Joe_Chadowski
Joined Sep 2010
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Joe_Chadowski's rating
This is embarrassing to admit, but I spent more time deciding what star rating to give Furious 7 than I did actually critiquing it. Because for the first time ever, the part of me that pretentiously seeks perfection, the adolescent part of me that revels in heart- stopping action, and the car-loving part of me that is woven into the very fabric of my being all nodded in agreement at the same movie. I didn't know what to make of what I had seen. I quickly cycled through my previous reviews for a frame of reference. 6 stars? Easily better than that. 7? Yes better than Grave of the Fireflies and Heat. 8 stars? Up there with Judgment at Nuremberg and There Will Be Blood? There we go. Any higher and we'd be talking about Come and See and Social Network, and I can't do that. 8 Stars. Not bad for an entry into a series that couldn't give less of a you- know-what about how it compares with anything.
So to the film at hand; The longest entry into the Fast and Furious franchise, 7 passes the reigns to Saw director James Wan who lends his quick-cut, zoom-in-then-zoom-out, rotating camera work to a script from veteran Furious writer Chris Morgan. Morgan takes a step back here, in the beginning focusing on how our heroes have settled and moved after #6, before introducing us to Jason Statham and delving into the gravity-defying, physics-bending, time-warping absurdity we've come to know and love from this series. Although this time it's on a whole other level to the point I was expecting the Looney Tunes music to cue the next scene.
Cars attached to parachutes jumping out of a plane? 'Cudas with 10 forward gears? S65 AMGs and Rubicons that can appear out of nowhere? Chargers that can survive unscathed after a head-on collision? Apache helicopters and drones that can fly around undetected in the most populated city in the country? But that's what you're here for. Deliriously exciting chase sequences, fights, stunts, crashes, high- octane humor and hilarious gaps in logic. And Furious 7 delivers better than any other film in the franchise. It's an off-the-wall adventure like no other, obscenely, eye-wideningly, face-deformingly awesome. Three words come to mind; F**k. Ing. Hell.
By now you're probably rolling you eyes and accusing me of the kind of melodramatics I slam many a film for, but hear me out; I grew up with this franchise. Starting out as a naive 9 year old gearhead who was swept away by the coolness of the first installment, and maturing into a more technically informed teenager who began to enjoy the films ironically, and concluding as a full grown 20- something who went to the films seeking my relentlessly action- packed nostalgia fix. I have vivid memories of where I was and who I was with when I watched each movie. There are people I don't talk to anymore and haven't seen in years who are a part of memories that I will cherish forever. When the credits rolled, I felt a chapter in my life close, and as I stepped out of the theatre and into the sunset, I looked around a familiar world with a different perspective. And with the perfect send off of Paul Walker at the end, I found myself more swept away with emotion than any brilliantly written character-driven drama could possibly muster. I can't believe I'm saying this in a review of a Fast and Furious movie, but these are the kinds of experiences cinema was born for.
So to the film at hand; The longest entry into the Fast and Furious franchise, 7 passes the reigns to Saw director James Wan who lends his quick-cut, zoom-in-then-zoom-out, rotating camera work to a script from veteran Furious writer Chris Morgan. Morgan takes a step back here, in the beginning focusing on how our heroes have settled and moved after #6, before introducing us to Jason Statham and delving into the gravity-defying, physics-bending, time-warping absurdity we've come to know and love from this series. Although this time it's on a whole other level to the point I was expecting the Looney Tunes music to cue the next scene.
Cars attached to parachutes jumping out of a plane? 'Cudas with 10 forward gears? S65 AMGs and Rubicons that can appear out of nowhere? Chargers that can survive unscathed after a head-on collision? Apache helicopters and drones that can fly around undetected in the most populated city in the country? But that's what you're here for. Deliriously exciting chase sequences, fights, stunts, crashes, high- octane humor and hilarious gaps in logic. And Furious 7 delivers better than any other film in the franchise. It's an off-the-wall adventure like no other, obscenely, eye-wideningly, face-deformingly awesome. Three words come to mind; F**k. Ing. Hell.
By now you're probably rolling you eyes and accusing me of the kind of melodramatics I slam many a film for, but hear me out; I grew up with this franchise. Starting out as a naive 9 year old gearhead who was swept away by the coolness of the first installment, and maturing into a more technically informed teenager who began to enjoy the films ironically, and concluding as a full grown 20- something who went to the films seeking my relentlessly action- packed nostalgia fix. I have vivid memories of where I was and who I was with when I watched each movie. There are people I don't talk to anymore and haven't seen in years who are a part of memories that I will cherish forever. When the credits rolled, I felt a chapter in my life close, and as I stepped out of the theatre and into the sunset, I looked around a familiar world with a different perspective. And with the perfect send off of Paul Walker at the end, I found myself more swept away with emotion than any brilliantly written character-driven drama could possibly muster. I can't believe I'm saying this in a review of a Fast and Furious movie, but these are the kinds of experiences cinema was born for.
The Judge is the tale of Hotshot defense lawyer Hank Palmer (Iron Man) who has shut out his family and hometown from his life is then dragged back after the death of his mother. After paying his respects, and clashing with his family, especially his emotionally distance father, a judge (Robert Duvall), Hank high-tails it out of there. Only to be dragged BACK in when his father (accidently?) hits a kills a local trailer-trash scumbag. What really happened that night seems fuzzy, and Hanks defense is exactly what his father needs, but will they overcome their differences in time for court?
The Judge tries too hard to be both dramatic and light-hearted. Robert Downey Jr.'s sarcastic, fast-talking', too-smart-for-his-own- good character is a synthesis of every post-drug rehab role he's ever played. Which adds some welcome hilarity to the story, but every joke, every punch line comes at the worst time possible; either in the midst of a dramatic scene, or just after it, corrupting The Judge with a jumpiness that disconnects you from the film. And despite the bloated runtime, the script isn't as dense as it should have been, and wastes time on useless tangents that are either ham-fisted in their delivery, or contribute nothing to the crux of the story.
That said, production quality in the Judge is high. The photography is exceptional, much of the beauty coming from to the scenic town of Jackson, Indiana, but also Janusz Kaminski's utilization of contrasting colors and earth tones. Even Dobkin's overuse of lens flaring works to some degree. Pity, then that the script is as jagged and inconstant as the scenery is captivating. But despite the scripts inconsistent and spastic nature, occasionally it lingers on Robert Duvall long enough for him to show us how a legend does his thing. The rest of the cast does a decent enough job, but their underdeveloped characters and the darty script never give them a chance to fully flex their talent.
The Judge is the most average movie I've ever seen; a good concept poorly executed, a film with a good message that tries to be too many things. It's heart is in the right place and it has a strong moral center, but it's let down by a lack of effort from those behind the camera. So the dictum goes, "if you try to please everybody, you'll end up pleasing nobody. The Judge will have its 5 seconds of fame during its time in theatres, then it will be forgotten, revived only years from now when it graces lists of films that are good, but you've never seen. Take that as you will.
The Judge tries too hard to be both dramatic and light-hearted. Robert Downey Jr.'s sarcastic, fast-talking', too-smart-for-his-own- good character is a synthesis of every post-drug rehab role he's ever played. Which adds some welcome hilarity to the story, but every joke, every punch line comes at the worst time possible; either in the midst of a dramatic scene, or just after it, corrupting The Judge with a jumpiness that disconnects you from the film. And despite the bloated runtime, the script isn't as dense as it should have been, and wastes time on useless tangents that are either ham-fisted in their delivery, or contribute nothing to the crux of the story.
That said, production quality in the Judge is high. The photography is exceptional, much of the beauty coming from to the scenic town of Jackson, Indiana, but also Janusz Kaminski's utilization of contrasting colors and earth tones. Even Dobkin's overuse of lens flaring works to some degree. Pity, then that the script is as jagged and inconstant as the scenery is captivating. But despite the scripts inconsistent and spastic nature, occasionally it lingers on Robert Duvall long enough for him to show us how a legend does his thing. The rest of the cast does a decent enough job, but their underdeveloped characters and the darty script never give them a chance to fully flex their talent.
The Judge is the most average movie I've ever seen; a good concept poorly executed, a film with a good message that tries to be too many things. It's heart is in the right place and it has a strong moral center, but it's let down by a lack of effort from those behind the camera. So the dictum goes, "if you try to please everybody, you'll end up pleasing nobody. The Judge will have its 5 seconds of fame during its time in theatres, then it will be forgotten, revived only years from now when it graces lists of films that are good, but you've never seen. Take that as you will.
Never have I been badgered so hard to read a book in my life. It's amusing how bookworms crawl out of the woodwork when a film adaptation of their beloved book comes out, defending the art of reading as if film is the enemy. And to be honest, I think most of them are full of hot air. And they miss the point. Comparing a film to a book is like comparing a yacht to a private plane; Sure the literal purpose and end result are the same, but the means and the experience between Point A and Point B are built to appeal to different tastes. Besides, if you compare the two you'll end up faulting the yacht for its inability to fly....
Of course, it helps that Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl adapted by the novelist herself, making it mostly true to the book. Gone Girl is the dark, twisty, neo-noir tale of a suburban man Nick Dunne (Gigli's Ben Affleck) who is thrust into the spotlight after his beautiful wife Amy (ex-bond girl Rosamund Pike) disappears one day. It's cut-and-dry murder mystery stuff until suspicious clues are discovered, hinting Nick may be the guilty party. And his less than normal antics in the wake of his wife's disappearance don't help either. Did he do it? What happened to her?
More on Flynn's script and story later. Fincher is in his element here. And if you don't know what that means, it means Gone Girl is a perfectly cast (yes, even Tyler Perry and Barney Stinson), darkly toned, sharply spoken, agonizingly suspenseful foray into the scum of white-collar America. The performance from the cast is phenomenal, everyone in front of the camera absolutely nailing it, especially Rosamund Pike and Carrie Coon. The camera-work is vintage Fincher; he keeps things up close and personal, giving us a choking feeling of intimacy with the depraved story. With a lack of wide- angle shots, Fincher uses quick, calculated camera cuts to point your attention exactly where it needs to be. A lingering mind is not an option here.
Taken at surface value, it can seem like a Godsend to have the screenplay for a film written by the author of the novel the film will be based on. Yet it's gone wrong more times than not, because it is extraordinarily difficult to jump between storytelling mediums, regardless of your talent in either one of them. But Gillian Flynn's adaption of her own novel is the best screenplay-by- the-author I've witnessed. It's suitably dark, intriguing, ambiguous and witty, but it still isn't the best it could have been. It lacks flow, instead of the seamless buildup of suspense it was capable of. Gone Girl has jarring tonal shifts that abruptly up the suspense, and misplaced punch lines sprinkled throughout that snap you out of the trance the story puts you under.
The remainder of my criticism remain so small and nigh-on- insignificant, they pass at pretentious rantings of a wannabe film critic with deluded with the hollow satisfaction of smearing an otherwise incredible film. But I can assure you my size 10.5s remain firmly on the ground. Gone Girl does not have the gut-wrenching heft, or hyper-concentrated precision of best thrillers of its kind. In fact, especially when compared against Fincher's other work, Gone Girl gives off a mainstream vibe that is slightly off-putting. A vibe that gets more apparent after the mid-film climax. And, while 90-95% of the film has Fincher's discernible directing style and feel, there are moments where Gone Girl looses it's way and feels generic. Again, I'm nitpicking here.
Gone Girl is a brilliant, twisted masterpiece of a film. Flynn's script exploits your threshold of what you're willing to put yourself through, drags you through hell, and still doesn't make you regret taking the tour. In fact it's so amazing I needed two paragraphs just to explain what keeps it from perfection. Such is the quality of films in the league Gone Girl is in that perfection is the benchmark. Gone Girl is an achievement in cohesive filmmaking, once again proving what makes a film immortal is not a standalone feature, but when every element of filmmaking rises in unison to the same level of brilliance. Fincher, you son of a bitch, you've done it again.
Of course, it helps that Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl adapted by the novelist herself, making it mostly true to the book. Gone Girl is the dark, twisty, neo-noir tale of a suburban man Nick Dunne (Gigli's Ben Affleck) who is thrust into the spotlight after his beautiful wife Amy (ex-bond girl Rosamund Pike) disappears one day. It's cut-and-dry murder mystery stuff until suspicious clues are discovered, hinting Nick may be the guilty party. And his less than normal antics in the wake of his wife's disappearance don't help either. Did he do it? What happened to her?
More on Flynn's script and story later. Fincher is in his element here. And if you don't know what that means, it means Gone Girl is a perfectly cast (yes, even Tyler Perry and Barney Stinson), darkly toned, sharply spoken, agonizingly suspenseful foray into the scum of white-collar America. The performance from the cast is phenomenal, everyone in front of the camera absolutely nailing it, especially Rosamund Pike and Carrie Coon. The camera-work is vintage Fincher; he keeps things up close and personal, giving us a choking feeling of intimacy with the depraved story. With a lack of wide- angle shots, Fincher uses quick, calculated camera cuts to point your attention exactly where it needs to be. A lingering mind is not an option here.
Taken at surface value, it can seem like a Godsend to have the screenplay for a film written by the author of the novel the film will be based on. Yet it's gone wrong more times than not, because it is extraordinarily difficult to jump between storytelling mediums, regardless of your talent in either one of them. But Gillian Flynn's adaption of her own novel is the best screenplay-by- the-author I've witnessed. It's suitably dark, intriguing, ambiguous and witty, but it still isn't the best it could have been. It lacks flow, instead of the seamless buildup of suspense it was capable of. Gone Girl has jarring tonal shifts that abruptly up the suspense, and misplaced punch lines sprinkled throughout that snap you out of the trance the story puts you under.
The remainder of my criticism remain so small and nigh-on- insignificant, they pass at pretentious rantings of a wannabe film critic with deluded with the hollow satisfaction of smearing an otherwise incredible film. But I can assure you my size 10.5s remain firmly on the ground. Gone Girl does not have the gut-wrenching heft, or hyper-concentrated precision of best thrillers of its kind. In fact, especially when compared against Fincher's other work, Gone Girl gives off a mainstream vibe that is slightly off-putting. A vibe that gets more apparent after the mid-film climax. And, while 90-95% of the film has Fincher's discernible directing style and feel, there are moments where Gone Girl looses it's way and feels generic. Again, I'm nitpicking here.
Gone Girl is a brilliant, twisted masterpiece of a film. Flynn's script exploits your threshold of what you're willing to put yourself through, drags you through hell, and still doesn't make you regret taking the tour. In fact it's so amazing I needed two paragraphs just to explain what keeps it from perfection. Such is the quality of films in the league Gone Girl is in that perfection is the benchmark. Gone Girl is an achievement in cohesive filmmaking, once again proving what makes a film immortal is not a standalone feature, but when every element of filmmaking rises in unison to the same level of brilliance. Fincher, you son of a bitch, you've done it again.
