Normally, Wednesday nights are not very exciting. It’s the middle of the week, and there are two more days until the weekend. But one Wednesday in March of 2012 was anything but ordinary. March 21, 2012 was the day that thousands across the U.S. were enthralled and thrilled to view a special showing of one of the greatest films ever made. That film was the magnificent Casablanca.

I had the distinct privilege of being present at Cinemark Movies 14 in Mishawaka, Indiana on Wednesday night March 21 to view a special 70th anniversary presentation of the iconic Casablanca. This special one night only showing was satellite broadcast to 450+ theatres across America, thanks to Turner Classic Movies and TimeWarner. The night began with an introduction from TCM host and film historian Robert Osborne. Mr. Osborne discussed the casting of the film, as well as the difficulties in getting the film made. The most interesting story was of the night of the 1943 Academy Awards. Casablanca won for Best Picture, and as director Michael Curtiz was rising from his chair to approach the podium, he was nearly knocked over by an on-rushing Jack Warner, who ran onstage and accepted the Oscar statue. While the back story was enlightening, everyone in the theatre was tense with anticipation, waiting for the main event.
I have personally viewed Casablanca more times than I could ever count. But there was something extra special about this viewing. For its illustrious anniversary, the picture and sound were remastered beautifully. And I had almost forgotten how near-perfect a film I was watching. The acting is superb. Leading men and woman blend seamlessly with character actors. Just look at this star studded lineup: Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman, Paul Henreid, Claude Rains, Peter Lorre, Sydney Greenstreet, and Conrad Veidt. The cinematography is gorgeous. And the script…oh, what a script. I cannot think of any movie in history with more quotable lines than Casablanca.

But don’t take my word for it. See it for yourself, either for the first time or the one hundred and first time. Warner Bros. has released a 70th Anniversary Blu-Ray box set of the film which includes both the Blu-Ray and DVD versions of the film, as well as a third disc featuring a plethora of bonus materials. Also included is a 64-page supplementary booklet, along with three collectible drink coasters. No matter your age, Casablanca is ageless. Entire families, including children under the age of ten, were brought together on this special night for this momentous occasion. So, as Rick would say to Ilsa, “here’s looking at you, kid.”

The coffer holding Secret Service Agent Jeremy Reins (Stephen Dorff) captive is a representation of all our primal aversions. After being kidnapped from New York, he wakes up stowed away in the truck of a car. His dimly-lit glass casket is complete with nothing but an old radio receiver and a countdown clock. It’s there that he must endure intense mental and physical torture—everything ranging from a swarm of flies to gunshots and nearly drowning—to protect the location of a series of underground bunkers from radicals. Codenamed “The Roulette,” it serves to protect the president and his family in the event of a terrorist attack.

For those thinking about Buried, another film utilizing the “grave danger” concept, Brake was shot beforehand. And whilst Paul Conroy’s—the protagonist in Rodrigo Cortés’ interpretation (who, as some may remember, was played by Ryan Reynolds)—sole purpose was to escape, Reins is a more selfless lead. Even when faced with life-or-death consequences, he refuses to hand over the information wanted of him. Even if he harms the people around him—most notably, his ex-wife—the character keeps the Cheese alive. Jeremy’s commitment to his oath makes him a reliable action hero. There’s definitely room for both movies and it’s interesting to see how they both contrast.

In fact, what further separates the two is that Torres and his screenwriter, Timothy Mannion, ride almost entirely on interspersed adrenaline rushes. Frequently, the filmmakers task their headliner with making inconsistencies and continuity errors unnoticeable. For the most part, he does just that. However, as talented as the actor may be, he can’t make up for the dry spells in between the intense action. During these quieter moments, the puzzling lack of a police response and strange coincidences become incredibly distracting.

But ultimately, Torres excels in creating a gripping atmosphere. He builds upon each scene. While answering a phone call is the highlight of the first sequence, Reins must later tend to gaping wounds and move around the casket. In spite of there not being much gore, the suspense element—inspired, ironically, by the Saw series—keeps Brake entertaining.

Plus Dorff commands the screen. Like Reynolds, he carries the film and shuffles through every emotion in the book, from dumb confidence to desperation. However, it’s his co-stars—a series of (mostly) unknown voice actors—that fail to impress. Some of the more renowned performers include the Oscar-nominated Tom Berenger, Grey’s Anatomy star Chyler Leigh, and B-actor JR Bourne. Yet even with their past experience, these thespians make barely make the most banal dialogue sound authentic.

To top it off, the ending is hardly believable. Adding insult to injury, the filmmakers drop the ball not once, but twice. They crash past one conclusion to another far less satisfying resolution. It’s fortunate that Torres pushes the brakes before completely burning out.

This myopic documentary reveres these smaller bands with an unprecedented fervor. While passion is a much needed element in the production of any movie, director Melissa Kirkendall’s blinding hero worship of these figures prevents the film from achieving its undeniably great potential. Instead of getting at the heart of the movement, the film is self congratulatory and almost masturbatory in its treatment of these forgotten rock gods. What results is a painfully shallow flashback to days gone by and music that is fondly remembered by some, but largely forgotten by most
However, Teen A Go Go is difficult to characterize as just an 80-minute fangirl’s unadulterated ode to Fort Worth rock. There’s a sort of sadness to this film, as it forces its audience to watch as these men and women fondly reminisce. While they may have been heroes and heroines in their heyday, it is plain to see that these are the types of musicians that rock and roll history has forgotten. Perhaps that is what saves Teen A Go Go from being insufferable. After all, there is a sort of silent suffering that these artists have gone through over the years, from being forgotten to the loss of beloved band members. While Teen A Go Go was certainly frustrating, these people were all together too sad to be deserving of any real scorn. The countless anecdotes and endless descriptions of concerts tested my patience, but it was through no fault of the musicians themselves. The little clips of archive footage illustrate that they were, indeed, talented but the presentation of their talent is too stilted in Teen A Go Go.

Unfortunately, at the end of Teen A Go Go it seems that most of the film’s issues stem from Kirkendall. The incessant fawning over the bands cloud the vision of Teen A Go Go. What could have been a glowing examination of 1960s rock and roll, instead becomes an exercise in excess, which manages to attempt to do too much, resulting in no depth.

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Shane Meadows’ work (A Room For Romeo Brass, Once Upon A Time In The Midlands), has often characterized the variety of personalities inhabiting his favorite region, The Midlands, and in Dead Man’s Shoes he gives full vent to the potentially violent impulses that lurk within all of us. In a subtle turn, Richard’s path of vengeance takes a slow peel as he reveals further and further the effects of his enormously efficient and brutal methods upon his own psyche.

Lead character Paddy Considine co-wrote the screenplay with Meadows. As Richard, he is a detached army veteran newly returned to his hometown and clearly on a mission. Over the period of the film it is his intent to make them feel the same vicious sensations they visited upon his younger brother. In this area Meadows is spot on, and we feel Richard’s slow descent into madness born of his need to stand up for his younger brother, even if it is far too late. It is a sense of duty, of honor, which he must perform. No matter the toll or the outcome. To the gang of bullies Richard’s name alone elicits a tangible sense of dread. So much so that when he shows up on their doorsteps wearing a gas mask and carrying an axe they go into panic mode.

Unlike Meadows’ earlier droll comedies, Dead Man’s Shoes is an exercise in violence. This is not Pulp Fiction, Reservoir Dogs, or Sin City – this is back street England’s bad boys who are headed down a one-way street that’s bound to dead end. They are shallow human beings with a sense of decency or responsibility among the lot of them. When Richard despises them, we are in full agreement, and accept his actions as the consequence of their actions.

The very capable Considine is strong here, both restrained yet fierce, sad and remorseful, but hungry for blood.

Ultimately, Dead Man’s Shoes is as thought-provoking as it is an homage to the revenge film. If you enjoy some intelligence with your action, I can only recommend Dead Man’s Shoes as a must see.