageddon. No Pearl Harbor. No Transformers sequels. So really, I have no reason to judge (in fact, given the record above, it might turn out I’m a previously unrealized Michael Bay fan…).

That being said, I went into Pain & Gain mainly just hoping for the best, believing that maybe somehow Michael Bay had latched onto a passion project and would find a way to use his style for good, rather than evil.

In some ways Pain & Gain is a glorious mess of a movie. I enjoyed its bombastic exuberance, Bay’s ‘roided-out, coked-up style, its neon money shot approach to a story to dumb to be true, but true nonetheless. Bay’s bigger-is-better motif works well with the smaller scale story that is already jacked up beyond recognition. Bay typically takes a bad idea and blows it out of proportions, but this movie is all about a bad idea blown out of proportion, so his style somehow actually works well for the material.

I’m not so sure if Bay is in on the joke. Obviously he gets these guys are idiots. And his musings on the American Dream hit you on the head hard enough to guarantee they’re overt. The film has enough self-reference and mockery of its subject that Bay fully recognizes the pitfalls of the lifestyle he’s capturing. But, I mean, he gets the irony of him, the king of the overblown, at the helm of this movie?

Really, it is a Michael Bay approach to the material. It’s an auteur film. Because, let’s face it, what really happened is a few moron lowlifes brutally murdered two people as the result of a horribly ill-conceived plan. All the fun of this movie, the exuberant characters (born-again, coke head Rock), the pop-music, high-life style, the frenetic energy, is all Bay.

Scorsese could have made this film too (based on a Nic Pileggi book, maybe?) but it would have been a very different creature.

And that’s a compliment. It might not be an accurate portrayal of these events (in terms of tone, not facts) but Bay’s take makes for a much more entertaining movie, no? It’s exuberant and pumped up and entertaining. How wonderful.

Sure it’s critical of everything Bay normally celebrates. Big and dumb is his jam. Is he now admitting that big and dumb is, well, big and dumb? Are all his past movies, which have earned him millions of dollars, his own personal get-rich quick scheme? He just got away with it?

Probably not, but it’s fun to think about. And anyway, it doesn’t matter, Pain & Gain is still a mostly fun movie, a good time out at the cinema.

This semi-positive review in some ways feels like a “most improved” award. The movie is no marvel. It’s far, far too long. It feels weird to write, but Bay could have seriously tightened up this movie. And the multiple voice-overs bit wears considerably thin by the time the third or fourth voice is thrown into the mix. One voice-over, if any, would have been enough. Having the cop or the useless female character on the soundtrack adds nothing.

But hell, it’s a Michael Bay film and I mostly enjoyed it. That’s saying something. Maybe I really am a Michael Bay fan? I’ll have to watch Pearl Harbor and Revenge of the Fallen to see. But I probably won’t do that.

Pain & Gain is in cinemas now.

42 (2013), directed by Brian Helgeland

I don’t know if you all have the same aversion to sincerity I have, but I’m starting to wonder if my cold post-modern heart is preventing me from having a good time at the movies.

If ever there was a subject deserving of some good old fashioned optimism, it’s the true life tale of the first African-American player in Major League Baseball, am I right? It’s an inspiring story and an important step in the elevation of the status of black Americans.

It’s a good thing.

42, a pretty straightforward Hollywood biopic about Jackie Robinson (played by Chadwick Boseman), is a positive movie. It’s a celebration of Robinson, of the men who made some tough decisions to give Robinson his break and of a nation struggling with racism.

Unlike a movie such as The Help, which had to make up a fictional white person to help the poor black people, 42‘s Branch Rickey, played by a shockingly refreshed Harrison Ford, was a real person who actually did put his neck out to inspire change. So it has some historical credit to back up its story.

(Side note: It might have been nice to let an African-American director tackle this story though. Just an idea.)

It features inspiring speeches, slow-motion climaxes, lots of slow claps and characters realizing the errors of their racist ways. And, of course, Robinson overcoming the odds to break through the colour barrier. It’s pretty sunshiny.

So why does that rub me the wrong way?

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed the heck out of 42. This is a positive review. Go see it, it’s a lovely time out at the cinema. You might cry a little, and why not? It’s appropriately tear-jerky.

People actually applauded at the end of it. At a non-film festival screening. That never happens

But I don’t think I’ve thought about it since I left the cinema. And as I stare at my ongoing list of “best of the year” candidates for 2013, I don’t want to add it.

Why? Because in my mind it’s slight.

I hope I consider it slight because of its somewhat over-the-top sentimentality (see above list of biopic cliches), because it doesn’t dig deeply into the overall political and social context of Robinson’s rise to notoriety, because Robinson almost seems like a supporting character (we learn very little about his past), because it’s a tee-ball league movie that goes for the easy home run.

These are legitimate concerns, but I also worry I find the movie slight because, like many other critics, I am drawn to darker, complex movies highlighting the worst in society and human nature, and have a critical aversion to anything with an odor of positivity.

I still consider Spring Breakers to be the best film of the year so far, a film which wallows in excessive depravity in order to make a point about the emptiness of our modern youth culture. It’s a purposefully confrontational film that is uncomfortable to watch and resulted in me feeling a little dead inside by the time the credits rolled.

I loved it.

But then here’s this film, which had me smiling and internally cheering and made me well-up a little at the end, and the best I can muster is lukewarm praise.

I don’t have an answer to this, I just think it’s an interesting discussion, both for me personally (like, as a person) and for the critical community. I don’t think I’m wrong, 42 is a slight movie, even if it is highly enjoyable. I’m sure it won’t be on my mind when the end of the year roles around, primarily for the reasons I have highlighted.

But I wonder if, as many accuse us of, critics have a hard time having a good time at the movies. We are distrustful of sentimentality because we see it used for evil so often (The Help) and with far more frequency than the average moviegoer, simply because of the sheer number of movies we see. Our radars are very sharp for it.

So even when it’s used appropriately, as for 42, I worry we have a knee-jerk aversion to it.

Unless it’s a Frank Capra movie, then it’s all good.

Maybe we need to learn to let our guards down once in a while and enjoy some Hollywood fluff. 42 is doing well at the box office, and for a good reason: it’s enjoyable.

So ignore my grumblings and go see it. I’ll chalk this up as a “food for thought” review.

42 is in cinemas now.

Ginger & Rosa (2012), directed by Sally Potter

Sorry folks, no Double-shot Tuesday this week. Only managed to get one cheap movie in.

But instead of going for Oblivion, which you’re probably all tired of hearing about (actually, I haven’t heard much about it, now I think about it…Any good?), I went indie. English indie. Female-director indie. That’s some hardcore indie.

Ginger & Rosa takes place under the threat of nuclear destruction in early-1960s England. We hear news reports about missiles in Cuba and projected death counts in the wake of a nuclear war, throwing around numbers in the hundreds of millions (depending on the breaks).

In this world, we have best friends forever Ginger and Rosa (hence the title, Ginger & Rosa). Ginger (Elle Fanning) is a poet and a protestor. Rosa (Alice Englert, Jane Campion’s daughter) is a romantic, searching for true love. Both have the same overall goal of not turning out like their mothers, who are doing what they need to for their families, but end up seeming like moaners and bores in the eyes of their daughters.

But they never said anything about turning out like each others mothers (and, yes, sort of in a JT/Samberg kind of way).

It’s a well put together film, with captivating performances, particularly from Fanning and Alessandro Nivola (Junebug) as Ginger’s artistic, jazz obsessed, autonomous father. Potter directed Yes (2004), an excellent film which had all its dialogue in iambic pentameter. So she’s no stranger to bold artistic choices.

Ginger & Rosa isn’t especially bold, but it is powerful as a slow burning, emotionally charged tale of that tough stage where children begin to form a working definition of adulthood.

It takes the classic tropes of a period British coming-of-age movie (British invasion soundtrack, seaside excursions, crushes on poorly groomed boys) but instead of glorifying them as some sort of nostalgic ideal (re. Submarine), Potter uses them subversively to capture the tension, repression and pure fear of the era and of youth.

In the end it’s a film about family, about adults and their children, the choices we make, and the responsibility we have as humans to try to do right by others.

Nivola’s character Roland justifies his selfish, destructive behaviour under the farce of personal freedom, encapsulating the limits of choice by the necessity of morality. His path of destruction is as chaotic as that of the bomb, his family the casualties of his self-declared infallible sovereignty.

But he’s just one complication in a time full of them.

Fanning is heartbreaking, as Ginger struggles to keep her chin up while everyone around her does their best to disappoint her. Her obsession with the possibility of nuclear annihilation is a wonderful device, shedding light on her own inner tension and its relation to the tension of the world.

As a portrait of the 1960s and of the confusion of youth, Ginger & Rosa is an excellent little film. It’s certainly dreary at times, but is elevated by its cast and by Potter’s sense of drama and character. It builds to one scene that is as powerful as it is cathartic, both for the characters and the audience. That scene alone is worth the price of admission.

Ginger & Rosa is in cinemas now.

Hit ‘n Strum (2012), directed by Kirk Caouette

This review will be sort of an odd man out for me, as it’s of a local film that’s only opening in a small theatre in Sidney, but fellow Victoria critic Jason Whyte is doing the publicity and was kind enough to send me a pre-screening link, so here we are.

Hit ‘n Strum is a Vancouver-made film from director/writer/composer Kirk Caouette. It’s about an unlikely partnership of a homeless man and a well-to-do business woman (a lawyer I think?) which strikes up after she hits him with her car.

It touches on issues of homelessness, the emptiness of modern living, the duplicity of urbanity, the search for individual identity in an increasingly gentrified world, the healing power of music. It is a Vancouver-centric film that will resonate with anyone who has ever spent time in the city, but its themes are universal.

Caouette is a first-time director working with a limited budget (aren’t they all?) and manages to draw a commendable heartfelt tone with some truly impressive directorial touches, especially considering his limitations.

Much like his character (and Bruce Springsteen), Caouette seems much more at ease out on the street. His location shooting is superb and, when combined with his soulful ballads, the film is a touching portrait of Vancouver in all its grunge and glory. Vancouver does have an empty, mournful feeling to it in the dead of night, in some of its quieter spots, and Capuette captures that tone perfectly.

With spot-on montage editing and a real sense for images that capture the feel of downtown and Gastown Vancouver, there is a real honesty and legitimacy to Caouette’s representation of the city.

This includes its inhabitants, such as his own character, Mike, the homeless man. Mike isn’t an addict, nor does he have any particular mental health issues. He has obviously had some disappointments in life, been let down along the way, and is no longer interested taking part in the world. He has carved out his own niche on the street and is determined to stick to it, even if it kills him, which it very well may.

Caouette handles the role well. It is an authentic performance, well framed by his own direction. The camera knows when to linger on Mike, when to let his music frame his situation and when to let his tired eyes do the talking. His approach helps us to understand Mike as a person, not as a the symbol we all so quickly dismiss when we’re out on the street.

Caouette’s direction is a little less at ease when dealing with Stephanie, a character that could have used some more fleshing out overall. Reducing her life to a series of 9 to 5 cliches, all in quick cuts in an attempt to highlight her life’s supposed emptiness, robs the character of much of her relatable humanity. Her scenes, particularly those not involving Mike, seem rushed and incomplete, as if Caouette didn’t quite know what to do with them.

An argument with her fiancee, for instance, escalates in a preposterous fashion and is over before it seems to have begun. It reduces Stephanie to some sort of unreasonable crazy woman, a disservice to what could be a highly identifiable character, and really, the audience’s protagonist into this story.

But those slight missteps aside, Hit n’ Strum is a powerful watch. Caouette’s music is excellent and sets the film’s forlorn, searching tone, enjoying a mutually beneficial relationship with the images. The film is relevant to a city in the midst of transition and, in many ways, on the forefront of urban development. It’s tale of the search for identity is universal and is handled with grace and insight. It’s a powerful portrait of a man lost in a life that has no time for him.

Hit ‘n Strum is playing at the Sidney Star starting Friday. Director/star Kirk Caouette will be in attendance for the film’s 6:45 p.m. premiere screening on Friday, and will answer questions after the screening.

Trance (2013), directed by Danny Boyle

No (2012), directed by Pablo Larraín

Double-shot Tuesdays make a triumphant return!

As I watched the first 30 minutes or so of Trance, Danny Boyle’s new psychological thriller, I wondered why so many critics had been declaring it a horrid, muddled mess of a movie.

It starts out as a tight little heist movie with a charming James McAvoy narrating and Vincent Cassel’s searing blue eyes burning through the screen. There’s an early twist that grabs your attention and sets you up for a worm burner of mind bender (that might not make sense, but it sounds good, no?).

And then the rest of the movie happens.

As the movie keeps on and on, with twist after twist, explanation after explanation, murky dreamy sequence after murky dreamy sequence, just like this sentence, it gets horrendously bogged down.

It’s frustrating all the more because it’s really got the elements for what could be a great little movie. The cast is fantastic, especially Rosario Dawson as the hypnotist, the setup isn’t bad at all and even the climax comes together rather well, saving the end of the movie.

Plus I like Boyle when he’s in dark rave crime mode, more so than his latest globetrotter iPod commercial phase (read: Slumdog Millionaire). I liked its downbeat sexuality, its sinister character turns, the vibrancy Boyle always manages to achieve through his use of cinematic magicianship. This is a project he’s had on his mind since the Shallow Grave, Trainspotting days, I’ve read, which bodes well. It’s just too bad he couldn’t figure out a way to tighten it up a little over the last 20 years.

I don’t think the film was a grant misstep, or some sort of failed-from-the-start project. I honestly could have got behind the whole hypnosis angle if it hadn’t been flogged to death, the equivalent of face-reveals in the first couple of Mission: Impossible sequels. Just like actual hypnosis, it’s a neat party trick but hardly something you’d want to centre a night around.

I wanted to like it, and in parts I did, but the middle section is a bore and it never fully recovers. A shame.

No, in terms of form, is rather the opposite of Trance.

While Trance is a showy, pulsating piece of cinema, No is the narrative equivalent of cinéma vérité. Using over-exposed film stock of the day (or some sort of computer trickery achieving that effect), with virtually no score and handheld, fly-on-the-wall style filming, No is pared down, to say the least.

The Chilean film, nominated for a 2012 Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film but not released in North America until this year, is the story of how commercial ad campaign strategies were used to help oust dictator Augusto Pinochet during a referendum in 1988.

It is a straight forward tale of tense political times, hushed conversations about changes of regimes and of how modern material, technology driven culture influences society and the political landscape.

Coming from Trance, No was a bit of a shock to the system. I felt about it the way I feel about most uplifting political movies, I enjoyed watching it but didn’t take much away from it.

What did stick with me was Gael García Bernal and his character, René Saavedra. Bernal’s baby-face I think often belies what a great range he has as an actor. He does mischievous wonderfully, as he does gutter crazy, but here he shows a true grasp of veiled emptiness.

Some of the greatest moments of the film are simply Bernal thinking. We see Saavedra lying on his child’s train set, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought over what he is getting into. Without it ever being vocalized we understand more than anything the change this man has gone through as he has helped to change the country.

Another moment I fell for is when Saavedra’s estranged wife is leaving his house and he is desperate for her to stay. She kisses him, then tells him not to get any ideas and leaves. You can see his longing for meaningful connection, his need for her, and yet you’ve seen the carefree facade he hides behind and you can grasp the hints of why she leaves.

It’s a powerful moment and achieved entirely through how the actors look at one another, their body language, through genuinely cagey dialogue. Hollywood could take a lesson from No, to help it understand that we don’t need everything spelled out for us through heavy-handed dialogue, that we will feel more connection with characters when we implicitly understand what they are going through by seeing it for ourselves, seeing it in their eyes and actions.

That’s my soap box.

Despite this I had a hard time connecting to the movie as a whole. Political movies are rarely my favourites and of course the material is a world away, which makes personal connection hard. And as much as I appreciated the hands-off approach, at times I felt the film could have delved deeper into what else was happening in relation to the referendum, beyond this ad campaign, simply because I didn’t know much about it.

And the film ends twice, a common problem. Seriously, teary eyed march, fade to black. Easy. We didn’t need the emptiness of capitalism hammered home yet again.

So one disappointing mess with a strong base, and one perhaps a little to simple for its own good. For Bernal alone though, and for its strengths, I would recommend No.

No and Trance are in cinemas now.

The Place Beyond the Pines (2013), directed by Derek Cianfrance

If you’re excited to see Ryan Gosling and Bradley Cooper act together but are wondering why they never appear together in the trailer for The Place Beyond the Pines, well, you’re on to something.

Oh right, spoiler alert.

The movie, the sophomore film from Blue Valentine director Derek Cianfrance, features a pairing with hints of the modern equivalent to De Niro and Pacino in Heat (and thank God not Righteous Kill), and is a simmering tale of morality, crime, absent parents and the cyclical nature of human faults (I believe once tackled in an Offspring song).

Just like Heat, we have two of our best actors working with some pretty chewy, hearty material here. Gosling shows us his best thousand-yard stare again, but with a character with more range than his Driver. Cooper tackles his first real serious, reality-based drama I can think of, and manages to sustain the attention built by Gosling, which says a lot.

I’m a champion of ambitious filmmaking, and of intimate filmmaking, and here we have both. With a running time of nearly two and a half hours and a plot which spans generations and three nearly separate stories, The Place Beyond the Pines has nothing if not scope. Of course, scope in and of itself is nothing without the entry point of compelling characters and story. Pines has both.

For the most part, it works. The hardest part in a film like this is making each segment equally compelling as the last. With attention spans wearing, I feel the third act is perhaps the weakest, partly because it lacks the star power of the first two, but also partly because the jump in time it requires is jarring. I was eventually swept up in it, but the film teeters dangerously on outstaying its welcome.

The film has a coda too, which I found entirely unnecessary and a cheap way to attempt to slap some easily graspable meaning onto the very end, for those who might be scratching their heads. It felt like a studio decision, to be honest, but I could be wrong about that. Any points the film is trying to make about generational cycles, the march of time, fathers and sons, are clear by then.

Also, after Rust and Bone and now this film, there is now an official CineFile ban on using Bon Iver’s “Wolves” in brooding indie movies.

I do worry that the power of The Place Beyond the Pines lies in only some of its performances, in certain moments, in a particular song, and less so in the film as a whole. It’s a great film to watch, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t know if it is one I would revisit often or feel differently about in five, ten years. But I’m still mulling that over.

But sitting there in the theatre I was transfixed and entertained by Cianfrance’s attention to characters, his commitment to taking the long road and letting the emotions of the film simmer, his refusal to (mostly) refrain from pinning heavy handed moral or philosophical lessons to his work.

Instead he has delivered an extremely ambitious, well crafted film that I wouldn’t hesitate to consider for a “best of the year” list.

The Place Beyond the Pines is in cinemas now.

Evil Dead (2013), directed by Fede Alvarez

It’s not often I get a little nervous before a horror flick, but I have to say, with all I’d been hearing about walkouts and excessive gore, I was a little unsure what what I was getting myself into when I sat down for Evil Dead.

But then again that feeling is one of my favourite parts about horror movies. And when a film fulfills that fear, when it pushes me to my limits? Oh boy. Love it.

Evil Dead hits the spot.

I don’t often like to do this, but I feel one of the best ways to start approaching Evil Dead is by responding to complaints.

One of the main ones I’ve read (because, let’s face it, I rarely get to actually TALK about movies) is that it lacks the humour of the original, that it’s far too serious or violent or gory for the writer’s tastes, that it wallows in the muck of bad taste.

Well, first of all, if you don’t like hardcore horror movies, and I mean real horror movies – genre movies, not just “satires” and genre-benders – don’t go see Evil Dead. And, as Bruce Campbell himself has expressed, walk outs and indignation are a sign of a good horror flick.

I don’t like Lord of the Rings, fantasy stuff, but I understand that’s just my thing. I guess I’m just not desensitized to three hour films about exceptionally short people walking.

Also, I don’t think I’ve seen The Evil Dead (the “The” is the distinguishing difference) since high school, but I remember from that viewing that it was a very different movie from its subsequent parodic sequels, which I have seen far more recently. It’s different because it takes itself seriously. It’s not without humour or fun (just as this remake is not without humour), but for the most part it’s a straight-up gore fest.

That might be a tough distinction for some, because it was made with a low budget by a bunch of film students and therefore comes off as a little dated and cheesy now. But their intentions were pure. In its heart it’s an intense, gore-filled, off-the-wall horror movie.

I firmly believe that if Raimi and Campbell et al. had had the budget, technology and support this new one had, their 1981 film would have looked similar to this. Maybe a little weirder and a little funnier, sure, but I’m not arguing this new one is better than the original. Heck, I think Evil Dead 2 is better than the original. I’m just saying it’s very good, and has the similar intentions that made the original film very good.

I get annoyed by these so-called horror fans who think it’s all fun and games so long as no one makes a gory horror film that takes itself seriously. Personally I love horror movies. And that includes serious ones, ones actually intended to scare, jolt or disgust me. I don’t need or always want them to be all wink-wink, “look we’re making a horror movie, how silly,” for me to enjoy them. I’m not talking torture porn either, because Evil Dead is not torture porn. It has a plot and characters you root for.

And I’m not some sick case either. I hold down a normal(ish) job, love my mother, treat my friends well, turn into a big softy around cats and play a lovely rendition of “I Can’t Make You Love Me” on the piano.

I just happen to also enjoy watching people get dismembered with a chainsaw in a movie from time to time.

That’s why I’ll take a film like Evil Dead over a Cabin in the Woods any day. I thought Cabin had some interesting elements and some laughs, but I’ll take the actual genre film over the meta, postmodern, nerd experiment, thank you.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not perfect. It’s a little too slick for its own good, what with the pretty people and the mostly straight-laced cinematography. It outstays its welcome slightly. It lacks the ingenuity and frantic energy of the original. Its attempts at character development is at times perfunctory and a bore. It’s no The Evil Dead.

But despite that it’s still the best, straight up, balls-to-the-wall horror flick I’ve seen in some time.

It’s full of gnarly gore and relentless intensity, all put together with a great sense of story and craft. The actors, even the female ones, are never fetishized; they come off as real people that you care about. It avoids that gloomy, sweaty-slick Platinum Dunes style that’s ruining horror. It’s a remake that actually recognizes and utilizes what made the original work. It’s still a great premise for a film, this whole book of the dead bit, and plays out well again here.

I’m not saying you have to, or should, like it. I’m just saying I did and please don’t try to ruin it for the rest of us. Thanks.

Evil Dead is in cinemas now.

Stoker (2013), directed by Chan-wook Park

Stoker plays out like a twisted Hitchcockian fantasy, with just enough perversion and violence to keep it contemporary and vibrant.

Like the most grim of Grimm’s fairy tales, Stoker is a nasty little piece of work, too dark and ethereal to be mainstream, too trashy and explicit to be a critical darling, but just enough of all of those things to make it a great film nonetheless.

It’s an appeal to the darker aspects of our desires in entertainment and storytelling, but that’s something I’m comfortable with. It’s painfully awkward to watch at times, but is mostly invigoratingly naughty, taping into that part of us which longs for the taboo, that enjoys the exorcism of the more troubling aspects of human nature.

The visuals are the centrepiece of the movie. I must admit that I have never seen Oldboy, so this film is my introduction to Chan-wook Park. Breaking news: the man has a way with the camera. From the captivatingly titillating, creepy opening credits, to the wonderful transition of brushed hair to a grassy field, to playful shots of a swinging basement light illuminating more than you would expect, Stoker is dreamy gothic eye candy.

The film backs up the visual splendor with a captivating story of murder, grief, deception, madness and sex. There is an absolute lineage from Hitchcock here, with more than meets the eye characters, a lingering sense of menace and sexually charged violence, all with the master’s certain sense of corrupted class. The film is never a throwback though, or a poor imitation, it is its own work, rich in Park’s personal touches.

The performances are also a highlight, particularly Mia Wasikowska as India. In case there are doubts out there, this film proves her talent and charisma. Matthew Goode is the true revelation here as Uncle Charlie. An English actor with a few smaller roles in bigger movies to his name, Goode is devilishly smug in this role, but with the chops to sell his character’s big revealing moments.

I’m also enjoying this trashy indie film stage of Nicole Kidman’s career, whose plastic-surgery-enhanced middle aged beauty is as deliciously (and I believe on her part, intentionally) exploited here as it was in last year’s underrated trash-fest The Paperboy. She is quietly desperate throughout most of Stoker but when her close-up comes she sells it as the defining moment of the movie.

While the tone is its greatest asset, storytelling is unfortunately where Stoker losses a little steam. Hitchcock himself knew it best, that when the big “reveal” of the movie finally goes down, it’s a good idea to wrap things up quickly. You can’t have a climax followed by an extended valley at the end of your suspense movie.

Stoker makes this misstep and the film suffers for it. Rather than a smack-bang ending, the film lingers when it needs to strike and loses the audience at a critical moment. I loved the hunting flashbacks, the waiting for the right moment, but unlike India, Park unfortunately missed the best opportunity to pull the trigger.

It’s a forgivable mistake, however, for what is otherwise a superbly wrought, enchanting little film. One of the best of the year so far.

Stoker is in cinemas now.

Spring Breakers (2013), directed by Harmony Korine

If there’s one film out there right now that’s dividing audiences and kicking up a fuss it’s Spring Breakers, Harmony Korine’s twisted, dark little tale of youthful debauchery, violence and narcissism.  It’s being accused of being sexist, dangerous, perverted, worthless, inane and immoral.

But there are others calling it the most relevant, and potentially best, film of the year so far. I agree with the latter.

Anyone going into Spring Breakers expecting some titillating romp will, or at least should be, terribly disappointed. Yes, as so many reviewers have pointed out, there is a lot of bare flesh, a lot of drinks and drugs, slow-motion breasts filling the screen, a lot of Girls Gone Wild-type debauchery…but none of it plays as something we, the audience, should be enjoying on a surface level.

Anyone who sees the movie and still believes it to be a romp, or an intended romp, well, we see media and the world through very different eyes.

What Korine has accomplished is to make a deliciously insidious art film masquerading as mainstream exploitation. Through his sense of visuals, keen editing, music, narrative structure and the overall tone of the film, Korine has taken a facet of modern youth culture, namely that of narcissistic excess, and explored and exposed its dark, empty, vacuous core.

I find the culture Spring Breakers depicts fascinating. There’s the whole movement of hip-hop going on right now which revels in the unapproachable, in the weird, in the rejection of morals, in seemingly purposeful dismissal of anything resembling accessible.

(And yes, I say this as a white, out of the loop Canadian, so bear with me. But in any case I’m talking about A$AP Rocky, Kendrick Lamar, Kitty Pryde…Those types of acts.)

At first this music is extremely off-putting and deadening. There’s an anger about it, a complete rejection of cultural norms, that is confrontational and almost nightmarish. It’s not outwardly, instantly “enjoyable” to listen to. But it’s also completely captivating because it’s something new, it’s art and culture adapting to be relevant. It’s rejection of all that is culturally and morally holy is its way of carving out something new, something “real.”

Youth music has always intended to scare the parents. Now it’s just getting a heck of a lot darker.

My point is that Spring Breakers taps into this vein. Its very form is subversive and intentionally disorienting. The narrative jumps through time and events, images are distorted, repeated, slowed down, all set to dubstep downbeats, working to disengage the viewer from any enjoyment of the film as a linear narrative. It takes modern technology-driven culture to its extreme and in doing so exposes its lifeless core. It’s a beautiful exercise in confrontational art.

But this is all accomplished with perspective and intent and I don’t believe Spring Breakers is ever trying to be “cool.” For those saying the film has no morals, I think they’re way off the mark.

The two most fleshed-out protagonists abandon spring break because they can’t take its moral decay. The two characters who revel in it are described from the beginning as being cold, dead inside. The film itself is far less interested in those characters and never portrays them as admirable or “cool.” It plays them as scary, I would argue, as people no one would want to be friends with.

And James Franco, in top form, plays a horrendous, vile character, who is portrayed as such.

The film is morally ambiguous, at worst, which is not the same as morally corrupt. And I would argue its morals, its intention, its “message” is quite clear: this lifestyle is a dead end. It’s not feminism. It’s not titillation. It’s not hedonism as sexual liberation. There is no celebration of spring break in this movie. It’s more than rebellion without a cause, it’s rebellion without a conscious.

It’s a depiction, not a endorsement, of a culture in decay, a youth numbed by technology, powered by money not earned, dismissing any and all societal norms and seeking identity through a perverted sense of morality.

How anyone could see this brilliant, deceptive film as anything other than that is beyond me.

Spring Breakers is in cinemas now.