CURRENT RELEASES
AMERICAN WEDDING Comparing this third picture in the American Pie series to the Marx Brothers canon is probably grounds for immediate dismissal, but it has to be noted that the Marx’s frequent modus operandi of building a comedy sequence frame by frame so that it reaches an actual crescendo (best exemplified by the stateroom scene in A Night at the Opera) is ably carried on at key moments in this unnecessary sequel that nevertheless squeezes by on the strength of some very big laughs. Even the most elitist of critics should occasionally let their hair down and allow the inner party animal to emerge — while many scribes have taken to the Austin Powers trilogy to fill that need, I’ve actually obtained more chuckles from this half-raunchy, half-sentimental series. Neither sequel manages the balancing act between sincerity and seediness as well as the 1999 original — the follow-ups clearly tip the scale toward the bawdy end — but both offer a fair amount of pleasure to anyone who’s grown fond of these characters. In this outing, Jim (Jason Biggs) and Michelle (Alyson Hannigan) are set to tie the knot, but complications arise before the ceremony, not the least being the mere presence of the foul-minded Stiffler (Seann William Scott). Eugene Levy returns as Jim’s dad, and in a nice bit of casting synergy, his frequent co-star in Christopher Guest’s comedies, Fred Willard, appears as Michelle’s dad. Director Jesse Dylan (Bob’s son) and screenwriter Adam Herz may not score any points for subtlety, but they make the most of their disreputable material. 
1/2
BAD BOYS II Bad Boys II is the sort of movie that would lead a reactionary critic to condemn it as a work that marks The End Of Western Civilization As We Know It. I won’t go that far, but I will state that it’s quite possible I have never before seen a picture that held so much contempt for everyone and everything — for its audience, for its characters, even for the film medium itself. A sequel to a 1995 mediocrity, this re-teams Will Smith and Martin Lawrence as Miami cops Mike Lowrey and Marcus Burnett, hot on the trail of a Cuban thug (terrible Jordi Molla) angling to become the city’s number one supplier of Ecstasy. Among the first words uttered in the movie are “Stupid bitches,” and the tone never gets any less mean-spirited after that — besides women, the script also slams Latinos, gays, the poor, even the dead (while scoping out a morgue, Mike and Marcus ogle and comment on the ample breasts on a young woman’s corpse; hey, what’s a mainstream summer movie without a hint of necrophilia?). You also get tired jokes about anal intercourse, a loving close-up of two rats (yes, rats) copulating, and a body count that equals those in Saving Private Ryan, The Longest Day and Schindler’s List combined. Smith and Lawrence aren’t the problem onscreen — their incessant bickering gets tiresome, yet both have charisma to burn — but they are the problem offscreen: If they had been conscientious enough to turn down their hefty paychecks, then we wouldn’t be burdened with this debacle of wretched excess.
FREAKY FRIDAY A pleasant out-of-left-field surprise, this remake of Disney’s 1977 hit (with Barbara Harris and Jodie Foster) is a treat for both kids and adults, updating the basic premise (first seen in Mary Rodgers’ book of the same name) while avoiding the common pitfall of tailoring the material to only appeal to the youngest (or, in the case of the grownups, dimmest) members of the audience. Here’s a family film with genuine emotional pull, as workaholic psychiatrist Tess Coleman (Jamie Lee Curtis) and her alienated 15-year-old daughter Anna (The Parent Trap‘s Lindsay Lohan) are constantly at odds, bickering incessantly and repeatedly failing to see the other’s point of view. But a pinch of Asian mysticism places them in each other’s body, thereby forcing Anna to contend with her mom’s impending wedding and a TV appearance to plug her new book and Tess to cope with her daughter’s burgeoning relationship with a cute schoolmate (Chad Michael Murray) and an important audition for her garage band. Curtis is in top form here, yet she’s matched all the way by Lohan — their scenes together are especially potent, full of sharp comic give-and-take and capped by the sparkling dialogue by scripters Heather Hach and Leslie Dixon (“I’m old!” wails Anna in her mom’s body. “I look like the Crypt Keeper!”). A buoyant soundtrack only adds to the enjoyment.
GIGLI The majority of reviews for Gigli have been so scathing — not since Battlefield Earth have critics so gleefully trashed a single motion picture — that it almost seems necessary to come to its defense. Gigli is not the worst movie of all time, nor of this decade, nor of this year. Heck, it’s not even the worst movie of the summer, not with Bad Boys II and Hollywood Homicide on the marquees. So much for the defense. Actually, there’s something else: There are a couple of moments during which one-note automaton Jennifer Lopez softens up and seems recognizably human, an actual person beneath that hardened shellac of spoiled celebrity. Beyond that, there’s really nothing else even remotely nice to say about this fiasco, which is as tough to endure as director Martin Brest’s last two films, the repulsive Scent of a Woman and the endless-and-a-day Meet Joe Black. Ben Affleck and Lopez play Gigli and Ricki, two mob enforcers assigned to kidnap a prosecutor’s mentally challenged brother (Justin Bartha); Gigli starts to fall for Ricki, even though he knows she’s a lesbian. The romantic angle falls dismally flat because Affleck and Lopez have absolutely no chemistry together — they exude about as much sexual heat as Ma and Pa Kettle. Had Brest stopped with the decision to make his own bargain-basement version of the vastly superior Chasing Amy, this would be bad enough, but the additional plotline involving the pair’s mentally challenged charge renders the movie insufferable and near-unwatchable.
OPEN RANGE Decidedly “old school” in both content and intent, this adaptation of Lauran Paine’s The Open Range Men) doesn’t expand the parameters of the Western but instead feels like a throwback to the types of genre flicks that populated moviehouses until their fizzle in the late 70s. Boss Spearman (Robert Duvall) and Charley Waite (Kevin Costner) are “freerangers,” cattlemen who allow their herd to roam the land with no thought to manmade claims of property possession — a point of view not shared by a vicious rancher (Michael Gambon) in a nearby town. Open Range marks Costner’s third shot at directing — following his Oscar-winning work on Dances With Wolves and his effort on the lambasted flop The Postman — and during a movie season known for rapid jump-cuts and a decided lack of lengthy and meaningful exchanges, his lackadaisical approach will leave filmgoers either feeling appreciative or irked. No scene feels hurried or forced, and even though the dialogue’s occasionally a bit clunky, there’s a genuine maturity in the tender romance between Charley and a town resident (Annette Bening), and a strong sense of mutual respect in the camaraderie between Charley and Spearman that harkens back to the approach taken in the classic Westerns of the past (I’m thinking primarily of John Wayne’s numerous efforts, particularly Rio Bravo). As for the shootouts, they’re presented as clumsy and chaotic — gritty dances of death that aren’t commented upon (as in Unforgiven) but that aren’t glamorized, either.
SEABISCUIT Adapted from Laura Hillebrand’s bestseller, this tells the story of the underdog racehorse whose remarkable success during the 1930s inspired an entire nation. But just as importantly, it also relates the very human story of three individuals — Seabiscuit’s owner (Jeff Bridges), trainer (Chris Cooper) and jockey (Tobey Maguire) — with the inner fortitude to overcome extreme handicaps, and on top of that further provides a glimpse of a country reeling from the Depression and its attempts to right itself. That’s a tall order for one movie to fill, and if the picture occasionally seems to have bitten off more than it can chew, it’s a forgivable sin, since writer-director Gary Ross (Pleasantville) does a decent job of getting us involved in the plights of its characters, regardless of what’s happening in the world around them. “My horse is too small, my jockey’s too big, my trainer’s too old, and I’m too stupid to know the difference!” cracks Bridges’ millionaire to the press, and indeed, it’s a peculiar grouping — the odd couple squared. But it’s in the very eccentricities of the characters where the movie derives most of its power. The filmmaking in itself is rather conventional — lots of burnished shots by cinematographer John Schwartzman, a score (by Randy Newman) that’s swathed in uplifting Americana strains, plenty of scripted homilies about can-do Yankee perseverance — yet the players themselves have a hungry determination that transcends their foibles and makes their exploits all the more inspiring.
SPY KIDS 3-D: GAME OVER The law of diminishing returns clearly applies to this third entry in writer-director Robert Rodriguez’s family-oriented franchise. Rodriguez’s well has run dry for this latest adventure, as he places all his faith in the 3-D effects that are meant to complement the film but instead overwhelm it. Truth be told, watching this overwrought picture’s frenzied special effects through the 3-D goggles eventually leads to a punishing migraine; on top of that, the left eyepiece was so darkly tinted that I felt like someone had squirted motor oil into my eye. Beyond the 3-D aspect, this is simply a poorly scripted yarn, with young Juni (Daryl Sabara) forced to enter a “virtual reality” game in order to save his sister Carmen (Alexa Vega). Despite some interesting graphics, the game itself doesn’t seem very exciting (or comprehensible), and the action frequently breaks for characters to deliver strained monologues about the importance of family. Speaking of family, Antonio Banderas and Carla Gugino, so appealing as the Spy Parents in the first film, have been reduced to nothing more than late-inning cameos. And what’s the point of casting Salma Hayek in a 3-D flick and not using the technology to showcase her attributes? I mean her lips, of course; what were you thinking? 1/2
S.W.A.T. The latest fix of nostalgia based on a popular TV show from the past, S.W.A.T. is better than most, drawing up vibrant characters and offering some choice action bits before running out of steam during the third act. Samuel L. Jackson is “Hondo” Harrelson, the veteran lawman assigned to put together a crack outfit of S.W.A.T.-sters; Colin Farrell is Jim Street, the brash up-and-comer who, implicated in a messy hostage situation that wasn’t his fault, is seeking to redeem himself. He gets his chance when the group is assigned to baby-sit a captured drug lord (Olivier Martinez) who promises to pay $100 million to anyone who breaks him free. This offer seemingly brings out every criminal element in the city of Los Angeles, and for a moment, it looks like the movie will turn into a contempo retread of Walter Hill’s exciting cult flick The Warriors, with our small band of heroes battling different pockets of villains around every corner. No such luck. After a promising set-up that takes time to introduce us to all the team players (including ones played by Girlfight‘s Michelle Rodriguez and LL Cool J) and the aforementioned promise of some intriguing confrontations, the movie loses its stride. There’s a double-cross that I didn’t believe for one nanosecond, and the lengthy climax proves to be surprisingly bland — even with the inclusion of a plane taxiing down LA’s 6th Street Bridge. Still, I enjoyed spending time with these characters, and the potential is there for more developed storylines. Maybe the sequel will get it right. 1/2
This article appears in Aug 20-26, 2003.
