Cinematical

Starring Michael Cera and Kat Dennings, Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist is a light, slight, fleet-footed teen comedy of romance and indie rock; there are logic holes in it, and lulls, and moments that seem devoid of sense, to be sure, but there are also moments in where Cera or Dennings will smile and your momentary doubts and disagreements are washed away and your head is filled with a sense of gladness, not despair, that you're watching our young, happy hipster heroes on screen. Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist combines the shaggy-dog sprawl of an early John Hughes film with the blunt talk and softly-rounded feelings of the Apatow comedies, and if it did not have leads as charismatic and tonally correct as Cera and Dennings, it would be very close to dead in the water; however, since it does, it isn't.

Taking place in some movie version of Manhattan where parking is always immediately available and everyone over 25 has, apparently, been executed Logan's Run-style, Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist begins as Nick (Cera) is trying, and failing, to get over his breakup with the tedious-yet-tempting, hot-yet-hateful Tris (Alexis Dzienia), leaving lengthy messages on her phone and exquisitely sequenced mix discs at her door. Tris laughingly discards Nick's most recent effort into the trash at school; sarcastic-but-sweet Norah (Kat Dennings) retrieves it, as she's done for several of Nick's discarded offerings: "He makes the best mixes ever." The fact that Nick's latest effort is labeled "The Road to Closure, Vol. 12" tells you that Nick has strong feelings, and, in this case, weak vocabulary skills.

Burn After Reading, the latest from the Coen Brothers, makes its North American debut this year, following last year's rapturous Toronto reception for the Oscar-winning success of the tense, terse No Country for Old Men. After making No Country for Old Men, in perverse Coen-logic, the timing is clearly right for a messy, mean-spirited, profane punchy comedy. Burn After Reading is built around a classic Coen plot -- there's a valuable something out there, and various ill-equipped, dimwitted people see it as the answer to all their problems -- and the pleasure of seeing the big ensemble cast bite down hard on small parts until the juice drips down their chin is dry, funny and rich. (Brad Pitt's work alone as a fitness trainer whose I.Q. is as immeasurably low as his body-fat percentage is, bluntly, inanely great -- full of verve and conviction, and deeply funny.)

The Coens make movies about desire -- the stuff of drama -- but they often choose to make them about idiocy -- the stuff of comedy -- as well; as various characters around Washington, D.C. pursue, posses or hope to profit from a lost CD of data that an ex-CIA man (John Malkovich, fussy and hilarious) has misplaced, the plot's in part just a canvas for Coen-syle, carefully-timed punchlines and comedy so dry it'll leave your lips chapped. There's also some great inside-baseball movie-joke stuff about the cliches of every techno-thriller -- the Taiko-drum scores, the lower-left-of-the-screen-type establishing place and time, the moody shots of shadowy figures who may or may not be following our heroes -- that work in a smart, sideways fashion, too. And every actor in Burn After Reading is playing someone having some kind of mid-to-late-life freakout, grabbing at chances to be happy, and failing while flailing and spitting out four-letter words as they go down; Kim will have her full review up later, but we laughed. A lot.

Long awaited in the wake of his 2005 debut Brick, Rian Johnson's The Brothers Bloom is a magic trick of a film; the second it's over, you want to see it again so you can try to catch how you were tricked, but you also want to see it again so you can return to the joy and wonder of being wrapped up in the nimble, deck-shuffling hands of a born showman. Watching it at first, some of The Brothers Bloom's creative and thematic elements seem like they're on loan from Paul Thomas Anderson (opening narration by Ricky Jay, pop-whiz-bang camera work, the troubled-but-tender relationship between the two brothers) while others feel as if they've been cribbed from Wes Anderson (deadpan confessions, whimsical set design, a parallel-universe setting where people still travel to Europe by steamship). The truth is, as much as The Brothers Bloom may feel like it's cribbing from other films at first, this is Rian Johnson's movie, and even if my more dreary and discerning critical faculties told me the final act goes on, perhaps, a beat too long, my inner moviegoer was sitting bolt upright, smiling, bright-eyed and carried away.

Brothers Stephen (Mark Ruffalo) and Bloom (Adrian Brody) have grown up on the make, in a world of, as Jay's stage-setting narration puts it, "... grifters, ropers, faro fixers, tales drawn long and tall. ..." Stephen builds cons; Bloom gets close to the marks. Stephen's work on their scams is a weird, lucrative form of self-expression; as Bloom puts it, "My brother writes cons the way Russians write novels. ..." Bloom's work on their schemes is a weird, lucrative form of self-loathing; Bloom learns early on that playing a part means never having to be yourself, that he, when " ... being as he wasn't, could be as he wished to be." Stephen wants more. Bloom wants out.

Rachel Getting Married is a terse, smart, funny and tough family drama about forgiveness and failure written by Jenny Lumet; it's also a loose, smart, broad and bright film about family and love directed by Jonathan Demme. When these two things are in sync, the end result is something truly impressive – a moving story that appeals to your heart and soul without insulting your intelligence, a film full of big scenes that never stoops to the most obvious possible iteration of those big scenes, a movie loaded with great and sincere performances from the top down. When the two parts of Rachel Getting Married fall out of synch – as they do, most notably, in the last third of the film during Demme's raucous, joyous post-wedding reception – it's less catastrophic than it is curious, and the final film is still very much worth watching.

Rachel (Rosemarie DeWitt) is getting married; her little sister Kym (Anne Hathaway) is coming for the big event ... which involves getting picked up from her most recent stay at a rehab clinic. A cynic could look at Hathaway's part in Rachel Getting Married and paraphrase Robert Downey Jr. in Tropic Thunder: Always go full rehab. And while it's true that the Academy and critics tend to reward gritty, hyperbolic portraits of drug-addiction's misery, the fact is that Hathaway's Kym is not quite as simple as that. Kym knows all the things she's done wrong; she also knows she'll keep doing some of them. Immediately, in the car, the lines of battle are drawn, with Kym going on the offense as part of her defense mechanisms, asking her dad (Bill Irwin) and step-mother (Anna Deavere Smith) about how Rachel's holding up: "Are all of her latent food issues coming up? Is she still hoarding Snickers and Cool Whip under the bed?" Soon, Kym's plunged into the thick of the preparations for Rachel's wedding, responding to the chaos by adding to it. ...

The Toronto International Film Festival starts September 4th - but, not to dash your mental images or anything, the truth is that the 2008 Toronto International Film Festival started a few weeks ago. Toronto has several great films from Cannes this year making their North American debut, to be sure -- like the riveting crime-and-power tales Gomorra and Leonera, or the French films Entre Les Murs and Un Conte de Noel -- but apart from that earlier bow for several films at Toronto this year, press screenings of several big-ticket films have been taking place in Toronto, New York, L.A. and other cities for the past two weeks.

I've already seen several of this year's bigger Toronto films, including: a major American director's bold and big take on issues of war, power and faith; a drama where a major star might not only earn Oscar's notice for the first time in her career but also sincerely deserves it; a whimsical-but-warm, giddy-yet-grounded comedy-action-drama where a director confirms their successful debut film wasn't just a fluke; a sure-to-be-controversial mix of vital, lively discourse and hilarious deadpan comedy ... and a few more. The hotels are filling up; desks are crowded with the clutter and tools of the working modern movie writer; Google calendars are crafted with the same careful concentration that's devoted to plans of battle, and are equally likely to survive unchanged. Soon, the festival starts in earnest, and you'll find our reviews here then, but today, in the buzzing calm before North America's biggest film festival has its formal bow, the excitement's raw, real and incredibly exciting.

Pack your passport and brush up your hockey small talk -- the Toronto International Film Festival is just around the corner. This week, The Rocchi Review features James chatting with Michael Lerman, a filmmaker who also programs for the Woodstock Film Festival, and blogger for IndieWire. Is it true some in the industry see Toronto's enthusiastic audiences as the "kiss of death"? How many films can you squeeze into one festival? What's the difference between watching a film as a journalist and watching one as a film festival programmer? And why is Midnight Madness, for some, the best part of the Toronto International Film Festival? Cinematical's podcast is now available through iTunes; you can subscribe at this link. Also, you can listen directly here at Cinematical by clicking below:



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Just going by the poster and the trailer, you could probably recognize Babylon A.D. as a bloated big-budget science fiction film. But after viewing the film, and with a few facts to put the film in context -- like the fact 20th Century Fox didn't screen Babylon A.D. for critics, like the fact director Mathieu Kassovitz has already disavowed the film, like the numb dumb clang of every line of dialogue in it -- you realize that Babylon A.D. is a bad, bloated big-budget science fiction film that doesn't even have the distinction of being memorably horrible or bravely idiotic or fascinatingly inept; it's simply an inert mass, a lump of product, a failure too expensive to simply discard.

In a near-future Europe (we're never told the year, but when someone mentions the last Siberian tiger died in 2017, it's implied that was a while ago), a mercenary named Toorop (Vin Diesel) is hired to escort a young woman and her guardian from a monastery in Mongolia to New York. The young woman, Aurora (Mélanie Thierry) has never left the convent; her watchful protector, Sister Rebeka (Michelle Yeoh), cautions Toorop that Aurora is to be shielded from the world. Toorop's taken the job for the payoff -- he's been promised a wad of cash and, more importantly, a new passport that'll get him off the terrorist watchlist that's exiled him from America -- but as Toorop, Rebekah and Aurora travel through the ruined places of tomorrow, they begin to bond. ...

TITLE: Me and Orson Welles
DIRECTED BY: Richard Linklater
STARS: Zac Efron, Claire Danes, Christian McKay

WHAT IT'S ABOUT: In 1937, a young actor (Efron) gets the chance of a lifetime when he's invited to join the cast of a new production of Shakespeare's Julius Caesar ... directed by the young, brash boy genius Orson Welles (Christian McKay). Of course, the scheming, plotting and tragedy isn't confined to the stage. ...

WHY WE'RE EXCITED ABOUT IT: A number of reasons: Welles has always made for great drama on-screen; Efron may finally demonstrate there's more to him than endless iterations of the High School Musical formula; Danes is turning into a truly interesting actress with the passing of time. But ultimately, the reason we're most psyched to see this comes down to director Linklater -- who's proven he can handle both the energy of youth (Dazed and Confused, Before Sunrise) and the technical challenges of period pieces (The Newton Boys). Linklater's a filmmaker looking for a mainstream hit, and the mix of high-class material and Efron's star power may be just what's needed to shove him into the mainstream.

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TITLE: JCVD
DIRECTED BY: Mabrouk El Mechri
STARS: Jean-Claude Van Damme

WHAT IT'S ABOUT: Jean-Claude Van Damme, washed-up action star plays ... Jean-Claude Van Damme, washed-up action star. Trying to deal with a career in decline and various personal crises, the Muscles from Brussels stumbles into a bank robbery -- and has to explain to everyone around him that life is not, in fact, like the movies.

WHY WE'RE EXCITED ABOUT IT: Believe it or not, this was actually one of the most buzzed-about films in the marketplace at Cannes this year -- and the idea of Jean-Claude going meta and post-modern can't help but bring a smile to anyone with memories of the actor's '80s heyday. Plus, JCVD's also the opening film for Midnight Madness -- and sounds like the perfect pick for the maniacs who stay up late at Toronto.

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TITLE: Religulous
DIRECTED BY: Larry Charles
STARS: Bill Maher

WHAT IT'S ABOUT: Stand-up comedian Bill Maher tours the globe, talking with people of faith ... to question, deride and challenge their beliefs. While big-name atheism is big on the bestseller charts recently thanks to Christopher Hitchens, Richard Dawkins and Sam Harris, Religulous is the first big-name documentary to take on the world of faith. Directed by Larry Charles (Borat), Religulous seems to promise a mix of thought-provoking commentary and laugh-inducing uncomfortable silences.

WHY WE'RE EXCITED ABOUT IT: After months of Presidential candidates droning on about what their faith means to them, doesn't a sharp shot of pointed questions and cold, hard logic sound refreshing? Maher's also far smarter than his shtick seems, and after Borat, we'd watch anything Charles offered as a follow-up. We're also looking forward to counting the number of times the phrase "preaching to the converted" gets used in Religulous's reviews.

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