Fair Game

Naomi Watts does this thing with her voice, when her character is angry, broken and engulfed with despair beyond repair.  It’s a scream, but not one of terror.  But rather of frustration and shock, which causes her voice to crack and shake.  You can hear it when she finds out whose heart Sean Penn has in 21 Grams, or when she is begging for her son’s life in Funny Games. 

That scream is one of the reasons Naomi Watts is one of my very favorite actresses.  She brings a sense of conviction to every one of her roles, no matter how bad and foolish the script.  And in playing real-life Valerie Plame, you can bet our ass that Watts has a lot to scream about.

Fair Game tells the story of Plame’s fight to discover who, and why, she was ousted as being a CIA operative.  In her shock, Plame’s fight is led much in part by her liberal activist husband Joe Wilson (Sean Penn).

Wilson makes television appearances, writes Op Eds for "The New York Times," and yells at dinner party guests, all in an effort to clear his wife’s name.  But that’s where Doug Liman’s (Swingers, The Bourne Identity) film is actually the most reserved.  Fair Game doesn’t play best when the camera is constantly moving or the scene is set in a lavish part of the Middle East.  Fair Game, for the most part, is best played out in rooms.

Take the Plame-Wilson kitchen for example.  There is a scene in which Valeria and Joe have an extended conversation which escalates into a hellacious screaming match.  It isn’t until the moment is brought down to silence, and your heart has a chance to catch up to itself, that you realize you’re watching two of the best working actors in movies fully flex their craft. 

These are two people at the top of their game, and, as previously proven in the gut wrenching 21 Grams, Watts and Penn’s talents are raised when working off each other. 

Fair Game is a good movie with an incredible story, secured by knock-you-ass-flat acting.  The movie itself isn’t generating much awards buzz.  No matter.  Ms. Watts, the floor is yours.  A-

Stone

Judging from its trailer, Stone is a simple, floozy revenge flick.  Con Edward Norton is up for parole, but has to slog through several meetings with a straight-laced, but deeply conflicted Robert De Niro.  Things aren’t working in Norton’s favor, so he sends in his smoldering wife (Milla Jovovich) to seduce De Niro.

Pretty simple, and for the first act, everything rolls along smoothly. Norton, sporting tightly laced cornrows and a squeaky Southern ghettoized accent, excels early.  While Jovovich proves that she can be utterly fearless as an actress, when tested properly (which, admittedly, doesn’t happen often).

But then there’s good old Bobby De, looking bored as ever, overacting through every one of his scenes.  And once a lame, useless religion subplot is introduced, the movie falls apart quickly.

In one of my fiction writing classes in college, the professor told us that our short stories could be about any topic and have any resolution.  Except two things.  None of our stories could end with the main character dying, or “finding God.”

My professor had good reason for this because these are two things that seem to be seriously bogging down fictional pop culture.  Dying is an easy way out; the story ends, it cannot move forward.  Finding religion is very similar.  The character changes their life and everything is peachy keen.

It’s lazy writing that makes for a boring film.  Don’t get me wrong, some of my favorite movies end with the main character dying, but those movies have a few differences from that of Stone.  They’re smart, compelling, rewatchable, and don’t involve an actor who’d rather shoot himself in the head than actually show up on set.

Anchored by Norton, Jovovich and director John Curran’s powerful cinematography and editing, Stone could have been good.  Could have.  D

Due Date

Shortly after leaving Due Date, the farcical, absurd waste of time from Hangover director Todd Phillips, I received a text from my good friend, asking me if the movie was any good. 

I told him that the movie was stupid, but people who like those kinds of movies should like it, meaning, he would like it.  He thought that meant I was calling him simple.  Sigh.

Since that text conversation, I’ve spent far more time than I should thinking about this movie.  Because not only is Due Date not worth your viewing time, it isn’t worth your time period (which includes reading this review).

But you’re here, so: Due Date is basically the last 10 minutes of The Hangover, spread over 100 exhaustive minutes.  Tightly-wound Peter (a bored Robert Downey Jr.) needs to get from Atlanta to L.A. to witness the birth of his child from his caring wife (a wasted Michelle Monaghan).  But due to a series of absurdly far-fetched circumstances, Peter’s only way home is via a rental car with the increasingly annoying Ethan (Zack Galifianakis playing the exact same character he did in The Hangover, who now prefers to hit weed instead of cards).

The two characters fight, get into a sticky situation, get out of said situation, drive farther, fight, get into a sticky situation, get out of said situation, repeat x 10, roll credits.

So, here’s my problem: why aren’t contemporary American comedies really comedies anymore?  They are action comedies. Which, in the case of Due Date, involves punching a 10-year-old in the stomach, running a car off a bridge, stealing a border patrol car, getting shot in the leg, and drinking a dead man's ashes, among other things.

Why can’t comedy just be comedy?  What’s with this recent trend of having comedic characters run and jump and scream and fist fight and car chase each other around?  To me, it’s getting old, not to mention unoriginal.

The Hangover was, for whatever reason, a phenomenon.  As the third-highest grossing R-rated comedy of all time, I found it overly long and worn out.  “The laughs, for the most part, are pretty plain,” I said in my original review. That is, of course, save Galifianakis’ performance and the film’s closing credit sequence.

Galifianakis became an overnight sensation from playing that overweight man-child.  But what makes him think he can keep coasting by simply repeating the role?  Watching Due Date, in which very few jokes actually garner a laughing response, I cringed at Galifianakis’ wasted performance.  He isn’t funny, he’s just on repeat. You want funny, check out his segment “Between Two Ferns” on FunnyOrDie.com.

The way I ended the conversation with my friend is the way I’ll end this review.  I’m not saying you are stupid for wanting to see Due Date.  I’m saying that thousands of people spend millions of dollars on movies that treat them like they are fucking four years old.  But…why?  D

The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest

In The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo we found out that Lisbeth Salander, the best, most acutely written literally character in years as played to fearless perfection by Noomi Repace, did indeed have a large dragon tattoo. Months later, we learned that she had played with fire, now, she's the girl who kicked the hornet's nest. What does that mean, exactly? I have no idea. Minor details.

For their third, and final outing, punked-out hacker Lisbeth and dedicated journalist Mikael Blomkvist (Michael Nyqvist, as cunning as the character he plays) continue to battle a corrupt system of old-school elites who seem to control... everything.

Hornet's Nest picks up the second where The Girl Who Played with Fire left off , so much so that the two can be viewed as the same film, with a thee month intermission. Which is why, if you haven't seen the first two films, this review will be tricky to write. 

Lisbeth, now in police custody after arising from the grave and attempting to murder her deranged daddy, is shackled from fighting for her life. That's where Mikael comes in. He's smarter than the cops, more convincing than the thieves and fares pretty well with the ladies. He's like James Bond, but the kind that could actually exist.

Let's get the bad stuff out of the way first.

These movies, yes, all three of them, go on far too long. The story (the part that's important) ends well before the credits roll. But for some reason, they linger on for an additional 20 minutes.

Hornet's Nest, however, is the first of the series to lag in the middle. At two and a half hours, I need to mention that sections of this movie stall. Not horribly, but noticeably. But that's forgiven for two reasons. One, you know damn well you're not going to clock out now, after sitting through the first two. And two, the last 45 minutes make up for the lag, and then some.

Once Lisbeth sits her goth self down in the courtroom, the dialogue flies faster than any bullet, rivaling Inception in thrills and The Social Network in rat-a-tat wordplay. 

And, of course, there is always Repace and Nvqvist to fall back on.  Even though they haven't been given as much shared screen time in these last two films to flex their chemistry, both of them are best when playing off each other.

Nvqvist, with his scarred face and everyman belly, has done wonders with a very complicated, demanding role. Half physical, half ingenuity; he plays  Blomkvist as a guy you fear but are immediately willing to divulge any and all information to.

I've said this before, but, let's be honest, this is Repace's show. In what has by far been the year's most challenging role, Noomi Repace has excelled as Lisbeth. She brings one of the most popular contemporary literally characters to life, exceeding all expectations. As Lisbeth, Repace is utterly convincing in everything she does. The way she stares down her accusers, or strokes a keyboard, or takes a drag off her cigarette; each mannerism and expression is undeniably flawless. 

Daniel Craig should do well as  Blomkvist in David Fincher's version of Dragon Tattoo, but my God does Rooney Mara have some very big shoes to fill. 

I'll be rooting for her, knowing all well that nothing she does will top the original.

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo: A

The Girl Who Played with Fire: A-

The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest: B

Temple Grandin

I’ve never reviewed a made for television film before, and for good reason(s).  They don’t have as much at stake as other movies.  Films released theatrically are vying for two things: money and street credit in the form of Oscars.  TV movies aren’t in competition for either, so they carry little-to-no pressure, which explains why so many of them aren’t worth your time.

Here’s a rare exception.  If you watched the Emmy’s in August, then you know the cast and crew of Templin Grandin owned an hour of the telecast when they won their seven trohpies.  (Because of that, critics are actually trying to remove the “Made For Television” categories from the Emmy broadcast).  I have HBO, it was on one night, so I figured I’d see what all the fuss was about.

Temple Grandin tells the true story of a woman diagnosed with Asperger’s syndrome who, despite her social awkwardness, put herself through college, got her doctorate and became a renowned expert in the field of animal husbandry.  There’s definitely a movie to be made in the fact that a girl who didn’t speak until she was four years old is currently a professor at Colorado State University.  But why a TV movie?

Honestly, I’m not sure.  Everything in this HBO flick is top notch.  To mention the acting is to grow repetitive, as it is all perfect.  Claire Danes has never impressed me (Brokedown Palace… maybe) but as Grandin, she is an utter revelation.  She embodies Gradin’s voice, facial ticks and imperfections without the slightest bit of force.  Her mother, as played by Julia Ormond, delicately and seamlessly captures the everyday struggles of a parent with an autistic child.  And Grandin’s inspirational teacher (as played by the never-not-perfect David Strathairn) does subtle wonders with his brief role.  It’s no surprise that these three all won Emmy’s.

Then there’s director Mick Jackson and his crew. Jackson, best known for directing The Bodyguard, uses storytelling devices in Temple Grandin that most other films screw up.  Remember the whole, “Oh look, that’s how he sees the world,” moving of numbers and graphics in A Beautiful Mind?  Well, imagine that done right.  When you watch Temple Grandin, and more importantly, Danes’ performance, you know, better than any other film I’ve ever seen, what it is like to have Asperger’s.  When Danes looks at something, the camera suddenly freezes and flashes several black and white still shots, conveying her photographic memory. 

A simple gate leading to a horse farm is a challenge for Grandin, one that we figure out through her eyes.  These devices are, admittedly,  harder to write about than they are to view. 

The real Temple with Danes on set

2010 has been a very rough year for movies.  We’ve had a few standouts (Inception, The Social Network) and hopefully we’ll have a few more (127 Hours, The Fighter) but nothing yet has come remotely close to hitting the emotional peaks of Precious or The Cove last year. 

Many films based on true stories don’t know when, or how, to end.  The final scene of Temple Grandin is so convincingly gut-wrenching and inspiring at the same time, that you can’t help but get choked up.  It’s the most emotional I’ve gotten over a film this year.  Who cares if it’s made for television?

Danes’ performance rivals that of Dustin Hoffman’s in Rain Man and far surpasses Russell Crowe’s in A Beautiful Mind.  Lead actresses should be thanking HBO for picking Temple Grandin up.  If it was released in theatres, Claire Danes would win the Best Actress Oscar without breaking a sweat.  A-

Conviction

It’s hard to be completely objective toward a movie after witnessing a panel discussion with the cast and real-life subjects directly after it.  For instance, Hilary Swank in person makes a damn good case for her role in Conviction, where she plays Betty Anne Waters, a woman who fought for decades to get her brother out of prison for a murder he didn’t commit.

During the movie, in which Swank is outacted by every other member of the extremely talented cast, I kept rolling my eyes at Swank’s God-awful, over the top New England accent.  Then, after the movie, I was privy to a Q&A where Swank, the real life Waters, and others participated.  After Waters’ first spoken sentence, I ate my words, because Swank in the film sounds exactly like her. 

It makes you think: what in films, particularly ones based on true stories, do we scuff at because it sounds or looks or seems absurd? 

My point is, Conviction isn’t a great film, and at times, it isn’t even very good.  But I appreciate it so much more having witnessed that Q&A (where, surprisingly, extremely interesting and important details not in the film were revealed).

Swank is not a good actress, but she has been outstanding in a few select roles, two of which earned her Oscars.  In Conviction, she is great when dealing with the bullshit bureaucracy of her brother’s ordeal.  Her scenes with fellow law school student Abra Rice (an excellent Minnie Driver) are where she is best.  But when she is forced to go toe to toe with her vengeful, angry brother, Kenny (a never-better Sam Rockwell), she is a mere afterthought.

Rockwell’s career has spanned from the good (Heist, Matchstick Men), the bold (Snow Angels, Moon) and the uncanny (Confessions of a Dangerous Mind), and his performance in Conviction, most of which is done in prison meeting rooms, is a work of art.  Why has this guy never been nominated for an Oscar?

But there’s something missing here.  Along with Rockwell, the film’s other performances (by the likes of Melissa Leo, Juliette Lewis, Peter Gallagher and Clea DuVall) are all flawless.  But the film is not.  It’s overly sentimental and fails to hit emotional peaks in scenes that should bring tears on with ease.

This happens every once and a while; fantastic performances fill a mediocre movie (North Country comes to mind).  And I’m not sure who to blame.  Maybe director Tony Goldwyn (the bad guy from Ghost), or his makeup artist (why does everyone age but Swank?). 

The marketing for this film has been very Swank-heavy.  She should step out of the way, it’s Rockwell’s show. B

(For an excerpt from the Q&A, click here, this was filmed via my BlackBerry so please forgive the shakiness and low quality. Also, the caffeinated editing was done as to not spoil plot elements from the film.)

Hilary Swank in Ashburn, Virginia

Saw 3D

All the Saw movies start the same: with a person(s) desperately trying to free themselves from Jigsaw's elaborate torture-porn trap. In these prologues, the victims almost always die (which explains why the scene has nothing to do with the rest of the film), but the laughable skit that opens Saw 3D takes the cake.

Two guys wake up, handcuffed to giant electric saws, then a girl is revealed being hung from the ceiling. She's been boning both of them, Jigsaw explains, and the two men must decide who dies: one of them, or the girl.

The kicker is that they are encased in a giant, plexiglass box in the middle of a large city. As the countdown nears zero, a crowd steadily gathers in front of the box, taking pictures with their BlackBerry's, feebly attempting to break the glass, making half-assed calls to the cops, and so on.

During the scene, I kept thinking how implausible the whole ordeal was, like people would actually watch three teenagers get chopped in half. And then it hit me. I realized how, and I can't believe I'm saying this, ingenious the scene was.

People actually do enjoy watching teenagers get chopped in half, why the hell do you think every single Saw movie damn near doubles its budget in its opening weekend box office take?

So, in this scene, the filmmakers aren't only making fun of themselves (well, that might be giving them too much credit), they are making fun of their viewers, as if asking: "You like watching this shit on film, and we bet money you'd watch it in person, too."

It's a scary thought, but a far scarier one is that, despite its marketing tease that this is the final Saw film, next year, you can bet your ass that if it's Halloween, it must be Saw. D-

Hereafter

Much like Woody Allen, Clint Eastwood wastes no time churning out fresh cinema.  Since 1971, he’s made over 30 films.  Save a few rare exceptions (Unforgiven) his films didn’t coast into greatness until 2003, when he released the work of art that is Mystic River. 

In Hereafter, Eastwood gets his action out of the way early.  In an epic, horrific sequence, a tsunami wipes out an entire town, with Eastwood’s camera right in the thick of it.  Once the dust settles, we’re introduced to three different characters on three parts of the globe. 

Marie (Cecile De France), a popular journalist in Paris, is having trouble coping with her near-death experience in the tsunami.  Marcus (twins Frankie and George McLaren) is having trouble coping with a horrible accident in London, and George (Matt Damon) is having trouble coping with himself.

Despite its trailer, I didn’t find Hereafter as a film describing what happens to us after death.  I found it as a film describing how those of us affected by death deal with our loss.  Slow but never boring, Eastwood’s film is full of tender moments that, in lesser hands, might have come off as laughable.

Take an extended sequence that starts in a cooking class and ends at the bottom of a set of stairs.  In the scene, Damon and his cooking partner (played to innocent perfection by Bryce Dallas Howard) take turns blind-tasting foods.  Watch how their movements, unseen by the other actor, are countered in perfect rhythm. 

The scene leads the two back to Damon’s San Francisco apartment where things do not go where we think they are going.  The words they exchange force Howard to leave, but not before falling apart at the bottom of the stairs.  Now, watch her.  Really watch her.  As Howard (daughter of Ron) slides to the ground and begins to sob uncontrollably, we notice something that we aren’t used to.  We can’t see her face; it’s shielded by her long, amber hair.  For an actress to block her face during her “Oscar moment” takes some serious balls.  It is a test of courage that I can only assume Howard learned from her gifted auteur.

Most people won’t like Hereafter, simply because it doesn’t deliver at the same level of power we’ve been used to seeing in Eastwood’s film.  It has earned false comparison to Babel (it isn’t nearly as good or gut-wrenching).  What it is, however, is a subtle, meditative feature that takes its time, but, in the end, is ultimately worth the trip. B+

You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger

Every single Woody Allen movie starts the exact same way.  Classical/jazz/muzak plays over the speakers.  Jump credits appear, always in the same font.  The cast is listed alphabetically.  Fade in on opening shot.  And, for better or worse, it is because of this routine that we find a certain comfort when sitting down to watch moving images of Woody’s World. 

Allen is one of the oddest filmmakers around.  In each of his many films (he’s made one a year since the 70s) he mixes together a great cast, witty screenplay and a fresh narrative.  When he succeeds (most recently with the fantastic Match Point) he totally nails it.  Why is it, then, that so many of his films falter?

With films like Tall Dark Stranger, he seems to be attempting to replicate his great streak from the late 80s-early 90s (Hannah and Her Sisters, Crimes and Misdemeanors, Husbands and Wives).  But he needs to realize that his contemporary comedies aren’t working (really, did you see Scoop or Whatever Works?)

Tall Dark Stranger, like all of Allen’s films, centers around an interconnected group of people who all have it bad despite their evident wealth.  There’s the failing novelist (a shlabby Josh Brolin), his desperate-to-escape wife (Naomi Watts), and her overbearing mother (Gemma Jones) whose rich husband (Anthony Hopkins) has just dumped her for a whore (yes, literally).

They all sit around and bitch and moan and complain about how unfair life is, which, if done right, can be Woody Allen bliss.  But here, everyone just looks bored.  Maybe that’s because Allen let’s a God-awful narrator do most of the talking (as he did with Vicky Christina Barcelona).  Maybe it’s because we, like all of the actors, have seen and heard this story a dozen times (by Woody himself).

Tall Dark Stranger tries to redeem itself a few times: namely in a scene in which three characters have it out in a cramped apartment, going from one room to another, screaming and drinking scotch, all completed in one long unbroken shot.  It is masterfully done, a true work of bravado.  Sadly, the rest of the film is not.

Allen’s next movie is yet another romantic comedy, but it stars Rachel McAdams, Adrien Brody and Marion Cotillard.  And, for better or worse, I’ll be right there, watching another Woody Allen movie begin the same way all over again. C

Paranormal Activity 2

Movies don’t scare me.  The blood, the shrieking music, the jumping out from behind a door; it’s all so purposefully unrelenting.  So, the fact that Paranormal Activity scared the living shit out of me (almost, it seemed, quite literally) says a lot. 

A year ago, I spent 86 dreadful minutes in a movie theatre, watching a helpless couple be terrorized by an unseen demon.  That film, which still remains the most profitable movie ever made (it cost 10 grand, it banked 107 mil), is the Blair Witch Project of our time.  Its sequel, however, doesn’t quite reach its bar.

But, did you see Book of Shadows: Blair Witch 2?  Exactly.  Paranormal Activity 2 isn’t better than the first, but it comes damn close.

You think the preview gives too much away?  It doesn’t, by a long shot.  In fact, it wouldn’t be fair for me to tell you even the most mundane details about the new family being terrorized.  So instead, I’ll focus on the film’s overall effect.

There is no noise.  In my review for the first film, I spent a great deal of time focusing on a subtle noise that came through the soundtrack everytime something bad was about to happen.  It was so restrained, we didn’t even recognize it the first few times.  But after a while, our spines were tingling the moment that sound began.  I believe I compared the experience to that of Pavlov’s dogs.

This film, sadly, doesn’t grip you like that.  It has great moments of shocking terror and holy-shit-cover-your-eyes panic, but it doesn’t envelop you in fear as well as last year.

When reviewing sequels (or remakes or prequels or trilogies) I try not to compare the movie to the first film.  But, in this case, it deserves to be done, simply because you cannot see Paranormal Activity 2 without seeing the first one.  There were a few very obvious people in my packed theatre who were two steps behind. 

After viewing part one, I had trouble sleeping for a few days (which, except for Deliverance, has never happened to me).  And while I know I’ll sleep well tonight, there’s a scene in the sequel that is easily the freakiest thing to take place in both films.  This movie is a necessary fun, but dear God, don’t ruin it with a third one.  B

Jackass 3D

Here’s where Jackass 3D lost me: we fade in on a miniature train set. As the train loops in and out between the small buildings of a town, the camera slowly pans back, showing as a green volcano.  Suddenly, explosive diarrhea shoots out of the top of the “volcano” which is, of course, some dude’s ass painted forest green.  Then more shit spews out.  Then some more. Then a last little bit.

All the surrounding Jackassers laugh uproariously before we see the exact same clip again, this time in slow motion.  Really?

Some of the stunts in the Jackass franchise (yes, it can be called a franchise, due to the shitload of money the films make) are actually quite funny.  Can I tell you what any of them are?  Of course not.  Why?  Because for every hilarious stunt, there is five supremely disgusting ones.

The Volcano Shitter is just the beginning.  There’s flying a remote-controlled helicopter that is tied to the end of a guy’s dick, drinking the sweat produced from an obese man’s workout, and strapping a mini video camera next to a guy’s balls as he proceeds to urinate on members of the film’s cast and crew.

This isn’t funny.  It’s fucking gross.  And that’s probably why the theatre I was in, filled almost entirely with 18-27 year old males and their girlfriends, didn’t laugh once during any of those skits.

Beyond the grossness of it all, here’s what I was thinking while watching this film:

• Smart to put it in 3D, which undoubtedly helped propel it to a $50 million opening weekend
• What kind of drugs are these guys on?
• How much of this is real?  (Which stunts are completed using legit stuntman and/or visual effects?)
• When will it be over?

The answer to my last question couldn’t come soon enough.  D-

Nowhere Boy

Nowhere Boy is an unnecessary film about a very necessary man.

It’s slow, often boring, and lazy in its rock ‘n’ roll performances.  Which is speaking poorly of a film that chronicles the teenage years of John Lennon.

Now for the good stuff.  The acting is flawless.  Which rests mostly on the shoulders of lead Aaron Johnson, the 20-year-old actor who is leaps and bounds away from his leading role in Kick-Ass earlier this year (was I the only one who didn’t know the kid was a Brit?)

Johnson embodies what we think a young John Lennon would look and act like.  He’s arrogant, pompous, bloody talented and horribly damaged.

His damage mostly lies in the fact that his mentally ill mother (an Oscar-worthy Anne-Marie Duff) left him to be raised by his strict aunt (Kristen Scott Thomas, again proving she’s one of the most talented actress working in film) when he was a child.

John is pissed about it.  And when he reconnects with his mother, their relationship is eccentric yet tender, fun yet troubled.  But, if a movie is described as being about John Lennon, you came for one thing, and that’s the music.

Despite the fact that, during the course of the film, John meets two fellas named Paul and George, don’t expect any Beatles tracks.  We’re too early for that.  Instead we’re privy to a few small shows where a Bud Holly/Elvis Presley-inspired John crones out slight tunes for the ladies.

I say slight because, for some reason, when John starts singing through the mic, it’s as if the sound in the film gets turned down.  I know what 43-year-old director Sam Taylor-Wood is doing here, I think. She’s making the music sound how it did back then.  The crude percussion, the mono tone; I get it.  But it takes away from the film as a whole, which is a subtle way of saying that it isn’t technically well done.

Die hard Lennon fans should enjoy Nowhere Boy.  By no means did I hate it, but it could’ve been more.  Much more. B-

Note: Why did I make a point to say how old the lead actor and director are?  Because they’re engaged, and she’s having their baby in the next few months.  Well played, young man.  Get it.

Red

I’ve been hearing a lot of comparisons between this over-the-top comic book action flick and The Expendables, another recent over-the-top action flick.  I don’t think the comparisons are with merit.  Why?  Because one of them is laughably enjoyable, while the other is just laughable.

If you’re going to make a movie that spoofs an entire genre, then make your spoofing more obvious.  We’re led to believe, I think, that Bruce Willis, Helen Mirren, John Malkovich and Morgan Freeman don’t want to be taken seriously as a slew of retired spies trying to clear their names.  But they sure as shit seem to be taking the whole ordeal very seriously.  Although, not as much as their director.

However, I must admit that it is immensely enjoyable to watch Dame Mirren standing behind a giant ass machine gun, straight-faced as she blasts bad guys halfway to hell. Yeah, that’s badass (and, ahem, kind of hot).  The rest of the film, however, is not.

Shit blows up, people give long speeches before they fail at killing someone, visual effects are used to achieve wild stunts; and it’s all so kid-friendly.  What’s with rating these balls-to-the-wall action flicks PG-13?  Lame.

Malkovich is getting damn good at perfecting neurotic, LSD-laced characters, and Freeman and Willis have enjoyed cashing out their last few flicks, but it’s all so damn tired.

I liked The Expendables, for the same reason I enjoyed Piranha 3D: they don’t take themselves seriously.  Red is more than a throwaway action movie, it’s a throwaway action movie that wants to be treated as a decent action movie. Sorry.  D

Secretariat

There's a perfect word to describe a movie like Secretariat: Capracorn.

Frank Capra was known for making happy-go-lucky, all's well that ends well, tales that, late in his career, began to be deemed "corny" by critics.

Capracorn. A movie that, while not notably impressive, will be suitable for the whole family, and leave you with a feel-good mentality.

That's Secretariat, through and through. The movie, a true story that chronicles the great horse's victory of the Triple Crown, and the struggles of his owner Penny (Diane Lane) to get him there, is a wondrous family film that will have you cheering at the screen and brimming with joy.

Problem is, you have to be into that sort of thing.

There are a few genres of film that I choose not to critique. For the most part, I get nothing out of animated films. Sure there may be one standout a year, but I can usually predict, to the minute, what will happen in a cartoon movie. Same goes for chick flicks and horror films. And the same, as is the case here, goes for live-action family films.

Most movies released under these genres make a decent amount of money. Why? Because most movie goers want what they've already seen 50 times. And that's fine. You are the ones that feed the Hollywood system and make it a success. And without that money-grubbing system, there would be no way to independently finance smaller films. So, thanks.

Anyway. If you're moved by it's trailer, you're going to like Secretariat. No question. You'll enjoy (or not even notice) the cheesy, I-feel-another-speech-coming-on dialogue. The battlefield music the reveals how a scene will end as it's just beginning. The period costumes that look oddly dated.  In short, you'll love the sentimentality of it all.

Diane Lane has proven that she's a talented actress. But her performance, much like the rest of the film, doesn't make the slightest attempt to challenge her. Everything is done by-the-book with formulaic generality. Think Seabiscuit meets The Blind Side. (Which, for my money, isn't saying much.)

I don't have children and I'm not a grandparent, but I can imagine it is nice to be able to go to a movie theatre with your entire family and all be able to enjoy (some more than others) a film together.

There's nothing inherently wrong with Secretariat. Just like there's nothing wrong with Life As We Know It, or I Spit On Your Grave. But, you know, you have to be into that sort of thing.

Which I'm not. What can I say? I'm not here to agree with you. D+

Waiting for "Superman"

These kids are Waiting for "Superman"

Too. Much. Information. That's how this new, highly buzzed about documentary plays out. Much like director Davis Guggenheim's last film, An Inconvenient Truth, topical problems are discussed in a fresh, stylized way. But there is too much going on. Several times while watching Al Gore's presentation, I kept thinking, "Jesus, I didn't know I had to take notes." Waiting for "Superman" is just like that. Informative, yes. But to a fault.

America's public education system is flawed nearly to the point of no return. Dropout rates are higher than ever. Our worldwide rank in math and science scores keeps dropping at an alarmingly (embarrassingly) hasty rate. Teachers are criticized worse than ever on their merit. And on and on.

Thanks much in part to this film, all of these issues are currently in the forefront of national attention.

So what can be done about it?

After watching Waiting for "Superman", I have no idea. You know why? Because this is a movie that talks, and presents, a great game, but offers little to no insight on how to fix such a damaged system.

To be fair, that isn't entirely true. Problems are offered seemingly feasible resolutions from important-looking people that, because their dressed in a power suit, we should be listening to. But the solutions, much like the problems, aren't discussed in depth. At all.

For five minutes, Guggenheim's film focuses on the ease of reaching tenure as a public school teacher, and how hard it is to fire lousy educators. Then... the film moves on. Google says they can't find enough qualified Americans to hire, so they look elsewhere. Then... the film moves on. The education and teacher's unions are stunting the need for change. Then... the film moves on.

You get it.

If you've seen the film's trailer, you think you're in for a documentary that focuses on a few inner-city kids who are being damaged by the underwhelming abilities of the public school system. They each enter lotteries in hopes of being accepted to charter or private schools.

This is in the film, but only for the final 20 minutes. And once Guggenheim settles down from all the facts and bar graphs and pie charts and lame cartoon graphics, he touches on some seriously compelling stuff. What these kids are going through, and the fact that their fate is decided by the drop of a lottery ball, or the random scroll of a computer, is easily the highlight of the film.

During the film's final moments, I kept thinking about Hoop Dreams, the fantastic 1994 documentary that chronicles the struggles of two inner city youths, who have both been prematurely deemed as the next Michael Jordan. That film, which Roger Ebert called the best of the '90s, says nothing about the hardships of daily life in the inner city, but at the same time, it says everything about the hardships of daily life in the inner city.

Waiting for "Superman" touches on that point, but by then, it's far too late. Don't get me wrong, this film presents several valid, note worthy points; all of which need to be scrutinized and investigated. But it presents far too many of them. A five-part miniseries on HBO (or PBS, for that matter) would've suited Guggenheim's material far better.

I care about the kids. How they feel, how they act. I could care less what Bill Gates thinks about America's lack of education. Why? Because all of the money he has donated towards the cause has had little to no impact.

Had Waiting of "Superman" picked one, or two, or even three, issues to discuss (and offer sound resolutions for), it could've been great. But, sadly, the final imagine of this movie, arguably the most moving scene of any film so far this year, is wasted among the statistics. B-