"The Gallows" Review

The Gallows is It Follows' antimatter; whereas It Follows's rise from festival darling to indie breakout was gradual and well deserved, I'm legitimately stunned that Warner Bros. put their backing behind such a cheap, lackluster project as The Gallows. This is a prime example of the worst kind of horror, how it strips away atmosphere for trembling camerawork, cobbles together a script from ancient clichés, and latches on the bandwagon of dying fads (in this case, found footage), to wring out every penny from giggling teenagers it possibly can.

In 1993, a Nebraska high school's production of "The Gallows" ends in tragedy when lead actor Charlie Grimille is hanged on-stage due to a prop malfunction. Twenty years later, the school is (commemorating?) the tragedy with another production of the play, this time with Reese (Reese Mishler) in Charlie's role. A jock-suddenly-turned-thespian, Reese struggles with his lines, made even more difficult when working off of his crush, leading lady and student director Pfeifer (Pfeifer Brown). Reese's friend, Ryan (Ryan Shoos), who would rather be spending his time throwing footballs at drama nerds than working with them, is assigned to videotape the play and its dress rehearsals. Eager to shirk responsibility, he hatches a plan to sneak into the school after hours and trash the set, effectively shutting down the play. Ryan ropes Reese along by saying that once the play is canceled, Reese can swoop in to comfort a distraught Pfeifer.

That night, the boys sneak into the school, along with Ryan's girlfriend, Cassidy (Cassidy Gifford). As they're dismantling the set, they hear strange creaks and footsteps, which turns out to be Pfeifer, suspicious after spotting Reese's car outside. Pfeifer and Reese start arguing; Cassidy tells Ryan she doesn't want to go through with the plan; the group decides to leave. However, all the doors have mysteriously locked, and it soon becomes apparent that there's a malevolent force hunting them.

Look at the best slasher films: Halloween, A Nightmare on Elm Street, Alien, The Thing. What do they all have in common? Resourceful, intelligent, likable protagonists. Part of what draws us into a slasher flick is putting ourselves in the characters' shoes, figuring out how we would survive. What makes Halloween and The Thing scary is that the characters are smart enough to leave the house, call the police, and stock up on guns, but the monster still outwits them, or worse, can't be killed. If the heroine runs up the stairs instead of out the back door, we laugh at her stupid decision, and are not shocked or more importantly, scared when she eventually gets hacked or clawed or eaten.    

Unfortunately, some filmmakers have interpreted that our laughter indicates we don't care about character, just death. It doesn't matter if a person's obnoxious or dense as a brick, we just want to figure out how many whacks it takes to get to the center of a spinal cord. The Gallows banks on this, building Ryan as an insufferable jock whose bullying and cruel jokes are meant to be comic relief. The idea is that if we hate Ryan, we'll be begging for the ghost to off him, which is true, but why directors Chris Loring and Travis Cluff feel we should be subjected to the annoyance in the first place baffles me.

When the doors are locked, no one tries to break a window. When there's a chance to escape, no one takes it. When someone's injured, the rest leave them alone to get medical help. Have you seen this before? I have.

But it's not the barrage of clichés that bothers me, but rather, how unapologetically they're presented, as if to say, "This is how the genre goes; deal with it." It's not to say the film couldn't do more: the red flashes of the school's emergency lights, coupled with the long, seemingly never-ending hallways, could make for a hellish labyrinth, dripping with an isolating atmosphere. However, The Gallows goes for the cheap scares, dumb logic, bland characters, and a ending so poorly constructed, it looks like it was rushed to meet a deadline.

If there's a saving grace, at least it's only 80 minutes long.

Thank you all for reading; I'm the Man Without a Plan, signing off.

"Terminator Genisys" Review

I should be angrier. To give any sort of justice to my past self (who, up until the moment my family invited me out to see Terminator Genisys, was excited to boycott it), I should be somewhere between livid and enraged. But I'm not. I'm exhausted. After the one-two punches of Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines and Terminator Salvation, I have no more anger to give, no disappointments to suffer. So in this fatigue, I've drunk the Kool-Aid, ridden the wave of glorious stupidity that is Genisys and come out surprisingly entertained.

The movie begins the same way as in the first Terminator: in 1997, a missile defense program named Skynet becomes self-aware, launching an attack that instigates a nuclear holocaust, known as Judgment Day. Bent on humanity's extinction, Skynet constructs androids called Terminators, who infiltrate and exterminate the remaining survivors. In 2029, a resistance is formed and led by John Connor (Jason Clarke), whose skills aid humanity in defeating the machines. Skynet decides to send a Terminator back in time to kill John's mother, Sarah (Emilia Clarke), in 1984 before he's born. John finds out about Skynet's plan and sends his second-in-command, Kyle Reese (Jai Courtney), to protect Sarah from the Terminator.

Here's the rub, though: Kyle isn't sent back to the 1984 from the first movie, but an alternate timeline. Sarah isn't a confused waitress, but rather a hardened fighter raised by a Terminator, a T-800 Model (Arnold Schwarzenegger), sent to protect her at nine years old after a T-1000 model (able to transform into liquid metal) killed her parents. The duo make quick work of the '84 Terminator and bring Kyle into their plans to time-travel to the future and stop Judgment Day from happening. But of course, the past and future intertwine, complexities arise, and the plot (Understatement Alert) thickens.

Genisys has ideas in abundance, but are executed to mixed results. Ideas like the alternate timelines and the T-800's role in the film are built off logic meant only to further the plot. When Kyle asks Pops about who sent him to protect Sarah, he says "those files have been erased." Kyle's reply echoes mine: "That's convenient." Was this a wink from the writers, thinking themselves clever by breaking the 4th wall to remind all naysayers that "it's only a silly robot movie"? This is an acknowledgment, not of any witty self-awareness, but of laziness. When confronted with a hole in the script, the writers covered it up, and didn't try to explain it in the slightest.

With the blend of past and future, Genisys borrows and blends elements from the previous films: The Terminator's setting and opening scenes, Judgment Day's T-1000, swapping Robert Patrick for Byung-hun Lee, Rise of the Machines's campiness, and Salvation's futuristic grit. The recreations of Terminator's opening scene and the T-1000's liquid metal morphing are nice homages, but the overuse of CGI leaves a bad taste in my mouth; if anything, it serves to show the quality of the originals' effects and production.

However, the film's saving grace lies in Sarah's relationship with the T-800, which she affectionately nicknames "Pops" (The credits list Schwarzenegger as "Guardian". I'm hoping for a fan backlash to change the name on the DVD). They quip back and forth; Pops "disciplines" Sarah, to which she'll reply with a teenager's eyeroll; their chemistry is lively and heartfelt. Amongst all the film's relationships - John and Kyle, Kyle and Sarah, Kyle and Pops - only Sarah and Pops have a connection that's not only believable, but so fun to watch that I wouldn't mind a movie just featuring the two of them.

Schwarzenegger is having a blast with this character again, and without him, Terminator Genisys would suffer. He's perfected the comedy of the "deadpan muscleman" and through his charisma, brings out the best in every scene he's in. It's strange; I think the closest we've come to this kind of Schwarzenegger in recent memory is Dave Bautista's Drax in Guardians of the Galaxy. This character is what Schwarzenegger does best; it'd be nice to see him do more comedic roles in the future.

It's the absurdity of Terminator Genisys that works: the ability to shut my brain off from the plot and enjoy Schwarzenegger, Emilia Clarke, and Jason Clarke (hamming it up to the Nth degree) as they crack one-liners and have a blast in this ridiculous sci-fi flick. Does this make Genisys a strong piece of work? Not at all - it's cluttered and sloppily written. But in the context of two opposingly styled, but equally humdrum sequels, this is, at least, enjoyable. If you're on the fence about a trip to the theater, I'd recommend a matinee or a rental.

Thank you all for reading; I'm the Man Without a Plan, signing off.

"Max" Review

Max tells the story of a Marine search dog who, along with his handler, Kyle Wincott (Robbie Amell), works to seize weapon caches from Taliban supporters in Afghanistan. When the two are ambushed, Kyle is killed in the crossfire, and Max is sent to live with Kyle's family in Texas. Max suffers from PTSD, barking and gnashing at everyone who gets close to him; that is, except for Kyle's brother, Justin (Josh Wiggins). Justin initially wants nothing to do with the dog, but with the help of his best friend (Dejon LaQuake) and a tough, rebellious girl (Mia Xitlali), the two develop a friendship, both learning to cope through the grieving process.

...all while stopping a weapons smuggling operation led by the Mexican cartel.

Oh, I'm sorry, did that come out of nowhere? If you're confused, I'm glad I have company.

Max is a cluttered amalgamation of war dramas, boy-and-his-pet stories, and 80's action films (given that writer Sheldon Lettich's credits include Bloodsport and Rambo III, this comes as no surprise). The movie, as a result, is unfocused, paced poorly, and offers awkward juxtapositions of tone (a somber funeral scene where Max whines and lies in front of Kyle's coffin is followed by the comedy of Marines having difficulty in putting Max inside a cage). When cigar-chomping drug lords popped up in this otherwise Disney Channel-esque production, it took copious amounts of willpower not to bust out laughing.

Plot points are cobbled together haphazardly, relying on the fact that all the characters make ridiculous lapses in logic: the teens don't call for the appropriate help clearly available to them, the parents allow the teens and dog to run in the woods in the middle of the night, the bad guys get caught monologuing; you get the drill, and believe me, it gets old fast.

When characters aren't shallow, they're insufferable. Josh Wiggins plays Justin with glazed irritation, almost lifeless during his brother's funeral. Thomas Haden Church plays the hard-headed boot-in-your-ass father; Lauren Graham, while working decently with the material, is a ditzy mother; and . 

The one who brings my blood to a boil is Chuy, Justin's best friend, whose character is the most obnoxious Mexican stereotype I've ever seen: dressed like a cholo, worried that the Border Patrol may come over and take his house and chihuahuas. Lettich proves Hollywood is nowhere near moving past vapid portrayals of people of color, excusing himself with claims that "Mexican isn't a race, it's an ethnicity." If your writing doesn't fit the literal definition of "racist", it must be utterly without fault, right?

The movie isn't all idiocy and annoyance; Max excels with Max. The dog is trained incredibly well, giving just the right reactions at the right time, whether it be fear towards a firework show that reminds Max of gunfire, or anger when defending Justin from rottweilers. Coupled with the editing and cinematography, it's evident the filmmakers spent the bulk of their resources and effort making Max an incredibly charming and complex character, the irony being his lack of screen time in comparison with the rest of the cast. It would've been more intriguing to have more scenes take advantage of Max's point of view; when Justin, riding his bike, races down a forest trail with Max, it would've been exhilarating to see Max's first-person rush through the foliage. A missed opportunity to expand the film's scope, visually.

Max isn't an utterly loathsome movie, but achieves less than any other film I've seen this year. It's an overstuffed shamble of a plot full of bland characters and offensive stereotypes making moronic decisions. Draped with a conservative, patriotic, and traditional paint job for the family values crowd, Max is an example that studios will take any ridiculous script, dress it up for their marketed audience, and toss it in theaters to make a quick buck. Our veterans and the animals that fight alongside them deserve a better tribute.

Thank you all for reading; I'm the Man Without a Plan, signing off.

"Dope" Review

Dope is one of the year's best surprises: a hip-hop fueled comedy with the wanderer's spirit of O Brother, Where Are Thou? and the bite of Do The Right Thing. Premiering in January at the Sundance Festival, the movie's garnered a fair amount of buzz for its pairing of 90's pop culture and modern technology, devil-may-care tone, and skillful writing. Dope oozes 'cool'.

Malcolm (Shameik Moore) is a nerd, with straight A's, a love of computers, and dreams of a Harvard acceptance letter. He's also a geek on a nostalgia kick, specifically with the 90's; he listens to Nas and A Tribe Called Quest on his Walkman, wears bright fluorescent shirts and retro Jordans, and tops it off with one of the freshest Flattops I've ever seen. His style may clash with the other kids, but with best friends Diggy (Kiersey Clemons) and Jib (Tony Revolori of Grand Budapest Hotel fame) by his side, Malcolm navigates his tough Inglewood, California neighborhood - nicknamed "The Bottoms" - dodging all manner of threats, from bullies to gangsters and drug dealers.

(from left to right) Jib, Diggy, and Malcolm

Some days are harder than others; after being stopped by dope peddler Dom (A$ap Rocky), Malcolm is told to send a message to Nakia (Zoë Kravitz), inviting her to Dom's birthday party that night. Malcolm and Nakia hit it off; she says she'll go only if he does. At the party, Malcolm, Diggy, and Jib enjoy the festivities, bun when the cops raid the club, a gunfight breaks and everyone rushes to get out. At school the next day, Malcolm is stunned to find in his backpack a gun and several bags of ecstasy. The rest of the movie sees him scrambling to get rid of the contraband, in a slippery slope of crazy events with equally crazy characters, including donut-loving gangsters, a drop-dead gorgeous siren, and a hacker who's possibly stoned more than he is sober.

Dope is, in essence a John Hughes movie soaked in hip-hop bombast. The photography has a 90's vibe, like Tarantino meets a Biggie Smalls music video. However, the movie takes advantage of its modern day setting, showing the events of a party through Twitter statuses and YouTube videos. While in other movies, these moments can feel gimmicky, here, they're balanced well, used for comic effect. The film doesn't shy away from harsh language or violence, but mixes them with levity and dark wit. It's not comedy for shock's sake; in this environment, it makes sense for one to approach difficult situations with humor as a coping mechanism.

Shameik Moore is a strong leading man; he completely sells me on his intelligence and resourcefulness, while also portraying the naivete of a teenager. Kiersey Collins cracks me up; Diggy's sarcasm and sharp tongue makes for some of the movie's funniest moments. Blake Anderson from Workaholics plays Will, a black market dealer and hacker; here his scatterbrained, awkward humor brings more than a few smiles to my face. Surprisingly, I enjoyed A$ap Rocky as Dom. He plays the role naturally, able to bounce effortlessly from causal conversation about the state of nostalgic hip-hop to frustration with a deal gone wrong to intimidation when threatening a bouncer. I hope this isn't a one-off for A$ap; he has charisma and shows promise as an actor. 

Director Rick Famuyiwa has created an ambiguous film. From the opening title card, which showcases multiple definitions for "dope", with both positive and negative connotations, Famuyiwa suggests we should analyze the following characters and events with open-mindedness. The film will sometimes show an event, and rewind (literally, at one point) to play it back, but shown from a different point of view, a different context. Not only does this fill the gaps between plot and subplot, but Famuyiwa will use this technique to flip the script, lead us emotionally.

Malcolm's main conflict (outside of you know, DRUGS) is with his sense of identity, particularly his racial and cultural identity. Here, race is so strictly tied to culture, that any interests which lies outside of the cultural norm implies a lack of Blackness. Surely, this nerd who enjoys Game of Thrones and plays in a punk rock band can't equally enjoy Young Jeezy.

This clash of interests can be trivial, but as Malcolm goes down a laundry list of what's considered to be "White shit", he ends with "getting good grades". Dope addresses the inferiority complex felt, not only in the Black community, but in lower-class neighborhoods as well. Malcolm's Harvard aspirations are scoffed at, his desire to eschew the "smart kid, single mom, bad neighborhood" narrative in favor of an essay focused solely on his merits is labeled as "arrogant" by a teacher (Bruce Beatty). Famuyiwa sets up the conversation well, and though the movie sympathizes with Malcolm, it's hard to distance oneself from the safety and comfort of realistic expectations. 

But perhaps, that's the attitude that needs to change. Dope is about risk, about accepting and loving the quirks and intricacies of one's personality, not settling for mediocrity because of the deal one's been handed in life. It's intelligent, hysterical, and motivational, all while sending a love letter to 90's hip-hop culture: definitely worth a watch.

Thank you all for reading; I'm the Man Without a Plan, signing off.

"Jurassic World" Review

Inspired by the pun-laden headlines I've read in the past few days, here are my top ten completely-made-up-on-the-spot headlines for Jurassic World!

10) Burt Macklin - Raptor Wrangler.
9) Evolve - The Motion Picture.
8) Jurassic World: Age of Indominus
7) I Have a Big Head and Longer Arms! Eat It!
6) Fish Are Friends, Not *CHOMP*
5) Jurassic World: The Search For Animatronics
4) Jurassic World: Home of the World's Strongest Pair of Heels
3) Jurassic World: Brought to You By Samsung, Starbucks, Hilton, Coca-Cola, Pepsi, Pandora, Brookstone, Ben and Jerry's, Verizon, and Margaritaville.
2) How One Raptor Learns the True Meaning of Friendship.

And my top made-up-on-the-spot headline for Jurassic World is...

1) You're My Boy, Blue!
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There hasn't been a day in life where I've lived without the existence of Jurassic Park (it released three days before my birthday). I remember reading my dad's little archive of Entertainment Weekly as a kid and being terrified, yet drawn in by the nightmarish T-Rex. The images of Wayne Knight with a Barbasol can full of dino embryos, the cup of water rippling, and dinosaurs traversing a wide, lush valley are permanently imprinted in my psyche - part of my collective memory of childhood. It just so happens that Jurassic Park is also a damn great movie, the film that best defines Steven Spielberg's career: full of adventure, curiosity, and interest in scientific possibility, shown through the eyes of ordinary people.

So one can imagine how 22 years later (this time two days before my birthday), Jurassic World has massive shoes to fill. The previous two sequels, The Lost World and Jurassic Park III always felt like remakes to me; nothing really differentiates them from the original. However,  Jurassic World promised to be the sequel I always wanted from its tagline: "The Park Is Open."

So what is Jurassic World like when finally open? Pretty much like every zoo you've seen before. Children ride baby Triceratops in a petting zoo; the Mosasaurs leap for food (in this case, a particularly digital-looking Great White shark) and splash the crowd a la Shamu; and the resort offers exhilarating, never-before-experienced activities like "Jurassic Tennis".

But also, like every zoo you've been to, they thrive on crowd-pleasing attractions. In this case, as park manager Claire (Bryce Dallas Howard) says to a group of investors, "Consumers want them bigger, louder, more teeth." This attitude fuels the genetic research lab to splice together a medley of dinosaurs, reptiles, and other creatures to build the Indominus Rex: fifty feet of pure, unadulterated predator. However, what's scary isn't the beast's size or ferocity, but its intellect, its ability to strategize and outwit any opponent, including its handlers.

When the Indominus breaks free from its paddock, the hunt is on, as park staff, and a team of private security led by the war-hungry Hoskins (Vincent D'Onofrio) rush to either sedate the dinosaur or take it out for good. Claire gets roped into the hunt when her nephews Zach and Gray (Nick Robinson and Ty Simpkins) go missing in the same area, and enlists ex-Navy sailor and raptor trainer Owen (Chris Pratt) to help find them.

Before the Indominus escapes, though, Jurassic World fills forty-five minutes with exposition, stereotypes, and a smattering of plot points that get tossed to the wayside afterwards. In addition are the moments where the movie, in flashes of meta-commentary reflect on audience concerns; one scientist (Jake Johnson) bemoans the use of genetic hybrids and product placement, all while wearing a "vintage" Jurassic Park shirt; Owen snaps back at Claire, who's praising the hybrid program, with "They're dinosaurs. Wow enough." It's cute to see the filmmakers opt in on the complaints from old-school fans, but it comes off as distracting.

Jurassic World works best when enveloped in the manhunt (or Rex-hunt?). Director Colin Trevorrow keeps the action diverse, throws in satisfying surprises, and balances taking the story seriously with a fun, loose, adventurous tone. The film revels in being a blockbuster, taking advantage of its scope with an abundance of wide aerial landscapes and invigorating dinosaur action (in particular, a pterodactyl attack scene).

Pratt has finally come into his own as an action hero, with a Harrison Ford swagger and enough intensity to pull off drama. Ty Simpkins, whose filmography includes the first two Insidious flicks, Iron Man 3, and The Next Three Days, despite his age, has always had a strong screen presence, able to work flexibly across a wide berth of directors. He puts in his all, delivering some of the film's funniest, sweetest, heartwarming and heartbreaking moments.

Is Jurassic World perfect? Absolutely not. Does it contain major issues? Yes. However, let's not let nostalgia hold our memories of Jurassic Park too tightly. Spielberg knew he was making a blockbuster too; and Trevorrow respects the original while giving it some modern polish. This is a dinosaur flick for the millenials, and for what it is, it's an entertaining, well-crafted thrill ride. See it with the biggest popcorn and the best speakers. 

Thank you all for reading; I'm the Man Without a Plan, signing off.

"Insidious: Chapter 3" Review

With Insidious: Chapter 3, the series has started to roll down the Texas Chainsaw Massacre's slippery slope - a good idea stretched by prequels, remakes, and eventually, I predict, 3D. At this point, the franchise is a parody of itself; whatever atmosphere James Wan created is reduced to an executive's jack-in-the-box understanding of horror. Teens scream, then giggle hysterically. Rinse and repeat.

This entry is a prequel, set a few years before the Lambert haunting in the first Insidious. Hoping to contact her late mother, Quinn Brenner (Stefanie Scott) enlists the help of psychic/medium Elise Rainier (Lin Shaye). Elise declines, fearful of exposing herself to a spirit hellbent on her demise. However, when Quinn becomes plagued by an unknown entity, Elise must face her fear and fight to save Quinn's soul before it's enslaved to the darkness.

One can make the argument this is Elise's movie; a large portion is dedicated to her inner dilemmas and interactions with the realm of the dead (known as the Further). She's always been the most intriguing character of the franchise, and much of this is due to Shaye's comforting, yet mysterious performance. The scenes involving Elise are the film's best, often the most atmospheric and nerve-wracking.

It's when we get to Quinn's story, however, that the movie devolves. There's nothing reprehensible with her (aside from those "don't go in there, you idiot" moments). However, Scott doesn't add anything to the role that any other actress her age couldn't; look only to Maika Monroe from "It Follows" or Annalise Basso from "Oculus". The supporting cast, so underused they feel like a series of cameos, is forgettable, save for some comic relief by Quinn's father (Dermot Mulroney) and a pair of bumbling ghost hunters (Angus Sampson and director Leigh Whannell) who are so wildly out of place you can't help but love them.

From the title card, the cacophony of violins serves as a taste of what's to come. Noise has been Insidious's staple since the beginning, and it's no different here. Nearly every scare comes with a sting and a bass thud; after a while, it stops startling and starts infuriating. Whannell, writer of the previous Insidious films, fails to pull off the chest-pounding tension Insidious 1 and 2 director James Wan does so well; as a result, Insidious: Chapter 3 doesn't have enough time to build dread before a makeup-laden face mugs for the camera.

For a series increasingly focused in explaining how the Further works, what motivates the dead to leech off the living, and their reasons for latching on to certain individuals, I found this film to be surprisingly empty on answers. The second film provided a full backstory for the demon. Here, we know next to nothing, aside from the spirit's use of a breathing mask. The rules of the Further and classifications of its dead remain vague, subject to whatever piece of dialogue will best get the audience to go "ooh."

What this chalks up to, in the end, is a series that's worn out its welcome, comfortable with dumbing itself down to make a quick profit. Out of all this year's horror, it's not as scary as It Follows, funny as the Poltergeist remake, or even as infuriating as Unfriended. It's just mediocre.

Thank you all for reading; I'm the Man Without A Plan, signing off.

"San Andreas" Review

What's the harm in a simple story? It seems like "simple" is a dirty word, the politically correct way to call out a lazy screenwriter. We want our plots contorted, revamped, blended; that's where the genius comes from. However, I don't think simple is the issue. According to Christopher Booker, all of storytelling stems from only seven basic plots.We regard stories like The Odyssey and Beowulf as classics, though their plots are easy to comprehend. The problem, I think, doesn't lie in simplicity, but rather execution.

There's something to be said about the rarity of well-executed simple films. Often times, it feels like in an attempt to throw in twists and unconventional plot structures, screenwriters try to hook their audience in with a big idea and let the details settle themselves. Tomorrowland, for example, possesses intriguing ideas about the future, the technology and attitudes towards it. However, where Brad Bird and Damon Lindelof missed the mark was in fleshing the ideas out, keeping the plot and characters focused. Is Tomorrowland an ambitious film? Yes, but ambition only gets you so far.

This is where San Andreas pleasantly surprises me. Director Brad Peyton understands the tropes of a disaster movie; he relishes in them (an early scene with a teen driving her convertible possesses a refreshingly wry self-awareness). Buildings crumble, dams burst, cars are swept by a tsunami like a kid hosing down ants, all while our heroes narrowly ('by the skin of their gums' is more like it) escape death. Armageddon, The Day After Tomorrow, and 2012 gave us similar destruction, but what separates San Andreas is the stuff in between. From the acting to direction, cinematography to effects, screenwriting to editing, the movie wraps me up in the story, not just the mayhem.

Dwayne Johnson plays Ray Gaines, a rescue pilot for the Los Angeles Fire Department. After a catastrophic earthquake hits along the San Andreas Fault, Ray rushes to ensure the safety of his ex-wife Emma (Carla Gugino) and daughter Blake (Alexandra Daddario). All the while, a Caltech seismology professor (Paul Giamatti) and students have successfully developed a theory for predicting earthquakes. When they discover more quakes on the way, they scramble to warn the public.

Johnson has the natural charisma of a great action star; he is my generation's Schwarzenegger. His characters are one-liner spewing bad-asses with a mischievous, often childlike grin, and this likable nature allows us to follow Ray along for the ride as he pilots all manner of vehicles through all manner of disaster zones. When other actors go against spectacle, they get shut down, the focus turning toward the effects. When Johnson does so, his charisma supersedes spectacle. I root for him, and hope he triumphs over the impossible (and improbable).

It's refreshing to see a resurgence of women this summer with Mad Max, Pitch Perfect 2, and Tomorrowland. The market's been recently flooded with well-written female characters, and it's a trend that's steadfastly sticking around. Alexandra Daddario's Blake is stellar. When the earthquake hits, she guides a pair of brothers, Ben and Ollie, (Hugo Johnstone-Burt and Art Parkinson) through the city towards higher ground. Throughout the film, she's using her survival skills and knowledge of emergency procedures to survive. She keeps a cool head and thinks quick on her feet; it's a blast to see her mind at work.

In recent years, movies like Man of Steel, 2012, and the Transformers series have numbed me to the shock of urban demolition. They treat explosions and rubble so trivially, destruction doesn't faze me. Again, execution is what sets San Andreas apart. My suspension of disbelief is stretched by how these scenes progress, but in a movie about deadly earthquakes leveling the Hollywood sign, am I really pushing for scientific accuracy? Not only do the likable characters keep us invested in their troubles, the spectacle comes at us in a variety of layers, both in scope and style. The CGI, when it comes to falling buildings and tsunamis, is well done (I can't say as much for some tighter shots, where one can almost see the green screen). For the larger moments, I was drawn in by how they were paced; they built tension and threw a couple monkey wrenches in the right places that legitimately shocked me.

San Andreas, unlike other disaster movies, is smart enough to keep itself contained to the city. It keeps the story under two hours, using its time effectively to balance characters, plot, and destruction. It's a prime example of how efficient film-making should look like, bringing home a well-executed complete package. If you're looking for an exciting, heartfelt, and jaw-dropping disaster flick, this one is well, well worth your time.