LOGLINE: Detectives Mike Lowrey (Will Smith) and Marcus Burnett (Martin Lawrence) become fugitives from the law when they are forced to bend the rules in their investigation into corruption in the Miami PD and their former captain’s (Joe Pantoliano) alleged involvement with the Romanian Mafia. “You’re my bad boys,” says Capt. Conrad Howard on a video. “Now clear my name.”
CAST: Will Smith, Martin Lawrence, Vanessa Hudgens, Alexander Ludwig, Paola Núñez, Eric Dane, Ioan Gruffudd, Rhea Seehorn, Jacob Scipio, Melanie Liburd, Tasha Smith, Tiffany Haddish, Joe Pantoliano. Directed by Adil & Bilall
REVIEW: A classic odd couple, Will Smith and Martin Lawrence, maintain the chemistry that has fueled this franchise for almost three decades, and “Bad Boys: Ride or Die” is all the better for it. They’ve slowed somewhat, but their breathless back-and-forth, usually while they’re under fire from all directions, is as sharp, and funny as ever.
That’s the good news.
The bad news is that much of the movie feels like an exercise in nostalgia. The directorial style, courtesy of Adil El Arbi and Bilall Fallah, pays homage to the frenetic style of original director Michael Bay. To reinforce their debt to the franchise’s former director, they even give Bay a quick cameo.
There’s nothing much fresh about “Bad Boys: Ride or Die.” Old characters are brought back (sometimes from the dead), the only thing more generic than the villain feels is the dialogue (eg: “You’re playing a game and don’t know the rules.”) and with the exception of a hungry, giant alligator, the peril is same old.
Cudos, however, to whoever came up with the idea of Smith taking a (Oscar) slap (or three) to the face in a scene that suggests he’s open to atonement for his mistreatment of Chris Rock.
“Bad Boys: Ride or Die” delivers what you expect from the franchise, which is a crowd-pleasing mix of action and comedy. The story may be implausible but the chemistry that drives it is completely tangible.
The humor in “Back on the Strip,” a new Las Vegas comedy starring Wesley Snipes, Faizon Love and J.B. Smoove as Las Vegas male strippers who return to the stage after a long hiatus, is about as subtle as the title’s insinuation is hard to understand. Which is to say, not at all.
In this “Full Monty” riff, Tiffany Haddish plays Verna, free-spirited mother to Merlin (Spencer Moore II), a wannabe magician whose life is turned upside down when his high school crush Robin (Raigan Harris) announces she is engaged to “the Michael Jordan of comedy,” on-line prankster Blaze (Ryan Alexander Holmes).
Brokenhearted, he heads to Las Vegas looking to land a gig as a magician. At an impromptu magic gig at a strip club instead of pulling a rabbit out of a hat, by accident, Merlin pulls, well, something else out of his pants. The revealing moment catches the eye of Luther a.k.a. “Mr. Big” (Snipes), the former leader of a famous Black male stripper crew called The Chocolate Chips, just as he’s thinking of putting the old band back together.
Desperate for a gig, Merlin reluctantly joins the dance crew, keeping it a secret from Verna and Robin, who, despite being engaged, is still in contact.
“Now with a man with something big in front of him,” says Luther as he intros Merlin. “I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about his future… Mr. Black Magic.”
Merlin’s life becomes complicated when Blaze decides to publicly embarrass Merlin and keep Robin all to himself. Will Merlin finally learn how to do thing his way? Will he go big or will he go home?
“Back on the Strip” is not a subtle movie. From Haddish’s raunchy narration to the predictable plot points, it’s clear writer-director Chris Spence (and co-writer is Eric Daniel) aren’t looking to reinvent the raunchy comedy wheel. It’s a mix of sweet and sour, romance for the heart and the raunchy stuff—it’s like Spencer consulted the Double Entendre Dictionary when writing Haddish’s dialogue—for the other extremities. The only really surprising thing about the movie is how far the script pushes the innuendo.
The willing cast go along for the ride with considerable collective charm. Smoove is a standout, bringing some much-needed unpredictability to every scene he is in.
Unfortunately, the emotional scenes between Merlin and Robin, meant to be heartwarming, are rendered tedious by the predictability of the script. We know what’s going to happen in this movie long before any of it actually happens and we don’t need Haddish’s expository, non-stop narration to let us know what’s going on.
Simply put, “Back on the Strip” does not have any of Mike’s magic.
Twenty years ago Disney brought one of their popular theme park rides to cinematic life with the horror comedy “Haunted Mansion.” Eddie Murphy played a realtor who valued money over family, until they all get trapped in the mansion and learn valuable life lessons. Despite some laughs and near non-stop oddball action, it flopped at the box office, and even Murphy admitted, “it wasn’t good.”
The ride, however, has remained popular, and now, two decades along, Disney is attempting to bring the scary attraction back from the dead on the big screen.
Set in New Orleans, “Haunted Mansion” stars Rosario Dawson as single mother Gabbie. On the search for a new life with her young son Travis (Chase Dillon), she’s looking for a home she can turn into a bed and breakfast. Her search comes to an end when she finds a rundown mansion that suits their budget. It needs a deep clean and some de-cob webbing, and looks like no one has lived there for years (“lived” being the operative word) but the price is right.
“This place isn’t as warm as I hoped,” she says to Travis, “but I need you to give this place a chance. This is our home now.”
When things start going bump in the night, however, it soon becomes apparent why the mansion was such a bargain.
“This house is dripping with souls,” says the Hatbox Ghost (Jared Leto). “But there’s always room for one more.”
To combat the home’s malevolent spirits Gabbie brings in a ragtag crew of ghostbusters, priest Kent (Owen Wilson), the highly Yelp rated French Quarter psychic Harriet (Tiffany Haddish), paranormal tour guide Ben (LaKeith Stanfield), and tetchy historian Bruce (Danny DeVito).
“I should warn you before you step into the house,” Gabbie says, “this could change the course of your entire life.”
“I’m not afraid of a couple ghosts,” says Ben.
“You say that now,” Gabbie replies ominously.
“Haunted Mansion” evokes the iconic Disney ride, keeping the thrills family friendly and the jump scares that have been part of the theme park experience for decades.
What is new is the emphasis on grief and loss. Both Ben and Travis are stinging from the recent deaths of loved ones, and while it feels wedged in, their shared anguish gives the movie an emotional undercurrent it would not otherwise have.
Stanfield, in his first outing as the lead in a big family film, delivers laughs while also serving as straight man to the broader performances of Haddish, Wilson and DeVito. The movie, which gets off to a slow start, but finds its feet when the supporting cast of misfits shows up.
Before it becomes awash in CGI and spectacle in its last act, “Haunted Mansion” has kind of an old-fashioned feel that falls in line with the old-school vibe of the ride. It delivers the ride’s mild “happy haunts,” some Easter Eggs for fans and quirky, character-based humor that binds it all together. It doesn’t offer the same kind of thrills as the theme park attraction, but it is a massive improvement on the original film, and could be a good introduction to horror for younger viewers.
There is perfect casting and then there is Nicolas Cage, playing a heightened version of himself in “The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent,” a meta new action comedy now playing in theatres.
Off screen Cage is a larger-than-life character, an Oscar winner known for his penchant for purchasing dinosaur skulls, tax troubles and wildly uneven cinematic output. He brings the weight of that public persona to this movie, making myth out of his own legend of self-indulgence.
Cage plays Cage as a faded Hollywood prince. Once a box office draw, he’s down on his luck, going broke and in need of a big money gig. He has become the White Claw of serious actors. He’s good, but no one with taste is taking him seriously.
Producers, scared off by his wild-at-heart reputation, give him the Hollywood kiss off. We love you, but are going in a different direction.
Depressed, he decides to leave Hollywood. “I’m done,” he says. “I’m quitting acting. Tell the trades it was a tremendous honour to be part of storytelling and myth-making.”
Before he leaves the life, he gets an offer he can’t refuse. Olive magnate Javi Gutierrez (Pedro Pascal) will pay Cage a million dollars to attend his birthday bash in Mallorca. The actor reluctantly agrees, and soon finds himself drinking and cliff-diving at Javi’s beautiful estate.
Javi is a huge fan, with a collection of cage collectibles. “Is this supposed to be me?” cage asks, gesturing at a statue of himself. “It’s grotesque. I’ll give you twenty thousand for it.”
Turns out the starstruck Javi isn’t what he appears. “Do you know who you’re spending time with?” CIA agent Vivian (Tiffany Haddish) asks Cage. “He’s one of the most ruthless men on the face of the earth.” They think Javi kidnapped the daughter of the president of Catalonia to influence an upcoming election.
Vivian and Agent Martin (Ike Barinholtz) recruit Cage to work undercover on Javi’s estate to get to the bottom of the case. “That little girl doesn’t have anyone,” says Vivian, “and if you leave, I don’t know what will happen to her.”
It’s a chance to do some good, but for Cage, it is also the role of a lifetime.
“The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent” is an entertaining, oddball movie. Essentially a one joke premise—i.e.: Cage as Cage—it plays with the tropes of many of Cage’s films, but doesn’t play as strictly homage or satire. It’s something else. What, exactly, I’m not quite sure.
It’s almost as if this is Nic Cage’s screw you to the folks who deride him for being a working actor who pumps out two or three movies a year. “I’ve always seen this as a job, as work,” he says, as though he feels bogged down by the weight of the critical appraisal of his artistic choices.
But this isn’t a movie about score settling. It’s a silly action comedy, unabashedly interested in entertaining the audience. It occasionally errs, mistaking familiar references from Cage’s filmography for jokes. It’s that “meme-ification”—the pinpointing of Cage call-backs—of the film’s humour that prevents it from becoming a knee slapper all the way through. There are laugh out loud moments, but there are more moments that feel more Instagram ready than cinematic.
Still, “The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent” is a good time, worth the price of admission to see young Cage advising older Cage and commit the most surreal example of actorly self-love ever seen on film.
Richard joins Ryan Doyle of the NewsTalk 1010 afternoon show The Rush for Booze and Reviews! Today he talks about how the Moscow Mule was born out of necessity… the necessity to get rid of a few cases of vodka, “The Card Counter” in theatres and TIFF.
“The Card Counter,” the new film from “Taxi Driver” screenwriter Paul Schrader, now playing in theatres, is less concerned with cheating at cards than it is with the heavy conscience of the main character.
William Tell (Oscar Isaac) is a man with a past. Ex-military, he’s haunted by his time as an enhanced interrogator at Abu Ghraib. These days he’s constantly on the move, trying to out run his past, travelling from town to town working as a professional gambler and card counter, a skill he picked up during a stint at Leavenworth.
His past catches up with him, however, when Cirk (Tye Sheridan) makes the connection between his late father, who was driven to violence and suicide by memories of his time as a torturer, William and their commanding officer Major John Gordo (Willem Dafoe). Cirk has a vendetta. He blames Gordo for his father‘s death, and plans revenge.
William sees the messy situation as a chance for redemption. With the help of financial backer LaLinda (Tiffany Haddish), William attempts to right the wrongs of his past, clear his conscience and send Cirk off on a better path.
“The Card Counter” is an austere, intense movie.
Schrader’s trademark anguish permeates every frame. Isaac plays William as a man who has numbed himself to the horrors of his past by adopting a controlled, methodical way of life. It’s his way of reducing memories of “the noise, the smell, the violence” at bay, but he is tormented, and Isaac’s careful performance reveals a man aware that his guilt could overflow at any time. It would’ve been easy to play him as comatose, shut down to real life after the pain he willfully inflicted on others, but Isaac gives him life.
His only way out of the psychic hell his memories put him through on a nightly basis is through helping Cirk to ease the young man’s pain. There are echoes of “Taxi Driver” throughout. Like Travis Bickle, William uses violence to “rescue” an innocent, but unlike Mr. You Talkin’ To Me, William also has a sweet side. His relationship with LaLinda is warm and Haddish’s performance helps show us William’s human side.
Schrader fills “The Card Counter” with not-so-subtle social commentary. One of William’s rivals on the gambling circuit is Mr. U.S.A. (Alexander Babara), a loud and proud player dressed in red, white and blue. He’s an empty shell, a braying show-off whose presence is all sound and fury, signifying nothing. He’s the polar opposite of the self-contained William, a man who has seen the horrors his country endorsed and knows of the personal cost involved. The allegory isn’t delicate but it does feel timely and ripped from the headlines.
“The Card Counter” is another of Schrader’s looks into the soul of, as he called Travis Bickle, “God’s lonely man.” He tempers the darkness with wry humour and even a touch of romance, but make no mistake, trauma lies at the heart of the storytelling, resulting in a tautly told morality play that encompasses the war on terror and the personal cost of military action.
“Bad Trip” is a hidden camera movie à la “Borat,” with gross gags, a road trip but without Rudy Giuliani.
Gonzo comedian Eric André is Chris, an underachieving Florida man drifting through life. His life finds new purpose when his high school crush Maria (Michaela Conlin) comes into the juice joint where he is a self-proclaimed chef. As he blends drinks (and other things) they catch up. She’s now a hot shot art dealer in New York, back in her home town for a quick visit.
He asks her out but she declines, telling him she’s off to the airport. But, she adds, “If you’re ever in Manhattan, you should come to the gallery.”
Chris, in love, takes her invitation to heart and convinces his best friend Bud (Lil Rel Howery) to “borrow” his jailbird sister Trina’s (Tiffany Haddish) hot pink Crown Victoria and travel cross country to New York City.
Trouble is, Trina, recently escaped from prison, thinks the car is stolen and vows to track down Chris and Bud, to get her car and revenge.
Partly scripted, mostly improvised, “Bad Trip” follows in the footsteps of “Jackass” and Sacha Baron Cohen and often kicks it up a notch. The satirical edge of “Borat Subsequent Moviefilm” is missing but the outrageous antics on display might make Borat Sagdiyev blush. Barf, poop and bestiality are stops along the way in a road trip that includes drunken line dancing, accidentally getting super high and a tribute to “West Side Story” that is as sweet as it is surreal.
Not every prank sticks the landing, but you have to admire how far André and company (including director Kitao Sakurai) are willing to go to get a reaction. The elaborately staged hidden camera pranks are so outrageous it’s hard to imagine anyone in real life falling for them, but in the moment, who knows?
Several things become clear watching “Bad Trip.”
Firstly, the cast was game for almost anything. André, Haddish and Howery risk life and limb for a laugh, putting themselves in harm’s way in ridiculous ways. “I experienced physical and mental trauma I may never recover from,” Chris says, but I might guess André may feel the same way.
Secondly, it speaks to human nature. André’s bad behavior generally speaking brings out the best in people. It’s an oddly life affirming message from a movie that features random people covered in puke. From an old man on a park bench who gives Chris life changing advice to a bus full of people cheering on his lovesick journey, it’s filled with as much heart as it is gross stuff.
“Bad Trip” is a loosely structured good time that rides the line between gross and goofy, sincere and shocking.
“Like a Boss,” a buddy comedy starring Rose Byrne and Tiffany Haddish, is a story of besties in business almost torn apart by money.
Fast friends Mia (Haddish) and Mel (Byrne) are self-described “badass queens, like those b*tches who raised Wonder Woman.” The cosmetics company they started allows them to “run their best life” but the bills are piling up. “We’re four hundred and ninety-three thousand dollars in debt,” says Mel. Helping them out of the financial hole is Claire Luna (Salma Hayek), a mogul with bottomless pockets. She offers them over a million bucks but it comes with strings. “Per your contract,” Claire’s assistant tells them, “you now have to give Claire $.49 of every dollar for the rest of your lives.” Claire’s involvement brings more than just cash, however. “In my experience,” Claire says, “business and friendship don’t always mix,” and soon a rift develops between the levelheaded Mel and reckless Mia.
The experience of watching “Like a Boss” in theatres is not unlike watching a movie at home. In the comfort of your castle you might get up to make a sandwich, get a drink or go to the bathroom and miss some of the connective scenes that help the movie make sense. Like a Boss” replicates that experience by taking out many of the scenes necessary for the story of female empowerment to work properly. No need to leave your theatre seat. The movie feels rushed, as if those scenes of exposition were ripped from the script on long shift days in order to accommodate the film’s slight 83 minute running time.
It’s a shame because the charming cast is trying hard to wring laughs out of the thin, predictable story. There are a handful of good giggles—Billy Porter’s “witness my tragic moment” scene among them—that hint at what this movie could have been—a mix between “Bridesmaids” and “The Devil Wears Prada”—but it runs out of steam fast, well before the inevitable impromptu musical dance number at the end.
“Like a Boss” wants to be a glass of chardonnay, you go girl kind of feel good comedy but it doesn’t feel as good as it could because of its scattershot approach to the storytelling. With no emotional connection to the characters, the jokes fall flat despite a talented cast.
Set in 1970s Hell’s Kitchen, New York and based on the DCVertigo comic book title of the same name, “The Kitchen” stars Tiffany Haddish, Elizabeth Moss and Melissa McCarthy as mobster wives who take care of business when their husbands are sent to jail.
McCarthy, Haddish and Moss are Kathy Brennan, Ruby O’Carroll and Claire Walsh, wives of mid-level Irish mobsters. When their husbands are scooped up by the FBI the local mafia boss guarantees they’ll be looked after—“We’re going to take care of you,” Little Jackie (Myk Watford) says. “You girls are going to be just fine.”—but when it comes time to help he gets stingy. “I can’t even make the rent with what they gave me last night,” complains Claire.
With no source of income, the three decide to take matters into their own hands. “They’re just a bunch of guys who don’t even remember what family means,” says Kathy. “So, we remind them.”
Kathy is reluctant to enter the family business, but with two kids to look after she doesn’t have many options. Ruby feels like an outsider in the tightly knit Irish community and needs to provide for herself while Claire takes naturally to the wild ways of the streets. “I’m good at the messy stuff,” she says.
Before you can say, “I’m gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse,” the three have taken over Little Jackie’s Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood with an eye to expanding their empire to the rest of the city, all before their husbands get out of jail.
The powerhouse trio at the center of “The Kitchen” can’t sell the film as an effective mob movie or feminist thriller. The characters are quick change artists, morphing from stay-at-home mob wives to stone cold killer criminals seemingly overnight. It’s jarring as are many of the film’s myriad plot twists and turns. Nothing quite adds up, character or story wise, and what might have been an interesting and timely look at dismantling of patriarchal structures it instead finds its female empowerment within violence.
