Alien

Note: This review basically spoils the film.

I confess I only recently saw "Alien" for the first time.  This is because I am a complete wimp when it comes to horror movies.

The good news about "Alien" was that it wasn't very scary.  The bad news about "Alien" was that it wasn't very scary.

First off, credit where it's due: director Ridley Scott does a nice job of setting the mood.  At the movie's outset, the camera slowly pans through our heroes' ship, the Nostromo, while they sleep.  We also get plenty of shots of the Nostromo drifting along, emphasizing the cold silence of space.  This is a film that shows uncommon patience.

But patience only works if there's a payoff, and that's rather lacking here.  Much to my surprise, for a movie that features a killing machine with razor sharp teeth and a terrifyingly huge head, most of the scares in the film are more gross-out shots than actual shocks.  Some of the blame probably goes to the clearly limited effects budget for the film.  But that's no excuse: as the "Paranormal Activity" films have shown, you can get plenty of scares just by playing on the audience's imagination.

Plot-wise, the movie lost me when it was revealed that Ash, the officer who orders that the alien be brought back to Earth regardless of the loss of the crew's lives, is actually an android created by the company that employs the heroes.  The reveal happens after we see him sweating a white goo.  The crew are able to take him apart, but before he shuts off he tells them that they "have [his] sympathies."

Where to start?  If the company wants to bring back an alien and can create an android that does everything a human can, why not just send four or five of those out into space?  Why would they build a robot that sweats white goo?  Seems like a major design flaw.  And since when do machines have "sympathies"?

Admittedly, part of the problem with "Alien" is context.  The tricks of horror movies have become so familiar in the past thirty years that this one's seem tame.  In addition, the film's most famous scene--in which the alien bursts out of John Hurt's stomach--was parodied so effectively in "Spaceballs" that it's lost most of its power.  Finally, the fact that Sigourney Weaver starred in three sequels to this film makes her final scene with the alien (which she partly does in her undies, for a little gratuitous T&A) pretty anticlimactic.

But a great movie should hold up regardless of when you see it.  "Jaws," "Rosemary's Baby," "The Shining"; all still have the power to shock more than three decades later.  "Alien" is just disgusting.

Lance Armstrong's Temptation

"Live each day as if it were your last."  This is dumb advice.  It is highly likely that today will not be your last day.  If you were to follow this mindset every day, you'd soon be left penniless and destitute.  But however misguided this philosophy may be, it's a little easier to understand when you've had a close brush with death.

The recent allegations against Lance Armstrong are damning.  The U.S. Anti-Doping Agency's findings--which Armstrong has not contested--depict Armstrong as one of the most blatant cheaters in sports history.  Plenty of athletes have used steroids, but who else has made using them a requirement for membership on his team?  His gall is simply amazing.

But then, his background is pretty amazing too.  At the age of just 25, Armstrong was diagnosed with stage three testicular cancer.  The cancer spread to his abdomen, his lungs, his brain.

Of course he recovered, and in just 18 months, he was back on the Tour de France.  But it's easy to imagine  how a scare like that would get you thinking about the meaninglessness of your life.  At the time, Armstrong wouldn't even have merited a footnote in history.  If he was lucky, he might get a three-minute segment on the evening news: a pretty good cyclist beats cancer and rides again.  A nice story and nothing more.  But if he won the Tour, he would make his mark.  And not only would he be known as a great athlete; he could use his success to promote his new cancer foundation.  His name would live on.

None of this absolves Armstrong from blame.  The man is a cheat and a liar.  There are plenty of ways to support cancer research without servicing his ego by promoting Livestrong.

But Lance Armstrong is a cautionary tale in the dangers of refusing to accept one's mortality.

Bernie

An ongoing conundrum: when a good movie is based on a true story, who deserves the credit?  The real-life individuals responsible for the events depicted?  Or the filmmakers?  Is it the tale, or the telling?

In the case of "Bernie," the answer has to be a bit of both.  Bernie Tiede is the rare individual interesting enough to hang a movie on, an incredibly generous man who committed one heinous act.  Danny Buck, the shameless, condescending prosecutor in Bernie's case, is an excellent antagonist. (His real last name is Davidson, but he goes by Buck.  The showy moniker is almost too perfect.)

Still, much credit goes to those who brought the story to life.  Jack Black shows excellent restraint as Bernie, showing off just enough of his talents for histrionics and singing without going over-the-top.  Matthew McConaughey has a lot of fun uglying himself up to play Buck.  Director Richard Linklater deserves high marks for including numerous interviews with people from the real-life Texas town where the movie is set.  The commentary gives the movie a down-home feel that prevents it from becoming another rote indie.

To the average viewer this may all be a futile accounting exercise.  Art can't be quantified; you can't assign statistics to determine who did what in a movie.  I confess that I can't give a reason why it should matter to you.  But I can say that no matter who gets the credit for it, you'll be charmed and entertained by "Bernie."

The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Adolescence in suburbia isn't typically characterized by big events.  There aren't many epic romances, shocking betrayals, or dark secrets.  It's the smaller moments that usually mark growing up in this setting: being ignored by a popular kid, getting an answer wrong in class, seeing a crush holding hands with someone else.  These may seem like minor slights, but when you're a self-absorbed teenager, they feel momentous.

Unfortunately, it's not easy to portray this on film.  (Though 2011's "Terri" does a pretty good job of it.)  So high school movies tend to amp up the drama.  They may capture the insecurities and angst of coming of age.  But they also make it seem a lot more justified by pairing the outsized emotions with outsized events.

"The Perks of Being a Wallflower" is a case in point.  There's enough melodrama here for both a John Hughes movie and a Zach Braff film.  One character is in a relationship with a closeted captain of the football team.  Another always loses her crushes to a prettier friend.  The two main characters harbor deep, dark secrets which, naturally, they will help one another work though.

It's a shame, because the film is quite well-directed by Stephen Chbosky, author of the novel upon which the film is based.  He nails the details of 1990s suburbia.  He sports an impeccable soundtrack and doesn't just use it as a lazy method of characterization; he comments on teens' relationship with pop culture knowingly.  He pulls off several visually arresting sequences, no small feat for a first-time director.  And he gives his characters quirks and contradictions that make them feel like people you know.

Unfortunately, while the characters here feel true to life; the things that happen to them don't.