He got his start and made his name as an antic comic actor. But over the years, Michael Keaton’s acting roles have become increasingly dark.
So it should come as no surprise that his directorial debut, “The Merry Gentleman,” is full of shadows, built around a particularly shadowy character who, briefly, is coaxed into the light. (More…)
Who is it exactly that thinks Matthew McConaughey is funny?
You’re out there; I can hear your lining up at the box office.
Somebody must. Over the past few years, he’s become a go-to guy for romantic comedies of all stripes – in efforts as limp as “Sahara,” “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days,” “Fool’s Gold” and “The Wedding Planner. And now, “Ghosts of Girlfriends Past.” Audiences seem to respond, no matter how weak the material – and I have a theory about that:
The Big Mac is inviting in small quantities – like a TV commercial. Show him grinning for 30 seconds at a time on TV – repeatedly, in saturation doses – and a mass audience will inevitably say, “Gee, he’s so charming and good-looking. Must .. not .. resist.” And they flock to theaters opening weekend.
At which point their collective brains are flooded with bad memories of McConaughey past: “Oh, wait – I remember. This guy can’t act at all. D’oh! Curse my mass-media-induced ADD.” (More…)
I hung in there with Jim Jarmusch’s “The Limits of Control” to the very end, hoping that this exercise in style would finally pay off with a little substance. Something – anything – to make my investment of time and attention feel as though it had been rewarded.
Sadly – and I say that as a long-time Jarmusch fan and defender – this was not the case. I wasn’t asking for much – certainly nothing so gauche as an explanation – but I hoped for more, even just a little more, than what I got. Or least what it seemed that Jarmusch gave me. (More…)
“All politics is local,” the late Speaker of the House Tip O’Neill famously said. And politics don’t get much more local than “The Garden,” an infuriatingly clear-eyed documentary. The Oscar-nominated film, by Scott Hamilton Kennedy, shows in a microcosm what happens at all levels.
“The Garden” is a 14-acre tract in South Central Los Angeles that was turned into a series of small plots for individual farmers to work. Established from the wreckage of the 1992 Rodney King riots, the garden provides fresh produce – everything from corn and tomatoes to mangoes and avocadoes – for the mostly immigrant population that works the patchwork of urban gardens.
But 10 years later, the developer who claims to own the land announces that he is reclaiming it. He will evict the farmers, plow under the gardens and build a warehouse.
It seems to be a fairly open-and-shut case. He owns the land; he has a right to do with it as it he chooses. The farmers themselves are devastated; they feed their families with some of what they grow and sell the rest.
When the members of the collective that administer the community garden decide to fight back, they quickly discover that the powers that be are aligned against them; no surprise there. The developer is backed by the local city councilwoman, who appears to have motives of her own for letting him tear down the lush little piece of paradise to make room for a warehouse – or a soccer field.
It’s hard to imagine why ’80s flash-in-the-pan writer Brett Easton Ellis is still taken seriously.
His books are tawdry soap operas with a hipster/materialist gloss: bad behavior spiced with drugs, bisexuality, money and ennui. His soigné attitude supposedly elevates this stuff to the level of literature. Emphasis on the word “supposedly.”
All of the above also applies to the film of “The Informers,” based on Ellis’ 1994 novel. It’s haute trash, faux “Crash,” a series of interlocking plotlines which, individually, are thin indeed. Juxtaposed, however, they’re meant to convince the viewer that something more profound is taking place.
I’ve already started seeing reviews that cut “The Soloist” off at the knees: decrying the fact that, once again, here’s a movie about a white hero learning the lessons of life by palling around with some otherworldly minority person.
It was exactly that kind of reading that missed the point of Tom McCarthy’s marvelous “The Visitor.” And it also misses the mark with Joe Wright’s “The Soloist.” This film may have problems, but that’s not the one that should be of most importance. (More…)
I can’t think of a bolder documentary – one with the courage of its convictions but also the heart and soul to touch the viewer in ways he can’t imagine – than James Toback’s “Tyson.”
Toback shot 25 hours of video of former heavyweight boxing champion Mike Tyson talking into the camera. Toback apparently peppered him with questions, but simply lets Tyson speak for himself, telling his own story in his own words.
Forget documentary conventions: No one else’s perspective is required. It’s Tyson straight, no chaser – and you either believe it all or you don’t. Or you believe most of it and are fascinated by the points he elides or the times he seems to be fooling himself. (More…)
“American Violet” is one of those films calculated to stir the emotions, to incite anger while building to a cathartic release.
Rousing an audience in that way is not particularly hard for even a minimally talented filmmaker. It’s not difficult to manipulate the viewer to indignation. The art comes in doing it without the audience noticing or, at a minimum, resenting it. (More…)
Magic, death, end-of-life issues – director John Crowley juggles a lot of touchy elements to come up with a surprisingly affecting comedy-drama in “Is Anybody There?”
Much of that magic, of course, is old pro Michael Caine, playing an old pro who isn’t happy to be considered an old pro – or, at least, old. (More…)
Allow me a moment to sing the praises of Zac Efron.
He’s good-looking, multitalented, charming and funny, even though he’s something of a punchline to uncomprehending adults, who only know him through his teen-dream status from the “High School Musical” franchise.
But as he showed in “Hairspray” and in the still-unreleased “Me and Orson Welles,” Efron has range as an actor and an undeniable charisma that could make him a true star, once he starts making adult choices in material.
Unfortunately, he’s currently saddled with “17 Again,” a stinker of a comedy so lifeless it makes Cher’s plasticine puss look animated. (More…)
