The Aero Theatre plays host to an eclectic slate of 11 European-produced documentaries, providing Los Angelenos a unique opportunity to journey into unfamiliar cultures and subcultures as viewed through a contemporary European lens. At the core of these films — 10 of which are Los Angeles premieres — are stories of citizens of the world making their way in the 21st century, following or breaking tradition in human experiences that by far supersede geographic borders. Wine and cheese receptions are held in between films each night; for a full roster of the movies, click here.
The Aero Theatre
is located at 1328 Montana Avenue in Santa Monica. Tickets for all of these movies, as well as other special events, are available through Fandango, but for 24-hour recorded
information on directions and the Aero’s upcoming schedule,
phone (323) 466-FILM.
Quarantine, which opened on Friday under a cloak of typical Screen Gems-ish anonymity after not screening in advance for critics, was unable to dethrone sign-of-the-apocalypse family film Beverly Hills Chihuahua from the top
spot at the box office over the weekend, grossing $14.2 million to the aforementioned film’s $17.5 million. Still, the low-budget horror flick of containment nonetheless finished with the top per-screen average of
the three-day frame, and outgrossed fellow new openers Body of Lies ($12.9 million), The Express ($4.6 million) and City of Ember, which finished outside the top 10 with only $3.1 million.
Beverly Hills Chihuahua has now grossed $52.5 million, which should be immediately refunded to American taxpayers, I think. Rounding out the top 10 were Eagle Eye ($10.9 million, $70.4 million overall); Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist ($6.4 million, $20.7 million overall); Richard Gere and Diane Lane’s adult weepie Nights in Rodanthe ($4.5 million, $32.3 million overall); ensemble western Appaloosa ($3.3 million, $10.9 million overall); Keira Knightley‘s expanding period piece The Duchess ($3.3 million, $5.6 million overall); and Kirk Cameron’s go-fix-your-marriage-fireman-drama Fireproof ($3.1 million, $16.9 million overall).
What time is it? Why, time to work those dance grooves with Troy, Gabriella, Sharpay, Chad and the rest of the gang from East High, of course. High School Musical 2: Deluxe Dance Edition hits DVD just in advance of the theatrical bow of the series’ third flick, designed to pry a few more dollars from the wallets of tweens and their parents, in exchange for a movie ticket voucher and some celebratory, dance-along instruction. Fans of course know the story particulars of the top-rated Disney Channel original movie and its sequel, and those who’ve built up a wall of mental isolation from the flicks don’t really care, so it’s best to just note that High School Musical 2: Deluxe Dance Edition is an essential release only for hardcore series completists. More casual fans make certainly make do with the prior DVD release, while shrieking middle school devotees can dance along with the cast and learn their favorite kickin’ routines with moves actually taken from and showcased by the movie’s director-choreographer, Kenny Ortega.
Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case in turn stored in a glittery, yellow-tinged cardboard slipcover with raised lettering, High School Musical 2: Deluxe Dance Edition comes spread out over two discs, and presented in 1.33:1 full frame, with complementary English, French and Spanish language Dolby digital 5.1 sound mixes. A special, three-minute sneak peek at the forthcoming theatrical release in the series kick-starts the slate of over five hours of bonus material, and is of course the driving reason behind this iteration’s existence, since a movie ticket voucher is also included herein. The bulk of the other material is imported from the movie’s previous DVD release, including four minutes of deleted scenes, a four-minute blooper reel and music videos for “You Are the Music in Me” and “Gotta Go My Own Way.” Perhaps most interestingly, various international music videos and promo clips are granted their own section, including a bizarre Japanese animated piece. Also included are a 30-minute making-of featurette, a virtual scrapbook featuring the cast
and crew, 35 minutes of choreography and rehearsal footage, and an exclusive musical number that will make “the coolest
summer vacation ever” last all year round… or at least until your tweens have to get up and manually hit replay after wearing out the DVD player’s remote control. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. B- (Movie) B+ (Disc)
A passably engaging claustrophobic horror thriller that a little more
than halfway through reveals the limitations of its mode of
storytelling and visual scheme, Quarantine is told entirely via
hand-held footage shot by one of its characters. The story — about a
television reporter who accompanies a group of firefighters into a Los
Angeles tenement building, only to get sealed in after encountering a
virulent, mutant strain of rabies — works for a while as a goosing
stylistic exercise before descending into nonsensical confusion, hamstrung by aggressively panicked camerawork, a lack of spatial
clarity and a clumsy attempt at backstory explanation.
A remake of Jaume Balaguero and Paco Plaza’s 2007 Spanish movie [Rec], Quarantine skips any introductory credits, opening with human interest reporter Angela Vidal (Jennifer Carpenter, above) and her cameraman, Scott Percival (Steve Harris), on a shadow assignment and on site with a Los Angeles fire department crew. Two firemen (Jay Hernandez and Johnathon Schaech) are assigned as their guides for the evening, and some flirting and good-natured chiding ensues between Angela and the guys.
Eventually responding to a late-night call with Angela and Scott in tow, the firefighters, as well as some policemen, come upon an elderly woman who bites one of the officers. When they attempt to get medical help, Angela and the first responders find that they have been sealed in the building. With no power, cell phone reception or immediate answers about their predicament, panic mounts. Soon some of the rest of the residents — including a veterinarian, an accountant and an immigrant couple — succumb to bites from both infected animals and humans, setting off a mad dash by survivors to try to barricade themselves away from the frenzied, foaming-mouthed diseased.
In similar fashion to The Blair Witch Project and Cloverfield, Quarantine posits itself as an exercise in found footage. Director John Eric Dowdle (The Poughkeepsie Tapes) does a good job blending lurking, corner-of-one’s-eye mayhem with some in-camera effects (one memorable sequence finds Scott using the camera as a blunt-force weapon), but the script has trouble establishing a clear timeline as it relates to the infected, so many times its switch-overs come across as cheaply dramatically convenient.
Also, somewhat fatally, there’s never a keen sense of space established within the building. This renders much of Quarantine‘s shaky-cam action especially unclear and unsatisfying. Finally, a finale which attempts to further clarify the origin of the strain of rabies comes across as very puzzlingly conceived, and entirely at cross purposes with the adrenalized nature of the entire rest of the story. For the full, original review, from Screen International, click here. (Sony/Screen Gems, R, 89 minutes)
I’d been behind in posting a review of the 20th anniversary edition DVD of Child’s Play, but now I’m kind of glad that I was, because I received jarring, prima facie evidence of its cultural… significance? longevity? …let’s say impact, in the form of a costumed Chucky dancing around at a Los Angeles intersection but two or three days ago. Oh, advertising costumes for Halloween, right? No, this was one of those guys that apartment complexes pay to stand outside in the heat and twirl gigantic cardboard arrows advertising their special rental rates. Except that instead of wearing sunglasses and a walkman, he was wearing a full little Chucky get-up, complete with giant overalls.
Unnerving, I know. But probably not more so than the 1988 film itself, which married slasher flick conventions with a pinch of the Cajun-inflected supernatural and a heaping helping of animatronic, talking-doll creepiness, spawning an ironic-hipster horror franchise to stand in diminuitive counterpoint to Freddy Krueger‘s Nightmare on Elm Street franchise. The story, of course, centers around six-year-old Andy Barclay (Alex Vincent), whose parents have recently undergone a divorce. His mom Karen (Catherine Hicks) gets him the toy that he most wants for his birthday — a cheery “Good Guy” doll whom he christens Chucky. Problem is, this particular Chucky is possessed by a notorious serial killer (Brad Dourif), who engaged in some voodoo shenanigans to temporarily put his soul on ice, until he could round up a body to return to inhabit. Scheming to transfer out of his pint-sized body and into Andy, Chucky terrorizes his ill-fated babysitter, Karen and pretty much everyone in sight. Cop Mike Norris (Chris Sarandon), meanwhile, tries to save the day.
In perfect hindsight, yes, some of the special effects work seems a bit schlocky, no doubt. But there’s also an interesting and for the most part effective mixed use of forced perspective camerawork, human stuntwork, models and animatronic mayhem, which was a nascent technology in film at the time. There’s no doubt that digital rendering has made some of this passé, but as far as deftly channeled primal kiddie nightmare stuff goes, this remains a solidly constructed film. It’s easy to understand the $33 million domestic gross, and additional $11 million overseas revenue.
Housed in a regular Amray case in turn stored in a cardboard slipcover with a raised, slightly 3-D portrait of Chucky, and a lenticular eyeball that “dares [one] to watch,” Child’s Play is presented in 1.85:1 anamorphic widescreen, and comes with a slew of bonus features that give weight to its special anniversary presentation. This is no empty, cash-cow repackaging, in other words. English language audio tracks in Dolby surround and Dolby 5.1 surround sound are included, along with Spanish and French language tracks of the former variety, and optional English and Spanish subtitles.
Kicking off the special features are two audio commentary tracks. The first is with actors Hicks and Vincent, and Chucky designer Kevin Yagher, who was fresh off the success of the Elm Street franchise. While on the surface this seems like an odd pairing, it actually works quite well, since Hicks and Vincent can speak to the specifics of the actual work experience and interaction with Chucky, in all his various forms, and Yagher can explain the means by which certain shots/sequences were achieved. The second commentary track is with producer David Kirschner and screenwriter Don Mancini, who have continued a fruitful working relationship on the subsequent sequels in this series.
By far the biggest disappointment of the set is the scene-specific “Chucky commentary,” which is presented in discrete, stand-alone fashion for four or five scenes. It’s full of long silences, and not that funny to boot. Much better, thankfully, are three solid new featurettes, each running seven-plus minutes. Here, Kirschner and Mancini talk about the genesis of the project, and how Mancini’s original script — first called Blood Buddy and then, amusingly, Batteries Not Included — had a supernatural inspiration, and a doll with synthetic skin that would cut and bruise when played with roughly. (This all sounds a bit more interesting and high-minded than the “Lakeshore Strangler” serial killer element hatched by Kirschner and introduced by screenwriter John Lafia in his rewrite.)
There’s also a scrollable photo gallery, a six-minute vintage production featurette and five minutes of footage from 2007’s Monster Mania convention, where Hicks, Sarandon and Vincent field audience questions and talk about the chilly Chicago shoot. Finally, there’s a 10-minute featurette, with footage both old and new, that delves specifically into the construction of Chucky, and how an L-shaped bracket for his jaw helped open up a whole new range of facial expressions. Yagher is insightful and interesting, and special effects wizard Tom Savini helps frame the advances and from-the-hip work of the time, which is supplemented with all kinds of pre-production material, including Dourif rehearsal footage and plenty of robotic tests. About the only thing missing here is an interview with the dwarf who played Chucky in a couple chase sequences, on apartment sets specially built to a larger scale. Otherwise, this is a knife-sharp piece of horror nostalgia. B- (Movie) A- (Disc)
If New York cinema belongs to Martin Scorsese and Woody Allen, no other British filmmaker of the past 30 years has chronicled London quite like Mike Leigh (Naked, Vera Drake, Topsy-Turvy),
whose renowned, hands-on style entails months of improvisatory sessions
to shape narratives and bring fuller personality to his often
working-class characters. His latest film, Happy-Go-Lucky, is centered
around Poppy (Sally Hawkins, above left), an irrepressibly free-spirited singleton
and primary school teacher marked by an unsinkable optimism — giggling
through back pain and offering up an endless stream of cheery
rejoinders and interjections, no matter the situation. When Poppy’s
bike is stolen, she signs up for driving lessons with Scott (Eddie
Marsan), who turns out to be her polar opposite — a cynical,
rage-filled bigot simultaneously repulsed and enchanted by his new
pupil. Just in advance of the film’s release, I spoke with Leigh about
his methodology, the surprise reception of Secrets & Lies in Japan,
and the fact that culture doesn’t stand still. For the full Q&A interview, from New York Magazine‘s Vulture, click here. More from the interview to follow next week.
David Brooks nails the gear-grinding turmoil of the Republican party. To wit: “This year could have changed things. The GOP had three urbane presidential candidates. But the class-warfare clichés took control. Rudy Giuliani disdained cosmopolitans at the Republican convention. Mitt Romney gave a speech attacking ‘eastern elites.’ (Mitt Romney!) And John McCain picked Sarah Palin. She is another step in the Republican change of personality. Once conservatives admired Churchill and Lincoln above all — men from wildly different backgrounds who prepared for leadership through constant reading, historical understanding and sophisticated thinking. Now those attributes bow down before the common touch. And so, politically, the GOP is squeezed at both ends. The party is losing the working class by sins of omission — because it has not developed policies to address economic anxiety. It has lost the educated class by sins of commission — by telling members of that class to go away.”
The new, full-length trailer for teen-vampire love story Twilight, releasing wide November 21, into that lucrative slot vacated by the latest entry in the Harry Potter series, is now online after an Access Hollywood (or was it Entertainment Tonight?) premiere, and I can totally see the appeal, even if some of the action seems nipped from 2006’s The Covenant, and Robert Pattinson’s ridiculous hairstyle seems curiously inspired by Billy Joel’s “Keepin’ the Faith.”
Adapted from Stephenie Meyer’s popular series of young adult novels, and directed by Catherine Hardwicke, it’s a Romeo & Juliet-type thing about an immortal bloodsucker and a regular human girl, with rampaging “bad vampires” and all the complications that presents. I’ve been told good things about the books — that they’re eminently readable, and not at all embarassingly done — and advance tracking for movie is huge, so I need to resign myself to the fact that I might be intermittently writing about this series for several years. This is great for Stewart, who’s turned in a variety of mostly good work since 2002’s Panic Room. Having not yet seen anything with Pattinson (who’s also a musician, in fall-back fashion), I’m a bit more suspicious… are there projects for which Shane West and Jared Leto are not available? OK, not fair. Pattinson’s a lot younger, I guess. Still… watch that ‘do, chief; a height of five-plus inches nudges you inexorably toward douche-nozzle status.
The runaway commercial success of 1998’s There’s Something About Mary and, the following year, American Pie, gave filmmakers and studio executives the creative license to shoehorn into R-rated comedies every gross-out gag involving saggy appendages and bodily fluids that could be conceived, no matter how convoluted the set-up. Misapplying the lessons of the aforementioned films — their tonal balance of, ahem, salty and sweet — teen movies for several years afterward became mostly just slapdash races toward forced outrageousness. Not so with Sex Drive, which may be the most reliably funny teen sex comedy since the original American Pie, and is certainly the most amiable, lived-in and casually self-assured film of its type in that time.
Lanky high school senior Ian Lafferty (Josh Zuckerman, above center) can’t seem to catch a break. Regularly humiliated by his job at a mall donut shop, he’s habitually shown up in the romance department by his younger brother and mercilessly taunted by his older brother Rex (James Marsden), who warns that his lack of a girlfriend may be a sign that he’s “getting gay.”
Actually, Ian has a crush: his longtime best friend Felicia (Amanda Crew, above left). Unable to make her see him as more than a friend, though, Ian engages in some heavy cyber-flirting, and hooks up with an out-of-town babe who seemingly can’t wait to get busy. Egged on by his wry, devil-may-care pal Lance (Clark Duke, above right), Ian “borrows” his brother’s prized vintage Pontiac GTO and, with Lance and an unwitting Felicia in tow, hits the road on a mission to lose his virginity. Car problems, a roadside carnival, trouble with the law, and encounters with both an Amish farmer (Seth Green) and some Amish youth-gone-wild all complicate the group’s journey.
Casting can totally make or break a free-spirited romp like this, and in Zuckerman, Crew and Duke, Sex Drive has a winning hat trick of fresh young faces. Marsden, meanwhile, continues his unlikely reinvention as a comedic player of consequence. Fresh off funny, engaging turns of different sorts in Hairspray, Enchanted and 27 Dresses, he plays frost-tipped Rex with a manic, swallowed rage that plenty of terrorized younger siblings will wincingly recognize.
Co-written by John Morris and director Sean Anders, the movie has an unusual source material pedigree (Andy Behrens’ book All the Way) for a teen flick, and it’s perhaps this fact that helps give it both a solid foundation and a forward-leaning energy all its own. There are broad moments, yes, but they’re both funny and well-integrated with the sort of muttered asides and comedy of self-negation that give one a deeper sense of identification with the characters.
A few of the characterizations seem to borrow a bit from other movies (Duke spins a variation on the zen sex master that Eddie Kaye Thomas did in American Pie), but Sex Drive also nails (no pun intended) the jumbled, hormonal fog of adolescence, when it was possible to pine, both strongly and blindly, for multiple people right in front of your eyes. And it does so by being gross only occasionally, when it actually fits the story. (Summit Entertainment, R, 105 minutes)
Hong Kong-born, San Francisco-bred director Wayne Wang was an influential part of the American independent film movement of the 1980s and ’90s, with movies like the groundbreaking Chan Is Missing, 1993’s unlikely hit The Joy Luck Club and Smoke. This fall, after a six-year, three-film detour into studio filmmaking, he returns with not one but two intimately scaled movies adapted from author Yiyun Li’s work: The Princess of Nebraska (premiering on YouTube on October 17), about a young Chinese college student (Li Ling) in the United States who leaves school to contend with an unwanted pregnancy, and A Thousand Years of Good Prayers, in which a retired Chinese widower (Henry O) comes to Los Angeles to visit his only daughter, Yilan (Faye Yu). In advance of their release, I sat down with Wang not long ago at a Beverly Hills hotel; for an excerpt from the Q&A chat, from H Magazine, click here. More to follow from the interview in the coming days.
With its endless stream of partisan cookie cutter talking points, GOP tutors help tell Sarah Palin what to say… but now you can too, courtesy of the hilarious new interactive Palindrome site, which lets users muck around with audio snippets from her speeches and debate appearance to form entirely new sentences, not unlike those packets of tiny refrigerator magnets sold at specialty gift stores. Very user-friendly, the site, if a bit slow at times. My contribution. And another good one.
The title summons forth all sorts of jokey impulses, not to mention visions of dumb Hollywood studio comedies or aching indie projects a lot more pat and self-satisfied, but the spare, intimate Good Dick proves that, well, size doesn’t matter. The story centers around a sullen, emotionally deadened, pathologically introverted young woman (multi-hyphenate Marianna Palka) and an equally adrift Los Angeles video clerk (Jason Ritter, below) who slowly draws her out of her claustrophobic world. At first he merely recommends more artistically satisfying pornography, but soon he’s camping outside her apartment and pursuing a relationship with her. After chipping away at her sexual antipathy and deflecting her prodigious flashes of anger with Job-like patience, the two reach an impasse. The question for both: is it permanent, or just a final hurdle en route to more firmly rooted happiness?
If Tidal-era Fiona Apple were able to spawn a movie, Good Dick would be it; it’s essentially a threadbare character drama of swallowed anger and despair, but studded with moments of dark humor and a few nice supporting turns that make it seem fleshed-out and real. Writer-director Palka also doesn’t use a limited budget as an excuse to punt on production value; the movie is gorgeously, smartly shot by Andre Lascaris, in a manner that feeds the shuttered worldview of its wounded protagonists, who are a couple in real life. Unconcerned with and unburdened by traditional notions of both feminine centeredness and masculine chivalry, Good Dick is about awakening to the notion of a life lived looking forward, and how one good, hard… friendship (what did you think I was going to say?) can serve as a tethering lifeline in a sea of intra-personal turmoil. The other stuff? Benefits, don’tcha know… (Morning Knight/Present Pictures, unrated, 86 minutes)
Wow. This is most assuredly not the video to attach to international tourism entreaties. It does chillingly explain the political persistence of xenophobic character assaults, though — because there are still (always?) easily impressionable bumpkin loons like this. We get it, m’am… you don’t at all like Barack Obama‘s middle name. (As a side note, I like the background plea of “Don’t spill that beer!”) On the plus side, though, she also says, “Black ain’t got nothing to do with how these Arabs are trying to sneak this guy into our country.” So… one small step, I guess?
A kids’ favorite on PBS for over seven years, Caillou helps children discover the wonder of being a little kid in a big world. Caillou’s Winter Wonders collects a quartet of snow-filled, thematically similar episodes, so with winter just around the bend in many parts of the country, the disc could make a nice stocking stuffer or autumnal birthday gift for smaller children.
Heavy on primary colors and soft, thin lines, and eschewing any of the harsh angularity of more complex, adult animation, just looking at Caillou makes me want to slip on a pair of galoshes and mittens… and I now live in Southern California, for God’s sake. The show is all about the capacity for exploration and wonderment in everyday life, so most episodes are constructed around ostensibly pedestrian events.
This title is no exception. In four new-to-DVD episodes that include 14 exciting, winter-themed adventures, the delightfully adventurous young Caillou does almost everything seasonal except race Todd Palin on a snowmobile. In “Caillou the Snowman,” he explores all the fun activities of winter, including building a snowman, playing ice hockey and making snowflakes out of paper. In “Caillou’s Christmas,” Caillou learns about holiday traditions, from caroling with his friends and family to different cultural festivities in playschool. “It’s Cold Outside” finds Caillou having more fun playing in the snow, including sledding and making snow angels, while the aptly titled “Winter!” finds Caillou discovering the joys of yet more winter sports, like ice skating and skiing. All in all, Caillou’s wonder-filled exploration of everyday life will inspire children to join in the role-playing fun as the world becomes limited only by their imaginations.
Housed in a regular plastic Amray case, Caillou’s Winter Wonders is presented in 1.33:1 full screen, and also includes interactive games, character bios, parents’ information and even coloring pages, to help extend the hours of fun and entertainment. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. B (Series) B- (Disc)
So Nick Nolte is apparently OK after having first broken and then jumped from a window to escape from a fire at his house yesterday. The electrical fire started in the living room in the late morning and Nolte smelled the smoke from an upstairs bedroom, according to Fire Inspector Frank Garrido. It took firefighters about 26 minutes to douse the blaze, which caused roughly $3 million in total damage — half of it structural damage and half damage to the contents of the home, including “collectibles, artwork and furniture.” No word about Nolte’s diary, though.
Sporting his trademark silver-rimmed sunglasses (even indoors) and a staccato laugh that pops out when a particular reminiscence strikes him as amusing, Wong Kar Wai exudes a quiet yet immediately graspable warmth somewhat at odds with the interpersonal emotional coolness often explored in his films. He made his English-language debut with 2007’s My Blueberry Nights, and followed it up this year in mold-breaking fashion with an out-of-competition Cannes presentation and commercial re-release of a redux version of his abstruse 1994 samurai epic Ashes of Time, the film that first helped earn him a reputation for long shooting schedules. Never officially released outside of Asia, the ruminative, desert-set movie features a new score, swapped-out takes and other tweaks. I spoke with Wong recently about the unique perils of Hong Kong storage houses, the just completed Olympic games, and what to do when your cinematographer gets drunk and naked. For the full Q&A interview, from New York Magazine‘s Vulture, click here.
From the heart of Hollywood to the breezy island vibe of its namesake island, Jamaican Gold seduces through music. Well known throughout the state, Jamaican Gold is the longest-running reggae club in California, and possibly the world. It continually plays host to performances from the hottest names in reggae and dancehall, and now there’s a concert DVD to celebrate and cement its status.
This solid, region-free concert disc, recorded from July 2006 through the summer of last year, features all sorts of sub-genre superstars, from known commercial commodities like Beenie Man, Elephant Man and Damian Marley to even lesser known artists like Cham, Lady Saw, Luciano, Spragga Benz, Jr Reid, Richie Spice, Cecile and Mad Cobra. In addition to live performances, these artists discuss their music, culture, rastafari inspirations and love, all while of course paying homage to musical trailblazer Bob Marley, who paved the way and remains a staple of many hazy college dorm rooms courtesy of greatest hits compendium Legend. There’s some sideshow entertainment value, too — a legend is crowned “King of the Dancehall” by his peers, while a beautiful, sexy dancer is hailed as the “Dancehall Queen.” Certainly this is a treat to hardcore reggae fans, and all in all it’s not a bad introduction for newbies either. Packaged in a regular Amray plastic case that comes with an attractively sketched group watercolor-portrait cover, Jamaican Gold is presented in 1.33:1 full screen, and runs just a nip under two hours. There are unfortunately no supplemental bonus features, like extra interviews or the like. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. B (Concert) C- (Disc)
The 12th annual Hollywood Film Festival and Hollywood Awards, co-chaired by Paul Haggis and presented by Starz, announced yesterday the honorees who will be recognized for their achievements at the festival’s gala ceremony, which will take place on October 27, at the Beverly Hilton Hotel in Beverly Hills.
Fresh off the success of Tropic Thunder, multi-talented actor, director and producer Ben Stiller will be honored with the “Hollywood Comedy of the Year Award,” Academy Award winner Marisa Tomei with the “Hollywood Supporting Actress of the Year Award,” the cast of
Fox Searchlight’s forthcoming The Secret Life of Bees with the “Hollywood
Ensemble Acting of the Year Award” and newcomer Robert Pattinson with
the “New Hollywood Award.” For more information, click here.
“Johnny Depp is rich, bee-otch!” Well, $56 million is an absurd amount, to be sure. But given the true art this guy has birthed, and the humble way he wears his fame, it’s hard to really hold a grudge.
Lewis Black is an acquired taste as a comedian, to be certain; choppy and spastic, his delivery is a deal-breaker to some. But the man is also a fount of sometimes eloquently perverse rage, so it makes for a good fit, casting him as the emcee/arbiter of taste and decency in a mock-procedural show of his own creation.
That’s basically the premise of Comedy Central’s Root of All Evil — a send-up of both our tabloid-happy culture and seemingly never-ending national love affair with celebrity judges. Each half-hour episode finds Black sitting in judgment in a sort of death-match, oratorical vote-off between two things that either get his nose in a twit or are somehow generally regarded as societal ills (e.g., “Weed vs. Beer“). A rotating panel of fellow comedians like Andrew Daly, Paul Thompkins, Kathleen Madigan, Greg Giraldo, Patton Oswalt and Andy Kindler serve as advocates on behalf of one of the topics, and argue the case before “Judge” Black and a studio audience sitting in the round.
When the show is “on,” it’s very funny; Giraldo opines that Tila Tequila has “a braided vagina,” and goes on to assert that “she achieved the impossible — she dumbed down MTV.” (VH-1, really, but I’ll let it slide.) “I watched her show for five minutes and now it burns when I pee,” Giraldo rants, eventually winning his argument. Other times, though, the banter and ad hominem attacks between comedians just seem like leftover material from an all-star roast, as when Giraldo notes that Oswalt “can flail his little fetus arms about,” and Oswalt responds in kind by calling Giraldo “a bird-faced 10-year-old boy with clamidia and a spray tan.” Diversionary bits like this runs counter to the cultural-critique premise of the show, which is its strongest mooring; otherwise we’re just watching a joke-off, the Frankensteinian mash-up of a couple different stand-up acts into one 30-minute show.
The first season release of Root of All Evil comes housed in a regular Amray plastic case, presented in 1.33:1 full screen. Supplemental extras consist of three minutes of interviews with the show’s comedian lawyers, and a piddly 90-second interview with Black, who incredulously recounts how an audience member asked him if “the show was real,” as if somehow an air-quote judgment against Oprah Winfrey or Paris Hilton could be enforced. There are also some post-show interviews (send-ups of those outros on The People’s Court, when courtroom winners and losers reflect on the verdict), and a three-minute, black-and-white spoof about legal proceedings and the show. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. C+ (Show) C+ (Disc)
Missi Pyle is an instantly recognizable and yet still oddly anonymous actress. Tall, broad-faced and characterized by an imperious visage, she’s marked her comedic presence in a wide variety of films — everything from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Stormbreaker to Dodgeball and the execrable American Crude. Interestingly, though much younger and less experienced, Emily Osment is almost as immediately recognizable. Yes, you see, she’s the sister of The Sixth Sense‘s Haley Joel, and she looks exactly like him. Soccer Mom is the movie that brings these two together, telling the story of a single working mother who poses as a famous athlete in an effort to try to boost her daughter’s spirit and save her soccer team.
Smart and hard-working, Becca Handler (Osment) is a good kid, but lacks a father figure. When her losing soccer team finds itself in need of a new coach, Becca’s mom Wendy (Pyle) decides to masquerade as the famous Italian soccer star Lorenzo Vincenzo (Dan Cortese) and take the job. Leaning on her hairdresser and make-up artist best friend for assistance, she comes up with a disguise, and throws herself into a mad charade to energize the girls. But can Wendy lead Becca’s team to the regional finals before her increasingly crazy double life comes totally unglued? Naturally, an appearance from the real Lorenzo figures into the finale of this airy, heartwarming all-ages flick, which skates by as an inoffensively charming slice of entertainment largely due to the fact that everyone involved is on the same unfussy page.
Soccer Mom is “just” a family film, yes, so its plot pivots aren’t all that groundbreaking. And neither does the movie’s obviously cramped production schedule allow for a lot of artistry in the telling. That said, while screenwriter Frederick Ayeroff’s script trades in all the obvious angles, it also works in a few winking tweaks of the conventions it’s honoring (“If we lose today you’ll still be my daughter, it’ll just be a little harder to love you,” says the sneering, overbearing mother of Becca’s competition). Some of the dialogue, too, is also charmingly specific in its zings, free of dull studio executive workshopping. (“He looks like Al Pacino. Or that Burger King guy,” says one of Becca’s friends when confronted with the curious, minute discrepancies in appearance between Lorenzo the pin-up star and Lorenzo in person.)
The film’s special effects make-up is handled by the Academy Award-winning team at Drac Studios, whose credits include Mrs. Doubtfire, White Chicks and Bram Stoker’s Dracula, and if their efforts sometimes look a pinch garish, they for the most part effectively bridge the gap between Cortese and Pyle, aided by the latter’s somewhat masculine-leaning features. Also, for what it’s worth, popping up for weird cameos in the movie are Victoria Jackson, as Wendy’s sounding-board shrink, and terrible rapper-turned-self-peddling-mogul Master P, as well as Emily Osment’s dad, Eugene Osment.
Housed in a regular Amray case, Soccer Mom comes with a couple bonus featurettes. First off is an eight-minute-plus making-of featurette, which includes interviews with cast and crew. There’s also a six-and-a-half-minute featurette that delves into the make-up work required in the movie. Chief make-up artist Todd Tucker talks about his vision for the film, and we’re also treated to footage of Cortese and Pyle sporting gold body suits used to map a corresponding, mixed-mean physical vantage point that they could then each match in character, as Lorenzo. Time-lapse photography shows Pyle’s complete above-shoulders transformation, and there’s also footage of her working on physical mannerisms, and perfecting her Italian-tinged Borat impression. To purchase the movie via Amazon, click here. C+ (Movie) B- (Disc)
The new tactic of political persuasion? Sarcasm, per this celeb-laden voter registration video, which seeks to insidiously undermine apathy through phony slacker identification. The list of familiar faces runs into the dozens, but it’s Sarah Silverman and Jonah Hill who get off some of the best one-liners. “Darfur? I don’t even know what that is — that sounds like a T-shirt company to me,” says Hill. Later, Silverman adds: “You can literally register to vote while pooping… if you have a laptop.”
Feature film debuts are so often about flash and pizazz — a young director wanting to make their mark by piling on as many visual flourishes or gimmicks as possible. So it’s bracing to come across something like writer-director Lance Hammer’s exactingly constructed, strikingly photographed, deliberately paced Ballast, which feels like a shiny Sacagawea dollar stumbled across in the dusty parking lot of a remote rural diner. A deserving winner of multiple festival awards, including Best Director and Cinematography prizes at Sundance earlier this year, Ballast is a lyrically told, moving story of underclass struggle, a film of a certain piece with David Gordon Green’s George Washington, Charles Burnett’s Killer of Sheep and Enid Zentelis’ Evergreen.
A tale of loss, resilience and rapprochement, Ballast unfolds in the crisp winter light of a small Mississippi Delta township. There, Marlee (Tarra Riggs), a single mother, struggles to scratch out a living for herself and her 12-year-old son, James (JimMyron Ross, above left), who’s begun to succumb to influences of drugs and violence. When the opportunity to seek safe harbor at a new home arises, Marlee grabs it, even though the property is shared by Lawrence (Micheal J. Smith, above right), her former brother-in-law. With circumstances thrusting them into proximity, a subtle interdependence and common purpose emerge for Marlee and Lawrence, as they tend to old wounds, test new waters and tentatively move forward.
Told in beautifully observed minimalist strokes, Ballast is all about fumbling toward forgiveness. Its performers are almost exclusively non-professionals, yet there’s a quiet confidence and uniformity of purpose that informs the movie and holds it together during the tenuous, delicate first half-hour, which otherwise feels very much like discrete, stolen moments from some rural domestic surveillance footage. Slowly, though, a bigger picture develops. Lawrence is a twin, and so devastated by his brother’s suicide that he tries to shoot himself during the film’s opening minutes. In his nephew James, though, Lawrence sees the chance for a purpose and project greater than himself, or his workaday life at a convenience store.
What’s perhaps most interesting is the level of non-showy authenticity that Ballast achieves, despite the fact that Hammer is a 40-something-year-old, Caucasian former architect and part-time art director from Southern California, while his subjects are African-American, and the Mississippi Delta a place that he’s visited frequently but isn’t from. Arthouse fans will be suitably impressed. And who knows — in a decade maybe Hammer, like Green, will be helming a Judd Apatow-produced comedy. One shouldn’t count on it, though. For more information on the film, click here. (Alluvial Film Company, unrated, 96 minutes)
