Phil Villarreal's Blog, page 148
December 30, 2012
Top 10 Movies And Games Of 2012
TOP MOVIES 20121. Zero Dark Thirty - Establishes Kathryn Bigelow as one of the greatest current directors.2. Looper - The year's most rewatchable film.3. American Reunion - Vastly underrated sum-up to a poorly tarnished series.4. That's My Boy - Adam Sandler's ridiculously funny return to form.5. Snow White and the Huntsman - Visually stunning, with excellent storytelling and performances.6. Marvel's The Avengers - A knockout culmination of a remarkable master plan in character design.7. Moonrise Kingdom - Heartbreaking and magical.8. Argo - Exciting storytelling and relatable performances.9. This is 40 - A soulful and funny rumination on middle age.10. Flight - Fantastic crash effects and a searing performance from Denzel Washington.
FOLLOWED BY, IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER: The Master, Hitchcock, The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey
WORST MOVIE OF '12: Girl in Progress
TOP GAMES 121. The Walking Dead - Episodic storytelling at its best.2. Journey - An anti-game, really. Haunting and elegaic.3. Retro City Rampage - A mesmerizing and joyfully haphazard celebration of all awesome things from ancient gamedom.4. Double Dragon Neon - A mocking yet somehow respectful tribute to the greatest brawlers.5. ZombiU - Survival horror done right, proving the Wii U's potential6. Xenoblade Chronicles - Looks way too beautiful for a Wii game. It's also a groundbreaking RPG on several levels.7. The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings Enhanced Edition - Ports a PC RPG dynamo to consoles without hiccups.8. Minecraft: Xbox 360 Edition - Just like No. 7. Ethereal and imagination stimulation.9. Trials Evolution - Endlessly replayable and mechanically impeccable.10. Max Payne 3 - Fantastic revival of a severely dated shooter concept.
FOLLOWED BY, IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER: New Super Mario Bros. 2, LittleBigPlanet Vita, Professor Layton and the Miracle Mask, Paper Mario: Sticker Star, Assassin's Creed III, Nintendo Land, Persona 4 Golden, Far Cry 3, New Super Mario Bros. U, Dishonored
Jan. 1 Blu-ray/DVD Releases
Cosmopolis
Taking a break from the glittery vampire scene, Robert Pattinson stars as a hotshot financial guru who cruises New York City in luxury, riding around in a limo and taking care of his sexual, business and hygeine needs as he rides around. He seems to have a solid grip on life, but as the night goes on his world steadily falls apart. Director David Cronenberg keeps the claustrophobic story flowing at a rapid pace, and Pattinson shows genuine acting chops, carrying what amounts to something of a one-man show. Cronenberg's commentary and cast and crew interviews highlight the extras.
Justified: Season 3
The FX Western has truly hit its stride, with Timothy Olyphant honing his Clint Eastwood-like act as a U.S. Marshal who plays by his own rules. Bold writing and breakneck action scenes keep the show wily and unpredictable, save for the certainty that Olyphant's Raylan Givens character will always nail his man. Extras in the three-disc Blu-ray set include deleted scenes, nine cast and crew commentary tracks and a slew of making-of featurettes.
Looper
Joseph Gordon-Levitt continues to prove to be one of the best actors at selecting scripts. In one of my favorite movies of 2012, he stars as an assassin-for-hire asigned to kill captors sent back in time by a powerful corporation. One of his marks is his future self (Bruce Willis), with whom he teams up to go on the run from the corporation they work for. Relentless action and a thought-provoking script grant the drama enormous appeal, and Gordon-Levitt and Wilson both deliver remarkable performances. The Blu-ray/digital copy combo includes director Rian Johnson's commentary, 22 deleted scenes and a slew of making-of featurettes.
December 28, 2012
Review: Promised Land
If M. Night Shyamalan made a movie about gas companies' pillaging of the heartland, Promised Land would be it. Meaning there's a "swing away" twist at the end that tries to explain everything but ends up pretty much ruining any credibility and relevance in the story instead.
If you see the movie, slip the projectionist a tip and ask that he dumps a soda on the equipment with 20 minutes left. You'll walk out of the theater without a resolution, but will at least be better off than those who are stuck watching the aliens get killed by water.
New "it" couple Matt Damon and John Krasinski teamed up on the screenplay and play rival tastemakers who storm a small town, manipulating the folk into voting their way on the issue of whether to let a giant energy company frack them long and hard, letting the town splash natural gas all over its farms and water in return for millions of dollars.
Damon, along with trusty sidekick Frances McDormand, is the big gas suit sent to use his silver-tongued devil charms to trick the yokels into the deal, while Krasinski is the idealistic hippie there to stop him with his goody bag of guerrilla tactics, while also finding time to pull a few outrageous pranks on Dwight.
Locked up in a game of spy vs. spy, Damon and Krasinski make for some entertaining one-upsmanship. They lock horns at a karaoke bar — unfortunately not in a singing competition, though — fight for the favor of a teacher/bar rat (Rosemarie DeWitt) and talk some crazy smack as they struggle for the soul of a confused, real-life FarmVille.
Director Gus Van Sant, who boosted Damon to stardom in Good Will Hunting, has the hunting part down pat here, but has a little trouble arranging the goodwill. This is one of those impassioned message movies that makes its point early on, then beats you over the head with it, haphazardly acknowledging the shades of grey without admitting they have any validity. The considerable star power and writing talent goes to waste, but it's to be down on a movie that's so watchable for most of the running time.
Promised Land has a lot of the pieces necessary for a watershed movie. I wish there had been less Shyamalan and more Ben Affleck, I guess. A little organic humor wouldn't have hurt, either. Because I also wish I had a double burger.
Starring Matt Damon, John Krasinski, Frances McDormand and Rosemarie DeWitt. Written by Krasinski and Damon. Directed by Gus Van Sant. 106 minutes. Rated R.
If you see the movie, slip the projectionist a tip and ask that he dumps a soda on the equipment with 20 minutes left. You'll walk out of the theater without a resolution, but will at least be better off than those who are stuck watching the aliens get killed by water.
New "it" couple Matt Damon and John Krasinski teamed up on the screenplay and play rival tastemakers who storm a small town, manipulating the folk into voting their way on the issue of whether to let a giant energy company frack them long and hard, letting the town splash natural gas all over its farms and water in return for millions of dollars.
Damon, along with trusty sidekick Frances McDormand, is the big gas suit sent to use his silver-tongued devil charms to trick the yokels into the deal, while Krasinski is the idealistic hippie there to stop him with his goody bag of guerrilla tactics, while also finding time to pull a few outrageous pranks on Dwight.
Locked up in a game of spy vs. spy, Damon and Krasinski make for some entertaining one-upsmanship. They lock horns at a karaoke bar — unfortunately not in a singing competition, though — fight for the favor of a teacher/bar rat (Rosemarie DeWitt) and talk some crazy smack as they struggle for the soul of a confused, real-life FarmVille.
Director Gus Van Sant, who boosted Damon to stardom in Good Will Hunting, has the hunting part down pat here, but has a little trouble arranging the goodwill. This is one of those impassioned message movies that makes its point early on, then beats you over the head with it, haphazardly acknowledging the shades of grey without admitting they have any validity. The considerable star power and writing talent goes to waste, but it's to be down on a movie that's so watchable for most of the running time.
Promised Land has a lot of the pieces necessary for a watershed movie. I wish there had been less Shyamalan and more Ben Affleck, I guess. A little organic humor wouldn't have hurt, either. Because I also wish I had a double burger.
Starring Matt Damon, John Krasinski, Frances McDormand and Rosemarie DeWitt. Written by Krasinski and Damon. Directed by Gus Van Sant. 106 minutes. Rated R.
December 27, 2012
Review: Django Unchained
Django may be unchained, but his movie could have used some tighter shackles. An editor could have gutted the movie into something that, while maybe not all that entertaining, at least wouldn't waste so much time. Quentin Tarantino himself should have taken out his Kill Bill katana and slashed the way too long, long, long, looooong movie in two. Then, instead of releasing it in two parts in different years, he should have thrown it away because it didn't live up to the standard of the rest of the work.
For his whole career, Tarantino has straddled and spanked the edge of hyperactive overindulgence like a wild pony. His attitude was "This is what's in my head, and I'm my favorite director ever, and if you don't like it too bad because I made this for myself."
Only someone with his talent could pull it off, and it's pretty amazing he's been able to do it for 20 years without embarrassing himself. That's because he's always covered his backside by whipping out prototypical Tarantino Awesomesauce and spraying it all over everything to the point that it didn't really matter whether or not his stories went anywhere.
Tarantino Awesomesauce is made of three ingredients: Smartass dialogue, weird music that nobody has ever heard of but him yet somehow grooves with the action onscreen, and out-of-nowhere actors knocking you down with performances even their mommas didn't realize they had in them.
Django Unchained has none of the Awesomesauce to flavor-up the bland, repetitive side dishes Tarantino serves up: Seven billion instances of people getting shot, erupting with intentionally fake-looking volcano squibs, and eighty trillion uses of the N word. Tarantino uses the N word here more than Smurfs say "smurf," and its diminishing returns hit the floor a few minutes in.
The performances are there from Yosemite Sam-style goofball Leonardo DiCaprio, doddering/sneaky Samuel L. Jackson, and especially gentleman dandy bounty hunter Christoph Waltz, but not from Jamie Foxx, who is such a lifeless, dead-eyed cypher that he may as well have been switched out for Kevin Sorbo.
There usually doesn't need to be much of a story in Tarantino movies, which are more lazy hang-outs than they are bullet trains, but there's so little interesting going on here that it needs one badly. All that's there are patched-together rags from Tarantino's past. There's the self-justified homicidal racist-killing rampage of Inglourious Basterds, an obsessive hunt like Kill Bill, an overly elaborate endgame heist like in Reservoir Dogs and blaxploitation trappings of Jackie Brown.
The framework is there, sorta, but the pieces don't fit. The core partnership of the Waltz and Foxx characters makes no sense. There's no good reason Waltz would risk his life and fortune to help the stranger, nor cause for Foxx's supposedly rage-filled, independent-minded character to latch on to a partner/master. They stay together because this is a buddy movie, and for no other reason.
All the problems could be forgiven if the movie sang, but the thing drags badly, all the more because you watch with such hope, thinking at some point the broken clock will be right and Tarantino will flash his usual magic. That wait will have to last until his next movie.
Starring Jamie Foxx, Christoph Waltz, Leonardo DiCaprio and Kerry Washington. Written and directed by Quentin Tarantino. 165 minutes. Rated R.
For his whole career, Tarantino has straddled and spanked the edge of hyperactive overindulgence like a wild pony. His attitude was "This is what's in my head, and I'm my favorite director ever, and if you don't like it too bad because I made this for myself."
Only someone with his talent could pull it off, and it's pretty amazing he's been able to do it for 20 years without embarrassing himself. That's because he's always covered his backside by whipping out prototypical Tarantino Awesomesauce and spraying it all over everything to the point that it didn't really matter whether or not his stories went anywhere.
Tarantino Awesomesauce is made of three ingredients: Smartass dialogue, weird music that nobody has ever heard of but him yet somehow grooves with the action onscreen, and out-of-nowhere actors knocking you down with performances even their mommas didn't realize they had in them.
Django Unchained has none of the Awesomesauce to flavor-up the bland, repetitive side dishes Tarantino serves up: Seven billion instances of people getting shot, erupting with intentionally fake-looking volcano squibs, and eighty trillion uses of the N word. Tarantino uses the N word here more than Smurfs say "smurf," and its diminishing returns hit the floor a few minutes in.
The performances are there from Yosemite Sam-style goofball Leonardo DiCaprio, doddering/sneaky Samuel L. Jackson, and especially gentleman dandy bounty hunter Christoph Waltz, but not from Jamie Foxx, who is such a lifeless, dead-eyed cypher that he may as well have been switched out for Kevin Sorbo.
There usually doesn't need to be much of a story in Tarantino movies, which are more lazy hang-outs than they are bullet trains, but there's so little interesting going on here that it needs one badly. All that's there are patched-together rags from Tarantino's past. There's the self-justified homicidal racist-killing rampage of Inglourious Basterds, an obsessive hunt like Kill Bill, an overly elaborate endgame heist like in Reservoir Dogs and blaxploitation trappings of Jackie Brown.
The framework is there, sorta, but the pieces don't fit. The core partnership of the Waltz and Foxx characters makes no sense. There's no good reason Waltz would risk his life and fortune to help the stranger, nor cause for Foxx's supposedly rage-filled, independent-minded character to latch on to a partner/master. They stay together because this is a buddy movie, and for no other reason.
All the problems could be forgiven if the movie sang, but the thing drags badly, all the more because you watch with such hope, thinking at some point the broken clock will be right and Tarantino will flash his usual magic. That wait will have to last until his next movie.
Starring Jamie Foxx, Christoph Waltz, Leonardo DiCaprio and Kerry Washington. Written and directed by Quentin Tarantino. 165 minutes. Rated R.
December 24, 2012
The lone 12/24 Blu-ray/DVD release: The Words
The Words
Bradley Cooper may be getting the most attention of his career for his laudable turn in Silver Linings Playbook, but his performance in this film is an overlooked gem about a writer struggling with his own morals. In a story-within-a-story narrated by a successful author (Dennis Quaid), Cooper plays a desperate man who stumbles upon an old, unpublished masterpiece manuscript in a briefcase, which he plagiarizes and rides to success, putting his relationships with self-image and his wife (Zoe Saldana) at risk. Olivia Wilde is a stunner as an acolyte who approaches the Quaid character in a dark night of the soul. Extras include an extended edition and a slew of behind-the-scenes featurettes that examine the movie's making and characters.
December 22, 2012
Review: Les Miserables
While there's some value in making a slavish adaptation of a near-universally beloved stage musical, sticking to all the trappings of the play is a sure path to making the film feel like a translation rather than a similarly inspired production.
That's exactly the problem with director Tom Hooper's sturdy, flashy, yet ultimately inconsequential movie. He tries to outdo the stage production by going bigger, with flashier effects and huge-name actors in every role. Hooper's repertory, though, might have been better served by forgetting about the stage behemoth and drawing solely from Victor Hugo's pages. You know, the ones without the obnoxiously sung dialogue.
At the very least, an organic Les Miserables at least would have spared us having to suffer through Russell Crowe's singing.
Maybe I'm being too harsh. Crowe, while awkward, isn't all that bad. He toughs his way through a miscast performance, holding up his end as well as most anyone else.
I don't begrudge anyone who is fascinated by the film's every flourish. if you adore the play, this is your beloved object of desire on human growth hormone. The performances could have been hammy and forced, but instead are understated and elegant. Anne Hathaway, as a mother forced to disfigure her body and soul as she descends into a life of prostitution, is a standout, delivering probably the most impressive work of her career. Her haunting showing has stuck with me weeks after I saw the film, and goes a long way toward redeeming its cowardice.
And yeah, I think cowardice is the right term for Hooper's approach. It's as though the filmmaker was too afraid to take a chance after he had such success with The King's Speech. In dulling its edge and sticking so close to the stage, the movie lacks the Bastille-storming spirit of Hugo's source material. His movie feels like a pandering, disingenuous sleepwalk rather than a fiery-eyed rainmaker.
Les Miserable has no shortage of adaptations, and any new take on the material, especially at this level, needs to come with something new and bold to say. This filmed stage musical knows all the words, but can't hear the music.
Starring Hugh Jackman, Russell Crowe, Anne Hathaway, Amanda Seyfried, Eddie Redmayne, Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter. Written by William Nicholson, Alain Boubill, Claude-Michel Schonberg and Herbert Kretzmer. Directed by Tom Hooper. 160 minutes. Rated PG-13.
That's exactly the problem with director Tom Hooper's sturdy, flashy, yet ultimately inconsequential movie. He tries to outdo the stage production by going bigger, with flashier effects and huge-name actors in every role. Hooper's repertory, though, might have been better served by forgetting about the stage behemoth and drawing solely from Victor Hugo's pages. You know, the ones without the obnoxiously sung dialogue.
At the very least, an organic Les Miserables at least would have spared us having to suffer through Russell Crowe's singing.
Maybe I'm being too harsh. Crowe, while awkward, isn't all that bad. He toughs his way through a miscast performance, holding up his end as well as most anyone else.
I don't begrudge anyone who is fascinated by the film's every flourish. if you adore the play, this is your beloved object of desire on human growth hormone. The performances could have been hammy and forced, but instead are understated and elegant. Anne Hathaway, as a mother forced to disfigure her body and soul as she descends into a life of prostitution, is a standout, delivering probably the most impressive work of her career. Her haunting showing has stuck with me weeks after I saw the film, and goes a long way toward redeeming its cowardice.
And yeah, I think cowardice is the right term for Hooper's approach. It's as though the filmmaker was too afraid to take a chance after he had such success with The King's Speech. In dulling its edge and sticking so close to the stage, the movie lacks the Bastille-storming spirit of Hugo's source material. His movie feels like a pandering, disingenuous sleepwalk rather than a fiery-eyed rainmaker.
Les Miserable has no shortage of adaptations, and any new take on the material, especially at this level, needs to come with something new and bold to say. This filmed stage musical knows all the words, but can't hear the music.
Starring Hugh Jackman, Russell Crowe, Anne Hathaway, Amanda Seyfried, Eddie Redmayne, Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter. Written by William Nicholson, Alain Boubill, Claude-Michel Schonberg and Herbert Kretzmer. Directed by Tom Hooper. 160 minutes. Rated PG-13.
Review: The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey
There were plenty of questions that caused fear for the coming of The Hobbit. Why did Guillermo del Toro abandon the project? How does one little children's book merit three friggin three-hour movies? Why have so many The Lord of the Rings characters who weren't in The Hobbit been shoved into the film?
And yet it turns out that one aspect not only obliterates any reservations, but makes you feel silly for ever having them. The reason: Peter Jackson.
Spectacular in every conceivable fashion, The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey shows the steady, inspired hand of its creator in every frame. On top of being one of the world's most formidable filmmakers, Jackson lives and breathes Tolkien, and his adaptations of the material feel like pure, undiluted inspiration.
A jubilant adaptation that not only improves on the source material but adds much to it, the film whets appetites for the latter two legs of the saga while telling a thrilling and complete story in its own right.
Methodical and deliberate, the story blossoms with a self-assured, confident pace. The setup, in which wizard Gandalf recruits the unwilling hobbit Bilbo into helping a band of dwarfs reclaim their dragon-ravaged homeland, has the air of the wedding scene early on in The Deer Hunter. Song and spirit are shared, belying the hard, soul-shifting road that lay ahead. Jackson trots out a new series of largely unfamiliar protagonists, making it easy to buy in and care about them as individuals. When they face hardships on the road to redemption, the pathos is palable.
The near decade that has passed since the last of Jackson's LOTR trilogy hit theaters have been kind to the effects department, spawning gorgeously detailed scenery and monsters that move and react with considerable rate. Much has been made about the movie's increased framerate, but if anything it enhances the digital palate that Jackson's effects team utilizes.
None of the technical wizardry would matter, though, unless the acting was up to par. And the cast, led by Martin Freeman in the title role, as well as the character actors who tackle the parts of his dwarf confederates, are all superb. The chemistry among the dwarfs feels rich and lived-in, while Freeman's meek, displaced turn hits just the right notes. And it's tough to expect anything than shimmering brilliance from the remarkable Andy Serkis, who inhabits the bonkers, royal we-commandeering mind of Gollum.
Like that sad, bug-eyed creature, moviegoers may not have realized how much they missed movies like this onscreen in the past several years. Yet we now have our precious back in hand, and here's to two more years of wild, sure-to-be-met expectations of supreme Tolkien mastery.
Starring Martin Freeman, Ian McKellen, Andy Serkis. Cate Blanchett and Ian Holm. Written by Fran Walsh, Philippa Boyens, Peter Jackson and Guillermo del Toro. Directed by Jackson. Rated PG-13. 169 minutes.
And yet it turns out that one aspect not only obliterates any reservations, but makes you feel silly for ever having them. The reason: Peter Jackson.
Spectacular in every conceivable fashion, The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey shows the steady, inspired hand of its creator in every frame. On top of being one of the world's most formidable filmmakers, Jackson lives and breathes Tolkien, and his adaptations of the material feel like pure, undiluted inspiration.
A jubilant adaptation that not only improves on the source material but adds much to it, the film whets appetites for the latter two legs of the saga while telling a thrilling and complete story in its own right.
Methodical and deliberate, the story blossoms with a self-assured, confident pace. The setup, in which wizard Gandalf recruits the unwilling hobbit Bilbo into helping a band of dwarfs reclaim their dragon-ravaged homeland, has the air of the wedding scene early on in The Deer Hunter. Song and spirit are shared, belying the hard, soul-shifting road that lay ahead. Jackson trots out a new series of largely unfamiliar protagonists, making it easy to buy in and care about them as individuals. When they face hardships on the road to redemption, the pathos is palable.
The near decade that has passed since the last of Jackson's LOTR trilogy hit theaters have been kind to the effects department, spawning gorgeously detailed scenery and monsters that move and react with considerable rate. Much has been made about the movie's increased framerate, but if anything it enhances the digital palate that Jackson's effects team utilizes.
None of the technical wizardry would matter, though, unless the acting was up to par. And the cast, led by Martin Freeman in the title role, as well as the character actors who tackle the parts of his dwarf confederates, are all superb. The chemistry among the dwarfs feels rich and lived-in, while Freeman's meek, displaced turn hits just the right notes. And it's tough to expect anything than shimmering brilliance from the remarkable Andy Serkis, who inhabits the bonkers, royal we-commandeering mind of Gollum.
Like that sad, bug-eyed creature, moviegoers may not have realized how much they missed movies like this onscreen in the past several years. Yet we now have our precious back in hand, and here's to two more years of wild, sure-to-be-met expectations of supreme Tolkien mastery.
Starring Martin Freeman, Ian McKellen, Andy Serkis. Cate Blanchett and Ian Holm. Written by Fran Walsh, Philippa Boyens, Peter Jackson and Guillermo del Toro. Directed by Jackson. Rated PG-13. 169 minutes.
Our 2012 Christmas Letter
Dear friends, families and recycling facility employees,
The year 2012 was another fantastic one in the Villarreal household. The highlight was our conscription of yet another recruit into our growing army. Zachary, who was a born a bit larger than expected, made the birthing process interesting. He arrived as a full-grown man, with muttonchops, a full neckbeard, a set of tattoos and a genuine “party in the back” mullet. The pediatrician tells us he’s in the 90th percentile of his “age group.” With “age group” in this case referring not to humans but to archaeological estimations of 5-month-old brontosauruses.
It was also a big year for our other kids. Five-year-old Luke started kindergarten. In less than a semester, he’s truly grown as a gentleman and scholar. He is now able to hum several versions of the Transformers theme song and perform remarkably accurate impressions of Super Mario’s nemesis, Bowser. It’s only a matter of time before Harvard comes calling, offering Luke a scholarship to kidnap Yale’s princess and stand guard over her in its castle.
Emma, meanwhile, is performing with similar excellence in preschool. She has honed her skills of editing and revision to near perfection. Take, for example, her improvement on the nursery rhyme that starts “There was an old lady who swallowed a fly,” to which Emma astutely added the line “I hope she dies.” She has also demonstrated formidable dead language translation skills. In the Christmas carol “Angels We Have Held on High,” the chorus goes “in excelsis Deo,” which Emma explains is actually “And Jesus was his name-o.” Doctors have yet to rule out the possibility that she was actually sired by Weird Al Yankovic.
For us, Phil and Jessica, the year has passed too quickly. To them, it seems like it was July only yesterday. That’s partially because in their minds, that actually is the case, being that the energetic and alert Zachary has not let them sleep a single minute since his arrival, thus making the second half of the year into one long, neverending day.
With that, we wish you a happy 2013. We must go now, before we collapse from exhaustion and our faces hit the keyboard. Oh, wait…. Adjasjfk;ldfjafkjasfjsf’kkkie
December 19, 2012
Review: This is 40
Middle age is life's way of mocking the human soul. The children you've spawned are Greek choruses on your shortcomings, perceived or otherwise. You've come to terms that you've spent half your life chasing your professional dreams, only to have drawn no closer and lost the momentum and spunk you had when you started the race. Parts of your body you used to be proud of now sag and are at risk of contracting cancer.
Judd Apatow plunges the stage of life for all its ample misery, just the way he did adolescence in Freaks and Geeks and quarterlife angst in Undeclared and Knocked Up. An expert in the dark comedy of hapless human disfunction, Apatow sheds the overindulgence that plagued Funny People to return to the tighter, smarter form that brought him fame.
You have to respect Leslie Mann for taking on the roles her husband hands her, because they're anything but flattering. The stuff Apatow writes for Mann is usually reserved for druken bar rants delivered by disgruntled, henpecked husbands. He starts off the movie with Mann irrationally flipping out on the verge of her 40th birthday, then stopping the action in a freeze-frame and stencilling the title onscreen and pointing at her crazy-eyed expression.
As marriages go, the bond between Pete (Rudd) and Debbie (Mann) is as solid as they come. Apatow could have gone a cheap and easy route by introducing conflict in the form of philandering, but he sticks with the higher-risk/higher-reward waters of zero-sum marital bargains and power plays. You know, the squabbles and deception loved ones share over money, time on the toilet, dietary needs and rectal examinations. The pained, fatalist kinship Rudd and Mann share feels authentic enough to hurt.
The supporting players are every bit as good as the leads. The couple's own kids, Maude and Iris, gamely play themselves, while Albert Brooks and John Lithgow are too-needy and too-distant grampas. Megan Fox is astutely cast as an absurdly hot and absurdly vacant employee at Debbie's store, and musician Graham Parker mocks his faded fame as the would-be savior for Pete's struggling record label.
There's not a whole lot of plot to chew on in the astoundingly long-for-what-it-is comedy, but that's just the way Apatow operates. His characters mope and founder rather than initiate conflict and react to story points.
This is 40 feels more like the hyperextended pilot episode of a premium TV drama than a movie. No one comes of age, stops the evil land developer or kisses in the rain. After the credits roll, life goes on. Sure, it will suck, but it will be just funny enough to make it all worthwhile.
Starring Leslie Mann, Paul Rudd, Megan Fox and Albert Brooks. Written and directed by Judd Apatow. Rated R. 134 minutes.
Judd Apatow plunges the stage of life for all its ample misery, just the way he did adolescence in Freaks and Geeks and quarterlife angst in Undeclared and Knocked Up. An expert in the dark comedy of hapless human disfunction, Apatow sheds the overindulgence that plagued Funny People to return to the tighter, smarter form that brought him fame.
You have to respect Leslie Mann for taking on the roles her husband hands her, because they're anything but flattering. The stuff Apatow writes for Mann is usually reserved for druken bar rants delivered by disgruntled, henpecked husbands. He starts off the movie with Mann irrationally flipping out on the verge of her 40th birthday, then stopping the action in a freeze-frame and stencilling the title onscreen and pointing at her crazy-eyed expression.
As marriages go, the bond between Pete (Rudd) and Debbie (Mann) is as solid as they come. Apatow could have gone a cheap and easy route by introducing conflict in the form of philandering, but he sticks with the higher-risk/higher-reward waters of zero-sum marital bargains and power plays. You know, the squabbles and deception loved ones share over money, time on the toilet, dietary needs and rectal examinations. The pained, fatalist kinship Rudd and Mann share feels authentic enough to hurt.
The supporting players are every bit as good as the leads. The couple's own kids, Maude and Iris, gamely play themselves, while Albert Brooks and John Lithgow are too-needy and too-distant grampas. Megan Fox is astutely cast as an absurdly hot and absurdly vacant employee at Debbie's store, and musician Graham Parker mocks his faded fame as the would-be savior for Pete's struggling record label.
There's not a whole lot of plot to chew on in the astoundingly long-for-what-it-is comedy, but that's just the way Apatow operates. His characters mope and founder rather than initiate conflict and react to story points.
This is 40 feels more like the hyperextended pilot episode of a premium TV drama than a movie. No one comes of age, stops the evil land developer or kisses in the rain. After the credits roll, life goes on. Sure, it will suck, but it will be just funny enough to make it all worthwhile.
Starring Leslie Mann, Paul Rudd, Megan Fox and Albert Brooks. Written and directed by Judd Apatow. Rated R. 134 minutes.
December 18, 2012
Review: The Guilt Trip
If there's one thing Barbra Streisand is great at, it's beying annoying. For hundreds of years, she's perfected her ability to make you cringe by her mere, grating presence. This is not a skill that usually makes for a good movie, but in The Guilt Trip, she's managed to find a film that does just that.
The Guilt Trip is a movie about how much it would suck to be forced to deal with Streisand for 95 minutes. It finds humor in that truly heinous prospect and strangles it out for your pleasure. In the easiest role of Seth Rogen's life, all he has to do is roll his eyes, bark snide comments and keep from killing himself and everyone wins. Streisand is a star of the silver screen again and Rogen is in a movie funny enough to make you forget Observe and Report and The Green Hornet.
For managing what the Focker sequels could not, and making a successful and charming Streisand commentary, Anne Fletcher deserves to be hailed as some sort of scientist making an amazing discovery, such as managing to turn nail clippings into crude oil.
Visibly agitated at being left out of the latest Judd Apatow movie, Rogen is at his bitter, hate-filled best. He's Andrew, an entrepreneur who has mortgaged his past, present and future on an awfully named drinkable cleaning product, and he hopes to make good on a national tour of the highest-bidding corporate retail sponsors.
Pitying his mom's inability to move on from her long-dead husband, Andrew decides to tote her along, hoping to hook her up with an old flame at the end of the sojourn. The result is part Planes, Trains and Automobiles, part Dumb & Dumber and part Tommy Boy. he comedy, for the most part, is based on misunderstandings and conflicts that arise from the different levels of love the characters share. As smothering momma Joyce, Streisand loves her boy like Chris Farley loved his dinner roll, and Andrew loves Joyce like bowling pins love bowling balls.
Rogen's palpable hatred of Streisand, shared by every living thing on the planet, is what lifts the movie up where we belong. Some may mistake the performance as an act; possibly excellent chemistry between two gifted actors, but they are overthinking stuff. This is basically just a documentary of Streisand being herself, trying to break Rogen's soul with her mere presence, and Rogen trying to survive until Apatow rescues him once again.
Yet there is no hope of escape, and that's why the movie works so well. The mental and emotional torture Rogen endures translates to comic bliss. His sacrifice is filmdom's gain.
Starring Seth Rogen and Barbra Streisand. Written by Dan Fogelman. Directed by Anne Fletcher. Rated PG-13. 95 minutes.
The Guilt Trip is a movie about how much it would suck to be forced to deal with Streisand for 95 minutes. It finds humor in that truly heinous prospect and strangles it out for your pleasure. In the easiest role of Seth Rogen's life, all he has to do is roll his eyes, bark snide comments and keep from killing himself and everyone wins. Streisand is a star of the silver screen again and Rogen is in a movie funny enough to make you forget Observe and Report and The Green Hornet.
For managing what the Focker sequels could not, and making a successful and charming Streisand commentary, Anne Fletcher deserves to be hailed as some sort of scientist making an amazing discovery, such as managing to turn nail clippings into crude oil.
Visibly agitated at being left out of the latest Judd Apatow movie, Rogen is at his bitter, hate-filled best. He's Andrew, an entrepreneur who has mortgaged his past, present and future on an awfully named drinkable cleaning product, and he hopes to make good on a national tour of the highest-bidding corporate retail sponsors.
Pitying his mom's inability to move on from her long-dead husband, Andrew decides to tote her along, hoping to hook her up with an old flame at the end of the sojourn. The result is part Planes, Trains and Automobiles, part Dumb & Dumber and part Tommy Boy. he comedy, for the most part, is based on misunderstandings and conflicts that arise from the different levels of love the characters share. As smothering momma Joyce, Streisand loves her boy like Chris Farley loved his dinner roll, and Andrew loves Joyce like bowling pins love bowling balls.
Rogen's palpable hatred of Streisand, shared by every living thing on the planet, is what lifts the movie up where we belong. Some may mistake the performance as an act; possibly excellent chemistry between two gifted actors, but they are overthinking stuff. This is basically just a documentary of Streisand being herself, trying to break Rogen's soul with her mere presence, and Rogen trying to survive until Apatow rescues him once again.
Yet there is no hope of escape, and that's why the movie works so well. The mental and emotional torture Rogen endures translates to comic bliss. His sacrifice is filmdom's gain.
Starring Seth Rogen and Barbra Streisand. Written by Dan Fogelman. Directed by Anne Fletcher. Rated PG-13. 95 minutes.
