"Kingsman: The Secret Service"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

The post-Oscar hangover is harsh. The highs of movies like “Boyhood”, “Birdman”, and “The Grand Budapest Hotel”—which, by my estimation, are higher than most years’ highs—are replaced by the crushing lows of “Hot Tub Time Machine 2”, “The Lazarus Effect”, and “Fifty Shades of Grey”. A year in cinema always has peaks and troughs. This, alas, is no peak.

Which is not to say that there is nothing worth seeing out there. For example, “Kingsman: The Secret Service”, whilst, again, hardly being a high point, is enjoyable. This movie—which was actually released just before the Oscars—is a wild ride. It is way over the top. It is fantastical. And it is so earnestly unserious about itself that it makes for a good time.

The Kingsman—the group, not the movie—is a very secret, very elite British spy organization responsible for responding to and eliminating the world’s biggest threats. Well, actually, that’s not quite right. After all, global warming is plausibly one of the world’s biggest threats. And, ironically, it is this film’s villain—media mogul, Valentine (Samuel L. Jackson)—who is all about eliminating global warming (by eliminating its cause—i.e., us!). But more on that in a moment.

The Kingsman does, at very least, deal with a lot of the conventional spy organization, James Bond-style threats—you know, terrorists, Nazis, communists, etc.

This is dangerous work, as you might expect, and full of tragedy. So when agent Harry Hart (Colin Firth) loses a fellow Kingsman one day, he takes it hard. So hard, in fact, that he dedicates his life to making it up to his fallen comrade’s baby son, Gary ‘Eggsy’ Unwin (Taron Egerton).

By the time he has grown up, Eggsy is a smart, talented, and sometimes charming kid. But he is also rough around the edges. He comes from a tough neighborhood. The streets are his playground. So when Harry comes knocking to recruit Eggsy for the Kingsman, both know there will be some growing pains.

And growing pains there are. Eggsy endures brutal and exhausting training as part of a competition with other recruits for the single open spot in the Kingsman. The way that Eggsy responds to challenges is unconventional and sometimes awkward. However, to his credit, he rather quickly learns to use his out-of-the-box approach to his advantage.

Unfortunately evil does not wait for training to complete. While Eggsy and his fellow candidates are still in their learning phase, Valentine is busy plotting the demise of the civilized world. His thing is global warming. He thinks of the human race as a virus or parasite feeding off the earth. And since us viruses are just ignoring what we are doing to the environment, Valentine sees it as his prerogative to cure Mother Earth of its disease.

The Kingsman do not agree, of course—well, at least not for the most part. So, ready or not, Harry, Eggsy and crew must spring into action.

“The Kingsman” has several immediate advantages that have nothing to do with plot, character development, conflict, catharsis, metaphor, or anything very sophisticated like that. First: immensely charming actors in snappy clothes. This advantage should not be underestimated. Second, this movie’s choreography and cinematography—particularly during the many comically brutal fight scenes—are stunningly engaging. Again, the force of this advantage should not be underestimated.

The question is whether “The Kingsman” can do what a movie like, say, the second “Matrix” could not do—that is, either transcend its immediate, relatively superficial advantages, or else ply those advantages to such great effect that it is possible to ignore its other deficiencies. It is a close call whether “The Kingsman” does either of these things. Its plot is formulaic and predictable. And there is not a whole lot else to grab onto and love. But it is not a disaster, either. It is plenty fun. And it certainly is no “Matrix Reloaded”.

Thank God.

"Black Sea"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

I tend not to like submarine movies. They just remind me that stressfulness and boredom are not mutually exclusive. Yeah, all those depth charges, red flashing lights, sweaty faces, and steam are plenty stressful. But, my goodness, they can be pretty dull. It’s like a slow, constant drip of water on your skin: both monotonous and torture.

I would not call “Black Sea” torture, though. It’s not a day in the park either, nor is it a quiet evening in, or even a swashbuckling adventure. It is predictably watchable.

“Black Sea” makes sure to remind you of the darker, and perhaps more intriguing, days of submarining—the Cold War, in particular, but also some of the Nazi U-Boats and WWII. But this movie is not really about all that. It is about Captain Robinson (Jude Law), who is a present-day submarine captain working for a corporation that, you know, needs submarines. That is, until he gets laid off. After all, who really needs submarines these days?

Robinson is pissed and doesn’t know what to do. He dedicated his whole life to submarining—and even sacrificed relationships with his son and former wife—and doesn’t really have anything to fall back on

But then a friend—also an out-of-sorts ex-submariner—tells him about this really hush-hush, really dangerous, certainly very illegal, opportunity. He tells Robinson that once upon a time the Soviets made a deal with the Nazis that involved shipping (via submarine) tens of millions of dollars in solid gold back over to the Third Reich. But on the way back through the Black Sea, the gold-laden submarine crashed. Either everyone forgot about the submarine—kinda a lot going on back then—or else they could not get to it, because, according to Robinson’s friend, the submarine is still there.

So of course what could be better for out-of-work sailors than to go on a treasure hunt? So that’s just what they do. They get their hands on an old Soviet sub, assemble a half-Russian, half-British crew, and set sail for the wreck.

The good-hearted, magnanimous Robinson tells his crew that, after paying their backers, they are going to split the treasure evenly between them. Jackpot! Right? Well, the problem is, the divers start to think, “Why does that there cook get as much as me?” And the beastly Russian engine-room worker thinks, “Well if one of these Brits happens to die on the job, there is more for the rest of us.” In other words, discontent is sown.

And of course it only gets worse, because, as we all know, a ride on a submarine is never smooth—whether it is a power failure, sinking below crush depth, enemy torpedoes and depth charges (which, mercifully, do not make an appearance in this film), or just those random yet seemingly ubiquitous hull breaches, something must go awry. I’m pretty sure Murphy Law’s was made with submarining in mind.

All that is to say, “Black Sea” has plenty of the stress and tension you would expect from a submarine movie. You really do feel like it would absolutely definitely suck to be on a submarine when something goes wrong. And I, at least, had the opportunity to once again thank my lucky stars that I am a landlubber.

But, for all its heart-pounding, stress-inducing drama, “Black Sea” remains strikingly conventional. This or that particular scene may not be predictable, but the movie as a whole sure is. Jude Law and the rest of the cast do an admirable job bringing the amusing (albeit contrived) story to life. But all the plot points just feel too familiar.

So yes, you will still feel the stress, just like you will still feel a punch in the gut even if you know it (or something like it) is coming. But whereas a punch in the gut always feels pretty fresh—it never gets old, if you know what I mean—“Black Sea” does feel somewhat stale.

"The Interview"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

“The Interview” is not entirely humorless. But by far the funniest thing about this movie is that some dictator halfway around the world thought that it was so seriously provocative, so worthy of outrage, that it called for an act of so-called “cyber vandalism”. This movie isn’t so seriously anything. And it is at most worthy of a languid wave of the hand, perhaps a derisive sneer, or maybe—just maybe—a chuckle or two. If you’ve burned more than three calories in the process, you’ve overreacted. So what’s truly hilarious is that “The Interview” has gotten the attention (and profits) that it decidedly does not deserve evidently because Kim Jong-un was so worried about it getting the attention that, again, it does not deserve.

Why doesn’t it deserve attention? Well, just watch the trailer. Also if you want to know the entire plot of the movie, just watch a trailer. Dave Skylark (James Franco), half-Barbara Walters, half-Perez Hilton, has a popular TV show where celebrities debase themselves. Aaron Rapaport (Seth Rogen) is its producer. These two bottom-feeders get a chance to do something important when they land an interview with Kim Jong-un (Randall Park), who turns out to be a big fan of the show. But the CIA wants them to use their insider access to assassinate Kim Jong-un instead.

The rest of the movie is epicycles fluttering around the same plot points and gags. Skylark and Rapaport find out that Kim is surprisingly down-to-earth. Then they find out he’s not. They discover that Kim isn’t so bad. Then they find out he is. They think for just a second that Kim has his own side of the story and really cares about his people and actually isn’t doing such a bad job. Then they found out: Uh, nope.

Meanwhile they ride a tank while listening to Katy Perry, tangle with a Siberian tiger, hide things where even the TSA wouldn’t look, and play basketball with topless strippers. Yes, it is that kind of movie.

But with that said, “The Interview” is not as awful as I thought it would be. It has a certain level of self-awareness to it—awareness that it is, in fact, quite a dumb movie—that makes it hard to criticize too harshly. James Franco, in particular, should be lauded for the drunken smirk he wears on his glossy, contorted face throughout the movie—a smirk that says, “Yeah, I don’t know what this is either … so I’m just going to be relentlessly goofy.” At least he seems to be having fun. It reminds me of a sixth-grade slumber party: By midnight everyone in their soda- and pizza-induced stupor is giggling themselves sick over jokes they all know are ridiculously unfunny … but hey, why not?

Don’t get me wrong, “The Interview” is not a good movie. It is unabashedly dumb—nothing more, nothing less. Its guiding thoughts seem to be: “Wouldn’t it be funny if we made Kim Jong-un do this?” “Wouldn’t it be great if he turned out to be really into Katy Perry, margaritas, and gossip shows?” and “Kim should poop his pants at some point, right?”

The lasting legacy of “The Interview” will always be that, once upon a time, North Korea thought it was worth getting bent out of shape over. And yet ironically the only thing less effectual—less capable of being taken seriously—than North Korea’s threats is this movie.

"Interstellar"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

“Interstellar” has to be one of the more polarizing movies in recent months. Many are head-over-heels in love with it; others gag just thinking about it. This makes sense. There is plenty to love and plenty to hate about this movie—plenty that’s great and plenty that’s pretty bad. So I can see how one might think the great totally swamped the bad, or vice versa.

One thing we can all agree on is “Interstellar” is ambitious. It takes a while to pinpoint the historical setting of its opening scenes. At first it looks like 1930s dust bowl. Dirt everywhere. People trying to live through crippling dust storms—trying to keep their crops alive, tractors running, curtains clean, and lungs clear.

Then we see Cooper’s (Matthew McConaughey) beat-up pickup truck, his clothes, and his family—his daughter, Murph (Mackenzie Foy), son, Tom (Timothee Chalamet), and father-in-law, Donald (John Lithgow)—and it looks more like the 1990s or early 2000s.

Then we see Cooper whip out some fancy electronic gismo and it’s clear that we are in the future. Nonetheless, there is a reason it looks like the 1930s dust bowl: The land has been ravaged, we humans are responsible, and now we are paying for it. It is not clear what we did—it seems to be some combination of global warming, bad farming practices and nuclear holocaust—but this time it is not just Oklahoma, or the Midwest, or even just the United States. This time the whole Earth is dying.

The only thing for the human race to do is call it a day—move on, give up on Earth and look toward a new horizon. To be a bit more specific: People need to find a new planet. Luckily a mysterious wormhole has opened up near Saturn, and scientists believe that several habitable planets lie just on the other side. So Cooper, his family, Oklahoma, the Midwest, and all of humanity need a space cowboy. They need someone to go out there, wrangle with the wild side of Mother Nature, and find out what’s up.

Cooper is that space cowboy. He has to go. And yet, his 10-year-old daughter begs him not to. His 15-year-old son is stoic, but clearly needs his pa. Cooper is torn, not just between his family and the rest of humanity, or between life on the farm and a space adventure, but also between the felt need to move on to a new frontier—to a new way of life—on the one hand and an instinctual, arch-sentimental loyalty to Earth and its current inhabitants on the other. Cooper always has one eye looking forward and one eye looking back—one to the planets before him and one to the planet behind him; one to the future and one to the past.

So does the good swamp the bad, or is it vice versa? Was it true love or bitter hate? I think I am in the “love it” camp. I think. The first 2/3 of the movie is, in many ways, masterful. It is beautiful, compelling, well-acted, and intriguing. Perhaps the biggest highlight is the score. The incessant, chilling organ reveals the universe to be our greatest cathedral. It is a bold and ambitious score. Quite often it dominates all other sound—even to the point of drowning out dialogue. But this is a brilliant move. Despite outer space’s utter silence, the hounding, divine chorus of the universe is deafening. The score alone—but also the rest of the first 2/3 of the movie—are enough to garner my approval.

There is, however, the last 1/3 of the movie. Best to ignore it. It is a mess. It pushes the story from science fiction to silly fiction, or science farce, or you know whatever—it doesn’t so much push the bounds of physics, cosmology, and astronomy as it dribbles out a bunch of words that kinda sound deep but actually are not meaningful or coherent or interesting or cool or deep in any way, shape or form. It is a cheesy and ham-handed finale. Halfway through the movie I wondered: Can (filmmaker) Christopher Nolan do it? Can he land the dismount? Can he give this movie the ending it deserves?

Nope.

But the first 2/3: That’s a good movie.

"Nightcrawler"

By Matt Dunca
Coastal View News

To call Louis Bloom (Jake Gyllenhaal) a sociopath—i.e., a person who exhibits extreme anti-social behavior, lacks a conscience, and feels no empathy for other people—is to assume that businesses are not people. If they are people, then Bloom has to be among the most perceptive, conscientious, caring, non-sociopathic people of all time, especially when it comes to his own business.

Bloom is a “stringer” aka “nightcrawler”, which is someone who trolls around city streets (L.A. in this case) in the middle of the night waiting for some kind of human disaster—whether it be a car wreck, fire, or murder—so that he can film the ghastly business and sell it to a news station eager to spice up their morning rundown.

This automatically puts Bloom in the “sleazy” category. But it’s not an over-the-top, oily-used-car-salesman sleazy. It’s more like an over-eager, nerd-who-took-some-business-classes-and-is-now-Obsessesed kind of sleazy (if there is such a thing). This is a subtle but key distinction—one that Gyllenhaal is masterful in getting right—because, insofar as we are to be icked out by Bloom, it is not because his way of comporting himself is hokey; it is because it is too measured and calculating (and, again, a bit nerdy).

Now, at first it seems like Bloom might just be like any ol’ guy desperate for a job, perhaps with the exception that he is willing to sidestep certain rules (or go the extra mile, depending on how you look at it). What he does prior to nightcrawling is go around in the middle of the night stealing chain link fencing and manhole covers to sell for scrap. So we know Bloom has no problem slinking around in the middle of the night.

But one night while driving around he comes across a car wreck. The police are already there, trying to save a woman from her burning car. Just after Bloom arrives a crew of nightcrawlers come screeching onto the scene like a pack of wild animals unconcernedly jostling those around them. They butt right into the action—getting intrusively close to the drama for the sake of the best shot.

Bloom is in awe. He thinks (a) “What an awesome job!”, (b) “Hey, I could do that!” and (c) “What a really awesome job!!” So Bloom starts his own nightcrawling business. He jumps right in, tirelessly stalking disaster—waiting, hoping, aching for the blood and gore that will help him realize his economic ambitions.

Before long, Bloom gets his foot in the door at a local news station. And then it is no time at all until he has jammed and crammed his whole maniacally single-minded self through that door and taken up residence like he owns the place.

Again, Louis Bloom isn’t much for lines he ought not cross. It is not that he sees those lines, feels their pull on his conscience, but then steps over them anyway. No, Bloom doesn’t even see the lines; or maybe he does in some cold, intellectual way (after all, it is not good business to seem like a ruthless sociopath). But he certainly does not feel as if there are any lines he should not cross; they are not part of his moral landscape.

Here I refer to his “moral landscape”. At first it is easy to think this is nonsense for Bloom—that he just doesn’t have a moral landscape. But really Bloom’s moral landscape is just different (and sick and twisted). His ethos, moral code, conscience, religion are centered on the demands of the marketplace. One might ask: How could it be wrong to make money while at the same time giving people want they want? What could be so bad about ambition? Are not diligence, creativity, and efficiency the spirit of capitalism—what drives our culture … The American Dream? Why would anyone want to thwart a small business owner?

You can guess how Bloom might answer these questions. Others—presumably without Bloom’s moral and social pathology—are happy enough to ignore their consciences and go along with this business of shock and awe because staying afloat in the competitive marketplace demands ignoring such things. But for Bloom it is hard-wired. It is natural. He is the byproduct of economic evolution—the values of capitalism are encoded in his genes.

The short of it is “Nightcrawler” is a really good movie. To my mind, this is Jake Gyllenhaal’s best performance. And as for filmmaker Dan Gilroy, he has been playing around with pretty movies that lack a soul (or any plot, or any thematic punch) for a while, but now he has finally made something worthwhile.