The Whale; documentary, 2012

Imagine being – oh, maybe three to five years old – and abandoned. Fortunately, even though your family neglected to keep their eyes on you, you find yourself in a comfortable house, where there is always food and snacks lying around. But there is nobody around with whom to talk. You are young, eager to establish those social connections that enrich the lives of smart, hip young mammals everywhere. Your pod abandons you, so you make the most of it – calling the names of your relatives through the night, but in the day, playing with the apex predator that lives on the other side of seawater surface, living in the atmosphere.

That’s what may well have happened to Orca L98, later named Luna by a Seattle newspaper contest in 2000, before his sex was known. Possibly abandoned as early as late 2000, when up to 5 members of his pod died, Luna was also declared dead until his reappearance in July of 2001 in Nootka Sound, on Vancouver Island’s Northwest coast, where the whale took up residence. In spite of attempts to keep this apparently orphaned killer whale a secret, by the end of 2001 the story of Luna began to circulate.

The Whale, a documentary, chronicles Luna’s life; from his appearance as a lone animal that normally thrives in a highly social environment, to his reputation as a smart and friendly maritime friend who seemed to learn as much from us as we tried to learn from him. The story, as well as countless video of this lonely animal turning to humans for comfort, is something that should not be missed.

Ryan Reynolds narrates The Whale and, alongside Scarlett Johansson and Eric Destnik, is listed as executive producer. In short, it is an amazing documentary that might leave you questioning which species is truly smarter, more social, and potentially capable of forgiveness and love than ever expected.

The story follows Luna’s unusual history, with heaps of truly astounding footage gathered over years as the unique whale desperately seeks human companionship. At the same time, “experts” keep trying to prevent such interactions with crazy fines and stewardship. Something of a tourist attraction, a local legend, and revered by the local Native American tribes as a reincarnation of a former chief, Luna becomes an odd lynchpin for a number of efforts.

The state and Federal government want to move him and reunite him with his old pod. The local Native Americans want the spirit of their leader to stay where it seemed to want – in the local Nootka Sound area. It thrived in the sounds’ food-rich waters, so natural stresses never forced the orphan to leave the relative safety of his home. This battle – or difference of opinion, depending upon which side you take – becomes an important stand in the conversation about wildlife management. As in: how do you manage something that is wild, no matter how civilized, friendly and playful?

The film does an excellent job of exploring the difficulties in trying to keep to sentient, curious, friendly, 4 to 5 ton animal from playing and making friends where and when it wants. It’s nearly impossible to keep a straight face as one wildlife official, holding the two boats together by hand, explains that contact with Luna could result in a $100,000 fine; all the while Luna himself bobs up and down between the boats, playing with the ranger’s arm. It brings the ridiculousness, and difficulty of the situation, into some kind of focus. An animal like Luna should be in deep water, where they can fight with larger pray and play with their brothers, sisters, cousins; and here are humans, a poor substitute for play pals, but the only thing that approaches the magnificent animal’s intelligence for dozens of miles around.

All three angles are well covered in The Whale. One thing plainly obvious is that each group really cares about the health and well-being of Luna, even if they had different ideas on how help.

But it’s the footage collected over years that drive the most important point home – Luna was a lonely whale, craving the attention of the only creatures smart enough to see it. His playfulness and curiosity best compared to a kitten, swimming amongst the boats and docks of the Nootka Sound, bringing a sense of happiness and wonder to everybody whom he touched. But even beyond that, he seemed to take the whale equivalence joy with his interactions, sometimes mimicking human actions, like hosing down the side of a boat, holding the nozzle in his mouth. These were not trained behaviors, but learned through his observation. It was an animal that wanted to understand us, probably more than we wanted to understand him.

The different organizations and townspeople were concerned for his safety almost as one – the boat traffic in the sound was heavy. In many shots, Luna comes right up to boats’ propellers to play in the cavitation bubbles – a dangerous habit that caused lines of propeller scars to cover his young body. And then, one day it happened. Luna came too close to a familiar tugboat, the powerful engines were too much for the playful whale, and he was sucked into the propellers.

The Whale is a beautiful story in so many ways that it really deserves to be seen everybody, regardless of age. It’s one thing to talk about these majestic animals in captivity, but it’s another thing watching one lonely orphan befriending an entire community. It’s difficult to not project human-like qualities onto Luna when the whale, himself, tries so hard to communicate and befriend us. It’s the kind of tragic loss that is amplified by how much we could we could have learned, if we only gave him the chance.

Rating: 8 of 10 hugged trees

Pain level: 2-3

Medication: 10 mg cyclobenzeprene, 10 mg oxycodone

TO WATCH THE WHALE ON NETFLIX, CLICK HERE

John Dies at the End; horror/comedy, 2012

Admittedly, there are movies just made for fun; plot, character, coherent stories all take a backseat in these jovial and “devil may care” movies, which often have extremely convoluted plots to make all the bizarre actions tie up in the end. Think along the lines of Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure, or Shawn of the Dead.

John Dies at the End is one of the latest to fit into this odd little niche – films that are so fun to watch you don’t bother with the flaws or weird incidental sidetracks that make no sense to the story. This is a story involving an alien drug, zombies, other universes, time travel, and parallel planets preparing to take over the earth. Except that our two unsung heroes, along with a faithful pooch, are there to save the day.

The film is based on a comic horror novel by David Wong (who named the story protagonist after himself) that originated as an internet publication. Director Don Coscarelli optioned the book, and with Paul Giamatti on board as both executive producer and as the part of Artie Blondestone, an investigative reporter, the film went forward.

David Wong (Chase Williamson) is leading a strange, paranormal life, starting the film with a question – maybe real, maybe not. A Zombie is beheaded, requiring the replacing of an axe handle. Another use required replacing the blade. When the zombie returns, he can’t help but ask “is that really the same axe?”

This story is revealed to Artie in a restaurant. As well as tales of David and his best friend, John (Rob Mayes), saving a woman only to learn they perceive her differently – at which point she explodes into snakes, before turns into a demon created from frozen meats and searching for Marconi (Clancy Brown), a television spiritualist personality in impeccably tailored dark clothes. One phone call that David makes to Marconi dispatches the demon.

Unimpressed by these tales, Arnie is dismissive, until David begins showing off psychic ability. A side effect, he explains, from an odd, injected drug called Soy Sauce that “opens doors to new universes.” David was himself accidentally exposed by a needle prick while tending to John in the throws of an overdose, and can now see the future. As well, it seems as ghosts. And he keeps getting calls from John in some other parallel universe, invariably giving him clues.

After trying to understand the drug, and the effects, a pan-dimensional creature shows up in David’s car (Daniel Roebuck) throwing some kind of weird alien into his shirt to try and keep him at bay, from which David manages to escape. The film continues with more oddities and silliness, until it’s revealed that David and John are part of a plot to end an invasion from an alternative Earth that is run by some freaky organic computer that is planning the attack. A giant LSD bomb, provided by Marconi, does in the big ol’ freaky creature/computer, an all is well in the world. Until the future comes again, asking for the friends’ help.

The film is, at its most basic, funny. There is nothing great about it, or necessarily exceptional. There is no real reason to watch expecting a good story, or interesting characters with great acting (with the notable exceptions of one of Giomatti’s better performances, with less overacting than is his usual), or great camerawork. The writing, although funny overall, missed opportunities while trying to make all the time/dimension mechanics viable. Not lackluster by any means, it just seems to drift in quality as much as the story drifts in its attention.

This is at best a top-notch stoner film; at worst, a good concept wasted by trying to convert too much written material to script in order to tell a film-length story. It’s one of the reasons so many adaptations fail – the necessary omissions from print to film. It feels as if the writers wanted to hard to stay true to the print version than explore the other directions film could take them. But even at its worst, it entertains.

I enjoyed John Dies in the End and its consistent quirkiness, but I can’t say it is a good movie. Chances are most folks will have a good time, even though its difficult to give it a decent rating. I guess what I am trying to say is, even though I am giving it a poorer than normal rating for all the things it should have been, it is still very worth watching for what it is when you just want mindless fun for a change.

Ratings: 2 of 5 bleeding limbs

Pain Level: 2

Medication: 10 mg cyclobenzaprine, 10 mg oxycodone

TO WATCH JOHN DIES AT THE END, CLICK HERE

Lovelace; drama, 2013

“Blue films,” stag films, have been around almost as long as film itself. It wasn’t long before our more prurient interests were recorded, and played back at special occasions when (mostly) men gathered. At some point, explicit fare reached exhibition houses, shown in seedy, darkly-lit micro theaters with sticky floors. Even the Supreme Court tackled the issue of pornography on a number of occasions. And the floors of their chambers are much cleaner.

But nothing popularized pornography in our culture more than the movie Deep Throat, which thrust celebrity on Linda Lovelace (real name Linda Boreman) because of this breakthrough film. It was an X-rated movie with a story, some humor, and was “viral” before people had computers. It was a legitimate film with sex between plot points. Couples went to see the film in droves, with the movie entering public consciousness to the point the Washington Post named their Watergate source in a perverted homage. It was the film that legitimized pornography and paved the road to the multi-billion dollars industry it has become.

Lovelace is a not the “authorized” bio-pic of her life, if one is inclined to believe her autobiography “Ordeal.” But in the time since its release, 8-minute stag loops have been uncovered that challenge this film, and her autobiography, which both maintain was her first and only x-rated adventure. The true story of Linda Lovelace is buried somewhere in the backstory of the seedy, drug and crime-filled industry as it blossomed in the 70’s.

Lovelace gained had already gained infamy in pre-production, with multiple cast changes plaguing the start of filming, including a period when Lindsey Lohan was cast in the lead – a role which was eventually passed along to Amanda Seyfried. The cast includes a list of well-known character actors like Hank Azaria and Eric Roberts.

The film tries to tell the story by bouncing around from one time period to another, including multiple flashbacks, and refuses any sense of linear progression. Although difficult at times to follow, time is sequenced out of order in what appears to be an attempt to tell the story of from two perspectives - the fame, and the shame.

Lovelace starts with Linda Boreman, in her young 20’s and living with her parents, meeting up with Chuck Traynor (Peter Sarsgaard). His easy charm and deft people skills manage to win over her conservative and hyper-protective mother (played by an aging Sharon Stone; at first. But Linda’s late night out past curfew with Chuck was the last straw for Mrs. Boreman, who kicks her daughter out.

Naturally, she moves in with Chuck, whose go-go bar has a porno theater in the back. His controlling nature infiltrates their relationship, becoming increasingly violent and manipulative once they marry, forcing Linda into prostitution at gunpoint. Even in their bed, his controlling nature forced her develop an unnatural gag reflex, which he documented on 8mm film. At an audition he arranged with a few porn producers, which Linda seems to think was for a legit movie, he shows the film – the producers are not only amazed at her oral specialty, but immediately begin writing a script around her unusual talent.

The film gets finished; it’s an unprecedented hit. Linda gets invited to the Playboy mansion for a screening, where a young Hugh (James Franco) courts her (to put it politely). She became an unusual celebrity as the first adult film actress to become a household name. But in time, her career flounders at the hands of her increasingly volatile manager/husband/pimp. Her refusal to do any more films only brings forth more abuse.

Her first attempt to escape the trifecta of mental, physical and emotional abuse by running back to her parents is of no comfort. Her mother kicks her out for a second time, telling her to obey her husband. She is finally freed when Anthony Romano (Chris Noth), Deep Throat’s financier, is so offended by the abuse he squirrels her away to safety. Six years after, she is living a new life in New York, denouncing the porno industry, becoming a voice for abused spouses and eventually reconciling with her family.

This is an odd little film in many ways. The story is presented through dichromatic good side/bad side glasses from the moment Chuck has the wide-eyed Linda in his marital clutches. For a large chunk movie's first half, everything is rose-tinted good times as her relationship with Chuck develops, as she is introduced into pornography, makes the film, and becomes a minor celebrity.

There is almost an innocence of fun at first, in spite of strong hints of ugliness lurking under the surface. Perhaps its difficult to portray the 70’s party/porn atmosphere without chasing the ghosts of Boogie Nights’ faithful homage, but at times the comparison here just can’t be helped – both in terms of the subject matter, the characters, and of course, the set and costume design.

But then the film, through disjointed time juxtapositions and odd flashbacks, begins to re-tell the story, but including the abuse and beatings, of being forced into prostitution, forced into making the film, and being pimped out because of her celebrity. Only then do we learn of her struggles and fears, of her own helplessness in the face of Chuck’s manipulations and violence. In one touching scene, Linda and her father John (Robert Patrick) have a heartfelt phone call that leaves both in tears, which seems to be her motivation to quit.

But the effect falls flat for the most part, rendering the film almost schizophrenic. In a segment where Linda meets Harry Reems (Adam Brodie), her “co-actor” for her first scene, he comments on what a great job they have, almost waxing poetically about being an adult actor for a moment. By the time the dark turn comes, its onset is confusing and at times convoluted, forcing the audience to remember too many plot points without enough setup. Its as jarring as downing a cup of orange juice after brushing your teeth with toothpaste. On one hand there is a girl who appears on all accounts to be having a princess experience, and then, well... there is the unseemly underbelly of the rest of it. And nowhere do the two easily meet. It leaves audience distrusting what they watch, not quite sure what they are being asked to follow.

To both directors’ credit, it appears there was a deliberate decision to avoid titillation, which is surprising (but perhaps necessary) for a film dealing with the prurient topics of porn and fellatio. Even the simulated sex scenes feature no real nudity, and the rare peeks have more to do with establishing the characters than sex. In fact, sexuality seems completely stripped from the film after the brief pre-marital happiness, banished to the end sequences where the act itself represents nothing but violence and control, the very antithesis of “making love.”

But maybe that was the point in examining poor Lovelace’s life; that she was a victim in every sense of the world. Depersonalized, objectified, and denied any sense of self from her family and lover, forced to live a lie through violence and deception, it’s a wonder Linda Boreman was able to return to a regular life, let alone a self-empowered woman. But as a biopic, it leaves something to be desired, as if it once had a focus, but couldn’t quite decide which kind of a story it wanted to tell.

Rating: 4 of 10 VHS tapes

Pain level: 2-3

Medication 10 mg cyclobenzeprene, 10 mg oxycodone

TO WATCH LOVELACE ON NETFLIX, CLICK HERE

A note on my ratings.

Over the years, I have found that most commercially released films fit in the “average” bucket, while there are few that ever make the “totally crap” or “exemplary and near perfect”, there are a number of films that fall further and further to one side of average.

When I use a system of 10, figure that most films rate between 4-6. Those are all completely watchable films, but some better than others. The 2 and 3 are reserved for films found on Netflix that would likely not receive distribution anywhere else. The 7 and 8 are excellent films, where you often wish you saw them in the full theater experience. The 1’s are basically the worst of the worst, and only worth watching if you are a bona fide masochist. Lesser folks often have the urge to gouge their eyes out after watching these. And the 9 and 10s are those truly rare, spectacular movies that you kick yourself for not first seeing in IMAX theaters with all the trimmings.

I may find amazing moments in awful movies that are worth noting, or harp on the weak points of an otherwise flawless film. After all, film art is a perpetual ying and yang, unpredictable and odd. But even when tearing apart Ed Woods films, there are rare moments of genius amidst the heaps of trash. And that is one of the great things about Netflix – the search for hidden gems.

Update

So it's nearing the three months checkup where my doctor takes x-rays and decides if there is enough bone growth to allow me to return to work. Last thing anybody wants is something smacking me in my neck, and my spinal cord becoming severed as the bone anchor fails. Let's just hope it all went well and the doc sees no issues other than the continuing neuropathic pain. That takes a few months to resolve.

Thanks to a small but devoted group of readers, who - I might add - are quite vocal in their persuasive discussions, I have decided, with their helpful advice, to continue this ill-thought out plan of reviewing movies from Netflix. Its not like these are new movies, or even movies that have just hit the cable circuit. Nope, these folks are the last line for streaming point-to-point distribution, with a library piled high with DVD releases of short-lived reality shows and television seasons of mediocre dreck sprinkled lightly with the one or two decent films they agree to license for a month.

Admittedly, I am looking forward to binging on Kevin Spacy's partnership in the brilliant House of Cards series that may well change the business paradigm. So I am hopeful about this adolescent video jukebox. But is there a place for reviews specific to the Netflix culture? That's the question I need answered, but not on I will find immediately.

Stay tuned for more reviews, plus the up-and-coming addition of a Facebook page for this blog. When you see things slow down here, check out my other project - a natured documentary on coral reef extinction called "Putting the Pieces Together," at http://www.puttingthepiecestogether.com.

Cheers.

Flight; Drama, 2012

The first time I saw Flight, I think it was on a 757 on my way to Miami. Thankfully, we had an uneventful trip, nary even a hint of turbulence. I love flying, but the three rum and cokes on a stomach of Chex Mix tends to turn any in-flight movie into an ADHD comedy experience.

The film made a splash with favorable reviews and plenty of unsolicited remarks touting a gripping tale. When Netflix announced it had the film, it was time for a second, slightly more sober look.

Pilot Whip Whittaker (Denzel Washingon), after a drug and booze-filled layover tryst with flight attendant Katerina (Nadine Velazquez), manages to keep a full commercial flight from nose-diving into the ground, pulling an unheard of move by rolling the plane inverted, limiting the death toll in the crash to six.

In the swarm of union reps, NTSB investigators and his own attorneys who visit the badly banged-up Whip, he learns Katrina was amongst the dead. As the slow chaos of the investigation begins while still in the hospital, Whip meets Nicole (Kelly Reilly) a heroine overdose patient who is trying to straighten herself out, and their lives quickly become intertwined – him, the unrepentant dependent, and her, free and sober.

In spite of the union and the best efforts of his attorney (played flawlessly by Don Cheedle, wearing his professional poker face throughout), Whip cannot seem to stay on the wagon for more than a lap or two, invariably breaking every rule and treating sobriety as an occasional distraction.

In a truly memorable cameo, John Goodman plays a Hunter-Thompson styled drug dealer Harling Mays, whose bag of goodies contains a treasure trove of uppers and downers for all occassions. There is something about Goodman that is larger than life with his characterizations, and like with all his recent cameos, his presence before the camera sucks the wind from all the other actors. He is the Babe Ruth of modern film, perhaps a big presence in person, but a gigantic presence in the spirit of his characters – whether pious, rapscallion, incorrigible or demure.

Mays is Whip’s devil, the pharmacist with the right blend of illegal potions to cure whatever ills our hero. When Whip wants to leave the hospital immediately after the crash, its Mays to the rescue, helping the injured pilot move to a private location. And in the end, it seems that Mays has set Whip right for a highly critical examination, the one thing standing in this way to freedom.

The entire time, the NTSB and the airline have slowly been setting up the deceased Katrina as a scapegoat; after spending the night with Whip, she had cocaine and alcohol in her blood as well. In the end, Whip is faced with choosing his freedom, or smearing Katrina’s name.

The film comes dangerously close to turning into a warm embrace of drug culture, elevating those who can manage a variety of substances without having their performance effected. After all, athletes got away with snorting coke before games for years, as did the older pilot culture that was known to party during layovers. Not all drugs interfere the same way. In my job, there was never a point where my use of heavy narcotics for pain management interfered with my exceptional job performance. (Other drugs that were designed for neurologic use, however, did).

Throughout the film, Whip’s drug use is never presented as an obstacle in anything but a bureaucratic wall. Once that’s bypassed, by a court order, its smooth sailing for Whip if he can tow the line. No matter how hard they tried, the powers that be were unable to prove anything interfered with his performance; in simulation, not a single pilot was ale to save the aircraft from nose-diving into a small, completely fatal hole. His choices and timing were unimpeachable.

This film is a play on conscience, on whether it’s right to buck the system or accept a grievous punishment for the consequences. When a man saves a hundred lives where no one else can, is it fair for his sins to be punished? That might be the crux of this modern fable of tragedy and salvation, the quietly criminal and heroic. Sometimes the line is so blurry, it’s difficult to know which side to root for. But being the true hero, the righteous takes what is his due.

The flight scenes are truly hair-raising, and worth the price of admission alone. And the performances throughout are consistent and cleverly excellent. But the film’s end doesn’t really feel true to everything that precedes it. In spite of the buildup, it reduces itself to a play on morality, ending with a lazy conclusion that whacks the suddenly apparent moral compass into place with an unnaturally large hammer.

Flight is not a bad film by any means. It is very entertaining, has a few funny bits to relieve the pressure of one of the most hair-raising crash sequences ever put on screen, and features a cast brimming with top-notch acting chops. What it doesn’t do is add up in the end. Preachy and self-indulgent, the coda adds nothing, but takes away all the fun.

Rating: 6 of 10 Oscar Nominations

Pain level: 3 to 4

Medication: 20 mg oxycodone; 10 mg flexeril; 7.5 mg Mobic

TO WATCH FLIGHT ON NETFLIX, CLICK HERE

Red Dawn (remake); Action, 2013

This is one of the shortest review you will see here.

If you are a fan of the original Red Dawn, don't even bother. There is nothing in this CG-riddled gunfest that approaches that immediate feeling of dread and helplessness in the original as the Mexican Army are parachuting into the high school playing field. Few moments in film are as powerful or as hairs-on-back-of-neck-hello! as that original opening. And no amount of North Koreans appearing in the skies everywhere at once creates the same sense of horror. Originally, it started in school, far away from anything helpful. In this remake, they start in their homes, with enough moments to grab a handful of necessities.

There's also no Harry Dean Stanton shouting, "Sons! Avenge me!" before being executed. And that's a bonus no matter what movie.

The original was seemingly more plausible even than the remake, in terms of the actual military action. This revision cares less about creating a viable situation than using as much munitions and weaponry as possible.

In spite of shredding it against the original, overall it is better produced, tighter, and at times pushed the adrenaline factor significantly further. But the advances weren't enough to justify the remake, in my own opinion.

For fans of action films who have never seen he original, chances are you will enjoy this remake more. It's a story of the invasion of America, and the middle-America town where a group of teen-agers wage a guerilla warfare on the insurgents, calling themselves the Wolverines after the school logo. It stars good-looking guys and girls like Chris Hemworth (in a rare non-Thor appearance), Josh Hutcherson, Adrianne Palicki and Isabel Lucas. The rag-tag group manages to take on an entire North Korean division, making a difference as Americans slowly take the country back. There are plenty of explosions, neat military diversions, and excessive gunfighting for any action move, outdoing the original in the process.

But this version takes few risks overall, where the first movie was almost a risk unto itself. The remake even tries in some ways to distinguish itself from the original, but instead only burying it with modern cliches and troupes to the point it becomes irrelevant.

Another thing I find slightly unsavory in this edition is the decidedly "pro-2nd Amendment" messages that run throughout. In a few spots, it feels like the NRA was a silent partner. Where the former film was about using hunting rifles and home protection handguns, this version carries a very definite message about why Americans need guns. Obviously, we must be in danger from a North Korean takeover.

I have a better idea for those who have never seen either - skip the new one, and see the original Red Dawn. Ignore the silly montages and awful music, as well as some of the hairstyles. I promise, you will be seeing a much better film with the same basic plot.

Rating: 3 of 10 coffee beans if you have seen the original. 5 of 10 if you have seen neither.

Pain Level: 2-3

Medication: 10 mg oxycodone, 10mg flexeril

TO WATCH THE REMAKE OF RED DAWN, REVIEWED ABOVE, ON NETFLIX, CLICK HERE

TO WATCH THE ORIGINAL, YOU'LL HAVE TO GET THE DVD

Robot & Frank; Drama, 2012

It’s rare to find a “delightful” movie, like On Golden Pond or Driving Miss Daisy. Not a genre, or even an accurate description; it’s a term that’s bandied about when the story is about the elderly dealing with the struggles of an increasingly complex world, often mischievous, and maybe facing failing health. Paced deliberately and focused on the characters, these films often force us to question our lives as we age, the relationships fostered or lost, and the entirety of legacy. Because they are steeped in storytelling, and invariably lead to a thoughtful, yet uplifting ending of sorts, they are… delightful.

Robot & Frank is a film in the not-so-distant future, where an unusual relationship develops between Frank Weld (Frank Langella) and his caretaker robot. Although he has a family, his philanthropic daughter Madison (Liv Tyler) and earnest son Hunter (James Marsden) aren’t available to keep the increasingly Alzheimers-like dementia from getting Frank into trouble. Hunter decides to purchase a robot to clean, cook, shop, and help keep track of Frank.

Initially distrustful of the mechanical servant, and denied the ability to turn off or escape from the robot, Frank reluctantly begins to accept the new housekeeper into his life -- keeping the apartment clean, administering to Frank’s needs, and keeping him active. Frank often visits the library, where his relationship with librarian (Susan Sarandon) feels both warmly familiar yet uncomfortably formal. But like so many creatures of habit who suffer Alzheimer’s, he reverts to a long-past reality, such as visiting a long-closed restaurant and shoplifting from the boutique that replaced it.

But Frank led a secret life, having earned his way as a successful cat burglar, fooling his family until he finally got caught. Even as his memory fades, he practices the craft on an assortment of locks in his spare time, making mental notes of places he pretends to case. Hunter’s electronic babysitter, at first a sore spot for Frank, becomes a curiosity as his mechanical hands become expertly adept at picking locks. Slowly but surely, he begins to teach the amoral robot his tradecraft.

When a rich group of new-tech progressives take over the library and begin converting it for a digital media center, Frank and his robot plan a caper to ostensibly rescue a few extremely rare books from the library, such as a printing of Don Quixote that Frank wanted to quietly return to his sentimental librarian.

As they continue their spree, Frank’s eroding memory becomes as noticeable as the enthusiasm for returning to his old calling. As a known felon and burglar, the police come calling quickly, disrupting the quiet life. Although he is still sharp, Franks mental gymnastics can’t quite keep up, and he remains their prime suspect.

It is rare to find a movie based so completely around a character that a single actor makes the film. This is that exception, and Langella’s performance is so well thought out, so detailed even to the subtle shifts in expression when encountering a forgotten memory, that every beat is alive with a realism in performance that is rarely matched onscreen. This is not to be confused with presence, but rather the enchantment of watching a character evolve and change in quiet and particular ways.

Although Langella’s performance carries the film, the ensemble cast that supports his character are in no way slouches, flavored with realism crossed with the nuances that give each a chance to explore depth behind their lines. Whether it’s Madison fighting with Fran, only for her to be placated by lie, or Hunter’s exasperation with his father’s unchanging ways, the performances are grounded in truth and common reality.

The script, although thin at times, manages to keep the simple idea moving forward at a pace that lets the actors breathe without stagnating the plot. It’s also bare enough to act as a scaffold, encouraging the actors to fill in between the lines, and they all graciously rise to the occasion. But the subtleties of Langella’s characterization are key to keeping the audience engaged. A lesser actor, or a more grandiose one, would surely have let this fine soufflé fall.

Which leaves Robot & Frank a feel-good movie, in spite of the potential for an unsavory morality play. The kind of movie for a do-nothing Saturday afternoon, when the mind wants entertainment, but the eyes and ears don’t feel like being assaulted. The kind of film you can wrap around yourself like a warm, comfortable blanket for a few hours, without having to think too much.

Rating: 6 of 10 stone crabs

Pain Level: 2-3

Medication: 10 mg oxycodone, 10 mg flexeril, .5 mg alprazolam

TO WATCH ROBOT & FRANK ON NETFLIX, CLICK HERE

God Bless America: Black Comedy, 2011

The simple review: Drop what you are doing, watch God Bless America, perhaps the most socially relevant black comedy since Dr. Strangelove or how I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, and be a better person for it. Put down the sandwich, close Facebook, don’t bother going out for that walk, turn on Netflix and watch God Bless America. Fido can hold it an extra hour.

In other news, the world is getting increasingly vacuous, ruled by obnoxious popularity contest winners and super spoiled sweet sixteen parties. Nobody thinks for himself, and instead regurgitates the latest pop (insert anything here: culture, star, show, politics, etc) news as if it has true gravity in a world built of mean superficiality. A place where the talentless are rewarded with celebrity simply because they stake a claim to it, and the passive sheep on the receiving end of consumer culture let them -- from reality and entertainment television to shock and sports radio personalities. A culture where courtesy and basic politeness are overrun by a mean-spirited race of self-indulgent righteousness, led by an increasingly soulless media.

This is the world of Frank Murdock (Joel Murray), an upstate New York insurance salesman burdened by a recent divorce, a bratty kid, unpleasantly dismissive neighbors and painful migraines. His insomniac nights are spent listlessly watching television to drown the neighbor’s cacophony, filling the void of his life with obnoxious reality programming, entertainment shows, an American Idol rip-off, and a Limbaugh-like right wing talk host. His emptiness is permeated by the trailer-trash society that the media embraces and exemplifies, slowly filling him with rage and contempt.

In short order, Frank is fired from his mundane job; his attempt to cheer up a female coworker by sending her flowers was taken as zero-tolerance sexual harassment. A visit to his foully egotistical neurologist (are there any other kind?) to solve his migraines reveals fatal brain cancer. Frank Murdock is about to break bad, minus the meth.

At home, once again rejected by his daughter by phone, Frank finds his service sidearm and prepares to swallow a bullet. Readying himself, a reality show featuring the pinnacle of spoiled children - “Chloe” - comes on the television. A dim bulb lights up in his sad eyes. Stealing his neighbor’s bright yellow Camero, Frank sets off with some kind of loose, drunken plan.

He ends parking up in the woods around Chloe’s (Maddie Hasson) school in Virginia. While spying with binoculars, a curious high school brunette, Roxanne “Roxy” Harmon (Tara Lynn Barr), calls him out for being a peeping pervert. But when Frank takes the opportunity to remove Chloe from the planet, Roxy, witnessing it, thinks it’s the coolest thing in the world.

Back in some nondescript hotel, Frank prepares for suicide as Roxy knocks on his door. Taking pause, he lets the exuberant high-schooler into the room, and she not only talks him out of blowing his brains out, but instead gives him a new mission: killing the rude, the devoutly mean-spirited, and people who take two parking spaces. They start with Chloe’s parents before taking off on a coast-to-coast spree. Of note is one set piece in a movie theater, where “thank you for not talking during the feature” takes on new meaning.

A secondary plotline follows the American Idol ripoff, “American Superstarz,” where a borderline mentally challenged competitor, Stephen Clarke (Aris Alverato) was first ripped apart by the panel, gained sympathy after attempting suicide, and was then invited back to perform in the finals in Hollywood. Stunned at how Stephen was being used to get ratings, Frank sets his sights on the Superstarz final.

But the plot is merely a thin structure upon which a deeply rich critique of modern ‘Murica is posited through a brilliant script. The joy of the movie is in the monologues – a lost art on the screen, given over only to courtroom scenes, churches, voice overs, and the Cohen brothers. But these 3-5 minute gems from Frank are sharply focused social commentary, deploring the change in society towards mass consumption of media, and ‘Murica’s embrace of meanness as a calculated way of life.

Sadly, although Joel Murray is good with the dog-eyed look of a broken man struggling with suicide, his acting tends towards the flat. Perhaps the actor, perhaps the director, but the performance sometimes feels too deadpan for the material, as if it would breathe a little more with a little animation.

Roxy gets into the act as well, delivering the single most impassioned expression of Alice Cooper devotional ever penned. Tara Lynne Barr gives Roxy a wide-eyed enthusiasm and unbridled courage that only a well-sheltered but evil-minded woman/child could produce. She brings an energy that is admittedly lacking through the first third of the film, where the majority of Frank’s speeches dominate the narrative landscape.

In spite of the gunplay, the often excessively violent and graphic imagery, this is at its roots the blackest of social comedies. In spite of his brilliant script, Bobcat Goldthwaite’ directing chops still leave a little to be desired. The deliberate pacing tastes vaguely like a Cohen brothers film, but without the same depth of direction; which may be the film’s weakest point. Since this was direct to DVD/cable, I suspect there might not have been the budget to accomplish more than they did, and if it was so constrained, the minimalist approach at times is understood. In contrast, the dialogue would make David Mamet proud in both its insight and rhythm.

Passing by God Bless America is a sin. This is a black comedy that helps illuminate the soulless vacuum that’s developed in this country. It’s a thinker’s film in a way, forcing the mirror on the culture we have all allowed to flourish for the last 20 years, and at the same time damning us for it. It wouldn’t be so funny if it weren’t so true, and in that way, Bobcat has used filmmaking as a social commentary in ways that hasn’t been successfully done in decades. The beginning may be slow, and the comedy may not resonate with everyone, but once Roxy takes Frank on his mission as the Robin Hood of cultural sanity, the film moves at a lightning speed.

Part buddy movie, part road-trip, part vengeance flick, and all social commentary, God Bless America may be very uneven at times, but it may also be the most subversive film of the century to date. And you may never be able to listen to “Do you know” the same way again.

Rating: 7 of 10 bullet-ridden teddy bears

Pain Level: 2

Medication: 10 mg flexural, 7.5 mg mobic

JUST STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING AND CLICK HERE TO WATCH GOD BLESS AMERICA ON NETFLIX RIGHT NOW