Category: DVD/BLU-RAY

The nauseatingly titled “Cougars, Inc.” comes across like an unfinished movie, with viewers often dropped into scenes already in progress. It’s a mess of characterizations and romantic connections that also wants to register as a raunchy sex comedy, spinning itself dizzy for 79 minutes. I’m not exactly sure what type of film writer/director K. Asher Levin was looking to make, but he’s made all of them, uncomfortably stuffed into a doomed comedy where every character is either suffering from an undiagnosed mental impairment or registers as flat-out repulsive.

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It appears writer/director Michael Goldbach really enjoyed Richard Kelly’s 2001 mind-bender, “Donnie Darko.” In fact, he liked it so much, he went out and made a copy for himself, dialing down the sci-fi complexity, but retaining the apocalyptic teen angst routine, performed by a cast of frantic actors who always look bewildered. I can’t blame them, for “Daydream Nation” is an impenetrable, seemingly unfinished saga of love, rage, drugs, and sinister activities, thrown up on the screen all at once. “Donnie Darko” it’s most certainly not, though it finds a few appealing moments underneath the deflating sense of chaos Goldbach is incapable of aiming.

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“Jolene” is chunk of old-fashioned American storytelling, adapted from a short story by E.L. Doctorow. Crossing the country detailing the swelling woe of a redhead and her failure to find uncontaminated love in the world, the film attempts to spread the feeling of a life lived across a widescreen environment, working out the complex mechanics of a tragedy in two hours, deploying a supporting cast of familiar faces to help make the violations stick. Cruelly, the display of sorrow never takes command, with most of the film an unsatisfactory soap opera that never seizes an illuminating essence.

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As a swinging, small-time musical composer in the early 1920s, Cole Porter (Kevin Kline) ruled the Parisian nightlife with his witty combination of songs, bubbly charisma, and sex appeal. Cole soon meets his match in Linda (Ashley Judd), a divorcee who finds Cole’s songwriting gifts intoxicating, falling in love with the composer even with prior knowledge of his homosexual desires. Linda gives Cole confidence to reach for the big time, creating legendary Broadway shows (“Kiss Me Kate,” “Anything Goes”) and finding riches in Hollywood. However, their relationship is severely tested when Cole’s preference for men clouds his connection to Linda, threatening to disrupt his amazing talents for writing music.

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There’s not a drop of originality to “Knockout,” which largely plays out like a photocopy of “The Karate Kid” set in the high school boxing realm. The picture lacks a great deal of innovation, but it retains an impressive reservoir of charisma to help squeak it through the rough patches, making for an atypically pleasant picture from star Steve Austin, who takes a slightly less knuckle-sandwich position of caring in this underdog sports drama.

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I’ll give the Korean production “Chawz” this much: it definitely aims to please. An overlong, underfunny horror picture about a rampaging mutant boar, the picture has difficulty translating frantic fits of performance and slapstick into a crisply executed feature film, wasting a delicious premise on two protracted hours of stillborn silly business, tickling a screen concept that needs to play as lean and mean as possible.

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“Fly Away” details the experience of autism in a stressful manner I’ve never seen before, outside of the occasional documentary. It’s a stimulating sense of realism that helps to shape a raw, compassionate portrait of life lived with the disorder, finding pauses of behavior and response that shock and enlighten. It’s not an easy film to watch, but it’s a picture of immense importance, capturing an intimate state of mind few are allowed to visit.

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It seems rather odd that there’s a DTV sequel to the 2008 police drama, “Street Kings,” but perhaps 20th Century Fox knows more about the original film’s bottom line than I do. As strange as the film’s existence is, the procedural and thriller mechanics are well oiled in the compelling distraction, which returns to the black heart of cops and robbers and their mutual interest in stolen money and dirty deeds.

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Just when I thought Thai cinema couldn’t get any stranger, I come across “Muay Thai Giant,” a 2008 action-comedy finally making its debut in America. A highly bizarre mix of “The Incredible Hulk,” “The Little Rascals,” and the average knee-to-the-face martial arts extravaganza, the film is a refreshingly nutty family film that probably shouldn’t be shown to families. Loud, broad, and always aiming to please, “Muay Thai Giant” is an unpredictable charmer that delivers on every silly promise.

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“The Way Back” features more walking than I’ve ever seen from a film. Combine all three “Lord of the Rings” pictures, and there’s still less arduous trekking than found in this movie. It’s a true-life tale of endurance and unimaginable distance brought to the screen by filmmaker Peter Weir, who captures the agony and companionship of life on the move, where a group of strangers faced the fight of their life hiking through debilitating environmental challenges.

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The lottery is a powerful thing. For some, it’s a method of achieving a better life, flush with enough cash to permit the indulgence of any imaginable dream. For a few of the winners, the jackpot is a burden, distancing them from the life they once knew, forcing them to pull back on loved ones and the public at large. “Lucky” surveys lottery tales of winning and losing, observing the emotional strain and social discomfort that goes along with the gamble. For some, money doesn’t even begin to cover some of their troubles.

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These days, sci-fi conventions are big business, held in cavernous convention centers where the proudly geeky pay big bucks to come within slapping distance of their television and movie heroes. And let’s not forget the merchandise, with rows and rows of dealers selling everything they can get their hands on. Conventions have become a machine of commerce and promotion, but it wasn’t always this way. Zip back to the 1970s, and these gatherings displayed sincerity and passion, stitched together by individuals who adored “Star Trek” and wanted to share their particular interests with others.

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A few years back, I was pushed into seeing the “High School Musical” movies, and, boy howdy, I wasn’t looking forward to the assured sensorial punishment. The trilogy turned out to be a charming, jaunty experience, teeming with happy feet and fresh-faced young talent, kicking up a Disney Channel-approved storm that, while outrageously broad, provided the essentials in terms of tween melodrama. While Vanessa Hudgens is out there appearing in awful movies (“Beastly,” “Sucker Punch”) and Zac Efron looks to butch up in indie cinema, Ashley Tisdale is perfectly content to continue on with her own starring vehicle, once again taking command of Sharpay as she looks to make her mark on the Great White Way.

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The box art for “Blood Out” trumpets the participation of Val Kilmer, Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson, and Vinnie Jones, though these men are hardly in the film. The true star is actor Luke Goss, who’s built a career for himself as a poor man’s Jason Statham, accepting roles as a buzz-cut bruiser in a myriad of DTV product, working hard to look cool in motion pictures that are nearly comedic in their ineptitude — the highly ludicrous “Blood Out” being the latest to join his career hall of shame.

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While Michael J. Fox was thrust into the media spotlight when “Back to the Future” blew up the box office in the summer of 1985, it wasn’t his only picture released during the season. Shot before “Future” and released shortly afterwards to capitalize on its massive success, “Teen Wolf” was a decidedly low-tech teen comedy, less about dazzling Spielbergian pace and time travel, and more about hairy teens and pubescent allegory. Despite the inexcusable lack of a DeLorean, “Teen Wolf” is a modest, digestible comedy, guided by a perfectly itchy Fox performance as the titular beast.

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In 2000, Mark Hogancamp was beaten senseless outside of a bar by a group of brutes. The resulting brain injury wiped his mind clean, forcing the 38-year-old man to relearn basic functions, rebuilding his life after an extended hospital stay. Instead of feeding into an understandable rage over what was lost, Mark reclaimed what was left of his life through a curious hobby: photographs of 1/6-scale dolls engaged in a large-scale WWII recreation that reflects Mark’s own dreams of community support, filling his vast emotional needs.

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Imagine “Inception.” Now imagine “Inception” with a C-list cast, obscure locations, and a visual effects effort similar to a PBS production from the 1980s. “The Speed of Thought” is yet another indie film too ambitious for its own good, constructing a psychological thriller without a proper budget, rendering the feature awkward and downright silly at times, despite an intriguing concept.

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Writer/director Shana Feste aims to pattern her latest film, “Country Strong,” after the tragic love songs of the enduring musical genre. What she comes up with is far more clunky and unimaginative, scripting an intolerable Lifetime Movie-style excursion into the gloomy recesses of fame, making a complete fool out of a confident actress. “Country Strong” is excruciating to watch at times; a wholly embarrassing enterprise that renders country music insufferable, keeps Gwyneth Paltrow in an irritating state of teary distress, and makes one long for the same numbing cell of bottle-clutching isolation that alcoholism gifts to the lead character.

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In a day and age when so many filmmakers lean on camp to pay tribute to the monster movies of old, “Monster Beach Party A-Go-Go” plays surprisingly straight. A valentine to the creature features of the 1960s, the film has an unexpectedly low-key presence, content to tinker with a few traditions and tug at some goofy genre habits, but refuses to squeal, accepting the challenge of recreating beach party horror with refreshing semi-seriousness.

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“Heartless” exists purely in visual terms. It’s an art project not meant to be understood or interpreted, but merely gawked at, with the filmmaker in question, Philip Ridley, creating a swirling, vicious depiction of grief and madness, heading in abstract directions that are easily appreciated but rarely satisfying. It’s a wicked film with convincing nightmarish imagery, but there’s no story here to cling to, making this abyss of torment rather easy to disregard.

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