“What I lack in experience I make up for in clichés”

Friends with Benefits: directed by Will Gluck; written by Keith Merryman, David A. Newman and Will Gluck
  
After seeing Friends with Benefits I came across some interviews that director/writer Will Gluck gave in relation to the film and my attention was immediately caught when I saw him compare it to a Tracy/Hepburn scenario. More arresting, though, was his concept of the characters’ mindfulness. A significant scene in the film sees the two, until then, sex starved protagonists Dylan (Justin Timberlake) and Jamie (Mila Kunis) watching a romantic couple on screen played to anachronistic perfection by Jason Segel and the lovely Rashida Jones. Because these characters are so wise they’re able to point out the silliness of the romantic genre and the ludicrousness that has all those platitudes culminate in a happy ever after ending. The scene is delivered with a level of snark I accept, because even if I do feel badly for the genre romantic comedies tend to be embellished as of late with little to redeem them. In theory, it seems Gluck flirts with the idea of creating a response to decade and more of tired clichés – but, not quite...

A week after the fact, the occasional insularity of the film’s world gives me pause. Dylan is a mere denizen in New York, so that would explain his apparent isolation, but it’s odd that Jamie (portrayed as the poster-girl for all things New York) would have not a single friend in the city other than a man she’s met mere weeks before. The conceit of the film rests on the concept that the two, islands in the proverbial stream, are both lonely and horny and deciding that sex should be as friendly and casual as a game tennis decide to begin a game – a sports’ metaphor that’s awfully trite*. I think I’m getting lost in mixed metaphors. Naturally, the situation will go awry when one – or god forbid, both – of them realises that the situation isn’t as foolproof as it seems. Even tennis has its causalities.

More than a number of persons have credited the “success” of the film to the charisma of the two leads and Timberlake and Kunis definitely do have searing chemistry. For all his recent ubiquity, I like Justin Timberlake (although that’s more than possibly just residual appreciation from his music career) and though I’ve not seen Kunis in enough for her to move me I’m still interested in when she steps up the base line to serve (another sports’ metaphor, whoa). Still, fairly good performances hardly make fine cinema and though nothing about the film screams abysmal, the film around them doesn’t suggest priority. Patricia Clarkson shows up, as is her wont, to inject even more enthusiasm to the situation as Jamie’s kooky and somewhat loose mother. There’s a scene in the film which seems intended to mirror a similar one in Gluck’s last feature Easy A, and it doesn’t roll over the net unimpeded (ahem). It’s because Friends with Benefits spends a curiously short amount of time examining the purported issues of the characters. The film opens with respective hook-ups of Jamie and Dylan telling them that they’re emotionally undeveloped and damaged, and it’s not until well into the second half that they make up on any indication these emotional issues. Otherwise, Timberlake and Kunis prance around like any normal, good-looking young adult.

The clichéd romantic comedy within a romantic comedy which Segel and Jones star in plays on a loop at occasional parts of the film and Gluck’s intent is as subtle as a hammer to the head. The insertion is too saccharine to be condescending; it borders more on being annoyingly expedient. This, he seems to say, is the clichéd way – we’re going to be more self-aware. But, imprudently Gluck seems to think that acknowledging that a mountain is huge is as good as moving it. So, he mires his film down with a slew of witty comments on the state of affairs in the genre while resorting to the same ones to keep the film afloat, which results in an experience where the occasional pleasures are subverted by a pervading sense of confusion. I think I’d have appreciated Friends with Benefits more if it didn’t try to land its serve with a backhanded (gah, that metaphor again). It delivers in a cutesy ways of the genre, but by destroying the naive geniality of the genre it leaves me with a bitter taste in my mouth. And, for all their clichés – the last thing you want is a romantic comedy which leaves you feeling uncomfortable. Gluck shows moments of perception, but they aren’t well imbued. Gluck takes the dive, but he doesn’t stick his landing.

(*I’m done with the sports’ metaphors, I promise. See how gauche that was, with the constant use of sports’ metaphors even as I said that they’re awkward? That’s sort of how Friends with Benefits comes off.)


C

“They’re all trying to get inside his physical body”

Insidious: directed by James Wan; written by Leigh Whannell

From what I could tell Insidious was being sold on the apparent strength of the Paranormal Activity series. This didn’t actually work on me, though, because I’ve not seen any of the Paranormal Activity films. I’m not a fan of horror films – I’m either too nervy to enjoy them without my imagination running away with me; or I’m so caught in up solving all the plot-points that I overanalyse it to the point that I don’t feel anything for it. Somehow, Insidious fell through the tracks and I ended up seeing it, though. And as far as set-up goes, even though I’m not a devotee of the genre I could make out the obvious particulars. A conventional family moves into a house which seems to be haunted, and the haunts follow them when they move. But more than any other genre, I’d imagine that horror depends more on the feeling than the particulars and every horror film depends on a haunting but Insidious like its name offers more.

Patrick Wilson and Rose Byrne star as our couple in distress, and it’s an immediately curious union. Both actors emanate a sort of steely grace about them so that it’s difficult to completely relish the authenticity in their performances. Even at her best Byrne always seems to be the slightest bit affected. Wilson, too, always seems to be on the wrong side of disarming often seeming more suspicious than dashing (a trait he put to good use in Little Children). And, even though they the turn in good work there's that feeling that they're oddly matched (as nice as they look together). Thus, I’m immediately moved to distrust the veneer of easiness which the film thwarts in all of ten minutes, anyhow. Before long one of the Lambert’s son Dalton enters a bizarre coma and before long the house seems to be acting up and before long a psychic, Elise, is brought in. Insidious harbours a surprisingly logical screenplay. The movement from subtle scares to larger ones is especially organic; the film isn’t interested in the most obvious of thrills.

The concept of possession has always been one that promises potential goodness and the manner in which the notion is handled here is striking. Lin Shave gives a fine performance as the psychic and in a scene (which serves as a set-up for the film’s actual climax) she sits at a table conducting some strange twist on a séance wearing a contraption that’s more ridiculous than horrific. Even if questions are left unanswered, it’s difficult to accuse the film of plot-holes and at the crux of the film as we enter a world referred to as “The Further” the dreamscape quality is beautifully rendered – it’s as much terrible as it is stunning to behold which only adds to the ramifications it unearths. Fantasy seems like such an obvious addendum to horror, and although the film seems more interested in its contemporary trappings Wan is especially adept at tying the fantastical with the horrific in the final act.

And, what an act. True, there’s a slight feeling of intertie in the last ten minutes – as if the film could have wrapped it all up more tidily. And the introduction of two...Ghostbusters ends up being more exasperating than comedic. Otherwise, though, the cast is uniformly game – Barbara Hershey in a small role is surprisingly moving. The final moments of the film live up to its title. More than granting us a visceral scare it leaves the audience with a palpable sense of unease so that at the end you’re tempted to go home and wash off all the traces of the insidiousness – as if your body was the one susceptible to the fiends.

B

“All I have the are the choices I make…”

The Adjustment Bureau: directed and written by George Nolfi
    
For a while I was confused between Source Code and The Adjustment Bureau. I vaguely remember seeing snippets of them at the beginning of the year and both seemed to tell a story about a dashing male lead a generally charming woman doing a lot of running holding hands. That sounds like a fairly snarky synopsis, but that IS what I remember. I’d hate to move into some bland platitude about how timing is everything and so on. The thing is, I’ve been having a terrible year movie-wise. My highest grade was the B I gave to Hanna and other than that it’s been fair, okay, and good-ish but nothing exceptional, or not even anything legitimately good. So, I wonder if that movie doldrums made me all the more anxious for something to latch on to. But, let me use my words…

I can’t help but roll my eyes when films try to take on larger than life issues and still be popcorn friendly and in theory that’s what The Adjustment Bureau aims to do. It’s about the age-old philosophy of Determinism. That, right there, is the impetus for thousands – perhaps millions – of literary pieces and The Adjustment Bureau immediately sets itself up for something like defeat because a film more interested in its romance arc is probably not going to do as much justice to the dilatation as it deserves. The story is David Norris (no relation to Chuck), a New York senator to be who on a fateful night meets a contemporary dancer Elis (played by the lovely Emily Blunt). It’s one of those “life-defining” moments and meeting her changes his outlook on life and politics. But, things go awry when he meets her – accidentally – some time later throwing the course of his life all track and giving the members of The Adjustment Bureau (a dubious organisation which ensures that everything happens “as it should”) decide that they shouldn’t be together.

It sounds a bit silly when I put the machinations of the film into a single paragraph and I know that my annoying habit to overanalyse would make me doubt the film if I keep ruminating on it, but The Adjustment Bureau, although not a particularly riveting stylistic entry, benefits not as much from the admittedly interesting concept as it does from a difficult-to-define mood of easiness that emanates from screen each time that Emily Blunt and Matt Damon pair up. The film is billed as a romantic thriller and it’s backed by an absolutely atrocious poster (really, what IS that?) and the film doesn’t quite make good on the thrilling aspects. It’s riveting, no doubt and Anthony Mackie spends a significant amount of time looking especially dour – but, few of his contemporaries make dour look so good, so I’m more than game.

In the end, I can’t quite surrender my over analytical brain to completely LOVING The Adjustment Bureau but I have no qualms about saying that it’s a completely enjoyable film. I’d have been more willing to buy in to its conceit if those last five minutes weren’t just too…bland? It sort of subverted what went prior, capping off a movie that seemed to be devoid of any agenda with a conclusion that isn’t woeful, but just feels tonally jerky. Which, of course, returns to the point that any film which flirts with such significant concepts must be willing to do what it promises. Still, The Adjustment Bureau thrives more than it doesn’t not only because Nolfi is in control of his story (for the most part) but because in the most innocuous of moments Damon and especially Blunt make some thrilling choices as actors that make characters we have no significant knowledge of into people we root for. Maybe I didn’t fall in love with it, but I fell in like…a lot.
   
B

“If you do not care about this class, then neither do I”

Larry Crowne: directed by Tom Hanks; written Tom Hanks and Nia Vardolos

I pay so little attention to general critical consensus that it was mere happenstance which led me to the Rotten Tomatoes page of Larry Crowne where I saw what a critical tongue lashing it had taken. And, in a way, I think that Larry Crowne is one of those films which exposes all that is wrong with the mob psychology tendencies that tend to overtake film criticism at times. For the record, I’d hardly intimate that it’s an excellent film but what’s interesting about Larry Crowne is that despite its cast of generally big names from Tom Hanks to Julia Roberts to Taraji P. Henson to Bryan Cranston and son on, the film is comfortable being a commendable dramedy about a man – somewhat tritely – finding “himself”. Hanks and Roberts are stars of such great megawatts that by default one demands that a film of theirs be an unbridled success, anything less is an unmitigated failure. And, Larry Crowne is far from a massive successive but I curse the black-and-white world where because it’s not a success it means that it’s a failure.

I would guess that much of the trouble comes in the way that it was advertised. The scant bits of ads I paid attention to seemed to pitch the film as some sort of zeitgeist film looking at how unemployment is affecting the middle class. And, true, the film begins with Larry getting fired but it’s as much about unemployment as Hanna is about hunting animals. It’s a showcase for Tom Hanks to play his good natured good guy as he tries to fit into college. And the film rolls ago in that sometimes too comfortable way, but it is surprisingly unwilling to pander to the most obvious of stereotypes. True, Larry will meet a group of madcap students (somewhat) and he’ll fall in love but the way in which everything comes off as not the least bit clichéd is particularly impressive, even if Hanks is nothing special.

For me, the film is about Julia Roberts. She plays an unrelentingly bitter professor and she’s not quite the leading lady, even if she’s not quite supporting and as the object of Larry’s affection she’s a bit wasted but the film cares about her (as it does about most of its characters). More importantly, she’s fun in the role. She approaches with a winning gusto and say what you will about Julia – she’s fun to watch. There’s a scene where she enters a classroom she doesn’t want to be in and for a few seconds feels she might have the luck to not have to teach them. The myriad of emotions that runs through her face at not having to have human contact is interesting to watch, and even though her trajectory from bitter to smitten is a bit too “la-de-da” – the film tries to approach it with so much honesty, I can’t hate it too much.

It would seem that my grade subverts everything I’ve said so far, but I don’t consider the actual grade a particularly bad one. It’s a passable summation, as is the entire film. Larry Crowne is nowhere bad as it’s being made out to be. True, on occasion it might approach its protagonist with a significant amount of blandness but never mistake the sometimes pervading treacly feeling for a lack of caring. Perhaps I would have liked for it to have a bit more gumption in its cabals but in the long-run it perseveres as – mostly – honest look at a middle-aged man at a turning point. Hardly riveting, but certainly not abysmal.


C+

“It’s not murder if it’s justified.”

Horrible Bosses: directed Seth Gordon; written by Michael Markowitz, John Francis Bailey and Jonathan Goldstein

Am I the only one who flashed back to 9 to 5 at the concept of Horrible Bosses. Sure, it’s a trio of women – the machinations of terrible bosses and a stressful work environment presents a fine playing field for comedy. Now, with a name like Horrible Bosses I wasn’t expecting Seth Gordon’s comedic romp to be some sort of cathartic experience for anyone who’s ever experience working for an atrocious boss. It essentially sets itself up to be as literal as possible. And it’s not that this is the film’s fundamental problem, but it doesn’t help that the entire film could be relegated to a few lines. Three average Joes are suffering from their titular horrible bosses – the psycho, the man-eater and the tool and after being pushed to the edges of their sanity they decide that the only way to survive is to kill those horrible bosses. These men have had enough. In a high-speed chase where one of the characters concurrently has the most inane phone-sex scene with a seemingly unhinged woman that’s precisely what I was thinking...

Clearly, I’m in a bit of a funk movie-wise. 2011 just hasn’t been working out for me, and watching Horrible Bosses I couldn’t help thinking when it was going to end. I feel that in some way screenwriters have missed the buss and taking everything at face value: a series of jokes does not a humorous atmosphere make and Horrible Bosses has a number of jokes (perfunctorily placed, I might add) that never coalesce to formulate any steady accumulation of legitimate humour. It becomes obvious that the writers are attempting to do some nifty genre shifting early on when you realise that we’re heading to a stranger-on-a-train scenario where the three mix and match to get rid of the others’ boss. And, it’s not that I object to a situation where an unbalanced plan to commit a triple murder has become “comedic”. I suppose that in any situation comedic is as comedic does and as trite a statement as “less is more” is – it’s quite accurate. For Horrible Bosses to make a deliberate impact we’ve got to buy into the reality of these men’s lives being THAT horrible and I don’t. We’re treated to an obligatory snippets of tyranny flatly characterised but the situation is never profound enough to be thought provoking or amusing enough to be truly funny.

For the first third of the film Bateman, Day and Sudeikis manage to retain a fairly good chemistry but as the film gets more ridiculous the characters drift from endearing boorishness to annoying imbecility. In a world where your main characters are plotting murder you’d at least hope that they’re appealing enough to retain our allegiance. Horrible Bosses is one of those multiple number of bromance flicks where average men deal with reassert their bond of brotherhood amidst bouts with the law, outlandish situations and homoerotic situations – and on this front Horrible Bosses delviers on all three counts but with a third act that flounders terribly not only does it fail to deliver on any semblance of its promise, or make sense in the context of its pretend world it also makes it heroes come off as Neanderthals making me wish that they’d all end up dead.

The thing is, Horrible Bosses isn’t completely without salvage – for example, I don’t give it a failing grade. Julie Bowen appears in three scenes and steals the show, probably because she’s the lone characters’ whose inclinations aren’t tritely spelt out for us. Charlie Day’s almost hysterical dental assistant gives the type of performance – deranged and ridiculous at times – which suggests promise of talent with better material. Jennifer Aniston’s one-note seductress is funny on occasion even with a potent lack of any real reasons for her actions and even with a line as fundamentally inane as “She had the crazy fucked out of her.” In the race of truly awful movies there are a slew of others that would trump Horrible Bosses in the way of lewdness, poor acting and just general terribleness. But, that doesn’t mean that I’d acquit it of its faults; I don’t think I should. After all, it’s not murder if it’s justified – right?

            

C-

“Now we can see what all the fuss is about”

Captain America: directed by Joe Johnston; written by Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely

In the grander scheme of things, I suppose that a current tally of seventeen reviews films for 2011 is not as abysmal as I make it out to be. But, each time I peruse the films I’ve watched this year I feel like I haven’t watched much, and maybe that’s because the films I have seen haven’t made much impact on me. I wasn’t madly excited about Captain America’s release but I couldn’t help but hear positive rumblings from people who always have interesting things to say, and the promise of the throwback to the 40s piqued my interest. It’s another Avengers prequel, and I know virtually nothing of its source material – I’m not American, so perhaps that accounts for the divide. I don’t mean to me flippant at all, but the prospect of reviewing Captain America had be feeling grossly ambivalent. Perhaps it’s not a terrible film, but almost everything ended up rubbing me the wrong way.

Like every superhero (with the exception Clark Kent, and perhaps, Thor) Captain America’s powers aren’t inherent. He begins the film as Steve Rogers, a diminutive Brooklyn boy in the forties with dreams of defending his country at war despite his incessant list of ailments. By way of a dubious scientist he ends up getting the opportunity he seeks, but it’s really to act as a guinea pig for some scientific breakthrough which sees the scrawny Rogers turning into the very buff Captain America, the prototypical image of American valour, I suppose. The muscles, apparently, aren’t essentially because Captain America’s purpose is to be a propaganda machine of sorts – a pretty face for the war. But, that wasn’t Rogers aims and eventually he puts those muscles to good use and saves a couple hundred men from Nazi capture (in a manner I’m still uncertain of).

I can’t even muster up the energy to adequately assess what my issues with the film are but essentially I find Captain America to be woefully lacking in bite. The movies looks lovely, but the movie is not very compelling. What reason do we have to follow Steve’s trajectory? His would-be relationship with Peggy Carter (Hayley Atwell)? Evan’s charisma? A band of riveting supporting players? No one all counts. Evans and Atwell have scant chemistry, and Evans lacks the drive to carry the film. And the supporting characters hardly demand your attention and it doesn't help that the film moves along for the most part in a humourless stupor.. I don’t know, maybe my general movie funk has blinded me to the good in Captain America, but I feel as if I’ve missed the bus on this one. I’d love to get the memo as to its worth, but I don’t get the reason for the fuss.
          
C/C-

“What about the woman?”

The Conspirator: directed by Robert Redford; written by James D. Solomon
 
I couldn’t possibly write anything on Robert Redford period/political drama without pointing the way to Tim’s review which says everything I could possibly say with much more alacrity. So, in a way, this review suffices as something of a footnote because even though I’ve got nothing particularly new to the table I’d feel bad devoting nary a word to the film. The first I heard about The Conspirator was a post that RC of Strange Culture did before it was released, and there’s no doubt that American History is mellifluous enough to precipitate dozens of interesting tales about the Civil War era and whatnot. There is an interesting story to be told in The Conspirator, but there’s a devastatingly trite way in which it is told.

Court-room dramas are in many ways a dime a dozen on film, and even less on television but The Conspirator has a strident hook, and I’m not just talking about the fact that it’s based on a true story. The imprudence with which the trial against Mary Surratt unfolds is a fine example of the lesser aspects of the human race but Solomon’s script approaches the issue with a stifling lack of zest. The technical aspects of the film are done with the right amount of gloom necessary for the proceeding but the script itself peters between unwarranted sagacity and occasional hectoring. And Redford is the kind of director who’s obviously interested in making a “statement” so there’s a fighting tendency for his directing to encourage the script’s occasionally heavy handed nature.
              
But, the cast subverts that nature. I feel a bit annoyed with Redford that he has such a brilliant cast and fails to give them impeccable work. But, looking at the film you wouldn’t know it, well not really. It’s a good ensemble and the actors are all willing to put in credible work. I was looking forward to The Conspirator because of Robin Wright. She made my list of nominees in 2009 for her work The Private Lives of Pippa Lee a film she held down with her luminescence. She doesn’t get to do quite as much here because as much as the film is named after her titular character Solomon’s narrative seems more interested in James McAvoy Aiken, the war hero turned lawyer. And, McAvoy is fine – as is the entire cast – but it’s such a shame that Wright in particular is forced to play her role in a single register (excellently, but still). The film’s female cast – made of Wright, Evan Rachel Wood (impressive in a role that’s too small) and Alexis Bledel in a surprisingly poignant turn. Even though Wright is the de facto lead Redford is intent to leave her for the men of the narrative, sometimes to the disservice of the film. It’s a true shame that Wood and Wright never get a proper scene together.

I can’t berate Redford for trying to make a statement with his own film, but the unfortunate thing is - The Conspirator is not the type of film where entertainment needs to be sacrificed for edification. There’s enough material for his “message” to hit home. It probably won’t be remembered as the end of the year as anything seminal, and it’s not really seminal in fact but even though the film itself is imperfect it’s home for a talented cast and some fine technical work. It’s strange, the film is about the woman behind it all but it’s really about men...too many men.
       
C+

“Of course it’s happening in your head; why should that make it less real?”

Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows II: directed by David Yates; written by Steve Kloves
          
I imagine that writing a review of the latest Harry Potter is in the technical sense akin to intellectual masturbation – I’m probably the only one getting any gratification from it. This is probably why reviewing it is wrought with so much difficulty, approaching it without taking note of its zeitgeist aspects is impractical. I’d wager that any critic – pseudo or otherwise – went into the film suspecting what they were going to think of it, what grade they’d give it. After seven films there isn’t much that can drastically change about the series, the things that you loved have endured into the aspects you look for and the things that annoy you’ve learned to contend with – and ignore, if possible.

The marked difference between this instalment and its previous encounters is the time it covers. Save for a few minutes of what functions as a prologue, and a scene of memories the film covers a few hours which makes the film seem as if it’s hurtling towards its close and it turns into more of an exercise in all things visuals than anything significant story wise. Essentially, a final two Horcruxes must be found which requires breaking into the Gringotts vault and then Hogwarts. With the particulars of the story stripped to the bare essentials the visuals aspects become principal – a sort of the medium becoming the message sort of occurrence; and it looks fabulous. It’s a battle for the ages and the film looks better than any of the previous instalments.

I always wished that the Harry Potter films had stuck to a single director over the tenure of the entire series. This sort of fantastical fare is the type that places greater emphasis on style than substance and if one were to talk into account the hours devoted to these characters prior to this one, the film surprisingly lacks that emotional profundity that you’d hope for in a final instalment. It’s probably unfair to expect Yates to manage that when previous directors have brought their own flair to project, and it’s doubly unfair because this instalment is a film in itself and not just a glorified epilogue – which, in my defence, it seemed to be at times.

It’s where I have to divide my de facto appreciation from the series from the actual worth of the entry. I’m conscious that it’s not a wholly brilliant endeavour, even though in my mind it’s as good as I could hope for. I devoured, yes devoured, those novels from the moment they came out and I’ve been following the films since they came out so in my mind the situation is probably a whole lot more majestic than it would be for a non-believer. I can point out the shortcomings like an abysmal use of every single supporting character, but I can just as easily make experiences for them because more than any other of the films this is Radcliffe’s show. It seems like such a facetious thing to criticise Radcliffe's acting, especially now when he seems to be the indelible Potter. Acting wise, I'll always say he was at his strongest in Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. It's the single installment which depended expressly on the work put in by the child-cast, but here Dumbledore's Harry's is relegated to random moments, some which work more than others. The opening at Shell Cottage isn't as searing as you'd hope, but bigger things like Harry's final walk to Voldermort manage to come off splendidly. There's a moment where Ron and Harry's eyes interlock and you can grasp the importance of the moment. You really can't can't force that sort of rapport, even if Yates places little emphasis on it overall.

Still, I just as easily don’t place as much credit in the things that the film does right like the Pensive, for example because I expect no less. In the same way that I expect nothing less than great Britons to turn up and give great performances from the sidelines in the form of Maggie Smih, HBC and Kelly MacDonald (who is shockingly effective in only a few moments). It’s one of those damning effects of being inextricably linked to a film and its source. So, when that camera panned out and we got that shot of the trio looking out from the ruined castles it wasn’t so much a sigh heaved after a thrill, but a quiet contentment. And sure, in my head I pretended that those last four minutes didn’t happen, because that’s how I wanted to remember it. It was, after all, my party.
      
B/B-

“I should have pulled the trigger...”

Brighton Rock: directed and written by Rowan Joffe

I feel especially novice-like sitting down to write a review of Brighton Rock. I’d heard neither of the original film nor the Graham Greene novel on which it was based on until I heard rumblings of the film late last year and it’s the type of film which I feel demands reference to the source material for thorough understanding. There’s an annoying feeling that something’s missing at every turn of the plot. It’s sometime in the sixties we’re in an English town – the kind overrun with petty gangsters. The film’s protagonist is Pinkie who seems to be the prototypical angry young man of the era. He’s the member of a petty gang and seeks revenge on a rival when his father-figure is murdered. His plot for revenge inadvertently involves Rose – a young waitress who might hold some damning information for him. The story becomes suffused when Pinkie’s target turns out to be a sporadic lover of Ida, Rose’s boss. The lines tying the cast together are indicative of a sprawling novel but Joffe eschews that sort of epic nature with his script which relegates the action to a series of serendipitous events.

I have an unfortunate tendency to forget the importance of direction, and Joffe’s work on Brighton Rock points me to the importance of the craft. I don’t feel that I miscalculate when I say that what does the film in is his erratic direction. From what I can discern, it’s a story which depends on its protagonist. Pinkie is something of a villainous degenerate and Joffe decides on directing the film showing Pinkie is little more than that. I’m wary of holding Sam Riley’s performance indictable as the reason that the character suffers, though. Even in the face of what should be one-dimensionality, there’s something magnetic about the performance he gives. His Pinkie lacks a charm that I feel the film could have done with but he manages to retain a visceral composure which works for his performance, but not for the film. Because, the crux of the film rests on Rose’s union with Pinkie. She moons around saying lines like, “I’ve never met anyone like you” and the kind and though we can believe that it doesn’t account for her attraction to him. Pinkie’s a monster, and not in the maybe-he-is/maybe-he-ain’t way of a Charles Boyer in Gaslight. He takes little pains to be any les diabolical to Rose than he is to anyone, and Joffe misses what I presume should be an important arc in telling us why Rose seems so…bizarre. Andrea Riseborough is fine but with her snivelling teenage bride and Riley’s diabolical faux-gangster it seems like the two are playing from opposite ends of the stage with different intents.

And, the supporting cast doesn’t help either. Helen Mirren, with nary a grey lock in sight, brings the prerequisite Mirren charm to Ida but she too seems to be in another movie…another movie where her actions were a bit more lucid. She’s devoted to bringing Pinkie down even as she readily admits that the man Pinkie killed was a murderer himself. Joffe can’t manage to coalesce the different registers in which these actors are playing so that ultimately even though none of them is abysmal in their roles the combination is awkward and clunky so that even though Brighton Rock looks beautiful – gorgeously shot, effusively scored and wrought with atmosphere it’s a bit limp. Pinkie says of the candy that when you bite a stick of Brighton Rock down to the centre it stays true, but this Brighton Rock doesn’t seem to have much in the middle. Joffe is content to just flirt with danger, if only he'd had the nerve to dig deeper.

C

“Am I a machine without feelings?”

Jane Eyre: directed by Cary Joji Fukunaga; written by Moira Buffini

My interest was piqued by the announcement of the recent film adaptation of Jane Eyre. I’ve never been a fan of Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre. Literarily it’s considered to be a bildungsroman, a subtle gothic, a romance and even a feminist novel. For me, at its best – and worse – it’s a tawdry soap opera which goes on for about 200 pages too long. But, I’ve always thought that good films don’t necessarily have to be based on good books. The two mediums are intrinsically different and as little estimation I have for the actual novel (I wrote a particularly scathing paper on it last semester) the key bits of Brontë’s novel does harness cinematic potential. And, so, I approached Jane Eyre not so much with trepidation but with anxiousness. Although Mia Wasikowska’s appeal eludes me, I’m willing to believe in her potential and Michael Fassbender is one of the most talked about actors of the time and with Sally Hawkins, Jamie Bell and Dame Judi Dench rounding out the cast my interest was, as I said, piqued.

The film opens with a scene that occurs two-thirds into the actual novel. Jane, in the midst of marshes that seem taken from a Wuthering Heights scene (written by the better Brontë) trudges along visibly shaken and on the road to being comatose it seems. She’s taken in by a group of strangers and with that we move to the beginning of her life. One of my many issues with Brontë’s novel stems from the inconsistency in Jane’s characterisation. Even though she narrates the novel it’s difficult to reconcile the random bursts of emotion with a heroine who seems essentially leaden for the most part. The first thirty minutes functions as a speedy sparknotes version of the novel’s first third. It’s a wise decision – in theory; really, the novel is so dense with potential plot-points (not all of them wisely developed) that it’s wise that Buffini accelerates the film towards the introduction of Mr Rochester.

For all its feministic ideals Jane Eyre is essentially a story of girl meets man, man is typically aloof, they fall in love, he has a secret she runs off and at the end they reconcile. It sounds bitter of me, but it is what it is. Its story is not a mellifluous study of class consciousness; it is a love-story and a basic one, at that. Buffini, though, approaches the material with what seems to be a striking reverence and doesn’t seem keen on making the material any less than Masterpiece Theatre – and it is not. I kept wishing for her to make the story her own, forgive me sounding like a platitude. Her adaptation is serviceable but it retains all the parts of the novel I find most vexing. Why IS Rochester attracted to Jane? And she to him? For a love that should be so striking wouldn’t a marriage of convenience to a woman who’s insane be such a tough hill to climb? And, if it was why does Jane set out to Rochester at the end still thinking that he’s married?

I suppose I could forgive my reservations with the actual story if everything else was flawless, but it isn’t. I know, I tend to get a bit tongue-in-cheek with my ebullient love for the Brits, and periods and I find it even more odd that I’m so reticent about this one which most seem to appreciate. But, I find Mia Wasikowska especially vexing. Again, I bear no ill-will towards the actress. I forgive her awfulness in Alice in Wonderland, but her Jane – though realistic in the sense of the novel seems too detached to be a functional leading lady and Mia’s constant Australian accent annoyed me much more than it should and it’s unfortunate because she’s flanked by two actors in particular who offer up fine performances. Mrs. Fairfax has never been a riveting character, but Judi Dench manages to find something personal in it. But, it’s Michael Fassbender who’s the real fine – it’s such a superlative performance that I kept wishing his Mr. Rochester could leave this film, and transport to another where his work would be better appreciated. It’s not that Fukunaga adaptations gets many things wrong, it just doesn’t get enough right for me to care about it. It looks beautiful, it's shot excellently and Dario Marianelli's score is falwless and true Fassbender’s brilliant, but something is lacking...

C+

“You’re your problem, and you’re also your solution.”

Bridesmaids: directed by Paul Feig, written by Annie Mumolo, Kristen Wiig

I continually run into a problem when I write my reviews. I mean to be analytical and I end up coming off as hypercritical. Bridesmaids is essentially a pleasant two-hour romp, and I take no pains in admitting that I enjoyed it for the most part. I relished what it had to offer for the majority of its running time. But, I feel an acute sense of divide from the majority of audiences when I hear it being fêted as a godsend in the form of female comedy. I feel a bit badly because I feel as if it’s become sort of status quo for me to look for cinematic subtleties in movies that seem fine without them, but I can’t allow Bridesmaids to pass through the blog unscathed. The intent of writers Wiig (who also plays protagonist Annie) and Mumolo is indeed refreshing. At its core, the film seems intent on revelling in female camaraderie, a concept that’s well developed on the small screen but a bit underused in the big screen – especially in the form of comedy. Still, as well intended as the film is it persists with an overwhelming amount of tonal inconsistency that eventually subverts what seems to be the film’s ultimate message.

            

Annie (Wiig) is the natural choice for maid-of-honour when her best friend Lillian becomes engaged. As Annie’s life begins to unravel she must also ward off competition from Helen, a high society wife intent on being Lillian’s new best friend. It seems fastidious to say it, but this immediately prepares the story for divergence which the writers, as talented as they are in some bits, aren’t able to reconcile; because Bridesmaids is uncertain if it wants to be. Is it a character study of Annie? – a woman who’s slowly on her way to hitting rock bottom; she’s in a non-relationship with a narcissistic teddy-boy, played to perfection by Jon Hamm; she shares an apartment with a disturbing pair of siblings and has a job she’s poor at and loathes. Or, is it a chick-flick (which is not a deprecating dissention: by chick flick, I mean a female buddy flick) intent on showing us what happens when six women with different personalities clash. The thing, is drops the ball one time too many on the first and two (maybe, three) of the five personalities are so poorly developed there’s no chance to see them all collide.

           

True, for the first third, despite a tone that’s occasionally on the wrong side of sedate, the two facets seem intent on interacting. In a scene that seems intent on being played for laugh Annie and Helen try to top themselves at an engagement party. The overcutting becomes less funny and more desperate suggesting a potential poignancy that’s mirrored in a meeting at a tennis court where Helen’s façade tries to eschew the meanness of her children. It suggests comedic intelligence that unfortunately goes unfilled.The writing demands that they emerge only occasionally as the film then moves into a woman vs woman throw-down. And, no, I don’t mean to imply that poignancy trumps comedy – Wiig and Mumolo are excellent with the comedic beats and they’re talented enough to make even the most gross-out humour work because they actually have an interest in their characters, but that ends up becoming a bit of a problem. A plane-ride gag halfway through the film seems especially ill-conceived. Wiig, as the true SNL trooper she is, shines with the silliness of it all but it doesn’t work towards helping either of the two characters to develop. It should act as the first indication that Annie is unhinged, or that Helen is unsalvageable but Wiig and Mumlo, as writers, are not prepared to make any of their characters potentially villainous. Thus, Helen’s part in the madness is glossed over and seeing Lillian snub her friends seems inconsistent for two people so close to each other.

                 

Then, with less than thirty minutes to go the film gets an epiphany. When Annie screams “Are you fucking kidding me?” at a ill-fated wedding shower it ends up being a whole lot more cathartic than you’d think. It’s Wiig’s triumph of the film because she manages to make that breakdown come off as less that clichéd but it’s also a significant moment for the film – or it should be – because we realise just how serendipity is fucking with our protagonist. But the script doesn’t seem to be satisfied with this and has Megan, another bridesmaid, appear to tell Annie to get over herself. McCarthy delivers brilliantly on the pep talk, but it feels anachronistic because up until then as much of a downer as she was Annie’s acts were understandable.

But, Bridesmaids has a great deal to offer. It’s eclectic cast is responsible for the best moments Its biggest asset is Melissa McCarthy who does wonderful thing with a role that should play out to be much more clichéd than she allows it to be. In fact, there are times when the film does seem to use her weight as an immediate gag implying that her actions are hilarious just because she’s not thin. This is what makes her so priceless. The role is clichéd and yet she manages to toss out a performance that’s golden. Rudolph and Wiig are so in tune with each other in the film’s first half emanating that easiness that comes with years of friendships. That’s why it’s such a pity that Rudolph is given so little to do in the second half.

 

Bridesmaids is fun to watch and all, and at its best it’s a testimony to good female acting...but for its tonal inconsistency.

                    

B-

“Your will turns thought into reality”

Green Lantern directed by Martin Campbell; written by Greg Berlanti, Marc Guggenheim and Michael Green

                 

Even though I understand the movie making is a business aimed at earning money, and since there seems to be an unremitting audience for superhero films, I have to wonder why studios keep green-lighting them. The overwhelming number of superhero films released in the past decade seems intent on making the genre reach saturation point. When Hal Jordan, fated to be the Green Lantern, happens upon the wreck and ring responsible for her imminent superb prowess there’s little about it that’s awe-inspiring. But, of course, this has as much to do with the oversaturation of the genre as it has to do with the weakness of the film itself.

Green Lantern, a successor to a long line of heroes, depends on such a great number of clichés that it’s difficult to give it legitimate credit. Our hero is a golden boy, with a penchant for rash brazenness – which is to become his ultimate weapon. He has unresolved daddy-issues, as a prerequisite for potential emotional profundity and is flirting with a romance in the form of one of his superior’s daughter. Because Green Lantern is a film celebrating activity the villain is a professor – because, all science professors are frumpy and lonely. By now, my issues with the writing in some of these films has turned into a veritable litany and Green Lantern, I’ll admit, is hardly inconsistent. It’s simply consistently pedestrian. For a film whose production values are in excess of 200 million dollars it’s surprising that it looks and sounds so cheap. I’d essentially relegated myself to a film that would be poorly written but beautiful to watch, but it’s hardly satisfying on that scale.

          

There’s a consistent sense of indolence in the film’s tone. Moments that should be grandiose and resounding end up coming off as mere trifles. I’ve never understood the massive goodwill for Ryan Reynolds who I find diverting in Van Wilder but hardly enthralling. He’s fine here, but he seems to be on the wrong intent on playing Hal with a wave of humour that the actual film is maddeningly devoid of. 

Curiously, Blake Lively is the only actor who gives as much as he does. Maybe everyone else is just thinking of their salaries but from Sarsgaard to Robbins to Bassett – the supporting cast seem mostly disinterested. Lively is far from excellent, and as stock as her role is she seems at least concerned with doing something sufficient.

         

And, I haven’t even addressed the film’s dubious message of thinkers versus doers. Who am I to say that the message is flawed – it takes all kinds, doesn’t it? But, it becomes confusing since the very concept of the Green Lantern depends on thought, more than action. For all the flight manoeuvring that Campbell has Reynolds doing, he’s probably the most lethargic of superheroes – which makes the conflict between the thinker and doing concepts so ridiculous, and the movie’s already flirting with absurdity. If only the movie audiences had had the fore-knowledge to be wise enough to follow the film's dictum to eschew thought and act instead – heading in droves away from this one.

D-

“Where did he come from?”

Thor directed by Kenneth Branagh; written by Ashley Edward Miller, Zack Stentz, Don Payne, J. Michael Straczynski and Mark Protosevich

            

On more than one occasion, in response to a negative review of a mainstream film I’ve read comments to dissenting critics along the line of “turn off your brain”. Sometimes I do wonder what the advantages of such an action would be. I can’t say, though, because my natural penchant for overanalyses prevents it. Less than halfway into Thor I found my mind wandering asking questions that I knew wouldn’t be answered and wondering how a film with five credited screenwriters could fail to address so many rudimentary issues. It’s a prelude to the imminent Avengers’ film, a picture which I’ve all but forgotten about, and in this instalment we’re introduced to Thor – the hero from another realm. After indiscretions at home in his home kingdom of Asgard he’s subjected to a life on earth.

The film is comprises two parts in one. The first is an Asgard a place that is Grecian legend inspired, but sounds and looks like Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale. Odin has two sons, the overwhelmingly blonde Thor and the Loki, who’s given enough penetrating close-ups for us to assume that this shall be our villain for the next two hours. Thor, unwisely, wages war against a land that Odin defeated some time ago and for his imprudence Odin banishes him to a life on earth. Earth is where scientist Jane Foster is conducting a research of obscure foundation and as Thor crashes into her, literally, it leads to the derailment of said research when a group of men in black begin investigating the meteorological madness that has followed Thor’s appearance on earth.

Next to the lavishness that comes with the Asgard portion of the story the New Mexico portions seems especially bland, which is unrotunate because there’s a whole number of more interesting scenarios. Chris Hemsworth is a lot of fun as the male lead and Natalie Portman, who’s relegated to playing more than “Girl” is much better than the role deserves. They work well together, in a kitschy way. I couldn’t help but let my brain run away with me, though. I immediately found myself asking why Thor, who’s legend has been recounted in stories of old (which a character observes) would happen to fall to earth in what is the conspicuous. It’s the least of the issues, though, because I’m not adept at the logics of time travel so I’m hardly the best candidate to discredit the filmmaker’s intent with. The oddest thing about Thor ends up being one of is most unintentionally hilarious – the adeptness with which Thor adapts to earth living. It’s such an odd state of affairs that I begin wondering whether or not Asgard’s inhabitants are cognisant about the other realms. Thor seems unfazed by concepts like cars and civilian clothing of the 21st century, but still has a predilection for cup smashing and 11th century mannerisms. It’s both frustrating and entertaining. In a scene that I cringe and smile at Thor walks into a pet store and audaciously demands a horse.

As such Asgard, by default, seems to come across as the better of the two halves even if it’s far from perfect. The storyline of the warring brothers seems especially rote even if Hemsworth is credible, and Tom Hiddleston the delivers the film’s finest performance as the tortured Loki. The worst thing about this portion of the film is that each time has the potential to develop as a significant character the story moves from him. His final scene (not counting that eye roll inducing epilogue) is excellently done and makes me wish that the film had been a character study of him.

Anthony Hopkins and Stellan Skarsgård are two stalwarts who do much more than you’d expect with their roles. Taking into account all the terrible films Hopkins has been in lately, he’s quite good in this managing to induce his de facto regal Brit role with a whole lot more charm than I expected (shame that Rene Russo couldn’t have been given more to do, though). In the end the film manages to be (marginal) success because the actors, and Branagh at times, throw themselves into the insipid story. As far as the translation of legendary stories to screen goes, it’s no Clash of the Titans. Thor makes for a way more harmless venture. And that, I suppose, is a bit of the problem. It’s completely harmless and ineffectual. 

           

C+

“They're looking for something”

Super 8: directed and written by J. J. Abrams

               

For a pseudo film critic, I pay little attention to the hubbub of films before their release, unless they’re particularly ubiquitous or have a star that I’m obsessed with. It’s probably that same general ignorance, or maybe it was the geographical disadvantage, that made me miss the apparent voluminous the wave of anticipation surrounding the release of J. J. Abrams Super 8. Thus, I was neither preoccupied with its promise of a return to the nostalgia of Spielberg’s 80s films or an undiluted action spectacle suitable for children without being pandering. The most I could tell was a rare summer blockbuster that was not an adaptation, sequel nor remake and with the vociferous cries for “true” originality in the cinema, I assumed that audiences would be generally enthralled. I’ve said before that there’s little inherently wrong with either adaptations or remake and in a way I feel Abrams validates my point with Super 8. It exists, ostensibly, as a work from the mind of Abrams but as “original” a screenplay as it is the ultimate point of Super 8 seems as superficial and insincere as any number of remakes, adaptations and sequels.

The picture opens at a funeral which you immediately know is meant to give the film an emotional backdrop. The fact that Joe’s mother has died gives him that special touch of maturity that allows him the opportunity to be wiser, even if only tangentially, than his counterparts and worthy of protagonist importance. A title card carries us four months later and Joe (Joel Courtney) it’s a safe distance away from the aforementioned funeral so that Joe is not mired in grief, but still thinks about it enough for it to be a part of his character arc. Joe’s best friend, Charles (both tyrannical and hilarious), is making a short film about zombies which requires that the group move to the train tracks to get a chance to retain some “production value”. It’s here that they witness a bizarre accident which comprises a gargantuan train wreck seemingly caused by a professor of theirs car crashing. The man, miraculously alive, warns them that if they tell anyone what they saw they’ll die. They haven’t actually seen anything, but the train wreck precipitates the appearance of terrible monster ready to wreak havoc on the town. And so it begins.

               

I try to think long and hard before I call a film’s writing out for being poor just because I know I’m especially wont to criticise even the smallest of screenplay issues. Super 8, though, is garishly conspicuous because the plot of land on which Abrams decides to build his house of homage is tenuous. He seems only to know that he’s trying to make a reverential piece, but the film is uncertain if its aim is to be a mellifluous coming-of-age drama, a childhood buddy film or an alien invasion romp. Not that it can’t be all three, but when neither avenue is clearly constructed, there’s little chance and Abrams ends up using scenes as perfunctory plot-points and not as authentic moments of character development.

Not that the characters themselves are completely soulless, though. The film is buoyed by a dependable sextet of child actors. I was tweeting earlier in the week that I was most impressed with Gabriel Basso (excellent opposite Laura Linney and Oliver Platt on The Big C) who plays the snivelling male lead, but they’re all quite good. Elle Fanning is both beautiful and terrible as the lone female of the bunch, but as the story develops you get the sense that it’s not that the children’s portion of the story is well-made the child actors are just really game. And, there’s the sense that as clichéd as some of the lines are Abrams would have been better off focusing the crux of the film on them. Instead, the film dawdles around unsure of what it ultimately wants to be.

             

Abrams is looking for that thing called heart that Spielberg’s films are always notable for. I’m not an avid fan of Spielberg, but his biggest fan to his most cynical detractor agree that his films are notable for their tendency (sometimes unnecessarily) to tug at its audiences heartstrings, and in constructing an homage to his hero Super 8 contains all the physical aspects of his predecessor but is egregiously low on the emotional. I’d probably be a bit more forgiving of Abrams, though, if it weren’t for the film’s third act. It’s as if, halfway through production he realises how low on emotion the film is and decides to inject it with the same resulting in just what the film seemed intent on avoiding – cheap sentiment. Alice’s father must be linked to Joe’s mother’s death and the two must share a heartfelt conversation, parents must reunite with their children to swelling music and to ensure that children don’t leave the film scared the tyrannical monster wreaking all that havoc demands only a locket to realise that he’s not really a monster, but an out of place alien who misses. It’s there that the film annoys me most. Abrams wants to keep the suspense as he keeps the monster shrouded in darkness, but he also wants us to feel an intense emotional connection to it. He doesn’t realise that he can’t have it both ways and it makes for a flaccid conclusion.

The poster of Super 8 made me smile because it reminded of a post that Univarn had done ages ago (see here). The name of Spielberg (the producer) is as distinguishable as that of Abrams. I don’t need to go into a psychology tutorial to point out what the giant print of his name supplies. It seems as if the advertising for Super 8 intends on ensuring that two groups flock to the cinemas. The youth population, yearning for a well-made film catered to them and the adult population who grew up on Spielberg intent on a nostalgic experience. The thing about nostalgia is that it’s a bit like Abrams own predilection for lens’ flare. Beneath his stylistic machinations it all looks appealing but in the harsh light of day it’s exasperatingly hollow. I don’t mean to rob Abrams’ yearn for nostalgia its worth. I’m sure if I made a film paying homage to Martin Scorsese it would hardly be worthy of public consumption. Therein lays the point. As a pandering homage to his idol Super 8 is vaguely tolerable, but that doesn’t mean that it’s worth our money. As beautiful as it looks. Abrams is looking for a repeat of the Speilberg blockbuster of the eighties. He doesn’t find it.

            

C

“Whatever the Fuck it Takes”

Win-Win directed and written by Thomas McCarthy

                   

It took me an unusually long time to concoct an appropriate review for Thomas McCarthy’s latest feature film Win Win. It’s not that I didn’t like it, but the review of every draft came out sounding unnecessarily caustic. As far as specifics go, Win Win is far from a “bad film”, but it seems to traverse along so uncaringly in its resolve to be an indie drama that it’s easy to accuse it of apathy. For, inasmuch as the film succeeds (because despite its issues it has significant interest in its characters) there’s a thin line between being comfortable in your idiosyncrasies and being lethargic about your issues and I’m often unsure where McCarthy sits.

 Mike Flaherty is a typical lawyer, with the typical money problems living a typical humdrum life. Excuse my overuse of the word typical. Giamati’s characterisations invites you to believe in the normalcy of his character who’s not a good or bad guy, he’s just a nice man with a nice family who ends up making a potentially dubious decision of being the ward to one ofhis clients to receive a $1500 monthly pay check. It’s his questionable liaisons with the septuagenarian Leo Poplar played by Burt Young (a.k.a. Paulie Pennino) which leads us to the crux of the story. For reasons unknown – benevolence we shall assume, Flaherty is also the assistant coach of a high school’s wrestling team. A team that’s absolutely abysmal. Poplar’s grandson Kyle (the child of a daughter from whom he’s estranged) randomly shows up one night and ends up living with Flaherty and thus the movie begins moving along, at times seemingly unsure of what it wants to tell us.

                   

As I said, the film depends on the actors and Giamati and Ryan make for an excellent couple. Both actors have natural cadences that work in this type of film and Ryan in particular is priceless as the wife with a heart of gold. The chemistry between the two surprises me a bit at first, but the naturalness with which they approach their marriage and the issues in their family is handled nicely making it easy for them to play their characters easily and without unnecessary histrionics. Jeffrey Tambor and Bobby Cannavale, as friends of Flaherty, make for nice additions even if the former is underused and the latter’s character’s motivations are sometimes difficult to discern.

              

One of the more interesting things about Win Win is youngster Alex Shaffer who plays the troubled teen in question. This is Shaffer’s first film role and he was cast for his wrestling, but there’s a budding thespian underneath the bleached hair. He’s responsible for a significant amount of humour early in the film as his initiation monotonous disposition makes for immediate humour opposite Giamati and especially Ryan. But’s it not really smooth sailing. The film’s tone becomes more problematic when Kyle’s mother played effectively by Melanie Lynskey turns up. It turns the film form a simple pseudo-family drama to a potential awkward familial tug-of-war and even if Lynskey is lovely to watch (yet another good thirty something actor in need of better roles). As such, the film’s third acts ends up seeming especially perfunctory and rushed especially when placed next to the almost lethargic first two acts.

        

In the end, Win Win manages to cross the finish line with relative ease because the actors are invested in the machinations of the characters they play. Random scenes like one at a café with Giamati, Cavannale, Ryan and Clare Foley (playing the Flaherty’s young daughter) work because the relationship that the actors seem to have forged is particularly natural which is the best thing for a film like this which depends on establishing that stupor that comes after living in a life that’s become well-worn and even trite. It’s sort a calling card for McCarthy who’s made his films, thus far, focusing on tepid lives interrupted by outside forces. Win Win has its issues, but it’s amiable enough.

B-

“Pretty gruesome, huh?”

Beastly: written and directed by Daniel Barnz
       
Why did I decide to watch Beastly? I can’t give a definitive answer. Ultimately, I suppose I was just a little curious was to what Beauty and the Beast would look like as a potentially vapid teem romance. Not that I hadn’t been warned. That horrific A Cinderella Story (an updated version of Cinderella) with Hillary Duff was bad enough. But, I’m masochistic, at best, when it comes to movie and I have to admit the presence of Neil Patrick Harris made me decidedly curious…

I don’t want to turn this review into a comparative analysis of Beastly and Beauty and the Beast, but it’s difficult to completely ignore it when your films sets itself up as a version of a celebrated film inspired by an even more celebrated fairytale, you’re setting yourself up for the risk of your own volition. And Beastly immediately lacerates its chances by spending its first act of the film focusing on the beast before his transformation to beast. One of the reasons that Beauty and the Beast is always such a fine candidate for discussion is that there is always room for the suggestion that, perhaps, the beast got the short end of the stick but Alex Pettyfer’s Kyle is a complete asshole, which doesn’t invalidate his trajectory from heartless bastard to dashing male lead, but it does make the one year of “ugliness” he endures seem like an insubstantial price to pay for being the devil’s advocate.

Kyle lands himself in the supernatural mess when he insults an “ugly” classmate of his (Mary Kate Oleson) at a pep rally who happens to be a witch in disguise. I put ugly in uplifted commas, because other than her indiscriminate use of dark makeup I’m blanking on why she’d be considered ugly. But, it’s one of a series of random things about Beastly because the stakes in it seem especially minor. Sure, Kyle is evil and all but the way in which he insults this “witch” seems especially bland – considering how diabolical he seems capable of being. But, this is high school – so harsh words and the embarrassment of being stood up for a date are reasons for dire revenge. It gets even sillier, where a random meeting with a petty drug mule makes Vanessa Hudgen’s Lindy (or Beauty, in this case) journey to the Beast’s lair to hideout. And on and on.

I’m a bit wary of lodging the blame indiscriminately on the leads, well on Alex Pettyfer at least (more on him when I review I Am Number Four later in the week). True, Kyle is a completely ludicrous character but it’s not so much that Pettyfer plays him poorly as it is there’s nothing for him to play. The entire film is permeated with a strong sense of laziness and the film depends on the concept that after one year Kyle is able to believe in the dictum of “true beauty is within” – or some other trite aphorism. But, there’s the striking sense that screenwriter and director Daniel Barnz doesn’t really believe in what he’s preaching. The one year journey is developed in spurts that do little – if anything – to establish any emotional profundity in his plight. There’s supposed to be an epiphany of sorts when Kyle realises that even though he was gorgeous, his meanness meant that no one liked him. It doesn’t land, though, especially when you consider that it was his richness that seems to be the most significant draw; a richness which he still has, beastly outside or not. Barnz just seems disinterested in serving up a robust cinematic experience. And, the entire supporting cast seem about as unenthused.

For me, three of them manage to come out unscathed. Peter Krause shows up for all of ten minutes to play the father of the beast – as selfish, and arrogant as his son (pre-transformation). Maybe it’s because there’s a constant sense of him trying to escape the horrific image of his beastly son, but I find it hilarious in some way how Krause plays the film with a constant tunnel-vision as if he’s unaware of (or uninterested in ) all the film’s issues. Mary Kate Oleson takes another route. Her jeering witch is so fantastically over-the-top she seems to be deliberately stirring the point for her own amusement. Then, there’s Neil Patrick Harris – dependable as always playing a random blind tutor to Kyle. The character is tosh, but Neil is good to watch – as always.

I can’t say that my curiosity to see Beastly was fatal, but it wasn’t especially rewarding either. It falls into a long list of films which have nothing to say – and even worse say it in such a lethargic manner than you wonder why on earth they were green-lit in the first place.

          
D