Showing posts with label homophobic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label homophobic. Show all posts

Monday, August 18, 2014

Movie 43 (2013)

From the folks who gave us “Dumb and Dumber,” the skit comedy “Movie 43” is not the tortuous mess I feared. Oh, it’s ugly, ungainly, and –- far too often -– offensively bigoted against Asians and homosexuals, seriously, watch this film and you’ll think the worst of humanity is a gay Japanese man, but there’s bits of gold -– um, bronze -- among the acres of shit. OK, I enjoyed two shorts. The skits are all wrapped under a blanket story of an madman (Dennis Quaid) who threatens to kill a Hollywood producer (Greg Kinnear) unless the latter buys his abhorrent screenplay. The first story follows a woman (Kate Winslet) blind-dating a man (Hugh Jackman) with a neck scrotum, a malady no one else notices. Pass. It’s not funny. But there’s a later bit about a 1960s basketball coach (Terrence Howard) telling his team, of course, you can kick the white guys’ asses, what are you thinking?!? That’s deft satire. Maybe edging racist, but it’s funny. Also funny: A woman out to kill a pervy cartoon cat. Everything else ... hit that fast forward button when you see Halle Berry. “Catwoman” is no longer her lowpoint. C-

Thursday, January 30, 2014

Dallas Buyers Club (2013)

Matthew McConaughey has been on a tear recently: Lincoln Lawyer” and Mud, etc. (I have yet to see Magic Mike.) He dives into the true-story Fight the System AIDS drama “Dallas Buyers Club” with a live-wire nerve and swagger that is awesome to behold, it’s near terrifying. This guy burned many years in terrible, Xerox rom-coms. Now he’s killin’ it. 

Unrecognizably taunt and spoiling for a fight, McConaughy is Ron Woodroof, a swinging, swaggering, swearing Dallas country boy with a knack for liquor, threesomes with women, gambling, and generally burning life out before he hits 50. Then he learns he has HIV. In 1985. Back when no one knew what the fuck HIV or AIDS was and I (hating myself now) joined in on Rock Hudson jokes. 

Ron is a good ol’ boy, would vote GOP if he voted, and hates homosexuals. When word leaks on his health, family and friends bolt, tag him queer, and he has 30 days to live. 

But the man won’t die. Not yet. 

He blows off Big Pharma cell-killer-med AZT and finds better drugs over the border, and with the help of a waif transgendered woman (Jared Leto of “Requiem for a Dream”), he brings those meds to the U.S. And then he fights the protectors of profit. The FDA. 

Don’t think this an AIDS drama, mark this next to “Silkwood” or, dare I say, “Rocky.” Unlikely heroes. I understand much of the story here is fictionalized. Well, it’s damn fine, smart fictionalizing that rarely falters. 

(Jennifer Garner plays a doctor written so tidy bland, a hand-holder surrogate for old church-going ladies in the audience, I cringed every time her face appeared. Not a slam to the actress. I like her. But the writing.) 

This is McConaughey’s show as he bullies, taunts, rages, screams, cries, takes a pistol to his head, and just chars the screen black with his walk and burning eyes. Remarkable. Leto also nails his tragic, beautifully penned role, deteriorating into nothingness. 

(Both men deserve every award they have coming their way, although I pitch a preference to 12 Years a Slave.”)

The finale -– that we all know is coming, history -- might not punch the emotional button we need to leave weeping, but it comes close. A-

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Priscilla, Queen of the Desert (1994)

The Australian-made “Priscilla” shoves the alpha-male road–trip flick formula in a glittering dress, high heel shoes, and caked-on eyeliner, shimmying ass to Abba every mile of the way. There be drag queens, folks, and the leads of this comedy-drama-farce have the keys and wheel. No back of the bus for them. Our queens are played by Hugo Weaving (pre-“Matrix”) and Guy Pearce (pre-“Memento”) and – in a career-high performance -- Terence Stamp. Yes. Priscilla is the bus, btw. Weaving and Pearce play gay men who cross dress, the former direly sensitive, the latter flaming to supernova. Stamp is a “tranny,” a man who only found herself post-surgery, and he digs miles under the earth, showing still-visible pain and now wire-thin contentment. The plot has trio on their way from Sidney to a rural resort to perform a glam show at a hotel owned by Hugo’s long-separated wife, and along the way they meet prejudice and acceptance. “Priscilla,” bus and movie, hits ditches and blows its engine, especially in stereotyping Asian women and country folk, but the majority of film is dressed in love and acceptance that crushes hates and judgments. The soundtrack really is royally genius. A-

Friday, July 27, 2012

Bernie (2012)

The greatest indicator the rhythm is off in “Bernie,” a dark comedy about a real-life murder that rocked a Texas town 15 years ago, comes when a playground set is seized during a criminal investigation. The audience, in unison, let out a heartfelt, “awww” as two young girls watched their backyard kingdom be torn down by police. Outside of laughter at the people and hijinks on screen, it was the only other sign of human emotion I heard or felt. 

That’s how thin “Bernie” is. The film. Not the man. Bernie Tiede, is quite thick in the belly, as played by Jack Black, and as seen in real-life photos and video during the closing credits. 

Tiede was an assistant funeral home director during the 1990s in tiny Carthage, Texas, (even the name is ironic). Clearly gay in his every manner, Tiede became a local celebrity, a mascot if you will, to the good ol’ GOP-voting Christian folk there. Not just for his artistry of making the dead look good, but in his endless dedication to church, the local theater, baseball clubs, and his undying loyalty to the town’s widows. He even came to befriend the town’s one Ms. Scrooge (Shirley MacLaine), a vile control freak badger, set off her leash after the death of her wealthy husband. This is where the thrust of the film kicks in. She became Tiede’s Sugar Momma, he her Errand Boy. Things got ugly, and Tiede shot her. Four times. The town stood strong: Behind Bernie. Old lady? Fuggedaboudit.

Shocking? Yes. But Richard Linklater, directing and co-writing, would rather laugh at the wild audacity of it all, and edits in interviews with real-life locals to the mix, showing the town as mentally lost as Tiede is in the “movie” portion. The tone is so broadly farcical nothing sticks. With Black’s eternal wink-wink personality and mincing gay lisp, I never grasped whether or not trapped-in the-closet Tiede was sincere and full of love, or playing people, full of rage, or some place between. Wearing a mask if you will, to go all Batman here. 

Person after person in those interviews dismiss Tiede as “queer,” or insists “he can’t be gay,” he’s too nice and decent. Surely he heard that awful talk, surely it hurt, and made him mad. Or did it? Did he bury his pain. We don’t know. As portrayed, Tiede has all the depth of Ziggy, to bring up another roundish guy. 

More so, there’s a strong, unpleasant whiff that Linklater, a Texan himself, is pulling a nasty fast-one on those interviewees, inviting them friendly-like to talk on camera and then editing their words to appear as rubes and hicks, or borderline senile. Were these people misled? I'd sure as hell would think, “Yes.

Fargo,” a far more dark comic tale of murder, had infinitely more emotion, and it’s fictional. The comparison is silly, that film is so sickly brilliant, and brilliant, but I shall not digress. In this tale, an old lady died, for real, and we get nothing. There’s no sense of loss here, mixed in with the comedy. Any sense of irony is lost. MacLaine, dropping a racist tirade as the old lady, makes it all too easy. Too neat. Ehhh.

Matthew McConaughey -- God bless him, is he becoming a character actor now, no more rom-coms? -- lifts the film as high as he can as a self-righteous, but right nonetheless, ADA who is dismayed at the turn of events. Yes, he’s also spinning comedy gold, but he’s also the only one asking, how would you react? Bernie, or the lady? C+

Monday, August 2, 2010

The Boondock Saints II: All Saint’s Day (2009)

It took Troy Duffy 10 years to make “The Boondock Saints II: All Saint’s Day,” a sequel to his 1999 fascist romp about two devout Christian brothers (Norman Reedus and Sean Patrick Flanery) doing God’s work. If God we’re a White Master Race sociopath hell-bent on mass murder.

Part 1 was repugnant, sexist and cruelly anti-gay, on top of being a poorly made rip-off off of Tarantino, Woo, Scorsese and Coppola. One would hope that Duffy matured during the past decade. He did not. This is the same piss-poor film, only more offensive. Hate Mexicans? You’ll love this.

Here the brothers are self-exiled in Ireland until the vile murder of a priest in Boston calls them back into action. The boys soon find themselves in cahoots with an FBI agent (Julie Benz), very much in line with Willem Dafoe’s self-loathing gay agent from film one, as they hunt and kill. Benz’s agent dresses in stiletto heels and high-dollar call girl outfits, when she’s not imagining herself as an Annie Oakley stripper.

Her first line: “I’m so smart, I make smart people feel retarded.” Benz outdoes Dafoe in trash acting with the worst Dixie accent I’ve ever heard. Her character is not so much a woman of power (FBI agent), but a cartoon written by a man who hates (fears?) strong females. Added screen treats: Several close-ups of a fat man’s ass after he shits his pink panties. How subtle. Duffy is an anvil to intelligence. His fans, fuck them.

The first film’s only redeeming asset was Reedus and Flanery. Not here. Reedus is listless, while Flanery looks like a strung out Meth addict barely able to stay awake. I still can't decide if Duffy is, in fact, a self-loathing homosexual or a full-blown hater, the Fred Phelps/Bull Connor of trash cinema. In both films Duffy has his brothers shower together, and the camera stares in slo-mo awe at their naked bodies as water runs down. You decide.

The final scene promises a Part III, as the brothers mock-shoot a group of black men. Stay classy, Duffy.There is not one redeeming person of color in this film, which must play constant at Klan rallies and Tea Parties, gun nuts crying, “Take our country back, ” with dreams of  popping off minorities. Rarely has a film ever made me so sick in the soul, so ashamed of having watched to the end credits. F