LPixar, like any purveyor of family entertainment, tells stories laden with themes. They do a better job than most at letting those life lessons arise naturally from an ingeniously derived plot rather than letting the morals dictate the proceedings. For whatever reason, the “Cars” franchise has been an outlet for some of the animation studio’s most blatant sermonizing, and “Cars 3” is no different.
As champion racer Lightning McQueen (voice of Owen Wilson) faces obsolescence in his sport thanks to an influx of “Moneyball“-esque stats and data, he has to take his game back to the basics. At the new racing facility, his trainer Cruz (voice of Cristela Alonzo) tries pulling some Mr. Miyagi style mind tricks on him as she eases him into their high-tech treadmills and simulators. Yet for all Cruz’s fancy techniques, Lightning shows how little she knows when taking her outside to race. There’s something to say for real-life experience as opposed to simulations of it.
But lest we think that Lightning is the pinnacle of senior sagacity, the duo eventually links up with some pals of his mentor, Doc Hudson. (Paul Newman’s character from the first film keeps appearing in so many flashbacks that you’d think he died in 2016, not 2008.) These vintage autos help Lightning realize that joy and promise lie beyond our youthful days, though they also help raise his game with some of their classic, road-tested techniques. The limitations of older generations gave them different, not less, skills, and we’d all be wiser to heed their lessons.
It’s not a radical message, and Pixar did better conveying intergenerational understanding with “Up.” Still, it’s harmless to see repeated and beneficial to remember. B /
Decades-delayed sequels from “Anchorman” to “Scream” and even “Monsters University” tend to fall into some trap of relying on nostalgia for or nodding towards the original film. To some extent, if the makers do not strike while the iron is hot, they have to remind people that the iron existed in the first place. And, not to overload the metaphor, but by employing a heavy hand with said iron, they can burn a hole through the cloth of the new creation.
Given the fashion origins of the “Zoolander” series, it would only make sense that the 15-years-in-the-making second installment would hew all too close to its predecessor. In many ways – and perhaps in the ones that count – it does. But multi-hyphenate Ben Stiller does have a few new tricks up the sleeves for his old character, and even more than just a new signature look to go alongside Blue Steel and Magnum.
In another delightfully absurd caper, the pretty, dumb Derek Zoolander once again gets caught up in a tale of international intrigue. This time, it involves a conspiracy to murder good-looking celebrities and bring the fashion elite of the world to the slaughter. And, once again, it sidetracks so Derek can resolve some familial issues as well as tension with fellow model Hansel (Owen Wilson). Oh, and there’s a music montage
All in all, however, “Zoolander 2” breaks enough from the original to make the team’s efforts worthwhile. Much of the fun comes from the new characters like Kyle Mooney’s Don Atari, a pitch-perfect parody of über-trendy hipsters, and Kristen Wiig’s Alexanya Atoz, an en vogue fashion designer with enough Botox in her face to rejuvenate an entire school’s worth of soccer moms. (It’s best not to mention Penelope Cruz’s Interpol agent Valentina Valencia or Benedict Cumberbatch’s transphobic punchline All.) The whole affair is predictably stupid, though anyone who remembers the first “Zoolander” ought to expect just that. Nostalgia sometimes makes people remember things as better than they really are, and “Zoolander 2” is essentially a chip off the old block. B /
Thomas Pynchon’s novel “Inherent Vice” ends with his chief character, Doc Sportello, attempting to discern shapes within a haze that has formed outside his car window. Not to worry, this is not a spoiler since screenwriter and director Paul Thomas Anderson chooses to end his cinematic adaptation on an entirely different note altogether. But the passage is such an apropos summation of “Inherent Vice,” both in terms of its content and the ensuing experience, that it certainly deserves a place in the discussion.
While this is a not entirely unusual noir-tinged mystery surrounding corruption and vice, the story is hardly straightforward or easily discernible. Characters drop in and out of the narrative at will, making it rather difficult to decipher who the key players really are. Take no motivation and no appearance at face value, because it is likely to change in the blink of an eye.
Anderson cycles through events at such a dizzying speed that trying to connect the dots of “Inherent Vice” in real-time will only result in missing the next key piece of information. (I found myself drawn to read Pynchon’s novel after seeing the movie to get a firmer grip on the plot.) Might I suggest just to kick back, allow the film to wash over you, and let Joaquin Phoenix’s Doc Sportello be your spirit guide through the fog of Los Angeles in 1970.
In a fictional beach community outside the city proper, steadily stoned private eye Doc tries to make sense of a strange case in a transitional time period. The city is still reeling from Manson mayhem, and hippies are no longer cute animals at the zoo but entities whose every move is subject to suspicion. People are beginning to anticipate Nixonite and Reaganite malaise, though it remains unformed and intangible. Ultimately, his understanding is about as good as ours – which is to say, it scarcely exists. What begins as a routine investigation of Doc’s ex-flame and her rich new lover quickly spirals into something far more sprawling.
Back in February, I got to see Matthew Weiner’s directorial debut at a special screening in Winston-Salem, NC, where the film was shot. This event came about halfway between when the film known as “You Are Here” premiered to unanimous pans at TIFF and its eventual quiet theatrical/VOD rollout as “Are You Here.”
The film might have been recut some since that screening. The level of retooling needed to save what I saw, however, requires change on a far greater scale than inverting the first two words of its title. The film was a sloppy combination of slacker comedy, family melodrama, and improbable romance, a problem that is likely rooted in Weiner’s script.
It’s fruitless to size “Are You Here” up against an episode of”Mad Men” (the series Weiner created to the tune of all the Emmys) since the two aren’t even in the same league. It might even be generous to say that the film is comprised of discarded ideas he had in the “Mad Men” writers’ room. Better for his show’s legacy that he managed to put all the clichés on the silver screen instead of the small screen, I suppose.
Amy Poehler does redeem the film from being a complete trainwreck with a layered performance that gives her more dramatic depth than ever. Her character, Terri, has lived by the rules and expects to reap the lion’s share of her father’s inheritance over her aimless brother Ben (Zach Galifianakis). And whenever she gets screwed over by the will, it forces her to reexamine her values and priorities.
Just so we’re clear: I have no problems with auteurism. For those of you who just saw a French word and panicked, I’m referring to a school of film criticism that looks for recurring patterns throughout the work of an artist (usually the director). It can often be a very interesting lens through which to analyze a set of films, and auteurism has the ability to shine a light on filmmakers outside of the general circles of critical acclaim.
Like anything in life, the theory has a dark underbelly, and to me, “The Grand Budapest Hotel” represents the perils of auteurism run rampant. The film is Wes Anderson’s “Django Unchained,” in the sense that it represents a moment of stasis in the progression of a great director. Anderson is now more than a director; essentially, he’s a brand, expected by customers to deliver a certain consistency of product.
Put into the position of becoming a cinematic McDonald’s, Anderson takes the easy way out by providing an assembly-line reproduction of what he has already created to great admiration. “The Grand Budapest Hotel” feels like a less vibrant remake of a film he’s already made – or, perhaps more accurately, it feels like all of them at once. Despite being set in a semi-fictionalized interwar Central Europe, the world Anderson portrays seems reassembled from pieces of “Moonrise Kingdom,” “The Darjeeling Limited,” and even “Fantastic Mr. Fox.”
Even more than Anderson’s last feature-length cinematic outing in 2012, “The Grand Budapest Hotel” takes his telltale stylistic flourishes and puts them to an exponential degree. Every other take in the film had to be a tracking shot, so it seemed. The cameos and other miscellaneous odd appearances by acclaimed thespians is now less of an amusing diversion and more of a distracting parade. The off-beat characters feel less like quirky people and more like paper dolls traipsing around in the elegant house Anderson created for their frolicking delight.
Strangely enough, the best moment of “The Internship” was not a big laugh; it was a dramatic exchange of dialogue. While such moments in comedic films are often clichéd and forced, this one really hit the money.
As Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn’s imbecillic man-children talk a bunch of bull, their much younger intern teammates set them straight by explaining to them how much is riding on this summer gig. In a particularly haunting line, one of them declares that the American Dream is virtually dead to their generation.
As someone who has suffered through / paid my dues at / enjoyed a number of internships myself, this scene hit very close to home. But if I wanted to be slightly depressed about my future, I would have just watched “Frances Ha” or the second season of Lena Dunham’s “Girls” again. I came to “The Internship” to be entertained, and I left rather disappointed by its (hopefully unintentional) humorlessness.
Though I’m not a huge fan of Wilson and Vaughn’s last collaboration, 2005’s “Wedding Crashers,” I certainly did not expect their comedic prowess to depreciate to the point where I only let out a few mild giggles over the course of two hours. Just about every gag falls short, although none ever hit cringe-worthy levels.
“The Internship” is, more or less, a retooling of the “Legally Blonde” story for modern men. Unhappy in their current position, Billy and Nick drastically change career paths and head to an internship at Google. While initially their foreignness to the field makes them obvious neophytes, they take some hard knocks that force them to grow. Yet in the end, it’s those undervalued skills they entered with that allow them to achieve success.
I enjoy a movie like “Legally Blonde” because Reese Witherspoon’s Elle Woods is an inspiring figure, learning that she is capable of things she never imagined simply by trusting her own intuitions and wiles. I find “The Internship” more than a little sad when it declares with no detectable sense of irony that we too can get an entry level position like Billy and Nick in our forties, so long as we work hard and can fall back on basic skills. Though perhaps for that very reason, Shawn Levy has made an emblematic film of our wretched economy in post-recessional America. C /
4:00 P.M. E! has already started their Golden Globe coverage, so I guess it’s time for me to begin as well! Time for the best of Hollywood (and television) to come out and get rewarded (or robbed). Predictions will slowly trickle in as the stars grace the red carpet, but I’ll be writing from the arrivals to the awards to Ricky Gervais’ harsh quips. With recaps, opinions, and insights, make “Marshall and the Movies” your companion for the Golden Globes!
I don’t have much to say in regards to “Little Fockers.” It’s a tacked-on sequel that has all the same characters as its two predecessors but little of its humor. The movie will inevitably be dwarfed in comparison to the two titans of the series, but you get a few more laughs out of the Byrne-Focker “circle of trust” and some people at Universal made a lot of money. It’s a bittersweet win-win, right?
In case you hadn’t noticed that Robert DeNiro has fallen far and sold out since his legendary pairing with director Martin Scorsese, “Little Fockers” gives the two-time Oscar winner the chance do a tongue in cheek mockery of himself. 35 years ago, he was the younger version of the Godfather. Now, he’s searching for – the worst pun of the series – the Godfocker! At least DeNiro can let it roll off his back and joke about it as the series that once could have anyone rollicking in laughter – even on TBS reruns – resorts to straight-to-DVD territory.
Unlike “Meet the Parents” (and “Meet the Fockers” to a lesser extent), which tackled relevant and relatable social topics in a funny but truthful way, “Little Fockers” goes for potty humor and adolescent immaturity to hide the changing landscape of the series. With a new director, a new writer, and a total lack of effort, these aren’t the same Fockers. But as Hollywood has yet to learn, you can’t hide a lack of enthusiasm from all corners on a movie set. Even when you throw in a beauty like Jessica Alba or enhance the role of funnyman Owen Wilson, people notice when they aren’t laughing in a comedy movie.
So if you’re willing to dumb yourself down a little or happen to be in the mood for guilty, stupid laughs, “Little Fockers” may lightly graze your funnybone. But the heyday of this series is long in the past, as are the glory days of Robert DeNiro. Wait, I think I see his self-respect in the rearview mirror as well! C+ /
It’s a shame that “Hall Pass” doesn’t have a less contrived script or a bit more maturity. If it had these things, it would be one heck of a comedy. But alas, it doesn’t, and what we are stuck with is a few decent laughs held together by a string of ridiculous events.
It could be worse, though, as Owen Wilson and Jason Sudeikis play off each other pretty well. Their sex-crazed babbling combined with a blooming barely-adolescent brain and the libido of a retirement home patient re-entering the game is absolutely outlandish. Yet as childish as practically every line and situation was, I would find myself chuckling in spite of it, mostly along with Sudeikis. Maybe it’s because he’s used to finding nuggets of gold inside of crap at “Saturday Night Live,” but whatever it is, the man is some kind of funny. Wilson, on the other hand, feels past his prime with humor quality receding almost as precipitously as his hairline.
But these two hopeless husbands get a chance to live out their dreams in order to relieve their woebegone wives (played by Jenna Fischer and Christina Applegate). In the words of Joy Behar, it’s a “hall pass.” The movie never really cashes in on the high concept, just as Wilson and Sudeikis’ helpless sex drive leads them nowhere while their wives, in the words of Justin Timberlake, “get their sexy on.”
The stupid shenanigans distract from anything meaningful that “Hall Pass” might have to say about marriage. I’m doubting there actually was anything in the way of commentary as the characters sure don’t seem to have any scruples about the messed-up events of the movie. It’s definitely a far cry from The Farrelly Brothers’ “There’s Something About Mary.” As for the conclusion of this review, I’m not really sure whether to steer you towards or away from the movie: it’s just another middling, forgettable comedy that I couldn’t feel more ambivalently about. C /
Your favorite Pixar characters are back … and not a moment too soon! In a fun-filled laugh riot, all your old friends remind you of the magic and charm you are supposed to feel while sitting in a movie. There’s that characteristic Pixar wit that you just know will still be funny years from now with a nice helping of heart.
Oh, I’m sorry, did you think I was talking about “Cars 2?” My apologies, that opening paragraph was referring to “Hawaiian Vacation,” the short film before the movie featuring the characters from “Toy Story 3.” The latest Pixar summer outing brings back some of the most forgettable characters in their vast universe of animation, Lightning McQueen and the down-home American cars from Radiator Springs.
Thankfully, “Cars 2” feels like less of a letdown that it should following Best Picture nominees “Up” and “Toy Story 3” because it only has to live up to a prestigious brand name, not a beloved original. In fact, it may be the rare summer sequel that is just as good as (if not better than) its predecessor. Neither have the heart or storytelling prowess of the Pixar classics, but watching John Lasseter and pals do sub-par work is better than watching most other animated movies nowadays.
For devoted Woody Allen fans like myself, who will watch anything the insanely prolific writer/director puts his name on, watching him make virtually the same neurotic film over and over again is bearable. For such fans, it’s a joy to watch Allen (or some other poor schmuck of a surrogate when he’s too old to play himself) bumble through life clinging on to his defeatist worldview. For others, though, the filmmaker’s consistent nervous babbling has lost its charm and have thus tuned out Allen’s faithful annual output.
However, Allen has done something miraculous with his latest film, “Midnight in Paris.” He has made a movie that satisfies both camps with wit, charm, and creativity. It still has that burst of zany energy that the Allen faithful adore but tones down the nihilism so that the disenchanted or neophyte Allen fans can focus on the film’s ideas and not on their querulous complaints. In other words, it’s a movie made to be seen outside the director’s normal niche audience but can still win that crowd over with its warmth and ingenuity.
Not to mention that many fans and foes alike have also been looking forward to Allen making a movie like “Midnight in Paris” for many years. At 75, Allen is entering his sixth decade of filmmaking and has shown little indication of budging from the tenants of his philosophy, rarely subjecting them to challenges, criticism, or reproach. But as he enters what are sure to be the twilight years of his film career, Allen hints in his latest film at a level of maturity we rarely see from the director. He puts his views under a microscope in “Midnight in Paris” and analyzes their practicality in the modern world, ultimately producing some very interesting and unexpected conclusions.
Still living in 2010 with the factoid column as a report of celebrity death hoaxes hit Entertainment Weekly and caught my eyes. They said that in the past year, the Internet has carried false death claims for Owen Wilson, Eddie Murphy, Adam Sandler, and Morgan Freeman.
I’m never one to believe these things, largely because I don’t have a Twitter or check it ever, so I’m not exposed to these false claims. Only when a celebrity actually dies do I notice it on Facebook because suddenly everyone posts statuses.
I’ll never forget when Michael Jackson died and “RIP Michael” flooded Facebook. If I recall, his death was the biggest spike in Internet traffic ever. I remember I was on my way to see “Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen” when I heard he had collapsed, and then I got a text from my mom on my shattered iPhone that he had died.
And I’ll also never forget when Heath Ledger died. I was having my second driving lesson of Driver’s Ed, and while sitting in the backseat, the radio DJ announced that he had died. At first I didn’t believe it, but then they kept saying it between songs and I realized it had to be true. Every high school girl died a little inside that night, and they took to Facebook with their grief.
So go away celebrity death hoaxes. No one’s ever going to believe them unless they hear it from all angles.
I sure wish “How Do You Know” knew what it wanted from the beginning. James L. Brooks’ latest comedy is a study of three people uncertain of what they want for their futures. Nervous, frantic, and anxious, they each search for the answer to the questions they pose about their lives. But no one ever seems to find an answer, just a new question to occupy their thoughts. This makes for dynamic and neurotic characters, all portrayed with gusto by the sensational cast, but the movie feels like it’s running in circles around the same issues.
Lisa (Reese Witherspoon) is looking for a new life direction after her softball career is abruptly ended. George (Paul Rudd) is unsure of the next step in his life after being served an unexpected indictment. Serving more as comic relief, Matty (Owen Wilson) is an organized womanizer trying to figure out whether he loves Lisa enough to change his ways. “How Do You Know” is really the story of Lisa and George, though, as they actively seek conviction in their life choices and wind up finding each other.
The two are incredibly vulnerable and emotional train-wrecks, never certain of where they are headed even when they begin a sentence. It starts out with George, caught between a rock and a hard place with pressure from his dad (Jack Nicholson) mounting as his head is about to be served on a platter to the prosecutors. But when the two meet on a blind date, all the neuroses transfer over to Lisa, who becomes increasingly unsure of her decision to move in with Matty and unable to remain committed to anything. While George’s options become more black and white, he is still just as lost as Lisa, and the two manage to find comfort in their mutual wandering.
No one knows much about “How Do You Know” at the present moment. But any movie that comes from director/writer/producer James L. Brooks has to be considered given the man’s 60% track record in scoring Best Picture nominations for his movies.
I’ve only seen his latest two movies, “As Good As It Gets” (which I totally adore) and “Spanglish” (which is still good although to a much lesser degree). But the man has directed a Best Picture winner with “Terms of Endearment” and picked up a nice Best Director trophy for himself while he was at it. Brooks is an incredibly influential figure in comedy, and as I pointed out in my column on “Love & Other Drugs,” that’s not an incredibly popular genre with the Academy. To land three movies in the winner’s circle is a pretty huge accomplishment.
So what’s he up to now? A comedy with comedic actors laced with drama. His previous movies have starred, for the most part, dramatic actors – unless you dare to call Shirley MacLaine, William Hurt, and Jack Nicholson comedians. It will be interesting to see how critics and voters react to this shift in tactics. “Spanglish” starred Adam Sandler, and they pretty much spat that right back out; will “How Do You Know” be any different?
To its advantage, it does have two Academy Award winners on the marquee: Reese Witherspoon as the headliner and Jack Nicholson in a supporting role. I think wins are out of the question; Witherspoon because she won for a much more serious role, and Nicholson because he has enough with three. The Golden Globes could nominate Witherspoon in a heartbeat in the musical/comedy category, and I could even see Jack getting an Oscar nomination because they love so darn much.
The other two leads are played by Owen Wilson and Paul Rudd, both of whom have a fair amount of respect compared to other similar performers (cough, Jack Black/Will Ferrell). I think it would be pretty amazing for Owen Wilson to score an Oscar nomination given the field (assuming he competes in leading actor) and his often poor selection of films leading up to this (“Drillbit Taylor,” anyone?). Paul Rudd, on the other hand, has picked movies that have gotten his comedic talents some good notes from high up. And according to Jeffrey Wells at Hollywood Elsewhere, he could actually be a contender for this movie:
“The guy who delivers the goods is Paul Rudd. This will raise his profile to the A-list. This is a guaranteed Best Supporting Actor nomination.”
I’m a huge Paul Rudd fan, and I can probably quote every single line in “Role Models” that he utters. So I’m all for him getting an Oscar nomination. Best Supporting Actor has been particularly kind to comedic actors in the past decade with winner Alan Arkin for “Little Miss Sunshine” and nominations for Robert Downey Jr. in “Tropic Thunder” and Thomas Haden Church in “Sideways.” My only worry for Rudd is that he could be pushed out by Mark Ruffalo in “The Kids Are All Right,” which could be a stronger overall awards play. But in my mind, the males of that movie were the weak link, and I don’t feel as much buzz around him as I do Bening or Moore.
As for the movie as a whole, I feel like Best Original Screenplay is a category that the movie could easily score in given the pretty slim field this year. Best Director is not quite as likely given that Brooks has already won. But Best Picture, now that’s an interesting proposition.
Smart comedy is something that many people speculated that the Academy would want to reward with the expanded Best Picture field. They get their recognition at the Golden Globes, but very few find their way into the big dance (with a few notable exceptions over the past few years). I think comedy has some unfinished business with the Academy, and “How Do You Know” could provide that perfect mixture of comedy and drama to score big with the voters. Dave Karger of Entertainment Weekly stood up for it in October, writing:
“Here’s the one case where I’m apparently the most alone in my thinking, as no other participant has the film on his or her list. But I have faith in the upcoming Reese Witherspoon romantic comedy based on writer/director James L. Brooks’ selected track record (‘Broadcast News,’ ‘Terms of Endearment’) and the positive buzz I’ve been hearing about costar Paul Rudd’s performance. Here’s hoping it’s not another ‘Spanglish.'”
Karger ranked it as his fifth selection, which shows a lot of confidence. It’s hard to judge anything until the movie gets seen by a lot of critics, so right now all I have is speculation based on little substantive evidence. But with James L. Brooks, we can make those guesses pretty educated.
BEST BETS FOR NOMINATIONS: Best Picture, Best Supporting Actor (Rudd), Best Original Screenplay
OTHER POSSIBLE NOMINATIONS: Best Director, Best Actress, Best Supporting Actor (Nicholson)
You don’t have to read my whole review as long as you take this away from it: “Marmaduke” is one of the worst movies I have ever seen, and you are truly stupid if you choose to waste a perfectly good 90 minutes of your life watching it.
Now that I have that very strong statement out of the way, you can either spend your time listening to me malign every big name involved in this movie or simply take my word for it. I will be brutal and unsparing; this is the movie that will really bring out the critic in me. I’ve been waiting to unleash my wrath on something terrible enough to deserve it. So here it goes.
I have to admire the boldness of Lee Pace, Judy Greer, and William H. Macy who had the guts to show their faces in this movie. They didn’t hide in the recording studio or inside the potentially lovable body of an animal. They actually dared to be the human face of the movie, risking association with the movie for the rest of their careers. These three ought to be sending the marketing people at Fox some very large gift baskets for not advertising “Marmaduke” very much, because the fact that it was such a low-key campaign may save their reputations from being forever tarnished.
You would think that Owen Wilson has enough sense to choose a movie that has some kind of substance. But even if you don’t have much respect for Owen Wilson, you might think Keifer Sutherland does. Or Emma Stone (Jules from “Superbad”). Or George Lopez. Or Christopher Mintz-Plasse (McLovin). Or Steve Coogan. Or Fergie. Or Marlon Wayans. Or Sam Elliott.
Like this cavalcade of stars? Guess what, each and every one of them chose a movie that doesn’t deserve to take a poop in their yards. Honestly, if any of these big names had shown their faces in “Marmaduke,” they would be firing their agents and calling their real estate agent to find the coziest cave in Beverly Hills. It’s always a shame to see actors take on material that doesn’t deserve them, and “Marmaduke” is like a tragedy for each of these stars. None of them put any effort into making this giant heap of poop any better, as if the subtext of every line is, “We feel you; we know this movie sucks.”
And don’t even get me started on the non-existent plot. My theory is that the director scrounged a bargain bin of kids movies and came to shooting with the idea to rip off any one of them that might have worked. So for every groan and eye roll you get in “Marmaduke,” you get to say to yourself, “Oh, I liked that better when I saw it in (INSERT ANY KIDS MOVIE TITLE HERE).” So, by all means, if you want to feel immeasurable frustration with the endless banality Hollywood feeds to children, go right ahead and waste your life watching “Marmaduke.” As the late Gene Siskel used to say, “It’s your life, and you can’t get that time back.” D- /
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