Stop Complaining About the Dark Knight Rises Teaser

When The Dark Knight Rises teaser trailer (finally) arrived online a few days ago (yes, those of us who refused to see Harry Potter 7.2 had to wait), the blogosphere went into a battling frenzy of comic book boy wetdreams vs. analytical fans.

People, people, this is a teaser.  It’s meant to, you know, tease and allure you.  Not that this final installment of Christopher Nolan’s disarming Batman trilogy needs any help, but still.

And if people aren’t bitching, then they’re scrutinizing.  MTV, Entertainment Weekly, and countless blogs are taking the time to analyze every frame of the teaser.  That’s a lot of work for something that lasts roughly a minute and a half.

Sure, the teaser for Batman Begins showed a little more than its successors, because the filmmakers were actually trying to convince people that their comic book movie was going to be different.  It was, which explains why The Dark Knight teaser was so ominous, and showed virtually nothing.

In short, let’s all just hold our horses and not get all wound up over a messily trailer.  We’ve got a year to go, people.

Batman Begins teaser:

The Dark Knight teaser:

The Dark Knight Rises teaser:

Page One: Inside the New York Times

On the surface, Page One: Inside the New York Times details issues that have been beaten to death: the print media news model is dying, blogging is huge, and WikiLeaks may have singlehandedly catapulted social media into the big leagues, demonstrating how unnecessary (and outdated) a New York Times newspaper is when it arrives on your doorstep.

But director Andrew Rossi’s documentary isn’t concerned with chronicling crusty old journalists’ inability to keep up.  There’s no “Err, what the hell is this Twitter thing?!”  Instead, Page One shows the rat race that the Times staffers face to beat an immeasurably bigger empire: that of online media.

Page One mostly follows around the Times’ media desk and their fight to, 1.) be accurate, 2.) be first, 3.) be on the front.  It’s astonishing, for instance, that when the New York Times first got wind of Julian Assange’s game-changing WikiLeaks, the media desk editors had to fight and claw their way to make it a page one story.

Now, I can fully understand how this all may sound… well, boring.  A bunch of newspaper editors bitching about how their story is better than their colleagues’.  But Page One is far from dull.  Its scope is massive, which turns out to be its best and worst attribute. 

Best of all the Times personalities we meet is David Carr, an ex crack addict with a wicked wit, and a limited tolerance for bullshit.  Watching Carr ream out a source he’s interviewing (who has unwisely insulted the Times) is jaw dropping.  The man curses, raises his voice, slams on his keyboard, and out articulates everyone in the room.  Basically, he’s the antijournalist.  And if he wasn’t so goddamn good at his job, I’m sure he’d be out of one.

Carr’s personality is enough to fill this entire 88 minute film; he’s the most engrossing, and by far the staffer with the most lasting power.  In hindsight, I wish Rossi would’ve limited his scope, and focused solely on Carr.  Maybe I’m wrong.  Maybe Carr’s story can’t sustain an entire feature length documentary.  Regardless, Carr’s scenes are the most memorable.  When he’s off screen, you’re waiting for him to come back.

The rest of the film, wisely, does its best to not take a stance.  For every staffer praising the necessity of print media, there are five people who urge that social media is the way to go. 

Page One may not open your eyes to what you already know is coming, but it does a damn fine job of chronicling how it got there, and where it's probably going. A-

Tabloid

Exhibit A: In 1977, Joyce McKinney, a former pin-up model and Miss Wyoming winner, fell in love with Kirk Anderson, a conservative Mormon who, despite his strict religious upbringing, fell hard for McKinney. Weeks later, Anderson was ordered by his fellow Mormons to move to England, abandoning his ties with McKinney, and reaffirming his faith.  Days later, McKinney came to England, rescued Anderson, drove him to a cottage hundreds and miles away, and made passionate love to him for three days.  When the two returned to England, they soon learned that Anderson had been declared missing, so he turned himself in and was convinced by the Mormons to say McKinney had kidnapped and raped him.

Or.

Exhibit B: In 1977, Joyce McKinney, a former pin-up model and Miss Wyoming winner, fell in love with Kirk Anderson, a conservative Mormon who, despite his strict religious upbringing, fell into a mutual courtship with McKinney.  Weeks later, Anderson was sent on his Mission (a duty of all Mormons) to England, abandoning McKinney and reaffirming his faith.  Days later, McKinney came to England, kidnapped Anderson at gun point, drove him to a cottage hundreds of miles away, tied him to a bed, and forced him to have sex with her for three days.  When the two returned to England, Anderson turned himself in the minute he could and told police and his church that McKinney had kidnapped and raped him.

There’s a common maxim which states that there are three sides to every story: Yours, Theirs, and The Truth.  Exhibit A is, more or less, McKinney’s version of the events that made her a tabloid sensation.  Exhibit B is, more or less, the adverse spin on the story that we get from other principals involved. Who’s right?  Who’s wrong?  I’m not entirely sure. And this being an Errol Morris documentary, that isn’t really the point, anyway.

Errol Morris, who shares the title of best living documentarian with his mentor, Werner Herzog, never seeks to differentiate fact from fiction, truth from reality.  He gets subjects in front of a camera and lets them speak, often showing reenactments of their version of the story.  And, because people are people – meaning they remember and reflect the same event in different ways – Morris’s films often show many versions of the same story.

Are the people of Vernon, Florida really cutting off their limbs to cash in on their insurance policies?  Did Randall Adams really deserve to be on death row for the murder of a police officer?  (No, as The Thin Blue Line discovered, he did not, and he was later acquitted.)  Were the soldiers who tortured prisoners at Abu Ghraib really just following Standard Operating Procure?

To Morris, I believe, the truth isn’t as interesting as the reason.  We may not ever know why McKinney did what she did (Anderson wisely declined to be interviewed for the film) but that doesn’t mean that Tabloid isn’t one of the most entertaining documentaries you’re likely to see this year. On top of telling compelling stories, Morris is a master filmmaker.  He’s help shift the perception within the genre that documentaries can too be technically flawless, in addition to telling a striking story.

Tabloid wastes not one second of the viewer’s time. At 87 minutes, it’s paced swiftly while still making room for some lingering questions.  McKinney’s story (which she recorded for Morris during a single day) is incredible in and of itself.  But with a master behind the wheel, it becomes riveting. A-

For Tabloid showtimes, click here

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2

(Editor’s note: The Harry Potter franchise has always interested me as much as measuring the height of my neighbor’s grass.  So in my apathy, I dished this review out to admitted Potter freak, Cassie Wells.  Enjoy.)

As an avid Harry Potter reader (Yes, I was one of those weirdos who would line up outside a bookstore to get a copy of Harry’s newest adventure… no, I did not dress up) I was excited for the last movie, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2. In my humble opinion, the seventh book was a literary version of the Sistine Chapel. It was the perfect ending to the series that was over a decade in the making. Every twist and turn kept you engrossed and yet all the questions I had formulated over the years were answered. Everything made sense.

With that being said, this latest movie was better than okay, but not great. I loved everything about it – from the costumes and magic to the dialogue quoted directly from the book – until the last half hour. In short, the filmmakers completely screwed up the final fight. The ultimate climax of an epic eight movie series (that’s 4,176 pages!) was magical and enchanting but only subpar to those of us who have read and reread the books. Even my 17-year-old brother turned to me at the end and said, “That’s it? That’s how he dies?” There was no grand finale to the fight, it just sort of subtly ends, like a train slowly rolling to a stop, which is completely opposite of the book.

Some of the book’s best scene – whether funny, tearful, or gut-wrenching –  were either hinted at, glanced over, or complete rewritten in the film.

Visually, it’s a beautiful film. Action-packed from the beginning as Harry, Ron and Hermione race to find and destroy the Horcruxes. What seemed to be an impossible task in Part 1 becomes a domino effect, with one Horcrux leading to the next, inevitably leading to the final battle between He Who Shall Not Be Named and Harry at Hogswarts. Every action scene is enthralling, with camera angles and visual effects that make Harry’s magical world come to life.

The few moments without wands casting curses are used to answer lingering questions, though not to the extent of the book, which may leave those who haven’t read the books a little confused.

The best part about this film was how director David Yates and his team were able to capture the emotional feelings the book gave you. The one-liners and funny moments are timed perfectly. The use of music, and even the conscious decision to have silence, helped you feel Harry’s loneliness as he bears the weight of the world on his shoulders, or his excitement as he triumphs and is one step closer to his goal.  Even the few scenes that aren’t in the book, my favorite being where Neville and Seamus are given permission to blow up part of Hogwarts to help defend it, provide humor and depth.

While Part 1 focused solely on Harry, Ron and Hermione, Part 2 engages all the Harry Potter characters and their essential roles in the fight against Lord Voldemort. It captures how Harry relies on so many people to help him and yet is ultimately left alone to face Voldemort and decide the fate of the world.

If you are a fan of the books, this final installment is definitely worth seeing.  If you’re a Harry Potter novice, you will walk away with more questions than answers. B

What’s With All the Lame Trailers?

Three trailers for three movies by three masterful directors should send me into Oscar-bait bliss.  Spielberg is doing a war film, Scorsese is doing 3D, and Soderbergh is doing disease the same way he did drugs.

But when the trailers for War Horse, Hugo and Contagion dropped this past week, I was left with a collective wince of puzzlement.  They all (well, mostly War Horse and Hugo) look undeniably lame.  Granted, family friend films are not my preferred genre, but still… what’s going on here?

Hopefully these trailers are the result of failed marketing tactics, and will in no way reflect what he final films deliver.  At any rate, the trailers are below. 

Contagion – to be released Sept. 9

There’s no denying that this is a great cast, the majority of who seem to be ready to rock.  But the movie looks so damn conventional.  Also, why reveal the death of a main character?  Also, no “A Steven Soderbergh Film” title card?  Also, is it just me, or does Matt Damon look like he never lost all that Informant! weight?

Hugo – to be released on Nov. 23

Look, I’m just as excited as the next guy that Martin Scorsese is attempting a 3D flick, but I wish this trailer offered something more.  To me, this just looks like a pretty Oliver Twist, with much better actors.  The first time I watched this trailer, I couldn’t even finish it, I was that bored.

War Horse – to be released on Dec. 28

And talk about boring… what the hell is this?  The dialogue is terribly cheesy, the music is bad John Williams melodrama, and are we sure Janusz Kaminski photographed this?  Because it looks awfully flat.  Spielberg needs a serious boost.  Sure, he’s earned a career pass given all the classics he’s responsible for, but the man hasn’t released a decent film since 2005’s Munich.  If War Horse doesn’t deliver, I suppose there’s always Lincoln. 

The Best Movie Openings (that EW Left Out)

Entertainment Weekly’s new list of “30 Classic Opening Movie Scenes” touches on some masterful movie introductions – both classic and contemporary – but paves way for a shocking number of omissions.

I’m no proponent of Entertainment Weekly, a publication whose film criticism has gone from steady to mediocre to poor to laughable, but Breia Brissey’s list is worth mentioning.

First off, she wisely leaves out impressive title sequences (a category that has been listed to death) opting instead for genuinely impressive introductions. There are the obvious (Citizen Kane, Jaws, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Touch of Evil), the commendable (Reservoir Dogs, The Godfather, Manhattan, Scream, Up), the welcome surprises (The Dark Knight, The Departed, Strange Days), and the baffling (Contact….? The Notebook….?).

Brissey also does a rare thing by highlighting that the real opening to Saving Private Ryan takes place in a massive graveyard, not on a beach.  Hell, she even included  my favorite film opening of all time. 

A list like this could go on forever, but here are a few of my favorite movie openings that EW left out:

Boogie Nights/Magnolia/There Will Be Blood

Boogie Nights brilliantly introduces all of its main characters in one extended steadicam shot, while Magnolia chronicles three popular urban legends before frantically, masterfully intruding on the lives of its many characters, and There Will Be Blood begins with a nearly wordless, elegant short film.  Watching these movies again, it’s clear that the only character development we need is presented in the films’ opening scenes.

The Player

And speaking of extended steadicam shots…

Persona

This opening has been debated and twisted and pulled every which way since the film’s release.  Books have been written about it, and popular filmmakers have stolen from it. (What does the music remind you of?  Who else used quick inserts of the male reproductive organ?)  As good as movie openings get.

(opening technically ends at 6:42, but if you finish the clip, you've watched an eighth of the whole film)

2001: A Space Odyssey 

The jump cut from The Dawn of Man to the year 2000... come on. 

Memento

Starting at the end never looked so good.

Trainspotting

Iggy Pop+frenzied monologue+heroin-thin Ewan McGregor+being chased by the police= bliss.

(plays after advertisement)

Blue Velvet

Bobby Vinton, blue skies, red roses, white picket fence, a Leave it to Beaver sentimentality... is this a David Lynch movie?  Oh, a rotting human ear.  I knew I was in the right place.

(credits end at 1:39)

Click here for the full EW list.

400 Strong, 400 Long

My review of A Better Life marked the 400^th post on And So it Begins.  And, if you include the subsections of this blog, such as the Directors, Listings, My Favorite Scene, and various Oscar coverage, then it’s closer to 450 posts. 

Regardless, I started this blog in September of 2007 (for some fun, check out my first review, of In the Valley of Elah.  My writing, I feel, has…improved, to say the least), as a way to share with people what I had, until that point, kept scribbled in spiral notebooks.

The blog, and my writing, have come a long way since then, and with my recent admission to the LAMB, my page hits are higher than ever.

About once every two weeks, I get an e-mail or a Facebook message from a friend I haven’t spoken to in some time, complimenting me on this blog.  Sometimes the messages are from complete strangers, who have wondered onto my site despite the infinite abyss of movie blogs online. Those messages, coupled with all of the post comments, are what keep this site going.  I’ll always have things to say about movies, but knowing that other people are interested in those thoughts, well, that’s about as much affirmation for living as I need.

Melodramatic though it may seem, it couldn’t be truer.  So thanks to each and every person who spends part of their day reading what I write. To paraphrase Dirk Digger, I guess the only thing I can say is… I’ll promise to keep rockin’ and rollin’.

Endlessly Rewatchable: Point Break

People are often stunned to find out that I’m a Point Break fan of hyperbolic proportions.  And I suppose, given my penchant for the works of Bergman, Herzog, Truffuat and the like, an action-thriller whose two most spoken words are “fuck” and “brah” wouldn’t really seem up my alley.

Nonsense.

Point Break is the embodiment of film entertainment.  It’s sleek, funny, engaging, and, yes, endlessly rewatchable.  And, according to /Film, it was released 20 years ago today.  This knowledge is worth discussing for two reasons: first, because for fans, me writing about it (and you reading about it) will undoubtedly spark our interest in going home and rewatching it as soon as we can.  We want the guns, the masks, the banks, the waves, the dives, the Swayz; we want to be mindlessly entertained for 120 minutes in a way that no other film of the genre has been able to for the past decade.

Secondly, the anniversary is worth mentioning because there are, I regret to speculate, a wide number of you who have (gulp) never seen Point Break.

But this can’t be true, can it?  Surely everyone knows the story of undercover FBI agent Johnny Utah (Keanu Reeves, playing Keanu Reeves to perfection), and how he is tasked by his horrible boss (John C. “Why Don’t You Astonish Me, Shitbrains” McGinley) to catch a slew of bank robbers who disguise themselves with masks of ex Presidents.  (Quick trivia question for fans: what four Presidents do the robbers emulate?)

"Lose something, brah?!"

Coming up short in ways to crack the case, Utah’s over-the-hill, in-constant-need-of-a-meatball-sub partner, Pappas (Gary Busey, playing Gary Busey to perfection) suggests that Utah exercise a theory of his (that the ex Presidents are surfers) by learning how to hang ten on the rad beaches of L.A.  Utah soon becomes tight with Bodhi (Patrick Swayze, playing Patrick Swayze to perfection), but things aren’t what they appear.  People aren’t who they say.  Definitely… definitely. 

But, no.  Unfortunately it is true.  Many misguided people my age have never had the luxury of relishing Point Break. I know this for a fact, because I experienced it firsthand.  In October, I convinced a friend of mine that we should dress up as Johnny Utah and Bodhi for Halloween.  My friend, being the good sport that he is, shaved his beard, slapped some fake blood on his face and walked around for the whole night with a spot-on “my name is Keanu Reeves and I’m confused” expression on his face.  Me?  I dressed in a tux, put on a Ronald Reagan mask and was good to go. 

My buddy Brent Hunt (left) flexing his inner J. Utah, and yours truly (right) minus the .44 magnum 

But not really.  At the party we attended, I was asked repeatedly why I decided to dress like Reagan the President, and why I was wearing white gloves.  My friend just got looks of “who the hell is this guy, and why didn’t he dress up” confusion.  I spent the whole night taking off my mask and explaining to people who I was.  The party was a bust, and I was heartbroken.

So, back to the film at hand.  All kidding and geeking-out aside, Point Break is a genuinely perfect action-thriller.  If I’m turning on my film theory, I can tell you that it contains many of the best action sequences committed to contemporary film.  The surfing scenes are vivid and crisp, there’s a fight scene that is intense and, intentionally, hilarious (thanks much in part to Anthony Kiedis’ cameo), a search-warrant-gone-terribly-wrong scene that never fails to produce a gasp, a chase scene that seems impossible to achieve with a film camera (and not digital), and two skydiving scenes that, thanks to Mark Isham’s score, are supremely exhilarating.

"Amazing! Fucking amazing!"

Point Break was directed by Kathryn Bigelow (aka Mrs. James Cameron at the time of shooting), who recently became the first woman to win a Best Director Oscar for her incredible Hurt Locker.  Watching Point Break, it’s clear that we’re watching a film by someone with a keen eye for popping action, and someone who has no qualms with crafting a film of simple entertainment.  The film doesn’t take itself seriously, yet it is seriously awesome.

If you haven’t seen Point Break in a while, watch it again, it really has held up well over the past 20 years.  If you’re feeling extra devilish, buy the Blu-Ray, the surfing and skydiving scenes alone are worth it.

If, for some odd reason, you haven’t seen Point Break, do yourself a favor and watch it.  Then (I suppose you can wait a day or two), buy a case of beer, invite some friends over, and watch it again.  In no time at all, you’ll experience Point Break the way it is meant to be experienced: screaming lines of dialogue at the television while reaching for another beer, all without missing a frame.  Vaya con Dios.


(An excerpt from the badass fight mentioned earlier.  Back off, Warchild, seriously.)

A Better Life

When a director’s resume includes, but is not limited to, movies with titles like Down to Earth, The Golden Compass and The Twilight Saga: New Moon, audiences don’t sit around waiting for said director’s moment of please-take-me-seriously prestige to show itself.

But Chris Weitz’s A Better Life deserves every accolade – of which there are many – currently being thrown its way.  It’s a film with a stance, but not overtly so.  It’s a film with a heart, but not in a way that’s melodramatically overbearing.  In short, A Better Life, far more than Weitz’s other films (which also include About a Boy and American Pie), is a film with a soul.

With so many heavy assertions and strong pontifications coming out of Hollywood message movies recently, it is wholly refreshing to see a movie that deals with such a hot-bottom topic (that of illegal immigration), in such a micro way.

Carlos (Demián Bichir) is a quiet, honest man, working all day every day in East Los Angeles, landscaping rich people’s homes.  He keeps to himself, doing the worked that’s required, eating from small food carts, never making a fuss.  At night, he comes home and sleeps on the couch, letting his 14-year-old, angst-ridden son Luis (José Julián) occupy the only bed in their small home.

Carlos’ boss, looking to retire and move back home to Mexico, offers to sell his landscaping truck, tools included, to Carlos for a modest price.  But Carlos fears that, because he is an illegal immigrant with no driver’s license, taking over the truck could put him at risk for being deported.

If you’ve seen the trailer, and I really hope you haven’t, then you know Carlos soon finds himself in a bit of a pickle, which for our purposes will go left unexplained.

On the surface, A Better Life is a film about immigration; about the hardships and follies an illegal immigrant has to go through in this country to attain what the title suggests.  But, thankfully, the film never takes a deliberate stance, there are no gasping-for-breath monologues about how bad Carlos has it and how he prays that everything will work out.  The film is far too subtle for that.

Dig deeper and you find that A Better Life is, more significantly, a heartfelt father and son story. Carlos spends the little free time he has tending to his tiny garden and sleeping.  He trusts that his steady work ethic will set a good example for Luis, a hothead who is inches away from being peer pressured into joining a gang.  Luis, like most 14-year-olds, is angry at life.  He’s mad that his dad is working all the time, mad that his mother isn’t around, mad that he goes to a shit school, and so on. Also, like most 14-year-olds, he takes his teenage aggression out on his father, who casually dismisses his son’s ploys for help, almost to a fault.

Now, we’ve seen this all countless times – the mad as hell teenager butting heads with his father – and there is only one real reason to attempt it yet again: casting great actors.

In his first film role, José Julián does steady, multilayered work as Luis.  He nails the teenage angst well beyond what is required in the script.  His subtle transformation from angry to confused to curious to vengeful to remorseful is perfectly graceful.  But Julián is just one half of the puzzle.

On the other end, we have Demián Bichir, who now justly deserves to be billed as great.  Bichir (who did fine work as Castro in Soderbergh’s Che, and Mary-Louise Parker’s drug lord husband on Weeds), does understated wonders with Carlos.  He’s a man confounded by his status (as an immigrant, as a man, and as a father) but puts in the work despite it all.  He’s a man that, I think, realizes he’ll never have what he wanted for himself, but still has a chance to give that to his son.  He’s a man of love, a man of soul. 

Near the end of the film, Bichir delivers a monologue with such restrained passion, that I was moved to tears.  It would be selfishly simple to scream and shout and let the tears flow wild, but Bichir holds back, in a way that is honest and authentic beyond words.  A Better Life isn’t a great film, but it’s anchored by a flawless performance, one that will surely top award’s lists at the end of this year. A-

(Note: I made slight mention of the film's trailer earlier, but to be clear, if you can avoid the trailer, then do.  It shamefully reveals far too much of the film’s plot.)

Horrible Bosses

A trend has taken over two of Hollywood’s most profitable genres.

The Ring, while devilishly scary and somewhat brilliant, stalled the horror genre in PG-13 nonsense. But with reboots (Friday the 13th, Halloween) and torture porn franchises like Saw and Final Destination making their budget back and then some, the R-rated horror flick, for better or worse, is back for blood.

And for every hacked limp and spilled intestine a Saw movie dishes out, the new slew of R-rated comedies match in dick jokes and literal shit-your-pants antics. You can credit The Hangover for proving to studios that people still love raunchy dialogue, kinkily awkward sex and the varying art of making flatulence sound funny.

Most of the time, these new trends fail to produce a worthwhile film, but in the rarest of cases, as with Bridesmaids and now Horrible Bosses, the R-rated comedy has every right to let its freak flag fly.

Horrible Bosses is essentially a contemporary spin on Hitchcock’s Stranger’s on a Train (which the film proudly makes direct note of). Instead of two strangers agreeing to kill each other’s enemies, we have three best friends willing to knock off each other’s bosses.

Jason Bateman (in arguably is best Jason-Bateman-talks-really-fast-with-perfect-timing role since Arrested Development) is sick of his demonic boss, played by Kevin Spacey (basically revisiting his Swimming with Sharks character circa 2011, which is a compliment). Charlie Day (having a blast doing all the things he can’t do on It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia), wants his sex-pot boss (a perfectly against-type Jennifer Anniston) gone. While Jason Sudeikis (miles away from the staleness of Hall Pass) wants his cokehead boss (scene stealer Colin Farrell, sporting the worst haircut in film since Javier Bardem in No County for Old Men) out of the equation.

It’d be fruitless to explain all the absurd situations these three find themselves in; you’re far better off seeing for yourself. But I will say that their inexperience leads them to many uncomfortable situations, most hilariously with a murder consultant (Jamie Foxx) whose character name is as good as any I’ve heard in the last 10 years.

If there’s one fault with the film, it’s the fact that Jennifer Anniston, and particularly Colin Farrell, are grossly underused. While Kevin Spacey bites hard into his meaty role, I would’ve loved to have seen more of Anniston’s ridiculously foul-mouthed dentist, and Farrell’s hilariously un-PC, douchebag chemical salesman. If Farrell had been given as much screen time as Spacey, I’d be calling for an Oscar nomination. It’s an incredible comic performance, fit perfectly into a completely uproarious film that is more than worthy of sporting an R rating. B+

This Week in Why Bother: Zookeeper

“This Week in Why Bother” is an ongoing series in which I question why Hollywood is doing what it is doing, and explain why you need not bother with it. 

I’ll be skipping Zookeeper this week, but those of you with kids may have no choice but to sit through it.  Here are some of the shit bombs are few critics are throwing at it, but first, a little polite numbers crunch.

Zookeeper: By the Numbers

Director Frank Coraci’s other masterworks: 4 (The Wedding Singer, The Waterboy, Around the World in 80 Days, Click)

Writers it took to pen this gem: 5

Estimated hyperbolic budget: $80 million

Rotten Tomatoes approval rating on day of release: 14%

Roger Ebert, rogerebert.com   

Look, a great movie this is not. A pleasant summer entertainment it is. I think it can play for all ages in a family audience, it's clever to have the animals advising humans on their behavioral strategies, and besides, I'm getting a teensy bit exhausted by cute little animated animals.

Mike LaSalle, San Francisco Chronicle   

As far as complete wastes of time go, Zookeeper is not especially offensive. Yet it is surprising that everything you might expect to be charming in it just isn't - namely all the bits involving animals.

Richard Corliss, Time Magazine 

Did the MPAA accidentally leave off the "13" from its PG rating? Parents will be challenged to explain the urination scene, the size jokes and other penis-related comedy to their kids.

Kevin James remains a potentially appealing movie star — if only he didn't have to be in Kevin James movies.

Keith Phipps, The A.V. Club

As a study in insanity, Zookeeper is mildly interesting. But as a kiddie comedy, it’s something to watch only once the little ones have worn out their Dr. Doolittle DVD—maybe even their Dr. Doolittle 2 DVD, for that matter.

Scott Bowles, USA Today  

The animals aren’t completely to blame for the Zookeeper.  Unless they made it.  Which is possible. It's hard to think of a human finding much to laugh about in this wounded beast.

Why Meryl Streep is (probably) Gonna Win Another Oscar

The teaser trailer for The Iron Lady, which casts Meryl Streep as Margaret Thatcher, just went viral and is already causing mixed reactions.

When it was announced that Streep would be playing Thatcher, people started predicting an Oscar from the premature get-go.  The shared thought was that The Iron Lady would be heavy-handed Oscar bait, full of drama, screams and tears.  But watching the trailer, it seems director Phyllida Lloyd (whose only other feature film credit is the Streep-starring Mamma Mia!) is going for a slight, amusing take on the former Prime Minister.

Despite being nominated for damn near everything she’s in (amassing 16 total Oscar noms), Streep has only won twice: Best Supporting Actress for Kramer vs. Kramer (1979) and Best Actress for Sophie’s Choice (1982).

So let’s do a little Oscar math. Streep+Thatcher+serious= Oscar gold. Streep+Thatcher+funny= front row seat.

The Iron Lady is scheduled for a Dec. 16, 2011 release.

Larry Crowne

In Larry Crowne, Tom Hanks’ first directorial effort in 15 years, we’re presented a host of characters and situations that amount to next to nothing, but will pass the time all the same.

Larry Crowne (played with the go-to affability Tom Hanks seems so presently accustomed to) is perfectly content as a worker at a Wal-Mart-type store, humbly making his way toward his ninth stint as employee of the month.  But, because he skipped over college and enlisted in the Navy for 20 years after high school, he is downsized and sent packing.

At the advice of a neighbor, Larry dutifully enlists in community college, and soon meets two women who help propel the movie to shy-guy-on-big-campus, eye rolling wonderment.  There’s Talia (Gugu Mbatha-Raw), the coolest girl on campus who gives Larry a new haircut, clothes him in hip threads, and, you know, lets him join her… moped gang.  And Mrs. Tainot (Julia Roberts, being... Julia Roberts) the nasty speech teacher, who takes her troubles at home out on her students.

Let’s get the good stuff out of the way.  At my sold out, mid-afternoon, July 4 showing, a majority of the crowd really seemed to enjoy Larry Crowne.  Granted, most of them were over 65, but given the constant chuckles, I think they walked away with a pleasant dose of Capracorn.  And that’s fair, because Larry Crowne is perfectly decent.  It teeters right on the edge of importance and incoherence, nestling itself safely among films of the rom-com persuasion.

And that’s the problem I couldn’t shake throughout the entire movie: the fact that it really could be so much more.

Larry is initially presented as a genial buffoon, but soon turns into some Will Hunting-style economic genius.  Are we really expected to believe that I guy can’t land a job in retail, despite the fact that he can single-handedly refinance his house and guide a friend on smooth small business practices, based on what he learned in one semester of Econ 1? I guess so, because the film never expands on the topic.

And there’s Mrs. Tainot, who drinks too much but apparently isn’t an alcoholic.  Or her husband (Bryan Cranston, in a truly awful, over the top performance), who loves his wife, but is apparently addicted to porn.  Or Talia’s boyfriend (Wilmer Valderrama, in a truly awful, too-cool-for-school performance) who is a nice guy, but is apparently some sort of hot head. Or the interesting supporting characters (played by Pam Grier and Taraji P. Henson) who act merely as dialogue fillers.

All these evident issues would make for a far more interesting film, but Hanks, and co-writer Nia Vardalos (still living large off her My Big Fat Greek Wedding royalties) decide to play it annoyingly safe.

Watching Larry Crowne is like eating soft serve ice cream on a hot summer night.  It’s cool when you begin, but by the end, you’re left with a gooey mess, and questioning why you even bothered in the first place. C

Bad Teacher

It can be difficult to call a movie bad.  Most of the movies I’ve given a good thrashing to this year (Justin Bieber: Never Say Never, Scream 4, Fast Five, The Hangover II)   have all cleared green in global box office numbers.  Hell, if Transformers: Dark of the Moon can land $400 million dollars in six days, the opinions of film critics are widely being considered as a mere afterthought (if they’re considered at all).

Other times, I’m sent nasty e-mails or left spiteful comments (both of which are welcome) for bashing films (The Green Hornet, Your Highness, Thor, X-Men: First Class) without considering that “they are only aiming to be simple crowd pleasers.”

So, those are the most common categories that films I loathe fall into: they either make money, or generate negative reader feedback, or both.

I mention this because Bad Teacher does not, in any way, fall into those categories.  It isn’t going to make money, and loyal readers aren’t going to disagree with me, simply because this film is an egregious waste of time.  Boring, slow and utterly absent minded.

If, for some incredibly unfortunate reason, you find yourself watching Bad Teacher, here’s a call sheet of a few things you’ll see Cameron Diaz’s character do: smoke pot incessantly, cut off a loaded school bus with her car, drink booze at her desk, demand bribes from the parents of her students, give her bra to a 12-year-old, tell her students to fuck themselves, remind her students that they’re worthless, coerce a government official, have her students cheat on a major test, and on and on.  To make matters worse, this is all being done for the noble cause of acquiring a new boob job.  If Diaz’s character can plant fresh knockers, you see, then she can land a wealthy suitor and not have to worry about a pesky job to provide for herself.

I know what you’re thinking.  Replace Cameron Diaz with Billy Bob Thornton, teacher with mall Santa, and boob job with mall heist, and you’ve got Bad Santa, one of the funniest, raunchiest movies made in the last decade.  But where Terry Zwigoff’s film succeeded (you know, by actually being funny, and having a true heart when appropriate) Bad Teacher falls miserably flat. It's raunchiness isn't so over the top that we're forced to laugh, it's just plain dumb.

I could go on and on about how bad this film is.  About how the talents of Justin Timberlake, Jason Segel and Eric Stonestreet (who recently won an Emmy for playing Cameron on Modern Family) aren’t even remotely tapped into, but I’ve already used up too much of your time.  Bad Teacher is 92 minutes long and feels like an eternity.  It’s simple: just stay away.  F

(Note: for the record, nasty e-mails and harsh comments concerning posts on this blog are always welcome.  I'm not here to agree with you, so feel free to call me out on it.)

7 “American” Movies That Are In No Way Patriotic

What’s the fun in listing the most gung ho, ride-into-the-danger-zone, overly patriotic films of all time?  Instead, here are seven movies from the heartland that, despite their eponymous titles, in no way pretend to care about where they’re from.

American Graffiti (1973)

Cruise the strip, rock to tunes, eat greasy food, cruise the strip, race your car, cruise the strip, pick up some chicks, cruise the strip, debate college, rock to tunes, cruise the strip, race your car.  Repeat, relax.  Cruisin’.

An American Werewolf in London (1981)

Tired of the boring mountain hikes America has to offer?  No problem! Travel to rural England with a buddy and take in all the sights.  Just, you know, don’t go out on the night of a full moon.  Because then you’ll get mauled alive by a werewolf, your buddy will die, his ghost will come back to haunt you, and you’ll only have precious days before you yourself turn into a werewolf.  Better thought, just head to the Rockies.

American History X (1998)

Street shootings, Mein Kampf, kinky sex, baseball bats, roast beef to the face, swastikas, dead firemen, basketball, Nazi propaganda, a fat guy, blood, guns, Lincoln, weights, analyze and interpret, prison rape, curb stomp; there’s something here for everyone.  Go America!

American Beauty (1999)

As a middle aged man in America, you can tell your wife to fuck herself, ignore your daughter, blackmail your boss, quit your job, smoke weed all day, flip burgers, lift weights, listen to Pink Floyd, buy the car of your dreams, and try to bang a 17-year-old.  Not half bad.

American Pie (1999)

There’s nothing more American than wetdream virgins trying to get laid on prom night.  Too much work?  No worries, jerk it into a sock, or set up a webcam in your room to spy on some naked chick (don’t worry, legal action won’t even be considered).  Still got the blues?  No problem, just jam your junk right into a warm apple pie.  Problem solved.

American Psycho (2000)

What could possibly be American about a Wall Street yuppie scum who likes kill, screw, snort, drink, ridicule, and dress with impeccable style, expressing little to no apathy?  Actually, come to think of it, this may be the most patriotic film of all time. 

American Gangster (2007)

Tired of sitting on the sidelines?  Ready to step up your game?  Easy.  Kill your competitors, travel to Vietnam, convince natives to sell you primo-grade heroin, throw the stuff in the coffins of dead American soldiers (you know, to dissuade those pesky customs officials), pay off the cops, cut the H at high quality, sell it for cheap, kill more competition, get caught, rat everyone out.  “This is America.” Damn right.

Happy Fourth of July!