Category: Reviews (Page 82 of 120)

Drew Hastings: Irked and Miffed

Like a less feminine, metrosexual Charles Nelson Reilly with a shag cut, Drew Hastings is an odd bird, and his concert video, “Irked and Miffed,” is impressive in how it makes his oddness so normal. More of a storyteller than a joke teller, Hastings spins lengthy, humorous yarns about Missouri animal parks, his experiences as a farmer, and his three-day one night stand with a gasper (she was into erotic asphyxiation). The farm bit was the most enlightening, because he masterfully blends his big-city sensibilities (eye masks, silk kimonos) with finite details of life in rural Ohio (camouflage wallets, surly barn cats). Some of the jokes have been done before – Blake Clark told the camouflage wallet joke 20 years ago, and his bit on Viagra has been done by, well, everyone, but mainly Ron White – but Hastings’ delivery is unique and his playful banter with audience members is barbed without being mean-spirited. Most pleasant of all is his tendency to stay away from topical humor. A comedian that doesn’t bash the government; how refreshing.

Click to buy “Drew Hastings: Irked and Miffed”

Twelfth Night

This little-known 1970 TV production of Shakespeare’s comedy is a real find. For you non-English majors, “Twelfth Night” is one of many of the Bard’s lighter works built around mistaken identity and gender confusion. This is basically a two-tracked story, one a rom-com involving a shipwrecked woman (Joan Plowright), pretending to be a male (a eunuch, technically) and falling in love in the process; the other involves drunken noblemen Toby Belch (Ralph Richardson) playing a cruel practical joke on Malvolio (Alec Guinness), a puritanical buzz-kill of a head servant. Helping Sir Toby along are various miscreants, including Feste (Tommy Steele) — a sort of clown or jester.

This somewhat shortened, fast moving production zips along joyfully, and the joy is largely thanks to its amazing cast. Dame Plowright, still a familiar face to PBS and BBC-America viewers and best known as the last wife of Laurence Olivier, gives a sensitive and funny performance in the lead — actually a kind of triple role. Alec “Please Don’t Call Me Obi-Wan” Guinness, one of history’s best and most understated actors, cuts loose and steals the show in one of the broadest performances of his career. He’s not quite Sir Alec, but it’s nevertheless Tommy Steele — a strong performer who began his career as England’s answer to Elvis Presley, or perhaps Bobby Darin — who gives this production a slightly off kilter late sixties edge, providing a contemporary, not-quite hippiesh, spin to his puckish character by performing folk-pop settings of Shakespeare’s songs. Steele gets the musical last word here, and it’s very nice.

Click to buy “Twelfth Night”

The Fire Within

About thirty minutes into this austere but humane 1963 drama written and directed by Louis Malle (“Atlantic City, “Au Revoir Les Enfants“), protagonist Alain LeRoy (Maurice Ronet) calmly examines his military issue pistol and decides that the next day will be his last. Separated from his American wife, he has spent the prior evening making love to a visiting friend, but he finds little joy in it. Afterwards, Alain returns to the cozy sanitarium where he has been undergoing a primitive but so-far successful treatment for alcoholism, which is not his worst problem. He decides to make one last visit to Paris. Accompanied by the haunting (but, through no fault of Malle’s, now over-familiar) strains of composer Eric Satie, he spends his day with some old flames and carousing buddies, including nouvelle vogue It-woman Jeanne Moreau (“Jules and Jim”) as a lively dissipated painter. It becomes clear that many people love Alain, but as he keeps telling us, he is sure that he can’t quite feel or return that love. Maybe he expects too much. Or perhaps, a good pal suggests, he’s simply too terrified and selfish to get on with the business of growing up. In any case, finding a reason to make the effort seems impossible. This visually perfect, superbly acted black-and-white adaptation of a novel by Pierre Drieu La Rochelle clearly depicts depression in a way that those who’ve seen it will recognize, possibly much too accurately for many. Still, truth really can be beauty, and “The Fire Within” is bone-deep beautiful.

Click to buy “The Fire Within”

Multiplex Mayhem: The Finish Line

Last time, I was actually correct for the second time in two weeks, for the most part. There aren’t too many surprises this Mother’s Day weekend, but considering the downticket box-office, some respected filmmakers might be needing some maternal TLC right now.

*It’s safe to say that “Iron
Man
” director Jon Favreau ain’t one of them. In its second week, as per this week’s estimates, the film experienced an approximate (and expected) 50% drop-off in ticket sales for a total of $50,500,000, more than doubling the numbers of any film out there this week. This might actually be an even better amount considering the number of screens has barely increased and the per-screen average is still a spectacular $12, 284.00, significantly higher than any movie playing in the U.S. right now.

* The congenitally jaundiced Nikki Finke is suspicious, but the official reports as of this writing is that the Wachowski Brothers’ “Speed Racer” has just barely managed to nab the #2 spot this week, with $20, 210,000. Considering the reported budget of $160 million — as far as I’m concerned enough money to make at least 16 perfectly good studio movies — this is nothing to write home about. And, perhaps another lesson is that, if you’re going to make a 2 hour, 15 minute kiddie movie, you’d better have something more than a bit of name familiarity, a good cast, and slightly ugly video game visuals. The James McTeigue directed “V for Vendetta” notwithstanding (which I loved, but which generates as many opinions as it has viewers), it’s really starting to look as if the Wachowskis may never escape the shadow of their one bonafide critical and commercial smash, “The Matrix,” if they don’t figure out to simply tell stories.

* Especially considering David Medsker’s backhandedly positive review, “What Happens in Vegas” may not be the worst high-concept romantic comedy, though it’s also pretty clear it’s not the best — how could it be with Ashton “Bob Westal Really Hates My Acting” Kutcher in the lead role? But it did manage to do pretty darn well, netting a higher per-screen average than “Racer” and an estimated $20 million even, which means it pretty much beats the pants of last week’s high-concept rom-com “Made of Honor,” which has made $26,275,000 over two weeks. Could it be the strong “Vegas” supporting cast Dave praises in his review?

*I’m sad to say that David Mamet’s mixed martial thriller/dark moral fable, “Redbelt” was ignored by filmgoers who, if they heard about the film at all, were likely somewhat confused by the idea of a thoughtful, small film with fighting in it and Chewitel Ejiofor is not yet quite the superstar he definitely deserves to be. (It’s hard to blame them since it’s not a concept Hollywood’s been comfortable with lately. People tend to understand what they’ve already been given. Movies that are even slightly different require some time for audiences to figure things out.)

I actually saw “Redbelt” last night and can attest to the lackluster receipts, at least in Long Beach, CA — the theater was less than 1/3 filled at the 7:25 Saturday night screening. It has its flaws and it’s certainly not Mamet’s best, and mainstream audiences are certain to be slightly baffled by those odd cadences which occasionally make themselves known in any Mamet-directed film. (Iambic pentameter…it’s an English major thing…you might not understand.) On the other hand, it’s a more than acceptable entry in the ancient genre of anti-prizefighting prizefighting movies with a possible nascent superstar in its leading man, and it has some strong, bone-crunching fighting sequences. To my mind, it deserved more time to try and find an audience before going this wide. If a movie of this sort is going to sell it all, it needs a lot more time than one week to develop the kind of awareness needed for a major national release. The resulting $825 per screen average should be no surprise in the circumstances.

The British kid comedy, “Son of Rambow” did better, earning $138,000 in 36 theaters. Considering the modest comedy has some international appeal, this may be good enough.

However, the two (very moderate) box-office champs in the limited release indie sweepstakes were two films I barely remembered existed, both from directors of Indian extraction. Fans of spectacular visuals, however, gave the fantasy thriller “The Fall” a nice enough opening with just over $80,000 on nine screens. This one has some geek boy buzz behind it (though not so much that I realized it was coming out this weekend) and is “presented” by David Fincher and Spike Jonze. The actual director is Tarsem Singh (just “Tarsem” to you!) whose gruesomely stylish, memorable sci-fi/horror flick, “The Cell,” has some lingering cult appeal. (Even a squeamish cinema chicken like me felt compelled to go see that one — though I suppose it’s quite mild by some standards.) So chalk this one up to the artier/alternativeish edge of the geek spectrum.

And romantics and those of us who are suckers for tales of “forbidden romance” and the whole stiff-upper lip gin-and-tonic drinking English colonial drama thing shelled out just over $50,000 in eight theaters to see “Before the Rains,” which manages to have both the Merchant-Ivory imprint and a good review on its website from guru-gone-bankable Deepak Chopra — both catnip to certain segments of the wine-and-cheese set. Don’t laugh. Unitarians like to go the movies, too.

Multiplex Mayhem: The Starting Line

While I got really nervous just before election day — you never really know what those crazy voters are thinking, even if we have polls coming out of every orifice — but I have no compunction whatever in predicting, along with the people who (think they) know, that the #1 movie this week will not be a new release, but last week’s expectations beating megachamp, “Iron Man.” But while Marvel stockholders are counting their money and the rest of us are wondering when Hillary’s going to drop out, there is a race for second place this week, though it’s also pretty easy to call….

*How long has it been since I was puzzling over the identity of “Racer X”? Well, let’s just say it was slightly longer ago than 135 minute runtime for the Wachowski Brothers version of “Speed Racer,” a movie that’s been gestating since I had a full head of hair. 135 minutes is a long sit for most members of the pre-13 set (and many in the post-13 set), and with the Wachowski’s erratic storytelling skills apparently confirmed by a lackluster 34% Tomatometer score, this one might drive some to distraction and have weaker than usual legs for a family friendly film with considerable adult nostalgia/geek appeal.

Also, the would be blockbuster’s trailers look less like anime and more like a particularly gaudy video game, and that might not help with the grown-up side of the equation, though J. Hoberman (almost the last critic standing at the Village Voice) has some backhanded compliments. Also, as my esteemed colleague Jason Zingale noted, the casting here is spot on, with Emile Hersh (last seen starving for his art with Sean Penn) as Speed, Christina Ricci (freed from Sam Jackson’s radiator) as galpal Trixie, Matthew Fox (I haven’t watched “Lost” since halfway through it’s first season, so I can’t make a joke) as the mysterious Racer X, and master thesps Susan Sarandon and John Goodman as Mom and Pops Racer. (It’s also got Stephen Colbert’s very special Korean popstar nemesis, Rain, who’s getting okay reviews.) The very strong cast should be good for some tickets, at least until word about the kid-patience-testing length gets out.

*Since we’ve been basing movies on video games and theme park rides, why not movies drawn from tourism board ad campaigns? That’s the question asked by the makers of “What Happens in Vegas,” a rom-com made even less enticing than usual by the presence of the questionably talented Ashton Kutcher, here paired with the far more able Cameron Diaz, who could really use a bit of respect and a hit without the word “Shrek” in the title. In the case, the premise of a drunkenly married couple forced to spend months of “hard matrimony” might be good for $10 million or so. It would help if its word of mouth is better than the reviews, which have a fairly nasty tinge this time. Even benevolent blurbmistress Susan Granger is brandishing her rhetorical butter knives on this one.

And, in other news…. After opening in just a couple of theaters last week, writer-director David Mamet’s Redbelt goes wide in over a thousand theaters this weekend. Personally, I think that might be a case of too-much too-soon for this relatively smallish film, but I wish it well and look forward to seeing it myself. “Son of Rambow” is also expanding with a more modest, and possibly shrewder, additional 31 theaters.

In the “ouch” department, the follow-up to Henry Bean’s outstanding 2002 indie, “The Believer,” “Noise,” a comedy of sorts, is opening in two theaters and no one seems to care much, despite starring a couple of our best, Tim Robbins and William Hurt. Shame.

And considering we are aligned with an online men’s mag, I should make mention of the opening of “The Babysitters” in very limited release. The premise of this black comedy is pretty much the premise of the similarly titled film you’re likely to find in the blocked off section in the back of the vid store. The reviews are about what you’d expect, and then some. Take the semi-literate, quasi-grammatical critique by Prairie Miller:

The Babysitters is a pathetic excuse to trot out a procession of teenage girls in the raw, performing graphic simulated sex acts with your basic suburban family man drooling all over himself. Going home and taking a hot, soapy shower after viewing, is highly recommended.

By God, Prairie is right. One needs no excuses, pathetic or otherwise, to show graphic simulated sex acts — they are there own justification. As for “hot, soapy showers” following a viewing, well it’s kind of a waste of water compared to baby oil, but sure.

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