Weekly Review -- Off the clock

In Time (2011) -- Science fiction is a lady that wears many hats. It can be philosophical, action-packed or darkly cynical, characteristics that take the human dimension of the stories to the next level. It can test our sense of morale or make us question the world around us, while transporting us to a milieu that draws from our own reality. Rarely do we find a genre piece that is all of the above, which is where the new Andrew Niccol film comes in.

The story takes place in a future where the aging gene has been switched off and time has become currency. Having been genetically engineered to live only one year past the age of 25, most people need to keep working diligently to buy themselves more life, while the members of the wealthy ruling class are immortal. Paradoxically, anyone can die at any moment, simply because everyone has a price and humanity gets lost at the mere mention of one more precious week. Factory worker Will Salas (Justin Timberlake) is a man stretching his existence hour by hour, who one fateful night comes into possession of an entire century. When the corrupt Timekeeper police force goes after him, he finds himself the voice of the population's neglected segment, but also gains an unexpected ally...

As was the case with Niccol's futuristic rumination Gattaca, In Time's intrigue stems from the possibility of medical research overriding the value of life. Using details like virtual clocks embedded in limbs and multiple generations of youthful esthetics, Niccol toys with the idea of a plasticized dictatorship versus one of genetic democracy. The action sequences are well balanced with the dialogue's thoughtful explorations, but I do wish that the film had either been longer or dug deeper, since its themes demand further analysis. Niccol's vision is so scrumptious and its potential so expansive, it seems that one film would only just be scratching the surface, barely beginning to examine all the angles of such a bizarre realm.

**SPOILERS (please highlight to read)** 

I do not understand why the issue of Will's father's death is hinted at and never seen through. From the moment it was mentioned, I was hoping to see how the element -- obviously essential to many of Will's views -- would weave into the narrative, but it never did. Also, how come stealing time is so rampant? Sure, it is a hot commodity in the midst of a cutthroat world but, based on the very configuration of the system, how come it is not guarded more closely? There is no time to waste here and yes, that pun was 100% intended.

**END OF SPOILERS**

As Will, Timberlake shows once again that he can act, alternating between vulnerability and strength to paint a picture of a desperate man. My main problem was that, while watching, I would occasionally be convinced that he was miscast in this particular role. He simply commands too much of a public persona, too much of a fame-delineated reputation, to be completely believable as a plebeian struggling to eke out a living. I was also hard-pressed to buy what can only be described as an attempt at a James Bond homage sequence, the initial casino encounter between Will and businessman Philippe Weis (Vincent Kartheiser). Still, Timberlake's talent is apparent, and I have no doubt that he will eventually be able to separate his pop star allure from his thespian self. Seyfried's guileless performance brings to mind the damsels in distress of Hollywood's golden age, her portrayal of socialite-turned-rebel Sylvia throwing poisonous darts at innocence every step of the way. This type of figure has had numerous incarnations in cinema over the years, but the actress turns Sylvia into a sympathetic sidekick, charting the evolution from her anti-rules zeal to anti-establishment energy. Overall, the leads bring a lively aura to their parts and their dynamic provides a fresh take on the cinematic outlaw tradition.

The richest performances, though, come from three of the supporting players. The always interesting Cillian Murphy is ambivalence personified as Timekeeper Raymond Leon. He is a law officer who is so deeply stuck in bureaucracy, so blinded by the neon numbers ticking away, that he has forgotten what it means to have a soul. Murphy is great when probing the morality spectrum, and he has his understated officer journey from ruthless to conflicted in an organic manner. As the time-stealing gang leader Fortis, Alex Pettyfer evokes Malcolm McDowell in A Clockwork Orange, displaying a menacing intensity and charismatic wit. Having shown promise in the ingenious I Am Number Four, he demonstrates here what he is capable of doing with an even more eloquent script. These two characters are singularly the most interesting ones, and it is a pity that the screenplay does not allow them more room to maneuver. Lastly, "The Big Bang Theory"'s Johnny Galecki creates a character that is light years away from Dr. Leonard Hofstadter, giving an affecting performance as Will's best friend, the disenchanted Borel.

With its concept and in its execution, In Time is one of the most original works to hit the screens in years. Whichever facets it may lack, it makes up for with an innovative  presentation of a bubble that is liable to burst at any moment. It is a thought-provoking film that will have you pondering, debating and -- imagine that -- not glancing at your watch.

8/10

Weekly Review -- Happy Halloween

The Caller (2011) -- In this era of violence without context and gore without mercy, rare are the thriller and horror films that actually make the viewer think and that emphasize atmosphere above all else. Such precious gems are they, that locating one by word of mouth or word of review makes it double the fun to watch and savor. The Caller is one of those underrated chillers that I was lucky enough to hear about.

As someone I know once said, "When a stranger calls, don't answer", and never does this adage prove to be more true than in regard to this Matthew Parkhill terror piece. After divorcee Mary Kee (Rachelle Lefevre) moves into her new place, she starts getting phone calls from Rose (Lorna Raver), a rather lonely and apparently very kooky lady. Practically in hiding from her abusive ex-husband and on her way to a happier existence, Mary sees no harm in simply chatting to the woman. When Rose starts claiming that she is calling from 1979, though, Mary quickly puts an end to the exchanges, leaving Rose far from pleased...

The film relies on sounds, eye-catching cinematography and extremely innovative camerawork to convey Mary's anxiety and depression. I love the fact that it was shot in Puerto Rico in its entirety, since the exotic locations contribute to a sense of the unexpected, a feeling of warm comfort that can be transformed into heart-arresting upheaval at any minute. Its usage of faded and almost impenetrable spaces reminded me of Brad Anderson's The Machinist, with the isolated dreariness depicted as part of the principal character's saga from the beginning. In fact, Mary does have nowhere to go, her life having seemingly become so small that Rose's call coming from a different era is almost ironic. Sure, there are some obvious questions, like why on Earth Mary would want to get involved in some type of time travel rant, especially with the kind of problems she is already dealing with; still, it is easy to understand the character's curiosity and desire for distraction. The phone call element is an interesting rumination on the ever-increasing isolation of modern life, with the true nature of the calls making the inception of Mary and Rose's conversations that much more frightening and bringing to mind the 2001 masterpiece Pulse.

The acting is soulful and solid throughout. Lefevre shows a different side of her acting chops, moving convincingly from Mary's fear of her ex to utter bewilderment at Rose's insistence. Stephen Moyer is endearing as a new love interest and, after Drag Me to Hell and this film, Raver is cornering the market on unhinged women that you do not want to mess with.

The Caller is a film you will be glad to have discovered. It will leave you pondering its twists and turns, possibly even re-watching it to see if you could have detected certain quirks early on. It is one of those films that uncovers its layers gradually, without pomp, without clichéd and tiresome effects. It does not rely on the usual scare techniques because hey, it does not have to -- the sight of that phone and the knowledge of what may be on the other line is bloodcurdling enough.

8/10

Weekly Review -- Strength outside numbers

Over the past century, various cinematic works have attempted to depict and, in some cases, epitomize the unwavering potential of the human spirit. While many of them have succeeded, the masterpieces are few and far between. Rare are those films that draw us into the domain of pure strength instead of merely presenting it to the audience, those that transform inspiration into a multidimensional experience, those that create catharsis using a perspective that can only be comprehended as true vision. The following two works are prime examples of these concepts, streaming two breathtaking stories through art without compromise.


Hunger (2008 ) -- One of the most riveting chronicles in recent memory, this film is a staggering narrative about the last bastion of perseverance in the midst of political chaos. The impressive debut by visual artist Steve McQueen pits hope against desperation at every turn, all the while embracing the richness of its minimalism and refusing to allow convention into its storytelling technique.

The film depicts the 1981 Irish hunger strike, the final stage of the Irish republican prisoners' protest against the British government's stance toward their political status. Through stark imagery and quiet script subtleties, we see the protest's influence on the individuals involved directly or indirectly, such as guard Raymond Lohan (Stuart Graham), new IRA prisoner Davey Gillen (Brian Milligan) and, most comprehensively, Bobby Sands (Michael Fassbender). Sands is about to organize a new hunger strike, after one that represented a failed attempt to bring global attention to the prisoners' plight. Having no other option, he embarks on an odyssey of physical and emotional decay for the sake of his beliefs and long-awaited justice, the only two things that he has unshakable faith in...

What I liked the most about Hunger was McQueen's usage of the body as a device that outlines humanity within the most inhuman of circumstances. Every action and its consequence is delineated as an effect on the corporeal essence of life and dignity, from the merciless beatings to organic rage and from unclothed defiance to, ultimately, grim starvation. Whereas the body is too often exploited in cinema as a tool of either victory or horror, McQueen exposes its vulnerability and juxtaposes it with the power of sheer resolve. The raw details of the piece are strewn across the map of its bleakness, with a hint of slight optimism for the protest participants who possess enough willpower to live their principles and abandon all comfort for the sake of freedom. Indeed, one cannot help but feel immense grief for the tortured youth of the men who were forced to fight for their country in the most brutal manner imaginable. McQueen does not begin and end his exploration behind the prison walls, placing a great emphasis on the events unavoidably seeping into the relationships and life outside, with the nursing home scene probably being one of the most haunting sequences of the past decade.

Hunger is full of moments that bring to life the struggle unfolding on screen, constantly reminding us that we are not watching pure fiction. Elements like the dark isolation of the set design and near lack of verbal exchanges push the urgency of the drama forward, with Sean Bobbitt's cinematography highlighting the proceedings. However, it is the intense moral debate between Sands and a priest that steals the spotlight, posing questions that perhaps no one is able to answer. Does the meaning of life and death hinge on a situation? What constitutes a sin? Does Sands have the mental capacity to set the course of action, particularly one this fateful, for the men that rely on his leadership ability? Where, in the entire conflict, is any kind of morality to be found? Fassbender and Liam Cunningham make the sequence function like a short play, a somber back-and-forth between two men standing on the same side, glaring at each other from opposite ends. The scene is not only dynamic as a philosophical dialogue on the edge of a breakdown, but also glorious on a technical level, as a record-holding, continuous 16-minute shot.

The acting is perfection. Fassbender's portrayal of Sands is a stunning testament to the character's pride and tenacity. He journeys ferociously from Sands' religious-like zeal to virtual self-destruction, the activist's motivation always at the forefront. He is electrifying in the debate scene, bringing passion and conviction to the character's determination, while his fearlessness in the last twenty minutes will leave you gasping. Simply put, it is a performance that will forever remain part of the cinematic canon. Cunningham renders his priest into a voice of reason, one that nonetheless empathizes and sides with the prisoners' strife, whereas Graham and Helen Madden give moving supporting turns as the conflicted guard and Sands' mother, respectively. All of the performances contrast the oppressive milieu of the story in a very deliberate and elegant manner, simultaneously infusing the context with a dose of human universality.

Hunger is a masterpiece that opens one's eyes not only to a specific point in modern history, but also to the lengths that we as people are willing to go to, in order to preserve the truth of our identity. The politics of the world we live in are no match to the politics of the bodies we inhabit, each of them an instrument that can serve as the ultimate weapon in the fight against despotism. While its aesthetics may appear to be hopeless and its landscape may appear to be a harsh shade of gray, appearances can be deceiving, since the film's message and its implications are nothing but hope, rising from the ashes of sacrifice and facing off against the barbed wire.

10/10


127 Hours (2010) -- What would you do to survive?

Upon hearing this question, some of us may start thinking, picking and choosing, mentally eliminating phobias and the scenarios that are the most distressing to us. Some of us may say "anything" and then negotiate that claim later on. Some may even stick with "I don't know", the safest, time-purchasing bet. Thankfully, not many of us will ever have the opportunity to find out, contrary to mountain climber Aron Ralston, whose real life story of intrepidity is the subject of Danny Boyle's latest film.

In April 2003, Ralston (James Franco) arrives in Utah's Blue John Canyon for one of his usual outdoor adventures. After a promising start to the exploration, he endures a freak accident when he falls down a crevice, along with a boulder that ends up crushing his right arm and imprisoning him miles away from civilization. Having told no one where he was going and knowing that he is alone, he has to rely on his wits to figure out a way to prevail. Running out of resources and slowly falling victim to his own mind's wanderings, Ralston soon realizes that he will have to resort to doing what can only be possible in a desperate situation...

From the very start, it is Boyle's unique style that pushes us, the audience, into the principal character's inadvertent isolation. There is hardly any music, except ominous monotones; there are no voices, except cries for help; there are no glossed-over resolutions to sequences, but mostly close-ups that focus on Ralston's external and internal struggles. Using fluctuating camera and cinematography techniques, Boyle depicts the young man's horror through the perspective of a witness, not merely an observer. The film employs lyrical pirouettes to shift from Ralston's visions to memories, trekking from his unending desire to live beyond his predicament to his heightened awareness of possibly perishing in the canyon's deadly embrace. The hallucinations involving his family, who he knows he may never see again, are heartbreaking, as are the scenes with the last video he had filmed before the incident. The actual and infamous arm-cutting scene is not so much gruesome as it is pragmatically clinical evidence of survival instinct's voracity. What Boyle manages to do is bring each and every one of us into the canyon with the climber, making us re-examine everything we ourselves value and creating not only empathy, but also a strong sense of human connection.

As far as the performances go, it is Franco's portrayal that drives the proceedings, and the actor does a truly fantastic job. It is a tour de force circle of gravitas, going from Ralston's initial adventure-hungry euphoria to his shock at the unexpected impasse, and concluding with his determination to overcome the obstacle. Making some brave choices and fully immersing himself in the story, Franco captures the indomitable force of grit and breathes soul into the screenplay.

127 Hours is an inspirational example of willpower ethos. It is a film that teaches us about the mercurial nature of existence and its relationship with fate, both cosmic entities that toy with the frequent human naivete. Its message is a tribute to a person who is capable of finding a warrior within when they need them the most, and a hope that each one of us is that lucky when life dusts off its hazards.

10/10