Movie Review: The Martian (2015)

by Tony Dayoub


News this week that liquid water has been discovered on Mars and that actor Matt Damon has repeatedly lodged his foot in his mouth (discussing whether gay actors should come out of the closet or not) almost begs for some kind of bad joke about outfitting a spacecraft and exiling the actor to the red planet ASAP. At worst, the news kinda overshadows promotional efforts for Damon's latest, The Martian, based on the novel by Andy Weir. At best, the two soundbites—one overwhelmingly positive, the other decidedly not—cancel each other out and give way to more discussion about this unlikely crowd-pleaser. I'm hoping for the latter, because The Martian fully deserves to be appreciated as a front-runner among the top films of the year.

Movie Review: Interstellar (2014)

by Tony Dayoub


An adventure into time, space and the human soul, Interstellar is more than reminiscent of 2001: A Space Odyssey. But any similarities only heighten the sense that the nearly 50-year-old Stanley Kubrick science fiction classic may never be surpassed as the definitive movie on space exploration. And for director Christopher Nolan, that's a problem. Interstellar, with its integral dramatic dependence on concepts like the Einstein's theory of relativity and Newtonian physics, is Nolan's most significant stab at coherence. Yet the increased focus on the film's attendant technobabble only serves to demonstrate how inept Nolan is at advancing a story with anything that might resemble logic.

Movie Review: The Monuments Men (2014)

by Tony Dayoub

Not long after the start of The Monuments Men, George Clooney's elegiac tribute to the dwindling Greatest Generation, it becomes clear why its release date was changed from 2013's exceptionally busy awards season. Spare, subdued and not the least bit flashy, The Monuments Men is a classically structured World War II drama about a group of middle-aged art historians enlisted by Lt. Frank Stokes (Clooney) to reclaim a fortune in looted art from the Nazis. Adding some urgency to the matter at this stage of the war is Hitler's inevitable defeat and his "Nero Decree" calling for the destruction of all of the Reich's property before the Allies acquire it. As critical as this might sound, the crux of The Monuments Men is whether the destruction of some of the world's greatest works of art justifies even one life lost in preventing it. It's a philosophical dilemma that, by its very nature, makes Clooney's film a contemplative exercise more than a thrilling dramatic one.

Movie Review: Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close vs. We Bought a Zoo

by Tony Dayoub

Remember a few weeks ago when Sott Rudin, producer of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, made a lot of noise over film critic David Denby breaking a press embargo with his review (a positive one at that) of that film? Well, not that you care, but if you do, I have a theory. Rudin wasn't really annoyed with Denby. Over positive press Denby was giving what even the harshest of critics have deemed an adequate serial killer thriller? No, Rudin was actually staking out his position, disturbed at the thought that a similar incident would affect the Christmas Day opening of his problematic 9/11 tearjerker, Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close. I've been biting my tongue to hold myself back from tearing into this awful, tone-deaf movie, fearful of breaking the media gag order in place since I first saw the film on December 8th. So, at least with me, Rudin's hissy-fit must have worked. Now that opening weekend has arrived I feel liberated, though, free to warn you, patient viewer, away from this irritating ham-handed exploitation of a horrific tragedy.

The Holistic Hat Squad

New Age Banality in The Adjustment Bureau

by Tony Dayoub

In 1986, the first abortive revival of The Twilight Zone aired “A Matter of Minutes,” a short segment within an episode. Adapted by legendary science fiction writer Harlan Ellison and story editor Rockne S. O’Bannon from Theodore Sturgeon’s short story, “Yesterday Was Monday,” the mini-episode centers on a couple who wake up one day to discover that the world around them has stopped. Reality is being taken apart and rebuilt, minute by minute, by construction workers dressed in blue. Things that already exist — their furniture, buildings, and entire city streets — are all being taken apart after being used in one minute of time, only to be replaced by identical constructs in the next minute. While trying to elude a few supervisors aware of the couple’s inadvertent intrusion behind the scenes, the young husband and wife end up running across a white void, an unconstructed area of existence the workers haven’t gotten to yet. The fascinating concept proposed by this story is a variation on solipsism, the philosophical idea that existence is limited only to what we perceive. Except that “A Matter of Minutes” proposes that there is a parallel reality — that of the construction workers — which builds the components that make up the reality of their perceptible surroundings.

Movie Review: True Grit (2010)

by Tony Dayoub

Richard T. Jameson has an excellent piece up on his blog, Straight Shooting, entitled "also-true 'Grit'". You can (and most definitely should) read it for yourself, but in it he compares the new Coen Brothers film with Henry Hathaway's 1969 original. His conclusion:

So if I had to pick only one True Grit movie to take to the proverbial desert island, it'd be Hathaway's, Wayne's, Ballard's and, while we're at it, Elmer Bernstein's: that gentleman was Wayne's music scorer of choice in the Sixties, and the Bernstein sound laid over one of Lucien Ballard's high-country shots of quivering aspen and immeasurable, clear-air vastness imbues the moment with mystery. (The score of the 2010 version, by regular Coen collaborator Carter Burwell, runs variations on "Leaning on the Everlasting Arms," a folk hymn best known from Night of the Hunter.)

The beauty of it is, though, that we don't have to pick one True Grit. Both are worth having. We take for granted that any Coen picture is going to be a work of impeccable craftsmanship, and yes, Roger Deakins is at the camera once again. The brothers' fidelity to [Charles] Portis' novel not only honors a great literary achievement but also makes for a narrative with fascinating interruptions, digressions and enigmatic encounters - in short, storytelling of a perversity the Coens usually have to generate on their own.

Like the book but unlike the 1969 movie, their True Grit has a narrator, Mattie, and keeps faith with her point of view. What she doesn't know, we don't know.

There are a few things I find particularly cogent about Jameson's review: his perceptive connecting of the Coens' True Grit to The Night of the Hunter; "What she doesn't know, we don't know..."; and, "The beauty of it is, though, that we don't have to pick one True Grit."

Movie Review: Hereafter (2010)

by Tony Dayoub

So after a nice little run of films by everyone's—or at least most film writers'—favorite actor-director to dump on, Clint Eastwood returns with Hereafter, his muddled attempt at a New Age suspense thriller. As someone once said, fault with Eastwood's films can usually be traced back to the script, here by Peter Morgan (The Queen), as if to exonerate the filmmaker who generally avoids substantial rewrites. And Hereafter, as naive and inept as it often is, is not without its charm. But its structure, a three-pronged storyline which slowly converges as it approaches the climax, has long past worn out any profundity it may (with emphasis) had ever possessed in cinema.

Blu-ray Review: Invictus (2009)

by Tony Dayoub

Widely dismissed as a sketchy biopic of Nelson Mandela, Clint Eastwood's Invictus is actually a better than average sports film which only uses Mandela's new age of reconciliation in South Africa as a backdrop. Ironically, between its original theatrical release and its home release yesterday (on Blu-ray, DVD, On Demand, and for Download) the issues surrounding apartheid and reconciliation have once again come to the fore in that country.

Movie Review: Green Zone

by Tony Dayoub

Nothing gets my back up more than seeing a movie oversimplify the facts to promote a political agenda. Green Zone, the latest by the Bourne team of director Paul Greengrass (United 93) and Matt Damon (Invictus), does just that. It is the most simple-minded example of progressive propaganda to come out from Hollywood since The Deer Hunter (1979).

Movie Review: Invictus (2009)

by Tony Dayoub

Outside of the racial turmoil that still embroils South Africa in Clint Eastwood's Invictus stand Madiba, one-time South African activist and former president of that country, Nelson Mandela (Morgan Freeman); and Francois Pienaar (Matt Damon), captain of the South African Springboks, the national rugby union team that won the World Cup in 1995—kindred spirits in their respect for the power of sports to unite people of all colors, creeds, and social classes. The politics and personalities that Eastwood (Gran Torino) introduces in the first third of the film, the details of life in post-apartheid South Africa that populate its second third, all seem to revolve around Mandela at first. But Eastwood, whose attempts at structural unconventionality often backfire as his movies wrap up in the last third, creates a satisfying sports film by using the preceding details to set-up an emotional release in a climactic rugby sequence led by Damon's Pienaar.


Invictus begins with Mandela taking office, all too conscious of residual racism on both sides of the South African divide even as he seems to blithely pursue his goal of racial harmony. He sees the strife even within his own staff, Eastwood illustrating it a little too earnestly in the internal discord between Madiba's black and white bodyguards (their chief played with scene-stealing charisma by Tony Kgoroge—who nearly reframes the film's cast hierarchy as a third lead). Springbok captain Pienaar sees the effects of Mandela's changes played out in his own home, where his father has little hesitation in criticizing the disappearance of apartheid in front of the family's black servant. And he is all too aware of the disdain the blacks have for the Springbok team and their colors, remnants of South Africa's former white dominance. They openly deride the team at their rugby tournaments. But Pienaar knows that Chester Williams (McNeil Hendricks) the team's only black player is accepted by his teammates without reluctance. So he knows the potential for reconciliation exists and understands why Mandela meets with him, inspires him to push his teammates to their maximum as South Africa hosts the 1995 World Cup. And it is here, where Eastwood's (nearly too) straightforward style and the grand nobility of the movie's themes collide giving us a powerful release in the third act's climactic rugby game.

The game sequence is where Eastwood closes the circle on all the dramatic tension he has been setting up. Madiba's bodyguards finally seem to be working together well enough to be attuned to their chief's concern that the rugby match is the perfect place for an assassination attempt. A black child that the film has been following for some time—too poor to get into the game—loiters near the stadium's police presence to listen to the match as it plays out over the radio. Pienaar rallies his players to withstand the expected rout by New Zealand's All-Blacks (in a film full of nice moments, Eastwood uses one to include the All-Blacks' traditional Maori war dance used to intimidate opponents before international matches). He then pays off what little knowledge the viewer has accumulated about the confounding game of rugby to unfurl a sports sequence—strike that—an action sequence that is never once confusing; devoid of the close-up quick cutting that usually leaves today's audiences unsure of what just happened. One never loses the grip on the stadium or playing field's geography as Eastwood follows up on all the parallel plot developments.

Meanwhile, Mandela presides over the game from his private box, a messianic presence not unlike Freeman's portrayal of God in Bruce Almighty. Many are mistaking Eastwood's Invictus to be a sort of biopic, a look at a critical moment in the life of Madiba. It's no wonder considering the scenery-chewing perfomance by Freeman, who acts like he took Mandela's assertion that only he could play the leader a little too seriously. Freeman's performance is writ so large on the screen, that it almost eclipses the key central development on which the film hinges.

The only time one gets a true sense of the man behind the public persona is when Pienaar visits Mandela's prison cell at Robben Island, where he spent a good deal of his sentence after he was arrested for his activism. Damon really sells the impact of Mandela's movement on his generation of Afrikaners. The deference he exudes in Freeman's presence gives way to a stirring cocktail of regret, contempt, guilt, and respect in the scene where Pienaar stretches his arms across the length and breadth of the tiny cell measuring the small space while acknowledging the grandeur of the spirit that resided within its walls.

No, the performance at the center of Invictus is actually a quiet but visceral one by Damon as Pienaar. Pienaar is, after all, the character most affected by the changes in South Africa after Mandela helps bring an end to apartheid and ascends to the presidency. Within the story, Mandela is simply the agent of change that advances the story. So those maligning Invictus for its simplistic depiction of Madiba are failing to comprehend why this film works. At its heart, this sports drama is inspired by Mandela rather than about him.

Movie Review: The Informant!

by Tony Dayoub



Steven Soderbergh gives us what may be one of the lightest, frothiest creampuffs of the year, The Informant! This description may not do the film justice, though. Peel through the layers of deception that the director has stacked up high, apropos of the inscrutable Mark Whitacre (Matt Damon)—the title character at the heart of the film—and you shall be rewarded with a satire of inescapable incisiveness.