Dear Evan Hansen: A letter to remember

Dear Evan Hansen (2021) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity and fleeting profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 9.24.21

Well, this is an emotional hurricane.

 

The Broadway production of Dear Evan Hansen won six of its nine Tony Award nominations, including Best Musical, in many cases edging out Come From Away (which was Broadway robbery, in my humble opinion, but that’s a separate conversation).

 

Although circumstances have brought him closer to the girl he has long adored from
afar, Evan (Ben Platt) knows that his blossoming relationship with Zoe (Kaitlyn Dever)
is built upon a lie.

Evan’s messages of inclusion, self-acceptance and mended fences obviously resonated strongly with theatergoers, and I’m sure the same will be true of filmgoers. It’s refreshing to see a story about the importance of acknowledging one’s mistakes … sincerely, and in public. (A lot of politicians could learn from this example.)

That said, the story also veers dangerously close to the ragged edge of unpardonable behavior … and whether matters slide off that cliff, will depend on the individual viewer.

 

Playwright Steven Levenson, one of the Tony winners, has transformed his own book into this screenplay; Broadway star Ben Platt, also a Tony winner, reprises his lead role here. Ergo, there’s no question of fidelity … although I note the addition of two new songs by Benj Pasek and Justin Paul (again, Tony winners), one of which — along with some, ah, adjustments by Levenson — definitely softens the harshness of the finale.

 

But it’s still painfully brutal.

 

Evan is a traditional musical, with distinct songs that enhance (or interrupt) a conventional storyline. That makes it a bit retro in this post-Les Misérables and Hamilton era, with most musicals relying more heavily on rap and operetta stagings. This softer, gentler approach is absolutely right for Evan, given its focus on vulnerability and fragility.

 

Director Stephen Chbosky echoes this choice. Most of the songs are poignant ballads, and you’ll find no opulent production numbers here; the introductory montage is as fancy as matters get.

 

High school senior Evan Hansen (Platt) has long suffered from social anxiety; he feels isolated, forever on the outside looking in (“Waving Through a Window”). One arm is in a cast — the reason for this injury, tellingly, remains undisclosed — and nobody is willing to sign it: not even his sole friend, Jared (Nik Dodani, channeling his near-identical role in Netflix’s Atypical).

 

Evan writes motivational letters to himself, as a means of bucking up his optimism about what might be good about each day. Such hopes do not include an unfortunate encounter with the volatile Connor Murphy (Colton Ryan) — also a loner, but angry and aggressive — who shoves Evan in the school hallway. Connor’s younger sister Zoe (Kaitlyn Dever) apologizes for this, which makes it worse, because Evan has long crushed on her.

 

The Woman in the Window: Draw the curtains

The Woman in the Window (2021) • View trailer

2.5 stars. Rated R, for violence and profanity

By Derrick Bang

This one should have been a slam-dunk, because the premise is irresistible.

 

And classic.

 

(Alfred Hitchcock certainly thought so, back in the day.)

 

Jane (Julianne Moore, right) proudly shows Anna (Amy Adams) a photo of her son,
which she keeps in a locket.

Consider the elements: Author A.J. Finn’s best-selling 2018 thriller, adapted for the screen by Tony- and Pulitzer-winning playwright Tracy Letts; a top-flight cast headed by Amy Adams, Gary Oldman, Julianne Moore and Jennifer Jason Leigh; and director Joe Wright, whose striking visual sense has propelled terrific films such as Pride & Prejudice, Atonement and Darkest Hour.

 

Trouble is, we’ll likely never see the film this team created.

 

The Woman in the Window became an orphan when its studio parent, Fox 2000, was absorbed by Disney in March 2019. (In a demonstration of childish behavior akin to Nature at her cruelest, takeover studios rarely embrace projects birthed by the vanquished “parent.”) Bowing to unfavorable test screenings, Disney demanded re-shoots and new material scripted by an uncredited Tony Gilroy.

 

What now has hit the screen is awkward, to say the least. And I can’t imagine this version is superior to what Wright and Letts delivered the first time.

 

New York City-based child psychologist Anna Fox (Adams), crippled by a severe case of agoraphobia, has been unable to leave her Manhattan brownstone for nearly a year. She’s trying to work this out via frequent sessions with her visiting psychiatrist, Dr. Landy (Letts, in a solid cameo).

 

He has put her through an ongoing cocktail of prescription drugs; the most recent, Elevan, comes with a strict warning not to mix it with alcohol. Which doesn’t stop Anna from drinking a lot of wine.

 

She’s estranged from her husband Ed (Anthony Mackie) and their daughter Olivia (Mariah Bozeman), although they chat daily on the phone. Anna also has the company of a tenant: aspiring musician David Winter (Wyatt Russell), who lives in the basement, runs errands for her, and handles odd jobs throughout the house.

 

Anna passes the time by watching classic film noirs — a brief clip from Hitchcock’s Spellbound is a bit on the nose — and observing the comings and goings in the buildings across the street, from the safety of her front windows. She therefore notices when a new family, the Russells, moves in directly opposite her brownstown. She’s charmed when 15-year-old Ethan (Fred Hechinger) pays a visit, to give Anna a “hello” gift from his mother.

 

Anna immediately senses that Ethan is oddly uncomfortable, perhaps distracted, for some reason he’s much too shy to share. They nonetheless part as friends.

Hillbilly Elegy: Survival of the fittest

Hillbilly Elegy (2020) • View trailer

Four stars. Rated R, for profanity, violence and drug use

By Derrick Bang 

Family ties, even when the dynamic is volatile, can be intractably strong.

 

It’s biological: We’re conditioned to love our parents, even when doing so is self-destructive.

 

Lindsay (Haley Bennett, left), J.D. (Owen Asztalos) and their grandmother (Glenn Close)
watch helplessly as events spiral out of control, thanks to an increasing police presence.

As a child, James David (“J.D.”) Vance was an unlikely candidate for escaping his working-class origins, while shuttling between small-town Ohio and the grimly struggling Appalachian environment of his grandparents; that challenge alone would have seemed insurmountable to most.

 

Toss a toxic mother into the mix, and the boy should have been doomed.

 

But he didn’t merely survive; he thrived, eventually graduating from Ohio State and obtaining a Yale Law School degree. He depicted this journey in his 2016 memoir Hillbilly Elegy; the book became a best-seller and a finalist for the Dayton Literary Peace Prize, embraced as a revealing glimpse of the white working class.

 

Under the sensitive guidance of director Ron Howard and scripter Vanessa Taylor — Oscar-nominated for co-writing 2017’s The Shape of Water — Vance’s saga has become an absorbing and frequently gut-wrenching Netflix original film. The narrative glides smoothly between two time periods: J.D.’s realization, as a young teen (Owen Asztalos), that his mother has serious problems; and his reluctant decision, while at Yale (now played by Gabriel Basso), to return to the home he has tried to forget, in order to navigate a fresh family crisis.

 

The film is dominated by two powerhouse performances: Amy Adams, as J.D.’s unstable, unkempt and vicious-tempered mother Bev; and Glenn Close as her mother Mamaw, who becomes J.D.’s surrogate parent. Both actresses chew up the scenery in grand style, but never to a degree that feels exaggerated or baroque. 

 

The story’s power comes from the persuasive depictions of both women: Bev, most frequently unpleasant, but with unexpected bursts of motherly kindness; Mamaw, most often caring, in a tough-love manner, but quite capable of unleashing her own demons.

 

At first blush, though — as we meet young J.D., visiting his grandparents with his mother and older sister Lindsay (Haley Bennett)  — the overall dynamic seems protectively loyal. The occasion of an extended family photo gives Howard an opportunity to flash through a series of similar photographic portraits, stretching back generations: a clear message that this Appalachian clan has long been proud, defiant and caring of its own.

 

But this is the final day of a summer vacation under the watchful gaze of Mamaw and Papaw (Bo Hopkins). When Bev drives her two children back home to Middletown, Ohio, the dynamic shifts. Lindsay decamps to the company of her boyfriend — and soon to be husband — Kevin (Jono Mitchell), leaving J.D. in the sole company of his mother.

 

Along with her revolving door of male companions (apparently an ongoing thing, since the boy got his last name — Vance — from husband No. 3).

Vice: Evolution of a monster?

Vice (2018) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated R, for profanity and violent images
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.11.19

It’s sad when the whole doesn’t live up to the sum of its parts.

Vice is turbo-charged by a jaw-dropping performance from star Christian Bale: as wholly immersive as Gary Oldman’s similarly masterful portrayal of Winston Churchill, in 2017’s Darkest Hour. Bale’s impersonation is equally convincing; at times, you’d swear that Dick Cheney himself were on the screen.

The fateful meeting: Presidential candidate George W. Bush (Sam Rockwell, right) wants
Dick Cheney (Christian Bale) as his running mate, a traditionally toothless position that
interests the latter not at all ... until he perceives the degree to which this particular
U.S. president could be controlled and manipulated.

Bale is (in)famous for putting soul andbody into his performances, having dropped 70 pounds for his emaciated role in 2004’s The Machinist, then regaining the weight — plus another 30 pounds — the following year, for the first of his three stints as Batman/Bruce Wayne. More recently, he briefly porked up to 228 for the convincing pot belly sported in 2013’s American Hustle.

Now, in order to step that much more persuasively into Cheney’s shoes, Bale bleached his eyebrows, shaved his head … and gained 40 pounds.

But Bale doesn’t rely exclusively on such physical attributes; he wholly inhabits the man’s bearing, stance, brooding gaze and terse, clipped manner of speech. And the most important feature of all: the reptilian, thousand-yard stare with which Cheney could cut a person dead (or, at the very least, render the recipient into cowed silence).

Amy Adams doesn’t rest in Bale’s shadow. Her handling of Cheney’s wife Lynne is equally compelling, Adams’ acting chops every bit as authoritative. Writer/director Adam McKay clearly has assumed that just as Cheney was the (mostly) unseen power behind George W. Bush, Lynne was the (mostly) unseen power behind her husband.

Vice more or less profiles Cheney’s rise from alcoholic twentysomething ne’er-do-well to Master of the World: an often macabre and deeply disturbing validation of the old warning that power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

McKay audaciously acknowledges, via introductory lines of text against an otherwise black screen, that he couldn’t possibly have any inside knowledge regarding many (most? all?) of the conversations taking place between this cheeky film’s numerous real-world characters. Even so, the blend of supposition and known fact is — at times — grimly unsettling, particularly when further juxtaposed against McKay’s satiric tone.

It’s not easy to simultaneously chuckle and gasp with revulsion, but you’ll do so. More than once.

Justice League: And so it begins...

Justice League (2017) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for sci-fi action and violence
By Derrick Bang

Seeing director Zack Snyder’s name attached to this film was not happy news, given the degree to which he ruined both 2013’s Man of Steel and last year’s Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice.

Having responded to the bat-signal illuminated by Police Commissioner Gordon (J.K.
Simmons, far left), the newly formed Justice League — from left, Wonder Woman (Gal
Gadot), Cyborg (Ray Fisher), Batman (Ben Affleck) and The Flash (Ezra Miller) —
learn that Gotham City is, once again, in serious trouble.

Snyder has much in common with director Michael Bay, similarly notorious for the Transformers franchise. Both favor bloated, soulless, humorless slugfests that wreak havoc on landscapes and cityscapes, while casually snuffing hundreds (thousands?) of civilian bystanders. Their films are the very definition of mindless product over art.

On the other hand, I was cheered to note Joss Whedon as co-scripter on Justice League. As the writer/director of 2012’s The Avengers, Whedon established the template for solid, successful superhero epics. Fans have recognized Whedon’s gift since television’s Buffy slayed her first vampire, back in 1996: He has an unerring talent for blending action fantasy with a (frequently droll) human element, which eases our suspension of disbelief.

And is a helluva lot more fun.

It’s easy to spot Whedon’s touch in Justice League, which is most successful during its first and second acts, as the stage is set, and the players assembled. It’s equally easy to see that the third act belongs to Snyder ... but not entirely. Even here, we get the vicarious relief of the unmistakable Whedon touch.

Justice League picks up in the immediate wake of Batman v Superman. The latter is dead, having perished at the hands of a Kryptonian monster genetically engineered by the villainous Lex Luthor. The country (the world?) is sliding quickly into anarchy, humanity apparently having abandoned hope after losing its gallant symbol for truth, justice and the American way.

(Ah ... but is Big Blue really, truly dead?)

Bruce Wayne (Batman) and Diana Prince (the Amazon Wonder Woman) are doing their best to stem the lawless tide, but they operate in the shadows; they’re not “living symbols” in the manner of Superman. Worse yet, Batman has been encountering winged “parademons” — very hard to kill — that seem to be seeking something.

Mindful of the need for additional super-powered allies, in order to hold off whatever comes next, Bruce and Diana reach out to three promising individuals: Barry Allen (Ezra Miller), a twentysomething nerd transformed by a lightning strike into The Flash; Arthur Curry (Jason Momoa), dubbed Aquaman, and heir to the underwater kingdom of Atlantis; and Victor Stone (Ray Fisher), a once-promising college football player nearly killed in a horrific accident, and “saved” when his scientist father Silas (Joe Morton) employed alien tech to transform his son into the biomechanical Cyborg.

Arrival: They're here!

Arrival (2016) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity and brief profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 11.11.16

Michael Crichton’a The Andromeda Strain pretty much invented the modern sci-fi techno thriller, and it was made into a crackling 1971 thriller by director Robert Wise.

After confronting the alien spacecraft that has terrified the entire United States, linguist
Louise Banks (Amy Adams) and physicist Ian Donnelly (Jeremy Renner) are garbed in
protective haz-mat suits, prior to their first meeting with the ship's inhabitants.

The tone was pure procedural, with a gaggle of scientists researching and conferencing in labs, to determine why a highly lethal microorganism killed everybody in a small Arizona town, except for a geriatric Sterno addict and a relentlessly cranky baby.

Few films since then have successfully duplicated that formula, because it’s a difficult tightrope walk: too many talking heads, and the result is boring; too much contrivance and coincidence, and audiences roll their eyes in contemptuous disbelief.

Director Denis Villeneuve gets the balance just right with Arrival, easily one of the most intelligent “first contact” movies Hollywood ever has delivered. Scripter Eric Heisserer embraced the challenging assignment of adapting sci-fi author Ted Chiang’s  2000 Nebula Award-winning novella, and the result is impressively faithful: fascinating, clever and suspenseful, with an out-there finale certain to fuel debates as impassioned as those that greeted the conclusion of 2001: A Space Odyssey.

The story also boasts one of the most truly unusual alien cultures ever conceived, the depiction of which is likely to forever change most viewers’ perception and understanding of language.

Finally, the film is an uncomfortably timely reminder of the dangerous levels of nationalism and xenophobia currently running amok throughout this country and the globe, and the consequences of failing to recognize that — at the end of the day — we’re a single species sharing this planet, and that it behooves us to behave accordingly.

To cases, then:

Northeastern university professor Louise Banks (Amy Adams), an internationally respected linguist, is surprised one day to discover that her huge, entry-level language class is almost empty. The reason becomes clear as breaking news reports interrupt all radio and television broadcasts: A disturbingly large something has landed in a deserted Montana meadow.

Actually, “landed” is the wrong word; the semi-cylindrical object hovers about 20 feet off the ground.

Batman V Superman: Clash of titans

Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice (2016) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated PG-13, and somewhat generously, for brief sensuality and relentless, soul-crushing violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.25.16

A perceptive philosophical theme serves as this film’s beating heart, a tenet that — quite sadly — reflects these cynical and despondent times: that, just as we worship our heroes, we’re all too eager to tear them down.

Alexander Luthor (Jesse Eisenberg, center) is delighted to discover that the guests at his
high-society event include inquisitive Daily Planet reporter Clark Kent (Henry Cavill, left)
and fellow industrialist Bruce Wayne (Ben Affleck). But why are they present?

Because we’re also jealous, and more than a little fearful. Because such individuals are different than you and I.

The “Big Blue” standing as the moral centerpiece of Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice couldn’t be more different than the cheerful, easily admired boy scout played by Christopher Reeve in his quartet of films, several decades and a tidal shift of public sentiment ago. This 21st century Superman exists in a mutinous, resentful America that mirrors our own today, with a populous eager to be suspicious of any “alien” floating amongst us.

The resulting film is grim, its tone unrelentingly melancholy, its subtext downright depressing: We clearly don’t deserve a Superman.

For longtime comic book fans, the irony is palpable. Back in the early 1960s, DC Comics’ stable of heroes — Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman et al — were colorful but simplistic champions who routinely, almost casually, defeated equally flamboyant villains in self-contained storylines that mirrored popular TV dramas that did the same: all problems solved in one quick read (or one quick hour), and then on to the next adventure, perhaps with a quip or two. Nobody ever changed, because nobody had anything approaching an actual personality.

Upstart Marvel Comics upended this one-dimensional formula with its eye-opening roster of angst-laden superheroes. When out of their costumes, Spiderman, Iron Man, the Fantastic Four and their brethren felt like the folks next door, complete with anxieties and ground-level responsibilities. Their clashes with bad guys often occurred over multiple-issue story arcs: the outcomes less definitive, and often tinged with regret.

How interesting, then, that these two companies have switched roles en route to big-screen domination. Even at their most dire, Marvel movies are fun, their cataclysmic events leavened with an engaging layer of droll humor: a wink and nudge established the first time Robert Downey Jr. donned his Iron Man togs.

her: Character flaws

her (2013) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rating: R, for profanity, sexual candor and brief nudity
By Derrick Bang

Writer/director Spike Jonze’s new fantasy is an intriguing cautionary tale aimed squarely at the narcissistic, self-absorbed millennials who increasingly behave as if social media isn’t merely an acceptable substitute for personal contact, but in fact deserves to become the preferred method of interaction.

After confessing that he may be falling in love with his computer operating system,
Theodore (Joaquin Phoenix) is surprised when his longtime friend Amy (Amy Adams)
doesn't react with disgust. Indeed, she seems quite okay with the concept...

In that respect, Jonze displays an uncanny instinct for depicting our deeply disturbing near-future, if such conduct continues unchecked along its current path.

Much as I admire the message, however, the delivery system leaves something to be desired. At 126 minutes, this film is self-indulgent to a fault, moving s-l-o-w-l-y to the point of ponderous tedium, en route to a resolution that we can see coming from miles away.

Were Rod Serling alive today, I’ve no doubt he could have turned this premise into a dynamite half-hour installment of his Twilight Zone TV series (assuming placement on HBO or some other pay-cable network, to preserve the essential adult themes). Jonze, taking a much more leisurely approach, drags us for an monotonous ride that had me checking my watch during the entire second hour.

Jonze burst onto the cinema scene with 1999’s Being John Malkovich — which brought him an Academy Award nomination for best director — and has built his subsequent big-screen career on eccentric and downright bizarre relationship dynamics. He most famously teamed with screenwriter Charlie Kaufman for 2002’s Adaptation, the latter insisting on co-crediting that script with his “fictitious twin brother” Donald, both of whom were depicted in the film by Nicolas Cage.

Adaptation was an alternately hilarious and disturbing analysis of the creative process, and Jonze’s new film certainly follows that template. But instead of a fictitious twin, this story’s co-protagonist is the disembodied voice of a computer operating system that possesses intelligence, perception and a capacity for emotional growth.

In other words, the perfect example of artificial intelligence.

The setting is Los Angeles in a “slight future” that is a welcome utopian relief from the Blade Runner-esque hellholes envisioned in too many recent sci-fi films. The overall infrastructure in this vision of Southern California looks and feels familiar, aside for a greater emphasis on towering buildings, and the ambiance is warm, comfortable and embracing. People wear nice clothes, the weather seems ideal, food is plentiful and tasty, and there’s no trace of crime, neglect or poverty.

OK, so maybe it’s a bit soulless ... which is, of course, precisely the point.

American Hustle: Delectable con job

American Hustle (2013) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rating: R, for pervasive profanity, sexual candor, fleeting nudity and brief violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.24.13

Why can’t more movies be this exhilarating?

Wait, I know ... we need bad movies to remind us just how much fun the good ones can be.

Knowing that their scheme has expanded to include the involvement of a particularly
nasty organized crime boss, Irving (Christian Bale, left) and Sydney (Amy Adams) try
to quell their nervous tension prior to a crucial meeting. Their FBI handler, Richie
(Bradley Cooper), on the other hand, isn't smart enough to realize how dangerous
their work is about to become.

David O. Russell has matured into an intoxicating director: one who plans and executes his films with the joie de vivre of a master choreographer. His flawed characters radiate the barely concealed desperation of people clinging to their own emotional wreckage, forever seeking the means to their salvation: some elusive Next Best Thing.

In The Fighter, it was a pro boxing title shot; in Silver Linings Playbook, a much more modest dance contest. In both cases, we rooted for these people despite their serious shortcomings; heck, celebrating the rise of the underdog is part of the American credo. Besides, how could one not adore Micky and Charlene (Mark Wahlberg and Amy Adams) in The Fighter, or Pat and Tiffany (Bradley Cooper and Jennifer Lawrence), in Silver Linings Playbook?

In each case, the combination of street savvy and emotional vulnerability was irresistible. That Pat and Tiffany also were mentally unstable just made them more worthy of redemption.

And so it is with the folks at the heart of American Hustle. They likely aren't worth redemption, at least not in the legal sense, but we can’t help admiring the moxie of these unrepentant criminals, larcenous chutzpah and all. And Russell imbues this film — every scene, every conversation, every frame — with the same exhilarating rush that these protagonists employ to con their marks into some very bad behavior.

American Hustle is loosely based on the real-world FBI Abscam sting that went down in the late 1970s and early ’80s. The movie began life as a script by Eric Singer that made the 2010 Hollywood “Black List” of best as-yet-unproduced screenplays. Singer’s much more factual approach focused on Mel Weinberg, the con artist employed by the FBI to orchestrate the sting that eventually resulted in the conviction of one U.S. senator, six members of the U.S. House of Representatives and a New Jersey state senator, along with other lesser officials.

Ben Affleck briefly considered Singer’s script as a follow-up to The Town, but Russell eventually brought the project to fruition. In the process, Russell modified Singer’s material in order to assemble a roster of fictionalized caricatures, no doubt feeling that an operation as wildly audacious as Abscam needed some equally colorful participants. And, so, the core details here remain accurate — the nature of the operation, the eventual convictions — but the players are, well, brazenly impudent social misfits. At best.

Man of Steel: Dull as iron

Man of Steel (2013) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rating: PG-13, for brief profanity and vicious, unrelenting violence and destruction
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.14.13

Grim, humorless and unpleasantly brutal.

Not to mention boring and redundant, particularly during the interminable, body-slamming final act.

No fun at all.

Having been punched through half a dozen buildings by an equally super-powered
adversary, our caped hero (Henry Cavill) pauses for breath before returning to the
city-leveling skirmish. At which point, we wonder: With a hero like this, who
needs enemies?

Director Zack Snyder has delivered a Superman film with the nasty, cataclysmic tone he employed so well — and much more appropriately — in 300 and Watchman: a dark, dour mood that also suited Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy, but is wholly out of place here. No surprise: Nolan shares story credit here with David S. Goyer, with whom he co-wrote those Batman epics. All things considered, then, Snyder, Nolan and Goyer have concocted precisely the sort of Superman we should have expected from them.

I do not approve.

All concerned desperately need to take lessons from Joss Whedon, when it comes to choreographing the real estate-leveling carnage of a melee between super-powered beings. As Whedon proved with The Avengers, he understands the importance of the occasional wink and nod, not to mention his recognition of the fine emotional line between necessary collateral damage and a callous disregard for brutalized civilian bystanders.

Snyder obviously relished the opportunity to envision what it really might be like for a being such as Superman to be tossed through half a mile’s worth of office buildings; the director and his special-effects wizards certainly beat such scenes to death. But, speaking of death, it’s impossible to overlook the hundreds (thousands?) of fragile humans who’d be maimed and killed along the way, as a result of each super-powered punch ... which turns Superman’s “code against killing” into something of a joke.

Hell, he must kill scores of people every time he slams his evil, super-powered adversaries through said buildings. Ironic, then, that his code eventually becomes an important — if ill-defined — plot point.

On top of which, the various Metropolis-shattering skirmishes go on for so long, and thus to such diminishing returns, that they become no more meaningful than watching Godzilla stomp and flatten a miniature cardboard Tokyo in all those 1950s and ’60s Japanese monster flicks.

Trouble with the Curve: Just about out of the park

Trouble with the Curve (2012) • View trailer
Four stars. Rating: PG-13, for occasional profanity and some sexual references
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 9.21.12

Even the most familiar material will become vibrant in the hands of seasoned pros.

Randy Brown’s impressive debut script for Trouble with the Curve turns this film into a quiet little charmer that focuses on both sports and the angst-laden trauma of a long-estranged father and daughter. Along the way, Brown also scores perceptive points about loyalty, workaholics, the ageist contempt of youth, and the soul-grinding aggravation of growing old.

Veteran baseball scout Gus (Clint Eastwood) is having trouble with his vision, but he
dares not acknowledge this, lest he lose his job. Enter Mickey (Amy Adams), his
long-estranged and only child, who reluctantly serves as her father's eyes while
attempting to re-kindle a bond once characterized by love and a shared devotion
to their favorite sport.

Star Clint Eastwood continues to be at the top of his game, delivering another riff on the “crusty ol’ coot” persona that has served him well in projects ranging from the light-hearted Space Cowboys to the far more serious Gran Torino. His work here slides between those two extremes; Gus Lobel has become too cranky to be actually likable — the ravages of old age merely amplifying his less pleasant qualities — but we sympathize with him nonetheless.

Gus is an old-style baseball scout, long employed by the Atlanta Braves, who loves hunkering in the bleachers and bathing in the magic of the sport’s “true, sweet sound.” He’ll never accept computer-driven stats as a replacement for his devotion to poring over newspapers and tip sheets, and then watching the players, in order to draw his own conclusions.

He is, in short, a dinosaur: an object of ridicule to number-crunching Braves associate scouting director Phillip Sanderson (Matthew Lillard), who insists that computers can do it faster and far more accurately. Pete Klein (John Goodman), chief of scouts and also Gus’ longtime best friend, is finding it harder and harder to defend the “old ways” to Braves General Manager Vince Freeman (Robert Patrick).

At this crucial moment, with Gus’ contract due to expire in three months, things get even worse as his eyesight begins to fail; an expanding circle in the center of his vision has grown blurry. A reluctant trip to his optometrist confirms the worst: glaucoma and macular degeneration.

The timing couldn’t be worse, because Gus’ next assignment involves a trip to North Carolina, to observe hot Swannanoa High School prospect Bo Gentry (Joe Massingill). The Braves really, really want this kid, and Sanderson is leading that charge; Gus, not to be rushed, wants to reach his own conclusions ... but that’ll be difficult, if he can’t see how Bo handles a pitch.

Enter Gus’ long-estranged daughter, Mickey (Amy Adams), a tightly wound associate at a high-powered Atlanta law firm, who has sacrificed everything to sprint along the fast track toward partnership. Mickey essentially has no life outside the office, but this is less a function of ambition, and more a self-defensive coping mechanism.

Once upon a time, long ago, Mickey and her father were inseparable, of necessity; her mother died when she was 6. Gus subsequently hauled his only child along on all his scouting assignments, and she grew to love the male-dominated atmosphere of swearing, joshing and drinking straight whisky. She also adores baseball to every possible degree, having reluctantly sublimated her talent for player stats in favor of torts and legal precedents.

The Muppets: Being green is fun again

The Muppets (2011) • View trailer for The Muppets
3.5 stars. Rating: PG, for mild rude humor
By Derrick Bang


The new Muppets film quite cleverly addresses a real-world puzzler that has vexed fans for years: Where have Kermit and all his friends been hiding?

Gary (Jason Segel, right) and Walter do everything together, as would be
expected of any two devoted brothers. But as the years have passed, Walter has
become increasingly aware that he's, ah, a bit different from Gary and their
other two-legged friends and neighbors. The solution? An unlikely road trip,
during which Walter will get to meet others of "his kind."

The colorful felt creations who ruled television with The Muppet Show from 1976 through ’81, simultaneously jumping to the big screen with an equally popular series of films, have been missing in theaters since 1999’s rather odd Muppets from Space. Occasional TV specials such as 2005’s ill-advised The Muppets’ Wizard of Oz have done little to keep the brand alive.

True, Kermit and his pals have rather mischievously — and memorably — popped up in whimsical YouTube shorts. But when it came to the movies, I’d begun to wish that Pixar’s John Lasseter would step in and exert some of his can’t-miss creative control.

Jason Segel beat him to the punch.

Yes, the Jason Segel best known for his roles in crass, numbnuts comedies such as Knocked Up and I Love You, Man, and for his ongoing run on television’s saucy How I Met Your Mother, and for rather oddly going full-frontal as the lovesick loser in 2008’s Forgetting Sarah Marshall.

Not exactly the first fella who springs to mind, when contemplating a revival of the Muppets.

But it turns out that Segel has been a fan, like, forever, and he currently wields enough industry clout to help make dreams come true. Which brings us to The Muppets, which at its best definitely captures the sweet, silly, family-friendly hijinks and unlikely adventures experienced (and endured) by a gentle frog, a feisty pig and their dozens and dozens of colorful cohorts in crime.

Credit also goes to (human) co-star Amy Adams, who brings her own trouper’s “enchanted” spirit to several of the deliberately corny song-and-dance numbers that populate this gaudy farce. Most of these tunes are wincingly inane — one hopes that songwriter Bret McKenzie intended them this way — and performed, particularly by Segel, with a wide-eyed earnestness that will elicit either hysterical giggles or gape-jawed stares of disbelief.

In fairness, this is a longtime element of the successful Muppet formula; the original TV series delighted in putting celebrity guests into unlikely production numbers, and the line of willing “victims” certainly never got shorter during the show’s enormously popular five-year run. Segel and his behind-the-scenes cronies try hard to echo that manic vibe, and at times they catch the magic.