Movie Review

(In theaters, March 2007) Prepare to be overwhelmed by manufactured cool! This fantasy action film is a rarity in how it glorifies war and aggression by making it look neater than it’s ever been. Even splatters of blood are used as design elements in a film that’s more a series of violent tableaux than a sustained narrative. (The credit sequence alone is wonderful.) The images, almost all post-processed digitally, show how it’s now possible to film even a wide-screen war epic in a warehouse. The effect is a bit claustrophobic, but the film won’t let you realize that until far too late: the rest of the time, you’ll be pummelled into submission by the loud soundtrack, macho sound bites, constant special effects and almost unbearable self-importance. There’s certainly something here for all the boys and the girls: naked torsos, dripping violence and simple subplots will do much to compensate for the quasi-constant decapitations, shaky-cam cinematography and dumb anachronistic details (such as, ahem, a pre-Roman mention of the month of “August”). It’s all very loud and big and impressive, but I can’t help but reflect that 300 is now a watershed of sorts in my evolution as a moviegoer: For the first time, I’m feeling left behind by a marketing effort addressed to the younger ones. I was never cool, but this film drives the point that I’m forever leaving that particular demographic behind. I’m not sure I’m sad about it if the alternative is movies like 300.

(In theaters, February 2007) If ever you’ve wondered what would happen if you blended hip-hop music with Jackie Chan movie-making, don’t look any further: Stomp The Yard is this year’s 8 Mile in how it present a troubled youth’s redemption through suddenly-hot performing arts. For Eminem, it was poetry slams; this time around, it’s dance-stepping. But whereas 8 Mile was grim and dreary, this one’s all-out light and fun. The dance and song sequences have an irresistible energy, and they lift the film far above its terrible plot and dialogue. The protagonist isn’t unsympathetic despite his almost tiresome aggression, but that character trait feels like a dramatic shortcut in a film that can’t be bothered by subtlety. Elsewhere in the script, hideous coincidences and convenient back-stories make up the rest of what could laughably be called “plotting”. But just like a Jackie Chan film, the story is just an excuse to move from sequence to sequence. In this case, it’s easy to be forgiving as soon as the foot-stomping dance sequences start: The film suddenly becomes alive, bubbling with good fun and terrific camera work. (It could have used longer coverage shots, but that’s a common-enough complaint.) As far as teen movies go, this is surprisingly enjoyable.

(In theaters, February 2007) As we all know, it doesn’t take a crime to be a bad person and Notes On A Scandal seems fascinated by this idea. Though there is a nominal crime at the heart of the story, it seems minor in comparison to the twisted mind games played by an older woman (Judi Dench) on a younger one (Cate Blanchett). Though the film disappoints in how it refuses to be spectacular, there is an unnerving quality to the film’s banal betrayals and how it represents the kind of toxic relationship that sometimes contaminate lives. Visually, there’s little to distinguish the film: It’s strictly movie-of-the-week territory. But the performances are interesting, and the “banality of evil” theme is unusual enough to warrant some attention.

(On DVD, February 2007) “Independent comedies” are hit-and-miss affairs. Though their “independent” nature ensures that they’ll be quirkier than conventional studio fare, that same quirkiness either works to viewer’s sensibilities or doesn’t. In this case, Little Miss Sunshine doesn’t look all that funny for a long time. Suicidal Proust expert? Foul-mouthed grandpa? Loser-writer trying to get a publishing contract? Not exactly the stuff laughs are made of. It doesn’t get any better as the film becomes a road trip film, as it plays as a humiliation comedy, as characters die and others are pushed even further in depression. But something strange happens near the end of the film, as viewers finally click to its peculiar view of the world and as the dramatic arcs of the characters reach a meaningful conclusion: Little Miss Sunshine becomes, well, a ray of sunshine. The end dance number is terrific: the film earns its comedic release far more than in a film where nothing is risked or loss. A surprise finish for a film that takes its time to put all the pieces together.

(In theaters, February 2007) I have a particular loathing for the “suburban adultry” sub-genre of melodrama, enough that I try to avoid them unless they’re (inevitably) nominated for the Academy Awards. Imagine my surprise, then, at how Little Children turned out to be an almost enjoyable example of the form. It’s not nearly as clever as it thinks it is: the ponderous narration is almost completely useless, bringing little to the film that we can’t already see for our own. But the same narration gives a pretentious degree of self-importance to the film, one that takes it into a darkly comic realm. Oh, sure, it’s not laughs from beginning to end: the film’s most consistent thematic motif is how it keeps playing with expectations: just as you think the story may aim toward redemption, it twists the knife again, transforming heroes into heels, losers into bastards and bored housewives into masters of manipulation. Little Children, at the very least, won’t allow you to get too comfortable, and that very well may be why I respect it despite my complete lack of interest in what it has to say. After all, how can one dismiss a film that includes the line “Madame Bovary is not a slut, she’s one of the greatest characters of Western Literature!”?

(On DVD, February 2007) The danger in making a film criticizing idiocy is that the effort itself may feel, well, pretty idiotic itself. Mike Judge’s first film since the wonderful Office Space doesn’t entirely avoid the charge: Nominally about a normal contemporary man waking up in a future where the average IQ has plunged downward, Idiocracy isn’t as smart as it should be. The first few minutes aren’t too bad, as they graphically explain how dumber people have more children than smarter ones. (Yes, unacknowledged echoes of “The Marching Morons”) But once it’s in the future, Idiocracy lets itself go in raunchy bad language, easy caricatures and cheap plot mechanics. The low budget doesn’t help, but neither does the sub-standard script and the pandering attempt to present an intellectual argument without annoying the none-too-smart people who could see the film. Idiocracy plays a risky game: how do you criticize stupidity without looking like an arrogant fop? Alas, it runs too far in the other direction: Lead actors Owen Wilson and Maya Rudolph may be sympathetic, but they’re stuck in a bad script that wallows in its own naughty words. Worse: the story almost ignores its female protagonist despite her being just as intellectually qualified as the male one. Through Idiocracy does have its generous share of rude laughs, it eventually suffers from its own contradictions. No wonder it went almost directly to DVD; it’s just about worth a marginal rental.

(In theaters, February 2007) It’s a law of commercial exploitation that every compelling character will be over-exploited until only an easy caricature will be left. In this case, this fourth (or fifth, if you count Manhunter) Hannibal Lecter film achieves the dubious distinction of de-fanging the character until all that’s left is a tiresome standard-issue serial killer movie. This prequel (always a sign of creative desperation) doesn’t teach us much about Lecter (especially if you’ve read the silly Hannibal) , and what little it does is more ridiculous than interesting. After that, it fades into a pretty standard revenge story in which the protagonist likes to eat his victims. The little suspense in the film is quickly overwhelmed by its ridiculousness, and the competent art direction does little to overwhelm the boredom that eventually creeps over the film. I’m already tired of the “serial killer as a hero” theme; such a limp take on the concept does nothing to endear me again to the concept. Hannibal Rising is the kind of film that justifies the existence of reviewers: For goodness’ sake, leave this one on the video store shelves.

(On DVD, February 2007) Terrific actresses, sharp details about the world of fashion and easy-flowing direction more than make up for easy targets and a familiar dramatic arc in this surprisingly entertaining comedy. Anne Hathaway is adorable as usual in the role of a brainy writer forced to fend for herself in the world of high fashion. But it’s Meryl Streep who really runs away with the film as the hard-driven empress of a fashion magazine: brassy, ruthless and too busy for social niceties, she is both detestable and alluring in a plum role that would have been wasted on a younger actress. (The Oscar nomination was well deserved.) The cynical look at the insanity of the fashion industry is expected, but it still works well. What doesn’t work as well are the forced romance and the predictable conclusion. But The Devil Wears Prada runs along smoothly, and that’s pretty much all it’s required to do.

(On DVD, February 2007) Well, as Adam Sandler films go, this isn’t one of the worst ones. This is, indeed, very faint praise: Sandler’s films have become a predictable mix of sappy morals, slapstick violence, mock anger, insipid female characters and broadly accessible premises. In this case, some things actually work well: the “universal remote” gimmick is used for pretty dumb gags, but it eventually allows a fairly sophisticated meditation on the nature of living life, and the paths that our choices can end up making if we’re not careful. Some gags are amusing, and the film has a surprising amount of internal coherence. Despite the obvious plot threads (including a blatantly obvious “departure point” trap-door), it all amounts to a good character arc. But then there is the rest of the picture: The disturbing way Sandler’s character resorts to violence whenever he’s not accountable for it; the way the female characters are sidelined in easy caricatures; the cheap gags that do little but amuse the 12-year-olds in the audience. Click ends up as a potentially interesting film hobbled with obvious sops to Sandler’s usual demographics. Too bad.

(In theaters, February 2007) Espionage films tend to go, James-Bond like, for big explosions and tense gun-play as a way to show off spy trade-craft. Reality, of course, is entirely different, and Breach at least tries to remain grounded in some sort of verisimilitude as it tells the true story of Robert Hanssen, an FBI agent who kept selling secrets to “the other side” for nearly two decades before his arrest in 2001. As we discover through the eyes of our protagonist, a young agent tasked to his office, Hanssen is a study in contradictions: an overly pious career agent who dabbles in amateur pornography and gun worship, Hanssen thinks of himself as superior to his colleagues and sees in his spying just another way to get back at a system that ignores his talents. Chris Cooper is fascinating in a role that’s plays a fine line between assurance and arrogance, and Ryan Phillippe at least keeps up with him throughout the entire film. Though there are a few odd contrivances designed to pump up the drama, Breach remains restrained in its depiction of a real-life story –indeed, even playing down juicy aspects of the true story such as the amateur pornography and the link to Opus Dei. It all amount to a film that is more intellectually thrilling than the average spy film, even though there’s nary an explosion in sight.

(In theaters, January 2007) The little hyper-caffeinated action film has become a staples of winter movie-going and in these matters, you could do worse than Joe Carnahan’s long-awaited return to the screen after 2002’s Narc. This effort hims him juggling dozens of characters in an action film that owes as much to comic-book plotting than to straight-up criminal mayhem. Loosely stated, Smokin’ Aces is about dozens of paid killers converging on a hotel where a would-be prosecution witness is staying. With that many characters, it doesn’t take a long time before they clash together and start taking themselves down. The cheerfully chaotic nature of the plotting starts early and ends up past the point of ridiculousness (with a nod to Carnahan’s “Ticker” short film), but it’s a fun ride. Alicia Keys is particularly enjoyable as an assassin on the cusp of big decisions, and so is Ryan Reynolds as one of the few characters firmly committed to justice. The film’s best scene comes along with a hail of big-calibre bullets: It’ll thrill you just as it will make you deaf. While the build-up is better than the end result (a statement that also goes for the trailer versus the film), the film itself leaves a good impression, as long as all expectations are in check, and as long as you expect the right type of film.

(In theaters, January 2007) As someone without excessive affection for either Diana Spencer, Tony Blair or the entire monarchic system, I was surprised to discover some entertainment value in The Queen. Oh, it’s certainly nowhere to be found in either cinematography, special effects or action scenes: Perhaps the most damning criticism of the film is that it’s a movie-of-the-week written large, accidentally released in theatres. It aspires to quasi-documentary recreation, and scarcely anything more. As the story describes the aftermath of “Princess Diana”’s death on the Royals and Tony Blair, it also allows something like mutual respect to grow between the two after a rocky beginning. Ultimately, it’s the human element that forms the cornerstone of the film: The exceptional performance of Helen Mirren as the titular Queen is respectful and revealing. The rest of the players do just as well. If the film can often feel a bit long, it’s definitely headed in the right direction throughout. Not spectacular (and definitely overrated by contemporary reviewers), but reasonably good.