It’s a happy birthday to Morgan Freeman, who allegedly turns 71 today. I say allegedly because is there any casual film fan who holds memories of an at-all young Freeman? I’m pretty sure he might have sprung from his mother’s womb pre-aged to about 50 or so.
Freeman is mega-respected by his peers, and not without good reason — he’s a generous and gregarious guy. Still, though you wouldn’t necessarily guess it from the outside, some people in the press have problems with him; I have a good friend who once lobbed him a question incorporating the word Freeman probably detests most when attached to queries about his craft (“gravitas”), and was dressed down in mocking fashion. A lot of others view his cud-chewing, turn-the-question-on-the-questioner routine as tiresome, when they’re just trying to get a cross-quote about a costar or director or what have you. Personally, I tend to think Freeman is a hoot. Yeah, he’s apt to give you some good-natured crap, but it’s because he turned on and tuned in to what you’re actually saying, and appreciates both good badinage and honest reflection. I’d rather have that than the sullen, sighing workmanship of some other celebrities.
Yet I also think Freeman is overrated as an actor, plain and simple. There’s talent, sure, but take away the tent-poles in which he’s appeared, and you have a lot of the same, water-treading type of work, particularly in the last 10 years. He’s leaned too long and too hard on his ennobled wise man shtick (hence all the “gravitas” questions, of which he’s sick), to the point where one expects (and is rarely surprised) to see him play mostly a capital-T type, and even the serious narration of his movies (Feast of Love, the forthcoming Wanted, etcetera) sparks giggles. In many ways, Freeman is the upmarket version of Samuel L. Jackson — an actor who has love of merely working has led him to basically stop challenging himself. Actually, even Jackson seems to occasionally stir to throw himself into something that might be considered trying (e.g., Resurrecting the Champ, and, more arguably, Black Snake Moan). Hopefully The Human Factor, Clint Eastwood’s upcoming drama in which Freeman will portray Nelson Mandela, can serve as that sort of wake-up call for Freeman, who’s been coasting downhill for a long, long time now.
Category Archives: Musings
Pre-Code Cinema Wows, in Multiple Senses
I took in some pre-code cinema at the Egyptian Theatre last night, and it was amazing, in the multiple senses of the word. The very unfocused, less-than-thrilling documentary Why Be Good? Sexuality and Censorship in Early Cinema, executive produced by Hugh Hefner and directed by Elaina Archer, kicked off the triple-feature. Though it has the advantage of brevity, its problem (well, one of them, at any rate) is that it never can figure out its point of entry to the era. Is it about the trailblazing leading ladies of the time (Mary Pickford, Clara Bow, Marlene Dietrich, Louise Brooks, Mae West, Greta Garbo), and their rise, or plight? Is it about the formation of United Artists? Is it about the Hays Production code, and the years leading up to it? Archer is never quite sure, and the result is manic and messy, though inclusive of some incidentally fascinating interview clips, particularly from the outspoken Brooks. There’s a truly great documentary waiting to be made about this era; this isn’t it, though.
Thankfully the pre-code films themselves were much more rewarding. Frank Capra’s Forbidden, from 1932, is a crisply plotted, beautifully acted melodrama starring Barbara Stanwyck as Lulu Smith, a small town librarian who vacations to Havana, meets cute with a mysterious man named Bob Grover (Adolphe Menjou), continues their affair once they return Stateside, moves to the big city and then discovers that he’s a married man. Years pass, during which she has a secret love child. All the while, hard-charging newspaperman Al Holland (Ralph Bellamy) keeps wooing Lulu, even as he rises the editorial ranks and tries to expose what he suspects, but can’t yet prove, is Grover’s hypocrisy.
If there’s a slight failing here, it’s perhaps that the film never explicitly deals with the lead duo’s age difference (Stanwyck is 17 years Menjou’s junior), which seems a bit weird, or something that would at least inform and color Lulu’s stand-by-your-man mentality. There are a few slight tonal swings here, but the dialogue — by Jo Swerling, from a script co-written with Capra — is whipsmart and the performances top-shelf engaging. It’s a credit to the movie that you see the light, vibrancy and substantiveness this secret relationship brings to both parties, even as you see how it degrades them. Streamlined and never for a moment less than entertaining, Forbidden is a little pre-code gem.
Cecil B. DeMille’s Madam Satan, meanwhile, is a topsy-turvy affair — part unhappy domestic dramedy, part musical, part bizarro disaster epic. Only DeMille’s second talkie, the 1930 flick is an unchecked mash-up in the manner of more than a few films of its era, when competing interests led to a shrugging, toss-everything-in philosophy. The first half of the film is a too-long bedroom farce focusing on wealthy Angela Brooks (Kay Johnson), as she patiently deals with her playboy husband Bob (Reginald Denny) and his rebrobate pal Jimmy Wade (Roland Young). Before long, Angela has had enough and decides to become a sexy siren to try to counteract Bob’s all-too-frequent extramarital flings.
This leads to the second half of Madam Satan, or the film within the film — a masked costume ball (Eyes Wide Shut, anyone?), set on a zeppelin, that eventually culminates in a huge air
disaster. Powered by art deco affectation, date auctions for the costumed ladies and strange, surreal musical numbers (an ode to electricity and oil, starring Mr. Electro?), DeMille goes balls-out. As men go ga-ga over her, Angela sort of wins Bob back over. The supporting performances here are the best; Young’s dithering comic timing is sparkling, and Lillian Roth, as Bob’s flame Trixie, gives a fun little spitfire turn. Madam Satan sags early, and often, truth be told, but it’s a weird, nutty and eminently discussable artifact. Neither Forbidden (Columbia, unrated, 83 minutes), to which I believe Sony owns the rights, nor Madam Satan (Warner Bros., unrated, 116 minutes) is yet available on DVD, so if interested keep one’s eyes peeled for future repertory screenings.
A Few War, Inc. Thoughts
A full review will be dropping later in the week, but it’s worth noting that John Cusack’s War, Inc., releasing this weekend in New York and Los Angeles, is a hot mess. The film is a sprawling, alleged satire about a shadowy gunslinger-fixer (Cusack) who trips to a fictional Middle Eastern country that the United States has invaded — and is now being occupied by a private army fronted by a corporation run by the former American vice president (Dan Aykroyd) — to both bump off a foreign dignitary who has the temerity to want to build his own oil pipeline and, for some reason never quite made clear, preside over the impending marriage of a Middle Eastern pop star played by Hilary Duff.
There are a few pockets of very small intrigue here, mostly owing to the charmed participation of Marisa Tomei, as a hard-driving, liberal reporter who is out to expose the corruption of this massive exercise in American “branding.” When the movie stoops to contrivances to advance the relationship between she and Cusack beyond spitfire head-bumping, however, what little air there was there goes completely pfft. Apart from its simply awful construction, the most surprising thing, however, may be how tedious the film is — there’s not even the piercing, occasional amusement of diamond-brilliant, unpolished righteous anger. If capital-I indignation were going to make a scathing, satirical rebuke of American military/capitalistic arrogance, but then had a few beers, fell asleep on the couch, woke up with a start four hours later with nachos all over its shirt and MSNBC on the TV, and then just yawningly agreed with whatever Rachel Maddow was saying, and muttered, “Fucking Bush administration” under its breath, that would be this movie. It doesn’t feel thought through, honed or even self-assured, and certainly not very smart.
Sasha Grey Set for Girlfriend Experience?
A decently sourced tip came my way that 20-year-old adult film star Sasha Grey (below) is possibly set to star in Steven Soderbergh’s The Girlfriend Experience — his next down-and-dirty, HD-lensed flick, shot in the same seat-of-the-pants fashion as Full Frontal and Bubble.
I say possibly because depending on whom you believe she’s either already been cast, and the announcement is under wraps for reasons of publicity control, or it’s yet to be finalized. Either way, the fact that Grey is even under serious consideration for the role (Soderbergh previously indicated a desire to go with unknowns, while also mulling over an adult film starlet for the lead) while at the same time in the midst of what by all accounts is an ascendant career path in the flesh-pic biz makes for interesting theory and speculation. Other porn stars (notably Traci Lords, Ron Jeremy and of course now Jenna Jameson) have gone “legit,” but mostly toward the tail end of their on-camera careers, and with limited success or mainstream penetration. (Yeah, I went there.) Appearing in a movie for an Oscar-winning director — no matter how much of a niche market one-off it is — is a no-brainer for Grey, I get it, but this is all perhaps most interesting for the manner in which it actualizes the merging of American narrative film and the sensory-overload pleasures of adult flicks, which long ago pervaded Hollywood action cinema.
Set for simultaneous distribution across various platforms, as with Bubble, the ultra-low-budget, Los Angeles-set movie will examine the world of a $10,000-a-pop call girl (presumably, Soderbergh pal Julia Roberts will not cameo), and the stable of regular clients who pay for her company. Soderbergh will shot the movie — hashed out with screenwriters Brian Koppelman and David Levien during the shoot for Ocean’s Thirteen — later this fall, after wrapping up the very Michael Clayton-sounding The Informant, starring Matt Damon, for Warner Bros.
What’s in a Dream?
Don’t know what this means, but I had a dream last night where Jaws actor Roy Scheider was trying (twice!) to assault my late grandfather. The even more bizarre kicker? They passed away this year within one day of each other, by mere hours. I’m sensing some sort of direct line to the telepathic, though to my knowledge my grandfather wasn’t a 2010 or All That Jazz fan. Still, surreal connections like these are why dreams enchant us so, no?
So Is What Happens in Vegas a Cougar Flick?
The $20.1 million opening weekend gross, and second-place finish, of What Happens in Vegas, starring Ashton Kutcher and Cameron Diaz,
could and probably should be viewed as a success. Partly because this
battle-of-the-sexes romp based on a marketing line isn’t very good; its
humor is forced and desperate, and the movie (like Sin City itself) seems
born of the operating philosophy that more is more. While
Kutcher and Diaz generally evince a nice shared chemistry — both have
wide, easy smiles, and Diaz in particular that explosive, inside-out
laugh of hers — one of the interesting things is the manner in which What Happens in Vegas
unfolds, on an almost subliminal level, as an age-gap affair. It’s
something that could be felt in the theater, amidst kids who feel like
they know Kutcher more personally from his television work on Punk’d and That ’70s Show, and who know Diaz, apart from her recent SNL appearance in a “cougar” sketch featuring Kutcher, mainly from cable screenings of There’s Something About Mary… which is now an astonishing 10 years old.
Also contributing to the film’s slippery traction was the general
impression — confirmed by several of my regular, mainstream film fan
friends — that this Vegas pairing just didn’t seem quite
right. Kutcher, who just turned 30, is of course married to Demi Moore,
who is 16-plus years his senior. He seems a bit younger, though, no
matter the facial scruff he frequently sports between films. Diaz, on the other hand, who will be 36 this August, sometimes comes across as a bit older than she actually is. Of course, when A Lot Like Love
came out in 2005, five months before his marriage to Moore, Kutcher was
27 and Amanda Peet was 33 — in other words, more of an age difference
than the one separating Kutcher and Diaz. That film, though, seemingly
faced no such similar silent advance judgment from audiences. For the full piece, from FilmStew, click here.
What’s Been Hollywood’s Response to the Iraq War?
Ross Douthat (“Doubt That?”) assays the film industry’s response to the Iraq War, in a piece for The Atlantic entitled “The Return of the Paranoid Style.” There’s a lot of labyrinthine, sludgy generational horse-trading to go along with the illuminating bits of back story (remembrances of Vanity Fair editor Graydon Carter’s famous remark that the events of Sept. 11 had
slain irony, and conservative columnist Peggy
Noonan’s prediction that the attacks would resurrect the spirit of John
Wayne). All in all, though, I wouldn’t call this modern, conflicted style an exercise in paranoia; I’d dub it an exploration of heartier shades of grey. Much more interesting than most of the piece is the mostly unstated-until-the-end assertion that the response of the Bush Administration to the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11 has likely colored a certain brand of mainstream Hollywood genre cinema far more greatly and deeply than terrorism in general, or the war in Iraq. This is the real hypothesis worth exploring, and subjecting to scientific method.
More Thoughts on Speed Racer
In 1999, a landmark year for American cinema all around, but especially with regards to studio filmmaking, Andy and Larry Wachowski — who had previously scripted Assassins and directed only 1996’s small-scale crime thriller Bound — set the sci-fi adventure genre on its head with The Matrix, a labyrinthine, parallel-world shoot-’em-up in which Keanu Reeves’ office drone unlocks the power within in a manner in which Tony Robbins could have never dreamed. Their latest movie is Speed Racer, a colorful, golly-gee-toned adaptation of the old Japanese import cartoon series.
The technical proficiency of the film is never in question; from frame one, the Wachowskis succeed in crafting an ecstatically eye-popping spectacle, buoyed by neon-tinted primary colors, extreme close-ups and wild, desert-set car chases in which automobiles pogo over one another to cool sound effects. All in all, I’m pretty sure Hunter S. Thompson had hallucinations like this.
Yet there’s an ineffable but chokingly pervasive sense that Speed Racer is, well, sort of a cop-out. Sure, it’s a family flick first and foremost, and not fair to judge based mostly on what it isn’t. Yet anyone in their teens or older is almost certainly going to have seen one or all of the Matrix movies before this, and the chief, whispering thought lodged in their brain, irrespective of whether they’re pleasantly surfing along on Speed Racer‘s surfeit of “cool,” is going to be, “Hmmmm… this is kind of tame.”
While its two 2003 sequels, The Matrix Reloaded and The Matrix Revolutions, both met with lukewarm-to-stinging critical reaction and more than a bit of fan-boy howling, they were undeniably of a piece with the original movie, stylistically and tonally. All three films were rated R, and dealt in explosions and hand-to-hand combat. The mixing of these base elements along with ample portions of armchair psychology and religious theory gave the movies a pop, a certain contrast to other genre flicks of their ilk.
The PG-rated Speed Racer, on the other hand, feels safe, and made of prefabricated parts. While sabotage and subterfuge are the name of the game within the plot, there’s nary a gun in sight. Which got me to thinking — unless it’s inherently part of the narrative (see David Lynch’s The Straight Story, or David Mamet’s The Winslow Boy), it’s nearly impossible for filmmakers with some sense of auteurish branding to go forward or backwards in rating by more than a single classification. It’s just inviting ruin, in a way. That’s why, rightly or wrongly, after the splash of cold water to the face that was bullet-time, Speed Racer feels like a water-treading ploy by the Wachowskis for wide-scale embrace. For the full piece, from FilmStew, click here.
Happy Birthday, Odette Yustman
It’s a happy birthday to Cloverfield cutie Odette Yustman, who turns 23 today, and certainly looks a lot better without a steel rod sticking out of her shoulder.
Time and the cruel crucible of young starlet turnover will tell if Yustman has the chops to carry other movies, or if the general effectiveness and affecting nature of her turn in Cloverfield was more a product of its verité construction. Regardless, she seems really naturally charming and pleasant, and I’m both surprised and stoked that actually that’s her given birth name.
Unthinkable Becomes Reality
The favorite what-if scenario of ultra-right-wing nutters will get its day in Unthinkable, which centers on a major threat to the United States involving three nuclear devices whose locations are shrouded in secrecy by a single terrorist. With only two days before they are deployed, a black-ops interrogator and a female FBI agent have to decide how far they will go to find them. Variety reports that Buffalo Soldiers helmer Gregor Jordan will direct, and Samuel L. Jackson will star (presumably as the black-ops interrogator, not the female FBI agent, which will be, I don’t know, Julianne Moore? Rachel Weisz? Rachel McAdams?)
While this will surely, finally give the talking heads at Fox News something other than 24 and Jack Bauer to reference, given the conceit, the guy-and-gal commercial concession and, I’m sad to say, the involvement of Jackson, does anyone doubt that this movie is going to suck in dispiriting ways? Jackson only tries in approximately every fourth film (the last time was in Resurrecting the Champ… though I haven’t seen Renny Harlin’s direct-to-DVD Cleaner), and everything about this reads phone-it-in, gun-waving, loud-authoritative-voice-using Jackson, which we’ve seen approximately two dozen times before. Can’t wait for the water-boarding recreations set to Hans Zimmer music, though. Oh wait… yes I can.
Wait… a Donnie Darko Sequel?!
So according to Screen International, a sequel to Richard Kelly’s surreal, quasi-apocalyptic 2001 cult sensation Donnie Darko will begin shooting in Los Angeles on May 18. Entitled S. Darko, the movie will find Daviegh Chase reprising her role as Donnie’s younger sister, Samantha; other cast includes Gossip Girl‘s Ed Westwick (also currently on screens as the jerky older brother in Son of Rambow), Step Up 2 the Streets‘ Briana Evigan and The Invisible‘s Justin Chatwin. The story allegedly picks up seven years after the first film, when Samantha and her best friend Corey, both now 18, find themselves plagued by bizarre visions while on a road trip to
Los Angeles.
Chris Fisher, who previously co-wrote and helmed Rampage: The Hillside Strangler Murders and Cuba Gooding, Jr.‘s corrupt cop drama Dirty, will direct. “I’m a great admirer of Richard Kelly’s film and hope to create a similar world of blurred fantasy and reality,” says Fisher. Producers have spoken to Kelly, about the project but he is not involved in any official capacity at this stage. To my mind this is both amusing and kind of head-shakingly ridiculous at the same time — a sad attempt at recapturing unbottled magic instead of, you know, actually searching for great unproduced scripts.
Warner Bros. Pulls Out of Indie Business
Holy crap — so Warner Bros. is axing its specialty interests, according to Variety, severing ties with both Picturehouse and Warner Independent, and in the process eliminating more than 70 positions. “With New Line now a key part of Warner Bros., we’re able to handle films across the entire spectrum of genres and budgets without overlapping production, marketing and distribution infrastructures,” says Alan Horn, Warner Bros.’ president and chief operating officer. “After much painstaking analysis, this was a difficult decision to make, but it reflects the reality of a changing marketplace and our need to prudently run our businesses with increased efficiencies.” Translation: “more than ever, if it doesn’t have franchise potential, a comfortable genre slotting and/or a position for two major stars, or someone else didn’t already spend the money to make it, we’re not interested.” This is one of those things that doesn’t play for even casual Jane and Johnny Arthouse fans, but it sucks for American film, period.
Advance Thoughts on Bloodline
Bloodline, the forthcoming documentary from Bruce Burgess that examines one of the theories promulgated by The Da Vinci Code, that Jesus Christ had a decidedly Earthly relationship with Mary Magdalene, and bore human offspring, is still a few weeks off from release, but having seen it I thought I’d touch on a few quick thoughts. As an academic inquisition it starts out fairly interesting, and then becomes progressively less so. Part of this is because Burgess casts his lot with one curious amateur explorer — Ben Hammott, whose web site is currently shut down — and seems to stop asking (or at least including here) questions both tough and obvious. But there’s also just bad scientific method and intellectual judgment. I’ll get into this a bit more in a proper, full-length review, but I was astonished when, at one point late in the movie, Burgess uses a piece of evidence obtained from Hammott to theoretically validate/confirm… another piece of evidence from Hammott. It’s that sort of thing that makes even agnostics and open-minded people of faith not take this matter seriously.
Lindsay Lohan Gets Ugly (Betty)
Since these racy photos, and the one below, for New York Magazine didn’t much work in the career jump-start department, Lindsay Lohan will take a page from Britney Spears’ playbook (no, not the baldness or Federline pages), and guest-star on a hit television series. Word is Lohan will appear on ABC’s Ugly Betty for its May 22 season finale as an old classmate of America Ferrera’s Betty Suarez, and perhaps return for as much as an eight-episode stint next season. Presumably not playing a wildly self-destructive type, as with Georgia Rule, last summer’s I Know Who Killed Me and Matthew Bright’s forthcoming The Manson Girls. But who knows, really.
This is an easy call and advisable move, certainly — the Hollywood equivalent of a fullback plunge left — and I have little doubt the structure is benefiting Lohan a great deal. At the same time, is it much more than a temporary tonic? It’s an armchair diagnosis from afar, admittedly, but one of the things that most seemed to get Lohan in trouble, and feed her mania and/or appetite for self-destruction, was stress and a sort of gaping-maw need for extra-sensory stimulation that came from being a front-and-center celebrity. Sadly, with an out-of-rehab photo spread like above, and other news stories and relapse rumors trickling out, there’s little to suggest lasting lifestyle changes, so won’t momentarily removing the pressure of “playing lead” do little except, potentially, help foster a nervousness and/or resentment to get “back on top,” asap? There’s clearly a dangerous addictive gene at work here, and it doesn’t get worked out for 21-year-olds on the basis of “nice” or overseen work environments.
Jonah Hill Set to Transform?
So Jonah Hill, who broke big in Superbad and recently popped up in Forgetting Sarah Marshall, trading on the same sort of man-crush riff that he worked into Evan Almighty, is allegedly set to join Shia LaBeouf in the sequel to Transformers, according to an “early negotiations” leak sourced to Nicole Sperling at Entertainment Weekly. For the moment Michael Bay is denying casting/character reports, but that’s what you do when something like this breaks, right? Rightly or wrongly, this sentiment is already bubbling to the surface, and I can tell you that this news, if/when true, will likely prove a jump-the-shark moment for Hill, who needs a reinvention… already, at age 24. Transformers 2 certainly won’t give him an opportunity to do anything different (squint and you can already see him — bewildered, sardonic, chubby, rocking the porkpie hat), and when it does the requisite huge business, the Internet haters will crawl out from behind their computers with pitchforks, and convince their more genteel moviegoer friends to turn on this guy as well.
John Cusack Talks War, Inc.
In advance support for War, Inc., releasing May 23 from First Look after its not very well received Tribeca presentation, writer-actor John Cusack sits for an interview of decent length with the English language Al Jazeera channel, which can be found in two parts on YouTube (part one here, running six-and-a-half minutes; part two here, running 13-plus minutes, the first five-and-a-half of which can be skipped since they focus on celebrities more broadly). A political satire about the privatization of war — co-written by Cusack, with Mark Leyner and Jeremy Pikser (who did good things with Bulworth), and starring he, Marisa Tomei, Ben Kingsley, Hilary Duff and Dan Aykroyd — the movie finds the dryly sardonic Fan of Black slipping back into a pro forma version of his conflicted Grosse Pointe Blank hit man, here sent to bump off a Middle Eastern oil minister and consolidate power for an American company run by a former vice president.
Mainly because the questions seem to come from Billy Bush, the chat is fairly reserved and full of expected stuff — Cusack deriding the “conveyor belt” mentality pervasive in society today, and talking about keeping his sense of outrage and independence — though one wonders how it plays overseas. The most interesting portion comes late in the interview, when Cusack says that there’s a “vision of the world that corporate ethics are our national interests. And I just don’t think as a citizen, or a spiritual creature, or even as a thinking creature that we should accept that. I don’t want to be a shareholder in a great, ecumenical college of corporations. That’s not my thing. I don’t want to join that party.”
Obama’s Struggle Against Racist Spam
Forget the ongoing, relatively successful “secret Muslim” smear campaign, forget the drumbeat mention of his oh-so-exotic middle name — an iteration on a theme, meant to court the “Bubba vote,” that, ironically, should highlight the value of his judgment in opposing, from the beginning, the quagmire of this war in Iraq — this, above, is the sort of racist spam email flotsam that Barack Obama has to contend with in his campaign against Hillary Clinton for the Democratic presidential nomination.
You very rarely see these sorts of racists — or, let’s downgrade, even, and say pepetuators of hurtful and/or merrily ignorant prejudice — depicted in films. You occasionally get the oafish, derisible KKK characters of Harold & Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay, or from the same movie the outlandish federal agent played by Rob Corddry, whom everyone else (audience inclusive) is meant to recognize, and treat, as a fool. Yet whither the entirely nice, not uneducated folks who forward along stuff like this? I get that there’s no gain to this sort of painful highlighting — why risk alienating minorities in the context of films that may be manifestly “about” something else? — and yet as a society we ignore reality in our art at our own continuing peril.
Hollywood Reporter Undergoes Redesign
The Hollywood Reporter has completed and relaunched a wholesale overhaul of its iconic brand today, including a redesigned look and format for its print and digital publications, a revised editorial approach, and expanded coverage, analysis and new industry data exclusive to THR-parent The Nielsen Company. “Today is a new day at The Hollywood Reporter, and one of the most exciting times in its 78-year history,” said publisher Eric Mika. “This brand redesign is the result of our ongoing efforts to create a new Reporter, one that is more relevant, accessible and impactful for our global audiences on every platform,” adds editor Elizabeth Guider. “Our new design and editorial approach will make it easier for print and online audiences to access the data, information and insight they rely upon each day for mission-critical decision making.”
Some of the touted new features include more seamless and contiguous copy flow; more clearly defined sections; chart data exclusive to The Nielsen Company, including weekly Top 40 Box office data and other entertainment consumption trends, complemented by expert external and internal analysis; and region-specific content and supplementary digital coverage, along with more than 250 special issues throughout the year. Wait… 250 special issues?! Sweet Christ, as a former editor, I can tell you these spin-offs are little to nothing except a boon for the advertising folks. It’s the way (errr… one of the ways) publishers hold a gun to editors’ heads. But great, I guess this means more special Raven-Symoné tributes…
Advance Thoughts on Harold & Kumar Sequel
A full review should follow tomorrow, but it’s worth noting that Harold & Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay, the follow-up to 2004’s inspired stoner comedy, is a hell of a lot of fun. Jon Hurwitz and Hayden Schlossberg, co-writers of the first film, make their directorial debut with the movie, and the delicious uniformity of vision creates a wild ride. Harold & Kumar is first and foremost (as well as maybe second and third) a lewd, pot-infused re-imagination of The Odd Couple, but racial expectations, male sexual subjugation and topical political humor all get a hilarious workout, as well as the current president’s unresolved daddy issues. What makes this work so well is a game cast, and the movie’s ability to honestly and confidently depict white fear with a feverish intensity, while also exposing its ludicrousness. Oh, and there’s also a groundbreaking “bottomless party” scene. Yes, as in the opposite of topless…
It’d Be Double the Gangliness…
Just wondering, why hasn’t some enterprising indie film writer-director penned that Steve Buscemi/DJ Qualls father-son comedy? Surely there’s $350,000 in funding to be rounded up for that.
Happy Birthday, Catalina Sandino Moreno
It’s a happy birthday to Catalina Sandino Moreno, who turns 27 today. Moreno of course broke big in 2004’s justly lauded Maria Full of Grace, about a pregnant Colombian teenager who becomes a drug mule in order to make some desperately needed money for her family. She and writer-director Joshua Marston shared a lot of prizes for the film, including the Los Angeles Film Critics Association’s New Generation Award.
Since then Moreno also made strong impressions in both Fast Food Nation and the underrated The Hottest State (above), from writer-director Ethan Hawke, while at the same time knocking out some quasi-gritty, straight-to-DVD fare like Journey to the End of the Night. Unfortunately, those three films were seen by a combined 150 people, so Moreno’s rising star has for the moment stalled.
That said, it’s not a talent issue. Moreno is quite good with softly withholding, and with a little more practice and opportunity could surely branch out into spitfire roles (it’s much harder to go the other way). Of course, it doesn’t help when you have chauvinistic posts like this one, exploiting her Hottest State nudity. But, errr… that is her hottest state, right? No shame there. Roles opposite Benicio Del Toro in Steven Soderbergh’s highly anticipated Che Guevera biopic two-fer (The Argentine and Guerrilla, which will likely screen at the upcoming Cannes Film Festival) will surely help. But I’d love to see Moreno, who has a really lovely smile and sweet disposition, get hold of her own upscale version of 27 Dresses, The Nanny Diaries or The Devil Wears Prada; she’d be great, and it would justly introduce her charms to a wider, Anglo audience.
Advance Thoughts on The Promotion
I caught The Weinstein Company’s The Promotion last night — for all intents and purposes the directorial debut of Steve Conrad, writer of The Weather Man and The Pursuit of Happyness — and I rather adored it in a small, to-scale way. The story of two mid-level Chicago supermarket employees (Seann William Scott and John C. Reilly) who compete for a
coveted managerial post at a new store location, it’s not for all tastes, I’ll concede, and I don’t want to oversell it — it’s not flat-out great. But it’s one of the most steadfastly low-fi movies about male existential crisis I’ve ever seen, and I appreciated that it kept surprising me in small but meaningful ways. Plus Jenna Fischer costars in a small role as Scott’s wife, and she’s always a welcome sight, let’s face it. No idea what the crap is up with Conrad’s Chad Schmidt, starring Brad Pitt (if anyone in the know knows, drop me a line), but this did certainly further whet my appetite for that.
Son of Rambow Makes Its Case
So Son of Rambow, which premiered at last year’s Sundance Film Festival and has been hung up in rights-related distribution limbo ever since, came in second place at the box office in the United Kingdom this past weekend, with the British indie nabbing almost £1million in its first four days.
Set during a long, hot summer in 1982, the film — opening in New York and Los Angeles on May 2, from Paramount Vantage — revolves around two 11-year old scamps who, after seeing First Blood for the first time, decide to film their own sequel with nothing more than a camcorder and, natch, some imagination. That hearty across-the-pond embrace, its blossoming early critical support (especially when compared to the recent Rambo‘s still-too-generous 32% on Rotten Tomatoes aggregate Tomatometer), and my sincere admiration for director Garth Jennings’ work on 2005’s adaptation of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, may yet persuade me to check it out, assignment be damned. We’ll see. These are some of the in-field considerations one must juggle… wants versus obligations.
Adam Carolla Dances No More
So mono-browed, sarcastic deejay Adam Carolla’s Dancing with the Stars run is apparently over, as of last night. After two weeks of appearances, he survived the first trim of two contestants, then made it another week, besting Steve Guttenberg (much to the chagrin of Ted Danson and Mary Steenburgen, one supposes). Still, the four-week run didn’t necessarily seem to reap immediate benefits for Carolla’s new film, The Hammer, which has only crawled past the $320,000 mark after two-plus weeks of release. I’m assuming, though I don’t know for sure, that indie boutique distributor International Film Circuit scraped together enough money for at least a quick ad buy or two. If not, they should scrap the International in favor of another adjective beginning with the letter “I.”
Tina Brown Assays Clinton’s Campaign
It’s oldish, this tidbit about Hillary Clinton in March 17’s Newsweek, from a first-person, op-ed, inside-the-looking-glass piece by Tina Brown, but still telling, and true, in my opinion:
“What saddens boomer women who love Hillary is that their twentysomething daughters don’t share their view of her heroic role,” Brown writes. “Instead they’ve been swept up by that new Barack magic. It’s not their fault, and it’s not Hillary’s, either. The very scar tissue that older women see as proof of her determination just embarrasses their daughters, killing off for them all the insouciant elation that ought to have come with girl power in the White House.”
On the other hand, much more specious, I believe, is this half-reasoned assertion from Brown: “Am I alone in suspecting that TV’s most powerful 54-year-old woman (Oprah Winfrey) just might have endorsed [Obama] so fast for reasons of desirable viewer demographics as much as personal inspiration?” Think of her what you will, but Winfrey most assuredly isn’t a trend whore — she made a conscious decision to get out of schlocky, gutter-gotcha TV at its peak, when Maury Povich and Jerry Springer were still ratings giants — and to peg as merely “fashionable” or somehow otherwise (economically?) advantageous one’s support for Obama is utterly ridiculous. In fact, Winfrey has talked, though not at length, about getting no small amount of flak from many of her viewers for her endorsement of Obama.