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I swear, homeless organizations could make a killing just standing around outside the multiplex when showings of Happyness let out and asking for donations to help people like Chris Gardner…
The Prestige is a fan-fuckin’-tastic popcorn flick that’s as smart as it is shifty, like some lost Alan Moore graphic novel come to life, like something Jules Verne would have written if he were Neil Gaiman.
Half bitter and harsh, half propagandistic and hagiographic, this is the love child of ‘Saving Private Ryan’ and ‘Pearl Harbor,’ too sentimental to be intellectually satisfying but too tart to serve as melodrama.
Oh, those rickety biplanes, all canvas and wood and held together by spit and a prayer, come taxiing out of the early morning fog and there’s the sad tin whistle music and the eager young men jumping to get up in the air and get themselves killed, and I’m a basket case from the get-go, all tears and sobby and having just the best time I can have at the movies: I. Am. Moved.
Is it just me, or is there something really sweet about Mark Wahlberg? Not to suggest he’s not all manly and muscly and footbally or anything…
Is it ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ or ‘Highlander 2: The Quickening’?
Dramatizes a bizarre moment in time with a straightforward aplomb that is devastating. You wish you could laugh at the insanity of it but the only emotional response is overwhelming rage and grief.
Just wait a minute before you call Godwin on this movie…
Words like ‘meditation’ and ‘contemplation’ may seem inappropriate, at first glance, because the standard hack-movie-critic phrases like ‘roller-coaster ride’ followed by multiple exclamation points don’t even come close to doing justice to the heart-revving adrenaline rush Jackson has crafted. Two words: dino stampede. I probably should have put my head down between my knees and taken a series of long, deep breaths to recover from that early Skull Island setpiece, except it would have meant taking my eyes from the screen, and there was no way in hell I could have done that.
I left the screening room on Monday afternoon with Johnny Cash’s voice— no, with Joaquin Phoenix’s where’d-he-get-that-from baritone echoing in my head…
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