Django Unchained (Quentin Tarantino, 2012)

I will admit, I was rather worried as to how much I would enjoy Quentin Tarantino’s newest film, Django Unchained. That’s not true; I was really excited. Perhaps ‘worried’ is the wrong word. My apprehension towards Django Unchained drew from its controversial plot and how the easily identifiable Tarantino style—which we all know to be bold, lurid, and often comical, would depict this. It goes without saying, there’s nothing funny about slavery, and it certainly isn’t a topic meant for show. This could easily slip into an offensive tone. It’s a moral dilemma, really. And on that Christmas Evening at the 7:20 showing, as the trailers ended and the lights dimmed, I got a little shifty-eyed, broke into a cold sweat. Not necessarily to my surprise, but with a noted sigh of relief, Tarantino pulls it off.

Django Unchained takes place in 1858, two years before the start of the Civil War. Jamie Foxx stars as leading lad, Django, a slave set free from a chain gang by a German bounty hunter named Dr. King Schultz (Christoph Waltz). Schultz, who has a much more evolved view on equality, offers Django the opportunity to become his right-hand man in the bounty hunting business—bagging criminals for generous compensation. With the chance to have his revenge on the white folk who formerly tortured and victimized him, the newly freed slave accepts. Together Schultz and Django go from town to town collecting criminals wanted dead or alive. But gunplay isn’t the only task on Django’s agenda. He longs to rescue his wife, Broomhilda (Kerry Washington), from Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio), a cruel and charismatic plantation owner.

Tarantino indeed put together an incredibly stylized film, paying homage to such genres as spaghetti westerns and 1970s Blaxploitation, dusting them off and mashing them up into fully formed, unapologetic amusement. Tarantino provides his usual creative methods. He slaps the audience in the face with extraordinary art direction—portraying this super campy, southern style. He’s got all kinds of saturated colors against stunning landscapes, like the glamorous Candie mansion, standing alone but surrounded by rich, cultivated fields. It’s remarkable. He allows us to savor the visuals, as the camera lingers on intense scenes of heavy dialogue. Trying not to let it go in one ear and out the other, we listen to cheeky, talk-talk-talky-talk-yap-yap-yap, and then BOOM—blood all over the cotton fields. It’s brutal. This film is incredibly violent, per usual, but it’s appropriate given the score, and these scenes are choreographed so beautifully. Django Unchained is epic, and Tarantino holds nothing back to portray the gruesome horrors of slavery, in a way that rather amazingly splices together history, style, and dark comedy.

The performances in this film are outstanding. Jamie Foxx plays the usual Tarantino star as the beady-eyed, revenge stricken, one-dimensional, single-minded anti-hero. I don’t particularly care for Jamie Foxx as an actor, but he really does present the visceral misery and slow burning truth behind Django perfectly. Will Smith was rumored as a consideration for this role. I can only imagine this would have been an entirely different performance had this been so. He doesn’t have the right eyes for Django. Well done, Jamie Foxx, but please step aside, because the supporting characters stole the show. I was so impressed with Leonardo Dicaprio. He gets a bad rap sometimes (some fools think he’s an “over-actor”), but after every scene in Django Unchained, I just wanted to smooch him on the mouth and tell the world to fuck off. He portrays this evil dandy of the south in a way that is so charming and terrifying all at once. He’s like the Willy Wonka of slavery, only his love for candy is secondary to his love for Mandingo fighting. Christoph Waltz—marry me? He’s just a handsome, sharp-shootin’ gentlemen, and I was so glad to see him in a role where he wasn’t playing the antagonist. Drum roll please for Samuel L. Jackson, who plays Stephen, the master slave of the Candieland Plantation. With an awesome transformation by the make-up department, he plays this sassy old-fart of a man and a proud, loyal companion to Calvin Candie. If one looks deep enough, they might find a comparison between the Schultz/Django relationship and the Candie/Stephen relationship. Then again, I could just be saying things.

My favorite part of the Tarantino experience is his constant desire to reference other films and genres throughout cinematic history—mostly because I can utilize my degree in Cinema Studies, which is useful nowhere else :-(  In Django Unchained, one minute, we see zoom shots of vigilantes with their low-crowned hats, holsters, and menacing slouches against a clanging soundtrack, and we thank Tarantino for the tribute to spaghetti westerns. The next minute, we’re reflecting on Blaxploitation watching two massive, sweaty slaves fighting like gladiators to the death, merely for the entertainment of a slave owner. Now, I wondered if this was an act that actually existed during slavery, so I did some research. I was like, “Hold up, Tarantino. What’s this all about?” This is a human cockfight known as Mandingo Fighting. Turns out, it didn’t actually exist.  However, black gladiator fighting appeared in pop culture of the 1970s from time to time. Most notably in the Richard Fleisher1975 blaxploitation film Mandingo, which Tarantino has cited as one of his favorite movies, SO THAT MAKES SENSE!!

Django Unchained is one of the several Civil War Era films of 2012, and I think it is safe to say it holds the title of front-runner—Lincoln as runner-up, Abe Lincoln Vampire Hunter as second runner-up (or Ms. Congeniality). It is fearless, and demented, and totally absurd—just your regular, run of the mill, Tarantino film. I truly feel that this will translate well into a ballet piece…One day, perhaps.

In the latest of Hammer films, Daniel Radcliff trades in his life of wizardry for single-fatherhood as the star of James Watkins’ The Woman in Black. In this chilling period piece, Arthur Kipps, a young, widowed lawyer travels to a small, secluded village on an assignment where he soon discovers the haunting of a vengeful ghost. In life she lost something precious, and now in death she’ll do whatever it takes to get it back. The Woman in Black holds nothing unique in terms of its “ghost-story” narrative, but the set design is pretty incredible, and Radcliff gives a nice effort with those acting chops. 

Radcliff is playing a DAD. A very, very short dad with a little goatee. Maybe I’m just being a jerk, but dads shouldn’t be short. He’s like an English Rick Moranis, and this is no comedy. Aside from my harsh opinion of what are the physical flaws of this role, Radcliff is actually a really great actor. He’s spent the last decade of his life playing a role in which his outlook on the supernatural is that it’s completely acceptable, and nothing to fear. Now, here he is, playing the reverse, and convincingly, I might add. He’s able to work the screen, often times by himself for long periods of time, as required by his isolated character. He’s done it! He’s all grow’d up now!

Gore is replaced with shadows and deep, empty spaces within a dilapidated mansion filled with cob-webbed corridors on a remote island within a marsh, only accessible with the flow of the ocean’s tide. Definitely one of the best haunted houses I’ve seen in a while. What I really loved about the set design was the use of the old-fashioned children’s wind-up toys and broken dolls. SUPER bone chilling! Watkins honors the required style of the Hammer genre with the elusive title character popping in and out of frame and just being a lingerer. I think that’s the nicest way to put it. Nothing you see is actually scary in this film. It’s what isn’t there that will give you the creeps. 

The Woman in Black might keep you squirming in your seat for a little bit, but ultimately, it only goes as far as the sort of creepy ghost story that wussy, little girl scouts tell each other around the campfire. I rarely suggest this, but it might be a good one to rent. Hammer House is doing its best to make a comeback, but I don’t really have a lot of faith. Why not just appreciate their gothic glory days?

Yours truly,

Casey Janney  

Basking in old school charm, Michel Hazanavicius’s The Artist is a lovely reminder of what the Cinema is all about—it’s just magical. The Artist opens in 1927, when the smoothest film star George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) rules Hollywoodland. When George crosses paths with an eager newcomer named Peppy Miller (Berenice Bejo), he’s cast in the role of mentor (and maybe more); but when talking pictures become the newest cinematic advancement, she quickly climbs the ladder to stardom, while George’s fortune is slowly buried six feet under with silent pictures.

Brilliant performances and a captivating style, it works as a tribute to all of the classic silent pictures that film enthusiasts have grown to know and love. There’s no sound, guys. Let me make that clear. And it’s in black and white (gasp!). But, don’t assume this isn’t enjoyable for people who aren’t necessarily familiar with the Silent Era. Though much if its stylistic technique derives from prior films (many silent, but also Singin’ in the Rain, Sunset Boulevard, and A Star is Born), the story is heart-warming and quite entertaining. I can imagine this will be quite a unique experience for a number of audience members. With a smile that will just about give you the biggest boner ever, Jean Dujardin provides a truly remarkable performance. He’s just got that perfect, Golden Era, charisma. With silent films comes great expression, and Dujardin strikes every emotion necessary, making you share the joy, the pain, and everything in between right there with him. In this case, actions most certainly speak louder than words. 

Without a doubt, The Artist is the best film of 2011. I might even go, as far as to say it was an honor to watch in theatres. This is NOT a movie to rent; it’s a film-going experience. I was in a trance from start to finish. I felt a sense of comfort, like I was back at U of I, sitting in 101 Armory, hung-over, and loving the fact that “screening days” meant I wouldn’t have to participate in class discussion. It reminded me why I went to college to study film—so I could have moments like this, where I sincerely appreciate the art of Cinema.  

The Artist IS a SILENT movie, so don’t go into the theatre hungry. Everyone will hear your stomach growling and becomes pretty pissed about it.

Yours truly,

Casey Janney   

Alexander Payne is BACK in business with his newest film The Descendants (2011). Generating quite a bit of Oscar buzz, this little indie-flick that could is well worth its recognition. The Descendants stars this little actor, George Clooney, as Matt King, a hard-working lawyer with a wife (Patricia Hastie) and two daughters (Amara Miller, Shailene Woodley) residing on the beautiful island of Hawaii. While working on a deal to sell 25,000 acres of property left to him by his ancestors, his wife is involved in a horrible boating accident, leaving her in permanent coma. Now, Matt must juggle the tribulations of single-fatherhood, finding a buyer, oh, and dealing with the news that his severely injured wife was cheating on him (Who the FUCK would cheat on George Clooney? A robot, no doubt). The Descendants is an incredible film that seamlessly bounds comedy and drama, where every tear and every smile is deeply justified. It exemplifies a case study of humanity in its most genuine complexities. 

Needless to say, George Clooney gives an outstanding performance. Heartfelt and completely sincere, he portrays a character of true heroism—and not the kind that requires a cape, just strength and patience. We even get to see him cry! Clooney tears…they have healing powers, you know. It was also refreshing to see Shailene Woodley work her acting chops in a more challenging role that doesn’t require teenage pregnancy and mediocre banter (Secret Life of the American Teenager, ABC Family). Payne saw her potential…and gave us more potential. I think she’ll do just fine in her career.

Normally, I get a little P.O’d when films are set in random locations, just for grand scenic-value, but Hawaii as The Descendants’ prime location was well thought out and completely relevant, not just to the narrative, but the ambience. Tragedy strikes everywhere in this God-forsaken world, from Hell’s Kitchen to Paradise. We can’t depend on swaying palm trees and white, sandy beaches to save us from the pains of life.

I just really liked this movie a lot, and I hope you will too.

Yours truly,

Casey Janney

The year is 1956, and fresh out of the Oxford oven, 23-year-old, Colin Clark (Eddie Redmayne), has big plans for himself—to become a prestigious filmmaker. Easier said than done, Colin takes a job as a lowly assistant on the set of The Prince and the Show Girl. It is behind the scenes where his infatuations with Marilyn Monroe (Michelle Williams) leap from a young boy’s star-struck fantasy to a full-time job. Marilyn finds something so pure, innocent about Clark and seeks his companionship. But, it is in her company that Clark soon realizes Marilyn is not the glamorous Hollywood star he’s grown to know and love on the big screen, but a deeply damaged, vulnerable woman.

Simon Curtis’s My Week With Marilyn isn’t just another one of those Hollywood-tell-all Monroe flicks. It isn’t a story of her life, just a chapter reflected in the eyes of a young man with a big heart. I knew going in that this was a film based on the memoir of the real Colin Clark (his published work known as The Prince, the Showgirl, and Me), and I expected a lot…maybe too much. Generally, you can’t expect a film based on a diary to rise and fall easily, because if it is based on real occurrences, we know that that just isn’t how life works. Thus, we have slow-paced, fairly uneventful narrative. However, where the plot lacks, the cast soars, most importantly through our title character. My Week With Marilyn certainly isn’t the most entertaining film of the Oscar season in terms of plot, but William’s brilliant performance makes the entire feature worthwhile. Her depiction of Marilyn will mesmerize you. Every line spoken has some significant thought behind it, and she does it with such grace and ease, allowing us to remember the warmth and shine of the true icon that once blew Hollywood away and will continue to for decades to come.

Yours truly,

Casey Janney

As consistently presented through the eyes of Lars von Trier, the world is a painfully miserable place. It was only a matter of time before he gave himself the opportunity to blow it up. Melancholia is a remarkable piece of art in which Kirsten Dunst gives her truest and most challenging performance in all of her career, making us regret overlooking her for so long. It’s a tragically surreal look at dystopia captured in a slow-moving painting. 

Per usual, von Trier presents a moving picture of absolute beauty amongst total disturbance. In the first of two parts entitled “Justine”, the film unravels the troubling mentality of a young, vulnerable woman, (Kirsten Dunst). In this rather lengthy sequence, newlyweds Justine and Michael (Alexander Skarsgard) attend their wedding reception at Justine’s sister, Claire’s (Charlotte Gainsbourg) extravagant, Country Club home. What seems like a promising night filled with the joy of loved ones slowly (very slowly) turns into an evening of complete despair and internal agony for Justine. Family turmoil and repressed memories return, leaving Justine to quietly fall into a state of oblivion. Watching her depression slowly resurface throughout the course of the party makes you feel like you’re in a bad dream—not necessarily the terror you feel in a nightmare, but the discomfort you have from a bad dream where everything seems to be moving so slowly and you just can’t break the daze. Von Trier captures this perfectly. The timeline of minor events become fuzzy and leaves the audience a bit puzzled. One might assume this is bad plot structure on the director’s behalf, but I believe it was intentional. This feeling of disarray is stressful and confusing, much like Justine’s perception of reality.  As the film progresses, so does Justine’s melancholia. She’s emotional, she’s damaged, she’s a complete mess, and she single-handedly sabotages her own wedding reception.

Without any indication of whether it’s been a day, a week, a month since the wedding, the second part of the film entitled “Claire”, begins. In this portion of the film, von Trier focuses on Claire in her efforts to care for the unstable Justine and maintain the normality of her husband, John (Kiefer Sutherland), and son, Leo (Cameron Spurr).  Justine displays external signs of utter hysteria, barely able to even function in everyday activities. Amongst the gloomy nature of plot A, a secondary plot point takes off when the discovery of a planet, which has long been hidden behind the sun, emerges and is quickly headed straight for Earth. At this point, we can assume von Trier was deliberately creating a metaphorical subtext. The revelation of the planet, which will inherently destroy mankind, sparks a mild change in Justine. Though still naïve and persistently depressed, the end of life as we know it brings Justine a sense of comfort. It’s in this moment where the roles reverse and Justine must assist Claire in coping with the doom that is to come. 

If you’re up for a challenging watch, this is the flick to pick. If you’re unfamiliar with von Trier’s masterful work, this might be a lot to handle, and you’ll most likely assume it’s just a piece of pretentious crap (like Molly Janney did). Like I’ve told many folks, one might have to develop a certain pallet to really appreciate his work. He’s one of my favorite filmmakers of all time, and holds a special place in my Scandinavian heart. 

Yours truly,

Casey Janney

P.S: Kirsten Dunst has pretty amazing tits. 

David Fincher’s newest flick, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (2011), follows a discredited journalist, Mikael Blomkvist (Daniel Craig), who is aided by a…um…colorful computer hacker named Lisbeth Salander (Rooney Mara), as he investigates the disappearance of a wealthy patriarch’s niece—a crime that happened almost 40 years ago. As they work together in the investigation, Blomkvist and Salander uncover serious corruption beyond anything they have ever imagined. Craig and Mara deliver excellent performances in this strikingly bleak (is that an oxymoron?) story.

I knew this was going to be the kind of movie that I hate to love, and love to hate. Let me explain. It’s an incredible story adapted from the front-running book “ The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” of the Millennium Trilogy by Stieg Larsson. The screen adaptation is attached to the brilliant filmmaker, David Fincher (Fight Club, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, The Social Network). Producers didn’t just put this in the hands of some idiot newbie. But, here’s where I tell David Fincher to talk to the hand—what kind of a Cinephile would I be if I just ignored the fact that this film was already made…in Sweden…just three short years ago?

I’d like to say David Fincher made a remarkable piece of art, but that would be unfair to Niels Arden Oplev, who already dazzled us with his creative eye in 2009.  With almost miniscule differences, it’s pretty clear these movies are cut from the same mold, or maybe it’s more accurate to say Fincher used the original film as a tracer, but added in a few coca-cola cans and a McDonalds Happy Meal, you know, because America has to rub its ass on everything. Oh, and to boot, they have identical FUCKING ratings on Rotten Tomatoes!  Just last year, another amazing Swedish film, Let the Right One In (Tomas Alfredson, 2008), was adapted for American audiences, though only with a teensy-weensy title change, Let Me In (Matt Reeves, 2010). Same complaint, different film. Why take an already flawless film and remake it with barely any changes? I’ll tell you why. A) Because Hollywood CLEARLY needs more money and B) Apparently, we’re all a bunch of fucking dumbasses who refuse to read subtitles, not because it takes away from capturing the essence of the cinematography, but because we’re all just a bunch of lazy morons. Just a century ago, subtitles were a key part of the Cinema (it was the Silent Era; read a fucking book for once), and you didn’t hear them complaining.

Yours truly,

 Casey Janney

P.S: I would have chosen Ellen Page over Rooney Mara. 

Living in Chicago bestows some serious benefits. One of them being that I can catch all of the artsy fartsy flicks that aren’t widely released! When a little bird told me Sean Durkin’s directorial debut, Martha Marcy May Marlene (2011) was blowing through the windy city, I nearly threw up from pure excitement. Elizabeth Olsen (yeah, that’s Mary Kate and Ashley’s lil sis) gives a truly amazing performance as the title character. One that, let’s say, may be a bit more complex than Michelle Tanner. As a young woman who escapes from the binds of a dangerous cult, Martha suffers from constant paranoia and confusion while hiding away in Connecticut with her sister, Lucy (Sarah Paulson) and brother-in-law, Ted (Hugh Dancy), both of whom have absolutely no idea where Martha has been for the past two years. As the film progresses, we catch various flashbacks from Martha’s days with this rural cult, a self-sustaining “family” in the Catskills, led by Patrick (John Hawkes), a manipulative man who seeks broken, vulnerable women. Lucy desperately tries to help Martha get her feet back on the ground, but even with the care of her sister, it becomes difficult for Martha to differentiate dream from reality, and suffers all the more.

Paranormal Activity 3 (2011): The four-year-old growing saga continues to run with a serious dichotomy among its viewers; It’ll either frighten the living shit straight out of your anus, or you’ll find yourself twiddling your thumbs in an approximately 90 minutes snooooozefest. The lurking essence of what is or isn’t there won’t necessarily affect the latter, but it has certainly proved itself a successful scare tactic for the former. I side with the former—I’m a total pussy when it comes to demons. 

Under the new directorial eyes of Henry Joost and Ariel Schulman (of Catfish (2010)), Paranormal Activity 3, once again, centers around familiar characters, Katie (Chloe Csengary) and Kristi (Jessica Tyler Brown), only this time, we’re taken back to 1988, when the girls were quite young and more in tune with their playful imaginations…or so everyone THINKS. Kristi becomes strangely attached to her new imaginary friend Toby, and needless to say, it gets a little freaky. Taking note of the eerie occurences, Katie and Kristi’s “father-figure”, Dennis (Christopher Nicholas Smith), who is conveniently a wedding videographer, sets up numerous cameras around the house, in hopes of capturing some hardcore evidence revealing that this imaginary friend isn’t so imaginary…idiot!

Honestly, the timing of each scare sequence in this film is absolutely perfect. We sit through suspense just long enough to appreciate the moments of terror, and just when we feel like it can’t get anymore bone-chilling, sure enough, it does. We’re not just dealing with squeaky doors and swinging chandeliers, and if you thought that kitchen scene in the second film was spook-tastic, well you better double up on your adult diapers because shit is about to get REAL. 

Writers, Oren Peli and Christopher Landon, did an excellent job creating a third installment, that actually fits in perfectly with the others. It draws in so much from P.A 1 and 2, we can finally start putting the pieces together ourselves. They really thought the details through and worked in an incredible amount of character development. What sets this film apart from its predecessors is that it has an actual story, which, I suppose, is inevitable considering we’re three installments deeps. That being said, if you haven’t seen P.A 1 and 2, you probably won’t truly grasp what’s happening here.

The set design in Paranormal Activity 3 is also super impressive. A mildly terrifying aspect of these movies is that they take place in a normal, cozy suburban house. The film takes place in the late 80’s, but it isn’t blown away by obvious cultural pieces. As Molly Janney and I discussed, it reminded us of our aunt and uncle’s old house— abstract, pastel art, straw in vases, and a sort of soft, rustic feel…with a Light Bright here and there. It wasn’t forced, and it felt like I was viewing home videos of my own, making it one billion times creepier.

Even if you aren’t a huge fan of the Paranormal Activity movies, I still recommend checking it out. I can pretty much guarantee you won’t find it any worse than the others. This is the horror style of our generation, so appreciate it, damn it!

Yours Truly,

Casey Janney 

I’ve been putting off writing my review for Tom Six’s Human Centipede 2: Full Sequence (2011), since I wasn’t exactly sure how to approach it. Should I write for art’s sake or entertainment’s? Do I want to be a huge snob about this, or just take it for what it is? I never wrote a review for the first Human Centipede (2010), so I will quickly say that I did enjoy the film. For a low-budget flick, it was original, fun, and worked with a rather interesting concept. However, Human Centipede 2 did not strike my fancy. Martin (Laurence Harvey) is a mentally disturbed, rather quiet man who works the night shift as a security guard in an underground parking complex. To escape his life of humiliation, Martin becomes obsessed with The Human Centipede (2010), watching the film religiously. He fetishizes the meticulous surgical skills of the former villain Dr. Heiter, ultimately leading up to his decision to form his own Human Centipede. This film was gruesome to the point where it was almost insulting. Now, I’m quite a fan of the horror genre, and “torture porn” doesn’t necessarily disturb me, if it’s done tastefully and with creativity, but when shit gets to a level like this, it concerns me that we’re dealing with an extremely dark, disturbed, or even psychologically ill visionary. There’s nothing enjoyable in respect to this film. It takes what the first Human Centipede is and milks it for all of the wrong reasons. Instead of of focusing on the questions of why this happening, Six focuses more on how this is happening. This results in 92 minutes of agonizing mutilation, incessant torturing, flowing rivers of blood and feces, and an unnecessary amount of exposed breasts. Even the jumping off point for the sequel is absolutely ridiculous. I can just picture Mr. Six now… “Yes, let’s make a movie about a guy who’s OBSESSED with MY movie—MY masterpiece.” That’s not narcissistic at all. Someone clearly let the success of the predecessor get to his head. “Okay, now let’s slap it in black and white, and we’ve got ourselves an artistically astounding post-modern film!” Dude, you are NOT David Lynch. Why not stick to a story with the original villain, Dr.Heiter (who is an amazingly dynamic and mysterious character)? Everything we see is restricted to the eyes of our protagonist, but still, so many unanswered questions. We’re presented with an intense back story where Martin is clearly a victim of physical and verbal abuse, but it just isn’t enough to reveal a motive. Maybe that’s just my problem—I’m constantly looking for reason. Human Centipede 2: Full Sequence is vile, repulsive, and devoid of any meaning whatsoever.   

Yours Truly,

Casey Janney