Michael Bay’s “Transformers:
Age of Extinction” is a 170-minute endurance test thud thud thuding loud as slick CGI and slo-mo explosions litter the screen with buildings, trains, and cars
crashing and people running about, always at magic hour. In Bay’s world, every day has
five sunsets. The original cast is out, replaced by Mark Wahlberg as a Texas
inventor/redneck/father with a Boston accent who happens upon wounded alien
robot hero Optimus Prime -– stoic Autobot leader -– and ends up chased by
Uncle Sam thugs led by Kelsey Grammer. Our heroes bolt to Utah then Chicago and
then Hong Kong, because in China everyone knows kung fu. And Asia means box
office coin. Thousands of people die as robots fight and Wahlbeg’s dad saves
his pretty teen girl (Nicola Peltz) whose ass Bay glares at, endlessly. The
script talks the death of original cinema early on, but “T4” unironically regurgitates
films 1-3 and stacks bewildering logic lapses one upon the other. Greatest jaw-dropper: Beijing and Hong Kong within a short drive. Even by
the greatest allowance for “dumb” fun and the occasional jolt of a cool image
(all those sunsets), Bay’s films are
cinema’s death. Soulless, brainless empty robots. D
Monday, July 7, 2014
Veronica Mars (2014)
I went into “Veronica
Mars” with not just a blank canvas, but a mistaken impression. I thought the
cult hit TV show with Kristen Bell (“Frozen”) followed a high school journalist
with a Scooby Doo bent. My error. Bell’s Mars is, in fact, an ex-private
investigator who worked as a teen for her father (Enrico Colantoni) who dug
dirt in a tiny California town. Now 10 years on, Veronica has ditched the PI
life and the West Coast for law and New York City. On the cusp of a big
interview, she gets called back home to help an ex (Jason Dohring) accused of
murder. Of course Veronica is reluctant to return, but we know she will and we
know she will stay, but forget the “we knows.” Writer/director Rob Thomas
serves us great characters, a rare small town that vibes authentic, and a slash
at the misery of high school reunions. Yes, a reunion coincides with the
murder. Far too much? Thomas knows and has fun. The dialogue is playful -- Colantoni has the best lines -- without getting high on its own smoke, a la “Juno.” Not enough to get me on the
show, but solid entertainment. B+
Labels:
2014,
California,
drama,
Enrico Colantoni,
high school,
Kristen Bell,
mystery,
private detective,
Rob Thomas,
TV,
Veronia Mars
His Girl Friday (1940)
The perfect romantic
screwball. Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell are NYC journalists with the love
they have for getting the latest story surpassed only by their love for each
other. Odd then that they -– Grant is editor Walter Burns, Russell is reporter
Hildy Johnson -– cannot stand each other and were quite recently married. Not
enough room in a marriage when the third and fourth partners are outsize egos.
The plot is beside the point against dialogue that demands instant replay as
every rounded machine-gunned line pops one after the other and on top of one
another, leaving the viewer spellbound. But here goes: Hildy returns to the
newsroom that is her church and busts in on Burns’ office, declaring her intent
to quit and marry an insurance salesman from Albany (Ralph Bellamy), which in
newspeak equals marrying a scarecrow from Kansas. Burns has one ace up his
sleeve: A sizzling murder trail he knows Johnson won’t refuse. The rest is
marvelous. The puns and name drops (“Archie Leech!”) crash the fourth wall, a
shout to the audience that no matter how much fun they’re having watching, the
actors had more fun playing it. A+
Labels:
1940,
Cary Grant,
classic,
crime,
dialogue,
editor,
His Girl Friday,
journalism,
New York City,
newspaper,
Ralph Bellamy,
romantic,
Rosalind Russell,
screwball
A Hard Day’s Night (1964)
“A Hard Day’s Night”
has ultra-young Beatles Lennon, McCartney, Starr, and Harrison lampooning their
own skyrocketing stardom in a “documentary” film that pops as if it were made
yesterday. Not 40 years ago. It’s f’n brilliant, with whole chunks that must
have bypassed ignorant censors of the day. “No, we’re just really good
friends,” Starr insisting to multiple reporters, is a highlight. The question
is never heard. It’s a celebration and satire of Beatlemania, never
critical of the screaming fans, with Richard Lester’s camera following the guys
as they trot around London doing all sorts of light mayhem. These guys loved
each other and their fans, and the camera loves them. They are also truly
funny, enjoying a joke or sight gag, at their own expense the better. When Lester
films through camera viewfinders and monitors, capturing the Beatles in screen
on screen, it seems the birth of all meta-humor and (relevant) MTV. Forty and
it pops like new. Who else could do this but the Beatles? Lennon’s
hallway banter. Harrison’s job interview. Ringo’s arrest. Paul’s grandpop. Unparalleled fun. A
Three Days to Kill (2014)
Kevin Costner goes a
long way in selling “Three Days to Kill,” a Luc Besson-produced action/“comedy”
about a dying CIA assassin named Ethan who goes home to Paris to see his estranged
family – Connie Nielsen as wife, and Hailee Steinfeld as teen daughter – before
he kicks. As it happens, the CIA has one last job for Ethan: Kill two bad guys known
as The Albino and The Wolf, who are neither an albino nor a wolf. Golden
carrot: Way-too young CIA handler Vivi (Amber
Heard) has a magic cure that can
keep our man alive. Costner acts aces, truly. But “Kill” made my skin crawl.
I’ll say it: Besson shines a creep perv voyeur for teen girls here and with “Taken”
and his so-long-ago “Leon.” He fixates on girls who cannot walk outside without
falling victim to rape, not without “daddy” to save them. Steinfeld’s teen gets the treatment here. Besson’s fantasy? The take on grad-school-age Vivi as some 1980s
Euro-fantasy dominatrix smells of a gross dream of middle-aged men with
script approval. Nielsen’s wife has nothing to do but forgive her
man, repeatedly. Blame director McG? No. This hangs on Besson. Dickless. D+
Labels:
2014,
action,
Amber Heard,
assassin,
awful,
CIA,
daughter,
drama,
Hailee Steinfeld,
Kevin Costner,
Luc Besson,
McG,
Paris,
perverted,
spy,
teenage,
Three Days to Kill
Belle (2014)
“Belle” is inspired
by history, a 1770s Scottish painting of a half-black woman named Dido
Elizabeth Belle on equal level with her Anglo cousin. The posing thumped historic,
with the slave trade going on full hell tilt. “Belle” leans standard fictional Brit
family drama cum courtroom thriller hoopla, thought it scores marks for telling
that Britain and America built their empires on slavery. Fact. Story: Dido
(Gugu Mbatha-Raw) is raised by distant, but wealthy relatives (Tom Wilkinson
and Emily Watson) when life already was bleak for women –- zero rights. Her obstacles
are fierce. Nonetheless, she finds suitors, one an anti-slavery proponent (Sam
Reid). Meanwhile, Wilkinson’s high-court judge hears a case on slave cargo and
insurance. His decision could topple the sick practice and bring economic ruin.
(No more free labor.) Belle obsesses on the case. She swipes evidence, dressed
in a hooded robe that had me thinking “Jedi.” Heroic Reid shouts
so many truth and justice speeches, I thought, “He’d make a great Superman!” Miscast
Tom Felton doesn’t help as a snarling bigot. Is he aware he’s no longer playing
Malfoy? Amma Asante’s drama is problematic, yes. Look past that. B
Labels:
2014,
Africa,
America,
Amma Asante,
Belle,
black,
civil rights,
economy,
Emily Watson,
England,
Gugu Mbatha-Raw,
history,
human traffic,
slavery,
society,
Tom Wilkinson,
white,
women
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