I never had the pleasure of viewing the original French movie “Le Diner De Cons.” Maybe I’ll rent it on Netflix, because I’ve read that the source material is far superior to 2010’s “Dinner for Schmucks,” starring Paul Rudd, and the ever so lovable Steve Carell (and I use that adjective describing Carell with sarcasm dripping from my nostrils).
I’m pretty sure you’re aware of the premise of the movie. If you aren’t, the name pretty much sums it up: A bunch of rich snobs have a monthly dinner, and each “snob” invites a complete idiot to the festivities. The most idiotic “loser” wins a trophy and the utter disrespect of said rich snobs.
Tim (Rudd) is a yuppie, up-and-comer in an investment company and is eventually invited to the dinner by his boss. Granted, Tim’s a bit conflicted as to the intent of the dinner, but after he literally runs into Barry (Carell), who has a penchant for creating “figurines” from dead rats that have gone through the taxidermy process; Tim’s found his “schmuck.”
This movie is billed as a comedy; I’ve attempted to write comedy. It’s difficult, EXTREMELY DIFFICULT! That being said, when I watch a comedy, I had better be laughing within the first 5 minutes, or I’m out, gone, hasta la vista, baby. With “Dinner,” I laughed maybe twice during this painfully long excuse of a movie, and that was probably forty-five minutes into this disaster.
Admittedly, there is one funny scene when Carell, Rudd, Rudd’s crazy, stocking wacko “girlfriend”, and a Swedish couple, whom Rudd’s attempting to woo into investing one hundred million dollars with the firm Rudd works for, all end up at lunch together. This was amusing, but one had to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro to get there.
The dialogue is borderline moronic (and I know moronic dialogue, because I write it all the time); it’s paint by the numbers Hollywood schlep movie making; the characters are woefully ill-defined; and with Jamaine Clement’s character (Kieran), they attempt to rip-off Russell Brand’s character, Aldous Snow from a classically funny movie, “Forgetting Sarah Marshall.”
Zach Galifianakis plays Carell’s boss at the IRS, where these two boobs work. The interplay between them (especially at the dinner) is humorous, and if it wasn’t for Zach, the film would literally be unwatchable. The Carell character is, shall I say, lovably annoying, and Rudd seems to be calling in his role for some sunny beach in Australia while downing his second Fosters.
When a movie is shot, the director, in this case Jay Roach (Austin Powers trio, Meet the Parents) and whoever else, watch what is called “the dailies,” which is the footage shot during that day. I sit in wonderment and ponder how these guys could think this is acceptable comedic material. Roach’s pedigree is rather impressive. I guess dressing Carell up in some moronic outfit and letting him act like a buffoon was funny on set, but guess what guys, it didn’t translate to the big screen whatsoever.
Again, I say to myself, they’re the ones making movies, and I’m the one hacking out a blog that nobody reads. Game, set, match to them.
Anyway, as you can guess, I do not recommending wasting your time renting this dreg of a flick. It could have been very funny, but the filmmakers blew it in my opinion. And Carell should stop making movies. Steve, “The 40 Year Old Virgin,” was made back in the good old days of 2005, when the world wasn’t on the brink of, well, disaster. I think Shakespeare in the park is calling your name.
I give this movie 2 beers out of a six pack. Why? Because this crap was filmed for 65 million and it actually made money at the B.O. But, I don’t think they add in marketing costs to the stated budget, so this film probably cost somebody a job. Boohoo.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Friday, January 28, 2011
Some thoughts on a few Oscar nominated flicks:
There are two movies that are nominated for Best Picture this year that I’m betting a vast majority of my innumerable reading audience have yet to see: “Winter’s Bone” and “The Kids Are All Right”.
These movies are polar opposites, like Tiger Woods and marriage (I know, the Tiger jokes are getting stale, sorry).
“The Kids Are All Right” is basically a story about Nic (Annette Bening) and Jules (Julianne Moore) as a lesbian couple raising two children, daughter Joni (Mia Wasikowska) and son, Laser (Josh Hutcherson). Joni turns eighteen and, with a little nudging from Laser, basically tracks down her biological father, Paul (Mark Ruffalo), and the kids and Paul eventually meet. Of course, Paul is introduced to Nic and Jules, and the move is about family relationships and how a rather formidable outside influence affects each member of the household.
This movie attempts, with all its might, to pass itself off as an “indie” flick, and it does a pretty good job cinematically speaking. But, the screenplay is pure Hollywood, and (this may sound a bit phony) I loved every second of it. The script is a perfect blend of drama, comedy, emotionally satisfying scenes complete with the “all is lost” moment, and one of the most important aspects a film desperately needs: a satisfying conclusion. It’s three acts of near perfection.
The characters are well-defined, and it’s a bit ironic that the kids seem to poses more maturity then their parents. Annette Bening has the neurotic, bitchy suburban housewife down pat. One can’t help but be reminded of her excellent performance in “American Beauty,” and Julianne Moore plays a slightly off-kilter, lost soul brilliantly. Make no mistake about it, all in this move don’t act like buffoonish “characters;” they actually act like real people. The conflict is so well-done it’s damn near palpable, and the acting is superb. Screen writers Lisa Cholodenko and Stuart Blumberg did an excellent job with the material, and I strongly recommend this movie.
“Winter’s Bone” received universal praise from professional critics. There is one negative review on Rotten Tomatoes’ first page commenting that the movie was boring, and I couldn’t agree more.
The movie is about Ree (Jennifer Lawrence), a 17-year-old girl who lives in a rundown shack somewhere very, very deep in the Mississippi hills, and basically is responsible for her “mentally challenged” mother, little brother and sister. It seems her father cooked meth, got busted, and makes bail by placing all of his property up for collateral (all of this happening off screen).
The movie kicks off when Ree is informed that old pop better show for his court date, in one week, or the shack, and all surrounding property, will be confiscated. Okay, cool, the stakes are extremely high, and that’s a good thing. It draws the viewer into the story and hopefully keeps them there until the end.
Evidently, Ree’s kin live within relative proximity to her on the mountain, so she sets off to trudge through the bitterly harsh, cold mountainous terrain, from one “house” to another, to locate her father. And, for me, this is where things went awry.
Ree’s vain attempts to elicit help from her family go nowhere, as they have no intention of giving her any info on her father’s whereabouts. The main problem (again, for me) is that we are introduced to a cast of characters that are never clearly defined. I kept wondering who is this person, and how is she related to them? The only one we know for sure is her Uncle, Teardrop (John Hawkes), in a role that he was born to play. The rest of them I literally had to ponder how Ree is related to this person, and it brought me out of the movie experience. When a reader (audience) is wondering who the hell a person is, especially if they are supposed to be family, and we’re sitting there putting the pieces together like a puzzle, it conflicts with the audience’s attachment to the movie.
Also, the tension does consistently mount, but there are quite a few scenes that are repeat beats (same people, same places), that it just becomes a bit too tedious. Also, Ree’s trudging through the “desolate” mountains, but we really don’t get to feel her isolation, her pathos because BOOM, she’s at the next house as if they all live in a back ass gated community. I believe a few very short scenes of her against the elements would have elevated a sense of empathy for her, almost delivering a subplot of her against nature.
Of course, I felt sorry for Ree, but this is no coming of age flick. Ree’s a tough chick from the get go. I just couldn’t connect with this movie. I didn’t get that emotional tug that a dark, brooding movie like this should pull. Oh well, maybe that’s my cross to bear.
Neither of these movies will win best picture, but the writers of “The Kids Are All Right” should get some serious props for what they created. I only wish I could do the same. Oh well, keep on tryin’.
These movies are polar opposites, like Tiger Woods and marriage (I know, the Tiger jokes are getting stale, sorry).
“The Kids Are All Right” is basically a story about Nic (Annette Bening) and Jules (Julianne Moore) as a lesbian couple raising two children, daughter Joni (Mia Wasikowska) and son, Laser (Josh Hutcherson). Joni turns eighteen and, with a little nudging from Laser, basically tracks down her biological father, Paul (Mark Ruffalo), and the kids and Paul eventually meet. Of course, Paul is introduced to Nic and Jules, and the move is about family relationships and how a rather formidable outside influence affects each member of the household.
This movie attempts, with all its might, to pass itself off as an “indie” flick, and it does a pretty good job cinematically speaking. But, the screenplay is pure Hollywood, and (this may sound a bit phony) I loved every second of it. The script is a perfect blend of drama, comedy, emotionally satisfying scenes complete with the “all is lost” moment, and one of the most important aspects a film desperately needs: a satisfying conclusion. It’s three acts of near perfection.
The characters are well-defined, and it’s a bit ironic that the kids seem to poses more maturity then their parents. Annette Bening has the neurotic, bitchy suburban housewife down pat. One can’t help but be reminded of her excellent performance in “American Beauty,” and Julianne Moore plays a slightly off-kilter, lost soul brilliantly. Make no mistake about it, all in this move don’t act like buffoonish “characters;” they actually act like real people. The conflict is so well-done it’s damn near palpable, and the acting is superb. Screen writers Lisa Cholodenko and Stuart Blumberg did an excellent job with the material, and I strongly recommend this movie.
“Winter’s Bone” received universal praise from professional critics. There is one negative review on Rotten Tomatoes’ first page commenting that the movie was boring, and I couldn’t agree more.
The movie is about Ree (Jennifer Lawrence), a 17-year-old girl who lives in a rundown shack somewhere very, very deep in the Mississippi hills, and basically is responsible for her “mentally challenged” mother, little brother and sister. It seems her father cooked meth, got busted, and makes bail by placing all of his property up for collateral (all of this happening off screen).
The movie kicks off when Ree is informed that old pop better show for his court date, in one week, or the shack, and all surrounding property, will be confiscated. Okay, cool, the stakes are extremely high, and that’s a good thing. It draws the viewer into the story and hopefully keeps them there until the end.
Evidently, Ree’s kin live within relative proximity to her on the mountain, so she sets off to trudge through the bitterly harsh, cold mountainous terrain, from one “house” to another, to locate her father. And, for me, this is where things went awry.
Ree’s vain attempts to elicit help from her family go nowhere, as they have no intention of giving her any info on her father’s whereabouts. The main problem (again, for me) is that we are introduced to a cast of characters that are never clearly defined. I kept wondering who is this person, and how is she related to them? The only one we know for sure is her Uncle, Teardrop (John Hawkes), in a role that he was born to play. The rest of them I literally had to ponder how Ree is related to this person, and it brought me out of the movie experience. When a reader (audience) is wondering who the hell a person is, especially if they are supposed to be family, and we’re sitting there putting the pieces together like a puzzle, it conflicts with the audience’s attachment to the movie.
Also, the tension does consistently mount, but there are quite a few scenes that are repeat beats (same people, same places), that it just becomes a bit too tedious. Also, Ree’s trudging through the “desolate” mountains, but we really don’t get to feel her isolation, her pathos because BOOM, she’s at the next house as if they all live in a back ass gated community. I believe a few very short scenes of her against the elements would have elevated a sense of empathy for her, almost delivering a subplot of her against nature.
Of course, I felt sorry for Ree, but this is no coming of age flick. Ree’s a tough chick from the get go. I just couldn’t connect with this movie. I didn’t get that emotional tug that a dark, brooding movie like this should pull. Oh well, maybe that’s my cross to bear.
Neither of these movies will win best picture, but the writers of “The Kids Are All Right” should get some serious props for what they created. I only wish I could do the same. Oh well, keep on tryin’.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
American Splendor is a true gem.
Right now, I’m in the confessional, kneeling down (or whatever Catholics do in those things) and softly uttering, “Forgive me Father for I have sinned. As of last week I was unaware of a man by the name of Harvey Pekar, and his creative outlet depicting run-of-the-mill events in his oh so dreary life. Father, it’s a comic book, which I have never read. EVER! The name of his work is ironically, “American Splendor.”
The Priest damn near had a heart attack. Not because I’d never heard of “American Splendor;” he was pushing 90 years of age.
Okay, enough of the sarcasm.
To be honest, I had no idea why the film "American Splendor" was in my queue on Netflix (must have read about the movie on a blog), but I’m damn glad it was there.
"American Splendor", released in 2003, is a biopic like none other. It’s definitely an independent film as: comic illustrations pop up as they please (letting the uninitiated in on what the comic book was about), the great Paul Giamatti plays Harvey, Harvey also plays Harvey, the film cuts in and out from reality to movie, and has interviews with Harvey intertwined throughout the entire film giving the viewer a glimpse into the depressive, “who gives a shit” attitude that perpetuated his personality.
Harvey grew up in Cleveland obsessed with jazz and comic books. As an adult, he had a chance encounter with illustrator Robert Crum, and the two stuck up a friendship. Crum went on to fame in the independent comic book world, and Harvey went to his dead end job as a file clerk at the V.A Hospital. (A job he held until retirement).
After his second wife bailed on him, Harvey was fed up with life and depressed about his impending legacy. He necessitated a creative outlet, so he hunkered down and after drawing stick figures with catchy dialogue gave them to Crum, and to Harvy’s shock, Crum loved ‘em. Thus, the comic book “American Splendor” was born.
The catch is Harvey was disenchanted with the universal “Super Hero” persona of the day (late ‘60’s early ’70’s); Harvey wanted to write about “real” people. Subsequently, he shunned the conventional and wrote about his life.
The acting in this movie is excellent. Giamatti is nothing short of brilliant, and when one sees the real Harvey talking (with his raspy voice), and sulking around the streets of Cleveland, then the film fades to Giamatti doing the same-- it’s almost indiscernible.
Joyce Brabner (Hope Davis) is Harvy’s third, and final, wife. Hope brings a quirky sense of humor, and self, that uplifts the films comedic aspects, and the two verbally bounce off each other like lottery balls, but one can sense the subtext that is going on and that these two societal outcasts completely belong together. The two truly are one. This becomes obvious when Harvey develops cancer, and Joyce refuses to let Harvey wallow in his own self-pity. She demands that they chronicle the experience, which they did, and it became an award winning book, “Our Cancer Year.”
Also, there’s a scene where Joyce, a depressive herself, categorizes Harvey as obsessive-compulsive, and then in subsequent, almost montage-like scenes, rattles off the psychological impairments of his co-worker/friends. This is very amusing and excellent writing.
Harvy’s existence was far from glamorous, as stated above, he never left his job at the V.A. But, this was actually advantageous in that he observed his kooky co-workers and gained much of his material from them – and all of the people that surrounded him. (the cut below should explain all. Enjoy; It's brilliant).
Harvey Pekar lived a very strange, quasi famous, yet infamous life. He never gained huge monetary advantages from his work (David Letterman tried to help Harvey with multiple appearances on the show, but that, as one would expect, ended in disaster). If anything, Harvey was not a sellout. He just didn’t give a damn, but deep down in the depths of his soul, again, one gets the feeling that he actually did.
After I viewed "American Splendor", I felt like I was introduced to a man of the people who wrote about them and the crap everyday human beings must endure on a day-to-day basis--and he parodied it. It’s as if he tapped into the collective unconscious and let his anger and sarcasm flow like brew from a keg. He made fun of being human. Hmmmm, sounds like a comedian who made millions on t.v. with a show “about nothing.”
Unfortunately, Harvey passed away this year of cancer. I’m sure he’ll be missed by millions, but, at least, his legacy is fully in tact.
Directors Shari Springer Berman and Robert Pulcini should be commended for a job exceedingly well done.
I give it four beers out of a six pack. Believe me, one doesn't have to be a comic book fan to enjoy fine art, and that's exactly what this is.
The Priest damn near had a heart attack. Not because I’d never heard of “American Splendor;” he was pushing 90 years of age.
Okay, enough of the sarcasm.
To be honest, I had no idea why the film "American Splendor" was in my queue on Netflix (must have read about the movie on a blog), but I’m damn glad it was there.
"American Splendor", released in 2003, is a biopic like none other. It’s definitely an independent film as: comic illustrations pop up as they please (letting the uninitiated in on what the comic book was about), the great Paul Giamatti plays Harvey, Harvey also plays Harvey, the film cuts in and out from reality to movie, and has interviews with Harvey intertwined throughout the entire film giving the viewer a glimpse into the depressive, “who gives a shit” attitude that perpetuated his personality.
Harvey grew up in Cleveland obsessed with jazz and comic books. As an adult, he had a chance encounter with illustrator Robert Crum, and the two stuck up a friendship. Crum went on to fame in the independent comic book world, and Harvey went to his dead end job as a file clerk at the V.A Hospital. (A job he held until retirement).
After his second wife bailed on him, Harvey was fed up with life and depressed about his impending legacy. He necessitated a creative outlet, so he hunkered down and after drawing stick figures with catchy dialogue gave them to Crum, and to Harvy’s shock, Crum loved ‘em. Thus, the comic book “American Splendor” was born.
The catch is Harvey was disenchanted with the universal “Super Hero” persona of the day (late ‘60’s early ’70’s); Harvey wanted to write about “real” people. Subsequently, he shunned the conventional and wrote about his life.
The acting in this movie is excellent. Giamatti is nothing short of brilliant, and when one sees the real Harvey talking (with his raspy voice), and sulking around the streets of Cleveland, then the film fades to Giamatti doing the same-- it’s almost indiscernible.
Joyce Brabner (Hope Davis) is Harvy’s third, and final, wife. Hope brings a quirky sense of humor, and self, that uplifts the films comedic aspects, and the two verbally bounce off each other like lottery balls, but one can sense the subtext that is going on and that these two societal outcasts completely belong together. The two truly are one. This becomes obvious when Harvey develops cancer, and Joyce refuses to let Harvey wallow in his own self-pity. She demands that they chronicle the experience, which they did, and it became an award winning book, “Our Cancer Year.”
Also, there’s a scene where Joyce, a depressive herself, categorizes Harvey as obsessive-compulsive, and then in subsequent, almost montage-like scenes, rattles off the psychological impairments of his co-worker/friends. This is very amusing and excellent writing.
Harvy’s existence was far from glamorous, as stated above, he never left his job at the V.A. But, this was actually advantageous in that he observed his kooky co-workers and gained much of his material from them – and all of the people that surrounded him. (the cut below should explain all. Enjoy; It's brilliant).
Harvey Pekar lived a very strange, quasi famous, yet infamous life. He never gained huge monetary advantages from his work (David Letterman tried to help Harvey with multiple appearances on the show, but that, as one would expect, ended in disaster). If anything, Harvey was not a sellout. He just didn’t give a damn, but deep down in the depths of his soul, again, one gets the feeling that he actually did.
After I viewed "American Splendor", I felt like I was introduced to a man of the people who wrote about them and the crap everyday human beings must endure on a day-to-day basis--and he parodied it. It’s as if he tapped into the collective unconscious and let his anger and sarcasm flow like brew from a keg. He made fun of being human. Hmmmm, sounds like a comedian who made millions on t.v. with a show “about nothing.”
Unfortunately, Harvey passed away this year of cancer. I’m sure he’ll be missed by millions, but, at least, his legacy is fully in tact.
Directors Shari Springer Berman and Robert Pulcini should be commended for a job exceedingly well done.
I give it four beers out of a six pack. Believe me, one doesn't have to be a comic book fan to enjoy fine art, and that's exactly what this is.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Cyrus: A big fat “waist” of time.
As an amateur screenwriter, I keep an eye on what’s going on in the business of Hollywood. And from what I’ve read in the last two years, it’s more difficult to sell a spec script, or for that matter, get a movie made these days than during the roaring ’80, when a dipshit like me could get a spec optioned for six figures.
So, when I sat (or should I say endured) Cyrus the other day, the only question on my mind was, “How does this happen?” My only answer: Connections. You gotta have ‘em, or crap like this doesn’t stand a chance.
Think of your favorite movies. Just take some time and reflect on the movies you really love. OK, finished? I’m going to bet that 95% of them involve a protagonist, a really bad-ass antagonist, and something that (in my estimation, and most in Hollywood would agree) is essential for a movie: Conflict. Conflict drives a movie; it’s what draws a viewer into the scene, the next scene, making you “emotionally” involved until (hopefully) a rewarding conclusion.
Believe me, I’m no expert, and I’m not the one getting movies made, but this is a concept, I truly feel, that writer/directors Jay and Mark Duplass have no concept of.
The movie’s plot line revolves around John (John C. Reilly), who’s been divorced from wife, Jamie (Catherine Keener) for seven years—and still hasn’t gotten over it! This, my friends, is what’s called a huge plot hole, in my estimation. Maybe I’m wrong, but seven years is A LONG time.
To continue to pine over your ex (who dumped you and is getting remarried), for seven years? Not buyin’ it. I’ll buy two years, like Miles in Sideways, but not seven, and this happened in the first five minutes into the film. This is a technique to make the audience feel “empathy” for the lost soul. It just made me think the guy’s a total loser who obsesses over objects he can’t have. Christ, even Milton from Office Space could nab another chick in seven years, and he couldn’t even get a damn piece of cake.
As the movie progresses, John ends up at a party, with his ex and her fiancé(Matt Walsh), and, of course, he meets somebody. That somebody is Molly (Marisa Tomei).
OK, now our suspension is getting severely tested way too early in the movie, as Molly takes a liking to John, and they actually have sex that night. So, now we have one of the most beautiful women on this planet banging one of the strangest looking, emotionally broke, financially strapped guys in L.A. Really? In one of the most plastic cities in the world, this happens? Again, not buyin’ it. (Why do writers like Aptow throw premises at us like Katherine Heigl screwing losers like Seth Rogen in Knocked Up? Does this really happen? Maybe in Sacramento, but L.A.? Sure, if he's a famous Producer).
As it turns out, Molly has a son, Cyrus(Jonah Hill). He’s a 22-year-old with no job, has never left the nest, possesses no ambition only to compose strange synth beats with his quite expensive music equipment. Mind you, we’re close to 30 minutes in, and, barring the first scene (a scene we’ve all seen before), there’s literally no conflict, just talking heads spouting boring exposition, and not done very well I might add.
Slowly, we get the feeling that Cyrus, playing it cool, really doesn’t want John around. Whew, finally we can wake up and maybe get into this movie. Well, in short, what could have been a really funny and conflict ridden movie turns out to be a dud. The total time of cognitive arousing amusement lasts maybe 10 minutes at best.
Another piece of exposition that Molly spits out in act one, is that, “No man has slept over [at her house] since Cyrus was born.” You’re telling me that a woman of her beauty doesn’t have guys chasing her to her house and banging the doors down? We're talking twenty-two years! That’s the piece of exposition that took me out for a walk, and the only reason I continued to watch, was because I had a meeting and had time to kill.
Also, there is a very unnerving aspect regarding the relationship between Molly and Cyrus: It feels damn close to incestuous. And with all this exposition flying around like fire flies, we are never let in on the minute detail of how the Molly pays the bills. She has no job, nor does Cyrus. I love it when screenplays leave out insignificant morsels of information such as how somebody supports themselves. It just is, and that to me, is arrogant film making.
Finally, the audience was “ahead” of the movie, meaning everybody in the theater knew what was going to happen before the event occurs. I actually herd a senior citizen whisper to her friend what was going to transpire in a scene regarding John’s tennis shoes three seconds before it actually happened. This continued throughout the entire movie. If Grandma is ahead of hot-shot screenwriters, I'm guessing they tossed the first draft up on the big screen and left the rewriting ... well, maybe there was no rewriting. This is a mortal sin. There were absolutely no twists, no reversals, nothing to engage the viewer—except Marisa Tomei’s stunning beauty. And maybe that’s what the film makers were banking on.
The direction is some of the worst I’ve ever seen. These guys have made some indie movies and went for that feel with the way the movie was filmed. It didn’t work. The lens was constantly moving to an extreme close up and then back to a fuller shot. This “cool” technique gave me a headache, and I damn near felt seasick as I left the theater.
Finally, Jonah Hill needs to go on a diet. I know he’s on a roll with two movies out now (the other is Get Him to the Greek), but he should seriously consider discontinuing shoving butter laden "rolls" down his throat.
As far as characters go, Cyrus was the most "entertaining." I wouldn’t spend five minutes with any of the others. (Except Marisa, in real life, which will never happen).
The critics gave this movie an 80 on RottenTomatoes, which, to me, proves they want to be “cool” by recommending an “indie” film. My question to them is: “Are you aware this is a mainstream movie?”
My recommendation: Don’t “waste” a dime on this mess.
I give it zero beers out of a six pack.
Footnote-- I'm aware there are thousands of movies that are similar to this one in that they attempt to "break away" from the Hollywood "formula." Cyrus is billed as a comedy, so, yes, they don't have to follow Blake Snyder's "Save The Cat" formula such as Miss Congeniality. But the question is, "Which movie made more money?" Cyrus won't come close to recouping it's budget. It's just too quirky and plain not funny enough to get the much needed "word of mouth" that a movie like this must have to succeed, where as the latter made millions and spawned a sequel.
God love Noah Baumbach. The Squid and the Whale was a great movie.
Margot at the Wedding was a huge letdown, and Greenberg didn't do well at the B.O.; or Nichole Holofcener, writer/director of Friends With Money and Please Give, among others.
I view these two writer/directors as the most successful, at this point in time, in the sub-class of indie/mainstream movies. My question is: "Given the economic climate, how much longer can they continue making movies that don't make money?" We all know what Hollywood's about, and artistic creativity isn't first on the list.
I'm glad they're out there, continuing to carry the indie banner; my only concern is that they might try to push the boundaries so far that Producers just pull the plug on them, effectively shutting down indie movie making altogether. Then again, these are two very established film makers, and what does it take to make movies like these: Connections. It all comes down to connections.
And if you're a nobody, like me, a killer script might help.
So, when I sat (or should I say endured) Cyrus the other day, the only question on my mind was, “How does this happen?” My only answer: Connections. You gotta have ‘em, or crap like this doesn’t stand a chance.
Think of your favorite movies. Just take some time and reflect on the movies you really love. OK, finished? I’m going to bet that 95% of them involve a protagonist, a really bad-ass antagonist, and something that (in my estimation, and most in Hollywood would agree) is essential for a movie: Conflict. Conflict drives a movie; it’s what draws a viewer into the scene, the next scene, making you “emotionally” involved until (hopefully) a rewarding conclusion.
Believe me, I’m no expert, and I’m not the one getting movies made, but this is a concept, I truly feel, that writer/directors Jay and Mark Duplass have no concept of.
The movie’s plot line revolves around John (John C. Reilly), who’s been divorced from wife, Jamie (Catherine Keener) for seven years—and still hasn’t gotten over it! This, my friends, is what’s called a huge plot hole, in my estimation. Maybe I’m wrong, but seven years is A LONG time.
To continue to pine over your ex (who dumped you and is getting remarried), for seven years? Not buyin’ it. I’ll buy two years, like Miles in Sideways, but not seven, and this happened in the first five minutes into the film. This is a technique to make the audience feel “empathy” for the lost soul. It just made me think the guy’s a total loser who obsesses over objects he can’t have. Christ, even Milton from Office Space could nab another chick in seven years, and he couldn’t even get a damn piece of cake.
As the movie progresses, John ends up at a party, with his ex and her fiancé(Matt Walsh), and, of course, he meets somebody. That somebody is Molly (Marisa Tomei).
OK, now our suspension is getting severely tested way too early in the movie, as Molly takes a liking to John, and they actually have sex that night. So, now we have one of the most beautiful women on this planet banging one of the strangest looking, emotionally broke, financially strapped guys in L.A. Really? In one of the most plastic cities in the world, this happens? Again, not buyin’ it. (Why do writers like Aptow throw premises at us like Katherine Heigl screwing losers like Seth Rogen in Knocked Up? Does this really happen? Maybe in Sacramento, but L.A.? Sure, if he's a famous Producer).
As it turns out, Molly has a son, Cyrus(Jonah Hill). He’s a 22-year-old with no job, has never left the nest, possesses no ambition only to compose strange synth beats with his quite expensive music equipment. Mind you, we’re close to 30 minutes in, and, barring the first scene (a scene we’ve all seen before), there’s literally no conflict, just talking heads spouting boring exposition, and not done very well I might add.
Slowly, we get the feeling that Cyrus, playing it cool, really doesn’t want John around. Whew, finally we can wake up and maybe get into this movie. Well, in short, what could have been a really funny and conflict ridden movie turns out to be a dud. The total time of cognitive arousing amusement lasts maybe 10 minutes at best.
Another piece of exposition that Molly spits out in act one, is that, “No man has slept over [at her house] since Cyrus was born.” You’re telling me that a woman of her beauty doesn’t have guys chasing her to her house and banging the doors down? We're talking twenty-two years! That’s the piece of exposition that took me out for a walk, and the only reason I continued to watch, was because I had a meeting and had time to kill.
Also, there is a very unnerving aspect regarding the relationship between Molly and Cyrus: It feels damn close to incestuous. And with all this exposition flying around like fire flies, we are never let in on the minute detail of how the Molly pays the bills. She has no job, nor does Cyrus. I love it when screenplays leave out insignificant morsels of information such as how somebody supports themselves. It just is, and that to me, is arrogant film making.
Finally, the audience was “ahead” of the movie, meaning everybody in the theater knew what was going to happen before the event occurs. I actually herd a senior citizen whisper to her friend what was going to transpire in a scene regarding John’s tennis shoes three seconds before it actually happened. This continued throughout the entire movie. If Grandma is ahead of hot-shot screenwriters, I'm guessing they tossed the first draft up on the big screen and left the rewriting ... well, maybe there was no rewriting. This is a mortal sin. There were absolutely no twists, no reversals, nothing to engage the viewer—except Marisa Tomei’s stunning beauty. And maybe that’s what the film makers were banking on.
The direction is some of the worst I’ve ever seen. These guys have made some indie movies and went for that feel with the way the movie was filmed. It didn’t work. The lens was constantly moving to an extreme close up and then back to a fuller shot. This “cool” technique gave me a headache, and I damn near felt seasick as I left the theater.
Finally, Jonah Hill needs to go on a diet. I know he’s on a roll with two movies out now (the other is Get Him to the Greek), but he should seriously consider discontinuing shoving butter laden "rolls" down his throat.
As far as characters go, Cyrus was the most "entertaining." I wouldn’t spend five minutes with any of the others. (Except Marisa, in real life, which will never happen).
The critics gave this movie an 80 on RottenTomatoes, which, to me, proves they want to be “cool” by recommending an “indie” film. My question to them is: “Are you aware this is a mainstream movie?”
My recommendation: Don’t “waste” a dime on this mess.
I give it zero beers out of a six pack.
Footnote-- I'm aware there are thousands of movies that are similar to this one in that they attempt to "break away" from the Hollywood "formula." Cyrus is billed as a comedy, so, yes, they don't have to follow Blake Snyder's "Save The Cat" formula such as Miss Congeniality. But the question is, "Which movie made more money?" Cyrus won't come close to recouping it's budget. It's just too quirky and plain not funny enough to get the much needed "word of mouth" that a movie like this must have to succeed, where as the latter made millions and spawned a sequel.
God love Noah Baumbach. The Squid and the Whale was a great movie.
Margot at the Wedding was a huge letdown, and Greenberg didn't do well at the B.O.; or Nichole Holofcener, writer/director of Friends With Money and Please Give, among others.
I view these two writer/directors as the most successful, at this point in time, in the sub-class of indie/mainstream movies. My question is: "Given the economic climate, how much longer can they continue making movies that don't make money?" We all know what Hollywood's about, and artistic creativity isn't first on the list.
I'm glad they're out there, continuing to carry the indie banner; my only concern is that they might try to push the boundaries so far that Producers just pull the plug on them, effectively shutting down indie movie making altogether. Then again, these are two very established film makers, and what does it take to make movies like these: Connections. It all comes down to connections.
And if you're a nobody, like me, a killer script might help.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
The Lovely Bones: Visually Stunning Ineptitude.
The Lovely Bones is not one of those movies; although, it did manage to squeak out about 30 million bucks profit. It was released in 2009 to some pretty tepid reviews, deservedly so (we’ll get into that soon).
The movie is based on a novel penned by Alice Sebold. The premise is nothing short of awesome: A 13 year-old-girl, Susie Salmon, “like the fish,” (Saoirse Ronan) is murdered, and her soul resides in a sort of “purgatory,” while she’s able to view her family, and murder, deal with the repercussions of the act. Only after she’s able to “convince” her family (and herself) to let go, will she ascend to Heaven. If I would have come up with that premise, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now.
As they taught me in story analysis class, let’s start out with what’s amazing about this movie. In short, the scenes after Susie’s death, as she roams from one stunning set piece to another, are incredible. The colors are so vibrant and “alive,” it’s as if one would desire these settings to be Heaven. Some critics complained there were so many different “locations” she traveled through, it was confusing (God help ‘em if they ever viewed one of the greatest movies ever made, Mulholland Drive). B.S.! These scenes rival Avatar for artistic wonderment, taking the viewer to places they’ve probably never dreamed of, but wish they had. If these scenes were shot in 3D, they very well could have made Avatar look like a kid tinkering with the latest Apple iMovie software. (I’m not a huge fan of Crow’s latest).
Also, when Susie attempts to interact with her family and helplessly screams instructions to them are very touching. As the movie progresses, one can’t help but feel her loss of what could have been a wonderful and fruitful life. At least, in one of the movie’s hokey, final scenes, she does realize one of her human desires. Way to go Susie!
Finally, Susie’s voice-over (obviously text from the novel) is excellent. The emotions in her words are astounding and add much-needed depth to the experience. (It’s funny, in class, they instructed us to stay away from voice- over, and a hell of a lot of movies these days have, you guessed it, voice-over).
The problems with the movie are many. Mainly, the narrative is so jumbled; the movie doesn’t quite know what it wants to be.
The first act sets-up the almost too happy family, consisting of father, Jack Salmon (Mark Wahlberg), wife Abigail (Rachel Weisz), little sister Lindsey (Rose McIver) and little brother Buckley (Christian Thomas Ashdale). Honestly, Lindsey pops into the movie literally out of nowhere; she appears like a magic trick about fifteen minutes into the flick.
Susie is murdered by a very creepy George Harvey (Stanley Tucci), and the chase begins to find the killer, headed by Detective Len Fenerman (Michael Imperioli). OK, we have a serial killer drama on our hands. Then, we jump back and forth between Susie’s world and the “real” world. OK, now we have a mystical journey. After realizing who killed his daughter, Jack takes matters into his own hands and is hell-bent on revenge. OK, now we have a “pissed off father looking to kill the murder of his daughter” movie on our hands. After Jack’s alcoholic mother, Grandma Lynn (Susan Sarandon) moves in, Abigail decides to move to Northern California and pick grapes. What? (The movie takes place in the ‘70’s, but a hot, white chick picking grapes? I’m not buyin’ it.). The Sarandon character is so far removed from the picture, it takes the viewer out to Starbucks for a Latte, while there could be a very touching movie going on here. And finally, Tucci, in my estimation, gobbles up more screen time than our heroine, Susie.
Sure, a movie needs sub-plots, but any one of the above topics could be an entire movie in itself, and I blame the screenwriters and director, Peter Jackson, for not reigning in the runaway plots and keeping to the main throughline: Susie interacting with her family. When she does, the movie is riveting, but she only does this for maybe 10 minutes of screen time. This is a huge mistake, as Saoirse Ronan is so damn good in this movie, one has to hold back the desire to jump at the screen and kiss her.
I didn’t read the novel, but I’m betting that those who did were not all too pleased with the film. Source material can be held accountable as in Revolutionary Road, or take wide turns, as in Sideways. With three credited “professional” screenwriters attached to this film, I just can’t believe they were true to the novel.
I very much enjoyed the film; I just believe those in charge really blew an opportunity to make an incredible movie.
I give it three beers out of a six pack due to the riveting scenery and Ronan’s awesome performance.
Sorry, you have to cut and paste the link. This site won't let me put the video on it.
Friday, June 25, 2010
A lot happens in The Apartment.
I don’t think I’m hanging my laundry out on a limb when I say, I think Jack Lemmon is one of the greatest actors to ever grace the big screen. Of course, every actor, good or bad, male or female, is immortal; their movies are their legacy. Luckily for us, Mr. Lemmon left us with a legacy that many strive for, but fail to achieve.
Jack’s acting skills are as versatile as a politician’s poll numbers. He does drama with an intensity that damn near jumpes off the screen. Who can forget his Academy Award nominated performance as alcoholic public relations man Joe Clay in Days of Wine and Roses, or the profoundly delusional, broken-down salesman Shelley Levene, in Glenngary Glenn Ross? He is such a talent, his facial expressions alone emit such emotion, often dialog is unnecessary.
But, I believe, comedy is where this icon truly shines. Think about it: Some Like it Hot, The Odd Couple, The Out-of-Towners, Grumpy Old Men, just to name a few. All of these films are classics, but there is one film I’d like to delve into a bit further, because it’s one of my favorite movies of all time: The Apartment.
The Apartment is written and directed by one of Hollywood’s greatest ever: Mr. Billy Wilder. Yes, yes, I know, Mr. Wilder is responsible for Some Like it Hot (and many of Hollywood's greatest movies, Sunset Blvd. ring a bell?), but for me, The Apartment is magical (and won 5 Academy Awards, by the way), and Lemmon’s role as young insurance actuary, C. C. Baxter is hilariously funny and heart-breaking at the same time.
The main plot of The Apartment revolves around Baxter’s apartment located on 67th St. in New York. Baxter’s an ambitious, single guy who just wants to advance his budding career. But, as we are introduced to Baxter (via some fine voice-over), it seems he’s dealing with a bit of a dilemma: His apartment is being exploited by four Executives at the company he works for as a “flop house” for their extramarital affairs (mind you, this film was released in 1960), and these guys have no reserve about booting Baxter out of his place - at any time of night, or early morning. In one scene, some schlep Executive kicks Baxter, who’s suffering from a cold, out on the street at about 1:30 a.m., where it’s freezing. As Baxter shivers and folds his arms tightly to his body in a vain attempt at warmth, one can’t help but feel empathetic toward the poor fellow, and Lemmon plays this to perfection. (I read it was below freezing when they shot the scene, and Lemmon actually caught a whopper of a cold).
The dilemma Baxter’s dealing with is that one of the married Executives who’s exploiting Baxter’s “love nest” is Mr. Jeff D. Sheldrake (Fred MacMurray), who continually promises, and delivers, promotions to Baxter for the continued use of the “love shack.” Sheldrake is having a fling with elevator operator Fran Kubelik (Shirley MacLaine, in one of her first roles), and eventual love interest for good ‘ole Baxter.
Yep, the respectable, God fearing father, Steve Douglas from “My Three Sons,” is banging out of wedlock in The Apartment. (He is an actor, after all).
Billy Wilder’s script (which I read) is one of the greatest ever put to paper. Almost every line that comes out of Baxter’s mouth is either a set-up for a joke, foreshadowing, or a zinger that’s Wilder’s calling card. Also, the script rises to the zenith of wit and to the depths of hopelessness, as when Baxter is blown off by Ms. Kubelik for a date. One feels Baxter’s pain as if it were shot through ‘em with a speeding bullet.
The acting is superb by Lemmon, MacLaine, and MacMurray; the story line is brilliant; the character arch’s are perfect; and this movie has one of the greatest ending twists I’ve ever observed. There’s something to be said about morals, and Baxter finally realizes this in one the movie’s most moving and surprising scenes.
Given the time the movie was released, it caused quite a bit of ruckus, and my advice for anybody who wants to witness one of the greatest movies ever made, rent it now, or the ghost of Jack Lemmon might appear and whack you in the ass with his famous tennis racquet. Spaghetti anyone?
I give it six beers out of a six pack, and I think it’s obvious why.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
You definitely want to be: In the Loop
As a wannabe screenwriter, I’ve read scripts - a lot of scripts. And sometimes, the written word is “more alive” than what I eventually see on the screen (if not completely different due to the many changes a screenplay goes through until it’s finally produced). As one reads, a mental picture is being produced; yours could be completely different from mine. And if that “image” doesn’t translate well to the big screen, I’m a bit disappointed. Unfortunately, this happens far too often.
So, perusing through SimplyScripts.com’s comedy section one day, I came across a script I was unfamiliar with titled “In the Loop,” written and directed by Armando Ianucci. (There are additional writing credits). Ianucci’s an English bloke, and what I read that day was respectable. Not expecting much, I rented the video – and couldn’t stop laughing.
In the Loop, released in 2009, is a nonstop, scathing satire about British and U.S. politicians, and all the back-stabbing, insecurities, power struggles, fabrications, ineptitude and down right obtuseness that one could imagine actually happening in “real life” politics, as the two countries attempt to come to a conclusion about invading a fictional county in the Middle East. (Basically, should we invade Iraq?)
It all kicks off when Simon Foster (Tom Hollander), England’s bumbling idiot Minister of International Development, blurts out that war is “unforeseeable.” This little blunder (which happens about 5 minutes into the film), sets off a chain of events that are so hilarious, it’s impossible to summarize them all in one article. I’m just going to say, if you watch the film, you’ll never think of: Meat, meet, Canadians, diarrhea, France, The U.N., shark documentaries, Brokeback Mountain, and the curse word f “star-star” k again.
The movie boasts an ensemble cast including Tom Hollander, a scathing Peter Capaldi (you DO NOT want to work for this guy), Mimi Kennedy, Anna Chlumsky, Gina McKee, David Rasche, and James Gandolfini as Lt. Gen. George Miller. The acting is superb by all, but Hollander and Gandolfini steal the show. There’s a scene that takes place in a messy, four-year-old girl’s bedroom where Gandolfini is explaining to Kennedy how many troops the U.S. has to deploy by adding them up on a calculator that resembles a frog, or something, and the contraption emits these adolescent dins similar to a drunken Baby Alive doll. It’s one of the most ironic and funniest scenes I’ve ever witnessed.
The writing is superb, and the one-liners jump at you like a tiger and hit with as much force. It’s shot in a documentary style reminiscent of “The Office,” which adds to the feeling that the viewer is actually watching authentic situations take place.
In the Loop is not in the league of Dr. Strangelove, but I don’t think they were going for that tone. The tone here is fast and furious, and it all comes together like a Bellini opera.
I give it five beers out of a six pack. I pulled one beer out because if you do rent this movie, tell the kids to scram. There are more F bombs dropped than actual bombs the Allies dropped on Germany.
So, perusing through SimplyScripts.com’s comedy section one day, I came across a script I was unfamiliar with titled “In the Loop,” written and directed by Armando Ianucci. (There are additional writing credits). Ianucci’s an English bloke, and what I read that day was respectable. Not expecting much, I rented the video – and couldn’t stop laughing.
In the Loop, released in 2009, is a nonstop, scathing satire about British and U.S. politicians, and all the back-stabbing, insecurities, power struggles, fabrications, ineptitude and down right obtuseness that one could imagine actually happening in “real life” politics, as the two countries attempt to come to a conclusion about invading a fictional county in the Middle East. (Basically, should we invade Iraq?)
It all kicks off when Simon Foster (Tom Hollander), England’s bumbling idiot Minister of International Development, blurts out that war is “unforeseeable.” This little blunder (which happens about 5 minutes into the film), sets off a chain of events that are so hilarious, it’s impossible to summarize them all in one article. I’m just going to say, if you watch the film, you’ll never think of: Meat, meet, Canadians, diarrhea, France, The U.N., shark documentaries, Brokeback Mountain, and the curse word f “star-star” k again.
The movie boasts an ensemble cast including Tom Hollander, a scathing Peter Capaldi (you DO NOT want to work for this guy), Mimi Kennedy, Anna Chlumsky, Gina McKee, David Rasche, and James Gandolfini as Lt. Gen. George Miller. The acting is superb by all, but Hollander and Gandolfini steal the show. There’s a scene that takes place in a messy, four-year-old girl’s bedroom where Gandolfini is explaining to Kennedy how many troops the U.S. has to deploy by adding them up on a calculator that resembles a frog, or something, and the contraption emits these adolescent dins similar to a drunken Baby Alive doll. It’s one of the most ironic and funniest scenes I’ve ever witnessed.
The writing is superb, and the one-liners jump at you like a tiger and hit with as much force. It’s shot in a documentary style reminiscent of “The Office,” which adds to the feeling that the viewer is actually watching authentic situations take place.
In the Loop is not in the league of Dr. Strangelove, but I don’t think they were going for that tone. The tone here is fast and furious, and it all comes together like a Bellini opera.
I give it five beers out of a six pack. I pulled one beer out because if you do rent this movie, tell the kids to scram. There are more F bombs dropped than actual bombs the Allies dropped on Germany.
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