18 posts categorized "1-1/2 jalapeños"

07/08/2011

Monkey business that falls flat

I must admit, the brooding big guy of "Zookeeper" has his funny moments.

Not Keven James, who plays the title role.  I'm talking about Nick Nolte, who provides the voice of Bernie, the abused, gruff gorilla.

Bernie just wants to get to TGI Fridays.  The filmmakers probably did too; product placement bucks, you know.

I just wanted to find the entrance to the exit ASAP.

"Zookeeper" may appeal some to children.  For adults who go with them, however, it's likely to be a long afternoon or evening at the movies.

James last graced the big screen opposite Vince Vaughn in "The Dilemma," a dismal film that was neither buddy comedy nor buddy drama, but fizzled somewhere in between.  (Certainly one of Ron Howard's worst films.)

In "Zookeeper," James takes the spotlight solo.  He's Griffin Keyes, a kindly Boston zoo keeper who's humiliated when he proposes to his snobbish girlfriend Stephanie (Leslie Bibb of the "Iron Man" franchise) and gets turned down flat.

Years pass and Kate (Rosario Dawson of "Sin City" fame), a guest zoo veterinarian, is showing signs of warming to Griffin.  He's too dense to notice, so the animals break the long-held code of silence and begin to not only talk to Griffin, but coach him on winning Stephanie back.

This is probably not a scenario that "Doctor Doolittle" -- Rex Harrison (1967) or Eddie Murphy (1998, 2001) -- would be found in.  With five screenwriters involved, including James, this sort of entertainment flatness is not uncommon.

There's one thing I like about "Zookeeper," though.  Most of the animals are real (and trained).  Only the aforementioned gorilla is animatronic.  Nolte makes that one appear real through his guttural bellows of solitude and loneliness.

When it comes to the animal voices, Adam Sandler is also a standout as Donald the Monkey, while Sylvester Stallone and Cher are fun as Joe the Lion and Janet the Lioness.

There are some decent elements involved in this production shot at the Franklin Zoo in Boston.  Unfortunately, director Frank Coraci, a frequent collaborator with co-producer Adam Sandler, can't focus the mayhem into enough combustible comedy to keep it interesting.

Coraci directed a couple of very good Sandler comedies:  "The Wedding Singer" and "The Waterboy."

"Click," his most recent Sandler collaboration, didn't in 2006, however.

Sadly, "Zookeeper" flounders so often it really should be about sea creatures.

05/06/2011

Kate Hudson's star power on 'Borrowed' time

To quote an often-repeated phrase, "What the heck were they thinking?"

"Something Borrowed" whirls around a tangled romantic triangle involving characters played by Kate Hudson, Ginnifer Goodwin and a semi-Tom Cruise lookalike named Colin Egglesfield.

Like "The Dilemma," a recent buddy comedy that spun way off its axis, "Something Borrowed" flails away madly trying to settle on a genre niche, but never does.

Neither romantic-comedy (too outrageous and plodding) nor drama (much too silly), "Something Borrowed" careens off all possible genres without coming close to anything resembling embraceable entertainment.

Hudson, who did nothing to propel her rising-star mojo with "Bride Wars" a couple of years back, should know better.  Her character in this one, a boyfriend-stealing obnoxious shark of a woman named Darcy, is one of the most unlikable characters to hit movie screens in a romantic-comedy in years; perhaps decades.

It should tell anyone considering a trip to this under-achiever something when it's revealed that director Luke Greenfield lists a Rob Schneider "comedy" ("The Animal") among credits that also include "The Girl Next Door" (2004).

"Something Borrowed," based on Emily Giffin's novel with a screenplay by TV writer Jennie Snyder Urman, launches in New York with Rachel's (Goodwin) 30th birthday party.  Everyone gets smashed, especially best friend Darcy (Hudson).

Rachel ends up in a cab with Dex (Egglesfield), her old law school buddy, whom she had and has a major crush on.  Trouble is, in 61 days he's marrying Darcy, who leaped between them six years earlier like a cheetah on a helpless, unsuspecting gazelle.

"Two stops," Dex (Egglesfield, channeling Tom Cruise with all his might) tells the driver.

But things heat up quickly.  A glance in the rear view mirror at the action in the backseat and the cabbie says, "I'm thinking one stop."

"Something Borrowed" is utterly predictable and loaded with square peg-in-round-hole characters.  TV "Office" staffer John Krasinski sets indoor and outdoor records for contrived double-takes.  And Steve Howey ("Bride Wars") does absolutely nothing to further his career as Marcus, the skateboarding man-child buffoon.

If you must go, you'll see a pretty good performance from Goodwin, who was on screen not too long ago in "He's Just Not That Into You."

That's about it, though.  Advice from this aisle seat:  Move on down the multiplex hall to something better.

That won't be hard to find.  Almost any auditorium will do.  

03/11/2011

Girl's in the hood

Gee, "Red Riding Hood," what big ties you have.

To the "Twilight" franchise.

Harmless enough as a semi-desperate attempt to find one more excuse to expose a teeny-bopper lovers' triangle to a lurking monster, "Red Riding Hood" begins to irritate not long after the title character, called Valerie here, skips to the deep forest watering hole, then skips out on her mother's strict orders to come straight back.

It's not the almost mind-boggling stretch to retool a fairy tale into a monster tale aimed at teens that gnaws at the intellect so much.  It's director Catherine Hardwicke's determination -- enabled, one supposes, by a major movie studio -- to continue making "Twilight" flicks long after a not-so-congenial parting of the ways from that franchise.

Hardwicke, the Texas native, has real directing chops.  She ("Thirteen," "Lords of Dogtown," "The Nativity Story") just hasn't called on them much lately.  Hardwicke called the shots on the first "Twilight" cinematic cash cow in 2008, and now appears unable to shut down the moody girl and two rival dreamboat guys dynamic.

The "Red Riding Hood" production notes make the point that the familiar fairy tale has become sanitized over the years.  This film, the notes proclaim, embraces the tale's dark side.

Fair enough, but I'd be willing to bet my box of Milk Duds that the old tale never took a "Twilight" slant; a deeply haunted damsel torn between two chiseled-face hunks, one of whom might just be the beast that likes to snack on the locals every full moon.

Amanda Seyfried, who found idyllic love between ABBA tunes in "Mamma Mia!" in 2008 and has worked steadily since ("Dear John," "Letters to Juliet"), dons the red cloak hoodie as Valerie.

She gets to glimpse into the eyes of the monster and, I'm not making this up, even have a conversation with the furry beast.  Since the visiting werewolf killer (Gary Oldman chewing the scenery and spitting it out) informs the villagers that the werewolf returns to human form in daylight, Valerie spends a considerable amount of screen time gazing into everyone's eyes, including her Grandmama (portrayed by a slumming Julie Christie), who has -- Don't get ahead of me here -- big eyes.

At least a silly movie like this provides screen work for some budding talent.  Shiloh Fernandez ("Deadgirl," "Cadillac Records") gazes into Seyfried's eyes well enough as Peter, her true love.  I like the work of young Max Irons as Henry, the town blacksmith (oddly enough).  If that name Irons sounds familiar.  Yes, Max is the son of award-winning actors Jeremy Irons and Sinead Cusack.

If you're a teenager who must have something to do with your movie dollars between "Twilight" flicks, I suppose seeing "Red Riding Hood" will be less unpleasant than running out of texting minutes (today's equivalent of being poked in the eye with a sharp stick).

On the other hand, even less discerning fantasy-thriller fans might notice that it snows a lot in the village of Daggerhorn (actually a soundstage in Vancouver) and no one seems to cover up much.

The better to see young bodies in various stages of romantic frenzy, my dears.

12/21/2010

How I know about 'How Do You Know'

James L. Brooks won an Academy Award directing Jack Nicholson in Best Picture Oscar winner "Terms of Endearment" in 1983.

Despite reuniting with Nicholson and teaming the perennial movie star with Reese Witherspoon, Owen Wilson and Paul Rudd, "How Do You Know" is like a simmering stew with fine cuts of beef and excellent vegetables, but no seasoning.

In other words, "How Do You Know" is bland, bland, bland and definitely not up to Brooks' legendary standards as writer-director.

How do I know?  Nicholson -- Yes, the Jack Nicholson -- is a bore in this offbeat romantic-comedy about four people grinding through transition in their lives.  

Let me tell you something.  When Jack Nicholson can't find a way to keep you engaged, there's something terribly wrong.

Witherspoon, an Oscar winner herself for channeling June Carter Cash in "Walk the Line," is at the center of this sluggish emotional whirling dervish that kicks up very little entertainment dust.

An aging former softball sensation at 31, Lisa (Witherspoon) is strapped emotionally when she's cut from the national team.  So what does she do?  She falls for Matty (Wilson), a self-centered, mini-skirt chasing relief pitcher for the Washington Nationals.

Brooks' plot wanders seriously off base, even for a feature film romantic-comedy contrivance.  Lisa accidentally becomes tangled with George (Rudd), an honest businessman who just happens to be under federal scrutiny.

I think if George were crooked as Wilson's nose, "How Do You Know" would be more fun.  Instead, it's George's old man (Nicholson) who's dirty.

So the dilemma that greases the plot machine is whether George will take the fall for dad and serve prison time and, of course, which man Lisa will choose.

"How Do You Know" sounds more intriguing than it really is.  This is a film that sputters along so lackadaisically that you'll have plenty time to think about last minute holiday shopping without missing much.

Well-orchestrated character driven comedies or comic-dramas (and Brooks has made a few) don't allow daydream time between opening and closing credits.

That's how I know it's OK to skip this one.

06/30/2010

Acting and other 'Twilight' things that bite

Lines that are not in "The Twilight Saga:  Eclipse," but should be.

Edward Cullen, perpetual teen vampire:  "Wanna grab a quick bite after graduation?"

Bella Swan, pouting graduating senior virgin human two-timer who's constantly teasing a certain vampire and a certain perpetually shirtless werewolf:  "Yeah, and a cool one."

We might as well joke about "Eclipse," the third "Twilight" movie.  This monster-human romance series has continually morphed into a spoof of itself ever since filmmaker Catherine Hardwicke, a Texas native, left or was given the boot after the initial "Twilight" in 2008.

Hardwicke launched the teen-scream franchise with a decent enough teen vampire/civilian moody blue love story.

The franchise has gone down thrill ever since.

The acting is more stilted with each outing, even from capable Dakota Fanning in her second cameo in this one as Jane, a member of the Volturi (a vampire ruling group).

British director David Slade, who takes over the franchise with No. 3, made a real movie (with real dialogue, real drama and stuff) titled "Hard Candy" in 2005.  He followed-up with the eerie vampire monster mash "30 Days of Night" in 2007 and should have left his bloodsucking horror helming at that.

There's nowhere to go with the "Twilight" franchise, except to orchestrate the further slide down the slippery slope into a perfect storm of pop culture phenomenon, young teen girls with a crush on a dreamy big-screen, milk-faced imaginary boyfriend ("Oh, he bites?  Well, nobody's perfect.") and peer pressure to jump on the latest pop bandwagon.

In Episode 3, based on Stephenie Meyer's novel "Eclipse" and once again adapted by Melissa Rosenberg, the folks of Forks, WA are gearing up for high school graduation.  Bella (Kristen Stewart) isn't sending out invitations or applying to any colleges, though.

The forever glum "Twilight" ingénue spends her time sitting in a field of wildflowers discussing when she and 100-year-old teen vampire boyfriend Edward (Robert Pattinson) are going to "do it," which, of course, means to turn her into an immortal so they can live happily ever after and after and after.

Now this is shocking.  I mean, a vampire able to sit comfortably outside in broad daylight?  Who signed off on a complete disregard for vampire rules?  Is nothing sacred in schlocky monster-horror flicks anymore?

Putting that monumental problem aside for a second, nothing much of interest happens in the second "Twilight" sequel.  Edward and ab-noxious, muscle-flexing werewolf rival Jacob Black (decent actor Taylor Lautner) are forced to form an uneasy alliance, which is no big whoop.

A Newborn Army of blood-thirsty vampires is strolling down through the woods from Seattle to have a go at ripping Bella to shreds.   She has little time to worry about such things.  Bella has more pressing problems, like juggling bracelets given to her by each of her beast beaus.

The jugular will just have to wait until the next sequel.

That one should be titled, but isn't, "Twilight's Last Gleaming."

06/04/2010

'Marmaduke' rolls over, plays dead

When Bill Murray, playing himself, was milking the scene and taking a very long time to die in last year's horror spoof "Zombieland," he was asked if he had any regrets.

"Well, yeah, 'Garfield,' I guess," Murray said just before he expired.

Some day, Owen Wilson might be saying the same thing about the almost totally humorless "Marmaduke."

And here's some news that's even scarier.  Thanks to ever-advancing computer technology, filmmakers no longer have a problem making it appear that animals can talk.

So in "Marmaduke" the cartoon Great Dane making a clumsy, failed leap to the big screen can talk.  And so can all the other canines at a California dog park.  Humans, or "two-leggers," as Marmaduke calls them, can't understand a word they're woofing.

Of course if these dogs could really talk, they'd be on the phone to their agents demanding a better script. 

That's exactly what Owen Wilson should have done.  This is a family comedy only in the slightest definition of the term comedy.  Wilson is heard but not seen as the voice of Marmaduke, a 200-pound teenage dog uprooted from the Midwest to California's "O.C."

One sniff around the back yard and Marmaduke proclaims, "This is the nicest bathroom I've ever had."  

Director Tom Dey ("Failure to Launch," "Shanghai Noon"), no stranger to over-the-top silliness, did a fine job lining up talent for his dog voices.  Kiefer Sutherland talks tough as pure-bred bully Bosco, for instance, and Fergie of the Black Eyed Peas and Sam Elliott are fun as collie Jezebel and super-sized Chupadogra.

With "Marley & Me" and now this on his list of credits, the only doggie misadventure left for Wilson ("Wedding Crashers") is to portray a talking flea.

The plot is pocked by holes larger than the sinkhole that attempts, but fails to propel the plot when the screenwriters (Tim Rasmussen and Vince Di Meglio) are completely out of ideas.  This film begins and ends with a pointy-eared dog passing gas, if that tells you anything.

If your kids are under, say the age of 6 (no, make that 5), they might get some giggles out of a big dog jumping out of soapy bath water and dragging owner Phil (Lee Pace of "Pushing Daisies" on TV) through the house.

The "Beethoven" films were much more entertaining in the early '90s.  The St. Bernard that dragged people through the yard back then didn't have to say a word to get a laugh.

Big dog slobber was all that was required.

05/21/2010

'Shrek's' 'A Wonderful Life,' lousy sequel

The new "Shrek" is a wreck, and not one that's interesting enough to slow down for.

What else should we possibly expect from a third sequel in a franchise that launched in 2001?

Let's face it ... again.  It's time to bid farewell to the lovable green ogre.

I know what you're thinking:  "Hey, it's Shrek.  My kids will love it."

Maybe.  Perhaps cinematic newbies born too late to enjoy "Shrek" in its prime will.  This one can be viewed from behind 3-D glasses, which only really matters for the opening sequence of white horses appearing to gallop off the screen and into the audience.

Once the horses and the carriage they're pulling have passed, however, the kids will be "enjoying" a blatant rehash of "It's a Wonderful Life," of all things.

In the fourth installment of the once creatively vibrant fairy tale set in a twisted land titled Far Far Away, our rotund hero is fighting the marital/parental blahs; a midlife crisis.  His triplet little ogres are annoying him more with every burp or other gas passing (sure to draw a shock laugh from the kiddies).

Soon after Shrek blows his top at the kids' first birthday party, Rumpelstiltskin (Walt Dohrn, a feature voice newcomer who's also in charge of the story) offers the big, green, disenchanted guy the same deal Clarence the angel-in-training sold to Jimmy Stewart in "It's a Wonderful Life."  

The details vary slightly, but suddenly Shrek never existed (just like Stewart's George Bailey).  Far Far Away is ravaged like Bedford Falls gone to hell.  Donkey (voiced vibrantly by Eddie Murphy as usual) has no idea who Shrek is.

What of Fiona (Cameron Diaz)?  A human damsel without her Shrek savior by day and ogre by night,  Fiona's leading the ogre resistance against the king (Rumpelstiltskin, of course) and the witches who protect him.

"Shrek Forever After," directed with lots of bluster but little spirit by Mike Mitchell ("Sky High," "Surviving Christmas"), is a sequel with such minuscule oomph that one of its main characters provides the tired metaphor.

Puss In Boots, the Zorro-like kitty voiced by Antonio Banderas, has grown fat and lazy (just like the franchise itself).  When Puss, which can barely right himself, begs Donkey to lend him a tongue to groom fur he can no longer reach, it's almost as if screenwriters Josh Klausner ("Date Night") and Darren Lemke (a feature film first-timer) are signaling us that they're throwing in the adventure towel.

That brings us to Mike Myers ("Austin Powers"), the former "Saturday Night Live" standout who has been at the microphone as Shrek for almost a dozen years now.

For whatever reason -- personal challenges (the death of his mentor father, a divorce) or maybe just due to the fact that there's nowhere left to go with the green ogre who would rather be having a mud bath than tending the kids -- Myers has lost his joy of performance.  

And he took "Shrek Forever After" with him.

04/16/2010

Stuck between a Rock and forced farce do-over

 
Eccentricity morphs awkwardly in "Death at a Funeral," a recent British farce diluted into American madcap comedy.

I can understand why raucous American comedian Chris Rock was intrigued by the Frank Oz British version.  Emotions run deep at funerals.  Strange things are said and sometimes done when families and friends gather under extreme stress to honor the recently deceased.  

Often, unbridled emotions lead to dark comedy, at least from a distanced eye.

The first "Death at a Funeral" was only marginally successful in 2007.  Compared to the American re-do, however, the original tale of a pint-sized blackmailer who crashes  a family patriarch's funeral and creates havoc amid already erupting chaos looks like a work of genius.

Oddly, exceptional American actor Peter Dinklage ("The Station Agent") portrays the little guy who stirs up big trouble in both versions.  This time he's Frank, the deceased's "special friend" with incriminating pictures.  In the British "Death at a Funeral," he was Peter, the dead guy's "special friend" with incriminating pictures.

It's important to change things around, I suppose.  Otherwise, film-goers might think, correctly, that director Neil LaBute and screenwriter Dean Craig (who wrote the original) are attempting to charge some movie-goers for the same thing twice.

LaBute ("In the Company of Men," "Your Friends & Neighbors"), an exceptional writer-director of serious drama that takes dark comic turns, goes slumming here for reasons that escape me.

The two "Funerals" are not entirely the same film, of course.  The first occurred on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.  This one, a step-by-step remake without the farcical British tweak, plays out in Pasadena, CA.

Two confrontational brothers serve as the story's pivot point.  Aaron (Rock), the elder brother by a mere nine months, has stayed home and gotten married despite wanting all his life to be a novelist.  Brother Ryan (Martin Lawrence) returns triumphantly from New York, where he has managed to get several novels published.  All trite trash, from what we can decipher from the dialogue.

Rock, who appeared in LaBute's "Nurse Betty", and Lawrence ("Big Momma's House") are talented comedians.  But they aren't funny in this one.  That will and should disappoint their fans.  Both should know better if they intended to get laughs.  They are not part of the madcap clown act in this forced farce.

The laughs -- and there are a few crammed down our throats -- befall Dinklage (whose talents are wasted), Danny Glover (who knows better) and Tracy Morgan ("Cop Out," "30 Rock" on TV), who may not know better, primarily involve involuntarily ingested hallucinogenic drugs and fecal matter flying through the air.

If you're looking for the only real funny business in "Death at a Funeral," don't go out for a popcorn refill with the stuff hits the fans and some of the actors.

04/09/2010

The saga of the reluctant corpse

 
Although creepy enough, the stylized psychological thriller "After.Life" plays like a student film with A-list lead actors.

First-time writer-director Agnieszka Wojtowicz-Vosloo successfully takes her audience to perhaps the scariest moment of human existence; that blurred line between life and death.  Sadly, she doesn't play fair in the cinematic arena she's created.

If you think Christina Ricci was in a tough spot when she was chained up in her shorty-shorts by Samuel Jackson in "Black Snake Moan" in 2007, wait until you see what her character is up against here.

Anna (Ricci) teaches middle school in a small Midwest town (although "After.Life" was lensed in New York).  She's got a boyfriend named Paul (Justin Long) she may or may not be about ready to marry and a nasty habit of driving off from an argument in a huff and a pelting rainstorm.

You've heard the expression "waking up dead"?  That's exactly what happens to the groggy accident victim.  When Anna stirs, she's about to be given last "wrongs" by creepy funeral director Eliot, portrayed with just the right amount of deranged sleaze by Liam Neeson.

According to the script that Wojtowicz-Vosloo wrote herself, Anna is quite deceased.  Or is she?  Maybe she's just stirring on the prep room slab because Eliot is a corpse whisperer of sorts.

I say "After-Life" doesn't play fair with its audience because the filmmaker could provide some clues as to whether her leading lady in a red slip is still among the living, but chooses not to.  If she's alive, then why isn't she cold in the chilled room with nothing on most of the time other than a slip or, uh, nothing at all.

Frankly, I'm not sure "After.Life" could have been brought to the screen by a male filmmaker.  Ricci's nudity isn't just blatant, it's flaunted to the camera more like a celebrity peep show than drama.

Ricci, a skilled actress, deserves better.  She should choose roles more wisely next time unless she's really got some bills that must be paid.

Neeson, appearing as Zeus and releasing the Kraken in "Clash of the Titans" a few doors down in the multiplex, will likely not include this failed creep-out show on his list of credits either.

Some movies demand to be seen.  This one, a blurred cross between psychological thriller and cheesy horror, makes it easy to disregard and move on down the movie house hall to something else.

Almost anything else.

03/26/2010

Splish, splash, don't be taking this bath

Looking for funny gags in "Hot Tub Time Machine"?

From this aisle seat there is one and only one, and it has very little to do with star John Cusack or the three other unfortunate actors who take a dip in dip*@&% comedy.

Crispin Glover, who played George McFly in "Back to the Future" and is currently on screen as the villainous Knave of Hearts opposite Johnny Depp in "Alice in Wonderland," walks away with this clunker of a lowbrow time-travel comedy.

He's Phil, the sometimes one-armed hotel bellhop and chainsaw juggling ice sculptor who serves as the running joke in a murky, generally unfunny muck of sex, drugs and cheap laughs.  Glover, a very good comic actor, iconoclast and Hollywood survivor, is the single reason anyone should spend a dime on this bottom-feeder drivel.

For the record, it can now officially be said that Cusack,  the skilled actor of "High Fidelity" and "The Ice Harvest," will do anything on screen for a buck.  Since he's one of the film's producers, Cusack can't claim he was blindsided by a lousy script.  It is a horrible script, he just knew what he was in for all along.

Beginning in present time, four deeply troubled guys (Cusack, Rob  Corddry, Craig Robinson and Clark Duke) hop into the same hot tub three of them frolicked in "20 years ago" during Winterfest at a ski resort.  This time, though, a Russian energy drink gets spilled into the tub's controls.

When the drunk, drugged foursome set dripping feet back on the hotel deck, it's 1986.  Drink, drugs, naked babes and maybe, just maybe second chances await.

The problem -- one of many -- is that when they get to 1986, it looks more like the '60s.  And I'm guessing director Steve Pink ("Accepted") and the trio of screenwriters (names withheld in case they ever want to work again) were not math majors in college (or high school, or middle school).

The character's keep talking about going back in time 20 years.  Oh really?  When I subtract 20 from 2010, I get 1990, not 1986.  How dumb do they expect the audience for this film to be?

Let's put it this way.  Any moviegoer who thought "The Hangover" was a little too highbrow might enjoy this feeble attempt at the lowest of lowbrow humor.

Everyone else, listen up.  Steer way clear of this "Hot Tub."