“The Art of Getting By” is a decidedly formulaic motion picture, but it’s reassuring to see writer/director Gavin Wiesen present some effort into combating the clichés, eliciting acceptable performances and a few relatable beats of teen malaise as the script follows a familiar path of self-discovery and the heartbreak of first love. It’s a rickety picture, but one that captures a strong feel for city life and the reluctance of personal application.
Before anyone dares enter the cinematic realm of “The Tree of Life,” this much must be emphasized: it’s a Terrence Malick motion picture. The famously enigmatic filmmaker emerges from the shadows once again with this mystifying elegy, returning for his fifth motion picture since 1973. Malick doesn’t work a whole lot, but when the man feels the urge to create, he doesn’t screw around. A meditation on life, family, innocence, grief, and the origins of the universe, “The Tree of Life” is essentially Malick calling his shot, stepping up with Babe Ruth swagger to examine, you know, the meaning of life. And bless his no-publicity heart, he actually achieves a few tangible answers.
It’s been a decade since director John Carpenter released a feature-length motion picture (2001’s “Ghosts of Mars”), and frankly, I’ve missed the guy. Sure, his output hasn’t been consistent since the 1980s, but I’ll take a Carpenter misfire over the latest music video trainee looking to make their mark with a sloppy showing of shock value. “The Ward” feels a little weightless for the filmmaker, but it’s a mildly entertaining effort, just nowhere near exceptional.
“Trollhunter” exists somewhere between “The Blair Witch Project” and a particularly edgy Rankin/Bass holiday special. It’s a crafty motion picture with ingenious visual effects and a healthy sense of humor, but it overstays its welcome, looking to stretch a thin concept to an unsteady feature length running time, losing its fresh appeal and sensation of surprise in the process.
For the last year, moviegoers have been bombarded with mysterious marketing for the new J.J. Abrams feature, “Super 8.” The footage suggested an experience of awe, sold with teasing shots of aliens, magically floating debris, and slack-jawed actors reacting to unknown sights of indeterminate hostility. Though it’s unfair to judge a film solely on marketing, this is Abrams after all — one of the more ingenious architects of hype around. The man knows how to bait a hook, yet “Super 8” is not the movie promised in the advertising. While tender, it’s not sweet. While enigmatic, it’s not endearingly so. While wonderful, it’s also strangely disappointing. Perhaps this whirlwind of reaction speaks to the chaos of surprise, though I do wish Abrams permitted more of a peek into this world of nostalgia and terror sooner rather than later.
“Judy Moody and the Not Bummer Summer” is an aggressive, unpleasant motion picture. Surely younger viewers will take a shine to its hyperactive charms, but they won’t be challenged or celebrated, just visually assaulted by all manner of shock value and crude behavior, with studio suits ready to get their hands on that delicious “Diary of a Wimpy Kid” money.
Imagine “Sex and the City” populated with vampires and there’s a crude description of the German horror film, “We Are the Night.” We have four women of considerable temperament, indulging themselves with shopping, men, and the splendor of feminine companionship. And much like the ladies of “Sex and the City,” this gang is made up of bloodsucking monsters desperate to stay out of the sunlight. Trust me, lead vamp Louise is such a Samantha.
Prequels are a dicey proposition, and most make it unnecessarily hard on themselves by trying to exhaustively satisfy a fan base that’s already an easy lay. “X-Men: First Class” is a feisty prequel effort, effectively restoring badly needed snap into the mutant franchise, breaking away from Wolverine to fiddle with a colorful community of heroes and villains. It’s also ludicrous beyond belief at times, madly searching for ways to establish connections between this origin tale and the four films that technically follow it. “First Class” works too hard to be clever, when all anyone is truly asking for is a restoration of the group dynamic that made the earlier pictures exciting and expansive.
To appreciate the fullness of the HBO film “Too Big to Fail,” a notepad should be required to help keep all the names in check. Exploring the 2008 Financial Meltdown in 95 minutes, director Curtis Hanson doesn’t simply walk through the details, he gallops, channeling the mighty power of The Flash to sprint from encounter to encounter while arranging the complex puzzle pieces that worm forth from pits of the business world to the offices in Washington D.C. The picture is determined, but oddly unnecessary and tiring to follow, though the sheer wallop of star power collected here successfully distracts from the crippling weight of impenetrable exposition.
There’s genuine magic in the air of “Midnight in Paris,” perhaps the most effective offering of sophisticated whimsy writer/director Woody Allen has conjured in decades. Of course, roaming around the City of Light with ace cinematographer Darius Khondji will have that effect. Perhaps Allen is cheating a smidge with his latest, but it’s a fantastic manipulation, taking viewers to a tranquil place of immense culture and beauty while studying the enticing ease of nostalgia. And here’s something I never thought I’d write again: Owen Wilson is marvelous here.
Mounting a proper antihero extravaganza takes a special directorial hand, someone able to make a friend out of a nasty human being and make it stick as an organic exploration of an intricate personality. “Attack the Block” looks to build an entire motion picture around the antics of rotten people, and first-time filmmaker Joe Cornish doesn’t possess a magic touch able to smoothly transition creeps into champions. A slick horror comedy, “Attack the Block” contains a few fatal flaws that weaken its sense of cheery violent fun. It’s difficult to root for a bunch of alien-busting kids when they all deserve prolonged spankings.
2008’s “Kung Fu Panda” was such an unexpected delight, merging furious martial art action and a traditional hero’s journey narrative to create a quirky, spirited comedy, making ideal use of star Jack Black’s verbal idiosyncrasies and playful heft. The development of a sequel wasn’t the most welcome news, threatening to sink a sublime feeling of creativity through cash-happy repetition. It’s a relief to report that “Kung Fu Panda 2” isn’t only superb, but matches the original picture in terms of scope and sentiment, once again following Po as he seeks to attain peace in his special bumbling manner.
“The Hangover: Part II” isn’t a sequel, it’s a victory lap. Instead of escalating the troubles of our three blackout kings, co-writer/director Todd Phillips merely hits restart on the machine, essentially remaking the blockbuster comedy hit of 2009. The lack of pure sequel ingenuity is extremely disappointing, though this awkward photocopy does manage to seize a few laughs as it stumbles down a familiar path.
Either Mitch Glazer is a filmmaker of extraordinary depth and emotional perception, or the man’s a lunatic who should never be allowed to direct again. “Passion Play” makes a strong case for the end of Glazer’s moviemaking career, submitting an overwrought, sublimely goofy story about angels, jazz musicians, and gangsters, treating unbearably silly material with a furrowed brow concentration one might expect from a Shakespeare adaptation. There’s undeniable entertainment value in accidental absurdity, but “Passion Play” strikes a note of delirium that’s downright painful to process.
“Hard Breakers” isn’t a very robust motion picture, but the idea of a female director guiding a T&A stoner comedy is intriguing, especially with a pair of actresses in the lead roles. Giving the genre a refreshing gender curl, the picture still falls short in the laugh department, with a distinctly stale sitcom air penetrating the relatively vulgar mood.
“Deep Gold” is a throwback of sorts to the lesser works of cheesecake filmmaker Andy Sidaris, utilizing exotic locales and beautiful actresses to backdrop a pedestrian tale of villainy. It’s not a very good movie, but it’s entertaining in spurts, especially when director Michael Gleissner drops his concentration on the flimsy story to raise some hell, tearing around the Philippines with a cast of wet actresses on big boats doing their damndest to make this foolishness credible.
In the months leading up to the release of “Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides,” certain members of the production have attempted to distance themselves from the wreckage of the last two sequels, “Dead Man’s Chest” and “At World’s End.” While box office was bountiful, fan reaction to the follow-ups was as harsh as an empty jug of rum, with the matinee joys of 2003’s “Curse of the Black Pearl” officially scrubbed away by overwritten screenplays, convoluted mythologies, and halfhearted performances. While it’s obvious why some would claim a rebirth in “Caribbean” mojo with this latest installment, the sad truth is “On Stranger Tides” simply resumes the mirthless antics of a franchise that’s completely lost its course.
In 2010, director Scott Stewart brought a dopey apocalyptic action film titled “Legion” to the big screen, which starred Paul Bettany as an agent of God caught in the middle of an unearthly war. For 2011, Stewart throws a curveball with “Priest,” a dopey apocalyptic action film that stars Paul Bettany as an agent of God caught in the middle of an unearthly war. And people say there’s no originality in Hollywood anymore. Well, instead of combative angels in a desert setting, the new feature offers a plague of vampires in a desert setting. Additionally, “Priest” offers its rusty delights in magical 3D, leaving its dreary lifelessness to linger right in front of your eyes!
Though it has the early designs to be a head-spinning mystery, “Hesher” is no puzzle. What a disappointment. An abrasive dark comedy that invests more in mood than substance, the picture feeds off an anarchic ambiance of metalhead insight, showing a fist when all it really wants to do is offer a hug. Blowing a glorious opportunity to create substantial psychological mischief, “Hesher” would rather play it safe, though this is hardly a traditional domestic drama.
“Bridesmaids” has more than its share of wonderful moments exploring the ease and crisis support command of female friendships, a sensitive tenor not seen nearly enough on the big screen. In fact, the film is best slipping inside this intimacy, which goes a heck of a lot further than any of the gross-out jokes co-writer/star Kristen Wiig serves up to play to the back row. “Bridesmaids” is a hoot, but it’s also ridiculously overlong and surprisingly unadventurous, almost afraid to pursue its most compelling qualities.
BRIAN ORNDORF 