Three Billboards Outside Belling, Missouri - Martin McDonagh

From my vantage point, Martin McDonagh's film, "Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri," was unexpected. It had popped into the movie theaters around the start of December, without a lot of promotion. Or else I haven't been paying attention as carefully as I should.

Well, it has all eyes on it now, and rightly so.

Seven years after her daughter is raped and murdered, Mildred (Francis McDormand), has lost her patience with the police and their ineffective investigation.

Rather than repeatedly going to the cops, Mildred decides to take matters into her own hands. She takes out advertising space on three billboards which together, spell out, "Raped while dying" "And still no arrests?" "How come, Chief Willoughby?"

To say this causes a stir would be a silly understatement. The entire town comes rushing to defend Chief Willoughby (Woody Harrelson).

Sadly, in their minds, Mildred turns from a sympathetic mourning mom to a shrew throwing blame on who the towns considers to be a good man.

One the cops under Willoughby's wing, Dixon (Sam Rockwell), takes the situation very personally. To Dixon, Willoughby is the ultimate father figure, cop, and man, and how dare Mildred say anything bad about the man?

Things get ugly very quickly. It starts with just a small tit-for-tat between Mildred and Dixon then whirls up to the exercising of true hatred and then the story explodes.

"Billboards" is a cautionary tale about vengeance. The films demonstrates what can happen when even the most ordinary people allow rage and hatred to burn hotter and hotter.

I do understand why everybody is making such a big deal out of this film. Firstly, the performances by Frances McDonald and Sam Rockwell are a marvel.

And Woody Harrelson excels as he plays the world-weary Chief Willoughby.

As far as the story goes, it's a beautiful, escalating screenplay. In many films structured like this, the acceleration is sloppy and the movie loses its way. But McDonaugh takes us through what someone is capable of in their grief and holds it all together. That's why the film more than the ordinary eye-for-an-eye movies.

"Three Billboards Outside Belling, Missouri" may look like a run of the mill film of  escalating one-upsmanship, but it's so much more than that. The performances are close to perfect. Pair that with an incredibly subtle but intensely emotional screenplay as its foundation, and you have a small masterpiece.

So yes, "Billboards" lives up to the hype. It actually is among the best pictures of the year.

Filth - Jon S. Baird (2013) Does "Filth" Stand Up To "Trainspotting's" innovation?

Along with films like "Pulp Fiction," "Trainspotting" revolutionized the way all of us watch movies today. "Trainspotting" naturally wove between true life and fantasy. Finally, we were starting to hear our heros' inner-monologue. These films, along with others, unlocked a fifth wall.

The films also created a new height for dark comedies.

When "Filth" opens, Bruce, (James McAvoy), a detective, is focused on the race in his department over who will get a much envied promotion. It may not sound like much power, but Bruce covets it. It's a jump from Detective Sergeant to Detective Inspector and Bruce's lust for power has no threshold.

Bruce goes to great lengths to undermine the others trying for the job. Bruce is so amoral, he outstrips Harvey Keitel's LT in Abel Ferrara's 1992's "Bad Lieutenant," one of the most hedonistic and vomitous roles of the '90's, and probably any other decade, I guess.

Meanwhile, Bruce's lonely wife, (Shauna McDonald), has an insatiable lust for sex exceeded only by her lust for power. Power is her aphrodisiac. She loves power above all, even more than sex. Though it's power for her husband she wants, not for herself. Her sexual fantasy is to have Bruce to come home from work and call out, "Honey, I'm home! I'm a Detective Inspector!"

It does not take long before filmmaker Jon S. Baird establishes that Bruce is a bastard. He is the worst kind of cop and he belongs in prison. He is also the nastiest kind of man and deserves to be abandoned by everybody who loves him.

As this is based on the works of Irvine Welsh, it's no surprise to find that much of the story is wrapped around Bruce's so-called medication. These drugs collude with his natural fiendish disposition. The only brights spots of what you might call hope in his life are his consultations with his brilliant but rambling psychiatrist, Dr. Rossi (Jim Broadbent.)

Bruce's manipulations are masterful. He systematically ruins each contender for this promotion, both personally or professionally, friend or not. This changes a murder investigation that just so happens to be going on, into a minor backdrop.

As "Filth" continues, it becomes clear that the real, actual Bruce is only a cool guy in his own mind. But in reality, he's not suave or in any way impressive.



Much of the visual imagery in "Filth" is not as much fun as intended. It's hard to tell if these cheap cinematic tricks are inspirations of Welsh's book or "Trainspotting."

A pathetic attempt at a shocking twist at the start of act three is not enough to save this mess.

Baird is clearly trying to revisit the style, tone and fashion of "Trainspotting" and he falls tragically short.

The first part of the film is quick, funny and hard to criticize. Unfortunately, it falls tragically short due to sloppy character structure and plot development.

Not only does the "twist" fall short, but the entire third act is a contrived wreck. The only part of the film that really works is the deconstruction of Bruce's brain by the mad Dr. Rossi.

And not for nothing, but "Filth" is overtly homophobic and trans-phobic.

"Trainspotting" was innovative in style and tone, but it didn't exist just for the sake of itself. It had so much more to give. It had life and hope and joy to offer. We intensely cared about those characters, even Begbie.

I'm afraid that we just don't give a damn for Bruce.