Earth (2007) • View trailer for Earth
3.5 stars (out of five). Rating: G, but awfully intense and grim for young viewers
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.30.09
Buy DVD: Earth • Buy Blu-Ray: Disney Nature Earth [Blu-ray]
Disney's Earth — the much-ballyhooed first release from DisneyNature, a new studio imprint that will focus on wildlife documentaries — is a bait-and-switch con job.
Nowhere in any of this film's self-congratulatory promotional information — and certainly not in any of the TV spots or movie theater previews — will you learn that this film is little more than "best of" highlights from the sumptuous 2006 Discovery Channel series, Planet Earth.
Indeed, this big-screen version was released in the United Kingdom in 2007, with Patrick Stewart replacing Sigourney Weaver as narrator. Here in the States, Stewart has been replaced by James Earl Jones. (That's Hollywood!)
Mind you, the already opulent photography looks even more stunning on the big screen, and directors Alastair Fothergill and Mark Linfield are to be congratulated for the magnificence and enormity of their accomplishment.
But I was expecting a new film, thank you very much, and I became increasingly puzzled by the sense of deja vu that accompanied last week's preview screening. Eventually, though, all doubts were erased: the spectacular slow-motion shot of a great white shark chomping into a seal was far too memorable, as was the chilling, disheartening saga of the desperate polar bear that tries unsuccessfully to make a meal of a walrus cub ... and, having failed, sinks onto the polar ice, closes its eyes and prepares to starve to death.
Arbitrary condensations of much larger works run many risks, and that's the first problem plaguing this edit of Earth: It's relentlessly harsh and depressing. Stretched out across 11 episodes and literally scores of individual animal stories, when originally broadcast in 2006, the grimmer aspects of "Nature's design" were easier to endure, as they were bookended by numerous lighter, happier and more triumphant narratives.
Here, though — with a running time of only 96 minutes — it feels like one sad conclusion after another: a white wolf running down a young caribou; a cheetah doing the same with a gazelle; a baby elephant so weakened during a trek with its mother through the inhospitable Kalahari Desert, and so blinded by dust, that it literally walks into a tree stump it can't see; another elephant overwhelmed by a starving pride of lions; the aforementioned shark attack; and, as a finale, the gloomy demise of the hungry polar bear.
Parents intending to bring small children to this film should think long and hard before doing so. The "cuteness factor" of several other scenes — polar bear cubs, Mandarin duck chicks making their first attempt at flight — is seriously undercut by all this trauma. The elephant sequences, in particular, are very hard to watch.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
The Soloist: Solid duet
The Soloist (2009) • View trailer for The Soloist
Four stars (out of five). Rating: PG-13, for profanity, drug use and dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.24.09
Buy DVD: The Soloist • Buy Blu-Ray: The Soloist [Blu-ray]
A high school history professor used weekly current events pop quizzes to encourage his students to read a daily newspaper, a ploy so successful, in my case, that the Los Angeles Times became a faithful and much-enjoyed addiction that continues to this day.
The hard news aside, I've always been drawn to columnists, and therefore noticed immediately when Steve Lopez joined the staff in May 2001, having transitioned to the Times after four years with Time Inc., where his work appeared in Time, Sports Illustrated, Life and Entertainment Weekly.
More than any other columnist I had followed before, or have discovered since, Lopez exemplifies an old-style journalistic ombudsman: a sharp-eyed observer of both human nature and civic affairs who rails with intelligence, perception and wit about everything from street potholes and other neighborhood frustrations, to big-ticket issues such as mayoral indifference and the overly cozy inner-circle workings of the Los Angeles City Council.
Above all else, Lopez loathes hypocrisy, and is quick to lash out at elected officials behaving badly; of late, he's been death on L.A. Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa's deputy mayor of transportation, Jaime de la Vega — who, in his position, should set a good example — because the man drives a Hummer.
Sometimes, though, Lopez just writes about people. I always enjoy his occasional visits to a downtown barber shop, usually as election time rolls around, for the colorful tapestry of opinion that the columnist obtains from the working-class folks who both staff and patronize this business.
In 2005, Lopez began a series of columns about a bedraggled but somehow quite dignified homeless man named Nathaniel Ayers, who poured his soul into a violin having only two strings. Somehow, Lopez realized, Nathaniel found inner calm through music, despite a chatterbox, stream-of-consciousness instability that no doubt had led to the man's life on the streets.
The columns led to mountains of mail and an ongoing relationship between the two men; Lopez had, with his graceful and sympathetic approach, put a face to mental illness. Readers responded; a publisher responded; Hollywood responded. The book — The Soloist — came first, which Lopez expanded from his columns; then he suddenly found himself in the enviable position of being portrayed by Robert Downey Jr. in a deeply moving film directed by Joe Wright (Atonement).
Four stars (out of five). Rating: PG-13, for profanity, drug use and dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.24.09
Buy DVD: The Soloist • Buy Blu-Ray: The Soloist [Blu-ray]
A high school history professor used weekly current events pop quizzes to encourage his students to read a daily newspaper, a ploy so successful, in my case, that the Los Angeles Times became a faithful and much-enjoyed addiction that continues to this day.
The hard news aside, I've always been drawn to columnists, and therefore noticed immediately when Steve Lopez joined the staff in May 2001, having transitioned to the Times after four years with Time Inc., where his work appeared in Time, Sports Illustrated, Life and Entertainment Weekly.
More than any other columnist I had followed before, or have discovered since, Lopez exemplifies an old-style journalistic ombudsman: a sharp-eyed observer of both human nature and civic affairs who rails with intelligence, perception and wit about everything from street potholes and other neighborhood frustrations, to big-ticket issues such as mayoral indifference and the overly cozy inner-circle workings of the Los Angeles City Council.
Above all else, Lopez loathes hypocrisy, and is quick to lash out at elected officials behaving badly; of late, he's been death on L.A. Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa's deputy mayor of transportation, Jaime de la Vega — who, in his position, should set a good example — because the man drives a Hummer.
Sometimes, though, Lopez just writes about people. I always enjoy his occasional visits to a downtown barber shop, usually as election time rolls around, for the colorful tapestry of opinion that the columnist obtains from the working-class folks who both staff and patronize this business.
In 2005, Lopez began a series of columns about a bedraggled but somehow quite dignified homeless man named Nathaniel Ayers, who poured his soul into a violin having only two strings. Somehow, Lopez realized, Nathaniel found inner calm through music, despite a chatterbox, stream-of-consciousness instability that no doubt had led to the man's life on the streets.
The columns led to mountains of mail and an ongoing relationship between the two men; Lopez had, with his graceful and sympathetic approach, put a face to mental illness. Readers responded; a publisher responded; Hollywood responded. The book — The Soloist — came first, which Lopez expanded from his columns; then he suddenly found himself in the enviable position of being portrayed by Robert Downey Jr. in a deeply moving film directed by Joe Wright (Atonement).
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Crank High Voltage: Rank prank
Crank: High Voltage (2009) • View trailer for Crank: High Voltage
One star (out of five). Rating: R, for violence, profanity, nudity, strong sexual content, drug use and just about every other depravity one could mention
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.23.09
Buy DVD: Crank: High Voltage • Buy Blu-Ray: Crank 2: High Voltage [Blu-ray]
My list of cinematic guilty pleasures includes Jason Statham's flicks, in great part because of his Transporter series: great car chases (take that, Fast & Furious), cleverly choreographed fight scenes, wonderfully hissable villains and plenty of chances for our action hero to deliver his frequently mordant wisecracks.
I even found 2006's Crank something of a giggle — as did my Constant Companion — because its premise was so insanely over the top: the need for contract hitman Chev Chelios (Statham) to remain in amped-up motion for 24 straight hours, lest his metabolism slow down and permit an injected poison to kill him.
The writing/directing team of Mark Neveldine and Brian Taylor went dog nuts with that film, mostly because of the ingenious methods poor Chelios employed — including a memorably public shag with surprised but willing girlfriend Eve (Amy Smart) — in an effort to keep his adrenaline going.
Crank cranked in roughly $28 million during its five-week release, not a bad return for a $12 million investment: no surprise, then, that all concerned got together again.
No surprise, as well, that Crank: High Voltage fails to recapture its predecessor's lunatic momentum. Such lightning almost never strikes twice.
This new film isn't merely bad; it's dreadful. I'll give Statham credit for gamely tackling everything Neveldine and Taylor threw at him, but it's impossible to make any other encouraging observations.
Much like Run, Lola, Run, the first Crank earned its rep through the inventive handling of an audacious concept. Neveldine and Taylor also understood the importance of getting off the stage as quickly as possible; Crank clocked in at an economical 87 minutes, and at that had worn out its welcome by the third act. One can take only so much of a film — and storyline — that demands hyperdrive every second.
Crank: High Voltage is a much longer 96 minutes, and I say that not just because of the additional nine minutes, but because this sequel feels like it drones on for years. Decades, even.
It ain't just the length; it's the content. And the content here is relentlessly vulgar, atrociously violent and — here's the important bit — not the slightest bit funny. Not even tastelessly funny. Merely tasteless.
Neveldine and Taylor made no apologies for the fact that the first Crank was little more than a live-action video game with a hero capable of taking punishment like The Roadrunner's Wile E. Coyote. Even when poor Chelios died in the final scene, having successfully gotten his bloody revenge against everybody who poisoned him, he fell from a high-flying helicopter to a city street below, conveniently bouncing off a car before crashing, intact, onto the pavement in order to give the camera a death's-eye stare.
As opposed to fragmenting and spraying like a ripe watermelon, you understand, were we paying the slightest attention to the laws of physics.
"He was dead," this new film's publicity campaign intones, "but he got better."
One star (out of five). Rating: R, for violence, profanity, nudity, strong sexual content, drug use and just about every other depravity one could mention
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.23.09
Buy DVD: Crank: High Voltage • Buy Blu-Ray: Crank 2: High Voltage [Blu-ray]
My list of cinematic guilty pleasures includes Jason Statham's flicks, in great part because of his Transporter series: great car chases (take that, Fast & Furious), cleverly choreographed fight scenes, wonderfully hissable villains and plenty of chances for our action hero to deliver his frequently mordant wisecracks.
I even found 2006's Crank something of a giggle — as did my Constant Companion — because its premise was so insanely over the top: the need for contract hitman Chev Chelios (Statham) to remain in amped-up motion for 24 straight hours, lest his metabolism slow down and permit an injected poison to kill him.
The writing/directing team of Mark Neveldine and Brian Taylor went dog nuts with that film, mostly because of the ingenious methods poor Chelios employed — including a memorably public shag with surprised but willing girlfriend Eve (Amy Smart) — in an effort to keep his adrenaline going.
Crank cranked in roughly $28 million during its five-week release, not a bad return for a $12 million investment: no surprise, then, that all concerned got together again.
No surprise, as well, that Crank: High Voltage fails to recapture its predecessor's lunatic momentum. Such lightning almost never strikes twice.
This new film isn't merely bad; it's dreadful. I'll give Statham credit for gamely tackling everything Neveldine and Taylor threw at him, but it's impossible to make any other encouraging observations.
Much like Run, Lola, Run, the first Crank earned its rep through the inventive handling of an audacious concept. Neveldine and Taylor also understood the importance of getting off the stage as quickly as possible; Crank clocked in at an economical 87 minutes, and at that had worn out its welcome by the third act. One can take only so much of a film — and storyline — that demands hyperdrive every second.
Crank: High Voltage is a much longer 96 minutes, and I say that not just because of the additional nine minutes, but because this sequel feels like it drones on for years. Decades, even.
It ain't just the length; it's the content. And the content here is relentlessly vulgar, atrociously violent and — here's the important bit — not the slightest bit funny. Not even tastelessly funny. Merely tasteless.
Neveldine and Taylor made no apologies for the fact that the first Crank was little more than a live-action video game with a hero capable of taking punishment like The Roadrunner's Wile E. Coyote. Even when poor Chelios died in the final scene, having successfully gotten his bloody revenge against everybody who poisoned him, he fell from a high-flying helicopter to a city street below, conveniently bouncing off a car before crashing, intact, onto the pavement in order to give the camera a death's-eye stare.
As opposed to fragmenting and spraying like a ripe watermelon, you understand, were we paying the slightest attention to the laws of physics.
"He was dead," this new film's publicity campaign intones, "but he got better."
Friday, April 17, 2009
State of Play: Suspenseful game
State of Play (2009) • View trailer for State of Play
Four stars (out of five). Rating: PG-13, for violence and brief profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.17.09
Buy DVD: State of Play • Buy Blu-Ray: State of Play [Blu-ray]
The fire alarm went off as the third act heated up during Tuesday evening's preview screening of State of Play, and the collective moan of disappointment clearly indicated the degree to which the Sacramento-area audience had been wrapped up in the drama.
We all dutifully filed out of the theater, joining other customers departing from their respective movies, and everybody's night out came to a premature conclusion. Full disclosure demands that I acknowledge not yet having seen the final half-hour or so of State of Play (although I certainly intend to catch up with the rest).
That said, I'm quite comfortable pronouncing director Kevin MacDonald's film an absorbing thriller, based both on the 90 minutes we did see, and my recognition of the fidelity with which screenwriters Matthew Michael Carnahan, Tony Gilroy and Billy Ray adapted the gripping 2003 British miniseries — Paul Abbott, take a bow — on which this film is based.
As a sidebar, State of Play also reminds me of the degree to which investigative journalists make great movie heroes, and the potential loss we all face, in a world of downsized — or fully shuttered — newspapers no longer able to sic inquisitive reporters on highly placed political and/or corporate figures who are Up To No Good.
Hollywood has produced plenty of great films about newspapers and reporters, from the exaggerated farce of His Girl Friday to more cautionary dramas such as Call Northside 777 and All the President's Men. State of Play belongs with the latter.
And I'm not just saying this because this film's protagonist delivers a few superbly placed shots about the poorly researched, self-indulgent uselessness of most blogs. Although those are great one-liners. And I did want to stand up and cheer.
Anyway...
MacDonald's film hits the ground running, with two seemingly unrelated events: the execution-style killing of a young street punk, and the attempted murder of an unfortunate witness; and the apparent suicide-by-subway of Sonia Baker (Maria Thayer), a Capitol Hill staff assistant and researcher to rising congressman Stephen Collins (Ben Affleck).
Veteran Washington Globe reporter Cal McAffrey (Russell Crowe) gets the first story, and is intrigued by the marksmanship involved with the double-shooting. The second piece falls to fresh-faced Globe blogger Della Frye (Rachel McAdams), who sees little beyond the obvious fact that the very married Collins was having an affair with his assistant.
Thus, in the time-honored fashion of sleazy tabloids — the level to which most so-called "news" bloggers aspire — Della leads the charge to smear the congressman.
Four stars (out of five). Rating: PG-13, for violence and brief profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.17.09
Buy DVD: State of Play • Buy Blu-Ray: State of Play [Blu-ray]
The fire alarm went off as the third act heated up during Tuesday evening's preview screening of State of Play, and the collective moan of disappointment clearly indicated the degree to which the Sacramento-area audience had been wrapped up in the drama.
We all dutifully filed out of the theater, joining other customers departing from their respective movies, and everybody's night out came to a premature conclusion. Full disclosure demands that I acknowledge not yet having seen the final half-hour or so of State of Play (although I certainly intend to catch up with the rest).
That said, I'm quite comfortable pronouncing director Kevin MacDonald's film an absorbing thriller, based both on the 90 minutes we did see, and my recognition of the fidelity with which screenwriters Matthew Michael Carnahan, Tony Gilroy and Billy Ray adapted the gripping 2003 British miniseries — Paul Abbott, take a bow — on which this film is based.
As a sidebar, State of Play also reminds me of the degree to which investigative journalists make great movie heroes, and the potential loss we all face, in a world of downsized — or fully shuttered — newspapers no longer able to sic inquisitive reporters on highly placed political and/or corporate figures who are Up To No Good.
Hollywood has produced plenty of great films about newspapers and reporters, from the exaggerated farce of His Girl Friday to more cautionary dramas such as Call Northside 777 and All the President's Men. State of Play belongs with the latter.
And I'm not just saying this because this film's protagonist delivers a few superbly placed shots about the poorly researched, self-indulgent uselessness of most blogs. Although those are great one-liners. And I did want to stand up and cheer.
Anyway...
MacDonald's film hits the ground running, with two seemingly unrelated events: the execution-style killing of a young street punk, and the attempted murder of an unfortunate witness; and the apparent suicide-by-subway of Sonia Baker (Maria Thayer), a Capitol Hill staff assistant and researcher to rising congressman Stephen Collins (Ben Affleck).
Veteran Washington Globe reporter Cal McAffrey (Russell Crowe) gets the first story, and is intrigued by the marksmanship involved with the double-shooting. The second piece falls to fresh-faced Globe blogger Della Frye (Rachel McAdams), who sees little beyond the obvious fact that the very married Collins was having an affair with his assistant.
Thus, in the time-honored fashion of sleazy tabloids — the level to which most so-called "news" bloggers aspire — Della leads the charge to smear the congressman.