“It’s for the customers,” she says when a colleague wonders why she never sneaks in to treat herself to a show at Empire, a handsome playhouse grandly designed by Mark Tildesley in deep red velvet, shiny woods and art deco brass. It doesn’t help that the film’s central character, Hilary, shows nearly no interest in movies until the end. But then it somehow expands on the transportive power of movies only in extremely limited doses, reducing all its pretty visual and aural elements - including Roger Deakins’ adoring lens and lighting - down to precious yet empty production details as a result. “Empire of Light” starts with an admiration towards the enchanted majesty of cinemas, as Hilary (an affecting Olivia Colman, with an impressively wide-ranging emotional scale) preps the beautiful movie palace where she works for its daily opening, her gentle touches aided by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross’ soothingly nostalgic score. Olivia Colman Falls Into a Forbidden Romance in Teaser Trailer for Sam Mendes’ ‘Empire of Light’ (Video) Perhaps because his inspirations seem to be so extensive here, it often feels like Mendes is searching for a story within a bottomless well of moods and ideas throughout “Empire of Light.” Ironically enough, this undisciplined disposition is the exact opposite of the kind of taut restraint that was at the core of “1917,” his previous, tightly orchestrated and end-to-end choreographed film. “I thought I paid for my past, but it doesn’t seem it was enough,” Dylan tells Maria.For a movie that’s supposed to be a love letter to cinema, among other things, it’s surprising how little the magic of movies genuinely registers as a vibe in Sam Mendes’ “Empire of Light,” a frustratingly uneven and often meandering period drama written by Mendes, loosely drawing remembrances from his own formative years.Īnd he pulls from “a lockdown mindset,” too, as the director put it before his ’80s-set film’s world premiere at the Telluride Film Festival, a melancholic state of being marked by feelings of loneliness and even fear that things we love (like movie theaters) would be lost forever in a post-pandemic world. When Daniel finds out about it, he goes to extreme lengths to frame Dylan for a murder he did not commit, consequently sending the innocent man back to prison and condemning him to death by hanging. Dylan served his time, and now enjoys an idyllic albeit modest life as a fisherman with his own wife, Maria (Juana Acosta). You see, Daniel’s pregnant wife was accidentally murdered by Dylan (Juan Pablo Raba) during a robbery-gone-wrong. In case you’re wondering what he did – well, the rest of the film takes its sweet time explaining it to you, in one extended flashback. An apparition warns him that “what did inside that place will live with forever… …ever… ever…” Now dilapidated and on the verge of being demolished, the prison invokes painful memories in Daniel. Set in Puerto Rico, Imprisoned follows Daniel Calvin ( Laurence Fishburne, in shoddy old-man make-up), as he returns to Santiago prison, where he used to serve as the warden. “…goes to extreme lengths to frame Dylan for a murder he did not commit, sending the innocent man back to prison and condemning him to death by hanging.” Borrowing a multitude of staples from those films – the framed hero, the evil warden, the mistreated prisoners – Kampf jumbles them together into an utterly unoriginal stew. Yet writer/director Paul Kampf seems to think he has something new to bring to the table with his latest drama, subtly titled Imprisoned. From Cool Hand Luke and The Shawshank Redemption to Orange Is the New Black and Brawl in Cell Block 99, every single aspect of “prison life” has been scrutinized, on screens both small and large. No one can reasonably claim that there is a shortage of prison films (and TV shows).
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