Shyamalan Fans Will Probably Like SPLIT A Lot More Than Me

Opening today at a multiplex near you:

SPLIT (Dir. M. Night Shyamalan, 2016)

Ever since his big breakthrough, THE SIXTH SENSE back in 1999, I’ve been exceedingly mixed on the movies of M. Night Shyamalan. There’s some effective filmmaking there, but too often I’ve been reminded me of a sketch from The Ben Stiller Show back in the early ‘90s called “Bad Twist Ending Theater.”

Even what many people consider his best work like UNBREAKABLE and SIGNS have made me say “meh.”

I know many people feel the same way especially because the man’s name had become a joke in the last decade amid a string of critical and box office flops (LADY IN THE WATER, THE HAPPENING, THE LAST AIRBENDER, and AFTER EARTH).

There were even many instances of audiences laughing or groaning (or both) at the words “From the mind of M. Night Shyamalan” during trailers for his films.

But now Shyamalan appears to be making a comeback with lower budgeted productions like last year’s sleeper hit THE VISIT, and now this new scaled down thriller, SPLIT, both of which are collaborations with horror mogul Jason Blum (the PARANORMAL ACTIVITY, PURGE, and INSIDIOUS series).

SPLIT concerns three teenage girls - Claire (Haley Lu Richardson), Marcia (Jessica Sula), and Casey (Anya Taylor-Joy) – being abducted by a psychopath named Kevin (James McAvoy). The kicker here is that Kevin has 23 different personalities so the girls, who have been locked by him in a room in a basement somewhere, have to learn how to talk with each one.

Well, at least seven of his personalities as McAvoy’s Kevin mostly embodies the personas of the girls’ OCD-afflicted captor Dennis, the well-mannered yet still sinister Patricia, the hip-hop loving 9-year-old boy Hedwig, and several other less dominant characters named Orwell, Jade, Norma, and Hamlet.

The girls, headed by Taylor-Joy’s Casey who is clearly the one most likely to get out alive, learn from Kevin’s that there is a 24th persona called “The Beast” which is soon to arrive.

Meanwhile, Kevin (or is it Dennis?) visits his therapist, Dr. Karen Fletcher (Betty Buckley), but denies that anything is going on when she suspects that his late night emails are cries for help. Dr. Fletcher specializes in dissociative identity disorder despite skepticism from the medical community (we see her participating in a video conference on Skype so that we can see how deep her knowledge of Kevin’s condition goes).

Casey tries to manipulate the innocent Hedwig so that the girls can make escape attempts, which result in them being separated in various rooms in what seems to be an abandoned mental institution with long hallways that lead to locked doors, endless boiler rooms, and supply closets.

Where it is that these girls is trapped is one of the film’s biggest mysteries, which I won’t spoil, but it completely keeps in line with the horror cliché that deranged killers often have access to a lot of property with seemingly endless square footage.

McAvoy is the major reason really to see this film as he gives a tour de force performance that serves each of this intensely creepy maniac’s multiple personalities. As the movie gets more and more convoluted in how it works elements of the supernatural into the mix, McAvoy never stops empowering a fearlessly unhinged presence. Never thought that suave, subdued Scottish dude in all those X-MEN movies could pull this sort of thing off.

However, the rest of the movie grew extremely tiresome in all of its tediously talky exposition (we get it, already! Kevin is two dozen completely different people all with different illnesses! Stop over explaining it!), the overused escape fake-outs, and predictable character arcs (Casey has flashbacks to a hunting trip with her father and a uncle who sexually abused her to, of course, inform us of the fire in her belly that will help her get out of this hellhole).

Taylor-Joy puts a lot of energy into her role as the film’s burgeoning heroine, so that’s another plus in its favor, but the movie is ultimately too transparent in its ambitions to be the truly terrifying experience it wants to be. That’s confirmed by its absurd ending (again, I won’t spoil), which has a very silly twist explanation (of course it does).

I also found Shyamalan’s visionary sense to be a bit sloppy – the film is plagued with badly framed shots, confusing cuts, and pacing that feels way off.

There is, however, a tag at the very end that I did like, and I bet the Shyamalan hardcore will adore. In fact, I predict that a lot of people will probably conclude that the final big reveal justifies the entire movie's existence. I can’t seriously say that I think that, but I confess that it was an exciting moment that made me rethink everything that had happened up to then.

And that’s a thing that even a non fan like me can concede – the guy’s no Hitchcock, but his work can often be masterful in the fine art of making moviegoers think twice.

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Danny Boyle’s Surreal Thriller TRANCE Is A Flashy Blast

Opening today exclusively in Raleigh at the Colony Theater:

TRANCE (Dir. Danny Boyle, 2013)

Despite its digital trappings, Danny Boyle’s 11th film is a visual feast for the eyes, a stylish thriller that has the drive of his cult classic TRAINSPOTTING as filtered through the cerebral invention of Christopher Nolan’s INCEPTION.

James McAvoy, in a role that I guess Ewan McGregor is too old for, plays an auctioneer who gets mixed up in a heist of a Goya painting worth 27.5 million British pounds. A gripping opening sequence of the robbery has Boyle’s flair for flashy quick cut action firing at all cylinders, neatly timed to U.N.K.L.E.’s “Hold My Hand” (including a sample from David Bowie’s “Be My Wife”). 

Then the problematic yet punchy premise kicks in: McAvoy gets hit in the head by Vincent Cassel as the leader of the gang of thieves, and later after the dust settles, he can’t remember where he hid the painting. Even a icky torture scene can’t bring the memory to surface.

That’s where Rosario Dawson, as a high end hypnotist, comes in. Although Cassel and crew (including Danny Sapani, Matt Cross, and Wahab Sheikh) outfit McAvoy with a wire, and attempt to keep the reason for the therapy hush hush, Dawson figures them out immediately and wants in on a cut of the painting’s profits.

So some sequences of hypnotherapy surreal-ness are in store, as is a love triangle between McAvoy, Cassel, and Dawson. The plot mechanics around the twists and turns of the third act become a bit strained (I agreed with Cassel when he complained about the process to get the information from McAvoy taking too long), but the film retains its clever energy in a way that didn’t piss me off even when it kept faking me out.

The screenplay by Doctor Who writer Joe Ahearne and Boyle collaborator John Hodge (SHALLOW GRAVE, TRAINSPOTTING, THE BEACH) gives us a bunch of cinematic puzzle pieces that keep you guessing about what’s real and what’s a dream, what the character’s real motives are, and most interestingly, who’s the real protagonist here that we should be rooting for?

With her poise, confidence, and stunning presence, Dawson steals the movie every time she’s on camera. It’s quite possibly her finest performance in film to date, one that pleasingly takes on an incredibly implausible character, but that could well be overshadowed by her being as visually stunning as Anthony Dod Mantle’s (another long-time Boyle collaborator) cinematography.

McAvoy brings a convincing stressed out vibe, and Cassel gives it his Euro-trash best, but again, your eyes will most likely always be on Dawson.

As the director/producer Boyle’s recent work goes, TRANCE isn’t as substantial as Boyle’s SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE or 127 HOURS, but it’s a lot of vivid, visceral fun. If one doesn’t scrutinize it too deeply, or take it too seriously, they should be in for a blast.

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ARTHUR CHRISTMAS: The Meek Shall Inherit The Mirth

ARTHUR CHRISTMAS (Dir. Sarah Smith, 2011)

Aardman Animations, the home of Wallace and Gromit, takes another step further away from clay animation with this 3D CGI holiday spectacular that roots for an underdog who wants no child to be left behind this Christmas without a present.

The underdog is Santa Claus's youngest son, the lanky accident-prone Arthur (voiced by James McAvoy), who gets in the way of his brother Steve's (Hugh Laurie) high tech military operation-stlye method of distributing gifts throughout the world from a ginormous STAR WARS-style air cruiser with a war room-esque bridge manned by elves.

Steve is primed to take over the Santa business, but his father (Jim Broadbent) announces that he's not stepping down just yet from his position at the North Pole. Meanwhile, Grandsanta (Bill Nighy), the oldest living Santa from a long line of St. Nicks, gripes about the newfangled technology calling Steve "a postman with a spaceship."

Arthur discovers that their "Christmas Accomplished" banner is premature as one present was not delivered, and with the help of Grandsanta and his oldschool sleigh, a spunky elf from the giftwrap battalion (Ashley Jensen), and, of course, flying reindeer, he sets out to right the wrong and save the day - or at least one child's day.

Like many 3D productions (with the mighty exception of Martin Scorsese's HUGO), the in-your-face imagery looks kind of cool at first, but that sensation fades fast. I wouldn't recommend spending the extra money, unless you happen to be a diehard fan of the 3D format.

ARTHUR CHRISTMAS has a lot of entertainment value, especially when it's satirizing the ridiculous logistics of Santa's one night a year occupation, but it feels more frantic than funny at times, and the stakes don't feel high enough.

It's still likable enough as a lark, though the premise of a lovable loser that wins out because of his purity has been done ad nauseam.

However, kids will be too caught up in all the swirling shininess on screen to care.

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X-MEN: FIRST CLASS: The Film Babble Blog Review

X-MEN: FIRST CLASS (Dir. Matthew Vaughn, 2011)

Right off the bat it's clear that Matthew Vaughn is a much better fit for the X-MEN movies than the previous directors (Brett Radner and Gavin Hood respectively). A strong opening sequence set in a concentration camp in Poland in 1944 shows Vaughn getting the edgy tense tone right in introducing a captured kid (Bill Milner) who has untrained telekinetic powers.

A sinister Kevin Bacon plays German Scientist Sebastian Shaw who recognizes the powers the boy has, and kills his mother (Éva Magyar) in an successful attempt to unleash them. Meanwhile, a young boy (Laurence Belcher) encounters a young girl (Morgan Lily) who's broken into his Westchester County, NY mansion's kitchen. She can morph her form into anybody's with her true body being all blue and spiky, while he can read people's minds.

They live together as brother and sister, growing up into James McAvoy and Jennifer Lawrence as the movie shifts to 1962. After witnessing supernatural activity in Las Vegas involving a never aging dapper Bacon and his crystalized co-hort Emma Frost (January Jones), CIA Agent Moira MacTaggart (Rose Byrne) seeks out McAvoy, because of his expertise on mutation.

So the mutants hook up with the CIA (who take a little convincing), and are stationed in a facility to train under the supervision of Oliver Platt who's never given a character name. The concentration camp kid, now grown up into Michael Fassbender, tracks down Bacon to his yacht at the same time McAvoy does, but Bacon escapes in a souped up submarine.

There's an amusing recruitment montage with McAvoy and Fassbender rounding up other mutants which is slickly cut with '60s style and a Burt Bacharach-esque bounce to the soundtrack.

A sizable stable of characters is assembled including Nicholas Hoult, Álex González, Caleb Landry Jones, Zoë Isabella Kravitz, and Jason Flemyng, with the film juggling them capably. The film's second half concerns the crew confronting the Cuban missile crisis with Bacon's sinister Shaw, who's a mutant himself, being the one responsible for the missiles' transportation from Russia.

Like in all these comic book epics, the climax is an overblown battle. It's an explosive spectacle with battleships filling the sky full of warheads.

Oddly, it feels like the influential touchstones of this movie are the STAR TREK reboot, and INGLORIOUS BASTERDS; it's an origin story intertwined with an alternate history scenario, and I was surprised at how much of it worked.

X-MEN: FIRST CLASS is a better than average summer sequel (actually prequel) that despite being cluttered with clichés, cheesy moments, and bad dialogue (Bacon even says "come with me, and you'll live like Kings...and Queens" at one point) offers a fair amount of fun.

The CGI is consistently top notch, as is the set design (I loved the complete replica of the War Room from DR. STRANGELOVE), and there's a satisfying sweep to the storyline.

Particularly in the passion of Fassbender's performance, the confidence of McAvoy, the angsty energy of Laurence, and Bacon having a ball with his Bondian villain of a role, it's an incredibly effective cast.

On the minus side, some of Hoult's mannerisms as Laurence's possible love interest are annoying and his origin as "Beast" is undercooked, the young recruits are obnoxious, and January Jones never seems to be all there, but as she's clad in white lingerie when she's not crystalized, she obviously wasn't hired for her acting ability.

Regardless this breathes fresh air into the franchise, especially after the lackluster X-MEN ORIGINS: WOLVERINE.

With this classy and exceedingly entertaining effort, consider the series rebooted.


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THE CONSPIRATOR: The Film Babble Blog Review

THE CONSPIRATOR (Dir. Robert Redford, 2010)

Robert Redford's 8th film as director finds him again mining the political mechanics behind a well known controversial event. This time, it's the assassination of Abraham Lincoln with the focus being the lone female charged as a co-conspirator.

James McAvoy plays Frederick Aiken, a fresh out of law school lawyer who Senator Reverdy Johnson (Tom Wilkinson) suggests should defend the woman, boarding house owner Mary Surratt portrayed by Robin Wright.

McAvoy isn't interested in taking the case on because he thinks she's guilty, but as he gets enveloped into the back story, he begins to see the woman as a possible scapegoat.

Unfortunately the viewer doesn't get enveloped, as this is stiff glacially plotted material. It was first difficult to pinpoint exactly what's wrong with this film as surface-wise it's a handsome looking, well acted, and noble intentioned piece of work, but somehow it's a extremely dull experience in which history never comes alive.

Redford must have thought he was coming on too strong in LIONS FOR LAMBS (which he was), so he decided to delicately dramatize the proceedings here. Sadly so delicately that nothing has any weight to it, and all the player's parts are blandly rendered.

As Lincoln's Secretary of War Edwin Stanton, Kevin Kline is the only one who carves out a convincing character, but he too is cornered inside this undercooked contraption of a non-epic.

As a by-the-numbers history lesson, THE CONSPIRATOR does put forth some undeniably important points about Constitutional rights and gives us a new angle on an ages old story, but Redford's hands off execution is too distant and dismal for the film to do anything but ultimately disappear.

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THE LAST STATION: The Film Babble Blog Review

THE LAST STATION (Dir. Michael Hoffman, 2009)

Considering his fine lengthy career, it's amazing that the distinguished actor Christopher Plummer has never before been nominated for an Oscar. Well, here as Leo Tolstoy in this mostly strong historical drama about the famed Russian author's final days, Plummer simply could not be ignored by the Academy.

He and his much celebrated co-star, Helen Mirren as Tolstoy's acidic wife Sofya, both scored nominations which I believe many audiences will find are well deserved. The imprint made by their volatile chemistry will last long after Awards season hype was died down. Opening titles tell us that Tolstoy is the most acclaimed writer in history and other things we could easily Google, and the ending features ancient footage of the real man - an inescapable cliché of seemingly every biopic - but in between is an emotionally complex examination of a stubborn man's ideals.

These are no ordinary ideals you understand - this is a man who is thought by multitudes to be a genius or even a holy figure. “You think he’s Christ!” Mirren exclaims in exasperation at one of many points. “I don’t think he’s Christ,’’ responds Tolstoy’s doctor (John Sessions). “Christ is Christ. I do believe he’s a prophet, though.’’

Mirren believes that a society of sycophants is forming around her dying husband with the moustache twirling Vladimir Chertkov (Paul Giamatti) heading the pack. Wandering innocently into the middle of Mirren and Giamatti’s fight for Tolstoy’s fortunes (she believes the family should get the copyrights, he thinks the property should go to the masses) is a wide eyed James McAvoy (maybe a bit too much like his role in THE LAST KING OF SCOTLAND) hired to be the ailing author’s private secretary.

McAvoy relishes his position enough to let his celibacy slide when another Tolstoy disciple (Kerry Condon) slips into his chambers, but the real titillation comes from Plummer and Mirren playful bedroom banter.

In the company of others, Mirren is an angry defensive verbally abusive animal; alone with her venerated husband she is infested with an infectious silliness. She is truly a woman in love – in all its irrational selfish glory.

This all makes the last third of the film all the more painful. Plummer and his loving entourage travel by train across country ostensibly so the great man can get some final peace away from his wife. His final destination - that of the title – is soon surrounded by concerned citizens and guarded by his followers. Mirren tries in vain to get through them but as the saying goes, that train has long left the station.

Like last year’s brilliant BRIGHT STAR, which dealt with a dying John Keats, THE LAST STATION is concerned with the limits of love and literature. It has a sort of reserved passion boiling under its Masterpiece Theater/Merchant Ivory-ish surface that sizzles when Plummer and Mirren share the screen. The movie suffers sorely when they are absent as Giamatti has a one note villain role and McAvoy’s romantic subplot is tiresomely typical.

That those and other shortcomings can be overlooked is testament to the purity of Mirren and Plummer’s performances. In Plummer’s case it’s nice that the Academy finally took notice.

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