Reviews

  • Wayne’s World 2 (1993)

    Wayne’s World 2 (1993)

    (Second viewing, On TV, December 2016) Recognizably cut from the same cloth as the first Wayne’s World, this sequel treads more or less the same style of silly comedy, although it’s really not quite as fresh or good as the original. As the plot devolves into jealousy and music festival mechanics, while avoiding some of the most amusing fourth-wall-breaking of the original, the result isn’t as memorable as its predecessors. (While I was able to quote from the original for years, I remembered maybe two jokes from the sequel.) Mike Myers, Dana Carvey and Tia Carrere return from the original and are in fine form—even though much of Kim Basinger’s subplot feels far too long and is only redeemed by its last joke. Good bits include Charlton Heston being shoved in the film as a better actor, but too often, the film falls in love with its own jokes and runs them into the ground long after they’ve stopped being amusing. Wayne’s World 2 is an adequate follow-up to the first film, but not essential. It hasn’t aged as well, and clearly anticipates issues that would dog later Mike Myers films.

  • Zelig (1983)

    Zelig (1983)

    (On TV, December 2016) There’s something both amusing and ungraspable at the heart of Zelig, a pseudo-documentary describing a 1930s man with a magical ability to take on the characteristics and abilities of the people he happens to be at the moment. Written, directed and played by Woody Allen, Zelig is best appreciated as an experiment in mockumentary filmmaking, blending original material with period footage in an attempt to create a story out of historical context. Allen is reasonably funny as Zelig, although at times it seems as if this shapeshifting ability is only a pretext for various impressions and makeup tricks. It does build to a finale that’s not quite as interesting as you’d expect from a simple description. I was never quite able to suspend my disbelief enough to fully invest in the movie. Zelig is reasonably amusing, somewhat sympathetic, but not exceptional unless you do (and I do) have a fondness for experimental-but-accessible cinema. My own viewing of the film war marred by an execrable resolution/compression image quality due to the channel on which it was broadcast, but since most of the film is deliberately low-resolution to ape the cameras of the times, this didn’t affect the experience as much as I’d have expected.

  • Predator (1987)

    Predator (1987)

    (Second or third viewing, On TV, December 2016) I’m reasonably sure that I’ve watched Predator at least twice, and one of those was within the past ten years. But since I can’t find any mention of it in my files, here are a few notes: Even today, the film works pretty well. The transition from a military action picture to Science Fiction is handled well, and director John McTiernan has to be commended for its restraints before unleashing all stops. The cast is an embarrassment of riches, and nearly everyone will note the presence of two actors who would go one to become governor of their states. The machismo gets intense at times (it’s a good thing that Elpidia Carrillo is in the picture at all, otherwise this would have been an all-male production) but it fits within the film’s unassuming genre aspirations. The special effects are a bit primitive, but they get the job done and pale in comparison to Arnold Schwarzennegger’s muscular performance. A truly bad image quality (thanks to ultra-low bitrate encoding on a standard-definition channel) couldn’t stop me from enjoying the film. Never mind the sequel; this is one of the defining action movies of the eighties.

  • In Good Company (2004)

    In Good Company (2004)

    (On TV, December 2016) I wasn’t looking forward to In Good Company. The premise itself seems made for maximum cringing potential, as a veteran executive in the midst of a downsizing effort is bossed around by a twentysomething careerist who also starts dating his college-aged daughter. It would be reasonable to expect a film maximizing the misery of its lead protagonist. But writer/director Paul Weitz has something more nuanced than a simple humiliation comedy on its mind—in contrasting two different men, the film develops a mentor/mentee relationship, doesn’t make things easy or simple for the wunderkind and gives plenty of redemption moments for the older man. In Good Company isn’t mean or cruel, but gentle and heartfelt, and couldn’t rely on a better anchor than Dennis Quaid (in his lived-in mature persona) to carry the film. Topher Grace isn’t as annoying as expected as the younger man, while Scarlett Johansson is remarkable as the daughter/girlfriend. It’s not much of a film and yet exactly what it wants to be—there’s a limit to how much audiences will like it, but I’d be surprised if it got bad reviews for anything but being a fairly straightforward dramedy. As for me, I had a relatively good time and found In Good Company rather pleasant. Small compliments, but I have the feeling that this is what this low-key film was going for.

  • Top Gun (1986)

    Top Gun (1986)

    (Second viewing, On TV, December 2016) I’ve been re-watching a fair amount of eighties movies lately, and I’m struck by what ages well and what doesn’t. Re-watching Top Gun, I’m most struck by its absence of subtlety. The macho ego is in naked display here, whether it’s flying planes or wooing women, the characters do it without the semblance of sophistication. The entire movie is like this: straight to the point, unimpeded by complexity. The producers (celebrated duo Jerry Bruckheimer & Don Simpson) clearly aimed for that result. The typically American glorification of the military is never far below the surface, and the anti-foreign jingoism isn’t either. Watching Top Gun, it seems almost absurd that it would have worked as well as it did … but it did, and continues to do so today. To be fair, Tom Cruise is a lot of fun in full alpha male mode, and while his banter with Val Kilmer may be on-the-nose, it does feel of a kind with the rest of the film. Kelly McGillis isn’t bad either, and while her character is a prize, she’s somewhat more complex than she could have been. The scene starring the airplanes are nice (although hampered by the production constraints of the time—a Top Gun shot today would feature far more CGI, even if used invisibly) and there are some intriguing real-world details in the depiction of flight officer school. I wouldn’t go as far as saying that I enjoyed Top Gun: Its bluntness hasn’t aged well, and seems to belong to an entirely different culture. But it’s certainly a striking film even today, and it has the advantages of its weaknesses. I, on the other hand, will watch Hot Shots! as an antidote.

  • Sweet Home Alabama (2002)

    Sweet Home Alabama (2002)

    (On TV, December 2016) I’m not sure what irks me more about Sweet Home Alabama: the rom-com formula faithfully followed, the titular insistence on southern values being preferable to Yankee ones, the easily predictable plot points or the idiot comedy segments. It doesn’t help that the film features Reese Witherspoon in her bog-standard rom-com persona—I consider Witherspoon to be an entirely neutral value as an actress, and she contributes to the film’s blandness. To its credit, Sweet Home Alabama is only mildly annoying: the magic of genre romantic comedies is that they’re usually so sweet, positive and gentle that there is a fairly high floor to how bad they can get, and even if the result isn’t particularly good, it’s not overly offensive either. The closest it gets to obnoxiousness are the various ways in which the film opposes its New York characters to its Southern ones, invariably suggesting that rural is best. This being said, this real-America-is-not-coastal-urban-America attitude is a fairly common one in movies, so it’s been defanged by sheer overexposure. Otherwise, what’s left to say? Amusing set pieces, predictable mysteries, square-jawed performance by Josh Lucas as the suitably masculine romantic lead. It’s almost the very definition of an ordinary romantic comedy. At least you get what you expect from Sweet Home Alabama.

  • Annie Hall (1977)

    Annie Hall (1977)

    (On TV, December 2016) I’m hardly the first reviewer to comment on how much more difficult it is to approach great movies than lousy ones. I often find myself immediately watching terrible movies as soon as they show up on Netflix or my DVR, while waiting months to get to the acclaimed ones. Part of it is apprehension, another other is responsibility and a third is probably a fear of running out of greatness. Great movies demand more and give more; they ask for engagement and attention and give us something that we couldn’t get otherwise. Great movies, for reviewers, demand to be approached with a great deal of respect—we want to be able to say something deserving of their greatness, and to bring something valuable to the conversation surrounding them, as impossible at it may seem today at a time when everyone’s a reviewer. Finally, I can’t help but feel that by watching an acclaimed film, I am removing it from my shelf of “potentially great” films that I still have to see. I open the box and unwrap the present. I resolve the quantum state of uncertainty about its potential greatness. The shelf of things that could blow my mind has one less item on it, and that makes me a bit sadder in some way. (Never mind that the shelf will always be too small to contain all the things that could blow my mind—even in this metaphor, it’s the principle that counts.) All of this to say that Annie Hall is a great film. It is, even forty years later, hilarious, wry, true and witty. It plays with the conventions of movies in ways that have been occasionally imitated but seldom equalled. It’s so good that a good dozen of its jokes feel familiar because they have crossed over in pop culture. (Although I suspect that I was exposed to most of them thanks to a work mentor who obviously loved the film.) One can say a lot of things about Woody Allen as a person (starting and ending with “Eeew!”), but his Annie Hall persona in is a pure distillation of his comic essence. The scattershot nature of the film diminishes it a bit (it often feels as a dramatized stand-up routine) and I won’t argue that it’s perfect—but it’s really, really good. Well worth watching even now, if only for Allen at the top of his game both as a filmmaker and a comedian, and for Diane Keaton’s charm.

  • One Day (2011)

    One Day (2011)

    (On TV, December 2016) I’m hardly the only one to have noticed that the so-called romantic comedy genre fractured and exploded sometime around 2010, replaced by a multiplicity of takes upon romantic comedy that escaped the asphyxiating constraints of the previous monolithic genre. Films much like One Day, playing both stylistically and thematically with issues far more complicated than the “meet-cute; infatuation; complications; big finale; happily-ever-after” schematic formula that romantic comedies had settled into. One Day takes place over 18 years, skipping ahead for a day from one year to another as our two characters (Anne Hathaway, in her not-annoying phase, and still-featureless Jim Sturgess) nearly get together for a long time. It teases, it plays, it tears its characters apart for no better reason that it’s not quite done with them. Adapted from a book (which seems to be a near-constant in the neo-romance genre), it’s complex, takes place over a lengthier period of time, deals with a wider spectrum of emotions and isn’t necessarily as crazily upbeat as the classic rom-com genre. Similar examples include Dear John, Love, Rosie and others. One Day isn’t particularly memorable—some development are telegraphed well in advance, the film twists and turns too much to become a cultural reference and the bittersweet nature of its ending is unlikely to make it any lifelong fans. But it’s watchable enough … even if you don’t try to make it an integral part of a grand rom-com unifying theory.

  • The Way Way Back (2013)

    The Way Way Back (2013)

    (Netflix Streaming, December 2016) A while ago, I started suspecting that I was seeing a too-limited selection of movies, and started letting my viewing being influenced by popularity lists as an opportunity to look at genres I’d normally avoid. And while I may roll my eyes at Adam Sandler comedies, weepy romantic dramas, gory horror and other movies on those lists, there’s one category that has consistently outperformed my expectations: Coming-of-age drama-comedies. From The Fault in Our Stars to Sing Street to Paper Town to The Way Way Back, I’m discovering authors such as John Green, investigating the early movies of rising stars and finding much to like in the results. The Way Way Back has a few passing similarities to films such as Adventureland, featuring a socially marginalized teen finding guidance and companionship on a summer job. Liam James is featureless but likable as the lead character, but it’s the supporting actors who often shine more brightly: Sam Rockwell is particularly good as a man-child compelled to mentor our hero, while Steve Carell plays an unusually detestable role as an antagonistic, philandering would-be father-in-law. A few familiar faces also show up in minor roles, from Maya Rudolph to Rob Corddry and Amanda Peet. The portrait of a small seaside town and its attendant water park is warm and sympathetic, fitting almost perfectly with the script’s goals. While the story is familiar and the beats are predictable, The Way Way Back is satisfying for all the right reasons. It may not set the world on fire, but it’s a sure-fire choice for a quiet evening. It may be about today’s teenagers, but the extemporal setting will ensure that the themes will resonate with a wide group.

  • Unfaithful (2002)

    Unfaithful (2002)

    (On TV, December 2016) I probably shouldn’t have watched Fatal Attraction a few days before Unfaithful, because the comparison isn’t kind to this film (even despite them sharing the same director). In some ways, this gender-flipped story of adultery does uphold some old-fashioned morals of deception and revenge. Alas, it does so at length, never settling for a quick cut when a long sustained shot will do. Diane Lane is rather good as the married woman deciding to indulge in a bit of adultery, and the casting of the two male actors is amusing: Choosing a side of Olivier Martinez over a main course of Richard Gere is the kind of thing that underscores the wish fulfillment of Hollywood movies. There is, as is usual for erotic thrillers, a bit of heat in the initial couplings … although this quickly cools down once the erotic part is done and the thriller part begins. By the time the husband character semi-accidentally kills the adulterer, the plot has simultaneously started and ended at once: the rest of the movie is guilty thumb-twiddling until the end. It doesn’t make for a satisfying film—there’s little to offset the unintentional hilarity of some sequences. It’s also far too long for its thin plot, but so it goes. There may be a clash between Unfaithful’s aspirations as an infidelity drama, and the way it veers into a murder thriller in its third act—the finale kills the questions left by its first act, which itself is far too slow for a thriller. No matter what or why, Unfaithful doesn’t make much of a case for itself—it’s not that bad a choice if you really, really like either or all of the three leads, but it doesn’t quite cohere into something satisfying.

  • Scrooged (1988)

    Scrooged (1988)

    (Second or third viewing, On TV, December 2016) There have been countless takes on Dickens’ A Christmas Story, but Scrooged is still my favourite. A blend of cynicism and hard-won sappiness, Scrooged’s darker sense of humour, backed up with Bill Murray’s unique style, makes it a fantastic holiday viewing. Its depiction of an amoral modern age is still very much on target even twenty—no—thirty years later, while its struggle to reconcile itself with a happier view of Christmas seem more deserved than most. (On the other hand, I’m not sure that its lead protagonist will be as open-hearted two days later, but that may be part of the point.) Bill Murray anchors the picture, but there are good supporting performances by Bobcat Goldthwait and a hilarious Carol Kane as a slap-happy Ghost of Christmas Present. I get that the movie divided audiences and reviewers upon release, but you’ll never be able to convince me that it’s not a Christmas classic. If anything, I’ll bet that it plays far better in today’s ironic age than it did upon first release.

  • Fatal Attraction (1987)

    Fatal Attraction (1987)

    (On TV, December 2016) Both hilarious and a bit terrifying, Fatal Attraction’s story of adultery gone horribly wrong still rings as a cautionary tale thirty years later. Peak-era Michael Douglas stars as a lawyer who starts an affair with a dangerously obsessive woman (Glenn Close, more scary than sexy even in lingerie) and nearly loses everything in the process. The rather endearing term “bunny boiler” comes from this film, along with a substantial amount of reactionary emotions. Is it an anti-feminism tale, or the kind of story that men tell themselves in order to keep themselves in check? Who knows—what’s for sure is that this is as pure an erotic thriller as Hollywood was capable of turning out back then (I don’t think it can do anything like this any more)—the early sex scenes definitely have some heat to them, and the latter suspense moments do get ridiculously intense. With time, the lines that the movie draws for itself become blurry—a modern take would probably empathize more with Close’s characters. But, of course, such a modern take would quickly fade away—the point of Fatal Attraction’s enduring popularity is that it is extreme and black-and-white and scary and cautionary. Otherwise, why bother … and shouldn’t Hollwyood take note of that?

  • Rain Man (1988)

    Rain Man (1988)

    (Second Viewing, On TV, December 2016) Movies that age well usually manage to have timeless themes while being set at a precise time and place. So it is that Rain Man still manages to be endearing, largely because it tackles a difficult subject honestly while definitely remains a product of the mid-eighties. Tom Cruise and Dustin Hoffman truly star as the mismatched brothers at the heart of the story: The film would be a much lesser piece of work without Cruise’s yuppie chic and Hoffman’s now-iconic mannerisms. The transformation of the film into a road movie is good for a few chuckles, but it also literalizes a long journey of self-discovery for the lead character. Obvious stuff, but capably executed. Where Rain Man doesn’t work so well any more is in its uniqueness and its treatment of autism: At a time when TV shows are dominated by high-functioning autists being presented as superheroes (and I say this as a confirmed fan of both Sherlock and Elementary), the grab bag of idiot savant mannerisms being presented as typical markers of autists is disingenuous—most severely autistic people are nowhere near as charismatic or skillful as Hoffman’s character … but that’s Hollywood for you. Thirty years later, Rain Man remains a joy to watch, and a striking film in part due to its willingness to give the most reasonable ending to everyone involved.

  • Oculus (2013)

    Oculus (2013)

    (Netflix Streaming, December 2016) At the risk of spoiling Oculus, I want to talk about the horror movie default narrative. Horror, as a genre, is not one where we can expect the happy ending. Horror does not offer such predictable comforts, but at the same time it has come to formalize the bad ending so thoroughly that it has lost its element of surprise. All things being now equal, the bad ending has little advantage over the happy ending. In fact, the bad ending (in which the threat wins, kills and endures) is far more annoying than the happy one in that it often negates the struggles described by the film—going against an all-powerful evil force, your default assumption is that you’re going to lose. If that’s what happens, then why tell the story? There are fewer ways to annoy an audience than to tell them that their sympathies are for naught, and I fear that this is what happens in Oculus, a feeling more than reinforced by the incredibly sympathetic Karen Gillian in the lead role. Oculus’s central premise is good (an evil mirror that clouds minds and demands sacrifice) but the film’s secret weapon is Gillian: from her first redheaded swinging-ponytail appearance, Gillian makes the most of an interesting character torn between sibling love and all-out thirst for vengeance for the mirror taking away her parents. The way she anticipates the mirror’s defence mechanisms and prepares countermeasures is good for a few good moments, but complications arise when her brother enters the picture. Much of the film is split between current-day efforts to investigate (or destroy) the mirror, with flashbacks showing what happened years before when the two siblings were kids. It’s cleanly shot and nicely edited, but there are a few lulls in the action and the ending is more repellent than I’d like. In retrospect, this marks an important step in writer/director Mike Flanagan’s progression, from the intriguing but fatally low-budget Absentia, to the slick roller-coaster ride of Hush. Oculus is flawed and frustrating, but it’s halfway decent, and I suspect that other people may react much better to the ending.

  • Mei ren yu [The Mermaid] (2016)

    Mei ren yu [The Mermaid] (2016)

    (On Cable TV, December 2016) I tried. I was willing. I was well-disposed, having seen and enjoyed writer/director’s Stephen Chow previous Shaolin Soccer (good!) and Kung Fu Hustle (classic!). But it didn’t take much time for The Mermaid to exceed by limits for weirdness, and then keep going. Crude, gross, unfunny and borderline repellent are good ways to start describing The Mermaid, and I’m being kind. I don’t think that the language and cultural differences can explain my negative reaction to the movie when those differences inherent in a modern Chinese comedy are often the things I liked best about the film. I think that The Mermaid is consciously aiming at a different comic sensibility. The message about environmentalism is great, but it’s undercut by comedy that works through embarrassment, self-mutilation and outright grossness. There are a few chuckles (there’s a good attempted-assassination sequence at some point) but nowhere near as much as I was expecting from Stephen Chow. What a disappointment.