Julianne Moore Earns that Oscar in "Still Alice"

Julianne Moore totally inhabits this character.  

Full disclosure: Over the past half-decade or so, I have watched my grandmother descend further and further into dementia to the point that she is now a safety risk, incapable of being left alone. I'm not sure if that clouds my evaluation of a film like Still Alice, which tells the story of a linguistic professor's bout with Alzheimer's and the affect her mental deterioration has on her and her family. Did my investment come easier, my tears more readily because this film hit a little close to the bone? I can't really be sure, but at least now you know where I'm coming from.

Based on the novel by Lisa Genova, Still Alice is a harrowing depiction of the personal destruction that accompanies Alzheimer's. It's pretty straightforward and so it does have a Lifetime movie of the week vibe to it, but the movie is elevated by a brilliant central performance and a restrained script that’s chock-full of insight and authenticity.

Julianne Moore took home the Oscar for her work as the titular character, and it's a long overdue victory. Moore is one of the greatest actors of her generation, so I was behind her win before even seeing the movie, but, now that I have, I can say this is one of those rare cases where a past-due actor is deservedly honored for the performance in question as well as for overall career achievement.

I’m not sure I’d say this is Moore’s best performance, but it’s certainly up there. What’s so impressive about how Moore slowly peels layer upon layer away from Alice’s identity is just how little you notice the acting. The character’s decline is rapid, but the performance is seamless. This is a full on clinic in subtle submersion.

Although Alice’s husband (Alec Baldwin) and three children (Kate Bosworth, Kristen Stewart, and Hunter Parrish) factor in to the narrative, the film intentionally keeps them on the margins. Generally, this works fine. The supporting actors all do fine work, and the reality is that the film is trying to capture Alice’s experience (as opposed to Away From Her, a film focused more on how a dementia touches those closest to the afflicted).

Still, even given that defense, it does feel like a bit of a cheat at times, especially concerning the Bosworth character. Alice is dealing with a genetic form of the disease and a blood test reveals that the Bosworth character has the gene and will therefore go through this exact trauma in about 20 years, and yet, outside of one clipped phone conversation, this developing is never really addressed with any sort of substance. It’s a dangling narrative thread that is jarringly pushed aside.

That gripe aside, Still Alice is a worthwhile film with a powerhouse performance from one of our greatest working actors. At one point, Alice pines “I wish I had cancer. I wouldn’t feel so ashamed. People put on pink ribbons if you have cancer.” It’s a salient point, one that highlights that Still Alice is the rare film that makes us both think and feel, all while never giving in to mawkishness. Its strength is in its matter-of-fact depiction of the shattering realities that accompany this terrible disease and in the grace that can occasionally shine through during such a devastating eradication of self. B+

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

Disney Takes a Step Backward with the Nevertheless Adorable "Big Hero 6"

Big Hero 6 is about a kid coping with the death of his brother via

the help of a robot said brother invented.

In my review of Frozen, I mentioned how far Walt Disney Animation Studios has come over the last decade, steadily improving its output to the point that it arguably has become the premier animation house in Hollywood.

I still feel that way after having seen Big Hero 6, but on the heels of the studio's recent successes, Disney's adaptation of this obscure Marvel property is a bit of a let down. It's solid and occasionally inspired entertainment, but it's a lot more Meet the Robinsons or Bolt than Wreck-It Ralph or Frozen.

That's totally fine -- not every attempt needs to be a classic, which is something I've discussed at length in my coverage of Pixar's output over the years. I'd never argue Big Hero 6 is a bad film -- it's a cute, eye-popping heart-tugger that deftly addresses coping with tragedy and features an absolutely adorable break-out character (that would be Baymax, the inflatable health care robot voiced by 30 Rock's Scott Adsit).

But it's also pretty pedestrian in the way it plays like a vastly inferior version of the similar Guardians of the Galaxy (my review here). Both are obscure Marvel properties focused on a hero with a tragic past who leads a group a misfits in battling a vengeance-seeking villain. But whereas Guardians had a lot of flavor and personality, especially among it's deep supporting cast, Big Hero 6 is woefully undefined. The four teens who make up the back two-thirds of the superhero team are basically window dressing and the villain's descent into callous violence carries little weight and makes even less sense.

Thank goodness then for Baymax, who's as cute as Wall-E or Groot, but about 10 times more huggable and 100 times more articulate. His awkward physicality and matter-of-fact pronouncements are the undisputed highlight of the film, which is ultimately a solid, if unspectacular, offering from Disney. B

This is adorable.

McDonagh and Gleeson Reteam for the Bleak but Moving "Calvary"

Kelly Reilly and Brendan Gleeson have conversations in Calvary.

It’s easy to wonder how anyone still could believe in a caring and just God. There’s so much knowledge and science, not to mention all the disillusioning depravity and hypocrisy. And yet some continue to believe, not entirely unshaken in their faith but still doddering on.

Questions about the futility of faith are at the forefront of Calvary, writer-director John Michael McDonagh’s sophomore follow-up to The Guard. Here, he reteams with star Brendan Gleeson to tell a different sort of story – one that pulls no punches and evinces that patented McDonagh family wit (see also, brother Martin’s phenomenal In Bruges), but that pivots from dark comedy to deliver a poetic and sincere meditation on what it is to be a lonely believer amid a sea of hedonistic heretics.

Calvary is the type of movie that reminds me why I watch movies. It’s beautifully shot, thoughtfully written and naturally acted. It’s funny and profound, surprisingly idiosyncratic in its cadences and yet satisfyingly inevitable in its conclusions.

The film's opening words set the tone. "I first tasted semen when I was seven years old." The line is spoken by an unknown parishioner to Father James (Gleeson), a salt-of-the-earth type who maintains his composure enough to dryly retort, "It's certainly a startling opening line." What comes next is tougher to take in stride. The confessor explains he was raped as a boy by a now-dead priest, and that he has decided to kill a good priest – this particular good priest – as retribution, because, well, it would be more shocking than killing a bad one. But at least he's considerate – he offers Father James a week to get his life in order, claiming he'll meet him on the beach the following Sunday.

The rest of the film plays like a guess-the-would-be-killer for the audience, but not for Father James since he knows exactly who he was speaking with in the confessional. For him, the week is less about finding a way to salvage his life than it is about finding a way to salvage his faith. The cynical locals (played by the likes of Aiden Gillen, Chris O'Dowd and Dylan Moran) don't make that easy on him, as each one is a conceivable potential murderer. Neither do his own demons (alcoholism) or the appearance of the daughter (Kelly Reilly) he had before entering the priesthood.

Gleeson always brings his A-game, but this is the best I've ever seen him. His work as Father James is towering yet understated, the type of complex and nuanced performance that deserves to win an Oscar, but miraculously doesn't even get nominated. He's constantly jostling between strength and vulnerability, hope and despair and levity and seriousness, sometimes within the turn of a single phrase or a flicker of the eyes. And that doesn't even cover just how perfectly simpatico Gleeson is with the McDonagh language (for a more populous American analog, think Samuel L. Jackson speaking the words of Quentin Tarantino).

At one point, Father James suggests there's too much talk of sins, and not enough talk of virtues, calling particular attention to forgiveness. Anyone who knows diddly about Jesus's death should know what the title of the film is alluding to, and, given that, should also be able to predict where things are headed. Father James considers running away, but ultimately opts to answer for the sins of others like his God before him.

However, the final scene of the film powerfully hints at the notion that forgiveness doesn't require a sacrificial lamb, just the fortitude and willingness to tap into the virtue within. This is a bleak and bitter film, but there's enough in its ending to restore faith, maybe not in God, but definitely in humanity, which is more than enough given all the soul-crushing brutality in the world. A

"Foxcatcher" Doesn't Measure Up to Bennett Miller's Previous Output

Mark Ruffalo and Channing Tatum shine, but Foxcatcher is an airless effort.

With Foxcatcher, Bennett Miller (Capote, Moneyball) has crafted yet another pensively restrained, immaculately composed and expertly acted examination of unbridled obsession and determination and held it at arms length. However, this time out, the distanced and disciplined approach that worked so well in the director's earlier films make Foxcatcher feel kind of inert and airless.

Foxcatcher focuses on the relationship between Olympic wrestling brothers Mark (Channing Tatum) and Dave Schultz (Mark Ruffalo) and John Du Pont (Steve Carrell), the creepy millionaire who served as their benefactor. Both Mark and Dave are former Olympic champs, but Mark lives firmly in the shadow of his older brother, which makes him ideal prey for the resentful and self-important Du Pont, a man who knows a thing or two about living in the shadows of family (in his case, his mother).

There's not much point in saying any more about the film's plot. A tragedy involving these men attained headline-grabbing true crime infamy, but the particulars of that incident are opaque, poorly defined, and relegated to the film's final moments. Foxcatcher is much more concerned with ruminating on its long list of themes, including isolation and repression, class disparity and subjugation, unchecked entitlement and compromised integrity, and, if all that isn't enough, the fractured male psyche and distorted American values. There's so much going on here, and yet it feels like almost nothing happens.

The film is technically accomplished, and the actors all do nice work. Ruffalo, who has made a career of breathing life and dimensionality into thinly written parts, is especially affecting as the warm-hearted, at-ease-with-himself Dave, and Tatum continues to impress with the emotional brute routine. Both actors bring an ape-like physicality to their roles, while doing a good job of communicating an innate brotherly bond.

Meanwhile, Carrell is buried under prosthetics and definitely a world away from his typical roles. He's pretty solid throughout, and great in isolated moments, but his acting calls a lot of attention to itself and not in a good way. His approach stands in stark contrast to his more natural costars, and the fake nose threatens to overpower his performance. I'd say there's more good than bad in the portrayal, but there's definitely something off-key about it.

Foxcatcher is a major comedown for Miller, which maybe isn't fair given just how good Capote and Moneyball were, but the film isn't some major catastrophe. It's certainly worth catching -- Ruffalo's performance alone is worth the time, and there is a ton of other stuff to admire about the film besides. The thing just feels a little empty to me, and ultimately this is one of those films that I'm bummed I didn't like more. B-

Linklater Pulls Off Passion Project With Beautiful, Resonant "Boyhood"

Boyhood chronicles 12 years in the life of a family of four, including
a loving but absent dad and a quiet and relaxed son.

Boyhood deserves to win Best Picture and Best Director at this year's Oscar telecast.

I say that, having seen almost none of the nominated films. While I pride myself in my opinion on film, and I usually stay pretty well versed in the Oscar coverage and discussion, fatherhood has drastically altered my regular viewing and reading habits. I have only seen two (Boyhood and The Grand Budapest Hotel) of the eight Best Picture nominees, three of the 20 nominated acting performances, and, well, you get the idea.

All that being said, I still feel comfortable making such a lofty claim about Richard Linklater's examination of life in process. Although it's entirely possible that a film like Foxcatcher or Birdman could leapfrog Boyhood as my favorite film of 2014, the enormity of what has been achieved with Boyhood flat out needs to be recognized. The film, which chronicles 12 years in the life of Mason (Ellar Coltrane), his sister (Lorelei Linklater), and their parents (Ethan Hawke and Patricia Arquette at the top of their games) is not as novel as some might think (Michael Apted has been doing something similar with his Up series of documentaries for half a century), but it is still a monumental accomplishment.

Will Boyhood actually win? I'm doubtful. Birdman seems deserving and has a leg up on the top prize, and while director is, by most accounts, a tighter race, Linklater doesn't have the showy style of Alejandro González Iñárritu. I would celebrate a win for an artist like Iñárritu, but I think the time is right to give Linklater his due. The guy has spent a great deal of his career exploring aging, the maturation process and the passage of time -- charting growth and relationships over two decades with his Before trilogy (reviewed by yours truly here) -- but Boyhood is something extra. Conceived as a whole and shot and edited bit by bit over a twelve year period, it required unwavering discipline, incredible patience and, let's be honest, some real cajones.

It's just so crazy to consider that over the past dozen years, while Linklater was churning out a consistent stream of films, including several that are outright dynamite (School of Rock, Before Sunset, Before Midnight), he had this project just simmering on the backburner. There was so much here that could've gone wrong, but Boyhood is so damn perceptive and tonally consistent because of the clarity of Linklater's vision mixed with his patented ability to go with the flow and make small moments so damn engaging.

Even if there was some sort of rudimentary outline here, Linklater took a real risk staking such an ambitious project on an unknown actor that could've grown into just about any type of person. To a large extent, the development of Coltrane was driving the narrative here, and while he wound up fitting the mold of Linklater's prototypical sensitive artist type (a few tweaks and this could easily be a prequel about Jesse from the Before series), he easily could've grown into something else entirely. I suspect Linklater would've made any outcome work, because he's just so damn light on his toes, and I'm a firm believer in rewarding humanist filmmaking of this scope and caliber.

It's worth stating explicitly that the film is pretty damn good aside from all that background -- it's a subtly resonant, gently profound and authentically naturalistic coming of age story, aided enormously by some dynamite lived-in acting and its director's keen ear for honest interactions and dialogue. The film doesn't revel in the typical "big moments" of boyhood -- instead it focuses on the more mundane lead-ups and aftermaths, which works as a sly comment on how we spend far more time anticipating and reacting to the big experiences than we do inside of them.

Having said that, the film is still fascinatingly gripping, mostly because you get sucked into caring about what's happening and come away feeling like you know these people. There's just a tremendous satisfaction to watching these lives play out.

Late in the film, Hawke has a scene with Coltrane in which he touches on that notion, providing the perfect reason for why Boyhood is such a beautiful piece of art. He says,"What's the point? I mean, I sure as shit don't know. Neither does anybody else, okay? We're all just winging it, you know? The good news is you're feeling stuff. And you've got to hold onto that."

There's no doubt Linklater winged quite a bit during the making of this film, and that the end result makes the audience feel stuff. And that makes Boyhood a film worth holding on to. A

"A Walk Among the Tombstones" Proves More Than Your Typical Liam Neeson Actioner

Liam Neeson gets to do more than just snarl his way through this one.

Since the runaway success of the original Taken six years ago, Liam Neeson has appeared as a stoic tough guy in anywhere between eight and a dozen movies depending on how you view the likes of Clash of the Titans, The Lego Movie and A Million Ways to Die in the West.

Considering that, it would be easy to shrug off A Walk Among the Tombstones as another in a long line of stock actioners meant to capitalize on audience fondness for Bryan Mills and his extremely abductable family.

However, while Neeson is still playing an intimidating ass kicker, A Walk Among the Tombstones is very different from Taken, Non-Stop and all the other cookie cutter crap he's been churning out the last few years. As far as this action phase of his goes, this one fits most comfortably alongside The Grey, another film that took this hardass archetype and actually ventured into thoughtful reflection and interesting characterization.

Based on one of the books from Lawrence Block's popular detective series, A Walk Among the Tombstones isn't even much of an action movie -- it's a dark, slow-burn character piece. Box Office Mojo compares it to Prisoners, and while I don't think it's quite in the same league as that film, the comparison is apt. Another analog would be The Lookout, the only other film ace screenwriter Scott Frank (Minority Report, Out of Sight) had directed before this one.

Plotwise, the film sounds like a movie you've seen before. It follows Matthew Scudder (Neeson), a disgraced former police officer who works as a non-licensed detective when he's not attending AA meetings, as he investigates the murder of a drug kingpin's wife. Combined with his taking a street kid under his wing, the case ultimately provides Scudder a chance at redemption.

But a film like this isn't so much about plot as it is about mood and tone, and Frank and Neeson get all of that right (besides a voiceover during the conclusion that ham-fistedly ties in the 12 steps of AA). Neeson still gets to be the grizzled badass here, but there's a humanity to the guy that really plays. And in a film of this ilk, that can go a long way. B