PHOENIX FORGOTTEN
photojournalist and a tracker get a military escort to an unknown island from a group of soldiers on their way out of Vietnam. The plan is to check things out before the Russians do, naturally. Kong is isn’t the only game in town on this island, as they discover from kooky, long-lost American pilot Marlow, (John C. Reilly) shot down in 1944, who survived thanks to the native tribe. Kong is the protector against what he calls the “skullcrushers,” serpentine dragon-monsters that come up from the earth’s hollow core. The film is as overflowing with characters as it is with prehistoric monsters, which keeps things moving at a rapid clip. When their helicopters are initially swatted out of the air by the mountain-sized primate, everyone scatters into different groups — there are the soldiers, lead by Col. Packard (Samuel L. Jackson), who goes dark, fast. Denied a satisfactory culmination to Vietnam, he swears revenge on Kong. The other group is led by the peaceniks, if you will, a British tracker named Conrad (Tom Hiddleston) and photojournalist Mason Weaver (Brie Larson), who preach co-existence over obliteration. “Skull Island” is never boring, but it never sits still. — Katie Walsh, Tribune News Service
THE LOST CITY OF Z
1/2 PG-13, 141 minutes. Starts Friday at Niantic. Still playing at Madison Art Cinemas, Mystic Luxury Cinemas. In 2005, The New Yorker magazine published a piece by journalist David Grann, a journey through Brazil, retracing the steps of English explorer Percy Fawcett, who mapped the uncharted depths of the Amazon in the early 20th century. Grann later expanded this piece into a book, “The Lost City of Z,” published in 2009, and now the cinematic adaptation of Fawcett’s adventures has been brought to the screen with a richly detailed specificity by writer-director James Gray. Though Fawcett’s story is known, it’s almost better if one embarks on this voyage with as little knowledge about him as possible, as Gray weaves this tale of Fawcett’s incredible journey and restless soul with a sense of intimate immediacy. Charlie Hunnam stars as Fawcett, resplendent of mustache and swaggering of spirit. He’s a man with ambition beyond his circumstances, born with a poor choice of ancestors in terms of his hopes to move up in the ranks. It’s only through sheer force of will and talent that Fawcett can establish his own good name for himself, so he takes a position on a mapping expedition to Bolivia, in the realm of Amazonia, a word that he will come to utter with the utmost reverence, like a lost lover’s name. With his aide-de-camp Mr. Costin (Robert Pattinson), Fawcett bushwhacks through the thickest jungle, tangles with cannibalistic tribespeople, barely survives piranha feedings, and develops a sort of addiction to the steamy, foreboding land, filled with the promise of mystery and discovery. Fawcett becomes convinced that there’s a lost ancient city to be found in Amazonia, a belief that sends him back again, and again; the vision tempts him all the way to the trenches of World War I, filled with chlorine gas and bloody mud. It’s a belief scoffed at in the halls of the Royal Geographic Society, populated by pasty men in stuffed shirts who believe themselves superior to the primitive folk of the Amazon. But if anyone has a vested interest in disrupting hierarchies of power and equality, it’s Fawcett. This is possibly Hunnam’s best role and best performance to date. — Katie Walsh, Tribune News Service PG-13, 80 minutes. Through today only at Westbrook, Lisbon. Two decades after three teenagers disappeare in the wake of mysterious lights appearing above Phoenix, Arizona, unseen footage from that night is been discovered.
THE PROMISE
PG-13, 132 minutes. Through today only at Niantic, Mystic Luxury Cinemas, Lisbon. History is rife with horrific events that somehow manage to demonstrate true humanity and heroism. Many of these events are underreported, underrepresented and misunderstood, such as the Armenian Holocaust — the systemic extermination of 1.5 million Armenians by the Ottoman Empire, starting in 1915. Knowledge of this genocide isn’t universal, and the Republic of Turkey still refuses to acknowledge it. Cinema has always been a useful tool for creating understanding and empathy in mass audiences, and the epic melodrama “The Promise,” based on these events, seeks to remedy popular understanding of the horror. It’s a noble undertaking that only partially succeeds. Written by Robin Swicord and Terry George, directed by George, “The Promise” has all the trappings of a romantic wartime epic — movie stars, love triangles, exotic destinations. With all of the talent behind the camera and in front of it, it’s confounding then that “The Promise” falls so flat. The film boasts Oscar Isaac, Christian Bale, gorgeous European shooting locations, and experienced talent steering the ship, but somehow all of that adds up to very, very little. The film is a color-by-numbers wartime drama. Isaac plays Mikael, a young medical student from a small Armenian village, pursuing his fortune in Constantinople. There he befriends a young Turk (Marwan Kenzari) and an American reporter (Bale) and falls in love with a worldly and well-traveled Armenian woman, Ana (Charlotte Le Bon), though he’s promised to a young woman back home. When Turkey enters World War I, the
group is torn apart by hatred, racism and violence. At least, that’s what we can somewhat glean from the events depicted onscreen. Throughout its entire two-plus hour running time, there is nary an explanation of the political machinations behind the persecution of the Armenians. — Katie Walsh, Tribune News Service
A QUIET PASSION
PG-13, 125 minutes. Starts Friday at Mystic Luxury Cinemas. Still playing at Madison Art Cinemas. “A Quiet Passion,” Terence Davies’ masterful new movie, plays out in the sunny gardens and lamp-lighted drawing rooms of 19th century Amherst, Mass., where Emily Dickinson spent most of her 55 years patiently making her monumental contribution to American literature. At first glance, the film, with its lovingly appointed interiors and its excerpts of poetry on the soundtrack, might strike you as a dull and dutiful enshrinement of Dickinson’s brilliance, another ordinary film about an extraordinary artist. But Davies, one of the leading lights of contemporary British cinema, is temperamentally incapable of doing anything ordinary, and he has little interest in advancing the reductive narrative of a troubled, reclusive genius. His eye for lighting, color and movement — the way his camera prefers to inhabit a room, rather than simply follow the action — would distinguish this picture alone, though his chief inspiration turns out to be verbal as well as visual. In contrast with the solo approach taken by William Luce’s 1976 play, “The Belle of Amherst,” Davies’ screenplay anchors Dickinson’s gift within a well-populated social context that, for all its rules and constraints, feels wildly alive with the possibilities of language. Emily, played with steely wit, tremulous vulnerability and astonishing openness by Cynthia Nixon, speaks in a declarative, formal register, as do her family members, friends and acquaintances. The stately rhythms of the dialogue — drawn out by the particulars of Davies’ blocking, framing and editing — become a kind of music. The effect is bewildering at first, then absorbing, then transfixing. Its purpose, in line with the loftiest ideals of poetry itself, is to clear the mind and stir the soul. If that sounds forbiddingly austere, rest assured that Davies also wants to make you laugh. The first half of “A Quiet Passion,” in particular, is a riotous assemblage of drawing-room banter to rival Whit Stillman’s recent adaptation of the Jane Austen comedy “Love & Friendship,” though the line readings here are more deliberate than effervescent, and even throwaway witticisms prove intimately revealing of character, milieu and circumstance. — Justin Chang, Los Angeles Times
SMURFS: THE LOST VILLAGE
1/2 PG, 89 minutes. Westbrook, Lisbon. In the first few minutes of the animated film “Smurfs: The Lost Village,” I couldn’t help but wonder if this was going to be a terribly long version of the 1980s TV cartoon series. Fortunately, “Lost Village” found its own path and became a sweet story about Girl Power. If you’re not familiar with the characters, the tiny blue Smurfs live in a remote village that’s hidden from their nemesis, the evil Gargamel (Rainn Wilson). Led by Papa Smurf (Mandy Patinkin), the blue boys are aptly named by their characteristics, a la “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.” So, there is a Clumsy Smurf (Jack McBrayer), a Hefty Smurf (Joe Manganiello) and a Brainy Smurf (Danny Pudi). This is annoyingly spelled out in the beginning of the film, in case you don’t get the point that Nosey Smurf (director Kelly Asbury) is the creepy one. One Smurf is different from the rest — the lone female of the bunch named Smurfette (Demi Lovato). Her backstory is that she was actually created by Gargamel from blue clay to infiltrate the Smurfs and lead him to their secret home. But Gargamel’s dastardly plot was upended by Papa Smurf, who turned Smurfette into a “real Smurf.” (This was spelled out in the TV series, so there are no spoilers here for true fans.) “The Lost Village” deals with Smurfette’s journey to find out what kind of Smurf she really is.
UNFORGETTABLE
1/2 R, 100 minutes. Through today only at Westbrook, Lisbon. Still playing at Waterford. Every once in a while, you need a good, juicy, erotic thriller. In the 1990s, those were a dime a dozen, but now they’re few and far between (forget the dopey “50 Shades” movies). Which makes savoring the outlandishly entertaining “Unforgettable” worthwhile. It’s a female-driven melodrama — a “women’s picture” as they used to call them in the Hollywood of the 1940s — that deals frankly with the issues of domestic violence, trauma and motherhood, all wrapped up in a salacious and often deliciously campy package. Veteran producer Denise Di Novi makes “Unforgettable” her directorial debut, working with a script by Christina Hodson. Di Novi crafts a well-executed thriller that somehow balances these very sobering problems with the more overthe-top elements, thanks in large part to her lead actresses. Rosario Dawson plays the down-to-earth and grounded Julia, the voice of reason in the film. She’s a domestic violence survivor who moves to Southern California from San Francisco to be with her new fiance, David (Geoff Stults). On the other side of the spectrum is an amazing Katherine Heigl, making a triumphant comeback as David’s terrifyingly Stepford-esque ex-wife Tessa. Heigl is all power pumps and stick straight hair as the Type-A Tessa, wound so tightly you
know some screw is about to come loose — if it hasn’t already. Her arch performance as this rattlesnake of a woman, coiled and ready to spring for attack, is revelatory. She’s the villain Heigl was always supposed to play. Tessa and David have to navigate shared custody of their daughter, Lily (Isabella Kai Rice), which puts Tessa front and center in Julia and David’s dreamy new relationship. All it takes is one hair tangle, a glimpse at the happy new blended family, and a text about a wedding dress to send Tessa violently spiraling. — Katie Walsh, Tribune News Service
THE ZOOKEEPER’S WIFE
PG-13, 124 minutes. Lisbon. The Holocaust film has become a genre unto itself, and sadly, there are more than enough stories from that era to continue the trend. Against ever-shifting, polarized political landscapes, the lessons gleaned from the horrors of this very recent past are never not relevant. But too often, many of these biopics fall prey to well-trod norms and conventions. In Niki Caro’s “The Zookeeper’s Wife,” the backdrop of a Warsaw zoo offers a new angle, and features a show-stopping performance from Jessica Chastain as the real life Antonina Zabinski, but it otherwise follows a familiar path. Caro, working from script by Angela Workman adapted from Diane Ackerman’s book, smartly places the focus on Antonina. The rest of the plot may go a bit muddy, but when we’re trained on our protagonist, it’s all crystal clear. In an opening sequence, we witness her unique bond with the animals of the zoo, the power she holds over them with her simple approach of open-hearted love and empathy for all. With tenderness and bravery, she calms an elephant and rescues its baby, and those same qualities make her a hero for humans in the face of unspeakable evil. The story is one we know, of ordinary people choosing to do extraordinary things to preserve a shred of humanity in times of war and human destruction. Antonina and her husband, Jan (Johan Heldenbergh), decide to harbor Jews from the Warsaw ghetto in the basement of their home while their zoo is occupied by Nazi forces. They hide these “guests” in plain sight with a system of signals, transporting them from Jan’s garbage collecting truck to underground tunnels. Caro never quite achieves the razor’s edge suspense that such a scenario engenders, as their ruse is only one sneeze, one bad lie, one snitch away from discovery.