http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0348565/

All the classic hallmarks of Kubrick’s style are present: poetic slow pans, the juxtaposition of serene classical music against scenes of destruction of humans, and the haunting experimental music that brings tension and suspense to a rapid boil.

It’s my strong view that, if hindsight was accessible through an app on our web browsers, Soderbergh should have looked at the ending of this film to bring about the twist and ending in “The Informant” with the development and wrap up of Mark Whitacre’s fate. I couldn’t help but juxtapose the final conversation between Dr. Cawley, Dr. Leehan, and Andrew, with the conversation between Mark Whitacre, Mark Shephard, and Whitacre’s wife. Scorsese’s handling is masterful yet complete; it hits us and suddenly realize the world in which we have been for the last 2 hours. DiCaprio shines in this role, comfortably wading between the hard-ass, the resolute, the reminiscent, and the extremely vulnerable. With “Inception” and “Shutter Island” behind him, DiCaprio shows us that he can traverse the terrains of psychological horror and thriller just as much as John Malkovich or Heath Ledger.

Beautiful, striking, and measured photography. A lot of DiCaprio’s dream sequences seem to be Freudian dream interpretations down to the last tittle. And watch out for the Dinah Washington epic number in the credits; you won’t miss it if you pay attention.

This elaborate analogy applies to this film. This is when filmmaking goes really wrong. There’s nothing redeeming about this film. There’s nothing even ha-ha funny about this film. I struggled to stay alert and awake. I finished it only to be able to write this review with a clear conscience. The screenplay is fatally flawed and the supporting cast are weak, to be merciful, and do little to cover up or, ideally, improve the flat, mediocre performances by Rapulana Seiphemo and Kenneth Nkosi. The scene in the boere bar was so badly handled and executed that it should be left in the toolkit as a pigment to be used for another project. Or not at all. There must be another way to portray Afrikaaners in this country other than beer-drinking, trigger-happy oafs who are cardboard cutouts of yesteryear. It’s just so over now, you know.

The juxtaposition of Rose and her friend, and Tumi and Elvis, is not developed enough and it’s not given any time to mature or ferment in the barrel. It’s rushed and we are expected to just coo and pine, and tickle its little pink feet.

This film is another poor example of South African cinema, going through all the usual stereotypes in expected fashion, as if lying on their backs to make a quick buck. I really don’t understand how people ranted and raved about the hilarity of this film back then, when it was released. This is not in the league of Tsotsi or Jerusalema in any way. This is more like the “Mr Bones” franchise, but stereotypes this time perpetuated by black people rather than insensitive white people.

Mr. Seiphemo and Mr. Nkosi, you can do so much better. I know you can. This is not the best you can do. We need to move forward in this country, make great films, tell real stories rather than recycle stereotypes in a brainless way, hoping we can make just as much money as Leon Schuster.

More superior acting from Noomi Rapace in showing the resurgence of emotions in Lisbeth’s character. All the characters are three-dimensional and developed. The cinematography was uneventful, but not weak in any way. Again, we were spoiled in the 1st film.

We get a far richer experience of the Swedishness of the story in the 3rd film than the others. We see Sweden’s answer to the British stiff upper lip in the courtroom in the non-dramatic exit of the prosecutor, in the measured strain of the judges, and in showing a bit more about the country’s demographics through exploring, temporarily, the various immigrant characters involved in the plot. But the real testament of Swedishness is the ending, the final interaction between Salander and Blomkvist. It’s far from wordy, melodramatic, or emotional. Lisbeth finally thanks him, letting down her guard, and Micke just takes it for what it is.

A trilogy to be watched again and again, and owned.

Three great actors – Seymour-Hoffman, Streep, and Adams – along with a silent fourth, the unassuming photograpy, make this film truly masterful. The exchanges between Father Flynn and Sister Aloysius were just gripping and mesmerizing, watching one character take charge for a while, then the other conquer, then the same fall. From an actor’s perspective, there’s so much to learn from, watching Meryl Streep take in Seymour-Hoffman then pounce then retreat.

This film is jarring because you never really know. It doesn’t give it away early in a flashback and I’m so glad it didn’t resort to some childhood memory or some psychologizing. You’re left to interpret every scene and encounter; is he right? is she right? is she delusional? is he a liar? You never know until the very end when it hits you not like a hammer but like a needle. And you feel the fluid go up your veins and soon enough it hits your brain. It’s that subdued yet incredibly powerful.

The power of suggestion, of gossip, of suspicion is often much more powerful than flat out fact or evidence, shown in Aloysius’ exclamation: “But I have my certainty!” And as much the film is a quiet commentary about the state of the Catholic church and the distrust sowed by the paedophile scandals, this film is also about the real people caught up in it, without weepy dramatization or sentimentality.

The photography is measured and controlled and in a few places, takes inspiration from still photograpy and art. The image of Sister Aloysius swept up in the wind, after her conversation with Miller’s mother, is truly beautiful. Also, the lighting and set design in this film also had a powerful impact. The contrast between the warm reds in the boisterous dinner scene with the clergy and the staid beige and black of the nuns tells you something.

A film to be owned, watched again, and to learn from.

“August” is flashy yet true to the dotcom era in the excessively empty tech jargon, the news bites, and the bravado of tech types at the time. Josh Hartnett is fairly solid and doesn’t rely on neither melodrama nor Swedish ice. He does manage to bring about some vulnerability in his performance. However, his supporting cast wasn’t that strong, barring his brother Joshua played by Adam Scott. More grit and substance was found in the family scenes and in the side stories of Josh’s relationships than the main story of LandShark.

Not appalling to watch, yet just not memorable or impressionable in any way. This film just needed more meat on its bones.

It was sad to see Alvy create the woman he wanted in Diane Keaton’s character, and then lose it. But that’s how life is.

To own and watch again and again.