The Neverending Wedding

A review of Rachel Getting Married.

Written by Jenny Lumet (daughter of director Sidney) and directed by Jonathan Demme, Rachel Getting Married (“Rachel”) is not a fun movie to watch, nor does it seem it was intended to be. It's one of those indie films built around a Big Heavy Event From The Past (“BHEFTP”) that allows that BHEFTP to dominate everyone and everything in the film. And we get that from the opening scene of the film, so there’s nothing left to do but watch how that BHEFTHP is going to play out between our protagonist, Kym (Anne Hathaway), and every other character in the movie, including Kym’s sister, the nuptials-bound Rachel (Rosemarie DeWitt) of the film’s title.

Kym, released from a nine month stint in rehab at the top of the film, returns home to her family's sprawling Connecticut home just in time for elder sister Rachel's wedding. We learn immediately that Rachel and her friends resent Kym for siphoning attention on this and every occasion. Kym and Rachel's overly emotional father, Paul (Bill Irwin), can't help but keep constant tabs on Kym while their mother, Abby (Debra Winger), couldn't want less to do with her. Divorced from each other, both parents are remarried but maintain a cordial relationship. Rachel chronicles the weekend's worth of wedding events and how Kym's presence in the face of this happy milestone forces everyone to confront the BHEFTP.

One of the strengths of the film is its performances. Without a doubt, Jonthan Demme is an immensely skillful director who ably conjures extraordinary performances from his actors (see, e.g., Jodie Foster and Anthony Hopkins in Silence of the Lambs and Tom Hanks and Denzel Washington in Philadelphia). But some of his choices in Rachel are mind-boggling (we'll get to those). Under his tutelage, however, Anne Hathaway gives a fierce, fearless performance. She made me forget she was the adorable Mia of The Princess Diaries or the annoying Andy from The Devil Wears Prada, and she disappeared into the role of Kym, giving a great deal of depth to her performance. And even though I found the movie predictable, and somewhat frustrating in its predictability, Ms. Hathaway’s performance still managed to move me at the climactic moments without making me feel too manipulated. Likewise, Rosemarie DeWitt infused Rachel with authenticity and made what could've been a tiresome character both relatable and sympathetic. Debra Winger stood out for giving a fairly two-dimensional character many layers, more often for what was left unsaid than her actual dialogue. And the rest of the cast, for the most part, was strong. Thus, the film’s flaws are not to be found in any weakness of performance.

Rather, the flaws in Rachel are to be found in its script. None of the characters felt fully realized; I never got a real sense of who they were, just what happened to them. They were limited in their revelation to us not in being defined by the BHEFTP, but by failing to show us who they were beyond the BHEFTP. For example, I never really understood why Rachel and Sidney (her fiancé, l’m guessing named for Ms. Lumet's father) fell in love each other. I heard the story of their meeting, but that didn't tell me anything of who they were to each other. It felt like Sidney existed to further other characters' arcs. For example, in a particularly calculated scene involving Paul and his soon-to-be-son-in-law, he and Sidney engage in a manly contest over the loading of the dishwasher. Yes, you read that correctly: the loading of the dishwasher. As in, which man could fit more dishes in. Anyway, the entire point of this fairly long and convoluted dishwasher scene was the discovery of a particular plate, or rather, Paul’s reaction to seeing said plate. It felt like a scene that would be constructed in a screenwriting class as an example of emotional manipulation. On top of that, there were a number of scenes where I cringed in my seat waiting for the cliché to happen, and more often than not, it did. Particularly egregious was the rehearsal dinner toast scene in which we got the self-centered, just out of rehab Kym making a toast to her sister that’s really all about herself and her recovery. And while we’re at the rehearsal dinner, why were there so many toasts? I’ve been to my fair share of nuptials and nuptial-related events, and I never seen that many toasts. It was fairly maddening.

Also maddening was the constant din of music in the house. About halfway through Rachel, one of the characters comments about that music – “do they ever stop?” That may have been the most apt line of the movie. Seriously, they never stopped. And I understand that the presence of the music was likely serving as artistic symbolism regarding the drowning out of the pain and the sorrow in the house, but it just became distracting to the greater art that was the film. In addition, so many scenes in the movie felt neverending. In particular, the musical acts at both the rehearsal dinner and the wedding reception. I honestly thought the wedding reception might never end.

And finally, speaking of endings, I found the conclusion of Rachel to be confusing and ambiguous, which left me feeling even less satisfied about the experience of seeing the film. Thus, while normally after a review such as this, I would urge you, fair reader, to wait until the DVD release to see Rachel if you feel inspired to see Anne Hathaway's performance, I will instead urge you to go see it in the theater if you are so moved, and then let me know what your interpretation of the ending was. Rachel at least achieved that much – it will certainly stay with me, although it will be the nagging uncertainty over the conclusion that remains stuck in my brain.

Tropic Blunder

A review of Tropic Thunder.

My popcorn was better than Tropic Thunder, and that's saying something, because it wasn't even primo movie popcorn. This is a sad review for me to write, because Tropic Thunder had such potential. Written by Ben Stiller, Justin Theroux and Etan Cohen and directed by Ben Stiller, it was a movie that I eagerly anticipated all summer. The premise is ripe with possibility; there’s just so much funny that can come from it. And damn if the previews didn’t make it look, well, fairly awesome. So sad was I, then, when I hit the moment, and literally there was a moment as I watching the film (fear not, we'll get to it), when I knew unequivocally that Tropic Thunder would fail to live up to its potential. And perhaps my review will end up being harsher because my expectations were so high. If so, so be it. To those with great talent comes great responsibility and therefore accountability.

Tropic Thunder chronicles the misadventures of a cadre of actors assembled to shoot an action movie of the same name, based upon the bestselling supposed "true story" of Vietnam veteran Four Leaf Tayback's (Nick Nolte) time as a POW and his subsequent rescue. Threatened with a shutdown by the studio on only the fifth day of shooting on location in Vietnam, director Damien Cockburn (the hilarious Steve Coogan) desperately seizes upon Four Leaf's idea to shoot the film guerilla style. The mechanics of this "guerilla" style of filmmaking are never fully explicated, but they involve the use of "surveillance" type cameras installed in the jungle, as well as remote controlled explosives rigged by the trigger happy SFX guy, Cody (Danny McBride). Lead actors Tugg Speedman (Ben Stiller), Kirk Lazarus (Robert Downey Jr.), Jeff Portnoy (Jack Black), Alpa Chino (Brandon T. Jackson) and Kevin Sandusky (Jay Baruchel) are unceremoniously dropped in the middle of the jungle and quickly become the prey of real-life dangerous heroin manufacturers.

If that set-up seemed laborious to read, imagine what it felt like to watch. And that's not even all of it. There was just too much there, which I often find to be a flaw in Ben Stiller's brand of humor – he doesn't know when to say when, overtaxing what might otherwise be an unequivocally funny movie. And there is a lot to be amused by in Tropic Thunder. From the very first moments when we are introduced to the main characters via trailers for their upcoming individual projects, the laughs are plentiful, especially when Robert Downey Jr. appears – the trailer featuring Kirk Lazarus made me laugh so hard I nearly cried – it's pure genius. As is the very premise of Lazarus – an Australian super-actor (winner of five, yes, that's five Oscars) who has undergone a skin pigmentation process to play an African American soldier who never breaks character. His interactions with Brandon T. Jackson's Alpa Chino (who makes the most of a two-dimensional character) are effective and amusing. Jay Baruchel plays a great straight man and mines the humor skillfully out of each of his scenes. Jack Black and Matthew McConaughey (as Tuggs's TiVo-obsessed agent, Rick Peck) are both somewhat annoying, but then so are their characters, so well played gentlemen, well played. And Tom Cruise as tubby, follicularly-challenged studio head Les Grossman is truly a gem, striking just the right level of crass bawdiness to make for a highly entertaining performance. And who knew Cruise still had such moves? Be sure to stay through to the closing credits to get the full effect.

And then there's Ben Stiller's Tugg Speedman, an annoyingly un-self-aware lug of a fading action star. Tugg is very one-note and funny only in limited doses. (Beware, some of the following may be considered to be "spoilers," although nothing revealed will actually spoil your enjoyment of the movie.) The gag relating to his bid for serious acting accolades, starring as a mentally challenged man in "Simple Jack," was funny insofar as it relates to Lazarus' discussion of what it takes to win an Oscar (not going "full retard"). But as he does so often (see, e.g., Dodge Ball), Stiller takes the joke too far. And here's where we return to that moment that made me go "oh no" as I was watching Tropic Thunder. First, there is a foreshadowing of the "oh no" moment as Tugg, alone in the jungle, is startled by a creature that he wrestles and kills, only to discover it is a cuddly panda, an animal he has been previously been photographed supporting. That made me groan because (a) what are the odds that he'd encounter the very animal whose livelihood he's made his cause and (b) a panda, in the Vietnamese jungle? really? The moment Tropic Thunder lost me for good, though, came soon afterward, when Tugg is captured by the dangerous heroin manufacturers. Really, the one DVD they have access to is "Simple Jack"? And they worship that schlock as true art? And seriously, the group's leader is a kid? Why? None of it made any sense, and none of it was particularly funny.

And therein lies the problem, because the rest of the movie is built on the notion that these are funny set pieces that can sustain the momentum of the plot. My take: they can't. So ultimately, Tropic Thunder is only half a good movie. I laughed at many parts of it and overall seeing the movie wasn't a bad experience, it just wasn’t particularly good. I could've waited on this one until it came out on DVD.

Walk This Way

A review of Man on Wire.

Man on Wire, a documentary directed by James Marsh, chronicles the incredible feat of Philippe Petit. (Yes, let’s all throw paper airplanes at me for the unintentional though clearly avoidable rhyme.) On August 7, 1974, Philippe Petit wirewalked across the terrifying expanse of nothingness between the barely completed Twin Towers in New York City. The political landscape of the moment – i.e., the imminent resignation of President Nixon and a nation consumed by the dishonesty and obfuscation of its leadership, provides an evocative context for Petit's single-minded focus on a seemingly purposeless goal.

The film does an excellent job building dramatic tension out of a story without suspense (we all know Petit came, he saw, he wirewalked). Similar to the way Titanic’s graphic reenactment of the ship splitting in two prepared the audience for what was to come, so too did seeing Petit’s actual wirewalks at Notre Dame and in Sydney, Australia. The film also utilizes dramatic re-creations of wirewalking, which are at times effective and at other times seem a bit cheesy. However, seeing the guerilla-esque preparations along with having the visual of those first two exploits makes it a little bit easier to wrap your brain around the truly remarkable nature of what is to come.

But the act of wirewalking is not the only mesmerizing aspect of Man on Wire. Philippe Petit is himself a force of nature with whom one does not really relate so much as witness. Petit's charisma almost vibrates off the screen, and the reverent manner in which his accomplices describe him even now, more than thirty years later, suggests that he is a kind of cult-inspiring figure. There is a magnetism to his charm that helps us to understand how people were pulled into his orbit and why a man like Jean-Louis would be reduced to tears when recalling his participation. Present-day Petit himself is interviewed on screen, giving us a more three-dimensional sense of his presence, though the most revelatory image of Petit is that of him deep in concentration, in the act of wirewalking between the Twin Towers. It's almost as if he has transcended to another dimension of consciousness.

The footage of Petit actually wirewalking between the Twin Towers would be compelling in and of itself, without the tragedy of September 11th. But being able to peek back into the past and see the Twin Towers when they were nascent creations, in their final stage of construction, is just plain eerie, as one watches from an inescapable post-9/11 perspective. In particular, there is one shot of Petit as he is traversing the wire and a jet crosses overhead. I believe this was a still photo in which the plane hovers, seemingly mere feet above Petit’s head. It seemed to almost portend the danger that would come with the turn of the 21^st century.

The filmmakers try to create an atmosphere of danger in the smuggling of the equipment to the roof of the Twin Towers, the illegal nature of the act itself and the exposure of the accomplices to liability. In this, they do not fully succeed, but that has more to do with the subject of the film than the filmmakers' effort. For, while Petit's act was breathtaking and beautiful, it was also phenomenally reckless. When you get right down to it, Petit is an incredibly selfish figure. What he did was ultimately for himself and in reality put a large number of people in great danger, not only his accomplices, but those souls watching from the sidewalks below. While the experience of watching the wirewalk undoubtedly gave those who saw it a great deal of pleasure for those brief moments, it was a fleeting pleasure, one that could hardly compare with the exhilaration felt by Petit during and after that wirewalk.

The title, Man on Wire, we learn in the end is less about the clever play on words it evokes than the surrealism of the feat portrayed, as the words are lifted directly from the police report indicting the fantastical act of Philippe Petit. How else to describe what they had witnessed that day? And in that same vein, rather than reading a description of this film, I urge you to see it on the big screen and experience Petit's act for yourself. If the foregoing hasn't been enough to convince you, see it because any movie that has a credit for an "archery consultant" has got to be worth your time.

Pantsed.

A review of The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2.

As a self-avowed chick and a lover of flicks, a chick flick like The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2 (Pants 2) is tailor made for me. (Pun fully intended; groans fully expected.) Adapted by Elizabeth Chandler (who also wrote the first film) from Ann Brashares' series of novels (which I fully disclose I have never read) and directed by Sanaa Hamri (Something New), Pants 2 delivers exactly what it promises to. It's a solid chick flick that entertains, amuses and tear jerks, all in good measure. Pants 2 is well executed in that as a whole, it is greater than the sum of its parts, which is a somewhat remarkable accomplishment when one considers the talent assembled to make the film – the four members of the “sisterhood” are played by Alexis Bledel, Amber Tamblyn, Blake Lively and America Ferrara, who have each starred in or are currently starring in their very own drama series.

Pants 2 follows the story of lifelong friends Lena, Tibby, Bridget and Carmen, picking up two summers after Pants 1, when the girls have just finished their freshman years at college. They each have selected a course of action for the summer that matches one of their passions – Lena is studying figure drawing (and the class’ attractive male model), Tibby is focused on filmmaking, trying to write a romantic comedy script at the same time her relationship with Brian couldn’t be more dissimilar from that genre, Bridget enrolls in an archaeology program in Turkey, only to discover that the culture she has the most to learn about is closer to home and Carmen finally learns to put herself first and flourishes in a summer stock Shakespeare leading role. They endure their fair share of heartache and joy, angst and triumph.

Pants 2 approaches the original movie in quality, but doesn't quite get there. The transitions between the four stories are not nearly as well executed or seamless as they were in Pants 1. Part of the reason for this is that it felt like the filmmakers were just trying to cram too much story into one movie and something or someone needed to take a backseat. Of course, given the fairly equal star power of each of the lead actresses, this clearly wasn't going to happen. So the film ends up feeling like the screen time of each of the girl's stories was meticulously calibrated. And instead, it was the pants themselves that took a back seat. Unlike in the first film, the pants' role felt shoehorned in, which made the last act of Pants 2 jarring, as its action is primarily motivated by the pants.

The strength of the film is that the four leads work well together, and the best scenes are the ones that feature them actually physically interacting. In particular, the relationship between Tibby and Carmen translates across the screen in a very real manner, just as it did in Pants 1. There is love and pathos, and they have the kind of fights that anyone with a true best friend can identify with. Lena comes into her own in her relationships with Kostos and the other girls, and Alexis plays her with great warmth, heart and humor. Amber Tamblyn has long been a favorite of mine, and her Tibby feels very real, although her story moves a little bit too slowly. Bridget's, on the other hand, feels rushed and plays the weakest, through no fault of Blake Lively's performance, as her path is almost too linear and predictable and a bit of a retread of her journey in Pants 1. Finally, America Ferrara's Carmen not only anchors the movie with her voiceover narrative, but is also the soul of the tale. While Carmen's easy success in the theatre is not necessarily something everyone can identify with, her struggle to find a place to belong is, and America translates it beautifully.

Speaking of beauty, one complaint about Pants 2 – it's a focus I can't seem to stray from: each of the girls always looked so good and perfectly coiffed this time that it was a little bit distracting. Even the pony tail Blake Lively wore in her scenes digging around in archeology pits was flawless. And don't get me started on Lena's little sister, Effie's, hair. Every time she was on screen, I found myself wondering if they had flatironed that 'do, probably not where the filmmakers' would've liked my focus to be. I will admit that my focus also strayed whenever Tom Wisdom's Ian appeared (Carmen's love interest), because he resembles Keanu Reeves to such a remarkable degree that I could only think to myself "Whoa." (I know, I know, insert more groans here: _______.)

In conclusion, while Pants 2 may be a bit too formulaic, or hew a little too closely to pattern, if you will, overall, it was a great deal of fun to see at a matinee. I left the movie feeling happy, having had a solid cinematic experience. I highly recommend grabbing a gal pal (or dragging a captive boy – I guarantee you there's adequate eye candy) and legging it to the theater (couldn’t resist inducing one last groan – all good things come in threes) before it fades into the sunset of summer's end.

Summer Lovin'

A review of Vicky Cristina Barcelona.

Vicky Cristina Barcelona (“VCB”) is an appealing trifle of a movie. It’s like the ice cream cone you get at the end of a hot summer’s day that you don’t really need. But since it’s so much fun to try a new flavor and add some decadent toppings, you figure why not? No harm, no foul, and since when are ice cream cones about need anyway? This is VCB in a nutshell – it’s a very entertaining film that won’t change your life, but will certainly amuse and brighten your day. Seeing VCB is time well spent.

A bit of a disclaimer before I go any further: I am no Woody Allen expert. I have seen a number of his films (yes, including Annie Hall), but I am by no means a completist. So I cannot evaluate VCB as it may compare to the complete Woody Allen oeuvre.

That being established, VCB is a movie unabashedly preoccupied with love. Vicky (Rebecca Hall, most familiar to me from Starter for Ten) and Cristina (Scarlett Johansson, Woody Allen’s latest go-to muse) are friends who have traveled together to spend July and August at the Barcelona home of Vicky’s parents’ friends, Judy and Mark Nash (Patricia Clarkson and Kevin Dunn). Vicky is taking a vacation from her graduate studies in Catalan identity and her impending marriage to successful-but-boring Doug and Cristina has decided that she hates the twelve minute film to which she just devoted six months of her life, leaving her future as an actress in turmoil. They both fall for irresistibly sexy artist Juan Antonio (Javier Bardem, who seems to smolder from every pore), and coupling, uncoupling and recoupling ensues, as Vicky and Cristina simultaneously try to expand and reconcile their notions of love.

VCB skillfully sets the tone of the film from the opening moments via the Narrator (I feel the need to capitalize “Narrator” because he truly plays a pivotal role). At first, I found the narration jarring. But once I realized this wasn’t a Morgan Freeman g-d-like figure narrating, rather, the Narrator was almost commenting on the story as it was unfolding, I embraced him (especially for livening up the Scarlett Johansson-centric moments; we’ll get to that). The narration is a very specific stylistic choice, through both the words and the tone voiced, offering just the right degree of sardonic disdain.

The performances are, for the most part, laudable. Rebecca Hall as Vicky gives a wonderful, understated performance. In the wrong hands, Vicky could’ve been a tiresomely annoying character, and it is to Hall’s credit that I always looked forward to seeing her resurface in the tale. Of course, partial credit for that may also go to the wooden Scarlett Johansson, who could not have been more flat, uninspiring and, let’s be honest here, simply boring. Her Cristina is supposed to be a woman who enraptures Javier Bardem’s Juan Antonio, a passionate artist. I never bought it. (Maybe she was trying so hard to portray her character as a bad actress that it affected her whole performance? Or maybe she’s just bad.) Moving on, Patricia Clarkson and Kevin Dunn were serviceable in their roles, but they mainly served as expository crutches and tools for the expression of plot contrivances.

The highest praise must be reserved for both Javier Bardem and Penélope Cruz, who plays his ex-wife, Maria Elena. Bardem plays Juan Antonio with an effortlessness and sense of fun that elevates a character who could’ve been hopelessly two-dimensional in lesser hands. Similarly, Cruz inhabits Maria Elena fearlessly, transforming a potentially stereotypical shrew into a fully-realized fiery force of nature. The interplay between the two of them raises the film to another level entirely and is a pleasure to watch. In particular, Juan Antonio repeatedly exhorts Maria Elena to “Speak English!”, a highly amusing bit that you must see to fully appreciate.

VCB was fairly well-paced, dragging only when its focus lingered too long on Cristina (we get it, Woody, you’ve got a thing for Scarlett, but for the sake of your art, can you move on to maybe someone more interesting like… Penélope Cruz?). The climactic scene (for which Scarlett is, appropriately, absent) pushes the limits in terms of the tone of the film, but provides for a satisfying, if predictable, denouement. So if you’re looking for a diversion from the world as you know it, VCB is worth the price of admission, as well as the 97 minutes of your life. Just say sí.

Hit me.

A review of 21.

Like so many a hand in Vegas, 21 felt like a missed opportunity. Given its premise – MIT students work together in an elaborate card-counting scheme to best the blackjack tables in Vegas and reap oodles of cash – it had the potential to be a fantastically entertaining movie. Unfortunately, to my mind, it only partly delivered.

Directed by Robert Luketic (Legally Blonde, Monster-in-Law) from a script adapted by Peter Steinfeld and Allan Loeb (from the book Bringing Down the House by Ben Mezrich, which I have not yet had the pleasure of reading but now plan to), 21 tells the story of Ben Campbell (Jim Sturgess), the quintessential good kid. Ben is an MIT senior and possessor of a shiny new acceptance letter to Harvard Medical School. What Ben doesn't possess, however, is the 300 K he'll need to pay for Harvard Med (but really, who does?). Enter Professor Micky Rosa (Kevin Spacey) and his coven of "extra credit" (literally) self-styled mathletes, who entangle Ben in their high-risk card-counting scheme by baiting him with the object of his crush, Jill Taylor (Kate Bosworth), at the expense of his relationship with his best friends, his heretofore impeccable school record and his integrity. Will Ben get the girl? Will Ben keep all his teeth? Will Ben fashion a plausible explanation for why he lacks any trace of a Boston accent despite being a native Bostonian? (As Jim Sturgess is a native Brit, perhaps the filmmakers figured they should just stick with a plain old "American" accent.)

It is precisely this – Ben's personal journey – that is most problematic to me in 21. At the outset of the movie, the script makes a point of showing us just how good a kid Ben is – a good guy to his friends, a good son to his mother, even celebrating his 21^st birthday with his buddies at the restaurant where she waits tables, and a good student – beyond the aforementioned Harvard Med acceptance, he also dazzles in his classes at MIT, which is how he attracts the attention of the Luciferous (no, not a word, but it should be one that exists specifically to describe 95% of the characters Kevin Spacey plays) Professor Rosa. In keeping with his virtuous character, Ben declines the offer to join the card-counting "team" not once, but twice, the second time saying no to Jill herself, who has turned up to erode his resolve while he's on the job at J. Press (a clothing store) (where, in yet another example if his high "good guy" quotient, he's recently been promoted to assistant manager). But then in a reversal the audience is permitted no part of experiencing, Ben shows up to team practice, making his entrance by showing off his innate card-counting prowess. It was incredibly dissatisfying to see nothing of what, given the set-up, should have been quite a moral struggle for Ben. And I was left asking myself why? Why the turn? Was it strictly because of his crush on Jill? Was he that tempted by the money? I needed to see more of the justification, especially given his anti-good guy behavior later.

In addition to the deficiencies in Ben's arc, the supporting characters were unevenly drawn. Ben's buddies, Miles (Josh Gad) and Cam (Sam Golzari), were terrific – funny, smart, spirited performances and excellent mirrors for Ben's turn to the dark side. But Ben's new companions on the card-counting team were simply types. We never got to know them, nor understand why they were on the team and why they wanted to be there. The kids never seemed to have enough fun to sell me on the greed, glitz and glamour justification. So why were they working so hard to bring Ben into the mix? And I never understood what was so special about Jill that she seemed to pull an Eve on Ben. The story revealed little about her character and Kate Bosworth's performance was, well, fine, but not compelling. And not to harp on hairstyles of actresses named Kate (see Snow Angels review), but honestly, I was distracted by how well-coiffed she was in each and every scene, and how exactly even her bangs and hair were cut, as though she had them trimmed every other day (which she probably did, on the set, but no college kid, especially one at a school in Boston in the middle of winter when hats go on heads fair often, is going to bother spending the time and money on). Kevin Spacey gave a fine performance of a one-dimensional character he's played several times before, as did Laurence Fishburne.

While the lack of definitive motivation for Ben's biggest decision prevents 21 from being a great movie, there was still plenty to enjoy. You'll probably see the "twist" coming from a mile away, but that still doesn't mean it's not fun to watch it play out. And I may be biased because I love the city, but I think Boston makes for a great setting, and sometimes a character, for many a film (see, e.g., The Departed, Gone Baby Gone, Good Will Hunting to name a few) and it only enhances 21. The contrast between wintry, conservative Boston and colorful, unrestrained Vegas is well-portrayed. I wouldn't necessarily recommend that you double-down and pony up the bucks to see this movie in a reserved-seating Arclight-esque theater, but it's certainly worth spending the nickels you would have otherwise entertained yourself with at the slots to see it on the big screen at a regular theater.

Dodge Ball.

A review of Leatherheads.

Leatherheads is a pretty fun movie. Or, one could also say that it's a pretty, fun movie. It's beautifully shot and visually stunning, the costumes and hairstyles in particular standing out in a good way. And the scenes that consist primarily of witty, rapid-fire barb-trading are amusing and zing in all the right places. Unfortunately, these scenes cannot hold the movie together and "pretty good" makes for a decent, but not great, movie-going experience.

Directed by George Clooney and written by Duncan Brantley and Rick Reilly, Leatherheads' story revolves around the efforts of Clooney's Jimmy 'Dodge' Connelly to reignite interest in professional football in the 1920s and thereby preserve the existence of his team, the Duluth Bulldogs, and his job as the world's oldest running back. Dodge sees his solution in the person of star Princeton running back and war hero Carter Rutherford (The Office's John Krasinski), whose play has been attracting crowds of upwards of forty thousand fans. Dodge succeeds in getting Carter and his sleazy agent/manager, CC Frazier (Jonathan Pryce) to sign up to play with the Bulldogs. Enter Lexie Littleton (Renée Zellweger), the Chicago Tribune's crack reporter assigned to "cook Rutherford's goose" and reveal the truth about his heroism or lack thereof while serving as a soldier in the Great War. A love triangle develops (or rather, attempts to develop) (because really, does anyone ever doubt that George Clooney will get the girl? Or is here where I need to provide the disclaimer that I find Clooney disarmingly charismatic and irresistibly attractive?) (seriously, who could deny him when he cocks his head just so and makes those puppy dog eyes?) and hijinks ensue.

But even the entertainment value of the hijinks could not obscure the underdevelopment that plagues Leatherheads. It did not feel like a fully realized tale, but rather, felt like two different pictures. There was the movie about the evolving gentrification of professional football with the introduction of rules and the removal of the whimsy and trickery that seemed to give the game its appeal. Then there was the stylized romance between Dodge and Lexie, slapstick at its best. Back and forth it went, like the tossing of a football, zigging when it should have zagged, never settling upon a true rhythm and never fully integrating the two stories. The stakes never seemed high enough because the tone of the film reassured us that neither Dodge nor Lexie nor Carter would truly lose it all. Thus, the diversion needed to come in the route to the conclusion, one that never veered from the standard playbook. Clooney should've taken a page from his character and introduced a few trick plays rather than sticking to the tried-and-true buttonhooks and standard Statue of Liberty formations.

Within those limitations, however, the performances by the main players are strong. Clooney's Dodge charms his way through every scene and his comic timing is impeccable. You can almost see how much fun he and Zellweger are having amidst their onscreen volleys. And Zellweger handled the comedy and stylized scenes deftly, although at times Lexie's utter lack of flappability (rather ironic for a flapper) took me out of the periodness of the piece. Krasinski's Carter was equally well-played, and he convincingly oscillated from likeable to unlikeable, opportunistically switching allegiances and historic truths as the situation required. And Jonathan Pryce's CC was delightfully dastardly. A great number of the supporting characters were insufficiently defined and therefore not as memorable, a flaw in the film and a shame as it wasted some very talented character actors. One notable exception was Peter Gerety's (of HBO's The Wire) role as Commissioner Pete Harkin, a highly amusing ball buster (pun intended).

The conclusion of Leatherheads will surprise no one. But watch through the end credits anyway, and you won't be disappointed. They take you through an array of amusing photos which reveal the fate of the characters. Like the players in Leatherheads, you won't be any worse for the wear for having seen it, but you probably won't be much better off, either. So I'd consider it a solid DVD rental. I'd only give it matinee-price potential if a) you're really desperate to see something in the theater and truly nothing else appeals; b) you have a fine appreciation for the art of costume design and/or hairstyling and/or cinematography; c) you like your Clooney larger than life; or d) none of the above, but you're open to a little fun. Hey, pretty fun is better than no fun.