Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows

At the end of the 19^th century, a series of bombings puts France and Germany on the brink of war. Though the blame falls on anarchists, madly brilliant English detective Sherlock Holmes (Robert Downey Jr.) believes Professor James Moriarty (Jared Harris) is behind it all. Unfortunately, the meticulous Moriarty leaves no damning evidence, and so it is up to Holmes to uncover and foil his plot. He is assisted by his even more eccentric brother, Mycroft (Stephen Fry), a Gypsy fortuneteller caught in the crossfire (Noomi Rapace), and, reluctantly, his newly-married partner, Dr. John Watson (Jude Law).

Set after 2009’s Sherlock Holmes, Guy Ritchie’s follow-up keeps its predecessor’s suspense and humor but jettisons the complexity of the plot. Whether that is a net gain or a net loss will depend on your expectations. Personally, I found that while the 2009 outing aimed too high, A Game of Shadows aims too low. Moriarty’s machinations are fairly transparent, and the bits of mystery regarding the identity of the assassin feel shoehorned in.

Fortunately, plotting issues do not detract from the film’s brisk pace and overall sense of fun. There are assassins at seemingly every turn, and Holmes’ calculating martial arts mastery is utilized again to good effect. On the other hand, the use of new-for-the-time weaponry such as machine pistols and Ritchie’s affinity for Max Payne-style bullet time sequences do not sync well with the film’s otherwise Victorian character.

Downey again anchors this film, portraying Holmes as a highly talented madman. He nails both the accent and the idiosyncrasies and performs with gusto. Law’s Watson is decidedly less stiff this time around, though he’s still very much the yin (marksmanship, medical skills, reason) to Holmes’ yang (deductive ability, esoteric knowledge, insanity). Of the new additions to the cast, Fry fares best here. His Mycroft is essentially an older Sherlock turned up to 11, a dry-witted loon who somehow commands the respect of the English government. Harris gives Moriarty a ruthless edge, but one cannot help but feel that he is wrong for the part. Anthony Hopkins or even the rumored Brad Pitt would have been a more interesting choice. And while Rapace gets to do plenty of running around, her dialogue, screen time, and overall contributions are minimal for such a supposedly important character. The erstwhile Lisbeth Salander deserves a better showcase for abilities.

A Game of Shadows draws heavily from Arthur Conan Doyle’s "The Final Problem" and incorporates some breathtaking shots of Switzerland’s iconic Reichenbach Falls. While that might make the ending seem like a forgone conclusion, viewers will do well to remember that in the world of Sherlock Holmes, nothing is as it seems.

8/10

The Walkaway

In December 1979, retired Wichita police officer Gunther Fahnstiel accidently backs over a stranger with an RV. He finds a large cache of money alongside the body and decides to stow it away for safe keeping. Ten years later, 77-year-old Gunther breaks out of his nursing home in an effort to find his hidden money. He is pursued by his wife, his ex-bouncer stepson, a former police colleague, and a greedy, philandering real estate developer. As Gunther scans his memory to remember the hiding place, an incident from his police days in the early 1950s threatens to derail him.

Scott Phillips’ 2003 follow-up to The Ice Harvest retains much of the former’s dark humor and imbues it with a sense of the past. On the surface, the tonal shifts are hard to detect. After all, The Walkway, like its predecessor offers an unlikely protagonist to get behind (a senile ex-cop instead of a scheming drunk lawyer), gleefully bathes itself in sleaze (a prostitution ring here instead of a strip club), and tempers its James M. Cain like noir sensibilities with some good old fashioned Midwestern idiocy. However, whereas The Ice Harvest’s Charlie Arglist seems to live very much for the moment, Gunther is clearly a man with some demons.

In this sense, Gunther has quite a bit in common with the book’s antagonist, crooked 1950s G.I. Wayne Ogden. Just as Gunther is willing to do whatever it takes to recover his lost loot (and, one can assume, his dignity), Ogden is hell-bent on getting revenge on his estranged wife, even going as far as to slip back into town using the name of his commanding officer. That the two cause untold pain and suffering to those around them despite their seemingly opposite alignment reinforces one of the untold rules of noir: there are no heroes.

While The Walkaway has a lot going for it, its structure is a mess. Time movements (between 1952 and 1979) are frequent and follow no fixed pattern. There are also no fewer than half a dozen focal characters (on top of plenty of supporting players – the names pile up), and sometimes, the perspective will shift within a chapter. This disorientation makes sense from Gunther’s point of view (he is battling senility, after all), but for a reader, it’s pure frustration.

Phillips also has a penchant for downer endings. While this too can be taken as a hallmark of the noir genre, the sense of futility in those final pages can really make you feel cheated. Then again, if The Ice Harvest didn’t end this way, The Walkaway would probably have no reason for being (and would, at the very least, have a different title).

All told, Phillips tells an interesting tale, but his work is still too slight and, in terms of structure, too sloppy to leave us craving more.

7.25/10

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo

Disgraced investigative journalist Mikael Blomkvist (Daniel Craig) is hired by aging Swedish industrial magnate Henrik Vanger (Christopher Plummer) to discover which of his despicable relatives murdered his beloved niece Harriet 40 years ago. As Blomkvist’s investigation uncovers links to ritual murders, he is joined by Lisbeth Salander (Rooney Mara), an expert computer hacker with a dark and troubled past.

For years, the words “American remake” were harbingers of a butchered adaptation of a foreign-language favorite. But as The Departed, Let Me In, and Insomnia have proven, Yankeefied versions of well-received films needn’t be substandard. The 2011 version of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo certainly belongs in this grouping as well as both the cast, production values, and, above all, the director, make it worthy of, if not better than, both the original film and the source material.

In this case, the source material happens to be a wildly popular novel (reviewed here), the first in the late Steig Larsson’s Millennium Trilogy. For the 2009 film adaptation, director  Niels Arden Oplev excised much of the book’s informational clutter and coaxed a dynamite performance out of Noomi Rapace in the titular role. The bar, in other words, was set quite high.

Fortunately, this could not have fallen into the hands of a better-suited director. From Se7en to Zodiac, David Fincher has mastered the thriller like no other, and his expert command of tension is fully on display here. Though there isn’t much action per say until the film’s last hour, the sense of menace grows and grows as Blomkvist and Salander burrow closer to the truth. And knowing exactly how things will play out plotwise does nothing to dissipate it.

Fincher is aided in his delivery by some breathtaking visuals. Snow-covered northern Sweden is frigid and pristine, a perfect thematic foil for the sordid doings of its inhabitants. These sights are paired with some edgy sounds courtesy of Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross. Their version of Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song” blares over the opening credits, and while it is likely to enrage Zeppelin purists, it is a good fit for the film’s dark sensibilities.

From a casting standpoint, the remake’s biggest hurdle was measuring up to Rapace’s strong performance. Several big names auditioned for Salander, but the role ultimately fell to the decidedly un-Swedish Mara, last seen as the indirect impetus for the creation of Facebook in Fincher’s The Social Network. But Mara, nearly unrecognizable here, thoroughly owns this role. It’s more than just the jet black hair, the surprisingly convincing accent, the pseudo-Goth attire; it’s the way she embodies Salander’s silent fury. Though not her equal, the usually arrogant Craig adapts well to playing a more reserved character, and Plummer makes the most of a rare sympathetic turn (though one has to wonder if Max Von Sydow was simply unavailable).

All of the ingredients of a great film are here, and yet The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo disappoints in one key regard. As original director Oplev put it, "Why would they remake something when they can just go see the original?" For as faithful an adaptation as the film is, a strong sense of purpose is missing here. That, the sheer brutality depicted onscreen (feminists and animal lovers will probably want to stay away), and the slackening of tension once the central mystery are resolved nibble at the film’s credibility, but they aren’t big enough bites to derail this Scandinavian-accented thrill ride.

8.25

Moneyball

After the Oakland As are knocked out of the 2001 playoffs and lose key players through free agency, general manager Billy Beane (Brad Pitt) decides a new way of thinking is in order. To that end, he hires Peter Brand (Jonah Hill), a Yale-educated stats geek, and the two of them go about reshaping the roster. In doing so, they butt heads with old-school baseball men like manager Art Howe (Philip Seymour Hoffman), but as the season progresses, their radical thinking catches on.

Produced by Pitt, directed by Bennett Miller, and scripted by Aaron Sorkin from Michael Lewis’ influential book, Moneyball comes to the plate with an impressive pedigree. Still, it faces a sizeable limitation from the get-go: how do you make the story of a team that never won anything into a compelling cinematic narrative?

The answer is zeitgeist. Moneyball is set at a point in time where baseball’s biggest worry was not steroid abuse but financial disparities and contraction fears. In that context, the struggle of the As to stay afloat takes on new importance, and the stakes are raised. It is no longer just a baseball movie, but a fight-the-system resistance piece.

It also helps that Pitt comes out swinging as Beane. To be certain, some of his “maverick” moments seem manufactured, but Beane’s personal demons – choosing professional baseball over college, never succeeding as a player, struggling to be an adequate father – are fully realized. As for the rest of the lineup, Hill gets some funny lines as Brand (loosely based on the less nerdy Paul DePodesta), young Kerris Dorsey shows some musical ability as Beane’s admiring daughter, and Hoffman is solid if somewhat bland in a largely thankless, vaguely antagonistic role as Howe (a successful manager not cut out for 21^st century baseball).

Compared to the book (and, presumably, reality), the film version of Moneyball takes a lot of liberties and cuts a lot of corners. No mention is made on-screen of the As then-emerging rotation (Tim Hudson, Barry Zito, and Mark Mulder), for instance. In terms of making the book filmable, however, the alterations are probably for the best.

Ultimately, Moneyball’s biggest weakness is the pesky intrusion of real life events. The film ends after the 2002 season with Beane turning down an offer from the Red Sox in order to remain in Oakland. Knowing that the As still haven’t made it to (let alone won) a World Series in the past 20 years, that Beane’s worship of on base percentage has not produced a particularly dynamic offense (to say the least), and that DePodesta flopped as general manager of the Dodgers goes against a lot of what this film stands for. And while such knowledge can’t be simply cast aside, it shouldn’t be enough to completely mar what is otherwise a quirky, compelling tale that transcends the ballpark.

8/10

The Debt

In 1997, Israeli author Sarah Gold (Romi Aboulafia), the daughter of now-handicapped intelligence chief Stefan Gold (Tom Wilkinson) and former Mossad agent Rachel Singer (Helen Mirren), recounts her parents’ successful capture and killing of Nazi war criminal Dieter Vogel (Jesper Christensen) in 1960s East Berlin. David Peretz (Cirian Hinds), the third member of that Mossad team, commits suicide shortly thereafter, prompting Rachel and Stefan to revisit what really happened 30 years earlier and atone for a crucial mistake of the past.

Directed by John Madden, The Debt has a ripped-from-the-history-books premise, but it is actually a remake of an earlier Israeli film of the same name. Not having seen the original made this remake infinitely more enjoyable. The plot takes a major twist about 2/3rds of the way through, and the tension, as young Stefan (Marton Csonkas), Rachel (Jessica Chastain), and David (Sam Worthington) develop a love triangle, evade capture, and withstand Vogel’s psychological manipulation, is wonderfully thick.

While it would not be feasible to maintain the entirety of this tension throughout, the parts which are slack stand out considerably. So much weight is placed on the 1960s scenes that by the time the story shifts back to the present, you forget you are watching the same movie. The conclusion, while necessary to resolve the plot, also strained credulity in its execution.

Unevenness aside, the acting here is top-notch. Christensen is cagey and slyly monstrous as the ex-Nazi doctor, and both the past and present versions of the three agents are well-rendered. Notably, Wilkinson adds complexity to an increasingly unsympathetic role and Worthington gives a subdued performance as the sensitive David. Make no mistake about it, though: Mirren owns this film. From the accent to the emotional baggage to the age-appropriate hesitations and concerns to the ultimate triumph of will in the conclusion, she imbues the older Rachel with strength, integrity, and conviction.

The Debt probably won’t generate any Oscar buzz, but its artful presentation and powerful message of responsibility mean that it should not be ignored.

7.75/10

Columbine

In this 432 page exploration of the Columbine High School massacre, journalist Dave Cullen examines the tragedy from multiple angles. The book includes profiles of perpetrators Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold, an examination of life at Columbine before and after the attack, the perspectives of victims and their parents, and a debunking of several of the myths perpetuated by the media and law enforcement.

I was wrong. So were you. And so, it would seem, was everyone else. That’s the central premise behind Cullen’s Columbine. Released almost exactly a decade after the notorious attack, the book shines ample light on the killers’ motivations. Some of its revelations are old hat: the erroneous assumptions that video games/Marilyn Manson made them do it or that Harris and Klebold acted on behalf of the “Trench Coat Maffia” were debunked long ago. But the counter narrative – that the pair were outcasts driven to extremes by bullying – doesn’t hold up either. Using expert profiles and the killers’ own words (they kept journals and recorded videos well in advance of the attack), Cullen reveals Harris to be a psychopathic master manipulator and Klebold his depressive sidekick. If the two looked like outcasts, it was an image they cultivated for themselves. In other words, they weren’t “pushed” by anything, be it video games, music, jocks, parents, gun culture, or who knows what else.

But Cullen’s revelations don’t end there. In his chilling recreation of the events of April 20, 1999, he shows how much worse things could have been. Fun Fact 1: the then-worst school shooting in American history was conceived as a school bombing. Harris and Klebold resorted to opening fire after their propane bombs didn’t go off. Fun Fact 2: the shooting itself was over in a relatively short period of time, but it took law enforcement (who, Cullen notes, took great pains to cover their asses in the aftermath) several hours to enter/secure the school and get everyone out. During that time, a teacher bled to death in a classroom. And then there’s Cassie Bernall, the alleged Christian martyr who was not, in fact, killed for expressing a belief in God, not that this would stop her parents and the evangelical community from milking the martyr angle for all it was worth.

Supported by years of research and ample sources, Cullen left virtually no stones unturned in writing Columbine, and it deserves its status as the definitive account of the massacre. But it is not a flawless effort. While the first section of the book is gripping and tense, the remainder is considerably less so. Cullen’s use of a parallel structure (alternating Harris and Klebold’s lives leading up to the attack with the lives of the survivors in the aftermath) feels contrived and threatens to dilute reader interest. He also shows a certain smugness in sticking it to the media (of which, his introductory note explains, he was a member) and especially the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office (justifiable given their conduct, but you have to wonder if this isn’t some form of payback for being denied access). Lastly, Cullen freely engages in conjecture, delving inside the heads of his killers and recreating key moments. It’s conjecture guided by research, but it’s walking on a tree branch just the same.

These faults will keep Columbine from reaching In Cold Blood status, but it’s still a must read. It may shock you, and it may make you mad, but it will also fill in some holes that ten years worth of movies, books, articles, and endless speculation have failed to adequately address.

8

Josephine's Bistro (CLOSED)

NOTE: Josephine's closed, and the owners launched Scrambled Southern Diner in its location. Josephine's still operates as a catering business.

Located at 2417 Spring Garden Street, Josephine’sBistro specializes in upscale cuisine. It is open for lunch and dinner Monday through Saturday and offers $11 dinner entrees before 6 p.m. Monday through Thursday. Specials rotate daily and include free wine tastings on Thursdays and periodic wine dinners. Josephine’s caters and is available to host private events.

The sister restaurant of Lindley Park Filling Station, Josephine’s is a relative newcomer, but it is already leaving an impression on Greensboro’s dining scene. Months after friends gave it a favorable recommendation, I finally had an occasion worth celebrating and gave it a try. Upon arrival, I was greeted by the owner, Sara Keith, who apologetically explained that they were in the process of putting in a new roof. The renovations didn’t harm the aesthetics much, but the aesthetics weren’t a strong point to begin with. In contrast to the quaint patio, the inside is rather compact and adorned with muted tones. Josephine’s is also fond of unconventional dishware: my entrée came on a rectangular, trough-like plate, and bread was dispensed in small metal buckets.

These odd visual touches are hit-or-miss, but the menu is considerably less ambiguous in its quality. I showed up in time for the pre-6p.m. early bird special, which left me three choices: a gourmet burger, sautéed trout, or flounder and a black bean cake. Choosing between those three was tough enough, but throw in the rest of the menu (steak au poivre, pork Milanese, buttermilk sage fried chicken, and more), and the decision became torturous.

Ultimately, I went with the burger. A beef-lamb blend, it came topped with creamy Boursin cheese, greens, tomato, and bacon, and served with pomme frites and a garlic parm aioli. Both the burger and the veggies were juicy, and the soft, somewhat tangy cheese added a nice contrasting flavor. The aioli also made for the perfect dipping sauce. Gourmet burgers are often a cynical way to gouge diners with unsophisticated palates, but this one was an exception. Everything was so flavorful that I had trouble remembering I was eating a burger and fries, let alone what I was paying for it. I then followed that up with a white chocolate Frangelico cheesecake, a dessert so rich it deserves an entry on the Forbes 500.

As has been said on this blog and elsewhere, good food does not come cheaply. Appetizers run from $6 to $14, and entrees are $14 and up. Josephine’s does offer both small and large plate options for many of its entrees, so it is possible to have a meal here without breaking the bank.

Servers at Josephine’s are both friendly and attentive. Conveniently, they leave you with a carafe of water instead of circling to refill your glass. The food didn’t emerge from the kitchen quickly, but the wait was not unreasonable.

All in all, Josephine’s might not offer the ambience of Print Works or the bonafides of the other Quaintance joints, but on food and friendliness, it should definitely stay in the conversation as a special occasion dinner destination.

8.5/10

The Collector

In postwar England, Frederick Clegg, an unassuming, socially awkward clerk becomes obsessed with Miranda Grey, a beautiful young art student. He is too shy to approach her and instead watches her from afar and collects butterflies. Once Clegg wins a large sum of money betting on soccer, however, he decides to purchase a large country estate and kidnap Miranda under the belief that she will love him once she gets to know him. Nothing goes as planned for either captor or captive.

An unfortunate favorite of several notorious serial killers, John Fowles 1963 debut novel deserves to be something more than notorious. To start with, there are some interesting – if somewhat superficial – commonalities between The Collector and Nabokov’s Lolita. Both feature as their (quite unreliable) narrators deranged men who are obsessed with young women. But unlike the latter, the former gives a voice to its victim. Half of the book takes the form of Miranda’s diary, in which she pines for freedom, shares her disgust (and occasional pity) for Clegg, gushes over a fellow artist twice her age, and shares her contempt for everything bourgeoisie and inauthentic. Interestingly, she comes across as every bit as unsympathetic as Clegg: she’s vain, condescending, (perhaps justifiably) cruel, and hypocritical.

Despite the bulk of the interaction taking place between just two characters, Fowles intended this novel to be social commentary, a critique of prosperity. The working class (as represented by Clegg), he argued, was getting money and power before it knew how to utilize either responsibly. Even if you find this view a tad insulting – and I do – there is something amusing about the juxtaposition of Clegg’s (old fashioned, uncultured, and isolated) aesthetic and moral opinions with Miranda’s (a sharp-minded proto-hippie of sorts).

Whether it’s the association with serial killers, the chilling downer ending (an asset, in my view), the by-now familiar plot, or just its datedness, The Collector is easy to write off as damaged goods. But it shouldn’t be. Watching these two characters find new ways to drive each other crazy makes this book well worth the read.

8

Wild Strawberries

Isak Borg (Victor Sjostrom), a widowed, retired professor/physician, sets out on a long car trip with his indifferent daughter-in-law Marianne (Ingrid Thulin) to receive a prestigious honor. Along the way, they pick up a bubbly young woman, Sara, (Bibi Anderson) and her competing beaus. Through a series of daydreams, Isak confronts the regrets of his past.

With a meandering pace and a threadbare plot, Wild Strawberries could have easily been a pretentious bore. That it instead proved to be an engaging, thought-provoking reflection on disappointment is a testament to its writer/director, the legendary Ingmar Bergman (who reportedly penned the script while in the hospital).  Make no mistake about it: there is no shortage of melancholy here. Isak comes to the realization that his coldness has condemned him to a life of lonliness while Marianne is on the verge of leaving his similarly frosty son Evald because the latter cannot stomach the idea of bringing a child into this world. But Bergman also incorporates moments of humor (Isak and his housekeeper bickering like a married couple, Sara’s two suitors ignoring her and fighting over religious philosophy) and surrealism (Isak’s first dream is like something out of a Tool video). Throw in some handsome shots of the Swedish countryside and a minimalistic but powerful score and you have as well-made a film was possible for 1957.

Of course, Bergman isn’t the only thing that makes Wild Strawberries work. Sjostrom, who was a.) primarily a silent film director, b.) in his late 70s, and c.) reluctant to take the role does a phenomenal job essaying Isak. We get to see him as outwardly esteemed, principled, and composed but also uncaring, tormented, and full of regret. It’s the type of role Jack Nicholson would have thrived in had this movie been made from 2002-2006.

If there’s one flaw to Wild Strawberries, it’s that the relatively happy ending seems unearned. There is nothing wrong with the notion that people can and do change, even in old age, but there is something almost Christmas Carolesque in Isak’s realizations. It may be a cliché, but it would have been more fitting – and more moving – if this closed with his passing.

It would seem a stretch that a fifty-plus year old slow-paced Swedish film could resonate with modern viewership, but given the ascendency of character-driven thinkpieces during the past decade, Wild Strawberries should continue to shine.

8.25

Captain America: The First Avenger

In the early 1940s, scientifically enhanced megalomaniacal rogue Nazi Johann Schmidt aka “The Red Skull” (Hugo Weaving) seizes an ancient Norse artifact that will fuel his plans of global conquest. Meanwhile, Steve Rogers (Chris Evans), a scrawny kid from Brooklyn, is determined to join the Army and fight for his country, despite being physically unfit for duty. Enter Dr. Abraham Erskine (Stanley Tucci), a German defector who is looking for someone to test his “Super Soldier” serum on. The rest, as they say, is history.

It’s hard to believe, but in the 70 years since Captain America made his debut as a comic book character, he is only now getting his cinematic due. The First Avenger easily trounces the obscure late-70s made-for-TV adaptations and the lamentable 1990 release starring Matt “son of J.D.” Salinger in both budget and hype. For the most part, this latest addition to the Marvel Cinematic Universe does not disappoint.

A lot of credit should be given to director Joe Johnston. Though a questionable choice to helm the film – his résumé includes Jurassic Park III and Jumanji – Johnston delivers a competently made throwback of an adventure film. There is a solid period feel, no major lags in the pacing, and while some of the HYDRA weaponry channels G.I. Joe in a bad way, the CGI is relatively unobtrusive (especially compared to the likes of Thor). Then again, maybe this should not be much of a surprise: Johnston also worked on the Indiana Jones films and the thematically similar Rocketeer.

 The acting doesn’t offer anything transcendental ala The Dark Knight’s Heath Ledger or even Iron Man 2’s Mickey Rourke, but it is solid across the board. Hugo Weaving gives the nefarious Red Skull a convincing German accent and a formidable sense of menace. Captain America, that paragon of patriotism, is bound to end up looking wooden no matter what, but Evans does his best in the lead, admirably conveying the determination that makes the character tick. Tommy Lee Jones and Dominic Cooper seem to be having fun as the gruff Col. Chester Phillips and the eccentric Howard Stark (father of Tony), respectively, but the roles are fairly one-dimensional. Sadly, so is that of Peggy Carter (Hayley Atwell), a British officer who acts as a liaison to the Americans. Atwell gives the character some spunk, but everything about her screams “token love interest.”

While it is fashionable for comic book adaptations to take on postmodern twists these days, blurring the lines between hero and villain and offering incisive commentary on the societies that create them, The First Avenger lacks any such ambition. It is a very traditional film dedicated to showcasing the struggle between good and evil and affirming the notion that one person can make a difference. If you are expecting anything more than that, you will be disappointed. But if you accept it on those terms (or are just looking for the final piece of the puzzle before The Avengers debuts next year), there is a lot to like here.

7.75

X-Men: First Class

Directed by Matthew Vaughn, X-Men: First Class explores the origins of the popular superhero team. In the early 1960s, Holocaust survivor and metal-bending mutant Erik “Magneto” Lensherr (Michael Fassbender) hunts down Sebastian Shaw (Kevin Bacon), a nefarious mutant supremacist who killed his mother during the war. Shaw’s involvement in the clandestine Hellfire Club brings him to the attention of CIA operative Moira McTaggart (Rose Byrne), who reaches out to mutation expert (and telepath) Professor Charles Xavier (James McAvoy) for help. Once Shaw’s plans for political maneuvering and global domination become clear, Erik and Charles team up and begin recruiting mutants to combat him. Their differing views on human-mutant relations, however, suggest the alliance won’t last for long.

From recent Christopher Nolan Batman series to the forthcoming The Amazing Spiderman and Man of Steel, reboots seem to be all the rage these days. In the case of the X-Men franchise, there is considerable merit. X-Men: The Last Stand, with its shoddy characterization and simplistic plotting, left a bad taste in the mouths of many filmgoers, and X-Men Origins: Wolverine, though fun, did little to remedy that.

For comic book purists, X-Men: First Class is more of the same. When compared to the source material, considerable liberties are taken with both character and setting: shape-shifting seductress Mystique (Jennifer Lawrence) is turned into Xavier’s adopted little sister, and the initial X-Men lineup presented here leaves out Cyclops and Angel in favor of Havoc and Banshee. Some of the changes are unsettling: Hank “Beast” McCoy’s (Nicholas Hoult) admittedly formidable intelligence is stretched to absurd proportions for his age, and the transformation of McTaggart from scientist to spy felt a little too plot-convenient.

That aside, most of the changes work. Having blue-skinned Mystique feel Xavier’s rejection, for instance, sets up her enthusiasm for Magneto’s pro-mutant extremism in later times. Similarly, the debates between Xavier, who believes humans and mutants can exist in harmony, and Magneto, who believes that mutants will never be accepted, sets up the conflict at the crux of the first three X-Men films.

The biggest asset here, however, is not Vaughn’s innovations, but the general competence and sense of purpose he brings to the film. While the pace is brisk and there is plenty of action, you never feel like you are watching a glorified cartoon. Echoes of the Holocaust and the Civil Rights struggle, combined with a Cold War setting and plot, give this a mature, weighty feel.

The acting is also top-notch. Fassbender, as Erik/Magneto, is less a man with an agenda than a force to be reckoned with. He pulls of a coup by outdoing his predecessor in the role, the esteemed Ian McKellen.  McAvoy as Xavier isn’t quite as strong in comparison, but his somewhat carnal and vain take on the character forms an interesting contrast with Patrick Stewart’s saintly interpretation. The underrated Bacon is both smarmy and menacing as Shaw, and Hugh Jackman, in his brief Wolverine cameo, nearly steals the film.

X-Men: First Class is an overly ambitious work that strikes a false note at times. But it injects the franchise as a whole with some much-needed credibility and vision and opens the door for all kinds of future possibilities.

8.25

Rosie's Cafe (CLOSED)

NOTE: Rosie's Cafe has since closed.

Located at 2412 A S. Elm-Eugene St., Rosie’s Café offers home cooked Southern cuisine for dine-in or carry out. It is open for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and meal combos and daily specials are available.

Housed in a converted gas station, Rosie’s goes to prove that the Lindley Park neighborhood doesn’t hold a monopoly on repurposed businesses. However, all similarities between Rosie’s and the Filling Station end there. Rosie’s does not offer anything to entice a young crowd or any crowd for that matter. The interior is barebones and tiny: there are maybe half a dozen stools along two counters, and that does it for seating. You will also be eating on Styrofoam and plastic, and you won’t have a television to watch, music to listen to, or anything else in the way of ambiance.

Once you get past the fact that Rosie’s is “dine-in” in name only, you’ll find that the food is equal parts tasty and cheap. The extensive breakfast menu is heavy on meat (steak, pork chops, country ham, etc.) and egg combos, and you can feed yourself well for under $5. The lunch/dinner menu is a bit more limited. They are big on burgers and ($1!) hot dogs here, but you can also get something more filling. I opted for a pork chop, potato salad, and slaw, and I was not disappointed. The chop was nicely breaded and not the least bit dry, and the sides are what you’d expect from a Southern kitchen. The best part? That and a drink cost me under $9.

Rosie’s is not a viable option if you want to take in a nice meal, but if you are just looking for cheap eats or something to go, you’d be hard-pressed to find better food at these prices.

7.75

Moonlight Mile

Twelve years have passed since private investigators Patrick Kenzie and Angela Gennaro located and returned the abducted Amanda McCready. Since that time, Patrick and Angie have gotten married and have a child of their own. Now 16, Amanda has gone missing again, and it is up to the pair to find her. This time, however, there is more at stake than Amanda’s own life.

Picking up where 1998’s Gone, Baby, Gone and Prayers for Rain left off, Dennis Lehane returns to his long-running detective series after forays into historical fiction (The Given Day) and television writing (The Wire). As a stylist, he hasn’t lost a beat. Patrick remains an engaging narrator: as tough and cynical as his job requires him to be, but also full of smartassery, pop culture quips, moral wrangling, and, above all, compassion. His back-and-forth banter and relationship-threatening arguments with Angie are back too, but the former Miss Gennaro feels shoved into the background in this latest outing. It’s a shame to see such a strong character demoted from partner-in-crime to wife/mom who is just along for the ride.

Characterization, on the whole, is something Lehane (surprisingly) botches here. There will always be bright spots (namely, the return of incorrigible psychopath/loyal best friend Bubba Rogowski, who tells a henchman, “I’ll kill you because you’re short.”), but the layers of humanity and despair that previously marked Lehane’s characters are missing here. Far too much is played for laughs. The book’s crazed Russian mobster antagonists are stock, seemingly coming to us straight from the set of Running Scared. And Amanda’s selfish, neglectful mother Helene, a rightfully reviled character in Gone, Baby, Gone, comes off more like a drug-addled clown here. Then there’s Amanda herself. Lehane continually reminds us of how she is mature and intelligent beyond her years, which makes her seem capable of anything and drains the book of tension and suspense.

That isn’t to say that there is nothing at Moonlight Mile’s core. The book traffics in themes of maturity and the perils of aging. Patrick and Angie are in their early 40s now. They must accept the fact that they can no longer put their lives in danger for crusades on behalf of their clients. They must also come to terms with the fact that the rough-and-tumble, blue collar Boston that bred them is almost unrecognizable now. It is watching them adapt to their respective challenges (Patrick working a corporate job, Angie doing the stay-at-home mom thing) that holds this book up when the plot crumbles.

In spite of the finality suggested by the conclusion, it is difficult to say whether or not Moonlight Mile will in fact be Patrick and Angie’s last hurrah. If this is the end, then it comes as a bit of a disappointment (Gone, Baby, Gone, A Drink Before the War, and Darkness, Take My Hand were all far superior). Nevertheless, it is a book that Lehane had to write: a weak send-off is far more preferable than keeping these characters on the shelf for another dozen years and pretending that it is still the mid-to-late ‘90s.

7.5/10

Vietnamese Garden Cuisine (CLOSED)

NOTE: Vietnamese Garden has since closed. Los Gordos Mexican Cafe currently operates in its location.

Located at 2505 Battleground Ave., Vietnamese Garden offers Vietnamese dishes, sushi, and desserts. Lunch specials are available from 11-2:30 Monday to Friday, and the restaurant is open all day on Saturdays.

Vietnamese Garden is Vietnamese food for Americans who can’t handle the real thing. Whereas the more authentic establishments tend to put a lot of emphasis on the food, Vietnamese Garden plays up appearances. The décor is handsome and tasteful: dark mustard colored walls, bamboo accents, and plenty of artwork. Don’t go here expecting a quiet meal, though: the restaurant’s popularity among families and the business crowd means you’re in for a boisterous dining experience. It also means you could be in for some wait time, both before and after you get your table.

Of course, the wait and the noise would be abundantly more tolerable if the food raised its game. I tried the combination (pork, shrimp, and spring roll) vermicelli bowl on two occasions. It was decent the first time around, but the pork was overcooked on the second occasion. It’s also telling that the menu offers an extremely limited selection of pho, the noodle soup that has become synonymous with Vietnamese cuisine.

On the other hand, that very same menu can’t help but curry (pun intended) the favor of diners seeking a break from the usual. Braised quail, crab fried rice, and stuffed calamari rolls give me hope that I’ve simply been ordering the wrong thing. The dessert selection is also impressive and showcases French influences. Mousses and ganaches abound.

For those new to Vietnamese cuisine, Vietnamese Garden is probably a good way to gain an introduction without overwhelming your palette. But if you know what a proper pho or mixed bowl is supposed to look/taste like, better options exist. Only the breadth of the menu encourages a repeat visit.

6.75/10

Thor

Thor (Chris Hemsworth) is a proud, headstrong warrior and heir to the throne of Asgard. When he angers his father Odin (Anthony Hopkins) by breaking a centuries-old truce with the malevolent Frost Giants, he is stripped of his power and exiled to Earth where Asgardians are regarded as mythological figures. He is befriended by rogue astrophysicist Jane Foster (Natalie Portman) and her colleagues, who believe him to hold the answers to all sorts of scientific mysteries. Meanwhile, in Thor’s absence, his scheming, manipulative brother Loki (Tom Hiddleston) launches an ambitious plan to improve his standing in Odin’s eyes.

Even in the post-Dark Knight era, comic book adaptations are still not universally embraced. But Thor is no ordinary comic book adaptation. The character was a product of Norse mythology long before he hit Marvel’s pages. Further, the film’s director (Kenneth Branagh) is noted for his adaptations of Shakespeare. That and the A-list cast give Thor unprecedented (for its type) dramatic heft. And, sadly, it is on that level (dramatic craftsmanship rather than mere entertainment) that Thor disappoints most egregiously.

Aesthetics are the biggest offender. Asgard is presented as an awkward array of golden spires in the sky, and the inter-realm transport sequences across the Bifrost Bridge look like something out of Power Rangers. Granted, the source material doesn’t lend itself to ultra-realism, but there is no reason it need be so cartoonish.

Then there’s the script. Though it does tackle the worthwhile theme of maturity and sacrifice, it is peppered with melodrama and cheese sentimentality. Thor’s relationship with Foster, for instance, seems a little too conveniently manufactured to be believed. Come to think of it, the Foster character in general felt misplaced. For as talented as Portman is (and for as well as she can project genius-level smarts), she is still too damn young to convincingly portray an accomplished astrophysicist.

Ironically, in spite of its pedigree, it is as simple fun that Thor finds its footing. Whether he is smashing things with his hammer or dropping amusing fish-out-of-water quips (at one point, he walks into a pet store and demands a horse), Hemsworth fills the title role ably. Ray Stephenson as the gluttonous warrior Volstagg and Kat Dannings as Foster’s airhead assistant also up the fun factor. For comics fans, there’s even a brief cameo by Jeremy Renner as ace marksman (and future Avenger) Hawkeye.

On the whole, though, the cast is slumming it. Hopkins provides screen presence but little else as Odin, and Rene Russo has barely any screen time as his queen, Frigga. It’s not that Thor is a bad film – it entertains admirably, and it is a good introduction to the character – but in an age where X2, The Dark Knight, and Iron Man have raised the bar for what comic book adaptations can achieve, Thor feels far from mighty in comparison.

7.25/10

Bangkok Cafe

Located at 1203 S. Holden Road, Bangkok Café offers a variety of Thai dishes for dine-in or takeout.

“Hidden gem” is an overused cliché when it comes to dining (and many other things), but it is nearly appropriate here. Bangkok Café is a tiny blip in a Holden Road shopping center that is undoubtedly passed by hundreds of people every day without a second thought. The quality of the food, however, should grant it more attention.

Bangkok Café’s menu is laden with familiar Thai favorites. You can get various curries, tom yum soup, and plenty of rice and noodle dishes here. I went with the Pad Thai my first time out, and I was not disappointed. Bangkok Café gets the delicate balance of flavors down better than anywhere else in Greensboro (so far). Prices are wallet-friendly, too. The Pad Thai (with shrimp) goes for $10, and many of the entrees cost the same or less.

Now for the bad: Bangkok Café is tiny. There are 10 tables in all, meaning that you should time your visit carefully. It is a family owned/run establishment, which means that staffing is minimal. Everyone was very friendly, but dining here demands a casual pace.

The location and small size may put some diners off, but for those who are willing to make the trip, Bangkok Café offers Thai done right.

7.75/10

Atlas Shrugged: Part I

It’s 2016, and the world faces economic turmoil. Prominent business leaders are disappearing left and right, and Washington insiders are lobbying for new regulations to “fix” the economy. Amid this backdrop, capable, strong-willed railroad executive Dagny Taggart (Taylor Schilling) butts heads with her incompetent, insecure brother James (Matthew Marsden). She is concerned about serving her customers and turning a profit; he wants to project a good company image and gain political influence. Meanwhile, self-made industrialist Hank Reardon (Grant Bowler) supports his ungrateful wife, mother, and brother while working long hours to maximize his gains. His new alloy, Rearden Metal, could be stronger and cheaper than anything on the market, which motivates his competitors to turn the tides of public and official opinion against it. As Dagny and Hank form a partnership, the efforts to hinder their progress redouble. Lurking at the edges of the conflict is a question no one can answer: who is John Galt?

In the 50-plus years since Ayn Rand’s 1,300-page novel was published, there have been numerous attempts to adapt Atlas Shrugged for the big screen. They have all met with failure for one reason or another; namely, a lack of final approval from Rand and her intellectual heirs. Enter businessman John Aglialoro, who bought up the rights and produced a feature-length film in five weeks on a $10 million shortly before his option was about to expire. Considering those circumstances – and the sheer scope of the source material – Atlas Shrugged Part I could have turned out a lot worse. But the avoidance of disaster should not be taken as proof of success.

The film’s biggest asset is its aesthetics. There are frequent shots of trains racing across the Rocky Mountains. These contrast nicely with the stately boardrooms of the Taggart offices and the sleek, cold confines of Rearden’s operation. It’s a great-looking film not just for the budget, but for any budget.

The cast too must be commended. Led by unknowns Schilling and Bowler, they go a long way toward humanizing Rand’s characters without compromising them. The author regarded character as little more than a vessel for transmitting ideas. By not treating their roles as cartoons, the actors and actresses allow those ideas to exist in human terms rather than at a theoretical level. In addition to the two leads, Marsden makes for a loathsome, petty James. Michael Lerner, who plays slick lobbyist Wesley Mouch fittingly bears more than a passing resemblance to Chris Dodd and the late Ted Kennedy as he drops empty platitudes about “the good of the people” while increasing his own power.

The film’s major deficiency is its script. It’s faithful to the novel, and therein lies a major liability. To put it simply, this is an immensely talky film. Despite the grandiose music, there is a train wreck in the beginning, a fire at the end, and nothing but a series of conversations in between. This wouldn’t be a problem if Rand or screenwriter Brian Patrick O’Toole were David Mamet, Aaron Sorkin, or Kevin Smith, but they don’t even come close. The political pronouncements offered by the mysterious figure in black (SPOILER: it’s John Galt) are particularly awkward. Worse, the film stops just as the plot picks up. This would be fine if this were a TV miniseries or even (ala Lord of the Rings) a situation where you knew a sequel was just around the corner, but that isn’t the case here.

To sum up, when all the polarization over the novel and its creator’s politics are stripped away, you are left with a handsome, earnestly acted, turgidly paced film that feels nakedly incomplete. It’s a valiant attempt, but, as even (and, perhaps, especially) meritocratic devotees of Objectivism will realize, results are what matter most.

6.5/10

The World Made Straight

Travis Shelton, 17, intelligent, put-upon, and headstrong, is trying to make something of himself in rural North Carolina. He runs afoul of the Toomeys, a father-and-son team of ill-tempered marijuana growers, and ends up maimed. However, the tragedy brings him closer to Lori, an overachieving high school classmate, and Leonard Shuler, a disgraced former teacher turned drug dealer. Leonard recognizes Travis’ potential and prepares him to get his GED, but a secret from the past – and interference from the Toomeys – threaten to undermine their progress.

Credit Ron Rash for being able to craft a novel that is simultaneously bleak and hopeful. In many ways, the book is as hard-bitten as mountains and dirt and gravel that comprise its setting. Rash employs his usual landscape poetics, but they aren’t as prominent here as they are in some of his other works. That is because his characters are well-developed enough to command more of the attention. Leonard is the epitome of wasted potential, a drunk who lets the things he values most in life (wife, child, job) slip right through his fingers. His housemate/rescue, Dena, is even more pathetic: an uncontrollable, oft-abused pill-popper who still maintains a glimmer of her former beauty. Both characters nevertheless do just enough to make you care about them and hope they find redemption.

Travis, on the other hand, represents the hope side of the equation. He is fully believable as a protagonist: intelligent, yet ignorant; stubborn, yet continually bossed around by others; competent (when motivated), yet entirely incapable of making it on his own. Watching him try to become a better person while sensing that it is only a matter of time before he screws something up gives the book its tension.

If there is one thing about The World Made Straight that feels less than masterful, it is the inclusion of a Civil War doctor’s journal entries between chapters. The doctor – and the final entries – become quite important to the plot later on, but the early entries are awash in minutiae. Clearly, Rash’s aim is consistency, but these too often read like filler.

All and all, The World Made Straight offers a harrowing look at desperate people living hard lives. It pulls no punches as to the challenges they face, but it also demands with great urgency that they face them.

8.5/10

The King's Speech

In prewar England, Prince Albert, Duke of York (Colin Firth) is afflicted by a speech impediment that renders him a stuttering mess in front of an audience. As his father, King George V (Michael Gambon), is aging, and his brother, David (Guy Pearce), is too smitten with a scandalous American socialite to exercise his royal duties, Albert is terrified that he may one day end up on the throne. To remedy this, his wife, Elizabeth, Duchess of York (Helena Bonham Carter) seeks the services of Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush), a failed Australian actor-turned-speech therapist. Though the temperamental prince clashes frequently with Logue over the latter’s unorthodox methods, progress is made and the two become friends.

As The Queen proved a few short years ago, critics and moviegoers alike can’t resist a good film that pries into the guarded lives of the royal family. In The King’s Speech, the emphasis is on good. Oscar winner Colin Firth handles his difficult role superbly, transforming a future king (the epitome of prestige) into a sympathetic underdog, a competent naval officer thrust unwillingly onto the thrown. He nails not only the stutter, but the frustration, fear, and fatherly benevolence as well. Carter and the chameleon like Rush match him at every turn; as the future Queen Mother, the former is plucky and resolute, and as the quirky, irrepressible Logue, the latter never misses a beat. Pearce (several years younger than Firth and an Australian) feels miscast, but he does his best to make the future King Edward VIII a weak, irresponsible bastard.

Directed by Tom Hooper, The King’s Speech is well-shot, with a convincing period feel. The script comes courtesy of David Seidler, himself a stutterer. Though Logue’s actual notes were incorporated, there is some obvious dramatization and fictionalization at play. It’s highly doubtful, for instance, that the titular speech drew cheering crowds outside the palace, but were this rendered as it happened, it would have made for a very flat conclusion.

Even without the royal intrigue, The King’s Speech makes for a compelling study in overcoming adversity. The fact that being able to address his people allows the king to go toe-to-toe with the notoriously well-spoken Hitler ups the stakes and makes this all the more rewarding.

8.25/10

Emma Key's Flat Top Grill

Located at 2206 Walker Avenue, Emma Key’s Flat Top Grill offers burgers, sandwiches, salads, milkshakes, and more with a New Orleans twist. Takeout and limited outdoor seating are available.


The intersection of Walker and Elam Avenues in the heart of the Lindley Park neighborhood has become a haven for repurposing. Just as the Lindley Park Filling Station is a former gas station, its across-the-street competitor used to be a barbershop. That gives Emma Key’s some retro charm, but it also makes for very limited seating. Come here during a busy lunch hour and you’ll barely have room to stand, let alone find a seat and eat. That and the meager (though friendly) staff make this a poor choice if you’re famished or in a hurry.


Depending on your cravings though, the food may be worth the wait. The burgers here are among the best in Greensboro. Made fresh and served hot off the grill (so hot you shouldn’t try to pick them up right away), the misshapen patties might not be much to look at, but they are juicy and flavorful. A plethora of toppings (including several kinds of cheese and house-made Tabasco ketchup) lets you have your steak(burger) and eat it too.


Emma Key’s offers no steals, but you’ll still pay less here than you will next door (Sticks n Stones) or across the street (Fishbones or The Filling Station). Burgers with no sides run from $4.50 and up while plain fries are $1.85. At $4.50, shakes are half a buck away from spawning Pulp Fiction jokes.


As bare-bones burger joints go, Emma Key’s satisfyingly delivers, but the potential for crowding and wait times and the less than ideal parking situation means would-be patrons should come with a backup plan in mind.


7.25/10

Chemistry and Other Stories

This 2007 collection features 13 stories, including O. Henry Prize-winner “Speckled Trout” and “Pemberton’s Bride,” which was later expanded into the novel Serena.


Fishing, hunting, faith, working the land – these are among the most stock elements of Southern writing, and it takes a certain virtuosity to make them seem bold and engaging. An established poet, Ron Rash has just that virtuosity and puts it to good use in this collection. In the title story, a boy finds horrors at the bottom of a lake when tries to emulate his father, who took up diving (and religious fervor) to cope with a mental illness. “Blackberries in June” deromanticizes the bedrock values of hard work and family by showing how a young couple’s relatively modest ambitions are crushed by obligation and misfortune.


As a self-professed fan of “gut-punch” fiction, the author’s penchant for uncompromising endings sits well with me. But for those who expect their fiction to offer at least a sliver of light at the end of the tunnel, “Deep Gap” shows how a father and a son are able to reconcile after the former loses everything. Rash’s fiction often ventures into strange territory – a woman encourages her husband to go on a date so he can write an article about the experience, a country woman hires a surveyor so she can accurately fill out her murdered son’s death certificate, etc. – but it never feels inauthentic.


These stories are not for the faint of heart, and some may feel that Rash incorporates a monotonous level of tragedy. But if ever there is a book that does the Appalachians right, this is it.


8.5/10

Waiting For "Superman"

This 2010 documentary from Davis Guggenheim examines the failures of the American public education system. The lives of several students and their families are explored, and prominent figures in education are interviewed.



The state of our schools is not something that can be fully explored in a two-hour movie, but Waiting For “Superman” serves as an excellent starting point. It pulls no punches, rightly assigning blame to change-resistant, accountability-shy teacher unions and their political surrogates who believe the solution to everything is “more money!” For that, it was savaged. Interestingly enough, Guggenheim is not a free marketer, but a political progressive. He is perhaps best known for the paean to climate change advocacy that was An Inconvenient Truth.


Of course, Waiting For “Superman” still could have been a failure even if it hit all the right philosophical notes. Either a dry-as-dust presentation or a mega-dose of bombast would have alienated the viewer. Thankfully, the even-voiced Guggenheim picked his spots carefully. Standouts include the charismatic Geoffrey Canada, founder of the Harlem Children’s Zone, and Michelle Rhee, the no-nonsense former Washington D.C. schools chief whose courageous push for merit pay for teachers sparked a firestorm of controversy. There is also a look at New York City’s infamous “rubber rooms” (where bad teachers are sent in lieu of being fired) and an emotional closing montage of lotteries that determine placement in successful charter schools. The pacing is inconsistent at times, but the slow moments are never long or numerous enough to make you want to give up.


Because of the weight given to the charters, some have criticized the film as offering them up as an idealized solution. It’s a fair point, but, in the scheme of things, also a minor one. Waiting For “Superman” does not – and should not – attempt to provide all the answers when it comes to education, but it at least asks the right questions. That alone makes it worth watching.


8/10

The Fighter

In mid-90s Lowell, Massachusetts, down-on-his-luck boxer “Irish” Micky Ward (Mark Wahlberg) lives in the perpetual shadow of his older half brother/trainer, drug addled former fighter Dicky Eklund (Christian Bale). With the encouragement of his barmaid girlfriend Charlene (Amy Adams), Micky begins to seek more for himself. But will he be able to go the distance if it means breaking free of his family?


From Raging Bull to Ali to Cinderella Man, the boxing biopic has been done to death. Despite this, director David O. Russell and Wahlberg (who also produced) found some new and interesting things to say. The fact that this was nearly a very different film – Darren Aaronofsky was attached to direct and Brad Pitt would have played Eklund) – adds to the intrigue.


For starters, The Fighter shows a very unglamorous, almost pedestrian side of the boxing world. Though a classic underdog with something to prove, Micky Ward isn’t mobbed up, battling addiction, or making a political statement; he’s a quiet guy trying to regain his confidence. His style isn’t flashy, either. An opportunist in the ring, he stays on defense and takes damage until he can connect with a crippling body blow. To match this, the film doesn’t rely on slow motion, crowd reaction shots, or other standard gimmickry (though there is an obligatory training montage). As a result, everything seems more authentic. We feel bad for Micky when he is huddled against the ropes taking punch after punch, and we feel triumphant when he finally begins to battle back.


The acting in The Fighter is also top-notch. Wahlberg’s performance is understated but credible. He doesn’t play Ward as Rocky or Superman, but as an ordinary blue-collar type looking to catch a break. Bale, on the other hand, continues to show why he is capable of just about anything. His skinny, strung out, overconfident, irrepressibly boisterous Eklund seems over-the-top at first, but an appearance by the real Eklund at the end of the film shows just how well he nailed the mannerisms. That a 37-year-old Briton could convincingly play a 39-year-old Bostonian’s older sibling is a testament to his range.


It is the ladies, however, who nearly steal the film. Adams, known for playing sweet and cheerful types, demolishes typecasting as the tough, brazen, outspoken Charlene (she pulls off a decent accent, too). Not to be outdone, Melissa Leo (a mere 11 years younger than Wahlberg) makes her mark as the family’s overbearing matriarch, Alice Ward. Not since the late Nancy Marchand’s turn as Livia Soprano has a mother appeared this manipulative and domineering.


Filmed in location in Lowell, The Fighter incorporates a number of artifacts from Ward’s life. The actual gym he trained at makes an appearance, as do his actual trainer and Sugar Ray Leonard (both play themselves). The film’s tension and tough-mindedness is occasionally undercut by doses of awkward humor (a Russell specialty), but they increase the entertainment value.


The Fighter isn’t a probing character study ala The Wrestler, a portrait of self-destruction like Raging Bull, a sprawling period piece like Ali or a feel-good story like any other number of films. It begs and borrows from all of them though, and in doing so, manages to stand with the best of them.


8.25/10

Djibouti: A Novel

Accompanied by her physically imposing assistant Xavier, award-winning documentary filmmaker Dara Barr travels to the African country of Djibouti to shoot a film on the ongoing piracy problem. The pair meet a variety of local players, including eccentric Texas oilman Billy Wynn and his bored model girlfriend Helene, affable Somali pirate Idris and his scheming British-educated Saudi bureaucrat partner Harry, and Jama Raisuli, an American-born Al Qaeda operative intent on evading capture. As the plot thickens, Dara and Xavier go from being mere spectators to holding the keys to saving many lives.


Reading this book produced three successive reactions: Elmore Leonard has lost his touch, Elmore Leonard has lost his mind, and Elmore Leonard has found a new way to stay relevant. There is ample evidence to support all three. Djibouti is an immensely talky book. The first half or so consists of Dara and Xavier at parties and aboard boats, hobnobbing with all sorts of colorful characters. And while dialogue remains one of Leonard’s strengths, you’ll want to tear your hair out waiting for something to happen. Of course, when things do start happening the pace quickens tremendously and Djibouti becomes as exciting as anything Leonard has ever written.


The catalyst for the change is the novel’s expanding focus on Jama Raisuli (nee James Russell). Originally introduced as a rogue among rogues, Raisuli emerges by the end of the novel not only as its primary villain (no easy feat given Harry’s fondness for arms dealing and bounty hunting behind a civilized veneer), but as one of the most nefarious characters in the author’s entire repertoire. Leonard’s bad guys are often ruthless or sleazy, but none seem as committed to self-preservation and as indifferent to human life as the American jihadist. Perhaps this is the author’s way of reminding us that terrorists are not ordinary criminals.


Unfortunately, the rest of the cast isn’t as magnetic. It’s not that Leonard’s characters aren’t interesting; it’s that this is a book full of supporting players and no real lead for the reader to identify with. Despite being at the center of the action, Dara’s characterization is thin. We don’t get nearly enough about what drives her to make her an effective protagonist. Xavier is closer to an actual hero, but he is too frequently shoved out of focus to serve in that capacity, either.


Djibouti is too uneven and too underdeveloped to rate among Leonard’s best, but the exotic setting, memorable ensemble, and latter-half pace and plotting make it a worthy read.


7.5/10