Reviews

  • A Christmas Story (1983)

    A Christmas Story (1983)

    (On TV, December 2016) I’m pretty sure I saw this film at some point as a kid, but since seeing the film was like rediscovering when a bunch of clichés came from, I’ll pretend that this is a first viewing. It’s certainly ad odd piece of Americana, more darkly skewed than I’d been led to believe or remember. There’s an odd affection and cynicism blend in the way the film is narrated and shot: part of it seems timeless or, at the very least, far more contemporary than the 1940s in which the film is supposedly set. The unreliable narration is a big part of the film—much of what seems overwrought or frankly bizarre (such as the lamp, such as the improbably gigantic Santa Mall mountain) can be explained as the feverish recollections of events experienced as a kid. The number of clichés and stock situations first seen here is astonishing—I knew on some level that A Christmas Story is considered a classic Christmas movie, but I’d lost track of the number of sequences (“you’ll shoot an eye out”, tongue stuck to a pole, etc.) that are featured in the film. It also keeps its best laugh for the end, making for a nice finish. Writer/director Bob Clark managed to keep much of Jean Shepherd’s original voice in making the film, literally and appropriately choosing him as the narrator of the film. While a bit too fashioned to count as a classic for me, it’s a decently measured look at the madness of Christmas, finding a way to deliver a heartfelt and fuzzy message while acknowledging the more cynical aspect of the period. I’ll watch it again in the next few years.

  • To Rome with Love (2012)

    To Rome with Love (2012)

    (Netflix Streaming, December 2016) As I’m exploring Woody Allen’s filmography, there’s a certain pleasure in seeing him back on-screen after a lengthy pause. To Rome with Love is an interwoven anthology film of four different stories playing against its roman backdrop, from Alec Baldwin’s recollections of a love triangle made alive to Roberto Benigni’s strange brush with fame to Allen discovering an unlikely signing talent to a couple of visiting newlyweds experiencing life in the capital. Like most ensemble stories, its interest rises and falls unpredictably, but the overall effect is strong, with enough romance, humour and weirdness to keep things interesting. Of the stories, I was most struck by Alec Baldwin’s resigned-but-wise reactions to the developing love triangle in-between Jesse Eisenberg, Greta Gerwig and Ellen Page—it’s funny and a bit wistful at once, with plot and commentary joyously crashing in one another. The newlywed’s adventures are also funny, although occasionally too close to humiliation comedy for my taste. Allen’s segment is enhanced by a typical Allen performance as a nattering shmuck—the outlandish situation he creates is just the icing on the cake. Finally, there’s the unexplainable weirdness of an ordinary man (Benigni) brought to sudden fame and dropped just as rapidly—a metaphor for our social media age, perhaps, but still worthwhile on its own. To Rome with Love probably won’t endure as one of Allen’s classics—it’s too scatter-shot, too willing to make audiences laugh without deeper themes—but it’s a relatively good time at the hands of a comedy veteran, and perhaps his funniest film in a while. As an entry in his “European capitals” phase, it’s slight but decent.

  • Before Midnight (2013)

    Before Midnight (2013)

    (Netflix Streaming, December 2016) I am, once amazed, at writer/director Richard Linklater and what he has managed to do with Before Midnight. I shouldn’t like that film. It’s the third in a trilogy whose first film I haven’t yet seen (although I was quite taken by the second one), it’s a chatty domestic drama and its dramatic centrepiece is a terrible argument between husband and wife. It’s really not my cup of tea, but much like I was halfway smitten by Before Sunset, I’m similarly charmed by Before Midnight. It’s a dialogue-heavy film, but what dialogue! The interplay between Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke is fantastic even (especially) in the midst of their argument, and there’s a lot of wit in the way the conversations develop. The dialogue can be quotable at time (There’s a “bimbo” scene that’s an instant classic as far as I’m concerned) yet heartfelt soon afterwards. The development of the couple’s relationship over time and three films (yet in short, almost real-time bursts every time) is remarkable: in-between this trilogy and Boyhood, Linklater is carving a unique niche for himself as a filmmaker experimenting with time in ways others won’t even consider. The Greek Mediterranean scenery adds much to the film without undue effort, but the real heart of the film is in the script and the way the lead actors develop it. I’ve been taken by surprise twice by this trilogy, and I have to get my hands on Before Sunrise before long now that I think that I know what to expect.

  • Hook (1991)

    Hook (1991)

    (Second viewing, On TV, December 2016) I remember two or three jokes from my first viewing of Hook more than twenty years ago, but not a whole lot more. I have noted a certain polarization of opinion about the film—a lot of regular people like it, while critics don’t. I watched the film in regular-person mode, and wasn’t displeased from the experience: Despite claims of this being a sequel to the original Pan, Hook is very much a retelling … so closely so that it gives rise to some vexing issues (as in: “why bother?”) There is a very late-eighties quality to the way the action is staged in Neverland, prisoner of limited soundstage sets and the special effects technology of the time. As a take on the Peter Pan mythos, it’s decent without being exceptional or revolutionary—it’s still miles better than the 2016 Pan, although not quite as successful as 2003’s Peter Pan. Julia Roberts isn’t bad as Tinkerbell, although her unrequited romance is good for a few raised eyebrows. Robin Williams is OK as Peter, but it’s hard to avoid thinking that another actor may have been better-suited for the role. Meanwhile, Dustin Hoffman seems as if he’s having a lot of fun in the titular role. While Steven Spielberg directs, there is little here to reflect his legendary touch. It does strike me that Hook fits almost perfectly with the latest Disney craze of remaking its classic animated movies as live action. Perhaps contemporary opinion about the film will be more forgiving than the critical roasting it got at the time. Until that reconsecration, the result is perfectly watchable and squarely in the middle of the various takes on Peter Pan.

  • The Spectacular Now (2013)

    The Spectacular Now (2013)

    (Netflix Streaming, December 2016) What? Miles Teller playing a cad who learns better?!? Well, yes: for an actor as young as he is, Teller has already developed a strong screen persona that’s part arrogance and part cynicism. Time will tell if he can sustain it (especially given his similarities with a younger John Cusack) but, in the meantime, he’s effective and even entertaining in those roles. In The Spectacular Now, Teller plays a high-school version of a character we usually see in older stages of life: the underachieving boozer/womanizer, getting by on minimal effort and apparently willing to dismiss everything and everyone but secretly harbouring some long-lasting emotional scars. Focusing on a girl as kind of a rebound Pygmalion project seems like a passing fancy at first, but we know it’s not going to be as simple as making his ex-girlfriend jealous so that he can get back with her. Not too far from the recent John Greenish mode of teenage moviemaking, The Spectacular Now does have the grace to play between drama and comedy, with flawed characters, difficult situations, uncomfortable choices and characters growing up. Shailene Woodley is fine as the romantic heroine and Mary Elizabeth Winstead makes a remarkable appearance as an older sister, but it’s Teller’s film. The film is remarkable by what it doesn’t do—namely, fall into the traps of the usual teenage dramedies … although I’m a bit worried that, along with The Way Way Back and other John Green-adapted films, it’s forging a set of new clichés for that subgenre. Time will tell, as time will tell whether this will remain a definitive performance for Teller’s early career.

  • Paul Blart: Mall Cop (2009)

    Paul Blart: Mall Cop (2009)

    (On TV, December 2016) As far as I’m concerned, there is just one thing worth mentioning about Paul Blart: Mall Cop: It was shot in the only American shopping mall that I know well — The Burlington, Massachusetts Shopping Mall that’s not too far away from the hotel of the Readercon SF convention that I attended from 2005 to 2011. I didn’t even realize it during the film: I watched it and was amazed at how similar it was to the mall I knew, down to the exact same restaurants. Yet I shrugged off the similarities, thinking—eh, what would be the odds? But it was, and you can imagine my amazement. But there’s a film attached to the mall footage, and that’s when I run out of things to say. Paul Blart: Mall Cop is a product of the Happy Madison lowbrow comedy factory, which is to say that it features an underachieving protagonist forced by circumstances to grow up, impress the girl and save the day. The straightforward plot can be summarized on a napkin, and the various pratfalls only need a portly guy willing to fall down. Kevin James (who also writes and produces) is not unsympathetic as the hero, but he works with and against bad material. Meanwhile, Jayma Mays’ eyes specifically steal whatever scenes they’re in. Otherwise, there’s not much to say—this is as basic a comedy as you can get, and its chief asset is that it can be played in just about any setting without upsetting too many people. On the other hand; I have great memories of Burlington Mall at that time (At some point, I’ll tell you the tale of the Lego store), and it’s kind of cool that there’s a Hollywood production that will immortalize the place forever.

  • The Love Guru (2008)

    The Love Guru (2008)

    (On TV, December 2016) Some film pundits often refer to The Love Guru as the film that killed Mike Myers’ film career and while that’s a harsh assessment (I suspect that Myers’ own oft-reported personal issues largely played a role in his disappearance from the big screen—studio executives are more forgiving of box-office failure if they happen to people they like) it does acknowledge the fact that it’s simply not a good film. This being said, there are bits and pieces that sound great on paper: A movie largely revolving around the Toronto Maple Leaf hockey team? Faux-Indian rendition of songs such as The Joker and 9 to 5? Featured roles for Jessica Alba, with appearances by John Oliver and Stephen Colbert? Justin Timberlake as a secondary character gleefully perpetuating the stereotype of French-Canadians with legendary intimate attributes? How can I not get on-board with that? Alas, it takes a remarkably short time for the wheels to fall off The Love Guru. The stereotypical humour begins from the first shot of the film, while various comic bits feel old barely two minutes after being introduced and repeated. It gets progressively worse, as the film’s self-satisfied comic arrogance mugs for laughs that don’t exist, introduces pauses for laughter that never comes and revels in gross-out humour ten years after everyone else … all the way to a strikingly inappropriate animal sex sequence played on ice. (There’s a joke about Mariska Hargitay that’s as dumb as anything else ever dreamed up—the kind of stuff that should never survive a first draft.) Given Mike Myer’s roles as producer writer and star, as well as the example set by his previous feature films, it’s not hard to find someone to blame for The Love Guru’s unfunny pileup. In any other film, the portrayal of Hindi culture would have been offensive—here’s it’s just stuck in a much bigger mess. Despite my best intentions, the film simply doesn’t work.

  • 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.