film reviews, interviews, features | BRWC

Author: Matt Conway

  • Army Of The Dead: The BRWC Review

    Army Of The Dead: The BRWC Review

    Army of the Dead Synopsis: Following a zombie outbreak in Las Vegas, a group of mercenaries take the ultimate gamble: venturing into the quarantine zone to pull off the greatest heist ever attempted. Stars Dave Bautista, Omari Hardwick, Ana de la Reguera, Tig Notaro, Matthias Shweighöfer, Nora Arnezender, Ella Purnell, Huma Qureshi, Raúl Castillo, and Theo Rossi comprise the death-defying team.

    After a decade toiling in the DC Universe, Zack Snyder has finally escaped the restrictions of rigid studio filmmaking. What better way to celebrate than returning to his zombified roots. Snyder’s debut film, 2004’s breakout remake Dawn of the Dead, served as the igniting force behind his glossy auteur style. Now teaming with Netflix, Snyder’s latest bombastic epic Army of the Dead finds the zombie genre operating at its most opulent. For what the director envisions, Army of the Dead provides exhilarating blockbuster entertainment.

    Akin to the film’s high-class setting, Snyder sinfully basks in the violent and downright deranged aspects of his indulgent sensibility. The director’s typically self-serious demeanor is completely absent, a choice that refreshingly magnifies Snyder’s penchant for gonzo bombast. He imbues wildcard energy and a spirited shamelessness while embracing the pure mania of its zombies meets heist movie premise. After grueling duels with studio heads over his creative vision, it’s a joy to see Snyder cheerfully playing in the sandbox of genre mechanics.

    Whether he’s referencing 50’s B-movies (the opening vignette is timeless while maintaining a modern verve) or the haunting iconography of classics like Predator, the director proudly wears a bevy of thoughtfully incorporated influences on his sleeve. Serving as director and cinematographer, Snyder revitalizes familiar staples through his unkempt panache behind the camera. I don’t want to sound hyperbolic, but Army of the Dead boasts some of the most jaw-dropping, ready for YouTube replay setpieces I’ve seen in some time. The dynamic framing and boundary-pushing stunt work create a medley of brilliantly unhinged sequences. I love seeing an auteur director push his sensibility to its absolute apex, with Snyder skillfully blending the horror, heist, and blockbuster pastiches into one satisfying concoction.

    Army of the Dead’s greatest charm lies in its star-studded cast. Dave Bautista continues to prove he’s a flat-out star. As the firm leader Scott, the brilliant character actor commands the screen with self-assured gravity and charisma (he’s the grounding anchor to all the chaos surrounding him). Scott’s team of rag-tag misfits also elevates their archetype roles. Omari Hardwick and Garrett Dillahunt present a playful swagger onscreen as bold tough guys. Tig Notaro shines as a deft comedic scene-stealer, while the film’s biggest breakout Matthias Schweighöfer has a blast as the team’s quirky safebreaker. The whole cast shows enough affability to engage audiences despite their inevitability as zombie bait.

    Army of the Dead might be Snyder’s best work to date, but that doesn’t prevent the film from featuring his typical falterings. Even as the romp entertains throughout its 148-minute duration, the project can’t help feeling bloated with the vast array of characters and story beats. Another pass in the editing room could’ve properly trimmed the experience to a razor-tight two-hour thrill ride. I also don’t think the film’s emotional anchor (the distant father-daughter dynamic between Scott and Ella Purnell’s Kate) works as well as it should. A few touching moments are mostly overwhelmed by melodramatic writing and flat contrivances.

    Missteps aside, Army of the Dead is the roaring crowdpleaser I’ve been missing since last year’s pandemic. I had a blast seeing Snyder create his own inventive amalgam of genre influences, and I can’t wait to see what he does with this new cinematic universe (Army of the Thieves is a spin-off featuring Matthias Schweighöfer’s character).

    Army of the Dead is now playing in theaters before its May 21st Netflix Debut.

  • Riders Of Justice: Review

    Riders Of Justice: Review

    Riders of Justice Synopsis: Markus (Mads Mikkelsen), who has to go home to his teenage daughter, Mathilde (Andrea Heick Gadeberg), when his wife dies in a tragic train accident. It seems like an accident until a mathematics expert (Nikolaj Lie Kaas), who was also a fellow passenger on the train, and his two colleagues (Nicolas Bro and Lars Brygmann) show up.

    An array of disposable actioners have run amuck on VOD platforms, with a majority achieving the bare minimum to satisfy lenient genre fans (I reviewed it last month, yet I can’t remember a single trait from the woefully cheap Vanquish). Writer/director Anders Thomas Jensen’s latest Riders of Justice may wearily wear that tired veneer in its initial revenge premise, but the final product brilliantly eschews all standard conventionality. Jensen and company skillfully drive an affecting and deeply empathetic condemnation of callous action formula.

    I would go as far as to describe Riders of Justice as an anti-action film for its stark viewpoint on the genre. The few blimps of violence land with a whopping punch as Jensen reflects the harrowing senselessness behind each bloody encounter. Where films of this elk shoot first and deal with the fallout later, Jensen frames his story as a tragedy of loss for his central subjects.

    Our cold-hearted protagonist Markus may boast the poise and tenacity of the next John Wick, yet Jensen wisely observes the character as a prisoner of his own damaged tendencies. It’s refreshing to see a film purposefully deconstructing common tropes in a deeply humanistic light. Jensen encapsulates themes of toxic masculinity and untamed grief into an intimate descent into human’s binary motivations (Markus is clothed from the fabric of war, dedicating his life to little aside from his military duties).

    Instead of rifling through genre contrivances, Jensen creates a wholly unique tale of kindred bonding. Markus’ newfound colleagues, Otto, Lennart, and Emmenthaler, share similar obsessive streaks behind their quirky personas. The trio of brilliant introverts are coded by their pragmatic perspectives and lingering traumas, initially unwilling to see the world outside the gaze of cold-hard truths. Once the quartet unites, their natural companionship slowly erodes those hard-built walls. Jensen’s screenplay presents a deft understanding of characterization, allowing his band of misfits ample screentime to develop their unconventional bond. For a film marketed for its violence, Riders of Justice morphs into a surprisingly moving tale of friendship’s evolving powers.

    Thankfully, the brilliant cast elevates those merits to a higher degree. Is there anything Mads Mikkelsen can’t do at this point? His recent breakout pushes forward with another remarkably insulated effort. As Markus, Mikkelsen’s intoxicating rage only serves to suppress the character’s pains, with the actor thoughtfully chipping away at the character’s steely presence as he undergoes evolution. Nikolaj Lie Kaas, Nicolas Bro, and Lars Brygmann make for an affable trio as Markus’ newfound companions. There is an inherent playfulness to the characters’ demeanors, but the trio’s thoughtful wrinkles prevent the three from becoming caricatures.

    Riders of Justice serves as a layered and wholly unique achievement from Anders Thomas Jensen. I implore film fans to go into this film with an open mind, as you may be quite surprised by the journey taken from its bland action movie set-up.

    RIDERS OF JUSTICE releases in theaters in NY and LA on May 14 and everywhere on May 21.

  • Spiral: The BRWC Review

    Spiral: The BRWC Review

    Spiral Synopsis: Working in the shadow of his father (Samuel L. Jackson), Detective Ezekiel “Zeke” Banks (Chris Rock) and his rookie partner (Max Minghella) take charge of an investigation into grisly murders that are eerily reminiscent of the city’s gruesome past. Unwittingly entrapped in a deepening mystery, Zeke finds himself at the center of the killer’s morbid game.

    Film fans may not agree on the brand’s quality, but Saw has developed an irreplaceable place in our cinematic zeitgeist. The original 2004 breakout spawned a whopping eight-film franchise while essentially owning Halloween over a half-decade span. I have always been a passionate supporter of the franchise’s devilish sensibility, meshing their penchant for shocking bloodshed with a campy story chock-full of ridiculous plot twists.

    After the mixed results of 2017’s Jigsaw, the Saw franchise receives an intriguing modern makeover with Spiral. Infused with personable Hollywood icons like Chris Rock and Samuel L. Jackson, Spiral features the Saw franchise at its most competent and accessible as it plays ode to the first film’s police procedural roots. While that may be a positive for most films, Spiral’s lack of gonzo edge makes for a milquetoast entry for the grindhouse franchise.

    The franchise’s seismic shift isn’t without promise. The addition of Chris Rock as the series first movie star benefits the material’s rugged tendencies. His ever-present comedic timing adds a sharp wrinkle to the film’s implausible plot threads. It’s also a joy to see Rock continuing to stretch his dramatic wings, with the actor successfully imbuing much-needed gravitas into his role as an outcast detective.

    I also admire the ambitions of Spiral’s decidedly new face. Screenwriters Josh Stolberg and Peter Goldfinger craft an oft-kilter mixture of humor, horror, and substance amidst the fast-flowing runtime. It’s not the most cohesive mix of tonalities, but the film’s intuitive self-awareness allows the conceits to play off each other while never overwhelming the central narrative. From ridiculous plot twists to hilariously contrived dialogue exchanges, the screenwriters understand the kind of low-brow camp synonymous with the franchise.

    Even with those ingredients left intact, Spiral feels markedly less spirited than its verbose predecessors. The Saw films are far more avant-garde than they were ever given credit for, pushing the boundaries of plausibility with death-defying traps and a myriad of bizarrely amusing film techniques (I mean…just look at those screen transitions). Spiral substitutes the violent freneticism in favor of blandly-flavored grittiness.

    The decision is even stranger considering series regular Darren Lynn Bousman’s return (the schlocky showman who made his name with the second, third, and fourth entries in the franchise). Bousman works in a few moody tracking shots dripping with atmosphere, but the film’s generally neutered sensibility doesn’t embellish in the gleeful horrors. This trend sadly carries over into the film’s so-so traps. After a blood-soaked opening setpiece, Spiral pushes the franchise’s marquee trait to the sidelines in favor of a busy police narrative.

    Reviving the first film’s moderation isn’t necessarily a bad decision. However, the execution isn’t accomplished enough to justify that decision. Stolberg and Goldfinger rely upon too many contrived detective narrative cliches to truly compel on a story front. Where the first Saw successfully repurposed cliches into a taut narrative, Spiral‘s detective veneer lands like a tired CSI re-run (audiences could fill a BINGO card with the number of story cliches). I can’t forget to mention the film’s ham-fisted attempts at social commentary, with ruminations on the police’s problematic culture and abusive tendencies lacking in terms of deft observations and dramatic agency.

    Spiral takes one step forward and two steps back for the franchise. I appreciate the willingness to reinvent the franchise’s framework, but the decision doesn’t match the shameless entertainment value behind its beloved predecessors.

    Spiral is now playing in theaters.

  • The Woman In The Window: The BRWC Review

    The Woman In The Window: The BRWC Review

    The Woman in the Window Synopsis: Agoraphobic Dr. Anna Fox (Amy Adams) witnesses something she shouldn’t while keeping tabs on the Russell family, the seemingly picture-perfect clan that lives across the way. This discovery drives Anna down a path of shocking revelations, as her mental state leads her to question her preconceived notions. Anthony Mackie, Wyatt Russell, Gary Oldman, Brian Tyree Henry, Julianne Moore, and Jennifer Jason Leigh comprise the star-studded ensemble. Based on a novel of the same name.

    COVID has caused an unprecedented backlog waiting to be discovered by content-hungry audiences. Some are seeing the light of day in their intended theatrical platform (Fast 9 and A Quiet Place 2), while others are adopting a myriad of innovative streaming rollouts (Black Widow and Cruella will premier in theaters and Disney+ simultaneously).

    Then there are titles like the star-studded thriller The Woman in the Window. Clothed from the fabric of a potential blockbuster hit, this previous summer release was sold off to Netflix alongside a wave of other offshoot products (Paramount has sold off a majority of their recent catalog to streamers). Ironically enough, The Woman in the Window’s shockingly inept final product feels tailor-made for a disposable streaming release.

    How can things go so wrong for a film with so much talent involved (the source material’s controversial past, poor test screenings, and a last-ditch reshoot effort is a good place to start)? While I have no affiliation to A.J. Finn’s original novel, this adaptation renders the material into a woefully overworked and downright insensitive detour into the serious subject matter. Tracy Letts (yes, that Tracy Letts) screenplay whirls around mental health degradation, substance abuse, and childhood trauma only to create a bloated concoction of ideas.

    The loaded gun of topics feels extremely trivialized, forming a series of sensationalized plot beats that never address genuine struggles with their intended gravitas. Admittedly, it’s unfair to throw Letts under the bus completely, as who knows how many confused post-production moves led to this reduced final product. Director Joe Wright has achieved moments of brilliance during his career (Atonement and Hanna), but the poised visualizer drives this production without a clear map of intent. His final product feels choppy and undefined, lacking any meaningful momentum as wild plot turns are recklessly thrown the audience’s way.

    Wright also shamelessly leans into the Hitchcock pastiche, a decision that elicits a few aesthetically pleasing frames of unease. Cinematographer Bruno Delbonnel’s work excels when playing off the setting’s claustrophobia and warped reality, particularly in his framing of habitual TV programs or perspective zooms from Anna’s window viewpoint. That being said, the visual slickness largely doesn’t strike its intended effect under Wright’s tutelage. Every elaborate shot and screeching score note only work to make things less humanistic, eventually overworking the material to the point of sleezy theatrics.

    Readers may be shocked that the star-studded cast hasn’t received a mention, but that’s largely due to the film’s lack of attention towards their immense skills. Amy Adams’ enduring talents easily rank as the film’s strongest asset, with the actress’ revealing performance cobbling a semblance of empathy together for Anna’s tortured persona. Outside of Adams, everyone else is standing around looking for something to do. Award-caliber talents like Brian Tyree Henry, Gary Oldman, Julianne Moore, and Anthony Mackie serve as minor cogs in a bombastic narrative (Mackie appears almost exclusively throw phone calls), while upcoming actor Fred Hechinger is horribly miscast as Anna’s autistic neighbor (when will Hollywood learn their lesson).

    Aside from a shockingly asinine twist ending, The Woman in the Window strikes few memorable impressions from its plethora of poorly conceived decisions. I hate seeing so many talented people involved in an abysmal effort, but hopefully, this stands as a cautionary tale for what Hollywood shouldn’t prioritize in their crowd-pleasing thrillers.

    The Woman in the Window debuts on Netflix on May 14th.

  • Those Who Wish Me Dead: The BRWC Review

    Those Who Wish Me Dead: The BRWC Review

    Those Who Wish Me Dead Synopsis: Still reeling from the loss of three lives, Hannah is a smokejumper who’s perched in a watchtower high above the Montana wilderness. She soon encounters Connor, a skittish boy who’s bloodied, traumatized, and on the run in the remote forest. As Hannah tries to bring him to safety, she’s unaware of the real dangers to follow: two relentless killers hunting Connor, and a fiery blaze consuming everything in its path.

    From TV bit player to revered writer/director, Taylor Sheridan’s climb over the Hollywood mountaintop has been an incendiary journey. A duo of impressive screenplays (Sicario and the Best Picture nominee Hell or High Water) showcased Sheridan’s astute understanding of modern American zeitgeist. His balance between well-textured ideas and gritty, old-school entertainments parlayed the verging voice into a major presence on the big and small screen alike (Paramount’s Yosemite is somehow on its fourth season).

    Sheridan’s rustic sensibility journeys onward with Those Who Wish Me Dead, a welcomed throwback to adult-driven popcorn thrillers of yesteryear. Meshing elemental infernos with a deadly conspiracy, Sheridan’s agreeably cheesy dynamics never reach their pulse-pounding peak.

    Still, the film isn’t entirely joyless. Sheridan exhibits a mastery of intense setpieces, relying upon the same close-quarters gunplay and patient maneuvering behind his most accomplished work. Instead of mucking in dour realism, the craftsman amplifies his aesthetic with the perilous joys of grand, high-steaks storytelling. I love his blend of man vs. nature vs. man dynamics presented in the mold of unpretentious thrillers, with Sheridan’s uptempo pace self-awarely placing a premium on cinematic jolts above all else. This type of lean-and-mean crowdpleaser just doesn’t get made anymore despite their edge-of-your-seat entertainment value.

    It’s got over-the-top sequences to spare, yet Those Who Wish Me Dead never connects on a fundamental level. Michael Koryta’s novel (adapted by him, Sheridan, and Charles Leavitt) drew in readers through its mixture of page-turning tension and substantive dynamics. Sadly, the novel’s big-screen counterpart is noticeably lacking in the latter department. A busy ensemble leaves little time for the central conceits to develop even a passable connection with audiences. The plot’s central mystery feels over-written and devoid of intrigue, while the supposed emotional crux between Hannah and Connor goes nowhere with their bare time together onscreen. The entire affair feels like it’s screaming for more focus and simplicity.

    Films of this ilk shouldn’t be taken with the utmost seriousness. That being said, Those Who Wish Me Dead doesn’t possess the shameless charm to overcome stale writing. Angelina Jolie’s starring role calls for movie star energy, but the talented actress feels miscast as the smooth-talking firewoman. Aside from a few capable dramatic frames, Jolie spends a majority of the runtime posturing with an inauthentic dialect and over-the-top mannerisms. Movie stars often carried this type of low-rent effort during their heyday. Here, the lack of compelling presence sinks the narrative’s messy form (the supporting players, including Jon Bernthal, Nicholas Hoult, and Tyler Perry, have little room to make an impression).

    Those Who Wish Me Dead operates like a disposable cable outing. The sheer camp value will entice some viewers, but the film’s flat, paper-thin delivery left me wanting more.

    Those Who Wish Me Dead debuts in theaters and on HBO Max May 14th.