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When people mention that Tropic Thunder is a satire of all things Hollywood - overzealous actors, greedy and disconnected executives and the perversion of the creative process - you might not initially realize how far they've taken it. The movie is a commentary on the familiar faces in the industry - the moguls and the mega-stars, but it is also one of its fans, its critics, its techniques, its very MO.
Take, for example, the opening of the movie. Before we see even a frame of the movie-within-a-movie, we're treated to an attack on the commercialism of Tinseltown, through fake ads (a sports drink called "Booty Sweat," and its accompanying "Bust-A-Nut" bar) and, eventually, movie trailers. There's the sixth installment of action star Tugg Speedman's (Ben Stiller) "Scorcher" franchise, followed only by Jeff Portnoy (Jack Black) doing his best Eddie Murphy imitation in "The Fatties: Fart Two." And to close it out, we get the art house drama "Satan's Alley," a kind of medieval Brokeback-esque romance between two monks (Tobey Maguire, and Robert Downey Jr.'s on-screen ego, Kirk Lazarus).
Stiller, who directed and co-wrote with Justin Theroux and Etan Cohen, is no stranger to comedy. His parents - Jerry Stiller and Anne Meara - made up one of the enduring comedy duos of the 1960's, so it's basically in his blood. His last venture into directing was 2001's Zoolander - a wildly hilarious satire of the vanity and ignorance of the modeling industry. Yet deservedly or not, most people would probably point to Stiller's comedically-flawed characters as the apex of his talent.
And we see a little bit of all of them here in his newest role, action star Tugg Speedman. Speedman's a Stallone type hero, who, in dealing with his decreasing relevance in Hollywood, sort of reminds us of Stiller's past lovable loser roles in Meet the Parents or There's Something About Mary. But as he leads the team of actor-soldiers on the set of the war flick, there are flashes of his gung-ho, strictly business types, as in Dodgeball's White Goodman.
But after a failed attempt at serious drama playing a mentally retarded farmhand named Simple Jack, his next role is very much a make-or-break performance for Speedman. So for this adaptation of a Vietnam vet's memoir, he teams up with the comedian Portnoy and the award-winner Lazarus, who's had his skin darkened so as to play the platoon's African-American Sgt. Osiris. (Before anyone says anything, it's not a knock on African-Americans; it's a knock on the actors who think their talent and range are limitless.) Hot new rapper Alpa Chino (say it out loud) and relative newcomer Kevin Sandusky (Or is it Kyle? They never seem to know) round out the troop. And almost before anything happens, there's already trouble.
Struggling with a rookie director (Steve Coogan) and numerous financial catastrophes in the shooting, the film is finds itself a month behind schedule only five days in, and the studio executives (Bill Hader and a surprisingly funny Tom Cruise) aren't happy. And the stars couldn't appear to care less; they're too preoccupied with the setup of their on-location TiVo systems or the occasional call from an agent (the scene-stealing Matthew McConaughey).
So the Vietnam vet (Nick Nolte, looking not entirely unlike his recent mugshot) proposes that the filming be moved deep into the jungle and shot guerrilla-style, and it's here that Tropic Thunder takes on a new direction. It's not as much a movie about the making of a war-movie anymore; once they're thrust into the wild, attacked and captured by drug lords, you know it's become strictly a war-movie on its own. The trouble is that now we're dealing with two brands of humor that don't exactly level up with each other.
On one side, there's the occasional dip back into Hollywood-land and all its side-splitting hysteria, as the studios react to their stars' abductions. This is the kind of humor you wish the entire flick was made of, as executives mistake ransom phone-calls for agency negotiations and big-headed stars utter lines like "I don't read the script; the script reads me."
But unfortunately, this is often buried beneath a feeble attempt at action-comedy. Here, they'll try just about anything to make us laugh - from stereotype jokes (a "you people" interaction, along with a hilarious new entry to the moviegoer's vocabulary - "full retard") to obscenity-laced rants in drug deprivation. Sometimes they work, but more often than not (excuse the pun), they misfire - meriting little more than forced giggles that pale in comparison to the earlier belly laughs.
And it's this unevenness that ultimately drags a promising movie down. As the film comes from its brief moments of brilliance to be dominated by the stupider bits, we find ourselves too often on the fringe - unsure of whether we really like the movie or not. Mere instinct suggests that it might someday be a grower, but for now, it's just OK. War is hell, indeed.
2 stars out of 4
A man awakens from an immeasurable sleep to find himself in a hospital room. His blurry vision slowly outlines two figures, which become a throng of people surrounding him and trying to communicate. He feels normal, if not slightly incapacitated from his slumber. But as he tries and fails to communicate with those around him and his medical state slowly becomes apparent, we discover he's anything but. "Normal," has become a thing of the past; this man's life will never be the same.
Such was the case for French journalist Jean-Dominique Bauby. Following a massive stroke in December 1995, the former Elle magazine editor awoke to discover he'd developed "Locked-In" syndrome, leaving him awake and entirely aware of his surroundings but deprived of motion or speech due to near complete paralysis. The only part of his body left mobile was his left eyelid. Slightly incapacitated, indeed.
But with that eyelid, Bauby devised a system of communication that allowed him to write his memoir, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. As a transcriber read off a list of letters, Bauby would blink his eye to choose the right ones, forming words and eventually a chronicle of his life following the stroke. He wove together details of his post-stroke life, from interactions with visitors to simple procedures like bathing, with descriptions of his life before the condition, garnering critical acclaim and numerous best seller honors across Europe.
Ten years after its publication and Bauby's subsequent untimely death, director Julian Schnabel gives us a movie adaptation as beautiful and inspiring as the story and work from which it's adapted. Shot fittingly from a first-person camera perspective, the film attempts quite literally to take us inside Bauby's head following the discovery of his condition. It's a technique that makes us rethink traditional cinema, and it allows us to not merely watch the story unfold, but to live it.
It also, unfortunately, undermines an admirable performance from Frenchman Mathieu Amalric. Though his face-time may be lacking, Amalric shines as a personification of Bauby's remaining active, living qualities. Only Bauby truly knew what was going on inside his head, but thanks to Amalric's performance and a stunning script from Ronald Harwood, the movie delivers the best of both worlds. The audience gets a respectable interpretation of his life on this side of the condition, and Bauby, most importantly, gets a voice.
The voice may just be the most important part of the film, elevating it from simply a great story to an experience we'll never forget. It would have been one thing to just show Bauby's experiences following the stroke. Surely, taking a bath or being sung to would have been entirely more laborious than before, but in all of these cases, Bauby had help. Lacking most functions, he had to share these tasks with his attendants. So as important as they are to the telling of the story, the realization that they've all been lived before by people other than Bauby takes away a bit of the shine.
But nobody's ever seen inside Bauby's head before, which renders the glances inside that much more intriguing. If that renders Schnabel's efforts as quasi-novelties, so be it. Novelties they may be, but they make the film a far more emotionally-rewarding experience. It would have been hard to duplicate the anguish in the interactions between Bauby and his wife (Emmanuelle Seigner) or his father (Max von Sydow, in a touching cameo) without it. Because we know there's someone inside trying but incapable of responding to their desperate pleas, it makes the content nearly as taxing for the audience as for those involved.
Take, for example, an early interaction between Bauby and his aide, Claude (Anne Consigny). Having just devised the basis for their communication system, Bauby strings together a series of letters telling Claude "je veux mourir" - "I want to die." With us essentially inside Bauby's head, the feelings and the message start to feel like they're sprouting from our own, which ultimately lend a new appreciation of the lives and capabilities we all have.
His journey from this moment at rock-bottom to having completed his memoir becomes one from which we cannot look away. While it is a bit difficult to relate to Bauby in his "Locked-In" state, the frequent trips back to his normal past life tie our insides in knots. They remind us that such ailments can happen to anyone, encouraging us on a deeper level to live our lives to the fullest. Bauby may not have before his stroke, but this documentation of his perseverances after show us that he certainly did in later life.
4 stars out of 4
Horror films have a way of working themselves into their audiences' moviegoing lives. And despite the current laughable state of the genre, at some point in our lives, we've all shuddered during moments of terror, let out screams as a killer plots his next move against unsuspecting victims. And then there's the calling card of horror - the slasher sequence. Who among us can claim never to have hidden their eyes during such a scene? And as people who've experienced these noted side effects of the genre, we owe a debt to Alfred Hitchcock's 1960 genre-definer, Psycho.
In discussing such a film, the temptation strikes to give you its resume - the numerous accolades it's received over the years. Take a quick look at the IMDb or the American Film Institute website, and you'll find all you need - everything from its elevated ranking among the greatest films of all time to deserved recognition for Bernard Herrmann's chilling soundtrack, as much a factor to the film's invocation of fear as the fates of its characters.
Indeed, it is hard to dispute Psycho's sterling reputation in film history, especially within its genre. Admirably filmed so as not to appear dated nearly 50 years later, its depictions of sexuality and violence were nothing short of revolutionary, blurring the lines between "acceptable" and "taboo" in cinema. And then there's its villain, murderous psychopath Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins) - among the most haunting characters in history. But a perfect movie? Not quite. Sorry, but this one isn't even Hitchcock's best.
Janet Leigh's performance as Marion Crane tends to get top billing in this movie, especially after her infamous shower sequence, but this is really an unfair presentation. Indeed, Crane kick-starts the story by stealing $40,000 from an employer, ultimately leading her to the ominous Bates mansion and accompanying motel. It is a testament to Hitchcock's skills as a director that the film is as thrilling as it is even before she meets its namesake. Her adventures are such that stumbling upon the empty, darkened motel comes as a great relief, to both character and audience alike.
But beyond this, and her final piercing scream, her role is non-existent. The true terror of the movie comes as we get to know Bates, which only happens once Crane's sister Lila (Vera Miles) and lover, Sam (John Gavin) become involved after her disappearance.
The further they dig, the creepier Bates becomes - his mysterious mother and bizarre responses to simple interaction with other people rendering an earlier development, his unorthodox hobby of taxidermy, seem almost normal. And through it all, Perkins handles the role with an effortless grace that makes it that much more believable and thus that much scarier.
We grow to realize that Bates is truly mentally ill, that he really is a psychopath. This makes sense; the film's title is, after all, "Psycho," not merely "Killer." In theory, such a designation could only enhance the story. The criminal's true motives can no longer be clearly identified; we now have to deal with the origins of his condition, his awareness of the crimes he's committing, and countless other factors.
And for as important a development as this is, it's a bit disappointing to see Hitchcock and Co. handle its realization on film so poorly. We get the explanation all at once, placed in such a spot of the movie so as to completely kill any momentum it'd built up throughout. As a result, we're left with a poor aftertaste in our mouth, one that returns an otherwise classic to the realms of mere mortals.
3 stars out of 4
Let's get one thing straight right off the bat: Trailer Park Boys: The Movie is stupid. Undeniably so - one of the stupidest movies you'll ever see. It suffers from haphazard, mockumentary-style filmmaking (as per the hit Canadian TV show from which it was adapted), poor storytelling (and, let's face it, a poor story to tell) and above all, a cast of petty criminals and druggies who are often too bizarre to be taken seriously. It's not quite the level of artistry you'd expect from a high-schooler, but it's not too far off, either.
But with that stupidity, series creator/director Mike Clattenberg may just be onto something. The movie may have all of these negative qualities going for it, but it also has a true positive in its originality. You don't get that seeing the same old Will Ferrell/John C. Reilly shtick rehashed for the umpteenth time. Indeed, there's a certain quirkiness to these Trailer Park Boys, one of whom lives out of his car and another in a garden shed. And it strikes you in such a way that, by the end of the movie, you kind of start to like them.
That would appear to be the case, anyway. The TV program recently wrapped up the seventh season of adventures for Ricky (Robb Wells), Julian (John Paul Tremblay) and Bubbles (Mike Smith, doing his best impersonation of the legendary "Milton," from Office Space). Their "universe" - a Nova Scotia trailer park called Sunnyvale - is an odd one, but its inhabitants and the situations they find themselves in truly make one appreciate what we have in the real world. Which, for a movie of this sort, is certainly an achievement.
Early on in the film, Ricky and Julian are sent to prison for 18 months for robbing a gas station. Once they're released, though, they find some major changes underway in Sunnyvale. Ricky returns home to find the stability of his family life falling apart. His girlfriend, Lucy, has taken up stripping at a local gentleman's club, and may or may not have become a lesbian, and their cigarette-smoking daughter (all of about 9 years old, mind) has started stealing barbecue grills and selling them at flea markets. I could go on, but why ruin all the surprises?
Their time in prison has left the boys with a newfound desire for pulling off "The Big Dirty," a dimwitted new scheme that involves stealing large amounts of change. If there's any shock to the revelation that this plan trumps all their earlier crimes, it will be nullified once you meet their crew - including a pair of inept stoners who ride around on a snowmobile and Ricky's father, who pretends to be handicapped so as to claim disability checks from the government.
Throughout their quest, a multitude of things go wrong. And as each new bump in the road is reached, it's a testament to the stupidity of the movie that everything ultimately gets resolved. Sometimes, it's almost an insult to our collective intelligence as an audience the way they try and pass things off. A courtroom sequence that will decide the boys' fates sees their charges dropped almost at the snap of a finger for reasons that should, effectively, have prevented the case from even going to trial.
But at the same time, the boys set their stupidity in such a context so as to make it kind of enjoyable. Their brand of humor is not easily identified, initially. In fact, most of the time, it requires a good minute or two of thought to decipher. But that extra thought process reveals a new brand of hilarity, making the laughs deeper and more rewarding. I'd hesitate to encourage you to check it out, but if you go in expecting, you might just leave with a smile on your face.
1.5 stars out of 4
A movie's success is often measured by its degree of originality. Certainly, being well made and/or thought provoking can't hurt its chances, but ultimately, the reason to see a movie is for that little something new. What have they done differently? What haven't we seen before? This is especially true in the teen comedy genre - one formulaic and meandering almost by nature.
It seems director Jon Poll missed that memo before filming Charlie Bartlett. The film isn't entirely unlikable, but it sure does its best to seem that way. By offering up stale, second-rate versions of situations we've already encountered in similar movies, Poll and writer Gustin Nash turn what could have been promising into a disappointingly average flick.
We all know kids like Charlie Bartlett. He's that kid in high school who just wants to be popular, but who wants it so badly that his goal gets out of hand. Whether through our own personal experiences or through the countless teen comedies featuring similar protagonists, we've gotten to know people like him. There's also the misunderstood tough guy who turns to bullying for a fleeting sense of self-security. Oh, and the creepy, anonymous and possibly suicidal nerd and, of course, the sweet young girl who struggles with a parent on the school faculty. Been there, seen that.
That's the trouble with Charlie Bartlett - its characters and their conflicts are all so familiar to us going in that they come off even more mundanely than the first hundred times we saw them . The film wants to triumphantly win us over - the way Charlie (Anton Yelchin) wins over the world in his dream sequences. But instead we're left struggling to combat boredom as we would in an overly-long history class.
Which is not to say the movie's a total loss. If it can't uplift us through the emotional victories of its protagonist, we at least get the occasional chuckle from its fish-out-of-water satire as wealthy Charlie and his mother (Hope Davis) simultaneously adjust to his life as a public school student. Mischief and poor judgment have led to Charlie's expulsion from boarding school, and the obliviousness with which the Bartletts attempt to tackle their new arrangements is not only hilarious, but surprisingly accurate.
It seems that Poll thought this slightly redeeming quality, along with Yelchin's charisma and the mere presence of Robert Downey Jr. as school principal Nathan Gardner, would be enough to carry the movie to success. Those two work well enough together to carry Charlie Bartlett on their backs for a while, as Gardner contends with Charlie's mischief throughout the movie. Unfortunately, their luck runs out, and this overly-recycled take on the high-school comedy genre simply doesn't work out the way you'd hope.
1.5 stars out of 4
Apologies for the absurd delay in posting. It won't happen again, at least not until I get back to school.
I've been thinking of trying a new rating system. The "out-of-10" rating is gone, and I'll rely strictly on stars. The reason? Numbers, I've grown to realize, only make things more difficult. They invoke comparisons between movies that have no connection whatsoever to each other, and really just make things more difficult. A star system gives a broader scope of evaluating a movie's success, allowing one to express like or dislike for a movie without unnecessarily viewing it in terms of another movie's rating.
Just giving it a shot. Hope it works. And now...
