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The Wolf Hour
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The Wolf Hour






Movie info: The Wolf Hour is a movie starring Jennifer Ehle, Naomi Watts, and Emory Cohen. June was once a known counter-culture figure, but that was a decade ago. She now lives alone in her South Bronx apartment, having all but cut herself off
Average rating: 5,3 / 10 Star
stars: Naomi Watts
Alistair Banks Griffin
genre: Mystery
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I love this song. When i saw the teailer pic, i thought to myself, Al Pacino looks good. Download movie the wolf hours. Naomi Watts in The Wolf Hour. Brainstorm Media Set in the grim and steamy South Bronx in the blistering summer of 1977, a lurid psychological thriller without thrills called The Wolf Hour is as pointless and unspecific as its title. All it has going for it is a dolorous but passionately committed performance by a drab, unrecognizable Naomi Watts. She produced it to show off the range of her obvious talent, and deserves an A for effort in a vehicle that rates a D for dreary, desolate and depressing. The rest of The Wolf Hour deserves an F for forget it. SEE ALSO: Daniel Craigs Murder Mystery ‘Knives Out Is More of a Comedy Than a Thriller The star plays a once-respected author, June Leigh, whose career has tanked. She has deserted her former life and become a neurotic recluse locked inside a filthy slum, dwelling far away from her old safe and privileged existence. In the derelict neighborhood outside, violence is rampant in the streets and the city is in the middle of a blackout, triggering looting, fires, and the worst crime wave in New York history. THE WOLF HOUR ★ (1/4 stars) Directed by: Alistair Banks Griffin Written by: Alistair Banks Griffin Starring: Naomi Watts, Jeremy Bobb, Jennifer Ehle, Emory Cohen, Kelvin Harrison Jr. Running time: 99 mins. Inside her cluttered, claustrophobic, one-room apartment she nervously chain smokes cartons of cigarettes while the intercom buzzes constantly, but theres no one there. The conditions outside are so dangerous that its not even safe to go to the corner bodega for a bottle of water. To make things worse, the serial killer called the Son of Sam is on the loose. Its Roman Polanskis Repulsion, only creepier. Any and every vestige of former beauty is gone in a reconstructed Watts with stringy black hair, covered with sweat in a dirty tank top, surrounded by copies of her well-reviewed novel about her father that was responsible for his death and the reason her family has disowned her. Now, shes four years behind in finishing a new book for which she has gone through her advance, and shes become a shut-in with writers block, consumed by paralyzing fear and riddled with anxiety and paranoia. A few intruders arrive—a sympathetic delivery boy (Kelvin Harrison Jr. who uses her sink to wash off, a cynical cop (Jeremy Bobb) an old friend who tries to help (Jennifer Ehle) and a paid escort (Emory Cohen) she phones for desperate sex. They are excellent, but it is really Watts who dominates the film in what practically amounts to little more than an experimental one-woman acting exercise. Writer-director Alistair Banks Griffin provides plenty of menace but not much convincing psychological insight, and the title The Wolf Hour makes no logical sense at all.

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June 23, 2019 4:16PM PT Naomi Watts delivers a nuanced, nervy turn as a reclusive shut-in stewing in paranoia, writer's block and the heat of the 1977 Bronx summer. Run a finger along any of the surfaces in Alistair Banks Griffin s sophomore feature “ The Wolf Hour, ” and it will come up slicked with sweat, grime and the residual soot of the city. It is the summer of 1977,  and its hotter than hell. June Leigh ( Naomi Watts) perches on the window sill of the squalid Bronx apartment she dares not leave, facing right into a lethargic fan that scarcely even stirs the wavy brown hair off her sticky shoulders. Outside, little blisters of violence and intimidation erupt on the tinder-box streets, and somewhere nearby, Son of Sam is murdering women with wavy brown hair. “Hello from the gutters of New York City, ” the serial killer writes in letters to the papers, and though Griffins heavy-on-atmosphere, light-on-plot film takes place almost exclusively five floors up from ground level, those gutters feel palpably, oppressively close. “ The Wolf Hour ” is a peculiar film, compelling in its way due to Watts tensile, committed performance as a once-celebrated feminist writer now hemmed in to her dead grandmothers apartment by paranoia and the demons unleashed by her earlier success. And though there are other players, if there is a second lead in this near-single-location, near-one-woman-show, it is probably Kaet McAnnenys production design, which oozes menace and neglect so viscerally it might as well be ectoplasm. Khalid Mohtasebs supple photography, too, is a small wonder, never cheating the small space, but finding enough maneuverability within it so that a sense of claustrophobia is evoked without the imagery ever feeling constrained. But for all these strengths, and the judicious application of Saunder Jurriaans and Danny Bensis nervy score, the film lacks texture where it needs it most — in Junes unraveling psychology. She has been holed up here for a while — long enough to have bags of trash collecting flies beside the dusty draft of her second book in the living room, a system in place for paying the rent without opening her door and a regular grocery delivery set up with the bodega nearby. Her isolation is almost complete, except for a sinister buzzing intercom that crackles emptily when she answers it, and for a sudden, unwanted visit from her old friend Margot (Jennifer Ehle) who brings literal and figurative fresh air into her life for a moment, before June alienates her again. Aside from that, she forms a testy bond with delivery boy Freddie (Kelvin Harrison Jr. and fights off the rapey advances of a cop (Jeremy Bobb. But mostly, she chain-smokes, sweats into her drab tank top and fails to write. For all the hothouse menace Griffin summons, there is something coldly considered about “The Wolf Hour. ” As much as we feel Junes anxiety, and the acrid, stultifying weight of the humid air that encases her like wet cement, we never feel for her. Case in point: she replays a videotape of a much more put-together June being condescended to by a male interviewer and matching him jab for jab, until he unleashes the revelation that undoes her entirely and leads to her current, straggly-haired, sweat-stained incarnation. On the one hand, its a fairly effective way of cluing us in on backstory while maintaining the rigor of the single-location premise. But her past vicissitudes seem so like they happened to another person (one we never properly meet) that its difficult to invest in them. (It doesnt help that the bombshell TV interview irresistibly recalls the “Simpsons” episode where Bart taunts Lisa with the video where “you can actually pinpoint the second when [Ralphs] heart rips in half”. This cautiousness also extends to the films themes. Whereas there is a racial and a class element to Junes paranoia, as an unstable, vulnerable white woman from a wealthy background living alone and friendless in a predominantly black, poor, socially volatile neighborhood, the film shies away from a real exploration of that provocative situation. And even her creative struggle is undermined: “The Wolf Hour” takes the notion of literary blockage excessively seriously — as it does everything: The portrayal of the classic 70s feminist as a being almost defined by her stringent humorlessness is something of a cliché by now. But it also implies that maybe all June really needed to get those juices flowing again was some halfway decent sex, which comes courtesy of an unusually sensitive gigolo, beautifully played by a soft-bodied, gentle-eyed Emory Cohen. “The Wolf Hour” touches on explosive ideas of racism, sexism, guilt, delusion and urban isolation, so its frustrating that, like the gun June obtains at one point, they are handled only warily and then shoved under the floorboards. The general consensus is that the other major 1977 heatwave-set New York City film, Spike Lees sprawling “Summer of Sam, ” bit off more than it could chew. But “The Wolf Hour” tries to make a five-course meal of the merest morsel, leaving Watts, on eminently watchable form, to grind her teeth on a role far less meaty than it ought to have been. The Sundance Film Festival is fighting a battle thats been building for several years, and what its fighting for can be summed up in one word: relevance. What makes a Sundance movie relevant? In a sense, the old criteria still hold. Its some combination of box-office performance, awards cachet, and that buzzy, you-know-it-when-you-see-it thing of. When Tim Bell died in London last summer, the media response was largely, somewhat sheepishly, polite: It was hard not to envision the ruthless political spin doctor still massaging his legacy from from beyond the grave. “Irrepressible” was the first adjective chosen in the New York Times obituary. “He had far too few scruples about who. After three weeks in theaters, Sonys “Bad Boys for Life” is officially the highest-grossing installment in the action-comedy series. The Will Smith and Martin Lawrence-led threequel has made 291 million globally to date, pushing it past previous franchise record holder, 2003s “Bad Boys II” and its 271 million haul. The first entry, 1995s “Bad Boys, ”. World War I story “1917” dominated the BAFTA film awards, which were awarded Sunday evening at Londons Royal Albert Hall with Graham Norton hosting. The wins for “1917” included best film, best director for Sam Mendes and outstanding British film. The awards are broadcast on the BBC in the United Kingdom and at 5 p. m. “1917, ” Sam Mendes World War I survival thriller, dominated at the 73rd British Academy of Film and Televisions Film Awards with seven wins including best film and best director. “Joker, ” meanwhile, which went into the BAFTAs with the most nominations, 11, won three awards including best actor for Joaquin Phoenix. “Parasite” picked up two awards. Every summer, more than 1, 000 teens swarm the Texas capitol building to attend Boys State, the annual American Legion-sponsored leadership conference where these incipient politicians divide into rival parties, the Nationalists and the Federalists, and attempt to build a mock government from the ground up. In 2017, the program attracted attention for all the wrong. Box office newcomers “Rhythm Section” and “Gretel and Hansel” fumbled as “Bad Boys for Life” remained champions during a painfully slow Super Bowl weekend. Studios mostly consider Sundays NFL championship a dead zone at movie theaters since the Super Bowl is the most-watched TV event of the year. And 2020 proved no exception. Overall ticket.

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Roger Ebert December 11, 1968 Ingmar Bergman's "Hour of the Wolf" is the sort of highly personal film that needs to find its own audience; the average cross section of moviegoers won't like it, I suspect. It's a difficult film, and not altogether a successful one. Bergman requires a creative act of imagination from his audience, the same sort of suspension of disbelief that Disney asks the kids to make for " Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.  But the adults in the audience I observed didn't seem up to the effort. They snickered and whispered and made boors of themselves. Advertisement For his theme, Bergman has borrowed from the materials of Gothic legend. His hero is an artist (Max von Sydow) alienated from society, who lives on an island with his pregnant wife ( Liv Ullmann. On the other side of the island there is a castle inhabited by a baron and a menagerie of perverted friends. At night, the artist is haunted by insomnia, paranoia and strange dreams. A great deal of the action takes place halfway between midnight and dawn. the hour, Scott Fitzgerald said, which is the dark night of the soul. In a brief note, Bergman calls this the "Hour of the Wolf. and explains: It is the hour when most people die, when sleep is deepest, when nightmares are more real. It is the hour when the sleepless are haunted by their deepest fear, when ghosts and demons are most powerful. The Hour of the Wolf is also the hour when most children are born. The artist is apparently going mad. He sits up night after night, staring into his candle, speaking with his wife of his strange dreams (or are they memories. Bergman penetrates the man's subconscious to extract a series of bizarre nightmares and imaginations. He slips these hallucinations back and forth across the line of reality, so that occasionally what seems to be a dream becomes gruesomely real. This is the case with the most powerful image in the film, an act of necrophilia that becomes a practical joke. Much of the film retains Bergman's ability to obtain deeply emotional results with very stark, almost objective, scenes. One night the artist tells his wife of a time when he was a child. He was shut up in a dark closet and told by his parents that a little man in there would eat his toes off. In terror, the child began climbing up on shelves, and boxes, begging to be released. Another night, the artist tells of a day when he went fishing at the seashore and was joined by a small boy. We see this scene in heavily contrasted black and white: There is a moment when the boy stands behind the man and could push him onto the rocks below, while the man compulsively winds in his fishing line. A moment later, in a fit of rage, the man kills the boy. The question is, did either of these scenes occur, or were they both nightmares? Bergman does not quite let us know. The woman becomes frightened of her husband. The inhabitants of the castle try to force their way into the couple's life. One night, the baron holds a dinner party that is charged with hostility and malice. There is a mention of scandal in the artist's past. The people in the castle slowly prepare their grotesque, cruel joke on the artist. Bergman handles this development in a surreal manner; we are never quite sure what is happening and what is only imagined. But if we allow the images to slip past the gates of logic and enter the deeper levels of our mind, and if we accept Bergman's horror story instead of questioning it, Hour of the Wolf" works magnificently. So delicate is the wire it walks, however, that the least hostility from the audience can push it across into melodrama. But it isn't that. If you go to see it, see it on Bergman's terms. Reveal Comments comments powered by.

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