That 2010’s “Despicable Me” turned out to be an enormous hit is a bit of
a surprise. Perfectly pleasant but also unremarkable, the feature
scratched a certain audience itch at the time, striking a distinct
cartoon blow while introducing the world to the hyperactive comedy
antics of the minions — those miniature yellow slapstick machines that
eventually made Universal Pictures a mint in merchandise sales. Well,
the minions are back, along with Gru and his adoptive children, with
“Despicable Me 2” perfectly content to replicate humor and spectacle for
its adoring audience. However, with the lead character now playing for
the good guys, certain changes have been made to the freshly-minted
franchise, a few ideas that keep this sequel entertaining but never
remarkable.
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Jason Statham will never have acting range in a manner that brings him
respectability in the industry, but he has tremendous presence, utilized
to varying degree in action extravaganzas that play up his cool,
knuckle-cracking demeanor. While hardly challenging the star,
“Redemption” does offer Statham something a little different to play,
offered a chance to take possession of a human being for a change, not
just a growly enforcer. The picture provides the traditional allotment
of intimidation and cracked bones, yet “Redemption” has a little more on
its mind than a simple serving of beatings. Visually striking and
marked by unexpected characterizations, the movie isn’t perfect, but
it’s unusual, acting as a career multivitamin for Statham.
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After spending a considerable amount of time floundering with his
directorial career, Paul Feig hit pay dirt with 2011’s “Bridesmaids,” a
rude, crude, profoundly improvised comedy centered on female characters.
It makes sense to find Feig repeating the formula for “The Heat,”
though the effort isn’t a twist on matrimonial madness movies, but buddy
cop cinema, pairing Melissa McCarthy and Sandra Bullock as the titular
force of justice, but only giving them a few pages of story to work
with. The rest of the experience is a riffing hailstorm where everyone
dashes for a punchline, disrupted by scenes of graphic violence to break
up the monotony. It’s an aggressive picture in many ways, but it never
comes together as a cohesive lampoon, meandering around chasing impulses
instead of solidifying itself as a determined action comedy.
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We already suffered through one of these “‘Die Hard’ in The White House”
movies with last March’s “Olympus Has Fallen,” a mean-spirited, moronic
actioner that set the bar on the floor for the newly christened
subgenre. “White House Down” almost matches the competition in terms of
unpleasantness and abysmal filmmaking, once again treating the premise
as an open invitation to make the audience feel icky for watching
something that should be high-flying, guns-blazing carnival ride. A
monster budget helps the new picture in the long run, but boiled down to
the essentials of competent screenwriting, thoughtful direction, and
thespian creativity, and “White House Down” mirrors “Olympus Has Fallen”
to a disturbing degree.
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“Byzantium” marks the return of director Neil Jordan to the realm of
vampire stories, have previously helmed one of the more famous entries
in the subgenre, 1994’s “Interview with a Vampire.” It’s an interesting
homecoming lacking star power and a blockbuster budget, yet there’s
atmosphere to spare in this curious mediation on manipulation and
imprisonment, with a healthy dose of poisonous sex appeal to complete
the elaborate arc of seduction. It’s a strange film, often in a manner
that encourages interest in the story, but Jordan eventually loses his
concentration in the third act, reducing the tension of “Byzantium” by
encouraging overkill.
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We know Neil LaBute as a playwright and filmmaker who has a particular
interest in the erosion of the human soul. He’s a man fascinated with
emotional violence exchanged between the sexes, mining this
concentration in work such as “The Shape of Things,” “In the Company of
Men,” and “Your Friends & Neighbors.” In recent years, he’s
experimented with genre entertainment to build a Hollywood career
(including “Lakeview Terrace” and the misbegotten “Wicker Man” remake),
but his heart remains with the pleasures of extreme discomfort. “Some
Girl(s)” is an adaptation of LaBute’s 2005 play and is loaded with dark
thoughts and agitation, making an excellent transition to the big screen
courtesy of director Daisy von Scherler Mayer, who confidently retains
LaBute’s acid splash.
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I doubt few people think about disco these days. I mean really think
about, in terms of historical impact and social upheaval, not just loose
beats and glitter. Director Jamie Kastner has certainly wrestled with
the subject, delivering a bizarre documentary in “The Secret Disco
Revolution,” which employs a mockumentary tilt to attack the myriad of
stories connected to the rise and fall of what seemed to be a simple
musical fad. Although blessed with a sense of humor, the picture is
actually quite valuable as a document of the era, interviewing those who
stood (and boogied) on the front line, amassing an eye-opening tale of
greed, lust, and burgeoning confidence.
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I suppose “Hannah Arendt” could be classified as a bio-pic, covering a
few critical junctures in the life of the famous writer, though there’s
not enough here to convey a life lived in pursuit of thought. It’s a
stable, distanced picture from director Margarethe von Trotta, who
endeavors to bring to the screen a portrayal of intelligence disputed,
successfully communicating the frustrations and defiance of Arendt,
reflecting a thirst for knowledge and spotlighting her breathtaking
confidence for a modern audience perhaps unused to such remarkable
character. It’s a solid feature but not always the most dramatic,
content to experience moments in time with the subject instead of
wrapping her passions around the screen in an inviting manner.
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There is no rhyme, reason, or basic filmmaking competency to “Apartment
1303.” A ghost story that doesn’t bother with the story part of
equation, the movie is relentlessly bogged down by idiocy and clumsy
acting, resembling hundreds of similar genre offerings where the scares
claim a higher priority than anything else, and even those are utterly
worthless. Teeming with inconsistencies and ineptitude, “Apartment 1303”
ends up a complete waste of time, not even amusing as bottom shelf
schlock that welcomes the respite of mockery.
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Because we all love a good disaster story, much has been made recently
about the production challenges that temporarily paralyzed the shooting
of “World War Z.” It ran overbudget, suffered through numerous rewrites,
and found its third act completely rethought by a second creative team
when the original work failed to land the proper punch. The trouble with
such compulsive rubbernecking is that “World War Z,” despite some major
malfunctions, is no train wreck. In fact, it’s a rather energized
horror picture, skillfully using the fantasy concept of a furious zombie
outbreak to construct a representation of global pandemic hysteria,
with star Brad Pitt wisely tucking in his cape to play a human being
facing doomsday, refusing the superhero path.
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“Monsters University” is a prequel I’m positive most audiences will be
celebrating. It’s Pixar on autopilot, returning to the playground of one
of their biggest, most enduring hits, coasting on good faith as the
story dials back about a decade to detail how scare professionals Mike
Wazowski and Sulley first met (I guess one must simply ignore a line in
2001’s “Monsters, Inc.” that established the pair as elementary school
chums). Loaded with gags and entertaining characterizations, “Monsters
University” is a breezy time with old friends, smartly stepping away
from the scare floor to take the monster carnival to college, opening a
whole new world of possibilities for this colorful universe.
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“The Bling Ring” is not a film where the audience is meant to understand
the characters, to peek behind the behavioral curtain to comprehend
corrupt impulses. It’s an atmospheric picture, wallowing in indifference
and cheap thrills to showcase the mummification of a generation raised
on celebrity culture, caffeine, and permissive parenting. “The Bling
Ring” doesn’t possess a death grip of judgment I’m sure most would like
from this depiction of millennial lunacy, yet writer/director Sofia
Coppola makes a more convincing argument for condemnation through
observation, watching dim children willingly engage in illegal
activities, incapable of showing remorse. That’s chilling enough.
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In 1993, Kenneth Branagh attempted a lush, cinematic take on William
Shakespeare’s famous play, “Much Ado About Nothing.” Attempting to
counterpunch contextual impenetrability, Branagh turned the stage
production into a luscious screen event, boasting stunning Italian
countryside locations, heavenly golden bodies, and an all-star cast bent
on challenging themselves with a rare outing of sophistication. It was a
beautiful film, and perhaps bold enough to discourage beloved
writer/director Joss Whedon from matching its sense of euphoria. His
“Much Ado About Nothing” elects the opposite approach, refusing
production polish, varied locations, and even color. It’s a
stripped-down take on the Bard, ready-made for Whedon acolytes —
certainly interesting, but once you go Branagh, it’s difficult to go
back.
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There’s cheeky homage, and then there’s “Detention of the Dead.” Adapted
from a play by Rob Rinow, the feature aims to induce nostalgia, chills,
laughs, and tears by mixing the sensitive juvenile delinquent antics of
the “The Breakfast Club” with the zombie stomp of George Romero’s “Dawn
of the Dead,” trusting knowing audiences will receive a charge out of
the numerous references that litter the film. Unfortunately, the
opposing tones rarely complement each other, rendering “Detention of the
Dead” a misfire in terms of intended buoyancy. While it features some
pleasing tech credits and an engaged cast, the effort swings too wildly
from sensitivity to slapstick, resulting in a disagreeably disorienting
viewing experience.
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It opens with a quote from an 18th century poem and ends with a display
of stupidity right out of 2013. It’s difficult to make heads or tails
out of the mystery “Rushlights,” and the filmmaking certainly doesn’t
reward the patience required to remain on top of the screenplay’s
network of twists and turns. Overstuffed with motivations in an attempt
to keep viewers guessing until the insipid conclusion, “Rushlights”
mangles its noir intentions by trying way too hard to inflate itself
into something significant. It’s clear from the opening act that
co-writer/director Antoni Stutz should play this material with more
venom and less bluster, but there’s no stopping the effort when it slips
into runaway boulder mode, squashing any chance for a sleek, effective
puzzler.
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