Having always been a fan of the old school Universal monster films I was intrigued when I heard about a Wolfman movie. Naturally this was a cash in on the wolf phenomenon created by the Twilight films, but the concept of breathing life in one of the untouched franchises was an interesting concept. Sadly the film was no where close to what was expected. Instead of an exciting thriller, we get a dull, boring film that features Anthony Hopkins hanging around the house acting crazy.
The film stars Benicio Del Toro as Lawrence Talbot, a stage actor who returns home upon the death of his brother. Left at the Talbot estate are his brother’s fiancé Gwen (Emily Blunt) and the patriarch of the Talbot clan Sir John (Hopkins). You can guess what happens next- Larry gets bit and turns into one of those ill famed creatures of the night while being hunted by Inspector Abbeline (Hugo Weaving).
The problem with The Wolfman is that it tries to be so much more than it really should be. After looking at the running time I could have sworn it was forty minutes longer than it really was. The film drags on and on with nothing happening. Of course when something does happen it is either lukewarm at best or fails miserably to the point of being campy. The “wolf-out” effects are great, but they’re totally wasted throughout the film. I know there were problem when putting this together; a revolving door of directors, actors, and probably two dozen scripts. If these are the root problems then it shows. The Wolfman is lackluster at best, a totally forgettable film that really does nothing other than make the viewer long for the original film. This is your typical big, fat, dud.
Let’s just say it right now: 9 ½ Weeks is really a high end Skinemax flick. There’s no plot. There’s no real acting. There’s nothing believable in this thing. You could hyave replaced Kim Basinger with Marilyn Chambers and Mickey Rourke with any random Hollywood actor under the age of thirty and make the same quality of film.
The story goes like this: John (Rourke) meets Elizabeth (Basinger), who runs an art gallery in New York. He flirts. She says no. Then says yes. They do the no pants dance. John humiliates her. She almost leaves. No pants dance. Repeat. There’s your film. Basinger’s character is a dishrag not only for John, but for the film itself. She’s just set dressing and that’s it. No real depth at all. John is even more shallow. He wears a siuit, works in an office, and is really into humiliation. The only use for this film a quarter of a century later is to make us realize that at least we’re not aging as bad as Mickey Rourke. This film is crap.
As Hot Tub Time Machine opens we see Lou (Rob Corddry) slide is 1979 Trans Am into his garage, shut the door, down a little vodka, a little Russian energy drink and hit the gas. Of course none of these things can go together without dire circumstances, but what better way to go, eh? Lou’s moment of stupidity is interpreted by his friends (John Cusack and Craig Robinson) as a suicide attempt and they decide to cheer old Lou up by taking him to the ski resort they partied at during their ‘80’s hey day. Sadly, the whole area seems to have been a victim of the ‘00’s bust and the once swinging resort is now a dump. Our quartet, with the addition of Cusack’s character’s nephew Jacob (Clarke Duke), end up in the hot tub, where hilarity, drunkenness, and hallucinations ensue. The thing is that when the guys wake up the following morning they have returned to one wile weekend in 1986 that seems to be the hinge of their lives.
We should have expected and onslaught of films that will ride on the coat tails of The Hangover. This is Hollywood we’re talking about. If there’s a nickel to be squeezed from a genre then the studio will have a juicer handy. Hot Tub Time Machine, though not as funny as The Hangover, is still a funnier film than most of the schlock appearing on screens across the country. It’s kind of like an excessively vulgar Back to the Future, which is ironic since Crispin Glover is in this movie, too. This is a raunchy, dirty comedy; the kind kids sneak downstairs to watch on HBO at night.
The key to Hot Tub Time Machine is the characters. John Cusack plays his usual role that he has become the master of, a sort of modern day monk throwing out philosophical ideas while eating from a bag of shrooms. Robinson plays the guy that is devoted to his wife even at the expense of his dream. Duke is the nerd playing video games in the basement. It’s Corddry who plays the guy we all know. The guy with the stupid ideas. The guy that is turned to 11 all the time. He’s loud. He’s obnoxious. Everyone knows the character. It’s like there’s a factory producing this guy and they’re deliver to strategic points so that everyone gets their own fair share of bullshit. Corddry succeeds at becoming that pain in the ass.
The Road is another post-apocalyptic tales about life after God decides to smite most of us from the planet due to whatever would cause the Supreme Being to smite us at a particular time and place. The thing about The Road is that there is no build up to CGI explosions and the earth swallowing whatever it can get whole. This is purely the aftermath of such an event. There’s no real explanation about what happened. When you think about it with a worldwide cataclysm would there still be people offering explanations? There would only be a need for survival. Life is the most valuable commodity now.
What’s great about The Road is how ambiguous it is. The Man (Viggio Mortensen) and The Boy (Kodi Smit-McPhee) have one primary goal- to stay alive. Their secondary objective is to reach the ocean. With the fall of humanity this isn’t an easy objective as plundering and cannibalism reign supreme in this new land. The Man is also under the spell of the new world order, but is curtailed by the boy to show a little humanity by giving to others instead of taking and keeping all that he can get. It’s a road picture to no where, an atmosphere where death would be welcome because even hell would have to be better than this.
The Road is a bleak tale, shot with no color because there is no real color left in the world. There’s nothing for the eye to catch and appreciate because the eye is watching for someone who wants to take something. Director John Hillcoat delivers his first big motion picture in this adaptation of Cormac McCarthy’s novel. The film drives like a father teaching his son how to survive, yet the boy teachers the father more than each of them will ever know. Mortensen and Smit-McPhee develop an on screen relationship that is one of love. The father loves his son and wants him to survive, but is willing to lose him if this hell overtakes him, while the boy loves his father by showing him that there is nothing to lose by being human. Both actors bring this to the screen and being the two main players, carry the picture through its dark and deathly world.
Simply titled The Road on has to wonder if this is a look at the death of the earth with the insects of humanity scurrying along trying to survive in a world that will soon be a cold dead rock. The other question is does The Road offer any kind of hope for those same insects scurrying around with their shopping carts and limited supply of shotgun shells. By the end of the film it will be for the viewer to decide. The apocalypse isn’t as simple and easy as it is in movies. It’s a revolving door on where one thing should end and another should start.
Before starting my review of The Crying Game I must let you know that if you know the big plot twist in the film it isn’t a major turning point in the film and doesn’t take away from the overall experience. If you don’t know the twist, then forget I said anything.
A British solider named Jody (Forrest Whittaker) is kidnapped by IRA terrorists and held for ransom, mainly a prisoner exchange. While being held at a small, deserted farmstead in the woods he befriends Fergus (Steven Rea), one of his captors who butts heads with his fellow IRA colleague Jude (Miranda Richardson). After the abrupt death of Jody and an attack by British troops, Fergus travels to London to fulfill a promise he made Jody to look in on the love of his life Dil (Jaye Davidson). A relationship blossoms between this rough and tumble singer and the ex-IRA terrorist that is threatened to be torn apart by his past.
Like films such as Full Metal Jacket, The Crying Game feels like two films combined into one. Opening in Ireland and the events with Jody, the picture drops us into a completely different world in which clubbing and living the lifestyle are king. There is nothing left for Fergus to fight for in this rich new land, except for Dil and the ghost of Jody that seems to haunt him as he goes along. Neil Jordan delivers a film that is hypnotic in the way it operates and flows from scene to scene, even though we stay in the same familiar places in each section of the film.
Steven Rea is magnificent as the confused terrorist Fergus, originally confused by the war he was involved in and now confused by his relationship with Dil. Rea has real presence on the screen and achieves that sympathy that an actor in such a situation needs. Among the rest of the cast this is a well performed film with little to be ashamed about. It’s a fantastic film that travels without us going anywhere because of its performances.
Of course The Crying Game is remembered for one thing. It’s much more than that one particular scene and it still doesn’t change the overall tone of the film. A great film from the early 1990’s when movies were starting to climb from the doldrums of the 1980’s.
Fresh from his anti-Semitism world tour Mel Gibson is back in the role that made him a star- a vengeful father seeking justice. Gibson stars as Thomas Craven, whose daughter (Bojana Novakovic) returns for a visit home only to be gunned down walking out the front door of his home. Distraught, Craven begins his own investigation that seems to go beyond the original idea of someone aiming for vengeance against him. We’re talking real hard core conspiracy here- something that may end up killing him as well.
Edge of Darkness is a nice thriller directed by that 007 savior Martin Campbell. Gibson hasn’t lost much of a step since we saw him last, though his Boston accent is a little too Boston if you ask me. The acting isn’t really a problem with Edge of Darkness; it boils down to the plot. The thing about a revenge movie such as this is that it’s a very basic formula. Let’s look at a few that came before it. Death Wish, for example, has Charles Bronson’s wife murdered, his daughter raped, and him on a rampage killing nameless thugs in the dead of the night. Let’s look at Mel’s Mad Max. The second half is basically his wife and son getting ran over by the Toe Cutter and his crew with Max snapping and picking them off one by one in the leathers that all the ladies like. Let’s do one more- Taken from a couple of years ago. Daughter goes to Europe, gets kidnapped, Liam Neeson shows up, shoots the wives of old friends, kills numbers of people, rescues daughter. Do you notice the basic pattern with these films? The key word in that last sentence is BASIC. Revenge isn’t a complicated matter. It’s rather simple when you get right down to it.
Where Edge of Darkness falters is that it becomes way too complicated for its basic premise. You’ve got a huge conspiracy with left wing whackos, the right wing whacko, and the national government in general. You’ve got hidden computers and dead witnesses. Instead of a lone act in the night causing a seemingly normal man to snap you get a huge conspiracy that even Woodward and Bernstein couldn’t crack. This premise is good for a political thriller, but not the vengeance tale that this bills itself as.
I know I’m being a little picky about this. It just seems like a cheat, trying to make itself look like Taken, but really playing like a poor man’s Tom Clancy. The complicated plot really drags the film down from a father trying to bring closure to his daughter’s death. It’s still an OK thriller, but that’s all. And who the hell was Ray Winstone supposed to be?
Daddy Day Camp is a cinematic achievement, worthy to be mentioned along side other great children’s films such as Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, The Wizard of Oz, and Toy Story. It is a sincere, magical tale that all generations can enjoy. By now I hope you realize that I’m full of shit. Daddy Day Camp is the cinematic equivalent of horse manure. Wait a minute- I can’t even say that because at least with horse crap you can grow something useful. The only thing that Daddy Day Camp grows is a reputation of being one of the worst films ever made.
The film is a sequel to 2005’s Daddy Day Care, which wasn’t a very good movie itself, and has the distinction of having absolutely no one from the original film in its cast (the fact that I’ve said that means that someone will correct me. I’m going to be honest, I didn’t waste the time checking because what’s the point). This time around Charlie (Cuba Gooding, Jr.) and Phil (Paul Rae) end up running a day camp due to Charlie’s childhood nightmare of blowing a triathlon at CampDriftwoodthirty years earlier. From here it goes into a crappy version of Meatballs/Bad News Bears as the campers compete against the rival CampCanola. Farting and belching ensues.
We could address the problems with Daddy Day Camp one by one, but I have to eat sometime and, let’s be honest, most of you out there know that this movie sucks. I knew it sucked, but I had a 2 for 1 rental and my son wanted to see it because of the first one. He liked it, but a good fart joke is like Richard Pryor to him, too. I’ve gone over the story, which is pretty much every other underdog camp story known to man. Only this time it’s executed very poorly. It’s cringe worthy. The acting also fails on all levels. I’m not going to blame the kids because they’re kids, but let’s look at the guy that won an Oscar. The idea that Cuba Gooding, Jr. won an Academy Award leaves a little bit of green on poor old Oskie’s head. He’s the Pat Quinn of the Academy, being in the right place at the right time. I know I can say the same thing about Marisa Tomei, but at least she had a good turn in The Wrestler and not because she was topless. The tell tale sign was when Eddie Murphy didn’t do this movie. When Eddie Murphy won’t even be in your movie then you know it’s going to be garbage. Eddie and bad movies is like Mikey and Life cereal- he just can’t get enough. Enter Cuba.
Kids will like Daddy Day Camp. So save it for a long car ride and give them some head phones. Let the 90 minutes of joy engulf them as they watch. Ten years from now they’ll see it on cable, watch five minutes and realize “This movie sucks, let’s watch Night Patrol”. You know it’s coming…
