Review: THE IDES OF MARCH

I don’t recall a time when I had been so indifferent about the film I just watched than after watching Ides of March. Perhaps it is because I am already a very cynical person, and thus am quite aware that everybody working in a political campaign has to be just a cynical. After all the experience of running any political campaign, outside county office, has to be so excruciating that any ideal, which existed before hand, is likely to get crushed. So when the public does get to vote they don’t end up voting for the stronger of two ideals but for the evil that survived with less corruption. Ides of March wants this to be the moral of the story. But my guess is that if you are the type of person interested in such story you are already aware of the ending, and if you are not the type of person interested in such a story – well – I would suggest you read some news before you watch this movie or you run the risk of being quite bored by it.

Review: MONEYBALL

Moneyball totally took me by surprise and I couldn’t be happier. Yes, that’s right. I am declaring a big budget studio feature about baseball starring Brad Pitt a huge, wonderful success. I dare you to tell me you don’t like this movie.

Between Brad Pitt, Jonah Hill and the script, this film is rock solid. And what a relief to say that! I don’t need to mention brilliant visuals or alluring starlets. I don’t have to justify recycled excuses for why I enjoyed this film. There aren’t flashy action sequences or dazzling special effects. There is no 3D or IMAX to melt our brains. There are no gimmicks!

Review: SYNECDOCHE, NEW YORK

Charlie Kaufman is hurt, for a number of reasons.  For one, something inside of him is fueling his overwhelmingly dreary yet whimsical and meekly hopeful screenplays.  For another, the reviews on his latest film are out, and they're a mixed bag.  The critics review and get read, Hollywood puts out and gets seen, people pay for tickets and popcorn, and somewhere in the whole mess of things, Kaufman, 50, stuck his neck out farther than any filmmaker in recent memory.  But to describe Synecdoche, New York as the brave new personal statement of Charlie Kaufman is a discredit to him, to the film, or to anyone reading this.  Because art looks outward, as well as inward.  The harshest criticism that reviewers level at the film take aim in its inherent self-reflexiveness and indulgent, illogical nature (so they say).  That is to say the writer of Being John Malkovich, Adaptation, and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is still using the tools that define him the most.  This film, Kaufman's directorial debut, however, is not interested in tinkering with formula, upsetting expectations, or otherwise proving to the world how clever Charlie Kaufman is.  It is one man's examination of life, sex, and death.