Seven Psychopaths

Seven Psychopaths is violent, funny, and a great time at the movies.

Here's the setup: screenwriter Colin Farrell has a deadline and no screenplay. I know – this sounds like every bad Creative Writing assignment that begins with “The writer sat at his desk, staring at the clock and wiping flop sweat from his brow.” But what if the next paragraph read, “Then Sam Rockwell turned up. He was the writer's best friend, and he ran a Hollywood dognapping operation with small-time crook Christopher Walken. They had a problem?”

Your reaction to that last sentence was predicated on your appreciation for Sam Rockwell and Christopher Walken, both of whom Can Do No Wrong (CDNW). Each of these guys are usually the best thing about whichever movie they're in, and they're both great here. That said, Seven Psychopaths is really the “How Awesome is Sam Rockwell?” movie, so Walken only dials it up to ten in this one. This is one of Seven Psychopaths' many smart moves: by giving Rockwell space to do his thing, it actually makes us appreciate Walken more. Further, Seven Psychopaths makes Farrell a straight man in service to Rockwell's over-the-top performance, and the former shows a remarkable gift for subtle comic timing.

[Aside: It has taken me a while to warm up to Farrell. He was fine in a pretty straightforward role in the odious Tigerland, then someone in Hollywood decided he was going to be the Next Big Thing and got him cast in travesties like Daredevil. He disappeared for a while, then came back strong with InBruges, Fright Night, and Seven Psychopaths. The man has a long way to go to claim CDNW status, but he's back on my radar.]

Of course, this is a film called Seven Psychopaths; so psychopaths do turn up, operatic volumes of blood do get spilled, and a good time is had by all. All this, plus a clever script, terrific performances, and laugh-out-loud moments make Seven Psychopaths my biggest and most pleasant surprise of the summer.

Hairspray

I sat down in front of HAIRSPRAY with my arms crossed. I was not in the mood for a musical. Two hours later, HAIRSPRAY had me tapping my foot and put a big smile on my face.

HAIRSPRAY is an energetic, colorful, lively, and fun musical that overcomes its jarring elements and delivers a first-rate entertainment experience.

So, let's talk about the jarring elements. First, there's John Travolta. Yeah, the guy's a hell of a dancer (if you can dance in a fat suit and sell it, then buddy, you can dance). But his Baltimore accent was horrible and I never once believed he was anyone other than John Travolta dragged up in a fat suit. Second, there's Christopher Walken. Frankly, I'm tired of Walken's playing against type in comic roles. Creep me out again, Chris! Third, there's the aggressive cheerfulness of the production itself. It's like one of those kids shows that knocks itself out trying to convince its audience how much gosh-darn fun its having.

But enough of that. James Marsden cements his position as one of the most fun to watch young actors working today. Michelle Pfieffer, in her second "wicked witch" role in recent memory has always been one of the most fun to watch actresses in the business. Nikki Blonsky is delightful as the lead, and the whole thing rocks along with a wink and a smile and has so much gosh-darn fun that you can't help but wink and smile along.

What a pleasant surprise.

Balls of Fury

Remember Maggie Q, the single best thing about MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE: 3? She was so striking in that red dress that, when she turned up in BALLS OF FURY, I decided to write my review as if BOF were a Maggie Q vehicle, as if hers was the only story being told. But you know what? BALLS OF FURY taught me that a little Maggie Q goes a long way. 15 seconds of her in a red dress may capture the imagination, but twenty minutes of her in bikini-style workout gear only makes us realize that she has the body of a malnourished teenager. Combine that with an on-screen personality that, while pleasant enough, isn't particularly interesting, and it wasn't long before I was wishing that she'd get off the screen so Christopher Walken could have more time to camp it up.

BALLS OF FURY is broad comedy, not a deep one. It's a collection of gags slapped on to an ENTER THE DRAGON chassis, and that's fine, if you're ok with 86 minutes of "Ping Pong is a Silly Game" gags. I was sufficiently ok with it to chuckle now and then, occasionally smile, and otherwise lose track of time. Christopher Walken appears to be having a great time delivering a bad Christopher Walken impression, it's always fun to spend some time with James Hong and Terry Crews, and some guy named Thomas Lennon steals the show as a pompous German antagonist.

I could see stopping on BALLS OF FURY if I'm clicking through the channels on a hotel tv some night, but I couldn't see going out of my way for it again. Your mileage may vary.

Wedding Crashers

WEDDING CRASHERS has its moments, but it's ultimately unsuccessful for two reasons: the comedy runs out in the third act and the villain is just too evil.

We've all been to comedies in which story overtakes the humour in the last act, so I won't belabor the point. I'm more interested in the concept of the comedy villain and how WEDDING CRASHERS goes wrong in this regard.

WC's villain is one Sack Lodge, played by Bradley Cooper. Lodge is evil and vicious. Not funny, not idiosyncratic, not an otherwise interesting Baxter. He's just plain evil and vicious. Evil and vicious is not funny. Consequently, the character is a comedy black hole whenever he appears on screen. Not only does he not radiate funny, he sucks the funny out of all surrounding scenes.

In contrast, consider Ben Stiller's White Goodman in DODGEBALL. Goodman's the villain, but he's ridiculous enough to be nonthreatening and, consequently, funny. In Dodgeball, the Goodman character's just villainous enough, just over the top enough, to both keep the story moving and keep the laughter flowing. I with WC's producers had brought Rawson Thurber, DODGEBALL's writer, aboard for a scrub before this production began. He would've known what to do with his villain. He could've taken WEDDING CRASHERS from merely ok to very good.

Unfortunately, they didn't and WEDDING CRASHERS is the worse for it. Too bad.

Undertaking Betty

UNDERTAKING BETTY is a thoroughly inoffensive, moderately amusing, ultimately forgettable trifle of a romantic comedy. It rocks along pleasantly enough for an hour and a half, ends on an up note, succeeds in everything it tries to do.

The whole movie gets set up in the opening scene: a girl at a school dance attracts the notice of a shy young boy. Before the boy can work up the courage to ask her to dance, a more confident boy steps in and sweeps her away. Since Movie Law demands that whomever catches our eye in our preadolescence is destined to be our One True Love, she still pines for the boy, now all grown up and played by Alfred Molina. She (Brenda Blethyn) married the confident one, who grew up to be a jerk who's playing around with Naomi Watts. There's your romantic comedy framework, and here's your twist: Molina is the undertaker in their quiet Welsh town, and he's in dire competition with an evil American interloper who wants to "put the fun back in funeral." Christopher Walken plays the American, and he has great fun hamming it up.

And there really isn't much to say beyond that setup. UNDERTAKING BETTY never elicited so much as a chuckle, but it was reasonably nice, reasonably fun, and entirely pleasant. Should you go out of your way to see it? No. But you may enjoy having it on in the background while you're folding laundry.