Pete Croatto, Film Roundup, May 2014

Blue Ruin (Dir: Jeremy Saulnier). Starring: Macon Blair, Devin Ratray, Amy Hargreaves, Kevin Kolack, Eve Plumb, David W. Thompson. Quiet derelict Dwight (Blair) is peacefully enduring life in a Delaware beach town, eating from garbage cans and sleeping in a battered blue Pontiac Bonneville, when he learns that the man who killed his parents is being released from prison. Dwight summons his motivation and exacts revenge, only he unwittingly commits to a prolonged family feud. Nobody is getting away clean. Director-writer-cinematographer Saulnier is absolutely unconcerned about good guys and bad guys. His steely, even-handed take on the lack of poetry behind retribution is aided by Blair’s fantastic, minimalist performance. With his gentle, rattled voice and bland features—his beardless face projects an everyman’s vulnerability—Blair gives Blue Ruin a relatable protagonist in Saulnier’s cold morality tale. Anyone can take a stand. Seeing it through is another thing altogether. Two former child stars, Ratray (Home Alone) and Plumb (Jan from The Brady Bunch), are excellent in supporting roles. [R] ★★★1/2

Fading Gigolo (Dir: John Turturro). Starring: John Turturro, Woody Allen, Vanessa Paradis, Sharon Stone, Sofía Vergara, Liev Schreiber. A consistently clever comedy turns a meathead’s fantasy into something rich and rewarding. By accident, Murray (Allen) recommends pal Fioravante (Turturro)—healthy, fit, and experienced—as a prostitute to his dermatologist (Stone). The pals embark on this new career mostly for a lark, even giving themselves pimp (Dan Bongo) and prostitute (Virgil Howard) stage names. “I’m not a beautiful man,” Fioravante says. “You’re disgusting,” says Murray, trying to capture the younger man’s ruggedness, “in a very positive way.” Turturro, who wrote the script, keeps his affair free of goofy, masochistic hijinks. The lighting is soft. The soundtrack is strictly retro. Even the New York City locations could be from any era. Virgil/Fioravante serves as a tribute to old school male-female dynamics—“I like a man to be a man,” a client (Vergara) declares—and on the therapeutic benefits of companionship: sexual or otherwise. Consider this a romantic comedy for people who detest most romantic comedies. [Read Pete Croatto’s interview with Turturro on page 22.] [R] ★★★1/2

The Final Member (Dirs: Jonah Bekhor, Zach Math). Sigurður “Siggi” Hjartarson has spent most of his adult life collecting penises, a pursuit that led to the Icelandic Phallological Museum. Yes, a penis museum. His collection is exhaustive but missing one crucial member: the human male. Siggi has willing donors lined up in legendary Icelandic adventurer-carouser Páll Arason and American Tom Mitchell. Both men, however, come with crippling conditions so Siggi may die before the Museum displays its ultimate prize. That’s not all. As Páll’s penis shrinks, an object that has brought pleasure and purpose to his life literally diminishes before his eyes. (There’s a great scene when the old man flips through a photo album of his sexual conquests like it’s a high school yearbook.) Tom’s eagerness to display his manhood is more than psychotic boasting. It’s a way to cleanse his life of heartbreak. The Final Member is more than a visit to a weird museum. It’s about the lengths people will go to salvage their pride. What a wonderful film. [R]  ★★★★

Teenage (Dir: Matt Wolf). Here’s a vivacious approach to the historical documentary. Director Wolf adapts Jon Savage’s Teenage: The Prehistory of Youth Culture: 1875-1945 via voiceovers, reenactments, and archival footage to describe the rise of the teenager, a relatively recent term. A series of narrators  (including Pride & Prejudice’s Jena Malone and Cloud Atlas’s Ben Whishaw) chronicle the evolution of teenagers from factory workers to hooligans to party people to budding patriots and, ultimately, people capable of expressing themselves. It’s a swift and kicky film, ideal for students or anyone who wants to learn about the development of an influential demographic. Teenage may feel a little slight at 78 minutes, but that’s fine. Any longer and the style would feel glib and talky. As it’s constructed now, Teenage opens your eyes to the rich history of a temporary status and whets your appetite for Savage’s critically acclaimed book. That’s a win. [NR] ★★★

An ICON contributor since 2006, Pete Croatto also writes movie reviews for The Weekender. His work has appeared in The New York Times, Broadway.com, Grantland, Philadelphia, Publishers Weekly, and many other publications. Follow him on Twitter, @PeteCroatto.