Ice Road: Vengeance, Starring Liam Neeson

Sure, climbing Everest is a struggle, but the twisty mountain roads getting there are no picnic either. Of course, that part is Mike McCann’s specialty. He made a cool $200K delivering rescue supplies for trapped miners in his first movie appearance, but his brother Gurty was murdered in the process. He now has a persistent case of survivor’s guilt, but when he comes to Nepal for closure, he finds action instead in director-screenwriter Jonathan Hensleigh’s Ice Road: Vengeance, which opens today in theaters.

Before the events of the first film, Gurty survived his Iraq deployment and so did his “in-the-event-of-my-death” letter, but McCann only just uncovered it amid their old papers. Evidently, he wanted his ashes dispersed on Everest, so off McCann goes.

Fortunately, he hired a dependable sherpa, Dhani Yangchen, who also happens to be a veteran (and a Buddhist, but the film never specifies which kind). That means both spring into action when two assassins try to hijack their bus. They intend to kill Vijay Rai, the son and grandson of activists resisting a sketchy dam project, but, obviously, everyone else on-board will be collateral damage.

In an extremely ironic twist, McCann and Dhani must lead their fellow passengers across the Chinese border, where they will be safe for the corrupt Nepalese cops collaborating with the assassins. To get there, they must traverse some extremely steep mountain roads and maneuver several ridiculously twisty hair-pin turns, but that sort of thing happens to be McCann’s specialty.

The original Ice Road was a Netflix hit, but obviously Chinese sources took over funding the franchise. At least there was an effort to be subtle, but there are still several positive references to China’s Belt-and-Road initiative, which is really a predatory lending scheme designed to enmesh developing nations in CCP debt. There is also a dubious association between the Chinse side of the border and law & order. For the reality, ask India about Chinese cross-border violence.

Absolution, Starring Liam Neeson

Why do young thugs keep underestimating and disrespecting old bad*sses? Don’t they know the old guys have more experience and greater likelihood of saying “to heck with it,” or something like that? Haven’t they seen any Clint Eastwood or Liam Neeson movies? This one is a Liam Neeson film. He plays a man simply called “Thug” in the credits who is losing his faculties, but he steely as ever in Hans Petter Moland’s Absolution, which opens today in theaters.

This might not be the first time Leeson played a tough guy losing his memory. I can’t remember, can you? Regardless, he is in familiar territory playing the “Thug,” who has many regrets, starting with the realization he is his violent father’s son. Lately, his undiagnosed CTE has progressed to the point he must resort to jotting down key details of his life, including the name of his gangster boss, Charlie Conner.

Awkwardly, Conner assigned the Thug to his idiot son, Kyle, who wants to take over the family business. Of course, Junior lacks both the brains and the guts, but the Thug often covers for him, which makes the entitled junior gangster resent him even more.

By the time the former boxer gets himself checked out, the prognosis is grim. He waited way too late, but there really isn’t any treatment anyway. He still might have time to patch things up with his daughter Daisy, but it will take repeated efforts to wear down her calcified resentments. However, Dre, the grandson he never knew he had, shows some curious interest in the steely old man. Weirdly, the “Woman” he picked up in a bar also shows some interest. Yet, ironically, when the Thug can hardly remember the most important aspects of his personal life, he cannot forget the desperate woman he unknowingly helped traffic, as part of a sketchy deal the younger Conner negotiated [poorly].

Frankly, critics do not give Neeson’s recent action films enough credit for maturing with their star. The better ones, like In the Land of Saints and Sinners and The Marksman are character studies of men facing their mortality and meditations on the psychological and social costs of violence. Frankly, all three are pretty strong movies. Arguably, the less distribution Neeson’s films get, the more apt they are to be good (that could very well apply to plenty of other thesps, as well).

Regardless, Neeson is rock-solid as the Thug, including the legit dramatic parts, when the enforcer is forced to face the implications of his diagnosis. Actors have won nominations for worse performances involving similar material, but critics will automatically dismiss Neeson because he also kicks a lot of butt.

In the Land of Saints and Sinners

One of the PR hazards of terrorism is that when you set out to kill innocent people, sometimes you kill the “wrong” innocent people. That is the case for Doireann McCann, when her IRA cell inadvertently blows up two children and mother, who happened to pass by their pub bombing at the worst possible moment. Until the heat blows over, they hide out in the remote coastal village of Glencolmcille, where nonpolitical hitman Finbar Murphy lives. He has had enough of killing in general, but he remains just as dangerous as he ever was in Robert Lorenz’s In the Land of Saints and Sinners, which opens today in theaters.

In 1974, “The Troubles” were heating up, but Murphy kills for money rather than a cause. Bart McGuiness was supposed to be just another job, but instead of begging for his life, he tells Murphy to make something of his lonely life before it is too late. If there is an award for performances under five minutes, Mark O’Regan ought to be in contention for his portrayal of McGuiness. Consequently, Murphy rather takes his words to heart, so he tenders his notice to his shady boss, the reclusive Robert McQue, and starts putting the moves on his single neighbor, Rita Quinn.

Murphy also notices the local barmaid’s daughter Moya is being abused by one of her mom’s unwelcomed house-guests. That would be Curtis June, part of the IRA hit squad that accidentally killed two little girls in Belfast. McCann just invited her way into her late brother’s home, obviously using the threat of violence. They were supposed to be laying low, but June’s behavior attracts Murphy’s’ attention. He basically tells McQue he is hiring his own services. McQue is against it, because he suspects June’s IRA affiliation, but Murphy mind is made up. Of course, McCann is the sort to hold grudges and extract an eye for an eye.

Land of Saints is Lorenz’s second film with Liam Neeson, following The Marksman. Both are similar in theme and vibe to Eastwood’s Gran Torino (which Lorenz produced), in the way Neeson’s older, crustier characters come to terms with their life decisions and decide to face-down dangerous foes, because they refuse to abide by any ethical code. The Marksman is a more straight-forward action movie (but a good one), whereas screenwriters Mark Michael McNally and Terry Loane tell a more sophisticated story of IRA intrigue.

Arguably, it is pretty impressive that the well-known assembly of Irish thesps would appear in a film that casts the IRA in such a negative light. This is a great cast, featuring the hardnosed trinity of Neeson, Ciaran Hinds, and Colm Meaney. Neeson does his thing as Murphy, but Lorenz helps him stretch a bit into more emotionally complex territory. As usual, Meaney is more fun than a sale on Guiness Stout as sleazy, crotchety McQue. Hinds radiates decency as Vincent O’Shea, the honest local copper (who thinks Murphy is a rare book dealer).

The Marksman: You Can Actually See it in a NYC Theater

Liam Neeson has less fear and more intestinal fortitude than James Bond or Black Widow. That is because he has opened not one, but two films theatrically during the Covid era. This time around, he still plays to his Taken-style strengths, but also acts his late-60s age in Robert Lorenz’s The Marksman, which is actually playing in brick & mortar New York City theaters.

Jim Hanson was a crack Marine Corps sharpshooter, but that was long ago, during Viet Nam. Most of his life, he was a productive rancher near the Mexican border. Sadly, the love of his life passed away several years ago, after a protracted struggle with cancer. As a result, his Arizona ranch is on the verge of foreclosure. That means he does not have much left to lose.

You can literally see the border from his property, so Hanson is often in contact with the Border Patrol—especially since his grown step-daughter also works for Immigration. One day, he catches Rosa and her young son Miguel, fleeing a vicious Mexican drug cartel through his property. Of course, Hanson cannot help getting involved. After the mother is fatally wounded in a shootout, Hanson reluctantly resolves to take Miguel to his family in Chicago, protecting him from the cartel during their journey. The ruthless Maurico will be hot on their heels, eager to avenge the brother Hanson plugged in the desert.

Basically, The Marksman is equal parts Gran Torino and Rambo: Last Blood, which works pretty effectively, just like it probably sounds. This is Neeson at his most weathered and world-weary, but he is still ultra-steely and hardnosed. The Eastwood vibe is no coincidence, considering Lorenz co-produced many Eastwood films (including Gran Torino) and directed him in his helming debut, Trouble with the Curve. The screenplay, co-written by Lorenz, Chris Charles & Danny Kravitz is mostly a straight-forward action road story, but Neeson has the gravitas to sell it and the chops to propel it.

Neeson really is terrific in the lead, but Juan Pablo Raba offers a surprisingly strong counterbalance, as the antagonist, Maurico. It is a chilling performance, but he also conveys hints of the scarred little boy that evolved into a sociopathic monster. He engenders understanding for the devil, if not sympathy, per se.

Silence: Scorsese Finally Adapts Endo

Shūsaku Endō’s classic 1966 novel was generally shaped by his Catholic faith and directly inspired by a visit to the monument for the Twenty-Six Martyrs of Nagasaki, who became canonized representatives of the hundreds of thousands who fell victim to 17^th Century Japanese Christian persecution. In the mid-1500s, there were thought to be upwards of 300,000 Japanese Christian converts, but most were ruthlessly exposed and subsequently forced to apostatize through torture during the early to mid-1600s. The missionary Father Cristóvão Ferreira really was among the Christians who was forced to renounce his faith.  The fragmentary news of Ferreira’s downfall is difficult for his young protégés to accept, so they follow their calling to Japan in Martin Scorsese’s long-awaited adaptation of Silence (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

Portuguese Jesuits Sebastião Rodrigues and Francisco Garrpe naively assume news of Ferreira’s apostasy must be greatly exaggerated, but when they secretly arrive in Japan, the climate of fear and oppression is beyond their worst expectations. The Christian faith has been forced underground, much like the era of the Roman catacombs. Their guide will be Kichijiro, an apostatized Christian convert, who perhaps still believes. However, his frequent willingness to trample fumi-e, images of Christ and the Virgin expressly fashioned to smoke out secret Christians, makes him decidedly untrustworthy.

Desperate their perilous circumstances, the honesty and purity of the “hidden Christian” Kakure Kirishitan faith touches Rodrigues deeply. Unfortunately, it is only a matter of time before the priests are captured by the grand inquisitor, Inoue Masashige, who is confident breaking the last Jesuits in Japan will deal a decisive blow to the Kakure Kirishitan remnant. Father Rodrigues is a surprisingly tough nut to crack, even while undergoing an understandable crisis of faith, but Masashige has a nefarious trump card to play: the former Father Ferreira at his beck and call.

Scorsese’s Silence is easily one of the most challenging and uncompromising films about Christian faith produced in the last twenty years. Utterly free of triumphalism, it depicts the hair-raising brutality of martyrdom and forced conversion. Christianity is laid low over and over again, yet there is more concealed in the margins of this story. Much like Endō’s tonally dissimilar post-script, Scorsese’s long denouement holds the key to the entire epic tragedy. If you do not stay with it from start to finish, you will miss the whole point.

Scorsese’s rigorously austere aesthetic perfectly suits this harsh morality play. It is like nature itself serves witness to the atrocities meted out, thanks to cinematographer Rodrigo Prieto’s windswept vistas and co-composers Kathryn & Kim Allen Kluge’s naturally-derived ambient soundscapes.

Although he never really sounds Portuguese per se, Liam Neeson has the appropriately weighty presence for Ferreira. His sad eyes and slumped shoulders say everything he can no longer say. Sadly, Andrew Garfield is terribly miscast as Rodrigues. He just doesn’t seem capable of properly addressing the film’s profound questions. Adam Driver fares somewhat better (and looks more Portuguese) as the comparatively more dogmatic Garrpe. However, the real soul-searing devastation comes from Tetsuo auteur Shinya Tsukamoto’s visceral performance as Mokichi, a believer doomed to Masashige’s martyrdom. If you have anything left after his sacrifice, Nana Komatsu (from Bakuman and World of Kanako) will finish you off with her brief but devastating portrayal of naïve Kakure Kirishitan convert Haru (a.k.a. Monica).

Garfield’s relative weakness is problematic, but it opens the door for Yôsuke Kubozuka, who becomes the film’s de facto [anti-]hero as the morally unclassifiable Kichijiro, easily the film’s most complex character. Yet, nobody better personifies the existential dilemmas faced by Edo-era Christians. Silence is also well stocked with memorable antagonists, like the smoothly sinister interpreter icily portrayed by Tadanobu Asano. However, everyone pales compared to the crafty old Masashige, played with to-the-hilt flamboyance by Issei Ogata that is apparently historically accurate.

Despite its casting issues, Silence is worth the wait, which is frequently not the case with long gestating passion projects. It is a bracing film that offers precious little consolation, but it is a deeply sincere statement of Christian faith. The fact that nobody has re-released Masahiro Shinoda’s 1971 adaptation represents a bafflingly lost opportunity, but Scorsese’s take will be challenging enough for many fans of his gangsterish films. Highly recommended, warts and all, Silence opens today (12/23) in New York, at the Regal Union Square downtown and the AMC Loews Lincoln Square uptown.

A Monster Calls: Bayona’s Tear-Jerking Genre Fable

You do not have to dig very deep to find Britain’s pagan roots when almost every other pub is called the Green Man. That leafy mythological figure (who also frequently pops up on church cornices) provides a primal connection to nature and the great wheel of life. Who better to teach a distressed thirteen-year-old lessons in life and the acceptance of death than a giant Green Man-like monster? Although the morals of his stories are not readily apparent, the Yew tree creature might just help young Conor O’Malley come to terms with his mother’s mortality in J.A. Bayona’s A Monster Calls (trailer here), adapted by Patrick Ness from his own young adult novel, which opens tomorrow in New York.

Conor O’Malley is a sensitive but angry kid. His formerly hippyish mother Lizzie is clearly fading, but he keeps doubling-down on false hope. However, the Yew tree monster will force O’Malley to face facts when he rather ominously appears to the young lad. Like a reverse Scheherazade, the Monster will tell O’Malley three cryptic fables over three successive nights, at which point the confused boy must be prepared to tell the monster his “truth”—the secret eating away inside him.

Meanwhile, O’Malley must deal with his materialistic grandmother, the absentee father he yearns to know better, and the school bully, who just won’t give the kid a break. Of course, he searches for interpretations of each tale that suggest reasons for hope, but the Monster offers radically different but perhaps even more pertinent meanings.

If all the elements had not lined up just right, Monster Calls might have been embarrassingly mawkish. However, the film’s striking technical artistry is neatly matched by some fearlessly vulnerable performances. Yet, it is probably Liam Neeson’s pitch-perfect voice for monster, combining his wrathful Taken-style intonations with a gruff sensitivity and that subtle lilt suggesting a deeply rooted connection to the old country that really makes the film. In short, he is the perfect Green Man.

Frankly, Lewis MacDougall’s desperately twee and sad-eyed act as O’Malley will often have viewers pulling their hair out in frustration, but he rises to the occasion during the emotionally raw climax. Felicity Jones really lowers the boom in her Camille-worthy deathbed scene. Sigourney Weaver gives real flesh-and-blood dimension to O’Malley’s reserved but not-as-frosty-as-she-lets-on grandmother, while Toby Kebbell memorably adds to the human messiness as O’Malley’s somewhat self-serving but charming expat father.

Unlike typical genre films that build towards thrills or chills, Bayona’s Monster is single-mindedly concentrated on reducing the audience to a blubbering wreck. However, the early investments in O’Malley’s painful denial and anticipated survivor’s guilt pay massive dividends in the third act. It also looks amazing, displaying the sort of visual craftsmanship we would expect from Bayona and cinematographer Oscar Faura (who also notably collaborated on The Orphanage). The Monster design, based on Jim Kay’s original illustrations, is archetypally evocative, appearing fearsome or redemptive, depending on the narrative context.

Monster Calls is utterly and defiantly manipulative, but it is hard to resent it, because it is so seamlessly and lovingly realized. Every carefully dotted “I” and crossed “T” ultimately builds towards the bittersweet, body-slamming payoff. Refreshingly free of cynicism, it truly wears its heart on its earnest sleeve. Recommended for fans of movie fables, A Monster Calls opens tomorrow (12/23) in New York, at the Landmark Sunshine.

Operation Chromite: Gen. MacArthur and the Brave South Korean Commandos

We forget how grim the Korean War looked in 1950. Incheon was safely under iron-fisted Communist control and the front line was all the way down at Busan. However, the tide decisively turned when Gen. Douglas MacArthur led a massive amphibious landing at Incheon (commonly referred to as Inchon in contemporary accounts). An operation like that did not happen without planning. It also required the covert efforts of a team of South Korean commandos attached to the Korean Liaison Office (KLO). Their secret Operation X-Ray will pave the way for the grand titular assault in John H. Lee’s somewhat fact-based Operation Chromite (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Jang Hak-soo was once a Communist in the North, but the atrocities he saw drove him to defect to the South. Of course, that makes him the perfect candidate to impersonate Park Nam-chul, a military inspector due to give the Incheon fortifications the white glove treatment. He will be played by the always reliable Park Sun-woong, but don’t get too attached to him, for obvious reasons.

Operation X-Ray’s primary objective is the map of the mines placed throughout the narrow inlet to Incheon’s harbor. Unfortunately, the fanatical local commander, Col. Lim Gye-jin holds it closer to his vest than a hand full of five aces. Still, Jang and his men nearly swipe it in a daring daylight heist. With their cover consequently blown, the KLO team will have to improvise with the help of the local underground. The formerly true-believing nurse Han Jae-sun will also join their ranks when her uncle is publicly executed by Lim.

Chromite is a terrific war movie in the Guns of Navarone tradition that approaches the all-out action nirvana of Choi Dong-hoon’s Assassination, but also encompasses the great men and grand strategy of prestige war films. While Lee Jung-jae was wonderfully despicable as Assassination’s turncoat villain, he gets to play the hero this time, carrying himself with mucho action cred and fierce dignity. Lee Beom-soo gleefully preens and chews the scenery with relish as the arrogant Lim, while Jin Se-yun has some rather poignant moments as the rudely disillusioned Han.

However, Liam Neeson will shock the world with his hardnosed but deeply humanistic portrayal of Gen. MacArthur. Unlike previous media caricatures, director John H. Lee and screenwriter Lee Man-hee depict the corn-cob-smoking icon as a soldiers’ general, who profoundly empathizes with the South Koreans and chafes under bureaucratic hand-wringing. He goes far beyond Tommy Lee Jones’ Rich Little act in Emperor, getting to “old soldier” who considers it immoral that DC politicians would ask his men to fight and die with anything less than full victory as their objective.

John H. Lee is becoming the preeminent cinematic chronicler of the Korean War, following-up the first-rate 71: Into the Fire with the even more engaging and ambitious Chromite. The special effects are impressive, but they never overwhelm the human story. Refreshingly patriotic and loaded with adrenaline and testosterone, it is a ripping good war film that keeps faith with the South Koreans, Americans and Allied forces who served in the conflict. Highly recommended, Operation Chromite opens this Friday (8/12) in New York, at the AMC Empire.

(Photo: CJ Entertainment)

NYICFF ’15: Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet

He was born into a Maronite Catholic family and wrote his best known work in English, but Kahlil Gibran was subsequently embraced as a symbol of Arab culture. Without question, his best known work is The Prophet, arguably the original break-out New Age bestseller, whose celebrity admirers include Elvis Presley, John Lennon, and Salma Hayek. Her regard for the instantly recognizable Knopf title was such that she produced a big screen animated adaptation of the book few would have thought adaptable. The ambition and animation are definitely impressive, but the source material remains unwieldy in Roger Allers’ Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet (trailer here), which screens during this year’s New York International Children’s Film Festival.

In order to give the film a central storyline, Allers took some liberties with the framing device. The exiled prophet Mustafa (here more of a hipster painter and poet) is indeed bidding a fond farewell to the citizens of Orphalese, but he will not simply hop on the tall ship and sail off into the sunset. The oppressive Pasha and his thuggish police sergeant are planning permanent measures to halt his progressive influence before they let him go anywhere. The resulting narrative is like a weird passion play, with the assorted peasants in the countryside and merchants in town celebrating his presumed release with much feasting and drinking. At each stop along the way, Mustafa gives the crowd a pithy bit of prose poetry wisdom that are impressionistically rendered by a diverse roster of animators.

No longer is Almitra a seer. She is now the rebellious mute daughter of Kamila, the widowed housekeeper hired to tidy up the prophet’s exile cottage. Sharing a connection with the island’s seagulls, she is the first to suspect the fate awaiting Mustafa. Presumably, these liberties taken with the text pass muster with the Gibran establishment, given their active role in the production.

Regardless, the film as a whole is necessarily uneven, since Allers and Hayek-Pinault (as she is billed here) deliberately embrace its episodic structure. Not surprisingly, the best sequences are “On Love” animated by Tomm Moore (Song of the Sea) and “On Marriage” crafted by Joann Sfar (The Rabbi’s Cat). The abstract nature of the texts are also particularly well suited to the styles of Nina Paley (Sita Sings the Blues) and Bill Plympton (Cheatin’). However, the other four parables largely blend together.

Following in the footsteps of Richard Harris’s Arif Mardin-produced musical interpretation of The Prophet, Liam Neeson continues the Irish Gibran tradition as the voice of Mustafa. To be fair, his husky, reassuring tones are rather well suited to the film. Hayek-Pinault is perfectly serviceable as Kamila. (Since she is once again playing a mother facing difficult circumstances, Prophet should really be considered a companion film to Everly and the two should be screened together whenever possible). Quvenzhané Wallis gets precious little actual dialogue as Almitra (but perhaps that is just as well), while Alfred Molina does his best to keep up with the slapstick humor directed at his pompous Sergeant.

Whatever you do, always observe the authorial possessive in the title, like “Bram Stoker’s Dracula.” Although the film’s cultish impetus is a little creepy, it is intriguing to see such a high profile attempt at impressionistic, non-narrative animated filmmaking. Unfortunately, some of the contributing filmmakers are better suited to the task than others. A strange hybrid, Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet is recommended for animation enthusiasts who want to see something a little outside the norm (whereas younger viewers will probably find it indulgently lecture-y) when it screens again today (3/22) at the DGA Theatre, as the closing film of the 2015 NYICFF.

Manny: Strong Faith and Hard Fists

Manny Pacquiao is hardly the world’s preeminent boxer-politician. Even if his first term in the Philippines’ congress had not been a bit of a “learning experience,” incumbent Kiev Mayor and Maidan supporter Vitali Klitschko would still easily hold that honor (maybe Sebastian Dehnhardt should consider a follow-up doc, soon). However, Pacquiao has become a Horatio Algerish icon for his countrymen, with good reason. Pacquiao’s remarkable success in the ring and his indomitable faith are chronicled in Leon Gast & Ryan Moore’s Manny (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Pacquiao’s childhood was everything you would expect, except even more desperately poor. When children his age should have been in elementary school, he worked what jobs he could find and went without meals, so his mother and sisters could eat. Somehow fate delivered him into a boxing ring, where the scrawny kid ploughed through the considerably larger competition. Soon, the only place left for him to find fights was America. Again fate guided him to Freddie Roach’s gym, where the trainer and pugilist immediately clicked. He was not so fortunate with his early management, but that has to be the oldest story in boxing.

Presumably, it would take something special to get Gast to return to ring, having already won an Oscar for When We Were Kings, considered by many the definitive boxing doc (though we’re obviously still partial to Klitschko), but it is easy to see what drew him to Pacquiao. The boxing congressman has at least two fights in 2011 worthy of Rocky II, one that he won but probably should have lost, and one that he lost but really should have won. Naturally, these bouts constitute a good portion of the film’s third act.

Such times would try many a man’s soul, but the glue holding together Pacquiao and his documentary profile is his devout Catholic faith. His sincerity comes through clearly and it is impressive. It might not be on their radar, but Manny is a film Catholic and Evangelical audiences should adopt.

Of course, there are lighter moments too, including clips from Pacquiao’s grade Z Filipino action films. For some reason Jeremy Piven is one of several celebrity talking heads paying tribute to the fighter, but the choice of Liam Neeson to narrate makes considerably more sense. Frankly, he has the perfect voice for the job—sensitive, but undeniably badass. Hopefully, he also gave Pacquiao tips on choosing film projects, like say a thriller in which he is searching for a kidnapped loved one.

It almost feels like Manny ends before the big climatic pay-off, but it is still a compelling story of a rousing underdog life. There is good boxing material here, but it is just as much about faith and family. Recommended for sports fans and Christian viewers, Manny opens this Friday (1/23) in New York, at the AMC Empire.

Liam Neeson Meets the Other Man

Thanks to Oprah, Bernhard Schlink’s The Reader became the first German novel to reach the top spot on the New York Times bestseller list. It also became the basis for one of the most disappointing Best Picture Oscar nominees in recent years (but it still sold another sizable batch of copies in the process). In its wake, Richard Eyre and co-screenwriter Charles Wood have adapted The Other Man (trailer here), based a short story from Schlink’s Flights of Love collection. It opens in New York and Los Angeles this Friday (evidently without the benefit of a movie tie-in edition of Flights).

Peter and Lisa would seem to be a mismatched couple. He is a burley software mogul with an Irish temper. She is a successful, socially-outgoing high fashion shoe designer. Yet, their marriage works because of their mutual love. At least, that is what Peter thought. However, after fate cruelly takes Lisa from him (under circumstances initially kept deliberately vague), he starts to develop some nagging suspicions. For one thing, there is that password protected file on her laptop titled “love.” When Peter finally cracks the (glaringly obvious) code, he discovers pictures of her Latin lover in highly revealing poses.

Already reeling, the still-grieving Peter becomes further agitated when Ralph, the “other man,” tries to contact Lisa. When Ralph wildly misinterprets a she’s-not-here-so-don’t-bother-trying response from Peter, he decides to track down his wife’s lover for a face-to-face confrontation.

In Milan, he follows the suave Ralph (pronounced like Ralph Fiennes) to a chess club and challenges him to a friendly game (hmm, does this mean they are both “game-players?”). Hiding his true identity, Peter strikes up an ostensive friendship with his rival, while probing him for information and perhaps biding his time for the right opportunity to strike.

While Peter’s cat-and-mouse game might sound Hitcockian, Eyre completely de-emphasizes any potentially suspenseful elements in Other, preferring to concentrate on the angst and insecurities of the two men. Unfortunately, the dramatic situations frequently ring false, too often descending into dubious melodrama. However, he shrewdly exploits the romantic locales of Milan and Lake Como, which take on a glossy sheen through cinematographer Haris Zambarloukos’s lens.

Liam Neeson is an excellent actor when allowed to quietly simmer and slow boil. However, Eyre has him raging and acting out as the distraught Peter, rather than playing to his strengths. Though Antonio Banderas would sound perfectly cast as Ralph, his jittery mannerisms undercut his believability as the illicit lover.

Like The Reader, the implications of Other ultimately seem murky and contradictory. Lisa shared her darkest moments with Peter, yet the film possibly suggests it was Ralph who knew her best. Does Other imply there is as much lasting value in Ralph’s in-the-moment pleasures as Peter’s lifetime of fidelity? It is hard to say based on the evidence of the film.

Other is certainly a superior film to The Reader, but that is a low bar to clear. Eyre, the acclaimed director of Iris and Notes on a Scandal, has assembled the trappings of another high-brow literary drama, but somehow misfired with this story of grief and infidelity. It opens tomorrow (9/11) in New York at the Empire and Sunshine Theaters.

Guilt and Remembrance: Five Minutes of Heaven

It seems even in the UK, reality TV has had a corrosive effect on television journalism. One prominent interview show is determined to bring Joe Griffin face-to-face with the man who gunned down his brother Jim in cold blood during the height of The Troubles. Their goal is to orchestrate a symbolic handshake between the two men, which hopefully will lead to an offer of forgiveness. However, there will be no cheap “Oprah moments” in Oliver Hirschbiegel’s Five Minutes of Heaven (trailer here), which opens in New York this Friday.

In 1975, sixteen year-old Alistair Little, an ardent member of the Ulster paramilitary UVF, assassinated nineteen year-old Jim Griffin while his eleven year-old brother Joe helplessly watched. Twelve years later, Little was released from prison a changed man, dedicating himself to the prevention of violence through prison counseling. That much is historically accurate, whereas the planned confrontation between the still grieving Griffin and his brother’s remorseful killer is entirely the invention of screenwriter Guy Hibbert.

The producers expect the meeting between Griffin and Little to be riveting television. However, Little harbors no such illusions. He does not expect forgiveness and recognizes he has no right to ask for it. While the guilt-ridden Little has the calm of a man resigned to his fate, Griffin is highly agitated by the prospect of facing his brother’s killer, particularly resenting attempts to humanize him. As the two approach their taping, it is clear both are broken men, deeply scarred by the events of that fateful night.

Five is not about forgiveness and it is not about redemption. It is about how an act of violence can tear a family apart, causing suffering that compounds years after the fact. Little also talks frankly about the mindset of violent extremists in terms not unlike Eric Hoffer’s True Believer, which he also applies to Islamist terrorists today.

Hibbert’s screenplay is unusually well written, with each word very deliberately chosen. Liam Neeson nicely conveys the anguished conscience beneath Little’s stoic facade. However, James Nesbitt (best known as the star of British television series like Cold Feet) gives a truly remarkable performance as Griffin, portraying him as a bundle of neuroses and insecurities. Yet there is nothing funny about his tragic depiction of human suffering. Likewise, Kevin O’Neill is equally memorable as the traumatized young Joe Griffin in the film’s flashback sequences.

To its credit, there is no place in Five for phony sentimentality. It is brutally honest in its presentation of the guilt experienced by both survivor and perpetrator alike. Directed with tight economy by the German Hirschbiegel, Five is smart, intense, and ultimately quite moving. It opens Friday (8/21) at the Angelika.