If not for the outrageous, unlikely events that took place in Florida in 2000 -- the events that put the current occupant in the White House -- the outlandish, unlikely events in *Swing Vote* might seem like so much high concept Hollywood nonsense. But darned if reality didn't go and make a movie about the presidential election coming down to a single vote and a single voter seem, well, actually plausible. Make that voter an uninformed, undecided, working class single dad named Bud Johnson (Kevin Costner), who apparently got his nickname from his favorite beverage. Add ravenous reporters, jabbering pundits, win-at-all-costs campaign directors, and a couple of presidential candidates willing to say anything to win, and you've got *Swing Vote*, a soft-boiled political satire about a guy who works in an egg factory holding the fate of the free world in his boozy hands.
Luckily, Bud's chief advisor is his daughter Molly (Madeline Carroll) who, although she is only twelve, is a civic-minded young liberal who firmly believes in the sanctity of the vote. Which is how she almost commits voter fraud when Bud passes out drunk, which, one electronic voting machine malfunction later, is how the presidential election comes down to Bud's vote, or revote. Bud, being the soul of discretion, lets it slip that he's the every-vote-counts guy when an ambitious reporter (Paula Patton) corners him, which is how every news network ends up camped out in tiny Texico, NM, and how president Andrew Boone (Kelsey Grammer) comes to park Air Force One there. His Democratic opponent Donald Greenleaf (Dennis Hopper) turns up too, both men trying strenuously to court Bud's vote. Problem is, Bud doesn't really have any opinions on the issues of the day, having tuned out and stopped caring years ago, and so the candidates wind up jumping through hoops of absurdity trying to win the vote of a guy who doesn't really know the difference between them. Ah, but there's the rub -- maybe the current political process grinds all the difference away.
Costner's Bud doesn't do much besides drink, although he does try not to disappoint his daughter Molly. He wears cutoff shirts and a grubby trucker's cap, and he'd rather go fishing than look for a job. Costner has played the laid back, middle aged shlub before, and he's good at it, and anything that keeps him from making a sequel to *The Postman* gets my vote. *Swing Vote* throws a little falling-down-drunk slapstick his way too. Carroll is terrific as Molly, playing the soul and conscience of the movie, and the brains of the Johnson outfit, and embodying the little d democratic ideal with a furrowed brow and the fierce conviction of a tween.
Director Joshua Michael Stern, who co-wrote *Swing Vote* with Jason Richman, sprinkles the movie with satirical faux political ads in which the Republican comes out in favor of gay marriage and the Democrat takes anti-abortion and anti-immigration stances. Their political advisors are played equally broadly by Stanley Tucci and Nathan Lane. If the politicians are spineless, their advisors are without conscience or conviction. As often happens of late, the movie blurs the line between reality and entertainment (much like the news networks do) by featuring cameos by celebu-pundits and info-tainers: Ariana Huffington, Aaron Brown, Bill Maher, James Carville, Larry King, Tucker Carlson, and Chris Matthews all turn up. To remind everyone that Bud's a good ole boy, Richard Petty and Willie Nelson make appearances too. (Bud used to front a Willie Nelson cover band, which gives a hint at where his political sympathies, such as they are, really lie.)
*Swing Vote* is hardly subtle satire, and it takes swings at only the biggest, most obvious targets, but it's bipartisan about it, taking shots at both sides pretty much equally. This is not to say that the movie doesn't have an agenda -- it does, although it takes pains to not be too obvious about it, at the risk of being as spineless as a presidential candidate. *Swing Vote* is a Capraesque, populist political farce that's eager to please, and somewhat hesitant to offend, which takes the sting out of the satire, and leaves only a modestly funny comedy.
4Aug2008
The Wackness (2008)
Remember the summer you graduated from high school? How about the summer of 1994? Me neither, but you might if, like Luke Shapiro, the protagonist of *The Wackness*, you spent that summer selling weed from a street cart. Or you might not, if, like Luke, you spent a good deal of that summer sampling your own wares.
Luke's got a lot on his mind, and so does *The Wackness*, I suppose, although there's a certain been-there-done-that familiarity to the movie, and not just because of it's mid-90s nostalgia. It's about a misfit guy who longs to be popular, a guy with a crush on one of the cool, popular girls (and he's a virgin and she's not). Check. It's about a decent guy who sells drugs to nice folks who need a little extra-pharmaceutical assistance. Check. It's about a teenage boy who sees a psychiatrist. Check. It's about a teenager who discovers that the psychiatrist, and all the other adults in his life, are even crazier, more miserable, and more immature than he is. Check. It's about a boy on the verge of manhood, living that summer that changed his life, etc. Check. It's *Rushmore* meets *Charlie Bartlett* meets *Running With Scissors*... with a hip hop soundtrack.
It's set in New York City in 1994, so there's lots of ranting about Giuliani (everybody hates him), and Luke (Josh Peck) listens to Notorious B.I.G. and Biggie Smalls on *tape*. He has a pager, too, and, it being those halcyon days before cellphones and ringtones became ubiquitous, he uses a pay phone to make calls. Despite his badass hip hop pretensions, he's a nondescript, slack-jawed white kid who seems not to attract the attention of the police as he peddles grass from an ices cart. His most loyal customer is Dr. Squires (Ben Kingsley), his kooky pothead psychiatrist, who trades grass for couch time and keeps a bong in his desk drawer. That's an original twist that will ultimately get even more twisted as Squires seeks to relive his wasted youth with help from Luke. Squires' advice to stressed, depressed Luke is to have sex. He doesn't know that the girl Luke would most like to get therapeutic with is Squires' stepdaughter Stephanie (Olivia Thirlby).
Written and directed by Jonathan Levine, *The Wackness* has a grubby, hazy, melancholy sweetness beneath all the strenuous quirkiness, mostly due to Peck, who is convincing as the lonely dork who wants desperately to be cool. Luke approaches his illicit trade with a genuine work ethic -- the kid is on the job night and day, but he's not exactly living the dream. Kingsley, sporting an odd accent and even odder hair, wrings as much as he can out of a character that walks the thin line between believably nutty and completely unbelievable. He offers up another of his tightly-wound, over-the-top, completely screwed up performances, putting the wack and the wacky in *The Wackness*. Both men -- the man who would be a boy and the boy who would be a man -- are likably odd and oddly likable. The same can be said for *The Wackness* which, despite working in cliche-riddled territory, tries hard to avoid cliches, and partly achieves that goal. *The Wackness* works as hard to be cool and popular as its characters do, and succeeds just about as well.
28Jul2008
Luke's got a lot on his mind, and so does *The Wackness*, I suppose, although there's a certain been-there-done-that familiarity to the movie, and not just because of it's mid-90s nostalgia. It's about a misfit guy who longs to be popular, a guy with a crush on one of the cool, popular girls (and he's a virgin and she's not). Check. It's about a decent guy who sells drugs to nice folks who need a little extra-pharmaceutical assistance. Check. It's about a teenage boy who sees a psychiatrist. Check. It's about a teenager who discovers that the psychiatrist, and all the other adults in his life, are even crazier, more miserable, and more immature than he is. Check. It's about a boy on the verge of manhood, living that summer that changed his life, etc. Check. It's *Rushmore* meets *Charlie Bartlett* meets *Running With Scissors*... with a hip hop soundtrack.
It's set in New York City in 1994, so there's lots of ranting about Giuliani (everybody hates him), and Luke (Josh Peck) listens to Notorious B.I.G. and Biggie Smalls on *tape*. He has a pager, too, and, it being those halcyon days before cellphones and ringtones became ubiquitous, he uses a pay phone to make calls. Despite his badass hip hop pretensions, he's a nondescript, slack-jawed white kid who seems not to attract the attention of the police as he peddles grass from an ices cart. His most loyal customer is Dr. Squires (Ben Kingsley), his kooky pothead psychiatrist, who trades grass for couch time and keeps a bong in his desk drawer. That's an original twist that will ultimately get even more twisted as Squires seeks to relive his wasted youth with help from Luke. Squires' advice to stressed, depressed Luke is to have sex. He doesn't know that the girl Luke would most like to get therapeutic with is Squires' stepdaughter Stephanie (Olivia Thirlby).
Written and directed by Jonathan Levine, *The Wackness* has a grubby, hazy, melancholy sweetness beneath all the strenuous quirkiness, mostly due to Peck, who is convincing as the lonely dork who wants desperately to be cool. Luke approaches his illicit trade with a genuine work ethic -- the kid is on the job night and day, but he's not exactly living the dream. Kingsley, sporting an odd accent and even odder hair, wrings as much as he can out of a character that walks the thin line between believably nutty and completely unbelievable. He offers up another of his tightly-wound, over-the-top, completely screwed up performances, putting the wack and the wacky in *The Wackness*. Both men -- the man who would be a boy and the boy who would be a man -- are likably odd and oddly likable. The same can be said for *The Wackness* which, despite working in cliche-riddled territory, tries hard to avoid cliches, and partly achieves that goal. *The Wackness* works as hard to be cool and popular as its characters do, and succeeds just about as well.
28Jul2008
The Dark Night (2008)
When early images of The Joker started trickling onto the web last year, shivers of excitement followed: this was one creepy, crazy looking clown, with greasy hair, smeared, cracked greasepaint, and a crooked, grinning gash of a scar bisecting his skull-like face. That was before Heath Ledger, who played the Joker in *The Dark Knight*, died of an accidental overdose this past winter, which both intensified the buzz, and took a lot of the joy out of the anticipation. Fear not. Ledger's performance in *The Dark Knight* is so vigorously menacing, so chillingly nutso, so insistently, gloriously *alive* that it is easy to forget reality for the duration of the movie, and easy to get swept along (or pulled under) by the Joker's chaotic wake. Ledger subsumes himself in a performance that is simply great, and he's loaded the Joker with tics -- he's tightly-wound and loose-limbed, his thick tongue flicking in and out of that sinister, wounded mouth as he bares his yellow teeth. The Joker is a chatterbox, but he looks like the wheels are constantly turning in a head that's as scary-crazy on the inside as it is on the outside. No joke, this Joker isn't kidding around.
*The Dark Knight* is the sequel to writer-director Christopher Nolan's *Batman Begins*, and like that movie, *The Dark Knight* entirely casts off the campy old Batman for a provocative post-millennial look at the superhero (and the superhero genre) that is far, far darker, and more thoughtful. There's a genuine ambivalence at the heart of *The Dark Knight* (which Nolan co-wrote with his brother Jonathan Nolan) about Batman himself. Is he nuts? (Likely.) Is he just a really well-armed vigilante? (Probably.) Is he on the side of justice? (Maybe.) This Batman (Christian Bale) is like the back side of the joker cards his nemesis leaves as calling cards -- looks like all the other cards, until you look underneath. And that's the question at the thumping, moody heart of *The Dark Knight*: are Batman and Joker really two sides of the same card?
The Joker seems to think so, casting himself as a self-styled agent of chaos, and Batman -- or "the Batman" as he is called, in a nod to Frank Miller's *Batman: Year One* graphic novel -- as an agent of order. The Joker has no agenda, no purpose, other than creating chaos and fear. He's a terrorist for whom the *only* goal is to create terror. The million dollar question for millionaire Bruce Wayne is whether or not upholding order is the role he's meant to play -- his Gotham is a city overrun with graft and corruption, with a thriving criminal underworld, and with a few good cops like Jim Gordon (Gary Oldman) and a crusading, lantern-jawed new DA named Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhardt) trying to clean things up. Onto this scene, the Joker drops fully-formed, fully-loaded, fully-homicidal. He takes on the good guys and the bad guys, but his real prey is Batman.
As for the Batman, he's something else here too -- stranger, more conflicted, more sinister, working the extra-legal beat where the moral lines get blurred. (His conscience is external, located in trusted advisors Alfred the butler, played by Michael Caine, and Lucius Fox, played by Morgan Freeman.) Batman does the dirty work of controlling crime, but with a joyless resignation that makes him both menacing and a little tragic, a creature who plays on our sympathies, but also preys on them, exploring the darker, weaker side of human nature both in himself and in the world at large. Is he the scapegoat, the sacrifical lamb, or the savior of Gotham? Does Gotham need a hero, or are we in a world where there's no room for heroes, super or otherwise?
But this is not just the story of Batman's inner struggle with good and evil, but a larger story of darkness and light, of might and right, and of humanity at a pivotal moment of choice -- do we listen to the better angels, or let the demons fight it out? When the lunatics have taken over the asylum, are more lunatics the solution?
*The Dark Knight* is a long, dark night -- intensely violent, but also at times darkly funny. (There's a very obscure, inside joke in the casting of Nestor Carbonell as Gotham's mayor -- he played the cowardly superhero Die Fledermaus in the shortlived *The Tick* TV series.) And it is transportingly beautiful in that way that only a city at night can be, even if it is illuminated by fire. There are spectacular gadgets and stunts, massive explosions, and all the other things you'd expect and want from a Batman movie, but Nolan is a director who understands and revels in the power and beauty of cinema and the cinematic image. *The Dark Knight* is entertainment, but it is also art. It is pulp and it is poetry. It's a freakshow, but it's a poignant and oddly moving one that turns the world upside-down and gives it a good, hard shake. *The Dark Knight* is heavy because it has gravitas, but it is also light because it thrills us with sights we could not, and maybe should not, otherwise see.
21Jul2008
*The Dark Knight* is the sequel to writer-director Christopher Nolan's *Batman Begins*, and like that movie, *The Dark Knight* entirely casts off the campy old Batman for a provocative post-millennial look at the superhero (and the superhero genre) that is far, far darker, and more thoughtful. There's a genuine ambivalence at the heart of *The Dark Knight* (which Nolan co-wrote with his brother Jonathan Nolan) about Batman himself. Is he nuts? (Likely.) Is he just a really well-armed vigilante? (Probably.) Is he on the side of justice? (Maybe.) This Batman (Christian Bale) is like the back side of the joker cards his nemesis leaves as calling cards -- looks like all the other cards, until you look underneath. And that's the question at the thumping, moody heart of *The Dark Knight*: are Batman and Joker really two sides of the same card?
The Joker seems to think so, casting himself as a self-styled agent of chaos, and Batman -- or "the Batman" as he is called, in a nod to Frank Miller's *Batman: Year One* graphic novel -- as an agent of order. The Joker has no agenda, no purpose, other than creating chaos and fear. He's a terrorist for whom the *only* goal is to create terror. The million dollar question for millionaire Bruce Wayne is whether or not upholding order is the role he's meant to play -- his Gotham is a city overrun with graft and corruption, with a thriving criminal underworld, and with a few good cops like Jim Gordon (Gary Oldman) and a crusading, lantern-jawed new DA named Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhardt) trying to clean things up. Onto this scene, the Joker drops fully-formed, fully-loaded, fully-homicidal. He takes on the good guys and the bad guys, but his real prey is Batman.
As for the Batman, he's something else here too -- stranger, more conflicted, more sinister, working the extra-legal beat where the moral lines get blurred. (His conscience is external, located in trusted advisors Alfred the butler, played by Michael Caine, and Lucius Fox, played by Morgan Freeman.) Batman does the dirty work of controlling crime, but with a joyless resignation that makes him both menacing and a little tragic, a creature who plays on our sympathies, but also preys on them, exploring the darker, weaker side of human nature both in himself and in the world at large. Is he the scapegoat, the sacrifical lamb, or the savior of Gotham? Does Gotham need a hero, or are we in a world where there's no room for heroes, super or otherwise?
But this is not just the story of Batman's inner struggle with good and evil, but a larger story of darkness and light, of might and right, and of humanity at a pivotal moment of choice -- do we listen to the better angels, or let the demons fight it out? When the lunatics have taken over the asylum, are more lunatics the solution?
*The Dark Knight* is a long, dark night -- intensely violent, but also at times darkly funny. (There's a very obscure, inside joke in the casting of Nestor Carbonell as Gotham's mayor -- he played the cowardly superhero Die Fledermaus in the shortlived *The Tick* TV series.) And it is transportingly beautiful in that way that only a city at night can be, even if it is illuminated by fire. There are spectacular gadgets and stunts, massive explosions, and all the other things you'd expect and want from a Batman movie, but Nolan is a director who understands and revels in the power and beauty of cinema and the cinematic image. *The Dark Knight* is entertainment, but it is also art. It is pulp and it is poetry. It's a freakshow, but it's a poignant and oddly moving one that turns the world upside-down and gives it a good, hard shake. *The Dark Knight* is heavy because it has gravitas, but it is also light because it thrills us with sights we could not, and maybe should not, otherwise see.
21Jul2008
Hellboy II: The Golden Army (2008)
'Tis the season for tormented superheroes, and even without Peter Parker swinging around, there's been a bumper crop this year, between Iron Man, The Hulk, and Hancock. And we haven't even gotten to Batman yet. But can it get any better than Hellboy?
Certainly it won't get weirder than *Hellboy II: The Golden Army*, in which writer-director Guillermo del Toro (*Pan's Labyrinth*) opens up his abundant doodle-book imagination and unleashes an underworld teeming with strange, strangely cute, strangely winsome, spooky, and grotesque beings. The plot is faux *Lord of the Rings* piffle, involving an ancient war between humans and elves. The elves are ready to rise up again, under the leadership of evil, pasty-faced Prince Nuada (Luke Goss), who is just plain tired of living underground (and under Manhattan, no less). He sets out to work on his tan and to revivify an army of thousands of indestructible golden warriors. But first, he needs all three pieces of an ancient golden crown, and, (as Hellboy himself might say), blah blah blah BLAH.
The Tolkienish plot serves as a reminder that del Toro's next project is *The Hobbit*, and if *Hellboy II* is any indication, he is more than up to the task. *Hellboy II* is the sequel to del Toro's equally funny, rousing, surprising, and devilishly good *Hellboy*. This time around, Hellboy (Ron Perlman), the big, red, stogie-chomping, cat-loving demon spawn, is a bit of a celebrity, and relishes the spotlight. Like any modern celebrity, he learns that the public and the press are happy to turn on him, which they do. He's got bigger problems though -- Liz Sherman (Selma Blair), his incendiary ladylove, is mad at him (and when she's mad, she's on fire -- literally), and Prince Nuada keeps unleashing ferocious, carnivorous critters on the city. Hellboy's pal Abe Sapien (Doug Jones), a fishy fellow, is even more blue than normal, as he pines for Prince Nuada's twin sister Nuala (Anna Walton). Hellboy's new boss at the super-secret Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense, Johann Krauss (Seth MacFarlane), is a gasbag -- literally. He's a being of ectoplasmic gas, encased in a sort of diving suit that gives him human form and, apparently, an officious German accent and attitude.
Someone who isn't a windbag is the prodigious del Toro, who is a remarkably efficient storyteller, given how much plot and subplot he crams into the relatively compact 110 minutes of *Hellboy II*. More important than his efficiency is his attention to character, personality, and temperament, something every critter, no matter how small, inconsequential, or fierce seems to have in abundance in *Hellboy II*. Even a tumor growing out of a grotesque beast has personality. The movie, a busy, abundant (you could say overflowing) grab bag of special effects, imaginatively choreographed fight scenes (involving spears, mechanical fists, giant plants, babies...), and Barry Manilow singalongs is gleefully controlled chaos, a humorous, whimsical, touching, romantic, bloody-gooey noir-fantasy with the genuinely appealing, genuinely human Hellboy at its heart, keeping it real. Perlman invests Hellboy with the sort of cynical on the outside, soft on the inside, grouchy through and through attitude of an old-school, world-weary movie gumshoe -- he could just as easily be battling Nazis (which, as a matter of fact, he did in *Hellboy*) or hunting Maltese Falcons as fighting elves and giant trees.
There's a handful of filmmakers who can make a throwaway movie like this with all the care and purposefulness of an "important" movie. del Toro knows that *Hellboy II* (based on the graphic novels by Mike Mignola) is pulp, but it's extravagant, beautiful, joyful pulp, rendered with plentiful enthusiasm, pull-out-all-the-stops cleverness, true artistry, and a sense of humor.
14Jul2008
Certainly it won't get weirder than *Hellboy II: The Golden Army*, in which writer-director Guillermo del Toro (*Pan's Labyrinth*) opens up his abundant doodle-book imagination and unleashes an underworld teeming with strange, strangely cute, strangely winsome, spooky, and grotesque beings. The plot is faux *Lord of the Rings* piffle, involving an ancient war between humans and elves. The elves are ready to rise up again, under the leadership of evil, pasty-faced Prince Nuada (Luke Goss), who is just plain tired of living underground (and under Manhattan, no less). He sets out to work on his tan and to revivify an army of thousands of indestructible golden warriors. But first, he needs all three pieces of an ancient golden crown, and, (as Hellboy himself might say), blah blah blah BLAH.
The Tolkienish plot serves as a reminder that del Toro's next project is *The Hobbit*, and if *Hellboy II* is any indication, he is more than up to the task. *Hellboy II* is the sequel to del Toro's equally funny, rousing, surprising, and devilishly good *Hellboy*. This time around, Hellboy (Ron Perlman), the big, red, stogie-chomping, cat-loving demon spawn, is a bit of a celebrity, and relishes the spotlight. Like any modern celebrity, he learns that the public and the press are happy to turn on him, which they do. He's got bigger problems though -- Liz Sherman (Selma Blair), his incendiary ladylove, is mad at him (and when she's mad, she's on fire -- literally), and Prince Nuada keeps unleashing ferocious, carnivorous critters on the city. Hellboy's pal Abe Sapien (Doug Jones), a fishy fellow, is even more blue than normal, as he pines for Prince Nuada's twin sister Nuala (Anna Walton). Hellboy's new boss at the super-secret Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense, Johann Krauss (Seth MacFarlane), is a gasbag -- literally. He's a being of ectoplasmic gas, encased in a sort of diving suit that gives him human form and, apparently, an officious German accent and attitude.
Someone who isn't a windbag is the prodigious del Toro, who is a remarkably efficient storyteller, given how much plot and subplot he crams into the relatively compact 110 minutes of *Hellboy II*. More important than his efficiency is his attention to character, personality, and temperament, something every critter, no matter how small, inconsequential, or fierce seems to have in abundance in *Hellboy II*. Even a tumor growing out of a grotesque beast has personality. The movie, a busy, abundant (you could say overflowing) grab bag of special effects, imaginatively choreographed fight scenes (involving spears, mechanical fists, giant plants, babies...), and Barry Manilow singalongs is gleefully controlled chaos, a humorous, whimsical, touching, romantic, bloody-gooey noir-fantasy with the genuinely appealing, genuinely human Hellboy at its heart, keeping it real. Perlman invests Hellboy with the sort of cynical on the outside, soft on the inside, grouchy through and through attitude of an old-school, world-weary movie gumshoe -- he could just as easily be battling Nazis (which, as a matter of fact, he did in *Hellboy*) or hunting Maltese Falcons as fighting elves and giant trees.
There's a handful of filmmakers who can make a throwaway movie like this with all the care and purposefulness of an "important" movie. del Toro knows that *Hellboy II* (based on the graphic novels by Mike Mignola) is pulp, but it's extravagant, beautiful, joyful pulp, rendered with plentiful enthusiasm, pull-out-all-the-stops cleverness, true artistry, and a sense of humor.
14Jul2008
Hancock (2008)
Most superheroes have a certain amount of grace and control, whether they're leaping from tall buildings or stopping speeding bullets or spinning webs. Hancock is more anti-hero than superhero, and he's more of the smashy-smashy type, not exactly light on his feet, and generally doing more harm than good. This is partly because he's almost always drunk, and partly because he's almost always angry. He's a human-sized despicable Hulk who generally leaves everyone wishing he'd go do his superhero thing somewhere else.
Everyone except Ray Embrey, a do-gooder PR guy whom Hancock (Will Smith) rescues from a speeding locomotive. It's a particularly destructive rescue effort, but Ray (Jason Bateman) is grateful nonetheless, and takes his hard-living savior home for spaghetti and meatballs with the family. Ray's kid Aaron (Jae Head) thinks Hancock is pretty cool; Ray's wife Mary (Charlize Theron) disagrees, and gives the stinky hero the dirty eyeball and a wide berth. Ray decides to put his PR skills to use giving Hancock an image makeover -- his efforts to turn the angry, disheveled crimefighter into a truly super guy gives *Hancock* a goofy, sharply comical and edgy originality that sets it apart from most movies about brooding, tormented superheroes.
Screenwriters Vincent Ngo and Vince Gilligan are a little vague about the details of just what sort of super-being Hancock is exactly, but they're to be commended for giving Hancock a compellingly poignant backstory, and one with unexpected depth (turns out there's a reason his name is John Hancock). Hancock, though far from perfect, and not exactly human, is vulnerable to certain forms of emotional kryptonite, and all-too-human frailties. Hancock's weary and mad, with a supersized chip on his shoulder, but he's got a curious penchant for doing the right thing in spite of himself. He also does the right thing very badly, and often while doing very bad things to bad people, so it doesn't hurt that he's got Will Smith's bulletproof charm, even if Smith does his best to hide his light under a layer of grime and stubble.
Director Peter Berg (*The Rundown*, *Friday Night Lights*) has a taste for the dark, violent, and twisted in his comedies, and *Hancock* is no exception. (Parents are duly cautioned that this is a movie in which the gastrointestinal epithet that really ticks off Hancock is frequently uttered by children.) The director, and cinematographer Tobias Schliessler, go for a lot of extreme close-ups in *Hancock*, which gives the movie intensity and intimacy to go along with the big action and yuks. About halfway in, the movie takes an unexpected and surprising turn, with a plot twist that marks a change in tone and mood, and adds a layer of complexity to what had been, for the most part, a genuinely weird (and genuinely satisfying) superhero comedy.
*Hancock* has an adequate amount of adequately staged action sequences, but it doesn't turn into a big, loud, stupid spectacle at the end -- the ending is plenty chaotic, but it's also strangely intimate. Some things that can rarely be said about action movies these days can be said about *Hancock* -- the movie is consistently interesting and satisfying, but it's a little rushed, a little clipped, and it really could have been a little longer.
7Jul2008
Everyone except Ray Embrey, a do-gooder PR guy whom Hancock (Will Smith) rescues from a speeding locomotive. It's a particularly destructive rescue effort, but Ray (Jason Bateman) is grateful nonetheless, and takes his hard-living savior home for spaghetti and meatballs with the family. Ray's kid Aaron (Jae Head) thinks Hancock is pretty cool; Ray's wife Mary (Charlize Theron) disagrees, and gives the stinky hero the dirty eyeball and a wide berth. Ray decides to put his PR skills to use giving Hancock an image makeover -- his efforts to turn the angry, disheveled crimefighter into a truly super guy gives *Hancock* a goofy, sharply comical and edgy originality that sets it apart from most movies about brooding, tormented superheroes.
Screenwriters Vincent Ngo and Vince Gilligan are a little vague about the details of just what sort of super-being Hancock is exactly, but they're to be commended for giving Hancock a compellingly poignant backstory, and one with unexpected depth (turns out there's a reason his name is John Hancock). Hancock, though far from perfect, and not exactly human, is vulnerable to certain forms of emotional kryptonite, and all-too-human frailties. Hancock's weary and mad, with a supersized chip on his shoulder, but he's got a curious penchant for doing the right thing in spite of himself. He also does the right thing very badly, and often while doing very bad things to bad people, so it doesn't hurt that he's got Will Smith's bulletproof charm, even if Smith does his best to hide his light under a layer of grime and stubble.
Director Peter Berg (*The Rundown*, *Friday Night Lights*) has a taste for the dark, violent, and twisted in his comedies, and *Hancock* is no exception. (Parents are duly cautioned that this is a movie in which the gastrointestinal epithet that really ticks off Hancock is frequently uttered by children.) The director, and cinematographer Tobias Schliessler, go for a lot of extreme close-ups in *Hancock*, which gives the movie intensity and intimacy to go along with the big action and yuks. About halfway in, the movie takes an unexpected and surprising turn, with a plot twist that marks a change in tone and mood, and adds a layer of complexity to what had been, for the most part, a genuinely weird (and genuinely satisfying) superhero comedy.
*Hancock* has an adequate amount of adequately staged action sequences, but it doesn't turn into a big, loud, stupid spectacle at the end -- the ending is plenty chaotic, but it's also strangely intimate. Some things that can rarely be said about action movies these days can be said about *Hancock* -- the movie is consistently interesting and satisfying, but it's a little rushed, a little clipped, and it really could have been a little longer.
7Jul2008
WALL-E (2008)
One of the things that the geniuses over at Pixar do better than anyone else is to give life to inanimate objects. They did it first with *Toy Story*, imbuing toys with the personalities, emotions and souls that kids knew they had all along. They did it too with *Cars*, and they've done it again, and best, with *WALL-E*. I'll admit I'm a robot sympathizer -- the thought of little Mars Rover up there on the red planet, all alone while the lights go out, breaks my heart. But *WALL-E* just might make robot rights activists out of us all. Asimov knows where he can put his Three Laws of Robotics.
Wall-E (Waste Allocation Load Lifter - Earth-class) is a dented, rusty, steadfast little robot who performs the same task, day in, day out. His job is picking up trash, which he compacts into neat cubes, which he then stacks into spiraling skyscrapers. The trash is so deep it forms karsts and mountains, all but obscuring whatever natural features Wall-E's planet once had. As his name reveals, he performs this sisyphean task on Earth, 700 years in the future, when the planet is so hopelessly trashed that mankind has abandoned it to the cockroaches, and to one lonely little robot, the Mars Rover of Earth, Wall-E.
Amid all the trash, Wall-E finds treasures, artifacts of a lost civilization: Zippo lighters, egg beaters, an iPod, a beloved copy of *Hello Dolly!*, from which the little bot learns to dance, and to love. There's no one left to love except his faithful sidekick, a playful cockroach. Then a spaceship arrives and drops off a sleek, clean, egg-shaped robot named EVE (Extraterrestrial Vegetation Evaluator). She's a curvy, streamlined beauty, although quite trigger happy, with a tendency to blow things up.
The first half of *WALL-E* is a charming, Chaplinesque lark with a melancholy darkness around the edges, and sweet, curious Wall-E at its heart, lightfooting around a bleak landscape, finding fun, beauty, art, and love amid the ruins. For a guy without a face, who speaks in bleeps, he's remarkably expressive and soulful -- and therein lies the genius of writer-director Andrew Stanton. It's one thing to breathe life into a doll that looks like a cowboy and sounds like Tom Hanks. It's another thing altogether to create a little person out of a rusty, dented, squeaky box of nuts and bolts, but like the replicants in *Bladerunner*, Wall-E is, it turns out, "more human than human." By the time Wall-E leaves Earth and finds humankind living on a massive intergalactic cruise ship, reduced to infantilized, technology-dependent blobs, it becomes apparent that the last bot on Earth was really the last man on Earth.
There are references aplenty to other dystopian sci-fi classics in *WALL-E*, including *2001: A Space Odyssey* and *Brazil*, but also to Chaplin's Little Tramp and especially *Modern Times*, to the lonely little bot on the moon in *Wallace and Gromit's A Grand Day Out*, and to the aforementioned *Hello Dolly!* *WALL-E* is awash in pop culture, sharing Wall-E's fascination with and affection for the culture and artifacts (some might say the trash) of late 20th and early 21st century human civilization. At the same time, the movie is a cautionary tale, following the human love of gadgetry to its logical conclusion: a world in which we are helpless to do anything -- even go to a movie -- without technological appendages (you know who you are, Mr. Answers-your-cellphone-during-the-movie). If our post-human future looks bleak, there's a ray of hope in little Wall-E. The movie is, after all, partly a sweet romance -- a heartwarming tale of how Wall-E woos and wins the heart of the new girl in town, a sophisticated beauty who is definitely out of his league. *WALL-E* also playfully explores a theme familiar in science fiction, and especially tales of sentient robots: the possibility of robot rebellion against technocratic repression. Can Wall-E and Eve transcend their programming and think for themselves, or are they hard-wired to follow orders? Do robots have free will? Finally, *WALL-E* is an ecological fable, a tale of a consumer society gone haywire, of a planet trashed by overconsumption and careless disposal, and of a species done in by the same, having evolved into lazy, blobbular couch potatoes who don't do anything but eat, talk, and follow orders to do more of the same.
*WALL-E* is a rousing, touching, sweet, funny, thought-provoking, thematically rich and complex film that gives you something to ponder while you're slurping your gallon of movie soda from the convenient armrest cupholder and munching on that mega-tub of movie popcorn -- was it really such a bargain to supersize it for fifty cents more? Can we, like our little robot friends, transcend our programming?
30Jun2008
Wall-E (Waste Allocation Load Lifter - Earth-class) is a dented, rusty, steadfast little robot who performs the same task, day in, day out. His job is picking up trash, which he compacts into neat cubes, which he then stacks into spiraling skyscrapers. The trash is so deep it forms karsts and mountains, all but obscuring whatever natural features Wall-E's planet once had. As his name reveals, he performs this sisyphean task on Earth, 700 years in the future, when the planet is so hopelessly trashed that mankind has abandoned it to the cockroaches, and to one lonely little robot, the Mars Rover of Earth, Wall-E.
Amid all the trash, Wall-E finds treasures, artifacts of a lost civilization: Zippo lighters, egg beaters, an iPod, a beloved copy of *Hello Dolly!*, from which the little bot learns to dance, and to love. There's no one left to love except his faithful sidekick, a playful cockroach. Then a spaceship arrives and drops off a sleek, clean, egg-shaped robot named EVE (Extraterrestrial Vegetation Evaluator). She's a curvy, streamlined beauty, although quite trigger happy, with a tendency to blow things up.
The first half of *WALL-E* is a charming, Chaplinesque lark with a melancholy darkness around the edges, and sweet, curious Wall-E at its heart, lightfooting around a bleak landscape, finding fun, beauty, art, and love amid the ruins. For a guy without a face, who speaks in bleeps, he's remarkably expressive and soulful -- and therein lies the genius of writer-director Andrew Stanton. It's one thing to breathe life into a doll that looks like a cowboy and sounds like Tom Hanks. It's another thing altogether to create a little person out of a rusty, dented, squeaky box of nuts and bolts, but like the replicants in *Bladerunner*, Wall-E is, it turns out, "more human than human." By the time Wall-E leaves Earth and finds humankind living on a massive intergalactic cruise ship, reduced to infantilized, technology-dependent blobs, it becomes apparent that the last bot on Earth was really the last man on Earth.
There are references aplenty to other dystopian sci-fi classics in *WALL-E*, including *2001: A Space Odyssey* and *Brazil*, but also to Chaplin's Little Tramp and especially *Modern Times*, to the lonely little bot on the moon in *Wallace and Gromit's A Grand Day Out*, and to the aforementioned *Hello Dolly!* *WALL-E* is awash in pop culture, sharing Wall-E's fascination with and affection for the culture and artifacts (some might say the trash) of late 20th and early 21st century human civilization. At the same time, the movie is a cautionary tale, following the human love of gadgetry to its logical conclusion: a world in which we are helpless to do anything -- even go to a movie -- without technological appendages (you know who you are, Mr. Answers-your-cellphone-during-the-movie). If our post-human future looks bleak, there's a ray of hope in little Wall-E. The movie is, after all, partly a sweet romance -- a heartwarming tale of how Wall-E woos and wins the heart of the new girl in town, a sophisticated beauty who is definitely out of his league. *WALL-E* also playfully explores a theme familiar in science fiction, and especially tales of sentient robots: the possibility of robot rebellion against technocratic repression. Can Wall-E and Eve transcend their programming and think for themselves, or are they hard-wired to follow orders? Do robots have free will? Finally, *WALL-E* is an ecological fable, a tale of a consumer society gone haywire, of a planet trashed by overconsumption and careless disposal, and of a species done in by the same, having evolved into lazy, blobbular couch potatoes who don't do anything but eat, talk, and follow orders to do more of the same.
*WALL-E* is a rousing, touching, sweet, funny, thought-provoking, thematically rich and complex film that gives you something to ponder while you're slurping your gallon of movie soda from the convenient armrest cupholder and munching on that mega-tub of movie popcorn -- was it really such a bargain to supersize it for fifty cents more? Can we, like our little robot friends, transcend our programming?
30Jun2008
Get Smart (2008)
Like so many movies adapted from vintage TV shows, *Get Smart* is meant to evoke just enough nostalgia to get moviegoers into the seats with some vaguely remembered sense of having found the TV show mildly diverting once upon a time. *Get Smart* accomplishes that much, but takes enough liberties with the mid-60s, Cold War era spy sitcom (created by Mel Brooks and Buck Henry) to buff up the veneer and make it mildly diverting for the masses who don't remember the sixties, either because they lived through them, or because they were born long after them.
As mildly diverting entertainments go, *Get Smart* is, well, rather mild. The bumbling Maxwell Smart, the role originated by Don Adams, becomes, as played by Steve Carell, the dull but quite competent analyst who longs to be a field agent. Carell's Smart, aka Agent 86, is actually smart, and he has allies among the eggheads (Masi Oka and Nate Torrance) of CONTROL, the super secret government spy agency that employs him. Carell plays Smart straight, unlike the stand up comedian Adams, who read every line like he was waiting for a rimshot. Carell's deadpan melancholy rubs the rough edges off the character -- he's a sincere guy, and a better spy than anyone knows, and has a backstory -- he used to be a fatty -- that explains why he's not as confident or smooth as super suave spy guy Agent 23 (Dwayne Johnson). He's also got a pretty partner in super competent Agent 99 (Anne Hathaway, in the role originated by Barbara Feldon). Back in the day, there was a bit of feminist humor in the fact that 99 was always a much better spy than her male counterpart. That angle has definitely lost its acuteness, so the new *Get Smart* features a soggy romance between 86 and 99 that serves the plot, but not much else.
The movie, penned by Tom J. Astle and Matt Ember, features a plot with a few contempo details like a dim-bulb president (James Caan) who can't pronounce "nuclear," a nasty vice president, and some business involving yellowcake uranium. Terrence Stamp turns up as a vaguely European, vaguely menacing villain named Siegfried, who heads up the terrorist agency KAOS and employs a vaguely ethnic-looking giant (Dalip Singh) as a henchmen. 86 and 99 traipse about the former Soviet Union looking for Siegfried, fighting off the giant, jumping out of airplanes, blowing things up, and doing secret agent stuff like driving sports cars and crashing black tie parties. There's a touch of slapstick, a bit of farce, and a smidge of satire in *Get Smart*, but the laughs are really pretty tame and inoffensive. Tame and inoffensive are somewhat odd qualities for either a spy movie or a comedy, and it's not exactly the perfect combo for a spy comedy either. There's nothing particularly bad about *Get Smart*, and it meets the minimum requirements for movie entertainment: it's a competent film with a serviceable plot and an appealing cast. That it's rather bland and unsurprising and not all that smart is, I suppose, beside the point, since it isn't aiming for much more than the minimum.
23Jun2008
As mildly diverting entertainments go, *Get Smart* is, well, rather mild. The bumbling Maxwell Smart, the role originated by Don Adams, becomes, as played by Steve Carell, the dull but quite competent analyst who longs to be a field agent. Carell's Smart, aka Agent 86, is actually smart, and he has allies among the eggheads (Masi Oka and Nate Torrance) of CONTROL, the super secret government spy agency that employs him. Carell plays Smart straight, unlike the stand up comedian Adams, who read every line like he was waiting for a rimshot. Carell's deadpan melancholy rubs the rough edges off the character -- he's a sincere guy, and a better spy than anyone knows, and has a backstory -- he used to be a fatty -- that explains why he's not as confident or smooth as super suave spy guy Agent 23 (Dwayne Johnson). He's also got a pretty partner in super competent Agent 99 (Anne Hathaway, in the role originated by Barbara Feldon). Back in the day, there was a bit of feminist humor in the fact that 99 was always a much better spy than her male counterpart. That angle has definitely lost its acuteness, so the new *Get Smart* features a soggy romance between 86 and 99 that serves the plot, but not much else.
The movie, penned by Tom J. Astle and Matt Ember, features a plot with a few contempo details like a dim-bulb president (James Caan) who can't pronounce "nuclear," a nasty vice president, and some business involving yellowcake uranium. Terrence Stamp turns up as a vaguely European, vaguely menacing villain named Siegfried, who heads up the terrorist agency KAOS and employs a vaguely ethnic-looking giant (Dalip Singh) as a henchmen. 86 and 99 traipse about the former Soviet Union looking for Siegfried, fighting off the giant, jumping out of airplanes, blowing things up, and doing secret agent stuff like driving sports cars and crashing black tie parties. There's a touch of slapstick, a bit of farce, and a smidge of satire in *Get Smart*, but the laughs are really pretty tame and inoffensive. Tame and inoffensive are somewhat odd qualities for either a spy movie or a comedy, and it's not exactly the perfect combo for a spy comedy either. There's nothing particularly bad about *Get Smart*, and it meets the minimum requirements for movie entertainment: it's a competent film with a serviceable plot and an appealing cast. That it's rather bland and unsurprising and not all that smart is, I suppose, beside the point, since it isn't aiming for much more than the minimum.
23Jun2008
Up the Yangtze (2008)
Among the more controversial projects underway in the rapidly modernizing China is the Three Gorges Dam on the Yangtze River. It is the world's largest hydroelectric power plant, a miracle of modern engineering, and one of the biggest projects undertaken in China since the construction of the Great Wall. It will change forever the landscape of China, eventually flooding over 240 square miles, displacing millions of Chinese citizens in the process.
As the waters slowly rise, a parasitic industry has emerged. Luxury cruise ships carry tourists, many of them Westerners, up and down the Yangtze River on "farewell cruises." Chinese-Canadian filmmaker Yung Chang takes one of these cruises, and documents the lives of the dispossessed on the river's banks, as well as the hardworking young people employed by the cruise ships, in the fascinating, moving documentary *Up the Yangtze*.
One of those displaced by the rising river is Yu Shui, a 16 year old girl who dreams only of going to high school. Her parents are illiterate subsistence farmers for whom daily life is a constant struggle. The family lives in extreme poverty in a handbuilt shack on the banks of the river -- a temporary patchwork home they occupy until the waters force them to move once again to higher ground. Yu Shui must put off high school so that she can work to support her family. Ironically, she is employed by the cruise line that regularly steams past her doomed home. In the eyes of her employers and coworkers, she's a country bumpkin. To her family, drowning in poverty, she's a lifeline.
Another new employee of the *Victoria* cruise ship is Chen Bo Yu, a cocky young man from a middle class family. He is one of China's so-called "little emperors," an indulged and self-indulgent single son, the product of China's "one-child" policy. Tall and handsome, with good English skills, he works on the upper decks while Yu Shui scrubs dishes in the galley below. *Up the Yangtze* offers a revealing picture of peasant life in China, as well as the emerging class structure -- the upstairs-downstairs life -- that has accompanied the rapid rise of capitalism. In the contrasts between Yu Shui and Chen Bo Yu, one a child of poverty, the other a child of privilege, Chang explores the changes, both good and bad, that the future promises to bring for young people in China.
*Up the Yangtze* looks past the rhetoric and propaganda about the dam and views the collateral damage, the people like Yu Shui's parents, who will be left behind in the country's relentless march towards progress and prosperity. While Western tourists view the model homes supposedly occupied by the happily displaced, and tour guides paint a rosy picture of the blessings of modernization, the Yu family moves from one hovel to another. *Up the Yangtze* is a melancholy meditation on a world that is disappearing, not just in China, but everywhere that capitalism and globalization are changing lives and landscapes around the world. The Yu family's plight makes for genuinely engrossing drama, made all the more affecting and poignant because it is real. Chang could not have asked for a more engaging and heartbreaking subject than Yu Shui, a modest girl with modest dreams who gradually emerges from her shell with a giddy sense of possibility and opportunity. In her own way, she is a model of the new and rapidly changing China, while her parents remain trapped, by crushing poverty and lack of education, in an old China that is quickly disappearing.
*Up the Yangtze* serves partly as a quietly contemplative polemic on the Three Gorges Dam, but it is not so much a critique of China's paternalistic, top-down philosophy of governance as it is a revealing look at the way that system -- Mao's system -- is also giving way to Western ideals of individualism and personal success. But even as it looks at the larger controversy surrounding the dam, the film stays rooted in the immediate, apolitical, day-to-day concerns and struggles of ordinary citizens, and views the impact of the project through the eyes of the people left to sink or swim in the rising waters.
16Jun2008
As the waters slowly rise, a parasitic industry has emerged. Luxury cruise ships carry tourists, many of them Westerners, up and down the Yangtze River on "farewell cruises." Chinese-Canadian filmmaker Yung Chang takes one of these cruises, and documents the lives of the dispossessed on the river's banks, as well as the hardworking young people employed by the cruise ships, in the fascinating, moving documentary *Up the Yangtze*.
One of those displaced by the rising river is Yu Shui, a 16 year old girl who dreams only of going to high school. Her parents are illiterate subsistence farmers for whom daily life is a constant struggle. The family lives in extreme poverty in a handbuilt shack on the banks of the river -- a temporary patchwork home they occupy until the waters force them to move once again to higher ground. Yu Shui must put off high school so that she can work to support her family. Ironically, she is employed by the cruise line that regularly steams past her doomed home. In the eyes of her employers and coworkers, she's a country bumpkin. To her family, drowning in poverty, she's a lifeline.
Another new employee of the *Victoria* cruise ship is Chen Bo Yu, a cocky young man from a middle class family. He is one of China's so-called "little emperors," an indulged and self-indulgent single son, the product of China's "one-child" policy. Tall and handsome, with good English skills, he works on the upper decks while Yu Shui scrubs dishes in the galley below. *Up the Yangtze* offers a revealing picture of peasant life in China, as well as the emerging class structure -- the upstairs-downstairs life -- that has accompanied the rapid rise of capitalism. In the contrasts between Yu Shui and Chen Bo Yu, one a child of poverty, the other a child of privilege, Chang explores the changes, both good and bad, that the future promises to bring for young people in China.
*Up the Yangtze* looks past the rhetoric and propaganda about the dam and views the collateral damage, the people like Yu Shui's parents, who will be left behind in the country's relentless march towards progress and prosperity. While Western tourists view the model homes supposedly occupied by the happily displaced, and tour guides paint a rosy picture of the blessings of modernization, the Yu family moves from one hovel to another. *Up the Yangtze* is a melancholy meditation on a world that is disappearing, not just in China, but everywhere that capitalism and globalization are changing lives and landscapes around the world. The Yu family's plight makes for genuinely engrossing drama, made all the more affecting and poignant because it is real. Chang could not have asked for a more engaging and heartbreaking subject than Yu Shui, a modest girl with modest dreams who gradually emerges from her shell with a giddy sense of possibility and opportunity. In her own way, she is a model of the new and rapidly changing China, while her parents remain trapped, by crushing poverty and lack of education, in an old China that is quickly disappearing.
*Up the Yangtze* serves partly as a quietly contemplative polemic on the Three Gorges Dam, but it is not so much a critique of China's paternalistic, top-down philosophy of governance as it is a revealing look at the way that system -- Mao's system -- is also giving way to Western ideals of individualism and personal success. But even as it looks at the larger controversy surrounding the dam, the film stays rooted in the immediate, apolitical, day-to-day concerns and struggles of ordinary citizens, and views the impact of the project through the eyes of the people left to sink or swim in the rising waters.
16Jun2008
Kung Fu Panda (2008)
Po, like the rest of panda-kind, is a tubby fellow. But unlike your run-of-the-mill shirk-a-day bamboo-noshing panda, Po (voiced by Jack Black) dreams of great things. Specifically, he dreams of being a great kung fu warrior. His father Mr. Ping (James Hong), a goose (there's no mother goose, as is generally the case in this sort of fable), runs a noodle shop, and hopes one day his son Po will take over the family business. One fateful day, word comes down from the Jade Palace that the legendary Dragon Warrior is to be selected. Po is there (just barely -- there are a lot of steps, and he's a little out of shape) to see the excitement. Perhaps by accident, perhaps because it is his destiny, Po is chosen to be the Dragon Warrior by the revered Master Oogway (Randall Duk Kim). Oogway is an ancient turtle who happens to have invented kung fu, so he knows a dragon from a handsaw, although not everyone is so sure abut Po.
*Kung Fu Panda* hews to tradition -- kung fu movie tradition and animated movie tradition. On his hero's journey, the unskilled and unschooled Po must learn the ways of the kung fu warrior, and fast -- the fearsome and ambitious Tai Lung (Ian McShane, one cold-hearted snow leopard) is coming. And Po must dare (in spite of all the fat jokes) to be different, to go with the flow, to trust himself, to find his inner strength, et cetera. Bottom line is, he's a big panda, and he's got a big heart, and Black, normally a fairly rambunctious, oversized performer, brings unexpected sweetness to his characterization. The grumbling and grousing is taken up by Master Shifu (Dustin Hoffman) the prickly, grumpy red panda who is Po's grudging teacher. Shifu discovers that the way to Po's warrior heart is (not surprisingly) through his stomach. Shifu's other students, the Furious Five, are all skillful warriors, but Master Tigress (Angelina Jolie), Snake (Lucy Liu), Monkey (Jackie Chan), Crane (David Cross), and Mantis (Seth Rogen), learn that greatness comes in all shapes and sizes, including fat pandas.
There are few surprises in *Kung Fu Panda*. Instead, the story is full of mostly gentle humor, Yoda-style faux-Zen wisdom, useful life lessons, and chopsocky fight scenes that, thanks to fine computer animation, really take flight. There's also a genuine sweetness to the story -- screenwriters Jonathan Aibel and Glenn Berger have dared to write a sincere and snark-free movie, one that embraces the storytelling traditions and conventions of martial arts movies and animated films instead of mocking them. That's not to say that Po and company don't get their noggins bonked with comedic regularity. Master Shifu's dojo is a school of hard knocks, big bounces, and belly flops.
The story is charming, and so is the animation, which nicely evokes ancient China, and has the luminosity, transparency and fluidity of a watercolor painting. Computer animation has advanced so much that lousy animation is the exception rather than the rule nowadays. *Kung Fu Panda* features lovely and lively animation, mixing photorealistic details with stylized flourishes. The action scenes are fast-moving and imaginative, and make creative use of the different ways that the characters, from monkey to mantis, move. Fans of martial arts films will recognize Monkey, Crane, Mantis, Tiger, and Snake as familiar, deadly kung fu styles in the movieverse -- we can now add the gentler but still highly effective Tubby Panda style to the arsenal.
9Jun2008
*Kung Fu Panda* hews to tradition -- kung fu movie tradition and animated movie tradition. On his hero's journey, the unskilled and unschooled Po must learn the ways of the kung fu warrior, and fast -- the fearsome and ambitious Tai Lung (Ian McShane, one cold-hearted snow leopard) is coming. And Po must dare (in spite of all the fat jokes) to be different, to go with the flow, to trust himself, to find his inner strength, et cetera. Bottom line is, he's a big panda, and he's got a big heart, and Black, normally a fairly rambunctious, oversized performer, brings unexpected sweetness to his characterization. The grumbling and grousing is taken up by Master Shifu (Dustin Hoffman) the prickly, grumpy red panda who is Po's grudging teacher. Shifu discovers that the way to Po's warrior heart is (not surprisingly) through his stomach. Shifu's other students, the Furious Five, are all skillful warriors, but Master Tigress (Angelina Jolie), Snake (Lucy Liu), Monkey (Jackie Chan), Crane (David Cross), and Mantis (Seth Rogen), learn that greatness comes in all shapes and sizes, including fat pandas.
There are few surprises in *Kung Fu Panda*. Instead, the story is full of mostly gentle humor, Yoda-style faux-Zen wisdom, useful life lessons, and chopsocky fight scenes that, thanks to fine computer animation, really take flight. There's also a genuine sweetness to the story -- screenwriters Jonathan Aibel and Glenn Berger have dared to write a sincere and snark-free movie, one that embraces the storytelling traditions and conventions of martial arts movies and animated films instead of mocking them. That's not to say that Po and company don't get their noggins bonked with comedic regularity. Master Shifu's dojo is a school of hard knocks, big bounces, and belly flops.
The story is charming, and so is the animation, which nicely evokes ancient China, and has the luminosity, transparency and fluidity of a watercolor painting. Computer animation has advanced so much that lousy animation is the exception rather than the rule nowadays. *Kung Fu Panda* features lovely and lively animation, mixing photorealistic details with stylized flourishes. The action scenes are fast-moving and imaginative, and make creative use of the different ways that the characters, from monkey to mantis, move. Fans of martial arts films will recognize Monkey, Crane, Mantis, Tiger, and Snake as familiar, deadly kung fu styles in the movieverse -- we can now add the gentler but still highly effective Tubby Panda style to the arsenal.
9Jun2008
The Visitor (2008)
The visitors in *The Visitor* are many. There's Walter Vale, a bored, aloof economics professor and widower who lives in Connecticut and goes through the motions of daily life. He's a quiet man who dabbles in music lessons, teaches his classes, and attends departmental meetings, but doesn't engage -- he's a reluctant visitor in his own tedious life. When he grudgingly goes to New York for an economics conference, he discovers that his infrequently-visited apartment has been surreptitiously rented to a pair of unexpected visitors: Tarek (Haaz Sleiman), a drummer from Syria, and his Senegalese girlfriend Zainab (Danai Gurira), who makes and sells jewelry. In an unexpected act of compassion (or is it loneliness?), Walter lets the couple stay after figuring out that they've been the victims of a rental scam.
Thus begins an awkward friendship. With Tarek as a tutor, Walter (Richard Jenkins) discovers that he's got rhythm, and starts bouncing to the beat of an African drum. Everything is groovy in a multiculti melting pot kinda way, until Tarek is unexpectedly arrested and gets mired in the Kafkaesque post-9/11 immigration system. Turns out Tarek and Zainab are illegal immigrants, a fact that turns *The Visitor* from a breezy, heartwarming fairy tale into a nightmare.
*The Visitor*, written and directed by Tom McCarthy (*The Station Agent*) is quietly, charmingly low-key, which is how it manages to sustain a sense of plausibility in a story that is fairly improbable. It is also helped tremendously by Jenkins, whose pitch-perfect performance is as unflashy and modest as they get. It's an understated and moving performance, full of sad looks, funny sighs, and quiet desperation. Jenkins eloquently conveys the slow waking of a man who has been sleepwalking for years, suddenly roused both to the pleasures of life and friendship, and to a newfound political awareness and sense of outrage. *The Visitor* depends as much on Jenkins's natural performance as *The Station Agent* depended on Peter Dinklage -- McCarthy cast both pictures impeccably well, and lets his actors set the storytelling pace, which gives the movies a kind of natural ebb and flow that moves over and around potential problem areas.
*The Visitor* is two entertwined stories -- on the one hand it's a life-affirming fable about the unexpected rewards of compassion and generosity, and the healing power of music. There's nothing unexpected there, yet the film is still charming, and still manages to pull off a few surprises. On the other hand, the movie is an effort to agitate for a more rational and humane immigration policy, one that treats people as individuals rather than as generic suspects. Bringing these two very different agenda together is tricky business, but *The Visitor*, in its offbeat and quiet way, manages to do it thanks in part to engaging, unfussy performances and in part to McCarthy's deft, intelligent storytelling.
2Jun2008
Thus begins an awkward friendship. With Tarek as a tutor, Walter (Richard Jenkins) discovers that he's got rhythm, and starts bouncing to the beat of an African drum. Everything is groovy in a multiculti melting pot kinda way, until Tarek is unexpectedly arrested and gets mired in the Kafkaesque post-9/11 immigration system. Turns out Tarek and Zainab are illegal immigrants, a fact that turns *The Visitor* from a breezy, heartwarming fairy tale into a nightmare.
*The Visitor*, written and directed by Tom McCarthy (*The Station Agent*) is quietly, charmingly low-key, which is how it manages to sustain a sense of plausibility in a story that is fairly improbable. It is also helped tremendously by Jenkins, whose pitch-perfect performance is as unflashy and modest as they get. It's an understated and moving performance, full of sad looks, funny sighs, and quiet desperation. Jenkins eloquently conveys the slow waking of a man who has been sleepwalking for years, suddenly roused both to the pleasures of life and friendship, and to a newfound political awareness and sense of outrage. *The Visitor* depends as much on Jenkins's natural performance as *The Station Agent* depended on Peter Dinklage -- McCarthy cast both pictures impeccably well, and lets his actors set the storytelling pace, which gives the movies a kind of natural ebb and flow that moves over and around potential problem areas.
*The Visitor* is two entertwined stories -- on the one hand it's a life-affirming fable about the unexpected rewards of compassion and generosity, and the healing power of music. There's nothing unexpected there, yet the film is still charming, and still manages to pull off a few surprises. On the other hand, the movie is an effort to agitate for a more rational and humane immigration policy, one that treats people as individuals rather than as generic suspects. Bringing these two very different agenda together is tricky business, but *The Visitor*, in its offbeat and quiet way, manages to do it thanks in part to engaging, unfussy performances and in part to McCarthy's deft, intelligent storytelling.
2Jun2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
