Current Releases
BABY MAMA With Will Ferrell, Adam Sandler and other comedians routinely hoarding the screens in our nation’s multiplexes, here come Tina Fey and Amy Poehler to remind audiences that girls just want to have fun. Indeed, the Cyndi Lauper hit of that name is granted its own karaoke-set scene, and its inclusion is fitting in a movie that’s similarly pointed, joyous, and light on its feet. This stars Fey as Kate Holbrook, a successful businesswoman who, upon finding out that she only has a one-in-a-million chance of getting pregnant, turns to an agency to provide her with a surrogate mom; she ends up getting Angie Ostrowiski (Poehler), who clearly resides several rungs down the social ladder. The plot complications arrive with clockwork precision, and it’s this rigid formula (along with a ludicrous happy ending) that prevents a fine movie from being even better. Yet judging it strictly on its comic merit, Baby Mama delivers (pun not intended, I assure you). Scripter Michael McCullers (who also directed) serves up several killer quips guaranteed to remain among the year’s freshest, and the two perfectly cast leading ladies are backed by an engaging mix of emerging talents. Yet it’s the old pros who really shine: Sigourney Weaver is suitably smug as the head of the surrogate center, gamely being shellacked by some of the script’s best zingers, while Steven Martin is perfect as the owner of an organic health food chain. Martin’s ponytailed character is a real piece of P.C. work, and with this portrayal, the actor emerges as Baby Mama‘s mack daddy. ***
DECEPTION It’s hard to believe a movie starring Hugh Jackman and Ewan McGregor, two impossibly charismatic actors, could be so dull, but the evidence is right here. McGregor stars as Jonathan McQuarry, a meek accountant who has no fun until a lawyer named Wyatt Bose (Jackman) swoops down like a slumming deus ex machina and introduces his new pal to the pleasures of pot, nightclubs and mixed doubles tennis matches. Just before Wyatt leaves town for a business trip, he “accidentally” switches cell phones with Jonathan; soon, the virginal numbers cruncher is receiving calls during which sexy female voices merely whisper, “Are you free tonight?” Passing himself off as Wyatt, Jonathan soon discovers an anonymous sex club in which the members all turn out to be Wall Street movers and shakers. Before long, though, he realizes he’s the victim of a major – wait, let me check the title again – deception. Since this is a costly studio project subject to MPAA approval (and we know what those prudes think about s-e-x), viewers looking for some steamy stimulation will soon discover they’re not getting Shortbus as much as they’re getting the short end of the stick. Indeed, the sex club turns out to be so irrelevant to the plot than the characters might as well have belonged to the Wine of the Month Club or Oprah’s Book Club instead. Ultimately, the movie packs less erotic heat than even Horton Hears a Who! or Young@Heart. This wouldn’t matter if the mystery was in any way compelling, but there are no surprises to be found anywhere along the way to its laughable finale. It’s best if Jackman sticks with the X-Men and leaves the XXX to others. *
88 MINUTES 88 Minutes actually runs 108 minutes, a cruel trick to play on moviegoers who check their watches at the 80-minute mark and erroneously believe they’re on the verge of being set free. A film so moldy that it was released on DVD in some countries as far back as February 2007, this risible thriller stars Al Pacino as Dr. Jack Gramm, a college professor and forensic psychiatrist whose expertise has helped the FBI in nailing down serial killers. One such murderer is Jon Forster (Neal McDonough), whose claim of innocence – even on the day of his execution – is taken seriously once a new rash of similarly styled killings begins. But are these murders the work of a copycat? Is Forster innocent, and the real killer has never been caught? Is he masterminding the proceedings from his front-row seat on Death Row, with an accomplice on the outside doing his dirty deeds? Or is it possible that the killer is Gramm himself? Director Jon Avnet tries to ratchet up the suspense by presenting every character, right down to bit players, as the possible assassin, but it’s an approach that only garners laughs. It’s usually fun when a murder-mystery offers several suspects, but this goes beyond serving up some red herrings; here, we get trout, tilapia and mahi mahi as well. Scripter Gary Scott Thompson wrote The Fast and the Furious, so that probably explains why Gramm spends a good amount of time driving a taxi (don’t ask) across the city looking for clues. But Thompson also wrote the straight-to-DVD sequels to K-9 – K-911 and K-9: P.I. – so he’s also quite familiar with dogs. Rest assured, 88 Minutes joins the pack of movie mongrels. *1/2
HAROLD & KUMAR ESCAPE FROM GUANTANAMO BAY 2004’s Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle looks better with each passing year, but it’s pretty much guaranteed that Harold & Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay won’t be enjoying a similar critical ascension in the future. That’s largely because the satire is less subversive and more overt, meaning that what you see is basically what you get. Kal Penn and John Cho are again an engaging team, and here, the plot requires their characters to get mistaken for terrorists, leading to an interrogation by a moronic Homeland Security honcho (Rob Corddry) who decides to send them to Guantanamo Bay to enjoy a steady diet of “cock-meat sandwiches.” But before long, the boys escape and find themselves on a cross-country odyssey that involves inbred Southerners, a “bottomless” party, dimwitted Klansmen (or is that a redundancy?) and even George W. Bush himself. And yes, Neil Patrick Harris returns, again playing himself as a sex-crazed, foul-mouthed party animal. The bawdy gags aren’t particularly fresh; more amusing is the dead-on parody of right-wing twits who question the patriotism of everyone who isn’t exactly like them (i.e. white and pseudo-Christian); these scenes aren’t exactly subtle, but they do point out the line that can barely divide satire from reality (just ask Barack “Do you believe in the American flag?” Obama). Curiously, the movie’s portrayal of Dubya is a sympathetic one. As played by James Adomian, the president turns out to be a congenial, simple-minded pothead who isn’t evil, just misunderstood. Coming from Hollywood, that’s high praise indeed. **1/2
IRON MAN Given their general status as popcorn flicks heavier on the decadent calories than on the nutritional value, I’m always pleasantly surprised at how much care Hollywood studios take when it comes to casting their superheroes in franchise flicks. With Iron Man, Paramount settled on an actor who turned out to be both unexpected and just right: Robert Downey Jr. is excellent in the film, and it owes much of its success to him. Centering on the Marvel Comics character created back in 1963, Iron Man shows how swaggering, self-centered inventor and industrialist Tony Stark (Downey), the U.S. military’s chief supplier of weapons of mass destruction, transforms into an armored superhero dedicated to fighting for peace (this is an even more liberal-minded superhero film than Batman Begins). Stark’s difficulties while perfecting his Iron Man persona provide the movie with many of its most amusing moments, as do the interludes between Stark and his faithful right-hand woman Pepper Potts (Gwyneth Paltrow). Indeed, the expository material is so engaging that the climactic battle between Iron Man and a villain known as Iron Monger comes as a massive letdown: After adding such a personal touch to the proceedings – even in earlier scenes involving CGI work – director Jon Favreau turns in a chaotic action climax that could have been lifted from any soulless Jerry Bruckheimer endeavor. Still, even this last-inning letdown can’t tarnish Iron Man‘s overall appeal. Just as Tony Stark needs a device to keep his heart pumping, Iron Man requires Downey’s presence to keep the heart of this franchise alive. ***
MADE OF HONOR When F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote, “There are no second acts in American lives,” he couldn’t possibly have predicted the career of Patrick Dempsey. Those of us reviewing films back in the late ’80s/early ’90s remember Dempsey as a talentless 20-something who regularly turned up in bombs like Run and Loverboy. Dempsey largely went away for a decade before unexpectedly striking gold with Grey’s Anatomy. It must be said that middle age agrees with the 42-year-old Dempsey: As witnessed in Enchanted and now Made of Honor, he has settled into being a competent (if rather passive) romantic lead on the big screen. Unfortunately, those of us hoping for entertainment value beyond mere eye candy will be sorely left hanging with Made of Honor, the sort of romantic comedy that Hollywood spits out of the formula factory on a regular schedule. This cribs from the vastly superior My Best Friend’s Wedding in its portrayal of two longtime pals – one male (Dempsey’s womanizing Tom), one female (Michelle Monaghan’s brainy Hannah) – who have always been afraid that sex and love would ruin their perfect camaraderie. But once Hannah goes to Scotland for six weeks, Tom realizes that she’s been the right one all along; unfortunately, when she returns stateside, it’s with a fiancé (Kevin McKidd) in tow. The screenplay by Deborah Kaplan, Harry Elfont (the team behind Surviving Christmas and The Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas) and newbie Adam Sztykiel doesn’t completely destroy a workable premise – the scribes are repeatedly bailed out by the likable cast – but comic desperation can be seen at alarmingly frequent intervals. **
NIM’S ISLAND If your kids have been totally weaned on ADD-addled animated flicks that mostly coast on crude humor and instantly dated pop culture references, then this clearly isn’t the film for them. If, however, said children still find as much enjoyment (if not more so) in opening a book as in piloting a video game’s remote control, then this delightful family film will satisfy them in no small measure. Like last year’s Bridge to Terabithia, it views a child’s imagination as a tangible playground, and this angle is sharply delineated by the colorful flourishes of directors Jennifer Flackett and Mark Levin. Jodie Foster, the most prominent child actress of the 1970s, here hands the torch to Abigail Breslin, with the latter playing Nim, a precocious girl who lives on a remote island with her scientist father (Gerard Butler). When she’s not frolicking with her animal friends, Nim enjoys reading adventure novels featuring the Indiana Jones-like Alex Rover, so when her dad goes missing and strangers invade the island, she naturally e-mails Alex Rover to help her. What her young mind doesn’t grasp is that her hero doesn’t actually exist; instead, the books are written by Alexandra Rover (Foster), an eccentric agoraphobe who carries on conversations with her fictional creation (also played by Butler) and who reluctantly sets out to help Nim in her hour of need. Nim’s Island is occasionally silly (as befits a movie aimed at youngsters), but the sumptuous visuals as well as the presence of Foster insure that discerning adults will also find it worthwhile. ***
REDBELT If there’s one thing that Tom Cruise proved with his race-car lovefest Days of Thunder, it’s that it can be dangerous for filmmakers to lovingly place their hobbies up there on the big screen. The latest case in point is Redbelt, writer-director David Mamet’s salute to jiu-jitsu. Mamet, a real-life practitioner of the martial art, has cobbled together a samurai flick, a sports yarn and a con game in order to pay service to this noble undertaking. The result is as schizophrenic as any movie certain to open in 2008, as an interesting character study finally sinks under the weight of the plot’s predictable twists as well as a climactic fight so absurd, it makes the matches between Rocky Balboa and Ivan Drago seem as realistic as the Ali-Foreman championship bout. Chiwetel Ejiofor stars as jiu-jitsu instructor Mike Terry; presented as a cross between Christ, Gandhi and Mr. Miyagi, Mike prizes honor above all else, but his trusting nature results in his getting dragged into a major sporting event riddled with corruption. As a shady movie star, Tim Allen lands the first interesting role of his screen career (the animated Buzz Lightyear obviously excepted), and the movie could have used more of him; ditto for Emily Mortimer as a skittish lawyer who’s afraid of men. Instead, everything potentially interesting comes to a grinding halt for a nonsensical conclusion in which Mike is determined to let the world know that – now here’s a shocker – sports competitions are often rigged. (Say it ain’t so, Joe!) This mission of morality naturally involves a climactic tussle between Mike and the evil, sneering champion, but the only thing that truly gets bloodied is Mamet’s resume. **
SPEED RACER To complain about the excesses of Speed Racer would be like bitching that there are too many rib eyes kept on ice at your local steakhouse or that there are too many references to God in the Holy Bible. Anyone who ever watched the 1960s cartoon series should recall the frenetic pace, often blurry visuals and gaudy color schemes. In fact, those were the reasons kids tuned into the series in the first place; certainly, it wasn’t to marvel at the flat characterizations or infantile dialogue. Still, while there’s no denying the visual wizardry behind Speed Racer, visual wizardry is about all that the movie has going for it, and it’s hard to rally the troops behind so chilly a leader. The basic plotline deals with earnest Speed Racer (Into the Wild‘s Emile Hirsch) attempting to bring down the corrupt dynasty that controls the racing industry, but for the most part, the narrative form as we know it often doesn’t seem to exist in this film: The Wachowski Brothers (The Matrix) employ impressive CGI mixed with old-school techniques to create something of a mind meld – Peter Max by way of Andy Warhol by way of Dr. Seuss. Yet splashy colors and kinetic energy both have the ability to wear viewers down, especially when bombarding them for 135 minutes. Little children are sure to get antsy during this PG-rated confection, while adults need more subtext than a broad condemnation of rampant capitalism (the primary villain is cut from the same soiled cloth as today’s odious, profit-driven CEOs). Faring best amidst all the razzle-dazzle are John Goodman as Speed’s doughy dad and a scene-stealing chimp who deserves his own three-picture deal. **1/2
WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS When invited to join me at the press screening for What Happens In Vegas, a good friend declined, e-mailing, “I can only stand one Hollywood romantic comedy a year, and No Country for Old Men was it for me in ’08.” That quip’s funnier than anything found in the actual movie, and 20th Century Fox would have done well to hire him to pen the film’s screenplay. As it stands, this is the year’s umpteenth assembly-line rom-com, although it’s easier to take than most of its predecessors: It’s less obnoxious than Fool’s Gold, less forced than Made of Honor and less formulaic (well, by a sliver, anyway) than 27 Dresses. Cameron Diaz plays Joy, an ambitious Wall Street trader who’s just been dumped by her fiancé (Jason Sudeikis); Ashton Kutcher is Jack, a slacker who’s just been fired from the company business by his own dad (Treat Williams). They both decide to head to Vegas, where they meet, get drunk and wind up married. After sobering up, they realize they don’t even like each other, so once they’re back in New York, they try desperately to get a divorce; instead, the judge (Dennis Miller) sentences them to six months of marriage, requiring them to visit a counselor (Queen Latifah) weekly to monitor their progress. While the veterans in the cast are a welcome presence (especially Dennis Farina as Joy’s boss), the couple’s best friends are the same, nondescript group of dullards we usually get in movies like this. As for the leads, Diaz is typically winning, while Kutcher doesn’t blend in with the furniture as much as usual. **
YOUNG@HEART In the documentary Young@Heart, the work is already half-done within five minutes of the picture’s first frame. A movie about a group of senior citizens (average age: 80) who tour internationally as a chorus covering rock and pop hits? Who could possibly resist such a sweet premise? Fortunately, director Stephen Walker moves the material far beyond its easy setting as a simple, feel-good romp; by the time it’s all over, audience members will be moved (to laughter and tears), enlightened and inspired. Initially, the tone is light, as the first part of the film introduces us to the people who make up this Massachusetts-based choir. If remembering lyrics were all these folks had to worry about, then they’d have it pretty easy. Unfortunately, with their advanced years comes advanced ailments, and before long, some of them are having to make ever-increasing visits to the hospital to monitor heart and/or cancer conditions. Thus, the movie morphs from simply showing how the unifying power of music can cross all lines (including age and social class) to touching on the notion that these senior citizens, like sharks, need to constantly be moving to stay alive. That Death still makes a appearance or two while they’re pouring themselves into their songs makes our heartbreak all that more pronounced. Yet ultimately, Young@Heart is far from a bummer: Instead, it’s a tribute to this nation’s elderly, an ode to the power of the arts, and a salute to David Bowie, Bruce Springsteen, Jimi Hendrix and the other musicians whose songs have found new rhyme and reason thanks to these geriatric rockers. ***1/2
OPENS THURSDAY, MAY 22:
INDIANA JONES AND THE KINGDOM OF THE CRYSTAL SKULL: Harrison Ford, Cate Blanchett.
OPENS FRIDAY, MAY 23:
THE LIFE BEFORE HER EYES: Uma Thurman, Evan Rachel Wood.
SON OF RAMBOW: Bill Milner, Will Poulter.
This article appears in May 21-27, 2008.
