Closed Circuit

Dear Wailoon Chung, Electrician,

Here’s what I remember from my high school physics class: when completing a closed circuit, electricity must flow from a positive to negative source through an uninterrupted path. One bad connection and the whole thing dies. In film, the thriller genre works the same way. Comedies or action films can sometimes get away with narrative gaps that magically lead to big explosions or big laughs, but an effective thriller needs to be more conscientious of the physical world. And most importantly, we absolutely need to get a charge out of the ending. So let’s go back and figure out where your latest film Closed Circuit broke down.

We open on a crowded London market, where a series of split-screen cameras allow us to watch multiple interactions at once. The sound ebbs and flows between characters, forcing our eyes to jet around the screen until more and more frames focus on a mysterious truck. And then – kaboom. The execution of this first sequence is engaging, authentic feeling, appropriately disorienting and perfectly effective. It’s also a wonderful use of London’s ubiquitous closed circuit cameras, from which the film actually gets its name (sorry if I got your hopes up). But that verité style is almost immediately dropped and Closed Circuit quickly becomes a rather standard, barely passable political drama that loses most of the power it produced in the opening.

One of the main sources of energy relies on the “special” relationship between Eric Bana and Rebecca Hall’s characters. Although both are on the same defense team, only she, as Special Advocate, has access to Top Secret information in the “closed” section of the trial. It’s hardly to her benefit, however, as Bana’s character pieces more of the puzzle together anyway, and soon the distance they are required by law to keep becomes a non-issue to the plot. There don’t seem to be many consequences for breaking the rules, and the story just keeps on flowing.

For the most part, the film has enough juice to overcome these small logic deficiencies and even some uninspired double-agent character reveals. But by the end, there is just no real payoff. No big light goes off that makes sitting through all the plotting and maneuvering worth it. And worst of all, I think the filmmakers knew it. The audio montage that ends Closed Circuit feels like a strange and dishonest after-thought tacked on to a story that obviously had no intention of providing simple closure. And that approach, as you know, is bound to fail if it’s not handled right.

Looking for a spark,

Christopher

Status: Standard Delivery (3/5)

You’re Next

Dear Mads Heldtberg, Composer

Thank you for your sense of humour. Considering this movie frustrated me with a lot of unanswered questions, at least your film score was right up my alley. Punched up in the right spots to create suspense. Dark when it needed to be to invoke some fear. But more importantly, you weren’t afraid of using a little levity with the addition of some clever music to help hold the pieces together for such a thinly told story. 

I quite enjoyed the soundtrack that is cued by the first encounter with the animals.  A little pre-story, if you will, of a man (neighbour of the Davison’s that we’re about to meet) and his young lover, which ends with the threat (and title) You’re Next scrawled on the wall.  And, weren’t you lucky that your director was able to get the rights to “Looking For The Magic” by the Dwight Twilley Band.  You used it very effectively to keep bringing us back to that first, seemingly random, murder scene.  Then you really ramped it up with the family dinner, the first of many unfortunate accidents, and all the bloodshed that ensued.  Thanks to you and your creative score, I kept my head in the game.  You held my interest, and kept me caring about the characters and story — however one dimensional everything was in the end.

And, all this despite You’re Next feeling like a story I’d seen before; the random home invasion, the masked men, the ultraviolence, the dark humour, etc.  It felt a little like Strangers, but with a higher fun and slasher factor.  If it weren’t for my love of this genre – and your self-aware score –  I probably would have been bored to tears.

However, walking out of the theatre after You’re Next, I was left with some burning questions, or at least that feeling of nodding along to a catchy pop song with lyrics that don’t quite make sense.

I mean, who is the main character of this story?   I get that Crispian made the big decision, and certainly orchestrated everyone to visit the folks for dinner, but ultimately Erin is the one who decided to fight back against a mob of animal masked home invaders.  You’re Next really becomes her film in the end, whether that’s logical or not, it got the story told in a new way.

And, speaking of logic: What the hell is wrong with Crispian’s family anyway? And why were the bad guys so ill equipped to handle what boils down to essentially one able bodied woman? And more generally, when do you think it’s appropriate to tell your partner about your past?  Especially an interesting past, full of great adventure stories? One that would equip a woman to handle herself in any situation…

I’m getting off track, aren’t I? How about you just tell me what soundtrack I could use to get into Erin’s fighting shape. Because, damn.

Anyway, thanks for the laughs. I’ll take clever where I can get it, and at least I got something unexpected out of this film.

Thanks,

Jennifer Mulligan 

Status: Standard Delivery (3/5)

Blue Jasmine

Dear Sally Hawkins, Actress

You’re probably feeling a little maligned by now. A little brushed to the side, perhaps?

Cate Blanchett’s role is being praised from here to the hilltops and rightly so, but this film’s beauty is in it’s contrasts. And Sally, your role as Ginger, warm, robust and earthy to Cate’s delicate, particular flower, Jasmine, is essential. Without the golden and orange hues Ginger and her family bring to the mix, Blue Jasmine could so easily have been, true to its name, a very blue, woeful melodrama.

When we meet Jasmine she’s living the high-life travelling first class, wearing a mish-mash of high-end designers and speaking on and on about her fantastic life while she waits with her fellow passenger for her Louis Vuitton luggage. But this is an illusion that is quickly shattered. Jasmine’s broke and, after a mental breakdown, not just in the monetary sense. She’s been electro-shocked and if squeezed could spit Xanax pills machine-gun style. Yet no matter the severity of her breakdown or the alarming number of trespasses her former husband took against her, we’re given no doubt that Jasmine did this to herself. Even though Hal, her ex-husband, was running some sort of Ponzi scheme whilst dilly-dallying with an assortment of younger women, Jasmine turned a blind-eye, as it suited her. The IRS having now taken all her money, Jasmine’s forced to turn to San Francisco and Ginger, her adopted sister. Although it seems she is unable to face reality. Her delusions are many and she’s really only interested in herself.

But while Jasmine’s cracking up the light-hearted jazzy-blues soundtrack and sumptuous visuals of Ginger’s warm home and Jasmine’s luxurious former lifestyle keep this from becoming a maudlin affair. As does the comic lack of sophistication in Ginger’s love affairs compared to Jasmine’s; although Ginger is at least true to herself while Jasmine spins lie after lie.

 

So Sally, while Cate provides the emotional breakdown in this character study, Ginger and yourself provide the heart and anchor. Your character is the reason we care for this pampered and deluded soul, because Ginger does, and Jasmine seems to have some desire to help her sister, no matter how misinformed and misjudged her designs.

It’s a relationship which will no doubt lead to Blanchett thanking you in her Oscar acceptance speech. Not that it’s too early to judge these things or anything.

All the best,

Emily Cracknell

Status: Priority post (4.5/5)

In a World…

Dear Laird Fryer, ADR Mixer,

You’re pretty new to the world of Hollywood post-production. After a couple years in the business, I’m sure you’re beginning to get the hang of things. You know, run an R-Bass sub-harmonic enhancer to beef up production dialogue and EQ the room out of a track – the basics.

In a World…, the new flick you worked on with Lake Bell – which she wrote, directed, and stars in – takes place in the present, but not, it seems, the present that we live in. Some alternate dimension, rather, where the art of the trailer didn’t evolve to favor earnest montages and driving beats. Where Don LaFontaine’s famous ice-breaker, from which the film gets its title, yet holds enough cultural relevance to change a young woman’s life.

Do you ever wish that you were born a few decades earlier so that you could have been around for the golden age of the voice-actor? The same way, say, that young writers look back reverentially to the glory days of publishing in postwar New York, or young filmmakers might dream of travelling back to the early 70s to hang out with Scorsese and Spielberg and Lucas and Kasdan at their crash-pad on Nicholas Beach. Because, yes, the era of the omniscient and authoritative V/O certainly seems to be ebbing. Jeff Bridges is narrating Energizer commercials, Matt Damon is the voice of TD Ameritrade, and even in the depressing world of low-cost corporate videos there’s a clear bias towards more authentic, conversational, “real” voices.

Or maybe it does take place in our world. You run with that crowd now—you tell me. Maybe this is less an alternate dimension and more of a quick glimpse into a cloistered Hollywood subculture. Whatever the case, the trick that Bell had to turn – finding a way to fit her cutesy rom-com plot, which follows the daughter of a notable (and misogynistic) voice-actor as she breaks gender barriers and finds love, into this weird, byzantine universe – is a trick of tone and consistency. Something that you’re probably familiar with: getting the levels right.

And Bell manages it, for the most part. The absurdity is dialed up, the quirkiness is equalized. But it’s the relationships – between father and daughter, husband and wife, mentor and mentee – that sit at the top of the mix and provide a richness of feeling that is, I guess, somewhat surprising for a movie that reaches its climax at the Golden Trailer Awards. 

“Reaches its climax”? No, wait. That sounds wrong. Let me try that again and you can lay it over with a little Mono R-verb preset.

Climaxes.

Climaxes.

There we go. Nailed it.

Sincerely,

Jared Young

Status: Air Mail (3.5/5)

Lovelace

Dear David Beneke, Dental Prosthetics,

Hey, watch the teeth!

That’s a phrase nobody involved in a porno ever wants to hear—even back in the 70s. Same thing applies to a film that’s about making porn in the ‘70s. It just ruins the magic. Kills the vibe. Makes the whole thing feel forced. Frankly, if someone has to say it: you’re doing a sloppy job.

The good news is, I never once noticed your teeth. You performed like a pro. Just like Linda Lovelace in the X-rated blockbuster Deep Throat. Which also worries me— were you horrifically taken advantage of, too?

Hey, it’s possible. With so many stars on set, who’s to say you weren’t pressured to do a few favours on the side? Maybe a courtesy polish for Amanda Seyfried, who was probably looking for any excuse to smile after recreating the abuse and rape that her character endured in real-life? Maybe James Franco needed some help scraping the residual plaque from his Spring Breakers grill to portray Hugh Hefner? Maybe Peter Sarsgaard begged for a total orthodontic reconstruction so he’d never have to portray another snaggle-toothed creep ever again? The stories you must have! I can hardly wait for your inevitable tell-all book that reveals everything that went on behind the scenes of Lovelace.

I expect you’ll take the lead of co-directors Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman by telling us the whole tale the way we expect it happened. It will be an artistic rendition, with straightforward but pleasing cinematography, well-designed period details and comfortable pacing that allows the characters to feel like the flesh-and-blood counterparts they’re portraying. The first half of the story will only hint at the mistreatment. Then, at the midway point, we can go back to fill in the gaps and see how glossed-over the first story really was.

This is the most fascinating aspect of Lovelace. But the problem is, like a set of dentures, no matter how accurate the molds and fittings they’re still artificial. The film never acknowledges Lovelace’s tendency to contradict her own statements, her pendulous back-and-forth swing in and out of the feminist movement, and it certainly fails to mention her involvement in the bestiality film Dogarama that preceded Deep Throat (I guess there are some cavities best left unfilled).

So get to work. If Deep Throat could make $600M dollars, I’m sure you can cash in on the public’s oral fixation too.

Keep your chin up,

Christopher

Status: Standard Delivery (3/5)

JOBS

Dear Matt Whiteley, Screenwriter,

With no previous screenwriting credits, you must have thought the biopic would be a pretty easy way to get through your first feature-length script. You don’t even have to make anything up! A trip to your local bookstore, a couple hours on Wikipedia and the first draft practically writes itself. Just highlight your favorite bits and fill in the rest with that “conflict” stuff writers are always talking about. A fabled rise-to-riches, an obligatory fall-from-grace, a redemptive return to glory and you’ve got a formula that would have Blake Snyder patting your back from the great beyond. Unfortunately, based on the way Jobs turned out, it may not have been the paint-by-numbers exercise you imagined. But you sure did try.

It should have been a fool-proof recipe. You have a lead character with all the necessary traits of a great cinematic protagonist. A charismatic (but misunderstood) hippy-genius assembles a group outcast stereotypes to build a futuristic supermachine in his mom’s garage. With acid-driven arrogance, he convinces a rich has-been to back him financially and then actually makes good thanks to the sweat others and a little OCD. Seemingly overnight, the personal computer is on everyone’s 80’s Christmas list. He gets rich, throws a temper tantrum, and stabs his friends in the back only to be fired by a team of scheming corporate cutouts. Fast forward a few years, (the boring garden-tending ones) he’s found inner peace, shaved his beard and limps around in a halo of holy light that seems to provide him with a never-ending supply of inspirational analysis. The evil stooges have since learned the error in their ways and beg our hero to return. Only he can save the company. How satisfying it is when he colors the new computer machine with a blue felt pen and then goes on to create the world’s best discman.

This is, of course, a quick and irreverent recount of your quick and irrelevant retelling of the life of Steve Jobs, founder of the world’s most profitable public company and creator of the device you’re likely reading this on.

Your version begins in his scruffy college days, takes us quickly through the rise of Apple and into his untimely departure. It all moves at a breakneck pace that just seems to be checking boxes rather than examining themes. We never truly spend enough time with Jobs to understand his method or his madness. You touch briefly on his enigmatic personality and questionable ethics just long enough to numb our interest in his success or rally behind his legendary return. By the time we reach the film’s conclusion, he’s manifested a zen-like persona without the audience having any sense of how he got there. What’s left is the Disney-fied rendering of a famous misanthrope – and it’s forgivable because he’s an undeniable genius who built some pretty neat things.

Biographic interpretation can only ever be revered or reviled. There’s no in-between. The lone fact that you’re even writing a film about someone’s life means they’ve gone out and put dent in the universe so large that your pen was gravitationally pulled to the paper. Regurgitating someone’s entire existence in a series of bullet points comes with the kind of baggage fanboys refuse to check at the gate. It’s the kind of offering that will be ceaselessly and unapologetically scrutinized. Forever. Once the dust settles, if your paper is ever drawn to pen again, maybe try something a little less irresponsible. Like fiction.

It’s not all bad. The music supervision deserves a note of praise for putting together a collection of relevant period classics. And Josh Gad’s Steve Wozniak, is a lovable comic foil, engaging enough in at least one scene to generate a bit of genuine empathy. And, for what it’s worth, the film’s fault’s aren’t completely yours. You only drafted the blueprint. Someone else steered the ship into the iceberg. The emotional telegraphing (single tears shed, or late night car ride featuring screams in frustration) just can’t be forgiven. And let’s not forget the overabundance of inspirational music cues or the awful opening montage in the acid field. (He’s, like, tripping on his own mind music, man.)

You should take solace knowing that when all is said and done, you will have successfully dodged the harshest of all bullets in the shooting gallery of criticism. That shot will land square in the heart Chris “Ashton” Kutcher playing Michael Kelso’s pantomime of the late Steve Jobs. Remember when he glued on that beard, studied a keynote and then gestured his way through a sketch performance for two hours? This casting choice was abysmal before it was announced and goes to show that similarities in appearance are never a justifiable replacement for good acting.

It remains to be seen whether audiences are actually interested in a biopic about a paradigm-shifting tech geek. Rumors put Aaron Sorkin’s version in theaters some time next year. You were first to market, and as Steve said, there is an advantage to being first. But, like so many of our hero’s failed wares, you still run the very real risk that no one wants your product.

Here’s hoping Sorkin’s take will be the iPad to your Newton.

Fade to black,

Scott Belyea

Status: Return to Sender (2/5)

A HIJACKING

Dear Soren Malling, Actor,

Do you feel that, Soren? The heat of summer is dissipating. August has waned and yet another disappointing season of blockbusters has come to an ignominious close. Ahead of us sprawls the barren, hopeless wasteland of the September release schedule. It’s that time of year when, to soothe our assailed senses, we here on this side of the Atlantic look to foreign lands for the sort of mature, coherent, adult films that Hollywood (in particular) and America (in general) seem incapable of producing anymore.

Still, who would have thought that the summer’s most bad-ass action hero wouldn’t be Tony Stark and his army of Iron Men, or Matt Damon in his dystopian exo-suit, or Ryan Gosling kick-boxing his way through the Bangkok underworld, but rather a slight Danish business executive in a red-striped power-tie 

The character you play – Peter C. Ludvigsen, the corporate CEO whose protracted negotiations with a group of Somali pirates make for much of the action in A Hijacking – is both steelier and more manly than this summer’s other Man of Steel. Cold calculation, stony consideration; in the great early scene that sets up Ludvigsen’s prowess as a negotiator (he walks out on a group of Japanese businessmen) we learn everything we need to know about how he expresses his confidence and asserts control. And it’s those very qualities that are challenged throughout the movie.

There’s a difference between stillness and restraint. It’s something that Ryan Gosling sometimes has trouble distinguishing. But you really get it, Soren. The intensity you generate doesn’t come from what is implicitly unsaid, but from the physical exertion of not saying it. Writer and director Tobias Lindholm understands this, too. Your performance is like a tonal metronome; when other actors cry out, get angry, break down, the magnitude of it is measured against the harmonic mean of your character’s mood.

If the cramped meeting room with whiteboards and speakerphones and empty takeout containers is where the action takes place, then the suspense is generated shipboard, where the cargo vessel’s skeleton crew is held captive in cramped quarters. The ambiguousness of their relationship with their captors is more terrifying than any high-concept, stringy-haired ghost-lady horror flick released this year: one moment they’re celebrating a caught fish with a birthday song for one of the hostage’s daughters, in the next moment that same hostage has the muzzle of a rifle pressed against his head for no other reason than to scare the shit out of him. And it does. And it scares us, too.

This is what restraint and patience earns you: the kind of deeply-felt anxieties and thrills that genre pictures – machines, essentially, built to quickly and efficiently deliver those anxieties and thrills – don’t seem, any longer, to aspire to.  

Tillykke,

Jared Young 

Status: Priority Post (4.5/5)

 

The World’s End

Dear Luke J. Scott, Teenager #3,

Five middle-aged men walk into a pub—

No, that isn’t a start of a lame joke. It’s the start of the wildest Friday night the town of Newton Haven has ever seen.  And also the beginning of the third installment in Edgar Wright’s Cornetto trilogy.

So, five middle-aged men walk into a pub, on a mission to complete a pub crawl they started twenty years earlier. Having drifted apart over the years, they find themselves in their forties with a whack of unresolved issues, and are trying to recapture a bit of the optimism and promise of their youth.

Here’s the thing about adults, Luke. There comes a point where they spend a lot of time looking back. They remember how dynamic and fearless they were in their younger days, and lament the loss of that fearlessness that comes with the onset of adult life, responsibilities, achy joints, the filling out, the slowing down, etc. It can all get a bit maudlin, so it’s nice to have a distraction. Like wondering if or how they will live through the night.

 As the five roll up and start cutting a path of destruction down the Golden Mile, their antics might get repetitive to the point where one starts to question why a town needs twelve pubs when five would have been sufficient to get the point across. Luckily, though, our five heroes aren’t the only ones who have changed. They notice the townsfolk are acting very weird. Creepy weird. And there’s beer involved. Things get real messy, real fast.

While I am madly impressed that you and your fellow young actors did your own stunt work, I was most taken by the film’s refusal to indulge in too much mid-life crisis navel gazing. The actors have their moments of lamentation, but it’s in the subsequent scenes of mad aggression in which they really shine. There’s a clear catharsis when a lethargic, soft-middled dad pile-drives someone into the ground. A palpable moment of self-actualization when they rip the head off someone else. Bathed in gooey blue blood (by the way, gross) and a gooey sense of camaraderie, these aging friends are able to face the end of everything with a special kind of dignity.

As the townspeople of New Haven, you and your fellow background players give the stars a run for their money. The skillfully choreographed and executed fight sequences had us all cheering in our seats. It all manifests itself as high octane, beer fuelled, laugh-a-minute action set to that early 90s mix tape I played constantly back in middle school.

Best,

Nat Master

Status: Air Mail (4/5)

We’re the Millers

Dear Mary Sunshine, Production Accountant,

Re: Form-7DA Generic Deduction(s) Request

On the basis of the information and affidavits submitted with the 2013 benefits return filed in your name on behalf of the filmed entertainment previously qualified for public consumption under the title “We’re The Millers” (pr. BenderSpink/New Line/Vincent Newman Entertainment), we would like to inform you, pursuant to an examination of the supplied documentation, that your claim has been accepted for the following deductions for the category comedy, sub-categor(ies) gross–out, stoner, anarchic:

(1)  Aimless and aloof stoner doofus who learns the value of kindness and acquaintance despite acting like total asshole for majority of film.

(2)  Popular actress’s mid-career gambit to prolong sex-symbol status by flaunting yoga-hardened body (compromised by lack of rhythm to slightly mortifying effect).

(3)  Prosthetic genitals, monstrously swollen by exotic bug-bite.

(4)  Sass-mouthed gutter-rat who, stripped of baggy clothing and dark eye makeup, is revealed to be wholesome Middle-American teenage girl (see also Item 1. re: lessons in kindness and acquaintance).

(5)  Popular character actor from cult TV series in supporting role playing vaguely dissimilar version of popular character from cult TV series (a) to much lesser effect and (b) with a sort of half-embarrassed expression the entire time.

(6)  Notable supporting performances that (i) almost make bloated 110-minute run-time worthwhile, and/or (ii) make you wish the whole movie was about them instead (spec: Poulter, Will; Hahn, Kathryn).

(7)  Karaoke sequence set to mid-90s R&B hit that preys on fast-expiring decade-of-the-moment nostalgia.

Please note: the abovementioned items are considered standard deductions, and will not protect you or any entity associated with the production of this motion picture for liabilities related to the net operating loss abetting the generous penurious quality, both objective and subjective, of this venture.

If you have any questions, please fill out the necessary forms and submit them through your certified notary.

Sincerely, 

Jared Young

Senior Auditor, DCAC

Status: Junk Mail (1.5/5 )

Planes

Dear Roger Tonry, Aerial Consultant,

I’m so confused. So, so confused. I just… I can’t even… wow. I mean most people in the film industry have a few strange credits. Early gigs to pay the bills or gain experience are like a rite of passage. But your entire IMDb filmography is just… awesome. Editor on Playboy: Wet & Wild. Cinematographer on Playboy: Sexy Lingerie II. Director of Playboy: The Best of Pamela Anderson.  Sure, it’s a little “specialized”, but so what? You’re living the manly man’s dream. But now this: Planes. In the world of Cars. From the creators of toys, and lunch boxes, and more plastic than even Pamela Anderson can tolerate. Dude, it’s safe to say that this big-budget Disney film qualifies as the artistic low-point of your career.

I’m being serious.

I understand that this is a movie for kids. Young kids. Anyone over the age of 8 is probably going to feel like they’re being talked down to. But come on. You know better than anyone that attracting adults matters. An intelligent joke here and there, a clever plot twist – anything to raise this unapologetically exploitive picture into something not so embarrassing. That’s the whole Playboy mantra. Unfortunately, that’s not what you were hired for. Which is even more confusing.

Somewhere along the way you obviously learned something about aerial photography. Makes sense – there’s only so many ways to shoot naked centerfolds before you need to get really creative.  So I’m happy to report that the aerial perspectives in Planes are actually my favourite part of the film. Weeee! In some of the training sequences for this (painfully uninspired) race-around-the-world underdog story, the point-of-view holds long enough to feel like we’re really following those exaggerated curves of a mountain or soft contours of a hill.

Hmm. I wonder where the inspiration for that came from.

There’s just not much else here to enjoy. A few plane puns made me smirk, but never resulting in anything as drastic as a smile. And I have a kid now, I should be open to this stuff. But the advance screening of Elysium was playing in the room right next door, dammit. I felt the way Ricky Martin must have during all his video shoots, surrounded by women from your films: sure, I’ll do it because it’s my job, but I feel sad inside. It’s just not my thing. Why can’t I be surrounded by those people? My people. People like you.

Let me know when your career gets back on track. Those are films I actually want to see. 

Sincerely,

Christopher

Status: Return to Sender (2/5)