‘Foxcatcher’: Carell, Tatum and Ruffalo wrestle with a true deadly tale, and win
Bennett Miller, whose directorial credits include “Capote” and “Moneyball,” should be considered something of a fictional documentarian in evolution. His first film, “The Cruise” (1998), a true documentary, followed fast-talking tour guide Timothy “Speed” Levitch on the job and in his semi-depressed other life. What gave the film soul, besides Levitch’s outpouring of quirk, was Miller’s ability to tap into the human element of his subject, capturing Levitch (the two went to high school together) at his chest-beating highs and self-questioning lows.
While “The Cruise” was a straight-up documentary, “Capote” (2005) and “Moneyball” (2011) were liberal, adapted spins on real lives and real events, both featuring outstanding performances by the late Philip Seymour Hoffman and the latter garnering perhaps the finest performance of Brad Pitt’s long career. Miller’s latest, “Foxcatcher” is dead in the mold of those films, and the indie auteur’s most soul-plumbing film so far. Continue reading
The good news for all our collective futures is that farmer Matthew McConaughey is a former NASA pilot; the bad news is that NASA no longer exists, but through a paranormal, “Close Encounters” kind of interference, the southern drawling actor’s Cooper is pointed to a grid point on the map not too far away where the vestiges of the space agency – and the hope of humankind – reside with Michael Caine and his daughter, Anne Hathaway. Cooper is the only one with mission experience, and before the clock ticks any further he and Hathaway’s Amelia Brand are on a turbo-charged space shuttle-like vehicle and heading toward a black hole. 
You can imagine the appeal of playing a Luciferian incarnation rooted in the material world. The “Hellboy” superhero series nailed it with camp and gusto. Here, based on the novel by Joe Hill, aka Stephen King’s son, Radcliffe plays Ig (Ignatius), a DJ in a small Northwestern burg. He has a very public breakup with his girlfriend (Juno Temple) and becomes the prime suspect in her murder when she’s found with her head bashed in at the base of their romantic getaway spot – a tree fort deep in the Pac-North woods. 
When we catch up with Mr. Wick, he’s just lost his wife and gotten a beagle puppy to fill the emotional void. He lives in some pretty impressive digs in Northern New Jersey and has a thing for vintage muscle cars. It’s one of Wick’s purring icons of American automotive might from the emission-control-free era that draws the attention of Iosef, a Russian mafioso punk (Alfie Allen, from “Game of Thrones”) who, in the process of home invading and carjacking Wick, offs the yipping pup. Of course Iosef and his lot make the mistake of leaving Wick alive and, unbeknownst to them, it was Wick’s gun that put Iosef’s pa, Viggo Tarasov (Michael Nyqvist, from the Swedish version of “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo”) on top. There’s some attempt to make amends, but Wick has none of it, so between employer and former employee the gloves come off. It’s a grudge match Viggo does not relish, explaining to his sniveling son while knocking back a stiff vodka that “Wick is the guy you call to kill the bogeyman.” 
That’s the jumping-off point for “Birdman,” which boasts the catchy subtitle, “The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance.” Michael Keaton, who not-so-coincidentally played Tim Burton’s “Batman” in the ’80s and ’90s, plays Riggan Thomson, a Hollywood actor who found fame as the star of the titled superhero franchise. Since its shelving some 20 years ago, he now seeks thespian cred by producing, starring in and directing a Broadway adaptation of Raymond Carver’s taut “What We Talk About When We Talk About Love.” When we catch up with Riggan the play is just days from opening, and much teeters on a precipice. The good people of Times Square are more than happy to have the “Birdman” in their midst, but not so much the theater crowd. Co-star and “serious actor” Mike Shiner refers to Hollywood-produced films as a form of “cultural genocide” while “Times” critic Tabitha Dickinson (a lethal Lindsay Duncan) just can’t stand the notion of art being hijacked by overpaid, under-talented dilettantes from yonder west. 
For What it's Worth 