I am blessed to have working from home as a component of my job. Not only because it has made caring for my son over his Winter break and dealing with general Holiday madness a non-issue, it has afforded me an enormous amount of time to catch up on movies, both theatrically and and at home via my voluminous blu-ray backlog. So, without further ado, let us wrap up the final straggling cinematic strands of 2011.We're lucky enough here in Minnesota to have one of the 42 true IMAX theaters in North America showing The Dark Knight Rises prologue before Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol. Thanks to some free passes, I've seen this presentation twice. Hugo showed us that 3-D can be quite enjoyable in the hands of a talented film maker, but 3-D is technically the past. It has been around forever and despite technological advancements, is at its core a gimmick, no matter how judiciously employed. IMAX is the future. It is true immersion into the world a film maker creates. A monolithic screen filled to the point of bursting with stunning detail, remarkable resolution and the most bowel rumbling sound system imaginable. The only drawback is being tipped off that an important sequence is about to begin due to the ever shifting aspect ration. Perhaps as the format becomes more reliably profitable and the technology is improved, it will become less prohibitively expensive to shoot in it.
Unfortunately, what you have heard is true. Bane is nigh indistinguishable in The Dark Knight Rises prologue. That quibble aside, it's a remarkable sequence that showcases Nolan's distaste for CGI, (SPOILER ALERT!!!!!) somehow filming a group of assassins repelling from one plane to another, mid flight, dismantling it and dropping it to the ground like a lifeless bird with broken wings, all the while using minimal if any computer assistance. There is one shot in particular as the plane is dropped and our perspective is from above, the enormous field of vision opening up as the vessel hurtles toward earth below two suspended characters, that frankly, well, let's just say I've never seen anything like it. Even though garbled, Tom Hardy's Bane is a formidably unsettling presence, exuding charisma and engendering terrified awe. This is THE film of 2012 for me. Nothing else even comes close. Well, maybe Tim and Eric's Billion Dollar movie.
Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol (love that deliciously unwieldy title!) is a blast. A real return to efficient, eminently enjoyable action cinema. A handsomely crafted, high-tech, globe-trotting, spy yarn of the highest order. Sure it has neat gadgets and gargantuan set pieces (the 35 minutes spent inside and out of the Burj Khalifa is the most breathlessly constructed excitement of the year), but the real fun is in reveling in Tom Cruise's still luminous star power and watching this lovingly assembled team interact. It's a joy to see Simon Pegg in something like this, Paula Patton is wonderful and Jeremy Renner gets the rare chance to be fun and slightly off kilter. This film is the biggest surprise of the year for me, a late Christmas gift I had no idea I wanted, but enjoyed most of all once I tore off the wrapping.
I've never had any interest in The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. I tend to abhor literary sensations. You know, the sort of thing where one minute no one has ever heard of it, then suddenly every single person owns the book and is talking about it. The Davinci Code springs to mind. In any case, I had to see this because Fincher directed it and when it wasn't repulsing me, it was boring me to absolute tears. This is clearly an endeavor for the previously converted, because I found its mix of disingenuous fauxminism, fetishised misogyny and bloodless mystery an unpalatable concoction unworthy of the auteur treatment it received. This is aesthetic ground already well trodden by Fincher, sans the thematic weight of his previous triumphs of investigatory serial killer cinema, Se7en and Zodiac. Move along folks, nothing to see here.
Given my predisposal to dismiss the work of Diablo Cody and Jason Reitman after the self absorbed atrocities that were Juno and Up in the Air, Young Adult was something of a revelation. Poignant without being cloying and understated where their previous efforts were irritatingly insistent, this is a nicely quiet affair that manages to be funny and telling about the generation it documents. Charlize Theron is utterly fantastic in a complicated, inherently unlikable role. She plays off a similarly excellent Patton Oswalt in unexpected ways that illustrates each of their characters disgust and affection, toward themselves and each other. A very interesting film that figures out how to be amusing, uncomfortable, dark, depressing and uplifting all at once.
We Bought a Zoo is schmaltzy and predictable, but entertains and touches on the strength of its performances and in spite of its simplistic storyline. I wish Hollywood could get over the notion that for us mouth breathing audience members to care about a protagonist, we need their spouse or parent to have died. It's the easiest, hackiest way to establish an emotional connection to a character and it's long since devolved into self parody as a narrative trope. Put that shit to bed and find another inroad for crying out loud.
Tintin proves my Beowulf-era assertion that motion capture can open up camera movement and scene transition possibilities hitherto unimaginable to traditional film making. Unlike Beowulf however, it isn't in the service of anything deeper than an uninvolving action set piece generator of a storyline for a character we're never properly introduced to. I'm not familiar with this Tintin, and after seeing the picture devoted to him, don't think I need or want to be. He's a blank slate distinguished only by his shark fin hairdo and adorable dog. Nice to look at, but forgettable despite the involvement of truly talented folks such as Andy Serkis, Simon Pegg, Edgar Wright, Nick Frost and Joe Cornish.
Hey, we were all happy to see Robert Downey Jr. back in the game back when Iron Man came out, right? He's responsible for one of my all time favorite performances and characters with Wayne Gale from Natural Born Killers, so good for him that he cleaned up and found a way to bring his smarmy charm to the mainstream heading up Iron Man and Sherlock Holmes, both of which I enjoyed. Iron Man 2 and now this, Sherlock Holmes: Game of Shadows is where that goodwill runs out and Downey becomes an ingratiating husk of a performer defined by winks and tics that have become less rapscallion and more lascivious as his age advances. Never mind the fact his efforts are in the service of this dismal, dung heap of a film. Holmes innate detective skills have no bearing on his character, they seemingly exist solely as an excuse for camera tricks and obnoxious editing. Guy Ritchie's been flashing up that pan for far too long now and his all style, no substance approach reaches its execrable nadir here. A crashingly loud, thuddingly dull and painfully incomprehensible excuse for a film.
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