Think about it; Las Vegas is the perfect place for a vampire to hang out. There are no castles or creepy forests but there are lots of potential victims who don’t go out until the sun goes down. It’s a town that lives at night which makes it the perfect place for Jerry (Colin Farrell) the new vampire in town.
Based on Tom Holland’s 1985 camp classic original of the same name, “Fright Night” sticks to the basic plot of its namesake but this isn’t a traditional vampire thriller. It’s more “True Blood” than “Dracula.”
High school senior Charlie (Anton Yeltin) doesn’t believe his childhood friend Ed’s (Christopher Mintz-Plasse) claim that Jerry, the new guy on the block, is a vampire. Doesn’t believe him, that is, until their friends start to go missing. With the help of his girlfriend Amy (Imogen Poots) and a swishy vampire expert named Peter Vincent (David Tennant in the role Roddy McDowell made famous) Charlie tries to put a stake through Jerry’s reign of terror.
Even though “Fright Night” starts as a high school horror, this ain’t “Twilight.” It’s more concerned with thrills and chills and laughs than romance or teen ennui. This is a horror film, and a pretty good one too once it gets past the set up.
The first hour threatens to get bogged down by deliberate pacing and a slowish unveiling of the plot points but is rescued by engaging performances by Yeltin and Poots, and an eerie turn by Farrell. At the sixty minute mark the horror hits, the pace picks up and the blood starts spurting.
“Fright Night” is popcorn horror with just enough bite to appeal to horror audiences and more casual vampire fans.
The popularity of the splatter movies that gave birth to several late 90s/early naughts movie franchises seems to be on the wane. “Saw’s” blades have been dulled and “Hostel,” once the beastly spokesmnodel for torture-porn, is becoming an amusement park ride (seriously). Only “Final Destination” continues unabated. Despite the prominence of the word “final” in the title we’re now on number five with no end in sight.
Here’s the story, or as it is known in the “FD” world, the dull stuff that happens between the gory stuff: Someone has a premonition that all his/her good looking friends die in the most terrible way imaginable. When the vision comes true—usually preceded by the tell tale line, “Something’s wrong!”—whoever survives ends up dying anyway, in increasingly complicated ways. In “#5” a gymnast earns a 9.5 from the Splatterville judge and if you’re thinking of getting laser eye surgery any time soon… well, go see “30 Minutes of Less” instead.
What “Final Destination 5” lacks in story it makes up for in gore and cheesy special effects. It’s not enough to kill these kids, the “Final Destination” folks find it necessary to crush, spindle and mutilate them usually not just once, but twice. It’s the kind of movie which makes audiences shout, “No, you didn’t!” and “Awwwwwwwwwwwww! I can never un-see that!” usually while laughing and having a pretty good gruesome time.
If you’ve seen and enjoyed previous “Final Destination” movies then this chronicle of carnage may be for you. If you’ve never seen any of the films in the series, however, you may want to keep it that way.
The success of “Black Swan” last year didn’t open the floodgates for more adventurous movies or even more psycho ballet flicks. Nope, instead it enabled the stars of that movie to go on and make two virtually identical rom coms released in the same year.
Natalie Portman teamed up with Ashton Kutcher earlier in 2011 to make “No Strings Attached,” a story about a couple who find that being friends with benefits is more complicated than they thought it would be. Now Natalie’s “Black Swan” co-star Mila Kunis and boy toy Justin Timberlake discover pretty much the same thing in a ??? movie opening this weekend. Isn’t that the actress version of wearing the same dress to the prom as your best friend?
Kunis and Timberlake are Jamie and Dylan, newly single twenty-somethings—she was dumped by her boyfriend Quincy (Andy Samberg), he by Kayla (Emma Stone)—who decide to have a relationship based entirely on sex. “It’s just a physical act,” says Dylan, “like playing tennis.” No strings attached as Ms. Portman might say. But like many before them (including Portman and Kutcher) they soon realize that getting physical also means getting personal.
Rom coms needn’t be as long winded as “Friends with Benefits.” At almost two hours the inevitable conclusion–I’m not telling you want happens but if you’ve ever seen a romantic comedy you already know–is WAY too long in coming. The set up on these things is pretty basic, and while filmmakers have to throw in some other story elements to keep things interesting “Friends with Benefits” stretches things a little too thin.
JT and Mila acquit themselves well enough, although they don’t exactly sear the screen with their chemistry. Too bad, they’re both likable, attractive performers but for me they didn’t seem to click, and for this story to really work sparks should be flying.
“Friends with Benefits” has some fun supporting performances–Woody Harrelson as a gay sports writer and Patricia Clarkson as Mila’s free spirited mom have fun with their roles–too bad the leads aren’t in on the fun as well.
Be prepared for lots of shots of fatty meats, operations and happy vegans. “Forks Over Knives,” a new documentary about the benefits of a vegan lifestyle is convincing in its message, just a little ham fisted (pun intended) in its delivery.
The film is based on the findings of Caldwell Esselstyn Jr. and T. Colin Campbell, Ph.D., two doctors who, working independently, found direct links between diet and health. Not such big news. We all know that eating a steady diet of fast food and fried chicken is bad for us, but did you know that a diet rich in fruits, vegetables and whole grains will not only help quell global warming but cure you of everything from high blood pressure to erectile dysfunction?
Writer/director Lee Fulkerson finds out first hand when he leaves his diet of Red Bulls and frat house food behind and goes veggie. In a flip flop of Morgan Spurlock’s famous all-McDonald’s-all-the-time experiment in “Supersize Me,” Fulkerson discovers that a “whole food plant based diet” makes him feel healthier and more energetic.
That’s the thrust of “Forks Over Knives” and while it is well backed up—there’s loads of case studies and testimonials, and endless data—the material is presented with all the flair of a high school hygiene movie. Remember those? Its heart is in the right place but its attempts at fair and balanced reporting are lacking—pro animal diet speakers have unappealing shots of fatty meats edited over their talking head clips—and the film occasionally suffers from shoddy production value.
Still, like Brussels sprouts the “Forks Over Knives” film is good for you. Your eyes will be opened by some of the information presented, and proves that you really can’t have your cake and eat it too… unless that cake is made with soy milk and egg replacement powders.
“The First Grader” is an inspirational movie set against the backdrop of a classroom, but unlike “Dead Poets Society” or “Coach Carter,” this time out it’s a student providing the uplift.
Based on the true story of Kimani N’gan’ga Maruge, an 84 year-old Kenyan villager and ex Mau Mau freedom fighter, “The First Grader” is the story of an elderly man’s fight to earn a fundamental right—to get an education. Denied schooling as a child, then imprisoned following a Mau Mau uprising against British imperialism in East Africa, the old man simply wants to learn to read so he may read and understand for himself a letter sent by the government offering compensation for his contribution to his country’s liberation from tyranny.
“The First Grader” might have made a good educational and motivational movie for kids but the violent scenes of British brutality are only appropriate for an older audience. The fullness of the story—and horror—are slowly revealed in flashbacks of Maruge’s life as we witness his torture and the unbearable sight of his wife and child murdered by British soldiers. Not for the kiddies, but compelling stuff.
The inspirational part of the story takes place in the present day. Maruge’s determination to get the education offered to all citizens is touching. At first he is rejected by the teachers at the school, Jane Obinchu (Naomie Harris), among them, before his resolve erodes away their objections. Then he stands up to the townsfolk who feel his presence in the kindergarten is taking teaching time away from their kids, then he must fight bureaucrats, corruption and controversy all in the effort to learn to read.
The story occasionally veers into melodrama but overall is a study in strength and dignity as personified by the old man and Jane, his young teacher.
“Funkytown,” a new movie that chronicles the highest highs and lowest lows of Montreal’s 1970s boogie wonderland, is just as superficial and brash as the music that fuels its soundtrack.
Patrick Huard leads the large ensemble cast playing Bastien Lavallée, the French Dick Clark of disco and host of a popular television dance show. Through Lavallée “Funkytown” weaves together a collection of characters—a flamboyantly gay trend setter, a closeted dancer and his unsuspecting girlfriend, an ambitious model and a sleazy record producer—into a story where glamorous nightlife collides with real life. After watching the movie I thought maybe the fundamentalists were right. Maybe the gyrating rhythms of disco were bad for us. They certainly are for the characters in the film. More than fallen arches and sore knees these characters suffer from everything from drug addiction to the onslaught of AIDS.
“Funkytown” is an ambitious movie which takes elements of reality—the Lavallée character is loosely based on the sad and sordid life of Montreal DJ and game show host Alain Montpetit—mixed with disco clichés. On the surface—and let’s face it, disco was all surface, no substance—the movie nails it, from the unenlightened club owner boasting on television that his disco has a “special floor for homos” to the clutter of 70s artefacts—the horn pendants, the coke snorting and wide collars—to the thumping soundtrack. It’s when we get into the substance that “Funkytown” runs into problems.
With such a mix and match of stories—I lost count after eight plot threads—it’s almost impossible to give each plotline the weight it deserves.
As a result we get a cautionary tale about how self destructive the business of hedonism can be that plays like a cross between “Boogie Nights” and “So You Think You Can Dance” but without the weight of the former and the fun of the latter. It skims over the stories like John Travolta doing the Russian kick dance around the dance floor in “Saturday Night Fever.” Less a story than a melodramatic check list of disco culture it forgoes the opportunity to delve into any one story too deeply. It even skates over the language issues which defined Quebec in the 1970s with several veiled references to the Referendum and the story of a former star who can’t get her French single played in French dance clubs.
“Funkytown” suffers from being too literal—for instance, the soundtrack blares the Tavares hit “Heaven Must Be Missing an Angel” as Lavallée lays eyes on his slinky love interest for the first time—and spreading itself too thin and as a result at well over two hours feels almost as long as the decade itself.
“The Fighter,” a new film starring Mark Wahlberg about a real life welterweight named Micky Ward, plays like a mix of “Raging Bull” and “Rocky.” It borrows the tough street grit from the Scorsese classic and mixes in the heart of Stallone’s crowd-pleaser to create a movie that isn’t quite as satisfying as either of its inspirations, but should get some notice at Academy Awards time.
Directed by David O. Russell, “The Fighter,” is based on the true story of boxer, “Irish” Micky Ward (Wahlberg), and his older half-brother Dickie Eklund (Christian Bale). Dickie is a local legend in their rough neighborhood of Lowell, Massachusetts, having once knocked Sugar Ray Leonard to his knees during a high profile boxing match. But now his best days are behind him. Now he’s a crack head, a charming one, but a crack head nonetheless, who allows his addiction to get in the way of Micky’s training. To advance his career Micky must make some tough decisions; more brutal than anything he’s ever had to do in the ring. He must choose between his family and his career.
Wahlberg is at the heart of “The Fighter” and hands in a convincing performance, but it is Bale, in the showier role of the tormented and addicted Dickie who steals the movie. Pulling another of his amazing physical transformations—it can’t healthy to lose this much weight, but it is effective in the movie—he’s almost unrecognizable as the skeletal ex-boxer. It’s the first time in some while we’ve seen Bale really get under the skin of a character in a drama—forgive me, but the “Batman” and “Terminator” movies are more about the effects than nuance—that it is a treat to be reminded of how good and risk-taking an actor he really is.
The fight scenes in “The Fighter” are good, and the characters are compelling—Melissa Leo as the controlling mom is great and where did they find the seven harridans who play the sisters?—but the form is a bit too traditional to be really grabby. The underdog sports movie has been done to death and despite adding in a twist or two, like a crack head brother with a god complex, the movie pulls too many punches to be truly memorable.
The dialogue, the car chases, even the music in “Faster,” the violent new revenge flick starring Dwayne Johnson, is as pumped up as the former wrestler’s bicep and tricep muscles. It’s just too bad he doesn’t get to flex his acting muscles as much as his aforementioned arm muscles.
Johnson plays an ex-con bent on getting revenge on the people who set-up and murdered his brother following a daring bank robbery. On his tail, as he one-by-one dispatches his enemies, are two very determined cops (Billy Bob Thornton and Carla Gugino) and an eccentric assassin (Oliver Jackson-Cohen).
I’ve deliberately kept the synopsis of “Faster” brief and to-the-point because it doesn’t really hold up to a great deal of scrutiny. That’s OK, revenge movie fans aren’t going to see this movie for the plot, they’re going to see the chases, the kills and the action, and while all those elements are in place there is something not very satisfying about the movie.
The first thing that doesn’t seem right is that Johnson’s character could walk around, out in the open, blowing people away. He’s six-foot-a-hundred, heavily tattooed, looks a lot like a wrestler named The Rock and yet seems to be invisible to the police as he careens around Southern California gun in hand. I know it’s a movie, but things still have to make some sort of sense.
He’s no ninja, that’s for sure but he is an imposing presence. After trying comedy and kids movies Johnson has settled back in comfortably where he belongs, in action roles. Here he plays a stoic loner—he has so few lines he makes Marcel Marceau look like a chatterbox—who doesn’t have much to do except growl, grunt and glare, although in one scene he sheds a tear. It’s a basic performance that doesn’t require him to do anything he hasn’t done in the ring. Perhaps this is what people expect of him but it’s disappointing because after seeing his good work in other movies there seems to be a distinct lack of nuance here.
There’s also not a lot of nuance in the way he kills his victims. Revenge movies are all about the set-up and the satisfying release of seeing the bad guys get what they’ve got coming, but like Johnson’s performance, the kills are basic. In “Kill Bill” Tarantino made each and every assassination unique. Here director George Tillman Jr. usually just has Johnson point and pull the trigger. Like I said. Basic.
“Faster” is stylish and atmospheric, and even has a tense climax, but I’d take a little less muscle flexing and a bit more acting flexing.
“Fair Game” could be re-titled “One Hundred Minutes of Sean Penn Yelling ‘If We Don’t Tell the Truth No One Will!’” The retelling of the ripped-from-the-headlines tale of Valerie Plame (Naomi Watts), whose job as an undercover CIA agent was exposed by White House officials in an attempt to discredit her husband Joseph Wilson’s (Penn) claim that the Bush administration had falsified information about the existence of weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, is a different kind of spy story. There are no guns, no gadgets, just words—many of the yelled by Penn—classified documents and furtive meetings on lonely park benches. It does a nice job of recreating Bush era paranoia—“We don’t want this smoking gun to turn into a mushroom cloud!”—and exploring the chasm between truth and policy, but as a drama takes way too long to get to the meat of the story. Three quarters of the movie whips past before the central event, Plame’s unceremonious unveiling as a spy, happens.
The build-up is filled with nice details, like Scooter Libby’s (David Andrews) self satisfied smirk when he puts the plan to get revenge on Plame and her husband in motion, and the insight into the life of a spy who juggles a home life with international intrigue, but it feels padded. Also, director Doug Liman has made some very strange and almost unwatchable choices in regard to the camera work. His camera is a little too restless, constantly roaming, which, I suppose, is meant to give us a “you-are-there” feeling, but instead induces motion sickness, particularly in the boardroom scenes.
Performance wise, however, the movie is top notch. Watt works as Plame, and Penn is passionate, crafting an a performance so big it has it’s own gravitational pull that asks whether Wilson was really a truth seeker or simply a self aggrandizing opportunist.
“Fair Game” is a mostly interesting look at our recent past, too bad director Liman takes too long to develop the important part of the story.
