George A. Romero’s Dead franchise, always chock-full of social commentary and oodles of blood & guts, gets an injection of modern flavor with its most recent entry, Diary of the Dead. While many critics have condemned it as poorly written, or more of the same from a tired filmmaker, I found it to be an inspired work, rich with clever satire and sly satiric references to our current political landscape. Shot in the same home movie-esque manner as Cloverfield and The Blair Witch Project, Diary of the Dead chronicles three dark October days in the Northeast, where a group of film students—ironically shooting their own horror picture—discover that the dead have begun coming back to life. As the bloody reincarnations spread and the carnage grows, the students find themselves scrambling to save themselves while using every resource they can find to warn the world of the life-changing happenings around them.

Romero has always used zombies as a metaphor for his themes, such as examining how humanity reacts to crises—witness the chaos in the mall in Dawn of the Dead, for instance, or the stir-crazy militants in Day of the Dead. With Diary of the Dead, he deftly touches on positives and negatives of modern technology. Jason, the protagonist, and primary man behind the camera, is able to both warn the world (“92,000 hits in an hour!,” he exclaims after posting gruesome footage on his MySpace page), and learn, much to his horror, that this outbreak has already spread as far as Japan, as a petrified girl on YouTube frantically alerts him. Obviously, the internet has proved its usefulness…yet Jason is so obsessed with recording history that everything else about the moment itself—his girlfriend Deb, his friends, his family—become secondary, if not entirely irrelevant. On multiple occasions, he’s chastised for refusing to put the camera down, much like Hud in Cloverfield. His intimacy with those he cares for appears lost in his laptop. It’s a shrewd take on the addictive nature of today’s souped-up gidgets and gadgets, and how they can distract us from the more intimate emotions that truly define us. Romero also makes sure that his roots, based in core human principles that don’t change with the times, aren’t forgotten: the early looting in the dorms—as well as the rowdy Army men pillaging the crew’s bus—remind us of the vigilante kamikaze’s in the mall near Dawn of the Dead‘s conclusion, and is especially chilling in today’s social environment, which doesn’t inspire much confidence in our abilities to handle a cataclysmic event (see: my Cloverfield review).

At 93 minutes, Diary of the Dead makes sure not to overstay its welcome, and keeps a tense vibe of uneasiness and discomfort throughout. In another nod to America’s current obsessions, there’s a strong resemblance to many survival horror video games here. This is especially prevalent in the abandoned hospital (Silent Hill), and Ridley’s palatial home, complete with panic room and endless corridors (Resident Evil). There’s some occasional redundancy Deb and Jason’s exchanges about priorities, but otherwise, the script is more than sufficient in carrying out Romero’s thematics. The movie isn’t scary in the traditional sense, but Romero has never been about that anyway; his works are about something much bigger, with zombie resurrections as more of a backdrop. In my eyes, he’s yet to take a false step in expanding the franchise, and Diary of the Dead is even stronger than the solid Land of the Dead from a few years back.

71/100

A sweet little film about the universality of loneliness, The Band’s Visit succeeds admirably whenever it doesn’t attempt to exceed its modest scope. Fortunately, director Eran Kolirin understands where his film’s strengths lie: in the quiet dignity of protagonist Tawfiq (Sasson Gabai), the tender, paternal relationship between the reserved Tawfig and young playboy Haled (Saleh Bakri); the subdued portrayal of humanitarianism and all-encompassing emotions despite rocky relations between the Egyptians and Israelis. There are very few missteps throughout this poignant picture, though Kolirin does stumble a bit during Tawfiq’s big revelation, which feels a bit big for The Band’s Visit‘s britches. Still, even this slight hiccup can be justified by assigning it to the previously mentioned father/son dynamic.

The Band’s Visit takes place in Israel, where an Egyptian Police Orchestra arrives to bring in the opening of an Arabic art center with some hometown music. It’s immediately striking how detached this awkward ground of musicians is from the Israeli culture & people. Attempts at conversation lead nowhere, whether they’re unsuccessful romantic advances or simply to ask for directions. Footage of the band is comprised of predominantly long shots, which frame them in emptiness, surrounded by nothing but wilderness and long roads. Phone calls are cut off, requests for information dismissed. Not until Tawfiq & company encounter the beautiful Israeli Dina (Ronit Elkabetz) do they receive anything resembling warmth, but even her surprising hospitality is anything but smooth. The band members split into two groups—one spending the night with Dina, the other with her friend Itzik’s family—and it becomes immediately evident that the two cultures, despite the coldness between them, share the same sensibilities. Families bicker at dinner, couples whine. The shyness of meeting someone new is incomparable in all countries, and wistfulness exists everywhere; seeing the young man wait by the pay phone day after day for his girlfriend to call is a lovely touch. It’s all quite charming and authentic.

The script, which could easily have drifted into saccharine territory, is consistently fluid without any hokum. In fact, The Band’s Visit is often surprisingly funny, spearheaded by a riotous, single shot sequence in a local roller rink that dispenses dating advice for about four minutes without the aid of a single spoken word. And Gabai effortlessly carries the bulk of the picture, imbuing Tawfiq with passion and soul behind his conservative front. His extended “date” with Dina is tinged with longing and inner realization. Though its restrained ambitions keeps The Band’s Visit from achieving greatness or true emotional heft, it shouldn’t be ignored; few modern movies are as unpretentious. Kolirin is definitely a director I’ll be keeping my eye on in the years to come.

RATING: 66/100

Alfred Hitchcock’s Strangers on a Train, superb upon first glance several few years ago, is even more marvelous after a second viewing. Most striking this time around; how psychologically similar Bruno (Robert Walker) is to Psycho‘s Norman Bates. Though there are certainly differences— Bruno is significantly more conniving than the schizophrenic Bates, and clearly in greater control of his facilities—it’s chilling to see Bruno’s fascination with elderly women (and not just his weak-willed, oblivious mother); his clean-cut exterior; his internal struggles with his family. Clearly, Hitchcock molded Bates in a more specific, finely tuned manner nine years later, but as familiar as I am with Psycho (my favorite Hitchcock, and a film I’ve seen many times), it’s impossible to miss the connection.

Which isn’t to say that Bruno doesn’t have a strong identity of his own. With smooth manners, tasteful suits, and a tone of voice that’s almost childlike in its naivety (Bruno consistently dismisses Guy’s opposition to his diabolical plan as unimportant, as if Guy’s just in denial), Bruno’s clearly a societal rebel with a focused cause. He’s perfectly capable of silkily blending into his surroundings (witness the party sequence), but deep down, he has a real distaste for humanity and their lies. Hitchcock masterfully uses his camera to enhance Bruno’s persona, frequently framing him against either extremely crowded backdrops where he stands out, such as the wonderful tennis match sequence, or in isolation (such as alone on the dramatic steps of City Hall). With such a strong lead character, it’s no wonder Strangers on a Train is gripping drama throughout. If it’s not in the upper tier of Hitchcock’s filmography, it’s just a smidgen below.

83/100

Lacking a notable heartbeat, Jason Hutt’s Orthodox Stance is a dull, by-the-numbers documentary that feels significantly longer than its 82-minute run-time. The film chronicles the delicate balancing act of Brooklyn-based Russian immigrant Dmitriy Salita, a hotshot welterweight boxer who also happens to be devoutly Orthodox. Such a topic could be oddly inspiring—a young man who adores knocking people senseless, as long as it’s not on Shabbat, all while keeping his congregation happy—but Hutt’s shoddy editing and listless pacing keep the audience regrettably detached from the proceedings. Orthodox Stance sloppily dances from the ring to the gym, from the synagogue to the home (occasionally); this prevents the film from establishing any sort of rhythm. Not to mention the technical deficiencies; the sound recording is so poor that Hutt often resorts to subtitles to make sure we’re following the dialogue.

Far too little time is spent on the most interesting element at work here; is boxing truly consistent with Orthodox beliefs? I’m confident many viewers who know little about intense Judaism would instinctively think that the union is a natural conflict of interest. Yet aside from a question-and-answer session in Synagogue (and making clear that boxing is a no-no on Friday nights), Hutt appears content to assume that we’ll all take this odd marriage for granted. And oddly, Orthodox Stance spends most of its time showing Dmitryi’s life in stages. There’s the fighting and training that feels straight out of Million Dollar Baby, the tense contract negotiations and business dealings; the Orthodox support structure in his life. But there’s no fluidity to any of it. One moment, Dmitryi’s manager and adviser Israel is cooking gefitle fish in a hotel room to ensure a kosher lifestyle away from home; the next, Dmitryi is meditating on his next career move…right before an intense session at the gym. Yet somehow his family life is almost completely ignored. It’s a shame, as Dmitryi seems like an interesting, ambitious fellow, and I’m sure there’s lots in his background and decision to box that would have translated well to film. As put forth, though, Orthodox Stance is little more than an occasionally interesting messy bore.

33/100

A hodgepodge of shakily laid-out arguments about the environment, government, and negative long-term consequences of real estate development, Laura Dunn’s The Unforeseen houses some interesting material, but presents it in a disorganized, scattered manner. Focusing on Austin’s real estate boom and backlash of the past 35 years, The Unforeseen highlights the soaring peaks and bottomless valleys that controversial developer Gary Bradley is forced to navigate as the city’s culture constantly flip-flops on whether land rights trump irreversible damage to cherished natural landmarks like Barton Springs, where Robert Redford himself learned the backstroke. Ugly battles abound—liberal environmentalists vs. cowboy hat-wearing, turf-protecting conservatives; said conservatives vs. then-Governor Ann Richards; Bradley vs. the Bankruptcy court. The end result; everybody loses. Austin follows Los Angeles’ path to a smoggy Urbana, Bradley (and to a lesser extent, his fellow developers) is forced to essentially forfeit everything, and the wiping out of natural habitats to build more and more new constructions—both commercial and residential—shows no signs of slowing down.

All this sounds fairly interesting, but Dunn does a poor job fleshing out The Unforeseen‘s focal point. Early on, there’s a sense that we could be seeing an ironically eerie take on the economy and risks of recession due to poor money management (ironic because the final footage was shot in 2004, and we’re now teetering dangerously on the brink of a recession for just those reasons), but that quickly fades from the film’s priorities. The environment garners such attention in today’s society that much of Dunn’s cinematography feels outdated: shots of musty skylines don’t contain much power in this post-Inconvenient Truth era, where every luxury hi-rise is advertised as a ‘green building’ and hybrid cars are finally picking up political momentum. Robert Redford’s brief cameo doesn’t make Barton Springs more important than hundreds of other local treasures threatened by capitalistic developers every year. And Bradley comes across as a confusing figure, who should be vilified more than he is; theoretically, he epitomizes selfish short-sightedness, and should serve as a prime example for all that’s evil within The Unforeseen‘s overwhelming message. Yet Dunn paints him as a strangely sympathetic figure at times, right down to his post-bankruptcy discovery of God. We see him in tears—or on the verge—on multiple occasions. And despite this, we never feel like he regrets his choice in life. He’s just pissed off he got caught.

For those mostly unfamiliar with the source material, The Unforeseen is worth a look. And it’s not without its strong moments: the “Birds don’t Pay Taxes!” conservative rally for landowners is extremely disturbing, and the stark differences between Richards and George W. Bush during their stints as Governor is sharply portrayed (Richards’ sound bytes are among the movies’ most interesting). The choices of compare-and-contrast shots are excellent, which is unsurprising given that The Unforeseen was executive produced by Terrence Malick (though that’s a somewhat misleading credit; the film bears little to no resemblance to Malick’s work, aside from the occasional lingering image). Ultimately, The Unforeseen has some educational value, scant cinematic value, and would likely have been as engaging in a college lecture hall. The title may be an accurate summation of the topic matter, but it’s unlikely to apply to any viewer who’s at all attuned to American current events of the past five years.

41/100