Please don’t waste your time with this movie… to be nice to it would say it’s “fuckin’ retarded.” Which is a quote from the movie itself by the way. With the advent of the 3D Cinema, some really good movies have been made which fit the new technology brilliantly… this movie is not one of them.
It is one of those really bad horror movies you know is bad when you see the movie poster, but are somehow intrigued to go and watch it anyway because of the “3D” tag to the whole thing. Please do not be fooled by this. After going through the whole schpiel and having some gory scenes displayed, in all their 3D glory, by the time you get to the climax of the movie, the 3D doesn’t factor into anything conciously… you’re mostly being gored out of your mind.
The most irritating of all though, is the extremely bad screenplay, predictable story-line and absolutely atrocious acting.
From a 3D Cinema perspective… I learnt something. I think the technology is just a tool and another cool way to bring the entertainment to life. The core still matters though, so if the story-line is shit, the rest will not make up for it. It’s sugar coated excrement. Link
Coming from the World Premiere of “Behind the Rainbow“, which was held last night at Maponya Mall in Soweto, one can’t shake the feeling of how the media has actually shaped the perceptions of the man on the street with regards to South African politics and especially with regard to the personalities behind the politics.
Behind the Rainbow, directed by the seminal filmmaker Jihan El-Tahri, covers South Africa’s political history focusing on the internal struggles and challenges faced by the ruling party, the ANC. One can’t help being moved by the understanding of the conflicts within the party as we see very different personalities coming up against each other; each with their own way of working and their own visions of the future of their organisation and their country, even though they subscribe to the same Charter.
Of particular interest to me was the focus on the very recent events in which Thabo Mbeki (ex-President of South Africa) went up against his life-long friend and fellow comrade in the struggle for the ANC, Jacob Zuma. Two very different personalities by all accounts and the events which lead up to these two going up against each other at the Polokwane conference in 2007 and the recent “re-calling” of Thabo Mbeki by the ANC. Everything is covered… Corruption, The arms deal, Jacob Zuma’s Rape Accusation, the un-wielding support of Jacob Zuma by ANC members, the mindset behind the ANC Supporters and the Youth of the ANC in general, Black Economic Empowerment, etc. All of which give you a holistic understanding of what the ANC faced as they were put into power.
Many members of the ANC were present at the premiere itself… Mac Maharaj, Andrew Feinstein and some others who were featured in the documentary as well. The personal interviews with both Mbeki and Zuma, as well as personal perspectives of Members within the ANC make the documentary more personable than any other recent documentary done on the ANC and its internal workings. The fact that the documentary covers aspects right up until the recent appointment of current President Kgalema Motlanthe (who is also featured prominently in the documentary), shows its relevance to the here and now.
Overall, it was a very well researched documentary on the current state of South African Politics and the direction was nothing short of brilliant. It isn’t slow or make you lose interest in any way and keeps you hooked onto pertinent topics without straying or becoming boring. The points hit home hard, everything we’ve read in newspapers, seen on tV and analysed among friends is covered and criticised by the ANC members themselves.
A definite must-see for any South African interested in the past, present and future of the country they live in.
Oh God, I feel alone. I feel so utterly alone having connected and clicked with a film that many people will reject. This being the directorial debut of the incomparable screenwriter Charlie Kaufmann: Sĭ-něk’də-kē, NüYòrk. For me, Synecdoche, New York is a tough sell — an unconventional film that I treasure where recommendation demands caution. It’s where I stand with Béla Tarr’s Werckmeister Harmonies (2000), Lars Von Trier’s Breaking the Waves (1996), Bill Forsyth’s Housekeeping(1987) and Robert Altman’s Three Women (1977). These films fly in the face of all the formulaic and commercial creeds of how a movie should work and gives pause for how many ways it could work best. A first impression might grimace, conclude “it’s weird” and close the investigation — that’s their right; however, Synecdoche, New York deserves better and an appreciative audience. The film works, not despite, but because of its extraordinary structure and function being mysterious, opaque, labyrinthine, yet emotional, accessible, and fully-formed.
What I love most about Charlie Kaufman’s exercises in the celluloid medium is how they exceed expectations throughout his most unorthodox and dizzying narratives. Throughout, there is apt teasing and suspense over where this story could go when driven by such a visionary. By the end, I feel as if he has exhausted every possibility from his premises with an attentive heart. Such as when the pitiable Craig Schwartz whose puppets of himself and Maxine, a distant female co-worker, kiss for the first time in Being John Malkovich (1999). Or when Joel Barish frantically races away from his evaporating memories with his ex-girlfriend Clementine at hand, trying to save her in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004). Or how about when in Adaptation (2002), New Yorker writer Susan Orlean is struck by the awesome poetry of John Laroche, a toothless orchid thief, musing about the “little dance” between wasps and orchids — “How, when you spot your flower, you can’t let anything get in your way.”
In Synecdoche, New York, our hero tries to find meaning in his very existence by resurrecting an evolving metropolis in a gigantic sound-stage where a flock of birds fly off many miles down the structure. The seminal replica of Manhattan is a theatre set for an untitled play about its director and all of the people in his life. Since the play reflects life, so the play must reflect itself like a microcosm that expands, refracts, grows and deepens. It is a comic-tragic, universal illustration of a life that tries to manage its surrounding citizens in roles (wife, daughter, mistress, 2nd wife, etc.) the participant tries to contain. Of course, everyone else is the lead in their own story, so management of the play of one’s life becomes discombobulated.
Enter the world of theatre director Caden Cotard played with great nerve and without vanity by Philip Seymore Hoffman. At age forty, he is burdened with anxiety, bad health, failed relationships, and occasionally distracted by lofty goals that feed his great ego which barely hides his low self-esteem. Like an addict, he mercilessly prods, analyzes and compresses his failures; denying himself a much wanted recovery by purging himself deeper into a sea of emotional toxin. What hurts most is that he tries so hard to preserve what little he has left. While a doctor sews stitches into his forehead after a freak accident with an exploding sink faucet, Caden sheepishly remarks, “I’d rather there not be a scar.”
Ailments arrive and roost inside him at an alarming rate. Every checkup by one doctor leads to the discovery of another problem (“My pupils don’t work.”) and the recommendation of another doctor for it. Caden’s body with its cramps, bleeding gums, oozing pustules, and strange bumps consistently fails him with a vengeance. If his body were a temple, the city council would demolish it in favor of clearing the real estate for a shiny high-rise. A man this sick cannot be happy and cannot really live. But for all his flaws and succumbs to temptations, he keeps trying.
Life at home is just as damaging. Meet Adele, his wife, a moody and exacting painter who paints on canvases so small that she and her patrons require magnifying goggles to make out the beautifully rendered figures. Her proposed all-night task of packaging her work for her Berlin exhibition is a gut-buster. Catherine Keener (again opposite Hoffman in Bennett Miller’s Capote back in 2005) makes such a strong impression as Adele with her stringy hair, a tattooed breast, and a haggard complexion verging on desperation that her absence later is deeply felt. The character is richer because Keener manages to exude compassion and comfort within what a lesser actress would make one-note and abrasive. It makes sense why these two flawed and ambitious people would have tried to make a life together with their four-year-old daughter Olive (Sadie Goldstein).
Just about everyone is sick here. Adele coughs a lot, even in voice-over when a letter by hers is read. She ignores Olive’s frightened insistence that her feces is a strange colour. Caden and Adele’s flaky, stone-faced couples counselor Dr. Madeleine Gravis, played by scene-stealer Hope Davis (American Splendor, 2003 — Is Harvey Pekar around here?) — her feet are raw with angry red and white blisters irritated by her sleek, black high stilettos — even this leggy blonde is flawed. Deliberate attention is paid to the deterioration of the human body weathered by age and disease. Vulnerably and mortality is emphasized with the perplexing passage of time; months, even years pass within minutes. Going from the bathroom on September down the stairs to the kitchen; suddenly it’s October. Where did the time go? What happened with my life? Has it really been six months? Six years! Conversations with the Cotard family feel rushed, overlapping dialogue, even precious moments with Olive feel short-lived instead of cherished. Fasten your safety belt — this film will give you whiplash.
Madeleine commits the obvious scam that all best-selling shrinks must, bringing to mind Richard Dreyfuss’ Dr. Leo Marvin in What About Bob? (1991). It doesn’t help that Adele dismisses Caden as an artist since he works with previously adapted material, while overlooking his radical realization of the play Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman. In an instant, Caden has lost his family abroad, romances sparks from the advances of Hazel (Samantha Morton, Morvern Callar (2002)), a 30-something buxom box-office girl to his young leading actress Claire (Michelle Williams, Wendy and Lucy (2008)), and Adele’s manipulative friend Maria (Jennifer Jason Leigh, Last Exit To Brooklyn (1990)) has sensationally corrupted Olive, and Caden wins the MacArthur Genius Grant along with surmountable freedom, financial security and infinite time pursue his most ambitious work of art! Such a grant would be evidence enough to place this film in the fantasy genre.
Then Caden’s next project gets personal.
Synecdoche, New York knows what it is to be so painfully conscious, so agonizingly aware of your circumstances that you feel belittled and judged; objectivity just gives you a better view of your own bad performance. There is something creepy, an almost sickly undercurrent throughout the film. Kaufman resists explaining away the strange materializations (eg. the fire house) and warped timeline as the result of Caden’s mentally unstable reinterpretation of the world. What Kaufman is suggesting is even scarier and more immediate than placing his story in the safety zone of “it was all a dream”. Yes, every surreal and miraculous thing that is happening before us on the screen is reality. If our perception is illusory and concrete, then it is possible for the real world to be represented with the weight barren in a dream, but nightmarish in its network of logic.
Yes, Caden can be self-absorbed (Claire is the one who figures out Hazel’s situation for him) and pretentious. Just look at Hazel’s expression as she awkward sips her drink while Caden talks about his play where “we are all in the same primordial bloodstream” (I’m paraphrasing here, I’ve only seen this movie once*). Everywhere he goes, he sees himself in advertisements, and as a character in a deranged cartoon Olive is watching. From a first-person account, doesn’t everything seem to be informing us — (read: ME!) — only more directly? Caden does not always do the right thing, but he is aware of his failures and genuinely regrets his mistakes.
A flawed protagonist is required as a launching pad for those who must identify with, but not idolize the subject. This is from someone who made self-deprecation look like fun in Adaptation: “Charlie Kaufman! Fat! Bald! Repulsive! Old! Sits at a Hollywood restaurant with Valerie Thomas!” Caden finds out later that Adele “wants joyous and healthy people (in her life)” in a way that is impersonal and devastating. Only a shallow, empty vessel trying to pass as a human being could dismiss Caden’s feelings — I’m looking at you, Ben Lyons! Appearing on the gutted remains of At The Movies, Lyons smiles like a greasy used car salesman when he calls Caden “The most pathetic individual to ever exist!” Has Ben Lyons ever left his bubble?
During a lunch outside with Hazel, one of the few times Caden is serene, she feeds him lines to woo her. He enjoys taking her dictation; playing his character instead of being himself. This scene foreshadows near the end of the film where Caden takes direction by the sound of a woman’s voice. Here, too, he is also serene. Kaufman again delivers a variety of role plays, bizarre transformations and comic scenarios including bravado turns by Tom Noonan (Snow Angels, 2008) as a sad-eyed stalker who is hired to play his stalkee and Dianne Weist (Edward Scissorhands, 1990) as an actress who plays the only character Caden has never met (translation: a fictitious person) and vice versa. There is a brilliant inside joke by casting Emily Watson (Hilary and Jackie, 1998), as arresting as ever, to play Tammy — the stage version of Morton’s Hazel. One time Samantha Morton auditioned for a role and the director complimented her performance in…Hilary and Jackie. Awkward.
Double entendres sparkle throughout the crisscrossing storylines. Caden is asked at one point by Madeleine “Why did you kill yourself?” Caden asks her to repeat the question and she asks “Why would you kill yourself?” Two versions of her question refer to two instances with technically different characters in a real place and the same place set in Caden’s warehouse. This scenario is like a decoder device that can be applied to a variety of loosely connected scenes that reveal greater understanding to the characters’ pathos. Caden’s relationship with Sammy, the faux Caden, emphasizes how competing with others for the heart of another is as bad as competing with oneself. Throughout the film, Caden’s worst enemy is really himself, whereas the older he gets, the lonelier and less significant he feels.
Women surround and sometimes dominate Caden who, in a very tender scene, admits to Tammy in private that he secretly wanted to be a woman: “Maybe I’d have been good at it.” We hear a little Kaufman himself inserting sparse commentary through his characters, particularly when Claire talks about the thrill of “working with so many strong, female actresses” in a play. Caden attempts to form a bond with the flirtatious Hazel to rebound from his failed marriage (“Can you help me forget my troubles?”). In the middle of sex, Caden breaks down and tries to let Hazel down gently and then the camera focuses solely on Hazel — from Caden’s pain to hers. In fact, Hazel may be the only character who has screen time where Caden is absent. Observe how unsentimental Kaufman is about his characters without politically correct conceits of gender; while Caden is suffering from PAS (Parental Alienation Syndrome), he psychically wrestles Marie down to the ground after being refused to see his daughter. From a sweet kid to adulthood, the case of Olive demonstrates how truthfully harsh circumstances can get for people outside the bubbled, idealistic depiction of children. Two later encounters between a much older Caden and his adult daughter are searingly painful to watch.
Coal-black social satire peels Caden’s materialistic and art-minded facade apart. In a toy store, having gotten indispensable information from Olive’s evolving diary that her favourite colour is pink, Caden purchases a large pink box with an illustration of a human nose that is titled “nose”. In the real world (re: every other movie that is not Synecdoche, New York), Caden is buying his daughter a Barbie House™. Kaufman consistently strips the layers of recognition and conventionality to expose the absurdness of everyday truisms. It is worth noting how Hazel’s answering machine never changes, which encapsulates her young self despite how the passing years have aged her. One particular phone call Caden makes to Hazel is awfully poignant.
The same twisted and delicious logic of Kaufman is on display here like the way in Adaptation, a screenwriter’s life is threatened at gunpoint by the very characters he rewrote and corrupted to make his script more commercial. For almost the past decade, Charlie Kaufmann’s scripts have turned into some of my most treasured experiences in a movie theatre. I was with Being John Malkovich every step of the way: “What happens to a man who goes down his own portal?” “We’ll see!” That directorial debut of Spike Jonze — who also played the fourth leg of a table called Three Kings that year — was a near-perfect comic-tragedy.
“Being John Malkovich” Trailer
Ministry of Information Scene from “Brazil”
The music used in the Being John Malkovich (and the WALL-E) trailer(s) is from the 1984 Terry Gilliam film Brazil; the track entitled The Office is by Michael Kamen. Come to think of it, Kaufman’s direction is rather Gilliamish AND Tatiesque (eg. Playtime, 1967). Synecdoche, New York is compacted with strange objects and idiosyncratic details — that pink Christmas present of Olive’s was not an accident — it’s memorable. The set design alone of the city spectacle with the indomitable blimp flying overhead inside the warehouse is a Terry Gilliam wet dream. The score for Synecdoche, New York by composer Jon Brion is high-strung and whimsical with occasional alien notes. There are some playful musical cues of angst near the beginning that pay homage to Brion’s edgy track Hands and Feet (instruments included xylophone, hammers and duct tape) from P.T. Anderson’s Punch Drunk Love (2002). Here We Go, a musical number by Brion for Punch Drunk Love is in the same vein as the sleepy piano ballad Little Person sung by jazz vocalist Deanna Storey. What a smoky and poignant song.
From Little Person:
Somewhere, maybe someday,
Maybe somewhere far away,
I’ll meet a second little person,
And we’ll go out and play.
There are visual clues throughout Synecdoche, New York, one of the most crucial shows us a digital read-out of 7:44 in the beginning of the film and a brick wall with spray painted clock-hands pointing to 7:45. Life is so fleeting that it could very well pass within a minute. We can’t trust our eyes, but feelings are another matter. Again, the best way to exercise this film is to take everything at face value. Synecdoche, New York shows us that the unexamined life is not worth living, but that a life worth living means enduring a great deal of pain. Because the grim subject matter is approached with an open and searing heart and a great sense of humor, the film is not depressing. I felt exhilaration and joy over the ambition, scope and warm intentions against the dying gray light.
Caden’s greatest sin is he has taken his life for granted. Proof is constantly before him — his decaying body and his deteriorating relationships with other people. The key line of dialogue early on is “I don’t feel well” and by the end, he won’t feel anything at all. Despite the realization of Caden’s extravagant metropolis stage, which is like a director’s Heaven, living in a world where everyone is constantly looking at each other, they are forever reflecting themselves. By leaps of artistic pursuit and/or madness, Caden as well as his actors can assume the role of someone else — the irony being that they are still their own selves and there is no escape from that. For better or for worse, death is being relieved of yourself.
*After a second viewing, I confirmed that Caden actually told to Hazel “We’re all in the same water. Soaking in our very menstrual blood and nocturnal emissions.”
December 24, 2008:
“Harold Pinter won the Pulitzer. No, wait — he died.”
No other film this year has given me so much to think about after each of my four viewings. Every time it ends, I swear that my heart skips a beat. While avidly discussing this film, I said that if I had one week to live then I would have to watch Synecdoche, New York one more time. My praise for a film rarely takes such an extremist stand, but the sentiment reflects what a profound work that would make the absolving into oblivion a little more comforting. Roger Ebert holds the incomparable Ingmar Berman film Cries and Whispers (1972) as one of his lights against the darkness: “I feel profoundly grateful to my life, which gives me so much.” My feelings for Synecdoche, New York match this very spirit.
Synecdoche, New York, a darkly comic, absurdist Rubic’s Cube puzzle of a film about human consciousness, yearnings, foils and disillusionment. Philip Seymore Hoffman played Caden Cotard, a theatre director and self-appointed analyst of the human condition. His studies are performed on productions of stage versus life, including his own verbatim. Haunted by the inescapable postulation of death, he is wrung out by an onslaught of ailments, cruel reminders of eventual decay (“I don’t feel well.”). Doomed romances and a fleeting timeline endanger Caden’s well-being and creativity.
The scope of his latest theatrical production outmatches what he is humanly capable of delivering. The set is so ridiculously large that it could only function as an artist’s idea of Heaven. In denial, Caden is trying to coach himself to good health as though his artistic search for truth will cure him. Or at least make him a little happier. Perhaps his success as an artist would have insured his longevity, a rebuke against having to die. The conclusions he faces are that dreams and desires fleshed out must soon rot away. Fifty years ago, Marcello Mastroianni could have assumed the role of Caden Cotard.
At the time I wrote my original review, I listed very provocative and unique films out of reflex and love. Having some distance to analyze my choices, I found certain similarities between Synecdoche, New York and the following: Béla Tarr’s Werckmeister Harmonies, 2000 (its apocalyptism), Lars Von Trier’s Breaking the Waves, (its terrifying interpretation of what God (re: Caden the Director) might ask one to prove their faith), Bill Forsyth’s Housekeeping,1987 (its sweetly-haunted look into the unknown against conventional norms) and Robert Altman’s Three Women (its switching of characters’ minds). Hell, even Peter Greenaway’s near-masterpiece A Zed and Two Noughts (its obsession with twinship and decay).
In times where compelling female roles are scarcely encouraged in Hollywood, Synecdoche, New York displays an intimidating showcase of accomplished actresses: Samantha Morton, Catherine Keener, Hope Davis, Michelle Williams, Diane Wiest and Jennifer Jason Leigh. They all succeed at making immediate impressions of their own.
This film offers so much invention, such as the house that is always on fire, but never burns down; don’t we all afford a lifestyle that isn’t good for us? One of the many extravagantly surreal and poignant scenes married so deftly is where Caden burrows deeper and deeper into the recesses of his ever-expanding, breathing metropolis sound stage. Within the enormity of the world, we retreat into the structures made possible by our imaginations.
The achieved layers of its story structure and comprehensibility are matched by the mind-expanding creations manifested from the ambitious and rewarding directorial debut by screenwriter Charlie Kaufman (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, 2004). A polarized reaction from critics didn’t encourage an auspicious turnabout this film deserved from audiences and the Academy. Synecdoche, New York will certainly gain a cult following when more people discover this masterpiece on DVD.
(This is the first of many past due reviews…consider it us catching up on movies we haven’t reviewed yet. Enjoy)
Directed by: Judd Apatow
Starring: Seth Rogen and Katherine Heigl
Rating:
In the time between Knocked Up’s release, and this review, Judd Apatow has become a type of household name for most film-goers. His name attached to a release will guarantee it a certain place on the box office charts. That all began with Knocked Up. Knocked Up is a comedy of sorts that chronicles the clusterfuck that is Ben and Alison’s relationship. They meet at a club, and imbibe too much alcohol and end up having sex that is well…rushed. A few weeks later, it becomes evident to Alison that Ben lied about using a condom, and she is pregnant. Now, the storyline sounds like it would promise almost endless laughs as Ben tries to shirk his duties, or talks to his friends (played by Jay Baruchel, Jonah Hill, Martin Starr, and Jason Segel) about his conquests. That is where you would go wrong. Don’t get me wrong, Knocked Up has funny parts, but it is more of a romance then a comedy.
As the film progresses and becomes more mature, Ben has to decide whether he wants to keep his easy life working on a celebrity nudity site and smoking pot, or whether he wants to try to keep the girl. It follows the stereotypical path of the pothead who is afraid of losing his lifestyle, then realizes that other things matter more in life. The acting is all very solid, with the standouts being Paul Rudd (as Pete, Alison’s brother-in-law) and Leslie Mann (as Alison’s sister). Their marriage is on the rocks, and while their relationship is an exaggeration made for comedic effect, they play it as if they were a married couple. If there is one thing Judd Apatow has proven with this movie, it is that he is in touch with emotions and the intricacies of relationships. Every character in the film, no matter how ridiculous they may seem could actually be a real person, and the emotions they display are nothing short of perfect.
Knocked Up is a predictable movie, from the moment the movie starts you know what has to happen. But that is not a bad thing. It has shown that it isn’t trying to be anything special. Apatow was not trying to invent any new genres, or set the bar for comedies to follow (see Superbad) but rather trying to make the best movie he could, and he succeeded. While Knocked Up may not be the funniest ever, it is all in all a solid film that gives you a happy feeling in the end, something that lets you know, things could really be worse.
Voices by: Ben Stiller Chris Rock David Schwimmer Jada Pinkett Smith Sacha Baron Cohen
Rating:
In a post WALL-E world, it is hard for an animated movie to get by with sub par animation and a less than adequate plot line. This is a memo that DreamWorks and Co. must not have gotten. Madagascar 2 passes the bar set by the first, but not by a very high margin. The first film’s animation seemed like they had taken the easy way out, saving on production time and budget. The second film continues the poor animation but tries to pass it off as a stylistic decision rather then a time saving measure. At the very least, one would have expected the textures to be of a higher quality then those used in the first, they had three years to work on it. Three years not well spent.
The film starts off with the characters on Madagascar waiting for their escape plane to launch them back to New York. Things go wrong, and they end up falling down to…Africa. The story progresses from there in a very predictable plot arc, Alex’s (Ben Stiller) part of which is very reminiscent of The Lion King, almost too much so. Saying that the storyline is horrible would not be totally fair, as they have come a long way since the first in 2005.
One of the most aggravating parts of the first film, the lemurs, were thankfully almost absent from this film, with the sole exception of King Julien (voiced by Sacha Baron Cohen). His scenes were some of the best parts of the film, and were funny without being gimmicky like he and his clan were in the first film. The rest of the voice acting in the film was solid, but none of it outstanding. Alec Baldwin’s scenes as Makunga were a nice shoutout to all the adults in the audience, making it easier to digest.
Madagascar is going to be a long standing franchise, as evidenced by the announcement of Madagascar 3 long before this film was finished, and I believe that Madagascar is a maturing franchise, one that will take many years and sequels before they can be enjoyed by anyone over the age of 6. Hold on, and wait for Madagascar 6, because Madagascar 2 is borderline unwatchable.
When I went into Role Models, I was assuming that it would be a trailer fake (a movie whose trailer is awesome, but the movie well…isn’t). After a few months of let downs (read The Rocker) no one would fault me for thinking that. Let me make this official, I was wrong. Role Models is about two underachievers who find themselves in a situation where to avoid jail, they agree to volunteer for 150 hours at a Big Brothers Big Sisters type organization. Neither wants to be there, but Sean William Scott’s character provides some convincing reasons for going through with it. Danny (Rudd) gets paired with Augie Farks, played by Christopher Mintz-Plasse who almost breaks out of the role he set for himself in Superbad, a geek obsessed with a real life Medieval role playing game called LAIRE. Wheeler (Scott) is unfortunate enough to get paired with Ronnie (played very convincingly by Bobb’e J. Thompson), whose goal it is to never keep a “Big” for longer then 24 hours. A goal he has had great success achieving before Wheeler.
To say that Role Models was a pleasant surprise would be an understatement. It comes during a time where the big wigs seem to think that a movie has to be horribly raunchy to be funny, but no surprise, the movie comes out as raunchy, and not…well, funny. That’s not to say that Role Models isn’t without its raunchy moments, but they are far outweighed by truly funny moments, the kind that are becoming more and more of a rarity.
The performances are solid, but with the exception of Bobb’e J. Thompson, they aren’t anything special. He delivers his lines with such force and confidence that for a moment you forget your horror that those words are coming out of a ten year-old’s mouth, then the horror returns, but you are left with a sense that if he keeps acting, he’s going to become a comedy staple in the coming years.
We all know that guys secretly like chick flicks, ok we like the ending, the part where it all comes together and everyone ends up getting together, and they ride off into the sunset. Role Models leaves you with that feeling, but you don’t have to sneak into the movie, an R-rated comedy with Stifler, no one will ever suspect you. So go, enjoy this movie, and admit it. Role Models is a good film.
An hour after watching Clint Eastwood’s Changeling, I’m still trembling. Knowing it was going to be intense beforehand didn’t fully prepare me for the range of emotion I felt in reaction to the true story of Christine Collins and her son, Walter. When Jon Stewart interviewed Clint Eastwood on “The Daily Show”, he observed that many period pieces feature minorities and underdogs and heroes of our time. But not a lot is mentioned of the plight women endured during the 1920’s in the United States. Most of the stories are subverted or forgotten, which is one reason Eastwood was compelled to tell this story. Incidentally, Angelina Jolie earned my respect for her performance as Christine Collins. All of her bad roles are quickly forgiven and forgotten.
What at first seems like any tragic kidnapping case, “Changeling” quickly turns into a horrific account of a woman’s battle against sexism and downright misogyny implicit in the Los Angeles Police Department. From top to bottom, the LAPD repeatedly undermines the needs of a single woman begging for an investigation of her missing nine-year old son. A local pastor and radio show host, played by John Malkovich, constantly denounces the LAPD from the pulpit for their corruption and cover-ups. He volunteers his male voice to aid Collins’ search, his own outrage lending her courage to continue fighting the police chief.
Collins heroically gains leverage against the corruption standing in her way, but at the highest price. When the police department reunites her with the missing child, it is clear immediately that they simply replaced her son with an abandoned boy who loosely matched Walter’s description. The LAPD, hoping Collins would be so relieved with the return of her son, sought positive publicity in the wake of dwindling hope in their services. Arrogantly, they waved off Collins protests that the returned boy was someone else’s child.
The ensuing events are frustrating, haunting, demented, and outrageous. It is not a film to watch alone. The desire and need to react in the presence of another person is overwhelming. That is what makes this film worth seeing. It’s what makes this a very good movie.
