Florence Foster Jenkins (***)

There's the old joke that goes something like this: "Pardon me, how do you get to Carnegie Hall?" "Practice, practice, practice!" It would seem that the origins of this joke (who many attribute to Jack Benny) might also ring true for a woman like 'Madame Florence,' as she is affectionately called throughout the titular film. A run down New York socialite with a flair for camp, Ms. Jenkins' story is presented with heart and restrain.

Stephen Frears' film follows in the footsteps of his recent work to examine the life of a woman (remember how marvelous "The Queen" was with Helen Mirren, or "Philomena" with Judi Dench) in extraordinary circumstances. I suppose with this third film, he has made a sort of trilogy examining the place of elderly women in an ever-changing society.

It's 1944 in the midst of war, and we get to know Florence; a quiet type with a retired husband (Hugh Grant, and how marvelous he is). Together they have founded the Verdi Club, which seeks to be in the ranks of high society and serves potato salad like it's going out of style. St Clair Bayfield, her husband, supports her every will and only wants to make her happy. We realize that since Florence contracted syphilis in her youth, they don't share the same bed. In fact, they don't share the same house. St Clair sees a woman on the side, and to those who seem concerned, he explains "there is so much love to give."

Inspired by a performance while in the audience at Carnegie Hall, Florence decides to start up vocal lessons again. Hiring a meager pianist and taking lessons from no less than the greatest vocal coach in all New York, she sets out to prepare for a live show. Here's the catch: she couldn't sing to save her life. In her inner circle of friends, they praise her charm and powerful pitch. To the outsider (as the pianist soon realizes), it's all a farce.

I admired the way the film broke away the mold to reveal the softer side of a marriage that is anything but conventional. The relationship between Florence and St Clair, while at times a bit like mother and son, never feels quite like that of a marriage, but I suppose that's the way it goes. As crazy as the story is (as a true story, no less), the film is still structured in a way that becomes a bit predictable and perhaps a bit too long. Her first vocal performance on screen is one that will surely make audiences laugh, but by the time we hear "Queen of the Night" in the final performance, it's funny yes, but perhaps a bit monotonous.

Meryl Streep delivers a capable performance as the 'rough around the edges' socialite, but I think Hugh Grant is the man who steals the show. Returning to film out of a semi-retirement (who knew?), he makes a large splash on the screen as a charmer who is both mysterious and good. It's a fun role that is exciting to watch. As for the rest of the cast, it's hard to remember a single name or face. The two leads simply take over the show.

I thought the film was apt but perhaps not alongside the great work that both Frears and Streep have delivered in the past. The story is a quirky bit of historical trivia that will perhaps ignite a bit of interest to the life of Mrs Jenkins, who knows. Like the few recordings of the real woman singing that remain, maybe all we will remember is that there once was a bad singer who sold out Carnegie Hall. That's interesting enough for me.

The Lobster (*****)

The Lobster is about as quirky as they come; a surreal deadpan depiction of some alternate universe or perhaps our future (I'm not sure which the filmmakers were leaning towards) in which partnership is a legal requirement and to be alone is to be a lesser being.  It's a story billed as dystopian, but with the complexity and sophistication that this civilization is run, perhaps our heroes who work to fight the system are merely traitors.

The opening scene depicts a woman driving down a country road and then exiting her car to calmly shoot and kill a donkey in a field. Having completed this movie, one wonders what this donkey could have possibly done done to deserve it. We learn the processes and meanings later. In the simplest description, this is a society in which people who are single (whether due to death or divorce) must refuge in a sort of resort for loners, a large hotel in which newly-single folk must meet like-minded people in order to mate and return to society. Assuming you can't find a companion within 30 days of arriving, you are turned into an animal of your choice and released into the wild, forever doomed to be mute and alone.

David is our protagonist (a deadpan Colin Farrell, he's fantastic) who enters the resort with his brother (a yappy dog, transformed by the same resort 4 years prior) after his wife leaves him for another man with glasses. He is given a single room, 4 complete suits, shoes, and instructions to never use the volleyball or tennis courts. Those are reserved for couples. He eats all 3 meals at an individual table (curious since socialization is the key to meeting others), attends stiff formal dances catered by the building managers, and regularly goes in groups to the nearby woods to hunt loners who have escaped the grounds.

The story indeed makes for one of the most unique pieces of cinema I have ever seen. The tone is that of a black comedy, and humor is found not in actions or situations, but rather the curious nature of these characters. They speak in a simple English, and there is a bleak sound to it. David speaks with a textbook-like vernacular. He never laughs, never yells, and seems content with living out his remainder as a human in relative peace.

Not only do our characters require a mate, but they also must settle down with someone of a similar trait. A fellow exile picks a woman who frequently gets nosebleeds and insists that banging his head on the table to cause a drip from his nose will make them a perfect couple. Another unsuccessfully tries to find a woman with a similar lisp to his.

One thing leads to another, and David escapes to join a band of loners in the nearby woods (the loners hunted every night). There he falls in love with a short-sighted woman (Rachel Weisz in one of her best roles). How curious that David is also short-sighted, and how deeply sad that these foresters forbid relationships as a form of rebellion to society.

Yorgos Lanthimos is the director and cowriter, Greek in descent and with a decidedly European sensibility to his film. His work, while challenging, concludes on a note that will leave some audiences confused and others amazed by the simplicity of it. Along with "Her," here is another modern film that works to dissect love and relationships in a way that we have not yet seen before. There is much to discuss about the film, and there is even more to debate. It's one of the very best films this year.

My Big Fat Greek Wedding 2 (*)

The gang is all back in the surprisingly-delayed and unrequested sequel to one of the most successful independent films of all time (My Big Fat Greek Wedding still remains the highest-grossing romantic comedy of all time, 5th highest grossing film from 2002, highest grossing film to never be #1 at the box office, and is quoted as being one of the most profitable films ever with a 6,150% return on budget). It's a wonder it took them so long to milk this cash cow a little further.

The plot, as the title suggests (though isn't there a funner way to title the movie? I thought long and hard and came up with "My Bigger, Fatter, Greekier Wedding." Not bad, right?) follows our protagonist, Tula (Nia Vardalos) 17 years after the original. A lot has changed, but not too much. The punchline of the first film showed the newly-weds moving into the house next door to Tula's parents. In this film, nearly the whole block is occupied by the Portakalos clan. It's a wonder the local gawkers haven't been asked to relocate yet.

You may remember Tula working as a travel agent, but given the current economy, we learn there is no need for such luxuries in the current Chicago market. Low and behold, she has retreated back to the family's restaurant. Talk about coming full circle.

The titular wedding comes from Tula's parents, Gus and Maria, who find out through a bit of digging that their marriage 50 years ago was never certified by a priest. Cue wedding dress shopping montage. The additional drama comes from Paris, Tula and Ian's daughter, who is deciding whether to go to college in Chicago or flee to New York to claim sanctuary from her looney extended family.

Tonally, the film is very much identical to the original, which is surprising given how little I enjoyed this film. Where the original found humor in the observations of a stereotypical Greek Orthodox family and an outsider's introduction to such a culture, the sequel lags and lags on jokes we already know. Windex cures all, the root of every word is Greek, and Aunt Voula is as zany as ever. Nia Vardalos in the leading role (and returning as screenwriter (the original earned her an Oscar nomination, no less)) is absolutely lost and a clunker of a star. Originally playing it relatively straight amidst the humor, here she gives way to potty humor and overacting galore. In the original, the film was charming and found humor through it. Here, she has written a weak comedy that she thinks will have the same effect.

For being a sequel 14 years in the making, the production felt very rushed, and editing down to camera work is noticeably lacking. The script throws everything but the kitchen sink at us, including a tacked on bit where Joey Fatone reveals himself as gay on the morning of the wedding. Why, I am not sure. John Stamos was billed as a new addition to the cast (fairly genius casting given the film) but phones in a performance of about 5 minutes and promptly is never seen again.

After the flop of the TV show (remember the season run of My Big Fat Greek Life?) and the poor reaction to this year's sequel, I think it has become clear that the 2002 hit was simply a flash in the pan, a film that stood on its own despite the studio want to squeeze every last nickel out of it's teat. Hollywood today is driven largely by sequels and reboots and cinematic universes. Maybe in 5 or 10 years we will see a remake. Sometimes though, lightning can only strike once.

Hardcore Henry (Zero Stars)

It takes a very special kind of movie to warrant a zero star rating: one that lacks any semblance of artistic endeavor or passion. Hardcore Henry is that movie, and assuredly one of the worst movies I have seen in my life. The plot is laughable, the characters undefined, the visual look of the film something The Blair Witch Project would have turned down for being too confusing.

The film itself is borderline unwatchable due to it's first-person camera technique, putting you in the viewpoint of Henry, a man who may or may not be the most boring cinematic character to ever roam the silver screen (despite blowing up people's heads like most people might pop a roll of bubble wrap). The shakiness is to the point where I found myself completely lost in a blur attempting to discern who is fighting who and what exactly the purpose of my life to this point has been. The gunfighting, bloody as can be, was tedious and beyond all levels of taste.

Strapping a camera to the face of a stuntman who clearly has no idea how to film a movie, I found myself bored to the point of wandering out to the theater's bathroom (an AMC chain in downtown Chicago). I was surprised to discover a fully remodeled washroom with a warm, inviting glow and beautiful wood detailing on the bathroom stalls. The bathroom was unoccupied aside from me (most peope don't go to the movies at 1:45pm on a Thursday), so I had time to enjoy the quiet and hum to myself quietly while doing my business. Even the faucet was full of amazing detail and practicality. After using the soap dispenser, I realized the sink itself had a hand dryer installed directly beneath the flow of water. It was quite literally one-stop-shopping for my hand washing. No more dripping hands while I clumsily attempt to walk across the bathroom to some paper towels. Genius.

What was I talking about again? Oh yeah, the movie sucks.

The Witch (****1/2)

The Witch (VVitch) is one goddamned scary movie, and it's not because of cheap thrills and jump-cuts galore. This is a movie that buries itself deep into your psyche, slowly builds up as a monster movie as well as something along the lines of a psychological thriller. In an era when it seems like horror has little more to contribute, here comes a movie that packs a punch comparable to great modern films like The Babadook.

It's an undated time when America is barely colonized. A small family is banished from the city for religious betrayal or some such thing. It's hard to know for sure especially as the opening shot is of the magistrates of the town sentencing the family to leave at once. We see the reactions of the father's children. They are young, confused, willing to follow their parents and yet unsure of what the implications are. With little more than a wagon loaded, the family departs and sets up a small farm on the edge of a dark forest. Al is well.

If you have seen the trailer, you know the general feel of the film. What surprised me was how quickly the film jumped into the thick of the terror, as the infant baby is kidnapped before their oldest daughter's eyes. Perhaps it was a wolf, and through frantic searches, they give up hope as the baby is known to be dead by either animals or hunger. The next-youngest, a set of twins who playfully run throughout the farm, claim to know stories of 'the witch of the wood.' It's laughed off.

When I recall to mind great horror movies, I think of moments that catch you off guard, where you as an audience member are generally frightened for what is about to happen. These movies follow no cliched plotlines nor are they predictable by any means. In The Witch, I was led on a journey that was so terrifying if only because the audience knows something that the family does not: there is a witch, indeed.

Our first introduction to her is a scene so disturbing and eerie that my mouth hung open the entire scene. It's not long after the baby goes missing. There are a few shots as we see the witch mostly in shadows, as she goes about business that takes fear to a new level. The imagery coupled with some extremely Kubrick-ian music (think 2001: A Space Odyssey), this becomes a film so drenched with tone and darkness that it draws your attention even in the quietest of scenes.

I really don't want to say too much more about the story, except that the family grows to suspect the eldest daughter for a variety of coincidental reasons. Though we know there is a satanic force lurking in the trees, the majority of the films turns inward as we watch a family devoted to God unravel with suspicion and fear. It's a believable family, with the father a kind and compassionate man, his wife God-fearing and unhinged, and children that are raised to know little more than good versus evil and His Holy Word.

Robert Eggers directed and wrote the film in an astonishing debut as a filmmaker. There is a confidence in his style that already feels like it comes from a master. The performances he draws out of his small cast (especially the children) are remarkable, and at times this feels like a movie that is already a classic in the horror genre. My sole concerns (and deductions in the rating) come from the film's ending, one that feels cheap and unneeded for a movie so layered with style. It's a film that uses no special effects until the very last moments, and even then, was it really necessary? The final moments also contain a reveal that shows the truth hidden throughout the entire film, and even then, perhaps a bit of ambiguity wouldn't have hurt.

The Babadook. It Follows. The Witch. Year after year we have seen a select group of films that simply redefine psychological horror, and they are few and far between. The trailers beforehand included two or three movies billed as being scary yet appear to be little more than slasher films with buckets of gore and fake blood. When will filmmakers learn that it isn't blood that frightens an audience, it is the unknown. Do not miss this movie.