Category: DVD/BLU-RAY

“You Again” is insufferable. It’s a glorified sitcom burning through the hoariest of comedic circumstances with a cast not known for their jester gifts. Because when you think of laughs, you think of Odette Yustman. It’s almost shocking to witness how derivative the feature is, often begging on bloodied knees for a laugh, while displaying a cringingly broad sense of humor that would make Carol Burnett wince. This picture is a baffling, excruciating, cancerous lump. A complete waste of time for everyone involved.

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Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse than 2008’s loathsome “Beverly Hills Chihuahua,” “Beverly Hills Chihuahua 2” comes around to completely spoil my low expectations. Simple, genuinely funny (in spurts), and crammed with canine tomfoolery, this DTV offering is an affable surprise, sure to give family audiences a charming ride. Without even breaking a sweat, this sequel easily surpasses the original’s distasteful screenwriting and lethargic sense of star power.

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While I wasn’t tickled by the tepid teen comedy stylings of 2004’s “Mean Girls,” I do respect the fact that the film was an influential hit while providing writer Tina Fey with a deserved shot at Hollywood stardom. “Mean Girls 2” isn’t a sequel, but a remake of the original picture, once again pitting the unpopular against the popular in an eternal struggle for high school hallway supremacy. Whatever problems I had with the 2004 feature aren’t even an issue here, as the new film offers a decidedly more pedestrian take on the clique warfare concept, trading Fey’s sly ambition for cruel DTV routine.

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While the premise wiggles with promise of sinful delights, one has to be reminded while watching “The Client List” that this is a Lifetime Movie, therefore more interested in the mommy blues than the beast with two backs. A story of hooking, drug abuse, and harsh Texas judgment, the film elects for a soft route of melodrama, using pleasant actors to communicate desperation, refusing salacious details to play right to the target demographic of sympathetic mothers and wives.

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It’s a little unsettling to approach a third entry in the unexpected “Open Season” franchise and find that, once again, most of the primary voices have been recast. It seems the title can’t keep a good star around. To combat this predicament, the producers have decided to do away with stunt casting all together. The result is a fresher, funnier sequel that executes slapstick comedy with more creative freedom, using its tiny budget and DTV status to find its own personal path of irreverence with these goofy forest creatures.

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“Secretariat” has a challenging journey ahead of it, released relatively soon after the 2003 racehorse picture, “Seabiscuit.” Without much in the way of controversial elements or a suspenseful conclusion, “Secretariat” feels like a nonstarter, though it’s handsomely mounted by director Randall Wallace. It’s simply a slice of cinematic apple pie, handed a firm inspirational Disney scrubbing and sent out void of a personality. I can’t fault a film for comfort food aspirations, but this tale of horseracing’s greatest champion doesn’t breathe enough fire to make a lasting impression.

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When I think of “Dances with Wolves,” my mind reels back to December of 1990, a time where I first encountered word of the picture’s release from a local pennysaver film critic (for you Minneapolis movie folk, the man was Barry ZeVan). Already entrenched in moviegoing habits, I was well aware of Kevin Costner and his upcoming western, hypnotized by the film’s unusual teaser marketing campaign. However, on this frigid weekend morning, sitting down at a local strip mall with a soda, I began to grasp the film in more than just simple movie attendance terms, reading about the picture’s awe-inspiring scope and thematic novelty. It’s a sweet memory of growing anticipation, especially for an underdog film nobody was expecting much from. It was perhaps the last time “Dances with Wolves” enjoyed the element of surprise.

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World-famous rapper, relentless huckster, video game brand name, actor of no discernable skill, and now motion picture screenwriter? Yes, Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson tries his hand at cinema mythmaking with the urban crime saga, “Gun.” Regurgitating the “Scarface” formula to such a degree that Brian De Palma should consider hiring some lawyers, Jackson looks to shape a new iconic crook for the masses, rolling moldy streetwise clichés and John Larroquette (of course) up into a limp thriller from the director of “Soul Plane.”

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The strange, sad trail of Val Kilmer’s once thriving career leads to “The Traveler,” a no-budget Canadian shocker looking to supply some leftover goopy gore for the “Saw” crowds. It’s a completely idiotic, glacial, and poorly acted feature, but one doesn’t rent a Val Kilmer picture these days to watch the supporting cast flail about. One watches for Kilmer and his complete inability to disguise his boredom with acting now that he’s firmly ensconced in the DTV era of his filmography.

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“Jack Goes Boating” is a very peculiar film that reaches out for an emotional intensity I’m not convinced it ever achieves. The movie marks the directing debut of Philip Seymour Hoffman, who strains to lend the picture a certain level of indie film authority, mixing crooked whimsy with exaggerated idiosyncrasy. The feature has few tender moments of joy and pain, but nothing gels in an insightful manner that invites the viewer into the experience.

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“Death Race 2” isn’t actually a sequel, but a prequel detailing the creation of the unstoppable, iron-masked driving force known as Frankenstein, portrayed in the original 1975 film by the late David Carradine. The picture doesn’t exactly answer all the burning questions left behind by the dreadful Paul W.S. Anderson motion picture from 2008, but it’s a start. And not a half-bad one either, effortlessly surpassing its forefather with a scrappier take on head-bashing, car-smashing matters of a dystopian future.

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The strain of love and marriage goes mumblecore in Katie Aselton’s ‘The Freebie,” which takes a largely improvised peek at the struggle of fidelity. Though cursed with a clichéd shaky HD presentation, Aselton (who’s married to co-producer/mumblecore maestro Mark Duplass) proves herself to be a formidable filmmaker with a keen eye for shame, making the picture something of a surprise, especially with its sense of marital realism.

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Though there’s nothing wrong with the appearance of weighty dramatics during a martial arts extravaganza, the Indonesian film, “Merantau,” lacks a necessary component of entertainment. There’s no sense of life to this bland run of heroes and villains, reducing the bone-breaking encounters scattered throughout to merciful blasts of screen energy that break up the monotonous, poorly acted severity that turns the picture into a still frame. I’m all for the infusion of gravitas and actual stakes, but “Merantau” is a bore, only achieving a few pure moments of bloody-knuckled invention.

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Take a cursory glance at the comedy “Barry Munday,” and it might appear as an extended “Napoleon Dynamite” riff, delving into the lives of those cursed with social awkwardness, bad hygiene, and budget clothes. Mercifully, the picture submits a little more effort than cruel mockery, struggling to extract a sense of profound characterization out of surface mannerisms. It’s an oddball feature lacking a fine point to tie it all together, but it spotlights a cast game to try something new for a change, committing to the aimlessness with endearing slack-jawed concentration.

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The Jimmy Fallon we know today is the host of a successful late night talk show, working diligently five nights a week to entertain America with his genial goofball wit and amusing competitive streak. The Jimmy Fallon viewed in the indie “The Year of Getting to Know Us” (shot in 2007) is a man at the end of his acting career, attempting to pull off an angsty role well beyond his skill level, working with professionals behind the camera who show no command over basic storytelling essentials. I think Jimmy Fallon is better off being silly on late night television.

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“The Heavy” has ambition. It also has 18 credited producers, which may be the reason why the film looks manically executed yet remains frustratingly undercooked. The feature strives to be a stylish, unconventional mystery-thriller, but it always comes up short, despite a colorful cast and the blue steel dedication of its fist-first star, Gary Stretch.

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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.

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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.

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