Deadpool & Wolverine: Death of a thousand cuts

Deadpool & Wolverine (2024) • View trailer

Two stars (out of five). Rated R, for constant strong bloody violence, gore, relentless profanity, and crude sexual references

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.4.24

This isn’t a movie; it’s a string of crude and violent blackout sketches laced with relentless profanity and vulgar one-liners, loosely stitched to a so-called plot that’s dog-nuts even by superhero movie standards.

 

Having penetrated the Big Bad's weird lair in this aggressively deranged flick,
Wolverine (Hugh Jackman, left) and Deadpool (Ryan Reynolds) realize that they
may be in over their heads...

The result is aimed squarely at arrested adolescent males and the geekiest comic book nerds ... and, judging by the opening weekend’s box office results — $438 million worldwide, shattering the previous record for an R-rated film — the folks at Marvel Studios apparently knew what they were doing.

Let’s call it a triumph of crass commercialism, while acknowledging that mainstream viewers — and even fans of the “conventional” Marvel superhero films — are advised to steer very, very clear. 

 

This gleefully atrocious burlesque wears “Tasteless” like a badge of honor. But if the wretched excess is removed — to quote Gertrude Stein — there is no there there. After the introductory title credits orgy of slashed throats, impalements, severed limbs, decapitations, gouts of blood, and relentless F-bombs, the realization that the entire film will continue in this manner, isn’t merely disheartening.

 

It’s boring. Truly.

 

The primary running joke concerns the constant squabbling and fighting between Deadpool and Wolverine, because — since both have regenerative powers — neither can be killed. Cue all manner of shooting, stabbing and bone-breaking mayhem.

 

Mildly funny the first time. Not on constant repeat.

 

Director Shawn Levy and his four co-scripters deserve mild credit for archly breaking the fourth wall and elevating meta to new heights, with foul-mouthed Deadpool (Ryan Reynolds) taking cheeky real-world jabs at Disney, 20th Century Fox and all manner of pop-culture entities. It’s like a Simpsons episode on speed, and when the snarky asides and Easter Eggs arrive with such rat-a-tat intensity, some of them are bound to land. And yes, a few do.

 

But that’s pretty thin gruel, given the vehicle driving this nonsense.

 

So: The “plot,” such as it is. Fasten your seatbelts; it’s gonna be a bumpy ride.

 

Wade Wilson, aka Deadpool, has been trying to go straight — as a car salesman — since his previous adventures in 2018’s Deadpool 2. This effort goes awry when he’s snatched from his life on Earth 10005 by Mr. Paradox (Matthew Macfadyen), a bureaucratic agent of the Time Variance Authority (TVA), responsible for monitoring all temporal law in the Marvel Comics Universe.

 

(Yes, this is a multiverse mash-up.)

Wonder Park: Far from it

Wonder Park (2019) • View trailer 
One star. Rated PG, despite quite scary sequences
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.15.19

This animation misfire is a total disaster.

Actually, it’s worse than that. I’ve been bored, nauseated, disgusted and repulsed by bad films over time, but only rarely do stinkers prompt the degree of hostility that swelled exponentially, as Wonder Park slogged to its conclusion.

June is delighted to discover that one of her favorite stuffed toys is a living, talking blue
bear in the parallel realm where her fantasy theme park also is real. Too bad her joy is
about to be shattered by a relentless hoard of chattering zombie monkeys...

To paraphrase the title from one of Roger Ebert’s books, I hated, hated, hated this film.

The premise is hopelessly weird, the execution deeply flawed. Mind you, we’re talking about a medium that has successfully made heroes of gourmet rats, frost-generating princesses, and dogs struggling to survive on an island of trash.

I’m surprised Josh Appelbaum, André Nemec and Robert Gordon are willing to acknowledge having written this clumsy, incoherent, ill-conceived mess. I can’t imagine how the initial elevator pitch would have gone. What in the world could have prompted Paramount execs to believe this notion ever could have been made into a coherent film?

We’re talkin’ irredeemable stinker, folks.

The story, such as it is:

June Bailey (voiced by Brianna Denski), a precocious young genius probably destined for an engineering career, loves amusement parks. She and her mother (Jennifer Garner) have spent years sketching out the ultimate fantastical theme park, filled with delightfully crazy rides. They call it Wonder Park, and its pretend “ambassadors” — who “put the ‘wonder’ in Wonder Park” — are June’s assortment of stuffed animals.

But here’s the thing: Every outrageous new ride that June whispers into the ear of her stuffed monkey, Peanut, is heard and instantly fabricated by a living, breathing Peanut, who — in some alternate universe — is the magical architect of an actual Wonder Park. Which is stuffed with happy human patrons, who aren’t the slightest bit fazed to be hosted by a talking monkey (Norbert Leo Butz) and counterparts of June’s other stuffed critters: Greta, a wild boar (Mila Kunis); Boomer, a narcoleptic blue bear (Ken Hudson Campbell); Steve, the porcupine safety officer (John Oliver); and beaver brothers Gus and Cooper (Kenan Thompson and Ken Jeong).

Ohhhhh-kay. This is a stretch. Probably an impossible one, but we gotta roll with it.

(As the story proceeds, there’s a strong echo of the real-world/fantasy-world divide in The LEGO Movie, which feels a bit like copycatting.)

Peppermint: Revenge is sweet

Peppermint (2018) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated R, for strong violence and profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 9.7.18

I miss the pink hair.

I also miss the moral uncertainty with which Jennifer Garner grappled so persuasively, during five seasons of television’s engaging Alias. 

Judge Stevens (Jeff Harlan, left) isn't the slightest bit happy to see Riley North
(Jennifer Garner) again ... particularly since he's bound and gagged, and she's
about to do something terrible.

And the gentler moments that bookended that show’s explosions of violence.

Although it’s a kick to see Garner get her bad self back on, don’t expect gentler moments here; there’s nothing vicarious about Chad St. John’s grim script for Peppermint. This is a revenge saga — simple and unadorned — and we must be grateful for the personality Garner is allowed to breathe into her character.

She has entered formulaic territory explored by all manner of previous actors: from Charles Bronson and Sylvester Stallone, to Liam Neeson and Keanu Reeves. Director Pierre Morel certainly knows the territory, having introduced Neeson to his own bad-ass career revival, with 2008’s Taken.

Morel moves things along at a good clip, succumbing only occasionally to obnoxious jiggly cinematography and a few other distracting stylistic tics. And if he and St. John turn Garner into an essentially indestructible avatar just this side of a superhero, well, she still takes a lot of punishment. Which she endures with persuasive agony and anguish, as she always did in Alias.

Morel and St. John hit the ground running, with a vicious confrontation between Riley North (Garner) and a gang-banger, within the tight confines of an enclosed vehicle. The outcome is inevitable, but the next step is temporarily left undisclosed; first we flash back five years, to witness what brought a suburban working mother to this dire situation.

We thus meet Riley for the second time: happily married to husband Chris (Jeff Hephner), and both devoted to young daughter Carly (the adorable Cailey Fleming). They live in a cheerful Los Angeles suburb, and money is tight; she works at a bank, he runs an auto repair shop, and they still can’t quite make ends meet. 

A friend tempts Chris into a “sure-fire easy way” to make a bunch of money, but — thinking it over, later — he wisely declines. (Good man, we think: the first of several clever little touches in St. John’s script.)

Unfortunately, the “friend” intended to steal from a local drug cartel run by Diego Garcia (Juan Pablo Raba). Unaware that Chris has turned down the offer, Garcia orders his men to “smoke” everybody, as an object lesson. Cue a fusillade of gunfire that unintentionally leaves Riley alive, with horrific images now permanently etched onto her eyeballs.

Love, Simon: Utterly adorable

Love, Simon (2018) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for sexual references, mild teen misbehavior and brief profanity
By Derrick Bang

Director Greg Berlanti’s teen-oriented charmer reminds me of how much I miss the great John Hughes years: the decade marked by Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, Some Kind of Wonderful and numerous others.

Masters of all they survey (well ... maybe not): Simon (Nick Robinson, second from left) and
his friends — from left, Nick (Jorge Lendeborg Jr.), Abby (Alexandra Shipp) and Leah
(Katherine Langford) — chat while heading toward drama class, and another rehearsal
for the high school musical.

Back when movie teenagers displayed some intelligence, chatted using words of more than one syllable, and fell in and out of love in a manner that felt genuine.

No cheap vulgarity or offensively exploitative nudity. And none of the terminally ill — or already dead — kids who’ve been populating a recent sub-genre.

Indeed, Berlanti’s handling of Love, Simon feels like an engaging cross between Gregory’s Girl — now, there’s a classic — and Hughes’ Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, albeit reconfigured for the social media age. Elizabeth Berger and Isaac Aptaker have delivered a marvelous adaptation of Becky Albertalli’s 2015 young adult novel, Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda; their script is funny, poignant, shrewdly perceptive and — on several occasions — devastatingly, hide-behind-your-hands shattering.

I wanted to sink through the movie theater floor at least twice. Been there, imagined that. Never made public mistakes quite so catastrophic, but hey: could have.

To cases:

Seventeen-year-old Simon Spier (Nick Robinson) lives a perfect life, blessed with kind and progressive parents — Josh Duhamel and Jennifer Garner, as Jack and Emily — and a doting younger sister (Talitha Bateman, as Nora) to who he is equally devoted. The comfortably secure family lives in a gorgeous home, complete with dog.

Simon has his own car, with which he collects his posse each school morning, stopping en route for a coffee fix shared with longtime BFF Leah (Katherine Langford), best guy friend Nick (Jorge Lendeborg Jr.) and comparative newcomer Abby (Alexandra Shipp). We don’t see much in the way of routine class work, but everybody is involved with the drama group production of Cabaret.

This musical’s haphazardly talented cast — drama teacher Ms. Albright (Natasha Rothwell) having been instructed to accept all students, regardless of thespic or singing ability — includes Martin (Logan Miller), the socially inept class clown who always says and does the wrong thing at the worst possible moment. Somebody to be pitied, but also somebody to be avoided.

Life couldn’t be better, right?

Well ... no, not really.

Danny Collins: A truly delightful tune

Danny Collins (2015) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated R, for profanity, nudity and drug content
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.10.15

You have to admire a fact-based film that’s candid about not telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Danny Collins opens with a disclaimer that reads “Kind of based on a true story a little bit.” Gotta love it.

Disgusted by the sell-out, media-hungry clown he has become, Danny (Al Pacino, left)
seriously contemplates ending it all ... little realizing that a most unusual birthday present
from manager and longtime friend Frank (Christopher Plummer) is about to change his life.

As it happens, writer/director Dan Fogelman’s charming dramedy merely “borrows” a minor incident as a jumping-off point for the wholly fictitious saga of an aging rock/pop star who undergoes a life-changing epiphany.

Or so he hopes...

Fogelman has sharp writing sensibilities: an eye for engaging character dynamics, and an ear for the sort of intelligent, witty badinage that we don’t get often enough in today’s movies. After script assists on animated fare such as Cars and Tangled, and an endearing solo turn on the under-appreciated TV movie Lipshitz Saves the World, Fogelman made an impressive big-screen writing splash with 2011’s delightful Crazy, Stupid, Love.

His immediate follow-ups — The Guilt Trip and Last Vegas — were somewhat disappointing, in comparison, but Fogelman has kicked back into high gear with Danny Collins, on which he also makes a respectable directing debut. The result is a thoroughly entertaining, character-driven melodrama that grants Al Pacino his best role since his turn as TV journalist Lowell Bergman, in 1999’s The Insider.

He stars here as Danny Collins, a one-time rock wunderkind whose debut album, way back in the day, demonstrated the poetic grace of a Bob Dylan ... but who, during the intervening four decades, has succumbed to the drugs, alcohol and circus-style pomp of his rock-god image, up to and including his hilariously overdone, George Hamilton-style tan.

I hope Neil Diamond has a good sense of humor, because the typical Danny Collins concert extravaganza with which Fogelman opens his film — during which the star belts out his signature anthem, “Hey, Baby Doll,” to enthusiastic audience participation — looks and sounds just like the love-fest that occurs whenever Diamond does “Sweet Caroline” during his shows.

Backstage, the ennui has taken its toll, the years of identically vacuous performances deeply etched into lines of discouragement on Danny’s face. And while he may have more money than God, and all the trappings that wealth can buy — including a sexpot girlfriend half his age (Katarina Cas, as the rarely dressed Sophie) — Danny has become cynical, miserable, bored ... and desperate.

Desperate enough, that the notion of another birthday is giving him thoughts of ending it all.

Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day: Modest but enjoyable

Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day (2014) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG, and needlessly, for mild rude humor
By Derrick Bang

Kid-oriented family films seem an endangered species these days, because too many Hollywood execs confuse “sweet” with “stupid.” Most so-called family comedies succumb to the sort of wretched excess and mindless slapstick that very nearly destroyed the Disney studio, back in the late 1960s and early ’70s.

Alexander (Ed Oxenbould, foreground left) and his family — from left, Anthony (Dylan
Minnette), Emily (Kerris Dorsey), Ben (Steve Carell), Kelly (Jennifer Garner) and Baby
Trevor — react to the newest calamity during a ghastly day laden with crises.

It really is true: In Hollywood, as everywhere else, those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it.

On top of which, the core premise is flawed: Family films need not rely on the massive destruction of personal property, or on adults made to look inane while in the presence of obnoxious and overly precocious brats. Nor is it necessary to slide into icky sentimentality while delivering a few mellow truths.

Some filmmakers understand this, with the recent trilogy drawn from Jeff Kinney’s Diary of a Wimpy Kid books being a prominent example. They carefully maneuvered the fine line between genuine humor and dumb farce, between heartfelt emotion and slushy schmaltz.

Director Miguel Arteta and scripter Rob Lieber also get the proper mix, with their big-screen adaptation of Judith Viorst’s popular children’s book, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

Full disclosure dictates, however, the acknowledgment that this film shares absolutely nothing with Viorst’s book, aside from its title and core premise. Former kids who remember having the book read aloud to them, back when it was published in 1972, are apt to wonder what the heck happened to their favorite story. And the parents doing the reading are certain to be just as surprised.

Granted, it’s not possible to make a feature-length film from a 32-page picture book; some expansion was essential. But you have to wonder why Lieber messed with details such as Alexander’s two older brothers, who in this film morph into an older brother and sister, along with a bonus infant brother. Part of the original Alexander’s bad day concerned the belittling behavior of his jerky older siblings, whereas Arteta and Lieber go out of their way to emphasize harmony and mutual respect between all members of the Cooper family.

So, okay; that’s a reasonable alternate approach, and it better sets up the calamities that erupt in this very bad day.

To elaborate:

This particular Alexander (Ed Oxenbould, perhaps remembered from the TV series Puberty Blues) endures his personal bad day as something of a prologue, on the day before his 12th birthday. It begins when he wakes up with chewing gum in his hair, and climaxes with a catastrophe in the school science lab, thanks to his efforts to flirt with the girl of his dreams (Sidney Fullmer, appropriately adorable as Becky).

Draft Day: Quite a fumble

Draft Day (2014) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated PG-13, for occasional profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.11.14

I’ve no doubt that a compelling film could be spun from the suspense, acrimony, dashed hopes and back-room negotiating that lead up to the annual NFL draft, but scripters Rajiv Joseph and Scott Rothman didn’t find it.

With his job and the fate of his team hanging in the balance, Sonny (Kevin Costner,
center) debates the merits of a potential draft choice with league "capologist" Ali
(Jennifer Garner). Their discussion includes numerous pregnant pauses because,
well, Sonny and Ali also are An Item, and she's, well, pregnant. Just the sort of detail
one would expect from a football league war room, right?

Nor did director Ivan Reitman, who can’t seem to decide whether he’s making a mild farce or a straight drama. No surprise, since Reitman remains best known for his 1980s triple-play of Stripes, Ghostbusters and Twins. He’s not done so well of late, with a string of forgettable junk that includes Evolution and My Super Ex-Girlfriend.

But sports drama? Not even close. Reitman’s most mature and subtly pleasing effort remains 1993’s Dave, which owes its juice to Gary Ross’ superlative script and Kevin Kline’s sublime starring performance.

Draft Day has neither. Kevin Costner tries his best with this flimsy material, but his limited thespic range isn’t up to the subtlety demanded by his role. It’s pretty bad when we can’t tell the difference between Costner looking happy, looking worried or looking irritated. It’s all the same bland expression.

Comparisons to Moneyball are inevitable, since both films deal with the fine points of building a winning sports franchise. But that’s where the comparison ends; Aaron Sorkin and Steven Zaillian wrote a genius script for Moneyball — working from a story by Stan Chervin, and a book by Michael Lewis — and the result was mesmerizing drama that drew much of its power from the clever way we were inserted into the action. Most crucially, Moneyball never talked down to its audience.

Rothman and Joseph, in great contrast, assume that we’re blithering idiots; their screenplay gracelessly spoon-feeds details in a way that becomes quite tiresome. (This project unbelievably topped Hollywood’s 2012 “Black List” of best unproduced scripts.) As we initially visit each of the football franchises involved with this story, a text card gives us the city, in bold type (CLEVELAND!), followed by a second card that identifies the team with the sort of breathless emphasis associated with screaming tabloid headlines (Home of the BROWNS!).

Actually, that’s not Reitman’s worst stylistic offense. He and cinematographer Eric Steelberg obviously adore their horizontal cross-fades, with one image sliding across the screen to intersect with another, sometimes allowing a foreground figure to “intrude” into the neighboring scene. It’s a slick trick, visually ... the first time. And the second. Maybe even the third.

By the 50th time, however, we’re well and truly sick of it. Camera gimmicks of this nature only succeed when they’re a) instrumental to the story; and b) employed sparingly. The finest example remains Haskell Wexler’s use of split screens in 1968’s original Thomas Crown Affair, a pinnacle seldom achieved since then. Steelberg’s technique here does absolutely nothing to advance the story; he’s merely showing off.

Dallas Buyers Club: A smart investment

Dallas Buyers Club (2013) • View trailer 
4.5 stars. Rating: R, for pervasive profanity, strong sexual content, nudity and drug use
By Derrick Bang

Some heroes are born. Others are made.

Kicking, screaming, scratching and spitting every step of the way.

Ron Woodroof (Matthew McConaughey, right) initially reacts with knee-jerk contempt
when the cross-dressing Rayon (Jared Leto) offers to help establish a rather unusual
business model. Soon, though, "just business" grows into something a great deal
more profound.

Ron Woodroof’s unexpected saga wasn’t nearly as poetic or dramatically mesmerizing as is suggested in Jean-Marc Vallée’s new film, Dallas Buyers Club, but there’s no doubt that the real-life Woodroof was an unlikely champion for the disenfranchised, much the way Oskar Schindler found his calling during World War II.

Texas born-and-bred Woodroof was a hard-living, harder-drinking electrical contractor when he was blindsided by an HIV diagnosis in 1986, and given sixth months to live. (Vallée’s film shifts this life-changing moment to 1985, to tie the unfolding drama to Rock Hudson’s announcement, that July, that he had AIDS.)

Not one to blithely accept a death sentence, Woodroof went into the research tank and emerged a year later to found what became known as the Dallas Buyers Club: an underground source of drugs not approved by the FDA for use in the United States ... but, in many cases, legal in other countries and known to be helpful for HIV-positive patients, and those with full-blown AIDS.

Woodroof’s story, and the Dallas Buyers Club, were profiled in Bill Minutaglio’s compelling article in Dallas Life Magazine, published on Aug. 9, 1992. Woodroof died not quite a month later, on Sept. 12. During the seven years he ran his guerrilla drug network, there’s no question he helped prolong the lives of hundreds, if not thousands, of desperately ill people ... just as he prolonged his own life.

Interesting, then, that we’ve waited two full decades for a film to be made about this feisty, foul-mouthed, oddly charismatic Texas renegade.

Vallée’s film is powered by a galvanic performance from Matthew McConaughey, who notoriously dropped 47 pounds in order to convincingly play the emaciated Woodroof. That’s obviously a drastic move, but it certainly lends considerable verisimilitude to what we see onscreen, just as Christian Bale’s similar weight-loss routine brought jaw-dropping realism to his portrayal of crack-addicted Dicky Eklund, in The Fighter.

But the intensity of McConaughey’s performance here derives from a great deal more than his painfully thin frame; he charges through this role with a level of desperation that matches his character’s angry struggle to stay alive. And anger is the right word, because Woodroof quickly comes to believe that the U.S. medical establishment is, at best, moving much too slowly to battle a disease primarily killing the nation’s “expendables”; or, at worst, actively conspiring with Big Pharma to develop and deliver piecemeal treatment in a manner designed solely to maximize profits.

The Odd Life of Timothy Green: A delicate bloom

The Odd Life of Timothy Green (2012) • View trailer
3.5 stars. Rating: PG, and needlessly, for mild (and fleeting) profanity
By Derrick Bang

Peter Hedges makes delightfully idiosyncratic films about socially awkward and mildly eccentric characters somewhat out of step with the real world: people not quite in synch with the rest of us, and unable to figure out how to bridge that divide.

Rather perplexed by the ivy-esque leaves that appear to be fastened
to the lower legs of the mysterious boy (Cameron "CJ" Adams) who
entered their lives as in answer to a prayer, Cindy (Jennifer Garner)
and Jim (Joel Edgerton, far right) bring the little guy to a horticulturist
(Lin-Manuel Miranda). He offer to clip off the leaves ... a suggestion
that we just know is misguided.

Hedges doesn’t work quickly; he came to our attention back in 1993, when he adapted his own novel, What’s Eating Gilbert Grape, for director Lasse Hallström. He followed that with adaptations of two books by other authors — Jane Hamilton’s A Map of the World and Nick Hornby’s About a Boy (the latter earning Hedges an Academy Award nomination) — before taking the director’s chair for his next project, 2003’s Pieces of April.

Aside from giving Katie Holmes her best role to date — and bringing co-star Patricia Clarkson an Oscar nomination for supporting actress — Pieces of April established Hedges as a writer/director with a fondness for wayward souls, and a solid sense of the way people interact with each other. His next project, the 2007 romantic comedy Dan in Real Life, remains my favorite Steve Carell film.

All of which brings us to the aptly titled The Odd Life of Timothy Green, a delicate, poignant little fantasy that I suspect will have trouble finding an audience during these noisy, action-oriented summer months. Timothy Green feels like a story that might have been spun by the Brothers Grimm, were they among us today; this is a fairy tale with a gentle message, and characters whose lives are changed by the intervention of a supernatural being straight out of wish-fulfillment dreams.

The story is credited to Ahmet Zappa, a low-profile actor making an intriguing writing debut; Hedges directed and supplied the script. The result is whimsical, charming and completely preposterous ... and that latter attribute is somewhat at odds with Hedges’ traditional strengths.

Because this narrative can’t possibly take place in our world, despite his insistence that it’s doing precisely that.

Cindy and Jim Green (Jennifer Garner and Joel Edgerton) live in the small town of Stanleyville, known as “the pencil capital of the world.” Unfortunately, the growing proliferation of computers, iPhones and the like have greatly diminished the demand for pencils, and plant employees keep expecting manager Franklin Crudstaff (Ron Livingston) to announce cutbacks and layoffs.

Arthur: Poor little rich remake

Arthur (2011) • View trailer for Arthur
Three stars (out of five). Rating: PG-13, for sensuality, profanity, drug references and relentless alcohol abuse
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.8.11


Director Jason Winer's most impressive accomplishment, in his remake of 1981's Arthur, is keeping a lid on his star's aggressively flamboyant tendencies.

A little bit of Russell Brand goes a very long way.

Breakfast time in the Bach household often is conducted well after the noon
hour, as Hobson (Helen Mirren) patiently prepares a meal for the utterly
helpless Arthur (Russell Brand), who couldn't boil water without destroying
half the kitchen.

Indeed, I'd argue that Brand is best used as a supporting player, where his shenanigans can provide an ostentatious counterpoint to calmer leading players; in just such a capacity, he was one of the brighter spots in the mostly forgettable Forgetting Sarah Marshall. Alternatively, Brand completely overwhelmed last year's Get Him to the Greek ... which, I've no doubt, delighted both his fans and anybody who enjoys the similarly overplayed antics of, say, Will Ferrell or Steve Coogan. Larger-than-life comic personalities rarely "act" in their films, as opposed to simply playing unvarying versions of their successful stage personas.

In which case, let the viewer beware.

But Brand manages to be occasionally endearing here, as Arthur Bach: a spoiled-rotten, super-rich, arrested adolescent who never refuses an opportunity to make headlines while concocting new ways to embarrass his mother. Vivienne (Geraldine James) runs the family corporate empire, her husband — Arthur's father — having (wisely?) passed on when his only son was 3. Subsequently raised in a sheltered environment by an absentee single parent too frequently in the boardroom, Arthur has turned unrestrained hedonism into an Olympic-caliber sport, believing that one cannot have too much wine, too many women (often simultaneously) or too much song.

All this is a constant source of irritation to Hobson (Helen Mirren), Arthur's patient, long-suffering but mordantly prickly nanny. Hobson tirelessly cleans up after her charge, having done so for decades. And if this is motivated at least in part by affection, as opposed to a regular paycheck, that's difficult to discern ... initially, anyway.

Oh, yes: Arthur also drinks. Constantly. Excessively. With the intention of humorous effect.

Therein lies a problem.

The original Arthur, brilliantly written and directed by Steve Gordon — who died, tragically, just after the release of this, his big-screen debut — was designed as an homage to 1930s Hollywood screwball comedies, which existed in the same sort of rarefied, fantasyland atmosphere populated by Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dance flicks. This was an era of archetypes rarely seen in our more cynical, obnoxiously politically correct 21st century: dumb blondes, honorable cowboys, hookers with a heart of gold, and — most crucially, for our purposes — lovable drunks. Gordon's "Arthur" was a hit not just because of star Dudley Moore's spot-on performance, but also because the entire film so perfectly imitated this bygone era, while ostensibly being set in the present day.

Even as Arthur fell in love with the plain, working-class woman who taught him about the value of self-reliance — an improbably cast Liza Minnelli, but hey, she made it work — Gordon was careful not to slide too far into the real world. The bubble would have burst.

Winer and screenwriter Peter Baynham, in their remake, exercise no such caution ... and more's the pity.

Valentine's Day: Rather sweet

Valentine's Day (2010) • View trailer for Valentine's Day
3.5 stars (out of five). Rating: PG-13, for sexual candor and fleeting nudity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.12.10
Buy DVD: Valentine's Day • Buy Blu-Ray: Valentine's Day [Blu-ray]


Interconnected stories and all-star casts have been a Hollywood staple ever since 1932's Grand Hotel, a best picture Academy Award winner that tossed Greta Garbo, John Barrymore, Joan Crawford, Wallace Beery — and numerous other big names of the day — into a richly melodramatic and romantic stew that took place at a plush Berlin hotel "where nothing ever happens."

The technique also has been exploited for tension-fueled drama in recent hits such as Crash and Babel.

Ten-year-old Edison (Bryce Robinson, right) thinks nothing of the fact that he
has insufficient funds for an expensive flower transaction, and assumes that
Reed (Ashton Kutcher) will stand him the difference. Their negotiation is one
of many aw-shucks moments in Valentine's Day.

On a lighter, more playfully romantic note, the recent benchmark remains 2003's Love Actually, one of the most sparkling ensemble romps ever made.

Director Garry Marshall and a trio of screenwriters — Katherine Fugate, Abby Kohn and Marc Silverstein — seem to have fashioned Valentine's Day as an American response to Love Actually, and to a degree they've succeeded. Marshall's film, although uneven, hits many of the same whimsical high notes; the large ensemble cast is well used in a series of stories connected in ways that are both mildly contrived and extremely clever.

Indeed, the final few surprises — saved for the film's very end — can't help making you smile.

The varied events and encounters take place during a single day — Valentine's Day — throughout various portions of Los Angeles. We begin with three different couples waking in each other's arms: flower shop vendor Reed (Ashton Kutcher), who springs a ring and pops the question to girlfriend Morley (Jessica Alba); grade school teacher Julia (Jennifer Garner), deliriously in love with new boyfriend Harrison (Patrick Dempsey); and agent-in-training Jason (Topher Grace), in the early stages of dating agency receptionist Liz (Anne Hathaway).

Elsewhere, teen bubblehead Felicia (pop music sensation Taylor Swift) receives a huge stuffed white teddy bear from boyfriend Willy (Taylor Lautner). Felicia's good friend Grace (Emma Roberts) and her longtime boyfriend Alex (Carter Jenkins) have decided to "take their relationship to the next level" with a clandestine lunchtime bedroom rendezvous at her home, when she knows both parents will be out.

Grace babysits 10-year-old Edison (Bryce Robinson), who lives with his grandparents (Shirley MacLaine, Hector Elizondo) and is a star pupil in Julia's class. Edison, secretly sweet on somebody in his classroom, has grandiose plans for this particular Valentine's Day.

But not everybody is swooningly, deliriously perky over the prospect of this annual holiday for lovers. TV sports reporter Kelvin (Jamie Foxx) resents being stuck with a day of "lovers in the street" puff pieces, when he'd much rather pursue a story involving the future of star football quarterback Sean Jackson (Eric Dane).

The Invention of Lying: The truth hurts

The Invention of Lying  (2009) • View trailer for The Invention of Lying
Three stars (out of five). Rating: PG-13, for profanity and sexual candor
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.8.09
Buy DVD: The Invention of Lying• Buy Blu-Ray: The Invention of Lying [Blu-ray]


This one's a 15-minute stand-up monologue with delusions of grandeur.

Although the premise of The Invention of Lying — written and directed collaboratively by Ricky Gervais and Matthew Robinson, and starring Gervais — is intriguing, and no doubt would make a fascinating topic for theological discussion, this 100-minute film runs out of gas long before the halfway point.

Despite his newfound wealth and prestige, Mark (Ricky Gervais, right) still
can't prevent Anna (Jennifer Garner) from preferring the superficial physical
attributes of the pompous and insufferably vain Brad (Rob Lowe).

Much of the blame falls to the direction and many of the performances, which are oddly flat and uninvolving. Gervais is his usual amusingly understated self, and co-stars Jennifer Garner and Rob Lowe bring much-needed sparkle to these proceedings. But everybody else seems to amble about in a perpetual Valium haze, their line-readings delivered with a neither interest nor conviction.

The Invention of Lying takes place in a parallel world precisely like ours, except that people are wired in such a way that they're incapable of anything but the absolute truth. Thus, a standard greeting — "How are you today?" — invites a wealth of excruciating detail, and spontaneous encounters are likely to be quite deflating. ("My, what an ugly baby!")

Somehow, all this raw honesty never leads to violence, as if this world also has been flensed of anger and wounded pride. The moment this penny drops — roughly, oh, five minutes in — the seams of this script begin to spring other leaks, as well. A full-length film, particularly one this languidly paced, gives us far too much time to ponder its many logical flaws.

Gervais plays Mark Bellison, a screenwriter for the Lecture Films Motion Picture Studios, known by its motto: "We film someone telling you about things that happened." Fiction also doesn't exist in this realm, because fiction is untruth: thus, no novels or dramas of any kind. Movies and TV are nonstop documentaries, and Mark is having serious trouble finding anything "fun" to write about in his given assignment of the 13th century.

A blind date with Anna McDoogles (Garner) doesn't go terribly well, because she candidly admits that she probably won't want to see him again. Things get worse when Mark loses his job and is one day away from being evicted from his apartment. In desperation, he heads to the bank to empty his account; the computers are down temporarily, but of course the teller is willing to take his word for how much remains.

And he lies.