Archive for September, 2007

Three oldies not all goodies

First up, we have 1962′s Days of Wine and Roses, starring Jack Lemmon as an alkie who marries Lee Remick and draws her into the disease as well. I’m sure that in 1962 this was cutting-edge, gritty stuff, but now it feels dated and flat as hell. Here’s problem #1 I had with it: Lemmon’s Joe Clay, a PR guy, berates the secretary of one of his clients merely because she had the audacity to sniff at his chosen profession (which is, to be blunt, to be a pimp for his clients). After he’s done berating her, she leaves, and so does he. And then, seconds later, she’s asking him why he’s not asking her to dinner. The guy who just got done yelling at her, yes, he’s an appealing fella. Nasty son of a bitch, more like. Were women dumber in 1962? The rest of the movie is the two of them sinking further and further into full-blown alkiness, with Lemmon finally being saved by AA. The ending’s good – not trite, not pat – but the movie wallows so much in self-pity and morosity that you don’t feel any better when it’s all over and done with. And since Clay is despicable from the moment we see him, we don’t see a huge change in his personality as the disease overtakes him (and he loses his job and self-respect). **

Then we have Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936), directed by Frank Capra, about a small-town tuba player who inherits $30 million from a distant relative and ultimately decides to give it all away once he realizes how many vultures want a piece of it. And that’s when they arrest him for being completely out of his mind. Gary Cooper is Deeds, and Jean Arthur plays the cynical reporter who plays him like, well, a tuba in order to sell papers and get a free vacation. It’s pretty awesome. And hey, it was the movie that introduced the terms “doodling” and “pixelated” to the masses! True story. ***1/2

And then we come to an early Alfred Hitchcock movie, 1931′s The Skin Game, about the shenanigans between two moneyed families in England, the Hornblowers and the Hillcrists. Seems Mr. Hornblower wants to moderize the neighborhood with his new-fangled chimneys, and the old-money Hillcrists want nothing to do with it, so they spend most of the movie trying to outmaneuver each other. That doesn’t sound bad, but the movie is very poorly shot and recorded, and the dialog is atrocious. Sometimes, Hitch would have a shot of a door – for several seconds – as we wait for someone to walk through it. Or he’ll focus on someone while someone else speaks to them off camera. It all looks inept, all the more so because it’s Alfred Freaking Hitchcock. **

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What we know about Indiana Jones 4

We know that it’ll be called Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.

We know that Cate Blanchett will be in it and that she might be playing the Bad Guy. Well, a Bad Guy, anyway. Maybe she’ll be the one who looks to be Good only to turn on Indy at the last moment. Or maybe she’ll be bad all along. (I can’t call her a Bad Girl, because I’m sure Ms. Blanchett would above that sort of moniker.)

We know that the fedora will still be on Indy’s head.

We know it’ll be in theaters on May 22, 2008.
And, um, that’s about it. Oh, Shia LaBeouf, Jim Broadbent, Ray Winstone, and Karen Allen will all be in it, but since Steven Spielberg and George Lucas are involved, there’s not much to go on regarding everyone’s role. Sigh. Hey, it doesn’t matter anyway, does it? Seriously, if all of those people were NOT in it, and all we had was Harrison Ford versus, say, an ECG machine, wouldn’t you still watch it? Of course you would. You’re as weak as I am when it comes to Indiana Jones. Indiana Jones and the Curse of Universal Medical Care would be a heart-pounding (literally) thrill ride. No one would be admitted after the movie’s begun, and the studio would take no responsibility for deaths owing to heart attacks or strokes. Especially not strokes. It’s not that kind of movie.

Me, I’m glad the elegant Blanchett, who’s a great actress indeed, will be in it to class up the joint, not to take anything away from respectable thespians Winstone and Broadbent. (You might remember Broadbent from Bullets over Broadway and Winstone from Sexy Beast. Or not.) Dunno about LaBeouf, since all I’ve seen him in has been the loud Transformers movie, but at least he was appealing in it. And Allen? I’m glad to see Marion Ravenwood again, of course, but frankly I don’t think Karen Allen had anything pressing going on in her career, anyway. A quick look at the good ol’ IMDb shows us that she hasn’t done anything movie-wise since 2004, and nothing of note in the theater since 2001′s In the Bedroom, which sounds like a porno but was in fact a fantastic thriller starring Sissy Spacek and Tom Wilkinson as parents of a young man (Nick Stahl) who’s lover’s husband just got himself killed. Oops. I don’t remember Karen Allen in it, though.

Da da da daaaaaaaaaaa, da da da….

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347 – 3:10 to Yuma

This remake of the 1957 oater (that’s movie talk for “western”) is servicable largely because of the earnest craftiness of its two leads, who skillfully play off each other in a battle of wills, if not morals. Unfortunately, while the motives of the good guy (playes by Christian Bale) are both noble and realistic, some of the actions of the bad guy (Russell Crowe) may leave you scratching your head, and while nebulous intentions can make for wonderful mystery, in the end you’re still not sure why Crowe’s dastardly Ben Wade has done what he’s done, and what it all means.

Dan Evans (Bale) is a dirt-poor farmer who lost a leg in the Civil War. His farm’s about to be foreclosed by an unscrupulous land owner who’s taken to damming a river and burning down Evans’ barn to force him off his own property. So when stagecoach robber Ben Wade (Crowe) is captured and needs to be escorted to the nearby town to get on the titular train, Evans volunteers, both to gain payment to help save his farm and to save face in front of his two kids, one of whom is sick from tuberculosis and one who thinks his old man is a spineless failure. Saddled by debt and ungrateful kids, Evans’ decision and motivation are easy to understand.

Ah, but getting the nefarious Wade to Yuma is going to be a complicated trick indeed, because the rest of his gang, led by Charlie Prince (Ben Foster) isn’t going to let their fearless leader be trundled off to Yuma to die. Luckily, bounty hunter Byron McElroy (a gritty Peter Fonda) gets the idea of using a decoy stagecoach to lure the varmints off the trail while he and the rest of the posse, including Evans, schlep Wade in the other direction. The gambit works for a while, allowing the good guys to place precious geographical space between them and the bad guys; it also allows the movie to continue unabated. Because, after all, there are more people in Wade’s gang then there are trying to bring him to justice – all they’d have to do is find him, shoot the hell out of the place, and grab him.

Although there’s plenty of gunplay and death by bullets, this is much more of a psychological drama than anything else. Wade, as played coldly (but not charmlessly) by Crowe, has two goals in mind: gain the mental upper hand on Evans, an untrained rancher, and gain his escape from the clutches of law and order. Meanwhile, although Evans’ intentions are less murky, he’s not some squinty-eyed sharpshooter whose aim is always true; he’s not an iconic hero who you just know is gonna save the day. Bale is terrific; you can really see the anguish he feels as a supposed failure in the eyes of his sons. In the hands of lesser actors, these two complex roles would have seemed less symbiotic and therefore less sincere. For example, apparently Movie Guy Tom Cruise was initially supposed to have Wade’s role; if that had come to fruition, we would have been distracted by Movie Star Tom Cruise, and the movie would have suffered terribly as a result.

But despite the wonderful performances by Bale and Crowe, the movie’s shortcoming is that Ben Wade’s intentions seem rather inscrutable. I don’t mean that they’re simply ambiguous (is he going to flee or help the good guys fight off Navajo Indians?), I mean that they don’t make much sense. One minute, Wade is all set to get away from Evans and escape to the safety of his gang, but in the next he’s actually fending off his gang as it attacks Evans. There’s no explanation given for this change of heart, but the new attitude is gone as quickly as it arrives, leaving the viewer a little puzzled. Sure, some may explain this as “Wade comes to respect Evans and so doesn’t want to see the rancher killed,” but Wade’s actions were much more than that. He wasn’t just trying to save Evans, you see, he was actively trying to knock off members of his own gang, and the reason for that escaped me completely.

Still, 3:10 to Yuma is firmly entertaining, benefitting from two gritty, believable performances by Crowe and Bale, although it’s marred by some unexplained actions on the part of its charismatic villain.

***

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346 – Balls of Fury

Balls of Fury is amiable to the point of being gregarious, but many of its jokes – verbal and visual – either just miss or misfire completely, and when it’s over you start thinking of better ways you could have spent the previous ninety minutes. Highlights include Christopher Walken’s waaaaay over the top performance as Feng, a mysterious, rich, eccentric ping pong fan; Thomas Lennon as an ubermean German Olympian; the luxuriant Maggie Q as a table tennis champion who dresses in skimpy short-shorts; and comically terrified male sex slaves.

Randy Daytona (Dan Fogler) was once a promising young ping ponger. Back in 1988, he made the U.S. Olympic team and was all set (at age 12) to win against Lennon’s Karl Wolfschtagg when he slipped and fell and couldn’t return a serve, thus not only losing his chance at a medal but also sealing his father’s fate, as the elder Daytona had bet heavily on the match. Years later, the adult Randy is approached by FBI Agent Rodriguez (George Lopez) to help the government  nail the guy who had Randy’s pop iced – a mysterious man named Feng, whose face no one’s photographed or even seen. The feds know Feng’s up to evil plans, but they need Randy to enter a private, super-secret ping pong tournament run by Feng at his undisclosed lair so they can get the goods on him.

Randy sucks at ping pong now, though, so he must undergo Karate Kid-like training under the wise tutelage of the blind Master Wong (James Hong). To make sure no stereotypes are left alone, Wong also runs a Chinese restaurant. Oh well, at least he doesn’t say the whole training bit is an ancient Chinese secret. Anyway, Wong’s got a niece, or daughter, I’ve already forgotten which, who is superdupercrazygood at competitive ping pong. She can even fend off four players while taking orders over the phone at the restaurant, she’s that darn good. Of course, it falls to her – that would be Maggie Q playing (get this) a woman named Maggie – to train the living bejeezus out of Randy. It should be pointed out here that while Maggie is sensual, gorgeous, and overall wonderful, Randy is fat, slovenly, a little sarcastic. In other words, it’s a typical movie love-match, isn’t it? From the moment Maggie puts Randy’s arm in a chicken wing, you know they’re gonna hook up.

But the real fun comes at Feng’s tournament. For one thing, Walken’s Feng is wearing a different outfit every time you see him, seemingly; he’s sort of like Ming the Merciless, only not as bland. Walken vamps like only Walken can vamp, but it’s sort of easy to steal a movie from guys like Fogler and Lopez. Even so, it’s hard to overstate how much Walken overacts, even for Walken. If you’re not a Walken fan, that is to say, you’ll find nothing to like about this movie. Sure, some may call it hammy acting, but it’s acting… nonetheless… isn’t it?

Then there’s the tourney itself – it’s sudden death, you see, and that’s meant literally. Lose, and you get a blowdart to the neck, courtesy of Feng’s right-hand chica, played by Aisha Tyler. And of course, along the way the underdog Randy must face his old enemy Karl, who so gleefully ended Daytona’s amateur – and professional – career nearly twenty years earlier. But Randy’s not even sure he wants to stick around, seeing as how everyone’s getting killed. He’s funny like that.

Balls of Fury, brought to you by the guys behind Reno 911 and A Night at the Museum, does have its moments of funny, but by and large it suffers from a scattershot script and haphazard directing – it looks almost like it’s some film student’s final thesis project thingy. It’s not quite as good as it should have been, and it’s not nearly funny enough to be worth a theater ticket.

**

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