I remember enjoying the twistiness and gadgetry of the first one “Mission:Impossible” movie,  and then thinking the second was too caught up in being “stylish” (all I really remember is slow motion doves flying up in front of a car chase) to be much fun.  The third was just a bad movie (but with a  good villain) that came at a time with the ill will directed towards Tom Cruise was perhaps at its peak.  The franchise looked dead at that point, killed by Cruise’s couch jumping and bad direction.

Cruise has made some attempts to rehabilitate his reputation, mostly by not jumping on couches and wearing a fat suit in “Tropic Thunder.”  Director Brad Bird does the same thing for the Mission: Impossible brand, bringing in Simon Pegg and a wonderfully irreverent script for “Mission: Impossible – Ghost Protocol.”  Even that title seems like a sly joke – a colon and then a dash?

Simon Pegg shows, as he did in “Star Trek,”  that he can bring comic relief to action films without being distracting or spoiling the action.  That’s really a balancing act, and I think he should get more credit than he does.  The travesty of “Paul” aside, he might be the best comic actor working today.  I’ll watch him instead Seth Rogen or Jonah Hill any day.

Brad Bird is really in control of this movie.  Without his name attached (I have so much respect for him because of “Iron Giant” and “The Incredibles”) I probably wouldn’t have bothered with this film.  But I love the direction he takes M:I, accentuating its essential silliness without losing the thrill of its action.

The plot is so twisty and ridiculous it’s almost impossible to follow, let alone remember after leaving the movie theater.  Let’s see…Simon Pegg and Paula Patton break Cruise out of jail, and they’re working on an operation at the Kremlin, when the place blows up and they get blamed, so they have to stage a car crash and go on the lam to stop a criminal mastermind who wants to blow the world up in order to start the evolutionary process over again (or something) and just might have the nuclear codes to do it.  Really, does it matter?  It’s convoluted and action-packed and there was at least one sequence where it seemed to me like the sudden twist made the whole operation pointless, but they went ahead with it anyway.

More important that what happens is the way it happens; everything this M:I team tries to do goes wrong.  Everything.  The famous mask-making machine sputters and dies halfway through a mask.  The gadget-gloves that allow Tom Cruise to go all Spiderman on the tallest building in the world…don’t work.  The sexy seductress freezes up in front of her target and barely manages to get him to the bedroom.  If these guys were any more bumbling, Rowan Atkinson should be playing Ethan Hunt instead of Tom Cruise.  We teeter right on the edge of comedy and parody, and yet still Brad Bird still manages to make a thrilling action film.

This movie, with the impossible-to-remember-title, is certainly one of the best of 2011.   It’s the story of a young woman who escapes from a backwoods cult after suffering serious psychological and emotional abuse.  She was never imprisoned by the cult, except perhaps in her mind.  She takes refuge with her yuppie sister and her husband at their vacation home, and they have plenty of issues of their own, ranging from stored up resentment against her for simply disappearing years before, to a nearly cultish devotion to style, status, and success.  The parallels “Martha” draws between backwoods, brainwashed radicals and the more mainstream, widely accepted cult of success are penetrating and illuminating.

Elizabeth Olsen plays the titular protagonist.  I was shocked to discover that she’s the little sister of Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen; she’s certainly embarked on a different career path.  She looks more like a young Maggie Gyllenhaal than a young teen idol.  She might turn out to be the one in the family with actual talent; her performance here is nuanced, restrained, and never false for a moment.  Opposite her (at times, not often enough) as the cult leader  is John Hawkes, who is quickly becoming one of my favorite actors.  His unconventional looks complement a deep gravity and screen presence that can’t be denied; here is a man who is capable of brainwashing and manipulating the multitudes.  I suppose, to an extent, what makes him an effective cult leader is also what makes him a fascinating actor. His mere presence is captivating.

Director Sean Durkin handles his duties like he’s in charge of a horror film, which is sometimes effective, and sometimes confusing.  The soundtrack maintains that same low, ominous hum that works so effectively in the “Paranormal Activity” films to suffuse everyday scenes with a sense of dread.  But, as with many films lately, I found myself wishing for more classical camerawork.  Shots are too often filled with ears, boobs, and chins.  What’s wrong with framing a face?  Especially in a movie where all the action is happening behind that face.

Also like a lot of recent movies, “Martha Marcy May Marlene” ends suddenly, and with no resolution.  The last thirty minutes drag a bit, after a tense beginning, and then it just stops. I don’t know why.  This is a fantastic film, certainly one of the best of the year.  I only wish it had gone on a little longer, and brought itself to a more satisfying conclusion.

At first glance, “Submarine” looks like a film in the school of Noah Baumbach and (especially) Wes Anderson, but looks can be deceiving.  Because while director Richard Ayoade uses the same tools as Anderson et al – precocious prep school kid, overly stylized/formalized sets & costumes, etc. – he’s using them for different purposes.  The wonder of Anderson’s films is how such unbelievable characters can actually become real over the course of the film; they reveal hearts, they grow warm even while remaining stiff, and they feel like people we know after two hours with them.  Odd people for sure, but we love them because of their oddities.

That’s not what Ayaode’s up to.  The characters in “Submarine” remain frustratingly opaque, never revealing their true intentions or motivations, rarely emerging from the shells they have built to keep the world out.  And this isn’t bad writing; it appears to be the very purpose of the film.  Protagonist Craig Roberts lives in a world of inscrutable people; he can’t figure out what anyone wants or needs, least of all himself.  In contrast to that is the horrifying ability these people – again, including himself – have to cause each other harm and injury.  In “Submarine,” everyone runs around in terribly ineffective suits of armor.

Roberts has a crush on Yasmin Paige, that blossoms into a relationship – his first girlfriend.  Except that she’s only going through the motions (even the most intimate motions) and doesn’t seem all that into him.  Or is she?   She’s hard to read.  Everyone is.  Meanwhile, his mother’s old flame(Paddy Considine) has moved in next door, and he can’t understand why his father isn’t more upset about the growing warmth – and maybe more – between his mom and this other guy.  Or is he upset?  He’s also hard to read.

“Submarine” is about people who have locked their emotions so deeply away that even when they go to look for them, they’re not sure where to look.  There’s a great scene where Roberts breaks into Considine’s house, intending to do something really terrible and outrageous to his father’s competitor — but can’t think of what to do.  And then when he does thing of something, can barely bring himself to do it physically.  He’s trying so hard to act out of control, but it’s foreign territory for him.   Control has been his bulwark; schemes and plans determine how he acts.  It’s not that he’s unemotional – he’s a raging sea on the inside – it’s that he doesn’t have any idea how to simply let his emotions determine his actions.

This is Richard Ayoade’s first film, and one hopes for many more similar to it.  He’s earned the right to be mentioned alongside Wes Anderson, who I consider one of the best, most interesting filmmakers working.   Yet his film has its own distinct tang – Anderson’s characters warm up and we love them; Ayoade’s stay cold and we love them just the same.  It’s quite a feat for a first time director.  And this is quite a film.

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