Current Releases
FANTASTIC FOUR: RISE OF THE SILVER SURFER It remains a mystery how the 2005 superhero yarn Fantastic Four grossed $154 million stateside, considering that most of its special effects were on the level of a 6-year-old floating his plastic boat in the bathtub. But somebody filled theater seats, and as a result, we now get this sequel. The good news is that the effects are a vast improvement over those in the previous installment, particularly the CGI-created Silver Surfer — while his conceptualization isn’t quite as impressive as those of his distant “cousins,” the T-1000 in James Cameron’s Terminator 2: Judgment Day and the aliens in Cameron’s The Abyss, he’s still a cool creation to behold, and certainly faithful to his comic book counterpart. Would that the rest of this picture inspired similar admiration. Instead, FF2 suffers from the same ailments that made the original such a drag: ham-fisted direction, stilted dialogue, the fumbling of a classic villain, and Jessica Alba attempting to emote. Returning helmer Tim Story does manage a bit more visual pizzazz this time around, and the script by Don Payne and Mark Frost sets up some mildly interesting conflicts as the FF — Mr. Fantastic (Ioan Gruffudd), Invisible Woman (Alba), The Thing (Michael Chiklis) and the Human Torch (Chris Evans) — take on the conflicted Surfer (voiced by Laurence Fishburne) and their old nemesis Dr. Doom (Julian McMahon). McMahon’s dull work — he’s about as menacing as the parking valet at a ritzy restaurant — is just one of several wince-inducing factors in this dud; if ever a film franchise needed to come equipped with a Reboot button, it’s this one. **
KNOCKED UP Director Judd Apatow’s The 40-Year-Old Virgin was unique in that it managed to successfully mix raunch with romance. Knocked Up, which reunites Apatow with Virgin supporting player Seth Rogen, attempts a similar balancing act, only it falls a tad short of attaining the same success as its predecessor. There’s a sweet love story on view here as well, only because it’s more rushed and not allowed to unfold at a natural clip, it ultimately plays second string to the picture’s comedy quota. Fortunately, on that front, the movie’s an unqualified hit: It’s doubtful another film will be released this summer — maybe even this year — that offers as many theater-rumbling belly laughs as this one. Rogen plays Ben Stone, a slacker who meets and has a drunken one-night stand with Alison (Katherine Heigl), who’s out celebrating the fact that she has just been promoted to an on-air position at E! Entertainment Television. Alison learns a few weeks later that she’s pregnant, and she decides that she and Ben (with whom she discovers she has nothing in common) should attempt to make their relationship work for the sake of the baby. Apatow fails to sufficiently flesh out their courting period between that initial tryst and the birth of the child; still, thanks to the sweet performances by Heigl and especially Rogen, there’s plenty of warmth to be drawn from the resultant drama. Yet in this picture, it’s comedy that’s king, with a nonstop barrage of great lines as well as deft contributions from a capable cast. ***
A MIGHTY HEART The sort of drama that generally gets released in the fall, A Mighty Heart proves to be a fine summertime distraction for discerning older audiences, even if it doesn’t quite pack the punch of similar titles like Missing and Under Fire. Yet films about idealistic Americans (usually journalists) abroad work more often than not, and this one’s no exception. Based on Mariane Pearl’s book A Mighty Heart: The Brave Life and Death of My Husband Danny Pearl, the film finds Angelina Jolie delivering a restrained performance as Mariane, whose husband (played by Dan Futterman), a Wall Street Journal reporter, is kidnapped while the pair are living in Pakistan in 2002. Six months pregnant, Mariane tries to stay optimistic in the face of this grim situation, using her own sources to track him down while also relying heavily on the aid of the Pakistani anti-terrorism unit (Indian actor Irrfan Khan is particularly memorable as its leader), American diplomats and the FBI. Given Hollywood’s propensity for promoting American know-how as well as its can-do attitude, it’s perhaps the movie’s most surprising development that the efforts of the Pakistanis, not the U.S. officials, go the furthest toward cracking the case and bringing the terrorists to justice. As the local lawmen and their stoolies scour the streets looking for any clues that will help them find Danny, we realize this isn’t like looking for a needle in a haystack — it’s like looking for a needle in the Atlantic Ocean. So when their tireless efforts lead to real success (muted by the final outcome, of course), it’s a testament to their determination and resourcefulness. ***
MR. BROOKS Forget A Tale of Two Cities. What we have here is a tale of two halves, one superior, the other execrable. Assembling three actors whose careers have seen better decades — Kevin Costner, William Hurt and Demi Moore — director Bruce A. Evans has crafted an initially intriguing thriller about a beloved philanthropist (Costner) who occasionally moonlights as a serial killer whenever the voice inside his head (personified in the flesh by Hurt) urges him to go hack somebody up. The detective (Moore) who’s been on his trail for years feels that she’s getting close to breaking the case, thanks to the presence of an eyewitness (Dane Cook) who might turn out to be as certifiable as Mr. Brooks himself. The film’s first half is powerful stuff, thanks to the unique setup (presenting Mr. Brooks’ alter ego as a physical manifestation shouldn’t work, but it does), Evans’ moody direction and exquisitely matched performances by Costner and Hurt. It’s a shame, then, to see the second part go to hell, as the screenplay by Evans and Raynold Gideon gets out of too many narrative jams by relying on whopping coincidences (these don’t stretch credulity, they shatter it in a million pieces) and one ill-advised (and obvious) dream sequence. Like its leading character, Mr. Brooks suffers from a split personality, and it’s unfortunate that the wrong one comes out on top. **1/2
NANCY DREW Unless I miss my call, Nancy Drew is the sort of kids’ movie that will be treated with kid gloves by most critics, who will at worst dismiss it as a mere mediocrity. Don’t you believe it. Nancy Drew is a glorious achievement of the so-bad-it’s-brilliantly-bad variety — I won’t go so far as to state it’s Battlefield Earth for the Clearasil crowd, but it’s clearly a turkey no matter how it’s sliced up. Author Carolyn Keene’s teen heroine has endured in print as an old-school sleuth, but the makers of this featherbrained film, assuming (perhaps correctly) that setting this any earlier than, oh, 2004 would spell disaster at the box office, have updated it to function as a here-and-now preppy piece, as clueless about its deficiencies as Clueless (its obvious role model) was savvy about its milieu. Emma Roberts, portraying Nancy as something of a pill, quickly grates as her precocious character moves (along with dad Tate Donovan) from her comfy little hometown of River Heights to a spooky Los Angeles mansion, whereupon she immediately begins investigating the death of a famous actress who passed away decades earlier. Between its portrayal of a faded Hollywood as awash in corruption and decay and its casting of Laura Harring as the murdered starlet, this often feels like a demented attempt to make a kid-friendly version of David Lynch’s Mulholland Dr. — if only this one had also included a freaky white-haired cowboy to bump off the multitude of insufferable characters. And speaking of insufferable, the top honor in that category goes to Spencer Breslin wannabe Josh Flitter, a mini-Lou Costello who contributes more ham than the deli section in any given supermarket. *
OCEAN’S THIRTEEN The Return of the King aside, isn’t it accepted — in fact, isn’t it pretty much gospel — that the third picture in any given trilogy is when the series has totally lost it, when the filmmakers have been completely replaced by pimps and profiteers? So how is it possible that Ocean’s Thirteen has emerged as the best of this star-studded franchise? True, all three films have basically been an excuse for director Steven Soderbergh and his high-voltage friends to take paid vacations in trendy, plush locales under the pretense of making motion pictures — if life was fair, then resort timeshares would have been handed out with movie tickets so that audiences could also join in the festivities. But Ocean’s Thirteen is the first of the trio to truly feel like there’s something at stake in its convoluted, house-of-cards plotline. Male-on-male love (platonically speaking, of course) has always been the driving force in this series, and this one milks that sense of camaraderie for all it’s worth. When one of their own (Elliott Gould) gets swindled by a venal casino owner named Willy Bank (Al Pacino), it’s up to the gang fronted by dapper Danny Ocean (George Clooney) to set matters straight. Because there are so many characters competing for attention, there will always be casualties when it comes to screen time. Yet because this is the most briskly paced of the three, and because the revenge angle provides its protagonists with a strong rooting interest, it’s hard to get bogged down in the flaws. I wasn’t a fan of the previous two pictures in this series, but Ocean’s Thirteen qualifies as the first to even approach a winning hand. ***
PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: AT WORLD’S END This 168-minute chapter is overblown, overstuffed and over-the-top. It’s also entertaining and sometimes even exciting, which right there marks it as an improvement over last summer’s hot-and-cold Dead Man’s Chest. In most respects, it’s the sort of summer movie which forces critics to denounce summer movies, relying too heavily on bombast and bullying tactics (both copyrighted trademarks of producer Jerry Bruckheimer). And yet there’s no denying that the picture contains a good measure of whimsy (usually MIA in pre-sold blockbusters) and a great deal of plot (ditto), indicating that director Gore Verbinski and scripters Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio are at least making an effort to earn their paychecks. To attempt to relay all the plot details would probably only lead to reader confusion, so suffice it to say that Captain Jack Sparrow (Johnny Depp) still fears the tentacled Davy Jones (Bill Nighy), Will Turner (Orlando Bloom) still hopes to free his tortured father (Stellan Skarsgard) from Davy Jones’ grip, and Elizabeth Swann (Keira Knightley) turns into a kick-ass riot grrrl in much the same manner as Carrie Fisher’s Princess Leia in Return of the Jedi. All of the series’ regulars are sent off in satisfying (and even surprising) ways, and at its best, the movie exhibits a real affection for the sort of fantasy-tinged material that kept Ray Harryhausen employed back in the day. It’s an adequate summertime distraction, though nothing about it begs for a repeat viewing. ***
SHREK THE THIRD Mike Myers may well be the star of the Shrek franchise, but he’s hardly the one whose character most vividly remains in the minds of moviegoers. For the 2001 original, Eddie Murphy earned the lion’s share of the positive notices for his vigorous vocal work as the obnoxious donkey sidekick (even if it was just a reworking of his vigorous vocal work as the obnoxious dragon sidekick in Mulan). And for the 2004 sequel, it was clearly Antonio Banderas as the debonair Puss In Boots who emerged as the cat’s meow. In Shrek the Third, both the donkey and the kitty have largely been neutered, and the film’s makers didn’t bother to introduce any compelling new characters to pick up the slack (Justin Timberlake’s Arthur and Eric Idle’s Merlin certainly don’t cut it). The result is a step down from the first two flicks in the series, though the drop isn’t nearly as precipitous as its detractors will insist. Shrek (which somehow beat Monsters, Inc. for the first Best Animated Feature Oscar ever handed out) and Shrek 2 (which stands as the third all-time top moneymaker) were amusing enough, although the impersonal style of animation, rapid succession of instantly dated pop culture references and fondness for scatological humor always left me a little cold. Shrek the Third brings the exact same ingredients to the table, only what’s offered feels more like leftovers. The film’s most original conceit is turning Disney’s damsels in distress (Snow White, Cinderella, etc.) into feminist warriors; the rest is mildly amusing but mindless, the work of businessmen who will measure the film’s success by Happy Meal sales and other commercial tie-ins. **
SURF’S UP The world needs another penguin movie about as much as it needs another Rambo flick. Turns out we’re getting both, but while it’s too early to comment on the upcoming Stallone sequel (though be sure to check out that incredibly violent trailer on YouTube), the animated film about the flightless fowl isn’t bad, with a narrative slant that overcomes its typically blasé story about an underdog who triumphs against the odds while learning important life lessons regarding friendship, sacrifice and self-awareness. Employing a mock-documentary format rarely seen in animated films — only Aardman’s Oscar-winning Creature Comforts (screened this Sunday in the NoDa Film Festival; see the lead Flicks story) comes to mind — this pleasant time filler plays like Dogtown and Z-Boys or The Endless Summer for the small fry, with its tale of a slacker penguin named Cody (Shia LaBeouf) who’s only happy when he’s surfing. He enters into a major international competition, where his rivals include new pal Chicken Joe (Jon Heder) and the bullying (and nine-time defending champion) Tank Evans (Diedrich Bader). An underachiever from the start, Cody eventually finds romance with a cute lifeguard named Lani (Zooey Deschanel, sexy even when voicing a penguin) and a mentor in The Geek (Jeff Bridges, slyly channeling The Dude from The Big Lebowski), a beach bum harboring a big secret. The abundance of schmaltz that plagued Happy Feet is thankfully missing here, though the movie does make sure to shoehorn in the obligatory flatulence gags. **1/2
WAITRESS Waitress is to Felicity star Keri Russell what The Good Girl was to Jennifer Aniston: a choice opportunity for a television beauty to flex her thespian muscles. And like Aniston, Russell doesn’t disappoint, delivering a fine performance that keeps viewers in her character’s corner every step of the way. Russell plays Jenna, who creates killer pies as a waitress for a quaint little diner. For friendship, she turns to her fellow staffers, the chatty Becky (Cheryl Hines) and the mousy Dawn (the late Adrienne Shelly, who also wrote and directed the film). But for love and affection, she’s out of luck, since she’s married to a domineering redneck named Earl (Jeremy Sisto). Life with Earl is bad enough, but matters become even more complicated once she discovers she’s pregnant. She embarks on an affair with the new doctor in town (Nathan Fillion) and soon begins dreaming about leaving her husband and starting a new life. Where Shelly excels is in her ability to dig beneath sitcom scenarios and focus on some hard truths that all too often define one’s choices in life. Two of the three waitresses engage in affairs while the third ends up with a dweeb who almost makes Norman Bates look like a catch by comparison. But Shelly never judges these people or their actions, understanding that folks with limited options will often grasp at whatever straws are placed in front of them, as they realize that they have to work with what they’ve got (as one character remarks when asked if he’s happy, “I’m happy enough”). Russell is resplendent, but let’s be sure to heap copious praise on wily vet Andy Griffith, who plays the diner’s cantankerous owner. ***1/2
OPENS WEDNESDAY, JUNE 27:
LIVE FREE OR DIE HARD: Bruce Willis, Justin Long.
OPENS FRIDAY, JUNE 29:
EVENING: Vanessa Redgrave, Claire Danes.
RATATOUILLE: Animated; voices of Patton Oswalt, Peter O’Toole.
SICKO: Documentary; Michael Moore.
OPENS TUESDAY, JULY 3:
LICENSE TO WED: Robin Williams, Mandy Moore.
TRANSFORMERS: Shia LaBeouf, Jon Voight.
This article appears in Jun 27 – Jul 3, 2007.
