Workaholics: Season 1 (2010)

For those looking to fill the void between episodes of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Archer, or even Eastbound & Down can look no further than Comedy Central’s wildly addictive series Workaholics. Created and acted by three young comedians from the web troupe "Mail Order Comedy", this 30-minute situational comedy follows Anders (with a hard “an”), Blake, and Adam as they do drugs, go to work, get drunk, go to work, wear bear jackets, go to work, celebrate Half-Christmas, go to work, pass drug tests, go to work, and befriend a pedophile. Fitting the niche for those that loved Pineapple Express or Superbad, Workaholics prides itself for not only being a stoner comedy, but by highlighting the insanity of minimum wage white-collar work on today's disjointed youth. In the first ten episodes of season one, we follow our trio through a series of unrealistic situations that will not only shape our characters, but also provide 220-minutes of unadulterated comedy. (“We don’t have a substance abuse problem. If anything we have a Subway abuse problem. We destroy $5 footlongs”)

Drawing parallels between this and the adventures of Dee, Denis, Mac, and Charlie would not go unwarranted. Upon first view of Workaholics the structure is nearly identical to that of our workers at Paddy’s Pub, but as the season begins to catch its stride, Workaholics proves a stronger comedic entry. Being a fan of “Flip-adelphia”, it is not harsh to say that the later seasons felt less funny, less-original, more Seinfeld-structured. The antics of Anders, Blake, and Adam return to the roots of non-linear chaos. Workaholics does not create characters that feel warm and fuzzy, in fact the darkness and explicit nature of their humor and choice antics will turn many viewers off. Yet, the bar has been set to discover wittier dialog, faster comedy, and uncomfortable stabs at taboo topics (ie Insane Clown Posse concert) in today's television world. Philadelphia has played it safe for the two most recent seasons, while this proves that cable TV comedy does not have to sit at the helm of Conan O'Brien or Jon Stewart. Following in the footsteps as Kids in the Hall and Stella, Workaholics has taken that rambunctious comedy and spun it into the real world. Their visual timing coupled with sharp tongue will force you to watch every episode in one sitting, and like Pavlov, you will be salavating for more. In this critics opinion, Workaholics has some of the BEST dialog coming out of television today. (Catherine Zeta Jones dips beneath the lazers.)

The first season of Workaholics provides new-classic episodes like “The Promotion”, “Muscle I’d Like to Flex”, and my personal favorite, “Checkpoint Gnarly”. (“I hope it was Yo-Yo Marvelous.”)

I typically find myself rambling on about films or television that is compelling to me, but with Workaholics, I am afraid of ruining the power of each of these episodes. This is a discovery series, meaning it will take some time to find its place in the scheme of lasting comedy (and I wouldn't be surprised like Arrested Development that we lose it too soon), and many will go throughout their lives without seeing an episode of this show - and that is wrong. I would love the opportunity to play beer-pong with these guys, or honestly, just have the cubical next to theirs. I would not be able to stop laughing. Watch this show. Tell your friends about this show. Support three comic talents proving they can handle the bigger leagues. This is not an unforgettable season, this is merely the beginning of a new genre of television. (“There's gonna be two hits, me hitting you in the face and Kid Rock's Bawitdaba playing in the background”)

Why are you still here? It's $10 on Amazon today, get-to-gettin! Oh, and you better have my honey!

The Ides of March (2011)

The Ides of March boasts itself as a modern political thriller, unveiling the sullied underbelly in today’s presidential races.  It is seen through the eyes of Stephen “Stevie” Meyers played by Ryan Gosling, as he maneuvers difficultly through the chaos, swagger, and rules that follow a presidential hopeful.  Stevie writes the words that Governor Mike Morris (Clooney) takes to the stand for every rally and debate.  He is an idealist, persuading candidates to say words that will cause change while sustaining strong percentages in the polls.  We join this film near the end of the primaries, where it is down to two candidates reaching for support in Ohio.  If they can favor the votes of Senator Thompson, that particular candidate will take the lead, and the dominos for the rest of the election will fall.  Helping Morris and Stevie as head of the campaign is Paul Zara (Philip Seymour Hoffman), whose arch rival, Tom Duffy (Giamatti) runs the office of the opposing candidate.  Tensions are tight as Thompson wavers between Morris and rival, questioning each one’s values and pushing them into dark corners.  Meanwhile, Stevie makes a bold decision to dip his toe in the rival’s pool.  This, oddly, is the catalyst for the balance of this film.  We watch, at times nervously and at other times cautiously, as Stevie discovers a young flame within the polling station, only to see that flame extinguished by the man he has pledged allegiance to.  The lines are then blurred between power and corruption, and a very real, very nightmarish vision of politics is discovered.  Remember, those with information hold the puppet’s string.

There is no question that politics is dirty.  Every four years, we watch as candidates get slung through the mud, hoping to come out the other side with the biggest slice of our apathetic vote.  The Ides of March doesn’t try to show us a glorious side to politics, or change the perception of the truth; but in the same sense, it proves that it has nothing new to show us.  George Clooney has crafted an extremely safe film that boasts a phenomenal cast, but a mediocre story.  The journey Clooney takes us on through the eyes of Gosling never quite reaches the level of lukewarm.  Equipped with odd side chapters, lumpy characters, and a twist that could be seen from the posters alone, The Ides of March becomes a cinematic oddity.  What was Clooney’s goal?  What type of film is this supposed to be?  Are we witnessing the transformation of a young idealistic staffer into the darkness of politics?  Is Clooney demonstrating the normality of intern struggle with his introduction of Jill Morris?  What does this film mean today?  Or is he showing that no candidate, no matter how good he sounds on paper, is flawed?  These seem like the questions Clooney wanted to ask, but was concerned about mass audience appeal.  Which would be safer; crafting an Oliver Stone-esque conspiracy movie or a film that would resonate with the Thursday afternoon geriatric watcher?  There were no boundaries broken, no political mayhem to sink our teeth into, or any impressive characters.  His Good Night, and Good Luck (or better yet Confessions of a Dangerous Mind) was more of a taut thriller than this film.  The Ides of March had the makings of an impressive film to dazzle your eyes and your mind, but in the end it felt like a political afterthought. (or better yet, a redundancy)

With Clooney fumbling behind the camera, it was up to our actors to take control.  If the ship is sinking, do you jump ship or save the remaining passengers?  For Ides of March, everyone jumped ship.  This was Ryan Gosling’s year, with Drive and the simple, yet effective, Crazy, Stupid Love, it is disheartening that his worst performance of the year will be his 2011 swan song.  Devoid of emotion and scattered with reason, one could not grasp who Stevie Meyers was, will be, or even wanted to be.  A proprietor of truth and reason, this changes instantly when faced with a dilemma.  Gosling’s stumbling introduction also creates chaos for the viewer because as we believe him to be true to Morris’ campaign; but he is not afraid to visit with Duffy?  What led Gosling to this point of imbalance?  We need someone to guide us through a film, and Gosling couldn’t keep his head above this Clooney mess.  The same can be said for Hoffman, Giamatti, and even Clooney himself.  Pretentiousness aside of casting yourself as the presidential hopeful, at least define yourself.  The “kitchen” conflict felt forced and unwelcomed in this film.  The Ides of March felt like a coven of bickering girls vs. a true political pot-boiler.  Clooney would have been more apt to title this Mean Girls 2.  Surprisingly, the only saving character in this film is Marisa Tomei, which speaks to (my opinion) the truth of this movie.  She plays the swarthy reporter assigned to follow the nagging characters.  She is seen bantering back and forth, a playful game of cat and mouse, when Gosling approaches her with his emotions.  She rebuffs with a great speech about not being his friend, that this was a job.  She felt like the only glue to the rest of the characters, and the only interesting character in the entire film.  

I cannot understand how The Ides of March received the praise that it did.  It is Clooney’s sloppiest film to date, and despite the great cast, they all  walk through this film with mediocrity like it was a Tuesday at the office.  The intensity was missing, the big surprise ending wasn’t there, and the emotional drama seemed to be forgotten, so it left us with just a splattering of what could have been a great movie.  The Ides of March could have been a political film that really dove deep into the world of presidential candidates, but instead it played soft, gripping us to nothing except the final ending credits.  It was a major disappointment, leaving the average viewer with too many questions and not enough answers.  Gosling and Clooney had better films this year. 

The Guard (2011)

During the 80s and 90s Hollywood had a structure. There were certain genres of film that were guaranteed to please mass audiences and ensure box-office success. There were movies such as operatic sci-fi features, dismal horror franchises, and the recycled, yet inevitable, buddy-cop comedy. Defined as a crime film with plots involving two men of very different and conflicting personalities who are forced to work together to solve a crime, this sub-genre of the “buddy films” seemed to have become transparent until the late 2000s when the wave of Apatow buddy comedies (Pineapple Express, Superbad) seemed to saturate the market. The mismatched Gibson/Glover combination was replaced by crass humor, drug smoking, and over-exaggerated tween underdogs. Now, the classic genre seems to be returning with such films like Kevin Smith’s Cop-Out and Guy Ritchie’s Sherlock Holmes, and especially with John Michael McDonagh’s 2011 film The Guard. This film oozes buddy-cop from the beginning, boasting huge talent from the likes of Brendan Gleeson, Don Cheadle, and the overused Mark Strong. Gleeson plays a small town Irish Garda (cop), who isn’t afraid to speak his mind and rule the coop. From the opening car accident, Gleeson is shown as an officer who realizes crime will happen; his role is to be there to clean it up. This isn’t a story about a corrupt cop, but merely a man understanding Ireland and reacting with the modern crime climate. Everything has its place, Gleeson is introduced to FBI Agent Everett (played with sheer boredom by Don Cheadle) by way of a faux-occult serial killing. By a cinematic miracle, the two join together to bring down an international drug smuggling ring, attempt to tell a few jokes, and finally end up causing more confusion than clarity throughout the hour and thirty minute ride.

Praised at Sundance for being funnier than Hot Fuzz and In Bruges combined, The Guard does allow Brendan Gleeson to take a leading comic role. This is a step away from the stoic historical figures and emotional dramas that viewers typically find on Gleeson’s platter. This feels fresh. While Hot Fuzz was more unchained pop-culture comedy, Gleeson provides the perfect blend of wit, emotion, and Irish vernacular. You laugh AT Simon Pegg; but in The Guard you laugh WITH Gleeson. Listening to him speak lines like...

“You're thinking, these men are armed and dangerous, and you being an FBI agent you're more used to shooting at unarmed women and children...”

...one is introduced to a great taste of the culture and the foreign surroundings. This is Brendan Gleeson’s film. He controls the scenes, he leads the fight, and he provides the comic relief. His nomination for a Golden Globe demonstrates his dominance in this film. The Guard is worth the time merely for Gleeson alone, which leads me to Don Cheadle. Cheadle’s choice Everett’s characterization could, and should, have been done by anyone in the movie industry (animal or vegetable). He was monotonous, he was bland, he was dull, and he provided no value to the overall story or plot structure. Perhaps Cheadle was overshadowed by Gleeson’s Boyle, but the two did not fit the above mentioned definition of “buddy-cop”. There needed to be a driving force behind Cheadle instead of merely lap-dogging around Ireland with Gleeson. Jokes fell flat with Cheadle, unsure if he felt out of place in Ireland, or it was the writing, but when Cheadle goes door to door searching for evidence (or a witness), we are uncomfortable instead of laughing. Gleeson throws the jabs and zings, while Cheadle merely absorbs and shuffles his was from scene to scene. With this undesirable turn, The Guard instantly transforms into a Brendan Gleeson movie, with a lackluster supporting role by Don Cheadle (animal or vegetable).


Admitting, the cinematography was beautiful in this film. Larry Smith should be praised for taking the stark grey of Ireland and coupling it with some bright neon interiors of each scene. Alas, despite how beautiful this film looked, the story itself could not keep up. Written by In Bruges' brother John Michael McDonagh, our story is flawed in the execution. Small parts do not seem to fit within the frame of the whole. This should have been a simple drug story, but McDonagh intermits his screenplay with unannounced small twists (i.e. the occult murder) that try to keep us guessing, but instead sends you down winding paths with no end in sight. We know, early in the film, who our villains are (and if you don’t – look for the group of guys [Mark Strong] who are cast as villains in nearly every film), and this reveal should send us on a straight path to the ending. But, instead of being our guide to the dramatic conclusion, McDonagh’s script calls for a child picking up guns in the swamp and conversations on “liquidate” to fill space. When the ending arrives, the audience is so washed from the experience and mismatched storylines, that no emotion or excitement can be produced for the final seconds. In this viewer’s opinion, McDonagh was attempting to recreate the popularity of his brother’s film In Bruges by casting Cheadle in a lead role, but unlike Colin Ferrell and Brendon Gleeson’s chemistry, McDonagh doesn’t give enough for Cheadle to do, and it becomes a one-man film full of dissapointment.


In the end, The Guard is a fun ride, but not a perfect film. Watch this movie for Gleeson’s comedic talent and Don Cheadle’s epic failure. The pairing is weighted to the wrong side and despite the beauty of each scene, the story’s focus is too scattered for the short amount of time. Too many personalities attempt to fight for screen time forcing Gleeson to the top. This is a foreign film, and perhaps some of the Irish nuances were lost in translation, but not a film that should have been a bigger money-maker than The Wind that Shakes the Barley. Good, but nowhere near great. John Michael McDonagh doesn’t quite have the talent behind the camera as his brother Martin has already demonstrated, and recreating the same wheel doesn’t showcase your talent for cinematic imagination.

The Last Circus (2010)

The Last Circus is a horrible movie. To note, this is not being written by anyone that finds violence abhorring or is shocked by sex or even lacks the creative ineptitude to understand deeply rooted symbolism; but instead this is being said by a film watcher who witnessed a mismatched blend of creative and visuals in a film that should (nay, needed) to have been worthier of the Silver Lion at the Venice Film Festival. There is no denying that Alex de la Inglesia is a notable filmmaker, but The Last Circus is not the director’s tipping hat. From the moment our sad clown (Javier) hears an unfunny joke by the supposed “happy” clown (Sergio), The Last Circus (or should we all say The Ballad of the Sad Trumpet [cough]) transformed from shocking visual cinema to a mismanaged company heading straight toward the red. This felt like a project that was too big, too flashy, to nondescript to create a compelling slice of cinema. Even as we open; the sound of the resistance, the grumblings of the circus, the fear of the children, the chaos of battle; seem to be forgotten the moment Inglesia has the opportunity to demonstrate his penchant for blood, special effects, large-breasted women, and the absurd. The Last Circus bases its watch-ability on the fact that each scene attempts to be more impressive than the next; which in theory sounds powerful, but when it adds nothing to the crux of a story – it ends up being merely extra screams in an inevitable car crash. Why run into the trailer when a sadistic boyfriend is on your trail? Logic. The Last Circus laughs in the face of logic. There is no “why”, or “what”, or “how”, or anything connecting one scene to the next. An example of this would be the introduction late in the film of a memory that haunts Javier’s life (see trumpet). Where was this earlier in our development? If this is needed to challenge our character, than challenge; do not add garbage to an otherwise already cluttered scene. Throwing information into our character’s social well-being this late in the film muddies the impact on the ultimate finale. As our character ascends the cross in pursuit of his woman, does that particular scene carry relevance to anything? If your answer is no, the point is made. With no character development, no preemptive childhood scene, nothing tying us back to the central focus of this film - Inglesia pushes us head-first into the violence, into the lacking characters, and into a story that builds upon nothing, and shatters into oblivion.

On a side note, it is understandable, and respectable, that everything placed within this film is to represent a portion of history surrounding the Spanish Civil War (…it still doesn’t make this a great film). When viewed amongst more educated friends, they brought to the conversation the lineage of truth Inglesia planted within this mess. While they appreciated the history (specifically, the scenes involving Javier chasing pheasants for the General – representative of Spain’s class structure at this time), there was not enough hints of this throughout the film. Grass fed chickens we are not, but for those less impressed by the history of Spain there needed to still be a good movie among the rubble to rest your eyes upon.

In the end, The Last Circus' blend between the real and fantasy, the swirl of historical and metaphoric, and the shock of violence and destruction hit no mark.  It was a decent try, but Inglesia could not carry the weight of this film.  It was too much in a less than two hour performance.  Ideas implanted at the last moment forced this humble viewer to witness the sloppiness of this movie, and realize that Inglesia is a great director, but without his typical writing partner, Jorge Guerricaechevarría, the point fell flat.  Failing on potential, the Tarantino-esque violence could only carry him so far, and the rest was utter embarassment.  

I cannot write anything more about this movie.

Moneyball (2011)

Sitting with a cool beer in one hand, a hot dog in the other, a group of friends could easily argue the semantics of modern baseball until they were blue in the face. With constant shut-outs, players pulling multi-million dollar deals and product-placement as the new American dream; it is not hard to see the modern athlete as being less skill-oriented and more pop-culture celebrity as they step up to the plate. Who will sell more tickets? Who will look good with an A-list actress on his arm? Who can ensure Gatorade will always be sold in grocery stores? These are tough questions facing baseball today, not who is the better player? Who can hit the ball further? Who makes runs? This change in one of America’s most endearing past times is the topic of conversation in Bennett Miller’s recent film, Moneyball, and his subject of choice – Oakland A’s General Manager, Billy Beane - baseball’s most notorious loser.

Beane has always been interested in sports. Playing basketball, baseball, and football in high school, he dropped football to ensure an old injury wouldn’t hurt his baseball dreams. After declining admission into Stanford University to join with the New York Mets, Beane soon realized that he couldn’t match the same skill set. Unable to change his decision about Stanford, Beane found comfort behind the scenes as first a scout and later as General Manager of the A’s. In Moneyball, he is played with lacking simplicity by Brad Pitt. While Pitt’s performance is being romanticized as award season rolls out, one can easily see it is not his best performance. That does not mean Moneyball is a lackluster film. While many argue this is Pitt’s Blind Side, one could easily argue that this is Miller’s The Departed (the film that Scorsese finally won for). Like Scorsese, this isn’t the greatest character film – but the best directorial effort this cinematic year. This is a movie about statistics, about how over-valued the game of baseball has become, and how large pools of dollars do not necessarily man pennants at home. This, without someone strong behind the camera, would be either a very dull movie about numbers or just another bio-pic about a leader that fell short in the final moments. Thankfully, with Miller’s ease, this becomes a watchable film about the “girth” of baseball. As he intermixes real moments in baseball coupled with our actors doing their part, he also races the screen with statistical numbers, computer logarithms, and as Hill says early in the film, “…their own Island of Misfit Toys”. Miller transforms this from an underdog sports film to a story about the human condition. He lingers on scenes that show Pitt on the phone arguing contracts, he demonstrates the absurdity of draft picks by painting a table of geriatrics looking for “Fabio”, the endearing close shot of Pitt’s worked eyes, and lacking voice of humanity when it is time to trade someone. Yet, despite Pitt receiving most of the praise, Miller demonstrates finesse by giving us a movie that doesn’t paint baseball in the greatest light. Miller’s visual of baseball isn’t pretty, and throughout this very well lit film, a trained eye can catch his jabs and insults at today’s modern game.

To appease those who have read this far, we will discuss Brad Pit, who meanders his way through this film by tossing chairs and snapping his fingers at Jonah Hill. His character portrayal of Beane, to those who are unaware of Beane’s life, will be confusing. What is his relationship with his daughter? Why is Spike Jonze with his wife? Why does he work out so much during games? Why did his mind suddenly flip statistically when he met Hill? All of these questions will remain unanswered as you sit through the nearly two hours of Pitt attempting to grab at anything sports related. I will give him that he is inspiring when he speaks, but as a majority of this film he is sitting, considering possibilities, and transforming into Zen Pitt – he just becomes pointless. Perhaps it was Sorkin’s writing that failed at developing anything secure, but Beane feels bland, like it is Pitt being Pitt on a lazy Sunday. Sorkin’s writing also creates further ailments as the film progresses – mismatched messages make us ask why we think Beane’s daughter is creative, only to underscore the feeling by having her lip-sync a song about her Dad being a loser? That immediately destroyed the emotion needed at that final moment by using a mere “American Idol” throwback. It was instances like this that fumbled horribly in this film as well and felt like the film leftovers of Sorkin’s other work, the greatly overpraised The Social Network. Michael Lewis’ work needed to have a stronger writer onboard to show value in the book that literally changed the face of baseball. Pitt’s performance will not even be remembered in a year’s time. Moneyball is Bennett Miller’s film. It is not a Brad Pitt movie. It is about the broken nature of baseball. It demands that we re-evaluate the grassroots of statistical analysis in the game and apply it to the valuation of the modern player (not just because he has an ugly girlfriend, he will be less confident).

Needless to say, Moneyball is not a film that will make you feel good about baseball. It is a dirty picture (despite the gloss of the frame) about a rag-tag band of losers that remain losers by the end of the film, and Pitt tries – and fails – as our trout swimming against the current trying to find greener pastures. Is this a movie about being a loser? Plenty of questions are proposed and later forgotten as the film progresses, and the stand-out star becomes the statistics and Miller’s direction. Moneyball is the type of film that gets you excited for no reason, and in the end, shows a guy who believed in the technology, but didn’t follow through. This is a film about the passion of math, and how its technical applications can be used to burst a bloated game. Baseball should fear Moneyball.

Breaking Bad: Season 1 (2008)

Near the end of the first season of Vince Gilligan’s AMC drama “Breaking Bad”, Walter White (played by the underrated Bryan Cranston) is offered a Cuban cigar. Despite suffering from life-threatening lung cancer, he takes the opportunity to enjoy the taste of this “imported” item. This leads directly into a conversation with Hank, his brother-in-law and a DEA agent, about the validity of illegal drugs. Walter uses prohibition as his example, observing that one day there were people on the streets breaking barrels open into the gutters, the next day; it became a staple to this country. Hank fires back that harder drugs (like cocaine or meth) could be a greater detriment to society than liquor [or even Walt’s supposed addiction to pot]. In this short three minute scene, the entire thesis statement for “Breaking Bad” is questioned. Is smoking an illegal Cuban cigar any different than becoming a meth chemist? “Breaking Bad” takes this grey line and pushes the envelope further. Walter White is not a bad guy. He isn’t a dead-beat dad fighting bills and a troubling home life, but instead merely a scientific man who has been handed a difficult question. How do you make sure that you can provide for your family even after you have died?

The answer in “Breaking Bad” is to cook meth, to break the law for the sake of the common good - to break the law because you want to protect your family. Despite the common architecture of this story found in several films and television series, “Breaking Bad” feels unique and compelling due to organic-real acting and Gilligan’s detailed writing. Discounting the wobbly feeling of the first episode, “Breaking Bad” picks up pace with its second episode entitled Cats In the Bag… in which Walter and his meth-counterpart Jesse must decide what to do with two bodies in their RV, one living and one dead. Imagining that this was merely going to be a gritty series chronicling the unexpected rise of meth developers, my mindset quickly changed when Gilligan slowed down, and introduced us calmly to his lead, Walter White. Dressed in beige and driving a white Pontiac Aztek; Walter resembles the man next door, with a simple wife and a son who suffers from cerebral palsy, his life is not riddled with chaos numbers or symbolic ducks in the pool, his only crime is being a statistic in middle class America. With flashbacks of his prior life before becoming a teacher, a small glimpse into the future he could have had (with Grey Matter), and the horrors of modern medicine ($5000 merely for the initial consultation), Gilligan doesn’t make “Breaking Bad” into a story about the drugs. It is a story about Walter, and about choice. It is about the choice to fight cancer, the choice to let Crazy 8 go, it is about rediscovering one’s self amongst the rubble. While Gilligan paints Walt’s family well, at this point in the season they are merely there for dramatic effect. It is Walt that we are following, it is his cough that we feel each episode, and it is his humble nature that we applaud when the credits roll.

“Breaking Bad” understood its limitations in its initial season. This isn’t a series about immediate gratification, but instead about the long story. It isn’t a television series that tries to make you “gasp” around each turn. This is a character development story. While each episode contained elements that were compelling to the story, it is Walt’s transformation/personality that pulls you back to another episode. How? See: Cranston’s ability to make Walter White more than just a money hungry drug maker, but a family man struggling to keep it together. One of my favorite episodes came early, when Walt had a diabolical run in with a man merely known as KEN WINS (located in episode Cancer Man). This demonstrated to me (better than the long dialog between Cranston and Crazy 8) what Walter White was capable of, and what I should expect in the episodes/seasons to come.

Finally, “Breaking Bad” has a message. It has something to say about healthcare in our society, it has something to say about casual drugs in America, and it has something to say about family values. I began this review with a detailed scene between Hank and Walt (whose words still haunt me), but an even stronger analogy of the “Breaking Bad” core message can be seen in the episode A No-Rough-Stuff-Type Deal in which another equally bad crime questions the value of family. This is the type of writing that is missed in modern television, “The Sopranos” tried it but it became too muddied nearer to the end, and “Deadwood” became too visually heavy. “Breaking Bad” takes those lacking elements and chemically creates a stronger series. It takes modern working-man concerns, and allows Walter White to do what he does best – survive. With the tilt of his black hat in the junkyard, he best represents what many of us face daily – fear.

Another Earth (2011)

The history books claim that at one time popular belief was the world was flat. It was believed that if explorers found themselves reaching to the edge of our known planet, they would simply fall off into nothingness. Through trial and error, science, and reality, we know that not to be true. History also stated that popular belief was that the Earth was the center of the universe; that all planets (and suns) rotated around us. Again, through science, astrology, and exploration, we know that not to be true. Another Earth, this year’s low-fi sci-fi mumblecore film, takes these known truths and seems to spin them into a world of doubt and question. What if another planet showed up next to us? What if that planet showed signs of life? What if that planet looked just like Earth? Finally, what if was inhabited by us? These are the tough philosophical and personal questions posed in nearly the middle of this film, and surprisingly Another Earth rarely bothers to answer them. Instead, director (and co-writer) Mike Cahill turns the story inward and shows us that despite popular belief, we are not the center of our own universes.


Like what Primer did for time-travel or what Cold Weather did to the mystery genre, Another Earth attempts to do with the philosophies of space. There is no question, this is a science fiction film, but it does not follow the Hollywood standard. This is an emotional film that uses the fear of the unknown (aka the darkness of destiny) and turns it toward us, the viewers, and also into our neo-hero Rhoda Williams. It becomes a story about having the world tightly wound within your hands, but within a split second, everything can change. Williams was just accepted into M.I.T. the night Earth 2 arrived. The surprise of another planet coupled with a few drinks brought her world crashing down when she slammed into John Burroughs’ car, instantly killing his pregnant wife and child. Four years later, she is released from prison to return home; directionless, full of shame, and wanting to apologize, she arrives at the doorstep of Burroughs’ home under the ruse of a housekeeper. Since the accident occurred when she was a minor, her personal information was sealed, and thus the two are complete strangers with a history. As time develops, and broken as they are, Burroughs and Williams begin to heal together, individually working through the tragedy that destroyed their known worlds. Meanwhile, Earth 2 gets closer and closer, and the secret it holds becomes a startling reality.


Director Cahill has crafted a low-budget film that picks at your mind and personal beliefs. It rigidly paints two flawed characters trying to stand despite the weight of this world on their shoulders. Another Earth is a film about choices, about the subsequent outcomes of those actions, and the stemmed belief that if you didn’t look up at Earth 2 that eventful night, would life have taken a different course? From the beginning you realize this is not going to be an easy film to watch. With dark lighting, an abundant use of greys and blacks, the ever-popular shaky camera to build tension and lengthy scenes of staring into the void of the other planet, Another Earth grabs first and barely gives you time to question.


The tense chemistry between Marling and Mapother adds another dynamic layer to this film and continues to blur that line between drama and science fiction. The turmoil is so deep, so devastating between our two central characters that the only plausible escape comes in the form of a raffled trip to the water-based planet. When the trip offers more than just sights, but philosophical interaction with yourself, Another Earth hits a new note all together. It becomes a thinking film. To me, this is where Cahill begins to shine, and Marling’s script becomes genuine. The interjection of Purdeep into Williams’ world shows that accepting your choices and actions can be a viable solution to life. His screen time and interaction in this film is so small, yet his message is the crux of what Another Earth is trying to tell us. A single word written on the hand of a self-inflicted blind/deaf man spells the surrounding truth to Another Earth.


The ending, without being a strain, is a bit on the cliché side, but it is what the moment represents that will pull at your mind muscles. Is Earth 2 truly identical? Another Earth is a strong entry into the minimalist sci-fi cinema realm, and I am excited to grow with the work of Marling both behind the screen with her writing as well as what she can accomplish as an actor. Despite a small gripe of the Earth 2 image hanging in the sky too much (I knew it was there – did I constantly need to be reminded?), I feel this film opens the doors to great discussions as well as detailed “new” theories. For this critic, that is how films are evolving today – not only was Another Earth entertaining to view, but is it something that you could discuss with friends afterwards. A film fails if you walk away with nothing to say. My question to anyone reading is: Was there really an Earth 2?