Sheet-y Saturday.

Where we take a look at posters for upcoming features.

Up until a few minutes ago I had no idea what Moonrise Kingdom was about, now that I know, this poster is a thing of beauty. However before finding out what the plot was, the poster gave me a slightly creepy vibe, it reminded me of a Todd Solondz movie and we all know those aren't exactly fuzzy and cute.

What does the Moonrise Kingdom one-sheet say to you?

Transformers: Dark of the Moon *

Director: Michael Bay

Cast: Shia LaBeouf, Josh Duhamel, Rosie Huntington-Whiteley

John Malkovich, John Turturro, Tyrese Gibson, Frances McDormand

Condemning a Transformers movie for its lacking qualities has become as expected as having the very same movies squeeze every penny from the entire world population when they are released. What is it about Michael Bay's destruction extravaganzas that results so appealing and entertaining to people from China to Chile?

In theory it could be our everlasting desire to see our world being blown to pieces but perhaps when it comes to a Bay movie, it might be something else, perhaps all we want to see is how deeper will he sink cinema as an art form.

This is of course a rather snobbish theory and probably has nothing to do with what actually goes inside audiences minds as they watch Transformers: Dark of the Moon, a movie so preposterously bad that it can only be described as an exercise in extreme bad taste. From its historical revision premise that attributes the entire space race to a mysterious lunar landing caused by the Autobots, to its waste of perfectly good thespian talent (Frances McDormand, the bills must be raking up if you're in this), the film constantly pushes buttons in just how mediocre and shamelessly inefficient a movie can be.

Most of the story centers once again on the charmless Sam Witwicky (LaBeouf) who has been dumped by Megan Fox's character and is on the rebound with British import Carly, played by the oh-so-stunningly-beautiful Huntington-Whiteley.

How the average looking Sam gets these beauties? One can never say and this is even alluded to in a cringe worthy scene where his own mother (Julie White) asks him if it's because he has a big dick.

However, the more clever the movie thinks it's getting, the more perversely putrid it gets. By casting Dempsey as a villain for example Bay assumes he's bending some sort of genre conventions and pushing the boundaries of summer movie magic, when the truth is that he doesn't know how to design a character, much less direct an actor with enough subtlety and nuance to make us believe their back stories and emotional motives.

You may say, we don't go for Transformers for the emotional content but even as a spectacle, the movie remains derivative and rather ugly looking.

For all its fanfare about state-of-the-art CGI and 3D, the film looks like more of what we got in the first installments, with the robots' transformation only being slightly more impressive than the lust with which Bay shoots them in their car incarnation. Crap, after all, looks the same in two or more dimensions.

Worst of all might be the ideological content of the film, because for all its talks of alien forces and non-country specific references, Transformers are essentially a reactionary representation of the United States of America. Bay, who isn't the cleverest cookie in the political cinema jar, tries to turn his robotic giants into saviors of the planet, when all they really do is provide him with an easy way out of saying things like he thinks them.

In this one, the outrageous imperialism of the robots is obvious when after pretending to leave the planet (Bay tries to make them both saviors and migrant martyrs) they return and Optimus Prime declares how they will go against the law in order to defend freedom.

This idea isn't only disgusting because in the previous installment Bay gleefully destroyed the entire history of the Middle East but because in this, of all years, the idea of military invasion and the perpetuation of military colonies results completely tacky.

But fear not, Bay doesn't only offend the international community. In the film's centerpiece he uses the city of Chicago as a playground for destruction. With some scenes disturbingly recalling the attacks of September 11, you can't hep but wonder where exactly does this man fail to see how much he crosses the line.

Bay is like the conservative teenager who decides to join the army because a videogame taught him how cool it would be to kill people. Then again, what can you expect from a man who in one moment has an octopus-like robot performing something that resembles bukkake on poor Huntington-Whiteley's character?

Burn After Reading ***

Director: Ethan Coen, Joel Coen
Cast: George Clooney, Frances McDormand, John Malkovich
Tilda Swinton, Richard Jenkins, J.K. Simmons, Brad Pitt

Gym employees Chad Feldheimer (Pitt) and Linda Litzke (McDormand) find a disc containing information they assume to be highly classified CIA information.
They link the disc to former CIA analyst Osbourne Cox (Malkovich), who has just been fired from his job and has decided to write his memoirs, to the disapproval of his wife Katie (Swinton) who is having an affair with Treasury agent, womanizer, Harry Pfarrer (Clooney) and has decided to divorce Osbourne.
Dim witted Chad sees the opportunity to get a reward for the safe return of the information, while Linda would finally get the cosmetic surgeries she desires in order to enter the next stage of her life as she sees it, but when they get rejected by Osbourne they approach the Russian Embassy unleashing screwball comedy that gets as dark as the Coen brothers can deliver.
"So we don't really know what anyone is after" goes CIA superior (J.K. Simmons who is in the film for two scenes but might be the ones you remember the most) when one of his employees briefs him on the actions of the other characters. Truth is we really don't know where anything is going, which doesn't diminish the joyful rush of the ride.
"Report back to me when it makes sense" he asks later on with no better results.
Aimlessly, but not purposely, throwing their characters into the plot like mice inside a labyrinth, the Coens seem to be having the time of their lives (and with reason considering their previous film) also providing the ensemble with some of the most entertaining roles they've played.
Clooney, who now seems part of their filmography is at his underrated best, playing a man who has found in sex the thrills he's lacking in his married life. What's wonderful about his character particularly is that the Coend don't turn him into a dislikable sex fiend, just as someone who is looking for what he needs in all the wrong places but has a real soul.
If the Coens planned to create characters exemplary for their idiocy, their plan backfires as they can't help but inject a certain amount of sincere emotional ache in all of them.
When we find Harry is building a gift for his wife we can't help but go aww, when we see what the gift is (where Clooney's eyes sparkle with puppy like fervor) we cringe while we go aww and when he leaves his lover's house offended, sex pillow under his arm, we know this could very well represent his heart.
Malkovich, at his neurotic best, is the poster boy for upper middle class failure. An alcoholic in denial, he moves into his yacht where he drinks and does aerobics as he plans his comeback to the world that shunned him. You laugh at him more than with him, but Malkovich doesn't really care, he's like a human version of Tom the cat.
Swinton is magnificent combining her ice queen qualities with an irresistible sex appeal. With Malkovich she reminds us that familiarity breeds contempt as she is disgusted by everything he does. Swinton doesn't even need to roll her eyes to let us know her apathy.
Pitt's Chad is a genius comedic creation, as the actor vanishes into this bleached blonde muscle machine who smiles when he has no other way of defense.
He never stops chewing gum or moving to what one can only assume is some sort of 90's Eurotrash piece on his iPod, he is ditzy and, scarily reminiscent of some political juggernauts (one whose picture is featured in the film), harmlessly likable.
McDormand's Linda is also some sort of small miracle, the actress absolutely devoid of any vanity becomes this insecure woman whose lack of self esteem comes off as a bizarre, almost admirable determination. "I've gotten about as far as this body can take me" she says and can you really blame her for seeking options instead of just moping?
The Washington D.C. in this film is some sort of bubble where bureaucracy and patriot paranoia gets in the way of common sense.
Everyone seems to think they're part of a bigger picture and with this the Coens (with a wicked eye for comedic detail) poke fun at the mindless fear that pervaded post 9/11 America, Carter Burwell's selfonsciously selfimportant score does a brilliant job highlighting this.
But they also deliver an acute observation of how people face aging; you might very well argue that "Burn After Reading" is a midlife fantasia, both for the Coens who have become filmmakers of whom one expects only great cinema amidst their undeniable flops and of all the characters to whom their actions, as idiotic as they result, might be their last chance of making a difference for self and country.

Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day **

Director: Bharat Nalluri
Cast: Frances McDormand, Amy Adams
Lee Pace, Ciarán Hinds, Shirley Henderson
Tom Payne, Mark Strong

"What a difference a day made and the difference is you" goes the 1934 standard that fits this film like a glove.
Set in 1940's London, with the kind of naivete reserved for fluff entertainment of the era, the plot follows governess Guinevere Pettigrew (McDormand) over the length of a day when she finds herself out of a job and is forced to steal another colleague's client: the extravagant, bubbly American cabaret singer Delysia Lafosse (Adams) who has to choose between a club owner (the seductively wicked Strong), a young theater producer (Payne) and a penniless jazz pianist (Pace).
For Miss Pettigrew, who is used to dealing with children, and has gone through extreme poverty, Delysia's misadventures come off as a a bit of a slap in the face.
While for Delysia, who must deal with fashion and boy trouble, Pettigrew's old world knowledge serves as an instant rock of wisdom.
But what the film lacks is a midpoint between these too obvious extremes, which bode well for children's fairy tales, but lack the spice needed to work as an adult farce.
McDormand, although reliable as usual, is completely miscast, in a role that merely uses her to deliver "inspiring" lines that would fit Mary Poppins better.
The director seems to ignore that McDormand is a brilliantly dark comedienne who would've had no trouble exploring what lies beyond the "too good to be true" facade of Pettigrew.
This leaves the entire film to be owned by the ever improving Adams, who is so good at playing airheaded, that you never doubt her sincerity in the part. Watching her combination of sensuality with innocence is a real pleasure and during a musical sequence, she even gives Delysia shades of real, heartwrenching humanity.
The plot leaves no room for surprise (other than what fabulous gown will Adams sport next) because it uses every single element to lead us to an expected resolution.
This film could've easily been served from what it shows the most and uses the less: its divine eye for period design, which is left on a second level as it tries hard to deliver cheap philosophy intended to remind us that every day must be lived as if it was our last.
What "Miss Pettigrew" doesn't know is that the feeling it tries so hard to express, was effortlessly conveyed in movies of the era (think "Bringing Up Baby" or "To Be Or Not to Be"), which for their cinematic qualities also made the audience's lives much better in the process.