"The Big Short" and "Spotlight" Tackle Uncomfortable Truths Enroute to Screenplay Oscars

The Big Short uses Jenga to explain the unsound structure of CDOs.

Late in The Big Short, Brad Pitt, who gets to play a voice of reason and anger in a landscape of sly schmucks just as he did in 12 Years A Slave and Killing Me Softly, chastises his compatriots, saying, “If we're right, people lose homes. People lose jobs. People lose retirement savings. People lose pensions. You know what I hate about fucking banking? It reduces people to numbers. Here's a number - every 1% unemployment goes up, 40,000 people die, did you know that?” It’s a sobering moment, one that is undercut by the character’s willingness to go along with the scheme he's involved with, as well as his assurance that excitement is ok as long as you “just don’t fucking dance.”

That scene perfectly highlights the fact that while the featured players in The Big Short pride themselves on being anti-Wall Street crusaders, they're actually worse than all the amoral scum that started the problem by banking on high risk subprime loans, because they know better and still opt to short the investments. No matter how you slice it, these are men who looked at a terrible situation and decided to profit off of it instead of doing something about it, making the situation 10 times worse in the process. They may have thought they were sticking it to the big banks for screwing the American people, but by trying to profit in the offing, they guaranteed the American people would be left holding the bag. 

The Big Short doesn't shy away from the issue, even while it's courting viewers to root for all these shifty characters. Michael Burry (Christian Bale) opts to leave hedge funds behind because "business kills the part of life that is essential," while the film's smug narrator Jared Vennett (Ryan Gosling) cops to being a douche, saying “I can feel you judging me. It’s palpable.” Vennett admits he's not the hero of this story, right after which a quick cut to Mark Baum (Steve Carrell), the most incensed of our protagonists, acts as movie code for "here's your hero."

And he is... sort of. He's the lead of the film, the one with a tragic back story that has filled him with anger and made him obsessed with taking on the system. He's hubristically convinced he can hurt the big banks where it counts, but in doing so he fails to account for just how sneaky they can be. When he finally realizes that type of victory is impossible – when he dines with a particularly vile piece of work and learns the banks have responded to the short sales on their collateralized debt obligations (CDOs) by shorting the shorts with synthetic CDOs comprised of credit default swaps – he decides if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. He tells his team to "short everything that man has touched," further adding to the mounting crisis. Later, when he finally opts to sell, the movie asks us to sympathize with Baum, because the banks got bailed out and he rightly predicts that in a few years everyone will just "be blaming immigrants and poor people.”

I don't know how to respond to that -- part of me loves that the film coaxes us to root for these guys, making us complicit in their scheming, only to have us come out the other end incensed and angry at everyone, these characters included. But most of me just wants to take a bath. There’s an ingrained desire in a film like this to have a character to gravitate toward, someone who distances him or herself from all the hustlers and sort of condemns them for what they've done, ala Bud Fox in Wall Street. But ultimately, I think writer/director Adam McKay made the right call avoiding that type of plotting, and that's specifically because it left me so much more outraged as a result. 

Like The Wolf of Wall Street before it, The Big Short employs a flippant dark-comic approach in its depiction of financial corruption, even going so far as to break the fourth wall with multiple celebrity cameos to make the financial terminology easier to understand. The tone works, and so too does the disdainful and cynical mood that is engendered by an ending note that warns CDOs have come back into the current market as "bespoke tranche opportunities," not to mention the ludicrous moment in which the leads are mentioned in the same breath as Robert Redford in All the President's Men.

Dogged investigative journalism unearths a major Church sex

scandal in Spotlight.

That Redford comparison would be far more apt for the characters of Spotlight, which takes a far more serious approach to what is essentially a very similar story. Sure, The Big Short takes aim at the 2008 financial crisis brought on by the U.S. housing bubble, while Spotlight tackles child molestation cover-ups by the Catholic church, but both function as cinematic activism about uncomfortable truths, or, put another way, as dramatized public service announcements about renegades railing against entrenched institutional villainy. The main characters in each film even sit on their scandalous information for an extended period of time, but while analysts in The Big Short do so to reap the financial benefits (and because the banks won't allow the other shoe to drop until they distance themselves a bit from the fallout), the reporters in Spotlight do so to ensure they write a strong story built on evidence so they can truly make a difference and enact change (and because of delays related to the tragedy on September 11).

Spotlight is a procedural set against the backdrop of a unique time in journalism, right when the proliferation of Internet content brought on a whole slew of cost-cutting measures and online poser "journalists" that crippled the previously prestigious and powerful print media. Long-term investigative journalism in which a reporter (or in the case of the Boston Globe's Spotlight team, a whole team of reporters) spent months breaking a huge story by rooting out actual nuggets of verifiable information used to be common practice, but now there's barely enough money to adequately staff breaking news coverage and even less time to properly confirm sources. The Globe's Spotlight team is still doing this type of work, but such opportunities are increasingly few and far between. As such, Spotlight also serves as a love-song to a profession that has fallen on hard times, but that, at its best, can expose corruption and righteously check institutional injustice as the fourth estate.

At the outset of the film, Martin Baron (Liev Schreiber), a new editor from outside the city, is brought in to take over the Globe, and immediately the newsroom is whispering about potential layoffs and apprehension over his lack of Boston roots. His first order of business is to question the staff about a column that mentioned 25 defendants have hired lawyer Mitchell Garabedian (Stanley Tucci) to bring a civil lawsuit against a catholic priest accused of sexually abusing more than 100 children. The records are sealed, and unlike the rest of the Globe staff, many of whom have ties to the church, Baron, a Jewish outsider unfamiliar with the power and influence the church wields in the city, wonders why. And so he puts the four-man Spotlight crew on the case, all of whom have a different reaction to the case, especially as the number of potential victims continues to grow.

Sacha Pfeiffer (Rachel McAdams) is so shaken by the victims and perpetrators she interviews that she stops going to mass and finds it difficult to talk with her devout grandmother. Meanwhile, Matt Carroll (Brian d'Arcy James) is alarmed that the church has a house for "retired" priests right down the block from his family home, and Michael Rezendes (Mark Ruffalo) is angry, so angry that he wants to publish the information as soon as possible to protect the public. Section editor Walter Robinson (Michael Keaton) wants to wait, mostly to get the story right (he needs to convince a source he has a personal relationship with to confirm information), but also partly because of the shame he feels because he, and anyone who came across this information in the past, deserves some blame for not exposing all of this a long time ago. As Garabedian says, "If it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a village to abuse one."

In a story like this, process trumps character, but writer/director Tom McCarthy (who shed light on the less attractive qualities of modern journalism as an actor on season 5 of The Wire) peppers in a series of effective character moments without ever tipping the scales into heavy-handed melodrama. It helps to have such a phenomenal cast giving one lived-in performance after another. Ruffalo and McAdams received nominations for their work, but everyone is on point here, especially Keaton, Schreiber and Tucci. They bring gravitas, authenticity, compassion, and a palpable sense of tenacious professionalism.  

The Big Short and Spotlight are two of 2015's tightly-structured films, and so it should surprise no one that they walked away with the screenplay awards at this year's Oscars. Both cover infuriating systemic treachery, albeit in completely different walks of life and with completely different point of views. If I prefer Best Picture winner Spotlight, it's mostly because it left me entirely satisfied by its well-oiled machinery and the win for the good guys, especially compared to The Big Short, which, by design, left me unsettled and foaming at the mouth.

The Big Short A-, Spotlight A

Tarantino Entertains with Darkly Funny Western "The Hateful Eight"

Samuel L. Jackson and Walton Goggins lead an amazing cast in

Quentin Tarantino's latest, The Hateful Eight.

And so the pattern repeats.

Three years ago, I wrote a review comparing Wes Anderson and Quentin Tarantino that discussed how each director had plowed through mid-career criticisms by taking a hard left into the idiosyncratic approaches that were supposedly holding them back, only to emerge once again as critical darlings.

A year later, Anderson continued to prove my point with Grand Budapest Hotel, and it seems Tarantino has followed suit with The Hateful Eight, a western that revolves around a collection of nasty sorts trapped together at a secluded stopover during a blizzard not long after the conclusion of the Civil War.

Intoxicating in the way that only great Tarantino can be, The Hateful Eight is the quickest three hours I’ve ever spent in a theater. And that's the case even though I saw the film in its glorious 70mm Roadshow Exhibition, which ran with an introductory musical overture and an intermission between acts, while also providing wider, more detailed images... because, you know, Tarantino.

Like many of the director’s films, The Hateful Eight is told in chapters, some of which are out of order, and built around a series of long, tense and often side-splitting conversations that eventually boil over into violence. For all the pomp and circumstance that came with the roadshow experience, the film is basically a talky chamber piece with the attitude and accoutrements of a mean-spirited western.

More specifically, The Hateful Eight is a western-flavored dark comedy mash up of And Then There Were None, Tarantino’s own Reservoir Dogs, and any number of plays by Sartre or Pinter with the racial tensions of post Civil-War Americans hanging over every moment. It's thought-provoking, titillating and, above all, entertaining as hell.

Other than a win for the eerily foreboding score from the legendary Ennio Morricone and a nomination for Jennifer Jason Leigh's hilariously gnarly performance, the Oscars stayed away from The Hateful Eight, which makes quite a bit of sense given the content. However, this is a master class in acting, writing, directing, editing and costuming, with Goggins and the underrated Jackson (who easily could've been included in my piece on #OscarSoWhite) providing standout work.

Having said all of that, I have some issues with the film, all of which are built around character motivation and plotting. To talk about them, I kind of need to spoil the movie a bit, so, spoiler warning. Enroute to Red Rock to deliver the fugitive Daisy Domergue (Leigh) for hanging, bounty hunter John Ruth (Kurt Russell) encounters Major Marquis Warren (Samuel L. Jackson), a black bounty hunter and former Union solider in possession of three dead bounties, and Chris Mannix (Walton Goggins), a former Lost-Causer militiamen who now claims to be the new sheriff of Red Rock. Ruth allows both men aboard his stage coach, and they set out for Minnie's Habadashery to seek refuge from the storm.

Upon arriving at the habadashery, they meet hangman Oswaldo Mobray (Tim Roth), cowboy Joe Gage (Michael Madsen), former Confederate general Sanford Smithers (Bruce Dern), and Bob (Demián Bichir), a Mexican watching over the place while Minnie visits her mother. Tensions escalate on multiple fronts. Suspicious that any of this lot could be in cahoots with Domergue, Ruth forcefully disarms all but Warren since they have met before and have agreed to protect one another's bounties. Meanwhile, Warren feuds with both Smithers and Mannix over race and doubts the legitimacy of Bob's standing as the operator of the habadashery, an establishment he has frequented many times.

A third act flashback reveals Mobray, Gage and Bob are all members of the Jody Domergue gang and that they, along with Jody (Channing Tatum), arrived at the habadashery ahead of Ruth’s party so that they could kill him and free Jody’s sister. They kill Minnie and all other inhabitants of the habadashery except Smithers (they reason another occupant will add to their cover), hide several guns around the place, and then Jody hides beneath the floor boards just before the rest of the lead characters arrive.

During an argument between Warren and Smithers in which Warren arms Smithers and then baits him to draw on him so Warren can kill the older man, Gage secretly poisons the coffee, ultimately leading to the very gruesome poisoning of Ruth and his driver OB. Ruth almost kills Daisy before he dies while her brother remains in hiding and the his conspirators simply watch instead recovering their hidden weapons and taking advantage of the fact that Warren and Mannix are completely distracted. This is particularly problematic for Gage. He may have acted on his own in poisoning the coffee and thus surprised his compatriots, but then why is he also so unprepared to react to the aftermath?

Instead, they stand around like innocents allowing Warren to take control, arm Mannix and kill Bob. Only then does Jody fire upon Warren from below the floor boards, but once again he and his gang fail to act decisively (something made even more annoying by the later revelation that Mobray has already armed himself off screen) allowing Mannix and Warren to gather themselves and regroup. Although this development sets up a dynamic Mexican standoff and leads to a strong ending that unites Warren and Mannix against these outlaws, it also stretches credulity. What was the point of lying in wait and having a cover if you were just going to act like total fools at every opportunity? Sure they could’ve never anticipated that Warren and Mannix would show up with Ruth, and they absolutely never would’ve known about the dynamic between those men and Smithers, but those surprises still don’t explain their awful play here.

I think it would be foolish to suggest I have a better idea how to craft a script than Tarintino, but I’ll give it a go anyhow. I think the whole sequence would’ve played a lot better if Gage wasn’t one of the Domergue gang, but rather just another inhabitant of the haberdashery like Smithers and another wrinkle in their plan. Maybe he shows up in between when Jody goes down below the floor and Ruth’s arrival or maybe they just opt to keep him alive too, but what if he was just a cowboy visiting his mom just like he says, one that made the isolated decision to poison Ruth, not because he wanted to free Daisy, but because he was enraged that Ruth took his gun. That would certainly explain why the gang wasn't prepared to take advantage of Ruth's poisoning, while adding an extra level of chaos to the proceedings. Obviously, I’m just spit balling here, but I think something should’ve been done to diminish this narrative annoyance, which seems to be one of those "the plot required it" situations.

Regardless, even though this element of the film bothered me, it’s really just a problem that keeps me from viewing the film as perfect, because otherwise that’s what it is. Like the best of Tarantino, the film is shot beautifully and populated with great actors cutting loose with a well-observed and irreverent script filled to the brim with long, tense moments that seem tailor-made for the stage. And the ending, oh boy that ending -- it's some kind of perfect.

"Mockingjay: Part 2" Caps Off the Better-Than-Necessary "Hunger Games" Franchise with a Worse-Than-It-Could've-Been Finale

Gale (Liam Hemsworth) is a sad panda. A sad, genocidal panda.

The first Hunger Games came out just after I started cataloging reviews on this site, and I realize now I've written quite a bit about this franchise over the last several years. Given that I reviewed each of the first three films, I've decided to review Mockingjay: Part 2 to close off the loop. If I wasn’t a completest, I probably wouldn't be reviewing this film. There are a lot of other movies I'd rather spend my limited time dissecting, mainly because so much of Mockingjay: Part 2 feels like pointless wheel spinning.

That's thematically the point, I get it, and, in fact, I like it. I really like it. The fact that this whole franchise and this final passage in particular, is basically a subversion of young adult genre tropes is pretty awesome in my book. I love that this isn't some heroic “chosen one” thing. I love that the romantic triangle is simultaneously treated as real and silly by these characters. I love the wary melancholy and the ruminations on perception over content, packaged violence and idealism turned rotten. And I love that the main character basically plays no part in the climactic battle, and that nearly everything she does in this film is pointless until the final 10 minutes or so.

At the same time, this really doesn't work as a movie, particularly because of that last point. Katniss is just a propaganda tool to the rebels, enslaved in many of the same ways she was by the Capitol. She's the inverse of Captain America, a hero who started as a bullshit rallying ploy but quickly became an assertive hero. She takes the opposite journey, and while that's a pretty awesome and downbeat concept for a blockbuster film to explore, it all plays so lifelessly here. Thank heavens for Jennifer Lawrence, who does so much heavy lifting here to make this thing play. It’s probably become cliché to adore her work, but goddamn she is amazing as Katniss Everdeen.

When I reviewed part 1, I suggested it was an artistic mistake to split Mockingjay into two films, and part 2 confirms it. This whole thing would've been far more potent if it was culled down to one film. Mockingjay: Part 1 was actually pretty effective on its own, because there were so many flavorful character moments to enjoy. Here, other than Katniss, Peeta (Josh Hutcherson), Gale (Liam Hemsworth), Coin (Julianne Moore), and Snow (Donald Sutherland), nobody has anything to do, and even many of those players aren’t afforded much. If you're going to break this relatively short book into two films, I feel like I'm at least entitled to more worthwhile moments with this great cast. Sadly, in this form, it all feels like a giant misuse of talent.

There are other annoyances too. For instance, I think it was a questionable character decision to cake so much makeup on Katniss toward the end of the film. And, at this point, given the size and success of these films, I am bewildered by how consistently mediocre and tacky the effects have been in this series. This is a multi-billion dollar franchise, so why do the effects look like something out of a direct -to-video Mimic sequel?

Ultimately this is an honest and poignant end to a series that was way better and far more nuanced than it needed to be. Author Suzanne Collins made some really great decisions with her books, and this film doesn’t shy away from those in the interest of pleasing the plebs, and I really like that. The film makes some strong points about heroism, sacrifice, disillusionment, and bull-shit trafficking. I just think it could've been even better if the filmmakers would’ve tightened these two parts into one instead of opting to milk every last dollar out of the cash cow. B

Exploring the #OscarsSoWhite Controversy By Looking at Four Black Films

Creed was one of the best movies of 2015, but barely got any

notice at the Oscars.

Earlier this year when absolutely no people of color were nominated for acting Oscars for the second year in a row, there was a justifiable backlash that was succinctly described by #OscarsSoWhite.

As with any racially charged issue about unequal treatment, there were a fair share of white people who blanched at this movement. And it wasn't just racist white people, but good-hearted and kind white people who simply seemed unwilling to acknowledge systemic racism because it's uncomfortable for them. Did you ever think, these people argued, that maybe there's no story here? That maybe the nominated actors just happened to give the best performances?

My answer to that would be a resounding no. And I don't even need to bring people of color into the argument to prove my point. Ready? Here goes. There is absolutely no way in hell that the 40 acting performances the Academy nominated over the last two years were even the best 40 performances given exclusively by white people. The people who get nominated for these awards are almost never the best, and that holds water beyond the acting categories. So can we please just take that argument off the table?

The reality is that people of color don't get as many opportunities, partly because stories featuring diversity are not being funded as much and partly because ethnic artists aren't being considered for choice gigs that should be race neutral. That's what makes the casting choices of Star Wars: The Force Awakens so damn awesome.

Somehow, this whole thing became a black and white issue that left other minorities out in the cold. And that's unfortunate, because the issue is even more dire for them. At least black films get distribution and black actors are occasionally cherry picked for choice roles. Most people with a clue about current pop culture can probably name at least two dozen black actors off the top of their head. But what about Hispanic, Indian or Asian actors? Hard to imagine most people could list 15 combined.

Of course, that actually makes it easier to focus on the black community in this argument, because they do actually get some opportunities, meaning we are able to see how much they are getting screwed when they don't net nominations. In thinking about all of this, I bounced over the to the wiki page of the Black Reel Awards and realized I've seen most of this year's feature-length award winners with the exception of Spike Lee's Chi-Raq and the French film Girlhood.

Straight Outta Compton is a standard biopic with a topical hook.

Readers of this blog already know how much I loved Creed. It was the big winner at the Black Reel Awards, and it deserved Oscar nominations for director, actor and screenplay at the very least, not to mention other categories where black artists weren't the ones getting hosed like Best Picture and Cinematography. It's not the first great movie to be mostly ignored by the Academy -- hell, 2015's best film, Ex Machina, was worthy in multiple categories and only got one nomination as well. Then again, Creed wasn't the only black movie on the Oscar radar. The two most successful black movies of the year were Creed and Straight Outta Compton. Each received exactly one nomination (supporting actor and best original screenplay, respectively), and somehow both of these nominations honored white people. What the hell is that about? Doesn't it seem strange?

Generally speaking, having an opinion on any of this is all just theoretical unless you've seen the movies. Well I have seen some of them, and since I'm trying to get combo reviews out here during my break from school, I thought I'd offer thoughts of some of the films that won awards at the Black Reel Awards but failed to gain traction with the Academy.

A lot of what I've been talking about here focuses around #OscarsSoWhite, but really the problem with the Oscars goes beyond that to include #OscarsSoVanilla. There's a certain type of movie that caters to the Academy, and this "Oscar bait" is typically a period piece or some other serious drama. Biographies, tragedies and war films historically do very well, as do films focused on disabilities. Comedies, especially those without dramatic weight, have little chance. Science fiction and especially horror face even longer odds. Better to be middle of the road than refreshingly off center or anything that isn't dramatic.

Because of all of this, I would've expected Straight Outta Compton, which revolves around the rise and fall of rap group N.W.A., to have a better chance to grab a Best Picture nomination. When black films hit all these quotas, they tend to do well, particularly when they have proper financial backing and powerful producers along the lines of Brad Pitt (12 Years A Slave) or Oprah Winfrey (Precious). Straight Outta Compton is a solid boilerplate biography with tragic elements, one that was received very warmly and had a lot of money and star power (Ice Cube and Dr. Dre) behind it. It's also an extremely topical film given the #BlackLivesMatter movement and the fact that N.W.A.'s biggest and most controversial hit was F**k the Police, an anthem they continued to play at arenas around the country despite pressure from government authorities.

Ultimately, Straight Outta Compton probably just missed being good enough to make the Best Picture cut, something it might have done with a little more narrative meat to chew on. That's really the problem here. The film is never boring and the cast is uniformly strong as one would expect from it's best ensemble award from the Black Reel Awards and it's nomination in the same category by the Screen Actor's Guild.

However, it's all surface level stuff. As Easy E, Jason Mitchell navigates the only real arc of the film well, and O'Shea Jackson is particularly magnetic playing his father Ice Cube (kid's a dead ringer and really delivers in his musical performances), but the script never provides them enough material to get them into any sort of serious awards discussion. That may have to do with the real-life events not lending themselves to the same level of pathos found in something like Ray or Walk the Line, or it could be because the presence of Ice Cube and Dr. Dre as producers limits how close to the bone the film gets.

Dope is one of the most fun films of 2015.

As I alluded to above, Straight Outta Compton did land a nomination this year for best original screenplay, an odd choice given how stock ordinary this one seems. It's not a bad script by any means, it's just hard to believe it's deserving of a nomination. Like the movie itself, the script is adequate bordering on good. I'd argue Rick Famuyiwa's script for Dope would've been a far more deserving option.

A longtime director and writer of black focused cinema like The Wood, Brown Sugar, and Talk to Me, Famuyiwa hit one out of the park with Dope. It's a quirky coming-of-age crowd pleaser, sort of a mix between Risky Business and Boys n the Hood. On it's face, that doesn't sound like the kind of movie Oscar voters generally gravitate toward, even if you take race out of the picture. Then again, the script for Boys n the Hood landed a nomination, and the coming of age dramedy Juno took the top prize in this category as recently as 2007, so it wouldn't have been unprecedented if recognition had gone toward this vibrant, witty and well-observed script.

Dope is chiefly concerned with identity, particularly what it means to be a young and black in a post-racial world. It revolves around Malcolm (Shameik Moore), an outcast in Inglewood due to his affection for 90's fashion and music, dedication to making good grades, and other geek proclivities. Like Joel in Risky Business, Malcolm is a prospective ivy league student who gets pulled into a seedy and illegal business opportunity (drugs instead of prostitution) only to come out the other side wiser, better off and equipped with a romantic interest.

It's an immense boon for the film that this is every bit the star making film for Moore that Risky Business was for Tom Cruise. The kid is funny, vulnerable and magnetic -- the real deal. Unfortunately, it is extremely rare for young upstarts of any color to get traction in the best actor category, especially for a movie like this, so he had no chance. If Michael B. Jordan didn't get in, Moore had no prayer.

Also like Risky Business, Dope offers an irreverent yet insightful examination of the constricting weight of preconceptions and expectations. It's all very craftily done, with stylized editing and assured directing aiding Famuyiwa's fantastic script. My favorite part about the film is that it's not just Malcolm who proves more than what you'd expect on first glance. For instance, A$AP Rocky is both charming and terrifying as Dom, an articulate and quick-witted drug dealer who is bemused by Malcolm, probably because he reminds him of himself before outside influences and bad decisions led him too far down the wrong path.

Meanwhile, Kiersey Clemons busts stereotypes as Diggy, a lesbian tomboy who is adorable, loyal and confident, but still a nerd in transition, an outcast that will have no problems flourishing and getting girls when she comes into her own in college. In that way, she fits in perfectly with fellow outsiders Malcolm and Jib (Tony Revolori, great in a role that's quite a bit different than his turn as Zero in The Grand Budapest Hotel), her partners in BMX biking and all things '90s, not to mention fellow band mates in a punk band called Aweeroh (pronounced "Oreo"). These three are entirely believable as friends in a way many other teen comedy leads are not. Their also atypical representations of urban youth, and that's pretty damn dope. The movie is too, even if it was always slated to be an improbable Oscar nominee.

Tangerine puts two real-life trans women front and center.

If Dope would've been an improbable nominee, the uncompromising Tangerine would've been an impossible one. That would've been the case even if the story starred white actors, because there is simply no way in hell that a movie shot on iPhones and focused on the sub culture of trans sex workers on the streets of LA would get that level of recognition. Like I said, #OscarsSoVanilla.

Starring transgender actresses Kitana Kiki Rodriguez and Mya Taylor, Tangerine concerns a day-in-the-life of Sin-Dee Rella (Rodriguez), a trans sex worker who, upon being released from a four week prison sentence on Christmas Eve discovers that her pimp and boyfriend Chester (James Ransone from The Wire) has been cheating on her with a biological woman. With a flair for the dramatic, Sin-Dee goes off on a rampage to find Chester and set her rival straight.

Alexendra (Taylor), Sin-Dee's friend and fellow sex worker, reluctantly tags along when she's not handing out flyers for her musical performance later that evening or servicing clients like Razmik (Karren Karagulian), an Armenian cab driver with a wife and daughter at home. It's basically an episodic buddy adventure, one that is often funny and occasionally poignant but always fascinating.

Credit to director Sean Baker for getting such empathetic and powerful performances from Taylor and Rodriguez, two novices with real-life experience in this world, one most people are unaware of but that many in the transgender community are forced into due to hate, discrimination and a general lack of options. The shooting style was necessitated due to lack of funding, but it's inspired all the same, as it lends a vital intimacy to the proceedings. Best of all, Tangerine has a dynamite denouement that concludes a disappointing and embarrassing day, one in what is assuredly a long line of days characterized by struggle and hardship, with a moving gesture of graceful friendship and quiet empowerment.

Idris Elba got robbed of a nomination. Was the snub race or

distribution platform based?

Up until this point, I've mostly highlighted avenues where the Academy could've gone with black artists but where they didn't make a glaring omission by neglecting to. However, that all changes when you consider Beasts of No Nation, the first of the films highlighted here not to be set in Los Angeles. Written, shot and directed by Cary Joji Fukanaga (True Detective season one), Beasts of No Nation tells the story of Agu (a phenomenal Abraham Attah), a young boy in Africa who is recruited into life as a ruthless soldier by a rebel Commandant (Idris Elba) after his family is killed during a dehumanizing and horrific civil war.

Throughout the film, Agu undergoes traumatic hardships and does some terrible things only to come out of the conflict wondering if he is now just a beast and looking to resume some semblance of childhood. Beautifully lensed and thematically reminiscent of the likes of Platoon, Apocalypse Now, and maybe even City of God, Beasts of No Nation is a visceral, sobering, disturbing, and yet ultimately hopeful examination of war and lost innocence.

This is exactly the type of film you'd expect to do well at the Oscars, possibly in the best picture, directing, writing, and cinematography categories, and certainly in the acting categories. Nominations for Fukanaga would've meant recognition for a Japanese artist, and then there are the superlative performances from the black Attah and Elba. Attah never had a chance -- as I wrote earlier, young actors have a very difficult time in the Best Actor category -- but it's extremely hard to fathom how a beloved and respected actor like Elba did not get recognized for such searing, revealing and transformative work. It's particularly hard to figure out how Christian Bale edged him out. Bale is great fun in The Big Short, but Elba does something far trickier, offering a restrained and humanizing portrayal of a monster.

I'm inclined to believe the film and Elba in particular didn't garner nominations because the Academy refused to embrace a Netflix production out of some sort of high-minded fear of new distribution platforms. At the same time, it's totally fair to wonder if Elba's being black had something to do with it. Recent history leaves cause for doubting the Academy. Michael Keaton in Birdman aside, David Oyelowo's work in Selma was more impressive than all of the Best Actor nominees last year and he still didn't get a nomination. This is true even though he had a role and film that screamed Oscar bait.

For what it's worth, the prize didn't even go to Keaton. Instead, it went to Eddie Redmayne for a totally fine turn in The Theory of Everything, a lesser film and performance in every respect, save perhaps it's Oscar bait-iness. #OscarsSoWhite and #OscarsSoVanilla indeed.

Straight Outta Compton B-, Dope A-, Tangerine B+, Beasts of No Nation B+

"Mad Max: Fury Road" and "The Revenant" Display Technical Wizardry, But the Former Leaves a Better Impression

Mad Max: Fury Road literally features a character who just plays a

flaming guitar to set the mood for Immortan Joe's men.

For all their differences, Mad Max: Fury Road and The Revenant strike a similar chord with me. Both feature actor Tom Hardy and both take a hard look at the violent nature of men, but the connection runs a bit deeper than that. They are certainly the most divisive films among the recent Best Picture nominees with each having been called a masterpiece by some and an overhyped piece of garbage by others. I’m somewhere in the middle of that spectrum. While I respect the undeniable craft, ambition and technical wizardry on display in each film, both feature parts that are greater than their collective wholes.

Fury Road is the fourth Mad Max film, but you don’t need to have seen any of the Mel Gibson-led entries to watch it. Not at all, really. Writer/director George Miller has spoken about how the Road Warrior franchise isn’t meant to be some ongoing narrative with sensical continuity, but rather a pliable urban legend of the post-apocalyptic wasteland. These stories are whisper-down-the-lane lore told around camp fires, mythical tales about a man who takes on different shades depending on the orator.

It is helpful to appreciating the film if you view it in that context, because the narrative is little more than a sparse allegory and Miller makes some big stylistic choices that are likely to turn off viewers looking for something a bit meatier and a lot less weird. Fury Road thrusts a haunted Max Rockatansky (Hardy, communicating mostly via his glances and grunts) into a feminine uprising against Immortan Joe (Hugh Keays-Byrne), a maniacal warlord with several of wives (i.e. sex slaves), throngs of devoted War Boys who view him as a god and even more oppressed plebs just hoping to get bit of the water Joe hoards from all but the select one-percenters.

The action starts when Imperator Furiosa (a dynamite Charlize Thernon), one of Joe’s top lieutenants, goes AWOL during a gasoline run in an attempt to liberate Joe’s five wives from captivity. It’s basically one long car chase from there, but really it’s a psychedelic music video for a feminine empowerment ditty that’s raging against overbearing masculinity and maybe a little against capitalistic over commodification as well. It’s all good zeitgeisty stuff that fits snuggly alongside the likes of Ex Machina (reviewed here) and all the other media examining gender entitlement and rape culture. But, while I expect Fury Road to age well, I’m just not as gaga over the whole thing as its most ardent admirers. There's just some mysterious x-factor missing that prohibits me from connecting fully to the film, which probably says more about me than the movie itself.

Nevertheless, Fury Road is a sensory experience of the highest order. The Oscars it netted for editing, sound, costuming, makeup and production design are well deserved, and the film also would’ve been my choice for director and special effects due to its inventive lensing, energetic choreography and eye-popping stunt work. That doesn’t even cover the performances, which do their fair share in adding to the artistry of the visuals. Take, for instance, Nicholas Hoult, who is somehow batshit manic and introspectively still as Nux, one of the more nuanced takes on a homicidal zealot you’re likely to come across.

Leonardo DiCaprio finally got his Oscar for The Revenant.

The Revenant delivers plenty on the sensory level as well, with stylistic flourishes wrapped around a traditional narrative that will sit just fine with people unaccustomed to tonal idiosyncrasies. The tale of a fur keeper (Leonardo DiCaprio) who is mauled by a bear and then left for dead by the cohorts left in charge of tending to his needs, it’s basically concerned with suffering and survival, although it does make some nods toward the all-consuming nature of vengeance. Much of that is hollow tokenism, especially compared to Prisoners (reviewed here) or even something lesser like Death Sentence.

Packaging impressive long takes and unbelievable camera movements that trump what director Alejandro Gonzalez Iñarritu and cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki previously achieved together with Birdman, The Revenant is as viscerally immersive in its best moments as any movie out there. Unfortunately, in between those moments the film is so emotionally static and faux meditative that it falls way beneath their previous collaboration.

DiCaprio won the Academy Award for his work here, and while some would have you believe his victory was basically a lifetime attaboy along the lines of the Oscar Al Pacino received for Scent of a Woman, that would be untrue. DiCaprio gives a grounded and raw performance, and although this doesn’t even rank as one of his 10 best performances and I wouldn’t have even nominated him this year, his win is far from some embarrassing make-good. It’s just that there’s not a lot of meat on the bone. Hardy has more to work with as the chief antagonist, another brooding brute like Max, albeit inverted, rotten and way more talkative. A win for him would’ve made more sense to me, but I’m not in charge of awards.

I prefer Mad Max: Fury Road to The Revenant, but they are both good films chiefly defined by the auteur touches of their directors. Neither is a top 10 film for me in 2015, but there’s always a few of those thrown in with the Best Picture crew, and I would way rather have those spots go to these masters of the form than some boilerplate prestige pic defined by middling competence.

Mad Max: Fury Road B+, The Revenant B

Cruise Leads All Star Team In "Mission: Impossible -- Rouge Nation"

Rebecca Ferguson provides an excellent sparing partner for Tom Cruise.



I’m going to go out on a limb and say it: Tom Cruise is the greatest action star of all time.

For some people, that statement is craziness, mostly because Cruise doesn’t have the physicality of Schawarzenegger or the innate toughness of Eastwood.

But just look at the films and tell me which other actor has a better body of work within the genre. I’d put the threesome of Collateral, Minority Report and Edge of Tomorrow (my review here) up against pretty much anything. Hell, even Cruise’s lower tier stuff – Jack Reacher, Oblivion (my review here), Knight and Day – would wipe the floor with the best many other action stars have to offer. And, I’ve said all of this without even including the trump card that would be the Mission: Impossible series, which recently became even more impressive with the release of the wonderful Mission: Impossible – Rouge Nation.

Right off the bat, Rouge Nation calls on Cruise’s greatest appeal as an action star – his reckless commitment. The focus of the film’s ad campaign has been the scene where Cruise hangs off of an Airbus A400M, and yet the stunt occurs minutes into the film, a little appetizer to jack up the audience. You could argue it's a superfluous scene, but really it's quite meaningful in how it sets up the film's meta narrative.

Just as Skyfall explored the relevance of James Bond and the MI6 in today's world, Rouge Nation questions the need for Ethan Hunt and the IMF. Early in the film, Alec Baldwin's CIA director insists Hunt is a reckless gambler and that the IMF is an extravagant, outdated organization that should be dissolved, but eventually he gets on board, saying "Ethan Hunt is the living embodiment of destiny."

That all might as well be a commentary on Cruise, a big-money superstar who is largely a remnant of a bygone era when movie stars were sustainably bankable. It's a different world now, but Cruise is still chugging along, wowing us with the real-world peril he puts himself in to sell these confections to audiences. There's a few cracks here and there, but he's mostly an ageless marvel, and he carries it all off with such precision, dedication and good humor.

The plot has something to do with The Syndicate, a rouge spy organization pulled right from the old TV show, but the specifics are pretty irrelevant. Like all Mission flicks, Rouge Nation simply revolves around Cruise needing to get some item (usually a list, code, or both) that's impossible to get. Differentiation comes down to the director at the helm, the team of cohorts working alongside Cruise, and the set pieces that prop the film up.

Christopher McQuarrie isn't nearly as definitive as the other directors to take a turn on this series, but I like what he does here, combining Brad Bird's jaunty tone (Mission: Impossible -- Ghost Protocol) with Brian DePalma's Hitchcockian tension (Mission: Impossible). Like it's immediate predecessor, Rouge Nation continues the hard-right turn into romp territory, and, I'll just say that it's amazing how much comedy these last two movies have gotten out of Cruise's minimalism. Guy does so much with a shrug or a glance. Meanwhile, The set pieces live up to the high bar set by previous entries in the series. I have an affinity for the staging of the tense opera sequence, but the water scene at the center of the film is a doozy, up there with the very best the series has done.

But Rouge Nation really excels when it comes to the team, a veritable who's who of the series' bests. After sitting most of the last entry out, long-time sidekick Luther Stickel (Ving Rhames) is back in action, along with Benji (Simon Pegg) and Brandt (Jermey Renner). Renner gets less to do this time out (he's mostly comic relief alongside Baldwin or Rhames), but Pegg shines here as he takes another step toward basically becoming a co-lead in the series.

Paula Patton is the only main player from Ghost Protocol who isn't back because, you know, sexism. Fortunately, the trade off means we get a large dose of Rebecca Ferguson as Ilsa Faust, an agent who may or may not be a loyal member of The Syndicate. Ferguson combines vulnerability and nerve into a fascinating package, giving the type of performance that makes you sit up and ask, "Who is this actor, and why aren't they in everything?" The relationship doesn't get full-on romantic (after that last scene in Ghost Protocol, it's still unclear where Hunt stands with his wife), but the actors have oodles of chemistry. At the film's end you're dying to see more of Ilsa, and I hope Cruise and his collaborators don't jettison Ferguson once they start breaking the story for the inevitable sixth entry in the series.

For what it's worth, Rouge Nation nestles right in at two on my list of favorite Mission flicks, right in between Ghost Protocol and the original. Honestly, it's hard for me to rank all but but the second film, which is decent enough, but definitely rates last. That's because these films are such finely-tuned entertainments. It's barely greenlit, and I'm already excited for the next one. A-

"Selma" Offers a Captivating Story and Worthwhile Commentary on Present Day Race Relations

Critics argue Selma grossly misplays the dynamic between MLK and LBJ.

While watching Ava DuVernay’s Selma, I was reminded of Steven Spielberg’s Lincoln (reviewed here). Both films focus on iconic moments in the American civil rights movement, while managing the tricky tasks of humanizing the larger-than-life icons involved. More intriguingly, both also illustrate the forceful guile and cunning strategy required to make such sweeping change.

Yes, Abraham Lincoln and Martin Luther King Jr. stood on high ground ideologically and morally, but they also were willing to poke, prod and even play a little dirty to ensure success. These aren’t just stories of saints standing on the side of justice until society came around to their way of thinking – these are tales of men pulling strings to manipulate America into bettering itself.

There’s something I find so incredibly interesting about all of that, about the notion that King (commandingly played by David Oyelowo) and his compatriots in the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC) specifically targeted Selma because the sheriff there was a hotheaded racist who could easily be baited into doing something oppressive to nonviolent protesters. The film suggests the SCLC wasn’t concerned with long-range grass rooting – they left that to other groups like the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee. No, what they wanted were headlines that would put pressure on Lyndon B. Johnson (Tom Wilkinson), a president who supported black voting rights, but who had a difference of opinion about the timing of further legislation. “We negotiate, we demonstrate, we resist,” King says in one key scene. “We raise white consciousness. And in particular, the consciousness of whichever white man happens to be sitting in the Oval Office.”

The film has come under fire in some corners for its inaccuracies, particularly related to its portrayal of Johnson as an antagonist to King. The idea that people could watch this movie and come away incensed at the treatment of a white person is pretty mind-boggling, but what makes the whole thing especially odd is that the film delivers a mostly nuanced take on the King-Johnson relationship.

Johnson isn't really the bad guy; he supports change, but doesn't agree with King's time frame. He certainly stands in stark contrast to the film's actual villains, even considering his attempts to slow King down by using wiretap information to expose the good doctor's extramarital dalliances to his wife Coretta (Carmen Ejogo). Not only does he surround himself with fair-minded advisers like Lee White (Giovanni Ribisi), but he also rebuffs a suggestion by J. Edgar Hoover (Dylan Baker) to shut down King "permanently and unequivocally" and chastises George Wallace (Tim Roth) by saying "I'll be damned to let history put me in the same place as the likes of you."

Is this exactly how it happened? Probably not, but it makes thematic and dramatic sense, and it seems a lot more logical than the assertion that Johnson masterminded the whole march or that he was totally innocent of wiretapping King (I think it's an injustice to show Johnson taking aim at King's marriage, but the dude was president of the United States, for god's sake; he damn well knew about those wiretaps). The New York Times and Washington Post have done fairly good assessments of the entire controversy for those interested in reading more on the topic, but as far as opinions go, I tend to agree with this take in Slate.

The film posits that MLK's mission in Selma was to change the discourse among the inherently good but generally apathetic multitudes within white America, to impress upon them the immediacy of the situation. Johnson becomes the major stand-in there, and the film argues that the work put in by King and his brethren eventually allows Johnson (and a large contingent of whites) to see the light, to transition from sympathy to empathy, as evinced by his words, “There is no Negro problem. There is no Southern problem. There is no Northern problem. There is only an American problem.”

This message is one that's still incredibly relevant today, given all the present day upheaval surrounding unjust treatment of blacks by law enforcement and the recent church slayings in South Carolina. Watch the scenes that depict the 16th Street Baptist Church Bombing or the beating of Jimmie Lee Jackson (Keith Stanfield) and tell me they don't seem eerily familiar. It's easy to rationalize, explain or condemn certain situations on an individual basis while pretending there is no larger race problem in America, but on aggregate such justifications don't fly any better now than they did 50 years ago. Is black life better in America now than it was in 1965 when MLK led the march to Selma? Yes, certainly, it is, just like it was better in 1965 than it was in 1865 when Lincoln was trying to abolish slavery. But it isn't where it should be, and that's an American problem.

DuVernay gets that, and Selma encapsulates it, perhaps at the risk of smudging the role of Lyndon B. Johnson. But, I found myself cheering for the man when he put Wallace in his place and later when he spoke so passionately when presenting his bill. I believe that was the film's intent, so it's hard for me to say the film is casting Johnson in a negative light. It's much more accurate to say the film is turning him into a metaphorical beacon.

Is it incongruous that I'm defending artistic license here when I took a movie like Saving Mr. Banks to task for playing loose with history? Maybe. Maybe, I'm just blinded by my ideological persuasions in both cases. But, I have to call it the way I see it, and while I see a relevant thematic purpose in this instance, I only saw corporate propaganda in the former.

Selma is not a perfect history lesson, but if it encourages people to "interrogate history" as DuVernay suggests, and if it makes people a bit more empathetic in their considerations of race relations today, then it's a movie that offers a whole lot of value. When you toss on top of that the notion that it is a well-made and captivating story on the micro level, well that's really something.  A-

Soporific "Fifty Shades of Grey" Makes BDSM Seem About As Exciting As Waiting in Traffic

Clearly one of the most iconic images in cinematic history.

Fifty Shades of Grey plays like a neutered version of 9 ½ Weeks. Well, wait, no. Although that Mickey Rourke/Kim Basinger flick has been a punching bag for the last 30 years, it does have some depth to it – interesting psychosexual exploration, discernible character arcs and, most pertinently, actual eroticism. So on reflection, neutered is probably too kind of a descriptor. It would be more apt to say “Fifty Shades of Grey plays like the castrated version of 9 ½ Weeks."

Boom! Put that on a movie poster.

In all seriousness, I’m not trying to be harsh here. Well, that’s not true, I am trying, but I don’t really want to be harsh. Although I recognize my man card would be on the line if a review of this film wasn’t a slam, I would love to be attempting to convince readers why a smutty chick flick has cinematic merit. My ringing endorsement of Magic Mike is proof of that.

But, damn this movie sucks. The dialogue is wretched, the acting is stiff and almost nothing happens. Seriously, I can’t comprehend how this film clocks in over two hours – it makes the last few Twilight films look like intricate labyrinths of dense plotting.

Speaking of Twilight, my wife tells me Fifty Shades of Grey actually started as Twilight fan fiction, and having only experienced these stories via film, I can totally see that. Take the Underworld out of Twilight and blow past the sexual tension by just getting to the sex, and you’d basically have Fifty Shades of Grey. After all, both stories have the same essential misogynistic takeaway – women are weak, male-obsessed creatures of no substance that just want to be swept up and then knocked down by a well-off, strong man. I honestly can’t believe Bella Swan and Anatasia Steele are the pop cultural heroines of our age, nor can I believe they were created by female writers and not dirty old men. Thank God that Katniss Everdeen exists and that our books and movies are offering at least one strong, positive role model for young women (and that's in addition to a way better story -- #TeamHungerGames).

All this sexism is my biggest issue with this brand of fantasy, but I might be able to look past it if Fifty Shades of Grey had a couple I could believe in. Dakota Johnson and Jamie Dornan are both fine physical specimens, but unfortunately they have no chemistry. In fact, I’d argue they somehow have negative chemistry. I wasn’t expecting Leonardo DiCaprio-Kate Winslet level heat, or even Ryan Gosling-Rachel McAdams energy, but this is a joke. I swear there’s a scene or two in this thing in which Johnson and Dornan look so bored that they might actually fall asleep. I guess, in that way, their both stand-ins for the audience.

And that’s the most unforgivable thing of all –  the movie is mind-numbingly dull. Thinking about it now, I'm reminded of a skit from a recent episode of Last Week Tonight with John Oliver. While railing against the inequality and injustice of the American bail system, Oliver showed “Pretrial Services,” a parody segment of reality shows like Dog the Bounty Hunter that focused on humdrum and unexciting office work. I mention this because Fifty Shades of Grey is the erotic thriller equivalent of “Pretrial Services.” It has scene after scene in which the leads discuss an in-depth non-disclosure agreement, and it features the least taboo sexual fetishes imaginable – blindfolds, ice, and spanking, oh my. D-

Lost David O. Russell Film Surfaces As "Accidental Love" And Underwhelms

Those expressions sum up my response to Nailed Accidental Love.

Nowadays, David O. Russell is big shit in Hollywood. Releasing three straight films that collectively amass 25 Oscar nominations and $375 million will do that for you.

It's a pretty impressive turnaround when you consider where the writer-director's career was when Mark Wahlberg decided to bring him aboard The Fighter six years ago. At that time, he'd released just one film in the past 10 years (2004's poorly received I Heart Huckabees) and had garnered quite a reputation for his on-set feuds with the likes of George Clooney and Lily Tomlin.

Perceived as a bullying hothead, Russell's options became limited after the financial failure of Huckabees (which, to be fair, is a pretty fun, underrated flick). He was clearly talented -- Spanking the Monkey, Flirting with Disaster and Three Kings were proof of that -- but his films didn't make money and he was a pain in the ass.

It was in this time-frame that Russell began working on Nailed, a pre-Obamacare satire about public healthcare staring Jessica Biel and Jake Gyllenhaal. The production included another on-set disagreement with an actor, this time the legendary James Cann who actually left mid-production due to "creative differences." The film also had some dubious financiers and shut down production multiple times in 2008, ultimately halting permanently before filming was complete.

For years, Nailed held a certain allure, the lost Russell picture that never was. The filmmaker officially washed his hands of the film in 2010, and yet you'd still hear about it every now and then with word of a test screening here or submission to the MPAA there. Hoping to recoup something on their investment, the producers threw together an unapproved cut and got the film released on video earlier this year, albeit with Russell's name off the film and a title change to Accidental Love.

As evidenced by my effusive praise for American Hustle, I'm a big fan of Russell's work, so I rented Accidental Love the other day mostly as a form of completism. Given all I'd read over the years, I expected a half-assed, maybe even incoherent curiosity, but I also hoped to catch glimmers of inspiration hiding in the margins.

Unfortunately, there's really nothing to see here. Although I do think there's something to the notion that Russell's films really find their footing in the editing bay, the raw product here seems generally complete and it's all so goddamn pedestrian that it's hard to imagine how any sort of decent film could've been assembled from any of this.

I never expected the film to compare to Russell's other works, but the whole thing -- the writing, the character development, the pacing, the musical cues, the cinematography -- is on par with one of those straight-to-video National Lampoon comedies. It's that bad.

The film focuses on Alice (Biel), a waitress who is shot in the head by a nail gun, but is unable to have the nail removed because she doesn't have insurance. As a result of her newfound emotional volatility, wild thoughts and random diversions into speaking Portuguese, Alice is fired from her job and dumped by her plays-the-odds fiancé (a best-in-show James Marsden).

In an effort to have the nail removed and get her life back, Alice journeys to Washington, D.C. with two bizarrely injured sidekicks (Kurt Fuller, Tracy Morgan) in the hopes of convincing their weasley Congressman (Gyllenhaal) to push a bill that would provide health coverage for people with accidental injuries. Zany political bickering, slapstick hijinks and an unconvincing love triangle ensue.

The film is meant to be a farce with increasing levels of absurdity, but it feels like a slapdash piece of work put together by a snarky teenager. It's tempting to blame that on the unfinished nature of the endeavor, but given how much material is actually here, it's much more likely to be a script problem. The film aspires to the tone of something like 30 Rock, but despite the presence of Morgan (who seems like he's acting in another movie altogether), the film doesn't even come close to having that kind of comedic bite or control.

Watching the film, I was reminded of Mike Judge's Idiocracy, another zany satire that's not nearly as funny as it could be. But, the key difference is that Idiocracy works, while Accidental Love just doesn't. A lot of that has to do with how the films treat their topics and characters -- Idiocracy corrals that dumb sharpness that Judge is a master of, and, for all it's lunacy, makes its characters feel organic to the plot and somewhat dimensional. Meanwhile Accidental Love feels like it's not even trying at all, with whole characters, scenes and arcs seemingly grafted onto the film because, well, why not?

In my review of American Hustle, I wrote abut Russell's general approach, saying "Russell is playing connect the dots but refusing to draw straight lines. He’s working within the confines of convention, and yet his script is so zippy and filled with grace notes that there’s a real specificity to what he’s doing. It’s rare that Russell tries to wow with some story innovation; instead, he concentrates on character, putting effort not on this or that plot mechanic but on a palpable sense of depth, heart and humanity."

Unfortunately with Accidental Love, it seems the dots were randomly placed and that the broadness of the project was so unwieldy that Russell just decided to scribble on top of the whole thing. D