A Law Unto Themselves

To be completely honest, when a producer acquaintance of mine, Noah Lang, who I met at the St. Lawrence International Film Festival several years ago, contacted me and was wondering if I would watch a documentary he was producing on ‘mudding’, I was wholly unaware of the term. Defined in the Urban Dictionary, “To go out in the mud in the back of a truck or jeep or other 4x4 vehicle and spin in the mud until all occupants are covered in mud”, directors Andrei Bowden-Schwartz and Sam B. Jones focus this topic on a family living in Orlando, Florida.

An effective method of telling a dark story is often through the eyes of a child. . . and there is arguably no darker event in human history than the Holocaust. Earning praise from audiences worldwide and criticism by academics who lament its inaccuracies, The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas (2008), directed by Mark Herman (who also adapted the story for the screen, based upon John Boyne’s novel of the same name), is an emotional, poignant depiction of one of the most horrific blemishes of our collective past. Bruno (Asa Butterfield) is an eight year old boy living in Berlin. With a father (David Thewlis) moving up in the military, a supportive mother (Vera Farmiga), and an older sister, Gretel (Amber Beattie), they are leaving their life in the big city for a cold home in the rural unknown.

A slick con artist, an unscrupulous priest and a ruined aristocrat walk into a house. . . sounds like a joke; it kind of is – for this is the lead-in to Mel Brooks’ 1970 comedy The Twelve Chairs. Loosely based on the 1928 Russian novel of the same name (written by Ilf and Petrov), this film is arguably the black sheep of Brooks’ filmography, a more artsy piece that is less laugh out loud funny, and instead, more of a thinking man’s funny – for instance, as a character wanders the Soviet streets at the beginning of the film (set in 1927), he passes two different street signs, the original: “Czar Nicholas II Avenue”; the new one, “Marx, Engels, Lenin & Trotsky Street – with a line running through the final name” – if you know your history, Nicholas and his family were executed during the Russian Revolution of 1917, while the name Trotsky has been eliminated, as in the very year this story is set, Joseph Stalin ran him out of the country and into exile – in 1940, Stalin would have him killed in Mexico City by way of an ice axe (I almost had a really good ice pun for this, but it slipped my mind). . . fear not, Brooks works some cheesy humour into the story as well.

Learn an instrument, form a band, get the girl. . . the fantastical dream steps of many a wannabe rock star, yet the main character in John Carney’s 2016 musical dramedy Sing Street takes a slightly different route – ah, the road, or should I say street, less travelled (which, of course, is the oft misused false-title of Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken”). Welcome to 1985 Dublin, country floundering, jobs nonexistent, an existential crisis smothering the Populus. . . a place where teenager Conor is trudging through the early part of his life (his only saving grace, music). His parents, struggling architect Robert (Aidan Gillen – Game of Thrones) and ‘cut back to three days of work a week’ Penny (Maria Doyle Kennedy – Orphan Black), are constantly bickering – eldest sibling Brendan (Jack Reynor), a dope smoking college dropout who is an inspiration to Conor, even surmises that their mom may be having an affair. Youngest Ann (Kelly Thornton) must also be mentioned, for she is the sister who is often criticized for leaving her art dreams behind to pursue architecture (like her father).

New Year’s Eve, a time meant for love and remembering old friendships, is ironically the start point of the 1971 giallo The Fifth Cord (directed by Luigi Bazzoni – The Possessed). Introduced by a disguised voice-over of a murderer planning his next victim, the psychedelic night club, which will introduce a number of main players in the sordid tale, is distortedly shown through a fisheye lens (using a long tracking shot, no less), Ennio Morricone music blaring, alcohol flowing as people strut, snarl, sulk, and stalk. Not long after people have departed the party, one of the goers, an English language teacher from Australia teaching in Rome, John Lubbock (Maurizio Bonuglia), is brutally attacked in a tunnel on his way home. . . and it seems as though the assailant had murder on his or her mind – while the only clue left behind is a black glove with its thumb removed (according to the police, this suggests that four other victims are likely to be in the would-be killer’s sight).

Some roles just fit an actor like a finely made bespoke suit – and, in this case, said suit has a special bulletproof lining. . . you guessed it, I’m talking about Keanu Reeves as John Wick. Everything, from his direct delivery, longish hairstyle, and action persona, fit the character, and in the third feature in the franchise, 2019's John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum, director Chad Stahelski (who has helmed all three efforts) builds on the previous two, creating an over the top, stylistic extravaganza that will make action fans giddy! If you saw Chapter 2, the film opened with silent film star Buster Keaton projected on a New York City building, symbolic in that this character is in many ways like The Great Stoneface’s iconic persona. . . as I put it in my previous review, Wick “bumps, crashes and bangs his way through foes, a wandering ‘tramp’ with no true home, albeit, wealthier, better dressed and much more connected”, well, as this picture opens, we once again see Keaton on a New York City building, only this time it is a sequence from his 1922 short Cops (a narrative in which the man is constantly being chased by the police, evading them time and time again in clever ways) – implying that this time, Wick will not be on the offensive, but rather, the defensive, endlessly tracked down after being marked as ‘excommunicado’ by the all powerful High Table for breaking their rules at the end of the last film.