Local & Repertory
Days of My Youth Is it too soon to start thinking about ski season? Not according to the filmmakers of this roving, snowy travelogue, which visits Alaska, Peru, and other white locales. (NR)
The Moore, 1932 Second Ave., 877-784-4849, stgpresents.com. $17.50. 8 p.m. Thurs., Sept. 25.
Earth Girls Are Easy Julien Temple’s 1988 comedy, with Geena Davis, Jeff Goldblum, and Jim Carrey, is a lot of fun, mixing romance with some infectious ’80s music. (PG)
Central Cinema, 1411 21st Ave., 686-6684, central-cinema.com. $6-$8. 7 p.m. Fri.-Tues. & 3:30 p.m. Sat.-Sun.
Palo Alto Watching Gia Coppola’s humdrum high-school teen angst movie, I couldn’t help but wish she’d followed the route of her grandfather (Francis Ford Coppola) and chosen to cut her teeth on something less pretentious and meaningful—you know, like a down-’n’-dirty horror picture. Perhaps such a project would summon a little more oomph. Palo Alto is adapted from a book of short stories by the apparently inexhaustible James Franco, who also plays a supporting role in a handful of scenes as a sleepily lecherous soccer coach whose focus of attention is a confused 16-year-old named April (Emma Roberts). That’s not the center of the film, however; along with April’s issues, there are also promiscuous Emily (Zoe Levin) and diffident Teddy (Jack Kilmer, son of Val Kilmer—who cameos, daffily), a lad with poor decision-making abilities. This is California ennui born of an overabundance of privilege and living space, captured in a manner that seems weirdly pedestrian. If it weren’t for the excellence of Roberts (another scion: daughter of Eric, niece of Julia), Palo Alto would have an eerie lack of distinguishing features. (NR) ROBERT HORTON SIFF Film Center (Seattle Center), 324-9996, siff.net. $6-$12. 7 p.m. Mon.
Patema Inverted This new Japanese anime, a sci-fi teen romance, is presented in both dubbed and subtitled prints. (NR)
SIFF Cinema Egyptian, 801 E. Pine St., 324-9996, siff.net. $6-$12. Runs Fri.-Thurs.
•
Scarface One of the most influential films of the ’80s, Brian De Palma’s Scarface made Cuban immigrant coke dealer Tony Montana (played by Al Pacino) an icon of the VHS era. Its nothing-to-everything theme had great resonance for the young Snoop Dogg, Method Man, Ghostface Killah, Capone, Scarface (who adapted his nom de rap from you know who), Russell Simmons, and others. According to no less an authority than P. Diddy, Montana “was an upstanding gangster, which is a rare thing.” Certainly these fans are right on target about Scarface as a parable of unfettered American capitalism. All point not to the film’s violence but to its moral: Montana becomes a monster who deserves to be destroyed; he’s undone by his own excess. And a fun bit of trivia about the 1983 film: Screenwriter Oliver Stone claims to have kicked coke while writing Scarface in Paris. He got out of the game that Montana couldn’t quit. (R) BRIAN MILLER Central Cinema, $6-$8. 9:30 p.m. Fri.-Tues.
Ongoing
•
Boyhood Richard Linklater’s Boyhood was shot in the director’s native Texas in short bursts over a 12-year period—Linklater knew the shape of the film, but would tweak its script as time marched on, incorporating topical issues and reacting to his performers. This means that unlike most movies, which remake the world and impose an order on it, Boyhood reacts to the world. Protagonist Mason (Ellar Coltrane), tracked from first grade to high-school graduation, is learning that life does not fit into the pleasing rise and fall of a three-act structure, but is doled out in unpredictable fits and starts. Linklater doesn’t reject melodrama so much as politely declines it, opting instead for little grace notes and revealing encounters. Patricia Arquette and Ethan Hawke are terrific as the parents, and Linklater’s daughter Lorelei is distinctive as Mason’s older sister. Other folks come and go, like people do. As we reach the final stages, there’s definitely a sense of rounding off the story, and a few appropriate nods toward lessons learned—the movie’s not as shapeless as it might seem. Let’s also appreciate how Linklater calls for us to reimagine how we might treat movies and childhood: less judgment, less organization, more daydreaming. (R) ROBERT HORTON Sundance
The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby: Them Eleanor (Jessica Chastain) walks across a New York City bridge on a pleasant day, and at one point abruptly dodges out of frame. The rest of the movie is an attempt by Eleanor—and her family, friends, and husband Conor (James McAvoy)—to figure out what happens after she survives her fall. After her suicide attempt, El goes to live with the folks, so we see how she’s been shaped by her distracted father (William Hurt), a psychiatrist, and her wine-swigging mother (Isabelle Huppert), who likes reminding Eleanor what she sacrificed for family. Conor has more life: he’s managing a restaurant that is quietly failing, leading to charged encounters with his best pal/head chef (SNL stalwart Bill Hader). Director Ned Benson’s Benson’s project bowed at the Toronto Film Festival last fall as two separate features: The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby: Her and Him. This film is a 122-minute compilation of the two, though the intriguing point of the original project was how the twin movies reflected on each other from contrasting perspectives. Them is a less-than-convincing in-betweener. (R) ROBERT HORTON Guild 45th, Pacific Place, Lincoln Square
The Drop Dennis Lehane (Mystic River, Gone Baby Gone) adapted this screenplay from a short story, in which two initially unrelated incidents make the plot go: the rescue of a wounded dog and the closing-time robbery of a Brooklyn tavern called Cousin Marv’s. The bartender, Bob (Tom Hardy, late of Locke), is walking home one night when he hears the pathetic mewling of an abandoned pit bull. The abused dog is on the property of Nadia (Noomi Rapace), and these two strangers strike up a friendship around the dog; it is just possible they might be interested in each other. The robbery, meanwhile, puts hapless Cousin Marv (James Gandolfini) in a tight spot; he’s already lost ownership of the bar to Chechen gangsters. We surmise early on that not all is as it seems, and the storyline has some effective revelations along the way. But the painting of a culture is the real draw here; not only are Lehane’s underworld denizens unable to escape, it doesn’t even occur to them to imagine escaping. Bullhead director Michael R. Roskam has his actors sunk into this defeated world: Rapace gives her best English-language performance yet; and Hardy’s soft-spoken turn is another step on the road for this eerie actor. Gandolfini, of course, owns this turf, and the late actor goes out strong—he can suggest a lifetime’s frustration just by the way he shoulders his bulk out of a car. (NR) ROBERT HORTON SIFF Cinema Uptown, Sundance, TK others
•
Flamenco, Flamenco Carlos Saura’s 2010 dance doc is a series of individual performances reflecting the state of the art form today, from the traditional to the avant-garde. The structure of the film is quite simple—it’s just a series of numbers, some featuring only musicians or dancers, some more elaborate. Apart from section titles, there’s no description or explanation; the dancing simply speaks for itself. Instead of filming in a studio or a club, Saura built a platform in a soundstage and filled it with portraits of dancers—some from the past, others a figment of his imagination. Vittorio Storaro’s hyper-mobile camera slides through that gallery and around the performers. We rarely get the feeling that we’re watching from a theater seat. Instead we’re right next to the dancers, sometimes the direct focus of their attention. Traditional flamenco is performed in small quarters; Storaro and Saura have found a way to match that intimate feeling. Probably the sweetest moment in the film is an appearance by guitarist Paco de Lucia, who died last year. We’re close enough to see his phenomenal technique, but the rapport he has with the other musicians eclipses the pyrotechnics. Like the others who perform with him, we’re just thrilled to be there (NR) SANDRA KURTZ Varsity
•
Guardians of the Galaxy Give thanks to the Marvel gods for Guardians of the Galaxy. If you’ve ever had to suppress a giggle at the sight of Thor’s mighty hammer, this movie will provide a refreshing palate-cleanser. First, understand that the Guardians of the Galaxy tag is something of a joke here; this is a painfully fallible batch of outer-space quasi-heroes. Their leader is an Earthling, Peter Quill (Lake Stevens native Chris Pratt, from Parks and Recreation, an inspired choice), who calls himself “Star-Lord” even though nobody else does. In order to retrieve a powerful matter-dissolving gizmo, he has to align himself with a selection of Marvel Comics castoffs, who will—in their own zany way—end up guarding the galaxy. (His costars, some voicing CGI creatures, are Zoe Saldana, Bradley Cooper, Vin Diesel, and the pro wrestler Dave Bautista.) Director James Gunn (Super) understands that getting character right—and keeping the story’s goals simple—can create a momentum machine, the kind of movie in which one scene keeps tipping giddily over into the next. Guardians isn’t exactly great, but it comes as close as this kind of thing can to creating explosive moments of delight. (PG-13) R.H. Majestic Bay, others
•
Love Is Strange Meet Ben (John Lithgow) and George (Alfred Molina), whose cohabitation stretches back long before same-sex marriage was a realistic goal. Their new legal bond means that music teacher George is fired by the Catholic school where he has long worked—everybody there likes him, but they have to obey their bylaws. Manhattan is sufficiently expensive that Ben and George have to give up their place, and financial complications dictate a few months of couch-surfing before they can settle. George moves in with tiresomely younger, hard-partying friends; Ben takes a bunk bed in the home of relatives Kate and Eliot (Marisa Tomei and Darren E. Burrows), who already have their hands full with an awkward teen son (Charlie Tahan). It’s one of those sad situations in which everybody generally means well, but things just aren’t working out. Yet director Ira Sachs (Keep the Lights On), who has charted an intriguing course for himself through the indie world, is confident enough to leave out the expected big scenes and allow us to fill in the blanks. The movie’s about a great deal more than gay marriage, if it is about that. It’s about how nobody has any time anymore; and how great cities have priced ordinary people out of living in them; and how long-nurtured dreams have to be gently refocused. True to Sachs’ style, the movie isn’t designed as an actor’s showcase. We’re not supposed to notice the acting here—just the people. (R) ROBERT HORTON Harvard Exit
Lucy Insofar as playing transcendent thinking/killing machines, Scarlett Johansson is definitely on a roll. Last year she was the omniscient OS Samantha in Her. This spring she was the alien huntress in Under the Skin. Now, in Luc Besson’s enjoyably silly sci-fi shoot-em-up, she’s a young woman whose brain achieves 100 percent of potential, owing to a forced drug-mule errand gone wrong. The bogus conceit that humans only use 10 percent of our cerebellum takes way too long for Besson to advance, with Morgan Freeman’s tedious scientist and nature documentary footage used to amplify his dubious theory. No matter: Lucy is soon learning Mandarin, electrical engineering, mad handgun skills, and Formula One-level driving on the fly. (Telekinesis soon follows, of course.) Her goal, which takes her from Taiwan to Paris, is to track down the other couriers with bags of IQ-growth hormone sewn in their guts and mainline those purple crystals—all for the good of humanity, which she hopes to enlighten before her apotheosis. (Pursuing her is the vengeful drug lord Jang, played by Oldboy’s Choi Min-sik, who wants his stash back.) Beneath the gunfire and philosophical malarky, there is—as in Besson’s best action efforts—a sound sentimental foundation to Lucy. This slacker turned godhead-assassin interrupts her mission to call her mom. “I feel everything. I remember everything,” she says tearfully, describing memories back to infancy. For anyone who’s ever forgotten where they put the car keys, Lucy makes 11 percent seem awfully tempting. (R) B.R.M. TK, Vashon, others
My Old Lady Set mostly in a fabulous Paris apartment, tis film is based on a play by Israel Horovitz, and no wonder Horovitz (making his feature-film directing debut—at age 75) chose not to open up the stage work; that’s one great pad. A failed-at-everything 57-year-old blowhard named Mathias Gold (Kevin Kline) has arrived in Paris to claim the place, but there’s just one problem. It was purchased by his father, some 40 years earlier, in the French contract called viager, which means the seller gets to live in it until she dies, as the buyer pays a monthly stipend in the interim. And she—in this case 92-year-old Madame Girard (Maggie Smith)—is still very alertly alive. So is her daughter Chloe (Kristin Scott Thomas), and so are various ghosts from the past, many of which come staggering to life as Mathias moves into an empty room and schemes a way to undercut these entrenched ladies. The pace is rocky here, and everybody speaks as though they’re in a play. This is partially mitigated by the fact that if you’re going to have people running off at the mouth, you could do worse than this hyper-eloquent trio. (PG-13) ROBERT HORTON Sundance
The November Man Sometimes a genre needs no excuses. This is not a great movie, nor perhaps even a particularly good one, it’s a straight-up spy picture with distinct attractions. One of those is Brosnan, who makes a much better James Bond now than he did when he actually carried the license to kill. He plays Peter Devereaux, a retired secret agent much surprised when his former apprentice (Luke Bracey) and old boss (bullet-headed Bill Smitrovich) get caught up in a botched rescue mission. It’s all connected to a corrupt Russian politician and Chechen rebels, tied together with an enjoyably wild conspiracy theory. The mystery woman, because there must be one, is a social worker (Olga Kurylenko, recently seen twirling in the nonsense of To the Wonder). The political intrigue distinguishes it from a Liam Neeson vehicle, even if the story line actually pulls a chapter from Taken in its late going. This film’s very lack of novelty is an attribute—it’s neither better nor worse than the average spy flick, and those terms are agreeable to this fan of the genre. (R) R.H. Meridian, TK, Cinebarre, others
The Skeleton Twins Maggie and Milo are fraternal twins who are estranged (for 10 years), living on opposite coasts, and seriously depressed for reasons that seem dissimilar but boil down to past family trauma. That Maggie and Milo are played by Kristen Wiig and Bill Hader will get this mediocre dramedy more attention than it deserves. That their performances are good oughtn’t be surprising (the two SNL pros have plenty of experience with the comedy of awkwardness). That their script is so tonally sad-happy yet familiar, one has to attribute to the inexperienced writers (Mark Heyman and Craig Johnson; the latter is a Bellingham native and UW grad who directed the film). Maggie and Milo are catty, sardonic misanthropes, angry at the world because they haven’t lived up to their youthful potential. A failed actor, Milo returns home to New Jersey, where Maggie’s a dental hygienist married to a doofus (Luke Wilson) whom she treats with gentle contempt. There’s also a sex scandal lurking in the past, but the snark bogs down in melodrama, and no amount of ’80s pop montages can really change the film’s predictable trajectory. When even the bitter Maggie can declare “We’re supposed to be there for each other,” you know the cause is lost. (R) BRIAN MILLER Harvard Exit
This Is Where I Leave You The fractious Altman clan gathers for an awkward and altogether irreverent weeklong mourning period (sitting shiva) for its deceased patriarch, at the command of an imperious new widow (Jane Fonda) who wears her conspicuous boob job with blithe pride. All of which greatly discomfits her four grown children. Among them, Corey Stoll is the son who stayed to run the family business; Adam Driver is the ne’er-do-well youngest son who fled to the West Coast; Tina Fey is the unhappily married wife and mother, also visiting; and Jason Bateman is the New York radio producer whose marriage just imploded (not that he’s telling anyone, not just now, not on this trip, no way). There’s a lot of ground to cover in this cluttered adaptation of Jonathan Tropper’s 2009 novel (he did the adaptation), directed with no great subtlety by Shawn Levy, who helmed all those wildly popular, family-friendly Night at the Museum movies. There are moments that work well here. Fey shows tender lost love for her old boyfriend (Timothy Olyphant), a guy who never left town owing to an accident; how culpable she was, the script is reluctant to spell out. Driver, of Girls, brings a welcome jolt of energy to a feckless, underwritten character. On the whole, however, Levy is fatally wed to a formula of tears, outbursts, wise counsel, and reconciliation—repeated often. (R) BRIAN MILLER SIFF Cinema Uptown, Guild 45th, others
•
The Trip to Italy Director Michael Winterbottom reunites with Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon for another eating-kvetching tour, this time ranging from Rome to Capri and the Amalfi coast. Coogan and Brydon are playing caricatures of themselves (who also co-starred in Winterbottom’s 2005 Tristram Shandy), not quite frenemies and not quite BFFs: two guys anxious about their personal and professional standing at midlife. Joking about the classical past and the stars of Hollywood’s golden age, they constantly worry how they’ll rate against the greats. Though it didn’t occur to me when I saw the movie during SIFF, their constant nattering about the permanence of art versus the fleeting pleasures of the now makes them fellow travellers with Toni Servillo in The Great Beauty. He could almost be their tour guide, and they need one. Now I grant you that newbies may find less to appreciate in the dueling Roger Moore impressions and crushed hopes of middle age. This is not a comedy for the under-40 set. Still, the gorgeous locations and food may inspire happy travels of your own. Go while you’ve got time remaining. (NR) B.R.M. Sundance, Majestic Bay, Kirkland
