Steven Rea, Philadelphia Inquirer
There’s an official letter on the desk of the character Jeff Bridges plays in “Hell or High Water.” His name is Marcus Hamilton, he’s a Texas Ranger, he’s looking at a mandatory-retirement notice. A storied career — chasing down thieves and killers, fugitives and scam artists — and now he’s counting down his last days. “He’s reaching the end of the line,” Bridges says. “And I think that’s something that a lot of folks can relate to — giving up what they’ve done all their lives … . “What are they going to do now?”
George Clooney and Julia Roberts spend a lot of time talking to each other in “Money Monster” — urgently, intimately, sometimes as though their lives depended on it. Which, in this taut hostage drama, happens to be the case. And yet, the two stars share the same physical space, the same frame, for only a few fleeting minutes at the beginning and end of the Jodie Foster-directed thriller.
TORONTO — Bryan Cranston had to play it big in “Trumbo” because, well, Dalton Trumbo was big. The Hollywood screenwriter, blacklisted in the late 1940s but determined to keep his family fed and clothed by cranking out screenplays under a cloak of pseudonyms, was a force to be reckoned with. He was bullish and voluble. He smoked. He drank. He was not shy with his opinions.
There’s a scene early in “Creed” inside Adrian’s, that famous South Philly eatery run by the mumbling restaurateur Rocky Balboa. A young man walks in and eyes the pictures on the wall — photographs of the heavyweight champ’s legendary bouts, most notably his epic collisions with Apollo Creed. “Apollo? Yeah, he was great,” Rocky says to the stranger, played with a beautiful, burning intensity by Michael B. Jordan. “He was the perfect fighter. Ain’t nobody ever better.” “So how’d you beat him?” the guy asks. “Time beat him. Time takes everybody out.
Wives and mothers beaten by police on Parliament Square. Seamstresses and shop workers carted off to jail. Women, wealthy and working-class alike, condemned by the government and made mockery of in the press for simply insisting they deserved the right to vote. “These things all really did happen,” Carey Mulligan is saying, as though, even now, a century after the events depicted in “Suffragette,” she senses there still are disbelievers out there. Set in London in the years before World War I, “Suffragette” follows Mulligan’s Maud Watts, a laundry worker, a wife, a mother, who experiences
In “Burnt,” opening Friday, Bradley Cooper is Adam Jones, a culinary star desperate for a comeback after torpedoing his career with drugs, drink, and insufferable arrogance. The dramedy, directed by John Wells, costars Daniel Brühl (restaurateur), Sienna Miller (rising chef), Emma Thompson (therapist), Uma Thurman (food critic) and Alicia Vikander (ex-lover).
If you thought Jake Gyllenhaal's transformation for last year's "Nightcrawler" was extreme — losing weight and gaining a creepy intensity to play a feral freelance video cameraman trolling the streets of L.A. — look at the actor in "Southpaw." You may not recognize the man. As Billy "The Great" Hope, a pro boxer who grew up in a Hell's Kitchen foster home and now owns the title of light-heavyweight champion of the world, 34-year-old Gyllenhaal is all muscle, sinew, tattoos, bling.
“Ant-Man” is upon us. On Friday, another superhero heads to the multiplexes. A Silver Age brethren of Iron Man, Spider-Man, and Thor, Ant-Man is, um, a little different. Sure, he has the superhuman strength, the supercool costume, and the supersmart-alecky retorts of a Marvel Comics crimebuster. But this guy is less than an inch high, and if he joined his fellow Formicidae in an invasion of your kitchen pantry, you’d grab the Raid and gun him down with the rest of the pests.
In "Inside Out," which opens June 19 and debuted at the Cannes Film Festival in May to rapturous crowds and kudos, the emotions of an 11-year-old girl are brought to life Pixar-style. Joy (the voice of Amy Poehler) is a sparkling, google-eyed pixie. Sadness ("The Office's" Phyllis Smith) is a roly-poly blob of blue, sporting big round glasses and a look of helpless woe. Anger (the ranting, raging Lewis Black) is squat and red and blows flames out of his head. Disgust (Mindy Kaling), green from head to toe, sneers contemptuously at everyone and everything.
In his novels “The Beach” and “The Tesseract,” in his screenplays “Sunshine” and “28 Days Later” — and even in his adaptations of other people’s work, like “Never Let Me Go” and “Dredd,” Alex Garland wrestles with similarly knotty themes: the corruption of utopian ideals, the intersection where science and human behavior collide, the possibility that technology can go wrong, go rogue. In his directing debut, the sci-fi thriller “Ex Machina,” Garland bundles those concepts to explore how consciousness and free will factor into the equation.