Trainwreck subtitles download!

Amy Schumer takes on romcom clichés and wins in this hilarious Judd Apatow flick

Amy Schumer makes you laugh till it hurts. Proof is in her Comedy Central series, Inside Amy Schumer, with its classic skits on Bill Cosby and whether Schumer is hot enough for TV. Proof positive is in her starring movie debut in Trainwreck. In the lead role and as screenwriter — with director Judd Apatow expertly harnessing her energy, not taming it — Schumer is a whole summer of comic fireworks wrapped in one ballsy package. Or is that sexist? Heads up, guys. Schumer's assault on caveman attitudes hits like a kick in the nut sack.

She plays Amy Townsend, a writer for a men's magazine run by an editor (a roaringly funny Tilda Swinton) fond of headlines like are you gay or is she just boring? Amy is sent to interview Aaron Conners (Bill Hader), a sports-medicine doctor who tends the celeb likes of LeBron James (spoofing himself) and Amar'e Stoudemire.
The stage is set for love. But wait. Amy, with a mouth fueled by booze, weed and a neglectful dad (a tangy Colin Quinn), will usually do a guy and dump him. Aaron is less of a dude, though the excellent Hader, whose skill as an actor hits a new peak, gives him complications. These two don't blend sweetly. Sweet is not how Schumer wants Trainwreck to go down. She wants to explode rom-com clichés and replace them with something fierce and ready to rumble. Done.


From The Archives Issue 1239: July 16, 2015



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Ant-Man french subtitles

Big superhero-movie fun comes in a small package, courtesy of Paul Rudd and company

The latest film franchise culled from Marvel's comic-book universe packs a ton of fun into a teeny package. Its low-key charm helps glide us over trouble spots in tone and pacing. Ant-Man stars Paul Rudd as standard-sized Scott Lang, a petty thief who gets to shrink at will and cause all sorts of trouble. Ant-Man may not have the hulking clout of the Avengers, but the little bastard from Marvel's second-tier gets the job done. The movie version benefits from not being familiar to the point of frustration.

Heads up short attention spans: you're in for some heavy exposition before director Peyton Reedrolls out the special effects, which are spectacular. Oscar winner Michael Douglas, who classes up the place by his very presence, plays Dr. Hank Pym, a scientist whose particle research has resulted in a suit that can reduce a man to ant size and, in the wrong hands, spark mass destruction. S.H.I.E.L.D. has been coveting that suit since 1989. The prologue, featuring Douglas with his face digitized into youthful Gordon Gekko smoothness, lays out the parameters of battle: It's peace-loving Pym versus such war mongers as Pym's former protégé, Darren Cross (Corey Stoll), who's come up with his own scary  shrink-suit, Yellowjacket. Talk about having a bee in your bonnet.
The script by Joe Cornish and the terrific Edgar Wright with a frisky polish by Rudd and Adam McKay, explains it all for you. It also leaves you wondering about the delicious experiment Wright, once slated to direct, would have made of it. Luckily, Rudd is the kind of actor you'd happily follow anywhere. His cat burglar is just out of San Quentin and trying to go straight for the sake of his young daughter, Cassie (Abby Ryder Fortson). Pym thinks Scott is the just the guy to get into the ant suit and pull a fast one on Cross. Pym's daughter, Hope (Evangeline Lilly), thinks she, not Scott the screw-up, should wear the suit. Wake up, girl. In Marvel's male-centric fantasyland that's never gonna happen.

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Summer Movie Preview 2015: From Superheroes to Strippers »



So it's two dudes, Scott and Pym, both with daughter issues, who are left to save the world from power-hungry psychos. And oh, did I mention Michael Peña offers welcome comic relief and then some as Luis, Scott's motor-mouthed henchman? Learning that Pym's safe is made of the same metal as the Titanic, Luis notes, "that stuff killed DiCaprio."
What revives Ant-Man from too much backstory is its sense of visual mischief. It's a treat watching Scott pull a Spider-Man and learn how to jump in and out of keyholes, change size and use his mind to marshal armies of ants. We've seen some of these tricks before, most effectively in 1957's The Incredible Shrinking Man and 1989's Honey, I Shrunk the Kids. But you ain't seen nothing yet till you get a load of mini Scott navigating the perils of a seemingly harmless bathtub, carpet, train set and a curious mouse. Marvel fans know to stay for a coda after the end credits. Fake out — this time there are two codas. Is Ant-Man good enough to make you want to stick around, even for a sequel? That's debatable. But it sure does go down easy. In a hard-sell summer that's enough to make Ant-Man stand tall.




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Southpaw subtitles download!

Jake Gyllenhaal steps into the ring in this sentimental sweet-science melodrama

Jake Gyllenhaal is on a roll. Onscreen in Nightcrawler, Enemy and Prisoners, and onstage in Constellations, Little Shop of Horrors and If There Is I Haven't Found It Yet, he shows the kind of versatility and commitment that should have won him prizes. The awards didn't materialize, but it's just a matter of time. Maybe it'll be for Southpaw, a retro, in-your-face fight drama that dribbles into sappiness. Much, though far from all, is redeemed by Gyllenhaal's virtuoso performance. The actor, 34, trained for four months and gained 15 pounds of muscle to play light-heavyweight champ Billy Hope. But the externals — scars, tattoos and slurred voice — don't begin to suggest the emotional depths Gyllenhaal brings to the part of a bruiser on the ropes.

Billy is at the top of his game, but constant jabs have left him punchy. His wife, Maureen (Rachel McAdams), wants him to slow down and enjoy their 11-year-old daughter, Leila (a feisty Oona Laurence). Maureen is way more than lacquered hair, nails and spray tan. She and Billy were raised in Hell's Kitchen orphanages. McAdams, strong and smoldering, is explosively good. Spoiler alert: Her role is shortened when Maureen is involved in a shooting accident sparked by Miguel Escobar (Miguel Gomez), a fighter who thinks he can goad Billy into taking him on for high stakes.
Director Antoine Fuqua (Training Day, The Equalizer), working from an overcooked screenplay by Kurt Sutter (Sons of Anarchy), knows he's not in the same ring with Raging Bull, Rocky, Million Dollar Baby and The Fighter, though the script unblushingly mooches from each of them. Still, Fuqua shuffles the tools of the genre with genuine flair. As tragedy lands Billy in the pits of desperation, poverty and child-custody battles, Fuqua shifts focus from Billy's crooked agent (Curtis "50 Cent" Jackson) to a trainer-savior, Tick Wills (the expert Forest Whitaker), who teaches Billy a new fighting style that doesn't involve stopping punches with his head.
The powerful boxing scenes, vividly shot from Madison Square Garden to Vegas by Mauro Fiore and edited by John Refoua, help distract from the father-daughter scenes that outdo The Champ (the Wallace Beery original and the Jon Voight remake) for gooey sentiment. Amazingly, Gyllenhaal never cheats on his character's sense of dignity. Against the odds, he keeps you in Billy's corner. That's a champ.


From The Archives Issue 1241: August 13, 2015



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Get Pixels subtitles!

Aliens who resemble 1980s arcade icons attack in this game-over Adam Sandler movie

Aliens attack Earth disguised as characters from 1980s video games. Right, Pac-Man and Donkey Kong want to kill us. Our only hope lies with arcade geeks now grown up but still immature and played by Adam Sandler, Josh Gad, Peter Dinklage and Kevin James (he's the president). Director Chris Columbus surely hopes that today's teen gamers, hooked on Halo and Call of Duty, will care about what happened 30 years ago. That's iffy, unless 13-year-olds think it's a scream when Dinklage asks to be part of a sex sandwich with Serena Williams and Martha Stewart, who both do cameos. Yikes! I saw Pixels as a 3D metaphor for Hollywood's digital assault on our eyes and brains. Not funny. Just relentless and exhausting.


From The Archives Issue 1241: August 13, 2015



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Paper Towns russian subtitles

A winning cast sells YA godhead John Green's tale of teens romantically gone wild

If you blubbered through John Green's The Fault in Our Stars and the emo-blockbuster squeezed from its bestselling YA pages, you probably won't cry all that much at the movie constructed from Green's Paper Towns. Wait, that's a good thing. None of the main characters die of cancer in Paper Towns and the script by Fault’s Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber, of the ever-wonderful (500) Days of Summer, pulls back on the weepy bits in favor of what's funny, touching and vital. There may be nothing fresh left to find in teens coming of age, but director Jake Schreier (Robot and Frank) fakes it with genuine sincerity.

And he has a winning cast to sell it. Nat Wolff, good enough in Fault, Palo Alto and the upcoming Grandma to make you say — who is this kid, he’s got something — stars as Quentin Jacobson, Q for short. Q is the risk-averse Orlando nerd who's been crushing on the wild child next door, Margo Roth Spiegelman (Cara Delevingne), since he was nine and they found a dead body together (no cancer, the dude shot himself). Now Margo is the most popular girl in school and one night she climbs through Q's window, dressed as a ninja, and leads him on a revenge spree against those who wronged her. No murders, mostly it's just shaving off a jock's eyebrow, wrapping a car in plastic and shooting video of her cheating boyfriend’s ant-sized dick. But Q's heart is beating hard. When Margo doesn’t show up at school — even with prom and graduation coming — Q follows her clues, involving Walt Whitman and Woody Guthrie, to a small New York town that’s not even on the map (cartographers create such fictional towns to protect against copyright infringement, hence paper towns).
On the drive, Q brings along his friends, Radar (Justice Smith) and his girlfriend Angela (Jaz Sinclair) and horndog Ben (Austin Abrams) and Margo's bff Lacey (Halston Sage), a honeybunny who inspires Ben's carnal fantasies. This road trip is booby-trapped with teen clichés. And readers of the book won’t like some crucial changes (what, no Sea World?). But the central romance holds you. Supermodel Delevigne wears down any resentment of yet another Brit playing an American teen. Her flashing eyes and throaty voice indicate the star power to make it in pictures that move. And Wolff is terrific, giving us a romantic image of confused youth to root for. Ok, Paper Towns plays it safe, but its leads are irresistible so we're never sorry.




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Get The End of the Tour subtitles!

Jason Segel and Jesse Eisenberg hit the road in this extraordinary study of David Foster Wallace

Where's the drama and, hell, the laughs in the nonspectacle of two writers talking with and at each other? For a riveting answer, check out The End of the Tour. The film is based on the 2010 book Although of Course You End Up Becoming Yourself, by Rolling Stone writer David Lipsky. Over five days in 1996, Lipsky (Jesse Eisenberg) interviewed celebrated novelist and essayist David Foster Wallace (Jason Segel, like you've never seen him before). It was the end of Wallace's tour for his magnum opus, Infinite Jest. It wasn't until after the depression-plagued Wallace hanged himself in 2008 that Lipsky used the material in a story that won a National Magazine Award and became the basis for his book. Suicide hangs over the movie as it did the book, scrambling our thoughts and perhaps helping us achieve a greater understanding.

Nothing and everything happen in the movie. Director James Ponsoldt (The Spectacular Now), working from a fluid script by playwright Donald Margulies, does justice to the book without compromising his film. This is no biopic. The story takes place when the bandanna-wearing Wallace was at the peak of his success and trying in his own shambling, humane way to deal with it.
From the moment Lipsky, played with seductive intelligence and a secret smile by Eisenberg, arrives at Wallace's bachelor cave in snowbound Bloomington, Illinois, the scene is set for mesmerizing mind games. The more Lipsky pushes — his editor (Ron Livingston) wants details of the author's alleged heroin addiction — the warier Wallace becomes.
So we watch as Lipsky and Wallace travel by car, bus and jet trying to suss each other out, to touch a nerve, to form a bond. In Minneapolis, they eat junk food and argue pop culture. Then, at dinner with Wallace's pal Julie (Mamie Gummer) and his former college love Betsy (Mickey Sumner), the low-key author accuses Lipsky of crass flirting. His words sting. Segel, giving the performance of his career, potently catches Wallace's internal conflicts.
As the details accumulate, so does the power of the film, an illuminating meditation on art and life that hits you hard with its ferocity and feeling. What could have been a static record of a conversation becomes kinetic cinema of startling immediacy. Lipsky wrote, "Books are a social substitute; you read people who, at one level, you'd like to hang out with." The End of the Tour lets us hang out with two different writers who strive rigorously to never completely let their guard down. Although of course they end up becoming themselves. Right in front of us. That's what makes the movie, elevated by two extraordinary actors, an exhilarating gift. In the last image Ponsoldt gives us of Wallace, the former athlete is doing something that distills what his words do with such artful abandon: dancing.


From The Archives Issue 1241: August 13, 2015



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Vacation subtitles download!

This reboot of National Lampoon classic isn't worth leaving home for

Maybe National Lampoon's Vacation comedies, begun in 1983, hit your sweet spot. Maybe it'll hit again with this next-generation reboot from writer-directors Jonathan Goldstein and John Francis Daley. With Ed Helms as Rusty Griswold — son of Clark (Chevy Chase) and Ellen (Beverly D'Angelo) — taking his wife, Debbie (Christina Applegate), and sons, James (Skyler Gisondo) and Kevin (Steele Stebbins), down holiday road, there must be raucous R-rated fun. You'd think, but the gags about pedophiles and eating shit smack of desperation. Leslie Mann and wild-card Chris Hemsworth, as her cock-flashing hubby, get the heartiest hoots. The rest is comic history warmed over.


From The Archives Issue 1241: August 13, 2015



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How to get SRT files for Mission: Impossible – Rogue Nation

Tom Cruise is back — and hanging from a plane — in another action-packed M:I flick

Tom Cruise hit on a tangy idea when he decided to turn the old-school CBS series Mission: Impossible (1966-1973) into a film franchise. As producer as well as star, Cruise puts a new director in charge of every movie. So far at the helm, since 1996, we've had Brian De Palma, John Woo, J.J. Abrams and Brad Bird (his Ghost Protocol is my fave and the biggest box-office hit in the bunch). Cruise, 53, will presumably play IMF (Impossible Mission Force) undercover agent Ethan Hunt until he's eligible for AARP. Fine by me. Back in a galaxy far, far away (1986's Top Gun), Cruise had a killer line: "I feel the need, the need for speed." He's still feeling it. This dude can run, jump, climb, ride and fight like a muthafucker, often shirtless.

Cruise is back in action for the fifth time, and no worse for wear, in Mission: Impossible — Rogue Nation. The director is Christopher McQuarrie, who cooked up something moody and intense with Cruise in 2012's Jack Reacher. But McQuarrie has never worked on this huge a scale, and the strain to go big and bigger sometimes shows. The movie begins with Ethan hanging from the side of an Airbus A400M cargo plane during takeoff. Why? That kind of question is irrelevant in a franchise in which action trumps logic at every turn.
And yet, McQuarrie — an Oscar winner for his script for 1995's The Usual Suspects — has an ace to play. That's the indie sensibility he brings to the usual Hollywood FX. Don't get me wrong. Rogue Nation doesn't skimp on the wow factor, especially a Moroccan motorcycle chase and an underwater sequence that has Ethan whooshing around like a sock during spin cycle. And the laughs kick in whenever Ethan gets help from his miracle-working teammates Benji (Simon Pegg, priceless) and Luther (Ving Rhames). The plot, such as it is, involves Ethan and Agent Brandt (Jeremy Renner) trying to save the IMF from extinction by the CIA, led by an exposition-spouting Alec Baldwin. No one believes Ethan that a mysterious Syndicate is hellbent on seizing global control.
McQuarrie borrows elements of mythical evil from Suspects when Ethan and the double-dealing British agent Ilsa Faust (a ready-to-rock Rebecca Ferguson) lock horns with mega-creepy Solomon Lane (Sean Harris), a villain cut from the same cloth as Keyser Söze. Harris, best known for The Borgias, can't compete with Kevin Spacey's iconic Söze. Neither can Rogue Nation, which succeeds best when McQuarrie channels his inner film geek and stages a spectacular shootout at the Vienna opera house that evokes Hitchcock's The Man Who Knew Too Much. This knockout sequence, in which Cruise fires up everything he has as actor and athlete, shows that Mission: Impossible still has gas in its tank even when its engine sputters.


From The Archives Issue 1241: August 13, 2015



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Get Shaun the Sheep Movie subtitles!

A plucky farm animal hits the big city in Aardman's instant animated classic

When Aardman Animations sends out a movie, attention must be paid. For me, their Wallace and Gromit franchise is the Holy Grail of stop-motion Claymation. Shaun the Sheep Movie isn’t quite in that advanced class. But hold the bleating, the movie is a world-class winner.

Grownups will enjoy every delicious irony and twisted sight gag that floats over kids' heads. If the brats don't get the shout-outs to The Night of the Hunter, The Silence of the Lambs and Scorsese's Cape Fear, let them suck on it. Shaun makes the trip from a short-form British TV series to big screen feature in high style. And since the animals and humans speak in an indecipherable gibberish unmatched since Stallone's last epic, the emphasis is on the visuals. Writer-directors Mark Burton and Richard Starzak have come up with some doozies. Who knew that pigs could throw a Kardashian-worthy shindig?
The action begins on Mossy Bottom Farm, where Shaun (voiced by Justin Flatcher) and his flock cook up mischief for the Farmer (John Sparkes) and his sheepdog Bitzer (also Sparkes). Soon the flock is off to the Big City, and dressing as humans to eat in a fancy restaurant. The Farmer? After a concussion results in amnesia, he uses shears to cut human hair and becomes a celebrity stylist. As for Shaun, first introduced in 1995 Oscar-winning Wallace and Gromit short A Close Shave, he never wears out his welcome. So what if the movie is draggy in spots and the soundtrack, featuring Eliza Doolittle and Rizzle Kicks, is too hip for this old school. Shaun is a true party animal.




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Get ready for sex, drugs and a breakout performance in this extraordinary coming-of-age movie

It begins with 15-year-old Minnie Goetz exulting, "I just had sex." In The Diary of a Teenage Girl — a riveting, resonant first feature from Marielle Heller, with a breakout star performance from Brit actress Bel Powley, 23, as Minnie — you exult along with her. Set in bohemian San Francisco in 1976, the film is based on Phoebe Gloeckner's autobiographical novel published in words and drawings. Heller uses animation to duplicate the effect. We're in Minnie's head, with all its whirling confusions. So much for adult grumbling that Diary condones pedophilia because Minnie lost her virginity to an older dude (Alexander Skarsgård, excellent), the lover of her mom (Kristen Wiig). Heller's film is saying that this is what it feels like for a girl. Deal with it. Powley is sensational, expertly blending hilarity and heartbreak. Her scenes with Wiig, sublime in her hard-won gravity, are unique and unforgettable. Just like the movie.




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How bad is this reboot of Marvel's first superheroes? Worse than you can imagine

The latest reboot of the Fantastic Four — the cinematic equivalent of malware — is worse than worthless. It not only scrapes the bottom of the Marvel-movie barrel; it knocks out the floor and sucks audiences into a black hole of soul-crushing, coma-inducing dullness. And, guess what, it's an origin story. That's right. A gifted young cast (Miles Teller, Kate Mara, Jamie Bell, Michael B. Jordan) has been hired to freshen the plot, like an old whore trying to pass as jailbait. No go.
Director Josh Trank (Chronicle), who wrote the soggy script with Simon Kinberg and Jeremy Slater,  takes forever to get things going. Reed Richards (Teller, acting NAÏVE in capital letters) is a science prodigy recruited by Dr. Franklin Storm (Reg E. Cathey) to join his rogue think tank. Storm's adopted daughter Sue (Mara) is a willing participant. His car-crazy son, Johnny (Jordan), not so much. Mara and Jordan are given nothing to act so you can only watch as they lose the will to try. Toby Kebbell as Victor Von Doom, Dr. Storm's embittered pupil, overcompensates by overdoing everything. But he's the bad guy. You can tell because he keeps giving shit to Reed's BFF, Ben Grimm (Bell). Everyone pretends to be excited by Reed's invention, a teleporter which can transport a monkey into an alternate dimension. Since this movie has no dimension at all, everyone is  envious of the monkey.
So, of course, they jump into the teleporter and gets transformed into — spoiler alert! — the Fantastic Four. Except nothing about this misbegotten, cynical attempt at franchise-rebuilding is fantastic. That includes the crude, cheap-looking, unspecial effects that turn Reed into the stretchy Mr. Fantastic, Johnny into the Human Torch, Sue into the Invisible Woman and Ben into a pile of rocks called The Thing. Fantastic Four is a pile of something, too. You fill in the blank.




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Mistress America subtitles download!

Greta Gerwig and director Noah Baumbach reunite for another big-city screwball comedy

Unite, enthusiasts of Frances Ha — director Noah Baumbach and his shining star and co-writer, Greta Gerwig, have reteamed to create a screwball diversion that vibrates with smarts, sexiness and comic desperation. That's Mistress America, starring the delectable Gerwig as Brooke, a Manhattan dynamo in design, aerobics, restaurants and whatever else can absorb her manic energy. If Brooke got off the fast track and took a good look at herself, she'd scream. Her latest distraction is Tracy (Lola Kirke), a freshman at Barnard whose mother is set to marry Brooke's dad. Disaster? You bet. But not before Brooke and Tracy exploit each other and end up at the Connecticut home of Brooke's ex-fiance, where the full cast of characters converges in a series of slammed doors and shouting matches.
Baumbach (The Squid and the Whale) is clearly having a blast and, as usual, packing a sting into every line. Gerwig is the mistress of all things funny and fierce, and her byplay with Kirke (Gone Girl) is killer. You won't know what hit you.


From The Archives Issue 1242: August 27, 2015



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Get Straight Outta Compton subtitles!

The groundbreaking gangsta rap group N.W.A gets the biopic they deserve

This movie burns so hot that it's bound to run out of steam. It does. But not so much that you ever want to leave its danger zone. Straight Outta Compton is epic, baby, an explosively entertaining hip-hop biopic that raps home truths about race and police brutality as timely now (think Ferguson) as they were during the 1980s in Compton, California. That's where five black teens — known as Dr. Dre, Ice Cube, Eazy-E, DJ Yella and MC Ren — channeled their fury into the beats of N.W.A, short for Niggaz With Attitude. The band didn't invent gangsta rap, but N.W.A were sure as shit there in the delivery room, sparked by near-constant rousting from the LAPD. Director F. Gary Gray, working from a script by Jonathan Herman and Andrea Berloff, doesn't supply halos for his protagonists. Sex, drugs and the thug life figure prominently. Assign any soft-pedaling to the fact that Dre and Cube, now media moguls, are among the film's producers and that Gray directed Cube videos and his 1995 stoner comedy, Friday.


The atmosphere is charged as cinematographer Matthew Libatique creates striking visuals that pull us into the fray. Cube's look-alike son, O'Shea Jackson Jr., does a smashing job playing his dad, blending sensitivity with seething intensity. It's Cube and his buddy DJ Andre "Dr. Dre" Young (a charmingly sly Corey Hawkins) who persuade drug dealer Eric "Eazy-E" Wright (Jason Mitchell) to finance a label, Ruthless Records. Mitchell's fierce portrayal of the mercurial Eazy (who died of AIDS complications in 1995) is award-caliber, especially when he haltingly, then thrillingly, lays down vocals on "Boyz-n-the-Hood."
The recording sessions, featuring Neil Brown Jr. and Aldis Hodge in lesser roles as DJ Yella and MC Ren, pack the vital spark of live performance. But it's Cube who puts N.W.A on the map with his incendiary "Fuck Tha Police." The film's righteous highlight is a Detroit concert where the cops threaten to jail the bandmates and shut the place down if they sing the rap that has demonized N.W.A to Middle America. Of course they sing it. And the crowd roars. The movie is never as potent as it is in that groundbreaking moment, when artists and audiences connect. But credit Gray for tracing the group's rise and fall with dramatic vigor. The band's white manager, Jerry Heller (Paul Giamatti), instigates a rift that sends Cube on his own and Dre into an unholy alliance with Death Row Records founder Marion "Suge" Knight (a very scary R. Marcos Taylor).
Straight Outta Compton plays better when it's outside the box, showing us N.W.A power and the consequences of abusing it. Would the movie be better if it didn't sidestep the band's misogyny, gay-bashing and malicious infighting? No shit. But what stands is an amazement, an electrifying piece of hip-hop history that speaks urgently to right now.


From The Archives Issue 1242: August 27, 2015



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The Man From U.N.C.L.E. french srt download

Another Sixties TV spy series gets the big-screen treatment — and this time it's retro

Have you noticed that the past is effing everywhere? Especially at the movies. Look at The Man From U.N.C.L.E., a moldy 1960s TV series that comes to the screen with no Mission: Impossible update or makeover. That's right — it's still moldy. But in a good way. Mostly. Director Guy Ritchie (Snatch, Sherlock Holmes) is dishing out the same Cold War spycraft audiences ate up when James Bond was a pup. The TV series was so hot that Sally Draper was seen masturbating to it on Mad Men. Will today's Sallys be turned on? Ritchie tries his damnedest, having to stay in period (the film is a prequel to the TV show) but juicing up the action, sex and silliness.

It's tricky, navigating the casting of CIA agent Napoleon Solo and his KGB counterpart Illya Kuryakin, roles memorably created on TV by Robert Vaughn and David McCallum, respectively. Studly Brit Henry Cavill, the latest Man of Steel, who takes on Ben Affleck's Batman next year, plays Solo with a devilish 007 charm that's closer to George Lazenby than to Roger Moore. But the dude can fill a tailored suit and launch insults like verbal missiles. His chief target is Kuryakin, played by L.A. homeboy Armie Hammer, who was so good in J. Edgar and as the Winklevoss twins in The Social Network that no one blames him (that much) for The Lone Ranger. Hammer does a nice job spoofing Kuryakin's accent and stiff upper lip. And he and Cavill, set up as rivals, bromance their way through the global spy collective of U.N.C.L.E. (United Network Command for Law and Enforcement), under the bemused leadership of Waverly (a hilariously deadpan Hugh Grant). Top-secret and all that.
The script, cooked up by Ritchie and Lionel Wigram, is the usual save-the-world affair, involving a global crime syndicate and, luckily, two delicious babes (excuse the sexism, but it's the Austin Powers Sixties). Aussie knockout Elizabeth Debicki plays Victoria Vinciguerra, the evil one (you can tell by her lacquered hair and nails). And that stellar Swede Alicia Vikander is Gaby Teller, the sweet one. Or is she? Vikander, the sexbot in Ex Machina, is having a hell of a year. And you can see why. Gaby isn't much of a part, but Vikander makes her a live wire. Her impromptu dance with Kuryakin that ends in a wrestling match is, well, something to see. So is the movie, when Ritchie ignores the tangled story-line and goes for pure escapist retro fun. Note to millennials: No one stops to text or take a selfie. You've been warned.


From The Archives Issue 1242: August 27, 2015



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french subtitles for Grandma

Prepare yourself for a Lily Tomlin tour de force

Lily Tomlin works miracles. She's comedy royalty whose best films (Nashville, The Late Show, All of Me, I Heart Huckabees) always cut deeper than a smile. But no Oscar. Maybe Grandma will do the trick. It's a Tomlin tour de force.

Don't get any ideas that Tomlin, 75, is playing some sweet old dearie fighting senility or terminal illness. Writer-director Paul Weitz (American Pie, About a Boy) plays to her strengths. As Elle Reid, a celebrated poet with a mouth on her, Tomlin takes on the world like the hypocrisy pit it is. Her longtime lesbian lover has died, and she's just shown the door to a new, younger version (Judy Greer). That's when Elle's teen granddaughter, Sage (Julia Garner), announces she's pregnant.
The film, a scrappy delight, is a no-bull hunt for "a reasonably priced abortion," bringing broke Grandma in contact with the baby daddy (Nat Wolff, a hoot), Sage's mom (Marcia Gay Harden, wow) and Karl (a superb Sam Elliott), a love from Elle's past. Each encounter opens up feelings that Elle can't laugh off. Tomlin, the sorceress, leaves you dazzled and devastated.


From The Archives Issue 1242: August 27, 2015



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Get Digging for Fire subtitles!

An unexpected discovery derails a couple in the latest from indie filmmaker Joe Swanberg

As an indie filmmaker and one of the founders of the mumblecore movement, Joe Swanberg (Kissing on the Mouth, Drinking Buddies) has always gravitated to the space between words, to the things left unsaid between people who say they're in love. In Digging for Fire, a mesmerizing, millennial spin on Ingmar Bergman's five-hour Scenes From a Marriage — but way shorter at 83 minutes — Swanberg is swimming in symbolism. Don't panic. The movie steps lively with buoyant humor and palpable sexual tension, but keep an eye out for the dark places.

New Girl's Jake Johnson, who co-wrote the deft script with Swanberg, plays Tim, currently housesitting in the Hollywood hills with wife Lee (Rosemarie DeWitt) and their three-year-old (Jude Swanberg, the director's son). Lee, an aerobics instructor, has moved in as a favor to a client. Tim, who's a gym teacher at a public school, is supposed to do the family taxes, receipts laid out on the table like dreary stand-ins for marital responsibility. Instead, he procrastinates, takes a walk around the house and digs up — metaphor alert — a gun and a human bone. Suddenly, mystery is in the air and a whiff on menace.
Lee refuses to join her hubby in a dig for earthly remains. She takes off with the kid to see her parents and finds herself on the town with a hunky stranger (Orlando Bloom). Tim stays at the house, inviting over guy pals, including reliable Phil (Mike Birbiglia) and crazy Ray (Sam Rockwell). Also showing up are two women: Alicia (Anna Kendrick), on hand to jump half naked into the pool; and Max (Brie Larson) who helps Tim dig and returns the next day for a date that dangerously skirts infidelity. Swanberg cuts these two dangerous liaisons together to the bounce of "Li'l Red Riding Hood" by Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs. A perfect tease.
Questions of sex, identity, aging, and the shifting parameters of marriage and parenthood all come up for consideration. Swanberg detractors will bitch as usual about the loose, improv feelings that rise up and never quite land. But the provocations are intriguing and the acting sublime. Johnson, so good in Swanberg's Drinking Buddies, manages to take us inside Tim's head and heart. His scenes with the reliably superb DeWitt radiate a sweet sadness. Ditto the movie. Beautifully shot in 35mm by the gifted Ben Richardson (Beasts of the Southern Wild) to a hypnotic synth score by Dan Romer, Digging for Fire goes to the  tantalizing edge of revelation and leaves us there to filter what we saw through the prism of our own strengths and weaknesses. I'd call that the mark of a true filmmaker.




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How to get SRT files for American Ultra

Not even Kristen Stewart and Jesse Eisenberg can save this stoner superspy comedy-thriller

The problem about reviewing this mindless mindblower is spoiling the surprise by giving shit away. So I will tread carefully. American Ultra opens nice and easy, with stars Jesse Eisenberg and Kristin Stewart, reteaming after 2009's Adventureland, dishing out a winning slacker romance. Then, boom, the movie is taken over by the demon seed of Michael-Bay-ish adrenaline pumping. And the blood. Oh, the blood.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Eisenberg plays Mike, a stoner living in East Bumfuck, West Virginia. Mike dims the dullness of his job at a convenience store by writing a graphic novel about a superhero monkey. He goes home every night to Phoebe (Stewart, terrific), who shows the dude unearned patience and sexual healing. She even forgives him for ruining their vacation trip to Hawaii by having one of his pukey panic attacks before they even get on the plane.
Having trouble suspending disbelief that this babe would put up with this loser? You’re not alone. It turns out that Mike and Phoebe have secrets. I’ll never tell. But director Nima Nourizadeh (Project X) and screenwriter Max Landis (Chronicle)  jack up the action pretty damn quick. Mike fights two hitman in a parking lot, using a spoon and ramen noodles as weapons. "There's a chance I might be a robot," says Mike. Nah. The C.I.A. shows up in the divergent persons of Connie Britton and Topher Grace (in as nifty turn as a bureaucratic nutjob). And soon the movie's twisty charm gives way to gory splatter. Eisenberg and Stewart stay appealing to the last. The movie, not so much.




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Three people negotiate the end of the world in this postapocalytic gem of a thriller

It's the end of the world. (Nuclear Armageddon did the trick.) No zombies — just three people left alive. Z for Zachariah, adapted quite freely and lyrically by director Craig Zobel and screenwriter Nissar Modi from a 1974 sci-fi thriller by children's-book writer Robert C. O'Brien, is hunting something deeper than dystopian melodrama. It asks what form humanity takes when there's (practically) no one looking.

There is God, of course. Ann (a radiant, riveting  Margot Robbie) is a farm girl whose home in a valley has been spared  the worst. Ann is a believer and a survivor. With her dog Faro by her side, she roams the deserted valley, with its self-contained weather system, raising farm animals and raiding a local store for what's left of canned goods. (The landscape is beautifully captured by Tim Orr, who shot in New Zealand.) Ann's reading list includes farm manuals, Billy Graham and religious books for children, starting with A Is for Adam. It looks like they'll never be a Z for Zachariah or any person in between.
That is until Ann sees a man by the side of the road. He's covered, like an astronaut on a moonwalk, in protective gear. The safe suit is a remnant of what he helped create in a research lab. His name is Loomis (the extraordinary Chiwetel Ejiofor), a black man (he's white in the novel) who puts his faith in science not divinity. But he and Ann form a tentative bond after she helps heal him after a nearly deadly bath in a radiated stream. Can these two repopulate the world? Not so fast. Sex is on the table, but Loomis doesn't want to rush it. A better question is can the man's controlling power games — and perhaps his murderous past — get past Ann's defenses?
Loomis wants to use the wood from a church, erected by Ann's father, to build a windmill powered by hydroelectricity that can sustain them. She objects. And this is where the film introduces a character not in the novel. He's Caleb, a God-fearing mine worker of Capt. Kirk-like handsomeness since he's played by Star Trek's Chris Pine. Suddenly questions of race enter the fray, along with the pain of loneliness and spiritual longing. "You can all  be white people together," says a fed-up Loomis, who seethes with aggression against this new man. What fate befalls this Eve and two Adams?
The three actors work wonders. And Zobel, as he did in 2012's mindbending Compliance, nails every nuance of intonation and posture. No spoilers here about the eventual outcome which raises provocative questions about reinventing the planet in microcosm. As Bogie famously said in Casablanca, "the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world." They sure as hell do in this one.




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Zac Efron finds beauty and the beat in this attempt to bring EDM culture to the screen

Finding a visual equivalent for EDM (Electronic Dance Music) is a wickedly seductive temptation — not to mention building an emotional narrative around it. So first-time feature director Max Joseph, of MTV's Catfish reality series, earns points for trying to give our eyes and ears a soulful workout in We Are Your Friends. It's too bad the screenplay he wrote with Meaghan Oppenheimer, from a story by executive producer Richard Silverman, panders to formula instead of exploding it.

Zac Efron stars as Cole, a struggling DJ on the California EDM scene who firmly believes all you need is a laptop, some talent and one killer track. Cole, 23, lives on the fringes of the unfashionable San Fernando Valley and does odd jobs with his high school homies, volatile Mason (Jonny Weston), movie-star wannabe Ollie (Shiloh Fernandez) and nerdy Squirrel (Alex Shaffer). Ollie deals drugs and all the dudes sign on with Paige (Jon Bernthal), who runs a mortgage company that cheats people out of their houses. (Shades of The Wolf of Wall Street.) The money is good until Cole grows a conscience. Nothing else happens until Cole meets and impresses James Reed (an outstanding Wes Bentley), a hard-drinking DJ icon who intros Cole to the right people and, oh yeah, PCP. At an art gallery party, Cole sees the paintings and guests gyrating together like the animation in Richard Linklater's Waking Life. Trippy? You bet. But to what purpose?
It's not enough that Cole sees his idol's feet of clay. "He used to be good," says Cole to James' hottie  girfriend and personal assistant, Sophie (Emily Ratajkowski). "I think now he just gives the people what they want." Which is, of course, exactly what this movie does. If you want to keep butts in the seats, do the trite thing. Did you ever doubt that Cole would hook up with Sophie or that a major character would die or that Cole would start listening to what the real world is trying to tell him? 
The clichés tick off with metronomic regularity. What helps are Efron's low-key charm, Bentley's ability to cut below the surface, and music supervisor Randall Poster's skill at laying on the sounds, including the main score by Segal. What hurts is that filmmaker Mia Hansen-Love did it better just a few months ago in Eden, about the French house movement since the 1990s. In this movie, James tells Cole the ideal EDM track would work up the heart-rate of the crowd to 128 beats-per-minute. We Are Your Friends never even gets us to break a sweat.




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Los Angeles eats itself in this admiring documentary of SoCal food critic Jonathan Gold

So far, Jonathan Gold is the only food critic to win a Pulitzer Prize. Nothing in Laura Gabbert's admiring documentary City of Gold can quite match Gold's tasty prose, occasionally heard here in whispery-soft voiceover. But there's a surprise on the menu. That's Los Angeles itself. For as Gold, in search of fresh culinary treasures, travels the hidden corners of a too-familiar city in his green Dodge Ram 1500, we get to fall in love with L.A. again.

Like a plus-sized, gastronomic Don Quixote, Gold had previously embarked on an impossible quest to dine at every hole-in-the-wall and ethnic food truck along the 15-mile Pico Boulevard from downtown to Santa Monica. Now, as food critic for the Los Angeles Times, he continues to uncover family-owned restaurants in economically-depressed areas. And in so doing he reveals the striking diversity of the city's wide-ranging food culture. Listen up, Academy. If only Oscar voters had Gold's keen eye maybe our film culture wouldn't be so blandly colorless.
Look, I'm not saying all Gold's food choices are suitable for general audiences. Sauteed grasshoppers, slimy hagfish and tacos stuffed with cow eyes are an acquired taste. Mark Gold, Jonathan's environmentalist brother, jokingly quips, "Jonathan's eating everything I'm trying to save."
But here's the thing: Gold, who started out at LA Weekly in 1982 as a proofreader while studying music at UCLA, can write like a jazz maestro when inspiration strikes. It's not that Gold hasn't covered the high-end dining scene for such publications as Gourmet and Los Angeles magazines. But from the mid-1980s when he started his "Counter Intelligence" columns, Gold has succeeded best by avoiding expense-account meccas in favor of neighborhood joints run by newly arrived immigrants who don't always work in the safest parts of the city. A favorable review can have tourists stepping out of their comfort zones and into hidden corners of the City of Angels.
Don't expect a warts-and-all portrait. Gabbert's film pays scant attention to Gold's harsh critical side and the power of his negative reviews. There is reference to his casual approach to deadlines, even when working with Laurie Ocoa, his frequent editor (and also his wife and the mother of their two children). But in essence, City of Gold is a celebration of a critic who helped define a city by what it eats. And at a bargain price. So take notes, and dig in.




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No Escape english srt download

Title be damned: Audiences should flee from this racist mess ASAP

Stay alert if you're a white guy from Texas (Owen Wilson) who's just taken a job in a conveniently unnamed country in Southeast Asia (the film was shot in Thailand, which should sue). It's tough shit for this dude that the locals, pissed-off at a U.S. imperialist grab at their water supply, have just staged a coup and are on a bloodlust rampage, leaving bodies everywhere. If you're like Wilson's clueless American named Jack and don't turn your middle-management skills into killer 007 survival instincts stat, these avatars of the "yellow peril" will rape your wife Annie (Lake Bell) and kill your bratty, pre-teen girls, Lucy (Sterling Jerins) and Beeze (Claire Geare). Fortunately a former 007 does show up in the roguish person of Pierce Brosnan's Hammond, a grizzled Brit with ties to...oh you can probably guess since the movie is crushingly predictable. As for the nonwhite members of the community, who cares? This movie doesn't.
That's the setup for the shamelessly risible and racist No Escape, the screwiest mix of suspense and stereotypes since Michael Bay was a pup. Horrorshow director John Erick Dowdle (Quarantine, As Above, So Below), who wrote the script with his bro Drew Dowdle, boasts a technical proficiency with handheld camerawork, jittery editing and nonstop gore. This movie really moves. But a fleet of tanks couldn’t help the brothers Dowdle push past the plot holes in this rancid mess. Wilson and Bell looks out of breath, but from running not acting. Even in the dog days of summer, when quality escapism is rare, seeing No Escape would have to qualify as an act of audience desperation.




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The Visit english srt download

M. Night Shyamalan ends a dry spell with this creepy-grandparents tale

Well, it's not in the same league as The Sixth Sense, but director M. Night Shyamalan ends a long dry spell with The Visit. It's a blend of mirth and malice that combines Grimm fairy tales with the found-footage gimmick of Paranormal Activity. A mom (Kathryn Hahn) sends her two kids (Olivia DeJonge and Ed Oxenbould), both experts with digital cameras, to visit her estranged parents. It's all smiles until Grandma (Deanna Dunagan, wowza) gets naked and Grandpa (Peter McRobbie) does strange things with his adult diapers. No spoilers, except to say that cheap thrills can still be a blast. Not enough to make up for Shyamalan's awful After Earth, but it's a start.




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How to get SRT files for Time Out of Mind

Richard Gere gives the performance of his career as a homeless man on the skids

Everyone involved in this small miracle of cinema is on the high wire. Richard Gere, deprived of his movie-star looks, plays a homeless man adrift in New York. Oren Moverman, the gifted Israeli-American writer-director of The Messenger and Rampart, deprives himself of the tearjerking backstory that keeps butts in seats. Time Out of Mind recalls the neorealism of, say, De Sica's The Bicycle Thief. It's stripped bare of Hollywood trappings. Moverman and cinematographer Bobby Bukowski shot Gere with hidden cameras, watching the world ignore him.

And yet you can't turn away, so ardent and artful is the film at hand. As the sights and sounds of the big city overwhelm this perpetual stranger, who can barely gather the strength and the words to register for a shelter or a session at Bellevue, his life becomes briefly ours. No self-pity. No sermons. A few facts emerge — a family tragedy, a lost job, an estranged daughter (Jena Malone) — mostly gleaned from interactions with another homeless man, played with grit and grace by Ben Vereen.
But for Gere's character — his senses bombarded with aural chaos, his memory dimmed by lapses he refers to as "losing time" — there is only alone. Gere, who has shockingly never been nominated for an Oscar, gives the performance of his career, intuitive and indelible. Maybe it's naive to think a movie like this can heighten our awareness, even change things. So what. Godspeed.




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Suffragette turkish srt download

The early struggle for women's rights gets the rabble-rousing prestige-drama treament

Why now? You ask yourself that question while watching Suffragette, a vibrant, vigorous movie about the fight for voting rights for British women in the early part of the 20th century. Then the light dawns. The sad truth is that gender bias has never stopped spreading its toxins and I don't mean just the current race for U.S. President.

Is the movie a true story? Not really. Carey Mulligan's character, Maud Watts, is a fictional composite meant to represent the women of the time, content to work and be exploited by their bosses and husbands until, well, they aren't anymore. Meryl Streep shows up for a spiky cameo as militant advocate Emmeline Pankhurst, who suggests that her ladies stop being genteel and start throwing bricks. Then there's Emily Wilding Davison (Natalie Press), who thought she could win attention to the cause by stepping in front of King George’s horse at the 1913 Epsom Derby and getting herself stomped to death. She was right. A high price for a media spotlight.
What makes Suffragette a relevant rabble-rouser, besides Mulligan's fierce, affecting performance, is the way it won't bow to the kind of Hollywood formula that tsk-tsks about how bad it was then — only to wrap everything up with a comfy banner that says, "You've come a long way, baby." The feminist struggle continues. And it powers through this movie even when the contours of the story flirt with the trite. It helps that two women are at the helm — director Sarah Gavron (Brick Lane) and screenwriter Abi Morgan (The Iron Lady).
In lesser hands, Maud's odyssey from workslave to activist would have been a catalogue of female anguish. We see Maud slaving at the laundry alongside her husband, Sonny (Ben Whishaw), and too near her handsy boss, Mr. Taylor (Geoff Bell). Another co-worker, Violet Miller (the excellent Anne-Marie Duff), pushes her to join the Women's Social and Political Union.  Still, Maud is reluctant, preferring to hide her head at home, caring for her husband and young son. When fate intervenes — as it does in this type of film — Maud is called on to testify in Parliament and to feel  genuine rage when the prime minister rejects the voting-rights bill. In tandem with pharmacist Edith Ellyn (a brilliant, bracing Helena Bonham Carter), Maud finds the stirring of a revolutionary inside herself. The price is losing everything.
There are times when the movie piles on troubles with too heavy a hand. At other times, Suffragette blazes with a fire that cannot be denied. And you see it all on Mulligan's wonderfully expressive face. For all the rich detail added by cinematographer Edu Grau, production designer Alice Normington and costume designer Jane Petrie, it is that human face that makes this feminist history relatable to this generation and to generations to come. In a sea of Hollywood escapism, Suffragette — flaws and all — is a movie that matters.




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Rock the Kasbah subtitles download!

All hail Bill Murray, who does wonders for this comedy about a rock manager on the comeback trail

If you have a comedy-drama about a rock manager at the last stages of a dismal career — he says he discovered Madonna (he didn't) and books his last client (a game Zooey Deschanel) on a USO tour of Afghanistan — you need to find exactly the right actor to play him. Director Barry Levinson and screenwriter Mitch Glazer lucked out getting Bill Murray to play Richie Lanz, a loser who makes losing hilarious. Murray just kills it.
Rock the Kasbah goes fierce to quietly touching and back to funny again. Bruce Willis shows up as a gun-toting mercenary. And there's Kate Hudson as a hooker working the Kabul circuit. And how about Leem Lubany as a Pashtun teen girl tied to strict Muslim rules of conduct. When Richie books her on Afghan Star, a version of American Idol, there are death threats. Some of this really happened. But don't get bogged down in details. Just roll with Murray, an actor so damn good you'll follow him anywhere.


From The Archives Issue 1247: November 5, 2015



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Sarah Silverman goes serious for this drama about a woman fighting her way out of depression

Sarah Silverman has a searching comic mind that makes watching her onstage a provocation as well as a pleasure. But Silverman's role in I Smile Back is miles from laughter. Her character, Laney Brooks, is having a meltdown. She has a husband (Josh Charles) who’s only a bit of a jerk, two good kids (Skylar Gaertner and Shayne Coleman) and a house in the New Jersey burbs that fairy tales say should add up to bliss.

But not for Laney. She's fucking around, swilling vodka, doing blow and getting off with the help of her daughter's stuffed bear. Laney is depressed. And I Smile Back, directed by Adam Salky (Dare) from a scrappy script by Paige Dylan and Amy Koppelman (adapted from Koppelman's even scrappier 2008 novel), doesn't flinch from her illness or her smarts. Laney's been to rehab and back. She sees the worst in herself and once in a while the best. But her depression overcomes her. The film hints at reasons: a father (Chris Sarandon) with the same genetic model; her fear of passing on what she and her dad have to her kids.
We've seen movies like this before, from a therapeutic handbook that makes us suspicious and slow to trust. But Silverman, digging so deep into her character that we can feel her nerve endings, is like nothing we've seen before. She's fierce and unerring. No showing off; she just is. This is acting of the highest caliber.




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Our Brand Is Crisis english srt download

Sandra Bullock will help elect the next president of Bolivia or die tryin' in this sharp political satire

Political satire needs creative juice to hit its targets. The livewire in Our Brand is Crisis is Sandra Bullock who is fiercely funny and touching as "Calamity Jane" Bodine. She's an American campaign strategist now jobbing in Bolivia to jumpstart the stalled presidential campaign of Castillo (Joaquim de Almeida). Jane's allergic to everything in Bolivia, from the altitude to Castillo's arrogance. She can play dirty, but not as dirty as her old foe Pat Candy (Billy Bob Thornton doing a hilarious take on real-life strategist James Carville), who is repping the leading candidate, Rivera (Louis Arcella).
Based on Rachel Boynton's 2005 documentary, this fictional spin on a real election makes a timely fit for today’s campaign antics. Director David Gordon Green and screenwriter Peter Straughan sometimes stumble over this vast terrain of self-serving scoundrels (Trump trumps anything they can make up), but the laughs keep firing. And Bullock, in tandem with Thornton and a stellar Zoe Kazan as a researcher who actually understands the country she's gaming, never lets hypocrisy out of her comic kill zone.




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Bradley Cooper is a chef cooking himself to redemption in the movie equivalent of indigestion

Bradley Cooper starring as a chef in a movie about food and how it reflects life. How can it miss? Exhibit A: Burnt, a cheerless and unappetizing plate of piffle that deserves to be smashed against a wall or at least sent back to the kitchen.

Director John Wells, who botched August: Osage County, and screenwriter Stephen Knight, who should know better (he wrote the brilliant Locke), cooked this mess up and they get all the ingredients wrong. On the surface, Cooper seems a good fit as Adam Jones, a dick-swing American expat who made his name in Paris and then let drugs bring him down. Now, off the junkie train and having done penance in New Orleans by humbly shucking oysters, a sober Adam picks London for a comeback and a chance to achieve his goal: lead a restaurant that earns the ultimate three Michelin stars.
Though he's pissed off everyone in his wake, Adam persuades his old enemy Tony (Daniel Bruhl) to  turn over his own restaurant for Adam’s redemption. For years, Tony has long yearned to get into Adam's pants, a fact redundantly spelled out by Adam's therapist (a wasted Emma Thompson). Anyway, Chef Adam builds his crew, including one woman, sous chef  Helene (Sienna Miller), a single mom with no real purpose as a character except to give Adam a shot a true love.
Cooper and Miller, so fine in American Sniper, are here just dots to be connected in a script off a moldy menu of clichés about relapse and recovery. Cooper has been advised to ape the mannerisms of reality-show chef Gordon Ramsey, yelling, throwing things and ending every sentence with a nasty, rhetorical, "yeah." As in, "You're an idiot, yeah?" or "Get out of my face, yeah?"
This is one stupid, soggy movie, yeah? Adam is such a loathsome, self-pitying human being that you almost root for him to fail, Worse, Burnt gets the food sinfully wrong. The whole premise of this sinking cinematic soufflé is that Adam is an artist with gastronomy. But we never know what goes into his art. We see plates fly by, skillfully arranged turbot, scallops and filets, edited in such a manic blur by Nick Moore that we never get a good look at anything, much less what it tells us about Adam.
Jon Favreau's underrated Chef made food a representation of the chef's soul. The same goes for Ratatouille, Babette's Feast and the classic Big Night. God really is there in the details. The unsavory truth about Burnt is that there is no there there. Adam's dishes have no personality, no passion, no reason for being — just like this movie. It's a recipe for cinematic indigestion.




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If this really is Daniel Craig's final round as 007, he's giving fans a killer farewell

If there is such a thing as "James Bond's Greatest Hits," then Spectre is it. The 25th movie about the British MI6 agent with a license to kill is party time for Bond fans, a fierce, funny, gorgeously produced valentine to the longest-running franchise in movies. Bond freaks will be orgasmic playing spot-the-reference to the series that began in 1962 with Dr. No.

Non-freaks still have Daniel Craig to feast on. In a photo finish with Sean Connery as the best of the six movie Bonds, Craig comes out blazing. He's a blunt instrument in a creamy Tom Ford tux, alive with danger and sexual swagger. This is Craig's fourth time as 007. After the abysmal Quantum of Solace, he rallied with Skyfall, the biggest boffo Bond ($1.1 billion worldwide). Craig's stated goal was to make Spectre "better than Skyfall." Not quite. Casino Royale, Craig's first go-round, remains his peak, the film that caught Bond in the act of inventing himself.
Spectre carries on Craig's reinvention of Bond, blowing a reported $250 million budget on spectacular action without losing what's personal. Skyfall director Sam Mendes is back to keep things real, but the plot cooked up by John Logan, Neal Purvis, Robert Wade and Jez Butterworth is a 148-minute minefield of distractions.
Ah, but what distractions. Apologies to The Spy Who Loved Me, but the Bond series has never had a more drop-dead dazzler of an opener than this one, set in Mexico City on the Day of the Dead. With Bond leaping across rooftops to take out the evil Sciarra (Alessandro Cremona) and winding up in a dizzying chopper battle above the crowds in Zocolo Square, the scene is a visual triumph for Dutch camera whiz Hoyte van Hoytema (Interstellar, Her) and a new peak in the art of eye-popping.
Then Bond is off to Rome, chasing bad guys in a custom Aston Martin DB10 and having sex with Sciarra's widow (Monica Bellucci, still wowza at 51). The widow is Bond's entree to Spectre, a secret society of global terrorists led by Franz Oberhauser (Christoph Waltz), a mystery man from Bond's orphan past. "I'm the author of all your pain," says Franz, whose ID is easy to guess. No spoilers, except to say that Waltz, purring with lethal charm, is perfection.
Back at MI6, Bond and the new M (Ralph Fiennes) face a new enemy, C, short for Max Denbigh (a smarmy Andrew Scott). He's a bureaucrat who wants to refit British intelligence for the digital era: drones in place of agents and the end of the 00 program, which made spycraft hands-on. So it's Bond, M, Moneypenny (Naomie Harris) and gadget-master Q (a wonderful Ben Whisaw) against the cyber-Nazis on one side, Spectre on the other.

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Hear Sam Smith's Elegant James Bond Theme Song for 'Spectre' »



Spectre even offers a fresh take on the Bond girl. She's Madeleine Swann (Léa Seydoux), a French doctor with a name out of Proust and no patience for Bond's swinging, macho lifestyle. She puts the randy spy in touch with his feminist side and, just maybe, lasting love.
Not buying it? Too candy-ass? I see your point. But Bond's train fight with a hulk called Hinx (Dave Bautista) recalls the brutal choo-choo classic in From Russia With Love. Craig puts heat and heart into Spectre, as if he's taken Bond as far he can. The movie is a fever dream of all the Bond villains and all of Bond's efforts to see a life past them. An exhausted Craig has said he'd rather "slash my wrists" than play Bond again. There's still one more film in his contract, but to quote Sam Smith's Bond song, "The writing's on the wall." If so, Spectre is a stirring, way-cool valedictory. Craig does himself proud.


From The Archives Issue 1248: November 19, 2015



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polish subtitles for Brooklyn

Saoirse Ronan is an Irish immigrant who's swept off her feet in the year's most beguiling love story

There will be bigger, wilder, weightier movies this year, but none lovelier than Brooklyn. I relished every moonstruck minute of it. The astonishing Saoirse Ronan (Atonement, Hanna) lights up the screen in a performance that takes a piece of your heart. Set in 1952, the film examines the immigrant experience through the eyes of Eilis Lacey (Ronan), a shy girl whose life in economically strapped Ireland is squeezing her options. She can either be a burden at home to her mother and sister or get on that boat to New York and try to eke out a living in a strange land.

Skillfully and movingly directed by John Crowley (Boy A, Intermission), the movie makes Eilis' loneliness palpable as she moves into a boardinghouse run with a firm hand by Ma Kehoe (a feisty, first-rate Julie Walters). But with the help of a priest (Jim Broadbent) and an empathetic floor manager (Jessica Paré) at the department store where she works, the homesick Eilis begins to emerge from her shell.
Love, of course, is a prime factor. At a local dance, Eilis meets Tony (Emory Cohen), an Italian plumber with a brash yen for this fair colleen. Cohen electrifies the movie and Eilis. He's dynamite, transforming a stock role into something wonderfully fresh and exciting. Eilis is shy and virginal but no pushover, and Ronan plays her with robust resilience. This culture-clash romance gives the film an erotic charge that explains why Eilis seriously thinks about putting down roots on alien turf.
For a time, at least. Called back to Ireland for a family crisis, the newly independent Eilis takes measure of what she's lost. Now she can find a job, care for her mother and build a connection with Jim Farrell (a splendid Domhnall Gleeson), the laddie she once rejected as a clubbish snob.
Can Eilis really go home again? Can any of us? That's the question that courses through this probing, passionate film. Is home where the heart is, or is it vice versa? In a grown-up world, love gets complicated with responsibility. The transporting script that Nick Hornby has carved out of Colm Tóibín's bestseller is a model of screen adaptation. And the actors fill the space between words with humor and aching tenderness. Brooklyn is easily the year's best and most beguiling love story. The surprise is that it also goes deeper, sadder and truer.


From The Archives Issue 1248: November 19, 2015



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Trumbo subtitles download!

Bryan Cranston channels blacklisted screenwriter Dalton Trumbo in this timely biopic

A Hollywood screenwriter goes broke fighting for his principles. Sounds like a biopic slog, and sometimes it is. Luckily, Trumbo has a powerhouse Bryan Cranston to light a fire under the moldier clichés in John McNamara's script.

Cranston plays the hell out of Dalton Trumbo, who got rich writing movies in the 1930s and 1940s. Trumbo had a big personality to match his ego. He'd write in his bathtub, booze and cigarettes at the ready, barking at wife Cleo (Diane Lane) and their three children if they disturbed him.
Trumbo's bubble burst when he joined the Communist Party. In 1947, he was called to testify before the House Un-American Activities Committee, along with nine other screenwriters. He refused to name names and spent nearly a year in jail. As part of the blacklisted Hollywood 10, Trumbo lost job, home, fortune and famous friends, and used a pseudonym to write Roman Holiday and The Brave One, winning two Oscars that he couldn't take credit for.
Kudos to director Jay Roach for not wallowing in misery. His movie is bracing and buoyant when Trumbo takes on gossip gorgon Hedda Hopper (a wicked Helen Mirren) and writes cheapies for the King brothers (Stephen Root and a hilarious John Goodman). When Kirk Douglas hired Trumbo to write Spartacus in 1960, the Commie witch hunt was exposed as the sham it was. Witch hunts haven't gone, they've gone global (ask the folks at Charlie Hebdo). Cranston shows us there's nothing retro about watching Trumbo in his glory, speaking truth to power.


From The Archives Issue 1248: November 19, 2015



Working subtitles for Trumbo movie in turkish language. These subtitles will most probably match if your movie is in high def: turkish subtitles Trumbo. Just type in the name of the movie.

Get Spotlight subtitles!

It's 'Boston Globe' vs. Catholic Church in the best film about reporting since 'All the President's Men'

There's no higher compliment to pay this steadily riveting, quietly devastating take on investigative journalism than to say Spotlight gets it right. So did the Spotlight team on The Boston Globe when, in 2002, it published nearly 600 articles on child sex-abuse allegations against Catholic priests and the church cover-ups that followed. The team won a Pulitzer for its scalding exposé. And right now the film is the predictive favorite to win the Best Picture Oscar. But awards are merely icing on a cake whose candles glow in tribute to long-form print journalism, now fading in the digital fog of budget cuts, reduced resources and click-bait news cycles.

Bravo to director Tom McCarthy (The Station Agent, Win Win, The Visitor), who wrote the richly detailed script with Josh Singer (The Fifth Estate). There's not an ounce of Hollywood bullshit in it. Our eyes and ears are the Spotlight team, played by exceptional actors who could not be better or more fully committed.
Michael Keaton is in peak form as Spotlight editor Walter "Robby" Robinson, a stickler who is tough on reporters Michael Rezendes (Mark Ruffalo) and Sacha Pfeiffer (Rachel McAdams) and researcher Matt Carroll (Brian d'Arcy James). Robinson is skeptical that his newspaper, whose readers and staffers are largely Irish-Catholic, can tackle the Boston Archdiocese. Caution also guides Globe deputy managing editor Ben Bradlee Jr. (John Slattery), whose father, Washington Post editor Ben Bradlee, risked his job on the Watergate coverage.
The kick in the ass for Spotlight comes from an outsider: Marty Baron (a terrific Liev Schreiber), the paper's new top editor, a Floridian and the first Jew to call the shots at the Globe. Baron rightfully suspects a conspiracy and turns Spotlight loose. McCarthy and camera wizard Masanobu Takayanagi track the grinding work of real reporting. As Carroll, the excellent James digs into sealed records of priests whose crimes are swept aside. Political, social and legal systems are found complicit, including plaintiffs' lawyer Eric MacLeish (Billy Crudup) and Cardinal Bernard Law (Len Cariou). McAdams, sharp and sympathetic, shows us how Pfeiffer draws out details from victims whose childhoods meant sucking the dick of a priest who says he's had a bad day. And Ruffalo is a marvel of purpose as Rezendes hounds attorney Mitchell Garabedian (Stanley Tucci) for access to survivors of sex abuse.
It's these survivors who give Spotlight its beating heart. Roiling emotions are also felt among reporters who desperately want to get the story right and just as desperately want to get it first. That tension makes for an insanely gripping high-wire act and the year's most thrilling detective story. These reporters are jittery obsessives who put their lives on hold for a story they believe in. Do they get off on it? You bet. They're hardcore guardians of an endangered galaxy. And heroes, in my book. At times, it's hard not to choke up, but Spotlight refuses to wallow in nostalgia. This landmark film takes a clear-eyed look at the digital future and honors the one constant that journalism needs to stay alive and relevant: a fighting spirit.


From The Archives Issue 1247: November 5, 2015



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James White english subtitles

A twentysomething screw-up tries to grow up in the indie-film find of the year

Some movies are so good and true and tough-to-the-core they should just sneak up on you. James White is one of them. I can tell you a few things: That Christopher Abbott is dynamite as the title character, a twentysomething Manhattan slacker with aspirations to be a journalist. Parties, booze, drugs, sex and his volatile temper get in the way.


And so, James thinks, does his mother Gail (Cynthia Nixon), also a writer and also dealing with the death of her ex-husband who is James' father. Gail is fighting a losing battle with cancer. So James interrupts a trip to Mexico and a fling with Jayne (a very fine Mackenzie Leigh), a high schooler of striking maturity, to get his ass back home and be a caretaker. He doesn't know how.
His friend Nick, sharply played by Scott  "Kid Cudi" Mescudi —t he rapper and music producer who composed the film’s vital score — calls James on his bullshit.  But the love he feels for his mother is real and bruising. Nixon, in one of the year's best and most powerful performances, digs so deep into her character that you can feel her nerve endings. And one scene, in a bathroom, with James holding her her ravaged body and fashioning a story of the life together they'll never have, is quietly devastating.
That James White is filled with scenes that hit like a shot in the heart is due to the film’s writer-director Josh Mond. One of the founding members of Borderline Films, the indie-film company he runs with partners Antonio Campos (Afterschool) and Sean Durkin (Martha Marcy May Marlene), Mond emerges as a filmmaker of potent talent and passionate feeling. James White takes a piece out of you.




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By the Sea greek subtitles

Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt gamble on emulating vintage arthouse cinema — and lose

Writer-director Angelina Jolie's attempt to emulate European art cinema is a slow, sodden, stupefyingly dull take on a 1970s marriage gone bad. Jolie plays Nessa, and her husband, Brad Pitt, is Nessa's husband, Roland. The Pitts, it must be said, suffer gorgeously. Vacationing at a swank hotel in Malta, they spy through a peephole at newlyweds next door (Mélanie Laurent and Melvil Poupaud). Nessa and Roland barely talk. When they finally do, you pray they'll shut up. "I smell fish," Nessa says, sniffing. Nah. What stinks is the movie.




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german subtitles for The 33

Hollywood takes on the true story of 33 Chilean miners trapped underground

You wouldn't believe it if it didn't happen. In 2010, 33 Chilean miners found themselves trapped for 69 days in a gold and copper mine while the world bit its collective nails. Hollywood never has a good time trying to trump fact with the demands of popcorn-filmmaking. And The 33, well-staged by the Mexican director Patricia Riggen, still has to condense a big story into two hours.

A lot gets lost, despite the strained efforts of screenwriters Mikko Alanne, Craig Borten, and Michael Thomas. But the story holds us rapt. As do the actors. Antonio Banderas gives a stellar performance as Mario Sepulveda, known as "Super Mario" for his skill at uniting  men faced with starvation and unbearable stress. Lou Diamond Phillips also excels as Luis Urzua, a.k.a. Don Lucho, a veteran hand who has always questioned the safety of the mine. Then there's Dario Segovia (Juan Pablo Raba), a junkie who has alienated his empanada-selling sister, Maria (Juliette Binoche, the great French actress in an ill-suited role). And yet Maria waits above ground raging at the authorities who aren’t doing enough to save her brother and his friends.
Individual tales tumble out and over each other to confusing, dizzying effect. Many stories are short-changed or ignored to concentrate on a few. Though Rodrigo Santoro appears as Laurence Golborne, the minister of mines, the story's political implications go curiously unmined. Inspiration is what The 33 is selling. And it's hard not to get caught up in the rescue. You forgive the movie its faults, or most of them, because its heart is firmly in the right place.




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How to get SRT files for Legend

Tom Hardy does double duty in this biopic on London's legendary Kray brothers

Tom Hardy can act the hell out of any role, from subtle to blow-the-roof-off. In Legend, Hardy gets to do both, and all stops in between. It helps that he's playing identical twins. And what twins. Ronald and Reginald Kray were the gangster lords of London during the 1960s. Reggie, ever the smooth operator, was cool enough to temporarily hide his cruel streak from Frances (Emily Browning), the girl he woos like Romeo courting his Juliet on her balcony.

Writer-director Brian Helgeland uses Frances to narrate the film, a device that fails to pay off, since even a voice-over can't make sense of Ronnie. The gay Kray is indisputably cray-cray, a monster given to sadistic violence and orgies involving Lord Boothby (John Sessions) and Teddy Smith (a terrific Taron Egerton). Of course, Ronnie loves his mum (Jane Wood). But his outbursts with an American Mafioso (Chazz Palminteri) drive Reggie bonkers. At one point, the brothers punch each other out.
It sounds silly, and often it is. Peter Medak's 1990 film The Krays, starring Gary and Martin Kemp of Spandau Ballet, had more narrative force. Helgeland's script is hit-and-miss, not on the Oscar-winning level of his L.A. Confidential. Still, Hardy is a show all by himself, an actor flying without a net and having a ball. You will too.


From The Archives Issue 1245: October 8, 2015



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Carol polish srt download

Cate Blanchett and Rooney Mara fall head over heels in Todd Haynes' pitch-perfect love story

It's the early 1950s, and Manhattan shopgirl Therese Belivet (Rooney Mara) is on the phone with Carol Aird (Cate Blanchett), a married socialite who arouses feelings shy Therese can't articulate. "Ask me things," says Carol. And the way Blanchett, an actress of sublime beauty and brilliance, caresses the word "things," opens up a universe of unspoken desire. That's a specialty for director Todd Haynes (Far From Heaven), who reaches a new peak of film artistry.

Phyllis Nagy adapted her delicately nuanced script from a book, The Price of Salt, that suspense author Patricia Highsmith published under a pseudonym. Sure, a lesbian love story was hot stuff in 1952, but a lesbian love story with hints of a happy ending – that was revolutionary.
Camera virtuoso Edward Lachman finds visual poetry in the hothouse eroticism that envelops Carol and Therese, an amateur photographer who keeps framing Carol in her lens. Blanchett, a dream walking in Sandy Powell's frocks, delivers a master class in acting. And Mara is flawless, revealing Therese's sexual confusion as she moves away from boyfriend Richard (Jake Lacy) and toward a seductive unknown. When the two women drive cross-country, lost in each other, Carol's husband, Harge (a fiercely fine Kyle Chandler), shows his resentment by suing for custody of their daughter.
Haynes' commitment to outcasts, then and now, makes Carol a romantic spellbinder that cuts deep. It's one of the year's very best films. Blanchett and Mara should have Oscar calling for giving heroic dimensions to characters who step out of the shadows and into a harsh world that their courage just might change. I wanted to cheer.


From The Archives Issue 1249: December 3, 2015



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russian subtitles for The Hunger Games: Mockingjay – Part 2

Jennifer Lawrence shoots her last arrow and brings a snoozing film franchise back to life

Audiences got pissy about last year's Mockingjay – Part 1, the third film in the Hunger Games franchise. They rightly felt gamed by a blatant cash grab that took the last book in Suzanne Collins' bestselling young-adult trilogy and carved out two movies when a single would have done. Part 1 was so padded and puffed up that the exciting parts got lost in the stuffing.

The good news is that Mockingjay – Part 2, the big finale, has quit the ass-dragging in favor of what made the book a page-turner. There's the visual fireworks, for sure. But there's also the darkness of the theme about how power can corrupt heroes as well as villains. Director Francis Lawrence returns with screenwriters Peter Craig and Danny Strong, and they behave like workhorses with the bridles off.
Will this new energy reverse the series' diminishing box office? Mockingjay – Part 1 fell more than $70 million short of the original's wowza $408 million gross. If Mockingjay – Part 2 rides into boffo nirvana, thank the actress in the saddle. Jennifer Lawrence has won an Oscar (Silver Linings Playbook) and global stardom since she first played the role of Katniss Everdeen, in 2012. Lawrence, 25, took Katniss from a shy teen enslaved in poverty to become the "girl on fire," the rebel freedom fighter armed only with bow and arrow and a spirit to bring down the Capitol, run by the despotic President Snow (Donald Sutherland). Lawrence is the kind of star you'd follow anywhere, which makes her the perfect Katniss.
Even when the Hunger Games series gets winded pimping old tricks, Lawrence is the oxygen that brings it back to life. Katniss seizes her role as the Mockingjay, the symbol of hope for the movement to end Snow's reign of terror. The movie gives her other obstacles. Frankly, I don't give a damn whether Katniss ends up with dull Gale (Liam Hemsworth) or puckish Peeta (Josh Hutcherson), who's brainwashed by Snow, but not enough to give him a personality.
The juice comes outside the love story. Sutherland is a sneering delight as Snow. Julianne Moore excels as Alma Coin, the rebel leader Katniss trusts at her peril. Elizabeth Banks is a marvel as shallow Effie Trinket, the fashion eccentric (think Gaga unleashed) who becomes a Katniss ally. Philip Seymour Hoffman didn't live to finish his role as gamemaster Plutarch. But we hear the character's final words in a letter movingly read by Woody Harrelson's Haymitch.
Though Katniss is tracked by Cressida (Natalie Dormer), a videographer tasked with propagandizing the Mockingjay as a reality star, Lawrence makes sure we see Katniss coming into her own. Even with the rush of action – firebombs, land mines, underground mutants, a near-drowning in black oil – Katniss finds her moral center. That gravity is a risk in a Hollywood aimed at short attention spans. But it sets Mockingjay – Part 2 above the herd and lets The Hunger Games go out in style. Sweet.


From The Archives Issue 1249: December 3, 2015



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Get Secret in Their Eyes subtitles!

The A-list remake of an Oscar-wining Argentine thriller is miscast, misguided and misbegotten

Not such a good idea remaking the 2009 Argentine thriller that won the Best Foreign-Language Film Oscar. The Americanized version is miscast, misguided and misbegotten.

Julia Roberts takes on the role played by a male actor the first time. She's Jess Cobb, an FBI agent on the terrorist beat after the September 11th attacks, filling in for Argentina's Dirty War. When she and her partner Ray Kasten (Chiwitel Ejiofor) find the body of a teenage girl in a dumpster behind a mosque, the dead girl is revealed as Jess’ daughter. The long arm of coincidence? Wait. You ain't seen nothing yet.
Writer-director Billy Ray (Shattered Glass, Breach) jumps between past and present as Ray, retired to the private sector, returns to his Los Angeles FBI office in 2015, with evidence (he thinks) of the killer's whereabouts. District attorney Claire Sloan (Nicole Kidman) wants to help, even if it means bending the rules for Ray, who she had a thing for back in the day. The movie keeps leaping across time without generating suspense or keeping its tenuous hold on reality. We know a lot has changed between 2002 and the present because Ejiofer's beard gets grayer and Roberts grows increasingly haggard. Way before the climax, I stopped believing a word of the script. Kidman does too little and Roberts too much as the movie spins into a sea of clichés. 




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Creative Control italian subtitles

Fake girlfriends cause real problems in Benjamin Dickinson's future-shock indie

Shot in a widescreen black-and-white that entices as it chills, Creative Control sees a future that's almost here — you know, a place where where communication is mostly digital. Director and co-writer Benjamin Dickinson (First Winter) is a protean talent. The dude also stars as David, an ad exec at an übercool agency in Brooklyn – midtown Manhattan is sneered at as "emotional Afghanistan." David's boss, played by Vice magazine co-founder Gavin McInnes, puts him in charge of Augmenta, eyewear that moves Google glasses into tricky, new territory. Needing a fresh approach, David turns to Reggie Watts, playing himself as a master of experimental comedy and music. "You're a fucking genius," says the bossman. "No," says David, "I'm just younger than you." Ouch!

As you might have guessed, Augmenta soon begins taking over David's life. When his emotional problems with  yoga-instructor girlfriend Juliette (Nora Zehetner) become too much — real life will do that to you — David avails himself of the device's image-capture feature. All he needs to do is find a babe who turns him on, such as Sophie (Alexia Rasmussen), the GF of his randy photographer friend, Wim (Dan Gill), and create a virtual avatar of her. No harm done. Only David can see the virtual Sophie he creates from air-taping on his keyboard. And, suddenly, there's Sophie, naked when he wants her to be and ready to do his wicked bidding. Complications ensue when Juliette gets wind of David's augmented life.
Dickinson and the gifted cinematographer Adam Newport-Berra create visual motifs that command attention. OK, sometimes there's less filmmaking here than shameless showing off. Also, it's  impossible not to hear echoes of Her and Ex Machina. But Creative Control goes its own playful, provocative way. For a film about technology's growing dehumanization, this stylized beauty is a frisky, formidable temptation.




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