• Screengrab Review: Watchmen (Paul's Take)

    Well, it’s finally here, folks. After more than two decades in development, Watchmen is finally hitting screens nationwide this weekend. In a way, it’s sort of miraculous that it actually panned out. Of course, the road hasn’t been easy, with a seemingly endless parade of directors, screenwriters, producers and stars attached to the project at some point. But to me, it’s even more interesting to observe how comic book culture has progressed to this point. Just over a decade ago, it seems like Batman was the only comic getting the blockbuster treatment, and just about everything else was played for campy nostalgia, e.g. The Phantom. Hell, back in 2000 studios were worried whether the X-Men could sell tickets. So the fact that there’s not only a massively budgeted adaptation of Watchmen out there but also one that’s surprisingly faithful to its dense, ambitious source material just shows how far comics- and comic-book movies- have come in the last ten years. If only the movie was better, this saga would have the happy ending that all Watchmen fans crave.

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  • Screengrab Review: "Medicine for Melancholy"


    There are limits to how many poeticisms a film can reasonably support, and after a fairly entrancing two-thirds, Medicine for Melancholy finally uncovers them. Barry Jenkins’ debut feature has a black-and-white palette and a romantic narrative fixated on skin color, as the day-long escapades of Micah (Wyatt Cenac) and Jo (Tracey Heggins) touch upon, if not overtly address, their status as part of the seven percent of San Francisco’s African-American population. However, before the two can discuss their minority conditions (and differing outlooks on it), they must first meet-cute, which takes place on the hung-over morning after a hookup at an acquaintance’s party. In his opening sequence, Jenkins proves an assured, astute chronicler of believable details and atmosphere – the awkward shared glances between Micah and Jo (when, that is, they manage to look each other in the eyes); their respective brushing of teeth with their fingers; the slow, dazed gathering of clothes and accessories on the way out the door. It’s a mood-setter par excellence, and the film remains perceptively attuned to its characters’ situations once they depart, with Micah vainly attempting to strike up conversation (by trying to learn his aloof one-night-stand’s name) and then – after they abruptly separate – tracking her down to return the wallet she left in their cab.

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  • Screengrab Review: "Serbis"


    Nastiness is Serbis’ stock and trade, its action set in a decaying Filipino porn theater (named “Family”) where overflowing toilets flood bathroom floors, the peeling walls resemble flaking skin, and the rear end of one resident boasts a silver dollar-sized boil that – upon being harshly treated with an empty beer bottle – oozes a thin stream of puss down the gentleman’s ass cheek. Plus, the theater, earning its revenue from double bills of tattered X-rated gems with titles like “Seedling,” primarily stays afloat by functioning as a venue for gay cruising and the subsequent sex which takes place, explicitly, in the theater’s murky aisles. The film is not, to be sure, a tourist-board commercial for the Filipino city of Angeles. Nonetheless, there is method behind director Brillante Mendoza’s filthy madness, his goals at once sensory and thematic in nature. Guided by curiosity about his uniquely decrepit environment and its barely subsisting protagonists, the theater-operating Pineda clan, while at the same time subtly casting its portrait as indicative of the third-world condition, it’s a scraggly, messy, often aimless, and yet consistently amusing and engaging work of black comedy-cum-social-realism.

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  • Screengrab Review: "Just Another Love Story"

    Do you ever wonder if certain Scandinavian movies get on the U.S. arthouse circuit simply by virtue of being Scandinavian? The Danish title of this thriller translates literally to "Love in the Movies". Danish writer and director Ole Bornedal kicks off his movie by three clips advertised as "love scenes." In quick succession: One, a dying man, Jonas (Anders W. Berthelsen) lies in the rain as a howling woman kneels over him; Two, the same couple attempt nookie in their matrimonial bed, but fail; Three, a near-naked sexy young couple in a third-world hotel room. The woman, Julia (Rebecka Hemse) is about to shoot her boyfriend through the chest. No lack of passion there.

    Next thing we know Julia is back in Denmark, in a car speeding along a highway. She is on the run from traumatic events that transpired in Southeast Asia. Jonas and his wife meanwhile are in their car, with their two kids safely strapped into their seats in the back. Then, Wham! Jonas and family narrowly escape death as Julia's speeding car misses them by an inch and explodes into another car just in front of them. Julia lives, but ends up blind and in a coma. Meet-cute.

     

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  • Screengrab DVD Review: Pierrot le fou

    Were the world a simpler and gentler place, Pierrot le fou would consist of 110 minutes of Ferdinand (Jean-Paul Belmondo) and Marianne (Anna Karina) relaxing on the seaside. Instead, it's the most exhilarating elegy for a failed marriage and betrayal you're ever likely to see. Jean-Luc Godard's tenth film marked a turning point for the director, who divorced Karina around the time he made it. Afterwards, he abandoned its romanticism and upped the political references and Brechtian tactics that lie on the sideline here. It might be a good entry point for Godard neophytes, made at a moment where he could still celebrate American directors like Frank Tashlin, Nicholas Ray and Samuel Fuller (who makes a cameo) and rage against American foreign policy, maintaining an uneasy balance of experimentation and accessibility.

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  • Review: Diary of the Dead

     

    Diary of the Dead is the latest in George Romero's now forty-year-old "[Noun] of the Dead" franchise. It's back-to-basics in tone and production, after 2005's massive Land of the Dead. It would be easy to accuse Romero of trend-hopping, based on the film's "found footage" presentation and release in proximity to Cloverfield and Brian De Palma's Redacted. But the film parts from the recent surge of Blair Witch-ian diegesis by opening with narration: a character explaining that she's edited and produced the film you're about to watch with the intent not just to record but to frighten. Instead of coming off as pretentiously meta, this contextualizing helps you suspend your disbelief. Romero makes the most of that suspension, and the result is a strange movie that succeeds far more often than it fails.

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