We’ve made no secret of the fact that the New Hampshire Film Fest is our favourite – New England this time of year is to die for, and the relaxed atmosphere makes the movie going extra nice. Some of you are here to watch along with us, but the rest of you can stay tuned for reviews and check our twitter for live updates – @AssholeMovies.
What if Batman was a bean counter? Okay, that’s not exactly what The Accountant is trying to do, but it’s close, closer probably than it intended.
Ben Affleck plays Christian Wolff (not his real name: alter ego), a mild-mannered, socially awkward accountant. And when he whips his glasses off, he becomes a vigilante crime fighter. Sort of. Okay, what actually happens is he keeps his glasses on in order to “uncook” the books for various crime syndicates. Like, for the worst and dirtiest people. But if they break his moral code, he either calls in the commissioner – excuse me – treasury agent (played 
by JK Simmons, who will indeed play Commissioner Gordon in Affleck’s upcoming The Batman) or goes ballistic on their ass. But not crazy ballistic: he remains very cold and very calm in order to diligently murder everyone in his path. So autism becomes a super power and The Accountant is just Batman without a cowl. Although admittedly when I saw Ben Affleck marking up a window, I immediately though of the role as a little more Good Will Hunting meets Jason Bourne – Matt Damon’s territory, in other words.
In order to play autistic, Ben goes affectless and Affleckless. He turns off the charm and the smirk and the simmering rage but doesn’t quite know what he’s left with. It doesn’t help that The Accountant suffers from its own identity crisis, sometimes darting into the phone booth as an action flick 
complete with stalky sniper Jon Bernthal (from Daredevil, just not THAT Daredevil) as the villain, only to emerge as a drama or worse yet, a quirkie indie romance with Anna Kendrick as the Mary Jane, I mean, the damsel in distress\love interest. And if this all sounds like a lot to keep track of, don’t worry, there’s a portion in the middle that’s perfect for taking a 20 minute nap and waking up feeling like you’ve missed nothing at all.
But for all that, I enjoyed The Accountant. It’s not going to make my top 10 this year, and maybe not even my top 10 this week (that’s not a hard knock, I’m just on my way to a film festival), but it was entertaining and fun, even if Gavin O’Connor’s direction is a bit uninspired. Plus, it’s kind of great to see autism as an asset rather than a setback. Affleck manages not to overplay his cards although the story does require us to equate a neurodevelopmental disorder with superior morality – superior even to the law, which has Viola Davis’s voice ringing in my ears – what if the next Superman is an accountant?
If you dial your memory reel back a few years, you may remember the controversy surrounding James Frey’s “autobiography” A Million Little Pieces. Oprah, having endorsed the book, came down particularly hard on him for fabricating many of the juiciest bits of the book.
Stephen Elliott is a lesser-known memoirist with a similar fate: one night at a reading for his book in which he details the death of his mother, his father’s abuse, the group homes and addictions, living on the streets, and ultimately his father’s death as well, his father stands up from the crowd and declares himself alive.
Hm. Okay. Elliott’s publisher and agent are not terribly impressed. Book deals crumble. His integrity’s in shambles. And so he falls down a deep dark hole called writer’s block.
Before we move on, let me just state: all of this may or may not be true of the real Stephen Elliott. Elliott’s a real guy who sold the rights to The Adderall Diaries to James Franco for a good heap of money, but has since said that the material is so altered it seems strange, and dishonest, that they still call the character by his name.
Elliott’s father did heckle him at a book reading though. And he left a nasty trail of Amazon reviews to Elliott’s books. Their relationship is certainly strained, and now matter how you slice the cake, the dude has been through some shit. Writing has helped him cope, acting as a release valve for all the hurt and anger he carries around.
When faced with a bad case of writer’s block, Elliott dealt with it by a) taking Adderall, a drug for people with ADHD and b) attending the murder trial of Hans Reiser, who used a “nerd defense” to no effect and was convicted of murdering his wife. The book is subtitled A Memoir of Moods, Masochism, and Murder, and all three are are intertwined messily in the film.
Lots of famous faces lined up to take part in The Adderall Diaries: Franco as Elliott of course;
Amber Heard as his girlfriend; Cynthia Nixon as his agent; Ed Harris as his father; Christian Slater as the accused murderer. Unfortunately, the “story”, such as it were, is a jumbled mess, and you can’t make much sense of the conflicting plot lines. And James Franco just wants to swagger through it all, convinced it’s his chance to play a badass in a leather jacket when actually he’s supposed to be playing a man stunted with pain.
The film, Pamela Romanowsky’s directorial debut, neglects to make much of an impact, though it does have some interesting stuff to say about trauma’s effect on memory. But on true crime, family, forgiveness, and addiction it widely misses the mark. It’s too bad. I think there was a better film in there somewhere, between the daddy issues and the flouncy flashbacks. But it just feels ironic that a book about “retrieving memories and reordering information” gets a movie treatment that illustrates how slippery truth can be by obscuring the most basic of facts.
You can watch The Adderall Diaries on Netflix, and judge for yourself, but be warned: the only thing more subjective than truth is art.
Charlie Wilson (Tom Hanks) was a Texas congressman, a jolly womanizer but otherwise fairly low-level until his good friend former beauty queen Joanne (Julia Roberts) convinces him to take time away from his hot tub shenanigans to make a little trip to help the Afghan people.
In the early 80s he visits the Pakistani president who is frustrated with inadequate American support in opposing the Soviet Union. Pakistan is flooded with Afghan refugees (a fifth of them!), but thousands of others have been slain. They send Wilson to a refugee camp and he can’t help 
but be moved by what he sees there. Going home a changed man in his heart, he rallies around the cause. His personal life, though is still a shambles: US Attorney Rudy Giuliani is leading an investigation against him for allegations of cocaine use.
Philip Seymour Hoffman provides brilliant support as a maverick CIA guy who is leading the covert US effort in Afghanistan. Wilson ultimately multiplies the American contribution by a hundred fold, and it becomes a huge part of the foreign policy of the time, but there aren’t exactly a lot of easy answers here and Hoffman’s crazy windmilling arms tell us a lot about the near-impossibility of his job.
Julia Roberts is of course poised as hell, the perfect choice for a controlled, smart, beautiful woman who knows what she wants, and how to manipulate men to get it. The few scenes she shares with Amy Adams, playing Wilson’s administrative assistant, are quite punchy, their rivalry crackling. Emily Blunt makes a brief appearance in her underwear as well, which means I didn’t know who Emily Blunt was back in 2007 when I would have seen this for the first time.
Tom Hanks is commanding as always, but I have to wonder whether he was the right man for the role. Some of the juiciest material of this “true story” seems to have all but disappeared, his drug use played down (have we ever seen Hanks snort cocaine?), his DUI unmentioned, and his worry about what happens when the US inevitably disengages from Afghanistan only vaguely alluded to.
The truth is, there were unintended consequences to this involvement. When Afghanistan lay in ruins, the US pulled out, washed their hands of death and destruction they had funded, and this left a vacuum for Osama bin Laden to emerge as a power player. I have read from multiple sources that Tom Hanks couldn’t deal with the 9-11 implications, so they were largely written out, with just the identifiable sound of a plane flying over Washington hinting at what was to come. The film is quite good, almost great, but I do wonder if someone else was bringing it to life, could it have maybe been a Dr. Strangelove for a new generation? I guess we’ll never know.
Emily Taylor (Rooney Mara) is trying very hard to be happy. Her husband (Channing Tatum) is newly released from prison and they can resume their lives together. But happiness isn’t coming easy: Emily is depressed, and suicidal. She begins seeing a new doctor 
(Jude Law) who prescribes an anti-depressant called Ablixa. Ablixa’s causing some strange side effects though. Worrisome side effects. Violent side effects.
Side Effects is a smart, well-crafted thriller by Steven Soderbergh. He’s heavily influenced by Adrian Lyne’s Fatal Attraction and hits all the right marks for a taut, twisty little thing. He’s not big on making a statement about pharmaceuticals or psychiatry or mental illness, any of which might have been appropriate.
I forgot how much I liked this movie. It was supposedly Soderbergh’s last, 
and it seemed one he could be proud to go out on. TV stuff notwithstanding. But now, at the ripe old age of 53, he’s “come out of retirement” to do Logan Lucky, the new Daniel Craig\Sebastian Stan\Channing Tatum\Katherine Heigl\Adam Driver\Hilary Swank Nascar-heist movie.
But back to Side Effects. The first half is about guilt and mental health: how they interact in a doctor’s office, and in a court of law. The second half is a little more Alfred Hitchcock than Adrian Lyne. Things come unglued. The second half is less successful than the first but a fun, 
engrossing watch. The anxiety is ratcheted up expertly, with Soderbergh always in control. Rooney Mara is a terrific actress and she coasts ably over any rough terrain. Catherine Zeta-Jones and Jude Law keep up. Soderbergh stays at the top of his game as well – true, he circumnavigates truth and exploration in favour of entertainment, but it’s forgivable. It’s always forgivable when it’s this fun to watch.
Is this movie worth watching for Paul Rudd’s douchey earring?
Jason Bateman plays a dick very well. Unfortunately, Zach Braff plays a dick very naturally himself. Like, even when he’s not supposed to. Even when he’s supposed to be the sympathetic character. Does anyone actually like Zach Braff?
Tom (Braff) is a NYC cook who loses his job on the very day his wife Sofia (Amanda Peet) gives birth. As punishment, they move to Ohio where Tom 
will work with Sofia’s dad at some new-agey ad agency while she stays home to care for the baby. Tom is mentored at work by Chip, the son his father in law never had, and incidentally Sofia’s ex-boyfriend. Chip (Jason Bateman) is a grade A ass but for some reason only Tom (and we) see it, possibly because Chip is in a wheelchair and kind of milks that for all it’s worth. But as hard as Bateman tries to steal the scenes with smug, smarmy schtick, he just can’t keep this stinker afloat.
The Ex has been disowned by nearly everyone who made it. The credited screenwriters, David Guion and Michael Handelman, insist that most of what you see isn’t really their material, nor the director’s, come to think of it. “It was unfortunate because the director, Jesse Peretz, is great and very talented, but the movie was ultimately taken out of his hands.” I’m not sure if that’s true – certainly there’s not a lot of evidence of capable direction in the film. It feels half-cooked, sitcomy, and oddly truncated, like someone was just washing their hands of it rather than actually finishing it. And yet it’s been presented to audiences like it’s a real film that you should watch. And it just isn’t (despite the fact that I’ve seen it twice now). Viewer beware.
I have 3 sisters, all younger, not that I usually admit that. We look nothing alike (one makeup artist once had the audacity to question our mother’s fidelity) and we act even less alike – personalities, politics, habits and hairstyles. We are DIFFERENT. With a mere 5.5 years between the oldest and youngest, I still feel oddly protective of 
them and it’s mind-boggling to think that they’re not in fact little girls anymore, but women, and 2 of them mothers with babies of their own. Not dollies, babies. And not even babies: one nephew is already a dinosaur expert, another an enthusiastic soloist, and a third a stunt bike rider. They’re all 5 and under and as handsome as they are smart (which is inherited from the aunt, right?).
I’ll be on my way to see them this weekend since it’s Thanksgiving and all, the holiday where we honour the tradition of my mother being an almost adequate and fantastically bland cook, the upside being we all manage not to overeat.
I have 3 sisters (and 3 sisters-in-law) but I do not have an Other Sister. The Other Sister (as in the movie, and the character) is Carla, the sister who has a mental disability. Played by Juliette Lewis, Carla was sent away as a child when her disability proved too big a 
disability for her family to handle. Now a young woman, she’s moved back home and is trying to assert her independence. Her mother, played by Diane Keaton, has never really known how to parent her. Her sisters (Poppy Montgomery, Sarah Paulson) didn’t grow up with her. It’s making friends with someone with his own challenges (Daniel, Giovanni Ribisi) that inspires Carla to aspire to a larger life.
All of the sisters in The Other Sister are celebrating Thanksgiving in the film, an especially auspicious holiday because it’s the date Daniel and Carla choose to consummate their love. Turkey makes any anniversary more special, as you can imagine. And pie is always good post-sex. Post-nearly-everything. I’m not sure if any of my sisters are marking similar occasions, and I bet I won’t even ask. Instead I’ll say thanks for all the blessings in my life, even the teeny tiny ones like my pink headphones that let me watch sappy movies at work. Happy Thanksgiving to you too.
You probably know, somewhere in the back of your brain, that Israel has mandatory military service. When you turn 18, you get drafted into the army. Men serve 3 years, women usually about half that. But have you ever thought about what exactly that entails? Picture, for a moment, the flightiest girls in your high school. Now put them in uniform. In bootcamp. In a latrine.
Zero Motivation does just that: it puts us into a remote outpost in the Israeli 
desert and gives us female soldiers for company. Some of them have been given jobs in name only (Daffi is a “Paper and Shredding NCO” who spends most of her time beating the high score in Minesweeper) and most are counting down the days until they return to civilian life. Their officer, Rama, however, is trying to make this her career…
There’s something of the dorm life at play, the cafeteria, the shared accommodations, the communal showers, the flirting. Only with guns and uniforms. Director Talya Lavie makes the most of the slightly absurd circumstance and the comedy is irreverent, and often quite dark.
Zero Motivation is tonally inconsistent, often catching you off guard. You’re meant to feel a little unsteady, building on a commentary that’s sharp and almost post-feminist in its regard. There are plenty of movies that have something to say about the inanity of military life, but this one offers a shockingly fresh perspective
Somebody really set out to make this Sam character absolutely despicable. He’s a caricature of the worst kind of womanizer – a pig, sure, but an all-around jerk with no redeeming qualities. He only seems to get ahead at work because his boss is nearly as greasy and gross as he is.
Perfect women are described as “skinny, stupid, and 
drugged out of their minds” – models, of course. So how do we punish such a misogynist? We turn him into a woman of course. Yup, it’s an identity swap movie, and there’s not even a cute cat in it to make it remotely palatable. And the worst part is that once “Sam” is turned into a woman, the misogynist bullcrap is ramped up because it’s somehow funny to have a cute girl spouting utter shit. I might, might, look past this if there was anything remotely non-disgusting in the script but in fact, all the men are dogs and all the women are shrews. Like real life! And then there’s all the implausible bits.
Anyway. It made me think about what it would be like if my friend and fellow asshole Matt talked to me like the dudes talk to each other in the movie. If Matt were to always refer to Sean as “the old ball and chain” and mocked me openly for being in a relationship with such a “ball buster” and refused to do anything with us as a couple because Sean is insufferably beneath us.
So do you know anyone like this? Someone who openly denigrates marriage and talks about women like all they’re all either secretaries or temptresses, or better yet, both?
And do you think that your workplace would ever accept a random cousin of yours mysteriously filling in for you if you ever disappeared without notice?
A young couple, Lena (Emma Watson) and Daniel (Daniel Bruhl), are enjoying each other’s company in Chile when shit hits the fan. She’s just a flight attendant but he’s a journalist who’s become politically involved, so when the country undergoes a military coup in 1973, he’s fingered in a lineup and disappeared by Pinochet’s secret police.
He winds up at Colonia Dignidad, on the face just another weird cult run by a crazy preacher named Paul Schäfer but, in fact, it also doubles as a torture prison. Lena decides joining the cult is her best bet to save Daniel, so in she 
goes, putting herself at the mercy of a nutbar pedophile cult leader and his woman-beating cronies. This is the kind of movie into which you can never lose yourself entirely because you keep pulling yourself out of it to yell at the protagonists. You know in a horror movie the whole theatre is practically yelling “Don’t go in there” but of course she goes in there, even though we all knew better? And she gets diced into a million bite-sized pieces? Well this is one of those movies, except it isn’t a horror, and there’s no excuse for doing what it does. Bad writing, I suspect, and a movie that doesn’t really know what it wants to be when it grows up. With two idiot protagonists who keep making the dumbest decisions ever, you won’t care whether they live or die. And for a film that’s trying to shed some light on a pretty gruesome chapter in Chilean history, it’s also succumbing to the misplaced love story temptation. Because nothing overcomes a cruel dictator like True Love between nitwits.
ASSHOLES WATCHING MOVIES 