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Revenge
If you're willing to believe that a supermodel, after having been impaled through the torso on a dry tree branch, can walk for a dozen miles through hot empty desert with neither shoes nor shade, then your ability to swallow a premise should be in Guinness World Records. (And funny how the branch causes only an exit wound.) The only thing to see here is Matilda Lutz's backside. I suggest going elsewhere for your dose of #MeToo.— October 31, 2018 3:14 p.m.
None
Matthew, please assure me that "vise versa" is some play on words and not simply atrocious spelling.— May 23, 2016 10:14 p.m.
The Gambler
I don't blame you for avoiding this miserable little film, but placing the review of another film in this spot is one of the most ridiculous things I've encountered in The Reader.— January 23, 2015 7:56 a.m.
Coherence
*Coherence* is a science fiction thriller that's heavy on the science and the fiction yet light on the thrills. When a passing comet brings about a confluence of multiple realities, eight yuppies at a dinner party scramble about with more panic than curiosity. (Fans of the original Star Trek series will be reminded of the episode *Mirror, Mirror*, which makes as much sense but is a lot more compelling.) There's plenty to think about as the story unfolds, but the mood is one of malaise rather than tension and the drama never transports; this movie doesn't move. Eventually tedium sets in as the characters meander through the puzzle, but with a running time of only 89 minutes the journey is thankfully not a long one. The handheld and sometimes unfocused camera conveys a sense of realism at the cost of any cinematic interest, much as the improvised dialogue feels natural but fails to engage. Comparisons to Buñuel's *The Exterminating Angel* are inevitable, but this is not to the advantage of *Coherence*: Buñuel's masterpiece had the good sense to avoid any attempt to explain the curious goings-on but instead delighted in the absurdity. As the film enters is second half it increasingly aims its attention at Em (Emily Foxler), whose pulchritude becomes a distraction from the film's denouement.— July 10, 2014 10:01 a.m.
Tim's Vermeer
I've never taken much interest in the marriage of art and technology, and I certainly haven't been a fan of Penn and Teller, with their trademark hucksterism and crudeness. But I'll be damned if I didn't admire their documentary *Tim's Vermeer*, in which an entrepreneur with only tech credentials attempts to paint a Vermeer lookalike using only his hand and 17th century materials. The solution he finds in his "eureka moment" is admirable enough, but the sheer chutzpah of the enterprise is even more astounding and should be enough to inspire anyone with creative inclinations to dream big. Whether our hero has succeeded or not is for every viewer to decide, and not directly comparing the copy with the original is understandable because it would no doubt be something of a letdown at the film's climax. In any case, the final scene, showing the proud inventor with his masterpiece over his fireplace, should make us all green with envy.— June 18, 2014 11:56 a.m.
About Time
Dismissive comparisons to *Groundhog Day* were inevitable, making those comparisons all the more tedious, but this is not *Groundhog Day* redux. The earlier film executed on its premise meticulously, whereas this incarnation is less about the mechanics and more about the heart, which makes it neither better nor worse. Philosophically speaking, what distinguishes this film from its predecessor is the idea of learning how to get it right the first time rather than getting it right eventually.— April 7, 2014 11:36 a.m.
Inside Llewyn Davis
Don't let Matthew Lickona's dismissive review get between you and the best film of 2013. Here we're in familiar Coen territory, reminiscent of *Barton Fink* for its exploration of artistic integrity, *O Brother, Where Art Thou?* for its exploration of folk music and *A Serious Man* for its exploration of misfortune, but this film is as different from those three as they are from each other. The question that nags throughout is why such a skilled artist fails to receive the acclaim he deserves. In other words, why Bob Dylan and not Llewyn Davis? He's talented; he gigs; he auditions; he practices... but the rewards don't come. Is Llewyn's devotion to his art too pure, so much so that a part-time job is unthinkable? We might blame his personal shortcomings, and he certainly is guilty of some unpleasant outbursts, but are his morals any worse than those of countless other hugely successfully artists? There are a couple of pregnancies in his wake, but might these be consequences of love? He leaves an injured animal for dead, and later abandons a pet, but can we say we'd act differently under those circumstances? At some point, the viewer is likely to wonder if Llewyn's failures and others' successes might largely be due to simple luck. While we consider all this, our eyes and ears are witnesses to the cinematic genius of the Coens, which might coincide with our pondering why this film didn't receive the acclaim it deserves, or why it didn't make more Top Ten lists, or merit praise from *The Reader*.— January 2, 2014 11:43 a.m.
The Way, Way Back
Something like an episode of *The Wonder Years*, but without that show's wit or storytelling efficiency. Allison Janney has fun as the floozy neighbor and Toni Collette is adept as the boy's mother, but they're the only adults in sight. The climactic scene, about which the moviegoer is no doubt supposed to feel some excitement, where two people emerge from a tube in reverse order of that going in, is perhaps the worst piece of filmmaking I've endured all year. Let the scriptwriters work out their childhood traumas on their own time.— December 16, 2013 7:23 a.m.
Pacific Rim
It's both puzzling and depressing to see Guillermo Del Toro, who showed such promise with *Mimic*, repeatedly squander his considerable talents. And especially here, on material that's not above the comprehension of any preteen. It's cliché after cliché, and so much so that the gargantuan fisticuffs are a welcome respite from the dreariness of the plot. The CGI is almost beyond belief, and our satanic monsters are lovely to behold, but it's as heartless and soulless as all computer-generated imagery seems destined to be. The script too seems almost computer-generated, and if you thought the Saint Crispin's Day speech in *Independence Day* was weak then your appreciation of it will increase after you hear the one here. The presence of Charlie Hunnam and Ron Perlman, two fine actors who bring considerable power to *Sons of Anarchy*, only underscores how wasteful this experience is.— November 28, 2013 8:46 a.m.
All Is Lost
If you enjoy cinema for metaphor or for furrowed brows, then see *All Is Lost*. If you go for dialogue or humor or a whopping good story, then sit this one out. Alert viewers will find themselves adrift in a sea of unanswered questions: Who is our protagonist, and why is he on this dangerous journey? Who is he scribbling to? Is it simply too uncinematic for him to wear a hat every time he's out in the sun, or for him to recycle his urine? Instead of a sextant, shouldn't a sailor in his mid-70s traveling solo own a waterproof rescue beacon? The absence of backstory means that our attention is on the here and now, but this one-dimensionality keeps the script from achieving much depth. Obscure spoiler alert: fans of the original Star Trek series might find similarity between the ending of this film and the ending of *The Galileo Seven*.— November 12, 2013 4:37 p.m.