All posts by Brent

Bigfoot

Blu-ray/DVD Reviews

As a kid, sometime between elementary school and the wonder years of middle school, I went through a rather typical fascination with all sorts of things occult, mysterious and unexplained — reflective, in my opinion, of a desire to explore the world at large. The very idea of human uncertainty, of the outer limits of testable knowledge, was in and of itself a mesmerizing notion, and in so many ways much more interesting than plain old school lessons. This extracurricular interest started with aliens, the Bermuda Triangle and UFOs, extended onto the Loch Ness Monster and the case of Jack the Ripper, as I recall, and of course made its way to Bigfoot and his wintry cousin, the Abominable Snowman. (When I couldn’t find answers, or even re-framed questions to the ideas I had kicking around in my own mind, this period, pre-Internet, also introduced the limitations of books, something else that blew my mind.)

This is all to say that settling down with a copy of a low-budget 2004 film entitled Bigfoot, complete with exploi-tastic extreme close-up cover art, felt in ways both good and substantial like a field trip back in time. So I wasn’t necessarily expecting a movie that relocated the Bigfoot legend from the environs of the Pacific Northwest to… marshy Ohio? Yes, indeed. The DVD cover boasts a quote from the Cleveland Free Times deeming the flick “reminiscent of Jaws,” which is certainly a stretch. But there’s no denying that writer-director-actor Bob Gray’s film is nowhere near as balls-to-the-wall schlocky as one might reasonably suspect (and indeed desire), given the subject matter. Eschewing CGI in favor of zippered-suit marauding and other practical effects, Bigfoot spins a wan tale of homecoming and familial reconciliation around its beasty hunting, and in doing so tangentially evokes the spirits of early creature features and drive-in movies of yesteryear.

With his 9-year-old daughter Charlie (Brooke Beckwith) in tow, single dad Jack Sullivan (Todd Cox) moves back to his recently deceased father’s home in Mentor Headlands, in the marshlands of Northeastern Ohio. There, he reunites with his old friend Bob Perkins (Gray), now sheriff, where the two puzzle over a recent spate of animal mutilations. They investigate, and team up with local park ranger Sandy Parker (Liza Foster). Before long, they’re on the trail of Bigfoot (Shawn Kipp), don’tcha know. Copious shots of startled hunters ensue.

Any fair judgment rendered unto Bigfoot must take into account its limited production means. The acting is amateurish and what most forthrightly dooms it, and the execution only so-so throughout, but Gray’s script at least attempts to avoid a purely adrenalized, rib-poking take on its titular star, building the production around a quaint regionalism that is somewhat charming. With perhaps a bit more time and a few more polished actors, his modest efforts would have achieved greater value.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, Bigfoot comes to DVD on a region-free disc, as a full-screen presentation. Multi-hyphenate Gray provides an audio commentary track that dispenses plenty of DIY advice, while also giving props to the local kids who serve as background extras. There’s also a three-and-a-half-minute forced-scrollable photo gallery, the trailer for Bigfoot and three other Troma DVD titles, and a 10-minute making-of featurette with a bit of behind-the-scenes footage, as well as interview material with cryptozoologist Don Keating. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. C- (Movie) C+ (Disc)

What Darwin Never Knew

Blu-ray/DVD Reviews

The title is somewhat misleading, since there are plenty of things that Charles Darwin probably never knew about, from Twitter, Jennifer Aniston and the rather baffling commercial success of the Alvin and the Chipmunks films to nuclear proliferation, the stunning hotness of French
TV anchor Melissa Theuriau and the cottage industry of response he would eventually provide to all those ichthus fish car magnets. Still, the new documentary What Darwin Never Knew actually sheds some fascinating light on one of history’s most intriguing and controversial scientists.

On the 150th anniversary of the publication of On the Origin of Species, the award-winning NOVA series revisits Darwin’s (in)famous work, and fills in some of the blanks within it. As the DVD’s back cover text points out, Earth teems with a staggering variety of animals — including 9,000 kinds of birds, 28,000 types of fish, and more than 350,000 species of beetles alone. The source of life’s seemingly endless forms was a profound mystery until Darwin’s revolutionary idea of natural selection, which he showed could help explain the gradual development of life on earth. But Darwin’s radical insights raised as many questions as they answered, both about humankind’s relationship to evolution (heresy to most organized religions) as well as what about what factors actually drive evolution and turn one species into another.

Stunning breakthroughs in a brand new science are linking the enigma of origins to another of nature’s great mysteries, the development of an embryo, and it’s at this interstice which What Darwin Never Knew exists, using cutting-edge testing to link past and present. To explore this exciting new idea, NOVA takes viewers on a journey from the Galapagos Islands to the Arctic, and from the Cambrian explosion of animal forms half a billion years ago to the research labs of today, where scientists are beginning to crack some of nature’s biggest secrets at a genetic level. It’s all quite fascinating stuff, and nicely pitched at a level which both science nerds and the average layperson can almost equally enjoy.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, What Darwin Never Knew comes to home video in both Blu-ray and DVD, the latter presented in 1.78:1 widescreen, with an English language stereo track that more than adequately handles the meager aural demands of this title. There are unfortunately no supplemental bonus features, save chapter stops. To order a copy of What Darwin Never Knew directly from the manufacturer, call (800) PLAY-PBS or
click here; to purchase the DVD via Amazon, meanwhile, click here. B (Movie) D (Disc)

Mid-August Lunch

Film Reviews

The subject of elder care is rarely legitimately addressed or explored in American film, perhaps because creative types see what a third rail it is in politics (prescription drug benefits! death panels!) and just figure, Jesus, why would I want to get involved in that? Multi-hyphenate Gianni Di Gregorio (below right) wades into the breach, though, with Mid-August Lunch, a movie of gentle rhythms and deadpan amusements built around a dutiful adult son’s attempts to placate a group of feisty ladies.

Starring in his directorial debut, and
drawing upon events from his own life, Di Gregorio places himself at the center of a trying Roman holiday. The plot? Armed with only wine and a fatalistic sense of humor, middle-aged Gianni resides with his 93-year-old mother (Valeria De Franciscis), a fallen aristocrat, in their cramped apartment. His condo co-op debts are mounting, but building manager Luigi makes Gianni a proposition — if he looks after his mother (Marina Cacciotti) during Ferragosto (Italy’s biggest summer holiday), Luigi will wipe the charges clear. Gianni wearily accedes, but then Luigi also shows up with an aunt (Maria Cali), and soon Gianni’s doctor unloads his own mother (Grazia Cesarini Sforza) upon him as well. Can Gianni juggle the at-odds dietary concerns and fickle personalities of such lively grand dames?

Di Gregorio, co-writer of the very different Gomorrah, possesses a warm, unruffled charisma that goes a long way toward helping ease one into the sleepy tone around which this delicately balanced comedy of
manners is constructed. The leathery De Franciscis is amusing too, carping over the gift of a bundt cake by noting that it came covered by a hand towel, and isolating herself in her room after quickly deciding these interlopers don’t interest her. Watching the movie I was reminded of a truth I witnessed in my own grandmother — that settled ways and comfortable routines can be fundamentally misread by sensitive souls as more personal judgments — and the unspoken corollary to that: that we always say we want the best care for our aging parents, but the reality is that it often entails challenges entirely unrelated to immediate medical concerns.

There’s no grand drama or payoff to Mid-August
Lunch — this is essentially Polaroid-type, snapshot cinema, in which Gianni juggles and tries, and nothing exists outside the carefully prescribed boundaries of meal time, pillow fluffiness, control of the television and dietary concerns. That fact, as much if not more so than its Italian roots, may automatically limit the film’s audience. But there is truth here, and in truth there is always some value. (Zeitgeist, unrated, 76 minutes)

Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans

Blu-ray/DVD Reviews

It’s interesting and more than a bit telling that the first paragraph of the accompanying press notes for Bad
Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans tout the fact that the movie “allows… for Nicolas Cage‘s performance to be truly memorable.” It’s an intriguing choice of words, one that seemingly yields, with a smirk and knowing nod, to interpretations of the film as a piece of zonked-out performance art.

Cage plays Terence McDonagh, a rogue New Orleans detective who’s as devoted to his job as he is at
scoring illicit drugs. A brief opening bit showcases McDonagh as a crusading good-guy cop. But in the
aftermath of Hurricane Katrina and a back injury suffered during a rescue mission, he becomes a high-functioning addict who
swings from prescription meds to harder drugs. Playing fast and loose with the law, McDonagh wields both his badge as often as his gun in order to get his way, using his finely honed intuitiveness to suss out scenarios in which he can pinch both weekend partiers and low-level junkies alike. Further complicating McDonagh’s
tumultuous life are his prostitute girlfriend, Frankie (Eva
Mendes), a troublesome gambling habit, and a father in recovery with a new, alcoholic wife. When crime boss Big Fate (rapper-actor Xzibit) looks like he’s going to weasel off the hook in the brutal murder of an immigrant family, McDonagh at first tries to flip members of his crew, then seemingly throws caution to the wind and switches sides, aligning himself with Big Fate in order to pay down debts and secure personal safety.

Yes, Bad
Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans is of a certain subgenre which might affectionately be called “batshit crazy cinema.” It’s a cop procedural in the very broadest sense, but instead of the typical 90-10-percent plot/color breakdown, it trends almost exactly in the opposite direction; even its very title seems flippant, a thumb in the eye of character-study convention. Cage’s devilish partner in this cinematic high-wire act, director Werner Herzog, studs his film with recognizable supporting players — Val Kilmer as Cage’s partner, Shawn Hatosy as a fellow cop, Brad Dourif as his bookie, Fairuza Balk as a state trooper fling, Jennifer Coolidge as his father’s drunken new squeeze, and Michael Shannon as an evidence room gatekeeper — but the narrative trappings of William Finkelstein’s script seems of little consequence to both parties.

In a way, this feeds the movie’s casual… well, brilliance may be too hefty a term, but effective misdirection, let’s say. Herzog truly cares not what the audience feels about McDonagh’s amorality, as evidenced by the relative lack of a superseding authority in the movie. There are a few mild professional consequences for McDonagh, but most of the tightening noose around his neck is entirely of his own creation. So in some not insignificant ways, audience identification with him starts to flicker, or wane. And yet this tack somewhat surprisingly works, both on a base entertainment level (as when McDonagh whips out his lucky crack pipe, or instructs a gangbanger to fire again into a bullet-riddled corpse, “because his soul is still dancing”) and as laid track toward a surprisingly definitive end point. Port of Call New Orleans, which has nothing to do with Abel Ferrera and Harvey Keitel’s Bad Lieutenant, save the shared moniker and bad behavior, is a woozy, rope-a-dope character study. It’s not for all tastes, certainly, but it’s further proof that square-jawed altruism can flow from complicated and often contrasting motivations.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans comes to DVD presented in 2.35:1 anamorphic widescreen, with English language Dolby digital 5.1 surround sound and 2.0 stereo audio tracks, as well as optional English SDH and Spanish subtitles, the former of which are actually a bit spotty in their translation. Bonus features consist of both regular and red-band versions of the movie’s trailer, five other DVD previews, and a gallery of 96 set photographs taken by Lena Herzog, the filmmaker’s (third) wife. The chief supplemental extra, however, is a 31-minute making-of featurette, in which Herzog explains why he likes to operate his own sound-sync clapper, and engages in an apparent ritual in which a gaffer marks him with yellow tape on the first day of shooting. While there are good anecdotal details and tidbits scattered throughout — including on the dead alligator used as roadkill in a sequence, and how 2,400 jars of decaffeinated coffee were utilized to simulate muddy water for the flooded prison scene that opens the film, after it was determined that the caffeine of regular coffee would be too readily absorbed through the skin — thankfully Herzog is all over this material, in all his bountiful weirdness. That means plenty of his impish expounding on moviemaking in general as well as the “bliss of evil” present in this film, and how he doesn’t really care about McDonagh’s behavior, since it solves cases. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. B- (Movie) B+ (Disc)

For the Record, Craig T. Nelson is an Idiot

Birthdays, Irritations, Musings, Politics

It’s an unhappy 66th birthday to knee-jerk, right-wing bump-on-a-log Craig T. Nelson, aka Steve Freeling and Coach Hayden Fox, who last year famously and apparently without irony asserted that “no one helped [him] out when [he] was on food stamps and welfare.” Idiotic charlatans of political engagement like this — unfeeling creatures who don’t understand the difference between socialism and a societal safety net, and reflexively bristle at social/mental health/outreach programs that don’t conform to the prescribed rigidities of the manner in which they believe others should be living their lives — are in a certain sense citizens of the worst order, because they have the means to be better educated, but almost willfully choose not to be. They put on blinders and ignore the world at large, or indeed the very notion that there could be major problems that do not (yet) immediately impact their lives. Their opinions are rooted in having achieved a certain hard-fought success, and then — instead of celebrating living in a country which ultimately rewarded all their effort with a lottery-style win — becoming embittered with taxation and/or the inability to extend control and ultimate authority across all areas of life. I mean, clueless statements like the one above almost guarantee that the guy has an alcoholic past or has been in some sort of trouble with the IRS, right? Which one is it?

Clash of the Titans

Film Reviews

Sam Worthington is probably a perfectly nice guy. But whenever I hear some piece of casting news about him (he’s already plugged into at least three mega-franchises, possibly four), I have to quickly, quietly remind myself that they’re not actually talking about Sam Huntington. He’s perfectly anonymous, in other words — a growly, studied-intense blend of Russell Crowe, Orlando Bloom and, I don’t know… Daniel Craig? He looks the part of an Anglo-foreign movie star, sure (Australian? British? Kiwi? Midwestern soccer moms are never quite sure…), but is being plugged into Hollywood studio film leading roles at a somewhat alarming clip, seemingly before any independent commercial or critical referendum. (Even Colin Farrell had Tigerland.)

Of course that’s only one of the problems with Clash of the Titans, a competent but hardly rousing piece of effects-spectacle entertainment in which Worthington, exuding the yep-I’m-here charisma of a middleweight Steve Reeves stand-in, stars as Perseus, a demigod who sets out to settle a score between man and the gods. Standing on the shoulders of other recent 3-D Hollywood rib-pokers, and featuring choppily edited action sequences that pass the time as much as thrill, this in some respects lush but also murkily shot movie seems destined to both score a king’s ransom at the box office and be utterly forgotten in fairly short order.

For those who skipped Latin, or tuned out during those scattered middle school mythological overviews, and never caught 1981’s Harry Hamlin-starring flick of the same name, a solemn female voiceover provides just about all the specifics about Greek gods that one needs to know in order to lay back and let Clash of the Titans wash over them. Mortals, you see, are fed up with the whims of the gods, who hang around in a pillared Mount Olympus, sporting lots of guyliner and letting streams of white light bounce impressively off and around them. So they’ve stopped praying to them, and have started toppling statues and the like. This is a problem, since the gods… um, need the prayers and adoration of mankind in order to remain immortal. Why does this all sound like a pyramid scheme? Don’t ask.

Some backstory: in order to teach a lesson to mankind, his emotionally wayward whimsical creation, god-daddy Zeus (Liam Neeson, enjoying the paycheck) trick-raped a human woman, posing as her blasphemous husband, and begot Perseus. Abandoned at birth, Perseus has been raised by a simple fisherman (Pete Postlethwaite) and his wife, who dismiss Perseus’ lingering concerns over his uncertain biological lineage by noting that their love is “the love that gods and kings fight over,” whatever the hell that means. Daddy (and uncle) issues come bubbling to the surface when Perseus’ seafaring parents are killed, collateral damage in an attack on humans by Hades (Ralph Fiennes), Zeus’ scheming, banished-to-the-underworld brother.

Swearing revenge against Hades and any minions he brings to bear against him, Perseus finds a lover/guide in the form of comely fellow demigod Io (Gemma Arterton), who takes time away from a slate of Pantene commercials to drop some helpful exposition. A-questing Perseus will go! A few hearty, sandled warriors join him, and together they team up with Blue-eyed Barkface Magic Guy (I’m pretty sure that’s his name) to lay waste to some giant crabby creatures from Starship Troopers, cross the River Styx (“Come sail away!”) and lop off Medusa’s head, all so that they might then do battle with the gods’ ultimate weapon, the Kraken, which resembles a steroid-enhanced version of that monster from Cloverfield.

There is a genuine sense of whipped-up energy here that will likely connect with the adolescent set, but the skills of director Louis Leterrier (The Incredible Hulk) are far better suited to hand-crafted, close-quarters mayhem (Transporter 2 is still his best movie), of which there’s really very little in Clash of the Titans. This is big, size-queen action, and Leterrier seems not to intuitively know how to stage these set pieces in a manner that communicates a proper sense of scope and space. And while the technical craftsmanship on display here is in sum fairly solid, there’s not what I could aptly characterize as a honest sense of knowing fun — that everyone is participating in a slick piece of goofy, escapist entertainment. Parts of the movie lumber, especially whenever Io has to deliver history lessons or shading detail, in an effort to underline the Big Stakes. Other moments in the movie just don’t fit together on a very basic dramatic level; when Zeus pops by mid-journey to offer Perseus an out, the two chat almost matter-of-factly, not as if Perseus had only recently come to know of his godly origins, and had never before spoken to his biological father.

Most damningly, it’s worth noting that the 3-D presentation of Clash of the Titans is, no lie, flat-out terrible. As with Alice in Wonderland, the effect was lacquered on after production, and it renders the entire first act far too dark and murky. This, as well as over-caffeinated editing that doesn’t jibe with the more fluid rhythms that 3-D presentation generally requires, undercuts Peter Menzies’ cinematography, which otherwise features some nice vistas. When the Kraken is finally unleashed, the movie once again roars to life, an orgiastic display of CGI-rendering. Without much in the way of personality or human connection, however, this Clash elicits mostly yawns and shrugs. (Warner Bros., PG-13, 106 minutes)

Monster House Screenwriter Calls Steven Spielberg a Moron

Amusements, Ephemera

Trendspotters, take note. Less than a week after screenwriter J.D. Shapiro manned up and (amusingly) apologized for his part in Battlefield Earth, Monster House screenwriter Dan Harmon is dropping nuts on director Gil Kenan and executive producer Steven Spielberg in an email to a friend, calling the former a “hack” and the latter a “moron.” Movieline has the scoop, which, though a few days old and removed from its original source, is probably still eliciting apologetic emails.

Thomas Haden Church Talks Don McKay, John Carter of Mars

Interviews

The 2004 release of Alexander Payne’s celebrated Sideways launched Thomas Haden Church, then toying with the idea of retiring from acting to tend fulltime to his four Texas ranches, into high demand. He’s kept busy since, with voiceover work, a litany of supporting turns and of course a high-profile gig as Sandman in Spider-Man 3. His latest performance is the quiet title role in Don McKay, a woozy adult drama/mystery, studded with moments of dark humor, whose hazy machinations are revealed deep in its running time. Church plays a janitor who returns to his small hometown, drawn by a letter from his high school girlfriend (Elisabeth Shue), from whom he drifted apart after devastating events 25 years earlier. I caught up with Church recently to talk about the long, slow haul of getting an independent film made, even in the wake of an Oscar nomination, as well as his role in the much-buzzed-about John Carter of Mars. For the Q&A, from New York Magazine‘s Vulture, click here.

Please Give

Film Reviews

Married Manhattanites Kate (Catherine Keener) and Alex (Oliver Platt), parents to teenage daughter Abby (Sarah Steele), operate a successful secondhand furniture store shrewdly stocked with trendy estate sale items. Planning for the future, they purchase the apartment next door in order to expand their two bedroom apartment. Their only problem is the cranky old lady, Andra (Ann Morgan Guilbert), living in it by herself, and the fact that they’ve got to wait for her to die.

Andra is mostly cared for by one granddaughter, Rebecca (Rebecca Hall, above left), a sweet-natured radiology technician, and scorned by her other granddaughter, Mary (Amanda Peet, above right), a callous and self-centered spa clinician nonetheless thrown for a loop by the fact that her last boyfriend dumped her. Things become complicated when these two families’ lives intersect, resulting in a dramedy that’s billed as being about love, death and liberal guilt.

The simple, brilliantly calculated shock of an opening montage of mammograms gives way to interactions that are of a piece with writer-director Nicole Holofcener’s three other films — talky, urbane ensemble flicks that pry quiet but deeply sincere smiles and laughs from an audience, and just as often showcase hushed moments of pinprick vulnerability. Holofcener’s touch with actors is so superb, and her ear for smartly calibrated revelatory dialogue generally so acute, that one feels like they could trip along forever with these characters. Kate’s emotional frailty (she gives charitably to homeless people and wants to volunteer, but is overwhelmed with sadness on the occasions she does reach out) is deftly contrasted with Andra’s deteriorating physical condition.

The only false notes — small qualms, really — come when Holofcener tries to nakedly advance the plot, or color in tragic backstory. These bits feel forced, like some sizzle added to sell the steak. Otherwise, though, Please Give is a wry, absorbing and beautifully observed snapshot of free-floating malaise and burgeoning hope. In gazing both outward and inward in equal measure, it encourages, in nudging fashion, more human engagement and connection, which is always a good thing. (Sony Pictures Classics, R, 90 minutes)

Alvin and Chipmunks: The Squeakquel

Blu-ray/DVD Reviews

Alvin, Simon and Theodore deal with the pressures of high school and fluctuations in popularity in this modest, agreeably family-friendly upgrade over the singing-and-dancing chipmunks’ muddled franchise debut. Featuring CGI critters who interact raucously with their live-action human custodians, this movie, akin to bouncy family adventures like the Stuart Little and Garfield franchises before it, heartily aims itself at and mostly successfully connects with a pre-teen demographic.

After Alvin’s overly demonstrative onstage antics land Dave Seville (Jason Lee) in a Parisian hospital, his videogame junkie cousin Toby (Zachary Levi) becomes the chipmunks’ bumbling, reluctant caretaker. Despite the fact that they’re pop music sensations, it is decided that the creatures should go to school. Toby enrolls them at his alma mater, where their principal, Dr. Rubin (Wendie Malick), nurses a peppy crush on them, even as their popularity is threatened by a group of jock bullies.

A trio of female chipmunks looking to become singers airmail themselves to the chipmunks’ disgraced former agent, Ian Hawke (David Cross), meanwhile. Sensing a way to get back into the music industry and strike back at his former charges all at once, Ian misrepresents himself to Brittany, Eleanor and Jeanette — who perfectly mirror Alvin and his fraternal counterparts, one being brash, one brainy, one short and chubby — and stokes their competitive instincts.

It’s hard to swallow some of the narrative plot points here, like the fact that hugely popular entertainers — which the chipmunks are supposed to be — could be instantaneously humbled by a couple doofus teenagers. Small swatches of dialogue, too (most notably including pointlessly empty movie references by Alvin to Apocalypse Now, Taxi Driver and The Silence of the Lambs), come across as awkward attempts at hipster posturing. Forgetting for a moment how he would even know about them, would Alvin be saying these things because he thought they were funny? And would modern teens even find them at all amusing?

The chief difference between this movie and its predecessor is the former’s unfussy confidence, though. Whereas the first film was full of pat set-ups and unimaginative staging, director Betty Thomas provides the brightly colored sequel with more zip and focus. Chase sequences or other action scenes are shorter, and more tightly choreographed. She’s aided, too, by a story that takes aim at low-hanging fruit. Pared down and mostly stripped free of clumsy attempts at exposition and emotional string-pulling, this sequel presents a story with a simple end point: a $25,000 competition to save a high school’s music program, and possibly restore the chipmunks’ luster. While it’s laughably simplistic, it also helps keep the movie on track.

Lee, the star of the first film, pops up only intermittently, and mostly via telephone calls. Levi gives a broad performance, proving an ineffectual replacement in an admittedly underwritten role. Cross’ repeat turn as the smarmy, manically self-involved Ian is a real treat, though; his chatterbox conniving, as much as any of the effects work, informs the necessary suspension of disbelief this conceit requires. Even kids, after all, want an entertaining villain to root against.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel comes to DVD presented in 1.85:1 anamorphic widescreen, with an English language Dolby digital 5.1 surround sound audio track, and French and Spanish Dolby digital 2.0 stereo tracks, the latter two of which probably provide much amusement when one is high. Optional English SDH and Spanish subtitles are also included. Supplemental bonus features consist of a wide variety of behind-the-scenes material, including featurettes and music videos. There’s a 10-minute segment with self-promoting producer Ross Bagdasarian, Jr., whose namesake father created the Chipmunks, that gets into the history of the critters, from their 1968 song debut to an eventual animated primetime TV show. Voice talent Amy Poehler, Anna Faris and Christina Applegate sit for an eight-minute segment on the Chipettes, with producer Janice Karman providing backstory on her 1982 creation of the frisky female counterparts to the Chipmunks.

Nine minute of behind-the-scenes material finds cast members taking part in wearying, in-character interviews, in which they discuss what it’s like working with Alvin, Simon and Theodore, etcetera. This is immediately undercut, of course, by two three-minute tidbits — actually among the most interesting extra material — which get into the animation and interplay of CGI and live-action elements. Animation supervisor Chris Bailey, along with a couple propmasters, provide an overview of how the filmmakers plan and capture a “reference pass,” while a separate segment introduces the “stuffies,” or stuffed versions of chipmunks (often mounted on sticks) that the production uses to help gives actors a reference point for dialogue and reaction. Needless to say, this includes some amusing footage, particularly as it relates to a football scene.

Seven minutes of performance footage from the movie’s opening sequence, featuring Honor Society, is counterbalanced by nine minutes, billed as “music mania,” that focuses on the blowout finale, and includes the cast and producers’ thoughts on the musical segment. On the music video front, there are optional-sing-along versions of “Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It),” “We Are Family” and “Shake Your Groove Thing,” though the latter is prefaced with a disgusting belchy intro by Alvin. There are also versions of “You Really Got Me,” by Honor Society, and “The Song,” by Queensberry. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. C+ (Movie) B (Disc)

United Kingdom Audiences Rejects Motherhood, Uma Thurman

Box Office

Uma Thurman’s Motherhood takes a licking in the United Kingdom, grossing under $200 during its opening weekend run at a single theater, as detailed in The Guardian by Amelia Hill. Still, does anyone really think this is actually a lasting qualitative indictment, even on the glossiest surface? Epic face-plants like this are always the result, in significant terms, of distributor/exhibitor/producer behind-the-scenes drama. Not saying that’s totally why Uwe Boll’s Bloodrayne tanked, no, but it sure was a pain in the ass for me to find a theater in North Carolina (I was traveling at the time) that was screening the film for review.

Luke Y. Thompson on Kevin Smith and Film Critics

Ephemera, Musings

For those interested, Luke Y. Thompson drops a response to Kevin Smith’s diatribe against film critics, unleashed on Twitter over the past 48 hours. And he makes some good points, namely regarding the validity of opinion, which is what armchair pundits always invoke when they want to get all Sarah Palin on folks and paint film critics as effete elitists. Also, he’s right — there is (and should be) a certain stigma or price paid for films/studios when they don’t screen a film for review. It’s no big deal in the grand scheme of things, I agree, and totally well within a studio/filmmaker’s rights to do this, but it’s also certainly fair game to write about that fact, and let savvy moviegoers know. If that informs their opinion of said product, so be it.

Command Performance

Blu-ray/DVD Reviews

“I can still kick ass,” says Dolph Lundgren at the end of Command Performance, a big, dumb, sort of affably block-headed throwback to ’80s-style knuckledusters in which he plays a rock ‘n’ roll drummer caught up in a nasty hostage situation with some terrorists. With the much talked-about The Expendables looming on the horizon for Lundgren later next month — another action entry from resurgent multi-hyphenate Sylvester Stallone, co-starring Jet Li, Jason Statham and Mickey Rourke, among others — this mid-grade straight-to-video programmer is a reminder of the sort of meat-and-potatoes entertainment that Lundgren and fellow down-market action star Jean-Claude Van Damme served up so consistently more than two decades ago.

Lundgren plays Joe, a drummer and a former member of a biker gang. He and his band are about to make it big as the Moscow opening act for Venus (Melissa Ann Smith), America’s hottest pop star. Impending glory quickly turn into chaos, however, as an armed gang of political fanatics storm the arena, capturing the pop star and her even more important guests of honor — Russian President Dmitri Petrov (Hristo Shopov) and his two teenage daughters. With the death toll rising and the hostages’ lives on the line, it’s up to one non-plumbing Joe to come to their rescue and save the day.

Directed by Lundgren, and co-written with Steve Latshaw, Command Performance doesn’t boast the most stellar production design, nor does its execution leave one thunderstruck. Does it tick the boxes, though? Does Lundgren get to stab a guy in the head, you might wonder? Yes, yes he does. But what about play a riff on an electric guitar, and then smash the bejesus out of another baddie with said instrument? Why yes, he gets to do that too. Command Performance is a rather appropriate title for this flick, as it is the definition of playing to one’s base. The conflict is generic, and much of its dialogue purely functional, but there’s a streamlined, unfussy uniformity of purpose that, on a certain level, one has to appreciate. Well, if they happen to like copious amounts of emptied automatic weapon clips and springboard-powered stuntmen flying 10 feet up into air.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, Command Performance comes to DVD divided into a dozen chapters, presented in 2.35:1 widescreen, with English language Dolby digital 5.1 surround sound and 2.0 stereo audio mixes, and optional English SDH and Spanish subtitles. Although the back cover touts an interview with Lundgren and and behind-the-scenes fight footage, there are actually no supplemental features, save complementary red-band and all-ages trailers for the movie, along with a trio of other First Look previews. Big thumbs down on the bait-and-switch, First Look. Still, to purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. C- (Movie) D- (Disc)

Hot Tub Time Machine

Film Reviews

A wild, hit-and-miss stab at high-concept comedy, Hot Tub Time Machine tells the story of four guys (John Cusack, Rob Corddry, Craig Robinson and Clark Duke)
who inexplicably wake up in 1986 after a night of debauchery at a ski lodge. The movie should find mostly welcome reception in younger audiences willing to submit to its slipstream rhythms, but most moviegoers will deeply feel at least some nagging lack of narrative underpinning and infrastructure, which crucially, and fatally, undercuts momentum and goodwill. For the full original review, from Screen International, click here. (MGM, R, 99 minutes)

Chloe

Film Reviews

A remake of the 2004 French movie Nathalie, and the first of his 13 feature films that Oscar-nominated director Atom Egoyan didn’t write, Chloe is a sleek and erotic drama that uses the familiar and often tawdrily presented plot points of sexual addiction, infidelity and betrayal to dig into the nuance and reasons surrounding the distance between men and women. It’s the rare arthouse, thinking person’s erotic thriller, in other words, and a fairly good one at that, if dinged by some late machinations.

Gynecologist Dr. Catherine Stewart (Julianne Moore) comes to suspect her husband, friendly and flirtatious college professor David (Liam Neeson), of having an affair, so when she comes across the mysterious title character (Amanda Seyfried), an alluring escort, she decides to hire her to test David’s fidelity. Meeting up regularly, Catherine then absorbs the increasingly explicit details Chloe shares regarding her encounters with David, which sting and hurt but also ignite long-dormant and far trickier sensations of surging desire.

Superbly acted and almost flawless in its scene-to-scene construction, Chloe is imbued early on with a woozy sense of mystery and intrigue, something underscored by Mychael Danna’s sumptuous score and Paul Sarossy’s equally lush and inviting cinematography. Despite its title, Moore is actually Chloe‘s anchor, and she gives a stirring performance of considerable depth and emotional insight, shining a light on the way flickering passion warps thinking.

Never mind the roots of its source material; on a macro-narrative level there are common threads to much of the rest of Egoyan’s work: differences between appearance and reality, complex characters who sometimes act against their own perceived best interests, and the subjective nature of truth. Adapted by Erin Cressida Wilson (Secretary), the film only stumbles a bit with some of its third act plotting, and in particular its ending, which seems nipped from a melodrama that, on a very fundamental level, just doesn’t match the rest of the movie. After delicately balancing the cerebral and corporeal for much of its running time, Chloe in the end yields to the baser instincts of what it’s generally believed that film audiences wish to see. It’s not the first time feeling has trumped thought, though, and it certainly won’t be the last, in cinema or in life. (Sony Pictures Classics, R, 96 minutes)

Repo Men

Film Reviews

Hollywood films which unfold in some dystopian near-future run all sorts of risks, not the least of which is something largely beyond their measure of creative control — where they fall in the marketplace, in terms of how receptive the public is to both bleakness of tone and the specifics of their subject matter. A pleasant touch of kismet, then, that Repo Men hits theaters against the clamorous backdrop of the current health care reform debate. A competently pieced together dramatic thriller with flashes of action and streaks of mordant humor, Repo Men is a movie that won’t get the respect it deserves in part because of its genre trappings and easy-sell marketing campaign, but also because it expressly doesn’t waste time trying to court that respect. It’s facile with its colorful background strokes, breezy but effective with its characterizations and generally more thoughtful than it needs to be, and the overall result is a spry, fun film that also seems in some ways tailor-made for the current zeitgeist.

Remy (Jude Law) works as a repossession officer for The Union, a slick corporation which specializes in “artiforgs,” nano-technologically engineered replacement organs (lungs, heart, knee cartilage, you name it) that can be financed just like an automobile purchase (a free-marketer’s dream!), and of course then be contractually seized back in similar fashion if/when the recipient — sometimes powered by vanity, but frequently desperate and bereft of medical alternatives — cannot pay. This line of work is a point of contention between Remy and his wife Carol (Carice van Houten), with whom he shares a young son. Remy is good at what he does, and more or less a creature of leonine, unblinking, heart-hardened efficiency (he thinks nothing of holding a pair of bloody tweezersin his mouth as he works his gloved hand into a body cavity up to hiselbow), but Carol wants him to talk to his boss, Frank (Liev Schreiber), and arrange for a transfer to the more civilized realm of the sales department.

Jake (Forest Whitaker), however, Remy’s best friend since childhood and a barrel-chested, garrulous guy who takes a more naked delight in needling strangers on the street who are approaching their allotted payment cutoff dates, sees their shared work as exciting and fresh — a masculine competition loop from which he wants no exit, for either himself or his friend. Things change in an instant for Remy when, in a work-related accident, he’s rendered unconscious and outfitted with a transplant heart. In short order he’s both single — Carol leaves him when he doesn’t immediately take a desk job — and uncertain how to continue his work. Remy then finds himself approaching overdue status, but instead of looking for money or accepting Jake’s offers of help, he spends his last free-and-clear days playing savior to a junkie singer, Beth (Alice Braga), with multiple transplants — the result of a near-fatal auto accident. Together, the duo lives on the lam for a while, then take up a mission of self-preservation — to break into The Union’s corporate headquarters and erase their transplant accounts, thus clearing what they owe.

Repo Men is directed by Miguel Sapochnik, from a screenplay adapted from Eric Garcia’s novel The Repossession Mambo, and even if one didn’t have knowledge of this fact they would likely pick up on trace elements of its novelistic roots, since the movie evinces a smart, realistic depth of setting without having to resort to overwhelming special effects crammed into every frame. It’s also the rare futuristic movie that peddles drama or action but still isn’t afraid to have a sense of humor about itself. A big part of it is the jocular rapport that Law and Whitaker establish early on, certainly, but there’s a buoyancy to the proceedings, even as it progresses into darker territory.

The script massively drops the ball on one fundamental question — as a Union employee, it defies credulity that Remy would not be covered with an underwritten protective policy, especially while actually on the job. Even though much hinges on this plot pivot, there’s not even any real attempt at writing around it, which could have been achieved in cursory fashion with one scene, or just a small handful of dialogue exchanges. Bridging the gap of this suspension of disbelief is undeniably Repo Men‘s greatest shortcoming.

Otherwise, however, the screenplay and story are characterized by a pleasant unpredictability that is informed by realistic motivations: Remy is a lunch-pail kind of guy jerked rudely awake, which sudden health concerns can certainly do. The movie’s action, too, is a nicely presented mix — the penultimate corporate siege sequence is a nice mash-up of THX 1138, Oldboy and some David Cronenberg wet dream — blending together balletic modernism, queasy absurdism and good, old-fashioned knuckle-dusting. There’s plenty of exaggeration here, but also enough exposed-nerve truth to make Repo Men one part discomfiting to every two parts entertaining. One hopes this isn’t the future of health care in America. Insert nervous laughter here… (Universal, R, 111 minutes)

Studio Rom-Com Poster Designers Evince No Effort

Posterized!

I have a bone to pick with studio marketing guys — if you’re making a romantic comedy and the best you can come up with is just putting your two stars on the poster kinda smiling and looking flirty, you probably really don’t have anything new in the genre, so why are even you making it? I mean other than the easy dollar? The latest example of the above phenomenon is The Back-up Plan with Jennifer Lopez and that CBS guy. Amy Adams had it with her Leap Year poster (at least it was green) but c’mon people — design something. Sell me on your idea. Sell me the high concept reason for your movie to be, give me something that makes me think this is gonna break out of the pack and be something worth seeing rather than just something to occupy 98 minutes and hopefully help me score, ya know?

I realize these things trend feminine, and that that is the basic mission statement — to appeal to girls, who will drag along the guy, to put his ass in the seat next to them. But the rom-com poster is by far the easiest poster genre to spoof. I’d been thinking about this as it relates to She’s Out of My League and a couple other films on the horizon, the former of which made a late attempt at mitigating Jay Baruchel’s wincing mug and all those complementary posters of dudes by adding the lovely Krysten Ritter to the promotional poster campaign. But it’s always sappy rom-com mock-ups that first get titters in movies about movies, before action poster spoofs, really. Because they so roundly evidence a complete lack of effort.

Midgets vs. Mascots

Blu-ray/DVD Reviews

It seems hard to believe that there exists a movie with Jason Mewes, Scottie Pippen, Gary Coleman and Ron Jeremy, but that’s just what competitive mockumentary Midgets vs. Mascots is. Self-billed as a cross between Jackass and Borat, director Ron Carlson’s movie pits five little people against five costumed mascots, battling for a $1 million payday in more than two dozen competitions, like drinking a gallon milk the fastest, alligator wrestling and seeing how few insults it takes to get punched in a bar.

And yes, as it sounds, Midgets vs. Mascots is pretty much an undiluted raunch-and-yuk-fest, designed to strike the basest chords of huh-huh amusement with the 18-34-year-old male demographic at which the film is… well, pitched is perhaps too active a word. Lobbed, let’s say. Or for whom the movie is set on a tee? In fact, accompanying press release material touts that in test screenings, the Midgets vs. Mascots‘ scores came back “20 percent higher than the average studio comedy,” and in head-to-head comparative testing it also bested what were deemed seven of 10 “relevant comedies,” including Jackass, Reno 911, Napoleon Dynamite, Bad Santa, Pineapple Express, Clerks and Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle. Not sure about how that air-quote science necessarily holds up in real-world conditions, but with unsuspecting bystanders providing realistically baffled reactions when the contestants crash small-fry restaurants, bars and suburban neighborhoods during outrageous
competitions, this guerilla-style title is likely to at least find welcome reception amongst inebriated frat house party audiences, which I suppose says something about fulfilling its reason for being.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, Midgets vs. Mascots comes to DVD presented in 1.78:1 anamorphic widescreen, with an English language Dolby digital 5.1 surround sound audio track and optional English and Spanish subtitles. Bonus materials include a clutch of deleted scenes, character featurettes and previews for other First Look Studios straight-to-video titles. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. D+ (Movie) C+ (Disc)

Did Viacom Secretly Upload Clips of Own Shows to YouTube?

Ephemera

So Viacom hired 18 different marketing agencies to secretly upload clips of its own properties to YouTube, in order to bolster its eventual case for litigation against the site, and purchasing owner Google, according to a piece from The Wrap’s Dylan Stableford? Shocking! By which I mean not at all. After all, this is how entertainment conglomerates play, no? Rough and dirty and under the table — never content to admit they missed the boat or got passed by on some technological advance, but instead get a piece of whatever new pie is out there, no matter how they have to fudge the facts. It’s all white-collar criminal engineering, I realize, but I’d pay to see a movie about this sort of cloak-and-dagger shenanigans. Well, if at least one lawyer got punched in the balls.

In the Sign of the Taurus

Blu-ray/DVD Reviews

Like fellow Tegn import In the Sign of the Virgin, 1974’s In the Sign of the Taurus blends good-natured, silicone-free sexuality with a rib-nudging story that puts moral hypocrisy in its cross hairs and amusingly advocates for personal freedom, sexual and otherwise. Written and directed by Werner Hedman, the film tells the tale of a small Danish town whose way of life is apparently sustained by the lavish tax payments of single benefactor. When he dies, it’s revealed that his will stipulates in order for the town to receive the bulk of his estate, a child must be born out of wedlock in, yes, the sign of Taurus. Both debauchery and political talking out of the sides of one’s mouth ensue.

A whole slate of these astrologically-tinged films were produced in Denmark in the 1970s, and while they don’t overwhelm with originality of plotting (they basically all offer up noodling variations on the issue of sexual repression versus a healthy embrace of libidinal pleasure), their production value, ribald energy and airy sense of streamlined purpose go a long way toward making them enjoyable genre entries, easy to be appreciated for what they are. While it’s true there is a pinch of hardcore action (far less than even 20 or 30 seconds worth, I’d say), this film and the rest of its brethren are softcore skin flicks at heart — goofy, grounded movies where the narrative actually drives all the sexual acting out.

And, like other entrants in the series, In the Sign of the Taurus puts its strength in its female characters, here most embodied in the form of brothel owner Carola (Lone Helmer), who expresses no small amount of bemusement at seeing her burgh’s moral beacons, with whom she’s already very familiar, tripping over themselves to “take one for the town.” Anne Bie Warburg, Kate Mundt, Bent Warburg and Ole Soltoft also appear.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case with a sapphic, screen-captured cover that certainly (if less than crisply) sells the salacious nature of the material, In the Sign of the Taurus comes to DVD on a region-free disc in 1.78:1 anamorphic widescreen, with a native language Dolby digital soundtrack, removable English subtitles, and an animated top menu screen with additionally animated dozen chapter selections. The video transfer is remarkably free from grain, other debris, or any edge enhancement, but there are of course some minor issues with color consistency; while flesh tones look healthy and the focus details are solid, saturation tends to ebb and flow a bit. The only bonus feature, alas, is a two-and-a-half-minute image gallery slide show of stills from the movie — some of which are behind-the-scenes material, but most of which are not. If the effort were made, one would think some of the players would be available and interested in talking for some sort of retrospective overview. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. C+ (Movie) C- (Disc)

Tales From the Script

Film Reviews


The violations and indignities that the written word suffers in Hollywood are many and sundry, but screenwriters get their say in Tales from the Script, a highly interesting documentary built around wide-ranging conversations with 46 big screen storytellers, from John Carpenter and Frank Darabont to Bruce Joel Rubin and William Goldman. Eschewing voiceover narration or some artificially manufactured chronological narrative structure, the movie instead more or less embraces chaos theory, loosely grouping its anecdotal insights with title cards.

Yes, Tales from the Script is exclusively a talking-head affair, which lends it the feel of a cultured curio — a selling point, to be sure, for cineastes, but something of a hurdle for general audiences. (There’s also a hefty companion book to the film, underscoring a certain academic worth.) A lot of the observations herein are pointed but somewhat generic. Steven de Souza (above) amusingly and perceptively notes that there are people in the room during a story meeting who basically “make their day,” work-wise, by offering comment on your script, so such an environment encourages even dumb, from-the-hip remarks over more thoughtful silence.

Some stories, however, are pure, unadulterated gold, like Guinevere Turner hilariously recounting her work experience with director Uwe Boll on BloodRayne, Darabont talking about being offered a $30 million budget for shooting The Mist with a different ending, and Rubin ruefully recalling a Disney executive taking him to lunch and surreptitiously picking his brain for ideas for Armageddon by just letting Rubin talk about his work on Deep Impact. Director Peter Hanson and co-producer/co-writer Paul Robert Herman are also smart enough to include in the mix a number of writers laboring chiefly in the straight-to-video realm, which keeps Tales from the Script grounded in reality, providing an accurate, unblinking look of the balancing act between art and commerce that is screenwriting, and moviemaking in general. (First Run, unrated, 105 minutes)

The Runaways

Film Reviews

The usual framing perspective of drugs and sex and rock ‘n’ roll tales gets a kick in the pants with The Runaways, a boozy, pungent, femme-centric coming-of-age flick that chiefly connects courtesy of a nervy, burgeoning adult performance by Kristen Stewart, and a smart, economical sense of period style.

Written and directed by Floria Sigismondi, the music-fueled film is a nervy, nervous piece of celluloid-captured acting out — a flick for fans of Garage Days, Lords of Dogtown, SLC Punk! and
Almost Famous, peddling the true story of the groundbreaking, all-girl 1970s rock band of the same name. Set in Los Angeles, it revolves mostly around two valley-girl teenage misfits, paint-huffing guitarist Joan Jett (Stewart, above left) and recruited lead singer/sex kitten Cherie Currie (Dakota Fanning), who bloom under the Svengali-like influence of outlandish impresario Kim Fowley (Revolutionary Road‘s Oscar-nominated Michael Shannon). With their tough-chick image and punchy, unvarnished talent, the band quickly earns a name for itself, touring Japan and touching off a sensation among young girls there before backbiting and Behind the Music-style flameout predictably ensues.

Some of the snapshot excess here seems designed or included chiefly for effect (who takes a phone call while having sex on an ironing board, for instance?), and the nature of the movie’s source material (it’s based on a book by Curie) additionally becomes something of a problem, in that the film never fully takes shape as either a true ensemble piece (two members of the Runaways, including Alia Shawkat, above right, have literally almost no lines) or something more explicitly through the eyes of Curie. Since the latter flamed out (and became a “chainsaw artist,” the end credits tell us) and Jett went on to a successful solo career, there’s a lingering disparity that hangs over the film. Narratively, it feels miscalibrated in small but significant ways, never truly getting at the heart of Curie and Jett’s relationship, but instead just flitting around its boundaries in mock-provocative ways, like a much-discussed kissing scene between the two actresses. Style and energy go a long way, though, and The Runaways has at least those elements in abundance. (Apparition, R, 102 minutes)

IGN Triggers Across-Board Layoffs Despite 40% Growth

Ephemera, Irritations

Not explicitly film-related, per se, but Joystiq is reporting — complete with a leaked inter-office memo from IGN president Roy Bahat that describes part of the company’s core mission as “serving advertisers looking to reach men” — that entertainment site IGN is laying off staffers across all its divisions, despite a 40 percent growth in audience over the last year. Bad news for some good people, and good news, unfortunately, for some bad people… or at least undeserving people.