March 26, 2011
March 20, 2011
Paul (03/20/2011)
Lettergrade: C-
Most of Paul is just sort of "okay." It picks up a little in the second half, but I'm honestly not all that happy that I spent 2 hours with it on a valuable day off, and I cannot recommend that you do the same. The fault is probably mine: I expected too much.
You see, the movie - a take off on the E.T. / Mac & Me / A.L.F. sub-genre where two comic book guys encounter a stoner alien - stars Simon Pegg and Nick Frost, the neo Abbot & Costello pair who were also in two of my recent favorites: Shaun Of The Dead and Hot Fuzz. Pegg co-wrote those earlier movies with director Edgar Wright (who also made the wonderful Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World last year), but Paul was co-written with Frost instead, and Adventureland's Greg Mottola stepped in to direct.
The result is a movie that feels like a more foul-mouthed companion to Galaxy Quest or The Coneheads in that it's pleasantly amusing, and even has a handful of decent scenes, but ultimately feels a little too banal and toothless for my taste. It's not as intense or as extreme as Shaun or Fuzz on a visual level, and although the love of pop-culture and referencing other movies is in there, the joy with which the earlier film made those references is not. I think both this movie and Galaxy are reluctant to really take the gloves off when depicting the comic-book crowd, knowing full well that it's the same demographic that tends to buy most of the tickets. Oh if the filmmakers had only used Triumph The Insult Comic Dog's epic encounter with Star Wars fans camping out to see Attack Of The Clones in 2002 as inspiration:
But you know, content aside, a big part of my so-so reaction to the movie is Paul himself. He's voiced by Seth Rogen, which I don't necessarily have a problem with, but the character he plays, like most of his other characters, doesn't seem to be all that different from the man himself. He smokes pot, makes lewd comments, and is generally a lovable slob. But the thing is that other than drug use, he's also not that all that different from A.L.F. (although I might actually argue that A.L.F. was funnier and more socially relevant). Maybe the few seconds of American Dad I've seen over the years have desensitized me to seeing aliens who like to sleep-in, watch bad TV, and eat junk food, but during a couple scenes in Paul I got the idea that the fact he was smoking or drinking a beer or something was intended to get some laughs, and it just wasn't. The image is so kinda familiar now that you pretty much expect it.
I don't begrudge the use of an all CG creation as one of the leads, but I also think that the makers of the film fell into the Jar Jar Binks trap of allowing Paul himself to outshine his live-action co-stars for too much of the film. The warning signs are there even in the trailer where you can clearly see the CG alien make big, grandiose facial expressions and movements while the actual people who were there on the set just look on blankly. Watch the second Pirates Of The Caribbean movie again and marvel at how often many of the CG characters simply stand and listen, then react appropriately... much like real actors usually do when performing in other movies. There's something Davy Jones understands that no other CG actor I've seen does.
Indeed, synthespians like Paul are so much more effective when they don't articulate all that well, or better yet, even look a little crappy. Lousy effects certainly didn't hurt 1989's Mac & Me, a piss-poor E.T. knock-off in which the McDonald's and Coke product placement is off the fucking charts, making for a movie that in many ways is funnier and far more memorable than this one.
Pegg and Frost seem to understand the joy that comes from reveling in the schlockiness sci-fi movies of yesteryear (Frost's character even brings up Mac & Me at one point), but weirdly they're doing it in a movie that's glossy and well-produced and which tries hard for genuine tenderness at multiple points. I have to blame the director for everything not quite working in harmony the way that it should.
I really liked Mottola's previous two movies, but something about his laid-back, quasi sentimental approach seems completely wrong for this one. Superbad and especially Adventureland revolve around young men who are at transition points in their lives, and I walked away from both really impressed that he was able to be very funny while still saying something very intangible and honest about the way in which guys interact with and, yes, even love eachother. In a perfectly hetero way, I mean. Not that there's anything wrong with... well, you know.
The Pegg and Frost characters in Paul are essentially sci-fi geek children who have reached their 40s without really advancing much. That's fine, but the movie makes an attempt at illustrating their life-long friendship and affection for eachother that feels out of place in the movie, as if Mottola looking for soul and depth where he really shouldn't be. Could Paul's key problem be that it tries too hard to be a movie that's about something other than just having a fun adventure?
Most of Paul is just sort of "okay." It picks up a little in the second half, but I'm honestly not all that happy that I spent 2 hours with it on a valuable day off, and I cannot recommend that you do the same. The fault is probably mine: I expected too much.
You see, the movie - a take off on the E.T. / Mac & Me / A.L.F. sub-genre where two comic book guys encounter a stoner alien - stars Simon Pegg and Nick Frost, the neo Abbot & Costello pair who were also in two of my recent favorites: Shaun Of The Dead and Hot Fuzz. Pegg co-wrote those earlier movies with director Edgar Wright (who also made the wonderful Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World last year), but Paul was co-written with Frost instead, and Adventureland's Greg Mottola stepped in to direct.
The result is a movie that feels like a more foul-mouthed companion to Galaxy Quest or The Coneheads in that it's pleasantly amusing, and even has a handful of decent scenes, but ultimately feels a little too banal and toothless for my taste. It's not as intense or as extreme as Shaun or Fuzz on a visual level, and although the love of pop-culture and referencing other movies is in there, the joy with which the earlier film made those references is not. I think both this movie and Galaxy are reluctant to really take the gloves off when depicting the comic-book crowd, knowing full well that it's the same demographic that tends to buy most of the tickets. Oh if the filmmakers had only used Triumph The Insult Comic Dog's epic encounter with Star Wars fans camping out to see Attack Of The Clones in 2002 as inspiration:
Triumph, the Insult Comic Dog - Star Wars - watch more funny videos
But you know, content aside, a big part of my so-so reaction to the movie is Paul himself. He's voiced by Seth Rogen, which I don't necessarily have a problem with, but the character he plays, like most of his other characters, doesn't seem to be all that different from the man himself. He smokes pot, makes lewd comments, and is generally a lovable slob. But the thing is that other than drug use, he's also not that all that different from A.L.F. (although I might actually argue that A.L.F. was funnier and more socially relevant). Maybe the few seconds of American Dad I've seen over the years have desensitized me to seeing aliens who like to sleep-in, watch bad TV, and eat junk food, but during a couple scenes in Paul I got the idea that the fact he was smoking or drinking a beer or something was intended to get some laughs, and it just wasn't. The image is so kinda familiar now that you pretty much expect it.
I don't begrudge the use of an all CG creation as one of the leads, but I also think that the makers of the film fell into the Jar Jar Binks trap of allowing Paul himself to outshine his live-action co-stars for too much of the film. The warning signs are there even in the trailer where you can clearly see the CG alien make big, grandiose facial expressions and movements while the actual people who were there on the set just look on blankly. Watch the second Pirates Of The Caribbean movie again and marvel at how often many of the CG characters simply stand and listen, then react appropriately... much like real actors usually do when performing in other movies. There's something Davy Jones understands that no other CG actor I've seen does.
Indeed, synthespians like Paul are so much more effective when they don't articulate all that well, or better yet, even look a little crappy. Lousy effects certainly didn't hurt 1989's Mac & Me, a piss-poor E.T. knock-off in which the McDonald's and Coke product placement is off the fucking charts, making for a movie that in many ways is funnier and far more memorable than this one.
Pegg and Frost seem to understand the joy that comes from reveling in the schlockiness sci-fi movies of yesteryear (Frost's character even brings up Mac & Me at one point), but weirdly they're doing it in a movie that's glossy and well-produced and which tries hard for genuine tenderness at multiple points. I have to blame the director for everything not quite working in harmony the way that it should.
I really liked Mottola's previous two movies, but something about his laid-back, quasi sentimental approach seems completely wrong for this one. Superbad and especially Adventureland revolve around young men who are at transition points in their lives, and I walked away from both really impressed that he was able to be very funny while still saying something very intangible and honest about the way in which guys interact with and, yes, even love eachother. In a perfectly hetero way, I mean. Not that there's anything wrong with... well, you know.
The Pegg and Frost characters in Paul are essentially sci-fi geek children who have reached their 40s without really advancing much. That's fine, but the movie makes an attempt at illustrating their life-long friendship and affection for eachother that feels out of place in the movie, as if Mottola looking for soul and depth where he really shouldn't be. Could Paul's key problem be that it tries too hard to be a movie that's about something other than just having a fun adventure?
March 12, 2011
Jane Eyre (03/12/2011)
Although my high school and college transcripts are full of English classes, I somehow missed having to read Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre. My wife was assigned the novel once in high school, and liked it enough to re-read several times on her own over the years. She really liked this new film version too, which was directed by Sin Nobre's Cary Fukunaga and stars Mia Wasikowska as the lead, Michael Fassbender as the handsome dickhead she falls in love with, and features supporting roles from Judi Dench and Sally Hawkins, among others. Critics have also been on fire about it, and my Facebook buddy Jens actually saw the film twice in two days, remarking that he liked it even more the second time.I must admit that I didn't get a lot out of it myself. I usually do have a soft spot for English costume-dramas based on novels of Jane Eyre's time, but in this case I wonder if a lack of familiarity with the text prevented me from seeing layers in the film that everyone else seems to. Because I have neither read the novel, nor have I seen it staged in different ways, I'm probably ill-equipped to really appreciate how the material was handled this time, and in fact at times I had a little trouble understanding what was going on at all.
I think a key problem for me was Wasikowska, whom I found to be awfully blank and difficult to get much feeling from, apart from a few climactic scenes. I understand that this is partly by design - Jane herself is described as exceedingly plain by several characters in film - but I, a Jane Eyre novice, went through large segments of the movie without a lot of insight into how she felt about everything that was going on, apart from feeling general empathy for a young woman that was forced to live with her mean-spirited aunt who did not want her, sent her to a boarding school where she was disliked, and who then became the governess at Thornfield Hall, a dusty estate owned by surly bastard Mr. Rochester, who harbors a dark secret or two.
The movie deviates from the book, I have been told, in that it shuffles up the chronology a bit. It opens with scenes of Jane running off from Thornfield Hall that appear about three-quarters of the way into the book, before flashing back to pick up the early scenes of Jane's childhood. I kinda hate this terribly clichéd technique to begin with, I must say, as I believe it appeals more to filmmakers when they talk amongst themselves than it does to the audiences who watch the movies. The idea, I guess, is to show the star of the film right up front (a chronological telling would mean that Wasikowska wouldn't show up for at least half an hour or so), and to tease at a big dramatic moment that the movie will be working toward.
With this movie in particular, I think the "stunt structure" had an unintended consequence that's actually a big problem: You see, when Jane arrives at Thornfield Hall later, she is to tutor a young blonde girl who mostly speaks French. Young Jane, in her flashbacks, is quite similar in appearance, and when the other girl showed up for the first time, I had a mild freak out moment: Had I been through all of the "Young Jane" scenes not understanding that it wasn't Young Jane at all but this other girl instead? The film was still flashing forward and backward at that point (ala ABC's Lost), meaning that it could very well have been the case, and I had somehow missed it. Or what if this was the older Jane Eyre meeting her younger self, and it marked the beginning of some kind of time-travel or alternate reality subplot that would be critically important to the movie's action / sci-fi climax? Was the space-time continuum about to collapse because of this paradoxical meeting? I asked my wife, and she quietly reassured me that I was right the first time: The French girl was a new character entirely, and film was not going to become a 19th century staging of Twelve Monkeys or Millennium.
Getting back to reality, however, it's hard to level criticism toward a movie that people seem to like simply because I "didn't read the book," but damn it: This blog is supposed to be about keeping it real, and writing about how I really feel about the flicks I'm seeing versus towing the same bullshit marketing lines that professional critics often do. What it comes down to is... did I understand it? Well, sorta. And did I like it? Egh, it was alright, I guess.
So there we are.
March 6, 2011
The Adjustment Bureau (03/06/2011)
Lettergrade: B-
I found myself really liking big segments of The Adjustment Bureau, mostly due to the electric chemistry between Matt Damon and Emily Blunt. But then - every once in a while - a scene would come up that would cause my enjoyment to grind to a screeching halt. Usually they were the ones where someone would begin to explain a little about what the Bureau is and what it does.
You see... it's kind of a non-denominational guiding force, sort of like a technologically minded group of guardian angels who all dress like they're auditioning for background work on Mad Men (and for no clear reason: the movie is set in present times). They use tactics like delaying your commute slightly, causing you to miss an important call, or getting you to run into someone you haven't seen in a while in order to make sure you are where you're supposed to be at key moments of your life and that you meet (or don't meet) the right people. Or in other words, that you stick to "The Plan." And who made The Plan? Well, it was made by the vaguely defined "Chairman," alternately referred to as "The Man Upstairs" - the movie's stand-in for whatever deity you happen to believe in, or not believe in.
It's not the non-committal theology that I have a problem with. The idea, based on a Phillip K. Dick short story called "The Adjustment Team", is a neat one, but it also seems like one that might be a bit more striking if the details had been allowed to remain a little fuzzy and if most of the activities of the Adjustment Bureau were left off camera. Indeed, once scenes like the ones I alluded to above were over, I quickly found myself again wrapped up in the love story between Damon's charismatic young politician and Blunt's sweet professional ballet dancer whom he meets and becomes intensely smitten with. They can't be together, says the Bureau, because The Plan forbids it, but Damon spends most of the movie trying anyway and quarreling with Bureau agents over matters of free-will versus fate.
Readers of this blog might know that I see most movies with my wife, and in our relationship she's the one who typically sees the positives and merits of a movie whereas I will become fixated on story points that seem kinda bullshitty and out of place and allow them to overrun things. This was a very rare example where the opposite was true: I was charmed enough by Damon, Blunt, and the quasi cool sci-fi concept of the picture to sort of forgive the things that didn't quite work. Laura, by contrast, was put off by the premise pretty much from the get go. She got a little worked up when we talked about it during the car ride home, seeming especially irked by the big sci-fi action climax at the end where Damon steals one of the "magic hats" that the Bureau agents use to travel around the city in order to prevent Blunt from marrying someone else, The Graduate style (egh, don't ask). She's got a point. That whole part was kind of, well... really stupid. On a crankier day, that - combined with some of those other Bureau scenes and the clearly reshot ending - maybe would have sunk the movie for me too.
More than the specifics, though, I think the overall premise didn't entirely sell her, and that's a complaint I've been hearing a number of other people who have seen it too. Honestly, though, whilst sitting in the theater I caught myself really enjoying the movie more often than not. It's interesting to see a medium-budget drama like this that seemed to be mostly made with adults in mind... it's a rare thing these days. While not perfect, it held my attention and gave me something to think about, which is probably more than Justin Bieber: Never Say Never would have done.
I found myself really liking big segments of The Adjustment Bureau, mostly due to the electric chemistry between Matt Damon and Emily Blunt. But then - every once in a while - a scene would come up that would cause my enjoyment to grind to a screeching halt. Usually they were the ones where someone would begin to explain a little about what the Bureau is and what it does. You see... it's kind of a non-denominational guiding force, sort of like a technologically minded group of guardian angels who all dress like they're auditioning for background work on Mad Men (and for no clear reason: the movie is set in present times). They use tactics like delaying your commute slightly, causing you to miss an important call, or getting you to run into someone you haven't seen in a while in order to make sure you are where you're supposed to be at key moments of your life and that you meet (or don't meet) the right people. Or in other words, that you stick to "The Plan." And who made The Plan? Well, it was made by the vaguely defined "Chairman," alternately referred to as "The Man Upstairs" - the movie's stand-in for whatever deity you happen to believe in, or not believe in.
It's not the non-committal theology that I have a problem with. The idea, based on a Phillip K. Dick short story called "The Adjustment Team", is a neat one, but it also seems like one that might be a bit more striking if the details had been allowed to remain a little fuzzy and if most of the activities of the Adjustment Bureau were left off camera. Indeed, once scenes like the ones I alluded to above were over, I quickly found myself again wrapped up in the love story between Damon's charismatic young politician and Blunt's sweet professional ballet dancer whom he meets and becomes intensely smitten with. They can't be together, says the Bureau, because The Plan forbids it, but Damon spends most of the movie trying anyway and quarreling with Bureau agents over matters of free-will versus fate.
Readers of this blog might know that I see most movies with my wife, and in our relationship she's the one who typically sees the positives and merits of a movie whereas I will become fixated on story points that seem kinda bullshitty and out of place and allow them to overrun things. This was a very rare example where the opposite was true: I was charmed enough by Damon, Blunt, and the quasi cool sci-fi concept of the picture to sort of forgive the things that didn't quite work. Laura, by contrast, was put off by the premise pretty much from the get go. She got a little worked up when we talked about it during the car ride home, seeming especially irked by the big sci-fi action climax at the end where Damon steals one of the "magic hats" that the Bureau agents use to travel around the city in order to prevent Blunt from marrying someone else, The Graduate style (egh, don't ask). She's got a point. That whole part was kind of, well... really stupid. On a crankier day, that - combined with some of those other Bureau scenes and the clearly reshot ending - maybe would have sunk the movie for me too.
More than the specifics, though, I think the overall premise didn't entirely sell her, and that's a complaint I've been hearing a number of other people who have seen it too. Honestly, though, whilst sitting in the theater I caught myself really enjoying the movie more often than not. It's interesting to see a medium-budget drama like this that seemed to be mostly made with adults in mind... it's a rare thing these days. While not perfect, it held my attention and gave me something to think about, which is probably more than Justin Bieber: Never Say Never would have done.
February 5, 2011
Winter's Bone (02/05/11)
I seriously hated Winter's Bone.
Although I appreciated that Kenny Rogers decided to appear as the head of the secret society of hillbilly meth producers (or whatever the hell was happening in Winter's Bone), I took exception with the excessive dreariness and horridness of what Jennifer Lawrence's character had to do while searching for her drug cookin' father by the end.
Also, as a former midwesterner, I'm always annoyed by movies that depict the middle part of America as a frozen hell-hole where everyone dresses in whatever flannel garment happened to be on the for-sale rack when you walk into Wal-Mart, and every house is littered with empty pizza boxes, KFC buckets, and half finished bottles of Jolt Cola (by coincidence, the art direction in every single house in W'sB was that exactly). Sure, there are parts of the country that are probably like that, but not EVERYTHING between Arizona and Pennsylvania is like that, per most Hollywood and independent movies that are made.
And let me ask you this: Since pretty much everyone you meet in Winter's Bone is part of this secret society of crazed redneck drug manufacturers... who exactly are they supposed to be selling to? There's no one around but them, which seems like an extremely limited marketing pool to me. Are they selling to the one, grossly incompetent cop who bumbles through the movie every once in a while?
Anyway, although I hate to bag on independent movies that defy the odds and wind up getting a lot of attention, making money, and gathering a ton of award nominations, I also must implore you to avoid this painful 2 hours of cinema.
Although I appreciated that Kenny Rogers decided to appear as the head of the secret society of hillbilly meth producers (or whatever the hell was happening in Winter's Bone), I took exception with the excessive dreariness and horridness of what Jennifer Lawrence's character had to do while searching for her drug cookin' father by the end.
Also, as a former midwesterner, I'm always annoyed by movies that depict the middle part of America as a frozen hell-hole where everyone dresses in whatever flannel garment happened to be on the for-sale rack when you walk into Wal-Mart, and every house is littered with empty pizza boxes, KFC buckets, and half finished bottles of Jolt Cola (by coincidence, the art direction in every single house in W'sB was that exactly). Sure, there are parts of the country that are probably like that, but not EVERYTHING between Arizona and Pennsylvania is like that, per most Hollywood and independent movies that are made.
And let me ask you this: Since pretty much everyone you meet in Winter's Bone is part of this secret society of crazed redneck drug manufacturers... who exactly are they supposed to be selling to? There's no one around but them, which seems like an extremely limited marketing pool to me. Are they selling to the one, grossly incompetent cop who bumbles through the movie every once in a while?
Anyway, although I hate to bag on independent movies that defy the odds and wind up getting a lot of attention, making money, and gathering a ton of award nominations, I also must implore you to avoid this painful 2 hours of cinema.
December 31, 2010
The Films of 2010: In Memorium
About mid-way through 2010, I started telling people that it really didn't seem like a great year for movies. The summer especially had a huge dearth of flicks I actually wanted to go out and spend a bunch of money to see. The year sure finished well, however, and awards season brought several excellent pictures that I greatly enjoyed. Still, it's strange... I'm getting a little deeper in my 30s, movie tickets are getting pricier, and if I'm not mistaken the dumb summer movies seem to be getting a little dumber. I would have guesstimated that we saw fewer films this year than we have in the previous few, but according to my records (this blog) the movies we saw number in the mid-30s, almost the same as last year. Below, I've attempted to list what we saw, placing the ones we enjoyed the most up here at the top, and ones that flat out pissed me off toward the bottom.
THE TOP
THE MIDDLE
THE BOTTOM
And that's it! I still haven't seen Tron 2 or Yogi Bear, and that might change everything.
THE TOP
The Social Network
I found The Social Network to be an endlessly fascinating going-into-business story for the modern era. It's the product of two very distinctive talents - screenwriter Aaron Sorkin (The West Wing) and director David Fincher (Se7en, Fight Club, The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button) - and interestingly retains the artistic signature of both. My main critical thought about this one is that they really portrayed Facebook creator Mark Zuckerberg as an evil, anti-social prick, almost to Mommy Dearest levels. It's almost impossible to believe that the real guy is anywhere near as awful, nor could he have achieved the success that he did with such minimal people skills. The real Mark Zuckerberg, recently named Time's Man Of The Year, is putting a ton of effort (and money) behind rehabilitating his public image. Although I don't think this is his motivation in doing so, I believe the PR effort will have an adverse effect on the film's Award Season chances. I would guess they have a great shot at winning Best Screenplay for Sorkin, and possibly Supporting Actor for a surprisingly solid Justin Timberlake (!), but I have a feeling that at the Academy Awards, at least, the Best Picture will be...
The King's Speech
A fantastic movie about the future King George VI (as played by the wonderful Colin Firth) overcoming a massive speech impediment in pre-WWII 1930's England, with the help of a speech therapist played by the excellent Geoffrey Rush, in a rare non-pirate role. It's an historical drama with an excellent historical perspective that isn't dry or uninteresting for even a single frame. I actually saw it again recently, and was surprised to find that I liked it even more the second time.
True Grit (2010)
Joel and Ethan Coen went back to Charles Portis' original novel for this picture, which was famously made before in 1969 with John Wayne, who won his only Oscar for the lead role. Many scenes in the 2010 version directly correlate to the '69 one and the two even share a good amount of dialogue (presumably taken from the book). Some of the words may be the same in this new one, but the feeling and the texture are completely different. It's like the original story as seen through the Coens' very distinctive filter. Jeff Bridges makes the Wayne role his own, and is supported by stellar performances by Matt Damon as a well-intentioned but somewhat novice Texas ranger, and Josh Brolin in a small role as the deceptive baddie both men are hunting. Really, though, the movie is completely stolen by Hailee Steinfeld as the determined Mattie Ross, who hires Bridges to avenge the murder of her father in the first place. She's one of those fast-talkin' characters that the Coens seem so amused by, and it's enormously entertaining to watch her outsmart and outmaneuver adults who are much more dangerous and accomplished than she is. Also, unlike Kim Darby in the original, Steinfeld seems much more at risk while in the wild territory, and way out of her element. Excellent movie all around.
Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World
From the director of two movies I love dearly, Hot Fuzz and Shaun Of The Dead, comes this unique and inventive comic-book adaptation where Michael Cera wants to date Mary Elizabeth Winstead, but must defeat her 7 evil exes first. Infused with the DNA of 8-bit 80s era videogames, the movie is living cartoon that is probably most comparable to Tarantino's Kill Bill movies, if only vaguely. I'm 32, and I feel like this movie was aimed at my age group specifically. Those much older and younger than I didn't seem to care for it much, which doesn't surprise me, frankly.
The Millennium Trilogy
The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo • The Girl Who Played With Fire • The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet's Nest
The three books that make up the late Stieg Larsson's "Millennium Trilogy" were filmed as a Swedish mini-series in 2009, but released as separate films in the US in March, July, and November this year. My wife loved the books, but I knew nothing about them until we saw the fantastic first picture, which I would characterize as an above average detective story where a controversial journalist teams up with the intriguing and enigmatic punk bisexual computer hacker Lisbeth Salander (Noomi Rapace). The second picture was a bit of a disappointment in comparison to the first, delving deep into Salander's personal history in a way that felt a little more soap-opera-y to me. The third film, which is more or less a direct continuation of part 2, more than made up for it, however, finishing the series on a really strong note. If you can put up with the subtitles (and can handle an intense rape scene), they're well worth the effort to see.
The Kids Are All Right
The children of a same sex couple seek out the sperm donor their mothers employed back in the day and get to know him a bit. It's an interesting and charming movie that won a lot of points with me for being very naturalistic and plausible. The couple - played by Annette Benning and Julianne Moore - have a great relationship that feels very "lived in," - not sensational or glamourous the way lesbian couples sometimes are in movies and TV shows (especially the ones on late night Cinemax). The movie treats them like real people, and doesn't make a big deal out of their sexuality, which is how it should be. The actors who play the kids are solid, and Mark Ruffalo as the donor is layered and interesting. The movie sets up a number of uncomfortable scenarios for which there are no easy answers, but makes it all smooth and fascinating.
Black Swan
I think I admired the craft that went into this highly fucked up story of a big-time ballerina losing her shit on an epic scale more than I actually enjoyed watching it. I have a problem with movies that are kind of built around a device that obscures whether or not things that the movie has spent a great deal of time showing you have actually happened. Like Inception and Shutter Island (which I recently saw on video, and therefore did not blog about), I feel such stories give the director a certain kind of license to do a lot of off-the-wall shit for the sake of creating a mood and without any consequence to the story whatsoever. That sort of thing just rubs me the wrong way, even when it happens in a masterfully staged movie like this one.
Inception
I love Christopher Nolan's other movies, but I honestly found this one to be a little cold and off-putting. My hats off to him for coming up with such a unique concept and being able to stage it as effectively he did, but at the same time I felt the mechanics of what the "dream heisters" were doing were awfully cumbersome and unclear. They may indeed make perfect sense, according to the film's own rules, but I was a bit turned around during my one and only time watching it. And truthfully, it didn't intrigue me enough to really go back and figure it out. Nevertheless, it's a powerful movie going experience with some standout sequences.
Toy Story 3
I know this is heresy, but Toy Story 3, while good, just didn't do it for me like the other two did. Much of it even felt like a retread of the second film, actually, which I felt ended so beautifully that a third film would be very difficult to justify. I'm still not convinced they had a good reason for making part 3, but I enjoyed seeing the characters again, even if the film subjected them to terrible incarceration and non-stop torture.
Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows - Part 1
Director David Yates did a better job on Deathly Hallows - Part 1 than he did on the previous two entries in the series, but I still think he's unimaginative, emotionless, and pretty much ill-equipped to be making these things. This movie, which covers the first half of the final book in the series, abandons the structure of each movie depicting another year for the kids at Hogwarts, and instead has Harry and his friends on the run from the bad guys, who have pretty much taken over the entire wizard community. This means that it's a story that moves from point A to B to C in a pretty linear fashion, unlike the previous entries where different elements had to be concurrently introduced, developed, and then intertwoven by the end... which Yates was terrible at. Also, since this film and 2011's part two are the last in the series, it was perhaps more clear to him which parts of the story he really ought to focus on, which stands in great contrast to his interpretation of part 6, where he focused on staging the least interesting parts of book, and pretty much left all the good stuff out.
Micmacs
Jean-Pierre Jeunet (Amelie and The City Of Lost Children) made this imaginative French farce about a circus troupe that takes on a pair of weapon manufacturers. It's a little lightweight, but really charming and I would argue a lot more exciting than the last couple of Mission: Impossible movies or The A-Team, which have similar break-in scenes that are not nearly as tense or as exciting as the ones here.
Predators
Huge guilty pleasure. I'll repeat a line from my original review, and say that it's like they took the original Predator (which I love dearly), and mixed in elements of Con Air and The Most Dangerous Game. Only real complaints are that apart from Adrian Brody, Alice Braga, the inimitable Danny Trejo and a goofy cameo from Lawrence Fishburne, the supporting cast feels a little third rate (although they were built upon ridiculous 80s stereotypes, which I appreciated). Also, the movie hits a serious lull after a while, much like the first Predator did.
Never Let Me Go
Insanely depressing movie about a future where clones are raised for the sole purpose of one day donating their organs to non-clones (and die in the process). Like Michael Bay's The Island done as a depressing English drama. I kept thinking about it for a long time after I saw it, but shit is it downbeat.
THE MIDDLE
Please Give
An interesting picture on the subject of how people deal with the guilt they have for wanting the things that they want. Catherine Keener and the hideous, hairy man-blob known as Oliver Platt have bought the apartment next to theirs with plans of expanding their living space once the old lady who lives there passes on. Naturally, the lady's granddaughters, played by Amanda Peet and Rebecca Hall, find their intentions ghoulish. Nevertheless, they all get to know each other in this indie drama from Nicole Holofcener, which is packed with shady morality and interesting takes on proper behavior.
Winnebago Man
I'm a YouTube addict, and one of my favorites is a compilation of outtakes from a Winnebago promotional film from the late 80s where the host continuously loses his shit, forgets his lines, and shouts profanity at the crew. This entertaining documentary tracks Jack Rebney down and examines the effect that the video's infamy has had on the man himself. It really runs out of steam after a while, and takes a dark turn or two, but I love docs like this and found it immensely entertaining.
Best Worst Movie
Similar to Winnebago Man in many ways, including the fact that it's really longer than it should be. The guy behind this doc appeared in a low budget cheapie called Troll 2 as a child, eventually regarded by many as the "Worst Movie Ever Made." This doc offers updates on the people who made it and what the major players are all up to now. If you love bad movies, like me, you might get a kick out this examination of low budget non-Hollywood junk and the lives of the people behind it.
Babies
Cute footage of babies doing shit, but I felt there was virtually no order to any of the images that we're shown, and the picture doesn't really "do" anything, other than show us babies. I guess you have to give it points for being pretty much what it claimed to be.
The A-Team
I know I threw some shit at The A-Team a few entries above, but it's actually pretty okay. It's a standard action adventure heist movie, really. Its worst crime is that it is not super memorable (I can't even remember what the plot is about), but Liam Neeson, Bradley Cooper and the guy from District 9 are entertaining as the leads. Less successful is Quinton "Rampage" Jackson, who steps into the Mr. T role and isn't really given much to do anyway. I still argue that they should have gotten Mr. T himself out of retirement to do it.
The Last Airbender
You know, even though the first half hour is really sucky, I kinda liked this action / adventure / fantasy from reviled director M Night Shyalaman. I have yet to meet another man, woman or child who doesn't think it's a world class pile of shit, however. Fans of the Nickelodeon series hated what Shyamalan did with the material. People who hated Shyamalan's previous few movies (and I'm one of them!) might have gone in already expecting it to be crappy. And those who saw it in 3D might have been upset by how awful the 3D conversion was (Roger Ebert spent most of his own review complaining about it!). Nevertheless, I liked the chop-socky stuff, and there were moments toward the end that I even found to be a little moving. My friend Megan just saw (and hated) it, and commented on her blog that the only way to watch it is with the hysterical RiffTrax commentary playing at the same time. Well said.
Fair Game
A political thriller about former CIA agent Valarie Plame, her husband Joe Wilson, and a vindictive White House that purposefully blew her cover in 2003. This happened a few months after the second Iraq War began, when Wilson wrote a piece for the New York Times asserting that the administration's claim that Iraq's attempt to purchase Yellow Cake Uranium from Niger, its key justification for invasion, was simply not credible. It's a wildly uneven movie, oscillating between Clear And Present Danger type scenes and family melodrama. Although I have a great deal of feeling for the events portrayed by the movie, I feel like they made an error in judgement by making the representatives of the White House appear so evil and conniving. I'm no fan of them or of the war they started, but I think the film needed to treat them more as highly misguided than teeth-gnashingly wicked. They certainly deserve to be denigrated for destroying this woman's career of service to her country, but in making thin caricatures out of Bush people in this movie, the filmmakers showed their very narrow, limited view of the situation.
Alice In Wonderland
I saw this movie twice, and wrote a rare follow-up review the second time. The first time I thought it was okay, and the second time I was acutely aware of how empty it is. I think a large amount of the blame centers around the presence of Johnny Depp in the cast, frankly. I know that Tim Burton doesn't seem to be physically capable of making a movie without him anymore, but because there's a star of Depp's caliber playing the relatively minor role of the Mad Hatter, he's suddenly the most important person in the film. Alice herself isn't even on the goddamn poster! It's just a shot of Depp in make-up. Lazy, lazy, insipid filmmaking, which is even worse when you consider the richness of the source material. I didn't hate it, but let's be honest: It's crap.
Iron Man 2
Highly mediocre sequel to a moderately better movie. Back in the 1980s, Robert Downey Jr. began what would become over 25 years of extensive research in order to prepare for his role as mega-rich, boozed-up, ego-maniacal, philandering drug-addict asshole Tony Stark. His scenes with Gwyneth Paltrow feel completely improvised and are excruciating to watch. The Wrestler's Mickey Rooney is the bad guy, and I can't even remember what his character's name is. Really, there's no good reason to see this movie unless you were okay with the first one, but wish that it had been less "mildly entertaining."
Cyrus
On one of the A/V Club podcasts, they remarked that an interesting thing about a summer with so few standouts is that movies which would otherwise seem mediocre wind up looking a lot better in comparsion, naming this one specifically. I vaguely liked this John C. Reilly / Marisa Tomei comedy, but the handheld video ultimately made me want to ralph, so I left the theater and hung out in a book store until the end credits rolled and my wife came to find me. Looking at Jonah Hill probably contributed to my nausea too.
THE BOTTOM
Hot Tub Time Machine
No film could possibly live up to this, the single greatest title in movie history. I appreciated the 80s stuff, but I was seriously put off by how dark the movie was overall. Starts off in present times with John Cusack, Craig Robinson and Rob Cordory as bitterly depressed adults (so much so that Cordory even tries to kill himself in the opening scenes!). Once the high temperature, aerated water device with temporal distortion properties that is referenced by the film's title does its thing and they're back in time, there's still loads of regret, self-hate and most disturbing (to me, at any rate) excessive use of cocaine and other popular 80s drugs to go around. I'm not terribly comfortable around hard core drug use, to be honest with you, and so scenes like the one where Cusack locks himself in his hotel room and snorts a metric ton of coke (which would presumably kill most people) are comedy killers for me.
The Ghost Writer
Wow, I hated this thrill-less political thriller from Academy Award winning director and fugitive child rapist Roman Polanski. I like politics. And I find the world of literature to be at least interesting fodder for a movie. But I just don't see what other people saw in this horrible, drawn out snoozer.
Machete
The best parts of 2007's Grindhouse were the fake trailers that appeared between the features. The best of the fake trailers was the one for Machete, a faux Mexploitation film starring Danny Trejo. The key mistake this full-length feature makes is that it assumes that people who were amused by the trailer would want to see a film that faithfully incorporates and gives context to the moments that made them laugh the first time. The resulting star-packed feature commits that worst of all movie sins: It's really boring.
It's Kind Of A Funny Story
No it isn't. It's a horribly cliched, derivative knock-off of some much better stories. Children and adults would never, never, never, never, never, never, never be allowed to cohabit in the same mental ward the way they do in this movie, but don't worry, the filmmakers have that covered: Toward the beginning of the movie, they have some of the staff explain that "the under 18 ward is being renovated" multiple times, which is why they're all going to be together. Zach Galifianakis has a short credit line with me: I really enjoyed the The Hangover and while I appreciate that he tried to do something more interesting as a follow-up, if he keeps appearing in junk like this and Due Date (see below), he's f'ing done, man!
The Wolfman
I saw this one mostly out of curiosity. The original director quit right before they started filming, and then the picture lingered in post production hell for nearly two years before Universal shat it out into theaters in February. During that time, reshoots happened, top editors were brought in to recut certain scenes, and composer Danny Elfman wrote an amazing score for the movie, which was thrown out and replaced by techno crap for a while during post production, before a good amount of it was ultimately restored to the picture, which was at that time horribly mangled from all the recutting. It's a sterling example of why films that shoot before they're ready to shoot wind up costing a fortune and are virtually unwatchable.
Piranha 3D
There were a lot of indications that the movie would have a dark, subversive, self-conscious streak of humor in it, ala The Bride Of Chucky. But it's more like a light dusting of that. The rest of the movie is surprisingly gruesome and pretty horrifying. Don't see it, not even for the Kelly Brook topless scenes.
Date Night
Some smart executives at Fox decided that Tina Fey and Steve Carell, both stars of popular NBC sitcoms, would make a great screen couple, which they do. Unfortunately, that's roughly where the script development of this highly silly and thoroughly shitty waste of time ended. So many scenes feel like they just let Fey and Carell make it up as they went. It's the kind of movie that wouldn't be more than a few minutes long if the people in it weren't complete fucking morons and totally divorced from what actual human beings do. I'm being extra hard on it not only for being awful, but for getting such charming actors together and then not doing anything with them.
Due Date
Director Todd Phillips made last year's very funny, highly entertaining The Hangover. I applaud him for wanting to do something different for his follow-up, but it's too bad he went for "not funny, not entertaining." Words cannot sum up how much this movie pissed me off. Downey Jr. was completely miscast as the guy trying to get home, and it's heartbreaking to see Galifianakis slum it so early in his film career with such awful material. Desperate celebrity cameos and horrible segments that don't bear any consequences to the rest of the movie top off this, the biggest shit souffle of 2010.
And that's it! I still haven't seen Tron 2 or Yogi Bear, and that might change everything.
December 4, 2010
Black Swan (12/04/2010)
Lettergrade: Complicated
In Black Swan, Natalie Portman plays a big-time ballerina who experiences some extreme mental strain whilst preparing to appear in a new Carnegie Hall rendition of "Swan Lake." I can think of no other movie this year that was as (intentionally) excruciating or which caused me to squirm as much in my seat as this one did. I can't really call it enjoyable, and to be honest with you I'm not even sure that it's all that good. But it is a hell of an experience to sit in a theater and watch it, and if nothing else its effectiveness at making the viewer feel creeped out makes it noteworthy.
The movie was directed by Darren Aronofsky who, having made Pi, Requiem For A Dream, The Fountain and The Wrestler prior to this one, further demonstrates his interest in private spaces where obsession and addiction fester, and ultimately lead - in most of his films, at least - to some kind of dramatic self-destruction. I was in college when I saw Pi, and it would take more words than I'm presently aware of to accurately describe how much I hated it. The only one of his movies that I've really liked is that last one, The Wrestler, mostly because he abandoned the crazy camera stuff and the insane film-student-run-amuck stylistics, and filed the void instead with a surprising amount of humanity, which I would argue made the extraordinary things that happened in that movie much more relatable.
Black Swan is much more like his earlier movies. Its visual DNA is probably more like Requiem than the others... There's no shortage of shaky nervous camera angles, blood and open wounds, alternating scenes where Portman masturbates then vomits, and non-stop creepy visuals. For a picture about dancers, it's much more like A Nightmare On Elm St. than A Chorus Line. Aronofsky is great at making it scary and disturbing, but what's the point other than to provide a good jolt every now and again? I'm not really sure what this movie is about, and none of the characters in it seem like people who exist outside of movies.
I think that's the root of my problem with Black Swan: The filmmaking is stylish but cold, and the relative thinness of the characters just kind of put it into fantasy territory for me. When we meet Portman's character at the beginning, she's already, like, 95% unhinged to the point where she's imagining people who aren't there and seeing her reflection do things that her body isn't doing. That doesn't seem as interesting to me as a movie about how she got so messed up in the first place might be.
The other characters around her are designed to provide some clues to that backstory, but mostly take the form of cruel caricatures: The Swan Lake auteur, Vincent Cassel
, is predictably slimy and lecherous. Her mother is at once over-bearing and protective, but occasionally whips out the crazy. It's intentionally unclear if her attempts to subvert her daughter come out of concern or jealousy, and maybe it's both. Portman herself has virtually no interests outside of dancing and doesn't seem to have any close friends or contacts at all... Can one become a prominent Carnegie Hall ballerina and completely lack interpersonal skills or understand a thing or two about politics? I'm not sure I buy that. We know that she has multiple OCD habits that include scratching herself in her sleep and practicing endlessly. We know that she's super driven to succeed, but we're not given much of a window as to why she feels her career is more important than her own mental health. Lots of symptoms in this movie, but very few causes.
The one person she does interact with outside of the dance hall is played by Mila Kunis, who is kind of a punk rival ballerina, sorta along Tyler Durden lines. Kunis is supposed to be a professional ballerina too, but she treats it more like juvenile detention... she drinks, smokes, does drugs, stays out late, and has a lot of large tattoos on her back. Maybe I'm naive here, but it just doesn't seem like anyone even remotely like that would ever be performing at Carnegie Hall. I think the tattoos alone are kind of a deal breaker, aren't they?
At certain points of the movie, I wondered if all of these characters (again, ala Tyler Durden) might be imaginary. I don't think they are, but the movie does spend a great deal of time showing them do things that they're not really doing. This kind of thing drives me up a wall: You quickly lose track of what's even happening in the movie's "reality." We're shown elaborate sequences, and then told they didn't actually take place. There are a lot of bat-shit crazy characters in the movie, and we see them do a lot of bat-shit crazy things. But which of them actually happened or at least have consequences that ripple into what is really happening? Sometimes they do, and sometimes they don't. Are all these sequences just dramatizations of what's going on in Portman's head? Is she even a ballerina at all? Is New York City actually there? Did Tchaikovsky even write Swan Lake in the first place? I'm sure the plot to Inception explains all this somehow, but I have no clue how.
It's one of those movies that was egoistically designed to be watched several times before you really "get it." Sitting here now, I've got virtually no interest in seeing it again, and unlocking whatever brilliant subtext Aronofsky decided to make so unclear to first-timer viewers. In fact, I don't even really want to think about it much more than I have already. And in fact, screw it: I'm going to work on my journal entry for True Grit, a much better movie, instead.
In Black Swan, Natalie Portman plays a big-time ballerina who experiences some extreme mental strain whilst preparing to appear in a new Carnegie Hall rendition of "Swan Lake." I can think of no other movie this year that was as (intentionally) excruciating or which caused me to squirm as much in my seat as this one did. I can't really call it enjoyable, and to be honest with you I'm not even sure that it's all that good. But it is a hell of an experience to sit in a theater and watch it, and if nothing else its effectiveness at making the viewer feel creeped out makes it noteworthy.The movie was directed by Darren Aronofsky who, having made Pi, Requiem For A Dream, The Fountain and The Wrestler prior to this one, further demonstrates his interest in private spaces where obsession and addiction fester, and ultimately lead - in most of his films, at least - to some kind of dramatic self-destruction. I was in college when I saw Pi, and it would take more words than I'm presently aware of to accurately describe how much I hated it. The only one of his movies that I've really liked is that last one, The Wrestler, mostly because he abandoned the crazy camera stuff and the insane film-student-run-amuck stylistics, and filed the void instead with a surprising amount of humanity, which I would argue made the extraordinary things that happened in that movie much more relatable.
Black Swan is much more like his earlier movies. Its visual DNA is probably more like Requiem than the others... There's no shortage of shaky nervous camera angles, blood and open wounds, alternating scenes where Portman masturbates then vomits, and non-stop creepy visuals. For a picture about dancers, it's much more like A Nightmare On Elm St. than A Chorus Line. Aronofsky is great at making it scary and disturbing, but what's the point other than to provide a good jolt every now and again? I'm not really sure what this movie is about, and none of the characters in it seem like people who exist outside of movies.
I think that's the root of my problem with Black Swan: The filmmaking is stylish but cold, and the relative thinness of the characters just kind of put it into fantasy territory for me. When we meet Portman's character at the beginning, she's already, like, 95% unhinged to the point where she's imagining people who aren't there and seeing her reflection do things that her body isn't doing. That doesn't seem as interesting to me as a movie about how she got so messed up in the first place might be.
The other characters around her are designed to provide some clues to that backstory, but mostly take the form of cruel caricatures: The Swan Lake auteur, Vincent Cassel
, is predictably slimy and lecherous. Her mother is at once over-bearing and protective, but occasionally whips out the crazy. It's intentionally unclear if her attempts to subvert her daughter come out of concern or jealousy, and maybe it's both. Portman herself has virtually no interests outside of dancing and doesn't seem to have any close friends or contacts at all... Can one become a prominent Carnegie Hall ballerina and completely lack interpersonal skills or understand a thing or two about politics? I'm not sure I buy that. We know that she has multiple OCD habits that include scratching herself in her sleep and practicing endlessly. We know that she's super driven to succeed, but we're not given much of a window as to why she feels her career is more important than her own mental health. Lots of symptoms in this movie, but very few causes.
The one person she does interact with outside of the dance hall is played by Mila Kunis, who is kind of a punk rival ballerina, sorta along Tyler Durden lines. Kunis is supposed to be a professional ballerina too, but she treats it more like juvenile detention... she drinks, smokes, does drugs, stays out late, and has a lot of large tattoos on her back. Maybe I'm naive here, but it just doesn't seem like anyone even remotely like that would ever be performing at Carnegie Hall. I think the tattoos alone are kind of a deal breaker, aren't they? At certain points of the movie, I wondered if all of these characters (again, ala Tyler Durden) might be imaginary. I don't think they are, but the movie does spend a great deal of time showing them do things that they're not really doing. This kind of thing drives me up a wall: You quickly lose track of what's even happening in the movie's "reality." We're shown elaborate sequences, and then told they didn't actually take place. There are a lot of bat-shit crazy characters in the movie, and we see them do a lot of bat-shit crazy things. But which of them actually happened or at least have consequences that ripple into what is really happening? Sometimes they do, and sometimes they don't. Are all these sequences just dramatizations of what's going on in Portman's head? Is she even a ballerina at all? Is New York City actually there? Did Tchaikovsky even write Swan Lake in the first place? I'm sure the plot to Inception explains all this somehow, but I have no clue how.
It's one of those movies that was egoistically designed to be watched several times before you really "get it." Sitting here now, I've got virtually no interest in seeing it again, and unlocking whatever brilliant subtext Aronofsky decided to make so unclear to first-timer viewers. In fact, I don't even really want to think about it much more than I have already. And in fact, screw it: I'm going to work on my journal entry for True Grit, a much better movie, instead.
November 26, 2010
The King's Speech (11/26/2010)
Lettergrade: A
The King's Speech is about the man who would become King George VI played by Colin Firth, and the horrible stammer he overcame with the help of a failed actor-turned-speech therapist, played by Geoffrey Rush. It also covers a fascinating period of world history ranging from 1925 to the late 30s (and the start of World War II). On the surface, one might suspect it to be a dry history lesson, and the more cynical might even point out that the main elements seem to go right down the awards' season checklist: a dramatic historical setting... a charismatic future-leader before he became a leader... a disability to overcome... the lines of succession within the Royal Family... World War II... Nazis... Winston Churchill... Helena Bonham Carter; all the things that Academy voters eat up. Believe me, I'm as sensitive to crass Oscar-bait as anyone, but so much of The King's Speech is well-done and the movie works so beautifully that it's hard to think that the filmmakers had much in mind other than making a good movie.
As the picture opens, King George V (Michael Gambon) is fading, and fears that his eldest son, played by Guy Pearce, will be too busy philandering to meet the responsibilities of leading the Empire and dealing with the gathering war clouds over Germany. Should Pearce's Edward VIII pass the Crown on instead, Firth would be next in line, but he himself lives in mortal fear of such a scenario due to his stammer, which leaves him more or less paralyzed at public engagements. And the film skillfully underlines that this is a time where oratory skills have never been more important. Early on, George V notes that the increasing omnipresence of newsreel cameras and radio technology require that all nation's leaders must not just look regal, but be able to elocute accordingly. "It's turned us into actors," he sighs.
The future George VI winds up taking top secret speech lessons from Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush), who treats his client a bit more gruffly than Royals are used to. Their "inspiring teacher / reluctant student" dynamic feels a little familiar at first, but Firth and Rush sell it so well that it's hard not to be engaged by their electric screen time together. Indeed their lengthy sessions both dominate the picture and comprise what is best about it. Midway through, I wondered if screenwriter David Seidler, who also wrote 1988's highly underrated Tucker: The Man And His Dream, adapted the material from a stage play of some kind, but I've not seen anything in the credits or the production notes to suggest that he did. In any case, the writing is clear and sophisticated, it's hard to think of lead actors who could perform it more convincingly. The play-like structure is smartly counterbalanced by quieter scenes here and there where both men spend time with their families, and the geopolitics of the day churn in the background, causing Firth to interact with several alumni of the Harry Potter movies.
Director Tom Hooper last made the seven-part John Adams mini-series for HBO, which I tried to watch, but found a bit tough to get through. Part of what turned me off was that the key moments of Adams' life were filmed with an MTV-inspired "shaky cam," as if he thought history needed to be sexed up so teenagers would watch. In this one, he sticks with a fairly classical approach, pulling fantastic work out of cinematographer Danny Cohen, editor Tariq Anwar, and composer Alexandre Desplat, without letting any of them get too crazy.
There's a lot of awards season buzz around The King's Speech already. I never like making predictions on what might be nominated and what won't be, but all indications are that this one will turn up in many of the major categories, most conspicuously for its acting. As a kid, I think I might have rolled my eyes a bit at seemingly stuffy costume dramas like this that always dominate awards shows. As an adult who feels nauseated that a movie like Alice In Wonderland might get nominated for Best Picture, however, I recognize that a solid drama as well-crafted and as well-performed as this is award-worthy indeed.
Something about a reluctant king having to learn how to behave properly seems familiar, though...
The King's Speech is about the man who would become King George VI played by Colin Firth, and the horrible stammer he overcame with the help of a failed actor-turned-speech therapist, played by Geoffrey Rush. It also covers a fascinating period of world history ranging from 1925 to the late 30s (and the start of World War II). On the surface, one might suspect it to be a dry history lesson, and the more cynical might even point out that the main elements seem to go right down the awards' season checklist: a dramatic historical setting... a charismatic future-leader before he became a leader... a disability to overcome... the lines of succession within the Royal Family... World War II... Nazis... Winston Churchill... Helena Bonham Carter; all the things that Academy voters eat up. Believe me, I'm as sensitive to crass Oscar-bait as anyone, but so much of The King's Speech is well-done and the movie works so beautifully that it's hard to think that the filmmakers had much in mind other than making a good movie.As the picture opens, King George V (Michael Gambon) is fading, and fears that his eldest son, played by Guy Pearce, will be too busy philandering to meet the responsibilities of leading the Empire and dealing with the gathering war clouds over Germany. Should Pearce's Edward VIII pass the Crown on instead, Firth would be next in line, but he himself lives in mortal fear of such a scenario due to his stammer, which leaves him more or less paralyzed at public engagements. And the film skillfully underlines that this is a time where oratory skills have never been more important. Early on, George V notes that the increasing omnipresence of newsreel cameras and radio technology require that all nation's leaders must not just look regal, but be able to elocute accordingly. "It's turned us into actors," he sighs.
The future George VI winds up taking top secret speech lessons from Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush), who treats his client a bit more gruffly than Royals are used to. Their "inspiring teacher / reluctant student" dynamic feels a little familiar at first, but Firth and Rush sell it so well that it's hard not to be engaged by their electric screen time together. Indeed their lengthy sessions both dominate the picture and comprise what is best about it. Midway through, I wondered if screenwriter David Seidler, who also wrote 1988's highly underrated Tucker: The Man And His Dream, adapted the material from a stage play of some kind, but I've not seen anything in the credits or the production notes to suggest that he did. In any case, the writing is clear and sophisticated, it's hard to think of lead actors who could perform it more convincingly. The play-like structure is smartly counterbalanced by quieter scenes here and there where both men spend time with their families, and the geopolitics of the day churn in the background, causing Firth to interact with several alumni of the Harry Potter movies.
Director Tom Hooper last made the seven-part John Adams mini-series for HBO, which I tried to watch, but found a bit tough to get through. Part of what turned me off was that the key moments of Adams' life were filmed with an MTV-inspired "shaky cam," as if he thought history needed to be sexed up so teenagers would watch. In this one, he sticks with a fairly classical approach, pulling fantastic work out of cinematographer Danny Cohen, editor Tariq Anwar, and composer Alexandre Desplat, without letting any of them get too crazy.
There's a lot of awards season buzz around The King's Speech already. I never like making predictions on what might be nominated and what won't be, but all indications are that this one will turn up in many of the major categories, most conspicuously for its acting. As a kid, I think I might have rolled my eyes a bit at seemingly stuffy costume dramas like this that always dominate awards shows. As an adult who feels nauseated that a movie like Alice In Wonderland might get nominated for Best Picture, however, I recognize that a solid drama as well-crafted and as well-performed as this is award-worthy indeed.
Something about a reluctant king having to learn how to behave properly seems familiar, though...
November 19, 2010
Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows - Part 1 (11/19/2010)
Lettergrade: B
Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows - Part 1 adapts the first half of the series' final book, its seventh, into an exciting, well-paced 2 1/2 hour movie. Being a devotee of the books, I have my complaints about what made it into each of the flicks and what didn't, but by and large I try to look at the movies as separate entities: Are the characters and story points clear and interesting on screen? Is, at the very least, the spirit of the source material there? And above all, do the films simply "work" as enjoyable reasons to go out to the cinema? For the most part, I'd say that this one did. I've got some major beefs (beeves?) with how it is as an adaptation (as ranted on below), but if we're talking about it as a film that follows the other films in the series, it's a good one. The four or five action scenes in the picture are thrilling, and there's enough intrigue and mysticism to keep even casual fans of the movies entertained.
I started reading the books after the third film came out in 2004, and during these last couple movies I've sat in the theater wondering if certain moments would make a lick of sense to people who were not already familiar with the texts. Maybe concerns like that are irrelevant... If you haven't read the books by now, you're probably not that interested, and if you're not that interested, what are you doing at a teenage wizard movie in the first place?
The main action of this one breaks from the tradition of each installment covering another year at Hogwart's School For Witchcraft And Wizardry, and instead has Harry, Ron and Hermione on the run from the authorities (now under the control of the bad guys), and hunting for magical objects that will aid in the destruction of Harry's arch nemesis, the noseless Voledemort. Being free of the series' signature formula allows director David Yates to stage things on his own terms, leaving no frame of comparison to whatever the franchises' earlier three directors might have done. Unlike the Hogwart's-based stories, this one moves in a little more of a straight line from clue to clue to clue... the overall plot development is a bit more confined, and Yates is able to get things to progress much more fluidly than he was with the turgid part 6.
Because the preceding movies omitted details that wound up being important in the final book, a good amount of Deathly Hallows - Part 1 is spent filling in missing pieces and playing catchup. Early on in particular, there are several awkward scenes where "Movie Harry" must be awkwardly introduced to characters that "Book Harry" has known for years already... the new Minister of Magic played by Bill Nighy, members of Ron's family who never made it into previous films, and a questionable good guy named Mundungus Fletcher, who, had he been around earlier, would have already stolen some key stuff that turned out be a problem in this one. By necessity, Yates has no choice but to patch the holes as efficiently as he can, often by simply having one of the characters in the scene recite a short, declarative statement that doesn't seem to be motivated by anything.
I have mixed feelings about Yates' handling of these movies overall. On one hand, his entries in the franchise have had the unenviable task of boiling massive, beloved books by J. K. Rowling into functional movies, and my hats off to him for getting the feeling right in ways that some of the previous directors did not. On another, though, his three movies have also felt strangely "thin" - seeming to rely on viewers' fond memories of the books, rather than finding ways to translate that emotion to the screen as complete movie scenes. Neither part 5 nor part 6 were entirely coherent or satisfying for me, as I felt they required audiences to already know the details by heart, and even then, to interpolate feelings and ideas that the films only vaguely touch upon.
While we're on that subject, I think I finally put my finger on what really bothers me about the three Yates movies midway though this one: Although he handles individual moments in the series as well as any of the other directors, there's a weird lack of momentum, tension and context in many of his scenes (all of which practically drip off the pages of the book). By that, I mean when a character speaks, he doesn't seem to be thinking much more about what he's saying at that precise moment. You don't see his or her eyes shifting with ulterior motives... you don't get a sense of where these characters have been or where they might go next.. there's no attempt to at the very least allude to aspects of the book that the movies didn't make time for. So many scenes seem to feature passionless recitations of dialogue (ala the Star Wars prequels), as if everyone was more concerned with professionally hitting their marks rather than really understanding how the scene fits into the larger whole. The big "oh shit" moments in the movie only seemed to work for me because I remember how I felt when I read them originally, and that's really not how it should be.
During the whole first part of the film, where the kids are getting ready to set off on their Horcrux quest, there's a patently bizarre lack of discussion about where they might need to start looking. In fact, I don't believe they talk about it at all, which is the exact opposite of the book, wherein every waking moment is spent trying to figure out what the miniscule clues they've got might mean. Later, when the kids are stranded in the woods, without any ideas about what to do next... what are they thinking about? Well, they don't seem to be thinking about anything. They don't talk about anything or really even do anything... they sit and sulk, gradually getting more and more pissed at eachother. The book has scenes like this too, of course, but unlike the film, it always keeps the personal squabbles in the context of the impossible task ahead.
One of the great running concepts throughout pretty much all the books are that the adults - even the ones the kids really look up to - all have their flaws... ranging from vanity, to egotism, to pride, or to long-standing disappointment that makes one bitter. Really, there are no benign older characters at all... not even Dumbledore, who, starting in the sixth book and especially in the seventh, is revealed to be just as imperfect and as troubled as anyone. I can't tell you how disappointed I am that this movie in particular failed to capture that aspect of the books. Posthumous stories come out about Dumbledore and his early life (in the book, at least), which are not entirely truthful, but nevertheless make Harry feel angry and abandoned, as if he didn't know his old teacher at all. It's agonizing and soul-crushing for him, and indeed I would argue that the whole element of Harry kind of losing faith in Dumbledore and becoming more aware of his less-than-saintly attributes is pretty much the essence of the first half of the book! There miiiiiiiight be a line or two of dialogue in the picture that references this, but it sure doesn't get you to feel it.
And while we're at it, there's another powerful component of the book that the movie fails to stage effectively too: The idea that Harry's thought-be-be-dormant psychic connection to Voledemort has again started opening up at will, giving him chaotic, uncontrolled peeks at what the baddie is up to. In the fifth movie/book, Harry attempted (unsuccessfully) to control these visions, but then they sort of went away on their own anyway. In this one they're back, and just as dangerous as ever. There's powerful scene from the middle of the book (appearing close to the end of this film) where Harry digs a grave with intense emotion, and has a series of blinding epiphanies. Without getting into specifics, he's suddenly renewed with a searing sense of purpose and at long last his thoughts are clear and focused, meaning, among other things, that he is now in control of those visions, and can keep them out whenever he likes. It's a major turning point for Harry, and it is appropriate that the first part of the story should conclude not long after. Nevertheless, my key argument here still applies: Yates shows images that kinda sorta represent this major change in his lead character, but I'll repeat that he sure doesn't get you to feel it. Had I not known what I was looking at from reading the books, would I have intuited that it was such an important moment at all?
My journal entry on part six, Harry Potter And The Half-Blood Prince
And my entry on part five, Harry Potter And The Order Of The Phoenix
Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows - Part 1 adapts the first half of the series' final book, its seventh, into an exciting, well-paced 2 1/2 hour movie. Being a devotee of the books, I have my complaints about what made it into each of the flicks and what didn't, but by and large I try to look at the movies as separate entities: Are the characters and story points clear and interesting on screen? Is, at the very least, the spirit of the source material there? And above all, do the films simply "work" as enjoyable reasons to go out to the cinema? For the most part, I'd say that this one did. I've got some major beefs (beeves?) with how it is as an adaptation (as ranted on below), but if we're talking about it as a film that follows the other films in the series, it's a good one. The four or five action scenes in the picture are thrilling, and there's enough intrigue and mysticism to keep even casual fans of the movies entertained.I started reading the books after the third film came out in 2004, and during these last couple movies I've sat in the theater wondering if certain moments would make a lick of sense to people who were not already familiar with the texts. Maybe concerns like that are irrelevant... If you haven't read the books by now, you're probably not that interested, and if you're not that interested, what are you doing at a teenage wizard movie in the first place?
The main action of this one breaks from the tradition of each installment covering another year at Hogwart's School For Witchcraft And Wizardry, and instead has Harry, Ron and Hermione on the run from the authorities (now under the control of the bad guys), and hunting for magical objects that will aid in the destruction of Harry's arch nemesis, the noseless Voledemort. Being free of the series' signature formula allows director David Yates to stage things on his own terms, leaving no frame of comparison to whatever the franchises' earlier three directors might have done. Unlike the Hogwart's-based stories, this one moves in a little more of a straight line from clue to clue to clue... the overall plot development is a bit more confined, and Yates is able to get things to progress much more fluidly than he was with the turgid part 6.
Because the preceding movies omitted details that wound up being important in the final book, a good amount of Deathly Hallows - Part 1 is spent filling in missing pieces and playing catchup. Early on in particular, there are several awkward scenes where "Movie Harry" must be awkwardly introduced to characters that "Book Harry" has known for years already... the new Minister of Magic played by Bill Nighy, members of Ron's family who never made it into previous films, and a questionable good guy named Mundungus Fletcher, who, had he been around earlier, would have already stolen some key stuff that turned out be a problem in this one. By necessity, Yates has no choice but to patch the holes as efficiently as he can, often by simply having one of the characters in the scene recite a short, declarative statement that doesn't seem to be motivated by anything.I have mixed feelings about Yates' handling of these movies overall. On one hand, his entries in the franchise have had the unenviable task of boiling massive, beloved books by J. K. Rowling into functional movies, and my hats off to him for getting the feeling right in ways that some of the previous directors did not. On another, though, his three movies have also felt strangely "thin" - seeming to rely on viewers' fond memories of the books, rather than finding ways to translate that emotion to the screen as complete movie scenes. Neither part 5 nor part 6 were entirely coherent or satisfying for me, as I felt they required audiences to already know the details by heart, and even then, to interpolate feelings and ideas that the films only vaguely touch upon.
While we're on that subject, I think I finally put my finger on what really bothers me about the three Yates movies midway though this one: Although he handles individual moments in the series as well as any of the other directors, there's a weird lack of momentum, tension and context in many of his scenes (all of which practically drip off the pages of the book). By that, I mean when a character speaks, he doesn't seem to be thinking much more about what he's saying at that precise moment. You don't see his or her eyes shifting with ulterior motives... you don't get a sense of where these characters have been or where they might go next.. there's no attempt to at the very least allude to aspects of the book that the movies didn't make time for. So many scenes seem to feature passionless recitations of dialogue (ala the Star Wars prequels), as if everyone was more concerned with professionally hitting their marks rather than really understanding how the scene fits into the larger whole. The big "oh shit" moments in the movie only seemed to work for me because I remember how I felt when I read them originally, and that's really not how it should be.
During the whole first part of the film, where the kids are getting ready to set off on their Horcrux quest, there's a patently bizarre lack of discussion about where they might need to start looking. In fact, I don't believe they talk about it at all, which is the exact opposite of the book, wherein every waking moment is spent trying to figure out what the miniscule clues they've got might mean. Later, when the kids are stranded in the woods, without any ideas about what to do next... what are they thinking about? Well, they don't seem to be thinking about anything. They don't talk about anything or really even do anything... they sit and sulk, gradually getting more and more pissed at eachother. The book has scenes like this too, of course, but unlike the film, it always keeps the personal squabbles in the context of the impossible task ahead.
One of the great running concepts throughout pretty much all the books are that the adults - even the ones the kids really look up to - all have their flaws... ranging from vanity, to egotism, to pride, or to long-standing disappointment that makes one bitter. Really, there are no benign older characters at all... not even Dumbledore, who, starting in the sixth book and especially in the seventh, is revealed to be just as imperfect and as troubled as anyone. I can't tell you how disappointed I am that this movie in particular failed to capture that aspect of the books. Posthumous stories come out about Dumbledore and his early life (in the book, at least), which are not entirely truthful, but nevertheless make Harry feel angry and abandoned, as if he didn't know his old teacher at all. It's agonizing and soul-crushing for him, and indeed I would argue that the whole element of Harry kind of losing faith in Dumbledore and becoming more aware of his less-than-saintly attributes is pretty much the essence of the first half of the book! There miiiiiiiight be a line or two of dialogue in the picture that references this, but it sure doesn't get you to feel it.
And while we're at it, there's another powerful component of the book that the movie fails to stage effectively too: The idea that Harry's thought-be-be-dormant psychic connection to Voledemort has again started opening up at will, giving him chaotic, uncontrolled peeks at what the baddie is up to. In the fifth movie/book, Harry attempted (unsuccessfully) to control these visions, but then they sort of went away on their own anyway. In this one they're back, and just as dangerous as ever. There's powerful scene from the middle of the book (appearing close to the end of this film) where Harry digs a grave with intense emotion, and has a series of blinding epiphanies. Without getting into specifics, he's suddenly renewed with a searing sense of purpose and at long last his thoughts are clear and focused, meaning, among other things, that he is now in control of those visions, and can keep them out whenever he likes. It's a major turning point for Harry, and it is appropriate that the first part of the story should conclude not long after. Nevertheless, my key argument here still applies: Yates shows images that kinda sorta represent this major change in his lead character, but I'll repeat that he sure doesn't get you to feel it. Had I not known what I was looking at from reading the books, would I have intuited that it was such an important moment at all?
My journal entry on part six, Harry Potter And The Half-Blood Prince
And my entry on part five, Harry Potter And The Order Of The Phoenix
November 6, 2010
Due Date (11/06/2010)
Lettergrade: F
Apart from a dozen or so really good laughs, most of Due Date is pretty terrible. I don't mean terrible in the way that highly entertaining movies like UHF or The Kentucky Fried Movie or even Happy Gilmore are terrible, where a large part of the joke seems to be that a movie so strange somehow got made and was put in theaters in the first place. No, I mean terrible in the sense that it's derivative as hell of older, better movies... it leans heavily on tired cliches and on Zach Galifianakis's schtick in order to get from scene to scene... and it goes for cheap, bludgeoning sentiment that is completely unearned and totally unmoving. I don't ask for much from movies, but I do insist that the characters in them behave in patterns that are at least semi-consistent with actual human behavior. A lot of the characters in Due Date act like people who learned how to conduct themselves in life by watching other movies, and that drives me up a wall.
As the picture begins, smug architect Robert Downey Jr. is on his way to catch a flight from Atlanta back home to LA, allowing plenty of time for him to be there for his wife's planned c-section at the end of the week. Of course, Galifianakis-style hijinks somehow get the two placed on the No Fly List, and so the Oscar and Felix strangers team up to make the 2000 mile trip together (you know, sort of like Planes, Trains And Automobiles, or Midnight Run, or the middle of Tommy Boy, or the second half of Twins, or certain segments of Rain Man).
The main problem, I think, is that the picture seriously miscasts Downey Jr. in a mean-spirited part that pretty much destroys any chance the rest of the movie had of being funny. He's a cruel, indignant cad pretty much from frame one of this sucker, a choice that doesn't really work when played up against the otherwise-very-funny Galifianakis, who again goes with his type and plays a sweaty, awkward dude who is well intentioned, but highly irritating. He worked so well in The Hangover because he was a complete and total surprise: There were three normalish guys on a bachelor party weekend and then this very unusual, mentally unstable, bearded psycho creating all kinds of uncomfortable moments and unknowingly derailing everything. But it really falls flat in Due Date and I hold Downey Jr. responsible for that. I feel like it might have functioned a bit better if the character had been a bit softer: a Paul Rudd or a John Krasinski, if you will, who could maybe be pleasantly tolerant of Galifianakis's wake of destruction before gradually losing his shit on him.
On that subject, let's have a closer look at 1987's Planes, Trains And Automobiles (Due Date's four screenwriters sure as hell did!)... John Candy's antagonism of Steve Martin is similar to the point where the John Hughes estate should really think about pressing charges. The antagonism works in that movie, however, because Martin has a great deal of natural charm and even when he hits his breaking point, there has been a relatable build that allows you to sympathize with his tantrum. Like in this family friendly scene:
In the very first scene of Due Date, Downey Jr. treats even the slightest offense with a Keith Olbermann level of outrage ("How dare you SIR!!!), and the almost instant result was that I didn't like the guy, I didn't care about whatever Galifianakis did to him, and I had very little investment in whether or not he got to his wife in time. Seems like a pretty fatal miscalculation, huh?
But character problems aside, this movie has some other serious issues. A solid number two on my list of grievances is its highly episodic nature. The guys go to one place and a certain amount of segmented wackiness ensures for a bit, but then they move on to another place and another kind of completely random wackiness happens. These self-indulgent and nonsensical segments include such unrelated highlights as:
Director Todd Phillips last made The Hangover. Once upon a time, he also made 2003's highly entertaining Old School and before that 2000's raunchy but really funny Road Trip. You might look at those movies and say the guy's on a hell of a winning streak. Have a look his IMDB page, however, and note that inbetween all those movies he also made some serious clunkers: That god-awful Starsky & Hutch movie with Ben Still and Owen Wilson, School For Scoundrels with Billy Bob Thorton and the guy who played Napoleon Dynamite, and now this one.
Of course, we are talking about three really funny comedies mixed in with three not so good ones here, but the hit-and-miss ratio is great enough that the casual film goer should be cautious whenever the words "from the director of "The Hangover" are used to advertise a picture in the future.
Check out my entry on The Hangover, and my entry on last month's It's Kind Of A Funny Story.
Apart from a dozen or so really good laughs, most of Due Date is pretty terrible. I don't mean terrible in the way that highly entertaining movies like UHF or The Kentucky Fried Movie or even Happy Gilmore are terrible, where a large part of the joke seems to be that a movie so strange somehow got made and was put in theaters in the first place. No, I mean terrible in the sense that it's derivative as hell of older, better movies... it leans heavily on tired cliches and on Zach Galifianakis's schtick in order to get from scene to scene... and it goes for cheap, bludgeoning sentiment that is completely unearned and totally unmoving. I don't ask for much from movies, but I do insist that the characters in them behave in patterns that are at least semi-consistent with actual human behavior. A lot of the characters in Due Date act like people who learned how to conduct themselves in life by watching other movies, and that drives me up a wall.As the picture begins, smug architect Robert Downey Jr. is on his way to catch a flight from Atlanta back home to LA, allowing plenty of time for him to be there for his wife's planned c-section at the end of the week. Of course, Galifianakis-style hijinks somehow get the two placed on the No Fly List, and so the Oscar and Felix strangers team up to make the 2000 mile trip together (you know, sort of like Planes, Trains And Automobiles, or Midnight Run, or the middle of Tommy Boy, or the second half of Twins, or certain segments of Rain Man).
The main problem, I think, is that the picture seriously miscasts Downey Jr. in a mean-spirited part that pretty much destroys any chance the rest of the movie had of being funny. He's a cruel, indignant cad pretty much from frame one of this sucker, a choice that doesn't really work when played up against the otherwise-very-funny Galifianakis, who again goes with his type and plays a sweaty, awkward dude who is well intentioned, but highly irritating. He worked so well in The Hangover because he was a complete and total surprise: There were three normalish guys on a bachelor party weekend and then this very unusual, mentally unstable, bearded psycho creating all kinds of uncomfortable moments and unknowingly derailing everything. But it really falls flat in Due Date and I hold Downey Jr. responsible for that. I feel like it might have functioned a bit better if the character had been a bit softer: a Paul Rudd or a John Krasinski, if you will, who could maybe be pleasantly tolerant of Galifianakis's wake of destruction before gradually losing his shit on him.
On that subject, let's have a closer look at 1987's Planes, Trains And Automobiles (Due Date's four screenwriters sure as hell did!)... John Candy's antagonism of Steve Martin is similar to the point where the John Hughes estate should really think about pressing charges. The antagonism works in that movie, however, because Martin has a great deal of natural charm and even when he hits his breaking point, there has been a relatable build that allows you to sympathize with his tantrum. Like in this family friendly scene:
In the very first scene of Due Date, Downey Jr. treats even the slightest offense with a Keith Olbermann level of outrage ("How dare you SIR!!!), and the almost instant result was that I didn't like the guy, I didn't care about whatever Galifianakis did to him, and I had very little investment in whether or not he got to his wife in time. Seems like a pretty fatal miscalculation, huh?
But character problems aside, this movie has some other serious issues. A solid number two on my list of grievances is its highly episodic nature. The guys go to one place and a certain amount of segmented wackiness ensures for a bit, but then they move on to another place and another kind of completely random wackiness happens. These self-indulgent and nonsensical segments include such unrelated highlights as:
•Danny McBride as a disabled Western Union clerk who beats Downey Jr. up?Worse yet, the events of these sequences often BEAR NO CONSEQUENCES WHATSOEVER FOR ANYTHING THAT FOLLOWS IN THE MOVIE. What about the climactic scene where Galifianakis busts Downey Jr. out of a border patrol facility that he was sent to for attempting to sneak marijuana across the Mexican border? He drives a stolen government truck through a high security INS compound, smashing through walls and causing thousands dollars worth of damage. Sounds like a pretty serious national security incident to me... but one that doesn't seem to merit any reaction from the law enforcement officials of the southwestern United States at all in subsequent scenes. They even keep the stolen government truck and take it all the way back to Los Angeles, but no one comes looking for it once the scene is over. But wait... I guess they did get the pot from Juliette Lewis earlier in the movie, so I guess that's some continuity between the movie's segments.
•Jamie Foxx as Downey Jr's pro football best friend in Texas, whom Downey Jr. suddenly suspects is the actual father of his to-be-born child??
•An extended sequence where the boys visit an Alabama pot dealer played by Juliette Lewis, for whom Galifianakis performs scenes from The Godfather, much like Jon Lovitz did in City Slickers II: The Legend Of Curly's Gold???
Director Todd Phillips last made The Hangover. Once upon a time, he also made 2003's highly entertaining Old School and before that 2000's raunchy but really funny Road Trip. You might look at those movies and say the guy's on a hell of a winning streak. Have a look his IMDB page, however, and note that inbetween all those movies he also made some serious clunkers: That god-awful Starsky & Hutch movie with Ben Still and Owen Wilson, School For Scoundrels with Billy Bob Thorton and the guy who played Napoleon Dynamite, and now this one.
Of course, we are talking about three really funny comedies mixed in with three not so good ones here, but the hit-and-miss ratio is great enough that the casual film goer should be cautious whenever the words "from the director of "The Hangover" are used to advertise a picture in the future.
Check out my entry on The Hangover, and my entry on last month's It's Kind Of A Funny Story.
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