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Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2014)

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Long ago, in the closing decades of the 20th century, there was a children’s cartoon, based on a comic book, called “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,” in which a quartet of grotesque reptilian vigilantes lived in a sewer and fought criminals under the direction of a wise rat. There were a few live-action movies based on these characters, all of them (the movies) rancid.

Then, many years later, the people who were children back then had grown up to be in charge of making movies now, and they said, “We should make a new ‘Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.'” And everyone who belonged to their generation said “Yes!” while everyone who was 10 years older or 10 years younger said “Ugh.”

The ughs have it. The new “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” is faithful to its predecessors in that it is loud, dumb, and aimed at 11-year-olds (and not the smart ones, either). Directed by Jonathan Liebesman (“Battle: Los Angeles,” “Wrath of the Titans”) with one or two bursts of energetic fun, this soulless franchise reboot stars game-but-inept Megan Fox as April O’Neil, the New York City TV reporter who becomes the Turtles’ confidante when they start enigmatically thwarting crime, Batman-style, in the dead of night. Her horny, befuddled colleague, Vernon, is played by Will Arnett, who seems like he’s making fun of the material rather than performing it (and who seems creepy hitting on Megan Fox).

The Turtles themselves are basically interchangeable. One of them wears glasses and is presumably the nerd, and one of them has Johnny Knoxville’s voice, but you could assign most of their dialogue to any of them at random without changing anything. They’re all super-stoked teenage dudes who are always glib yet never funny, more like braying donkeys than turtles.

It’s one of those movies where everything in the plot is connected unnecessarily. The Turtles were mutated in a lab by a scientist, who turns out to be April O’Neil’s dead father, who worked with the guy who’s now the villain, and so forth. The villain is played by William Fichtner (that’s how you know he’s the villain), who’s often the most entertaining part of a bad movie but is disappointingly tame here. He needs the Turtles’ blood to make a drug that figures into his cockamamie scheme to get richer by poisoning the city or something. There’s also a villain called Shredder who is a samurai in a robot costume.

Product placement includes Skype, Pizza Hut, and Victoria’s Secret, I kid you not. And Whoopi Goldberg shows up for like two seconds as April’s boss, leaving the distinct impression that other scenes were cut.

For a movie about wise-cracking humanoid turtles, this one sure takes itself seriously. It gets bogged down in the mechanics of its simple-minded plot, at the expense of things like characterization and wit. We also spend far more time with April than we need to; for a while, the title characters feel like supporting roles. You wouldn’t think a lack of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles would be a problem in a movie called “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,” but there you go. On the other hand, when they are on the screen they’re obnoxious, so maybe it’s for the best. One of them, or possibly all four of them, has a crush on April, and says upon meeting her, “She’s so hot I can feel my shell tightening.” So now you can think about sexually aroused turtles (YOU’RE WELCOME).

Into the Storm

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“Into the Storm” is the story of various idiots who team up to observe closely/flee in terror from a massive series of tornadoes in Oklahoma and environs. A few of the idiots are professional storm chasers, played by the likes of Matt Walsh (“Veep”), Sarah Wayne Callies (“The Walking Dead”), and Jeremy Sumpter (“Friday Night Lights”). A few more idiots come from a town in the storms’ path, where the high school graduation ceremony is going ahead as scheduled. These include a lovestruck junior named Donnie (Max Deacon), his brother Trey (Nathan Kress), and their father (Richard Armitage), who for maximum convenience is also the vice principal. Finally, there are two idiot hillbillies named Donk and Reevis (Kyle Davis, Jon Reep) who hope to get YouTube famous by following nadoes in their truck (labeled “TWISTA HUNTERZ”) and filming themselves doing dangerous things with them. It’s PG-13, so don’t expect to see as many deaths of irritating characters as you’d like to.

John Swetnam’s witless screenplay gives the bland place-holder characters nothing to do except run, argue, shout “Are you seeing this?,” and make declarations like: “I’ve studied storms my whole life. This is the biggest one that’s ever been!” For no good reason, the entire thing is “found footage” (ugh), presented as if filmed by the characters themselves. (Makes sense for the storm chasers, professional and amateur, to be filming. As for the high schoolers … well, they’re working on a time capsule project, you see.) The numerous shots that clearly came from unaccounted-for cameras, the movie is hoping we do not notice.

Ah, but then there are the nado scenes. (I’m trying to make that catch on as slang for tornado. Help me out here.) To some extent, these are what we came for anyway, having accepted long ago that most movies of this sort don’t deliver anything else. The sequences of destruction and mayhem are duly awe-inspiring, not to mention convincingly created. They’re satisfying; you’ll wish there were more of them. I note that the director, Steven Quale, has made one other feature, “Final Destination 5,” which followed the same pattern of being a lot of fun during the action scenes, almost useless the rest of the time. Whether the weather scenes in “Into the Storm” are enough to justify its existence is up to you, but my answer is no.

Movie B.S. with Bayer and Snider #221: ‘Guardians of the Galaxy,’ ‘Get on Up’

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[Also on Movie B.S. this week, a round of Jeff & Eric’s Excellent Adventure, involving time travel.]

Episode 221: ‘Guardians of the Galaxy,’ ‘Get on Up,’ Jeff & Eric’s Excellent Adventure

0:00-6:10 – Introduction, the weather, trivia night at Portland’s Hollywood Theatre
6:10-23:30 – “Guardians of the Galaxy” review
23:30-29:25 – “Get on Up” review (Bayer only)
29:25-38:05 – QOTW (outside-the-box superhero actors)
38:05-40:00 – Box Office Challenge update (Bayer is losing a lot)
40:00-52:25 – Jeff & Eric’s Excellent Adventure: Aug. 2, 1991
52:25-55:20 – Summary, goodbye, etc.

QOTW: If you could preserve one movie (or movie series) from ever being remade, rebooted, or otherwise tampered with, which would it be, and why?

Download audio / Listen at MovieBS.com / Listen at iTunes

 

Calvary

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Let us stipulate that the wide-faced, twinkly-eyed Irish actor Brendan Gleeson is an under-appreciated thespian who improves every movie he appears in, whether you know his name or not. (Fine, he played Mad-Eye Moody in the Harry Potters.) It is no small thing, then, to say that his compassionate and multi-faceted performance in the gut-punching “Calvary” is particularly good, even for him. Onscreen almost every minute of the film, he bears its weight as skillfully as his character, an Irish village priest, carries the troubles of his parishioners.

The title refers to the hill where Jesus was crucified, and the film begins with St. Augustine’s couplet about the men crucified next to him: “Do not despair; one of the thieves was saved. Do not presume; one of the thieves was damned.” Gleeson’s priest, Father James, maintains this meek, practical attitude as he tends to the needs of his flock. He encourages the weak, admonishes the prideful, absolves the repentant, and does his best not cast judgment beyond the requirements of his job. “I think there’s too much talk about sins, to be honest,” he says. “Not enough about virtues.”

Father James’ steadiness is tested in the very first scene. A man enters the confessional, tells of having been repeatedly raped by a priest when he was a boy, and concludes with the declaration that since the offender is long dead, he will kill Father James in his place, one week from now. (The ticking clock is a far-fetched gimmick, but hey, just go with it.) McDonagh shoots this scene in a single take, the camera focused on Gleeson (we never see the confessor), capturing his wide range of emotions: grief for the man’s suffering, anger at the monstrous priest who abused him, disappointment in his beloved Catholic Church for letting this become an epidemic. This scene alone could serve as Gleeson’s audition reel.

The priest knows who threatened him — it’s a small town; he knows everyone — but he doesn’t want to turn him in, his sympathy for the man outweighing any concern he may have for his own safety. Instead, he goes through the week performing his usual labors, which McDonagh portrays with wicked dark humor. Town vixen Veronica (Orla O’Rourke) has a black eye that she got from either her husband, Jack (Chris O’Dowd), or her African lover, Simon (Isaach de Bankolé). Rich jerk Michael Fitzgerald (Dylan Moran) wants to donate money to the church as a means of soothing his conscience. Gerald Ryan (M. Emmet Walsh), an elderly novelist, asks Father James to get him a gun so he can end his waning life on his own terms. James’ daughter, Fiona (Kelly Reilly) — he was married before he joined the priesthood — comes to visit after a botched suicide attempt.

So, yeah, lots of laughs here. No, really, there are! “Calvary” is less overtly funny than writer-director John Michael McDonagh’s first film, “The Guard” (which also starred Gleeson), but he continues to show an interest in the uncomfortable line between comedy and tragedy. A natural-born wordsmith with the heart of a playwright, McDonagh produces dialogue that’s more than just functional, it’s literary, as when Father James refers to a wine-stealing altar boy’s “Machiavellian chicanery.” The film has much more talking than acting, so McDonagh is wise to give it all the zest he can muster.

In addition to that line between comedy and tragedy, McDonagh explores the ones between life and death and between guilt and absolution. Father James is surrounded by reminders of imminent death: his aging pet dog, the old novelist, his depressed daughter, not to mention his own possible demise. He ponders the concept at the heart of Christianity, the idea that one person can be forgiven through another’s sacrifice. His problem is that there are too many people in his care who need his goodness.

But McDonagh, for all his agility as a writer, stumbles in fleshing out the story. There are inexplicably odd and unneeded characters, such as the male prostitute (Owen Sharpe) who talks like an old-timey Bronx gangster, and subplots that are introduced only so they can serve as red herrings to distract from the main issues. These diversions, while colorful, dilute the power of McDonagh’s central themes. Still, regardless of how the mysteries are solved, it’s edifying to spend time with the imperfect but devoted priest who wants nothing more than to heal people’s wounds.

Guardians of the Galaxy

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If it weren’t for the Marvel label and some minor characters teased in previous films, you’d never know “Guardians of the Galaxy” had anything to do with any superheroes. This is a sci-fi comedy about a group of space rogues of assorted alien races, more “Galaxy Quest” than “The Avengers.” (That’s not a criticism, merely an observation.)

Directed with off-kilter mad energy by James Gunn (“Slither,” “Super”), it’s a lightweight and very funny adventure about an Earth-born space scavenger named Peter Quill (Chris Pratt) who teams up with some fellow outlaws: sexy green-skinned assassin Gamora (Zoe Saldana), avenging hulk Drax (Dave Bautista), bounty hunter Rocket (voice of Bradley Cooper) — who’s a rude, genetically engineered raccoon — and Groot (voice of Vin Diesel), a sentient tree who’s only capable of saying “I am Groot.” Their common goal is to prevent a powerful artifact from falling into the hands of Ronan (Lee Pace), a space terrorist who would use it to destroy the galaxy, as one does.

So yes, despite the outer space setting and the lack of super-powered crusaders in tights, “Guardians of the Galaxy” does resemble the other Marvel films in terms of plot. There’s always an orb or a cube or a disk or a sword or whatever, and some gravel-voiced villains intoning fiercely about what they’ll do when they get it, and an epic-scale battle that levels a city’s skyline. (Leave it to Marvel to make a film that’s not even set on Earth yet still manages to include urban destruction.)

It’s the film’s tone that’s refreshingly different, much more focused on laughs than any previous Marvel entry and possessed of a mischievous attitude. The screenplay (written by Gunn and Nicole Perlman) gives our quintet of rough-around-the-edges heroes many opportunities for tart-tongued interaction and bickering, eventually leading to working together, sharing the burden, being a team, and so forth. The structure is familiar, but the dialogue is robust and snappy. Chris Pratt, blending his goofy guy mojo from “Parks & Recreation” with a scoundrel’s derring-do (Peter Quill is like a sweeter Han Solo), makes a strong case for himself as an action star. He’s well-matched by Saldana, Bautista (a pro wrestler with surprisingly good comic delivery), and the deliriously odd pairing of the tree and the raccoon, both of them scene-stealers.

Of course, the trade-off for being funny all the time, at least in this case, is that the stakes don’t feel very high. It’s hard to square the insouciance on display here with the gravity found in the other superhero stories, where even wise-crackers like Tony Stark get serious when all of humanity is threatened. Lee Pace’s un-campy performance as Ronan is intense and committed, but if Quill and the gang don’t take him seriously as a legitimate menace, why should we? Yes, my complaint (if it is a complaint) is that maybe “Guardians of the Galaxy” is too frivolous, too cavalier, too much fun to have any heft to it. You should probably ignore me.

Garrens Comedy Troupe reunion video!

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Remember the Garrens Comedy Troupe? Remember when we did a 20th anniversary show? Remember when we released the video of that show?

No you don’t because we didn’t UNTIL NOW! Now there is video! You can buy it for $10 and watch it forever!

It was a really fun show, and the video (shot with multiple cameras, high-def, good sound) captures it. We did a bunch of classic sketches and songs with as many of the original cast members as we could dig up from various prisons and homeless shelters.

Here are a few clips:

 

 

Get the digital download here, via Gumroad. We’re also selling digital versions of our old CDs, “The Garrens Comedy Troupe Live!” and “Songs of Love and BYU,” which people occasionally ask about.

Movie B.S. with Bayer and Snider #220: ‘Hercules,’ ‘Lucy,’ ‘Boyhood,’ and more

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[Also reviews of “And So It Goes,” “They Came Together,” and “A Most Wanted Man.” It’s a busy week at Movie B.S.!]

Episode 220: ‘Hercules,’ ‘Lucy,’ ‘And So It Goes,’ ‘They Came Together,’ ‘Boyhood,’ ‘A Most Wanted Man’

0:00-5:15 – Introduction, Mom’s peanut butter balls, Jeff’s beer (he goes on for some time)
5:15-15:00 – “Hercules” review
15:00-23:30 – “Lucy” review
23:30-26:45 – More examples of the MPAA rating system being screwed up. Oh, and there are too many trailers
26:45-35:45 – “And So It Goes” review
35:45-42:20 – “They Came Together” review (B.S.-approved)
42:20-49:25 – “Boyhood” review (B.S.-approved)
49:25-51:55 – “A Most Wanted Man” review
51:55-1:00:10 – QOTW (old wives’ tales as movies)
1:00:10-1:02:35 – Closing remarks and summary

QOTW: In the spirit of Chris Pratt in “Guardians of the Galaxy,” who else would be a good unexpected choice to play a superhero (and which superhero)?

Download audio / Listen at MovieBS.com / Listen at iTunes

Lucy

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The familiar adage about how humans only use 10 percent of their brains is an old wives’ tale (old scientists’ tale?), but that doesn’t mean it can’t be the basis for a good story. I mean, it’s not true that getting bitten by a radioactive spider gives you the powers of a spider, either, but you go with it. So what sorts of things could we do if we unlocked 100 percent of our mental potential? The possibilities are staggering!

Except in “Lucy,” that is, where the possibilities are disappointing. This weightless hunk of Euro-tech-cheese from loopy French writer-director Luc Besson (“The Fifth Element”) asks what we might be capable of if we used all of our brains, then gives this answer: “Anything! Whether it makes sense or not! As long as it fits the needs of the scene! We’re just makin’ it up as we go.”

I’ll say this for Besson, when he makes nonsense, at least it’s streamlined, fast-paced nonsense. The 90-minute “Lucy” begins with the title character — an American woman (played by Scarlett Johansson) living in Taiwan for unnamed reasons — being roped into some kind of shady deal by a sketchy guy she knows, Richard (Pilou Asbaek), a deal that involves being handcuffed to a briefcase (never a good sign).

Before you know it, a ruthless gangster named Mr. Jang (Choi Min-sik) has her and a few other poor saps smuggling an exotic new drug out of the country. But Lucy inadvertently ingests some of it, and you know what that means: now she has the powers of a spider.

No, actually, now the other 90 percent of her brain is starting to wake up, this being the desired effect of the drug. Like many of us when we are first awakened, Lucy’s brain is cranky and focused on revenge.

Meanwhile, in France, Prof. Morgan Freeman is lecturing a college class about brains, and how great brains are, and hoo boy, what if we could unlock that other 90 percent, am I right? He helpfully tells us what would happen at, say, 20 percent, and then Lucy (who might as well be in a different movie at this point) manifests those skills. Lest we misunderstand what’s happening, “20%” appears on the screen in giant characters.

Besson indulges in lots of hand-holding like that. Early scenes are intercut with snippets of stock footage that serve as metaphors: a cheetah circling a gazelle as Mr. Jang’s goons approach Lucy, for example. There are also moments when Morgan Freeman, ever the narrator, describes what’s happening for people who are standing there with him and can see it as well as he can.

Johansson is well-cast as a sexy, smart, butt-kicking femme fatale, and to wallow in goofy sci-fi malarkey is certainly not without its pleasures. This one would have been considerably less goofy, though, if Besson had taken the concept of expanding one’s brain power to logical conclusions rather than illogical ones.

Thanks to the drug, Lucy can speed-read, retain information, and remember minute details of everything that has ever happened to her. That makes sense; it’s tapping into mental agility she already had. But then she develops psychic powers, able to call a person on the phone and, just by speaking to him, see the contents of the room he’s in, or to know a person’s thoughts just by touching him or her. She also has telekinesis; she can make an invisible forcefield in the air; she can control electronic equipment; she can reshape her body; I think maybe she can even travel through time?

(She can’t fly or teleport, though. Don’t be ridiculous.)

What’s the connection between increased brain activity and superpowers? Beats me. I’m happy to accept the rules of your sci-fi world, but you do have to tell me what those rules are. Give us a few lines explaining, even improbably, how unfettered access to our brains would mean the ability to see a red pen on a man’s desk thousands of miles away. What hurts “Lucy” is the Superman conundrum: she’s all-powerful, and you can’t kill her. Besson had a good premise, but then he only used … well, he used more than 10 percent of it. Let’s be fair. Fifty or sixty percent.

And So It Goes

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A while back, after years of directing good movies in a variety of genres, Rob Reiner decided to focus on tepid, forgettable, upscale comedies aimed at the least discerning, most easily entertained demographic in America: middle-aged white people. So instead of “The Princess Bride,” “A Few Good Men,” and “When Harry Met Sally…,” the once and future Meathead has been shoveling out tripe like “The Bucket List,” “Rumor Has It…,” “Alex & Emma,” and now the latest, “And So It Goes,” a movie so lazy it couldn’t even be bothered to come up with a real title.

Then again, what COULD you call it? What would be an apt title for a bland, meaningless movie in which nothing happens? “And So It Goes” might be as descriptive as it gets here.

Written by Mark Andrus (“Georgia Rule,” “Life As a House”), this leaden chunk of cinematic indifference stars Michael Douglas as Oren Little, a cranky Connecticut realtor who’s a jerk to his neighbors and casually racist toward his clients. (He assumes a Latino couple couldn’t possibly afford the mansion he’s selling; when a black family comes to look at the place, he tells them a black celebrity is the seller.) Oren’s wife died a few years back, taking with her the remnants of humanity that Oren allegedly still possessed.

Ah, but he’s the lovable type of misanthrope. And what makes him lovable? I dunno. Nothing I can see. But the movie clearly expects us to like him. Maybe because he’s the main character? Is that a good enough reason?

Anyway, Oren owns a little four-plex of bungalows and lives in one of the units himself to make it more convenient to antagonize his tenants. One of them is Leah (Diane Keaton), a quirky widow who sings jazz standards at a local restaurant while dressed in a Diane Keaton costume. When Oren learns that his heroin-addicted son is going to prison, he also learns that this son has a 10-year-old daughter, Sarah (Sterling Jerins), who will have to live with Grandpa Oren while Daddy’s in the joint. Oren has no interest in the arrangement, of course, but Leah picks up the slack and becomes Sarah’s surrogate nana while gradually softening Oren’s calcified heart.

Wait, you say. Is this just another treacly semi-comedy where a grouchy person’s life is changed by having to take care of a child or animal? It is, yes. But it wants to be more than that, despite having nothing else to offer, so it keeps wandering off in other directions. We spend many long minutes watching Oren and Leah alternate between arguing and cozying up to each other. Oren has existential angst about wanting to leave Connecticut and move to Vermont. (Such relatable, life-changing problems!) There’s even a sequence where Oren and Leah’s pregnant neighbor goes into labor and Oren must deliver the baby himself. Yes, really. Can anyone involved with the film have imagined that such a scene would be clever, original, entertaining, or interesting? You know we’ve seen movies before, right?

Though it remains comfortably PG-13, the film is peppered with random crassness like a pooping dog, an old lady who says “Blow me,” and a young boy who exposes himself to a neighbor while changing clothes (prompting way too much conversation about the kid’s willy). That mentality is typical of these movies: nothing too raunchy, just naughty enough to elicit titters from the 50-year-old women in the audience so they’ll feel like they’re watching something edgy. When it comes to actual humor, the best Andrus can come up with is Diane Keaton telling an amorous Oren, “I had a dog once that wouldn’t leave my couch alone. It was more romantic than this.” So that’s what you’re in for. A lot of that.

Magic in the Moonlight

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Maybe the reason Woody Allen is so fond of the 1920s and ’30s is that in those days, nobody batted an eye when, say, a 53-year-old man like Colin Firth had a relationship with a 25-year-old woman like Emma Stone. Not so anymore! Nowadays, if a man is 28 years older than his love interest, people wonder about ulterior motives or undue influence. Some people might even find it a little creepy, actually, especially in a Woody Allen movie.

But if Allen has proven anything over the course of his legendary career, it’s that he doesn’t care what anyone thinks. For better or worse — and it’s very often for better — he makes exactly the films he wants to make, idiosyncrasies and all. His latest, “Magic in the Moonlight,” is an airy confection, an almost Oscar Wilde-ian sort of romantic comedy set among the upper classes on the French Riviera in 1928. Haphazardly written, the frivolous film doesn’t make satisfactory use of its excellent stars, and you’ll forget the whole thing the minute it’s over. But those aren’t necessarily reasons not to see it.

Colin Firth is Allen’s surrogate this time. He plays Stanley, a successful English stage magician who’s known for his haughty perfectionism and his ruthless knack for debunking fraudulent spiritualists. It is for the latter skill that he’s summoned by his friend, fellow magician Howard (Simon McBurney), to the south of France to meet Sophie Baker (Emma Stone), an American woman who claims to have legitimate psychic powers.

Managed by her faithful mother (Marcia Gay Harden), Sophia has toured the world beguiling suckers with supposed communications with their deceased loved ones. She has lately captured the attention of Howard’s friend Grace (Jacki Weaver), a gullible widow who misses her husband, and of Grace’s son Brice (Hamish Linklater), who’s smitten with Sophia and woos her with ukulele serenades. Stanley arrives all set to find the hidden strings (literal or figurative) in Sophia’s seances, only to discover that he … he kind of believes her.

Stanley’s sudden conversion from dyed-in-the-wool skeptic to true believer is preposterously abrupt and underwritten — but it also leads us to the part of the movie that is the most fun. Once an imperious stiff, Stanley is now lighthearted, his new belief in the reality of magic having “opened (his) eyes to the joy of living.” He puts his professional reputation on the line by publicly endorsing Sophia as the real deal, a genuine psychic, and a friendship with her blossoms.

He’s not romantically smitten with Sophia yet, but we know it’s inevitable. We know because Allen went out of his way to establish that Stanley has a fiancee (Catherine McCormack), who appears in exactly one (1) clumsily written scene early on whose sole purpose is to establish that she and Stanley are perfectly compatible. This is a bad omen, of course, the rom-com equivalent of a movie cop mentioning that it’s his last day before retirement.

There are fruitful themes lurking here that Allen has simply failed to develop: the notion of happiness being “magical,” the idea that being practical and logical all the time can take the fun out of life, the way atheists and believers often view one another with pity and scorn until they switch sides. A silly story about an illusionist who falls under the spell of a mystic was never going to be the next “Annie Hall,” but surely Allen could have finessed this into something sturdier and more memorable.

Yet for as tossed-off and careless as the film seems, it’s hard to completely discount it. Firth, who sounds amusingly like John Cleese when he gets agitated, and Stone, as charmingly down-to-earth as ever, both light up any screen on which they appear. Though they have precious little chemistry together, even as platonic friends, their natural charisma buoys the film, as do supporting performances by Harden, Weaver, Linklater, and the venerable Eileen Atkins as Stanley’s beloved aunt. Like too many of Allen’s movies, it’s not good enough to recommend, but not bad enough to warn people away, either. Do you have 97 minutes to spare? They will pass pleasantly enough.

Hercules (2014)

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“Hercules” begins with someone saying, “You think you know the truth about him? You know nothing!” That seems like an unnecessarily combative way to start a movie, but it does set the tone. This ain’t your father’s Hercules! Unless your father is Brett Ratner. Which, for all I know, he may well be.

In this brightly photographed comic-book-based version of the Greek myth, the legendary strongman (played by Dwayne Johnson) isn’t actually the heroic son of Zeus but a mortal mercenary who perpetuates the legends about himself because they’re good for publicity. He does have superhuman strength, though, for which there is no explanation if he’s not really a demigod.

He travels through ancient Greece with his band of merry men, saving villages from pirates, that sort of thing, pausing occasionally to have flashbacks to the time his wife and children got murdered in Athens. Herc’s cohorts include his nephew, Iolaus (Reece Ritchie), who doubles as his hype man (he’s the one who accused us of not knowing anything about Hercules at the beginning); Amphiaraus (Ian McShane, having fun), a soothsayer who foretells the future; Autolycus (Rufus Sewell), Herc’s right-hand man; mute lunatic Tydeus (Aksel Hennie); and Amazonian warrior Atalanta (Ingrid Bolso Berdal).

The posse takes a gig helping the city of Thrace, led by Lord Cotys (John Hurt), defeat its enemies, though you can bet there are double-crosses and reversals that line up approximately with the double-crosses and reversals from every other movie of this genre that you have seen.

As is customary in sword-and-sandals epics nowadays, everyone speaks in modern slang without a hint of antiquity, as when Amphiaraus predicts, “Tonight a spear of flame will pierce my heart. Is that not the most insane death you’ve ever heard of?” Or when Hercules says (I’m not making this up), “F***ing centaurs.”

Yes, it’s that kind of movie — not bad, exactly, just derivative, glib, and exceedingly ordinary. Will it surprise you to learn that the interesting idea of a celebrity Hercules who’s kind of a con artist isn’t explored as fully as it could have been? Or that the character who is too traumatized to speak will eventually speak? Or that Dwayne Johnson grunts and flexes and smiles a lot, reminding us that we love his charisma even though most of the movies he stars in aren’t very good?

While the screenplay (by first-timer Ryan Condal and animated-Disney-sequel veteran Evan Spiliotopoulos) is written in frivolous, cliche-ridden tones, Ratner, to his credit, does his best to treat it like a serious action movie. He has a willing cast and plenty of money at his disposal; the film certainly looks like a legitimate summer tentpole, and might actually come across as one if you ignored the pedestrian story and didn’t listen to anyone speak. Mostly it feels like a waste of time, and not in the good way that summer hours are meant to be wasted.

A Most Wanted Man

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The venerable English spy-novelist John le Carré has been writing page-turners since the early 1960s, when the Cold War was giving people in le Carré’s profession ample material to work with. As the times have changed, le Carré has adapted his skills. The easily identifiable Soviets and East Germans of “The Spy Who Came in from the Cold” and “Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy” are gone now (even their countries are gone); modern espionage focuses on terrorist groups and religious extremists, most of whom aren’t affiliated with or backed by a government. Intelligence-gathering is more complicated now. But le Carré’s criticism of it — that the West’s tactics often go against our ideals — is as trenchant as ever, as we see in the film “A Most Wanted Man,” adapted from his 2008 novel.

The setting is Hamburg, a German port city that has been increasingly vigilant since the shameful revelation that it was home to several of the 9/11 masterminds. Now an anti-terrorist team, led by the boozy and disheveled Gunther Bachmann (Philip Seymour Hoffman), operates secretly to infiltrate and monitor potential terrorist cells. The latest object of Gunther’s interest is Karpov (Grigoriy Dobrygin), a Chechen immigrant who may have ties to militant groups and who’s staying with a Muslim family in Hamburg. The bosses at HQ, notably bean-counter Dieter Mohr (Rainer Bock), are impatient with Gunther’s wait-and-see tactics: they want to arrest Karpov immediately and find out what he knows. But Gunther wants to keep an eye on Karpov (who may not actually be guilty of anything) and see if he leads them to bigger fish.

Naturally, the American CIA also has its fingers in this pie, with a shrewd agent named Sullivan (Robin Wright) mostly taking Gunther’s side in terms of strategy. Gunther gets more help from a crusading human-rights attorney named Annabel Richter (Rachel McAdams), who has taken Karpov’s case in trying to claim an inheritance his father left him, and from a banker (Willem Dafoe) whose institution may (unwittingly?) be involved in laundering terrorist money. You can imagine the dim view that Mohr and his fellows take of Richter. (“Lawyer? F***ing social worker for terrorists.”)

Within this framework of surveillance and subterfuge unfolds a story, based loosely on real events, that simply wouldn’t have worked when le Carré started his career. It’s a decidedly 21st-century spy drama, with modern complications and nuances that weren’t factors half a century (or even 20 years) ago. All of it is directed with no-nonsense efficiency by Anton Corbijn, the Dutch filmmaker whose last picture, “The American” (starring George Clooney), was a similarly low-key tale of European espionage that traded in melancholia more than shoot-’em-ups. (An amusing coincidence: “The American’s” source material was a novel called “A Very Private Gentleman,” which makes it sound like a companion piece to “A Most Wanted Man.)

“A Most Wanted Man” has more in the way of traditional action than “The American” did, but there is something cold and clinical about it — as if Corbijn isn’t making a spy thriller so much as demonstrating HOW to make one. The film has an urgent tone, but the story itself lacks urgency, without clear objectives or a well-defined goal for us to pin our hopes on.

Nonetheless, there is the late, lamented Philip Seymour Hoffman in the central role, one of the last movies he finished before his death. Shaped like a lumpy blond potato and executing a flawless German accent, Hoffman immerses himself in the character the way he usually did, giving Gunther Bachmann a tragic streak of frustration and righteousness — a good, flawed man who’s caught up in a system where “good” and “bad” come in shades of gray. Bachmann’s railing against injustice reflects our own feelings, and as he comes to recognize the futility of it all, so, sadly, do we.

Movie B.S. with Bayer and Snider #219: ‘The Purge: Anarchy,’ ‘Sex Tape,’ more

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[There’s a new “Planes” movie too, but Movie B.S. refused to dignify it by watching it.]

Episode 219: ‘The Purge: Anarchy,’ ‘Sex Tape,’ ‘Wish I Was Here’

0:00-3:10 – Introduction, what Jeff’s drinking
3:10-4:15 – iTunes review
4:15-5:15 – Neither of us saw “Planes: Fire and Rescue”
5:15-21:15 – “The Purge: Anarchy” review
21:15-33:25 – “Sex Tape” review
33:25-45:10 – “Wish I Was Here” review, plus the Zach Braff Twitter incident
45:10-56:00 – QOTW (your gift ideas for Jeff Bayer)
56:00-57:20 – Wrappin’ things up

QOTW: In the spirit of “Lucy” (“you only use 10% of your brain”), what other old wives’ tale/urban legend/common misconception could be the premise for a movie?

Download audio / Listen at MovieBS.com / Listen at iTunes

Wish I Was Here

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I doubt I’m the only person who loved Zach Braff’s “Garden State” in 2004 but has been hesitant to watch it again for fear it won’t hold up. It spoke to a particular demographic at a particular time. I’m no longer at that stage of life, and it’s no longer 2004, and it’s possible “Garden State” would strike me now the way it struck its detractors then: twee, precious, quirky, and slap-worthy.

I’m even warier now that I’ve seen Braff’s sloppy followup, “Wish I Was Here,” which is phony, shallow, and completely disconnected from reality. To make matters worse, it thinks it’s sincere, deep, and realistic. Sometimes you get the impression a movie was made by cynical people who didn’t believe what they were peddling but figured they could get audiences to buy it. That’s not the case here. I think Braff is sincere about every aspect of “Wish I Was Here,” and that he thinks it says exactly what he wanted it to say. He’s just wrong, that’s all.

Braff, co-writing with his brother Adam, stars as self-centered b-hole Aidan Bloom, a struggling L.A. actor who, unlike most struggling L.A. actors, has a wife and kids yet won’t even consider getting a day job. His wife, Sarah (Kate Hudson), makes enough at her dull office gig to basically support the family, though they’re reliant on Aidan’s aging father, Saul (Mandy Patinkin), to pay for the kids’ Hebrew school. Aidan, an agnostic Jew, is glib about Judaism, mocking every aspect of his children’s education one minute, harassing his father to pay the tuition bill the next.

When old Saul’s money runs out (thanks a lot, terminal cancer expenses!), Aidan has to homeschool the children — 12-year-old Grace (Joey King) and 6-year-old Tucker (Pierce Gagnon) — because he hates public schools, because he got beaten up when he was a kid. Then he doesn’t actually homeschool them, either, because it’s hard and he doesn’t take anything seriously. Meanwhile, he criticizes his stoner geek brother, Noah (Josh Gad), for living in a trailer and not having a job.

This probably sounds like the set-up for a story where the jerky protagonist gradually realizes he’s immature and starts taking steps to redeem himself. Two problems, though. One, the movie doesn’t seem to recognize just how bad Aidan is, presenting him as a lovable rascal rather than a negligent husband and father and all-around bastard. Two, when the movie is over (no spoilers here), Aidan has not changed. By sheer luck he has stumbled into a better employment situation, but he has hardly even acknowledged his past failures, much less rectified them. Yet here comes another inspiring alt-rock song on the soundtrack to convey the idea that Aidan has fulfilled his arc and found redemption!

This already-thin story is watered down further by extraneous characters and subplots. Uncle Noah meets a Comic-Con furry (Ashley Greene) and sets out to build a costume better than hers. Grace shaves her head on a whim. Saul has a dog that pees everywhere that he needs Aidan to take care of. Sarah is sexually harassed by a pervy cubicle-mate (Michael Weston), giving the Braff brothers an opportunity to demonstrate how laughably out of touch they are with real-life office politics as well as their own characters: There isn’t a company in America that would fail to discipline someone for saying what this guy says to Sarah, and Sarah isn’t the kind of pushover who would tolerate it if they did.

Cut the furry, the head-shaving, the dog, and the co-worker out of the movie altogether and nothing would change except it’d be shorter and less slipshod. Same goes for the details that don’t occupy enough screen time to be “subplots” but don’t add anything, either: an elderly rabbi riding a Segway in a hospital hallway, for example, or young Tucker carrying a power drill everywhere he goes. Because of one (1) throwaway line about Grace not being able to swim, there’s a scene at the end of the movie where Aidan takes her to a pool so she can jump in and be a metaphor.

The kernel of legitimacy at the center of the movie is Aidan’s spiritual crisis in the face of his father’s impending death. He wants to know whether God exists and whether life is supposed to make sense. He meets with rabbis to discuss these issues (it’s like a less serious “A Serious Man”), and he tries to reconnect with Saul. But Braff’s idea of revelation is to have Aidan take the kids to the Mojave Desert with the express purpose of having an epiphany, and then to have them test-drive a luxury car that Saul always coveted but couldn’t afford.

(Let me be clear: they don’t take Saul with them on the test drive. They just take the drive and think about Saul, and throw their hands in the air to feel the breeze, and now they are all more connected, and Band of Horses has earned some more song royalties.)

But aside from being larded with irrelevant scenes and sitcom-dumb jokes, having a protagonist with no character arc, addressing real human issues with careless superficiality, and wasting a rare good performance by Kate Hudson, the movie isn’t too bad. It’s got a grown man watching his father die, and that’s always good for a few tears, right?

— GeekNation

The Purge: Anarchy

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Last year’s “The Purge” made a sparse, modestly thrilling movie out of a dumb premise — for 12 hours every year, all crime is legal! — and hit pay dirt at the box office. The natural consequence of this, as you know, is a hastily produced sequel. It has arrived, 13 months later, in the form of “The Purge: Anarchy” (was it not anarchy before??), a considerably less interesting but not altogether worthless exercise in ham-handed social commentary and wanton violence.

Writer-director James DeMonaco has returned for the sequel, so at least there is consistency in tone. This time, rather than focus on a family barricaded in their house during the Purge, we zero in on a handful of unconnected civilians who, for various reasons, find themselves out on the streets during this perilous time. Sergeant (Frank Grillo), a gruff, righteous avenger with ample firearms training, is using the opportunity to settle an old score. A waitress (Carmen Ejogo) and her teenage daughter (Zoe Soul) must flee the safety of their apartment when a mysterious masked militia comes for them. A bickering young couple (Zach Gilford and Kiele Sanchez), stranded by car trouble, are likewise in need of safe harbor. These five band together (reluctantly, in Sergeant’s case) to stay alive while seeking refuge.

The bulk of the film consists of these characters running from or fighting with bad guys who don’t have motives beyond “well, it’s Purge night, might as well go out and kill some folk.” Random terrorization is effective in small doses, but it loses its power when it’s the basis for the whole story. Our “heroes” (using the term loosely; the young husband is an ineffectual slug) might as well be in a video game, taking down faceless drones sent by an unseen super-enemy. By the time we arrive at the bigger picture (it involves the rich using Purge night to hunt humans for sport without fear of reprisal), with no emotional investment in anyone but Sergeant, we’re left to watch scene after tedious scene of people we don’t care about running from anonymous pursuers.

Michael K. Williams (Omar from “The Wire”) appears as a revolutionary who opposes the new turn America has recently taken, pointing out the disparity in the way the poor and the rich suffer the consequences of the Purge. This and a few other instances of social commentary give the film enough of a hook to keep it interesting (if not exactly profound), and Grillo’s solid lead performance is intense. You could do worse for a Friday night thriller, but like they say in the movie, if you’re not Purging, you should probably just stay home.

Sex Tape

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“Sex Tape” is like an episode of a filthy sitcom that was stretched from 22 minutes to 94 even though they barely had 22 minutes’ worth of story. Starring a slimmed-down Jason Segel and a very game Cameron Diaz, it centers on a workable premise: what if you filmed yourself doin’ it and then accidentally uploaded the video to the Internet? What would you do? But screenwriter Kate Angelo (“The Back-Up Plan”), with assists by Segel and his regular collaborator Nicholas Stoller, doesn’t seem to have pondered the question any further than that. The answer is that everybody runs around screaming and flailing their arms (figuratively, but also sometimes literally), coming up with panicky, last-second lies, and ranting about the Cloud the way people 30 years ago ranted about arcade games (and with a similar level of understanding of how they work).

Segel and Diaz play Jay and Annie, a married-with-kids couple whose once vigorous sex life has diminished in recent years. They make a sex tape to spice things up (as one does), but wouldn’t you know it, Jay inadvertently puts it in the Cloud. Now everyone with access to Jay’s Cloud account — which for some reason is everyone they know, because for some reason Jay’s job at a radio station means he always has lots of extra iPads that he gives away as presents, and for some reason those iPads’ new owners never update the preferences — has access to the footage. That includes Hank (Rob Lowe), the corporate bigwig whose squeaky-clean, family-oriented toy company is considering buying Annie’s mommy blog! What is HE gonna think?? ZOING!

There are scattered laughs along the way, thanks mainly to supporting characters played by Rob Corddry, Ellie Kemper, Kumail Nanjiani, and a few others (including an amusing cameo near the end from someone playing a porn guru). Most of these laughs are from individual lines of dialogue, though, not the situations. (“You can see their different personalities already,” Nanjiani says of his baby twins. “This one likes watermelon, this one’s kind of an a**hole.”) Segel and Diaz, who worked together in the similarly lackluster “Bad Teacher” — which, like this, was directed by Jake Kasdan — have a buoyant chemistry and an ego-free willingness to do anything that helps some. But they can’t overcome the weakness of the meandering, undercooked screenplay, which builds itself around an overlong sequence at Hank’s mansion and then wanders into a dumb, implausible blackmail subplot before going completely off the rails with a desperate attempt to retrieve the video from a Internet server’s offices. I find it hard to believe any of these writers couldn’t come up with funnier ways to exploit this premise.

Movie B.S. with Bayer and Snider #218: ‘DOTPOTA,’ ‘Snowpiercer,’ ‘Land Ho,’ etc.

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[We took a week off to accommodate Jeff’s move to San Diego (such a diva), but Movie B.S. is back now as if nothing ever happened.]

Episode 218: ‘Dawn of the Planet of the Apes,’ ‘Snowpiercer,’ ‘Begin Again,’ ‘Land Ho!’

0:00-2:30 – Introduction, our new theme song (thanks, Gregory Whitehead!)
2:30-7:00 – Jeff is in San Diego now and is annoyingly happy about it; watching movies long distance
7:00-8:00 – iTunes review
8:00-21:25 – “Dawn of the Planet of the Apes” review
21:25-31:05 – “Snowpiercer” review (It’s B.S.-approved™!)
31:05-38:10 – “Begin Again” review
38:10-40:25 – “Land Ho!” review
40:25-43:30 – Eric has quasi-reviews of “Deliver Us from Evil” and “Tammy”
43:30-46:20 – Jeff recommends “Battered Bastards of Baseball” now on Netflix
46:20-49:15 – Summer Box Office Challenge update: it’s not looking good for Jeff
49:15-54:40 – An unrelated weight-loss contest
54:40-1:05:45 – QOTW (favorite summer moviegoing memories)
1:05:45-1:08:20 – Wrap-up and goodbyes

QOTW: What movie-related gift would you love to get for Jeff Bayer on his birthday (July 14)? You can give one realistic answer and one fantasy answer. Jeff will choose the best answers and praise that person.

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Land Ho!

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The Hollywood version of “Land Ho!” would star Alan Arkin and Michael Caine, be loud and grating, have a hundred Viagra references, and make $150 million. The real version, an unassuming little comedy about two old-timers taking a road trip across Iceland, stars two men you’ve never heard of, is charming and quiet, and will make a maximum of twelve dollars. That’s just how life works, and we have to accept it.

This is a first-time collaboration between two indie filmmakers, Aaron Katz (“Quiet City,” “Cold Weather”) and Martha Stephens (“Passenger Pigeons,” “Pilgrim Song”), perhaps the start of a rich new creative partnership. Their film is about another kind of relationship, that of two elderly men who were once brothers-in-law (they married sisters) and are now old friends. Mitch (Earl Lynn Nelson) is a booming-voiced, Southern-drawled surgeon with an outgoing personality and a fondness for big living. Colin (Paul Eenhoorn), originally from Australia, is reserved and meek, though he comes to life when he quotes Jim Carrey movies. To lift Colin’s spirits after a breakup, Mitch takes him on a trip to Iceland, because why not Iceland?

And now you’ve had basically the entire plot spoiled for you. Mitch and Colin fly to Reykjavik first, spend some time there, then drive an SUV across the country’s rugged, gorgeous terrain to visit geysers and hot springs and other scenes of natural beauty. They meet up with two young ladies, a cousin of Mitch’s named Ellen (Karrie Crouse) and her friend Janet (Elizabeth McKee), and take them to dinner and to one of Reykjavik’s hottest dance clubs. (The humiliating “old men in a disco” gags we’ve been conditioned to expect here thankfully do not materialize.) They meet a few other people in their travels, but no one who shifts the story’s direction. It’s mostly just Mitch and Colin as a duo — talking, joking, reminiscing, enjoying one another’s company, and flirting harmlessly with women one-third their age.

The formula may remind you of a frat-boy road-trip comedy (Mitch even smokes weed) re-cast with senior citizens, but instead of emphasizing hilarious story developments or zingy one-liners, Katz and Stephens let their film just be about these two likable old dudes. There aren’t any epic shenanigans or kooky characters, no mistaken identities or run-ins with drug traffickers. At no point does a nude Ken Jeong pop out of a car’s trunk. The movie isn’t afraid to be small in scope, to let us enjoy a pleasant, peaceful journey against the vast, primitively beautiful backdrop of Iceland.

As if to underscore that less-is-more aesthetic, Katz and Stephens cast unfamiliar faces in the main roles. Paul Eenhoorn, who plays Colin, was the title character in the Sundance 2013 hit “This Is Martin Bonner.” The other gentleman, Earl Lynn Nelson, is a real-life surgeon who has only acted in Stephens’ movies and an episode of “Eastbound and Down.” He’s a hoot, this one, full of folksy bluster (“You gotta reach down and grab a handful of guts” = carpe diem) and prone to delivering mild vulgarities that come across more as “naughty little boy” than “dirty old man.”

Though its uncluttered simplicity and refreshing lack of cliches render it sublimely enjoyable, the film never digs deep enough to give itself much weight. Mitch and Colin’s shared fears of aging, loneliness, and dying are obliquely but not meaningfully referred to. We feel the same way at the end of the film as Mitch and Colin do at the end of their trip: well, that was nice. Nobody’s life was dramatically changed, but we had a sweet time.

Boyhood

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Near the end of “Boyhood,” Richard Linklater’s truly remarkable time-lapse portrait of a child growing up, the boy’s mother, Olivia (Patricia Arquette), is feeling wistful over his imminent departure for college. “I just thought there would be more,” she says — more to life, more to the experience of motherhood, more to everything. That rueful sentiment could be echoed by viewers of “Boyhood” who find the movie uneventful or dull — and I hope those viewers, like Olivia, realize they’re looking at it the wrong way.

Uneventful? Yeah — that’s life. “Boyhood” captures the bittersweet, sublimely humdrum process of growing up in a way that no other single movie has done, thanks to Linklater’s bold strategy of shooting it a few scenes at a time over the course of 11 years, starting when his lead actor, Ellar Coltrane, was 7. We almost literally see him grow up before our very eyes.

There are no major plot points, no big spoilers you could reveal, no surprising deaths or unusual developments. The “story” is that this boy, called Mason, goes through childhood and adolescence, experiencing the joys and sorrows common to that process. The film’s exceptional length (166 minutes) allows us to feel like we’re living Mason’s life with him, albeit a condensed version. But then, when you look back, doesn’t life always feel like it was condensed? That’s why you can’t expect there to be “more” than the ordinary sweetness of daily life.

Mason’s family situation is not atypical. He and his older sister, Samantha (Lorelei Linklater, the director’s daughter), live with their mother, who’s in college to become an teacher. The kids’ father, Mason Sr. (Ethan Hawke), is in and out of their lives at first, but he becomes more conscientious as he matures. Olivia marries a college professor, Bill (Marco Perella), who drinks too much and is something of an authoritarian with his stepchildren. Mason Jr. goes to school, has friends and girlfriends, attends parties, drinks beer, smokes pot. He develops an artistic streak with an emphasis on photography. He endures the pressures and aggravations of adolescence.

Linklater got lucky with Ellar Coltrane, casting a 7-year-old for an 11-year project with no way of knowing ahead of time how it would turn out. (Plenty of cute and precocious juveniles are neither of those things as teenagers.) Coltrane seems to be a natural, though, in that he can “act” with appearing to be acting. It helps that Linklater started with only a loose outline in mind, tailoring the story over time to suit Coltrane’s emerging strengths and interests. Hawke and Arquette contributed to the writing as well (though only Linklater is officially credited).

The result is a movie that feels authentic and lived-in, less a film than an experience. Perhaps most impressive is that Mason’s life story reminds you of your own childhood even if your own childhood was nothing like his. Or at least that was the case for me. There was no divorce, alcohol, or dysfunction in my upbringing; I was the oldest of six children; Mom didn’t work outside the home. Except for us both being white American males, Mason and I have little in common. Yet I kept recognizing people and situations in “Boyhood,” noticing elements that felt familiar despite not actually being part of my story.

This universality is the key to “Boyhood’s” success. In letting it run for nearly three hours, Linklater gives the film room to breathe. In having it span so many years, he allows us to see the passage of time, and to reflect on how the years of our own lives roll over us. You can TELL an audience that time has passed, but the only way to make us FEEL it is to, well, let some time pass. It’s a rare thing to spend three hours in a theater and come out feeling like you’ve lived an entire childhood. “I just thought there would be more.” Nope. This is it. Life is 99% “ordinary” moments. Cherish them.

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes

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The surprisingly robust prequel “Rise of the Planet of the Apes” ended with a few dozen chimps, gorillas, and such escaping into the forests near San Francisco after being dosed with a drug that made them super intelligent (for apes). Over time, these animals will evolve into the Statue of Liberty-destroying, Heston-bedeviling dominant species we know from the “Planet of the Apes” movies of the ’60s and ’70s. But as “Dawn of the Planet of the Apes” picks up the story, 10 years after “Rise,” humans are still technically in charge, and the apes are still learning what they themselves are capable of.

Directed with serious intensity by Matt Reeves (“Cloverfield,” “Let Me In”), “DOTPOTA” offers parallel societies, one crumbling and one rising (or dawning). The drug that made the monkeys smart was also a pathogen that wiped out millions of humans, leaving pockets of survivors here and there to rebuild. One such group lives in what’s left of San Francisco, led by the bellicose Dreyfus (Gary Oldman) and the more level-headed Malcolm (Jason Clarke). Out in the forest, meanwhile, under the direction of wise Caesar (Andy Serkis in a motion-capture suit), the apes live peaceably, communicating in sign language and rudimentary speech, using spears to capture prey, teaching their offspring the laws of their society (“Ape not kill ape”).

The two groups clash when the humans need to pass through ape-controlled territory to access a hydroelectric dam and restore power to their city. Malcolm, his girlfriend Ellie (Keri Russell), and his teenage son Alexander (Kodi Smit-McPhee), are all cool with the apes, befriending Caesar and Maurice (Karin Konoval), his orangutan consigliere. But bonobo Koba (Toby Kebbell), having no experience with humans except for being tortured and experimented upon by them, hates ’em all, wants to kill ’em. Koba’s counterpart among the humans isn’t Dreyfus — he doesn’t hate apes, just doesn’t care whether they live or die — but a man named Carver (Kirk Acevedo), who blames the apes for society’s downfall and hates every ape he sees, from chimpan-A to chimpan-Z.

Well, the situation’s a big ol’ powder keg, just waiting for something to spark, and one of the film’s many pleasures is the tension of knowing something is bound to happen while hoping it won’t. As is often the case in these scenarios, all it takes to ignite a skirmish is one trigger-happy idiot with a grudge. Dreyfus assures his people that they can beat the apes through weaponry: “This city may not have the manpower it once did, but it has the firepower.” The apes, of course, do not have guns. Yet.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say that the film (which was written by “Rise” duo Rick Jaffa and Amanda Silver, plus Mark Bomback) is anti-gun, but it does underscore the indisputable historical fact that the body count always goes up when spears and arrows are replaced by rifles and pistols. As the tragedy of war threatens to take over the story, bittersweet yet entertaining in its blockbuster sensibilities, it’s hard not to think of the European settlers and the Indians. The twist here is that we know the apes are eventually going to win … except that “winning” in this case means becoming just like humans, which is a mixed bag. (Pro: schools and libraries. Con: wanton murder.) Soulful performances by the actors behind the digital animals help the film overcome the limitations inherent in being a story about super-smart monkeys. You’re liable to forget that very little of what you see on the screen actually exists, so cleverly has Reeves’ team of tech wizards rendered it.

Movie B.S. with Bayer and Snider #217: Our favorites of 2014 (so far)

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[This week’s Movie B.S. has a lot of me and Jeff reminiscing on account of he’s moving. But the show will go on!]

Episode 217: Our favorites of 2014 (so far)

0:00-6:00 – Introduction, it’s Bayer’s last show before he moves to San Diego, complaining
6:00-7:10 – iTunes review
7:10-12:00 – “Transformers: Age of Extinction” wasn’t screened in Portland but we talk about it anyway
12:00-30:50 – Our top 10 lists for the first half of 2014
30:50-50:40 – Preparatory to Jeff’s departure, we reminisce about all the movies we watched at Jeff’s house over the years, and get nostalgic
50:40-1:00:00 – QOTW (toys and games that could be movies or whatever)
1:00:00- No show next week (July 4), and then something about tasers, and the wrap-up

QOTW: What is your favorite summer movie theater memory?

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Snowpiercer

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By a quirk of fate, “Snowpiercer” opened in American theaters on the same day as “Transformers: Age of Extinction.” A viewer with no outside knowledge of the two movies would assume they were on equal footing, both sci-fi spectacles with stories centered around awesome machines, and both featuring recognizable American stars with bankable faces. You can picture them playing side-by-side at your local multiplex.

Yet that isn’t the case. “Transformers,” distributed by Paramount, is playing in more than 4,200 theaters in the U.S.; “Snowpiercer,” from The Weinstein Company, is in eight, expanding soon to a couple hundred, with a Video-on-Demand release also planned. In other words, “Snowpiercer” is being handled like a low-budget art-house film even though it’s hardly discernible from a typical Hollywood summer blockbuster (except that it’s smart, but we get those too sometimes). From a business standpoint, the only difference between the two movies is that one is playing everywhere with a huge marketing push and will make several hundred million dollars, while the other is in limited release with minimal promotion and will be at best a minor hit Stateside.

I say this not to slam the new “Transformers” film, which I haven’t seen (The Weinstein Company made sure critics had access to “Snowpiercer”; Paramount generally did the opposite for “Transformers”). Nor is this a rant about how dumb audiences ignore good films while rewarding bad ones. (They don’t have much choice in this case.) I bring it up because it highlights the vagaries of the movie business, where a film that could be a blockbuster if it were given the blockbuster treatment is instead relegated to secondary status simply because it was made outside the Hollywood system and picked up for U.S. release by an indie distributor. Ah, capricious fate!

Based on a French graphic novel and directed (in English) by South Korea’s Bong Joon-ho (“The Host,” “Mother”), “Snowpiercer” is set in 2031, when a new Ice Age has exterminated all of humanity except for a group of survivors who have been living on a high-speed train for 18 years. This train, a self-sustaining marvel of technology created by a billionaire industrialist named Wilford, runs on a giant continuous loop around the world (the geography is fuzzy) and never stops moving. Indeed, if it ever did stop, or lose power, all aboard would freeze to death.

Perhaps inevitably, a class system has evolved on the Snowpiercer. Those at the front of the train eat steak and have plenty of space (relatively speaking; it is still a train), while those at the back are crammed together like worms in a bait bucket and forced to subsist on gelatinous protein blocks. A strong military presence keeps the lower classes in check, though there is some question about how many bullets their guns still have after 18 years. The benevolent Wilford (peace be unto him) is still at the front of the train keeping the whole ecosystem running, but is seldom seen. His representative, a prim, heavily guarded Australian fussbudget named Mason (Tilda Swinton), visits the rear cars to give orders.

Over the years there have been occasional rebellions that Wilford’s goons have always quashed, but now there is hope in the form of rugged working-class hero Curtis (Chris Evans). Together with Gilliam (John Hurt), an elder statesman in the resistance movement, and Nam (Song Kang-ho), a drug-addicted prisoner, Curtis executes a plan to get to the front of the train and win justice and equality for all.

Co-writing with Kelly Masterson (“Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead”) and aided by an atmospheric production design that conveys cramped quarters without feeling claustrophobic, Bong expertly paints a picture of a post-apocalyptic society with parallels to our current condition. It’s sci-fi as social commentary — train as microcosm — but it’s free from blunt pronouncements or labored point-making.

Bong’s top priority is to deliver a meaty, satisfying action adventure, and he succeeds there like the world-class filmmaker he is. (If you haven’t seen his 2007 monster movie “The Host,” you must. If it had been in English and released on 3,000 screens, it would have been “Godzilla.”) Fight scenes zip along smoothly, the dialogue is strong, and there are intriguing minor characters who flesh out the peculiarities of this society. (Especially good: Alison Pill as a pregnant schoolteacher indoctrinating the train’s young people about “the sacred engine” that propels them forward.)

Not that the “Captain America” films left much doubt, but Chris Evans is a bona fide action star now, with sufficient acting chops to give a flashy hero some gravity as he struggles with the weightier aspects of this daring mission. Tilda Swinton’s performance as Mason is next-level insane, eminently quotable and unforgettable, while Ed Harris’ few scenes as Wilford help the film end on a classy note. By turns thrilling, horrific, satirical, and bloody, “Snowpiercer” is science-fiction for a wide audience that has been mistakenly confined to a narrow one. Seek it out! It’s more than meets the eye.

Begin Again

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Surely you remember “Once,” that lovely indie drama from 2007 about the Irish guy and the Czech girl who connected through music, and who eventually sang their pretty song at the Oscars. Remember how sweet and plainspoken the film was, how its raw, micro-budget sensibility was so endearing? John Carney, its writer and director, remembers, and has tried unsuccessfully to duplicate the magic with the aptly named “Begin Again.”

This time, instead of two unknowns who are skilled musicians, it’s Mark Ruffalo and Keira Knightley. He’s a floundering New York record producer who’s so sick of all the corporate B.S., man, and just wants to find an “authentic” artist; she’s an aspiring singer-songwriter who is exactly what he wants. Their story follows a “Once”-like trajectory in that it’s pleasant, aimless, and mostly free of conflict (their exes, played by Catherine Keener and Adam Levine, contribute little). But where the other film had a naturalistic vibe, this one feels slicker and more calculated — the kind of inauthentic art, ironically, that Ruffalo’s character is fed up with. A few isolated scenes cast a spell (kudos to Hailee Steinfeld as Ruffalo’s daughter), but overall it feels like a passionless “Once” without any stakes.

— The Portland Mercury

They Came Together

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In this reviewer’s not-so-humble opinion, the movie genre that is most deserving of mockery is the one that least often gets it: the Hollywood romantic comedy. Horror spoofs are a dime a dozen, and self-aware action movies have become almost as common as straightforward ones. So why aren’t there more films like “They Came Together,” a spot-on takedown of rom-com cliches that makes it impossible to ever take another Katherine Heigl movie seriously? (Perhaps I have answered my own question: the Katherine Heigl lobby is too powerful to allow it.)

“They Came Together” came together through writers David Wain (who also directed) and Michael Showalter, expert-level satirists who made “Wet Hot American Summer” and once comprised two-thirds (with Michael Ian Black) of the absurdist comedy troupe Stella. This information alone will set some comedy nerds’ funny bones a-tingling. Quite a few “Wet Hot American Summer” alumni appear in “They Came Together,” along with several of the comedy friends Wain and Showalter have made in the interim. The result is a large cast of improv-trained performers who are among the funniest Americans currently working. If anyone’s going to tear apart romantic comedies, it should be these people.

Amy Poehler and Paul Rudd star as Molly and Joel, typical rom-com New Yorkers — which is to say, upscale white people with fabulous apartments and unlimited finances — who, as the movie begins, have already been together for some time. Over dinner, they tell the story of how they met to friends (Bill Hader and Ellie Kemper), acknowledging up front that “it’s just like a movie!”

Molly owns a little candy shop. Joel works for the Candy Systems & Research company, a conglomerate that pushes little candy shops out of business. Joel is hung up on an ex-girlfriend, Tiffany (Cobie Smulders), who isn’t right for him. (He says, “I love you.” She says, “And I admire your spirit.”) Molly and Joel meet, clash, fall in love, break up, participate in some montages, and get back together via a public declaration of love. We’ve gotten ahead of ourselves, but you knew those things were going to happen. And the movie knows that you know.

Rudd and Poehler are ridiculously likable, separately and together, both full of infectious energy and positivity. This is not an “affectionate” satire of rom-coms — it’s fiery, unrestrained, and devastating — but Poehler and Rudd’s all-smiles demeanor prevents it from becoming an angry screed. The acting style across the board is exaggerated and melodramatic, as in a comedy sketch, and it’s applied so uniformly that you’d think the cast was an established troupe who work together all the time. (Many of them do, actually. In addition to those already mentioned, we’ve got Ed Helms, Max Greenfield, Jason Mantzoukas, Melanie Lynskey, Christopher Meloni, Kenan Thompson, Ken Marino, and Adam Scott.)

When it’s not being scathingly satirical, the film revels in absurdity that borders on the surreal. It’s in the little things — like someone making the “check, please” gesture to a waiter while saying, “Another bottle of wine,” or Jack McBrayer playing basketball dressed in a cardigan, or someone else in that game yelling “Swish!” after every missed shot — with none of these contradictions explained or remarked upon. In other scenes, there are big, unmissable sight gags like the spoofs of yesteryear (think “Airplane!”), including one where a waiter is said to have “a pole up his a**” and it turns out to be literally true.

My one complaint is that there are four or five brief scenes that feel rushed and undercooked, with barely an attempt at humor. That’s understandable, sometimes even necessary, in a conventional comedy set among real people in the real world, where scenes that do nothing more than advance the plot or establish characters may be sprinkled in among the big comedic set pieces. But in a farce whose only purpose is to produce laughs, where plausible characterizations and story details don’t matter, there’s no reason not to go for the chuckles at all times (especially when the movie is only 83 minutes long anyway). Another round of punch-ups on the screenplay might have made this a classic, whereas instead we have to settle for something that’s merely one of the funniest movies of the year. Oh well!

Movie B.S. with Bayer and Snider #215: ‘How 2 Train Your Dragon,’ ’22 Jump St’

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[We’ve got a couple of sequels on Movie B.S. this week — and they’re good!]

Episode 215: ‘How to Train Your Dragon 2,’ ’22 Jump Street,’ Character Casserole

0:00-2:50 – Introduction, beverages, takin’ it one day at a time
2:50-14:20 – “How to Train Your Dragon 2″ review
14:20-29:10 – “22 Jump Street” review
29:10-31:55 – Box Office Challenge update, and also Thai food
31:55-43:10 – QOTW (books you liked that became bad movies)
43:10-52:25 – A game of Pitch Me
52:25-53:25 – Wrap-up and goodbyes

QOTW: What home from a movie do you wish you owned?

Download audio / Listen at MovieBS.com / Listen at iTunes

22 Jump Street

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A comedy sequel (uh-oh) to a film that was based on a defunct TV show (yikes) ought to be an unwatchable disaster. That’s the America I grew up in, anyway. But after the surprising non-badness of “21 Jump Street” two years ago, and the even more surprising greatness of “The LEGO Movie” not five months ago, maybe we shouldn’t be surprised that the directing duo responsible for them, Chris Miller and Phil Lord, have returned with the top-to-bottom hilarious “22 Jump Street” and exceeded all expectations yet again.

It’s reassuring to see a comedy made by people who have already considered the objections you were going to raise. “22 Jump Street” overcomes the limitations of a sequel by facing them head-on, doubling down on the meta-references that peppered the first film and staying a step ahead of us with multi-layered jokes and split-second sight gags. Lord and Miller and their screenwriters (Michael Bacall, Oren Uziel, and Rodney Rothman) know what we’re thinking, and they want to make sure we know that they know.

After an unsuccessful try at a different kind of case, yin-and-yang cops Schmidt (Jonah Hill) and Jenko (Channing Tatum) are brought back to Jump Street by their boss (Nick Offerman), who reminds them that “nobody gave a s*** about the Jump Street reboot” before, but that “now this department has invested A LOT of money to make sure Jump Street keeps going.” Contextually, he means the Metro City Police Department’s undercover program, nicknamed Jump Street. But of course we know what he really means.

The job this time: pose as Metro City State College freshmen and find out where a deadly new recreational drug is coming from so they can stop it before it spreads to other campuses. (Yes, as many characters are quick to point out, it’s the same situation as last time.) Schmidt hooks up with Maya (Amber Stevens), an art student who knew the girl who overdosed, while Jenko pursues leads through the football team, becoming best pals with Zook (Wyatt Russell), a grinning blond fratboy who’s another yang to Jenko’s yang.

Just as before, there’s a lot of humor in reversing people’s roles and challenging stereotypes. It’s Schmidt, not Maya, who gets clingy and does the post-hookup “walk of shame,” and he’s jealous at how smoothly Jenko gets along with Zook. Thanks to a human sexuality course, meathead Jenko becomes enlightened and refuses to tolerate someone’s use of a gay slur. The film knows that the Jenko-Zook relationship is like a romance (complete with a “meet cute”), and it plays up the similarities for comic effect without tipping over into moronic “gay panic” humor. The whole film is ultimately an affectionate, touchy-feely story about friendship and partnership — and it’s sincere about it, too.

There are running gags about Schmidt and Jenko looking too old to be freshmen, and about the Jump Street budget being significantly higher than before. New characters like the twins across the hall (Keith and Kenny Lucas) and Maya’s scornful roommate (Jillian Bell) help immeasurably, as does beefing up Ice Cube’s role as the cops’ angry captain. It’s a great pleasure to see Channing Tatum (whose comedic talent is now undeniable) cavort with an actor (Kurt Russell’s son!) playing a character identical to his, and Jonah Hill’s cuddly belligerence continues to serve him well.

Above all, Lord and Miller are intent on keeping things funny, loose, and unpredictable. They revel in the silliness of the action-comedy genre, playfully satirizing and subverting it all the way through the closing credits. Not only is “22” funnier than “21,” it’s more focused and less scattershot, an improvement on almost every level. It has jokes that went over my head until I thought about them later. When’s the last time a studio-produced, wide-release comedy did that? This franchise is almost a miracle.

How to Train Your Dragon 2

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How do you train your dragon? With love. That was the message of a certain unexpectedly magnificent toon from 2010, and the let’s-all-try-to-get-along vibe is continued in “How to Train Your Dragon 2,” a worthy followup with all the heart and humor of its predecessor.

Set five years after gawky teen Hiccup (voiced by Jay Baruchel) helped his Viking village turn dragons from enemies into friends, the sequel has him and his proud father, chief Stoick (Gerard Butler), disagreeing on how to handle Drago Bloodfist (!), a fearsome warrior who’s assembling a dragon army. Thematically, it’s “people can change” vs. “no they can’t” as writer-director Dean DeBlois expands the story’s mythology and ups the emotional stakes by reuniting Hiccup with his long-lost mother (Cate Blanchett). One more rousing success like this and “How to Train Your Dragon” will be the second-best animated trilogy in history. (Nothing’s gonna touch “Toy Story,” sorry.)

Hellion

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The title character of “Hellion” is a 13-year-old southeast Texas boy named Jacob Wilson (Josh Wiggins), a motocross-loving vandal and troublemaker who can often be found wearing a sleeveless heavy metal T-shirt and running from security guards. But he gets some of his restless spirit from his father, Hollis (Aaron Paul), a former local baseball hero gone to seed, too fond of the drink. His wife died not long ago, leaving him to care for Jacob and 10-year-old Wes (Deke Garner) by himself. He loves his boys, but he’s not equipped for this.

This humane, well-acted drama is the third feature by writer-director Kat Candler, though only the first to get a substantial theatrical release (it’s also on Video on Demand) after premiering at Sundance. It is of a type that’s very familiar to the regular festival-goer: a low-key, naturalistic piece shot with hand-held cameras and a minimum of flair, about a fractured family struggling to regain its footing after a tragedy. It’s better than some, worse than others, but apart from a bit of improbable melodrama in the last act, it’s a solid and affecting film with a positive message.

The film begins with Jacob and his pals vandalizing a pickup truck in a parking lot during a high school football game, a bit of juvenile idiocy so ill-conceived (they’re bound to be caught, probably in the act) it almost makes you smile. Hollis, at his wits’ end, sends Jacob to a military-style day camp for incorrigible youths, insisting that if Jacob is determined to be a delinquent, he’d better not drag Wes down with him. Wes looks up to his big brother, of course, and wants to be included when Jacob and his “crew” sneak out at night to wreck property, look at porno mags, and talk ignorantly about girls.

Things come to a head when a Child Protective Services worker (Annalee Jefferies) finds the Wilson home — piled with clutter and beer cans, with Hollis always either out working or home drinking — unfit for a 10-year-old boy, and puts Wes temporarily in the custody of his late mother’s sister, Pam (Juliette Lewis). This aggravates the tension between Hollis and Jacob, each blaming the other for the family’s woes and both refusing to accept responsibility for their own actions.

That’s ultimately what the movie is about: father and son learning to grow up, be men, and take what’s comin’ to them. Candler’s sensitive screenplay and understated direction lead us on this course gently, getting points across without hitting us over the head with them. Jacob kicks and screams against authority, yet gradually finds maturity through his motocross experiences, finishing a race even after a fall ensures he’ll be in last place. Hollis bickers with Pam about custody and visitation issues, but only out of wounded pride. He knows she loves her nephews and is in a better position than he is at the moment to take care of Wes.

Aaron Paul, best known for TV’s “Breaking Bad,” puts his talent for teary-eyed, broken-voiced sincerity to good use here as the grieving, tormented father. (Candler gives him a poignant and wordless scene at the site of his wife’s fatal accident, and otherwise avoids dwelling on the details.) Meanwhile, young newcomer Josh Wiggins gives a heartfelt and convincing performance as the troubled Jacob. His false adolescent bravado, enhanced by a voice that sounds older than Jacob looks, is effective: like his dad, you want to wring the little bastard’s neck. But then, finally, we see him in moments of vulnerability and appreciate what the character has been through and what a performance the actor has given.

The plot takes a movie-of-the-week turn late in the game, a letdown after being so consistently authentic up to that point. But it isn’t enough to derail an otherwise sure-handed B-grade drama buoyed by convincing performances.

Movie B.S. with Bayer and Snider #214: ‘Edge of Tomorrow,’ ‘Fault in Our Stars’

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[Listen to Movie B.S. and watch your cares and troubles melt away.]

Episode 214: ‘Edge of Tomorrow,’ ‘The Fault in Our Stars’

0:00-3:35 – Introduction, something Jeff likes about fatherhood
3:35-16:15 – “Edge of Tomorrow” review
16:15-20:20 – Our rating system, stuff Jeff wants, funny cancer
20:20-32:10 – “The Fault in Our Stars” review
32:10-47:35 – QOTW (your brushes with fame, and ours)
47:35-53:10 – Box Office Challenge updates, including what the stakes of the bet are
53:10-56:10 – Updates on Dr Pepper imitators and Wanker’s Corner
56:10-58:05 – Wrap-up and goodbyes

QOTW: What’s a book you loved that got turned into a movie you didn’t — or a book you didn’t like that became a good movie?

Download audio / Listen at MovieBS.com / Listen at iTunes

Edge of Tomorrow

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Like many big stars, Tom Cruise doesn’t usually die in his movies, so “Edge of Tomorrow” — in which he dies early and often — is a novelty. It’s also a satisfying chunk of sci-fi entertainment, breezily but carefully directed by Doug Liman (“The Bourne Identity,” “Mr. & Mrs. Smith”) to be a cerebral summer spectacle.

Cruise plays Maj. William Cage, an unserious U.S. Army spokesman with no combat experience who finds himself storming the beach with the infantry in a D-Day-like battle against alien invaders. These ferocious creatures, all CGI tendrils and snarls, are called Mimics for their ability to adapt to mankind’s defenses; someone describes them as “perfectly evolved world-conquering organisms,” which is why they’re winning the war so far. But when Cage is killed by one, he wakes up back at the base — and his day starts over, exactly as before. He dies again, he wakes up again, and the cycle repeats itself. It does this over and over. Yes, it’s like that other movie.

Caught in a bizarre time loop and unable to convince anyone it’s happening, Cage teams up with Rita Vrataski (Emily Blunt), a Special Forces soldier who’s become the Army’s poster child for badassery. She believes Cage about the time loop because the same thing happened to her for a while. (She got better.) Having perfected her own battle skills during her loop experience, she trains Cage to fight, taking advantage of the temporal disruption by having him practice against Mimic simulators that can kill him, then starting over when they do. Cage is like a video game character with unlimited extra lives, and the movie treats the situation with morbid humor, killing him in a variety of unexpected ways. That’s always good for a laugh.

Based on a Japanese book with the awesome (but nonsensical) title “All You Need is Kill,” the screenplay was written by Christopher McQuarrie (“The Usual Suspects”) and brothers Jez and John-Henry Butterworth. It moves swiftly, avoiding the potential problem where a repetitive story might start to feel, well, repetitive. Besides Cruise and Blunt’s irresistibly appealing central performances, the film benefits from colorful turns by Brendan Gleeson and Bill Paxton as military officers, and from Liman’s facility with — but not over-reliance on — rumbling action scenes.

The scenario that leads to Cage being sent to the front lines in the first place is a little hinky, but the only real misstep is in the last act, after the time-loop business has been resolved. Without that hook, it becomes an ordinary alien-invasion story, handled in the usual way. But the film’s final image (this is not a spoiler) is Tom Cruise grinning — and if that’s not a great way to send an audience out of a theater feelin’ good, I don’t know what is.

Borgman (Dutch)

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“Borgman” is a strange movie, but its strangeness is matter-of-fact, even casual. It’s not the kind of strangeness that draws attention to itself and says, “Look how strange this is!” (That’s the Tim Burton method.) If you were flipping channels and saw a scene out of context, you might not realize there was anything particularly unusual about “Borgman” at all.

But make no mistake, this is a baffling, bemusing story, something like “Funny Games,” “What About Bob?” and a biblical parable about evil, all of it conveyed by writer-director Alex van Warmerdam with deadpan humor and an oblique sense of the sinister. His penchant for depicting things that would seem to require further explanation, then not giving it to us, can be maddening, so you have to stop waiting for literal answers, consider the allegorical ones, and enjoy the daftness.

It begins with a bearded, disheveled man who’s eventually named Borgman (Jan Bijvoet) being rousted from his elaborately furnished underground dirt bunker in the forest by three angry men (including a priest) from a nearby town. Evading capture, he warns two friends (colleagues?) hiding in spider holes elsewhere in the woods, and disappears into an upscale suburban neighborhood, where he goes door to door asking if he can take a bath. So there’s that.

He starts insinuating himself into the lives of an affluent family where the wife, Marina (Hadewych Minis), is an abstract painter with a lot of white liberal guilt, and the husband, Richard (Jeroen Perceval), is an aggressive and humorless business bro. They have three cherubic young blond children, a Danish nanny (Sara Hjort Ditlevsen), and a gorgeous modern home. By degrees, Borgman comes to be involved with them, parlaying Marina’s sympathy for him into a residency in the guest house.

Borgman has all the appearance of a harmless hobo, but we know he’s not to be trusted. What keeps us off-balance is not knowing what his game is, whether he’s whimsical, murderous, or something else. He wields some kind of power over Marina’s dreams (but only when he squats naked over her while she sleeps; don’t ask), and uses it to exploit an existing crack in her and Richard’s marriage — yet he doesn’t seem to be interested in stealing Marina away. He tells the children grim folk tales, catching the interest of solemn-faced little Isolde (Elve Lijbaart) in particular. Something’s off about her.

Adding to our uneasy amusement: we get the sense that Borgman has done all of this before. When he needs to manipulate things to his favor, he calls on his accomplices — the two men from the spider holes at the beginning and a couple of professionally dressed women — to play various roles, ranging from clownish to deeply nefarious. They seem to have a pretty good system in place. (Who they are, exactly, and what their affiliation is are the kind of questions there’s no point in asking.)

Van Warmerdam’s style is detached, like he’s aloof from the characters but halfway curious about them. That, and his judicious use of shocking violence (mostly unseen), reminds me of Michael Haneke. I also thought of “Dogtooth,” the insane 2009 Greek film about an isolated family. Van Warmerdam’s straight-faced presentation, eschewing musical underscore and other overt cues even when seemingly major events (like murder) are happening, makes the tone tantalizingly ambiguous. Should we be amused, nervous, or appalled? How serious is van Warmerdam? This seems like real life, but it seems like a fable, too.

Films like this, and Haneke’s work, and “Dogtooth” — casually surreal and dark, intentionally equivocal, punctuated with menace and meanness — can be divisive. Either you dig it or you don’t. If you don’t, “Borgman” will probably seem pointless and arbitrary, like a rambling, morbid joke without a punchline. But if you do find yourself on van Warmerdam’s wavelength, this humorous, subtly nightmarish tale could be the vigorous brain-boink you’ve been craving.

Obvious Child

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Obvious Child

You can say it’s reductive to call “Obvious Child” an “abortion comedy,” and there’s certainly more to the film than that. It’s also a modern reshuffling of the romantic comedy, and a showcase for the talented Jenny Slate, a sweet-and-salty comic actress whose most prominent work to date has been a year on “SNL.”

But there’s no getting around the fact that “Obvious Child” is about a woman in her late 20s who gets pregnant after an ill-considered one-night stand and seeks an abortion — something that women in movies almost never do. The issue dominates American political discourse and is a major factor in people’s lives (25 percent of American women have had an abortion by age 30), yet it rarely gets more than a passing mention in entertainment apart from joking references and Very Special Episodes of TV dramas. Reductive or not, until abortion stops being unicorn-like in its scarceness in film, a movie that faces the subject head-on is going to be known as an “abortion comedy.”

(I say this, just as the movie does, without making any comment on the moral and ethical questions surrounding abortion. My point is simply that, regardless of whether it’s “right,” abortion is legal and common, and so its virtual absence in fictional entertainment is noteworthy.)

Written and directed by Gillian Robespierre, the film is an expansion of a short she and Slate made, and it retains the narrative simplicity and brief running time (even as a feature, it’s only 84 minutes long). Slate plays Donna Stern, a Brooklyn stand-up comedian whose onstage persona is that of a twinkly-eyed, potty-mouthed pixie who talks about sex and bodily functions, and giggles in a self-satisfied manner at her own filthiness. She’s new to the biz, still learning how to turn her personal crises into comedy gold. When she gets dumped by her boyfriend, she reacts with a fascinating train wreck of a drunken stand-up rant that’s full of pain, embarrassment, and the germs of several good jokes. (One of the things the movie is “about” besides abortion is a humorist’s creative process.)

Freshly dumped and on the verge of losing her day job at an indie bookstore, Donna gets more bad news: the rebound sex she had with a generically nice hunk named Max (Jake Lacy) has resulted in pregnancy. With support from her best girlfriend (Gaby Hoffman), who’s been around the abortion block a time or two herself, and from her requisite sassy gay friend (Gabe Liedman), Donna concludes that termination is her best choice. She has to wait two weeks, though, and come up with $500 — the sort of specifics that no non-documentary I’m aware of has ever addressed.

In the meantime, she continues to hone her stand-up act while fretting over whether to tell Max. He turns out to be a good guy with real potential, but having a child together is a terrible way to start a relationship. Donna also gets quippy advice from her father (Richard Kind) and has a tender scene with her mom (Polly Draper), whose support and love for her is heartwarming, perhaps the emotional anchor of the film.

The movie speaks of abortion frankly and without stigma. I hesitate to say it’s “positive” about it — nobody likes abortion — but it deals with characters who view it as an appropriate solution to a problem. The story’s conflict, then, isn’t about whether Donna should have one, but about how it reflects her status as a semi-mature, marginally employed twentysomething with a lot of growing up to do. The unplanned pregnancy is a wake-up call, one that Robespierre’s writing and direction handle with insight and sympathy.

The occupation of the main character and the casting of a comic actress in the lead suggest “Obvious Child” is a comedy, and that’s not inaccurate. But the humor is balanced with small dramatic beats that lend authentic emotion to the proceedings. Slate’s endearingly vulnerable performance is full of gusto whether Donna is cracking jokes or sobbing (or doing both simultaneously), keeping us grounded in reality so we don’t fly off into farce territory. If “Obvious Child” is any indication, she and Robespierre both have great careers ahead of them, hot-button topics or not.

Movie B.S. with Bayer and Snider #213: ‘Maleficent,’ ‘A Million Ways…,” more

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[Plus “Cold in July” and a round of Character Casserole, all on this week’s Movie B.S..]

Episode 213: ‘A Million Ways to Die in the West,’ ‘Maleficent,’ ‘Cold in July,’ Character Casserole

0:00-2:05 – Introduction, hello, water
2:05-4:15 – iTunes review, repetition of shirts
4:15-17:55 – “A Million Ways to Die in the West” review
17:55-29:05 – “Maleficent” review
29:05-36:20 – “Cold in July” review
36:20-44:30 – QOTW (movies that reflect your beliefs)
44:30-48:25 – Possible replacement for “nerd” as insult, including some labored double entendre
48:25-58:10 – A game of Character Casserole
58:10-59:40 – Wrap-up and goodbyes

QOTW: What is your best brush with fame? True stories only, por favor

Download audio / Listen at MovieBS.com / Listen at iTunes

A Million Ways to Die in the West

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“Family Guy” mastermind Seth MacFarlane’s first movie, “Ted,” a huge commercial hit in 2012, was mostly on-target but showed signs of undisciplined, “Family Guy”-esque self-indulgence. MacFarlane’s followup, “A Million Ways to Die in the West” — which he again directed and co-wrote with “FG” collaborators Alec Sulkin and Wellesley Wild — unfortunately follows this pattern even further. It has a handful of laughs, about as many as a typical episode of “Family Guy.” But where five or six chuckles in 22 minutes isn’t a bad average, five or six chuckles spread out over 117 minutes is dismal. The bleak stretches between funny parts only serve to underscore how astonishing it is that a lightweight farce is almost two hours long in the first place.

MacFarlane, in his first major role as a human man, plays Albert Stark, a cowardly sheep farmer in the Old West whose daily mission is to provide anachronistic commentary on the deplorable conditions of frontier living. In Arizona in the 1880s, death can come at any moment from violence, disease, an Indian attack, a minor injury, or even a trip to the doctor. Albert is the only one who seems to be bothered by how perilous the times are, and he riffs on it constantly to whoever’s within earshot, including his friend Edward (Giovanni Ribisi), Edward’s actual-literal-whore girlfriend, Ruth (Sarah Silverman), and Albert’s own romantic interest, Louise (Amanda Seyfried). He’s like a congenial stand-up comic who’s always “on.”

When he chickens out of a gunfight for what we gather is not the first time, Albert loses Louise, who dumps him for Foy (Neil Patrick Harris), a manly fellow who runs the town’s moustachery. (Mustaches, or moustaches as they were spelled in olde tymes, are a big deal.) Albert reckons the only way to win Louise back is to win a gunfight, and here to help him practice is his new pal Anna (Charlize Theron), a beautiful, enigmatic sharpshooter who’s lying low while she waits for her outlaw husband (Liam Neeson) and their gang to rejoin her. Anna thinks the way Albert does, and their friendship will surely blossom.

The writers’ strategy was apparently to have each character express every thought in the crudest, bluntest way possible, with 21st-century profanity and slang. But once the shock value wears off — you know, after about three lines — the incongruity of Old West people swearing like sailors loses its humor. (To paraphrase “The Incredibles,” when everything is filthy, nothing is filthy.) Most of the gags that do work, like describing Ruth’s prostitute activities in frank, businesslike terms, are subsequently beaten into the ground through repetition. Even the musical number (of course there’s a musical number) is uncharacteristically flat by MacFarlane’s usual standards.

Yet in other areas, the film is under-written and sloppy. The main character is poorly defined, somehow an abrasive loudmouth and a timid pansy all at once. MacFarlane, for all his skills as a voice actor, doesn’t have the physical presence or charisma to carry off a well-written character, let alone this one. His nemesis, the mustache man, is said to be a terrible jerk, but as far as we know the only “bad” thing he’s ever done is date Albert’s ex-girlfriend. Liam Neeson’s murderous outlaw character isn’t given anything funny to do. Ruth and Edward disappear for half the movie. A few of the celebrity cameos are amusing, but a few more are random and pointless (random and pointless? From the writers of “Family Guy”?!) except as a means of drawing attention to themselves. The formulaic story moves slowly and is dragged out to the point of feeling interminable.

Neil Patrick Harris does his cocky-charming NPH thing to good effect, and Charlize Theron is winning as Albert’s eventual soulmate. And like I said, there are bits here and there that absolutely work; there just aren’t enough of them. Tighter writing, a more focused director, a better leading man, and 40 percent fewer poop- and semen-related jokes would have improved the film considerably, although that’s probably true of most films, not just this one.

Maleficent

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Hey, kids! How would you like to see a new version of Disney’s “Sleeping Beauty” that isn’t animated and doesn’t make any sense? Hmm? You wouldn’t like that at all? Then why did we spend $200 million to make one?! You kids never appreciate anything.

“Maleficent” retells the Disney version of the classic fairy tale from the point of view of the villain, the horned witch-fairy who cursed baby Aurora to die via spinning wheel by the end of her 16th birthday. Now, you may be wondering: how can Maleficent be reformed into a sympathetic character without contradicting the story we already know? The answer is that she can’t. So “Maleficent,” written by studio stalwart Linda Woolverton (“Beauty and the Beast,” 2010’s “Alice in Wonderland”), changes the story to make the revisions work, and in the process loses everything that made it logical and coherent.

In this version, young Maleficent (played by Isobelle Molloy) is a happy fairy living among other fantastical creatures in the moors adjacent to a human kingdom. She befriends a boy named Stefan (Michael Higgins) and they fall in love; later, when they have grown up to be Angelina Jolie and Sharlto Copley, Stefan breaks her heart and cuts off her wings while she’s asleep, in a scene that is not at all uncomfortably rapey, nope.

Having thus explained why Maleficent hates King Stefan and might want to curse his baby, the film then proceeds to dismantle everything. The king sends baby Aurora to live in a cottage with three small, irritating pixies named Flittle (Lesley Manville), Knotgrass (Imelda Staunton), and Thistletwit (Juno Temple). In the original version, this was to hide the kid from Maleficent. In this version, Maleficent knows where they are, and in fact hangs around in the area and becomes Aurora’s playmate, somehow without the pixies’ knowledge.

Why Aurora is not allowed to know her true identity or that her three “aunts” have magic powers is not explained. Why she left the castle at all is not explained, in fact, if it wasn’t to keep her hidden from Maleficent.

Meanwhile, an increasingly insane King Stefan (portrayed with embarrassing hamminess by Copley) keeps sending his armies out to destroy Maleficent, but they can never find her, I guess because she’s always over at Aurora’s house.

Years later, when Maleficent has a change of heart about the whole curse thing, she finds it’s too late. The spell cannot be undone, even by her. That means the movie gets to have it both ways: Aurora (played as a teen by Elle Fanning) can still fall into her deep sleep, but now we don’t blame Maleficent for it. She tried to fix it! It’s all Fate’s fault now. Villain redeemed.

This shiny, lumpy mess of a movie, directed by first-timer Robert Stromberg, looks incredibly expensive yet feels like it was slapped together. It rushes quickly through its nonsensical plot, yet somehow seems drawn-out and overlong, too. Details clash. Maleficent can’t fly without wings, but she can work all sorts of other magic, including making other people fly. Despite her amazing powers, she incapacitates a guard by hitting him in the head with a club. We’re told at the beginning that the fairies and humans rarely enter one another’s jurisdictions, and then the entire film is full of disregard for that rule. And so on.

The three pixies, the handsome prince (Brenton Thwaites), and Maleficent’s raven-man companion (Sam Riley) are useless, none of them serving any purpose in the story. It really is all about Maleficent — who, it should be said, is brought to life vividly by the perfectly cast Angelina Jolie. It’s a nice touch that many of her lines in the christening/cursing scene are straight from the 1959 cartoon, but it’s a pity this new Maleficent doesn’t jibe with that one in any other respect.

We Are the Best! (Swedish)

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The relentlessly upbeat Swedish comedy “We Are the Best!” has several positive messages, not least of which is its gentle reminder that despite cultural and chronological differences, 13-year-old girls in Sweden in 1982 were approximately the same as 13-year-old girls in other lands at other times — and they all share some similarities with the rest of us. Like many of our most beloved stories, this one presents unfamiliar characters and situations, then shows how we can relate to them. Comforting, no?

Written and directed by Lukas Moodysson (who’s dealt with disaffected youth since his first feature, “Show Me Love”) and based on his wife Coco Moodysson’s graphic novel, “We Are the Best!” is about Stockholm seventh-graders Bobo (Mira Barkhammar) and Klara (Mira Grosin). Bobo is a quiet, boyish girl with short hair and round eyeglasses, the daughter of happily divorced parents; Klara has gelled her hair into something resembling a mohawk and has a more traditional family, complete with annoying older brother and a dad who makes dad jokes. The girls love punk rock (despite being told that “punk is dead”) and are content to live in their own bubble outside their school’s mainstream.

One day at a community youth center, annoyed by the loud rock band practicing in the music room, the inseparable Bobo and Klara counteract by starting their own band. There’s no good reason for it — neither of them can play an instrument (“Drums have no cords, right?”) — other than pure 13-year-old obnoxiousness and a desire to irritate the rock boys. Using the instruments in the practice room, Bobo bangs manically on the drums, Klara furiously strums the electric bass, and they shout improvised punk-sounding lyrics about their hatred of professional sports: “Your team is winning / Oil companies are sinning / Children in Africa are dying / But you’re all about balls flying.” It’s perfectly adorable.

The girls soon recruit a third member for their “band,” Hedvig (Liv LeMoyne), a straitlaced, long-haired Christian who can actually play the guitar. They reach out to a semi-famous Stockholm punk band made up of boys their age, not for musical help, really, but because the boys are cute. Bobo and Klara, already BFFs, spend more time together than ever, gradually incorporating Hedvig (who’s never had such irreverent playmates before) into their lives, giggling and talking and horsing around with infectious adolescent enthusiasm.

The film is cheerfully devoid of serious conflict, and the story isn’t centered around a particular goal to reach or obstacle to overcome. There is a public performance for the girls’ ad-hoc band, eventually, but it hardly matters. Instead, there are small, manageable crises, the sort of day-to-day problems that ring true for anyone who has been young and/or had a friend. Bobo feels overlooked when boys find Klara prettier than her. Bobo and Klara talk Hedvig into cutting her hair, which puts them in hot water with the girl’s conservative, cautious mother (Ann-Sofie Rase). There are little fibs about who’s spending the night at whose house, how thoroughly they’ve done their homework, and such. Klara’s doofus father, hearing the girls practice, rushes in with his clarinet to “help” them. (Daaaad!)

What Moodysson captures especially well is the peripatetic energy of youth, the way the girls fly at top speed from one Big Idea to the next with reckless abandon. Sometimes their musical efforts are nothing but exuberant nonsense; sometimes they pause to consider the actual logistics of what they’re doing and whether it’s practical. They’re at the age where childish daydreaming is starting to conflict with grown-up reality, and these two gung-ho young actresses are sweetly convincing as best friends navigating the treacherous waters together. Girl, boy, Swedish, or other: whatever you are, “We Are the Best!” is liable to put a smile on your face.

— About.com

R.I.P. Jeff Vice

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(In memory of my friend Jeff Vice, who died Monday after a massive asthma attack and heart failure.)

In 1999, when I started reviewing movies regularly for the Daily Herald in Provo, it was Jeff Vice of the Deseret News in Salt Lake City who showed me the ropes. He gave me publicists’ contact information and helped me get on the right lists. He gladly and patiently let me coordinate my schedule with his, to make sure I hadn’t missed any screening announcements. I felt intimidated to be joining an already established group of Utah critics — Jeff; Sean Means at the Salt Lake Tribune; Scott Renshaw at City Weekly; Steve Salles at the Ogden Standard-Examiner — but Jeff made me feel welcome.

Over the next six years, this core group of us and a handful of others (like Audrey Rock at the Tooele paper; Tony Toscano of TV; Jeremy Mathews at the University of Utah paper) must have watched more than a thousand movies together at various theaters in Salt Lake. I’d heard of cities where the critics were merely civil to each other (at best), but it wasn’t like that here. Led by Jeff’s earnest friendliness and ever-present smile, we were a group of colleagues who became real friends.

At the evening screenings, which were open to the public so we had to get there early, we’d spend the half-hour before showtime chatting about movies and TV. If it was a Monday, we’d repeat lines from the previous night’s episode of “The Simpsons” to each other. If I missed a screening of a movie that turned out to be bad, Jeff would paraphrase “Office Space” and tell me, “Oh, I wouldn’t say you were missing it….” We enjoyed the good movies as a group, endured the disasters together. We socialized outside of “work.” I spent more time in the company of my fellow critics than I did with my actual co-workers at the newspaper I wrote for.

I moved to Portland in 2005. For the next couple years, whenever I’d be back in Utah for something, Jeff would email the gang and arrange for us all to have dinner. It was a sweet, thoughtful thing to do — and Jeff did sweet, thoughtful things all the time. He was generous and kind, an enthusiastic geek with a great big ol’ heart. I called him J-Dawg and he called me E-Roc.

We weren’t in touch very much the last few years, though we recently reconnected on Twitter and Facebook. I actually had a dream about him a couple nights before he died. In the dream, I was back in Salt Lake City and I ran into Jeff in a parking lot, where we stood and chatted about how I was turning 40 this year. In real life, when Jeff turned 40, someone Photoshopped his face onto the poster for “The 40-Year-Old Virgin.” In my dream, Jeff brought this up and joked about doing it for me. We laughed and laughed, and it felt like old times. Even though it wasn’t real, I’m glad I had this last fond memory of Jeff before he died.

My condolences to his family, his girlfriend, and the people who were lucky enough to be working with him when he died. I know the Utah film and geek communities are devastated today. R.I.P., old friend.

(To my great dismay, I don’t seem to have any pictures of me and Jeff together. If anyone reading this does have such a picture, please send it my way.)

Movie B.S. with Bayer and Snider #212: ‘X-Men: Days of Future Past,’ ‘Chef,’ more

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[We talk about Adam Sandler’s “Blended” on Movie B.S. too, even though I didn’t see it. We’re edgy like that.]

Episode 212: ‘X-Men: Days of Future Past,’ ‘Blended,’ ‘Chef’

0:00-4:05 – Introduction, Dr Pepper imitations
4:05-18:50 – “X-Men: Days of Future Past” review
18:50-22:15 – Replacements needed for “nerd” and “geek,” with discussion of what used to be offensive but isn’t now
22:15-30:10 – “Blended” review (Bayer only; Snider talks about why he didn’t see it)
30:10-34:30 – “Chef” review
34:30-42:35 – QOTW (movies that could have used time travel)
42:35-45:25 – Summer Box Office Challenge update
45:25-47:45 – Help us determine which Best Actor/Actress Oscar nominee shows up the latest in his/her movie (current champion: Frances McDormand, “Fargo,” 33 minutes in)
47:45-49:20 – Wrap-up and goodbyes

QOTW: What movie most faithfully depicts a religion, philosophy, or point of view that you strongly believe in?

Download audio / Listen at MovieBS.com / Listen at iTunes

X-Men: Days of Future Past

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You know what the “X-Men” franchise is? I’ll tell you what it is. Venerable. The first installment, way back in 2000, launched a series that now has seven entries — without any reboots! (Superman has started over twice since then.) That first “X-Men” also initiated the modern superhero trend that has come to dominate the conversation in Hollywood, changing the movie business. Them mutants is powerful.

Given its age and size, it’s surprising that the franchise still has life in it, but that’s exactly what “X-Men: Days of Future Past” proves. After two Wolverine-centric spinoffs and a prequel (“X-Men: First Class”), Bryan Singer, who directed the first two chapters (and made one of those Superman reboots), returns with screenwriter Simon Kinberg (“X-Men: The Last Stand”) to tie everything together. The deftness with which they accomplish it is impressive. Notwithstanding the previously introduced characters who aren’t present, and the ones who have returned but don’t have anything to do (Halle Berry’s Storm just stands around), “DOFP” delivers intelligent action, consistent humor, and a compelling narrative.

We begin in the near future, when the mutants are losing a war against an army of tall, slender death robots called Sentinels, which were designed back in 1973 by a mutant-hating scientist named Dr. Bolivar Trask (Peter Dinklage). Professor X (Patrick Stewart) and Magneto (Ian McKellen) determine that the only way to survive is to send Wolverine (Hugh Jackman) back to 1973 — not to stop the Sentinels from being invented, but to stop Mystique (Jennifer Lawrence) from doing something else that set off a chain of events that led to the current situation. There’s probably a good reason why they don’t just prevent Trask from designing the Sentinels, but I don’t know what it is. Anyway, they are able to send Wolverine back in time because that is a thing they can do.

In 1973, where we spend most of the film, Wolverine rounds up young Charles (James McAvoy), young Beast (Nicholas Hoult), and young Magneto (Michael Fassbender), to tell them what must be done. Assisting briefly is a new kid named Peter (Evan Peters) — known to comic book readers as Quicksilver — a mutant with super-speed, whose teenage flippancy is a breath of fresh air amid so many somber mutant faces. His showcase scene, a slow-motion breakdown of him taking out a room full of enemies in a fraction of a second, is the movie’s highlight. Never mind all that heroic stuff, here’s where Singer reminds us how cool it would be to have superpowers.

1973-ish things like Vietnam and Nixon come into play, as do a handful of other mutants, though most only briefly. Like that one guy, Toad (Evan Jonigkeit), who has all the powers of a toad. Love that guy. Wolverine, Charles, and Magneto are the core trio, putting the film’s weight on the brawny shoulders of Jackman, McAvoy, and Fassbender, where it rests comfortably. The three characters’ internal conflicts keep things interesting between major plot points, but they’re the only ones we get personal with. Mystique is supposed to be conflicted about whether she’s a good witch or a bad witch, but Lawrence’s performance is uncharacteristically flat in that respect. (She kicks butt in other areas, though.)

The finale wraps things up satisfyingly while opening the door to a variety of intriguing possibilities for future chapters. The behind-the-scenes factors that prevent the X-Men from interacting with other Marvel characters are silly, but the situation is good from a creative standpoint because it lets the X-Men series build its own stories, without having to correlate with the master plan governing each of the Avengers’ movies. “Days of Future Past” will probably appeal most to viewers who already have some attachment to these characters, and I can understand why some of my colleagues say it left them cold. As someone whose X-Men experience begins and ends with the movies, I can tell you that I had a good time with it, and that I hope there’s more Toad in the next one.

Cold in July

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Reviewing “Cold in July” is tricky because so much of its appeal stems from its surprises — not “surprises” in the sense of shocking plot twists, but in the way the story keeps us guessing about what kind of story it is. Is it a grim drama about the real-life consequences of violence? A revenge thriller in which an ordinary man is drawn into a dangerous world? A buddy comedy? Sure! All of those!

In lesser hands, such an erratic storyline might have resulted in a frustrating, disappointing film of inconsistent tone. But “Cold in July,” based on Joe R. Lansdale’s novel and directed by Jim Mickle (“We Are What We Are”), is a highly satisfying bit of pulp fiction that uses its ever-changing trajectory to its advantage.

Set in east Texas in 1989, the film starts with a burglar being shot by a homeowner, Richard Dane (Michael C. Hall), a timid man who’d never fired a gun before and is rattled by the act of violence, however justified it was. Richard’s disinterest in gun culture makes him an outlier in his rural community, where his redneck mailman congratulates him the next day with “I hear you got ya one last night.” To the police and the townsfolk, it’s no big deal. But they aren’t the ones who, like Richard and his wife (Vinessa Shaw), have to scrub brains off the living room wall, or who are now unsettled by the sight of their little boy playing with a toy gun.

The mood at this point is reminiscent of “A History of Violence,” David Cronenberg’s excellent drama about a small-town family forced to reckon with the traumatic things that, in movies, seem to have no effect on people. Things get more complicated — and start to move in another direction — when Richard learns that his burglar’s father is a recently paroled felon himself. This man, Ben Russell (Sam Shepard), all steely-eyed and gravel-voiced, is none too pleased about what happened to his son, and he starts menacing Richard, “Cape Fear”-style. Where Richard was once apologetic (he told the cops, “My finger slipped”), now he’s forced to be defensive, telling Ben, “He didn’t give me much choice.”

We now seem to have arrived at a new type of story, one in which an average citizen must defend himself against a dangerous criminal because the police don’t believe him about the guy being a threat. Fortunately, we’re in this mode only a short time before Ben Russell’s harassment becomes incontrovertible — and then, yet again, we pivot to something new. This involves, at the movie’s halfway mark, the introduction of a brand-new character, a glib, pugnacious P.I. named Jim Bob, who is played with obvious glee by Don Johnson. Johnson, Hall, and Shepard — not a trio of actors I’d have pictured together, but a very effective ensemble as it turns out — carry the film into its crime-noir section, where the story gets darker even as the dialogue grows lighter and funnier.

Mickle has said “Cold in July” was partly influenced by the 1980s work of John Carpenter, which is evident in his use of Carpenter’s signature font (Albertus) in the credits, and in commissioning a musical score (by Jeff Grace) full of thrumming synthesizers. I don’t see much resemblance beyond that except maybe to “Big Trouble in Little China” (ordinary guy dragged into underworld), but Mickle’s interest in genre conventions is worth noting, especially as “Cold in July” is so different from his previous films, which have mostly been horror variations.

There’s horror in “Cold in July,” but it’s more muted and internal, more about human nature than about, say, cannibalism or vampires. Mickle’s direction is tense and confident, sure-footedly guiding us along the treacherous and entertaining path mapped out for these disparate characters, stumbling only slightly in the too-tidy resolution. Still, it’s amazing to see where a story can go when it starts with one bullet.

Movie B.S. with Bayer and Snider #211: ‘Godzilla,’ ‘Million Dollar Arm,’ more

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[Giant monsters, Jon Hamm, an improvised Old West thriller, and more on Movie B.S.!]

Episode 211: ‘Godzilla,’ ‘Million Dollar Arm,’ ‘God’s Pocket,’ ‘Locke,’ Pitch Me

0:00-4:00 – Introduction, the weather, calories in soda
4:00-22:30 – “Godzilla” review
22:30-29:10 – “Million Dollar Arm” review
29:10-34:00 – “God’s Pocket” review
34:00-39:35 – “Locke” review
39:35-46:25 – QOTW (funny moments in dramas)
46:25-55:45 – Follow-up on “Neighbors,” seeing it with your mom, and the box office
55:45-1:03:00 – A round of Pitch Me!
1:03:00-1:06:20 – Wrap-up and goodbyes

QOTW: What movie should have used time travel, and why?

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The Discoverers

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“If history is written by the winners, what happens to the rest of us?” That’s what history professor Lewis Birch (Griffin Dunne) wants to know in “The Discoverers,” a clumsy but affectionate dramedy about a man trying to reconcile with his family and determine what kind of legacy he’s leaving behind. The rather on-the-nose quotation I just gave comprises the very first words spoken in the movie, which makes it even more on the nose. Like I said, clumsy, but the movie’s heart is in the right place.

We meet Lewis Birch at a disorganized time in his life, when he’s teaching part-time at a Chicago community college after falling from a lofty university position due to his own screw-ups. He’s newly divorced, too, for what we gather are similar reasons. His dopey 17-year-old son Jack (Devon Graye) and adult-acting 15-year-old daughter Zoe (an excellent Madeleine Martin) treat him with a teenage mixture of disdain and pity, but they’re game enough to join him on a weeklong vacation to Oregon, where Lewis is presenting a paper at a history conference.

These plans are derailed when Lewis’ aged mother passes away, leaving no one but Lewis to deal with his bitter, slightly insane father, Stanley (Stuart Margolin), a “misanthrope with a musket” whose life revolves around Lewis and Clark reenactment hikes. Lewis and his brother, Bill (John C. McGinley), grew up with this stuff (and were named after Meriweather Lewis and William Clark), and it’s a major part of the reason Bill wants no part in caring for Stanley now.

Through a series of contrivances (including grief-induced catatonia) and taking much longer than it should, the movie arrives at its real premise: Lewis, Jack, and Zoe need to accompany Stanley — who the kids didn’t know existed till this week — on one of these “discovery treks,” as they’re known. Led by an amusingly enthusiastic role-player named Cyrus Marshall (David Rasche), they join a small group of people in period clothes in the woods for a few days. Lewis has to sort things out with his father, bond with his kids, and still get to Oregon before the conference is over.

Written and directed by first-timer Justin Schwarz, “The Discoverers” has the form an urbane indie dramedy about a disheveled academic’s existential and family crises — something in the vein of “Wonder Boys” or “The Squid and the Whale” — but in content is much more lightweight and unpolished. Besides spending a third of its running time meandering before it gets to the premise, the film also includes an oddly detailed tangent where Zoe gets her period and Lewis is ill-equipped to help her. There’s also a halfhearted effort to give Jack some romantic intrigue on the trek, which only serves to underscore the character’s superfluousness.

On the other hand, Zoe is a pistol, a good match for her scholarly father and a sounding board for his chaotic thought process. She’s a vegan, an outspoken critic of gender bias (don’t even get her started on Lewis and Clark and Sacajawea), and a chip off the old block. The menstrual subplot is ineffective, but the idea of a movie all about Lewis and Zoe is appealing — more so than the one about Lewis reconciling with his own father.

What’s strange is that except for a brief flurry of F-words and some pot smoking, this could be a PG sort of family film. It has the kind of warmhearted humor and low-stakes conflicts that play well at heartland film festivals. Instead, it’s a middling but upbeat entry in the canon of forgettable (but pleasant!) independent comedies.

Million Dollar Arm

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Out of a nozzle on the Disney movie-making machine labeled “inspiring sports dramas” comes “Million Dollar Arm,” a rote, emotionally blank lump of fact-based hooey about a sports agent named J.B. Bernstein (Jon Hamm) who saves his career by finding two cricket bowlers in India who can be retrained as baseball pitchers in America. J.B. and his baseball cronies’ stated purpose for doing this to take a crack at the potentially lucrative, as-yet-untapped Indian market for Major League Baseball. Why, if one of ’em played for the big leagues, all 1.2 billion of their countrymen might watch! Think of the merchandising! Really tugs at the heartstrings, no?

The Indian fellows, Rinku (Suraj Sharma) and Dinesh (Madhur Mittal), are plucked from open auditions held throughout the country by J.B. and a curmudgeonly old talent scout (who, it need hardly be said, is played by Alan Arkin). With an enthusiastic Indian baseball fan named Amit (Pitobash Tripathy) coming along as a translator, J.B. takes the guys back to Los Angeles to train with an open-minded USC pitching coach (an underused Bill Paxton), with an eye toward a big-league tryout many months hence. In the meantime, they have to live with J.B. in his expensive house because they’re too uncivilized to stay in a hotel (really!), resulting in predictable, very tame “bachelor’s life turned upside-down by wacky visitors” tomfoolery.

The story’s obligatory love interest is Brenda (Lake Bell), a nurse who lives in the bungalow in J.B.’s backyard. You can tell she and J.B. are going to become an item because in her first several scenes there’s literally no other reason for the character to exist.

Directed with atypical apathy by Craig Gillespie (“Lars and the Real Girl”) from a wan screenplay by the usually reliable Thomas McCarthy (“The Station Agent,” “Win Win”), the film shows no actual interest in America’s pastime (we never see anyone play — repeat, there is no baseball playing in this movie), nor in the boys, who are sweet and probably interesting. No, the focus is J.B. Bernstein, a hustling, all-business grump who must learn — you guessed it — what’s really important in life. (It’s love.) The film paints all the numbers the right color, but it does so without passion or joy. Even the charismatic Hamm can’t save it.

Godzilla (2014)

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Godzilla (2014)
This guy again.

The day has come! After 60 years, for the first time, we’ve finally got a Hollywood version of Godzilla. It’s amazing nobody ever tried it before, but better late than never, right? Finally! The first American Godzilla movie.

You heard me. THE FIRST.

“Godzilla,” directed by Gareth Edwards from a sturdy if mechanical screenplay by Max Borenstein, reboots the venerable Japanese monster for the 21st century while staying true to its roots as a fearsome dino-beast that is both a threat to and a savior of mankind. Edwards and Borenstein treat the matter seriously, without a lot of jokiness or meta-references, and the businesslike attitude pays off in a movie that’s serious about being tremendous fun. This is no expensive lark tossed off by goofballs working for paychecks. This is Godzilla, made by a director who wanted to get it right.

Starting with appetite-whetting sequences in which huge, mysterious clues are discovered and strange, unexplainable earth tremors recorded, the film follows a straightforward path through the usual tropes: a young Navy man named Ford Brody (Aaron Taylor-Johnson) happens to be where the action is; he’s separated from his worried wife (Elizabeth Olsen) and son; a couple of scientists (Ken Watanabe, Sally Hawkins) tell the military how to combat the “massive unidentified terrestrial organism” when it emerges; many objects are crushed and smashed and knocked down and set on fire. People gaze upward in wonder and astonishment (the “Spielberg face”) when they’re not fleeing in terror. It’s a familiar routine, but Edwards takes us through it gracefully. And to tide us over until the title character arrives, Edwards gives us a non-Godzilla monster as an appetizer, a giant flying insectoid thing that lives on radiation.

Impressively, this is only Edwards’ second feature. His first, a low-budget indie called “Monsters” (2010), was also about giant creatures, but it focused on two characters trekking through a monster-infested area, and it ingeniously (and inexpensively) did not emphasize the beasts themselves.

You can see Edwards leaning that way in “Godzilla,” too. Even though he has the budget to create a wall-to-wall spectacle, he’s still interested in the human point of view. And so we often see the monsters the way the people are seeing them: through shattered glass, from behind a barricade, in TV news coverage, and so on. Edwards teases us the way Spielberg did in “Jaws” and “Jurassic Park” (though not quite to such great effect), waiting till the second half to fully reveal the awesome majesty of full-frontal Godzilla.

Paradoxically, though Edwards wants to focus on the humans, he cast a dull human as his lead character. That’s Aaron Taylor-Johnson (“Kick-Ass”), from the current line of generically handsome but emotionally stagnant action stars (see also: Charlie Hunnam in “Pacific Rim,” Kellan Lutz in “The Legend of Hercules,” Paul Walker in everything). Don’t be misled by the presence of Bryan Cranston, Juliette Binoche, Ken Watanabe, Sally Hawkins, Elizabeth Olsen, and David Strathairn in the cast. Their screen time ranges from “sufficient” to “egregiously short” (and the female characters have precious little to do, story-wise), and ATJ is in almost every scene, fulfilling his basic responsibilities without engaging us.

The script doesn’t do him any favors, making Ford Brody less a character than a series of heroic plot points. I note that when it isn’t geographically feasible for Brody to rescue his own son from anything, the movie gives him a random lost little boy to protect for a few scenes, just to make sure that box gets checked off.

For me, Edwards’ way of building anticipation sometimes borders on frustration, especially when major monster-on-monster action is about to happen and Edwards cuts away. At the risk of sounding like one of those “SHOW US THE MONSTER IMMEDIATELY AND ALWAYS!” short-attention-span types … come on. There’s teasing, and there’s cruelty.

That being said, once things do kick into high gear, they kick hard. Despite their digital nature, Godzilla and the other gargantuan things feel like they have weight and mass, and the wounds they inflict on each other and their surroundings are solid. The action is always clear and logical (and cinematographer Seamus McGarvey’s work is beautiful), culminating in a final battle that rewards our patience. Earlier frustrations tend to be forgiven once you do finally get what you came for. And hey, now we have an American Godzilla to play with! For the first time.

Chatroom

Chatroom

Hey, teens of today! You know what’s super cool and dope? The Internet! But you know what’s totally whack? Suicide. That’s the rad message of the wicked awesome “Chatroom,” a thriller aimed at you, the teens of today! It speaks your language (English) and deals with issues you can relate to, like cyber-bullying and Imogen Poots.

The film features Aaron Taylor-Johnson, star of “Kick-Ass” and “Godzilla” and noted survivor of a cougar attack, as William, a troubled London teen who uses the Internet for its intended purpose of ruining lives. He starts a chatroom called “Chelsea Teens!” (enthusiasm his), which is immediately joined by several local kids his age. You know how excited teenagers get when there’s a new chatroom!

Now, since so much of the film consists of Internet conversations, and since it is boring to watch people type at computers, the movie uses a gimmick to stimulate our feeble brains. The Internet is portrayed as a vast, garishly lit hotel, each room a different chatroom (in this movie, the Internet consists only of chatrooms) in which the participants sit around and talk. It’s basically a chat transcript being read aloud, except that everyone speaks in coherent sentences, nobody says “LOL” or “WTF,” and Scarlett Johansson’s breasts are not mentioned.

The other Chelsea teens who join the chatroom are similar to William in that they all have melodramatic problems ripe for exploiting, dissimilar to him in that they are not sociopaths or played by actors who married women twice their age. Eva (Imogen Poots) is a pretty girl and a model, but her real-life friends are shallow and vain because they are also models. Smart, timid Emily (Hannah Murray) feels like she’s never good enough for her social-climbing parents. Mo (Daniel Kaluuya) is ashamed of himself for having a crush on his best friend’s 11-year-old sister. Jim (Matthew Beard) is a mopey Eeyore with an overwrought story of being abandoned by his father at the zoo when he was 9 years old, a story that would be sad in a real movie but just makes us roll our eyes here.

And William himself? His mother is a famous novelist who based her dashing hero on William’s older brother, so William is jealous and snotty about that. He also has scars on his wrists — movie shorthand for “this person attempted suicide but didn’t do it right.” They don’t write novels about quitters, do they, William?

We gradually come to realize that despite his friendly, earnest demeanor online, like an Internet Boy Scout, what William really wants is to wreak havoc and cause suffering, like an Internet commenter. He tells Emily to commit anonymous acts of vandalism to get her parents’ attention. For Eva, he sabotages a rival model’s career. He tells Jim to quit taking his antidepressants. He advises Mo to tell his friend about his inappropriate feelings for his sister, assuring him the friend will understand. (The friend does not.)

What’s with all the bad advice? Is William the devil? Is he Dr. Drew? No, he’s just a miserable bastard who wants everyone else to also be miserable bastards. The question is why the other kids take his advice even though they are pretty smart and the advice is obviously terrible. It’s not like William is persuasive or charismatic, not in person, and certainly not when it’s just his words appearing in a chatroom window. But it shouldn’t surprise us that a movie about teenagers and the Internet that doesn’t understand how the Internet works would also not understand how teenagers work. It is in keeping with the general theme.

In the film’s climax, William has persuaded the now unmedicated Jim to kill himself, and has even procured a gun for him. (Remember, this is England, where getting a gun would actually be difficult for a teenager to do.) The other Chelsea Teens rush all over the Internet and actual London looking for Jim, hoping to stop him before it’s too late. The idea of intentionally manipulating a depressed teenager into dumping his medication and committing suicide is horrifying in a real-world context, but don’t worry: the movie is too obvious and stupid to be taken seriously. Instead, it’s just distasteful and exploitative, a dopey melodrama aimed at undiscerning young audiences despite having no idea how to talk to them. How it failed to make $100 million, I’ll never know.

— GeekNation

God’s Pocket

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In “God’s Pocket,” the title neighborhood is a Philadelphia subsection populated by complacent, beaten-down people, all of them sinners and losers united by their common flaws. “If you were from here you’d understand” is what the locals say to outsiders (i.e., anyone not born there) to explain their community’s odd code of solidarity, which sometimes means sticking together and sometimes means throwing each other under the bus.

This depressing blue-collar locale is the scene of dark humor, light tragedy, and general ugliness — on top of everything else, it’s 1978 — in an ambitious but cluttered film based on Pete Dexter’s novel and directed by John Slattery. Slattery (best known as Roger Sterling on “Mad Men”) clearly had some affection for it — he co-wrote the screenplay — but it may have been unwise to choose such a tonally difficult story for his directorial debut. On the other hand, if he can make something even marginally watchable out of these dismal prospects, just think what he could do with a more human and well-developed set of characters.

We begin at the funeral of Leon (Caleb Landry Jones), a 22-year-old racist dirtbag whose death is mourned by his mother (Christina Hendricks) and no one else, though everyone has come to the memorial service because that’s what you do in God’s Pocket. We flashback to a few days earlier, when Leon is killed at the construction site where he works in what everyone is calling a simple accident. (It is not.) His stepfather, Mickey Scarpato (Philip Seymour Hoffman), a low-level criminal currently engaged in selling a stolen truck full of stolen meat, makes the funeral arrangements but can’t afford to pay for them, which is how Leon’s corpse ends up in the back of the refrigerated truck.

Meanwhile, there is a newspaper columnist named Richard Shelburn (Richard Jenkins) whose inspired commentaries on God’s Pocket have made him an object of local veneration. Women fall at his feet and into his bed; men want to shake his hand and hear his stories. Everyone in God’s Pocket drinks too much, but Shelburn has lately been drinking especially too much, causing his work to suffer. He pokes around Leon’s death in the hopes of finding a human interest story, and to seduce Leon’s grieving mother.

With its gallows humor, small-town oddballs, and occasional bursts of brutal violence, the film invites comparisons to the Coen brothers’ grimmer work. (Casting John Turturro as one of Mickey’s criminal buddies helps.) But Slattery and co-screenwriter Alex Metcalf (“An American Affair”) don’t even come close to the Coens’ level of character work, instead delivering an ensemble of greasy, beer-scented schlubs who are practically indiscernible from one another. Hoffman, Hendricks, and Jenkins are talented actors, but they all struggle to find their footing here; Jenkins’ columnist character, in particular, feels useless and unmotivated. It’s hard to imagine being disappointed by a Richard Jenkins performance, but here we are.

Yet I wouldn’t dismiss the film altogether. It does have moments of effective dark comedy, and the cast (which also includes stalwart character actors like Eddie Marsan, Peter Gerety, and Domenick Lombardozzi) is wholly committed to the bleak absurdity of it all. Slattery, who has directed five “Mad Men” episodes, shows a strong cinematic eye. His second film will probably be fantastic.

Neighbors

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You might expect an R-rated comedy starring Seth Rogen and Zac Efron, directed by the guy who made “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” and “The Five-Year Engagement,” to be loose and sloppy, like Seth Rogen’s torso. But “Neighbors” turns out to be tight and lean and eminently watchable, like Zac Efron’s torso. It’s boisterously funny, yet also focused and perceptive. Who knew a Seth Rogen movie could be all of those things at once??

Rogen and the suddenly indispensable Rose Byrne play Mac and Kelly, new parents working through the mixed emotions of loving their adorable baby girl while missing their old, fun lives. After a few lukewarm gags along the usual lines (they want to go to a late-night party but fall asleep instead!), we get to the crux of the matter as a fraternity moves in to the house next door. Under the guidance of dude-bros Teddy (Zac Efron) and Pete (Dave Franco), the frat behaves exactly the way Mac and Kelly were afraid they would, with raucous nightly parties. (For some reason they’re the only neighbors bothered by the noise.)

The new situation intensifies Mac and Kelly’s insecurity about becoming grown-ups. They want to be cool, and even more than that, they want to be cool in the eyes of hot college kids (Mac unhesitatingly calls Teddy “the sexiest man I’ve ever seen”). With a joint as a peace offering, the couple gets on the frat’s good side and they all promise to be considerate neighbors.

That doesn’t work out, obviously, and war is declared. And here comes the movie’s saving grace. Where the usual formula would be Mac vs. Teddy with Kelly staying on the sidelines rolling her eyes, the film (written by first-timers Andrew J. Cohen and Brendan O’Brien) makes Kelly an equal partner. She wants these douchebags out as much as her husband does, and Byrne is every bit as foul-mouthed and righteously angry as Rogen. So instead of being the voice of reason — oh, how actresses must get tired of playing the voice of reason in male-oriented comedies! — Kelly is a co-conspirator, using her female point of view to devise plans to bring the frat down by getting it in trouble with the university’s headline-averse dean (Lisa Kudrow) or by driving a wedge between best bros Teddy and Pete. No joke, Mac and Kelly have one of the best, most functional marriages of any movie couple so far this year.

The escalating pranks and sabotage are hilariously executed by director Nicholas Stoller and his cast, which also includes Christopher Mintz-Plasse as a frat member, Ike Barinholtz as Mac’s eager-to-destroy buddy, and a handful of funny lesser-known actors like Craig Roberts and Jerrod Carmichael. The physical comedy and sight gags are well choreographed, but the film doesn’t lean too heavily on jackassery for its laughs. Nor does it treat the frat boys solely as adversaries, giving us scenes from Teddy and Pete’s point of view to flesh them out (and “flesh” is definitely the right word). It would be easy in a comedy like this to do nothing but make fun of frat boys, but “Neighbors” doesn’t take the easy way out.

Stoller summons a few appropriate cameos for a brief sequence describing the frat’s history, and delivers good-natured raunch throughout. (It’s the clean kind of raunch, too — sex, not poop.) A minor subplot with the Barinholtz character’s estranged wife hooking up with a frat boy is oddly underdeveloped, but the gags associated with it are solid. This could be the big studio comedy to beat for 2014.

Chef

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It’s not exactly a deep insight to note that Jon Favreau’s sunny, small-scale “Chef” feels like a response to the giant studio projects he’s either written or directed in the last several years, which have been full of spectacle (and Iron Men and cowboys and aliens and couples retreats) but not much heart. He’s the writer, director, and star of “Chef” — it’s only the second time he’s pulled triple-duty — and his personal enthusiasm shines through. To paraphrase someone in the film, it seems like Favreau is cooking for himself again.

Favreau plays Carl Casper, a once-promising Miami chef who in recent years has moved to L.A. and, like many people who move to L.A., sold out. He creates good but unimaginative dishes for a popular high-end restaurant whose owner (Dustin Hoffman) insists that he stifle his creative menu impulses and “play the hits.” (You can picture a studio head telling Favreau that something needs more explosions.)

Still, Carl enjoys his work and takes it seriously — too seriously, perhaps, as he neglects his 10-year-old son, Percy (Emjay Anthony), and disappoints his ex-wife (Sofia Vergara), who’s still friendly since the divorce. His life revolves around the restaurant, where he flirts with and cooks for the hostess, Molly (Scarlett Johansson), and has a loyal kitchen staff that includes his sous chef, Martin (John Leguizamo).

It takes an influential online food critic (Oliver Platt) to awaken Carl from his reverie, with a scathing review that calls him out on his complacency and throws in some insults about his weight to boot. (Critics. Is there anything they can’t do?) This leads to an amusing Twitter fight and an in-person confrontation that winds up on YouTube. But more importantly, it makes Carl realize he needs to get his culinary groove back. His ex-wife has been suggesting he open a food truck. You know what that means. Road trip!

Wait, what? Yes, it doesn’t exactly make sense, but Carl, Martin, and young Percy drive across the country in the food truck, stopping in places like New Orleans and Austin to sell food and hone their craft. Percy, thrilled to bond with his dad and learn how to work in a kitchen, uses his social media expertise to spread the word. The Internet disrupted Carl’s life; now it saves it. (The Internet. Is there anything it can’t do?)

Favreau and Leguizamo have what feels like a natural rapport — is it possible that Favreau has rapport with everyone? — and this Emjay Anthony kid seems sharp. (Bonus: he actually looks like he could plausibly be the offspring of Sofia Vergara and Jon Favreau.) The father-son stuff is a nice touch, sweet without being sappy, but the emphasis is on Carl’s own personal improvements, his rediscovery of the joy of cooking.

In the process, of course, we’re seeing Favreau pour his heart and soul into a project he cares about, one that lets him be funny — and “Chef” is frequently hilarious — and also lets him indulge his gustatory impulses. “Chef” is brimming with food porn sure to excite the salivary glands of even the most casual gourmand. More attention is lavished on how to make a proper Cuban sandwich, for example, than on several of the film’s characters (Johansson totally disappears in the second half) or on the story, which comes from a box rather than being made from scratch. This is the Favreau we used to know and love: a sardonic motormouth with a soft center who’s just a lot of fun to hang out with.

Movie B.S. with Bayer and Snider #209: ‘The Amazing Spider-Man 2,’ ‘Blue Ruin’

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[Don’t miss this week’s Movie B.S.! We chose our films for our summer box office challenge. It’s gonna be fun.]

Episode 209: ‘The Amazing Spider-Man 2,’ ‘Blue Ruin,’ summer box office draft

0:00-2:35 – Introduction, small talk
2:35-5:30 – iTunes review, a call for new theme songs, Fat Albert
5:30-19:45 – “The Amazing Spider-Man 2″ review
19:45-23:25 – Eric’s proposal for curtailing the comic book movies, more Spidey talk
23:25-29:05 – “Blue Ruin” review
29:05-35:15 – QOTW (your most anticipated films of the summer)
35:15-49:50 – We choose our movies for the 4th annual summer blockbuster contest. The stakes are high! We don’t know what they are yet, but they are high
49:50-52:35 – Next week’s QOTW, wrap-up and goodbyes

QOTW: What was your most emotional movie moment?

Download audio / Listen at MovieBS.com / Listen at iTunes

The Amazing Spider-Man 2

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The new “Spider-Man 2” is here! They added the word “Amazing” to it, but that’s really just a marketing tool, like “New & Improved.” And yes, the old “Spider-Man 2” is only 9.8 years old and still functions perfectly well. Nonetheless, you’ll need to trade it in for the upgrade, as Sony is no longer offering support for the older models.

This one, again directed by Marc Webb (no pun intended), has a scattershot tone, solid action, real chemistry between Peter Parker and Gwen Stacy, and three useless villains. (Two and a half, really: the estimable Paul Giamatti has all of 90 seconds of screen time as the Rhino.) The screenplay, credited to Alex Kurtzman, Roberto Orci, and Jeff Pinkner, relies heavily on TV news, pre-recorded computer announcements, and other lazy gimmicks to relay information.

Of which there is a lot. Information, I mean. While certain moments and scenes stand out, overall the film is a listless exercise whose primary purpose seems to be setting up characters and situations for future “Spider-Man” movies. The whole thing is starting to feel like a Ponzi scheme. “Come see the latest adventure! Don’t worry if it’s not great — the next one’ll dazzle you!” But that’s what you said last time!

As usual, angst-ridden teenager Peter Parker (Andrew Garfield) is worried that his Spider-Man escapades will endanger his girlfriend (Emma Stone), and the Daily Bugle is debating whether Spider-Man is a HERO or a MENACE. In keeping with that theme of “familiar plot points already covered in four previous movies,” an insane man named Max Dillon (Jamie Foxx) accidentally obtains superpowers (electric eels are involved), then uses them to seek the destruction of Spider-Man, for whom he has a petty, disproportionate hatred.

Meanwhile, Peter’s best friend, Harry Osborn (Dane DeHaan) — whom he hasn’t seen or spoken to in eight years, but who is still his best friend — comes home from boarding school to watch his billionaire industrialist father (Chris Cooper) die from an illness both gross and hereditary. Mysterious research that Peter’s late father (Campbell Scott) did for Oscorp may hold the key to its cure, and Spider-Man’s blood is also involved, and eventually Harry Osborn joins Max Dillon in having an irrational, poorly explained motive for hating the web-slinger.

As with the previous entry, the film’s greatest strength is the cutely romantic interaction between Garfield and Stone (no doubt aided by their real-life couplehood, though they’re good actors too). Peter and Gwen ground the movie in real emotions — an important element in an effects-driven fantasy spectacle. But Peter changes when he puts the mask on, becoming a cocky braggart who delivers a constant patter of jokey wise-cracks even when no one’s around to hear them. It makes sense that he’d be freer and less inhibited when he’s in character, but the personality differences between Spider-Man and Peter are so stark they might as well be two entirely separate people.

Dane DeHaan is ludicrously over-the-top as the sniveling Harry, making him interesting to watch if nothing else. But Max, who becomes Electro, is an embarrassing dud, performed by a version of Jamie Foxx who seems completely lost and unsure of himself. Max is a comical doofus at first, complete with a bumbling musical theme; then, somehow, he’s supposed to be a fearsome menace. His story isn’t tragic, funny, or compelling, and his powers are vague. Sometimes he’s corporeal and you can capture him; other times he’s pure electricity and can travel through the power lines.

Webb handles the action and fight sequences better this time around. Scenes of Spidey flying, swinging, and falling through New York City are exhilarating, maybe the best of the series so far. It’s only in those moments and the quiet Peter-and-Gwen interludes that the film has any sense of joy or wonderment. The rest is shiny, busy, and boisterous, more perfunctory than fun.

— GeekNation

Whitewash

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It’s easy to see what draws an actor like Thomas Haden Church to a film like “Whitewash.” Though he works steadily and has done well for himself, the deep-voiced, amusingly off-kilter Church has yet to truly build on the Oscar nomination he earned for “Sideways” nearly a decade ago. “Whitewash,” the debut feature by Canadian filmmaker Emanuel Hoss-Desmarais, is largely a one-man show, giving that one man plenty of opportunity to flex his acting muscles and show us his chops. It’s a meaty role, a possibly sinister man whose sanity is in question. Except for most of the film taking place in a snowy forest, everything about it sounds appealing to an eager actor.

This is a roundabout way of saying that even if “Whitewash” were terrible, you’d be able to understand why Church made it. And as it turns out, it isn’t terrible, though it isn’t great, either. It lands squarely in the category of Good Enough, a bemusing semi-thriller full of low-key quirkiness that’s elevated by Church’s personable performance.

The film starts boldly, introducing us to a protagonist, named Bruce, whose first actions render him unsympathetic: he runs over a man with a snow plow, hides the body, then tells us in narration that “there’s no way anybody can prove I was drunk…. Tipsy, maybe. But drunk? Unprovable.” We wonder which path the story will take from here, whether our not-drunk snow-plow killer will suffer for his crime, or whether he’ll get away with it. Or who knows: maybe there were mitigating factors that will come to light make the incident seem less dastardly.

Bruce and his plow end up stuck in deep snow in a wooded area some distance away from what little civilization there is in this part of Quebec. To an extent, this development suits Bruce just fine — he needs to lie low for a while anyway. He makes furtive treks into town for food and fuel, and he has an outdoorsman’s survival skills. But even when he’s able to leave the plow, he continues to use it as his base of operations, as if he can’t bear to part with it. He passes the time by practicing the brazenly self-serving conversations he might eventually have with the police.

Flashbacks reveal the story piece by intriguing piece. The man Bruce plowed to death was Paul (Marc Labreche), a dotty Quebecker with suicidal tendencies and money problems, though he’s more chipper than you’d expect given that description. The men are strangers until Bruce’s good Samaritan behavior brings them together and installs Paul on Bruce’s couch for a few nights. Paul has odd ideas about how to make money, and the way he states his tech-industry credentials — “World Wide Web, emails, 2.0, I can do it all!” — makes one skeptical, though it fits with the movie’s general sense of understated eccentricity. (For example: Bruce’s late wife earned a living making glass eyes for dolls, many of which are now displayed in Bruce’s home, with loads of spare eyeballs in the basement.)

The first two-thirds of the movie meander a bit, as Hoss-Desmarais tries to keep us engaged in the story by withholding information. The trick works — sure enough, we remain interested — but it feels like a cheat once we know everything. The last section, though, is tense and darkly funny, with Bruce having to improvise solutions to unforeseen problems, not least of which is his own guilt-stricken conscience and unraveling sanity. Church’s gruff yet good-humored persona makes it hard to predict how Bruce will act from one scene to the next — an imbalance that Church uses to his advantage to keep us on edge. It’s more fun to watch an actor explore a character when the actor himself is hard to classify. When Church’s career is at last reinvigorated, “Whitewash” will be one of the movies people cite as evidence that it should have happened sooner.

Movie B.S. with Bayer and Snider #208: ‘Brick Mansions,’ Tribeca Film Festival

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[The latest edition of Movie B.S. is fortified with deadly vitamins and minerals.]

Episode 208: ‘Brick Mansions,’ Tribeca Film Fest

0:00-7:50 – Introduction; the movies we didn’t see
7:50-22:20 – “Brick Mansions” review
22:20-23:25 – Eric saw “Under the Skin” again
23:25-33:20 – Eric’s Tribeca Film Festival report: “Zero Motivation,” “Night Moves,” “In Your Eyes,” “Intramural”
33:20-46:35 – QOTW (actors and movies you can’t remember the names of or get confused)
46:35-49:10 – Next week’s QOTW and the summer box office contest, plus an uncomfortable silence
49:10-50:40 – Wrap-up and goodbyes

QOTW: What are your two (2) most anticipated movies this summer?

Download audio / Listen at MovieBS.com / Listen at iTunes

Blue Ruin

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There isn’t much to say on the subject of seeking revenge that isn’t covered by the old proverb about digging two graves first, yet we continue to crave movies in which people set out to satisfy the demands of justice by way of vengeance. “Blue Ruin,” a standout representative of this grim genre, is a tightly focused and uncluttered suspense drama about a man on a tragic mission. With no pretenses about reinventing the wheel, writer-director Jeremy Saulnier delivers a simple but gripping piece of somber entertainment.

Our sad hero is Dwight Evans (Macon Blair), a shaggy drifter living out of his car in the Delaware/New Jersey area. The vehicle is a rusty, decrepit 1990 Pontiac Bonneville with what appear to be bullet holes in the body; like Dwight, the car is a wreck that is somehow still functioning, though just barely. Dwight is asleep in the backseat one morning when a local cop (who knows him by name) comes to gently inform him of something: “He’s going to be released.”

The pronoun needs no antecedent. Dwight knows who “he” is: Wade Cleland, the murderer who’s been in prison for almost 20 years for destroying Dwight’s family. We understand by implication that Dwight was devastated by the killings, suffered a breakdown, and never recovered. He’s been off the grid ever since. Even now, his sister, Sam (Amy Hargreaves), doesn’t know where he is.

Dwight seems to have already considered what he would do if Wade Cleland ever got out of prison, and he does it without hesitating. That’s not the end of things, though (it’s never that simple, is it?), as the other unsavory members of the dirty Cleland family rally around Wade. The situation escalates slowly but unstoppably, and Saulnier isn’t afraid to let dark humor seep in as Dwight, who isn’t accustomed to this sort of thing, tries to stay a step ahead of the Clelands, who are. His disheveled appearance already the comical antithesis of the typical reluctant action hero, Dwight is even more absurd when he’s covered in blood or nursing an injury, or when he’s missing a close-range shot because he’s never fired a gun before. It’s only natural for us to laugh bitterly at the futility of it all, even as we admire his resilience and cheer his gradual demonstration of MacGyver-like resourcefulness.

Macon Blair, who appeared in Saulnier’s short films and prior feature, “Murder Party,” gives a riveting and forlorn central performance here. He plays Dwight as sad and ruined but not pitiful or pathetic, a man at the end of his rope who doggedly persists in doing what he feels must be done. Amy Hargreaves (from TV’s “Homeland”) is quietly effective as Dwight’s sister; Devin Ratray proves useful as an old high school buddy of Dwight’s who’s familiar with firearms; and Kevin Kolack has a nice sinister turn as one of the sleazy Clelands.

Saulnier tells his story with elegant spareness. Though events of the past play an important role, the film is set entirely in the present. There are no flashbacks, or even detailed conversations about it. The characters involved all know what happened. What is there to talk about? (“I’m not used to talking this much” Dwight says to Sam when they do finally reconnect.) This refreshing lack of extraneous dialogue makes what IS said all the more significant, and it gets right to the heart of the matter: everyone believes that their own actions are justified. Villains don’t consider themselves villains. That’s why revenge stories, if they’re realistic, are always so tragic. Even when you win, you lose.

Locke

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In the two dozen movies he’s made since his first small role in “Black Hawk Down” twelve years ago, Tom Hardy has established himself as a chameleon, disappearing into characters as physically different as the hulking, monstrous Bane in “The Dark Knight Rises,” the often-naked psychopath in “Bronson,” and the sharp-dressed identity thief in “Inception.” With all that gaining and losing of muscle and weight, it’s easy to forget that Hardy is a superb actor, too.

“Locke” is our reminder. Set entirely in an automobile with Hardy as the only person on screen (we hear other characters talk to him on the phone), it’s a one-man show, dependent entirely on Hardy’s performance as a man whose personal and professional lives are in danger of crashing down around him. Since he’s driving, there isn’t much Hardy can do physically; his face, hands, and voice are his only acting tools. (A nice touch: the character has a cold, and his occasional nose-blows and NyQuil gulps add to his frazzled demeanor.) Yet despite the limitations, we’re absorbed in his story, anxious to see how (or whether) his problems are resolved. This Tom Hardy fellow is the real deal, folks.

He plays the title character, Ivan Locke, a Welsh-accented Londoner currently driving to a hospital a few hours away, where a woman named Bethan (voiced by Olivia Colman) is about to give birth to a baby he fathered. At home, his wife (Ruth Wilson) and two sons are expecting him for a football game on the telly. You will note that Bethan and Locke’s wife are two different people. He hadn’t intended to have these delicate conversations now, on his bluetooth on the highway, but events have caught him off-guard.

He’s also dealing with a work-related crisis. A huge concrete project his company is supposed to start tomorrow at dawn has hit a bureaucratic snafu, and his bosses (he works for a multinational building corporation) will have his head if it doesn’t go as planned. So between all these calls to his wife, his sons, Bethan, and her doctor, Locke has to track down the co-workers and city officials who can save the project and his job.

It’s a stressful time, to put it mildly, and though Locke speaks with the calm clarity of a born problem-solver, he starts to crack under the pressure. He has a one-sided argument with his long-dead father about Fate — about whether our life’s path is set in stone once we make certain choices, or whether we can improve the future regardless of what we’ve done in the past. Locke is an optimist who believes that doing the right thing now will make some good come out of the wrong things he did before. His father had a different outlook. Locke is determined not to let his mistakes ruin his life. It’s a philosophical debate worthy of a certain other Locke.

The filmmaker is Steven Knight, a writer (“Eastern Promises,” “Dirty Pretty Things”) who made his directorial debut with last year’s little-seen Jason Statham drama “Redemption.” A movie about one guy driving a car is a daring attempt for a sophomore effort — logistically easier (and cheaper) than most movies, but with a much greater risk of turning into a dull, stagnant mess. Visually speaking, there isn’t a lot Knight can do to keep things interesting without resorting to look-at-me camera tricks (which he thankfully does not). But his screenplay is sufficiently engaging on its own, like a breathlessly paced piece of live theater excellently performed by a skilled actor. We’re glad to take this ride with Hardy, and eager to see where he’ll go next.

Brick Mansions

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If you’re game for a boldly ludicrous action vehicle that doesn’t wear out its welcome, you could do a lot worse than “Brick Mansions,” a frenetic lark in which a narcotics detective (Paul Walker in his last completed role) and a parkour-practicing vigilante (David Belle) team up to take down a drug lord (RZA) and save the walled-off ghettos of 2018 Detroit from a neutron bomb — all in less than 90 minutes without the credits. The French film it’s a remake of, “District B13,” had more parkour (both heroes did it, not just the one), but writer-producer Luc Besson’s unrestrained fondness for bombastic nonsense comes through in the translation. With cackling political villains, scenery-chewing kingpins, and a surplus of punchin’ and kickin’, it ain’t high art, but it gets the job done.

Movie B.S. with Bayer and Snider #207: ‘Transcendence,’ ‘Bears,’ ‘Joe’

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[How do you know you don’t like my podcast Movie B.S. if you’ve never listened to it?]

Episode 207: ‘Transcendence,’ ‘Bears,’ ‘Joe’

0:00-2:45 – Introduction, what Jeff is drinking
2:45-19:05 – “Transcendence” review
19:05-21:35 – “A Haunted House 2″ and “Heaven Is for Real” are movies that they didn’t show to critics
21:35-27:10 – “Bears” review
27:10-29:00 – “The Unknown Known” and “Joe,” very briefly
29:00-45:00 – QOTW (your biggest movie disagreements)
45:00-49:30 – Blather about Jeff moving to San Diego, dreams, more on “Transcendence,” the upcoming Summer Box Office Challenge
49:30-50:50 – Wrap-up and goodbyes
QOTW: What actor’s name or movie’s title have you had the most trouble remembering correctly?

Download audio / Listen at MovieBS.com / Listen at iTunes

In Your Eyes

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The last film that beloved geek icon Joss Whedon wrote but didn’t direct was “The Cabin in the Woods,” an ingenious reshuffling of horror tropes. His latest screenplay, “In Your Eyes,” takes a stab at another genre — the romantic drama — and gives it a supernatural spin. The results are mixed, and it’s missing Whedon’s trademark zing, but fans who savored the sappier aspects of “Buffy” and “Angel” may find it swoon-worthy.

In the spirit of such classics as “Sleepless in Seattle,” “In Your Eyes” is about two people who are destined to fall in love but who spend most of the movie geographically separated. Rebecca Porter (Zoe Kazan) lives in New Hampshire, the dutiful wife of a successful doctor (Mark Feuerstein) who drags her to fundraisers and treats her like a child. In New Mexico, recently paroled lock-picker Dylan Kershaw (Michael Stahl-David) is working at a car wash (I like to think it’s Walter White’s) and trying to stay out of trouble.

Rebecca and Dylan have what you might call an extrasensory meet-cute: they discover that they have a psychic connection. Each can see and feel what the other is seeing and feeling. They can’t read one another’s thoughts, but they can hear each other’s voices. They have no idea why or how. As far as they know, there’s no real-world link between them. (Not that being twins separated at birth would explain it, but still.)

They become friends as they realize they’ve had this connection all their lives and just never understood what it was. (An amber-hued flashback at the beginning of the film suggested as much.) Dylan remembers the summer he was depressed because Rebecca’s boyfriend dumped her. Rebecca knows how scared Dylan was his first night in prison. They talk whenever they can, which to bystanders looks like they’re talking to themselves (or on invisible phones).

Of the several directions one could go with this premise, Whedon and director Brin Hill (“Ball Don’t Lie”) choose to downplay the paranormal aspects (the causes and consequences of Dylan and Rebecca’s ESP aren’t explored) and focus on the emotional ones. Unfortunately, this means falling into some of the same traps as traditional romantic dramas — like making Rebecca’s husband so obviously wrong for her that we grow impatient waiting for her to realize she loves Dylan instead. A sequence where Rebecca acts as Dylan’s wingman, guiding him Cyrano-style through the steps of wooing a girl he likes (Nikki Reed), is an amusing diversion, but still: we know where this is going.

There’s a love scene that serves as the logical extension of the premise but which might be too ludicrous in the execution. I won’t say much about it, just that you walk a tightrope any time you depict passion between characters who are not physically in the same place. Another Whedon-related project might have played it as parody, but “In Your Eyes” is too sincere for that.

Sincerity is also one of the film’s strengths, though. While Rebecca and Dylan are aware of how bizarre their situation is (“Are you, by any chance, Satan?” he asks her early on), their dialogue isn’t loaded with snarky, self-referential jokes. As viewers, we’re invited to embrace the lovers-connected-by-ESP concept and snuggle up to its inherent drama. To that end, it’s unfortunate that the expressive Zoe Kazan is paired with the handsome but flat Michael Stahl-David, who’s too dull to inspire such strong yearning from such a long distance. Still, there’s no denying the power of a satisfying conclusion to an unusual romance, and Hill’s sentimental touch wins out in the end.

Transcendence

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Like so much of modern technology, “Transcendence” starts out full of excitement and promise before proving to be just another expensive gadget of dubious usefulness. The directorial debut of cinematographer Wally Pfister (he’s Christopher Nolan’s favorite), this half-hearted examination of the conflict between humanity and technology stars Johnny Depp as Will Caster, a brilliant Berkeley scientist at death’s door who uploads his consciousness into the artificial intelligence device that he’s been developing with his heal-the-world do-gooder wife, Evelyn (Rebecca Hall), and their conscience-stricken colleague Max (Paul Bettany). Now a super-intelligent living computer with access to all the world’s knowledge, Will develops nanotechnology that can heal injuries and cure disease — BUT AT WHAT COST?

Despite the alluring premise of an omniscient A.I., the film gets bogged down by elements it doesn’t have time to explore (anti-tech terrorists; the FBI; nano-enhanced super-soldiers). Moreover, it lacks a strong lead: Depp is a digital entity devoid of personality; Hall is inconsistent and purely functional; and Bettany is sidelined for most of it. Jack Paglen’s disappointing screenplay barely scratches the surface of the fascinating moral and scientific questions it hints at, instead spinning its wheels with hypotheticals. Even more egregious, it wastes Morgan Freeman (he plays another scientist who kind of works with the FBI) and doesn’t use his one good Freeman-y line from the trailer: “This isn’t evolution, it’s an abomination!” I don’t care if it’s campy, more of that kind of straightforwardness would have improved the film considerably.

Movie B.S. with Bayer and Snider #206: ‘Draft Day,’ ‘Oculus,’ ‘Rio 2,’ more

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[We got a big ol’ pile of reviews for you this week on Movie B.S..]

Episode 206: ‘Draft Day,’ ‘Rio 2,’ ‘Oculus,’ ‘Under the Skin,’ ‘Jodorowsky’s Dune,’ ‘The Raid 2’

0:00-1:30 – Introduction, quiet voices
1:30-16:45 – “Draft Day” review
16:45-23:00 – “Rio 2″ review
23:00-27:30 – “Oculus” review
27:30-37:00 – “Under the Skin” review
37:00-40:40 – “Jodorowsky’s Dune” mini-review
40:40-42:50 – “The Raid 2″ mini-review
42:50-54:00 – QOTW (your irrational movie turn-offs)
54:00-56:15 – Wrap-up and goodbyes
QOTW: What was your biggest movie disagreement with a friend?

Download audio / Listen at MovieBS.com / Listen at iTunes

Oculus

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Oculus

The first thing you should know about “Oculus,” a horror film about a haunted mirror, is that it is much better than a film about a haunted mirror has any right to be. Directed, co-written, and edited by Mike Flanagan, it’s an expansion on a well-received 30-minute short he made several years ago, and the extra practice he’s had at getting it right is evident in the way he creates atmosphere and builds suspense.

It also helps that the characters are smart, by which I mean they do what WE would do if WE were faced with a haunted mirror. At several points in the story you’ll nod and smile and think, “Yes! Good idea,” and then be scared pantsless when it doesn’t work after all.

The evil mirror in question is an ostentatious antique from the 1700s that fell into the hands of the Russell family 11 years ago. At the moment, 21-year-old Tim Russell (Brenton Thwaites) has just been released from a mental facility where he’s lived since the events that happened when he was 10. His older sister, Kaylie (Karen Gillan), has been waiting for him to get out so he could help her fulfill the promise they made as children: to “kill it,” “it” being the mirror and “kill” being undefined. (No, they can’t just smash it. The film addresses that question satisfactorily.) What happened all those years ago is revealed soon enough in basic terms (suffice it to say it was tragic) and shown to us in detail as Flanagan smoothly jumps back and forth between the two timelines.

In the past, young Kaylie (Annalise Basso) and Tim (Garrett Ryan) see their father (Rory Cochrane) and mother (Katee Sackhoff) gradually undone by what the kids realize are sinister forces associated with the mirror that hangs in Dad’s home office. Now, the mirror doesn’t jump down off the wall and go around killing people, obviously. Don’t be silly. What it does is mess with your mind. It’ll make you want to do something you wouldn’t normally do, or make think you’re doing one thing when you’re actually doing something else. For example, maybe you think you’re pulling a Band-Aid off your finger, but you’re really yanking out the fingernail. Or maybe you think you’re giving the kids a bath, but you’re actually — well, you get the idea.

In the present, Kaylie is determined to prove that the terrible things that happened in their home 11 years ago were caused by the mirror, and that the people who did the actual deeds were not responsible for their actions. (She has a long list of gruesome fates met by the mirror’s previous owners over the years.) With video cameras running and safeguards in place to stave off the mirror’s trickery, she and Tim begin the experiment.

Tim is reluctant, though. He’s spent the last decade being “cured” of the delusion that a haunted mirror is to blame for what happened to their family, and he tries to convince Kaylie that their childish imaginations simply got the best of them. As for us, while there is mystery in the film, it’s not centered on the question of whether the mirror is genuinely haunted. There’s little room for doubt on that subject. The question is how — and whether — Kaylie can capture evidence of it and then destroy the thing before it kills again.

Telling a story about a mirror that plays mind games means Flanagan gets to play mind games too. We see Tim and Kaylie’s actual memories, plus their mirror-induced hallucinations of memories, plus their hallucinations of what’s happening now, tonight. Flanagan revels in keeping us as off-balance as the characters are, not letting us figure out what’s real any sooner than Tim and Kaylie do.

Covering both timelines at once allows for parallel climaxes set in the same house in different years. Though the tension of the flashback story is diminished somewhat by our already knowing (essentially) how it ends, Flanagan cuts between them expertly, letting the past and present bleed together. Gillan, Sackhoff, and Cochrane give sharp performances (Thwaites is a bit of a lightweight) as the darkness unfolds in both timelines. It’s almost like getting two effective, creepy stories in one.

Draft Day

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After seeing the trailer for “Draft Day” a few months ago, I made the observation that Summit was clearly making no effort to sell the film to people who aren’t already interested in the NFL draft (people like me, for example). As if to prove my point, the NFL-loving friend I was with told me his reaction: “I’m sold!”

But despite the preaching-to-the-choir trailer, “Draft Day” actually does try to appeal to fans and non-fans alike — to its detriment. In trying to be accessible to people who don’t already know and care about the intricacies of the draft, while also offering enthusiasts a behind-the-scenes look at how the sausage is made, the film becomes an affable but diluted misfire that’s not really for anyone.

Thank goodness for Kevin Costner, though, you know? The 59-year-old sports-movie icon, who’s come back around to being cool again after a period of lameness, has that familiar easy-going likability as Sonny Weaver Jr., the general manager of the Cleveland Browns (which I’m told is a real NFL team, as unlikely as it sounds). With fans comparing him negatively to his beloved father, whom he replaced as G.M., and with the team’s quarterback having spent much of the last season injured, Sonny is under intense pressure to make the most of this year’s draft and improve the Browns’ fortunes.

The entire film takes place on this all-important day, which director Ivan Reitman portrays with as much excitement and anticipation as he reasonably can (and then some: his overuse of split screens becomes almost parodic). Sonny spends the 12 hours leading up to the event feverishly strategizing with his staff and making deals with his counterparts at other teams to swap for higher spots in the selection process. That process isn’t “explained,” exactly, but anecdotal evidence suggests a person who had no idea how it worked beforehand would come away with a rudimentary understanding of it. Movies are educational!

Conventional wisdom says the top draft pick is hotshot QB and Heisman Trophy winner Bo Callahan (Josh Pence). Surely whichever team gets first pick will snatch him up in a heartbeat. But when it becomes Sonny’s privilege to have that first pick (thanks to some bargaining with Seattle), he’s not sure Bo is the right choice after all. Players like Vontae Mack (Chadwick Boseman) and Ray Jennings (Arian Foster) look promising, too, and might be easier to work with than the aloof Callahan. The team’s owner (Frank Langella) and head coach (Denis Leary) want Sonny to stick with what the stats and reports say; Sonny wants to let his gut have a say, too.

You could do a lot worse than spending the day with an embattled Kevin Costner good-naturedly fending off criticism and gradually losing his patience. Costner and the cast — which also includes Jennifer Garner as his girlfriend/co-worker and Ellen Burstyn as his mother — are cheerful and eager to please. Scott Rothman and Rajiv Joseph’s screenplay doesn’t have much flair, but it’s congenial and sometimes funny. Strip away the NFL elements and it’s a simple, crowd-pleasing formula: a guy bucks against the system, faces opposition, and is ultimately vindicated. Scrappy Davids deliver comeuppance to smug Goliaths. Who doesn’t enjoy that?

Well, people who have invested two hours and many dollars in it, perhaps. “Draft Day” isn’t bad — I can’t imagine anyone actively disliking it — but it isn’t worth going out of your way for, either. Sports fans who pay attention to the draft in real life are bound to be disappointed by the improbable contrivances involved, while the rest of us smile wanly at the bland, featureless entertainment. A year from now, your dad will enjoy watching this on cable.

— GeekNation

No Holds Barred

No Holds Barred

Many of our most talented and charismatic movie stars came to us from the world of professional wrestling. For example, there’s Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson! Actually, he is the only one. But Hulk Hogan also made some movies, and No Holds Barred is as bad as any of them, so let’s talk about it.

This story is from the annals of what was then called the WWF (World Wrestling Federation) but is now the WWE (World Wrestling Ederation). In the film, the WWF champion is Rip, a long-haired bald man who is basically Hulk Hogan except less articulate. Rip’s public persona is that of a mean, grunting ape, belying his true nature as a grunting ape who is actually fairly nice once you get past the smell. As the star of the WWF, Rip is the most popular children’s entertainer since Howdy Doody.

Whichever network airs WWF matches is a ratings powerhouse, infuriating the head of some other network, a slick-haired scream-weasel named Brell (Kurt Fuller, snarling like an overeager community-theater actor). Brell offers Rip a blank check to come work for him, but Rip rejects the offer. So Brell moves to step 2 of his plan, which is to yell insults at Rip until he changes his mind. All this does is make Rip angry, though, so Brell advances to step 3: having his goons abduct Rip in a limousine and take him to a parking garage to … what, kill him? No, no, just rough him up. Yet this fails too, as Rip turns out to be really good at fighting (WHO KNEW?) and easily defeats the puny humans.

(This scene ends with the film’s most iconic moment: Rip yanking the terrified limo driver out of his seat, asking him, “What’s the smell?” and the man replying, “Dookie.” He was so frightened by the lummox’s brutal rampage that he soiled himself, you see. This was the clip they showed at the Oscars.)

Having failed to bring Rip to his network, Brell sets out to do the next best thing and find a wrestler who will be even more popular, perhaps someone who is even balder with even longer hair. To that end, Brell and his suit-wearing yes-men go to a seedy underground roadhouse that doubles as an unregulated wrestling arena, where barrel-chested troglodytes grapple for the amusement of rowdy beer-guzzlers. Inspired, Brell launches a TV show featuring these insane monsters, and offers “one hundred thousand dollars, tax-free” (by what authority he can offer that perk I don’t know) to anyone who can defeat them all. The champion they find is Zeus (Tommy “Tiny” Lister), a gargantuan, cross-eyed, unibrowed colossus who communicates only in deep-throated screeches.

Meanwhile, Rip’s network people have hired him a new image consultant named Sam (Joan Severance), who turns out to be a female lady woman!! Rip was not expecting this! Rip is an asexual golem who is confused by the new feelings Sam stirs within his earthen flesh. They go to a fancy restaurant to talk business, and the snooty French waiter assumes Rip is just a big dumb idiot with a stupid mustache, but then Rip speaks fluent French (well, four words) and everyone learns a valuable lesson about not judging a book by its cover (although his mustache is still stupid).

It turns out Sam is a corporate spy hired to bring Rip over to Brell’s network. When she falls in love with Rip instead, Brell smacks her in the face, then sends one of his goons out to rape her, because it’s a clueless movie made by dullards. Luckily, Rip rolls up on his motorcycle just in time to save her, and boy, now that he’s REALLY angry, you can bet he … gives the dude a thrashing that’s no worse than the non-lethal beatings he doles out to ordinary henchmen who have not attempted to rape anyone. Whether you cut him off in traffic or sexually assault his girlfriend, you get the same punishment from Rip.

Brell puts Zeus on TV to challenge Rip to a match, but Rip refuses to sink to Zeus’ level (that is, to fight without being paid). Zeus insults Rip over it, which causes Rip’s younger brother, small dumb Randy (Mark Pellegrino), to pick a fight with him, whereupon Zeus beats him so badly that he is paralyzed. Yes, paralyzed. That may sound like an awfully cheap and manipulative way for the film to rouse Rip to action, but bear in mind that these are the people who came up with Doink the Clown.

Anyway, now that his brother can’t walk anymore, Rip agrees to get in the ring with Zeus, and the big match occupies the last, I don’t know, two hundred minutes of the movie. The entire film perpetuates the quaint fiction that professional wrestling is ultra-violent and controversial rather than bloodless and stagy, the announcers talking as if TV viewers have NEVER SEEN such carnage as one man pretending to knee another man in the face. That’s cute as far as it goes, and you can see why people liked Hulk Hogan, i.e., not because of his acting. “Aw, bless his heart,” said the critics when the film was released. “Big fella’s really going for it, isn’t he?” The planned sequel, Additional Holds Still Not Barred, never came to fruition. But Hulk Hogan wears his hair the same way now as he did 25 years ago, so I guess you could say he’s still acting.

— GeekNation

Joe

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We give Nicolas Cage a lot of ribbing (and rightly so) for his over-the-top performances in nutty movies, but “Joe” is a reminder that he can balance those lunatic sensibilities with real acting when he feels like it. Set deep in rural Texas and based on a 1991 Larry Brown novel, the film is also a reminder of director David Gordon Green’s knack for atmosphere, and of 17-year-old Tye Sheridan’s status as one of the most promising young actors in the movies today.

Sheridan, who played the lead opposite Matthew McConaughey in “Mud,” isn’t far removed from that situation in “Joe,” another Southern coming-of-age drama about boys with unorthodox father figures. Here he plays Gary, a respectful ma’am-and-sir adolescent who drifts around Texas with his drunken, abusive, deadbeat father, Wade (Gary Poulter), and his worn-down mother and sister. At the moment, they’re squatting in a shack near some podunk town, any money they get going straight into Wade’s liquor-hole.

Gary crosses paths with Joe Ransom (Cage), a rough character who’s no stranger to booze and violence himself but who’s currently gainfully employed by the logging industry and trying to stay on the straight and narrow. Seeing that the kid is a hard worker with potential to become a responsible adult, Joe gives Gary a job on his crew. He tries to do the same for Wade, but the old souse’s laziness gets in the way. Joe starts to keep an eye on Gary, who’s more capable of fending for himself than a 15-year-old should have to be but is still, after all, only a kid.

Meanwhile, Joe’s own troubles keep resurfacing, and we get the impression his wild days aren’t exactly behind him. He’s shot in the arm by a local redneck named Willie (Ronnie Gene Blevins) barely 25 minutes into the film, and the shooting doesn’t even become a big plot point. Joe is the sort of man who just gets shot by angry townsfolk sometimes, that’s all. He says it’s “restraint” that’s keeping him alive and out of prison, but that’s clearly not going to last much longer.

Adapted from Brown’s novel by Gary Hawkins (who once made a documentary about the Mississippi-born novelist), the film suffers from occasional aimlessness. It has the feel of a movie that’s going to be story-driven, but it isn’t — we keep waiting for the hints of plot to develop into one.

Atmosphere is more important to David Gordon Green, who cut his teeth on evocative, sun-baked tone poems like “George Washington” and “All the Real Girls” before moving to stoner farces (“Your Highness”) and last year’s “Prince Avalanche,” a seriocomic blend of both styles. “Joe” finds the director in still new territory, adding strong violence and moderate suspense to the mix. He’s best at giving us a sense of place, and this place — with its indecipherable accents, grimy shacks, toothless whores, mangy dogs, and kitchen-table deer skinnings — rings true.

If Joe is exercising restraint, so is Cage, who resists what must have been a powerful temptation to play Joe as an insane redneck. He’s compelling here in a way he hasn’t been in a while: as a real character (albeit a colorful one), not as a sideshow. Cage is well-matched with young Sheridan, whose adolescent gawkiness mirrors the character’s situation of being trapped between childhood and adulthood. “Joe” is a little off the mark, but the tone and the performances are spot-on.

Movie B.S. with Bayer and Snider #205: ‘Captain America 2,’ ‘Noah,’ Pitch Me

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[If you like podcasts, here’s good news: Movie B.S. is one!]

Episode 205: ‘Captain America: The Winter Soldier,’ ‘Noah,’ Pitch Me

0:00-6:30 – Introduction; the croup; it’s the show’s 4th anniversary; there is a gift exchange, kind of; we claim to do other shows besides this one
6:30-18:15 – “Captain America: The Winter Soldier” review
18:15-28:10 – “Noah” review
28:10-36:20 – QOTW (heroes you’d like to see in a “vs” movie)
36:20-43:20 – A friendly round of Pitch Me
43:20-46:30 – More croup talk, wrap-up, and goodbyes

QOTW: What are your irrational movie turn-offs (e.g., an actor whose face or voice you can’t stand, a cliche that drives you crazy, etc.)?

Download audio / Listen at MovieBS.com / Listen at iTunes

Captain America: The Winter Soldier

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It was probably inevitable that the new Captain America film, having moved from World War II to the present day, would be more cynical and less rah-rah than its predecessor. “Captain America: The First Avenger” had its flaws, but it also had an exuberant squareness that distinguished it from the other Marvel superhero films, which tend to be hipper, more jaded. Now that the biologically enhanced super-soldier Steve Rogers (Chris Evans) has been brought forward in time and added to the Avengers mix, his second standalone adventure, “The Winter Soldier,” starts to match the slick, glib tone of your Iron Mans and your Thors and whatnot.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that tone, of course. It was just nice to have a character whose stories might be a little different, you know? Oh well. It’s Marvel’s universe, we’re all just mutating in it.

Cap himself is still plenty idealistic in “The Winter Soldier,” a sturdily entertaining action vehicle directed by brothers Anthony and Joe Russo. In fact, it’s his old-school — some would say out-dated — sense of justice and patriotism that puts him at odds with S.H.I.E.L.D. boss Nick Fury (the always-game Samuel L. Jackson), whose experience with the complex realities of modern-day global politics makes him less inclined to see things in black-and-white (and more inclined to keep certain missions secret from Rogers).

Rogers is also unsettled by the alarming new war machines made possible by modern technology. The latest, called Project Insight, would allow us to eradicate threats before they happen, which sounds lovely until you think about it. “This isn’t freedom, this is fear!” Rogers tells Fury. “You’re holding a gun to everyone on Earth and calling it ‘protection.'” When Fury himself is targeted by a masked, super-powered assassin called the Winter Soldier, and with evidence mounting that S.H.I.E.L.D. may have been compromised, Captain America doesn’t know whom he can trust other than his magical shield and his own pectorals.

Despite the 70-year gap between the films’ settings, thanks to flashbacks, recordings, and (ahem) other devices, “The Winter Soldier” is able to include several familiar faces from “The First Avenger.” The fetching Natasha, aka Black Widow (Scarlett Johansson), featured in “Iron Man 2” and “The Avengers,” is also here, working with Rogers on day-to-day S.H.I.E.L.D. missions, giving him dating advice, and kicking several varieties of keister herself. New players include Sam Wilson (Anthony Mackie), a military veteran who may come in handy later (it feels like he was inserted purely out of fidelity to the comic books), and Alexander Pierce (Robert Redford), a statesmanlike S.H.I.E.L.D. leader who sits on the World Security Council. Pierce’s crinkly Redford eyes make you want to trust him, but his governmental air makes you think twice.

This chapter may not be as spirited as the last one, but the Russo brothers — veterans of TV shows like “Arrested Development” and “Community” — demonstrate an unexpected facility with action scenes. Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely’s screenplay has enough going on storywise to allow for action sequences to pop up regularly without feeling forced, and the Russos shoot them so they’re frenetic and fun without being chaotic. That includes the big set pieces as well as the smaller ones, like a gnarly brawl in an elevator that delivers what action fans crave.

The tone may have shifted from 1940s-style can-do optimism to modern-day high-tech paranoia and general mistrust. But if America and the world have changed, there’s still Captain America himself, personified by Chris Evans’ Boy Scout-y righteousness, keeping the old positive spirit alive. With two very solid entries now, the Captain America branch of the Marvel juggernaut might accidentally make patriotism cool again.

Under the Skin

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“Under the Skin” is the story of an alien who comes to Earth, interacts with our kind, and learns what it means to be human. It’s like a nightmarish, adults-only version of “E.T.,” if E.T. fed on Elliott instead of befriending him.

But that description hardly does justice to a uniquely surreal and understated film written and directed by Jonathan Glazer (“Sexy Beast,” “Birth”), based on Michel Faber’s novel but revised by Glazer into something you can scarcely imagine existing in book form at all.

The extra-terrestrial doesn’t have a name, but she has adopted the physical form of Scarlett Johansson (good choice) as she roams Scotland in a van looking for men. Only men will do, and they need to be men whose disappearance won’t immediately be noticed. She attracts them by … well, she attracts them by looking like Scarlett Johansson, and by pretending to need directions. Then she lures them back to her cottage, where she performs a sort of seductive dance as they disrobe. Then the men are never heard from again. Johansson plays a character called Black Widow in the Marvel comic book movies, but it fits her here too.

Glazer makes it clear that our woman and her associate, a man who follows after her on a motorcycle to erase evidence, have no compassion for humans as sentient creatures. This is conveyed subtly at first — she’s more interested in the tiny ant crawling on the dead woman whose clothes she stole than she was in the woman — and later with cold, horrifying clarity as she and her cohort ignore the screams of an abandoned baby.

But the next time Alien Lady hears a baby cry, it gives her pause. Just a little, just for a second. She begins to notice the things that make humans different from other creatures, most essentially the quality of empathy. She becomes aware of female humans and how they differ from the male ones. We get the sense she’s curious what it would be like to be human — and that this curiosity is counterproductive to her species’ purpose.

Many details of both plot and character are implied rather than shown. Except for the idle chatter between Johansson and her potential victims (many of whom were real passersby, not actors), there is almost no dialogue, and it’s not as if our heroine’s gradual realizations about humanity are accompanied by thought bubbles. (Johansson’s performance is brave not just because she’s occasionally nude but because so much of the character is internal.) Where a straightforward genre film would depict a spaceship or teleporter, Grazer uses ethereal sound effects and Kubrickian space imagery to suggest the woman’s extra-terrestrial origin. It’s a movie that requires — and rewards — your attention and imagination.

And it’s frequently mesmerizing, thanks in part to Johnnie Burn’s eerie sound design and Mica Levi’s industrial musical score. These two elements, sound design and music, are perfectly complementary (it’s often hard to tell where one stops and another starts), and Glazer uses them masterfully to increase tension and convey mood. Sometimes he uses pure, suffocating silence to achieve the same thing.

The alien’s crash course in humanity is not a heartwarming affair, to say the least. She’s a fearsome predator — but so are people, when they want to be. The more she experiments with being one, the more she realizes this. Gender politics play a crucial, unspoken role, the alien using the promise of sex to lure men to her lair but being discomfited by the realities of actual sex. That’s what it means to be human, after all: we have emotions, we have sex, and we often get messed up by it. “Under the Skin” addresses all this and more in an unnerving, unforgettable way.

Stage Fright (aka Nightmares)

Stage Fright (aka Nightmares)

Many years ago, after Halloween introduced moviegoers to the pleasures of seeing horny young people stabbed to death by masked voyeurs, Hollywood was quick to meet the public’s sudden demand for derivative, uninspired ripoffs. And it wasn’t just Hollywood that answered the call. Even faraway lands such as Melbourne (often called the Hollywood of Victoria, Australia) responded with brainless, boob-full slasher flicks like Nightmares (also released as Stage Fright), which is the subject of today’s dissertation.

The opening credits say Nightmares is “from an original idea by John Lamond,” the film’s director, who mostly made sex comedies. I don’t know if “original” is the word I would use to describe this idea, though. I’m not even sure I would call it an “idea.” Whatever it is, it lacks basic narrative cohesion and features a central mystery whose solution is never less than obvious. What was Lamond’s “original idea”? To make a slasher movie with no scares or suspense? Sorry, but Friday the 13th beat you by a few months.

We begin in 1963. A woman drives a car while being fondled by her lover while her little girl, Cathy, sleeps in the backseat, because I guess it was Bring Your Daughter to Adultery Day. Cathy wakes up, is upset to see Mom whoring with a non-Dad person, tries to separate them, and causes a terrible accident. Mom is killed, her throat sliced by the windshield. Whoops! Everyone is very broken up about it.

Then it’s the present, i.e., 1980. For some reason Cathy is named Helen now, and she’s an emotionally unstable actress (but I repeat myself) trying to make it in Melbourne’s bustling theater district. She has recurring nightmares about slashed throats, and she shuns intimacy because she associates sex with her mother’s grisly death. So Helen is what they call “a real catch,” dating-wise. She gets cast in a play by a pretentious theater director (but I repeat myself) who hates the actors and the script. Her blandly appealing costar, Terry, tries to get a date with her, and she is alternately receptive or dismissive depending on how crazy she is that day.

Terry, a real sap, takes all the mercurial behavior Helen can throw at him. For example, one night after constantly rebuffing him, she shows up at Terry’s house saying she needs to talk to someone, climbs into bed with him, kisses him, then runs off again. Another time, Terry overhears her having a screaming argument with her dead mother, Norman Bates-style, but shrugs it off. Since he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that Helen is cuckoo-pants, Terry is a lot more surprised than we are when she kills him at the end of the movie.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. The murders start happening while the play is in rehearsals. It’s a small cast, though, and the movie has to pace itself, so the first victims are just a random randy couple doin’ it in the alley behind the theater. The killer slashes them up with a shard from a broken mirror, and let me just say I’m always glad when a slasher movie has actual slashing. The next victim is the stage manager, killed in exactly the same way the night before opening night (which should have been the dress rehearsal but WHATEVER, MOVIE).

All of the murders are presented in the genre-standard formula, with Killer-Cam point-of-view, heavy breathing, and gratuitous nudity on the part of the female victims. Now, the killer doesn’t say anything, and we never see his or her face. Usually that means the viewer isn’t supposed to know who it is … but it’s clearly Helen, right? It’s hilarious that Lamond plays it like a mystery. Not only does Helen have violent sexual hangups and a thing with broken glass, but after the alley couple are killed, her recurring nightmare starts featuring scenes from that murder. You know, because she did it. Yet even after this, the movie keeps the slasher’s face hidden from us till the very end, as if Lamond forgot he already told us who it was.

Anyway, the other actors in the play don’t know who killed the stage manager, and they are understandably distraught to arrive opening night and find her mangled corpse lying on the stage, hardly managing it at all. A few of the actresses blame Terry for bringing bad luck on them because he once whistled backstage, violating a dumb theater superstition (but I repeat myself). This is an actual concern for them, by the way. They gave him a really hard time about it when it happened, and now he is seriously on their poop list. They are very melodramatic about it. Actors, ladies and gentlemen! Actors.

Despite the cast’s emotional trauma and the theater being an active crime scene, the play is performed as scheduled. The director sits near the back of the house, and Bennett Collingswood, Melbourne’s bitchiest theater critic, stands behind him whispering taunts in his ear about how bad the play is (you know, like critics do). Though he hates theater in general and this play specifically, Collingswood, a bitter old queen with a gimpy leg, throws an opening-night party for the cast and crew at his lavish home, then tries to get one of the actors to sleep with him in exchange for a positive review. The actor storms off, and then “someone” (wink wink) stabs Collingswood to death with a shard of glass.

You get the feeling Lamond doesn’t like critics. Do you suppose he got some bad reviews in his day? I bet he did. What with making bad movies and all.

More cast and crew get bumped off the next night while Helen frets over whether these “dreams” she’s having are real. (THEY ARE REAL, THEY ARE CALLED MEMORIES.) I should mention that her flashbacks and nightmares sometimes include things that did not happen in this movie, suggesting the existence of deleted scenes. Further to that point, her relationship with Terry seems to skip a few steps, too, though that could just as easily be poor writing as sloppy editing. Or hey, why not both?

In the end, sure enough, it was Helen who killed everybody, just like Lamond told us it was before he forgot he told us. Just think, if this had become a franchise like Halloween or Friday the 13th, every sequel could have ended the same way, with the camera revealing that the killer was Helen again, like it was last time. That could have been the franchise’s “hook.” Fans would say, “I wonder how they’re going to reveal that Helen is the slasher at the end of this one??” and someone would rank all the “revelation that Helen is the slasher” scenes from best to worst. Alas, there were no sequels. And yet there are like 10 Saw movies. Whatever. It’s all politics.

— GeekNation

Hide Your Smiling Faces

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The boys in “Hide Your Smiling Faces,” an evocative rumination on adolescence by first-time filmmaker Daniel Patrick Carbone, are in the “exploring” phase of youth. Composed of fragments taken from one typical-but-formative summer, the film shows them roaming the woods, testing their own strength in wrestling matches, investigating an abandoned house, and poking curiously at dead animals. When a gun is introduced, the younger boys stupidly (yet innocently) just want to get a closer look at it.

There are no girls in the picture — probably the last summer that will be the case for the older boys, who at this point only want to laugh, fight, ride their bikes, and break things. Carbone’s snapshots (which feel like memories) are pre-sexual. Two of the kids wonder what it’s like to kiss a girl, but their juvenile experimentation produces giggles, not thrills.

Set in an unspecified pre-cellphone year in an unidentified green, rural part of the United States, the film has two brothers as its central characters: Eric (Nathan Varnson), who’s about 15, and Tommy (Ryan Jones), probably 10 or 11. They’re typical boys, each with a circle of friends his own age, but with school out of session and little in the way of electronic entertainment at hand, they all travel together a lot, too.

A tragedy involving one of Tommy’s friends adds weight to what had previously been a frivolous summer, bringing the boys’ untapped existential angst to the surface. Life, death, and nature — all taken for granted till now — suddenly become relevant. Eric’s friend, Tristan (Thomas Cruz), the beta male of the pack, timidly asks Eric, “Do you ever think about dying? About someone killing you, or you killing yourself?” Eric answers truthfully that he doesn’t — he’s not one for self-reflection — but he’s supportive of his friend’s teenage depression, up to a point.

In keeping with his honest, impressionistic portrayal of youthful summertime memories, Carbone mostly keeps the adults out of it. Eric and Tommy’s parents (Christina Starbuck and Chris Kies) are present and attentive but largely irrelevant. The grieving father of the tragedy kid (Colm O’Leary) is a greater presence because of his conflict with Tommy and Eric over their misbehaving dog, which leads Eric to set a poor example for his little brother. “The way he acts,” their father says to Tommy about Eric. “That’s not you.”

That quietly becomes one of the film’s minor themes, this idea that Tommy is at an impressionable age and his big brother isn’t emotionally mature enough to be a good influence. More broadly, it’s a gentle portrait of the many different ways that young people respond to events in their lives: how our formative years actually form us. Emulating contemplative slice-of-Americana films like David Gordon Green’s “George Washington,” Carbone intersperses the plot-driven scenes with tranquil shots of people at rest, kids playing, water flowing, the lush natural world doing its thing. Even when there’s action, it’s shown with matter-of-fact restraint from a fly-on-the-wall perspective.

There have been several good films in the last year matching the general description of “stories about adolescent boys coming of age in non-urban America,” including “Mud,” “The Kings of Summer,” and “The Way Way Back.” “Hide Your Smiling Faces,” more emotional and overtly artistic than those, and less driven by plot, is a welcome complement to them. The vagueness of the details (we don’t even learn anyone’s last name) reinforces the impression that these kids’ lives are part of the universal experience. None of us can grow up without a little pain sneaking into those languid summer days.

— About.com

The Raid 2 (Indonesian)

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In fall 2011, a splendidly violent martial-arts film called “The Raid” popped up out of Indonesia and blew the heads off film festival audiences at midnight screenings around the world. Dumbly retitled “The Raid: Redemption” for its U.S. release, the flick boasted 101 minutes of almost nonstop hand-to-hand combat and gunfights in a story about a SWAT team taking down a crime lord in his well-fortified apartment building. The plot was unremarkable (the usual dirty cops and personal vendettas), but the action was some of the best that fight aficionados had ever seen.

In “The Raid 2,” writer-director Gareth Huw Evans demonstrates that he had more confidence and a higher budget this time around. Picking up right where the first movie left off and then spanning years, this is an epic-size crime saga, as heavy on plot as its predecessor was light. It’s still packed with bone-smashing violence, but at 148 minutes, it’s packed a lot more loosely.

Iko Uwais, an obscenely talented fighter and not a bad actor, returns as Rama, a righteous cop on an increasingly corrupt Jakarta police force. Going deep undercover as a prison inmate, Rama earns the trust of Uco (Arifin Putra), a pretty-boy gangster whose cold-blooded father, Bangun (Tio Pakusodewo), is one of the city’s top crime bosses. After serving two years in prison (THAT IS SERIOUSLY UNDERCOVER) and beating the living hell out of countless inmates, Rama gets out and joins Uco in working for Bangun’s organization. Rama is hoping to catch the old man colluding with high-level cops and bring everything down. In the meantime, his excellent fighting skills make him a valuable employee.

That’s all the plot an action movie usually needs right there. But Evans is more ambitious. He adds an extra dynamic by pitting the hotheaded, reckless Uco against his father, whose throne he is impatient to inherit, and by filling in some of the details of the syndicate’s operations for our amusement. (There is, for example, a fight in a porn factory.) There’s an almost Tarantino-like side story about an old hitman friend of Bangun’s (Yayan Ruhian) — a story that could have been removed entirely but that provides more opportunities for dazzlingly executed, large-scale fight scenes. There are two other assassins straight out of comic books, a man and a woman, each with a preferred weapon that’s not a knife or a gun. Rama, the main character, sometimes gets lost in the sprawl of the plot.

Evans employs two visual styles. Non-fight scenes are artfully shot, the camera moving more elegantly and the shots composed more carefully than is the norm for non-fight scenes in a fight film. He shoots the fight scenes in the jittery fashion common in the last 15 years — not “Bourne”-level shaky-cam, but artificially frenetic, and not my cup of tea. You can still tell what’s going on, though, which is crucial, because what’s going on is fairly awesome. Evans employed dozens and dozens of skilled fighters for these battles, a logistical nightmare that plays out with satisfying mania on the screen. There isn’t a punch or kick in the whole film that looks pulled, no reaction that doesn’t seem genuine. It’s easy to forget how hard it is to film martial-arts combat convincingly without actually letting your actors beat each other to death. “No stuntmen were killed in the making of this film” would not be an unwelcome disclaimer.

Occasionally the violence gets too gruesome to be enjoyable (your threshold may vary), but it’s mostly the kind of thing you’re accustomed to seeing in martial-arts films, just in higher quantities. When the fists, bullets, knives, hammers, and bats are flying, the results are some of the sharpest fight sequences in moviedom, as impressive for the athleticism they capture as for the cinematic techniques that bring them to life. (Sound effects are key.) The story surrounding it all is convoluted and messy, longer than it can justify, and hindered by a lack of characters we can identify with. But some of these fights are worth sitting through anything for, and you could do a lot worse for things to sit through than over-ambitious crime sagas.

Sabotage

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“Sabotage” is disappointing for a number of reasons, not least of which is its failure to be about sabotage, or to even feature the Beastie Boys song “Sabotage.” More importantly, it’s gross and off-putting, a luridly “gritty” crime drama populated by sleazy characters (including the alleged good guys) and marked by a casual disregard for human life. It’s an ugly movie.

And did I mention it doesn’t even use the Beastie Boys song?? I mean, come on.

Ex-governor and occasional movie star Arnold Schwarzenegger stars as John “Breacher” Wharton, cigar-chomping, neck-tattooed leader of a DEA special-ops team in Atlanta. Breacher’s crew includes a motley array of interchangeable hyper-masculine dirtbags with nicknames like Monster (Sam Worthington, sporting a braided chin-beard), Grinder (Joe Manganiello), Neck (Josh Holloway), Sugar (Terrence Howard), and a few more played by less famous actors. The one female member of the group, Lizzy (Mireille Enos), is married to Monster, and it’s strongly implied that she’s a skanky crack whore.

We meet the team in the middle of a mission that ends with them stealing some $10 million from a drug cartel, because they’re the kind of badasses who steal money from drug cartels. Fortunately for them, the DEA can’t prove they stole it, so nobody gets in trouble. Unfortunately for them, they can’t spend it, either, because now it’s missing again. Then some of the less important members of the team start turning up dead, murdered in gruesome ways that director David Ayer (“End of Watch”) seems to delight in showing us. Breacher and the others conclude that the cartel is seeking revenge, a completely unforeseeable consequence of stealing $10 million from them.

The murders draw the attention of a local homicide detective, Caroline (Olivia Williams, doing an embarrassing Georgia accent), and her ineffectual partner (Harold Perrineau). Breacher works with Caroline — without revealing too much about the missing money, of course — to track down leads and save his team. Meanwhile, in his off hours, Breacher sits at home in the dark and re-watches the video of his wife being tortured and killed by the very cartel he’s now at odds with. You’d think a man could only endure a video like that once, but I guess it’s one of those things where you notice something new every time.

Above-the-law antiheroes are one thing — in their best moments, this group reminded me of Vic Mackey’s strike team on “The Shield” — but Breacher’s disciples are uniformly abusive, vulgar, mean-spirited, and (with one exception) wholly unrepentant. Incapable of self-reflection, they’re the kind of lowlifes who honor a fallen comrade by going to a strip club, or by staying home and having a stripper delivered. You get the uneasy feeling that the movie doesn’t actually realize how nasty these idiots are. The hero, Breacher, has no redeeming qualities whatsoever, but I’d bet money that Ayer disagrees with me.

Ayer is credited second on the screenplay, after Skip Woods. I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess the bulk of it came not from Ayer (whose writing credits include “Training Day” and “End of Watch”) but from Woods (whose rap sheet includes “Swordfish,” “Hitman,” and “A Good Day to Die Hard”). Unlike Ayer’s other work, “Sabotage” gives no sense of having been made by people who are familiar with law enforcement (or with women, considering how badly Lizzy and Caroline come off). When it’s not one of the DEA agents being brutally, gruesomely murdered, it’s some poor innocent bystander being dispatched as collateral damage. It’s a repellant, distasteful execution of a boilerplate story, distinguishable from a thousand other movies only by the oily layer of film it leaves on your soul.

Divergent

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Like most movies, “Divergent” is based on a young-adult novel about a teenage girl living in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. In this case, the girl’s name is Beatrice (Shailene Woodley), and her society is one in which everyone is divided into five groups matching their personality (basically: smart, brave, honest, selfless, or kind). There’s a test you take when you’re, I don’t know, 17 or 18 that tells you which one you’re best suited for, and it’s usually whatever your parents were, but you’re allowed to actually choose whichever one you want. The test is just, like, a suggestion. And then once you’ve chosen, you go live with that group — the groups are segregated for some reason — and choose an occupation from among the careers assigned to that group. (People in the Candor tribe can be lawyers and judges; the Erudite group are the teachers and scientists; etc.) Once you choose a group, you can never go back and live in a different one, for reasons that — you will sense a recurring theme here — the movie does not share with us.

Beatrice discovers she’s “divergent,” which is to say she doesn’t fit neatly into any particular category. This makes her rare and unpredictable, and thus a threat to an orderly society. The Man wants you to fit in a box, but Beatrice don’t fit in no boxes. Keeping her freak divergent status a secret and going by Tris now, she joins Dauntless, the group for badasses. Everybody in Dauntless wears a lot of black and runs everywhere and fights all the time. It’s the military wing, the place where soldiers come from. Tris and her fellow new recruits go through some training montages under the strict leadership of a psycho named Eric (Jai Courtney) and a dreamboat named Four (Theo James), with Tris excelling at every turn thanks to her divergenting. Meanwhile, the icy president of the Erudite group, Jeanine (Kate Winslet), is planning a coup that will involve the Dauntlesses, and she’ll be darned if any lousy divergents are going to mess it up.

Directed by Neil Burger (“The Illusionist,” “Limitless”), this adaptation of Veronica Roth’s novel (the first in a trilogy, naturally) looks slick, but it’s nothing more than facile, easily digested teenage wish-fulfillment based on a shaky futurist premise. The point, spelled out repeatedly in case you’re slow, is that Tris can conquer her enemies just by being herself, a unique snowflake in a world full of conformists. (“Whoa!” says the teenage viewer. “I, too, am a special individual surrounded by drones!”) Whether something happened to humanity to make everyone easily categorizable, or whether we’re supposed to believe this is just how people are (they aren’t), the movie doesn’t say, of course. The movie seems to think slapping some future-lookin’ stuff on the screen with a hot-tempered girl and a pouty-lipped guy is all you need to make a dystopian hit. And there are two more of these? Ugh.

Cheap Thrills

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You could read “Cheap Thrills” as a commentary on the current American socio-economic condition, with the working poor increasingly willing to humiliate themselves in exchange for whatever breadcrumbs are tossed to them by the plutocrats who control everything. That reading isn’t much fun, though, and if there’s one thing “Cheap Thrills” stands for, it’s fun — sick, demented fun, the kind that hurts the next day.

Our underdog hero in this testosterone- and drug-fueled dark comedy is Craig (Pat Healy), a button-down would-be writer who’s been barely supporting his wife (Amanda Fuller) and baby son doing work he’s not suited for, only to be laid off from that job due to cutbacks. Drowning his sorrows at a dive bar that night, he runs into Vince (Ethan Embry), an old buddy from his wilder days who works as a leg-breaker for a loan shark. The drinks, the company, and the financial desperation loosen Craig up enough to be receptive to what happens next.

He and Vince are befriended by a couple in the bar: Colin (David Koechner), a loud, flashy rich guy who throws his money around, and his wife, Violet (Sara Paxton), who’s younger and more enigmatic. For his and Violet’s entertainment, Colin starts offering Craig and Vince cash for completing dares — $50 to whoever drinks this tequila shot first, $200 to whoever can get the hooker at the bar to slap him, that sort of thing. No harm in it so far, except to the men’s dignity. And hey, two hundred bucks is two hundred bucks.

Eventually the four are back at Colin and Violet’s lavish house in the Hollywood hills, where the booze and cocaine flow freely and the wagers get bigger and riskier. Colin’s games pit Vince and Craig against one another, reopening old wounds and widening the gap between Craig, who has grown up and become responsible, and Vince, who’s still greedily looking for the easy way out.

And they’re both here with this Colin jerk, this rich bastard who wastes money on nonsense, who clearly doesn’t deserve to be so wealthy and carefree. Craig is practically killing himself to provide for his family, and here’s Colin, sitting in his mansion almost literally setting money on fire. If these guys will demean themselves for money, that says something about them. But paying someone to demean himself says something about Colin, too. (David Koechner, an old pro at playing tacky loudmouths, is brutally funny in the role.)

I won’t spoil the dares for you, only warn you that they’re all some combination of hilarious, felonious, painful, and disgusting. Directed by first-timer E.L. Katz from a screenplay by Trent Haaga and David Chirchirillo, the tone grows darker but remains funny, laughter mingling with gasps at the lengths men will go to when money and pride are at stake. Each of Colin’s new propositions feels like a question for the audience as well, turning the film into its own parlor game: Would I take that dare? And what’s the lowest amount of money that I’d do it for?

Ethan Embry’s nice dude with rough edges and Sara Paxton’s secretly twisted accomplice are vital, but Pat Healy’s mealy-mouthed wimp-hero is the film’s main asset. Healy revels in Craig’s suffering, making us laugh (at him and with him) as we root for him not just to get the money he needs but to win the games. We respect how far this awkward, goony man is willing to go, whether we’d do the same or not.

Though there’s absolutely no agenda in the film, I think it’s fair to say it wouldn’t be as resonant if it came out during a time of economic prosperity, when fewer people have daydreams about being able to pay their bills. But it also speaks to the competitive, reckless streak found in many men (it’s hard to picture women doing these dumb stunts, isn’t it?), and it’s a total blast to watch.

— About.com

Jodorowsky’s Dune (documentary)

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Deep in the annals of movie geekdom there is much lore about an aborted adaptation of Frank Herbert’s “Dune” that was to have been directed by Alejandro Jodorowsky, the Chilean visionary behind avant-garde cult classics “El Topo” and “The Holy Mountain.” Knowing how weird the eventual David Lynch version was, the mind reels to contemplate what bizarreness we’d have gotten from a director who’s 2.6 times as insane (figures are approximate).

Now we have the next best thing to Jodorowsky’s “Dune”: “Jodorowsky’s Dune,” a sparkling, almost giddy documentary by Frank Pavich about the “Dune” that never was. With the cheerful Jodorowsky himself as our guide and his magnificently storyboarded script to provide illustration, Pavich talks to artists, designers, and technicians who worked on the project, and shows how influential it proved to be even though it didn’t get made. Far from being a bitter howl of frustration, the doc is an upbeat celebration of movie love and the creative process, brimming with entertaining anecdotes about 1970s Hollywood and what it’s like to work with a mad (but very friendly) genius.

Movie B.S. with Bayer and Snider #202: ‘Need for Speed,’ ‘Veronica Mars,’ SXSW

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[Note to Movie B.S. subscribers: you might need to resubscribe through iTunes or whatever you use. There was a glitch in the matrix.]

Episode 202: ‘Need for Speed,’ ‘Veronica Mars,’ SXSW

0:00-4:40 – Introduction, iTunes review
4:40-19:10 – “Need for Speed” review
19:10-27:50 – “Veronica Mars” review
27:50-1:04:10 – SXSW reviews: “Chef,” “13 Sins,” “Neighbors,” “Joe,” “The Mend,” “Open Windows,” “Stage Fright,” “Premature,” “What We Do in the Shadows”
1:04:10-1:09:20 – Wrap-up and goodbyes

QOTW (held over from last week): What movie do you wish was your life? (For extra credit, you can also tell us which movie is currently your life.)

Download audio / Listen at MovieBS.com / Listen at iTunes

Bad Words

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“I’m not that good at a lot of stuff, especially thinking things through,” says Guy Trilby at the beginning of “Bad Words.” “That’s why my plan was so s****y.” He’s right about that, and the same may apply to Jason Bateman, who plays the character and chose this film for his directorial debut.

Bateman’s comedy credentials are solid, his stellar work on “Arrested Development” supplemented by funny turns even in movies that weren’t worthy of him. You can see why he’d be attracted to the story of an embittered man who competes in a kids’ spelling bee; the potential for awkwardness, swearing, and general deplorability is great. But the screenplay (by first-timer Andrew Dodge) has adopted many of the attributes of similar-themed and -titled movies — “Bad Santa,” “Bad Teacher,” etc. — without developing a story around them.

Guy Trilby is a mean jerk. That’s … pretty much it. Funny? Yeah, sometimes. But there’s more to humor, even rude, transgressive humor, than just telling an Indian kid “shut your curry-hole.”

The film begins with the story already in progress. We’ve missed whatever the inciting incident was, along with any backstory to explain (or at least hint at) Guy’s motive for his frankly bizarre endeavor. Exploiting a loophole in the rules that lets him participate in the Golden Quill National Spelling Bee regardless of age as long as he never graduated from eighth grade, Guy is relentlessly crushing the competition on the local level, with the goal of winning the national contest. He refuses to tell anyone why he’s doing it, why this is so important to him — including the journalist, Jenny (Kathryn Hahn), whose news outlet is sponsoring him. (Why her organization would pay his expenses without knowing his story is beyond me. What if he’s a pedophile? Isn’t he probably a pedophile??)

At the finals, Guy meets 10-year-old challenger Chaitanya (Rohan Chand), a self-possessed kid without friends who latches onto him as a companion. Somewhat implausibly, maybe even illegally, Chaitanya’s father makes him fly alone and stay in his own hotel room to toughen him up, so the kid has plenty of free time to befriend weird adults. Guy isn’t interested in forming attachments, but he’s gradually won over by Chaitanya’s innocence and trustfulness. Meanwhile, Guy engages in as much drinking and whoring as he can, verbally abusing every person he comes in contact with because he’s a venal, angry person.

There are some laughs in the spelling bee parents and officiators’ open contempt for Guy, and in his stubborn refusal to give up even when, for example, the bee’s sponsoring hotel puts him in a broom closet instead of a room. But as we progress from round to round, Guy doing his best to sabotage and distract his competitors — to win at all costs — it’s hard not to be irked by the film’s cagey attitude. Guy keeps teasing Jenny (and us) with promises that all will be revealed … which only makes it that much more disappointing when he finally does tell us his story and it’s not very interesting. Why not give us the facts up front? Why drag it out like some kind of mystery?

To put it bluntly, we need a reason to be on Guy’s side, and the movie won’t give us one. We’re expected to root for him simply because he’s the protagonist. Movie characters don’t have to be “likable,” but if they’re going to be despicable, they need to also be funny (or terrifying, or clever, or beautiful, or whatever). “Bad Words” doesn’t offer enough laughs to compensate for its mean-spirited behavior or lackluster story. Everyone involved is better than this.

Veronica Mars

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[In theaters and Video on Demand.]

Attending your 10-year high school reunion is rarely a good idea, and neither is reuniting the cast of a defunct TV series. But the “Veronica Mars” movie makes the best of both situations, giving fans of the show what they crave while being accessible for newcomers who want a glossy, mid-grade whodunit with a sense of humor.

Thanks to an already-famous Kickstarter campaign and nobody having anything better to do, writer-director Rob Thomas and the entire cast are back, with recent law-school grad Veronica (Kristen Bell) coming home to investigate when bad boy Logan Echolls (Jason Dohring) is accused of murder. Thanks to a plot contrivance (one of several), the visit coincides with the class reunion, so even the Neptuners who have moved away are home again.

Everything quickly falls back into the old rhythms: the snarky but affectionate banter, the self-aware, post-“Buffy” attitude (“Ready to head down to the Batcave?” Veronica asks herself), and the sweet relationship between Veronica and her dad (Enrico Colantoni). Wallace, Mac, Piz, Weevil, the whole gang’s here, some more vital than others. (We are forever yours, Dick Casablancas. But Weevil, we don’t have anything for you to do, sorry.) For the uninitiated, the film starts with Veronica’s ever-useful voice-over hitting the bullet points of the original story, then filling us in on what’s happened since.

I was a fan of the TV show, and the film hits most of the same notes, albeit in abbreviated fashion. What would have been a season-long mystery on The CW is a two-hour affair on the big screen — and let’s not kid ourselves, nothing about this (apart from a few swear words) distinguishes it from being a TV movie. It feels like the pilot episode for a new series: perfectly good entertainment, but do you really want to spend money on it? Then again, more than ninety thousand people already did spend money on it, and I suspect they’ll be pretty pleased with the outcome.

Movie B.S. with Bayer and Snider #201: ‘300: Rise of an Empire,’ ‘Tim’s Vermeer’

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[Movie B.S. is now being hosted by GeekNation! There were some bumps in the iTunes transition, but it should be sorted out now.]

Episode 201: ‘300: Rise of an Empire,’ ‘Tim’s Vermeer’

0:00-3:50 – Introduction, our lunch sponsor: Crooked Scoreboard, a sports blog!
3:50-17:15 – “300: Rise of an Empire” review
17:15-20:40 – “Tim’s Vermeer” review
20:40-31:15 – QOTW (movies that changed your mind about an issue)
31:15-37:55 – A li’l SXSW preview
37:55-40:15 – Wrap-up and goodbyes

QOTW: What movie do you wish was your life? (For extra credit, you can also tell us which movie is currently your life.)

Download audio / Listen at MovieBS.com / Listen at iTunes

Grand Piano

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Make no mistake, the premise of “Grand Piano” is 100 percent ridiculous. Do you remember “Phone Booth,” where Colin Farrell couldn’t hang up or he’d be killed by a sniper? It’s like that, only it’s concert pianist Elijah Wood who has to keep playing or risk being shot. “Now you know the true meaning of stage fright!” is something that the villain really says to him. There’s also an element of the plot that’s not entirely dissimilar to the Bugs Bunny gag where Yosemite Sam has rigged a certain key on the piano to explode when Bugs plays it.

So yes, it’s complete nonsense. The bad guy’s plan, the mechanics of the plot, the pianist’s ability to multitask while performing — ludicrous, all of it. Now here’s why it works: because of director Eugenio Mira’s total commitment. With a game lead actor and no shortage of ingenuity, Mira applies his considerable artistic talent to this stack of baloney as if it were a brilliantly crafted and fully plausible thriller. He sells it, we buy it, everybody goes home happy.

Wood plays Tom Selznick, once the most promising pianist of his generation, now a man who five years ago had a spectacular mid-performance flameout and retired from the arts. On the day the film is set, he’s taking the stage again (with an orchestra backing him up) to play a few pieces in honor of his recently deceased mentor. He’s nervous he’ll choke again, and the whispers among his former colleagues don’t do anything to relieve the anxiety.

At the concert hall, Tom’s wife (Kerry Bishe), a superstar actress, watches from the box seats, beaming with pride. A pair of her tacky, coattail-riding wannabe friends (Allen Leech and Tamsin Egerton) have floor seats, from which they seethe with jealousy. We also meet a conscientious stagehand (Alex Winter). We’re confident that all these non-Elijah Wood characters have been introduced because they will be significant later.

Shortly after the performance begins, with Tom seated at the one-of-a-kind grand piano his mentor built, playing again as if he never left the stage, he turns the page in his score to find some words written in the margins. The gist of the message: a sniper will shoot Tom and his wife if he stops playing before the concert is over. An earpiece is conveyed to him during a break; now the villain (the soothing voice of John Cusack) can instruct and taunt him more directly. Tom, a consummate professional, is able to have panicked conversations with the bad guy while playing complicated musical pieces, often without looking at his music or the keyboard. You will be delighted by some of the other things that Tom is able to do while playing the piano and fearing for his life.

And there you have it. The core concept and structure are similar to August’s Ethan Hawke flop “Getaway,” right down to the anonymous menacing voice giving instructions to the unwilling participant. But that movie, despite having a premise no stupider than “Grand Piano’s,” was terrible, and “Grand Piano” is good. So what’s the difference? Execution.

I don’t know what Elijah Wood’s actual skill level is on the piano, but the way he fakes it here is nothing short of remarkable, and it speaks to his and Mira’s commitment to taking the whole thing seriously. It would have been infinitely easier to avoid showing Wood’s hands as much as possible, to focus on chest-level shots where we see his arms moving but not which specific keys he’s hitting. Instead, Mira gives us long, unbroken takes of Wood banging away on the keyboard, our view of his hands unobstructed so we can see that what he’s playing really could be the music we’re hearing. The hand-synching, if that’s what you call it — sure, let’s call it hand-synching — is nearly flawless.

Moreover, Mira and cinematographer Unax Mendia are constantly pulling off carefully orchestrated shots and marvelous feats of camera movement, applying the same type of sweeping, operatic bravura that Brian De Palma applies to everything he does. (I thought of “Snake Eyes” in particular.) There’s something thrilling about seeing such technical precision used in the service of such lunacy. While the screenplay (by Damien Chazelle) is overly expository and larded with repeated dialogue, everything else about the film has energy and confidence and is perfectly capable of carrying you away if you’ll go along with its fantastically goofy premise.

The Grand Budapest Hotel

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As the patron saint of cinematic hipsterism, writer-director Wes Anderson is known for making films that, even when set in the present day, have an aura of timelessness about them. The dialogue may be arch and modern, but the diorama-like sets and symmetrical shot compositions suggest the formality of a bygone era — possibly one that never actually existed.

That out-of-time feeling has never been stronger than in Anderson’s latest film, “The Grand Budapest Hotel,” a droll and wistful yarn set in a story-book version of 1930s Europe, where the last remnants of a polite society are about to be lost to the ravages of war. To mask the imminent tragedy with whimsy (another Anderson specialty), the story takes place not in Poland but in the fictional Republic of Zubrowka, and not with the looming threat of Nazis but of something called the Zig Zag Division (whose ZZ logo will look familiar).

Thus a half-step removed from reality, we can enjoy the adventures of one Gustave H. (Ralph Fiennes), concierge at Zubrowka’s stately Grand Budapest Hotel and a strict proponent of manners that are already becoming old-fashioned. A gracious, charming servant, Gustave proudly represents the hotel with dignity, earning loyalty from staff and guests alike. He is also known to woo the old widows who visit the Grand Budapest, including Madame D. (Tilda Swinton), whose death triggers the revelation that she has bequeathed a valuable painting to Gustave, angering her villainous son, Dmitri (Adrien Brody).

This is all related to us some years later by Zero Moustafa (F. Murray Abraham), now the owner of the Grand Budapest but in 1932 a mere lobby boy. A refugee from a war-torn country, teenage Zero (played by Tony Revolori) is eager to absorb all the wisdom Gustave can share with him, and he becomes the concierge’s faithful sidekick and assistant. The story goes on to include a brass-knuckled thug (Willem Dafoe), a winsome bakery girl (Saoirse Ronan), a prison break, a secret network of hotel concierges, and the usual parade of deadpan Andersonian hijinks and character actors (including Bill Murray, Harvey Keitel, Jeff Goldblum, Edward Norton, Mathieu Amalric, Jude Law, Jason Schwartzman, and Tom Wilkinson).

Fiennes is impeccable as the genteel Gustave, a delicate man who calls everyone “darling” and is, according to Zero, “the most liberally perfumed man I had ever encountered.” Gustave’s old-world manners are his guiding principle, even as the world around him changes. His bisexuality, alluded to but explicitly mentioned only in passing, adds to the sense that he doesn’t quite fit anywhere. He’s eager to please: “Rudeness is merely the expression of fear,” he tells his hotel staff. “People fear they won’t get what they want.” That’s a quaint way of looking at things, especially on the eve of war.

That theme — semi-ironic merriment against a backdrop of sadness — runs through most of Anderson’s films, more overtly in some than in others. Anderson says “Grand Budapest” was inspired by the writings of Viennese author Stefan Zweig, and that the character of Gustave was based partially on Zweig. But Gustave is also a reflection of Anderson himself, or at least of the Anderson we know through his films: mannered, quirky, fussy, affected, eminently relatable yet not quite realistic, and possibly born in the wrong century.

“Grand Budapest Hotel” is funny, if not gut-busting, and well-executed, if not a masterpiece. It has some odd, random cruelty (what is it with Anderson and animals lately?), and an emotional detachment that’s even stronger than usual. It isn’t as easy to fall in love with this one as with, say, “Rushmore” or “The Royal Tenenbaums.” But as twee, immaculate comedies go, it’s a winner.

Journey to the West: Conquering the Demons (Chinese)

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In 2005, the highest-grossing foreign film in the U.S. was Stephen Chow’s “Kung Fu Hustle,” a martial arts action comedy that remains, to this day, one of the looniest and most inventive live-action treats I’ve seen. It was popular enough to inspire Miramax to re-release Chow’s previous film, “Shaolin Soccer,” which the distributor had dumped earlier, and which had a similar cartoonish sensibility.

I missed Chow’s next film, “CJ7,” a kids’ movie that played in the U.S. in 2008 to mixed reviews and poor box office (Stateside anyway; it did great in China and Hong Kong). But his latest, “Journey to the West: Conquering the Demons,” feels like a spiritual successor to both “CJ7” and “Kung Fu Hustle,” a fantasy story with kid-friendly elements but a decidedly darker sense of humor than Western kiddie flicks usually have. A loose reimagining of the classic Chinese novel, Chow’s Journey to the West is characteristically bug-eyed and silly, by turns creative, clever, and exhausting.

It begins with an idyllic scene that quickly turns quasi-horrific, as a little girl sees her fisherman father devoured by a giant river monster in full view of their small village. The bystanders’ reactions are exaggerated — we’re meant to be amused, not traumatized. The creature uses its stretchy tentacles to snatch more villagers from the docks (including a child!) before being subdued by a demon-hunter named Tang (Zhang Wen) and reverting to its true form of a skinny naked man. Rather than destroy the demon, Tang sings it a nursery rhyme to cleanse it of evil, but he’s interrupted by Miss Duan (Qi Shu), a fellow demon-hunter who uses more violent methods to capture the thing in her magic bag. And … the tone of the movie is set.

The rest of the story has Tang and Miss Duan working to defeat a handful of demons (including one in the form of a grotesque pig), their conflicting methodologies causing tension even as Miss Duan develops a powerful romantic attraction to Tang. We meet her crew, a circus-like group of vagabonds who live in the forest and travel in a chariot powered by their own breath. Demon-fighters with names like Prince Important and Almighty Foot (he has a tiny foot that can grow large to stomp on his enemies) join the ensemble. They search for the cave where the Monkey King has been imprisoned for 500 years. Eventually Buddha himself is involved in the epic battle.

Chow maintains a vigorously energetic pace throughout the film, as enthusiastic about the mystical martial-arts sequences as he is about the wacky bits in between. When we’re not engaged in one of the action scenes (which are assisted by unabashedly unconvincing computer animation), we’re treated to comedy sketches almost vaudevillian in their simple, relentless hamminess: Prince Important keeps accidentally calling himself “impotent” (I’d be curious to know how this joke works in Mandarin); Miss Duan tries any number of methods to woo Tang; etc.

Silliness can grow dull when it’s constantly cranked up to 11, and by the end the story seems to have spun off into irretrievable ridiculousness. Yet the film’s details are so marvelously playful that it’s hard not to smile at them. You can see Chow’s upbeat impishness in every corner, from the reanimated corpses with squeeze-toy heads to the Pig Demon’s pork-oriented family restaurant.

When it was released in China a year ago, the film set local records for best opening-day and single-day grosses. That doesn’t necessarily indicate quality (for a while North America’s record-holder for best opening day was Twilight: New Moon), but it does suggest a cultural connection that might not fully translate for Western viewers. Imaginative storytelling is pretty universal, though, no matter what language you speak.

ATM

ATM

Within the broad category of Thrillers there is the subsection of Thrillers That Are Set in Small, Confined Spaces That Only Require One Set and Can’t Hold More Than a Few Characters and Are Therefore Much Cheaper to Make Than Other Movies. We’ve seen suspense films set in lifeboats, stalled elevators, wrecked automobiles, lonely parking garages, and abandoned ski lifts. Remember when Ryan Reynolds woke up in a coffin? That movie was called Buried (working title: Dick in a Box), and its writer, Chris Sparling was so emboldened by its relative success that he asked himself: Could I write a good movie set entirely in an ATM vestibule? The answer was no, but he did it anyway.

The movie is called ATM, because why waste creativity on a title? It’s about three idiots who stop at a freestanding ATM booth in a desolate parking lot late one night and, in a classic use of the literary conflict Man vs. Man’s Own Stupidity, are gradually defeated by the forces of Darwinism. As with many bad horror movies, the terror we are supposed to feel on behalf of the characters is diminished by our certainty that everything bad that happens to them is their own fault.

The dummies in question are twentysomethings named David (Brian Geraghty), Emily (Alice Eve), and Corey (Josh Peck), employees at a financial firm who are heading home from the company Christmas party very late on a cold winter’s night that was so deep. David and Emily have as-yet-unconsummated crushes on each other like a couple of moony eighth-graders; third-wheel Corey is the Wacky Friend who demands that David give him a ride home even though David is very clearly trying to score with Emily.

With those contrivances established, the following things happen:

– They stop at an ATM because they’re hungry and the specific place they want to get food doesn’t take debit cards and nobody has any cash.

– This is a large city with presumably hundreds of cash machines, but they choose the ATM vestibule that stands by itself in the middle of a shopping center parking lot in a part of town where no cars ever drive past, not one car all night long.

– David deliberately parks the car about 30 yards from the ATM so Corey will have to walk in the cold.

– But then Corey beckons for David to join him in the vestibule (his card isn’t working), and then Emily comes over to see what’s taking so long, and so now all three of them are in the ATM vestibule.

– And they all left their phones in the car.

Cash acquired, they’re about to leave when they see a man in a parka standing outside between them and the car. He could be waiting to use the ATM — OR HE COULD BE WAITING TO MURDER THEM ALL. David and Emily are positive it’s the second thing. Corey isn’t so sure, but his bravery only extends as far as saying, “Nah, I’m sure he’s just waiting to use the ATM” and then cowering in the vestibule with the other two.

Let me be clear here. The parka man has made no threatening movements and holds no weapons. For all we know, he is just an off-course Eskimo. Also, there is only one of him. Our heroes, two grown men and an adult woman, are terrified of the possibility of a lone stranger accosting them as they walk back to their car 100 feet away. How do they survive the ordinary terrors of city life? I only live in Portland and I see people who alarm or unsettle me every time I leave the house. These craven tools must soak their respective pants with coward’s pee on a daily basis.

Okay, to be fair, while they’re standing in the vestibule watching him, the parka man does kill a guy. Some poor schmuck is out walking his dog (in subzero temperatures at 2 in the morning in a non-residential neighborhood), and Parka Man beats him to death. It’s pretty annoying, because it validates the ATM trio’s baseless fears. They assume they’re safe if they stay inside the booth, though, because you can’t get in without swiping your ATM card, and what are the chances a psycho killer is part of the elite group of people who have bank accounts?

So there you go. David, Emily, and Corey have no way to summon help and no way to escape from their ATM panic room (other than just, you know, leaving). When they discover that the vestibule door doesn’t actually lock, and that there’s nothing preventing the killer from coming in, and that the ATM vestibule is therefore not any safer than the parking lot, they still do not revise their strategy. The killer frequently disappears for several minutes at a time (which would seem to be a good opportunity for skedaddling), but it’s not till he cuts the power to the booth and they start freezing that anyone suggests making a run for it — and even then, Corey goes alone, David and Emily staying behind to shout encouragement from the non-safety of their unprotected glass icebox.

Does a security guard happen to drive past and immediately get killed by Parka Man before he can alert police? You know the answer to that question. You’ve seen movies before.

Does the killer burst into the vestibule and get attacked by Corey and David, who choke him to death with the chain that attaches the pen to the cash machine, only it turns out it’s not the killer but a random innocent bystander who happens to be wearing a similar parka? Yes to that too!

It’s hard to choose, but I think my favorite dumb thing that happens in this movie is when they try to get out by setting off what turns out to be the world’s least sensitive smoke detector. A cigarette lighter doesn’t do the trick, so they start a fire in the wastebasket, and then it STILL doesn’t go off so they hold the wastebasket up directly under the smoke detector, and Emily has to sit on David’s shoulders in order to get it close enough, and she sets off the alarm but falls off of David and whacks her head on the counter.

What’s most disheartening about ATM is that it’s as dumb and implausible as you’d expect it to be when you hear the premise. Merely summarizing the plot counts as giving it a scathing review. It’s nice when screenwriters stretch themselves by tackling tricky story concepts, but adding “all the characters are impossibly timid imbeciles” as an extra challenge just seems unfair.

NOTE: You can’t prove that ATM wasn’t inspired by this episode of Friends.

— GeekNation

Ernest & Celestine (French)

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“Ernest & Celestine” is one of those effortlessly charming cartoons where everything is basically very simple — it’s a story about animals that are supposed to be enemies being friends — yet filled with whimsical details that make it unique. For example, in this world, the mouse population uses discarded bears’ teeth as replacements for their own worn-out incisors, and dentistry is mouse society’s most noble profession. If you asked me to make up a connection between mice and bears for a children’s story, I wouldn’t have come up with that in a hundred years.

Based on a Belgian series of books by Gabrielle Vincent, the film opened in Europe at the end of 2012 but has only now come to American shores, first in its original form (which is what I saw) and soon with an English-dubbed version. Most people on this side of the Atlantic had never heard of it until it was nominated for the best animated feature Oscar, beating out supposed shoo-ins like “Monsters University.” The recognition is deserved. This hand-drawn, water-colored French-Belgian concoction is a sweetly deadpan delight.

Mice and bears are the major species in this world. Both live in human-like societies, with the bears above ground and the mice below. They avoid all direct contact with one another. Mice are taught from childhood that bears are fearsome, mouse-eating ogres, and you should run for your life if you ever encounter one; bears, meanwhile, consider mice to be vermin and would never let a rodent in their house, let alone befriend one. Despite the supposed danger, mouse orphans like little Celestine (voice of Pauline Brunner) are sent above ground at night to sneak into bear homes and take the teeth that cubs leave under their pillows, for purposes of mouse dentistry. That’s how orphans earn their keep (a rather Dickensian turn).

The opportunity for some much-needed cross-species understanding comes when Celestine happens to cross paths with Ernest (voice of Lambert Wilson), an eccentric vagabond bear known to his community as a street musician, beggar, and local kook. Celestine shows the hungry bear how to break into a candy shop’s basement supply room, and then Ernest returns the favor by helping her get a cache of bears’ teeth to bring back to her people. Technically, this may be “theft.” In addition to that, both communities are appalled and frightened by Ernest and Celestine’s friendship, and they become fugitives, leading to a goofy “Odd Couple” living situation and an escalating series of adventures.

The dynamic between Ernest and Celestine is the tender, goofy heart of the film. They’re less adversarial than Dennis the Menace and Mr. Wilson, less affectionate than Annie and Daddy Warbucks. Both are independent types, not really in need of companionship, and they’re unsentimental. When they’re apart, the film very nicely draws parallels between their lives, showing us their similar experiences, dreams, and wishes. The message, of course, is that we’re all the same under our skin, but the film earns points for not getting preachy or maudlin about it.

The simple themes are complemented by an un-showy style of animation, with line drawings and unfinished details. Things move within the frame, but the frame itself rarely moves, like a comic strip come to life. It was directed by Stephane Aubier, Vincent Patar, and Benjamin Renner, the former two being the insanely creative pair behind “A Town Called Panic.” (Look for a “Panic” poster on the bear cub’s bedroom wall.) This film is a lot more sedate, but it has a similar sense of wonder and imagination, and in their uncluttered drawings the directors stage some bits of slapstick that are almost Chaplin-esque. And thanks to their restraint against overselling it, their sublime story captures a few emotions, too.

— About.com

Amityville 3D

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Amityville 3D

When I say “cinema’s scariest haunted house,” what do you think of? No, not that one. Not that one either. Try again. Yes, the Amityville house! That’s right! The Long Island home where a man killed his family (in real life) and where spooky things subsequently happened (allegedly in real life [but come on]) has been the inspiration for a whole junk-drawer full of domicile-based horror films. These include the original Amityville Horror, a remake, a couple of theatrical sequels, some straight-to-video sequels, and a few sequels that were released directly into a dumpster in Burbank.

Actually, most of them aren’t even “sequels” but freestanding, unrelated episodes that take place in, or feature haunted artifacts removed from, the Amityville house, which can be destroyed in one movie and appear again in the next, like Wile E. Coyote. One of these non-sequels, the third one, was in 3D, because it was back in the days when part threes always had to be in 3D.

As the film begins, the murder house has become a lair for con artists who hold fake seances to scare gullible people out of their money. Along comes John Baxter (Tony Roberts), a smug investigative journalist who’s eager to prove that the stories about the house being haunted are poppycock, maybe even balderdash. Despite the apprehensions of his skittish assistant, Melanie (Candy Clark), Baxter buys the place and moves in, ignoring the conventional wisdom that “to prove a point” is a bad reason for homeownership.

The only overtly unusual thing about the house is that there’s a deep pit in the basement. The Realtor says it’s an old dry well, but it’s most likely a hell-mouth through which demons can pass from the infernal realm into ours. It’s covered up with some boards, though, so it’s probably okay.

Baxter hasn’t lived in the house a day when the Realtor comes by for some paperwork, finds no one home, lets himself in, and wanders up to the attic, where a swarm of flies attacks him in what the movie erroneously believes is a horrifying manner. Really, the flies just buzz around his face, the way flies do. And he stands there and takes it, like he’s powerless to run away from flies. Then the flies kill him, somehow, I guess. I don’t know how a swarm of houseflies kills a guy, but he’s dead when it’s over, and the flies were the last ones to see him alive, so there you go. Maybe one of the flies had a gun?

Melanie is spooked by the incident — Melanie is spooked by everything, actually, calling into question her suitability as an assistant to someone who debunks supernatural phenomena — while Baxter remains condescendingly certain that there’s nothing unusual going on, no matter how obvious it gets that there is. When Baxter is nearly killed by a mysteriously malfunctioning elevator in his office building, while Melanie is chased out of the Amityville house by a blast of cold air from the basement hell-mouth, they both become more entrenched in their already-held positions, like when Bill O’Reilly talks to Jon Stewart. Baxter is more confident than ever that there’s no such thing as ghosts, and Melanie graduates to wide-eyed, trouser-soiling hysteria.

Given his pigheadedness, it will not surprise you to learn that Baxter has an ex-wife who hates him. She doesn’t want their daughter, Susan (Lori Loughlin), staying with him in his haunted house, but Baxter cleverly circumvents this decree by ignoring it. Susan isn’t afraid of the house anyway, and neither is her rebellious best friend, who is played by a young Meg Ryan in her original face. The girls and two of their boy friends hold a giggly seance in the attic, only instead of a real Ouija board they use scraps of paper with letters written on them, like the pioneer children did. As homemade occult tools go, it’s cute.

The film has some strange ideas about what’s scary. Baxter is alone in the house one night when he hears the upstairs bathroom sink running. He goes upstairs, turns the water off, and returns to his business. Now, on the one hand, running water isn’t scary. If the worst thing that happens to you in a murder house is that the faucets sometimes turn themselves on, consider yourself lucky. But on the other hand, Baxter is so stubborn about denying the supernatural that he won’t admit even privately that a self-operating faucet, while not “scary” per se, is at least eerie.

Finally, after a hundred other not-scary-but-kind-of-strange events, plus a couple deaths, Baxter lets a team of paranormal experts come to the house with their spectrometers and ghost microphones and whatnot. The team’s leader, a wormy man named Eliot (Robert Joy), gazes into the basement hell-mouth and harasses the demon that the movie forgot to tell us was behind all this into coming out, whereupon it kills him — so thanks for your help, Eliot. Either because of this or in spite of it (cause and effect aren’t really the movie’s forte), the house starts to collapse and explode, and only a handful of people escape. One of them is Baxter, who’s such a jackass that I bet even now he won’t admit the house was possessed. Oh, well. See you in the next episode, cinema’s fifth or sixth scariest haunted house!

— GeekNation

Movie B.S. with Bayer and Snider #199: ‘Pompeii,’ Interquel

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[Only one review on Movie B.S. this week, plus plenty of other mischief.]

Episode 199: ‘Pompeii,’ Interquel

0:00-4:25 – Introduction, we have colds, iTunes review
4:25-19:30 – “Pompeii” review
19:30-33:10 – QOTW (movies you own but never watch)
33:10-41:51 – Interquel
41:51-48:10 – Oscar bowling, movies to watch
48:10-49:35 – Wrap-up and goodbyes
49:35-52:35 – Randy Newman’s Title Song from “12 Years a Slave”

QOTW: If there are aliens, and you can send them one movie to represent humanity, what do you choose and why?

Download audio / Listen at MovieBS.com / Listen at iTunes

Pompeii

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“Pompeii” is like a low-rent “Titanic,” with a rich girl and a poor boy falling in love in the shadow of Mt. Vesuvius days before its famous eruption in A.D. 79. You need something to fill the time before the volcano blows its top, though, so to pad out the story, “Pompeii” is also an uninspired “Gladiator” retread. It’s two Oscar-winning movies crammed into one 105-minute waste of time and money!

Directed by technically proficient but artistically remedial Paul W.S. Anderson (“Resident Evil”), this silly melodrama stars Kit Harington — Jon Snow on “Game of Thrones” — as a Celtic slave named Milo who was captured as a boy by the Romans after they slaughtered his village. Milo is an unusually strong and lethal fellow when it comes to hand-to-hand combat, so the Romans have added “gladiator” to his list of duties. (Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje plays his gladiator pal, Atticus, one of maybe two interesting characters in the movie.)

Milo and Pompeii’s fairest daughter, Cassia (Emily Browning), have their “meet-cute” when one of her horses breaks its leg and he tenderly euthanizes the poor beast by snapping its neck with his bare hands. Cassia sees in Milo the sort of sensitivity that is rare in slaves, not to mention the ability to kill large beasts that is rare in everyone. But it would be folly for a high-born girl to have dalliances with a slave, of course, and Cassia’s parents (Jared Harris and Carrie-Anne Moss) are willing, if hesitant, to marry her off to a conniving Roman senator, Corvus (Kiefer Sutherland, made entirely of ham), in exchange for his promise to invest in Pompeii’s infrastructure. Meanwhile, there are occasional earthquakes and sinkholes, to remind us that trouble is imminent.

The paper-thin characters, wan dialogue, and rehashed plot make the volcanic debris a welcome sight when it finally arrives, 70 minutes in. Yet even those eager for disaster porn will surely come away disappointed, both by the quality of the CGI devastation (it’s low…) and the quantity (…and such small portions). Even the one thing Anderson is usually good at, composing striking visuals, is in short supply here. It’s such a shame to be disappointed by a movie, more so when you weren’t expecting much in the first place.

Movie B.S. with Bayer and Snider #198: ‘RoboCop,’ ‘Winter’s Tale,’ Pitch Me

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[Movie B.S. is my podcast. There are others like it, but this one is mine.]

Episode 198: ‘RoboCop,’ ‘Winter’s Tale,’ Pitch Me

0:00-3:40 – Introduction, an announcement
3:40-5:40 – Our lunch sponsor: “Try Not to Burn,” a supernatural thriller by Michael Matula, now on Kindle for $3.99
5:40-16:00 – “RoboCop” review
16:00-37:45 – “Winter’s Tale” review, with many spoilers, and then some commentary on the screening rats
37:45-47:40 – QOTW (your “litmus test” movies)
47:40-56:10 – A round of Pitch Me
56:10-58:20 – Portland International Film Festival is still happening; “The Congress” is good; movie talkers
58:20-1:00:55 – Wrap-up and goodbyes

QOTW: What is the least-watched title in your movie library, and if you never watch it, why do you own it?

Download audio / Listen at MovieBS.com / Listen at iTunes

Winter’s Tale

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Reading what happens in “Winter’s Tale” will make you want to see it — but seeing it would be a mistake, as it’s a listless, dull, nonsensical disaster. So proceed with caution. In 1916 New York, a thief (Colin Farrell) evades his angry Irish boss (Russell Crowe) — who is also a demon — by way of a magical flying horse, then falls in love with a rich girl (Jessica Brown Findlay) who’s dying of consumption. Then it’s 2014, the thief hasn’t aged, the demon still wants him dead, and Eva Marie Saint is a 110-year-old newspaper editor. (Nobody mentions it; the movie seems to have hoped we wouldn’t do the math and realize how old she’d have to be.) Akiva Goldsman, a mediocre screenwriter (“Batman & Robin,” “I, Robot”) making his bad directorial debut, reduces Mark Helprin’s massive novel to a puddle of incoherent magical realism, employing fantasy elements but refusing to fully embrace them. It’s weirdly, bafflingly bad.

Red Scorpion

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Red Scorpion

Dolph Lundgren may not have been the most popular of the muscle-bound action stars of the 1980s, but he was definitely the most Swedish. Nobody else even came close, not even Van Damme, who was almost Swedish but stopped at Belgian. Yet most of Lundgren’s roles required him to hide his adorable Swedish accent. That includes his Red Scorpion character, Lt. Nikolai Rachenko, a Soviet assassin who mostly just mumbles because Lundgren had evidently forgotten how to do a Russian accent between Rocky IV and this.

This ripe, fragrant pile of movie-like material from the Cold War begins at shadowy Soviet headquarters, where jowl-faced leaders have summoned Nikolai, a sentient Ken doll on steroids, to give him an important mission. Seems there’s an anti-Communist uprising in a Cuba-controlled part of Africa, and the Reds need Nikolai to infiltrate the rebels and murder their leader, Sundata. Nikolai is all business. When the Cuban official overseeing the mission extends his hand to him, Nikolai won’t shake it. That’s the movie’s way of telling us that he is a cold-blooding killing machine, or possibly racist.

Nikolai goes to the Soviet/Cuban military base in Africa where one of the rebels, a fellow named Kallunda (Al White), is being held prisoner. The plan: get tossed in jail himself, befriend Kallunda, earn his trust, go with him back to his secret rebel base, kill Sundata, maybe kill some other people, take a safari, go home to Moscow, drink some vodka, break Rocky. How a uniformed Russian soldier plans to win the confidence of an anti-Communist African rebel is not explained, but Nikolai undoubtedly has something in mind. I mean, what’s the alternative — that it’s a poorly thought out plan in a badly written movie?

Nikolai gets arrested by pretending to be drunk and picking a fight in a bar. I think this scene is meant to be funny, but it’s hard to tell when it has idiocy instead of comedy and Dolph Lundgren instead of an actor. Nikolai is put in a cell with Kallunda (maybe the jail only has one cell?), and they are joined by Dewey (M. Emmet Walsh), an irascible, potty-mouthed American journalist who sides with the rebels and haaaaaates Russians. Hoo boy, does he ever hate them! He can’t even stand to be in the same cell as Nikolai, let alone talk to him. Dewey is in the place where a racist character would normally be, the sort of blowhard who’s due for a comeuppance when he realizes the object of his hatred isn’t as bad as he thought. But the object of his hatred is a Soviet assassin whose job is to murder freedom fighters. He IS as bad as Dewey thinks. Was Red Scorpion made by the Soviets? How great would that be??

But no, we soon realize the direction the story is headed: Nikolai will come to see the error of his ways, switch alliances, and help the rebels defeat the Russians. Not before there’s a lot of time-killing and wheel-spinning, though! Time-killing and wheel-spinning are Red Scorpion‘s chief exports.

One thing that is curiously absent from the movie is scenes of supposed first-class Soviet hitman Nikolai killing anyone, or in any other way demonstrating that he’s the best there is in his profession, or that he is even good at it. When he, Kallunda, and Dewey escape from jail and go to the rebel camp, he does try to assassinate Sundata … and he gets caught, beaten up, and handed back to the Commies.

It’s only after his bosses torture him for failing to do his job that he realizes the Soviet Union is evil — which may be true, but it’s also true that he failed to do his job (I’m just saying). He escapes from Soviet torture prison — 70 percent of the movie is Lundgren escaping from things — and gets lost in the African desert, where he’s rescued by a kindly bushman. While he’s being nursed back to health, his former comrades are attacking the rebel village. While he and his new bushman friend are walking across the desert, with Nikolai gradually getting nakeder until he’s just in cut-off shorts and sandals, the Russians and Cubans are killing every character who doesn’t have a name. (Good news, Kallunda, Dewey, and Sundata! Sorry, everyone else.) What’s left of the rebel army is glad to see Nikolai when he does finally show up, but that’s clearly only because he’s the main character of the movie and their adulation is obligatory.

To be fair, Nikolai does kill a lot of people once he arrives. He gets his hands on some guns and starts firing at Soviet and Cuban soldiers right and left. He even shoots a guy’s arm off just as the arm is about to throw a grenade! You have to give him credit for that. But still, he doesn’t do anything the rebels couldn’t have done themselves (except maybe the arm-shooting-off thing). Perhaps what we’re supposed to focus on is Nikolai’s personal journey of self-discovery, where he realizes he should stop killing for the Communists and start killing for the non-Communists. That is a pretty inspiring message. We all reach a point in our lives when we must decide whom we’re going to kill for.

Speaking of which, Red Scorpion was produced and co-written by Jack Abramoff, the sleazy lobbyist who would eventually serve time in federal prison for tax evasion, mail fraud, and other corruption. Abramoff’s film was partially financed and supported by the pro-apartheid South African military, in violation of the international boycott. At the time, doing business with South Africa was barely less heinous than working for the Soviet Union, so it’s like if Abramoff used dog-fighting money to make a movie about the evils of cock-fighting. As they say in Sweden, what a jåckåss.

— GeekNation

That Awkward Moment

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“That Awkward Moment” is like an unfunny, R-rated, bro-oriented “Seinfeld,” with three young New York dudes having zany mishaps — “I think the girl I hooked up with is a prostitute!” “I accidentally used skin-bronzer to pleasure myself!” — and trying to convince one another (and themselves) that they remain emotionally unattached to any of the women they sleep with. They have made a deal, you see: graphic-designer studs Jason (Zac Efron) and Daniel (Miles Teller) pledged to remain single in solidarity with their newly divorced doctor friend, Mikey (Michael B. Jordan), and to have only the most casual of sex with the various women in their “rosters.” (“Don’t you have a roster? You gotta have a roster!”) But Jason is falling for new girl Ellie (Imogen Poots), Daniel has commenced a non-platonic relationship with previously platonic friend Chelsea (Mackenzie Davis), and Mikey is secretly hooking up with his ex-wife (Jessica Lucas). Yada yada, sponge-worthy, Soup Nazi, etc.

First-time writer-director Tom Gormican makes a lot of rookie mistakes, like filling his screenplay with despicable characters and making them say and do stupid things. Ellie invites Jason to a “dress-up party,” meaning formal attire, but he takes it to mean “costume party,” and he shows up with a dildo hanging out of his pants, because that’s the sort of costume you wear to a party where you only know one person.

Later, Jason doesn’t go to Ellie’s father’s funeral because he doesn’t want Ellie to think she’s his girlfriend. (Also, the funeral is on Thanksgiving, which the movie doesn’t even acknowledge is strange.) Instead, he goes to Chelsea’s parents’ swanky dinner party, where he walks in on Daniel and Chelsea having sex in the bathroom, because having sex in your parents’ unlocked bathroom in the middle of their fancy Thanksgiving feast is the sort of thing people do. The talents of the three leading men are wasted on a shallow, misguided story that lets them talk a lot about boners and pooping but gives them no opportunity to be funny or charming.

Upcoming Movies with Internet-Inspired Titles Like ‘That Awkward Moment’

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Upcoming Movies with Internet-Inspired Titles Like ‘That Awkward Moment’

“That Awkward Moment” (in theaters Jan. 31) is an R-rated comedy starring Zac Efron, Michael B. Jordan, and Miles Teller as bros looking to score with hot ladies. The trailer indicates that one of the bros hooks up with another bro’s lady friend, leading to hilarity. The bros also joke with one another about their wieners. In other words, it’s a pretty traditional R-rated comedy about bros, except that it’s been given an awful, Internet-inspired title that will seem dated in two years. Will this sort of titling become a trend? We hypothesize that the answer is YES.

“All the Feels”

Sixteen-year-old Becca (Selena Gomez) is resentful about moving to a small North Carolina town to live with her father (Tom Skerritt), but she’s glad to make friends with Briyan (Ezra Miller), an outcast boy her age who’s totally nice but not like, hot, or whatever. He’s just a friend. Then she starts dating Ramp Broadbent (Chord Overstreet), who is super hot and popular, but she starts to think maybe she actually DOES like Briyan in a romantic way. And to top it all off, her dad gets cancer. You guys, what is she gonna do??? She has … All the Feels. Based on the Nicholas Sparks novel.

“I Can’t Even with This”

In this inspiring true story of courage and determination, an adventurous young mountain climber named Rip Dunlop (Chris Hemsworth) is critically injured in a car accident, leaving him blind and legless. But not having eyesight or legs doesn’t mean you can’t climb mountains! With steely resolve and a never-say-die attitude, Rip works tirelessly to retrain himself so he can once again scale the majestic heights of Mother Earth. There are times when it gets really tough and Rip thinks he can’t even with this. But you know what? He can. He can even with this.

“Pics Or It Didn’t Happen”

Nerdy amateur photographer Drik Mirkin (Jesse Eisenberg), who’s super old-school and uses an actual camera-camera (not his phone), takes some random pictures at a raging house party while the cool kids are having fun. The next day, beautiful Serena Lovelace (Mila Kunis) says some creep pawed her while she was passed out drunk, but she doesn’t know who did it and can’t prove it even took place. But wait — Drik’s photos may reveal useful information that sets the story straight and wins him a girlfriend! It’s “Blow-up” meets “Rashomon” in “Pics Or It Didn’t Happen”!

“#YOLO”

When old curmudgeon Bernard Schliff (Harrison Ford) is diagnosed with terminal dandruff, he decides it’s time to grab life by the horns, or the tail, or wherever one grabs life, and accomplish the things he always wanted to do but never did because he was busy being a cranky bastard who hates everything. After all, he figures, you only live once. With “YOLO” as his rallying cry, he embarks on a whirlwind adventure that takes him around the world, only to find that the real YOLO … was love.

“Totes Amazeballs”

The day after he’s bitten by a radioactive monkey, mild-mannered high school senior Brett Babcock (Miles Teller) wakes up with all the powers of that monkey: great strength, the ability to swing with agility from tree branches, and the ability to fling his poop much farther than before. Motivated by the death of his uncle during a botched pornography store robbery, Brett vows to use his newfound powers to fight crime, acting under the name Totes Amazeballs. But it isn’t long before Totes Amazeballs attracts the attention of Gothamopolis’ criminal underworld, including the notorious Major Suckage. It’s a battle for the ages (ages 13-19, specifically)!

“Epic Fail”

Famed brain surgeon Dexter Cutter (Jon Hamm) is at the peak of his career when he learns that he actually failed one of the required courses for his medical degree, and thus did not technically graduate, and thus cannot legally practice medicine! The reason he only just now found this out is, like, a paperwork error or something. We don’t know. Just take our word for it, he has to go back to college and re-take that class — and he has to do it before the crusty hospital director (Elaine Stritch) finds out. It’s a medical comedy that will have you in stitches, lol!

“This Woman Started Working with a Man She Didn’t Get Along With. You Won’t Believe What Happened Next”

They fell in love. OK, maybe it’s not that hard to believe after all.

— Film.com

Movie B.S. with Bayer and Snider #195: The 2014 Sundance Film Festival

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[We’re both in Park City for this edition of Movie B.S., and we saw a lot of movies!]

Episode 195: The 2014 Sundance Film Festival

0:00-6:10 – Introduction, we’re at Sundance, the weather was great, etc.
6:10-1:19:00 – Sundance mini-reviews (plus signs are the ones we suggest you remember for later):

* “Cold in July”
* “Dear White People”
* “Infinitely Polar Bear”
* “Jamie Marks Is Dead”
* “Life After Beth”
* “The Skeleton Twins” +
* “The Sleepwalker”
* “Whiplash” +
* “No No: A Dockumentary”
* “God Help the Girl”
* “Calvary” +
* “Hits” +
* “Laggies”
* “The Raid 2″ +
* “The Trip to Italy” +
* “The Voices” +
* “Wish I Was Here”
* “Boyhood” +
* “The Double”
* “Locke” +
* “Land Ho!”
* “Listen Up Philip” +
* “Obvious Child” +
* “Ping Pong Summer”
* “The Babadook” +
* “Cooties”
* “The Guest”
* “What We Do in the Shadows” +

1:19:00-1:20:30 – Wrap-up and goodbyes

QOTW: What day-to-day activity could be the plot of an action movie?

Download audio / Listen at MovieBS.com / Listen at iTunes

I, Frankenstein

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Everyone knows Frankenstein’s monster died 200 years ago. What “I, Frankenstein” presupposes is: maybe he didn’t? This expensive-looking and deeply absurd genre turkey stars Aaron Eckhart as the handsome, five-foot-eleven, jeans-and-hoodie-wearing creature. He’s spent the last couple centuries helping the Gargoyle Queen (Miranda Otto) — yes, I mean queen of the stone ornaments found on old buildings, which in this world come to life, just like Disney’s “Hunchback of Notre Dame,” and are actually angels — in her people’s eternal battle against demons.

The head demon (Bill Nighy), in corporeal form as a billionaire, is paying a foxy blond scientist (Yvonne Strahovski) to duplicate Victor Frankenstein’s experiments, allegedly for the good of mankind but secretly so he can produce an army of demonic reanimated corpses. He has a huge stockpile of corpses just waiting for the day, each already outfitted with a digital “_% REANIMATED” display across the chest.

Working from Kevin Grevioux’s comic book, director Stuart Beattie pretends the material has a chance of being taken seriously, even though it’s mostly just Eckhart stomping around talking in a growly Batman voice, CGI things impaling one another with stakes, and characters saying things like “Your life was not granted to you by the grace of God, it was fabricated in a laboratory!” and “I think your boss is a demon prince.” The film isn’t campy enough to be fun or smart enough to be good, but it passes by quickly and without doing any serious harm to the viewer.

Ride Along

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2014 will definitely see movies that are worse than “Ride Along” — that prophecy will probably be fulfilled before the end of the month, actually — but it’s unlikely to produce any that are more formulaic and uninspired than this flat action comedy. (“Action comedy,” of course, means that there’s a lot of gunfire and exploding cars.)

Written by a committee and directed by Tim Story (“Think Like a Man”), the film stars Ice Cube as gruff Atlanta cop James Payton and motormouth-du-jour Kevin Hart as Ben Barber, his squirrelly, cop-wannabe almost-brother-in-law who goes on a ride-along with him. Seeking to dissuade Ben from becoming a police officer as well as from marrying his sister (Tika Sumpter), James takes Ben on the weirdest, most annoying calls, then stands back and watches while the over-eager putz screws it up. Ben even shoots a guy at one point, but only in the shoulder, and by accident, so James doesn’t care and there’s no paperwork or anything.

Why does a civilian on a ride-along have a gun? Because it’s a stupid movie, that’s why.

Mr. Cube isn’t bad as a straight man (he’s certainly no comedian), but the film relies entirely on Hart’s shtick for its laughs, of which there are a few but not enough. It doesn’t help that every detail of the plot is a retread of other buddy-cop movies — from the blustery lieutenant (Bruce McGill) to the rival cops (John Leguizamo and Bryan Callen) who might be up to no good, to the girlfriend who gets dragged into things by the bad guy (Laurence Fishburne). There’s not a thing to see here that you haven’t seen before, so unless you’re a huge Kevin Hart fan, you might as well wait for the film to go into rotation on TNT.

Randy Newman’s ’12 Years a Slave’ song

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For the third year in a row, I have for some reason written and recorded a song in the style of Randy Newman and pretended it is the theme song from a current movie. First it was “We Need to Talk About Kevin,” then “Skyfall,” and now “12 Years a Slave.”

The song doesn’t have any real spoilers for “12 Years a Slave” (you already know he’s going to get free eventually), but you’ll appreciate it more if you’ve seen it. Listen with the player below, or over at Soundcloud. If you’d like to download an MP3 of the song for $1, you can do so here.

The Legend of Hercules

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With its inept performances, terrible dialogue, and chintzy CGI, Renny Harlin’s “The Legend of Hercules” is somehow more cartoonish than Disney’s version, which actually was a cartoon. It’s more like a daytime soap opera, too. In this telling, Greek mythology’s greatest strongman (played by model-turned-not-actor Kellan Lutz, wearing too much bronzer) battles his sniveling half-brother (Liam Garrigan), his jealous stepfather (Scott Adkins), a fake-looking lion and various armies, all while pursuing a forbidden romance with a Cretan princess (Gaia Weiss) and coming to terms with being the son of Zeus. Every action scene looks so much like a video game that you wonder if any real humans or objects were photographed, while every non-action scene is hampered by the cast’s inability (or refusal) to inject life into the pitiful screenplay. Ye gods, what cheese.

Texas Chainsaw 3D

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Texas Chainsaw 3D

“Texas Chainsaw 3D” was rushed into production when a Lionsgate executive realized that the six existing “Texas Chainsaw Massacre” movies all suffered from a tragic lack of being in 3D. Also, none of them had tried to make Leatherface, the homicidal cannibal behind the chainsaw, into a sympathetic character. Audiences clamored for both. “Why isn’t there a ‘Texas Chainsaw’ movie that casts the mass-murderer in a more favorable light, and for which tickets cost $3 more than usual?” audiences said.

The film follows the example of most human beings by pretending the other “Texas Chainsaw Massacre” followups don’t exist. It is instead a direct sequel to the 1974 original, and it picks up right where that one left off, with one girl having escaped the inbred clan of rednecks and the cops rushing to the scene. Well, make that cop, singular. His name is Hooper (Thom Barry), and he stands outside the Sawyers’ farmhouse ordering the family to come out peacefully because he’s got a girl who says they butchered her friend. They take allegations of friend-butchering seriously in Texas.

Before his police backup can arrive, Hooper is joined by a mob of angry rednecks lookin’ fer “Texas-style” justice, by which I mean they intend to execute a mentally handicapped person. They open fire on the house with their guns, then set it on fire with their fire. Nobody survives except for a baby, which one of the angry rednecks secretly takes for his own self, on account of he and his missus can’t have children, and they always wanted to adopt the inbred offspring of cannibal maniacs, so this is perfect.

Now, these dusty rednecks and inbreeders are all well and good, but I know what you’re thinking: where are the skanks? It’s not a 21st-century slasher movie without skanks. Don’t worry, here they come. We jump forward in time, and the purloined baby has grown up to be Heather (Alexandra Daddario), a foxy young gal with a scrawny friend, Nikki (Tania Raymonde), who talks exclusively about sex, smokes weed, and once slept with Heather’s boyfriend — the gold standard of movie skankery. Heather and Nikki live in Oklahoma and wear tiny shorts, which director John Luessenhop puts in the foreground of the shot whenever possible.

Note: The movie explicitly says that it’s set in 2012, which is 38 years after the first movie. But Heather — who was a baby then — is only about 20 now. The film has retroactively moved the original story up a couple decades. What’s funny is that they take pains not to say what year they’ve moved it to, even when the characters are talking about those events. They’ll just say “August 18,” never the year, and victims’ tombstones are obscured so the year of death isn’t visible. This is what happens when a studio wants a film to be set to a contemporary soundtrack AND to star young people AND the studio doesn’t care whether it makes sense.

But back to our story. Heather is contacted by an attorney who informs her of two things: she’s adopted, and she’s inheriting property from her newly deceased biological grandmother. Considering she was secretly stolen from the smoldering remains of a murder house and raised by infertile rednecks who never told anyone where they got her, it’s strange that her grandmother’s estate knew how to find her. She says as much to the lawyer. He replies, “Find you? Honey, you were never lost!” She doesn’t ask any follow-up questions, because movie characters are more tolerant of cryptic answers than real people are. The subject is never mentioned again.

The point is, Heather and Nikki have to take a road trip to Texas so they can be murdered by Leatherface, who of course is still alive and did not perish in that fire 20 and/or 38 years ago. They’re joined by Heather’s boyfriend, played by R&B/hip-hop singer Trey Songz (real name: Trey Songzenberg), and his buddy Kenny (Keram Malicki-Sanchez). Along the way they pick up a suspiciously polite hitchhiker, Darryl (Shaun Sipos), whose function is to be Leatherface’s first victim when they arrive. (You have to throw in an appetizer like this or you’ll run out of victims too early in the movie.)

What Heather has inherited is a marvelous old mansion in the tiny town of Newt, Texas. The locals know that the old lady who lived there, Verna Carson, kept to herself, and that she was somehow connected to that notorious chainsaw family from a while back. Turns out she was hiding her grandson Leatherface in a secret room in the basement, which Darryl the hitchhiker discovers when he goes looking for stuff to steal and gets killed instead. Then Kenny gets chainsawed in half, just to get him out of the way. Heather narrowly escapes. Nikki and Trey Songz are out in the barn, doin’ it, so they’re safe for now, though of course their fornication means they must die sooner or later.

Here we come to the part of the slasher film where the heroine falls down a lot when she runs, and where cars that used to function properly suddenly won’t start because their occupants are being pursued by a chainsaw-wielding maniac. (That’s just science.) Leatherface chases Heather into a crowded carnival, no longer concerned about being seen or captured, and then somehow still manages to avoid capture despite being 6’5″ and preceded everywhere he goes by the sound of a chainsaw.

Hooper, the cop from back in whatever year it was, is the town’s sheriff now, 20-38 years later. He fills Heather in on some backstory: she’s Leatherface’s cousin, and Leatherface would stop trying to kill her if he knew that, because family is very important to him (Leatherface). He only lashes out and maims people and saws them in half because he is frightened. “He’s huge, but mentally stunted, with the emotions of an 8-year-old,” says Sheriff Hooper, also describing Vin Diesel. Leatherface was already pretty messed up, murdering lost tourists and wearing their skin on his face, but seeing his family shot and burned by those angry rednecks REALLY knocked him for a loop. POOR LEATHERFACE.

The main redneck, fella by the name of Burt Hartman (Paul Rae), is now the mayor. He and the other alumni from the angry mob want to kill Leatherface once they learn he’s still alive, and Heather, too, since she shares his bloodline. (Bumpkins cannot abide a sullied bloodline!) But Heather tells Leatherface that they’re cousins, and sure enough, now he protects her. She encourages him to go ahead and kill the mayor and the other vengeful hillbillies. The movie believes this is moral and fair because, after all, they slaughtered Leatherface’s family — never mind that Leatherface and his family had it coming, what with all the murdering and cannibalism they had done. But frontier justice is a complicated thing, even today and especially back in 1992 or 1974.

— Film.com

Everything I wrote in 2013 that wasn’t a movie review

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My thanks to the outlets that employed me and the many fine editors who dealt with me this year!

– Film.com (David Ehrlich and Brooke Tarnoff)
– Movies.com (Erik Davis and Peter S. Hall)
– GeekNation (Ben Pearson)
– Twitch (Peter A. Martin and Ryland Aldrich)
– About.com: World/Independent Film (Marcy Dermansky and Jurgen Fauth)
– City Weekly (Scott Renshaw)

 

Snide Remarks
(Many more in 2014, I promise!)

“Anti-Anti-Semitism”: Hating Jews seems like a lot of work
“Low-Capacity Magazines”: Another lesson in gossip interpretation
“Jamaican Me Crazy”: Adventures in getting offended by proxy
“Get Out of the Way, Idaho”: Strict regulation of minor infractions
“Empty Pockets”: Air travel means giving up on everything
“What I Think About What You Think”: Well, that’s just, like, your opinion, man
“Spring Breaking Point”: Relax and get aggravated at the movies!
“Correction News Network”: CNN clarifies some of its prior coverage
“Truth Decay”: Why I’m voting against fluoridated water
“Supermania!”: A refresher course on the Man of Steel
“Proud Fathers”: What would the Framers think of us now?
“The Surly Urban Juror”: Doing one’s civic duty, civilly or not
“The End of All Things”: Our society has gotten too permissive
“Requiem for a Geo”: A surprise ending for a beloved old car


Eric’s Bad Movies

“The Curse” (1987)
“The Wraith” (1986)
“The Octagon” (1980)
“Setup” (2011)
“A Talking Cat!?!” (2013)
“Land of Doom” (1986)
“Mr. Hush” (2011)
“Lords of the Street” (2008)
“Casablanca” (1942) (for April Fool’s Day)
“Chain Reaction” (1996)
“Barney’s Great Adventure” (1998)
“C.H.O.M.P.S.” (1979)
“Sudden Death” (1995)
“Misbegotten” (1998)
“Sasquatch” (2002)
“Suburban Commando” (1991)
“Dylan Dog: Dead of Night” (2011)
“The Freedom of Silence” (2011)
“Battlefield Earth” (2000)
“Metalstorm: The Destruction of Jared-Syn” (1983)
“Silent Hill: Revelation” (2012)
“Shakma” (1990)
“Dracula 3000” (2004)
“The Devil Within Her” (1975)
“BloodRayne: The Third Reich” (2010)
“Dinosaur Island” (1994)
“Munchie” (1992)
“Allan Quatermain and the Temple of Skulls” (2008)
“Dead in the Water” (2002)
“The Quest” (1996)
“Hammer of the Gods” (2013)
“A Demon in My View” (1991)
“The Skulls III” (2004)
“House at the End of the Street” (2012)
“A Dennis the Menace Christmas” (2007)


Pitch Meetings

The Pitch Meeting for “Peeples”
The Pitch Meeting for “The Lone Ranger”
The Pitch Meeting for “R.I.P.D.”
The Pitch Meeting for “Last Vegas”


You’re Old

(In which films are revisited upon the anniversary of their release, with accompanying historical data from that weekend)

“Army of Darkness” (20th)
“Lethal Weapon” (26th; we went back to round-number milestones after this)
“Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life” (30th)
“Indecent Proposal” and “The Sandlot” (20th; same weekend!)
“Deep Impact” (15th)
“The Matrix Reloaded” (10th)
“Big” (25th)
“Last Action Hero” (20th)
“Jaws 3D” (30th)
“The Fugitive” (20th)
“The Last Temptation of Christ” (25th)
“Mrs. Doubtfire” (20th)
Gus Van Sant’s “Psycho” (15th)


Miscellaneous movie columns

Hollywood’s New Year’s Resolutions
Why Are the “Django Unchained” Action Figures Offensive?
Zombie Boyfriends: “Warm Bodies” vs. “My Boyfriend’s Back”
Top 5/Bottom 5: Steven Soderbergh’s Movies
The Great Debate: “Casablanca” vs. “Gone with the Wind” (featuring Corey Atad)
“Snitch,” Guns in Movies, and Why Hollywood Can’t Shoot Straight
The 8 Most Memorable Premieres in SXSW History
The Great Debate: SXSW vs. Sundance (featuring Rob Hunter)
The 8 Most Annoying Movie Marketing Tactics
Interview: David Zucker on How Spoofs Have Changed from “Airplane!” to “Scary Movie 5”
What Is a “Cinemascore”?
Why Can’t We Let Filmmakers Tell Stories on Their Own Terms?
How “Man of Steel” Is Better Than “Superman Returns” (and Vice Versa)
“The Butler” Lawsuit and 7 Pairs of Movies That Shared a Title Without Anyone Suing About It
The 2013 Summer Movie Quiz
The Steep Decline of Sketch-Comedy from “Kentucky Fried Movie” to “Movie 43” and “InAPPropriate Comedy”
“The Butler” Box Office and Political Agendas
25 Reasons to See “Ender’s Game”
20 Reasons to See “Escape Plan”
We Asked a Telekinetic Teenage Girl with a Crazy Mother to Fact-Check “Carrie”
The Movies of 2013: The Miscellaneous, Random, and Very Important Data (with assistance from Will Goss)
2013 Film Titles: A Dramatic Reading

The Best and Worst Movies of 2013

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The Best and Worst Movies of 2013

There were some good movies in 2013. There were also some bad movies. In short, 2013 was like a lot of years: it had good things and bad things. Here are the top good things, in my estimation, according to me, based on my opinion. This list is final and authoritative and objectively accurate beyond dispute.

THE BEST MOVIES OF 2013

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1. “12 Years a Slave”
As harrowing as this account of slavery is, it’s so well-made that I was eager (maybe that’s not the right word) to watch it again. It has an undercurrent of hope running through it, too. This is exactly the sort of thing we mean when we talk about the arts reflecting, ennobling, and strengthening a culture, forcing us to reckon with the past in a way that few films have.

topten

2. “Inside Llewyn Davis”
Like so many of the Coen brothers’ films, this ambling tale of a folk singer trying to make it big in New York in 1961 is very good on the first viewing, excellent on the second. It’s sad, funny, slightly mystical, and enhanced by lead actor Oscar Isaac’s great musicianship as the title character learns what it means to be a struggling artist — and whether it’s worth all the trouble.

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3. “Frances Ha”
Thanks to Greta Gerwig’s charming performance and Noah Baumbach’s assured direction, this could become the post-college-angst comedy of the ’10s. The reluctance to grow up; the feeling of betrayal as friends grow up ahead of you; the desire to live on irony and fun and being frustrated by the need to pay the bills: none of this is new in movies, of course. But Baumbach and Gerwig give it a graceful and poignantly funny new feel.

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4. “Gravity”
No monsters or aliens in this sci-fi thriller — just Sandra Bullock and George Clooney struggling to survive in the vast, forbidding reaches of space. Director Alfonso Cuarón uses long, unbroken takes shot by a smoothly floating camera to eerily simulate the sensation of being adrift, with appropriate feelings of isolation and helplessness. Grading purely on technical craft alone, it’s easily the most impressive film of the year, and one of the few that demand to be seen on the biggest screen possible.

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5. “Philomena”
Judi Dench searches for her long-lost son with the help of acerbic Steve Coogan. But this is no dim-witted “odd couple on a road trip” farce (though it is quite funny). Instead, it’s an endearing portrait of two approaches to life: the one where you forgive others for the harm they’ve done you, and the one where you hold onto your resentments. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll want to call your mom afterward.

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6. “Short Term 12”
This tender, quiet film about a group home for at-risk teens is full of humanity and compassion — a soothing balm after a steady diet of raucous, bombastic fare. Brie Larson’s lead performance as a counselor whose life is almost as messed up as her kids’ lives are is wonderfully intimate and honest. Despite what sounds like bleak subject matter, the film is joyful and optimistic.

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7. “All Is Lost”
Thousand-year-old Robert Redford leads this one-man show as an experienced yachtsman lost at sea. It’s simple, poetic, and gripping, almost dialogue-free, with the classic “man vs. nature” theme of an old adventure novel. Whether you see it as a metaphor for life or just a literal story of survival, it’s totally engrossing.

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8. “NO”
This funny and satiric true story about Chilean political advertising in the late 1980s is surprisingly relevant to American politics in 2013. Using some of the actual TV ads from that era to add authenticity to his deliberately cheesy-’80s filming style, director Pablo Larraín proves that even local politics have universal applications. (If you’re Chilean, it probably resonates even more.)

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9. “Stoker”
I was mesmerized by Park Chan-wook’s first English-language film, a stylish and macabre tale of a morbid teenage girl’s coming-of-age after the death of her father. Does “Stoker” have more style than substance? Almost certainly. But what style! You could turn the sound off and enjoy it purely on a visual level, what with the carefully composed shots, chilling images of violence, and demented Hitchcockian homages.

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10. “Enough Said”
Julia Louis-Dreyfus and James Gandolfini are an unlikely pair in this sweet, funny romantic comedy that’s so good I don’t even want to besmirch it with the term “romantic comedy” (even though that’s what it is). The adorable lead performances more than compensate for a plot that has a hokey element to it.

You should also see these movies: “Blue Jasmine,” “Spring Breakers,” “About Time,” “Mud,” “The Wolf of Wall Street,” “Her,” “The World’s End,” “The Place Beyond the Pines,” “The Attack,” “The History of Future Folk,” “Don Jon,” “Drinking Buddies,” “The Conjuring,” “At Any Price,” “Stories We Tell,” “Before Midnight,” “Captain Phillips”

I didn’t see these but am led to understand they are very good: “Leviathan,” “Drug War,” “Wadjda,” “Laurence Anyways,” “A Touch of Sin,” “The Great Beauty,” “Museum Hours,” “Computer Chess,” “The Hunt,” “Bastards”

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THE WORST MOVIES OF 2013

1. “Grown Ups 2”
The next two films on this list are more incompetently made, but “Grown Ups 2” holds a special place in my bowels for being apathetic: by all appearances, Adam Sandler and his friends didn’t even try to make a good comedy.

2. “InAPPropriate Comedy”
Vince Offer the Sham-Wow guy obviously tried to make a good comedy; he just doesn’t know how to do it. Miserable.

3. “Argento’s Dracula”
The once-revered Italian horrormeister poops out a turd that anyone else would consider an embarrassment.

4. “Scary Movie 5”
Would you like to know the magic ingredient for spoofing movies? Imitate them, and add poop!

5. “A Glimpse Inside the Mind of Charles Swan III”
Charlie Sheen basically plays himself. The mystery is why anyone thought this would be a selling point.

6. “Kick-Ass 2”
A repellant, distasteful sequel that has the gall to pretend it’s about the real-life consequences of violence. Escapist fantasy is fine, but don’t insult us by claiming to be realistic. (Being funny would help, too.)

7. “A Good Day to Die Hard”
The best “Die Hard” movie this year was called “White House Down.” The worst “Die Hard” movie was this brainless pile that should have gone straight to DVD.

8. “Beyond the Hills”
A punishing, interminable Romanian drama set at a convent, featuring dull dialogue and tedious pacing. I know that some people love this film, and more power to them. I hated it.

I didn’t see these but suspect they would have been contenders: “The Internship,” “The Smurfs 2,” “The Canyons,” “The Big Wedding,” “Battle of the Year,” “A Madea Christmas,” “The Host,” “Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters”

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MISCELLANEOUS DATA

Shortest movie: “Solomon Grundy,” 75 minutes

Longest movie: “The Wolf of Wall Street,” 179 minutes

Shortest title: “42″

Longest title: “Going Attractions: The Definitive Story of the American Drive-in Movie”

Least enjoyable good movie: “12 Years a Slave”

Most enjoyable bad movie: “Getaway”

Movies in which a dog is killed: “The Hangover Part III,” “Sightseers,” “The Conjuring,” “Fruitvale Station,” “A Single Shot,” “We Are What We Are,” “A Haunted House” (We’re counting “Riddick,” too.)

Movies in which people wear face masks: “Pain & Gain,” “You’re Next,” “The Hangover Part III,” “The Purge,” “The East,” “The Lone Ranger,” “Only God Forgives,” “2 Guns,” “Passion,” “The Last Exorcism: Part II,” “Man of Tai Chi”

Movies in which a woman stabs her husband with a kitchen knife: “Side Effects,” “Safe Haven”

Movies in which the hero battles foes with a hammer: “Prisoners,” “Thor: The Dark World,” “Oldboy”

Movies involving seafaring peril: “Kon-Tiki,” “A Hijacking,” “Captain Phillips,” “All is Lost,” “Leviathan,” “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty,” “The Wolf of Wall Street”

Movies in which there’s some question of whether a young witch will turn out to be good or bad: “Beautiful Creatures,” “Oz the Great and Powerful,” “Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters”

Movies in which Alden Ehrenreich plays a high school student who gets romantic with a dark-haired, potentially lethal girl who’s the subject of rumors and gossip: “Beautiful Creatures,” “Stoker”

Movies in which a former Disney star puts a gun in a man’s mouth: Ryan Gosling in “The Place Beyond the Pines,” Vanessa Hudgens in “Spring Breakers”

Movies in which the president is held hostage and an enemy flag is placed atop the White House: “Olympus Has Fallen,” “G.I. Joe: Retaliation”

Movies in which a fictional U.S. president is a significant character: “Olympus Has Fallen,” “G.I. Joe: Retaliation,” “White House Down,” “Iron Man 3″

Movies in which someone is bitten — or fears they will be bitten — by a snake: “Prince Avalanche,” “Mud,” “The Kings of Summer”

Movies featuring drug-fueled parties in gaudy Miami mansions: “Pain & Gain,” “Iron Man 3″

Movies in which young black men who sell weed for a living make plans to attend their mothers’ birthday parties: “Fruitvale Station,” “Gimme the Loot”

Movies with scenes set at Princeton University: “Admission,” “The Reluctant Fundamentalist”

Movies featuring comical references to waterboarding: “G.I. Joe: Retaliation,” “Scary Movie 5,” “2 Guns,” “Kick-Ass 2″

Movies in which Air Force One is attacked while in flight: “Iron Man 3,” “White House Down”

Movies in which dangerous teenage girls play classical music on the piano: “Stoker,” “Byzantium”

Movies in which Saoirse Ronan is one of a pair of girls who kill people: “Violet & Daisy,” “Byzantium”

Movies in which Saoirse Ronan must live a life on the run: “The Host,” “How I Live Now,” “Byzantium”

Movies released on July 3 in which sharp-fanged, carnivorous rabbits appear: “The Lone Ranger,” “Despicable Me 2″

Movies in which people can see other people’s memories: “Pacific Rim,” “The Conjuring”

Spoof movies in which Lindsay Lohan plays herself and there’s a joke about her ankle monitor: “Scary Movie 5,” “InAPPropriate Comedy”

Coming-of-age comedies in which the protagonist’s mentor-like figure is an irresponsible man who manages (and lives at) a public swimming pool: “The Way Way Back,” “The To Do List”

Movies in which someone tries to extract information by playing Russian roulette with the gun aimed at the person’s groin: “The Heat,” “2 Guns”

Movies in which a father makes a joke to his teenage son about the son’s fondness for masturbating in the shower: “The Kings of Summer,” “Grown Ups 2″

Movies about involuntary road trips among strangers in which someone gets laughs by singing along with a song on the radio: “Identity Thief,” “We’re the Millers”

Movies in which Americans travel to Mexico and run afoul of crime bosses: “2 Guns,” “We’re the Millers,” “The Hangover Part III,” “The Counselor,” “Go for Sisters”

Movies with black characters named Marcus: “The Spectacular Now,” “Short Term 12,” “Kick-Ass 2,”

Movies in which fugitive men want to reunite with their lovers but must be careful because the cops are watching: “Mud,” “Ain’t Them Bodies Saints”

Movies whose main characters are never identified by name: “All Is Lost,” “The Counselor,” “The Patience Stone”

Movies in which characters in space observe the Earth and remark on its beauty: “Gravity,” “Free Birds”

Movies in which a sextant is useful: “Escape Plan,” “All Is Lost”

Movies in which Garret Hedlund drives cross-country: “On the Road,” “Inside Llewyn Davis”

Biopics in which the protagonist, a gay poet, has an insane mother who is dragged kicking and screaming to the nuthouse: “Kill Your Darlings,” “Reaching for the Moon”

Movies in which sad things happen at Sea World: “Blackfish,” “Anchorman 2: The Legend Continues”

Coming-of-age comedies in which a promiscuous young woman takes up a lifeguard position: “The To Do List,” “The Lifeguard”

Movies in which Ryan Gosling reluctantly engages in criminal behavior: “Gangster Squad,” “The Place Beyond the Pines,” “Only God Forgives”

Movies in which Steve Carell and Kristen Wiig play a couple: “Despicable Me 2,” “Anchorman 2″

Movies in which Bruce Willis plays a man who reluctantly returns to action: “A Good Day to Die Hard,” “G.I. Joe: Retaliation,” “Red 2″

Movies that open with Michael Cera doing coke at a party: “This is the End,” “Crystal Fairy”

Movies in which Harrison Ford mentors a young man: “42,” “Paranoia,” “Ender’s Game”

Movies with sex scenes involving corn: “At Any Price,” “Bastards”

Movies in which Brad Pitt is the voice of reason: “World War Z,” “12 Years a Slave,” “The Counselor”

Warm movies: “The Hunger Games: Catching Fire,” “Kings of Summer,” “The Heat,” “Out of the Furnace,” “Warm Bodies,” “Passion,” “Blue Is the Warmest Color”

Cold movies: “Frozen,” “The Iceman”

Pessimistic movies: “This is the End,” “All Is Lost,” “It’s a Disaster,” “The World’s End,” “No One Lives”

Killer movies: “Kill Your Darlings,” “Machete Kills,” “The Act of Killing,” “Killing Season,” “Simon Killer”

Movies that think pretty highly of their title characters: “Oz the Great and Powerful,” “The Great Gatsby,” “The Incredible Burt Wonderstone”

Manly movies: “Iron Man 3,” “Man of Steel,” “The Best Man Holiday,” “Delivery Man,” “Dead Man Down,” “The Iceman,” “Spark: A Burning Man Story,” “Is the Man Who Is Tall Happy?,” “Man of Tai Chi,” “Dead Man’s Burden,” “A Perfect Man”

Womanly movies: “I’m in Love with a Church Girl,” “Girl Rising,” “Girl Most Likely,” “Mama,” “Mother of George,” “Go for Sisters”

Movies with uncomfortable scenes set around dinner tables: “Beautiful Creatures,” “Stoker,” “It’s a Disaster,” “The Big Wedding,” “Peeples,” “The East,” “The Purge,” “This is the End,” “The Heat,” “Killing Season,” “Lee Daniels’ The Butler,” “You’re Next,” “Enough Said,” “Don Jon,” “We Are What We Are,” “A.C.O.D.,” “Nebraska,” “The Best Man Holiday,” “Inside Llewyn Davis,” “Anchorman 2: The Legend Continues,” “August: Osage County”

Miscellaneous data originally published at Film.com.

Media Inventory: What I Watched and Read in 2013

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Media Inventory: What I Watched and Read in 2013

The rules are simple. I tell you, with an excruciating amount of exactness, what I watched and read this year, and you either read it because you are interested or you don’t because you aren’t. In other words, none of this will be on the midterm.

MOVIES

I watched 417 movies this year, down from last year’s personal-record-setting 503. Of the 417:

– 218 were new releases or festival films that will open in 2014 (or later, or never); the other 199 were from 2012 or earlier.

– 96 were movies I’d seen before; the other 321 were new to me.

2013 theatrical releases that I reviewed (132 of ’em!):

A.C.O.D.
About Time
Admission
After Earth
Ain’t Them Bodies Saints
All Is Lost
All the Boys Love Mandy Lane
American Hustle
Anchorman 2: The Legend Continues
An Oversimplification of Her Beauty
Austenland
Barbara
Beautiful Creatures
The Best Man Holiday
Black Nativity
Bless Me, Ultima
The Bling Ring
Blue Caprice
Blue Is the Warmest Color
The Broken Circle Breakdown
The Butler
Byzantium
C.O.G.
Carrie
Charlie Countryman
The Conjuring
The Counselor
The Croods
Delivery Man
Despicable Me 2
Don Jon
Drinking Buddies
The East
Elysium
Ender’s Game
Enough Said
Escape from Tomorrow
Escape Plan
Europa Report
Evil Dead
Fast & Furious 6
42
Frances Ha
Fruitvale Station
G.I. Joe: Retaliation
Gangster Squad
Getaway
Gimme the Loot
Ginger & Rosa
A Glimpse Inside the Mind of Charles Swan III
Go for Sisters
A Good Day to Die Hard
Gravity
The Great Gatsby
Grown Ups 2
Grudge Match
Hammer of the Gods
The Hangover Part III
Haunter
The Heat
The History of Future Folk
The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug
Homefront
Hours
The Hunger Games: Catching Fire
Identity Thief
Inside Llewyn Davis
Iron Man 3
Jack the Giant Slayer
Kick-Ass 2
Kill Your Darlings
The Kings of Summer
Last Vegas
The Lone Ranger
Man of Steel
Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom
Maniac
Monsters University
Much Ado About Nothing
Mud
My Brother the Devil
Now You See Me
Oblivion
Olympus Has Fallen
Only God Forgives
Pacific Rim
Pain & Gain
Parker
Passion
Percy Jackson: Sea of Monsters
Philomena
The Place Beyond the Pines
Prince Avalanche
Prisoners
The Purge
R.I.P.D.
Reaching for the Moon
The Reluctant Fundamentalist
Riddick
Romeo & Juliet
Safe Haven
Saving Mr. Banks
Scary Movie 5
The Secret Life of Walter Mitty
Short Term 12
Side Effects
Sightseers
Simon Killer
A Single Shot
Snitch
The Spectacular Now
Star Trek Into Darkness
Stoker
Stories We Tell
The Stroller Strategy
This Is the End
Thor: The Dark World
The To Do List
To the Wonder
12 Years a Slave
21 & Over
Upstream Color
Violet & Daisy Warm Bodies
The Way Way Back
We’re the Millers
White House Down
The Wolf of Wall Street
The Wolverine
The World’s End
World War Z
Zero Charisma

Movies I reviewed at 2013 festivals that have not yet opened theatrically:

Detektiv Downs
Goldberg & Eisenberg
Grand Piano

2013 films that I saw but did not review:
(Most links are to Movie B.S. with Bayer and Snider podcast episodes where we reviewed the films with our voices instead of our writing. A few links are to things I wrote about the films that aren’t exactly “reviews” but close.)

At the Sundance Film Festival:
After Tiller
Crystal Fairy
Hell Baby
In a World…
The Inevitable Defeat of Mister and Pete
Magic Magic
Touchy Feely
Valentine Road
VHS 2
We Are What We Are

At the Oxford (Miss.) Film Festival:
Congratulations
Tennessee Queer

At the South By Southwest Film Festival:
Bad Milo
Big Ass Spider
Cheap Thrills
I Give It a Year
Kelly + Victor
Lords of Salem
The Retrieval
Some Girl(s)
Spring Breakers
Yellow

At Fantastic Fest:
Afflicted
Almost Human
Borgman
Blue Ruin
Coherence
The Congress
The Dirties
Eega
Jodorowsky’s Dune
Kids Police
Moebius
Proxy
Ragnarok
R100
Rigor Mortis
The Sacrament
We Gotta Get Out of This Place
Why Don’t You Play in Hell
Witching and Bitching

Elsewhere:
August: Osage County
Before Midnight
Blackfish
Blue Jasmine
The Book Thief
Captain Phillips
Closed Circuit
Dallas Buyers Club
A Field in England
The Fifth Estate
Free Birds
From Up on Poppy Hill
Frozen
I’m So Excited!
InAPPropriate Comedy
Insidious Chapter 2
Mama
The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones
Movie 43
Nebraska
Oldboy (2013)
Out of the Furnace
RED 2
Runner Runner
The Saratov Approach
Some Velvet Morning
A Talking Cat!?! (2013)
Texas Chainsaw
2 Guns
The Wind Rises

Pre-2013 releases that I had seen before, and reviewed, that I re-watched this year:

Anchorman (2004)
Armageddon (1998)
Battlefield Earth (2000)
Before Sunset (2005)
Children of Men (2004)
Elf (2003)
Far from Heaven (2002)
A History of Violence (2005)
Hot Rod (2007)
In Bruges (2008)
Kick-Ass (2010)
Kill Bill: Vol. 1 (2003)
Kill Bill: Vol. 2 (2004)
Kill List (2012)
Looper (2012)
The Matrix Reloaded (2013)
The Matrix Revolutions (2013)
Oldboy (2005)
Primer (2004)
The Rundown (2003)
Shaun of the Dead (2004)
Superman Returns (2006)
There Will Be Blood (2007)

Pre-2013 releases that I had seen before, but did not review, that I re-watched this year:
(Links are to columns I wrote about the movies in question.)

Agent from H.A.R.M.* (1966)
Airplane II: The Sequel (1982)
Army of Darkness (1993)
Babe (1995)
Being John Malkovich (1999)
Big (1988)
The Big Heat (1953)
Blood Simple (1984)
Blue Velvet (1986)
The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920)
Cape Fear (1991)
Carrie (1976)
Casablanca (1942)
A Christmas Story (1983)
Deep Impact (1998)
E.T.: The Extra Terrestrial (1982)
Election (1999)
A Fistful of Dollars (1964)
The Flintstones (1994)
The Fugitive (1993)
Gattaca (1997)
Glengarry Glen Ross (1992)
The Goonies (1985)
Happy Gilmore (1996)
The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who…* (1963)
I Was a Teenage Werewolf* (1957)
Jack Frost* (1966)
Last Action Hero (1993)
Lethal Weapon (1987)
Life Is Beautiful (1998)
The Magnificent Ambersons (1942)
The Many Adventures of Winnie-the-Pooh (1977)
Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life (1983)
Mrs. Doubtfire (1993)
The Naked Gun (1988)
Out of Sight (1998)
Paths of Glory (1957)
Pocahontas (1995)
Psycho (1960)
Psycho (1998)
Richard Pryor: Omit the Logic (2013)
Starship Troopers (1997)
Sudden Death (1996)
Suspicion (1941)
Taxi Driver (1976)
There’s Something About Mary (1998)
Thoroughly Modern Millie (1967)
Top Secret! (1984)
True Romance (1993)
The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964)
Unforgiven (1992)
The Untouchables (1987)
Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988)
Zombie Nightmare* (1987)

*Mystery Science Theater 3000 version

Pre-2013 releases that I saw for the first time this year:
(Links are to columns I wrote about the movies in question.)

The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938)
All-American Co-Ed (1941)
Allan Quatermain and the Temple of Skulls (2008)
The Asphalt Jungle (1950)
The Baby (1973)
Badlands (1973)
Barney’s Great Adventure (1998)
Battleship (2012)
The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms (1953)
Before Sunrise (1995)
Between Two Worlds (1944)
Big Trouble in Little China (1986)
Blackmail! (1929)
BloodRayne: The Third Reich (2010)
Branded (2012)
The Broadway Melody (1929)
Bunny Lake Is Missing (1965)
Burke and Hare (2010)
C.H.O.M.P.S. (1979)
Carnival of Souls (1962)
Chain Reaction (1996)
Cheech and Chong’s Up in Smoke (1978)
Child of Manhattan (1933)
Children of the Damned (1963)
The Court Jester (1956)
Cul de Sac (1966)
The Curse (1987)
Dead in the Water (2002)
Dead Ringer (1964)
Dementia 13 (1963)
A Demon in My View (1991)
A Dennis the Menace Christmas (2007)
The Devil Within Her (1975)
The Devil’s Hand (1961)
Dick Tracy (1945)
Dinosaur Island (1994)
Dracula 3000 (2004)
Dredd (2012)
Dune (1984)
Dylan Dog: Dead of Night (2011)
Escape from New York (1981)
Event Horizon (1997)
Fly Away Baby (1937)
42nd Street (1933)
48 Hrs. (1982)
The Freedom of Silence (2011)
Free Radicals: A History of Experimental Film (2012)
Godspell (1973)
Hair (1979)
Hamlet (1948)
He Who Gets Slapped (1924)
House at the End of the Street (2012)
Indecent Proposal (1993)
The In-Laws (1979)
The Incredible Shrinking Man (1957)
The Italian Job (1969)
It Came from Outer Space (1953)
Jesse James (1939)
Jour de Fete (1948)
The Kentucky Fried Movie (1977)
Kidnapped (aka Rabid Dogs) (1974)
Kill Baby … Kill! (1966)
Kingpin (1996)
L’amore (1948)
The Lady Vanishes (1938)
Land of Doom (1986)
The Last Temptation of Christ (1988)
Little Big Man (1970)
Logan’s Run (1976)
Lords of the Street (aka Jump out Boys) (2008)
Lost in America (1985)
MetalStorm: The Destruction of Jared-Syn (1983)
Miami Connection (1987)
Midnight Run (1988)
Misbegotten (1998)
Mr. Hush (2011)
The Mummy (1932)
Munchie (1992)
My Boyfriend’s Back (1993)
The Naked City (1948)
Not Fade Away (2012)
The Octagon (1980)
On the Town (1949)
Pinky (1949)
The Quest (1996)
Rebecca (1940)
The Return of Captain Invincible (1983)
Rififi (1955)
A Royal Affair (2012)
The Sandlot (1993)
Santa Claus: The Movie (1985)
Sasquatch (2003)
Scarface (1983)
Serpico (1973)
Setup (2011)
Sh! The Octopus (1937)
Shadow of a Doubt (1943)
Shakma (1990)
She Done Him Wrong (1993)
Shoot the Piano Player (1960)
Silent Hill: Revelation (2012)
A Simple Plan (1998)
The Skulls III (2003)
Smokey and the Bandit (1977)
Snake Eyes (1998)
Stand Up Guys (2012)
Suburban Commando (1991)
The Suitor (1962)
Support Your Local Gunfighter (1971)
The Thin Red Line (1998)
The Thing from Another World (1951)
Three O’Clock High (1987)
Valhalla Rising (2010)
The Visitor (1979)
The Women (1939)
The Wraith (1986)
Yojimbo (1961)

________________

TELEVISION

It wasn’t a conscious choice, but my TV consumption fell sharply this year. In fact, I canceled my beloved DirecTV in November after realizing that everything I watch is available legally online for a lot less money than DirecTV costs. (It helps that I don’t watch sports.) I do miss randomly catching a few minutes of whatever’s on Turner Classic Movies, or DVR’ing TCM programs to watch later, but I’ll survive.

These are the current shows that I watched every new episode of in 2013:

American Horror Story
Arrested Development
Bob’s Burgers
Breaking Bad (R.I.P.)
Brooklyn Nine-Nine
Childrens Hospital
Downton Abbey
Fringe (R.I.P.)
The Heart She Holler
Mad Men
Parks & Recreation
Saturday Night Live
The Simpsons
South Park
Southland (R.I.P.)
30 Rock (R.I.P.)

I know there are many other fine programs that I would enjoy if I watched them, and I know where to find them if I need them.

________________

BOOKS
I wanted to read more books in 2013 than I did in 2012, and I did: 18 versus 17. That number is inexcusably low for a person who enjoys reading. For 2014, my goal is 1,000 books. We can do it!

Links are to Amazon. I enjoyed all of these books to some extent, because I finished them. (I bail if I’m 100 pages in and not enjoying myself.) Books I especially recommend are marked with asterisks.

The Age of Miracles, by Karen Thompson Walker
Austenland, by Shannon Hale. The movie was bad, but the book is a charming and smart bit of “chick lit.”
Beautiful Ruins, by Jess Walter
The Braindead Megaphone, by George Saunders. Collection of essays, some great, some less so.
The Cove, by Ron Rash
**Crap Kingdom, by D.C. Pierson. Fun young-adult fantasy about a kid transported to a parallel world where he might be a hero.
Damned, by Chuck Palahniuk. Love this author, but this one — from the POV of a newly deceased rich girl who finds herself in hell — felt like a disappointing retread.
Dreams and Shadows, by C. Robert Cargill
**The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald. I’d read it before but wanted to refresh my memory before the movie. One of my favorite novels.
**The Lifeboat, by Charlotte Rogan. Absorbing drama about a young woman doing what it takes to survive after a shipwreck.
Night Film, by Marisha Pessl
**Red Moon, by Benjamin Percy. Really dug this horror-ish novel set in an alternate reality where werewolves are common among us, and where a militant faction of them wants to rise up against regular humans.
**The Remarkable Millard Fillmore, by George Pendle. Fictional biography mingled with real history. Quite funny.
The Returned, by Jason Mott
The Spoiler, by Annalena McAfee
The **Sugar Frosted Nutsack, by Mark Leyner. Great title, obviously. Also a really imaginative and surreal mind-bending comic epic about an unemployed butcher who is manipulated by the Gods. Reading it is probably what taking crystal meth is like.
**Where’d You Go, Bernadette, by Maria Semple. Girl’s slightly crazy mother disappears. Hilarity ensues. (Really. It’s a comedy, with some keen satire of modern liberal parents.)
Your House Is on Fire, Your Children All Gone, by Stefan Kiesbye. Another great title. Set in a small German village where many terrible things happen. Amazon says it’s “The Twilight Zone” meets Shirley Jackson. That sounds about right.

Movie B.S. with Bayer and Snider #191: ‘Wolf of Wall Street,’ ‘Mandela,’ more

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[The last Movie B.S. of 2013! We’ll probably do the first one of 2014 next week.]

Episode 191: ‘The Wolf of Wall Street,’ ‘Grudge Match,’ ‘Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom,’ ‘The Secret Life of Walter Mitty,’ Character Casserole

0:00-3:00 – Introduction; last show of the year
3:00-21:40 – “The Wolf of Wall Street” review
21:40-32:45 – “Grudge Match” review
32:45-41:50 – “Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom” review
41:50-54:00 – “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty” review
54:00-1:03:00 – Character Casserole
1:03:00-1:05:15 – Wrap-up and goodbyes

QOTW: What is your favorite movie, male performance, and female performance of 2013?

Download audio / Listen at MovieBS.com / Listen at iTunes