A goodbye letter and self-described “docu-fantasia” that is equal parts transcendental rumination, historical chronicle, and personal portrait. In the first segment, Maddin’s camera drifts dreamlike through crowded trains as a floating kielbasa hangs from the ceiling and the director/narrator ponders just why the city boasts the most sleepwalkers per capita of any major international city.
Oh boy, I really didn’t enjoy this (and a quick look over at RottenTomatoes shows that I’m very much in the minority). I found My Winnipeg to be incredibly self-indulgent and sophomoric in execution. Guy Maddin is talented with a camera, but the documentary plays out like a bad student film, with title cards quickly flashing and re-stating what the narrator had previously said. Speaking of which, just because you repeat a line multiple times doesn’t make your writing poetry.
I’m all for a filmmaker doing something different and My Winnipeg certainly has that going for it. It’s also a pretentious, self-aware, and unenjoyable piece of filmmaking.
When a mysterious event from Earth’s past erupts into the present day it threatens to bring a war to Earth so big that the Transformers alone will not be able to save us.
What a dumb film. Sure, I knew what I was getting into, but I at least enjoyed the first as pure summer blockbuster entertainment. The first hour and a half of Transformers 3 is largely comprised of dialogue that does nothing to advance the plot and features well respected actors cashing in paychecks while playing the thinnest of caricatures. The last hour was action packed with robot action (the only reason I even bothered in the first place), but even that wasn’t enough to keep this mess together. And for a film targeted to younger kids, there was a ton of cursing in Transformers 3. Call me soft, but is it really necessary for a film of this nature?
Shia LaBeouf screams his way from scene to scene while Rosie Huntington-Whiteley does nothing more than replace Megan Fox as eye candy. It amazes me that Frances McDormand, John Turturro and John Malkovich are in a Transformers film but hey, that’s Hollywood for you. (Also, Malkovich was likely looking for a big paycheck after Spiderman 4 fell through at Sony.)
After years of dating white women, an unconventional “brotha” vows to try his luck with some “sistahs” of his own race. But when he falls for a self-described “half-Rican Canadian”, is it possible he’s found his soul mate?
I’m through with finding a description ridiculous enough to warrant sitting through an entire film like this.
The story of Robert, an inanimate tire that has been abandoned in the desert, and suddenly and inexplicably comes to life. As Robert roams the bleak landscape, he discovers that he possesses terrifying telepathic powers that give him the ability to destroy anything he wishes without having to move.
After reading the synopsis or watching a trailer, you have to know what you are getting into with a film like Rubber. Even still, with a run-time of just over eighty minutes, this exercise in meta manages to feel like an eternity.
Less of a movie and more of an experience, director Quentin Dupieux (who worked on the soundtrack with Justice’s Gaspard Auge) begins with a fourth wall breaking speech by Stephen Spirella’s Lieutenant Chad. Either you buy into his points about nonsense in cinema, or Rubber is going to be a terrible time for you. As a short film, it could have been terrific. Time will tell if this killer tire flick will end up as part of the art house midnight circuit (for which it seems intended).
Two young people try to avoid the entrapment of middle-class relationships through purely casual sexual encounters but are confronted with the possibility of love when they unexpectedly connect.
Lie With Me is glorified soft-core pornography. It moves from scene to scene without a clear purpose, and is devoid of a single character worth latching onto. In a film where Eric Balfour is too good for the material, you know that you are going to have a problem.