I had hoped that after viewing Netflix's "Polar", starring the amazing Mads Mikkelsen, I'd be treated to another tough-as-nails entry from the versatile actor: director Joe Penna's "Arctic", to be precise. Alas, "Arctic" never came to my neighboring cinemas, leaving me a big-time Johnny-come-lately in its wake. Well, I might have been tardy, but I've at least emerged satisfied, albeit chilled to the survivalist bone in having experienced it.
"Arctic" is terrifying, though not in the way of a horror film, any more than it mirrors traditional, adventure tales. All the same, it rivals the most intense aspects of those edge-of-the-seat entertainments, so that ardent fans of those genres are certain to leave the picture pleased.
Mikkelsen's H. Overgard is the practical, plane-crashed protagonist, who braves the Arctic while nurturing Maria Thelma Smaradottir's broken "young woman", who fell into Overgard's vicinity per a separate crash. How's that for get-outta-town odds?
There isn't much character development in Penna and Ryan Morrison's script. There needn't be, since the leads project profound pain and earn great sympathy through their expressions. In other words, they persuade one to become indivisible with their predicament. That's all that matters while the story plays.
Tomas Orn Tomasson's cinematography clinches the tension, capturing the Arctic's surreal stretch. (Some scenes invoke "Robinson Crusoe on Mars", though sprayed evil white.) The terrain, therefore, is as much a character as its leads: a metaphoric monster impervious to defeat. ("Thing from Another World"--slide aside! Besides, an angry polar bear will always stage a greater threat than any feigned extra-terrestrial.)
For those who appreciate films like "Apocalypto"; "The Revenant"; "The Naked Prey"; "Man in the Wilderness"; "Man from Deep River"; "Jungle Holocaust"; "Alive"; and "Survive", "Arctic" is certain to match and exceed them.
This exploit was created for durable people who believe that, no matter how harrowing the situation, there's always a reason to live; and if death should strike during the ordeal, at least one can die knowing one tried. Either route is respectable, whether one is flanked by ominous ice or those challenging corridors of everyday life. On this basis, "Arctic" is worthy of its righteous reminder and allegorical plight.
I dig Mads Mikkelsen. Think the world of him in "Casino Royale", "The Salvation"; "Doctor Strange", "Rogue One", "The Hunt"; "Hannibal" (the series, that is)--you name it. The man is versatile, distinguished, humble and when it comes to getting down and dirty, frickin unparalleled.
I suppose that makes him the ideal fit for Netflix's explosive, action submission, "Polar", based on the Dark Horse graphic epic by Victor Santos and Jim Gibbons.
For the movie adaptation, Jason Rothwell supplies the script, with Jonas Akerlund as its frame-whipping director. What bursts forth is as dark as noir can be, with a gutsy, irreverent ambiance to rival Frank Miller's "Sin City", Warren Ellis and Cully Hamner's "Red" and various Guy Ritchie flicks.
Duncan Vizla, "the Black Kaiser", is the story's cool anti-protagonist: an assassin of expected, pinnacle lethal skill, but behind his rough exterior, a nice, stoic guy...more or less. Mikkelsen covers the conflicting extremes with deft command, sporting an eye patch that gives him a touch of Nick Fury, Snake Plissken and Captain Harlock, matched by the virtuous prowess of John Wick.
To boot, Vizla is a fifty-year-old bloke, who's paid his assassin dues, at least per his agency views, though now forced into "retirement": sorta like the Carousel deal in "Logan's Run", though not quite as symbolic. On Vizla's heels are spry recruits, but our suave veteran isn't afraid to beat 'em to the punch in what becomes a wild, laser-fanning, bullet-zinging, dog-eat-dog free-for-all. In other words, as much as they polarize him, he out-polarizes them, with a focused cunning that'll make one's head spin.
Prompting Vizla's trouble is the mad, Sting-haired Mr. Blut, played by Matt "Doctor Who" Lucas. When he's not around to stir the pot, there's assassin-group leader Robert "Monster Brawl" Malliet's Karl to instill the chill for all you WWE fans. Let's face it: Any hero is only as good as his adversaries, and these sonsaguns (and really, the film's henchman collective is pretty damn daunting) define Vizla to the maddening tee and would hold their own with any DC, Marvel or James Bond baddie. To rephrase: They're easy to hate, and because of it, appreciate.
To heighten the film's glitz, gorgeous gals populate, with Vanessa "Powerless" Hudgens as Camille (striking even when we're suppose to believe she's unassuming); Kathryn "Vikings" Winnick as crafty liaison Vivian (a sassy femme fatale if ever there was one, so much so that she shoulda earned a bigger part); Ruby O. Fee as Sindy; Inga Cadranel as Regina; Fei Ren as Hilde; and Anatasia Marinina as Evalina (among bewitching others), each capping the overflow of violence with cunning sweetness and (to irritate those feminists who should so choose to watch), the shameless need to tease and please their men.
I had a great time with one...would have loved to have seen it on the big screen. Still, I gotta give credit where it's due. Netflix was on the ball this time, and perhaps to capitalize on the film's inevitable fanfare, we'll get a sequel based on one of Santos' many other Black Kaiser stories. If that's not to be, then at least some other rough-edged entertainment for Mikkelsen to lead. (I suppose, the upcoming "Arctic" will fill that bill, but for the here and now, it's not a "Netflix Presents...".)
Anyway, fingers crossed that the pay-to-view-it execs don't go down the sappy Gillette road. We damn well need more movies with balls firmly attached.
"Star Wars" works best when kept simple. The same goes for Buck Rogers, Flash Gordon and John Carter: the exalted forerunners to George Lucas' multi-million-dollar creation. Cloud the stories and you end up with something that's not quite what it's supposed to be: evidenced by the "Star Wars" prequel trilogy, with plots too complicated for their own good.
“Force Awakens” got the franchise back on
track, but not without some declaring it too repetitive in structure: mirroring, that is, more of what came before as opposed to directing the mythology into brave, new turf.
Rest assured, the latest entry, “Rogue One: A Star Wars Story”, should keep most parties pleased, for the film not only embraces the saga’s classic elements in an uncluttered way, but initiates its own ominous but fun tone. This blend is abetted by several new characters, who shine in their traditional heroism, along with some new window dressing, like the Death Troopers, and old, sentimental hardware, like the ATATs and Scout Walkers.
Director Gareth ("Godzilla '14") Edward's entry (scripted by Tony Gilroy and Chris Weitz, from a story by John Knoll and Gary Whitta) takes place between “Revenge
of the Sith” and “A New Hope”, detailing a caper to steal the dreaded Death Star's blueprints, or more precisely a flaw that will lead to its destruction. Jyn Erso (Felicity Jones) is assigned to this monumental task, since she holds a
special connection to the Death's Star's designer: her father, Galen (Mads Mikkelsen). If she can locate her captured dad, she may gain valuable information that could (and should) deliver the Rebels one of their most rousing victories.
Good guys and bad guys surround Jyn on her magnificent quest,
with Clone Wars veteran, Saw Gerrera
(Forest Whitaker) aiding her cause, along with the film's primary droid (and destined sought-after, action figure), K-2S0 (Alan "I, Robot" Tudyk), reprogrammed to aid the Alliance. The ensemble is also distinguished by the cruel yet stylish Imperial Weapons leader, Orson Krennic (Ben Mendelsohn); the soulful and insightful Chirrut Imew (Donnie Yen); the practical and loyal Baze Malbus (Jiang Wen); the humble and diligent Bodhi Rook (Riz Ahmed); and Cassian Andor (Diego Luna), a clever Rebel captain, who's perhaps the most inspirational of the intrepid lot. They see-saw throughout the mission, influencing it at various times in varying ways, but never
dominating any part to muddle the whole. (Oh, if only "Phantom Menace" had followed this path.)
Also to its benefit, the story never loses track of its lead, the easy-on-the-eyes Jyn, keeping her team a respectable second within the story structure. This again adds to the the tale's sensible simplicity, even when the action becomes thickly laden. (In fact, this chapter even drops the "Star Wars" prelude scroll to plunge us all the quicker into its first. exciting act, along with Michael Giacchino's mounting score.)
Incidentally, the term, "Rogue One", is an off-the-cuff "call sign" culled from a Imperial vessel seized by the Rebels and for die-hard fans, a label referenced in "Empire Strikes Back". The term also, according to various sources, represents the movie's outside-the-box (gone-rogue), association to the trilogies. Even more so, the term defines Jyn and her troop's risky and unorthodox urge to gain the upper hand.
If I hold any objection to the adventure, its the minimal use of Mikkelson, who would have given the story an extra tier of grace if granted the screen time. His sideline position, therefore, makes his recent "Dr. Strange" performance more significant in comparison. At least Whittaker's supporting scenes compensate for Mikkelson's relegation, due to the former's compassionate style. (In fact, most of the supporting characters shine in a similar way, adding just enough seasoning to the plot.)
Oh, and let's not forget the film's most coveted cameos...Darth Vader and Grand Moff Tarkin! Yep, as we discerned from the trailers (and arguably, the main poster), Vader (Spencer Wilding, with James Earl Jones again voicing) is in full swing and strategically placed at just the right moments to make us nostalgically cheer or affectionately boo. But Grand Moff Tarkin, you ask? Yes, the grand governor has returned, and it's not just another actor filling his shoes, or is it? For all intents and purposes, we're looking at Peter Cushing, though in "uncanny valley" CGI'd form and blessed by vocalized emulation. (Personally, I always felt that Cushing's Tarkin should have carried on into other chapters; alas, his fleeting, far-off persona in "Sith" was neat, but lacking.)
Contrary to what some might proclaim, "Rogue One" isn't a galaxy-shaking stand-alone. How could it be, existing as an obvious bridge between chapters? At the same time, there's no doubt that it creates a mostly independent aura unlike any other "Star Wars" offering: in style, an "Empire Strikes Back" offshoot/wannabe, but by no means committed to link seamlessly to those pieces surrounding it. That's a pretty novel approach and should act as a standard for all future "anthology" chapters to follow.
Steve Ditko's avenging, psychedelic sorcerer, Dr. Stephen Strange has finally entered the big-budget Marvel universe. Directed by Scott Derrickson, who also co-penned the script with C. Robert Cargill, the film forms a mystical trip of mounting discovery, matched by intersecting deception.
In tune with the original source, the surgeon and sorcerer-to-be (Benedict Cumberbatch) damages his hands in an auto accident. In that his injuries are seemingly irreparable, he seeks to mend them through unorthodox means, traveling immense distances to locate a guru-supreme, the Ancient One (Tilda Swinton).
The starry-eyed mystic helps Strange transform in ways he could never have imagined, not so much to regain the use of his precious fingers, but to achieve full-scale, metaphysical elevation. He soon learns that he can levitate through dimensional portals via spellcasting techniques and with his sharpened senses, benefit humankind in ways that far exceed the virtues of even the most gifted surgeon.
His honorable intent meets indirect competition, however, through his teacher's former disciple, Kaecilius (Mads Mikkelsen), who for all intents and purposes acts as the film's adversary, though he's really not evil in the classical sense. Instead, he holds an ambitious, differing opinion on how to make matters eternally better for humankind: his methods more extreme than what our hero would care to implement. This makes Kaecilius more in tune with DC's Bane and Ra's al Ghul than a standard Marvel opponent.
Naturally, we're granted the obligatory, final-reel clash of the titans, but there's a great deal of tense fun leading to that point. Just as Boris Karloff and Vincent Price battled it out (albeit comically) in "The Raven '63", so do Strange and Kaecilius. Their magical bouts crease the fabric of reality (and various time sectors linked to it), adding an unnerving splendor to the proceedings.
The film also offers a number of interesting, supporting characters, such as the mystical duo of Wong (Benedict Wong) and Karl Mordo (Chiewetel Ejiofor); Strange's medical rival, Dr. Nicodemus West (Michael Stuhlbarg); the self-healing and inspirational Jonathan Pangborn (Benjamin Bratt); Kaecilius' faithful soldier, Lucian (Scott Adkins); and love interest, Dr. Christine Palmer (Rachel McAdams, who like Cumberbatch, has visited Conan Doyle cinematic territory). Each member does a fine job in broadening the doctor's personality and destiny, and thankfully when it comes to the relationship between our hero and Palmer, the romance remains underdeveloped.
This allows the duel between the two leads to define the film, but simultaneously makes its events different than what we typically find in a Marvel movie, where the division between (or among) battling gods is blunt and clear-cut. The ambiguity of good and bad in "Strange", therefore, may prove a plus or minus depending on one's vantage. It's certainly not Ditko, though the film's mind-bending ambiance holds (for the most part) true to the creator's vision.
With that said, as a basic, fantasy adventure, "Strange" succeeds, though more with a modern-day sensibility and structure (as opposed to a '60s, LSD-induced backdrop that old-timers might prefer). Additionally, it projects specks of the mythology's macabre atmosphere, but never dips deeply into the comic's Lovecraftian depths or the sophisticated menace of the ill-fated, CBS '78 pilot.
To the film's advantage, Cumberbatch is ideally cast as Strange, lending a faithful arrogance to the character, but in comparison to the 2007 animated feature, "Dr. Strange: the Sorcerer Supreme", his highbrow stance is quickly replaced by a stumbling through lessons, which minimizes his heroic loftiness. This deprives us from watching Strange swing realistically from emotional extremes: a missed opportunity, which would have enriched the film. (Strange's arduous training also smacks a little too much of Lamont Cranton's in Russell Mulcahy's '94 "The Shadow", which handled matters faster and with superior impact.)
As for Strange's opposition, Mikkelsen once more proves himself an actor of impeccable range. His characterization contains the best of both good and bad (as does Ejiofor's Mordo, if one pays attention to his backstory). However, on the debatable downside, Kaecilius never becomes a full-fledged adversary to root against, his suave, exotic presence remaining as headstrong and determined as the title character's: a plot device that might be too clever for its own good, particularly when the audience is meant to choose one mystic over the other. It's only Kaecilius' vicious displays that tip the scales...perhaps.
Unlike other Marvel/Avenger movies, "Strange" (if only due to its kaleidoscopic backdrops and interludes) acts primarily as a two-hour reverie. However, even though it skids from a linear track, its content surpasses its magical-based competition with little effort. It doesn't try to be sweet and whimsical, nor does it cater to those timid millennials who'll likely dash to the upcoming Potter prequel. It simply unfolds in the weirdest and most unapologetic of ways: the twisting and turning of images and passages mere icing on a large and tasty cake, which promises more mesmerizing adventures to come.
The western genre is as vast in adventure and blunt-edged drama as any science-fiction and/or dark fantasy, even comparable to those spirited tales of knights and space rangers old and new. Still, not all fans are apt to leap among the categories, but there are those occasional entries that have crossover appeal. On this basis, I'm boldly going out on a limb and reviewing Kristian Levring's auspicious "The Salvation".
Just on the grounds of its cast, the film ought to catch the attention of imagi-movie lovers. It stars Mads Mikkelsen ("Hannibal"); Jeffrey Dean Morgan ("Watchmen"); Jonathan Pryce ("Something Wicked This Way Comes") and Eva Green ("Penny Dreadful"). Also, its air of austerity places it alongside "Mad Max", with hints of sadism one would likely find in a "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" entry. However, its longest roots reside in the lonesome "High Noon", the embittered "High Plains Drifter" and the gritty films of Sergio Leone, hammered hard with Steve Ditko's clear-cut divide between good and bad.
Written by Levring and Anders Thomas Jensen, "Salvation" centers on Danish ex-soldier/immigrant, Jon Jensen (Mikkelsen), who along with his wife and son is attacked by a couple cretins on a stagecoach ride to their new home. His wife is raped, and she and their son later murdered by the fiends. Jon hunts the men down and kills them; then returns to his family's once intended abode to mourn.
What Jon doesn't realize is that one of the slain men is, in fact, the brother of land baron Colonel Henry Delarue (Morgan), who (in addition to taxing folks of Black Creek for imaginary protection) demands revenge. Initially, he blames the timid townsfolk, including the undertaker/mayor, Nathan Keane (Pryce) for the events (whatever they might possibly be) that led to his brother's death. This leads to three of their own being chosen for sacrifice, including a legless man and a grandmother who runs the general store. Delarue shoots each, but acknowledges the desperate charade and insists that the actual "culprit" be uncovered, or else...
Soon thereafter, Jon and his bother, Peter (Mikael Persbrandt) head to town, with Jon intent on selling his land back to Keane. The mayor agrees to pay him, but no sooner is the deal sealed that Jon is pinpointed and along with his brother, tracked and imprisoned.
Delarue decides to torture Jon, who bravely claims his act of vengeance, and from there the poor man endures a frightening plight, assaulted by Delarue's henchman (Eric Cantona) and eventually placed on Christ-like display in the blazing sun. Also, as an ugly warm-up to these horrid circumstances, he's accused of having been too harsh on the men he killed. This preposterous blame adds to Jon's sad fate, but also increases our yearning for justice through his anguished eyes.
While Jon suffers, Delarue has his way with his brother's widow, Madelaine/"the Princess" (Eva Greene), who's position on the proceedings remains initially vague, since her tongue was severed by Indians years prior. Her pained glances, however, imply a possible disdain for Delarue and a need to flee before things worsen.
Meanwhile, the resilient Jon escapes with Peter's help, and though they face recapture and more loss, Jon finds the fortitude to take the law once more into his hands, administering it without mercy or remorse. This is the only way he can find peace of mind, and if he can settle the score, perhaps a chance at personal salvation.
On the surface, Levring's movie may appear a simple, revenge tale, or as it progresses, an essay on the consequences of greed. Indeed, avarice is a catalyst in this story, for we learn that the town is stationed over a precious commodity, only clarified at the movie's end: a motivating factor for Delarue and the behind-closed-doors big-shots who employ him.
However, there's more to the ensuing villainy than just that: the greater evil being the way the townsfolk quiver to the point of hurting their own, becoming as selfish as the primary evil-doers for the sake of self-preservation. Though they work together in their misguided cause, they also look out for number one and thus add to the chaos. This pathetic defense characterizes the town's puppet leaders, including Keane and even the preacher-man Sheriff Mallick (Douglas Henshall), who falls in line with Delarue's every, unjustified whim.
The profuse lack of morality and indifference makes the town similar to those of "High Noon" and "High Plains Drifter". As in those classic westerns, the citizenry creates its own private hell, by shirking responsibility and letting its people perish.
This also makes "Salvation" an excessively dark, brooding western. but also comparable to those adventures featuring the lurid likes of the Dark Knight and Punisher. To reinforce this angle, the shades of gray are cast far to the wayside, growing nonexistent as the climax stirs. The film's dusty, foreboding atmosphere reinforces the latter, thanks to Jens Schlosser's photography and Kasper Winding's haunting score.
However, what really makes "Salvation" tick is its superb acting: Mikkelsen giving a slow-burn woefulness on a par with his award-winning "The Hunt", and Morgan rivals his famous "Watchmen" character, Comedian, with unapologetic callousness. Green, Henshaw, Persbrandt and Pryce are also impressive, giving subdued but nuanced performances that inject realism into the rising disquiet.
"Salvation" is a rough, piercing film, but its fierceness paves a potential path for future adventure films. Imagine the upcoming Boba Fett outing opting for such dark ilk, or a "Star Trek" movie soaring into such uncompromising depths. With that said, "Salvation" is as rare as it's familiar: its execution hard, refreshing and regardless of the potential genre, ripe for emulation.
