New Releases
CACHÉ (HIDDEN) Too much ambiguity in a motion picture can potentially turn off moviegoers, especially if there’s suspicion the filmmaker is being elliptical just for the hell of it. The best type of cinematic vagueness is an open invitation for audiences to keep digging deeper and deeper until they uncover what they’re seeking or finally give up, exhausted but satisfied by the pursuit. Caché falls into the latter camp: To borrow the words of Winston Churchill as he speculated about Russia, this film is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma — and it’s equally powerful whether one is watching it in the moment or reflecting on its mysteries three months later. Daniel Auteuil and Juliette Binoche, two of the greatest actors in the world, play Georges and Anne Laurent, a well-to-do French couple being anonymously sent videocassettes that show nothing but seemingly benign images, including the front of their house and Georges’ childhood farm. But the deeper implication is that someone is watching — and recording — their everyday activities, and this realization throws their lives into disarray and sends Georges on a mission to uncover long-buried secrets from his past. Writer-director Michael Haneke, whose work here earned him the Best Director prize at Cannes, has crafted a dark, dense film packed with meaty material. For starters, it’s an indictment of the French treatment of Algerians in particular and a look at racism in general (on that front, it blows Crash out of the theater); it’s a thorny examination of family dysfunction, particularly noting how the sins of the father might affect the son; and, in the same manner as Hitchcock’s Rear Window, it’s a direct implication of movie audiences as the ultimate voyeurs, taking it a step further so that we’re often not sure if the images we’re watching are part of Haneke’s movie (the one we paid to see) or shots from the videos being sent to the Laurents. It’s imperative that viewers pay close attention to the final shot, which may — or may not — clear up the mystery. ***1/2
FAILURE TO LAUNCH About the only surprising element in Failure to Launch is that director Tom Dey (Shanghai Noon) feels the urge to show us a butt-naked Terry Bradshaw not once, not twice, but three times. This decision is certain to have Howie Long clucking his tongue on Bradshaw’s Fox NFL Sunday pre-game show, but it’s hardly the selling point to women lining up to ogle Matthew McConaughey (who removes only his shirt) for 100 minutes. Then again, Bradshaw (clothed) and the other supporting players are the ones who provide any semblance of a pulse to this lifeless film that’s never able to sell us on its central conceit. McConaughey plays Tripp, a 35-year-old who still lives at home with his parents (Bradshaw and Kathy Bates). Anxious to move their grown boy out of the house, the folks hire Paula (Sarah Jessica Parker), a professional consultant who — get this — makes a career out of building up the self-esteem of adult males still living at home by romancing them and then dumping them once they feel independent enough to move out on their own. (The film never once addresses the obvious morality issue: Wouldn’t these pudgy, LOTR-lovin’ fanboys relapse into self-doubt and depression once Paula drops them?) But Paula soon discovers that Tripp isn’t like her other clients, which leads to a sputtering romantic comedy that moves like clockwork through all the expected plot predicaments. McConaughey and Parker try, but they can’t save a premise as insipid as this one. Instead, the fun can be found in the margins: Bradley Cooper and Justin Bartha have their moments as Tripp’s best friends, the always welcome Zooey Deschanel adds some much-needed edge as Paula’s droll roommate, and Bates and Bradshaw invest their characters’ relationship with the humor and empathy that’s sorely missing from the top-billed stars’ dalliances. **
THE SHAGGY DOG Imagine if someone decided to remake David Cronenberg’s excellent horror yarn The Fly as a wretched Disney family film, and you would basically get The Shaggy Dog. Borrowing elements from both 1959’s The Shaggy Dog and 1976’s The Shaggy D.A. but mostly wandering off in its own direction, this turkey — excuse me, dog — casts Tim Allen as an assistant district attorney who periodically turns into a canine after being bitten by a 300-year-old sheepdog. The lack of a speaking voice (aside from woofs) makes it impossible for him to communicate with those around him, but it’s after his metamorphosis that he realizes he’s not only been neglecting his family but also serving as counsel for an evil scientist (Robert Downey Jr.) who’s been experimenting on animals in his laboratory. Allen, one of the least funny comedians around, is given far too many opportunities to grotesquely ham it up — for his next film, how about a nice, quiet role as a corpse? — while Spencer Breslin, arguably the most annoying child actor in cinema history, adds to our misery as Allen’s son, a dweeb with a jones for all things Grease (friends insist he’d be the “best” choice to appear in their school’s production, though his rendition of “You’re the One That I Want” sounds like a cat being shoved tail-first into a blender). In between Allen’s mugging and lame slapstick sequences, we’re treated to a parade of creepy CGI effects; still, even these aren’t as disturbing as the sight of Allen lifting his leg while using a urinal, or a shaggy Allen telling another dog that “maybe later” he’ll sniff his butt. As for the unspoken Cronenberg implications, how should we envision any future offspring produced by an infected Allen and his wife (Kristin Davis)? The mind boggles. *
Current Releases
DAVE CHAPPELLE’S BLOCK PARTY It’s a behind-the-scenes documentary, a concert and a stand-up act all rolled into one. Comedian Dave Chappelle heads to his Dayton, OH, hometown to hand out golden tickets (similar to those given out by “wee Willy Wonka,” as he calls him) to attend his block party in Brooklyn. Chappelle invites everyone from young black dudes to elderly white women to attend his shindig, which turns out to be a celebration of hip-hop: Among those taking part in the musical mirth are Kanye West, Mos Def, Erykah Badu and the reunited Fugees. Dave Chappelle’s Block Party, not so much directed as observed by Michel Gondry (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind), is unique in the manner in which it salutes Afro-American culture and unity while at the same time exhibiting an exalted openness that makes it clear everyone’s invited to take part in the merriment. The comic material is spotty, but the sizzling concert performances are the primary attraction anyway. ***
EIGHT BELOW Based on a Japanese film that was itself inspired by a true story, Eight Below relates the tale of a scientific expedition in Antarctica and what happens when punishing weather forces its members to leave behind their eight sled dogs to cope with exhaustion, starvation and a particularly nasty leopard seal. The dogs are gorgeous and wonderfully expressive (no creepy Snow Dogs-style anthropomorphizing here, thank God), and as long as director Frank Marshall and debuting scripter Dave DiGilio focus on this part of the story, the movie succeeds in the grand tradition of past Disney live-action adventures. But the picture runs an unpardonable two hours (can little kids’ bladders hold out that long?), and its length is felt in the countless scenes centering on the human characters back in civilization. At 95 minutes, this would have been an out-and-out winner; maybe the DVD will include a function that will allow viewers to edit out the humans and leave only the remarkable canines. **1/2
THE LIBERTINE Bawdy period sex comedies hearken back at least to Tom Jones, and at first glance, The Libertine appears to be an attempt to jump-start the sub-genre, to steer the costume epic back to a sensibility that owes as much to Benny Hill as to any literary tome. The film tells the story of John Wilmot (aka the second Earl of Rochester), the 17th century poet, playwright and sex fiend who spends the film’s running time cruelly berating nearly everyone who enters his atmosphere. In casting the role of Rochester, the filmmakers had the right idea by turning to the fearless Depp, but ultimately, he’s not required to do more than mix profanity with profundity and allow himself to be subjected to lengthy sessions in the makeup artist’s chair. For all its attempts to startle us with its vulgarity, this underdeveloped movie never locates a defining method to its messiness; ultimately, it possesses all the shock value of a toddler yelling, “Poopy!” **1/2
NIGHT WATCH (NOCHNOI DOZOR) The subtitles employed in this Russian fantasy yarn are so creatively presented that they deserve some kind of award recognition. Rather than blocky white letters that remain stapled to the bottom of the screen, these words are prone to changing color (always to crimson), floating behind characters, or melting away until all that remains is a brief, faint afterglow. Of course, if the presentation of a movie’s subtitles is its strongest asset, then we’re in trouble. The first part in a planned trilogy, this plays like an attempt to emulate the typical Hollywood blockbuster, with its epic story about an age-old battle between Good and Evil. As presented, it’s all nonsense, punched across with a scarcity of levity and an even greater lack of internal logic. There’s no denying it contains groovy visuals, but any other possible attributes will remain lost in translation, and not even undulating subtitles can offer any assistance. **
THE PINK PANTHER Despite his own comic credentials, Steve Martin is playing a dead man’s hand here. Peter Sellers’ particular brand of comic genius was evident in his recurring portrayal of bumbling Inspector Clouseau, and try as he might, Martin is never able to make the role his own. Were the movie surrounding him a top-flight comedy, it might be easier to let him slide, but this picture is as clumsy as its leading figure, an uncomfortable attempt to tap into the essence of the classic Panther films while updating it for modern audiences who might not know Inspector Clouseau from Inspector Javert. There are a few bright moments, but for the most part, the gags aren’t particularly fresh, mildly amusing bits are repeated until they lose every ounce of appeal, and Martin unwisely softens the character’s hard edges. *1/2
16 BLOCKS This action flick stars Bruce Willis as a detective whose seemingly simple task of transporting a petty criminal (Mos Def) from the jailhouse to the courthouse is hindered by corrupt cops. 16 Blocks works as a throwback to the “B” flicks of yore, when an unflagging pace, a few dollops of humor and a couple of sharply etched characterizations were enough to justify a matinee ticket. Willis is solid, yet it’s his co-star who really shines. Mos Def’s part could have been a rehash of the sorts of characters we always see in this type of yarn — Eddie Murphy by way of Samuel L. Jackson. Yet, given a leg up by Richard Wenk’s scripting, he heads off in a different direction, portraying his character not as an impertinent braggart held prisoner by his own inflated sense of macho posturing but as a sensitive, soft-spoken guy whose eternal optimism allows him to remain grounded by his faith in his own abilities. ***
OPENS FRIDAY, MARCH 17:
SHE’S THE MAN: Amanda Bynes, Channing Tatum.
V FOR VENDETTA: Natalie Portman, Hugo Weaving.
This article appears in Mar 15-21, 2006.
