Let the Right One In

Let the Right One In - Dir. Tomas Alfredson (2008)


Fuck, Twilight. This, my friends, is how you do a vampire love story. Leave it to director Tomas Alfredson to show that the Swedes aren’t all about the existential quandaries of Bergman.

12-year old Oskar (Kare Hedebrant) is the picture of Scandinavian perfection with his light skin, blue eyes, and mop of blond hair. Constantly picked on by school bullies, he comforts himself by clipping news articles about violent crimes and revenge fantasies. His mother and estranged father are oblivious to his problems. One night, he stabs at a tree with a switchblade, imagining the face of his tormentors when he meets Eli (Lina Leandersson), a girl of like age who has just moved in next door. She introduces herself, ”Just so you know, I can’t be your friend.” Oskar seems to be fine with that. Both kids claim they just want to be left alone, but find themselves magnetically drawn to each other. In Eli, Oskar finds the friend he so desperately wants (and needs) and an assertive voice that urges him to stand up against the bullies.

Oh, Oskar, if you only knew your new gal pal was a vampire. Eli’s “father” is behind many of the murders in Oskar’s scrapbook, but his recent fumbling have forced Eli to take action, picking off the neighbors and raising awareness of her existence.

Screenwriter John Lindqvist adapted the script from his own novel and has fashioned a story of dualities on several levels. There is innocence and darkness in both Oskar and Eli. There’s no telling how old Eli may truly be (in the novel, she’s 200), but she is still every bit the typical 12-year old (”…more or less.”), finding fascination in a Rubik’s Cube. The kids even learn Morse code as their own secret language. The film also doesn’t shy away from the naïve sexuality between the characters. The child actors (both making their film debuts) are amazing in conveying these complex emotions, never overplaying their hand as most would.

Cinematographer Hoyte Van Hoytema captures the beauty and the loneliness of the Swedish suburbs and countryside. The virgin white snow never changes amidst the blood red and black night. Apartment buildings and hospital hallways that are detached and alien. Even more intimate settings such as school gymnasiums and Oskar’s bedroom fell as vast and cold as the banks of snow outside. It all emphasizes how small and lonely the children truly are. Much like the relationship between Oskar and Eli, there’s beauty in the film to be found among the ugliness. Alfredson throws in quite a few pillow shots, but there’s a serene quality to them and they never border on indulgence.

If you’re looking for a Saw/Hostel-type experience, you’re looking in the wrong place. Let the Right One In is poetic in its horror, artfully and intelligently painting death and tragedy without resorting to gore and shock value. Not to say this is a sterile film. There’s blood, but done in an inventive fashion. In particular, I point out the attack of the cats sequence, another scene involving human immolation, and the film’s brutal climax. We also finally learn what happens to a vampire when they come in without being invited.

Label it a horror film or a vampire movie, if you must, but Let the Right One In proves the dark side of humanity is far more frightening than blood-sucking creatures of the night.

Rating: ****

Four Christmases

Four Christmases - Dir. Seth Gordon (2008)


Vince Vaughn was funny once, right? I’m not crazy when I say that, am I? He’s cracked me up in movies like Swingers, Made, and Dodgeball. Now, we have a Vince Vaughn whose tired, fast-talking wiseass act has grown thin. After one failed Christmas movie in Fred Claus, Vaughn follows it up with another wretched holiday film. With a brief runtime of 82 minutes, Four Christmases still manages to drag on and on in a neverending torrent of mean spirited, lowbrow humor. The characters are abrasive, smug, and unsympathetic while their families are as equally annoying.

Director Seth Gordon made an impressive debut with The King of Kong, but I hope this isn’t the path his career is going to take. Even more mind boggling is how they roped five Oscar winners into doing this piece of garbage.

Rating: DUD

Seven Pounds

Seven Pounds - Dir. Gabriele Muccino


In my recent reviews of Changeling and Gran Torino, I gave Clint Eastwood a bit of a backhanded compliment about his populist Oscar bait filmmaking. But, the man does it better than anybody today so more power to him. On the other hand, Seven Pounds represents the worst of award pandering cinema. Having much success with The Pursuit of Happyness, Will Smith re-teams with director Gabriele Muccino for this attempt at a prestige indie film gussied up with big name actors.

Smith plays IRS agent Ben Thomas who has suffered some sort of traumatic experience. So much so that he seeks out seven strangers to give them a mysterious gift that will change their lives. Among those Ben finds are Ezra (Woody Harrelson), a blind piano player working as a customer service rep for a meat company. Ben calls him up only to viciously berate him with insults. Ezra remains calm the entire time and Ben finds he is worthy of his gift since he’s slow to anger. Ben also falls for another stranger named Emily (Rosario Dawson) who is in desperate need of a heart transplant. Their love story is something right out of…well…Love Story. Bits and pieces fall into place like a puzzle until the final twist even though you can probably see it coming by the end of the first act.

The screenplay was written by Grant Nieporte whose only previous writing credits include episodes of Sabrina, the Teenage Witch and 8 Simple Rules. Nieporte’s sitcom experience shines through as Seven Pounds offers easy answers for difficult problems. At every preposterous turn, the film hopes you buy into it so as not to ask why none of this makes any sense.

Will Smith gets credit for stepping outside the comfort zone of his usual ”Aww…Hell naw” roles. Much like his previous turns in I Am Legend, Happyness, and even Hancock, Smith is a burdened man in search of intimate human contact. But, Seven Pounds is pompously melodramatic and, worst of all, a complete bore.

Rating: * 1/2

The Day the Earth Stood Still

The Day the Earth Stood Still - Dir. Scott Derrickson (2008)


I’m not entirely opposed to the idea of remakes. One of my favorite movies of all time, The Magnificent Seven, is a remake and I thought Jet Li’s Fist of Legend, a remake of Bruce Lee’s The Chinese Connection, was a better film than the original. If you are going to remake a film, then at least take your version in a different direction. I can’t think of anything more pointless than Gus Van Sant’s ill-advised shot-for-shot remake of Psycho. To many cinephiles, remaking classics such as Psycho is like treading on holy ground. Fox’s modern production of The Day the Earth Stood Still shows exactly what is wrong with the majority of remakes. It may have a bigger budget and better special effects, but it lacks the soul of the original.

While the original version was made at a time when the Cold War and nuclear armament was at its nascent point, the remake takes on more environmental themes. In both films, an alien named Klaatu (Keanu Reeves) lands his spaceship in the middle of Central Park. He’s accompanied to Earth by a massive robot named Gort, who looks remarkably like the Justice League Unlimited version of Amazo. No sooner does Klaatu set foot on Earth than he is shot and taken into custody by the U.S. government. He escapes from a military hospital with help from a micro-biologist named Dr. Helen Benson (Jennifer Connelly). He befriends Benson and her step-son, Jacob (Jaden Smith), revealing that his plan to save the Earth involves wiping out all of humanity.

The casting of Keanu Reeves as the alien visitor is actually an inspired choice. Reeves’ wooden, monotone performance is perfect for the role. Michael Rennie’s Klaatu was warm, intelligent, and shown to be more human than the very humans he met. Reeves’ Klaatu is cold and detached. Not that I blame him, nearly everyone he meets is an idiot. The government and the military have a shoot first, don’t bother to ask questions policy. However, there’s a difference between making the characters misguided and making them stupid beyond reason. This is where we come to Jacob played by Will Smith’s son, Jaden, who made his film debut with daddy in The Pursuit of Happyness. His performance here isn’t that terrible, but his character is so annoying that no matter what he does, you just want to smack him in the back of the head.

While the remake as gathered an impressive collection of actors for its supporting cast, they are completely wasted by the weak, preachy script. Jennifer Connelly practically sleepwalks through her role and while I enjoyed seeing Jon Hamm, Kyle Chandler, and Robert Knepper, I’d rather see them on their respective shows (Mad Men, Friday Night Lights, Prison Break). About the only scenes that come close to popping are the brief heart-to-heart conversations Klaatu has with James Hong (as a fellow alien) and John Cleese (as a Nobel-prize winning scientist).

Rating: * ½

JCVD

JCVD - Dir. Mabrouk El Mechri (2008)


We continue our journey into meta-movie making with JCVD.

A movie where Jean-Claude Van Damme plays himself? That seems like it would be one, long joke. In fact, that was the original intent of the project. Yes, JCVD has some funny moments, but it’s also a surprisingly touching character piece. Van Damme lightly pokes fun at himself as well as revealing vulnerable aspects of his personal life. JCVD opens with a five minute action sequence filmed in one take as Van Damme moves through a bombed out street, taking out bad guys left and right. Alas, the set falls apart at the last minute. Out of breath, the 47 year-old Muscles from Brussels just doesn’t have it in him for another take.

Van Damme deals with more than age. He loses a big role to Steven Seagal who finally promised to cut off his ponytail. JCVD begs his agent to get him into a studio picture. He'd gladly take scale if it meant passing on yet another direct-to-video B-movie shot in Bulgaria. More importantly, Van Damme loses custody of his daughter who admits to being embarrassed by dad’s work. As his wife’s lawyer runs down a list of the grisly deaths in each film, Van Damme can only sheepishly reply in broken English, ”All of my movies having heart.” Defeated, he heads back to his hometown in Belgium where he gets caught up in a hostage situation when thieves attempt to rob the post office. The police mistakenly believe Van Damme is the robber and the townsfolk rally around the crime scene in support of their hero.

The story unfolds in non-linear fashion as we get glimpses of Van Damme’s life and the events leading up to the robbery. The meat of the story tries to contrast Van Damme’s badass on-screen persona with his meek real-life counterpart. While commendable, the hostage situation feels forced and comes off as a cheap imitation of Dog Day Afternoon. The most interesting and genuine moments of JCVD find Van Damme dealing with everyday, ordinary life such as a cab ride with a mouthy driver. The centerpiece of Van Damme’s performance comes from a six-minute monologue, almost a confessional to the camera. It is here that El Mechri breaks the fourth wall, raising Van Damme above the set where he gives a candid, heartfelt soliloquy about his celebrity and past drug problems.

Mabrouk El Mechri is definitely going to be a director to watch out for, but the script is filled with unrealized potential. The robbery feels like padding. It’s as if the writers didn’t feel Van Damme’s fans would see the movie without shooting and violence.

Rating: **

My Name is Bruce

My Name is Bruce - Dir. Bruce Campbell (2008)


Everybody’s favorite big chinned B-movie actor is back in the role he was born to play, himself. Bruce Campbell stars and directs this low-budget self-parody with mediocre results. You’d think a movie where Bruce Campbell acts like a jackass for an hour and a half would be a helluva lot of fun, but it’s only a mildly diverting piece of fluff.

In My Name is Bruce, Campbell plays himself as a drunkard, letch, and jerk. He hits on his female co-stars during the making of the riveting action thriller, Cave Aliens 2. He treats most of his fans with disdain, even giving a wheelchair-bound fan the boot. Then again, if I had to deal with the mouth-breathing freaks that infest the convention circuit nonstop, I’d be an asshole too.

Awkward Goth kid Jeff is just about the biggest Bruce Campbell fan on the planet. He finally gets the chance to meet his idol when Jeff recruits him to save the town of Gold Lick which has come under attack from the Chinese war deity (and guardian of bean curd), Guan Di. Campbell initially thinks the whole thing is a put-on and spends most of the time making fun of all the primitive screwheads and hitting on Jeff’s mom (”…a MILF’s a MILF.”). If you’ve seen Three Amigos, you get the gist of the plot as Campbell eventually summons the courage needed to save the day.

Bruce Campbell alone is almost enough to make this movie. Almost. Most of the humor just falls flat. This includes a really pathetic Brokeback Mountain reference because nobody has ever made an "I can't quit you" joke. I know they probably couldn’t afford anything better, but Guan-Di was a rather silly villain. He does little else except hack through hapless victims in typical slasher fashion and it doesn’t get any more thrilling after fifth or sixth time. I kept waiting for the Scooby Doo ending. That’s not Guan-Di. Its Old Man Winters, the creepy caretaker!

My Name is Bruce is one long in-joke for Bruce Campbell fans. Obviously, if you’re not a fan, you won’t get it. For those who are, My Name is Bruce might pass for a fun rental. However, the film suffers when Campbell isn’t on-screen. He’s charismatic enough to make the middling material work, but he deserved better.

Rating: **

Synecdoche, New York

Synecdoche, New York - Dir. Charlie Kaufman (2008)


"The simulacrum is never that which conceals the truth - it is the truth which conceals that there is none. The simulacrum is true." - Jean Baudrillard

In his treatise, Simulacra and Simulations, Jean Baudrillard hypothesized that we (as a modern society) no longer live in the real world, but rather, a simulated version that has become more real than reality. That sort of rumination on the nature of reality has become a trademark in the films of Oscar-winning screenwriter Charlie Kaufman. Never has this been more prevalent than with Synecdoche, New York, the latest meta-textual mind twister by the scribe behind Being John Malkovich, Adaptation, and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Synecdoche marks the directorial debut of Kaufman and it is the screenwriter’s most personal film yet. It is a film that is nearly as obfuscated as its title.

The title, Synecdoche, is both a play on the town of Schenectady and a reference to a figure of speech that is commonly used, but most people probably didn’t even know there was a name for it. There’s a lot of that going on in the film which is filled to the brim with symbolism and clever wordplay. Kaufman takes us on an existential journey of discovery that is anchored by another remarkable performance from Philip Seymour Hoffman. However, you can’t hinge your entire movie on just one actor, no matter how great he is. That is why Kaufman surrounds Hoffman with a bevy of talented actresses, each well-known on the arthouse circuit. There´s Catherine Keener, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Samantha Morton, Emily Watson, Michelle Williams, Dianne Wiest, and Hope Davis. I kept waiting for Laura Linney or Illeana Douglas to pop up.

Hoffman is the alliteratively named Caden Cotard, a theater director mounting Death of a Salesman, who becomes plagued by problems both physical and emotional. Caden suffers from various ailments such as blood in his stool, muddy urine, pustules on his face, and eventually violent seizures. After a mishap with the kitchen faucet, he’s bounced around from doctor to doctor, from ophthalmologist to neurologist. None of whom can tell Caden exactly what is wrong with him. There’s a distance growing between Caden and his bohemian wife Adele Lack (Keener) who, in a uniquely Kaufman fashion, paints portraits on miniature canvases that must be viewed through a magnifying glass. One day, Adele leaves for an art exhibit in Berlin with their daughter, Olive (Sadie Goldstein), and never comes back.

Caden tries to find comfort from his marriage therapist, Madeleine Gravis (Davis), but all she can do is shill her own self-help books. He bounces in and out of a relationship with Hazel the box office girl (Morton sporting red hair and plenty of cleavage). Hazel, by the way, buys a house that is perpetually on fire and dumps Caden for the realtor’s son who happens to live in the basement. No longer with Hazel, Caden bounces into a second marriage with his lead actress, Claire Keen (Williams).

Things seem to be going well when Caden is given the MacArthur Fellowship, also known as the ´genius grant.´ Caden sees this as an opportunity to put on a play about life, death, and everything. He rents out a massive theater that looks more like an airplane hangar and casts Claire as his star, a thinly veiled version of Hazel who eventually returns to Caden as his assistant. The years roll on, the cast grows by the hundreds, and the set grows into a scale replica of the city itself. The lines between reality and the play bleed further when Caden seeks out an actor to play himself. He finds Sammy (Tom Noonan) who has been observing Caden for a long time. He can be spotted in the background in several scenes. It gets even more confusing when Caden hires an actress (Watson) to play the Hazel to Sammy´s Caden. Then, Sammy hires an actor to play Caden while he directs him as Caden while the real Caden directs him. Err…at least; I think that’s how it’s supposed to go.

Time also plays an important factor. In the world of Synecdoche, it moves in a nebulous fashion. For Caden and the audience, minutes may pass, but it has actually been years. Months go by without notice in between bites at the breakfast table.

Kaufman has weaved a surreal world with idiosyncratic touches that might make Luis Bunuel proud. Synecdoche isn’t quite as fantastical as Being John Malkovich or Eternal Sunshine. While there has always been an underlying layer of tragedy in Kaufman’s films, Synecdoche is far more bleak and pessimistic. Caden is a dying man desperate to leave his mark on the world. At the same time, his immense autobiographical play is a means for him to observe firsthand what he has done wrong with his loves and his life. On a more intimate level, Caden is a father searching not just for meaning in his life, but for a long-lost daughter. In one of the film´s more powerful scenes, Caden discovers an adult Olive (now working as a living tableau of tattoo art) dancing naked in a glass booth. He pounds the barrier between them only to be dragged away with Olive completely oblivious to his existence.

Synecdoche isn’t without its light moments. They are sprinkled throughout the narrative with humor so deadpan that they make deadpan look like the Marx Brothers. Yet the film can’t escape the gravity of its somber tone. Restless audience members will find what little patience they have tested by the methodical pace. Synecdoche easily veers into territory that is overly pretentious and Kaufman may not have had the most objective eye when it came to trimming the fat.

I wouldn’t call Synecdoche a total loss, not by a long shot. It is true there is quite a lot to chew on, but if you can get past it all, you’ll find something meaningful. I would definitely consider Kaufman to be one of the most important writers working in Hollywood today. A straightforward plot summary leaves out so much of the sublime elements in Kaufman’s magnum opus. It is a daunting film that will need multiple viewings to catch every little detail. It should go without saying that Philip Seymour Hoffman is wonderful, backed by an ultra-talented supporting cast and the final act is oddly affecting. If Kaufman had spent a few more hours in the editing room, Synecdoche would get a more wholehearted recommendation.

Rating: ** ½

Slumdog Millionaire

Slumdog Millionaire - Dir. Danny Boyle (2008)


Here’s a million dollar question for you, would you watch a movie about someone competing on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? It doesn’t sound like a very compelling film. I don’t know if I’d buy a ticket. I’m not even that interested in watching the actual Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? Although, I have to say that Meredith Viera is quite fetching. Yet, Slumdog Millionaire is so much more than just the story of a man going on a game show. It’s a film with a little bit of everything; love and heartbreak, triumph and tragedy, and all points in between.

Jamal Malik (Dev Patel) comes from a humble background. He grew up in the slums of Mumbai and works as a tea bringer for telemarketers at a call center ("Would you like to hear about our friends & family plan?"). Now, he has captured the imagination of an entire country as he stands one question away from winning twenty million rupees on the Hindi version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? How did he do it? Did he cheat? Was he lucky? Or was it simply destiny?

For the show’s host, Prem Kumar (Anil Kapoor), the answer is A. Jamal is arrested after the first show and brutally interrogated by a police inspector (Irfan Khan). What could a lowly slumdog possibly know? Jamal responds quite simply, "The answers." Through a series of flashbacks, we see important moments in Jamal’s life which shed light on where his answers came from.

Jamal and his older brother, Salim (Madhur Mittal), became orphans early in their hard knock life when their mother was killed in a violent uprising against Muslims. Out of so much death, comes one bright spot when Jamal meets another orphan named Latika (played as an adult by Freida Pinto). For Salim, she is an unwanted tagalong, but to Jamal she is the love of his life.

The children are rescued from sleeping in garbage dumps by Maman who turns out to be less like Mother Theresa and more like Fagin from Oliver Twist. Maman collects orphans and sends them out into the city to beg for him. He even goes so far as to blind one boy knowing he will earn more. When Salim learns Jamal is next, the brothers hop a train out of town, leaving Latika behind. The pair makes their way to the Taj Mahal where they build themselves a life as con artists scamming gullible tourists. But, there is still a hole in Jamal´s heart and he convinces Salim to return to Mumbai in search of Latika. Their tearful reunion is cut short when Salim is consumed by greed and falls in with a local crime boss. Years pass and they drift apart. Jamal becomes a contestant on the quiz show solely because he knows she will be watching. It isn’t about winning the money, but about winning her heart.

Director Danny Boyle weaves a modern day fairy tale in Slumdog Millionaire with a little assist from Indian co-director Loveleen Tandan. This is a visually arresting film with plenty for your eyes to gobble up. Boyle drops us right into Jamal’s impoverished world. The shooting of the shanty town slums is something like a cross between MTV and National Geographic. Boyle is one of those rare filmmakers who keep his filmography an eclectic mix. From the grungy heroin dens of Trainspotting to the zombie plagued streets of London in 28 Days Later," and Millions which comes closest thematically to Slumdog. Boyle’s work is worth commending especially in comparison to someone like fellow Brit, Guy Ritchie, who seems to be content on making the same film over and over again.

The script was adapted from Vikas Swarup’s novel, Q and A, by Simon Beaufoy who wrote the Oscar-nominated screenplay for The Fully Monty, which Boyle lists as one of his favorite films. Beaufoy takes time-honored traditions in a captivating and refreshing manner. The flashback structure keeps us on our toes without bogging down the ongoing narrative. Obviously, we know love will conquer all. They will all live happily ever after and give us a big Bollywood dance number to boot. However, the real joy in Slumdog is following Jamal along on his adventure. It’s hard not to root for him after watching a young Jamal dive into a pit of feces and sewage just to get an autograph from his all-time favorite actor. It’s hard not to be in his corner when he’s mentally and verbally dueling with the game show host who condescendingly refers to Jamal as "chai wallah.” Oh, and what cold-hearted human being doesn’t hope to see these star-crossed lovers get together before the credits roll?

If I believed in film critic hyperbole, I’d be shouting easily quotable lines like ”Slumdog Millionaire is the feel-good movie of the year.” But, it actually is a feel-good movie and a clear cut crowd pleasure with a love triumphs all, happily ever after ending. Sometimes there's nothing wrong with that.

Rating: *** ½

Gran Torino

Gran Torino - Dir. Clint Eastwood (2008)


”Ever notice how you come across somebody once in a while that you shouldn’t have fucked with? That’s me.”

I railed a bit on Clint Eastwood and his brand of populist filmmaking in my review of Changeling. Gran Torino is a stripped down example of those same techniques. The script isn’t anything wildly innovative, the symbolism is obvious and the themes are presented in heavy-handed fashion. However, what truly elevates the piece is Eastwood himself who steps in for what just might he his final acting role. What Unforgiven did to the Man with No Name archetype; Gran Torino does to Dirty Harry. Eastwood is Walt Kowalski, a Korean War vet and one mean, old bastard. Seriously, he’s the crotchety curmudgeon who sits on his porch drinking beer and staring out at the world with utter contempt while he mutters under his breath. You could imagine Detective Callahan arriving at this same point. Kowalski doesn’t pack a Magnum .44 (”…the most powerful handgun in the world.”). Instead, he’s armed with a Colt .45 and an old M1 rifle. It’s not surprising that rumors swirled about during early development that Gran Torino would be the next installment in the Dirty Harry franchise.

Gran Torino begins with the funeral for Walt’s wife. He’s all alone now with his only friend being his Labrador retriever, Daisy, He can’t stand his own family. His children are self-involved and his grandchildren are spoiled brats. Nor does he have time for a young and earnest Catholic priest who hounds him to come to confession. Walt doesn’t care for his neighbors either. His formerly white neighborhood has been supplanted by Hmong immigrants and Walt has no qualms over throwing around words like, “chink” and “gook.” About the only thing Walt does care for (aside from his dog), is a vintage ’72 Gran Torino bought hot off the assembly line of the Ford factory he once worked at. The Torino stands as more than just the expected phallic symbol of masculinity. It’s a frozen moment in time. It’s not even the best of the classic muscle cars, but that doesn't matter. They just don’t make them like they used to. That goes for the Torino and Walt.

It is that very automobile that intertwines his fate with his next door neighbors. In particular, the introverted Tao (Bee Vang) who is hounded by his older, gangbanger cousin and neither he nor his sister, Sue (Ahney Her) will ”know peace” unless Walt does something about it. As expected, Walt’s stony exterior is chipped away. ”I have more in common with these gooks than my own spoiled, rotten family,” he admits. In turn, young Tao (emasculated by bullies and the domineering women in his family) learns newfound confidence and skills under the reluctant tutorship of Walt.

Gran Torino is a fairly simple film that’s elevated by Eastwood’s sheer presence. It’s a testament to his talent as an actor and filmmaker that he’s able to make racism endearing. And only Eastwood could make you believe a near octogenarian could beat the crap out of punks a fourth of his age. Though the script wasn’t written with him in mind, I cannot imagine anybody else in the role. Walt Kowalski is an extension of the Eastwood persona. The trademark squint and sneer are ever present. He growls like a junkyard dog. The film’s resolution acts as almost a recant of the hard-nosed (some would say fascist) style of vigilantism that made Dirty Harry famous. This is Eastwood’s best work since Unforgiven.

Rating: ****

Changeling

Changeling - Dir. Clint Eastwood (2008)



Eastwood is a rather populist filmmaker, more so this past decade. He’s directed four of my favorite Westerns, the first three being High Plains Drifter, The Outlaw Josey Wales, and the Shane takeoff, Pale Rider. The fourth is Unforgiven which took a less romanticized approach to the genre. Since then, he’s done the lovey dovey weepy (Bridges of Madison County), the crowd pleasing fluff (Space Cowboys), the serial killer thriller (Blood Work), the gritty crime drama (Mystic River), the inspirational sports film (Million Dollar Baby), and the war film (Flags of Our Fathers, Letters from Iwo Jima). With each project, Eastwood takes a straightforward approach, evoking all the basic emotions of triumph and tragedy you expect from awards season fare. Sometimes this can be more insulting than the worst piece of garbage to infest the multiplex. At least, when you’re pandering to the lowest common denominator, you have no delusions over what you are. When you pander to the Academy voters, you have a self-important air about you and film.

Now, am I insulting Eastwood’s abilities as a filmmaker? Not my intention. He’s absolutely amazing at what he does. But, other than Unforgiven and, to a lesser extent, Letters from Iwo Jima, he hasn’t truly offered anything different than what is normally found during the pre-Oscar hype months. He’s just not taking risks.

Changeling just screams Oscar bait. It’s a period piece, has an epic runtime, renowned actors, and a woman in peril. In anyone else’s hands, the film would have been manipulative tripe. However, in Eastwood’s hands we have a great movie, an old fashioned L.A. crime film in the vein of Chinatown and L.A. Confidential. Changeling is based on the true story of Christine Collins whose case was immaculately researched by screenwriter J. Michael Straczynski (a comic book writer and creator of Babylon 5). Straczynski spent a year researching the material and even went as far as attaching newspaper clippings to the actual script. Both Eastwood and Straczynski are exacting in their craft and together they have created an immaculate production. The costumes and production design are authentic to a tee while Eastwood’s approach is in line with the classic Hollywood style.

The length of the film never bothered me and neither did the multiple false finishes as I was absorbed at every minute. The story is part-mystery and part-serial killer movie while the third act is predominantly a courtroom drama. The latter of which isn’t quite as strong as the previous acts.

Much like her in A Mighty Heart, Angelina Jolie is called upon to give a heart-wrenching performance. She definitely looks the part of a flapper girl with her slight frame, pale skin, and ruby red lips. She cries on cue as the mascara runs down her cheeks. She’s de-glamorized and disheveled after being unjustly committed to an asylum.

While I enjoyed the film, I wasn’t blown away by it. Changeling proudly hits all the right notes at exactly the right moments. It’s impeccably made, well acted with a riveting story behind it. This is the type of movie that critics eat up. But, it's the circumstances surrounding the true life events that are more interesting than the picture based on them.

Rating: ***

Quantum of Solace

Quantum of Solace - Dir. Marc Forster (2008)

"The first thing you should know about us…is that we have people everywhere."

It may be three years since Casino Royale, but its floridly titled sequel, Quantum of Solace takes place only minutes after the conclusion. Bond interrogates Mr. White to gain more information about the ruthless terrorist organization known as Cobra…er…Quantum.

The major complaint from the majority of critics and viewers has been that the latest Bond movie doesn’t feel like a Bond movie. My reply, is that such a bad thing? This is a grittier, nastier 007 with little time for cheesy puns and room service caviar. There’s plenty of globe-trotting, but no chance to partake in the lush scenery. Bond is more action hero-y than ever before, cutting down bad guys one after another. Would I l have liked a Bond who was less with the blunt and more with the cunning & guile? Yes. Much like, the Batman reboot we saw the ultimate fighting machine Batman before we got the detective skills.

The second piece of criticism comes is how the new Bond film apes the Bourne franchise. The fights and rooftop chases look like they came right out of the Greengrass helmed pictures. Not surprisingly, Bourne editor Richard Pearson and stunt coordinator Gary Powell both worked on Quantum as well. The film opens with a breakneck car chase. Breakneck because you’ll probably snap yours trying to follow the muddled action. The studio took a chance on hiring director Marc Forster better known for more intimate films such as Finding Neverland, Stranger Than Fiction, and The Kite Runner. Forster isn’t as flashy as Martin Campbell, but he gets the job done. No more, no less.

Quantum also borrows heavily from past Bond pictures. Bond goes rogue on a mission of vengeance (Licence to Kill). There’s a side story involving the lead Bond girl also on a quest for revenge (For Your Eyes Only) while another ill-fated Bond girl meets her maker after being dunked in oil (Goldfinger).

Craig continues to be a perfect blend of the past iterations of Bond though he isn’t as charming as he could have been. At one point, he drops his friend’s body into a dumpster ("He wouldn’t care."). Judi Dench as M finally gets some scenes she can really chew on. Mathieu Amalric looks the part of a super-villain with his scrawny frame and bugged-out eyes, but his Dominic Greene never feels like the larger-than-life threat he should be. Even less memorable is Olga Kurylenko who makes the least interesting love interest for 007 since Tanya Roberts. Her whole subplot feels forced into the proceedings, as if they couldn’t go one film without a woman tagging along on Bond’s adventures.

What we have is essentially Casino Royale Volume 2. While Casino clocked in as the longest Bond film, Quantum has the shortest runtime. Taken on its own, Quantum of Solace is a fun action movie that’s missing a few ingredients to really heat things up in the kitchen. The rebooted Bond films are best viewed back-to-back as one epic.

Rating: ***

Bolt

Bolt – Dir. Byron Howard & Chris Williams (2008)


Bolt began as the brainchild of Chris Sanders (Lilo & Stitch). The story involved a dog (the star of a hit TV show) getting lost in the Nevada desert with a one-eyed cat and a mutant rabbit. Sanders left the project after butting heads with Pixar CEO John Lasseter, now in charge of creative for Disney Animation. The final product definitely has touches of the Pixar brand, but doesn’t reach the heights of their last two efforts, Ratatouille and Wall-E.

The eponymous lead character, Bolt, remains the same, a white German Shepherd who believes he has superpowers and everything on his show is real. He’s accidentally shipped to New York City and must make his way back to L.A. in order to rescue his "person," Penny (voiced by teenybopper sensation Miley Cyrus). Along the way, he picks up a sassy street-smart cat, Mittens, played by Susie Essman, best known as the foul-mouthed wife of Jeff Garlin on Curb Your Enthusiasm. She’s essentially a G-rated version of that character. Rounding out the group is a tubby hamster named Rhino who’s even more delusional than Bolt.

The film opens up with a rousing action sequence, a chase through the streets of L.A. It’s wonderfully paced and animated, the type of sequence you might find in a Jerry Bruckheimer production. The rest of the film is derivative of other pictures such as The Truman Show, Incredible Journey, and even Toy Story 2. The cute animals eventually make their way home and Bolt learns he doesn’t need extraordinary abilities to be special. We learn that good old-fashioned, Midwest values are better than those found in gaudy, superficial Hollywood.

Still, Bolt is both entertaining and heartwarming. Unlike the majority of generic CG animated movies, Bolt isn’t relying on snarky pop culture references and stunt casting in its celebrity voice actors. Kids will definitely enjoy themselves and so will the parents and older audience members.

It’s been approximately a decade and a half since Disney’s modern-era glory days of Aladdin, Lion King, Little Mermaid, and Beauty and the Beast. Bolt seems like a step in the right direction and an indication that the House of Mouse is on an upswing. It’s a refreshing treat after the stale taste of flops like Chicken Little and Meet the Robinsons. Hopefully, we’ll see more films like this and less of the awful, needless direct-to-video sequels.

Rating: ***

Milk

Milk - Dir. Gus Van Sant (2008)

"My name is Harvey Milk and I want to recruit you."

Auteur Gus Van Sant has bounced back and forth from the arthouse to the multiplex. He’s probably best known by mainstream audiences for the Oscar-winning Good Will Hunting or the ill-conceived shot-for-shot remake of Psycho. He’s spent the last several years making films of a more avant-garde nature (Elephant, Gerry, Paranoid Park). Now, Van Sant has found some middle ground with his biopic of Harvey Milk, the first openly gay individual elected to public office. Milk is a rather conventional film that transcends its by-the-numbers narrative trappings thanks to an exceptional cast led by Sean Penn.

Penn might be a humorless killjoy in real life, but he’s an amazing actor. Here, he throws himself into the role. He’s created a three-dimensional character without simply relying on the mannered impersonation that a less-talented actor would have given. Dustin Lance Black’s script doesn’t bother to get into Harvey Milk’s childhood or family background. He wisely skips ahead to Milk at 40 who has a mid-life crisis or revelation. Milk transforms from a Wall Street banker and Goldwater Republican to a long-haired hippie. Moving to SF, he opens a camera shop and becomes known as the Mayor of Castro Street. Though Milk gains unlikely supporters in the teamsters union, he ultimately loses his initial three campaigns before becoming city supervisor. Milk shrewdly finds a way to relate to a wide demographic of voters (not just the gay community) by promising to clean up dog poop. Throughout all this, Penn captures the real Milk’s charm, disarming wit, and determination (as evidenced in the Oscar-winning documentary, The Times of Harvey Milk).

Josh Brolin gives yet another amazing performance as fellow supervisor Dan White who would go on to assassinate both Milk and Mayor George Moscone. Brolin is perfect as the straight-laced White, an ex-cop and firefighter. He’s a man not unsettled by Milk’s sexuality, but by Milk’s sudden rise in power and notoriety, a rise that should have been his. And there might have been a little more to it as Milk speculated, "He might be one of us."

Milk’s release couldn’t have come at a more appropriate time. Milk organized gay activists against Prop 6 which called for the firing of all gay teachers in the public school system as well as their supporters. The measure was championed by singer Anita Bryant (who appears only in archival footage) and played upon the fears for their children’s safety. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Rating: *** 1/2

Zack and Miri Make a Porno

Zack and Miri Make a Porno - Dir. Kevin Smith (2008)


Potty mouthed, but with a heart tends to be an apt description of Kevin Smith’s oeuvre. After the underrated Jersey Girl bombed, Smith returned to the View Askew universe he had attempted to distance himself from with Clerks II. Rather than go back to the well again, he tries once more and hits al the right smutty notes with Zack and Miri. The title is self-explanatory though the reasoning behind the plot is pretty flimsy. With the economy in the toilet, I’m still waiting for the legions of amateur porn movies to hit the interwebs. The unpaid bills are forgotten as the film progresses. Everybody is more preoccupied with getting the money shots and not the actual money. They don't have money for the electricity, but enough for an R2D2 costume with prosthetic testicles?

However, that’s not really the point behind Zack and Miri. Like Chasing Amy, it’s about how sex can complicate a relationship. It’s about best friends finally facing up to the deep seeded feelings they have for each other. And there are plenty of bad words and hilarious one-liners to make sure things don’t get too mushy.

Aside from Jason Mewes, Jeff Anderson, and his wife, Smith forgoes uses his usual players and borrows a few from Judd Apatow’s repertory. Seth Rogen and Elizabeth Banks are both great as the title characters, but supporting actor Craig Robinson (Knocked Up, The Office) has all the best scenes as a henpecked husband turned porn producer. The film’s best and funniest scene involves a husky voiced Justin Long and Superman himself, Brandon Routh, as a gay couple.

Zack and Miri isn’t going to be accused of being high art, but it is good entertainment for those who aren’t skittish about scatological humor. Or Jason Mewes’ scrotum.

Rating: ***

Cadillac Records

Cadillac Records - Dir. Darnell Martin (2008)


Cadillac Records tells an interesting story in the most uninteresting of ways. Segregation is the norm and, oddly, it would take a Jewish Polish immigrant and a wealth of black recording artists to slowly chip away at the barrier. Adrien Brody plays Leonard Chess whose rocky trip to the top starts with a nightclub in a Negro neighborhood. His paths cross with a poor sharecropper by the name of Muddy Waters played by Jeffrey Wright, who looks more like Billy Dee Williams than the blues musician. In Waters, Chess finds the star he needs to hitch a ride on and founds Chess Records. Soon, he’s attracting other talents such as Little Walter (Columbus Short), Chuck Berry (Mos Def), Howlin’ Wolf (Eamonn Walker), and Etta James (Beyonce Knowles).

Beyonce (who also served as executive producer) definitely has the pipes to match the legendary James and the audience I was with erupted in applause when she crooned, “At Last.” However, try as she might, she didn’t have the acting chops to match the larger-than-life personality that came with the larger-than-life voice.

It’s never clear whether Chess is truly taking care of his artists or ripping them off. Nonetheless, the label is riding the gravy train. While the stars may be raking in the dough and driving fancy Cadillacs, they still can’t eat the same places as white folks. Matter of fact, Berry is thrown out of a club he’s booked to play because the owners mistakenly believed he was white. He also causes a near riot simply by dancing with white girls on stage. Mos Def has a lot of fun with the role, but he's not in the film nearly enough. I'm all for spinning him off into a full-length film.

The film is narrated by Willie Dixon (Cedric the Entertainer) and uses Chess and Waters as the focal points, but no one personality is the centerpiece. Characters weave in and out of the story. Thus, Cadillac Records feels like several musical biopics strung together with each one following the typical trajectory of other biopics such as Ray or Walk the Line. It’s a formula that was mocked so well in Dewey Cox. The artists struggle with finances, drugs, and infidelity. They have their inevitable fall from grace before newfound fame pulls them back into the spotlight. Writer/Director Darnell Martin (whose body of art has primarily been in television) fashioned a script that leans just a little too much towards fiction rather than fact. She has added a few speculated romances (Chess & James, Little Walter and Waters' 1st wife) to spice things up.

There isn’t anything particularly terrible with Cadillac Records, but there isn’t anything particularly spectacular. It’s more noteworthy as a soundtrack rather than a film. A recommended rental.

Rating: ** 1/2

W.

W. - Dir. Oliver Stone (2008)

The always controversial Oliver Stone courts more of the same with the first biopic focusing on a sitting president. In a similar fashion to Nixon, Stone takes a not-so-beloved figure and breaks him down into a sympathetic light. W. isn’t the hatchet job most believed it would be. Stone’s Dubya certainly isn’t an eloquent man, but he’s far from the greedy warmonger many liberals paint him out to be. He’s a man desperate to get out of the shadow of a far more successful, far more renowned father. A man born of privilege who still enjoys burgers, beer, and Cheetos. A simple man overwhelmed and ill-equipped to handle the position of power he finds himself in. The whole film hinges on Josh Brolin whose superb performance could have easily slipped onto the level of a bad SNL sketch. It’s hard to imagine anyone else in the role, especially Stone’s first choice, Christian Bale, who actually spent months studying “Bushy” to hone his take.

Stone paints a far less favorable picture of Bush’s inner circle. The actors may not capture the look of their real-life counterparts, they capture their essence. Condoleezza Rice is a sycophant parroting everything the President says. Rumsfeld is full of self-assurance and arrogance even past the point when its proven Iraq has no WMDs. Even worse is Dick Cheney. In the film’s most over-the-top moment, the Vice-President steps up to the plate in the war room, extorting the importance of oil and the building of an American empire. ”There is no exit strategy. We stay. Nobody will fuck with us.” It’s a sequence more fitting for a James Bond villain, yet may not stray too far from the truth. It is Cheney and Karl Rove who pull the strings of the gullible and easily swayed Dubya. Only Colin Powell is shown in any sort of positive light as the circle’s sole voice of conscience.

Is it a perfect film? Definitely not. The weakest moments of the picture come from Stone’s usual flourishes into the metaphysical. The main narrative is framed around a fantasy of Bush in an empty Arlington Park which never gels with the rest of the film. Obviously, much of the film should be taken with a grain of salt. It’ll be interesting to see what audience W. finds. Liberals may be disappointed by the lack of Bush bashing while conservatives won’t bother with what they think will be more of the same from bleeding heart Hollywood types.

Rating: ***

Australia

Australia - Dir. Baz Luhrmann (2008)

Australia is a stirring epic that acts as a love letter to classic Hollywood and as a rallying point for national pride. At least, that’s what Mr. Lurhmann’s intentions were. Alas, his intentions far exceeded his talent as a storyteller. Ironically, the film is all about telling stories. Australia doesn’t have a hint of an original idea within its bloated two hour and forty minute runtime. Lurhmann attempts to meld new school CGI with old school Hollywood filmmaking, invoking David Lean and George Stevens. There’s even a John Ford shot that looks to be lifted right out of The Searchers.

The film begins as a romantic comedy with Nicole Kidman as the prim and proper Lady Ashley arriving in Australia to find her husband murdered and is forced to take over his ramshackle cattle farm. There, she meets the rough and rugged Drover played by People Magazine’s sexiest man of the year, Hugh Jackman. They hate each other instantly which, of course, means they’ll fall in love by the end of the first act. Lady Ashley also cares for a half-Aborigine/half-Caucasian boy who is in danger of being taken away to a Catholic-run orphanage. The purpose, to ”breed the black out of him.” Don’t forget the film’s villain, played by David Wenham (300, The Lord of the Rings), who does everything short of twirling a handlebar moustache. The movie turns into a Western where Lady Ashley and the Drover assemble a motley crew to herd the cattle into Darwin. Had Australia ended here; I’d be giving it a more glowing review.

The plot unfolds in an utterly predictable fashion and Kidman overacts a bit too much in the beginning, but the production is lavish and entertaining. Unfortunately, the film plods along into a war drama that’s as emotionally riveting as Pearl Harbor. Kidman is separated from those she loves as CGI planes bomb CGI buildings leading to big CGI explosions. The film attempts to bring to light the racial tensions that existed at the time, but tends to whitewash class and ethnic relations. It borders on condescension with its portrayal of Aboriginal mysticism.

Luhrmann hasn’t made a film since the garish musical Moulin Rouge due to developing Australia and, before that, a failed attempt at an Alexander the Great biopic. Directing-wise, Luhrmann hasn’t lost a step as he’s created a visually immaculate production. It’s a stunning picture at every level. The acting is good with Jackman in particular ably stepping into the Clark Gable role. But, the story isn’t there to back it up.

Rating: ** ½

The Dark Knight

The Dark Knight - Dir. Christopher Nolan (2008)


"How 'bout a magic trick?"

Am I allowed to call The Dark Knight, the Citizen Kane of comic book movies? Well, I don’t care because I am calling it that.

It's hard to even categorize the film as just a straight superhero movie. The tone and atmosphere is more in line with crime epics like Heat, The Departed, or The Untouchables. The opening bank robbery feels like a sequence taken directly from a Michael Mann movie. And with a runtime of over 2 and a half hours, The Dark Knight is the Bat-epic we've been waiting for. Christopher Nolan wastes no time in getting things started. We hit the ground running and Dark Knight grabs a firm hold of our short hairs and never lets up its grip.

While this may be a Batman movie, the true stealer of the show is The Joker. The greatest supervillain of all time is played to perfection by the late-Heath Ledger. To compare him to Alex DeLarge from A Clockwork Orange or Hannibal Lecter would be a gross understatement of the character. To compare him to Jack Nicholson would also be a disservice. Jack Nicholson's Joker was fun and instantly quotable. Yet, he was always just Jack Nicholson in white make-up doing Jack Nicholson shtick. Heath disappears into the role and not just because of costuming or make-up. His mannerisms and inflections ARE those of the Joker. Believe me, I was calling Oscar buzz long before anybody else. As soon as I heard that first Joker line in the original teaser last year, I knew Heath was going to do something special. I hope he gets some recognition during awards season and not just in a morbid posthumous way. If Johnny Depp can get an Oscar nomination for his fey Keith Richards act, Heath can get one for his Clown Prince of Crime.

Kudos as well to the writing team for crafting one of the most unique antagonists in cinematic history. Comic fans will see the influence from Alan Moore's The Killing Joke and Grant Morrison's Arkham Asylum. We don't get a repeat of Batman Begins. This is not The Joker Begins. There is no protracted origin sequence. No flashbacks, no exposition, no explanation of 'Why?' in regards to the Joker. He just IS. The Joker is not someone we can ever hope to understand. He's no mere mobster in search of money and power. He's no megalomaniac bent on world conquest. This Joker is a simple man who only wants to call the world on all its bullshit. He may not meticulously organize his evil plans, but he does come up with some incredibly twisted and innovative schemes. It is so fascinating to watch a villain who is several steps ahead of the heroes and has them completely outmatched.

Weaved into the tapestry is the rise and fall of Harvey Dent, the golden boy savior of Gotham City. Anybody with some familiarity with the Bat-Universe knows Dent's ultimate fate. At first, he is everything Batman cannot be only to become everything that Batman shouldn't be. Whereas the Joker is Batman's complete opposite in terms of order vs. chaos. Dent becomes Batman's opposite in the other extreme, corrupting his ideals about justice and meting out punishment with the flip of a coin. Both suffer tremendous tragedy, but Batman is driven by his tragedy while Dent succumbs to it. Eckhart gives a fine performance and his shared scenes with the Joker are some of the best in the film.

The best thing that Nolan has brought to his reinvigorated Bat-Franchise is the A-list cast. Many of them have returned for the sequel. Michael Caine and Morgan Freeman are their usual dependable selves, bringing gravitas and a touch of humor to their scenes. Gary Oldman is that rare breed of actor that is a total chameleon. Like Heath, Oldman melts right into the role of Jim Gordon. Batman may be the title character and Joker may get all the attention, but Oldman’s Gordon is the heart of the film. Maggie Gyllenhaal is a definite upgrade from Katie Holmes. Of course, how can you ignore Christian Bale. He's the best Batman ever, even if his character doesn't get a chance to grow much in the sequel. Bale also does a great job with his foppish Bruce Wayne routine. The growling Bat-voice was overdone though, but that's the fault of post-production.

This being a blockbuster summer flick, I can't forget about the action sequences. The Hong Kong sequence is gorgeous and the finale is pure awesomeness. The car chase through the streets is another excellent set piece. The Bat-Pod is cool and used just right without ever coming off as a blatant excuse for a toy. My only beef would be some of the fight scenes as I'm not a fan of Nolan's quick cut editing. If a fight breaks out, I want to be able to see the fight and not just a series of close-ups of people's fists and feet.

Nolan and company have topped themselves creating that rare sequel that blows the original right out of the water. This is the best comic book adaptation ever and my pick for best film of 2008.

Rating: **** 1/2

Punisher: War Zone

Punisher: War Zone - Dir. Lexi Alexander (2008)

”Somebody has to punish the corrupt.”

Or maybe somebody should punish the folks who can’t seem to put together a good Punisher movie. Out of all the comic book characters there are, the Punisher should be one of the easiest to pull off. No superpowers, no goofy outfit, no crazy comic book science to explain, and no need for $200 million in special effects. Just one mean badass with a shitload of guns. War Zone follows in the tepid footsteps of the no-budget Dolph Lundgren version and the so-so Thomas Jane vehicle. Was the third time the charm? It’s leaps and bounds ahead of the previous versions, but pales in comparison to The Dark Knight and Iron Man in terms of 2008’s comic book adaptations. It has more in common with testosterone-fueled action flicks like Commando or Rambo.

War Zone takes the Punisher back to his roots, plopping him down into the seedy streets of New York City (though it was actually shot in Montreal). Dark, cold tones with neon highlights, a far cry from the sunny beaches of Tampa. His origin remains much closer to the source material and is briefly seen in flashbacks so we can get right into the action. This iteration of Frank Castle is the brooding, taciturn killing machine he needed to be. The man doesn’t even speak his first lines until about half an hour into the movie. Who has time for action hero one-liners when you’re hanging upside-down from a crystal chandelier pumping several hundred rounds of ammo into the bodies of hapless goombas? This is a Punisher who doesn’t bother with Machiavellian schemes involving fire hydrants. Not when he can punch his fist through someone’s face or stab a man through the eye with a chair leg. The violence is like an Itchy & Scratchy episode. The film also features the best use of a rocket launcher in cinematic history. This is a Punisher who really does some serious punishing.

Ray Stevenson fits the role of Frank Castle perfectly. He’s big, mean, and looks like he’s seen some serious shit. Stevenson is the Bradstreet Punisher come to life. Even Wayne Knight (“Newman…”) has some good scenes with Stevenson as the Punisher’s tech-guy, Micro. The rest of the cast doesn’t fare so well on the other hand. Dominic West (McNulty!) goes over over-the-top as Frank’s facially mangled arch-enemy, Jigsaw. West switches from narcissistic mob boss to cartoon character in a heartbeat, a combination of Jack Nicholson’s Joker with a Dick Tracy villain. The same goes for Doug Hutchison as Jigsaw’s cannibalistic brother, Loony Bin Jim, an original creation of screenwriter Nick Santora. Julie Benz (who I usually adore) plays the same damsel in distress role as she did in Rambo, but now with a poor New York accent. In fact, nearly everybody in the film has a bad stereotypical accent, be it Italian, New York, Russian, or Irish.

The film also spreads itself too thin by throwing in far too many characters. The filmmakers mined Garth Ennis’s seminal run on the Punisher MAX series to fill out the supporting cast. There’s sad sack NYPD detective Martin Soap, Paul Budiansky (another NYPD detective in the comics, now an FBI agent), black Irishman Maginty, and Russian gangsters the Bulats. Despite this being his film, the Punisher becomes marginalized too often in favor of characters that are essentially cannon fodder. As a fan of the MAX series, I felt a lot of great villains were wasted. Nicky Cavella is turned into an undercover FBI agent, his psychotic henchmen Ink & Pittsy are now comic relief toadies, and the Bulats (from one of the best Punisher stories ever) are barely a blip on the radar.

In their zeal to create a sympathetic lead, the filmmakers tend to humanize Frank a little too much. Despondent over accidentally killing an undercover officer, he contemplates giving up his alter-ego. After all, we've never seen that in a comic book movie.

In his review, Roger Ebert called War Zone “one of the best-made bad movies.” That hits the nail on the head. Punisher: War Zone is a film for those who are looking for an hour and a half of mindless violence. It’s a throwback to the 80’s style action film. Taken at that level, it works. Lexi Alexander, a German-born kickboxing champion, joins a tiny club of female action directors whose only other member I can think of is Kathryn Bigelow. Alexander handles the gun battles and fight scenes well without relying on the Bourne-style of quick edits and tight close-ups. A guilty pleasure all the way.

Rating: ***

Body of Lies

Body of Lies - Dir. Ridley Scott (2008)

Leonardo DiCaprio & Russell Crowe - 1, Terrorists - 0

In recent years, Hollywood has dealt with Post-9/11 America in films that were either overly didactic (Lions for Lambs, Rendition or politically tinged action flicks (The Kingdom. Body of Lies falls somewhere in the middle, tasting of that Bourne flavor, but going light on the action and the nauseating, shaky camera.

Adapted from the novel by William Monahan (The Departed, Body of Lies) is content to be a competently made production while failing to distinguish as a film that just has to be seen. All the earmarks of a modern spy thriller are present. The sky high satellite shots, intertitles with time & location, and double-crosses galore. A love story is tacked on because DiCaprio can’t possibly do the movie without a romantic interest. It does touch upon the unique tribulations of a Middle Eastern woman dating a Westerner, but adds nothing to the overall narrative.

Crowe puts on a fun performance along with an extra 40lbs. and a country fried accent for his role as DiCaprio’s superior. Mark Strong is the real star of the film as the head of Jordanian secret intelligence.

Rating: ** 1/2

Wanted

Wanted - Dir. Timur Bekmambetov (2008)

Wesley Gibson (James McAvoy) is an office drone slaving away in a cubicle. His boss always yells at him and his girlfriend cheats on him with his best friend. His job is terrible, his life is terrible and he knows it. He just can´t or won´t do anything about it. If you couldn´t figure any of that out on your own, Wesley helpfully informs us through his Chuck Palahniuk-inspired narration. Wesley´s father ran out on him years ago and he´s never heard from him since. That is, until the sultry Fox (Angelina Jolie) drops into his life. She tells Wesley his father was one of the greatest assassins in the world and was just murdered on a rooftop. Wesley is inducted into a ancient order of killers known as The Fraternity who take their orders from the Loom of Fate which weaves the names of their targets into its cloth. "Kill one save a thousand," that´s their motto.

He meets the Fraternity´s leader, Sloan (Morgan Freeman), who helps Wesley realize his potential when he orders him to shoot the wings off a swarm of houseflies. Other members include The Gunsmith (Common), The Exterminator (Konstantin Khabensky), The Repairman (Marc Warren), and The Butcher (Dato Baktadze). I think The Baker and The Candlestick Maker are being saved for the sequel. Every member of the Fraternity has a heart that beats at extraordinary speeds giving them an adrenaline boost that allows them to perform superhuman feats. They can also curve the trajectories of their bullets. How? It´s all in the wrists.

Wesley´s assassin training consists of taking vicious beatings from his colleagues, shooting corpses strung up on meat hooks, and riding the roofs of Chicago´s elevated trains. The better to prepare him for the inevitable showdown against his father´s killer, a Fraternity turncoat named Cross (Thomas Kretschmann). That´s the plot in a nutshell. Sure, there are some twists and turns in the third act, but the story is incidental to the action. It´s as if the filmmakers came up with cool action sequences first and built the storyline around them. The first half of the film is Wesley´s training with the obligatory montage and a quick set of scenes following Wesley making his first kills. They might as well have just made Wanted entirely out of action montages set to Danny Elfman's pulse-pounding score.

The basic premise of the movie is completely ludicrous. We´re lead to believe that a small group of weavers a thousand years ago somehow discerned a secret code from the pattern in their cloth. How exactly did they do intel on their targets? They didn´t exactly have Google back then. And is the world of Wanted one without Adolf Hitler and Osama bin Laden? How does a secret society stay so secret when they´ve got members flying across skyscrapers, shooting it out in the middle of a crowded drug store, and evading swarms of police officers? While I´m all for, "It´s only a movie," but, come on, guys.

Director Timur Bekmambetov makes his American debut on Wanted after helming a pair of special effects blockbusters, Night Watch, and Day Watch, in his native Russia. Bekmambetov directs Wanted as if he were John Woo with A.D.D. after someone substituted his Ritalin for Jolt and Red Bull. Bekmambetov cribs heavily from The Matrix utilizing bullet time and making the simple act of a victim shot through the head an excruciatingly elaborate production. Bekmambetov dips into a deep bag of tricks to further spice things up. He uses freeze frames, slow motion, fast motion, zoom-ins, zoom-outs, fast forwards, and rewinds. Bullets strike each other in mid-shot and slick sports cars flip through the air like circus acrobats. Some moviegoers will be astonished at the eye candy while more conservative audience members will likely get a migraine. Throughout it all, Bekmambetov keeps a dark sense of humor. A man gets smashed in the face with the keyboard; the letters and a tooth break off to spell out an obscenity. A laser sighting dots a Hindi woman´s Bindi and a bullet is engraved with the word, "Goodbye."

As far as the acting goes, it´s better than you´d expect from a film like this. Much like Robert Downey Jr. and Edward Norton, James McAvoy appears to be an unlikely choice to anchor a big-budget comic book movie. Yet, he equates himself well though not as much as his contemporaries. McAvoy begins the film with the flabbergasted, deer in the headlights demeanor that you´d expect from the comic relief sidekick and not the action hero lead. But, the Scottish actor sports an almost flawless American accent and pulls off the transformation from nebbish pushover into buff killing machine. Angelina Jolie (she of the thick lips & spindly arms) plays up her image of steamy, sexpot as the tattooed, femme fatale Fox. She is everything a growing boy with raging hormones could want. The smoking hot, kick-ass fantasy girl you wished would drop into your life. When she kisses Wesley in front of his shrill ex-girlfriend, the guys in my theater cheered and hollered. And for those of you who thought they should have seen more when Ms. Jolie emerged from the water naked in Beowulf, you won´t be disappointed here.

Five years ago, I would have said it was impossible for an actor the caliber of Morgan Freeman to participate in such a profane and violent spectacle. Nowadays, the man seems content to appear in sentimental, crowd pleasers like The Bucket List and Evan Almighty, along with genre pictures like Wanted and the Batman franchise. As expected, he lends a bit of credibility to all the silliness and I did giggle like a schoolgirl when I heard Easy Reader curse up a Samuel L. Jackson storm. The filmmakers tried to throw the fanboys a bone with the casting of Terrence Stamp as the mysterious Pekwarsky. Like Freeman, Stamp brings a little extra gravitas to his miniscule part, but General Zod doesn´t get enough screen time and never makes anyone kneel before him.

Now, I switch into comic book geek mode. I pose the question, what is more preposterous? A hidden clan of assassins who take their orders from a giant sewing machine? Or a world where comic book super-villains actually exist and rule the world in secret after having defeated all the super-heroes in a massive war? The latter was the high concept premise of the original comic. Millar loosely based his creations on the rogues´ galleries of DC Comics to form an over-the-top, darkly humorous and nihilistic world.

Producers snatched up the rights before the first issue even came out and had the screenwriters behind 2 Fast 2 Furious and 3:10 To Yuma ditch the super-villain angle and go off in their own direction. I doubt Wanted would have benefited from a 100%, straight-on adaptation ala Sin City, but we´ve seen plenty of movies about assassins. The super-villain plot would have been more unique and given us far more outlandish characters compared to the dull, generic supporting cast of the film. Mr. X and the Repairman don´t compare to a poop monster made of the feces from the 666 most evil humans in history. Maybe mainstream audiences just weren´t ready for Johnny Two-Dicks, a mobster with an evil, talking penis. While I agree with toning down the sheer amorality of the comic, I believe the film lost some of the hook and the acerbic wit of the source material. We´ve had poor attempts at the post-modern comic book movie (Mystery Men, My Super Ex-Girlfriend, Hancock), but I think Wanted could have been the one.

Films like Iron Man, Die Hard, and Terminator 2 have proven blockbuster action flicks can still be intelligent with heart and a sharp script. Wanted has no intelligence, heart or a sharp script. It is a loud, dumb action movie and sometimes that´s all I want. It might not be healthy, but I´ll pass on the filet mignon every once in a while for a Twinkie. Wanted is a Twinkie, a delicious, bloody, profane, bullet-riddled Twinkie. It´s a super-stylized, gun-toting guilty pleasure that´s not afraid to go for the hard R. It´s meant to attract the types of folks who love playing Grand Theft Auto. The action sequences were a helluva lot of fun and the movie appealed to my mentally deranged, inner child.

Rating: ***