Flickerings: INDEX OF MOVIE REVIEWS
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I’m no longer a manly man (if I ever was) for having been able to spell Manolo Blahnik correctly from memory. Blahnik? The designer’s famously red-soled shoes are revered gems in the high-fashion world, some creations standing out with such extravagant touches as chinchilla fur rosettes.
But in this theater, I am but an interloper in girls’ night out. But here goes.
Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker: Smart People) is a writer for Vogue magazine who’s made her name and success with a column about love, sex and the single woman. But she may soon be out of material. It seems her search for love may finally be finished, as she’s suddenly set to wed her on-again-off-again squeeze, Mr. Big (Chris Noth: Law & Order).
To bring in the conflict, reality bites back hard. Carrie’s New York City fairy tale hits a wrenching snag. Miranda’s (Cynthia Nixon: The Babysitters) marriage is on the rocks; Samantha (Kim Cattrall: Ice Princess) finds herself suffocating in the anathema of functional monogamy; and Charlotte (Kristin Davis: Deck the Halls) is cheerily empathetic. But she’s left out of the dramatic stew except as supportive friend: That ditzy brunette pepster is offered but one mild trouble that just won’t stick.
So the friends struggle through crises of the heart, mojo, and questionable wardrobe choices against the chic backdrops of New York.
Honestly, it’s a little fun. At its most basic, Sex and the City muscles up yay, shopping! and grand romance clichés to high fashion and flashes of sex bordering on soft porn. (The latter is scarring to see in a theater amid at least 43 of your delighted moms.) But the setup benefits from more wit and substance than a newbie might expect.
These material girls are infused with enough depth to make them interesting and sympathetic. But they’re not entirely relatable: My eyes rolled at the notion of cementing a deep emotional bond over an ugly (perceived fashionable) handbag.
Sharp one-liners and candid sexual humor prove charismatic. The laughs range from bathroom humor to gasps at high fashion gaffe. At best, the humor thrives in the reversal of sexual objectification and the bantering pursuit of A-list happiness. Samantha steals most scenes as she tries to cope with false inhibition.
At worst, there is thinly penned borrowing, such as a snappy gay wedding planner who’s less edgy than Martin Short in Father of the Bride.
Michael Patrick King, assembler of the original HBO series, directs a film that relies on quick summary to avoid hashing out the hairier details. Carrie’s narration most often serves as a cue for an awkward lurch in the timeline. The telling is too hasty, as the film cools its stilettos only for the immediacy of the central crises, then scrolls with increasing velocity through rebound and resolution. Such haste winnows new character Louise (Jennifer Hudson: Dreamgirls), brought in for Midwestern perspective on love and pulling together the pieces.
Essentially, that’s beside the point. This flick is all bright, quick and scrappy escapism dolled up with designer labels and hunky man babes set against snazzy locales. Its purpose is not to nourish the mind but to pleasure the senses, like some fruity cocktail. In this sense, it succeeds. Sex and the City fans will probably dig it, though I for one have no clue how it measures up against the series. Stag men, on the other hand, would do better to queue up early for Mongol.
Good comedy • R • 148 min.
Speed Racer (Emile Hirsch, Into the Wild) is a racing wunderkind, champion son of the esteemed Racer family. He lives only to race, and at first he seems content to chase the legacy of his brother Rex, who died long ago in a fiery accident. When a major win thrusts Speed into the spotlight, a villainous corporate titan swoops in to profit from him. But when Speed resists, he makes a powerful enemy, so, with the help of the mysterious Racer X and Inspector Detector, he races to protect his family and rescue his beloved sport.
Speed Racer fans will find the film fairly loyal to both the 1967 and 2002 cartoon series. All the core characters are present, from girlfriend Trixie to Chim-Chim the monkey. Writers/directors Andy and Larry Wachowski (The Matrix) tried to capture the energy of the cartoon, punching it up with copious CGI action, a vivid swatch of colors and cinematic elements that mimic manga and anime graphic devices.
The result is at once odd, disheveled and brilliant.
Most striking is the film’s unrelenting color. The opening scenes alone are enough to make you shuffle through your popcorn and wonder if the butter is psychotropic.
Mild abortive cursing, one rude gesture and touches of above-par violence may exceed the innocence of memory. It’s not overdone, though, fitting within the context of the criminals.
Intrigue serves to move the film and lend body, pairing well with the racing. But too much time is spent in the minutiae, making the movie overlong. Piddling in the details ultimately distracts from the broader storyline, as the Wachowskis fail to organize the film’s aspects into smooth flow.
The story has its hiccups, but the racing action is creative and entertaining. Fantastic cars hurtle, spin and tumble through impossible Matchbox-style suspended tracks, deploying enough crazy hardware to make Inspector Gadget’s hat-copter wilt in jealousy. Physics are ignored for sake of creative mayhem. The Wachowskis toy with a more playful derivation of their Matrix-pedigree time-lapse fight scenes, but it’s behind the wheel that excitement bursts. Automotive acrobatics, tumbling viewpoints, explosives and swirling lights create a nexus of wild flux. The motion-sickened might want to bring Dramamine.
Whatever the gripes, this film is a bold adaptation of the classic anime — an unreal feast of color and action unleashed with wild abandon. Fans and newcomers alike might just as easily be seduced as repelled. I, for one, still can’t decide.
Fair Action • PG • 135 min.
Intellectual heavyweights slog through emotional doldrums in this self-absorbed movie.
Lawrence Wetherhold (Dennis Quaid: American Dreamz) is a snooty grump of a literature professor, sunk deep into a widower’s miasma. The prof grimaces at the world through a tweedy beard, and his students are hip to the fact that they’re despised. Only a chance encounter with former student Janet (Sarah Jessica Parker: Sex in the City) promises to snap him into an emotional awakening. Alas, his selfish withdrawal keeps love at bay. Doubly alas, his daughter Vanessa (Ellen Page: Juno) proves fiercely protective. But all is not lost, as Lawrence’s slacker brother Chuck (Thomas Haden Church: Spider-Man 3) mooches into their lives and massages the family’s humanity.
The film toys with the notion of book-smart people struggling to emerge from emotionally dense self-fixation. While Lawrence gradually learns not to be a jerk to get the girl, Chuck sets out to corrupt housekeeping teen Vanessa away from remaining a stick-in-the-mud Young Republican. On the dramatic end, Vanessa makes a hypocritical effort to make her dad get over the loss of her mom.
Smart People is unique for its charismatic void. Lawrence is too much of a stereotypical, tortured, annoying bore. Janet’s attraction to him is inexplicable and uninteresting. Vanessa, the most interesting character, is a missed opportunity — though she does deliver the one laugh substantial enough that it can’t be vented as simple exhalation through the nose. Character development is limited to what they reveal about themselves in real time (very little), and they are allowed to evidence very few eccentricities of genius. Instead they are given uppity dialogue that reads like Scripps National Spelling Bee edition Mad Libs. Only with less soul. And the camera returns to shots of the home staircase, each time with a different arrangement of books stacked on the steps. See? They read a lot. They must be smart.
Performances are understated to a fault, though decent given the lack of available character. Either way, newbie director Noam Murro can’t quite bring them together in rhythm. Thin plot doesn’t offer them much chance.
Ultimately, this dud is summary recycling. Retreat into your own sheltered malaise. It’s probably more interesting.
Poor dramedy • R • 95 mins.
Jackie Moon (Will Ferrell; Talladega Nights) is a very lightly regarded basketball impresario in Flint, Michigan. His Tropics are the joke of the American Basketball Association, and the player/manager/owner is barely keeping his team afloat with the royalties from his one soul hit: “Love Me Sexy.” When he learns his team is being excluded from the NBA merger, Jackie scrambles to save it, stepping up his desperate promotions and bringing in a new player, Monix (Woody Harrelson; No Country for Old Men), to teach his team how to play.
It’s pretty much what you might expect for a Will Ferrell comedy. The movie is full of quick one-liners, a touch of creepy humor and ample slapstick swirled together by Ferrell’s own cartoonish effervescence. Much fun is had in lampooning the cool scene of the ’70s and the early evolution of basketball. Jackie Moon is also billed as the father of modern seat-filling promotions, as his snowballing, desperate grabs for attention make a fine lampoon of modern seat-filling gimmicks.
The movie’s good for laughs so long as you can enjoy stupid humor. Kent Alterman makes his directorial debut with this movie, having executive produced such cousinry as Balls of Fury and Mr. Woodcock. The pedigree shows here, for good and ill. But director seems a strong word, as Alterman basically surrenders the camera to Ferrell’s madness. Fine enough if you’re a fan of the comedian, but if you require a ringmaster to bring focus to Ferrell’s circus, Semi-Pro might prove exhausting.
Basic story structure is there, but execution is inconsistent. Scenes are inserted for the sake of gags but not neatly tied in with the story. They are often funny, as in the jive turkey tangent, but they can muss up the flow. Monix as the battered vet trying to love the game again and Coffee Black (André Benjamin; Idlewild) as the aspiring rough talent promise to deepen story development, but both are upstaged by Ferrell.
Dodge Ball, a classic slapstick in the sports vein, succeeded in part because it developed a solid storyline and shared the camera among several fun characters. It was a team effort. Ferrell proves a ball hog, and complementary characters are elbowed aside with the plot in his maelstrom.
That said, there is fun to be had. As Ferrell vehicles go, this one runs a little rough but gets you where you’re going. If you’re simply looking for something to laugh at, this will fit the bill. But anyone with a low tolerance for Ferrell should pass.
Fair comedy • R • 90 min.
Marginalized high school oddballs adventure for glory and girls in this smart adolescent comedy.
Seth (Jonah Hill: Knocked Up) and Evan (Michael Cera: Arrested Development) have been best friends since elementary school; now it’s senior year and they’re confronting the prospect of separation. They have only one summer left before they must peel themselves apart to different universities.
But college has other concerns as well, and Seth in particular is panicked that they must chase away the specter of virginity before they leave for the great beyond. So, when cool-girl Jules (Emma Stone) needs a hand bootlegging booze for a party, Seth seizes the opportunity. In one grand scheme the pals aspire to deliveryman glory, by which they might impair the judgment of their crushes long enough to snare them for summer-long committals that might in turn, eventually, whisk away said specter. To that end, the pair tap friend Fogell (Christopher Mintz-Plasse) as their fake-ID-toting procurer and stumble into desperate misadventure.
Superbad’s premise is enough to tempt comparisons to American Pie. But they’re very different movies. American Pie thrived on a simple recipe of gross-out gags and humiliation. Superbad, on the other hand, is ambrosia.
At the film’s core is awkward candor and naïve, curse-filled, bravado-puffed bluster delivered as intelligent banter. Screenwriters Seth Rogen (lead actor of Knocked Up) and Evan Goldberg started penning this script when they were 13, and it shows in their adolescent empathy. Well-placed comic violence and absurdity keep the story rolling briskly along, while the dramatic angle of the friends’ separation anxiety deepens the story just enough to keep it smart and earnest.
Judd Apatow (Freaks and Geeks; 40 Year Old Virgin) has a hand in this movie as producer, and much of the talent are vets of his past projects. Director Greg Mottola runs with the Apatow aesthetic of unflinching absorption of the awkward and strange, playing uncomfortably realistic situations for cringing laughs. There are scenes of drugging and drinking, but they aren’t glossed. Rather, the scenes are almost confrontationally realistic: ugly and a little bit dangerous. Juxtaposing the naïve teens amid this, putting them in way over their heads, makes for a shock of extremely effective holy-*bleep* humor.
Measured slapstick, one tremendous gross-out gag and scads of humorously crass material shine as well, but nothing gets funnier than the determined corruption of Fogell. Spindly and flailing as a spring fawn, the geek aspires to hip-hop excess even as he stumbles through his own nervous fear. His evolution is the most dynamic of the movie and easily makes him the best character in it; newcomer Mintz-Plasse steals every scene.
Anchoring all is the film’s dramatic underpinnings. The two best friends of the film are struggling with the break up their lifelong codependence and must deal with a little bit of hard soul-searching. From their own little world, this one crazy night serves as their induction into the big world outside. It all proves realistically overwhelming, and their buddy drama blends seamlessly among the goofiness, giving substance to the story.
While Mintz-Plasse steals the scenes, everybody’s spot-on. The film never misses a beat, neatly pacing a consistent blend of the slapstick, strange and sincere throughout.
Fans of Apatow et al. will definitely dig this film. Those shy of crass material might wilt at the dialogue’s salty onslaught, but this one is a smart feast regardless.
Great comedy • R • 114 min.