It's hard to imagine that the documentary Lauren Greenfield initially set out to make when she started shooting The Queen of Versailles would have turned out to be anything other than grotesque. When the filmmaker, who previously directed the unflinching eating disorder investigation Thin, first approached her subjects Jackie Siegel and her billionaire husband David, it was to record them as they built their dream home, Versailles, a monstrous 90,000-square-foot Orlando abode that when completed would be the largest single-family house in the U.S. Like the Siegels themselves, the plans for Versailles displayed an astounding capacity for excess and extravagance with no accompanying sense of taste or restraint.
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There’s a case to be made for the idea that Greece has more ghosts than the average country. This argument would involve space – having relatively little, especially for their dead, Greeks rent out cemetery plots for three years maximum before the body is exhumed to make room – but also the fact that Greece’s is one of the more fully recorded histories we have. And what ghosts exist that are not remembered?
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Snoozy but sumptuous, Benoît Jacquot’s quasi-historical drama Farewell, My Queen isn’t going to set the world aflame: The experience of watching it is something like lounging on a satin divan, being fanned lazily with a bouquet of ostrich plumes. But maybe that’s part of what you want in a picture about the last days of Marie Antoinette’s rule: The languorousness of Farewell, My Queen recalls the last days of summer, though in this case the air is quivering not with the chirping of crickets but with a whisper of foreboding. The picture coasts along quite nicely on the strength of its contemplative sensuality, its macaron colors, and the exquisite beauty of its three chief actresses, Léa Seydoux, Virginie Ledoyen and Diane Kruger. Oh, and there’s nudity in it too, not to mention lesbian undertones – or are they overtones?
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Madagascar 3: Europe’s Most Wanted was an unexpectedly charming addition to the summer's kiddie flick franchise pile-up, better and stranger than, honestly, it needed to be in a subgenre that is, Pixar aside, usually just about merchandising potential and providing enough bright moving objects to occupy young attention spans for 80 minutes. People hoping for the same pleasant surprise when escorting offspring to Ice Age: Continental Drift might as well pre-crush those hopes in advance before donning their 3-D glasses — the film, the fourth in the series from Blue Sky Studios, is just a sugary jumble of goofy voices, hyperkinetic action scenes and rote plot elements that rolls forward just enough to get us to the de rigueur pop song that plays over the closing credits.
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Red Lights, the new film from Buried director Rodrigo Cortés, weds an earnest, simplified exploration of the nature of faith with a goofy, gussied-up B-movie plot about a pair of academics who travel around debunking extrasensory phenomenon. As marriages go, it's a troubled one, but it certainly makes for some interesting fights across the dinner table.
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At first glance, Mira Sorvino’s character in Union Square, a claustrophobic but well-acted sibling chamber piece, bears a striking resemblance to Linda Ash, the tacky hooker with the heart of gold from Mighty Aphrodite. The latter role won Sorvino an Oscar in 1996, and though she has worked steadily since that time the actress has suffered from that vague but chronic condition of feeling under-seen. With its small cast and focus on performance, Union Square promises to be a welcome showcase for Sorvino, and the early rhymes with Miss Linda are intriguingly open-ended.
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Michael Winterbottom, one of the most fascinating and idiosyncratic filmmakers of our age, makes so many movies that some of them creep into festivals very quietly and, just as quietly, creep out, never to be seen again. That wasn't the case with The Trip, for my money one of the most intriguing pictures of 2011, a woolly exploration of middle-aged angst that featured Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon (as themselves) bickering and trading Sean Connery impersonations as they made their way through the English countryside. But two years before that, in 2008, Winterbottom brought a picture called Genova to the Toronto International Film Festival. The picture, a mildly engaging drama in which Colin Firth plays a father who moves his family to Italy after the death of their mother, never got a U.S. release, fading like the worn face of a stone saint on a medieval church. Fortunately, Winterbottom’s latest, Trishna, a retelling of Thomas Hardy’s Tess of the d’Urbervilles set in contemporary India, hasn’t met the same fate. And though it’s a bit of an oddity, it’s an affecting curio suitable for both Hardy enthusiasts and Winterbottom fans alike.
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What was Rob Reiner's last noteworthy film? Was it Ghosts of Mississippi in 1996? The American President, the year before? 1992's A Few Good Men? Reiner has continued to work steadily since a phenomenal mainstream movie run in the '80s into the early '90s that included, among others, This Is Spinal Tap, The Princess Bride and When Harry Met Sally..., though you wouldn't be faulted for not having paid his recent output much mind. As a director, his tendencies toward sentimentality have thickened and clotted over the years, and films like The Bucket List and Flipped haven't had enough else to them to balance out what comes across as cloying and clumsy at best and shamelessly pandering at worst.
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We don’t see the writer in Robert Longfellow (Martin Donovan) for some significant time in Collaborator, Donovan’s pensive, carefully woven writing and directing debut. Robert is a stalled playwright, and when we meet him, he's fleeing New York after poison-tipped reviews have slain his latest, long-awaited effort. Headed home to Los Angeles swaddled in self-pity, he must attend to his mother (Katherine Helmond), some Hollywood hack work, a simmering movie star (Olivia Williams) and a frustrated wife (former Hole bassist Melissa Auf der Maur) stashed in a frosty East Coast locale. But Robert looks mostly inward, giving everyone else the vague but warm-eyed attention Donovan has brought to his work as a Hal Hartley muse and in a host of supporting roles.
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For the first three hours and 20 minutes, I was totally with Savages. During the middle two hours and 25 minutes, I was reasonably intrigued to see how it would all turn out. But through the final six hours and 48 minutes, I kept sneaking glances at my watch, just wishing that Oliver Stone would hurry up and cap off this wiggly-waggly tale of two marijuana-entrepreneur buddies, their shared girlfriend, and a host of Mexican drug baddies led by Salma Hayek wearing a black bobbed wig that’s half Cleopatra, half Bettie Page.
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The rich, F. Scott Fitzgerald famously (and much overabusedly) wrote, "are different from you and me," and Crazy Eyes tests just how much an audience will be able to care about their problems despite this fact. Wealth isn't the explicit topic of the film, but it colors everything about it, from the swank house in the hills in which Zach (Lukas Haas) lives to the women who trail after him with dollar signs in their eyes to the way that he seems to have nothing to fill his time with except alcohol. The privilege isn't the problem so much as how it has shaped our protagonist — a self-absorbed, self-pitying Los Angeles asshole who happens to be in a self-destructive phase. The motivating factor of the film is Zach's pursuit of something, for once, he isn't easily able to have — Rebecca (Madeline Zima), to whom he's given the nickname "Crazy Eyes," a girl who'll drink herself into oblivion at his side but who won't sleep with him.
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“Katy tells us that it’s okay to stand out,” one of pneumatic pop star Katy Perry’s disciples intones at the beginning of Katy Perry: Part of Me 3D, a shiny, brightly colored piece of fan candy that follows the performer as she embarks on her 2011 world tour. Also the Word of Katy: “How could you ever be too cartoon-y?” The latter, exclaimed as Perry’s being fitted into one of her Jetsons concession girl costumes, is a baldly rhetorical question. Somewhere in between those two lines of pop scripture lies the explanation for the only female artist to eke five number-one hits from a single album, 2010's Teenage Dream.
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It’s hard to say how much can be blamed on the timing of the release of The Do-Deca-Pentathlon and how much on the movie’s self-amused mediocrity, but the latest from brothers Mark and Jay Duplass (who co-wrote and directed) seems to expose the limits of a certain kind of realism by stretching them one man-child too far.
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Comic-book movies can be many things — ridiculous, entertaining, stupendously dull – but very rarely are they erotic. I’m not talking about the garden-variety sexually neutral charge thrown off by a fit actor, man or woman, who happens to look good in a latex suit. Even in the best comic-book movies, made by filmmakers who know what they’re doing — people like Sam Raimi, Bryan Singer, Guillermo del Toro and Jon Favreau — sex is often treated as a mild embarrassment, a thing that just doesn’t mix well with action inspired by comic-book panels. And so amid all the questions about whether or not the Spider-Man franchise ought to have been rebooted just 10 years after Raimi kicked off his own spin on it, maybe the real question to ask of Marc Webb’s The Amazing Spider-Man is — when it comes to sexual chemistry, why can’t more comic-book movies be like this one?
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With Tyler Perry gradually segueing toward non-drag leading man status with Good Deeds and the upcoming James Patterson thriller Alex Cross, his latest appearance as the sassy, wisdom-dispensing matriarch of the title in Madea's Witness Protection has an aura of fatigued reluctance to it, as does the film itself. Perry mentioned to Movieline that while he planned to keep with the character as long as there was demand from audiences, he "would be pretty good with passing it on," and certainly in her franchise's seventh installment Mabel Simmons, better known as Madea, seems ready to do the same, unable to summon the usual levels of outrageousness as she once again plays magical mender of other people's problems.
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