I skipped a few for now in order to get three done before I leave (either because I didn't quite know how to start them or because I wanted to go more in depth than I had time for). Reviews of the three will be forthcoming, but for now:
Charlie Bartlett: Sporadically entertaining but at times too glib for its own good.
4 Months 3 Weeks 2 Days: This film had some of the most amazing shot selection that I've seen. There were several scenes where I thought "Man that's brilliant"
The Counterfeiters: Very good, but just never seemed to cross that line over to great.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Movie No. 19: "The House Bunny"
Back during his triple Oscar nomination year, I wrote that George Clooney was becoming the actor whose movies I most looked forward to, not because he was the most talented but because, post-"Batman and Robin," it seemed like he simply didn't make bad movies.
Anna Faris is becoming the anti-Clooney. With the exception of bit parts in a number of great films (most notably her Cameron Diaz impression in "Lost in Translation"), her resume is dotted by films I either have absolutely no interest in seeing or have seen and wished I hadn't.
In "The House Bunny," Faris plays a Playmate (but not, as she disappointingly admits, a centerfold) who is kicked out of the Playboy Mansion. Homeless, and not that bright, she stumbles into a sorority house ("It's like a miniature version of the Mansion") and, through a series of supposedly comedic events, winds up the house mother to the campus' struggling, misfit sorority, complete with the book-smart but socially dim leader (Emma Stone), the anti-social cynic (Kat Dennings) , the exceptionally pregnant one (American Idol's Katherine McPhee), the one in the metal back brace (Bruce and Demi's daughter Rumer), the trailer trash one (I believe Dana Goodman) and the one too shy to even talk to her sorority sisters (pretty sure Kiely Williams). If she can't turn them around and make them popular enough to attract 30 pledges, they'll lose their house, much to the delight of a stuck up rival sorority who hopes to use the house for their overflow pledges.
Despite the fact the movie sounds more like a late-night offering on Cinemax than PG-13 multiplex fare, there had to at least be hope for the film. It's by the same writers as "Legally Blonde," which had no business being any good either but was anyway. Similar scenario, far different result (although some of the blame surely falls on director Fred Wolf, whose writing credits include "Joe Dirt" and whose directorial debut was "Strange Wilderness," a movie that was apparently so bad that a couple of Lisa's cousins seem to have been permanently scarred by it).
That's not to say there aren't a few laughs. Faris, as I said, is a gifted comedic actor, and when she gets a good line she can usually wring a great laugh. Unfortunately, those are few and far between, with most of the film managing to be patently absurd without being the least bit funny. I spent much more time shaking my head in disbelief than I did laughing. That's usually not a good sign.
D
Note: Once again, maybe I'm not the right demographic for this one. My wife enjoyed it.
Anna Faris is becoming the anti-Clooney. With the exception of bit parts in a number of great films (most notably her Cameron Diaz impression in "Lost in Translation"), her resume is dotted by films I either have absolutely no interest in seeing or have seen and wished I hadn't.
In "The House Bunny," Faris plays a Playmate (but not, as she disappointingly admits, a centerfold) who is kicked out of the Playboy Mansion. Homeless, and not that bright, she stumbles into a sorority house ("It's like a miniature version of the Mansion") and, through a series of supposedly comedic events, winds up the house mother to the campus' struggling, misfit sorority, complete with the book-smart but socially dim leader (Emma Stone), the anti-social cynic (Kat Dennings) , the exceptionally pregnant one (American Idol's Katherine McPhee), the one in the metal back brace (Bruce and Demi's daughter Rumer), the trailer trash one (I believe Dana Goodman) and the one too shy to even talk to her sorority sisters (pretty sure Kiely Williams). If she can't turn them around and make them popular enough to attract 30 pledges, they'll lose their house, much to the delight of a stuck up rival sorority who hopes to use the house for their overflow pledges.
Despite the fact the movie sounds more like a late-night offering on Cinemax than PG-13 multiplex fare, there had to at least be hope for the film. It's by the same writers as "Legally Blonde," which had no business being any good either but was anyway. Similar scenario, far different result (although some of the blame surely falls on director Fred Wolf, whose writing credits include "Joe Dirt" and whose directorial debut was "Strange Wilderness," a movie that was apparently so bad that a couple of Lisa's cousins seem to have been permanently scarred by it).
That's not to say there aren't a few laughs. Faris, as I said, is a gifted comedic actor, and when she gets a good line she can usually wring a great laugh. Unfortunately, those are few and far between, with most of the film managing to be patently absurd without being the least bit funny. I spent much more time shaking my head in disbelief than I did laughing. That's usually not a good sign.
D
Note: Once again, maybe I'm not the right demographic for this one. My wife enjoyed it.
Movie No. 18: Mamma Mia
I would like to begin this review by admitting that I am not in the target demographic for this film, which, judging by the audience we saw it with, is women in their 40s and 50s. They seemed to enjoy it immensely, and my wife liked it too. That being said, I spent most of the first half of the film wondering if Meryl Streep accidentally killed the choreographer's cat or something.
For those who don't know, "Mamma Mia" is based off a popular musical, which is based off the collecting works of the Scandinavian pop quartet ABBA. The plot centers around a young woman (Amanda Seyfried of "Mean Girls" fame) who is about to get married but believes there is a hole in her life, namely that she doesn't know who her father is. So, she finds her mom's diary from the year of her birth and finds there are actually three potential candidates. So, what else is there to do but invite all three (Pierce Brosnan, Colin Firth and Stellan Skarsgard) to the wedding, all without telling her mother (Streep).
Remember my comment about Streep and the cat? Well, the dance numbers, especially early in the film, seem designed to do little but make Streep look foolish without actually being funny. I know this might be heretical to say about one of the great living actors, but Streep never quite feels at home here. Maybe it is because, with the exception of a couple of nice scenes with Seyfried, she's never really in a scene with anyone else playing it straight. Julie Walters and Christine Baranski as her old friends and bandmates are delightfully over-the-top (Walters' hilarious turn is by far the best thing about the film), and Pierce Brosnan, as the once great love of her life, seems to be going for cheese while Streep's going for genuine emotion. Perhaps more for this reason than any, the movie is actually better when Streep isn't on screen.
Also, as is too often the case with musicals, there are a couple of dance numbers that just feel tacked on for the sake of getting the song into the show or adding a big number for a specific character.
It's not all bad by any means. As I mentioned, Julie Walters might indeed gnaw on every piece of the film's beautiful scenery, but she is very often hysterical doing it. Amanda Seyfried also showed a lot of promise. Given Lindsay Lohan's problems and Rachel McAdams' seeming self-imposed exile, she might just end up with the best career of the "Mean Girls."
That being said, the film's eye-roll to guffaw ratio isn't all that good, at least from the perspective of this mid-20s male.
C-
For those who don't know, "Mamma Mia" is based off a popular musical, which is based off the collecting works of the Scandinavian pop quartet ABBA. The plot centers around a young woman (Amanda Seyfried of "Mean Girls" fame) who is about to get married but believes there is a hole in her life, namely that she doesn't know who her father is. So, she finds her mom's diary from the year of her birth and finds there are actually three potential candidates. So, what else is there to do but invite all three (Pierce Brosnan, Colin Firth and Stellan Skarsgard) to the wedding, all without telling her mother (Streep).
Remember my comment about Streep and the cat? Well, the dance numbers, especially early in the film, seem designed to do little but make Streep look foolish without actually being funny. I know this might be heretical to say about one of the great living actors, but Streep never quite feels at home here. Maybe it is because, with the exception of a couple of nice scenes with Seyfried, she's never really in a scene with anyone else playing it straight. Julie Walters and Christine Baranski as her old friends and bandmates are delightfully over-the-top (Walters' hilarious turn is by far the best thing about the film), and Pierce Brosnan, as the once great love of her life, seems to be going for cheese while Streep's going for genuine emotion. Perhaps more for this reason than any, the movie is actually better when Streep isn't on screen.
Also, as is too often the case with musicals, there are a couple of dance numbers that just feel tacked on for the sake of getting the song into the show or adding a big number for a specific character.
It's not all bad by any means. As I mentioned, Julie Walters might indeed gnaw on every piece of the film's beautiful scenery, but she is very often hysterical doing it. Amanda Seyfried also showed a lot of promise. Given Lindsay Lohan's problems and Rachel McAdams' seeming self-imposed exile, she might just end up with the best career of the "Mean Girls."
That being said, the film's eye-roll to guffaw ratio isn't all that good, at least from the perspective of this mid-20s male.
C-
Movie No. 17: "The Bank Job"
A good story, told well.
That's what is at the base of pretty much any good, narrative-driven film. The best ones obviously go a lot deeper than that, but at their base is still a good story, told well.
And that is exactly what the based-on-a-true-story heist film "The Bank Job" is. It's not a great film and no one element really stands out, but it is consistantly interesting, and sometimes that's enough.
Jason Statham stars as Terry Leather, a small-time crook and used-car dealer who is approached by ex-model Martine Love (Saffron Burrows) about a potentially major score -- She's looking for a team to rob a set of safety deposit boxes, and sees Leather as the guy to lead it. What Leather doesn't know is the real reason behind the heist: a box filled with blackmail photos, including a rather scandalous shot of a member of the royal family. This being a British heist movie, it also including a cast of colorful characters ranging from a strip club owner to a black-power pimp to a cadre of corrupt cops and secretive Feds.
As seems to be the case with the few other British heist films I've seen, this one doesn't follow the same outline (or lack thereof) of their American counterparts. There's no Mametian surprises and double-crosses. There's no Ocean's 11-style "How are they going to pull that off" intrigue. Everyone's motives are plainly apparent from their first moment on screen. It's not about the twists and turns, it is simply about the ride, and director Roger Donaldson keeps the pacing at a reasonable level and just lets the story unfold. Sometimes no frills can be pretty darned effective.
B
That's what is at the base of pretty much any good, narrative-driven film. The best ones obviously go a lot deeper than that, but at their base is still a good story, told well.
And that is exactly what the based-on-a-true-story heist film "The Bank Job" is. It's not a great film and no one element really stands out, but it is consistantly interesting, and sometimes that's enough.
Jason Statham stars as Terry Leather, a small-time crook and used-car dealer who is approached by ex-model Martine Love (Saffron Burrows) about a potentially major score -- She's looking for a team to rob a set of safety deposit boxes, and sees Leather as the guy to lead it. What Leather doesn't know is the real reason behind the heist: a box filled with blackmail photos, including a rather scandalous shot of a member of the royal family. This being a British heist movie, it also including a cast of colorful characters ranging from a strip club owner to a black-power pimp to a cadre of corrupt cops and secretive Feds.
As seems to be the case with the few other British heist films I've seen, this one doesn't follow the same outline (or lack thereof) of their American counterparts. There's no Mametian surprises and double-crosses. There's no Ocean's 11-style "How are they going to pull that off" intrigue. Everyone's motives are plainly apparent from their first moment on screen. It's not about the twists and turns, it is simply about the ride, and director Roger Donaldson keeps the pacing at a reasonable level and just lets the story unfold. Sometimes no frills can be pretty darned effective.
B
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Movie No. 16: "The Pineapple Express"
This was one of my most anticipated movies of the year, if only for the curiousity factor. David Gordon Green, director of mostly somber, lyrical, flowing films like "All the Real Girls" and "Undertow" taking on a project from the Apatow gang. I firmly believed that this film was going to be absolute genius or a complete disaster. Turns out I was wrong, although it definitely had aspects of both.
Apatow regular and the film's co-screenwriter Seth Rogan plays Dale Denton, a process server stuck in suspended adolescence, complete with a high school-age girlfriend. The two great loves of his life are talk radio and marijuana.
It's the latter that leads him to the home of Saul Silver (James Franco), a perpetually baked drug dealer. Excuse me, pot dealer (he takes offense when people think he sells the harder stuff). Saul might be a bit too clingy for Dale's taste, but he has good connections, through which he's managed to acquire Pineapple Express, a variety of marijuana so rare, Saul's the only one in the city selling it.
That, however, turns out to be a bad thing when Dale witnesses a corrupt cop and a drug kingpin (Rosie Perez and Gary Cole) kill a rival dealer. He tosses his marijuana cigarette out of the car window and races off before realizing that it can be traced straight back to Saul -- and him. From there, the pair set out on a paranoia and pot-fueled race to stay ahead of the drug dealers.
There's a lot to like here. First, like most of the Apatow gang's films, it is often very funny. Both the smaller asides and the larger set pieces usually work, especially what might be the funniest car chase since "Blues Brothers." And Green manages to fit in a few grace notes, a couple quiet moments to let you know he's still there.
Perhaps the main reason the film works, though, is the chemistry between Rogan and Franco, who is nearly unrecognizable as lonely, perpetually out of it dealer. They play off each other so well it is almost impossible not to get swept along for the ride.
Unfortunately, Green didn't have a heavy enough hand to reign in another typical Apatow trademark: excess. Sometimes more isn't more, and some more restraint could have been used in a rather over-the-top violent final sequence. More also isn't more when it comes to Danny McBride, who goes rather over-the-top as a drug middle-man. While Franco and Rogan bring a natural feel to their characters, McBride just seems to constantly be trying too hard for a laugh rather than letting them come naturally.
While these flaws keep it from being the bizarre masterpiece I was hoping for, they don't kill off all that is good about it. "The Pineapple Express" might have been a bit of a disappointment, but I still had a heck of a time watching it.
B
Apatow regular and the film's co-screenwriter Seth Rogan plays Dale Denton, a process server stuck in suspended adolescence, complete with a high school-age girlfriend. The two great loves of his life are talk radio and marijuana.
It's the latter that leads him to the home of Saul Silver (James Franco), a perpetually baked drug dealer. Excuse me, pot dealer (he takes offense when people think he sells the harder stuff). Saul might be a bit too clingy for Dale's taste, but he has good connections, through which he's managed to acquire Pineapple Express, a variety of marijuana so rare, Saul's the only one in the city selling it.
That, however, turns out to be a bad thing when Dale witnesses a corrupt cop and a drug kingpin (Rosie Perez and Gary Cole) kill a rival dealer. He tosses his marijuana cigarette out of the car window and races off before realizing that it can be traced straight back to Saul -- and him. From there, the pair set out on a paranoia and pot-fueled race to stay ahead of the drug dealers.
There's a lot to like here. First, like most of the Apatow gang's films, it is often very funny. Both the smaller asides and the larger set pieces usually work, especially what might be the funniest car chase since "Blues Brothers." And Green manages to fit in a few grace notes, a couple quiet moments to let you know he's still there.
Perhaps the main reason the film works, though, is the chemistry between Rogan and Franco, who is nearly unrecognizable as lonely, perpetually out of it dealer. They play off each other so well it is almost impossible not to get swept along for the ride.
Unfortunately, Green didn't have a heavy enough hand to reign in another typical Apatow trademark: excess. Sometimes more isn't more, and some more restraint could have been used in a rather over-the-top violent final sequence. More also isn't more when it comes to Danny McBride, who goes rather over-the-top as a drug middle-man. While Franco and Rogan bring a natural feel to their characters, McBride just seems to constantly be trying too hard for a laugh rather than letting them come naturally.
While these flaws keep it from being the bizarre masterpiece I was hoping for, they don't kill off all that is good about it. "The Pineapple Express" might have been a bit of a disappointment, but I still had a heck of a time watching it.
B
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Movie No. 15: "Vicky Christina Barcelona"
"... and God help you if you use voice-over in your work, my friends. God help you. That's flaccid, sloppy writing. Any idiot can write a voice-over narration to explain the thoughts of a character."
This line from "Adaptation" is played as a joke, given that it interrupts a voiceover by Kaufmann questioning what the heck he's doing at a writing seminar. The message is clear: Imposing one-size-fits-all rules just leads to cookie-cutter writing. And there are countless examples of narration that prove Kaufmann's point, from the hilarious ("Election") to the sublime ("The Shawshank Redemption"), adding texture and richness to the characters. Even on TV, the narration on "Pushing Daisies" adds to the show's whimsical, fairy-tale atmosphere.
Unfortunately there are times when that is not the case, when it comes across as little more than a shortcut. When I saw "Y Tu Mama Tambien" I complained that a couple of times it seemed Cuaron used narration because he didn't trust his actors to convey the emotions he was trying to portray. In the case of Woody Allen's latest film "Vicky Christina Barcelona," which includes heavy doses of rather drab, exposition-filled narration, it didn't seem as though Allen didn't trust his cast. It seemed like he didn't trust himself.
Vicky (Rebecca Hall) and Christina (Scarlett Johansson) are a pair of recent college graduates spending the summer in Barcelona. As the narrator explains, they have vastly different views on love. Vicky is looking for security and consistency, believing passion will only lead to heartbreak. She's engaged to a man who's kind to her but whose sole topic of conversation seems to be things he's looking to buy. Christina is looking for violent, all-consuming passion. So it's no wonder that she is the one who convinces her friend to go when a Spanish painter (Javier Bardem) invites them for a weekend in his hometown and, if they so choose, in his bed. Both end up questioning what it is they thought they wanted out of love.
Much has been made out of the three way between Johansson, Bardem and Penelope Cruz (who plays Bardem's passionate but occasionally unhinged ex-wife). Those looking forward to the steamy scenes, though, will be disappointed, as much is told but little shown. Unfortunately for those looking for more than titillation, that's emblematic of the film as a whole. You're told that Johannson's character holds her own with the artistic circle that Bardem and Cruz's characters inhabit, but based on everything you see, I didn't really believe it. You're told that she's the key ingredient that allows them to exist in peace, but they seem more like her parents than her lovers. (Insert your Woody Allen joke here if you must)
It just seems that Allen doesn't trust himself to construct the scenes to complete his vision of the characters, so he simply had the narrator tell it to us. Say what you will about "Melinda and Melinda" (and I've said plenty myself), but it was clearly the work of a director who had a vision and was shooting for greatness. It resulted in what might be some of the worst scenes of his career, but he was certainly going for it. Too often, moment-to-moment, "Vicky Christina Barcelona" feels like it was the work of someone trying not to fail. That keeps it from being a disaster, but it also keeps it from being mentioned in the same breath as any of the truly memorable films that Allen has created during his career.
It would also perhaps help if Allen would get a new muse. His dialogue is such that making the audience believe the character would actually be saying these lines is half the battle. Diane Keaton was able to inhabit those characters completely, from the way she held herself to her gestures. Johannson tried to do that in "Scoop," but it just came off as a bad Diane Keaton impersonation. Here it seems she dispenses with the effort. It makes her performance as a whole better, showing some of the same skill she showed in "Lost in Translation" during the quiet scenes, but the dialogue once again trips her up. You just don't believe that she'd say the lines Allen wrote for her, and you think less of her character because of it.
That's not to say that this is a bad film. Bardem and Cruz give very strong performances, adding genuine artistic passion to the film. Their scenes together are probably the film's best. Even Hall, who has been getting little attention despite having perhaps the largest role, gives a very promising performance, even if she too trips over some of the more extreme Woodyisms. It's just that the film never manages to build any momentum, and the characters are never given time or space to breath and become more than archetypes.
C
This line from "Adaptation" is played as a joke, given that it interrupts a voiceover by Kaufmann questioning what the heck he's doing at a writing seminar. The message is clear: Imposing one-size-fits-all rules just leads to cookie-cutter writing. And there are countless examples of narration that prove Kaufmann's point, from the hilarious ("Election") to the sublime ("The Shawshank Redemption"), adding texture and richness to the characters. Even on TV, the narration on "Pushing Daisies" adds to the show's whimsical, fairy-tale atmosphere.
Unfortunately there are times when that is not the case, when it comes across as little more than a shortcut. When I saw "Y Tu Mama Tambien" I complained that a couple of times it seemed Cuaron used narration because he didn't trust his actors to convey the emotions he was trying to portray. In the case of Woody Allen's latest film "Vicky Christina Barcelona," which includes heavy doses of rather drab, exposition-filled narration, it didn't seem as though Allen didn't trust his cast. It seemed like he didn't trust himself.
Vicky (Rebecca Hall) and Christina (Scarlett Johansson) are a pair of recent college graduates spending the summer in Barcelona. As the narrator explains, they have vastly different views on love. Vicky is looking for security and consistency, believing passion will only lead to heartbreak. She's engaged to a man who's kind to her but whose sole topic of conversation seems to be things he's looking to buy. Christina is looking for violent, all-consuming passion. So it's no wonder that she is the one who convinces her friend to go when a Spanish painter (Javier Bardem) invites them for a weekend in his hometown and, if they so choose, in his bed. Both end up questioning what it is they thought they wanted out of love.
Much has been made out of the three way between Johansson, Bardem and Penelope Cruz (who plays Bardem's passionate but occasionally unhinged ex-wife). Those looking forward to the steamy scenes, though, will be disappointed, as much is told but little shown. Unfortunately for those looking for more than titillation, that's emblematic of the film as a whole. You're told that Johannson's character holds her own with the artistic circle that Bardem and Cruz's characters inhabit, but based on everything you see, I didn't really believe it. You're told that she's the key ingredient that allows them to exist in peace, but they seem more like her parents than her lovers. (Insert your Woody Allen joke here if you must)
It just seems that Allen doesn't trust himself to construct the scenes to complete his vision of the characters, so he simply had the narrator tell it to us. Say what you will about "Melinda and Melinda" (and I've said plenty myself), but it was clearly the work of a director who had a vision and was shooting for greatness. It resulted in what might be some of the worst scenes of his career, but he was certainly going for it. Too often, moment-to-moment, "Vicky Christina Barcelona" feels like it was the work of someone trying not to fail. That keeps it from being a disaster, but it also keeps it from being mentioned in the same breath as any of the truly memorable films that Allen has created during his career.
It would also perhaps help if Allen would get a new muse. His dialogue is such that making the audience believe the character would actually be saying these lines is half the battle. Diane Keaton was able to inhabit those characters completely, from the way she held herself to her gestures. Johannson tried to do that in "Scoop," but it just came off as a bad Diane Keaton impersonation. Here it seems she dispenses with the effort. It makes her performance as a whole better, showing some of the same skill she showed in "Lost in Translation" during the quiet scenes, but the dialogue once again trips her up. You just don't believe that she'd say the lines Allen wrote for her, and you think less of her character because of it.
That's not to say that this is a bad film. Bardem and Cruz give very strong performances, adding genuine artistic passion to the film. Their scenes together are probably the film's best. Even Hall, who has been getting little attention despite having perhaps the largest role, gives a very promising performance, even if she too trips over some of the more extreme Woodyisms. It's just that the film never manages to build any momentum, and the characters are never given time or space to breath and become more than archetypes.
C
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