Pop quiz. Ghost Protocol is:
A.) The subtitle of the new Mission: Impossible.
B.) Something that sounds too much like the names of 100,000 video games.
C.) What your acting career goes into when you marry Tom Cruise.
D.) The name of the Ghost Busters' ray gun that zaps spirits.
I will never reveal the answer, because to do so would be a violation of Ghost Protocol. But what I can tell you is that the movie is way better than you think it will be, and that this message will self-destruct and peel off its latex mask to reveal that it wasn't who you thought it was all along and is secretly a guy named... Ghost Protocol.
The characters in the movie enjoy saying the phrase "Ghost Protocol," and so do I. You may find yourself walking out of the theater saying "Ghost Protocol" in situations appropriate and not. It's best delivered with a stern look on your face, preceded by an eye-shift, a lean and spoken as a half-whisper. Try it.
What you shouldn't try is the wickety wickety wack stunts in the movie, which include using Spider-Man gloves to scale the Burj Khalifa, crashing a spy car into the ground to use its airbag as padding and staring directly into Tom Cruise's blindingly white teeth without sunglasses.
The film opens in a Soviet prison. I use the term "Soviet" because it sounds more Ghost Protocol than boring "Russia." As Ethan Hunt, Cruise breaks out of a prison cell, thanks to the computer program Norton Prison Break 2012, operated by the agent who will come to be Ethan's wisecracking sidekick (Simon Pegg). Pegg, of Shaun of the Dead fame, is usually funny, but in this movie is about as annoying as someone who won't stop saying Ghost Protocol.
The rest of the spy team includes Brandt (Jeremy Renner), who lugs around dark secrets from the past as well as extra consonants at the end of his name, and Jane (Paula Patton), who is part of the Barbie DreamSpy collector set. In what must be a budget-saving maneuver because the spies will not be paid or acknowledged, the government tells the spy crew to go off the grid and complete a rogue mission to stop a Soviet nuclear missile from Ghost Protocoling the hell out of America.
The race is on, and this time it's impersonal.
The movie is as fun as it is dumb, and trust me, it's as dumb as it is Ghost Protocol. The stunts are ceaseless thrill rides, the story moves at the pace and rhythm of Cruise's Cocktail-pouring exploits in the movie Cocktail, and Pegg even stops making idiotic jokes occasionally. What I adored most about the movie was its gadgets, as well as its characters' uncanny ability to use them ineffectively. These secret, unpaid spies show that you get what you pay for, and watching them continually screw up and risk their Protocols becoming Ghosts is much more entertaining than watching a Bourne or Bond type skate through without a scratch.
The movie makes me feel so good that I've decided to break Ghost Protocol and give you that quiz answer anyway. It's C.
Starring Tom Cruise, Jeremy Renner, Paula Patton and Simon Pegg. Written by Josh Appelbaum and Andre Nemec, based on the TV series by Bruce Geller. Directed by Brad Bird. Rated PG-13. 132 minutes.
My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Review: Straw Dogs
James Marsden plays a Hollywood screenwriter who goes with new wife
(Kate Bosworth) to her backwoods hometown in the Deep South to sell the
home in which she grew up. They hire some of her old friends to do some
contracting worth, and they terrorize the couple in increasingly bold
and disturbing ways. A remake of Sam Peckinpah's 1971 thriller, which
starred Dustin Hoffman, Rod Lurie's film equals the original and
surpasses it in many ways.
Subtle character shading and more convincing motivation for the sordid characters makes up for the performances, which can't match those of the original.
Lurie is a severely underrated filmmaker, whose The Contender (2000) is one of the finest political dramas ever put to film and Nothing but the Truth (2008) was unfairly left out of that year's awards chase due to distribution problems. His Straw Dogs remake is riveting, challenging and thought-provoking, and I hope he continues to show his unique brand of skill.
Subtle character shading and more convincing motivation for the sordid characters makes up for the performances, which can't match those of the original.
Lurie is a severely underrated filmmaker, whose The Contender (2000) is one of the finest political dramas ever put to film and Nothing but the Truth (2008) was unfairly left out of that year's awards chase due to distribution problems. His Straw Dogs remake is riveting, challenging and thought-provoking, and I hope he continues to show his unique brand of skill.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Review: Like Crazy
There are few things more annoying than two people who are meant for each other. Like Crazy pairs Anton Yelchin and Felicity Jones as too-young lovers who are inconvenienced with the fact that they feel an overwhelmingly biological need to spend the rest of their lives together, despite not having enough independent experience to recognize their love for what it is.
The film takes the path of a formulaic romantic comedy, sans laughs and star power, acting as though the story is compelling enough to pull us through. But it amounts to a slog, with several scenes in which both characters stare off into space during intimate moments, wondering if there is more than this. The leads lack personality and much of the dialogue is juvenile to the point of inanity.
The roadblock subplot of visa troubles separating the couple is an insignificant hurdle, and only draws things out. I like the way the film ends, bypassing the easy way out to stay contemplative and indecisive. The filmmaker and writers show flashes of brilliance but in this film stay mired in mediocrity.
The film takes the path of a formulaic romantic comedy, sans laughs and star power, acting as though the story is compelling enough to pull us through. But it amounts to a slog, with several scenes in which both characters stare off into space during intimate moments, wondering if there is more than this. The leads lack personality and much of the dialogue is juvenile to the point of inanity.
The roadblock subplot of visa troubles separating the couple is an insignificant hurdle, and only draws things out. I like the way the film ends, bypassing the easy way out to stay contemplative and indecisive. The filmmaker and writers show flashes of brilliance but in this film stay mired in mediocrity.
Our 2011 Christmas Letter
Dear friends, family and Guy Who Empties Recycle Bins,
It was a fantastic year of knowledge and development in our household. Four-year-old Luke has started to read and serve the galactic good by helping Star Fox defeat the evil Andross on 3DS, two-year-old Emma has nailed her letter sounds, as well mastered Jessica's technique for getting what she wants via incessant nagging and a refusal to negotiate. Murphy, our dog, has also taken an interest in literature. Whenever we leave him alone with a book, he sinks his teeth into it. Meaning, as a dog toy. He remains an illiterate derelict with the propensity for inhaling board books, but his advances in potty training do far outpace Emma's at this point, so we'll keep him for now.
The year was a good one in terms of business ventures. I've taken on a lot more freelance work. Freelancing is great because it keeps you from unnecessary wastes of time such as "sleep" and "free time" and allows you to make a bunch of extra money, some of which the IRS is kind enough to let you hang on to for a few days before taking it away.
Jessica was the house's financial MVP for figuring out a brilliant way to earn extra income -- shatter her knee. Thanks to her wise decision to turn her ACL into confetti while on school grounds, disability insurance covered all the costs and also made us $1,500 richer.
Things were tougher on the economic front for the younger members of our household. Luke and Emma continue to fester among the rates of the bitter unemployed. Emma took her inability to score gainful employment particularly hard, and has become a fervent political activist. A crazed right-wing extremist, she blames Obama for her failures and has started her own daily tea parties to bring attention to a government that refuses to roll back its child labor laws. She's also started a side protest called Occupy Mommy and Daddy's Bed, in which she rises at 5 a.m. to shove aside her family's version of the 1 percent when they're at their most vulnerable and most willing to negotiate.
We look forward to more knee injuries in 2012, and hope you're able to enjoy more of the same. Except for you, Recycle Bin Guy. We don't know you and are frankly disturbed that you're reading this.
It was a fantastic year of knowledge and development in our household. Four-year-old Luke has started to read and serve the galactic good by helping Star Fox defeat the evil Andross on 3DS, two-year-old Emma has nailed her letter sounds, as well mastered Jessica's technique for getting what she wants via incessant nagging and a refusal to negotiate. Murphy, our dog, has also taken an interest in literature. Whenever we leave him alone with a book, he sinks his teeth into it. Meaning, as a dog toy. He remains an illiterate derelict with the propensity for inhaling board books, but his advances in potty training do far outpace Emma's at this point, so we'll keep him for now.
The year was a good one in terms of business ventures. I've taken on a lot more freelance work. Freelancing is great because it keeps you from unnecessary wastes of time such as "sleep" and "free time" and allows you to make a bunch of extra money, some of which the IRS is kind enough to let you hang on to for a few days before taking it away.
Jessica was the house's financial MVP for figuring out a brilliant way to earn extra income -- shatter her knee. Thanks to her wise decision to turn her ACL into confetti while on school grounds, disability insurance covered all the costs and also made us $1,500 richer.
Things were tougher on the economic front for the younger members of our household. Luke and Emma continue to fester among the rates of the bitter unemployed. Emma took her inability to score gainful employment particularly hard, and has become a fervent political activist. A crazed right-wing extremist, she blames Obama for her failures and has started her own daily tea parties to bring attention to a government that refuses to roll back its child labor laws. She's also started a side protest called Occupy Mommy and Daddy's Bed, in which she rises at 5 a.m. to shove aside her family's version of the 1 percent when they're at their most vulnerable and most willing to negotiate.
We look forward to more knee injuries in 2012, and hope you're able to enjoy more of the same. Except for you, Recycle Bin Guy. We don't know you and are frankly disturbed that you're reading this.
Monday, December 12, 2011
The Top 10 Games Of 2011
1. Mario Kart 7 -- I guarantee you this will destroy my thumbs from overuse. Absolute perfection.
2. Uncharted 3 -- If I ever have another son I am going to try to name him Drake. Probably won't succeed, but will sure try.
3. Portal 2 -- I am so proud of myself for beating this without using a walkthrough, which is the opposite of how I beat the first one.
4. L.A. Noire -- It's a shame the studio that did this game closed down. Fantastic detective yarn.
5. Batman: Arkham City -- I think this game was made by Batman himself, based on actual footage of his daily life.
6. The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim -- If you don't think you're an evil person, play this to prove to yourself that you really do enjoy slaughtering innocent villagers with magic spells.
7. The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword -- Looks ugly, but proves that the Wii is still worthwhile. Probably the most innovatively designed Zelda in a decade.
8. Super Mario 3D Land -- Along with Mario Kart 7, makes the 3DS a must-own.
9. NBA Jam: On Fire Edition -- Way better than last year's release, which was frikkin' fantastic itself.
10.Marvel vs. Capcom 3 -- The fighter so nice it came out twice in 2011. Buy the second version, which lets you play as Galactus.
Honorable mentions: You Don't Know Jack, Gears of War 3, Dark Souls, LittleBigPlanet 2, Deus Ex: Human Revolution, Mortal Kombat, Professor Layton and the Last Specter
2. Uncharted 3 -- If I ever have another son I am going to try to name him Drake. Probably won't succeed, but will sure try.
3. Portal 2 -- I am so proud of myself for beating this without using a walkthrough, which is the opposite of how I beat the first one.
4. L.A. Noire -- It's a shame the studio that did this game closed down. Fantastic detective yarn.
5. Batman: Arkham City -- I think this game was made by Batman himself, based on actual footage of his daily life.
6. The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim -- If you don't think you're an evil person, play this to prove to yourself that you really do enjoy slaughtering innocent villagers with magic spells.
7. The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword -- Looks ugly, but proves that the Wii is still worthwhile. Probably the most innovatively designed Zelda in a decade.
8. Super Mario 3D Land -- Along with Mario Kart 7, makes the 3DS a must-own.
9. NBA Jam: On Fire Edition -- Way better than last year's release, which was frikkin' fantastic itself.
10.Marvel vs. Capcom 3 -- The fighter so nice it came out twice in 2011. Buy the second version, which lets you play as Galactus.
Honorable mentions: You Don't Know Jack, Gears of War 3, Dark Souls, LittleBigPlanet 2, Deus Ex: Human Revolution, Mortal Kombat, Professor Layton and the Last Specter
Review: We Need to Talk About Kevin
With mass shootings that mirror the Columbine catastrophe becoming more frequent, it's fascinating -- if frightening -- to examine the way these crazed shooters were raised. It's all but impossible to find a satisfying answer about whether delusional assassins are created by nature or nurture.
The question weighs heavily on the mind of a mother played by Tilda Swinton, who recounts key moments in raising her son (Ezra Miller) -- who has just been arrested after slaughtering students at his school -- along with her husband (John C. Reilly).
There is always something off about the child. Even as a toddler, he refuses to conform to social norms. It's easy to second-guess the way Swinton handles the child, especially when she reacts with blind anger, and we're left, like her, to imagine the implications of her child-rearing methods.
It's a credit to the fascinating film, told with economy and speed, that it promotes such analysis and discussion. This is a fine drama that is sadly a sign of the times.
The question weighs heavily on the mind of a mother played by Tilda Swinton, who recounts key moments in raising her son (Ezra Miller) -- who has just been arrested after slaughtering students at his school -- along with her husband (John C. Reilly).
There is always something off about the child. Even as a toddler, he refuses to conform to social norms. It's easy to second-guess the way Swinton handles the child, especially when she reacts with blind anger, and we're left, like her, to imagine the implications of her child-rearing methods.
It's a credit to the fascinating film, told with economy and speed, that it promotes such analysis and discussion. This is a fine drama that is sadly a sign of the times.
Thursday, December 08, 2011
Review: Martha Marcy May Marlene
Just as Junebug was Amy Adams's introduction to big-time filmmaking, MMMM -- could the movie's title be any more difficult to remember? -- will serve as the coming-out party for Elizabeth Olsen, who appears to have inherited double the acting ability of a standard-issue Olsen sister.
The remarkably expressive and penetrating Olsen plays Martha, a former member of an abusive cult who's gone AWOL for two years before crashing with her sister (Sarah Paulson) and brother-in-law (Hugh Dancy). Lacking a purpose or sense of self, Martha struggles to conform to social boundaries, as well as to discover her sexual identity.
Given to spontaneous, bizarre actions such as stripping bare to go for a swim or leaping atop a counter, Martha annoys the hell out of her hosts, but earns sympathy because she's never quite worthy of the scorn she receives from either. Director T. Sean Durkin juggles Martha's hellish flashbacks and visions, working in tandem with Olsen to create a tantalizing psychological smorgasbord that dares the audience to piece together its mysteries. A bold and daring film, MMMM -- I will never remember that damned name -- is one of the indie gems of 2011.
The remarkably expressive and penetrating Olsen plays Martha, a former member of an abusive cult who's gone AWOL for two years before crashing with her sister (Sarah Paulson) and brother-in-law (Hugh Dancy). Lacking a purpose or sense of self, Martha struggles to conform to social boundaries, as well as to discover her sexual identity.
Given to spontaneous, bizarre actions such as stripping bare to go for a swim or leaping atop a counter, Martha annoys the hell out of her hosts, but earns sympathy because she's never quite worthy of the scorn she receives from either. Director T. Sean Durkin juggles Martha's hellish flashbacks and visions, working in tandem with Olsen to create a tantalizing psychological smorgasbord that dares the audience to piece together its mysteries. A bold and daring film, MMMM -- I will never remember that damned name -- is one of the indie gems of 2011.
Review: The Iron Lady
My only significant gripe against The Iron Lady is that it's not
a sequel to Iron Giant, nor Iron Man. Can you imagine how cool either of those
would be? A massive robot played by Meryl Streep, stomping the Soviet Union
with her feet and snuffing out the troubles in the Falkland Islands with her
little finger? Or an ironclad, jetpack-equipped Streep, blowing away government
spending with a laser blast from her hand while blasting away gender barriers with
a smart bomb deployed from her hip?
As it stands, The Iron Lady is no slouch. If the British are
good at anything, it’s navel gazing. The incestuous tabloid culture and brainy
BBC documentaries spawns self-analysis at a staggering level, approaching that
of Terrell Owens. Thus the film industry produces fantastic introspections of
its great historical figures, with recent examples being The Queen and The King’s
Speech.
The biopic on Margaret Thatcher belongs in those regal ranks. I’d have settled for a straightforward tale of a feminist and humanitarian icon who led England through geopolitical and economic challenges, providing skilled leadership and symbolizing strength and solidarity. But this movie is far more than that, bookmarking Thatcher’s political exploits with shattering scenes of Thatcher in old age, coming to terms with the fragments left of her life. To succeed as a politician, she had to fail on some level as a mother and a wife. The great woman wrestles with her perceived inadequacies and lingering ghosts that haunt her fading mind. It’s here that Meryl Streep truly shines in the role.
Directed by Phyllida Lloyd, the film is a handsome, robust and multifaceted portrait of the political figure, bolstered by a superb performance by Streep, who immediately shakes off any second-guessing about the casting. Unlike her lauded yet single-note performance of Julia Child in Julie and Julia, Streep shows formidable range and depth. She captures Thatcher's political dynamism, as well as her late-life physical and mental troubles. The result is not only a vivid portrait of a political force who fought for her vision with might and enthusiasm, but a tender reflection of a woman coming to terms with her mortality.
The biopic on Margaret Thatcher belongs in those regal ranks. I’d have settled for a straightforward tale of a feminist and humanitarian icon who led England through geopolitical and economic challenges, providing skilled leadership and symbolizing strength and solidarity. But this movie is far more than that, bookmarking Thatcher’s political exploits with shattering scenes of Thatcher in old age, coming to terms with the fragments left of her life. To succeed as a politician, she had to fail on some level as a mother and a wife. The great woman wrestles with her perceived inadequacies and lingering ghosts that haunt her fading mind. It’s here that Meryl Streep truly shines in the role.
Directed by Phyllida Lloyd, the film is a handsome, robust and multifaceted portrait of the political figure, bolstered by a superb performance by Streep, who immediately shakes off any second-guessing about the casting. Unlike her lauded yet single-note performance of Julia Child in Julie and Julia, Streep shows formidable range and depth. She captures Thatcher's political dynamism, as well as her late-life physical and mental troubles. The result is not only a vivid portrait of a political force who fought for her vision with might and enthusiasm, but a tender reflection of a woman coming to terms with her mortality.
The film could have been plodding, handsome and stately and
still worthy of a measure of praise. But The Iron Lady echoes its protagonist
by shattering expectations, leading you through a breathless escapade and
leaving you staring into the sad, desperate void of mortality. Neither Iron Men
nor Iron Giants nor Iron Lions in Zion have anything on this stunning movie.
Starring Meryl Streep and Jim Broadbent. Written by Abi Morgan.
Directed by Phyllida Lloyd. 105 minutes. Rated PG-13.
Wednesday, December 07, 2011
Review: My Week With Marilyn
Portraying a slightly less good-looking Marilyn Monroe, Michelle Williams overcomes her miscasting to melt into the persona of the ill-fated screen goddess. As My Week With Marilyn argues, all she ever wanted was to be treated and loved as a regular person.
Excellent performances help overcome the limp, movie-of-the-week style screenplay, in which a wananbe filmmaker (Eddie Redmayne) becomes Monroe's shoulder to cry (and sometimes smooch) on as she wilts from unceasing pressure from the public, as well as domineering male forces in her life in the form of Laurence Olivier (Kenneth Branagh) andhusband Arthur Miller (Dougray Scott). The cypherlike protagonist becomes Monroe's unlikely soothsayer who, if the film is to believed, played a major part in magically turning her into a more stable, reliable performer.
It seems like oversimplified hogwash, but that's how films like this go. The movie is most interesting as a character study of Monroe, and Williams delivers on most fronts, capturing her sense of despair and adoration of the limelight if not her screen radiance.
Excellent performances help overcome the limp, movie-of-the-week style screenplay, in which a wananbe filmmaker (Eddie Redmayne) becomes Monroe's shoulder to cry (and sometimes smooch) on as she wilts from unceasing pressure from the public, as well as domineering male forces in her life in the form of Laurence Olivier (Kenneth Branagh) andhusband Arthur Miller (Dougray Scott). The cypherlike protagonist becomes Monroe's unlikely soothsayer who, if the film is to believed, played a major part in magically turning her into a more stable, reliable performer.
It seems like oversimplified hogwash, but that's how films like this go. The movie is most interesting as a character study of Monroe, and Williams delivers on most fronts, capturing her sense of despair and adoration of the limelight if not her screen radiance.
Review: Young Adult
Diablo Cody seems incapable of writing realistic dialogue or giving characters believable motivations. Or giving them names that don't seem like they came from pro wrestling, for that matter.
And that's exactly what makes her movies so much fun.
Did Shakespeare write the way people talk? Did Woody Allen? Or Kevin Smith? When it comes to film, and especially comedy, realism is overrated.
Go into Young Adult with your logic detectors on high alert and they'll explode your brain, especially in the third act. Although Cody, the Oscar-winning screenwriter who penned loved-by-most Juno and hated-by-most Jennifer's Body, no longer tries to make everything that comes out of every character's mouth seem like it belongs on a bumper sticker, she's still very much her rambunctious, challenging self. And the comedy of manners, under the careful guidance of director Jason Reitmen, is all the better for it.
Charlize Theron play Mavis Gary, a ghostwriter who cranks out Young Adult yarns about the drama and insecurity of high school life. Although she's 37, she's so good at what she does because her maturity level is stuck back in high school. On a whim, sparked by raging jealousy over a birth announcement from a former flame, Mavis heads back to the one-Chili's town that spawned her for a drunken, half-cocked attempt at stealing her ex away from his wife and baby.
At a bar, she runs into Matt Freehauf (Patton Oswalt), a pudgy geek who lives with his sister and action figure collection. Mavis is the type of girl from high school that everyone remembers and doesn't expect to remember them. She co-opts Matt as a fallback friend for the trip -- the one she calls when plans A through D fall through, and he willingly complies. Disapproving of her plans to run away with Buddy Slade (Patrick Wilson), he becomes her conscience -- Jiminy Cricket with an unrequited crush.
Mavis is a walking grease fire; the type of narcissist who, if called a hot mess, thinks it's a compliment on her looks rather than a comparison to dog poop. Mavis hurls herself at Buddy with the aggression of a bowling ball, convinced that she'll have him forever -- or at least until she gets sick of him -- if only she can pry him away from that damned baby, whom she refers to as "it," and that agonizingly cheery wife (Collette Wolf).
Being a device and construct rather than a person, Mavis has a knack for saying and doing all the wrong things at precisely the wrong times, making an ass of herself and then blaming everyone but herself for the results. If you saw Bad Teacher, this is the Cameron Diaz character without as much tact or demureness.
Theron rarely gets to sink her teeth into a role like this, and has a disgusting amount of fun making us hate her while becoming as obsessed with her as poor, hapless Matt.
Because this movie is being tossed out to the Oscar-time wolves, people may dismiss it because it's so slight. There are no great truths here. Just a bunch of laughs, quotable lines and a lifetime supply of awkwardness. It's a vintage example of the better angels emerging from the demented mind of a Diablo.
Starring Charlize Theron, Patrick Wilson, Elizabeth Reaser and Patton Oswalt. Writted by Diablo Cody. Directed by Jason Reitman. Rated R. 94 minutes.
And that's exactly what makes her movies so much fun.
Did Shakespeare write the way people talk? Did Woody Allen? Or Kevin Smith? When it comes to film, and especially comedy, realism is overrated.
Go into Young Adult with your logic detectors on high alert and they'll explode your brain, especially in the third act. Although Cody, the Oscar-winning screenwriter who penned loved-by-most Juno and hated-by-most Jennifer's Body, no longer tries to make everything that comes out of every character's mouth seem like it belongs on a bumper sticker, she's still very much her rambunctious, challenging self. And the comedy of manners, under the careful guidance of director Jason Reitmen, is all the better for it.
Charlize Theron play Mavis Gary, a ghostwriter who cranks out Young Adult yarns about the drama and insecurity of high school life. Although she's 37, she's so good at what she does because her maturity level is stuck back in high school. On a whim, sparked by raging jealousy over a birth announcement from a former flame, Mavis heads back to the one-Chili's town that spawned her for a drunken, half-cocked attempt at stealing her ex away from his wife and baby.
At a bar, she runs into Matt Freehauf (Patton Oswalt), a pudgy geek who lives with his sister and action figure collection. Mavis is the type of girl from high school that everyone remembers and doesn't expect to remember them. She co-opts Matt as a fallback friend for the trip -- the one she calls when plans A through D fall through, and he willingly complies. Disapproving of her plans to run away with Buddy Slade (Patrick Wilson), he becomes her conscience -- Jiminy Cricket with an unrequited crush.
Mavis is a walking grease fire; the type of narcissist who, if called a hot mess, thinks it's a compliment on her looks rather than a comparison to dog poop. Mavis hurls herself at Buddy with the aggression of a bowling ball, convinced that she'll have him forever -- or at least until she gets sick of him -- if only she can pry him away from that damned baby, whom she refers to as "it," and that agonizingly cheery wife (Collette Wolf).
Being a device and construct rather than a person, Mavis has a knack for saying and doing all the wrong things at precisely the wrong times, making an ass of herself and then blaming everyone but herself for the results. If you saw Bad Teacher, this is the Cameron Diaz character without as much tact or demureness.
Theron rarely gets to sink her teeth into a role like this, and has a disgusting amount of fun making us hate her while becoming as obsessed with her as poor, hapless Matt.
Because this movie is being tossed out to the Oscar-time wolves, people may dismiss it because it's so slight. There are no great truths here. Just a bunch of laughs, quotable lines and a lifetime supply of awkwardness. It's a vintage example of the better angels emerging from the demented mind of a Diablo.
Starring Charlize Theron, Patrick Wilson, Elizabeth Reaser and Patton Oswalt. Writted by Diablo Cody. Directed by Jason Reitman. Rated R. 94 minutes.
Tuesday, December 06, 2011
Review: The Artist
The great secret of film appreciation is that silent movies are generally no fun. They're medicine. Homework. Caveman-style works you have to force yourself to sit through just to be able to tell yourself and others that you've done the time in order to build credibility. There are exceptions to the rule, but in general, even the greatest silent movies -- the comedies by Keaton, Chaplin and Lloyd -- are easier to appreciate and analyze than enjoy.
Along comes The Artist to demolish that line of thinking. A masterwork from writer-director Michel Hazanavicius, it presents silent film as a valid modern entertainment medium by using the construct as a device to comment on film history. Although his story is nothing spectacular -- basically a reworking of the A Star is Born mold -- the eloquence and artistry with which he delivers his film steal the show.
His actors take on the exaggerated styles of their cinematic ancestors, exaggerating emotions and gestures in order to spark the audience's imagination, much like well-written descriptive writing. Jean Dujardin is superb as a stand-in for Rudolph Valentino, a silent star who sinks into the figurative quicksand of changing times. Berenice Bejo is his equal, as an up-and-coming flapper who winds her way to success, only to suffer internally as her former idol falls. John Goodman, as a high-powered tycoon, and James Cromwell, as a dignified assistant and driver, effortlessly fall in to supporting roles, lending a solemn regality to the proceedings.
The Artist is a spectacular achievement and a bold new direction in filmmaking. Instead of cheering, I'll keep my mouth shut and give a silent nod of approval.
Along comes The Artist to demolish that line of thinking. A masterwork from writer-director Michel Hazanavicius, it presents silent film as a valid modern entertainment medium by using the construct as a device to comment on film history. Although his story is nothing spectacular -- basically a reworking of the A Star is Born mold -- the eloquence and artistry with which he delivers his film steal the show.
His actors take on the exaggerated styles of their cinematic ancestors, exaggerating emotions and gestures in order to spark the audience's imagination, much like well-written descriptive writing. Jean Dujardin is superb as a stand-in for Rudolph Valentino, a silent star who sinks into the figurative quicksand of changing times. Berenice Bejo is his equal, as an up-and-coming flapper who winds her way to success, only to suffer internally as her former idol falls. John Goodman, as a high-powered tycoon, and James Cromwell, as a dignified assistant and driver, effortlessly fall in to supporting roles, lending a solemn regality to the proceedings.
The Artist is a spectacular achievement and a bold new direction in filmmaking. Instead of cheering, I'll keep my mouth shut and give a silent nod of approval.
Saturday, December 03, 2011
Review: London Boulevard
Colin Farrell and Keira Knightley make a dynamite pairing in London Boulevard, the uneven but compelling directorial debut of acclaimed screenwriter William Monahan.
Farrell plays an ex-con with a soft heart who tries to go straight by working as a fix-it guy. That's how he pairs with Knightley's character, a somewhat fragile starlet. Farrell's past has a way of catching up with them, plunging the pair into more than they bargained for. Both leads stay squarely in their comfort zones, with Farrell offering his brash cool while Knightley doesn't find much in the character to ignite palpable passion. Still, their chemistry blends well together, making scenes that would otherwise be dull start to sizzle.
The hardscrabble writing and gritty direction keep the film moving at a brisk pace. The plot is filled with twists and turns and never bores. The whole enterprise feels like a been-there, done that affair though.
Farrell plays an ex-con with a soft heart who tries to go straight by working as a fix-it guy. That's how he pairs with Knightley's character, a somewhat fragile starlet. Farrell's past has a way of catching up with them, plunging the pair into more than they bargained for. Both leads stay squarely in their comfort zones, with Farrell offering his brash cool while Knightley doesn't find much in the character to ignite palpable passion. Still, their chemistry blends well together, making scenes that would otherwise be dull start to sizzle.
The hardscrabble writing and gritty direction keep the film moving at a brisk pace. The plot is filled with twists and turns and never bores. The whole enterprise feels like a been-there, done that affair though.
Review: The Muppets
Let me begin with a disclaimer that I've never really gotten the Muppets. I stood by as my parents watched and loved the Muppet Show when I was a child, but I always found it a bit dry and drab. The films ranged from tolerable to unwatchable in my eyes, and re-watching them as an adult did them no favors. As far as these characters go, the Muppet Babies was more my speed. Maybe the puppet show aspect disconnects me from the attempts at absurdity.
So I'm a tough-to-please hater. I heard the raves about the new film and wanted to like it, but suspected my lifelong problem with the live-action characters would stifle me from falling in love with it. It's less than ideal to go into a film with baggage, but I'm just being honest here. As a good luck charm, I took my wife and two kids to a Saturday morning show for which I paid my own way. I hoped that being surrounded by the joy and innocence of my family would melt my defenses.
Those hopes went largely unfulfilled.
That said, The Muppets is by far my favorite Muppets movie, but that's not saying all that much given how I feel about the series. I liked the way the film acknowledged that the time for these characters has passed, and in doing so scrambles for a way to make them relevant again. I cracked up during two or three scenes, including that fantastic musical number in which the chickens clucked their way through Cee-Lo's "Fuck You."
What bothered me was the lack of charm in the Muppets characters. Kermit is supposed to be the everyfrog you identify with, but he's too much of a whiner for my tastes. Fozzie is just pathetic, Gonzo can be interesting as an outsider -- as in Muppets from Space -- but has nothing to do in this movie, Miss Piggy is shrill and agonizing and Animal has always scared the hell out of me. Jason Segel and Amy Adams are game human straight men for the Muppets' antics, and both ham it up marvelously during production numbers, but there's only so much they can do.
Overall I found the movie a bit too cloying and self-aware to distinguish itself from the mass of kiddie flick pap. The plot walks a fine line between straight-up awful and making fun of awfulness, and too often veered toward the former by trying so hard to let me in on the joke. The relentless celebrity cameos jab you in the ribs as if to say, "Hey, laugh just because I'm famous and I'm here," failing to go to the next step by actually giving the stars much of anything entertaining to say or do before they vanish.
I don't think it's gonna work out between us, Muppets. Get back to me when you're animated babies again and maybe we'll talk.
My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.
So I'm a tough-to-please hater. I heard the raves about the new film and wanted to like it, but suspected my lifelong problem with the live-action characters would stifle me from falling in love with it. It's less than ideal to go into a film with baggage, but I'm just being honest here. As a good luck charm, I took my wife and two kids to a Saturday morning show for which I paid my own way. I hoped that being surrounded by the joy and innocence of my family would melt my defenses.
Those hopes went largely unfulfilled.
That said, The Muppets is by far my favorite Muppets movie, but that's not saying all that much given how I feel about the series. I liked the way the film acknowledged that the time for these characters has passed, and in doing so scrambles for a way to make them relevant again. I cracked up during two or three scenes, including that fantastic musical number in which the chickens clucked their way through Cee-Lo's "Fuck You."
What bothered me was the lack of charm in the Muppets characters. Kermit is supposed to be the everyfrog you identify with, but he's too much of a whiner for my tastes. Fozzie is just pathetic, Gonzo can be interesting as an outsider -- as in Muppets from Space -- but has nothing to do in this movie, Miss Piggy is shrill and agonizing and Animal has always scared the hell out of me. Jason Segel and Amy Adams are game human straight men for the Muppets' antics, and both ham it up marvelously during production numbers, but there's only so much they can do.
Overall I found the movie a bit too cloying and self-aware to distinguish itself from the mass of kiddie flick pap. The plot walks a fine line between straight-up awful and making fun of awfulness, and too often veered toward the former by trying so hard to let me in on the joke. The relentless celebrity cameos jab you in the ribs as if to say, "Hey, laugh just because I'm famous and I'm here," failing to go to the next step by actually giving the stars much of anything entertaining to say or do before they vanish.
I don't think it's gonna work out between us, Muppets. Get back to me when you're animated babies again and maybe we'll talk.
My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.
Friday, December 02, 2011
Review: Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy
With their gadgetry, sexploits and one-liners, the bombastic likes of James Bond tend to trivialize the spy "game" of the Cold War era. Tinker, Tailor, Soldier Spy proves decisively that the cloak-and-dagger maneuverings between Soviet and Western spies don't need exaggerated silliness to make them engrossing.
Based on a 1974 John le Carre novel, which was previously best known as the basis for a British TV show from the era starring Alec Guinness, Swedish director Tomas Alfredson's effort deftly maneuvers through a complex whodunnit. A game cast of Mark Strong, Toby Jones, John Hurt, Colin Firth, Ciaran Hinds and David Dencik play key roles in an ever-shifting shell game of moles, cheats and divided loyalties bought and sold in backroom deals.
The plot is a mess, and not easy to understand in a single viewing. The pacing and performances help keep you involved even if the circuitous storylines lose you. Superb ensemble acting relays the mounting stakes as the tide ebbs and flows in and out of the offices of MI6, which its operatives appropriately refer to as "The Circus."
Although the dense material would probably be better suited to an HBO series treatment in the vein of "The Wire," the film does an excellent job of racing through mental chess matches between formidable foes. It convinced me that the Cold War provided the hidden playing field for one of the greatest shows on earth.
Based on a 1974 John le Carre novel, which was previously best known as the basis for a British TV show from the era starring Alec Guinness, Swedish director Tomas Alfredson's effort deftly maneuvers through a complex whodunnit. A game cast of Mark Strong, Toby Jones, John Hurt, Colin Firth, Ciaran Hinds and David Dencik play key roles in an ever-shifting shell game of moles, cheats and divided loyalties bought and sold in backroom deals.
The plot is a mess, and not easy to understand in a single viewing. The pacing and performances help keep you involved even if the circuitous storylines lose you. Superb ensemble acting relays the mounting stakes as the tide ebbs and flows in and out of the offices of MI6, which its operatives appropriately refer to as "The Circus."
Although the dense material would probably be better suited to an HBO series treatment in the vein of "The Wire," the film does an excellent job of racing through mental chess matches between formidable foes. It convinced me that the Cold War provided the hidden playing field for one of the greatest shows on earth.
Thursday, December 01, 2011
Review: Happy Feet Two
Animated sequels rarely work, and Happy Feet Two is business as usual. Unable to capitalize off its daring, rule-breaking predecessor, this one is as stupid as it looks, which is saying something.
Although there are token efforts to call back to the freshness of the original -- a couple scenes in which the computer-animated penguins are spliced into real-world footage -- the plot is a rehash of the self-actualizing message of the first film at its best. At its worst, it's an endlessly irritating succession of Alvin and the Chipmunks-style squeaky-voiced cover songs underlined with slapdash choreography.
Sidelines involving undersea creatures only detract from the main plotline, introducing unnecessary characters that are hard to care about.
Although there are token efforts to call back to the freshness of the original -- a couple scenes in which the computer-animated penguins are spliced into real-world footage -- the plot is a rehash of the self-actualizing message of the first film at its best. At its worst, it's an endlessly irritating succession of Alvin and the Chipmunks-style squeaky-voiced cover songs underlined with slapdash choreography.
Sidelines involving undersea creatures only detract from the main plotline, introducing unnecessary characters that are hard to care about.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Movie Review: Shame
Apparently, being dead for 31 years makes you really horny.
You want to claw your way out of the grave, grab a shaky handheld camera and
start filming people doin’ it and doin’ it and doin’ it well.
Anything goes if you’re Steve McQueen and you’re making your
zombie porn film called Shame. You’ll throw in male full-frontal nudity, female
halfway-upside down nudity and shots of flesh pressed so close together you
can’t tell what’s what.
Wait, I just checked it out and confirmed that the movie is
not directed by the Steve McQueen who starred in Bullitt (1968) and died in
1980. Instead, it was made by the McQueen who was born the year after Bullitt
was made and generally eschews bullitts or bullets in his movies, instead
focuses on brainy art fare, including this and Hunger (2008), which starred
Michael Fassbender as an Irish Republican Army volunteer who suffered in a
hunger strike.
Fassbender is back for this film, and his hunger is for
booty.
Playing a well-off New Yorker who houses his brooding lounge
singer sister (Carey Mulligan) and entertains a series of high-class hookers
into his penthouse, Fassbender did his part to spare the movie’s costume budget
by going naked most of the time. His character tries to fill the holes in his
life with bitter, self-loathing sex, and his obsession creeps into all facets
of his life, suffocating him in sloppy misery.
Fassbender is so convincing in the role – especially in rare
clothed moments when he comes to frantic realizations of his misery – that you
genuinely ache for him. And for his flexible partners.
Mulligan, whose fragile character dances around her brother’s
rage in a submissive slow burn, is equally mesmerizing.
The release of Shame is something of a holiday for film
buffs, because when an NC-17 rated movie wins a bunch of festival awards and
earns Oscar buzz, it gets movie geeks excited because they know they’ve got an
ironclad excuse for going out and watching porn.
Although McQueen’s camerawork is pervy and lurid, it’s
anything but sexy. His sex is miserable and sad, with the nudity used to expose
the raw, unfulfilled vulnerability of his characters rather than excite.
There’s also probably a purpose for the scene in which
Fassbender relieves himself in the toilet as the camera standing at attention
to make sure he shakes out every last drop. Or not.
Starring Michael Fassbender and Carey Mulligan. Written by
Abi Morgan and Steve McQueen. Directed by McQueen. Rated NC-17. 99 minutes.
My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.
My novel, Stormin' Mormon, is available as a Kindle book for $1.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Tap Dancing Class
I imagine that training for tap dancing goes like this: The teacher stands up in front of the room, sizes up his students, then declares "Spread your arms out and keep clicking your feet on the ground."
That's it, class over. From then on, tap dancers can continue spreading this fantastic art to others.
That's it, class over. From then on, tap dancers can continue spreading this fantastic art to others.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Review: J. Edgar
While far from perfect, J. Edgar is a perfectly valid investigation into the secret and public lives that the tyrannical FBI despot led. Director Clint Eastwood's take on the story is that Hoover, played with a soft touch by Leonardo DiCaprio, channeled his repressed homosexuality into obsessions with fame, seizing undue credit and violating the civil liberties of his countrymen under the guess of better protecting them.
DiCaprio again proves to be a chameleon capable of tackling any task set before him. The makeup department did him no favors in crafting him a ghastly deathmask as the older, plumper Hoover, though. No matter what DiCaprio does, the late-life Hoover scenes equate to a puppet show.
The actor excels as the younger Hoover, somehow making a near-unlikable character seem relatable. The humanity he infuses into the character shifts my perception of the figure. Eastwood has made better films, but this biopic stands as a solid, technically sound execution of his talents.
DiCaprio again proves to be a chameleon capable of tackling any task set before him. The makeup department did him no favors in crafting him a ghastly deathmask as the older, plumper Hoover, though. No matter what DiCaprio does, the late-life Hoover scenes equate to a puppet show.
The actor excels as the younger Hoover, somehow making a near-unlikable character seem relatable. The humanity he infuses into the character shifts my perception of the figure. Eastwood has made better films, but this biopic stands as a solid, technically sound execution of his talents.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Review: Hugo
A slow starter, Hugo gradually evolves into a grand celebration of the art of filmmaking that rivals anything of its ilk, including Cenema Paradiso and Day for Night.
The casting is uniformly superb. Martin Scorsese makes a spectacular find in Asa Butterfield, who plays the title character, a plucky orphan who is obsessed with resurrecting a mechanical robot, which he believes will bring himself spiritually closer to his departed dad. Chloe Grace Moretz continues her momentum from Let Me In, playing Hugo's partner in adorably lighthearted crime.
Sacha Baron Cohen nails a note of delightful incompetence as a station agent who serves as Hugo's Javert, while Ben Kingsley casts a penetrating figure as a patriarch who looks upon Hugo with scathing, bitter disapproval. The film takes the tone of a Miyazaki movie, in which the villains are usually misunderstood egomaniacs who are overcompensating for their own pain and insecurities.
Going in knowing little about the source material, I was sure we'd be in for a paint-by-numbers journey of magic and whimsy, but I loved the way the story stayed grounded. Instead of dreaming up gobbledygook, Scorsese has Hugo discover his magic internally, as he uses the idea of filmmaking to alter his bleak life. You get the sense that Scorsese found a similar vivaciousness inside himself as he stretches to bold new territory in his own career.
The casting is uniformly superb. Martin Scorsese makes a spectacular find in Asa Butterfield, who plays the title character, a plucky orphan who is obsessed with resurrecting a mechanical robot, which he believes will bring himself spiritually closer to his departed dad. Chloe Grace Moretz continues her momentum from Let Me In, playing Hugo's partner in adorably lighthearted crime.
Sacha Baron Cohen nails a note of delightful incompetence as a station agent who serves as Hugo's Javert, while Ben Kingsley casts a penetrating figure as a patriarch who looks upon Hugo with scathing, bitter disapproval. The film takes the tone of a Miyazaki movie, in which the villains are usually misunderstood egomaniacs who are overcompensating for their own pain and insecurities.
Going in knowing little about the source material, I was sure we'd be in for a paint-by-numbers journey of magic and whimsy, but I loved the way the story stayed grounded. Instead of dreaming up gobbledygook, Scorsese has Hugo discover his magic internally, as he uses the idea of filmmaking to alter his bleak life. You get the sense that Scorsese found a similar vivaciousness inside himself as he stretches to bold new territory in his own career.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)