Spider-Man: Brave New Day — Action and angst

Spider-Man: Brave New Day (2026) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five); rated PG-13, for action violence and occasional profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.9.26

After the chaotic multiverse complexity of 2021’s Spider-Man: No Way Home — a score card was needed, to keep track of all the superheroes, super villains and spider guys from three different Earths — this one is a welcome relief.

 

Spider-Man (Tom Holland) and NYPD Detective Jean DeWolff (Liza Colón-Zayas) survey
the wreckage after a massive tank truck rams into a government building occupied by
the somewhat mysterious Department of Damage Control.

Indeed, I deem it the best entry in star Tom Holland’s run as the title character. Just one spider guy here, a couple Marvel Comics colleagues, only a few super villains — including Spidey’s primary antagonist, who remains a mystery until the film’s second half — and a sensible plot that’s easy to follow.

The Chris McKenna/Erik Sommers script is much tighter, and better focused, than the previous films.

 

Fourth time’s the charm, I guess.

 

Back to some semblance of a normal life, Spider-Man has become New York City’s very public resident hero. He enjoys a good working relationship with the local police force, and frequently liaises with NYPD Detective Jean DeWolff (Liza Colón-Zayas, appropriately take-charge).

 

But he’s achingly lonely.

 

For reasons compelled by events in the prior film, the existence of Spidey’s civilian self, Peter Parker, has been wiped from everybody’s memory. That includes best friend Ned Leeds (Jacob Batalon) and former girlfriend MJ (Zendaya). Given that Peter’s beloved Aunt May (Marisa Tomei) also died during No Way Home, that leaves the poor guy even more isolated than usual.

 

Which, honestly, always has been the character’s most compelling feature. As originally conceived by writer Stan Lee and artist Steve Ditko, back in the early 1960s, Peter was a nerdish bookworm and social outcast, which made him relatable to readers. (Back in those days, Superman and Batman never had social problems.)

 

Holland handles angst and loneliness quite well, and many of this film’s best moments occur when the guy is out of uniform. The yearning in Peter’s gaze, when he sees couples and groups enjoying each other, is palpable. And heartbreaking, because Peter still loves MJ, even though — in effect — she never has met him.

 

But somebody always needs saving, some local crisis averted, and some crooks need to be caught, so Spider-Man is kept busy. (I’m not sure how Peter puts food on the table, since there’s no indication of any sort of civilian job. Maybe Aunt May left him a lot of money?)

 

But full-time superhero work takes its toll. Enhanced abilities and high-tech Spider-Man suit notwithstanding, Peter is human. He’s battered and bruised all over, and he also isn’t as quick as he was, back in the day. 

She Came to Me: A beguiling rom-com

She Came to Me (2023) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated R, for profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

Folks who enjoy quirky dramedies populated by whimsically eccentric characters will love this one.

 

Against his better judgment, Steven (Peter Dinklage) — accompanied by his dog, Levi —
accepts an invitation to tour the tugboat owned by Katrina (Marisa Tomei). Her casual
handling of an axe,  however, gives him pause...

Writer/director Rebecca Miller’s delightful mélange of dysfunctional marriages, romantic angst, artistic frustration and — most importantly — true love, is powered by captivating performances from her three stars, along with solid work by four equally appealing supporting characters. 

The Brooklyn setting, framed so lovingly by cinematographer Sam Levy, also counts as an additional character. Goodness, but New York has personality.

 

Celebrated opera composer Steven Lauddem (Peter Dinklage) has been suffering a years-long writer’s block: not a good thing, with a commission due in mere weeks. He doesn’t want to be seen in public, fearing inevitable questions about how his newest work is going; he doesn’t even want to get out of bed in the morning.

 

His wife — and former therapist — Patricia (Anne Hathaway), hoping to break the cycle, tosses him out of their tony brownstone one day, ordering him to “get lost,” in a metaphorical sense. Take a long walk. Go somewhere different. Seesomething different. Accompanied by their adorable French bulldog, Levi, Steven obligingly lets the pooch determine their path.

 

Patricia, it turns out, badly needs help herself. What initially seems a reasonable preference for cleanliness is revealed as a mania far beyond obsessive/compulsive, with a heaping helping of lapsed Catholic guilt thrown in. Surfaces must be scrubbed thoroughly, before and after use. Sexual intimacy is rigorously limited to a scheduled once per week. (One pales at the thought of how Steven accommodates this.)

 

Although it seems inconceivable that Patricia would tolerate a dog in their home — she handles Levi’s leash with paper towels — losing him would be a shame; he has just as much presence and individuality as his two-legged co-stars. Indeed, at times Miller draws unexpectedly thoughtful gazes from him.

 

Meanwhile…

 

We also meet teenagers Julian (Evan Ellison) and Tereza (Harlow Jane), swooningly in love, and newly consummating their relationship; Polaroid snapshots are taken, to commemorate the moment. (Do today’s teens and twentysomethings still do this? If so, it’s rather sweet.)

 

Julian is Patricia’s son by a previous marriage; Stephen has done his best to be a good stepfather. Tereza was an “accident” that derailed the life of her then teenaged mother, Magdalena Joanna Kulig); she subsequently married Trey (Brian d’Arcy James), who obligingly adopted the girl.

 

The nerdy Trey is excitably passionate about everything he does, from his job as a court stenographer to his avocation as a Civil War reenactor. James makes him bossy and authoritarian: an attitude tolerated by Magdalena, but which frequently prompts rolled eyes from Tereza.

The King of Staten Island: Should be de-throned

The King of Staten Island (2020) • View trailer 
One star. Rated R, for drug use, sexual candor, brief violence and gore, and relentless profanity and vulgarity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.12.20

I cannot imagine this film’s target audience.

For starters, calling it a comedy is false advertising; nothing is funny here. Not even remotely amusing.

Scott (Pete Davidson) sees nothing wrong with staying home with his mother (Marisa
Tomei) most nights, and watching mindless television. Alas, when this cozy dynamic is
threatened by a newcomer, Scott becomes even meaner than usual.

If writer/director Judd Apatow has made this for millennials, it’s a savagely damning portrait. Are we seriously to believe that anything about this misbegotten drama’s protagonist is endearing?

Even given Apatow’s decency-shredding tendencies, and fondness for vulgarity, The King of Staten Island is way, way beyond tolerable. 

It’s available as an on-demand streaming rental, at a premium price.

At its core, the script — by Apatow, Dave Sirus and star Pete Davidson — is a redemption saga. Meaning, we spend the first two acts watching ruthlessly selfish, 24-year-old, weed-smoking degenerate Scott Carlin (Davidson) abuse everybody in his orbit … after which we’re supposed to cheer him on during the third act, when he starts getting his act together.

Sorry, but no; this formula works only if the character in question deserves redemption. Which Scott most certainly does not.

On top of which, the character dynamics here don’t exist in anything remotely approaching reality. While higher than a kite, and egged on by his “friends,” Scott starts to tattoo a 9-year-old boy … and he doesn’t get locked up for child abuse? Worse still, the boy’s father — following an initial furious tirade — quickly turns forgiving, because he wants to start dating Scott’s mother?!?

This is supposed to seem reasonable?

Not in this universe. This script — and premise — are forced contrivances stretched far beyond the snapping point.

Scott, a foul-mouthed Failure To Launch, still lives with his mother, Margie (Marisa Tomei, who does her best to bring some class and charm to these dire proceedings). Their lives have remained on hold ever since her husband, Scott’s father, died in action as a Staten Island fireman. Margie maintains a living room shrine to her late husband; Scott has weaponized his grief as an excuse to be nasty to everybody.

Spider-Man: Far from Home — Sticky situations

Spider-Man: Far from Home (2019) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for sci-fi action violence and mild profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.5.19

Life goes on, even for superheroes.

Particularly for superheroes.

Having helped defeat a massive elemental monster, Spider-Man (Tom Holland, left) is
gratefully surprised when his assistance is acknowledged with sincere respect by the
more flamboyantly super-heroic Mysterio (Jake Gyllenhaal).

In the wake of early spring’s Avengers: Endgame, fans have been curious about the direction subsequent Marvel Universe films would take. Spider-Man: Far from Home provides some answers, but mostly stands on its own as Tom Holland’s second starring outing in the iconic web-slinging costume (in addition to his co-starring appearances with Captain American and the Avengers).

At its best, the Chris McKenna/Erik Sommers script successfully evokes the geeky, angst-ridden vibe of the early 1960s Stan Lee/Steve Ditko comic books, when Peter Parker was a reluctant costumed hero, and mostly a nerdy, misfit high school teen forever questioning the slightest thought, word or deed. He epitomized the early Marvel archetype: a hero laden with insecurities.

Holland’s Peter Parker isn’t exactly burdened by doubt, nor is he the shy introvert that Lee and Ditko created. This Peter also isn’t completely friendless; he’s blessed by constant support from best bud Ned (Jacob Batalon), and the relationship with his Aunt May (Marisa Tomei) is much more a closeness of equals, than the comic books’ doddering parent/guilty child dynamic.

In this film continuity, both Ned and Aunt May know of Peter’s web-slinging activities, which allows for playful banter.

But Holland’s Peter is flustered in the presence of über-cool, tart-tongued Michelle Jones (Zendaya), the girl he has long worshiped from afar. (She more commonly goes by the initials MJ, evoking fond memories of the comics’ original Mary Jane Watson.) Holland is endearing as he spins increasingly silly scenarios about “the perfect moment” to confess his love for MJ, while Ned shakes his head in disbelief.

As the story begins, everybody in Peter’s high school continues to grapple with the disorienting aftermath of “the blip,” which returned half the world’s population following a five-year absence. Trouble is, that half — including Peter, MJ and Ned — came back at the same age as when they left, whereas those left behind are five years older.

The latter include Peter’s new nemesis, the arrogant Brad (Remy Hii), who has transitioned from a similarly uncool nerd into a heartthrob determined to make MJ his own. The perfect opportunity arises when a small group of students earn a European vacation, under the close (?) supervision of two clueless teachers (Martin Starr and J.B. Smoove, perhaps hitting the dweeb key a little too hard). First stop: Venice.

Spider-Man: Homecoming — A tangled web

Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for sci-fi action and violence, and mild profanity
By Derrick Bang

It’s both ironic and yet appropriate that this newest incarnation of Spider-Man — let’s call it Spider-Man 3.0 — works best when young Peter Parker is out of costume.

Try as he might, Peter (Tom Holland) can't seem to make things work properly ... either
in his personal life, or as the web-slinging would-be hero, Spider-Man.

As originally conceived by writer Stan Lee and artist Steve Ditko, way back in 1962, Peter was an angst-ridden high school outcast: a nerd long before that word became a fashionable descriptor. Eternally abused by campus tormentor Flash Thompson, ignored by all the cool kids, Peter took solace from his scientific curiosity and the protective embrace of home life with his beloved Uncle Ben and Aunt May.

British actor Tom Holland — so powerful as the eldest son forced to help his family cope with a tsunami’s aftermath, in 2012’s The Impossible — persuasively nails this all-essential aspect of Peter’s personality. He has a ready smile that falters at the faintest slight, real or imagined; he’s all gangly limbs and unchecked, hyperactive eagerness. Peter frequently doesn’t know how to handle himself, because he doesn’t yet possess a strong sense of what his “self” actually is.

That said, director/co-scripter Jon Watts’ update of Peter gives the lad a firmer social grounding that he possessed in all those early Marvel comic books. He’s a valued member of his school’s academic decathlon squad, where he’s routinely thrust alongside teammates Flash (Tony Revolori), crush-from-a-distance Liz (Laura Harrier) and the aloof, slightly mysterious Michelle (Zendaya, the effervescent star of TV’s engaging K.C. Undercover).

And — oh, yes — Peter is a-bubble with enthusiasm over the secret he cannot share with anyone: his recent trip to Berlin, supposedly as a science intern for Stark Enterprises, but where he actually joined Iron Man and other super-powered associates and went mano a mano against Captain America (recent back-story details supplied via a clever flashback).

Impetuously assuming that he’ll therefore be made a member of the Avengers, Peter is chagrined when days and weeks pass without a word from Tony Stark/Iron Man (Robert Downey Jr.) or his right-hand man, Happy Hogan (Jon Favreau). I mean, Spidey deflected Captain America’s shield, right? What the heck is Tony waiting for?

Retrieving stolen bicycles and helping little old ladies may establish cred as “your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man,” but it hardly stacks up against saving the world from super-powered bad guys. Peter chafes at being abandoned on the sidelines, and thus makes the mistake that Stark anticipated.

Wholly contrary to the essential divide between civilian and costumed life, Peter begins to employ his alter-ego as a crutch: a means to enhance his social status.

“But I’m nothing without the costume,” he eventually wails, in genuine torment, to Tony.

“If that’s true,” Tony replies, “then you don’t deserve it.”

The Big Short: A grand romp

The Big Short (2015) • View trailer 
4.5 stars. Rated R, for profanity and nudity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.23.15

This is the mostly audaciously entertaining economics course you’ll ever take.

The Big Short isn’t merely a ferociously impudent adaptation of financial journalist Michael Lewis’ nonfiction 2010 book of the same title. Under the careful guidance of writer/director Adam McKay and co-scripter Charles Randolph, it’s a blistering primer that explains — precisely and unflinchingly — why the country fell off a cliff in 2007.

Mark Baum (Steve Carell, seated center) and his talented young financial analysts — from
left, Vinnie (Jeremy Strong), Danny (Rafe Spall) and Porter (Hamish Linklater) — react
with various degrees of concentration, disbelief and anger while Jared Vennett (Ryan
Gosling, seated far right) outlines his improbable scheme for making a fortune by
betting against the entire American financial institution. Jared's assistant Chris (Jeffry
Griffin) wisely keeps his mouth shut.

At the same time, it’s a raucous and yet tightly controlled showcase for a gaggle of unlikely antiheroes, played with whole-immersion glee by a top-flight cast of scene-stealers. McKay employs every trick in the filmmaking book, from Robert Altman-style overlapping dialog to characters who routinely emphasize a point by breaking the fourth wall and addressing us directly.

It sounds like total chaos, and in lesser hands that likely would have been the case. But McKay & Co. deliver the equivalent of the best, most savagely satirical Saturday Night Live sketch ever made ... and they keep it going for a full 130 minutes. True, the result sometimes feels like a series of self-contained scenes, but they’re strung together to build a cohesive narrative that is breathtaking, suspenseful and wildly entertaining.

And, ultimately, infuriating and unbelievable. Because it’s absolutely true.

Think we all got screwed by the 2007 housing bubble collapse? You have no idea how badly, or the degree to which the fat-cat, blithely indifferent — and, in many cases, reprehensibly ignorant — Wall Street and banking oligarchy danced on the ashes of your investments, retirement accounts and foreclosed homes.

McKay’s film reveals all, in torturous — and yet excruciatingly funny — detail, via the activities of a quintet of outliers and weirdoes, real people all, who smelled a rat early on and...

... wait for it ...

... still waiting? ...

... took a financial position against the supposedly rock-solid American housing industry.

Everybody else thought these guys were lunatics. Huge Wall Street corporations cheerfully took their wildcat investments, believing them the equivalent of going “all in” on the off-chance that a single number would come up on a colossal roulette wheel with 100,000 slots.

Because — and here’s the thing — most of the idiots pulling the country’s financial strings didn’t have the slightest idea what they were doing.

And the others were fully aware, but did it anyway, because a) they knew they’d never get caught; and b) knew that even if they did get caught, they’d undoubtedly be “punished” with a slap on the wrist and a fat bonus.

History — history that goes back only eight years — has proven them correct.

Love Is Strange: Poignant glimpse of family values

Love Is Strange (2014) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated R, and rather harshly, for occasional profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 9.26.14

As first-world challenges go, few can be more heartbreaking than the turmoil sometimes created by our nobler instincts.

On the morning of their official nuptials, George (Alfred Molina, left) assures Ben (John
Lithgow) that yes, they will make it to the appointed place on time ... even if they're not
able to hail a taxi.

We like to believe that we’re capable of helping people — particularly friends and family members — much the way we’d hope to be helped, under similar circumstances. The uncomfortable truth, however, is that benevolence generally extends only so far, and no farther ... and then most people are too polite to confront what has become an intolerable situation.

And so the kettle bubbles, until it boils over: the initial generous act inevitably overwhelmed by hurtful confrontations that cannot be taken back, leaving bruised feelings all around.

Put simply, and to quote a telling line from Ira Sachs’ painfully intimate new film, “When you live with people, you know them better than you care to.”

The speaker is Ben (John Lithgow), whose life has taken a disappointing turn: such a letdown, from the radiant happiness he enjoyed only a few weeks earlier.

Sachs and co-scripter Mauricio Zacharias open Love Is Strange on a triumphant event: After having lived together for 39 years, Ben and George (Alfred Molina) joyfully tie the knot, thanks to New York’s new marriage laws. The morning of, the two men are a study in contrast: Ben, artistic and nervous, fusses over every detail; George, practical and calm, knows that all will be well.

They share both the service and subsequent celebratory party with close friends and family: Ben’s nephew Elliot (Darren E. Burrows), his wife Kate (Marisa Tomei) and their teenage son Joey (Charlie Tahan); Ted (Cheyenne Jackson) and Roberto (Manny Perez), the gay New York cops who live together downstairs; and numerous other well-wishers.

Kate makes a truly charming, heartfelt speech: brimming with love.

The elation doesn’t last long.

Ben doesn’t really have a job; he dabbles at painting. George, the primary breadwinner, teaches private music lessons but earns the bulk of their income from his longtime job as choir master at a local Catholic school. Unfortunately, although all concerned have known and tolerated George’s sexual orientation during his entire 12-year stint at this school, the marriage is an “official” act that cannot be condoned by the Catholic hierarchy.

George is summarily dismissed. Absent that income, he and Ben no longer can afford their apartment, nor — thanks to New York’s relentless real estate market — can they find another place to live. They reluctantly call a family meeting and present this news, hoping for the group to offer a stopgap, if not a solution.

The resulting silence, as the various implications settle, is merely the first of this film’s many gut-wrenching moments.

The Ides of March: Predictable political maneuvering

The Ides of March (2011) • View trailer for The Ides of March
3.5 stars. Rating: R, for profanity
By Derrick Bang


Despite some powerhouse acting and well-sculpted characters, The Ides of March ultimately delivers a message that hardly comes as a surprise: Politicians will lie, cheat and betray with impunity. Angel-eyed claims to the contrary, they’d toss their grandmothers under a bus in exchange for a few points in the polls.

Press spokesman Stephen Myers (Ryan Gosling, center) feeds some sample
questions to Democratic presidential primary candidate Mike Morris (George
Clooney, far left), while members of the campaign staff watch. Such rehearsals
are essential, since Morris must be able to deflect any question posed by the
public or members of the press ... and Myers must anticipate such questions.

No ... really?

The story — adapted by Beau Willimon, George Clooney and Grant Heslov from Willimon’s play, Farragut North — concerns one man’s loss of idealism, but even that isn’t news. Unchecked passion has been dangerous for centuries, because — particularly in the political animal — it inevitably allows one to believe that the end always justifies the means, no matter how ultimately misguided the latter.

The Ides of March is Clooney’s third time in the director’s chair, and it’s easy to see why he was drawn to Willimon’s play; Clooney never has been shy about his political activism. Perhaps the biggest surprise is the fact that he has chosen a narrative that speaks less to the homespun optimism of, say, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, and more to the dirty-tricks cynicism running throughout All the President’s Men.

Ultimately, though, the significant plot points here — and particularly the resolution — aren’t nearly as captivating as Good Night and Good Luck, which Clooney also directed and co-scripted with Heslov. That film painted a far more intriguing picture of Edward R. Murrow and the tempestuous early days of television news: a time when it did seem possible for integrity and virtue to triumph.

No more, alas.

Ryan Gosling, enjoying a phenomenal year, stars as Stephen Myers, press spokesman to Democratic presidential primary candidate Mike Morris (Clooney, granting himself this deliberately — and misleadingly — superficial supporting role). Myers has the gifts of gab, finesse and sincerity; he works the media like a veteran conductor extracting the best from each member of an orchestra.

Myers has the added benefit, this time, of believing in his cause. He regards Morris as the real deal; as New York Times reporter Ida Horowicz (Marisa Tomei) notes, with more than a little surprise, Myers has “drunk the Kool-Aid.”

The story is set during the tempestuous week leading up to the Ohio primary, where Morris — coasting with a comfortable lead in delegates — is campaigning against underdog Sen. Pullman (Michael Mantell). The latter is a relatively clumsy Democratic candidate, since he insists on playing the Christianity card; Morris, thanks to his own good instincts and scripted answers fine-tuned by Myers and campaign manager Paul Zara (Philip Seymour Hoffman), has little trouble deflecting his opponent’s religiously loaded questions.

Crazy, Stupid Love: Hilarious, painful truths

Crazy, Stupid Love (2011) • View trailer for Crazy, Stupid Love
Four stars. Rating: PG-13, and rather generously, for profanity, coarse humor and unrelenting sexual content
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.29.11


Some of them sneak up on us.

Its excellent ensemble cast notwithstanding, Crazy, Stupid Love risked being lumped in with the numerous smutty farces we've endured this year, starting with The Dilemma and Hall Pass, and continuing all the way up through Horrible Bosses and the as-yet unreleased The Change-Up. Some of these misfires have purported to be romantic comedies; others simply made fun of the gender divide. Most have been ho-hum at best, downright dreadful at worst.

Watching not terribly clandestinely from the bar, Cal (Steve Carell, rear)
analyzes the moves being demonstrated by new friend Jacob (Ryan Gosling), as
he smoothly and successfully picks up yet another willing woman. Cal, trying
to navigate the dating scene he never really experienced back in his own youth,
still has a long way to go...

Crazy, Stupid Love does not belong in their company.

By turns hilarious, poignant, witty and painfully perceptive, this ode to love spurned and unrequited is the nearest thing I've found to a successful American riff on a classic French sex farce. Hollywood generally does quite badly when attempting to reproduce French comedies, particularly those with an erotic element. Indeed, this film's Steve Carell was in one of the recent bombs, last year's Dinner for Schmucks.

Somehow, what's often funny and sensual in a French film, winds up looking desperate, clumsy and merely smarmy when filtered through our Puritanical sensibilities.

Dan Fogelman probably wasn't even trying for Gallic tone or momentum when scripting Crazy, Stupid Love, and that may be why he nailed it so well. This is new territory for Fogelman, best known until now for collaborating on the scripts for animated fare such as Tangled, Bolt and both of Pixar's Cars movies. His only big-screen live-action effort, 2007's Fred Claus, was a debacle.

So where did he come up with the romantic and relationship savvy executed so well here? Doesn't really matter, of course; we care only about the result ... which is delightful.

Credit goes, as well, to the directing team of Glenn Ficarra and John Requa, best known to this point for having co-scripted 2003's hilariously vulgar Bad Santa. This is their second directing effort, coming after 2009's modestly amusing I Love You, Phillip Morris, which they also wrote; sadly, that film became no more than another of star Jim Carrey's recent nonstarters.

A fate Crazy, Stupid Love most certainly will be spared.

Cal (Carell), contemplating dessert options after a quiet dinner out with wife Emily (Julianne Moore), is stunned when she declines a tort in favor of a divorce. Driven to nervous chatter by Cal's stricken immobility, Emily compounds the awkward moment by confessing an affair with a guy at work.

The bloody aftermath of this ghastly scene becomes even worse when it's witnessed, at home, by their young daughter (Joey King, as Molly), 13-year-old son (Jonah Bobo, as Robbie) and the visiting 17-year-old babysitter (Analeigh Tipton, as Jessica). The latter is particularly anguished to see Cal in such pain, because she nurtures a secret crush on him.

The Lincoln Lawyer: Sloppy defense

The Lincoln Lawyer (2011) • View trailer for The Lincoln Lawyer
Three stars (out of five). Rating: R, for profanity, violence and sexual content
By Derrick Bang 


Matthew McConaughey is perfectly cast as novelist Michael Connelly’s cocky defense attorney, Mick Haller, and John Romano’s screenplay is impressively faithful to the novel of the same title.

No surprise there. Connelly’s engaging book — the sort of page-turning pot-boiler one loves to have while flying across the country — reads like a film script.

Although the charges against Beverly Hills playboy Louis Roulet (Ryan
Phillippe, right) are grim, resourceful defense attorney Mick Haller (Matthew
McConaughey) has several tricks up his sleeve. But even Haller is destined to
be surprised, as this case spins off in a few unpredictable directions.

Unfortunately, director Brad Furman does the project no favors. His bombastic, exploitative approach adds an air of overwrought cheesiness to these proceedings, and he too frequently allows his characters to stand and declaim in the manner of first-year drama students. As a result, McConaughey’s performance is wildly uneven: gritty and persuasive at one moment, laughably over the top at other times.

And Furman may be the first director to encourage or tolerate sloppy work from the usually exceptional William H. Macy.

Not that we should be surprised. Pedigree always tells, and Furman’s only previous big-screen credit is 2007’s trashy armored car heist flick, The Take: reasonably diverting as a junky, made-for-cable quickie, but nothing to write home about. And while The Lincoln Lawyer, as a property, certainly represents a step up for Furman, he doesn’t rise to the occasion. I kept wishing Connelly had been able to hold out for a better director.

Casting is another problem. The first major chunk of Connelly’s novel is a classic mystery, with respect to who did what to whom, before this information is revealed and Haller subsequently winds up with a whole new set of problems. Alas, that tantalizing puzzle is blown practically from the moment we meet all the major players in this movie, because the actor in question couldn’t look more guilty if he wore a sign around his neck. To a degree, that’s because this actor always looks like a smug, arrogant bastard ... but, again, Furman could have tried harder to conceal the obvious.

Haller is introduced while plying his trade in his “office,” which happens to be the back seat of his Lincoln Continental sedan, invariably driven by streetwise colleague Earl (Laurence Mason, appropriately cool). Connelly’s book explains this intriguing affectation, but Furman can’t be bothered with such details, so audience members are left to wonder why Haller can’t afford a proper office environment.

That aside, Haller is quite willing to work with social misfits, whether members of a rough-trade biker gang or hookers struggling with a drug habit. For the most part, though, Haller demands regular visits from “Mr. Green” ... which is to say, suitable payment for services rendered.