Thursday, July 28, 2011
Charlie St. Cloud (2010)
Zac Efron sees dead people in “Charlie St. Cloud.” I sat through this romantic drama thinking Haley Joel Osment could kick this brat all the way back to “High School Musical 4: The College Years.” But that’s me, day-dreaming. Efron is Charlie, a sailing champ on his way to Stanford when his brother Sam (Charlie Tahan) is killed in a car accident. Five years later, Charlie works at the cemetery that holds his brother and plays baseball everyday with Sam’s ghost in the woods. The filmmakers think this is sweet. I thought maybe dude should be locked in a mental ward. This being a story of redemption, Charlie soon plays hero to his new sailor girlfriend (Amanda Crew) who’s so unusual. By that, I mean she sleeps in the cemetery and often bleeds from the head. The flick resembles a Nicholas Sparks novel as painted by Thomas Kincaid at his most light-infused God is watching high, with Efron pouring on the cry-me-a-river pain. The “Sixth Sense” kid never had it this bad. C-
Dinner with Schmucks (2010) and Bad Teacher (2011)
Nothing bores me more than a comedy that promises a nasty good romp, but delivers a dull time and a feel-good ending. In “Dinner for Schmucks,” Paul Rudd is an office drone eyeing life with the big suits upstairs. The price: He must invite a “loser” to a dinner party so the guy can be ridiculed. Rudd’s Ted’s pick is Barry (Steve Carell), a loner who makes intricate dioramas using dead mice. Directed by Jay Roach, “Dinner” is mush. Ted is so freakin' nice we never doubt where he’ll stand. Barry is played as a ridiculous punch line that we’re asked to sympathize with. I didn’t. In “Bad Teacher,” Cameron Diaz is Elizabeth Halsey, a money-grubbing brat who must support herself by teaching middle school. Halsey is written as a dullard with no spark of hidden magic that makes the viewer hate himself for loving the title weasel. “Bad Santa” made me squirm with glee. Here, I yawned. Jason Segal shrugs through his role as a smitten gym teacher, and Justin Timberlake all but erases himself as a rich dweeb. Brit actress Lucy Punch steals both movies as wildly differing antagonists, a crazed stalker and a grating educator, respectively. “Dinner”: C. “Bad”: C-.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Transformers: Dark of the Moon (2011)
There’s so many mind-crushing implausibilities and ridiculous wrong turns in Michael Bay’s overblown summer blockbuster “Transformers: Dark of the Moon,” I could write for days and not scratch the surface of mess. Senseless side plots, useless red herrings, painful comedic stops into lunacy and gay rape jokes, the insistence on objectifying woman as machinery, and an orange-hued John Malkovich as an insipid boss are just some of the high-lowlights in this outing.
But they are not the WTF cherry bomb to any thinking person’s brain. That prize belongs to the sappy end credits song that takes us out the theater door after a 2 hour 35 minute extravaganza of CGI robot smack downs, ceaseless noise and slo-mo explosions. The offending tune is a light FM love tune from a gone-soft rock band named Linkin Park. “Iridescent” is the title, a song made for the “Twilight” crowd. That’s how Bay has you leave a film dedicated to hardware, guns and bombs that spends its last hour tearing Chicago apart block by block, skyscraper by skyscraper, reigning down fire, metal and devastation with ceaseless aplomb. Why not a Pink Floyd classic?
“Dark of the Moon” – I can’t read that without mentally inserting “Side” in the title, speaking of Pink Floyd -- is Bay’s third, longest and biggest film in the franchise about intergalactic robots with the capability to morph into trucks, cars and other objects, warring over the Earth.
Its reckless plot kick-starts with a cool stab of alternate history story-telling quite similar to the recent “X-Men: First Class.” Dig it: The U.S./Soviet race to the moon was a scam, a cover-up con. Why? An alien spaceship belonging to the Autobots – the good guy robots – crash landed on the moon in 1961. The Russians and Americans space raced each other to find the goods first. American won. (Or did they?) Now, the Decepticons -- the bad robots -- are betting that hidden goods at the moon wreckage will allow them to rule humankind.
So “Moon” boils down to the same plot as its predecessors: The bad guys covet a doohickeything that will allow them to rule humankind. Tractor-trailer morphing Optimus Prime (voice of Peter Cullen) and his Autobot pals are there to say, “I don’t think so,” snap a metal finger, and go guns blazing. As Autobot friend Sam Witwicky, Shia LaBeouf absolutely will run in slow-motion across a devastated city, and amid fire, rubble and magic-hour lighting, dismantle/knock over/destroy the doohickeything. He has done this twice before, Sam (Shia) repeats ad nauseam. Plot spolied? Spare me. This isn’t “Winter’s Bone.”
And now here’s where I admit what I cannot hide: I surrendered to Bay’s ear-grinding zooms and booms, and peel a layer off our eyeballs with million dollar CGI shots, and flag-waving bravado against a sunset.
The exact scene: A U.S. Special Forces unit jumps from an aircraft and glides into downtown Chicago. The soldiers soar like eagles amid explosions. We get a helmet cam view, close up and so real, vertigo hits. I gasped with glee. I should have gone 3D. I didn’t. My loss. Bay is just getting started, though.
Another one: In a scene that defies physics (logic died in the first film, did you miss that?), a massive boa constrictor-like Decepticon slithers up a skyscraper, and squeezes it, sending half the structure over on its side, crashing into other buildings. It’s a kick-ass “Holy shit!” scene that should win the Oscar for Best Visual Effects.
That out of the way, I can go back to the drubbing. Bay is incapable of making a subtle movie, or even a coherent movie, and most likely edits his film with a utility knife on the back of a Red Bull beverage dispenser, in the dark. More than a dozen characters and useless asides could have been cut with no consequence.
This third helping is leaps better than the awful second installment, yet it’s still far short of the first “Transformers.” That film had spark. Despite the handful of “wow” scenes that pulled me in here, the insanely long running time and frenzied high-on-glue pace of every single scene feels more akin to a sensory overload pummeling.
Malkovich, Frances McDormand and John Turturro all race to win a Golden Ham Award in supporting roles. Turturro wins by looking into the camera and laughing hysterically. LaBeouf plays a man as only a horny 12-year-old boy can imagine a man, he hangs out with robots and soldiers all day, has no job, and lives in a dream loft with a hot and always willing girlfriend (Rosie Huntington-Whiteley taking over for Megan Fox in an interchangeable role).
LaBeouf irritates here more than he did in “Indiana Jones and the Bad Movie About the Alien Skulls,” a true feat, while Huntington-Whitley does what she is told, by Bay, which means pout lips, bend over, spread your legs when getting out of a car, you know, the kind of woman only a horny 12-year-old boy can imagine. or Bay. C+
But they are not the WTF cherry bomb to any thinking person’s brain. That prize belongs to the sappy end credits song that takes us out the theater door after a 2 hour 35 minute extravaganza of CGI robot smack downs, ceaseless noise and slo-mo explosions. The offending tune is a light FM love tune from a gone-soft rock band named Linkin Park. “Iridescent” is the title, a song made for the “Twilight” crowd. That’s how Bay has you leave a film dedicated to hardware, guns and bombs that spends its last hour tearing Chicago apart block by block, skyscraper by skyscraper, reigning down fire, metal and devastation with ceaseless aplomb. Why not a Pink Floyd classic?
“Dark of the Moon” – I can’t read that without mentally inserting “Side” in the title, speaking of Pink Floyd -- is Bay’s third, longest and biggest film in the franchise about intergalactic robots with the capability to morph into trucks, cars and other objects, warring over the Earth.
Its reckless plot kick-starts with a cool stab of alternate history story-telling quite similar to the recent “X-Men: First Class.” Dig it: The U.S./Soviet race to the moon was a scam, a cover-up con. Why? An alien spaceship belonging to the Autobots – the good guy robots – crash landed on the moon in 1961. The Russians and Americans space raced each other to find the goods first. American won. (Or did they?) Now, the Decepticons -- the bad robots -- are betting that hidden goods at the moon wreckage will allow them to rule humankind.
So “Moon” boils down to the same plot as its predecessors: The bad guys covet a doohickeything that will allow them to rule humankind. Tractor-trailer morphing Optimus Prime (voice of Peter Cullen) and his Autobot pals are there to say, “I don’t think so,” snap a metal finger, and go guns blazing. As Autobot friend Sam Witwicky, Shia LaBeouf absolutely will run in slow-motion across a devastated city, and amid fire, rubble and magic-hour lighting, dismantle/knock over/destroy the doohickeything. He has done this twice before, Sam (Shia) repeats ad nauseam. Plot spolied? Spare me. This isn’t “Winter’s Bone.”
And now here’s where I admit what I cannot hide: I surrendered to Bay’s ear-grinding zooms and booms, and peel a layer off our eyeballs with million dollar CGI shots, and flag-waving bravado against a sunset.
The exact scene: A U.S. Special Forces unit jumps from an aircraft and glides into downtown Chicago. The soldiers soar like eagles amid explosions. We get a helmet cam view, close up and so real, vertigo hits. I gasped with glee. I should have gone 3D. I didn’t. My loss. Bay is just getting started, though.
Another one: In a scene that defies physics (logic died in the first film, did you miss that?), a massive boa constrictor-like Decepticon slithers up a skyscraper, and squeezes it, sending half the structure over on its side, crashing into other buildings. It’s a kick-ass “Holy shit!” scene that should win the Oscar for Best Visual Effects.
That out of the way, I can go back to the drubbing. Bay is incapable of making a subtle movie, or even a coherent movie, and most likely edits his film with a utility knife on the back of a Red Bull beverage dispenser, in the dark. More than a dozen characters and useless asides could have been cut with no consequence.
This third helping is leaps better than the awful second installment, yet it’s still far short of the first “Transformers.” That film had spark. Despite the handful of “wow” scenes that pulled me in here, the insanely long running time and frenzied high-on-glue pace of every single scene feels more akin to a sensory overload pummeling.
Malkovich, Frances McDormand and John Turturro all race to win a Golden Ham Award in supporting roles. Turturro wins by looking into the camera and laughing hysterically. LaBeouf plays a man as only a horny 12-year-old boy can imagine a man, he hangs out with robots and soldiers all day, has no job, and lives in a dream loft with a hot and always willing girlfriend (Rosie Huntington-Whiteley taking over for Megan Fox in an interchangeable role).
LaBeouf irritates here more than he did in “Indiana Jones and the Bad Movie About the Alien Skulls,” a true feat, while Huntington-Whitley does what she is told, by Bay, which means pout lips, bend over, spread your legs when getting out of a car, you know, the kind of woman only a horny 12-year-old boy can imagine. or Bay. C+
Monday, July 18, 2011
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 2 (2011)
And then there were none. “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 2” closes out 10 years of eight (7.5?) blockbuster films, and some 15 years of beloved books that will forever mark a new timeline in the world of fantasy. Call it, “B.R.” Before J.K. Rowling, the mother, creator and god of Harry Potter and his world of a school of magic, Muggles and a force of evil known as You Know Who, Voldermort. Without her, Tolkein’s “Lord of the Rings” likely would never have been filmed. That’s a fact. And while this doesn’t have Peter Jackson leading the charge to The End, it’s a blast of a film, a movie that finally boils down to Harry Potter taking on Lord Voldermort. Wand against wand, nothing else matters. I dug it. Not fully, but well enough.
Praising this film makes me a bit of a hypocrite. I harrumphed loudly when it was announced Rowling’s doorstopper “Deathly Hallows” book would be split into two films. If “East of Eden” could be cut down to one film so can this, I said. I compared “Part 1” to an overlong Set-Up Episode of “LOST” that cut the build-up off “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.”
And, now, here I am wishing there was more to this film: Major characters die off screen and any impact from their demises is shredded with a “When did that happen?” gasp, and veteran characters, and the actors playing the roles, are reduced to mere sideways glances from the camera. Emma Thompson, as a wildly odd teacher, may have just kept her car running during her split-second scene. Jim Broadbent, as a guy named Slughorn who was at the center of “Half-Blood” barely does more. I’m still not certain how Hagrid (Robbie Coltrane) ended up where he does. I may never know.
“Part 2” picks up directly after “Part 1” as our trio of young magical heroes – Harry (Daniel Radcliffe), Hermione (Emma Watson) and Ron (Rupert Grint) – continue to track down and destroy a series of Horcruxes, objects that hold chunks of the soul of evil Lord Voldermort (Ralph Fiennes). Kill the soul bits, kill the Evil Lord, as the Potter logic goes. They mourn the death of house elf Dudley, and set on their next tasks: A daring break-in to a magical bank – with Hermione in disguise as the wretched witch Bellatrix Lestrange. Helena Bonham Carter could be should be up for an Oscar just by playing Watson playing Hermione playing Lestrange, the whole scene is a standout among the series’ 1,000-odd massive minutes. Seriously.
From there, on the back of a dragon and a few side detours, we end where all the magic began, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The final confrontation plays out for an hour as Voldermort and his million minions bust in to kill Harry Potter, and take over Magicland and Muggleland alike. (The latter is the not-so-nice word people here use for regular folks such as me and you.) The pace is fast, walls crash down, fires rage, and, yes, people fall. (I did not weep, sorry.) There’s also great helpings of Rowling’s humor, such as when Ron and Hermione share a fast hot kiss after a dramatic moment, then giggle like school kids.
It’s an amazing trek the child actors have taken, from awkward little cherubs (all the more adorable for it) in “…The Sorcerer’s Stone” in 2001 to young adults here, standing in control against film gods such as Fiennes, Carter, Maggie Smith, Alan Rickman, David Thewlis and Gary Oldman. Fiennes walks away with the film, snarly and eyes flaming, he digs into Voldermort with all the power of a great actor kept backstage until the final blowout. The man loved this part, one can tell. He’s every bad guy George Lucas ever created, rolled into one gnarly bald-headed freak, and without repentance. And Radcliffe throws back, giving it his all, just as Harry does in the book. How cool is that?
Is “Part 2” the best one could help for? Maybe. So much happens off screen, you can’t help but notice the missing scenes, and I wish director David Yates and screenwriter Steve Kloves had cut more from the previous film to give this last segment more life. Certainly more Snape, and less blah blah blah about Snape. But that’s a complaint of the Rowling book, more likely. Catch up on your Potters, and jump fast into this film in theaters. For some of us, they are mostly ace fantasy films with great actors, for others, college students, it’s their entire lives. The “Star Wars” of their lifetimes. (Quick poll: The epilogue: Eh or Yah? Me, I can't decide.) B+
Praising this film makes me a bit of a hypocrite. I harrumphed loudly when it was announced Rowling’s doorstopper “Deathly Hallows” book would be split into two films. If “East of Eden” could be cut down to one film so can this, I said. I compared “Part 1” to an overlong Set-Up Episode of “LOST” that cut the build-up off “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.”
And, now, here I am wishing there was more to this film: Major characters die off screen and any impact from their demises is shredded with a “When did that happen?” gasp, and veteran characters, and the actors playing the roles, are reduced to mere sideways glances from the camera. Emma Thompson, as a wildly odd teacher, may have just kept her car running during her split-second scene. Jim Broadbent, as a guy named Slughorn who was at the center of “Half-Blood” barely does more. I’m still not certain how Hagrid (Robbie Coltrane) ended up where he does. I may never know.
“Part 2” picks up directly after “Part 1” as our trio of young magical heroes – Harry (Daniel Radcliffe), Hermione (Emma Watson) and Ron (Rupert Grint) – continue to track down and destroy a series of Horcruxes, objects that hold chunks of the soul of evil Lord Voldermort (Ralph Fiennes). Kill the soul bits, kill the Evil Lord, as the Potter logic goes. They mourn the death of house elf Dudley, and set on their next tasks: A daring break-in to a magical bank – with Hermione in disguise as the wretched witch Bellatrix Lestrange. Helena Bonham Carter could be should be up for an Oscar just by playing Watson playing Hermione playing Lestrange, the whole scene is a standout among the series’ 1,000-odd massive minutes. Seriously.
From there, on the back of a dragon and a few side detours, we end where all the magic began, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The final confrontation plays out for an hour as Voldermort and his million minions bust in to kill Harry Potter, and take over Magicland and Muggleland alike. (The latter is the not-so-nice word people here use for regular folks such as me and you.) The pace is fast, walls crash down, fires rage, and, yes, people fall. (I did not weep, sorry.) There’s also great helpings of Rowling’s humor, such as when Ron and Hermione share a fast hot kiss after a dramatic moment, then giggle like school kids.
It’s an amazing trek the child actors have taken, from awkward little cherubs (all the more adorable for it) in “…The Sorcerer’s Stone” in 2001 to young adults here, standing in control against film gods such as Fiennes, Carter, Maggie Smith, Alan Rickman, David Thewlis and Gary Oldman. Fiennes walks away with the film, snarly and eyes flaming, he digs into Voldermort with all the power of a great actor kept backstage until the final blowout. The man loved this part, one can tell. He’s every bad guy George Lucas ever created, rolled into one gnarly bald-headed freak, and without repentance. And Radcliffe throws back, giving it his all, just as Harry does in the book. How cool is that?
Is “Part 2” the best one could help for? Maybe. So much happens off screen, you can’t help but notice the missing scenes, and I wish director David Yates and screenwriter Steve Kloves had cut more from the previous film to give this last segment more life. Certainly more Snape, and less blah blah blah about Snape. But that’s a complaint of the Rowling book, more likely. Catch up on your Potters, and jump fast into this film in theaters. For some of us, they are mostly ace fantasy films with great actors, for others, college students, it’s their entire lives. The “Star Wars” of their lifetimes. (Quick poll: The epilogue: Eh or Yah? Me, I can't decide.) B+
Valhalla Rising (2009)
Directed by Nicolas Winding Refn, “Valhalla Rising” is a confounding nearly wordless drama set in 1,000 A.D. about a Norse warrior (Mads Mikkelsen) held captive by local chiefs –- Scots, maybe -- and forced to participate in muddy and deadly “Fight Club” match-ups. The one-eyed man can see visions of the future, we know that much. Nothing else. He escapes and kills his captors, sparing the young boy who has been his caretaker. Freed, he runs into a group of Christian warriors, cutting a bloody trail on their way to Jerusalem to kill in the name of God. One-Eyed, as he is called, is strong-armed into joining. But the men, via boat, don’t end up in Israel. They are lost, turned around, at the top of North America. There, the bloodletting really begins. Native Americans. Filmed through cheesecloth and filled with a lot of self-important talk and show-offy shots that might impress Photoshop fans who overuse Photoshop, “Rising” never settles down to a good movie such “Fistful of Dollars." Never boring; never exciting. C+
The Proposition (2006)
Nick Cave – a god of soul-wracking rock n’ roll from Down Under – writes a nightmarish 1880s Australian Outback take on “Heart of Darkness” with “The Proposition.” This is a savagely violent film about a redemptive killer named Charlie Burns (Guy Pearce) sent on a long journey to kill his older, gang/cult-forming brother (Danny Houston) in order to save his younger sibling (Richard Wilson) from execution. The man who sends Charlie on the journey is a local police captain (Ray Winstone) who is determined to tame the desert land he barely contemplates. The captain’s young wife (Emily Watson) is slowly losing her senses. John Hillcoat’s hit is a brilliant film, a tale of an evil man who has hit bottom and must kill his own blood to find a sliver of redemption. It’s no small note that the Europeans here declare the Aboriginal inhabitants as savages and pulverize the population with ungodly precision. This is a grisly world indeed. A jailhouse whipping of the naïve Burns boy rivals any scene in “The Passion of the Christ.” Pearce's (“L.A. Confidential”) career has never matched his talents, but this film does. A
The Cave of Forgotten Dreams (2011)
In a summer of superheroes run amok, “The Cave of Forgotten Dreams” is pure nirvana for anyone with an appreciation for art and history, and a chance to sit in a theater and be “wowed” to the back of your soul. Director Werner Herzog (“Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans”) is back in documentary mode here, talking heads and all. The Chauvet Cave is real, located in southern France uncomfortably close to nuclear plant and highways. Inside its walls are hundreds of images of animals and mass hunts, drawn by hand nearly 40,000 years ago, then taken over by bears (scratch marks on the walls) and then a second artist. It laid undisturbed for much of human history until discovered – almost stumbled upon – in 1994. Herzog also serves as narrator, interviewer and lighting tech, as access to the cave is limited. For long stretches, Herzog –cool voice – keeps his pie hole shut, and just lets his cameras glide over the artwork – etchings of bears and horses and rams, telling their own story. I got goose bumps. A
Killers (2010)
Ashton Kutcher as a CIA assassin. Katherine Heigl as a childish, hysterical wife. The hilarious notion that your boring neighbors are ruthless hit men. Dialogue that could clog toilets. “Killers” has all the ingredients for 2010's worst film. The film opens as Kutcher’s killer sets up a hit on some guy in France as Heigl and her parents (Tom Selleck and Catherine O’Hara) arrive for vacation. Kutcher’s stud wants out of the biz, Heigl’s doormat wants a man because in films such as this no woman can live outside of a man’s approving shadow. They meet nauseatingly cute. They marry. Three years in, the past is back to whack Kutcher. Guns blaze. Kutcher smirks. Heigl sobs. Not a moment of this contrived riff on “Mr. and Mrs. Smith” is believable, not the actors, setting, plot, romance or words spoken. Not to pick on Heigl, she seems incredibly nice, but I could not decide the worst scene she is made to play: When she jokingly claims daddy wants to rape her, or when her ad professional melts into tears because she has to (!!) speak in public. This isn’t just a bad film. It’s spittle in the face of any thinking woman and the guy who loves her. F
Supergirl (1984)
Red cape and blue tights. A newcomer actor as the hero. A veteran pro as the villain. A godlike actor as the father figure. “Supergirl” – the 1984 attempt to give girls the fantasy series that thrilled boys such as myself with the “Superman” films – breaks little new ground, and it’s terribly cheesy. But it’s a lark, full of unintended laughs. That’s the somewhat positive side. The negative? Precious little of the plot makes sense, the special effects seem cheap even for 1984, and there’s no heart or bravado. “Supergirl” opens in inner-space, a universe inside the Earth that serves as a distant cousin world to Krypton. You know the one, Superman’s home planet. The story: Teenage Kara (Helen Slater) leaves her world for Chicago in an egg ship to find a missing power ball thingy and has to battle a megalomaniac evil woman (Faye Dunaway, the veteran pro) bent on world rule. Whew. Peter O’Toole is the father figure. The real hero is Dunaway (“Network”), who chews scenery and drops one-liners like she could take over Earth. C+
Bambi (1942)
How many of us really remember “Bambi”? Sweet animals. Bright and sunny forest. Young deer finding his legs. Thumper and that restless foot. So lovable. Memory is fickle. Walt Disney’s classic tale a dark coming of age story that is cute, yes, but also visceral, and quite intense at the climax. The story: Bambi is born and grows up among friendly rabbits, birds and skunks in a forest. He matures. Winter hits hard. Man comes. A gunshot. Mother is no more. Then later the fire, set by man. There is no tongue-in-cheek satire here, yes, some laughs, but mostly hard truths. Its theme: Growing up is hell, but you eventually will find happiness. The details are exceedingly rich, from every hand-drawn character to creeks and leaves. No perfected CGI film will exceed even the beautiful errand lines created by men and women. Check out that fight scene. Or Thumper thumping. “Bambi” rightfully holds its place as one of the greatest animated films out there. And, yeah, Bambi’s momma’s death put a lump in my throat. Maybe. A+
Friday, July 8, 2011
Super 8 and X-Men: First Class (2011)
“Super 8” and “X-Men: First Class” are not two films I would toss together on any given day, but they are sealed in my mind as a weird double feature separated by a week or so. They are sold as Summer 2011 Box Office Hits, but instead happily riff and thrive off film genres that no longer get the respect they deserve, even if they fall short of beloved and timeless classics.
“Super 8” is a throwback to the five-star films of my youth, “The Goonies” and “E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial,” fathered by two masters-of-cinema dads, one older and one younger, producer Steven Spielberg and writer/director J.J. Abrams. With a pedigree such as that, it should be the Film of the Year. Yet, it’s not. Maybe I’m too far removed from my 11-year-old self, the year I saw and desperately wanted nothing more than to be a “Goonie.” (Hang out and kiss older girls? Fight villains and plunder pirate treasure!?! Yes and yes, please.)
The plot follows a group of young teens (led by Joel Courtney as a boy grieving over his dead mother) as they get sucked up in a spectacular alien conspiracy in their small Ohio steel town after they witness a spectacular train crash. The title comes from the movie they are making -- a zombie flick -- on old 8 mm film, this being the late 1970s. I remember doing that. In full Spielberg vein, the children are the heroes, and the adults must grow up.
“Super 8” also mixes in heavy doses of government madness as in “Close Encounters of the Third Kind,” and it's a wild joy for a while. The teens play to each other, not the audience. The in-jokes of 1979 are so damn accurate and funny. But, damn it all, when the big bad alien is fully revealed, the film goes soft and flaky, and breaks its back reaching for sentimental pathos. All tension and fun evaporates. Also, the creature looks so …eye-rolling obvious CGI. Hey, guys, why not go for old-school puppetry and in-camera tricks? Speaking of cameras, Abrahams’ OCD love for lens flare kills the finale as faces are near blurred by blue light pops. It’s never a good sign when, during an emotional finale, one sits there thinking, “What the hell lens did they use?” But that’s nitpicking. I'll shut up.
Yes, “X-Men: First Class” is a prequel to the 10-year-old film franchise and yet another superhero movie in this, The Summer of Super Hero Movies. But that’s surface. Directed by Matthew Vaughn, “X:FC” is actually an old-school 1960s spy flick born of John Le Carre novels, James Bond films and “Fail Safe” paranoid drama, spiced with an old revenge thriller plot. We get CIA agents, war room grand-standing, fantastic hideouts for the villains (a submarine!), secret bases in plain sight for the good guys, strip clubs and old Nazis in hiding.
Much of the film takes place in 1962, the year of the Cuban Missile Crisis, when the world almost nuked itself into radioactive dust. As with “Inglourious Basterds” or a James Ellroy novel, “X:FC ” takes this history and bends it. The gist: What if the whole United States/Soviet Union stand-off was the wicked master plan of a martini-sipping megalomaniac ex-Nazi Mutant (Kevin Bacon) grooving on the wish that nuclear fallout will bring him to power. Naturally, it is Charles Xavier, a peaceful Mutant (he is a telekinetic) who must keep the party from going nuclear. James McAvoy plays the young Xavier, before the wheelchair and baldness.
There’s also the rogue man out for bloody redemption who drives the whole plot forward. This is Erik Lensherr (sic), aka Magneto, an ex-Jew out to slay the Nazis who killed his family. Bacon’s character being target No. 1. Lensherr is far more interesting than Xavier, basically taking the place of Wolverine – violence-prone outsider – in the 2000 film “X-Men.” I’m assuming you know what I’m talking about, all this name dropping and Mutant talk. Apologies if you don’t. Magneto is played by Michael Fassbender who by law must become the next James Bond. (Ian McKellan played elder Magneto in the previous films.)
It’s a daring canvas, asking movie-goers to know real history. Despite how dark and dirty Vaughn stretches – he provides a gruesome death that will forever change the way you look at pocket change – I felt he wanted to go further. Darker than “The Dark Knight,” with more meaning. Too many kills cut away, sloppily, before they end. I actually could have done without the First Class in “First Class,” as the variety of young Mutants (with Jennifer Lawrence as Mystique) on display don’t hold water against McAvoy and Fassbender. There’s more nitpicking, from an “X-Men” comic book nerd’s perspective, but hey … how many summer flicks feature JFK and men in turtlenecks?
Both films: B
“Super 8” is a throwback to the five-star films of my youth, “The Goonies” and “E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial,” fathered by two masters-of-cinema dads, one older and one younger, producer Steven Spielberg and writer/director J.J. Abrams. With a pedigree such as that, it should be the Film of the Year. Yet, it’s not. Maybe I’m too far removed from my 11-year-old self, the year I saw and desperately wanted nothing more than to be a “Goonie.” (Hang out and kiss older girls? Fight villains and plunder pirate treasure!?! Yes and yes, please.)
The plot follows a group of young teens (led by Joel Courtney as a boy grieving over his dead mother) as they get sucked up in a spectacular alien conspiracy in their small Ohio steel town after they witness a spectacular train crash. The title comes from the movie they are making -- a zombie flick -- on old 8 mm film, this being the late 1970s. I remember doing that. In full Spielberg vein, the children are the heroes, and the adults must grow up.
“Super 8” also mixes in heavy doses of government madness as in “Close Encounters of the Third Kind,” and it's a wild joy for a while. The teens play to each other, not the audience. The in-jokes of 1979 are so damn accurate and funny. But, damn it all, when the big bad alien is fully revealed, the film goes soft and flaky, and breaks its back reaching for sentimental pathos. All tension and fun evaporates. Also, the creature looks so …eye-rolling obvious CGI. Hey, guys, why not go for old-school puppetry and in-camera tricks? Speaking of cameras, Abrahams’ OCD love for lens flare kills the finale as faces are near blurred by blue light pops. It’s never a good sign when, during an emotional finale, one sits there thinking, “What the hell lens did they use?” But that’s nitpicking. I'll shut up.
Yes, “X-Men: First Class” is a prequel to the 10-year-old film franchise and yet another superhero movie in this, The Summer of Super Hero Movies. But that’s surface. Directed by Matthew Vaughn, “X:FC” is actually an old-school 1960s spy flick born of John Le Carre novels, James Bond films and “Fail Safe” paranoid drama, spiced with an old revenge thriller plot. We get CIA agents, war room grand-standing, fantastic hideouts for the villains (a submarine!), secret bases in plain sight for the good guys, strip clubs and old Nazis in hiding.
Much of the film takes place in 1962, the year of the Cuban Missile Crisis, when the world almost nuked itself into radioactive dust. As with “Inglourious Basterds” or a James Ellroy novel, “X:FC ” takes this history and bends it. The gist: What if the whole United States/Soviet Union stand-off was the wicked master plan of a martini-sipping megalomaniac ex-Nazi Mutant (Kevin Bacon) grooving on the wish that nuclear fallout will bring him to power. Naturally, it is Charles Xavier, a peaceful Mutant (he is a telekinetic) who must keep the party from going nuclear. James McAvoy plays the young Xavier, before the wheelchair and baldness.
There’s also the rogue man out for bloody redemption who drives the whole plot forward. This is Erik Lensherr (sic), aka Magneto, an ex-Jew out to slay the Nazis who killed his family. Bacon’s character being target No. 1. Lensherr is far more interesting than Xavier, basically taking the place of Wolverine – violence-prone outsider – in the 2000 film “X-Men.” I’m assuming you know what I’m talking about, all this name dropping and Mutant talk. Apologies if you don’t. Magneto is played by Michael Fassbender who by law must become the next James Bond. (Ian McKellan played elder Magneto in the previous films.)
It’s a daring canvas, asking movie-goers to know real history. Despite how dark and dirty Vaughn stretches – he provides a gruesome death that will forever change the way you look at pocket change – I felt he wanted to go further. Darker than “The Dark Knight,” with more meaning. Too many kills cut away, sloppily, before they end. I actually could have done without the First Class in “First Class,” as the variety of young Mutants (with Jennifer Lawrence as Mystique) on display don’t hold water against McAvoy and Fassbender. There’s more nitpicking, from an “X-Men” comic book nerd’s perspective, but hey … how many summer flicks feature JFK and men in turtlenecks?
Both films: B
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Everything Must Go (2011)
Will Ferrell goes mostly serious in the dramatic comedy “Everything Must Go,” which follows an Arizona man as he 1) Loses his job, 2) Loses his wife and home, and 3) Falls off the sobriety wagon all in the same day. Much of the film takes place on the lawn of Nick Halsey, that’s Farrell, because that’s where his wife has dumped all of his belongings after she decides their marriage has hit a dead end. Jobless, carless, hopeless, Nick pounds beers, and waits for … nothing. This being a movie, we can’t have the guy drink himself to death, so he gets two lifelines -- a lonely teenager played by Christopher Jordan Wallace and a friendly (but platonic) new neighbor played by Rebecca Hall. Based on a Raymond Carver short story and directed by newcomer Dan Rush, “Go” is a low-key flick about a guy taking stock of his life. A late-in-the-game reveal is too neat and smacks of an easy out. Ferrell rocks as he did in “Stranger Than Fiction.” Alas, when I said “low-key,” I meant nothing grand happens. B
Friday, July 1, 2011
Green Lantern (2011)
It’s not easy being green. Not for superheroes. Marvel unleashed two ehh “Hulk” movies during the past decade. This past January’s “Green Hornet” big screen adaptation? Ten minutes in, I was done. Now comes DC’s “Green Lantern,” the galactic human cop with a magic ring. It has heroics, action, distressed damsel, kooky villain and the glowing alien costume. Top notch CGI for the most part. But the movie evaporates, the smirk plastered on its face fading to a yawn.
Ryan Reynolds is the smirking face, Hal Jordan, the reckless careless daredevil fighter jet pilot who is the first human to be “chosen” to join the Green Lantern Corp, a Homeland Security for the universe, made up aliens big and tiny in skintight outfits. Everyone ia straight, I gather. The magic ring allows the Lanterns to make real anything in their mind – giant fist, airplane, sword … you get the idea. Why Hal? Because he is special inside. Aww. And he has daddy issues. Or that’s what I gather. Hey, ring, why not Chuck Norris?
The Green Lantern’s enemies are two: One a gigantic massive cloudy Smoke-Monster-from-“Lost” floaty thing with the head of a shrunken E.T. that devours planets. (A cousin to Marvel’s Galactus?) The second is Hector Hammond (Peter Sarsgaard), a geeky college professor-scientist infected by Smoke Monster, and turns “evil.” I use quote marks, because Hammond is more a tortured sad sack Son of Elephant Man lashing out under an opium-high fit. His problem? I gather he has never kissed a girl. He also has daddy issues. Sarsgaard starts off in nerd makeup, and soon disappears behind latex as Hammond gets crazier and uglier.
Neither of these antagonists holds enough ballast to carry the film, and sure as heck Reynolds never provides the steely nerve of a true hero ala Christopher Reeve. Or even the guy who played Spider-Man. There’s no drama or force of pulsating danger, or anything close to the (temporary) death of Lois Lane in “Superman” that smoked my brain as a child. The climax is rushed and sloppily edited. It’s as if director Martin Campbell (who made “Casino Royale”) didn’t believe in the material. Or was it the studio that doubted?
Supporting players Mark Strong as Green Lantern Corp leader Sinestro, along with Geoffrey Love as an alien man-fish, and Michael Duncan Clarke as a bulging trainer, are just terrific. As his name indicates, Sinestro has a nasty future in Green Lantern’s life. He is the anchor, the gravitas this film series needs. I loved his every scene. Hammond? Needed counseling. The script could have used some doctoring, too. C+
Ryan Reynolds is the smirking face, Hal Jordan, the reckless careless daredevil fighter jet pilot who is the first human to be “chosen” to join the Green Lantern Corp, a Homeland Security for the universe, made up aliens big and tiny in skintight outfits. Everyone ia straight, I gather. The magic ring allows the Lanterns to make real anything in their mind – giant fist, airplane, sword … you get the idea. Why Hal? Because he is special inside. Aww. And he has daddy issues. Or that’s what I gather. Hey, ring, why not Chuck Norris?
The Green Lantern’s enemies are two: One a gigantic massive cloudy Smoke-Monster-from-“Lost” floaty thing with the head of a shrunken E.T. that devours planets. (A cousin to Marvel’s Galactus?) The second is Hector Hammond (Peter Sarsgaard), a geeky college professor-scientist infected by Smoke Monster, and turns “evil.” I use quote marks, because Hammond is more a tortured sad sack Son of Elephant Man lashing out under an opium-high fit. His problem? I gather he has never kissed a girl. He also has daddy issues. Sarsgaard starts off in nerd makeup, and soon disappears behind latex as Hammond gets crazier and uglier.
Neither of these antagonists holds enough ballast to carry the film, and sure as heck Reynolds never provides the steely nerve of a true hero ala Christopher Reeve. Or even the guy who played Spider-Man. There’s no drama or force of pulsating danger, or anything close to the (temporary) death of Lois Lane in “Superman” that smoked my brain as a child. The climax is rushed and sloppily edited. It’s as if director Martin Campbell (who made “Casino Royale”) didn’t believe in the material. Or was it the studio that doubted?
Supporting players Mark Strong as Green Lantern Corp leader Sinestro, along with Geoffrey Love as an alien man-fish, and Michael Duncan Clarke as a bulging trainer, are just terrific. As his name indicates, Sinestro has a nasty future in Green Lantern’s life. He is the anchor, the gravitas this film series needs. I loved his every scene. Hammond? Needed counseling. The script could have used some doctoring, too. C+
Tideland (2006)
Even before the depraved fantasy drama “Tideland” begins, director/co-writer/ex-Python Terry Gilliam appears on screen to warn his audience: “This is a rough film. It deals with a child in terrible situations. You probably will hate it.” How prophetic. Here, a young girl is shoved through a ringer so demoralizing it makes the “Saw” films seem quaint. I stopped the movie four times, only willing to continue for hope of a silver lining. In a theater I would have walked out. And I dig dark films of all stripes. But not this+
The film begins with 9-year-old Jeliza-Rose (Jodelle Ferland) cooking heroin fixes in the kitchen for her junkie parents, a tepid rock star (Jeff Bridges) and a shrieking Courtney Love freak (Jennifer Tilly). Mom dies. Father and daughter flee for the farm house where he was raised. Then dad ODs, and rots in a chair. Jeliza-Rose idles her lonely time playing with four severed dolls heads that talk to her. Are the voices her imagination, or the beginning of schizophrenia? We never know.
Our girl is not alone for long. A second abusive, shrieking woman (Janet McTeer) appears, dressed all in black. She dumps more misery on Jeliza-Rose, who is so desperate for attention and oblivious of abuse that she laps it up. Had enough? Gilliam is not through yet. (The movie is based on a novel of the same name.)
McTeer’s Wicked Witch embalms the father for Jeliza-Rose to cuddle with, and the woman has a mentally disabled adult brother (Brendan Fletcher) who takes a liking to Jeliza-Rose. The girl, age 9, laps up this attention, too. Yes, Gilliam goes there. Our young girl and her adult buddy become “kissy buddies.” When he straddles her in bed, and they play tongue flicks --- that was the third time I stopped the film. The fourth time: McTeer physically attacks the girl. If you add in Ferland’s elementary Miss Scahlett accent, I had a fifth reason to quit watching.
Gilliam is a twisted master of the outlandish macabre, be they brilliant (“Brazil”) or failed (“The Brothers Grimm),” but here, he’s just a twisted fuck. He thinks he’s entertaining us with deep childhood angst, oddball special effects, swooshing cameras and his over-acting cast. Gilliam insists his film is brave and artistic because it’s “from a child’s innocent perspective.” Bullshit. He’s an adult, and he should know better. “Tideland” wallows in child-endangering filth, and serves up talking squirrels as a joke. F
The film begins with 9-year-old Jeliza-Rose (Jodelle Ferland) cooking heroin fixes in the kitchen for her junkie parents, a tepid rock star (Jeff Bridges) and a shrieking Courtney Love freak (Jennifer Tilly). Mom dies. Father and daughter flee for the farm house where he was raised. Then dad ODs, and rots in a chair. Jeliza-Rose idles her lonely time playing with four severed dolls heads that talk to her. Are the voices her imagination, or the beginning of schizophrenia? We never know.
Our girl is not alone for long. A second abusive, shrieking woman (Janet McTeer) appears, dressed all in black. She dumps more misery on Jeliza-Rose, who is so desperate for attention and oblivious of abuse that she laps it up. Had enough? Gilliam is not through yet. (The movie is based on a novel of the same name.)
McTeer’s Wicked Witch embalms the father for Jeliza-Rose to cuddle with, and the woman has a mentally disabled adult brother (Brendan Fletcher) who takes a liking to Jeliza-Rose. The girl, age 9, laps up this attention, too. Yes, Gilliam goes there. Our young girl and her adult buddy become “kissy buddies.” When he straddles her in bed, and they play tongue flicks --- that was the third time I stopped the film. The fourth time: McTeer physically attacks the girl. If you add in Ferland’s elementary Miss Scahlett accent, I had a fifth reason to quit watching.
Gilliam is a twisted master of the outlandish macabre, be they brilliant (“Brazil”) or failed (“The Brothers Grimm),” but here, he’s just a twisted fuck. He thinks he’s entertaining us with deep childhood angst, oddball special effects, swooshing cameras and his over-acting cast. Gilliam insists his film is brave and artistic because it’s “from a child’s innocent perspective.” Bullshit. He’s an adult, and he should know better. “Tideland” wallows in child-endangering filth, and serves up talking squirrels as a joke. F
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