A fixture of the 1960s and a defining member of the hippie generation, Wavy Gravy finally gets a movie all to himself. “Saint Misbehavin’” is a documentary spotlighting the political and social efforts of the famous counter-culture figure, a wild idealist who fought for awareness and generosity through a myriad of eccentric methods and disguises, establishing himself as a benevolent force for charity, often clad in clown attire.
The Walt Disney Animation Studio has such a storied history of screen classics, it’s nearly impossible to fully consider the artistic roller coaster ride the company has endured since Walt introduced the world to the miracle of feature-length animation back in 1937, with “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.” The Mouse House has enjoyed great success and its share of humiliating failures, but somewhere in the mid-1980s, all hope was lost. Disney Animation was about to vanish for good.
If Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky were alive today, I’m fairly certain he would be chasing after filmmaker Andrei Konchalovsky with a pitchfork.
“The Warrior’s Way” is an odd one. Wedged somewhere between the furious imaginations of Tsui Hark and Sergio Leone, the feature is an idiosyncratic ode to pure screen heroism thwarted by the junky instincts of its untested writer/director, Sngmoo Lee. I was never outright bored by the picture, but there’s much to jeer in this overwrought action film, which spends so much time reminding the audience of its artificiality, it forgets to have some spaghetti western fun with the limitless potential of CGI.
“Black Swan” is a grotesque psychological horror film that provides pits of madness juxtaposed with the gilded, professional grace of the ballet world. Furthering his study into the resilience of the human body kicked off in the 2008 stunner, “The Wrestler,” director Darren Aronofsky rummages around the pockets of Polanski for inspiration, turning a sparse screenplay into an orgy of injury and psychosis. It’s a competitive ballet story only for surface purposes, showing more interest in the erosion of reality than the routine of company life.
“I Love You Phillip Morris” is a tricky film to decipher. Garnering unnecessary attention for its homosexual content, the picture is actually more of a fleet-footed con artist valentine, paying reverence to a master of deception, Steven Jay Russell. A comedic excursion into the limits of personal freedom and the miracle of love, the picture is a skilled effort of constant surprise, led wonderfully by Jim Carrey, who gives a blessedly respectful performance that mingles pleasingly with laughs and shock.
In most countries, Santa Claus is a miracle man clad in red, gifting the world presents galore while spreading a special message of holiday cheer. To the Finnish, he’s a shriveled creature to be feared; a “pre-Coca-Cola” Santa who enjoys spanking kids into oblivion. For there to be any sense of peace on Earth this holiday season, Santa needs to die. “Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale” is a contentedly macabre creation that unveils a different breed of St. Nick in this winning horror/fantasy film, which gives the jolly Christmas figure a righteously ghoulish reimagining.
A child of Sundance, “Welcome to the Rileys” is tailor-made for the film festival circuit. It features known actors working with troubling material that covers the strain of marriage, the dregs of society, and the opportunity for personal rebirth; however, it’s far from challenging, dependent on the imagination put forth from the cast and crew. “Rileys” doesn’t inspire the type of low-key redemptive response other pictures have captured, but it moves smoothly enough, battling its inherent predictability with a few moments of pure vulnerability, giving actors known primarily for one dimension a chance to try another.
While watching the true crime saga “All Good Things,” I found myself having difficulty comprehending why anyone would want to build a movie from such a dull tale of murder, disappearance, and cross-dressing. Enter celebrated documentarian Andrew Jarecki, who stumbles throughout the entire picture. While eager to slop around the salacious details of the crimes at hand, the filmmaker’s way with storytelling basics leaves much to be desired. One would think the sight of Ryan Gosling in senior citizen make-up decked out in female clothing would be enough to carry the entertainment value of the picture. Jarecki feels differently.
I’m starting to believe there’s a massive steel machine in super-producer Jerry Bruckheimer’s office, and, when he makes a movie, he feeds the pleasing results into the furious engine, which then takes whatever clicks wonderfully about the film and smashes it to pieces. “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” began life as a riff on the iconic Mickey Mouse segment of “Fantasia,” but what’s onscreen isn’t nearly as inviting or whimsical as the animated short. Instead, the feature is a winded stunt show, brought to its knees by overcooked writing and insistently fruitless attempts at comedy. Once again, Bruckheimer’s contraption takes a pure idea for adventure and kills the enjoyment by overthinking matters to a paralyzing degree.
There’s nothing in “The Winning Season” that you haven’t seen before in other, better underdog motion pictures. It’s an exercise in cliché that benefits from the charms of the cast, chiefly Sam Rockwell, who sweetens the tiresome formula with his eccentric, sardonic ways. It doesn’t win points for originality, but the film keeps to a steady rhythm of entertainment, delivering a few laughs and tears along the way on DVD before it settles into its rightful home on basic cable, where the modest elements of this basketball picture will find a fitting audience.
Perspective is a key component of Rob Reiner’s “Flipped,” yet the film doesn’t have enough of it to go around. A disagreeable ride into calculated nostalgic spasms and draining melodramatics, “Flipped” isn’t some frothy jaunt into the past, dancing with the ways of young love. It’s far more oppressive and artificial, counting on a hit-packed soundtrack and the innocence of years gone by to secure a tender reaction. If the feature doesn’t latch on to the senses immediately with its sugared claws, it’s a long, ugly 85 minutes of dreadful behavior to endure, waiting for an ending that never arrives.
With “The Expendables,” co-writer/director/star Sylvester Stallone looks to take viewers back to the action cinema heyday of the 1980s, to a time when muscle men picked up ridiculous weapons and slammed bad guys around with ease. Taking that problematic aesthetic and giving it new life in 2010, Stallone has revived his machismo mojo, making “The Expendables” a gonzo moviegoing experience teeming with perfectly modulated absurdity and gifted an ensemble of charismatic badasses the screen hasn’t seen in years.
Christina Aguilera makes her big screen starring debut with the musical “Burlesque,” following the career trajectories of such aspiring pop princess thespians as Britney Spears and Mariah Carey. The good news is that while stiff, the former “Dirrty” girl has the makings to become an energetic screen presence in future films. The bad news is that while shellacked with shiny things, “Burlesque” is even more cringe-inducing than “Glitter” or “Crossroads,” bestowing Aguilera a loathsome script patched together from every cliché imaginable. All the jiggly bosoms, skimpy outfits, and garish songs can’t disguise the fact that this picture is utterly brain dead.
BRIAN ORNDORF 