Establishing the why behind any character is a complex task, and even more so when dealing in real life. John E. DuPont murdered Olympian Dave Schultz in cold blood. It’s a cruel fact, but the mysteries behind DuPont’s crime are intriguing, and certainly worthy of further examination.  Foxcatcher, the new film from Bennett Miller (Capote, Moneyball), does its fair share or examination, but finite conclusions are left obscured in the ether.

The film is told through the lens of Mark Shultz (Dave’s younger brother) and John E. DuPont’s relationship. Insomuch, the film’s success lies with Steve Carrell and Channing Tatum. Tatum seems secure in Dave’s quiet rigidity. Ever the consummate fatherless child and inadequate brother, Tatum finds a way to tout insecurities diametric to his appearance. Brute, raw, uncomplicated, it’s a fine turn, but the Dave Schultz character never quite leaves behind something believably Channing Tatum.

On the other hand, Steve Carrell vanishes into the role of John DuPont. Absorbed into something far beyond prosthetic noses and discolored teeth, Carrell takes full advantage of his moment decoding this human cypher. Every aspect of his characterization aligns with some notion of DuPont I wasn’t aware I had. The manner of speaking, the demeanor, the terrible trainers, it felt authentic to the point where DuPont no longer belonged to himself, but instead was subject the whims of Steve Carrell. And Carrell, in his astounding performance, opted to remain unknowable.

Mark Ruffalo is our Dave Schultz, the casualty in this whole affair, but the film belongs to Tatum and Carrell. Ruffalo carries his bulky frame naturally and generates tremendous warmth when on screen. Accordingly, he sets up as a one-dimensional vessel of extreme likability undeservedly struck down. By all accounts this is true, but Foxcatcher employs him as little more than the collateral damage of Mark and John’s relationship.

The film makes no concerted effort to relay the details found in court documents. Stitched together narrative sketches, Foxcatcher relies heavily on atmosphere to spur the engine. Drained of color and limited on soundtrack, the film is somber, with a few whiffs of dull. Almost obsessed with restraint, even the electric moments—most notably the wrestling sequences—are kept on the leash. Miller keeps a steady hand on the till, visual tone intact, mood omnipresent, but a steady hand can quickly become heavy. At points over-directed, the amorphous story never quite sits at ease in the otherwise unyielding style.

DuPont wants to be more of a father figure than Mark requires. Mark is looking for a way out of poverty and Dave’s shadow and finds appeal in DuPont’s rigorous message of self-determination. Both men are in need of companionship. The line grows increasingly blurred between all of the above, but the film never reaches beyond implication. We see their shared wounds, their codependence, and a bizarre moment of usury to which Dave looks rather inured, but it all amounts to innuendo. Their relationship is never fully unpacked, and as such Foxcatcher remains at arm’s length.

The film should be seen for the performances alone, and Carrell’s name will undoubtedly bounce around the awards season echo chamber. A fascinating view into a murder too surreal for the tabloids, but too obscure to be dubbed a trial of the century, Foxcatcher is real life. A man died, a billionaire shielded by his wealth went to prison, and answers are hard to come by. An acute byproduct of trying to tell true stories.  

—Monte Monreal

Instead of Stan Lee putting Walt Disney's cryogenically frozen head on top of a robot body to fight crime, this team-up is just Disney studios using a Marvel-owned property. Although, now that I've written "Disney's cryogenically frozen head on top of a robot body," I desperately wish that was what this movie was about.

Big Hero 6 is the latest from the Disney Animation Studios and marks the first time that a Disney movie features characters from the Marvel universe, although you wouldn't know it unless you are really really into Marvel comics. The characters of Big Hero 6 are a really deep cut. It was inevitable that this would happen eventually, what with Disney acquiring Marvel in 2009, and I for one am glad that they went with characters that I had absolutely no idea were part of the Marvel Universe.

What Disney has done by choosing an obscure property like the team of Big Hero 6 is brilliant: they get to use the Marvel name and dip into how popular comic movies are these days, but they also can do pretty much whatever the hell they want with the characters because nobody knows nor cares who they are. They can also lose all of the baggage that comes with Marvel's convoluted continuity, and absolutely no one will be freaking out about it. So, what we get is a property that uses the basic core ideas of these characters and completely changes and reinvents them, leaving only a vague similarity to what was originally in the comics.

Think about it as if a writer was going to do a Spider-Man film, and the only parameter that he had was “this guy has spider powers.” No radioactive spider, no Uncle Ben, no Mary Jane, none of it. Just give the guy spider powers and see what happens. Which in and of itself is not necessarily a bad thing.

Set in the fictional future city of San Fransokyo, the film is the story of boy genius Hiro, who is incredibly gifted in the field of robotics. His brother Tadashi is a student in the very competitive and advanced robotics program at the university and has created a medical companion robot Baymax. Baymax is an inflatable robot shaped kind of like a teddy bear with short little legs and a big belly. The idea behind Tadashi's design was to make Baymax friendly and huggable, as a care provider has no need to be a big stompy robot. A bad guy does bad thing, and Hiro uses his technological genius to turn his friends, as well as Baymax, into superheroes to fight the bad guy. It's a children's movie, so that's about as complex as the plot really needs to be.

The movie does hit a lot of sweet spots. The city is beautifully designed—basically San Francisco if it were in Japan. Baymax is very well designed as well; visually he communicates everything his character is supposed to be. The villain’s design is also right on the money. The movie moves along quite well, getting in all the beats an action film needs. It has some laughs, some drama, some good action scenes, and a fairly well-constructed plot—pretty much what we've come to expect from Disney's animated features.

On the other hand, it does leave a little to be desired. On the design front, the other characters that make up the team are a little muddy and aren't nearly as well-designed as Baymax. When creating a superhero, the costume needs to communicate the hero's power set and personality immediately, and other than Baymax, the other characters don't really have that visual impact. The characters are all fairly one-dimensional and fairly stock in their personalities as well, minus Fred.

The screening I saw was in 3D, and I felt it added nothing to the film whatsoever. Although, that is how I feel about anything in 3D in general. Well, except Friday the 13th Part 3. 

What Big Hero 6 ends up being is just pretty good. It hits all bullet points but fails to give us anything as charming as Disney's other recent standout features, such as Wall-E or Frozen. It just doesn't have that same next-level cleverness or appeal. 

—Eric Harrelson

Bewildered, having slept on it (twice), I come back to the same feeling. It’s like I think I have to explain myself because, well, I don’t want it to be true. I’m not let down so much as confused as to how things got so out of hand. Interstellar is unsatisfying, terribly misguided, and often infuriating. The new film from Christopher Nolan isn’t good.

Sometimes bad films get made, and Nolan is allowed a dud, but the magnitude of Interstellar’s troubles stops me stone cold. When we last saw Nolan, the final installment of his Batman franchise was carried out on a stretcher next to a ticking time bomb, a noted cliché’s cliché. I enjoyed The Dark Knight Rises, but I wasn’t inclined to hold it to the same standard I do Nolan’s original content. But as Interstellar has tumbled down on my head in such confounding fashion, the Nolan mystique now bears a Gargantua-sized black hole.

Checking in at a grueling 2 hours and 46 minutes, every single aspect of the film bottoms out at some point. The visuals, where sumptuous, fail to exceed something beyond imagination. Certainly the best and most consistent element of the film, Nolan fails to do more than he’s already accomplished with less.

The actors seem completely lost in the gristmill of exhausting exposition, extended explanations of astrophysics, and a stilted atmosphere of sentimentality. The sprawling cast moves from myopic human to myopic human. Where their end game may differ, all of them are single minded because, Oh! …there’s a lesson here. But the emotional investment requested in each player is hardly congruent with the paltry caricatures we’re offered.

But of all the ways Interstellar finds to disappoint, none even come close to the failure of the story. Austere in all the wrong places, utterly laughable in others, the narrative is an empty vessel. I kid you not, “Do not go gentle into that good night,” by Dylan Thomas is meant to be taken seriously as both a literate reference and framing device.

The first act stumbles into our one dimensional themes and sets up the thinnest plot movement Nolan has ever employed. The second act, the exploration act, is the strongest, but never quite gets in a good rhythm. The third act, well… If I didn’t recognize the film was so consumed by its own self-seriousness, I’d be certain it was a pastiche at best, and total middle finger at worst.

I can only hint around the big reveal. It’d be unfair to spoil even what is a ludicrous bit of storytelling. Many will argue there’s a concept to “get.” Sure, whatever, but it’s not a lofty one. It’s not even an ambitious one, and it’s well within reason to describe it as outright asinine. Watching, I was slack-jawed in complete disbelief, others we’re cackling at the screen. Our reactions don’t matter, but Nolan dragged us a long way for a moment on which there was no passable foundation for it to stand. And on a more personal level, let’s not mince words, it was as borderline insulting a big movie moment as I can recall.

All of Nolan’s indulgences are on display, time, space, self, etc… Sure, it’s fun, but you know it by rote. Some will point to the film’s cerebral nature and commitment to science. Others will point to Nolan’s love of real sets over CGI and his proselytizing for film. Plenty will even celebrate being browbeaten about the need for space program. And his director buddies like it, so you know it must be justified in its existence. But—if you’re willing to be honest with yourself—it all equates to nil in the face of Interstellar’s so very shoddily drawn, and patently—almost brazenly—weightless core. In my naïve experience, films should be enjoyed for the cumulative effort on the screen. Interstellar delivers everyplace but.   

Interstellar is indicative of a strange Nolan problem: the higher the stakes, the worse the film. When Nolan’s stakes are commitment to a magic trick and corporate espionage, his films are exceptional. When a city has to be saved from a nuclear strike, or the exponentially greater task of saving humanity arises, his films are proportionally worse. 

Nolan has always been able to glide across these circuitous, device heavy premises with grace and dignity. But sometimes you don’t realize how shallow a place is until something crashes and the wreckage of inert ideas bob on the surface.  

—Monte Monreal