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"Short Term 12"
Directed by Destin Cretton
Starring Brie Larson, John Gallagher Jr., Kaitlyn Dever, Stephanie Beatriz, Rami Malek, Alex Calloway, Kevin Hernandez, Lydia Du Veaux, Keith Stanfield
Drama
96 Mins
R
The truth is often more horrifying than fiction and although Short Term 12 isn't based on a true story, it unearths a harsh reality of displaced youth, offset from the spotlight but boiling under the surface of society. Replicating the many broken homes in modern American families, director/writer Destin Cretton has sole custody of this project. Thankfully, he takes this responsibility seriously and delivers a masterclass in realism complimented with standout performances from Brie Larson, John Gallagher Jr., and Keith Stanfield.
Thanks to a charged-up level of emotional maturity, the film tackles difficult issues with careful footing - immediately establishing a reverent tone, dipped with charm and laced with smiles. The psychological trauma uncovered within the character's brick-walled hearts is likewise handled with tender precision. Each reaction the film garnishes is no accident. Every bit has its place, a building block towards a grand scheme that ultimately delivers a big pay-off for those willing to engage in the bumps along the road.
Short Term 12 takes its name from the facility where the film unfolds. A solace for unwanted foster children, abuse victims, and abandoned kids, this is a place with its own set of rules, even if those rules do often stand on shaky grounds. While the employees may come down on cussing and fighting, one rule they let slide is the mandate that youth are only to stay for one year, with some of the residents having shacked up for up to three. Keith Stanfield's Marcus is one of those lingerers but he's about to turn 18 and will be forced to face the world outside the emotional security of Short Term 12.
His journey is perpendicular to newcomer Jayden (Kaitlyn Dever) who fights tooth and nail to be anywhere but here. While Jayden battles to leave and Marcus tries to work through the backlog of his own demons (with a powerful rap offering a raw view into the tattered loss of his youth), we realize just how short term the stay is here.
It may be limbo but it's not without it's guardian angel.Larson's Grace is that angel. She's a twentysomething running the ins-and-outs of the joint with the infinite patience of Mother Theresa and a thorny soul buried with secrets. Her heart is invested in the pocket of each and every tenant shuffling through the facility, entombing herself in their trauma, becoming a fiber of their tragedy. Grace puts her physical and emotional well being at the bottom of the totem pole and it's in part because of this that she is so great at dealing with this gang of lost boys...and girls. But her constant need to play the savior hints at something troubled lingering within her - an undead memory that haunts her every breath.
Grace sustains a borderline manipulative relationship with co-worker and underling, Mason (John Gallagher Jr.) who is both her devoted lover and emotional rock. On the flip side, Grace is as hot and cold as the object of a Katy Perry song. Theirs is a shaky boat of love with Grace always maintaining the upper hand, unwilling to let Mason ascend her tower of secrets. Their physical and emotional relationship have obviously parallels to their work positioning with Grace always on top, the solitary king of the castle flanked by skyhigh stone walls.
But to paint Grace as a domineering presence is to misrepresent her. In showing the turbulent nature of this part of her life, Cretton aims to illuminate how broken she is. Her throttling affections are a window into her soul. A key to the realization that doesn't see herself as even deserving of love. Cretton plants little psychological clues like these throughout the film, prompting our curiosity for what scars these characters are hiding and how, if at all possible, they can be undone. The joy in the film is not the end of the journey but the road to it as Cretton handles his character's soft-shelled insecurities both gently and honestly instead of putting it in autopilot and expecting the subject to bungle down tear-road.
One of the great rewards of watching the film is seeing how the jigsaw pieces composing Larson and other characters fit together. Unlike lesser films that utilize baggage as a means of emotional manipulation, every reveal, every turn, every batting off or acceptance of affection feels earned. It's a difficult journey but one that lends credence to the cast's standup acting ability andCretton's talent to skirt past manipulation into a much more rewarding realm of genuineness.
What remains the most fascinating portion of the film is Cretton's willingness to go someplace dark and stir around in the pot. In doing so, a motif that rises to the top is the idea that people reveal themselves through their art. Grace draws, Marcus raps, Jayden writes stories. In these moments of expression, their deepest sense of self shines through perhaps showing more than they ever could in mere conversation. In creation, there is the capacity to destroy, to move beyond. Almost Nietzschian in effect, creation and destruction are symbiotic here. Two faces of one Janus, two sides of the same coin.
Another, more difficult, thing to take away is Cretton's interpretation of self-inflicted pain. Many wounded souls hurt themselves not to inflict pain but to make the pain go away. This cathartic nature of destruction helps mask the real trauma stirring within them. The only way to move beyond this cycle of abuse though seems to be in a form of acceptance - a self-imposed yard sale of everything nasty hidden away. And so it is in Short Term 12. Only when we show the darkest parts of ourselves are we able to start moving towards the light.
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"Riddick"
Directed by David Twohy
Starring Vin Diesel, Jordi Mollà, Matt Nable, Katee Sackhoff, Dave Bautista, Bokeem Woodbine, Raoul Trujilo
Action, Sci-Fi, Thriller
119 Mins
R
Vin Diesel possesses some uncanny voodoo that allows him to be a bad actor who people excuse for bad acting. His smarmy tough guys are marked by a well-measured dose of self-awareness, sometimes so third-wall breaking that they almost plays as cutesy - like a shaven-headed, muscle-bound Ferris Bueller. He tries to make us laugh with him, not at him, and for the most part, it works. Even in Riddick, which is no doubt a bad movie, his oily glances and meat-and-potatoes asides work to entangle us in this world, trying to lift the pulped story from the screenwriters trash bin where it belongs. But even Diesel's 'hardy hars' can't salvage a plot that's so disjointed and thrown together it feels more like a violent mosaic than an actual movie.
Complying to the traditional three arc tango just was not the right play here, as this metaphorical pigsty of a film is essentially three movies crammed into the same two hour runmtime.The first act is Riddick - battleworn loner stranded on hostile alien planet. Here, straggling baby dragons, working up an immunity to enlarged scorpion's venom and montaging his way towards a space station in hopes of rescue at least give the character some semblance of purpose.
La Maison de la Radio tunes in to the French airwaves more to breathe the stirring air than to stir any waves. There are no media scandals revealed, no "gotcha" journalism unleashed, but rather an invitation to take in the yeasty atmosphere of France's premier public radio entity, Radio France.
France's counterpart to NPR and the BBC accompanies the daily lives of millions of French listeners. For them, the documentary puts faces to the trusty voices that entertain, inform and coddle. For newcomers, it's a fascinating lab tour of what makes the French French. And for director Nicolas Philibert, it's an answer to the question, How do you capture a non-visual medium on film?
To get going, he strings together newscasts into a boisterous montage. We catch snippets about unemployment in France; animal sex life in London's Natural History museum; shaking towers in pre-tsunami Tokyo; Tunisia's Jasmine Revolution. The chatter cascades out to a citizenry in need of, maybe even obsessed with, cultivated exchange.
La Maison's opening sequence serves as the aural equivalent of an establishing shot. Over a score of jazzy uptempo beeps and gleeful techno gibberish, the camera next settles on the bastion of all this disembodied culture, Radio France's headquarters at the Maison de la Radio. Might its circular design suggest a citadel? Plainly, this institution is charged with safeguarding French civilization.
Philibert has not merely brought cameras onto the outlet's premises; he has retransmitted its mission with his ears and eyes. From newscasts, author interviews and in-house musical performances to celebrity appearances, quiz shows and after-hours call-ins, the film serves up a rich mille-feuille of programming and the personalities behind it.
In 99 minutes, we live a virtual day in the life-cycle of Radio France. Some of the most insightful material unfolds like a mini-mystery. What's this wierd gizmo a newscaster is stabbing with her thumb? As we discover, it's the braille keyboard that Lætitia Bernard uses to craft her news journal (for the house's regional France Bleu 107.1 channel). How do you hook an audience? Along with a rookie reporter, we get tips from a veteran news editor on the tricks of the trade, including when to breathe.
Some stories develop over time, including serial snatches of the Tour de France race as reported by sound engineer/journalist Bernard Cantin from the backseat of a motorcycle. This on-the-road coverage was produced for Radio France's France Inter station, which we learn through rapid-fire quips at a news meeting, isn't targeted to Justin Bieber fans. For its psychographic, it's best to "bring in a sociologist -- from the Left."
Another France Inter sampling, Un temps de Pauchon, features comedian host Hervé Pauchon's interview with a storm chaser who waxes ecstatic about thunderbolts but reveals little about his identity lest he appear seeking publicity for his medical practice. (Vive la différence!) Sixty-something singer and slam artist Tata Milouda recalls her tough start in France as a Moroccan immigrant with neither money nor French. Rap artists in fur hats, a man in a purple mask, more xylophonists than you knew existed -- the cast of eccentrics is part of the charm here.
One of the pleasant side effects of the film is that the enthusiasm of Radio France's devoted staff is contagious. Yet for all its enjoyments, La Maison gets a bit cluttered. Philibert has covered a dizzying array of content production, from the poignantly sublime to the delightfully ridiculous. It might have been more gratifying to streamline the scope and follow fewer subjects for more drama and depth, as he did in his 2002 schoolroom documentary To Be and to Have. Still, La Maison de la Radio is an anthology worth hearing -- and a spectacle worth glimpsing.