Category: Movie Reviews

director: Paul McGuigan
starring: Josh Hartnett, Bruce Willis, Morgan Freeman, Ben Kingsley, Lucy Liu, Stanley Tucci

Further proof that Hollywood marketing execs have absolutely no idea what they’re doing, Lucky Number Slevin is a wildly enjoyable film that made next to nothing at the box office (~$22.5M). I attribute this to the trailers and ads put out for the movie, making Slevin seem like another run-of-the-mill action flick. Instead of focusing on the talent involved and the off-beat angle of the story, they chose instead to highlight gunfights and explosions. How original. I mean, look at the poster over on the left. That concept’s been done to death. “Just slap every single actor on the one-sheet and mega box office will ensue, right? We can’t miss!” [ad execs high-five each other and bump chests]

Well, that’s why I’m here. Stop watching that Sanford & Son rerun and get to the video store to pick Lucky Number Slevin up. It’s got just about everything you want in a movie: comedy, action, drama, great acting, great direction and a bit of the old sexy-time (“A-very nice!”). I’d never heard of director Paul McGuigan before this movie (a quick IMDB check yields a roster of seven movies I’ve never heard of and a forthcoming job directing the highly anticipated, ahem, film adaptation of The Equalizer), but he did an outstanding job. As I’ve said in the past reviews, I have a very hard time writing about direction in concrete terms, other than to say “you know it when you see it.” Well, I saw it and I know it and I like it.

When did Josh Hartnett become a great actor? He more than held his own with the likes of Freeman, Kingsley and Willis, and was a pleasant surprise that made the movie all the more enjoyable. His quirky portrayal of Slevin has a high degree of subtlety, and despite some plainly slapstick moments for the character, Hartnett deftly handles the job of creating a fully-realized character. Does that last sentence sound as pretentious as it does to me? Anyway… As you’d expect, all of the aforementioned actors, in addition to Lucy Liu and Stanley Tucci, are fantastic. As good as the script is (it’s not great), they all take it to another level. Slevin, in terms of its story, becomes predictable at a certain point early on, but the talent involved is such that the story almost becomes secondary to simply enjoying the ride. With lesser actors involved, Slevin would probably rate a C or lower in my book.

I realize I’ve gotten to the end of the review and haven’t really told you what the film’s about. What, my high praise isn’t enough for you to just see it on good faith? How dare you. Lucky Number Slevin’s about a case of mistaken identity that leads to a rapidly-escalating series of events resulting in sex, gunshots, death, revenge and a bit of the old Kansas City Shuffle (which would also be a wholly appropriate title for the film, as you’ll find out). … Alright, maybe I was being too hard on those Hollywood ad execs. “Just see the movie, dammit.” Put that on the poster.

director: M. Night Shyamalan
starring: Paul Giamatti, Bryce Dallas Howard, M. Night Shamalamadingdong

My reaction upon first seeing the teaser trailer for Lady in the Water, some months ago, was less than favorable. It looked more like a series of random and unrelated shots designed to build toward the reveal of director M. Night Shyamalan’s name, as if the mere fact that he was directing was the real event. The actual movie? Bah! A minor annoyance to put up with in order to see the utter majesty and superiority of Shyamalan’s blinding talent. Oh, and did I mention he actually has a significant role in the film? This looked more like a vanity project than something worthy of the company of Shyamalan’s past successes. While the full trailer was much better, I still had a sour taste in my mouth from M. Night’s last film, The Village, which had editing choices so inexplicable that my enjoyment of the movie was destroyed. If I had an Avid and a few days to kill, I could turn that movie into a great one. But I digress.

Continue reading “Lady in the Water | B+”

There are some spoilers in the review, so I suggest avoiding this until you’ve seen the flick. I will say that it’s worth seeing if you’ve ever been a fan of the Rock. Rocky Balboa is a great Christmas gift for his fans.

director: Sylvester Stallone
starring: Sylvester Stallone, Burt Young, Antonio Tarver, Milo Ventimiglia, Geraldine Hughes

Nostalgia’s a powerful thing. There’s just something comfortable about this movie–it feels like revisiting your childhood home and feeling that sense of “rightness.” There are very few movies, and even fewer movie franchises, that can truly transcend demographics and the latest fads to touch everyone who watches on some level. Rocky Balboa manages to take the best moments from the previous five (well, maybe four, as Rocky V wasn’t exactly the high point of the franchise) films and roll them all into one, final farewell to the fans who’ve cheered the Rock on every step of the way. In point of fact, this feels more like a movie that’d be at home in the seventies or eighties rather than the modern Hollywood popcorn blockbuster factory. It’s rare to see a movie like this get made these days, and I appreciate Rocky Balboa as much for that as any reason.

Continue reading “Rocky Balboa | B+”

director: Mary Harron
starring: Christian Bale, Chloe Sevigny, Willem Dafoe, Reese Witherspoon

The controversial book focusing on a materialistic, self-obsessed serial killer was made into an almost-equally controversial movie, to less than stellar results. Saddled with a screenplay that doesn’t make much sense in terms of plot (though maybe that’s intentional in a story about insanity), American Psycho has some message to tell the populace about avarice and vanity, but it may have an even more important message to tell us about the impact of 80’s music stars. Then again, maybe not.

Christian Bale, in his “breakout” role as New York City stockbroker Patrick Bateman, maintains a smug, condescending manner embodying the very essence of arrogance–whether issuing 10-minute monologues on Huey Lewis or outlining his daily routine of applying a series of facial scrubs and lotions. It’s that same arrogance that drives him to hit a colleague in the face with an ax and commit all sorts of murderous chaos throughout Manhattan. The monologues, though, are the highlight of an otherwise incoherent script.

I live in the American Gardens building on West 81st street. My name is Patrick Bateman. I’m 27 years old. I believe in taking care of myself, and a balanced diet and a rigorous exercise routine. In the morning, if my face is a little puffy, I’ll put on an ice pack while doing my stomach crunches. I can do a thousand now. After I remove the ice pack, I use a deep pore cleanser lotion. In the shower, I use a water activated gel cleanser. Then a honey almond body scrub. And on the face, an exfoliating gel scrub. Then apply an herb mint facial mask, which I leave on for 10 minutes while I prepare the rest of my routine. I always use an aftershave lotion with little or no alcohol, because alcohol dries your face out and makes you look older. Then moisturizer, then an anti-aging eye balm followed by a final moisturizing protective lotion. There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman, some kind of abstraction, but there is no real me. Only an entity, something illusory. And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our life styles are probably comparable, I simply am not there.

Yeah.

The plot, of what little there is, centers on Bateman killin’ people, that aforementioned colleague in particular, and his descent into (deeper) madness prompted by a police investigator’s questioning of Bateman about the disappearance of said colleague. Unfortunately, there’s never any real pay-off to that or any of the other minor subplots, but in the end, that may be the point entirely. The power-hungry culture Bateman finds himself a part of is so ensconced in wealth and privilege that its sole focus is to keep that status at the expense of almost everything else, even when it comes to ignoring the glaring truth that you work and socialize with a homicidal maniac. As long as they’re in the black and have eighty-six designer suits in the closet, all’s fair as long as you fit in with the jet set of New York City’s high society.

director: Liam Lynch
starring: Jack Black, Kyle Gass, Lee, Dave Grohl

Jables and Rage Kage chronicle their rise to power in The Pick of Destiny, a movie that cements their status as the Greatest Band in the World. But they weren’t always such a band, as it took countless hours of rock squats, cock push-ups, bong hits, gig simulations and sleeping ’til the crack of noon to perfect their art. The Pick of Destiny documents the bandmates’ first meeting and the formation of their rock band, Tenacious D. Their search for the titular Pick of Destiny is fraught with all manner of peril and hardship, to the point that the band is almost broken up. Along the journey, they meet up with Sasquatch, get chased by cops, flee from a crazy old man with a limp and a blade, and draw down with Beelzebub himself. It’s a raucous, profane ride through rock & roll hilarity.

If the references in the above paragraph aren’t familiar to you, however, you’re going to have problems with the movie. It’s tailor-made for those audiences already familiar with Tenacious D and their work, a band that’s been around for close to 15 years now. A brief primer on their history: formed by two members of UCLA’s Actor’s Gang theater troupe, Tenacious D was a rock/comedy act that got their start in local clubs in the LA area, rapidly rising in prominence to the point they got a series of HBO shows before touring around the States and finally releasing a full-length album in 2001 (the fantastic, self-titled Tenacious D), along with a DVD. A bit of their work: Tribute | Explosivo | Wonderboy.

Continue reading “Tenacious D in The Pick of Destiny | B+”

director: Christopher Nolan
starring: Christian Bale, Hugh Jackman, Michael Caine, Scarlett Johansson, David Bowie

Every great magic trick consists of three acts. The first act is called “The Pledge;” the magician shows you something ordinary, but of course…it probably isn’t. The second act is called “The Turn;” the magician makes his ordinary something do something extraordinary. Now if you’re looking for the secret…you won’t find it; that’s why there’s a third act called, “The Prestige.” This is the part with the twists and turns, where lives hang in the balance, and you see something shocking you’ve never seen before.

Real magic. It does exist. It exists in the smile of a woman you make laugh for the first time; it exists in a song that touches you on some deep, emotional level you never knew existed; it exists in the sunrise over the ocean on a still morning; it exists in movies that can transport you to another time and place, taking you on a ride through endless possibilities.

If you got past that whimsical introductory paragraph without closing your browser, thank you; let’s move on. For future reference, if I see a film ad with “Directed by Christopher Nolan” in the credits, sign me up. The director of Memento, Insomnia, and Batman Begins has worked his magic again with The Prestige.

Centering on a friendship-turned-rivalry between two up and coming magicians in London, The Prestige is structured much like the standard magician’s trick, as so wonderfully outlined by their mentor, Cutter (Michael Caine) in the quote opening this review. We open with two magicians yearning for something more than assisting what they view to be a second-rate magician and coming up with better tricks (The Pledge). One ill-fated and tragic trick ends up dividing the two early on in the flick, leaving them to pursue careers in magic their own way, which soon turns into a heated and often deadly competition between the two as the film progresses (through The Turn). I won’t go into too much detail about the movie’s Turn and Prestige, because that would spoil the “trick.”

Continue reading “The Prestige | A-“

director: Martin Campbell
starring: Daniel Craig, Eva Green, Mads Mikkelsen, Judi Dench

James Bond is back, albeit not quite in the way you’d expect. Gone is the debonair charm and wit that has been the British super-agent’s trademark; gone are the multitude of amazing gadgets produced by tech specialist Q; gone are the fancy cars that fire missiles out of engines and oil slicks out of tail pipes. Casino Royale introduces us to a Bond at the dawning of his development before he transforms that wise-cracking rogue. Unfortunately, the writers and producers don’t take the idea of a franchise “reboot” seriously enough, and I think the Bond movies will be right back to what they were before the next time around.

That isn’t to say the newest Bond, played by Daniel Craig, doesn’t have a good one-liner or two, but the focus this time around is more on his role as a “blunt instrument” of Her Majesty’s intelligence organization, MI6. This is a brutal, unrelenting Bond who shoots first and fires quips later, resulting in an altogether different tone from other Bond films of the past.

Beginning with his first two kills (and thus earning Bond his “double-oh” status), the filmmakers set that tone with atmospheric black and white, looking more film noir than action blockbuster. It serves as a sobering introduction to the British agent, and his stark brutality is a wholly appropriate reminder of just what his job is–it’s not to simply play cards and bed women across the globe–he’s a sanctioned killer, pure and simple. We’re reminded of this throughout the film, and it results in a very different-feeling Bond film, a change I welcome with open arms. The Bond films had begun to get stale in the past several outings, each one trying to top the previous in terms of explosions and chases and one-liners, and while they may have done well at the box office, they really were nothing more than forgettable popcorn flicks.

Continue reading “Casino Royale | A-“

Clearly, there’s not a lot that needs to be “reviewed” for this kind of movie. You either like seeing people get punched in the nuts or you don’t. There’s a bit more to Jackass Number Two than just nut-shots, mainly involving yaks, medicine balls and rockets, all used to tremendous effect. If you’ve been entertained by any of the above, you’ll love this flick. A strong stomach may also be required.

The fact that none of the Jackass crew are dead by now speaks to the vast amounts of pure, dumb luck they each possess. The potential for a broken neck or catching a disease from a wild animal is off the charts here, but they somehow emerge unscathed each and every time. Well, not unscathed, but certainly alive. Most of the cast members end up with some sort of permanent scar (both physically and mentally) during the course of the movie, perhaps the worst being Bam Margera’s ass-branding-gone-wrong at the hands of Ryan Dunn. If that makes you cringe, just wait ’til you see it onscreen.

I think my favorite stunt was also one of the simplest; involving a hand-written sign covering a hole in a hotel hallway wall, hiding what lay waiting for an unsuspecting reader. Really, it’s amazing that seeing someone get punched in the face by a mechanical boxing glove could be so hilarious, but this is the essence of Jackass. It’s essentially the real-world version of Wile E. Coyote and Tom & Jerry (though it may be closer to Itchy & Scratchy at this point). If you liked the first flick, you’ll love Number Two, leaving the theater sore from having laughed so hard. But, if you have an aversion to the aforementioned nut-punches, feces and other bodily fluids being flung about, then I must recommend that you refrain from attending the theater to see Jackass Number Two.

director: Judd Apatow
starring: Will Ferrell, John C. Reilly, Leslie Bibb, Gary Cole, Sacha Baron Cohen

Will Ferrell reunites with the crew that made Anchorman one of the funniest movies ever in the recorded history of space-time to bring theater-goers Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. Ferrell plays the titular Ricky Bobby, a NASCAR driver who believes that “if you don’t finish first, you’re last.” Ricky Bobby is the toast of the NASCAR circuit, has millions in product endorsements and race winnings, a red-hot, smokin’ wife, and two spitfire kids: Walker and Texas Ranger.

Things start to go bad for Ricky when a French driver (Cohen) comes over from Formula-1 racing and mops the floor with him. Unfortunately, this is about when the movie starts to go bad as well. There are far too many dead moments, generally those scenes having to do with Ricky and his father (played by Gary Cole) and the rekindling of their strained relationship. It’s not that they’re even trying to put a heartwarming subplot into the flick, it’s just that there aren’t any jokes to go along with it. There’s just nothing of substance in a lot of these scenes. Except for the cougar.

Another big problem is that, as utterly hilarious as a lot of Nights’ best moments are, you’ve probably already seen all of them if you’ve watched the trailer. I’ll never understand why marketing executives give so much away in a lot of modern day movie trailers. And there’s more than a few jokes that fall flat because they don’t make any sense or just seem half-assed. There’s a subplot involving one of the crewmembers of Ricky’s pit crew, who will constantly make bizarre comments about peaches and death that never goes anywhere, and then there’s an Applebee’s commercial in the middle of a race that should be funny but isn’t. I still laughed out loud through much of the flick, but having seen most of the gags in the trailer already may have subtracted a guffaw or two out of my moviegoing experience. Guffaw.

There’s still a lot to love about Talladega Nights. Walker and Texas Ranger, Ricky’s sons, are particularly good when hurling insults at their frail grandfather across the dinner table. And, of course, there’s Ferrell. Likely the funniest (not necessarily the most intelligent) actor working in Hollywood today, he’s as good as ever here. He doesn’t always have enough to work with in some scenes (i.e. the “slow” moments aforementioned), but he’s still at the top of his game. What’s funnier than Will Ferrell running around a racetrack in his underwear screaming for the assistance of Tom Cruise and his “witchcraft” to put out the invisible fire burning him alive? You’re exactly right: nothing. So, at the end of the day, it’s not quite in Anchorman’s league, but Talladega Nights has enough going for it to warrant gobbling up your nine bucks at the multiplex.

director: Michael Mann
starring: Colin Farrell, Jamie Foxx, Gong Li, John Ortiz

Michael Mann scores again with the updated film version of the TV show he created in 80’s, Miami Vice. Standing in for Don Johnson and Phillip Michael Thomas are Colin Farrell and Jamie Foxx as Miami-Dade vice cops “Sonny” Crockett and Ricardo Tubbs, respectively. The two are played much more seriously by Farrell and Foxx, leaving much of the charm Johnson and Thomas had in the TV series by the wayside. That’s made up for with some solid acting and Mann’s direction. Dare I say it? Mann is the best director working in the industry right now. Well, maybe not the best, but certainly tops on my list.

The flick strives to be the very embodiment of the word “cool,” but instead of coming off as elitist preening, Mann makes it work with his no-nonsense approach regardless of what’s onscreen–whether it be a large-scale, dynamic gun battle in a shipyard or a simple conversation between characters. The grainy look of the film (it was shot on HD video) lends the picture a realism that could easily be lost in the pink lights and palm trees of Miami.

It’s fortunate that Mann directed the script he wrote, as his directorial skills seem to outweigh his writing this time around. Some of the dialogue is laughable if you examine it closely; raising the cheese quotient a bit if you think too much about it. In fact, I think the movie could work incredibly well if there was no dialogue at all. Mann is a true artist, getting some breathtaking shots of Miami and South America that have to be seen to be believed–lush tropical waterfalls, sweeping ocean vistas, or amongst the clouds while following aircraft. Almost as affecting is the composition of everyday shots of people just talking. Mann has a way of making the viewer feel like you’re right there in the scene with the actor, floating in and out of the action.

In terms of those actors, Miami Vice is largely Farrell’s movie; the publicized difficulties between Foxx and Farrell on the set during the shoot make a bit of sense in light of that. Foxx doesn’t get to do a whole lot other than shoot off a couple of one-liners delivered as if he were half-asleep, with a look on his face that makes it seem as if he just smelled a fart. Aside from that revelation, don’t expect too much in the way of background or character development here. Both Crockett and Tubbs (Crockett a little moreso, perhaps) are indentured to their jobs. They don’t get any downtime, and thus we don’t really get to know too much about them. That’s not a big deal here, but it becomes hard to identify with them on any level. (Unless you, too, are indentured to your job, routinely wear silk suits and drive around in high-powered speedboats.)

What he fails to deliver with dialogue and development, Mann more than makes up for with his action sequences. It’s not quite as good as the bank shootout in Heat, but the gun battle in the shipyard is intense, gritty, in-your-face and pulls no punches. (Insert another cliche here.) It’s a minor detail, but Mann doesn’t use “movie gunshot” sound effects in postproduction. He uses the actual sound of the weapons being fired. It may not seem like much, but you’ll immediately notice the difference when you hear these guns firing in staccato symphonies during the gunfights. It’s almost uncomfortable to hear–as you feel like you’re right in the middle of the action, bullets seem to be whizzing by your head (for God’s sake, make sure you see this in a theater with decent sound).

Speaking of sound, there’s a pretty damn good soundtrack here as well. I was particularly enamored of the Chris Cornell tracks (possibly Audioslave) sprinkled throughout. Mann seems to be pretty hip in his choice of music (or at least hires people with that sensibility) and it works very well in the movie. I wasn’t so enamored with Nonpoint’s terrible cover of Phil Collins’ “In the Air Tonight.” Awful, awful, awful nü-metal garbage.

So, Miami Vice is pretty much what you’d expect. The original TV series wasn’t exactly an in-depth character study of undercover vice cops, and neither is the movie. They don’t need to be. The film comes dangerously close to being something of a vanity project for those involved, with the actors skirting the line between real acting and male modeling. But under the strong directorial hand of Mann, what you’ll get is a taut, intenese action drama shot by one of the greatest directors of our time. Check it out. And if audiences do that, I’m sure you can expect a sequel, as the story certainly leaves that possibility open. Miami Vice 2: Montoya’s Revenge!