Mission: Impossible - Rogue Nation

This review originally appeared on SFist.com.

These days, attempting to separate the image of Tom Cruise, loony Scientologist elder, from the image of Tom Cruise, Big Movie Star is a nearly impossible mission. But movies like last year's Edge of Tomorrow and this fifth entry in the Mission: Impossible are making it a little easier.

All five M:I movies have had different directors, which is a tradition I hope continues with the inevitable sequels — it lends the series a nice level of unpredictability. And while current director Christopher McQuarrie doesn't bring anything revolutionary or insane to the series, (for that, you'll have to reach back to John Woo's Mission: Impossible 2, which was the nuttiest — and thus my favorite — M:I movie), he has crafted a solid bit of action-filled entertainment, complete with the requisite villain hoping to destroy the world (Sean Harris); an upper level management type who wants to keep the IMF team apart; (Alec Baldwin); and a femme who may be a fatale, or may be a friend (Rebecca Ferguson).

Ferguson steals the show on more than one occasion — which could be a testament to Cruise, who isn't afraid to be upstaged. In fact, he's probably at his best when he's fighting against someone who's clearly a little smarter and/or a little stronger; it gives his Ethan Hunt a nice does of humility, and humor.

Besides, he'd never be able to come close to the moves Ferguson masters in her fight scenes, particularly the classic "lady crushes man's head between her thighs" maneuver, which she tends to combine with an initial flying leap over the guy, resulting in her landing on top, head between legs, neck in perfect position for snapping.

The IMF gang is also back: Ving Rhames as Luther, who does NOT do much leaping in the movie; I think he spends most of it lying down; Jeremy Renner as William Brandt, who has to fight off Alec Baldwin's CIA chief; and; Simon Pegg as Benji, who gets more feet-on-the ground action this go-around.

Sure, the movie's probably about 20 minutes too long, and the ending is the furthest from surprising that you can probably get. But the Mission: Impossible series has always been a nice alternative to the more serious Daniel Craig 007 and Bourne movies, and Rogue Nation is so much fun it almost manages to make you forget about Crazy Cruise. And that's an accomplishment.

More Than Smeared Eyeliner: Amy

This review originally appeared on SFist.com.

While most of the world seemed to view the death of Amy Winehouse as unsurprising and an inevitable end, I was shocked. I thought she'd end up the equivalent of Keith Richards, or Courtney Love: rock stars who live the lifestyle to the extreme, but who never made into the 27 Club. But after seeing the documentary Amy, I now know there was no hope of that; she was doomed.

If you're a fan of documentaries, the film is worth seeing — even if you aren't a fan of Winehouse's music — because it's a remarkable piece of curation: No new footage was shot for the film, and all new interviews are only heard as voiceover. Instead, it consists entirely of archival video and film, shot by her family and friends, as well as stuff shot for TV and, most disturbingly of all, paparazzi footage; she was hounded by them until her death.

And it's this image of her that prevailed, until now. Thanks to this film, we get to see the Amy that, at age 14, could belt out a version of "Happy Birthday" worthy of the jazz singers she idolized; the Amy that was a burgeoining musician — still just in her teens — promoting her first album, and answering questions about fame with answers like "I don't think I'm gonna be at all famous. I don't think I could handle it. I'd probably go mad."

It's also great seeing the subtle look of disgust she gives when asked what it's like to be shot by photographer Terry Richardson, and not hiding her complete boredom at an interviewer's droning on about Dido's lyrics. Seeing these moments of personality that are so different from the images of her walking through the streets of London in bloody ballet slippers and smeared eyeliner turns her downfall into something heartbreaking, and not something to be joked about — as was the case so often towards the end of her life.

The film doesn't shy away from presenting those who surrounded her after she hit it big as the shitty support system they were. An opportunist father; a dirt bag junkie husband; managers who really didn't know what the hell they were doing. She was only 22 when Back to Black was released, and clearly not prepared for the fame it would bring her. If only she had lived long enough to learn how to live through it.

Self/less

This review originally appeared on SFist.com.

Imagine being able to live forever in the body of Ryan Reynolds. Welcome to the (sort of) plot of Self/less. Ben Kingsley plays a dying New York billionaire with a ridiculous accent and an insanely tacky, gold-plated apartment worthy of Donald Trump (and ha, it actual IS Donald Trump's apartment, as revealed in the credits). When he's told about a procedure called "shedding," he forks over the money to have his consciousness transferred into the lab-grown body of a virile young man. This involves MRI-type machines and no actual brain transplantation, so is, in other words, completely preposterous.

When he wakes up in his new body, he has all the memories of his former self (although he doesn't have the ridiculous New York accent, which, huh?), but must start a new life, as giving up his old life is part of the deal. And the transition isn't entirely smooth, since without daily drugs, he starts to have weird seizures that come with memories that seem to belong to someone else.

Ah ha! There's the rub. "Lab-grown" body indeed! The majority of the movie features Reynolds searching for the truth behind his new body while being chased by the shady org that facilitated it all. There are some interesting philosophical discussions to be had about the potential for immortality, how the brain facilitates consciousness, and the ultimate opportunities of the haves and the have-nots. But this movie isn't really concerned with any of that that. It's more interested in car chases and gun battles. Your enjoyment depends on your preference for the former or the latter in your entertainment.

Infinitely Polar Bear

This review originally appeared on SFist.com.

Mark Ruffalo stars as Cam, the bi-polar father of two young girls in 1970's Boston, who must take on full-time fathering when his wife, Maggie, (Zoe Saldana), goes back to school to earn a business degree.

The story is a fictionalized version of director Maya Forbes's actual childhood, and her real-life daughter, Imogene Wolodarsky, plays a fictionalized version of herself (she's named Amelia in the movie). Both she and Ashley Aufderheide, who plays younger sister Faith, give amazing performances in the film, complete with some really expert comic timing. Their frequent outbursts of embarrassment over their father's actions lighten some moments that would otherwise come across as upsetting. After all, Cam does some really dangerous and irresponsible things while parenting those kids — like leaving them alone at night because he's fed up, and wants to go out drinking. Or driving them around in a car that doesn't have a solid floor.

Cam's illness isn't played entirely for laughs. Mom Maggie knows too well what the manic episodes can wreak. But she also knows that the sight of a drugged up Cam is much more traumatizing to the girls than a Cam that's only occasionally manic. Of course, that's a difficult balance to master when you don't take your medication consistently, which tends to be the case with Cam. So, while the movie attempts its own balance between comedy and drama, it doesn't always succeed, and sometimes — even knowing those kids actually turned out fine — I couldn't help but be distracted by the constant feeling that something could go terribly wrong at any moment.

The Day Cynicism Took A Holiday: Batkid Begins

This review originally appeared on SFist.com.

I had barely dried the tears from my face after seeing Inside Out when I had to go to a screening of the documentary Batkid Begins, and just as I feared, I was overcome by another bout of quiet sobbing. Of course this didn't come as a surprise; I was crying at my desk that November day in 2013, when it seemed like everyone in San Francisco was either in the streets, or glued to social media and local TV stations, watching a little kid in a Batman suit save the city from fictional crime, and real life cynicism.

I'm not sure how the documentary got started, as it is clear from the outset that no one knew the day was going to be as huge as it turned out to be. It's likely that as Miles' wish began to take shape, those at Make-a-Wish saw there was something to be gained from documenting the process, perhaps just to use as a short film that could then be shown to and shared with those within the organization. This foresight results in some great behind-the-scenes moments, interviews with some of the key players, and reactions from the Batkid (and Batman) as they day played out. (They were miked the whole time.)

But no superhero tale would be complete without an origin story, and young Miles Scott's is told via some comic book style animation at the film's start. We learn about his life in the small northern California town of Tulelake, how his parents were childhood sweethearts, and how, at only 18 months old, he was diagnosed with leukemia, and underwent almost three years of treatment.

Since Miles's biggest love was dressing up and superheroes — and dressing up as superheroes — it made sense that when given the chance to live a wish, he chose being Batman, and it was up to Bay Area Make-a-Wish chapter CEO Patricia Wilson to make it happen.

Granted, that part of the movie is not the most enthralling — watching someone co-ordinate an event, gather volunteers, and make phone calls is seldom riveting, but it does give Wilson her due — she turned a vague wish into something concrete, and that idea turned into something huge, with the involvement of 25,000 people within San Francisco.

We also meet some of the other players, including Eric Johnston, the inventor, engineer, and circus school teacher (!) who played Batman, Mike Jutan, the ILM engineer who played the Penguin, and some of the social media professionals who helped turn the day into something huge. (SFist's coverage also gets some love.)

I was most impressed with Johnston, and the effort he put into making the day extra special. For instance, he created a small projector that he could attach to his wrist, so he could project the "commissioner's" messages to Batkid on the ceiling or wall, instead of having Miles look at a boring iPhone screen. He also trained Miles — and a slew of other superheroes — the day before the event, and that scene is one of the movie's highlights.

It's also great seeing the before Miles, who is, indeed, a pretty shy and reserved kid — a kid who answers the question, "Did this all turn out the way you thought it would?" with "Yes" — and seeing how, when he finally puts on that Batman suit, he suddenly turns into a tiny John Wayne, strutting through the streets of San Francisco, ready to kick some butt.

Seeing how the day progresses, not without its fair share of hitches, including severe time delays, WAY bigger crowds than were originally expected, Lou Seal having to take an Uber to the kidnapping spot, and a Batkid who almost throws in the towel in favor of a nap after lunch — he's a five-year-old! — made me doubly appreciate just how well it really did turn out. The odds were against it.

And while the movie does suffer a bit from some self-congratulation — I didn't really need to learn how a PR company put together a social media action plan for the day, or how that guy from Twitter accomplished a life goal by having the President re-tweet him — I prefer to view it with the tearful eyes I had on November 15th, 2013...

...and save the cynicism for Julia Robert's planned movie version.