Movie Review: Transcendence (2014)

by Tony Dayoub

Remember that Star Trek episode where Captain Kirk has to free some aliens on a planet controlled by an all-powerful, omniscient computer? And those aliens have these tiny antenna on their necks that allow them to be networked with that computer, Vaal, essentially making them physical instruments for it to conduct whatever activities necessary for a planetary makeover suited to his specifications. That's Transcendence in a nutshell, only with even more hokey, far-fetched ideas thrown in to complicate the simplistic story a bit.

Rehabbing Tonto

The Lone Ranger as Picaresque Tale

by Tony Dayoub

As The Lone Ranger shifts from the point of view of its hero, John Reid (Armie Hammer), to the first-person narrative of his Indian sidekick Tonto (Johnny Depp), the tired pulp story becomes a postmodern picaresque. A type of story with a long literary tradition but seldom seen on film, a picaresque is usually episodic in nature, a fact that contributes to what many perceive is the messiness of The Lone Ranger. Tonto exemplifies the typical picaresque hero (or picaro), noble in intentions but misguided and perhaps even unreliable in his perception of the events in which he is usually at the center. Like Arthur Penn's Little Big Man, this film begins with a rather decrepit Indian as a dubious storyteller, spinning a yarn full of non-sequiturs and magical realism that both uncomfortably overlap with heinous atrocities in order to subvert the typical white victor's perspective of the American western. The first appearance of Depp, made up to look a hundred-odd years old, is itself a metatextual reference to Little Big Man’s protagonist, Jack Crabb (Dustin Hoffman). Crabb is a white man raised by the Cheyenne who encounters famous figures like Wild Bill Hickok and George Armstrong Custer (who, in The Lone Ranger, finds his own visual parallel in a cavalry officer played by Barry Pepper), just before their grand, untimely ends...

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Movie Review: Dark Shadows (2012)

by Tony Dayoub

It's ironic that Tim Burton—whose expressionism-by-way-of-acid-tinged Batman was the forerunner of the modern superhero film—has a new film getting trounced in the box office by The Avengers, the ultimate example of the very kind of genre he helped to usher in at the start of his career. And that this film is Dark Shadows, not only a property with a fervent cult audience but probably the most satisfying effort from Burton in quite a long time. Based on the Gothic soap which ran on ABC from 1966-1971, Dark Shadows is the apotheosis of Burton's artistic concerns, perfectly fusing his love of all things dark and creepy with his off-kilter family dynamics in a way only glimpsed at in previous efforts like Beetlejuice, Edward Scissorhands and most precisely (but all too briefly) in his 1984 short, Frankenweenie. In films like Sweeney Todd, Burton gets the sense of dark foreboding right, but misses that infectious feeling of benign wonder which his other movies are bursting with. And most of the rest of his oeuvre, though exuberant in its ability to astonish with imaginative production design and fanciful style, doesn't quite get that Hammer horror feel of movies like Sleepy Hollow. Perhaps Dark Shadows succeeds because, by Burton's own admission, it was a formative influence.

Invoking the Spirit of the West

How DVD extras enhance the experience of viewing the animated Rango

By Tony Dayoub

It’s unusual to see my annual list of best movies and not find some animated piece by either Pixar or Disney or both in a prominent position. Stranger still is finding that slot occupied by a first-time offering from an upstart animation company. But 2011’s offerings from the House of Mouse are weaker than in years past. Cars 2 is a hackneyed attempt to capitalize on the franchise’s licensing longevity, repositioning an annoying secondary character — popular with kids — as the new star of the series while jettisoning any of the emotional content that made the first film palatable to adults. And though the new Winnie the Pooh redo is an earnest stab at satisfying adults’ appetite for nostalgia, it adheres a little too closely to tradition to have the broad appeal of most recent Disney/Pixar movies: You’re not going to see Junior shutting down the PlayStation to go check out the cool, new animated designs of Tigger, Eeyore, or Piglet at the multiplex with his friends. No, for that there’s Rango (Paramount Home Video), just out on Blu-ray and DVD...

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Movie Review: Rango (2011)

by Tony Dayoub

You know what's the best feeling for a moviegoer? Going to the multiplex with average to low expectations about a movie only to be greatly surprised by how much you enjoyed it. Though the buzz was starting to get around that the animated western Rango was the first great film of 2011, I still went into it with some trepidation. Animated movies seem to touch the heart of even the most stone-faced critics who often seem to give such pictures a pass simply for displaying a modicum of visual originality (I'm thinking of such mediocrity as Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, Despicable Me, Megamind, etc.). But with a glut of animation beginning to hit theaters as each studio tries to get into the game, it is harder and harder to predict which will be memorable and which won't be. I'm happy to report Rango exceeds expectations.

Blu-ray Roundup: The Touchstones of Character

by Tony Dayoub

A couple of last week's Blu-ray releases explore their central characters in relation to the dream world they reside in. The more obvious one of course is Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland (2010). But another one—a trilogy of westerns by Sergio Leone—surveys its respective protagonists against a subtler dreamscape. More on that one in a moment.

DVD Roundup: Waking Dreams

by Tony Dayoub

I'll be brief today on the subject of two surrealist DVD releases which debuted in the last couple of weeks. One is based on a cult series of some renown. The other has quickly developed its own small following.

Blu-ray Review: Public Enemies (2009)

by Tony Dayoub



Sometimes I wonder if Michael Mann is onto something that has eluded other directors of his generation. Take Public Enemies, out on DVD and Blu-ray tomorrow. As I've said before, there is an immediacy that its digital cinematography brings for the first time to the venerated gangster genre. The film's naysayers gripe about the motion blur and countless other issues they cannot get past when watching the film in theaters this past summer. But a quick pop of the new Blu-ray into my home theater system confirms what I've been saying all along. This movie grows immeasurably when watched digitally, something that many couldn't do depending on the movie theater where they caught it playing.


I was first on to this phenomenon after I experienced a vastly different reaction watching Collateral (2004) at home from the reaction I had seeing it theatrically. A similar experience occurred when I first saw Mann's followup, Miami Vice (2006) at home. It makes me want to throttle theater owners until they make all of their screens digital-ready, an admitted near-impossibility economically (as even the threat of their inability to run Lucas' Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith or Cameron's Avatar has had no effect) for many of them. Seeing the Public Enemies Blu-ray on even just an okay home theater system like mine really puts you there in the midst of Mann's voyeuristic look at the conflict between gangster John Dillinger (Johnny Depp) and G-man Melvin Purvis (Christian Bale).

Mann's explorations into the codes of masculinity, so representative of his entire body of work, has become increasingly transcendent over the course of his last three films. Whereas Collateral was initially criticized for being too on the nose in its depiction of the ying and the yang symbolized by Tom Cruise and Jamie Foxx's two main characters, Miami Vice was attacked by folks who thought it wasn't expressing these themes explicitly enough. Those that were ignorant of the tone poetry that characterized Miami Vice launched into similar attacks on the sleek, stripped down abstractions of these themes as presented in Public Enemies. They fail to recognize Mann's aspirations to achieve a sense of verisimilitude through his digital photography, minimalist dialogue, and heightened preoccupation with the rest of the viewer's sensory perceptions focusing on sound and visual design (especially in the climactic shootout involving Pretty Boy Floyd) rather than dialogue to illustrate his concerns.

To accuse Mann of failing to put any substance into Public Enemies is ignorant. As the dense Blu-ray proves, the film was as meticulously researched as any of his previous ones. There are 4 documentaries that cover Dillinger and Purvis, the other outlaws of the period, the locations depicted in the film, and the making of the film. Here's a clip from one:

Mann's own commentary is particularly enlightening into his process for getting to the heart of a story, which seems to involve research, direct interviews with any survivors of the period, more research, and then a sort of zen letting go of all of his findings to focus on the film on an intuitive level. An interactive picture-in-picture historical timeline that one can watch while seeing the film is also rewarding as far as filling in the blanks for those who aren't completely satisfied by the historical accuracy of the film.

Is this the future of cinema; a future in which one really doesn't get the entire picture until one views the film in multiple platforms? I certainly hope not, since I believe the text of a film is ultimately more important than its subtext (even though this can yield its own rewards). Public Enemies certainly struck me as one of the best films of the year when I saw it theatrically. But what Mann seems to be on to is that films are becoming interactive to a previously unimaginable degree. The Blu-ray for Public Enemies makes me wonder if he is now approaching his work with some of that aforethought.

Movie Review: Public Enemies (2009)

[This is a contribution to Michael Mann Week currently running at Radiator Heaven from June 28th to July 4th.] Michael Mann's newest film, Public Enemies, confirms what many of us who follow him have long suspected about the director. He is deliberately focused on his larger body of work and how each of his films fits in with the others. Unlike many of cinema's modern auteurs, who seem to move from project to project based on whims or moods—and how deeply a script they happen on strikes their fancy—Mann seems intent on refining the same theme he has been addressing since Thief (1981), and perhaps even earlier. Public Enemies covers the last year of bank robber John Dillinger's life. Dillinger (Johnny Depp) represents an old world, Robin-Hood-style thief who adheres to a certain code. As he tells fellow crook Alvin Karpis (Giovanni Ribisi), he respects the public, for it is amongst them that he must hide. He tells one bank customer to put his money away as he robs his bank, declaring that he is there for the bank's, not his. But society is evolving, and Dillinger's sentimentality is becoming a liability in this new world. Psychopaths like Baby Face Nelson (Stephen Graham) are giving bank robbers a bad name. And nobler thieves like Pretty Boy Floyd (Channing Tatum) are falling to the new generation of law enforcement, G-men like Melvin Purvis (Christian Bale). Like Thief's Frank (James Caan), and Neil (Robert De Niro) in Heat (1995), Dillinger is a bandit who must weigh the importance of his personal relationships against the life of crime that defines him. As Mann has matured his perspective on this subject has evolved from rebellion to resignation. Frank's philosophy on personal attachments—never keep any that you can't walk away from should you be in imminent danger—is one that the young Mann believes in, and approaches rather admiringly at the conclusion of Thief, when Frank is able to robotically detach from his new wife, child, home, and businesses, to confront Leo (Robert Prosky), the gang boss who "holds the paper" on Frank's life. However, an older Mann seems to view things differently by the time he directs Heat. In that film, Neil tells the same story, "A guy told me one time, 'Don't let yourself get attached to anything you are not willing to walk out on in 30 seconds flat if you feel the heat around the corner.'" But when it comes time to put it into practice, Neil finds that he can't just walk away from his obligations. At great personal risk to himself, he decides to go after someone who betrayed him, even when faced with the knowledge that he will most certainly walk right into the hands of his pursuer. Mann's thinking on this has changed even further in the 14 years since Heat's release. Their is a certain doom that hangs over Public Enemies, a sense of predestination that lingers over the character of Dillinger. Though Dante Spinotti shoots in some of the grittiest high-definition clarity yet for a Mann film, the film has a lyrical quality that adds to this—best demonstrated in the scene where Dillinger walks into the Chicago Police Department's Dillinger squad room. Here the room is hauntingly vacant—the cops all out in force looking for their quarry—save for the photographs of Dillinger's associates, all stamped DECEASED, lining the bulletin boards throughout the room. Red (Jason Clarke) warns Dillinger that their time is up, moments before he is shot. As he lays dying, he advises Dillinger to let him go, let his girlfriend Billie (Marion Cotillard) go, let everything go and run—like Frank and Neil were also advised to do in Mann's earlier films. Yet Dillinger doesn't even entertain the notion, demonstrating the more mature Mann's new outlook that breaking off personal ties is not nearly as easy as Frank made it look in Thief. In fact, to move so dispassionately through life may ultimately prove to be one's undoing, as implied through the character of Dillinger's opposite, Melvin Purvis. Like in Heat, where Vincent Hanna (Al Pacino) served as both antagonist and doppelganger to Neil, Bale's Purvis mirrors Dillinger. They meet face to face but once in the film, where Dillinger assures Purvis with no small amount of swagger that he has become more inured to the loss of his comrades than Purvis will ever be to the loss of his officers in the line of duty. Bale's expression when he turns his back to Depp reveals that, for Purvis, this is quite true. His single-mindedness in the pursuit of Dillinger recalls that of Mike Torello (Dennis Farina) in pursuit of gang boss Ray Luca (Anthony Denison) in Mann's Crime Story (1986-88). But unlike with Torello or Hanna, Mann implies that Purvis—a strong and disciplined officer—is only human in his inability to walk away from the pain. The title card at the end of Public Enemies sadly reveals that Purvis died by his own hand in 1960. Michael Mann's Public Enemies is a summation of a filmography that has often explored the noble man's ability/inability to dissociate from his personal attachments when threatened. So it is perhaps fitting that Mann bookends the movie with closeups of two notable character actors that have contributed to his oeuvre, James Russo (Miami Vice, Crime Story) and Stephen Lang (Manhunter, Crime Story). Russo plays Walter Dietrich, a man that in many ways "created" Dillinger, tutoring him on how to attain success as a bank robber. And Lang portrays Charles Winstead, the old Texas lawman who killed Dillinger with a shot through the face. Both play honorable men, yet in different circumstances, whose time of sentiment, nobility, and personal codes of honor are quickly coming to an end. And Mann's Public Enemies asserts that our society is diminished by their extinction.

DVD Review: Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street - Depp and Burton's Finest Collaboration Yet

by Tony Dayoub

Johnny Depp stars in his sixth movie for director Tim Burton, as the titular Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street. His other films with Burton include Edward Scissorhands, Ed Wood, and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. When surveying Burton's work it is evident that his collaborations with Depp are often his most artistically successful ventures. Sweeney Todd, a musical, is no different. It is a fine addition to Burton's oeuvre. And there is no doubt that Depp gets the childlike sensibility that his director is seeking.

In Todd , Benjamin Barker, once a promising young barber with a wife and daughter, was sent to prison unjustly by evil Judge Turpin (Alan Rickman). Though he was an innocent, Turpin had designs on stealing Barker's family for his own. Apparently, Barker's wife died while he was away. Now, the insidious Turpin seeks to make Barker's daughter Johanna (Jayne Wisener) his young bride. Returning from prison in the guise of Sweeney Todd, he seeks revenge on Turpin - and London society, for their complicity in sending him to prison. Mrs. Lovett (Helena Bonham Carter), a local pie-maker, conspires with Todd in his quest for revenge, selling pies made out of all the victims of Todd's chair.

Sweeney Todd is a master barber, of course... the better to lure his prey into the chair. Like Todd, Depp's characters in Burton's films are frequently childlike outcasts with some distinctive talent. The eponymous Ed Wood is a second-rate film director that nonetheless has the ability to bring all sorts of freaks and misfits together to turn his vision into a film. Willy Wonka is adept at his work as a chocolatier. Edward Scissorhands can style hair AND shrubbery with ease. It is easy to see why the odd-looking Burton may identify with his protagonists as portrayed by Depp.

Perhaps the most obvious component of Depp's characters that resemble Burton is their appearance. Burton's sullen demeanor, wild hair, pallor, and dark-pitted eyes are depicted in most of Depp's personifications. Sleepy Hollow's Ichabod Crane is pale, while Willy Wonka is so white he's blue. Edward Scissorhands has an exaggerated reimagination of all of the director's physical characteristics. And Sweeney Todd, his shock of gray hair notwithstanding, is an idealized version of Burton himself... gothically handsome, but still wild-haired, pale, and sullen with sunken eyes.

Each of Depp's performances bear a resemblance to Burton in a much more important way than in their physical traits. Each is a stunted man-child delineated much more clearly by Depp than any of Burton's other alter egos. Ewan McGregor in Big Fish is obviously immature, but we don't get the tilted Burton sensibility in his portrayal. His performance has more in common with those of any number of film characters nostalgically reliving their pasts through tall tales like Terry Gilliam's Baron Munchausen. Michael Keaton, who has played Beetlejuice and Batman for Burton, has a darker more cynical take on Burton's protagonists. His performances eliminate Depp's capacity for childlike expressiveness so evident in Depp's eyes. Keaton's Beetlejuice is a hard-living (or unliving, as the case may be) wisecracker. Keaton's Batman is about stoic non-expressiveness. His Bruce Wayne died when he was a child leaving only the vigilante Batman. Even Depp's murderous Todd still uses the bitterness only to mask the wounded child within. We finally get a glimpse of that child at the end of the film, when he realizes the futility of his revenge, and let's his defenses down in defeat.

Sweeney Todd is a high point in Depp and Burton's collaboration. The DVD has a wealth of special features about the film, Stephen Sondheim's stage musical, and even the urban myth from which Todd is historically derived. I highly recommend it.

Still provided courtesy of Paramount Home Entertainment.