You probably heard about a bizarre incident recently (which one?), where a man was shot and killed for texting inside movie theater.
That’s right — texting.
Irony of all ironies, the name of the movie being shown was “Lone Survivor.”
The poor victim didn’t even make the final credits.
Movie Review: “Her”
Most futuristic movies deal with macro subjects. Big events like space exploration. Cataclysmic wars. Natural disasters. Hunger games.
Few movies dare to broach what daily life will actually be like for most ordinary people. Few films, if any, touch upon human relationships and the ways love and romance might significantly change in the years ahead.
This topic is far more momentous than we first may realize. After all, we’re already seeing how technology impacts our lives and changes the way we interact. There’s e-mail. There’s Twitter. There’s Facebook. There’s online chat. There’s online dating. There’s even online sex. Can programmed cyber proxies be too far off?
Look around. We often seem more in harmony with our smart phones — constantly talking and texting — than with what actually goes on around us. Daily life has become an extension, if not an outright interruption, of our pseudo-existence in cyberspace.
MOVIE REVIEW: “NEBRASKA”
Nebraska, the movie, is like a fine wine.
It’s subtle. It’s dry, rather than sweet. Appreciating its complexities takes both time and an emotional investment. And, it’s certainly not to everyone’s taste.
Nebraska is directed by Alexander Payne, who’s developed his own signature approach to film making. If you enjoyed his previous work including The Descendants, Sideways, About Schmidt, or Election, you’re likely to come away thinking about Nebraska long after leaving the theater.
Juanita Moore died a few days ago.
If you don’t know that name, you’re not alone. I didn’t know it either.
But I do remember her most memorable film role, in what was (and remains) one of the most groundbreaking movies ever made. The name of that film is Imitation of Life.
This movie has special meaning to me, because it was one of my mother’s favorite films. We watched it together when I was young, and it made quite an impression. This isn’t to say it’s a movie for children. It’s not. In fact, it’s a very sad and troubling movie, which was way ahead of its time.
We’ve seen this story before. But never quite like this.
The Wolf of Wall Street is Martin Scorsese’s latest over-the-top orgy of excess. There’s so much sex and drug use in the film, other scenes of actors incessantly screaming f-bombs at each other seem downright pedestrian, by comparison. Eventually, you become desensitized to just about everything you see and hear.
Scorsese’s directoral trademark isn’t one of just gratuitous excess. Here, it’s an obvious attempt to extend beyond the customary cimematic boundaries that have been shattered repeatedly to the point where nothing comes as a shock anymore. Clearly, Scorsese’ intent isn’t to offend us. He just doesn’t seem to know how much is too much, or when and where to stop. Much like his coked obsessed out-of-control characters, he’s stuck permanently in overdrive with the pedal to the metal.
This is Casino meets Goodfellas meets Wall Street meets Blow meets Glengarry Glen Ross meets Caligula. Whatever your opinion of those movies is, likely will determine how you judge this film. At its best it’s Richard III heavily under the influence. At it worst, it’s Jersey Shore.