August 11, 2006

WTC = M8 4 TV

To pan a work as sincere and well-intentioned as WORLD TRADE CENTER would seem a bit of a bullying move, but for all its noble intent Oliver Stone’s film brings to celluloid life makes just about every fear anyone had about a Hollywood treatment of the 9/11 tragedy. The specific real-life story Stone tells is indeed one worth telling: the rescue of Port Authority policemen John McLoughlin (Nicolas Cage) and Will Jimeno (Michael Peña) from underneath the rubble of the twin towers. For about twenty or so minutes, Stone finds a fresh angle to what the audience has become all too familiar with, staying with McLoughlin, Jimeno, and their ill-fated colleagues as they are among the first inside the building after the planes hit the World Trade Center–and the buildings collapse right on them. The catastrophe and the immediate aftermath are gripping; Stone gives the collapse a chilling you-are-there immediacy.

But the genuine terror makes for manufactured mush once the action shifts from outside the rubble and McLoughlin and Jimeno’s families as they wait for news on their loved ones. As hard as Maria Bello (as McLoughlin’s wife) and Maggie Gyllenhaal (as Jimeno’s very pregnant spouse) work to make the suffering real, they are at the mercy of first-time screenwriter Andrea Borloff’s Hollywood hackneyed script, which have the two spouting unconvincing dialogue (such as Bello’s “He gave the best years of his life to you” rant to the police department) and doing only-in-the-movies actions to amp up the “drama” (Gyllenhaal storms out of a car in a huff because a stop light was taking too long). Reportedly a great deal of research went into the script, and the words spoken and the actions taken may have very well taken place, but as committed to film they come off as artificial–and Stone, never one known for subtlety, hammers everything home with a heavy hand, confirming that straight-laced sincerity is not organic to this natural born filmmaker’s repertoire. I’m not one who thinks that a 9/11 movie needs to be dark and depressing or have a distinct political point of view; I’m certain a truly inspirational film celebrating the courage and resilience that came to the fore on 9/11 can be made and is perhaps even needed. World Trade Center isn’t that film, though; for all the A-level big screen talent involved, its mawkish manipulation is no different than any typically trite TV-movie based on a real-life tragedy.

Missing a Step

The TV spots for STEP UP claim that it “captures the voice of a generation,” and if that’s the case, then the voice of the youth hasn’t changed at all in the five years since Save the Last Dance hit theatres. Once again classical dancer (Jenna Dewan) meets street dancer (Channing Tatum), and through some plot contrivance they become unlikely rehearsal partners for her big school showcase. Along the way his keep-it-real hip-hop style loosens up her traditional one; his aimless existence gains some order and purpose; and they, of course, fall in love. Dewan and Tatum are capable dancers and likable presences, as are Drew Sidora and Damaine Radcliff as their respective best friends, but director Anne Fletcher doesn’t dress up the old blueprint with enough energetic dancing to distract from the gnashing gears of a mechanical plot.

Hold on to the Nights

With Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy and now TALLADEGA NIGHTS: THE BALLAD OF RICKY BOBBY, Will Ferrell and director/writing collaborator Adam McKay have carved out a comfortable comic niche in taking confidently clueless oafs and pulling the rug out from under the core of resolutely prototypical alpha male existence. This time, it’s Deep South Americana and NASCAR hyper-machismo rather than ’70s TV news, and the results are sharper, smarter, and funnier as Ferrell and McKay are able to hone their episodic, personality-driven approach into a more cohesive overall story. Not that personality isn’t the engine that drives this wild, fast ride; Ferrell’s champion race car driver Ricky Bobby is no doubt an exaggerated paragon of male and American arrogance and chauvinism, but he’s innocently, not mean-spiritedly, so, and Ferrell’s innate sincerity paired with his go-for-broke commitment to the part make it easy for the audience to root for Ricky as he attempts to make it back to the race track after a traumatizing crash. The arc of Ricky’s story also allows Ferrell and McKay to savvily spin on sports biographies, cheerfully making beelines toward every corny cliché only to subvert any sap (and never ultimately surrender to it, unlike the oeuvre of fellow Saturday Night Live alum Adam Sandler) with a perfectly deployed zinger. While undoubtedly a showcase vehicle for Ferrell’s talent, even more so than in Anchorman he and McKay are unusually generous to his impressive supporting cast, who, regardless of the size of the part, are given a moment to call his or her own: John C. Reilly (as Ricky’s race partner/best friend); Gary Cole (as Ricky’s deadbeat dad); Jane Lynch (as Ricky’s tough mom); Sacha Baron Cohen (as Ricky’s very French, very gay rival racer); Amy Adams (as Ricky’s loyal assistant); Michael Clarke Duncan (as the head of Ricky’s pit crew)–the list literally does go on. So, too, does the list of potential targets Ferrell and McKay would have a comic field day skewering; I eagerly anticipate whatever’s next.

The Cave Done Right

The headline sounds like damning with faint praise, but a comparison between THE DESCENT and last summer’s largely forgotten late-season turkey are inevitable, as they are both thrillers in which people venture into a cavern only to find some nasty creatures awaiting them inside. But that’s where the similarities begin and end, as Neil Marshall’s UK import, while delivering the anticipated blood ‘n guts, is genuinely suspenseful and unsettling. In fact, it’s almost a disappointment when the creatures first show up, as Marshall already builds enough palpable tension as an all-female group of thrill seekers find their spelunking adventure gradually go awry. While this includes some conventional calamities as cave-ins and less-than-navigable passageways, the drama is enhanced by the increasing friction between the group members, particularly the fearless, feisty de facto leader Juno (Natalie Mendoza) and the tormented Sarah (Shauna Macdonald), still recovering from the tragic loss of her husband and child. Thankfully the drama doesn’t deflate but rather intensifies once the bloodthirsty creatures show up, and while Marshall does pile on the blood and body parts, the gore is not the be-all end-all unlike some recent “thrillers” but mere tools to go along with staging, editing, and pacing to create an intense, horrifying atmosphere. After all the carefully-wrought mayhem, the conclusion in this U.S. cut (as usual, someone saw the need to alter a foreign piece to tailor it to domestic tastes) is a bit of a cheap jolt, but it doesn’t dilute the disturbing effect of what comes before.

Fly the Coop Already

Together, John A. Davis and Steve Oedekerk made the refreshingly witty Jimmy Neutron: Boy Genius. Apart, they have exemplified why studios need to slow down the CG/3-D animation output, first with Davis’s The Ant Bully and now Oedekerk’s BARNYARD. That the lead character is a “male cow” complete with udders shows how confused the picture is; it wants to be a Lion King-like story about a carefree son (voiced by Kevin James) taking responsibility and assuming the mantle of his dad (Sam Elliott) as leader and protector of his barnyard’s family of animals, but also wants to revel in the shallow joys and excesses of hakuna matata obnoxiousness. The result is neither moving nor charming–not to mention particularly funny to viewers over the age of ten–and the lackluster work of the B-level star cast (which also includes Arquette-less Courteney Cox and Andie MacDowell) makes one further yearn for the days of animated features starring bonafide voice actors.

No One Is Listening

Despite his claim to fame as a manic cut-up, these days for me Robin Williams more interesting to watch in dramatic roles, from the summer 2002 one-two punch of Insomnia and One Hour Photo, and even in lesser projects such as 2004’s little-seen The Final Cut and now THE NIGHT LISTENER. Williams has a captivating, anguished stillness as Gabriel Noone, a writer and radio personality who strikes up a phone mail friendship with Pete, a dying teenage fan who may or may not actually exist. As he showed in The Business of Strangers, director Patrick Stettner knows how to keep the pace tight, the atmosphere unsettling, and the run time lean. But even at 82 minutes, this film of Armistead Maupin’s (who also had a hand in the script) novel seems padded out, spinning its wheels and generating no suspense once the central, easily answered question is introduced. Toni Collette delivers another solid turn as a woman who holds the key to the mystery, but the work by her, Williams, and Sandra Oh (largely wasted as Gabriel’s sassy housekeeper and confidant) cannot disguise what is plainly, quickly obvious to the viewer–though not the characters themselves.

The Sundance Afterschool Special

Away from the high altitudes and freezing temperatures of Utah in January, the celebrated Sundance prizewinner QUINCEAÑERA doesn’t look quite so special. Although it boasts appealing work by two promising newcomers–Emily Rios as Magdalena, who discovers she is mysteriously pregnant in the weeks before her traditional Mexican fifteenth birthday celebration; Jesse Garcia as her cousin Carlos, a gang member coming to terms with his homosexuality–Richard Glatzer and Wash Westmoreland’s drama is as slavishly routine as it is warm and crowd-pleasing; there’s even an aging great-grand-uncle (a winning Chalo González) whose fate is telegraphed even without me adding “saintly” to his character description. The themes of teen pregnancy, young homosexuality, and radical changes in an old neighborhood are handled in a simple, tidy fashion that feels as calculated and programmatic as a Very Special Episode of a series or an afterschool special; the cursory ethnic angle particularly gives the film the latter feel, and Carlos’s scandalous affair with one half of the gay landlord couple gives the film instant Sundance-anointed R-rated indie arthouse chic. The beguiling genuineness of Rios, Garcia, González, and most of the cast ultimately cannot combat the carefully orchestrated paint-by-numbers formula.

Not So Spectacular

With a title like THE L.A. RIOT SPECTACULAR, writer-director Marc Klasfeld’s aim is obvious: to shock and, better yet, offend with this outrageous satire of the 1992 civil unrest that erupted in Los Angeles after the Rodney King police beating and trial verdict. But not unlike the recent crop of gore-filled horror movies that spend too much energy trying the gross out the audience instead of scaring it, this is one of those comedies that exhausts itself trying to be outrageous and crass but often forgetting to actually be funny. A number of familiar names–Emilio Estevez, Charles S. Dutton, George Hamilton, Charles Durning, Ronny Cox, William Forsythe, Ted Levine, Christopher McDonald, even Jonathan Lipnicki–pop up as Snoop Dogg narrates the wacky, irreverent chain of events that follow the beating of King (T.K. Carter), but the parade of random recognizable faces underscores how thrown together and scattershot the film is. Very occasionally something hits and incites a chuckle, but much like the overall broad approach, whatever targets are hit are from the most obvious angle (e.g. some faintly amusing bits about how the media are–shocker–heartlessly exploitative vultures), and even at only 80 minutes the forcibly over-the-top, in-your-face lowbrow shock tactics become exhausting well before the halfway mark.

Sights Unseen

Dimension Films and the Weinsteins may now be free of the Disney reins, but the hot-potato game of release dates for genre films continue as the remake of Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s PULSE finally hits theatres after getting tossed around the schedule for the last year. Kristen Bell, Christina Milian, and Rick Gonzalez are among the teens terrorized by a deadly force unleashed on the Internet.

Tim Allen’s latest family film ZOOM casts him as a retired superhero bringing together a group of superpowered youths to battle a supervillain (Rip Torn). Courteney Cox also stars.

At the Video Store

The screen adaptation of Alan Moore and David Lloyd’s celebrated graphic novel V FOR VENDETTA (Warner Home Video) wasn’t quite the huge blockbuster that a lot of recent comic-to-screen projects have been, but director James McTeigue and screenwriters Larry and Andy Wachowski have fashioned a masked (anti)hero yarn mixing the requisite action with unusually provocative, thought-provoking ideas–brains to go with the bangs, booms, and blood. Central to the story is not so much the titular Guy Fawkes-masked terrorist/freedom fighter V (Hugo Weaving) combating the fascist government of Great Britain than the political and intellectual awakening he inspires in a young woman (Natalie Portman) who becomes his unlikely ally. Warner Home Video has issued both a standard edition (available in either widescreen or full-frame) and two-disc special edition (widescreen only). The latter includes extensive documentaries on the making of the film, the original comic, and the real-life Guy Fawkes; as well as, as an Easter egg, Portman’s infamous Saturday Night Live music video.

Walt Disney Home Entertainment’s DVD of their Tim Allen-starring remake of THE SHAGGY DOG has to go down in some sort of history book for offering a “bone-us” feature strictly for the dogs (literally): a “bark-along” Sing-Along Songs-style clip for the song (yes) “Woof! There It Is.” The usual deleted scenes and commentary by director Brian Robbins are also included.

Next Time…

…more reviews, including Accepted. As always, for additional reviews from past and present and and more, check out my home site, TheMovieReport.com.

 

 

 

August 4, 2006

I Can Feel It Slumming in the Air Tonight 

Although it’s quite understandably one of the most definitive, iconic examples of ’80s pop kitsch, MIAMI VICE is an ideal television series to adapt into a feature film. Strip away the dated pastel fashions and Don Johnson’s perpetual beard stubble, and one’s left with executive producer Michael Mann’s pioneering visual- and music-driven style, a slick template for crime drama that has been aped on the tube and big screen alike for the last twenty years. That Mann has emerged as one of the more individualistic mainstream motion picture directors in those two decades made his return visit to the work and lives of police detectives Sonny Crockett and Ricardo Tubbs the rare pre-anointed summer blockbuster with the promise of something more substantial. But it’s the resulting work is an unsatisfying film on either level.

The main gist of the plot here is simple and to the point, not unlike that of an episode of the old show: Crockett (Colin Farrell) and Tubbs (Jamie Foxx) go undercover to infiltrate a drug smuggling operation; along the way Crockett falls for the right-hand woman (Gong Li)–in a number of respects–to the big boss (Luis Tosar). On paper it’s pretty straightforward, but Mann seems intent on making it as talky, action-light, murky, and uninvolving as possible, with reams of monotonously delivered dialogue about shipping transactions. Not helping matters are the sometimes inscrutable accents, most prominently Gong’s. While hers remains one of the most eloquent faces in all of cinema (and one pivotal wordless scene makes one wonder what would could have been had she not declined the Amy Brenneman role in Mann’s Heat ten years ago) unlike in Memoirs of a Geisha, there are no broad, hyperbolic strokes to this character compensate for her difficulty with the language.

That wouldn’t be so much of an issue if she struck any sparks with Farrell, but one of the major deficiencies in the film is chemistry–not just between Farrell and Gong, but Foxx and his love interest Naomie Harris (as a fellow detective), and, most damaging of all, Foxx and Farrell. I can understand Mann wanting to eschew typical film and TV “buddy” cop relations with this Crockett and Tubbs, but the two here don’t even have a convincing base working partnership. The Foxx-Farrell pairing can best be summed up by the first real Crockett-Tubbs scene in the film: on the rooftop of a club, on the phone… having separate conversations. The two share the frame and the on-set air but nothing else. Mann is still one of the best in the business when it comes to gunplay, and the two key action sequences–a tense sequence in a trailer park and a climactic shoot-’em-up–deliver all the loud, jolting fire and raw bloodshed one expects. But with all the characters being paper-thin ciphers thrown into the shots (in every sense), there’s no sense of stakes nor investment. The same perhaps can be said of Mann when it comes to the whole of this Miami Vice–interested in technical details than creating any soul in the piece.

CG Animated Movie of the Week

Even if it weren’t the second of three CG animated films to be released in as many weeks, THE ANT BULLY would still feel blandly rote. Warner Bros., producer Tom Hanks, and director John A. Davis (who a few years ago helmed a genuinely unique CG feature in Jimmy Neutron: Boy Genius) have gone where many have gone before: all-star “DreamWorks casting,” as I call it (no less than three popular Oscar winners–Julia Roberts, Nicolas Cage, and Meryl Streep–are the A-Listers at the top of the cast list); an ant colony setting (A Bug’s Life and Antz); and–in the ultimate show of laziness or most unfortunate coincidence–as in this past May’s Over the Hedge, villainous exterminator voiced by an actor from Sideways (here, Paul Giamatti; there, Thomas Haden Church). But even with such an air of familiarity, something could have been done to make this adaptation of John Nickle’s book feel more distinctive, and there is an interesting premise to work with: the “ant bully” of the title is actually a much-picked-on kid (voiced by Zach Tyler), who unleashes his anger and frustrations on the ant hill in his front yard; through a magic potion, he is reduced to ant size. The usual lessons about tolerance follow, and they could’ve easily been told with another member of the non-ant insect population and hence all the other expository baggage; and while the animation, particularly in the action set pieces, is indeed well done, it’s nothing revolutionary nor imaginative that stands out from the rest in this CG-feature-a-week marketplace.

Wonderfully Bitter Sunshine

LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE is a family-centered road dramedy that culminates in a beauty pageant for little girls. But while writer Michael Arndt and married director team Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris convey the expected lessons about embracing who you are, foibles and all, it comes in a hilariously caustic package that makes its ultimate uplift genuinely feel-good instead of insufferably saccharine. The major credit goes to the cast, who make the dysfunctional Hoover family real people beyond their quirks: Greg Kinnear as the haughty wannabe self-help guru dad; Toni Collette as the ever-harried mom; Steve Carell as her brother, a gay, suicidal scholar; Alan Arkin as the crude, heroin-snorting grandpa; Paul Dano as the mopey, silent son who hates everyone; and Abigail Breslin as the cute, but far from pageant-perfect, daughter who is a finalist in the titular beauty contest. Their rushed road trip in an old VW bus from Albuquerque to the Redondo Beach event runs into the expected obstacles and complications, but any contrivances are genuinely funny and sold by the cast, who make you care about the oddball family and each member’s individual journey. But before the atmosphere flirts with getting too heavy, Arndt, Dayton, and Faris pull out all the stops with the finale, a spot-on recreation of a child pageant in all of its garish grotesquerie that’s as hilarious as it is disturbingly convincing–which then just makes that dreaded “feel-good” all the more deserved and satisfying.

Little Miss Death Shine

With her angelic face and petite frame, Aya Ueto would be a favorite in any hypothetical Little Miss Sunshine contest. As the title character of the live action manga adaptation AZUMI, however, Ueto is anything but sunshine and tiaras; she’s the best in an elite group of young samurai assassins on a mission to assassinate some sadistic warlords in 19th century Japan. Despite admirably doing most of the samurai sword stunts herself, Ueto is a bit too dainty to be completely convincing as a ruthless killing machine, and she doesn’t have the acting chops to compensate for physical presence shortcomings; heavy-handed dialogue continually insisting that she’s “the best” doesn’t help matters, either. But it’s a tribute to the energy of director Ryuhei Kitamura that the big set pieces–including a huge, climactic explosion- and splatter-filled free-for-all samurai battle–still engage and excite in all their excess, and the raw visceral pleasures are enough to carry the film past some clunky melodrama that bloats the film to a two-hour-plus run time.

Old News  

After the dark, cynical trappings of his change-of-pace thriller Match Point, SCOOP finds Woody Allen reverting to his light comedy roots and general predictability. While he does retain two of the fresh elements in his last film, the London setting and star Scarlett Johansson, there isn’t a whole lot else here that will strike one as being fairly new–certainly not Allen in full kvetch as another neurotic nebbish, a hack magician who aids a student reporter (Johansson) on a less-than-professional undercover investigation of a dashing aristocrat (Hugh Jackman, given little to do) who may be a serial killer. As in any Allen comedy, a good one-liner pops up here and there, but the scattered wit and initial novelty of seeing and hearing Johansson put on an Allen avatar geek persona in her first scene can’t carry the film behind some clunky metaphysical devices (Johansson’s character is set on her investigation by the spirit of a recently deceased journalist, played by Ian McShane), the lack of big laughs, and Allen’s tired on-screen schtick.

Sights Unseen

Three teen girls (Ashanti, Sophia Bush, and Arielle Kebbel) decide that school stud JOHN TUCKER MUST DIE after they discover he’s been dating all of them. Jesse Metcalfe plays the title character, and Brittany Snow plays the new girl who helps the trio exact their revenge.

At the Video Store

After seeing him walk through Miami Vice, moviegoers may want to remind themselves that Colin Farrell can indeed act, as seen in ASK THE DUST (Paramount Home Entertainment), in which he plays a writer who gets caught up in a tempestuous affair with a Mexican waitress (Salma Hayek). Farrell is good, but he isn’t as impressive as Hayek, who again shows she candeliver when given weighty material; even more impressive still is the phenomenal production design, which recreated ’30s Los Angeles in South Africa. But despite the actors’ noble individual efforts, the chemistry never quite ignites, and Robert Towne’s labor of love (he worked some 30 years to bring John Fante’s novel to the screen) comes off as more of a meticulous technical exercise than an emotionally engaging one, and it gets increasingly less involving as more formulaic paces (beware the evil Cough of Foreshadowing) start to surface. The DVD includes commentary by Towne and cinematographer Caleb Deschanel as well as a making-of featurette.

If you’ve seen the first two films in the series, then you know exactly what FINAL DESTINATION 3 (New Line Home Entertainment) has in store: a teen (in this go-round, Mary Elizabeth Winstead) has an ominous premonition of a deadly disaster, panics, causes herself and others to escape said disaster; the grim reaper picks off the survivors one-by-one in series of grisly “accidents.” There are some admittedly amusingly gory kills, and original director James Wong (returning after taking the second film off), does serve up some nicely macabre laughs along the way, but on the whole this is a cinematic case of lather, rinse, repeat. The two-disc “Thrill Ride Edition” DVD provides an exhaustive look at the making of the film by way of a commentary track by Wong as well as a feature-length making-documentary, plus a few for-the-fun of it extras: a featurette on the “Dead Teenager Movie” genre; a rather smart animated short about fate and death paranoia called It’s All Around You; and, most notably of all, a “choose their fate” option where one can alter the destinies of the characters while watching the film. This feature, with which the course of the film is altered to varying degrees, is good for equally varying levels of amusement, but it’s just one piece of an impressive DVD package.

Those looking for a fully interactive movie experience may be interested in the first animated direct-to-video feature based on the classic CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE children’s book series, THE ABOMINABLE SNOWMAN (Goldhil Entertainment). Frankie Muniz, William H. Macy, Lacey Chabert, Daryl Sabara, and Felicity Huffman lend their voices to this tale that begins as an expedition to the Himalayas in search of the legendary Yeti but can end in no less than 11 ways. Bonus features include a documentary on the Himalayas and a behind the scenes featurette.

Next Time…

…more reviews, including The Descent. As always, for additional reviews from past and present and and more, check out my home site, TheMovieReport.com .

 

 

July 21, 2006

Why the Lady Drowns 

It would be easy to glibly dismiss M. Night Shyamalan’s LADY IN THE WATER as an epic trainwreck–and, indeed, it is. So let’s get all of that out of the way: it’s one of the most astonishing, embarrassing, misbegotten misfires from a name brand director in recent memory. While it’s undoubtedly fun to hurl the invective at a work that truly deserves the abuse (and does this film ever ask–nay, beg for it), what is truly striking is that maybe, just maybe, this fantastical tale could have worked on screen. It’s just that Shyamalan makes just about every conceivable wrong move along the way from basic conception to execution.

The basic idea is this: a sea nymph, called a “narf” (Bryce Dallas Howard), arrives in the pool of a Philadelphia apartment building on a mission to inspire a writer who will change the world. With the help of the building’s superintendent Cleveland Heep (Paul Giamatti) and just about all the other tenants, the narf–named (flaming, sledgehammer symbolism alert!) “Story”–attempts to find her “vessel” and then return safely to her aquatic home of “The Blue World” without being harmed by the dangerous wolf-like creatures called “scrunts.”

Now, it would be easy to dismiss this basic idea, which reportedly comes from a bedtime story Shyamalan made up on-the-fly for his young daughters, as incredibly silly. But then that doesn’t mean it couldn’t have been adapted from the screen effectively, particularly with the originally intended target audience in mind: children. After all, who would be most willing to let the paper-preposterous mythology of narfs and scrunts wash over them at face value? But Shyamalan misses the boat by not only bypassing the kid audience or even the family audience but by aiming this heap of hokum squarely at adults. It’s perhaps a noble intention to try to make an adult audience appreciate and embrace the innocent wonder of a fairy tale, but to do so would require that ever-so-tricky balance known as magic realism–and when the former quality isn’t exactly magical and the latter is hardly convincing, trouble is afoot.

Giamatti deserves special credit for doing his damndest to deliver a real performance here, but his authenticity in bringing to life the anguished, stuttering schlub that is Cleveland works against whatever spell Shyamalan tries to conjure. Cleveland, not unlike Mel Gibson’s character in the director’s 2002 Signs, has withdrawn from most of the world after a tragedy shattered his faith. Why, then, does he instantly buy into Story and her increasingly convoluted Blue World rules and mythology? Even better, why does practically everybody else in the building instantly go with it without question as well? Maybe Shyamalan intended this giant leap to read as a metaphor about how every grown-up is eager and ready to find something greater in which to believe in their mundane existence, but such a theme is clumsily conveyed at best, downright stupid at worst.

It also doesn’t help that the magic of this would-be magic realist world isn’t the slightest bit alluring, which would’ve gone a long way toward explaining why everyone in the building is immediately drawn in. Story, with her perpetually limp locks, zombie-pale skin, equally frozen visage, and droning voice to match is quite simply an incredible drag all around–she’s rather creepy to look at, and the purple prose that’s solemnly whispered out of her mouth is more likely to strike bone-chillng fear than foster exuberant creative inspiration. The feeling she is said to inspire, akin to “pins and needles” as the audience is told, doesn’t exactly sound like a sensation that would lead anyone, much less a Chosen One (more on this doozy a little later), to craft a world- and history-changing magnum opus of art and thought. As if it weren’t already difficult enough to go with the flow, according to Shyamalan’s script the narf mythology derives from a Korean bedtime story–and so the bulk of the heavy, neverending exposition comes via tedious and often downright insulting scenes of a heavily-accented, skanky Korean party girl tenant (Cindy Cheung) translating her non-English-speaking mother’s explanations in rough, rather offensive “Me So Horny”-level pidgin English. The talk of narfs and The Blue World are already difficult to take when delivered straight; how can we possibly take it the slightest bit seriously or have even a twinge of investment when the pertinent information is given by stereotype joke characters? Worse still, just when one thinks they have everything with the narfs and the scrunts straight, then Shyamalan introduces new wrinkles and rules to the mythology; I’m not going to even go into what the “tartutic” and “The Great Eatlon” are, or how the interpretation of cereal box images (!) comes into play. (Actually, I’m still trying to figure out how that one came about myself.) The neverending web of new convolutions–needless ones, no less, as ultimately it’s still simply about trying to send the narf back home–betray what is by stated conception a kid-friendly fairy tale bedtime story. The reality may be that Shyamalan made up his bedtime tale as it went along when he first told it to his kids, but there’s no good reason why a film derived from it should feel like it is.

But no one dare question the story Shyamalan tries to tell and how he chooses to tell it, and that such smug, self-justification finds its way into the very narrative of Lady in the Water is what finally pushes the film from already overstuffed, undercooked mess to a landmark of catastrophic indulgence. The writer whose über-profound musings will go on to inspire future world leaders and form the impetus to large-scale global sociopolitical change is played by none other than the writer-director himself. His character–no less than the third lead behind Giamatti and Howard–may not bear his own name, but he might as well, as there’s no excuse to cast himself in such a large role (after all, talented South Asian actors who would’ve nailed this part with far more expression and empathy, such as a Saif Ali Khan or an Abhishek Bachchan, were just a phone call away) other than to make his statement blatantly clear: M. Night Shyamalan is the Vessel of Story. Doubt that at your peril–lest you meet the same fate as Farber (Bob Balaban), a fussy film and book critic whose ceaselessly cynical ways lead him to being at the wrong place at the wrong time with a scrunt. The character and Balaban’s rather hilarious performance are probably the most amusing aspects of the film, but in the end one realizes that he really doesn’t have much purpose in the grand scheme–other than to be proven “wrong” and pay dearly for it.

Perhaps the saddest part of Lady in the Water is that Shyamalan is definitely a talented filmmaker. Even in some of his heretofore lesser efforts there are moments of technical brilliance; for example, the nailbiting basement/flashlight scene in Signs and a key character’s plot-pivoting stabbing in The Village. If the latter film’s disastrous final third was his leap off of the cliff, then the whole of Lady in the Water signifies his plunge off of the deep end. I would love to see Shyamalan work a writing collaborator who would help hone and enhance his admittedly imaginative ideas while streamlining the indulgences–or better yet, apply his craft and technique to someone else’s screenplay. But then again, what the hell do I know–I’m a lowly scrunt-bait critic deigning to question the very Vessel of Story.

Truth in Titling

Snakes on a Plane isn’t the only summer movie to lay it all out there in plain sight–there is also the motion-capture animated feature MONSTER HOUSE, which is centers a house that is… a monster. After setting up the premise–after the neighborhood grump (Steve Buscemi) passes, young across-the-street neighbor DJ (Mitchel Musso) notices that his now-vacated home has developed a literal hunger for pets and people that dare disturb it–director Gil Kenan lets his imagination run wild with it without (attention Story Vessel Shyamalan!) weaving unwieldy complications. The animation may be more traditionally CG-looking and as life-like (and, hence for some, not as creepy) as producer Robert Zemeckis’s previous motion-capture-animation effort The Polar Express, but the more fanciful look works, particularly in the case of the title object itself, which Kenan and his design team have managed to turn into a believably living and highly menacing creature while still maintaining its distinct house qualities: its tongue is a rug; its uvula is a hanging light fixture, etc. Anyone looking for Pixar-level (that is, pre-Cars) characterization may be disappointed, but when it comes to killer visuals, some witty one-liners, and genuine thrills (some of which may be too intense for the youngest set–the PG rating is rather deserved), Kenan delivers the freaky/funny goods for audiences of all ages.

My Perfectly Okay Ex-Girlfriend

With last year’s Sky High and now MY SUPER EX-GIRLFRIEND, it seems the new annual trend is to graft the superhero angle onto a tried-and-true non-action genre. While not as sharp and clever as last summer’s witty take on the high school teen flick, Ivan Reitman’s superpowered variation on the romantic comedy is good for some light amusements, largely due to Uma Thurman’s game performance as Jenny Johnson/G-Girl, whose confident superheroic exterior hides a needy, clingy, hopelessly neurotic secret identity–in whom one Matt Saunders (Luke Wilson, giving good exasperated smirk) takes a soon-to-be-regrettable interest. The effects, costuming, and hero moniker (“G-Girl”? Might as well call her “Narf Girl”) aren’t exactly the most super, but when Reitman, Thurman, Wilson, and writer Don Payne are able to pull off twisting the original 1978 Superman‘s iconic “Can You Read My Mind?” sequence into a hilariously paranoid nightmare of emasculation, they are at least getting the most important job done: delivering a breezy timepass entertainment with a little hint of bite.

Swamped by ShadowsWith producing efforts such as Monster’s Ball and The Woodsman, Lee Daniels has built his career on not playing it safe, and he continues on that path with his directorial debut, SHADOWBOXER. Filled with bloody violence, graphic sex and nudity, drug use, color- and age-blind couplings, there’s a lot going on in this story of a hitman (Cuba Gooding Jr.), his cancer-stricken partner/lover/mother figure (Helen Mirren), and the mark (Vanessa Ferlito) they end up protecting from the husband (Stephen Dorff) who ordered the hit. But for all the mayhem, plot twists, and taboo-smashing, the film fails to resonate due in large part to Gooding’s opaque central performance as the laconic Mikey; his character is a man of few words by design, but Gooding does nothing beneath the stoicism that would enable the viewer to connect with Mikey’s rather rich emotional arc. Other peformances are more effective, particularly Mirren’s nuanced yet palpably anguished work; and unlike a lot of producers-turned-directors, Daniels has a confident, creative visual style (aided in no small part by cinematographer M. David Mullen). The raw materials for a gutsy, gritty, fearless, fascinating thriller are here, but the end result amounts to some intriguing individual parts and not a satisfying, cohesive whole.
At the Video Store

It’s a shame that Warner Bros. appeared to have no clue how to properly sell Chris Robinson’s ATL (Warner Home Video), as evidenced by their ad campaign and the early media coverage of the film. Early press fixated on roller skating, which is part of the film but hardly the focus; the trailers and TV spots suggested violent urban ghetto flick, but the grit and darker shades are not the main concern. Ultimately, this is one of those teen coming-of-age films, and with the eventful time stretch comes the good and the bad, the light and the dark; and with the different characters come the divergent life directions, be it the legit or the criminal, the modest to the extravagant; and with its setting–Atlanta–all the local flavor specific to life there. It’s not exactly something that can boiled down to an easy sell, but then that’s also part of its appeal and charm. Tip “T.I.” Harris acquits himself well in his big acting debut, and the rest of the eager young ensemble (including Jackie Long, Al Daniels, Evan Ross, and Lauren London) deliver. The DVD includes deleted scenes, a T.I. music video, and a “Director’s Journey” documentary.

SHE’S THE MAN (DreamWorks Home Entertainment) could easily be dismissed as another light teen comedy, and worse yet one of those Shakespeare-“inspired” teen comedies (here, Twelfth Night), but it works far better than it has any right to be, thanks to that comic dynamo Amanda Bynes, here playing a girl who goes undercover as her brother to play soccer at his boarding school (yes, it’s a stretch). Attractive in a real girl way (read: she actually eats!), and more than game to go the extra mile for a laugh, she fills a zany niche not occupied by any of her young actress brethren, and I look forward to see her further work on the big screen now that her sitcom has ended its run. The DVD includes commentary by Bynes, director Andy Fickman, and other cast and crew members; deleted scenes; a gag reel; and a making-of featurette.

Next Time…

…more reviews, including Miami Vice. As always, for additional reviews from past and present (including Clerks II) and more, check out my home site, TheMovieReport.com.

 

 

 

July 14, 2006

My Life Truly Is Only Worth an $85 Boost Mobile Phone

It was a Clerks-worthy moment–there I was, putting in my regular hours at my friend’s wireless phone store when I have to deal with a scary, dirty vagrant-looking couple (a dude with a dirty, scraggly beard and skin damage from the sun; his rather scary “woman”–his word–who’s bald, tattooed, and was the biggest instigator) giving me death threats for refusing to replace a stolen $85 Boost Mobile phone–which by virtue of its brand and pre-paid nature, is not insured. While I would normally dismiss such nonsense as the ravings of crazy people, after an incident this past week, I couldn’t help but think that there was a kernel of accuracy in that price appraisal of my life. The efforts of an independent publicist trying to secure my review coverage of a major release this week were thwarted when a representative of the distributor firmly balked that I do not review. And so there it is: going on 17 years of continuous writing, being among the very first to do all of whatever it is I do on the ‘Net (since ’95)–all of that instantly, completely dismissed out of hand, as this whole time I was deluding myself into thinking I was reviewing. So who am I, then, to object when a psychotic values a pre-paid cellular phone over my life, as what I’ve spent more than half of it doing is not what I believed it was?

And so goes the ongoing delusion that is my life’s “work”…

Be Free of Dupree

The most pressing thought I had while walking out of YOU, ME AND DUPREE was how much money a friend received for the prominent use of two hit singles he’d written–not exactly what I’m sure directing duo Joe and Anthony Russo had in mind with this lazy Owen Wilson comedy. Not that the top billed star shows any signs of sluggishness; Wilson’s work as the Dupree of the title is the only real sign of life in this predictable tale of a slacker who becomes an increasingly unwelcome houseguest to his best friend (Matt Dillon) and new bride (Kate Hudson). The typical privacy invasion and crude mayhem ensues, as does the inevitable, improbable turning of the tide when obnoxiousness somehow starts to endear Dupree to others. Wilson’s innate, unassuming sweetness make that latter point somewhat easier to swallow, but what makes the film as a whole less so is that the Russo brothers obviously just let Wilson to his own devices to do his usual thing and hope that all the other assembled elements somehow stick. They don’t–the trio of Wilson, Dillon, and Hudson exhibit very little chemistry in every pairing permutation; and the subplot of Dillon constantly being belittled by Hudson’s father/his boss (Michael Douglas) seems like it was an A-plot in an unrelated script that somehow got shoved in. And that reflects the central problem: the film is remarkably forced–ironic, considering it’s a starring vehicle for an actor whose most defining quality is his laid-back, unaffected demeanor.

Dead Man Sailing

Expectations for the first PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN film, 2003’s The Curse of the, were understandably low–after all, its dubious source material was a theme park ride, of all things–but director Gore Verbinski and scripters Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio managed to come up with an entertaining, if overlong, throwback swashbuckler whose most distinct innovation was its old-fashioned style. Distinctly fashion-forward, on the other hand, was the film’s ultimate ace in the hole: Johnny Depp’s indelibly eccentric work as rogue pirate Captain Jack Sparrow, which made the film an even more jovial jaunt than it otherwise would have been.

Depp’s Capt. Jack hasn’t mellowed his madness the slightest bit in DEAD MAN’S CHEST, the second of a now-planned trilogy, and while his performance still gives this film the film a kooky kick all its own, there is none of that out-of-left-field shock element attached to it; audiences are now not only expecting but looking forward to more wacky Jackie. But Verbinski and the returning Elliott and Rossio find other ways to surprise. Not that there isn’t plenty of what audiences want and expect; the trio of Jack, dashing hero Will Turner (Orlando Bloom), and plucky heroine Elizabeth Swann (Keira Knightley) again take to the seas for another adventure, this time to search for the “dead man’s chest” of the title, which contains the beating heart of the legendary ruler of the sea Davy Jones (Bill Nighy), to whom Jack owes a blood debt. Along the way, there’s all manner of swashbuckling swordfighting that one comes to expect in–once again–a somewhat bloated two-hour-plus run time.

Verbinski finds giddy new ways of staging the mayhem, though, and an antic Looney Tunes sensibility amps up the two key action set pieces to even greater crowd-pleasing levels. But he doesn’t rest on his popularity-proven laurels; with the character of Davy Jones, Verbinski and his visual effects team break startling new ground. Jones and the crew of his otherworldly ship The Flying Dutchman bear all the ravages of years of undersea damnation–that is, acquiring certain aquatic qualities–and the CG “makeup” done to bring the likes Jones’s tentacled, squid-like head to life defies words much like Depp’s performance in the first film. While computer generated, the effects are remarkably tactile, the most meticulous digital approximation of practical FX to date. But considering such razzle dazzle is expected from big budget blockbuster follow-ups, the most surprising trick up Verbinski and the writers’ sleeve is that this is not a typical sequel rehash but an actual attempt at making a continuation of a larger story, with the film opening with events fully in progress and closing with not only loose narrative ends still dangling but characters at more precarious points in a less predictable overall arc–not exactly what one ever expected from a series of films that is, after all, based on a theme park attraction. But for whatever unusual ambitions, Dead Man’s Chest, like its predecessor, also doesn’t lose sight of those just-for-fun origins; while Verbinski still could stand to employ some tighter editing, it’s the rollicking ride that keeps the audience coming back for more–and will keep them coming back for more when At World’s End concludes the trilogy next summer.

Sights Unseen

Marlon Wayans, Shawn Wayans, and director Keenen Ivory Wayans offer up another lowbrow, high-concept comedy with LITTLE MAN, in which a vertically challenged criminal (Marlon) disguises himself as the new adopted son to an unsuspecting wannabe dad (Shawn).

At the Video Store

The utterly unnecessary sequel BASIC INSTINCT 2 (Sony Pictures Home Entertainment) could have justified its existence if it were the laugh-a-second, sleazy camp-a-thon that its opening scene suggests. Alas, Sharon Stone’s desperate attempt to recapture her former glory as femme fatale Catherine Tramell is one huge bore, with her vain vamping actually taking a back seat to charisma vacuum David Morrissey, who dominates the screen time as a London shrink who gets caught up in Catherine’s seductive games. Both the R-rated theatrical cut and unrated extended cut are available on separate DVD editions, with the latter including deleted scenes, a behind-the-scenes featurette, and commentary by director Michael Caton-Jones.

Pierce Brosnan’s funny, fearless, image-effacing turn as a burned-out hitman is easily the best reason to catch Richard Shepard’s dark comedy THE MATADOR (The Weinstein Company/Genius Products), which also features nice work by an equally well-cast Greg Kinnear as the straight-laced businessman who becomes his unlikely buddy. What begins as something edgy and quirky grows gradually more conventional as it goes along, ultimately succumbing to the Hollywood warm-‘n-fuzzy. The DVD includes commentary by Shepard, Brosnan, and Kinnear; deleted and extended scenes; and a making-of featurette.

The French mystery thriller CACHÉ (Hidden) (Sony Pictures Home Entertainment) ultimately may not offer the conventional genre satisfactions–its central question is never given a clear, cut-and-dried resolution and explanation, for instance–but so masterful is Michael Haneke’s direction that the film’s captivating overall spell is a richer reward than any blatant answer. Daniel Auteuil and Juliette Binoche play a married couple with child whose seemingly happy and peaceful existence is upended when increasingly intrusive videotapes show up on their doorstep and help unearth the long-held secrets and insecurities. Dense, deliberately paced, yet suspenseful and genuinely involving, as Auteuil and Binoche’s performances lending piercing intimacy to Haneke’s tightly-wound, visually inventive proceedings. The DVD includes two half-hour documentaries, one on the making on the film, and another an interview with Haneke on the film.

Next Time…

…more reviews, including Lady in the Water. As always, for additional reviews and more, check out my home site, TheMovieReport.com .

 

July 14, 2006

That oft-quoted line from the original Clerks seems like an especially cheap, if not downright cheesy and tired, way to start off this article, but it applied all too appropriately to my experience at the big Hollywood premiere of Clerks II at the ArcLight Cinerama Dome on Tuesday, July 11. I found out about the event at just about the last possible minute, and as such Kevin Smith, his trusty assistant Gail Stanley, nor longtime reader and Clerks star Brian O’Halloran were able to help me out as all of their allotted tickets had long been used up. After I had resigned myself to not being able to attend, earlier in the day at the film’s press junket I found an unlikely savior: Jeff Anderson. While I had seen the portrayer of “evil incarnate” (as O’Halloran’s Dante Hicks calls him in Clerks II) Randal Graves in person at a number of View Askew-related events over the years, I had never actually formally met him prior to the roundtables. But after overhearing O’Halloran’s disappointment at my projected non-attendance, Anderson quickly offered me a couple of tickets he could spare due to a guest cancellation. Thank Alanis for Jeff Anderson.

Twelve years have passed since the original Clerks was released, and the changes that have occurred during that dozen-year span became readily apparent upon arrival at the Dome a full ninety minutes before the scheduled 7:30pm start time. A number of fans and autograph hounds had already been waiting in the fan pit along the curb on Sunset Boulevard, bearing signs and posters and various memorabilia; hordes of still photographers and television media were waiting in line to get into their carpet-side positions. While those may not be unusual sights at any movie premiere gala, it is still a bit of a kick to see that typical hype circus surround this film, a still-modestly-budgeted, fairly low-star-wattage sequel to a micro-budget, black-and-white indie talk fest. It’s disappointing that the main marquee (trumpeting the Dome’s current regular tenant, A Scanner Darkly) was not adjusted to sport the Clerks II logo — or better yet, the poster images of Dante, Randal, and Jay and Silent Bob — to make the irony complete.

But this being “View Askew,” while this event easily was the most typically “Hollywood” of the Kevin Smith premiere events I have attended (1999’s Dogma event and 2001’s Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back bash) in terms of location, size, and flair, there was a little twist. The quickly-filled Dome lobby was convincing visual evidence of the overbooked guest list, but the crowd was not heavily filled with famewhoring C- and D-listers who snagged a ticket hook-up by way of aggressive publicists; most of the faces were that of less-recognizable crew, cast, View Askew staffers, and friends. As trippy as it was to witness a sequel to Clerks to get a glitzy event treatment, it was fitting and refreshing to see that the capacity audience was no parade of party-hopping Us Weekly glamazons.

Thus this grandiose affair also had the air of a family one. The recognizable faces on hand were largely confined to the principal cast–O’Halloran, Anderson, Smith, Jason Mewes (Jay), Rosario Dawson (Becky), Jennifer Schwalbach (Emma), and Trevor Fehrman (Elias)–and the smaller supporting and cameo players: Jason Lee, Earthquake, Kevin Weisman, Zak Knutson, Jake Richardson, and young Harley Quinn Smith. Askew film alumni Eliza Dushku, Ali Larter, and Dwight Ewell were also spotted on hand, as well as a few familiar to the Askew faithful: Stanley, Bryan Johnson, Brian Lynch, and webmaster extraordinaire Ming Chen. Just prior to showtime (which was the premiere-standard 20-25 minutes later than the scheduled start), Smith made his customary introductory remarks, but he was decidedly less verbose than usual–perhaps due to the fact that he had spent the whole earlier part of the day giving interviews. Instead of a long speech, he called up the main cast members to join him at the front of the theatre to get their due applause — again adding to the family atmosphere to the event.

However, when the film was over and the scene shifted a few blocks up Vine Street for the afterparty at Avalon, such an atmosphere disappeared, and Askew-ed Hollywood made way for typical Hollywood. The Dogma and Jay and Bob afterparties forewent the usual tack of taking place at a trendy club spot (the former at the restaurant Dominick’s; the latter at a converted parking lot), but despite some effort to bring some specialized flavor to the event — still shots of New Jersey and various residents continuously flashed on a large screen; bartenders and waiters wearing Mooby’s employee garb — it felt more like a typical club scene than a premiere afterevent, much less a View Askew one. Some more random faces started to show up (including Cuba Gooding Jr.), and while Dawson, Mewes, and Lee’s assigned, dance floor-close tables were fairly open (and dancin’ Dawson made herself very accessible to anyone), party organizers placed the other talent tables literally behind that proverbial velvet rope, with a security guard controlling — or, more appropriately, restricting — access to Smith’s booth. But perhaps the most Hollywood of all was how the food (mini burgers served in those cardboard Chinese food boxes) was made available only to those at those VIP tables. No open buffet or anything for the regular folk; they were left to starve and pay a cool four bucks a pop for a mere bottle of water. It truly has been twelve long years since that modest little do-it-yourself movie first started a buzz.

Special thanks to Jeff Anderson, Kevin Smith, Gail Stanley, The Weinstein Company, and MGM.

The previous Thursday evening, July 6, I made a quick stop (yes, bad pun) by Jay and Silent Bob’s Secret Stash West to check out the Richard Kelly and Kevin Smith Southland Tales/Clerks II signing event. Since Mr. Big Boss Smith gets his fair share of coverage on this (see above) and his veritable network of sites, I thought I’d give Mr. Kelly his due moment in the spotlight as he unleashes his smooth “chin-up” look for my camera:    

Special thanks to Richard Kelly, Kevin Smith, and Jay and Silent Bob’s Secret Stash.

E-mail A Night Out

FILM FLAM FLUMMOX
by Michael Dequina

June 28, 2006 

 

The Return of the Pointless Intro Bit

…in time for the big site relaunch…

Richard Donner Returns 

When it was announced that Bryan Singer would be tackling the long-in-the-works big screen return of Superman, both film and comic fan alike eagerly anticipated what he would come up with — after all, this is the same filmmaker who was able to make mainstream-accessible, cinematic sense of what is arguably the most complex conventional superhero mythos, that of the X-Men. But those walking into SUPERMAN RETURNS to be uniquely “Bryan Singer’s Superman” will be let down as this is more or less the sequel that 1978 Superman director Richard Donner was never allowed to complete.

This is, of course, not necessarily a bad thing, as Donner’s film (and, for the most part, the 1980-81 Donner/Richard Lester hybrid sequel Superman II) treated Joe Siegel and Jerry Shuster’s historic creation with the respect due any literary character with such enduring appeal, not with campy condescension just because of its comic book origins. The familiar, lengthy main title sequence scored to the still-stirring John Williams theme announce this film as being firmly in line with those first two films, and so goes the whole of Superman Returns: extremely close to, if not downright aping, the originals. After a five-year absence from earth that began shortly after the events of II, Superman/Kal-El/Clark Kent (Brandon Routh) once again comes crashing down to Earth, specifically at his mother’s (Eva Marie Saint) farm in Smallville. Clark soon returns to Metropolis. the offices of the Daily Planet, and, hence, the world of his true love Lois Lane (Kate Bosworth) — but she is now not only engaged to Perry White’s (Frank Langella) nephew Richard (James Marsden, getting far more screen time here than he did in the sadly Singer-less X-Men: The Last Stand), but she also has a young son (Tristan Lake Leabu).

But those changes sound far more radical on paper than they do in execution, as from beginning to end (there’s even the classic capper of Supes flying above earth), top to bottom, the tone, the style, the look (many of John Barry’s original sets are reflected in Guy Hendrix Dyas’ production design), the feel is Donner through and through. While the attention to consistency is remarkable — writers Michael Dougherty and Dan Harris pepper the script with a number of detailed references to those first two films — one cannot help but wish that Singer took a more distinctive spin on the material. Knowing how creative and imaginative yet intelligent and respectful he has proven to be in the past with comic book material, it’s a bit dismaying to see him for the most part ape Donner, whose most distinctive strength is his anonymous, workmanlike precision.

That latter description also kind of extends to Routh. He does a completely competent job here, even if it’s quite obvious he probably was cast more for his Christopher Reeve-reminiscent look than anything else. That said, the jury is still out as to if he’ll be a star or any good outside of these films — unlike Singer’s last great find, Hugh Jackman, who in his first scenes in the original 2000 X-Men instantly announced him as a movie star, period, and not merely a star when playing the character. But for now, for the purposes of this re-introduction film, his impeccable Reeve impersonation will do. Bosworth’s Lois is similarly competent though her youthful appearance — even younger than her actual 23 years–makes her somewhat difficult to reconcile with Margot Kidder’s brassier take in the first two films. The one cast member–nay, the one prominent member of the whole team–to bring something fairly freshly his own to the table is Kevin Spacey. While his Lex Luthor does pick up from the madcap vein of Gene Hackman’s original portrayal, he brings some of his own darker edges to the part. For the first time in a major Superman feature, Luthor is both amusingly wacky and a believably sinister threat to the Man of Steel. The Hackman versus Spacey comparison can be summed up thusly: Hackman uses a Kryptonite block, but Spacey wields a Kryptonite shiv.

The film as a whole could have used a little more of that type of ferocious instinct, as in terms of an adventure Returns pulls out its action showstopper very early–too early–with a spectacular jet plane rescue (a sequence that should be especially phenomenal on IMAX 3-D) and then coasts its way toward its fairly low-key whisper of a conclusion. What goes on between is never boring — and how could it be, what with the state-of-the-art effects; lavish set and production design (no mystery where the money in the megabucks budget went here); Spacey’s hamming and sniping with sidekick Parker Posey; and the kick of seeing the Man of Steel simply do his Super-thing using his heat vision, cooling breath, and superhuman strength — but just when you clamor for Supes and Singer to deliver a rush of blockbuster excitement, they instead settle for being merely entertaining. While that is enough to make Superman Returns an agreeable summertime diversion, it cannot help but be a bit of a let down given not so much the studio-manufactured hype (though that does count) but the anticipation by fans over the years.

 

It’s only fitting that, in my first column at the newly rechristened Quick Stop, that I would review an Adam Sandler picture, as my second Movie Poop Shoot column featured a review of Mr. Deeds. Four years may have passed since then, but as CLICK shows nothing has much changed at all in the Happy Madison camp–and for those like myself who are immune to the Sandler Kool-Aid, that’s not necessarily a good thing.In fact, many of the same problems I had with Deeds are actually brought into sharper relief in Click, which finds Sandler’s workaholic family man coming into possession of a remote control that is universal in the most literal sense: the device allows him to pause, rewind, fast forward, even picture-in-picture his life. This paves the way for the expected juvenalia along the lines of what is shown in the advertising — slow-mo’ing the bountiful, bouncing breasts on a comely jogger; pausing to move a rude kid’s catching arm so he could get hit in the face with a ball — as well as unrelated, grotesque crudeness such as his family dog’s incessant urge to hump an oversized plush duck toy. As is what has become the Sandler norm, such crudeness co-exists with schmaltz, as his put-upon wife (a wasted Kate Beckinsale, spending most of the film wearing sleepwear short-shorts) and his parents (Henry Winkler and Julie Kavner) constantly nag him about the importance of family over work.

And so one braces oneself for the inevitable sap-soaked conclusion, but no amount of preparation can steel one enough for the rather flabbergasting turn the film takes in its final third.  Director Frank Coraci’s “movie” (as the credits pointedly state, as opposed to “film”) ventures far beyond the expected touchy-feely hugs-‘n-healing into a mass of old age makeup and balls-out, would-be Oscar clip emoting by the erstwhile Waterboy himself.  I doubt even the most devout Sandler devotees would call him a terribly rangy actor, and the maudlin muck of the final stretch would be a challenge to sell with a seasoned dramatic actor, let alone someone who has never possessed any sort of emotional pulse on screen like Sandler.  While I’ve never been a fan of his particular brand of humor, if the alternative is suffering through him struggle mightily to convey angst over lost moments with his dad is, bring on the “comical” outbursts of violence, tiresome “You can do it!” callbacks, and Rob Schneider cameos.
Waist Deep in Pretension

To director/co-writer Vondie Curtis Hall’s credit, he wastes no time throwing reformed con O2 (Tyrese Gibson) WAIST DEEP (sorry, couldn’t resist) into a precarious situation: his young son (H. Hunter Hall, the director’s son, inheriting none of his father’s–or, for that matter, mother Kasi Lemmons’–acting talent) is taken from him in a big, energetically staged daylight street chase/shootout.  The stage is thus set for a gritty, hard action thriller with a capable lead (given that Wesley Snipes has now been consigned to direct-to-video oblivion, there’s an open door for Gibson) and a sexy, spunky female cohort (Meagan Good’s Coco, who joins O2 on a bank robbing spree to pay off the kidnappers)–and whenever Hall shifts into action gear with various fights and chases, the movie is an engaging, if not terribly original, watch.
However, Hall seems less concerned with the action beats than a rather heavy-handed anti-violence message, which first manifests as some already less-than-subtle background news references to Los Angeles mayor Antonio Villaraigosa cracking down on crime but eventually build to some sledgehammer speeches and rally scenes.  Every now and again the message comes through effectively: the juxtaposition of O2’s slacker cousin (Larenz Tate, who really deserves another crack at a lead role) being beaten at the same site as one of these rallies, the unaware crowd busy listening to a speech to notice; and a scene in which O2 and Coco lay bare the tragedy and pain in their pasts makes a much more effective and memorable anti-violence statement than any of the blatant dialogue speechifying.  But those are the exceptions rather than the rule, and the frustration grows as the whole “escape from the hood for a better and safer life” theme takes more and more precedence over the admittedly formulaic but far more effectively done action aspects (the resolution with the main bad guy, played in surprisingly limited screen time by The Game, is so abrupt as if to be a mere afterthought)–but even the good will generated by those elements and the appealing turns by Gibson and Good is all but wiped away by a wholly expected but no less cheeseball coda.

At the Video Store

Before a personal return to form in Waist Deep, Tyrese Gibson was last seen awkwardly filling the part of a tough-as-nails Navy training officer making the academy a living hell for one determined upstart (James Franco, who had an awful January between this and Tristan & Isolde) in ANNAPOLIS (Touchstone Home Entertainment).  But then his unconvincing performance is but one of things that go awry in the first of director Justin Lin’s twin 2006 catastrophes (The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Driftbeing the other), a corny and contrived boxing movie in military dress.  The disc includes commentary by Lin, deleted scenes, and some behind-the-scenes featurettes.

Vin Diesel’s god-awful hairpiece is the most amusing thing about the fact-based bore FIND ME GUILTY (20th Century Fox Home Entertainment), which misses the boat as far as the real story worth telling: not that an obnoxious mafia thug (Diesel, hamming it up with a ridiculously overwrought accent) defends himself in a criminal trial but that said trial ultimately becomes the longest in U.S. history.  With the accent and (unfortunate) wig, this was obviously meant to be the vehicle to prove Diesel’s chops once and for all, but director Sidney Lumet does him nor the overlong film any favors by too often resorting to desperate courtroom yuk-yuk hijinks; this My Goombah Vinny is nowhere in the league of My Cousin Vinny. The DVD includes trailers and a “Conversations with Sidney Lumet” featurette.

While I was one of the few reviewers to find redeeming qualities in Darren Grant’s screen version of Tyler Perry’s play Diary of Mad Black Woman, the same cannot be said of  the adaptation of MADEA’S FAMILY REUNION (Lionsgate Home Entertainment), which now finds the screenwriter-star-multimillionaire also behind the camera and showing that his true directorial calling is on the live stage, not in film.  Try as they might, Blair Underwood and talented new faces Rochelle Aytes and Lisa Arindell Anderson (as a pair of sisters with man trouble) cannot sell Perry’s messy plotting and meandering direction, bringing into sharp relief the rather admirable job Grant pulled off in giving the previous film a certain sense of focus and emotional and narrative coherence.  The special edition DVD, available in separate full screen and widescreen versions, features commentary by Perry, deleted scenes, and numerous behind-the-scenes featurettes.

Imagine your most routine, autopilot Hollywood rom-com and substitute the male character with another woman, and you get IMAGINE ME & YOU (20th Century Fox Home Entertainment).  Appealing turns by Piper Perabo and Lena Headey as the sapphic love interests and Matthew Goode (when will this guy get a decent Hollywood role?) as Perabo’s unsuspecting hubby deserve better than writer-director Ol Parker’s painfully predictable paces; all that’s missing from the contrived stuck-in-a-traffic-jam finale is the dreaded slow clap.  The disc includes commentary by Parker, deleted scenes, and a Q&A with Parker and the cast.

That said, that film is far easier to sit through than the inexplicable smash FAILURE TO LAUNCH (Paramount Home Entertainment), which features Matthew McConaughey and Sarah Jessica Parker at their most charmless as, respectively, a womanizer who still lives with his parents (Kathy Bates and Terry Bradshaw) and the woman hired to get him to move out.  If the running gag that has McConaughey constantly attacked by animals because his lifestyle is “against nature” isn’t enough to make one wince, the traumatizing sight of a pasty, flabby Bradshaw in the buff most certainly is.  The DVD, available in separate full screen and widescreen versions, includes a number of making-of/behind-the-scenes documentary featurettes.

Writer-director Kurt Wimmer more or less disowned the PG-13 theatrical cut of his sci-fi actioner ULTRAVIOLET (Sony Pictures Home Entertainment), but it’s difficult to imagine any amount of added action and violence making this visually striking but emptyheaded tale of a futuristic “blood war” any more coherent–or lines such as “Oh, it’s on!” any less laughable.  The unrated, extended director’s cut edition (the theatrical version is available in a separate release) includes commentary by star Milla Jovovich–but, tellingly, still nothing from Wimmer–and a making-of featurette.

Next Time…

…more reviews, including Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest.  As always, for additional reviews and more, check out (the soon-to-be-updated) TheMovieReport.com .