Martin's Musings

Calling Chasing Mavericks a cross between Blue Crush and The Karate Kid seems a bit too easy.

But it’s a pretty good description of the film, which tells the story of real-life surfing phenom Jay Moriarity (Jonny Weston), and his friend, mentor, and fellow surfer, Frosty Hesson (Gerard Butler).

In the film, Jay is a Santa Cruz, Calif., teenager who enlists the help of local legend Frosty to train him to survive the mythic Mavericks surf break, one of the biggest waves on Earth (crests can range from 25 to 80 feet high). Frosty’s methods are not always what Jay expects — including when he’s asked to write thoughtful essays. (As Frosty explains, surfing is not just about physical athleticism, it’s about mental toughness, too.) Continue reading →

“Extend your patience for just a moment,” we’re told early on in Cloud Atlas, the new film from the folks who made The Matrix trilogy and Run Lola Run. “There is a method to the madness of this tale.”

Well, if that doesn’t clue you in right away that you’re about to see some gonzo filmmaking that won’t always make sense, then maybe you’d be better off seeing a different movie.

Over the course of nearly three hours (which, in my book, is not really a “moment”), co-writers/directors Andy and Lana Wachowski and Tom Twyker take audiences on an exhilarating journey of space and time, all to prove the point that we’re all connected. The film is based on a book by David Mitchell that many have called unadaptable, and if the big-screen version sometimes proves that point, it’s still an entertaining technical achievement. Continue reading →

The new movie The Sessions tells the story of a man who, shortly before his 40th birthday, finally loses his virginity.

But that’s about the only thing it has in common with a certain Steve Carell movie.

Actually, The Sessions tells a true story, that of Mark O’Brien (John Hawkes), a writer in Berkeley, Calif., who contracted polio when he was young and who’s spent most of his life paralyzed from the neck down, supported by an iron lung.

Despite being a romantic and something of a ladies’ man, O’Brien has never enjoyed the touch of another human being for any kind of intimacy. So finally, at the age of 38, he decides he wants to lose his virginity. Since O’Brien is also a devout Catholic, he first gets permission from his priest (William H. Macy), who tells O’Brien that God “will give you a free pass on this one.” After all, as O’Brien explains, “Sex is a serious matter. It’s one of the most persistent themes in the Bible.”

And so, he meets Cheryl Cohen-Greene (Helen Hunt), a sex surrogate (Helen Hunt), who makes it happen over the course of six sessions. (That’s the chief difference between a surrogate and a prostitute: A prostitute wants repeat business, while a surrogate’s role is more finite.) Continue reading →

Seven Psychopaths is another one of those movies where lots of characters talk too much.

And that’s a good thing.

Martin McDonagh’s film tells the whacked-out story of Marty (Colin Farrell), a Los Angeles screenwriter, and his buddy Billy (Sam Rockwell), a dog “borrower” (he takes the mutts, then returns them days later so he can collect the reward), who cross paths with a mobster (Woody Harrelson) when Billy dognaps his pooch.

But it’s not so much about the story as much as it is about letting a quirky cast spout the kind of dialogue you typically only hear in Tarantino films. Continue reading →

If you’ve always thought Tim Burton was weird, well … chances are good that his latest animated film Frankenweenie won’t change that.

It’s filled with oddball characters, nearly all of whom have those same round heads and toothpick legs you’ve seen in films like Corpse Bride, wide eyes that sometimes make them look dead inside, and a decided lack of cuteness. It’s got a macabre sense of humor. It’s told in stop-motion. And as if that’s not enough to convince you of its offbeat sensibility, it’s an animated film that’s been made in black and white.

But, actually, dismissing Frankenweenie as just a weird film is really selling it short. In fact, this latest big-screen tale is Burton’s sweetest big-screen release since Big Fish. It’s an affectionate tribute to the filmmaker’s childhood, and all the monster movies he (and we) grew up loving. Continue reading →

Paul Thomas Anderson is a master filmmaker.

There’s just no other way to say it without making that lame, obvious pun.

His latest work, The Master, follows in the tradition of There Will Be Blood, Magnolia, and Boogie Nights as another ambitious, sprawling film that simultaneously feels epic and intimate, and wholly original.

It’s a captivating film that will establish Anderson as the best American filmmaker working today, and will likely win him all the awards that eluded him four years ago (how Blood lost the Best Picture and Best Director Oscars to No Country for Old Men, I still don’t know).

Simply stated, The Master is the best film I’ve seen so far this year (beating out The Dark Knight Rises by a smidge).

Is that enough hyperbole right off the top? Yeah, I think so too. So let’s move on.

Continue reading →