DISNEYR-perfection Film.

Russovoir doesn't necessarily write reviews for near-perfection films; he feels, more like he's afraid, he will say more than what's due; or say less; or both. You can't underestimate the clarity of his enthusiastic accolades. Yet he's here, clenching and unclenching his fingers, glowering at the screen, wishing the right, persuasive words come out and why Saving Mr. Banks is nothing short of a Christmas movie. The best of his ability the following paragraphs below.

Saving Mr. Banks is essentially an informative film. It talks about the 'hidden mickey' of the Academy Award winning film Mary Poppins (1964) that 63-year old, round-bellied, as if he'd had eaten happiness itself,  Walt Disney (Tom Hanks) patiently invoked. He claims its production is a promise fulfilled to his daughters who read the doting novel by the misoneist then P.L. Travers (Emma Thompson).

"Your daughter can do whatever she'd like to do."

It was distressing how our childhood, among what hasn't already been ruined in most Disney films of our time, and while this particular came out decades back to even coincide and consider in our period of childhood and what films were released since then; having said that, how this childhood icon, Mary Poppins, with whom we had long admired (to some, known to be long admired) for her reassuring warmth, effervescence, and contagious merriment, had a dark, poignant source of inspiration. Where in between scenes, the brilliantly sequenced scenes, there is a small fight within whether to side with Disney's seeming righteous cause or to Travers' reasonable disdain to a movie adaptation intrusive; and when that was settled, a movie adaptation adulterated from the rightful projection of the author herself.

"Change how you see the past."

This is a Christmas movie because it teaches forgiveness. It teaches that no one should be burdened, trapped, and/or stuck in the past. And if someone is willing and goes great lengths to help at least see, look back at it differently, allow it; embrace it. How many people in this world can change, better yet fund something tragic and traumatic to something magic and nostalgic? The happiest place on Earth, besides Disneyland, although Russovoir thinks it's not generally so, is that, instead, spot in oneself, hollow and disabling before, now is a change of direction, specifically an arch, from left to right for Traver's sake; what's left of her to make it right in one stroke (a blockbuster in this case); a little green blonde-haired fairy sprinkling pixie dust trailing from her tiny form to thank for. Tinkerbell. Pixie dust that only works if one thinks of happy thoughts, further justifying what Disney had had done to the funereal novelist, what do you know, it's the finishing touch to the Walt Disney logo.

A KENNEDYdate to Resistance.

The Hunger Games is technically organized homicide. So one cannot shake the feeling throughout or portions in the film that look, feel, and/or sound already as elaborate as it is improbable. Or so it's an unshared perception. While the story itself, of its stark story telling, a $307M (November 24th, 10:00am) hunger-satisfied box office cannot lie, again, maybe an unshared perception, Russovoir pinned the story to a metaphorical reality; the rich and poor pyramid of today.

We assume everyone figured out the subtle to the slow glaring to the nimble 'tradition' of The Capitol. Where the government has carte blanche by their own disillusioned set of laws to pose authority on which fear is what they feed on to stay atop the food chain. And everyone abides because, on the surface, who are we to question who sees, holds everything whereas each and every District knows only what they know, compounded by fear, compounded by nescience.

Now, the tributes.

"There's no one left that I love they can hurt."

Jennifer Lawrence was set aside for a while (picked up at the wedding gown scene) for this volatile vixen, Jena Malone as the District 7 tribute Johanna Mason (above). Axe-cellent casting. At first Russovoir thought hmm they picked someone comparatively shaded from fame and like lumber from which puts food on the tables of District 7, planted and unaffected by the mainstream, not too close to stagnate Lawrence's strong current of fame. But just like Johanna Mason's back story, who we recall appeared gullible and nonthreatening yet had won the killing spree, Malone killed the role and may seem moronic now, avenged the beloved character unwatered, until this film, in our heads.

"People are starving in 12 and, they make themselves sick here."

The concept of the trilogy, at least the two books, yet Russovoir is confident it's the entire trilogy because he has had read more than half of Mockingjay, is as remarkable as it is daunting how indicative and prevalent the oppression, oligarchy, despotism, and barely shown - yet - rebellion of the masses. The juxtaposition of the assassination of John F. Kennedy and the worldwide premiere of The Hunger Games: Catching Fire dates was no mere coincidence; he had been a mockingjay.

How To Use an Actor Intense Days.

It was surreal Matthew McConaughey (below right) not in his usual macho shape. Russovoir wanted to scold him straight to the movie screen. It's as if he took the role against his will; to redeem himself; to prove himself, to his fans, something. Russovoir doesn't understand, cannot fathom in what state of mind he was in to morbidly shrink to a size unsightly. Meanwhile you're impressed by this. So bizarre it evokes an emotion, until now, still has no name. 

Dallas Buyers Club has become a powerful drug that once seen on the shelf in a video store, a rent selection in RedBox, an overstock at an interstate gas station, a random or chosen scene filler in an entertainment infomercial, a poster draped alongside the vertically spines-up arranged DVDs at if not deserted, single-minded shoppers supermarket, one's world stops for a full five seconds, eyes fixates - all else are a blur, and whisper, "McConaughey." with beaming recognition as epiphanic as the apple that fell on Isaac Newton.

He was inarguably, eye-gaping, mouth-shut remarkable. Russovoir is afraid that if he says anything more he might not hit the right words and spoil the praise. So let's move on and talk about Jared Leto now. The guy expanded once, then he emaciated next. Nobody really talked about, as he was Mr. Nobody in 2009 too, his massive, sorely weight gain in (and for) Chapter 27 (2007). The film was either poorly marketed, distributed, or didn't appeal to the palette of influential movie critics that affected those which alluded. After which Leto vowed not to gain a lardful for a role. Gain not lose. So he's an HIV positive gay hooker (below left); he was disease-alarmingly befitting.

"I don't want to die."

 

In the world of acting as a profession, not simply and conveniently all ingratiating roles and intuitive improvs and good looks, although while they are prevalent and necessary, it's the harmony, if one wants to go far in the industry one must be aware, of both the external (script memorization, filming procedure and location, e.g.) and the most challenging factor, internal (drastic weight gain, loss, and sculpt, sexual orientation and behavior, e.g.) where some roles demand of an actor; many of which, though not always effective, are admirable, critical, and premeditated symptoms of an award-winning actor from if not Oscar-worthy, a critically-sealed, must-watch film.

The Re-MELLARK-able Joshua Ryan Hutcherson.

"I have this dream that one day, my kid's gonna come home from school and be like, "Dad, there's this girl that I like, and there's this guy I like, and I don't know which one I like more, and I don't know what to do." And it'd just be a non-issue, like, "Which one is a good person? Which one makes you laugh more?" - Josh Hutcherson.

"I would probably list myself as mostly straight - right now, I'm 100% straight.", Hutcherson breaks the ice as opposed to the heat he emanates already. So regardless, the ice between them, interviewer Shana Krochmal of Out Magazine, has to melt anyway. Talentless in napkin origami at a California cafe during a seeming hunger games of a lunch hour, he accepted defeat and set it aside. "But who knows? In a fucking year, I could meet a guy and be like, "Whoa, I'm attracted to this person.", he unfolded instead with austere yet polite hand gestures, with which the Japanese art of paper folding seems a torture in retrospect - the napkin on the other side of the table wipes a mouth taken aback, though not malicious, with this choking spill.

He's most associated and most profitable as Peeta Mellark, one of the pair of tributes from District 12, love interest with Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) but complicates as the games and Gale (Liam Hemsworth) may undercook the chemistry. But the recurring, almost a boomerang when one decides to let go already memory of 2005 - admit it, every time you see him all grown up and chiseled, how baked are we now to trace this once tousled but ferociously smitten 13-year old tike in Little Manhattan (below) is the tantalizing mold we see today.

"Love is a pain I wouldn't wish on my worst enemies."

Now when you're 15, you tend to cling on to people who had made you happy, even remember and keep track (in moderation) of their lives with the suppressible, hopeful belief, like making a wish on a comet, that they'll do it again. Hence it was reasonable: Zathura: A Space Adventure (2005), Bridge to Terabithia (2007), Firehouse Dog (2007), Fragments (2008), Journey to the Center of the Earth (2008), Cirque du Freak: The Vampire's Assistant (2009), four-time Academy Award nominated The Kids Are All Right (2010), and the confusing Detention (2011), all checked. The Hunger Games trilogy, one could say, is now a pandemic, communal, kettle hissing glorification. That he so deserves.

"I'm ready for a fight."

Straights who support gay rights is like a wifi hotspot, it brings people together. Co-founder Avan Jogia (Nickelodeon's Victorious) of the non-profit organization Straight But Not Narrow (click it) allies with Hutcherson, among other young, famous personalities - tributes, shall we say - to educate and train, a polite euphemism, the toppling generation with gender equality. The NOH8 ad campaign (above) was Adam Bouska's plain yet powerful portfolio in 2008, and Hutcherson, with his fair amount of fame and influence, ennobled public hysteria.

"I would volunteer for my brother in a heartbeat."

The 21-year old $1.5M net worth American actor (The Hunger Games grossed $700M worldwide) has been raised justly, even where he was raised in isn't indicative of diversity nor adaptation. It only goes to underscore that Mewtwo (that's right, from Pokemon: Mewtwo Strikes Back, 1998) is speaking gold (for a make believe children show):

"I see now that the circumstances of one's birth are irrelevant; it is what you do with the gift of life that determines who you are."

Houston, We Have An Oscar.

For a place that shouldn't concern the majority, it now is. Spacephobia, a derivative of Agoraphobia, the fear of open spaces, the absence of 'visuospatial support', looms one feeling pressingly small around something endlessly expanding, nothing to see but uninviting, thick darkness. For an ignorant of space travel and its technicalities, accumulating more fear, Russovoir lived in the consolation that those who have died and might die, at least their loved ones can point to the sky where heaven is supposedly as well.

Gravity reawakens and reunites Russovoir's patronage for Sandra Bullock. Reportedly her biggest opening to date, Academy Award winner Best Actress of Blind Side (2009), and the worth mentioning recent, tear-jerking performance in Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close (2012), Bullock both possesses - deja vu, Russovoir thought about this before, what is an avid fan - while awarely opposing, hence immensely admirable, the empathy of strong and weak in a character; so consistent yet insatiably fulfilling to the fullest of how the film is to be felt. Absent of any object of emotion in space, director Alfonso Cuaron was unmistakable for a lead actress that sucks one in like a gaping black hole to the screen, to her troubled, shared role soul.

"Say that you can make it."

Russovoir must confess, he thought what story could be gleaned in outer space; it looked desolate and at the same time, infinite in material that, from its trailer, where and how it ends must be ridiculous, like co-existing in a parallel universe, or proving aliens. While George Clooney has had a fair share of films that interests, which fueled value, meanwhile, the biggest influence in 'lifting off' to 'explore' what madness it's teased is Bullock.

"Tell her Mommy is so proud of her."

It's not rocket science, Gravity was shot out of this world but is down-to-earth that it's not proving extra terrestrials - something more meaningful, emotional, something existential. There's nothing in space, and by 'in space' we mean what we currently have, not Star Trek nor Star Wars, that which to 'create from the unknown' is another thing, that holds a story together. Heck, things wander up there. Just like a satellite, Gravity echoed a frequency the human heart can hear.

Don Jon: A 50/50 directorial debut.

All directors have a signature style: J.J. Abrams plays with sheer streak of lights, Quentin Tarantino flinches with gut-wrenching blood feud, Zac Snyder suspends suspense with stop-motion, to name a few. It's been discovered fledgling director Joseph Gordon-Levitt has a signature style through scene transition technique called, at least for Russovoir, he doesn't know the proper nomenclature, layering.

Layering tends to progress consciously fast, yet unconsciously, it's sorely just a bunch of rushing snippets that as they increase in number in this particular film, present mostly throughout, especially when it's flatly excessive of nothing but inserted pornographic clips from various porn sites, rapport breaches. Don Jon had a good start, scenes felt necessary and well-timed, then sympathetically, Russovoir lost interest for a good while; it relegated to empty and inflated machismo and unaccustomed chauvinism. Altogether, disconnected.

"Cum, baby, cum."

Russovoir was picking up the pace with the consolation Scarlett Johannson has kept the plot intact, then suddenly, Julianne Moore's role threw him off again. Just when he already found a comforting ground with the story to focus on, here comes a character, apparently broken and sex-deprived made it hard to stay hard. Shallow, superfluous, and towards the end, Johannson now out of the picture - even if she has hadn't, it still seemed compromised of what Russovoir could only assume is incompatible debauchery. Granted that we should see Joseph playing an older role, however, intermissions of his elementary and frivolous affection to porn and it didn't help that, even while he bulked up for the role, his smile, those dimples carved in chivalry and gentleness, it's difficult to accept a role of a New Jerseyan hustler; anyone unknown with suitable good looks could've do. He would've been still revered for writing and directing the film.

That's the first half of 50. This is the second: 

Gordon-Levitt boldly exposes the biggest, longest kept secret (might as well be a controversy too) of every man: porn is better than real sex. Unsure of its reliability speaking rashly on behalf of every man, it does hold truth to an extent: what makes porn incomparably arousing is its one-sided perspective; that while men can't induce the porn star in a woman, and good for him if he does succeed, they resort to an outlet where their wildest fantasexies can be visually attended.

"Women like her always get what they want."

Contrary to what most thought, including Russovoir himself, Don Jon is a film for the ladies. It will open their eyes to what the male population has gotten their balls blue and in a knot. And if you're lucky, only if you're lucky, they will reassess their effucktiveness.

THINK and TWITCH.

Written like Insidious (2011) already has had a sequel patiently in safe keeping, Insidious: Chapter 2 is an original screenplay with suspense and culmination not going further from its maker's style, and yet going further with the invention of the far-fetched and far cry. 

Confessedly confusing and dragging as it sends us deeper and deeper into the story, while in a surprising dissent with its scattered plot, only with alert retrospection and uninterrupted comprehension the story is true to its perfect title - insidious of genius; and when Russovoir put the pieces together, Insidious and Insidious: Chapter 2 in his head playing simultaneously, all happening long after the movie ended, he understood, it was not strongly 'to scare', considering who wrote the script and what he does best, but 'to think' as well.

"When I look into his eyes, he's not there."

It has easily become one of the smartest horror stories. Smart in a way that it dealt with elements improbable but in that particular story, and with mind open that it can be possible, even just until the film duration, in which two worlds can coexist, one of which devoid of time, the nothingness creates augmented realities of and through the supernatural, hairs will stand not only because the film is suspenseful but also, a haunting cohesion until, suppressed (again). 

To Temple We WHORE-ship.

Give Amanda Seyfried Lovelace (2013), maybe not even credit the relatively small role of Juno Temple (below right) there. That's quite alright, Temple has a number of memorable, laudable roles under her G-string. One of the melange is independent film Afternoon Delight.

"It's a Barely Legal thing. It gets men excited."

Nothing but boner fide admiration for Juno Temple, step aside Jennifer Lawrence (don't go too far now, Russovoir will miss you). Maybe it's the frizzy beehive locks, maybe the doll-contoured face; and maybe the cheekiness of the role, its perfected characterization, her unfazed and unrealized, invoking  speechless fascination, maturity bursting forth the screen, Temple stripped off any shred of anonymity in the industry of, while situationally reasonable, baring all for show.

"She knows; I'm a whore."

Afternoon Delight has a subtle, slightly piercing turn of events; it gives a profound perspective glimpse, a humbling comparison of what you have and what others don't get to have, human compassion, and most of all, the tendencies of marriage, many of which need constant work. The film is explicit because it needs to be - how else can you represent a prostitute? After one has marveled the 24-year old's Renaissance painting of a body, one eventually finds the heart of the story, as if Juno's breasts distracts to those otherwise looking past.

The Tone Award Goes to...

Lake Bell's In A World... is that dish you see at the buffet you've never tried before so you went for it. But unlike food that only takes one bite to decide whether you like it or not, and while the film looks promising from both its trailer and accolades, a film is not a good film until the end. Hilarious fresh material, the plot in Russovoir's mouth was for everyone to see - didn't our Mommas ever tell us we shouldn't laugh with our mouths open? He is not even sorry.

"Oh God, I'm naked! Kidding."

It's the battle of the sexes In a World... where beauty, brains, and brawn don't have a voice. Instead, the throat to the matter is, for these people in the voice over business, they don't need to be told to follow their voice; they control it. Down on one's luck but cheerfully persevering, Carol (Lake Bell) strikes a chord as she is the signal the male-dominant industry of voice over picks up. They say women can do what men can but, do they really, or feminism is simply louder?

Six Books of Cassandra Clare. Six Anticipatory Years.

Or seven if they do the profitable and familiar splitting of the last franchise (City of Lost Souls). Expensive and seem money-hungry but advisable especially where every loose end has to be knotted. 

It's a whole, brave new world in Mortal Instruments; a whole new perspective; a whole new love - wait, uhm, a whole new perspective. The characters of Cassandra Clare are more mature, tolerant, and allow Russovoir to say, a literary nonconformist. Speaking for himself, blissful by ignorance of the books, the film has flavor that eschews predictability and cheesiness; instead, it envelops a fantastical fear, similar to the return of Voldemort, impatient how this existing presentation ends because it looks too screwed up to have a happy ending and Russovoir prefers happy endings and it felt like it's been running too long and why is it still interesting, have they revealed all six books, oh my god (breathe). That flush of anxiety and arguably a fanatic spasm, finally in relief the ending assures it's not the end of the complexity of their lives and those affected by it, is a confession that for six years (or seven), Russovoir's money is to their box office. It can only get more engrossing than this (reminder, The Hunger Games: Catching Fire this November; the second book).

"Bach is to demons what garlic is to vampires."

New elements come to play (the symbols, the institution, the clave); new enemies (the Down World); new allies; and visual representations that could only come from Clare's counsel, Mortal Instruments: City of Bones, a decree by Russovoir, should be a concurrent phenomenon.

The plot is so captivating that what good acting maintained was forgotten, and bad acting forgiven - the spell of fresh storytelling.

The Conjuring will SCARE you. True Story.

Russovoir is not good with statistics but sixty percent of the time he was watching The Conjuring, he has had his hands on his eyes, ten percent of which is one hand plugging the left ear (the right ear doesn't function, long story) because he already felt his balls are steel hard to take what menace is about to jump out always after the dead silence. But foolishly he could not (go on, call me names), traces of such, he fears, will be staring back at him in a mirror; so he tips his head a little. Where's that fucking hat? Much better.

One would think what a waste of money, sixty-percently. Russovoir says, he begs to differ, it was worth every penny. Doesn't it if it's comedy, and a good comedy in argument, you'd like, and actually prefer, to laugh until tears come out? Doesn't it as well you prefer to be thrilled to a thriller, baffled to a mystery, smitten to a romance, and sleepless to a horror flick (but that's always relative).

"Mom, where are we going?"

Not exactly sleepless because let's face it, it happened long, long time ago; and while that's not a strong reason not to be scared, the film is actually a true story. Now that, ladies and gentleman, by itself, a true-to-life story of the Perron family, creates teeth to the film that bites and sucks the life out of you in your seat.

Cinematic style reminiscent of Insidious (2010), eased with levity, to allow one's mind a respite from all the suspense that is yet to split the ends of hairs defenselessly standing, as your eyes take in a familiar horror but it's never the same so that's good, The Conjuring, although while it didn't abdicate Insidious (2010) - it's still the scariest! - it shook us; our very own exorcism in the movie house.

A Pornstar with Wag Reflex.

This is not a romantic love story, Russovoir surprises himself in slapping realization as the film unravels. In his defense, the poster looked immaculate and maternal like Amanda Seyfried plays a woman of influence of her time; Russovoir also didn't catch its trailer or, did it even have one? What is to be publicly trailed without spoiling the fact that it's a graphic biopic of a porn star? It was clever of them to keep marketing minimal, even the posters (below), to overwhelm the audience and reach an orgasm of incredulity and inspiration.

But this is all based on a personal account.

Linda Lovelace (click it) was indeed a woman of influence of her time. Not exactly Nobel Peace Prize. She broke the silence of woman abuse. For seventeen days in the orgy (can be literal) of the lucrative porn industry, she was a dog, 'a poodle with a perm' as her best friend Patsy (Juno Temple) put it, to husband Chuck Traynor (Peter Sarsgaard) who has had her on a leash. Lovelace, in hindsight, is only an extended medium of her autobiography Ordeal to those who prefer to spend $12 movie ticket than a $50 book in one day; to those who can't read; to those who prefer to see boobs than imagine; to the visual learners. And definitely, let's not forget, a film crosses borders.

"If I tell you to sit on his lap, you do what I say."

PUBLIC ADVISORY: Explicit images and dialogue are not advisable for the easily horny. That, and below 18 too.

Princess Jasmine of I Rob Ya.

Guaranteed, it will make you blue. Give me a color deeper - navy, it will leave you navy. Blue Jasmine is equally sad as Blue Valentine (2010), by which there is no resolve, no happy ending, naturally leaving you hallow and almost, immobile. The thing is, it wasn't only pity that left Russovoir heavy in sympathy; it was also antipathy for the situation that Russovoir doesn't wish for any woman to be in.

While there are women who knowingly pursue such convenient life, there are also those who are destined, lucky enough to hit the pinata on first try, saving further strikes, and while basking in the fortune the pinata knew will sweeten their appetites. The film critically exposes a woman who holds a Hermes Birkin but not a degree, that which gives the bag more value. Hardly Grace Kelly can teach her anything.

"I wanted you to want me and now you do."

It is a full-scale depressing film, but you can't evoke depression without impeccable performance. Cate Blanchett, far out, 'good actress' doesn't cut it anymore; 'sterling' is a piece of  the adjective puzzle of what Blanchett is on the back of the box and yet we enjoy the process of eventually knowing. Well in this case, Russovoir, because for such performance, hoped it to be a cougar in recovery, something inspiring and forgiving because what she's been through there should be a God to lighten the burden. But sadly no. Director Woody Allen snapped the character so well and so much that it felt like the movie screen suddenly cracked at the end, spurring the broken pieces flying to one's eyes - hurting, spineless, inconsolable.

Independent Film of Summer 2013: The Way Way Back.

Fourteen miles. Counting the wrong turns and wobbly draw bridges that Chicago is famous for Russovoir bravely crossed; his feet painting the endless pavement with sweat and blood; the night growing colder and sinister. If there's a will, and a stubborn one he'll give you that, there's always a way and, The Way Way Back was as purpose-driven, purpose-walking in this case, as a headstrong missionary in transit.

Allison Janney (below) already placed the film in a good light ten, fifteen minutes through the film. Russovoir thought she was familiar, that she was in a prior film watched; surely out of boredom instead of interest because had it been, he would've finished the film to see the credits roll and at least, match her face to that frustrating film. Not until Russovoir went to IMDb that it struck him. Struck by Lightning (2012) was that film. Then it made sense. She was vaguely remembered because, not only Russovoir was on the plane only at the tenth hour of twelve - he's gotten impatient - the film was vapid and a rip off of Easy A (2010). What madness, he conceded defeat to sleep.

Goodness what digression. That sixteenth minute through the film, and until the end, it was a plot stimulant. Eyes glued to the screen, raving mouth in one minute, concave in another - fourteen what again?

"And no, don't come down."

Janney, together with Sam Rockwell (below right) - shucks, where does Russovoir even begin? - are a lollipop after a painful tooth extraction. Because the film is a tragedy. Call it the diary of a divorcee's son. And the beauty of this film, as it is enviably impressive, is how the 15-year old boy (Liam James, below left) copes with the drama in the household; that every cloud has a silver lining. That should be it, an outlet of happiness, even if you have to bike to it. Fourteen miles. The film didn't actually play with our emotions, making us happy and sad like that in one sitting. What it really did was give us an outlet of happiness as far as the film went. Timely in between scenes, just before our faces are hot to shed tears.

"I hate him. He said I'm a 3, out of 10."

Are you done, Russovoir? Oh no, I'm far from done.

"I knew that. It's a 10-step process."

It's all about the dialogue and delivery that makes The Way Way Back a successful comedy. While Steve Carell enraged us Sam Rockwell engrosses us. The charm of Rockwell was long forgotten in Charlie's Angels (2000), overshadowed by Hilary Swank in the inspiring Conviction (2010), that he was this familiar face yes, but who, how, these funny lines and antics admittedly work on an actor who isn't big in comedy (as Carell is). Surprising really, he's effectively funny with bare effort on it, like any known funny personality in Hollywood.

The same goes with Carell. He's effectively an asshole with bare effort, consciously setting aside that he's the big one in comedy.

It's as if these actors from their respective genres of strength switched places and called this project an independent one because no one knows how the market will take it. And putting it lightly, and here's to creative writing, the film rockwell. Effusively even more.

S-PITT-tacluar thriller-infectious.

"It's been so long since I've seen a good zombie film." posts a friend of Russovoir's on Facebook. He immediately liked it because what recklessness that decision was was the hollowness in the mind which World War Z filled to the brim as quickly as it was abandoned. The thrill was real, partly because Brad Pitt is too reputable not to be taken seriously. Much like his convalescing wife Angelina Jolie in her films. Most of the nail-biting thrill was from the palpable special effects. It's as if what was happening on the screen and the stillness in the audience, in the movie house are concurrently happening that what's probably waiting outside is only limited to one's imagination. A biological outbreak is not impossible, and that by itself made the film mortally terrifying. We held to the ominous idea that 'what if' it does happen to thirstily want to know how it ends, crossing fingers of a cure (and Brad must not die because Mother Nature is a female for a reason), as if like a manual for what should come.

"But it's not really a cure, it's a camouflage."

After when the body count just doubles, no, quadruples every minute; after when there's just a thin string of hope and the screen time of the undead are so frequent one begins to examine its authenticity, the twist jerks you back like a potent medicine with a parasitic kick. World War Z, indeed, is the much awaited zombie thriller when we really weren't consciously waiting for; the definition of an outbreak.

  

Feeling Lucky with The Internship.

Ever since Russovoir arrived in America, he thought his dream job of being a screenwriter for Hollywood is one step closer; that slowly, and while thickened by experience and inspiration by then, he will be handed a career opportunity among the stars; the luminosity of the deserving stars on which his pieces are the bright sources. But lately, life has managed to scorch that match head dream. Most flammable is that hope that which burns of passion and determination or hopelessness and complaisance, he's unsure now.

What The Internship did was burning a little longer the hope of passion and determination. Russovoir doesn't know how and when to get there, but one thing is inevitable, and the film unsolicitedly confirmed it almost obviously, and while divine intervention still plays a major role, Russovoir needs human intervention.

"You taught us how to be a team."

The film's humor is, Russovoir quotes Neha (Tiya Sircar), the smart and fun intern, "...all talk but nothing make sense." And the appearance of Will Ferrel was unnecessary and overwhelmingly off. The first twenty minutes, or until the first Google challenge, was a shut down. The chemistry between Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson was mirthless; Russovoir found himself in a lag and if it doesn't get any better, he swore to leave. But it did. Thank Google it did.

Sure enough, expected from its trailer, The Internship is an exclusive sneak peek of Google's headquarters, its employees and their enviable privileges, and how it's both grueling and fulfilling to be part of the team. And just like what the film tries to convey, which was inspiring, the film ultimately was good, safely decent, due to the performance efforts of Max Minghella, Dylan O'Brien, and Josh Brener. Although while Vaughn and Wilson's moments pull one down, these young stars pull one up with their antics and awkward personae (now that's funny); a tug of war of mood; the birth of the 'meh' hand gesture.

Superman: Cape of Good Plot.

"Man of Steel has an unprecedented storyline, as well-knitted and nonabrasive as Superman's skintight suit." - RUSSOVOIR.

Let us break down each phrase of this one-liner to better understand how Superman engrossed Russovoir; that the thirst of the fanciful existence of superheroes resurfaced within him like a common craving.

"...an unprecedented storyline;"

To silence Russovoir's conscience, yes, he felt the conflict was familiar from a couple of mainstream superhero films. Transformers: Dark of the Moon (2011), Battleship (2012), and the most uninspiring, and not because the first two were in the umbrella of vapid storyline - they're decent and gripping otherwise, The Avengers (2012). Taking that to his brewing frustration, however, Man of Steel has an unprecedented plot because the writers (Christopher Nolan as one) knew planet Earth's kryptonite. Emotions. Frustration turns salvation.

Robots, aliens, and five almost indestructible, predictably infallible A-team, whereas, Man of Steel has an antagonist, let's say a fleet of antagonist, despite advanced in weaponry and combat, is uniquely restrained upon entry to a world not habitable. Hence 'world engine' and 'terraformation'. They appear human, are human, only 'evolutionized' as survival mechanism from their unique environment.

"Evolution always wins."

"well-knitted..."

Like the Kryptons' world engine, the film's plot went even deeper, getting traditional and honest. A proud die hard fan of no superhero, Russovoir learned a lot about Kal-El's origin, its planet's demo, topo, and pyschography, and how Krypton and Earth coexisted where which everything fell into place, makes sense; morality adapted over time against those who intruded with none, and which must be superior; the cosmical manifestation of hope; the strength, the weakness, adams-el in distress; parental love, both biological and adoptive; patience, purpose, and principle; the situational metaphors weaved into the plot as inviting as the red and blue of the iconic superhero.

"...and nonabrasive..."

The film's unassuming and recollective style of storytelling exude ease and relatability, not of the desire of a superhero, but the personification of the once troubled kid turned resolute man in any and every way applicable to our lives, to society, to mankind. Russovoir dare says, we have already been, are, and have the potential to be, a superhero. Forget super strength. Power: super compassion.

"Did God make me like this?"

As for Henry Cavill, he has what Brandon Routh (Superman Returns, 2006) lacks and the predecessors lost over time. Charisma. It's about time they chose a fitting choice. Russovoir saw both vulnerability and indestructibility in his eyes, and that alone was a paramount advantage. To the casting agent who saw this first hand, easily, you're Russovoir's superhero. See, any and every way applicable.

HOUDINI'nt See It Coming.

"It's the oldest trick in the book.", Russovoir hears either Henley (Fisher) or Dany (Eisenberg), he couldn't tell, he was more concerned where the rabbit went - oh my god! He would've already known better after so many lazy late afternoon stumble upons of Breaking the Magicians' Code: Magic's Biggest Secrets Finally Revealed on AXN way back, but he always seems unsuspecting; he forgets, then doesn't know any better. The art of magic seems something always refreshing and alluring and inventive that, personally, it's a new, inviting experience on an old trick (done sparingly). Most especially, most unquestionably, if your magicians are beautiful people Jesse Eisenberg, Isla Fisher, Woody Harrelson, and Dave Franco (below).

The Four Horsemen.

Let us talk about Eisenberg in a while - so excited! But first, the plot - who are we kidding, let's talk about Eisenberg, and work our way to the plot. Like like like. Like ten thousand times had Eisenberg been a Facebook post. Jesse is a pleasure to watch, let alone hear on screen. Not only because he's a good-looking chap but also very in character to all films Russovoir has watched. Probably all, he dare says. Adventureland (2009), The Social Network (2010), 30: Minutes or Less (2011), Why Stop Now (2012), and just recently Free Samples (2012). So maybe not all; he's not the only good-looking, talented chap in Hollywood, is he? And Russovoir is not saying, not at all, no sir, he's not going to watch them all. Admittedly, you could say Russovoir is that 'lovely assistant' who does what the 'magician', Eisenberg, tells him to do; to watch every film he's in. So far, don't snap yet, just don't. Not even for the fraudulent Camp Hell (2010).

Bad reviews - poof! - disappear - Now You See Me has a brave plot. Accepted, the film felt hurried and at times dragging, and progressively farcical, it is, if you look close enough, however, smart; how it finally came together in the end and you're sitting there, hexed in emotions you didn't think your mind can draw at the same time: confusion, incredulity, and stupefaction; off one's guard to rashly remove oneself from its best interests, like a magic show you walked out from because you felt tricked. Because it is a one big trick, this film. The magic of the plot is divided into those who see the strings and those who don't; the latter obviously enjoys it most.

"Do you have a card in mind?"

Love Long and Prosper.

DISCLAIMER: Russovoir takes pride of taking a film with a pinch of salt. Although while accuracy of review is credible - more credible; throw a bone - had he been a Star Trek fan or had read the The Great Gatsby novel, and while Russovoir's focus is the cinematic aesthetics, including but not limited to, the plot presented and individual performances of actors present, too much salt is bad for your health.

The Enterprise.

Mysterious. Mysterious how Star Trek: Into Darkness is an aura of advancement light years away, seemingly infinite of steel gray and the automatic and the convenient; technical jargon that could've slowly detached and bored Russovoir, and yet, as if like a CT scan that sees through you, Russovoir showed signs of malign emotional reaction. How mysterious, billions of miles away, millions of years into the future Earth, the infinite world of Star Trek was somehow bottled up in the finite scope of human understanding. As if the vastness of the universe doesn't and will not make sense, isn't a stardust fascinating if there aren't human values orbiting around its unknownness, like a covalent atom into another covalent atom to deem valuable.

Surely Star Wars has their own thing going, and that's another story Russovoir couldn't possibly have the interest to dwell on. That being said, Star Trek: Into Darkness, together with the first installment, Star Trek (2009), kept its plot down-to-earth despite in space. The story is simple, not too simple to keep you interested; coherent, as if following the film's ecliptic story line; extrapolative - hear Russovoir out - where which the Star Fleet is the far, far future's Central Intelligence Agency (CIA). It took a while to realize that.

The Enterprise of Jay Gatsby.

Fabulous. Fabulous how American men dress in the 1920's. Affluent American men. Russovoir instantly picked up on it because he found himself on those men; the crisp suits, the ceremonious bow ties, the walk-on-water shoes, fine sweaters, iconic fedoras from which glossy hair is only for the wealthy. Hence a certain cosmetic hair gel was branded after the infamous, poor rich man, Jay Gatsby.

Reportedly a snapshot of the author F. Scott Fitzgerald's experiences on Earth, in America, in 1920's nascent New York, The Great Gatsby is a manifesto of the societal framework and convention in the male-driven, roaring Twenties. As frank as Russovoir is presumptuous, women in the 1920's, with their bobbed hairs and in short skirts, had bodies but no backbones, hence were called a 'flapper'; one who flaps to whoever man has the stronger pull. Indeed, they were a new breed.

Although while that was harsh, and probably it's intrinsic of a man to protect and a woman to be protected, the novel turned celluloid is comparable to Romeo + Juliet (1996); it could be one of the most tragic love stories ever told. And what is this, Leonardo DiCaprio plays Romeo too? It is no coincidence. DiCaprio, at 38, still got it. That ageless romeo-esque charm, only in this case, while as passionate, was classy, awkward, hesitant, suspicious and, as it's always been, fiercely in love. Jay + Daisy. Traces of Marilyn Monroe from My Week with Marilyn (2011) were felt on Carey Mulligan as the handle-with-care Daisy Buchanan. But since both women are broken in their perspective time periods, it can only make sense how it was reminiscent. Enviable, insatiable, delectable, the cinematography was - and God, those lavish parties! Then, like a gum losing its zing, the film numbs you at the end like your mouth overchewed and felt, used.

"Tell me what you don't like, I'll change it."

What failed to send the message across from what had seen, can be heard from Lana Del Rey's powerful Young And Beautiful (click it).   

 

    

Evil Dead Possesses You!

"Oh my God Russo! You're sick! Why are you enjoying this? Oh God, ewwww!", a friend of Russovoir wails, audibly overlapping the ominous sound, seconds before someone is out of limb again (figuratively and literally). It's true, Evil Dead is the most terrifying film you will ever experience. Russovoir thought at first it's bollocks since what really can a remake do. The 1981 original, from the hellion who scared us in ever coming across a wrinkly spinster begging for a loan in Drag Me to Hell (2009), Sam Raimi permitted the remake; for a film that centers on gore and the wickedness of your worst manifestation of a demon, what better time than when eye-writhing films that came pouring in over the last decade. The time is now. The time is perfect because, quoting an accolade, the film was near perfect.

How exactly do you play a demon incarnate? Russovoir is fascinated by Jane Levy (above). Were there any camera tricks, or was it all her? Either way, Russovoir is possessed with the idea of being possessed. Had there been camera tricks involved, it must've not worked as perfectly without still Levy's satan-on-your-face performance.

"The fucking book won't burn."

We'd like also to commend Shiloh Fernandez, Lou Taylor Pucci (above), Jessica Lucas, and Elizabeth Blackmore, with whom the film was neither overshadowed nor compromised. They have enough talent to withdraw pain and suffering and horror where make-up and a green screen could've deadened them. Then it makes sense to us. Comparing it to the grainy, dusty, paste-like, and rustic gore of the 1981 Evil Dead, the remake is a patient long overdue. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, run faster!" and "Oh my God that looks so real, it's amazing!" came gushing out as effusive as each time there's going to be merciless torture on each one of the characters. Have faith to lose faith altogether because - imagine the next line in a satanic voice - The Poltergeist is coming. Chant it.

Inception says, "Sweet Dreams!".

Russovoir wants Trance to be as critically acclaimed as Christopher Nolan's Inception (2010). Where which out of respect Inception is still close ahead by a couple of millions because that's how it works in the competitive industry of firsts. "I call dibs on hacking the mind.", Russovoir hears Nolan saying to himself at one point, or to a group. Regardless, Trance, as if simply mentally picking out a few general and interesting points and presumptions of the aforementioned and innovate them, is a unique Danny Boyle experience. Like scraps from an old car that have been collected and sculpted to become a work of art (not that Boyle is scrap nor Nolan is an old car).

Russovoir feels too it's important to mention Nir Paniry's Extracted (2012). He watched this months back and servility of work plugged the creative juices to finish the review. Doesn't matter, Russovoir is determined to finish it and, look at the bright side, how timely you have something to compare it with now. Trust Extracted and Trance have two completely different plots. But equally brilliant.

Sasha Roiz in Extracted.

Unforgettable in Wanted (2008), James McAvoy was a new kind of fierce in the film. He's like a bad dream you didn't mind soundly sleeping through because the volatile persona is a beautiful nightmare. *telephone ringing* Hold that thought, that's probably Beyonce.

Now where were we? Ah, yes. Rosario Dawson. Allow Russovoir to assume. Prior to this film, and maybe during the making, there must be a lot of things in her head regarding the role she's going to play and its bare stipulations. The hunch is, Dawson believes in the story so much - the story really is remarkable - that the audience will look past, or even forget these 'revelations'. However, not immediately but rather gradually because, 1) you understood the necessity and at the same time, 2) there's a race between the heavy plot and your limited faculties in which you have to win or else, it's frustrating. All while the climax is escalating. Yes, you're going to have to think.

"You're going to forget me."

Think hard and think fast. Or else you're going to want to watch it again (as admittedly so). This is not a movie after a long day of work. Russovoir will not even walk you through the plot; you're going to have to watch it and exercise your mind for once. One thing is certain, Trance, much like its ending, on the account that there is either an overload or a breach of information, one as well ultimately has a choice to keep or discard it; so as to be tranced.

Movie Recommendation Time: Burning Man.

Matthew Goode, pardon Russovoir's French, is a fucking revelation! Russovoir thought, he may not have seen his prior acclaimed films before Burning Man yet - damn A Single Man (2009), Russovoir never knew - but this will do to be on the goode side of film recall.

Scenes shown in initially confusing flow, as if inside the head of a broken - no, burning man, patience is important; Matthew is an appeasing stimulant. It is a sad story that if it were a true story Russovoir wouldn't know how to take it; he barely had enough to respond to the blow on the last few minutes of its voracious sadness.

Locally commended in Australia with ten (10) AACTA (Australian Academy of Cinema and Television Arts Award) nominations as proof, including Best Feature Film and Best Actor Matthew Goode, Chef Tom (Goode) is one of the best English chefs in Australia; he is at the top of the food chain. He may have control in the kitchen, among the pots and pans with which his God-given talent could endanger the population of red lobsters; he surely can hold a knife with such finesse and agility. But there is a knife inside his wife that even the best hands could not control. Imagine the frustration and why it isn't just a flesh wound. Imagine the anger and why her, why this soon. Imagine the disappointment and where was God. Imagine the scorching loneliness and what it has had charred off from his once 3-Michelin star life.

"Fuck me until the pain goes away."

Alongside Bojana Novakovic (Devil, 2010), there aren't too many words, or should there be any more, both because of the film's sensitive matter and a craft masterfully manifested. Is there beauty in sadness, or sadness in beauty? Cup your breasts ladies, they will tear up too.

Movie Recommendation Time: Love Bite.

WARNING: Do not easily believe what IMDb has to say on Love Bite. Indignantly just a 3.7/10 (how aggravating!), close that tab and just listen to Russovoir - two minutes and he's going to have you watch it.

Russovoir has seen a handful of werewolf-themed films in retrospect. Yes, including the accursed Jacob Black (Taylor Lautner) in The Twilight Saga; he's another day's cup of tea. Recently, Werewolf: The Beast Among Us (2012) fascinated Russovoir for its story kept him in suspicion who among them is the beast (hence the title). And when you finally realized who, you find yourself torn between morality and reason, with which lingers soon after. Sure, it's reminiscent of The Wolfman (2010). Despite so, besides you become part of the 'search team' to end the plague, Guy Wilson (Daniel) and Rachel DiPillo's (Eva) chemistry was as pulling as a full moon in a pitch black sky.

Like the phases of the moon, Love Bite is one phase from the cycle of werewolf related stories. Uniquely, it is a romantic comedy horror. Trust the British that genre is possible; trust, from experience, their story lines are impressively and curiously always a novelty.

Virgins. It only eats virgins this werewolf whose strongly presumed identity makes one emotionally affected to the lovelorn Jamie (Ed Speleers), comforted by the thought it's for the common good. Still a virgin? Don't worry, Love Bite fucks you with its phallic wit and hormonal antics (in their sexy British accent). And of course, what pressure to these four (4) friends who, until the werewolf scare, had lied about their virginity. Just fuck anyone, how hard could it be?

"It's complicated."