Igby Goes Down can best be described as a modern day re-imagining of Catcher in the Rye. Kieran Culkin plays Jason “Igby” Slocum Jr, a rich kid with many of the same ideas of humanity as JD Salinger’s most famous character Holden Caulfield. Igby has had a troubled childhood. Raised by Jason Sr. (Bill Pullman), a schizophrenic who is eventually institutionalized and Mimi, a critical and unfeeling cold fish, Igby has become disillusioned and despondent. Kicked out of every private school on the east coast, he has also failed at re-hab, and he’s only sixteen years old. There’s nothing particularly new about Igby Goes Down. JD Salinger literally wrote the book on this kind of character in 1951, and we’ve seen many rehashes of it since then. The thing that sets Igby apart from the other Caulfield wannabes is sharp writing (“I call her Mimi because Heinous One is a bit cumbersome.”) and heart. Beneath the veneer of emotional turmoil is a strong sense of humanity that allows the viewer to develop a connection to the characters. Directed by author Gore Vidal’s nephew Burr Steers (an actor, best known for his roles in Pulp Fiction and The Last Days of Disco) this movie follows in the tradition of great recent teen fare like The Dangerous Lives of Alter Boys (also starring Culkin) and Ghost World.
Insomnia is director Christopher Nolan’s first film since last year’s Memento, and it is a stunner. In this remake of a Norwegian film made in 1998 by Erik Skjoldbjaerg, Nolan has cast three Oscar winners – Al Pacino and Hillary Swank play police officers chasing down a dangerous psychopath played by Robin Williams. Nolan set the film in Alaska, and makes good use of the location, particularly in the opening credit sequence as the camera follows a two-engine prop plane across the unforgiving jagged ice ridges. A foot chase on moving logs provides excitement, but the best thrills here are psychological. This is a film for adults. Insomnia is a serious thriller that relies not only on action, but on issues of guilt and morality to propel the story. Al Pacino hands in his best performance in years, although his accent seems to change from one scene to another. Robin Williams impresses, playing the homicidal Walter Finch with a chilling intensity that should forever put an end to the Mrs. Doubtfire typecasting pit he fell into in the 90s. Swank as the smart small-town cop delivers a multi-layered performance that is completely believable.
In The Bedroom is a simple and spare study of the far reaching impact that one meaningless act of violence can have on a family and their community. First time filmmaker Todd Field displays a remarkably strong directorial hand, relying on silence and ultra-realistic performances to create the film’s tension. It is a tearjerker without being maudlin, a low-wattage thriller that entices you and delivers some unexpected turns along the way. There is Oscar buzz around Sissy Spacek’s performance as Ruth, but to my mind it is Tom Wilkinson who really shines as Matt Fowler, a father struggling to come to grips with the loss of his son.
The Italian Job is a remake of a 1969 film of the same name that starred Michael Caine and Noel Coward. The cast isn’t as upmarket for the re-make – we have to make do with Mark Wahlberg and Jason Statham – but they do seem to be having a good time. Palindromically named director Gary Gray keeps the pace in high gear, staging an elaborate (and unlikely) robbery, a nasty double-cross and a sweet revenge story. Couple those elements with a wild Austin Mini (yes, I said Austin Mini) chase through the streets and subways of Los Angeles and you have the makings of a good lightweight summer heist film.
The Invasion is the rather pointless reworking of The Body Snatchers, a classic 1955 sci fi novel that has already been filmed three times. The first version was a thinly disguised allegory for the spread of communism in the United States. The second, dating from 1978 stars Donald Sutherland and is a real creepfest. No less an authority than The New Yorker’s Pauline Kael, said “it may be the best film of its kind ever made.” A 1993 version was notable for its psychological realism and social criticism. The new rendering, not content to just streamline the wordy Invasion of the Body Snatchers title to simply The Invasion, also takes some liberties with the original story in an attempt to update the movie.
Trouble is, the story didn’t need updating. The idea that people are being replaced by homicidal, emotionless clones grown from plant-like pods is pretty cool, and would still be as eerie on the big screen in 2007 as it was when the original scared audiences in 1956. In the new version two Washington DC doctors struggle to find a cure for a rapidly spreading alien virus. This virus, transmitted by bodily fluids, saps the host body of all emotion.
Once the virus has spread the world over very strange things start to happen. Sucked dry of emotion nations put aside old rivalries and warring countries declare peace, there is little crime and even Kim Jong Ill disarms. It’s kind of like Ritalin for the masses.
Now, here the metaphors get a little murky. Is this supposed to be a statement on the new super viruses we keep hearing about? Or is it a comment on how we allow are emotions to cloud our thinking? Or is it just a bad movie.
I’ll go with the latter.
There may have been a good movie in here somewhere but it’s buried underneath a cavalcade of poorly conceived set pieces, meaningless flash forwards and random and poorly executed action sequences which seem to have been added to try and trick the summer action crowd into shelling out their hard earned dollars to see this turkey.
Considering the talent involved The Invasion should have been a much better film. Nicole Kidman she really has to stop starring in remakes. I thought Bewitched and The Stepford Wives were her resume low points until The Invasion came along. Where’s the Nicole Kidman who was so interesting and watchable in The Hours and Birth? Here’s hoping she’s growing out her remake phase and in future will only choose projects that are commensurate with her considerable talent.
Daniel Craig—that’s Bond, James Bond to you, although this movie was made before he was cast as 007—fairs better than Kidman, but only because he isn’t given much to do. Ditto the great Jeffrey Wright who is wasted here in a small supporting role.
Director Oliver Hirschbiegel isn’t entirely to blame for this mess. His original cut of the film was deemed unacceptable by the movie Gods and the Wachowskis Brothers—of Matrix fame—were brought in to salvage the movie. The result is a stew of a movie that feels slapped together.
The Invasion is a terrible movie, not worthy of the talent involved and certainly not worthy of your time and money.
Adam Sandler might be the most perplexing movie star working today. He churns out a movie or two a year, makes a decent grab at the box office and occasionally even earns good reviews. The thing that makes him so bothersome to me isn’t the boy-man character he’s perfected in movies like Billy Madison and Happy Gilmour or his penchant for bathroom humor, it’s his inconsistency. Just when I thought he had turned a corner with the excellent Reign Over Me from earlier this year into interesting adult roles he slaps me in the face with his follow-up, I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry.
Here’s the best thing I can say about this movie: at least it’s not a sequel (it is, however, a remake of the Australian film Strange Bedfellows). It’s the story of two straight beer-guzzling New York City firemen, played by Sandler and Kevin James, who pretend to be a gay couple to receive domestic partner benefits. After the insurance company sends investigators around to determine the veracity of their relationship the men hire a lawyer (Jessica Biel) to protect their rights. Of course Sandler falls for her which jeopardizes their whole scheme.
I’m not sure what aggravated me most about this movie. The critic in me was irritated by Sandler’s backslide into lowbrow comedy. The movie goer in me was annoyed by the almost complete lack of humor on display here and the human in me was disappointed that a movie like this, one that claims to support equal rights for everyone could be so deeply homophobic. What could have been an interesting and funny look at how the soulless government and insurance company bureaucracy can force people into compromising situations instead becomes a repository for the kind of crude stereotypes that kept Rock Hudson in the closet for his entire career.
The idea for this movie might have come from a noble place. Perhaps the writers were trying to create a mainstream ode to tolerance and acceptance, but, in a confusing turnaround, seem to have embraced the very kind of narrow-mindedness it preaches against. After almost two hours of gay caricatures and fat jokes one speech at the end about the dangers of poking fun at people who are different from you doesn’t qualify as justification, it’s simply hypocritical.
You don’t have to be Dr. Phil to know that relationships are hard work. Everyone knows that to be really fulfilling they require a mix of respect, understanding, responsibility and maturity. Everyone, that is, except the characters in Chris Rock’s new comedy I Think I Love My Wife.
Inspired by a decades old French new wave film called Chloe in the Afternoon, Rock’s movie, which he produced, wrote, directed and stars in, follows the exploits of a henpecked investment banker who reconnects with a old friend. A really hot looking old friend who reminds him of a time before he settled down to raise a family. What starts out as harmless flirtation becomes a moral conundrum as heat develops between them.
Rock’s character continually says how happily married he is, but he sure doesn’t act like it. He hasn’t had sex with his wife since Boyz to Men were on the charts and his eye wanders more than a lost child at an amusement park. He’s bored, but instead of working on his relationship he looks outside for happiness.
It’s not exactly a new idea. The trouble with observational comedies about relationships is that we’ve pretty much seen it all before—10 and The Lady in Red got there first to name just a couple. The dynamics between men and women, married or not, have been explored every which way and there is very little new to say about them.
I Think In Love My Wife doesn’t break any new ground, in fact it might actually set back male-female relations a few steps. His banker is a stereotype, a weak willed man who can’t help but think that the grass is greener in the next bedroom, while his wife is a home decorating obsessed harridan who is treated as little more than a baby-making machine. As for the temptress, ably played by Kerry Washington, the only thing missing is a For Rent sign around her neck.
That’s not to say the movie isn’t funny. There are a fair amount of laughs here, but for someone who has been called “the funniest man in America” Rock is surprisingly flat. His performance here is the same one he gives in every movie. He’s a likeable performer, but every line he says sounds like he’s delivering the punchline in his stand-up act.
The best line in the movie isn’t delivered by Rock, but by character actor Edward Herrmann, best known for his portrayals of Franklin Roosevelt. He tells Rock, “You can lose a lot of money by chasing women, but you’ll never lose a lot of women chasing money.” Too bad Rock’s character doesn’t have more memorable lines like that one. Not quite as memorable, but fun to watch is Steve Buscemi as the sleaze ball co-worker so obsessed prone to having extra-martial affairs he keeps Viagara in his glove box right next to his Altoids.
I Think I Love My Wife isn’t as clever as it needs to be, or as funny, but it doesn’t redeem itself in its unexpected musical finale. If only the whole film was as funny and inventive as the last five minutes.
Invincible could be renamed “Generic Feel Good Sports Movie.” Like Glory Road from earlier this year it is based on a true story about an underdog who goes on to triumph. Inspiring, no? Well, yes and no.
The story does get the blood pumping, particularly in the football scenes, but only in the most predictable ways. Mark Wahlberg plays Vince Papale, a Philadelphia Eagles fan who has just lost his wife and his teaching job. Down on his luck, he goes to an open tryout for his favorite NFL team, only to see his wildest dreams come true. From here on in you don’t need to be a Hollywood screenwriter to figure out the rest of the story and that is the problem with the movie. How many times will audiences sit still for the same old sports clichés? The story would be inspiring if we hadn’t already seen it a dozen times, only with different names and sports in movies like Hoosiers to Bad News Bears to The Rookie to Remember the Titans. The sports and that faces change, it’s just the story that remains the same.
Invincible sees Mark Wahlberg revisiting the era that made him a star. In Boogie Nights he played a fictional 1970s porn star. Here his mullet is back and he hands in a touching portrayal of underdog Papale. He is likable, if not particularly memorable in the role. Greg Kinnear in the inspirational coach role doesn’t fare as well. He is wasted here, displaying none of the charisma that has marked his recent work in The Matador and Little Miss Sunshine. This Oscar nominee is often referred to as the “next Jack Lemmon.” If he keeps handing in forgettable performances like this soon he’ll be known as the “next Karl Dane.” Who’s that you ask? My point exactly.
Invincible is like going to the play off game and knowing the final score before the game even starts.
When Andre Benjamin and Antwan Patton, better known as Andre 3000 and Big Boi of the Atlanta-based hip-hop group Outkast, decided to branch out into film they didn’t look to MTV for ideas. Instead they cherry picked inspiration from a variety of sources such as Moulin Rouge, hip-hip culture, Warner’s cartoons, Six Feet Under and gangster movies of the 1930s, creating a frenetic fusion of old and new.
Idlewild, named for the Georgia town in which then action takes place, is both rooted in the past and very forward-looking. Hip-hop collides with jazz, dancers mix the jitterbug with break dancing and the star of this 1930s road show is a rapper. Think of it as a remix of The Cotton Club.
Set against the backdrop of a 1930s southern speakeasy, Benjamin and Patton play Percival and Rooster, friends since childhood, despite the differences in their personalities. Percival is the shy son of a mortician who plays piano at the speakeasy. Rooster on the other hand is the flamboyantly dressed star of the show who flirts with all the women in the movie except his wife. When a mob boss is slain by his underling (a terrific Terrence Howard) Rooster must take over the speakeasy and learn to do business with the violent and unreasonable gangster who now controls the flow of booze into the club. Meanwhile Percival falls for a beautiful new singer in the club, and comes out of his shell just in time for the violent and bloody finale.
Idlewild manages to skirt around my usual problem with musicals—people bursting into song at the drop of a hat is silly!—by setting most of the musical numbers in a Prohibition era speakeasy ironically called The Church. Here we get the movie’s strengths—spectacularly choreographed dance numbers mixing dance styles old and new, cool new retro-modern sounding music from Outkast, Macy Gray and newcomer Paula Patton and a rich and interesting visual pallet.
Good thing we have lots of eye and ear candy to distract us from the movie’s faults. Benjamin and Patton are sturdy performers, but their acting chops pale by comparison to their co-star Terrence Howard who owns the screen each time he steps into frame.
The script doesn’t do either of the neophyte actors any favors—it must have been tough for Benjamin to sing a love song to a corpse in his big screen debut—and is a bit of a hallucinatory mess—what did you expect from a former music video director?—but Idlewild’s energy, beauty and verve make up for its shortcomings.
