The Portable Door: Unevenly framed

The Portable Door (2023) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five). Not rated, and suitable for all ages

Available via: Amazon Prime

By Derrick Bang

First impressions can be crucial, and this film’s first act is needlessly messy.

 

Director Jeffrey Walker’s initially frantic, quasi-slapstick tone is matched by performances that are all over the place; one gets a sense that everybody involved is desperate to prove that This Movie Will Be Fun.

 

Paul (Patrick Carpenter) and Sophie (Sophie Wilde) realize they're in a lot of trouble,
after being dumped into a huge, door-laden sub-level of J.W. Welles & Co.

The resulting impression instead veers toward exasperation, and viewers are likely to give up after about 20 minutes. That would be a shame, because — once Walker and his cast settle down — this larkish fantasy becomes much more palatable.

Leon Ford’s screenplay is adapted from British author Tom Holt’s 2003 novel of the same title, first in what has become his eight-book (and counting) “J.W. Wells & Co.” series, referencing the venerable London firm where mysterious doings take place.

 

Our entry point, as this film begins, is Paul Carpenter (Patrick Gibson), a hapless failure-to-launch who is light-years away from getting his life together. Reduced to seeking employment at a local café, his attempt to do so is interrupted by a string of coincidences: His alarm doesn’t go off, his trousers have a stain, his shoelace breaks — twice — and his toaster blows up. 

 

When Paul finally reaches the queue of would-be baristas hoping for the same job, he’s distracted by an enthusiastic “Great to see you again!” from a jovial fellow who claims to have been one of his university professors — but whom Paul doesn’t recognize —and then by a scruffy little dog that steals his scarf.

 

Paul’s attempt to retrieve the scarf terminates in an alley — the dog having vanished — just outside a partially open door marked “Applicants.” This turns out to be a side entrance to J.W. Wells & Co., where Paul finds himself on a couch alongside the well-appointed and rudely stuffy Sophie Pettingel (Sophie Wilde), one of apparently several individuals angling for an intern’s slot.

 

To Paul’s surprise, he’s summoned next — by name — by middle manager Dennis Tanner (Sam Neill), for an odd interview led by CEO Humphrey Wells (Christoph Waltz). Additional board members Nienke Van Spee (Rachel House), Countess Judy (Miranda Otto) and Casimir Suslowicz (Chris Pang) observe silently. Everybody looks sadly amused by this obviously under-talented applicant, until Paul mentions the series of odd coincidences that led to his presence.

 

And, just like that, Paul is hired, to begin immediately … despite his lack of worthwhile skills. He soon learns that J.W. Wells is a wonderland of weird: Van Spee’s hair has a life of its own; receptionist Rosie Tanner (Jessica De Gouw) seems unusually fond of a stapler; and a baby dragon can be spotted at odd moments.

Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio: A truly unique vision

Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio (2022) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG, and much too generously, despite considerable violence, dark thematic elements, peril and rude humor

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang

Although there’s much to admire in this handsomely mounted, stop-motion version of Carlo Collodi’s oft-filmed 1883 children’s novel, I’m reluctant to recommend it … in great part, because the intended target audience is a mystery.

 

Having broken a promise to attend school, Pinocchio is delighted by the acclaim he
receives as the new star of Count Volpe's marionette show.

Del Toro’s relentlessly morbid and very loose adaptation definitely isn’t for children, who certainly won’t understand the updated shift to war-era Fascist Italy, and likely will be terrified by this setting. Nor can I picture mainstream adults wandering into what superficially appears to be a children’s film.

Unsuspecting parents who gather the kiddies for what they assume will be a family-friendly holiday flick, are apt to be horrified.

 

Even del Toro hedges this particular bet. “It’s not necessarily made for children,” he admitted, in a recent Los Angeles Times interview, “but children can watch it.”

 

Seriously?

 

I think not.

 

(Del Toro is fond of placing his dark fantasies against the backdrop of real-world horrors; both The Devil’s Backboneand Pan’s Labyrinth are set during the Spanish Civil War.)

 

Granted, the surrealistic writer/director has a legion of fans, and lovers of this painstaking animation style certainly will embrace this outré fantasy; perhaps, combined, they’ll be sufficient. And, in fairness, co-director Mark Gustafson’s stop-motion work is stunning; whatever else can be said about this film, it exhibits a true sense of wonder.

 

Pinocchio’s appearance here — rough-hewn, spindly, unfinished (missing one ear), a true marionette — is inspired by artist Gris Grimly’s illustrated 2002 edition of Collodi’s book.

 

And, backed by fine voice talent, del Toro and Gustafson elicit an impressive range of emotions from these characters.

 

But my goodness, this film is bleak. And macabre. And sad.

 

A lengthy prologue introduces wood-carver Geppetto (voiced by David Bradley) and his young son, Carlo (Alfie Tempest). The old man dotes on the boy, who — a model child — is equally devoted to his father: trustworthy, obedient, eager to learn. Alas, his life is cut short by a wartime tragedy.

 

Geppetto is heartbroken, overwhelmed by grief; his work suffers, leaving unfinished a large wooden effigy of Jesus in the local church, much to the chagrin of the village priest (Burn Gorman). Time passes; finally, in a fit of drunken rage one night, Geppetto makes a “replacement son” and then falls asleep.

 

A large, feather-winged, luminous blue wood sprite (Tilda Swinton) appears; taking pity on Geppetto, she grants life to the hastily carved little puppet. She then charges his “development” to the erudite and touchingly noble Sebastian J. Cricket (Ewan McGregor, who also narrates this tale).

 

No Time to Die: A gilt-edged Bond

No Time to Die (2021) • View trailer

4.5 stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for intense action violence, disturbing images and fleeting profanity

Available via: Movie theaters (where it belongs!)

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.08.21

It’s bloody well about time.

 

Back in 1969, On Her Majesty’s Secret Service was jeered by critics and the public because a) George Lazenby wasn’t Sean Connery; and b) the script had the audacity to present a James Bond with genuine feelings for the woman with whom he’d fallen in love.

 

While James Bond (Daniel Craig, left) and Moneypenny (Naomie Harris) nervously
wait, Q (Ben Whishaw) struggles to crack the security on a computer network that may
reveal crucial information about the mysterious "Heracles" project.

History has validated what some of us knew all along: Lazenby held his own just fine, and those very story elements — the injection of authentic emotion — cemented its status as one of the all-time best Bonds.

Over the course of Daniel Craig’s five-film arc, his Bond has been defined by loss: the loss of Vesper, in Casino Royale, and M, in Skyfall; and the dismissal of his profession, in Spectre. He has endured along the way, battered and bruised, becoming as recognizably human as one could hope for, in such an action franchise.

 

It’s certainly no accident, mere minutes into this new epic, when Hans Zimmer’s score injects an echo of “We Have All the Time in the World,” the poignant anthem from On Her Majesty’s Secret Service. One has to smile.

 

Indeed, No Time to Die is laden with similar echoes of the past: from a title credits sequence that opens with the colored polka dots employed in the credits of Dr. No, to Vic Flick’s unmistakable heavy guitar twang — elsewhere in this film’s score — in John Barry’s classic arrangement of “The James Bond Theme.”

 

The impressively ambitious script — by Neal Purvis, Robert Wade, Phoebe Waller-Bridge and director Cary Joji Fukunaga — even works in a hitherto-untapped bit of Ian Fleming: Dr. Guntram Shatterhand’s “Garden of Death,” from the novel You Only Live Twice.

 

But that comes later. No Time to Die — a much harsher affair than most Bonds — opens on a flashback involving a terrified adolescent girl and a kabuki-masked assassin. The encounter proceeds in several surprising directions, concluding as a shuddery memory for Madeleine Swann (Léa Seydoux), emerging from the sea as an astute Bond notices her uneasy mood.

 

They’re enjoying the carefree life chosen when they walked away from Bond’s career, at the previous film’s conclusion. But despite their mutual devotion, these are two people with secrets; we know Bond’s, from previous adventures, and we’re about to discover Madeleine’s.

 

It proves … complicated.

 

But that, too, comes later. We’re first blown away by the longest pre-credits sequence in the entire series, which climaxes with an audacious car chase through the tight corners and narrow, labyrinthine streets of Matera, in Southern Italy. Although plenty more action is yet to come, this opener is the film’s most audacious, edge-of-the-seat sequence.

Alita: Battle Angel — Exciting futuristic thrills

Alita: Battle Angel (2019) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, and quite generously, despite relentless violence and gore
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.15.19

When we get sci-fi world-building on a scale this visually spectacular, there’s no doubt that James Cameron must be involved.

Hugo (Keean Johnson) rushes forward, hoping to prevent a catastrophe, when a
potentially violent encounter prompts Alita's (Rosa Salazar) battle instincts to kick in.

In fairness, director Robert Rodriguez deserves equal credit for this energetic, post-apocalyptic adventure. Where Cameron’s epics generally have a serious tone with underlying real-world political elements, Rodriguez is more willing to just have a good time. That’s certainly the case with Alita: Battle Angel, which sometimes displays the youthful, wide-eyed breathlessness that was typical of his Spy Kids series.

But we must remember that Rodriguez also is the gritty, down ’n’ dirty maestro behind From Dusk Till Dawn and the Sin City chillers, and he stretches this new film’s PG-13 rating waypast the breaking point.

Alita: Battle Angel is a Frankenstein’s monster of a movie, which successfully blends elements from previous classics: a little bit of 1975’s Rollerball, a taste of 1982’s Blade Runner, a soupçon of 2013’s Elysium and a whole lotta 2001’s A.I. Artificial Intelligence. Considerable credit also goes to Yukito Kishiro, creator of the 1990 cyberpunk manga series Gunnm(translated on these shores as Battle Angel Alita). Kishiro’s series ultimately went to nine volumes, after which Cameron optioned the property … way back in 2000.

Although originally intending to direct a big-screen adaptation, Cameron got distracted by Avatar; meanwhile, he “borrowed” some of Kishiro’s concepts for the 2000-02 TV series Dark Angel, which made a star of young Jessica Alba. Numerous twists and turns later — notably, after Rodriguez was brought in, initially just to trim Cameron’s overlong screenplay — all the elements fell into place, and here we are.

We should be grateful for this long gestation, because it allowed special effects technology to catch up with Kishiro’s wildly imaginative premise and setting. Senior visual effects supervisor Joe Letteri and production designers Caylah Eddleblute and Steve Joyner have delivered a jaw-dropping degree of futuristic wonder: a wholly immersive dystopian setting that feels persuasively authentic, down to the tiniest detail.

Rodriguez also makes excellent use of Bill Pope’s 3D cinematography. You’ll want to experience this film at least twice: once for its exciting, pell-mell storyline; the second time to better appreciate the meticulous effort that has gone into every frame.

Mind you, elements of the complex plot are insufficiently addressed by the script — credited to Cameron, Rodriguez and Laeta Kalogridis (the latter known as the creator of TV’s Altered Carbon) — but Rodriguez and editors Stephen E. Rivkin and Ian Silverstein maintain enough momentum to carry us past dangling questions.

The Legend of Tarzan: The original jungle swinger is back!

The Legend of Tarzan (2016) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, violent action and mild sensuality
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.3.16

The original Tarzan franchise ran an impressive five decades, starting during the silent era and continuing through the late 1960s, when Edgar Rice Burroughs’ famed character finally was silenced by the James Bond-influenced spy movie craze (which the final few Tarzan films attempted to emulate, with predictably awful results).

Having just returned to the African Congo that was his childhood home, John Clayton
(Alexander Skarsgård, right) and his wife Jane (Margot Robbie) take in long-unseen
familiar sights, while their new companion George Washington Williams (Samuel L.
Jackson) wonders what he's getting into.

No doubt hoping to revive what once had been a great thing, Hollywood subsequently mounted a fresh Tarzan roughly once per generation, with little success. Robert Towne’s highly anticipated Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan, Lord of the Apes, with Christopher Lambert in the title role, wound up seriously compromised by behind-the-scenes squabbling, and died an ignominious death upon its 1984 release.

Even so, that was a better fate than that suffered by 1998’s dreadful Tarzan and the Lost City, Casper Van Dien’s stint in the loincloth not even a blip on the cinematic radar. Indeed, were it not for Disney’s wildly successful 1999 animated feature, I’m not sure the character would resonate in this 21st century, aside from the ongoing devotion shown by Burroughs fans.

How ironic, then — how pleasantly ironic — that just when the regal jungle lord seemed doomed to extinction, a fresh team has delivered a truly majestic Tarzan film.

We’ve not seen an entry this entertaining since Gordon Scott’s terrific double-header of Tarzan’s Greatest Adventure and Tarzan the Magnificent, back in 1959 and ’60.

Scripters Adam Cozad and Craig Brewer managed a truly impressive balancing act. On the one hand, they’ve faithfully honored the Burroughs template, acknowledging John Clayton as a feral child who grew up in the African wild, but later reclaimed his British roots as the fifth Earl of Greystoke, and a member of the English House of Lords. He’s a deeply moral and perceptively intelligent man (as greatly opposed to the monosyllabic dummy Johnny Weissmüller made him, in so many early films)

At the same time, Cozad and Brewer have addressed contemporary sensibilities, granting John and his wife Jane the enlightened awareness to recognize — and repudiate — the heinous late 19th century imperialism that arrogantly (and arbitrarily) “divided” great swaths of Africa between various European monarchs, who subsequently subjugated and/or enslaved the resident populations.

All that aside, this film also succeeds as an exhilarating adventure that pits the remarkable jungle lord against overwhelming odds orchestrated by a hissably evil villain. Everything builds to a (literally) smashing climax, which drew more than a few enthusiastic cheers from Monday evening’s preview audience.

This is a Tarzan to admire.

SPECTRE: Return of the über-villain

SPECTRE (2015) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for action violence and mild sensuality
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 11.6.15

This likely is obvious, but it bears mention anyway: Christoph Waltz was born to be a Bond villain.

That chilling insouciance. That monomaniacal smile. That calm air of authority and indifference. The utter certainty that nothing — and nobody — could stand in his way.

After having knocked Madeleine (Léa Seydoux) almost senseless, the unstoppable Hinx
(Dave Bautista, center) does his best to batter Bond (Daniel Craig) and hurl him to his
death from a speeding train.

Waltz’s Oberhauser is sinister.

His interrogation/torture scene here with Daniel Craig’s James Bond is the best — the most memorably macabre — since Auric Goldfinger responded to Sean Connery’s nervous “Do you expect me to talk?” with a mildly vexed “No, Mr. Bond; I expect you to die!”

SPECTRE represents the fruition of simmering narrative plans that have been in play since the Bond franchise was so cleverly re-booted with Craig’s introduction, in 2006’s Casino Royale. The tip-off comes during this new film’s opening credits, as fleeting glimpses of characters from the previous three films waft in and out of Daniel Kleinman’s sleek and sexy visuals.

(Just in passing, Kleinman finally nailed the tone established by the masterful title sequences designed and choreographed so well by the late, great Maurice Binder. The main difference: Kleinman’s are creepier. Which isn’t a bad thing.)

With respect to foreshadowing, longtime fans know that we’ve been here before. Connery’s Bond spent several films dealing with villains set into motion by a  Machiavellian figure silhouetted at the head of an enormous boardroom table, recognized only by the fluffy white cat snuggled into his lap.

Indeed, an early scene in SPECTRE knowingly references just such a sequence from 1965’s Thunderball ... although this update has a more tempestuous outcome.

But that’s getting ahead of things.

Horrible Bosses 2: Fire 'em all!

Horrible Bosses 2 (2014) • View trailer 
2.5 stars. Rated R, for relentless profanity and crude sexual content
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 11.28.14

Director Sean Anders apparently was content to let this film’s three stars — Jason Bateman, Jason Sudeikis and Charlie Day — babble through much of their obviously improvised, rapid-fire dialogue.

Oddly enough, Rex (Chris Pine, right) doesn't seem all that bothered after learning that our
inept heroes — from left, Dale (Charlie Day), Nick (Jason Bateman) and Kurt (Jason
Sudeikis) — planned to kidnap him. Seems that Rex has his own issues with his wealthy,
overbearing father...

Sometimes the results are amusing.

Usually ... not.

Dumb-bunny comedies often aren’t nearly as funny as those involved seem to think, and that’s definitely the case here. Nor are the “even funnier” out-takes, which unspool over the closing credits, as uproarious as Bateman, Sudeikis, Day and their co-stars want us to believe.

This film’s 2011 predecessor was pretty thin gruel to begin with: a potty-mouthed waste of time and talent that was little more than a race to the tasteless bottom by all involved. The notion that it did enough business to warrant a sequel is astonishing, but Hollywood — as always — lives by the quote often attributed to H.L. Mencken: “Nobody ever went broke underestimating the taste of the American public.”

And so here we are, with a second dose of Nick (Bateman), Kurt (Sudeikis) and Dale (Day).

This new entry is slightly better, thanks to the presence of co-star Chris Pine. He thoroughly embraces his gleefully condescending, spoiled rich guy role with a breezy élan that adds momentum to this fitful comedy every time he pops into a scene. He’s genuinely funny, and manages to be such without relying on the vulgarity that’s pretty much everybody else’s sole defining character trait.

The plot, then:

Having decided that working for “horrible bosses” undervalues their true potential, Nick, Kurt and Dale have become entrepreneurs with their own home care product: the so-called “Shower Buddy,” just the sort of gadget that pops up on late-night TV commercials for $19.95. Their effort to promote this item on a local morning chat show doesn’t quite work as expected, but the exposure does bring them to the attention of father-and-son investors Bert and Rex Hanson (Christoph Waltz and Pine).

Overjoyed by an initial order of 100,000 units, our three stooges overlook the cautionary step of obtaining a down payment in order to fund this massive production run. Bert subsequently cancels the order — which he intended to do all along — knowing full well that Nick, Kurt and Dale will be forced to foreclose. At that point, the Hansons will scoop up the entire company and all those Shower Buddies at fire-sale prices.

It’s merely standard-issue corporate raider behavior, which Bert cheerfully acknowledges, knowing full well that our hapless idiots can’t do anything about it.

Epic: Wishful thinking

Epic (2013) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rating: PG, and needlessly, for "scary images" and mildly rude language
By Derrick Bang

This is a gorgeously produced animated fantasy, with opulent visuals and a color palette that cleverly reflects the story beats; I’d expect no less from director Chris Wedge and his Blue Sky Studios, the folks who brought us the Ice Age series.

M.K. (voiced by Amanda Seyfried), suddenly responsible for the safety of a pod that
will help preserve the surrounding forest, fends off hilariously unlikely romantic
overtures from Mub (Aziz Ansari), a slug who fancies himself quite the chick magnet.

The impressive voice talent is well cast, with our primary characters granted personality and depth by Colin Farrell, Josh Hutcherson, Amanda Seyfried, Chris O’Dowd, Beyoncé and particularly Christoph Waltz, who makes a grand villain.

The dialogue is droll and snarky, with quite a few laughs coming from O’Dowd.

And yet...

Narratively, Epic is curiously flat and uninvolving: far less than the sum of parts that should have worked better than they do. The premise is contrived and scattershot, with bits begged, borrowed or stolen from other, superior fantasy sagas. Waltz’s scenery-chewing malevolence notwithstanding, there’s never a sense of genuine peril: no feeling that our heroes are in any real danger, or that they’ll fail to save the day in the manner foretold in the first act.

The storyline is based loosely on The Leaf Men and the Brave Good Bugs, one of imaginative author/illustrator William Joyce’s many delectable children’s books. Actually, “loosely” still overstates the case; 20th Century Fox has gone out of its way to distance this film from Joyce’s book.

Frankly, all concerned might have done better to follow Joyce’s template more closely, since this script — credited to Tom J. Astle, Matt Ember, James V. Hart and Daniel Shere — is a derivative, disorganized mess. Characters too frequently seem to have been granted screen time — and dialogue — based on the popularity of the star providing the voice, as opposed to reasons relating to plot continuity.

That’s a bass-ackwards approach to filmmaking, and the awkward results are plain.

Django Unchained: The West as it should have been?

Django Unchained (2012) • View trailer
3.5 stars. Rating: R, for relentless violence and gore, profanity, nudity and considerable ghastly behavior
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.28.12

Since Jews were given the vicarious opportunity to blow up Hitler and his high-ranking Nazi goons in 2009’s alternate-history Inglourious Basterds, we shouldn’t be surprised that cinematic bad boy Quentin Tarantino would grant African Americans similar cheap thrills, by scolding the pre-Civil War, slave-holding South in the same cheeky manner.

Django (Jamie Foxx, left) believes that he and his partner have successfully tricked
Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio) into accepting their feigned roles as slave traders.
Alas, Candie isn't quite as dense as he seems, and his fury builds to fearsome
proportions when the ruse is exposed. As for what happens next ... well, let's just say
that it's vintage Tarantino.

If Mel Brooks’ Blazing Saddles made you wince, by milking broad comedy from racism, this one will freeze your blood.

But make no mistake: Although Django Unchained definitely scores points in the ongoing debate about American race relations, at its heart this film is gleefully exploitative trash: giddily violent, gratuitously blood-soaked and unapologetically self-indulgent.

And yet ... undoubtedly a guilty pleasure. You just can’t help admiring Tarantino’s chutzpah.

He remains a walking film encyclopedia, with a particular fondness for the campy, low-budget sleaze of the late 1960s and ’70s, which ranged from the Clint Eastwood/Sergio Leone spaghetti westerns, to the blaxploitation flicks that made minor-league stars of Fred Williamson, Pam Grier, Richard Roundtree, Tamara Dobson and others.

Tarantino evokes them all in Django Unchained, a revisionist western that takes its title from a 1966 Sergio Corbucci rip-off of Leone’s A Fistful of Dollars — which, in turn, ripped off Akira Kurosawa’s Yojimbo — and starred Franco Nero as a coffin-carrying pistolero who blows into a town-turned-battle zone by feuding Mexican bandits and (you gotta love it) KKK members.

No surprise, then, that Nero himself pops up in a small part here; Tarantino loves to honor his predecessors. He also gets a kick out of “rescuing” familiar film and TV B-actors, and so you’ll spot the likes of Don Johnson, Tom Wopat, Don Stroud, Bruce Dern, Lee Horsley and Michael Parks.

And you’ve gotta love the parts assigned other visiting day players: Russ Tamblyn pops up as Son of a Gunfighter — a nod to the title of his own 1966 Spanish oater — which allows Amber Tamblyn an eyeblink appearance as “Daughter of a Son of a Gunfighter.” And speaking of the KKK, Jonah Hill is cast as “Bag Head #2” in a sequence played for high comedy, which mercilessly depicts clan members as the dim-bulb morons they undoubtedly were.

But all this comes later. As was the case with Leone’s similarly sprawling 1966 epic, The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, Tarantino — both writer and director here — takes his time setting up this narrative. It’s two years prior to the opening shot of the Civil War, and the story begins as Dr. King Schultz (Christoph Waltz), a traveling dentist of questionable repute, encounters a couple of horse-riding toughs leading a small line of chained slaves, one of them Django (Jamie Foxx).

Water for Elephants: Medium-top melodrama

Water for Elephants (2011) • View trailer for Water for Elephants
3.5 stars (out of five). Rating: PG-13, for violence, dramatic intensity and mild sensuality
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.22.11


Acting flavors of the month shouldn't be allowed anywhere near prestige projects.

The newbie's presence inevitably affects atmosphere and tone, and sometimes story elements are modified — or compromised — according to this fresh young talent's strengths ... or limitations.

When August (Christoph Waltz, left) begins to suspect that his wife, Mariena
(Reese Witherspoon), and Jacob (Robert Pattinson) have become more than
troupe acquaintances, he orchestrates a cruel charade and orders them to
participate; we nervously eye this uncomfortable game, while also wondering
why the circus owner has insisted on the presence of Rosie, the company's
new elephant star.

Robert Pattinson's most visible problem is an acting range that stretches most of the way from A to B. He delivers tortured angst quite well, having had plenty of practice as the sparkly vampire love interest in the Twilight series. The trouble is, Pattinson's apparent takes on more cheerful emotions — happiness, satisfaction, love — still look very much like ... well, tortured angst.

He's therefore quite credible here while pining for Reese Witherspoon, or one of the most personable elephants ever captured on camera ... although it looks very much like the way he pines for Kristin Stewart's Bella, in the Twilight movies.

When things go his character's way in Water for Elephants, though ... well, it's difficult to tell the difference.

In a nutshell, both Witherspoon and supporting actor Christoph Waltz act circles around Pattinson. They're so far superior that he all but vanishes from the screen: rather awkward, given that his character is this story's protagonist. Heck, Mark Povinelli, in a minor role as a dwarf circus clown named Kinko, is more credible — and gives us a better sense of his character — than Pattinson.

In most other respects, director Francis Lawrence delivers a respectable adaptation of Sara Gruen's best-selling novel, thanks in great part to a thoughtful, well-constructed screenplay from Richard LaGravanese (who also adapted The Bridges of Madison County and The Horse Whisperer, among his numerous other credits). He has, of necessity, condensed many of the events from Gruen's dense Depression-era saga; he and Lawrence also have made the story far more viewer-friendly, toning down both the period squalor and often shocking animal cruelty, as befits a gentler PG-13 rating.

So while this film affords a reasonable glimpse of the hard-scrabble conditions found within a third-rated Depression-era traveling circus, the cruelty and sadism displayed by numerous characters in Gruen's book have been condensed into a single, supremely malevolent figure: Waltz's August, owner/manager of the Benzini Brothers Circus ("the most spec-ta-cu-lar show on Earth!").

But his introduction comes later. We first meet Jacob (Hal Holbrook) in the present day: an old-timer disgusted with life in a nursing home, who has wandered off to visit a nearby circus. Jacob winds up recounting his youthful days to an interested listener, and thus we're whisked back to the 1930s, as a polished and confident veterinary medicine student (now played by Pattinson) prepares to take the test that will confer his degree. But the exam is interrupted by a crisis: Jacob's two loving parents have been killed in a road accident. The young man subsequently learns that he's penniless, his parents having converted their house and business into cash, in order to fund their only child's education.

Bereft and adrift, Jacob hits the road, unable to return to the life and career that had been so carefully planned.

(One would think, given the nature of Jacob's devotion to his mother and father, that he'd honor their memory by taking the damn exam and hanging up his vet-med shingle. But then, of course, we wouldn't have a story...)

The Green Hornet: Not much sting

The Green Hornet (2011) • View trailer for The Green Hornet
Three stars (out of five). Rating: PG-13, for violent action, profanity, brief sensuality and fleeting drug content
By Derrick Bang


As also is true of Will Ferrell, a little bit of Seth Rogen goes a long way.

A very long way.

As a result, one’s ability to enjoy – or even tolerate – this crazed, quasi-satirical update of The Green Hornet will depend on a willingness to endure Rogen’s signature role, which never changes from one film to another: the amiable arrested adolescent with delusions of grandeur.

Having unwisely allowed their villainous adversary to trap them, the Green
Hornet (Seth Rogen, right) and Kato (Jay Chou) scramble to avoid being
crushed by several cement mixers, in one of this film's chaotic and often
unusual action scenes.

Suffice it to say, Rogen’s shadow looms quite large over this project. No surprise there, since he co-wrote the script (with Evan Goldberg) and took an executive producer credit, aside from making sure director Michel Gondry employed plenty of tight close-ups on his grinning, college-frat-boy mug.

Gondry’s involvement also raised numerous eyebrows, when this project was announced awhile back. The eclectic French director who brought us Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and The Science of Sleep has a surrealistic, dream-state approach to storytelling that seems at odds with the goofy atmosphere Rogen maintains during most of this film’s overlong (119 minutes) running time. Indeed, Gondry’s presence seems wasted: a “name” director brought in merely for his cult-film cred, rather than compatibility with the sort of mood Rogen clearly desired.

That said, Gondry gets to display his bizarre side a few times, during reality-heightened flashbacks when Rogen’s character struggles to employ the brain cells with which God endowed him at birth. (This effort at deep thinking generally is played for laughs, since an original idea would perish of loneliness in this man-child’s head.)

This poke at The Green Hornet joins last year’s Kick Ass and Scott Pilgrim vs. the World in what could be termed the nerd wish-fulfillment response to conventional superhero roles: the rise of the geek action star. Despite a lack of physical stature, dietary habits that blend alcohol with processed snack foods, and a pathological aversion to working out, somehow these habitually picked-upon social misfits can don a costume (of sorts) and effortlessly deck muscle-bound goons while collecting little more than bruises in return.

Nice thought.