Alan Partridge

By: Addison Wylie

North Americans have Will Ferrel’s Ron Burgundy, an on-camera anchorman who’s self-centred arrogance has him chewing down on his own foot often.  In Europe, the Brits have Steve Coogan’s Alan Partridge.  Partridge is an egotistical radio personality obsessed with a celebrity image and a winning smile.

Where Burgundy can read on screen as a pompous jerk with a heart of gold steeped in spoof misogyny, Partridge is more endearing.  He always finds a way to slip into the spotlight, and try to have others sympathize with him or view him as an inspirational icon.  However, he’s just as easily flustered and frustrated when he isn’t included.

Steve Coogan’s amusing character takes a step away from real life airwaves and his UK Television show I’m Alan Partridge to star in his first leading vehicle self-entitled Alan Partridge.  The film is better known as Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa across the pond, but it’s a title that may have had others scratching their head over its otherwise silly meaning.

That adjustment is what’s going to make Alan Partridge’s overseas success interesting to observe.  I think it helps outsiders taking a chance on the film to know a little bit about Partridge before paying for a ticket.  His fumbled muttering, and his self-absorbed attitude may have the general North American movie going public growing irritated.  However, if they have that initial information or can quickly jive with the lead doofus, they may have themselves as good a time as us fans.

Personally, I found Alan Partridge to be a good comedy that met the goals it set out to achieve.  Director Declan Lowney manages to do what most SNL flicks have difficulty doing – taking a sketch character and having him carry a film all the way until the end.  It also helps that Coogan is still playing the cocky host splendidly.

Alan Partridge plays out as a movie Mike Myers would’ve jumped at the chance to star in.  I wouldn’t call Lowney’s film a laugh-out-loud riot as Myers’ past comedies have been (pre-Love Guru, mind you), but there’s a consistent flow of titters and chuckles that will have you pleased with most of the material.  Although, a scene featuring Alan getting caught with his trousers down will definitely shock you into hysterics.

The story of a disgruntled, newly fired radio personality taking the station and its employees hostage doesn’t feel rote, as does the decision to make Coogan the hero despite the role’s narcissism.  Partridge, being the unctuous goofball he is, manages to find fame in dire circumstances.  He completely understands the danger of the takeover, but is strangely complimented when he’s chosen as a messenger for the police and a co-host for a radio show during the malicious siege.

Lowney’s modest comedy will satisfy the Alan Partridge fan base as well as fans of Coogan’s dry wit.  The main question, however, still stands: how the hell is this going to perform outside the UK?

I won’t be surprised if Alan Partridge doesn’t drum up new anticipation during its North American theatrical release, but I won’t be disappointed if this type of movie finds cult life on VOD.

The Suspect

By: Addison Wylie

You can’t say The Suspect was mismarketed.  All that spectacular stunt work that’s flashed in the film’s trailer is there, and it’s still enthralling in context.  What the trailer doesn’t capture is how overblown Won Shin-yun’s film is.  Maybe that’s for the better since the lethargic narrative is a major turnoff.

First, the film’s key strength: Shin-yun knows how to map out an action sequence.  There are more than enough car chases and crashes in The Suspect to get anyone’s adrenaline pumping.  The pursuits are no where near as compelling as the ones movie goers will see soon in Need for Speed, but the chases in The Suspect wet our whistle well.  Same goes for the hand-to-hand combat and the gunplay.

My only suggestion for Shin-yun is he shouldn’t feel the need to present his work as anymore generic as clichéd American action fests in order to capture some sort of recognizable excitement.  The camera work in The Suspect is either too closed in, shaking around like crazy, or both – which causes some of the fine choreography to be lost in translation.  The sloppily choppy editing is also to blame.

There are way too many add-ons set on driving up the film’s intensity.  Shin-yun is trying too hard to convince the audience what they’re watching is impressive and energetic.  That said, Shin-yun could possibly be shovelling on more of these contrivances to cover up how dull Im Sang-hoon’s revengeful script plays on screen.

Sang-hoon has a very hard time adding onto his characters or the nature of getting even.  Instead of building off of his own material, he plunks a lot of “stuff” on top of unfolding events and the emotional characters – none of which are interesting or thrillingly intriguing.  He attempts to add twists and new motives, but inverts his characters in a way that make each person on screen become more complicated than they need to be.

The Suspect lacks confidence.  The film has the appearance of a movie that knows how baggy it’s getting, and is constantly vying to win back its audience while trying to make ends meet with its own story.

The Suspect does have the look and feel of a smart thriller.  As I often drifted into a dazed state, I found myself wondering what a Bourne endeavour would look like through Won Shin-yun’s filmmaking vision.  In time, I think he’ll follow the same steps as Fast and the Furious filmmaker Justin Lin and grow to have what it takes to direct a franchise.

Unfortunately with The Suspect, Shin-yun finds himself spinning a number of plates. It’s neither enjoyable for him nor his spirited audience.

Here Comes the Devil

By: Addison Wylie

I don’t know what possession is more crucial and harmful: the ones that occur in Here Comes the Devil within the Tijuana cliffs or the wrestling match between mature horror and fanboy immaturity that litters the film’s screenplay.

Adrián García Bogliano’s horror is one of those movies where audiences can tell there are heavy influences driving the film.  It’s also one of those movies where these homages don’t simply stay on the filmmaker’s sleeve, but rather engulf the whole film.

Bogliano shows movie goers he knows what makes a memorable horror.  He seems to know how to establish the beginning of something sinister while also letting the audience use their imagination when it comes to more chilling content.  A lot of what happens in Here Comes the Devil looms in the shadows, and are only expressed by what others reflect.  These lead to some really creepy moments of pure description.

The performances aren’t half bad either.  Young Alan Martinez and Michele Garcia know how to burn a hole through other characters and sink their ominous presence into our afterthoughts.

The roles given to the child cast are more interesting than the adults though.  There’s no balance between the two groupings.  That said, the relationship between the parents (Francisco Barreiro and Laura Caro) is believable.  We feel their stress over the loss of their children and their incessant harping as they try and figure out what’s really going on once their kids become blank slates.

However, the characterization behind the older folks is flimsy.  For what feels like every ten pages of Bogliano’s script, abrupt and graphic sexual matter crashes into the story.  These scenes of rawness could help flesh these adults out more, but they enter the picture with such aggression and are stretched beyond their limits.  As I mentioned, it’s as if another force is snatching the pen away from Bogliano.  A being who writes “naked girl gets more naked and shows boobs” with such pre-pubescent enthusiasm.

Despite how Bogliano directs his actors and how he makes a path for this painstakingly slow burn story, Here Comes the Devil can never shake its “been there, done that” vibe.  It reminded me of a lower end variation of James Wan’s Insidious.  There’s an evil force consistently joining others, and we’re constantly using our own thoughts to fill in the grisly visuals.  Funny enough, Here Comes the Devil also hits the same flaw Insidious collided with – it’s conclusion becomes too showy.

What makes me favour Insidious over this is that Wan was able to generate paranoia and increasing fear while keeping up with a decent pace.  Bogliano, on the other hand, takes double the amount of time to portray or explain anything.  It’s a film that can’t decipher the difference between “a slow burn” pace and a “slow” pace.  Because of that, we get an end product that drags its feet all the way to the finish line.

Here Comes the Devil offers very little to get excited about, no matter how much gore, nudity, and creepy kids it hurls at the audience.  Then again, should I expect anything else from a film that cared so much to make me not care?

TIFF Next Wave 2014: For No Eyes Only

By: Addison Wylie

Tali Barde’s feature film debut For No Eyes Only is set as a tense thriller adding a modern twist to Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window.  It doesn’t come through on being a thriller.  Instead, it’s accidentally profound.

What I admired most about For No Eyes Only is Barde’s perceptual take on modern day voyeurism without being too on the nose.  Sam (a mopey loner played convincingly by newcomer Benedict Sieverding) suffers from a sports injury and has nothing better to do but hack webcams as he recuperates.  Something tells us that even if Sam was able bodied, he’d still get a kick out of watching the private lives of others.

When other people find out about Sam’s sneaky hobby, they’re shaken up briefly before being mesmerized themselves.  It goes to show us that even though this modern day hyperactive generation needs constant movement, they’re more entranced by letting their eyes slip into another world for long periods of time.  If you didn’t understand why teens were fascinated with online pop culture pitstops such as ChatRoulette, Barde’s movie may help you see eye-to-eye.

For No Eyes Only, however, loses its way.  When Sam and a friend witness questionable events over a fellow student’s webcam, the social commentary sits on the back burner and the thriller components take over the narrative.

There are rookie trip-ups (a muddy picture, over-stylized environments to emphasize a mood), but most of these are easily forgiven since this is Barde getting his feature film feet wet for the first time.  That said, whenever the film is going for big scares with high strung tension, it feels as if the film is stepping outside its natural element and trying to hit targets that are out of its range.  Sometimes independent minimalism can help make these situations believable, but Barde isn’t freaking anyone out with that mock musical score during those dry cat-and-mouse chases.

It’s nice to know Barde will be a filmmaker who will takes risks with his work, but his first feature needed to be something even simpler.  With his aptitude to dictate what he sees in relevant culture, it’ll be neat to see how he approaches another genre like a drama or a coming-of-age comedy.  But, until he can garner more experience, maybe he should take a break from thrillers.

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Catch For No Eyes Only at Toronto’s TIFF Bell Lightbox on Sunday, February 16 at 1:30 pm. Filmmaker Tali Barde will be in attendance.

More TIFF Next Wave coverage at Wylie Writes:

Read my review of G.B.F. (screening Sunday, February 16 at 6:15 pm at the TIFF Bell Lightbox)

Big Bad Wolves

By: Addison Wylie

It’s easy to see why Quentin Tarantino named Big Bad Wolves as the best film of 2013.  It’s basically a love letter to the filmmaker’s earlier work – an elaboration on that infamous torture scene in Reservoir Dogs.

Filmmakers Aharon Keshales and Navot Papushado’s bottled thriller has three men (a father who’s daughter has been kidnapped and murdered, a renegade cop, and a tied up potential criminal) spar with one another to find the whereabouts of the daughter’s decapitated head.  Oh, and to get violent revenge.

Keshales and Papushado want to pull off a layered film where characters are pushed to the limits and are forced to go places they didn’t expect to go to; thus, filling out the character development with unpredictable arcs.

Big Bad Wolves, however, only gives audiences the broad strokes of depravity, desperation, and deception.  There’s nothing necessarily thought-provoking or cunning to the screenplay (also written by the directors) which plays out like a prepubescent teen’s idea of “cool” and “gritty”.

The subject matter involving kidnapped children and passionate angry adults is disturbing, but the directorial team doesn’t dig any deeper than your basic storyboard motivations.

Because there’s no emotional connection between the film and the paying public, Keshales and Papushado shovel violence into a scene in order to pull a jolting reaction from their audience.  The effects are terribly graphic and the torture is so nasty, even the thirstiest of gore hounds will find Big Bad Wolves to be too sadistic.

If Keshales and Papushado had observed Tarantino’s work again, they may have caught on to the fact that the imaginative Academy Award winner prefers dialogue over visuals.  They could’ve just as easily generated the same squirmy reception from their audience if the duo had just thought outside the box.

Films like Hard Candy and Tape have shown movie goers that it’s possible to create a bottle film that relies entirely on tension and imagination built by well crafted characterization and detailed rehearsal.  Keshales and Papushado would much rather have bruised, bloodied flesh do all of the talking and sneering in Big Bad Wolves.

If I have any pats-on-the-backs for these two filmmakers, it’s that I was pleased to see that they were able to insert instances of dark comedy amidst the unpleasantries.  There’s the occasional quippy conversation that happens between the brutality, but the dry sense of humour hardly feels tacked on in order to break the ice.

Nevertheless, I expected more maturity from Big Bad Wolves.  I’d prefer to see thrillers turn up the heat in ways that ask the audience to use our heads – even if it’s just a minor contribution.  Big Bad Wolves lukewarmly simmers and finishes with subpar, dirty results. You can have this one, Quentin.

Blue Is the Warmest Colour

By: Addison Wylie

Palme d’Or winner Blue Is the Warmest Colour is an intellectual work about observing and defining sexuality.  It’s a raw look allowing the viewer to be in clear view of everything, but by no means presents itself as indecent.

In fact, those graphic scenes of sexual content that seem to be flooding the media surrounding Blue Is the Warmest Colour with controversy are represented this way because there is no other way to shoot them showing the euphoric belongingness our rattled lead portrays while entangled in her partner’s embrace.

Abdellatif Kechiche’s sprawling three-hour epic captures the growth of high school student Adèle (played with bravery by Adèle Exarchopoulos) as she discovers herself and alternatives around her, guiding her through early adulthood.

There is not a switch of performers as Adèle matures.  Exarchopoulos – proving herself to be quite the incredible actress – disappears within this role that causes her to take numerous risks both physically and emotionally.  It’s been mistakingly considered an understated performance because of Exarchopoulos’ newcomer status and how natural each mannerism and motivation elapses, but her entrancing ability to expand on Adèle’s curiosity and lust is nothing short of phenomenal.

There’s a powerful scene that speaks clearly about how periodically epiphanic Blue Is the Warmest Colour becomes both to the audience and to the film’s leading lady.  It follows a break up that’s heartbreaking for other reasons.  Adèle realizes that what she was meant to believe through her youth is resisting against her preferences.  She’s broken up because she feels broken herself.

Adèle meets up with a playful new friend named Emma (played with equal wonder by Léa Seydoux).  Emma is generally seen as a short haired queer tomboy contrasting with Adèle’s demure.  The two are pulled towards each other and – soon enough – become very close.

Abdellatif Kechiche doesn’t introduce the film’s gay community as an underground mystery.  We see copious same sex couples making out, but the lifestyle isn’t shown as despairing or dangerous.  The filmmaker has done a great job at showing that everyone – no matter which gender you prefer – is the same.  It makes a statement about equality without having to stop the film to spell it out.

Blue Is the Warmest Colour has also been touted around the globe as Adèle: Chapters 1 & 2.  It’s best to look at the movie in three parts: the conception, the romance, and the feeling of being abandoned for long spells.

While Kechiche does an absolutely brilliant job at displaying authentic bubbling love offering audiences perspectives that tread across uncharted waters, the final leg feels mellow when compared to the previous gutsy levels the filmmaker hits.

When Emma and Adèle are hitting rough patches, Blue Is the Warmest Colour hastily grasps for conflict.  It’s been such a patient ride up to these moments of frustration; and, this final act feels like a rootless departure from its crafted continuity.  However, it is a pleasure seeing Adèle become a woman and steadily build her career.

The final haul is not as arresting as the film’s validity during Adèle and Emma’s early years, but the ambition and skill Abdellatif Kechiche is able to resonate through the meaty timeline makes Blue Is the Warmest Colour damn near perfect.

A Hijacking

By: Addison Wylie

With intensity comes pressure, and with pressure comes fear.  Tobias Lindholm’s A Hijacking has all of the above.

Lindholm’s excellent film is shot and edited as a docudrama and often reminded me of Paul Greengrass’ United 93 regarding how it treats its audience as flies on the wall.  But where United 93 was based on a real life tragic event, A Hijacking’s story isn’t directly based on a true story but still feels sickeningly real.

What begins as a regular trip aboard the MV Rozen – a cargo ship traveling towards Mumbai – unexpectently  becomes dangerous when it is suddenly taken over by a band of Somali pirates.  Back in Copenhagen, the shipping company’s CEO Peter Lugvigsen (played by Søren Malling) begins to hear messages and requests from the pirates’ negotiator Omar (played by Abdihakin Asgar).  The villains ask for millions of dollars as ransom for the crew and the Rozen.  Peter, who is determined to captain his own company, takes on the role as the other negotiator while prominent employees standby overhearing in the boardroom.

As days pass (yes, days), the crew, the pirates, and Omar grow anxious.  A hostage speaks for the nervous movie goers and comments on the drastic mood changes among the terrorists.  A scene’s attitude can change within a snap of the fingers providing more nerve-wracking suspense to an already taut plot.  The crew members try to meet the pirates on the same wavelength and make small talk.  While the baddies welcome the smiles and handshakes, they can just as quickly point their rifles at the benign shipmates.

I lost count of how many times my heart leapt into my throat and my stomach sank during A Hijacking.  It’s never a displeasure watching Lindholm’s film nor is it so uncomfortable it’s unwatchable.  But, a great feeling of dread with a slight tease of hope always makes us uneasy and our eyes glued.  Don’t be surprised if you find yourselves muttering “oh no” to yourselves as you watch the ship’s conditions worsen.

The acting is grade-A.  Malling is terrific as someone with seniority and confidence that is slowly buckling under the tension.  Especially, when anonymous gunshots are heard over the phone.  Malling acts colder – and even too cold at times – towards those who are concerned about him and the progress of the negotiations.  But, those quiet moments as he mulls over his decisions are chilling.

Another phenomenal performance is Pilou Asbæk as the ship’s cook, Mikkel.  His kindness slowly deteriorates as he’s used occasionally as Omar’s verbal puppet.  When Peter refuses to talk to Mikkel or threatens to hang up, disappointment and separation sets in even more as he heartbreakingly comes to realize he may never see his wife or daughter again.

A Hijacking surprisingly ends on a much bleaker note than the one we think is coming.  But, the sombreness goes to show that Tobias Lindholm’s direction and his screenwriting isn’t afraid to throw last minute punches to shock the system.  Like the captured crew, you can never predict where A Hijacking is going to travel to once it takes hold of you.  It’s a riveting movie that I hope gets the respect and attention it deserves despite ingredients that some may be seasick about.

Thursday Till Sunday

By: Addison Wylie

Dominga Sotomayor Castillo has been collecting accolades for her directorial debut Thursday Till Sunday.  Her young female lead – 11 year old Santi Ahumada – has also been earning her fair share of praise for her innocent performance. 

However, I regret to inform Castillo and Ahumada that they won’t be earning any applause on the Wylie Writes front because Castillo’s filmmaking has serious issues and Ahumada’s performance – following similar footsteps as last year’s Oscar nominee Quvenzhané Wallis – is cute but luckily effortless considering her inexperience as an actress, making it hard to reward her.

When watching Thursday Till Sunday, I was reminded often of Igor Drljaca’s directorial debut Krivina, a small film that played at last year’s TIFF and earlier this year during a blink-or-you’ll-miss-it run at Toronto’s Royal theatre.  Both films are minimalist endeavours and move at an unbearable speed.  However, Drljaca was able to halfway support his choice for moving the film at such a slow pace with a compelling, game changing twist.

Castillo has her film take place during a monotonous family road trip with a large chunk of her story taking place inside a station wagon as it passes washed out scenery.  The comparison to Wallis’ portrayal as the energetic Hushpuppy in the crowd pleasing Beasts of the Southern Wild is even more apparent as we see what this lifeless road trip is like through a child’s eyes.

The vehicle stops periodically, the family gets out to look around, and then they get back into their station wagon and cruise along the empty roads.  It isn’t a very exciting trip to an adult, so imagine how that’s going to look through a youngster’s point-of-view.  Castillo wants her audience to settle in the authenticity of “the typical family road trip” – which I suppose she does well since there’s plenty of boredom to go around.  But, she forgets about her audience and the difference between interesting everyday details and what’s useless time filler.

Some of the scenes take place in unedited takes, which allows Castillo to grab every single realistic moment during mundane activities.  Again, she succeeds, but how much enjoyment does the audience get out of watching Dad detailedly pack up the family car?  How about twice?  The only possible way the writer/director could’ve gotten away with these slices of life is if she at least cut to other angles.

The film is trying to say something about the slow descent of a once happy family.  Ahumada’s Lucía occasionally sees her parents argue in the distance or exchange frustrated looks whilst on their vacation.  However, these situations are set up with Castillo never saying anything sufficiently sustainable about crumbling marriages or the effect these rough spots have on their onlooking, observant children.  These confrontations just – kind of – happen while Lucía stares with a blank look.

Santi Ahumada may capture the naïvety of her older sister role, but that’s mainly because the role doesn’t call for much other than for Ahumada to act her age.  I would’ve appreciated if Castillo added more personality to Lucía and walked her through the role, allowing the newbie to create more of an on-screen presence.  It would’ve definitely made her stand out more and separated her from any other child actor that could’ve played this role.

But, the feather-light Thursday Till Sunday does stand out in some way.  Out of all the films I’ve seen in 2013 so far, Thursday Till Sunday is that one movie I had the hardest time staying tuned in to.  I try my hardest not to check my watch during a movie, but I was consistently doing that during Castillo’s supremely slow and dull debut.

At least with a real life road trip, you could at least stop off at a McDonalds for a large Coke and have a quick nap in the parking lot.  Thursday Till Sunday only delivers on the nap.

Adriatico My Love

By: Addison Wylie

In the span of a month, Toronto has gotten two independent films that feature exotic locations starring a cast member of Degrassi: The Next Generation.  While they’re both badly made, Adriarico My Love is not the worst out of the two.  That dishonour still goes to Dev Khanna’s Fondi ’91.

However, Nikola Curcin’s peculiar film is a shabby endeavour and just about the strangest film you’ll see this Summer – and, not in a way that should or will entice your curiosity.

That uneasy sinking feeling movie goers will adapt starts during the opening credits over a series of cutaways leading to scene one.  The film’s dated look is the first thing audiences will pick up on.  Those initial clips during the opening credits are supposed to introduce viewers to the allure the Mediterranean setting has to offer, but we can’t help but wonder what early 90’s travelogue Curcin is borrowing snippets from.

That’s because Adriatico My Love is just that.  A guiding tour through the architecture and rolling hills of the Mediterranean with a loose story of foreign romance and “finding one’s self”, but more than often looking like a stranger’s home videos from a family vacation in 1992.

The battered look actually somewhat works for the first scene.  We see Alex (played by Valerie Buhagiar) host her cable access cooking show as she trudges through the snow to show her viewers how to defrost fish in the coldest of winters.  For those familiar with cheap cable access quality will get a kick out of the cheesy animated bumpers and lower thirds.  We’re also introduced to Alex’s deep fascination with olive oil…

But, then that televisual style carries on and sticks with Curcin’s film throughout – allowing audiences to scoff at the finished product often because of how out of touch everything looks and sounds.  According to Telefilm’s website (a company who’s attached to the film), Adriatico My Love was shot on HDCAM SR, a camera that shoots on videocassette and is usually used for television HD shoots.  It shows.

It’s understandable that a low-budget film such as Adriatico My Love is bound to succumb to lo-fi features, but in an age where accessible and sleek equipment is readily available for aspiring filmmakers, I’m left pondering why Curcin’s film should take on such an unjustifiably cruddy presentation.

The other elements making up the movie – such as the acting and the screenplay – have an equally troubling time keeping us interested, but rather have us worried for other reasons.  Reasons that were not meant by the filmmaker but because the script has been written in a hair-raising way and how the bewildered, unmotivated actors have been plopped in front of the camera, these double entendres are oddly inevitable.

The relationship between Buhagiar and Dorian Kolinas (who plays Alex’s agitated daughter, Lucy) will have movie goers wondering what film they’ve gotten themselves involved with.  Buhagiar and Kolinas have unconvincing chemistry as the two bicker back and forth about their vacation to Adriatico.  But while on vacation, there are these shots that linger on the actresses.  Uninspired muzak plays as Buhagiar and Kolinas smile or brood at each other.  In an unintentional disturbing manner, these moments make us wonder if these two are going to make out instead of make up.

It’s a soft core alley I didn’t want to travel down when watching Adriatico My Love, but Curcin’s scenes have been shot and edited in such a way where the shady context is awkwardly apparent.  I’m willing to point the blame on blissful and innocent ignorance from those behind the camera, but there’s not enough evidence here for me to buy that.

I’m sure many moments are supposed to resemble a female romance novel.  There are enough scenes with the girls in low-cut tops, drinking wine under harsh lighting, and talking to suave gentlemen to solidify this theory.  But, these tropes shouldn’t happen between the mother and the daughter.  It makes the whole thing feel yucky.

Back to the story. Lucy complains that she’s been dragged on this trip.  She whines that she doesn’t want to come during preceding scenes.  I’m convinced there’s a scene missing between these struggles and Lucy’s eventual give-in because at the drop of a hat and a quick zoom in transition into a painting, Lucy goes from whining to sitting on a boat passing Mediterranean landscapes.

Character motivations follow this same foggy outline.  Characters will be happily overtaken by the culture and by the company around them, then be furious or upset at someone, and then – in a blink of an eye – be very forgiving.  Adriatico My Love should be consistently embracing and intriguing its audience.  Instead, it struggles with multiple personalities.

Nikola Curcin isn’t entirely sure what genre his movie should fall into.  Is it a romantic comedy?  Is it a drama about finding lost love?  If Curcin wanted to make a film dabbling in both areas, he’s ill-equipped since he has difficulty succeeding with just one of these.

The filmmaker does come to a realization though.  When we reach the final third, Curcin hits every emergency stop button possible.  The movie halts and the frazzled filmmaker hits autopilot.

The last stretch of Adriatico My Love is a typical, by-the-numbers foreign romance yarn, hoping to win the audience back.  However, with actions still remaining unmotivated and people falling in love because “they have to”, the change in gears is anything but genuine and rather insincere and inexplicably tame.

The saying goes, “they come in threes”.  I’m taking Adriatico My Love as a second warning of what’s to come.  As soon as I see coming attractions for a romantic dramedy starring Lauren Collins and Drake, I’ll be high tailing it to the Mediterranean to escape – where you’ll find me seductively eating olives.

I’m So Excited

By: Addison Wylie

I’m So Excited is my introduction to renowned director Pedro Almodóvar’s work. It’s to my understanding that his latest romp strays away from what experienced movie goers are normally used to from the Spanish filmmaker – at least, his more recent outings. Whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing only time will tell as we watch this comedy’s theatrical run become fleeting or make itself at home.

I’m So Excited also plays as a comeback for absurdist comedy – performed as a silly soap opera. That’ll sound like a remark pandering to the art house crowd (which it isn’t supposed to be), but I believe the insanity can be enjoyed by everyone. I sure did.

Audiences are aboard a doomed flight headed to Mexico City. The only problem being that the landing gear is faulty, causing the pilots to fly the plane around in a circle until an available runway appears or further instructions are radioed in from the control centre.

In the meantime, three magnetic and flamboyant flight attendants try to keep their sanity buoyant and the passengers calm with the help of alcohol, drugs, and live entertainment.

The title I’m So Excited, I suppose, could work as irony. It could also reference the musical number that takes place mid-way through the film – which is easily the best part of Almodóvar’s movie – but, let’s humour this idea for a moment.

Everyone aboard Peninsula Flight 2549 play their parts as deadpan as possible. Same deal for the flight attendants – which allows the high-profile personalities to be suitably tied down. Their lives are in danger, but everything is handled in a matter-of-fact manner as side conversations about sexual orientation and the likes are discussed and quickly dropped. It’s a type of approach that adds an element of surrealism onto the grand scheme, making this farce stand out on unique feet.

Because, on the whole, that’s what Almodóvar’s film is. One big, fat, weird, naughty and absurd farce. When Almodóvar keeps events and characters light and perversely curious, the film is great fun to watch. It has a cheap look to it, but scenes have been lit and framed in such a way that reinforces the punchlines and its dedication to it’s coy handling of melodrama.

However, Almodóvar wants all of his characters to have equal screen time and sufficient back stories – which becomes problematic and a bit of a buzzkill. Whereas I appreciate fully fleshed out characters and reasons to care about their motivations as much as the next patron, there’s a backwards logic to screenplay and directorial development when tackling a film that plays sleepwalking sex for laughs.

When keeping things light and fluffy, a filmmaker must commit to that playful task. That filmmaker could try to work more depth into their movie, but it runs the risk of becoming uneven – which is what this film becomes in parts. Most notably, during scenes involving a character named Ricardo (played by Guillermo Toledo). Almodóvar insists that Ricardo has a side story worth telling about lost love and wandering romances, but it’s incredibly dry compared to what the writer/director had been shelling out to his movie goers beforehand.

When exiting the theatre, my brother (who is one of those experienced Almodóvarer’s) had problems with these portions as well – stating that they were “ok” but that “they belonged in another movie”. Even as a newbie to the Spanish filmmaker, I agree wholeheartedly.

But, the Ricardo tangents are the only dry spells in I’m So Excited. Other than those, Almodóvar’s film is very entertaining and lively. And, it’s a great collective feeling sitting through a subtitled comedy and hearing the audience roar with each joke – showing that the talent isn’t only in the cheeky performances but also in the provocative writing and direction.