“Beginners” is a heartfelt poem of grief, but it’s also a deeply affected motion picture that elects to neatly bag and catalog its every last emotion. Maddeningly plodding and mannered, the picture leans more towards performance art than engaging cinema. Writer/director Mike Mills is making this one for himself, and anyone not in perfect alignment with the movie’s glacial tempo of contemplation will likely become nauseous by the end of this lengthy, cutesy, empty march to the end of life.
“Green Lantern” is a superhero film where nothing genuinely super occurs. A longtime bridesmaid in the comic book realm, Green Lantern finally takes command of his own cinematic vehicle, but for all the shiny visual effects and unabashed goal to kick off a franchise, the production has forgotten to include fundamental elements of compelling drama and excitement, spending so much time building the world, they don’t have any fun with it. It’s a lifeless, tremendously disappointing motion picture, consistently making dreary choices with a limitless universe of powerful heroes and complicated villains.
Irish stepdancing has enjoyed worldwide visibility due to the efforts of touring shows like “Riverdance” and “Lord of the Dance.” “Jig” looks to study the genesis of the training, observing the considerable physical efforts from teens and pre-teens as they prepare, worry, and compete, all hoping to achieve a title at the Irish Dancing World Championships, held in Glasgow, Scotland. It’s all sweat, stomps, and caked-on make-up as these girls (and a few boys) chase their dreams, for personal glory and, of course, to appease their parents.
Jim Carrey has made a number of stinkers during his career, but what makes the repellent “Mr. Popper’s Penguins” such a heartbreaker is that it arrives so soon after the domestic release of one of his finest performances, as the sneaky Steven Russell in “I Love You Phillip Morris.” It’s paycheck time again for the famous funny man, who finds himself sharing a frame with CG-animated penguins, barely staying awake while a moronic screenplay and an unimaginative director take turns urinating on a 1938 kid-lit classic. Come for the penguins, stay for the four fart jokes, four defecation gags, one shot of testicle trauma, and a series of sketchy messages for the wee ones.
“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.
BRIAN ORNDORF 