The Expectations Game

Two highly anticipated new releases are good but not great.

THE EAST (B) - You can't spell Brit Marling without "It Girl."

She's a talented writer and actor, and at times she is mesmerizing on the screen. She has exceeded expectations in the engaging dramas "Another Earth," which she made with Mike Cahill, and "The Sound of My Voice," a collaboration with Zal Batmanglij. Here she's back with Mr. Batmanglij, and they are again exploring the world of cults, as Marling here portrays an employee of a high-brow security firm who infiltrates a group of environmental terrorists.

Where "The Sound of My Voice" was fresh and unnerving in all the right spots, "The East" here rarely rises above a very good episode of "Alias." That's not bad, but it's not cutting-edge cinema. Everything here (with the exception of Marling) is just a little off, mostly with the players. Alexander Skarsgaard is not quite convincing as the group's charismatic leader. Ellen Page is flat as the pestering radical. Patricia Clarkson seems to be on auto-pilot as Marling's ice-cold boss, with a reveal you can see coming a mile away.

The anarchists' high-concept hit jobs on corporate targets are mostly clever, but also nothing really that the audience couldn't have come up with if they had a few weeks to sketch out a screenplay. In the early scenes, Marling too often has to play the improbable superhero (picking locks, faking injuries) in order to get in deep with the group.

"The East" is entertaining, at times riveting, and it's smarter than most mainstream pulp that tackles similar capers. A shot of one of the fallen group's members lying dead in a grave is beautiful and haunting. But by the time the fairly predictable ending rolls around, it's time to give up rooting for this film to be the summer breakthrough it could have been. This just doesn't stick with you like Marling's previous two gems did, and still do.


BEFORE MIDNIGHT (A-minus) - This one could probably never live up to the expectations set by its iconic predecessors, "Before Sunrise" and "Before Sunset." Richard Linklater is back with his stars, Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke, to check in again with Celine and Jesse, who had the memorable all-night first date in 1995, passed through each others' lives again in 2004, and, right on schedule in 2013, now are living together in Paris with twin daughters.

I'm being a little generous with the grade here, because much of the first two-thirds of the film often feels like one big set-up for the epic third act. But what a final act it is -- "recriminations" is an inadequate word to describe the showdown between these two. It is only then that Hawke, belatedly, catches up with Delpy's energy and swordplay.

The movie opens with Hawke escorting his 14-year-old son to the airport, to send him back to America after a summer with his dad in Europe. It's a tender scene, with good writing, but Hawke is wooden, as if the movie were filmed in exact sequence and the actor was still getting warmed up and trying to figure out his character at age 40. Things don't get better for him when he finally goes up against Delpy, who is a compelling life force. The first act essentially consists of a long conversation in the car as they drive through the Greek countryside and bicker while their girls doze in the backseat. It's a smart set-up for what's to come, but again, Hawke just can't quite find his voice.

The second act is a long dinner party hosted by one of Hawke's writing colleagues, a wise elder. They are joined by a randy middle-aged couple and by a wide-eyed younger couple. The dialogue is a tad too precious at times, and again, to whatever extent they're engaging in improv, Delpy trash-talks the others under the table. It's just not a fair fight. And I'm not just falling victim to her irresistible French accent (if you've ever lived in Chicago you'll likely swoon); she's quicker and smarter than the rest of the room.

The older couple treat Celine and Jesse to a night in a swanky hotel room, complete with a bottle of wine and complimentary couple's massage. But before they can get past second base, everything from earlier in the day and from the two previous movies bleeds to the surface. He has been passive-aggressive about wanting to spend more time with his son, and because of his crazy ex, that would require at least entertaining the idea of dragging Celine and the girls to SHEE-caw-go, just as Celine is re-establishing her career with a new job in Paris.

The argument that ensues is titanic. Hawke, finally, rises to the occasion. He gives as good as he gets. It's all disturbingly real. And when one of them storms out of the hotel room, the high dudgeon is fully earned. In its wake, we're treated to a coda that will split viewers between "touching" and "cop out." And then, Delpy delivers one of the most perfect final lines in the history of cinema (or literature, for that matter). I wish it were appropriate to print it here; it almost has the cadence of an existential haiku. And while it's asking too much to expect this trio of filmmakers to recapture the magic of the first two films (and to recapture their and our youth) and to meet those impossible expectations, you'd have to be a total cynic or just a jerk to not recognize the brilliance of the fight scene and the sentiment and wordplay of that final sentence. Including that riveting penultimate scene -- worthy of the heavyweight bout in "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" -- the entire third act is quite an achievement. I just don't know what more a person could expect from cinema or from drama in general.

Linklater, Delpy and Hawke are at the height of their powers at that point. And you can pretty much forgive them for spending the first two acts clearing their throats.