"War, Inc." -- * *

I try my best to not enter a film with a bias one way or the other, but I'm going to come clean here. When a ballsy, over-the-top, absurdist satire taking on Halliburton, policies in Iraq and war profiteering hits theaters, it kind of has me at hello. Factor into the equation that said film is John Cusack's self-professed "non-sequel sequel" to dark comedy-action-romance "Grosse Pointe Blank," one of my top 5 all-time favorite films, and you have a movie that seemingly has "Rob Scheer" as its target demographic, with everyone else a distant second. So it's with a heavy heart and a sulking disposition that I must report that the described movie, "War, Inc.," if not quite as bad as the buzz, doesn't really work at all. I really, really wanted to like this movie, and really, really tried to cut it any slack I could throughout. Sadly, the points it makes are obvious, delivery is with a sledgehammer, and the ideas are significantly more clever than the execution in almost every respect. I've read comparisons to Richard Kelly's "Southland Tales," which makes sense, considering that both are fairly out-there, messy, rambling satires inspired by our country's foreign policies and both are generally regarded as failures; however, I think "Southland Tales" is so fascinating, compelling and absorbingly strange on its own terms that the comparison really doesn't hold. "War, Inc." is ambitious, original and admirable enough to never be less than watchable, but much of it just leaves you groaning or shaking your head.

Cusack stars as contract killer Brand Houser, who works for the Halliburton-esque Tamerlane Corporation, whose CEO is a Cheney-esque former vice-president (Dan Aykroyd). Tamerlane is in the midst of paying for the current war in Turaqistan, the first war to be completely fought by corporate-financed batallions. Sent to Turaqistan, along with a hyper-efficient associate (Joan Cusack), Hauser must kill a local leader named Omar Sharif, because said leader wants some of his country's oil profits. Once there, his cover is to act as if he's producing a local trade show, and he must deal with liberal reporter Natalie Hagelhuzen (Marisa Tomei), who's attempting to figure out what's really going on. Making things more complicated is the arrive of Yonica Babyyeah (Hilary Duff), the Middle Eastern equivalent of Britney Spears or Jessica Simpson, who will be married to the son of an powerful local oil man as the finale to Hauser's "show." All the while, Hauser keeps having flashbacks to his wife/daughter's murder at the hands of a powerful Southern assassin Walken (Ben Kingsley).



I think, if anything, I'm being a little generous. I found the film endurable and interesting enough, a noble failure, but i have difficulty imaging anyone all out "liking" this thing, not with this screenplay (written by Cusack, Jeremy Pikser and Mark Leyner). It's hard to quibble with what Cusack's trying to do, but this doesn't feel like the Cusack who co-wrote "Grosse Pointe Blank" or "High Fidelity." It seems like the Cusack who went on an uber-serious angry diatribe on Bill Maher, wrote a drama with all the political ideas he was angry about and passed it along to his hack screenwriter friends to toss some jokes in (in fact, I'd guess this isn't far from the reality of what happened). The smarted-up, highbrow one-liners, such as one about Anderson Cooper's lineage, seems as if the movie's targeted specifically at a very niche audience: the most elitist 5% of The Nation subscribers and Air America listeners. While audience-excluding, this isn't a problem in and of itself, but it seems to be flaunting its political superiority for its own sake and to no particular purpose. And as someone who understood said jokes, they have a success rate that's awfully close to zero.

The gold standard (and obvious inspiration) here is "Dr. Strangelove," and while that masterpiece could never be matched, I liked the fact that the makers at work here were trying to create their own little version. But the film's political elements are largely pointless and repetitive, occasionally toothless, and for much of the movie, they're even forgotten about. So, Cusack seems intent on delivering a one-note diatribe. Fine, whatever. But then why does he keep getting distracted with this Yonica subplot? There's more focus on the assassination/Yonica/Natalie stuff than any political statements of any resonance, and on top of it just not being very interesting, it's just as comically tone deaf as the rest. The whole aimless middle section is dully stagnant and pretty much abandons about its politics. I didn't mind the ridiculous situations taking place-- that's the nature of absurdist satire-- but it's hard to ignore how unfunny they all are.



The ideas are significantly more clever than their execution (e.g. journalism-enhancing implants reporters receive upon entering a war "simulator," and a bit with tap-dancing amputees), and some gags are so stale and lame, it's mind-boggling how they made their way into a satire so willfully highbrow (one of Yonica's suggestive songs features the repeated line "I want to blow you... up!"). The best joke in the whole movie turns out to be simply Duff's character's name. Making the proceedings even less coherent is the fact that the movie doesn't decide if it wants us to look at these characters as real people or caricatures; And with all this bitter cynicism and satirization being flung around, we get a happy ending.... whuh? It's just a mess all-around, and one that can't decide what it wants to be; it doesn't mix/blend genres and tones, it awkwardly and jarringly jumps between them.

While most of the country is reveling in their Indiana Jones nostalgia, it was nice for me to see John Cusack playing a version of Martin Blank and still shooting people, karate-chopping and struggling with moral conflict again 11 years later. Both John and Joan, and Aykroyd are all "GPB" veterans, and while John's an assassin again and Joan once again spends most of her screentime befitted with a receptionist's headset, this time Kingsley fills the shoes of the "Grocer"-type character Aykroyd played last time around. There are numerous recalls to "Grosse Pointe Blank" and it breaks my heart a little bit that Cusack's return to the character-type/genre/material is such a missed opportunity. Still, personally I got a mild kick out of Cusack's little nods to the 1997 class; he even throws in an intentionally reminiscent scene where his object of desire inconveniently witnesses him stabbing a foe in the head with an unconventional weapon.



A great cast has been assembled for this misfire, and amazingly, none of them appear to be slumming or going-through-the-motions. John Cusack has done this sleepwalking-through-existence thing a bit too much for my taste, but for understandable reasons, he actually seems to be involved in this performance and not simply switched off (e.g.: "Must Love Dogs"). Hauser (white skunk spot in hair) says "If you really knew me, you'd despise me even more than you do," but, and maybe it's just my carried-over Martin Blank love, the way Cusack plays him, he's never that unlikeable a guy from the get-go, so it doesn't seem like he's experienced the progression the movie wants us to feel. Joan will probably be too irritating, familiar and over-the-top for some, and she's blatantly trying to punch-up the material with her over-emphatic delivery, but she still provided pretty much the only moments that made me giggle, and it reminded me she needs another "In & Out"-esque showcase performance. Tomei does her best to try to deliver the most fully-formed person on screen, but the character never materializes into something interesting. Duff is having some fun dirtying up her shiny, perky, white blonde girl image, but it'd be a stretch to call her "good." Meanwhile, Kingsley (with a particularly bad American accent) and Aykroyd barely register in their two-or-three-scene appearances as wacky, "eccentric" characters.

Last year, Cusack starred in a small, moving (if a bit dull) film called "Grace is Gone" that dealt with the toll this war has taken on the homefront, and this filmic one-two punch shows that it's a subject he cares passionately about; but while this is easily the more incensed project of the two, it's also the less effective one. At the end of the day, "War, Inc." doesn't offer any particular insight, nor is it funny or especially coherent, so it's difficult to amass what would be left to recommend. Having seen the movie, it now makes sense why it's been kicked around the release schedule for two years before finally being dumped in two theaters against the potentially-biggest movie of the year. It's well-intentioned as can be, but even those who agree with every ideological point *cough* may have difficulty staying awake, let alone laughing. The direction by Josh Seftel isn't very good, but it can't be solely blamed; the writing is weak all around, darting between overwritten and underwritten, and the one-sided observations aren't even particularly sharp or cutting. It pains me to say this, as "War, Inc." was one of my most anticipated films of 2008, but Cusack and company never really find anything to say amidst all this chaos, and combined with a lack of laughs, it adds up to a whole lot of nothing.


"War, Inc." opens today in two theaters nationwide, one in New York (the Angelika) and one in Los Angeles (the Landmark).

"Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull" -- * * 1/2

The heart (not to mention nostalgia) has a way of clouding one's view of all forms of art, most emphatically movies, and more specifically, sequels. Innumerable moviegoers' hearts/sentiments made them think they enjoyed the "Star Wars" prequels, simply based on the visceral pleasure of re-entering this beloved movie universe they'd dearly missed. Steven Spielberg's "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull" is going to have much the same effect on people, mark my words. A year or so from now, dozens upon dozens of cinephiles will shake their heads at the time when they so foolishly thought/said/wrote that they "loved" the latest Indy movie. Just to be clear about my implication, rest assured: though a bit underwhelming, this is a much, much better movie than any of the "Star Wars" prequels. It's fun enough, and it's nice to see Indy back on the big screen again, but it's hard to ignore that the whole affair reeks of unnecessary... 'funnecessary,' if you will.

Wittily set in 1957, 19 years after the last film in the series (which came out 19 years ago), "Kingdom" opens with Indy (Harrison Ford) and his sidekick Mac (Ray Winstone) being captured by evil Russians led by Irina Spalko (Cate Blanchett), who are all seeking the mysterious Crystal Skull. After narrowly escaping those dastardly ruskies, Dr. Jones is accused by his government of being a Commie, and the dean of his college (Jim Broadbent) is pressured into firing him. Before he can skip town, he meets hair-obsessed greaser, Mutt (Shia LaBeouf) who needs his help. He's searching for his and Indy's mutual friend/mentor Professor Oxley (John Hurt), as well as his un-specified mother. Aw, who am I kidding? His mother's former Indy girl Marion Ravenwood (Karen Allen), and turns out Indy's his dad. The plot's just an excuse for some fun stunts and adventure sequences, but it all revolves around the remains of an alien and everyone's desire for the titular skull and the secrets it holds.



"Crystal Skull's" greatest asset is that even despite some going-through-the-motions moments, it's largely retained the series' sense of fun and exuberance; sure, the nostalgia feels a bit forced, but it works nonetheless. Starting off with a drag-race set to "Hounddog," Lucas's '50s-loving influence is indulged in some enjoyable ways, including a diner brawl scored to "Shake, Rattle and Roll" later on. But like any "Indiana Jones" film worth its salt, the best moments to be had here are the action-adventure sequences. It certainly helps that the movie opens with two great ones, an extended chase between Indy and the Russians in a contained warehouse, and our hat-befitted hero struggling to find a way out of a nuclear testing village. Despite some obvious green-screen work, a LaBeaouf-Blanchett swordfight with each balancing on a different moving vehicle is a lot of fun to watch. But perhaps the most effective sequence in the film is a relatively old-fashioned (i.e.: non-CGI equipped) one involving Mutt and Indy being chased through the pristine college campus on the back of Mutt's motorcycle, and ending up in the library. It couldn't be less important to the movie, but you'll have difficulty not smiling, I guarantee it. The movie's ridiculousness cuts both ways (more on the negatives in a bit) but a sequence involving man-eating ants is just one of a handful that makes you roll your eyes while chuckling at the same time. Logic or realism has never been this series' strong suit, so when the group, in their torn-apart truck, falls down a series of three waterfalls and pops back up, we don't question it.

Thankfully there's more to like than be annoyed by, but virtually every moment that falls under the latter category has the fingerprints of George Lucas all over them and vaguely recalls his "Star Wars" prequel trilogy of suck. I've seen the film twice now, and both times it was almost startling how increasingly silly the film gets in the second half, making one wonder if maybe Spielberg/Lucas split directing duties. In my eyes, there's a difference between whimsical and goofy, and when "Indy 4" goes for the latter, it has the effect of making you shake your head. I had a feeling something was awry when Spielberg cut to shots of cartoony prairie dogs three times in the opening 20 minutes, but the second half features far too many moments when the movie smacks of silliness, such as Indy steadfastly explaining the intricate process of quicksand to Mutt as he sinks. Shia unfortunately gets stuck with two of the films' dumber moments; one where he Tarzan-like swings on vines with hordes of CGI monkeys (I shit you not), and one where he has each leg balancing on a different moving vehicle and he keeps getting hit in the nuts by branches. Again, this reeks of Lucas, and someone should have just told him 'no.' However, without spoiling it, the film's single recall of Indy's fear of snakes is arguably the worst scene of the movie, and one of its prime examples of evoking misguided nostalgia. I can imagine audiences laughing/clapping at it ("Ha! He's scared of snakes! I remember that!"), but when looking back on it a few days/weeks/months from now, they'll have difficulty ignoring how stupid it was. Even the die-hard fans might also get restless during the film's exposition-heavy middle section-- there's lots of explaining of myths, hieroglyphics, etc-- but that's easier to forgive when the movie picks up the pace again in the third act.



Turns out the worries about Ford being too old were for naught. He's as spry as ever, and his age isn't ever a roadblock at all-- in essence, that's part of the problem (more on that later). Sure, it's ridiculous that a man of 65 could repeatedly bounce back up after enduring all this, but in the context of this series, we buy it. Purely in terms of performance, he's a delight, and this is the most fun he's been to watch in years. As an actor who frequently looks miserable and/or bored on screen, it would appear playing Indy again gave him a rejuvenation of sorts, whether that's the actual case or not. It's amazing, almost impressive, that over the course of four movies, this character has never been given a single ounce of definition, so emotional registering isn't really on the agenda; charm and physical prowess are the main standards of assessment here, and in both respects, Ford does the character proud. Similarly, Blanchett seems to be having a supreme amount of fun, and the feeling is infectious. As a thickly-accented psychic (or does she just think she's psychic?) from Eastern Ukraine, she's an over-the-top blast to watch, and I couldn't help chuckling at everything she did or said. Whether giving oh-so-intense glowers, or grabbing Indy's knees when interrogating him, reinforcing her dominatrix vibe, Spalko is a ridiculous character and Blanchett embraces that without becoming a cartoon. Okay, she's not intimidating at all, and never a real threat, but she's fun as shit to watch.

Given the "And" slot in the credits, and a wildly silly entrance riding a motorcycle out of a cloud of smoke looking exactly like Brando in "The Wild One," LaBeouf is just fine, even if he seems out of place in this world and you never, ever believe him as a knife-toting greaser. Performance-wise he does okay, but it doesn't help that almost every 'silly' moment in the film involves his character. Then again, giving Indy a sidekick/son was a contrived idea to begin with, so prospects from the outset weren't promising. When Allen re-appears as Marion at the 65-minute mark, it's a genuinely nice moment (Indy's reaction upon seeing her is one of the movie's high points), even if she ends up contributing nothing to the movie. Boasting a frozen smile worthy of Laura Bush, she's a likable enough presence, but she mostly just stands aside and watches things happen. Winstone, Hurt and Broadbent all go through the motions in different ways, and have little-to-nothing to do.



Nostalgia has a tendency to go a long way, and this is a movie that's going to get by on a lot of good will and nostalgia, not exceptional storytelling. After hearing that George Lucas had, at the last second, nixed Frank Darabont's supposedly-great "Indy 4" screenplay, "Hot Fuzz" director Edgar Wright joked that apparently Lucas felt the script "wasn't disappointing enough." Wright was joking, but after the prequels and now this, it would appear Lucas almost has a penchant for letting down people. Credited with co-writing the story, Lucas has contributed to a film that's entertaining despite its underwhelming story and script (by David Koepp), not due to it. The fact that our action hero lead is about to turn 66 seemed to offer endless possibilities in terms of how it was dealt with in this movie... except that it's not really dealt with. There's two or three throwaway lines about Indy being old ("What're you, like 80?"), but that's about it; aside from that, it's the same old spry Indy that we remember and love from the original movies. It's not majorly problematic, but it feels like a missed opportunity. And that's emblematic of the movie's shortcomings. While Spielberg/Lucas deserve credit for not trying to make this the "ultimate" Indy movie, pulling out all the stops ad nauseam, it all feels like this was carefully tailored to be "another" entry in the series rather than something special. It's difficult not to think of the possibilities of how good (or at least interesting) Darabont or M. Night Shymalan's screenplays would have been if carried through. I won't delve too much into the finale here, other than to say that it represents new territory for the franchise (if familiar for Spielberg, Lucas and Ford), and I didn't like it. Like the finales of all the Indy movies, it enters a mystical realm, but to me, it seemed like too much and particularly jarring compared to what came before it.

Spielberg's directorial approach saves the movie from itself, and makes it as fun as it is; we haven't seen him direct a film like this in a long time, and there's a construction and choreography to the stunts and shot maneuvers that's a delight to watch. He may be able to direct a movie like this in his sleep, but that doesn't sap the fun out of it (it's a lot like "The Lost World" in that respect, though I'd argue that's a better movie than this), occasionally offsetting whatever grumbling we may have with the context. The movie looks and sounds great too; Spielberg's regular D.P., the usually flashy Janusz Kaminski tries his best to re-create the clean, straightforward look established by Douglas Slocombe in the first three films, although he occasionally lets his flashes-of-light impulses seep through. Spielberg's been talking up the lack of visual effects, and he should be; the practical adventure-driven stuff is the movie's strongest material. However, it's awfully noticeable that much of what we're seeing is CGI or in front of a green screen.



Careful measures have been enacted to make "Kingdom" not feel like a modern day Indy movie; effort has been made so it feels just like one of the old ones. As such, the nostalgia and memories of the older films set in rather effectively, and work to the movie's benefit. A big deal is made of Indy's initial putting-on of his trademark hat, and it's a nice moment, and the references to the other films are usually well handled. There's a visual gag of that gold thing from the end of "Raiders" towards the beginning that got applause from my audience, and it's quick enough to not be distracting. As for where this movie ranks in the Indy pantheon, I think it unquestionably places third of four, between "Last Crusade" and "Temple of Doom." The movie shares "Temple of Doom's" chief problem-- its numbing forward momentum-- but it doesn't succumb to it, and balances it out with what was strong about "Raiders" and "Last Crusade:" their sense of intrigue, mystery and plot mechanics. While I couldn't help feeling that "Last Crusade" was a nice send-off and maybe should've stayed that way, this doesn't tarnish the brand name.

Despite there being more to say about the negative, there's ultimately more to like than dislike here. Before it gets irredeemably silly, "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull" is a tremendous amount of fun, even if it's more of a treat to see the character again than anything else. Though its "thoroughly-fun-with-flashes-of-stupidity" first half clashes considerably with its "thoroughly-stupid-with-flashes-of-fun" second half, there's at least eighty minutes worth of enjoyment lurking within this 123 minute beast of a movie, and that alone spares it from the franchise-denegrating suck of the "Star Wars" prequels. It isn't the Indy film you hoped for, nor the one you feared. It's just another one, with nineteen years of wear and tear on it, and that's... alright.

"Postal" -- * 1/2

To call "Postal" Uwe Boll's best film to date would be to damn it with faint praise, but is it even that? It's tough to say, though at the least, it's his first movie I've watched all the way through, so I guess that's something. It's a pretty sloppily made movie with awful production values and a screenplay with no sense of coherency; it's only watchable for Boll's determination to throw whatever shit he can think of at us in the hopes something will stick and/or make us outraged. Nothing really does, but the mayhem is diverting enough that I was never bored, just occasionally irritated. It's loosely based on the semi-popular series of video games by Running with Scissors electronics (whose founder makes an awkward cameo appearance here) following a Postal employee who goes... postal. Boll's movie, his first intentional comedy, centers around a similar "postal dude" (oddly, not a postal employee) who is laid off from his job, and teams up with his cult-leader uncle Dave (Dave Foley) to steal Nazi money from a German theme park run by Uwe Boll himself. At the same time, Osama bin Laden (Larry Thomas) -- collaborating with George W. Bush (Brent Mendenhall) -- has a similar plan and, along with his men, is decimating everyone in his way.

The film's tagline "Some comedies go too far... others start there" could not be more appropriate. It starts off trying to shock us into being offended with its opening sequence (the terrorists in flight 11's cockpit on 9/11 arguing over the amount of virgins they'll be getting), and keeps going, that by minute two, we're not actually offended anymore, so we can't help but notice how unfunny all of it is. Sure, if this movie were ever going to be seen on any wide scale, people would be consistently offended. But watching it as a rational person, it has such an obvious, flagrant desire to offend (like a toddler who shits his pants to get attention) that in doing so, you'd really just be giving Boll what he wants and it doesn't seem worth it. By the time (around the halfway mark) Boll stages a sequence of small children getting mowed down by gunshot blasts, it's difficult to muster up anything, let alone outrage.



It uses the image of a plane crashing into the World Trade Center, and the splatter of the remains of a suicide bomber as visual gags. Bush calls Osama on his cell, calling him "you old fucker" and Osama calling him "Georgie." GWB plays with a toy airplane at his desk, crashing it into lego twin towers... hm, okay, that part did make me laugh. Bush and Bin Laden hold hands and skip, and the list goes on. It wants so badly to rouse you, but you become numb to it all right from the beginning. Look at the baby carriage getting run over by a truck. Yawn. A moment when a newscaster delivers a report called "Why the World Trade Center Victims Deserved to Die" perfectly encapsulates the feel of the movie: whether you find that offensive or not, it doesn't even seem like there's a joke in there, just an attempt to piss people off. Fat people are gross. Everyone hates Jews. Female Asian drivers should be killed. All fascinating insights from the inner recesses of Dr. Boll's mind.

But weirdly enough, it's this stuff that registers best in the movie; it may not be particularly funny, but at least it's something we haven't seen before (with good reason). The problem is moreso that Boll takes his time setting up jokes with payoffs so dusty, that they wouldn't pass muster even with Jay Leno. Bush having difficulty spelling? An "I wish I knew how to quit you" joke? Really? Even when he seems to have an inspired idea-- parodying himself as funding his movies with Nazi money-- he feels the need to hammer home the joke, spell it out, and drain it of any possible laughs. Whenever the political content wanes, Boll resorts to hackneyed scatological jokes, such Mini-Me get raped by hundreds of monkeys. Breathtaking. I don't think even Boll could come up with a reason why much of this is in here (Foley's full-frontal scene early on is particularly pointless).



What's most disturbing here is, based on interviews and press notes, Boll seems to think he actually has something to say and that his movie is ground-breaking on some level. He also seems to think the ridiculous ideas expressed in this movie should actually be enacted in real life (the man apparently really thinks female asian drivers should be murdered). He thinks this is incendiary political commentary, and he truly believes the reason that his film's release this weekend was tamped down at the last minute, from the initial 1,500 theaters to FOUR screens, is because the movie was too politically relevent and controversial for theater exhibitors to deal with.

"Postal's" poster brandishes a quote calling it "Live-action 'South Park'!" Well, it is not. "South Park" is clever, funny and well-written. "Postal" just tries to be offensive and think that equates it with "edgy." It doesn't, but it's almost worth watching to satiate one's morbid curiosity and see how far a disturbed filmmaker can go when given enough money to dredge out his inner political thoughts and enact them onscreen. In all honesty, I've always half-admired Boll as a filmmaker and found it inspiring that someone clearly blessed with so little talent and/or worth as a human being keeps stepping back up to the plate with new efforts, resources and determination. I hope, just for the sake of the underdogs, he continues to make movies and get funding, and I'm sure he will; I mean, I also hope when he makes said movies that nobody goes and he continues to lose money consistently, but his continuation of output is positively uplifting. Uwe Boll may be a horrible filmmaker, and an even worse human being, but he embodies what is great about America. That said, if you've never seen one of his movies, now's not the time to start.


"Postal" opens in four theaters in New York and Los Angeles this Friday.

I don't care...

...that there's bad buzz on it already (Wahlberg is rumored to give an awful performance). I don't even care that this looks like a big-budget remake of the awesome and underseen "The Signal." I still think this looks fairly cool.



Oh, and yes, I've seen "Indy." My review will be posted 12:01am on Thursday, making me officially the last internet writer to do so.

"Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian" -- * *

A little bit better filmmaking paired with less interesting content adds up to making "The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian" just as bland and eye-glazing an experience as the first film was. The truth is I have never read any of C.S. Lewis's Christian allegory fantasy novels, so I have none of the attachments fans of the book may, and I enter as a lay man. So while I still am in disbelief that this is a movie people are "excited" for, considering how ho-hum it is, it delivers all the action, animals, fantasy and moralizing its target audience is likely anticipating. The technical elements present are still fairly solid, with pretty vistas/scenery, but they're unfortunately the most interesting thing on display. It's always a bad sign when a film bores me to the point of imagining characters from other movies wandering in; here, I kept thinking of the possibilities if Daniel Plainview were to show up and bludgeon a whimpering Price Caspian with a bowling pin.

To determine to what extent you should take my thoughts on "Prince Caspian" with a grain of salt, I think it's only fair to reveal how I felt about the first "Narnia" film. I don't hate it, not by any means; I think it has moments (most involving Tilda Swinton's White Witch), and at times is great to look at. But for the most part, I found it incredibly dull, leaden and heavy-handed. In a movie that purports to be about imagination and the magic of fantasy, yada yada yada, it never imparts those feelings, and always felt very wooden, lifeless and mechanized. I've given it second and third looks, to try to get all the fuss, but I just can't warm to it. I know that all the plot elements stemmed from the mind of C.S. Lewis, but so much of it smacked of a protracted silliness to me that, for instance, the "Lord of the Rings" films didn't have. Santa Claus delivering weapons? The Christ-like lion king who dwells in a big red and yellow tent? Look, I understand the folks who grew up on Lewis's books and were pleased with a film that adapted their childhood love faithfully/admirably. But the rest, those who went in cold and proclaimed the movie magical or enthralling, you just don't make sense to me.



Opening with screams of an excruciating childbirth, the first seven minutes or so of the movie center around an assassination attempt on the titular Prince (Ben Barnes). Caspian promptly flees into the forest on his horse and blows his magic horn, which summons back our kid protagonists, Lucy (Georgie Henley), Edmund (Skander Keynes), Susan (Anna Popplewell) and Peter (the statutory-riffic William Moseley) from their comfortable 1950s England. One year after their experiences in the last movie, the former Kings and Queens of Narnia discover that their single year has been 1,300 years in Narnia, and there's noticeably less adorable talking creatures running around. The four kids must help Caspian combat his wicked uncle King Miraz (Sergio Castellitto), and restore pride and glory to Narnia, with the help of a talking, sword-toting mouse Reepicheep (voiced by Eddie Izzard) and a red-bearded dwarf Trimpkin (Peter Dinklage, behind a lot of prosthetics). All the while, Lucy keeps seeing visions of beloved Jesus-lion, Aslan, but he ain't actually there-- or is he??

The prince is told by a wizard early on that "everything you know is about to change," and accordingly, those who haven't read the books may be taken aback that this feels like an entirely different type of movie than "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe;" the proceedings feel significantly darker, there's much more emphasis on battles and swords clanging than fantastical elements, and the first talking animal doesn't appear till the 26-minute mark (it's a badger, if you were curious). I liked the idea that Narnia has become (as Trumpkin says) "a more savage place than you may remember," but disappointingly, it doesn't make this installment any more interesting or involving than the last. Where the first film felt like a flavorless retread of other fantasy films we'd seen before, this one feels like a flavorless retread of sword and sandal movies we've seen before ("Gladiator" is invoked numerous times). With a plot filled with kings and sorcerers, and lots of horses galloping to intense music, my boredom had already settled in by the opening credits; it certainly doesn't help that it all runs a looooong 2 hours and 25 minutes. I know it's a repeated, oft-heard complaint, but these movies do feel like "Lord of the Rings" light (this one even has walking trees), and don't really carve out their identity or make the familiarity interesting.



The Christian stuff is ever-present again this time around; there's still obvious symbolism, overtones of the importance of faith and sacrifice, etc., and Jesus the lion once again utilizes his healing powers *SPOILER AHEAD* granting Reepicheep a new tail near the end. *SPOILER OVER* And while it may please that values-centric portion of the audience with its perpetual bloodlessness (even after penetrating a torso, no blood gets on Peter's sword), in no world should this be a PG movie. It's awfully scary at times and the violence on display-- including a decapitation-- is virtually non-stop. If anything, this serves as an example of the unfair leniency afforded big studio pictures by the MPAA. Perhaps to balance the violence out, though, we're given a villain, King Miraz, who is never a terribly imposing presence or a viable threat, and just comes off as kind of generic and weak. A villain should make an impression other than over-enunciating syllables ("I inn-tend to striiike bahhk!"), not be the least memorable element of a fantasy epic.

In comparison to the first movie, Adamson's direction is noticeably more refined (if still a bit cut-and-dry); things look crisper and the story flows a little more fluidly than the last time around. But some problems remain, some of which aren't necessarily Adamson's fault. Almost every "big" sequence or set-piece feels oddly self-contained and they all seem as if they could've been put in the movie in any order and not made much of a difference. Also, there needs to be some sort of studio-enforced mandate about slow motion shots in fantasy films; the utilization of slo-mo here is out of control, and only enhances the eye-rolling nature of moments that were cheesy to begin with (a charging-towards-the-camera screaming of "For Narnia!" will have some in giggle fits). Such sequences are not helped by Harry Gregson-Williams' score, which 75% of the time goes for bombast and over-emphasis than subtlety.



Doing their best to fill the void left by Swinton, and James McAvoy's Mr. Tumnus, and nearly succeeding, are Dinklage and Izzard, who give the movie some much-needed wit and "zing." I worried about Reepicheep, with his familiarity, and easy "adorable"-ness; his handling seems to intentionally invoke "Shrek 2's" Puss in Boots, even including a red feather behind his ear. However, Izzard-- who directors usually don't know what to do with when they get him in their movies-- makes the character one of the movie's bright spots, and actually made me laugh once or twice. Swinton's White Witch shows up about two-thirds of the way though, but I almost wish that she hadn't. Her 2.5 minute appearance (during which Swinton has maybe four lines of dialogue) only serves to remind you of the genuinely compelling menace this installment lacks, and she's a much-missed presence throughout the rest of the film.

Hottie Barnes (looking like a younger, more ravishing Timothy Olyphant) plays Caspian with a sincere conviction, even while hindered by a goofy accent seemingly inspired by "The Princess Bride's" Inigo Montoya. His dashing good looks paired with a steely-eyed nobility will have most audience members swooning and trolling their local Blockbuster for a copy of "Stardust." As for the kids themselves, they're just as blank as they were the last time around. They're rarely noticeably bad (though the pretty, effete Moseley strains to appear tough), but again, their inability to make these characters likeable or compelling keeps us from getting terribly involved.



For all its unremarkable elements, "Prince Caspian" is ultimately too bland to hate. I can't see anyone who disliked the first film experiencing a turnaround here, and for those who enjoyed the first film but haven't read the books, I could see them going either way. This one is on a grander scale, with a more "epic" feel and more stuff going on, but it abandons much of the "magic" for more conventional swords-clanging-together content. As someone who did not enjoy "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe," I felt this one was about on par, a little bit worse in spots, a little bit better in others. It's an adequate follow-up, and considering the first film made $745 million worldwide, I'm sure that'll sit just fine with most "Narnia" fans.

"Speed Racer" -- * * *

Far from the disaster it had potential to be (though some will still make their case), "Speed Racer," the Wachowski Brothers' return to the directors' chair, is insanely entertaining, cheesy, whiz-bang fun for nearly all of its duration. The Wachowskis perfectly capture the tone and feel of the anime show on which its based, but the movie is most notable for the ground it breaks aesthetically. While some may find themselves inflicted with a headache or severe dizziness by the time closing credits hit, the movie is an undisputed visual feast that vaguely resembles being trapped inside a pinball machine for two hours. Letting you know what you're in for with a trippy swirl of colors preceding even the Warner Bros. logo, "Speed Racer" could best be described as a live-action Saturday morning cartoon, and it's a whole lot of fun, as long as you're willing to go with it.

Is the story particularly compelling? No. The thin plot is really besides the point here, but it works well enough. Like the television show, "Speed Racer" focuses on the retro-futuristic-world-set adventures of our titular hero (Emile Hirsch), an extremely talented, good-hearted racecar driver still numbing from the death of his brother, Rex, years ago. When Speed kindly rejects a lucrative offer from the maniacal Royalton (Roger Allam), the head of Royalton Industries, he also uncovers a secret that the company fixes races and manipulates top drivers to boost profits. Furious, Royalton vows Speed will never cross another finish line. With the help of his parents (John Goodman and Susan Sarandon) and his bowlcut-befitted girlfriend Trixie (Christina Ricci), Speed must collaborate with former rival, Racer X (a blank-but-effectively-stoic Matthew Fox) to defeat Royalton, rescue his family's business, and restore goodness to the sport he loves, all culminating in him competing in the race that took his brother's life, "The Crucible."



There's just no getting around the fact that this movie looks fucking amazing. It was first film to be completely shot with Sony's new F-23 HD Camera, and the Wachowskis seem to have wanted to utilize it to the extreme. The color palette is unlike anything I can recall in recent cinema, with an emphasis on day-glo bright blues, purples, yellows and reds (fuschia factors in greatly as well), but it's not just the look of things that impress, but the whole visual style. With superfast editing, and cameras and backgrounds that have a tendency to swirl around characters, it's as if the Wachowskis made a list of everything they wanted to attempt stylistically/technically and tried to include it in here. They also employ a confounding, yet oddly hypnotic, technique of utilizing close-ups of talking heads zipping across the screen, as if on a conveyor belt, as shot transitions. Infused with lots of trippy moments, and with nearly every scene being a visual marvel, the movie seems to almost encourage ADD; for much of the first hour, every time I tried to focus on what was going on, I couldn't help being distracted by how amazing everything looked. The cinematography by David Tattersall (who photographed the "Star Wars" prequels) is top-notch, and the insanely fun, jaunty score by Michael Giacchino, which occasionally incorporates the show's theme song, seems to never ever stop, and only enhances the enjoyably frenetic experience.

Aside from just the colors and filmmaking techniques, the look here is stylized to the extreme, with scarcely anything looking remotely real. Explosions, planes, etc., nothing vaguely resembles how such a thing would look in the real world; everything is intentionally slightly "off" (even Susan Sarandon's bosoms look somewhat inflated). Even simple images, such as static shots of people standing in a vista of green grass and bushes, are jaw-dropping to look at here, but the racing scenes are obviously the money shots, so to speak. Keeping with the overall tone, there's not a smidgen of attention paid to realism, with cars jumping high in the air, spinning around, and often coming equipped with weapons, hyper-hydraulics and wheels that can flip 180 degrees. We never feel like anyone is in legitimate danger, but the races are still inexplicably exciting (one on an icy speedway is particularly cool). The locations of said races are almost as distractingly impressive visually, with settings ranging from deserts to tropical islands. The flick reportedly cost between $100 and 120 million, but based on how fantastic everything looks, I can't believe the figure was actually that low. IMAX has to be the way to see this, and I would imagine it'd make for even more ideal high viewing than "Harold and Kumar."



Those who show up to "Speed Racer" only based on the Wachowski's past violent, R-rated works like "The Matrix" trilogy, "Bound" and "V for Vendetta" (which they wrote, but didn't direct) might find themselves scratching their heads at the candy-coated squeaky-cleanness on display here. The filmmakers have stayed remarkably true to their animated source material, right down to the look, tone, feel and dialogue. There's not a wink of self-referencing, irony, or nods to pop culture, and there's only the occasional, intentional flouncing of the show's G-rated nature (we get two uses of "ass," a "damn," one un-bleeped "shit" and a "retard"). The dialogue is, for the most part, cheesetastic to the extreme, with characters saying things like "hubba hubba," "holy moley" and "I'm so impossibly proud to be your mom." The flashes of humor are kept appropriately juvenile, and a late film interruption to warn of cooties will evoke laughs from the young'ns and nods of approval from fans of the show.

Still, while there may be an absence of irony and embrace of all things cheese-driven, the script has some very clever sly acknowledgments of the proceedings, without crossing the line into distracting self-awareness. After a particularly schmaltzy monologue about family, and racing being "like a religion," our villain responds, without missing a beat, "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that sickening schmaltz," and there's a refreshingly anti-corporate message hammered home with lines like "This kind of company scares me" and "Major sponsors are like the devil" (never mind that the movie's being distributed by Time-Warner). But while the script is happy to keep the story thin and characters simple (though one character's decision near the very end is intriguing), there are frequent flashes of nutso-ness that keep things interesting. Though a seemingly inexplicable scene of vikings rubbing pelts on their faces confused me, Spritle and Chim-Chim's brief subtitled kung-fu sequence is inspired, as is their ride through the Royalton factory hopped up on candy to the strains of "Freebird" (quote from kid sitting behind me: "That was craaaaazy!"). And hey, any movie with a sequence of John Goodman singlehandedly wiping the floor with ninjas is alright with me.



The Wachowskis have assembled a very good cast, but performance-wise, there's not really much to talk about, honestly. All the actors do what they're supposed to do, but they're almost incidental. Hirsch is still looking Christopher McCandless gaunt, though a bit less rough and ragged than last we saw him; like everyone, he seems to have a plasticized sheen. Beyond that, there's not a lot to speak of; if he wanted a role to change the minds of people who think he's bland and overrated in the talent department, this won't be the character to do it. Sarandon and especially Goodman provide proper levels of warmth to their characters, while Allam is clearly having the most fun here as Royalton, just as over-the-top spittle-flying evil as he was in "V for Vendetta." Despite getting a racing scene of her own midway through, Ricci gets the least to do here of anyone, mostly just (literally) standing on the sidelines.

I've been reading through some of the pans of "Speed Racer," and the chief complaints have a tendency to be right on the money (All style and no substance? Check.) In his review, David Edelstein hilariously wrote, "The film is like a nightmare in which you’re trapped in an arcade with screens on all sides and no eyelids," and I can't necessarily disagree. That's clearly how some people are going to feel. The movie is exactly what it is, and you'll either find it hella-fun or hella-excruciating. I could easily see someone being worn out by what the Wachowskis are doing here, or feeling pounded into submission aesthetically. Personally, I was dazzled pretty much all the way through, prodded along with lots of "wow," but that's just me.



Noticeable, though, is the movie's length of 135 minutes; given the nature of the proceedings, this is a movie that probably would have been optimal running at 90. At its current running time, it IS unquestionably too long (there might be one too many pivotal races), but it thankfully doesn't drag, and never slips into "oh my God, it's still going" territory. When it ends, you'll likely leave the theater roused, not wearied. Content-wise, only two real issues come to mind. One is the Speed-Trixie romance that only serves to grind things to a halt, but it only takes up two scenes, if that. And, though it may be faithful to the series, that doesn't make much of the Spritle and Chim-Chim stuff any less irritating. Both characters have a tendency to mug non-stop, and occasionally lower the movie's brow a bit too much (Chim-Chim actually flings poo at one point).

Sometimes I'm good at forecasting these sort of things, but I have no idea at all how "Speed Racer's" going to do at the box office. Families could flock to it, or it could be a massive, money-losing bomb; wiser minds than I are already betting on the latter. It's ideal for kids, and those who can put themselves in that mindset, but it's likely to divide critics and adult audience members. But either way, it's remarkably successful at what it sets out to do, and I, for one, had a blast watching it. Whether its everyone's bag or not, no one could accuse this of being an assembly-line studio product, and it's a pleasure to see filmmakers like the Wachowskis taking genuine joy with their craft and clearly having fun with experimentation and breaking ground. Visually astounding for every second of its running time, "Speed Racer" is the ultimate filmic cotton candy, and I mean that in the best possible way.

"What Happens in Vegas" -- *

Sure, Tom Vaughn's "What Happens in Vegas" looked shitty from the trailers, but it seemingly also had the potential to be a kinda-fun, entertaining crowd-pleaser to serve as counter-programming to the flashy, expensive boys club of the early summer. But alas, it was not to be. Instead, making last week's "Made of Honor" seem like a cakewalk, it emerges as a really broad, dumb version of the brilliant "War of the Roses" that most succeeds at putting a bad flavor in your mouth. The thought process seems to have been to take two shrill, loud, annoying young stars, pair them together in a lame sitcom-level project and wait for the cash to pour in. The flick may, in fact, turn out to be a modest hit, but the adjectives that came to mind during it were "loud" and "shiny" more than "funny."

When Jack (Ashton Kutcher) is fired, and Joy (Cameron Diaz) is dumped, the two independently head to Vegas to forget their troubles, him with his best friend Hater (Rob Corddry), her with her Amanda Peet-clone friend Tipper (actually some girl named Lake Bell). When the two pairs are mistakenly given keys to the same hotel suite (which never, EVER happens outside of movies), Jack and Joy end up getting drunk and getting married. When they wake up the next morning, they mull over their hypothetical avenues of separation, when Jack wins $3 million dollars on a slot machine with Joy’s quarter (a plot point stolen from the underrated “Sour Grapes”). With the two arguing over how to split the money, a judge (Dennis Miller) sentences them to six months of “hard marriage” to try to work their relationship out before he will decide how to divide the money. Predictably, rather than trying to live amicably with each other reasonably for the six month period, the two try to one-up each other in making the other one miserable in a serious of mean-spirted, wacky shenanigans. As would naturally happen while two people are trying to inflict horribleness on each other, the two realize they like each other and start to fall in love.



While both leads are tremendously irritating, there is a silver lining in the fact that they're perfectly matched, so there is a modicum of chemistry. Both Diaz (so good in "Vanilla Sky," "In Her Shoes" and "Being John Malkovich") and Kutcher (so good in, er... "The Butterfly Effect"?) seem to be innately inclined to broadly overact, over-enunciating every syllable for maximum "comic" effect. As such, Jack and Joy come off as loud, annoying cartoons, and are never convincing as human beings. Diaz's appearance doesn't help matters; she's makeupped and sheened and bronzed to the point where she looks like a Muppet. While her broad comic acting in a sequence where she's supposed to be hopped up on an energy drink/powder during a business meeting is borderline-painful to watch, Kutcher narrowly wins the 'who's more irritating' contest by employing his "shouting everything like I'm delivering a punchline on 'That 70s Show'" style. Still, he fits more comfortably in his role, dumb yelling fratboy slacker, than she does in hers, uptight businesswoman, where she strains credibility. Fans of Kutcher and Diaz may enjoy themselves watching their antics on display here, but those of us who've found them tiresome time and time again will not be converted.

I had read an early positive review or two that said “What Happens in Vegas” had the feel of a 1930s screwball comedy. Bullshit. Sure, there’s non-stop physical/crude comedy, but it’s all tremendously stupid and bottom-of-the-barrel, placing an emphasis on ‘loud’ and ‘frantic.’ Aside from numerous gay and lesbian jokes, always the sign of a clever romantic comedy, we get characters named ‘Jack Hoff’ and ‘Dick Banger.’ Yeah. As for most of the other jokes, you almost can’t believe how incredibly dusty they are. OMG! His apartment’s messy! And stinky! It’s difficult to imagine anyone, no matter how lame-brained, finding jokes about men leaving the toilet seat up fresh or funny. With “Vegas,” we get our SECOND movie with a peeing-in-the-sink gag in the last two weeks. With all the broad physical humor, the movie still manages to never explore its madcap potential, and instead seems content with people yelling and getting hit by things. Though I should’ve been clued in by an early sequence of our four central characters shrieking, spraying mace while running around a hotel room running into things and falling down, my eyes only began to glaze over when Jack and Joy were racing through Central Park swinging baguettes at each other, tripping and falling down intermittently. If this all sounds appealing to you, have at it.



How loud and shrill the movie is would be less of a problem if everything wasn't so generic and by-the-numbers. There's not one original joke or emotion on display, and by the time we make it to the hackneyed, cheesy, lame "You bet on me" finale, you may want to punch someone. But through it all, the soundtrack clues you in to how lazily pieced-together this movie is, and how quickly it was rushed through the studio system (by-- who could've guessed it-- soulless, quality-less, money-grubbing 20th Century Fox). I was worried instantly, with Mika's hella-catchy "Grace Kelly" being used incongruously over the opening credits/sequence, in a desperate attempt to capture the flavor-of-the-week; it was only a matter of time before it got used in a shitty romantic comedy, I suppose. The movie also features predictable, lame uses of "We Are the Champions" and "What a Feeling," but it's not until JET's "Are You Gonna Be My Girl" kicks in that it confirms its status as the most generic soundtrack ever.

And then, of course, there's the sentimentality. In a film like "The Break-Up" (which "Vegas" only superficially resembles), the balance of comedy and drama worked because the characters felt grounded in reality, AND we kind of liked them. When Gary stood up Brooke at the Old 97s concert, our heart broke with her (or at least mine did). There was a familiarity there, and a genuine attempt to define those characters and those situations. Here, when these two obnoxious cartoon character assholes jarringly shift into 'I love you' and 'you've changed me' speeches that seem like they came straight out of a parody of harlequin romances, it's completely wretch-worthy. It only hammers home how little hack screenwriter Dana Fox (who also shit "The Wedding Date" out of her vagina three years ago) thinks of us as audience members. For the first half, it's clear that Fox is desperate for as many cheap and easy laughs as she can get; for the second half, she feels the need to follow the formulaic, sentimental path to avoid challenging the expectations of her audience, just in case she risks having them remember this movie by next week.



While the movie comes equipped with a fairly strong supporting cast, it wastes almost all of them, with only one (Corddry) actually rising to the level of ‘scene-stealing.’ Corddry plays his typical supporting role—“guy who makes lame-ass movie funnier”—while everyone else seems to just either be confounded about how to thrive in this swill, or had their funny scenes deleted. Dennis Farina, as Joy’s boss, and Treat Williams, as Jack’s dad, look happy to be cast in a major motion picture again, even with nothing to do. Queen Latifah, in three or four scenes as Jack and Joy’s marriage counselor, seems to just be wondering (and evoking the question from audiences) “What the fuck is Queen Latifah doing in this movie?” Meanwhile, Miller, the unfunniest Republican around, makes the most inexplicable film appearance by an HBO host since Bill Maher in “Tomcats.” Conversely, the filmmakers should be embarrassed to put the brilliant Zach Galifianakis in their movie and not give him anything funnier to do/say than “She is so effing hot!” A scene midway through that features Galifianakis, Corddry and Kutcher does nothing but provoke the question “Which one doesn’t belong?”

Reminiscent of other, better movies, "What Happens in Vegas" is a putrid waste of time no matter how you look at it. Tone-deaf with respect to its comic moments, and ham-handed in its dramatic ones, the one positive to emerge is that it's blissfully forgettable (I highly doubt this one will make it into even the most non-discriminating sorority girl's DVD collection). I've often thought about Kutcher and Diaz's career choices in a 'chicken or the egg' scenario; do they just pick bad projects, or do they make mediocre projects more irritating by starring in them? In the case of "Vegas," at least, both factors seem to be essential to its shittiness. Sometimes the presence of sincerity can compensate for the lack of originality (or vice versa), but there's not an ounce of either present here. This movie thinks you're dumb, and is banking on you proving it with your dollars this weekend.

What You Should Be Seeing...

There are three films currently in limited release, slowly expanding around the country, that are probably the best things out there right now. Finals and end of semester/college activities have been fairly all-consuming, so I regrettably haven’t been able to get around to writing full, in-depth reviews for them, but I strongly recommend the following movies. When asked by someone ask of late what movie(s) they should go see, these three are the first titles out of my mouth:

THE VISITOR


A heartfelt, subtle film that functions as both a tremendously moving story of the possibilities implicit in basic human connection, and low-key tackling of our country’s ever-present immigration situation (in a much less nauseating, sentimental manner than “Under the Same Moon”), Thomas McCarthy’s follow-up to “The Station Agent” is really something special. It doesn’t hit you over the head with messages or bombastic emotion, but it always resonates as it tells the story of an introverted, buttoned-down writer/professor’s (Richard Jenkins) slowly evolving friendship with an immigrant couple he finds squatting in his Manhattan apartment. After years of playing scene-stealing bit parts, character actor Jenkins anchors this quietly compelling gem, and gives what is easily the best leading male performance so far this year. “The Visitor” is unquestionably a small film that doesn’t shoot for grand statements or widen its focus as it goes along, but it’s a rich character piece that really connects emotionally, and is the sort of film people complain we don’t get enough of.


YOUNG @ HEART


I admit, I was resistant to this documentary purely on the basis of its gimmicky concept/trailer of adorable old people singing rock songs, but I wasn’t at all prepared for how touching, and rarely manipulative, the film itself is. The smile/chuckle moments are there (seeing a gaggle of geezers singing “I Wanna Be Sedated”), but this is ultimately a movie about a group of people who spend their remaining time learning various rock songs to challenge themselves and prove to everyone (not least of which themselves) they’re still alive, and won’t go quietly into the decrepitude of senility. Excelling in its human moments (e.g.: a friendship that develops between three seniors forced to carpool together) as much as in its stirring concert performances, I’d be remiss I didn’t also mention that this movie made me weep for about half its duration. I doubt you’ll see much more affecting moments in a movie this year than one of the group’s members (with breathing tubes coming out of his nose) singing a beautiful Johnny Cash-esque rendition of Coldplay’s “Fix You,” dedicated to two recently deceased chorus members.


SON OF RAMBOW


Making a perfect companion piece with Michel Gondry’s “Be Kind Rewind,” Garth Jennings’ immensely charming, quirky ‘80s-set paean to filmmaking centers around two seemingly incongruous elementary school outcasts, quiet Will (Bill Milner) and delinquent Lee Carter (Will Poulter). Despite Will’s family’s deeply conservative religious forbidding television and film-watching, the two eventually collaborate on their own makeshift, homemade sequel to “First Blood;” the pair experience numerous complications along the way, chiefly the interference of too-hip-for-the-room French exchange student Didier (Jules Sitruk). By turns whimsical and sentimental, “Rambow” is more about the friendship between these boys and how they’re bonded through the filmmaking process than wacky “Rewind”-esque remake shenanigans, and that makes it more emotionally resonant than I was expecting (and it helps that both young leading actors are excellent). Coming equipped with an effectively oddball sense of humor, it’s probably not a movie for all tastes, but at the least, the last few minutes should put a lump in the throat of film aficionados and outcasts alike.

Welcome Back to the A-List....

"Iron Man" -- * * *

If not a breathtaking new spin on superhero films, Jon Favreau's "Iron Man" is still slick, solid entertainment and an enjoyable way to start off the summer movie season. Refreshingly targeted more at adults than the genre tends to be, this movie is always, at the least, a lot of fun, and having the perfectly-cast Robert Downey Jr. at its center certainly doesn't hurt, nor does its "rock 'n roll" spirit. In terms of audience reaction, I don't think the roof will be raised as it was for, say, "Batman Begins" or "Spider-Man," but I have a hard time imagining anyone being strongly dissatisfied with what they get here. Those who have had their expectations raised to extraordinary levels may want to keep them in check, but the movie does deliver on most fronts, and I'm certainly planning on seeing it again.

Based on the comic book created in 1963, "Iron Man" tells the intricate story of Tony Stark (Downey Jr.), a brilliant inventor/billionaire with a carefree lifestyle and ownership over Stark Industries, the country's top weapons contractor. On a presentation of weapons, Tony's convoy is attacked in Afghanistan, and he is promptly captivated by the "Ten Rings," a Taliban Lite group of insurgents. After a bit of torturing (water boarding is employed), the captors insist that Stark build them a weapon of mass destruction; instead, he builds himself an impenetrable, weapons-filled suit of armor and escapes captivity. Upon returning home, Tony is insistent upon changing the direction of the company and shutting down their weapons division, despite the trepidation of his assistant -slash- love interest Pepper Potts (Gwyneth Paltrow) and outright refusal by his aide, Obediah Stane (Jeff Bridges). Beefing up his suit of armor into a significantly more advanced version, Tony firstly sets his sights upon his Afghan captors, but soon enough has to deal with resistance from Stane, whose motives are much more sinister than he initially lets on. Thrown into the mix is military man Jim Rhodes (Terrence Howard), a benevolent friend of Tony's who discourages him from acting on his "Iron Man" impulses, but grudgingly assists him in covering them up.



The movie is kick-started with an great opening sequence (which reminded me of "M:I-3") that raises the stakes, and sets up an immediate danger, before jumping back 36 hours to show how we got there. This leads into what, if anything, sets "Iron Man" apart from most of its ilk: it actually feels like a real film, not just a first cog in a franchise. Yes, it's an origin story, but the structure takes its time with what it's doing, and the movie is better for it; did anyone complain that Bruce Wayne doesn't become Batman till well over an hour into Nolan's film? If you came in knowing nothing about the movie, for at least the first 30 minutes, you'd think you were just watching a solid military thriller. There's no winks or nods, no "I am Iron Man, here's how I got that way" narration; everything seems like a natural progression of events, and doesn't just rush to get Stark into that sleek metal suit (if you're wondering, he first straps on some form of the suit and flies around the 60-minute mark).

Before entering the theater, I was a little disheartened to hear that yet another superhero film felt the need to surpass two hours (even barely), but it turns out to be paced remarkably well. There never seem to be any real lulls-- this is no "Hulk"-- and it wasn't until close to the end that I realized there really weren't that many action sequences. Oh, there's plenty of action and special effects, don't get me wrong; but I question whether there are enough big set-pieces (I think I counted four) for some. Still, what we get is appropriately "awesome." His first trial run with the suit, a huge cliche in these sort of films, is genuinely thrilling and funnier than it has any right to be. The two biggest moments are Stark/Iron's return to Afghanistan to dole out his reckoning upon his brutal captors, and the big climactic hero-vs.-villain fight near the end; the former is fairly exciting and applause-inducing, while the metal-suit-on-metal-suit fight was fun, yet a bit too reminiscent of "Transformers" for my blood. Though they’re not technically action sequences, I was particularly impressed by the auto-shop assemblage of the suit onto Tony's body whenever he wants to put it on, and Iron Man soaring through a buildup of ice in the sky had me muttering "very cool."



Truth be told, I'm reticent to even call this a "superhero movie," because it's much more of a personal character piece than anything else. Though Stark learns to care about helping other people, and has a sequence where he saves innocents from brutality, this story is chiefly about him and his control for his multi-billion dollar weapons company. We don't see much "heroics" per se on display here, and where a lot of movies seem like expository, dull build-up to the crime-fighting, this is more about Stark's re-awakening and fighting for what's right in his own life. Where in a lot of these movies, you just can't wait for the boring Peter to throw on the Spidey suit, I think "Iron Man" gets away with what it does because we're more invested, and more interested, in Tony Stark than Iron Man. It's to the movie's benefit that we like spending time with the guy, and the action scenes are more the icing on the cake than the whole show.

As for the reason we like spending time with the guy, all the credit has to go to the effortless brilliance of Robert Downey Jr. Whoever fought for him to play Tony Stark, you deserve two gold stars; if there's one thing above all else that makes the movie work, it's him. In a terrific, unexpected merging of character and actor, recalling Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow in the first "Pirates" film, it becomes virtually impossible to imagine anyone else in the role-- not an easy feat for the oft-bland character type of 'superhero dude'. From the little way he banters with machines, gets off quick one-liners (whether calling a non-talking soldier "Forrest" or mentioning "I got caught doing a piece for Vanity Fair" after sleeping with a journalist) and deflects anything leveled at him, he's snarky, he's hilarious, he's perfect. He's also completely believable in his embodiment of Stark as a human being more than just a clever, funny guy. Perhaps it's because of the audience's personal knowledge of Downey's baggage, but there's something about him playing an alcoholic, sex-addict egomaniac that just fits. It may be reading too much into things, but as a guy prone to destructive behavior who acknowledges he needs to start going in a new direction, he resonates.



Considering everyone in the main ensemble has at least been nominated for an Oscar, it's a little disappointing that the supporting cast is sort of just there to prop up Downey. Pepper is an insubstantial, underdeveloped role, mostly existing as 'hero's babe,' but it's hard to remember when Paltrow last looked this lovely and seemed this charming. There may not be much to the character, but more than anything in the supporting cast, she seems to be enjoying herself here, and gets off a few funny lines. As the bald-headed, segue-riding eventual nemesis Obediah (equipped with an unexplained Amish name and Amish beard), Bridges doesn't become fun to watch until he reveals his full-blown villainy 3/4 of the way through. I appreciated the friends/enemies "stab you in the front" dynamic between Stark and Stane, but for most of the film, I couldn't help but notice that Bridges barely seemed awake; though to be fair, he is enjoyable to behold once he starts chewing scenery. Howard as Rhodes, on the other hand, is completely worthless. I really want to have him back in my favor again, but he's made bad decision after bad decision since "Hustle & Flow" (his uninspired turn in the all-black Broadway "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" didn't help matters). He's not so much bad here as much as he gets absolutely nothing to do, and thus, doesn't do anything with it. Maybe he was just dispirited by finally joining the ranks of black actors who've made a movie where they're forced to say "Dayum" upon seeing something cool, but you can sense his lack of passion.

There's nothing on Jon Favreau's directorial resume ("Made," "Elf," "Zathura") to indicate he could handle something on this scale, but he proves to be perfectly capable. Though no one could accuse his direction of being flashy, he makes some clever decisions-- the repeated use of heavy metal music when Iron Man appears is a subtle pun in and of itself-- and his obvious affinity for the source material radiates throughout. However, while he infuses it with enough passion and originality to make it clear this isn't a hack job, he fails to give the movie a particularly distinctive feel. The direction never falters, and I would say this is an impressive step in the right direction for Favreau (cameo-ing as one of Stark's security guys), but he doesn't necessary make "Iron Man" feel like something "special."



It must be said right here and now that I have never read an Iron Man comic book in my life, so I can't speak to accuracy, detail, adaptation, in-jokes, etc. From my minimal understanding, Iron Man is not considered an A-list comic hero. He never quite had Superman or Batman or Spider-man's fanbase, so the expectation level for the movie version might not be as gargantuan as it was for those franchises. Yet, it is worth noting that among the attendees at my screening I spoke to after, the comic book geeks seemed to be the most passionate about the film; I have a feeling the fans will be really pleased with what Favreau's done here. As opposed to, say, "Spider-Man" or "Hulk," "Iron Man" doesn't go for comic-book-inspired stylization-- everything feels fairly grounded in reality-- but it's clear from little details made evident to me that the filmmakers refreshingly had the fan base in mind. Stan Lee's requisite cameo is significantly less lame than it was the last time around, and there are specific in-jokes referring to S.H.I.E.L.D. agents (maybe hammered home one time too many), tiny hints foreshadowing Iron Man's arch-nemesis Mandarin, and a surprisingly clever whetting of fans' appetite for Rhodes becoming War Machine in future installments.

In the pantheon of superhero movies, "Iron Man" falls short of the great ones (e.g: "Batman Begins," "Spider-Man 2," "X2"), but will likely be regarded by most as a definitively good one. Tonally, it comes off as a cross between "Batman Begins's" more adult-skewing realism, and "Hellboy's" sense of quirk and whimsy. Though not as serious as the former, and not as odd/outlandish as the latter, the movie strikes a nice balance of fun and groundedness. It doesn't take itself too seriously (Stark is able to talk his private plane's stewardesses into pole-dancing and cocktails in the back of the plane), but avoids becoming too jokey. It's shrewdly set in the modern-day real world, with the acknowledgment of terrorism and the dangers of our times. The Mideast baddies' shenanigans are appropriately brutal, and when Stane embraces his villainy in the third act, the effects are rougher than I expected. I also was a bit alarmed, though pleased, with Iron/Stark's willingness to kill people when he needs to; while other heroes have a strict moral code when it comes to this, Stark has no qualms with destroying those he deems bad.



Though the superhero origin film has become a formula of its own, and "Iron Man" will likely bear the brunt of some peoples' fatigue with it, Favreau's crack at it manages to play that tune one more time without feeling like it's going through the motions. I personally was refreshed that the movie was two hours of fast-paced, easy-going fun and not steeped in darkness or goofiness, the two planes upon which such films have a tendency to operate on. While the checklist of successes starts with Downey Jr., fans of both the comic books and superhero fare in general should be pleased that "Iron Man" gets mostly everything right. A good time will be had, but I can't imagine anyone being severely disappointed, nor having their world rocked. That'll have to wait for the sequel.

"Made of Honor" -- * 1/2

"That's so generic." It takes some hefty balls to include that line of dialogue in a film that is itself so flavorless, dumb and uninspired. But Paul Weiland's "Made of Honor" is so reliant on its audience's simple-mindedness that it never even pretends to be anything other than crass, bland, formulaic drivel. For a romantic comedy, there's little attempt to even wedge in actual romance-- we see little-to-no chemistry or even interaction between our two leads-- and instead uses big, loud, crude jokes as crutches for the weak sauce that makes up this script. You've seen every joke, plot element and "romantic" moment on display here a dozen times before, but that didn't stop my audience (i.e.: mid-forties white women wearing McDreamy t-shirts) from swallowing it all down with shit-eating grins on their faces.

In terms of plot, just imagine "My Best Friend's Wedding" if the sexes were reversed, Julia Roberts did end up with Dermot Mulroney, and every few minutes, someone farted loudly or fell down. Here, Tom (Patrick Dempsey) has been in love with Hannah (Michelle Monaghan) since college, but naturally they've just stayed best friends. Through the years, he's maintained his college-established status as a promiscuous dickhead. Now, when Hannah tells him she's finally been swept off her feet-- by Scotsman Colin (Kevin McKidd)-- he realizes how stupid he's been and must do what he can to stop the wedding in time. The catch: Hannah's named him her "Maid of Honor," which is explained as making sense by her saying she'd be his best man. Much wackiness and jokes about Tom being gay or femininely-titled ensue.

At one point, Tom is labeled as misogynistic, but the descriptor would be more applicable to the movie itself. Hannah is given no definition other than that she wants to get married, and she insultingly switches affections between Tom and Colin on whims with little thought or explanation. This is also a film that uses women merely as disposable objects either to be fucked by McDreamy, or dismissed with "ewww"s. If female characters don't subscribe to the movie's ideas of perfection (e.g.: they wear glasses or are slightly chubby), they're treated as jokes and dismissed as 'gross' or predators. Oddly sexist stuff for an entertainment chiefly intended for those with vaginas.

Realizing it's shooting for the cheap seats, the movie plays it safe and dumb whenever it can. You'll be clued in early on by a puke gag indicative of things to come. Later on, Tom accidentally runs into a waiter at a restaurant and knocks over all his food... not once, but twice. The movie also embraces such groundbreaking material as having characters assume Tom's gay at least a half dozen times, and having old Grandma Pearl cluelessly wearing sexual aids as jewelry. When Tom and his buddies walk in on Colin in the locker room shower, you'll be wondering with bated breath what the big joke will be. You guessed it-- he has a big dick. Ba-dum-bum. And they all stare with their mouths agape, like all real heterosexual guys do when encountered with big dicks in locker rooms.

Dempsey radiates blandness every step of the way, much as he did in "Enchanted" (and as I imagine he does on "Grey's Anatomy"). His sole appeal to women has got to be his looks, since he has no personality to speak of, and can't even muster much charm here. But as if his emptiness wasn't dispiriting enough, Tom is made to be such an unlikable prick, that I couldn't help wondering why we're supposed to be rooting for him. Judging by his revitalized fan base, Dempsey's got something I just must not be able to detect. Whatever it is, it's certainly not on display anywhere here.

Monaghan has yet to have a good/complex/interesting character to play, and at this point, I'm still in no position to determine if that's due to her options or her skill level. Mostly she just vacuously smiles here, but Hannah has even less depth than Monaghan's had to work with in the past. As for who's wasted the most in the supporting cast, it's a bit of a toss-up. I'm inclined to go with Sydney Pollack in a 2.5-scene stint as Tom's horny, chronic-divorcer father, but I have to bestow the honor upon Kathleen Quinlan. The one-time Oscar nominee just stands around in the background of scenes as Hannah's mother; I honestly can't recall if she even had any dialogue.

For much of "Made of Honor," the movie stops just short of painful and just settles for slumming, lazy mediocrity. However, at around the two-thirds mark (at which point the characters head to Scotland for Hannah and Colin's wedding), the movie pushes into shit territory. For proceedings that were largely plotless/pointless to begin with, the movie begins just treading water with sequences of manly Scottish competition and back-an-forth confessions of love. For anyone who's previously been surprised by the movie's lack of aggressive badness, this section will do the trick.

Through all of its 100 minutes, the film wallows in eye-rolling predictability in terms of both the plot and the filmmaking itself. From the insertion of a sassy black friend for Tom to the obvious music cues (Kanye's "Gold Digger" is played over an image of... a gold digging woman), I half-expected an actual machine to be credited as director. And Tom's aversion to saying "I Love You" to humans (he only says it to strange dogs) is mentioned so many times, it becomes apparent exactly, line-by-line, how the movie must end. Though, to be fair, the concluding "I Love You" monologue is even more laughably familiar than I expected it to be.

Going up against "Iron Man" in a bit of female-skewing counter-programming, the warmed-over "Made of Honor" will probably be a fairly sizable hit. Dempsey's inexplicably hot right now, and every non-hipster female I know wants to see it. Those who are comfortable getting exactly what they've seen before, and been carefully tested and crafted to be as inoffensive and unoriginal as possible, will probably eat it up with a spoon. But with even romantic comedies offering new twists on the same old ("Forgetting Sarah Marshall," "Penelope") or at least delivering it in a funny, entertaining manner ("Leatherheads"), there's no reason we should have to settle for this horseshit.

"Redbelt" -- * * 1/2

With "Redbelt," his first film since coming out as a converted ultra-conservative, David Mamet tries something completely different than he's attempted before. He doesn't really succeed, but like most ambitious efforts, it's more interesting to watch than a filmmaker going through the motions. It almost sounds like a joke for the showy-dialogue expert Mamet to tackle a martial arts film, but the end result is never an embarrassment, just a bit of a mess. We get the self-aware dialogue, the tangential plot strands, and the oddly incongruous ensemble cast he's become known for, but we also get choppily edited fight sequences and a bit more convention than one might be used to from Mamet; it all never really gels into a fluid whole, but the film is most successful as a pulpy genre piece, whether that was the intention or not.

It all centers around self-defense studio owner Mike Terry (Chiwetel Ejiofor), who runs his place with his wife Sondra (Alice Braga). One night while training with his top student Joe (Max Martini), a policeman, the two are startled by a lawyer, Laura (Emily Mortimer), who shows up, and through a kinda logical series of events, impulsively grabs Joe's pistol and shoots out the studio's glass window accidentally. Mike, with a strong sense of honor/righteousness, inspires Joe to not report the accident. Following this, through a whirlwind of events involving a sinister fight promoter (Ricky Jay), a popular action movie star (Tim Allen), a loan shark (David Paymer), a movie producer (Joe Mantegna), Mike and Sondra are faced with a $30,000 debt that can only be resolved by Mike entering into a big mixed-martial arts fight. Yeah.



If my plot description isn't particularly helpful, that's because I had a fuck of a lot of trouble following "Redbelt," though by the end I think I got what was all going down. The convoluted nature is a double edged sword. It's what I liked most, but also its key problem. The "what the shit is going on?" feeling keeps us intrigued and interested, but when it all shakes out, it's apparent that the movie really didn't need to be this way. I liked that it wraps us up and immerses us in how complicated and complex this world is, and introduces us to these characters, but there are so many thrown at us, it's difficult to keep them all straight and ascertain who you do and don't need to pay attention to. It's reminiscent of the structure/set-up of Mamet's fantastic "The Spanish Prisoner," but has nowhere near that film's payoff or level of involvement. We keep waiting for all these twists, coincidences and plot strands to propel into something meaningful, or at least "cool," but it all just snowballs into a whimper.

Rarely given the opportunity to take command of a leading role, Ejiofor shows again what a solid actor he is as our protagonist. Initially, the film seems to serve as a showcase for him, but as that, it disappoints. Chewie absorbs us, and brings us in, but Mike never quite becomes the great role it promises to. The actor never seems to entirely have a grasp on the character's thoughts and motivations, and that's a problem that begins with the script. The rest of the ensemble cast is mostly solid, with no one really excelling or embarrassingly faltering. The one that ultimately sticks out the most is Santa Claus himself, Allen, really strong in an against-type role that ultimately doesn't serve much importance. Allen clearly wanted to participate here to remind us that he's more than just a kiddie-flick actor, and can do solid work if he gets the chance; he succeeds on both of these fronts, but the role's really not meaty enough to ensure he'll get much more of it in the future.



Mamet's trademark has always been his dialogue, punctuating his otherwise pedestrian works ("Heist," "Hannibal"), elevating an already special script ("Wag the Dog," "Glengarry Glen Ross") or trying too hard (the currently-on-Broadway "November"). Here, the dialogue isn't especially problematic, but its everpresent, either drifting into the background intentionally, or drawing attention to itself. Mamet's focused more on plotting than dialogue this time around; there's some sharp bits but we don't get anything approaching "My motherfucker's so cool, when he goes to bed, sheep count him." Some actors seem incapable of properly handling it (most noticeably Braga), while some excel (namely Mamet regulars Mantegna and Jay). Unfortunately, Mamet also indulges in some extreme coincidences to deal with certain plot strands, something he usually rises above; and a late-film element involving an idea of Mike's being stolen just makes one wonder why it's worth all the trouble. It's really nothing terribly inventive, especially in the world of high-stakes fighting.

If my thoughts seems a bit schizophrenic/conflicting regarding "Redbelt," that's because they are. It's a bit of a mixed bag; there are a lot of problems here, but I was never bored and was always interested in what Mamet was doing (or trying to do). But ultimately, besides diehards of the writer/fimmaker or fans of the actors, I'm not quite sure who will dig it. The film has a little bit for everyone, but not really enough to completely satisfy any of them. It doesn't have enough of Mamet's trademark to fulfill the needs of those who seek out clever dialogue-driven films, and there's not nearly enough fighting to satiate the meathead audience; only in its "Rocky" reminiscent final section does that stuff rear its head, and even then it's not shot very well (Mamet may not have been the best choice as director for this action material). Still, for all its inexplicable elements and convolution, "Redbelt" is always at least entertaining and a drastically different approach from the often too-clever-for-the-room writer.


"Redbelt" opens in 6 theaters in New York and Los Angeles today, and 1,000 theaters nationwide on May 9th.

"Harold and Kumar Escape From Guantanamo Bay" -- * * *

Upon reading early review after early review alluding to the politically-charged stoner sequel "Harold and Kumar Escape From Guantanamo Bay" as an ideal movie to get stoned before, and wondering how much funnier or more enjoyable its core audience might find it in that state, I did the unthinkable: I went stoned. Admittedly, my notes were a little less readable than usual, but the movie worked remarkably well as a marijuana-infused experience, though I'd imagine a sober viewing would prove just as satisfying (if perhaps filled with a few less giggle fits). Consistently amusing, the film is at once scatologically obsessed, celebratory of weed, and openly denigrating of post-9/11 policies and paranoia. It makes for a strange mix, but somehow, it really works on all of these base levels. Like its previous installment, "Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle," the proceedings are noticeably episodic, but enjoyably crude and over-the-top ridiculous. Forgive me if my detail-retension is fuzzier than usual.

Picking up five minutes after the first film ended, the movie opens with the playing of "What a Wonderful World" abruptly interrupted by the sound of Kumar's (Kal Penn) explosive diarrhea, following his and Asian buddy Harold's (John Cho) ingestion of extreme quantities of White Castle at the end of the first film. Heading to Amsterdam, as they planned to in that movie's finale, the two encounter some problems that keep them from arriving at their destination. Aboard the plane, Kumar decides he can't quite wait till arriving in the weed capital of the world to light up, and retreats to the bathroom to utilize his self-invented smokeless bong with Harold. The door busts open, Kumar yells, "It's just a bong!" The passengers see these guys are, respectively, brown-skinned and slanty-eyed, and thus hear "bomb" and freak out. The two are confused for terrorists, and promptly put in Guantanamo Bay detention center. Narrowly avoiding being treated to "cock-meat sandwiches," our boys escape (at around the movie's 20 minute mark), and go on the lam. At this point, it lapses into the first film's set-up, functioning as a road movie, only this time, they're running from the law, namely Homeland Security chief Ron Fox (Rob Corddry). Along the way they encounter an threateningly urban basketball game, a KKK rally, a stereotypical redneck hunter, and a ground-breaking "bottomless" party, with lots of gratuitously exposed vagina.



Directed by Jon Hurwitz and Hayden Schlossberg (who wrote the first movie), "Guantanamo" doesn't feature one moment that I think would qualify as 'subtle,' but it's frequently funny, depending on your tolerance levels for crudity and political incorrectness. Thankfully, this installment doesn't trot out the same tricks as the first film, like the "Austin Powers" and "Pirates of the Caribbean" sequels were accused of. The screenplay just takes a few of them (the big bag of weed and Neil Patrick Harris make return appearances), and gives them unique twists. For the most part, the movie wallows in its own absurdity (a redneck hunter licks deer blood off his knife and estimates, "born in '04"), and gets a lot of mileage out of embracing stereotypes just as much as it criticizes them; more on that later. While I appreciated dialogue like "That Abercrombie-wearing douchebag..."-- which made much of my Abercrombie-wearing crowd chuckle nervously-- it's the more bombastic, edgy touches that linger; upon hearing a loud noise, the KKK grand wizard (played by Chris Meloni, the original's "freakshow") bellows "What the nigger was that?!"

Penn and Cho do just as fine a job, and have just as much chemistry, as they had in the first outing; fans of the actors/character should certainly but pleased, but Rob Corddry all but walks away with the movie. Giving a plum role to the comedian after years spent on the daily show and spicing up otherwise lifeless movies (e.g.: "The Heartbreak Kid"), the movie makes Fox as much of a off-the-handle, paranoid, racist cartoon as possible. As a borderline-psychotic gove