Lost - S4, E13: "There's No Place Like Home, Parts 2 & 3"

LOST REACTIONS

Season 4, Episode 13 - "There's No Place Like Home, Parts 2 & 3"

RIP Sydney Pollack

1934-2008

Win a Date with Tad Hamilton! (Robert Luketic, 2004)

First, is it too long post-comment to take umbrage with Chachi’s insinuation that I should see this film merely because I subject Kelly to artsy films all the time? I’ve probably seen more romantic comedies than any heterosexual man should. In fact, artsy vs. romcom, I’d probably come out on top.

Regardless, the moment we’ve all been waiting for (for whatever reason)… my take on Win a Date with Tad Hamilton!.

Topher Grace is the (only?) reason to see this film. The comedic timing he shows in Win a Date reminds me of why I thought so highly of his In Good Company performance; the false bravado, the awesome dorkishness, the desperation to belong. Topher plays the comedy right.

It’s the romance that doesn’t work. And because of that, I don’t feel like he’s been able to successfully transfer that comedic gift into leading man status yet. And why I don’t think he and Kate Bosworth belonged together here. Their relationship comes across as friendship. She never once thinks of him as more than that until the screenplay decides she must.

Meanwhile, he’s smitten, but doesn’t really show any reason why she should be with him. He’s better off in In Good Company when his loneliness and emptiness can work against his outer comedic posterior. And whereas there, Topher’s character was willing to risk embarrassment for a chance with Scarlett Johannson, here he comes across as too reserved, too shy for his own good. When the bartender asks him late in the film what he’s tried and he can’t come up with a good answer… that’s the problem. Then he has to rush out and break up what has looked like a good thing for both Bosworth and Duhamel’s characters.

The storyline is predictable straight down to the last scene, so large portions of the film rely on its actors to carry them and make them seem fresh. Kate Bosworth and Josh Duhamel are fine in their roles respectively, but neither one gives a performance you can get really invested in. What the film ultimately amounts to is a bunch of pretty-faced people having a good time making a concept movie. What would you do if your movie star crush started reciprocating those feelings?

But maybe that’s why I ultimately thought it deserved a minor recommendation? There are a couple of laughs in it, some pleasing performances and it never aims to be anything more than what it is. So in that regard, it reminds me a lot of the likewise worthwhile The Girl Next Door… entertaining concept, low expectations, solid performances, a few laughs and no real watching regrets.

Film Script's Top 7 - Animated Movies (Contemporary)

Okay, this list is by request... and because I'm a coward and I haven't revisited those classic Disney cartoons (Bambi, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, The Sword in the Stone, etc.) since I was a child, I chose to keep it to contemporary films. I've chosen to define "contemporary" as from your own personal date of birth until the present... so those younger than me will miss out on the glory of Smurfs and the Magic Flute whereas I will miss out on The Last Unicorn myself (yeah... I've seen neither of those as well). Anyways, without further hesitation, my own "Film Script's Top 7." January 29th, 1983 until the present. I'll come back with more detail in the comments section.

7. Ratatouille (2007)

6. Beauty and the Beast (1991)

5. Toy Story (1995)

4. Aladdin (1992)

3. The Lion King (1994)

2. Finding Nemo (2003)

1. The Emperor's New Groove (2000)

National Treasure: Book of Secrets (Jon Turteltaub, 2007)

Do you really need Nic Cage, Jon Voight, Ed Harris, Helen Mirren and Harvey Keitel in this film? Oscar nominees one and all. But, seriously... for this?! And listen, I enjoyed the first one when a lot of people crap all over it. I recognize it’s trivial, but it was light, entertaining and a helluva lot more fun than The Da Vinci Code could muster up. And for a while, this one felt like more of the same form of peaceful amusement, but it just takes its ludicrous premise too far and feels like an enormous waste of talent. Forgiving the entire set-up, where Nic Cage’s still awfully named hero Benjamin Franklin Gates finds out one of his ancestor’s might have been a co-conspirator in the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. Forgiving that. We still get scenes where Nic Cage can show up at a party on Mount Vernon and end up buddying up to the President of the United States within minutes and nary a few seconds later, talk him into searching for a hidden passageway on the premises. I’m willing to let things go for the sake of a good time, but c’mon. But, hey, maybe without all those nominees it would have seemed even more implausible?

Lost - S4, E12: "There's No Place Like Home, Part 1"

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Season 4, Episode 12 - "There's No Place Like Home, Part 1"

Monument Ave. (Ted Demme, 1998)

Monument Ave. - originally Snitch - is something of a laidback Scorsese mob film, only minus his amplitude and even more content to revel in the not-so-peaceful atmosphere of a bunch of drunk Irishmen sitting around a bar telling dick jokes and putting one another down. You remember that scene from The Departed involving Leonardo DiCaprio, Ray Winstone and a cranberry juice? Well, that’s this entire film. Denis Leary stars, so obviously right at home with the material you’d think the film was written for him. And in actuality, the screenplay was at least polished by him. Plus Ted Demme, who might as well have been Denis Leary’s personal director (having filmed both his stand-up acts “No Cure for Cancer” and “Lock N Load” as well as The Ref), directed this film as well. The story, or what there is of one, is about a couple of drug-using, plainly alcoholic petty car thieves in South Boston, themselves constituting their own brand of extended family. There are a couple scenes when the guys are “thrown a job” by the local mob boss (Colm Meaney) and have to actually venture out of the bar, but it’s never for too long and never amounts to too much. Much like the film’s protagonist Bobby O’Grady (Leary), the film feels somewhat unsure of what it wants to accomplish and when it reaches for more, it doesn’t seem right. It’s probably best to just sit back, spin some shit, get plastered and pick up women. In other words, stick to what you know.

In the Screening Room - Anthony Minghella's The English Patient

Session 018 - The English Patient

Who saw it and what are your thoughts on it?

Lost - S4, E11: "Cabin Fever"

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Season 4, Episode 11 - "Cabin Fever"

Sweet and Lowdown (Woody Allen, 1999)

Woody Allen was in a playful mood with this one (course, even Allen’s playful side can’t help riffing on old Federico Fellini storylines). Sweet and Lowdown is Allen’s unique brand of biopic, a peculiar story about the 1930’s greatest jazz guitarist, Emmett Ray. Well, second greatest, after this gypsy named Django Reinhardt whose songs make Emmett weep and whose presence makes him faint. So why is it so unique? The thing is, it’s all show. Yep, a fake. A spoof of the biopic form. The storyline and characters are concoctions from the mind of Woody Allen… and Sweet and Lowdown is all the better for it, avoiding many of the inherent plot potholes found in most ‘genuine’ (and genuinely dull) biopics. Allen himself appears in two forms, 1) as a talking heads “expert” on Emmett Ray who’s being interviewed for the film and 2) through Sean Penn’s idiosyncratic character, complete with Allen’s conceptual foibles like Emmett’s penchant for staring at trains for hours on end and going to the dump to shoot rats. As played by Sean Penn in an Oscar-nominated performance, Emmett Ray is a glorious bastard. A pimp and an egotist, not only is Penn’s Emmett one of the best guitar players in the world, he’s also, probably self-considered, “one of the top 5 or 6 poker players in the world” and “a great lover” amongst other virtues. Apparently those virtues don’t prevent him from hustling county talent shows, leaving his girlfriends behind in the middle of the night and for some reason his immeasurable talent always seems to leave him a year away from real fame or fortune. It’s Penn’s stalwart performance that makes the film work at first (Penn hasn’t been this funny since Spicoli roamed the hallways). But the heart of this story, where it really comes to life, is with Samantha Morton’s mute Hattie. She’s the only character that seems able to crack the hard veneer of Emmett’s defenses, one that has kept him from ever getting emotionally invested in a woman before. And that Morton is able to show this all without uttering a single word is remarkable, and entirely deserving of her own, rightfully earned, nomination for Best Supporting Actress.

Must See Movie of the Month: May 2008

Okay, so I had to pick two this month and in honor of the summer blockbuster season kicking off... I'm also staying out of the arthouse cinemas that I've been frequenting (My Blueberry Nights, The Visitor). So, as much as I'd like to see Son of Rambow, it just couldn't hold up to these two titles. Plus, considering everyone's probably already seen Iron Man by now, I felt we needed an additional choice.

Who else wants to see it and what are your "must see's" of the month?

Other Notables:

Son of Rambow, Redbelt, The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian , War, Inc. , Sex and the City: The Movie, Speed Racer

Lost - S4, E10: "Something Nice Back Home"

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Season 4, Episode 10 - "Something Nice Back Home"

Recent Watches: May 2008

Let's get some discussion going on here again guys with recent watches and some quick thoughts. You know the drill.

Baby Mama (Michael McCullers, 2008)

2007 had an honored class of “pregnancy comedies” with Waitress, Knocked Up and Juno all earning accolades and big box office. So the arrival of Baby Mama in 2008 is not especially shocking… but it does sorta feels like the delinquent child who got held back. Most of the fault can be laid on first-time director Michael McCullers (who also wrote the film). McCullers shows little eye for visual composition and even less of a sense of comedic timing. He cuts at inappropriate times, leaves cutting room floor material scattered throughout and you remember those caricatures of human beings that I mentioned Forgetting Sarah Marshall managed to avoid? McCullers has a boatload of ‘em. Steve Martin’s health nut guru. The Lamaze teacher with a serious lisp. Sigourney Weaver’s surprisingly fertile owner of the surrogate mothers clinic. Even Amy Poehler herself plays a woman so stupidly vacant, I started to question whether she always has those glossed-over eyes or if she can just manage the same expression in every scene. McCullers previous screenplays, some of which I have been a fan of (Undercover Brother and Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me), both took place in a kind of hyper-reality in which characters could act any which way they liked. Baby Mama makes it obvious then… he just hasn’t realized how to write real. At least Tina Fey gets out unscathed, mostly just mimicking her “30 Rock” character. She’s not a cartoon like the others, she’s just anal. And the film itself is not without some laughs – largely thanks to Greg Kinnear - but with a cast as talented as this that’s faint praise. The jokes don’t land nearly as often as you would want or expect. Had Tina Fey written the film herself, as she had with the surprisingly worthwhile Mean Girls, I feel like it would have suited her sense of humor better. Instead, only Dax Shephard seems really at home delivering the absurdist dialogue McCullers offers up (Dax apparently agrees with me that not enough people have seen his Idiocracy performance, because, this is it). Most of the time though, Baby Mama aims for the lowest common denominator humor. But it’s Kinnear who’s the only one here with a straight face… the only one who’s consistently sincere… and the one proving, yet again, the best jokes come from the actor who’s not afraid to be “real.” But what do I know? Amy Poehler peeing in the sink brought the house down.

The Forums: Topic II

Topic of the Week:

Name an Actor or Actress That if You Know They're in a Movie You Will Think Twice About Seeing It

Horton Hears a Who! (Jimmy Hayward & Steve Martino, 2008)

The Dr. Seuss book that Horton is based on targets a 4-to-8 year old demographic. The movie - it would appear - does the same. But if that’s the case, why cast Jim Carrey, Steve Carell, Seth Rogen and Jonah Hill? Are “The Office” and Superbad now favorites of the play age crowd? Here they’re all muted, comedically castrated, being forced to adhere to their Suessian G-rating and leaving the movie feeling too childish and kid-centric to appeal to anyone past the preteen age. The visuals however are infinitely better than either live action Suess adaptation (The Cat in the Hat or How the Grinch Stole Christmas), and we get the usual moral lessons you’ve come to expect, but there’s nothing to distinguish this film. It’s typical of Blue Sky (and Dreamworks), who have managed to pilfer Pixar’s image rendering graphic techniques… but none of their heart. Let your kids watch it, but steer clear of the room when they do.

Lost - S4, E9: "The Shape of Things to Come"

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Season 4, Episode 9 - "The Shape of Things to Come"

Forgetting Sarah Marshall (Nicholas Stoller, 2008)

Is it wrong to call Forgetting Sarah Marshall, a movie that features bookended scenes in which star Jason Segal strips down to his birthday suit, his… um, coming out party? Well, I’m gonna do it anyway. The latest familiar Apatow face to headline his own movie, Segal, the writer/actor of Forgetting Sarah Marshall with the somewhat over-padded midsection, penned the story all because his buddy Judd told him, “No one’s gonna cast you in a lead role unless you write it yourself.” Truthfully, the storyline is not an original and can be simplified down exactly as you would expect from the trailer (guy dumped by girl, guy goes to Hawaii to forget girl, guy runs into ex-girlfriend while on vacation, guy meets new girl). But the experience of watching Forgetting Sarah Marshall is akin to hanging out with a group of friends the likes of which you’d continue getting into wrestling matches with well into your 30’s, friends who toss putdown jokes at one another as a substitute form of male bonding and then shrug those insults off immediately, and ones that would be just as comfortable lounging on the couch eating snacks (or cereal all day long) as they are drinking and partying ‘til dawn on the beach. That’s what the Apatow gang is. They just all seem to have their own killer sense of humor too. Segal, here as Peter, inherits the stalk-tastic characters he portrayed pretty much throughout both “Freaks and Geeks” and “Undeclared” too-short-lived and only now appreciated series. But he also maintains the genuinely harmless qualities he exhibited on television, his endearing nature and total inability to avoid awkward situations you can see coming from a mile off. That’s how Peter finds himself staying in the same hotel as his ex, running into them on a consistent basis and even being invited to join them for dinner by her new guy, an English pop star with a message (Russell Brand). He’s just so likable it’s impossible to view Peter as a threat. The film manages a lot of laughs for a genre that’s been mined over so many times before, and a lot of it has to do with its cast, from Segal and Apatow regulars Paul Rudd, Jonah Hill and Bill Hader… to newcomers Mila Kunis, Russell Brand and even Kristen Bell herself as Sarah Marshall. Everyone does well for themselves and the story avoids the over-the-top characters that occasionally grind some films of this genre to a halt (as in Wedding Crashers or Apatow’s-own Walk Hard). And even characters that start out as caricatures mature into something more. Plus, this crew is really reveling in their R-rated raunch. Nicely done. Bring on Pineapple Express.

Funny Games (Michael Haneke, 2008)

Is Funny Games a better film than Saw or Hostel simply because it doesn’t fetishize its violence and it knows it’s sending up the gorno genre? Does its self-knowledge somehow elevate it past films that aim only to exploit brutality and torture as a means for cheap thrills? Or is it worse because it should know better than to exist in this filth? Honestly, who cares, either way it doesn’t make it any more enjoyable to watch. Naomi Watts and Tim Roth play bland, white-collared lakeside homeowners who, for no good reason, become the captives of Peter and Paul (Michael Pitt and Brady Corbet), or Tom and Jerry, or Beavis and Butt-head, or whatever alter egos these two decide to go by on a minute-by-minute basis. These two motiveless psychopaths are dolled up in entirely white polo outfits that match the place so well they might as well be house decorations. There are extended long takes and - sure - Haneke is a better craftsman than either Eli Roth or James Wan, so from a filmmaking standpoint it’s far superior to those other films. But no matter how you slice it, it’s still torture all the same. Haneke just prefers his own brand of emotional torture. Instead of reveling in the excessive bloodletting, Haneke’s film is decidedly non-violent, turning a blind camera eye for every climatic, gory explosion and cheating the viewer out of any kind of retaliatory eruption. Funny Games revels in the aftereffects, lingering on endless shots of Haneke’s victims suffering, making the audience suffer right along with them. It’s a moralistic lesson that if Haneke could somehow make the opening night Saw crowds sit through and see the repercussions of this brand of brainless sadism it might actually make it worth something. But he missed his target audience… they don’t care. And neither do I.

The Forums: Topic I

Topic of the Week:

Name a Movie That You Know is Awful, Without Ever Having Seen It

and try not to name the obvious ones (ex: Superhero Movie)

The Fisher King (Terry Gilliam, 1991)

Back in 1991, after a decade of science fiction films such as The Adventures of Baron Manchusen, Brazil and Time Bandits, Terry Gilliam decided to try a smaller budgeted, more character-driven story called The Fisher King. He intended to film it directly from the script, without alteration, so as to avoid it becoming “a Terry Gilliam film.” He failed… but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. In spite of it being the first screenplay Gilliam had no hand in writing, The Fisher King is still very much “a Terry Gilliam film.” His flourishes are all over the place. The fantastical elements, the portrayal of the Red Knight, his world of extreme close-ups and distorted viewpoints, even the search for the Holy Grail recalls his Monty Python days. The story itself is a cross between King Arthur, 90’s shock jocks, tragedy and insanity. Definite earmarks of Gilliam’s work, both prior to Fisher King and yet to come. Jeff Bridges stars as Jack Lucas, a controversial radio DJ who spirals into a deep depression after one of his more outrageous claims drives a man to commit mass murder. Lucas may be lonely, pathetic and suicidal for most of the film… but no one makes being a loser look cooler than Jeff Bridges. He spends most of his days moping around drowning himself in liquor, until the time he decides better of it and decides to drown himself in the river instead. It’s at this time he’s attacked by two teenage hellions and is rescued by a crazy man named Parry (Robin Williams, naturally), who was driven to insanity after the death of his wife by – you guessed it – Lucas’ mass murderer. It’s an odd film to be sure (aren’t all of Gilliam’s films?) but it’s also a unique redemption story with a good sense of humor. Hearing Lucas’ banter around with Parry’s insanity is hilarious. For instance, when Williams asks Bridges what the ‘little people’ are telling him, Jack mocks him with a patronizing, “They're saying, ‘Jack, go to the liquor store and findeth the Jack of Daniels so that ye may be shitfaced!’" Also, there is a split reality vs. otherworldly sense to The Fisher King, yet another Gilliam trademark, as it tries to mix the Arthurian legend with 1990’s New York. All in all the film is wonderfully acted and Gilliam’s more fantastic displays are always visually arresting, but the film still feels more comfortable in its real world settings, letting Bridges’ dejected charmer guide us. It’s reminiscent of the petty problems I run into with a lot of Gilliam’s films, their lack of human emotion (It’s hard to get completely invested when the third act revolves around a ludicrous return of the teenage hellions). Still, the character interaction is very well done and makes you believe that Gilliam, maybe shockingly, is comfy in drama.

Harvey (Henry Koster, 1950)

I expected more. Listed at #35 on the American Film Institute’s record of “100 Years… 100 Laughs,” Harvey is ranked not among, but above, such classics as City Lights, Animal House and American Graffiti. How or why I’m not entirely sure. The film is pretty thoroughly devoid of humor and director Henry Koster spends most of his time exploiting the persona of his star, James Stewart, for his own benefit. Harvey seems to be a film constructed solely as a way for the viewer to spend a couple hours with James Stewart’s pleasant personality. And if that’s all you want, he and his good old boy, awww-shucks demeanor are in full display here as Elwood P. Dowd, a personable, potentially deranged fella who just happens to see a 6-foot, 3-and-a-half inch tall rabbit he calls Harvey. Harvey’s a pooka, what Wikipedia refers to as, “a mischievous, magical creature from Celtic mythology” and the only thing Elwood likes more than having conversations appears to be introducing this furry friend of his. Naturally, this causes problems for his family… because they can no longer throw dinner parties with Uncle Elwood around. Apparently it interferes with his niece’s social life (a girl’s gotta get married after all!), and his sister decides to have him committed for it. These two characters, his hag sister (Josephine Hull in a ghastly performance that somehow stole an Oscar) and his bratty niece, are both horrendously awful characters, such poor female incarnations that I was frankly shocked to see a woman (Mary Chase) had a hand in writing it. Also, James Stewart somehow manages to be the best part of and the biggest reason the film doesn’t work, all at the same time. He’s just so nice that it’s not funny when everyone starts acting irrationally around him, trying to lock up this perfectly charming guy. Sure, he’s a bit bonkers – but as the film seems to want to say – maybe it’s good to be a little mental? I’ll stick with Stewart on this one, who himself liked his West End theatre performance better, one that was darker and led you to believe Elwood might be truly unstable. That’s enough personal vindication for me.

Dark City (Alex Proyas, 1998)

Caught in the wake of the box office behemoth that was Titanic, Dark City got sucked under the tide, sputtering in with a weak $5 million opening and did little to distinguish itself at the box office. Since then, it has become a cult favorite of fans who’ve uncovered the science-fiction film on DVD. Count myself included. The former and currently indistinguishable character actor Rufus Sewell stars as John Murdoch, fittingly portraying a man suffering from amnesia (so, don’t worry, not even he knows who he is). He’s being pursued by the cops, specifically Inspector Frank Bumstead (William Hurt), for a series of grisly murders of local prostitutes that he does not remember committing… but considering he doesn’t remember much of anything, he decides to test whether he’s capable of such an act anyway. The set-up is similar to any classic noir detective story, with the protagonist trying to uncover clues as to the murders - and his own identity - all while avoiding trouble and/or capture. Well… it’s all in the detective model except for the fact that this all takes place in a city where the sun never shines, psychokinetic alien beings referred to as “Strangers” are monitoring human behavior and every night at midnight they alter our consciousness so that we believe we are someone entirely different than we were the night before. The film has startling and frequent comparisons to The Matrix (Dark City came first) including the fact that they used some of the same sets and both revolve around a main character who breaks a spell that the aliens/machines have over the human race. Murdoch eventually comes to uncover truths about who he is and learns to “tune” like the Strangers (the ability to alter reality by will) much in the same way Neo learns to alter the Matrix. Director Alex Proyas shows that he has a natural command of his visual settings, much in the manner of Tim Burton, but he’s not just doing an imitation here. Coupled with The Crow, Proyas proves to have a mastery of the dark-themed and shaded environments. Where the film slightly falters is in its conclusion. In order to truly harness his powers, Murdoch receives some of the worst, most obvious advice I’ve ever heard. On top of which, “tuning” is a mental attribute, so the concluding battle is basically an extended take of characters staring really, really hard, trying to overpower each other. And I thought those Harry Potter kids with their sticks were lame.

To Live and Die in L.A. (William Friedkin, 1985)

So totally 80’s in every aspect, director William Friedkin’s To Live and Die in L.A. is something of a time capsule for a decade full of sports cars, vibrant colors, outlandish clothing, cheesy one-liners… and awesome cop flicks. William Peterson stars as Richard Chance, a hotshot secret service agent who’s always tempting fate (hey, there’s something to that last name!), but the best role in the film goes to the short-lived Michael Greene as his partner Jimmy Hart. Hart is the type of aging department fixture who gets to spit out lines like “I’m getting too old for this shit!” and naturally, is only a few days away from retirement. He’s around just long enough to give our hero a bode of confidence with the surefire “there’s no other guy I’d want backing me up,” over a pint no less, then he receives the double-barrel shotgun blast to the chest that will provide our hero the proper motive for revenge. The man on the other end of that shotgun is a henchman for Eric Masters (Willem Dafoe), a counterfeiter that Chance and Hart had been investigating, searching for the whereabouts of his printing operation. The rest of the film plays out with Chance doing his best Dirty Harry impression, taking the law into his own hands with the help of his new partner and protégé John Vukovich, whom he informs, “I’m gonna bag Masters, and I don’t give a shit how I do it.” Chance starts making ethically questionable decisions, even illegal, trying to get the best of Masters… meanwhile, the two actors also seem to be having a personal battle of one-upmanship to out ‘cool’ one another (seriously, I’ve never seen so much glorious posturing and leather and scarf-wearing crammed into one film). This is most definitely California’s variation on “Miami Vice.” Even “Vice” producer Michael Mann felt that way, unsuccessfully trying to sue Friedkin for ripping him off. That might all make it seem like To Live and Die in L.A. is some kind of camp, but it’s better than that. What it is, is a thoroughly entertaining ride, much like the chase scene in the film that heads right into oncoming highway traffic. It’s at times brutal, shocking, amusing and engaging and it’s even got a couple tricks up its sleeve. Plus, it’s got a totally sweet synthesizer theme.

Cloverfield (Matt Reeves, 2008)

The atmosphere of Cloverfield is extraordinary. Crumbling New York City skyscrapers, raided electronic stores, organized makeshift medical centers, citywide evacuation teams and engaged army firefight battles all captured on a single roving handheld camera, cinema verite style, in much the same way a film like Children of Men used its techniques to drop you into the action but, you know, with monsters. It’s an entirely awesome idea. The difference being, Children of Men had a clear-cut purpose, some social commentary mixed in with a pretty nifty story about saving the entire human race, while Cloverfield has a couple of separated lovers, played by interchangeable twentysomething blank slates, trying to make their way back to one another. The monster is practically an afterthought here. There’s a scene halfway into Cloverfield’s running time when Rob (one of the aforementioned bores) gets his friends caught in the middle of a combat battle between a squad of soldiers and the monster. The camera - controlled by another one of the group members, Hud - stubbornly refuses to even acknowledge what’s going on. Instead we get a long shot of Rob and some girls huddling in the low level stairs across the street as the mêlée marches off screen. Unfortunately, it’s an archetype for what’s wrong with Cloverfield… we, as the viewers, are always pinned down watching these dumb kids while something endlessly more interesting heads off in the other direction. We’re not invested in the love story here, know nothing about its characters (a generous term) and it’s aggravating to be forced to watch their story unfold while you know something far more compelling is happening only steps away. The whole thing is akin to being forced into watching “The Real World” on MTV while the apocalypse is happening on the next channel. Admittedly, the cinematography and special effects are seamless, really top notch stuff especially for a creature feature, and the film works when it’s running through the streets of Manhattan with the monster picking people off left and right. The unfortunate thing is, because of how vapid and monotonous all these people are (the first twenty minutes where we are introduced to these people is excruciating), we’re actually rooting for Cloverfield to win. Because without characters, all you’re left with are some pretty pictures and sqaundered opportunities.

Note: Did anyone else find the movie a bit redundant as well? I mean c’mon, the monster is from Godzilla, the head of the Statue of Liberty idea is taken from Escape from New York’s poster, the camera trick and “found footage” concept is taken from The Blair Witch Project and some of the visuals are taken from War of the Worlds… or even worse, from 9/11 imagery. Plus, the dust clouds are definitely there to evoke 9/11, so why do nothing to comment on it?

Leatherheads (George Clooney, 2008)

George Clooney’s love for old Hollywood (The Good German, Good Night, and Good Luck) is coming out again in Leatherheads, a perfectly agreeable modernization of the slapstick comedy, that just ends up overstaying its welcome. In much the same way as classic films of the genre, such as Bringing Up Baby or It Happened One Night, Leatherheads works when the focus is on the repartee between its stars Clooney and Renee Zellweger, putting them in impractical situations and having them throw comedic grenades at one another. Slapstick comedies themselves are modeled in a sort of absurdist fantasy world already, an exaggerated, sentimentalized reality where police chases are played for hi-jinks and bar room brawls can just as easily segue into drunken sing-a-long sessions. So obviously you need to have a sense of humor about yourself to do this genre… and Clooney is totally game as Dodge Connolly, a professional footballer who schemes up an idea to save the financially strapped Duluth Bulldogs for which he plays. Dodge persuades recent war hero and Ivy-league football star Carter Rutherford to join the team, at a cost. And reporter Lexie Littleton (Zellweger) tags along with him, trying to “cook (Carter’s) goose” for an assistant editor job at the Chicago Tribune. From the very beginning Clooney’s winking at the camera, but in a way that stays somehow true to his character… he’s the loveable goof and he shows a killer sense of comic timing (he hasn’t been this funny since O, Brother, Where Art Thou?). Zellweger manages to play a nice counterpart, returning the banter with equal gamesmanship but brings with her some annoying baggage, a plot. This film is always best when it’s about nothing at all, when the film can get away with gags, revel in its 1920s football scene or sit back with Clooney drink-in-hand and not have to worry too much about hitting story points. It’s when the film gets bogged down trying to further its – rather poorly written – narrative that it starts to struggle towards the goal line. There are obvious tone and pacing problems (and the football game finale grinds everything to a halt) but for a good long while the film coasts by on the charm of its star… and his obvious love for the time period and genre he’s portraying.

RIP Charlton Heston

1923-2008

Oldboy (Chan-wook Park, 2005)

A buddy of mine calls Oldboy the “most unjustified revenge (story) in the history of the world.” He might be right… but it doesn’t matter either way, because by the time the tale winds down, the film is only loosely interested in the act of revenge. The end of the film concentrates the story on how even the smallest triviality in one’s life can affect another’s exponentially. That’s what all that talk about, “Be it a rock or a grain of sand, in water they sink as the same” means. Revenge is the hook – it is the second film in Chan-wook Park’s “Vengeance Trilogy” after all – but examining the weight of your actions is the real focus. Oh Dae-Su (Min-sik Choi) starts the film as an overweight, drunken mess of a man. He’s been arrested and his brother has come to bail him out, with Dae-Su all the while acting like a petulant, uncontrollable child. The two wander into the alley only after Oh Dae-Su has turned back and taunted his captors. His brother heads off to make a phone call for him (it’s his daughter’s birthday) but when he calls for Dae-Su, he’s gone. We find out soon after that Oh Dae-Su has been abducted, penned up in a crummy, ramshackle apartment. He’s kept there and fed through a slot at the foot of the door, treated like an animal. Dae-Su spends his days training for battle, writing notebooks-worth of regrets and enemies, searching for who’s to blame and for ways out of his cage. 15 years pass. At about the time he’s finally burrowed through the wall, Dae-Su wakes up on the roof of a building… payback the only thing on his mind. The rest of the film finds Oh Dae-Su in a blindingly rage, searching for the person responsible for his imprisonment, tracking down clues and most of all the reason “WHY?” What results is a largely brilliant, sometimes convoluted, fit of furious vengeance. There are some grotesquely bloody scenes scattered throughout (both at Oh Dae-Su’s benefit and expense) and also what may possibly be the single greatest fight scene in the history of filmmaking, a one-shot bravura hallway hammer fight sequence pitting Dae-Su against a gang of men that made me absolutely giddy with delight. Chan-wook Park certainly does not let it fall into the usual, simplified one-on-one fistfight. Again, Park’s filmmaking skills are in full effect – this dude is mad talented - but Oldboy has less winking at the camera than his predecessor did (Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance) and thus works better, because Park’s decisions are for the betterment of his story… and not just to humor himself. That’s what makes Oldboy such a fantastic film, not only it’s hugely rewarding storyline, but the chance to watch a filmmaker come into his own.