Rambo

Stallone requires us to shut down the logical, sensible side of our minds that tells us that violence is wrong. Instead, he massages the primal side of the brain; the illogical, gruesome part of us that says it’s thrilling to watch a rapist sliced in half by a machete if he’s got it coming. Stallone milks the hubris a man can feel behind the barrel of a large-caliber machine gun, both the danger and the power that it can impose. Stallone has his cake and eats it, too, condemning violence while entertaining us with a body count ten times higher than Apocalypto. It is, in the strictest sense, catharsis -- release through drama. But when you’re walking out of the theater wondering what it was all about, your face might be as blank as Stallone's at the end. As if he’s waiting for all the non-violent Christian missionaries to say, “Thank you, John Rambo, for saving us from these evil Burmese dudes.” But no thanks ever come, as the Christians are too busy picking exploded people’s body parts out of their hair.

U23D

A fun night at the movies; watching swoopy zooming shots of U2 on tour in Argentina. Attempts in post-production to liven up the 3-D by having superimposed 3-D words flying out of the screen are unnecessary. The amazing crane shots of the thousands of concert goers bouncing in waves during the more upbeat numbers are enough to say, “Whoa, cool!”

Cloverfield

Okay, first: Why is it called Cloverfield? The gimmick is clever: Godzilla meets Blair Witch. When dramatizing a dude picking up a camcorder to document the mêlée, preferably it is someone brave and articulate. Not a dumbass. So there’s a problem. The “shots”, though fake, and composed by a dumbass, are terrible. Too, New York seems to only be occupied by good-looking, selfish, twenty-somethings, who you sort of HOPE will get crushed by Godzilla. They would have it coming, which shouldn’t be the point. So, as a gimmick it’s good, but there’s no character development and no monster motives. It’s all very stock. The Mist is a far better “giant computer-generated monsters take over the world” scenario. Netflix.

Teeth

Impressive in so many ways. It got made. It works. It’s funny AND spooky. And it features the one of the most ballsy and auspicious debuts since… since… I don’t know… um… Jessica Lange in the remake of King Kong! Anyway, actor Jess Weixler’s transition from virgin to vagilante is stunning. If there were any justice in the world, next year she’d get the kind of kudos Ellen Page is getting this year for Juno. But that won’t happen. The concept is too creepy. Weixler’s performance is even more impressive considering the script doesn’t help her as much as it should. There are jarring leaps in pace and chronology, and we’re left with a few loose ends. BUT STILL! I predict this will blow up, catch on and be a cult hit. It’s the girl. She nails it. You’ll lay awake at night wanting to screw her, but panicking about the possible consequences.

I'm Not There

Features lots of vignettes more or less related somehow to Bob Dylan. There’s lots of Bob Dylan music, some interesting performances (Kate Blanchette plays him part of the time, and she’ll probably get nominated), but the vignettes don’t build up to any kind of dramatic conclusion. The Dylan songs themselves have far more peaks, valleys, and drama.

Atonement

Very well made. Characters, settings, mise en scène are handled with precious manner. The well-performed, uptight British characters are so repressed they can barely speak to each other until it’s time to molest little boys. It’s amazing the English were ever able to propagate at all. Nevertheless, it’s a long but good show, accentuating the shadows, the waiting, and negative spaces in between all the shooting, stabbing, and kissing that happens – sometimes non-stop – in other, more American-style movies. Don’t wait for the “cut to the chase”, it doesn’t happen. Only the painful results of that kind of uniquely British unrequited love. The moral of the story: when given the opportunity, be sure to punch a bratty, eleven-year-old English chick in the face. You never know when you’ll have another chance or a clear shot.

National Treasure: Book of Secrets

So unbelievably stupid, it makes Scooby Doo look like a documentary.