A pharmacologist who pilfers from his own stash doesn’t make for much of a story. It’s over-the-counter, flat, hypocritical and none-too-interesting. Love & Other Drugs tried to walk that (similar) line by throwing in a satirical skewering of the pharmaceutical biz with a heavy dose of amour while Better Living Through Chemistry tacks into it with a whacky rom-com skew, and as with the launch of any new panacea, the results are mixed, and some even concerning. The diagnosis of which leads directly to the writing/directing team of Geoff Moore and David Posamentier, who treat their cinematic go as an alchemy experiment, crushing in aBody Heat-styled femme fatale element along with pill-popping madness, dysfunctional youth mania and alpha female hen-pecking all blended together under a quirky Wes Anderson-like sheen. Continue reading
From there Moustafa tells how he became the owner, as there lingers some mystery and controversy how he took ownership and who the owner was before him, and so we zip back to a prosperous time between the two Great Wars when the mountain-perched hotel was a destination for Europe’s rich and famous. Moustafa is then just a bellhop named Zero (Tony Revolori) and the hotel is ornate and thriving under the management of a very fastidious and fickle concierge named H. Gustave M. (Ralph Fiennes), who goes to no end to please his guests, which includes sleeping with and carrying on with many elderly women – even though his predilection is more for those of his own sex. One such pampered guest (Tilda Swinton) dies and in her will bequeaths Gustave a priceless painting (“Boy with Apple”), which doesn’t sit well with her avaricious progeny (Adrien Brody) who accuses Gustave of murder to get what he feels is rightfully his. This serves as Anderson’s jumping-off point, as Gustave gets relegated to an impregnable prison and the Second World War begins to break, sending ripples of chaos throughout the small, in-the-way country. Through it all, the patient, resourceful Zero continues to serve his master. 
The Lego Movie,
During a casual conversation with pals Penn and Teller (yes, the performance comedy team that performs droll acts of sleight-of-hand), Tim Jenison tossed out the idea that the great 17th century painter, Johannes Vermeer, might have generated his masterworks via a controlled methodology—which could conceivably be replicated—and not sheer artistic eye and a deft free hand. Given the movie’s being, that conversation obviously budded into a dare and/or a personal obsession.
Jenison, a quiet, pontificating soul and inventor by trade who made his nut in video software, possesses a bulldog tenacity and keen acumen. He’s the kind of guy who sees a problem and goes off and tinkers until he can remedy it with a working solution. His theory, that Vermeer used a process called “camera obscura” (the projection of a lighted image through a hole in a box or a room to create a smaller inverted rendering on the opposing surface outside the container) as an on canvas guide (think of tracing in its most complex form) for his creations is piquant and intriguing in its infantile illumination. The centuries old technique, now largely a schoolroom experiment, became the foundation for the modern camera and moving pictures. Vermeer, if he employed it, didn’t have any well-oiled machinery or electricity, just light and a hole. Continue reading
For What it's Worth 