The poster for Michael Jackson’s This Is It.

As Printed in The Lumberjack on November 5, 2009

by Gary Sundt

My generation knows a very different Michael Jackson than those before us. I was born in 1988, just after sensational reports about his physical transformation began to surface. My first memories of the King of Pop have nothing to do with “Thriller,” charity, Pepsi-Cola or the Jackson 5; it was 1993, and Jacko was being called a nut job who sexually abused young boys. My parents listened to The Beatles and Bette Midler, so I didn’t get to earn a respect for the man and his music until I was in high school.

Michael Jackson died on June 25, 2009, a mere eight days before his 50-date “This Is It” tour was to begin — his first in nearly two decades and what was to be his “final curtain call.” The film Michael Jackson’s This Is It is a collection of footage shot during the preparation in the months leading up to the event. It features the dancers, choreographers, set designers, accompanying musicians, musical directors, the show’s director (Kenny Ortega) and, of course, Jackson himself — all working with the assumption that the show will go on without interruption.

There is a buzz about the film that suspects it is merely cashing in on Jackson’s death. But contrary to expectation, the sight of the late musician does not resemble a marionette corpse dancing for a mob of paying patrons. Instead, This Is It shows Jackson alive and thriving, still singing and dancing better than anyone else on the stage. We see his interactions with the show’s cast and crew, revealing the soft-spoken and polite nature the man showed in public was no act. Jackson is courteous to those around him, patient with those who misunderstand and misstep, and completely up for the challenge of putting on a larger-than-life performance at the tender age of 50.

The footage in This Is It was assembled under the direction of Ortega by the top editors at Sony Entertainment. It would be reasonable to assume the movie would be working to reflect on the artist’s achievements or explain/mask his controversy with a façade. Such is not the case. This Is It attempts the impossible task of bringing the would-be final performance of a great artist to his fans, and while it may seem too long at times and too strange in others (the rainforest bit will make more than a few heads tilt in confusion), the film succeeds. The movie does right by focusing on the performance’s preparation without hindsight or interpretation, and it offers the confused masses a look at Jackson that, if the show had actually taken place, may never have been seen.

This Is It will not make anyone forget the Wacko Jacko legacy, but how could it? The little boy controversies, the plastic surgery, the holding of his newborn child over a balcony, the fact that he named said child Blanket — it’s obvious this guy had issues. But the night Jackson died, I was out dancing to his hits in the downtown Flagstaff bars, and I had a similar experience when I was at the San Diego Comic-Con a few weeks later. When watching This Is It, I couldn’t help but dance in the theater seat.

The film isn’t designed to make people forget, but rather to remind us how gifted the troubled artist truly was. The world probably just wouldn’t be the same without the King of Pop, and while he might have been a crazy person, his diamond-studded glove shines a little less bright now that he’s gone.

Rating: 4 stars

Directed by Kenny Ortega. Starring Michael Jackson and the cast and crew of the “This Is It” production. and Running time: 112 minutes. Rated PG.

Spooky stuff happens in Paranormal Activity.

As Printed in The Lumberjack on October 29, 2009

by Gary Sundt

Paranormal Activity is rated R, though there isn’t entirely any real reason why. Yes, there is a certain expletive uttered once — perhaps twice — during the film’s entire running time. But other than that, there is no excessive blood or gore, no nudity of any kind, no reason for the movie to have an R rating. Nothing, of course, except that the movie is scarier than hell.
Yeah, that could be why Paranormal Activity gets an R rating.
In the same vein as The Blair Witch Project, the film has no opening or closing credits, instead simply offering the viewer a small note at the start thanking the families of those on screen. The footage begins to roll home movie-style, and we learn that the main characters, Micah (Micah Sloat) and Katie (Katie Featherston), are a young couple who have recently been experiencing strange paranormal activity while they sleep. Micah is the one who decides to videotape all the events and is the cameraman most of the time. Whether this footage is for proof, monetary gains or sheer posterity is never fully explained, but it’s a reason for us to see what is happening to these rather unfortunate people.
Most of the “action” occurs while the couple is in bed and asleep. The camera sits on a tripod for long stretches of time while the audience observes what happens at night. These events are hinted at in the film’s advertisements, and I certainly won’t be spoiling them here. In most reviews, it is appropraite to go into some detail as to what a viewer has in store for themselves, but doing so in this case would rob potential viewers of an opportunity to actually be surprised and engrossed by the brilliance of the moviemaking at work here. The implication is that I’m not merely recommending Paranormal Activity; I’m insisting you go see it if you are interested in actually being scared. If you simply want to know what happens, go to Wikipedia and be that guy (you know who you are).
Paranormal Activity is written and directed by Oren Peli and was made on a budget of $15,000. The development of the characters and the simplicity of their plight is what makes the movie scary. This is the type of flick that is designed to look like a home-movie, carrying with it a certain degree of realism because the special effects simply don’t look like special effects — this stuff looks real.
Last year’s Cloverfield and Quarantine were two other examples of the home-horror movie phenomenon. They are good, but not great; they can be spooky, but never downright terrifying. Those who think they are haven’t seen movies like this. There is a certain perfection in the simplicity of movies like Paranormal Activity and The Blair Witch Project, in which atmosphere, performances and sound effects are used to their utmost effect to shake audiences to their very core.
There are people who will disagree with me, saying Paranormal Activity isn’t scary in the least. Maybe what scares people is entirely arbitrary, or maybe these folks need blood and gore to feel real fear. In that case, go see Saw XXVII.
All I can say is I was freaked, and my girlfriend balled her eyes out. Ours was a midnight showing, and we didn’t get to bed until around 3:30 a.m. because she was completely wigged. If that isn’t an endorsement for a horror film, I don’t quite know what is.

Written and directed by Oren Peli. Starring Katie Featherston, Micah Sloat and Mark Fredrichs. Running time: 86 minutes. Rated R.

Max (Max Records) and KW (Lauren Ambrose) look at each other in Where the Wild Things Are.

Where the Wild Things Are is nothing short of a visual and narrative masterpiece. The film is ostensibly designed for children, but the central story — when mined just beneath the surface — is a rich and complex tale better suited for adults. And why shouldn’t there be a children’s movie for grown-ups? Most people can admit they have a lot of lessons still to learn, and even some basic teachings that could use a refresher.

The film is directed and co-written by Spike Jonze and is based on the nine-sentence children’s book by Maurice Sendak. The story is about young Max, who, after being sent to bed without supper by his mother, uses his elaborate imagination to travel by sea to the island where the Wild Things are. The creatures are giant furry beasts (with features similar to bears, goats, birds and whatever else a child’s mind would choose to throw in), and they quickly declare Max their king.

Stating the source is only nine sentences long is to also suggest with some certainty that the story is very short, and hardly warrants a feature length film treatment. But the script by Jonze and Dave Eggers digs deeper than the original premise and unearths a wonderfully sweet, yet utterly heartbreaking film.

Consider Max (Max Records), who has been developed into a fully realized depiction of childhood: the irrational anger toward adults and their mistakes; the robust talk in the face of adversity; to be laughing one moment over something small, and in tears the next over something just as minute; etc. He finds little solace in his single mother (Catherine Keener), who is too busy with work, and his teenage sister (Pepita Emmerichs), who is too busy with being a teenager.

And what about the Wild Things themselves? Sendack’s art made them monstrous indeed, too scary for kids in some cases, and the live action delineations are not far from the original source. These creatures were and are drawn as mere extensions of Max’s conflicted personality. While the characterization in the book is mostly limited to a “monster walk,” the film develops the Wild Things into fully-fledged representations of Max’s complex cinematic identity, and they individually present the boy with unique challenges as their leader.

The Wild Things are as follows: Carol (James Gandolfini), Max’s favorite and the self-proclaimed leader; Judith (Catherine O’Hara), the know-it-all; Alexander (Paul Dano), the short and ignored Wild Thing; the pleasant Ira (Forest Whitaker); the obedient Douglas (Chris Cooper); and the loving and reasonable KW (Lauren Ambrose). Jonze and Co. have utilized a perfect combination of practical and computer-generated special effects, and the monsters and their environment feel as tangible as any creation in cinema history.

There is a tremendous amount of symbolism in Where the Wild Things Are, and there might be a deeper understanding of basic human nature than general audiences are used to from a “children’s film.” One of the film’s strengths is the careful detail taken to analyze simple events in the human experience. While this focus on simplicity may polarize and confuse audiences, I think it injects into the piece one of the more honest stories ever in a big-budget Hollywood release.

I said at the start this was a film better suited for adults, and perhaps that’s true. But speaking as an adult, Where the Wild Things Are brought out the kid in me, and by that I mean all the joys, sorrows, triumphs and defeats that go with that mindset. I rarely become completely immersed in a film the way I was absorbed by Max and his Wild Things, and I think anybody willing to go the distance for a little adventure might feel the same way.

Rating: 5 stars

Directed by Spike Jonze. Written by Jonze and Dave Eggers. Starring Max Records, Catherine Keener and James Gandolfini. Running time: 101 minutes. Rated PG.

This is the 2005 short film that inspired the new feature-length movie, 9. WARNING: This flick contains spoilers for the new movie.

9, the new film from director Shane Acker and producer Tim Burton, wants to inform us that technology will be our downfall, but also our resurrection. This is probably true of the human race, but has come to fruition even more immediately in the world of moviemaking. Modern filmmakers ignore originality of story and character development in favor of as many big explosions as they can fit into 90 minutes. On the flip-side, this technology has also been able to bring the complex and awe-inspiring visions of real artists to the big screen. Meanwhile, the standard movie-going audience sits in limbo, on one hand celebrating intellectually dead films like Transformers 2, then recognizing masterpieces and near-masterpieces like Star Trek, WALL-E or The Dark Knight.

Interestingly enough, 9 sits comfortably between these two paradigms. Acker’s visual goals are remarkable, as made evident from the opening frames, where old fingers work to put the finishing touches on a rag doll, both roughly human and curiously alien, the number “9” stitched into its back. Soon after, this creature (Elijah Wood) comes to life, and views the devastated remains of the human world with its inquisitive binocular eyes for the first time. However, the story soon gets underway, and as we meet the other rag dolls, numbered 1 thru 8, and learn of the plight of the now-extinct human race, we see the movie’s relatively familiar premise, and 9 becomes a rather curious experience.

The characters in 9 are very clearly defined despite how similar they are in appearance. For example, 5 (John C. Rielly) is intelligent yet terrified, accordingly obedient to those who appear smarter than he, while 1 (Christopher Plummer) acts as the self-proclaimed leader of the crew, and comes off as stubborn as he does assured. These sketches, as defined by the script by Acker and Corpse Bride scribe Pamela Pettler, are pieces of a whole personality, as easily recognizable as they can be predictable. This makes the characters fight against the film’s villain, The Beast (the man-made machine that destroyed the human race), almost entirely unsurprising, because we know these stereotypes all to well and everything they are about to do. While this ends up being necessary to the film’s central premise, this fragmentation causes the protagonists to be less fully-realized than their detailed appearances might indicate, dragging the pace of 9 down substantially.

The movie is not necessarily a disappointment, but as the film came to a close, I found myself wanting more. The movie is an expansion of Acker’s short film of the same name, which garnered him an Oscar nomination in 2006, and the visual promise and promising themes of that film alone warranted not only a viewing, but further exploration and analysis. But the story doesn’t stretch well to feature-length due simply to the fact that all of the film’s original ideas appeared in the 10:30 short subject.

The result is a film both marveling and unamazing; grandiose in vision but limited in scale. Does this make 9 unworthy of a viewing? Hardly — the visuals really are quite remarkable. But if you are looking for something as innovative as those visuals inherently promise, then I’m afraid you’ve barked up the wrong tree. Like the film’s protagonists, 9 is fragmented, all-together incomplete, and one hopes that Acker comes to the table with something more unique with his future endeavors.

Star Rating: 3.5

Gerard Butler holds a knife all menacingly at Michael C. Hall in Gamer.

As Printed in The Lumberjack on Sept. 10, 2009.

by Gary Sundt

This is a review of Gamer, the new film from Crank writer/directors Mark Neveldine and Brian Taylor.

In 1987, Arnold Schwarzenegger and director Paul Michael Glaser made a little movie called The Running Man. The film told the story of a totalitarian future where criminals would have the opportunity to earn their freedom if they survived a reality TV show entitled “The Running Man.” Schwarzenegger played a falsely-accused cop who became the show’s next contestant. The now-govenor had to do battle with all sorts of brutes and the TV show’s host (who betrayed him at some point and was the reason he was in prison in the first place) in order to fight his way to freedom.

Gamer is the exact same story, with the replacement of “reality TV show” with “video game,” “The Running Man” with “Stalkers,” and “Arnold Schwarzenegger” with “Gerard Butler.”

Moving on.

In The Running Man, Schwarzenegger joins up with some people who act as a resistance to the show’s host, Damon Killian (Richard Dawson). Their mission is to change the mind of the public and reveal the truth about Killian’s evil plans and Schwarzenegger’s character’s innocence.

Gamer (shockingly) is about the same thing, but features Ludacris as the leader of the resistance, and Ken Castle (Michael C. Hall) in the place of Killian. And while the comparisons certainly don’t end there, I think my point is made.

Now, I’m not saying that homage is a bad thing. Who doesn’t like a good throwback now and again? But I think there’s a pretty big difference between making a respectful reference, and blatant thievery. Go back and watch The Running Man and realize that these writer/directors should have a lawsuit coming to them, because unless they paid some royalties to Glaser and Co., they made the same damn movie.

There are some original ideas in Gamer, such as their real-life turn on The Sims, and the rather fancy cinematography (a talent the filmmakers’ showed in their highly original Crank and its sequel, Crank: High Voltage). However, Neveldine and Taylor show the unfortunate tendency of modern day filmmakers of putting the camera before the story. Simply telling the tale of a world where gamers control other real people in a realistic environment, or focusing on the video game players themselves rather than the brutes they control, is original enough to create a solid narrative.

Instead, we get a movie we’ve already seen before, and will probably see again. And all the nifty camera angles, all the small ideas, all the sex and blood they can throw at the camera, none of it can hide the fact that Gamer is simply a bad rip off of an older, better movie.

Michael Myers wears his very bloody mask in Halloween II (2009)

by Gary Sundt

My girlfriend doesn’t much care for scary movies. By that, I mean that she (expletive) hates them. Therefore, when the time came to review writer/director Rob Zombie’s Halloween II, she made sure I covered her eyes whenever something violent happened. Interestingly enough, there wasn’t a single scare, kill, loud noise, etc. that I didn’t have my hand readied for eye coverage.

I mention these details because of one simple fact: Halloween II is very predictable, very gory, very loud, but unfortunately isn’t very scary, interesting or remotely fun to watch.

The movie takes place one year after the events of the first film, where Laurie Strode (Scout Taylor-Compton) is an emotional wreck trying to deal with the events of last Halloween. Meanwhile, the mindless serial killer Michael Myers (Tyler Mane), presumed dead, has been biding his time in the woods until this Halloween, living off raw animal meat and images of his dead mother (Sheri Moon-Zombie) leading a white horse and insisting he goes and kills again.

Yes, all the psychological wackiness, all the issues of child abuse and a bad home life, have been left behind for a shiny horse and a rip-off of Friday the 13th. And that stallion looks just as silly as it sounds.

Anyway, as the night of Halloween approaches, the mask-clad-but-hobo-garbed Myers makes his way back home, carving up seemingly unnecessary stereotypes of classic horror movie victims as he goes. This path is countered by the story of Laurie, who finds out about her sibling relationship to the killer when she snags a copy of the new book by Myer’s old psychologist, the money grubbing Dr. Sam Loomis (Malcolm McDowell). She goes psycho, Michael makes it back home, and the body count rises.

The resulting murderous rampage is indeed as grotesque as a Rob Zombie film promises to be, but curiously, few of the sequences leave a lasting impression beyond “gross.” Halloween II’s most frightening (and therefore most successful) sequence is its opening, which is simply a throwback to the original. This means that nothing Zombie brings to the table manages to have any lasting response beyond disgust, which is a shame considering he proved with 2005’s The Devil’s Rejects and the his original Halloween remake that he could do better.

Zombie never intended to make a sequel to Halloween, and this film stands rather unfortunately as proof of that. The humorous redneck undertones that worked in the first film are all but absent, and whatever legitimate scares the original had are replaced by scenes of repeated stabbings by Mr. Myers. Several sequences (but two in particular) exist only to raise the body count, and have no bearing on the film’s central plot whatsoever. Just because something is as revolting as it can be doesn’t mean it’s scary. Neither does sitting uncomfortably on a dead body 10 seconds longer than you need to. Neither does Momma Myers leading a white horse down a hallway.

When I reviewed Zombie’s Halloween remake, I praised his ability to put some fear back into that old Bill Shatner mask. With Halloween II, a noticeable step has been taken in the opposite direction. For those readers who are familiar with the old franchise, Rob Zombie’s Halloween II has all the visceral gore of the 2007 remake, but with the penchant for ridiculousness that plagued Halloween: The Curse of Michael Myers and the lack of fun that made films like Halloween 4 and 5 miserable films to watch.

For those uninitiated with the franchise, Halloween II pretty much sucks.

Brad Pitt and Eli Roth look badass in Inglourious Basterds

by Gary Sundt

Quentin Tarantino’s work has shaped the way many modern cineastes view movies and the art of filmmaking. His second film, Pulp Fiction, won the Palme D’Ore at the Cannes Film Festival, perhaps the highest honor in the moviemaking world. Kill Bill Vol. 1 & 2 had a large influence on me upon its initial release, and I maintain that seeing Grindhouse may have been the greatest time I’ve ever had at a movie theater.

His latest film, Inglourious Basterds, continues the celebrated filmmaker’s tradition of making movies that commemorate the very experience of moviegoing, from his timeless use of film technique to his visceral understanding of dialogue.

Inglourious Basterds, in classic Tarantino fashion, is several stories that intertwine with one another. There is the story of the Basterds and their leader, Lt. Aldo Raine (Brad Pitt), who mercilessly hunt and scalp the Nazis. Then we have Nazi Col. Hans Landa (Christoph Waltz), who mercilessly hunts and kills Jews. Unknowing to both sides of the equation is Shosanna (Melanie Laurent), a survivor of one of Col. Landa’s ruthless raids, who has her own plans to topple the National Socialist Party.

Inglourious Basterds is not a history lesson, nor does it try to be. This is WWII: Tarantino-style, and it’s the type of history rewrite that will stir many different emotions from the audience. Some will be disgusted, others will be outraged, but the majority of the audience will revel in the sheer audacity of… well, it would be criminal to spoil any of the antics here. But walk into Inglourious Basterds looking for a bloody good time, and you won’t be disappointed.

Tarantino has a knack for creating characters that stick in the public psyche long after the film has ended, and Inglourious Basterds is no different. The standouts in the film are definitely Pitt and Waltz, who come off as hilarious one moment as they do hilarious the next. While caricatures such as these often inspire an unintentional chuckle from the viewer, such is not the case in a Tarantino film. The audience laughs, but does so knowingly, because these are winks, nods, and clichés we know and appreciate all too well.

On the same token, he is, at heart, a “popcorn” filmmaker. Tarantino is not working to make films with any more depth then those of Michael Bay or Roland Emerich, but still manages to create moviegoing experiences more rewarding than most CGI extravaganzas. Perhaps Inglourious Basterds is a perfect response to a summer topped by Transformers 2 and Wolverine, if nothing else because it has more than an iota of respect for its audience and their intelligence.

Film purists seem to enjoy picking at Tarantino, trying to knock him down off the high horse he climbed on in the aftermath of Pulp Fiction. However, watching a Quentin Tarantino picture is watching a master do what he was born to do. While he may run a little long with his dialogue (which he most certainly does in Inglourious Basterds), the man is a gifted director, and one who knows how to bring the best out of the people he employs.

4.5 stars

This is a critical video essay I did on the French New Wave movement and it’s direct influence on American cinema. I’d never done one of these before, and I simply felt like I should do it. So here it is, posted for all to see.

Thanks for watching!

Yes, it’s all about seeing robots fight in Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen…

I had a rather unhealthy morning today. For breakfast, it was biscuits and gravy, complemented with delicious bacon and sausage. It was smothered in grease, and while it may have been an awesome way to start the day, it wasn’t the healthiest breakfast in the universe. I followed that with a large root beer in my sweet Harkins Theater Loyalty Cup while I sat and watched Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen.

Oh, an unhealthy morning indeed, both physically and psychologically.

But like most things that are bad for you that don’t involve razor blades, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I had fun. Yes, I enjoyed watching all the big, stupid things happening in front of me. I enjoyed watching the CGI crap run into other CGI crap while the thin string that represents the only semblance of the film’s plot dangled in front of me. And that is more than I can say for the first Transformers. I hated the first Transformers.

The sequel continues the story from the first film, where the Autobots® (aka the good, colorful robots with the blue eyes) have beaten back the Decepticons® (the bad, black/silver robots with the red eyes), and are now assisting the United States government in military missions to destroy the remaining evil machines. Curious thought: why is the U.S. the only country even remotely aware of bitchin’ alien robots that turn into cars? And why would the Transformers even want to help the United States over, say, the war-torn continent of Africa?

Anyway, some tiny shred of the first movie’s plot has messed with the mind of our human protagonist Sam Witwicky (Shia LaBeouf), and he is seeing symbols, which are connected to the Decepticons® plan to beat back both the Autobots® and the human race. Thus Sam is off on a mission to save the world, despite the fact that these “Transform-Wars” (I just made that up) are really cramping his plans of going to college and maintaining a long distance relationship with his super foxy g.f. Megan Fox (I don’t remember her character’s name, but everybody just knows her as Megan Fox, so why not just call her that?). Along for the ride with Sam are Fox, Sam’s annoying college roommate (Ramon Rodriguez), the crazy scientist guy from the first movie (John Turturro) and, for some reason, Sam’s parents (Kevin Dunn and Julie White).

Oh, the robots are there too. The humans run, and that gives a reason for Optimus Prime™ to box around with Megatron™, and The Fallen(™?) to work his evil plans — seemingly to blot out the sun? It is never exactly made clear, but all the ingredients are there. This is Transformers, and the joy of watching cars, jets and household appliances inexplicably turn into robots is abounding for those who are into that sort of thing.

The first installment in the adaptation of the popular Hasbro® toy line put me to sleep, simply because the plot was useless and the action was indefinable. Such was not the case in Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen. To my complete vexation, I actually had a pretty good time while my IQ was forced down into my stomach. However, the length eventually got to me, and by the end I was tired and bored. Comparatively, I was as bored by the end of Transformers 2 as many people were with the recent Watchmen adaptation. Some people don’t enjoy 2 ½ hours of existential superhero talk, and I can only handle crap running into other crap for so long. Such is the way of the world.

But the length wasn’t the only thing that bothered me about Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen. There was the uselessness of the parental figures, the racist robots (look ‘em up: Skids and Mudflap), the fact that pages of the script are made up of the words “run” and “look out,” the simple truth that the transforming of the robots makes not a lick of sense, the retarded amount of slow motion, Michael Bay’s face in the back of my mind… the list is possibly endless. There was a lot to dislike about this flick.

But the moral of the story is that despite the length, despite all the awfulness that is this film, I sort of like Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen. It has that same stupid charm that keeps my ass planted when I happen to find 1998’s Armageddon playing on FX. That movie is also completely stupid, but God help me, I enjoy watching it. Because sometimes something unhealthy is okay, so long as you know it’s bad for you.

3 stars (2 stars for the movie, 1 star because I liked it more than I should have)

Ryan Reynolds bends down to talk to a kneeling Sandra Bullock in The Proposal.

As Posted on Jackcentral.com on June 28, 2009

by Gary Sundt

I saw The Proposal because a) it was #1 in the box office last weekend, and b) my girlfriend wanted to see it. Admittedly, while I am not one of those guys who gets into “chick flicks,” I have been known to like more than a few girlie movies in my day. This means that I know the girl movie formula and what to expect. The couple will end up together, and there will be all sorts of moments where the audience goes “awwww…” It’s like watching a movie, any movie, where a kid has cancer. Girls like those movies too.

While aw-moments are abounding in The Proposal, they are not all the film has to offer. Truthfully, the movie has one of the more realistic approaches to the unlikely-couple-falls-in-love scenario that I’ve seen. Canadian immigrant Margaret Tate (Sandra Bullock) is the editor-in-chief for a prominent New York book publisher who, after an unfortunate bit of law breaking, is being deported back to her home country. She finds a rather clever solution to her predicament in her assistant, Andrew Paxton (Ryan Reynolds), who she forces to marry her to avoid ejection from the United States. When the government questions their rather questionable engagement, the odd couple takes a weekend excursion to Sitka, Alaska to visit Andrew’s family and the sell their unholy union.

Margaret is a rather hateful individual in her life in New York, but has to play nice with Andrew and his family for the weekend. But! (insert shock and awe here), she discovers a few things about Andrew on their trip, including his family being filthy rich industrialists (you know, the kind of family whose last name appears just about everywhere) and that he is actually a pretty decent guy. Will the family’s wacky antics win over the Office Witch? Probably. Will she feel guilty by the third act? Almost definitely. But when the supporting cast is made up of Betty White as the family’s wacky 89-year-old matriarch and The Office’s Oscar Nuñez as the town’s only male stripper, et al., the formula’s predictability doesn’t bother so much.

The Proposal isn’t without a certain adherence to formula, which is as hurtful to the end result as it is charming. These two vastly different individuals must end up together, because all the aw-moments in the world won’t woo the intended audience if it all doesn’t end disgustingly and unbelievably happy. And while the road to implausible bliss comes with many predictable happenings (a fish out of water experience here, a Bullock in water and unable to swim incident there), they will somehow, some way, end up happily ever after.

Bullock does a rather fine job in The Proposal, which is surprising because I usually hate most of her more recent film fare. But the character is ideal for her strengths as a performer, and she and Reynolds play off one another rather nicely. The script by first-time writer Pete Chiarelli doesn’t give the cast too much to work with, but these people are funny, and know how to read it to maximize it’s potential. The audience smiles and laughs, the credits role, and everybody leaves the theater satisfied. I found myself in the satisfied crowd for once, and so I figure the people at work here had to be doing something right.

Star Rating: 3.5 stars

Ben Stiller strikes a pose, and I try to remember if the cube in the background came to life in Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian

As Posted on Jackcentral.com on May 28, 2009

by Gary Sundt

Nonsense in filmmaking bothers me. When I see something that just plain doesn’t make a lick of sense, I shift uncomfortably in my movie chair. I lean over to my girlfriend to make a snide remark about the stupid things happening in front of me, and she goes, “C’mon now Gary! It’s a movie! It doesn’t have to make sense.” Most movie critics and I disagree with this sentiment, and in that case, we are in the minority. This explains why I think Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian is a stupid movie, and also why it will make a ridiculous amount of money regardless.

However, what it doesn’t explain is why I even remotely liked this movie. And I did, to my complete mortification.

I felt this same bit of embarrassment after the first Night at the Museum. It was a dumb movie, a film I thought was really just not very good, but it had this mindless charm that made me smile. The sequel is very similar. It is an absolute product of the Hollywood system, an idea designed to make cash. I can imagine the pitch meeting: “Let’s take a bunch of famous historical figures that everybody knows, characterize them solely by their images in popular culture, and pit them against a loveable yet cantankerous night guard.”

“How do we accomplish such a task?” asks the intrigued movie executive.

“Some random Egyptian tablet will bring ‘em all to life,” replies the writer or director or 8-year-old child who devised the concept. “Doesn’t have to be complicated.”

And it isn’t complicated. If you haven’t seen the first Night at the Museum, the tablet brings all the exhibits in the museum to life, and the night guard has to keep it all under control.

Ben Stiller plays Larry Daily, the night guard in question. I have always found Stiller to be more irritable than any other adjective that could describe affection, but the masses seem to like him. And here he his, in the sequel facing off against Egyptian Pharoah Kah Mun Rah (Hank Azaria), Ivan the Terrible (Christopher Guest), Napoleon and Young Al Capone. (Point of inanity that has carried from the first film: how do these figures know anything about themselves? They are merely plastic replicas that have been brought to life. How does a brought-to-life model of an Egyptian pharaoh know anything about himself, or everybody else in the museum? Sorry… moving on now).

Larry has to stop Kah Mun Rah from bringing forth his army from a magic portal that is related to the magic tablet… why am I even explaining this. All you need to know is the aforementioned infamous archetypal villains of world history are fighting against the night guard, who has on his side Jedediah Smith (Owen Wilson), Teddy Roosevelt (Robin Williams) and Octavius (Steve Coogan) from the first film, with the addition of General Custer (Bill Hader), Amelia Earhart (Amy Adams) and a dozen bobble-head Albert Einsteins (Eugene Levy). Many of the actors in Battle of the Smithsonian have had moments of sheer brilliance in movie history, and the audience will recognize many of them and instantly like them because of their familiarity.

Now, I know this has been a bit of a angry rant, but I would like to refer to paragraph two, where I mentioned that I liked the movie. I enjoyed Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian. It’s a stupid movie that I had more than a little fun watching. Yeah, I know it’s tailor-made to rip my money from my wallet, but sometimes a movie just rubs you the right way, even when you know it’s wrong.

Star Rating: 3 stars

Tom Hanks and two police officers look shocked about something in Angels & Demons.

As Posted on Jackcentral.com on May 16, 2009

by Gary Sundt

I’m a little ashamed with myself. For the first time (and hopefully the last) in my history as movie critic, I have to preface my review by stating a disappointing and disheartening truth: I fell asleep during Angels & Demons.

I know what you’re thinking. Why am I writing a review for a movie I fell asleep in? What right do I have to even print such a critique? Well, to be fair, I was only out for about 15 minutes, and it was somewhere between the 20 – 35 minute mark. I have read the book, so I know what I missed, and it wasn’t anything especially riveting as far as the story goes. No dead people turned up while I was gone.

The point where I tapped out was the scene where Robert Langdon (Tom Hanks), the uber-guru of all things Catholic and cryptic, is called upon by the church to help solve a groovy mystery. The major change from the best-selling source material by Dan Brown is that Angels & Demons is now a sequel, rather than a prequel, to 2006’s The Da Vinci Code. Fixing this is a matter of brief dialogue references, and then the adventure begins. Langdon is off to Rome to unravel the mystery of the Illuminati, an ominous group that threatens the Vatican while they are busy choosing a new pope.

The Illuminati’s beef with the Catholic Church is the unending debate of science v. religion. The reality of this dispute is remarkably complex, but Angels & Demons doesn’t really scratch the surface on that topic. Those who saw The Da Vinci Code will recall just how plotted and talky the film became with its religious goobledy-goop, and director Ron Howard wisely went with the action-thriller route this time around. For a thriller about church politics and existential quandaries, Angels & Demons is about as complex as a Happy Meal.

As such, detailing the ins and outs (and, in turn, the many inanities) of the plot beyond what I have already described seems somewhat pointless to me. Several fine actors show up here (among them Stellan Skarsard, Ewan McGregor, and the always morose-looking Armin Mueller-Stahl), but there just isn’t much for me to say that warrants detailing their characters. There are only brief breaks to actually discuss the topics at hand, and the rest of the time is running, shouting, gun shots, explosions and that hardcore church choir score that fits the source material just right. If anything, Angels & Demons is never boring.

However, that does not mean the film isn’t dull. The experience of watching Angels & Demons can be likened to viewing the film’s closing credits. Overbearing music is playing – you know, the kind that goes “na-na-na-naaaaaaa-NA-NA-NA-NAAAAAAAA!!!!” — but nothing on the screen seems to matter in the way of storytelling. Sure, the film itself has it’s fair share of whiz-bang visual effects, and Hanks runs from scene to scene shouting in that way Robert Langdon is apparently supposed to shout, but all the loud noises and nifty visuals can’t make up for the film’s sheer lack of a pulse.

To my memory, I have only fallen asleep in one other movie in the theater. That film was Transformers. Here are two movies with very distinctly different storylines that belong in very different genres, but I think they are strikingly similar. They both feature world-shattering events with tons of special effects, bombastic music and loud crashing and exploding noises. The other thing they have in common is a numbness of story, where something has been built up so much that its foundation falls out from under itself.

What is disappointing about Angels & Demons is that it was based on a wonderful novel and is directed by the Academy Award winning Howard, whereas Transformers was based on a popular toy and directed by Michael Bay. Neither film is especially boring, but they both lack soul and a pulse, which makes them a bit of a chore to sit through at times. I expect this from Transformers, but Angels & Demons should have been a better movie.

2.5 stars

Miley Cyrus dances on stage like she tends to do in Hannah Montana: The Movie.

As Printed in The Lumberjack on April 16, 2009

by Gary Sundt

When my superiors at The Lumberjack asked what I would be reviewing for this issue, they were outraged when I told them it would be Hannah Montana: The Movie. The reasons for this decision are many, ranging from my now-confirmed prediction that the film would be No. 1 in the box office, to the film’s star Miley Cyrus being worth an estimated $1 billion within the next year, to an attractive lady-friend’s desire to see the movie. But the bottom line is Disney’s latest cultural phenomenon is something a lot of people care about, and that warrants a review.

The movie continues the saga of Miley Stewart (Cyrus), who lives a dual life as both herself and Hannah to ensure she can still be a teenage girl despite her fame. But the balancing act is getting difficult to maintain, and her loving father Robby Ray (Miley’s real-life father Billy Ray Cyrus) can tell. But it isn’t until Hannah’s latest antics, which include a shoe-store cat fight with Tyra Banks and crashing the sweet 16 of her best pal Lilly (Emily Osment), that Dad puts his foot down. Miley has to leave Hannah behind as she travels with the family back to her hometown of Crowley Corners, Tenn., so she can discover what really matters in life.

Now, I may be asking for too much from my TV-to-the-big-screen Disney cinema, but it seems to me a celebrity living a double-life as complicated as Hannah/Miley’s would have a lot of real-world concerns to reconcile. Where does Hannah end and Miley begin? Do her close friends love Miley for her, or do they really love Hannah? What are the financial and emotional ramifications of choosing between her real identity and her pop alter ego?

Hannah Montana: The Movie doesn’t go there. In fact, within minutes of coming home, Miley finds herself a cute cowboy to flirt with and base her life decisions on. There are multiple plot strings going throughout the flick, and every one is as surface as the next. Perhaps the fans will be satisfied. However, there are simple ways to tell stories, and then there is belittling your audience, and Hannah Montana unfortunately, if not unintentionally, opts to insult.

That said, Hannah Montana: The Movie is sugar-coated sweetness wrapped in a country-western/pop bow, and that’s exactly what the film’s intended audience is clamoring for. And despite the blatant banality of the storytelling, there manages to be some rather touching moments, particularly between Miley and her dad. This doesn’t mean the movie is good, per se, but it does manage some Disney-brand charm, even if that charm would’ve been better suited for a made-for-TV movie.

I mentioned at the start a lot of people love Hannah Montana and Miley Cyrus. I am not one of those people. Disney’s hit show capitalizes on young females and tweens, and I obviously do not fit this demographic. Accordingly, I will admit I am not the intended audience for Hannah Montana: The Movie. However, I have a job to do. Despite the ranting and jeers of my superiors and peers, I sat through the film. I gave it a fair shot. And I suppose it was okay for what it was.

Jesse Eisenberg and Kristen Stewart eat cookies in Adventureland.

As Printed in The Lumberjack on April 9, 2009

by Gary Sundt

Adventureland is a film I enjoyed far more than I anticipated. To clarify, I didn’t walk in with low expectations, but I thought I was going to see a different movie. Writer/director Greg Mottola hit the comedy scene big with Superbad two years ago, and I expected similarly foul-mouthed and over-the-top antics in his latest film. But Adventureland has a different agenda, and it’s made up of college-age crisis, early-20s malaise and a whole lot of heart.

The movie stars Jesse Eisenberg as James, a recent college graduate who is ready to go on his European vacation when his parents inform him that due to a recent salary cut at work, the family budget has tightened. This means that a) they won’t be able to pay for the trip, and b) they won’t be able to pay for graduate school, meaning he should probably seek summer employment. After a lengthy search, the most James and his degree in Renaissance Studies can get him is a job at Adventureland, the lame local amusement park where the games are rigged and corndogs are not to be trusted. The clientele are mostly dumber than the employees, who ease the pain by drinking, smoking pot and having sex with one another.

Of course, James has to be a virgin, because what greater conflict is there than aging with one’s virginity still intact? As such, he is always on the prowl for the opposite sex, and finds a particularly intriguing love interest in Em (Kristen Stewart), who is also stuck for the summer while she waits desperately for school to get back in session. James and Em, along with their stoner/genius coworker Joel (Martin Starr), take solace in one another while dealing with the colorful array of colleagues, including James’ best friend, Frigo (Matt Bush), who has a penchant for hitting him in the groin; the park’s managers, Bobby (Bill Hader) and Paulette (Kristen Wiig); the park tramp, Lisa P. (Margarita Levieva); and the maintenance man, Connell (Ryan Reynolds), who may be married but maintains a penchant for the lady employees of Adventureland.

The romance between James and Em speaks to the complicated nature of college-age relationships. People tend to be a little broken at this point in life, and are trying to find romance in the midst of putting themselves back together. Adventureland doesn’t pull any punches when it comes to the troublesome details that make us who we are, and Mottola has written characters that are well-rounded and flawed, and have a full and realistic spectrum of complicated emotions. Every actor in the cast does especially fine work with the material, and manifest real people rather than exploiting easy archetypes.

My only gripe with Superbad, as is my trouble with most high school movies, was that it muddled up a realistic portrayal of a time in life that everyone experiences with blatant unrealism. This isn’t to say I don’t laugh, but this sort of storytelling always disconnects me in some way. The genius behind Adventureland, then, is that there aren’t a million jokes a minute, making room for real characters to develop. Mottola has a sweeter and more personal story to tell this time around, and I think it’s a better movie.

Reese Witherspoon’s computer-generated equivalent runs from an alien robot in Monsters vs Aliens.

As Printed in The Lumberjack on April 2, 2009

by Gary Sundt

I had appendicitis in the sixth grade. After the surgery, I was bed-ridden for two weeks (we didn’t have today’s fancy outpatient procedure back then). It was late October, and I reveled in the sheer number of horror films at my disposal, courtesy of my cable television.

One night while I was unable to sleep, I stumbled upon a marathon of movies: Attack of the 50 Foot Woman, The Blob (1958), Them! and a slew of others. This random late-night marathon of cheesy ‘50s horror is where I can ascribe the joy I felt while watching Monsters vs. Aliens.

This new film (offered in 3-D in cities more technologically advanced than Flagstaff) features a regular cast of rogues from that movie marathon all those years ago: a 50-foot woman, a blob, a human-insect hybrid, a creature from the (insert color here) lagoon, a giant radioactive grub and aliens. They have all been given a kid-friendly makeover and wacky archetypal personalities to ensure the flick will turn a profit. Monsters vs. Aliens is the sort of high-concept Hollywood release tailor-made to make money, and the overall simplicity of the storytelling reflects that. However, I don’t think that prevents the movie from being solid popcorn fun.

The film begins with Susan (Reese Witherspoon) about to marry her beloved weatherman fiancé. Suddenly, a giant asteroid lands on her, filling her with an alien substance that causes her to grow to approximately 50 feet tall (the film never specifies, but I think it’s safe to assume here). The government is quick to capture the giant woman, hiding her with the aforementioned crop of monsters in a secret government facility to keep society from flipping their proverbial lids. Locked away from the rest of humanity is B.O.B. the blob (Seth Rogen), Dr. Cockroach Ph. D. (Hugh Laurie), The Missing Link (Will Arnet), and Insectosaurus, a giant grub that dwarfs Susan by comparison. The head of the facility, General W.R. Monger (Kiefer Sutherland), provides Susan with her monster-themed moniker, Ginormica, and informs her she will be imprisoned with these other freaks of nature for the rest of her life.

Meanwhile, a mysterious alien craft has come to Earth and is wreaking havoc throughout San Francisco. The President of the United States (Stephen Colbert) is in a pickle as to how to stop this alien menace when General Monger arrives to suggest an epic battle of monsters vs. aliens. And from that point on, monsters fighting aliens ensues.

Monsters vs. Aliens has no less than five credited screenwriters. The usual result of this many hands in the pot is a generic Hollywood escapade, which is what Monsters vs. Aliens decidedly becomes after the premise is set up. However, the gags can be quite good, and the voice actors do a fine job of making their individual characters work for them, even if they are extensions of their live-action onscreen personas.

Technically speaking, Monsters vs. Aliens is pretty outstanding. There are a number of action sequences that are especially interesting, in particular the destruction of San Francisco and the giant Susan using cars as roller skates down the Golden Gate Bridge. I think the excellence of the computer-generated images may be the highest quality that can be achieved without entering the pseudo-realism of WALL-E or the motion capture-territory of films like Beowulf and the upcoming A Christmas Carol.

Solid visuals, easy laughs and simple storytelling are what make movies like this enjoyable, and I imagine that many people will have a lot of fun with the film. Monsters vs. Aliens isn’t the pinnacle of animated cinema, but it’s good enough for a Saturday afternoon at the movies.

Note: I have complained about the local theater’s sound before, and I will do so again. Movies are drastically affected when the sound of a film doesn’t pop the way it should. Monsters vs. Aliens cost an estimated $165 million to produce, and so I find it highly unlikely that the problem is with the film print. It’s the theater. If somebody at Harkins Flagstaff 11 could fix this recurring disaster, it would be greatly appreciated.

Russell Crowe looks intense while Ben Affleck looks slightly confused in State of Play.

As Printed in The Lumberjack on April 23, 2009

by Gary Sundt

I like Ben Affleck. Yeah, I said it. I don’t care if he is sort of doofy or cries in every single movie he’s in or just looks like the definition of chiseled Hollywood A-list idiot. So what if he was in Pearl Harbor? We all make mistakes. Affleck is a solid performer, and when placed in the right roles, he has the potential to do great things as not only an actor,but a writer and director as well.

But I digress. This is not an ode to Ben Affleck. This is a review for State of Play, the new film starring Affleck and the much more respected Russell Crowe. The film is an intelligent and calculating thriller that finds adventure in the trashed offices of a busy newspaper office and mystery and intrigue in the halls of Congress. Crowe is Cal McAffery, a slobby yet slick-talking journalist assigned to investigate the torrid love affair between his old college buddy, U.S. Representative Stephen Collins (Affleck), and the congressman’s aide (Maria Thayer), who were in the middle of an investigation into a company named PointCorp before the aide met the unfortunate end of a subway train, seemingly by accident or suicide.

PointCorp is a rather cloak-and-dagger organization, what with being in the business of government contracting for mercenaries in Iraq, so Cal doesn’t buy this so-called “accident.” Neither does Stephen, and together they start to think a conspiracy is afoot. Cal’s editor (Helen Mirren), who is interested in selling newspapers, allows him to follow his nose, and she sticks rookie reporter Della Frye (Rachel McAdams) at his side to find the truth. Also in the mix is Anne (Robin Wright Penn), the congressman’s wife, who has been friends with Cal since college, and possibly something more.

A government conspiracy seems pretty much guaranteed, with potential witnesses and insiders being snuffed out left and right, but only the key players believe it to be possible. There are perhaps one too many sequences of loud yelling, where everyone tells Cal how wrong he is. This has a lot to do with the rules of the journalistic thriller genre, because only the hard-nosed journalist with a good heart can see the truth, and everyone else is a doubter.

State of Play manages to follow every step in the conspiracy playbook as it hurdles toward its conclusions, but it throws in an effective amount of twists to make the film riveting almost from start to finish. The script by Tony Gilroy, Michael Matthew Carnahan and Billy Ray is both familiar and original, even while some of the dialogue is too overwrought for even the top-notch actors to properly handle. For the most part, however, the performances are solid, and cinematographer Rodrigo Prieto adapts effectively to the shaky cam style of director Kevin Macdonald, adding to State of Play’s undeniable atmosphere.

Without specifically spoiling anything, I feel the film’s weakness is in its ending, which might seem shocking and complicated to the untrained eye, but to me comes off as too clean and pretty. The resulting feeling is a movie on autopilot. State of Play is a well-made motion picture, and everyone involved does a fine job, but all the yelling and atmosphere in the world can’t replace that spark Macdonald, Crowe, Mirren, Gilroy, McAdams and even Affleck have experienced with equally great concepts that were made into even better films.

As Printed in The Lumberjack on April 30, 2009

by Gary Sundt

I started writing for The Lumberjack in January 2007. Back when my word count was small and my aspirations were large, my first assignment was to review Primeval (a rather forgettable film about a killer crocodile). I remember finishing that review, in which I called an actor an idiot and confessed my love for crap like Deep Blue Sea and Orca, and feeling very confident that I had written a masterpiece.

Nearly two-and-a-half years have passed since that review, and I am still analyzing films. I have been open to other writers filling the position on the grounds that they will take movie reviewing seriously. But a review is an educated opinion, and most people aren’t as educated as they think they are.

Now the reader says, “Turn that pompous and icy sword back at yourself, buddy man.” And I do. People may not believe it, but I often ask myself why my opinion should matter. At the end of the day, I have determined my opinion is valuable because a) I have studied the art of filmmaking, by not only analyzing the craft of moviemaking itself, but also in producing and directing my own feature film projects, and b) I hold myself to a small set of rules that I believe makes my critiques at the very least reliable, even if you might not agree with them.

Watch the movie: This doesn’t mean going to the theater and playing with your cell phone. I mean really watch a movie. Consider nothing you are looking at is natural or “real-life.” The sights, sounds and language that make up every movie you’ve ever seen were manufactured to instill a specific series of emotions. That chill that runs down your spine when Kevin Spacey lectures Brad Pitt and Morgan Freeman during the car ride near the end of Se7en is not just you. It’s designed. People made you do that. There is music in that scene. Did you notice? You should have.

Teach people something: Being a movie critic means you have seen more movies than most people and have taken time to learn things about them. Is what you are watching a remake? You should probably see the original, or at the very least admit when you haven’t. Is the sound or the picture in the movie theater not properly calibrated? I saw The Dark Knight four times in four separate theaters, and the weakest experience was the first because of how improperly the sound was set up in the Harkins Flagstaff 11. When you teach people something, they walk away from the movie review with a higher respect for your credentials, which are eternally in question.

Don’t back down: When you’re a movie critic, people have a tendency to disagree with you. Friends, family and coworkers will rip into your oh-so-special opinion. Whether they know it or not, they love to do this, mostly because you get paid for your opinion.

But I say don’t let them break you. Everybody has an opinion, but yours needs to be founded in logic. I have experienced this time and again with Twilight devotees, and I have never argued with any fangirl or boy who didn’t walk away defeated. Granted, that’s just easy, because even those who adore the cheesy-vamp-lovefest know it’s trash, but I think the point is clear.

Sometimes it feels good to be bad: I believe it is very important to recognize when you’ve had a good time at a bad movie. This was a lesson I learned after rereading my review for Aqua Teen Hunger Force Colon Movie Film for Theaters. I maintain that it was a bad movie, but I had a great time because of just how silly it was. My review did not reflect that, and it’s a point that I believe was unfair of me to leave out.

I learned my lesson, and have since been very open about when I have enjoyed films that are almost certainly garbage. Rambo is a terrible movie, but my critique was honest when I said my manliness ensured I would have a good time. This allows you a certain level of rapport, because admitting your own biases allows the reader to form a more well-rounded opinion of what a movie has to offer.

As I’ve been writing this, I have kept my first review open on the desktop, looking back when I need a moment to reflect. It has been a long time since I wrote that piece, and to be honest, it isn’t a masterpiece, but it’s a solid review.

I take a lot of comfort in knowing my first review wasn’t totally off base. Albert Einstein wrote, “The individual must not merely wait and criticize, he must defend the cause the best he can. The fate of the world will be such as the world deserves.” The same can be said for movies, and I have never felt as though I didn’t give a critique that wasn’t founded. It says a lot to me about what it takes to review films, and more than two years later, I still believe I have those qualifications.

Paul Rudd jams out while Jason Segel opens up his shirt in I Love You, Man.

As Printed in The Lumberjack on March 29, 2009

by Gary Sundt

While doing research for my review of I Love You, Man, I found several comments claiming this was another Judd Apatow comedy. I think it is of important note that the mega-producer, writer and director had nothing to do with this project, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t give credit where credit is due. There was a time when bromance movies like I Love You, Man didn’t get made in the Hollywood system, and seeing them today is a direct result of the Apatow innovation.

The film begins with real estate agent Peter Klaven (Paul Rudd) proposing to his girlfriend Zooey (Rashida Jones), and Zooey calling all of her girlfriends. Doesn’t Peter want to call any of the guys? He doesn’t, because the men who make up his life are his brother (Andy Samberg), father (J.K. Simmons) and pop culture icon Lou Ferrigno, whose home Peter is currently trying to sell. After one too many earth-shattering conversations, including the question of who the best man will be, Peter realizes he needs to make some friends. Some guy friends. And he needs to do it quickly.

There are several encounters and more than one mentioning of the term “man date,” but eventually Peter meets Sydney Fife (Jason Segel), an equity investor who lives the life men dream of. He has three TVs in his home, a dog he doesn’t clean up after and a specific workstation for…well, you don’t need to know what it’s for. The two make fast friends, but soon their totally hetero love-fest begins to encroach on Peter and Zooey’s relationship.

Director and co-screenwriter John Hamburg does nothing especially new here, but he plays it right by bringing in funny people and giving them funny things to say. Masters of their own brands of comedy, the actors are utilized here to their fullest potential in periphery roles. Simmons plays his trademark snarky figurehead, and outstanding character performers Jon Favreau and Jaime Presley function as a dysfunctional but loving couple. Rudd and Segel are asked to show new sides of their acting palette, which they mostly succeed at. Those involved with the production have said the two leads improvised much of the film’s key moments, and I Love You, Man hits its stride when the boys are simply allowed to have a great time (or as Peter puts it, “slappin’ da bass”).

Rudd and Segel make an excellent team once the film gets under way, but the beginning is somewhat slow-going, and the movie doesn’t take off until the two finally appear onscreen together. Even then, while there are certainly laughs, and the chemistry between the two leads is undeniable, I felt there was a certain spark missing in much of the movie. This could be due in part to a lack of inspiration in some of the film’s editing, where certain jokes were cut exactly how they should be to be funny but don’t offer anything groundbreaking in the way of comedic style.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t slightly disappointed by I Love You, Man. This is no Superbad, and it really isn’t a Role Models. Perhaps it’s inherent to the film’s somewhat predictable premise, or maybe the comedy style is losing its energy. The film delivers well enough on the humor, but it somehow lacks the energy of the great bromance comedies of the last few years.

Yup. This actually happens in Street Fighter: the Legend of Chun-Li.

As Printed in The Lumberjack on March 5, 2009

by Gary Sundt

As a film critic, I try not to walk into movies with preconceived notions. In actuality, I’m sort of terrible at this. Regardless, I always attempt to judge in a fair and unbiased way, and I make an effort to give whatever film I’m reviewing the benefit of the doubt.

Case in point: Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li.

Here is a film I walked into with apprehension, but promised myself I would view it with an open mind. Imagine my surprise when the film managed to sink below my already low expectations.

You want a plot synopsis? A concert pianist by the name of Chun-Li (Kristin Kreuk) loses her mother to an unnamed illness and feels she has no path in life. “What of your talents as a concert pianist?” I ask. Nevermind, because she’s off to Bangkok to become a ninja warrior to avenge her father’s kidnapping. See, Daddy was kidnapped by a bad guy named Bison (Neal McDonough), who is a top crime boss in Bangkok. There are some stupid subplots involving characters who I’m sure matter to fans of the video game, but we’ll just say it is Chun-Li’s destiny to kung-fu fight Bison.

That is the whole plot of Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li. Along for the ride is Robin Shou (whom most of you will remember as Liu Kang in the Mortal Kombat movies), and Academy Award nominee Michael Clarke Duncan. I feel sorry for every actor involved because the script by Justin Marks offers them lines like, “He was the milk of my company… but even milk has an expiration date.”

Andrzej Bartkowiak, the man who directed this piece of drivel, is the same fellow who gave us masterpieces like the Doom adaptation and Cradle 2 the Grave. While I’ll be generous and say Grave’s merits are somewhat debatable, I’ve got to wonder what Capcom was thinking when they handed their franchise to the director of Doom. Did any of you see Doom? It was (expletive)ing terrible.

I think what bothers me the most about this Street Fighter flick is the plethora of good martial arts films that exist. During one of Chun-Li’s awful, ineffective narrations, I thought of the remarkably cold and effective commentary in Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill. During the lackluster and poorly choreographed fight sequences, I remembered the masterful wirework of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. There are talented people who know how to tell stories of this type without being laughable, or in the case of Street Fighter, nauseating.

What I kept asking myself as I sat watching this repulsive atrocity was, “What are these other people doing in this theater?” I mean, this is a job I’m doing, and sometimes that means watching movies like Street Fighter. But what did the rest of these people think they were getting themselves into? There were entire families in attendance, for God’s sake.

I think the point I’m getting at here is Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li is a joyless piece of trash. No, it isn’t Ghoulies, and it certainly isn’t Manos: The Hands of Fate. But Street Fighter gave me a rather serious headache, which makes it one of the few films in my reviewing history that caused me physical pain.

I suppose that’s the price I pay for giving the film the benefit of the doubt.

Jeffery Dean Morgan points his gun in a badass way in Watchmen.

As Printed in The Lumberjack on March 12, 2009

by Gary Sundt

Watchmen is not an action film. The advertisements seem to spin the story that way, and I think it’s important that you know how misleading that is. I still need to do an official count, but I’d estimate about five major action sequences in the nearly three-hour running time of the film, none of them especially spectacular in the vein of The Dark Knight or Iron Man. But they have the same amount of emotional weight, which is really what the movie is about. Indeed, Watchmen could be the most philosophical of the great graphic novels and their film adaptations.

Watchmen takes place in a parallel universe of 1985 America, where Nixon has been elected for a third term as president and masked superheroes have helped to shape history. The story begins with the murder of Edward Blake, a.k.a. The Comedian (Jeffery Dean Morgan), a former member of a team of superheroes who were disbanded when Nixon outlawed masked vigilantism. Another of the old team, a sociopath by the name of Rorschach (Jackie Earle Haley), suspects Blake’s death was part of a larger plot to take out the old costumed heroes.

Rorschach spreads the word for the other former heroes to be on guard. Dr. Manhattan (Billy Crudup), the indestructible man, has little to worry about, being indestructible and whatnot. His girlfriend, Laurie Jupiter, a.k.a. Silk Spectre II (Malin Akerman), lives with him on the heavily-guarded military base where he conducts his research. Dan Dreiberg, a.k.a. Nite Owl (Patrick Wilson), keeps to himself with his gadgets and old hover craft in his New York apartment. And Adrian Veidt, a.k.a. Ozymandias (Matthew Goode) lives with his former identity out in the open, and reaps the financial and celebrity rewards of being the world’s smartest man. None of them seem to be especially concerned with Rorschach’s “mask-killer” theory, because the impending threat of nuclear war seems more prevalent (this does take place during The Cold War, after all).

Watchmen is a meditation on the nature of the superhero archetypes we know and have found new love for in the recent explosion of comic-book adaptations. The popular 1987 source material by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons was as appropriate at the time of its printing to the comic book medium as the movie adaptation is to comic book cinema today. What does the superhero mean in a world with consequences? And at what point do we draw the line when dealing with powerful and god-like individuals? The characters in Watchmen do not have powers with the exception of Dr. Manhattan, who has perhaps all the great powers in the superhero lexicon, but their unnatural strength and speed does make them a force to be reckoned with. How long can society put faith in something they cannot control?

I started this review by discussing the advertisements for the film. Director Zack Snyder has a flawed masterpiece with Watchmen, in the same way that the source material had its unfortunate idiosyncrasies. There are some minor plot inconsistencies, but they seem to be as old as the graphic novel, and many won’t notice or care if they do. Some of the performances were weaker than they could have been, and the die-hard fans of the book will be disappointed by the deletions in the film.

However, the flaws are not nearly as glaring when one takes into account the sheer magnitude of the considerations Watchmen, even in the abridged film adaptation, presents to the audience. I agree with many that the movie is long (nearly three hours), but I don’t agree that it feels that way. I think the movie is designed for a certain type of moviegoer; they aren’t anymore educated or correct in their opinions, but they think about the films they see. A friend of mine told me, “People who like to keep the movie in the theater when they leave won’t enjoy Watchmen.” Snyder also directed 300. I think it is of note that Watchmen is not for the 300 crowd, and those who went crazy for that film might leave this one wondering, “What was with all the (expletive) talking?”

I simply do not have enough space to discuss my feelings regarding the philosophical and thematic impact the story of Watchmen lays before the audience. I have read the graphic novel, but do not think it is necessary reading for those uninitiated as long as they care about the story in front of them. The audience may feel disconnected from the characters, but that might have more to do with the characters themselves being disconnected from the world they live in. Enjoying Watchmen has more to do with absorbing and reflecting on the story as a whole, which may or may not be what you’re looking for.

In my case, I’ve seen the film twice: The first to watch and analyze, the second to experience. Watchmen had a profound impact on me as a viewer, particularly the second time, and I will definitely be seeing it again.

Jason (Derek Mears) and a blonde girl look at each other in the remake of Friday the 13th.

As Printed in The Lumberjack on Feb. 26, 2009

by Gary Sundt

I like horror movies. While most critics want to shoot them dead and put them out of their blood-soaked, nudity-ridden misery, I revel in the opportunity to see an impressive kill or the occasional gratuitous sexual deviancy. I actually enjoy watching these films, and because Flagstaff’s sole movie theater received none of this week’s new releases, I took the opportunity to review the Friday the 13th remake, which has the distinction of having the most successful box office opening weekend for a horror film.

Friday the 13th is a film series that has hit some bumps on the road to its status of mediocrity. The series has featured ideas ranging from Jason vs. Carrie, to Jason’s soul jumping from body to body, to Jason in space. Whether this series needs to continue is up for debate, but it definitely needed a reboot if it is to continue making money for the movie studios. So, the three questions to be considered are: “Is this a ‘good’ horror movie?” “Is this the best Friday film?” and “Is this the Friday film the fans are probably looking for?”

Friday the 13th begins at the infamous Camp Crystal Lake, quickly wrapping up the entire first movie with the decapitation of Mrs. Voorhees (Nana Visitor) after she killed a bunch of camp counselors in the wake of her son’s apparent drowning. But see, Jason didn’t drown, and instead watched his mom get her head chopped off.

Cut to today, where some kids are camping and searching for pot to sell. Enter Jason (Derek Mears), who does his thing, and all the kids are listed as missing. Six weeks later, Clay (Jared Padalecki) is searching for his missing sister while another group of kids are heading to a cabin across the way from Camp Crystal Lake. Why would anyone purchase a cabin in a location where people go missing frequently? Perhaps the costs are low when your neighbors are getting killed all the time.

The plot is primarily just a stage for a hockey-mask clad fellow to kill, yet I couldn’t help but be disappointed in the lack of originality presented by director Marcus Nispel. This is the guy who directed the remake of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, an exercise in shock cinema that several critics trashed, but I actually enjoyed. Nispel switched it up slightly for Friday the 13th, his second horror remake, by adding some comedy and light-hearted sex, but his plot structure for a Jason film is nearly the same as his Leatherface film. He even reused shots from his Texas Chainsaw remake, albeit in a different way, which came off more lazy than trademark style.

In other news, the performances are mostly standard horror fare. Anyone who says there is a personality to the man behind the mask is fooling themselves. The kills are effective enough, reflecting the same sort of blatant violence horror movies had back in the ‘80s. Fans of the series will probably enjoy this entry, as the film is a welcomed return to form after the aforementioned indignities the character has had to endure.

So, let’s run down the list. Is Friday the 13th a good horror movie? I’d say it’s good enough. Is this the best Friday film? Definitely not, particularly when considering the quality of the first, second and fourth installments, as well as the sheer fun of Freddy vs. Jason. And finally, is this the film fans want and deserve? Absolutely.

The biggest movie event of the year, eh? We’ll just see when the ratings come in.

As printed in the Lumberjack on Feb. 19, 2009

by Gary Sundt

I am slightly irritated with the Academy Awards this year. You see, dear reader, the best film of 2009 was snubbed in the categories of Best Picture, Best Director, Best Adapted Screenplay and Best Original Score. I am speaking, of course, of The Dark Knight. As such, I still feel my predictions will hold water come Feb. 22, but know that these are not all of my own personal picks. Because my picks revolve around The Dark Knight.

Best Picture: Slumdog Millionaire, because if Batman can’t win an Academy Award for Best Picture, then the second-best live-action film of the year will do. And the award is certainly not unwarranted. The rags-to-rupees story won the hearts of critics and audiences around the world. Also of note: the little kids are the best child actors I’ve ever seen, and people like kids who can actually act.

Best Director: This will be another win for Slumdog Millionaire. Danny Boyle is a remarkable director, and he has made several films that should have won more awards than they did (Trainspotting, 28 Days Later and Sunshine immediately pop into my mind). It is unfortunate, however, that movie buffs will regard this award for the rest of time as the one that should have gone to Christopher Nolan, but the Academy just had to snub The Dark Knight… OK, last time. I promise.

Best Actor: I want to say it’ll be Mickey Rourke for his outstanding performance in The Wrestler. It’s truly the performance of his career. Unfortunately, the Academy likes the hell out of Sean Penn, and his work in Milk is pretty stellar. So, I’m saying this is a toss-up, but I want to give it to Rourke, because a man’s gotta dream.

Best Actress: This award should go to Meryl Streep in Doubt. Seriously. I know Kate Winslet’s performance in The Reader is good, and I know she’s gone 0-5 in Academy Award nominations. But I think this should go to Streep, because she is simply electrifying in her performance as the Head Nun from Hell.

Best Supporting Actor: Should win: Heath Ledger for The Dark Knight. Will win: Heath Ledger for The Dark Knight. And no, it has nothing to do with him being dead. He deserves this because his performance as the venomous Joker is just incredible. But all the other fellas nominated should know they were brilliant this year and would deserve it if Ledger hadn’t been such a powerhouse.

Best Supporting Actress: This one is often a toss-up, but I’m putting my bets on Penelope Cruz in Vicky Cristina Barcelona. Woody Allen’s best romantic comedy in years deserves that much. But don’t be surprised if Viola Davis nabs it for her role as the mother of the possibly sexually-abused kid in Doubt. Best Supporting Actress is a historically crazy category, and no one can ever be sure just who is going to win.

Best Original Screenplay: I want this to go to Andrew Stanton for WALL-E. It would make the film the first animated feature to win in this category, and considering critics have hailed it as a modern-day masterpiece, this should definitely win.

Best Adapted Screenplay: This should go to Batman. I know I said I was done, but this is killing me! Due to The Dark Knight not being nominated, Simon Beaufoy will win for Slumdog Millionaire.

Best Animated Film: Kung-Fu Panda was super cute and all, but WALL-E is a magnum opus. This story of robot romance has taken my list as favorite all-time on-screen couple. WALL-E’s going to win.

The other categories:

Art Direction: The Dark Knight

Film Editing: Slumdog Millionaire

Best Cinematography: The Dark Knight

Best Documentary: Man on Wire

Best Foreign Film: Waltz With Bashir

Best Visual Effects: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

Best Makeup: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

Best Original Score: WALL-E

Best Original Song: “Jai Ho” from Slumdog Millionaire

Sound Editing: The Dark Knight

Sound Mixing: The Dark Knight

Disagree with these picks or my absolute love for The Dark Knight? Shoot me an e-mail at ae@jackcentral.com.

(Go Jack football in 2009! Thanks for the lift, guys.)

Ginnifer Goodwin, Jennifer Aniston and Jennifer Connelly look very puzzled in He’s Just Not That Into You.

As Printed in The Lumberjack on Feb. 12, 2009

by Gary Sundt

He’s Just Not That Into You is the story of men who are assholes and the women who buy into their nonsense. Interestingly, there are no bitchy women, and there aren’t any men who are especially wonderful. Director Ken Kwapis and writers Abby Kohn and Mark Silverstein probably think they are doing something new or inventive with the chick flick here, but I don’t really think they are. The film is mostly insulting its target audience for two-plus hours, wrapping it all up in a bow at the end to make it seem as if this was just another episode of Sex and the City.

The film is sort of narrated by Gigi (Ginnifer Goodwin), who is way into the boring real estate salesman Conor (Kevin Connolly). Gigi is desperate enough to pine over this schmuck, but is knocked out of her stupor by Conor’s buddy Alex (Justin Long), who gives Gigi patronizing relationship advice while she continually searches for “the one.” Good thing too, as Conor is just not that into Gigi, because he is way more into smokin’ hot yoga teacher Anna (Scarlett Johansson). But oh snap! Anna is just not that into Conor, and she just found true love in the form of Ben (Bradley Cooper), who is in a loveless marriage with Janine (Jennifer Connelly). Then there is Beth (Jennifer Aniston), who has been with Neil (Ben Affleck) for seven years and is still waiting for a proposal that isn’t coming any time soon. Also in the mix somewhere is Mary (Drew Barrymore), who has become overwhelmed by technology’s influence on the dating world.

The sheer amount of storylines here is overwhelming, mainly because director Kwapis spends too much time on too many characters to establish a cohesive narrative. And while the varying storylines here come in abundance, each of these scenarios will play out exactly how you think they will.

I am not just lumping He’s Just Not That Into You into the chick flick category because of its content. I define the “chick flick” as those films in which the intended audience collectively goes “awwwwwww” at those heart-wrenching moments. This event happened a minimum of three times in He’s Just Not That Into You. The flick was designed for the ladies, with enough good jokes in there to keep the boys interested.

But I will be damned if this isn’t the most cynical chick flick I’ve ever seen. It is filled with platitudes like “you aren’t the exception, you’re the rule” and “no man wants to get married.” The movie seems to generally want to crush all women until it turns coat during the trite, bubblegum ending, and is intent on lumping people into the most stereotypical and definable boxes in the world. He’s Just Not That Into You is nearly as insulting and vacuous as Sex and the City, which makes sense because the film is based on a book written by two of the show’s writers.

All of that said, He’s Just Not That Into You can be very funny on occasion, but has the unfortunate disposition of unoriginality and disorganization mucking up the whole experience. The other problem is far too many of the stories having a happy ending. This may just be the nature of the chick flick, but when a movie is this degrading to both sexes, the happy endings can’t help but ring especially false.

Richard Nixon (Frank Langella) shakes hands and points at David Frost (Michael Sheen) in Frost/Nixon.

As Printed in The Lumberjack on Feb. 5, 2009

by Gary Sundt

Is there a political figure in recent American history more reviled and perhaps more misunderstood than Richard Nixon? When Oliver Stone’s Nixon came out in 1995, a year after the former president’s death, the answer was no. In 2009, having just witnessed the departure of President Bush, the answer is yes. But the timing of Ron Howard’s Frost/Nixon couldn’t seem any more appropriate.

Frost/Nixon chronicles the quest of Australian comedian-turned-talk-show-host David Frost (Michael Sheen) to interview the recently resigned Richard Nixon (Frank Langella). Considered by his peers to a be a “lightweight,” Frost is laughed at by almost everyone around him, including his producer John Birt (Matthew Macfadyen). But as history will attest, Frost gets his interviews, because a) he is a lightweight and therefore not a threat to the former president, and b) he pays Nixon $600,000 for the interviews.

As the interviews approach, Frost’s team, made up of Birt, radio-man-turned-TV-man Bob Zelnick (the invaluable Oliver Platt) and Nixon researcher James Reston Jr. (the similarly invaluable Sam Rockwell), digs through the recent history with the intent of challenging the much-maligned political figure. Frost himself is busy scrambling to get sponsors, putting all of his wealth on the line in hopes the interviews will see the light of day. Nixon, meanwhile, sits comfortably in his beachside estate, calmly preparing for the upcoming dialogue.

Eventually, the interviews begin, and the film is spellbinding from that point forward. I haven’t seen the actual 1977 interviews myself, and I cannot know the actual relationship between Frost and Nixon. But the script, written by Peter Morgan and based on his award-winning play, positions both Sheen and Langella to give powerhouse performances, which they deliver in full. The interviews are the heart of Frost/Nixon, and director Howard handles them brilliantly.

However, beyond the interviews, there are two moments in Frost/Nixon that struck me in a powerful way, a way that only rarely happens anymore. The first, a private late-night phone call between Frost and Nixon, was intentional. That scene is largely considered by historians to be a fabrication by scriptwriter Morgan, and it offers a look at the sort of overwhelming loneliness felt by the former president.

The second scene was something I am unsure the filmmakers intended, and I think it resonated with me because I would like to see something similar happen with President Bush. In a confessional, Reston Jr. communicates why the final interview is so powerful. He says, “David had succeeded on that final day, in getting for a fleeting moment what no investigative journalist had managed to get: Richard Nixon’s face swollen and ravaged by loneliness, self-loathing and defeat.”

The power of the final interview was seeing the undying pride of a hated figure finally pass away. It’s a cruel thing to do to a person, even one who made as many mistakes as Richard Nixon.

After watching Frost/Nixon, this realization struck me in a terrible way. Today, I am sure I’m not alone in wanting the same thing for President Bush — and for that, I am disgusted with myself.

Jamal Malik (Dev Patel) is about to speak as the host (Anil Kapoor) holds out his arms in Slumdog Millionaire.

As Printed in The Lumberjack on Jan. 29, 2009

by Gary Sundt

For those of you who don’t know, Bollywood is the most prominent film producer in the world. Americans tend to skip out on these types of films because they’re just a little too overwrought for us, what with the cheesy acting, cheerful dance numbers and overall lackluster cinematic technique. It is in recognizing my own personal trouble with these movies that I say how much I enjoyed Danny Boyle’s homage to Bollywood cinema, Slumdog Millionaire.

The film, based on the novel Q and A by Vikas Swarup, is the story of Jamal Malik (played as an adult by Dev Patel), a Mumbai slumdog who has landed in the hot seat on the Indian version of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? To the surprise of the world and the chagrin of the show runners, Jamal is answering all the questions correctly. Why does an uneducated street urchin know all the answers? Is he cheating? Or is it destiny?

Jamal’s path to greatness is told in flashbacks, where he begins as a street rat who cons tourists while he discovers the realities of growing up in a tough environment, experiencing everything from young love to the depths of the criminal underworld. That love takes the form of Latika (played as an adult by Freida Pinto), a beautiful girl who teams up with Jamal and his brother, Salim (played as an adult by Madhur Mittal), after a massacre takes their parents from them. Salim, who aspires from a very young age to be a powerful individual, exacerbates Jamal’s involvement in crime.

Jamal yearns for Latika his entire life, and finally sees an opportunity to win her back while he is on the Millionaire show. But his success on the show is bringing up too many questions, and the host (Anil Kapoor) is putting up as many roadblocks as possible to keep Malik from winning. How does it all turn out? Well, Slumdog Millionaire is no great mystery, and as the whole project is in reverence to Bollywood cinema, it’s pretty clear this isn’t going to end in tragedy.

The performances in Slumdog Millionaire are mostly okay, with the standouts being Patel and Kapoor. However, the fast editing by Chris Dickens, complemented by the stunning soundtrack by A.R. Rahman, makes Slumdog Millionaire a joy to watch. The script by Simon Beaufoy weaves the complex stories of the separate characters beautifully, keeping the picture exhilarating and interesting throughout. This all comes together masterfully due to the efforts of director Danny Boyle, who has been directing movies as long as I’ve been watching them, and has been responsible for a few of my favorites, including Trainspotting, 28 Days Later and Sunshine. If there is any sort of justice in the world, he will receive the Best Directing Oscar this year.

I walked out of Slumdog Millionaire feeling overwhelmingly satisfied. Typically, the Bollywood style comes off as irritating, but Boyle handles the film in such a way that the whole experience plays out with absolute sincerity.

The film culminates with the traditional Bollywood dance number, but I almost felt as though this was a message from Boyle to the Bollywood filmmakers. He was saying, “Your movies could be good too. I promise. Just make them like mine.”

The 3D is good, but not this good, in My Bloody Valentine 3D.

As Printed in The Lumberjack on Jan. 22, 2009

by Gary Sundt

After My Bloody Valentine 3D, I can safely say I’ve seen pickaxes in the head, pickaxes in the eye, pickaxes in the jaw, hearts ripped out of people’s chests, fully nude women, midget death, the Lionsgate logo and so much more — all in the best 3D technology the Real D company has to offer. The film is a whole lot of fun, and it is one of the better horror movie experiences I’ve ever had at the movie theater.

The story is a series of throwbacks to the holiday-themed horror movies of the ‘80s. Indeed, My Bloody Valentine 3D is a remake of one of these films, and it sticks rather close to the original premise. The film begins with Harry Warden (Richard John Walters), clad in a miner’s costume, going on a murderous Valentine’s Day rampage that claims the lives of 22 people. Ten years after the massacre, one of the survivors, Tom (Jensen Ackles), returns to the mining community of Harmony to settle some business. Tom used to date Sarah (Jamie King), who is now married to Tom’s ex-best friend and current town sheriff, Axel (Kerr Smith). His return is serendipitous with a new batch of killings attributed to The Miner, who is removing hearts and gift-wrapping them for Axel to find.

So who is the killer? Is Warden back? Is it that pill-popping Tom? Maybe it’s Axel? It doesn’t matter who the killer is, really, because this is just a stage for a lumbering man in a miner’s costume to execute some gory kills.

Back when it was created, 3D could be likened to epilepsy, and going to see a horror film like Friday the 13th Part 3D was more like a vomitorium than a good time. However, the rules have changed with the advent of Real D.

Because Flagstaff’s sole movie theater doesn’t carry the projectors necessary to pull of the 3D effect, my only encounter prior to this was The Nightmare Before Christmas 3D during a trip to Tucson. Seeing that film in this glorious new way had me marveling at the possibilities, thinking less of what could be thrown at the audience and more about the layers and texture that could be given to the cinematic experience.

The difference between watching Nightmare and My Bloody Valentine 3D is that the latter was tailor-made for the throwing-stuff-at-the-audience experience. That means blood, guts, gore, pickaxes, tree branches, boobs, bullets, etc. all fly in the viewers face, and the intended disgust, scream and laughter is the result.

However, as I hypothesized before, the actual advantage of Real D is the added layers of depth the technology adds to the movie-going experience. The audience oooed and ahhed at the Lionsgate logo at the opening of the film, and the scenes in which the killer stalks the victims has an added feeling of creep to it, because we can spatially determine his exact distance from those he is chasing.

On a filmmaking level, the acting is rather wooden and the script (by Todd Farmer and Zane Smith) rather lackluster. But the editing is sharp, proving director and editor Patrick Lussier has a better handle on pacing than he does on coaxing performances.

As such, I can’t really see the value of watching My Bloody Valentine in Flagstaff or in any theater not equipped to show the film in its intended 3D format. But head to Phoenix or Tucson, and you can see the film in all its gory 3D glory.

Joker saunters out of Arkham Asylum in Joker

As Printed in The Lumberjack on Jan. 22, 2009

by Gary Sundt

I don’t think I’m going to get too many hate letters if I say The Dark Knight changed the face of comic book cinema. If nothing else, the widely successful blockbuster changed the face of the Joker, Batman’s nemesis and one of the most important characters in comic book history. Readers will never again glance over a Joker story without thinking of the late Heath Ledger’s iconic portrayal of the Clown Prince of Crime. It is only appropriate, then, that a new 128-page graphic novel, entitled Joker, has been released, where the camp has been left in the dust, and the Joker is a pill-popping, psychopathic, schizophrenic murderer.

The book, which was written by 100 Bullets author Brian Azzarello, chronicles the Joker’s most recent release from Arkham Asylum, where he has somehow convinced the doctors he is no longer insane. The narrator, a thug by the name of Johnny Frost, picks up the clown as he exits the gates of the nuthouse, with the scars and make-up we know so well from last summer’s film. The two make fast friends (he gives the Joker a gun), and they had back to Gotham City.

Upon re-entry, the Joker quickly finds out Harvey Two-Face has taken the reigns of Gotham’s criminal underworld. After learning this, he outlines his goals, to take back control of “his” city, and illustrates the means by which he plans to attain them (he skins one of his less-than-satisfactory lackeys alive). Joker details just how the psycho got his Gotham back, as told through the eyes of his second-in-command, Frost.

Artist Lee Bermejo has drawn Joker in the spirit of the recent Batman films, recreating the city of Gotham and its inhabitants with a sense of gritty realism. Gotham City is a bleak slum rather than the glorious city we have previously seen in comic books. While the concept art for this comic was prepared months before The Dark Knight had released a single production still, the redesigns of the Joker and Two-Face are strikingly similar. The other Batman rogues who show up in this book have gotten similar revamps. Killer Croc is now a large black man with scales. The Riddler looks less like a nerd and more like a pimp. Harley Quinn is a stripper.

This is not a Batman tale; the Caped Crusader doesn’t appear until the very end of the book. This is a story for people who loved Ledger’s Joker and are looking for the next chapter in that character’s book. However, understand there is a lot of brutality to behold when you let the clown out of the PG-13 box. There are moments in Joker that are vile, disgusting, disturbing and always violent, but Azzarello handles them in ways that offer the reader a glimpse into the psyche of the unapologetic madman. At one point, Johnny realizes how crazy he was to have wanted to be like the Joker. After this book, one understands just how insane that desire really is.

The story of Joker is not anything especially groundbreaking, but one should never discount a story well-told. What is actually gained from Azarello and Bermejo’s tale is the realization that, after Ledger’s performance, the Joker has become a character independent of the Batman legacy. Time will tell, but I would expect more original stories featuring this make-up clad monster in coming years. It would seem that the Joker was correct when he said it in The Dark Knight – “There is no going back.”

Here’s a list of the top ten Christmas movies (in my ever-so-humble opinion).

As Printed in The Lumberjack on Dec. 4, 2008

by Gary Sundt

The holidays are upon us, and I say we should forget about our economic woes and enjoy the season. What better way to do that than to watch the best that holiday movies have to offer. I will tell you now these are all Christmas-related, and I apologize for the bias. But since Eight Crazy Nights is never going to make a top 10 list, and Kwanzaa just got its feature film debut this year, I’m going to have to be okay with it.

10. A Charlie Brown Christmas (1965) — What else do I have to say? It’s A Charlie Brown Christmas! If you don’t like it, you aren’t human.

9. Bad Santa (2003) — Billy Bob Thornton plays a mall Santa Claus who robs malls. Excellent. This is definitely a holiday movie for the grown-ups, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t funny every time I watch it. Make sure to watch the unedited DVD, just because it’s a much better version.

8. Miracle on 34th Street (1947) — So I know a large percentage of my readership doesn’t like black-and-white movies. First of all…what are you, stupid? And secondly…seriously? What are you, stupid? The original Miracle on 34th Street is one of the most timeless holiday films ever made, and you’re missing out if you don’t just give black-and-white a chance. Santa Claus got the Oscar, for God’s sake!

7. Home Alone (1990) – Who in our generation doesn’t think of Macaulay Culkin at Christmas time? The holiday classic may have been met with some harsh reviews when it came out, but that doesn’t mean we don’t love it today. Let that be a lesson to the film snobs: little kid versus robbers is awesome (well, the first time around, anyway).

6. Die Hard (1988) — Yup, I’m talking about the action movie with Bruce Willis. No, not the one where he hits a helicopter with a car. I’m talking about the first film. This is the holiday movie for the guy or gal who just loves a good shoot-em-up movie with their family togetherness. Nothing says Christmas like “Yippie-kai-yay, motherf-er.”

5. Love, Actually (2003) — Go ahead, call me a softy. Yes, it’s all lovey-dovey. No, it isn’t very realistic. But for a holiday film designed to make you laugh and revel in the spirit of the season, it’s pretty solid. And Bill Nighy is just stellar as the drugged-out, burned-out rock star Billy Mack.

4. Gremlins (1984) — Oh, what a great, disgusting little movie this is. This is the Christmas movie that helped to inspire the creation of the PG-13 rating. Something about Santa Claus being ripped apart by little green monsters just didn’t sit right with unsuspecting parents. But Gizmo was cute, right?

3. It’s a Wonderful Life (1946) — Understand that It’s a Wonderful Life is not only a great Christmas movie; this flick is one of the best films ever made. The basic story is about a miserable businessman who gets a glimpse at what life would be had he never been born. This is another black-and-white flick, but I double dog dare you to not get at least a little emotional when James Stewart runs around town celebrating his existence in the final moments of the film.

2. A Christmas Story (1983) — For me, it isn’t Christmas unless I hear, “Oh my God! I shot my eye out!” This holiday classic seems to exist in a Bizarro World version of a Norman Rockwell painting, or what could be more appropriately described as the reality of being a kid. On Christmas Day, the movie plays for 24 hours straight on TNT. That’s overkill, but it ensures I get to hear my favorite Christmas quote (and so many others) every Dec. 25.

1. The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993) — When it comes to Christmas movies, this one still stands as my favorite. Everything is simply perfect, from the remarkable visual design to the timeless music. It’s the Christmas classic of my generation, and it’s a whole lot of fun for the entire family. And if you can see it in 3-D, it’s actually pretty amazing.

Worst Christmas Movie: Santa Claus Conquers the Martians (1964) – It’s worse than Jingle All the Way. Don’t believe me? Martians come to Earth with a mission of conquering, but Santa Claus warms their hearts and helps keep the human race safe. If you ever watch it, make sure you’re watching the Mystery Science Theater 3000 commentary version. Your brain might bleed otherwise.

That does it for this semester. Look for more reviews over the winter break at www.garysundt.wordpress.com, and I’ll see you at the movies in 2009!

Note: As I indicate in the story, I will be continuing to review movies over my Christmas break. I know how concerned you were.

Philip Seymour Hoffman and Samantha Morton look as baffled as I am after watching Synecdoche, New York

by Gary Sundt

This weekend I saw the directorial debut of Charlie Kaufman, the man who wrote Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Adaptation and Being John Malkovich. His new film, entitled Synecdoche, New York, is either a work of brilliance or a complete catastrophe. But this isn’t a review of that film. It isn’t a review because I’m not ready to review it.

I am instead taking this opportunity to talk myself through the experience of Synecdoche, New York. I think it might be brilliant. I also recognize that most people will not dig it. Let me explain. Synecdoche, New York has a fascinating agenda, which is seemingly to look conventional storytelling in the eye and laugh. What is the plot? Caden Cotard (Philip Seymour Hoffman) discovers he is going to die, and he is putting on a play that will help him sort out his life.

All right. That’s awesome. That isn’t what this film is about.

Consider what I have just said. I have given you the basic plot of a movie, and it is basically nonessential, because Synecdoche is bigger than that. Every character in the movie means something, as does every location, every line of dialogue and every gesture. The movie is about Caden’s effect on the world, and the world’s effect on him. It is about how every life faces challenges, and how those challenges are conquered or, in most cases, painted in failure. Synecdoche, New York is about life, death and everything in between.

Is a film intimidating because it wants to tackle the intricacies of existence? No. That’s been done before. But is it intimidating when it’s Kaufman tackling the intricacies of existence? Absolutely. This is a movie that requires you to be thinking the entire time. Never before has a film required me to think this hard. That alone makes me wonder if Synecdoche, New York might be the most daring film I’ve ever seen.

Does Synecdoche’s daring make it better than any other great film in history? The answer is no. Let’s just consider the movies of 2008. Is Synecdoche, New York better than The Dark Knight? Is it better than WALL-E? I don’t know if I can appropriately address that question without seeing the movie one more time. Those two summer blockbusters are the best movies to come out so far this year, and I still don’t even know if Synecdoche, New York is worth the thinking required to get through one sitting. 

There will be a definite split on this movie, and many will fall on the side against it. Synecdoche can be a pretty frustrating little movie. It walks in one direction for a while, but trips you up when it runs away to chase a butterfly, or an eternally-burning house. It’s a riddle wrapped in an enigma disguised as a question. But it is always intriguing, which makes me think it could be a very important movie.

I have a feeling the frustrations of Synecdoche, New York reflect the frustrations of real life. Imagine what you could learn about yourself if you had the opportunity to see your life played back a second time; you wouldn’t get to change the experience, but you might understand it better. I think this movie might be like that, where the first time was about living, and the second time is about understanding.

At one point in the film, Caden said, “I feel like I’ve disappointed you terribly.” I hope I haven’t done that with this non-review. If you are a patient person, and want to be legitimately challenged by a film, seek out a screening of Synecdoche, New York in Phoenix, Tucson or whatever city larger than Flagstaff you happen to visit. If all that sounds terrible, skip it, because Four Christmases is probably a much easier movie to swallow.

As Printed in The Lumberjack on Nov. 26, 2008

by Gary Sundt

It is not often that The Lumberjack has the opportunity to review a movie soundtrack. In fact, to my knowledge, it’s never actually happened before. But it was upon listening to Jon Brion’s haunting score to Charlie Kaufman’s directorial debut Synecdoche, New York, that I, who normally acts as film critic, decided to jump over and play music critic.

The album, which is entirely instrumental except the final three tracks, begins with a truly bizarre if not remarkably jaunty tune, appropriately titled “Tacky Entrance Music.” In an odd way, the song’s cheerful piano and resounding trumpet acts as misdirection, as the soundtrack to Synecdoche, New York is a melancholy composition made up of mostly somber piano and low draws on the violin. Brion’s music seems to reflect the almost certain realization that comes with intelligence: life can be depressing, even in its victories.

The following tracks seem to consider a more driving and obsessive force; in particular “Forward Motion,” uses an insistent low violin against a curious high violin to indicate a search, seemingly without end. The song, like many on the Synecdoche, New York soundtrack, ends with a dropping off of the music, as if something was given up in the subject’s life. The score is of course reflecting the events in the movie, and seems to tell a story as it goes on.

The word “synecdoche” refers to a part as it relates to the whole, or the whole as it relates to the part. Kaufman’s film is one about the world’s impact on a man, and the man’s impact on the world. And so it is appropriate that every song on the film’s soundtrack fits into the grand scheme of the album, each offering its own individual impact into the overall work. Listening to the CD can be compared to realizing the grand spectrum of human emotion (if all those emotions are all, in some way, downtrodden).

I originally downloaded the soundtrack to Synecdoche, New York, for two of the vocal tracks, “Little People” and “Song for Caden,” which were written by Kaufman and Brion and performed by jazz vocalist Deanne Storey. However, upon listening to the entire work, I can’t help but feel that all the tracks on this album are remarkable, whether or not you have seen the film (and I haven’t yet).

Most film scores only work in complement to the film they are created for, and very rarely do they make for good independent listening. The soundtrack to Synecdoche, New York is one of those rarities, and is a striking addition to the already impressive library of Brion, one of cinema’s modern master composers.

Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson do the hokey without the pokey in Twilight.

As Printed in The Lumberjack on Nov. 26

by Gary Sundt

Warning: If you are a Twilight fan, you’ll probably be pissed off. But if you like good movies, you’ll understand what I am talking about.

Twilight is a book by Stephanie Meyer about a normal high school girl that falls in love with an abnormal high school vampire. I bet you knew that. By the time this review is being read, you have probably already seen this flick, and the ineffectual musings of neither me nor anybody else is going to stop you if you intend to and haven’t. But I still think it’s a decision to rethink, because director Catherine Hardwicke’s adaptation of Twilight isn’t very good.

The movie opens with Bella (Kristen Stewart) moving from Arizona to Washington to live with her police chief dad (Billy Burke) while mom and step dad go and travel around the country or something. Of course Bella is the new girl at school, but the local kids are more than welcoming (the first of many suspensions of disbelief Twilight asks for) and she ends up fitting right in.

Bella soon develops a crush on the weird local boy with odd eyebrows and a knack for talking kind of silly. His name is Edward (Robert Pattinson). She looks over at him. He penetrates her with his eyes. You want any more than that, you should probably watch a different vampire movie.

So, Ed acts weird, and Bella is interested. Then the boy shows off his super strength and speed while saving the girl from certain car-inflicted death. Now Bella is way interested. Then she figures out he’s a vampire. Edward says they should be very far away from one another because he might get peckish. Bella says f-that. So now they are in love, and Bella is going to be in constant peril from here on out. Sweet.

Let’s focus on the couple’s lack of sex in this movie. Most teenagers want to get laid, and if they don’t, they definitely want to make out. But Edward and Bella can’t do anything because Eddy might lose control and eat her. He’s gotta keep his fangs (dick) in his mouth (pants). Not sweet.

I smell an abstinence parable, but Twilight doesn’t handle it in any believable way. Their sheer lack of physical chemistry brings into question the very mechanics their relationship is based on. It’s pretty much awkward conversation and equally awkward glances. The camera does a bizarre thing of tilting up into the sky when Bella and Edward are about to kiss and don’t. It does this because there is nothing else for it to do. It can’t very well stay on these two kids while they don’t indulge their hormones, because what follows is not the love story that Twilight strives to be. Realistically, there would be an awkward pause, followed by one of them saying something like, “So you want to go play racquetball or something?”

But perhaps it’s simply a case of Bella being in love with the handsome, brooding bad boy. And maybe Edward’s awkwardness is endearing to her or something. And maybe, just maybe living forever and drinking blood sounds awesome to Bella. This would make her attraction to Ed and want for immortality to have some validity. But you know how they say you shouldn’t get a tattoo with your high school sweetheart’s name on it? Well, the same should be said for getting all-immortal with them.

The trouble here might be that the source material was meant for 12-year-old girls, and just doesn’t really hack it as movie. Perhaps screenwriter Melissa Rosenburg did the best she could with what she had. But in the words of screenwriter Richard Price (The Color of Money, Ransom): “A movie is not a book. If the source material is a book, you cannot be too respectful of the book. All you owe to the book is the spirit. Everything else – just tear that motherf-er apart.”

Unfortunately, Twilight is as Meyer’s source material dictates. What doesn’t help is Hardwicke’s decision to handle the film with a side of cheese, causing everything to ring ridiculous, from the visual effects to the emo film score to the story itself. If I were flipping through channels and Twilight was on the Sci-Fi channel, the only thing I would have noticed was, “Hey… isn’t that the chick from Into the Wild and that dude from Harry Potter 4?”

James Bond (Daniel Craig) and his new Bond girl (Olga Kurylenko) was through the desert in Quantum of Solace.

As Printed in The Lumberjack on Nov. 20, 2008

by Gary Sundt

Quantum of Solace is the sequel to Casino Royale, so it should be understood that the movie has a certain handicap. Is Casino Royale the best James Bond film ever made? Is Daniel Craig the best 007? Those are stupid arguments I have with my dad and uncle when they’ve had a little too much to drink. But Casino Royale is an example of the best the genre can offer, and that says enough.

Accordingly, Quantum of Solace has rather large shoes to fill. And it doesn’t really cut it. 

The gentlemen of Role Models sit and look disgruntled.

As Printed in The Lumberjack on Nov. 13, 2008

by Gary Sundt

Role Models is the kind of film people will seek to complain about. When a comedy succeeds on such a fundamental, inherently funny way, people want to shoot holes in its ship. And know that, despite its adherence to formula, Role Models works. It’s the funniest movie I’ve seen all year, and I saw 10,000 BC.

Consider one post I read on IMDb.com regarding Seann William Scott’s character. His name is Wheeler, and he is basically a loser in his late 20s who works as a mascot for the Minotaur Energy Drink company and gets laid more than occasionally. The angry poster, known as balboa82, utilized all the poor grammar in his arsenal to take issue with the positive portrayal of a good-looking guy who does not have his act together and still gets laid.

Balboa82 also probably took issue with the sheer snarkiness of Danny (Paul Rudd), Wheeler’s partner at the energy drink company. Danny hates his job; in fact, he hates his life. He has been selling this energy drink for 10 years now, and his dissatisfaction is causing him to lash out at the little annoyances he encounters on a daily basis. One such outburst, involving the insistence on the term “venti” for a large drink at Starbucks, causes his girlfriend of seven years, Beth (Elizabeth Banks), to break up with him. Bitter and drunk on energy drinks, he flies off the handle, and winds up driving the Minotaur truck into a statue of a horse. Now he and Wheeler are facing jail time.

Fortunately, Beth is an attorney, and works out a deal with the judge that will keep both men out of prison. They have to perform community service for Sturdy Wings, a group that partners up misguided kids with responsible adults in a Big Brothers Big Sisters type-way.

The imprudent and carefree Wheeler is partnered with Ronnie (Bobb’e J. Thompson), a young black kid with a single mom, a distaste for authority and a love of “boobies.” The brutish and unenthused Danny is linked with Augie Farks (Christopher Mintz-Plasse), a high school-aged white kid whose life revolves around a real-life medieval fantasy game, where he dresses up as a knight, fights for Zanthia (his fictional country), plots to kill the douchebag King Argotron (Ken Jeong) and pines for the affections of the hot, nerdy elf-looking girl Esplen (Alexandra Stamler).

Now, I am almost completely sure balboa82 would take issue with Ronnie, especially when he has dialogue like “Cause I’m black, you think I did it?” Is that even close to politically correct when taken out-of-context? Definitely not. It would no doubt take a quick study to know that, within the context of the scene, the dialogue is actually lampooning the stereotypes.

What individuals like balboa82 will have the least respect for is the sheer brilliance of the script, written by Rudd, Ken Marino, Timothy Dowling and director David Wain. Role Models has a lot of jokes, and I think when you put aside the need for political correctness, you will find a lot to laugh at.

The whole boys-to-men/coming of age formula isn’t a new thing at all, but the sharp intelligence of this script lifts the flick up to be better than it has to be. Also, as pointed out by Village Voice critic Robert Wilonsky, “you can never go wrong with a climactic, foam-padded sword fight set to Kiss.”

As a result, the actors are given the best the formula can offer them. Paul Rudd, the ever-melancholy king of deadpan comedy, runs the show, with Scott trailing not far behind. Mintz-Plasse continues his reign as the master of awkward, and I hope Thompson goes on to say more morally questionable things in films.

Banks, who has had a career year with phenomenal performances in W. and Zack and Miri Make a Porno, does a fine job stepping back into a role that requires her to do less, but in turn shows her range as an actress.

For my final thoughts on Role Models, I’d like to consider the fantasy world that Augie is involved in. Of the film’s good ideas, this might be its best. In playing on the mainstream popularity of role-playing games like World of Warcraft, the film comes off as more original and timely than the formula should allow it to be.

It is with that in mind that those who think like balboa82 can shove it. Role Models is (expletive) funny.

Zack (Seth Rogen) and Miri (Elizabeth Banks) look at a stripper in Zack and Miri Make a Porno.

As Printed in The Lumberjack on Nov. 6, 2008

by Gary Sundt

I am a Kevin Smith fan.

I remember watching Mallrats for the first time when I was 13 years old. Perhaps the alcohol had something to do with it (yes, I was a little drunk), or maybe I was really striving to relate to something, but I found myself connecting to Brody Bruce, T.S. Quint, Jay and Silent Bob. Wasn’t I, after all, a little bit of all four of them? I loved comic books; I pined for the affections of my lady-friends; I liked getting drunk/high; I had a rather filthy mouth. Before that night, I had never connected so much to a film, and more specifically, its characters.

But I digress. This is not an essay on the works of Kevin Smith, especially not a movie as imperfect as Mallrats. This is a review of his new film, Zack and Miri Make a Porno. It tells the tale of two best friends, the slightly overweight and loveable Zack (Seth Rogen) and the absolutely gorgeous and loveable Miri (Elizabeth Banks), who have done very little right except be roommates. They both work rather lackluster jobs (Zack is a barista at a coffee shop called Bean-And-Gone, Miri works at the mall) and they haven’t really done anything in life at this point.

The duo’s sheer lack of success comes smacking them in the face when their water and electric get shut off at home. This traumatizing event coincides with their 10-year high school reunion, that most dreaded event where everyone who judged you a failure in high school gets to judge you a failure in your late 20s. Miri has plans to hook up with the guy who wouldn’t give her the time of day back in the day (Brandon Routh), and it is revealed that he is actually a gay man with a gay lover who works in adult films (a priceless cameo by Justin Long). This gives Zack the idea of making a pornographic film starring him and Miri to pay the bills, the rationale being that “everybody wants to see anybody (expletive).”

But won’t that complicate their old friendship? That doesn’t stop Zack and Miri, who go full steam ahead with their plan, from casting to coming up with a clever porno-rrific title. Lawrence of a-Labia? Edward Penis-Hands? What is smutty and timeless enough to sell DVDs? By the end of a montage, the cast is set, featuring some new faces to the View Askew fold (Craig Robinson, Traci Lords) and some familiar ones (Jason Mewes, Jeff Anderson), and the production is off and running, titled Star Whores.

Do I properly understand my bias to Smith films? I absolutely do. The simple fact that I didn’t outright despise Jersey Girl should indicate that I have a predilection toward the man’s work. However, I can put that aside and recognize when a good film has actually been made. And Zack and Miri Make a Porno is funny flick.

I don’t even have to take my own word for it. The audience I viewed the film with laughed a whole lot, to the point where the laughter from one gag would drown out the next. Smith has always had a knack for dialogue, and the cast delivers these lines with a certain legitimacy that hasn’t been felt in his previous flicks. That might be because A-list actors were cast this time around.

The film rides on the backs of Rogen and Banks, and they do an exceptional job at being the most adorable best friends ever. When time finally comes for them to do their on-camera work, it turns out to be one of the sweetest scenes I can think of in recent film.

I have heard some rumblings about how there is no way a girl like Miri would get with a guy like Zack, and the double standard in this new age of male-driven romantic comedy is a despicable lie. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to call BS on that. And all you beautiful ladies out there, with your slightly heavyset men in tow that bothers and bewilders the rest of us who want a piece, can call BS with me.

However, Zack and Miri’s has its weaknesses, and those mostly come from the film’s four-act style storytelling. Something extra seems like it was thrown into the works, and it causes everything to feel like it takes longer than it should, followed by the ending feeling overly rushed. And I should also mention that, like previous Smith films, it isn’t the most wonderful movie to look at. But the writer/director is a writer first, and I would even argue his cinematic lack-of-style adds an extra bit of homegrown flair to his films.

Also problematic is the film’s ending, which is plotted such that it almost hammers you in the face with its point. We know Zack and Miri will end up together from the first scene (if they didn’t, you would cry), but I have to wonder if Smith spent too much time with the porno-shtick and not enough building to his inevitable conclusion.

The films of Kevin Smith like to pretend that high school never ended. How true might that be? After graduation, we all continue to fight with our friends over trivialities, make questionable decisions with the intention of improving our status, and complicate our human relationships with sex. If you think that sounds interesting, and you like very funny dialogue, go see Zack and Miri Make a Porno. I’m seeing it again, but like I said, I’m a fan.

Saw V is a bad movie.

As Printed in The Lumberjack on Oct. 30, 2008

by Gary Sundt

On Saturday morning, I watched Saw V. If you recall my review of the fourth installment (you probably do not), I condemned the Saw franchise in what I maintain to be a remarkably clever review. I turned the tables, and put Saw IV through its own movie torture scenario. In the end, I implied that I would never see another one of these terrible films again.

Well, I saw it. And it was awful.

But why did I see it? There are a couple reasons. Reason one might be because my other viable option this weekend was High School Musical 3. I am not the intended audience for that movie. I watched the first one, and thought it was a bubble gum patronization of the high school experience and an outright lie to young kids you think their troubles in that time of their lives will begin and end with the big basketball game. While I could have focused on the technical aspects that make it worth or not worth your $9.50, the intended audience is already set. It would be a frivolous endeavor.

Reason two could have something to do with my perverse desire to see horror movies. Most critics really don’t like watching horror. I love it. I think it’s a fascinating medium. People walk in with the intention to be scared. While that behavior is already a bizarre occurrence, even more strange is the fact that some of these films succeed. Others fail. Others are hilarious.

Saw V fails. There is not a single shock or scare in the entire movie. The traps simply happen in front of you, without attempting to instill any sort of drama or legitimate fear. All of the protagonists are bad people, which can be fine if the filmmakers and actors go out of their way to make the characters likeable. But in Saw V, because everybody is a douche bag, all the blood and guts in the known universe are worth nothing.

The third reason I went to go see Saw V was because I had a lady-friend who wanted to see it. As a straight college male, I am swayed by those whims. We went with her friend to watch Saw V, and I was required to sit in the middle of them in order to be that person they could latch onto during those AAAAAH!! moments. This is usually my place in horror movies, and I have never minded it. My arms get bruised, but whatever.

But a funny thing happened while we were watching the movie. They didn’t scream. They didn’t move. I took the time to look around and notice the sparse crowd that gathered for the 11:30 a.m. showing. They didn’t react either. Insane torture devices churn out blood and guts and awfulness, and nobody is remotely affected? Are Americans numb to violence? Most definitely, but at least its scary when its done well.

Perhaps this early morning crowd is the best test a horror film can go through. The late-night crowd wants to be BOO-ed out of their gourde, to the point where they will scream even when they aren’t scared. But the morning audience, the people that go to the 11:30 a.m. showing of Saw V, wants to see a well-crafted thriller. I remember seeing the mediocre remake of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre in 2003 at an early morning showing. While the film was only okay, the audience was still terrified. I have always thought that was worth something.

So I went back on my word regarding the Saw franchise. However, it was number two in the box-office (after High School Musical 3), so at least I know some of you saw it. Also, Halloween is tomorrow night, so I am sure many of you will see it then. I implore you to rethink that decision. Just because it’s Halloween does not mean it has to be Saw. Go see a good scary movie. Go rent something. Or better yet, get dressed up all attractive-like and go on some fun/questionable adventures. Because that’s what Halloween is all about.

A large donut is pointing a gun in Sex Drive. And Lance is the guy in the pink bathrobe.

As Printed in The Lumberjack on Oct. 23, 2008

by Gary Sundt

Sex Drive centers on Ian (Josh Zuckerman), a senior in high school with the dreaded curse of…wait for it…virginity! He respects women and is in love with his best friend, Felicia (Amanda Crew), who is in love with his other good buddy, Lance (Clark Duke), who is chubby, pale, doesn’t respect women and has the curse of all women being inexplicably attracted to him. Ian works for a donut shop in the mall and is constantly conned into passing out coupons while wearing a giant donut costume. Ian’s brother, Rex (James Marsden), is a homophobic nut job but drives a sweet car.

Ian has also met a girl online who goes by the probably fake name of Ms. Tasty (Katrina Bowden), and they have arranged a meet and greet. What if she’s a guy? What if she’s an old guy? What if she’s an old guy with regular guest appearances on To Catch a Predator? Lance insists it doesn’t matter, and that getting on the road and driving to her is the very best plan possible.

They steal Rex’s car, and the three kids begin their quest to get Ian laid. On their quest, they encounter sex with rednecks, sex with Amish, potential sex with carnival dancers, and, of course, the potential sex with Ms. Tasty. Whether or not this final bit of intercourse actually occurs will not be discussed in this review.

I’d like to stop for a minute and point out (in case you haven’t noticed) that virginity is a pretty big no-no in teen sex comedies. However, high school kids like Ian are far more common than one would think. Guys like Lance, on the other hand, are rare. I mean super rare. Even when they are actually good looking, which Lance is not (no offense buddy), it is rare. When guys look like Lance and get tail “sometimes two or three times a week” from multiple partners as the film claims, it is an anomaly that defies the laws of physics. I don’t know how many high school kids will be opening up The Lumberjack, but I think they should know that what is presented in Sex Drive is mostly impossible and, at all times, improbable.

I know it has been mostly criticism at this point, but don’t take all this as me saying Sex Drive is never funny. The film can be quite funny, even laugh-out-loud hilarious at times. Marsden and Seth Green, who plays the Amish but tech-savvy Ezekiel, are especially hilarious in their respective roles. 

But I think the sheer lack of believability in the story’s twists and turns, combined with the inanities inherent in the movie’s plot (see the above paragraphs), undermine the success of the film. Superbad, which managed to redefine the genre a year ago, was a far-fetched flick as well, but at least its situations weren’t totally insane. They could reasonably happen in our universe, whereas the events of Sex Drive could most definitely not.

People have commented on the sheer vulgarity presented in Sex Drive. Critics seem to be taken aback by just how many dirty words and situations can be stuffed into a little over 100 minutes. However, I’m not sure this concern is warranted. There are no more dirty words here than what can be found in, say, Superbad. Maybe it’s because director Sean Anders decided to cast people who actually look like they’re in high school. Maybe I just don’t see it, because I wasn’t in high school all that long ago and know that my ability to string naughty words together was way better than the kids in this movie.

Jennifer Carpenter brilliantly hides in a corner while monsters run amok in Quarantine.

As Printed in The Lumberjack on October 16, 2008

by Gary Sundt

Have any of you ever noticed that nothing good results when somebody breaks out the handi-cam? In The Blair Witch Project, it was an unseen force that had a love of noise-making and teeth removal. Diary of the Dead gave us zombies, and Cloverfield had some giant monster thing with parasitic lice. Now we have Quarantine, and the crisis threatening to squash humanity is Super Rabies. Not just rabies. Super Rabies.

However, the film does a whole heck of a lot with Super Rabies. The infected are a spooky bunch, running amok with their foaming mouths and intense desire to bite your face. The victims are all pretty stupid, so they get themselves into some pretty scary hijinks. And I am compelled to mention how consistently impressed I am with the resolve of the main characters of these Queasy-Cam films; their tenacity with the camera during these high-stress dilemmas is nothing less than impressive. But I suppose without the cameraman, there isn’t a movie.

Anyway, our heroes in Quarantine are Angela Vidal (Jennifer Carpenter), a reporter who is assigned to spend a night with the Los Angeles Fire Department, and her cameraman Scott (Steve Harris). The film begins innocently enough, showing all the crazy and wild times to be had in a fire station. It’s all fun and games until the alarm sounds, at which point its down the pole and off to adventures.

The 911 call reports an elderly woman screaming bloody murder in one of the upstairs rooms of a small apartment building. The firefighters break down the door to reveal the woman not screaming, but rather covered in blood and breathing erratically. Then the woman bites one of the unsuspecting firefighters. Then the Center for Disease Control puts the whole building on lockdown, so the uninfected are locked in with the infected. 

One point in Quarantine’s favor is the film’s consideration that being trapped when a zombie-like phenomenon is afoot is a bad thing. While watching zombie-type movies, I have often asked myself: “Why barricade yourself in a small place with few escapes, especially when the monster is going to get in there eventually because it has nothing better to do?”

The answer to this question is, of course, to up the bloodshed in the flick. And from that first grisly bite on, the infection spreads. People get too close, or they don’t recognize the obvious symptoms…yadda yadda yadda. The “infected” may not really be “zombies” (they are not the living dead), but they are close enough to fit the stereotype. This is a dance we’ve all seen before, and it’s a pretty by-the-numbers story from the first bite on. Everybody in the audience knows what is up, while everyone on screen is oblivious to the whole thing until it’s too late.

However, the shaky-cam keeps Quarantine scary enough to be an effective horror flick. The very nature of the “handheld gimmick” is to distort the audience’s sense of time and place, whether by quick pans or jump out surprises. The close quarters of the small apartment complex and the repeated visits to the same rooms makes the film feel very claustrophobic, which is good if you want to scare the pants off somebody.

Quarantine is actually a remake of the 2007 Spanish film [REC]. It continues to fascinate me how American horror filmmakers seem content with making the same film as somebody in another country, and this “update” is a pretty fast turnaround. Director and co-writer John Erick Dowdle did some decent work in a hurry, but the film is not better for the rush. I don’t know if the speediness of the production hurt the overall result, but there are noticeable weaknesses throughout the film that could have probably been avoided had they taken more time with the script.         

Regardless, Quarantine is a success. The film is thoroughly scary at times, and even though the ending is flat-out shown in the trailer, the build-up to that conclusion is likely to be the most intense bit of horror this Halloween movie season. It’s bound to be better than Saw V, which is a review you can look forward to not reading in The Lumberjack.

Ed Harris does a sweet cowboy look in Appaloosa

As printed in The Lumberjack on Oct. 9

by Gary Sundt

Good friendships between straight men are complicated. They aren’t usually full of spoken emotions, but rather more jabs and joking, and when things get serious they are addressed matter-of-factly. This behavior stems from years of experience with one another, where trials have come and been overcome and the friendship prevails.

Appaloosa, directed by Ed Harris and based on the novel by Robert B. Parker, is an analysis of male friendship set in the Old West. It tells the tale of Virgil Cole (Harris) and Everett Hitch (Viggo Mortensen), two good guys who making a living cleaning up towns overrun by bad guys. The film is a different sort of Western, one more about contemplating the nature of male relationships than the gunfights and horse wrangling. Oh, there are the gunfights, but they happen rarely and abruptly. So quickly do these fights happen that, at one point, Everett turns to his friend and notes how fast it all went down. “That’s because we’re all good shots,” replies Virgil.

The bad guys in question work for a ruthless rancher by the name of Randall Bragg (the invaluable Jeremy Irons). Bragg is the kind of man who could have been president had he not had a penchant for killing. He’s an educated man, smooth talking and well read. Everett is the same kind of man, but functions on the other side of the law. He tends to help Virgil when his buddy can’t remember the word he’s looking for.

Virgil’s lack of formal schooling doesn’t keep him from swaying the new lady in town, Allison French (Renee Zellweger). She comes into town with a dollar to her name and a smile worth a million, and Virgil puts her to work playing the piano in exchange for a room in the hotel. Virgil may be practiced in the ways of whores, but he is blindsided by Allison’s powerful attraction to him. Everett has eyes for her too.

Friendships between men often change when a woman comes into the picture. Is that idea sexist? I don’t think the very nature of the birds and the bees can be considered misogynistic. It creates a tension, a competition for attention. If a friendship is strong enough, the friendship will prevail; if not, the presence of a woman can have the same effect it had in middle school. Bros before… well, you get the idea.

All these situations are explored at great length in Appaloosa. As I said at the start, the film is directed by Harris, who grew up in the hay day of the Western movie genre (1950s). As such, he no doubt watched endless hours of cowboy film and television growing up. The death of the Western was a hard bit for many to swallow, and I think the recent revival (The Proposition, 3:10 to Yuma and The Assassination of Jesse James) is a welcome reinvention of the genre. These films represent a change in how we make Westerns; they have a quietness about them, a contemplation on life that would probably happen were we to ride out in the wild for days at a time. It would definitely take place if we were quick shooters who lived and died by the gun.

There is something intriguing in the idea that these gunmen are all experienced. Most of the cast is an older-breed of actor, and they trade bullets and dialogue with a certain laze. Nothing is hurried, which is a problem with Appaloosa. The film is pretty long in the teeth (even by Western standards), and while I admire the short and timed execution of the shoot-outs, I can’t help but want them faster and more frequent. But then again, I grew up with the insistent action of Tim Burton’s Batman and Steven Spielberg’s Jurassic Park. Perhaps I am a different breed of moviegoer.

People don’t make movies like Appaloosa anymore. It is slower, more thoughtful. It isn’t for the eye-candy audience, who were busy watching Beverly Hills Chihuahua and Eagle Eye. This is a film for those who want a well-told story with some good thought put into it. And it’s probably best to see it with a friend (regardless of your gender).

Shia Labeof and Michelle Monaghan look surprised in Eagle Eye.

As printed in The Lumberjack on Oct. 2, 2008

by Gary Sundt

There exists a plot contrivance referred to by storytellers as a “deus ex machina,” which translates literally to “god in the machine.” It refers to the inexplicable solutions that occur in stories to rectify situations in the plot, or what could be referred to as an “act of God.” For example, consider the surprise return of Aslan the lion buddy in Prince Caspian. Or better yet, take a gander at every single plot twist in Eagle Eye, the new film from director DJ Caruso and executive producer Steven Spielberg.

Spielberg apparently came up with the idea as a vehicle to do to technology what he effectively did to sharks with Jaws. Technology is a factor in almost every aspect of society. You probably wouldn’t be reading this review without the advent of computers. Then again, this movie probably wouldn’t exist either.

Eagle Eye is about two strangers, Jerry Shaw and Rachel Holloman (Shia LaBeouf and Michelle Monaghan), who are held hostage by a voice on a cell phone. The voice commands they thrust themselves into a variety of intense situations, all of which have solutions provided by last minute tips and tricks from the individual on the phone. Whether by actually calling them, or taking over a McDonald’s video feed to communicate the message, there is always a way to tell our heroes how they should get out of their predicaments (of which there are many, I assure you). And if somebody disobeys? Don’t worry — it’ll find a way to kill you.

On the trail of these two fugitives are Agent Thomas Morgan (Billy Bob Thornton) and Air Force Commander Zoe Perez (Rosario Dawson). They are desperately trying to figure out what is happening, which can be difficult to do when you don’t have all the information. Don’t worry though — they’ll get access when they need to.

Oh, remember when I was talking about McDonald’s? Well, I would argue product placement is the other character at one point. So gratuitous is are the injections of advertising in Eagle Eye that, at one point, a phone call is seemingly made for the sole purpose of giving a shout out to Circuit City.

Anyway, Jerry and Rachel get into a car chase, and they escape because all the traffic lights turn green. They end up in the desert, and a truck pulls-up to give them a ride. They rob an armored car, and all the network cameras lose the feed. Here’s the setup, and here’s the solution.

You can see perhaps how this plot device gets a little old. The concept behind deus ex machina is that last-minute saves will rectify a problem. Most story-tellers hate the device, because they think it’s a cheap cop-out for clever writing.

Caruso’s Eagle Eye relies on deus ex machina to keep the momentum going. There are lots of explosions, gun shots, arbitrary deaths and other various loud noises that help distract the mind from the empty plot.But a lack of story is a lack of story, no matter what bunny suit you make it wear.

With that said, I expect many people will find a lot to enjoy in Eagle Eye. It is consistently entertaining, and Caruso has filled the screen with lots of spectacle and LaBeouf to make the audience forget that they are watching repeated set-ups and solutions. It’s a popcorn movie through and through, and I’d be lying if I said it was ever boring to watch.

As Printed in The Lumberjack

by Gary Sundt

Lakeview Terrace is a lackluster film about very real topics. Samuel Jackson plays Abel Turner, a conservative police officer who has some real hatred for white people (and possibly anyone that isn’t Abel). Accordingly, he finds himself stuck with an interracial couple as his new neighbors. The couple is deeply in love, has sex in their new pool such that all the neighbors (including his children) can see, and is made up of a white man and a black woman. What is a bigoted police officer to do? What would you do if all your morals were questioned? Wage ware with your neighbors, that’s what.

I take this stance because the movie doesn’t have one, and most everyone else is going to see it differently. But I want to find a way to sympathize with Abel Turner and his plight of intolerance. I mean, his male neighbor, Chris Mattson (Patrick Wilson) is just so damn… white. And his wife Lisa (Kerry Washington) is just so damn…sexy. I mean, WTF man? Seems reasonable to shine porch lights into their window, watch everything they do and use ignorant platitudes to intimidate them. When those actions don’t yield the desired effect, best to take it up a notch on the crazy-neighbor scale.

Of course I’m looking at this all wrong. Abel is the bad guy and the couple is the victims. It’s like a horror movie where the couple has sex and then they have to be chased and murdered (attempted, anyway). Jason Voorhees is wearing a Mace Windu mask. The film begs the question, “Which is more racist: to have a black villain or a white villain?” The movie has this question knocking at the door, but I don’t feel much like answering. Not because I don’t like the topic, but because I don’t feel this film has earned my thoughts on the matter.

Lakeview Terrace is a remarkably manipulative film. It has its inherent controversy, and wants to push the envelope just enough to make you a little queasy. Director Neil LaBute, who loves making movies about mean people, takes a very real joy in making his audience uncomfortable with every scene. You leave the theater feeling dirty, which wouldn’t be so bad if the movie were good.

For instance, take practically every line of dialogue that comes out of Jackson’s mouth. His character says things that are so overtly ignorant that no modern-thinking person could stop themselves from being offended. But curiously, we aren’t all that offended because most of these statements ring false.

These boorish pieces of dialogue are lines tailor-made for a trailer. This sentiment goes for almost every interaction in the film. At no point is Lakeview Terrace unmarketable, because of how its shot, how its written and how its edited. The advertisers could have taken almost any moment in Jackson’s performance and built the marketing campaign around it.

At one point, Chris asks Abel, “Can’t we all just get along?” I think that could have been a profound question 30 years ago. Today, with our ever-flattening world, it sounds trite. I felt the same way, to a lesser degree, when the ending came to the 2006’s Academy Award winner for Best Picture, Crash. It’s this very Hollywood creation, where playing it safe while pulling at the heart-strings will encourage the intended reaction from the audience. There are movies that pull this off well in regards to race issues, like American History X or Do the Right Thing. But they succeed by treating the audience like adults, presenting the issues and letting us make up our minds (even if they are subtly pointing us in the right direction).

Hattie McDaniel, who won an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress for Gone With the Wind, once said, “Hell, I’d rather play a maid than be one.” While this may be an appropriate sentiment for a black woman in the 1940s, films themselves should never function in this way. Unfortunately, we find that movies on controversial topics are still being made with that same logic. Films like Lakeview Terrace bother me because they have the potential to say something. But I guess it’s easier to play the hard-hitting film than be it.

Note: The film’s title, Lakeview Terrace, works both as the name of the character’s neighborhood and as a reference to the neighborhood where Rodney King was arrested and beaten. After the film, I felt this reference was rather hollow, considering the film had very little to say.

Brad Pitt holds a CD in Burn After Reading

by Gary Sundt

As printed in The Lumberjack on September 18, 2008

The “right way” to make a movie changes depending on who you ask. Some people like the big special effects, others like the silly little romances. I’m a pretty equal-opportunity guy when it comes to stories, so long as there are good characters to back it all up. Regardless of a plot, my favorite films tend to be those about good, sharply-drawn characters, which is the reason I loved me some Burn After Reading, the new film by the Coen Brothers.

The directing duo, hot off their Oscar-winning film No Country for Old Men, is doing what they always do after they make an art picture. After Blood Simple came Raising Arizona, after Fargo came The Big Lebowski. Make the art film, then do the silly film. Make No Country for Old Men, then do Burn After Reading. The film is a biting satire that celebrates the stupidity of a U.S. intelligence agency. Or maybe it’s just a silly movie about silly people. Whatever the case, I laughed rather heartily. 

The plot is a tad long-winded, but because this is really a film about characters, I feel attempting to describe the plot would be detrimental to this review. However, I will do my best to set the scene for you.

To put it in simple terms: a CIA analyst, Osborne Cox (John Malkovich), is fired for being an alcoholic. He decides to write a memoir. His musings are burned onto a CD with a bunch of financial information. Then his wife Katie (Tilda Swinton) copies the files to assist her in her divorce case. Her attorney’s secretary drops her copy of the files in a gym locker room, which is discovered by Chad (Brad Pitt) and Linda (Frances McDormand). They figure out that the data belongs to Osborne, and accordingly try to collect a reward (or ransom, as the case may be). Oh, and Katie is having an affair with Harry (George Clooney), who is also seeing Linda. 

The film is rather convoluted, so the directors offer the audience insight into the plot’s madness via two CIA agents — Cox’s former boss (David Rasche) and his superior (the invaluable J.K. Simmons). They struggle to make sense of the entire affair, with little success. At one point, the officer tells his boss, “We don’t really know what’s happening, but they all appear to be sleeping with each other.” I couldn’t have said it better myself.

The Coens find a certain joy in exploring the lives of stupid people. However, the difference between Burn After Reading and their other comedies is the seemingly cartoon-like way the actors carry themselves. They are put to the task to make faces as surprised as Daffy Duck or as conniving as Bugs Bunny. The directors love making Clooney look like an idiot (which I think helps him stay modest as an actor), and have just as much fun doing it to everyone else in the cast. Osborne states at one point, “You’re part of a league of morons.” And so it is.

I think the directors have found a glorious new moron in Pitt, who gets to play in a way we haven’t really seen him play before. I have always maintained that he is the rarity in Hollywood — the pretty boy that actually had talent, the infrequent heartthrob who, for those of us who don’t care just how good-looking he is, is actually worth watching. Pitt gets to tap into the hilarious idiot I have often suspected was hiding in the back of his mind, but does so in a way that doesn’t betray his real skills as an actor. Everybody in the cast is pretty solid, but it’s the zany behavior of Pitt’s gym employee, with his iPod plugs and bike helmet, that carries this film not to a place of greatness, but more appropriate goodness.

Pitt’s performance also works to distract the audience from the glaring problems with Burn After Reading. The movie has some major pacing issues, where the film languishes in its lack of plot. It’s a movie about characters, and it seems appropriate that pointlessness takes over. The Coens don’t let the slowness happen for very long, and make the common Coen decision to use sudden moments of violence to punch things up. I am not offended by violence and am a self-proclaimed whore for good dialogue, which is almost always assured in a movie by the Coen Brothers. However, I imagine some viewers walking away either grossed-out by the bloodshed or irritated that the film wasn’t about something more than stupid people.

Assured with a Coen film, even the occasional lackluster ones, is the always-outstanding cinematography. Here they employ Emmanuel Lubezki, who was nominated for an Oscar (and should have won) for his work in the remarkable 2006 film Children of Men. His shots here perfectly complement the performances and go right with the driving score by Carter Burwell, who has collaborated with the Coens since their first film, Blood Simple. 

Burn After Reading cuts-off right around the 90-minute mark, and it all seems rather sudden. When my friends and I left the theater, one of them was flat-out surprised by how abrupt the whole thing seemed. I can see what she means, but I think it comes at the right moment. The Coens have learned by now when they are overstaying their welcome, especially when they are making a movie about characters and not plot. 

This is not a perfect film by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s certainly worth watching. I think the way to enjoy Burn After Reading is to not take any moment too seriously. The film is a farce about stupid people doing stupid things. Near the end, the CIA head asks his subordinate, “What did we learn here?” The subordinate says he doesn’t know. 

The CIA head responds, “Yeah, I don’t (expletive)ing know either.” And there is nothing to learn in Burn After Reading, nothing to take away. But it’s a whole lot of fun.

Nicolas Cage and Shahkrit Yamnarm sit in a boat in Bangkok Dangerous

by Gary Sundt

As Printed in The Lumberjack on September 11, 2008

Bangkok Dangerous is a movie about Nicolas Cage’s ability to brood, look off camera dramatically and act the same way he does in most other films. The plot of this flick revolves around a hitman who travels to Thailand for his last job.

Nothing too original with this premise, but it is directed by the Pang Brothers, a pair of twins from Hong Kong who have made a solid name for themselves in the Asian film market. Bangkok Dangerous is a remake of the same film they made in 1999. Why remake a movie less than 10 years after its release? Why do it with Cage? These are a few of the many questions I asked myself while I watched this so called “action movie.”

MSN Encarta (an online dictionary) defines the “action movie” as a “movie featuring mainly action … in which the plot moves quickly from one dramatic event to another … Character development and love interest are of secondary or no importance.” By this definition, I suppose Bangkok Dangerous can be considered an action movie.

But is it really? I was bored in Bangkok Dangerous, sitting in the dark for nearly two hours (trailers included) waiting for — not even a good film — an interesting film to develop. Watching it is like flipping to the movies that play on network television Saturday afternoons. You could miss 10 minutes while you emptied the dishwasher and it probably wouldn’t matter. These are usually bad movies that we turn on for some white noise. Because we like white noise, and bad movies need to go somewhere to die.

I have not discussed the plot of the movie much, and for that I apologize. As I said before, Cage is Joe, an assassin on his last hit. When he goes on his missions, he always finds a struggling local to employ as his errand boy (they always get killed afterward). He has rules he lives by, like don’t connect with people, don’t get caught, etc., etc., whatnot.

But surprise! This being his last mission, he’s inexplicably breaking his rules. Joe doesn’t want to kill Kong (Shahkrit Yamnarm), his errand boy, but instead decides to become his Yoda. He falls in love with a deaf clerk (Panward Hemmanee) at a Walgreens-type establishment (more on that to come). And then he starts to get emotional about who he assassinates, the biggest no-no one could commit in the killing-people-for-money business.

This is all stuff we’ve seen and heard before. That strikes me as odd. The script was written by Jason Richman, based on the 1999 version written by the Pang Brothers. The plot of the original centered around a deaf hitman and his rise in the criminal underworld.That’s an interesting idea, and it in turn made a good movie.

This remake, on the other hand, is as hohum as the original is bombastic and exciting. It adheres to the cliches of American action cinema, and that is not a compliment. Why remake a movie and take away everything that made it worth remaking in the first place? Do the Pang Brothers think we can’t take complexity? We made The Dark Knight for Christ’s sake.

Now, in an action movie, directed by two respected action directors, we would expect at least the parts involving guns and explosions and kung fu to be good. Even if the movie is awful, there should at least be something interesting to look at. Not so in Bangkok Dangerous. The scenes have all the ingredients for a good rumble, but it all turns out generic. Snore-inducingly generic. Seriously, I almost fell asleep.

These scenes are choreographed and shot as though there was a how-to guide sitting next to the camera. The Pang Brothers are highly-respected overseas, but their first state-side endeavor is simply dull. And action movies, above all things, should never be dull.

I said I would come back to the deaf girl, and so I am. Her name is Aom, which apparently means “rain.” (The scene in which this is explained involves hilarious hand motions that made that entire audience come together in an unintended chuckle.)

Her name and hearing impairment is all I know about her, and that’s all Joe knows about her too. I guess he’s in love though. Most of the characters in Bangkok Dangerous are ill-defined, but few others are as one-dimensional as this love interest. I know love is supposed to be of secondary importance here, but why does she need to exist? She isn’t even involved in the climax, which is traditionally where seemingly useless characters take on some depth. My theory: the script wasn’t quite long enough for a feature film, so they added her to fill some running time. Like I said — white noise.

I’m not even sure I enjoyed watching Bangkok Dangerous on a primal level (because I just like watching movies). At one point, I think I stopped concentrating on what I was watching and started thinking about other things, like what I was going to have for dinner afterward, or if I had brushed my teeth last night. My chief concern was that I needed to watch a good movie immediately following the credits, a film where something happened.

Interestingly enough, I did eventually get home and watch something more riveting. I watched Oliver Stone’s terrific 1995 film Nixon, starring Anthony Hopkins. That movie has no action, explosions or sex in its entire running time. It’s a political drama where people talk for nearly three and half hours. And, even though I’ve watched the film some 15 times, I was more engaged throughout than in any single second of Bangkok Dangerous.

Vin Diesel and Gérard Depardieu look at some futuristic gadget in Babylon A.D. (pay special attention to background hookers to prove Depardieu’s pimp status)

As Printed in The Lumberjack on September 4, 2008

by Gary Sundt

I walked into the movie theater tonight knowing two things: 1) four new movies were coming out, and 2) three of the four were going to be pretty terrible. The one film that had a glimmer of hope to it, the Don Cheadle thriller Traitor, was going to be that which nobody was going to see. Accordingly, I chose what I assumed would be the least painful. I chose Babylon A.D. It stars Vin Diesel.

Let me explain my reasoning here. Vin Diesel has talent. I know it’s in there somewhere. He was great in Pitch Black, and the saving grace of Find Me Guilty. Perhaps charismatic is the wrong word, but there is within him the ability to do good work. Also, the other two choices, College and Disaster Movie, were almost certainly going to be vomit-inducing affairs, thus Babylon A.D. it was.

So there I was watching Babylon A.D. The flick starts off by spouting the same droll monologue we’ve seen in the trailers, with the same imagery to boot. Then we cut to Toorop (Diesel) walking through a Russian village to some bombastic rap song, pimping a raincoat like it was the new black. Then some action happens (it doesn’t really matter), and the audience is subsequently riddled with videogame-level dialogue that explains some mercenary mission involving getting a girl to the United States.

So Toorop goes to pick up the girl. Her name is Aurora, and she lives in a convent, and Sister Rebeka (Michelle Yeoh) is her guardian. After a bit of obligatory discourse between the mercenary and the sister that confirms Toorop’s abrasive mannerisms, we meet Aurora (Melanie Thierry). It’s the kind of introduction where time slows down, with a faint singing of choirgirls. The type of introduction that insists impending doom. But we’ll get to that later.

Wait – let’s get to the doom now. Aurora has apparently never been outside the convent, and so the brutality of the world is a bit jarring. She freaks out. She runs away. Toorop and Sister Reb go after her. Then a building blows up. Aurora knew it was going to happen. What’s the deal? Is there mystical hoopajoop afoot?

Maybe, maybe not. I think I can safely say I had no idea what was happening after this point in the story. And believe me, I tried. I really tried. It is my job as a film critic to try. But there’s nothing here. Babylon A.D. is nothing but empty dialogue and random action sequences accompanied by an overbearing soundtrack.

Director Matthew Kassovitz has obviously watched his fair share of science fiction, in particular Blade Runner and The Fifth Element. The action sequences, however orthodox, are directed with some skill. The alternate future he has created is visually all encompassing; I especially liked the apartment they visit in the flick’s third act, with its rotating door-walls and television that can’t be turned off (you can change the channel).

The failure here is really the script by Eric Besnard. He has watched the same movies as Kassovitz, but he has also played a lot of videogames. The dialogue here could be ripped right from Grand Theft Auto III, and the plot developments are about as motivated as when Bowser would steal Peach at the end of every fourth-level in NES’s Super Mario Bros. It’s a first draft that was given a budget, which is a crime all-too-common in today’s rush of quick-dollar movie making.

Accordingly, the actors go into default mode. Diesel grunts his manly man grunt, because what’s an action star to do without a script? Yeoh goes into commander mode, her go-to acting method when she’s just doing it for a paycheck. And while Thierry is a relatively new face, her character is required to scream and cry – the same motivations that child actors are delegated. The film’s biggest challenge is to milk tears out of Diesel, to no avail I might add. How can a man cry when he has no real motivation? Not everybody is Ben Affleck.

Whether Babylon A.D. is the kind of bad that is quoted for eternity is hard to say. I will admit to having found my own perverse joy in shouting “WHAT IS WRONG WITH HER?!?” for the last few days. But I don’t think that’s the fate of this sci-fi cinematic blunder. No, save the possibility of cult status, this one is doomed to sit in the $1.99 bin at Walgreens. It’s a fate probably shared by Disaster Movie, College and Traitor.

Running time: 90 minutes. Directed by Matthew Kassovitz. Produced by Kassovitz and Alain Goldman. Written by Eric Besnard. Starring Vin Diesel, Michelle Yeoh, Melanie Thierry, Gerard Depardieu and Charlotte Rampling. A Twentieth Century Fox release. Rated PG-13

Steve Coogan and Co. go absolutely insane in Hamlet 2

by Gary Sundt

Okay… so Hamlet 2 is about Dana Marschz (Steve Coogan), a struggling actor-turned-high school drama teacher who needs a good play to save the department, which is being cut as a result of a) a tightening budget, and b) the fact that the plays (which have all been adaptations of movies, like Eric Brockovich) aren’t “Oscar-winning or anything.” After reaching deep down in the creative well, the teacher comes up with Hamlet 2, a sequel to the classic Shakespearean masterpiece. The show is about how Hamlet and Jesus Christ travel through time to save everyone that dies at the end of Hamlet (which, according to this movie, is everyone in the play).

Does this sound especially awful? The play definitely is, but the film isn’t. It really isn’t. It’s laugh-out-loud hilarious most of the time, due in no small part to the great cast led by the brilliant Coogan. This was the flick at Sundance that found the people who saw it making fun of the people who didn’t. Appropriate that happened, really. The movie is as mean as any episode of South Park, which might be due to the fact that the co-writer of Hamlet 2, Pam Brady, was one of the writers on both South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut and Team America: World Police.

But enough about how mean the movie is. Let’s focus on how funny it is. Director Andrew Fleming is a hit/miss filmmaker, with the hilarious Dick to his credit, but the utterly underwhelming The In-Laws and Nancy Drew tarnishing his record (The Craft is a fence-sitter – a love it-or-hate it affair). With Hamlet 2, he has been given the gift of Coogan, who carries this movie all the way to the hilarious stage show and beyond. This will no doubt be a star-turning role for the actor, much in the same way Napoleon Dynamite was for Jon Heder. If Coogan’s very expansive resume is any indication, it will not be a mistake.

If it hasn’t become very clear, I like Steve Coogan’s work as Dana Marschz. If the actor were to put on a one man adaptation of this movie (ala Patrick Stewart’s Olivier Award-winning work in A Christmas Carol), I would be the first in line for tickets. However, the film’s supporting cast is just as valuable in making this comedy shine, and I suppose they need love too.

He has his wife (Catherine Keener), who hasn’t been able to get pregnant and thinks Dana’s tight bike shorts are to blame, and their roommate Gary (David Arquette), who doesn’t think much of anything. At school, his life is made difficult by his boss and nemesis, Principal Rocker (Marshall Bell). There is Octavio (Joseph Julian Soria), the streetwise actor-in-the-rough, who the teacher thinks is just a thug until he finds out he has been accepted to Brown. And finally we have the “drama pets,” Rand (Skylar Astin) and Epiphany (Phoebe Strole), who are just hilarious and very much reminded me of similar acquaintances in high school.

And then there is Elisabeth Shue as herself. She plays Dana’s hero and muse. And it is very, very funny.

Everybody in the cast works, and succeeds, at playing it straight against Coogan’s manic energy. In fact, its everyone else’s realistic composure that makes the nutty drama teacher’s behavior just all the more wonderful. This might be exemplified by the unsung hero of Hamlet 2, freshman drama critic Noah Sapperstein (Shea Pepe). Dana desperately pines for the lad’s approval, who responds with logic and reason. And, like all interactions in the film, all logic and reason is taken to insane and illogical extremes.

Proof: Consider the plot of Hamlet 2. When faced with the impending destruction of his precious drama program, the drama critic’s advice for Dana to make an original play, not one based off of movies he has seen. His reaction is to make a sequel.

Note: Hamlet 2 is set in Tucson, AZ, and the film hates the city a whole lot. While I understand to a degree (I used to live there myself), I had an opportunity to personally ask the cast and crew about this, and it became painfully obvious they had never really been to Tucson. In one of the recent television advertisements following this encounter, there can be found a list of individuals and groups that the film apologizes to. The City of Tucson made that list. I’m not saying I’m responsible. I’m just saying.

Note 2: The film insists that everyone dies at the end of Hamlet. This is not true. Most of the really interesting people die, but some people survive. Who would feed the final lines in Shakespeare if some poor schmuck didn’t survive it all?

Running time: 92 minutes. Directed by Andrew Fleming. Produced by Eric Eisner, Leonid Rozhetskin and Aaron Ryder. Written by Pam Brady and Andrew Fleming. Starring Steve Coogan, Catherine Keener, Joseph Julian Soria, Skylar Astin, Phoebe Strole, David Arquette, Marshall Bell, Shea Pepe and Elizabeth Shue. A Focus Features release. Rated R

Ben Stiller and Robert Downey Jr. reflect on the cruelties of war movie-making in Tropic Thunder

by Gary Sundt

Movies like Ben Stiller’s Tropic Thunder are the reason I hate vomit-inducing endeavors like Epic Movie, Date Movie, Meet the Spartans and the upcoming Disaster Movie. Stiller’s parody, which has bones to pick with war films and (more importantly) Hollywood in general, has a biting wit and an agenda beyond making a few quick dollars for the studios. And get this: it’s actually funny, which is more than I can say for any recent flick ending in the word “movie” or “spartans.”

I mean, consider the production values in Tropic Thunder. If it were one of these Stereotype Movies (which is how I will refer to them from here on in), it would be cheap shots at pop culture that could essentially be recreated on YouTube with a group of thirteen-year-olds, mom’s make-up kit, and a slightly better-than-average home video camera. By contrast, we have fine cinematography by Oscar-winner John Toll (Braveheart, The Last Samurai, Gone Baby Gone) and Robert Downey Jr. in black face as “the dude playing the dude disguised as another dude.” The script is only okay, but these actors sell their lines and lift the entire affair to a place that will make you laugh and laugh and laugh.

Tropic Thunder is about the blundering production of… Tropic Thunder, the story of a Vietnam War mission gone awry, based on the first-hand account by one the platoon’s survivors (Nick Nolte). Three A-list actors, one nobody actor and a rapper are reinventing themselves as war movie heros in this movie. Tugg Speedman (Stiller) has built his career as the headliner of the Scorcher series, a film franchise that has lost its spark. Jeff Portnoy (Jack Black) is tired of being famous for his antics as the funny fat guy in a Meet the Klumps-style comedy. Kirk Lazarus (Downey Jr.), the five time Oscar-winning Australian film star, has gone through a medical procedure to make himself the aforementioned ”dude” (or more specifically, the movie-within-the-movie’s Sgt. Osiris). The cast is rounded out with rapper Alpa Chino (Brandon T. Jackson) and Hollywood hopeful Kevin Sandusky (Jay Baruchel) as two other soldiers in the party.

These men are shooting in Southeast Asia with first-time filmmaker Damien Cockburn (the soon-to-be-infamous Steve Coogan), and things are not going well. The director is just not getting what he wants from these primadonnas, and they in turn are not getting what they want from the script. The only member in the mix having any fun is the pyrotechnical expert (Danny McBride), who is directly involved in the onset catastrophe in which millions of dollars are spent, lots of things blow up, and the camera is not rolling. 

This causes studio chief Les Grossman (Tom Cruise) to practically pop an artery, and communicates to Cockburn that his career will be over if he messes up this movie. It is at this point when the veteran informs the director that the only way to get the shots he wants is to put these men in real combat. What follows is simply hilarious, with each character attempting to survive and conquer their acting demons, while Speedman’s agent (Matthew McConaughey) working diligently to get his client the TiVo specified in his contract.

The plot and the writing is almost as ridiculous as Stiller’s last directorial effort, the 2001 hit Zoolander. I was not really on board with whatever Zoolander was, but I can get behind Tropic Thunder. While I have a deep love for movies like Apocalypse Now and Black Hawk Down, my experience with most war movies is a certain impatience for the story. Maybe the endless battle doesn’t interest me. I’ve never wanted to be a soldier. With that in mind, seeing the standards of the war epic lampooned properly makes laugh a deep belly laugh.

However, the real target here is Hollywood, which gets a good spanking from Stiller and Co. in this film. This is the type of movie Peter Sellers would have gone after back in the day, a time when parodies were funny. Movies are best when they are about people and their troubles, not effects and their ability to be special. I think parodies are the same way, and Stiller has done fine work here. Yes, there are quite a few special effects used in Tropic Thunder, but they are always in service of the people and the story. 

On reconsideration of my earlier thought, I think I know why I prefer war epics in the vein of Apocolypse Now. They are not war movies, but rather character pieces. Stiller has the smarts to make Tropic Thunder a story about people and their struggle. Sure, the people and the struggle were goofy as hell, but it was interesting. And more importantly – Downey Jr. is really, really funny.

Running time: 107 minutes. Directed by Ben Stiller. Produced by Ben Stiller, Eric McLeod and Stuart Cornfeld. Screenplay by Ben Stiller and Justin Theroux Starring Ben Stiller, Jack Black, Robert Downey Jr, Brandon T. Jackson, Jay Baruchel, Nick Nolte, Danny McBride, Matthew McConaughey, Tom Cruise and Steve Coogan. A Dreamworks SKG release. Rated R

Seth Rogen looks to be developing a hernia as he carries James Franco to safety in Pineapple Express

by Gary Sundt

So, I’m going to be very honest and say I’ve smoked some weed in my time. I’ll be even more honest and say I’ve smoked a whole lot of weed. Sometimes there were adventures, other times it was sitting on the couch playing multiplayer Halo 2 for hours on end (badly, I might add). So it goes without saying that I get the whole “stoner comedy” thing. I had to give up pot a few years ago (I have control issues), but I will say I never felt more in the mood to be stoned then while watching Pineapple Express.

Now, there are many reasons to get high, and Dale (Seth Rogen) certainly has some good ones. Is there a breed of individual more hated by total strangers than the process server? He issues subpoenas to people, and has fun dressing up in a variety of costumes to make his job a little easier on himself when bearing the bad news. It is no wonder this guy is stoned on a regular basis. He buys his weed from small-timer Saul (James Franco), who in turn buys his weed from a middleman named Red (Danny R. McBride), who in turn buys his weed from Ted Jones (Gary Cole), the big dealer in town who is currently at odds with the competition (referred to only as “The Asians”).

It just so happens that Dale has to serve Mr. Jones, but everything goes terribly awry when the server sees the dealer shoot one of The Asians. Dale freaks out, and ditches the joint he’s smoking during his rather clumsy getaway. He heads over to Saul’s, throws up on his printer, and informs him of the situation. At this point in the film, it is well-known that the weed Dale was smoking was a new strain called Pineapple Express, and Saul is the only person who has gotten the hook-up thus far. Accordingly, the guys go into hiding, causing them to have many mini-adventures, while two of Ted’s thugs (Kevin Corrigan and Craig Robinson) work to track them down.

With Pineapple Express, I believe we’ve witnessed the mainstream return of marijuana (if that event hadn’t come already). Couldn’t be a better time either, because I know way too many people who get stoned on a regular basis who will be quoting this movie for years. The movie is at its best in those quotable stoner moments, where Saul and Dale talk through the random whatnot that floats through their brain. It also provides an interesting twist on the whole Abbot and Costello thing, with the big guy playing it straight while the skinny guy gets to be goofy.

It should be noted, however, that this is a mighty violent movie, which causes it to feel a little disjointed most of the time. The script by Rogen and Evan Goldberg (the writing team who gave us Superbad) is pretty solid and the performances are wonderful, so it feels a little out of place when things get as bloody as they do. Maybe it is a necessary evil, as those are the moments where the target audience will go “OH #$%@!!! YOU SEE THAT BRO?!?!?,” but it seems odd that director David Gordon Green decided to get so graphic with the violence.

While we’re on the subject, I have to stop and ask: What is Green doing here? This is the guy who made two of most utterly wonderful but little seen films of the last 10 years: George Washington and All the Real Girls. I have to wonder what attracted Green to the project, and even more so why producer Judd Apatow felt he was the right fit. Did everyone look at the material and say, “god dammit… we’re going to need somebody really good for this.” Green handles the against-type project well enough, but I am wondering if he was the right fit for this flick.

Perhaps he is, because this stoner comedy has to it a level of authenticity that would probably be unfelt otherwise. Then again, most of the flicks that Apatow is involved in feels that way. Movies like Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Superbad and Knocked Up have a certain spark to them, an energy that occurs in comedy only once in a great while. They seem to be as perfect as their genre will allow them to be, and I think the same can be said for Pineapple Express.

Note: I find it interesting that Apatow and friends have no trouble putting out an R-rated film filled with illegal drug use and violence where the title is a strain of marijuana, while director Kevin Smith has been facing trouble securing an R-rating on his new film, presumably because of a little sex and the word “porno” being in the title. Oh well, Smith got his R, and all is right with the world. Still, interesting stuff…

Running time: 111 minutes. Directed by David Gordon Green. Produced by Judd Apatow and Shauna Robertson. Screenplay by Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg. Starring Seth Rogen, James Franco, Danny McBride, Gary Cole, Kevin Corrigan and Craig Robinson. A Columbia Pictures release. Rated R

David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson stand dramatically in the snow in The X-Files: I Want to Believe

by Gary Sundt

I occasionally watched The X-Files during its nine season run on FOX, and was a fan of the 1998 feature film effort Fight for the Future. It was an intriguing show, and it opened the door for other television programs to tell better and more-complex stories, including Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Alias and more recently Lost. Growing up in a time when television was finally finding its story-telling ways was needless to say very exciting, and looking back, I don’t think anyone could have anticipated the cultural influence that a little show about martian-and-monster hunters would have.

That being said, The X-Files: I Want to Believe is not a really great movie, and won’t be influencing film history any time soon. Yes, Fox Mulder (David Duckovny) and Dr. Dana Scully (Gillian Anderson) are back to solve another mysterious mystery, and its a doozy of a case. An FBI agent has been kidnapped, and the psychic, convicted pedophiliac ex-priest Father Joe (Billy Connolly) is apparently getting visions that could lead to the answers. Agent Dakota Whitney (Amanda Peet) doesn’t quite know what to make of this, and Agent Drummy (Alvin “Xzibit” Joiner) thinks he full alien excrement, so they call in the retired Mulder and Scully to help find the truth.

Scully has moved on from her X-Files work, and is making a living as the very-skilled surgeon that she is. However, Mulder is right at home with Father Joe and the manhunt. But, see, Scully and Mulder now live together and have this… thing… going on between them, so there is a conflict of interest. Meanwhile, another woman is kidnapped, peoples body parts are being found in the snow, and there is a two headed dog somewhere in the mix. Was that a spoiler? Maybe, but it was worth mentioning.

Co-writer/director and X-Files creator Chris Carter has not been overly busy since the show wrapped production 6 years ago, so it was a reasonable expectation that I Want to Believe would come with a great story.  More importantly, it should come with some good X-Files moments. Truthfully, and while I won’t mention them here, I can think of three. That may cut it for an episode of the show, but not for a movie. But perhaps Carter was trying to step beyond the lore and hit a wider audience with this film.

But who is he trying to please? For “X-Philes” (loyal and avid watchers of the show), there isn’t much in the way of X-Files mythology to go on. But for those non-fans, there are too many brief and obscure references to things that happened in the show (Scully and Mulder’s baby, their complex relationship, a surprise visit from a beloved character in the film’s finale) to keep any real momentum going. And then there are those bizarre moments that are just plain out of character for The X-Files (e.g. the musical theme playing randomly over a picture of a well-known political figure). Those are the greatest crimes of all, because they are simply disjointing for the audience, pulling us right out of the film.

The good news is that Duchovny and Anderson have returned to the roles that made them household names. For some viewers, they are like the half-brother and sister we haven’t seen for a while. For others, they are more like distant cousins. Regardless, we know them all too well, and it is nice to see them back to their old ways.

However, something is amiss with their relationship. Perhaps we expect more than we should, but the spark is very much missing in I Want to Believe. The characters and the actors have both moved on to other projects, and the fact that they remain chained to one another, both in this film and the rest of time, is showing its wear and tear on Mulder and Scully. There are several points where they go through the old motions, feeding lines about Mulder’s dead sister and Scully’s infamous stubbornness, and I found myself thinking back and wondering how the show kept these droll conversations interesting for 9 years. 

The truth: they didn’t. They kept it good for 6 years, and then it was downhill from there. Television was growing up, and a new generation of writers and producers were improving on the progress made by The X-Files and like-programming. Also, The Sopranos came out, once again redefining what television was allowed to do. While I Want to Believe has a theme of not giving up, but perhaps its time. There but for the grace of Pop Culture go The X-Files, and maybe Mulder and Scully have said and done all they have to say and do.

Running time: 104 minutes. Directed by Chris Carter. Produced by Chris Carter, Brent O’Connor and Frank Spotnitz. Screenplay by Chris Carter and Frank Spotnitz. Starring David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson, Amanda Peet, Billy Connolly and Alvin “Xzibit” Joiner. A Twentieth Century Fox release. Rated PG-13

AWARD-WINNING COMICS MASTERMIND ED BRUBAKER AND CRACKLE.COM TEAM UP FOR LIVE ACTION SERIES

Zoë Bell Cast As Ed Brubaker’s “Angel of Death”

San Diego, CA. – July 24, 2008

Comics mastermind and Eisner Award-winning writer Ed Brubaker (Criminal, The Death of Captain America) and White Rock Lake Productions have teamed up to produce Angel of Death, a new live-action series for Crackle.com, Sony Pictures Entertainment’s online video network, that will premiere in 2009.

Stuntwoman turned actress Zoë Bell (Death Proof, Double Dare) has been cast as the lead character in the series, which depicts a remorseless assassin (Bell) in the employ of a ruthless crime family. After suffering a severe head wound, she becomes so haunted by her victims that she decides to kill the people who ordered the hits, one by one. Angel of Death will premiere in 2009 on www.crackle.com/angelofdeath. Each 8-10 minute installment will be released over the course of 10 weeks.

“Besides the elation I feel about having a project I wrote actually being filmed, which is huge for any writer, I’m just as thrilled about having Zoë Bell signed on to star in Angel of Death,” said creator/writer Ed Brubaker. “And working with Crackle and Sony Pictures Television to give viewers instant access to the series online is completely overwhelming.”

“Angel of Death is exactly the kind of high-caliber original content our audience has come to expect from Crackle,” said Sean Carey, senior executive vice president, Sony Pictures Television. “The combination of Ed’s sensibility and Zoë’s talent is sure to keep loyalists and new viewers alike coming back for more.”

Ed Brubaker is an Eisner Award-winning writer best know for his work in comics, which includes such titles as The Death of Captain America, Batman, Criminal, The Authority, and others.

Brubaker’s work is credited for helping to revive the crime comics’ genre, and has also been translated into eleven languages around the world. Angel of Death was created and written by Ed Brubaker, and will be produced by John Norris and directed by Paul Etheredge.The series is produced by White Rock Lake Productions and will be distributed by Sony Pictures Television.

Press release courtesy of Sony Pictures Television.

Heath Ledger kicks Christian Bale in The Dark Knight

by Gary Sundt

It is a shame Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight will be lumped into the same category as films like Spider-Man 2 and Iron Man. Not that those films aren’t wonderful and all, but I’m being very honest when I say this new Batman film functions light years ahead of the comic book movie genre. Not even Batman Begins can keep up with this exercise in adrenaline and fear.

Notice I used the word fear. The Dark Knight is terrifying, grabbing you from the word go and then pushing the petal down until it breaks through the car floor. Right from the picture’s opening bank robbery, there is a raw power to the production that overwhelms the audience. Even on opening night, nobody is shouting at the screen. People only laugh when it’s appropriate to do so. Even the fan boys (which, in some circles, I have been lumped in with) shut their mouths. Everyone watches in stunned silence as the story brilliantly unfolds, marveling as the story takes us to the edge and back.

The power of that opening scene comes in so small part from the introduction of the Joker (Heath Ledger), a make-up clad nut job who seems to have a counter-intuitive agenda of cutting the legs out from under the organized crime bosses of Gotham City. And he isn’t the only one. The new District Attorney, Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhart), has joined forces with the Batman (Christian Bale) and Captain James Gordon (Gary Oldman), who are doing everything in their power to do away with the city’s mobsters as well.

However, in a town as corrupt as Gotham, Dent’s goal is no easy task. He finally catches a break when Batman travels to Hong Kong and kidnaps Lau (Chin Han), the mafia’s accountant, leaving him gift-wrapped for the prosecution to make their case. What is the criminal underworld going to do? The Joker offers his services in dealing with Batman and Dent, and the mob begrudgingly accepts.

The Joker is then unleashed upon Gotham City, promising that people will continue to die until Batman takes off his mask and reveals his identity to the public.  This is part of the Joker’s many schemes to undo the moral and psychological fabric of the people, with his favorite targets being Dent, Gordon and Batman. He makes a game out of Rachel Dawes (Maggie Gyllenhaal), Harvey’s new squeeze and billionaire Bruce Wayne’s old one. The Joker doesn’t know Wayne is Batman, so at first he doesn’t have a full handle on the damage he is doing. But rest assured: this clown is a quick study.

The film’s development rests on the backs of the three men seeking justice. The Joker, on the other hand, is the ultimate catalyst, challenging every facet of moral character these guys can muster. Fortunately, Gordon has Batman; Batman has trusty butler Alfred (Michael Caine) and tech-man Lucius Fox (Morgan Freeman); and Dent has Rachel. Will they prevail? Will good triumph? Well, I don’t think that’s for me to say.

As a comic book fan, I was very sure that I had The Dark Knight’s plot pegged. I’ve read enough comics (particularly those stories which inspired this film specifically) to know all of the crazy things they could draw from. To sum it up, my expectation was Jeff Loeb and Tim Sale’s The Long Halloween mixed with this Joker-mob storyline. Was I right? Not really.

I’m going to be honest: unless you have read specific spoilers for The Dark Knight online, you really have no idea where it’s going. The script by director Nolan and his brother Jonathan has many tricks up its sleeve; you’ll never know what’s coming until it slaps you right in the face. There were moments I wanted to turn and give my friends that “WOW!” look, but my eyes remained fixated on the screen. I didn’t want to miss a millisecond of film.

For the record, the rumors regarding Ledger’s Joker are absolutely true. He is the proverbial ringleader of this flick, and I will jump on the posthumous-Oscar bandwagon when I say a better performance won’t be seen this year. He is literally invisible in the role, and we don’t remember until the very end that the dude from A Knight’s Tale is under all that face paint. Would he have become a Marlon Brando? We’ll never know. All we can do is accept that stabbing sadness when the Joker utters the painfully ironic statement near the film’s climax: “I think we’ll be doing this forever.”

However, Ledger is only the icing on a perfectly-casted cake. Every performance in the film is simply electrifying. Bale and Caine are now, and forever, Batman and Alfred. Gyllenhaal does a wonderful job in a role that many consider to be the weakest link of Batman Begins. Oldman, the wonderful actor that he is, continues to be the perfect Jim Gordon. And Eckhart functions as the perfect moral backbone in The Dark Knight. Harvey Dent has been my favorite Batman character since I picked up my first comic book, and he has never been more tragic a figure than he is in this film.

How does a critic review a film like The Dark Knight? There is so much to say, so much to communicate, but the desire to not-spoil the whole affair overwhelms any wishes I have to discuss the twists Nolan has in store for his audience.

What I will say:

1)   The Dark Knight has the honor of walking with Frank Miller’s The Dark Knight Returns and the aformentioned Halloween as one of the finest Batman stories ever told. 

2)   I’ve seen the film in both regular and IMAX format, and the latter is the way to go if you have the option. The cinematography by Wally Pfister (who has been working with Nolan since his breakout film, Memento) is mesmerizing, and everything looks that much better in IMAX.

3)   The people behind The Dark Knight have created a masterpiece. The film is certainly the greatest superhero film ever made, but overcomes that distinction by being among the greatest American films of the last 10 years. If Nolan decides to return for the third installment, one can only imagine what will happen now that the genre has been freed of the camp shackles the comics walked away from over 25 years ago. 

Running time: 152 minutes. Directed by Christopher Nolan. Produced by Nolan, Mark Roven and Emma Thomas. Screenplay by Christopher Nolan and Jonathan Nolan. Based on the characters created by Bob Kane. Starring Christian Bale, Michael Caine, Heath Ledger, Aaron Eckhart, Gary Oldman, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Morgan Freeman and Chin Han. A Warner Bros. Pictures release. Rated PG-13

The cast of Hellboy looks dynamically off camera in Hellboy II: The Golden Army

by Gary Sundt

Last week, Hancock came out, and I was not very kind to the whole affair. The film dressed itself up (and indeed started out) as the funny superhero movie. I wanted to like it; I really did. But the movie just ran out of fresh ideas. Hellboy II: The Golden Army, on the other hand, does not run out of fresh ideas. In fact, I can’t think of a single uninventive or inauthentic moment in this superhero flick. 

The film is the latest from Guillermo del Toro, the man who gave us the everything from Cronos to Hellboy (2004) to Pan’s Labyrinth. All of his films are an exploration of the human condition through fantastical worlds and bizarre creations. While it may get slightly caught up in its action sequences, Hellboy II is a phenomenal example of what can be done in a comic book movie with a little do-diligence and imagination.

There is a whole lot of lore in these movies, so let’s run it down real fast. Hellboy (Ron Perlman) is the son of the devil (is that right?), who as a toddler was sucked into our world via Nazi hoopajoop during World War II. He was raised by the late Professor Trevor ‘Broom’ Bruttenholm (John Hurt) in the ways of fighting the things that go bump in the night in order to save humanity. All growed up, Hellboy is one of the kept secrets of the B.P.R.D. (Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense), along with his fish-man pal Abe Sapien (Doug Jones) and fire-starter girlfriend Liz Sherman (Selma Blair). The government feels that these folks should be kept a secret, and it falls to Agent Tom Manning (Jeffrey Tambor) to clean up the public relations mess every time somebody sneaks a photo of Hellboy and slaps it on the internet. He really hates Youtube.

While all this is happening, an ancient war is about to become the B.P.R.D.’s next assignment. See, a long time ago, a truce was struck between the humans and a mythical demon race. Mankind got the cities, and the other other guys got the forests. But we humans, with the pesky hole in our hearts that will never be filled, have built more and more, from parking lots to shopping malls. Our greed has taken its toll on the planet, and Prince Nuada (Luke Gross) of the mythical demon race is pissed. He is sort of a badass ninja prince, and effectively takes out his father the king and prepares for war with the human race. This includes making use of the dormant Golden Army, an army of indestructible mechanical behemoths that number 70×70. The only one to stand against him (and survive his dethroning process) is his twin sister, Princess Nuala (Anna Walton), who runs away in search for help.

Oh, and there is a new fellow leading the team who goes by the name of Johann Kraus (voiced by Seth McFarland). He is an ectoplasm who stays contained in a suit that would fit right in with those seen in the 1916 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. He obeys the rule-book to the letter, to the chagrin of a certain spawn of Satan.

Also of note: Liz is pregnant. Hellboy, you dog.

There… I think I got it all.

This is the kind of complex nerd lore that we expect and accept from movies like Star Wars and The Lord of the Rings. In truth, understanding such history makes it all the more fun to see these movies. It’s somewhat comforting to master something that isn’t of particular importance, especially when the characters and settings are as rich as those seen in Hellboy II. Hellboy creator Mike Mignola has provided del Toro with an endless array of remarkable things to show and tell. And del Toro is a pretty quick study himself, taking it all in and spinning the whole affair with his equally eerie and beautiful visual style.

Hellboy II one-ups its predecessor in several ways, not least of which is the handling of the ever-growing cast of characters. One of the problems with the first Hellboy was that there was not enough time devoted to developing those not Hellboy. Who was Abe Sapien? And for that matter, who was Liz? And what will they do with the new characters they are adding to the cast for the sequel? The big, red demon may be the showcase, but the screenplay by del Toro and Mignola plays it right by treating this as an ensemble piece. By the end of the flick, we know these characters and care about what happens to them.

What a consistent delight it is to see Del Toro at work. His films, while not all of them masterpieces, are wonderful to behold. Hell, I may not have liked Blade II, but it was never bad to look at. With Pan’s Labyrinth and now Hellboy II, the director has cornered the market on the new and inventive. One can only speculate what he will do with The Hobbit. You knew he was doing that, right?

I hope Hellboy gives Hancock a run for his money. Scratch that: I want a box-office spanking. Will that happen? Maybe, maybe not. Will Smith is a pretty big draw for a lot of people. But I have faith. If there is a Hellboy, there must be a hell, meaning heaven must exist, which in turn means God exists. A just God will grant Hellboy II the power to kick the crap out of Hancock.

Perhaps its a leap, but a man can dream can’t he?

Will Smith lifts Jason Bateman’s car in Hancock

by Gary Sundt

Just before the start of summer movie season, my roommate pulled several movie posters from Total Film magazine. Most of them were garbage, but there a few jewels that made it up on the wall: The Dark Knight, Hellboy II, WALL-E and Peter Berg’s Hancock. Unfortunately, what must go up, must come down, and in the case of Hancock, that time is coming sooner rather than later.

Hancock starts off poking good fun at the comic book superhero genre that has become so popular in recent years. Will Smith plays the title character, who flies around with a bottle of whisky in hand and “saving the day” while taxpayers pay the price. Nobody likes this guy, primarily because (and as the movie states several times) he’s an asshole. But when our hero saves public relations professional Ray Embrey (Jason Bateman) from an oncoming train (and destroying said train in the process), the rescued decides to help the rescuer with a bit of good marketing. Ray’s wife Mary (Charlize Theron) disagrees, and keeps giving Hancock a weird look.

Anyway, Hancock decides to take Ray up on the revamp, and goes to jail to pay his debt to society. Crime is on the rise without the bum, who is busy sobering up, getting a new costume and shoving criminals heads up other criminals butts. Ray tells Hancock to stick with it because the mayor is going to call any day now. Sure enough, the phone rings, and its off to fight crime as a sober and clean-shaven superhero. And now everybody loves Hancock.

This is probably all screenwriters Vy Vincent Ngo and Vince Gilligan had down when they turned in the script. The director and stars were most likely handed 40 pages with a promise of more to come. I say this because there is almost no warning when the movie takes a 180 degree turn and becomes a dramatic piece involving ancient quarrels and relatively lame villains. From this point on, the movie is no longer satirizing, but rather ripping off other movies in the genre.

I know every critic has discussed how the plot of Hancock suffers from a split personality. But let’s face it: that’s the problem here. The movie straight up runs out of ideas. It jumps the shark at the 50 minute mark. And to be honest, I liked it better when Hancock was drinking. Maybe that isn’t a good message to send to the kids, but the movie was more interesting.

There are things to appreciate in Hancock, but those come primarily in the form of Smith and Bateman, who are perfectly cast for the portion of the film that stays true to its premise. Theron is sadly underused in the first half of the film, and entirely misused in the second half. The film was shot by Tobias A. Schliessler in the ever-popular shaky-cam style, which is really a love it or hate it situation. I think it was a poor choice, but it does give the realism Hancock wants so desperately to invoke.

I’d like to track back to the scene where everything changes and Hancock becomes a different movie. IMDb.com states under their “plot” section that “a hard-living superhero who has fallen out of favor with the public enters into a questionable relationship with the wife of the public relations professional who’s trying to repair his image.” Technically this is correct. But let’s look at that scene for a minute. You don’t really know its coming. It’s awkward and forced. Smith and Theron are trying to make it seem natural, but it isn’t happening.

And then somebody gets thrown through a house. I understand how they felt, because I felt the same way after the scene. Bewildered. Angry. Lied to. The point: movies shouldn’t make you feel that way unless they are made by Michael Moore.

Running time: 92 minutes. Directed by Peter Berg. Produced by Akiva Goldsman, James Lassiter, Michael Mann and Will Smith. Screenplay by Vy Vincent Ngo and Vince Gilligan. Starring Will Smith, Jason Bateman, Charlize Theron, Jae Head and Eddie Marsan. A Columbia Pictures release. Rated PG-13

James McAvoy points a gun in Wanted.

by Gary Sundt

Before Wanted, I cannot recall a film more like a heavy metal song. Here is a flick that is loud, angry, hates its audience and informs them of its distaste. Funny thing is, the audience for Wanted is a lot like a heavy metal crowd, cheering the entire time while the movie basically says “$#&% you!” with every frame. Does that sound like a good time? As long as you are old enough to know that everything in this exercise in testosterone is absolutely and completely impossible, you bet your curving bullet it does.

Did I say curving bullet? I did. Why? Because, as the trailers make perfectly clear, Wanted is about a bunch of assassins that can curve the bullets they shoot. This makes executing a hit particularly nifty, because they, much like the movie, can do whatever they want. The script by Michael Brandt, Derek Haas and Chris Morgan wants to follow this insanity like the camera follows the curving bullets, letting their story run to infinite and beyond as long as it gets to the target.

The plot? Well, it gets pretty hairy with twists that often don’t make a lick of sense, but I’ll start you off. Wesley (James McAvoy) is a pencil-pushing accountant who hates his life. The guy is so restless that his heart goes into overdrive whenever he is remotely taunted by his rather irritating boss Janice (Lorna Scott). His girlfriend Cathy (Kristen Hager) is cheating on him with his buddy and coworker Barry (Chris Pratt). And his dad left him and his momma when he was a week old. All in all, Wesley feels as if he could’ve been dealt a better hand.

The chance for a full house seems to come along in the guise of Fox (Angelina Jolie), who shows up just in the nick of time to save Wesley from a curved bullet to the cranium. After one of the many brilliantly-executed action sequences, we are informed by the smooth-talking Sloan (Morgan Freeman) that he was rescued in order to kill the attempting assassin, Cross (Thomas Kretschmann). You see, they are all part of a fraternity of assassins, aptly calling themselves “The Fraternity,” and they get orders from a giant loom as to who the next target will be. These people are chosen because…

Oh, forget it. None of this matters. What matters is Jolie is a sexy chick, McAvoy is remarkable in this against-type role and Freeman uses that majestic voice of his with the added benefit of swear words. And the action sequences are simply outstanding. Russian director Timur Bekmambetov (whose name I admittedly copy-pasted here because it is pretty intimidating) knows how to make action movies, and his freshman entry into American action cinema has the tenacity of The Matrix with a little bit of Tyler Durden DNA mixed in.

On the related subject, while comparisons to The Matrix cannot be ignored, Wanted is a different sort of beast. Sure, it has the wacky badass-powers-in-a-world-without-rules feel, but it also has a hint of consequence to the whole affair. How do the characters in Wanted feel about these consequences? Remember the whole “%$#@ you” remark that started this review? That’s how they feel about it.

The choice for moviegoers this weekend came down to WALL-E or Wanted, and I can’t think of a better weekend for these two films to come out. They are essentially the antithesis of one another. WALL-E is sweet and beautiful, while Wanted is sweaty and bloody. Which is the movie for you? That is a good question. If you are interested in a steroidal Matrix with a heavy dose of Fight Club on the side, then Wanted is for you. If not, go see the cute robot. If you want a good movie, go see both.

I am coming to the end of my review, but I wish to offer an analogy that I think best sums up the Wanted experience. Here is an adjusted conversation from my favorite scene from the great 2004 film Closer:

WANTED: You like this movie?
AUDIENCE: I love it!
WANTED: You like me &*%$ing in your face?
AUDIENCE: Yes!
WANTED: What does it taste like?
AUDIENCE: It tastes like The Matrix but sweeter!
WANTED: That’s the spirit. Thank you. Thank you for your honesty. Now %$#& off and die, you $#%@ed up people.

Our response to this, mirroring another famous piece of dialogue from Closer, is quite simply, “Thank you.”

NOTE: Wanted is based on a comic book by Mark Millar and J.G. Jones. I didn’t find much room in the review to write that, but I felt it was noteworthy.

Running time: 110 minutes. Directed by Timur Bekmambetov. Produced by Marc E. Platt, Jim Lemley,Jason Netter and Iain Smith. Screenplay by Michael Brandt, Derek Haas and Chris Morgan. Based on the comic book by Mark Millar and J.G. Jones. Starring James McAvoy, Angelina Jolie, Morgan Freeman, Thomas Kretschmann, Lorna Scott, Kristen Hager and Chris Pratt. A Universal Pictures release. Rated R.

WALL-E is freakin’ awesome in WALL-E.

by Gary Sundt

Film critic Roger Ebert once asked the great Italian actor Marcello Mastroianni what his favorite love scene was. Mastroianni (who most Americans recognize from Federico Fellini’s La dolche vita or 8 1/2), after careful consideration, eventually responded with: ”I like it when Minnie kisses Mickey, and little red hearts go pop-pop-pop, over their heads, in the air.” I mention this because I believe I have found my own favorite movie love scene, which is when the two robots finally hold hands in Disney/Pixar’s latest triumph, WALL-E.

WALL-E tells the tale of the dirty and beat-up WALL-E (Ben Burtt), a little trash-compacting robot with a curiosity rivaled only by small children. The droid is the last of his unit (is that the right term?), left in charge of cleaning up Earth when the trash became too much for us humans. WALL-E does his job efficiently enough (piling square cubes of garbage into skyscraper-like structures), but finds time to collect a lot of stuff and keep track of his pet cockroach. He (and I use the term loosely) even has his own favorite love scene from his favorite movie, Hello, Dolly!.

Everything in WALL-E’s world is shaken when a mysterious craft comes from above. From this space ship appears EVE (Elissa Knight), a clean and new robot who, like WALL-E, is one of many of the same unit designed for a task. She (again with the looseness of phrasing) is looking for new life on the planet Earth. The little garbage-handler is immediately smitten with the plant-finder, and he soon brings her to his collection of things, one of which is a plant he has recently discovered.

EVE sees the plant, takes it, and suddenly shuts down in wait for pick up. She is eventually snatched up by her spacecraft, and WALL-E tags along. They are taken to the Axiom, the space ship where humans have lived for 700 years (they have just celebrated the septua-centennial of their planned five-year stay). WALL-E desperately wants EVE’s affection, EVE wants to complete her directive, but the plant has gone missing. The film then goes off with the two robots and their malfunctioning brethren trying to locate and save the plant, such that the humans can return to Earth.

But “Are we so keen on going back and taking responsibility?” is the question. WALL-E has a whole lot to say about the environment, obesity and several other issues of note in our troubling political climate, so much to the point that I wonder how people will take to the film. For example, the humans on board the Axiom have gotten so reliant on technology that they have grown morbidly obese, flying around in hover chairs and drinking all meals through giant sippy-cups. They hold conversations via computer when the person on the other end is hovering right next to them. There are a few people who have accidental collisions with WALL-E, knocking them out of their technological stupor and allowing them to take in the beauty of the real world. These are the kinds of subtle jabs at mankind (Americans in particular) that will turn off some viewers, which is a shame because WALL-E is simply brilliant.

Every time Pixar comes out with a film, I wonder if it will finally yield the disappointment long-expected from the seemingly perfect animation company. It is alone remarkable that they have put out consistent greatness, but the fact that they top themselves continuously makes it even more amazing. With WALL-E, I believe Pixar has produced their masterpiece. This is a science fiction movie, a comedy, a love story and a political statement all rolled into one, and all of it is executed with absolute perfection.

Writer/director Andrew Stanton has made a movie here that can scarcely be believed. He has drawn from some classic films for inspiration, from the work of Charlie Chaplin to 2001: A Space Odyssey (Sigourney Weaver comes in as WALL-E’s very own HAL), and meshed it all together into a flick that is both earth-shatteringly original and uncannily familiar. These are computer-generated images, but the characters are more real than most of what you’ll find at the movies. There is hardly any dialogue, but the relationship between WALL-E and EVE has more depth than many screen romances (and all they can do is hold hands!). The ladies from Sex and the City could take some lessons in love from these two robots.

Not everybody is going to get behind this film. It has a lot of stuff that, if people get it, will be shocking and abrasive (because we know they’re right). But I loved WALL-E. I loved it a whole bunch. I want to see it again. I want to buy the DVD. I want the vintage soundtrack. Heck, I want the big cardboard model they have in the lobby at the movie theater. Very rarely will I see a film that touches me deep down, reminding me why it can be so special to go to the movies. WALL-E did that for me.

NOTE: Pixar is always reliable in providing short films before their features. The one before WALL-E, called Presto, is wonderful.

NOTE 2: Arizona Daily Star film critic Phil Villarreal has taken a remarkably large amount of flack for his negative review of WALL-E. We critics usually have several reasons to dislike a film, and people should understand that. However, I have to disagree with what I consider to be his principle argument: “WALL-E is programmed more for critics and intellectuals than families looking to have a good time at the movies.” I think WALL-E is for everyone who appreciates wonder and good storytelling, and people should not be discouraged from seeing a movie because it may be too smart for them. That kind of thinking is simply patronizing to the general public, and should not be a rewarded way of thinking (particularly when written in the bizarre and disconnected style of his review).

Running time: 97 minutes. Written and directed by Andrew Stanton. Produced by Jim Morris. Starring Fred Willard, Jeff Garlin, Elissa Knight, Ben Burtt, and Sigourney Weaver. A Disney/Pixar release. Rated G.

Michael Pitt holds Devon Gearhart in a pillow case in Funny Games.

by Gary Sundt

Note: Funny Games never came to Flagstaff’s movie theater, thus I didn’t get to review the film upon the initial release. So now that its on DVD, I have rented it in order to review it. Enjoy.

When I saw the trailer for Funny Games, I was intrigued beyond the basis of me being a horror movie fan. This film is written and directed by Michael Haneke, and it is a shot-for-shot remake of his German language film of the same name made slightly more than a decade ago. The original film was designed to be a comment on media violence, and so is the remake. But this remake wants to punish Americans specifically, for it is we more than any other culture that craves blood when we go to the movies.

The flick is about a family who is terrorized by two strangers clad in clean, white golf outfits. The family is Anna (Naomi Watts), George (Tim Roth) and their son Georgie (Devon Gearhart), and their terrorizers are Peter/Jerry/Butthead (Brady Corbet) and Paul/Tom/Beavis (Michael Pitt). That’s the whole story, and we watch how things get grim, grimmer, grimmest and finally grave. The film has no plot to speak of, a point made when Paul, in one of a few candid inquiries with the audience, asks us if we desire plot development. We do, but Funny Games is a film that revels in not giving us what we want.

What was good? The performances are top notch across the board, and the cinematography by Darius Khondji (the same guy who shot David Fincher’s Se7en) is effective in creating a chilling atmosphere. The bad? The overwhelming lack of purpose that is felt throughout the entire running time.

Funny Games could be seen as an interesting experiment: a filmmaker remaking his film shot-for-shot to see if lightning in a bottle can be caught twice. But to what end? The movie has already been made (and not all that long ago), the point has already been made, so why make it again? What more does Haneke have to say? Nothing, so the remake is just pointless.

It is this pointlessness of Funny Games that overwhelms any admirable aspects the film has. There is a moment where the film literally rewinds itself in order to change the past in the villains’ favor. So, if the past can just be changed at random, what’s the point of watching the movie? We know right from the beginning how this will play out, so why do we care?

Lots of questions, none of which have answers. Unfortunately, I cannot rewind real life, in which I would change history and rent a different movie.

Edward Norton is not pictured here, but his CGI counterpart is in this still from The Incredible Hulk

by Gary Sundt

Five years ago, director Ang Lee made Hulk, a movie I have often referred to as the single worst movie theater experience of my life. See, I was dating this girl, and our relationship was heading south. I was only 15 at the time and couldn’t drive anywhere. And I was watching Hulk. I couldn’t drive away, couldn’t indulge my hormones, and the flick was simply awful. Art-house and comic books might be able to mix, but there needs to be… well, some sort of action in a Hulk movie. Instead, there was a whole lot of talking, jumping through the desert and monster-poodles.

Thankfully, director Louis Leterrier has corrected the horrors of the first film, and made a nifty flick in the spirit of (dare I say)… the comic book! The Incredible Hulk may not quite be as great as the title suggests, but this movie knows its subject matter. A Hulk movie should have an introspective genius named Bruce Banner who has a nasty habit of turning large and green when he gets pissed, followed promptly by lots of smashing and explosions. This is delivered in full in The Incredible Hulk.

The film opens with an astonishing shot of a Brazilian neighborhood, where Bruce (Edward Norton) has put himself into seclusion in hopes of curing his angry side and avoiding his old buddy, General Thaddeus Ross (William Hurt). Forgetting Ang Lee’s lore entirely involving gene passing, the story goes that Banner was conducting an experiment involving gamma radiation, headed by the cigar-smoking Ross. Things went crazy, the nerd went green, and he had to leave his home and his girl (who also happens to be the general’s daughter) Betty Ross (Liv Tyler) behind in favor of being constantly hunted by the U.S. government.

Banner has been pretty good at playing Jason Bourne, effectively disappearing from the grid and always staying one step ahead of Ross. It is because of this that the general enlists the assistance of Emil Blonsky (Tim Roth), a badass to end all badasses who is very capable of extreme levels of badassery. Blonsky leads a team of soldiers, which causes Banner to Hulk-out, and the chase is on. After the initial encounter, Banner goes to get his long lost Betty, while the badass approaches the general in hopes of injecting some gamma-radiation of his own. 

The Incredible Hulk begins and ends at the genre of chase movie, which is the type of film Leterrier has made before with efforts like Unleashed and The Transporter. However, because of some pretty big pacing problems, I was disappointed by the former and downright enraged by the latter. With this project, the director has not necessarily fixed these issues, but they are not nearly as glaring. The cast here is pretty phenomenal (Marvel is getting pretty great at drawing A-list talent to their endeavors), and their work, along with the impressive action sequences, allows The Incredible Hulk to flow at a brisk yet reasonable pace.

However, unlike the recent Iron Man, the top-notch cast finds their talents somewhat underused. The rather young Marvel Studios was very afraid of making another Hulk-snoozer, thus Leterrier and Norton apparently were asked to cut approximately 70 minutes from the movie. The result is a fast flick in which, after the opening, the audience is put through one action sequence after another. At that point, everyone (including Norton) seems to doing what they can in the brief spaces between explosions to keep this story as interesting as possible. This isn’t a bad thing, particularly because this is an action movie, but it is a balance that will hopefully be improved upon in future Hulk films.

However, my minor complaints are quite simply that – minor. I thoroughly enjoyed The Incredible Hulk. It was big and loud and awesome, and the film’s final fight sequence between The Hulk and The Abomination (aka gammarrific Blonsky) is alone worth the price of admission. And the script has dropped even more hints as to the future of Marvel comic-book movies. Don’t miss mention of the Super-Soldier Serum that created Captain America and the advertised cameo appearance of Tony Stark (Robert Downey Jr). 

On the related subject, let’s just discuss the issue on everyones’ mind: The Incredible Hulk is not Iron Man. It doesn’t have a hilarious and suave James Bond-ian protagonist, nor does it have the “GO AMERICA!” undertones. Also, this film is simply not as good as Iron Man.

But who the hell cares? This is The Incredible Hulk! And, by God, this is a neat movie. Dare I say… incredi…

No. I’m sorry. I couldn’t do it. Not because of the title, but because it simply isn’t there. Not yet anyway. But we’re certainly getting close.

NOTE: During the film, I and my lady had the unfortunate occurrence of sitting next to a man with some pretty bad body odor. People: movies are for everyone, but consider taking a shower if you happen to notice you are smelling less than your best. I’m just saying.

Running time: 114 minutes. Directed by Louis Leterrier. Produced by Avi Arad, Kevin Feige and Gale Ann Hurd. Screenplay by Zak Penn and Edward Norton. Based on the characters created by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby. Starring Edward Norton, Liv Tyler, William Hurt, Tim Roth, and Robert Downy Jr. A Marvel Studios release.

Po (Jack Black) taunts another character (off screen) in Kung Fu Panda

by Gary Sundt

Eyes are the window to the soul. The talent of great film actors is to change the color of the glass, creating characters so real that we never doubt their authenticity. Animated films have the unique challenge of creating characters we care about without the advent of great physical performances. However, I found the eyes in Kung Fu Panda so beautiful, I was reminded of several real life actors (who will not be named here, but may or may not have a new movie coming out this weekend) who could take a lesson from these characters.

Consider a pivotal conversation between Po, the giant panda in question, and Shifu, a red panda himself and master of kung fu. They are voiced by Jack Black and Dustin Hoffman respectively, two actors who have, on occasion, done magical work in the eye department. But whatever live-action talents these actors have has no bearing on a fully computer animated film, so it comes down to the computer whizzes at Dreamworks Animated to do much of the work. Anyway, the conversation revolves around Po accepting his destiny as the Dragon Warrior.

I’ve gotten ahead of myself, so let me explain. Po is a server of noodles at his father’s noodle shop. The panda dreams of mastering kung fu and fighting with the Furious Five, who are led by Master Shifu. The Furious Five are the chosen protectors of the city, and they are as such: Tigress (Angelina Jolie), Viper (Lucy Liu), Crane (David Cross), Monkey (Jackie Chan), and Mantis (Seth Rogen). Word gets around that the Dragon Warrior (a legendary savior of mankind) is being chosen, and everybody and their mom heads up to the Jade Temple to go see who the lucky kung fu warrior will be. By a seemingly bizarre accident, Po is named the Dragon Warrior. But as Oogway (Randall Duk Kim), the turtle who selects the panda and wise old master of kung fu, states, “There are no accidents.”

The important conversation takes place after Master Shifu receives news that an evil snow leopard named Tai Lung (Ian McShane) is headed their way to claim the title of Dragon Warrior. The two pandas are forced to accept Po’s destiny, and their eyes do most of the work. The script by Jonathan Aibel and Glenn Berger is only okay, but these two animated animals have an actual conversation entirely through the eyes. It amazes me what we can do with computers these days.

This may sound like stuff we’ve seen before. To be honest, it is. Kung Fu Panda is full of the heart-felt, panda-out-of-water whatnot we’ve seen before, but that’s okay. The movie keeps from getting too cutesy thanks to its good, well-rounded sense of humor and knack for awesome kung fu action sequences. Have you ever seen a panda or a turtle do anything remotely ninja-like? Well, its pretty sweet.

However, Black’s Po, Hoffman’s Shifu, and that funny turtle are the only characters given due-depth here. Everybody else seems to exist to give the giant panda somebody to bounce jokes off of. The Furious Five, who are voiced by some pretty big talent themselves, are sadly under used. A little more time spent on the script wouldn’t have hurt this flick one bit.

Regardless, Kung Fu Panda works. This is a pretty funny little movie, and the animators’ attention to detail really goes a long way. I still think the upcoming Pixar project Wall-E is going to knock this ship right out of the water, but Kung Fu Panda isn’t a bad way to spend some money and hours at the movies.

Running time: 92 minutes. Directed by Mark Osborne and John Stevenson. Produced by Melissa Cobb. Screenplay by Jonathan Able and Glenn Berger. Story by Ethan Reiff and Cyrus Voris. Starring Jack Black, Dustin Hoffman, Randall Duk Kim, Ian McShane, Seth Rogen, Lucy Liu, David Cross and Jackie Chan. A Dreamworks Animated release.

The masked bad guys stare down the not-masked good guys in The Strangers.

by Gary Sundt

I would like to preface this review by simply stating that I have chosen not to review Sex and the City: The Movie, which is being released in theaters worldwide this weekend. This decision is based on the fact that I did not avidly follow the show, thus am not the intended audience, and nobody in my general vicinity is remarkably excited to see it either. It simply isn’t my kind of movie. In contrast, I like horror films, and am reviewing The Strangers because it is my kind of movie.

The Strangers is the first writing/directing effort from Bryan Bertino, and it is an exercise in fear. The blood and guts are not heavy until the finale, and the flick is a stalker movie that is really about the stalking process. Accordingly, the movie spends a lot of time building, a lot of time watching and a lot of time waiting.

Consider, for example, the lack of legitimate scares during the opening scenes. The story begins on a dark road in the middle of the night. Two people sit in their car at a red light. They are Kristen (Liv Tyler) and James (Scott Speedman), and they are have just come from a wedding reception. They reach their destination, James’ summer home, and enter stressed and disconnected from one another. Flowers are scattered and candles are lit. James has proposed to Kristen, and she has declined.

This is not scary stuff, at least not in the way we’re expecting. But terror does build. The camera is always moving slightly, as if these people are being watched. And indeed they are. Soon, there is an ominous knock on the door, and a creepy girl (Gemma Ward) stands in their doorway.

“You have the wrong house,” says the couple.

“See you later,” says the girl.

Shortly thereafter, the couple is laid siege by the girl, another woman (Laura Margolis) and a man (Kip Weeks). The three are clad in some creepy-looking masks: the girl wears a doll mask, the woman wears a pin-up girl mask, the man wears a featureless hood. IMDb.com has noted that these three have names (Dollface, Pin-Up Girl and The Man in the Mask), though nobody ever refers to them as such. Regardless, when they get down to it, they spend much of their time watching, banging, writing spooky notes and generally terrifying the couple.

Bertino has said that he was inspired by the grindhouse films of the ’70s, and he isn’t kidding. The similarities to old shock cinema, including the original The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, cannot be overlooked. Both The Strangers and Texas Chain Saw claim to be “based on actual events,” but are really completely fabricated. Also, I have read several reviews claiming this to be a pretty violent movie. However, The Strangers doesn’t get especially gruesome until the end. It’s the intensity of the film, much like old ’70s horror, that makes people think it’s more violent than it actually is.

The Strangers is a repulsive little film, but I doubt that cancels out a recommendation. It’s designed to be mean. It’s designed to be scary. And it succeeds to its end. Cinematographer Peter Sova knows how to frame a shot, and makes the couple vulnerable with every camera angle. The bad guys are thoroughly creepy. However, the stalking gets a little much after a while, and we start to crave the finale. Some people will be disappointed/pissed off by what they get from that ending, but you can’t say the movie craps out. It sticks to its roots and does what the genre insists, which is more than I can say for most horror flicks these days.

I enjoyed The Strangers as much as I could enjoy a movie like this. The truth is, I watch horror films like I eat lemons: far more often and with more enjoyment than I rightfully should. I think I liked Bertino’s film because I like horror movies, but also consider this won’t be everyone’s cup of tea. The tension built by the first act is easy to appreciate, but the rest of the movie is the stuff nihilistic nightmares are made of. Maybe you just gotta like horror movies.

With this new thought, I don’t know if this is a film for non-horror fans. It might be a little too mean for most people. However, I think people who dig the genre will dig The Strangers. Is it perfect? Hardly. Will it probably scare you? Yup.

Running time: 90 minutes. Written and Directed by Bryan Bertino. Produced by Doug Davison, Roy Lee and Nathan Kahane. Starring Liv Tyler, Scott Speedman, Gemma Ward, Laura Margolis and Kip Weeks. A Rogue Pictures release.

Cate Blanchett pokes Harrison Ford in the head in Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.

by Gary Sundt

I am relatively new in the grand scheme of film criticism, and have accordingly come across the privilege of reviewing my first Stephen Spielberg film. This is the man who created films that have changed my life, including Jaws, Jurassic Park and the Indiana Jones trilogy. So here I am, on the edge of oblivion, about to review his latest blockbuster, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.

And truthfully, I can only muster a mild recommendation.

Dr. Henry “Indiana” Jones Jr. (Harrison Ford) is most certainly back in this effort, as is a crop of characters from the previous installments. However, something has gone awry. Gone is the 1930s Indy, because now its the 1950s. Indeed, the Nazis have been replaced by Russian Communists. Nuclear weapons factor into the equation. And the McGuffin (a plot device that motivates the characters or advances the story) is a crystal skull that, as the film states, “could not have been made by human hands.”

I’m just going to say this now and get it out of the way: The McGuffin is about aliens. Not aliens like the back of a Chinese food restuarant. I mean the outer space kind. I’m quite serious about this. I make a point of this because, while the web was apparently asunder with this information, I was unaware. It was jarring to say the least.

The film begins at Area 51, where Indy and his pal Mac (Ray Winstone) have been kidnapped by the film’s villain, a decorated Soviet officer by the name of Irina Spalko (Cate Blanchett), and her muscle, Russian Colonel Dovchenko (Igor Jijikine). He is forced to locate a crate with some odd magnetic qualities to it, and a pretty neat action sequence follows. Indeed, Indiana Jones has returned.

Because of his forced assistance to the Commies, Dr. Jones is under investigation by the FBI and put on an indefinite leave of absence from Marshall College. Indy has plans to move on, but is interrupted when a young greaser named Mutt Williams (Shia LaBeouf) comes in search of help. Mutt’s father figure and Indy’s old friend Harold Oxley (John Hurt) was kidnapped by the Soviet’s while searching for a crystal skull, thus it’s off to Peru in search of answers.

In Peru, Indy and Mutt discover that Oxley found a crystal skull that would uncover the location of the lost city of Akator (aka El Dorado). The two recover the skull, but are soon kidnapped by Spalko’s soldiers. We soon find out that Mutt’s mother is none other than (wait for it)… Marian Ravenwood (Karen Allen from Raiders of the Lost Arc). The rest is standard Indy-fare: lots of information is revealed, lots of action ensues and the ending is a happy one.

But this outing is slightly different than the others in that the practical effects start to take a back seat to those created by a computer. This causes some discomfort to those who like the gritty realism mixed in with serial silliness that made Indiana Jones so popular in 1983. But maybe we should forgive the movie. It is Indiana Jones after all.

George Lucas, the idea man in the Indiana Jones machine, apparently pushed this movie to be shot in digital, but Spielberg stuck to his film stock. Could have fooled me. Crystal Skull has an eerie shine to it, a shine I’ve not felt since… the Star Wars prequels. Industrial Light & Magic has done quite a number on this film’s look, so much so that it never feels like an Indiana Jones picture. This is the film’s Achilles’ Heel, because it never gets as down and dirty as the previous installments. You don’t feel it at the start, but as time goes on it becomes increasingly prevalent.

Regardless, this is an Indiana Jones movie. If you are reading this review, there is probably no swaying you because your mind has already been made up. You’ve seen the trilogy 10,000 times, you know there is now a fourth, and you will probably go see it.

To that end, you will get your money’s worth. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull has some interesting moments, several remarkable action sequences, and the return of Dr. Henry Jones Jr. after nearly two decades. However, the alien plot line may put people off, and the look of the flick is just downright weird when put next to the previous films.

So there’s my first Spielberg film review. I’m over myself.

Running time: 124 minutes. Directed by Stephen Spielberg. Produced by Frank Marshall. Written by David Koepp. Story by George Lucas and Jeff Nathanson. Starring Harrison Ford, Shia LaBeouf, Cate Blanchett, Ray Winstone, Karen Allen, Igor Jijikine and John Hurt. A Paramount Pictures release.

Bill Milner and Will Poulter look intensely off screen in Son of Rambow.

by Gary Sundt

I am rarely shocked when I go to the movies. I watch the trailers, and can usually figure out what a film will be like. However, there are occasions in which a happy surprise occurs. Such is the case with Son of Rambow, the new film from writer/director Garth Jennings (The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy).

Now don’t get me wrong here. I didn’t expect Son of Rambow to be a bad movie. I simply expected it to be different. The movie studies the life of 11-year-old Will Proudfoot (Bill Milner), a boy with an active imagination that his family’s religion is intent on squelching. Will is not allowed to watch television or movies of any kind, and is accordingly sent out of his classroom from time to time while the teacher puts on a “shut these kids up” video.

On one such occasion, Will is sent out into the hallway and falls victim to a tennis ball-chucking by the school troublemaker, Lee Carter (Will Poulter). The kids are not quite best buddies right off the bat, but they do develop an odd friendship. It is during the bizarre beginnings of their time together that Will sees Lee’s bootlegged copy of First Blood. The sights and sounds of Rambo send Will’s imagination into overdrive, and the two kids embark on a mission to create their own “Rambow” film for a local student film contest.

The making of their movie is what the film is about, and their path to glory is riddled with obstacles from family and peers. Will’s mother (Jessica Stevenson) fears her son’s overactive imagination will put them on the outs with their religion. Will’s father died a few years ago, so Brother Joshua (Neil Dungeon) visits to A) make Will’s life a living hell, B) hook up with his mom or C) all of the above. Lee has his own struggles with his brother Lawrence (Ed Westwick), a guy who has little respect for his younger brother, which is in turn met with undying admiration.

The other problem comes from an exceedingly popular French exchange student named Didier (Jules Sitruk) and his posse of followers. Didier wants to be an actor too. He wants to be the Patrick Swayze to Will’s Sylvester Stallone. Lee says it’s going to ruin the movie. What follows is a corruption of the boy’s initial vision, accompanied by descent into the school’s counterculture, which is has more Pop Rocks and Cola than you can shake a stick at.

A lot seems to happen in the course of the boys’ film’s “principle photography,” but there are several quiet moments as well. The performances are outstanding, particularly those of the young leads (a risk all by itself), who are the absolute heart and soul of the picture. There is a great sequence of the boys declaring a blood brotherhood, which is handled as perfectly as such a scene could be. This type of moment is a rare occasion at the movies, and is even rarer to happen more than once. Son of Rambow has several of these moments, and writer/director Jennings should be proud of making such a risky film work so well.

There may be several things happening, but that is simply because Son of Rambow is about more than its plot. The movie is about kid’s growing up, and this may cause the movie to seem listless at times. The boys will complete their film, but this is no surprise. We can pretty much call everything before it happens, simply because we were once 11 ourselves. But none of that matters. Son of Rambow has a heart not even Rambo himself could rip out, and I think that’s saying something.

I believe Jennings has crafted a pretty special film here. The movie took me back to when I was a kid, and what crazy ideas my imagination could come up with. It wasn’t what I was expecting, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t wonderful. Time will tell, but Son of Rambow may end being one of my favorite movies of the year.

Running time: 96 minutes. Written and Directed by Garth Jennings. Produced by Nick Goldsmith. Starring Bill Milner, Will Poulter, Ed Westwick, Jessica Stevenson, Neil Dungeon and Jules Sitruk. A Paramount Vantage release.

Edmund, Peter, Caspian, Susan and Peter Dinklage stand ready for battle in The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian.

by Gary Sundt

I thought of The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe while watching its sequel, Prince Caspian. Besides the obvious reasons, I was reminded because of my opinion of the previous effort. I thought of how remarkably underwhelmed I was by the first film. These feelings, while slightly less severe, unfortunately held over to Prince Caspian.

Why is this the case, I wonder? It is not that I simply dislike these pictures. Both films are competently shot, acted and scored. The special effects may be a reason, particularly in the first film. But this aspect has been improved upon in Prince Caspian, so why the ill will on my part?

It isn’t the story. The story is fun in a little kid sort of way. Prince Caspian (Ben Barnes), a member of the bad guys, has been exiled from his throne via a nasty case of attempted assassination. He is running from his captors when he stumbles upon some Narnians, freaks out because he thought they were extinct and blows his mighty horn.

This horn blowing is what sucks our four heroes from the first film (Peter, Lucy, Edmund and Susan), a year older and about 1,000 Narnian years wiser, back to Narnia. They are happy to be home, but are distressed to discover that much time has passed since their last adventure, so everyone they love is dead and their empire has been overrun by the vicious bad guys (led by Sergio Castellitto) who hate Narnians. These kids may have done their fair share of killing and death dealing in their time, but they seem to get over this point rather quickly.

Anyway, the kids meet a dwarf named Trumpkin (Peter Dinklage)and go on a quest to save Narnia from the oppressive rulers. They have a run-in with Caspian, his mouse friend Reepicheep (Eddie Izzard) and the Narnians who have gathered by the prince’s side to conquer the bad guys. Peter and Caspian have tensions, bad decisions will be made by the leaders, Lucy insists that they need to wait for their lion buddy Aslan (Liam Neeson) to show up, and lots of battle scenes endure.

One thing that has been improved upon in this effort is the diminished influence of Christian rhetoric. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe was so full of this overtly obvious Bible speak that it was a little much for me to handle. Prince Caspian has improved on this. While we have our Judases and Doubting Thomi still running amok, director Andrew Adamson has nicely interspersed them instead of making them glaring. Aslan is, and always will be, Jesus, but he doesn’t show up until the ending. We thank him for that. Neeson is great and all, but it gives the kids and Caspian time to shine outside of the lion’s shadow.

But what of my problems with this entry? The score by Harry Gregson-Williams is a tad underwhelming for an epic of this potential magnitude. And while the special effects have improved, the scenery is still too bright most of the time. The grass is the greenest green, the sky the bluest blue, and the good guys are the goodest good guys. The violence level has gone up to “Code Implied Decapitation,” but this doesn’t mean much when the light-hearted color scheme is indicating the obvious outcome: good prevails, evil is punished and everyone will live $200 million dollar box office-ever after.

Both Narnian films have left me in the same rut. The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian, much like its predecessor, was good, but needed to be great. I shouldn’t be thinking about them here, but The Lord of the Rings trilogy are great films. It’s like watching The Last Starfighter when you could be watching The Empire Strikes Back. Bottom line: Go big or go home.

Running time: 144 minutes. Directed by Andrew Adamson. Produced by Andrew Adamson, Mark Johnson, Perry Moore and Philip Steur. Written by Andrew Adamson, Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely. Based on the novel by C.S. Lewis. Starring Ben Barnes, Georgie Henley, Skandar Keynes, William Moseley, Anna Popplewell, Sergio Castellitto, Peter Dinklage, Eddie Izzard and Liam Neeson. A Walt Disney Pictures release.

Seann William Scott and others stand around trying to figure what exactly is happening in Southland Tales

by Gary Sundt

Is writer/director Richard Kelly kidding? Is it a joke? Was he trying to kill the goodwill he generated when Donnie Darko was released in 2001? After watching Southland Tales, these are the questions I find myself asking.

And yes, before anyone asks, I was excited to see this film because I liked Donnie Darko. That movie’s logic is questionable, even after the director’s cut. However, I’ve made my own sense of the film that helps me to enjoy the multiple viewings I’ve had since high school.

Southland Tales, on the other hand, is a different beast all together. The movie’s logic is not questionable; it’s nonexistent.

So much is happening, it’s hard to figure out if a plot actually exists. The most plot-like substance in Southland Tales is a thing where Boxer Santaros (Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson) is a movie star who married Madaline Frost Santaros (Mandy Moore), the daughter of a senator, and has now been kidnapped by somebody named Deep Throat 2.

Boxer gets amnesia, hangs out with a stripper named Krysta Now (Sarah Michelle Gellar) and writes a screenplay that is unfolding before his eyes ad spells out how the world ends. Seann William Scott is hanging around as a cop and his twin, Justin Timberlake is a soldier who came home from Iraq and narrates, Christopher Lambert is driving an ice cream truck full of weapons and Kevin Smith (under pounds of make-up) shows up too.

What did these people say when they read the script? Is Kelly such a nice guy that they didn’t mind the nonsensical storytelling, or did they all just get payed a lot of money. Or maybe the script made sense, and after it was shot, lost all meaning. The conversations all sound as if people are feeding lines for the film’s advertisements. They never form a coherent discourse, let alone a cohesive narrative. The actors must have listened to what they were saying and objected. That’s what I keep telling myself, anyway.

And what of the crew? I’m sure Steven B. Poster, the director of photography, didn’t object because he gets to play and come up with lots of good looking shots. But what of everyone else? There were an awful lot of producers involved in this movie, and all of them must have been wondering what Kelly was doing here. The sound guy must have been listening to this dialog and cringing, not knowing what to make of the whole affair. And poor Sam Bauer, the film’s editor. He, more than anyone, must have bled out of his eyes while working on this film.

Regardless, nobody stopped Kelly from making Southland Tales, and so here it exists. It’s a mess. It’s a god awful mess. I’ve been searching online for explanations and defenses for this film, and not one of them hold any water. The most probable justification is the ending, which has lots of stuff backed by some nifty music, but doesn’t mean a damn thing.

To wrap this up, I’d like to sample a conversation I stumbled upon while scoring the Internet Movie Database boards in search of Southland Tales logic. Note that nothing is really explained, they just claim they get it…

“MaskedJedi: (Am I the only only one who like Southland Tales) Aside from my dad, one of my teachers, and one of my friends? We all saw it, loved it, and got it. Then I’m on the (IMDB) FAQ and Salon.com and apparently I’m not supposed to understand it, that you need a vast knowledge of all the in-jokes to even begin to comprehend it. Is there something wrong with me, is the rest of the world insane, have I just read too much Philip K. Dick or what?

gudoleboy2: Look at me…I’m so cool!…I understand the movie. I think I’m so cool for understanding this movie, that I had to start a thread saying how much I understood the movie and no one else did. I should belong to a exclusive club where only people who understand this movie can join and we would talk about how much better we are than people who don’t understand the movie. I’m so intelligent!….I understand the movie so much, that it didn’t even occur to me that I wasn’t suppose to understand this movie to begin with. I’m so cool!…I read Philip K. Dick!

thegreatmifune: LOL… That just made me laugh, because it’s so true.

hrkoyes: LOOOOOL ‘gudoleboy2′ that is the best adaptation of a comment ever! lol”

Does my quotation provide much insight into the subject matter of Southland Tales? Not really. But the film doesn’t do much either. Southland Tales is a bad movie. It’s just… bad.

Running time: 145 minutes. Directed by Richard Kelly. Produced by Bo Hyde, Sean McKittrick, Kendall Morgan and Matthew Rhodes. Written by Richard Kelly. Starring Dwayne Johnson, Mandy Moore, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Seann William Scott, Christopher Lambert and Kevin Smith. A Universal Pictures release.

Cars race really fast in Speed Racer.

by Gary Sundt

Before anything else is said, I’d like to note that Speed Racer is an interesting failure. I feel it could go hand in hand with Gus Van Sant’s Psycho, because film students should analyze disasters such as this. To my knowledge, the film marks the first American attempt to truly transfer the very animated “anime” style into a live action adventure. Larry and Andy Wachowski, the writer/directors of Speed Racer, sort of did this in making The Matrix trilogy, but not to this scale.

Speed Racer is a live action adaptation of the 1960s anime series of the same name. It’s title character, Speed (Emile Hirsch), is a kid who only knows how to do one thing: drive really fast. He was the original Ricky Bobby, hoping to change the world with a race car. And in the world of Speed Racer, that may be possible.

Speed’s older brother Rex was an incredible driver, and may or may not have been killed in a back alley racing tournament. As a result, our hero races in his brother’s old car, the Mach 5, which is maintained by his father, appropriately named “Pops” (John Goodman). Speed is a darn good driver, and loyal to the family business, run by Pops and his mother, “Mom” (Susan Sarandon). Also along for the ride is his sweetheart Trixie (Christina Ricci), his little brother Spritle (Paulie Litt) and his brother’s pet chimpanzee Chim Chim. I don’t really know the deal with the monkey, but those who watched the show will probably love it.

However, Speed’s perfect life is about to be shattered when he turns down an offer from Royalton (Roger Allam), the owner of the most powerful company in the racing circuit, Royalton Industries. Royalton informs Speed that all races are fixed, and that he won’t even finish a race if he turns down this deal. Speed turns down the offer, and now he must race to save himself, the family business, and the racing industry. Oh, and somewhere in there is a badass named Racer X (Matthew Fox) and a mechanic named Sparky (Kick Gurry).

So that’s the plot. And it may sound like a lot, but it doesn’t amount to very much. There is a large portion of the film devoted to the political and economic drives of the racing industry, and so I hoped it would amount to something. I’m not looking for Michael Clayton or anything, but I was expecting some kind of plot. The writing/directing siblings apparently do not agree. The characters and plot are pretty thin, so the action will need to make up for it.

The result, however, is a fast-moving toy commercial on crack dressed up as a movie. The Wachowski Brothers have used $100 million worth in CGI to design impossible shots (I imagine Fritz Lang would have killed for our current technologies when making Metropolis, a significantly better silent science fiction film). The consequential sights are dizzying, and not in the way we like it. If you have epilepsy, or are prone to seizures in any way, don’t see Speed Racer. It won’t simply trigger your condition. It’ll kill you. If you have epilepsy, Speed Racer will ****ing kill you.

Oh, and it’s colorful. You already know this. You saw the trailers and the posters and the toys. But maybe you don’t quite realize to what extent. This movie has so many bright colors I felt as if the Wachowski Brothers chewed up a bunch of Skittles, peeled open my eye lids, and bird-fed the rainbow to my retinas. Kids are going to fall in love with this kind of visual stimulation, unless they have that pesky undiagnosed epilepsy.

The Wachowski Brothers know how to make movies. They defined science fiction for the new millenium with their genre-shattering The Matrix. That film will be remembered in the same way the original Star Wars will be. But the Matrix sequels get caught up in rules that aren’t clearly defined, and the result is a mishmash of special effects and philosophy that doesn’t amount to a whole lot of sense unless you avidly blog about it at thematrix101.com

Speed Racer is the same as the the Matrix 2 and 3. It exists in a world that is great for the follows, but ill-defined for the non-believers. When I saw the film, there was a trio of fans in front of me who got a big hoot from the experience. They loved every minute, laughing at in-jokes that the rest of the audience just didn’t get. I imagine this is exactly what a Speed Racer movie should be: designed specifically for the true believers and 10-year-old boys.

So, as I said before, it’s an interesting failure. I would tell those not inducting into the Mach 5 fan club to steer clear, but I don’t really know if that’s the right recommendation. Maybe I’m just too American to appreciate it. Perhaps the color-scheme is simply not my bag. Or I could just not get the whole Speed Racer thing.

But I don’t think that’s it at all. The movie’s failure is more basic than that. Speed Racer doesn’t work primarily because the film, much like it’s title character, only knows how to do one thing: race cars really fast. At one point, Speed says, “It’s the only thing I know how to do and I gotta do something.” Unfortunately, that something will only be interesting to 10-year-olds and nerdy fanboys and girls.

Running time: 135 minutes. Directed by The Wachowski Brothers. Produced by Joel Silver, Grant Hill and the Wachowski Brothers. Written by The Wachowski Brothers. Starring Emile Hirsch, John Goodman, Christina Ricci, Susan Sarandon, Roger Allam, Matthew Fox, Paulie Litt and Kick Gurry. A Warner Bros. Pictures release.

Robert Downey Jr. holds up his hand in Iron Man.

by Gary Sundt

Tony Stark, aka Iron Man, has been a second tier hero for as long as I’ve been reading comics. He usually plays a large role in the major Marvel comics events, but he’s never quite gotten the love seen by Spider-Man, the X-Men, Hulk, etc. Perhaps Bruce Wayne cornered the market on billionaire industrialist/crime fighter. Regardless, Iron Man just hasn’t been given the spotlight.

That time is over, people. Robert Downey Jr. plays Stark, Jon Favreau directs, and everybody will jump for joy when they see Iron Man. This film works on its own, and general audiences will be thrilled. But underneath that hot-rod red exterior pumps the greatest nerdgasm this side of Star Wars.

The film opens with Tony drinking a scotch along side some U.S. soldiers on a military convoy in Afghanistan. Without warning, the group is laid siege by terrorists, and Stark is severely wounded and kidnapped. This is a guy who inherited Stark Enterprises (the family weapon-making business) and graduated from M.I.T. at 17, so he’s a kind of a big deal. The Big Bads, led by the ominous Raza (Faran Tahir), want him to design a missile, but our hero has other plans in mind. After designing a magnet to keep the shrapnel out of his heart, Tony builds a large metal suit and goes techno-hulk on the terrorists.

Consider this last paragraph. Stark has a magnet in his heart, suits of armor, hyper-intelligence, etc. This type of crazy technology and smarts runs amok in comic books. Those well-versed in comic lore call this “junk science,” meaning “no it isn’t real, but we’ve got enough pretend logic to make it work.” Iron Man runs on this same principle. Don’t think about the impossibilities and just go along for the ride.

Stark returns home with a mission: protect the people he’s put in harm’s way. As his job is to design weapons, a lot of people see a problem with this new philosophy. His buddy and military liason Jim Rhodes (Terrence Howard) doesn’t see this change benefiting the U.S. government (they needs new missiles after all). His ever-so-lovely assistant Pepper Potts (Gwyneth Paltrow) worries that the traumatizing experience has affected his mental and physical health. And most bewildered of all is his business partner, Obadiah Stane (Jeff Bridges), who started Stark Enterprises with Tony’s late father, watched it grow, and doesn’t want to see things changing anytime soon (Hint: he’s not a good guy).

This clash of personalities is what drives the rest of Iron Man. The movie goes through the standard origin story motions without skipping a beat. Tony gets his powers, perfects his powers, evil is punished, evil comes back, the girl is in danger and screams, yadda yadda yadda. However, Marvel has taken direct control of the manufacturing of these films, so there is a certain feeling that more is brewing under the surface. Specific people and organizations are introduced, poignant dialogue is placed, and only one of the major characters is explicitly killed off. The others will definitely be back for Iron Man 2.

Also consider the care that has been taken with Iron Man. More is definitely on the way, and director Favreau has crafted a perfect template for future stories. The writing is sharp and clever. The special effects ring true regardless of the reality that all this stuff is impossible. But the best work done here is by the actors, who are perfectly suited for their individual roles.

Stark is an alcoholic, womanizing, media-loving, weapons-designing genius who decides to use his smarts for the good of mankind. In reality, this guy could build the hydrogen car without breaking a sweat. But comic books have a different tale to tell, and its hard to make scientists sexy without giving them super powers. In the comics, Stark is a little bit of a tool. In the movie, Stark is still a little bit of a tool. But Downey Jr. — with a vibrant history of playboy activity himself — makes this guy likable and relatable. Believe it or not, we end up caring about this asshole.

The same goes for all the players involved in Iron Man. Howard’s Rhodes makes me look forward to his inevitable transformation into the War Machine, another second tier comics hero. Bridges may be forced to do super-villainy things, but he doesn’t stray towards the camp too much. His ability to play it straight is, to say the least, commendable. And the interplay between Downey Jr. and Paltrow is simply wonderful. This is Money Penny-James Bond stuff taken up to a whole new intensity, and one I look forward to watching evolve with the coming films.

And that Raza guy… we’ll just see what happens there (I think I know, but I don’t want to spoil it for those who don’t).

At the end of the day, however, all the commendations need to be thrown at Favreau, who has crafted a truly outstanding film. This is my favorite Marvel movie since Spider-Man 2, and it should be noted that Iron Man is off to a better start than that trilogy.

The Summer Movie Season is upon us; there is no doubt about that. 2008 has been mostly dreck until now, and so this film comes with a welcome breath of fresh air. Fortunately, Iron Man has given a phenomenal kick-off to what will hopefully be a phenomenal season at the cineplex.

NOTE: Stay after the credits. Important and nerdy things happen. It is very awesome.

Running time: 126 minutes. Directed by Jon Favreau. Produced by Avi Arad and Kevin Feige. Written by Mark Fergus, Hawk Ostby, Art Marcum and Matt Holloway . Based on the characters created by Stan Lee, Don Heck, Larry Lieber and Jack Kirby. Starring Robert Downey Jr, Jeff Bridges, Terrence Howard, Gwyneth Paltrow, and Fahar Tahir. A Marvel Studios release.

 by Gary Sundt

 As Printed in The Lumberjack on May 1, 2008

 “A man goes to the movies. The critic must be honest enough to admit that  he is that man.” — Robert Warshow, The Immediate Experience

 As a film critic, I watch a lot of movies. I have a collection of about 300  movie tickets since Spider-Man came out in 2001. That’s approximately  $2,550 spent for some 600 hours of movie watching in a theater. This  doesn’t take into account my weekly DVD rentals and purchases, repeat  viewings and reading on the subject of films. That’s a lot of time and  money to spend on movies.

 Know that most of the movies I watch are not especially good. Even less  common are they great. This is a column about those good or great films,  and the experience of watching them in the theater.

I am of the belief that movies are the greatest art form on the planet. Upon hearing this, many object. What about music? Photography? Writing? Performance Drama? Painting or sculpture? “How can one be better than the rest?” people ask.

My response to this is that movies, at any given moment, can incorporate one or all of these. Film is the best because it utilizes all the different types of art and evokes an emotion.

The movie theater, on the other hand, creates a very similar experience to the other art forms. Much like a rock concert or an art exhibit, people of all walks of life crowd into a specific space to view the latest work from their favorite actor, director or movie studio. Or maybe they don’t. Perhaps they don’t care what they’re watching, as long as it’s entertaining.

Regardless, the film begins. The lights go dim, and that’s when something amazing happens. This event cannot be mimicked at home by one’s self, or even with a group of friends. Movie houses packed with strangers are the sole provider of this experience.

In a comedy, we laugh. In horror, we scream. Drama pushes us to feel the plight of the characters, while science fiction will provide marvelous sights and ideas we couldn’t begin to fathom outside the Cineplex. Regardless of the genre, friends, family, enemies and strangers observe the same events, and similar feelings arise. Remember when Jurassic Park came out and everyone’s collective minds were blown by the power of visual effects? Yeah. It’s kinda like that.

The theater is full of many different people from all walks of life, watching the screen at varying levels of attention. And if a movie is made just right, this variable mishmash of photography, performance, music, writing, etc. will collectively evoke a similar emotion.

While this similar feeling arises, these emotions will be remarkably different. Perhaps we laugh, but everyone has a different reason for laughing. It isn’t because, as a friend of mine once said after 40-Year-Old Virgin, “It’s just funny.” Why is it funny? Every person will respond differently. That’s the magic of art.

So try to imagine this: people of every type, all in the same place, experiencing the same and entirely different emotions in a single moment. The stories on the screen are designed to do this, and will succeed if they are great. We moviegoers have the chance to travel to the theater and experience it.

Perhaps this is why we are irritated when some stupid person answers their phone, checks their voicemail, sends a text or talks loudly to their friends. We get mad because we have thrown down our hard earned dollars to experience these complex emotions. We’re entitled, dammit!

Notice that those guilty of such atrocities are often tweens and children. However, with our newfound knowledge of this intricate experience, we can somewhat understand why they tend to be so ignorant. Middle school kids and children often fail to understand mature emotion. We have every right to chastise, kick them out of our theater even. But at the same time, we, as well as them, should understand. They just aren’t there yet. They’ll get it someday.

Or perhaps they won’t. I see many different movies, some I want to see and many I don’t. I occasionally happen upon an adult guilty of the juvenile atrocities that drive loyal moviegoers up the wall.

I have, once or twice, done the equally obnoxious thing and approached these people after the show. One time a kid answered his cell phone in the climax (if you can call it that) of When a Stranger Calls. The whole movie had been pretty bad up to this point, and when something interesting was finally happening, a kid answers his phone. On a different occassion, a mother brought her 4- and 7-year-olds to The Devil’s Rejects, one of the most vicious and twisted film experiences I’ve ever had. Both occassions resulted in stict talking-to’s, simply because I was so outraged.

Their response (edited here) was simply that they didn’t care. As hard as this may be, I have to tell myself that some people just won’t ever get it. This may not stop me from yelling in their face, but it does stop me from attempting violent decapitation with my popcorn bag.

However, this ignorance represents another inherent beauty of films. Movies are made and priced for all walks of life. Unlike the latest concerts and plays, the price is fixed such that everyone has a right to experience these phenomenal emotions, even if they are too ignorant to properly understand. Perhaps it would be nice if those insufferable tweens would just throw their hormones a bone and start making out (at least they’d be quiet for once). Regardless, movies are for everyone, and that makes them special.

Film snobs will not agree. These are the guys that think everything after Citizen Kane is poppycock, and they would insist that most people don’t deserve the privilege of movies. Every art form has its snobs, and they all feel this way about their precious corner of the universe. I myself may border on film snobbery, but I maintain my humanity by insisting equal movie-watching rights. If you like Vantage Point or The Reaping, you have every right to watch it. If No Country for Old Men was a bit too complex for you, that’s cool too.

This moment of final judgment is where the movie ends. The lights come on, credits roll, and everyone piles out the theater. The experience of the movie theater is over, and we all walk out into our different worlds with our different opinions. Debates may rage, or a general consensus may be found. When I left Prom Night, a friend and I were stunned silent by how awful it was, while a stranger behind us said, “It was good but I was scared.” Once again, the beauty of art.

So this is my last movie column of the semester, and what have I said? Go to the movies, you crazy people. See that flick you’ve been waiting several months for, or go see something you’ve never heard of. The experience is yours and everyone else’s.

The lights dim. Showtime.

Note: If you are reading this, know that I plan to continue writing reviews over the summer months. The Lumberjack takes a break during the summer months, so I have to finish up the semester somehow. Look for updates over the summer, ya’ll.

Jason Segel and Jonah Hill stare at something off-camera in Forgetting Sarah Marshall

As Printed in The Lumberjack on April 24, 2008

by Gary Sundt

Writer/director/producer Judd Apatow knows talent when he sees it. Take Forgetting Sarah Marshall for example. The film’s writer and star Jason Segel worked with the producing powerhouse nearly a decade ago on the truly wonderful, if not short-lived, television series Freaks and Geeks. Seth Rogen was also on this show, and now he’s a name because of the Apatow-directed Knocked Up. Forgetting Sarah Marshall should give Segel the same kind of buzz, if nothing else because he appears fully nude in the film.

By nude, I don’t just mean because we see his penis; we see it multiple times in two respective scenes, in fact. Segel’s performance is an emotionally naked one in which the actor is forced to be completely real and, at the same time, utterly hilarious.

The film follows Peter Bretter (Segel), a composer who dreams of a “Dracula rock opera with puppets,” as he deals with the shattering of his five and a half year relationship with TV superstar Sarah Marshall (Kristen Bell). Now that his relationship is over, everything in Peter’s life, from his job to his cereal container, reminds him of lost love.

After a slew of random hookups (one of which is the Period Blood Girl from Superbad) and other self-destructive behaviors, Peter’s stepbrother Brian (Bill Hader) recommends that he take a vacation. So it’s off to Hawaii with our heartbroken hero. It just so happens he is staying at the same resort occupied by Sarah and her new beau, a hyper-sexualized rock star named Aldous Snow (Russell Brand). Rachel, the hotel clerk (Mila Kunis) takes pity on Peter’s situation, and it is soon apparent that sparks are a-flyin’ between them.

But Peter seems to ignore these promising emotions in favor of his continuing post-break-up torture. Throughout the film, the poor schmuck unpacks his story to a crop of Apatow regulars, including Hader, Paul Rudd as the baked surfing instructor Kunu, and Jonah Hill as a waiter with a hardcore man-crush on Aldous. Some new people have been brought into the fold as well, my favorite being Jack McBrayer as a Christian newlywed who is having some trouble getting his bride to feel the “touch of God.”

All these guys end up saying the same thing: move on, crybaby. And Peter will move on. He has to move on because the laws of romantic comedy insist upon it. Many romcoms rely on formula to get there, but Forgetting Sarah Marshall breathes fresh air into the genre by providing an unexpected twist in its third act.

However, while approaching this inevitable conclusion, Forgetting Sarah Marshall starts to drag. The film lasts nearly two hours, and it’s hard to say what causes it to feel longer than that. It’s not that we are bored per se, but we do wonder when the final moment is going to come.

The movie is directed by Nicholas Stoller, but the showcase talent here is definitely writer/actor Segel. I hope his career launches from this picture. And I know Apatow will keep doing great things, so I’ll just cool my heels until his next producing effort, David Gordon Green’s Pineapple Express, hits theaters this August.

Note: While watching the film, I noticed a shot in which the boom mic fell into frame. Contrary to popular belief, this is not usually the fault of the filmmakers, but rather the projectionist showing the film in the wrong aspect ratio. Also, the theater’s sound quality was off balance. This caused the dialogue and the music to be disproportionate at times.

The Onion reports that the extremely popular Iron Man trailer will be made into a feature-length film. This news has been met with skepticism by fans of the Marvel movie trailer, but the filmmakers have promised to stay true to what made the trailer so great. Watch below for more details.

Iron Man hits theaters May 2, 2008

Michael Stahl-David and Odette Yustman look at a video camera in Cloverfield

by Gary Sundt

As Printed in The Lumberjack on January 24, 2008

“Good luck in Japan, Rob… OH MY GOD! WHAT WAS THAT!? RUN! RUN! RUN! RUN! OH MY GOD!”

This is essentially the script for Cloverfield, the new film from director Matt Reeves, and the brainchild of Lost creator and mega-producer J.J. Abrams. It features a vicious monster rampaging throughout New York City as seen through the home video camera of a small pack of survivors.

Now, as a film critic, I can safely say I’ve seen New York get blowed up. I’ve seen it get blowed up real good. Whether via alien space ships, population explosion, disease, ghosts, terrorists, tidal waves, asteroids, riots, King Kong, Godzilla or global warming, Hollywood never ceases to invent new ways of destroying the Big Apple. When it comes to Cloverfield, the decision was not to destroy New York with the standard visual flare. Rather, the powers-that-be have chosen to assault the audience with a shaky camera (or “Queasy-Cam,” as the technique has been dubbed) the likes of which have not been seen since The Blair Witch Project.

Now don’t take this as a bad thing. The film manages to be a pretty terrifying flick, mostly thanks to the affects of Queasy-Cam. Sure, the main characters are a group of 20-something cardboard cutouts, but that’s okay. They are our eyes of this catastrophe, and we thank them for their sacrifice. Unless you have vertigo or epilepsy, you’ll probably have a great time.

Cloverfield begins innocently enough with a farewell surprise party for Rob (Michael Stahl-David), who is about to leave the city for a vice president job in Japan. At the party, Hud (T.J. Miller) is given the responsibility of taping all the farewells and so longs. Among those saying good luck is Rob’s brother Jason (Mike Vogel), Jason’s fiancé Lily (Jessica Lucas), and Marlena (Lizzy Caplan), a girl whom Hud is smitten with. Then comes the arrival of Rob’s best friend Beth (Odette Yustman), and there appears to be some major drama a’brewin’. However, all that is put aside when an earthquake hits the building and a news report informs the partygoers that something wicked this way comes.

The destruction and mayhem is first seen from a distance, but quickly comes Statue-of-Liberty’s-head first into the lives of our innocent 20-somethings. Smoke billows and shoots toward our cameraman. Explosions rock the immediate area. Then we see a glimpse of the latest creation to lay siege to Manhattan Island.

The monster, it should be noted, is an impressive one. Even when seen outright, the beast is both a terrifying and awe-inspiring creation. Moreover, this behemoth is traveling with a personal army of what Google has informed me is giant “parasitic lice,” which have a predilection toward eating those who survive the chaos caused by their former host. Cloverfield supports the theory that the people of New York City can survive anything… almost. Our mindless 20-somethings run from the monster and his lice, and then go back into the city to save Beth from one high-rise building that is leaning against another.

There is a moment in which Rob tells the audience, “If you found this, if you’re watching this then you probably know more about it than I do.” Fortunately I didn’t. Those who followed the viral campaign all the way until 1-18-08 (the film’s 9/11-erific original title) probably know a heck of a lot more than both of us. However, I prefer it this way. Going in, all I really knew was what the trailer had made very clear: that “it’s alive!” and “it’s huge!” I had a lot more fun because of my ignorance.

After the screening, though, Cloverfield raised some questions. How does the camera battery last for 12 hours? Where Hud finds the wherewithal to keep the camera in hand is beyond me, but I excuse this in the presumption that it is required to tell the story. But how does this camera survive at the film’s ending? What was that thing that fell into the East River just before the… never mind. If you have an answer to any of these, write a letter to the editor.

Note: in the trailers before Cloverfield, there was a trailer for 10,000 B.C., the new film from director Roland Emmerich. Emmerich has made a career out of coming up with clever ways to destroy New York City (Independence Day, 1998’s Godzilla, The Day After Tomorrow) and unless his latest picture is stupider than I already anticipate, he will not have the opportunity this time around. Thus, it was only appropriate to find his trailer at the head of this film.

Running time: 84 minutes. Directed by Matt Reeves. Produced by J.J. Abrams and Bryan Burk. Written by Drew Goddard. Starring Michael Stahl-David, T.J. Miller, Mike Vogel, Jessica Lucas, Lizzy Caplan and Odette Yustman. A Paramount Pictures release.

Trevor Morgan and and Armin Mueller-Stahl look at a painting in George Gallo’s Local Color

by Gary Sundt

As Printed in The Lumberjack on April 17, 2008

The last time writer/director George Gallo was in Flagstaff, he was at a bar.

It was during the filming of his 1988 script, Midnight Run. He recalled, “I was with one of the actors, John Ashton. We were getting all tanked up in a bar right across the street from the train station. I was catching an overnight train home to L.A. I didn’t want to fly home, and I figured I’d just get drunk and get on the train and get a sleeping compartment and go to sleep. I remember liking Flag quite a bit.”

Gallo will be returning to Flagstaff via his latest film, titled Local Color. Opening Friday, April 25, the film recounts the director’s own experiences as an 18-year-old aspiring painter who finds guidance and wisdom from an aging artist the summer after his high school graduation. In an effort to pay tribute to those who have inspired him, Gallo (who wrote the story for Bad Boys and the script for The Whole Ten Yards) has written and directed a film addressing the topic of art and expression.

“The film is based very much on what happened to me personally when I was 18 years old,” Gallo said. “I graduated high school in 1974 and wanted to continue my art training. At that time, there really wasn’t much in terms of practical, grounded training in the world of representational art. It was all abstraction, and I was more of [a] traditionalist. There was really no place to study.

“So I ended up studying with a brilliant Russian impressionist. I became his student, his apprentice, and he was the master, obviously. But he had become an old drunk by the time I met him, and his better days were behind him. He didn’t like what the world had become, didn’t like what the world of art had become and had decided, in a kind of conscious effort, to drink himself to death.

“But I came along full of youthful exuberance, and saw the true genius in the work that he had done, and wanted him to teach me. His whole thing was basically ‘f-ck you, get out of here, leave me alone, let me die.’ And the movie is pretty much about the kid trying to get the old man to believe in life again, and so then he can pass the baton on to the kid.”

Local Color also explores the filmmaker’s then-taxing relationship with his father, George Gallo, Sr. Gallo refers to his father as a working-class guy who couldn’t imagine his son making a living in the arts.

“He was of a different generation,” Gallo said. “The idea of making a living at painting or writing stories didn’t sit very well with him. He always understood ditch digging or being a cop or getting a city job. That was his reality.

“I wanted to be an artist and he just didn’t get it. It led to a great deal of arguments and fighting in our house, which I think is pretty clear in the movie. Here he had this kid with his head in the clouds, a really artistic kid. And he’d look at me and he’d be like ‘where the f-ck did you come from?’

“So that was my reality that I grew up in. I was quite headstrong, and obviously I succeeded ultimately. Was he proud of me in the end? Yes. He’s a very proud father. He just didn’t think I could pull all this sh-t off. And when I look at my life, I can’t believe I pulled a lot of it off.”

Gallo was no older than most students at NAU when he sold his first screenplay. He recalled, “I started studying a