Infinite Review

There's a lot of expectations for movies today. People want bigger universes. Better stories. Smarter writing, the works. But it's a lie. We as humans are sometimes completely satisfied with "mediocre." And that's what the Paramount+ original "Infinite" is. I counted three good scenes and two bad ones- not a bad average for a direct-to-streaming science fiction action flick.

The remainder are boilerplate exposition and boring retreads, but hey, it wasn't like I had anything else to do that night I sat on my couch and pressed "play."

Surprisingly absolutely no one, all the best parts involve car chases, guns and hand-to-hand combat, and director Antoine Fuqua proves once again that he knows how to handle not only the actors but the special effects. They're not all that special themselves, but I could tell who was firing at who and who was tailing who; now that's special.

Mark Wahlberg plays Evan, one of the titular "infinites," who currently can barely pay his bills or even get a job (though he obviously somehow pays for a gym membership). He's also an addict, who forges samurai swords in exchange for his pills. A deal goes wrong, he's arrested, but that sword! That's all it takes for the fellow infinites to find him, both the bad guy Bathurst (Chiwetel Ejiofor) and fellow hero Nora (Sophie Cookson), who busts him out the police station.

Though what the infinites can and can't do is only mildly defined, but a few new abilities are wisely shown over the course of its zippy runtime, allowing for new plot developments and ways to show people in danger. When Evan is hanging onto a plane by nothing but one of his blades of steel, he's able to become unaffected by gravity and walk without issue as the machine roars through the sky. Of course only moments later, he suddenly forgets this power and is bounced about the hull as the aircraft is crashing down. Inconsistencies add a sort of goofy sense of fun to what is otherwise an overly serious series of insignificant stunts.

We travel from set piece to set piece, all an excuse for bullets to fly and people to die. But won't they just be reborn? Bathurst's got that covered; using this special bullet, he's able to trap the "soul" of someone in a computer chip, blocking any and all reawakening. This adds a real threat to our protagonists, something that equally middling works like "The Old Guard" failed to accomplish.

Now I'm not going to herald any of this as particularly original, because it's not. But what is notable is the antagonist's wish: he is simply tired of being reincarnated. No monetary motivation, no plan to dominate the world- he just is done with it all. His honest demands are refreshing in a cinematic marketplace filled with stereotypical incentives of, in Dr. Evil air quotes, money and power. Why doesn't he just shoot himself with one of these unique rounds and save us all the trouble? Hey, I already said there were plot holes.

Of the "bad scenes," they all contain one crucial one thing: dodgy CGI. During that aforesaid jet scene where Wahlberg, or at least his stuntman sprawled out across on a greenscreen, hangs on tight. It's frantically cut to the point of distraction, with a body that moves inorganically like a bad video game.

But that's enough of the negative, because the good stuff is pretty decent. Take when Even is busted out of the precinct, early on, which leads to a vehicular pursuit inside the building. For all I could tell, there were real cars in a real building breaking through real walls and real furniture. Is it thrilling? Not exactly, but it kept me from looking at my phone, which is the real enemy of today's home entertainment.

The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It Review

Somewhere during the latest "The Conjuring" movie, subtitled "The Devil Made Me Do It," I realized a pattern: the only time something jumped into view of the camera was when someone was somewhere they shouldn't be, like in a bedroom by themselves or when mopping the jail floor. You hear the music stops, and characters look around, telling us the audience to hold onto your bucket of popcorn so you don't spill it in fright. 

Once you identify this pattern, you can never really be scared. This hold true for a lot of horror flicks, but the best ones play you like an instrument, your heartrate going up and down; whether or not there is any "scare" is A) subjective and B) never really the point, it is all about sucking you into the world created by the movie. Alas, this is not one of those movies.

Instead, "The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It" is two hours of things that go "boo" a lot, and it's a shame. An adaptation of the Trial of Arne Cheyenne Johnson, something I'd never heard of until now, we follow Ed and Lorraine Warren (Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga, respectively), who are helping with an exorcism of young David Glatzel (Julian Hilliard), when the demon leaves the kid's body and sets up shop in Arne, who invited the evil in to save the little boy. Only Ed witnesses what happened, but suffers a major heart attack, giving the now possessed Arne time to kill his and his girlfriend (Sarah Catherine Hook)'s landlord.

The husband and wife team persuade Arne's attorney to plead, ah hem, "the devil made him do it," but need to figure out the why, what, and how of the prosecuted's possessed problem. This leads to a series of stereotypical spooky locations like basements and forests where creepy artifacts cause our leads to gasp at the camera.

I won't spoil the rest of the narrative, because I imagine that fans of this successful franchise live for the "surprise." Only it isn't very surprising, and certainly isn't very scary. But who am I? I am someone looking for a movie to take my breath away with relentless thrills and to haunt me with something more than the sight of men of the cloth shouting the bible at contorting bodies.

I suspect the problem with me even reviewing this is it's optional home release; available in theaters and on HBO Max, I chose the latter. My viewing area can never be as dark as at the cinemas, and without a packed crowd to holler in terror, it removes something vital from it. Alas I can only critique the version I watched, and that's not fair for this latest "Conjuring" entry.

Army of the Dead Review

Maybe I have seen too many movies. Perhaps too many of those were filled with gruesome images. Then, just perhaps, I have become desensitized to violence. Netflix's newest release, a zombie heist thriller by director and co-writer Zack Snyder, has so many shots of people getting torn apart, bones piercing skin, exploding heads, the works. Yet my eyes watched with zero remorse, unaffected by the carnage. And by the time I stood up from my couch, I was unfazed. I could see what the picture was aiming for, but I am sorry Zack, you are no George A. Romero.

Things start promisingly enough. After Las Vegas is overrun by the undead, it is locked off by the government. We see TVs in the background explaining the controversy behind the military's intent to nuke the city on the 4th of July, and it is on these TV's where any satire come into play. Is there anything more American than nuclear weapons and explosions?

Dave Bautista plays Scott, our main hero who's suffering from the trauma of having to shoot his wife in front of their daughter Kate (Ella Purnell) once she's turned. A mercenary who helped people escape the initial infection, he's now flipping burgers. He also still working out, since his body is leaner than the meat he's grilling. Anyway, that is until a man named Tanaka, played by Hiroyuki Sanada, walks into the restaurant. Why did the billionaire walk into the diner? Obviously because he wants to steal from himself.

In his Vegas casino sits a vault with 200 million dollars. Fifty of it is Scott's, if he can break in, get the dough, and get out before the US sends out its dangerous fireworks. Tanaka's already been reimbursed by the insurance company, so it's "dead money," ripe for the taking. If you've ever seen any heist film since the inception of cinema, well, then you know the drill.

Anyway, after the obligatory scenes where Scott forms his team, from helicopter pilot (Tig Notaro) to safecracker (Matthias Schweghofer); this means that it takes a solid forty minutes before we get any real zombie action. The dialogue is blunt and only occasionally pithy, but it's hardly revolutionary. Most in the merry band of money misfits shows humanity at their worst, blinded by the all-mighty dollar, with the only real moments of honesty are by our bulging hunk of man muscle Mr. Bautista. He continues to be better than the material he's served in Hollywood.

There are a few other subplots, including the shady Martin (Garret Dillahunt), right-hand-man of Tanaka, who's acts so disingenuously that he might as well have just introduced himself with a "hello I can't be trusted," and Scott's kid Kate, who's friend got lost in the quarantine city. These moments don't end in surprise, and pad out what I anticipated to be a tight-knitted movie into this bloated, almost three hour long undead epic; one that feels decidedly less grandiose once you realize they just end up riffing James Cameron's "Aliens."

A few decent ideas can be found, such as the almost romanticized ghouls (who appear to breed and are apparently monogamous) and the concept of infected animals (including no less than a tiger and a horse), but they go unrealized. Do they conceive the same way as humans? How to they attract potential mates? Why do undead critters obey undead humans instead of just tearing them apart? Why aren't there any monster cockroaches or any other creatures running around?

Maybe Snyder wants us the audience to think about those things until the already announced prequel and animated TV show drop? Or, maybe, he just didn't really think this whole thing out.

Spiral: From the Book of Saw Review

I honestly don't know much about the "Saw" movies. Yes I've seen a few of them, and whenever I close my eyes and think deeply about what I actually remember about them, all I see are flashes of blood and dismembered bodies. I supposes that's what these movies are about. I'm sure fans will ardently oppose that claim, and after watching the latest entry, "Spiral," I can almost understand their point of view.

Chris Rock plays "Zeke," a disgraced detective who's living under his father's shadow (played by Samuel L. Jackson). He's a loose cannon who, years ago, turned in a corrupt cop, which the other officers didn't appreciate. The reason is something like "brotherhood," an underdeveloped element that really doesn't explain why exactly he's so hated. Is everyone else on the force bent? I guess this is the film giving us the audience something to think about once the credits roll.

Problem is I didn't think about that once I stood up from my chair, but something might, and there's something to be said for a film to even have a chance at affecting someone.

Anyway, all you need to know is that this latest flick in the franchise is explicitly violent, and shows (most) of its famous "traps" in full. Body parts are pulled out in all its gory glory, the person screaming as they suffer from whatever fate this "Jigsaw" copycat has dealt them. 

It's tough to actually go over the plot in a movie like this, where even the slightest mention of a character could spoil something; in true "Saw" tradition, as the real killer is revealed, we see flashbacks where the movie-makers dropped us clues as to their identity. Since the actual antagonist can really only be one of several potential suspects, I wouldn't say I was surprised, but hey, the confession is only half the fun.

The other half is the journey, which is twisty, grisly, and cruel. To it's credit, zero time is wasted on superfluous details like exposition; this is a tight, fast-paced picture about timely topics like police brutality and corruption but never the politics about why or how. The first time we're shown a man in blue shoot and innocent civilian, the unsettling imagery hits with impact. Then it's shown again. And again, and it loses its purpose. This, my friends, won't help the series' reputation for being carnage porn for the sake of bloodshed lusting.

I couldn't help but wonder why this is even about law enforcement; trade them for business executives or doctors or whatever and you'd have approximately the same movie. I suppose it's just a bad time to be a cop, even when at the movies.

Those Who Wish Me Dead Review

How close can the human body get to a forest fire before they're skins a roasted marshmallow and their lungs black with soot? I'm not sure, but if the newest Angelina Jolie action thriller "Those Who Wish Me Dead" is to be believed, you can get so close it'd light your cigarette. That last part isn't demonstrated in the actual movie- it's an expression, though, considering the subject matter, perhaps a tasteless one. 

Anyway I'm getting distracted here, what you need to know is that what is shown here is violent, exciting, and sickening, a thriller where spliced between shots of what looked like real actors in front of real fires are constant attacks on women, including a pregnant woman, kids, and bystanders. Random acts of aggression are shot in brutal fashion. This intensity crawled under my skin and didn't go away, leaving me uncomfortable with the rest of the feature.

The rest? That's the exciting part. Jolie plays "H," a firewatcher with a penchant for booze and a some bad history. Her ex Ethan (Jon Bernthal) is the local cop (because of course he is), and this is where the two parallel stories intercept.

When Owen (Jake Weber) catches on the news that a judge has perished in a house explosion, he sees past the purported accident as an assassination, grabs his son (Finn Little) and they head off for an old pal, Ethan the cop. Knowing he'll likely not make it, he writes down what is just so important on a piece of paper, and gives it to his son.

The bad guys (Nicholas Hoult and Aidan Gillen), who through a stroke of pure movie coincidence, set up a trap on the very road the dad is traveling on, snipe him and the car goes off the road. After some bloody gunshots the father's dead and the kid escapes, where he runs into Jolie.

The villains know that the dad was smart enough to have a copy of what's so important with his son, and so the chase begins to locate the kid and to quote criminal mastermind Arthur (Tyler Perry), "we deal in absolutes." Bad news for the bad guys, as the father was so smart that he penned it on waterproof paper- I mean, how else can you explain the note remaining so important even after a swim in the local river?

The nasty duo work for this "Arthur." He appears in one seen, recites some doomy dialogue and then disappears. Who he is and what he does is not really clear, but when a sunglasses wearing man in a suit appears in one of these kind of movies, he can't be trusted.

Where never told what's on the paper. People in the movie know what's on it. We see characters read it, but there is no follow through. Since we never know, we are robbed of the stakes at play. We do know people are in danger, since we see men with guns hunting them down, but without context, we the audience struggle with the motive of the antagonists. Vague talk about "finishing the job" or some nonsense mean nothing if we don't know what the job is or who they are!

The narrative is relatively simple and director Taylor Sheridan handles the action and dramatic moments with solid flair. He lightens the dour mood a bit with some entertaining chitchat between the kid and H, but this is a squarely adult piece of cinema. It is dark and depressing, and even once the credits are getting ready to roll, my body and mind was exhausted. I felt sad and like I needed to shower. "Those Who Want Me Dead" should come with a picture of a cute puppy and a loofah.

Wrath of Man Review

I feel mislead by "Wrath of Man." This action, heist, crime thriller had me hooked by the first trailer, with its leading man Jason Statham shooting people and looking upset. That ends up happening here, but its buried beneath a convoluted continuity that jumps months in past, then weeks in the future, then months after that- it's exhausting!

The reason is likely director Guy Ritchie, who shows up first in its list of producers, then first in the list of "screenplay by," which he shares with Ivan Atkinson and Marn Davies. Look, I get it. He's the "man behind the camera," the driving force in getting this story told on the big screen. Yet I can't help but feel that, perhaps, the mans ego has gone to his head. The narrative, so needlessly obtuse and twisty, feels designed to be exactly that. Why? Who knows? Maybe Ritchie will tell us on the audio-commentary once the DVD's dropped.

The truth is, the story is basic, and the premise could have been executed in a far cleaner, leaner manner; instead, we get belated double-crosses, false herrings, needless interrogations, and characters who're introduced only to disappear until the script demands they smile and show the audience "see, we didn't forget about Josh Hartnett."

Our (anti)hero Statham plays Patrick Hill, nicknamed "H" by a man nicknamed Bullet (Holt McCallany), I mean, it has to be a nickname, that or his parents were, ah-hem, "under the gun" when trying to come up with a name. He's looking for the man who killed his son in an armored money-deposit truck robbery gone awry, and suspecting the heist was an inside job, he joins the company, Fortico Security, where his "certain set of skills" are constantly put to the test. I mean, their trucks are habitually stopped by men in ski-masks and twitchy trigger fingers, and we the audience get a lot of shots of, well, gunshots. That's all fine and dandy, that's what we came here for, but there's more going on under the surface.

The problem with what's under the surface is how it's told. See, "H" is the boss of a crime syndicate, who used himself rob the same trucks he now operates. That's not a spoiler- where else would he have learned how to take down six men when he brings a handgun to a machine gun fight? The boyscouts?! Anyway, the men who killed his kin are some other criminals, some group he's never heard of. Instead of involving his associates in his exploits, he assumes a new name and well, here we are. This itself could make for a solid picture, but instead it's non-linearity and deliberate misleading frustrated me as I munched on my pepperoni flatbread and sipped a large Coke Zero. Only the first two acts are interwoven, leaving the entire third act to be told linearly. Why? A good mystery film would have used all of it'd runtime to keep you guessing, inspiring you to think twice about what you think you know about these characters. "Wrath of Man" instead had me thinking that there had to be a better way to tell this story.

Can I think of a better way? I don't know, but then again, I'm not a filmmaker! I felt duped by the lack of explanations: who does Statham work for? How do the bad guys know how long it'll take the S.W.A.T team to arrive during the big climax? Why do the armored trucks have switches which turn off the security cameras? I probably had more questions, but the movie ended about an hour ago, and I'm already forgetting it.

Without Remorse Review

Amazon Studios delivers the kind of movie Hollywood just doesn't make much anymore with "Without Remorse." It's exactly the brand of expensive thriller that you'd expect when you see the name Tom Clancy above the title. Most pictures mask all messages with superheroes and commercial humor for maximum mainstream potential, more often than not worried more about being politically correct than being about politics.

Even without the politics, every threat here feels real, or at the very least remotely possible, even though I know it's nothing more than cinematic-poppycock. When people get shot down they stay down. There are no robots or men in rubber suits or aliens or genetic monsters. This, my friends, is a good example of an out-of-fashion genre: the grounded, dead-serious governmental thriller. And even with its antiquated agenda from its musty, pre-9/11 source material, I was onboard for the entire ride, popcorn in one hand and a soda in the other.

Rooms filled with powerful people talk about the current threat, and as a movie-goer, you know at least one of them is the actual antagonist. When Navy Seal John Kelly, played this time by Michael B. Jordan, is found in critical condition following a home invasion by Russian professions that left his wife and unborn daughter dead, you know that by the time the final "big" action climax begins to end, we'll be right back on US soil exposing the real villain. What separates a film that works from one that doesn't is the surprise. Here, we're given three potential candidates who will inevitably meet their end at the hands of the still-in-mourning Seal, and even though I wasn't necessarily surprised at the "plot twist," I appreciated that it didn't take the easy way out.

Does that classify it as a "techno" thriller? What about "military?" "Conspiracy?" The actual adjective is irrelevant, but I'm going with "political thriller" since it, well, involves politics. The best part? It requires no more knowledge of American or world politics than what's taught by other blockbusters. "US good. Other guys bad." Ahhh, simpler times...

I might not agree with its message, but its uncomplicated with an intent to entertain rather than to educate; I like a movie that understands that we shouldn't learn about policies when the moral of the story is ultimately nothing more than watching people shoot at each other.

Jordan proves here that he's got what it takes to carry a glossy action picture. He's offered the chance to be the center of attention, not having to share the screen with others like he did in the "Creed" movies with Sylvester Stallone or with Chadwick Boseman in "Black Panther." The camera obsesses with him, his face that always seems to be holding back rage; it attracts your eyes without him needing to speak. His bulging body suggests that he's always ready to act even when he's not, tense, coiled up like he's ready to explode. He's someone who can be someone the audience can cheer for, even when this based-on-a-book character isn't playing by the books.

Ultimately, he deserves more than the slick, mass-audience entertainment that "Without Remorse" offers. I'm sure he's not too broken up about that.