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Tag Archives: Kate Bosworth

7/16/14: Hat’s Off to the Old School

12 Tuesday Aug 2014

Posted by phillipkaragas in Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

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action films, bad cops, based on a book, bullies, Burt Reynolds, Chuck Zito, cinema, corrupt law enforcement, DEA agents, drug dealer, druglord, film reviews, films, Frank Grillo, Gary Fleder, Homefront, Izabela Vidovic, James Franco, Jason Statham, Kate Bosworth, Marcus Hester, Movies, Rachelle Lefevre, single father, small town life, Sylvester Stallone, thrillers, Winona Ryder

homefront-movie-poster-2013-1020769009

There’s certainly something to be said for a nice full-throttle, no-frills, old-fashioned action film. You know the kind that I mean: white hats vs black hats, clear-cut heroes and villains, lots of ass-kicking and just enough tension to make us think that anything could happen, even if our steadfast hero has everything locked down tighter than Fort Knox. The ’80s were a pretty fertile breeding ground for films like this, turning square-jawed bruisers like Chuck Norris, Sly Stallone, Bruce Willis, Burt Reynolds and their ilk into box-office warriors and giving a generation of kids a bakers’ dozen of take-charge “do-gooders” to look up to. While it’s debatable whether modern audiences are looking that far backwards (although the prevalence of remakes and re-dos as of late makes me think that someone has their eye planted on the rearview mirror), it’s pretty clear that filmmakers are, consciously or not, evoking the Reagan-era left and right. Case in point: director Gary Fleder’s recent Homefront (2013), a film that comes off as so influenced by gritty ’80s action films that it plays as more of an homage to the era than other obviously ’80s-leaning flicks like Almost Human (2013) and Hobo With a Shotgun (2011).

In certain ways, Homefront plays like a long-lost Burt Reynolds film, perhaps one of the string of gritty shoot-’em’ups that the hirsute mega-star was involved with throughout the ’80s: movies like Sharky’s Machine (1981), Stick (1985), Heat (1986) and especially Malone (1987) certainly seem to be spiritual forefathers to Homefront, if not strictly genetic ones. It’s certainly not difficult to see star Jason Statham as the successor to ’80s action stars: his patented brand of brooding, kind-hearted cynicism seems tailor-made for films where he reluctantly (but efficiently) opens industrial-sized barrels of whup-ass on thoroughly deserving bad guys. With Homefront, however, Statham might have just found his most implicitly ’80s film yet: that the film also ends up being one his most entertaining is certainly no mean feat.

Homefront kicks off with a sequence that, for better or worse, looked and felt like a scene from Sons of Anarchy: we watch as undercover DEA agent Phil Broker (Jason Statham) is involved in the takedown of big-time biker/druglord Danny T (Chuck Zito) and his gang. During the bust and subsequent high-speed chase through the city, Danny T’s son pulls a piece and is promptly aerated by multiple rounds from about a million cops. Broker is disgusted by the senseless killing (although, to be fair, the dude did pull a gun while surrounded by at least an entire squadron of police officers…what did he assume would happen?) and quits the force.

Fast-forward two years and Broker is now the single-father to adorable 9-year-old munchkin Maddy (Izabela Vidovic). The two live in a small, Southern town where Broker is a building contractor and does everything humanly possible to blend into the background. Blending is difficult when you have a self-assured kid who’s an expert at self-defense, however, which Broker learns after Maddy (politely) kicks the ever-loving shit out of a douchbag bully at school. Enter the bully’s repulsive parents, the ridiculously white-trash-and-proud-of-it Cassie (Kate Bosworth) and her spineless asshat of a husband, Jimmy (Marcus Hester). Cassie is furious that her beloved meatsack son got schooled by a girl and browbeats Jimmy into confronting Broker. This, of course, is a terrible move, as Broker proceeds to politely kick Jimmy’s ass up one side of the street and down the other, all while the local Sheriff (Clancy Brown) looks on.

Since Cassie has never been one to leave well-enough alone, she decides to take her complaint up the food chain: next stop, her insane brother and local meth kingpin, “Gator” Bodine (James Franco). Gator is a real piece of work, as we see when he mercilessly beats a group of sad-sack wannabe meth cooks with a baseball bat. Gator may be providing meth to his miserable addict of a sister but she’s still family, dammit, and no smooth city boy is gonna fuck with his family. This ends up setting off a chain of events where Gator and his men try to run Broker and his daughter out of town, all while Broker finds new and exciting ways to break jaws, legs, ribs and skulls. All that Broker wants is to be left alone to raise his daughter in (relative) peace and quiet. When Gator ups the ante by getting Danny T involved, Broker has no choice but to take it all to its logical extreme: if it’s a war that the backwoods mafia wants, it’s a war that they’re gonna get. To paraphrase that paragon of ’80s badassery: I pity the fool who gets between Broker and his daughter.

Like the best ’80s action flicks, Homefront is one big, thrilling mess of shattered limbs, anonymous baddies getting ventilated with automatic weapons, massive explosions, gritty violence and memorably evil antagonists. As with the best ’80s action flicks, however, Homefront lives or dies based on the inherent cool of its hero and Statham is more than up for the task. While I’ve always enjoyed Statham as an action figure, I must admit that most of his more popular films (The Transporter series, the Crank series) tend to just wear me out: as a rule, the films are kinetic nightmares, full of seemingly endless stunts, fights, explosions and little to no sense of narrative flow. If anything, they seem sort of like R-rated cartoons, so chaotic and manic that sitting through them is more about overcoming the distractions and “absorbing” the films versus actually enjoying them.

Not so with Homefront, thankfully: despite its overly polished look and sound (at times, the film looks distressingly like a Hallmark Movie of the Week, albeit one with a poundingly loud soundtrack and more casual ultra-violence than most Schwarzenegger flicks), Homefront is just about as gritty as it gets and is decidedly reminiscent of the aforementioned ’80s actions flicks. Statham brings a tired, world-weary sensibility to his portrayal of Phil Broker that really works: he doesn’t want to keep cracking skulls but he’ll be damned if these morons just can’t take the hint. Every good ’80s action star needs a good villain, however, and Franco is more than capable as the bat-shit-scary Gator. I have a love-hate relationship with Franco, to be honest: when the guy is on point, he’s pretty damn amazing, a smirking chameleon who can easily morph into whatever role he wants. The rest of the time, however, I find him to be a rather pretentious douchbag, more given to creating and upholding his own “mythology” than he is in crafting an indelible body of work: I can totally dig “Franco the actor” but I often find myself wanting to kick “Franco the celebrity” square in the family jewels.

Luckily for me, “Franco the actor” is front and center in Homefront and his Gator may be my favorite role of his yet. Franco can be an unusually expressive actor and his performance here is a minor miracle of facial tics, raised eyebrows, subtle mannerisms and explosive violence: he underplays the role so much that when he finally lets loose, he really lets loose, bringing the thunder in a pretty major way. Compare this to Winona Ryder’s “gal Friday” part as Gator’s on-again/off-again girlfriend Sheryl for an interesting parallel: Franco underplays everything to marvelous effect while Ryder overplays everything and comes across like a nitwit. In a long career of hot-and-cold performances, Ryder’s Sheryl has to be one of her coldest: despite the histrionics, there’s no part of her performance that resonates in any meaningful way.

Kate Bosworth, on the other hand, surprises rather handily as the virulent, awful Cassie. At first, Cassie comes across as the worst kind of stereotypical redneck (think a Deliverance (1972) baddie but with less self-control) but Bosworth is a gifted enough performer to bring plenty of nuance to her character, enough so that her 11th hour “humanization” comes across more as a natural progression than a deus ex machina. Poor Rachelle Lefevre (Under the Dome), however, ends up being completely wasted as Susan, one of Maddy’s teachers. In certain ways, the character of Susan feels as if it were hacked to pieces and left to bleed out on the cutting-room floor: not only does the expected (and teased) romance with Broker never materialize but Susan doesn’t really do much of anything, save walk around and look concerned. Faring much better is current action star Frank Grillo (The Grey (2011), The Purge: Anarchy (2014)), who makes a pretty scary badguy as Danny T’s lieutenant, Cyrus. The scene where he forces Sheryl to meet him at a seafood restaurant, despite her allergy to shellfish, is pretty unforgettable and prime Grillo, a it were.

Despite really enjoying Homefront, there were a few issues that forced me to rate it a little lower than I might have otherwise. As mentioned earlier, the film is never quite gritty enough to shake off that whole “Hallmark Movie” notion (in particular, the score is always heavy-handed and way too leading), despite the abundance of violence. There’s also an odd tendency for the “heroes” to seem all but invincible: there are at least four, if not more, times during the film where a good guy suffers what appears to be a fatal injury only to just “walk it off.” The same doesn’t apply to the bad guys, however, who tend to kick the bucket in herds. I was also less than enamored with a weird, irritating editing tic wherein upcoming scenes are briefly edited onto the tail-end of the preceding scene. I’m not sure who thought this was a good (or even clever) idea but it really isn’t: had the rest of the film not been so rock-solid, this would have been a deal-breaker, for sure.

That being said, I ended up enjoying Homefront to an almost ludicrous degree, perhaps because it so effectively channeled those ’80s flicks I grew up on. The script, based on a novel but adapted by action star Sly Stallone, is quite good and the numerous fight scenes are real corkers: Statham really knows how to portray a cinematic asskicker and Fleder, who also helmed Things to Do in Denver When You’re Dead (1995) and Kiss the Girls (1997), really knows how to make him look badass doing it. I really bought the relationship between Maddy and her dad, which never seemed forced and overly saccharine. And then, of course, there’s that glorious performance by Franco: somebody make this guy a Bond villain, stat!

At the end of the day, Homefront is unapologetically violent, a little cheesy and over-produced. The film is also genuinely exciting, action-packed and full of undeniable energy and verve. If you’re looking for a good, old-fashioned, black-and-white story about good guys kicking the snot out of bad guys, you could do a whole lot worse than Homefront. For anyone who grew up on those caustically cool ’80s actioners, however, Homefront may just look a lot like manna from heaven. Statham may not have Burt’s chest-chair but he sure as hell has his eye for dependably tough action roles. Let’s hope he can grind out a few more of these and give the Transporter and Crank films a rest.

7/10/14: A Mediocre Day at Black Rock

09 Saturday Aug 2014

Posted by phillipkaragas in Uncategorized

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Tags

actor-director, Anslem Richardson, battle of the sexes, Black Rock, cinema, disappointing films, Donkey Punch, drama, female friendships, film reviews, films, friends, Iraq War, islands, isolation, Jay Paulson, Kate Bosworth, Katie Aselton, Lake Bell, Mark Duplass, Movies, survival-horror, The Descent, The League, The Puffy Chair, thriller, violence against women, war veterans, Will Bouvier

black_rock

I really wanted to love Katie Aselton’s Black Rock (2012): oh, boy, did I ever. I went into the film with not only the highest of hopes but also the greatest of expectations, practically willing it to be amazing. How could it lose, after all? The film stars and is directed by Aselton  (a complete gold mine in the uproariously funny TV show, The League), is written by her husband, Mark Duplass (also of The League and equally amazing), features Lake Bell (who may just be this generation’s Crispin Glover) and is a female-centric survival-horror film. A pedigree like this seems almost tailor-made for my sensibilities, especially considering how much I’ve always loved The Descent (2005).

Alas, Black Rock ends up being a pretty major disappointment. From a clichéd storyline and heavy-handed musical score to unrealistic, irritating acting and wooden dialogue, the film ended up deflating all of my expectations, one by one. Rather than being a neo-classic, Black Rock ends up being a distinctly lackluster entry into the survival-horror subgenre, more Donkey Punch (2008) than Wilderness (2006). Even worse, the film manages to fail as both a friendship-oriented drama and a horror film, keeping one foot planted in the worst of both worlds.

All that poor Sarah (Kate Bosworth) wants to do is return to the secluded island that she remembered so fondly from her childhood and relive her girlhood memories with her best friends, Abby (Katie Aselton) and Lou (Lake Bell). The only fly in the ointment, of course, being that Abby and Lou can’t stand each others’ guts. Being a real Kissinger, however, Sarah decides to bring everybody together by just, you know, lying about it and invites them each separately. When they all show up at the dock, ready to board the boat, Abby and Lou look about as excited to see each other as a fly and a fly swatter might. Thinking fast, Sarah defuses the situation by pretending to have cancer. That’s right, Sarah the humanitarian bridges the divide by telling her best friends that she has a terminal disease. Let the good times begin!

From here, we get some pretty sub-Blair Witch arguing in the woods stuff, as Abby and Lou proceed to hash out every bit of their contentious relationship. Rather than seeming like a good way to get the gang back together, this begins to seem like a plot on Sarah’s part to have her friends kill each other: could this be some kind of Hitchcockian twist on the part of screenwriter Duplass? Nah…it’s just a lot of pointless bickering to add some “drama” and “character development.” The big problem? All of the “development” stops at the obnoxious phase and never makes it past that.

While tooling through the woods, our trio are surprised by three hunters: Henry (Will Bouvier), Derek (Jay Paulson) and Alex (Anslem Richardson). Turns out that the ladies all went to high school with Henry’s older brother, Jimmy. After as much awkward hemming and hawing as a junior high formal, Abby invites the guys to hang out and get shit-faced with them. This, of course, doesn’t make Sarah and Lou particularly happy, since Sarah wanted a girls’ weekend and Lou just wants Abby to spontaneously combust, but Abby gets what she wants because she’s Abby, dammit!

After another exceedingly awkward scene where Abby gets trashed and makes fun of Derek’s lack of facial hair while flagrantly coming on to Henry, she excuses herself to go get some firewood, followed shortly afterwards by Henry, who sees a good opportunity to take this to the next level. This, of course, leaves Sarah and Lou alone with Derek and Alex, which is just enough time to learn that the three guys are recently back from Iraq, where they were dishonorably discharged. “Something” happened over there, something that they don’t want to talk about but, hey: these are still probably nice enough guys, right?

Not quite, as we find out once Henry attempts to rape Abby out in the woods. She puts the kibosh on the attack with a large rock, which ends up putting the kibosh on the rest of Henry’s lifespan. This, in turn, makes Derek and Alex fly into a murderous rage: how dare this crazy bitch kill their wannabe rapist/potentially lunatic war veteran/cuddly best friend?! Since any measure of actual thought, at this point, would derail the rest of the film, the remaining guys make what seems to be a pretty reasonable decision: kill the three women.

Being a survival-horror film, however, this is all just set-up for one long game of cat-and-mouse between the three friends and their (presumably) insane captors. It goes without saying that they’ll break free, escape, suffer injuries, fight back, get in touch with their inner warriors and kick a ton of ass: it goes without saying because these are all of the traditional beats in any survival-horror film and Aselton and Duplass are absolutely not interested in doing anything outside of this particular box. Period. This, of course, all leads to an ending that could probably be seen coming from at least the end of the first act, if not the opening credits and the sudden realization that tremendous success in television comedy doesn’t necessarily translate to incredible success in a thriller/horror film.

Not to flog this horse too much but Black Rock really isn’t a very good film. It’s stunningly unoriginal, for one thing, almost seeming like a paint-by-numbers attempt at this particular subgenre. While the cinematography and shot selection is actually quite good, the musical score is eye-rolling, so heavy-handed that it felt like the music was constantly elbowing me in the side, going, “Eh? Eh? Get it? You get it?” The script is consistently awful, filled not only with howlingly bad dialogue but also so many character and plot inconsistencies that it felt unfinished, as if the dialogue was half-scripted, half-improv.

The fatal blow, however, has to be the unrealistic acting and thoroughly unlikable characters. To be quite blunt, all six of these people are shitheads: the men are all homicidal, misogynist, insane, steroidal assholes, while Sarah is a misanthropic, self-centered nitwit, Abby is a bat-shit crazy boozehound and Lou is a unlikeable jerk who spends the entire film making bitter beer faces at Abby. Not only would I never want to be stuck on an isolated island with any of these people, I didn’t want to be stuck in a movie with them, either. By the time folks started to die off, it was too little, too late: I kept hoping this would turn into some sort of alien invasion film and ETs would swoop in and turn these jackasses into ash piles. Alas, it was pretty content to stay a thoroughly pedestrian survival-horror film.

Perhaps the worst thing about Black Rock is how much wasted potential there was here. Aselton, Bell and Bosworth are all more than capable actors, while Duplass was responsible for writing not only the mumblecore films The Puffy Chair (2005) and Baghead (2008), but also the way-excellent Jeff, Who Lives at Home (2011). What the hell happened? Short of any kind of definitive answer, I’m going to have to assume that this all looked a whole lot more promising during the planning stages, kind of like mixing the perfect souffle, only to have the whole thing collapse into mush in the oven.

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