“Return to form” is an overused film critic cliché which usually means that a director has gone back to his roots after a few flops. Such is the case with Guy Ritchie’s new British geezer gangster film RocknRolla. His last two films, Swept Away (starring his wife Madonna) and Revolver, were pummeled by the press and ignored by audiences but his new story of London’s underworld should lure some of his core audience back to the theater.
Ritchie, also acting as screenwriter, has crafted a story that breathes the same air as his earlier scripts Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and Snatch. Set in London’s down and dirty criminal underworld, the story revolves around powerful old-school gangster Lenny Cole (Tom Wilkinson) who opens up a can of worms when he makes a shady real estate deal with Russian billionaire Uri Obomavich (Karel Roden). When the Russian’s accountant, “a posh bird who likes a bit of the rough life” (Thandie Newton), orchestrates the robbery of a substantial amount of money in transit to Lenny she brings small time crook One-Two (Gerard Butler) his crew the Wild Bunch and two hapless concert promoters (Jeremy Piven and Chris ‘Ludacris’ Bridges) into the fray, all of whom want a piece of the action.
The script makes use of Ritchie’s ear for the cadences of London’s criminal world. The dialogue sparkles with quirky cockney one-liners delivered with a smirk by a cast who seems to have born with plastic spoons in their mouths.
The action, set against a killer pulsating soundtrack featuring a mix of new and old indie rock and punk songs, is as frenetic as ever, all canted camera angles, icy cool slo mo and rock and roll lighting. It’s a testosterone-soaked two hours that owes much to Tarantino both is style and content. Stylish and bursting with camera trickery—a deconstructed sex scene broken into six or seven well chosen shots culminating with the snap of a cigarette lighter is funny and sexy– RocknRolla apes the American director’s energy and way with parallel storylines.
What Ritchie lacks though, is Tarantino’s way with female characters. RocknRolla positively reeks of testosterone, lacking anything resembling a strong female presence. Thandie Newton has some good moments, but is underwritten and not nearly as interesting as the male characters who have, for a start, better characters names like One-Two, Handsome Bob and Mumbles and better fleshed out back stories. Even two Russian thugs who do little more than compare scars and chase Butler through a London neighborhood have a bigger screen presence than Newton. Ritchie may be a poster boy for the new British “ladism” but next time out it would be nice to have a strong feminine role—and please, don’t cast Madonna.
RocknRolla will be called a “return to form” for Ritchie, which is good news for fans of Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and Snatch but bad news for actresses looking for interesting roles.
Kathryn Heigl is gorgeous. She’s a blonde bombshell in the tradition of Jean Harlow, a collection of curves, fiery lips and bundled blonde hair that looks as though she just slithered out of a 1950s film noir. She’s also smart, produces her own films and is out spoken about all the right causes. She should be the total package, but the trouble is, on screen, I find her cold. She emanates ice, and not in the classic Alfred Hitchcock cool blonde way. That coldness could work for her in some roles but it is a little hard to swallow in the rom coms she makes between seasons of Grey’s Anatomy.
Her new film, The Ugly Truth, feels like an updated Doris Day / Rock Hudson battle of the sexes; a look at how men and women perceive one another. Heigl is Abby Richter, the terminally single producer of a morning television show. In an effort to boost sagging ratings the station manager hires controversial correspondent Mike Chadway (Gerard Butler). “He is everything that is wrong with television and society,” says Abby. His proudly male chauvinist schtick about how women don’t understand what men want—he’s equal parts Dr. Ruth, Dr. Phil and Hugh Hefner—despite Abbey’s disdain, connects with her audience. They are, in the grand tradition of romantic comedies, oil and water, but despite their differences Abby turns to Mike for hints on how to connect with Colin (Eric Winter), the proverbial good looking doctor next door. Maybe, just maybe, though, love is closer than either of them think…
Movies like The Ugly Truth live or die based on the charm of their stars. Butler can pull off the charismatic rogue role but Heigl grates. It would have been interesting to see Reese Witherspoon or maybe a 1980s vintage Meg Ryan in the same role to judge whether their appeal could rescue this otherwise sad excuse for a rom com.
It’s not just that it is predictable. Originality isn’t a trademark of the genre, so the set up and pay off are expected before the opening credits roll. This one has a few more four letter words than usual but plays out pretty much how you might imagine.
So, if it isn’t the inevitable happy ever after story line that drags The Ugly Truth down, what is it? Well, how about the Three’s Company level dialogue? The lame jokes, writing style and battle of the sexes subject seem to harken back to a different time. Like when Jack, Janet and Crissy were still roommates and bell bottoms were considered cool at the disco. The jokes have been given a makeover but the underlying themes seem twenty years or more of date.
There are a few laughs sprinkled throughout however—the women in the audience I saw this with seemed to find some of Mike’s observations like “For men self improvement stops with toilet training,” hilarious—but if there were any fewer laughs this would simply be a romance, not a romantic comedy. Another scene involving vibrating underwear and a restaurant got some laughs but I thought it was funnier the first time I saw it in When Harry Met Sally.
The Ugly Truth is neither ugly—Heigl and Butler see to that—or truthful—the hackneyed take on relationships sees to that.
Dear Frankie is a four hankie movie. It is a tearjerker about Lizzie, played by Emily Mortimer, who has fled from her abusive husband, and is raising her deaf son, Frankie (Jack McElhone). Instead of telling Frankie the terrible truth about his father, Lizzie tells the boy that his Dad is away at sea on a freighter named the Accra. Frankie writes to his old man, and his mother intercepts the letters and answers them herself.
Tearjerker moment number one: Lizzie says Frankie’s letters are important to her “because it’s the only way I can hear his voice.”
Everything is going well until the day that a ship named the Accra actually docks in Glasgow. Frankie assumes his father is on board, so to keep up the comforting lie she has told to her son, Lizzie decides to find a man who will pretend, temporarily, to be Frankie’s father. The man is played by Gerard Butler, who is no longer hiding his rugged good looks behind a mask as he did in the recent Phantom of the Opera. He is the fatherly stranger who brings comfort to both mother and son.
There are some lovely moments in this quiet little film, a good performance from Butler after the monumental flop of Phantom, but it is Emily Mortimer (Lovely & Amazing and Bright Young Things) as the struggling single mother who shines brightest.
In The Bounty Hunter, Jennifer Aniston and Gerard Butler work on the borders of their comfort zones. Butler is the titular character, a former cop so down on his luck he takes a gig tracking down his ex-wife (and alleged real-life girlfriend) Aniston, for a payday of $5,000.
“I felt this was a different role for her,” says Butler of his co-star. “She is the Queen of Comedy and done a lot of romantic comedies, but this doesn’t feel like a romantic comedy. It feels like an action driven comedy. She was playing a much bitchier, hard edged character than I think anyone has ever seen her do before and for me that is exciting.”
Aniston, best known as Rachel from Friends, or Brad Pitt’s ex wife, depending on your appetite for the tabloids, says she was attracted to the role because “it wasn’t your traditional run of the mill girl meets guy, guy meets girl.”
“It is an action comedy and a road movie with a little romance in there and a little suspense,” she said recently in a sit-down with Metro in New York City.
She was, however, taken by surprise by the physical demands of the production. Doing stunts in four inch heels isn’t as easy as it looks.
“Your adrenaline is going and you’re not really feeling it at the moment and then I’d get home and notice a bruise here and a callous here,” said Aniston, who adds she would consider other action roles in future. “Then there were the handcuffs. Try wearing those, attached to a car door for three days. Not fun.”
For Butler, a Scottish heartthrob best known for his sculpted abs and roles in violent films like 300, the challenge wasn’t the physical side, but breaking the action star stereotype.
“My break in America was Attila the Hun, which went into Time Line, Tomb Raider, Reign of Fire and at that point I loved doing that, but it’s not like when you are still making your way in the business that people go, ‘Tomb Raider, Oh my God, the guy should be in a comedy.’ I was waiting for the right opportunity. I thought I don’t want to dive in with something crappy. I wanted to wait until I’m lucky enough to get the right script that felt right.”
“Chasing Mavericks” is a few stories ties into one. It’s the coming of age of Jay Moriarty. It’s a father-figure-and-son story, but most of all it is a wet and wild surfing tale about conquering the biggest and most dangerous waves on earth.
Based on the life of award-winning surfer and adventurer Moriarty, “Chasing Mavericks” begins when eight-year-old Jay discovers his love of surfing after he almost accidentally drowned. Rescued by Frosty Hesson (Gerard Butler), who scoops him from the sea’s watery clutches and paddles him to safety on a surfboard Jay immediately becomes hooked. Cut to seven years later. Jay (Jonny Weston) is an accomplished surfer, but when he learns about the Mavericks, 25-80 foot waves that break near his Santa Cruz home, he becomes obsessed with conquering them.
With his father nowhere in sight, Jay looks to Hesson as a mentor. Hesson is also a local surfing legend who knows the power of the big waves and realizes if he doesn’t help Jay along, the boy could get hurt attacking the waves unprepared. “Untrained boiys don’t step in the ring with Mike Tyson,” he says, mixing his sports metaphors.
“Chasing Mavericks” is aw-shucks-golly-corny, complete with a Mr. Miyagi figure and inspirational life lessons. The melodrama builds throughout, accompanied by tin-eared dialogue about being “children of the sea” and “feeling the abyss.”
There’s not much here that doesn’t feel contrived, and yet, somehow it mostly works. It’s a bit too long and several of the story unnecessarily splinters off into subplots about a friend with a drug and attitude problem, Jay’s mom’s (Elisabeth Shue) life issues and a high school crush, but somehow you know all these obstacles will be overcome because that’s the kind of movie this is.
I would say “Chasing Mavericks” would work recommended on VOD or as a rental, except that the surfing footage is quite spectacular and deserves to be seen on a big screen. The sappy sentimentally, however, is perfect for home viewing.
Anyone who tries to argue that Shakespeare is no longer relevant only has to see “Coriolanus,” the new film by Ralph Fiennes, based on the Bard’s 1608 play, to be proven wrong. The story of a banished Roman hero who vows revenge on his city has echoes of the Occupy Wall Street movement, the Tea Party and the 99%. That it also has a towering performance by Vanessa Redgrave is simply the icing on the top of a very old cake.
Set in present day Rome, the film centers on the title character (Fiennes), a great warrior who despises the people he is sworn to protect. When his run for elected office is undone by his extreme opinions, scheming politicians and an end run by his mother, Volumnia (Vanessa Redgrave) he is banished from Rome. Seeking revenge he hatches a plan with his sworn enemy Tullus Aufidius (Gerard Butler) to destroy Rome. A dramatic appeal from Volumnia changes his mind, but alienates his new ally.
Ralph Fiennes, in his directorial debut, takes a little known play and makes it relevant for our times. In light of the world’s recent social unrest—London riots, Occupy this and that, Syria—Fiennes has reached deep into the past to place modern events in context. The four hundred old dialogue reveals the primal nature of man—and how it hasn’t changed.
The fight for power, the thirst for revenge, the bond between a mother and son, the disenfranchisement of the people; these topics are as fresh today as they were in Shakespeare’s day.
Timeliness aside, the film works as a dramatic piece. Fiennes uses handheld cameras to add a sense immediacy, as though we’re watching a live newscast. As usual the wobbly cam makes one feel seasick by the time the first double-cross has happened, but it does add visual energy. Add to that battle scenes shot by The Hurt Locker cinematographer Barry Ackroyd and you have a movie filled with lines like “Death, that dark spirit, in ‘s nervy arm doth lie; Which, being advanced, declines, and then men die,” and yet feels absolutely modern.
As for the acting, Fiennes is fine, refined yet feral. Voldemort with a nose and a habit a furiously spitting as he speaks. Gerrad Butler surprises with his range and Brian Cox as the backstabbing politico Menenius, a two-faced senator playing both sides against the middle is powerful, but it is Vanessa Redgrave who controls the screen.
Distilling decades of performing Shakespeare on film and the stage she hits all the right notes, creating a character who would be recognizable to a seventeenth century audience, but works beautifully on screen. Her final showdown with her son on a barren road is a tour-de-force and worth the price of admission alone.
“Coriolanus” isn’t the masterful work that Ian McKellan’s “Richard III” was, but it is a passionate, interesting film that feels ripped from the headlines.
Are there five more terrifying words in the English language than, “New Gerard Butler Romantic Comedy”? Butler is a good actor who makes lots of bad movies but his track record in the rom com department is particularly dire.
Critics hate these movies, calling the handsome Scottish actor’s attempts at mixing love and comedy, “instantly grating,” and “embarrassingly limited.” Only Katherine Heigl (Butler’s co-star in The Ugly Truth, called “ugly-ass crap” by Rolling Stone) has a worse track record.
This weekend he stars in Playing for Keeps the true story of a former sports star who pulls his life together through romance and, let’s hope, comedy.
The reviews have yet to come in for Playing for Keeps, but let’s hope it breaks his rom com track record and delivers some mushy, funny fun.
Rather than dwell on the bad stuff, in this column I’ll look at his more interesting performances—and no, that Jennifer Aniston movie won’t be included!
2002 was the year Butler became famous with big roles in Reign of Fire and Lara Croft Tomb Raider: The Cradle of Life, opposite Angelina Jolie. Then he developed into a crossover star, taking roles in everything from sci fi flicks (Timeline), to musicals (The Phantom of the Opera) and even a rendering of the Anglo-Saxon epic poem Beowulf (Beowulf & Grendel).
The film that turned him into a heartthrob, but one with serious dramatic chops, was Dear Frankie, a four hankie tearjerker about a single mother who resorts to trickery to keep the memory of her late husband alive in her son’s mind.
It was his next movie, however, that made him (and his meticulously crafted six-pack) a superstar. In 300 he’s King Leonidas, a Spartan who led three hundred soldiers against the might of the Persian army. It’s the film equivalent of a heavy metal concert—loud, brutal and completely uncompromising—and it made him an action hero.
A few years ago the website Gawker placed Butler on movie star probation, calling him a “professional bad decision maker” alongside Cuba Gooding Jr and John Travolta but Hollywood hasn’t been all bad for Butler.
Post 300 highlights include playing a charming mobster in the violent Guy Ritchie flick RocknRolla, voicing Stoick the Vast, the chieftain of a Viking tribe in the animated How to Train Your Dragon and Coriolanus, a modern dress version of a 1608 play by William Shakespeare.
Beowulf and Grendel is a film adaptation of the first epic poem in the English language. It’s about a king who, having killed a terrifying troll, recruits the help of a foreign warrior named Beowulf to battle the unforgiving son of the troll he murdered.
From its opening minutes, a chapter subtitled A Hate is Born, Beowulf and Grendel could have been an effective allegory for racism and the fear of anything that is different, but is stymied by its delivery. Director Sturla Gunnarsson makes great use of the rocky landscapes of Iceland, where the film was shot, and successfully cast Gerard Butler as the heroic Beowulf and Stellan Skarsgard as the broken-down king but fails to impart any real empathy for Grendel, the revenge-seeking troll. If the audience doesn’t feel for the character then the story becomes strictly about revenge and not anything deeper.
There are some memorable scenes. After Grendel sees his father killed he takes a souvenir to remember his dad—his head!—and the rocky scenery is beautiful, perfectly complimenting the brutal story.
During the screening of “The Bounty Hunter,” a new romantic comedy from Jennifer Aniston and Gerard Butler, I had a feeling I have never experienced before. I found myself wishing be-mulleted reality star Duane ‘Dog’ Chapman would make a cameo appearance and bring some much needed entertainment value to this movie. Not that I’m much of a fan of the A&E bounty hunter show, but his puka shell necklaces and flamboyant hairstyle might have spiced this lame action comedy up.
The premise is simple. Butler is the titular character, a former cop so down on his luck he takes a gig tracking down his ex-wife (and alleged real-life girlfriend) Aniston, for a payday of five thousand dollars. She’s an ambitious newspaper reporter who will let nothing get in the way of getting a story—including a court date. When she skips court to follow a lead a warrant is issued for her arrest. Enter Butler. He finds her easily, but a funny thing happens on the way back to jail—the pair begins to appreciate one another again. Imagine a humdrum sitcom version of “Duplicity” or “Mr. & Mrs. Smith” and you get the idea.
“The Bounty Hunter” doesn’t really know what it wants to be. Is it a romantic comedy? Sort of. Is it an action picture? Kinda. Is it a road movie? Hmmmm, maybe. In fact it’s all those things and less. This truly is a case of the whole being lesser than the sum of its parts.
Aniston and Butler play classic screwball comedy characters, gamely indulging in fast paced repartee and some light farce, but it all feels very “been there, done that.” How many more times can the line “You’re crazy!” be answered with “Maybe I am?” before it takes top dishonors as the Movie Cliché of the Year? The script is on autopilot and even the usually charming Aniston and Butler can’t make these characters interesting. It’s scene after scene of endless (and often unfunny) bickering, very tepid action and screwball situations that seem like we’ve seen them before.
There is the odd bright spot. Christine Baranski sparkles as Aniston’s mom, a be-dazzled Atlantic City lounge singer and raises the movie’s temperature from frigid to temperate when she’s on screen and a dinner scene at a honeymoon hotel has some heat to it, but it comes too late in the movie to make much difference.
“The Bounty Hunter” is an almost instantly forgettable film, one that relies on the appeal of Aniston’s short skirts and Butler’s abs more than a decent script or interesting story.
