It’s certainly fitting that after filling his German years with ballsy, predictive masterpieces about Nazi rule-by-fear, Fritz Lang would finally make a film that directly involves Nazis (if I’ve missed one from earlier, my apologies). Set in WWII London and based on a Graham Greene novel, Ministry of Fear tells the story of Stephen Neale, a recently-releases asylum inmate who’s on his way back to Britain to rejoin the real world when he becomes ensnared in a dastardly spy ring involving propaganda, a pretty girl, and cake. The ingredients are all in place for an excellent espionage thriller, and Lang’s use of shadows is masterful as always, but this isn’t one of his finest efforts—there’s more melodrama than usual (particularly a goofy final shot that felt like a discard from an old Cary Grant movie), and the writing isn’t especially consistent or sharp. A second-rate cast fails to deliver a jolt to the proceedings. In many ways, I was reminded of my reaction to Hitchcock’s The 39 Steps (an unpopular perspective, I’m aware): despite some excellent sequences, the totality of the work doesn’t match either the story’s potential or the director’s usual command of his craft. And like Hitchcock’s 1935 picture, one shouldn’t misconstrue my disappointed review as overly negative. Even third or fourth-tier Lang’s are worth a look for completists and admirers of the genre in general, as there’s always enough technical skill and isolated moments of greatness to make a viewing worthwhile.

54/100

As Roman Polanski’s The Ghost Writer putt-putt-putted along, I found myself reacting very similarly to his highly-regarded debut, Knife in the Water. Polanski’s skills are obvious in his compositions and patience, and a nervous energy hovers over much of the picture…yet I consistently felt disengaged, like the pacing was mismanaged. In the case of The Ghost Writer, a political thriller that touches on current events while also serving as an outlet for Polanski’s personal frustrations at his exile from America, a fairly high number of excellent sequences are too frequently followed by stagnation. This one could easily have shaved 30 minutes off its run-time, which would have likely made for a lean, astute portrait of government corruption & secrets (ranging from the C.I.A. to political memoirs). Instead, we get an up-and-down film, one that has plenty of moments, but doesn’t come together to form a cohesive work. The acting is mostly solid: Ewan McGregor is a nice fit as ghost writer, and Rushmore‘s Olivia Williams is outstanding as the cold, to-the-point wife of former Prime Minister Adam Lang (a less impressive, slightly goofy Pierce Brosnan). Jon Bernthal of The Walking Dead, Tom Wilkinson, James Belushi, and Kim Cattrall chip in with strong supporting work. The ending perfectly sums up The Ghost Writer as a whole: memorable image and framing, questionable placement and editing decision.

58/100

For much of its brisk running time, The Woman in the Window plays like another balls-to-the-wall gem from the rarely-less-than-masterful Fritz Lang. It has smoky rooms, suspense-a-plenty, excellent acting across the board—particularly from the always-excellent Edward G. Robinson as the protagonist—and a sharp screenplay. The story is vintage noir: respected professor Richard Wanley (Robinson) spots an intoxicating portrait of a young lady in a storefront window while waiting for some friends outside a club. Upon leaving, Alice (Joan Bennett), the object of said portrait, surprisingly emerges behind him, and the evening is born. Before it ends, murder will be afoot, and Richard will have to dig deep into his psychological arsenal to lead the law astray to protect a beautiful lady. Most of The Woman in the Window unfolds as one would expect from Lang: the sequences between Richard and his buddy Frank (Raymond Massey), who just so happens to be the DA assigned to the case, are rife with an edgy tension, and the characters play off each other extremely well. What keeps The Woman in the Window from the heights of Lang’s best from his American period—Fury, You Only Live Once, even The Big Heat—is a peculiar final five minutes, which seems wholly uncalled for and leaves a somewhat unsatisfactory taste in the viewer’s mouth when things officially conclude. Had the ending been a bit earlier, the entire film would have been a much stronger final product. Nonetheless, this admittedly irritating conclusion isn’t enough to keep The Woman in the Window from being yet another notch in the belt of one of cinema’s true titans.

70/100

When the words “A Harald Zwart film” flashed across the screen at the beginning of the abysmal remake of The Karate Kid, I felt an uneasy sensation in my stomach. Shouldn’t such phrasing be reserved for Directors whose movies you seek out, not just any random schmo? Anyway, that ill feeling turned out to be spot-on, because Zwart’s adaptation pretty much fails across the board. The beloved original maintains some traces of magic today: sure, it’s horribly dated, but in that lovable 80′s way, and it still manages to warm the heart despite itself. There’s none of that in the 2010 retelling, though, and its failures start with the casting of Jaden Smith in the Daniel-san role (Dre, in this case). Sporting good looks and little else, Smith is unable to capture any of that stranger-in-a-strange-land vulnerability. This is as privileged a child in real life as you’ll find, and he lacks the ability to portray any real sense of fear onscreen: I realize that his mother isn’t intended to be from the ghettos of Detroit, but Smith lacks even a semblance of convincing acting chops. An up-and-down Jackie Chan, reprising Mr. Miyagi, is the “highlight” of the cast, which isn’t saying much. The script is clunky, the pacing awkward, and even the fight scenes are terribly edited—a winning kick looks like it barely makes contact with its victim. And isn’t it silly for a movie entitled “The Karate Kid” to be about…Kung-Fu? All that saves this laughable turd from an even lower rating is that, well, you can only hate a movie like this so much. It aims low and hits even lower, but families will still get enough pleasure out of it that I can’t bring myself to put it in CON territory. The Karate Kid serves as a good reminder, though, that remaking every cherished childhood favorite isn’t always a good idea.

31/100

Upon reading the description of Gareth Edwards’ Monsters, I was sure I was in for a District 9 rip-off (or, at best, a near-carbon copy). Well, I was pleasantly surprised on that front: while Monsters does share a number of attributes with 2009′s indie smash, it’s got its own vibe and themes to offer. Not all of them work, mind you, particularly a subplot about the protagonist and a semi-estranged son which falls completely flat. Monsters is also nowhere close to as apocalyptic in tone as District 9, and it’s definitely a detriment, given the constant references to the “infected zone” and ominous presence of mysterious, loch-ness-esque creatures lurking about. It fares better in the romance department, where the relationship between Samantha (Whitney Able) and Andrew (Scoot McNairy; yes, really, Scoot), born from bonding during catastrophic circumstances, works better than it has any right to, though the conclusion, while technically believable, is extremely hokey. Monsters mostly tackles immigration (the film mostly takes place on the Mexican border, and the constant references to the “wall” conjures up images of America’s southwest border fence), and the concept of leaving well enough alone—the premise is based on a space probe that crashed in Central America and unleashed alien life upon us, though in less radical a fashion than we’re accustomed to seeing. The monsters are rarely onscreen, though when they are, Edwards appears influenced by Spielberg’s terrific Jurassic Park: a car attack in the forest is reminiscent of the T-Rex breakout in JP, and the convenience store sequence near the end, which involves two monsters, strikingly resembles the Hitchcockian scene of two raptors stalking the children in the theme park kitchen. There was potential here for an excellent picture, and instead, the execution is too up-and-down to consider it more than a mixed bag. Edwards definitely has me intrigued, though. I’ll be back for his next release, where hopefully he can build on his keen visual eye.

53/100

Tanya Hamilton’s Night Catches Us, a snapshot of the post-Black Power movement era, suffers most from its structural deficiencies: the story it tells has no clear beginning (rooted in history), or ending (yet to be written). As written, this may sound like narrow-minded, feeble complaint—indeed, a great movie could be made using that form—but Night Catches Us, while possessing several excellent attributes, lacks the power to survive that way.  Strong acting across the board, particularly by Jamie Hector (best known as Marlo from “The Wire”), isn’t enough to catapult its portrait of racially-split 1976 Philadelphia to powerful heights. And that’s my biggest issue with Hamilton’s film; it lacks the requisite punch for such a charged topic matter. We’re introduced to many interesting people, all of whom either played a major part in the civil rights struggle or were deeply influenced by it, and yet we’re left shrugging our shoulders when things wrap up. While most movies these days suffer from being too drawn out, I actually think Night Catches Us would have benefited from an extra 15-20 minutes. Hector’s scenes are few and far between, and the lead actress, Kerry Washington, is probably the weakest link amongst the cast. All this said, there are definitely some strong sequences, particularly those involving Jimmy (Amari Cheatom), an 18-year old who gradually changes from good-hearted-but-feisty to flat-out rebellious as the picture progresses. And fans of “The Wire” will enjoy the work of Wendell Pierce (Bunk)—who plays his familiar smack-talking cop—as well as seeing Hector brilliantly play the cold, fiercely-committed DoRight Miller (the character’s persona actually greatly resembles Marlo). I can’t recommend Night Catches Us to those who aren’t interested in the era or history behind it, but it has enough going for it that I can comfortably suggest checking it out to those who are.

54/100

The best that can be said for Tony Goldwyn’s by-the-numbers Conviction is that it never offends. Actually, that’s a bit harsh: it’s competently executed in most facets, but never raises any of them to above-average heights, save for the acting—Hilary Swank, Sam Rockwell, Melissa Leo & co. turn in strong performances (though none approach the top of their game). Otherwise, Conviction muddles through that annoying cinematic territory: too blasê to stand out, too harmless to intensely dislike. Its story—a Massachusetts woman goes to law school in order to defend her convicted-murderer brother, who she’s convinced is innocent—is based on fact (though I’m not sure how accurate the supporting details are, such as how she had to completely alienate herself from her family and friends during her endeavor), and it’s a compelling tale, which makes the thoroughly mediocre writing, direction, and editing go down a bit more easily. Ultimately, Conviction is one of those dime-a-dozen annual flicks that generates decent buzz upon its release, earns passable coin, and quickly vanishes from consciousness within a few months. Perhaps the presence of a few name actors will prevent Conviction from suffering this fate, but I wouldn’t bank on it…forgettable is an apt word choice for an adequate, but thoroughly underwhelming, work.

56/100