It can take some doing, but once you get past the idea of Harry Potter as a white supremacist “Imperium” is an enjoyable potboiler.
Daniel Radcliffe plays FBI agent Nate Foster, a principled young man with an uncanny resemblance to Harry Potter, whose empathy and idealism attract the attention of his FBI superior Angela Zamparo (Toni Collette). She recruits him to
shave his hair down to the stubble and go deep undercover to take down a radical white nationalist group planning to build a dirty bomb. Inexperienced but focussed, he pilots his way through the ranks of racists, including the Ayran Brotherhood, right wing radio host Dallas Wolf (Tracy Letts) and wealthy extremist Gerry Conway (“True Blood’s” Sam Trammell). Fully embedded, he finds the tricky balance between maintaining his personal beliefs without blowing his cover.
Based on real events “Imperium” is a standard undercover drama with a few standout performances. Radcliffe is very good at portraying Nate’s calm-under-pressure demeanour, while imparting a sense of urgency into the character. On the other end of the scale is Trammell who quietly plays his racist as an everyday family man who has allowed hate to infect his soul. As a provocative radio host Tracy Letts hands in another interesting performance, one that suggests that for some, money is more important than principles, no matter how skewed they may be.
“Imperium” contains some provocative and offensive images—the mere sight of Harry Potter shouting racial epithets will be enough to upset many a viewer—but the underlying story of racial intolerance doesn’t add much to the conversation. Instead of exploring the psychopathology of hatred and anti-Semitism in the United States it is content to play as a thriller and little else. As such it’s good, if not quite edge-of-your-seat stuff, but it could have been much more.
There are two and three hanky movies and then there are films like “Miss You Already” that demand more extreme measures. It’s one of those stories that is bound to inspire both happy and sad crying, so bring a box of Kleenex, or better yet, an absorbent towel.
Drew Barrymore and Toni Collette are Jess and Milly, childhood friends who have remained close even though their lives have taken different paths. Jess is an environmentalist, an earth mother who lives on a Thames houseboat with her husband Jago (Paddy Considine). Milly is a self-centered publicist, mother of two, married to a former roadie-turned-millionaire Kit (Dominic Cooper).
When Milly is diagnosed with breast cancer, her best friend is at her side but when the cancer comes back as Jess and Jago are expecting their first child the decades long relationship becomes strained.
“Miss You Already” begins as a light-hearted romp but develops into something deeper. As Milly’s cancer progresses the movie stays with her at every step, from disbelief, to anger, to denial and finally acceptance. It is unflinching—anyone who has experienced chemo will feel a twinge during the early scenes—and doesn’t pull any punches with its depiction of the treatments or its characters. Milly doesn’t become the poor sainted cancer victim we’ve seen in other films, instead she stays true to the character we met at the film’s start, likeable but not always loveable. Collette keeps it real as she works through the stages of the disease.
Barrymore brings her usual warmth and amiability but the real star is the portrayal of the effect of cancer on its victim, friends and family. “Miss You Already” captures the frustration and sadness inherent to the process but also the humour. “I look like a leopard,” Milly says as her thinning hair is shaved off. “A leper or a leopard?” replies her hairdresser.
“Miss You Already” has moments clearly designed to open the tear ducts but for the most part director Catherine Hardwicke doesn’t get maudlin, treating the material with respect but not with kid gloves.
The last time Susan Sarandon went on a cinematic road trip she was teamed with Geena Davis in a film that reinvented the buddy picture and earned praise from critics who called it a “neo-feminist road movie.”
This time out the Sarandon shares the front seat with Melissa McCarthy. Where “Thelma & Louise” learned about loyalty and sisterhood, Tammy and Pearl only pick up tips about drinking and driving, how to rob restaurants and how to destroy a jet ski.
Tammy (McCarthy) is down on her luck. She hit a deer with her car—“Oh man,” she says, “not another one.”—got fired from Topper Jack’s, and discovered her husband (Nat Faxon) is having an affair with the neighbor (Toni Collette). And it’s not even dinnertime.
Like so many before her, Tammy decides to hit the road to clear her head. Trouble is, she doesn’t have a car or any money. Luckily Grandma Pearl (Sarandon) has both and is keen on taking a trip. “You’re not getting the car unless I go,” she says. “At this point you’re the best chance I have to get out of this house.”
The pair head off for Niagara Falls (going the wrong way naturally), stopping along the way just long enough to cause trouble as Pearl picks up a man in a bar (Gary Cole) before hiding out with Pearl’s cousin Lenore (Kathy Bates) and her girlfriend Suzanne (Sandra Oh). After a blow out with grandma at Lenore’s July fourth party Tammy finally has a close, hard look at her life.
Road movies are episodic by nature. Their stories move from place to place, from character to character, all bound by a theme. Unfortunately “Tammy” simply moves slowly from scene to scene, content to rely on McCarthy’s comedic appeal at the sacrifice of anything more than pratfalls and awkward humor.
In other words “Tammy” earns a laugh or two when McCarthy falls down, less so when she is standing upright, which is most of the movie.
McCarthy is a charming performer, but it’s beginning to feel like she doesn’t do anything than play the obnoxious loser with a heart of gold buried beneath a thick shell of one liners and non sequiturs. What worked so well in “Bridesmaids” now feels been-there-done-that.
She isn’t aided by the supporting cast, because despite the cumulative comedy cred of actors like Allison Janney, Dan Aykroyd and Toni Collette are all saddled with thankless roles that give them very little to do. Kathy Bates is more of a live wire, but shame on director Ben Falcone (who is also McCarthy’s husband and the film’s co-writer) for not giving her costar Sandra Oh more to do. She is essentially set dressing, a flesh prop with a nice wardrobe.
By the end of the credits “Tammy” doesn’t feel like a comedy—although there are several giggles sprinkled throughout—as much as it does a waste of talent. Sarandon isn’t a gifted comedian but McCarthy is, but neither is working to their strengths.
In this film Eight Mile director Curtis Hansen delves into the troubled relationship of two sisters. Toni Colette plays a repressed lawyer who comforts herself by buying expensive shoes. Her sister, played by Cameron Diaz is a drunken party girl, destined to become, as her sister says, “a middle aged tramp.” The kind of girl who is fun to hang out with, but you wouldn’t necessarily take home to mother. She’s cut adrift from the conventions of a “normal life,” and only surfaces when she needs money, or wants to borrow one of the expensive pairs of shoes. After one particularly nasty sexcapade the Diaz character flees to Florida and the not so open arms of a grandmother who was absent during her formative years.
This is Hansen’s third film following Wonder Boys, LA Confidential and Eight Mile. Each of those films was an exploration of life with surprises that lifted the story beyond the average. The surprise here is that there is no surprise. In Her Shoes is a conventional film buoyed by strong performances by Toni Collette and Shirley MacLaine (as the grandmother) but one that plays out exactly as you might expect. I won’t provide spoilers, but in a movie with such a predictable plot there aren’t many spoilers to give.
In the movies there are as many was to come of age as there are kids to mature into adulthood. Teen wizards fight dark lords, young rock writers have their heart broken by sad groupies, Parisian boys turn to crime and a girl named Baby does “The Lift” with a camp dance teacher.
“The Way, Way Back,” a new comedy starring Steve Carell, Sam Rockwell and Canadian actor Liam James, sets the story in a beach resort where a kid is trapped in a world of adults. It doesn’t add anything new to the coming-of-age genre, but what it does, it does really well.
Duncan (James) would rather spend the summer break with his father in California, but instead is headed to a New England beach town with his mom Pam (Toni Collette), her boyfriend Trent (Carell) and his daughter (Zoe Levin). The place is “like Spring Break for adults,” which doesn’t leave much room for Duncan to enjoy himself.
He’s an introverted fourteen-year-old, who can’t stand Trent’s condescending attitude or the change in his mother when she is around him. The summer becomes bearable, however, when he meets Owen (Rockwell), the free-spirited owner of Water Wizz, a local water park.
“The Way, Way Back” has a number of characters best described as “quirky.” Movies like this frequently rely on an artificially created sense of eccentricity to mask weaknesses in the storytelling, but when the actors involved are as good as the cast here, a few kooky characters are welcome.
Surprisingly Carell gives one of the least quirky performances of his career. As Trent he is cold and controlling, the kind of guy who treats Duncan like an add-on to his relationship. He calls the boy “Buddy.” as if he can’t remember his name, and after every pronouncement says, “Am I right?” It’s a quiet, nicely realized villainous performance that will help erase the image of nice-guy Michael Scott from viewer’s minds.
Collette also does solid, down-to-earth work alongside Amanda Peet and Rob Corddry as he loud, goodtime neighbors, and AnnaSophia Robb as the cute, sensitive girl next door.
Liam James also does a nice job as a teen who admits, “There’s not much for me at home,” and takes the initiative to make his life better.
The performances you will remember when you leave the theatre, however, belong to Allison Janney and Rockwell.
Janney, as the drunk, tag-along neighbor storms into the movie like a wild sea squall.
“I’m drinking again,” she announces. “Accept it and move on.”
It’s a big performance that requires her to deliver lines like, “That’s exactly the kind of bathing suit that got me pregnant the first time,” and while she is a caricature of the loud mouthed person you never want to sit next to at the regatta, she is expert in her delivery.
As man-child Owen, Rockwell is a fast-talking loser who has probably watched “Animal House” one too many times. Prone to doling out Bueller-esque life lessons like “Go your own way” and “Don’t die wondering,” he provides some real heart and becomes a satisfying component of the movie’s would-be father and son story.
Less nuanced is Louis (Jim Rash) who mans the bathing suit rental booth at the park. He’s quirky for quirk’s sake, but Rash is a master of the deadpan, and it works.
“The Way, Way Back” is more than just another study of awkward teen behavior. It’s a sweet movie with genuine laughs and despite the occasional bigger than life performances, is remarkably down to earth.
