By 30, most of our parents had distinct careers or at least significant investments, and a a spouse to love, cherish, and most of all procreate with. That was the whole point back then. Get a job, get married, have babies, the whole package nicely tied up with the white picket fence of the old-guard Western Dream.

We, however, are anything but like that, and what caused this social norm to morph into a complete antithesis of itself is still debatable. 30-somethings in big cities are still living with roommates or significant others who are not fiancées or spouses yet. We are still checking out the dating scene, trying to figure out what to do with our lives, our careers. Yet we have an abundance of opportunities, more than what our parents had back in the day. Why? Well, we are exposed to a massive exchange of information, crucial and trivial. We are reachable 24/7 via email, cell phone and text. This accessibility causes confusion. While being bombarded with an endless array of news, pop culture gossip or Tweets, we are mastering the art of selective perception. We don’t have the time to process everything we see or hear, so we only chose those which we personally find helpful or interesting. And that’s where the problem lies because it is up to the individual to make a judgment of what piece of information may come in handy in the future. Individualism has gotten louder over the years and let’s face it, it ain’t always easy being an individual. We become tired. We shut off, which inadvertently delays our career, relationships, even daily progress.

On the other hand, we are much more emotionally evolved. We read signals faster once the act of communication with another individual has miraculously started, if our iPod headsets are out of our ears that is. We know if we’re being hit on, or if we stand a chance. We can tell if someone’s straight or gay or metro or bi or whatever other labels we’ve come up with so that our social structure gets more and more like a supermarket with aisles and aisles of choices. Therefore living in a big city and seeing three hundred thousand attractive choices (I meant to say “people”) a day, we don’t want to settle for anything too quickly and we take our time making the decision (and in the process turn 30).

Same goes for jobs. Our parents had fewer jobs to fish for but once they hooked a good one, they had more room to grow within the business. Nowadays jobs are more temporary and frail then ever. Thanks to the Internet, everybody can be an over-night entrepreneur. This goes back to our ever-deterring communication skills. Not being in direct interaction with people (I meant to say “choices”) and trying to receive everything coming our way in smaller and smaller formats that would make an astronaut jealous, we have started an evolution that is causing us to relive our parents’ lives with a 10-year delayed feedback.

In smaller suburban towns around the world, things are not that much different then what they were a couple of decades ago. You have just as many choices as your parents did, maybe a bit more, and your life consists of kids and a steady job by the age of 30. Could this be the reason of why people who’ve been to Bible-belt America say that traveling there is like going back in time? Could this also be the explanation of the increased divorce rates in urbanite habitats among Homo sapiens?

That being said, one main question remains: Were they happier then? I can’t make any statements for the masses, but being on two different anti-depressants and constantly dwelling on what the purpose of life is, I kinda know the answer to that question. You make up your own mind.

NEW YORK BASED WRITER Jason Mason III

Lucas Eller: Hello, Hudson. How are you doing?
Hudson Oliveira: Hi. Thanks for having me. It’s great.
Lucas Eller: Well, thanks for being here. It’s really great. So, tell us a little bit about Taxi Dance.
Hudson Oliveira: Taxi Dance is a movie about human trafficking…
Lucas Eller (interrupsts Hudson): Human trafficking? All right…
Hudson Oliveira: It’s a very serious subject…
Lucas Eller: And you’re in it?
Hudson Oliveira (laughs): Yeah. I’m sure it’s a very serious subject and people need to know, you know, everybody knows about human trafficking.
Lucas Eller: Is it based on a real story?
Hudson Oliveira: It is based on a real story. Actually, it’s so intense, there’s a lot of stories going on at the same time, so it’s not just one story, there are three stories that are linked together. For instance, I play a Mexican guy…
Lucas Eller: You… you’re a Mexican guy in the movie!? Do you speak Spanish in the movie?
Hudson Oliveira: Yes, I do. So, it’s very realistic. There are Russian characters who speak Russian…
Lucas Eller (joking): Mexicans, Russians, human trafficking… of course, it’s very real.
Hudson Oliveira: Seriously! They shot this movie in Russia, in LA, and in Mexico because of the boarder, and obviously in New York.
Lucas Eller: You were in Los Angeles when this film was done…
Hudson Oliveira: I was in Los Angeles when we shot because that was the place we did my scene, because I was a Mexican guy…
Lucas Eller: … who entered California through the boarder?
Hudson Oliveira: Yes, my character crossed the boarder and became a hero because of this girl…
Lucas Eller: So, you’re a Mexican hero?
Hudson Oliveira: I was a Mexican hero. This girl crosses the boarder and gets raped by a policeman, who was guarding the boarder. As you know, there are mean people everywhere. It’s not just because he was a police officer.
Lucas Eller: I’ve met cops who are very nice people.
Hudson Oliveira: Of course, of course. We’re talking about a movie. So, the girl is raped and is left by him in the desert, and I found her when she was unconscious, pretty much unconscious, and I take care of her…
Lucas Eller: You didn’t rape her, did you?
Hudson Olilveira: No, no, no, no… I was a good guy.
Lucas Eller: Right. Heroes don’t rape.
Hudson Oliveira: So, basically I saved her and we end up becoming good friends. I actually , married her.
Lucas Eller: You got married to her. That’s so interesting.
Hudson Oliveira: And the funny thing is… she became a go-go dancer.
Lucas Eller: You were married to a go-go dancer; good for you! Everybody would love to get married to a go-go dancer.
Hudson Oliveira: She was very hot.
Lucas Eller: They are hot, that’s my point.
Hudson Oliveira: Yeah… but the whole story of the movie is very heavy, intense, dramatic. We actually won an award for best… (what? ask Hudson) in LA.
Lucas Eller: Congratulations.
Hudson Oliveira: People told me that my part is the only light and joyful part in the movie.
Lucas Eller: Really?
Hudson Oliveira: It’s the hero thing, it’s love saving the day. Everything else is pretty violent.
Lucas Eller: Wow! And who’s the go-go dancer here? Maria … Where is she from?
Hudson Oliveira: It’s actually Jennifer Dias, who lives in Los Angeles.
Lucas Eller: I’d love to interview her. Jenniffer Dias, if you’re reading this, please email me know and I’ll be happy to inverview you.
Hudson Oliveira laughs.
Lucas Eller: Tell me a bit about the director Zargham Kami.
Hudson Oliveira: Basically, Kami is a very famous photographer, he started his career as a photographer, and he understands a lot about image, and then he decided to direct movies.
Lucas Eller: That’s great, because he decided to turn still photography into motion.
Hudson Oliveira: And he did very well.
Lucas Eller: He sure did, it is a very intense story and good movie.
Hudson Oliveira: I do agree with that.
Lucas Eller: Thanks for giving me an interview, Hudson. You’re very lovely.
Hudson Oliveira: My pleasure, Lucas. You’re very welcome.

LUCAS ELLER INTERVIEWS

And that, more than anything else, is the problem with the film. The Coen brothers lay on the tsuris, or woe, with a trowel. Michael Stuhlbarg as the bewildered and bespectacled Larry is excellent, but we were left wondering where the brothers’ funny bone went; it certainly wasn’t on display here–at least, not nearly often enough.

FILM REVIEW: “INVICTUS”

Morgan Freeman–who has played everything from chauffeurs to presidents, deities to cons–tackles the role of Nelson Mandela in Clint Eastwood’s latest, the docu-drama-slash-sports movie, “Invictus”.

As the film opens, Mandela has just been released from prison; a scene or two later, already the President of South Africa, he is formulating plans for uniting his racially-divided nation. One idea: to rally the people, black and white, around the fortunes of the South African rugby team, which he is convinced can compete for the championship in the upcoming World Cup tournament.

The captain of the team, ably played by a stocky and square-jawed Matt Damon, becomes his liaison and, even more importantly, his friend. Freeman and Damon turn in solid, if risk-free, performances; Freeman in particular neatly captures the revered statesman’s regal bearing and twinkly-eyed, grandfatherly warmth. Indeed, his accent alone may be worth an Oscar. (For the record, Freeman has been nominated for Best Actor, and Damon for Best Supporting Actor.)

When the big game arrives–with, of course, the South African team in it–Damon’s men find themselves squaring off for all the glory against a squad of snarling New Zealanders, and the final part of the film focuses exclusively on the contest itself. Inside the stadium, a raucous crowd whoops and hollers as the two sides march up and down the field; outside, an entire nation–black and white–has turned on its televisions and tuned in its radios. Life in South Africa has screeched to a halt as every single citizen, it seems, watches, or listens to, the action. Mandela, of course, was right; the championship match, with its tight score and fevered play, has united his people as nothing ever had before.

Unfortunately, Eastwood sticks so closely to the actual events (the screenplay is based on fact) that “Invictus”, rather than stirring the blood, comes across as scarcely more than a dry, plodding account of a battered nation’s recovery from apartheid. Even the rugby game, beautifully re-enacted with a you-are-there immediacy, failed to excite us much.

If only Eastwood had allowed the story to breathe a little, had permitted his stars to bust out a bit rather than remain tethered to the demands of history, maybe then the film would have seemed not only “important” but also–dare we say it–fun.

FILM REVIEWS by Stuart R. Brynien

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Lucas Eller: I’m here with Sean Avolio, who’s a singer and performer in New York City. Is that correct?
Sean Avolio: Yes.
Lucas Eller: So, tell me a bit about your career. I heard you produced a music video?
Sean Avolio: Yeah, we just completed my second video, for my song “All Up In My Candy,” which can be seen on YouTube. The song is also available on iTunes and Amazon.
Lucas Eller: That’s very nice. Congratulations.
Sean Avolio: Thank you.
Lucas Eller: And, before we talk more about your music, which I’ve listened to and I love it, tell me a bit about yourself. You’re originally from the City of Chicago, is that correct?
Sean Avolio: I’m from the Chicago suburbs.
Lucas Eller: I’ve been to Chicago several times. Back in 2003 there was a possibility I’d move there, I used to fly there every two weeks. Because I was new to New York but I wasn’t busy enough here, so I was checking out the possibilities. Don’t take this personally, today I’m so happy I made my choice to be based in New York.
Sean Avolio: Why would I take it personally? New York has a lot more to offer than Chicago, but Chicago holds a special place in my heart, and it definitely has its perks over NYC.
Lucas Eller: Thanks for saying that, so I don’t feel bad. I’m not comparing the two cities, I just love New York. How long have you been in New York for?
Sean Avolio: Two and a half years.
Lucas Eller: And you are very welcome here, because good-looking people are more likely to succeed here.
Sean Avolio (laughs): Well, that may be true, but I like to think that I’ll be more likely to succeed due to my fervent ambition, strong work ethic, and vehement love for my art, not to mention my talent.
Lucas Eller: Nicely put. Who are your inspirations?
Sean Avolio: Oh, there are so many! David Bowie, George Michael, Tom Petty, and Billy Idol have all heavily influenced me. I’m also very much influenced by artists not associated with music, such as Tim Burton, Francis Bacon, and Marquis de Sade. I would have to say that my biggest influence is Madonna. As a pop artist, I’d be a fool not to be inspired by her. She is the epitome of pop perfection.
Lucas Eller: What can we be expecting from you in the future?
Sean Avolio: It’d probably be better to ask what won’t you be expecting from me! I’m working on a video series for YouTube at the moment, as well as putting together my live show that I will be performing around NYC. I’m also doing a lot of writing, both on paper and in the studio. I’m growing a lot as an artist right now, and a great deal of new opportunities have come to present themselves, so I’m just doing what I know and love and giving it my all. We will see where it takes me!

LUCAS ELLER INTERVIEWS

In Kathryn Bigelow’s wartime thriller, “The Hurt Locker”, that’s a scene that plays itself out repeatedly. We watch the agonizing minutiae of bomb disarmament over and over again–the search for wires, the hunt for timing devices–and thanks to Bigelow’s eye for detail, we feel we are practically in the line of fire ourselves.

The team is led by Staff Sergeant William James, an adrenaline junkie who is variously referred to in the movie as a “wild man”, a “cowboy”, and–well–just plain reckless. The fact is, he is all of those things, although James himself would probably claim that he is simply doing his job; indeed, when–late in the film–his second-in-command, Sgt. Sanborn, asks him why he does what he does, James can barely answer. He’s a daredevil, alright, but he can’t quite articulate why. What drives him? What compels him to tackle bomb after bomb, even when his men are screaming at him that the “kill zone” he has entered is too dangerous? He doesn’t know. Very likely, he doesn’t even care. When Sanborn questions him about it, he confesses that he has never even given it much thought–and, based on what we know of his personality, we believe him completely.

James is played by Jeremy Renner, who is never anything less than utterly believable. Equally as effective are Anthony Mackie as Sanborn, his sounding board, who begins the film by calling the sergeant a piece of “white trash”–Sanborn is black–but, like any loyal soldier, has his boss’ back all the way; and Brian Geraghty as their troubled young teammate, Spc. Owen Eldridge. In fact, the acting throughout the film is excellent, right down to all the Arab characters, a few of whom prove to be just as deadly as the explosives themselves.

But it’s the look and sound of the film, with its dirty, sun-baked streets, long, suspenseful silences, loud, piercing machine gun fire and sudden explosions, that we came away remembering. It’s a macho world that these men live in, and Bigelow–aided by her screenwriter, Mark Boal–captures it perfectly.

That Bigelow, who has helmed her share of action flicks, was able to craft such a thrilling movie is no surprise; that she was able to put together such a raw and honest war movie is a revelation.

Don’t miss it.

FILM REVIEWS by Stuart R. Brynien

Yes, the Academy Awards are almost upon us again, and this time–in one category at least–there is more to choose from than ever. The powers-that-be have decided that this year (and depending on how it goes, possibly for many years to come), there won’t be only five nominees for Best Picture but (count ‘em) ten. That’s right: ten.They had to spread the pickin’s a bit thin to come up with that many–and at least one of the movies has no business even being on the list–but hey, at least it gives us critics something to write about.

Here are the five nominated films we think are MOST deserving of an Oscar this year, starting at the top:

“Precious”
The first nominated film we saw, and still our favorite. No other contender packed the emotional wallop of this down-and-dirty tale of an overweight, inarticulate black teen and her abusive mother. Beautifully played by a cast of performers not exactly known for their acting chops, this was a gut-wrencher from start to finish.

“Inglourious Basterds”
More Nazi-as-buffoon revisionist history (although they were clearly very DANGEROUS buffoons) in film auteur Quentin Tarantino’s brutally violent, yet expertly directed tale of gun-toting Jews in occupied France. Thanks to Mr. T’s remarkable craftsmanship and ability to coax impeccable performances out of an international cast, “Basterds” ranks as one of the most satisfying motion picture experiences of the year.

“The Hurt Locker”
Bombs, bullets, and brazen enemy snipers fill the sun-baked landscape in this taut wartime thriller about the suicidal members of an elite American bomb squad and their daily struggle to survive. Kathryn Bigelow directed it, Jeremy Renner starred. A spellbinder.

“Up in the Air”
George Clooney as a professional corporate hatchet man at the crossroads of his life. Should he go on jetting from city to city firing innocent rank-and-filers from their downsizing companies–or hand in his own resignation, kick his feet up, and settle down? With Vera Farmiga as the woman who awakens him to life’s possibilities, and Anna Kendrick as his apple-cheeked young protégé. Jason Reitman directed it all with skill and intelligence. A quiet movie, and a good one.

“District 9″
The fifth spot on our list goes to this aliens-vs.-earthlings sci-fi’er about a race of extraterrestrials who have landed in Johannesburg, South Africa only to be crowded into a shantytown ghetto while the government tries to decide what to do with them Undeniably political but also breathlessly exciting–and featuring some of the most believable CGI-generated space creatures ever seen on film–this was, truly, a visual feast.

HONORABLE MENTION:
“Up”
The cream of this year’s cartoon crop, this touching, fanciful story of a lonely old man and his balloon-powered journey to the other side of the world probably would not have been a Best Picture finalist in the past–and a win in the animated category might be all it can hope for–but make no mistake: it’s a charmer.

MOST OVERRATED NOMINEE:
“Avatar”
Yes, the images were spectacular. Yes, the Pandorans looked real. Sure, the climactic battle scene was a nail-biter. But thanks to the skimpy backstory, corny dialogue, and nondescript acting, King James’ gazillion dollar 3D extravaganza turned out to be little more than a bloated graphic novel come to life. A shame.

MOST UNDESERVING NOMINEE:
“The Blind Side”
Sandra Bullock is earning lots of kudos for her work in this film about an upper-middle-class Southern mom and the unschooled young black football player she takes under her wing, but the script is so hackneyed, the “twists” so predictable, that we were left wondering how much better Bullock would have been if only the movie itself had been done with more care. In past years, “The Blind Side” wouldn’t have come within sniffing distance of Best Picture. But this time around, thanks to the Academy’s “the more, the merrier” philosophy, here it is–sharing the spotlight with a number of movies that truly deserve the honor. How unjust is that?

AND, A FEW FINAL COMMENTS…
A loud cheer for Mo’Nique and Gabourey Sidibe, the mother and daughter in “Precious”. Mo’Nique should win for Best Supporting Actress, and probably will. Sidibe deserves to win for Best Actress, but probably won’t. No matter what happens, though, kudos to them both–they turned in extraordinary performances.

And, in perhaps the closest race of them all–the Best Director race–we think Quentin Tarantino (”Inglourious Basterds”) earns the nod, just barely, over Kathryn Bigelow (”The Hurt Locker”) and Lee Daniels (”Precious”).

Watching “Basterds” was like going to film school–with a popcorn and soda in your lap!

FILM REVIEWS by Stuart R. Brynien

Brad Pitt stars at Lt. Aldo Raine, the Southern-fried, smart-alecky leader of a group of heavily-armed, vengeance-seeking Jews who dart from place to place during World War II ridding Europe of Nazis. They ambush them on lonely country roads, capture a few here and there and try to scare them into revealing German military secrets, and usually, in the end–as per Raine’s directive–kill them and scalp them, adding the tops of their skulls to their wartime memorabilia “collection”. (Sound horrifying? Wait till you see it.) Those they allow to go free–and we see them release a couple of prisoners over the course of the movie–they “brand” as Nazis forever, so that everyone who looks at them will know instantly who they were and what they stood for, even when they’re out of uniform. (Be prepared: the “branding” scenes are equally as cringe-inducing.)

Believe it or not (despite the fact that they make Jack Bauer from TV’s “24″ look like Mother Teresa) Pitt and his crew of angry, bloodthirsty “basterds” are the good guys. After them there are the bad guys (handsome young enlistees from the Nazi rank-and-file), and the REALLY bad guys (Hitler, Goebbels etc.). Then there’s the complicated plot, which revolves around a Parisian movie house called upon to premiere a tasty bit of Nazi propaganda that Goebbels is convinced will put the German film industry on the map. Everyone will be there, including the Fuhrer himself, and before you can say KA-BOOM! plans are set in motion to blow the joint up with the Nazi high command trapped inside. (Two plans, actually, with neither side aware of what the other is doing.) The ending of the film–when the dynamite hits the fan, so to speak–is pure, jaw-dropping spectacle.

Pitt is very good: funny, charming, yet as dangerous as they come and always–always–all business; Austrian newcomer Christoph Waltz is brilliant as the oily SS Jew-hunter Colonel Hans Landa; and French actress Melanie Laurent is breathtakingly beautiful and heartbreakingly real as Shosanna, the proprietor of the theatre, a woman with as deep a grudge against France’s Nazi oppressors (and Landa himself) as anyone. (In nearly every scene, her large, expressive eyes are the eyes of a trapped and wounded animal, which, for most of the film, she is.)

But the real star of the movie is Tarantino himself. As the director, he allows every scene to unfold
at its own pace; nothing is rushed. Characters are permitted to talk to each other, probe each other, until the suspense has built to such a crescendo that you can hardly bear to watch them, anymore. The camera circles this way, and that; it gives us low-angle shots and high-angle shots; it zooms in for intense close-ups, and pulls out again; and occasionally, during one of the film’s heart-stopping pauses, it simply draws back and watches. The result: one of the most tension-filled films of the year.

Of course, because it’s a Tarantino film, there’s also the usual helping of gore, gunplay, and Mexican stand-offs. And, yes–occasionally, you might find yourself cringing and chuckling at the same time; there’s comedy amid the carnage, too.

Bottom line: go see “Inglourious Basterds”. It might just be the best picture of the year.

FILM REVIEWS by Stuart R. Brynien

Kudos to the actors, some of whom are almost unrecognizable. As the lazy, foul-mouthed mother from hell, stand-up comic and talk show host Mo’Nique is wincingly believable; in a decidedly unglamorous role, Mariah Carey, as a welfare worker, exhibits absolutely no trace of her sultry songstress persona; “View” regular Sherri Shepherd, also sans wig or make-up, does a fine, low-key job as the jaded desk jockey who works at an alternative school for kids; and even rocker Lenny Kravitz pops up, minus back-up band and guitar god attitude, to offer his support as a quietly compassionate male nurse. That director Lee Daniels saw fit to take a chance on these performers speaks volumes about how willing he was to go out on a limb; that each of them did so well — sometimes spectacularly so — is practically a miracle (and says a lot about how Daniels, clearly no slouch in the directing department, can coax powerhouse performances out of even the most inexperienced actors).

And then, of course, there’s the lead, Gabourey Sidibe, as the grossly overweight and minimally expressive Harlem teen, Claireece Precious Jones. Glum-faced and dour, all downturned mouth, slitted eyes and slurred words, Sidibe’s performance is at the heart of the movie; she’s in virtually every scene. You want to cry for her at some moments and root for her at others — cheer her on in her endless battle against her abusive mother, sniggering classmates, and cold-hearted neighborhood bullies so that eventually she might, just might, come out on top. You want her to overcome her illiteracy, escape the living hell her life has become, and understand that she has options — she doesn’t have to remain at the beck-and-call of her cigarette-smoking, TV-watching, welfare cheat mother. She can actually flee the dark, depressing confines of her apartment and forge a life for herself. And, in those rare moments when something actually makes her smile — some modest success at school, the innocent face of a newborn baby — we smile right along with her. (The script, the direction, Sidibe’s acting: all of them combine to make the character of Precious a model of consistency; never does she strike a false note, deliver a jarring line reading. She establishes a persona, and sticks to it like gum. It’s one of the most controlled motion picture performances of the year.)

The plot is simple: Claireece, or Precious — trapped in a verbally and sometimes even physically abusive relationship with her mother (they have a throwdown near the end of the film that will have you reaching for your cellphone to call the cops), and impregnated for the second time by her father– lives the kind of rich, brightly-lit fantasy life that lonely girls indulge in all over… the ‘burbs, the ‘hood, everywhere. Only when she is forced to enroll in an alt-education class, and meets her new teacher — who becomes the first adult to genuinely show her love — does she begin to break out of her shell, and even then only one tiny crack at a time. Healing is a slow process, the film seems to be saying; breaking free of your shackles isn’t something you do overnight. You have to work at it. The question is, will Precious break free–or is she doomed to remain shackled for the rest of her life?

“Precious” is no Disney film, no laughfest. It is as bleak, as uncomfortably voyeuristic a look at urban and familial decay as you’ll ever see. But — as long as you’ve got a few Kleenex on hand, and are prepared to hang in there for the long haul — it works… beautifully.

FILM REVIEWS by Stuart R. Brynien

But it’s also a powerful, heartbreaking, and–ultimately–uplifting film.

Viggo Mortensen and Kodi Smit-McPhee play a father and son who, as the movie begins, are in the middle of a long, lonely trek across a scarred, post-apocalyptic landscape. Along the way, they meet a ragtag assortment of similarly bedraggled wanderers, some of whom may be cannibals eager to eat their flesh (apparently, cannibalism runs rampant in this bleak and arid world, although–thank heavens–we never actually get to see any of it). Most of them, however, are merely thieves eager to steal the pair’s modest belongings, including their food. According to Mortensen’s voice-over narration, they have been drifting about for years; the land around them is turning grayer, the days and nights colder, and the two of them–man and boy–weaker. Mortensen’s sole responsibility is to keep them alive by whatever means necessary. (That’s why he carries a gun.) It’s a tall order, a nearly impossible task, and the burden of that awesome responsibility is etched deep in the planes of his face.

Everything in the film is gray (kudos to cinematographer Javier Aguirresarobe–and, of course, director John Hillcoat–for not only creating such a singularly nightmarish vision, but sustaining it). The faces are gray–including that of a desperate, half-blind old man superbly played by a nearly unrecognizable Robert Duvall; the land is gray, as though buried under countless tons of volcanic ash; the sky is gray. Even the ocean, when they finally reach it–and which the boy had been hoping would be a sparkling blue–turns out to be a whitish gray. (All that was missing: the mountains of dead fish that should have been floating on top.)

Nothing–and no one–is ever identified, either. The man and boy are never named; the country they are trekking through might be America (an easy assumption) or, then again, might not; the ocean they arrive at could be the Atlantic or the Pacific or any other; and even the cause of the destruction is never fully explained. (Mortensen briefly mentions, early on, a “sheer white light” and a “series of concussions”. Clearly, then, it must have been a bomb. But dropped by whom? And why? And when does all of this take place, anyway? Today? Tomorrow? We can only guess.)

Mortensen–always a versatile actor–is excellent, whether half-hidden beneath layers of grime and stringy hair or, following a much-needed bath late in the film, clear-eyed, fresh-scrubbed and clean; Smit-McPhee is a revelation; Duvall, as noted, might find himself nominated for one of those single-scene supporting actor Oscars that the Academy doles out occasionally; and Charlize Theron, also barely recognizable, is a potent mix of fear and steel-jawed determination as Mortensen’s wife who–as we see is flashback–eventually strikes out on her own and leaves her husband and son to fend for themselves. They’re essentially one-note performances, to be sure–everyone is suffering to one degree or another nearly every step of the way–but that doesn’t make them any less riveting.

At its core, of course, this is a tale of survival against almost insurmountable odds, but–more than that–it is also the story of a father’s love for his son. And, thanks to Hillcoat’s sure-handed direction, the film presents an interesting paradox, too: though it moves along at a glacial pace, it never feels sluggish, or boring; we are never left feeling that Hillcoat has bogged the action down with self-indulgent directorial flourishes.

Bottom line: find this Road, and follow it to the end. It’s a harrowing journey, but one you won’t soon forget.

FILM REVIEWS by Stuart R. Brynien

We wish we could…but we can’t. It was, regrettably, as soft around the edges as we thought it would be.

Sandra Bullock stars as Leigh Anne Tuohy, a Memphis mom leading a life of privilege who, while riding around one day in the family SUV, comes across “Big Mike” Oher shambling along in his oversized polo shirt and baggy shorts. Big Mike is a tall, oafish black kid whose guardian has just cajoled the nearby high school’s football coach into letting him try out for the team. The catch: the kid’s reading and writing skills are so poor, he might not be allowed to.

Cue the standard movie-of-the-week montage: before you can say “do-gooder”, Leigh Anne is reading children’s books to Big Mike (or Michael, as he prefers to be called); she’s welcoming him into her family, and later adopting him, thereby officially making him one of her own; and her little boy, S. J., is putting his brand-new big brother through a grueling daily exercise regimen to help make him the best athlete he can be. (As much a gridiron fan as his dad or Leigh Anne herself, he even outlines plays for him on the kitchen table using whatever odds and ends he can find, reminding us of one of those old-fashioned tabletop football games of years ago.)

Michael not only makes the team, of course, but pretty soon–after his adopted mom, whom he listens to more than his coach, toughens him up a little–he’s tossing opposing linemen around the field like so many rag dolls and exchanging high-fives after nearly every play. College coaches come calling–here, writer/director John Lee Hancock trots out an impressive line-up of real-life football legends (impressive, that is, if you’re a college football fan from down south) in one stilted cameo after another. Problems arise when a) the NCAA begins to suspect possible recruiting violations, b) Michael has to get his grades up again (bad grades mean no diploma, and no diploma means no college), c) he runs away, frustrated, and…well, you’ll have to plunk down your own ten dollars to find out what happens next.

Kudos to Bullock; she’s fine. With her frosted blonde hair, steely determination, and soft southern drawl, she gives the role of Leigh Anne Tuohy just the right amount of believability–even a bit of an edge. She IS Leigh Anne: southern belle, fiercely protective mom, and champion of the underdog. Country singer Tim McGraw–minus the cowboy hat and superstar swagger, and sporting one of the dorkiest big-screen haircuts we’ve seen all year–is also very good, in a low-key kind of way, as Leigh Anne’s ultra-tolerant husband. And the kids–Jae Head and Lily Collins–are fine, too, although Head is sometimes too cute and precocious for his (and the movie’s) own good.

The real hub of the movie, though, is Michael–and as portrayed by game newcomer Quinton Aaron, he never has much to say or do. For most of the film, in fact, he just seems to be absorbing it all–Leigh Anne even brags, at one point, that he can learn anything he sets his mind to because he’s such a good listener. It’s as though he’s storing everything away for future use, and is unwilling to say or do anything until he’s good and ready…whenever that is.

The result: Michael is criminally underdeveloped–a cipher. We should care for him, be willing to root for him; we should be be moved by his struggle to overcome the odds and make something of his life. But we aren’t, and that’s a shame.

Blindsided by “The Blind Side”? Hardly. It was precisely the sort of “after-school special” we were afraid it was going to be. Now, if the story had been about the football player, and not the woman who appointed herself his guardian angel so that she could save him from himself…maybe it would have been better.

Want to see a run-of-the-mill screen version of the inspiring, real-life story of Leigh Anne Tuohy and Michael Oher (they’re real, alright; she still lives down south, and he’s currently playing in the NFL)? See “The Blind Side”.

But if you want to see a vastly superior film about ANOTHER large, black, inarticulate teen…

Spend your money on “Precious”, instead.

FILM REVIEWS by Stuart R. Brynien