Note: There are no spoilers in this review. None at all. I promise.

The other night, I had a discussion with a stage director about Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, and the effect it’s had on audiences since its release. Godot, for those outside of the theater circle, debuted in 1953 and has become a cornerstone for surrealist modern drama - as it depicts only the act of waiting (what directors and actors call the most ‘drastic’ ultimate action on stage) and leaves its audience to try and find some resolution to the two characters’ malaise. The audience could do nothing but wait. It’s the dawn of 2008, and producer J.J. Abrams has all possible technologies available on the table. His latest presentation, Cloverfield, is about as relentless as Beckett’s play in its execution. Through a guerilla marketing buzz that’s garnered the attention of YouTubers and the Blogosphere by storm, Cloverfield is - in essence - a monster movie. Now, we’ve seen our fair share of Godzilla’s and Reign of Fire’s in our time, but what sets apart Abrams’ and director Matt Reeves’ vision is its airtight camerawork, its recognition of a sensitive post-9/11 America, and lack of cheap scares. The final cut isn’t perfect - too many characters, so little personality - but it works, and more importantly, it feels authentic.

Manhattan, May 23rd. Rob Hawkins (Michael Stahl-David) is moving to Japan to become president of a company. His brother Jason (Mike Vogel) and Jason’s girlfriend Lily (Jessica Lucas) have planned an enormous surprise going-away party at his apartment for the night. Rob appreciates the gesture, but he’s been meaning to patch things up with his old flame Beth (Odette Yustman) before he leaves. When she shows up at the party with another guy, he falls into a slump. The video-camera (the only point-of-view available in Cloverfield) has been passed on between Jason and mutual friend Hud (T.J. Miller), who has been using it to document and investigate all the happenings at the party. Boom. The lights go out. The building shakes. An oil tanker capsizes near Ellis Island. Everybody at the party goes outside to check out the scene. The Statue of Liberty’s head comes hurling down the street, the Empire State Building crumbles, and chaos ensues. Meanwhile, Rob, Jason, Lily, Hud, and Hud’s catch of the night Marlena (Lizzy Caplan) must find a way off of the isle to safety. But not before Rob can find where Beth is, patch things up, and then make their way out of the city.

Abrams and Reeves made an intelligent choice with choosing unknown actors for main characters; but when the audience never feels like they truly connected with any of them, it’s hard to really say the idea worked. Michael Stahl-David is our protagonist - handsome yuppie material living in a NYC high-rise with a promotion on the way. He, along with T.J. Miller, gives the most valiant efforts to keep in touch with the audience. They could just be disposable actors in a Halloween sequel, but their improvisational delivery gives the movie a nice touch. Since the production team is trying to stuff a lot of material into an 80-minute movie, the audience is forced to give characters some leeway in draining their emotions. Sometimes the dialogue feels too real, which is never a bad thing. Odette Yustman is attractive, but is exploited as a beautiful MacGuffin.

For those expecting some sort of Blair Witch disappointment, don’t. There is a monster…ok, I’ll spill some beans, there’s multiple monsters. And you will see them, quite often - and they’re plenty more threatening than that big ugly green mess that came around in 1998 (oh, what was its name…) But where the movie deserves its appraisal is its camerawork. In the past, I’ve criticized directors (Tony Scott and Fernando Mereilles, to name a few) for using jerky and shaky camera movements along with gritty filters to give an undeserved sense of realism to their films. But Cloverfield is supposed to be based in realism, and is poised to touch the nerves of the typical sensitive American audience who may still recall the events of September 11th very vividly. That’s where Reeves doesn’t fail - the audience can’t move away from the danger, are strapped to their seats when the camera witnesses the destruction of an American metropolis. We’re never safe from the gaze of this little camcorder. Like Beckett, we keep waiting and waiting - and when it happens - it’s an experience. That’s all any moviegoer could want in a movie, and it’s a fantastic thing.

Lacking any sort of musical score, it’s the thunderous screeches of the monster and the crumbling of Broadway that the audience must generate tension from. In this respect, Cloverfield is a fascinating film. Whether or not its ending was meant to insinuate some sort of socio-political message, the final product is a satisfying and entertaining alternative to anything coming out in the next two months.

2006, Touchstone Pictures, Dir. Mel Gibson - Starring Rudy Youngblood, Dalia Hernandez, Jonathan Brewer, Morris Birdyellowhead, Carlos Emilio Baez, Ramirez Amilcar, Israel Contreras, Israel Rios, María Isabel Díaz, Raoul Trujillo, Rodolfo Palacios

Note: This review is not going to be a diatribe against Mel Gibson’s anti-Semitism. If I was asked to write critical analysis on Mel Gibson and not ‘Apocalypto’, then that’d be a whole different ballgame. But until then, it’s criticism on the art, not the artist.

Let’s put the hype aside. Mel Gibson’s latest project Apocalypto is a fantastic film in and of itself, working as a combination of political allegories and thrilling action. Unlike Passion of the Christ, this is not one of the director’s indulgences, but rather an argumentative piece exploring the themes of wartime, loyalty, and fear. Set in an untold period before the Spanish conquest of South America, the film depicts the Mayan civilization on the brink of collapsing, leading to a domino effect of suspicion and anxiety amongst the tribe. Gibson’s trademarks are easily noticeable, especially the use of the virtually extinct Mayan language and his love for gratuitous bloodshed. Certainly, Apocalypto will be a jarring and unexpected experience for some moviegoers, but there is plenty to enjoy and ponder. Employing the newcomer Rudy Youngblood as our persecuted hero, the controversial director’s newest work poses a rhetorical question to audiences, and miraculously explains it through one of film’s most inspiriting chase sequences.

In a small Mayan village, Jaguar Paw (Youngblood) lives peacefully with his pregnant wife Seven (Hernandez) and son Turtles Run (Baez). Like all males of the tribe, they hunt to provide for food and other goods. But when groups of ominous tribespeople start treading their ways through the village, Jaguar Paw knows something dangerous is forthcoming. After all, he has a responsibility - to raise a large family like his wise father Flint Sky (Birdyellowhead), and set an example for the village. After an omen in his dreams, our hero awakes one morning only to find a group of villainous Holcane soldiers arriving at their jungle abodes. Their purpose - kill, rape, pillage, and take the best sacrificial lambs to the empirical plazas. Led under the tight rein of Zero Wolf (Trujillo) and his deputy Snake Ink (Palacios), Jaguar Paw is forced to leave behind Seven and Turtles Run, determined to not let the empire’s collective paranoia of the sun gods turn him away from his family. As the journey unravels, our protagonist’s motives slowly begin to draw away from fear and towards independence and pride - but will be able to withstand the whim of the great Mayan dictator?

Youngblood is a prime choice for the role of Jaguar Paw: young, bold, and authentic. Despite his learning the ancient Mayan language and habits for the role, the actor successfully transforms himself from the average hunter into the oppressed prisoner and back into a courageous and revenge-driven action hero. These are characters drawn to the most rudimentary of performances, basing their actions merely off historical documents and analysis. For his first screen role ever, Youngblood triumphs. In the same note, so does Raoul Trujillo, who gives a rousing yet despicable act as the hatemongering leader Zero Wolf. Despite attaining a lower rank in the Mayan government, the enemy’s own political mania surfaces through Trujillo’s acting. He represents evil - a blindsided, jingoistic drone for an anxious civilization on the verge of a social cataclysm. Also noteworthy is Rodolfo Palacios as Snake Ink, an embittered peon whose pleasure for torture is a sight to cringe at. Jonathan Brewer should be mentioned for his comic relief role Blunted, whose inpotentency misfortunes brew laughter for the village, but have an odd dramatic comeback later in the film.

Gibson’s eye for sweeping landscapes and rainforests of Catemaco is strong, allowing the rich blue and yellow skies to mix with the palate of adobe and greenery. Like its material, Apocalypto has a continuously dark theme - much of the action springs through wooded areas, and climaxes through a solar eclipse. James Horner’s haunting instrumental score pervades all dramatic sequences, and the choice of percussion gives a rattling sensation for the chase sequence. On the topic, the film opens with the quote by Will Durant pondering “a civilization that cannot destroy itself without until it destroys itself within.” Gibson bridges this concept with what appears to be a creative analogy to the current Iraq War, and furthermore, war in general. From the introduction of a threat to the Mayans, leading to the sacrifice of strong Mayans for appeasement, and then to the fight for survival by those who stand against this anxiety, Gibson intelligently - and backhandedly - summarizes a philosophical discussion into a chase scene that will dazzle any action aficionado.

Apocalypto is a sure contender for one of 2006’s best films, as it broadly argues a heavy-hitting topic through an environment never intricately explored on the silver screen. It’s not for the weak of heart, and not for those who’ll go any distance to argue the film’s quality through the director’s own controversies. This is a hybrid experiment if I ever saw one.

2006, New Line Cinema, Dir. Catherine Hardwicke - Starring Keisha Castle-Hughes, Oscar Isaac, Hiam Abbass, Shaun Toub, Ciarán Hinds, Shohreh Aghdashloo, Stanley Townshend, Alexander Siddig, Nadim Sawalha, Eriq Ebouaney, Stefan Kalipha, Alessandro Giuggioli

Although it has visibly trailed off the coattails of Mel Gibson’s Passion of the Christ, it is still acceptable for a big-budgeted rendition of the Nativity to be filmed. Detractors will argue its lesser importance than Christ’s death, but director Catherine Hardwicke and writer Mike Rich have put together a coherent if not mildly kitschy story. Its audience appeal will be Christian families, and there won’t be any controversy stirred amongst religious groups. The Nativity Story is an inoffensive and candy-coated vision, heralding most of its dialogue and setting from the gospels of Mark and Luke, which should interest technical theologians. But beyond many of the good performances and fantastic mise-en-scène, there is an unintended glimmer of biblical braggadocio - as if the piece was written for Cecil DeMille and his cronies. The film incessantly tries to work on a grandiose scale, but it works better as a small piece of personal conflict. Regardless, Nativity is a good effort in a world of political correctness.

If you haven’t seen it in a front lawn or in front of a church, here’s how it goes. Mary (Hughes) is a 16 year old girl from Nazareth, when she receives an announcement from the angel Gabriel (Siddig) that she will bear the son of God, and that he will be named Jesus. But this is controversial in the town - she is only 16, and she has not been intimate with her new husband Joseph (Isaac). Joseph is hurt by the news, as are her parents Joachim (Toub) and Anna (Abbass). But when she learns her cousin Elizabeth (Aghdashloo) is also to bear a child - John the Baptist - Mary realizes she is part of a larger plan. It is not until Joseph himself receives word from Gabriel that his wife is not lying that he accepts his fate. Meanwhile, King Herod (Hinds) has become suspicious from prophecies that a child will become the king of kings, and orders a decree and census for every person in the land. Mary must travel with Joseph to his homeland Bethlehem to take refuge, while the three Orient magi (Sawalha, Ebouaney, and Kalipha) travel to the same destination awaiting the birth of the child.

Keisha Castle-Hughes, best known for her role in Whale Rider, must have taken the method acting a little too far when the news reported her real-life pregnancy at the age of 16. Thankfully, New Line has not advertised this fact, since her performance is relatively acceptable. She has been cast as the unconventional Mary - a teenager with a holy destiny, who is left pondering why she was chosen. The burden of having God’s child is written as a large subplot, making her job all the more outstanding. Oscar Isaac, who is a no-name actor from my point of view, does a sub-standard job as Joseph, the man who would do most anything to carry on the will of God. His chemistry with Castle-Hughes may come across to many as pedantic, but I appreciated it in the grand scale of things. Alexander Siddig is a wonderful choice for the angel Gabriel, shining (literally and figuratively) in every opportunity he has. Shohreh Aghdashloo comes across as over-exaggerated and boastful through her character Elizabeth, unlike her screen partner Stanley Townshend. The three wise men - Sawalha, Ebouaney, and Kalipha - work together as collective comic relief at first, but their roles become more solidified towards the end.

The set designs and costuming for Nativity are phenomenal, recalling a period of film dominated by biblical narratives. Even as the townspeople of Nazareth go about their daily chores, you can see a distinct emphasis on detail - from making cheeses and wine to washing laundry via ancient methods. The film, like Passion, has a gritty feel to it, adding dirt and grime to its set pieces, and even designing the kingdom of Jerusalem as a dominant metropolis with white fort walls and rekindled icons. The script ends up rushing itself for the finale, as Mary breaks water and is about to give birth. But past this hurried finish, the manger scene is one of the most powerful representations of Jesus’ birth. Ignoring what some disparagers would call literal inaccuracies about the Nativity, it is a visually stunning ten minutes, and is sure to hit its audiences with great magnitude. I was worried how the birth itself would be filmed, but I was so assured by what I saw, that it justified the making of the movie itself.

Call it what you will, but The Nativity Story isn’t the perfect Christmas movie. It has its share of faithful performances, but some of Rich’s writing is questionable. Whether or not you appreciate the fact that the film was even made, it can be said that the cast and crew maintained respect for the material regardless.

2006, Fox Atomic, Dir. John Stockwell - Starring Josh Duhamel, Melissa George, Olivia Wilde, Desmond Askew, Beau Garrett, Max Brown, Agles Steib, Miguel Lunardi, Jorge Só, Cristiani Aparecida, Lucy Ramos, Andréa Leal, Diego Santiago, Marcao, Miguelito Acosta

When my second viewing of Borat was cut short by a long line, I was confronted by a publicity head who asked if I would like to screen a different film across the hall. It was called Turistas, and no one in line seemed to have any idea what it was about. But they were handing out free travel guides for trivia questions, so everything seemed to be just dandy for them anyway. Just as it was for me, Turistas is that lousy other option when the box office is sold out. It’s the first film distributed by Fox Atomic, a new subsidiary of News Corp that coincidentally foreshadows how each of its films will result in a critical bombing. Designed and marketed towards horror buffs and horndog college students, the film is their Brazilian response to Lionsgate’s Hostel: a cut-em-up neo-exploitation feature that leaves one or two survivors for the end. If I had the energy, I’d probably go wild with this review, but it’s the evening and I’ve had a long day of work. The dialogue is pedestrian, the acting is stupendously dry and B-list and the violence remains overhyped by its promotional material. Turistas is a bad movie - unnourished and carelessly written.

So, here goes. Group of knucklehead twentysomethings are on a bus trip through Brazil, led by big brother Alex (Duhamel), little sister Bea (Wilde), sister’s hot friend Amy (Garrett), attractive bilingual acquaintance Pru (George), and two stereotyped Brits - Finn (Askew) and Liam (Brown). The bus swerves because of a deus ex machina motorcycling couple, dives off a cliff, and everybody has to find another route. So the kids do some walking, walk upon some shady yet attractive beach resort, party their heads off, and wake up the next morning drugged and robbed. Uh Oh! Apparently the natives have connections with some evil doctor who lives in a jungle castle, where he cuts open people and sells their organs. Did I just ruin the violence for you? No? Ok. Brazilian native Kiko (Steib, and man, what a name that character has) is an accomplice for said Dr. Zamora (Lunardi), and secretly leads the group to the castle for safety. All hell breaks loose, every man for himself. Now it’s up to you to figure out who gets killed!

Forgiving this movie, I feel Josh Duhamel does belong in the film industry. He has all the qualities of a leading man, but not in such a one-dimensional one like Turistas. He’s the cranky, bitter, and very suspicious brother of the group, but these aspects are more noticeable than any of the other performances. Olivia Wilde and Beau Garrett do their best running around in as little clothes possible, only to hide themselves when the going gets tough. Sometimes I wonder if horror movies are meant to make beautiful women look unattractive under scary circumstances. Askew and Brown, the two British folks, are nothing more than lousy foreign props set up by an uneducated screenwriter, and you can only expect to laugh at their little language witticisms. Miguel Lunardi, who plays the crooked Dr. Zamora, should have been on for much longer. Not only does he exhibit the strongest screen presence, but had his character’s evil motives been explained, then he would have been fantastic. I give him credit regardless, but he does his show and then leaves.

What an ending Turistas has. I shan’t give it away, but let’s just say the audience may have a good laugh at it. Critics would usually have an easy time marking it as preposterous and downright awful, but as I watched those final frames, I wondered how much of director John Stockwell’s tongue was in his cheek. This is a film dedicated to some blood and lots of nudity, no doubt - but I question whether this was meant to be camp. As a horror film, it doesn’t scare, and as a thriller, it never takes a grip on the audience. Predictability has become an impetus for many faithful moviegoers, and movies like Turistas shouldn’t be any sort of surprise experience. Visually, the film has a rustic tint to it, employing many on-location Brazilian landscapes to its benefit. There’s a distinct contrast between the grisly nature of Dr. Zamora and the roaring waterfalls of the jungles. It’s appreciated, but the moments are fleeting.

Is Turistas translated as “tourists” or “terrible”? Hard to really tell. Please, don’t waste your time, your money, your mental energy. See another movie. Read a book. Take heed from the tagline on its poster : go home.

2006, Warner Brothers, Dir. Darren Aronofsky - Starring Hugh Jackman, Rachel Weisz, Ellen Burstyn, Mark Margolis, Stephen McHattie, Fernando Hernandez, Cliff Curtis, Sean Patrick Thomas, Donna Murphy, Ethan Suplee, Richard McMillian, Lorne Brass, Anish Majumdar

Had The Fountain been released in the 60’s, I can only imagine the sort of audience it would have garnered. Trippy imagery, metaphysical discussion, and elements of New Age religion compose a very inquisitive project from director Darren Aronofsky, better known for Requiem for a Dream and Pi. The director describes the film as a “weird” one, and proposes watching the final cut several times to fully understand the story. This is a messy decision. Although some mainstream audiences can appreciate interpretive film, it’s not a wise move to make a film so cryptic that it may detract viewers after one or two viewings. A self-described science-fiction epic, The Fountain is a question without an answer; a puzzle without a solution. Although visually it’s a masterpiece, looks can only get you so far. Quoting Aronofsky, the film is “the most ambitious thing I’ve done to date and the biggest challenge,” but despite this strong drive, the ball doesn’t quite make it out of the park.

It’ll be a task for me to summarize this, but here goes. The Fountain spans an entire millennium - from 1500 to 2006 to 2500. Thomas Creo (Jackman), first known as Tomas, is a conquistador in 16th century Spain. He is sent to the Americas by Queen Isabella (Weisz) to discover the source of life - cryptically known as the Fountain, or the Tree of Life - which is mapped on a Mayan knife found by Franciscan priest Avila (Margolis). Fast-forward 500 years, and Thomas (Jackman) is a scientist searching for a cure for cancer, as to save his dying wife Izzi (Weisz), while at odds with fellow doctor Lillian Guzzetti (Burstyn). Fast forward another 500 years, and Tom is living in a biospheric dome along with the Tree of Life suspended in space, headed straight for a nebula. All three storylines are shaped around a book written by Izzi in the 21st century - entitled “The Fountain” - which she urges Tom to finish. The ending, left to the main character’s interpretation, is as esoteric as it can get.

Whether Brad Pitt stayed on the role that Jackman later accepted, the performance would have been the same. Thomas is a character so driven to discover the justification of life that his personality and development is completely ignored. Perhaps it was the director’s intent to leave Thomas as a neutralized character, but for a one-track audience, that’s not such a bright idea. Jackman is an unsympathetic gentleman, carrying a scowl or a frown with every minute of screen time he gets. His chemistry with Weisz is fleeting, and since his role is larger, he trumps his love interest’s performance. On that note, I am truly tired of watching films with Rachel Weisz. Rarely do I feel the need to rant about the actor over the art, but every opportunity Weisz has to shine, she puts on the same stupid puppy-dog face and whispery voice. She appears as more of an airhead than anything else, and if her marriage to director Aronofsky isn’t saying something, I don’t know what else does.

I commend Aronofsky for straying away from CGI to achieve a more naturalistic feel for The Fountain’s imagery. Using microscopic footage of yeast and other elements, the director crafts a fluid landscape for his galactic scenes. The use of the color gold through the same act is also effective, pulling in the audience with its metallic glamour. The Mayan set designs for the South American scenes are elaborate and simple at the same time, allowing its wide open spaces to bridge open the audience’s minds. If there is anything epic about Fountain, it is Aronofsky’s careful cinematography. As for the story, the director’s screenplay runs itself in circles. I can’t describe how frustrating it can become to retread the same niches and phrases over and over again, trying to fumble together a complete answer about everything discussed. As much as I appreciate Darren’s amalgamation of Eastern religions and the search for the meaning of life, this doesn’t really strike anything except more confusion.

The Fountain is full of plenty of interesting ideas, but desperately wants to be a revolutionary experience for some audience members. Maybe a philosophy degree is a good prerequisite for watching his final cut, but for this ordinary critic, some eye candy was the only thing I caught.