Dir - Aleksander L. Nordaas
Overall: MEH
Moody yet underwhelming, Thale is the sophomore effort from Norwegian filmmaker Aleksander L. Nordaas; an ultra low-budget, contemporary, feral woman by-way-of folklore genre offering. Largely shot in his father's basement on a measly $10,000 and with a minimal cast, Nordaas handled many of the production duties himself and creates an intriguing, sorrowful tone with intimate camerawork, a longing musical score from Raymond Enoksen and Geirmund Simonsen, and a story about a hulder, (a Scandinavian forest creature that is usually depicted as humanoid except for having a cows tail), that is uncovered by a two-person clean up crew. Perhaps due to the insufficient budget which is ill-equipped for the grander scheme of the material, the film is low on action and heavy on talking and expository information which is given via tape recordings left behind by someone conducting experiments on the mystical entity of the title. This makes for a tedious watch that spins its wheels and delivers an anti-climactic finish that raises more questions on top of the ones that the movie barely brought up in the first place. Worse yet is some absolutely wretched CGI, which is not even necessary as it presents a cartoon version of the already human-esque monsters that Silje Reinåmo managed to pull off just fine in her birthday suite.
Dir - Jeremy Gardner
Overall: GOOD
The debut The Battery, (Ben & Mickey vs. The Dead), from actor turned-writer/director Jeremy Gardner was put together with a $6,000 budget garnished from friends and it takes an intimate, aesthetically low-key look at a zombie outbreak. A tired premise to be sure, but the presentation is at least interesting here, headed by Gardner and co-star Adam Cronheim's chemistry with each other as two local ball players who accidentally get paired together for the long trek through the undead wasteland. The first half is overcrowded with indie rock montages, (many of which come within literal seconds of each other), but these are interjected enough with the opposing view points and personalities of the protagonists to keep things moving. Though there are some amusing set pieces earlier on, (and one masturbation sequences that tips its toes into "Seriously dude?" absurdity), the drawn-out finale revs up the tension at a meticulous pace and delivers a gut-punching, ambiguous ending that seems well-earned for a story about the monotony and arguable futility of survival. Maybe ten or so minutes too long as to emphasis the severe boredom that sets in when the normal world has been replaced with complete solitude that is only interrupted by ghouls who want to munch on your flesh, but for something made so incredibly cheap, it represents a refreshing alternative to the type of derivative, large-scale post-apocalyptic zombie flicks that are out there in droves.
Dir - David Cronenberg
Overall: MEH
Some committed performances from a plethora of actors who get to monologue to their hearts content have a purposely ponderous effect on David Cronenberg's adaptation of Don DeLillo's 2003 novel Cosmopolis. Soulless by design, it spends a day in the life of Robert Pattinson's detached, young billionaire whose inability to find some kind of connection with anything going on around him leads him from one vapid conversation to the next. It is not so much about the frustration of the ninety-nine percenters, (sans Paul Giamatti's character who serves as a speaker-box for the common man, be it an impenetrably insane one), but more about the corruption of the one percenters who have obtained such grotesque amounts of wealth that they look anywhere that their whimsies take them for something to provide solid footing. Cronenberg's handling of DeLillo's material channels the ambiguity of his William S. Burroughs' reworking Naked Lunch, except with none of the surreal flare to disguise it. Instead, the movie is rooted in reality while the characters are not, as they go through an aloof existence that offers no answers. It could all be seen as something intellectually contemplative or just plain ole pretentious in its monotony, but besides one or two startling outbursts in the final act, such dedication to low-level dryness is weary on the brain.
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