Expectations are a funny thing, and they almost always get the better of us. Joss Whedon’s Much Ado About Nothing is a craftily made Shakespeare adaptation with great performances all around, but you would do well to expect more Bard, less Whedon.

That Whedon was able to make this adaptation on a micro-budget, film it in 12 days over his vacation from production of The Avengers, and gather a crew and a talented cast of this caliber is nothing (ha!) short of remarkable. This isn’t the way films are made, not even indie films. So great is the success of Whedon’s experiment that it’s easy to assume the resulting film will be just as phenomenal, but it’s not. It’s a solid adaptation acted by a true ensemble, but that’s it.

For folks who have seen or read Much Ado About Nothing aren’t going to find any surprises, and those looking for Whedon trademarks will come up empty. After all, this is Whedon’s first take on material he didn’t himself write, and thus it feels very different from the rest of his work. The film is certainly very good, but it’s more Shakespeare with a pinch of Whedon, rather than Whedon with a pinch of Shakespeare; anyone who enters expecting the latter, like I did, may find their enjoyment tinged with disappointment.

That isn’t to say that the film isn’t any good, because it is. The film is very well-staged, which is impressive considering they only had one central location. Shakespeare’s plays only provide dialogue, so a director’s voice in an adaptation really comes through in the blocking. Most visual gags are invented by the players, and Whedon’s Much Ado has plenty to amuse the audience, even when the Bard’s dialogue is particularly dense. Speaking of dialogue, it’s striking that Whedon has updated the sixteenth-century play to a modern setting, yet left the dialogue unaltered. Whether motivated by a purist sensibility, or simply time constraints, the Elizabethan dialogue perhaps makes the case that the interpersonal difficulties people currently have are the interpersonal difficulties people have always had. The cast does exhibit some preliminary stumbling with the language, but after the first 30 minutes it fades into a natural groove.

The cast is the best reason to see this movie. For fans of Whedon’s repeat players, this is fan service of the highest kind. Alexis Denisof and Amy Acker own the film as Benedick and Beatrice, lending themselves to comedy and drama with equal weight. The rest of the cast doesn’t have a blight among them, with Clark Gregg exuding genial authority as Leonato, Fran Kranz successfully pulling off leading man Claudio, and Nathan Fillion showing up to steal the show as the Bard’s token comic relief character Dogberry. The normally mild-mannered Sean Maher, however, is the biggest surprise among the cast, with his expertly exuded villainy as Don Jon. Fans of internet comedy duo BriTANick will also be pleased to see them turn up as the First and Second Watchmen. A dinner party scene features even more cameos by Whedon regulars, so keep your eyes peeled.

Technically, while the film’s short production period is impressive, there are moments where it shows in the final product. While Whedon is able to get multiple varied locations out of one house (he shot Much Ado in his own home), the cinematography does come up short. Lacking, I suspect, a steadicam, the film relies too much on handheld shots to the point of overuse. A dinner party near the start of the film is gorgeously staged and framed, perhaps enough to be one of my favorite sequences for cinematography this year, but the film as a whole is noticeably inconsistent in this regard. However, the score, composed by Whedon himself, is more than up to par, heightening neutral moments and never intruding on the more dramatic ones. Whedon also covered two of Shakespeare’s sonnets for the soundtrack, “Sigh No More” and “Heavily”. Featuring lilting vocals by Maurissa Tancharoen, the songs are beautiful. Hopefully they’ll wet our tongues as we wait the long wait for the sequel to Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog.

Overall, although Much Ado About Nothing has flaws, I believe they had more to do with my expectations than they did the film itself. Whedonites may not find his voice very present here, but they should be more than delighted with the veteran cast of Whedon’s old collaborators. And while the film doesn’t showcase Whedon’s usual style, it remains a perfectly enjoyable Shakespeare adaptation, an intriguing experiment in micro-budget filmmaking, and a wonderful showcase of a very talented ensemble.

Verdict: Movie Win
RT Score: 80% (76%)

Link to RT Review

~ Ari

Despite a positive reception from both critics and general audiences, J.J. Abrams’ 2009 reboot of the Star Trek franchise was controversial amongst fans of the original series. While some embraced the film’s modern style, others were turned off by what they perceived to be a rejection of the spirit of the original. Star Trek the television show was about philosophy and ideology. Its main characters were more likely to solve a dispute with diplomacy than with photon torpedoes.

Star Trek the 2009 film, however, is first and foremost an action film. The film contains numerous pitched battles between the forces of good and evil. The antagonist’s motivation is barely existent, getting no more complex than “kill Spock.” There’s no denying that the film and the series come from entirely different worlds, but the complaints of fans were justified, to an extent. With Star Trek Into Darkness, it appears that Abrams and Co. have heard those complaints, and the film seems to serve as an apology.

Are there still exciting battles between enormous spaceships? Plenty, believe me. But without spoiling anything (and this review will be spoiler-free, worry not), our heroes are fighting to keep Starfleet true to its original intentions. When the film begins, the Federation is on the brink of war with the Klingons, and there are some people within Starfleet who want to weaponize the organization and turn it into a military. Isn’t this exactly what fans thought the 2009 film was doing? Well, not on the watch of Kirk and his crew.

The cold open of Star Trek Into Darkness, which people who saw The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey in IMAX have already seen, isn’t an epic space battle, as most films like this would have opened with. The Enterprise is trying to save a primitive population from a volcano. That carries its own tension and stakes, but it isn’t a violent fight like the opening scene of the last film. The crux of the film is ultimately about what Starfleet stands for. Fans of the original series won’t be disappointed.

Speaking of which, the cast of the film is even better than they were the last time out. Our seven lead characters have all settled into their roles, and none of them are doing an impression of the actors who preceded them. Zachary Quinto’s Spock is of particular note. Spock is the definitive straight man, and he gets most of the film’s laughs. He’s self-aware, but never in a way that feels disrespectful to the legacy of the character. Chris Pine has some trouble with the film’s emotional beats, but he seems to have a solid understanding of who Kirk is. The screenplay does a great job of capturing him as a person, and not a caricature.

In fact, that could be said of pretty much all of the main characters. These people have become so ingrained in the popular culture that it would have been easy to write them as broad stereotypes and leave it at that. The crew’s tropes we all know and love are still there, but they’re rooted in actual three dimensional characters. The film also does a great job of giving each character their own moment to shine. It’s reminiscent of last year’s The Avengers, which had a similarly large roster of heroes to juggle, and succeeded in giving equal treatment to all of them. None of the main characters get the short end of the stick, and they all get to save the day at some point or another. This isn’t an easy task, but Abrams and Lindelof pull it off without any of the spotlights feeling forced.

Benedict Cumberbatch is introduced as “John Harrison,” so that’s how I’ll refer to him in this review. There’s a lot to be said about how the film deals with his character, but it’s nigh impossible to do without spoiling anything. I will say that I’m worried whether people who aren’t fans of the original series will fully understand who he is and what his motivations are. His history is given a quick explanation, but it’s easy to miss. It’s possible that the filmmakers overestimated just how well-known this character was. I fear that a lot of people will be walking out of the theater scratching their heads as to what Harrison was trying to do. Trekkies will immediately pick up on Harrison’s true identity (the mere mention of a certain number will tip die-hards off right off the bat), but the glossing-over of his whole motivation might baffle general audiences.

That said, Star Trek Into Darkness is a great deal of fun. It’s a breathless story that dishes out moments of nail-biting tension with wild abandon. The production design, the performances, and the storytelling all feel far more polished and refined than in the 2009 film. If you’re looking for two hours of thrilling adventure with solid writing and stunning cinematography to boot, you can’t ask for more than Star Trek Into Darkness. It’s a film that will please the Trek-illiterate and the hardcore fans alike.

Verdict: Movie Win
RT Score: 90% (93%)

Link to RT Review

~ Josh

Phew. They’re back. Oh lord yes, they’re back.

Monsters University doesn’t exceed the quality of its predecessor, but mostly because it isn’t trying to. For this second outing, Pixar has efficiently narrowed their scope, while applying the same dedication to world-building and character development that’s made them who they are. After two less than stellar outings (though I only felt Cars 2 was outright bad), it’s an extremely welcome return to form.

As a prequel, University does many things right. Foremost, Mike Wasowski is the protagonist, rather than James P. “Sully” Sullivan. Cars 2 actually did something similar by giving Mater greater focus, but unlike Mater, Mike is actually a likable, three-dimensional character who exhibits personal growth. Indeed, University is built on Mike’s journey, even more so than it is on Mike and Sully’s budding friendship, which is a major contributor to University feeling like its own film. We’ve already seen Sully’s journey in Inc., so focusing on Mike makes for a film that isn’t just a retread of its predecessor. This isn’t to say Sully doesn’t have growth as well; he does, just as Mike did in Inc. But letting Mike have his story means the film is more than just “Hey, how did Mike and Sully become friends?” Monsters University is not an unnecessary follow-up; it has its own reason to exist.

In fact, Monsters University ends up being so independent from its predecessor that I wouldn’t even consider Monsters, Inc. required viewing before seeing University. Callbacks to the original are there and they’re awesome, but they’re surprisingly sparse. The prequel expends far more effort crafting its own story than to paying tribute to the original. So much attention is given to the prequel, however, that the film occasionally skirts the edge of negating the logic of the previous film, particularly in terms of the rules of interaction with the human world. These oversights are few and easily forgivable, though, because it shows Pixar was concerned with making a good film first, and a good prequel second.

Among sequels/prequels/continuations of franchises, University also does something atypical: rather than heightening the stakes, it lowers them. Monsters, Inc. put a lost child in significant danger, and forced its main character to realize that his entire world was built at the expense of children. It was presented in a G-rated context certainly, but that’s the crux of the film when you get right down to it.

For a prequel to have equally high stakes is improbable at best, so Pixar has wisely scaled things down. University is about having a dream and being faced with the prospect that achieving your goals may not be possible. There isn’t as much danger in that dilemma, but it’s still not an easy subject to tackle. How many “kids’ movies”, particularly ones originating from the House of Mouse, have the message that “when you wish upon a star,” it actually does “make a difference who you are?” It’s a gutsy statement to make, and guts is exactly what I like about this film.

This theme also fits perfectly with being in college, a time when everyone is trying to figure themselves out, particularly in terms of their careers. Thankfully, from move-in day officiated by chipper RAs, to competing fraternities, to the banality of general education courses, University captures the college atmosphere with accuracy, enthusiasm, and plenty of Monsters twists. But because the film has such a solid groundwork, the college setting feels like a natural extension of the story and never like a gimmick. However, an element towards the end regarding the significance of college surprised me, and I’m curious to see how people will react to it once the film comes out.

Do I even need to say anything about the animation in this day and age? It’s Pixar, so of course it’s stellar. My screening was in 2D so I can’t comment on the quality of the 3D, though past Pixar films have been overly conservative with the format. The cast is also top-notch, not that I expected anything less from them. Billy Crystal and John Goodman may as well have recorded their lines for Monsters, Inc. last week for how comparable they sound, with Crystal in particular seamlessly recreating some of Mike’s characteristic screams. Newcomers to the series also impress, with standouts such as Sean Hayes, Peter Sohn, Charlie Day, Aubrey Plaza, Tyler Labine, Helen Mirren, and [my doppelgänger] Nathan Fillion.

In sum, there’s almost a meta-narrative going on with Monsters University. Just as Mike is faced with his shortcomings and has to learn to appreciate where his talents do lie, Monsters University has accepted that it can’t be Monsters, Inc., and has chosen instead to be comfortable in its own skin. That decision makes for a delightful film with wonderful atmosphere, great character development, and a big heart; or, in other words, your standard top-shelf Pixar film. Monsters University is a worthy addition to the Pixar pantheon, and a more than welcome return to form for the studio.

Go Oozma Kappa!

Verdict: Movie Win
RT Score: 80% (84%)

Link to RT Review

~ Ari

If only every lunch could be that productive.

However, all the ideas discussed over that fateful lunch have now been used; the last film born out of that conversation was Wall-E. To a casual observer, this doesn’t mean much. After all, how many multi-million dollar grossing films should a group of human beings be expected to conceive over the course of one lunch?  If you answered four films, you’d seem a bit over-zealous, but you’d also be correct (A Bug’s Life, Monsters Inc., Finding Nemo, and Wall-E). Moreover, between that lunch and the release of Wall-E, Pixar produced an additional four films (Toy Story 2, The Incredibles, Cars, and Ratatouille), all of which were successful and conceived with no aid of Hidden City Cafe’s mystical powers of inspiration. To a cinephile more familiar with Pixar’s current history, however, the legend could be seen as another symptom of a company possibly reaching the end of its creative hot-streak.

The latter interpretation is probably a likelier response as we dive into 2013, particularly when put in the context of the recent announcement of Finding Dory, a Finding Nemo sequel scheduled for November 2015 (Nemo fans should also check out Søren’s theory regarding the film). While I’m happy to hear Nemo’s apparently staying found for this second outing (it’s not like we need another Taken 2), it means we have yet another Pixar sequel coming our way. Of the films Pixar has released or announced for the 2010s, only half are non-sequels. This is a pretty stark change for a company once known for its aversion to sequels – an aversion so strong it very nearly tore Pixar asunder from its partner-turned-parent-company, Disney.

Back in 2004, Pixar was still an independent company in a distribution agreement with Walt Disney Studios. Disney held the sequel rights to all of Pixar’s properties, but they held a gentlemen’s agreement that no sequels would be developed unless Pixar wanted to make them. Pixar was adamant that they would only make sequels if they could think of good enough stories for them, regardless of their financial potential. Pixar’s motto is that “Story is King”, and their track record reflects this: Toy Story 2 was their sole sequel among their then six films. Naturally, the success of Toy Story 2 meant Disney CEO Michael Eisner would pester Pixar constantly about when they’d make Toy Story 3. When Disney-Pixar contract renegotiations began to turn sour in 2004, Eisner announced the creation of Circle 7 Animation, a studio founded for the sole purpose of developing sequels to Pixar’s films without their input. Taking Pixar’s intellectual property hostage didn’t work, however, and Pixar CEO Steve Jobs announced that they would seek another distribution partner once Disney’s contract ended with Cars.

Pixar’s ploy was far more effective; with an untarnished string of hits and even more in the pipeline, they were fully capable of standing on their own – but the same cannot be said of Disney. At the time, their 2D-animated films were failing spectacularly, their unscrupulous spewing of straight-to-dvd sequels to their classic films was considered by anyone over 10-years-old as a cheapening of the Disney brand, and no one at Disney knew how to dig themselves out of their quickly decreasing profits and relevance. With the emergence of 3D-animation as a major box office draw, Eisner’s best idea to save the company was to take the brainchildren of Disney’s successful 3D animation partner and point a gun to their heads. Naturally, Eisner was ousted and his replacement, Robert Iger, went to Pixar and begged them for forgiveness. Then, in 2006, Disney bought Pixar for $7.4 billion, and Pixar’s top dogs assumed positions as part of Walt Disney Animation  Studios. For example, John Lasseter became Chief Creative Officer of both Pixar and Disney, and Steve Jobs (Pixar’s CEO and first investor) became Disney’s largest shareholder and earned a seat on their board of directors until his death.

Basically, Disney bought Pixar and put Pixar in charge. Pixar HQ still remains separate from Disney, and Leslie Iwerks’s documentary The Pixar Story (it’s a special feature on the Wall-E DVD if you’re interested) has a scene affirming that Pixar’s creative practices weren’t going to change as a result of the buy-out. The result of this is that Pixar doesn’t really have to answer to Disney, because the Pixar regulars themselves are the higher-ups. This certainly sounds good: what could be wrong with Pixar having more power and sway than they did before?

Lasseter’s first actions upon becoming Disney Animation’s Chief Creative Officer were certainly admirable; he disbanded Circle 7 Animation (though he found jobs for 80% of the staff) and ceased the onslaught of direct-to-video Disney sequels. Lasseter has also overseen the birth of Disney’s in-house 3D animation and the [short-lived] rebirth of Disney’s 2D animation. Even with Lasseter’s divided attention, Pixar’s films released after their acquisition didn’t show any decrease in quality; yeah, there was Cars, but there was also Ratatouille, Wall-E, and Up. However, great power comes with great responsibility. And in Pixar’s case, greater power may come with greater fiscal pressure. Pixar is now part of a very big company, rather than being in a distribution deal with one, and consequently they may be faced more than ever before with the added pressure to turn out a profit.

Something else extremely significant happened in 2006: Cars was released. It’s infamous for being Pixar’s first film to not earn vast critical acclaim, though a 74% Rotten Tomatoes rating is far from scathing. However, what’s much less well-known, and far more significant, is that Cars merchandise was surprisingly lucrative. It was so lucrative, in fact, that three years after Cars’ theatrical release (from which it earned $462 million worldwide), the film’s merchandise grossed $5 billion all by itself.

Now it’s time for an exercise: picture yourself as a filmmaker. You pride yourself on artistic integrity and making films only if the story is good enough, and your large devoted fanbase, financial success, and long list of awards serves as indiction that you regularly succeed. In fact, you’ve yet to fail. Then you release your seventh film, and you know it’s not one of your best. It’s good, but not stellar. It’s no skin off your back, though, because you’re already working on better films. But then you take a look at the merchandise sales figures for your good but not great film, and you see that it’s over $5 billion, which is more than the worldwide theatrical grosses of all your previous six films combined.

How do you feel about your artistic integrity now? You probably still believe in its merit; after all, it’s what accrued your success. But when $5 billion made solely from merchandise is staring you in the face, dwarfing the theatrical profits of your films, can you honestly say it hasn’t affected the way you think about your role as a storyteller? Do you still believe that “Story is King”?

As to whether or not Pixar still believes in the sovereignty of story, let me ask another question: of all of Pixar’s films they could’ve chosen to make a sequel to, besides Toy Story, which one did they choose first? Cars 2 was the first Pixar film to have a negative rating on RottenTomatoes (38%), but that didn’t impede its worldwide box office gross ($559 million), and Cars merchandise sales haven’t diminished. In fact, they’ve grown, and the franchise is launching a spinoff called Planes, which begins with a film releasing this August. This would suggest that maybe quality wasn’t what Pixar was aiming for in this instance. However, if you read any interview with John Lasseter, who directed both Cars films, he does come across as someone passionately in love with his brain-child. He’s often photographed wearing Cars shirts or surrounded by the merchandise.

Perhaps Cars 2 lackluster reception was due more to Lasseter’s extremely busy schedule as Chief Creative Officer of Pixar and Disney, rather than a lack of commitment to story. And yet, Lasseter’s words in the previously linked interview, given shortly after the release of Cars 2, could reveal a shifting perception. In the article, Lasseter said, “I make movies for that little boy who loves the characters so much that he wants to pack his clothes in a Lightning McQueen suitcase.” It’s as though his worldview has shifted to accommodate merchandising by writing it off as a symptom of people loving his film. But is Lasseter saying he wants people to love his film, or that he wants people to love his film so that they’ll buy the accompanying merchandise?

I don’t think there’s anything inherently wrong with having a Lightning McQueen suitcase. If you like the story and characters enough, why shouldn’t you be able to bring them with you when you leave the theater? Heck, I myself own a Toy Story mug and a Wall-E beach towel. There’s nothing intrinsically evil about merchandising, but in today’s struggling film industry, it holds more importance than ever before. Indeed if this wasn’t the case, it’s unclear whether Cars 2 would’ve ever been made. Because of this, I don’t think Pixar considers story to be king anymore. Story still holds the largest seat of power, but the monarchy has become a capitalist democracy. It can’t call all the shots; although it’s been elected into power , it still has umpteen parliamentarians to answer to. Story is the president formerly known as King.

I believe Pixar is currently experiencing the growing pains of adolescence. However, this in no way means that Pixar has given up all claims to integrity, at least from their perspective. I still believe their main goal is telling stories and telling them well, and I think Planes is actually evidence that Pixar hasn’t lost its self-awareness. The spinoff is clearly designed to be Cars but with planes, with a new cast of anthropomorphic vehicles that kids will just die to collect and throw across the room while making “vroom vroom” noises.

But it is worth noting that Planes isn’t being made by Pixar. Instead, the film is being produced by DisneyToon Studios, a division of Disney that used to produce all the direct-to-video sequels before Lasseter put a stop to that nonsense. Transitioning the Cars franchise out of Pixar could in fact be seen as an effort to maintain artistic integrity. It’s as though they’re saying, “We can’t let it go, it’s a golden goose. However, we can keep it away from our other films, so they won’t be corrupted too.”

They’re trying to have their cake and eat it too.

To be fair, the problems Pixar is facing aren’t all that different from the rest of the film industry. Less people are going to the movies and home video sales are in a slump. As a result, studios are increasingly shy about green-lighting any property that isn’t guaranteed to be a hit, which results in lots and lots of sequels. Of the Top Ten films for North America in 2012, only three weren’t sequels; for the Top Ten of 2011, there was only one. To a studio executive whose job is to pay attention to the bottom line, the safer and more merchandise-ready a project is, the better. So, in this progressively cynical age, it’s natural that the announcement of Finding Dory invites the perception that the film is no more than an unscrupulous cash-in on the first film’s most popular character. The fact that director Andrew Stanton may owe Disney after his recent film John Carter massively bombed isn’t helping matters, nor that Finding Nemo is the best-selling DVD of all time.

This isn’t to say that Pixar doesn’t have original films in the works as well. Bob Peterson’s The Good Dinosaur is releasing Summer 2014, and Peter Docter and Lee Unkrich are working on films about the inside of the human mind and the Mexican holiday Diá De Los Muertos, respectively. We could be in the midst of a shifting release strategy, where Pixar releases an original film every other year, with a sequel in-between. We’ll have to wait and see.

Even with myriad reasons to be cautious about Pixar’s future, and this is really the point I want to stress, let’s not forget what Pixar has accomplished. Prior to Cars 2, the company had an unprecedented eleven-film streak of success. All of their films made boatloads of money, and their critical reception ranged from “passably enjoyable” at worst to “masterpiece” at best. (Cars is really the only film that fits the former label; at the time, their second-worst reviewed film was A Bug’s Life, with a 91% Rotten Tomatoes rating) Additionally, Pixar has won Best Animated Feature at the Oscars eight times in the award’s 13-year history among many other awards. Are there any companies or filmmakers can claim to have a track record half as impressive?  With such clear evidence that Pixar is committed to quality filmmaking, don’t they deserve some patience?

The people who run Pixar aren’t infallible demigods of artistic filmmaking – they’re people. Even with the best quality-control in the biz, human nature dictates that, periodically, someone is going to screw up. Unless they suddenly disappeared off the face of the earth after Toy Story 3, then Pixar’s streak of critical success had to end sometime.  However, failure can be constructive;- for example, it can lead to ego deflation, something Pixar may have sorely been in need of.

Failure, much like success, is also temporary.  For an example, I point to Pixar’s forebears: Disney Animation. In the early 2000s, they had more failures than successes. Today, they’re on an upswing. Under the guidance of Lasseter himself, Disney’s successful 3D offerings have included Tangled and Wreck-It Ralph, while their 2D division is slowly recovering, with The Princess and the Frog and Winnie the Pooh both achieving success (though the latter’s success was mostly critical). If Disney can bounce back, why can’t Pixar?

So, does this mean that Monsters University and Finding Dory are going to be wonderful films? Beats me – it’s hard to tell how good a film is going to be before it’s actually come out. [UPDATE: You can read my early review of Monsters University here.] Personally, I’m more hopeful about Finding Dory, considering animation is a field Andrew Stanton has had success in twice before. Additionally, it’s the first film Ellen DeGeneres has starred in in over 10 years; her last film was Finding Nemo. DeGeneres is a very busy talk-show host, and I don’t think she would’ve carved time out of her schedule to star in Finding Dory if she wasn’t impressed with the script.

In sum, Pixar’s faced with many issues right now, but this stormy sailing could be just what Pixar needs to grow as a studio. Pixar’s future is unclear, and their problems aren’t going away, but after achieving as much as they have, it would be unfair to bail on them while they’re still in the game. I think Pixar’s earned our loyalty, for better or worse, to infinity and beyond.

~ Ari

The flowing figure of an enigmatic young woman floats down through sapphire blue water pierced by rays of faint sunlight. The young woman’s black hair streams behind her as she leans forward to touch the looming form of a giant, peaceful turtle. A quietly haunting tune compliments the scene as it accentuates the flood of emotional imagery. The space between the young woman and the turtle glows hauntingly as the eerie melody builds in strength.

This visually stunning scene is just one of many wonderful sequences that constitute Caldera, an animated short film co-written by local professor Christopher Bishop.

Bishop began his career as an undergraduate student at Hampshire College in Amherst, Massachusetts. Alternating between the film studies and studio arts departments, it took a while for the young filmmaker to find his niche. When Bishop finally ended up in animation, he found that it was a “nice hybrid” of his passions for both fine art and cinema.

Following graduation, Bishop worked with Chris Perry, another professor at Hampshire whose breadth of experience included working as an employee at Pixar Studios. Together, Bishop and Perry helped head up an animation project called The Incident at Tower 37.

They also developed the upper level animation program at Hampshire into a collaborative effort between faculty and students. According to Bishop, this program gives undergraduates a chance to work on a professional project for both experience and credit, while providing “the number of people [Perry] needed to complete the vision” for The Incident at Tower 37. Bishop was given the role of storyboard artist and lead animator on the short based on his undergraduate thesis, and the film was finally released in April 2009 to much acclaim.

After The Incident on Tower 37, Bishop decided to go to China with his old classmate Evan Viera. Viera had been teaching at a digital animation school that was interested in bringing the Western teaching style to Beijing. Bishop says his year in Beijing was “amazing on all kind of levels.” Working together in close quarters, it wasn’t long before Viera asked Bishop to help him tackle his new project, Caldera.

Making Caldera was a four-year process. Following the model of Incident at Tower 37, the project included the participation of Hampshire students, faculty, and collaborators at other institutions.

The idea for Caldera was born out of Viera’s experience with his father’s struggle with schizoaffective disorder. Bishop was keen to work with Viera on this subject to help elucidate and successfully depict the “structural and systemic issues in general surrounding mental illness.”

The film mixes beauty and dread in equal measure to help illustrate this message. Quieter, calmer sequences in Caldera like those with the young woman and the turtle overlay a dark and mysterious background, while more foreboding vistas still exhibit some modicum of beauty.

“There aren’t clear or easy answers when dealing with the complexities of mental illness and the perceptions surrounding it in our culture,” Bishop said. A major goal of Caldera was to present the issue as multidimensional and not black or white. “Even if the film’s imagery was dark and menacing, it was something that had other qualities to it to recognize as well.”

Bishop and Viera also wanted to shake up the established taboos surrounding diseases such as schizoaffective disorder.

“We didn’t want to glorify (the issue) through beauty,” Bishop said. “Rather, we wanted to complicate things that are often stigmatized as not worthy of appreciation.”

His goal was to bring attention to things that are “seen across the board as damning and negative.”

Caldera has already won numerous festival selections, accolades and awards from around the world. “It’s been a tremendous honor and privilege to see people reacting to it and see the attention that it’s gotten and some of the support we’ve received,” Bishop said.

But he and his colleagues in the BitFilms program at Hampshire College aren’t stopping there.

“Now there’s another film being made under the working title Tube,” Bishop said. “It’s the next film being produced in that environment.” Bishop was tight-lipped on what Tube will be about, but it’s a fair bet that it will follow the same bold creative approach used in the production of Caldera.

“The one thing Evan and I always had consensus on was not trying to make statements overtly, and conclusions about things,” Bishop said.

Instead, he wants to “present questions in a way that isn’t straight forward and more open-ended.” When he and his colleagues make films, they want to “let people interpret and debate and fall in love and get angry.” And with Caldera, it seems they’ve done exactly that.

You can watch Caldera in full here:

~ Søren

This article was published in its original form in The Massachusetts Daily Collegian on April 30, 2013.

2012 was a landmark year in many ways. With the release of The Avengers, The Dark Knight Rises, and The Amazing Spider-Man, the industry saw the true power of the superhero genre as it established itself as the new Hollywood mainstay. Indie comedies like Safety Not Guaranteed and Your Sister’s Sister ruled the underground, while big-budget giants like The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey and Skyfall dominated the box office at the end of the year.

Going into 2013, the pattern seems to be repeating itself. As Phase Two of the Marvel Cinematic Universe kicks off, audiences can expect an onslaught of interconnected universes in Iron Man 3 and Thor: The Dark World as they build toward the inevitable sequel to The Avengers. As if that’s not enough, Zack Snyder’s Man of Steel and James Mangold’s The Wolverine are both comic book films that are on-deck to try and salvage two characters who have only seen moderate success on the big screen for the past two decades.

In concert with the other major blockbusters of the summer, including Pacific Rim, World War Z, Monsters University, 300: Rise of an Empire, Despicable Me 2, and many others, it’s easy to overlook some of the more promising films of the year.

In July, Woody Allen is hitting the scene again with his new drama, Blue Jasmine. After wowing critics and moviegoers alike in 2011 with the stunning Midnight in Paris, Allen had a massive misfire with the lazy vignette film To Rome with Love. With an all-star but not overcrowded cast list – Cate Blanchett, Alec Baldwin, and Louis CK are all onboard – Blue Jasmine looks like it might just be the thing to right Allen’s ship and bring him back into the good graces of his fans.

Back in 2009, previously unknown South African director Neill Blomkamp impressed audiences with his science fiction film, District 9. While some decried it as a not-so-subtle retelling of a well-worn narrative, it was hard not to admire the fidelity of the picture despite its low-budget origins.

Blomkamp is back this August with his film Elysium, starring Matt Damon as a gun-toting citizen of a futuristic dystopia and Jodie Foster as the mayor of a space habitat for the ultra-wealthy. The writer/director again seems to be targeting a social issue with the film, this time focusing on class disparities, healthcare, and the consequences of oppression. But if District 9 is any indication, a fresh coat of paint and smartly-placed drama will elevate the story beyond its relatively simple conceits.

Moving into September, B-movie action fans around the country will rejoice as they are treated to another bloody outing with Vin Diesel’s terse intergalactic convict, Riddick. Written and directed by David Twohy, the man behind the past two live-action Riddick installments, the simply-titled Riddick doesn’t seem to have much more substance than its predecessors according to its official synopsis. For many fans of the franchise, however, little more need be said than that the goggle-wearing, Ulak-wielding Furyan will be back onscreen, slicing and dicing once again.

Not long after Riddick, director Alfonso Cuarón will release his long-awaited film, Gravity; after two major successes with the Academy Award-nominated Children of Men and Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, fans are eager to see what else the director can do with vividly imagined fictional universes.

Gravity features Sandra Bullock and George Clooney as astronauts who are stranded on a badly damaged space station. Early CinemaCon buzz indicates that the film will be beautiful – sweeping space vistas are reportedly awe-inspiring, the film opens with a 20-minute uncut long shot, and cinephiles everywhere are excited to see how this natural beauty clashes or compliments Cuarón’s decision to not to use any makeup on his actors.

2012 was a year of highs and lows as fans’ expectations were surpassed and dashed in equal measure. While 2013 doesn’t boast such a familiar or anticipated set of films, it certainly has the potential to engage audiences with unique, challenging, and ultimately satisfying stories.

So even if you don’t see Robert Downey, Jr.’s face mugging on the poster, give these films a chance – they may just surprise you.

~ Søren

This article was published in its original form in The Massachusetts Daily Collegian on April 23, 2013.

In Alonso Mayo’s debut film The Story of Luke, Luke (Lou Taylor Pucci), a twenty-five-year-old autistic man, grew up never knowing his parents. His mother abandoned him when he was young, and he never knew his father. He was raised and sheltered by his grandparents. After his grandmother dies, he finds himself living alongside his grandfather Jonas (who is incapable of taking care of himself) in the home of his Uncle Paul (Cary Elwes), Aunt Cindy (Kristin Bauer van Straten), and his two cousins, Brad and Megan.

His routine world is turned upside down when he moves in with his family, who immediately place his grandfather into a nursing home. Luke takes his grandfather’s advice to “get his shit together,” and goes on a quest to find a job and a nice girl who won’t nag and likes to travel. Luke decides to get a job, and after being advised by his cousin Megan to search in the classifieds, he goes to a job counselor where he is directed to SMILES, a company that assists differently-abled individuals in finding jobs.

Lou Taylor Pucci and Seth Green deliver memorable performances in The Story of Luke.

Pucci’s performance as the quirky, high-functioning Luke left little to be desired, giving extremely insightful view into the everyday challenges people with autism face. In the beginning of the film, he struggles with breaking from his normal routine. He runs away from Uncle Paul’s after the first day to return to his grandmother’s house to cook himself breakfast and watch his regular cooking show. He’s uncomfortable, he’s awkward, and he’s just plain lovable.

The movie, categorized as a comedy, crawls to eventual humor. But the over-arching serious themes made it difficult to laugh at Luke’s unfiltered dialogue. At times, it seemed wrong to laugh at a comedic spin that was put on his life, but Mayo portrays Luke as a witty man-child who takes everything so literally and says exactly what is on his mind. When Luke is allowed to do job training with his overbearing, crazy supervisor Zach (Seth Green), the comedic scenes were not in short supply. Green is memorable in his role as an angry genius who also has trouble fitting in with society, a very different than the uptight intellect that he normally plays (Dan Mott Without a Paddle, for example). His presence ultimately puts a lighter spin on the film.

After learning to work in the mailroom of the job, Zach decides to take Luke on as a case study. He helps Luke act “normal” in order to win over the girl of his dreams, Maria, who works at the job counseling agency. Luke learns many things along his journey, but also teaches everyone around him very valuable lessons.

The Story of Luke is a great film for anyone with a slightly dark sense of humor. Mayo does an excellent job portraying Luke and the challenges that he faces everyday. The film reminds us that some of the challenges that arise with autism might not be any more difficult than those of the average person searching for happiness.

Verdict: Movie Win
RT Score: 88% (90%)

Link to RT Review

~ Haylee

About the Author

Haylee Rethman is an avid moviegoer and connoisseur. She is a college student majoring in English and secondary education and enjoys reading and writing both creatively and journalistically in her spare time. One day, she hopes to have her work published nationally and eventually become an English teacher.

A week before going into Amour, I had the opportunity to speak with the head of the University of Massachusetts Film Production Club who had just seen the movie. He told me that Amour was an incredibly difficult-to-watch and emotionally jarring film because it dealt with the harsh reality of death and mortality. A few days later, in a conversation with my old French Cinema professor at the University of Hartford, I was told that the film was “challenging” and wryly added that that was why it did not win Best Picture at this year’s Academy Awards. When I finally went to Amherst Cinema to see the movie myself, I was informed by the box office worker that while he had not seen the film, the consensus from the theatergoers he had spoken to was that the film was a “tearjerker.”

Prior exposure to the director of Amour also helped shape my expectation that I was about to see a drama; I felt Caché and The White Ribbon, two of Haneke’s most recent films, fell within the bounds of the drama genre. Based on the fact that the film’s title translates to “love,” and the solemn, weathered look of Emmanuelle Riva’s face and Jean-Louis Trintignant’s hands in the poster, I also believed that Amour was undoubtedly a deeply sentimental romantic film. Indeed, my experience with the film generally corroborated my assumption that it was a romantic drama.

Michael Haneke’s Amour tells the story a married couple, two retired musicians, who are struggling with the difficulties of old age. While the film introduces the two in relatively good health as they attend a piano recital of a former student, Georges (Trintignant) starts to notice that Anne (Riva) is unwell; her memory is fading and her motor functions are deteriorating. Despite all of this, Georges stays at Anne’s side and attends to her every need as her condition gets worse and worse. At this point in the film, I was reasonably sure that the movie was a romance film; the relationship between the two leads was well-developed and had been given precedence despite the growing specter of death looming in the background of the plot.

As aforementioned, I believed going into Amour that the movie could be classified as what I called a “romantic drama.” But  film scholar Catherine Preston, romantic dramas are more typically focused on forming relationships between the protagonists and the struggles resulting from that process. While elements of this idea certainly appear in Amour in the first few scenes and then later as Georges contemplates how best to deal with his wife’s sickness, Amour features no unrequited or forbidden love preventing the protagonists from getting together. Rather, Anne and Georges are happily married, and their struggle is with Anne’s health as opposed to conflict with one another. Despite the fact that the “romantic drama” moniker didn’t seem to apply in its entirely, though, I believed that romance was still a significant aspect of the movie.

As the film progressed, I was convinced that the film was definitely a drama because of how it realistically focused on often-ignored social issues; in this case, Haneke chose to bring attention to aging and its accompanying ailments. However, drama is a very broad category that encompasses many different kinds of film. Therefore, after watching the movie, I began to look at drama sub-genres to classify Amour more accurately. One of these smaller categories was the melodrama, films which writer Tim Dirks says use “tragedy, illness, neuroses, or emotional and physical hardship within everyday life” to make the audience cry.

Yet, despite the apparently congruent description of melodrama with what I experienced watching Amour, I would hesitate to put the movie in that corpus, or body of films. Melodrama is a genre term which also has a negative connotation; colloquially, melodrama refers to overly-emotional and exaggerated behavior. In the critical world, melodrama is seen negatively and is often perceived as overwrought and manufactured with the simple goal of making their target audience, usually women, react to the movie by empathizing with the protagonist and crying at the more emotional points of the film. When I saw Amour with my girlfriend, our experience did not mirror these criteria – neither of us cried or reacted to the film in the way one would expect from a melodrama, and neither of us felt that the emotional pull of the film was in any way cloying or artificial.

Moreover, melodrama is semantically associated with music (melos means “music” in Greek). In Amour, there is a distinctly minimalist soundtrack. Apart from the music played during the opening scene at the piano recital and a brief montage later on in the film, music does not seem to play a big role in the movie as a mode of inducing an emotional response. Instead, music is used as exposition: initially to show the interest Georges and Anne have in music, and later to show of Anne’s talent at teaching and playing the piano. While use of music later in the film does come at a point when Anne’s death is clearly imminent, the emotional semantic effect seems secondary to the syntax of the plot as Georges makes his final decision about how to handle her passing.

In Tim Dirks’ definition of melodrama, the he mentions the word “tragedy.” Though his broader definition of melodrama seems to be an ill-fit for Amour, that word in particular struck me as I thought about the film’s narrative structure. The climax of the story is the pivotal moment when Georges suddenly smothers Anne in her bed, finally releasing her from her agonizing bedridden state. From the moment we find out that Anne is ill, we can infer from her symptoms that her illness is likely terminal and as a result spend the whole film expecting her imminent death. To me, this seemed to echo the syntactic nature of many other tragedies; from Jean Racine’s Phèdre to William Shakespeare’s Hamlet, the doomed protagonist is a fairly typical hallmark of the genre.

Tragedy, though, is often reserved for stories about character of societal import. In Phèdre, the title character is descended from the god Helios. In Hamlet, the protagonist is the prince of Denmark. Amour, conversely, focuses on two unremarkable elderly people; the fact that they are elderly means they fill an even lower niche because modern society neglects its members once they reach the age of retirement.

“In Greek mythology, Phaedra [Phèdre] is the daughter of Minos and Pasiphae, wife of Theseus and the mother of Demophon and Acamas,” image via Wikimedia Commons

In the same  essay, Miller also directly challenges the notion that tragic protagonists have to be devoid of hope from the onset. He suggests that this view is “the mode for a pessimist,” which is borne from misguided assertion that “…tragedy is of necessity allied to pessimism.” He offers instead that tragedy only succeeds when the potential for success is clear to the audience, so that the audience believes the protagonist may yet escape from their impending doom. I would argue that this looser set of criteria for the tragedy schema is not only an astute analysis of the genre in plays, but is also applicable to movies like Amour qualifying for the the would-be generic corpus of tragedy filmmaking.

There is one scene in Amour which seems to have very little in common with romantic films, dramas, melodramas, or tragedies, however. It comes in a surreal sequence where Georges hears a noise while shaving and decides to leave the apartment still dressed in his pajamas. Georges then realizes he is standing in water, leaving the audience confused. Suddenly, a hand comes up from behind him and grabs him around the mouth, shocking the viewer with a jump-scare. Shortly thereafter, the whole event is revealed to have been a dream.

Miller and Monroe in front of her apartment in June 1956, image via © Bettmann/CORBIS

Earlier in the film, Haneke gives the audience reason to believe that there had been an attempted burglary at their home. Furthermore, two of Michael Haneke’s previous films had strong thriller elements. Therefore, when Georges begins to walk outside his front door and down a hallway, tension is high; as an audience, we feel that a potential genre shift into a hybrid drama-thriller is possible. But no subsequent scenes follow the frightening tone of this dream, and the shift in genre never happens. As an amateur critic, I wondered what the value or purpose of this scene was. However, because it did not seem to fit with any of the other genre schema in the film, I came to the conclusion that this was merely a directorial motif that Haneke wanted to keep consistent with other movies in his œuvre, and not an attempt to confuse audiences on how to classify Amour.

While genre is an imperfect way to describe film, a well-reasoned classification of a movie can help honestly alter audience expectations. With that in mind, I believe that Amour is best described not as a romantic drama, nor as a romantic melodrama, but as a “romantic tragedy.” Certainly the theme of commitment to and sacrifice for loved ones is a major component of the story, placing it well-within the realm of romantic filmmaking. As the audience hopes for Anne’s recovery, they can see that her strokes are mortally affecting her mental and physical capabilities more and more every day – lending credence to the film as a modern tragedy, as well.

~ Søren

I was in the midst of learning to run an Enzyme-linked immuno sorbent assay (ELISA) when I heard the news about Roger Ebert’s passing. And if I am being completely honest, it shattered me. The nation had lost one of its best writers, the industry had lost a giant, and I had lost my North Star.

I won’t address the irony of the fact that I was learning about the very procedures that might one day lead to the cure for the disease that took his life. Nor will I dwell on the idea that I would not even have been in that laboratory had it not been for Mr. Ebert himself. Instead, I will focus on the man himself – a man whose very existence gave purpose to my own, and to so many others who looked to him for counsel and guidance

Thinking back, I realize I did not often agree with Mr. Ebert. His and my taste in movies were wholly opposite to one another, and his list of pet peeves was often utterly contrary to my own. And yet, I have not yet read a review of his that I did not completely enjoy. To say of a man that the strength of his incredible writing supersedes any disagreement I may have with his opinion is perhaps the greatest praise I can give to another person, but no one is more deserving than Roger Ebert.

His brilliance was in his elloquent simplicity. It was in his metaphors, his tangents, and his biting hyperbole. And of course, it was in his seemingly unscalable mountain of knowledge of film, literature, and popular culture that he used to inform his analyses.

But Roger Ebert was more than his reviews, and indeed more than his writing. He was, plain and simple, an inspiration. Among the staff here at Movie Fail, his influence was monumental; the consensus from our writers is that while many of us got our start by following in his footsteps, no one will ever fill his shoes. And yet for me, his role in my universe extended well beyond his work as a critic.

Roger Ebert changed my life.

Though I write for Movie Fail, and in spite of the fact that I am working toward a film certificate at the University of Massachusetts, I am, first and foremost, a scientist. I have been working in science laboratories since the age of 15, pining away at molecular assays as I attempt to build a career for myself once I finish school. Biophysics, epigenetics – you name it, I’ve done it.

But all throughout my education, I was also committed to making film and journalism a lasting part of my life.

As a child, I spent my Sundays watching Ebert and Roeper At The Movies. I loved their show, and every week I eagerly anticipated their catty debates about which films deserved praise, and which deserved to be trashed. From the fourth grade through middle school, my fellow Movie Fail contributor and longtime friend Michael Capodiferro and I would struggle as we attempted to write and shoot numerous home movies. But somewhere deep down I knew that my heart was really in film criticism, so much so that I tried several times to get Mike to film segment that closely mirrored the format of At the Movies.

Although that never happened, the seed was planted. And since Roger Ebert had brought his opinion to multimedia, I was going to, too.

In high school, I started working at WWUH at the University of Hartford, volunteering my time catalog to their extensive CD and record collection. With that as a sort of symbolic foundation, I founded a podcast club at my school where Tim Nicholson and I actually started Movie Fail as a segment on our weekly show.

In college, I started Movie Fail Reviews with Tim and have poured almost all of my free time into its maintenance and upkeep. I also started writing for The Massachusetts Daily Collegian as a film correspondent, and began co-hosting a radio show of my own along with Mike, our paths having come full circle from childhood.

But then came the question of what to study as an undergraduate. In his article “The golden age of movie critics,” Roger Ebert gives advice to anyone thinking about becoming a critic:

So now I’m a microbiology major, working in a molecular biophysics lab and attending research conferences all over the country. But every day, as I sit in class learning about the oscillation of the FtsZ ring in bacterial cell division, I remind myself that Mr. Ebert himself wouldn’t have it any other way.

Over the past decade, Mr. Ebert became extraordinarily facile with Facebook and Twitter, making good use of those social media platforms to connect directly with his readership on a personal level. Naturally, as a longtime fan of both him and his work, I immediately attempted to make contact. My first note was simple, but collegial in nature:

And then there was this one:

Unfortunately, I never received a response to either of these – unsurprising, given the man’s incredibly busy schedule thousands of overeager followers and admirers. Mr. Ebert did find time to reply to at least one of my posts, however:

It isn’t glamorous, and my one and only brief communication with him will forever include the words “uh,” “butter,” and “salt,” but I will treasure it anyway. What Mr. Ebert did for me that day was show me firsthand that even a giant of the field can take some time out to speak with those who aspire to their position. He showed me that a brief moment indulging a fan can reaffirm a lifelong admiration. He showed that despite his intense, debilitating battle with cancer, he would continue to write, continue to teach, and continue to connect with this fans.

And he showed me that there is more to popcorn than just the exploded kernel – there’s the fatty condiments that dress it, too.

In the final scene of American History X, a film that Mr. Ebert and I both happened to like, Danny Vinyard talks about his brother’s advice for writing an essay. “Derek says it’s always good to end a paper with a quote. He says someone else has already said it best – so if you can’t top it, steal from them and go out strong. So I picked a guy I thought you’d like.”

With that sentiment in mind, I’ll end with one from the man himself:

“So on this day of reflection I say again, thank you for going on this journey with me. I’ll see you at the movies.”

~ Søren

Choice Articles by Roger Ebert

Video games can never be art - A piece on video games that I vehemently disagree with, but is a brilliant read
We’ve Seen This Movie Before - An incredible article about the Aurora shooting and gun control
Don’t tear down that wall - A fascinating and insightful post about the separation of Church and State
What was that all about? - An analysis of films like those by David Lynch as puzzles without solutions
Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo - One of our own Josh Rosenfield’s favorite Ebert-penned take-downs
A Leave of Presence - A powerful final word from Mr. Ebert about his failing health

It has been a long time since Jim Carrey has been funny. For the past decade or so, the iconic 90s comedy superstar has been stretching the limits of his acting ability with critical darlings Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and I Love You, Philip Morris. Meanwhile, films like Fun With Dick and Jane, while satirical and at times quite funny, didn’t give Carrey that space to do his particular brand of over-the-top physical humor. In The Incredible Burt Wonderstone, he’s buff, he’s loopy, and he’s an absolute riot. A truly unique character amongst his extensive repertoire, Steve Gray makes an admirable adversary for Steve Carrell’s Burt Wonderstone and Buscemi’s Anton Marvelton.

Carrey’s bizarre, David Blaine-like antics clash beautifully with the classical magician tradition, personified by Alan Arkin’s character Rance Holloway. In one particular scene, the two meet and in a moment that feels like meta-commentary from the old guard of Hollywood on Carrey’s acting career. Gray challenges Holloway’s authority using nonsensically grandiose metaphors before dramatically gliding out of the bar, leaving Holloway stupefied by his idiotic babbling; the generational gap between these two very funny, very different comedic talents gives a layer of depth to the scene that perhaps director Don Scardino never considered.

Carrell makes for a serviceable leading man as Burt Wonderstone, although he’s not nearly as funny here as he has been in other films. He lacks the bombast of an actor like Will Ferrell, and seems to drift through his role as a washed-up magician with a knowing smirk rather than an all-out commitment to the role. Fortunately, Olivia Wilde’s character Jane gives him enough humanity for the audience to sympathize with his character despite his apparent apathy.

That’s pretty much the end of the praise I can offer, however, because the truth is that The Incredible Burt Wonderstone is not a very good film. While Jane is an endearing foil for Wonderstone, she doesn’t have nearly enough to do in the context of the narrative. Moreover, the script is stilted and uninspired, the plot is rote, and the characters are decidedly shallow. While Steve Gray is fun to watch, there’s no context for his villainy, nor is there any clear impetus for the titular protagonists. Buscemi’s Marvelton in particular, while sweet and at times endearing, has almost no character arc whatsoever; he functions simply to drive the conflict between the himself and Wonderstone, and then to inadvertently set up the film’s silly climax.

Moreover, the film is about fifteen minutes too long. The first half of the movie wastes too much time building up what is ultimately a shallow relationship between Wonderstone and Marvelton. The pacing in the first act and a half is slow and the jokes are far and few between, leaving the audience wondering if they’ve just put down money for yet another uninspired schlock-fest comedy. After that laborious introduction, however, the film magically ratchets up the laughs as it steams ahead toward the finish line.

Some have called The Incredible Burt Wonderstone a Will Ferrell sports comedy minus Will Ferrell, but this doesn’t quite hold water. While the film does feature over-the-top protagonists and a cartoonish villain, these elements feel germane to the nature of Vegas magicians. This contrasts with Ferrell’s character in a movie like Semi-Pro, where his antics clash with what an audience expects of a film about basketball.

Your enjoyment of The Incredible Burt Wonderstone is wholly dependent on two important factors. For moviegoers willing to look past clunky writing and a saggy first act, there is a lot of heart and innocent goofiness to be enjoyed, particular in the final moments of the movie. Likewise, fans of Jim Carrey’s rubbery brand of shenanigans will find this a welcome and nostalgic return to form for the actor. Burt Wonderstone will be at best an often-times laugh-0ut-loud comedy, and at worst a charming diversion as audiences await the bigger summer blockbusters.

Verdict: Movie Meh
RT Score: 65% (70%)

Link to RT Review

~ Søren

This article was published in its original form in The Massachusetts Daily Collegian on April 2, 2013.