Thunder Blunder

Tropic Thunder is a movie about a group of self-congratulatory assholes MADE by a group of self-congratulatory assholes. This alleged comedy has been nearly universally lauded by critics and audiences. Everyone seems to think it’s the funniest thing since a kick to the groin (which, by the way, is akin to the maturity level of this movie’s “humor”). Merely imitating, or imitating with a bit more raunch, is NOT satire. If you’re looking for a humorous skewering of the big-budget war movie, skip Tropic Thunder. I mean, skip it anyway, but see Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker’s Apocalypse, the documentary chronicling the making of Apocalypse Now. No, in all seriousness, Tropic Thunder is not the brilliant satire that everyone seems to think it is, and which IT thinks it is, and certainly its filmmakers and cast think it is. Ugh. Let me say this loud and clear: Tropic Thunder is NOT good, and it’s NOT funny.

Honestly, this movie isn’t worth much of my time, so I’m going to rip off the critical band-aid as quickly as possible. Tropic Thunder is about the making of the making of the making of a war movie, or something like that. At any given point, it’s various levels of real for random characters. It gets old really fast. This painfully unironic macho fest (no, this is not just because I’m some man-hating feminist) is the immature mind ejaculation of writers Etan Cohen and Justin Theroux and writer/director Ben Stiller. The predominantly male cast includes: Ben Stiller (who is actually pretty good), Jack Black, Brandon T. Jackson, Robert Downey, Jr., Jay Baruchel (he‘s so annoying that I wanted to smack him), Nick Nolte (redefining “grizzled” and reprising his mug shot, though not unfunny), Danny McBride, Steve Coogan (wasted and irritating as Damien Cockburn - get it? teehee), Bill Hader (always funny), Matthew McConaughey (Ben Stiller’s character’s agent, goes by “Pecker” - oh, how droll), and Tom Cruise, who I will not say one snide word about, because he rocks this movie in surprising and unrecognizable fashion as chunky, angry, crude studio head Les Grossman.

So, it’s not all bad. I’ll make some concessions. The movie LOOKS good. It looks like it cost a lot of money, so that equals good, right? Sorry, that was snarky. It does look good. And the selection of music is pretty rocking. It was mildly funny and even very funny sporadically. Tugg Speedman (Stiller’s character) and Simple Jack? Hilarious. Tom Cruise is a RIOT. He should have gotten the Oscar nomination if anyone from this movie was to get one, and even then, no one deserved to get one. The cast is decent, some much better than others (Stiller, Cruise…um, thought there would be more…I guess Downey, Jr. and Black), but there are definitely some talented comedians here. However, they know it, and it’s obvious. I could appreciate the concept. I got where they were trying to go with it. And it did work occasionally. The experience wasn’t a totally miserable one. There were fleeting moments of brilliance (SO fleeting, though), which made me even more disappointed because I saw that it had potential. Too bad Stiller and company (I’m looking at you, RDJ) couldn’t put their egos aside for the greater good. They just think they’re really cool.

And come on, really? An Oscar nomination for Robert Downey, Jr.? Like that guy needs his head inflated any more. Yes, he’s a great actor, and yes, he’s really darn good here, but this performance is ultimately nothing. It’s not memorable or special. It’s cheap and wrings the hell out of a joke (Kirk Lazarus is SO method…how method is he? He’s so method that…you get the idea…GAG) that isn’t very funny to begin with. The whole movie feels that way. Everything is drawn out to the brink of insanity - MY insanity for having to endure it. Also, Jack Black is so randomly used in this movie as a heroin addict. I laughed at his scenes more out of disbelief than anything else. If all that wasn’t enough, the movie is too long, the pace is often agonizingly slow (like that insufferable climax), the narrative is disjointed, it’s one of the most self-indulgent things I’ve ever seen, and oh yeah, it’s NOT FUNNY.

The movie is a totally self-serving project. It left me completely unsatisfied. Tropic Thunder is impotent. Sorry, fellas.

Rating: ** (out of 5)

A Tale of Two Men

Just when you thought you had seen everything about Richard M. Nixon, along comes Ron Howard with Frost/Nixon making the subject all fresh and topical and, well, brilliant. I think Frost/Nixon is THE quintessential Nixon film. I scoffed when it was nominated for Best Picture, but I humbly retract. It deserves to be nominated. It’s probably the most solid piece of throwback filmmaking of 2008. When I say that, I mean that it’s just good old-fashioned storytelling of the highest order. There’s nothing particularly fancy about it; it’s just a well-made studio product. But don’t let that fool you - Frost/Nixon is one helluva film.

The decision to focus on the interviews between recently-disgraced Richard Nixon (Frank Langella) and desperately-seeking-fame British talk show host David Frost (Michael Sheen) was a stroke of genius, both on the part of screenwriter Peter Morgan (who adapted his own stage play, which had also starred Langella and Sheen) and Ron Howard. I don’t know about the general public, or at least my generation, but I didn’t know these interviews existed before this film.

There were four televised interviews that took place in 1977 between these two psychically similar (the connection is gloriously Shakespearean) men, both with nothing and everything to lose. Richard Nixon had just resigned the Presidency after the shame of Watergate. After he received a full pardon from Gerald Ford, people were outraged. He had gotten away with it on a legal level, and on a moral level, he slickly never admitted fault. David Frost, a British talk show host who had fallen from grace in his own way (his career was floundering; he longed for his former fame in the U.S.), marveled at the ratings for Nixon’s resignation and decided that he could revive his career by doing an in-depth interview with Richard Nixon. His producer, and most everyone else, thought he was insane. What could he, a mere “performer,” do? No one took him seriously, not even his inner circle. He didn’t have the chops or the credibility to get this project going.

And yet, somehow he did, hiding his struggles beneath a trained emcee’s gleaming smile, raising the funds at any cost, using his own money, never knowing if the interviews would ever be aired and all of his efforts would be for naught. He would have been worse off than ever had these interviews failed. David Frost wanted to elicit a confession from Tricky Dick. Richard Nixon wanted to set the record straight, to remind people that more happened during his administration than Watergate, to regain the public’s acceptance and to enter political life again. These interviews with Frost were viewed by him and his camp to be nothing more than fluff, an easy opportunity to get back into the limelight. It was a chance, the last chance, for both men. That's good drama.

The Nixon in this film is unlike any other portrayal of Nixon I have ever seen. Frank Langella plays him as half god/half mortal, a smooth operator, very powerful and intelligent and charming and funny, but also as someone who is deeply bitter and full of pain, anger, regret, and guilt. I just couldn’t believe how much I liked Richard Nixon when I was watching it. I was almost cheering for him. Both men are sort of equal parts relatable and pitiable, which makes the experience so rich. You can identify with them, and I did. The parallels between the two men are striking. It seems like their livelihoods are almost inextricably linked. They’re inversely proportionate: as one rises, the other falls, and that’s the only way it can be. This is a duel to the death. And it’s so thrilling to watch! I was riveted the entire time. It’s epically engaging.

I’m not quite sure why, but Frost/Nixon reminds me a lot of one of my favorite movies ever, Howard Hawks’ fast-talking His Girl Friday (1939). I think it’s the really great balance between humor and tragedy, and the frank tone. I just love it.

Frost/Nixon is the perfect example of how a good script serves the film, the story, its characters, and its actors. Milk could have been this good, maybe, with a better script. Peter Morgan’s witty and insightful script for Frost/Nixon is nothing short of astounding. It brings you inside the minds of these men like few things I’ve ever seen. Sean Penn can only do so much work on his own, you know? With Frost/Nixon, EVERYTHING comes together, and it’s spectacular.

The acting in Frost/Nixon is universally amazing, from the supporting cast (Kevin Bacon, Sam Rockwell, Oliver Platt, an underused Rebecca Hall) to the main giants (Sheen and Langella). Michael Sheen has gotten a bum rap with this film. His fantastic performance has been so overlooked that it’s ridiculous. He makes smarminess seem genuine, and he guides his character through a remarkable arc that is always believable. His face is an ever-changing canvas of emotion and likeable humanity.

And speaking of canvases of emotion, Frank Langella is like Leonardo da Vinci, and his face the Mona Lisa. Holy crap is he good in this film! It’s unreal. His Oscar nomination was a given. I actually think, at this point, that he should take home the trophy. I have to see a couple performances still, but it’s going to be damn hard to top him. He’s in a league of his own. The turning point in the film is a killer scene in which Nixon makes a late night phone call to Frost. He’s a little drunk with a lot of candor. We know that these are Nixon’s deepest-buried feelings. Every word Langella utters of what is basically a ten minute monologue is palpable and rich. It’s one of the best acted scenes in the history of cinema. Frank Langella practically redefines nuance with this role.

There’s a moment near the end of the film, in the last interview, when Frost asks Nixon about the American people, and before he answers, there’s about twenty seconds of silence as we stare into Langella’s face in close-up….it’s like we’re looking into Nixon’s very soul. Watching his face in those moments of silence, I actually got chills. There is so much going on that we can read his subtle and skillful face like a map. Frost/Nixon made me want to bow down in awe of Frank Langella. It’s a mind-blowing performance for the ages.

Frost/Nixon: the little movie that could…and did. Outstanding.

Rating: ***** (out of 5)

I dropped a Peanut M&M, and it rolled over here...

I love you, Christian Bale, but this is too funny. And you, Family Guy, you complete me.

A Sunshine Valentine

For as sensitive as I am, you'd think I'd be more into Valentine's Day. I'm not terribly, and yet somehow, I find myself brimming with romantic sentiment. Shrug, I say. Shrug.

I can solve a bit of the mystery, as I know I was definitely inspired by the lovely Missa's cinematically-inclined V-Day shout-out on her amazing blog. It doesn't get much more real, beautiful, or romantic than Jesse and Celine in Before Sunrise/Before Sunset.

And speaking of real, beautiful, and romantic, it just doesn't get any better than Joel and Clementine in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. This is the film that immediately popped into my head after the wheels o' love were set a-spinnin' after seeing the clip of Before Sunrise. Joel and Clementine...swoon.



Happy Valentine's Day, my lovelies.

War, Tarantino-Style

We finally got our first look at Quentin Tarantino's war epic (four words I never thought I'd string together, but hey, why not?), Inglourious Basterds. It looks like so much campy fun. Saving Private Ryan, it is not, but war often gets taken too seriously in films. To me, Inglourious Basterds (the snobby speller in me cringes every time I type that title, but I sort of dig the unconventional spelling in this case) is reminiscent of Paul Verhoeven's campy, brilliant, and emotionally engaging Black Book, which I absolutely adore. I'm not sure how emotionally engaging Basterds will be, but I'm hoping it's a true return to form for the egomaniacal auteur, meaning that we will actually care about the characters doing the nutty things, unlike the vapid Death Proof. So, bring it on, I say!

Kudos to Tarantino for having the longest teaser trailer ever, clocking it at almost 1:45. The more I watch it, the more intrigued I get. I feel the cinematic adrenaline rushing through my body. To put it simply, it looks seriously badass. And oh, Brad Pitt, how do I love thee? He gets better all the time. This, for sure, is going to be the iconic performance that Coen-lite Burn After Reading should have been for him. Brad Pitt is going to end up being known as one of the greatest actors of all time by the end of his career. You'll see.

Anyway, the trailer:

You've got Eli Roth, Ryan from The Office (B.J. Novak), the only Freaks and Geeks alum yet to make it big (Samm Levine), Brad Pitt rocking a 'stache and a redneck accent (and still looking damn good, may I add) while delivering this killer monologue and OWNING the entire 1 minute and 43 seconds, Nazis, Hitler (in a hilarious trailer cameo), war, and violence galore.

I'm not sure how it will all add up, but I eagerly and glouriously await the final result. Quentin Tarantino, you basterd, you.

Grindhouse/Dollhouse

I hope everyone is getting pumped up for Joss Whedon's new show, Dollhouse, starring long-time muse Eliza Dushku and premiering Friday the 13th on Fox at 8 pm central. I know I sound like a TV promo, but a new Whedon project is like nerd crack. And as Joss Whedon is a muse of MINE, I owe it to him to do my part to get the word out.

I don't want to jinx the show, but I have a bad feeling about the decision to air it on Friday night (TV wasteland) after the already-struggling Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles. In fact, I'm surprised you can't already pre-order the DVD set with all of the unaired episodes.

However, I feel hopeful as I am LOVING the new grindhouse-y ad campaign. I think whoever thought it up (I'm betting Joss had a hand in it) really knows and understands the target audience. It's spot-on.

They're going with the "double bill of hot babes" angle, and it rocks. Check it out:



Brilliant. Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino would be proud (though the commercial is already better than Tarantino's Death Proof...).

Support Joss Whedon. Please watch Dollhouse. Let's give it a fighting, ass-kicking chance.

Old Car, Old Star

The success of Gran Torino has left me totally angry and bewildered. Critics and audiences rarely agree so enthusiastically, but such is the curious case of Gran Torino. The Metacritic critics give it an average rating of 72 out of 100. According to Rotten Tomatoes, Gran Torino is 76% fresh. You can find it on the IMDB Top 250 at position 82. That means that viewers have ranked it as the 82nd best film of all time. Some of the films that Gran Torino is, apparently, better than: Billy Wilder's 1960 masterpiece The Apartment (#89), Stanley Kubrick's polarizing-yet-undeniably impressive Full Metal Jacket (#93), the Coens' Best Picture winner No Country for Old Men (#95), Orson Welles' trippy Touch of Evil (#94), the exquisite Life is Beautiful (#87), a little film called 2001: A Space Odyssey (#84), and, most egregious to me, Charlie Chaplin's The Great Dictator (#98). It's creeping up way-too-quickly, like within the next ten, on comedic milestone Some Like It Hot (#81), Singin' in the Rain (#79), Charlie Chaplin's Modern Times (#78), Metropolis (#77), All About Eve (#75), and yet another brilliant Chaplin film, City Lights (#71). What is this? Is Clint Eastwood trying to pick a fight with Charlie Chaplin?

Two weekends ago, Gran Torino went wide (couldn't it have stayed narrow?) and took in $30 million at the box office to become the number one movie in America. Last weekend, it fell to number two but still scooped up over $20 million more. This weekend pushed the total gross all the way up to $97 million! I can't believe this movie is going to pass the much-coveted $100 million mark! Gran Torino has also been named one of the best films of the year (National Board of Review). It has been nominated for awards and even won a couple (Best Original Screenplay and Best Actor - the screwy Board of Review again). I'm so grateful that the Academy shut it out, but still, all the accolades and the overwhelming public and critical love... Okay...how do I put this...

HAS THE WORLD GONE MAD?!

Seriously! What kind of topsy-turvy hell is this? Is this a cosmic joke? Am I part of an experiment, à la The Truman Show? Alas...no. This is reality. Welcome to it. And yes, the melodramatics WERE necessary.

So, just in case people don't know, Clint Eastwood actually released two films in 2008 - prestige project Changeling starring Angelina Jolie and Gran Torino. Oh, how I WISH all the hullabaloo was about Changeling, but it's not. It should be, though! Changeling is an astronomically better film and one that has been horribly passed over and forgotten. But hey, who cares about substance and pesky things like "plot" when you can see an almost 80-year-old Clint with a gun? I was surprised that he was releasing two films in the same year again, but as the two projects were unrelated (no Flags of Our Fathers/Letters from Iwo Jima here), I suspected that the SECOND one, Gran Torino, would suffer from hasty production (it did) and fade away (it didn't). I saw the trailer for Gran Torino for the first time, oddly enough, right before Changeling. It was the last trailer before the film started. I laughed heartily on the inside. It looked so absurd and, well...bad. Certainly no one would take it seriously. And putting it immediately before Changeling made it look even more ridiculous. A couple months later, Gran Torino came out of nowhere and starting getting rave reviews and awards buzz. I remained skeptical for as long as I could until my curiosity got the better of me and I decided to give it a shot. I kept my mind wide open, though my instincts proved correct.

I know I sound really livid, and don't get me wrong, I definitely am in the broader scheme of things, but the movie itself doesn't especially anger me. It's really too inconsequential to let it be that significant. What does anger me, however, is that I watched it two and a half times in preparation for this review. Anyway, here's the thin plot: Clint Eastwood is Walt Kowalski, disgruntled Korean war vet, the last white guy holding his ground in a neighborhood that has become a melting pot of Asians, Hispanics, and other random minorities that Walt doesn't like. So, Walt is old, and he's angry. And he has a 1972 Gran Torino. A Gran Torino is a car.

The movie begins with Walt at his wife's funeral. Walt scowls and growls at his ungrateful, estranged, and incredibly annoying family. Walt growls a LOT. His family wants to put him away in a home (naturally eliciting a growl from Walt) because they're afraid he'll get into trouble in the "old neighborhood." Well, yeah, seeing as how Walt has a loaded shotgun (a throwback weapon? connection to the past and his roots and such?) on hand at all times, I'd be concerned, as well. His family members are such one-dimensional monsters, though, that all they really care about is their inheritance and the eternal question: who will get the Gran Torino when the old bastard croaks? Walt is more insistently pestered by possibly the most irritating character of the year, a barely legal baby-faced priest who babbles on and on about how he was close with Walt's wife (why? isn't that odd to anyone? and does Walt seriously think that she would be cool with the vigilante stuff?) and that she made him promise to watch out for Walt after she died. Walt, of course, scoffs...until he doesn't anymore. Do you doubt that they become pals?

Right on cue, an Asian family (of Hmong origin) moves in next door to Walt. As he's insanely racist, especially toward Asians (Korea, ya know), this isn't good. The teenage lad next door that Walt will inevitably mentor is Thao, a sensitive introvert who washes dishes and gardens and doesn't do the manly things his family expects of him. His gang member cousin wants to recruit him. So, Thao is standing on the precipice of life: will he succumb to gangbanging or transcend his social status and make something of himself? Gee, I wonder.

Thao gets pressured into giving the gang a try. To prove his worthiness and his manhood to the other gang members, they give him an initiation task: steal the old man's Gran Torino. He tries, gets foiled by Clint with a gun, and flees. The gang comes to Thao's home to rough him up, and the brawl spills over onto Walt's lawn, prompting the catchphrase du jour, grunted down the barrel of a shotgun: "Get off my lawn." Because of this, the neighborhood hails Walt as a hero. He wants none of it. Thao's sister Sue drags him into their lives. Thao is forced to pay penance for his attempted robbery by working for Walt (by his maternal figures, one of several instances of Walt being conveniently guilted into doing something by Asian customs).

After an hour of excruciating build-up, Gran Torino turns into Tuesdays with Morrie. Walt and Thao (or Toad as Walt ignorantly calls him) hang out and fix things, Walt teaches him how to be a man, and they form a bond that Walt doesn't have with his own sons (I don't blame him, they're awful). In the third act (the script structure is embarrassingly visible), Walt cares enough about Sue and Thao that he wants to make sure that they can live in peace without the influence of gangs (isn't this futile? won't more keep moving in indefinitely?). This is Walt's penance, his big redemption (for being a nasty foul-mouthed SOB and killing people in Korea). Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that Walt periodically coughs throughout the movie? That's cinematic code for fatal illness. Ugh, it's so painfully obvious. If you can't see the ending coming, this is probably your first movie ever. I will concede that while the ending is wildly and messianically predictable, I was surprised by the WAY the final events went down. Ultimately, it doesn't matter. It doesn't make the movie better, just slightly less boring.

The first hour of Gran Torino is some of the worst cinema I've ever seen. I was laughing hysterically at its badness. It's basically just Eastwood growling and spewing racial slurs amidst terrible dialogue, appalling acting, and atrocious pacing. I wouldn't say it gets "good" in the second hour, it just gets less bad. It becomes tolerable and mildly amusing. I couldn't pinpoint what I was feeling until my fellow viewer likened it to watching your kid in a school play. "Oh, bless his little heart." I knew I had this dumb smile plastered on my face, as if I had been lobotomized. Clint Eastwood gives a decent performance, but it's nothing special. The National Board of Review awarded him Best Actor for this movie. That is royally fucked up. Pardon my language, but I guess Walt's constant cussing wore off on me. Eastwood claims this is the last acting he'll ever do, which is like catnip to critics and awards voters who will want to bestow what I call a "nostalgia award" upon him. He's old, he's had a long career, and he's paying homage to the badass persona he created decades ago. I would have been furious if he had gotten an Oscar nomination.

That being said, he IS a badass. I fully admit that. He's almost 80 and has his slacks hiked up, but no one is going to mess with him. I guess there's this primal part of all of us (correct me if I'm wrong) that gets an adrenaline rush from that type of machismo. It's just...cool. And I can get into it, although I do have some feminist guilt about it. Anyway, Clint does a good enough job, but the character is so pitifully developed that by the time you're supposed to care about him, you're still ten steps behind where the screenwriter wants you to be in the arc of identifying with this character, and you don't. At least, I didn't care. How can you care about a cartoon in an allegedly real world?

And then there's the racism. I have never heard the word "gook" more in my life, and I've taken two semester-long classes on Vietnam and read tons of literature and saw lots of films. There's a line that separates a character being racist from the movie as a whole being racist. Gran Torino crosses that line. The racist remarks are so putridly pervasive that it just gets obscene. Feel free to disagree, but I think Gran Torino, and by association Eastwood, come off a bit racist.

Gran Torino is so messed up. Everything is skewed; nothing happens as intended. The tone is inconsistent. Is this a shoot 'em up? Is this a Lifetime movie? Is it a redemption drama? It's kind of all of those, but also none of those. The cliché-riddled script by Nick Schenk isn't even palatable enough to qualify for remedial screenwriting; it's that awful. Bee Vang is actually really good as Thao, but all of the other acting is misery personified. Special awards go to the actors playing Walt's family (not even worth mentioning their names), Ahney Her (Sue) with her awkward over-enunciation, whiny screechiness, and memorably terrible recitation of the inherently hideous and stupid line "Booga booga booga," and the abysmal, perpetually dumb-looking, flatter than all holy hell Christopher Carley (the priest) for making Stanislavski roll over in his grave and weep with their assaults on the craft of acting. Carley is the worst, though. You shouldn't want to punch the priest.

I have a huge problem with the ending (I won't reveal, but if you've seen it and want to discuss it, I'd be happy to do so). The ending, and again this is Walt's influence on my language, pussies out. Gran Torino is exorbitantly self-indulgent, but Eastwood pushes it beyond that, and what you get is pomposity. Not digging it, Mr. Eastwood. Not digging it.

And then there's the song. Oh, the song. The theme song of Gran Torino is "Gran Torino." How creative. The song, sung by Jamie Cullum, is overall pretty lame. But the special part of its use in the film is that we are graced by the heavenly, dulcet tones of Clint Eastwood's 80-year-old voice. And if you haven't figured it out, I'm being totally sarcastic. Eastwood's singing sucks! I have spent so much time trying to come up with an apt description for his sound that someone else hasn't already said, and this is the best I've got: When he sings, Clint Eastwood sounds like a Muppet with emphysema.

Now, for your visual/aural pleasure, I've assembled three video clips to give you an idea of what his singing sounds like. I implore you to watch all of them in their entirety, as I believe it will make this experience more rewarding, and it means a lot to me, but if you really can't watch them all the way through, watch at least 30 seconds of singing, enough to get a good feel for it.








So, I hope that was informative as well as fun. It was a happy trip down memory lane for me. Hey, a good way to travel down memory lane is in a Gran Torino! Ahem. Anyway, his voice is kind of an amalgam of those three voices.

And now, prepare yourself for the real thing. Luckily, Eastwood only croaks the first verse. Break out the cotton balls and enjoy!

That pretty much says it all, doesn't it?

Clint Eastwood shot Gran Torino in 32 days. In 37 days, Alfred Hitchcock shot Psycho. Clint Eastwood is no Alfred Hitchcock.

Rating: ** (out of 5 stars)