Live Free or Die Hard

LIVE FREE OR DIE HARD is the best "Die Hard" movie since the original.

Yeah, I read all the bellyaching about this being "Die Hard in Name Only." Y'know what? I don't care. I don't care about the sanctity of the John McLane character. I don't care about the formulae used in previous outings. Just tell me a story. And while you're at it, blow some stuff up.

LIVE FREE tells me a story. And it blows lots of stuff up. The scenario is actually one that folks in government worry about a lot: an orchestrated cyber attack on the US that locks up our transportation, shuts down our financial networks, and eliminates communication. Granted, LIVE FREE embellishes the magnititude and drama of such a scenario, but it also features a guy shooting down a helicopter with a car. Not in a car - with a car. So that more than makes up for it. While this is happening, McClane must "get the guy to the place," a reliable quest formula well in keeping with storytelling tradition. Speaking of storytelling traditions, this film departs from previous "Die Hard" movies in that John McLean has gone from the modernist, vulnerable American hero model to the near-invincible Northern European version. He's Beowulf with male pattern baldness, and that's ok. Did I mention that he shoots down another helicopter with hydrant water? There's also some stuff in there about reconciling with his daughter (Mary Elizabeth Winstead, an actress with a long career ahead of her) and helping the Guy He's Got to Get to the Place find his inner hero. Oh, and he leaps from a collapsing structure onto a moving Joint Strike Fighter and essentially surfs the thing all the way to the deck. Awesome.

LIVE FREE seamlessly combines CGI with practical stunts. It has well-choreographed fights and action set-pieces. Justin Long does his schtick, but it hasn't worn out yet. Timothy Olyphant, while no Alan Rickman, makes for a fine villain. The whole zips right along, and, even at 130 minutes, I never once looked at my watch. If you like stuff blowing up real good, and you like the Northern European heroic tradition, and you like the idea of a guy finishing off a deadly villain by crashing an SUV into her in a an elevator shaft, this movie is for you.

It was for me.

Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla

GODZILLA VS. MECHAGODZILLA is the best of the mid-'70s, Showa series of Godzilla films. It was made to commemorate the 20th anniversary of GOJIRA and, though it was directed by the same Jun Fukuda who made the embarrassing GODZILLA VS. MEGALON, it delivers a solid story, fun and creative new monsters, and a knock down, drag out final battle in which something is actually at stake. Sure, it defies the laws of mathematics (1-1≠1), but that's ok. It's just nice to see the big grey guy return to form.

IN GVM, jumpsuit-clad aliens, cleverly disguised as Japanese people, plot to conquer the Earth by first neutralizing Godzilla, then inundating us with bad animation (Oh, my God! They've already won! They're here already! You're next! You're next, You're next!). Ok, so I made up that last part. Work with me here - I'm trying to review that which is essentially unreviewable. Still, they plan to take over the world, they need to fight Godzilla, and they build a giant robotic Godzilla, a mechagodzilla, if you will, to take him on. Now Godzilla may be a match for the entire Japanese military, but there's something a rocket fired from a mechagodzilla finger that makes it do things that a rocket fired from an everyday, human-operated rocket launcher can't do. In fact, it represents so much danger that the film must make time for an elaborate subplot that introduces King Caesar, a monster whose design is not, thankfully, as redundant as his name. King Caesar (or King King, perhaps, in the translation) is basically an anthropomorphic lion god with a particular affinity for monarchy. When the descendant of an ancient Japanese emperor calls upon him, he rises from hibernation and joins the battle.

The battle has pop, and it intercuts well with the efforts of the human cast to confront the aliens directly. The monster suits are, generally speaking, in great shape, and the whole thing feels like an actual movie. In fact, I enjoyed viewing it, which is something I haven't been able to write about a Godzilla movie for quite some time. If I had to watch another Showa Godzilla picture, this would be the one.

That's not faint praise.

In The Valley of Elah

IN THE VALLEY OF ELAH had me right up until the very last shot.

For most of the film's running time, it's a reasonably effective portrait of a man dealing with the most devastating news imaginable: the death of the youngest and last of his children. When the man, a former Army detective played by Tommy Lee Jones, travels to his son's Army Fort to find out what happened, he learns that his son was the victim of a gruesome murder. Jason Patric (who was absolutely brilliant in RUSH - Netflix it today!) is the Army investigator assigned to the case, and Charlize Theron is the local deputy. Between them, Jones doesn't know if he's getting help or the runaround. But he's got to hold it together and try to figure things out.

So ELAH runs as a devastating portrait and a fascinating mystery. But Paul Haggis, who wrote both this and the execrable CRASH, wouldn't know finess if it shat in his Wheaties. By the end, he takes the film to bombastic ground, though Jones's performance holds the picture together. At the very end, however, Haggis includes a moment so hamhanded, so ridiculous that it spoils the whole thing.

IN THE VALLEY OF ELAH. Turn it off with about five minutes to go, and you'll find it a fine film. Stick to the credits, however, and you'll throw your shoe at the screen. Bah.

Zoom: Academy for Superheroes

ZOOM: ACADEMY FOR SUPERHEROES is a bitter, cynical movie by and about bitter, cynical people.

It stars Tim Allen as a bitter, cynical former superhero who is kidnapped by bitter, cynical U.S. government operatives and forced to train four unlikeable white kids with superpowers. Do Allen and the kids bond, learn to harness their powers, and both show up the gov’t and overcome the world-threatening villain? C’mon – was this movie made by bitter, cynical people? Of course they do. That’s the formula.

That’s not to say that formulae are bad, as long as they’re executed well. ZOOM is not executed well. Its jokes are lame. Its villains are lame. Its heroes are super lame. Even its special effects, which should be a no-brainer with a major studio film, are lame. This is the movie that gets wrong everything that SKY HIGH got right. Don’t even bother.

Godzilla vs. Gigan

GODZILLA VS. GIGAN is one of the weaker entries in the late '60s - early '70s Godzilla ouvre (Yes, I just used the word ouvre in a review of a Godzilla movie. Sue me.). The monster costumes look worn, the story is boring, and even King Ghidorah can't bring a sense of fun or adventure to the proceedings.

How weak is it? I repeatedly checked my watch during the climactic battle, which seemed like it went on forever. If there's one thing a Godzilla movie is supposed to be about, it's the climactic battle. If a picture can't even sell this one crucial element, it is well and truly lost.

What's the story? I saw this picture a couple of days ago, and already I can barely remember it. Something about aliens taking over the world using Gigan and King Ghidorah, and Godzilla getting in there and saving the day. But the movie just doesn't sell it. The acting is ghastly, the production values low, and the whole thing a general embarrassment.

If you're a Godzilla completist, go ahead and knock yourself out with GODZILLA VS. GIGAN. Otherwise, steer well clear. This thing is a monstrous failure.

Stardust

I just plain adored STARDUST.

It's a Maguffin chase / coming of age story in the world of faerie, but with a twist. The Maguffin is a fallen star; but in this world, fallen stars walk, talk, and look an awful lot like Claire Danes. Where do I sign? The comer of age is a young man (Charlie Cox), who crosses into Faerie to retrieve said star as a token of his love for one Sienna Miller, the prettiest girl in town. But he's not the only one who wants her. There's Michelle Pfeiffer as a refreshingly old-school, ruthless witch who wants to cut out her heart and eat it. And there's Mark Strong as a son of the king: he wants to cut out Claire's heart [i]and[/i] steal her jewelry. And what about the pirate with the familiar-looking mole on his cheek? What's he up to, anyway?

So here's a movie that gives us a number of different threads, managing lightly to skip among them without getting tangled in them. Its villains are menacing without being terrifying, its love interests are well and truly lovable, and it manages to gain and maintain and sweet, lighthearted, wonderful tone from beginning to end.

It's no secret that I'm a sucker for writer Neil Gaiman's artistic viewpoint, and he doesn't disappoint with STARDUST. In a week in which I've been hammered with two dreary movies masquerading as adventures, what a delight to find an adventure as joyful, as imaginative, as lovely as STARDUST. What a winner.

Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End

PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: AT WORLD'S END (POTC 3, henceforth) isn't very good. It wants to be an exciting, family-friendly adventure, but it begins with the hanging of a child. Now, I now that to somebody in Studio City, nothing says "entertainment" like the twitching feet of a dying juvenile. But I hate to break it to you, buddy: you hamstrung yourself very early on. The stakes are too high here, the villains too villainous, the deaths too real for POTC 3 to be fun. Yet this is a POTC movie, not NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN, so it's not like you were going to sell it as a drama.

Early pall aside, POTC 3 makes no sense. It would have us believe that Pax Brittania was a bad thing, that the world is much better off with pirates disrupting the global economy than with trading vessels being able to ply the seas, and that the life of a felon is somehow noble. The earlier POTC movies at least kept the pirates morally ambiguous - here, they're good guys who do a little raping and pillaging in their spare time.

And yet, POTC 3 does have some things to recommend it. The performances are great fun, with Geoffrey Rush and Bill Nighy chewing the scenery with gusto comparable to Johnny Depp. The special effects are magnificent, and the set design is out of this world.

If only the movie hadn't gone so dark so early, it might have swept me away. Alas.

Local Hero

In his review of LOCAL HERO, Roger Ebert writes, "Nothing is more absorbing than human personalities, developed with love and humor." Mr. Ebert is absolutely right, and LOCAL HERO delivers this with just the right mixture of wisdom and generosity.

LOCAL HERO is the sweet, almost whimsical tale of a young oil company negotiator, the seaside Scottish village he's sent to buy, and the love affair between them. I went in half dreading an anti-industrialization screed, but LOCAL HERO knows what it's about far too well to fall into such a simple and obvious trap. Instead, the film uses its running time to create a sense of people and place, allowing us to observe them and it as the negotiator (Peter Riegert, in a role that makes me wonder whatever happened to Peter Riegert) falls in with the village's rhythms. It's a comedy, but not of the knee slapping variety. It seeks to share a smile with us as we cluck over the people we love, and it seeks to make us feel at home in a place we've never been.

There's nothing in LOCAL HERO for my inner adolescent, but my inner adolescent is in time out after leading me into RUSH HOUR 3. LOCAL HERO is the perfect antidote to that inanity: a charming, thoughtful, observant picture about human personalities, developed with love and humor. As Mr. Ebert says, nothing is more absorbing.

Rush Hour 3

Move over, EVAN ALMIGHTY. You have competition for the title of "Worst film of 2007."

At least EVAN ALMIGHTY cared enough about its viewership to condescend to it. It's the filmic equivalent of Meryl Streep telling us to think about the children. By comparison, RUSH HOUR 3 is a three card monte dealer. It's bilking the suckers and moving on, never looking back. I saw it at 3:00 am on an intercontinental flight (Side note: Gulf Air flight attendants wear "I Dream of Jeannie" veils. It's adorable!), so at least it didn't take my money. It did cheat me out of viewing LARS AND THE REAL GIRL, however, so I can at least hate it for that. I think.

Here's the hook: Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker team up once again. This time, they're fighting -- aww, who the hell cares? They're fighting Standard Villain #4, telling lousy jokes, and sleepwalking through the entire film. There are no funny jokes. There are no interesting stunts. There is absolutely no reason whatsoever to see this film, and this is coming from a die hard Jackie Chan fan.

What a disappointment.

Michael Clayton

MICHAEL CLAYTON's biggest sin is that it's just plain boring. The film gives us no reason to root for George Clooney, Tilda Swinton, or anyone else in the film. I didn't care about this guy's life or his problems, and I wound up shutting off the movie right around the beginning of the third act.

Will someone tell my why this is getting critical acclaim (says the only guy on Earth who doesn't hate ZARDOZ)?

Gone Baby Gone

Since I'm unfamiliar with South Boston, I can't comment on the veracity Ben Affleck's vision of that locale and the people who live there. I can, however, say that his portrayal felt sufficiently true that it almost made me forget that I was looking at actors, as opposed to real Dorchester residents.

I say "almost" because right there, in the middle of the movie, there pops up the perfect complement to "The Wire" veteran Amy Ryan: Omar himself, one Mister Michael K. Williams. Here, Williams plays a straight-shooting cop and deliverer of inside dope to hero Casey Affleck. One can hope that, should GONE BABY GONE inspire sequels, Williams's role will grow.

But that's neither here nor there. What matters is that, with GONE BABY GONE, Ben Affleck has gone and crafted a genuinely excellent film. Here's a movie that I thought was finished around halfway through, then took me into completely unexpected territory. Maybe I'm a sucker, but I didn't see any of the later developments coming, and I appreciated the ride and the director's faith in that ride.

GONE BABY GONE looks great, or as great as I suppose South Boston can look. It's well written, well shot, and well performed. Good on you, Mr. Affleck.

The 3 Worlds of Gulliver

THE 3 WORLDS OF GULLIVER is a bright, colorful, child-friendly telling of the Lilliput and Brobdingnag portions of [u]Gulliver's Travels[/u]. Ray Harryhausen handled the special effects far and Kerwyn Matthews offers yeoman's service in this rendition, and it works for its intended audience.

I've managed to get my boy into silent comedy, [i]kaiju[/i], and classic monster movies, but I've been having trouble with those films from what I think of as the "technicolor era." Those riotously colorful pictures from the late '50s and early '60s have a lot to offer, but something about them has been putting him off. Not so with THE 3 WORLDS OF GULLIVER. The bright palette complements the broadly drawn characters, and the broadly drawn characters entertain and (God forbid!) teach.

Is there much there for mom and dad? Not really. If, however, you consider providing introductions to Jonathan Swift and Ray Harryhausen part of your parental duties, this picture kills two birds with one stone.

You could do worse.

The Apple

I’m having trouble getting a handle on THE APPLE.

It’s a rock opera telling of the end time story of the Book of Revelations. It was produced by Yorum Globus and Menachem Goldman (who later made a great deal of money producing cheesy ‘80s action films under their Cannon shingle) and directed by Goldman, with George Clinton helping out with musical duties. It equates David Bowie’s classic glam rock, gender-bending schtick with the Devil, and makes hippies the 144,000 (The same actor plays both the hippie leader and God, who manifests himself to the flower children as the driver of a pimped out Cadillac.). I can only assume that nearly everyone involved with the film was coked out of their minds during the entire production cycle.

Here’s your synopsis: a couple of really sappy ‘70s balladeers (basically The Carpenters, but with less talent. A lot less talent.), get noticed by the Devil, who owns a music company so powerful that it actually controls the government. Mr. Boogaloo (who would later go on to electrify the world of break dancing) tries to seduce the wholesome songsters into the evil world of glam rock, but only one of them bites the (literal and figurative) apple. You can guess which one. From there, it’s a short hop to everyone but the hippies wearing the Mark of the Beast, the fallen seeking forgiveness, God rolling in in that ghastly, tacky Cadillac.

That’s your story, but this is a rock opera. How are the songs? They’re horrible. Unlistenable. Ghastly. Um, really, really bad. The folkies suck. The glammers embarrass themselves. There isn’t a single hummable tune in the whole thing. In fact, the production numbers are so bad that even though they’re the reason for the film’s existence, they feel like interruptions.

But what is THE APPLE trying to tell us? Here’s a movie about Revelation, made by a couple of Jewish guys, that feels like an unholy alliance between the Christian Coalition and the Chicago Seven. It’s the product of a metropolitan film and music industry that feels more at home in Early-‘70s Middle American sexual discomfiture than the free love ethos of the hippies it sanctifies. It stands for nothing that I can see, leaving it a weird mishmash of messages, images, and bad music.

THE APPLE has absolutely nothing to recommend it, whatsoever. Nevertheless, I respect a movie like this more than EVAN ALMIGHTY, my current example of the archetypical mass market product. Golan and Globus failed, but they failed greatly.
There’s some honor in that, at least.

Eastern Promises

What a pleasure to watch a great artist at the top of his game.

David Cronenberg is one of the filmmakers who showed me that the medium could be used for more than assembly-line product. From VIDEODROME to THE FLY to DEAD RINGERS to NAKED LUNCH, here was a guy who was willing to tackle uncomfortable and difficult subjects through characters who felt like real people. Cronenberg made honest, artful but not artsy, films of which anyone could be proud.

He didn’t always connect with popular audiences, however, and it seems that he tried to appeal to mainstream adults with his last two films, the brilliant A HISTORY OF VIOLENCE and his most recent, EASTERN PROMISES. Thing is, for a guy as skilled as Cronenberg, appealing to a mainstream adult audience and selling out are not the same thing. Rather, he has figured out how to make challenging, adult fare with broad appeal. These last two movies are as serious, as legitimate, as anything he’s done. They also pop, keeping the viewer engaged and enrapt from beginning to end.

With EASTERN PROMISES, he kept this viewer engaged and enrapt even after the end. Though this film tells a complete story, that story is one of a chapter in the lives of its characters. But these characters, played by a stellar cast including Viggo Mortensen, Naomi Watts, Armin Mueller-Stahl, and Vincent Cassel, are so compelling that I’ve been spending much of the last 18 hours thinking about how they came to the beginning of the film, and where they went after the ending.

Here’s the hook: Watts is a midwife in a London hospital. When a young Russian prostitute dies on the birthing table, Watts finds the diary in the prostitute’s handbag. Hoping to find the girl’s relatives and place the newborn infant, she has the diary translated. But young Russian prostitutes are not independent, and soon Watts has the attention of the Russian mob. Enter Mortensen, a low-level driver in the organization, and we’re off.

Watts gave a masterful performance. I completely bought her as a lower-middle class Londoner, just as I completely bought Mortensen (also brilliant in HISTORY) as the Russian driver. Speaking of performances, both Armin Mueller-Stahl and Vincent Cassel, both cast against type, absolutely shine in this film. If you’re going to perform on this stage, you’d better bring your A game. They do, and the doubt and unpredictability created by going against the viewer’s expectations of these actors pays off wonderfully well.

I started these comments with my closer, so I can only reiterate it. I would, however, like to add a small explanation of my choice of words. Mr. Cronenberg has worked with the same people for years. The same crew, the same costume designer, the same composer. As far as I’m concerned, they’re all great. There are so many talented people involved in creating a film, however, that it’s easier to anthropomorphize the entire process in the form of one individual, the director, than to detail the individual contributions of all those involved.

Perhaps I should have written that it’s a pleasure to watch great artists at the top of their game. It’s just as true. EASTERN PROMISES is well worth seeing.

Zardoz

Remember that old Star Trek episode where hippies took over the Enterprise? ZARDOZ is the kind of movie those hippies might have made.

It’s a psychedelic science fiction morality tale that’s both deeply grounded in the Western liberal arts tradition and deeply distrustful of it. In the film, the world has gone to hell. Zed, played by Sean Connery, is a horseman and a raider who follows the warrior god Zardoz, who appears to be a giant flying granite head. When Zardoz takes him to an enclave of civilization (as defined by the Western liberal arts tradition), he’s horrified to see beautiful people engaged in intellectual pursuits while, on the outside, barbarians fight, starve, and die in the cold. Kind of like how a Darfur refugee might feel if a giant flying granite head transported him to Saint John’s College.

The Eloi, for lack of a better term, are better than Johnnies, however. First, their women dress like those hippies from Star Trek, but without television’s costume restrictions. That’s right – nearly all the exposition and philosophy in this movie issues from the mouths of partially clad young women. There’s your entertainment value, right there. Second, they’re functionally immortal. Third, their revelry in the western intellectual heritage appears to be confined to works taught in nearly every college prep curriculum in the English-speaking world, so the reasonably educated viewer can indulge in the fantasy that he or she is an Eloi, too.

That’s plenty of fun, and there’s a certain amount of ironic entertainment to be had with the film’s hippie vibe, but there’s something else happening here, too. John Boorman, who wrote and directed this film, is trying to make an art movie with ZARDOZ. The film opens with a Shakespeare-style prologue, given by a Feste-like character who, we later discover, has a deep love for drama. With this prologue, Boorman tells us that ZARDOZ is not supposed to be just another sci-fi romp, but a meditation on the nature of belief, the duality of man, the class system, and the dangers of shutting oneself off from the world. Sure, this is all stuff that H.G. Wells, Fritz Lang, and even Gene Roddenberry hit time and time again, but one can’t deny a certain something about Boorman’s psychedelic take on the material. By the time the Fool commits his last foolish act, we find that we’ve actually bought into the trippy world of ZARDOZ, we actually care about what happens to Zed, and we’re actually thinking about the place of higher learning in a world beset by tragedy.

All this and gratuitous nudity, to boot. Color me surprised: ZARDOZ is actually a good time at the movies. Who knew?

Underdog

UNDERDOG is poorly written, poorly performed, and so incredibly clichéd that no adult could possibly embrace it.

That’s ok. Adults aren’t UNDERDOG’s target audience. My 7-yr-old, on the other hand, thinks it’s terrific. I’ve lost track of the number of times he’s spun it up.

UNDERDOG follows the adventures of a beagle who has gained a variety of superpowers, the ability to speak English, and a psychology remarkably similar to that of a 13-yr-old boy. He’s adopted by Jim Belushi and his son, an unremarkable actor whose name I can’t recall at the moment. Belushi and the boy never click, and they’re unable to sell the idea that they’re related. There are love interests for dog and boy, I couldn’t buy them, either. In fact, I couldn’t buy any of the relationships or characters this film offered.

But at least Peter Dinklage and Patrick Warburton, who play the villains, realize that they’re in a movie that isn’t trying to sell actual human relationships or concerns. They tear into the scenery with gusto, creating such fun (and evil but ultimately nonthreatening) villains, that they alone make this film bearable for mom and dad.

Yes, UNDERDOG has bodily-function jokes. Yes, UNDERDOG has silly sight gags. Yes, UNDERDOG has a giant bundle of dynamite with one of those red digital countdown timers. And yes, UNDERDOG is a shameless product designed to entertain kids while allowing their parents to indulge in a bit of nostalgia. But who am I to condemn it? I loved THE SHAGGY D.A. when I was my son’s age, and he’ll have to sit through similar pap when he has kids of his own.

So, UNDERDOG. There it is. If your kid’s a dog person, he or she will love it. You’d do well to bring a book and peek over the top when the villains are onscreen. Mom and dad, sometimes you’ve got to take your victories where you can find them.

No, really - I still watch movies

Well, not that many right now, actually. I'm doing a great deal of travelling for work, and I just can't get to the computer as often as I'd like. Come back in a few more weeks, and I'll be up and running again.

Scooby-Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed

Some time back, I wrote this about SCOOBY-DOO: "Perhaps the greatest mystery is how this certain trainwreck turned out to be a fun, enjoyable picture."

SD2, while not a trainwreck, is bigger, louder, and not nearly as much fun. It falls victim to the sequel's standard pitfall: it gives us more and more and more of the same, but it doesn't give us much to hook our imaginations.

Bummer.

PS My child laughed all the way through it, so YSMMV. (Your Spawn's Mileage May Vary.)

Capote

Hi gang,

The blog has been running in fits and starts lately. I'm too busy to see many films, much less write about them, but hang in there: I expect to have more time for film in the next few weeks. For now, here are some thoughts on CAPOTE.

The more I think about CAPOTE, the less I like it.

The film utterly absorbed me as it unspooled, but in retrospect it
seems like a fabulous confection. It looks great and it tastes
wonderful on first bite, but once I start chewing, there's nothing
there. So Capote is just like Perry. I get it. What else have you
got?

The Kid

The new year is barely two weeks old, and I already have a movie memory for the ages.

There's a scene in THE KID during which the '20s equivalent of Child Protective Services shows up to deliver young Jackie Coogan from the loving squalor of life with tramp Charlie Chaplin. It's heart-rending stuff, as the kid screams for the only father he's ever known and the tramp tries everything he can think of to save his son. I was into it, as I always am, but I took a moment to glance over and see how it was working for my seven-year-old.

He was horrified and heartsick and totally, completely captivated. I won't forget the look on his face as he whispered, "Go, go!" for a long time.

Later, there was laughter, and the ending sewed everything up nicely. But what a delight to see THE KID capture the imagination of my kid, as it has mine for so many viewings. Surely, this film deserves its place in the canon.