What’s amazing about James Cameron’s “The Abyss” is not its upcoming 20th anniversary and how it’s become the rare film to last throughout the years as an adventure extravaganza many audiences still treasure and remain in awe of decades later. Actually, what’s amazing about “The Abyss” is that, up to only a few years ago, the elaborate sets still remained in their original place for brave souls to view at the Cherokee Nuclear Power Plant in South Carolina.
While “I, Robot” was a massive moneymaker for all participants involved, I don’t know of anyone who exited the theater ecstatic with the results. Well, director Alex Proyas is back on the sci-fi chain gang, this time tackling the apocalyptic thriller “Knowing.” A broad, leisurely jumble of Alfred Hitchcock-style suspense architecture and a dreary, paint-by-numbers Sci-Fi Channel Original, “Knowing” only seems to extract two reactions: nail-biting and eye-rolling. Proyas misjudges the material to both frightening and facepalm results, leaving “Knowing” a frothy brew of pleasing chaos and absolute absurdity.
Cult films are not fashioned out of apple-cheeked willpower, they're born from the hellfires of nonsense; often bloody, messy births that nobody should see coming. The 1990 trainwreck "Troll 2" happens to be one of those diamond feature films that managed to combat tremendous obscurity and the plague of bottom shelf rental store banishment to become an iconic bad movie. But how does a cruddy film stand the test of time? How does something without any sense of quality become more treasured than the average best picture winner? It's all about the fans.
With a cast that includes Paul Rudd and Jason Segel, an improvisational-heavy comedic plan of attack, and a plot that touches on the adulthood demands the man-children of the world suffer through, one could come to the conclusion that “I Love You, Man” is another surefire Judd Apatow winner. Sad to report, there’s no Apatow. However, there is John Hamburg, and while the filmmaker’s uneven touch is shamefully visible throughout the picture, he does manage to land more jokes in the win column than he did with his last movie, 2004’s “Along Came Polly.”
Appreciating “Duplicity” is like admiring an antique pocket watch. It’s a gorgeously made production with well-oiled gears and an attractive display, but the mechanics of the filmmaking are the only real significant elements of the movie. The rest of the viewing experience consists of acknowledging cleverness and marveling over forked tongued dialogue exchanges. I definitely enjoyed my time with “Duplicity,” bathing in the exceptional craftsmanship, but I was hardly moved by it.
While undoubtedly mild sauce compared to the more excitable distractions at the local cinema, “The Great Buck Howard” is nevertheless a charismatic dramedy that’s wise enough to dredge the muddy waters of archetypal entertainment personalities to boost a conventional story of flailing fame and the wonder years of undeveloped twentysomething life. The film is fun to watch, easy on the frontal lobe, and features John Malkovich in a lively performance that’s both masterfully impish and authentically mysterious.
The imprisonment of IRA member Bobby Sands and his eventual call for a second 1981 hunger strike to protest treatment of political prisoners was previously made the subject of the marvelous 1996 Terry George film, “Some Mother’s Son.” George turned the event into high drama, finding inspiration through a domestic perspective to better alleviate the gruesome details of the prison conditions and the dark psychological effect on the young men incarcerated for their controversial cause. Steve McQueen’s “Hunger” boldly heads the opposite direction, grimly recounting the mounting filth and desperate survival instincts as Sands embarked on an incredible test of self-control.
This is not Disney’s first encounter with Witch Mountain, and it most certainly won’t be their last. However, it’s their loudest contribution to date. A reimagining of the 1975 motion picture and the 1968 Alexander Key novel, “Race to Witch Mountain” does away with all that pesky character development stuff to put the pedal to the metal and offer family audiences an adventure packed with stunts, gunfire, and one-liners. It’s definitely a vibrant diversion, and kids will undoubtedly be glued to the screen, but the high tech, fist-happy approach leaves much to be desired.
Over time, director Wes Craven has claimed that his seminal 1972 film, “The Last House on the Left,” was a veiled commentary on Vietnam-era violence and the redaction process of news footage. It was intended as shock in a time that wasn’t equipped for such explicit content and grim storytelling. With viewers stunned into submission, the film became a cult hit, leading to the inevitable remake, albeit 37 years later. What was once an intolerably uneven, crude stunner has now been glossed up, stripped of even the smallest crumb of palatable intention, and pointed directly at the “Saw” and “Hostel” fans that just can’t get enough of that funky suffering stuff.
There was a time when comedy troupes had to earn their fame before setting off on a feature film adventure, running the gauntlet of obscurity before glory. Now all it takes is a mild acknowledgment of unity and the next thing you know, a terrible jokefest isn’t far behind. “Miss March” isn’t technically a Whitest Kids U’ Know motion picture, but it might as well be, showcasing filmmakers Trevor Moore and Zach Cregger as the latest obscure sketch comedy wizards to pull a movie out of their hindquarters. It seems I owe an apology to the Broken Lizard: guys, turns out you are no longer the worst unknown jesters to come around and bore mainstream audiences to tears. Hazzah.
“Sunshine Cleaning” is a motion picture that succeeds entirely because of the prodigious acting labor from stars Amy Adams and Emily Blunt. Without their efforts to force-feed some deep-seated emotional shading into the film, the picture would be a decidedly hollow indie event, defined by a quirky premise and one-dimensional characterization. Because Adams and Blunt bring their best to the roles, the feature carefully avoids the pitfalls of convention, becoming a familiar story executed with unexpected gravitas.
The sizzling embers of forbidden desire cloud the screen in “The Edge of Love,” an overwrought but not entirely unconvincing attempt at a smoldering period romance movie. Blessed with an eager, rightly immodest cast and meticulous production value, “Edge” doesn’t aspire to be anything more than a juicy British wartime soap opera, but when it finds delicious pockets of whispered betrayal, artistic impotency, and cherry-lipped invitation, it adds up to a convincing sit.
Arriving in theaters on Friday, March 13th is the raunchy comedy “Miss March,” directed, written, and starring two members of the comedy troupe The Whitest Kids U’ Know, Zach Cregger and Trevor Moore. Recently, I sat down with the actors to discuss their first feature film.
Pegwarmers, as defined in this documentary, are the action figures nobody wants. They’re the plastic personalities that are left behind to gather dust while their more popular, exclusive brethren are snapped up quickly. It’s a geek term finding an ideal home in this exhaustively geeky movie. Lovingly prepared and quick to charm, “Pegwarmers: The Geeks Shall Inherit the Earth” is an affectionate ode to the less esteemed pop culture pursuits, returning some dignity to those brave few who boldly go; individuals who take on sci-fi and fantasy pursuits in the face of disdain, eventually finding a safe haven in the company of other like-minded enthusiasts.
Celebrated director Doris Dorrie’s “Cherry Blossoms” concerns the enriching odyssey of life lived after the cruel death of a loved one, tracing that specific psychological abyss for a German man at ease with his habitual life and now confronted with cataclysmic change. Endearing, modestly tear-jerking, and basted with just enough culture shock oddity to keep the cinematic brew tart and curious, “Blossoms” is an emotionally charged pearl of a film.
For his third motion picture, director Zack Snyder has returned to a formula that’s served him very well: snatch a well-established event in geek culture, slather it in photographic gloss, and call it a “tribute.” Through a remake of “Dawn of the Dead” and a photocopy interpretation of “300,” Snyder has found his niche seizing the work of others and shaping it into crude, chest-puffing cinema, intended to rile the senses and play to undemanding appetites. With the illustrious graphic novel “Watchmen,” Snyder is forced to wield his adaptation sword carefully, for a single flawed stroke is sure to topple the entire endeavor. I give Snyder credit for his tenacious reverence here, but “Watchmen” is an unimaginative attempt to recapture lightning in a bottle, ultimately shadowing a literary franchise that was better left on the page.
BRIAN ORNDORF 