Lightyear: Not quite a shooting star

Lightyear (2022) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated PG, for dramatic intensity

Available via: Movie theater

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.17.22

The opening text screen is quite clever:

 

In 1995, Andy got a Buzz Lightyear action figure after seeing his favorite movie.

 

This is that movie.

 

Things seem calm at the moment, but that's deceptive; Buzz, far right, and his new
companions — from left, Izzy, SOX the cat, Mo and Darby — are about to encounter
another bunch of Zurg's malevolent robots.

This explanation thus out of the way, director/co-scripter Angus MacLane — assisted by writers Matthew Aldrich and Jason Headley — plunge pell-mell into an exciting and suspenseful blend of every sci-fi franchise from Buck Rogers and Flash Gordon, to Star Trek, Star Wars and even a touch of 2001: A Space Odyssey.

To infinity and beyond, indeed.

 

That said, this definitely is a case where action and momentum cover an increasing number of plot holes and unanswered questions. Considerable care is required, when concocting stories that involve time travel and alternate time streams; let’s just say things get a bit sloppy.

 

But that comes later.

 

The story begins quietly, as a massive spherical S.C.0.1 exploration vessel — dubbed “the Turnip” — heads home via automatic pilot, its 1,000-strong complement of crew, scientists and technicians in cryo-sleep during the lengthy journey. Roughly 4.2 million light-years from Earth, sensors detect T’Kani Prime, an uncharted but potentially resource-rich planet.

 

The ship wakens Space Ranger Buzz Lightyear (voiced by Chris Evans, taking over from Tim Allen), commander Alisha Hawthorne (Uzo Aduba) and a rookie named Featheringhamstan (Bill Hader). They land the Turnip; Buzz and his companions reconnoiter and quickly discover that this swampy world is laden with giant swarming bugs and subterranean vines that burst through the surface, latch onto anything foreign, and drag it below ground.

 

Anything … including the Turnip.

 

Buzz, Alisha and the rookie battle bugs and vines during their frantic dash back to the Turnip. They board; Buzz takes the helm, and tries to defy physics in a heroic effort to get the massive ship free of the vines, and off this inhospitable planet.

 

He fails.

 

Worse yet, the resulting crash destroys one of the Turnip’s fuel cells and its essential hyperspeed crystal, without which the journey home cannot be made. The entire crew settles in for a long stay on T’Kani Prime, as it’ll take years to fabricate a replacement fuel cell and crystal that’ll hold up to a test flight.

 

(It seems unlikely that all of these folks would cheerfully forgive Buzz for the error in judgment that has stranded them, but that’s something we cannot dwell upon.)

 

(One also wonders how the Turnip could possibly have contained enough raw materials and infrastructure to construct the mini-city that soon houses all of these folks, but that’s something else we cannot dwell upon.)

 

The Addams Family 2: Insufficiently ookie

The Addams Family 2 (2021) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated PG, for macabre and rude humor

Available via: Movie theaters and streaming services

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.01.21

I sometimes wonder what Charles Addams would think, about how his macabre characters have been re-invented in the 21st century.

 

Morticia and Gomez, center, are horrified by what their son Pugsley has done to one
of our nation's natural wonders; daughter Wednesday is simply bored.

According to his official biographer, Linda H. Davis, he was “up and down” about the 1960s TV sitcom; he “enjoyed what it did for his earning power, but said the characters were ‘half as evil.’ ”

Bearing that in mind, regardless of his reaction to this New Age-style animation, he’d likely be unhappy over the way parents Gomez and Morticia — in particular — have been softened in this sequel. There’s scarcely an evil glance between them, let alone any sort of malevolent behavior. Indeed, Gomez (voiced by Oscar Isaac) spends the entire film fretting over the fact that daughter Wednesday (Chloë Grace Moretz) has adopted the aloofness of teenagehood, and prefers to be left alone.

 

Morticia (Charlize Theron) insists this is just a phase, but Gomez feels that desperate measures must be taken. His solution: a road trip across the United States, so the family can wreak all manner of havoc at — in sequence — Niagara Falls, Sleepy Hollow (an apt choice), Miami, San Antonio, the Alamo, the Grand Canyon, Death Valley and — of all places — Sausalito.

 

Ergo, poor Lurch (Conrad Vernon) must haul a mountain of luggage into the family’s haunted camper, and — with Uncle Fester (Nick Kroll) also crammed inside — they take off to see the country.

 

Wednesday’s younger brother Pugsley (Javon Walton) still loves to blow up stuff, and his expression — at least — often radiates wicked glee. And, yes; Wednesday’s arcane experiments, stylized weapons and booby traps often are at poor Pugsley’s expense; she loves to torture him, and (of course) he enjoys it.

 

Wednesday’s stoic somberness, in both animated expression and Moretz’s voice, is the film’s best running gag; she remains impassive no matter what manner of mayhem erupts around her (which she often generates).

It Chapter Two: Two much of a good thing

It Chapter Two (2019) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated R, for dramatic intensity, profanity, highly disturbing violent content and gore
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 9.6.19

This impressively creepy chiller delivers a relentless 100 minutes of gruesome, appalling, terrifying, look-between-your-fingers heart-stoppers.

Having made their way into the heart of Evil's lair, our heroes — from left, Bev (Jessica
Chastain), Mike (Isaiah Mustafa) and Ben (Jay Ryan) — are confronted by yet another
in an endless wave of ookie-spooky monstrosities.

Director Andy Muschietti and scripter Gary Dauberman leave no horror movie cliché neglected — no phobia unexploited — in their handsomely mounted, atmosphere-drenched conclusion to Stephen King’s 1986 best-seller.

Unfortunately, this film runs 169 minutes.

It doesn’t matter whether we’re discussing chocolate milk shakes or cinematic shocks; indulge too much, and the result simply becomes bland.

Which is ironic, because the best part of 2017’s It was the clever way in which Muschietti and his writers — Dauberman was assisted that time by Chase Palmer and Cary Fukunaga — stripped away the over-written dead flesh of King’s 1,138-page exercise in diminishing returns. With this second “half” of King’s saga, they’ve succumbed to the same self-indulgent excess.

Quite a pity. Particularly since the first two acts are — no question — macabre and terrifying at every turn.

Doesn’t matter what irrationally frightens or repulses you; Muschietti and Dauberman tap into it. Spiders? Claustrophobia? Disgusting flying bugs? Long, dark hallways? Slithery, worm-like nasties? Naked old people?

Clowns?

Clowns with massive, jaw-stretching, needle-sharp teeth? (The better to eat you with, my dear…)

There’s actually much to admire in this grim fantasy’s concluding installment, starting with an ensemble of well-cast actors who persuasively feel like grown-up versions of the first film’s adolescent heroes. Dauberman also manages the clever feat of integrating this sequel with its predecessor’s events, while simultaneously making it a coherent stand-alone experience for anybody unfamiliar with that 2017 entry. (Likely no more than one or two of you, but still…)

The BFG: A colossal triumph

The BFG (2016) • View trailer 
Five stars. Rated PG, for fantasy peril and some scary scenes
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.1.16

Roald Dahl’s children’s books are cherished for all sorts of reasons, including his ability to concoct astounding creatures and astonishing realms that require a reader’s imagination, because such wonders couldn’t possibly be replicated on the big screen.

After gaining the trust of her immense new friend (Mark Rylance), Sophie (Ruby Barnhill)
learns of his skill at catching and bottling "dream stuff," which then can be used to help
London's denizens sleep more peacefully.

At least, not until quite recently.

Dahl has done quite well by Hollywood over the years, with fabulous adaptations of The Witches, James and the Giant Peach and Fantastic Mr. Fox, not to mention a couple of quite popular renditions of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

The many talented individuals behind those films notwithstanding, nothing approaches the pure magic — the jaw-dropping sense of wonder — delivered by director Steven Spielberg and an amazing team of collaborators, in The BFG.

Back in the day, the producers of Christopher Reeve’s first Superman film promised that we’d believe a man can fly. Well, Spielberg and his crew make us believe that giants stride the earth. The verisimilitude is so natural, so persuasive, that we often disregard the boring technicalities of special effects, choosing instead to accept the fantastic at face value: no small thing, in these jaded times.

Everything is orchestrated to perfection: the late Melissa Mathison’s poignant, deftly sculpted screenplay (her final completed assignment); Janusz Kaminski’s lavish cinematography, rich with warm color tones that enhance the film’s cozy atmosphere; the ingenious production design and set decoration by Rick Carter and Elizabeth Wilcox; and — most particularly — John Williams’ delicately intricate score.

Williams, recently the first composer to be honored with the American Film Institute’s Life Achievement Award, is no stranger to ornately layered soundtracks and iconic character themes. But even in a lengthy career distinguished by scores of memorable scores, this one is one of his finest.

Williams’ music for The BFG is all-encompassing; it feels as if every scene, every character, has its own theme. His score plays like a continuous, massive symphony that brings Spielberg’s handling of this gentle parable to even greater emotional heights.

Dahl published his book in 1982, and Spielberg’s film is set in the same decade. It opens with a slow pan of late-night London, Kaminski employing some sort of cinematographic trick that makes the streets, vehicles and buildings seem somehow smaller than usual: almost like an immense, three-quarter-size fairy tale village. We glide into an orphanage, where the matron’s final rounds are watched, surreptitiously, by 10-year-old Sophie (Ruby Barnhill).

Maggie's Plan: The best-laid schemes...

Maggie's Plan (2015) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated R, for profanity, sexual candor and brief nudity
By Derrick Bang

God must chuckle over how we mortals keep screwing up our own lives.

We fret, we fuss; we second-guess ourselves; we concoct absurdly elaborate schemes designed to accomplish this or that, but which invariably fail; we rebound with even more ludicrous counter-schemes.

When Maggie (Greta Gerwig, left) realizes that she has made a mistake by marrying John,
she concocts an unlikely scheme to re-unite him with ex-wife Georgette (Julianne Moore).
That's assuming, of course, that Georgette even wants him back...

If we’d simply relax and get out of our own way, letting nature take its course, we’d likely be much more pleased with the results.

Writer/director Rebecca Miller’s Maggie’s Plan has great fun with this notion. The indie filmmaker’s endearing romantic comedy — based on a story by Karen Rinaldi — also is another fine showcase for steadily rising star Greta Gerwig. The angst-riddled characters and New York setting make comparisons to Woody Allen inevitable, although Miller’s focus is female-centric; she’s also better — more organic — at skewering the pretentious affectations that make her characters so frequently sound like recently arrived visitors from Jupiter.

I’ve often felt that Allen’s gibes at Manhattan pomposity are made at the expense of his characters; the tone feels snooty. Miller, in great contrast, clearly sympathizes with her protagonists, even as she exposes their narcissism; it feels more like Miller is ruefully shaking her head, hoping that we’ll learn by this gentler — but still quite funny — example.

Maggie Hardin (Gerwig) wants to have a baby. Desperately. But she’s unwilling to take the conventional approach, given a track record of relationships that have lasted no more than six months. Artificial insemination therefore seems the best route, and Maggie has selected a slightly off-kilter, former college acquaintance (Travis Fimmel, as Guy) who abandoned a mathematics degree in favor of becoming a pickle entrepreneur.

Despite the decision having been made, Maggie remains conflicted. She shares her doubts with a personal Greek chorus: longtime best friend Tony (Bill Hader) and his wife, Felicia (Maya Rudolph). He’s a lawyer; she and Maggie are work colleagues at The New School, in Greenwich Village. Although Tony and Felicia are a bit crusty with each other, theirs is a loving and successful relationship, and they also care deeply about Maggie ... even if they frequently fail to understand her.

Maggie’s chance encounter with New School part-time teacher John Harding (Ethan Hawke) leads to a fast friendship. They spark: He’s a frustrated debut novelist trying to find his voice; she’s an eager and sympathetic reader. The bond deepens, and that’s a problem; John is married to Georgette (Julianne Moore), and they have two children.

Trainwreck: Not a total disaster

Trainwreck (2015) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated R, for strong sexual content, profanity, nudity and drug use
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.17.15

This film is impressively schizophrenic.

On the one hand, it’s as jaw-droppingly vulgar and tasteless as the average Melissa McCarthy fiasco ... which is to say, pretty much what one should expect from something directed and produced by Judd Apatow (The 40-Year Old Virgin, This Is 40, Bridesmaids).

Although Aaron (Bill Hader) has no experience with being interviewed, he's savvy enough
to know when somebody is blowing smoke up his skirt ... and that's definitely the case,
as Amy (Amy Schumer) feebly tries to persuade him that she knows stuff about sports.

Then again, some of the crude bits are wincingly hilarious.

On the third hand, the seemingly relentless profanity and potty-mouthed sexuality are intercut with moments of tenderness that are touching enough to prompt tears ... as was the case with numerous patrons at Tuesday evening’s preview screening.

In the grand Hollywood tradition, then, you’ll laugh, you’ll cry and you’ll cringe ... although I rather doubt Trainwreck will change your life.

But it certainly does prove that Amy Schumer has arrived. And how.

Actually, she’s already been around for a little while, as fans of her TV series Inside Amy Schumer are well aware. Her shtick gets its momentum from the juxtaposition between her fresh-faced, doe-eyed, girl-next-door (seeming) innocence, and the breathtakingly blunt and appalling stuff that emerges from her mouth. The goal is shock value, with (she undoubtedly hopes) at least a few belly-laughs along the way.

Trainwreck may be helmed by Apatow, but the script comes solely from Schumer. It’s maladroit, to say the least, and — at 125 minutes — needlessly bloated and self-indulgent. And yet her storyline also possesses (at times) a sparkling sweetness that perfectly suits the gal-desperately-needing-redemption character she has written for herself.

Which is why this film resonates more than McCarthy’s big-screen vehicles, where it’s impossible to engage emotionally with any of the one-dimensional burlesques populating the screen. Schumer still has a lot to learn, when it comes to translating her stand-up routines to the demands of a two-hour narrative, but her big-screen writing debut here is, nonetheless, better than many.

She stars as Amy (not much imagination there), one of the staff writers at New York’s S’Nuff magazine, a slick, deliberately ghastly publication that exists solely to mortify, humiliate and otherwise offend anybody with mainstream sensibilities. Her editor, Dianna, is a superficial bee-yatch of astonishing heartlessness: a role delivered with spectacular cruelty by Tilda Swinton.

Inside Out: An animated masterpiece

Inside Out (2015) • View trailer 
Five stars. Rated G, and suitable for all ages
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.19.15

Sheer genius.

After stalling a bit in recent years, Pixar has reclaimed its throne of brilliance, thanks to the impressively imaginative Inside Out, one of the most entertaining and ingenious metaphors ever brought to the big screen.

Joy, right, is horrified to discover that a mere touch from Sadness can transform a yellow
sphere — representing a happy memory — into one of sorrow. What will this do to the
long-term memories carefully stored within their host little girl's mind?

Mind you, it’s not that Cars 2, Monsters University and Brave were bad films; far from it. But they were disappointing nonetheless: the first two driven more by merchandising and less by a heartfelt reason to continue their storylines, as was realized far better by the Toy Story trilogy. More to the point, all three recent films lacked the inspirational, outside-the-box snap, crackle and pop that has characterized so many of Pixar’s efforts.

It’s their own fault, really: Set the bar high, and fans arrive with expectations.

All of which are met, and then some, by the wonderful Inside Out. By turns exhilarating, wildly euphoric and poignant, this modern-day fairy tale offers perceptive insight into how (and why) we deal with love, happiness, family ties, crushing disappointments and all sorts of routine daily successes and failures, along with a rather droll suggestion of what might be happening when our lives feel “out of balance.”

Director Pete Docter (Monsters, Inc. and Up) concocted a strikingly savvy premise, then shaped it into a thoroughly engaging script with co-writers Josh Cooley and Meg LeFauve. In a way, it’s the Monsters, Inc. concept writ much larger: Instead of merely establishing a reason for nightmares, Docter & Co. have built an entire fantastical explanation for all human behavior.

In short, we’re governed by an uneasy alliance between five key emotions — Joy, Fear, Anger, Sadness and Disgust — which take turns operating  a complex control center within our minds. Too much of any one emotion results in instability, manifested in the outer “real” world by bewildering (to others) behavior.

But it’s much, much deeper than that, as gradually revealed in the charming saga of  Riley, whom we first meet as a gurgling infant born to her delighted mother (voiced by Diane Lane) and father (Kyle MacLachlan). As she’s delivered into the world, Riley’s mind receives its first emotion: Joy (Amy Poehler), awestruck by what she sees “through” her infant host’s eyes.

Joy is further surprised by the creation and immediate storage of the baby’s first memory, wrapped in a protective, bowling ball-sized soft yellow sphere: the color of Joy herself.

But infant frustration quickly follows, cueing the arrival of Anger (Lewis Black); he’s soon joined by Fear (Bill Hader), Sadness (Phyllis Smith) and Disgust (Mindy Kaling). Over time, as Riley (now voiced by Kaitlyn Dias) grows into a rambunctious adolescent — encouraged to do so by her doting parents — her myriad memory spheres are predominantly yellow ... because what is childhood, if not a period of great joy?

But matters are destined to get more complicated.

The To Do List: Better left undone

The To Do List (2013) • View trailer 
2.5 stars. Rating: R, for pervasive strong crude and sexual content, graphic dialogue, drug and alcohol use, and constant profanity, all involving teens
By Derrick Bang

Back in the day, youthful sexual explorations followed a common sports metaphor, starting with reaching first base and concluding with the obvious home run.

My, how things have changed.

At first, Fiona (Alia Shawkat, right) shares good friend Brandy's (Aubrey Plaza) elation
over the progress being made on her summer list of planned sexual accomplishments.
But like the so-called comedy in this film, Brandy eventually takes things too far, at
which point Fiona demonstrates that while she might talk the talk, she apparently
doesn't think much of people who walk the walk.

In these sexually liberated and quite raunchy days of the 21st century, that simple baseball metaphor has blossomed into the complexity of a 22-level video game. Libido-driven folks keeping score begin with quaint French kisses and hickies, progress through once-unspoken acts such as motorboating and teabagging, and ultimately, ah, climax with the horizontal bop itself.

At least, that’s what writer/director Maggie Carey would have us believe, with her smutty teen sex comedy, The To Do List.

Sadly, this new film is neither as witty nor as memorable as 2010’s Easy A, which made a star of Emma Stone, and to which The To Do List inevitably will be compared. While this new film’s star — the richly talented and still under-appreciated Aubrey Plaza — deserves a similar breakout hit, she won’t get it here. Carey’s film is too uneven, too clumsy and (to its detriment) too reflexively coarse, in the manner of various Judd Apatow or Farrelly brothers guys-behaving-badly yock-fests.

Ironically, Carey’s biggest problem is that she doesn’t have the courage to pursue her genre convictions. Her script is plenty dirty, but only at a potty-mouth level the Three Stooges would appreciate. She never achieves genuine heat or eroticism, and too many of Plaza’s fellow cast members work beneath their talents, their line readings stiff, unpersuasive and motivated more by writer’s fiat than narrative rational.

We should perhaps ask the basic question: Is this film intended to be genuinely sexy, or merely filthy? Because if the former was Carey’s intention, to any degree, she fouled out before reaching first base.

Her story is set in 1993, apparently to avoid granting its characters any exposure to the Internet porn that has become readily available since then. We meet the over-achieving Brandy Klark (Plaza) as she graduates from high school and gives a roundly jeered valedictory speech. Whatever her academic accomplishments, she has become infamous as both a teacher’s pet and a virgin, the latter epithet apparently far more heinous than the former.

Despite being a social pariah, Brandy has two gal pals — Fiona (Alia Shawkat) and Wendy (Sarah Steele) — who like her but agree that she could, well, loosen up a bit. To hear Fiona and Wendy talk, they’ve either performed or contemplated every act once relegated to the Kama Sutra or Dr. David Reuben’s Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex (But Were Afraid to Ask).