Cha Cha Real Smooth: Lamentably wrinkled

Cha Cha Real Smooth (2022) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five). Rated R, for profanity and sexual candor

Available via: Apple TV+

By Derrick Bang

“Failure to launch” films tend to be whiny and self-indulgent, so it’s refreshing to see writer/director Cooper Raiff move in a different direction. Cha Cha Real Smooth bubbles with exuberance and thoughtful, likable performances.

 

Family dinners are a bit uncomfortable for Andrew (Cooper Raiff, left), who gets
defensive about his lack of career resolve. But this doesn't bother David (Evan Assante),
who worships the ground on which his older brother walks.

Unfortunately, much the way its main character wanders aimlessly through this snapshot of his early 20s, having not the slightest idea what to make of his life, Raiff’s film suffers a similar degree of messy uncertainty. One cannot fault a filmmaker’s ambition, but it’s disappointing when his reach exceeds his grasp.

Raiff also stars as Andrew, freshly post-college and truly, madly, deeply in love with girlfriend Maya (Amara Pedroso). Unfortunately, she has relocated to Barcelona to finish her studies, and he lacks the funds to follow. With no other options, he moves back in with his mother Lisa (Leslie Mann) and stepfather Greg (Brad Garrett), where he shares a bedroom with his much younger brother David (Evan Assante).

 

David is invited to a Bar Mitzvah a few days later; he encourages Andrew to tag along. The evening proves transformative: Andrew meets the coy, sexy and mildly mysterious Domino (Dakota Johnson), attending with her autistic teenage daughter Lola (Vanessa Burghardt). 

 

His enthusiastic flair for encouraging the kids — and their parents — to the dance floor, also makes him the go-to “party starter” for the neighborhood’s many upcoming Bar and Bat Mitzvahs: a far better gig than his soulless part-time job at a mall fast-food joint called Meat Sticks. Anything that’ll help get him to Barcelona faster.

 

What follows is built primarily on relationships, several of which are captivating. Andrew has an amiably devoted bond with his mother, who cheerfully tolerates her elder son’s directionless indecision. (“Do you really want to go to Barcelona?” she perceptively asks, at one point, and then smiles indulgently when he insists that yes, he does.)

 

Raiff and Mann work well together during such moments, and Raiff’s many scenes with Assante are equally captivating; the fraternal bond feels authentic. David is desperate to get his first kiss from a girl he has long crushed over; Andrew offers insightful encouragement. There’s no sense that David minds suddenly sharing his bedroom; indeed, he clearly worships Andrew (who, to his credit, does not abuse that trust).

 

Even the mostly silent Greg, played by Garrett as a stoic, imposing presence, is intriguing. Andrew can’t figure out what his mother sees in the guy, as they seem to have nothing in common. “He makes me happy,” she explains, during a key moment, and Mann earnestly sells the emotion of those four words.

 

The Croods — A New Age: Feels somewhat primitive

The Croods: A New Age (2020) • View trailer

Three stars. Rated PG, for mild rude humor

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 11.27.20

The Croods: A New Age — now playing in whatever theaters are open, and available via video-on-demand closer to Christmas — is akin to its 2013 ancestor … only much more so. 

 

Eep displays her strength by hoisting new best friend Dawn aloft, while the others — from
left, Ugga, Grug, Guy, Hope and Phil — watch with a blend of admiration and concern.

Director Joel Crawford eschews the subtler wit that filmmakers Kirk DeMicco and Chris Sanders brought to the original, instead favoring relentless pacing and a shrieking tone; both prove exhausting before this new film is even half over. These characters rarely chat; they’re always yelling, screaming, bellowing, howling … well, you get the point.

 

We’re once again in an imaginary prehistoric past, set — as DeMicco and Sanders cheekily suggested — somewhere between the Jurassic Age and the “Katzenzoic Era.” The entire voice cast has returned; the cave-dwelling Croods consist of father figure Grug (Nicholas Cage) and his wife Ugga (Catherine Keener); their teenage daughter Eep (Emma Stone), adolescent son Thunk (Clark Duke) and toddler Sandy (still not speaking); and Ugga’s mother Gran (Cloris Leachman).

 

As before, Grug maintains an inflexible set of rules intended to ensure their survival, most notably that the pack (which is to say, the family) Must. Stay. Together. Alas, this is becoming less likely, because Eep and Guy (Ryan Reynolds) — the young man they came across in the first film — have become a serious item, and are thinking about starting their own pack. 

 

It’s every father’s nightmare, and Cage once again is hilarious in full-tilt exasperation mode.

 

This sequel grants Guy a back-story, during a prologue that picks up years before the first film’s events, when — as a young boy — he’s orphaned during a close encounter with a tar pit (a rather grim opening for a family-friendly animated film). His parents’ final words direct him to “follow the light, to find tomorrow,” so the boy wanders … and wanders … and wanders.

 

Along the way, he finds the cuddly three-toed sloth, Belt, that becomes his constant companion and fashion statement. Years pass, and they eventually meet up with the Croods, and so forth.

 

Moving forward, the search for food remains a constant challenge that hasn’t gone well of late. The pack therefore is astonished to discover an idyllic, impressively farmed, food-laden paradise sheltered behind tall wooden walls. This proves to be the home of the aptly named Bettermans: Phil (Peter Dinklage), wife Hope (Leslie Mann) and teenage daughter Dawn (Kelly Marie Tran).

Motherless Brooklyn: The Big Apple's rotten core

Motherless Brooklyn (2019) • View trailer 
4.5 stars. Rated R, for violence, profanity and drug use
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 11.1.19

Fans of Jonathan Lethem’s award-winning 1999 crime fiction novel will be quite surprised by what director/scripter Edward Norton has done with it.

The spider and the fly: Thoroughly irritated by the persistent investigation mounted by
private detective Lionel Essrog (Edward Norton, right), rapacious New York City developer
Moses Randolph (Alec Baldwin) demands a face-to-face, hoping to make an offer his
pipsqueak tormentor dare not refuse.

Lethem’s Motherless Brooklyn, although contemporary to its late 20th century arrival, has the attitude, atmosphere and plot stylings of 1940s and ’50s pulp detective thrillers. Revering that style as a jumping-off point, Norton has retained the primary character — and very little else — while bouncing him back to 1957, and dropping him into an entirely new story that blends fact, fiction and noir sensibilities in a manner we’ve not seen since 1974’s Chinatown.

In a word, the result is mesmerizing.

Chinatown scripter Robert Towne ingeniously employed a “simple” gumshoe case to illuminate the real-world corruption and power-mongering behind Los Angeles’ bureaucratic theft of Owens River water, as ruthlessly orchestrated by civil engineer William Mulholland (fictionalized by John Huston’s Noah Cross). 

Norton, in turn, dumps Lethem’s intriguing protagonist into the clandestine, Tammany Hall-style empire ruled by the even more powerful Robert Moses, the mid-20th century developer/builder who — by manipulating politicians behind the scenes — ruthlessly transformed New York City into his vision of a metropolis. It’s a fascinating slice of history, which Norton cleverly blends with the character that he also plays in this thoroughly absorbing drama … but it has absolutely nothing to do with Lethem’s novel.

The film opens at a sprint: Lionel Essrog (Norton) and colleague Gilbert Coney (Ethan Suplee), both operatives of a small-time detective agency run by Frank Minna (Bruce Willis), accompany their boss when he arranges a meeting with shadowy figures left unspecified. The acutely perceptive Lionel knows that Frank is up to something, and likely something dangerous; this hunch proves accurate in the worst possible way, when Minna winds up dead.

Frank was more than merely a boss to Lionel; he also was mentor, friend and protector. Indeed, all four agency operatives — including Tony (Bobby Cannavale) and Danny (Dallas Roberts) — emerged from the same Catholic orphanage, back in the day, where Minna became their father-figure. 

His murder therefore hits Lionel quite hard, particularly since he is far from “normal.” Lionel is obsessive/compulsive and also suffers from an uncontrollable tendency to erupt in nonsense speech: often punning, rhyming and “clanging” against what somebody else has just said. He’s constantly forced to apologize for the “glass in the brain” that prompts such spontaneous outbursts; we recognize this as Tourette Syndrome, a designation not at all familiar to the characters in this re-imagined 1950s version of Lethem’s novel.

Welcome to Marwen: An enchanting riff on real-world drama

Welcome to Marwen (2018) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, disturbing images and fantasy violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.21.18

This story is so delicate and fragile — its approach so unconventional — that the slightest misstep would ruin it.

Because the real world is too frightening for him to confront at most times, Mark
Hogancamp (Steve Carell) finds solace in a miniature community that he populates
with characters he's able to control.

Far more than most films, viewer response will be completely polarized. Some (most, I fear) will dismiss it as gimmicky nonsense. But those who have any experience with gravely damaged souls, and their struggle to find coping mechanisms, can’t help being charmed — even deeply touched — by what director Robert Zemeckis has wrought.

On April 8, 2000, Mark Hogancamp was savagely beaten by five men and left for dead outside of a bar in Kingston, N.Y. He was brutalized after foolishly admitting — prudence abandoned due to an alcohol haze — that he liked to cross-dress.

He woke after nine days in a coma, all memory of his previous life completely gone: Navy service, a marriage and family, his talent as a sketch artist, and a descent into homelessness and even brief stints in jail. In a sense, he was reborn at age 38, forced during torturous physical and mental therapy to relearn how to eat, walk and even navigate the minor complexities of an average day.

Proving once again that artists are born, not made — and that if one means of expression is suppressed, another will rise to take its place — Mark sorta/kinda backed his way into an entirely new career: one which, in turn, proved beneficial to his raging PTSD nightmares.

Hogancamp was profiled in director Jeff Malmberg’s award-winning 2010 documentary, Marwencol; he’s now the subject of Zemeckis’ most audaciously innovative drama to date. (That’s saying quite a lot, given that we’re talking about the filmmaker who has pushed multiple narrative and effects boundaries with Forrest Gump, The Polar Express, A Christmas Carol and — most recently — The Walk.)

Zemeckis and co-scripter Caroline Thompson open their film with a literal bang, as we’re introduced to star Steve Carell piloting an Allied aircraft over Belgian skies, during World War II. His plane is strafed beyond repair; he makes a successful crash-landing.

By this point, it has become obvious that Carell looks … not quite right. His features are shiny, his movements oddly jerky. Total disorientation takes hold when we notice that his wrists are jointed, attached to arms that seem a little thin.

Our hero is ambushed by a quintet of Nazis. Death seems imminent, until he’s rescued by a quintet of gun-toting women of varying nationalities, who blow the Nazis into smithereens. They collapse like … well … discarded dolls.

The Comedian: Can't work the crowd

The Comedian (2016) • View trailer 
2.5 stars. Rated R, for relentless profanity and crude humor
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.3.17

Portions of this film possess the buoyant, effervescent spontaneity of the sublime jazz score by celebrated trumpeter Terence Blanchard.

But only portions.

When Jackie (Robert De Niro) is invited to his niece's wedding, he impulsively asks new
friend Harmony (Leslie Mann) to tag along, little anticipating her questionable taste in
attire. Worse yet, he fails to foresee that his doting niece will expect him to "say a few
words" ... never a good idea for Jackie, in front of a conservative crowd.

Lengthy chunks of the wildly uneven screenplay — Art Linson, Jeffrey Ross, Richard LaGravenese and Lewis Friedman obviously having been too many scripting cooks in the kitchen — ring entirely false. The core relationship isn’t credible for a moment, and the rest of the story can’t rise above that shortcoming.

Nor can Taylor Hackford pull things together. The one-time A-list director of hits such as An Officer and a Gentleman and Against All Odds has stumbled lately, with 2004’s Ray being his most recent success. Love Ranch and Parker did nothing for his résumé, and this new effort doesn’t improve matters. It won’t make a dime.

Other films have covered this ground more successfully, from 1969’s The Comic to 1988’s Punchline and 1992’s Mr. Saturday Night. For that matter, Robert De Niro himself did far better back in ’82, in Martin Scorsese’s acid-hued The King of Comedy.

The Comedian is the familiar story of a once-great talent grown embittered by the fact that people only recognize him for something he did 20 years earlier. In this case, it’s insult stand-up comic Jackie Burke (De Niro), who back in the day lucked into a wildly popular TV sitcom, Eddie’s Home.

Two decades later, fans haven’t the slightest interest in his current material; they only want to hear him shout that show’s signature line — “AR-leeeeeeeeeen!” — delivered every time his blue-collar character was exasperated by his ditsy wife. (The echo of Jackie Gleason’s similar bellow, in TV’s long-ago The Honeymooners, seems deliberate.) Worse yet, people insist on calling him Eddie.

That might be tolerable, if Jackie still could command headlines. But these days he’s relegated to the likes of the tiny, half-empty Long Island club where the story begins: a miserable fate that he has helped create, in part because of his spiteful, intolerant tendency to diss people offstage, they way he insults them from behind a microphone.

Much to the ongoing dismay of his loyal but long-suffering manager, Miller (Edie Falco).

Vacation: An appalling trip

Vacation (2015) • View trailer 
TURKEY (no stars). Rated R, for relentless profanity, crude and sexual content, and brief graphic nudity
By Derrick Bang

Wow. And I thought Pixels was bad.

Actually, it is bad. But this one’s worse.

Are you sure this is a good idea? Rusty (Ed Helms, far right) insists that their whitewater
rafting guide's sudden romantic breakup won't affect their excursion down the Colorado
River. The rest of the family — from left, James (Skyler Gisondo), Kevin (Steele Stebbins)
and Debbie (Christina Applegate) — have their doubts...

Even by the deplorable, lowest-common-denominator standards set by the likes of Ted 2 and most Melissa McCarthy vehicles, this updated Vacation is a ghastly train wreck, and an embarrassment to all concerned.

I’m stunned by the notion that writer/directors John Francis Daley and Jonathan M. Goldstein actually got paid for their so-called work on this turkey. Where can I get a job like that?

Far from accepting a paycheck for this mess, they should have been forced to surrender every cent they made on previous efforts. Oh, wait ... that would be both Horrible Bosses entries, and The Incredible Burt Wonderstone. Not much profit participation there.

I still can’t fathom how Hollywood works. On the basis of the above, the most recent of which was the gawdawful Horrible Bosses 2, these talentless hacks are “rewarded” with a directorial debut?

We can pray only for celestial justice: that this will be the first and last film ever directed by Daley and Goldstein.

In fairness, this remake is “justified” better than some. Rusty Griswold, the kid who endured the world’s worst family road trip back in 1983’s National Lampoon’s Vacation (and who was played by a young Anthony Michael Hall), has grown up to be a dweeb every bit as inept as Daddy Clark (Chevy Chase, back in the day). Sensing family ennui, the now-adult Rusty decides to spice things up by re-creating that long-ago excursion.

Cue another dire road trip, with all sorts of calamities and opportunities for mortification.

Trouble is, Daley and Goldstein obviously never got past that one-sentence pitch, which somehow buffaloed Warner Bros. execs into bankrolling this disaster. As a result, this new Vacation doesn’t merely feel random, or made up from one day to the next; it’s a blatant exercise in lazy filmmaking.

Cast members don’t even try to emote; everybody just sorta stands around and intones lines, with all the dramatic heft of a toddler learning her first words. I’ll bet these folks didn’t even memorize their dialogue; I’d swear they were reading off-camera cue cards.

It could be argued, of course, that this script didn’t deserve better.

Rio 2: Back to the jungle

Rio 2 (2014) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated G, and suitable for all ages
By Derrick Bang

Next to co-founder Chris Wedge, writer/director Carlos Saldanha clearly is one of Blue Sky Studios’ most treasured assets.

Jewel, center, feels right at home in the Amazon jungle; her mate Blu, left, is reasonably
secure, as long as he's got his cherished GPS device. Their music-loving daughter, Carla,
couldn't care less ... until she discovers that the jungle birds have their own wonderfully
vibrant approach to samba and bossa nova.

After sharing credit with Wedge on 2002’s Ice Age and 2005’s Robots, Saldanha soloed on the second Ice Age entry, shared credit once again on the third installment, and somehow found time for a couple of hilarious shorts featuring the acorn-challenged Scrat.

All the while, the Brazilian-born Saldanha must’ve been building up to his own pet project: 2011’s Rio, a thoroughly enchanting, bird’s-eye-view valentine to the city of Carnival, samba and a culture every bit as colorful as the film's eye-catching avian stars. In addition to being clever, witty and suspenseful — not to mention serving as an anchor for a gloriously celebratory soundtrack — that film’s script also worked in a mildly subversive, conservation-oriented subtext regarding the heinous black market trade in exotic birds and animals.

Saldanha kept all those plates spinning with the élan of a vaudeville pro. I was impressed three years ago, and equally captivated when I caught up with the film a second time last week, in anticipation of the subject at hand.

To cut to the chase, then, Rio 2 isn’t quite as fresh as its predecessor, but it's still quite entertaining. That said, I miss the greater involvement of Sergio Mendes. Although he returns once again as executive music producer, it’s to a noticeably lesser degree; nothing in this sequel matches the first film’s breathtaking paragliding scene, which took place against an updated rendition of the joyous Brasil ’66 hit, “Mas Que Nada.”

The songs and score in this sequel function more as they would in a stage musical — as story hooks to advance the plot — as opposed to augmenting the overall atmosphere with the rich, seductive sounds of samba and bossa nova. That’s an artistic modification, and not necessarily a bad one; I lament it only because there’s no shortage of animated musicals (I’m looking at you, Frozen), whereas Saldanha and Mendes were more creative and original with their use of songs in the first Rio.

A minor issue, granted, but it does affect this sequel’s tone.

Events pick up a bit after the first film’s conclusion, with our nerdy hero Blu (once again voiced by Jesse Eisenberg) enjoying domestic bliss with his mate, Jewel (Anne Hathaway) and their three offspring: Carla (Rachel Crow), Bia (Amandla Stenberg) and Tiago (Pierce Gagnon). They’re comfortably situated at the Rio de Janeiro animal sanctuary run by Blu’s BFF Linda (Leslie Mann) and Tulio (Rodrigo Santoro), newlyweds themselves, and partners in wildlife rescue and preservation.

While releasing one of their winged patients into the wild, Linda and Tulio spot a familiar cerulean feather: certain evidence that other blue macaws exist in this part of the Amazon. This is marvelous, breathtaking news, since Blu and Jewel were thought to be the last of their kind.

Mr. Peabody & Sherman: Lively romp through history

Mr. Peabody & Sherman (2014) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rating: Rated PG, and needlessly, for mild action and brief rude humor
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.7.14

As soon as I heard the first pun, I knew we were in good hands.

Stuck in Ancient Egypt, with the furious King Tut's guards in hot pursuit, Mr. Peabody
leads Sherman and Penny back to where he parked their Wayback Machine.
Unfortunately, escape won't be anywhere near that easy...

Sandpaper-dry wit was an essential element of the Peabody’s Improbable History cartoon shorts, which debuted as a portion of the original Rocky and his Friends animated series (ahem) way back in November 1959. The Einstein-smart canine, Mr. Peabody, always capped one of his time-travel lecture/adventures with a groaningly awful pun, which flew right over the heads of younger viewers (and demonstrated the degree to which the cartoon show’s humor played to adults).

This phenomenon is addressed in this new big-screen delight, as young Sherman reacts to each of Mr. Peabody’s deadpan observations by reflexively laughing, and then, with a puzzled expression, saying “I don’t get it.”

Definitely a chuckle, every time.

Director Rob Minkoff and scripter Craig Wright have retained the wit and playful innocence of the original Peabody TV cartoon shorts, while adding a generous dollop of the snarky humor today’s viewers will recognize from the Shrek series. (No surprise, since this new Mr. Peabody & Sherman comes from DreamWorks Animation.)

And the worried Peabody purists out there can rest easy, because Wright clearly understands and employs the narrative and comic sensibilities that properly honor the source material. He gets it.

As further aided and abetted by Minkoff and editor Tom Finan’s zippy pacing, not to mention a droll voice cast, the resulting film is 92 minutes of inventive, larkish delight.

The core premise is that Mr. Peabody (voiced with polite know-it-all-ness by Ty Burrell) is a genius dog who is able to master any craft, skill or intellectual challenge he chooses to embrace. He can out-deduce Sherlock Holmes, and out-MacGyver MacGyver, when it comes to escaping from a hopeless situation.

Genius doesn’t confer companionship, though, so — some years back — Mr. Peabody adopted a foundling infant who now has grown to kidhood. Thus, the core joke: Instead of the usual boy/dog dynamic, these two always are introduced as Mr. Peabody and his boy, Sherman (superbly voiced by Max Charles, of TV’s The Neighbors).

This Is 40: Fractured family frolic

This Is 40 (2012) • View trailer
Three stars. Rating: R, for relentless crude humor, sexual candor, pervasive language and drug use
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.21.12

Some perceptive truths about marriage, mid-life crises and parental angst linger around the edges of This Is 40, but they tend to be overshadowed by Judd Apatow’s reflexive insistence on vulgar humor, crude slapstick and bewildering plot detours. Obviously, he just can’t help himself.

Pete (Paul Rudd), having failed to realize that Debbie (Leslie Mann) could use some
help while getting their daughters ready for school, attempts to recover from this tactical
error while Sadie (Maude Apatow, far left) and Charlotte (Iris Apatow) watch with
wary amusement.

Nor should he, I suppose, since many of his films — either as producer, director or writer — tend to be crowd-pleasers. But we must remember that his lengthy 21st century résumé reads very much like the gag quotient in any one of his projects: Every Bridesmaids or Superbad follows on the heels of a bomb such as Drillbit Taylor, Funny People or Get Him to the Greek ... just as the truly funny bits in This Is 40 are bookended by stuff so forced and ill-advised that we can’t help wondering what Apatow was smoking that day.

Maybe that’s why This Is 40 runs a ridiculously self-indulgent 134 minutes. With that much time on his side, and that many comedic shots in the barrel, some of the humor is bound to stick.

Although Apatow oversees a busy comedy empire, This Is 40 is only his fourth feature as director, following The 40-Year-Old Virgin, Knocked Up and the tediously morose Funny People. This new film, something of a peripheral sequel to Knocked Up, focuses on the five-years-later lives of Pete and Debbie (Paul Rudd and Leslie Mann), that film’s sidebar characters.

Except that Katherine Heigl, who played Debbie’s sister Alison in Knocked Up, is nowhere to be seen here. Apparently she got lost in translation.

As this new film’s title suggests, events center around the ramp-up to Pete’s impending 40th birthday. He’d normally share this milestone with Debbie, but a refusal to face the onset of middle age has prompted her to deny her own birthday; indeed, she even rolls back the clock and claims a younger age, a running gag that becomes truly hilarious during a routine doctor’s office visit, when various nurses and receptionists try to nail down her birth year.

That scene works, by the way, because Apatow goes for subtle underplaying, rather than his usual, last-row-of-the-upper-balcony broad strokes.

ParaNorman: Whimsical horror with a clever twist

ParaNorman (2012) • View trailer
Four stars. Rating: PG, for dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang

Norman Babcock sees dead people. Constantly.

And he cheerfully chats with them.

Meet the Babcock family: from left, Grandma, Mom, Dad, Norman and
his teenage sister Courtney. You'll likely notice that Grandma seems
somewhat ghostly; that's because she has been dead for years ...
although this hasn't stopped her loving relationship with Norman.
Nobody else in the family appreciates the boy's, ah, unusual gift.

This unlikely talent has prompted nothing but derision, dismay and the unwanted attention of the booger-picking school bully. “Weird” kids always get singled out for abuse, and Norman is much weirder than most.

He’s also the hero of ParaNorman, the newest stop-motion treat from animator Travis Knight’s Oregon-based LAIKA Inc., which rose from the ashes of the financially strapped studio founded by claymation pioneer Will Vinton. Although LAIKA had a hand in Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride, the new company’s first wholly in-house feature was its awesome 2009 adaptation of Neil Gaiman’s Coraline.

ParaNorman is LAIKA’s second big-screen film, and the first written as an original concept by Chris Butler, who worked on storyboards for both Corpse Bride and Coraline. Butler shares directorial duties on this new movie with Sam Fell, whose previous credits include co-helming Flushed Away and The Tale of Despereaux.

The story is funny, snarky, occasionally scary — perhaps too much so for very young viewers — and unexpectedly poignant at times. The voice casting is delicious, and the 93-minute film moves along at a lively, suspenseful pace.

And the animation is simply smashing. Stop-motion is such a labor-intensive process; the mere completion of such an ambitious project deserves applause. That it turned out so well is icing on the cake.

The random bits of production data are staggering. ParaNorman took two years to make, involving more than 320 designers, artists, animators and technicians. At any given time, these people worked on 52 separate shooting units, representing the various settings of this droll, macabre little tale. An entire week would be spent, carefully manipulating these little puppets, to get between one and two minutes of footage.

None of which would matter a jot, of course, if we weren’t engaged by both the story and its characters.

We meet Norman (voiced by Kodi Smit-McPhee) as he enjoys a televised horror movie in the company of his beloved grandmother (Elaine Stritch). Only one problem here: Grandma has been dead for years, a fact that exasperates Norman’s father (Jeff Garlin), deeply concerns his mother (Leslie Mann), and flat-out disgusts his self-absorbed older sister, Courtney (Anna Kendrick).

The Change-Up: Same old, same old

The Change-Up (2011) • View trailer for The Change-Up
2.5 stars. Rating: R, for pervasive strong crude sexual content and language, nudity and drug use
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.5.11


The Change-Up makes me want to gather signatures for a petition to be circulated throughout Hollywood, demanding a moratorium on three things:

1) Body-swap movies. I suppose this premise goes back to Mark Twain's The Prince and the Pauper, but it didn't become a movie subgenre until the original Freaky Friday, in 1976. Since then, we've endured All of Me, Vice Versa, Dream a Little Dream, 18 Again, Like Father, Like Son, a remake of Freaky Friday, It's a Boy Girl Thing and ... you get the idea. Enough, already!

Mitch (occupying Jason Bateman's body, center) listens as Dave (occupying
Ryan Reynolds' body) attempts to explain their predicament to his
understandably dubious wife, Jamie (Leslie Mann). Actually, this is one of
the film's funnier scenes ... which doesn't set the bar very high.

2) Flying excrement. Apparently, this is considered the height of vulgar humor these days. And with the initial envelope having been shredded, now we're scraping bottom by making the consequences worse. Ergo, in The Change-Up, dedicated daddy Dave Lockwood (Jason Bateman), pulling late-night diaper duty, winds up with a mouthful of projectile poop. What's next ... being forced to watch the victim involuntarily swallow?

3) Deliberately unpalatable nudity, often blended with kinky sex. Once again, numbnuts writers chase each other down the drain of depravity, looking to break yet another taboo. In this case, career horndog Mitch Planko (Ryan Reynolds) enjoys getting it on with a 9-months-pregnant hottie. Whom we see in the altogether. Note: The scene is designed not to demonstrate the radiant, healthy sexuality of a pregnant woman — which I'm sure is uppermost on the minds of all pregnant women — but solely for a cheap, gross-out laugh. Making it offensive on two levels.

Ahem.

As expected, The Change-Up is nothing more than yet another of this year's tedious and vulgar moron comedies: a derivative, desperate, deliberately disgusting waste of its stars' talents.

Bateman and Reynolds are funny guys. No question. Reynolds demonstrated quite a flair for physical and situational comedy with 2009's The Proposal, and Bateman has been the best part of numerous misfired flicks that didn't deserve his participation. (Honestly, Jason, you need a better agent.)

Director David Dobkin previously brought us Wedding Crashers and Fred Claus, so he's obviously accustomed to lowest-common-denominator humor. Nothing wrong with that, as long as something about the project feels fresh; casting and energy deservedly turned Wedding Crashers into a hit. But The Change-Up feels like something cobbled together by a couple of junior high school lads seeking to include as much profanity and as many bare breasts as possible ... even when neither is justified.

No surprise there: Scripters Jon Lucas and Scott Moore come to us from Four Christmases and both Hangover entries. I cite all these titles to let fans of the above-mentioned flicks know that they'll be in familiar territory here.

Or perhaps not. The Change-Up attempts to wring a moral from its tired, high-concept premise, and that works against the arrested adolescent hijinks crammed into damn near every scene.