A review of Seven Pounds. Seven Pounds, written by Grant Nieporte and directed by Gabriele Muccino (The Pursuit of Happyness) is heavy, and not in the good way. It tries very hard to be what I think of as a “Statement Movie.” By my definition, Statement Movies are self-important, pretentious movies that consciously set out to send a message. These movies are rarely effective, because they get bogged down in conveying whatever life lesson preoccupies the script, instead of organically allowing the story being told to reach each viewer as it may. Statement Movies do not appeal to me, mostly because I strongly object to being told how to think or feel. I have no issue with movies that make me think (and even those which manipulate my emotions to a certain degree, The Pursuit of Happyness being a good example) and which have that goal as their primary objective; in fact I think it is a valid and often noble use of art. To my mind, however, Statement Movies are the bastardization of this form of art, and for me, Seven Pounds falls squarely into that category. Given the foregoing, it will come as no surprise that I did not enjoy the experience of seeing Seven Pounds. The majority of the issues that I had with the film were with the script. I disliked the story and the premise from which it sprang, and given that baseline, it would be difficult to enjoy any aspect of the movie. Among my problems with Seven Pounds is the fact that in both its marketing campaign and the unfolding of the story, it attempted to play “hide the premise.” Its tag line, “Seven Names. Seven Strangers. One Secret.”, is disingenuous, because the secret is self-manufactured. As I promise at the top of my site, this is a spoiler-free environment, so I will not give away Ben Thomas’ (Will Smith) “secret,” but I believe the story might actually have been more effective without obscuring the inciting incident of Ben’s journey. Instead, the first 20-30 minutes of the movie were confusing in trying to determine what was real, who Ben was and in what chronology events were actually unfolding. The obfuscation felt unnecessary, contrived and as though a device was taking the place of actual substance because such substance was not available to be tapped into. What I can tell you about the plot of Seven Pounds without spoiling things is this: it's the story of how Ben Thomas, in the wake of a great tragedy, chooses to live his life, ultimately deciding to bestow seven people with invaluable gifts in an effort create right out of wrong, at least as Ben sees it. I found a great deal of what occurred in Seven Pounds to be wildly implausible. There are certain “buys” that I’m willing to grant in the telling of a well-crafted tale, certain coincidences that might otherwise be a stretch, but that I’ll allow because a story has earned the right to rely on a contrivance or two. Seven Pounds stretched this concept too far and failed to earn “buys” I might otherwise have granted. For example (none of the following give anything significant away about the story), the ease with which Ben gains access to the CICU and Emily Posa’s (Rosario Dawson) room, the effortless and rapid manner that a loner like Emily becomes attached to Ben and the choice of a character like Connie (Elpidia Carrillo) to put her trust in a stranger like Ben. These, among a number of other pivotal plot details, were too much for me. Despite my dislike of Seven Pounds, given the material, I did find it to be a well-performed and well-directed movie. Will Smith gave a moving performance, as did Rosario Dawson. Ms. Dawson infused her portrayal of Emily with many layers that helped to compel my attention when my mind might otherwise have wandered, given my frustration with the direction of the story. Woody Harrelson’s depiction of Ezra Turner merits special mention; he conveyed more with few words and a quieter energy than most supporting actors have the restraint to demonstrate. Unfortunately, that restraint was not shared in most other aspects of the film. In the end, Seven Pounds failed to come to a satisfying conclusion, raising more questions than it answered, but not the kind of thought-provoking, big picture-type questions that might allow you to translate the experience of seeing a movie into a discussion about larger world or life issues. Rather, the questions Seven Pounds left me with were specific script-related questions, which included thoughts like, “Who was Ben to judge other people?”, “Why would Ben have taken what he took from his brother, thereby jeopardizing him professionally?” and “ Who was Dan to Ben and what did he owe him that he would agree to follow Ben’s plan?” Ultimately, the Statement I felt Seven Pounds was trying to make was this: Live and a good life and you will be rewarded; fail to and you will pay. Frankly, I don’t see things as black and white as this, and the movies that most entertain and challenge me occupy the gray spaces. I hope to see more of those this awards season, but for my money, Seven Pounds is not one of them.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Dead Weight
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Milk: It Does A Body (Mind and Spirit) Good.
A review of Milk.
Milk, written by Dustin Lance Black and directed by Gus Van Sant, is a deeply affecting and profoundly moving film. The film itself is not without flaws, but the experience of seeing it was nearly perfect. I can’t recall another movie-going experience when there was such enthusiastic, sustained applause at its conclusion. Milk would be affecting whenever it might be seen, but the synergistic timing of its release in the wake of the passage of Proposition 8 in California heightens its relevance as well as its odds of dominating in the upcoming awards season.
One of the triumphs of Milk is in what it avoids – it could easily have become an aptly-named, self-fulfilling prophecy, “milking” its viewers for their most sentimental, basic feelings of pity. Instead, Milk has churned itself into a beautiful, multi-layered piece, one that forces you to deeply identify at one point or another with someone or something in the film. I know I’ve seen a truly great movie when I am not only moved and entertained by the experience of seeing it, but I also learn something. Perhaps it is my own ignorance of the history of the gay rights movement and of the politics of the ‘70s, but, though I knew the film had its own agenda, I really got a sense of what a struggle it was (and continues to be in much of the world) for gay men and women in the ‘70s to exist, to survive, let alone be accepted.
Milk follows the story of Harvey Milk (Sean Penn), the first openly gay person to be elected to public office in California. After four unsuccessful attempts (and the redistricting of San Francisco) over as many years, Milk and his motley crew of true believers finally accomplish their goal and get Milk elected to the office of Supervisor of the City of San Francisco. But the victory is not without sacrifice, as his single-minded drive ultimately costs Milk his relationship with Scott Smith (James Franco), who the film suggests, is the love of his life. Milk is short on details of
Milk devotes a great deal of detail, however, to Harvey’s fight to defeat Proposition Six (a California ballot initiative which stated that any public school teacher “advocating, imposing, encouraging or promoting” homosexual activity could be fired) in 1978. The parallels between the battles waged over Proposition Six in 1978 and Proposition Eight in 2008 are truly uncanny. In both cases, the parties seeking to discriminate used reprehensible tactics, invoking fear, and more specifically exploiting children to invoke that fear. Yet, the powerful unity that resulted in the successful defeat of Proposition Six in 1978 versus the failure to vanquish the same spirit of hatred in 2008 made me wonder if perhaps something I believe I read on Andrew Sullivan (of The Atlantic)’s blog (The Daily Dish at andrewsullivan.theatlantic.com) was correct – that acceptance isn’t won by couching it as a civil rights issue, but rather by gay people proudly proclaiming themselves and their commitment to their partners. In that way, more people could overcome their fear and see that the majority of them know a committed gay couple who deserves equal rights and access to marriage just as much as any heterosexual couple.
I shall step down from my soap box and note that I particularly enjoyed the moment when Harvey stepped upon his. There were so many great moments and artistic choices to appreciate about this film. Director Van Sant’s stylistic use of opera worked well at times, and felt a bit over the top at other times. The city of San Francisco itself felt like a vibrant character and the use of historical footage was masterfully interwoven. Sean Penn gave an utterly brilliant performance, making you forget he was Sean Penn and completely inhabiting Milk. James Franco was terrifically understated as Scott, conveying volumes with a slight smirk and a shake of the head, carving out more and more of a distinct identity for Scott as the film progressed. Emile Hirsch’s Cleve Jones was incredibly entertaining. I was a bit concerned by his first scene’s introduction of his character, as it was more caricature than character, but the more we got to know Cleve, his unique energy and voice became apparent. Josh Brolin (as Dan White) and Victor Garber (as Mayor George Moscone) also gave strong, noteworthy performances. The one weak link for me was Diego Luna’s portrayal of Jack Lira. It felt too theatrical and staged, and I needed it to feel a bit more grounded and real in order to connect with what Milk experienced through that relationship. The off-balance nature of the character was so exaggerated that it made me wonder how accurate a portrayal it was.
I was also left wondering whether the tape recording used as a framing device was an artistic invention. The very fact that Milk made me want to know more is, to me, the sign of a successful piece of art. I feel as though I’ve seen this year’s Best Picture winner. While it is true that I have a soft spot in my heart for the biopic genre, I think that the quality of this film combined with its eerie electoral timing makes it a lock. Given the California political landscape, I’d be surprised if Academy members don’t take this opportunity to make a statement of their own. So I urge you to make a statement with your wallets and go see this wonderful film in theaters sooner rather than later.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Livin' On a Prayer
A review of Religulous.
Bill Maher’s Religulous, directed by Larry Charles (Borat, Curb Your Enthusiasm), is smart, incisive and engaging. To be familiar with Bill Maher and his brand of intelligent, biting, envelope-pushing humor is to similarly be aware of his utter disdain for organized religion of any kind. At least that is the persona he chooses to present to the public. Notably, however, when one watches his big screen endeavor intended to deflate and challenge the premise and plausibility of organized religion, Religulous, it becomes apparent that Mr. Maher is not devoid of faith, but rather seems to be suffering an ongoing crisis of faith precipitated during his teenage years by his parents’ departure from the church (he was raised Catholic though his mother was Jewish) so that they could utilize birth control. That seems to me to explain a great deal, not only about the genesis of Mr. Maher’s search for logic in religion, but also with regard to his highly sexualized public persona. Instead of making a film to demonstrate that religion is silly, Religulous seems to chronicle a quest for proof that there might be some form of organized religion that isn’t a farce (by Mr. Maher’s demanding standards).
The prospect that such a religion might actually exist seems to terrify Mr. Maher on some level, since accepting such a notion would require him to rethink and reset who he is, publicly and privately. Thus, as so many of us do, he uses humor as a defense mechanism and goes for the broad and “easy” jokes to ensure that he entertains his audience while also demonstrating his intellectual superiority. To achieve this, among the majority of the people that he spoke to for his film, Mr. Maher clearly selected those who represent the most extreme views of their particular religion. While seeing him provoke these various characters in interviews might seem to make for better drama and ostensibly be more interesting, in reality, it’s a copout. Sure, we all get a good laugh at how ridiculous these people seem and at Mr. Maher’s mostly clever snark, but the greater challenge would have been for him to speak with more relatable people and draw their views out, then find the humor in the spaces between, because it’s certainly there to be found.
The moments when Mr. Maher chose the easy, obvious and occasionally offensive insults were disappointing precisely because he is so intelligent and capable of more. It is this expectation of a higher level of humor and discourse that brought me to the theater to get more than my weekly dose from Real Time instead of, say, finding satisfaction with Dane Cook’s Tourgasm. That being said, a great deal of Mr. Maher’s conversations were fascinating. For example, when he did speak with a more moderate figure, a prominent American scientist who bucks the trend in the scientific community and sincerely embraces a Christian faith, the conversation was both illuminating and entertaining. Mr. Maher sought to elicit an explanation of the inexplicable from one who lives his professional life according to the scientific method.
Mr. Maher similarly seeks an explanation for how the United States’ identity has become so wrapped up in religious fervor. He compares Americans to those of similar faith abroad, trying to understand how it is that Americans have gotten so carried away in their expression of faith. A particularly clever and illuminating segment of this exploration involved an examination of the origin of what some claim is “this Christian nation.” Mr. Maher thoroughly debunks that notion by tracing the history of the birth of the United States and presenting numerous quotes from various Founding Fathers that directly contradict those who would claim the U.S. to be “this Christian nation.”
It is these moments, when he makes the political personal, that Mr. Maher is most effective. The conversation that he has with his mother and sister, tracing the origin of his own faith and crisis of faith is both witty and touching and frames the film’s narrative well. But the relatively small glimpse we get of this conversation left me wanting more. Similarly, Mr. Maher bookends the film with his attendance of a truckstop church service and his discussion with the truckers in attendance after the service. Though he ultimately shakes his head in amusement at their embracing of a faith they cannot explain, it actually seems as though, more than anyone else, this group challenged Mr. Maher in his cynicism and made him think. That is ultimately what Religulous seeks to do it and it is a goal well-achieved. I recommend the film to anyone intrigued by a mostly-intelligent discourse on religion, although be forewarned if going to see it in the theater: not only does Mr. Maher have a big head when it comes to his estimation of himself, but physically as well -- the close-ups of his head/face/forehead on the big screen can be distracting as they make it clear: the man has had work done. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, especially since with this film, he’s delving deeper and getting spiritual work done.
Bill Maher’s Religulous, directed by Larry Charles (Borat, Curb Your Enthusiasm), is smart, incisive and engaging. To be familiar with Bill Maher and his brand of intelligent, biting, envelope-pushing humor is to similarly be aware of his utter disdain for organized religion of any kind. At least that is the persona he chooses to present to the public. Notably, however, when one watches his big screen endeavor intended to deflate and challenge the premise and plausibility of organized religion, Religulous, it becomes apparent that Mr. Maher is not devoid of faith, but rather seems to be suffering an ongoing crisis of faith precipitated during his teenage years by his parents’ departure from the church (he was raised Catholic though his mother was Jewish) so that they could utilize birth control. That seems to me to explain a great deal, not only about the genesis of Mr. Maher’s search for logic in religion, but also with regard to his highly sexualized public persona. Instead of making a film to demonstrate that religion is silly, Religulous seems to chronicle a quest for proof that there might be some form of organized religion that isn’t a farce (by Mr. Maher’s demanding standards).
The prospect that such a religion might actually exist seems to terrify Mr. Maher on some level, since accepting such a notion would require him to rethink and reset who he is, publicly and privately. Thus, as so many of us do, he uses humor as a defense mechanism and goes for the broad and “easy” jokes to ensure that he entertains his audience while also demonstrating his intellectual superiority. To achieve this, among the majority of the people that he spoke to for his film, Mr. Maher clearly selected those who represent the most extreme views of their particular religion. While seeing him provoke these various characters in interviews might seem to make for better drama and ostensibly be more interesting, in reality, it’s a copout. Sure, we all get a good laugh at how ridiculous these people seem and at Mr. Maher’s mostly clever snark, but the greater challenge would have been for him to speak with more relatable people and draw their views out, then find the humor in the spaces between, because it’s certainly there to be found.
The moments when Mr. Maher chose the easy, obvious and occasionally offensive insults were disappointing precisely because he is so intelligent and capable of more. It is this expectation of a higher level of humor and discourse that brought me to the theater to get more than my weekly dose from Real Time instead of, say, finding satisfaction with Dane Cook’s Tourgasm. That being said, a great deal of Mr. Maher’s conversations were fascinating. For example, when he did speak with a more moderate figure, a prominent American scientist who bucks the trend in the scientific community and sincerely embraces a Christian faith, the conversation was both illuminating and entertaining. Mr. Maher sought to elicit an explanation of the inexplicable from one who lives his professional life according to the scientific method.
Mr. Maher similarly seeks an explanation for how the United States’ identity has become so wrapped up in religious fervor. He compares Americans to those of similar faith abroad, trying to understand how it is that Americans have gotten so carried away in their expression of faith. A particularly clever and illuminating segment of this exploration involved an examination of the origin of what some claim is “this Christian nation.” Mr. Maher thoroughly debunks that notion by tracing the history of the birth of the United States and presenting numerous quotes from various Founding Fathers that directly contradict those who would claim the U.S. to be “this Christian nation.”
It is these moments, when he makes the political personal, that Mr. Maher is most effective. The conversation that he has with his mother and sister, tracing the origin of his own faith and crisis of faith is both witty and touching and frames the film’s narrative well. But the relatively small glimpse we get of this conversation left me wanting more. Similarly, Mr. Maher bookends the film with his attendance of a truckstop church service and his discussion with the truckers in attendance after the service. Though he ultimately shakes his head in amusement at their embracing of a faith they cannot explain, it actually seems as though, more than anyone else, this group challenged Mr. Maher in his cynicism and made him think. That is ultimately what Religulous seeks to do it and it is a goal well-achieved. I recommend the film to anyone intrigued by a mostly-intelligent discourse on religion, although be forewarned if going to see it in the theater: not only does Mr. Maher have a big head when it comes to his estimation of himself, but physically as well -- the close-ups of his head/face/forehead on the big screen can be distracting as they make it clear: the man has had work done. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, especially since with this film, he’s delving deeper and getting spiritual work done.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Sister Act
A review of I’ve Loved You So Long.
Written and directed by French filmmaker Philippe Claudel, I’ve Loved You So Long (“ILYSL”) is a beautiful, artful film. It’s the first theater-going experience I’ve had in a long time where I had the thought while watching, “wow, this is a really great film.” And I specifically used the word “film” rather than “movie” in my head, not because it was in French with English subtitles and I was therefore affected, infused with unadulterated pretentiousness and seduced by croissants. Rather, it is objectively a well-crafted, emotional story of the reunion of long-estranged sisters whose lives intersect once more fifteen-plus years after the wrenching tragedy that ripped them apart.
Kristin Scott Thomas plays Juliette, who has come to stay with her much younger sister, Léa (Elsa Zylberstein), after a fifteen year absence. (In choosing not to reveal what has kept Juliette away, I am probably engaging in spoiler-avoidance overkill, as that revelation occurs fairly early in the film. However, I feel that my experience seeing this film was enhanced by the blank slate nature in which I took it in, and my wish is for you to have the same kind of enthralling, unmarred-by-anticipation experience.) Juliette not only moves into Léa's home, but also into her life -- with her family, including husband, Luc, Luc's father, Papy Paul, and her two adopted Vietnamese daughters, P'tit Lys (age eight) and Emelia (about three), as well as with her friends, in particular, Léa's colleague and fellow professor, Michel. Juliette and Léa have one of those Big Heavy Events From The Past ("BHEFTP") to resolve between them, but unlike in Rachel Getting Married, the BHEFTP here informs and motivates the action rather than usurping it.
ILYSL relies upon symbolism to set much of its tone, and while it occasionally teeters on the line of obviousness, it primarily achieves its goal with subtlety. There are two primary symbolic journeys, the first involving Juliette's physical appearance. At the beginning of ILYSL, Juliette appears so haggard, awful and pale that she is barely recognizable as a woman. As she progresses through her journey of reconnecting with her family and the world around her, she slowly regains her color and vibrancy and her femininity. Similarly, we also track Juliette's state of being by her ability to physically connect, literally, to tolerate human contact. Specifically, Juliette's relationship with her niece, P'tit Lys, provides a kind of visual barometer for Juliette's emotional and mental state. At the outset of ILYSL, Juliette can barely be in the same room as P'tit Lys, let alone hug or touch her. But as Juliette allows herself to slowly reawaken and do more than merely occupy space in the world, she allows herself to grow closer and more affectionate with her nieces, reaccepting her maternal self. These two symbolic journeys were very clear and easy to clock, but portrayed artfully. Juliette’s steps forward felt more than merely depicted, they felt earned.
In the same vein, all of the accolades that Kristin Scott Thomas is sure to garner for her performance will likewise be earned. She gives a transformative performance that was compelling, heartbreaking and quite simply magnificent. She will surely be nominated for an Academy Award, and rightfully so. I would be surprised if the film were not also similarly recognized, in either the Foreign Film or Best Picture categories, or both. Each of the performances, from Elsa Zylberstein’s guilt-laden Léa to Frédéric Pierrot’s tragic Captain Fauré, a seemingly minor yet significant presence in Juliette’s new life to the ebullient Lise Ségur as P’tit Lys, together provide strong support to an engaging tale. It is not only the performances that are noteworthy, but also the construction of such unique and fully-realized characters who progress through well-defined arcs that build the momentum toward the reveal of the central mystery.
And even though I guessed the specifics of the central mystery early in, knowing what was coming did not in any way detract from my enjoyment of ILYSL. The story was well-paced and unfolded naturally. Certain stylistic choices, for example the thematic use of water, felt a bit heavy-handed, but not distractingly so. And other overly-dramatic moments, such as the recitation of a children’s book over news being received on the phone felt staged, but were effective nonetheless. Similarly, Juliette’s final words and the echo that the film leaves us with were a bit theatrical, but could not be more apropos or poignant. Overall, ILYSL is a beautifully crafted film that I would not hesitate to recommend sans réserve.
Written and directed by French filmmaker Philippe Claudel, I’ve Loved You So Long (“ILYSL”) is a beautiful, artful film. It’s the first theater-going experience I’ve had in a long time where I had the thought while watching, “wow, this is a really great film.” And I specifically used the word “film” rather than “movie” in my head, not because it was in French with English subtitles and I was therefore affected, infused with unadulterated pretentiousness and seduced by croissants. Rather, it is objectively a well-crafted, emotional story of the reunion of long-estranged sisters whose lives intersect once more fifteen-plus years after the wrenching tragedy that ripped them apart.
Kristin Scott Thomas plays Juliette, who has come to stay with her much younger sister, Léa (Elsa Zylberstein), after a fifteen year absence. (In choosing not to reveal what has kept Juliette away, I am probably engaging in spoiler-avoidance overkill, as that revelation occurs fairly early in the film. However, I feel that my experience seeing this film was enhanced by the blank slate nature in which I took it in, and my wish is for you to have the same kind of enthralling, unmarred-by-anticipation experience.) Juliette not only moves into Léa's home, but also into her life -- with her family, including husband, Luc, Luc's father, Papy Paul, and her two adopted Vietnamese daughters, P'tit Lys (age eight) and Emelia (about three), as well as with her friends, in particular, Léa's colleague and fellow professor, Michel. Juliette and Léa have one of those Big Heavy Events From The Past ("BHEFTP") to resolve between them, but unlike in Rachel Getting Married, the BHEFTP here informs and motivates the action rather than usurping it.
ILYSL relies upon symbolism to set much of its tone, and while it occasionally teeters on the line of obviousness, it primarily achieves its goal with subtlety. There are two primary symbolic journeys, the first involving Juliette's physical appearance. At the beginning of ILYSL, Juliette appears so haggard, awful and pale that she is barely recognizable as a woman. As she progresses through her journey of reconnecting with her family and the world around her, she slowly regains her color and vibrancy and her femininity. Similarly, we also track Juliette's state of being by her ability to physically connect, literally, to tolerate human contact. Specifically, Juliette's relationship with her niece, P'tit Lys, provides a kind of visual barometer for Juliette's emotional and mental state. At the outset of ILYSL, Juliette can barely be in the same room as P'tit Lys, let alone hug or touch her. But as Juliette allows herself to slowly reawaken and do more than merely occupy space in the world, she allows herself to grow closer and more affectionate with her nieces, reaccepting her maternal self. These two symbolic journeys were very clear and easy to clock, but portrayed artfully. Juliette’s steps forward felt more than merely depicted, they felt earned.
In the same vein, all of the accolades that Kristin Scott Thomas is sure to garner for her performance will likewise be earned. She gives a transformative performance that was compelling, heartbreaking and quite simply magnificent. She will surely be nominated for an Academy Award, and rightfully so. I would be surprised if the film were not also similarly recognized, in either the Foreign Film or Best Picture categories, or both. Each of the performances, from Elsa Zylberstein’s guilt-laden Léa to Frédéric Pierrot’s tragic Captain Fauré, a seemingly minor yet significant presence in Juliette’s new life to the ebullient Lise Ségur as P’tit Lys, together provide strong support to an engaging tale. It is not only the performances that are noteworthy, but also the construction of such unique and fully-realized characters who progress through well-defined arcs that build the momentum toward the reveal of the central mystery.
And even though I guessed the specifics of the central mystery early in, knowing what was coming did not in any way detract from my enjoyment of ILYSL. The story was well-paced and unfolded naturally. Certain stylistic choices, for example the thematic use of water, felt a bit heavy-handed, but not distractingly so. And other overly-dramatic moments, such as the recitation of a children’s book over news being received on the phone felt staged, but were effective nonetheless. Similarly, Juliette’s final words and the echo that the film leaves us with were a bit theatrical, but could not be more apropos or poignant. Overall, ILYSL is a beautifully crafted film that I would not hesitate to recommend sans réserve.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Patently Reviewed.
A review of Flash of Genius.
I really wanted to love Flash of Genius, because it’s my kind of movie. If I have a wheelhouse, the biopic tale of an underdog triumphing over evil occupies a great deal of real estate in there. And while I enjoyed Flash of Genius and wouldn’t discourage anyone from seeing it, the film does not fall into the "rush right out" category. In fact, given its pacing, Flash of Genius is precisely the type of movie that might best be enjoyed at home on DVD, so you can pause it every so often and even take a break at some point so that you don’t get too impatient with the methodical unfolding of events that builds toward a predictable conclusion.
Adapted by Philip Railsback from a New Yorker story by John Seabrook and directed by Marc Abraham (an accomplished producer of such fare as Children of Men and Thirteen Days making his directorial debut), Flash of Genius chronicles the tale of Dr. Robert Kearns (Greg Kinnear), the electrical engineering professor who first cracked the code, so to speak, and successfully created a functioning intermittent windshield wiper. After conceiving the circuitry behind the intermittent windshield wiper, Kearns strikes a deal with the Ford Motor Company to manufacture and supply it to Ford. Flash of Genius recounts Kearns’ struggle to hold Ford accountable when the powers that be renege on the deal and, for all intents and purposes, steal Kearns’ invention, and the havoc that Kearns’ obsession with and inability to get past this wrong wreaks upon his life and his family.
Flash of Genius is filled with superb performances. Greg Kinnear truly inhabits Bob Kearns, unflinchingly embracing his prickliness, unyielding morality and obsessive nature. Mr. Kinnear infuses Bob Kearns with layers and nuances that make him more likeable than he may have a right to be. He is both the heart of the movie and, to some degree, its greatest challenge. I had the pleasure of attending a Q&A with Mr. Kinnear after seeing the film, and interestingly, he seized upon one of my notes – he mentioned that, originally, after he had read about half of the script, he put it down, having determined that he was fairly certain he didn’t actually like Dr. Kearns. Ultimately, to the benefit of everyone, Mr. Kinnear seized the gauntlet thrown down by the prospect of playing a character like Dr. Kearns. Equally crucial to the film's high quality was the casting of Lauren Graham as Bob’s wife, Phyllis Kearns. In less deft hands, Phyllis could have come off as villainous, shrewish or even ancillary to the tale of Bob’s fight. But Ms. Graham strikes just the right balance of wifey-ness and independence, maternalism and spunk, and instead, Phyllis remains front and center, even when she’s not physically present.
The primary weakness of Flash of Genius is that the tale of a man who invented something as small in scope and grandeur as the intermittent windshield wiper and then fought about its ownership in court is an inherently difficult story to dramatize. For better or for worse, windshield wipers simply aren’t all that sexy, and a battle over their speed isn’t exciting to watch, especially when one considers the fact that a particular outcome had to have been achieved in order for the story to merit a cinematic adaptation. The story also lacks the Brockovichian urgency of an intense life-or-death fight against The Man, a nefarious corporate power who is responsible for inflicting grievous physical harm upon hundreds of people. Here, Bob fights an iteration of The Man, Ford, for stealing, which is deplorable, but not nearly as visceral as, e.g., causing cancer in a child. Further, the more significant wrong committed against Bob is not the theft of profits from his invention, but more importantly, the robbing of his dignity, which is a more internal loss, and thus more difficult to translate to the screen.
Similarly, while I understand the filmmakers' choice to hook the audience into the story of Flash of Genius via flashforwarding to Bob's nervous breakdown (note: I don’t consider this to be a spoiler as it is the opening scene of the film), I ultimately found the moment difficult to connect with because it wasn't fraught with tension and drama (for me, anyway). It actually confused me a bit as an introduction to the character and left me in a state of anticipation, waiting for the moment when the story would catch up to where we as an audience had already been taken. That set the tone for the pacing of the rest of the film, and I felt impatient watching it, wanting Bob to get to the next step quicker. It also probably didn't help that it's difficult to spend two hours with a character who is so prickly and at times, fairly unlikeable. Ultimately, though, Flash of Genius is worth your time; it's a well written, well directed, well performed movie that, like the court system portrayed in the film, is just a little slow.
I really wanted to love Flash of Genius, because it’s my kind of movie. If I have a wheelhouse, the biopic tale of an underdog triumphing over evil occupies a great deal of real estate in there. And while I enjoyed Flash of Genius and wouldn’t discourage anyone from seeing it, the film does not fall into the "rush right out" category. In fact, given its pacing, Flash of Genius is precisely the type of movie that might best be enjoyed at home on DVD, so you can pause it every so often and even take a break at some point so that you don’t get too impatient with the methodical unfolding of events that builds toward a predictable conclusion.
Adapted by Philip Railsback from a New Yorker story by John Seabrook and directed by Marc Abraham (an accomplished producer of such fare as Children of Men and Thirteen Days making his directorial debut), Flash of Genius chronicles the tale of Dr. Robert Kearns (Greg Kinnear), the electrical engineering professor who first cracked the code, so to speak, and successfully created a functioning intermittent windshield wiper. After conceiving the circuitry behind the intermittent windshield wiper, Kearns strikes a deal with the Ford Motor Company to manufacture and supply it to Ford. Flash of Genius recounts Kearns’ struggle to hold Ford accountable when the powers that be renege on the deal and, for all intents and purposes, steal Kearns’ invention, and the havoc that Kearns’ obsession with and inability to get past this wrong wreaks upon his life and his family.
Flash of Genius is filled with superb performances. Greg Kinnear truly inhabits Bob Kearns, unflinchingly embracing his prickliness, unyielding morality and obsessive nature. Mr. Kinnear infuses Bob Kearns with layers and nuances that make him more likeable than he may have a right to be. He is both the heart of the movie and, to some degree, its greatest challenge. I had the pleasure of attending a Q&A with Mr. Kinnear after seeing the film, and interestingly, he seized upon one of my notes – he mentioned that, originally, after he had read about half of the script, he put it down, having determined that he was fairly certain he didn’t actually like Dr. Kearns. Ultimately, to the benefit of everyone, Mr. Kinnear seized the gauntlet thrown down by the prospect of playing a character like Dr. Kearns. Equally crucial to the film's high quality was the casting of Lauren Graham as Bob’s wife, Phyllis Kearns. In less deft hands, Phyllis could have come off as villainous, shrewish or even ancillary to the tale of Bob’s fight. But Ms. Graham strikes just the right balance of wifey-ness and independence, maternalism and spunk, and instead, Phyllis remains front and center, even when she’s not physically present.
The primary weakness of Flash of Genius is that the tale of a man who invented something as small in scope and grandeur as the intermittent windshield wiper and then fought about its ownership in court is an inherently difficult story to dramatize. For better or for worse, windshield wipers simply aren’t all that sexy, and a battle over their speed isn’t exciting to watch, especially when one considers the fact that a particular outcome had to have been achieved in order for the story to merit a cinematic adaptation. The story also lacks the Brockovichian urgency of an intense life-or-death fight against The Man, a nefarious corporate power who is responsible for inflicting grievous physical harm upon hundreds of people. Here, Bob fights an iteration of The Man, Ford, for stealing, which is deplorable, but not nearly as visceral as, e.g., causing cancer in a child. Further, the more significant wrong committed against Bob is not the theft of profits from his invention, but more importantly, the robbing of his dignity, which is a more internal loss, and thus more difficult to translate to the screen.
Similarly, while I understand the filmmakers' choice to hook the audience into the story of Flash of Genius via flashforwarding to Bob's nervous breakdown (note: I don’t consider this to be a spoiler as it is the opening scene of the film), I ultimately found the moment difficult to connect with because it wasn't fraught with tension and drama (for me, anyway). It actually confused me a bit as an introduction to the character and left me in a state of anticipation, waiting for the moment when the story would catch up to where we as an audience had already been taken. That set the tone for the pacing of the rest of the film, and I felt impatient watching it, wanting Bob to get to the next step quicker. It also probably didn't help that it's difficult to spend two hours with a character who is so prickly and at times, fairly unlikeable. Ultimately, though, Flash of Genius is worth your time; it's a well written, well directed, well performed movie that, like the court system portrayed in the film, is just a little slow.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
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.
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.
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