Limited theatrical release in October; now available on video-on-demand
Between its "horror western" billing and barely detectable presence at the box office, Bone Tomahawk has "cult film" written all over it and that's a shame because it certainly deserves a wider audience. The 10 or so people I've asked about Bone Tomahawk had never heard of it and that lack of awareness, due to little or no promotion, is an unfortunate by-product of the film's independent nature (it cost less than $2 million to make). Kurt Russell, the film's star, turns in a first-rate performance as Frank Hunt, the sheriff of a frontier town in the American West in the 1800's. Russell hasn't acted much since starring in Quentin Tarantino's Death Proof in 2007, due to a hip injury and choosing to spend more time on his growing wine business and it's nice to see him back in 2015 with some high profile and meaty roles (this summer's Furious 7 and Tarantino's about-to-be-released The Hateful Eight). Here, he's surrounded by a talented cast that includes Patrick Wilson (Watchmen and the current season of TV's Fargo), Richard Jenkins (The Visitor and TV's Six Feet Under), and Matthew Fox (TV's Lost), with additional support from David Arquette, Lili Simmons, and a "where the hell has she been for the past 20 years?" Sean Young, who quickly disappears back into the showbiz ether after two minutes of screen time.
First-time director S. Craig Zahler also wrote the character-driven screenplay, which Russell called "the best Western I've read since Tombstone". I was rather surprised to learn that 1993's Tombstone was the last western Russell had appeared in, considering how memorable he was in it as Wyatt Earp and how comfortable he seems in the genre (apparently he's making up for lost time - The Hateful Eight is also a Western). The gruff Hunt, sporting a lite version of the full-on Yosemite Sam-style facial hair Russell displays in Tarantino's upcoming film, heads up a four-man posse who represent the only hope for some locals kidnapped by a tribe of cannibalistic cave-dwellers. Also included in the foursome are Jenkins' bumbling deputy (the film's go-to source for comic relief), Fox's dandyish gunslinger, and Wilson as the broken-legged distraught husband of one of the kidnapped townsfolk. The physical limitations of Wilson's character impede the urgent nature of the group's quest, who need to make a five day journey in three days. That conveniently helps to extend the time available for the interplay between the four radically different characters and it's those lively exchanges that are Bone Tomahawk's core strength. Viewers looking for extended action sequences or buckets of blood will be sorely disappointed - this is a slowly paced and talk-heavy film. That being said, Bone Tomahawk does contain some occasionally brutal visuals; one particularly disturbing scene is likely to stay with you long after the credits have finished rolling.
One of the few faults I can find with Bone Tomahawk is that it does feel a tad overstretched at 132 minutes - 110 to 120 minutes would have been more than sufficient to tell the story. Otherwise, Zahler impresses mightily in a directorial debut that features excellent casting, sharp dialogue, and a beautiful look that shows no signs of the film's minuscule budget.
Rating: A-
Premiered November 27th on HBO
The Ties That Bind is a case of diminishing returns for Bruce Springsteen and his personal documentarian of choice for the past decade, Thom Zimny. The pair have now collaborated on three documentaries that explore the creative process behind some of Springsteen's most highly regarded albums: 2005's Wings For Wheels: The Making Of Born To Run (the best of the three), 2010's The Promise: The Making Of Darkness On The Edge Of Town (good, but not quite as engaging as its predecessor), and now The Ties That Bind, which looks at The River album. The newest documentary premiered on HBO last month and is included in the just-released The Ties That Bind: The River Collection box set, a comprehensive package commemorating the 35th anniversary of the album's release.
Whereas his previous films employed a wider scope by featuring contributions from Springsteen's E Street Band members and some of Born To Run and Darkness On The Edge Of Town's production personnel, Zimny opts to dramatically narrow his focus on The Ties That Bind. Springsteen is the lone voice heard during its 56 minute running time, to the film's detriment. Obviously, The Boss is the focal point and he does offer some informative and entertaining recollections from the period, notably his desire to better capture the dynamic nature of his live shows and why he took back the original 10 song album he'd submitted to his record company in 1979 because "it just didn't feel big enough" (The River was released a year later as a double album). There are also stripped-down performances (some partial) of "Hungry Heart", "Point Blank", "Wreck On The Highway", "Independence Day", "Two Hearts", and "The River", played by Springsteen on an acoustic guitar in his living room and in the driveway in front of his garage, which incidentally looks as lived-in and old school as you'd hope Bruce Springsteen's garage would look.
Despite Springsteen's frequently thoughtful insight (the man is a much deeper conversationalist than non-fans might imagine), The Ties That Bind ultimately feels undercooked, partially due to its rather slight running time, but mostly because of the film's alternate approach to its subject matter that largely eschews the traditional "album making-of" doc format. Springsteen's musical collaborators are glaringly conspicuous by their absence (other than in archival photos and video footage) and as much as the 66-year-old icon can normally command any stage or TV screen he appears on, his ruminations that favour the themes of The River's songs over a broader discussion of the album's birthing process end up making for less compelling viewing this time around. It's still well worth a watch for Springsteen diehards and despite my disappointment with the film, I will give a tip of the hat to Zimny for taking a creative risk. Here's hoping that the director and his subject manage a return to the form demonstrated on Wings For Wheels when they inevitably crank out another one of these in 2020, if their current pattern holds - my money's on a look at Born In The U.S.A. next. I am obligated to mention that I'm not quite as beholden to The River as many Springsteen fans are, which skews my appreciation for a discussion of its contents somewhat.
Rating: C
Related Mediaboy Musings posts: my January 2014 review of Springsteen's High Hopes album, August 2012 review of Springsteen's Toronto stop on his Wrecking Ball Tour, March 2012 review of Springsteen's Wrecking Ball album, June 2011 tribute to Clarence Clemons, and November 2010 review of Springsteen's London Calling: Live In Hyde Park Blu-ray
Released October 30th
Oddity:
It's taken nearly 40 years since forming in 1977 for Def Leppard to release a self-titled
album, with their newest release also marking their first since 1980's
full-length debut On Through The Night to not be affiliated with a
major label (the band continues to put out music on their most excellently
named Bludgeon Riffola sub label). As the title suggests, Def
Leppard marks a fairly back-to-basics sound approach for the band, or at
least as back-to-basics as a band with their legendary reputation for
meticulous recording production gets. Intact are the group's instantly
identifiable layered background vocals, a head-spinning number of stacked
guitar tracks, and an abundance of deeply infectious melodies that all result
in their own hard rock "Wall of Sound". The album's 14 songs contain
a mostly effective mixture of contemporary sensibilities, diversity, and
comfortable nostalgia.
That
latter quality is a little too evident, however, on opening song "Let's
Go", which shamelessly resurrects the main guitar riff from "Pour
Some Sugar On Me". Clearly, it's an intentional callback to one of the
biggest songs from their heyday, but the similarities between the songs, at
least during the verse sections, are so close it's downright distracting. You
can add in brain-dead lyrics, a dreadful chorus, and guitars that are so
in-your-face they overwhelm Joe Elliot's vocals and every other instrument (I
believe that's the first time I've ever complained about guitars being mixed
too loud anywhere). The song also drips with a transparent desperation for the
arena-ready anthem to connect with fist-pumping audiences. All of these factors
left me utterly deflated right out of the gate, wondering how the band
responsible for what I consider to be some of the best rock songs of the 80s
can be this badly off the mark. That worry was only emphasized by the fact that
"Let's Go" was inexplicably chosen as Def Leppard's "mission
statement", essentially, by being its first single. Thankfully, my
reservations were quickly eased as only one other track on the rest of the album qualifies as an outright stinker - the overly poppy
"Energized", which ironically is anything but.
Otherwise,
the balance of Def Leppard delivers predominantly impressive results
worthy of the songwriting pedigree established in the first half of the band's career. Topping the list of strong material is
mid-tempo power ballad "We Belong", which is highlighted by the
inspired idea to have every band member trade off lead vocal duties (in
addition to Elliot there's bassist Rick Savage, drummer Rick Allen, and
guitarists Phil Collen and Vivian Campbell). That "We Belong", with
its well-worn verse and chorus structures, succeeds mightily in spite
of its lack of originality points to the ever-fascinating and mysterious nature
of music and what does and doesn't make a song work. I thought that perhaps the novelty factor of multiple lead vocalists and their varied singing
styles (which all sound great here) might be obscuring more of the song's
flaws, but a listen to an alternate mix of "We Belong" with just
Elliot's lead vocals indicates that this is simply an instantly catchy and well-executed piece of music making. The excellent "Last Dance"
follows in the same formulaic power ballad footsteps, wringing surprising
emotional depth out of a song that would likely end up an uninspired throwaway in the
hands of a less seasoned artist. Def Leppard also brings plenty of the heavy, too,
with "Dangerous", "All Time High", "Broke 'N'
Brokenhearted", and "Wings Of An Angel" further representing
some of the finest material the band has put out in ages and pointing to
a creative resurgence within their ranks. The group has never been shy about
wearing their musical influences on their sleeve and there's numerous examples
of that on Def Leppard, all of them memorable: they get their Queen on with the
funky "Man Enough", an undeniable "Another One Bites
The Dust" homage (containing the oddball - and probably sexist - lyrical
refrain, "Are you man enough to be my girl?"), the Led
Zeppelin-powered heavy acoustic rock of "Battle Of My Own", and the
Beatles-influenced "Blind Faith", which admittedly meanders a bit in
mellotron-laced psychedelic hell before erupting to life for a fitting album
closer. "Broke 'N' Brokenhearted" also contains noticeable elements of glam rock during its verse sections.
As
a loyal Def Leppard fan of 32 years, it's been damn tough to hang in there with
them for the past 20 or so as they put out one underwhelming album after
another (before this release, I'd have to go back to 1996's overlooked Slang for
their last noteworthy collection of new songs). There were also career low points (at least in my opinion) with a "Bohemian Rhapsody"/"We Are The Champions"-inspired atrocity titled "Kings
Of The World" from 2011's Mirror Ball - Live And
More release (listen to it here for proof) and
a cringeworthy 2008 appearance on TV cheesefest Dancing With The
Stars. 2015 finds Def Lep finally back on their game for their first album of new material in seven years that's bolstered by inspired
songwriting and standout guitar work from both the perpetually shirtless Collen and a health-challenged Campbell, who's recently been battling Hodgkin's lymphoma.
And
can we just take a moment to reappreciate Allen and his one-armed drumming skills?
It's been three decades now since the car injury that claimed his left arm occurred and it's easy to become rather complacent with what he does behind a drum kit,
but I was struck again recently by what an incredible feat he's accomplished whilst explaining Def Leppard's history to a friend who grew up in China and
wasn't aware of their story. Allen's booming drums, especially on
"Dangerous", "All Time High", and "Battle Of My
Own" don't go unnoticed.
Rating: B+
Released theatrically on August 7th; available November 24th on Blu-ray and DVD
On the surface, Ricki And The Flash contains enough enticing ingredients for an entertaining film: a screenplay by Diablo Cody (Juno, Young Adult), two always-reliable actors in Kevin Kline and Meryl Streep (who last teamed up in 1982's Sophie's Choice), and the high-concept premise of Streep playing a leather-clad 60-something failed musician who can't give up on her rock and roll dream. Consider me hooked, even with the inconsistent Jonathan Demme directing.
That enthusiasm is swiftly dampened in the film's opening scene as Ricki, Streep's character, butchers Tom Petty's "American Girl" with her group The Flash, who are the house band playing to sparse crowds at a Los Angeles-area bar. The Flash are played by rock veterans Rick Springfield, Neil Young collaborator Rick Rosas on bass (who died last November), P-Funk keyboardist Bernie Worrell, and session drummer Joe Vitale. Their repertoire consists of classic rock covers and modern top 40 hits, none of which makes for very good listening. One might argue that the songs aren't supposed to sound great since they're being performed by a collection of never-made-it musicians (who apparently don't know any better that "The Flash" is an absolutely terrible band name), but there's a distinctly off-putting cheesiness to the band's live performances that feels unintentional and most of the blame has to be laid at Streep's feet, unfortunately. While you have to admire the commitment to her abrasive character (including wearing clothes and a hairstyle about three or four decades past the point of appropriateness, plus the willingness to show the world her inner rock star and, say, risk embarrassment at singing "Bad Romance" lyrics like "Rah rah, ah-ah-ah/Ro mah, ro-mah-mah/Ga-ga, ooh-la-la"), she's unable to convincingly pull off her supposed "rock lifer" credentials. The actress learned to play guitar for the movie, but her onscreen playing is frequently inconsistent in terms of believability, her singing voice is well below average (and is really highlighted during an awful original song where she accompanies herself on an acoustic guitar), and Ricki's stage moves and stage patter seem to be the result of having spent no more than a few days at a rock and roll fantasy camp. Additionally, there are awkward references by Streep's character to Fleetwood Mac, Journey, and Mick Jagger that feel completely forced and only succeed in further eroding Ricki's rock cred.
The bulk of Ricki And the Flash actually revolves around a crisis that finds Ricki returning home to the family she abandoned to pursue her passion and those portions of the film are hit and miss. Streep and Kline (in a limited role as her ex-husband) share fine chemistry, as do Streep and her onscreen daughter, played by Mamie Gummer (they should…Streep is her real-life mother). There's also a big wedding involved, which allows for a showy scene involving highly dysfunctional family dynamics that harken back to Demme's vastly overrated 2008 film, Rachel Getting Married (which I reviewed here).
Cody's script never veers far from traditional convention, resulting in zero surprises. Demme, who has extensive experience working on music-affiliated projects throughout his career, ends up with a surprisingly tone-deaf film, due largely in part to his star being simply overmatched by her character's requirements.
Rating: C-
After an extensive hiatus from the blog, it's nice to be back writing reviews. Stop by from time to time to hopefully find something that catches your interest and feel free to leave a comment, whether you agree or disagree with what you've read.
As always, I appreciate you taking the time to visit Mediaboy Musings.
Cut Bank, from rookie feature director Matt Shakman (a veteran TV director), squanders an impressive cast that features Billy Bob Thornton, Bruce Dern, John Malkovich, and Oliver Platt in a small-town crime noir story that falls well short of its Coen Brothers-level ambitions. Set in the titular Montana town, Cut Bank centres around a fraud plot gone wrong that ends up leading to all sorts of unpleasant business. That foursome of seasoned actors all turn in solid performances with the thin material, especially Malkovich as the comic relief-providing sheriff who's seemingly out of his element, even though he's been doing the job for years. Dern, Platt, and Thornton all have more limited roles, however, leaving far too much screen time for Liam Hemsworth, who barely registers in his performance as a mechanic dreaming of an escape to the promised land of Hollywood with his girlfriend. Michael Stuhlbarg's unhinged town oddball makes things a tad more interesting whenever he's around, but the disjointed and undercooked story eventually goes off the rails, as Cut Bank and its quirk-heavy characters and plot twists end up leaving little impression.
Rating: C-
