Sam Rockwell is one of those buried treasures. He does consistently good work in movies that are underseen (The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy) and which sometimes don’t even deserve to be seen (Choke). Even when he’s not the main attraction, as in The Assassination of Jesse James …, he’s able to sketch a character or help hoist a scene into life in ways that lesser actors aren’t capable of. Decades from now, people will look back at his films and go, “Why wasn’t this guy huge?”
One of the answers may lie in the upcoming Moon, which is an insane project for anyone to take on. His astronaut has spent three years operating a moon quarry on his own. Plenty of opportunities, then, to go stir crazy. His principal interactions are with GERTY, a computer voiced by Kevin Spacey. He also speaks to his family via a video-phone. Then, just as his tenure is about to come to a close, Rockwell’s spaceman makes a discovery that suggests he’s not alone. Or is he?
Another selection of highlights from this year’s New Directors/New Films festival, being held at New York’s MOMA and the Walter Reade Theatre. In this afternoon’s handful, it’s all about survival. Young Moroccans are struggling to make it, young hoofers try to make the chorus line, a family try to shut out a major artery, the unemployed seek revenge, housekeepers give up everything they have, and there’s some rum geriatric hi-jinks in an Italian Odd Quartet.
Chicos normales/Ordinary Boys (Daniel Hernández, 2008)
An actor, petty crook and seamstress struggle to make ends meet in the Moroccan city of Tetuan, notorious for housing the terrorists involved in the 2004 Madrid bombings
Regardless of what Warners may have done to Spike Jonze’s folly, his vision appears to have remained intact. If the perennial magic hour photography and 21st century Muppets don’t get you, then Arcade Fire’s music will. Kids of certain ages, beware. This looks more like a movie meant for your WOXY.com-listening parents than for anybody weened on Yo Gabba Gabba.
Jim Jarmusch leads a termite life, and that probably suits him just fine. His work may never be truly appreciated until he’s no longer around. His second and third films formed such an indelible impression of who he is as an artist that every subsequent attempt to do something different is merely disregarded. He is a filmmaker of return, cloaking his obsession with certain imagery and ideas with a need to constantly be exploring new (physical) territory. His tenth film, The Limits of Control, now has a trailer.
Jarmusch has his recurring themes and motifs that he riffs around. The notion of a “road movie” is no more of a cliche to him than a familiar chord sequence might be to a jazz musician. It’s not the core that’s important, it’s what happens around it. Both Night on Earth and Coffee and Cigarettes were built around the model of theme with variations. (more…)
With their emphasis on boot-knocking and bra-waving, previous trailers for J.J. Abrams’ Star Trek reboot suggested that the Enterprise crew would be going where The O.C.had boldly gone before. Those fanboys who fell for the original series’ plasterboard sci-fi or for The Next Generation‘s Shakespearean chops were going to have to get used to the fact that Kirk, Spock, and Uhura’s original four-year mission was getting sexed up. This is a Star Trek of the Darren Star variety. (Or more daringly, a Star Trek which acknowledges the series’ slash fiction spin-offs.)
The latest trailer adds a few more elements in the mix. The emphasis is more on action and special effects, although the space combat fights look a bit like Return of the Jedi, where George Lucas in his mad genius reasoned that if three tie-fighters were very cool, than three HUNDRED tie-fighters would be even cooler. He was right, but that was back in 1983. Now the space visuals just look cluttered. There’s meant to be a certain majesty in Mutt Jones–I mean, James Kirk–looking up at the nascent Enterprise, but it’s obscured by that network of scaffolding. Any general would throw up their hands at the chaos of the space battles, which are closer to Welles’ Chimes at Midnight than Kubrick’s Spartacus.
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