From the archives: November 2008

Hollywood studios call it a "tentpole franchise": a series destined to be a guaranteed, ongoing cash cow ... as long as the filmmakers concerned don't screw things up too badly. Think Star Wars, Harry Potter, Indiana Jones and Star Trek.

And if the franchise is strong enough — if, to continue the silly metaphor, the poles are strong enough to withstand a storm — the series can survive the occasional lamentable entry. (Star Trek 5, anyone?)

This month was laden with series entries, but only two qualified as tentpoles: the newest James Bond outing, and the first big-screen adaptation of Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series. Fans of Daniel Craig's re-booted "blond Bond" got what they paid for; so, I suspect, did the legion of readers transfixed by Meyer's "sparkly vampires." Director Catherine Hardwicke deserves credit for good casting in the latter, but the film itself is tedious and bloodless ... although still a major cut above Meyer's laughably over-written book. Her devoted readers couldn't care less about that, of course, and they've made each of the subsequent films a bigger hit than the one before (despite the fact that the films themselves have gotten worse).

With respect to the other follow-ups, Jason Statham delivered his usual crazed stuntwork in the newest Transporter flick, and managed the hardest challenge of all: surviving a no-talent female co-star who couldn't act a lick. And the second Madagascar outing proved to be the rare sequel that improved upon its predecessor.

On a frustrating note, the world at large — both critics and the public — apparently decided that Australia wasn't worth a damn. This is one of the mysteries of the court of public opinion: Every so often, people inexplicably turn on a perfectly decent film, heaping it with wholly undeserved scorn and contempt. I loved Australia, and am not ashamed to admit it. Because of a very early advance screening, I had no inkling of the public censure to come, when my review was written; I predicted that Australia would "pack 'em in" during the upcoming holiday season. Well, that proved incorrect ... but the film deserves a much broader audience than it received. Maybe time will be kinder.

As for the rest, Clint Eastwood delivered another searing drama, this one based on jaw-dropping true events, and we also were transfixed by a heart-breaking Holocaust parable. All in all, a very strong month.

Step into the Wayback Machine, and check 'em out:

• Australia

• The Boy in the Striped Pajamas

• Changeling

• Madagascar: Escape 2 Africa

• Quantum of Solace

• Role Models

• Transporter 3

• Twilight

Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Rodrick Rules — These kids rule!

Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Rodrick Rules (2011) • View trailer for Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Rodrick Rules
Four stars (out of five). Rating: PG, and needlessly, for mild rude humor
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.25.11


Jeff Kinney's clever and perceptive Wimpy Kid series made a thoroughly delightful transition to the big screen last year, when Diary of a Wimpy Kid became a well-deserved hit.

That was surprising enough, given the pitfalls waiting to trap unwary filmmakers who easily could have ruined the blend of line drawings and kid-oriented wisdom that made Kinney's book — and its several sequels — so popular with its target audience. (And — don't tell anybody! — with their parents.)

Surveying the aftermath of a party they weren't supposed to host in the first
place, Greg (Zachary Gordon, left) and older brother Rodrick (Devon Bostick)
are further horrified to learn that their parents will be home at any moment ...
which leaves precious little time to clean up the mess and conceal any
lingering evidence.

The even greater surprise is that the just-released sequel, Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Rodrick Rules, is every bit as charming as its predecessor. All involved avoided the temptation to which so many lesser filmmakers succumb, which results in a sophomore effort that's heavier on the cruel, property-damaging slapstick and lighter on the poignant story elements that touched viewers' hearts the first time around. (Think back to Home Alone and its more-was-less sequel.) Director David Bowers, making a solid live-action debut after cutting his teeth on the animated features Flushed Away and Astro Boy, wisely resists several opportunities to crank up the mayhem; the result feels just as real-world as the first film.

Which is crucial, of course, because the whole point of Kinney's books is that his readers identify so strongly with their protagonist. Damage that relationship, and any film adaptation would suffer.

Not that this new film isn't funny. Indeed, it's often hilarious, precisely because screenwriters Gabe Sachs and Jeff Judah — closely following Kinney's template — play to all the adolescent-oriented catastrophes that give boys nightmares: not knowing how to approach the cute new girl in school, getting caught doing something dumb in a very public setting, and (oh, the horror!) accidentally winding up in a women's public restroom.

At its best, which is frequently, Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Rodrick Rules echoes the perfect blend of kid-size trauma and adult perspective that director Bob Clark brought to his adaptation of Jean Shepherd's A Christmas Story, so many years ago. You really couldn't ask for more.

Well, yes I could: It's also nice to see the entire cast return from the first film, particularly since everybody was so well suited to their roles. (Well ... everybody except Chloe Grace Moretz's Angie. But I guess you can't expect everything.)

Having survived the various catastrophes and angst-laden crises of his previous year, Greg Heffley (Zachary Gordon) is relieved to enter the seventh grade, where he expects (hopes?) life will be less traumatic for him and best friend Rowley (Robert Capron). Not likely. Greg is still plagued by bratty, pig-tailed classroom nemesis Patty (Laine MacNeil) — the Margaret to Hank Ketchum's Dennis — and still suffers the geeky, weird behavior of tag-along Fregley (Grayson Russell). Plus, there's a new problem: a teacher who recognizes the Heffley name all too well, and immediately assumes that poor Greg is equally guilty by association.

Jane Eyre: Deliciously swooning melodrama

Jane Eyre (2011) • View trailer for Jane Eyre
Four stars (out of five). Rating: PG-13, and quite stupidly, for dramatic intensity and a fleeting nude image
By Derrick Bang


Folks who love their romances brooding and gothic will adore director Cary Fukunaga's new take on Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre. I haven't seen so much angst and despair — nor so many dismal moors and long-suffering stares — since Merle Oberon chased Laurence Olivier in 1939's Wuthering Heights.

That was sister Emily Bronte's novel, of course, but Charlotte certainly penned an equally memorable saga of tortured love.

Jane (Mia Wasikowska) can't help being attracted to Rochester (Michael
Fassbender), even though she knows the very thought of embarking in a
relationship with the man is impossible, given the divide of their social
stations. But what is love, if not an emotion determined to surmount any
potential obstacle?

I'm frankly surprised, at a time when Jane Austen's books have enjoyed such renewed popularity, that we've not sooner re-visited either or both of the Bronte sisters. To be sure, a typical Austen heroine has more dash and sharp-tongued wit than an average Bronte heroine, but the latter should not be dismissed as silent wallflowers. This new Jane Eyre offers plenty of spirited feminine pluck, thanks both to Mia Wasikowska's sensitive performance and Moira Buffini's impressively nuanced script. The book runs roughly 400 pages, and capturing all that depth in a two-hour film is no small accomplishment; Buffini — who also scripted the charming Tamara Drewe — does a fine job.

Then, too, Michael Fassbender's Edward Rochester just might get swooning female viewers to forget Colin Firth's Mr. Darcy, in 1995's Pride and Prejudice. Fassbender's tempestuous Rochester is a haunted soul for the ages.

Fukunaga's one irritating misstep is the decision to open his film at the story's first climax — the conclusion of the third of this saga's five major acts — and then reveal what came before through a series of lengthy flashbacks. This sort of structural conceit, if employed unnecessarily, bespeaks a director who fears that his audience demands a splashy first scene, in order to settle into the story. That's utter nonsense, particularly given the drama at hand as Bronte's book begins.

Then, too, Fukunaga compounds the error later on, by showing us those opening scenes again, when Buffini's screenplay catches up to them. What, did they think we had forgotten so quickly?

That pesky annoyance aside, we quickly settle into the unhappy tale of poor Jane, orphaned as a child and initially raised by her Aunt Sarah (the hissably waspish Sally Hawkins, who recently starred in Made in Dagenham), who despises the girl. As soon as decorum permits, Jane — a heartbreaking performance, at this early age, by Amelia Clarkson — is shipped off to the foreboding Lowood School for Girls.

Additionally, Aunt Sarah makes it clear that "it" — not "she" — will remain at Lowood during all holidays. Needless to say, this is the sort of institution where the staff appears to live quite well on the tuition fees, while the scores of young girls must make do with cold rooms, minimal clothing and meager meals.

We generally associate this sort of hard-luck orphan with Charles Dickens ... and, in truth, Oliver Twist didn't have it any harder.

Paul: Sci-fi nerd delight

Paul (2011) • View trailer for Paul
3.5 stars (out of five). Rating: R, for profanity, occasional rude humor and brief drug use
By Derrick Bang


Genre geeks who flocked to 1999’s Galaxy Quest will get an equal kick out of Paul, and for many of the same reasons; this new comedy sends up the whole sci-fi nerd universe with equal mischief.

On top of which, we know we’re in for a good time when the British writing/acting team of Simon Pegg and Nick Frost uncorks a fresh endeavor. And if this new effort isn’t quite as sharp as Shaun of the Dead or Hot Fuzz, it’s still an amusing romp with enough satiric zingers — and affectionate pokes at sci-fi fandom — to satisfy its target audience.

Graeme (Simon Pegg, far left) and Clive (Nick Frost) have plenty to worry
about, once their extraterrestrial new friend takes the wheel of their RV, in
order to escape pursuit. Matters are further complicated by the fact that they've
sorta-kinda kidnapped Ruth (Kristen Wiig), a devout Christian whose close
encounter with this alien visitor proves, ah, life-changing.

Pegg and Frost star as Graeme Willy and Clive Gollings, two British genre geeks who’ve taken the vacation of their dreams in the United States, by starting at San Diego’s annual Comic-Con and then touring UFO-themed “hot spots” in the American heartland — Area 51, the “black mailbox” — in a rented RV.

They also possess a smattering of their own geek cred: Clive has written a sci-fi novel, Jelva, Alien Queen of the Varvak, which Graeme has illustrated. Most infamously, the book’s cover sports a sexy drawing of a green-skinned alien babe with three breasts ... an anatomical curiosity that prompts commentary from everybody who sees it.

Granted, it’s not hard to send up the whole Comic-Con experience, but Pegg and Frost nonetheless have a good time during the montage prologue that opens this film; they cover everything from the crazed costumes to the outrageously overpriced genre paraphernalia. Clive has his eye on an awe-inspiring, bushido-style sword, but he can’t surmount the four-figure price tag; naturally, the poor guy leaves the booth muttering dire imprecations in flawless Klingon.

The boys also queue up in order to get a signature from their idol, renowned sci-fi author Adam Shadowchild (Jeffrey Tambor, appropriately condescending). The hilarious running gag here is Shadowchild’s list of credits; later, on several occasions, as Graeme and Clive are forced to explain who the author is, they rattle off increasingly wacky lists of the guy’s published books.

Once on the road, our heroes turn camera-crazy at each significant UFO tourist site ... and, before long, wind up with a most unusual hitchhiker. That would be Paul, a bona-fide extra-terrestrial on the lam from “The Big Guy” back at Area 51, who wants to remove his brain in order to study some of this alien’s more, ah, unusual talents.

Paul has been a “guest” of the U.S. government since the 1940s, when he had a spaceship mishap. Ever since, he has been something of an informational and psychological resource for shadowy federal agents. This story’s central conceit is that Paul — a not entirely random name given this unusual visitor — has been responsible for helping our government “shape” the American perception of life on other worlds. Paul’s input has even influenced several generations of sci-fi writers and filmmakers; you’ll quickly recognize the voice of the famous director who, in a brief flashback, is heard seeking advice on a project.

And, needless to say, Paul’s “office” is amid the stacked contents of a huge warehouse that looks every inch like the final shot from Raiders of the Lost Ark.

Cedar Rapids: Droll undercurrents

Cedar Rapids (2011) • View trailer for Cedar Rapids
Four stars (out of five). Rating: R, for profanity, crude humor, sexual content and drug use
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.18.11


Mark Twain’s innocents abroad never had it this rough.

Tim Lippe is a small-town guy through and through: an unsullied soul who seems quite content to remain within the sheltering boundaries of tiny Brown Valley, Wis. He sells peace of mind as an agent for locally based BrownStar Insurance, and he’s good at it; people trust his utterly sincere face — which is genuine, not a calculated façade — and acknowledge the wisdom of dealing with somebody who resides no more than a few blocks away.

Although Joan (Anne Heche) insists that Tim (Ed Helms, center right) shouldn't
have any trouble with an indoor climbing competition, our hero is far from
convinced. And once he's 20 feet off the ground, he'll naturally do the opposite
when some helpful soul warns him not to look down...

Tim lives alone in the house where he grew up, and seems content to do so. In the manner of an honest, guileless individual who lacks cynicism and fancies himself a moral clean spirit, he doesn’t miss what he can’t imagine. Whatever the greater world holds, somewhere Out There, he genuinely couldn’t care less. This isn’t a guy who lives vicariously through his Netflix subscription; he probably peruses nothing more progressive than Readers Digest.

But then ... disaster.

When a BrownStar colleague dies suddenly under eyebrow-raising circumstances — the details of which Tim refuses to contemplate — our sheltered adult waif is ordered to take the guy’s place at the industry’s annual ASMI convention in the free-wheeling, hothouse atmosphere of ... wait for it ...

Cedar Rapids, Iowa.

Instant panic attack.

Indie director Miguel Arteta’s Cedar Rapids starts slowly, almost somnambulantly, but gradually builds its way into the sort of hilarious, full-out raunchy comedy that the Farrelly brothers wish they could make, but haven’t near the talent — or artistic sensibilities — to pull off. But while Arteta deserves the credit for tone and pacing, and for encouraging precisely modulated performances from his talented ensemble cast, the true hero of the moment is screenwriter Phil Johnston.

You’d never know it from Johnston’s few credits: a couple of shorts and a forgettable made-for-TV sci-fi comedy. But he must’ve been shopping the script for Cedar Rapids around, because he made Variety’s 2009 list of “10 screenwriters to watch,” an accolade he clearly deserves. Cedar Rapids makes excellent use of a successful comedy’s essential ingredients: a simple yet captivating premise, well drawn characters, funny but wholly credible plot hiccups, and — most important — a solid moral center that allows us to root for the protagonist.

Not to mention a pitch-perfect performance from star Ed Helms, cast as poor, beleaguered Tim. The long-time veteran of TV’s The Office got his big screen break with 2009’s The Hangover, and knew just what to do with it. His work here in Cedar Rapids merely illustrates the obvious: Helms knows how to carry a starring role.

And it’s not an easy part. Too much clowning, too much infantile behavior, and Tim would devolve into the sort of man-child caricature that Will Ferrell has turned into such a tiresome cliché. Alternatively, too much aggressive compensation — too large a dose of the inner wild child encouraged to escape during this life-changing ASMI weekend — and Tim would cease to be sympathetic.

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.

From the archives: December 2008

Double features, once a cherished constant of the movie-going experience, have all but disappeared.

Multiplex houses hardly ever show more than one film on a given screen; if they do, you'll need to pay separate admission for each. Art houses and independent theaters sometimes offer double features, but even here they're few and far between. Perhaps more tellingly, the mainstream "movie date" no longer allows for double features. Who has the time?

As a result, my rare opportunities for double features have been accidental, usually resulting from the nature of my job. So it was, on an otherwise average Thursday afternoon in November 2008, that I found myself in the pleasant company of colleage Jonathan Mumm — film critic for Sacramento's Channel 10 — at that city's Crest Theater. Thanks to that week's random assignments of preview screenings, both Australia and Slumdog Millionaire were being shown to us critics that day, at (as I recall) 1 and 4 p.m., respectively. Since Australia clocks in at 165 minutes, that left time only for a brief pit stop in between.

I couldn't have cared less. It was a magical afternoon at the movies: six hours (more or less) that encapsulated everything I love about the medium. The sense of wonder, the feeling of being carried away by stories well told, the admiration for all the many talents — in front of and behind the camera — who had collaborated so well to deliver these sumptuous results.

Australia, for reasons I'll never understand, tanked at the box office, finding favor neither with critics nor the public. Too old-style and corny, I guess, but I loved it nonetheless.

Slumdog Millionaire, however, was something else again: an absolute masterpiece that I knew, without question, would become a world-wide phenomenon ... and deservedly so.

Director Danny Boyle's film was the brightest spot among 2008's holiday movie season, although by no means the only gem; Milk — given an additional (and serendipitous) boost by political events of the moment — also earned a well-deserved spot among solid, fact-based dramas.

As for the rest ... well, not such a much. The month brought us numerous movies that were compromised by ill-advised business decisions. The usually dependable Will Smith and Tom Cruise stumbled, and rather badly; the former attached himself to a thoroughly depressing — and wholly unbelievable — melodrama, while the latter was completely miscast as a WWII-era German soldier. An otherwise engaging adaptation of a best-selling book suffered from an equally miscast Owen Wilson. Sloppy history marred the great music re-created for a profile of uppity Chess Records, which helped re-shape the radio landscape of the 1950s and '60s. A charming children's book became dour and even frightening when brought to the big screen. Disappointments, all.

Ah, but Slumdog Millionaire made up for 'em. And then some.

Step into the Wayback Machine, and check 'em out:

• Cadillac Records

• Marley & Me

• Milk

• Seven Pounds

• Slumdog Millionaire

• The Tale of Despereaux

• Valkyrie

• Yes Man