Romantic motion pictures tend to cheat, fudging screenplays to evoke intimacy faster, helping along cinematic pace and the ways of love for audiences typically impatient with matters of the heart. “Letters to Juliet” is no different, yet its reduction in reason is rather mean-spirited and, even for a gushy screen romance, blatantly illogical. While forever gentle and warmly acted, “Juliet” sends a confusing message about the blinders of love, speeding into an idealized pairing it doesn’t earn.
There are two types of people in this world: fans of “Wyatt Earp” and fans of “Tombstone.” I consider myself a great admirer of Lawrence Kasdan’s ambitious 1994 stab at dissecting the enduring mustachioed legend known as Wyatt Earp; however, I understand, after all these years, that my appreciation for the picture places me firmly in the minority. Most side with 1993’s “Tombstone,” and, heavens, they are a vocal majority. Not since the great Pepsi/Coke, York/Sargent, and Sega/Nintendo preference battles of yesteryear has there been such a combustible divide of entertainment opinion.
By this point, I’m sure most people who desire to know such things are well aware that a new “Shrek” film is due in theaters later this month.
Most musical bio-pics make a substantial effort to fashion a dramatic passport of sorts, allowing an opening for the viewer to understand the artist outside of the fame, thus creating a human depiction that doesn’t require extensive discography knowledge to wholly appreciate. “Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll” is the rare musical portrait that actually demands fandom to fully value the feature, otherwise the average viewer will most likely be lost at sea, wondering why 105 minutes were devoted to such a disagreeable man. I’m sure there was more to the astounding life of Ian Dury, but this picture doesn’t submit the nuances, only the juiciest clichés imaginable.
The beauty of “Iron Man 2” is how it carefully sustains the joyful superhero elements established in the first film, released a mere two years ago. The problem with “Iron Man 2” is that is also inherits the original picture’s absence of hard-charging exhilaration, with the sequel as moderately uneven as its blockbuster predecessor. It’s a small quibble, but one that tethers an otherwise wildly entertaining and intermittently thrilling action-adventure to the ground.
In a rare case of truth in advertising, “Babies” gives audiences exactly what’s promised: 78 minutes of unfiltered infant adventure. It’s not a documentary in the traditional sense, lacking a purring narrator or an expert opinion to anchor it. Instead, the picture provides an up-close glimpse of life at its earliest wobbly stages, tracking the rise of four new, bewildered members to the human race.
Last weekend brought about the return of the Great American Pie Festival, an annual event that rolls on down to Celebration, Florida for a few days, leaving the lucky ‘burb in a diabetic coma. It’s a time of community. It’s a time of joy. It’s a time of rapidly expanding waistlines.
Last year, Michael Bay’s remake factory Platinum Dunes churned out a “Friday the 13th” reboot. While far from an inspiring slasher success, the update didn’t outright offend, especially with a franchise that’s already done a masterful job rendering itself hopeless. “A Nightmare on Elm Street” is a different story, as most (myself included) consider the 1984 original to be not only a horror classic, but also an imaginatively molded tale of lo-fi suspense. Again, the sequels have effectively torn away much of the original’s allure, but Wes Craven struck gold 26 years ago with a unique genre idea, making a potential remake seem like an exceptionally pointless endeavor.
Al Pacino is one of the greatest actors of all time, a legend in the industry. However, when was the last time he was truly challenged? When was the last time an Al Pacino performance felt transcendent? It’s been years, possibly longer for those without access to cable. “You Don’t Know Jack” present the maestro a golden thespian opportunity in Jack Kevorkian, the brazen, medically determined pathologist who brought assisted suicide to the front page. Finding the shadows and the soapbox, Pacino is masterful in this uneasy, thought-provoking drama.
Like a tormented crack addict drawn back to the sweet soul kiss of a burnt pipe time and again despite full knowledge of the personal consequences, Brendan Fraser keeps attempting the lost art of the live-action cartoon. Forever positioning himself as Hollywood’s jester, Fraser pads up for another odyssey of slapstick and genital trauma in “Furry Vengeance,” an odious, chintzy, and soul-flattening promenade into sadistic wackiness. Fraser’s getting too old for this iffy pratfall business, and “Vengeance” attempts to help the hulking star out by ordering a procession of mischievous CG-enhanced animals to take care of the heavy lifting while Fraser works on his bug-eyed routine.
“The Human Centipede” isn’t a horror film, it’s an oozing block of pure shock value, begging on bleeding knees for audiences to find the material vile. It pushes buttons and dares the viewer to keep watching ghastly events unfold, while writer/director Tom Six kicks back satisfied, perhaps even aroused. To admit complete disgust with “Human Centipede” is exactly what the filmmaker wants; however, the picture commits an even greater sin, despite all the arm flailing and slosh of perversion: it’s a complete and unforgivable bore.
At 70 years of age, director George A. Romero has furiously worked the zombie genre down to a nub; his lauded achievement with the undead has allowed him such luxuries as a political platform, a steady source of income, and prime position in the film geek hall of fame. His legend firmly established, the bitter truth is that the “Dead” pictures are exceptionally inconsistent, despite commendable attempts to reshape the formula throughout the decades. “Survival of the Dead” is Romero’s sixth adventure with the brain-gobblers, and while more grounded than the misfire of 2008’s “Diary of the Dead,” the new picture reflects a filmmaker fully depleted of ideas, keeping the money train alive while clearly bereft of zombie direction.
“Boogie Woogie” doesn’t know if it’s here to satirize or indict the modern art scene, but it certainly loves to remain in the sinister gray area it creates. A comedic look at the whirlwind nature of the art world, the film is only sporadically humorous, faring better as a perceptive jab at the egos, libidos, and nitwit audacity of a subculture that’s founded in handcrafted miracles, yet prides itself on excesses of status and power.
In the 12 years since James Cameron last directed a feature film (a little art-house number called “Titanic,” heard of it?), much has changed in the growing field of special effects. His latest picture, “Avatar,” reflects a filmmaker who’s spent more time polishing his impressive new tools than scraping the rust off of his once extraordinary storytelling instincts. A gargantuan production of obscene technical achievement, “Avatar” is freakishly cold to the touch; the work of man who felt he had to leave a Godzilla-sized footprint on the face of cinema when all the public wanted was simply to have him back in the game he once dominated with regularity.
A hyper adaptation of the comic book series that ran from 2003 to 2006, “The Losers” makes a nice, loud impression on the big screen. A furious 90 minutes of supersized stunts, arch performances, and grandiose villainy, the picture is wild ride befitting its funny book origins. Just try to ignore the strained humor and the occasional Michael Bay move from director Sylvain White, and there’s a merry bit of mayhem waiting to entertain the pants right off you.
Reviewed at the 2010 Florida Film Festival
It’s possible that Michael Douglas is merely acting in “Solitary Man,” playing a womanizing smooth-talker facing his dire twilight years while the world seems to get younger and younger, perhaps out of spite. What clicks perfectly in the film is the underlying reality of Douglas’s performance, which shouldn’t be viewed as biographical, but let’s just say that I’m sure he found sections of the script uncomfortable. It’s a superb performance in a substantial drama of self-destruction, playing brilliantly off of Douglas’s bumpy life experience.
On the plus side, Jennifer Lopez is the most appealing she’s been in quite some time in “The Back-Up Plan.” The negative side? Well, everything else about the film. Lacking any sort of engaging personality, the picture is a dreary, arduous romantic comedy that attempts to subvert the genre by positioning the payoff at the beginning of the tale. It’s a semi-clever move, but wasted on a dull, seriously humorless feature film.
BRIAN ORNDORF 