2/28/15 (Part Four): Making a Case For the Staycation

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Andrés Levin, Beto Cuevas, black magic, Borderland, Brian Presley, cinema, co-writers, cults, Damián Alcázar, drug cartel, drug cartels, drug dealers, Eric Poppen, extreme films, extreme violence, film reviews, films, foreigners abroad, Francesca Guillén, gory films, Greg McLean, horror, horror films, horror movies, Hostel, human sacrifice, inspired by true events, Jake Muxworthy, Marco Bacuzzi, Martha Higareda, Mexican gangs, Mexico, Movies, Rider Strong, Scott Kevan, Sean Astin, set in Mexico, torture, torture porn, tourists, violent films, Wolf Creek, writer-director, youth in trouble, Zev Berman

If there’s one thing that modern horror films seem to make abundantly clear, it’s that tourists make great cannon fodder. From Hostel (2005) to Wolf Creek (2005), from Turistas (2006) to The Ruins (2008) all the way to the frigid water of the Reykjavik Whale Watching Massacre (2009), horror films have taught us that foreigners abroad (usually Americans in foreign countries…fancy that!) can expect a few things: beautiful locations, sinister locals, dangerous sight-seeing and more occult ceremonies, dismemberment and torture than they can shake a stick at. Hell, under this rubric, Australia’s Greg Mclean is probably the number one bane to that country’s tourism industry: between his Wolf Creek films and Rogue (2007), his giant croc opus, it’s a wonder that any non-resident would ever want to step foot in the Land Down Under, much less poke around in its isolated, Outback areas.

Tourism-based horror films work, in many cases, because we all (Americans, in particular) harbor certain preconceived notions and prejudices about “the other”: we all want to take in and experience as much of the world as we can but there’s always the nagging notion that what you don’t know can, without a doubt, flay you alive. Meeting new people and experiencing new cultures is always a good thing, we say, but humanity’s inherent fear of the unknown is a mighty powerful primal urge to overcome. For some audiences (and filmmakers, apparently), there can be nothing more terrifying than being “stuck” in a foreign country, surrounded by strangers, unable to fully communicate, protect or look after ourselves. It’s a biased fear, of course, but aren’t all fears? After all, the difference between fearing something and respecting it is usually a pretty small step, one that begins with understanding and empathy. As the TV used to say: knowing is half the battle.

Zev Berman’s Borderland (2007) is another in the long line of “tourists in peril” films, while also slotting neatly into the “torture-porn” subgenre that was spearheaded by the likes of Saw (2004) and Hostel (2005) in the mid-’00s. While I’ve never been a fan of torture-porn films, despite having seen more than my fair share – I’ll go on record as saying that the Saw films are something of a guilty pleasure, for me, while I find the Hostel films (and most of Eli Roth’s output, to be honest) to be fairly worthless, aside from the geek-show appeal – I’ve seen plenty that manage to balance their gratuitous blood-letting and suffering with actual narratives. When done right, these types of films can be unbelievably powerful, drawing us right into the dark heart of suffering and putting us uncomfortably close to the terrible action on screen. Despite some scattered issues, Berman’s Borderland ends up in the “well done” column, thanks to some atypically solid acting, a suffocating sense of helplessness and a connection to real-world events, no matter how tenuous. They’re small differentials, in some cases, but they make all the difference in a relatively crowded field.

The “other,” in this case, is Mexico: to be more specific, the violent, drug cartel aspect of Mexico that’s managed to turn the border between the U.S. and its southern neighbor into a veritable war-zone. The issue, of course, is much more complex than simply “good vs evil”: notions of societal infrastructure, politics (both domestic and international), xenophobia and good old-fashioned capitalism all play in. While the notion of eradicating the cartels is a noble one, it’s also a notion that’s steeped in wish-fulfillment as much as reality: at this point, the relationship between the cartels, Mexico’s political structure and its civilians is too intertwined to be easily severed. There’s also the underlying (and largely unspoken) notion that the United States plays a huge role in this problem: issues of supply and demand notwithstanding, the “war on drugs” has managed to turn cartels into cash cows, in the same way that Prohibition managed to give the mob a significant boost in the ’20s.

This is the framework into which we’re dropped, although the meat of the narrative is another “fish out of water” tale, involving a trio of freshly graduated, all-American high school seniors who decide to have one, last blow out in Mexico and get more than they bargained for. The trio are “types” more than individuals but that’s also par for the course: Henry (Jake Muxworthy) is the macho, cocky douchebag with a dick for a brain and an inherent dislike of the lower classes; Phil (Rider Strong) is the geeky virgin who just wants to get laid and Ed (Brian Presley) is the sensitive, nice guy (and obvious hero). After Ed “saves” a comely bartender (Martha Higareda) who ends up being more than capable of taking care of herself, the trio get a pair of bumming-around companions in the form of Valeria and her demure, religious cousin, Lupe (Francesca Guillén).

This is all well and good, of course, but the film’s opening introduced us to a severely terrifying group of Mexican drug dealers, led by the astoundingly creepy Gustavo (Marco Bacuzzi), and it doesn’t take a psychic to foretell that paths will, eventually, be crossing. When Phil mysteriously disappears after going to visit his 17-year-old prostitute “girlfriend” (she was his first, after all), Ed and Henry, along with Valeria and Lupe, scour the area, looking for any signs of him. When they run into a grizzled, former police detective by the name of Ulises (Damián Alcázar), however, they learn about the cartel and discover just how much trouble their friend (and they) are really in. As luck would have it, they’ve come to town just as the cartel’s “high priest,” Santillan (Beto Cuevas), has arrived: it’s time for a special ceremony, it seems, and Phil is the guest of honor.

Despite its unrelenting brutality, Borderland is actually a fairly thoughtful, well-thought-out film. While the camera never shies away from the violence (particularly in the incredibly unpleasant scene where a cop is tortured), it also doesn’t wallow in it: there’s never the sense that Berman has simply strung one gore setpiece to the next, ala the Hostel films. The violence is all justified within the framework of the story: Santillan and the cartel have a reason for doing what they’re doing, even if it isn’t a particularly solid one, which positions this as the furthest thing from “psycho killers hackin’ up teens.”

Unlike the recent spate of overly-glossy, polished horror films (think anything by Platinum Dunes), Borderland actually has a gritty, grainy look that really helps sell the foreboding atmosphere. At times, particularly during the opening credits, the film actually reminded me (favorably) of Tobe Hooper’s original Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974), although Berman’s film is nowhere near as accomplished. Cinematographer Scott Kevan, who also shot Eli Roth’s gore-tastic Cabin Fever (2002), does lose points for some unnecessarily shaky camera (especially during some nausea-inducing running scenes that would make the Blair Witch blush) but it’s never bad enough to fully pull one out of the action.

One of Borderland’s secret weapons is definitely it’s collection of bad guys. Beto Cuevas’ Santillan is a cold, reptilian, uber-polite, smart and unassuming dude, the kind of guy that you wouldn’t mind discussing art with…if he wasn’t so busy sawing you into pieces, that is. Channeling something of the cool menace of Anthony Hopkin’s legendary Hannibal Lecter, Cuevas is nothing short of masterful and Santillan is, easily, one of the scariest “real-world” villains to pop up in horror films in some time. We’ve already mentioned Bacuzzi’s freakish Gustavo (sort of a Mexican cartel Michael Berryman who shoots first and asks never), but let’s not forget Sean Astin’s stellar take on the ex-pat-turned-cartel-whipping-boy Randall: friendly, apologetic and completely mercenary, Randall is the last person you’d want watching you in this situation. Put them all together and Borderland has a better group of villains that most action films I’ve seen in a while: kudos, indeed!

While Borderland certainly plays up the popular media perception of the Mexican border as a lawless war-zone (we’re informed that the film is “inspired by real events” at the outset), it’s certainly no more xenophobic than any of the aforementioned tourist-related horror films. We spend time with not only the cartel but also the police and locals (in the form of Valeria and Lupe): it’s not a fully-fleshed portrait, by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s a fair sight more balanced than the typical “sneering, glowering, backwoods” take on this sort of thing.

I also appreciated that Higareda’s Valeria was never a shrinking violet, clichéd sexpot or damsel in distress: by the film’s conclusion, she’s maintained herself as a fairly independent asskicker and a worthy equal to Ed. Additional bonus points for allowing the character of Henry to develop (if ever so slightly) from arrogant asshole to properly-humbled dude after a confrontation with Gustavo: I’d change my tune awful damn quick if I butted heads with that guy, too!

Ultimately, Borderland is a well done, if decidedly unpleasant, film: despite a questionably happy ending, the majority of Berman’s movie is claustrophobic, lean, mean and engineered to pummel an audience into submission. While nothing here surprised me, necessarily, I was genuinely impressed by the way all of the moving parts came together into a cohesive, fairly unique and endlessly disturbing whole. While there might not be a shortage of tourist-in-peril or torture-porn films on the market, Berman’s Borderland manages to stand out from the crowd: sometimes, that’s all you can ask for.

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10/18/14 (Part Three): It Always Feels Like…Someone Is Watching Me

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1st person POV, 31 Days of Halloween, Adam Shapiro, Anna Margaret Hollyman, cinema, co-writers, computers, David Schlachtenhaufen, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, found-footage films, horror, horror movies, Hostel, Katija Pevec, Lauren Thompson, Melanie Papalia, modern technology, Movies, online chat rooms, online stalking, Saidah Arrika Ekulona, serial killer, The Den, torture porn, twist ending, video blogging, video chatting, webcams, writer-director, Zachary Donohue

Just about the time that it seems as if all found-footage/1st-person POV horror films will consist of riffs on The Blair Witch Project (1999) ad infinitum, along comes Zachary Donohue’s fairly original and rather disturbing feature-film debut, The Den (2013). Functioning as a cautionary tale, of sorts, about the ways in which our increasingly inter-connected world can end up connecting us to some pretty terrible shit, The Den expands the traditional notion of the 1st-person POV film to include instant messages, email, Google searches, website visits, video chats: in essence, we find ourselves interacting with the same sort of computer desktop interface that most audience members will probably be all to familiar with. Life as art? For our sake, let’s hope the parallels end there.

Our plucky young protagonist, Elizabeth (Melanie Papalia), is a college student who has just received a plum grant in order to study the online socialization habits of our modern world, focusing on the users of a social chatting site known as The Den. As part of her research, Elizabeth is determined to spend as much time on the site as possible and vows to accept any video-chat request she receives. As one can imagine, this leads to the usual variety of bored/horny/strange/naked encounters that one might have on something like ChatRoulette (is that even still around?), along with something a bit more unsettling: while hanging out with her best friend, Jenni (Katija Pevec), Elizabeth happens to stumble upon the user “PyaGrl16,” who’s chat screen consists of nothing more than a smiling still photo of a young woman. After a short, odd conversation, Elizabeth continues about her exploration, thinking nothing more about it.

Over the next few days, Elizabeth continues to have short, strange conversations with PyaGrl16, conversations which seem to vacillate between childlike curiosity and sinister bullying. The situation reaches a frightening, new level when the website appears to develop a mind of its own: Elizabeth’s laptop powers up on its own and PyaGrl16’s smiling avatar becomes an omnipresent force. One night, while Elizabeth is paid a visit by her randy boyfriend, Damien (David Schlachtenhaufen), the website powers up and appears to record their romp through the sheets, a video of which is later emailed to the faculty members responsible for her grant. Soon, Elizabeth finds herself needing to defend her character, all while PyaGrl16 becomes more and more aggressive. When Damien appears to be abducted from his vehicle while chatting with her, however, Elizabeth realizes that the situation may be more dire than she originally thought. She’s right, of course, as we soon see when everything spirals into a hideous web of abduction, torture, deceit and the cruelest of all forms of entertainment. As Elizabeth will come to learn, the dead eye of the webcam never really sleeps and we all might be horrified to realize just who’s hanging out on the other end.

Right off the bat, The Den’s structure and format ends up working wonders, breathing a fresh bit of air into a decidedly stagnant subgenre. The film clips along at a pretty breakneck pace, aided immeasurably by the constant flow of new information on the screen: while the various computer screens, instant messages, pictures-within-pictures, etc…start to feel overwhelming, at times, the narrative never feels clogged or unnecessarily convoluted. While I’m probably one of the least technologically savvy folks out there, I never felt lost in all of the discussions of social networking apps, catch-phrases, etc…it’s all integrated in a pretty seamless fashion and hooked me fairly easily.

One of the single most important aspects of a horror film, of course, should be the ability of said film to induce fear and it’s here that The Den finds its greatest strength: the film is genuinely scary, particularly for anyone who spends an inordinate amount of time online. There’s something inherently creepy about that eternally smiling picture of the young girl and Donohue uses it in a similar fashion to the creepy doll from the Saw series, as a harbinger of ill things to come. While parts of the film tend to devolve rather quickly into torture-porn nastiness, much of it is still more concerned with developing a claustrophobic sense of paranoia than forcing viewers to play chicken with the images on the screen: one of the most heart-stopping moments is the one where Elizabeth’s laptop suddenly turns on, right to that damn, smiling picture. It’s a great, subtle moment, one which, thankfully, isn’t a one-time occurence.

In fact, one of the single greatest strengths of The Den is the way in which its format effectively pulls the viewer into the film. In an era when more and more people are watching feature films on computer screens, The Den is one of the first films that practically demands to be seen this way: watch the movie on a laptop, in the dark, and see how often you end up looking over your shoulder. It’s a film that, like the best and most prevalent urban legends, preys on all of our worst fears and assumptions regarding the Internet: despite what we’re “told” we all “know” that there’s an army of faceless, anonymous predatory monsters just lurking on the other side of our computer monitors, waiting to drag us away into the shadows.

While the acting varies in effectiveness, ranging from pleasingly underplayed to obviously amateurish, Melanie Papalia is consistently likable as our inquisitive heroine, so much so that her inevitable fate feels more impactful than similar plot devices in similar films. Elizabeth never comes across as overbearing or obnoxious, character traits which can certainly be attributed to other found-footage protagonists: suffice to say that she’s a much better person to be lost in the woods with than Heather Donahue and we’ll leave it at that.

While The Den has a lot going for it, it’s also exceedingly unpleasant and, as mentioned above, more than a little torture-porny. The atmosphere is consistently grim and oppressive but it can almost be a bit too much, at times: there really isn’t anything here to lighten the mood (unless one counts Elizabeth’s silly, throw-away encounter with one of those “Nigerian prince” scammers, that is). That being said, this particular aspect is also what makes the film so effective as a horror movie: it’s utterly relentless, especially once the ground rules are established, and plunges at breakneck pace towards its effective (if slightly familiar) twist ending.

In a day and age when most found-footage/1st-person POV horror films seem content to take the lowest road possible, The Den bucks the trend and goes for something a little more ambitious. While the film probably won’t be considered a modern classic (it’s ultimately just a little too narrow-focused to be as effective as it could be), it’s a thoroughly effective, chilling and thought-provoking film and one that certainly bodes well for Donohue and co-writer Lauren Thompson’s future projects. If nothing else, The Den will surely give viewers something to think about the next time they get a friend request from some anonymous person and wonder just who might be on the other end of the ones and zeroes.

6/25/14: He’ll Talk Your Ear Right Off

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anti-tourism films, Australia, Australian films, Australian horror films, cinema, drinking songs, Film, film reviews, Greg McLean, head-on-a-stick, horror, horror film, horror franchises, horror movies, John Jarratt, Mick Taylor, Movies, pig hunting, Ryan Corr, sequels, serial killer, the Outback, torture porn, Wolf Creek, Wolf Creek 2, writer-director

If you think about it, writer-director Greg McLean is like a one-man “anti-tourism” board for the great nation of Australia. McLean’s first two films, Wolf Creek (2005) and Rogue (2007), seemed bound and determined to make sure that folks stay far away from the Land Down Under: after all, he’s given us an unstoppable serial killer who targets tourists and a massive, man-eating crocodile that targets tourists…by this point, McLean could probably direct a reboot of Short Circuit (1986) and have Number 5 slaughter tourists. In some ways, it’s a decidedly niche acre to plow but it’s all McLean’s and he’s done amazingly well with it. The first Wolf Creek was a nasty modern classic, a frequently revolting, tough as nails horror film that introduced the world to Mick Taylor, the grinning, sadistic purveyor of the “head-on-a-stick.” As portrayed by John Jarratt, Mick was an instantly memorable character: a crude, racist, blood-thirsty pig-hunter who wanted to keep Australia “for the Australians”: if it meant massacring every foreign tourist he came across, well, so be it. There was real power in the character of Mick, a queasy combination of tough-guy “cool” and pure, unadulterated evil: Mick was charismatic and crazy as a shit-house rat…never a good combination.

When it was announced that McLean would be returning to the character of Mick, after almost a decade, I found myself wondering how this might work out. After all, I never thought that Wolf Creek had the potential to be a franchise: it was just too gritty and mean-spirited, for one thing but the character of Mick was also problematic. As we’ve seen with Freddy, sequels can often have a way of leaching the sinister cool from a villain, turning them from pure evil into something resembling a mass-murdering Henny Youngman. As portrayed in the first film, Mick had just the proper balance of dead-eyed evil and smarmy attitude: would McLean be able to keep this balance or would Mick begin a journey that would lead him to the same land of one-liners as Freddy and the Wishmaster? In many ways, Wolf Creek 2 (2013) is a much different beast than its predecessor, more of a bleak action film than a stalk-and-slash torture porn, similar to the difference between Alien (1979) and Aliens (1986). But what about Mick? Does the Outback boogeyman still possess the ability to freeze the blood or has he joined the comedy circuit?

Wolf Creek 2 kicks off in high-fashion with a couple of corrupt highway patrolmen pulling over Mick’s truck, by way of a speed trap. The two cops are complete assholes, both belligerent and belittling to our “anti-hero” and the look on Mick’s face pretty much says it all: “Not a lot of pigs down south,” he sniffs, eyeing the high-powered rifle hanging in his truck cab, and the hog-hunter’s emphasis is pretty clear. Sure enough, as the cops take off, celebrating their “fun” with Mick, he calmly blows off the top half of the driver’s head (in a scene so astoundingly gory that it almost becomes parody), causing the car to flip. Mick calmly tracks the wounded survivor as he crawls from the wreckage, incapacitating him with a knife to his spinal cord (the aforementioned “head-on-a-stick”) before carrying him back to the car, strapping him in, soaking the whole thing in petrol and burning him alive. Mick walks off into the Outback, smiling, and we roll credits. It’s an intense, bravura, horrifying way to open the film and a pretty unforgettable way to reintroduce us to the bastard that is Mick Taylor.

The movie, proper, begins with a couple of young, energetic German tourists, Katarina (Shannon Ashlyn) and Rutger (Philippe Klaus), hitchhiking through the Outback. “Born to Be Wild” is on the soundtrack, the kids are having fun, it’s a sunny day and everything’s groovy. The pair is heading for Wolf Creek Crater which, as astute fans will remember, is ol’ Mick’s stomping grounds. As they travel, Rutger experiences some frustration with getting drivers to stop and pick them up: he complains about the loss of “community” and “altruism,” taking to task people who are afraid of foreigners and strangers. Rutger, of course, won’t know how bad the situation is until Mick stops by their campsite that evening. He’s come to tell them that there’s no camping in the national park areas and to offer them a ride back to town: Rutger is right to be suspicious, since the only things on Mick’s mind are carnage and rape, not necessarily in that order. After Rutger prevents Mick from assaulting Katarina, he gets dismembered for his troubles, allowing his companion to sneak away. “Hide and seek, eh,” Mick giggles when he discovers Katarina gone…and we’re off to the races.

From this point on, Wolf Creek 2 becomes a bit of a chase film, as Mick pursues first Katarina and then the poor, unlucky shlub, Paul (Ryan Corr), who makes the drastic (if noble) mistake of trying to help Katarina. The rest of the film entails the cat-and-mouse chase between Mick and Paul, as the terrified British tourist is chased from one end of the Outback to the other. Mick is intent on only one thing: punishing Paul for getting between him and “his meal.” Despite Paul’s best efforts, he’s not much of a match for Mick and the film swings into another mode as Mick finally catches up to Paul, becoming the torture porn film that the original was. Will Paul be able to survive the horrors that Mick intends to inflict on him? How good is Paul at Australian trivia? And what, exactly, does Mick intend to do with the electric belt sander? All these (and more) await within.

Right off the bat, as mentioned above, Wolf Creek 2 is much less a horror film than an adrenalized, gritty cat-and-mouse chase, with enough jawdropping gore and horror elements to keep a foot firmly in each camp. While I wasn’t expecting this, I must admit that it was an effective tact, for a while, at least. For a time, Ryan Coor’s Paul is actually a pretty good match for Mick, out-driving and out-maneuvering him, which lends the film a bit of the feel of a ’70s Ozploitation movie. Unfortunately, at some point, Paul turns into a whiny shit, which drastically reduces the association one can feel with him: it’s much easier to associate with an asskicker who won’t give up than it is with a crying dude blowing snot bubbles. In a way, this is odd criticism, since the first film was filled with whiny victims. Perhaps Paul’s “change of personailty” is so troubling because it takes him from hero territory, which is new to the Wolf Creek films, right back into simpering victim territory. On the whole, I would’ve liked Paul a lot more if he’d been more consistent: hard to tell if this is an issue with McLean or with actor Ryan Coor, although I’m willing to lay the blame at both their feet.

But what about Mick? As we know from the first film, these films (like most films like this) are all about the badguy: how does he stack up this time around? Unfortunately, not so well. As I feared earlier, Mick has begun to drift heavily in the direction of “wise-cracking killer,” ala Freddy, and this significantly reduces a lot of the fear around him. While John Jarratt is still a massively impressive presence as Mick, this is a decided step-down from the original portrayal. Quite frankly, Mick talks way too much: he has a one-liner for the murdered cops, quips for the German tourists, plenty of jokes for Paul…it just goes on and on. In the first film, Mick was a silent, grinning shark, an unstoppable killing machine who was so terrifying precisely because he was such an enigma: he could, literally, have formed fully sprung from the Outback, for all we knew. In Wolf Creek 2, not only is Mick one talkative fucker but he also has a clearly delineated mission: keep Australia safe from non-Australians. While this goal formed the subtext of the first film, it’s the entire context of the sequel. Time after time, Mick takes care to explain how the tourists only come there to “shit in his backyard” and have no respect for the country. He mocks the Germans national heritage and incorporates British/Australian conflicts into his impromptu trivia game, making his point all to clear. This is not to say that horror movie killers don’t need agendas (even Freddy had one) but the “anti-tourism” angle in Wolf Creek 2 just seems like a shorthand way to fill out Mick’s character. The more we know about Mick, however, the less he seems like unholy evil and the more he comes across like a racist redneck. Again, this was subtextual in the first film but McLean goes all-in on the sequel. It reminds me of the current trend (thanks, Rob Zombie) to explain, in detail, the origins of horror killers: the more we know, the less terrifying it becomes.

Despite my disappointment with the “evolution” of Mick and the mess that Paul became, how does the film actually hold up when compared to the first film? Not surprisingly, Wolf Creek 2 manages to amp up the gore and setpieces but loses out on much of the claustrophobic, hopeless atmosphere that made the first film such a horror classic. I won’t lie: there are some pretty spectacular setpieces in the film but most of them end up being more action than horror-oriented. One of the most bravura, if disturbing, scenes in the whole film is the one where Mick steals a semi-truck, turns on “In the Jungle”, and proceeds to plow through an entire herd of kangaroos, all in the pursuit of Paul. The scene is sickening, disturbing and, quite frankly, utterly amazing: it goes miles towards establishing Mick’s character without the need for pithy quips and is one of the best setpieces I’ve seen in years. Equally impressive is the trivia scene, where Mick tests Paul’s knowledge of Australian history. The scene is masterfully set-up, veering from torture porn distress to genuine comedy and back to the torture: it messes with audience expectations in a big way and provides one of the few examples of the sequel trumping the original.

Ultimately, Wolf Creek 2 is an odd film: McLean ends the movie in a way that all but guarantees a sequel, yet there’s the distinct notion that any future films will continue to expand on Mick’s new “stand-up comic” personality, which is pretty much a lose-lose situation. Perhaps, as such a fan of the first film, I went into this with unfair expectations. Truth be told, Wolf Creek 2 is an extremely well-made film, filled with some absolutely gorgeous Australian scenery and some truly gut-wrenching violence. The film is miles above most similar fare, particularly 90% of the odious torture porn subgenre, which makes it much better than many horror films out there. And yet, at the end of the day, I can’t help but feel let-down. I went into the film expecting the same unbelievably tense, gritty, nihilistic atmosphere as the first film but ended up with something distinctly more goofy, action-packed and run-of-the-mill. While I was a huge fan of McLean’s first two films, I can’t help but feel that Wolf Creek 2 is a solid step down into more generic “genre” territory. Here’s to hoping that McLean rights the ship for his next feature: I’d hate to think that the king of feel-bad cinema was about to abdicate his throne but his newest is almost the definition of “reduced expectations.” My advice? Next time, tell Mick more choppin’ and less yappin’.