Film adaptations of dystopian young adult fiction are officially a “thing.” This year alone will see the release of at least four: the third Hunger Games, new blockbuster Divergent, Maze Runner, and finally The Giver, which opened last Friday.
In "Dawn of the Planet of the Apes," gestures and body language communicate more than spoken words.
There are some movies you see because you actively seek them out, and some you see because just giving up and buying a ticket seems easier than resisting the tidal forces that conspire to pull you into the box office. It was in this latter spirit that I saw Dawn of the Planet of the Apes: my friend and I had missed the showtime for the movie we wanted to see, and found nothing but apes for the rest of the afternoon.
Sinister lighting, innocent child, creepy closet full of demons... check, check, and check!
I’ve always appreciated horror as a genre full of little experiments. If a director’s goal is to scare, disturb, or unsettle the audience, she has to manufacture a Rube Goldberg-like system of tense silences and jump scares to find success.
It was a strange choice for a summer blockbuster. A weepy film about a girl dying of thyroid cancer who meets her boyfriend in a support group and then travels to Amsterdam so she can meet the author she idolizes before experiencing the ultimate heartbreak.
“Those are the directors?” This question, delivered as a scoff, came from the man sitting behind me as the directors of the Etheria Film Night shorts program walked to the stage of Hollywood’s Egyptian theater for a Q&A.
If the glossy pages of my elementary school history books had told me stories like that of Grace Lee Boggs, I would have paid more attention. Like me, Boggs is Asian-American who was born to immigrant parents—if I’d learned her story growing up, I might have felt invested in our country’s history instead of feeling disenchanted by it.