Weekly Review -- Remaking disease

Quarantine (2008) -- Another remake on the horizon? Of course. Having been terrified by the original [Rec] a few months ago, I was looking forward to comparing this John Erick Dowdle movie to the one that started it all. Unfortunately, it does not measure up. Reporter Angela Vidal (Jennifer Carpenter) and her cameraman Scott (Steve Harris) are filming a show on firefighters for Angela's nightly broadcast. After a call shakes up the monotony at the station, Jennifer and Scott leave with the two firefighters they are supposed to be shadowing. When they turn up at the location, the situation grows more and more serious by the minute, and soon the group are trapped inside a sealed-off building... The movie is nearly a shot-by-shot remake of [Rec], which does not go in its favor. A film's second incarnation should either re-interpret the story in a creative manner or add its previously unexplored aspects to the mix, in order to be effective. Dowdle does not take either approach, preferring instead to cash in on the original by simply translating it and bringing nothing new to the already experienced suspense. As far as acting goes, Carpenter and Harris have the best moments, particularly Harris, who manages to add humanity to the events unfolding without ever being visible himself. Carpenter successfully alternates between high-pitched enthusiasm and sheer panic. She is at her most poignant with Angela's tough facade crumbling and the realization of doom creeping up; indeed, encountering a zombie virus on assignment is not exactly something that a reporter would ever expect. I did not find that the supporting players were given much to do, except stand around looking scared and launching into full-on attack mode when their characters became infected. The original does a much better job at utilizing documentary-style realism to show the progression of the tenants' reactions from bewilderment to fear to utter hopelessness; the remake is stuck in an attempt to do so, acting out the Blair Witch instead of narrating the Blair Witch. The last twenty minutes of the film -- a part of [Rec] that impressed me both in terms of storytelling and visuals -- are very bland here, not delivering on the potential of the idea and certainly not up to par with Balagueró and Plaza's bleak aesthetics in general and sinister camerawork used in this sequence. It is too bad that significant changes were made to the one part that should have remained the same, and that hardly any changes were made to parts that should have displayed innovation. Quarantine had a chance to be a new take on the tale, but it is merely a weak re-run with few scares worthy of your time.

5/10

Weekly Review -- Misogynists without boundaries

In the Company of Men (1997) -- It is only on occasion that we see a movie which turns our whole notion of humanity upside down, no matter what this notion may be. Certain movies dare not only to question the often volatile human psyche, but also to rip it out, split it open and parade the corpse before a crowd of repulsed yet fascinated spectators. Neil LaBute's In the Company of Men is one of these rarities. 

Two nondescript executives, aggressive Chad (Aaron Eckhart) and passive Howard (Matt Malloy), decide that they are over the female population, after having been spurned one too many times. For the sake of good old fun, they concoct a plan to toy with a random woman's feelings and self-worth, settling upon deaf secretary Christine (Stacy Edwards). Everything changes when one of them starts falling in love... 

To say that the writing is darkly bitter would be the understatement of the decade. The words cut, bruise, wound and slap, never letting up and never showing the slightest hint of mercy. LaBute displays his trademark misanthropy wrapped up in localized anti-feminism, satirizing the two principal characters through their own ignorance, while tossing the objectified Christine from one chauvinist to another, like raw meat about to be ravaged by two famished wolves. Eckhart provokes rightful aversion as Chad, a misogynist, racist and overall coldblooded imbecile masquerading as a person. The character's jokes are vulgar and his method is ruthless; Eckhart draws a flawless portrait of a murderer who does not have to kill in order to annihilate another human being. As Howard, Malloy brings a degree of vague altruism to the scheme, while Edwards incites sympathy as a bright and caring woman caught up in the cruelest of games. 

The only aspect of the movie that I did not find convincing was LaBute's subtle counter-argument about Christine's intentions. It seems that, no matter how capable LaBute is of mocking his male characters' prejudice, he is twice as capable of putting his female characters under a microscope. In this case, he balances Christine's dating routine with the men's deception, when the latter tips the scales without a shred of doubt. Even though he uses this element as a convenient excuse for the men, it still lingers from one scene to the next, as if to dissuade us of the woman's complete innocence. Certainly, Christine is aware of both Chad and Howard, just as both of them are aware of her; however, she is not the one with a plan. She is not the one who has mapped out a terrain to divide and conquer and she is not the one out to destroy an individual who may choose to share a piece of themselves with her. This aspect is left disturbingly ambiguous at best within the narrative context. If LaBute had planned to make viewers think even for a second about Christine as a possible agent provocateur for the men's machinations, he has overridden any potential for that thought with every line Chad utters, equating the dilemma to an awkward silence. 

Other than this gripe, I found the movie to be one of the best written films of the 1990s. It is a frightening tale of meticulous sadism and a cautionary tale of corporate sterility. The ending is brilliantly executed and the chronological order of events only contributes to a voyeuristic sense of witnessing a cold, calculated experiment in progress. Ladies and not-so-gentle-men, welcome to the lab.
 
9/10

Weekly Review -- Copies galore

Obsessed (2009) -- Boy meets girl, boy has affair with girl, boy breaks up with girl, girl goes psycho. The story is a staple of the thriller genre and has been directed, dissected and shape-shifted to the limits of audiences' endurance. First came Clint Eastwood's chilling Play Misty for Me; then Adrian Lyne's cautionary yuppie tale Fatal Attraction; then John Polson's milquetoast teen version Swimfan. The latest in the string of repeats is the interracial -- are we not past this already? -- melodrama Obsessed, that pushes the concept all the way into Lifetime TV territory. Derek Charles (Idris Elba) is a successful asset manager with a beautiful wife (Beyoncé Knowles) and son, an epitome of the American dream who just moved his family into a luxurious house after receiving a promotion. When he meets new temp Lisa (Ali Larter), she starts taking his friendly gestures a bit too seriously, leading to her fixation and to his world crumbling down. The movie reeks of cheese. From its stilted dialogue to over-the-top acting to uninspired turns of events, it is a predictable piece of work that can be seen simply by watching the trailer. The two actors that are the saving graces are Elba, whose refined authority occasionally compensates for the thankless screenplay, and Christine Lahti, whose artful intellect is wasted in the minuscule role of a detective. Knowles is adequate as the beleaguered wife; however, once the credits start rolling, accompanied by one of her songs, we are reminded of where her undisputed strength lies. Larter camps it up as the unhinged Lisa, traversing the not-so-convincing road from flirting to pushing to full blown obsession. What she lacks the most to make the insanity effective is the carefully calculated sophistication that gave Glenn Close a creepy edge in the 1987 film, to name an obvious example. The main problem with Obsessed is that it never even attempts to be at least a little different from the story's previous incarnations. All right, so there is no actual affair this time, but that is far from enough to make the story fresh or exciting. There are no twists, no surprises, no red herrings, merely an intention to cash in on a familiar tale, while giving Knowles a chance to have a long-awaited non-singing role, which she has stated in some interviews was the type of role she was looking for. Given that Knowles and her father are two of the executive producers, the movie is a convenient bet. Still, given its doltish blandness, it is not a safe one. There is nothing here to become obsessed about, folks. Move on.

3/10

John Hughes 1950-2009

Teen angst has long been a staple of the comedy genre. However, angst is not really angst when it is dressed up, polished, made up and smoothed out. Very often, cinematic teens are actually thirtysomethings with big houses, bigger wallets and deliriously happy endings, taking us on a predictable ride from the decked-out start to the bland finish.

Unless, of course, the filmmaker chooses to explore the real teenage neuroses and changes from reel to reel, warts and acne and all.

John Hughes knew this well, choosing to write and direct odes to awkwardness, celebrating that special time in our lives when we all start delving deeper into ourselves and discovering our true identity. That period between the carefree childhood and burdened adulthood was his main inspiration, its first loves, pains and triumphs shining through in movies such as The Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink and Ferris Bueller's Day Off. He did not want to hide imperfections. He celebrated them, teaching us to look beyond the surface in the process.

John Hughes' passing signifies the end of an era, as well as a legacy for the ages. We will miss the honesty, humor and disarming innocence that came from every word this incredible artist wrote and every scene he directed. John Hughes will live on through Ferris Bueller's escapades, Andie Walsh's zest for life, Duckie's lovelorn heart and, finally, the knowledge that a brain, a princess, a basket case, a criminal and an athlete are not always who they seem to be.

R.I.P.

"I hate having to go along with everything my friends say."
- Claire Standish, The Breakfast Club

"It's called a sense of humor. You should get one. They're nice."
- Duckie, Pretty in Pink


"The question isn't 'what are we going to do', the question is 'what aren't we going to do?'" - Ferris Bueller, Ferris Bueller's Day Off

Weekly Review -- The vivacity of love

Kissing Jessica Stein (2001) -- There are not too many films that take an honest look at the brilliance of chaos that love creates in its inception; certainly, the films that challenge preconceived notions about love, sexuality and gender are few and far between. This little gem explores human connections without scruples and with no pretense. Following what seems like a lifetime of bad dates and dashed hopes, neurotic journalist Jessica Stein (Jennifer Westfeldt) replies to an ad by sexually open gallery owner Helen Cooper (Heather Juergensen). While Jessica frets about an attraction that she did not expect, her family will not stop lining up potential matches, and Helen is trying to deal with her partner being torn between her ingrained traditional values and the obvious sparks that keep flying between the pair. The emotional quotient of the film, written by Westfeldt and Juergensen, is off the charts. The writing is raw, melancholy, witty and, above all, supremely intelligent. The screenplay's quirks are innovative and intellectually inviting; the lipstick discussion, to name one of many examples, is perfectly hilarious. With her self-inflicted doubts and nail-biting über-jitters, Jessica is the love child of Woody Allen and Helen Fielding, made all the more endearing by Westfeldt's spontaneous charm. On the other hand, Juergensen's portrayal of Helen shows a vulnerable soul beneath the spirited exterior, a soul missing a mate to complete it. The chemistry between the two is sexy and playful, sketching a portrait of a prospective fling that defies expectations by blooming into a romance.

**SPOILERS AHEAD (please highlight to read)**

I was not sure how I felt about the ending at first, even seeing one aspect of it as tacked on for the sake of mainstream cinema; then again, just like life, it proves itself to be a complex affair. A sexual relationship is part of a meaningful union and a prolonged lack of intimacy can be a reasonable motive for a break-up. Subsequently, the final scene was a perspective shifter for me. The ending is not clear cut and I like the fact that it implies a world of choices for Jessica, or that it can at least be interpreted this way. It does not choose the future for her; rather, it lets her choose her own, purely based on what her heart desires. In this sense, it does represent a logical denouement to the on-screen proceedings.

**END OF SPOILERS**

The supporting cast provides a cushion of poignancy for the central narrative to land on. Tovah Feldshuh shows layers of emotion as Jessica's mother and Scott Cohen is all angst as Jessica's confused boss; also, look for a pre-"Mad Men" Jon Hamm as one of Jessica's potential Mr. Rights. Kissing Jessica Stein is one of those rare movies that make you wonder why you had not seen it earlier and make you wish all screenwriting was imbued with this kind of frankness.

9/10