“Stake Land” is ambitious, but only vaguely successful as a bleak horror concoction. Spare, mournful, and often inert, this vampire-flavored take on “The Road” is more admirable than fulfilling, expelling more effort with atmosphere than story, wasting time with stares when legitimate tension is desperately needed.
As much as I wanted “The Perfect Game” to be a fearless Mexican version of “The Bad News Bears,” the picture just wasn’t in a wish-granting mood. More of an inspirational tale compounded with a true story, “Game” is a feature of sheer earnestness, which tends to grate and persuade with equal determination. However, it’s easy to praise the film’s gushing heart, which might be enough to satisfy less demanding viewer in the mood for a few smiles and cheers; a sparkling tale of baseball triumph ideally issued during the heart of the season.
“Mars Needs Moms” is a peculiar viewing experience where its least effective element boils down to a single obnoxious performance. Lively, richly animated with intriguing motion capture fluidity, and pleasingly designed with special attention to sprawling Martian environments, the feature is nearly sunk by the efforts of co-star Dan Fogler, who’s biologically incapable of delivering funny business, squirting his spastic funk all over this nifty CG-animated chase film.
“Rio” doesn’t break new ground in terms of animated entertainment for families, but what it does it does very well. A musical romp boasting an explosion of colors and an energetic range of voice actors, “Rio” keeps to a minimal plan of villains and personal triumph, summoning a charming, booty-shaking carnival ambiance where a bunch of crazy birds (as opposed to the angry kind) participate in some slapstick, adding to the riotous party atmosphere.
While watching “The Help,” there was never a moment where I felt a secure, deeply felt story was being told. Instead, the film is a highlight reel of exaggerated emotions and social concern, struggling to find its voice while incomplete scripting and overly emphatic performances keep the feature’s bloated intentions blurred. Spending more time tugging on heartstrings than exhaustively studying the characters, “The Help” can’t avoid feeling wholly insincere.
The last sequel was titled “The Final Destination,” but clearly New Line Cinema is run by a bunch of sneaky little liars. Thanks to a 3D boost at the box office and renewed interest in the slaughter of no-name actors, the franchise has been pulled out of retirement, revving up again with an all-new multi-dimensional gore show. While the thrill was officially snuffed out once the end credits rolled on the first “Final Destination,” that hasn’t stopped the producers from mounting a surprisingly snoozy fourth sequel.
The hip hop group A Tribe Called Quest has been lauded for decades now, blessed with encouraging record sales and a consistent vibration of love emanating from the rap community. However, they’ve rarely been explored in full, leaving actor Michael Rapaport to step behind the camera and investigate the inner workings of this musical union with his thumpy, riveting documentary, “Beats, Rhymes & Life: The Travels of a Tribe Called Quest.”
Brevity is a good friend to the mediocre comedy “30 Minutes or Less.” Running roughly 75 minutes long, the film is tidily arranged by director Rueben Fleischer, who has enough sense to hit his slapstick bullet points and bail. I just wish he had better material, at least something substantial that would prevent the picture from becoming yet another R-rated comedy cursed with crummy improvisation-addicted actors and their distracting potty mouths.
Full disclosure: I’ve never seen a single episode of the Fox television smash “Glee.” I know frighteningly little about the series; however, after viewing “Glee: The 3D Concert Movie,” I’m now extremely curious about the program. At the very least, I’d like to see how the show continues on now that Charlie Sheen has been fired.
I want a varied landscape of cinema as much as the next person, but did the world truly need a movie based on the depravity of Uday Hussein, son of Saddam? It’s difficult to ascertain exactly why the story behind “The Devil’s Double” required a feature film treatment, a quibble inflated to flat-out disgust by the end of the picture. Unsophisticated and unnecessarily ugly, the movie seems to favor Uday’s sadism instead of condemning it, making its ultimate purpose too fogged for comfort.
John Candy goes “Delirious” and we all suffer, while Jean-Claude Van Damme tries acting for a change in “Double Impact.”
If “The Tree of Life” is a full-course dinner of philosophy and emotional reflection, the sci-fi snoozer “Another Earth” is a particularly chewy intellectual amuse-bouche. A plodding melodrama concerning the effects of loss and the potential for soulful rebirth, “Another Earth” doesn’t pursue its provocative ideas with any sort of narrative momentum. Instead, it’s all dreary navel-gazing and cinematographic posturing hoping to wade into a profound philosophical bath, using the mysteries of the universe as a way to hypnotize an audience more likely to be annoyed by this story than entranced.
After five motion pictures, two television series, and a 2001 Tim Burton remake, it seems a prequel is the only logical place to go in the exhausted “Planet of the Apes” saga. The origin tale of apes and their early stages of domination is surprisingly fertile ground for the producers, who loosely rework 1972’s “Conquest of the Planet of the Apes” into “Rise of the Planet of the Apes,” a frequently thrilling, emotionally resonate reboot that takes advantage of today’s vibrant motion capture technology to help articulate the complexity burning within these damn dirty apes.
Thanks to various works from Judd Apatow and the smash success of “The Hangover,” the summer of 2011 has played host to a resurgence of hard R-rated comedies, each sharing the same improvisational DNA while declining a cheery spirit of punchline imagination, more content to primitively shock than organize surprises. While the bar was set low by the intolerable June belch, “Bad Teacher,” the body-swap extravaganza “The Change-Up” stumbles into August to claim its prize as the worst feature of the new batch.
A remake of a 1980 Troma exploitation film, “Mother’s Day” at least makes an attempt to stand on its own two feet. Instead of direct imitation, director Darren Lynn Bousman endeavors to rework the central idea of maternal domination, fleshing out the story to fit a broader range of characters and a different style of violence. It’s an interesting failure, but the picture enjoys several grisly highlights, indulging itself to a point of exhaustion.
It’s difficult to ascertain exactly what story director James Marsh is attempting to tell with his latest documentary, “Project Nim.” Part bio-pic, part animal cruelty call to arms, and part scientific study, the feature is an engaging, horrifying look at the life and times of a special chimpanzee, but doesn’t quite bundle the reveals and the revulsion in a tight cinematic package.
Blessed with a promising concept for a dark comedy, “Meet Monica Velour” would rather tug at heartstrings or script repetitive behavior from derivative characters. It’s a wasteful effort, yet a few highlights manage to distract, namely Kim Cattrall in a bravely unglamorous performance, putting in an impressive effort to embody a once omnipresent porn queen facing the unrelenting trials of life after youth.
I suppose the classic image of a grindhouse film is something along the lines of a bug-eyed man splattered with blood holding a knife over a half-naked woman. It’s an honest summation of the cinematic culture, but there’s an entire history here worth an examination. Elijah Drenner’s “American Grindhouse” traces the history, excesses, and glory of unsavory cinema, providing a magnificent education in the process, communicating the nuances and traditions of a brand often disregarded as forgettable schlock.
BRIAN ORNDORF 