Lessons of Darkness

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2009): C-

An adaptation of an apparent dime-store cheapie masquerading as important literature, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is overflowing with faux-titillating elements, from lesbianism and rape to S&M-themed sexual violence and murder. Nazis also play a key role in this cinematic version of the first novel in deceased Swedish author Stieg Larsson’s “Millennium Trilogy,” though unlike kindred best-seller phenom The Da Vinci Code, this tale is less about fancifully rewriting history than merely indulging in exploitation-fiction devices. After being disgraced and ordered to serve three months in jail, crusading journalist Mikael Blomkvist (Michael Nyqvist) is hired by a wealthy industrialist to unravel the mystery of his beloved niece, who disappeared without a trace forty years earlier. This investigation ultimately pairs him with Lisbeth Salander (Noomi Rapace), a bisexual computer hacker – and laughably contrived wannabe badass goth antihero – whose piercings, tattoos and jet black hair and matching apparel all speak to her traumatic past and painful present, which involves being raped by her scummy legal guardian. Their joint mission results in personal and professional redemption, though not before director Niels Arden Oplev’s film can revel in its seedier aspects – scenes of abuse are shot with commercial-slick graphicness and more than one eye toward arousing rather than horrifying – while appropriating every aesthetic trope from the modern Hollywood thriller handbook. Larsson and Oplev clearly intend their genre material to double as some sort of statement on male brutality towards women, but the proceedings’ omnipresent luridness negates any such intentions, reducing the whodunit action to merely low-grade suspense rubbish.

Transporter 3 (2008): B-

In spirit if not quite execution, The Transporter 3 is the equal of its predecessors, offering up the same goofy over-the-top martial arts and vehicular madness that has become the series’ signature (and which I’ve finally embraced). There’s nothing quite as ridiculous as the Transporter 2 sight of stone-faced wheelman Frank Martin (Jason Statham) removing a bomb from the undercarriage of his Audi by flipping it midair and knocking the device off with a nearby crane hook. Still, there’s plenty of silliness to this third outing, helmed by Olivier Megaton (whose ludicrous last name alone makes him a perfect fit for the franchise) with careening velocity and muscular precision, as well as enough edits to make one’s eyes burn. The plot involves Frank being forced to transport a human package, Natalya Rudakova’s Ukrainian redhead, to Odessa, a mission complicated by a bracelet slapped on his wrist that will turn him into an exploding man if he strays too far from his car. The underlying reason for his task has to do with a villain’s (Robert Knepper) efforts to blackmail a politician over anti-pollution legislation, but really, that’s all beside the point –Transporter 3 exists only so that one can witness Frank outmaneuver pursuing baddies on the road, and dispatch hordes of anonymous goons with his fists and feet. As such, the film delivers what it promises, highlighted by the oft-shirtless Frank taking down foes with the aid of his tie and belt, as well as another sequence in which he chases down his stolen car (so as not to blow up) on a dirt bike, with Statham’s unflappable no-nonsense demeanor a perfect complement to his outrageously cartoonish superheroics.

The Wolfman (2010): C-

The full moon turns Benicio Del Toro into the titular monster in Joe Johnston’s The Wolfman, but in reality both he and costar Anthony Hopkins do little more than sleepwalk through this misbegotten reimagining of Lon Chaney’s 1941 Universal classic. An esteemed American actor who returns home to his perpetually mist-enshrouded familial English estate after the disappearance of his brother, Lawrence (Del Toro) soon discovers that a mysterious beast is on the loose, much to the townspeople’s chagrin. When said creature bites him, he too assumes the lycanthropic curse, though his CGI transformation is as tepid as his rampaging is perfunctory and Lawrence’s friction with cold-hearted dad John (Hopkins) is one-note. Director Joe Johnston mismatches numerous shots, stages action with a leaden hand, and then, in an apparent effort to compensate, begins and ends countless scenes with ominous shots of a computer-generated full moon, a device that merely amplifies this wannabe-scary saga’s corniness. Assuming a cartoony gothic guise that seemingly wants to recall not only prior werewolf tales but also Francis Ford Coppola’s Dracula (an impression furthered by Hopkins’ participation), this Wolfman – from its father-son conflict to Lawrence’s romance with his brother’s widow (Emily Blunt) – flounders in its stabs at epic action-horror grandeur, with only Hugo Weaving (as an investigating Scotland Yard sheriff) capturing the proper balance of solemnity and silliness.

Mann Up

For this Monday morning, I've got four new reviews of recent releases. Two are positive, two are negative, and no, it won't be hard to guess which are which.

Out Now:
Grown Ups (Slant magazine)
Jonah Hex (Slant magazine)
I Was Born, But... (The Village Voice)
Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work (Paste magazine)

Also, here's a lengthy feature I did for The L Magazine on Film Forum's retrospective of the great American director Anthony Mann, which runs from June 25 - July 15.

The Agony and the Ecstasy of Anthony Mann (The L Magazine)

She’s Out of My League (2010): C

Inverting traditional male-female roles with a dreary lack of imagination, She’s Out of My League tells the guy-friendly romantic comedy tale of ugly-duckling airport security agent Kirk (regular Judd Apatow player Jay Baruchel), who inadvertently winds up in a relationship with super-hot party planner Molly (Alice Eve). Kirk’s self-consciousness about this romance is amplified by Molly’s hunky ex Cam (Geoff Stults) and a cadre of smart-ass friends who reinforce the notion that Kirk is a 5 and Molly is a “hard 10.” Throw in Kirk’s wacky family and his awful former flame (Lindsay Sloane), and you’ve got a scenario ripped straight from a screenwriting computer program. Director Jim Field Smith hits every predictable note in the genre’s playbook while attempting to deliver some bawdy dude humor, which here takes the dismal guise of a running joke about premature ejaculation (and a dog!) as well as another gag involving one man cheerily shaving another’s testicles. No amount of faux-smuttiness, however, can disguise the squishy kissy-poo template that guides these male-fantasy proceedings, which are so formulaic that the film actually ends with the lamest rom-com cliché of all – the race through the airport to find true love – and, as such, proves to be in the exact same league as the so-called “chick flicks” of Julia Roberts and Sandra Bullock.

Youth in Revolt (2009): C+

Michael Cera’s awkwardly sardonic schtick has reached the point of polarization – either you’re with his softly voiced, linguistically erudite quips, or you’re fervently against them. Youth in Revolt does nothing to alter this paradigm, although the film’s central conceit – nerdy loner Nick Twisp (Cera), in an effort to win the heart of a Jean-Paul Belmondo-loving beauty (Portia Doubleday), creates a thin-mustached rebel alter ego – does afford the actor sporadic opportunities to move past this trademark routine. Miguel Arteta’s adaptation of C.D. Payne’s novel is a typical quirky indie comedy about outsider alienation and love along the lines of Ghost World (hey, even Steve Buscemi is here!), full of “alternative” caricatures and droll bon mots. Opening with the sound of the protagonist masturbating, Twisp’s roiling hormones are the plot’s engine, though this portrait of adolescent desire is so encased in self-aware snarkiness that it never manages to make an emotional dent and only rarely finds a way to amuse, as when Twisp, questioned about whether Ozu or Mizoguchi directed Tokyo Story, opines “Who can say?” Mostly, however, Youth in Revolt’s classic cinema shoutouts and gaggle of off-kilter characters feel like retreads, an impression also left by a Cera performance that, except in rare instances, detrimentally fails to rebel against type.

Edge of Darkness (2010): C

Glossy exploitation cinema without guts, Edge of Darkness (a condensed adaptation of a 1985 British TV miniseries) sets up a scenario for vengeance-driven violence and then backs off, choosing to dawdle when it should be rampaging. Mere hours after his daughter returns home for a visit, detective Thomas Craven (Mel Gibson) watches her get shotgunned down on his front steps by a mysterious assailant. Director Martin Campbell (Casino Royale) stages this execution with stunning impact before spending time on Craven’s unbearable grief over the loss of his only child. In fact, he takes too much time, drawing out his opening act to such an extent that the film never recovers its momentum. Despite a few biblical-themed lines of dialogue that remind one of his distasteful real-world religious opinions, Gibson’s weathered face and browbeaten comportment authentically convey Craven’s hurt and anger. Yet William Monahan and Andrew Bovell’s script gives those emotions no satisfying outlet, teasing us with the notion that Craven is a man who, having lost everything, will do anything to achieve his ends, and then refusing to actually follow through on that suggestion. A convoluted conspiracy involving Danny Huston’s military-related research and development firm, as well as chats with a philosophical government fixer (Ray Winstone), all pad out an inert plot that’s heavy on shadowy machinations – most of which are of a dull sort, save for some national defense spooks’ discussions about the difficulty of achieving viable “containment” – and woefully light on no-holds-barred revenge mayhem.

Toy Story 3 (2010): B+

Andy’s off to college in Toy Story 3, leaving his favorite playmates Woody (Tom Hanks), Buzz (Tim Allen) and the rest of the plastic gang at a literal and philosophical crossroads, forced to choose between clinging to a life that’s passed them by or embarking on a new, uncertain future. As such, Lee Unkrich’s sequel fits snugly into the thematic arc of Pixar’s signature franchise, casting its tale of toys’ inevitable obsolescence (at least with their original owner) as a parable about the transience of human life, and the means by which we decide how to live it. Given its focus on transition, the film – which follows the toys as they’re accidentally shipped off to Sunnyside Day Care, where they’re compelled to reenact The Great Escape – proves more morose than its predecessors, a tone that Unkrich (working from Michael Arndt’s script) attempts to counteract with a series of high-wire action set pieces, from an opening fantasy train sequence to a later voyage into a trash dump incinerator. It’s a strategy that doesn’t always work, both because the more somber atmosphere neuters some of the story’s zippiness, and because many of the overtly jovial scenarios – such as those involving Barbie’s budding romance with the shady (and, it’s groaningly suggested, gay) Ken – simply aren’t that charming or amusing. Pixar’s buoyant, glossy CG animation is as enticing as ever, yet aside from humor that’s only intermittently inspired, the film also suffers from a slight sense of repetition, especially in the case of Sunnyside’s nefarious ruler Lotso (Ned Beatty), a stuffed bear whose backstory treads abandonment/resentment territory similar to that of cowgirl Jessie (Joan Cusack). Still, if inferior to its illustrious prior installments, Toy Story 3 nonetheless balances rollicking adventure, personality-driven comedy and wrenching pathos with a deftness only surpassed by a handful of animation efforts, its poignancy reaching an apex with an image of solidarity in the face of dawning death, and again during a finale that recognizes the heartache, and yet also potential elation, of letting go.

From Paris with Love (2010): C-

From Paris with Love follows Luc Besson’s trademark formula – A-list American star in a B-grade French actioner, directed by one of the filmmaker’s protégés. Like Taken, Besson’s latest producing venture is helmed by Pierre Morel, who here can do little to energize what amounts to an incoherent muddle of cursing, gunplay and mismatched-buddy banter devoid of a lucid tethering narrative. A miscast Jonathan Rhys Meyers plays an American diplomat in Paris who wants to be a spy, a wish granted when he’s paired with John Travolta’s bald, foul-mouthed American badass on a barely defined mission involving drug dealers and terrorists. Myers’ smarty pants I’ve-never-held-a-gun-before routine doesn’t jibe with his air of self-possession and sexy model fiancé, just as Travolta’s barrage of four-letter words and handiness with a firearm is at odds with his pudgy frame and jokey demeanor. From Paris with Love is all pretense, lacking any compelling style, attitude or storytelling. Dull and forgettable, the film is incapable of offering efficiently gritty exploitation thrills (à la Taken) or outrageously gonzo madness (à la The Transporter series), a situation at least partially due to the fact that Morel is often too busy trying to compensate for Travolta’s limited combat skills and sub-cartoon bluster to actually concoct and stage an inspired set piece.

The A-Team (2010): C+

“Overkill is underrated” muses Colonel Hannibal Smith (Liam Neeson) late in The A-Team, and in the case of this thoroughly unnecessary, doggedly silly, belligerently rollicking summer throwaway, he’s on the money. Joe Carnahan’s adaptation of Steven J. Cannell’s ‘80s TV series is as faithful as it needs to be in terms of character as well as set-up, finding the four Special Forces heroes – stogie-smoking Hannibal, cocky playboy Face (Bradley Cooper), schizo pilot Murdock (Sharlto Copley) and mohawked bruiser B.A. Baracus (UFC fighter Quinton “Rampage” Jackson) – attempting to clear their names after being framed for a crime they didn’t commit by nefarious government forces. Unlike Cannel’s episodic small-screen program, however, which for all its personality was generally a dully plotted slog, Carnahan ups everything to ludicrous heights. His A-Team is a smug, swaggering piece of cacophonous mayhem not tethered to any sort of emotionally engaging character drama or suspense narrative. Rarely has plot, or friendships and romantic relationships, been more superfluous, the proceedings instead guided by juvenile, demented can-you-believe-this verve. Carnahan’s combat incessantly devolves into incoherent camera-shaking in the dark but his insanity nonetheless has a goofy cartoon energy, just as his spastic cross-cutting – such as between team meetings where Hannibal and company lay out their schemes and footage of the schemes themselves – whiplashes the action into suitably frothy pandemonium. To be sure, it’s all mindless, pointless, self-satisfied carnage piggybacking on the carcass of a TV show no one cares about anymore, not to mention it’s a would-be blockbuster with the gall to invoke Gandhi quotes as motivation for a man to resume his murdering ways. Yet that doesn’t preclude the film from capturing the cheesy, giddy kill-‘em-all machismo that fuels countless disposable run-and-gun popcorn sagas, an admittedly aiming-low goal that it achieves in a cargo ship-exploding finale and, even better, an aerial dogfight involving a flying tank.