- $ 8.00 Adults
- $ 7.00 Seniors
- $ 7.00 Students (High School and younger)
- $ 6.00 Matinees
- $ 5.50 Children 12 and under
- $ 65.00 10 Film Pass
Thurs. - October 23 - Not ShowingFri. - October 24 - 7:15 - 9:15 pm SSat. - October 25 - 4:15 - 7:15 - 9:15 pmSSun. - October 26 - 2:15 - 4:15 - 7:15 pm SMon. - October 27 - Not ShowingTues. - October 28 - 7:15 pm SWed. - October 29 - 7:00 pm AThurs. - October 30 - 7:15 pm S
SYNOPSIS: DAYS AND NIGHTS is writer/director Christian Camargo's directorial debut, inspired by Anton Chekhov's The Seagull and set in rural New England in the 1980s. The film centers around Elizabeth (Allison Janney), a movie star, who brings her paramour Peter to her lakeside estate to visit her family on Memorial Day weekend. The household includes her ailing brother (William Hurt), her artist son (Ben Whishaw), his ethereal muse (Juliet Rylance), the family doctor (Jean Reno) and the estate's custodian (Russell Means), the careless caretaker (Michael Nyqvist) and his wife (Cherry Jones), their temperamental daughter (Katie Holmes) and her long suffering ornithologist husband (Mark Rylance) -- the keeper of the sacred land where a bald eagle is trying to raise its young. During the weekend a disastrous turn of events leads the family from dysfunction to heartbreak and, ultimately, salvation
SELECTED REVIEW: The cast list for “Days and Nights,” a modern reworking of Chekhov’s “The Seagull,” is so juicy that I approached the movie with lip-smacking expectations of scenery being chewed and spit out with histrionic gusto. Even at its worst, how bad could an updated version of the play be, if actors of the caliber of Allison Janney, William Hurt, Cherry Jones and Mark Rylance had signed on? The answer is worse than you could imagine.
The truncated shambles on the screen is evidence, if any more proof were needed, that great actors can go only so far (not very) to salvage an artistic shipwreck. Written and directed by Christian Camargo, the film, which runs a scant 92 minutes, is set at a lakeside estate in Connecticut during Memorial Day weekend in 1984.
The manor is owned by Elizabeth (Ms. Janney), a famous actress whose career is in eclipse. She arrives with her younger lover, Peter (an inert, expressionless Mr. Camargo), an opportunistic filmmaker with a roving eye. Also on hand are her desperately unhappy son, Eric (Ben Whishaw), an aspiring multimedia artist whose work she viciously derides; her ailing brother, Herb (Mr. Hurt); and Herb’s resident doctor (Jean Reno).
They are joined by the estate’s gun-happy caretaker (Michael Nyqvist); his wife (Ms. Jones); and their daughter (Katie Holmes), who is married to a local ornithologist (Mr. Rylance); and by Eva (Juliet Rylance, Mr. Rylance’s stepdaughter, who is married to Mr. Camargo), a restless neighbor whom Eric adores and Peter ogles.
Ms. Janney’s bitter diva has none of the self-deluded grandeur of her Chekhovian prototype, Irina Arkadina. No slouch when it comes to playing angry, jealous women of a certain age, Ms. Janney oozes a malicious narcissism. She and Mr. Whishaw, whose character is modeled after Irina’s son, Konstantin, give the fullest performances, and the ensemble acting is fluid.
But “The Seagull,” with its depiction of fin de siècle ennui, has been hollowed out and trivialized. So little time is given to the subsidiary characters in “Days and Nights” that, at times, the movie barely makes sense. The avian symbol has been changed from a sea gull to a bald eagle. What remains is a cracked shell.
Fri. - October 24 - 7:00 - 9:00 pm ASat. - October 25 - 4:00 - 7:00 - 9:00 pmASun. - October 26 - 2:00 - 4:00 - 7:00 pm AMon. - October 27 - 7:15 pm STues. - October 28 - 7:00 pm AWed. - October 29 - 7:15 pm SThurs. - October 30 - Not Showing
SYNOPSIS: The Zero Theorem is a sci-fi movie directed by Terry Gilliam (Brazil, Twelve Monkeys) that features a socially inept computer genius who delves into a mysterious project to discover the very purpose of existence itself. The Management at the computer genius' organization continually interfere with his project and formulate a plan involving a love interest that may actually provide the very thing he was looking for in the first place
Terry Gilliam, the onetime Monty Python animator turned influential filmmaker, is incapable of putting a dull image onscreen. "The Zero Theorem," his first science fiction movie since 1996's "Twelve Monkeys," is a visual dazzler on the level we'd expect from the director. As always, he fills the screen with intricately choreographed tableaus that have that ferociously jumbled quality: there are usually four or five things going on in each shot, and they're always related to the film's main themes. The cast, which includes Christoph Waltz, Melanie Theirry, Matt Damon and David Thewlis, is world-class. It's hard to imagine how any individual part of the physical production could be improved.
But the movie's allegory-steeped plot — in which Waltz's, Qohen Leth, who "crunches entities" for a technology company called Mancom, tries to solve a theorem that'll reveal if life has meaning — is a case of "close, but no cigar." And no matter how feverishly Gilliam directs and no matter how enthusiastically his actors act, the whole thing remains too, er, theoretical—as if its main purpose is to demonstrate or disprove certain propositions rather than invest us in the hero's quest for happiness and enlightenment. Knowing Gilliam's humanism, this seems unlikely, but that's what comes through.
Screenwriter Richard Pushin was reportedly inspired by the book of Ecclesiastes, but the plot seems equally influenced by "Waiting for Godot," "1984" and the collected works of Franz Kafka (the latter two sources shaped Gilliam's "Brazil" as well). Even though it was written directly for the screen, "Zero Theorem" often feels like a stage play that was adapted without being fully remained as a movie. It's visually energetic but ultimately feels constrained and repetitious. The main locations are Mancom headquarters, a nightclub filled with writhing revelers, and the hero's apartment/laboratory, a cavernous space with a black-and-white chessboard-style floor and smoky shafts of light streaming through windows. The cathedral-like quality of Quohen's place befits the spiritual pilgrim who occupies it. Quohen has been depressed and angry for a long time because he keeps hoping for a phone call that will assure him that life has meaning (shades of "Godot") ; when it finally arrives, he muffs it and spends the rest of the movie beating himself up.
Quohen is reassigned to work at home by the company's psych evaluator, Dr Shrink-Rom (Tilda Swinton), an artificially intelligent computer program who simulates warmth and involvement. (Swinton is hilariously intense here; between this role and her bucktoothed-Ayn-Rand routine in "Snowpiercer," the Hugos should give her a Most Valuable Player award.) Quohen gets diagnosed with ailment after ailment and eventually dons a body suit that connects him directly to the Internet, making his physical being virtual. It's red and green, with a hoodie cap like a droopy Alpine horn that tapers into braided, vaguely intestinal cables. When Quohen wears the suit while sitting at his terminal typing, the image suggests a porn-addicted Christmas elf.
Other characters drift in and out of the story, alleviating or increasing the hero's irritability and spiritual malaise. The curvy blond Bainsley (Mélanie Thierry) rescues Quohen at a party when he nearly chokes on an olive, and proves responsible for getting him reassigned to work at home, then keeps reappearing in his life, eventually providing him with his signature elf suit and then being revealed as a secret Internet striptease artist. Many of the characters evoke indelible players from Gilliam's "Brazil": there's a Walter Mitty or Winston Smith-type wise-yet-meek everyman (the hero), an obnoxious mediocrity of a supervisor (David Thewlis), and a blandly intimidating boss (Matt Damon), whose character is identified only as Management, and whose natty suits, owlish eyeglasses, grey hair and dulcet voice make him seem like Peter Bogdanovich's all-powerful kid brother.
There are some twists and turns in the plot, all having to do with the true meaning and purpose of the Zero Theorem. At the end, the mysteries are laid out for us methodically, as if we're seeing the philosophical version of a drawing-room mystery where the murderer is the Frankensteinian post-capitalist society we've all gotten way too comfortable with, and the victim is the human soul.
I wish, however, that the characters were allowed to be as well as to represent, if that makes sense. Gilliam's other films, even the bad ones, all managed to balance the need to deliver aphorisms and lessons against the obligation to involve us in the characters' plights. Every character in this movie remains stubbornly and elusively abstract. We know what everybody stands for, but we never really know them. After a while you start to miss the aching humanity of Sam Lowry in "Brazil" or the lovers in "Twelve Monkeys," or the exquisitely fragile energy of Robin Williams in Gilliam's "The Fisher King."
The movie's at its most engaging when it's just showing us the world that causes Quohen such distress. An early scene in which the hero leaves his abode and tries to walk along a city thoroughfare while a video ticker on the side of a building tracks him with tailored sales pitch is a marvelous comment on how technology turns every environment into a retail outlet, and every person into a target of opportunity. (It's like that moment in "Minority Report" where Tom Cruise walks through a mall while ads chirp at him.) There are some exquisitely blocked and executed long takes, and a virtual-fantastical interlude on a tropical beach that ranks with the best scenes Gilliam has directed. In its better moments, "Zero Theorem" does seem like the work of a brilliantly cranky cartoonist who's spent years obsessing over what the world has become, then finally sat down, opened a sketchbook and started drawing. The problem is, once you've watched "Zero Theorem," you'd rather go look at the sketchbook.
Thurs. - October 23 - 7:15 pm S
SYNOPSIS: An irreverent American podcaster interviews a Canadian adventurer whose wild tale of survival at sea masks sinister intentions in this twisted horror comedy from writer/director Kevin Smith (Clerks, Red State). Wallace (Justin Long) and Teddy (Haley Joel Osment) are the wisecracking co-hosts of "The Not-See Party", a popular podcast focused on bizarre viral videos and humorous interviews with the internet-famous. The concept is simple - Wallace travels the country conducting outlandish videos, and returns to their make-shift studio to share his stories with Teddy and the listeners. When Wallace ventures to Canada for an interview that falls through at the last minute, he stops at a local bar for a drink and finds a flyer posted by an old adventurer (Michael Parks) who seeks to share his stories with anyone who will listen. Arriving at the old man's secluded estate under the shroud of darkness, Wallace is promptly treated to a hot cup of tea, and a strange tale of being rescued by a walrus following a shipwreck at sea. It all seems like the perfect fodder for an unforgettable podcast -- that is until Wallace blacks out and regains consciousness bound to a wheelchair. Meanwhile, as Teddy and Wallace's girlfriend venture north to investigate his sudden disappearance, the old man subjects his terrified guest to a bizarre medical procedure that will transform more than just his perception of one of the sea's most majestic creatures
SELECTED REVIEW: Kevin Smith's style of comedy is too unfocused to pull off a cinematic prank like "Tusk," a horror-comedy about a walrus-monster. Had Smith been more disciplined, the film's deliberately absurd plot twists might have been more alienating, and funny. But even a Kevin Smith apologist like myself will readily admit that "discipline" and "Kevin Smith" do not belong in the same sentence. "Tusk" is bearable thanks in no small part to its game cast, particularly character actor Michael Parks's Vincent Price-esque baddy. And yes, Smith does get in a few good scares, especially during the movie's creature scenes. But as it is, "Tusk"'s sophomoric gag is rarely as funny or creepy as it could have been.
"Tusk" is what you'd get if you wrote a comedy inspired by both "The Human Centipede" and Roger Corman's Edgar Allan Poe adaptations. Shock jock podcaster Wallace Bryton (Justin Long) visits Manitoba to interview "The Kill Bill Kid," a YouTube star that gets famous after a video of him cutting his own leg off goes viral. But fate intervenes, and Wallace pursues another seemingly easy target: Howard Howe (Michael Parks), a paralyzed adventurer with a yen for flippered marine mammals. Unfortunately for Wallace, a selfish schlub who somehow becomes more annoying every time he talks, Howe's not as helpless as he seems. This leaves Wallace's girlfriend Ally (Genesis Rodriguez) and co-host/best friend Teddy (Haley Joel Osment) to rescue Wallace from Howe.
A younger Smith might have sympathized with Wallace, but the current Smith really goes after him for being as hatefully jaded as, uh, himself (Wallace is clearly a stand-in for Smith as "Tusk" originated from Smith's Smodcast podcast). Through a series of flashbacks, Smith makes Wallace cartoonishly obnoxious, especially when Ally whines to Wallace about how much he's changed, and that she "[misses] the old Wallace." These scenes are especially tedious since Smith inevitably loses interest in taunting Wallace. For example, he really likes mocking Canadians, who all say "Eh" or "Aboot." Thankfully, Smith's Mike Myers-worthy gags aren't lethal, save for every scene featuring Guy LaPointe (Johnny Depp, doing a very bad Johnny Depp impression), a Clouseau-like Canadian detective.
Thankfully, Wallace isn't Smith's main target. As in "Red State," a slightly-superior experiment in terror, Smith's eye is on Parks, a legitimately impressive performer. Smith doesn't like Howe either, as we see in the scenes where Howe blames his psychological instability on a never-ending gauntlet of child abuse. But that's besides the point. He does like Howe enough to give him several theatrical soliloquies, but those speeches make it impossible to invest in the villain as a legitimate threat. Which is a problem since "Tusk" works better as a horror movie than a comedy. Most of the scenes in which Wallace realizes how helpless he is are effectively creepy, particularly ones where Howe mocks Wallace by wailing, moaning and snarling at him.
Parks isn't to blame for his role's shortcomings, including bloated scenes of dialogue that verge on Shakespearian. Smith doesn't know when to trust him, and let his line-delivery establish both the absurdity and horror of being a walrus-obsessed loner. It's not surprising that Smith's characterizations and dialogue lack subtlety given the type of broad comedy that Smith has practically made his brand. But somehow, watching him fail to make something interesting of "Tusk" is more disappointing than any of his other post-"Chasing Amy" misfires.
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