2005’s “Waiting” was a lowbrow plunge into the endless ocean of raunchy comedy, finding some merit within its lived-in perspective on the cruel business of being a chain restaurant server. The movie ended up a cult hit, perhaps in great part to its vocational candor. Now the dubious DTV barrel vomits up the sequel, “Still Waiting,” and it’s crushing to observe the follow-up assume a Cro-Magnon comedic vision over an effort to build on the universal eatery frustrations of the original picture.
“How Do You Know” is a James L. Brooks film that plays like a parody of a James L. Brooks film. It’s an overly mannered, emotionally void romantic comedy, ideal for viewers who aren’t on the hunt for common sense when it comes to the oily mechanics of love on the silver screen. Straining to coast on charm, the picture instead belly flops immediately, massively overestimating the appeal of the cast and the tender overtones of the script. Heck, even the camerawork is bungled in this insufferable motion picture. I can’t believe Brooks signed off on it.
I would best describe “Meskada” as an admirable failure. Writer/director Josh Sternfeld aims for a gritty tale of small town dysfunction and criminal paranoia, but his efforts are muddled and the story incomplete, making the feature limp along, in search of something substantial and focused to lean against. While initially moody and raw, the film quickly falls apart.
I wouldn’t classify “Yogi Bear” as a particularly superior movie, but considering the potential for disaster a property like this holds in today’s matinee marketplace, the finished film is far more palatable than expected. In fact, it’s actually pretty darn funny in small portions, tiny enough to fit inside the average pic-a-nic basket.
Holding tight to his instincts, director Clint Eastwood has fashioned a relentlessly low-key discussion of heavenly mysteries with “Hereafter.” Shunning a grandly scaled march into the unknown, Eastwood sticks to what he knows best: soft approach, acoustic scoring, and introspective performances. Those weaned on “The Ghost Whisperer” or “The Dead Zone” will be greeted with a particular absence of zeal, but fans keyed into Eastwood’s gentle past work might be more inclined to sit back and allow the filmmaker to find his own way, even if that means a few melodramatic rough patches and a bizarrely pat ending.
A throwback of sorts to an era of star-driven cinema, “The Tourist” doesn’t have to supply much of an effort to keep eyes glued to the screen. With Johnny Depp and Angelina Jolie securely fastened in the starring roles (Jolie’s pillow lips take a supporting credit), all that’s left is expensive make-up and incredible costumes, the rest should fall into place with ease. For better or worse, there’s a caper to decode at the heart of the film, which often gets in the way of the pretty people doing pretty things. It’s interesting to note that even the director recognizes the futility of a plot, making a grand push to turn this postcard into a knockout punch, yet failing to make much of an impression beyond superficial thrills.
“The Switch” takes a sitcom concept and humanizes it to a lovely degree. It’s not the funniest film of the year or the most emotionally engaging, but there’s a charisma in play that keeps it awake, boosted by efforts from Jennifer Aniston and especially Jason Bateman, who bring an unbelievable amount of personality to a potentially virulent comedy.
Sex has never felt more repellent after watching “Hemingway’s Garden of Eden,” a clumsy effort of eroticism and psychological gamesmanship that’s utterly devoid of structure and feeling. It’s an awful picture, but I’ll admit the campy overtones encouraged by director John Irvin make it an unintentionally hilarious sit, offering the viewer something to delight in while the picture proceeds to spin itself dizzy.
It’s another peek into the strain of marriage with the drama “Every Day,” though this particular snapshot of marital friction is blessed with a gifted cast able to pull the interior ache out of a script that eventually grows to fail them completely. A scattered picture, the viewing experience is saved by a few tender scenes of resignation and the occasional blip of honest communication.
The box art for “My Girlfriend’s Back” promises a richly comedic feature film, though there aren’t any actual attempts to summon laughter during the movie. However, erroneous marketing is the least of this picture’s problems, with the cast and crew slumbering through a derivative, unfocused, unrealistic melodrama, featuring DNA pulled from “Barbershop” and Tyler Perry.
Presumably made to please Australian kiddies during matinee hours, “BMX Bandits” has grown to become a considerable cult hit in a few film geek circles, made famous for its attention to hot wheels and for employing Nicole Kidman at her fuzziest, here in her very first feature film role. While it’s best approached as an irresistible time capsule, the picture remains a consistently engaging adventure film, with colorful bikes and a bright cast eager to maintain a high-flying spirit of citywide Sydney pursuit.
During its nearly 70 years of existence, “Bambi” has grown from a box office disappointment to one of the defining treasures of the Walt Disney Animated Studios. A feature of immense beauty and appealing cartoon behavior, the 1942 picture feels just as alive and relevant all these decades later, sustaining as a richly imagined saga of life and death, discovery, and instinct, communicated by true masters of the animation craft, turning the yearlong experience of a maturing deer into mesmeric cinema.
“Helena from the Wedding” is a film festival wet dream come to life. Shot on HD, filled with a cast of exploratory actors salivating over themes of temptation, and set inside a secluded cabin during a snowy winter, the picture has all the ingredients necessary to delight the average art-house theater. The film almost reaches a resonate plateau, observing the frosty nuances of relationships with a game cast and an intriguing plot. The picture ultimately doesn’t end up anywhere, but moments are accounted for nicely, creating a warm bath of razors for those who prefer their onscreen relationships to be as hesitant as possible.
Star Michael Matthias wants to be Vin Diesel in the worst way. With his pumped-up exterior, shaved head, and unconvincing way with the English language, Matthias is a J.V. screen brute looking for his chance at big time stardom. “The Bleeding” (shot in 2008) won’t turn the hulk into a major action star. In fact, it might kill his leading man career altogether. A slapdash mess of genres with zero storytelling capability, “The Bleeding” looks to coast on red-hot vampire trends. Instead, the film bites, and not in a satisfyingly monstrous manner.
2003’s “S.W.A.T.” was a wildly entertaining noisemaker. An update of the 1975-76 television series, the original film combined bold Hollywood theatrics and frosty police procedure comfortably, led by a generous portion of star power and muscular direction from Clark Johnson. Eight years later, we have “S.W.A.T: Firefight,” a DTV sequel that does away with procedure, star power, and secure direction. While amusing in the moment, with a merry junk food cinema rhythm, the low-budget follow-up isn’t nearly as brawny as the original feature, electing video game stylistics and movie-of-the-week plotting to dream up a new “S.W.A.T.” adventure.
“See You in September” is yet another roll around the muck of New York City neuroses, fiddling where many films have fiddled before. Missing a performance miracle or outstandingly scripted concern, the picture instead wilts instantly, offering viewers a snapshot of slapstick anxiety that’s neither merry nor original. It’s all just utterly forgettable.
I suppose Hilary Duff isn’t the adolescent, semi-innocent Disney starlet she once was, though I find it completely bizarre that it took an unremarkable ABC Family production to inform me that the actress is ready to tackle adult roles that deal with…you know…sex. “Beauty & the Briefcase” is Duff’s trampoline bounce toward the next phase of her career: playing neurotic, overprivileged twentysomething characters in vapid basic cable movies for networks that label themselves as family friendly, yet offer programming that celebrates dubious behavior for impressionable young eyes.
“Carnival Magic” is a forgotten family feature released in 1983 that was filmed in 1981 but looks like it was shot in 1972. It features a talking chimp, telepathic powers, sideshow melodrama, and a cast of buxom women who’ve never heard of a bra before. Did I mention the talking chimp? The picture is a Z-grade curio that’s slowly garnered a cult following over the years, confronting schlock hunters with completely sincere nonsense. I’m not suggesting “Carnival Magic” is a good film, but I will admit to delighting in its peculiar behavior and bootleg turns of plot. In an age where high camp is daily business, it’s amusing to find a 28-year-old film about a wisecracking ape that’s utterly convinced of its emotional resonance.
It would be easy to blame the ineptitude of “Game of Death” on its most disinterested star, Wesley Snipes. The latest entry in his string of career-killing DTV actioners, Snipes is intensely stationary here, stiffly going through the neck-snapping motions while paying moderate attention to the development of his character. Truthfully, Snipes is a bore, but director Giorgio Serafini is the man responsible for the film’s transition from a mindless bruiser to an unsightly wreck.
Writer/director Julian Kemp faces an uphill battle with “My Last Five Girlfriends.” In this day and age of the ubiquitous romantic comedy, there’s little originality to be found, leaving the average filmmaker scrambling for cliché just to maintain basic likability. Curiously, “Girlfriends” isn’t looking to be warmly received, instead lurching for a breakneck pace of sly whimsy, investigating the fragments of a broken heart through elaborate fantasy, with enough visual effect shots to rival a “Transformers” picture. And what does the screen blizzard amount to? An intolerable ride of self-importance and easily avoidable emotional trauma.
BRIAN ORNDORF 