Actors John Cho and Simon Pegg — pilot Sulu and engineer Scotty in the story, respectively — revealed that all three screenwriters, Roberto Orci, Alex Kurtzman and Damon Lindelof, were huge fans of the original films. Their enthusiasm becomes evident through their use of the idiosyncratic humor that was so enjoyable about the television series. “Star Trek” aims to both be its own unique film and also stay relatively faithful to its source material. J.J. Abrams allows this to happen, as he’s not quite the Trekkie that the writers are. “J.J. was more of a ‘Star Wars’ fan,” Pegg said. “He came into ‘Star Trek’ as an outsider.” Pegg adds that this helped Abrams avoid feeling “slavish to the source material,” thus opening the doors for more creativity. It informs his filmmaking in a way; he relaxes a little bit, especially in this second installment.

In fact, Cho and Pegg noted that they saw Abrams’s love of “Star Wars” transfer in significant ways to the “Star Trek” franchise. The “Star Trek” television series had a sleeker look, whereas “Star Wars” was somewhat more “analog and dirty.” Abrams marries the two: “Aesthetically speaking, (the marriage) formed a brilliant bridge (from) all the clean lines and the fantastically futuristic bridge to the industrial metal of the engine room, which J.J. intended to look like the guts of the ‘Titanic.’” What’s so refreshing about Abrams’ style is that he allows this sleek and majestic spaceship to become a character in the movie. So much of what tires audiences about today’s filmmakers is that many of them seem to be enamored with close-ups, a technique that places the actors more front and center but doesn’t allow other elements to breathe. Fortunately for us (specifically our eyes), Abrams relaxes the camera and allows the audience to see the actors actually occupy physical space on screen. He gives us a Starship Enterprise that breathes with its own persona.

What really elevates this movie to heights of glory is actor Benedict Cumberbatch. Cho pays his co-star a huge compliment: “If I hadn’t worked with him, I wouldn’t know his physical dimensions just based on his work. In ‘Sherlock’, he seems mortal and 5’8”. But in this, he seems like he’s 6’4” and 220 pounds. He just seems enormous and imposing. That’s a testament to how good he is.” Cumberbatch is indeed a transfixing presence, as he supplies exasperated revelations and flashes of entropic terror throughout. “He’s terrific,” Cho said, “and beautiful.” Pegg quickly agreed, “Yeah, he’s beautiful . . . He’s a great guy. Lovely man. And he turns on that villain so well, and he’s got such a beautiful voice.” So beautiful, in fact, that his voice made him pregnant, Pegg joked. Indeed, talking with the actors, it seemed as though the two were paralyzed by the genius in their midst.

Even beyond Cumberbatch’s performance, what’s so pleasing about “Star Trek” is that every element seems to click, from the lively rapport to the terrific action sequences — probably Abrams’ forte. The filmmakers’ hard work brings together a smart and enjoyable sequel. “(Abrams) is a born storyteller,” Cho said. “He approaches (his movies) with boundless enthusiasm. This movie plays like that. It’s joyful.”

Braulio Ramirez covers film. Contact him at bramirez@dailycal.org.

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“Something in the Air” is not necessarily a film about revolutions. This seems somewhat misleading because the movie begins with a rather raw and violent clash between French high schoolers and police. Gilles (Clement Metayer), a budding artist, and his peers are heavily involved in the underground student movement. They read Marx, print provocative posters, vandalize the school’s walls, throw Molotov cocktails and spout idealisms in the pursuit of some type of liberation. But the ideals that propelled this bunch in the beginning begin to dissipate amid the snares of young love and creative expression.

After an instance of vandalism lands the group in hot water, the scenes shift. The industrial grays and suburban beiges of France are supplanted by the poetic greens and languorous blue skies of rural Italy. Gilles soon becomes enamored with the beautiful firebrand Christine (Lola Creton) as the discussions of rebellion dissolve into silent sequences of painting au naturale, nude sailing and drunken, bohemian carousing. The group’s intent is no longer clear and as such, neither is the film’s.

Unlike “Grin Without a Cat” — Chris Marker’s famous 1977 film of the French New Left — or Bernardo Bertolucci’s seductive vision of the ’68 protests in “The Dreamers,” “Something in the Air” is, as the title indicates, neither here nor there. Like the majority of its second half, there is bountiful lingering with minimal momentum. For all the shots of heated, political rhetoric, there is no payoff. There only seems to be the superficial allure of beautiful, young Europeans and the grandeur of aesthetic merriment.

Perhaps this is to Assayas’ benefit. His previous works, particularly his film “Summer Hours” and his mini-series “Carlos,” have all displayed a keen sense of control, precision and nuanced intellect. “Something in the Air” is no different. The historical detail is spot-on, the sense of malaise both appropriate and contemplative. And yet this lack of radical urgency not only derails the political investment of the characters but also the emotional investment of the audience.

Even as the students hash out their socialist philosophies at the film’s outset, it is never clear what the stakes are. Yes, there is present violence. Yes, there is a vaguely oppressive system in place. But, for the most part, Assayas forces the audience to question their empathy for these youths: Are they naive? Self-indulgent? Justified? Again, there is no clear solution. The characters seem aloof and so does Assayas.

After the screening scene, the camera cuts to a party. Gilles still doesn’t understand why “revolutionary syntax is the style of the bourgeoisie.” One of the producers responds bluntly, “Forget style.” But, as the audience, we can’t. Because for all the talk spouted in “Something in the Air” about individuals, there is no connection to Gilles. He is cold, emotionless and, like his fading ideals, without a striking center. He is, like the film, all style.

Contact Jessica Pena at jpena@dailycal.org.

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The film stars Brit Marling, who also has credits as a co-writer and producer, as Jane Owen, an undercover agent who has just made it from the FBI into the elite private sector firm Hiller Brood. Jane is handpicked by her new devilishly glamorous boss, Sharon, to infiltrate the apocryphal vigilante group known as the East, feared and mythicized for its punishment-fits-the-crime tactics. Sharon keeps Jane’s focus on her mission, but her gaze is diverted by the fiercely passionate collective and its magnetic leader Benji, played by Alexander Skarsgard.

Director Zal Batmanglij insists, “This is a movie you should see with someone you’re sleeping with. This is the kind of movie you should wake up and start talking about the next day.” And it definitely will start conversations. “The East” presents the old eye-for-an-eye adage in the context of recent ecological disasters and points out the flaws of both the criminals and the criminal-punishers. Batmanglij talks about “how many successful, powerful, rich people are insulated from real life or from the destruction they’re causing” and how this parallels America itself. “The East” presents viewers with the hellfire of immensely stirring rhetoric and then captures what is there when the smoke clears.

Batmanglij acknowledges the fact that the film does not proffer his own stances on the issue, saying, “I think it’d be masturbatory if our opinions were the be-all end-all of the story.” As Jane vacillates between her career and a life impassioned by a higher cause, her struggles evoke the paralysis felt by the modern world in the face of the larger-than-life issues we have inherited and created. “I am very frustrated when I go to the computer,” Batmanglij relates. “And I feel like I read these stories, and I just don’t know how to make sense of the world news … it’s a very strange time to be alive.” The film makes it through nearly to end without being preachy but does give in to didacticism before finishing, which is somewhat disappointing if not expected.

Listen to an interview with director Zal Batmanglij here:

A major draw of “The East” is the captivating nature of the group itself. Squatting in a burned-down manor in the woods, the collective is rich with backstory and ritualism. A few scenes have a specificity which draws on Batmanglij’s and Marling’s own experiences living as freegans, not buying anything and getting three square meals from dumpster-diving for an entire summer. While the fringe nature of the group in question makes it susceptible to getting culture-mined for its shock value, Batmanglij’s and Marling’s firsthand experiences kept the film grounded in the genuine.

Though the film portrayed the freegan lifestyle convincingly, many of the characters’ actions were not nearly as well thought out. There are sequences in which viewers might feel as though they are missing something. Batmanglij says he chose to keep Benji’s and Jane’s characters mysterious because “that mystery compels us to stay more invested in the story.” Unfortunately, the film could not pull off every subtlety, as logical connections failed to materialize.

The film is bound to captivate, however, as it is timely to an uncanny degree. The scene of the East drenching an oil baron’s home in petroleum after he left the scene of an oil spill unscathed was written only a couple of weeks before the 2010 BP oil spill. Batmanglij said that following the occurrence, he and Marling “felt this fire under (their) asses, and then a couple weeks before (they) started shooting, Occupy happened.”

The film is further bolstered by compelling performances from Toby Kebbell and Ellen Page. Kebbell’s portrayal of Doc, a Stanford medical school graduate brain-damaged by the fine print of prescription pharmaceuticals, succeeds at telling a tragic storyline, and Ellen Page plays the fierce Izzy well. Batmanglij says, “I think she took all her rage that she feels about all the bad things that are happening in Canada and the States and the way we are destroying ourselves and the environment – she took that rage, and she channeled it in an unbridled way.”

However, what the film had in provocation and solid supporting performances, it lacked in plot development, which is at times sloppy and threadbare. Overlooking these drawbacks, when the film premieres in the Bay Area in June, it will definitely propel Batmanglij and Marling beyond a niche indie film festival exposure and leave audiences with a lot to think about.

Contact Lu Han at lhan@dailycal.org.

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On sitcoms today: I grew up on “The Cosby Show” … whatever came on Thursday nights on NBC, the four-camera sitcom — the traditional sitcom. It’s familiar to me. I think everyone should feel like they can watch, in some ways, a play on television with subject matter that relates to the demographic … I think there’s always room for a sitcom. I think people should always be able to watch a show like “The Exes” or a show like “Everybody Loves Raymond” or “Hot in Cleveland.”

On the Folgers commercial: I think I was 12 years old when I did that. Was it my big break? It wasn’t as big as I thought it was … I told my mom I wanted to be an actor, and she went out, as a good mom does, and helped me get an agent. My agent got me that audition, and I went out and got the part. It was a big deal for me because I felt like I was really acting. For me at the time, it was huge … I don’t think it was the one that (started my career). Maybe somebody back then subconsciously or accidently saw me … and it triggered something. I doubt it, but it’s possible. I mean, anything’s possible.

On his favorite “Scrubs” jokes: A lot of the sense of humor is myself and Zach’s and Bill’s (the creator, a producer, writer and director for “Scrubs.”) … The three of us laughed at the same stuff and thought that the jokes we were telling were funny. There’s something to be said for that, whether anyone else laughed at them or not. We had the same sense of humor, so because of that, we weren’t afraid to tell our jokes … I got to be myself on camera a lot while doing “Scrubs” because I got to work with Bill, and he would encourage me to do that, and Zach would encourage me to do that. We encouraged each other to be who we were off camera. Because we thought we were so funny off camera … I’m a “blerd.” That’s a joke that came out of “Scrubs” and me actually loving “Star Wars” and me being black … I think “brinner” came from us going out one night and me ordering pancakes when everyone else got dinner. I honestly believe that Zach and I created the word “bromance,” or at least the idea of a “bromance.” But I’m sure Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr. and Starsky and Hutch will disagree.

On pranks on set: They tried to prank me on “The Exes,” but it kind of didn’t work … They tried, and I’m going to be honest with you — I’m bragging right now, and I shouldn’t, because this is how it comes back to bite you in the butt — I’m always looking out for it now. Especially after I punked Zach Braff when we were doing “Scrubs.” He had just bought a Porsche 911. I got a bunch of kids to spray paint his car. He went apeshit, and we got it all on camera.

Contact Anna Carey at acarey@dailycal.org.

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The films submitted were, in a word, diverse, which shouldn’t come as a surprise considering the award applicant pool. Some were a tribute to the arts — The Daily Californian’s Jeff Capps, for instance, walked us through an underground graffiti art event. Others did without a plot and were more impressionistic. A black-and-white exploration of London comes to mind. So does a near-schizophrenic look at the Chase building near the Downtown Berkeley BART station, shot completely with a negative effect. Whether they convey nostalgia, admiration or even paranoia, the films are variegated in their subject matter so as to appeal to a wide audience.

While one couldn’t help but appreciate most of the films’ messages, the execution in conveying those messages sometimes wanted improvement. The documentaries in particular were somewhat lacking in focus. For example, one film focuses on the campus’s history, featuring a voice-over about our inherited spirit of activism. But the accompanying images are often shaky shots of old photos which do nothing to keep viewers’ interest or — even more confusing — brief video clips that are seemingly irrelevant to the narration. The result is an ironically inactive documentary about activism and UC Berkeley. Another entry seeks to portray an American family but falls short by focusing on too many topics at once: the Vietnam War, biracialism, divorce, mental health disorders. One wonders why these submissions to an award for “creativity” neglected to nuance their films more, both in production style and plot content.

Still other films make little sense whatsoever: One entry follows a wheelchair-bound boy with copious amounts of red lipstick, Cantonese metal music and lots of spray paint. Enough said.

What sets the winning videos apart, then, is that they successfully walk the line between the avant-garde and the intelligible. In particular, “Aye Dee” by Oliver Li and Bastian Michael follows a man, clad in a white, full-body spandex suit, who struggles with physical and social visibility. The theme is straightforward enough, but this is no angsty teen drama. His exploration of clothing and alcohol as paths to social interaction examines what it means to be an individual in a new light. The film poses a tacit question: “Can we ever look beyond the surface?” And — not to spoil too much — the filmmakers’ answer seems to be yes. Erin Colleen Johnson’s “Come In,” meanwhile, gives us separate images on split screens. As a group chants a prayer aloud, a man operates a looming network of machinery and computers. The worshippers’ voices and the computers’ churning are synchronized, suggesting that the two proceedings may even be synonymous.

If anything, this year’s submissions for the Eisner Prize are a sample of the wide interests here at UC Berkeley, showing off the creative (if sometimes convoluted) faculties of the student body. If you’re looking for something thoughtful, off beat or just plain weird, the Pacific Film Archive’s screening of these films, “Artists in Person,” will fit your tastes.

Contact Josephine Yang at jyang@dailycal.org.

Correction(s):
A previous version of this article incorrectly described a film called “All Better” as being about a party set to music from the 70s. In fact, “All Better” is a film about the history of the AIDS movement.

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Yes, despite the extravagant cast list (a blond Leonardo DiCaprio! a blond Carey Mulligan! a nonblond Tobey Maguire!), the decadent special effects, the soundtrack produced by Jay-Z and the visionary flair of the man who brought you “Moulin Rouge,” Luhrmann’s “The Great Gatsby” should be retitled “The Great Flatsby.” It is impossible to reconstruct the entire travesty in only 600 words, but here are a few scenes that illustrate why “The Great Gatsby” is the “Anonymous” of 2013.

First, there is voice-over. Lots of it. This isn’t surprising given the nature of Fitzgerald’s doleful, precise prose. This also isn’t rare. In the 1974 adaptation, Sam Waterson gives voice to the same familiar words of the novel’s narrator, Nick Carraway. However, Luhrmann has taken this frame a step further. Here, we meet Carraway (an expectedly goopy Maguire) as a post-Gatsby mental institution patient. His illness? Morbid alcoholism. His prescription? Writing. So, like with Walter Salles’ recent attempt at translating revered novel to film (“On the Road”), the audience is treated to an endless series of writing montages clumsily hamfisted into a lazy, flashback narrative.

Next, we must meet Gatsby. He is the titular character, after all, and his introduction is accordingly treated with supreme pomp and circumstance. In the midst of one of Gatsby’s orgiastic circus parties, the camera swoops and tilts, spins and dips to reveal the CGI equivalent of Ke$ha’s wildest dreams. Glitter, streamers and scantily clad sirens writhe in and out of this kinetic nightmare when out of nowhere, the propulsive chords of George Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” begin. The music builds, the party reaches its chaotic height and just as the cymbals chime, there he is, the center of this entire endeavor — Gatsby.

It’s a bombastic and daring scene. Leo smiles with an enigmatic charm. He’s confident but closed off — just as Gatsby should be. But that’s it. As the radiant, climactic horns of “Rhapsody in Blue” fade into some mediocre contemporary pop cover, Gatsby retreats into his palace on West Egg, and with that, the film peters off. For the next two hours or so, we are left with haphazard anticlimax.

These are only two scenes in a film rife with mistakes and miscalculations. It wouldn’t be difficult to add Luhrmann’s off-putting literalization of Fitzgerald’s subtle metaphors. In one scene, when Carraway pontificates about seeing himself in the face of every man, Luhrmann actually cuts between Maguire staring at another Maguire in the street. It also would be easy to describe the jarring editing, the way Luhrmann muffles critical scenes with Maguire’s mopey monologues or the depthless, artificial acting DiCaprio, Maguire and Mulligan provide. But all this would, like the film, be too long and only too unnecessary.

It would be easy enough to say Luhrmann’s “The Great Gatsby” mirrors the vapidity and the hollowness of Fitzgerald’s characters. In this way, Luhrmann far surpasses any other adaptation for his sheer commitment to the idea that “The Great Gatsby” is about surplus. Luhrmann certainly provides an overflow of CGI, schlocky acting, melodrama and visual pizzazz to the point of overkill. But excess is not what “The Great Gatsby” is about. It is, more or less, about the irony of excess, which is a far more subtle and nuanced characteristic to capture. It is a deep novel about shallow people. This is nothing but a shallow film about shallow people.

Contact Jessica Pena at jpena@dailycal.org.

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The film is the narrative of creating the story of these people — the student, teacher and family — and of the disturbing intrusions made into each other’s lives (and houses) to do so. Claude Garcia, his wit unsatisfied, entices his teacher (himself frustrated by the limitedness of his class and aching for inspiration) with a story “to be continued” to take him on as a personal pupil. However, what is “to be continued” from the first installment of Garcia’s story ends up being much more engrossing and unexpected than what it was initially.

The story Garcia writes is of his own writing about a family — the family, specifically, of his classmate Rapha Artole. Coming from a less-than-ideal family life himself, Garcia is drawn to the impressive normality of Rapha and his loving parents, whom he sees pick up their son from school. He wants to know, “How is the house of a normal family?” Garcia’s aim in writing is to answer this question. However, as the story is more encouraged by the teacher, Germain — who wants to foster the boy’s talent — as well as Garcia’s own changing desire to stay in the house, he can no longer just enter “in the house” but be there many times to experience it and be near the subjects of his story. As Germain takes the boy and the story under his passionate wing, Garcia and Germain begin to take real risks for the story.

It is around the time that Garcia and Germain realize that Garcia’s presence in the house is contingent on more than just the story but his urge for Esther, Rapha’s mother, whose “singular scent of a middle class woman … caught (his) attention.” What began as a cynical young man objectively investigating his classmate’s family turns into something much more involved and much more complicated.

With this break from objectivity, the reality of the story becomes compromised. While Garcia begins to toy with different plot twists in his story, the film itself becomes decidedly less realistic. Suddenly, characters are absurdly placed in scenes and narrate it from within. Desires are exhibited as real in the plotline of the movie but turn out to be cinematic flourishes. Scenes flash from real to unreal, and the line between the two — both Garcia’s story and the story of the movie, as well as the reality and unreality of the movie scenes themselves — becomes hazy.

As the narrative continues, the fiction interludes becomes less strikingly implausible, as one begins to take in the movie as if in a lucid dream: noticing that there has been a skip in logic but accepting the change as the only way the story could have gone on. Garcia contemporaneously writes his story as he lives it — whether the living or the writing comes first is less clear in the film. This confusion ultimately leads to a grab-bag of endings for the story, all unclear as to their ultimate reality, save for one ending which Garcia intends for his story and which is shown on the screen.

In that penultimate scene, however, the audience can never really be sure whether that ending to the story ever really happened or whether the story simply continued on. Thus, the clash of intention, reality, desire and fiction rocks Garcia and Germain’s determination of the story and, ultimately, of their own lives. Just as they lose the determining grip on the ending of their story, so too does the audience lose a grip on the veracity of the story they’re being told. It is that doubt, that confusion, that adds on to the given benefits of brilliant acting, je-ne-sais-quoi French sexual fever and substantial dialogue that make “In the House” such a brilliant existential narrative experience.

Contact AJ Kantor at akantor@dailycal.org.

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Certainly, cults are not seen in a positive light due to the likes of Charles Manson or cyanide-laced Kool-Aid. “There were hundreds, if not thousands, of these groups all over the United States, and the ones that got the most attention were the ‘bad cults,’” Demopoulos said, citing examples such as Steve Jobs as people who have benefited from living in communes. “There were so many of these social experiments, and even right around the area of Berkeley, there were many, many of these experiments,” she continued. “This is the first film to re-examine that period of history from an insider’s point of view.”

The leader of the Source Family is a mythical figure in his own right who could have a documentary made all about him. The 6-foot-4 Jim Baker, later known as Father Yod, was a judo champion, bank robber, Hollywood stuntman and wildly successful restaurateur before becoming a spiritual leader. The film begins with a still image of him, slowly zooming in while voiceovers praise him and tell supernatural anecdotes about him.

Though Father Yod is clearly a centerpiece and a catalyst for the story told in “The Source Family,” the richness of its content comes from the stories that are told by the members about what the experience has done for their lives (including one that has moved on and become a multi-millionaire through stemcell research). The directors were overwhelmed by the wealth of the archival footage and the honesty of the family members during their interviews. “The biggest challenge was that there were so many characters, so many family members, so it was hard to choose which characters to put in the film and which not,” Demopoulos said. “We wanted to put all of them in, all of their point of views were so interesting.”

Hearing the stories from the family members enriches the experience. However, with many of the members looking back affectionately, there wasn’t much conflict nor much criticism. Nevertheless, one objective that’s clear is they wanted to make it apparent that joining cults and communes is not necessarily a negative experience for the people who have joined them, with the opinions told straight from — well, the source.

“When the Source Family existed in the late ’70s, there became this anti-cult backlash where everyone was anti-cult,” Demopoulos commented. “All of the idealism of that generation and the spiritual explosion that was happening at that time had to go underground or became trumped by the consumer culture of the ’80s. Now, we’re kind of coming full circle, and these ideas are becoming popular again.”

The ideas of the era have undoubtedly made a return. Another reason that the Source Family has been gathering attention is their psychedelic music, which they made under the name Yo Ho Wha 13. The whole soundtrack of the movie is composed of their songs, and it enhances the atmosphere of the archival footage.

A character-driven documentary must have a compelling subject or a relatable one. Father Yod compels, but he becomes a tough character to relate to. It becomes muddled at times exactly how the directors want to depict him due to the disparity between the interviews and some of the information they relay about him. A clip from “Saturday Night Live” is an apparent attempt to gain sympathy from the audience, but it adds on to the unfortunate comedic feel of a cult that is a spitting image of the new age stereotype. On the other hand, his first wife (by the end, he has 13), Robin, becomes a character who demands sympathy (and yet another character worth making a full-length documentary about).

Perhaps it works, though, because the project employed two directors as well as two editors. This could have been a film that portrays the story of a spiritual leader who becomes drunk with power or one that tries to defend the positivity of cults. Instead, it becomes a captivating cornucopia of information that viewers can draw their own conclusions from.

“The Source Family” is not a film about a cult — it is a fascinating attempt at humanizing those who have been a part of them.

Contact Ephraim Lee at ephraimlee@dailycal.org.

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When one thinks of Shakespeare, the mind doesn’t naturally bend toward the sci-fi/supernatural wunderkind Joss Whedon. Known primarily for his forays into television (“Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” “Firefly”) and recent comic book box-office success with “The Avengers,” it seemed a slight surprise when it was announced his next project would be a low-key, black-and-white adaptation of “Much Ado About Nothing.”

Now, this is not because Whedon is a stranger to comedy. “Buffy,” “Firefly,” “The Avengers” and “Cabin in the Woods” all share Whedon’s sense of wry irreverence. But Shakespeare’s sense of humor is an entirely different bag. There’s a distance, linguistically and culturally, and his use of the material verbatim, set in a modern-day Italian-style villa, only serves to enhance this disconnect.

Instead of the broader, more musically inclined vision found in Kenneth Branagh’s 1993 adaptation, Whedon takes things down a notch. The tone is far more subdued. Soft, seductive jazz replaces the bombast of horns found in Branagh’s endeavor. Low, unexpected camera angles offer an air of film noir to the proceedings of Shakespeare’s absurd plot. But these facets only make for a semi enjoyable, if somewhat slow, viewing experience. It’s the chemistry between leads Alexis Denishof and Amy Acker as Benedick and Beatrice that distinguish Whedon’s version.

The naive, masculine bravado that Denishof exudes matches so delightfully well with Acker’s sly, astute wit that the “merry war” betwixt their characters becomes — aside from a few, well-played scenes by Nathan Fillion as the asinine constable Dogberry — the only colorful highlight in this movie of muted mirth.

— Jessica Pena
Monday, April 29, 3:30 p.m. @ New People Cinema

Frances Ha

Long before Lena Dunham, writer and director Noah Baumbach understood the plight of the postcollege 20-something. In his debut film, “Kicking and Screaming,” he perfected the listless malaise of youthful urbanites with a clean, subtle style. And since, he has continued to distill the type of sardonic languor embodied by his most well-known leads — Bernard Berkman in “The Squid and The Whale” and Steve Zissou in ‘The Life Aquatic.” Now, Baumbach gives us Frances, the titular character of his latest opus “Frances Ha.”

Played by the ever-effervescent Greta Gerwig, Frances could be seen along the lines of Baumbach’s previous protagonists. She’s in her ‘20s. She’s unsure, awkward and in need of direction. She’s charming but indelicate, identified as a dancer but with questionable talent. She’s a contradiction but one that effortlessly intrigues without demanding the audience’s attention the way Hannah Horvath of “Girls” would.

This comparison to “Girls” seems inevitable. Adam Driver does perform shirtless in both works. But, the comparison isn’t necessary. “Frances Ha” owes much more of its look, tone and humor to Woody Allen’s “Manhattan” or the intimate dialogues in Jim Jarmusch’s “Coffee and Cigarettes.” It is as much an exercise in character as it is an auteur expression. More than any other work from Baumbach, “Frances Ha” teems with optimism, joy and unexpected audacity.

In one scene, the camera tracks Gerwig leaping across the crosswalks of New York set to the tune of a catchy pop song. It’s funny, beautiful, enthusiastic but most of all, it’s infectious. Despite the black-and-white film (though it is gorgeous in its composition), “Frances Ha” is Baumbach’s most colorful and warm-hearted picture to date.

— Jessica Pena
Thursday, May 2, 6:30 p.m. @ Sundance Kabuki Cinemas
Friday, May 3, 4 p.m. @ Sundance Kabuki Cinemas

Before Midnight

Perhaps what surprises the most out of “Before Midnight” is how profoundly Jesse and Celine have aged from the storybook lovers in “Before Sunrise” (1995) and “Before Sunset” (2004). At the core, they’re still the same people. Jesse hasn’t lost that youthful placidity and cock-of-the-walk charm that won Celine over. And 18 years later, young Celine’s neurotic effervescence still feeds her thoughts and moods. What’s changed is that now we sense a well-concealed anxiety and disillusionment behind Jesse’s eyes. And Celine’s entire body seems to be bogged down by something stronger than herself: Middle-age realities have dampened her soul. These people are still attractive in every sense of the word, but 18 years of life have exacerbated their neuroses.

Unlike the first two movies, “Before Midnight” has Jesse and Celine have long and hefty conversations with people other than themselves. Our time with them doesn’t involve an extended walk-and-talk, during which every step they take feels precious. The elephant in the room is no longer a clock winding down the seconds, but an 18-year history that has turned their relationship from a picturesque romance into a three-dimensional partnership. Their conversations feel weightier now, especially as a fight ensues, during which the two pull scabs every time they seem to calm down. It’s ironic then that now that they’re together, their relationship feels more on the line than it ever did.

We left “Before Sunrise” wondering whether Jesse and Celine would actually meet again in six months. We left “Before Sunset” wondering whether Jesse missed his flight to stay with Celine. In “Before Midnight,” the fate of their relationship doesn’t concern us as much as the thought of just how much these two individuals have changed over the years.

— Braulio Ramirez
Thursday, May 9, 7 p.m. @ Castro Theater

The Kings of Summer

“The Kings of Summer” follows three teenage boys who embark on an unusual adventure during a high school summer. The all-too-familiar impatience of growing up drives their decisions. They are fifteen years old, the odd age when you feel not only disconnected from everyone around you but also from yourself. Joe Toy, the leader, can barely tolerate his widowed father, Frank. His best friend Patrick shares a similar resentment toward his off-kilter parents, whose relentless perkiness is fun to watch but must be unbearable to live with 24/7. Joe convinces Patrick to run away and build a house in the middle of the woods where they can live like true men. With the help of a tag-along classmate named Biaggio they manage to build a funhouse in a secluded meadow.

Much of the film draws its laughs from the group’s failed attempts to completely adopt a hunter-gatherer lifestyle. They’re able to build animal traps, but once the time to kill comes they chicken out and buy food from a local market. The grownups also drive many of the laughs with idiosyncrasies that feel borrowed from sitcoms like “Parks and Recreation” and “Arrested Development.” The actors though are comedic veterans that know just how to engage us with their odd humor.

Jordan Vogt-Roberts’s film is not in any way original. We’ve seen this kind of film about teenage angst many times, and the coming-of-age arc feels trite. Even before the boys escape into the woods, we already know where the story will go. But if it isn’t original, Vogt-Roberts writes thorny and sensitive characters that make the film a light and comic pleasure.

— Braulio Ramirez

Key of Life
The key to the brilliance of Japanese director Kenji Uchida’s genre-blended crime comedy “Key of Life” is its carefully, and quirkily, crafted characters. While the plot might be a tried and unoriginal formula (what happens if a failed actor accidentally switches identities with a jet-set hit man?) the way that the characters react to their “Trading Places” situations is surprisingly fresh.

Masato Sakai plays Sakurai, the troubled thespian, who is first introduced by the thump of his body hitting the floor of his apartment beside a torn noose. This serves as a wonderful presentation of just one more thing he cannot succeed at. His foil is the sleek, business-first, gun-for-hire Kondo (Teruyuki Kagawa). Due to a bizarre moment of coincidence, Kondo ends up in the hospital with amnesia, and Sakurai is given a new lease on life, with Kondo’s name, life and toys at his disposal.

From here on out, the audience is given two separate storylines that seem like very different movies. One is a dark comedy thriller, as Sakurai’s undisciplined ways and naivete quickly land him in over his head in his new profession. The other resembles a romantic comedy between Kondo’s clean-slate amnesiac and a meticulous career-woman portrayed with perfect anal retentive precision by Ryoko Hirosue. The two stories collide as Sakurai is forced to help rehabilitate Kondo, who believes that he is actually the suicidal Sakurai. Uchida knows to let the dark humor unfold in the situations naturally unfold, as some of the best moments occur when Kondo laments to Sakurai what an absolute loser he must have been.

With inventive shots and brisk pacing, the story stays unpredictable and engaging. While the ending takes the easy road, the build-up is something worth watching.
— Ryan Koehn
Wednesday, May 1, 6 p.m. @ Sundance Kabuki Cinemas
Thursday, May 2, 8:30 p.m. @ Sundance Kabuki Cinemas

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A comedy starring Robert De Niro, Katherine Heigl and Diane Keaton, among others, “The Big Wedding” follows a pretty predictable plot, which, though not terrible, is worn-out. It follows the Griffins, a charmingly modern family, who are preparing for a weekend wedding celebration. Don and Ellie Griffin (De Niro and Keaton), a long-divorced couple, are forced to pretend to be in a loving marriage as their adopted son’s ultraconservative biological mother flies to America from Colombia for his wedding. Thrown into the mix are Lyla (Heigl), Don’s and Ellie’s headstrong daughter dealing with relationship troubles, and Jared (Topher Grace), a 20-something virgin waiting for true love.

The movie — though at the surface seems to be more about sex, love and lies — actually does delve into deeper themes. It questions what the true meaning of family really is: Is marriage the right way to express love? Is sex meaningful anymore? Should religion and marriage have a symbiotic relationship? Though reflective at times, “The Big Wedding” tries to keep things light and fluffy for most of the movie.

One character whose role is minimal, though hilarious, is Father Moinighan, played by Robin Williams. The Catholic priest asks the engaged couple (Ben Barnes and Amanda Seyfried) how they plan on raising their children religiously, and they reply that they would like to wait for their children to mature so their children can choose their own life paths. The priest replies, “Hell it is then.” It is impossible to watch the movie without thinking of Father Moinighan as a symbol for the traditional Catholic Church; it causes us to question the role religion plays in modernity.

Ellie is another character who provides insight on our modern way of living. Ellie, as a divorced and independent woman who is able to find happiness outside the cookie-cutter family, challenges the way women are viewed. She reveals her flaws and mistakes, questioning throughout the film whether she made the right choices in life. Yet through it all, she demonstrates that happiness is relative.

Though not much of a memorable or metaphorical character, De Niro portrays the troubled father quite well. His scruffy beard, paunch and dirty jokes lend a hand in painting him as your classic love-him-but-hate-him De Niro character. Other highlights include a sassy Susan Sarandon (There’s no better Sarandon than a sassy one, I say!) and a glowing Amanda Seyfried looking angelic and fairylike as always (Is it just me, or does she always have flowers in her hair?).

Yes, “The Big Wedding” is rife with scenes that could have been in any other comedy — you know, like that one scene where all members of the family throw a tantrum, loudly spilling their secrets in front of all 100 wedding guests — but it isn’t a big flop. The characters are loveable, and that’s perhaps all that matters. Watching the Griffins put the “funk” in “dysfunctional” is entertaining and may even help you feel a little bit better about your own psycho family. Though the predictable film does seem to borrow elements from other comedies (taking “something borrowed” to a new level), societal criticisms can be found if you dig deep enough under the well-worn comedic formula.

Contact Addy Bhasin at abhasin@dailycal.org.

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