Kevin James and talking animals. Doesn’t seem like a particularly extensive screenwriting challenge, yet “Zookeeper” features an extraordinary amount of outside interference for a picture that shouldn’t stray from the essentials. More amusing than funny, but only when it includes the antics of the wild kingdom, the picture drags unnecessarily, trying to convince viewers that the human elements of the script have value when all anyone really wants to see is a talking gorilla in a polo shirt.
Any film endeavoring to survey the wreckage of the newspaper industry is sure to play like a eulogy, yet Andrew Rossi’s “Page One: Inside the New York Times” stay remarkably composed. Granted access to the inner working of the world’s most iconic newspaper, Rossi doesn’t weep, he carefully observes the downward spiral, coming to the conclusion that perhaps there’s no decline at all. Riveting and surprisingly communicative, “Page One” supplies a rich understanding of print journalism as it stands on a high-rise ledge, looking down while members of the online media implore it to jump for their entertainment.
“Horrible Bosses” is a missed opportunity. Handed a darkly comic premise of revenge, and the producers turn the proceedings into a clumsy “SNL” skit. Following in the wake of the rancid “Bad Teacher,” “Horrible Bosses” also seeks approval by establishing a sloppy routine of shock and improvisation, slapping viewers with pedestrian acts of misbehavior when something far more macabre was in order. Unless you happen to find Indian call centers, the act of spilling cocaine, and Jennifer Aniston being self-consciously filthy hilarious. If so, boy do I have a film for you.
Opening this week is the documentary “Page One: Inside the New York Times,” which follows a year in the life of the behemoth of print journalism as it struggles with sweeping changes in the media landscape, captured by director Andrew Rossi. In June, Rossi spoke at the 2011 Investigative Reporters and Editor Convention, also screening his film to a room of prominent journalists. The filmmaker also offered a few moments to discuss his picture and his feelings on the future of the industry.
Arnold Schwarzenegger conquers the world with “Terminator 2” and the summer hits rock bottom with “Problem Child 2.”
It’s difficult to take Nicolas Cage seriously these days. The former madman has been forced into a series of paycheck gigs for reasons obvious to anyone enjoying access to the internet, with “Season of the Witch” a solid representation of Cage’s new career direction. Unchallenged and over-wigged, the actor is merely biding his time with this serving of horror hooey, obviously more interested in hearing the sweet sound of “cut!” than trying to make a tepid screenplay shuffle with restless energy Cage is more than capable of summoning. The material needed his special sauce. Instead, Cage barely raises an eyebrow.
“The Warrior’s Way” is an odd one. Wedged somewhere between the furious imaginations of Tsui Hark and Sergio Leone, the feature is an idiosyncratic ode to pure screen heroism thwarted by the junky instincts of its untested writer/director, Sngmoo Lee. I was never outright bored by the picture, but there’s much to jeer in this overwrought action film, which spends so much time reminding the audience of its artificiality, it forgets to have some spaghetti western fun with the limitless potential of CGI.
Our friendly turtle guide returns to the deep blue sea with “Sharks,” a semi-sequel to the 2003 production, “Ocean Wonderland.” Once again detailing the activity of the ocean, the focus is on the titular creature here, though director Jean-Jacques Mantello doesn’t always have the patience to stay glued to shark incidents. Often swimming around to observe the rest of the neighborhood, the film creates more of a community feel here than anticipated.
“You Got Served: Beat the World” is a terrible motion picture, but you probably already knew that. The original “You Got Served,” released in 2004, was also a terrible motion picture, but at least it made the attempt to tell something of a story between blasts of street dance and hip-hop humiliation. “Beat the World” is a lazy movie, with only a faint hint of conflict dusted over repetitive and illogical dance sequences. It’s a bore from start to finish. Again, you probably already knew that.
Imagine a tepid Marx Brothers comedy starring Gabe Kaplan, Alex Karras, and Robert Klein, and there’s “Nobody’s Perfekt,” a pronounced attempt to bring jolly vaudevillian timing to the cynical year of 1981. Rarely funny but endearingly determined, the picture’s success could only be gauged by personal taste. Those interested in the unconventional cast should have a blast, while others would be wise to steer clear of this funky Floridian farce.
Although marketed as tween-baiting pap to secure Disney Channel generation attention, “Monte Carlo” is a softer romantic fantasy, providing a few unexpectedly human moments in the midst of its mischief. Solidly acted and sturdily constructed, the picture offers a mellow display of wish fulfillment, more interested in the inspection of feelings than distributing vapid monkey business.
Though the credits do not list the original incarnation of “The Ledge,” I’m going to assume this material was at one point intended for the stage, where its mix of monologues and hysterical characters could be broadly articulated by live actors. As a film, it’s an inconsistent, flavorless psychological thriller, trying desperately to come across provocative when it’s truly about as deep and challenging as a television movie.
“The Perfect Host” is a film strictly for fans of actor David Hyde Pierce. The former “Frasier” star is the only element of the picture worth paying attention to, bringing a faint flicker of verve to an otherwise tedious and poorly constructed thriller. Writer/director Nick Tomnay should thank his lucky stars he was able to secure Pierce’s participation, otherwise there would be no reason to pay attention to anything this feature has to offer.
“Larry Crowne” is a breath of fresh air in a summer moviegoing season polluted with superheroes, family film fart jokes, and battling robots. Serving as its co-writer/director/star, Tom Hanks presents a portrait of betterment, taking on cynicism with a motion picture that revels in its mild-mannered corniness, making a friendly feature that’s amusing, approachable, and largely unexpected, keeping formula distracted with a special directorial spin Hanks hasn’t displayed since his marvelous 1996 effort, “That Thing You Do!”
I wasn’t a fan of the 2008 chiller, “Quarantine.” An American remake of the sparkling Spanish horror picture “Rec,” the update was a watered down take on a pure terror experience, which came to be sequelized in 2009’s ferocious “Rec 2.” Instead of serving up another tired reheat, writer/director John Pogue shifts the world of “Quarantine” in a slightly different direction with his sequel. Lacking a budget and stars, the filmmaker reworks the viral viciousness into a modest but highly entertaining follow-up, dropping tedious found footage elements to refresh the concept.
“Transformers: Dark of the Moon” is a noticeable step up in quality from the last feature, 2009’s disastrous “Revenge of the Fallen.” With several key members of the production team disowning the first sequel, it’s easy to spot a genuine attempt to make up for lost time with the new movie; however, it’s not a complete franchise overhaul or a refreshing return to the jubilant 2007 original. Instead, “Dark of the Moon” exists as a disappointment, built as an apology, but remains slavish to some of the nonsense that made the previous picture unbearable. On the plus side: no Transformer testicles for this round. At least Michael Bay listened to a few of the complaints.
A domestic drama from 1984, “Blame It on the Night” is a perfectly functional tearjerker that rarely satisfies. Perhaps more interested in selling soundtracks than emotions, the picture is a vague offering of thoughtful human interaction, though supported by satisfying performances and a snapshot of MTV-fueled rock stardom in the mid-1980s. A magical time when a 37-year-old man with a mild perm could make an arena of teenage girls swoon.
BRIAN ORNDORF 