By Santa Monica Reporter, Dan Cohen

Theaters like Landmark’s Ritz in Philadelphia, have become the last venue for adult dramas with adult casts, which in the not so distant past were a mainstay of popular cinema.  As a result,  a standard issue revenge flick, like the Michael Caine driven “Harry Brown,” ends up in these “art” houses, probably because it’s star, now in his late 70s, belongs to the older demographic.  But “Harry Brown no more belongs in art houses than “Harry Potter.”

I suppose the difference between “Harry Brown” and the majority of B movies masquerading as dramas, are the British accents, since the story takes place in a down and dirty part of London.  But Michael Caine’s stately and elegant presence, and our memory of him in so many deeply nuanced roles, are the only distinguishing features in this ugly and simple minded blood bath. Drama involves human interaction; the only thing Caine interacts with here is a gun.

An aged pensioner goes on a killing spree after his best friend is found murdered. His targets, the odious teenagers in a multi ethnic street gang, are shown early on to be cold blooded killers. So in terms of dramatic elements, they exist solely as prey. Brown, a retired marine who hasn’t lost his touch, stalks the worst and lets loose on them. As the rampage escalates, a miscast Emily Mortimer, the detective assigned to investigate, pursues with a grim posture that suggests she’d rather be collecting her paycheck in another line of work, or movie.

Director Daniel Barber shows he can elicit the maximum impact from the collision of bullets and flesh, even with the camera at a distance, where you’d think the carnage might feel restrained. It does not. He and his effects crew are to be applauded for the spurting fountains of red that are the most moving aspects of this dour, dispiriting mess.

A couple seasons back Liam Neeson went ballistic on a variety of scumbags living off the flesh of kidnapped teenage girls in the hugely successful “Taken.”  But director Pierre Morel, a cinematographer who directed the kinetic “District 13,” kept his absurd rampage moving with spirited energy. The rocket fuel that kept it moving made what should have been unsavory and bleak into a breathless whirlwind through several levels of Parisian lowlife.  Neesons’ sad eyed face, married to his unapologetic, libinous malice, recalled the Charles Bronson of the comically overwrought “Death Wish,” series.  In comparison, “Harry Brown” is a dirge. The lesson for filmmakers; if you’re going to make feckless trash, do it with brio.

A dash of brio might lifted Rodrigo Garcia’s well acted and crafted “Mother and Child” above the level of well intentioned melodrama, where it lives for most of its running time. But writer/director Garcia eschews the light touch that directors like Woody Allen have mastered, for deadly earnest.

A multi character drama, largely composed in a series of brief, humorless encounters between characters who don’t like each other very much, but are more or less bound by sex, kinship, or paternity, this is a roadmap of an emotional territory where you don’t want to live if you don’t have to.

Annette Benning, Naomi Watts, Samuel Jackson, Jimmy Smits, Kerry Washington and many others are included in the sprawling cast, and they’re all fine as far as fulfilling the director’s intentions.  But you’re more likely to be engaged in identifying the procession of notable character actors, (isn’t that what’s-his-name from dah dah dah?) than getting genuinely involved with them.

Why is that? Partially it’s the film’s structure, which moves from one emotional high point to the next with mostly cause and effect connecting them.  Making matters more problematic,  the essence of each scene is telegraphed long before it’s over, so after the strategy repeats a few times, you tend to hang around waiting for one episode to end and another to begin.

Woody Allen, in “Husbands and Wives,” or “Hannah and Her Sisters,” and the Robert Altman, of “Nashville,” and “Gosford Park” demonstrate how to bring multi character pieces to life.  Both rely heavily on humor, and place way more emphasis on character and circumstance than an obvious scheme that could be taken for a “message.” (All four are currently available on DVD)

Garcia’s message, and this is indeed a message movie, is that bringing children into the world has consequences that go far beyond the simple reality of their existence.  As a cautionary tale it’s effective, but it may be more useful to high school hygiene classes than movie goers.

DVD watch

“Il Divo,” (The Diety,) a stunning, disturbing and altogether disorienting biography of Giulio Andreotti, a murderous Italian politician, is now on DVD. I find it hard to enjoy or recommend films that lose me, but this is an exception.

“Il Divo,” is a hunchbacked, devious, and charismatic member of the Italian parliament, who in spite of his deeply corrupted, violent tactics, (or perhaps because of them,) served seven terms in their legislative body.  His story is lit and shot like a never ending nightmare that reminds us Italy has only functioned as a unified state since 1900. And that their politics have been inextricably linked to the worst elements of church and state.

If Fellini and Bertolucci had a kid together, he might have been blessed with the talents of writer/director Paolo Sorrentino.  Even when his gorgeously made film confuses us with its wealth of characters and intrigues, you remain awed by the rapturous filmmaking. The DVD is a  perfect medium for us non Italians to experience it, because we can always stop the film and rewind a bit to catch up with the various entanglements and intrigues it outlines.

You may want to read a little on Andreotti and the treacherous times he lived in before tackling the movie, but it’s well worth the trouble.