Knight and Day

Knight and Day (God what an awful title) is being marketed as the return of Tom Cruise’s Jerry Maguire charm. Which, to some degree, it is. But if that’s all it wants to be, why does it attempt to be so much more?

Knight and Day is also the return of Cruise and Cameron Diaz (they made the fantastically underrated Vanilla Sky together a decade ago). The two are charming, sure, but I wish the filmmakers would rely on that charm a little more, instead of over-the-top, F/X laden action sequences.

Super spy Roy (Cruise) “accidentally” meets innocent girl-next-door June (Diaz) at an airport. The two, of course, board the same flight and engage in a witty conversation before June heads to the bathroom. Once in the leu, Cruise proceeds to kill every passenger on board (all apparently evil spies) and even the pilots. Diaz, of course, hears none of this, but oh well.

Soon the two are off running around the world, fleeing corrupt government officials. The film’s big budget can afford to dump the A-listers in places like Spain, Port Antonio, and Jamaica, but will the studio bosses simply let the scenery speak for itself? No, of course not.

Because it’s the summer, and because the movie stars Tom Cruise, you get to see implausible car chases, a plethora of explosions, half a dozen one-man-takes-down-five fight scenes and so on. Oh and there’s even a running of the bulls scene where Cruise and Diaz try to avoid the large beasts while fleeing on a Ducati. Sounds cool right? Well, the bulls look about as real as the werewolves in Eclipse so… you tell me.

It would’ve been nice to, somehow, scale back the action and let Cruise try to work his charm. I’m not going to lie, his keep-it-cool attitude is pretty funny (he maybe raises his voice once in the whole movie) but it’s nearly hidden under wasted government mumbo jumbo dialogue and plot holes the size of a bullfighting arena.

I’m giving director James Mangold some serious benefit of the doubt. Mangold is responsible for the slightly overrated Walk the Line, the exceptional 3:10 to Yuma and the nearly perfect Cop Land. And with Knight and Day, he nails a fair amount of the sharp dialogue, but he does indeed falter with his action. The film went through nearly a dozen rewrites and recastings before Cruise took it over. Basically, Mangold did as he was told.

It makes for decent summer viewing, but nothing to write home about. C-

Solitary Man

In the opening scene of Solitary Man, Michael Douglas stands in his doctor’s office, waiting for the prognosis of his EKG. Appropriately dressed in a bland, Used Car Salesman’s suit, Douglas presents his character as a nice, affable man. Cut to black. Cue the title card: Six and a half years later. Fade in on Douglas getting out of bed in his hot-shit apartment, getting dressed and hitting the streets. As Douglas struts down New York City, dressed like a midnight cowboy in a designer black suit, each step perfectly in synch with the beat of Johnny Cash’s “Solitary Man,” I had an epiphany: the Michael Douglas we love is back, baby. I dare you not to be charmed.

In Solitary Man, Douglas plays Ben Kalmen, a once-successful used car salesman in New York who, after learning about his troubling EKG, left is wife, corrupted his business, and has yet to go back to the doctor. Now he spends his days chasing far younger women, forgetting his grandson’s birthday parties and trying to convince everyone his business is now legit.

Describing plot any further will get us nowhere. Let’s focus our attention elsewhere. Do me a favor and think about this notion: what 65-year-old actor could possibly convince you that bedding his 18-year-old girlfriend’s daughter is not tasteless? The answer: Michael Douglas. Are we a bit shocked when we see the two making out? Of course. But are we repulsed? No way. That’s the brilliance of Douglas’s performance: this is a vile man, way beyond any form of redemption, yet we want to follow him.

Often times, a film relies solely on its lead performance to carry the entire movie (i.e. Crazy Heart). Such is not the case here.

Douglas is backed by such high talents as Mary-Louise Parker (who steals scenes as Douglas’s girlfriend, convincingly going blow-for-blow with each line of sharply-written dialogue), Jenna Fischer (miles away from her Office character as Douglas’s remorseless daughter), Susan Sarandon (who, as Douglas’s ex, proves she simply cannot deliver a poor acting performance), and a witty Danny DeVito as Douglas’s old college pal.

The film is written and directed by Brian Koppelman and David Levien who have previously proved that they are better writers (Rounders, The Girlfriend Experience) than directors (anyone remember Knockaround Guys?), but with the help of producer Steven Soderbergh, Solitary Man asserts both directors as powerhouses in depicting American struggle.

Let’s be honest, Michael Douglas hasn’t delivered a good performance since his one-two punch of Traffic and Wonder Boys in 2000. A decade later, he has two major films to help bring him back on top. You know he’ll shine in Oliver Stone’s Wall Street 2 later this year, reprising his Oscar-winning role as Gordon Gekko. But his work in Solitary Man is what will be remembered come awards time. Solitary Man is the best American film I’ve seen so far this year. 2010 has been dismal so far so I will repeat: Solitary Man is the best American film I’ve seen so far this year. A

Please Give

All of Nicole Holofcener’s films have a way of slowly evolving that is utterly convincing. In her last film, the wonderful Friends with Money, she presented four women in a way audiences were not used to seeing. They had depth, emotion, believable problems and troubling issues. In short, they were the anti-Sex and the City gals.

Her new film, Please Give may very well be her best yet. As is the case with every Holofcener film, Catherine Keener stars in the lead role, this time as a New York City woman longing to help others, but cutting corners to help herself.

Her and her amicable husband (Oliver Platt) purchase possessions from the estates of dead people for dirt cheap, then sell them for an exaggerated profit. Things we might value as useless, Keener and Platt can sell for $4,500 in their chic Village store. The two also have a quick-witted, heinously adolescent daughter (impressive newcomer Sarah Steele, who, unlike her Twilight counterparts, is actually believable as a struggling teenager.)

The family’s elderly neighbor is an inch away from death, which is good news for them, as they bought her apartment long ago in hopes of expanding their living space once she kicks the bucket. But bad for the old woman’s kind granddaughter (Rebecca Hall), who takes care of her nanny while her cruel, narcissistic sister (an incredible Amanda Peet) does spa treatments for rich people.

I’m having a hard time describing what the film is about because, essentially, it isn’t about anything. It’s a multiple-person character study that is best played out in front of your eyes, because what the characters do isn’t nearly as interesting as how the actors manage to pull it off.

Keener’s character wants nothing more than to help people, but pay attention to her during the scene where she watches several children with Down’s syndrome play basketball. She stands on the sidelines watching the kids play. It’s an innocent gesture, one that a lesser actor would do nothing with. But watch Keener’s face, look at what she is telling you with her eyes.

As much as I was convinced that Please Give boasted, arguably, Catherine Keener’s finest performance, I’d be remised if I did not mention the fact that Amanda Peet steals the show.

Glowing with a way-too-bronze tan and dressed to the tilt at every occasion, Peet dominates every scene she is in, whether through frank sexuality or brutally selfish dialogue. Peet has been stealing scenes for over a decade in films like The Whole Nine Yards, Changing Lanes, Igby Goes Down, Syriana, and the short-lived TV show Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. But in Please Give, she goes places I never expected her to go.

I understand that Please Give may seem like too slight a film to venture all the way to an independent theatre for. But that’s okay, because this is a movie you can enjoy in any setting. I promise, just simply watching Keener and Peet will be time well spent. A-

City Island

Based on its lackluster trailer and mediocre reviews, I hadn’t the slightest interest in seeing City Island. But then two things happened. First, a rising young Hollywood actress told me the movie was great, then I did a little research and discovered Emily Mortimer was in the film. Sold.

Andy Garcia, who may very well be the most underrated actor of his generation, delivers yet another solid performance as Vince Rizzo, a native of the tiny Bronx island, City Island. Vince spends his days as a prisoner guard – err Corrections Officer – but moonlights as a wanna-be actor in New York.

Given that each meal in the Rizzo household turns into an raging screaming match, it’s pretty clear that Vince can’t muster up the courage to tell his spitfire wife, Joyce (Julianna Margulies, deeply sexy in heavy eyeliner) that he has aspirations of being the next Brando.

As the film evolves, we’re presented with a family surrounded by secrets, unable to communicate with each other on almost every level. Joyce answers phones for a living, but eyes the Rizzo’s new houseguest with the lust of a desperate housewife. Their son is an apparent genius, but constantly skips school in order to feed his obsession with obese woman. Their daughter is kicked off her college scholarship for smoking a little weed, so she strips to make a living. Vince’s new prisoner turns out to be his long lost son, so he reprimands him into his custody without telling anyone his real motives.

The plot is a bit flimsy, but here’s what’s interesting: rarely do the characters take matters seriously, so we don’t either. City Island, I think, wants to be a comedy, but at times, strives to hit some real emotional depth. Enter Ms. Mortimer.

With her deeply poignant performance in City Island, Emily Mortimer proves to me, yet again, that she is the most underrated actress working in movies. (For examples, please see Match Point, Lars and the Real Girl, Transsiberian, Redbelt and Shutter Island.) She has a scene in City Island, in which she and Garcia have a candid conversation on a dock, that is worth the price of admission alone. Watch her face as she shares her most personal secret. Listen to the pitch of her voice. That, my friends, is acting.

The climax of City Island is an over-the-top, make-it-or-break-it romp. The scene, which starts with far too much slapstick brevity, and ends with a sincere amount of emotional candor, loses us slightly in its tonal shifts as the Rizzo's air out every last bit of their dirty laundry in the middle of the street. But if you’re willing to overlook the film’s faults, you’ll find some honest emotion, hidden slightly underneath the film’s joking exterior. What happens to some of these characters is hardly believable, but we’re glad things turn out the way they do. Which is another way of saying, we actually care. B

The Karate Kid

Beyond all doubt and suspicion, the new Karate Kid remake is actually good. I didn’t believe it would be, hell, even during the movie I was asking myself, “how is this happening?” How indeed.

The story is essentially the same. Instead of a sarcastic New York, Italian teen out of his element in L.A., we get a 12-year-old Detroit kid out of his element in China. The kid meets his building’s handy man, who soon stops the kid from getting the shit kicked out of him (again) by a slew of angry little kung-fu masters, who then agrees to train the kid for a kung-fu match.

To enjoy the film is not to compare it. The original Karate Kid is an ‘80s classic. The cheesy music, the over-the-top villain, the blond hairdos, an Oscar-nominated Pat Morita, and a final fight scene that still inspires. Nothing can live up to it (including its three sequels). And if you treat this new flick as its own, things go pretty smoothly.

Jaden Smith - who has Jada’s smile and Will’s charm – knocks his role out of the park. He’s got fire in the right moments, perfect charisma and comic timing in other moments, an impressively toned physique that shows he did his homework, and an emotional depth that we don’t expect. He’s a star on the rise. Watch out.

Jackie Chan fills in the role of teacher, which turns out to be a surprising choice. We’ve all seen Chan throw jokes and kicks around, but I’ve never seen him care. He has a scene in this film, in which he describes a terrible car accident, that may very well be the best acting he’s ever done. Sure Mr. Han doesn’t quite have the same ring to it as Mr. Miyagi, and he also lacks Morita’s candid humor. But Chan does have one brief line here that is delivered which such brilliant comic timing that it will have you laughing aloud, guaranteed.

The training scenes, somehow, are on par with the original film. Fast, enjoyable, and most importantly, believable. Like his father proved in Ali, little Jaden will have you convinced that he could seriously kick some ass.

Which brings us to the finale. Would this kid - whose only had, what, four months training in kung fu? – really be able to go pound-for-pound with young masters? Probably not. But oh well, that matters little. What remains is a compelling, adventurous remake, that, quite literally, everyone in the entire family can enjoy. Think some of the scenes are a little corny? Watch the original again (as I did directly after I got home from the remake), that flick is 100% cornball joy. Regardless how you feel after the new film’s well-executed 140 minutes, I dare you to not be hit with a brilliant wave of nostalgia as the final fight is concluded.

THIS is the ‘80s remake movie to see this weekend. Rock ‘n’ roll. B+

The A-Team

For the first hour or so of the film, which, somehow, goes by very very fast, I was completely oblivious to any mid-movie epiphanies I may have. But once the movie slowed down, it hit me.

After about the fifth action scene in this ‘80s re-vamp, I realized why I dislike the majority of American action films. It’s quite simply, really. There is too much perfect timing. Too much coincidence to make every little plot aspect work perfectly.

A few examples from this film. In the opening scene, one of the A-Team members is being held captive inside of a stack of tires. The bad guys light the tires on fire but the A-Teamer doesn’t flinch. “You’ll be sorry,” he says. Then right as the flames are about to reach his body BAM a car comes crashing through the barricades, saving the soon-to-be-burned A-Team member.

In another scene, an A-Teamer sits in a mental hospital, the military police hot on his trail, they walk over to him then BAM a truck comes smashing through the concrete wall, saving the soon-to-be-taken-into-custody A-Team member.

How about when another A-Teamer is flat on his back, the main bad guy standing in front of him, pointing a gun in his face. All the guy has to do is pull the trigger. Game over. But no, he sits there and talks and talks and then BAM an A-Teamer on a motorcycle comes flying through the air, and somehow manages to jump off the bike and tackle the would-be gunman.

And then, lastly, I promise, there is an entire action scene that is based around perfect timing and coincidence. If the semi truck the A-Team is hijacking slightly slowed down, a member would be squashed to bits. If the semi was going 2 mph faster, the lead A-Teamer wouldn’t have been able to swing in on a rope and jump onto the moving roof of the vehicle.

I get it. The people who pay to see these movies don’t care about little things like physics and reality, they just want to see shit blow up, which brings me to my final point. The A-Team is trash, yes, but it is, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, enjoyable trash. The cast does an amicable job with the very little dialogue they have and the action scenes (with the exception of the overblown finale) pop, but not without a little too much convenient use of time.

Was I annoyed by this movie? Yes. Was it better than any other blockbuster garbage I’ve seen so far this year? Yes. Do I think your money is better spent elsewhere? Yes. But, hey, if it’s trash you want, it’s trash you got. C-

Exit Through the Gift Shop

Well, here’s something new. Several years ago, obsessive filmographer Thierry Guetta began documenting street art with his crappy home video camera. He taped any and everything, slowly building a name for himself within the super secret sect of street artists. With promises to soon release a feature length film of what he had captured, artists let Guetta tape their works, no matter the risk.

After thousands of hours of taped footage, Guetta finally made his way to Banksy, one of the most notorious street artists that’s ever lived. The intensely private Banksy was weary of Guetta and his obsessive, borderline annoying habits, and after a few years of Guetta following him around, Banksy demanded to see a rough cut of Guetta’s film.

Six months later, Banksy viewed a nearly unwatchable account of Guetta’s time as a documentarian. The film, which is like a 90 minute music video on crack, was nothing short of a disaster. So, Banksy decided to turn the tables on Guetta and make a documentary of his own. The result is the evolving and intriguing Exit Through the Gift Shop.

“I thought Thierry was a more interesting person than myself,” says Banksy on camera, cleverly shadowed in a hoodie in order to keep his anonymity. Essentially, Guetta gave Banksy all his hours of footage and Bansky made something useful out of it. But what develops is not only a rousing history of street art, but a window into a tortured man’s soul.

After he failed as a filmmaker, Guette quickly went into creating high-level street art. He wanted to put on the biggest exhibition L.A. had ever seen. The result was a financially pleasing display of, mostly, overworked garbage that had several notable street artists scratching their heads. Why do people like this shit? And more importantly, why are they paying thousands of dollars for it?

Exit Through the Gift Shop may not be the most thrilling movie of the year (it slugs on in the middle), but it is a unique look at an underworld most of us know nothing about. Oh, and did I mention it’s hilarious? Near the end of the film, through all his puzzlement over the success of Guetta, Banksy slyly remarks that, “I used to encourage every single person to create art. Now… well… I just don’t do that anymore.”

I’m curious to see if Exit Through the Gift Shop gets any awards attention. How would an anonymous director accept an award for Best Documentary? B+

Splice

So imagine a completely absurd premise wrapped in a repulsive film that actually, somehow, manages to be mildly entertaining. Hmmm.

Scientist couple Adrien Brody and Sarah Polley decide to create a new being by combining DNA from several different creatures, including human, to benefit all of mankind (the new being’s DNA will apparently cure the most incurable of diseases).

After a few failed attempts, a little, spunky, ugly… thing is produced. The creature, soon dubbed Dren (Nerd backwards, get it!?), grows rapidly in body and mind, but becomes more agitated and restless with each passing day. After a few weeks the couple moves Dren, who is now human size, has kangaroo-like legs, and an alien-like face, to an abandon barn.

Now, let’s kick up the gross factor. And yeah, shit gets pretty nasty. We all know where the plot is going: Dren is going to lash out, revolt. The whole pet-project-gets-a-mind-of-its-own-and-goes-crazy, thing. You may be expecting that tired plot device, but the stuff in between is what will get you stirring in your seats.

I don’t want to give too much away but let me just say, it’s probably not the best idea to have sex right in front of your new, intelligent, alien-like being. She may… you know, get ideas.

Brody and Polley work well together, but the movie doesn’t really amount to much. Director Vincenzo Natali, who’s best known for the trippy flick Cube and the worst segment in Paris je’taime (the vampire one with Elijah Wood), leaves you with plenty to be grossed out by, but not much more.

And that’s what Splice has to offer: plenty of nasty shit that you will talk, and think about, days after you leave the theatre. It just may not be a conversation you want to have. D+

Get Him to the Greek

Am I the only one that thinks the Apatow takeover of American comedy is getting a little old? The dude started with a hit (The 40-Year-Old-Virgin) followed with another (Knocked Up) but hasn’t delivered, as a director or producer, since. In short, his films are turning into romantic comedies for men.

Funny gimmick is introduced. Funny gimmick is carried out and talked about for an hour. Funny gimmick hits a road block. Tears and screaming ensue. Everyone makes up. All is well. Fade to black.

That’s how simple the plot development for his films are becoming. In Get Him to the Greek - the less-than-stellar, quasi sequel to the very stellar Forgetting Sarah Marshall - the standard Apatow format is well in tow.

Lame music exec Aaron (Jonah Hill, please go away) is sent to London by his relatively insane boss (Sean “P Diddy” Combs, defining over acting) to retrieve rockstar nut job Aldous Snow (Russell Brand, so good in Marshall) so he can put on an anniversary concert.

With a plotline so simple, I’m amazed director Nicholas Stoller managed to make it so overdone and uninteresting. Aaron and Aldous have a wild night getting drunk and stoned. They wake up and continue to do it all over again. And again. And again. Okay, we get the point. And what’s with all the over-direction? The spinning camera, the imposed heads on the screen, the fast cutting; it’s all a bit too much. And lest we forget the “three-way” that takes place during the end of the movie. A scene in which its participants have about as much chemistry as three senior citizens drinking coffee.

Honestly, Get Him to the Greek isn’t all bad. Some jokes pop (sorry, I… can’t remember which ones, but I know I laughed…twice?) And a few performances are well done, namely by Rose Byrne (one of the most underrated actresses currently working), who plays Aldous’s ex. But for every joke that hits, there are five that miss. Take P Diddy’s explanation of how he is a brilliant “mind fucker”.

“I’m mind-fuckin’ you right now, can you feel my dick all up in yo brain?”

What the hell? How is that funny?

It’s a shame that the best character from Forgetting Sarah Marshall is put little use when given his own movie. Except of course to bring on the typical everything-little-thing’s-gonna-be-all-right Apatow catharsis that we’re all growing weary of. Sorry Judd, I think you need to go back to the drawing board. Your cookie-cutter comedies are spent. D

Sex and the City 2

Sex and the City 2 represents everything that is wrong with American cinema. Where to begin. How about with full disclosure. I liked the show. A lot. I’ve seen every episode. Its frankness and unblinking candor toward female sexuality made it compulsively watchable.

Remember the episode when Carrie called Big and he rushed over to her apartment? Then we cut to black, only to fade open on the sight of them post-coital, resting among a thick haze of cigarette smoke, the entire room bathed in a deep, lush blue. That was sexy.

And then there was the episode when all the ladies went to Atlantic City. There’s a scene in that show (which ultimately was the highlight of the entire series), when Carrie watches the sunset while sitting on the boardwalk. An older couple sits behind her and Carrie can’t help but eavesdrop on their humorous-if-not-bickering conversation. She gives them an unnoticed look of complete contentment. “God, I wish I had that,” she’s thinking. That was endearing.

Sexy and endearing. Two characteristics the show handled so well, and two traits neither feature film has been able to grasp.

The biggest problem with the first film was its exhausting running time (which, not surprisingly, is no shorter the second time around.) We’re used to a 23 minute episode, not an exaggerated two and half hour disaster. But at least that film had some redeemable qualities (I’m being generous by using the word “some”).

From the opening “gay wedding” scene in the sequel, we soon learn we’re in some sort of horrific nightmare. The first time the film loses its dignity is during Liza Minnelli’s atrocious rendition of Beyonce’s “Single Ladies.” The performance may have you questioning if you’re in the right theatre, as it resembles something out of a horror movie.

Moving on.

Each lady, you see, is having problems at home or at work. Charlotte thinks her bread-winning husband may bang the non-bra wearing nanny. Samantha can’t out trick her age. Carrie is mad that her husband wants… time to relax (?), and Miranda, with the only reasonable issue, gets treated like an insect by her male boss.

With their troubles in mind, the ladies head to Abu Dhabi at the drop of a hat. And this, my dear friends, is where it gets really bad.

As the film progressed, I had a startling revelation: that this movie was one of the most culturally insensitive films I’ve ever seen. The women feed the stereotype of “dumb Americans” by, among several other things, flaunting too much skin in an über-conservative country. Do me a favor and switch the scenario around. A movie about four Muslim women who travel to New York City on vacation. While in the Big Apple, they make fun of American’s by causing outlandish scenes in Times Square and pressing their religious and cultural views on everyone they run into. American film audiences would call them terrorists.

Aside from the cultural thoughtlessness, the movie is just plain boring. Really, who wants to watch a flick about four very rich women bitching about how much their lives suck? Ninety percent of the people watching the movie do not have as much money as the characters do, so they cannot, any in way, relate to their problems. Charlotte is the worst. A well-to-do, stay-at-home housewife who complains about her kids and the affair her husband isn’t having with the live-in nanny. Hey, Charlotte, get a goddamn job, or raise your kids yourself.

Two other things and I’m done. Despite its title, this film is neither sexy or takes place in The City. Samantha has two very brief, very unsexy encounters, and the shots of New York, namely in the grueling opening credits, look like something out of an American Express commercial.

Lastly, there is a scene early in the film when I said, almost aloud, “Oh my God, it could change, right here, it could get better,” simply because a new character is introduced. This is an actress that can display more emotional range with a single glance than the four leads can do throughout an entire movie. Yet, director Michael Patrick King only gives Penelope Cruz, what, two lines? I just don’t get it.

The ladies of Sex and the City 2 bitch bitch bitch, whine whine whine, only to have every single problem in their lives magically fixed in the last five minutes. Oh how utterly convenient.

In Roger Ebert’s recent review of The Human Centipede he said, “I am required to award stars to movies I review. This time, I refuse to do it. The star rating system is unsuited to this film. Is the movie good? Is it bad? Does it matter? It is what it is and occupies a world where the stars don't shine.”

That’s a very good point. Sex and the City 2 is beyond worthy of any grade. This year marks the beginning of a new decade, and we already have a film vying for the top spot as the worst movie made during the next ten years.

The Human Centipede

I suppose the most logical way to approach this review is to first discuss the controversy surrounding this movie. Just two weeks ago, CNN did a feature story on The Human Centipede, asking if it was the “most disturbing movie ever made?”

But let’s add a little context, shall we?

The plot is nothing new. On a dark, rainy night, two American girls get a flat tire on a back road in anywhere Germany. Because this is a horror flick, the girls make the brilliant decision to walk through the woods instead of sticking to the road. They come across a lone house. Knock on the door. And are “welcomed” by a fantastically creepy German nut job (Dieter Laser).

The acting by the girls is awful. Plain and simple. But when one of them tells Laser that they are visiting from America, they way he slowly replies, as if offended, by asking, “You, are… tourists?” makes you know you’re in for one hell of a ride.

We soon learn that Laser is a mad scientist, obsessed with re-creating a failed “pet” project he constructed with three of his dogs. He drugs the girls, ties them to gurneys in his darkly-lit basement, kidnaps a Japanese fella and away we go.

Once all three subjects wake up, Laser delivers a monologue so chilling, so matter-of-fact, that it is easily the best moment of the film.

(Okay, this is where it starts to get bad, and to describe the controversy, I’m going to have to give away crucial plot elements. Read at your own risk.)

With no detail left unsaid, Laser explains that he wants to slice the subjects’ knees so they can’t walk, then attach one person’s mouth to the lead person’s anus, then attach another person’s mouth to the middle person’s anus, forming one long digestive track, thereby creating a human centipede. (For further analysis, see below).

After the procedure is complete, Laser makes the group crawl around his front yard, barking orders at them like he would his precious puppies.

That’s the worst of it. It isn’t blood and guts that makes The Human Centipede so revolting, but rather your imagination. When the man in front begins to apologize to the women behind him, explaining that he has to go poo poo, we finally get what all the fuss is about. Sure, that’s gross, but come on… it isn’t that bad. Definitely not the most disturbing thing I’ve ever seen on film. It’s not like we see shit oozing out of the seams from the girl’s mouth.

As a critique based solely on cinematic merit (even by horror-film standards) The Human Centipede really isn’t that good. Its interiors are well shot, but it isn’t going into any history books. So that got me thinking, what’s with all the buzz?

The seemingly never-ending rape scene in Irreversible is infinitely worse than anything in The Human Centipede (for the record, I called Irreversible one of the 20 best films made in the first decade of the 21^st century). Salo is a film so repulsive, it defines shock cinema (for the record, no one needs to see Salo. Ever). Moments in Antichrist, Requiem for a Dream, and American History X can’t top The Human Centipede at its most grotesque moment.

In short, The Human Centipede is gross, yes, but it isn’t that gross. CNN headlines may peak your interest, but I’d say stay away. If you want to be disturbed, rent one of the movies I listed above. Either way, The Human Centipede should give new meaning to the expression, “take your head out of your ass.” Bottoms up. D

Robin Hood

What you’ll get out of Robin Hood:

• Tested patience during the endless first hour
• Confused sensibilities by not understanding what the hell anyone is talking about
• Worthless political discussions
• Yet another Ridley Scott disappointment
• A shirtless, bulky, if not slightly chunky, Russell Crowe in at least one scene
• A bored Cate Blanchett
• An even more uninterested Max von Sydow
• Curiosity as to how old Max von Sydow really is
• A kick-ass, but brief, fight scene finale

What you won’t get out of Robin Hood:

• A coherent plot
• Any sense that Robin is a ‘hood’
• Hardly any mention of the Sheriff of Nottingham, who you thought was the main villain
• A single scene well-acted with conviction
• A decent action scene in the first two hours and 10 minutes
• A feeling of time well spent, knowing that the final battle was too little-too late
• A remote desire to see the sequel, which is shamelessly set up by the final title card
• A lasting thought in your head regarding this movie

What you should do with Robin Hood:

• Not see it…
• …because if you do, you’ll know it deserves a D

Iron Man 2

I concluded my review of the first Iron Man film with the kicker: “There’s no way the summer can keep up with Iron Man’s heat.” Looking back I’m reminded how well that film was made (and how hugely it was overshadowed by The Dark Knight only two months later). But being reminded is also a letdown, because Iron Man’s less-than-stellar sequel is far from scorching.

Robert Downey Jr. is back, and decent, as Tony Stark, a pompous billionaire who also happens to have single-handledly prioritized world peace as Iron Man. He’s feeding off his own narcissism when suddenly we learn (OH NO!) that weird thing in his chest that keeps him alive isn’t working well. He estimates he only has about a year to live, and that’s when things go cinematically stale.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Because it’s a sequel, we know we’re going to be given a slew of new characters. Mickey Rourke (gotta love him) plays the villain, a Russian badass who’s pissed that the Stark family screwed over his pops. Rourke begged director Jon Favreau to let him only speak Russian in the role. The two compromised, and we’re left with a nearly-silent Rourke, tearing shit up with scowls and heavily tattooed biceps.

The other notable newcomer to the franchise is Scarlett Johansson, who, rather surprisingly, kicks some serious ass as Black Widow, a spy sent in to protect Iron Man… I think.

That brings me to my next point. The first Iron Man succeeded because it treated all its viewers as equals. But if you don’t know much about the comic books (like me) then you’ll be lost in the sequel. I was constantly trying to catch up with the intentions of Black Widow and her boss Nick Fury (a one-eyed Samuel L. Jackson). It’s the same argument I have for the Lord of the Rings films. “Read the books and you’d like the movie better,” people tell me. That’s nonsense. How about making a more coherent movie for people who aren’t total geeks so that everyone can understand it.

Don Cheadle famously replaced Terrance Howard in the role of Stark’s best friend and soon-to-be partner in fighting crime. I was shocked that Cheadle, one of the very best actors of his generation, was given all the God-awful one liners. The drunken birthday party brawl between him and Downey Jr. is the beginning of the film’s downfall, which ultimately delivers little thrills and goes on way too long.

Iron Man 2 has its standouts (Rourke and Johansson, who are both underused) but when it’s all said and done, I doubt you’ll be looking as forward to the next film, as much as you were the first time around. C-

A Nightmare on Elm Street

Within the last three years, we’ve seen revamps of at least four classic horror films. Halloween was smart to focus on the back story, but got bogged down in the present tense. Friday the 13^th had a great opening, but sucked from then on. The Last House on the Left was just… bad, leaving A Nightmare on Elm Street.

Here’s a noble idea, remake a horror flick, but this time, cast an Oscar nominated actor as the villain. Jackie Earle Haley as Freddy Kruger actually does work, but the rest of the film, including the as-bad-as-a-70s-porno supporting cast, is what you’d expect from a contemporary horror remake.

Instead of discussing the film, which I honestly don’t even think horror-film fans will enjoy, let’s talk about the current state of the American cinematic terror factor.

Think about it, what NEW film, made in the last 20 years, can you possibly see as being remade… 25-30 years from now? John Carpenter’s Halloween is a classic, so naturally it gets remade. But what horror film classics have we seen recently?

Off the top of my head, I can think of just three potential, remake-able candidates. Scream, Wes Craven’s 1996 rebel horrorfest, could easily be redone two decades from now, which is interesting, because Scream not-so-subtly pokes fun at slasher flicks to begin with, plus, part four is coming out next year.

The other two are The Blair Witch Project and Paranormal Activity, the two most influential films of the genre in the past 11 years. Would the remakes suck? Of course. But I wouldn’t be surprised if they get made. (P.S., I considered 2005’s The Descent, but really, how many people actually saw that? And if you haven’t, do.)

Oh yeah, let’s give A Nightmare on Elm Street a frightful D-.

Kick-Ass

I get the whole making-fun-of-comic-book-heroes-then-becoming-one-yourself bit. It’s all a little bit cheeky and overused. If done right, watching a scene where characters talk about other movies can be fascinating (as Clooney and Lopez did in Out of Sight). But if done poorly, as the title character in Kick-Ass and his lame-ass friends demonstrate, then it reminds us that we are… watching a movie. Which seems to miss the whole point entirely.

A dorky high school kid (Aaron Johnson) wants nothing more than to be respected and get laid. He manages to do both after dressing up in a wet suit, calling himself Kick-Ass and becoming a viral sensation on YouTube.

He goes rouge for a little while, actually getting his ass-kicked a few times, before meeting tiny, ferocious tween Hit-Girl (Chloe Mortez) whose character provides the film with its best and worst moments. Everything that comes out of Mortez’s mouth is a gas. Seriously, how can you not laugh at a purple-haired 13-year-old telling a bunch of thugs off with the line, “Okay you cunts, let's see what you can do now”?

But as the overly long film progresses, Hit-Girl’s antics become more troubling. Hit-Girl, along with her daddy superhero, appropriately dubbed Big Daddy, and even more appropriately played by Nicolas Cage, are the real ass kickers in this flick. The gruesome violence they leash out rivals anything The Bride cooked up in the Kill Bill films. But there’s the problem.

During the climatic good-vs-evil fight scene, Hit-Girl battles it out with a local crime boss (the very talented, soon to be well-known Mark Strong). During the fight, Hit-Girl is punched, kicked, thrown, shot at, bloodied up, and beaten down every which way. I don’t think I’m alone in saying that it just isn’t very amusing to watch a 13-year-old girl get the shit kicked out of her for entertainment purposes.

Director Matthew Vaughn did wonders with Layer Cake, but in Kick-Ass he could exercise a little tact. Is it a contradiction to enjoy watching a kid curse profanely with each line of dialogue but be repulsed by the violence that comes her way? Possibly. But oh well. D+