Some of my fondest childhood memories involved heading over to a family friend’s house, whipping up some homemade pizzas, and watching James Bond movies like Never Say Never Again on their laserdisc player.  That being said, I didn’t have too strong an attachment to the character.

Partly because the recent Bond films have slowly been sinking in quality (I could bring myself to see Die Another Day), partly because so many of the older Bond movies often have to survive only on their camp value (which is sometimes enough, and sometimes not), and partly because other spy franchises have supplanted the James Bond franchise (i.e. the Bourne movies).

So when it came out that Casino Royale would be a franchise reboot, I was pretty excited.  After all, a reboot did wonders for Batman, allowing the character to slough off so much of the baggage of bad films and giving audiences a fresh perspective.  And that’s just what Casino Royale has done for Bond: wonders.  I knew something was up during the opening credits sequence, which lacked the requisite naked female silhouettes, that something was going to be different about this movie.  And I was right.

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When she was 19, Lee Geum-Ja made a terrible mistake.  She confessed to kidnapping and murdering a young boy, and is sentenced to 13 years in prison.  Despised and reviled by a shocked nation, Geum-Ja undergoes a religious conversion, becoming a model prisoner to both her fellow prisoners and their guards.  Her kind deeds and saintly acts earn her the nickname “The Kindhearted Ms. Geum-Ja”.

However, as soon as she steps outside the prison walls, we learn of her other nickname—“The Witch”—and we learn that she didn’t spend those 13 years simply working for atonement.  A complex scheme of revenge against Mr. Baek, her accomplice and betrayer, has been brewing all that time, a scheme so complex that she’s pulled other prisoners into it, using them as a quasi-underground empire to get her close enough to pull the trigger.

And so begins Sympathy For Lady Vengeance, the final act in Park Chan-Wook’s so-called “Vengeance” trilogy (which began with Sympathy For Mr. Vengeance and continued through OldBoy).  Admittedly, after those two films, it’s difficult to not develop high expectations for Park’s latest.  However, I have to say that Sympathy For Lady Vengeance is not just my least favorite of the three films, but also the one I find to be the weakest.

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Hugo Weaving has become something of a well-known actor, thanks to prominent roles in both the Matrix trilogy (as Agent Smith) and the Lord Of The Rings trilogy (as the Lord Elrond).  The beauty of previously unknown actors starring in international blockbusters is that folks might be inspired to track down their earlier movies.  And in Weaving’s case, hopefully people will track down The Interview, a taut, stylish thriller.

Weaving is Eddie Fleming, a recently unemployed divorcee who lives by himself in a one-room apartment.  Without warning, the police break down his door in the early morning, haul him down to HQ, and throw him into an interview room with Detectives Steele (Tony Martin) and Prior (Aaron Jeffery).  Fleming is practically reduced to tears under Steele’s cool, calculating questions and Prior’s physical intimidation.

Under that pressure, he begins to confess to a number of graphic, brutal murders.  Or is he simply telling the detectives what they want to hear so they’ll stop intimidating him.  Are the detectives catching him in an intricate web of crime, or is he catching them in an intricate web of misdirection.  Meanwhile, outside the interview room, Steele, who is already in hot water for his interview techniques, is under pressure to get results in his cases—presumably so his superiors look better to the press.

It’s all wheels within wheels, constantly asking who is playing whom.  Right when you think you’ve figured out a character, something happens that, if you’re observant, makes you completely reassess the situation.  Sometimes there are legitimate twists, but oftentimes, it’s something subtle—a facial tic, the way someone handles a cigarette, the way they shift their feet under the table.

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My first exposure to the world of tabloid and sensationalistic journalism came when I was in 5th or 6th grade, when shows like “A Current Affair” and “Entertainment Tonight”, and “journalists” like Geraldo Riviera began to rise to prominence.  Even back then, at that young age, I knew these programs weren’t on the up and up, and yet I found them fascinating to watch, what with the lurid subject matter (it seemed like every episode of “A Current Affair” had at least one sex scandal), dramatic reenactments, and pleas to the viewer’s emotions and sense of outrage.

Of course, now we’re living with the repercussions of such programming.  Even “respected” news outlets like CNN resort to outrageous tactics and “in your face” techniques—all of which are intended more for the boosting of ratings than the dissemination of truth.  What does it say when “The Daily Show”—a satirical program if ever there was one—is trusted by many as a more legitimate news source than, say, anything on Fox.

All of this serves as the backdrop for Crónicas, the latest film from Latin America to garner attention and critical acclaim worldwide (it doesn’t hurt that the film boasts the talents of folks involved in Amores Perros, City Of God, and Y Tu Mamá También).

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