by: Anghus

Shutter Island
Starring Leonardo DiCaprio,
Michelle Williams and Mark Ruffalo
(4 stars out of 5)

Martin Scorsese knows how to make a movie. Is there a more obvious sentence in existence? Let me take a crack at it.

“Sarah Palin is not smarter than a fifth grader!”

“Someone got an STD from the cast of ‘Jersey Shore.’”

“John Holmes was well endowed.”

“‘One Tree Hill’ is not very good.”

Martin Scorsese has been making damn-fine films for the past four decades. The name alone should by now be synonymous with “quality cinema.” There aren’t enough words to properly honor a man whose career has been both a tribute and contribution to the art of the motion picture. The only negative that comes from a man with such a résumé is the assumption that every film he releases has to be “a classic.”

It’s a common critical response when a legendary director puts together a new project. Once someone has ascended to the level of “cinematic God,” where is there to go? Each subsequent film is compared to an entire body of work. It’s difficult to bring up a name like “Scorsese” and not spend a hefty chunk of the review comparing a single film against an entire body of work. But that’s always been the failing of most mainstream critics: lacking the ability to view a film as an individual piece rather than the latest entry on an ongoing résumé. Every film has to be grouped into a period or decade.

Shutter Island is a damn-fine film. The fourth consecutive team-up with leading man Leonardo DiCaprio. Personally, I’ve enjoyed the collaborations. The Aviator is a film I hold in high regard; The Departed is about as strong a crime film as a viewer will ever see. Shutter Island is something completely different—a strong psychological thriller. Strong choices. Strong performances. Strong character actors. This is not the stuff of subtlety, my friends. This is in-your-face filmmaking.

Leonardo DiCaprio plays Marshall Edward Fuller, a fedora-wearing law man with a gun in one hand and a cigarette clenched between his teeth. He and his partner are brought to the incredibly creepy Shutter Island, which houses the craziest killers to walk to the face of the earth. This is where the untreatable fractured minds are sent. One of the prisoners has escaped, and everyone at the prison is doing a pretty poor job of covering up a vast and incomprehensible conspiracy. Edward knows something is terribly wrong.

His investigation brings some old demons to the surface. Edward’s own state of mental well-being is questionable. He cannot suppress the violent images of concentration camps he witnessed in the World War II. And his dead wife shows up every so often for some disturbing conversation.

There are no real twists in Shutter Island. Scorsese plays his hand within the first two reels. Everything is off-kilter; nothing feels right. Conversations are unnecessarily tense. Situations feel forced. The entire film is like a puzzle where the wrong pieces are forced together; however, this seems very much Scorcese’s intention.

Shutter Island plays out like a spool of yarn that is slowly woven into a garment. It’s obvious what’s going on when it’s finished, but it’s not known when looking at the pile of string. The “why” of it all is answered in the film’s final moments, when everything begins to make sense. A second viewing almost feels like an obligation.

Leonardo DiCaprio continues to impress me. I know a lot of people who don’t care for his particular brand of whimsy, but I think the guy has the goods. He plays Edward off balance and abrasive. He’s a man driven to madness in his pursuit of the truth—the lone voice of reason on an island filled with people intent on covering up the truth. It’s another fantastic performance for DiCaprio who is blessed with a gift of portraying damaged protagonists.

Michelle Williams is equally fascinating, once again showing a penchant for choosing exceptional material.

This is a big win for film fans—the kind of Scorsese movie I love: unpretentious, unrelenting, and infused with manic energy. I don’t know how many more films Marty has left in him, but I can guarantee I’ll be there every time.

by: Anghus

An Evening at the Oscars
Sunday, March 7th
Screen Gems Studios
1223 North 23rd Street
Tickets: $100

Oscar season is once again upon us. The flashing lights, the red carpet, and the fabulous fashions. And it’s not only relegated to the West Coast come Sunday, March 7th. In fact, such a lavish celebration comes to Wilmington courtesy of the Cucalorus Film Festival. Tagged “An Evening at the Oscars,” the event gives the Port City a chance to experience celebration right in their own backyard at Screen Gems Studios. All the action will be televised inside Soundstage 3, and ticket holders will get more than their money’s worth with great food and some special guests.

Cucalorus has been the artistic backbone of the Port City for the past 15 years, holding an annual film festival fueled by people who have aa passion for cinema. Really, there seems to be no better way to help raise funds for the annual festival than with a party celebrating film’s biggest night. In the Cucalorus tradition, this will not be a typical boring Oscar party. They’re bringing a lot more than chips and dip. I had a change to talk with Cucalorus mainstay and all around good-guy Bo Webb about the evening’s finer points.

encore: How is An Evening at the Oscars a part of Cucalorus?

Bo Webb: Wilmington’s most significant contribution to the arts, in my mind, comes from film. We are a film town, and people across the country know that. Cucalorus gives our film community its voice and has established a reputation among independent—and mainstream—filmmakers as a great place to make and showcase great film. The Oscars celebrate movies and our love of them in the same way that Cucalorus does—only we each showcase different aspects of modern film. They do the best of the big stuff; we do the best of everything else.

e: So this is a red carpet-style event. Will there actually be a red carpet?

BW: We will in fact have red carpet! The guys at L&L Tent Rentals have some on hand for just such an occasion. In fact, we’ll also have paparazzi, red-carpet commentary from Jess James and Shannon Dunne of Style-Girl fame, special Oscar-party cocktails—they may be red—and a few other surprises.

e: What should ticket buyers expect of the evening?

BW: First of all the Academy Awards on large screens in a Screen-Gems soundstage—not your typical evening of TV. We’ll also have an open bar, food by Port Land Grille—not your typical restaurant—desserts (Hot Pink Cake Stand, Bakla-va-voom) and coffee from Folks Cafe. Entertainment during commercial breaks will be performed from Jonathan Guggenheim of Superkiiids! fame, and Zach Hanner, music from Bibis Ellison and others, an auction full of cool stuff, and some things—in true Cucalorus style—that we can’t predict and might not even be able to print. Cucalorus is known for its great parties, and this one will not disappoint.

e: The tickets aren’t cheap. Where does the money go?

BW: The proceeds from this party will go toward funding the Cucalorus Film Festival’s core expenses. This party is what will help make the Cucalorus Film Festival in 2010 a reality. Despite our great reputation, we still operate our festival on a budget about a third of the size of comparable festivals. That we’ve been able to continue a festival of such high quality for 15 years is truly a miracle. The money we make at our Oscar party will help pay our incredibly dedicated staff who put on this festival and make the miracle a sustainable one.

e: Where can readers acquire tickets?

BW: They’re available online at www.cucalorus.org, and on our blog at cucalorus13.blogspot.com. You can also pay for tickets with a check by mailing or bringing them to Cucalorus, 815 Princess Street, Wilmington, NC, 28401. Call us at (910) 343-5995 if you have any questions or would like to reserve whole table of eight for you and your friends, family or co-workers.

Here’s a chance to have an evening of fun and frenzy, with the proceeds going to help a fantastic local organization. Find your fanciest duds and grab a date. Oscar’s calling.

by: Anghus

Wolfman
Starring Benicio del Toro,
Emily Blunt and Anthony Hopkins
(1 star out of 5)

Were the horror movies of yesteryear as great as we remember them? Or are they more than likely nothing other than ridiculous, over-the-top films, causing more chuckles than screams? When I was a kid, the universal monsters were excellent: Dracula, Frankenstein, Creature from the Black Lagoon and, of course, the Wolfman.

But some things seem a lot cooler at age 11. Eventually, we outgrow them. And at some point, we revisit those things that seemed so awesome in our youths, only to realize how corny they truly are. Thus, a small piece of us dies with them.

That was my experience while watching the “re-imagining” of The Wolfman. It was like experiencing tiny little deaths over the course of two fairly average hours.

The Wolfman is one of those movies that will feel painfully average to most. Some might give it a pass, due to a lavish period-production design and wholesale carnage. But there will be a few of us who see The Wolfman for what it is: a clear and present danger to the integrity of the genre.

Monster films have taken a bashing over the past 20 years. Our horror icons have been reduced to ridiculous parodies. Vampires are now shiny and played by foppish British boys. Werewolves are portrayed by shirtless Abercrombie models. The great nightmares of our youth have been declawed. The Wolfman was an opportunity to give the Wolfman back his fangs. Instead,it continues the trend of pussy-fying our most feared creatures.

Something dark and sinister lurks in the shadows of the appropriately named “Blackmoor.” A horrible beast has been tearing through the countryside and leaving a trail of bodies in its wake. Lawrence Talbot (Benicio Del Toro) has spent his life trying to escape the horrors of his youth. His mother was brutally killed, his father was a distant eccentric, and there was that brief period of time spent in an institution—not exactly a picturesque childhood. Lawrence managed to create a new life for himself in America as an actor. Never comfortable in his own skin, he found his sanity portraying others. His attempt at a new life comes to a screeching halt when he receives a letter from Gwen (Emily Blunt).

Turns out his brother is engaged to be married. That’s the good news. The bad news: He’s been mangled to death. Lawrence reluctantly returns home. His father (Anthony Hopkins) is a typical alpha male, his large, empty mansion filled with the carcasses of dead animals. He’s about as emotionally available as a stuffed tiger. Gwen, on the other hand, is quite available, emotionally speaking—and not just because her fiancée has been turned into mince meat.

Lawrence prepares to find out who (or what) killed his brother. This leads him to a gypsy village. Five minutes later a creature shows up and turns the village into an all-you-can-eat buffet. Lawrence gets away with a flesh wound. Unfortunately, for him that means escaping the sweet release of death for the curse of the werewolf. His wounds begin to miraculously heal. His senses become honed. Gwen soon turns into an object of lust. With the next full moon, he becomes fully transformed into the Wolfman.

The transformations encompass everything good about the movie. Keep in mind this is about two percent of the film’s entirety. There are creepy and fantastic combinations of make-up and special-effects. Then, we are treated to the final transformed monster. Instead of a frightening werewolf, what we get is a pointy-eared ape. The modern take on The Wolfman is about as scary as an overweight Armenian with scoliosis.

The rest of the story plays out as expected: typical Hollywood storytelling, working in a whole lot of whiny daddy issues posing as character development. Anthony Hopkins is just awful. Realize how strong a statement that is. Anthony Hopkins is many things—awful is usually not one of them. He’s been awful before, and with poor direction I expect he could be again. But this is epic awful. This is the kind of role that makes us question someone’s finances. Has the economy taken its toll on him?

Benicio Del Toro is equally excruciating—kind of a big, puffy ponce, with really bad hair. His attempts at being menacing bordering on laughable.

The Wolfman is just one giant nut-puncher of a movie. We could easily put it next to a number of modern creature features that have neutered these once great characters. The Wolfman is a lot like Peter Jackson’s putrid King Kong remake: overpriced, over-polished, and with really poor performances. There’s a part of me that feels as if we’re losing the essence of these icons.

by: Tiffanie Gabrielse

Dear John
Starring Channing Tatum,
Amanda Seyfried and Richard Jenkins
(1 star out of 5)

Eat those hearts out, Taylor-Lautner fanatics: Lasse Hallstrom has brought a new stud to the water, and his name is “G.I. Joe” ... I mean, John.

Set in 2001 Dear John tells the emotionally draining story of two gorgeous young people who can’t find happiness together because they’re trapped in angst, otherwise known as an adaptation of a Nicholas-Sparks novel. Their romance, a saga glossed with bittersweet honey, attempts to fool the audience into believing that, in the end, it was truly a triumphant and memorable love story brought to life on the big screen. The truth of the matter is: I just lost 120 minutes of life watching a film with teenagers who lived vicariously through the melodramatic soft porn.

Our main character, John Tyree, played by Channing Tatum, is a hero in the Army Special Forces, home for two weeks’ leave on the Carolina coast. America’s new “it” girl, Amanda Seyfried, plays Savannah, our upper-class heavenly college beauty who is home on break. Identical to the novel, her purse falls off a pier, Savannah’s friends dither, and John heroically dives into the ocean and retrieves it. Tatum is likeable, but the emphasis on his washboard abs is too distracting to take him seriously. Seyfried, with her baby-blue doe eyes, is also completely unrelatable. I kept waiting to hear her say, “My ESPN tells me we‘re going to fall in love. And then out of it.”

John’s father, played by Richard Jenkins, is a quiet man who sits amass a rare coin collection worth a fortune, cooks the same meal every Saturday and Sunday and, thrown in for good measure, has “just a mild case” of autism. When the scene of Savannah sitting at Johns’ dinning-room table unfolded, the same thought that plagued my mind during the novel, projected itself: Why has John, by the age of 22, never contemplated that his father may be dealing with a handicap? He’s a specialist in the Army. He can memorize tactical maneuvers, and as the scenes by the pier prove, John is quite witty. Yet, he can’t ponder, Why is my dad acting strange?

It’s a never-ending trend with Sparks. Autism, cancer and Alzheimer’s are never seen in their real and horrific states. Instead, somehow the disease does the exact opposite and allows the victim to come alive. And that is exactly what bothers me when I see it on the big screen. In Sparks’ world diseases don’t ruin and kill. They don’t break one down and test the core of one’s being. Instead, they encourage creativity and enthusiasm. How honorable. How beautiful. How unrealistic. How careless. Hallstrom didn’t remedy it, somehow.

In the weeks that follow, John and Savannah enjoy numerous stereotypical PG-13 moments onscreen that will undoubtedly obsess women everywhere to recreate with their beloved. At the end of her break, Savannah has to return to school, and John must finish his tour of duty in Germany before they can wed. Suddenly, more letters than whatever appeared in the novel are played out onscreen, and they’re paired with dramatic and heartfelt voice-overs.

Cue: cliché violins.

Then, 9/11 occurs.

By Act Three the plot thickens and pushes for the audience to cry more until their eyes bleed. Savannah and John are separated once again, and more strain on their relationship develops. John continues writing from Iraq but finds that Savannah’s letters are fewer and far between. Unable to stand on her own, Savannah selfishly dawdles in her own needs and exhaustingly drags us along with her.

Finally, John receives the infamous, “Dear John Letter.” Savannah’s reasons are not only shocking but completely infuriating. She has found a new love to coddle the pieces of her easily defeated heart. As the title of the film dictates, this is no real surprise. In fact, there are no surprises in this film at all.

The ending, while entirely different from the novel, still feels predictable, unfulfilling and exhausted. Despite these changes the story line isn’t sufficiently deep enough to prevent us from getting irate.

Why doesn’t Dear John work on film? Because there was never a happy medium, and the Iraq war was used as a plot device meant to coddle and cater to the fantasies of bleeding-heart women. I reached a point where I didn’t care what happened next because the emotional tug-of-war was so over-done that it made me want to suck start a shot gun. The sentimental pretentious dialogue rebounds all over the place.

Aside from delivering another film for which the title is cited within the story itself (Chocolat), Hallstroms’ only success was the glorification that too many weak-hearted women surround our military.

by: Anghus

An Education
Starring Carey Mulligan, Olivia Williams, Alfred Molina
4 stars (out of 5)

Was it the noted philosopher Kierkegaard who said, “When you’re 15, somebody tells you they love you, you’re going to believe them”? Wait, I think it was Taylor Swift. Either way, it’s a pretty apt metaphor for the film, An Education.

Who doesn’t remember being a teenage girl? Sitting up all night with a copy of Tiger Beat magazine and dreaming about one day becoming Mrs. Luke Perry. Trying so hard to fit in at school while building up the courage to tell the captain of the football team, Steve Holt, that I had a crush on him. Those were beautiful times. Making a prom dress out of an old hand-me-down. Losing my virginity to Lane Meyer while Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes” blared in the background. Glorious times.

But I’m no longer a teenage girl. Nor was I ever one.

However, I feel as if I got a glimpse into that world with An Education, a very earnest movie about the peons and pleasures of young love. Jenny (Carey Mulligan) is a whip-smart teenager, attending prep school in suburban London. In many ways she’s wise beyond her years. She pines for an extraordinary life. Music, culture, art: This is what inspires her. Her life is fairly ordinary. Going to an all-girls school, she daydreams of a life less common, dealing with her pleasant but emotionally detached parents. To be fair, they’re British, so “emotionally detached” is kind of their default status.

Her life is greatly changed when she meets David (Peter Sarrsgard). He is everything she’s looking for: handsome, dashing and, most importantly, cultured. His life is the kind of nonstop party that Jenny craves. This May through December romance seems a little tawdry at first. Underneath the debonair exterior lies a true man of mystery. He has money; though Jenny doesn’t know from where. She is too entranced to care. Her relationship moves at breakneck speed. David is taking her away for weekends, bringing her to art auctions, escorting her to society functions, all the while charming Jenny’s parents (including the wonderful Alfred Molina) into lowering their guard.

The relationship between David and Jenny makes up the backbone of the film, and it seems to work well despite their age difference. Though, there is a certain level of discomfort in it, as well. No matter how old her soul, she is still a girl—barely a woman. Because of this, she is easily manipulated and chooses to ignore the obvious warning signs.

At first, audiences will like David; though, the seeds are planted very early on that something about the guy isn’t quite right. By the time the other shoe drops, Jenny has decided to throw away her goals in favor of a gilded life. Of course, nothing ever works out as planned.

On paper, this is a movie by which I could see myself being bored to death, but onscreen I loved it. The story itself is an interesting one, but the acting, directing and cinematography create a picture window into a beautiful world; 1960s London is magnificently realized. The wardrobe is stunning. The music is soul-stirring. But all the glitter and gloss is worthless without characters to care about.

Carey Mulligan is a revelation—a fantastic actress with the kind of natural talent for which most performers would kill. She can say everything with a look and has a range on par with actresses twice her age.

The fact that I liked An Education so much is a testament to the work. A female protagonist in repressed ‘60s-era London is hardly a movie I would put on my “must-see” list. But the material is handled with such a subtle touch. The characters are crafted with such care. A movie of such refinement will have a hard time connecting with the attention-span-challenged popcorn munchers who believe Avatar is the greatest movie of all time. Yes, that’s right: I went highbrow on your asses. Seeing a movie like An Education should remind us of how good films can be when done right, and it makes me appreciate a good drama that doesn’t require bells and whistles. You can have Pandora; I’ll take Carnaby Street London in the ‘60s any day of the week.

An Education has been nominated for two Academy Awards in the Adapted Screenplay and Best Actress categories—each well-deserved nominations in my opinion. If there’s any justice, Carey Mulligan will walk away with the award. However, the Academy Awards are not known for justice, rather for awarding actresses that have a body of work worth rewarding. More than likely this year’s Best Actress award will go to Sandra Bullock. Still, I hope the nomination gets a good amount of looking balls on Carey Mulligan. With any luck she’s going to have one hell of a career.