My Spy the Eternal City: Family-friendly spyjinks

My Spy the Eternal City (2024) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for action violence, brief profanity and ill-advised teen behavior

Available via: Amazon Prime

By Derrick Bang

This film’s 2020 predecessor was one of the better entries in the odd little sub-genre that places macho action stars into light-hearted romps with children.

 

While Bobbi (Kristen Schaal, left) nervously awaits the worst, JJ (Dave Bautista)
reluctantly allows Sophie (Chloe Coleman) to pursue the bad guys ... while placing
too much faith in her insistence that she "knows how to drive."

Acknowledging that — and seeing no reason to change a winning hand — director Peter Segal and co-writers Erich Hoeber and Jon Hoeber have reunited with the original cast for another stunt-laden dose of spyjinks.

Although this sequel also can’t be taken seriously, the plot is a reasonable anchor point for droll character interactions and — as was the case with the first film — the solid dynamic between co-stars Dave Bautista and Chloe Coleman. Once again, their rapport feels reasonably authentic, and they’ve grown comfortably into their roles.

 

Four years have passed, since the events in the previous film. Former ace CIA operative JJ (Bautista) has transitioned into a desk job, in order to lead a more peaceful life with Kate (Lara Babalola), while also becoming a more attentive parent to her daughter Sophie (Coleman). Alas, now a teenager, the last thing this girl wants is a helicopter stepfather who constantly gets into her business.

 

Sophie’s focus is on hunky fellow high school choir member Ryan (Billy Barratt), much to the dismay of her best friend, Collin (Taeho K), who has long worshiped her from afar. Alas, Sophie takes Collin entirely for granted.

 

Elsewhere, CIA section chief David Kim (Ken Jeong) is horrified to discover that a crucial op has failed, thereby placing the locations of 100 nukes into the hands of enemy terrorists. 

 

Back at North Virginia High School, the choir has been selected — along with numerous other youthful choruses from the States and around the world — for an international competition that will climax with a massive performance for the Pope, in Vatican City. To Sophie’s horror, JJ eagerly volunteers to be one of the chaperones; this prompts nothing but derision from the head chaperone: rule-oriented school principal Nancy (Anna Faris), who doesn’t think he could possibly handle the responsibility.

 

Indeed, the first night in Venice is almost a disaster, when the kids break curfew. But the quick-thinking JJ saves the situation, which raises his cred — a bit — with his youthful charges. Unfortunately, things subsequently go awry when JJ unwisely allows Sophie, Ryan and Collin some “fun time” one evening.

 

At which point, Collin gets kidnapped.

My Spy: License to amuse

My Spy (2020) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for action violence and profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.10.20

A curious cinema sub-genre finds macho action stars slotted into comedies with children.

Vin Diesel turned babysitter in 2005’s The Pacifier. Dwayne Johnson discovered a surprise daughter in 2007’s The Game Plan, and donned a tutu in 2010’s Tooth Fairy. That latter year, Jackie Chan looked after his girlfriend’s three kids, in The Spy Next Door.

Although it breaks every known level of CIA protocol, JJ (Dave Bautista) reluctantly
accepts a dinner invitation from Kate (Parisa Fitz-Henley) ... in great part because her
daughter Sophie (Chloe Coleman) threatens to blow his cover if he refuses.

It therefore was inevitable Dave Bautista would follow in their footsteps.

These films rise or fall on the personality of the child(ren) involved; if they’re insufferable, ill-behaved little brats who exist solely to make their adult chaperones look like idiots, the results can be dire. And knowing that director Peter Segal was responsible for Tommy Boy, Nutty Professor II and a gaggle of overly broad Adam Sandler comedies, did not exactly inspire confidence.

But the Erich Hoeber/Jon Hoeber script is smarter than usual, for such projects, and Segal (mostly) eschews wretched excess. More crucially, young Chloe Coleman is genuinely endearing as Bautista’s pint-sized foil, and she can actually act … as opposed to many of the youngsters who turn up in films like this.

The result is far more entertaining than I expected. Heck, at times even mildly poignant.

Bautista has made the most of his post-Guardians of the Galaxy notoriety, and the WWE veteran has the same gruff, brooding charm that helped Arnold Schwarzenegger achieve fame, back in the day. He also has an imposing physical presence that contrasts amusingly with a storyline that demands his character “get in touch with his inner feelings.”

Hardened CIA operative Jason “JJ” Jones (Bautista), ex-Special Forces, is introduced while “handling” a weapons-grade plutonium trade between the Russian Mafia and a Middle Eastern terrorist. The resulting mayhem appears to conclude successfully, but appearances are deceiving; JJ’s cowboy heroics allow one of the key villains to escape.

Back at Langley, JJ’s boss (Ken Jeong, suitably condescending) is extremely displeased; the terrorist in the wind has half the means to threaten the world with a miniaturized nuclear bomb. While a rival agent gets the plum assignment of tracking the most likely action in Paris, JJ is banished to a nondescript Chicago apartment. His job: to surveil a single mother, Kate (Parisa Fitz-Henley), and her 9-year-old daughter, Sophie (Coleman).

Kate’s deceased husband was connected to the terrorists, so there’s an unlikely chance that she knows something. In other words, it’s a tedious, likely useless monitoring gig.

Scoob: A doggone hoot

Scoob (2020) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG, for mild suggestive humor and fantasy peril
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.10.20

Scooby-Doo, the nervous Great Dane with a nose for supernatural-style trouble — and a manner of “speaking” borrowed from Astro, on The Jetsons — has covered an amazing amount of territory since solving his first cast back on Sept. 13, 1969.

Our young heroes — from left, Velma, Fred, Shaggy, Daphne and Scooby-Doo — don't
know it yet, but they're about to solve their first mystery.

The character and his human sidekicks have never notbeen ubiquitous on television, thanks to well over a dozen variations on their initial 17-episode run … not to mention numerous direct-to-video films and several (mostly) live-action entries.

It’s safe to say that Scooby-Doo has eclipsed Rin Tin Tin and Lassie as the world’s most famous canine screen hero. (No accident, these days, that we refer to a crime-solving detective’s posse as a “Scooby gang.”)

Director Tony Cervone’s Scoob, debuting on HBO Max and other video-on-demand platforms, is guaranteed to keep the lovable pooch vibrant for additional years to come.

Cervone’s pacing frequently has the frantic intensity of classic Warner Bros. cartoons, and the script — credited to no fewer than six hands — definitely captures the original Scooby vibe, while inserting snarky asides and droll one-liners that’ll keep adults equally entertained. The voice talent is solid, and longtime Saturday morning cartoon fans will have fun spotting all the supporting characters borrowed from other Hanna-Barbera shows.

The film is littered with additional Hanna-Barbera “Easter eggs”; you’ll want to pay careful attention to billboards and street signs.

Scoob also serves as an origin story, of sorts, with a lengthy prolog that shows how a clumsy puppy with hilariously oversized paws chances to meet 10-year-old Shaggy Rogers at California’s Venice Beach. Of course, they bond over a shared sandwich, and thereafter become inseparable best buds.

Halloween arrives shortly thereafter, at which point Shaggy and Scoob meet up with Daphne, Velma and Fred. During a pell-mell attempt to retrieve Shaggy’s bag of Halloween candy from a supposedly haunted house — with Scoob hindering as much as helping — the quintet exposes the actual culprit behind these faux scary doings.

(That’s key; classic Scooby-Doo adventures always seemed to involve dire supernatural events, ultimately revealed — after all manner of pratfalls and red herrings — to be the work of decidedly Earthbound human baddies.)

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.)

Crazy Rich Asians: Rom-com by way of wretched excess

Crazy Rich Asians (2018) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for suggestive content and brief profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.17.18

Cross-cultural interpersonal friction has terrific potential in film comedies; the challenge is to ensure that the humor is warm and genuinely funny, without being demeaning or racist.

Rachel (Constance Wu, far right) is charmed when her boyfriend Nick (Henry Golding)
introduces her to his grandmother, Ah Ma (Lisa Lu, center), while other members of
his wealthy and privileged family watch warily.

My Big, Fat Greek Wedding successfully walked that delicate line, back in 2002; director Jon M. Chu has navigated the same potentially treacherous waters with equal care, in his adaptation of Kevin Kwan’s 2013 best-seller, Crazy Rich Asians.

This is even more impressive, given Chu’s résumé, which up to now has focused on the Step Up dance franchise and bombastic popcorn flicks such as G.I. Joe: Retaliation and Now You See Me 2. I wouldn’t have thought him capable of the prudent handling required by this droll rom-com.

He and scripters Peter Chiarelli and Adele Lim also give generous screen time to an impressive roster of supporting characters, all of whom get numerous opportunities to shine. That reflects good directing and writing; far too many ensemble projects focus exclusively on the name stars, shamefully leaving equally (if not more) intriguing co-stars twisting in the wind.

Chiarelli and Lim have done an equally impressive job of compressing the novel’s multiple points of view — the story is told, in alternating chapters, by five key characters — into a single narrative. Chu then transformed the saga into a strongly visual experience, particularly with respect to travel maps and inventive displays of chat-by-text: clever touches that obviously couldn’t have been done in print.

All this said, I’m not sure Kwan’s fans will approve. Although the key elements of boorish behavior have been retained — Chu deftly blends hilarious bits with moments that are quite painful — the film is a much kinder, gentler handling of the core plot, which (in the novel) is far more vicious and brutal.

Rachel Chu (Constance Wu), a professor of economics at New York University, is delighted when longtime boyfriend Nick Young (Henry Golding) invites her to tag along for his best friend’s wedding in Singapore. Unfortunately, Nick has neglected to mention that he’s the scion of one of the country’s wealthiest and most powerful families; perhaps even worse, back home he’s a sought-after bachelor still regarded as “fair game” by the aristocratic young women who mingle in his family’s refined social circle.

All of whom regard lower-middle-class Rachel as an insignificant threat, to be quickly disposed of.

(In Nick’s defense, as he later explains, he found it refreshing that Rachel fell in love with him without knowing his privileged background ... and he simply never got around to ’fessing up.)

Despicable Me 2: Villainy lite

Despicable Me 2 (2013) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rating: PG, and quite needlessly, for mild rude humor
By Derrick Bang

Thank goodness for the minions.

2010’s Despicable Me got much of its hilarious edge from the personality transformation experienced by Gru, the vaguely Slavic super-villain who mellows out — but only somewhat — after encountering a trio of trusting little girls.

Sent undercover as the owner of a mega-mall's boutique cupcake emporium, Gru is
annoyed to discover that he has been saddled with an assisant: Lucy Wilde, an
aggressively eager agent of the Anti-Villian League. Their goal: to figure out which
neighboring shopkeeper actually is a dastardly criminal mastermind.

Gru’s introductory strut in that first film — to a deliciously snarky title song written and performed by Pharrell Williams — was the stuff of greatness. Here was a gleeful scoundrel who’d embrace badness big and small, whether stealing the Earth’s Moon, or stealing candy from a baby. And he wouldn’t merely snatch the sweet from the crestfallen tyke; he’d replace it with a cod liver oil sucker.

Watching this fellow struggle against the arrival of a hitherto buried good side — trying to stay wicked in the face of unconditional love from Agnes, the youngest of his new wards — was the stuff of classic character comedy.

This sequel’s Gru, alas, has completed this makeover, and has fully embraced his light side. As a result, he’s both less interesting and less funny. His inventive genius now reduced to concocting playful gadgets for Agnes’ birthday party, the low point arrives when — a paid actress having failed to show up — Gru dresses himself as the world’s most unlikely fairy princess.

Which, yes, results in a genuinely poignant moment between Agnes and her de facto daddy.

I don’t intend to suggest that Despicable Me 2 is either disappointing or unsatisfying: far from it. Returning directors Pierre Coffin and Chris Renaud maintain their engaging blend of character comedy, goofy slapstick and oddball peril, and returning scripters Ken Daurio and Cinco Paul certainly know the territory.

But the latter are on their own this time, whereas the first film derived from a story by Sergio Pablos ... and he may be the essential missing ingredient. Despicable Me 2 is a more conventional animated comedy, in terms of its standard-issue narrative and predictable plot hiccups. We never knew what would happen in the first film, which was much of its charm; this sequel, in contrast, lacks that element of uncertainty.

Fortunately, Daurio and Paul have the good sense to grant more screen time to the first film’s breakout stars: the mischievous, hapless and hilariously speech-challenged minions.

We can’t get enough of them, and this new film takes ample advantage of that fact.

(To be more precise, we certainly haven’t yet gotten enough of them. Let’s see what happens next year, when they get their own movie.)

The Hangover, Part III: Out with a whimper

The Hangover, Part III (2013) • View trailer 
2.5 stars. Rating: R, for pervasive profanity and vulgar humor, some violence, a bit of drug content and some fleeting nudity
By Derrick Bang

The third — and presumably concluding — entry in this franchise is nothing like its two predecessors.

Which is quite bizarre. And likely to irritate Wolfpack fans.

Having reluctantly agreed to follow Leslie Chow's (Ken Jeong, center right) scheme for
breaking into his own house, the Wolfpack members — from left, Phil (Bradley Cooper),
Alan (Zach Galifianakis) and Stu (Ed Helms) — study an elaborate model and prepare
to add breaking-and-entering to their already checkered résumés.

I appreciate writer/director Todd Phillips’ desire not to do the same ol’ stuff yet again; in that sense, it’s refreshing to see him try something different. But this particular case of “something different” utterly abandons all the hallmarks that made the two previous films so popular with arrested adolescents.

No abandoned babies or monkeys this time. No out-of-control bachelor parties or Bangkok benders. No chipped teeth, no tattoos. Nothing, in fact, that embarrasses, humiliates, physically tarnishes or debases these guys to any degree.

So what fun is that?

Nobody gets hung over, either ... not from booze, not from drugs, not from anything else.

I must note, in fairness, that a brief post-credits tag scene delivers everything that's missing from the film itself ... so don't depart too quickly. But that's much too little, far too late.

Which makes this film’s title a betrayal, along with its plotline. Phillips and co-scripter Craig Mazin have slipped their characters into the parallel universe of a heist comedy: a detour that, ironically, probably will be viewed as more satisfying to folks who prefer not to wallow in sleaze.

But wallowing in sleaze is the Wolfpack job description. Phillips’ detour here is akin to discovering that one’s most disreputable local fraternity has transformed itself into the epitome of Christian civility.

Well, no; things haven’t gotten that pure. This film’s R rating is well earned for pervasive profanity, because these guys still drop F-bombs the way most of us use descriptive adjectives. And yes, there’s a bit of violence and drug content. And one burst of nudity at a rather unexpected moment.

And a ghastly incident involving a giraffe. And a low freeway overpass.

All that said, though, this still feels like Wolfpack Lite.

Pain & Gain: A brawny farce

Pain & Gain (2013) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rating: R, for strong violence, gore, profanity, nudity, crude sexual content and drug use
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.26.13

Truth really is stranger than fiction.

And sometimes quite a bit more deranged.

Having finally kidnapped Victor Kershaw (Tony Shalhoub, center) after several bumbling
failures, Daniel Lugo (Mark Wahlberg, right) orders the wealthy businessman to start
signing over his assets, while a nervous Paul Doyle (Dwayne Johnson) hopes that
things won't spiral out of control. That turns out to be a vain hope...

In late 1994, a group of bodybuilders based at Miami’s Sun Gym went on a crime, kidnapping, torture and murder spree that was both audacious and utterly beyond belief. Because the gang didn’t collectively share enough brain cells to pass third grade, they were, of course, eventually caught ... thus proving another old adage: We can be grateful that most criminals are so bone-stupid.

The whole gory mess — and I do mean gory — eventually landed in court in early 1998, resulting in the most expensive criminal trial in Dade County history. The case was covered for the Miami New Times by journalist Pete Collins, who also scoured court documents and investigative reports, and interviewed the principal characters, for an extensive three-part series that ran in late December 1999 and early January 2000.

The story is readily available at the New Times website, and makes a jaw-dropping read. Check it out, and I’ll wait for you to get back.

All set? Eyebrows raised to a degree you wouldn’t have thought possible?

Moving on, then...

Director Michael Bay and scripters Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely have transformed this vicious circus into a hilariously warped dark comedy that signals its intentions with an opening on-screen crawl that reads: “The following story is based on actual events. Unfortunately.”

Yes, several characters and events have been excised for the sake of expediency, and a 10-minute chase toward the end is pure Hollywood nonsense. But the salient details, and the major players, are 100 percent authentic. Unfortunately.

The farcical tone isn’t merely perfect for the material; it’s also a necessary self-defense mechanism, particularly when third-act events stray into the wood-chipper territory of 1996’s Fargo. As these meat-headed lunatics become ever more desperate, this increasingly grim saga remains palatable only because stars Mark Wahlberg, Dwayne Johnson and Anthony Mackie are so deliciously, delightfully dumb.

Some viewers will find this tone quite tasteless — making fun of brutal psychopaths, no matter how stupid they are — particularly in the wake of recent events in Boston and Sandy Hook. And several of the actual people victimized by the gang are particularly incensed that their ordeal has been transformed into a jocular burlesque.

Honestly, I’m sympathetic to that view; quite a few of my chuckles were followed by wincing pangs of guilt. But I can’t help admiring the outcome; Bay has delivered an indictment of modern, American-style violence that — to me, at least — makes a much stronger (and far more entertaining) social statement than Oliver Stone’s Natural Born Killers.