Brendan Fraser

Airheads (1994)

(On TV, October 2020) I wasn’t expecting much from Airheads—another rock and roll comedy about dumb characters? Meh. But I hadn’t paid attention to the main cast nor the specifics of the plot before watching, and there was no way of guessing ahead of time the strange alchemy between its elements. But by the turn of the first half-hour, I was curiously invested in the adventures of our three rocking protagonists, unsuccessful musicians who end up, almost despite themselves, taking an entire radio station hostage. Much of the interest of the film these days will have to do with the lead trio of actors assembled to play the protagonists: Brendan Fraser, Steve Buscemi and Adam Sandler in an early pre-stardom role. The film does make the most out of its comic premise, escalating the situation even further with the hostages cheering for their captors when it becomes clear that the radio station is headed to a format change to easy-listening music. Lesser-know comic actors populate supporting roles from Chris Farley, Ernie Hudson and Joe Mantegna as a rock DJ. The soundtrack is stellar, beginning with “Born to Raise Hell” on the opening credit sequence. The supporting characters all have funny details to contribute, and the restricted setting of the film, once it’s done with the throat clearing, does add an interesting atmosphere. Airheads is not meant to be a good or particularly ambitious film, but I found it easy to like and surprisingly engaging once it gets started.

School Ties (1992)

School Ties (1992)

(In French, On Cable TV, September 2020) There’s some heavy-grade irony in seeing School Ties nearly thirty years later and spotting Brendan Fraser, Matt Damon and Ben Affleck—I’m not sure that anyone would have predicted their respective career path back then. They are easily the best thing about the film, a 1950s-set drama in which a Jewish young man (Fraser) heads to college on a football scholarship but manages to “pass” as non-Jewish until the secret predictably gets out. It’s an old-fashioned tale of anti-Semitic prejudice, and we can almost see every plot turn coming well in advance. If you’re approaching the film thinking that it will have some of that old-fashioned boarding school charm, then you’re looking at the wrong place: School Ties really isn’t one of those “inspiring teachers” kind of film and the lead character faces adversity at every turn in this very WASP-ish environment. There’s some structural oddness here and there, with minor characters popping up and then disappearing—almost as if the original intent of the film was bigger, and got whittled away to the anti-discrimination theme though successive editing. I don’t know. But there’s a limited appeal to School Ties nonetheless—while no one will object to its basic message of decency and anti-discrimination, the film doesn’t do much more than deliver on the essentials, and can’t help (by its predictability) to feel a bit perfunctory about it. It’s not exactly a bad watch, but it could have been better at achieving its own objectives.

Looney Tunes: Back in Action (2003)

(On TV, September 2020) I somehow missed Looney Tunes: Back in Action when it was first released in theatres (it had the misfortune of coming out in November, a month where I wrote rather than watched: looking at the release schedule, I probably saw Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World that week), and I still can’t believe I waited so long before catching up. I’ve always had a fond spot for Bugs Bunny and his friends, so seeing them in a feature film was like unearthing a time capsule prepared just for me. The one thing that distinguishes Looney Tunes: Back in Action from most of the movies is the sheer pedal-to-the-metal pacing of the jokes—barely five seconds go by without some kind of gag, and the anarchic humour comes with an added dimension of metatextual movie humour. Highlights include a reference-crammed visit to ‘Area 52,’ closely followed by the technical marvel of a painting-hopping sequence set inside Le Louvre. Brendan Fraser does well in the lead role, with some decent assistance from Timothy Dalton (playing off the Bond archetype) and an ensemble cast of supporting players. I’m not so happy with Jenna Elfman (wow, remember her?), who’s used more like a clothes rack for a suspiciously high number of outfit changes rather than an actress with comic timing (although that Paris outfit—whew). The animated characters do better, but then again, they could be redrawn until perfection. Yet, for all the nice things I can say about its pinwheel of gags, Back in Action isn’t quite what it could have been. Director Joe Dante has spoken cryptically about being heavily constrained during production, which is probably inevitable considering the special effects requirements and the characters being one of Warner Bros’ crown jewels. Still, there’s a stiffness, rarely technical but nonetheless perceptible, that stops the action from being as involving as it should be—some annoying characters are given too much time (yes you, Steve Martin) and some sequences don’t play as well as they should. Still, I liked much the result, and would have liked to see it upon release… even there’s some value into discovering something so long after.

Encino Man (1992)

Encino Man (1992)

(In French, On Cable TV, June 2019) Prehistoric fish-out-of-water meets high-school humour with a side of stoner antics in Encino Man, a dumb but good-natured teen comedy that just happens to feature Brendan Fraser in one of his most prominent early roles. It’s not much of a clever script—no matter where the fish comes from, the out-of-water part is similar from one film to another, and this one seems dictated by the wishes of two teenagers looking for high-school celebrity and romance. Much of Encino Man’s fun is in the antics of the characters, especially the prehistoric man thrust in early-nineties California living—including a visit to the local convenience store for a horrifying lesson in nutrition. It’s easy to see why Brendan Fraser would turn out to be a major comedy star in the nineties. Pauly Shore and Sean Astin also star and keep things running while Fraser does his thing. It’s not much, but it’s pleasant enough.

Inkheart (2008)

Inkheart (2008)

(On TV, October 2017) There is an initial flicker of interest in Inkheart as it first seems that it will be about readers, books and fantastical adventures between fiction and the real world. I happen to think of myself as a Big Reader currently on hiatus while I focus my free time on a hundred years’ worth of movies I haven’t yet seen, so anything that reminds me of what fun it is to read is notionally laudable. Alas, as Inkheart goes on, it quickly retreats to show its true origins as yet another YA film adaptation, with the narrative compromises that this implies. It quickly turns into yet another quest fantasy, and the various ideas that stems from the film’s premise can’t quite save it from narrative ennui as it goes through the motions of so many other YA adaptations of the past decade. (No, Inkheart doesn’t get early-adopter bonus points. Not any more.)  Despite his charm, Brendan Fraser can’t save the film, nor can Helen Mirren, Paul Bettany or Jim Broadbent. Despite everything in its arsenal, Inkheart only manages a tepid impact, and disappointment may be its most striking feature.

Pawn Shop Chronicles (2013)

Pawn Shop Chronicles (2013)

(On Cable TV, June 2014) I’ve been on the lookout for direct-to-video crime comedies lately, and even misfires like Pawn Shop Chronicles serve to remind me why. An anthology of three interlinked stories, loosely connected by a deep-south pawn shop, this a movie with significant tonal problems and an ending that really doesn’t bring it all together, but the quality of the direction and the number of known actors popping up in small roles is interesting enough. To be fair, Pawn Shop Chronicles starts out well: The first story, “The Shotgun”, brings together people such as a near-unrecognizable Paul Walker and a Thomas Jane cameo for a comic redneck meth heist thriller in which stupidity is never an impediment to attempted crime or loose supremacist affiliations. Director Wayne Kramer’s deft touch is already apparent, with a free-floating camera and small flourishes of visual style. It’s lighthearted and fluid enough to set up good expectations. The second story, “The Ring” is by far the most interesting, but it breaks the tone of the film in a way that’s irredeemable. Matt Dillon turns in a Bruce-Campellian performance as a newlywed husband ready to sacrifice anything to solve a mystery from his past. The story quickly turns gruesome as he keeps investigating, culminating into an abominable discovery that is as gut-wrenching as it doesn’t fit with the tone of the rest of the film. (Curiously enough, I immediately thought about a similarly affecting/atonal scene in Running Scared… and then found out that both movies were directed by the same person.) The ending of the segment can be seem coming from half a country mile away, but there’s a lot of good stuff along the way, including a radiant appearance by Rachelle Lefevre and another quirky performance by DJ Qualls. Still, by the end of “The Ring”, Pawn Shop Chronicles has left a sour taste, and “The Medallion” shifts gears into far more mystical territory with an Elvis Impersonator (Brendan Fraser, quite effective) making a deal with a supernatural entity to ensure an escape from terminal career implosion. There are numerous eccentric sequences along the way, but by this time Pawn Shop Chronicles should be busy bringing together its sub-threads, and while it does, there’s no overwhelming feeling of success: The epilogue set in the pawn shop itself feels more redundant than effective, and by that time the tonal problems are acutely unpleasant, especially when a psychopath thought to have been eliminated earlier reappears on-screen and gets rewarded for his actions. By that time, anyone could be forgiven for giving up on the film as anything more than a collection of interesting sequences loosely strung along a disjointed structure and a lack of satisfying payoffs. (Although it does feature an unexpected “At least Jesus didn’t write Battlefield Earth” bumper sticker.)