Kimberly Peirce
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Unlike De Palma’s templated monster movie, Peirce’s dramatic thriller casts Carrie as a bullied victim pushed too far, and the deserving who earn her wrath are made to feel the brunt of it.
Brian De Palma’s Carrie was the second.
Not just the best horror in ages but a remarkably astute teen drama, "Carrie" will make those who have seen Brian De Palma's 1976 adaptation of Stephen King's novel see the story with entirely different eyes.
Those entirely unfamiliar with the 1976 Brian De Palma classic, the made-for-TV movie, or yes, the stage musical will likely find some merit in Kimberly Peirce’s version of Carrie, starring Chloë Grace Moretz in the title role.
The blond, blue-eyed Ryan Phillippe, starting with his small role in “Crash,” has been trying to lose the stud-cherub look of his early screen appearances, and he has toughened up.
The actor - a trouper in ensembles pieces (" Crash ", "Godford Park") as well as smaller fare ("Breach", "Cruel Intentions") - smolders well.
Phillippe, an actor whose looks obscure his talent for many (check out his fine work in "The Way of the Gun," "Igby Goes Down" or "Crash"), is dead on in his portrayal of a golden boy who takes an unexpected road.
Yet his recent roles ("Breach," "Crash," "Flags of Our Fathers") have shown a new maturity, and his performance here has a sharp edge.
Peirce's gift with actors also is evident in Phillippe's lead performance: There's an outrage and gritty toughness behind his soft, pretty-boy features that commands attention and was not much evident in "Flags of Our Fathers," "Breach" or "Crash."
If you want to see recent movies that fit more accurately into the war genre designation you could check out Kimberly Peirce’s “Stop-Loss” (2008) or Paul Haggis’s “In the Valley of Elah” (2007).
Kimberly Peirce’s Stop-Loss , Paul Haggis’ In the Valley of Elah and Paul Greengrass’ Green Zone asked searching questions about the human costs of America’s post-9/11 interventions—questions that echoed through near-empty theaters.
The tactic of mixing up disparate elements is central to Dope: a comedy-thriller in the showy tradition of Quentin Tarantino, where any given dialogue exchange might name-drop, say, astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson or Hilary Swank's performance in Boys Don't Cry.
Killer Films, which nursed Kill Your Darlings through its long development, also deserves credit for supporting Krokidas with its own expertise in movies based on real-life incidents involving queerness and murder, Kimberly Peirce ’s Boys Don’t Cry (1999) and Tom Kalin’s Swoon (1992) being notable examples.
In both cases, the movies are by directors doing the unexpected, Robert ("Legally Blonde") Luketic breaking away from his romantic comedy crutch with "21" and Kimberly Peirce making the war drama "Stop-Loss" after a painfully long gap since her debut, "Boys Don't Cry."
Ms. Swank may never again find a role as challenging as Boys Don't Cry, but at least she recently started her own production company.
Swank might have been so touching in Boys Don't Cry (1999) because she was playing the part of an overactor instead of merely overacting.
Braff has cast those roles well, enlisting Sarsgaard -- who has delivered terrific performances in "Boys Don't Cry" and "Shattered Glass" -- as a red-eyed stoner and grave robber who somehow manages to become the hero of the story.
Those wanting to see similar subject matter portrayed with real passion and believability should rent "Boys Don't Cry," for which Hilary Swank won her first Oscar.
Well-known LGBTQ stories like Brokeback Mountain, Philadelphia, Boys Don’t Cry, and The Normal Heart are important because they capture and never let us forget that survival for LGBTQ people — in a world that for large swaths of history has tried to make them disappear — is equal parts defiance, love, and struggle.
Hilary Swank, who has been languishing in tepid roles in films like "Insomnia" and "The Core" since winning an Oscar for "Boys Don't Cry," returns to her true level of expertise as Maggie, a woman whose toughness and resilience are matched by her inner gentility.
Hilary Swank, who just a film or so ago (The Core) was looking like she'd never again achieve the stunning effectiveness of Boys Don't Cry, is here subtle and moving.
Hilary Swank, too, is doing what she does better than anyone, narrow though it may be: playing, as she did in Boys Don't Cry, a poor, rural girl who fulfills her desire for self-determination by acting like a boy.
Hilary Swank seemed to get lost after her Oscar win for Boys Don’t Cry but here she proves that her success was no fluke.
And Swank, beefed up almost beyond recognition since her role in Boys Don’t Cry, muscles her way toward her second Best Actress Oscar.
As in movies like "Boys Don't Cry" or "The Accused," "Elephant" exists in an atmosphere of queasy anticipation of the atrocity you know is coming at the end.
They're pictures engaged in an examination (one that arguably began with Kimberly Peirce's egregiously-underrated Carrie reboot and Jonathan Glazer's extraordinary Under the Skin ) of female sexuality and the sometimes-literal trials by fire a woman goes through to emerge fully formed.