Category: Film Review

One has to accept “The Resident” as it is, otherwise there’s just no fun to be had. A mindless horror/chiller that preys upon numerous single lady fears, the picture is generally well crafted and supplies a few satisfying jolts. Logic and editing aren’t the movie’s best friends, but accepted as a modest creep-out with a few semi-salacious touches and “The Resident” delivers the icks and scares, permitting star Hilary Swank a chance to relax her intense method approach and explore her lung power.

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One could look at “Just Go with It” as a semi-remake of the 1969 comedy “The Cactus Flower” (itself adapted from an Abe Burrows play) or as a chance for Adam Sandler to take a paid Hawaiian vacation for a few months, mingling with pals and flirting with his gorgeous co-stars. It’s a relief to report that some of the old Sandler magic is back for this farcical romantic comedy, but his aim remains crooked, leaving the film eager to please but not always consumed with providing first-rate goofballery.

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Technically, we’ve already been here, and recently too. Last summer, Neil Marshall’s blood-drenched “Centurion” took viewers into the mystery of Rome’s legendary Ninth Legion, a group of soldiers who disappeared into Northern British territory after encountering ferocious Pict warriors. “The Eagle” doesn’t exactly replay these events, instead it lurches ahead a few decades to study the aftermath, only here there’s more of a slack poetic edge instead of merciless slaughter, with director Kevin Macdonald unable to secure a riveting pace as he struggles to depict profound stances of honor and absolution.

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Stepping in the substantial cinematic footsteps of titans Miley Cyrus and the Jonas Brothers, pop starlet Justin Bieber assumes command of her own big screen 3D concert film. Actually, “Never Say Never” more of a sweet sixteen birthday celebration for the adolescent singer, showcasing Bieber commemorating her ascent into adulthood, surrounded by screaming hordes of blushing tween girls ready to pledge their everlasting allegiance to the Beeb, at least until something hotter comes along. Somehow, I doubt that’s ever going to happen.

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Even by animated filmmaking standards, “Gnomeo & Juliet” is a strange picture. Imagine William Shakespeare’s immortal classic of love and death acted out by a society of garden gnomes, scored to the music of Elton John. And the voice cast includes Hulk Hogan, Dolly Parton, Ozzy Osbourne, and Maggie Smith. Feeling a bit dizzy? While thoroughly bizarre, “Gnomeo” is a vibrant bit of cheeky entertainment, a beautifully animated romp that plays better cute than clever, offering miniature merriment and cheerful blasts of classic rock while pantsing the Bard.

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“Glorious 39” has the proper ambition and a gifted cast to transform into a spellbinding British WWII thriller, working out a stimulating story of paranoia and bleak family ties. It’s maddening to find the film stubbornly refuse to attempt soaring beats of intrigue, preferring to remain in a melodramatic coma while stupendous locations and a range of expressive faces do all the heavy lifting. Despite a few convincing turns, the feature is disappointingly winded, eventually going off on a few needless tangents that derail the whole production.

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“The Roommate” is a dreadful motion picture, but do you really need me to tell you that? From top to bottom, the film is an unimaginative, unbearable moviegoing event, playing directly to easily startled teen girls who have nothing better to do with their allowance money. There once was a time when trashy thrillers could be counted on to deliver trashy thrills. Now we have Minka Kelly and Leighton Meester. Blah. Crazy bitch, PG-13-o-nized cinema deserves a more captivating representation than these two wet-lipped paper dolls.

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“Frankie & Alice” is a turbulent psychological examination that urges viewers to feel bad for the fractured protagonist and her myriad of personalities. I spent much of the movie feeling bad for the film’s potential audience, forced to endure this shamelessly Oscar-baiting motion picture, which proudly spotlights a strident, exaggerated lead performance from Halle Berry. It’s a feature so eager for statues it practically provides a pen and a reading light to help with any potential award ballot situation that might arise after watching it.

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One would think that a simple spelunking disaster scenario would be enough to fill the running time of “Sanctum.” After all, the inherent danger of caves and raging waters is a compelling cinematic obstacle course on its own, supplying vital chills and spills needed to mount a successful thriller. “Sanctum” isn’t satisfied with the visceral basics, instead looking to engage the audience through dramatic cliché, leaving a nifty premise to wither while lifeless actors spout rotten dialogue and an unimaginative director stages substandard action set pieces. While teeming with promise and the marquee value of James Cameron as an executive producer, “Sanctum” is a deathly dull, criminally obvious feature film. In 3D. But of course.

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Creating suspense from the creep of shadows takes a special filmmaker, and director Brad Anderson is certainly capable of pulling out chills from nothingness. While flawed and perhaps a bit too elusive, “Vanishing on 7th Street” is an interesting little sci-fi/horror hybrid that urges the viewer to fear the dark, skillfully executed with a healthy amount of scares and inviting confusion.

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Pain flows like a river in Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu’s “Biutiful.” Actually, a river is too shallow and narrow to accurately convey the level of misery on display here, which plunges to abyssal depths at certain intervals of the film. Why so sad? “Biutiful” doesn’t retain much meaning beside expected explorations of spiritual and personal consequence. Instead, it’s an intermittently striking film with a few immensely effecting moments of catharsis, stretched out over an unnecessarily long running time desperate to hammer home every last twitch of agony.

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“The Mechanic” is a remake of a largely forgotten 1972 thriller starring Charles Bronson. The update brings in Jason Statham to growl lines and brandish weapons, which, to be fair, is a pretty solid match of thespian intensity. Sadly, Statham can’t fully spread his wings under the command of tepid director Simon West, who corrals a satisfying action chaos to the piece, but loses the sheer escapist pleasure by micromanaging every single scene. It’s loud and packs plenty of boom, but “The Mechanic” doesn’t live up to its mouthbreathing potential.

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“The Rite” declares at the onset that it’s “Inspired by true events.” I’m inclined to believe the claim, as the film keeps true to the slow trickle of existence, taking grand pauses between moments of exorcism intensity. It’s a plodding, toothless crack at devilish doings, leaving much of its charisma to star Anthony Hopkins, who does just about whatever the hell he wants while the rest of the picture waits around for something meaningful to occur. Eternal damnation and flesh-tearing possession never felt more tedious and unprepared.

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To answer the obvious question right away: No, “Repo Chick” is not a sequel to the 1984 cult hit “Repo Man,” despite the reunion of writer/director Alex Cox to the realm of “Repo” titles. Instead of a return to past glory, Cox attempts something wild with his small budget and newfound taste for greenscreen, erecting a subversive satire/romp that stretches roughly 15 minutes of marvelous cinematic ideas over 90 punishing minutes of screentime. I’ve never missed Emilio Estevez more.

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It’s unsettling to think the man responsible for “Meatballs,” “Stripes,” “Ghostbusters,” and “Kindergarten Cop” has spent the last decade churning out misfires such as “Evolution” and “My Super Ex-Girlfriend.” Ivan Reitman’s comedy mojo is evidently gone. Further confirmation of career death comes in the form of “No Strings Attached,” a sloppy, insipid chick/dick flick intended to blur the line between raunchy and romance. At 64 years of age, I’m not sure what Reitman’s doing fixating on the genital action of twentysomethings, but if there was ever a reason to root against the upcoming (maybe) “Ghostbusters 3,” this movie proves the filmmaker is out of creative gas.

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Don Roos, the writer/director of such films as “The Opposite of Sex” and “Happy Endings,” takes an unnervingly melodramatic leap with “The Other Woman.” Removing his sarcastic wit to play crying games with star Natalie Portman, Roos loses control of his film early on and never manages to recover. It’s a sluggish, shrill picture that deals with significant issues of loss and betrayal in the clumsiest manner imaginable.

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It’s been quite some time since an anthology film graced the cinema landscape, making Christopher B. Landon’s “Burning Palms” a welcome novelty, though one that sprays tremendous disease, leaving the feature reserved only for viewers in the mood for a series of sick and twisted tales from Southern California. There’s little sensitivity here, but the film’s obsession with grim deeds and sinister turns of fate lends the five stories a welcome kick of ugliness, which is a fascinating screen sensation.

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When a child dies, what comes next for the parents left behind? Grief is inevitable, but should it become eternal? Is there hope for happiness or at least some sense of composure in the midst of ungodly tragedy? “Rabbit Hole” analyzes the messy, raw emotional aftermath of loss, and how the eventual road to recovery is not defined by simple acts of forgiveness, but a rolling effort of comfort emerging from the most unlikely of sources. “Rabbit Hole” is a beautiful picture of immense power, treating the bleakness at hand with sublime variants of intimate human response.

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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.

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Stepping away from serious business (and the lucrative world of Robert Langdon) for a spell, Ron Howard mounts his first comedy in over a decade with “The Dilemma.” True to form, it’s really not much of a comedy at all. Though crudely marketed as a slapstick bonanza to put butts in seats, the picture is a far more peculiar machine of anxiety, flavored with only a light dusting of the funny stuff. Howard’s not drilling to the root of infidelity here, but he touches on delicate relationship issues, providing a fascinating, unexpected personality to the picture.

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