My apologies for the minor hiatus, but I’m back in business and paid a little visit to my friendly neighborhood Loew’s Cineplex last night, where I caught Martin Scorsese’s most recent film, The Departed.  Initial reaction: Wow.  Second reaction: Wow.  For any Scorsese fans out there (I am a huge one myself), you may have been a little disappointed in Marty’s last few flicks.  When I say disappointed, I’m not referring to the quality of the films as much as I’m referring to the content.  The Aviator was a great movie and was up for a lot of awards, but we’re you entertained? Titanic was a multi-Oscar-winning movie, and it was extremely well made.  Also, I hated it more than Battlefield Earth.  Yea, that Travolta movie with the aliens, it was bad.  Same with Gangs of New York and that Bob Dylan documentary he made - both great, but a little too epic-y for my tastes.  I think I can speak for all Scorsese fans when I say we all wanted a return to the form of Mean Streets, Goodfellas, and Taxi Driver, movies that showed no concern for political correctness or morale, and just told a dirty, dark-side of life story that kept you on the edge of your seat.  Thankfully, The Departed is Marty’s comeback film, a no-holds barred crime drama that will spin your head around and in my case, make you want to go back for a second round.

(more…)

In my most recent field trip to the local Loew’s, I caught Little Miss Sunshine, a film that just oozes family dysfunctionality and our current American values.  Of course, the film’s indirect intention (at least I’m hoping), is to exploit these distorted values and show just how idiotic it is to idealize the image of perfection. 

Olive Hoover is a young, ambitious little girl, and, consequently, the only semi-normal member of what we have all come to know and love as the standard American dysfunctional family.  Her father, Richard, is a motivational speaker who wastes the family’s budget trying to launch a 9-step program on how to be a “winner” as opposed to a “loser.” Naturally, Richard applies this same program to his own family in typical salesman form, which drives his wife, Sheryl, to the point of insanity.  Their other child, Dwayne, has been reading up on the works of Nietzsche, and has settled on the concept of struggling to achieve one’s goals, in taking a vow of silence until reaching his dream of being a fighter pilot.  Grandpa Hoover is a foul-mouthed, horny heroin-addict, who can’t help but speak his mind on all situations, and colorfully so.  And to round out the circus, Steve Carell plays Uncle Frank, a homosexual Proust scholar who loses his gay lover and his grant in one fell swoop, and subsequently tries to kill himself, albeit unsuccessfully.  Phew.  I bet this family has some seriously fun holiday parties.  A little egg nog goes a long way.

Olive’s major flaw is that she has been conditioned to idolize perfection, clearly by her father, who is pushy and flaky enough to make you want to stab something (or him).  She is infatuated with becoming a beauty queen, and when she discovers that she has qualified for the Little Miss Sunshine pageant, the entire family embarks on a mission to get her there to win.  And that’s where the disaster begins.  Isn’t it interesting that the trials and tribulations of a family with so many real problems is a comedy to our culture? God, I love this country.

As if having to drive hundreds of miles wasn’t enough, the family car happens to be a 1920 VW Ninja Turtles van. You know what I mean. Needless to say, this automobile is not safe to drive down the block, let alone across states.  Some of the most priceless scenes involve some mechanical malfunctions with the van, and I’ll leave it at that.  While most people will inherently acknowledge the car troubles as comedy, they double as a catalyst to the family unity.  In an effort to get to the pageant “no matter what”, the help of each and every family member is needed, and that subconsciously brings them closer as a group.

You can’t help but notice how absolutely adorable and innocent Olive is, and you almost feel bad that she has to grow up around these degenerates.  However, she is remarkably understanding for her age.  There is one climactic scene in which Dwayne comes to a shocking realization and breaks out of his 9-month silence.  Out of sheer frustration, he individually calls out his family members for their problems.  And in a brief moment of silence, you can see in each one of their faces a sign of acceptance, as if to say, “Yeah, we’re all seriously effed-up. But we are a family, for better or worse.  And at least we have each other.” Touching, I know.

Once the Hoovers finally arrive at the Pageant (and by finally, I mean barely), the pageant itself is where the message of this film comes full circle.  You can see clearly what America’s perspective of perfection is, and it looks something like one of those hollow, porcelain dolls (I actually had a Jon Benet joke here, but at this point it’s not even inappropriate, it’s just overkill).  Emphasis on the hollow.  Olive gives forth her best performance of self, and, although unfilfulling of the porcelain norm, puts her own stamp on the pageant that won’t soon be forgotten.  Believe me, it’s something you have to experience in the theater.  You have to believe this film has been a hit because the conflicts are not at all far-fetched, and people can easily relate.  Go see it if you get the chance.  And for God’s sake, watch out for those little porcelain monsters.

Will Ferrell has been criticized of late, for taking on some seriously, for lack of a better word, wrong movie roles.  I say wrong, because if you look at Ferrell’s most successful (and most-quoted) characters, they have all been created and developed by the man himself.  Look at Old School, Anchorman, and even his cameo in Wedding Crashers.  It’s seems pretty obvious to me that when those characters were written into the script, the writers created a stereotype and then let Ferrell run with it.  You have to believe that the key to comedy is not what’s actually written, but the ability to ad-lib and create genuine human moments without breaking character.  Will Ferrell is one of the kings in this category.

In his most recent flick, Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby, Ferrell returns to form after a string of miserable attempts at playing script-driven roles.  I mean, honestly, did anyone see Bewitched? Melinda and Melinda? Even Kicking & Screaming was awful, because Will tried to tone down his antics to achieve that PG rating, which ultimately made his act just plain awkward and forced.  I’m glad to see that he appears to be coming to grips with the fact that he needs to stick with ridiculous, in-your-face comedy.  Because, after all, the Will Ferrell we’ve all come to know and love is some shape or form of an idiot lacking self-control and/or a grip of reality.    

Ferrell plays an ego-centric NASCAR driver with two first names.  Evidently, this is where the movie actually is most accurate, in depicting the self-absorbed ignorant redneck racers of real-life NASCAR.  In one particular trademark scene, Ricky Bobby is sitting down to a long-prepared feast of fast-food, beer and dysfunction with his best friend and teammate Cal Naughton, Jr. (played brilliantly by John C. Reilly), his two sons Walker and Texas Ranger (affectionately referred to as T.R.) his trophy wife Carley (played by the serious piece of ass Leslie Bibb) and his old, falling apart father-in-law.  Trust me, the dialogue in the dinner scene brings out the retarded trucker in all of us.  Really makes me want to go back in time so I could not pay attention in school, drive recklessly, establish a distorted view of reality where I can do and say whatever I want, score a hot wife who I have no business being with, raise my kids to be egomaniacal, foul-mouthed little bastards and eat and drink the most rancid shit on Earth completely oblivious to health and hygiene all at once.  All my hopes, all my dreams.

Ricky Bobby is hysterical in the film, don’t get me wrong.  But Gary Cole, a.k.a. Ricky’s father Reese, a.k.a. Cotton McKnight, a.k.a. Bill Lumberg, easily steals the show.  A degenerate, alcoholic, pot-smoking father with empty advice and insane driving lessons (he convinces Ricky to drive “with the fear”, meaning in this case to drive with a live cougar in the passenger seat, which consequently gets Ricky Bobby mauled), Cole is the epitome of the parenting it appears all NASCAR drivers got, leading them to choose a life path of driving in a circle at over 150 mph.  I can’t forget to mention Sacha Baron Cohen’s (Da Ali G Show) character Jean Girard, the gay French driver who becomes Ricky’s teammate.  I have to say aside from Cohen’s uncanny ability to portray homosexuality, he was not as funny as I had hoped.  Although you really can’t go wrong in insulting the French. 

Bottom line: If you are a) a NASCAR driver, b) from south of the Mason-Dixon line, c) a gold-digging whore, or d) all of the above….you may or may not be offended by this movie.  For the rest of us normal folk, this movie is a hysterical and accurate depiction of what millions upon millions of people actually refer to as the “sport” of NASCAR.  In the words of Eleanor Roosevelt, “America is all about speed.  Hot, nasty, bad ass speed.”

Movie Guy signing in.  Saw Miami Vice this past weekend.  I will say this: if you like sex, drugs, and rock & roll, this movie is for you.  Throw in some intense, realistic violence, and you’ve got Miami Vice, Michael Mann’s 2006 version of his hit ’80’s TV show.  Which brings me to my first point.  Before all of you original Miami Vice fans get all pissy about how this film doesn’t accurately depict the way the original show was, please realize that was never the intention.  Firstly, you can’t get upset about some other director barging in on this project and butchering it, because Michael Mann was the executive producer of the original TV show.  Aside from that, he’s arguably the most consistently kick-ass writer/director in the industry today.  Just look at his resume.  So grow up already, you make me sick.

Now, for those of us who were still toddlers when Miami Vice was in its prime, this movie needs to be looked at objectively.  Michael Mann is known for his unique camera work.  In many of the night-time scenes in this film, the quality of the footage was reduced to a low-grain level, to give a more realistic touch.  Think “World’s Wildest Police Videos”, while police officers are chasing some pedophilic minority through the poverty-stricken neighborhoods of Compton.  Or think of those homoerotic home videos you filmed out in the woods while mom was cooking dinner and you were aspiring to be the next Spielberg.  Didn’t work out, huh.  My point is, Mann uses this genuine style of filming to give the audience the POV of someone in the middle of the action.  The shaky camera, the enhanced darkness and difficulty of perception:  they all contribute to the effect of the first-person point of view.

One thing I did know about the TV show was that Sonny and Rico were p.i.m.p.s.  These guys crushed it almost every night, and the chicks were smoking hot.  And how could they not, really.  They drove around in a Ferrari Testarossa and wore pastel suits while arresting drug lords and spitting out cheesy ’80’s pick-up lines.  It’s a fool-proof formula.  Mann keeps that old theme alive in this remake.  Colin Farrell and Jamie Foxx, with slightly different styles [newer better Ferrari, newer better clothes (sorry, no pastels), and newer better facial hair] manage to score some unfairly hot broads.  Whether they are whipping around corners in their 2006 Ferrari F430 Spider or whisking exotic Asians to Havana in go-fast boats, when you leave the theater, I promise you will want to be these guys.  Undercover cops in Miami with great fashion sense, highly-active sex lives, and grade-A pimp mobiles.  I bet you feel great about your shitty life right now.

In closing, a signature Michael Mann film would not be a signature Michael Mann film without an intense gun fight.  And Mann does not disappoint.  The climactic conclusion of this film is highlighted by a “I just shit myself that was so intense” machine gun standoff.  I won’t get too into detail, but the action sequences are about as real as it gets, from the angles to the sound to the blood spilling.  The film is stellar all around.  Pay attention to the other small nuances of Michael Mann films, such as the predominantly darker color scheme, and the heavy-riff soundtrack.  So put down your gay-ass Sudoku and go see this flick.  I’m seeing it again.

Movie Guy here.  So I saw Superman Returns.  Maybe it’s because Brandon Routh is so innocent and womanish or maybe it’s because of the “Superman is gay” rumors flying before the film’s release or maybe it’s because Superman, in general, is so goddamn morally healthy.  But did anyone else find themselves, at any point during the film, rooting for the bad guy?  Well I did.  I genuinely wanted to see what would happen if Lex Luthor’s plan would have come to fruition, and I believed it was going to work.  That’s probably because I thought Kevin Spacey did a great job filling Gene Hackman’s shoes as Lex Luthor, a little over-the-top insane, but definitely entertaining.  But more importantly, has there ever been a more predictable character than Superman? 

I don’t think there’s a soul in this world who thought for half a second that Superman wasn’t going to come out on top at the end of the movie.  How could you? He’s effing Superman.  The more than obvious depiction of Superman in the movie as a “savior” and an American icon makes it 100% impossible for any remotely controversial script to come out of this series.  And that’s ok - if you’re a pussy and liked the Care Bears as a child. 

I feel obligated to give credit for the visual effects, really phenomenal.  But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s really difficult to have an interesting, suspenseful plot when everyone knows how it will inevitably end.  This is why, I believe, that I found myself wishing Superman wouldn’t save the day.  Kate Bosworth was a miserable Lois Lane, by the way.  Someone tell that girl to eat something, she looks like Skeletor.

One final note on Brandon Routh.  I read a rumor the other day that Brandon Routh is considering posing naked for Playgirl.  Additionally, he allegedly got pissed at his make-up artist for making him look “wimpy” at a press conference.  I don’t even have a joke here, this is serious.  I’m fairly confident he takes it in the pooper.  So, I guess Superman is gay after all (not that there’s anything wrong with that… geesh).  And he also owes me $10.