Movie Reviews: March 2010

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13 posts from March 2010

03/31/2010

Cyrus adequate, not boffo in dramatic debut

Movie-goers have a right to be a little apprehensive when pop music stars make their dramatic feature film debuts.

Driving to the theater to preview "The Last Song" starring little-bit-country pop sensation Miley Cyrus, the thought of Britney Spears jumping up and down on a bed in the opening scenes of "Crossroads" in 2002 didn't exactly set the stage for magical drama.

Rest easy, Miley Cyrus fans. The star of Disney's "Hannah Montana" TV series is confident and adequate (although not sensational) in a first love, second chances romance-with-tragedy drama that unfortunately, at least from this aisle seat, comes from the Nicholas Sparks novel mill.

Sparks, of course, has sold millions of weepy novels. Several have made their way to movie screens with big-name stars attached even. Films like "Message in a Bottle" with Kevin Costner, Robin Wright Penn and Paul Newman ( 1999) and "The Notebook" (2004) with Ryan Gosling, Rachel McAdams, James Garner and Gena Rowlands, for instance.

"The Last Song" is something else, however. Sparks says in the movie's press notes that he wrote this script with Cyrus in mind. In fact, he was apparently solicited to pen something adequate for the teen singing sensation's dramatic film debut.

Although not awful, "The Last Song" sings with familiar Sparks emotional hot points: true, but troubled love, melodrama, predictability and sudden tragedy.

In other words, just be prepared when the lights go down on a Sparks-to-big screen adaptation because somebody's going down. This is the first time the author writes the movie screenplay, so don't expect any added shock relief from a script doctor.

Cyrus gives it a good-enough go as Veronica "Ronnie" Miller. A gifted pianist just out of high school in New York, she's planning to reject a scholarship to Julliard. Why? Her parents divorced.

She may or may not have shoplifted back in New York.

"I didn't do it," she pouts to her little brother Jonah (Bobby Coleman) as Mom (Kelly Preston) pulls the car up to Dad's (Greg Kinnear) Georgia beach house for what looks to be a deeply troubled summer vacation.

Cyrus almost has the Elvis Presley quivering lip pout going until a hunky, shirtless beach volleyball player with rippling abs and a rep as a womanizer (girlanizer?) gets her attention.

Where there's a Will (budding young Aussie actor Liam Hemsworth) there's a ray of hope, a resurgence in her musical interest and -- in true Nicholas Sparks style -- sudden tragedy looming.

The camera loves Miley Cyrus in a feature film concert or even as a slightly rebellious teen shaking her TV persona (not exactly a stretch) in last year's "Hannah Montana: The Movie."

The camera moves in for the thrill or kill when the role is of the ingénue falling in love with crashing waves beach sand between her toes, however. The jury, I'm thinking, will wait to count box-office returns before committing to Miley Cyrus, the dramatic leading lady.

She's not bad, really. It's just unfortunate that Cyrus is mired down by cinematic cheese in her dramatic debut. First-time feature film director Julie Anne Robinson does little to keep Sparks from being Sparks, Mr. Melodrama.

Posted by Larry Ratliff at 12:05 AM in 2-1/2 jalapeños, based on a book, books, drama, family drama, family movie, film, PG | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)

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."

Posted by Larry Ratliff at 11:23 AM in 1-1/2 jalapeños, film, R, raunchy comedy | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)

Computer animated 'Dino' might

"How to Train Your Dragon" isn't one of the truly great animated comic adventures like "Up" or "Shrek" or the first "Toy Story," which rollicked across movie screens way back in 1995.

It's packed with vibrant entertainment value, though. And parents aren't likely to doze off or be disgusted by this rambunctious adventure set in the long-ago fantasy world of plus-sized Vikings and fire-breathing dragons.

Young kids today probably have no inkling that animated films of their generation are no longer harnessed by technical limitations. The sky really is the imagination limit these days. Within a minute or two of opening -- even before, perhaps, the 3-D glasses are settled properly onto ears and noses -- the sky fills with angry, marauding dinosaurs-on-the-hunt.

A scrawny teen-age Viking named Hiccup (voiced by Jay Baruchel) is at the center of what appears to be a series of maelstroms dating back 300 years, when the Vikings first landed on the fictional Isle of Berk.

If brawn, not brains were all that mattered in this survival-of-the-fittest yarn, Hiccup would probably appear briefly, as the name implies. Writer-directors Chris Sanders and Dean DeBlois, who brought "Lilo & Stitch" (a 2002 animated tale I really liked) to the screen, instead mold this unlikely leading boy-man into the easy-to-like anti-hero.

Hiccup's dad Stoick the Vast (Gerard Butler) is the tribal chief. Frankly, he's a little ashamed of his thin wisp of a son. When inventive Hiccup brings down a dreaded Night Fury dinosaur, however, things change drastically. He's sent to dragon slayer school and Stoick the Vast's chest, which is already puffed way out, puffs out more.

For a while, I had a decent time marveling at the technical artistry the directors bring to the screen from the 2003 children's book by Cressida Cowell. It soon becomes obvious, though, that "How to Train a Dragon" bears striking similarities to James Cameron's futuristic sci-fi marvel "Avatar."

Hiccup befriends the wild breast Night Fury, which he eventually names Toothless. Together, they soar on a journey that might just bring together two very different tribes (human and beast), just like in "Avatar."

The vocal talent soars right along with the visuals. In addition to Baruchel and Butler, late-night TV talk show host Craig Ferguson belts his lines with style as Gobber, the village blacksmith and dragon trainer.

And America Ferrera ("Ugly Betty" on TV) might just melt a few young male hearts as Astrid, the Tom Boy Viking girl who becomes entangled with both Hiccup and his black dino stallion.

Posted by Larry Ratliff at 12:15 AM in 3 jalapeños, action-adventure, animation, based on a book, fantasy, film, PG | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)

An officer and a secretive gentleman

When a husband has to stick his head out of the roof of his house to smoke a cigarette and read a book, there's a good chance that secrets are lurking.

"City Island," with an ensemble cast led by Andy Garcia and Julianna Margulies, sparkles as a witty gem of a dysfunctional family comedy-with-drama.

You might think of "Little Miss Sunshine" right off, especially when Alan Arkin, who took home an Oscar as grumpy grandpa in "Little Miss Sunshine," shows up as an egomaniac Manhattan acting teacher.

Even though this is a tribute to indie filmmaking in an economically strapped society, "City Island" finds its own solid footing and identity. There is no need for this film, written and directed by Raymond De Felitta ("The Thing About My Folks"), to grasp onto any previous film's coattails.

Garcia (an Oscar nominee for "The Godfather: Part III" in 1990), also draws a producer credit. He's Vince Rizzo, a prison guard who steadfastly prefers the term "corrections officer." Vince, his distant, but very vocal wife Joyce (Margulies) and somewhat bizarre teenage son Vinnie Jr. (Ezra Miller) live in a blue collar island hamlet called City Island in New York's North Bronx.

Don't worry if you've never heard of this tiny outer borough town. Neither had filmmaker De Felitta (a New Yorker) until he read about it as a New York getaway destination. It's the perfect locale for a tale like this to unfold, though. In the background, Manhattan looms large; a place where dreams might just come true.

What I like best about "City Island" is that everyone has an unfulfilled dream or secret they're hiding. White lies fill the air like fireflies on a summer's night. Vince notices his long-lost son Tony (Steven Strait) in prison lock-up one day, and brings him home.

Lie No. 1: Tony is just some con Vince took under his wing to help him with a construction project in the back yard. Lie No. 2: Vince tries to convince Tony of the same thing.

And so it goes. Vince's innermost secret, however, is that he's always wanted to be an actor. So he lies and tells the wife that he's attending a weekly poker game, even though he's off to Manhattan and acting class with Malakov (Arkin).

That's just the tip of the deception iceberg. This film's press notes proclaim "City Island" a "perfect storm of deception." I wouldn't go that far, but it's solidly in the arena. College-student daughter Vivian, played by Garcia's daughter Dominik Garcia-Loridc, also carries the torch of untruths. Vivian takes the idea of being kicked out of college and covering it up to new, not-so-covered-up levels.

Garcia is obviously having fun playing the gruff husband and father who melts under the spell of acting and his acting partner, a mystery lady portrayed with style by Emily Mortimer. Margulies, on TV these days in “The Good Wife” (although I still think of her from “ER”), fidgets and flirts admirably as bored, neglected Mom.

De Felitta lets things sway a little too much in the direction of soap opera melodrama a few times, especially in the give-and-take between Margulies and Strait (as the recently released prisoner).

Generally, though, "City Island" beguiles and delights as a tangled web of deception that blusters its way to entertaining resolution.

Posted by Larry Ratliff at 12:10 AM in 3-1/2 jalapeños, family comedy, family drama, film, PG-13 | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)

'Greenberg,' Stiller, Baumbach keep it real

When Ben Stiller steps in front of a camera, we get the bungling guy, the sullen lost soul or the campy goof.

He's bungled his way through two "Night at the Museum" mainstream comic-adventures, of course, and played the goof to the hilt in outrageous comedies like "Tropic Thunder," "Dodgeball" and the under-appreciated "Zoolander."

In "Greenberg," we get the other Ben Stiller; the hangdog troubled guy. That should come as no surprise to anyone familiar with writer-director Noah Baumbach's previous dramas of stark mood indigo: "The Squid and the Whale" and "Margot at the Wedding."

As the title character in "Greenberg," Stiller's Roger Greenberg is a prodigal son returning to the smog and broken dreams of Los Angeles from New York. In his opening shot, Baumbach makes it clear that even though L.A. is the land of bright fresh dreams and eternal sunshine, in his films he will be dirtying things up more than just a little.

Roger has come to house sit for his brother's family and to reflect on his own muddled emotions. Fresh out of an institution where he was recovering from "a bad nervous breakdown," Greenberg's plans are simple. He'll heal emotionally, and, if he gets around to it, he'll build a doghouse for Mahler, the family big dog.

If you saw "The Squid and the Whale," which earned Baumbach a screenwriting Oscar nomination in 2005, you know that the characters will be attempting to navigate extremely choppy, murky emotional waters.

Greenberg stuck in L.A. is just like Woody Allen out of his element in the City of Angels sans the humor. This filmmaker, unlike Allen and, in fact, unlike Stiller when he's behind the camera, likes to turn heavy emotional rocks over to see what slithers out.

So our title character, who otherwise occupies his time writing complaint letters to almost every business he encounters, must depend on Florence (Greta Gerwig), the family's personal assistant, to get out of the house. Before we move on, you know the movie's unfolding in trendy L.A. when a family has a personal assistant.

Roger and Florence become emotionally entwined, of course, but in a dark, honest way perhaps only Baumbach can relate on screen. He may not do cheery, but Baumbach has a knack for bottom-feeder emotions.

Greenberg is L.A.'s prodigal son because he fled north years earlier when a decision he insisted on broke up a promising musical group about to land a recording contract. He reunites with standoffish former band mate Ivan (Rhys Ifans of "Pirate Radio"), but soon learns that people move on with their lives and a specific moment in time doesn't wait around for second chances.

Stiller and Ifans are real and really good together. Stiller and Gerwig are real and even better.

"Greenberg" claws through the fog of real life masterfully.

Whether you're in the mood to explore a slightly larger-than-life slice of stark reality is up to you.

Posted by Larry Ratliff at 12:05 AM in 3 jalapeños, drama, film, R | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)

03/19/2010

'Wimpy' kids, wimpy entertainment value

We're all wimpy kids on the horrifying first day of middle school.

It's one of those monumental unforgettable days in a young life; like being able to stay up on a bike without training wheels for the first time and glancing back real quick to see Mom or Dad beaming in the fading background.

With that in mind, it would follow that a movie titled "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" would bundle all of that strolling-off-into-the-unknown angst into a highly entertaining movie. "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" falls way short of doing that, but it still generates some tweener appeal.

Wisecracking almost-teen Greg Heffley (Zachary Gordon) is sharp enough to realize that a ton of social mishaps await when he enters middle school. On the other hand, he's not quite smart enough to survive the social undertow.

More concerned about where he ranks in his self-concocted list of student popularity, Greg turns his back on friends. He even terrifies a group of kindergarteners in his quest to become Mr. Middle School Everything.

The group of kids I saw "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" with appeared eager going in, somewhat amused throughout and rather lackadaisical upon exit.

That's because even though Jeff Kinney's series of bestsellers is successful, the transformation from sketch cartoon-books to appealing movie is a difficult one. In this case, energetic, somewhat noble failure better describes the result than even near-miss.

A quartet of writers -- two sets of two -- and fledgling director Thor Freudenthal ("Hotel for Dogs") do a journeyman job of recreating the horrors of middle school: the first glance into the social caste system that will continue into adulthood, the dread of not being "cool enough" to find the right seat (or any seat) in the cafeteria, etc.

"Diary of a Wimpy Kid" struggles too much to be a modern-day re-incarnation of "A Christmas Story," Bob Clark's dangerously enchanting 1983 film based on Jean Shepherd's tale. In that one, a 9-year-old boy is obsessed with getting a Red Ryder BB gun while trying to navigate the perils of school, including a tongue-hungry frozen flagpole.

This rather one-dimensional story substitutes an old piece of discarded cheese for the flagpole. Anyone who dares to even touch the sometimes pulsating cheese square will be subjected to "nuclear cooties" and cast out from the middle school social system forever. Or at least until high school.

Zachary Gordon ("Georgia Rule"), who plays Greg, is gifted enough to do all he can with this role. And Robert Capron ("Bride Wars") takes on energetic optimist Rowley Jefferson (Greg's best friend) with the needed gusto.

Something is missing here, though, and that's enough consistent entertainment value to keep this tale interesting throughout.

Both young actors marched into their first years of real-life middle school after shooting this adventure in Vancouver, British Columbia.

I'm pretty sure that would make a better story than this set of stick figures that spring to lackluster life.

Posted by Larry Ratliff at 9:08 AM in 2 jalapeños, based on a book, books, family comedy, film, PG | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)

'Runaways' rocks hard, demands attention

Dakota Fanning has been acting since she was 5.

Ten years later, while performing the stuttering, raw lyrics of the sexually suggestive Runaways song "Cherry Bomb," Fanning becomes an actress to be reckoned with.

"The Runaways," while not a great film, it's one that constantly demands attention. Personally, I would like to have seen an experienced feature filmmaker in the director's chair. Even inexperienced in sustaining narrative, however, video and photography artist Floria Sigismondi delivers something vibrant, dark and spellbinding.

With up-and-coming star Kristen Stewart ("Twilight") in black leather as budding rocker Joan Jett and Fanning (already an established child star) as blond bombshell Cherie Currie, Sigismondi unleashes intense, sultry rock 'n' roll and dramatic heat.

"The Runaways" is a coming-of-age film of two teen Southern California girls of the 1970s who hook up to become rock's pioneer girl band. The Go-Go's and The Bangles would follow. The Runaways forged the path.

Like all good music biopics, this one digs deeper than chronicling merely what happens on stage when five girls decide to rock it like the bad boys. Sigismondi, who also wrote the script, did her research grunt work. Part of that was Cherie Currie's autobiographical book "Neon Angel."

Sitting in the audience, I got the feeling that I was a fly on the wall in the shabby trailer home as The Runaways' angry, sexually charged rock sound was being born. Cherie (Fanning), fresh off a bad David Bowie lip-sync performance at her school's talent show, arrives without an audition song.

Eccentric, bombastic manager Kim Fowley (Michael Shannon) likes her hot look, though. It's a combination of sweetness and Bridget Bardot. So Fowley, barking profanities all the way, and Jett write "Ch-ch-ch-cherry Bomb" on the spot. It will become the fast-rising band's titillating anthem.

That's the tone of "The Runaways," the movie, as well. Sigismondi delivers cinematic intensity not in building moments, as many filmmakers do, but in dramatic flash fires. The flame erupts the first time when Joan and Cherie team up to forge a niche in rock history and again when life on the road, booze and boredom lead to personal co-encounters.

Unfortunately, this is a movie that doesn't end well. It just stops. Not with a thud, really, but with a nudge. A more experienced filmmaker would discover a way around the dead end instead of letting everything just screech to a halt. When it's hitting on all cylinders, however, "The Runaways" dares to blaze a trail through rock history, as well as personal triumph and turmoil.

Both lead actresses, who convince as singers and musicians as well as actors, are superb. Stewart and Fanning (yes, once little Dakota Fanning of "I Am Sam" and "The Cat in the Hat") don't just play these characters; they slither under the skin to become them.

Also, keep your eyes on Michael Shannon, who drew an Oscar nomination in 2008 as Kathy Bates' mentally unstable son in "Revolutionary Road." Shannon commands every scene he's in as Fowley.

Without Fowley's driving force, "The Runaways" would be like two sticks of dynamite without fuses.

Posted by Larry Ratliff at 12:05 AM in 3 jalapeños, based on a book, based on true story, drama, film, music, R | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)

03/12/2010

Damon, Greengrass 'Bourne' again?

Matt Damon isn't Bourne again in the jingoistic Iraqi war drama "Green Zone."

Instead, Damon channels the late John Wayne and World War II hero-turned-actor Audie Murphy to take the notion Army of One quite literally.

An action-loaded thriller with a pulse rate equal to Damon's "Bourne Identity" franchise, "Green Zone" is directed by Paul Greengrass, who called the shots on "The Bourne Ultimatum" and "The Bourne Supremacy."

Here we're dropped into a war-ravaged Baghdad just four weeks after "shock and awe" lit up Iraq in 2003. Square-jawed U.S. Army Chief Warrant Officer Roy Miller (Damon) leads a group of soldiers attempting to ferret out the much-talked-about weapons of mass destruction or WMDs.

Miller is no war zone newbie, and he's tiring quickly of arriving at targets supplied by "Intel" only to find empty sheds and other deserted spaces.

This movie had me at hello, as Renée Zellweger famously weeped to Tom Cruise in "Jerry Maguire." In the early moments, at least, "Green Zone" made noise like it had something relevant to say about the ramifications of surging into war before all the facts are sorted out.

Might we have a second important film about our armed forces at grunt work; a "Hurt Empty Locker" or something?

The affection connection didn't last, unfortunately. Disenchanted by the Army's lame excuse for lousy intel, intersecting spun agendas by government officials (Greg Kinnear), the CIA (Brendan Gleeson) and a Wall Street Journal reporter (Amy Ryan of "Gone Baby Gone"), Miller goes rogue.

Rogue, like a police detective stripped of his badge and his weapon who still insists on cornering the killer himself.

Frankly, I couldn't believe this was happening and it was too far-fetched for me to suspend my disbelief and dive in emotionally.

What goes on in this movie -- scripted by Brian Helgeland (a co-Oscar winner for "L.A. Confidential" in 1998) with a nod to Rajiv Chandrasekaran's book "Imperial Life in the Emerald City" -- is preposterous most of the time and downright laughable the rest.

The formula thriller of the outside guy looking in and still taking care of business is serviceable enough in the "Bourne" scenario. As the targeted CIA outsider, Bourne just had to elude a few assassins and harass CIA officials to keep it interesting. Here Damon becomes a one-man Army. (There were snickers, and I don't mean the candy bar.)

There are some things I like about "Green Zone," though. Greengrass, shooting most exteriors in Morocco, does a terrific job of recreating the chaos of Baghdad shortly after the U.S.-led invasion.

The actors, including the very busy Oscar-nominated Damon ("Invictus," "The Informant!"), generally give Greengrass their best, with the possible exception of Gleeson, who phones this performance in.

The most interesting character for me is Freddy (Khalid Abdalla of "The Kite Runner" and "United 93"), the Iraq civilian who becomes Miller's interpreter.

There's plenty of rat-a-tat action, but this one's a little light in the authenticity department.

Shock and aw you've got to be kidding me is more like it.

Posted by Larry Ratliff at 12:10 PM in 2-1/2 jalapeños, based on a book, drama, film, R, thriller | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack (0)

Tallying up the 'Prophet' and loss statement

Malik, a bewildered 19-year-old Arab, doesn't know what to expect when he's processed into a French prison at the beginning of the French import "A Prophet."

Winner of the second place Grand Prix Award at last year's Cannes Film Festival, "A Prophet" ("Un Prophète") was also up for an Foreign Film Academy Award Sunday night. It lost out to Argentina's "The Secret in Their Eyes."

"A Prophet," directed and co-written by Jacques Audiard, is a coming-of-awareness prison drama unlike anything I've seen before. Malik (Tahar Rahim) cannot read or write when he's locked up. Corsican prisoner elder César Luciani (Niels Arestrup), holding court on a prison yard stone bench, spots the young man's naiveté right away.

César, who wields more power than the guards and probably the warden himself, spots something else. Another Arab arrived at the prison on the same day. Reyeb (Hichem Yacoubi), only to be locked up for 10 days before he testifies against the Corsican mob, has been targeted for assassination.

Since Malik speaks Arabic and especially since Reyeb offers Malik hashish in exchange for sexual favors, César forces new, naive inmate Malik to attempt the hit.

"A Prophet," in French, Arabic and Corsican with subtitles, follows the transition of this young man as he morphs into a tool of the prison underworld, then as he blossoms into his own as perhaps someone more cunning and ruthless than even César could imagine. Malik has visions; sometimes of ghosts still burning as if just back from hell and sometimes of future events.

In only his fifth feature, Audiard ("The Beat That My Heart Skipped") wields power and confidence himself. This is a drama of grand, if brutal style. Malik is perplexed, intrigued and seduced by his steadily growing power base. He gets advice to learn to read and write from a man he is about to brutally murder with a razor blade concealed between his cheek and gum (like chewing tobacco).

This is a sometimes mystical eruption of raw violence and self-empowerment that riveted my attention to the screen.

Rahim, who has done some television work, is putty in the hands of his director in real life. His character Malik, while being molded in similar amazing fashion by César on screen, solidifies into someone who reveals with a little sly smile during an act of extreme violence that no one is safe around him.

César creates a monster, and the transition is quite extraordinary in any language. Audiard, through Rahim, majestically reveals the inner-torment and survival instinct it takes to propel a monster to an even scarier level: intelligence.

Audiard clearly structures his ending as a "to be continued" wink at the audience.

In the case of "A Prophet," I'll look forward to it.

Posted by Larry Ratliff at 12:10 AM in 3-1/2 jalapeños, crime, drama, film, foreign film, R, thriller | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)

A Romanian cop handcuffed, by definition

You've heard about entertainers so gifted that they could just read from the telephone book and entertain?

Well, in "Police, Adjective," an astonishingly daring offbeat drama from Romania, you might just be transfixed in your seat as the film's main character reads from a dictionary.

If you appreciate quirky foreign films, don't be hasty to dismiss this drama (with slight hints of irony) as a classified bore.

Romanian writer-director Corneliu Porumboiu ("12:08 East of Bucharest") turns the deeply troubled cop genre on its ear with this little tale. Here we have Cristi (Dragos Bucur), a rebel cop different than any rebel cop you've seen before.

Cristi isn't borderline psychotic like Mel Gibson in the "Lethal Weapon" franchise. Nor is he an alcoholic (though he drinks at times), suicidal, a short timer or recently divorced.

This rebel with a cause simply doesn't want to arrest a local high school kid for smoking hash and sharing it with his friends. Cristi is an undercover cop who's spent about a week trailing a local school kid whose experimentation with dope could, if he's not careful, send him to prison for about eight years.

Cristi's superiors sternly object to his notion that what the kid's doing may be against the letter of the law, but there's no real harm in it. Besides, Cristi figures, the law will soon change anyway, so why ruin a young life?

A moral stand-off between a cop and his boss may be a simple premise, but it unfolds against a methodical, fascinating backdrop that's impossible to ignore. In Romanian with subtitles and subtleties, "Police, Adjective" is a battle on two fronts: words and wills.

When the film first lights up the screen, all we see for what seems like a near-eternity is a slumping man (Bucur as Cristi) walking, walking, walking through ordinary streets (the filmmaker's hometown of Vaslui in northeastern Romania).

If Porumboiu does nothing else with "Police, Adjective," he shows that an audience will sit still as his protagonist meticulously goes through an undercover cop's daily routine. He prepares his file on the case and tries without much luck to get his co-workers to expedite the paperwork. Cristi also does his best to avoid his superior officer, who's bringing increasing pressure to make Cristi stage his bust and close the case.

I can't think of another film that provides as much attention to detail. When Cristi's home, for instance, we don't just see him share a meal with his wife. Porumboiu's camera, and thus us as well, hang around for seconds on the goulash.

Ah, but that's nothing compared to the battle-of-wills showdown with the cynical police captain, performed superbly and with impeccable timing by Vlad Ivanov (the abortionist in "4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days").

Quirky cinematic chestnuts can't be rushed. "Police, Adjective" will stand as a prime example of that.

Posted by Larry Ratliff at 12:05 AM in 3 jalapeños, crime, drama, film, foreign film, not rated | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)

Movie Reviews

13 posts from March 2010

03/31/2010

Cyrus adequate, not boffo in dramatic debut

03/26/2010

Splish, splash, don't be taking this bath

Computer animated 'Dino' might

An officer and a secretive gentleman

'Greenberg,' Stiller, Baumbach keep it real

03/19/2010

'Wimpy' kids, wimpy entertainment value

'Runaways' rocks hard, demands attention

03/12/2010

Damon, Greengrass 'Bourne' again?

Tallying up the 'Prophet' and loss statement

A Romanian cop handcuffed, by definition

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13 posts from March 2010

03/31/2010

On the Web

03/26/2010

Hot Tub Time Machine

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How to Train Your Dragon

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City Island

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Greenberg

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03/19/2010

Diary of a Wimpy Kid

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The Runaways

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03/12/2010

Green Zone

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A Prophet

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Police, Adjective

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