Review: "STUCK BETWEEN STATIONS"

Usually, for a film critic (especially for a rank amateur like yours truly), it's difficult to keep personal biases at bay when you're reviewing a film whose contents you have a personal or historical investment in. Sometimes one may have problems staying partial because the story's an adaptation of a favorite book or previous movie. The movie might star an actor that one might be a huge fan of (or, by contrast, a huge detractor of), causing ample distraction while trying to watch the film as a whole.

Another issue might be the film taking place in one's hometown or adopted town. As the cliched (yet resoundingly true) saying goes, home is where the heart is, and any city ranging from New York to Fresno can be as big a character as any flesh-and-blood actor. Thus, the portrayal of such is just as important as any other portrayal found within.

Though I was raised in a suburb sixteen miles away, Minneapolis, Minnesota has been my home for the last two years, and I rapidly grew to love the cultural, aesthetic, and historical importance of the city and its various idiosyncrasies. Though I've seen plenty of Hollywood movies set in the Mini-Apple years before moving here (such as Fargo, Untamed Heart, and, yes, The Mighty Ducks), to see various landmarks on the big screen that I've personally experienced as a resident added an ample amount of SQUEEE-worthy hometown pride to my viewing experience.

In director Brady Kiernan's independent drama Stuck Between Stations, I was indeed beaming with that very pride while observing a cinematic tour of the City of Lakes, a broad, beautiful backdrop for an engaging story about two kindred spirits reunited by chance.

Casper (Sam Rosen) is an active-duty soldier recently put on bereavement leave to attend his father's funeral in Minneapolis. On his last night in town before being redeployed, Casper runs into graduate student Becky (Zoe Lister-Jones), a former high school classmate that he hadn't seen since graduation.

Becky's dealing with her own personal struggles, in the form of a regrettable affair she's been carrying on and recently ended with her married college professor David (Michael Imperioli). Receiving threatening phone calls from David's wife (Nadia Dajani)-- who's also a professor in Becky's graduate program-- Becky's been worried about her academic and professional future and the ramifications her actions may have had.

After an unconventional reunion at a nightclub, Casper and Becky spontaneously decide to take a late-night tour of Minneapolis-- ranging from bars and punk rock circuses to house parties and public access television stations-- and all the while reconnect with each other, revealing their hopes, fears, and secrets little by little, before Sam leaves for Afghanistan the next morning.

The first impression I got from Stuck Between Stations was its striking thematic similarities to Richard Linklater's Before Sunrise: a minimalist, dialogue-heavy story about two people who meet in a picturesque city, spend the night getting to know each other, and then go their separate ways.

But rather than seeing Ethan Hawke and Julie Deply traipsing around Vienna and its various landmarks, we're treated to a charming Sam Rosen (who co-wrote the script) and Zoe Lister-Jones taking the scenic route in various Minneapolis landmarks, hipster enclaves, the University of Minnesota campus, and plenty of other name-droppable locations that'll eagerly put a smile on any Minneapolitan's face (including yours truly).

The story itself is simple enough, and lends most of its focus to Casper and Becky's awkward reunion and natural chemistry. The relationship between the previously estranged acquaintances is portrayed realistically and never in a pretentious, "meet-cute" fashion. Rosen possesses a mischievous sparkle in his eyes that belie an inner numbness towards the horrors he's faced and must face again after his leave is over. Lister-Jones likewise shares her compatriot's struggle with finding her place in an increasingly turbulent world, and her late-in-the-game revelation regarding her outlook on life is rather heartbreaking.

Not everything is perfect with Stations, however. The usage of split-screen editing borders on over-usage at times, and the subplot with Michael Imperioli feels like a somewhat superfluous attempt to add a "name" actor to the proceedings. Luckily, we already have a better use of such a tactic with Minneapolis native Josh Hartnett's funny extended cameo as Sam's anarchist friend-rival, and to be honest, the need for established Hollywood stars is almost unnecessary considering the magnetism of the two lead actors.

The cinematography by Bo Hakala is absolutely marvelous, capturing the beauty of the city with a less-is-more approach. Simple stationary shots of First Avenue, the Walker Art Center, or the University's West Bank bridge speak volumes. Grant Cutler's low-key score grounds the film's emotional ambiance, and the filmmakers do right to shine a light on the creative weirdness and unique sensibilities that Minneapolis proudly embraces as its own.

A veritable love letter to Minneapolis, Stuck Between Stations successfully manages to evade a "hipster indie" label that outsiders might unfairly apply to it at first glance, but rather proves itself an intimate, well-executed, and warm celebration of a city's roots and the mutual coming of age of two disparate people who find common ground in the spirit of the times.

Letter Grade: "B+"

Review: "SHAME"

It seems like no other city in the world is more apt to serve as a multifaceted cinematic canvas than New York City. Probably the most common setting for any film (American or maybe even otherwise), the Big Apple has been seen through the camera lens as a grungy, paranoid hellhole (Taxi Driver, Mean Streets), a land of opportunity (In America), a backdrop for whimsical romanticism (Manhattan, Breakfast at Tiffany's), and of course a prime target for over-the-top destruction (The Day After Tomorrow).

The city that never sleeps by now had become so heavily mythologized that it can easily become a distinct character in whatever movie it appears in, probably best personified by the similarly-titled song from Martin Scorcese's less-than-stellar musical-drama New York, New York. Though the movie itself had left much to be desired, the theme song famously sung by Liza Minnelli was eventually adopted as the unofficial anthem for the city, celebrating New York as a land of love, happiness, and opportunity.

There's a scene in British director Steve McQueen's Shame where Carey Mulligan's troubled, emotionally-devastated lounge singer delivers a heartbreaking rendition of the tune that does the impossible, and strips away the bombast and show-tune facade of the original song and makes the listener feel as empty, lonely, and helpless as Michael Fassbender's sex-addict protagonist. It's a powerful, haunting scene that serves as only one broad stroke on the massive cinematic canvas that Shame represents.

Thirtysomething Brandon Sullivan (Michael Fassbender) seems to have it all: he's good-looking, has a high-paying executive job, and lives in a fancy Manhattan high-rise apartment. But he also suffers from sex addiction: completely unable to control his sexual urges, Brandon seems pathologically terrified of intimacy and instead fills that void with rampant casual sex and consumption of pornographic material.

One night, he discovers that his estranged, wayward younger sister Sissy (Carey Mulligan) has crashed at his apartment. Despite not being thrilled at this prospect, Brandon reluctantly allows her to stay for the next few days. But her presence turns out to be less than ideal for Brandon, as her neediness and intrusion in his private life exacerbates his own demons, causing a downward sexual and psychological spiral that Brandon cannot escape.

Shame starts off with a (metaphorical) bang. During a montage for the first ten or so minutes, we get a nearly-wordless glimpse into Brandon's daily routine. Lying naked in bed, Brandon stares into the distance, seemingly devoid of warmth and satisfaction despite commanding the attraction of women like a flame does a moth. His carnal compulsions are almost robotic in nature, as if the constant copulation, covert masturbation sessions, and video sex-chats are actions without any actual human feeling or perception.

And the world around him seems to match his emotional sterility. His office, his apartment, even his clothing are a drab palette of grays and whites. Brandon clearly gets no enjoyment from his illicit activities. He loathes himself for his inability to get close to anyone, and his experiences have sullied his views on the importance and legitimacy of intimate relationships.

There's a subplot where Michael proactively attempts to fly right by courting his cute coworker Marianne (Nicole Beharie). But he's clearly uncomfortable with attempting monogamy from the very beginning, from an almost voyeuristic dinner date (accomplished with a multi-minute long take that successfully borders on cinema verite), to their bedroom tryst that Brandon stops because the affection involved is too much for Brandon to bear.

This contrasts beautifully with Mulligan's character, whose addiction is one for constant love and affection. Her Sissy possesses a sadness and vulnerability that, for that one prolonged moment during her musical performance, starkly aligns with Brandon's despair. He recognizes what she's conveying, and maybe subconsciously, he realizes that cannot do anything to reach out to her because of the stone wall he's placed around himself.

To say that Shame is a bleak and less-than-enjoyable film is a massive understatement. I drew many comparisons between this film and Darren Aronofsky's tragic and disorienting Requiem for a Dream. Both films feature characters possessed by a crippling addiction, unable to dig themselves out of their hole no matter how hard they try, until the story climaxes with a staggering crescendo of self-destructive depravity. Simply put, don't walk into Shame and expect The Muppets.

Luckily, one of the aspects that makes Shame worth seeing is the powerful, heartwrenching performance by Fassbender. Having had a stellar year (gaining plenty of exposure with Jane Eyre, X-Men: First Class, and A Dangerous Method), the 34-year-old Fassbender caps it off with a role requiring serious discipline and bravery.

Clearly unshy about dropping trou for the camera (and I mean it when I say "dropping trou", because this film earns its NC-17 rating), Fassbender effortlessly manages to convert his physical nakedness into one of emotional nakedness. His vulnerability is masked by a steely gaze that can lure in a woman far more easily than any words can. But his Casanova is only skin-deep. Underneath is fear, emptiness, and, yes, shame. It's a bravura performance that's immediately deserving of any accolades he's awarded.

It helps that the direction by McQueen (who reunites with Fassbender after McQueen's 2008 debut Hunger) helps transform both Brandon and New York City into symbolic twins: alluring and seductive on the surface, hollow and emotionally primitive on the inside. McQueen's New York isn't exactly as diseased or mean-spirited as a director like Scorcese would portray it, but by the third act serves as a stand-in for the descending circles of Hell that Brandon plummets into during his worst moments.

Shame certainly isn't an easy film to watch. Covering a serious subject that hitherto hadn't been heavily discussed in the movies, it serves as an effective mirror to our own personal neuroses and afflictions, but most importantly, it shines a light on interpersonal connection and how irrevocably lost we are without it, no matter what vice we attempt to cover the wounds with.

Letter Grade: "A"

Review: "SHERLOCK HOLMES: A GAME OF SHADOWS"

A common bit of conventional wisdom regarding action and adventure films (or any medium, for that matter) is that the villain has to be as good (in terms of impact on the viewer) as the hero, or even better. This allows for both protagonist and antagonist to both be three-dimensional, great onscreen chemistry and tension, and embeds the characters in the viewers' minds long after the movie's ended.

After all, if you say "John McClane", you gotta mention Hans Gruber in the same breath. Luke Skywalker wasn't Luke Skywalker without Darth Vader. It's even more important to be careful in adapting bitter rivalries that originally appeared in literature. These are enmities that have stood the test of time for years, and therefore needed to be treated with the utmost respect and reverence when Hollywood comes a-callin'.

When Guy Ritchie's slick, surprisingly entertaining re-imagining of Arthur Conan Doyle's eponymous detective Sherlock Holmes was released in 2009, the filmmakers strangely decided not to pit the eccentric sleuth against his famous archenemy: the sinister and brilliant Professor James Moriarty, who was widely and previously depicted in books, films, and radio serials as Holmes' intellectual equal. I personally thought it was a wise omission, allowing greater focus on reintroducing Holmes to audiences, and replaced Moriarty with an original villain who didn't threaten to steal the spotlight from the great Robert Downey Jr.

Of course, since the first film was a major success both critically and commercially, the sequel was inevitable, and it seemed like a prime opportunity to bring the Professor into the mix. But unfortunately, any focus Ritchie and his crew had the first time around gets mostly lost in translation in favor of recycled action sequences in the less-than-stellar Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows.

It's 1891, and eccentric but brilliant detective Sherlock Holmes (Robert Downey Jr.) has been on the hunt for what he believes to be the mastermind between a series of bombings between Germany and France, actions that could very well pit both nations in a full-out war. Unfortunately, Holmes has been forced to act solo, considering that his former partner, Dr. John Watson (Jude Law), is getting married to Mary Morstan (Kelly Reilly).

Despite his reservations over his friend preparing to settle down, Holmes nonetheless has a hunch that the man behind the bombings is none other than the renowned Professor James Moriarty (Jared Harris). Despite having no concrete proof, Holmes believes that Moriarty plans to financially capitalize on the potential war.

After a stag party for Watson goes awry, Holmes looks for help in the form of his well-connected brother Mycroft (Stephen Fry), as well as traveling gypsy Simza (Noomi Rapace) who Holmes saved from an attempted assassination, which Holmes believes is connected to the bombing conspiracy. Convincing Watson to join him on one last adventure, Holmes races against time to get a step ahead of the conniving Moriarty and thwart his goals of continent-wide destruction.

Part of what made the first Sherlock Holmes so engaging was the witty, intelligently-written, and almost whimsical tone and screenplay. The production design and aesthetic adopted a steampunk feel and a fast-paced style of editing that focused more on the details than merely assaulting the senses. It was a novel style of filmmaking that benefited even more from the terrific performances and camaraderie between Downey and Law.

But the second time around, it feels like nothing has really changed. Despite the initial fun one has with the "blink-and-you'll-miss-it-but-we'll-repeat-it-later-in-flashbacks-anyway" storytelling, it seems like Ritchie is complacent with stuffing the film with action sequences and other related filler, rather than really focusing on the adversarial relationship between Holmes and Moriarty like he should.

That's not to say that Jared Harris is bad in his role. Appropriately menacing and clearly able to trade intellectual barbs with Downey (once again a blast to watch) at ease, there are a few moments in the film that reveals promise of a true battle of the minds (such as a lighthouse torture sequence, and the film's climax), but they're either too short to appreciate, or violently interrupted by more special effects and action.

The cast is no small potatoes, but they can't completely salvage the proceedings. Downey and Law once again have a great "Odd Couple" chemistry together, and the legendary Stephen Fry does what he can with Holmes' bon vivant older brother. Sadly, the same can't be said for the movie's female presence: Noomi Rapace (of the original Swedish Girl With The Dragon Tattoo) has absolutely no wiggle room in her rote role as a French gypsy, and Kelly Reilly-- despite having more screentime this time around-- is wasted in her role as Watson's aggravated fiancee.

Production and costume design is once again a sight to behold, with a grubby portrait of Victorian England that pays exquisite attention to detail. Composer Hans Zimmer (who was nominated for an Oscar for his work on the first Holmes) delivers another enjoyable soundtrack replete with pub piano, banjos, and other unconventional orchestration (eagle-eared viewers will catch a sample of Ennio Morricone's score for Two Mules for Sister Sara during a funny sequence halfway through the film).

Overall, lightning didn't really strike twice for Doyle's detective, with an overemphasis on hyper-stylized action overriding much-needed character development and a more focused screenplay. But enjoyable performances from its two leads makes A Game of Shadows one worth playing, if only once.

Letter Grade: "C"

Review: "BEGINNERS"

Almost from the start, director Mike Mills' dramedy Beginners reminds one of the earlier works of the great Woody Allen: a neurotic protagonist facing his emotional and romantic issues head-on, an alluring and quirky love interest who serves as a true foil for the hero's neuroses, a non-linear method of storytelling meant to parallel events of past and present. There's even a jazz/blues fusion-style score reminiscent of Allen's warm usage of Gershwin to blend in with the introspective nature of the story and characters.

And while Beginners' main character may not be a nebbishy Jewish writer/comedian/academic-- but rather a withdrawn, pseudo-hipster graphic artist who talks to his dog-- there's still that classic sense of self-performed psychoanalysis and romantic discovery that's unmistakable, akin to the unconventional intimacy of Annie Hall and Manhattan.

Los Angeles graphic designer Oliver (Ewan McGregor) has recently inherited the house of his father Hal (Christopher Plummer), who had passed away months earlier from Stage IV lung cancer. Throughout a series a flashbacks, it's revealed that a couple years earlier, the 75-year-old Hal had come out of the closet as a gay man after the death of his wife of five decades. Feeling liberated by the ability to explore a facet of his life he was forced to hide for decades, Hal gains a circle of friends in the gay community, and starts a relationship with the younger Andy (Goran Visnijc).

However, it's discovered that Hal is also suffering from Stage IV lung cancer, and is eventually put into home hospice care after chemo treatments become moot. Though he's happy for his father, Oliver's fragmented experiences with love (including his witnessing of his parents' woefully unhappy marriage) doesn't bode well for his emotional state. After his father's death, a depressed Oliver hooks up with Anna (Mélanie Laurent), a French actress from New York living in hotel rooms while attempting auditions in Hollywood, and someone with daddy issues of her own.

Unsure of whether or not he can start fresh with romance like his father before him, Oliver reexamines his life and views on love.

Despite the time-hopping, sentimental nature of Beginners, there's nothing truly pretentious or overwrought about it. In fact, the jumbled chronology helps establish a parallel between the struggles of father and son: both men experienced a period of heartache in regards to true romance, with Hal forced to live a loveless marriage due to his true sexuality, and Oliver never being able to keep a steady relationship because of his lack of confidence.

As such, we're treated to a pair of terrific performances from Plummer and McGregor. Plummer once again proves why he's been such a consistently acclaimed thespian for the last five and a half decades, with a bright, sweet, and empowering performance of a man who embraces his true self late in life, optimistic and bold in the face of impending death.

McGregor does a superb job as the perpetually unlucky-in-love artist caring for his ailing father, bogged down by an existential crisis that derails his ability to find love in a healthy manner. It doesn't help that his parents didn't really serve as a shining example of familial stability, and flashbacks show that young Oliver is clearly aware of how unhappy and neglected his mother (a charmingly idiosyncratic Mary Page Keller) feels in her marriage.

His depression manifests itself in his work and social lives. When he's commissioned to design band portraits on the album art for an indie rock group called The Sads, he instead crafts a melancholic three-foot-long opus he calls "The History of Sadness". When he goes to a costume party with his friends, he tellingly dresses up as Sigmund Freud, and gives mock psychoanalysis to other partiers when it's clearly obvious that he's the one who needs to be laying on that couch instead.

One such partier who receives his "therapy" and his attention is Laurent (so good in Inglourious Basterds two years ago, and doing well with what she's given here) as a Parisian acting hopeful whose initial meeting with Oliver is marred by her being afflicted with laryngitis. The two communicate (at first) by him talking and her writing on a notepad. The two are instantly smitten with each other, but also wary of each other. Both are afraid of the other flaking out on their fledgling romance, and as Oliver eventually recounts the pain of his loving but unstable relationship with his late father, it hits too close to home for Anna.

But Beginners is not all gloom. Mills sprinkles in an ample amount of cheer and clever humor, whether it's when Oliver "chats" with his Jack Russell terrier (who seemingly "talks back" via subtitles that only the audience and, apparently, Oliver can understand), or when Oliver engages in postmodernist graffiti vandalism with his coworkers.

But more than anything else, Beginners is primarily a story about hope. Mills based the story on his own father coming out of the closet in his seventies, and a good chunk of the film's optimism and authenticity comes from that first-hand source of emotion and experience. A life-affirming story of self-discovery whose large thematic scope belies its outward appearance of a "small movie" feel, Beginners is a celebration of life, death, and the sweet beauty found in between.

Letter Grade: "A-"

Review: "RISE OF THE PLANET OF THE APES"

It's pretty safe to say that every person fears change of one sort or another. Whether it's a shift in national sociopolitical mores, having to move with one's family to another state as a child, or even just switching to a different brand of peanut butter (it'll be a cold day in hell before I sacrifice my JIF in favor of that cheaper Peter Pan crap), we all reach a moment in one's life where we naturally resist against the traditional routine we're so used to and appreciative of.

The same can be said for technology, perhaps the largest arbiter of change today. After all, how many of us have yearned for the "good ol' days" of rotary phones, VHS, Super Nintendo, and that one version of Facebook two months ago before we got that stalkerish "ticker" dealie? And yet, a couple of years (or even months) down the road, we'll just get a new version of the toys and social media that we JUST warmed up to.

And then there's movies. It's amazing how much progress motion pictures have made in a good 120 years, from the dawn of the full-length feature, the emergence of a soundtrack, Technicolor, visual compositing, all the way to the computer-generated imagery we see in bulk today. And even that subset of movie magic has made serious leaps and bounds, from the wireframe visuals of Tron and frightening predators of Jurassic Park to the motion-capture performance wizardry of Lord of the Rings and Avatar.

And while some film purists may fear that said mo-cap technology will eventually make flesh-and-blood actors obsolete, some believe it's merely a high-tech incarnation of make-up and costuming, seeing as how, in the end, it's the kinetic and vocal performances that matter most. One such innovator of this form of performance is actor Andy Serkis, best known for his powerhouse roles as Gollum from the Rings trilogy, and as the title character in 2005's King Kong reboot. Gaining rave reviews for his ability (with help from the amazing digital artists creating his digital physical appearance) to give his characters a humanity and believability previously unseen in CGI characters before his, now he hits another home run in Rise of the Planet of the Apes, a surprisingly well-done reboot of the venerable sci-fi franchise that very well could make you embrace this type of change.

At the pharmaceutical company Gen-Sys, geneticist Will Rodman (James Franco) has been attempting to develop a cure for Alzheimer's Disease in hopes of curing his ailing father Charles (John Lithgow). As such, the company tests his experimental serum on apes, including a female chimpanzee known as "Bright Eyes". One day, Bright Eyes inexplicably goes on a rampage, and is shot dead. Believing Will's serum to be the cause, Gen-Sys head honcho Steven Jacobs (David Oyelowo) orders all the test chimps to be euthanized.

But Will discovers that Bright Eyes was actually trying to protect her unseen and recently born baby. Unwilling to put him down, Will secretly takes the baby chimp home and raises him in Will and Charles' home. The baby, named Caesar (performed by Andy Serkis), grows up to become exceptionally intelligent, which Will believes was inherited from Caesar's mother. As a few years pass, Caesar's intellect grows exponentially, and Will uses a revised serum to seemingly cure Charles of his disease. But the chimp must contend with not only Will starting a relationship with veterinarian Caroline Aranha (Freida Pinto), but also his growing resentment that he's seemingly regarded as nothing more than a pet.

Matters get worse when Caesar defends Charles from an aggressive neighbor, and a court order places Caesar in an ape sanctuary run by John Landon (Brian Cox), and maintained by his cruel and abusive son Dodge (Tom Felton). Growing more intelligent and more resentful of his human counterparts, Caesar begins to not only expose his fellow primate inmates to the same intellect-increasing formula, but stage a revolt and break out of their prison.

Seeing as how it's becoming commonplace to "reboot" film franchises with a fresh new cast and crew-- some that work (Batman Begins, Star Trek), some that don't (A Nightmare on Elm Street)-- it was pretty much inevitable that someone (in this case, director Rupert Wyatt) would decide to resurrect the long-dead franchise that originated with the 1968 Charlton Heston sci-fi camp classic Planet of the Apes, which was followed by four sequels, and then a terrible Tim Burton remake in 2001 that amounted to cinematic necrophilia.

This time, the world is still run by humans, but it turns out that the reason all those damn, dirty apes became so darned clever was due to an experimental serum concocted by the slightly miscast James Franco, who decides to play daddy to a baby chimp that is proof of the serum's success. The first half of Rise is essentially a timeline of Franco bringing up Caesar from an infant to a full-grown adult, and the tone doesn't exactly suggest an action-packed thriller, but rather one-half family drama (represented by Franco and a good John Lithgow) and one-half spontaneous romance (with Freida Pinto in a wasted and pointless role that almost amounts to an extended cameo).

But when Caesar is thrown into a hostile animal sanctuary, things start picking up, when we get a prison break movie of Great Escape proportions, with Caesar slowly building up influence amongst his furry compatriots, until they finally break free of their confines and wreak havoc in San Francisco. The latter is a terrific smorgasbord of CGI action and thrills, with fully armed cops and soldiers facing off against an army of angry and really, really smart primates in a series of terrifically-executed setpieces.

Speaking of which, the visual effects are a marvel to behold. Even though every single ape in the film was digitally constructed by effects house WETA (the geniuses behind Lord of the Rings), the critters are incredibly detailed and realistic, especially in regards to Caesar, who's the real star of the show. The motion capture technology beautifully adapts Serkis' mesmerizing performance onto a fully developed and physically believable character, giving Caesar a startling sense of pathos and even humanity. Though it's a good possibility that WETA will be honored for their work come awards season, it's high time the Academy broke their taboo against nominating performance-capture work and give Serkis the recognition he's deserved ever since he played the cringing, "precious"-obsessed villain from those Middle-Earth films all those years ago.

After all, if a man wearing a motion capture suit and being dressed up as an ape can deliver a far more breathtaking performance than those of acclaimed actors like Franco, Lithgow, and Cox, then I'd say it's time for the Oscars to accept that change I mentioned earlier. Though the script is a little bumpy at times, and despite the flesh-and-blood cast not delivering the goods as well as they could, the mindblowing special effects and the astonishing turn by Serkis is more than enough to make Rise of the Planet of the Apes a positive sign of filmmaking's continuing evolution.

Letter Grade: "B"

Review: "DRIVE"

When it comes to movies, you cannot say no to a good old-fashioned car chase. Regardless of whether or not the overall film is good or bad, there's just something about a fast-paced, tension-fraught automobile chase that automatically sets the viewer's adrenaline levels into overdrive, their fingernails digging deeper into their seats with every swerve and killer 360 degree spin into a crowded highway. From Bullitt and The French Connection to Death Proof and The Fast and the Furious, car chases have proven to be an integral element of not only action films, but cinema in general (hell, even The Blues Brothers ranks among the best of the lot).

One such person synonymous with the car chase was the late, great actor Steve McQueen. Best known for his tough guy roles in high-octane action films like Bullitt, The Getaway, and The Great Escape, McQueen cultivated a reputation for embodying the stoic, post-Vietnam era anti-hero common in the cinema of the late '60s and early-to-mid '70s. No longer were heroes black-and-white boy scouts, but rather gritty, morally gray tortured souls with skeleton or two in their closets.

Today, such an archetype has been done to death in countless movies and television shows, never really gaining traction with audiences because the movies they inhabit lacked the cohesion and thematic complexity necessary to make the character memorable. While Dirty Harry was more about a man and his fierce, almost fascistic hatred of criminals, The Transporter was just a collection of cool car chases strung together.

Luckily, the audiences of today are now being treated to a veritable blast of action movies' past with director Nicolas Winding Refn's sleek, artistic, and terrifically-executed crime noir Drive, a picture worthy of the same acclaim afforded to the greats of the McQueen/Eastwood era.

The Driver (Ryan Gosling) is a man with a mysterious past and a less-than-conventional life. When he's not working for his boss and mentor Shannon (Bryan Cranston) at a Los Angeles auto shop or performing stunt work for Hollywood pictures, by night he's a getaway driver. Boasting an impressive reputation for his skills behind the wheel, the Driver is hired by crime boss Bernie Rose (Albert Brooks) to drive a race car that Bernie's invested in, at Shannon's insistence.

At the same time, the Driver's found himself smitten with his apartment neighbor Irene (Carey Mulligan). Irene's been raising her son Benicio (Kaden Leos) while her husband Standard Gabriel (Oscar Isaac) has been serving time for robbery. Things get complicated when Standard returns from prison, especially after Standard is beaten and has his family threatened by gangster Cook (James Biberi) unless Standard pays him protection money.

Cook tells Standard that if Irene and Benicio are to be unharmed, Standard must rob a pawn shop and pay Cook the resultant money. The Driver reluctantly agrees to help Standard and accomplice Blanche (Christina Hendricks) with the job. However, when tragedy strikes, the Driver must not only watch his own back from the wrath of the mob, but also protect Irene and her son from repercussions, as well as keeping his eye on the likes of Rose and his temperamental partner Nino (Ron Perlman), who's none too pleased with the Driver's involvement with Rose.

Let's mention right off the bat that what makes Drive work is its style. Usually, I don't ascribe to the style-over-substance motif that most (if not all) action flicks utilize nowadays. I like my movies (though not exclusively) to have characters with three-dimensional personalities, and a multifaceted story that is written and executed competently. But it's different here. Mixing together a recipe chock full of '50s noir, '70s chase films, '80s crime drama, and '90s Tarantino-esque postmodernism, Drive is a serious exercise in trimming off the fat and presenting a lean, concise, and raw steak of an arthouse film.

It's definitely possible that many folks will walk into this film and expect a mindless two hours of car chases and brutal violence. And while the two are indeed present, it's nowhere near as much as they'll expect. For a film named Drive, the experience is surprisingly calm, minimalistic, and even introspective. It's more about observing the unflappable, soft-spoken Driver (a fabulous Ryan Gosling) and his day-to-day life as a modern day Man With No Name who struggles to do the right thing despite being deeply entrenched in the seedy hell of the Los Angeles underworld.

But such serenity helps make the sudden intrusion of brutal, shocking violence that much more effective and jarring. Gosling's Driver is almost a portrayal of two different characters: there's the tender, protective man who's attracted to the innocent woman next door (an underused Mulligan), and then there's the fierce, almost machine-like warrior who, when pushed, strikes with the intensity of a scorpion. A brief yet incredibly intense, emotional, and graphic fight scene in an elevator recalls an equally disturbing scene from Gaspar Noe's Irreversible, and it sticks with you for a long time after you leave the theater.

Aside from Gosling, the rest of the cast ranges from good to fantastic. Albert Brooks is terrific as the surprisingly cold and brutal mobster backed into a corner by the actions of his hotheaded partner in crime, portrayed by the great, great, great Ron Perlman (who once again proves that any role he touches turns into acting gold). Bryan Cranston (of the superlative TV series "Breaking Bad") does what he can with his small supporting role as the Driver's boss, as does Oscar Isaac as the recently released criminal forced into recidivism. Christina Hendricks (the famously bosomy star of TV's "Mad Men") has even less to do than her co-stars, and is easily forgotten by film's end.

It's also commendable how Danish director Refn easily managed to craft such a taut, tense, and stylish film for his American debut. Melding American action with European-style arthouse panache, Refn has created a dark, unfriendly portrait of Americana not unlike de Palma's Scarface, and evokes the same 1980s sensibilities, atmosphere and ambiance that was so prevalent in that classic Pacino crime flick.

Speaking of which, the film's score and soundtrack are pure 80's gold. Cliff Martinez' synth-electronic score is purely evocative of those classic drugs-and-bullets pictures reminiscent of "Miami Vice" and Scarface, and the results are absolutely electric. It makes one pine for more retro-style compositions in future film releases, and this offering could make such a desire come true.

I honestly didn't know what to expect from Drive. To be honest, I didn't think Hollywood was still capable of producing action-oriented films that could present a fresh new take on the genre and, while possessing the requisite chases and violence, could still give us complex, motivated characters and focus on what was important rather than tack on an unnecessary amount of flash and bloat. An encouraging hint that Hollywood is diminishing its resistance to the unconventional, Drive is a welcome melting pot of cinematic brilliance that pays great respect to the movies of yesteryear while still carving out its own niche for today.

Letter Grade: "A-"

Review: "ATTACK THE BLOCK"

Though I've always been a fan of alien invasion/visitation movies, I've usually had a soft spot for those with children as the protagonists rather than adults. While older characters would respond to extraterrestrial visitors (peaceful or otherwise) with hostility or outright violence, kids would usually approach the aliens with a sense of wonder, inquisitiveness, and even joy.

After all, the gentle friendship between boy and alien was one of the many elements that made E.T. such a timeless classic. Likewise, almost thirty years later, J.J. Abrams' Super 8 came out, and though it was nowhere near as sublimely beautiful as Spielberg's masterpiece, it was still a terrific story free of cynicism and a great example of how young characters can remind us of the importance of empathy and friendship.

But of course, not all youngsters are as squeaky-clean as we'd like to think. Some of them either try to grow up too fast, or become emotionally hardened by unfortunate circumstances such as a dysfunctional family life, poverty, or just plain poor decision-making. And then there are those kids who join street gangs, trying to prove their worth by stealing and being "hard" (is that what kids these days still say? Not entirely sure).

So if some critter from outer space came a-knockin', would a gangbanger try to make friends with it, or go to war with the varmint encroaching on their turf? This is the scenario that drives Joe Cornish's directorial debut Attack the Block, a fabulous sci-fi independent film that defies a tiny budget and delivers the goods in regards to terrific acting, solid action, and good old-fashioned tension.

One night in the Kennington district of London, nurse Sam (Jodie Whittaker) is accosted and mugged by a young group of thugs-- leader Moses (John Boyega), Pest (Alex Esmail), Jerome (Leeon Jones), Dennis (Franz Drameh), and Biggz (Simon Howard)-- but she manages to escape when a small object plummets from the sky and crashes into a nearby car. It turns out that the object is actually a small alien creature. When the alien suddenly attacks, the gang manages to kill it. Hoping to gain fame with the creature's body, the boys bring the corpse to the flat of pot dealer Ron (Nick Frost).

Ron goes to his dealer boss Hi-Hatz (Jumayn Hunter) to ask to store the alien in Hi-Hatz's vault-like "weed room". Amused but not believing it's an alien, Hi-Hatz allows it, but forcing Moses to continue selling his weed on the streets. Soon, more objects come crashing from the sky. Believing that an alien invasion is occurring, Moses' crew excitedly decides trek out to kill the creatures themselves, armed with only katanas, fireworks, and clubs.

But they soon realize they're way in over their heads when they discover that these new creatures are bigger, stronger, and much more dangerous. It seems as though the aliens are after Moses and his crew, and as such begin to besiege the crew's apartment complex (known as the "Block"). Forced to enlist the reluctant aid of both Ron's pot customer Brewis (Luke Treadaway) and the gang's female friend Tia (Danielle Vitalis), Moses and his crew must not only figure out a way to both survive and deter the nightstalkers on their tails, but also the wrath of Hi-Hatz and his lackies.

One of the more fascinating aspects of directorial debuts like Attack the Block is the fact that the filmmaker has only a tiny budget to work with, forcing him or her to use more creativity and imagination than one with a $200 million budget would have to. After all, Sam Raimi compensated for his $400,000 budget on the first Evil Dead by utilizing creative camera shots and practical special effects. Quentin Tarantino made up for Reservoir Dogs' $2 million funds by making dialogue the star of the show. And British director Edgar Wright's comedy/horror classic Shaun of the Dead relied on a combination of the previous two, despite only having $5 million to his name.

And it's that type of "backed-into-a-financial-corner" ingenuity that's adopted by Wright's buddy Joe Cornish. A comedian and writer from London, Cornish was best known for directing behind-the-scenes documentaries for both the BBC and Wright's Shaun and Hot Fuzz, before finally getting to helm this "E.T. meets The Outsiders"-style invasion picture, and it's a debut that works beautifully despite the £9,000,000 budget (or $13 million in American dollars). And while the snappy dialogue and visual aesthetic may lead one to initially believe that Block may be a Shaun of the Dead-style laughfest, it's actually quite the opposite.

While not a deeply depressing portrait of street life, this is no comedy, at least in the traditional sense. Much of the humor derives from the camaraderie of the wannabe street kings in Moses' gang, with their deadpan delivery giving the film an extra boost of energy. It helps that the cast is almost entirely made up of no-name actors (the most familiar being Nick Frost, of the aforementioned Wright comedies), making the playing field fresh and exciting, giving all of the young actors a chance to shine. The scene-stealer in this case is Boyega as the emotionally-withdrawn leader of this band of Lost Boys. Clearly frightened by the position life's put him in (thanks in part to a negligent family life), his Moses goes from thieving punk to reluctant hero in a seamless fashion.

As far as action goes, the paltry budget does indeed become obvious, but proves itself a benefit rather than a hindrance. The majority of the action is localized in the gang's apartment complex, allowing a highly claustrophobic atmosphere not unlike Ridley Scott's Alien, where the monster can strike from the shadows at any moment. Here, the scary aliens are pitch black in color (with luminescent green jaws the only visible aspect), and it's clear that the filmmakers relied more on practical effects than CGI. But in the end it works, and the creatures serve as formidable antagonists to the street thugs who take it upon themselves to fight back with their wits and less-than-conventional weaponry.

But what works the most about Attack the Block is how tightly edited and brisk the film feels. If there's any unnecessary fat on the meat of the movie, then it's almost non-existent, and the 88 minute runtime easily sustains itself with a simple premise and no unneeded subplots or extraneous sci-fi explanations (a problem that somewhat plagued Super 8's third act). What's presented is simply an exciting, well-crafted, and clever sci-fi/action yarn that defies the stupidity that bloats most of today's movies specific to such genres.

Letter Grade: "A-"