8/1/15 (Part Two): Remember That One Time at Camp?

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A.D. Miles, Amy Poehler, Ben Weinstein, Bradley Cooper, camp counselors, Camp Firewood, Christopher Meloni, cinema, co-writers, comedies, coming of age, David Hyde Pierce, David Wain, Elizabeth Banks, ensemble cast, film reviews, films, Gideon Jacobs, H. Jon Benjamin, horny teenagers, inspired by '80s films, Janeane Garofalo, Joe Lo Truglio, Judah Friedlander, Ken Marino, Kevin Sussman, last day of camp, love triangle, Marguerite Moreau, Marisa Ryan, Michael Ian Black, Michael Showalter, Molly Shannon, Movies, musical numbers, Nina Hellman, one day, over-the-top, Paul Rudd, raunchy films, romances, set in 1980s, sex comedies, silly films, Skylab, summer camp, talent show, The State, Wet Hot American Summer, Whitney Vance, writer-director-actor, Zak Orth

How you approach, and ultimately enjoy, David Wain and Michael Showalter’s Wet Hot American Summer (2001) will probably depend on a few different variables: how you feel about ’80s teen sex comedies; how you feel about summer camp; how you feel about short-lived ’90s sketch-comedy troupe The State; how you feel about parodies of ’80s films, in general; and, perhaps most importantly, how you feel about silly movies. If any of the above set off the kind of drooling response that would put a smile on ol’ Pavlov’s face, the safe best is that you will, in all likelihood, absolutely love this giddy little ode to obliviously horny camp counselors, their perpetually hormone-ravaged young charges and the inherent insanity of Reagen-era America. If not…well…this is probably gonna be as much fun as getting hung from the flagpole by your tighty-whities. Let’s see which side of the line you end up on: fall in for roll call, campers!

It’s the last day of camp at Camp Firewood (August 18th, 1981, to be exact), which means exactly one thing: it’s also the last chance for everyone, counselor and camper alike, to have an exciting, life-changing summer romance. Good thing that hooking up happens to be everyone’s number one concern (the safety of youthful swimmers? Not so much.): there will be no shortage of star-crossed lovers, awkward triangles, odd pairings and horny virgins at this little summer soiree!

In short order, we’re introduced to a ridiculously diverse group of walking stereotypes and quirky characters, all of whom we’ll get to know much better over the course of the day/run-time. There’s Beth (Janeane Garofalo), the dour, “who gives a shit” camp director and Henry (David Hyde Pierce), the disgraced college professor (associate professor, to be exact) who has a summer home near the camp; counselors Andy (Paul Rudd), Coop (co-writer/creator Showalter) and Katie (Marguerite Moreau), who are involved in one of those aforementioned awkward love triangles and incredibly disturbed Vietnam vet/mess cook Gene (Christopher Meloni) and his put-upon assistant, Gary (A.D. Miles).

We also meet perpetually bawling arts-and-crafts instructor Gail (Molly Shannon), who’s constantly being counseled by her own pre-teen wards; walking hard-on/closet virgin Victor (Ken Merino) and his best friend, the impossibly geeky Neil (Joe Lo Truglio); Susie (Amy Poehler) and Ben (Bradley Cooper), the “perfect couple” who also serve as the camp’s directors/choreographers/entertainment personnel; voracious counselor Abby (Marisa Ryan), who pursues both peers and campers with equal aplomb; ditzy valley girl Lindsay (Elizabeth Banks) and McKinley (Michael Ian Black), the stylish guy who ends up capturing Ben’s eye. Don’t forget Steve (Kevin Sussman), the curious fellow who seems to think he’s a robot and ends up saving the entire camp by (literally) summoning rock ‘n roll salvation from the skies.

The film, itself, is merely an excuse for all of the above (and many, many more) to get into one hilarious, goofball, silly or outrageous situation after the next: romances are formed and broken (one character notes how they were “just friends” that morning but had already become “more” by noon, all on the way to falling out of love by the evening…not bad for one day!); friendships are tested; guys try (and often fail) to get the girl(s); Beth tries to keep the whole place running despite nearly constant stress (as if a raft full of kids in a dangerously turbulent river isn’t bad enough, Skylab is falling from space…right on top of their heads!); a can of vegetables speaks and sounds an awful lot like Mr. Archer himself, H. Jon Benjamin…you name it, it probably happens.

As befits a film that features quite a few sketch/improv comedians (out of eleven regular cast members from The State, six are featured here (Showalter, Wain, Merino, Truglio, Black and Kerri Kenney), while Shannon and Poehler got their starts on SNL), Wet Hot American Summer is a nearly nonstop barrage of gags, sexual innuendo, over-the-top characterizations and restless energy, all culminating in the kind of talent show set-piece that delivers as much as it promises (the Godspell bit, in particular, is priceless, especially when introduced by Poehler as “some people who suck dick”).

The point of the film, as with any comedic parody, is two-fold: poke fun at the original source – in this case, teen sex comedies like Meatballs (1979) and Porky’s (1982) – and entertain/amuse on its own merits. In both cases, Wain and Showalter acquit themselves much better than anyone might reasonably expect. As a 1980s parody, WHAS is spot-on, nailing not only the obvious mise-en-scene (plenty of butt-rock classics on the score, feathered hair and mullets, endless references to kitsch/catch-phrases/cultural ephemera) but also the themes, clichés and stereotypes that seemed to freely flow through many films (especially comedies) from that era. WHAS takes its ’80s-worship to pretty ridiculous heights (obviously) but that’s just what the material calls for (deserves?).

Even divorced from the ’80s parody aspects, WHAS is a complete blast from start to finish. Credit a clever script (the film is incredibly dumb but never stupid: there’s a huge difference) but don’t fail to give each and every member of the incredible ensemble cast their fair dues: to a tee, the group manage to build on each others’ performances, becoming something akin to the Voltron of silly comedies. It’s hard to pick out favorites here, although Merino is a constant delight as Victor (full disclosure: Merino has been one of my absolute favorite comedians for some time now) and Paul Rudd is impressively all-in as the temper tantrum-prone Andy. Garofalo does her patented combo of stressed-out/checked-out, while Shannon gets lots of great mileage out of the running gag involving her “road to recovery” via pre-teen psychotherapy.

Of an incredibly game cast, however, perhaps none are more so than Law & Order: SVU mainstay Meloni. Trading the brooding tough-guyisms of Elliot Stabler in for the ridiculously unhinged Gene is a nice move and one that would hint at Meloni’s post-SVU slide into sillier comedy versus gritty police procedural. There’s a night and day difference, here, and many of the film’s biggest, funniest scenes have Gene right at their wacko little hearts.

Perhaps due to my belief that the film was nothing more than a really dumb and cheap parody, I studiously avoided Wet Hot American Summer when it first appeared in 2001, even though I liked The State enough to catch the odd episode, here and there. This, of course, is why “assume” usually makes an ass of you and me: not only wasn’t WHAS the insipid, stupid film I assumed it was, it actually turned out to be one of the better, consistently funny and endearing comedies I’ve seen in several years.

In fact, I ended up liking the film so much that I eagerly plowed through the recently unveiled prequel TV series, Wet Hot American Summer: The First Day (2015), in what felt like one sitting. To my even greater surprise, the series actually manages to one-up the already impressive film, bringing back the majority of the cast (the first film’s unstated joke about 20-year-olds playing teens is even funnier when the cast is now nearly 15 years older and playing younger versions of themselves…the meta is strong with this one, indeed!), along with a raft of great newcomers including the likes of Michael Cera, Jason Schwartzman and several cast members from Mad Men. It adds nicely to the “mythos” established in the original film, while also serving to answer some questions and smooth over some particularly odd headscratchers (we learn the full story of H. Jon Benjamin’s talking veggies, for one thing, and it’s definitely worth the wait).

Ultimately, a comedy really only needs to answer one crucial question: is it funny? Wet Hot American Summer is many things (silly, loud, crude, nonsensical, esoteric, giddy) but, above and beyond all else, it’s definitely funny. Regardless of where your preferences lie on the comedy meter, I’m willing to wager that Wet Hot American Summer will have plenty of opportunities to tickle your funny-bone. As we’re solemnly told at the end of the film, “the entire summer, which kind of sucked, was rejuvenated by the events of the last 24 hours.” Sounds about right, campers…sounds just about right to me.

7/15/15 (Part Three): Lost Swans and Hot Lead

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'90s homage, action films, action-comedies, Adam Buxton, Bad Boys, Bill Bailey, Bill Nighy, Billie Whitelaw, Blazing Saddles, British comedies, British films, Cate Blanchett, cinema, co-writers, cops behaving badly, David Arnold, David Threlfall, Edgar Wright, Edward Woodward, ensemble cast, Eric Mason, fast-paced, film reviews, films, goofy films, Hot Fuzz, ineffectual cops, Jess Hall, Jim Broadbent, Joe Cornish, Julia Deakin, Kevin Eldon, Lucy Punch, Martin Freeman, Movies, Nick Frost, Olivia Colman, Paddy Considine, Paul Freeman, Peter Wight, Point Blank, public decency, Rafe Spall, Ron Cook, Rory McCann, Shaun of the Dead, SImon Pegg, small town life, small-town British life, Stephen Merchant, Steve Coogan, Stuart Wilson, the Cornetto trilogy, The World's End, Timothy Dalton, UK films, urban vs rural, violent films, wisecracking cops, writer-actor, writer-director, Young Frankenstein

There’s something a little off in the sleepy, picturesque hamlet of Sandford, UK and it’s up to gung-ho London super-cop, Nick Angel, to figure out what it is. Sure, the inhabitants of the tranquil little village may seem impossibly friendly, the kind of small-town folks who know everyone’s names and just how many sugar cubes they take in their tea, thank you very much. Sandford may seem impossibly clean, neat and crime-free (no one in town, for example, has even heard of the “M-word” (Murder, doncha know?), let alone done the dirty deed), a peek into a peaceful township where the biggest problems are the “living statue” street performer and a “hoodie epidemic” that vexes the preternaturally polite populace something fierce.

Ask any genre fan worth their salt, however, and they’ll probably all say the same thing: small, quiet little towns like Sandford may seem like oases from the rat-race of the world at large but, dig a little deeper, and they’ll always produce more than their fair share of skeletons in the various closets. Behind every kind, small-town smile lurks a bottomless capacity for evil and down every immaculately cobblestoned pathway? Why, the very heart of Hell, itself! After all…can you really trust someone who seems so…nice?

If you’re Edgar Wright and the rest of his merry band of hooligans, the answer is an absolutely resounding “Hell no!” and the result is the second film in writer-director Wright’s “Cornetto Trilogy,” Hot Fuzz (2007). While the first film in the series, the modern classic Shaun of the Dead (2004), tipped the musty, old zombie film ass-over-tea-kettle, Hot Fuzz seeks to do the same for action-packed ’90s cop films (the final point of the trilogy, The World’s End (2013), takes on alien invasion epics). By using most of the same terrific ensemble from Shaun of the Dead and that patented zany brand of deadpan humor, Wright capitalizes on everything that made his previous film so much fun, while throwing plenty of bones to anyone weaned on actioners like Point Break (1991) or Bad Boys (1995). While the film is always a little goofy, it’s also a smart film, full of blink-and-miss-em visual references, plenty of silly action, some surprisingly bracing violence and enough witty dialogue and outrageous scenarios to keep the punters in stitches. In other words: prime Wright, through and through.

After Nick Angel is promoted to Sergeant and sent to the sticks (his always-on antics are making not only his police peers but his big-city superiors look like ineffectual morons), it looks like his eternal crime-fighting pilot light will be snuffed, never to blaze again. After he ends up in the middle of a pair of suspicious deaths that are unceremoniously labeled an “accident” by the local police force, Angel decides to do his own investigation, with the dunderheaded assistance of one PC Danny Butterman (Nick Frost), the fairly useless son of Angel’s new superior, Inspector Frank Butterman (Jim Broadbent).

As more and more “accidents” keep popping up, however, Angel begins to suspect that the sleepy town might harbor more below the surface than just an unhealthy interest in winning “Village of the Year.” As Nick and Danny butt heads with the local chamber of commerce, headed by Tom Weaver (a completely unrecognizable Edward Woodward) and slimy grocery-store impresario Simon Skinner (former 007 Timothy Dalton), they begin to get wind of a conspiracy that might, potentially, involve every resident of the lovely little town. When it begins to seem as if the pair have gotten in over their heads, however, there’s only one sure-fire fix: binge-watch ’90s action flicks and then take the fight right to the streets.

Is there really something going on, however, or is poor Nick just going completely stir-crazy in the snoozy little community? As he gets closer and closer to the truth, Nick will learn that there’s only a few things he can put his faith in: his unwavering belief in the absolute power of good over evil, his steadfast determination to rid the streets of any and all crime (shoplifters, beware!) and the universal truth that absolutely anything will explode into a towering fireball once shot. Bad boys? You better believe it, buddy!

Reprising their winning chemistry from Shaun of the Dead, if not their actual characters, Pegg and Frost are exceptionally bright points of light in the altogether brilliant constellation that comprises Hot Fuzz’s ensemble. Martin Freeman, Bill Nighy and Steve Coogan pop up, briefly, as Nick’s self-serving London superiors…writer-directors Joe Cornish, Peter Jackson and Wright, himself, all have cameos…Cate Blanchett stops by for an unannounced turn as Nick’s unfaithful former girlfriend…Paddy Considine and Rafe Spall show up as a couple of idiotic cops nicknamed “the Andes” (since they’re both named Andy, dig?)…the always amazing Olivia Colman (Peep Show, as well as endless other British endeavors) has a blast as snarky PC Doris Thatcher…the aforementioned Dalton (one twirled mustache removed from silent-era villainy) and Woodward (best known on this side of the pond for his titular role as TV’s Equalizer, on the other side for his landmark performance in The Wicker Man (1973)) chew miles of scenery…writer-actor Stephen Merchant gets a great bit as Peter Ian Staker (or P.I. Staker, for the punny win)…virtually every second of screentime is occupied by a phenomenal actor given free rein to be patently awesome.

The result, of course, is an incredibly immersive experience, the equivalent of Mel Brooks’ ridiculously star-studded classics like Young Frankenstein (1974) or Blazing Saddles (1974). When combined with the picturesque locations, the over-the-top action sequences and the often absurd comedy, Hot Fuzz (like the other two films in the Cornetto Trilogy) is its own self-contained universe. It’s this quality that allows moments like Adam Buxton’s outrageously gory death (his head is reduced into a fine mist via the timely application of a fallen stone block) or the unrelentingly action-packed finale to sit comfortably beside more “high-brow” comedy fare like the scene where Angel engages in a crossword duel with a cagey old lady or the one where he rides through town to the tune of the Kinks’ “Village Green Preservation Society.”

There are great throwaway jokes about the amount of damage caused by “good guys” in action movies, the tendency of small-town busybodies to focus on pointless “outrages” like hoodie sweatshirts and street performers over more important issues like corruption and justice and how small town folks in films often slot effortlessly into the “sinister locals” category (one of the townsfolk was an extra in Peckinpah’s Straw Dogs (1971), we’re told on more than one occasion). There’s great comic material here both high and low, literally something for any fan of the funny stuff.

One of the smartest tricks Wright and company utilize is the restaging of famous action movie setpieces from the likes of pop-culture phenomena like Point Break and Bad Boys. While these scenes would function just fine in a vacuum, previous knowledge of Danny Butterman’s much-loved action films makes the experience that much richer: there may be no more sublime scene in the entire film than the one where Nick and Skinner battle it out over the ruins of a scale-model version of the town. As the two punch it out, like warring Gargantua or Godzilla with a particularly stiff upper-lip, a broken fire hydrant supplies a continuous shower of water over the two: in other words, Wright goes ahead and gives us one of those clichéd old bits where the hero and villain fight it out in the rain, pounding abuse on each other as the very skies join in. And it works gloriously: somewhere in “movie heaven,” Riggs and Murtagh are looking down, fondly, I’m willing to wager.

In feel (and tone), Hot Fuzz probably hews a little closer to its follow-up, The World’s End, than its predecessor, Shaun of the Dead. Hot Fuzz, however, like the films it references, is an altogether bigger, noisier and more boisterous affair than either of the other films: while Shaun of the Dead was full of great setpieces and The World’s End managed to take a leap into much “bigger” themes, the action beats of the middle film are their own little world. Hot Fuzz is a little “dumber” and “slighter” than the other two but that’s also to be expected: you don’t wade into the fray of silly, adrenalized action movies without getting a little of it on your shirtsleeves, after all.

Despite being less than enamored with Hot Fuzz upon its initial release, the film has grown on me, over the years, in a way that I’m not sure Shaun or World’s End has (although World’s End still has plenty of time to go): once I allowed myself to get swept away by the film’s loud, Technicolor action and ferocious sense of energy, however, it became easier to absorb the more subtle, truly ingenious elements to Wright’s style.

If you grew up on ’90s actioners, harbor suspicions against the status quo or fancy yourself a bit of a lone wolf, Wright and Pegg’s Hot Fuzz practically demands another viewing. Come for the gleeful chaos and copious explosions but stay for the kind of insightful, in-depth and subtle commentary that we’ve come to expect from one of genre cinema’s most unusual visionaries. As Michael might say: “Yarp.” Yarp, indeed.

1/31/15: The Galaxy According to Groot

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Academy Award Nominee, action-adventure, aliens, based on a comic book, Ben Davis, Benicio del Toro, blockbusters, box office success, Bradley Cooper, Chris Pratt, cinema, co-writers, comic adaptations, comic book films, Dave Bautista, Djimon Hounsou, Drax, ensemble cast, favorite films, film reviews, films, Gamora, Glenn Close, Groot, Guardians of the Galaxy, James Gunn, John C. Reilly, Josh Brolin, Karen Gillan, Lee Pace, Lloyd Kaufman, Marvel comics, Michael Rooker, Movies, Nicole Perlman, Peter Quill, Rocket Raccoon, Ronan, sci-fi, science-fiction, Slither, special-effects extravaganza, Star Wars, Starlord, Super, superheroes, supervillains, Thanos, The Avengers, Troma films, Tyler Bates, Vin Diesel, writer-director, Zoe Saldana

Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away, writer-director James Gunn was but a lowly scribe pumping out scripts for bad-taste powerhouse Troma Pictures. Almost twenty years from his debut, the “Shakespeare-by-way-of-the-vomitorium” Tromeo and Juliet (1996), Gunn is responsible for Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), one of the biggest, brightest and most successful blockbusters of 2014 and, perhaps, the most “un-Marvel” of all Marvel comic adaptations. It may seem like an impossibly long and outrageously strange journey from Troma to the top of the charts, as it were, but anyone who’s followed Gunn’s career since his directorial debut, Slither (2006), knows that the signs were there all along: it’s just taken everybody else a little longer to figure it out, that’s all.

In many ways, Gunn’s Guardians of the Galaxy is the perfect antidote to the self-important, uber-serious comic book adaptations that have begun to clog the multiplexes. As comic film storylines continue to get darker, more cynical and more “mature,” ala the Dark Knight series, Avengers, et al, it’s refreshing to watch a big budget, tent-pole action-adventure film that’s indebted to the old days of Star Wars (1977) and Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981) and that largely eschews the self-flagellation, dreary visuals and po-faced acting of modern comic franchises. While GOTG is far from a perfect film, it’s never anything less than a complete blast to watch and handily establishes a new superhero team that promises some really awesome things for the future. Gunn has returned the “fun” to comic movies and, for me, it’s about damn time.

We begin on Earth, in 1988, with young Peter Quill (Wyat Oleff) at the bedside of his dying, cancer-stricken mother. Too upset to take her hand as she fades into nothingness, Peter runs outside and is promptly beamed up into a massive spaceship. 26 years later, Peter (Chris Pratt) is grown up and going by the name “Starlord.” He’s been working with the aliens that “captured” him ever since the incident, a group of scurrilous interstellar scavengers led by the blue-skinned Yondu Udonta (Michael Rooker).

When we first meet the adult Peter, he’s in the middle of recovering some sort of orb artifact for Yondu. After acquiring the artifact, Peter runs afoul of a group of heavily armed thugs, narrowly making his escape: he ends up on the shit-lists of both his former “employer” and the evil Ronan the Accuser (Lee Pace), your basic, everyday super-villain who wants to use the orb to destroy the planet that he so abjectly hates, Xandar. Ronan is an underling of Thanos (Josh Brolin), a massively powerful, godlike Titan who seeks to rule every galaxy he comes in contact with. Thanos’ “daughters,” Nebula (Karen Gillan) and Gamora (Zoe Saldana) work with Ronan and Gamora is dispatched to retrieve the orb from Peter.

Meanwhile, Peter has ended up in the sights of Rocket Raccoon (Bradley Cooper) and Groot (Vin Diesel), a pair of intergalactic bounty hunters and one of the funnest “odd couple” teams in some time. Rocket, a motor-mouthed, anthropomorphic and heavily-armed raccoon is the “brains” of the operation, while Groot is some sort of incredibly strong tree-creature who communicates with the sole phrase “I am Groot.” After engaging in a heated battle with Peter and Gamora, all four adventurers end up in the high-tech Xandarian prison known as the Kyln. Once there, the group meets up with Drax (Dave Bautista), a burly, impossibly literal warrior with a burning hatred for both Ronan and Gamora. Forming an uneasy alliance, the group work together to escape the prison. After learning the truth behind the orb and the limitless power it contains, Peter decides that he must keep it from Ronan at all costs. As Ronan’s forces mass against our intrepid heroes, however, and utter devastation gets closer and closer to the defenseless people of Xandar, the Guardians of the Galaxy will find themselves in the fight of their lives. At stake? Nothing less than the fate of all humanity. Are they up for the challenge? Well, they don’t call ’em the Guardians of the Galaxy for nothing, right?

From the early scene where Chris Pratt pops his headphones on and shimmies and bops across the alien temple, all the way to the epic final fight with Ronan, Gunn’s Guardians of the Galaxy is one ludicrously fun setpiece after another. For two hours, Gunn manages to keep the tone light and sprightly, despite such heavy subjects as massive destruction, individual death and the end of humanity as we know it. Anytime things threaten to get too weighty, Gunn throws in another nifty effects sequence, some funny jibber-jabber with Rocket or another breath-taking fight scene: there might be the occasional furrowed brow, here, but it’s always followed by some sort of fist-raising bit that keeps the dial firmly on the “fun” side.

As mentioned earlier, GOTG is actually more beholden to something like the original Star Wars than it is to any of the modern-day Marvel comic adaptations that it follows. There are certain moments in GOTG that fall within established comic film clichés (the obligatory “hero sacrificing” moment, the rather contrived “moments of doubt” that help bring the group closer together, the decidedly moldy scenes involving the Xandarian government wringing their hands) but the thing is much more a “space opera” than a straight-forward superhero film. If anything, GOTG is much closer in spirit and tone to del Toro’s Hellboy adaptations than The Avengers, etc.

Special-effects-wise, GOTG ranges from the absolutely stunning (some of the backgrounds are so beautiful that they should be framed) to the strangely obvious and slightly awkward (some of the compositing during the space-ship dog-fight scenes is oddly clunky and there are several instances of the CGI looking obviously fake and sterile). Many of the creature effects are achieved with makeup (hence the film’s Oscar nomination for Best Makeup), which is always a nice surprise, and there is certainly a massive amount of variety to the various creatures, aliens, locations and ships. Particularly noteworthy is the awesome Knowhere location, which channels the futuristic slums of Blade Runner (1982), as well as the Kyln, which reminds of things like the space cantina in Star Wars. While the film usually looks amazing, I found myself pulled out of the movie just often enough to wish that the effects-work was more consistent.

The film’s score, by composer Tyler Bates, is your standard-issue heroic space fare but special mention must be made of the oldies-oriented soundtrack, centered around Peter’s “Awesome Mixtape Vol. 1.” There are several scenes where the soundtrack really adds to the film, such as Peter’s opening exploration and the awesome slo-mo bit involving the Runaway’s “Cherry Bomb.” The songs help provide a nice juxtaposition between the film’s high-tech polish and its old-fashioned vibe and shows that Gunn’s attention to detail doesn’t just extend to the film’s visual aspects.

As with any comic film, casting becomes crucially important: as with most other aspects, GOTG is appropriately solid with its casting. While I’m not (quite) ready to crown Pratt as the next matinee hero, I’ll admit to finding him effortlessly likable, sweet and fairly kickass here. I wish that he was able to jettison a bit more of his “Andy-ness” (from Parks and Rec), though: at times, the character of Peter vacillates between seeming like a sweet doofus and a sarcastic, square-jawed hero, ala Han Solo. For my money, the square-jawed hero aspect works much better but this is also Pratt’s first real time in the “hero” seat, so there’s room for growth. Saldana is decent-enough as Gamora, although she doesn’t seem to get a whole lot to do. Ditto Bautista, as Drax, who gets some nice scenes but all too often seems to exist as a lot of background noise. I’ll admit to being less than thrilled with his ultra-literal method of thought/speech, which often feels like it reduces the character so something like an extraterrestrial Tarzan.

By and large, however, Cooper and Diesel handily steal much of the film as the unbeatable team of Rocket and Groot. In particular, Cooper is a revelation as Rocket: I’ll admit to taking almost everything Cooper does with a grain of salt (I am absolutely not ready to crown him one of the greatest actors of our generation, despite what the Academy seems to think) but I was over the moon with his take on the character. Despite being a mo-cap creation, Rocket ends up being (almost) the most realistic, “human” character in the film: I love his quips and snarkiness but the scene where he breaks down and bemoans his unnatural “creation” is a real powerhouse. While given decidedly less to do, at least vocally, Diesel ends up being the real heart of the film as Groot: using his physicality and some choice, if subtle, facial expressions, Diesel manages to make Groot unbelievably sweet, cool and relatable. Even better, Cooper and Diesel work fantastically well as a team: we absolutely buy their friendship and relationship, which adds tremendous emotional resonance to several latter-half plot developments.

On the acting down-side, we get a completely negligible performance from the normally reliable Gillan as Nebula (she’s ridiculously shouty, way too intense and never believable), a bit of a non-starter from Pace as Ronan (the character is interesting but Pace never does much with it and comes across as thoroughly anonymous) and less Rooker than he (and we) probably deserve. I’ll also toss a little shade at Glenn Close, who turns in one of those cookie-cutter performances that seems to come straight from the factory conveyor belt, as well as poor Benicio del Toro, who gets virtually nothing to do as The Collector.

As someone who grew up on Troma films, I’ve followed Gunn’s career from the get-go. While his debut, the gory, goofy, horror-comedy Slither felt like the natural post-Troma move for one of Lloyd Kaufman’s proteges, Gunn really came into his own with the followup, Super (2010). Using Rainn Wilson as an appropriately blank canvas, Gunn came up with a truly ingenious commentary on the superhero genre, one that managed to bleed all of the fantasy and mystique from caped crusaders and reveal the sad, damaged heart at the core of costumed vigilantism. For my money, GOTG absolutely feels like the next logical progression for Gunn: he’s increasingly finding ways to subvert the mainstream, sprinkling that trademark “Troma humor” atop some notably “un-Troma” types of film. There are plenty of examples to be found here but two of my favorites would have to the scene where Peter challenges Ronan to a dance-off (absolutely classic) and the laugh-out-loud bit where John C. Reilly’s Corpsman Dey makes the brilliant comment that he “doesn’t believe that anyone is 100% a dick.” Far from feeling like a neutered version of his earlier films, GOTG feels like Gunn just has a much bigger, more vibrant canvas to work with.

As someone who’s the furthest thing from a comic film fan, I wasn’t quite sure what to make of Guardians of the Galaxy before I actually sat down to watch it. While I’m a huge fan of Gunn’s work, I had the feeling that this might amount to “gun for hire” work, coming across as nothing more or less than a glossy waste of time. I’m familiar with the Guardians from my comic-reading youth but I haven’t actually cared about comic books since I was a kid: I’ve always viewed comic films as mindless entertainment, no more or less. I did enjoy The Avengers (2012) for what it was but I certainly don’t attach any measure of importance to it (or other Marvel projects, for that matter). In other words, I’m probably the absolute last person that this film was “made” for.

But you know what? I ended up kind of loving the film, anyway. While it’s not always smooth-sailing, GOTG has a tremendous amount of heart and is never anything less than full-bore entertaining. The cast and storyline are fun, the film is fast-paced and nothing gets bogged-down in undue sentimentality (or, at least, not for very long). Most importantly, nothing wears out its welcome: unlike the jaded, burned-out opinion I have of films like the Avengers series, I was ready for more GOTG as soon as the film ended. Rather than viewing the obligatory sequel with dread (already scheduled for 2017, apparently), I’m actually looking forward to the continued adventures of Starlord and friends. This could all change should the franchise get beaten into the dust, of course, but it all seems fresh and new at this stage: the far reaches of space, as they say, are the limit.

As a longtime fan of Gunn’s, I expected to enjoy aspects of Guardians of the Galaxy but I certainly wasn’t expecting to like the film as much as I did. For my money, GOTG was (probably) the best “spectacle” film of last year (aside from Edge of Tomorrow, perhaps) and yet another movie that made me regret my theatrical embargo: there were scenes and visuals, here, that I bet would have been absolutely mind-blowing on the big screen. Lesson learned, however: when Gunn is ready to get his next installment of Guardians of the Galaxy off the ground, I’ll be waiting at the box office, money in hand. I might not care for superhero films, for the most part, but I’m always ready and willing to watch a great director bring his A-game to an interesting project.

11/16/14 (Part One): Let Your Voice Be Heard

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Alexandra Holden, bad fathers, celebrity cameos, comedy, Demetri Martin, directorial debut, Don Lafontaine, ensemble cast, Eva Longoria, father-daughter relationships, feminism, Fred Melamed, Geena Davis, In a World..., independent films, indie comedies, infidelity, Jason O'Mara, Ken Marino, Lake Bell, Michaela Watkins, Nick Offerman, Rob Corddry, sexism, Stephanie Allynne, Talulah Riley, Tig Notaro, voice actors, voice coach, voice-over artists, writer-director-actor

Despite this being the tail-end of 2014, there are a lot of things that our species has yet to accomplish: we can send a message from one end of the world to the other in seconds, yet we still have masses of people who starve to death every day…we can send a probe into deep space, yet can’t figure out the basic need for racial equality…anyone, anywhere, now has the opportunity to have their personal thoughts, artwork, opinions and beliefs be seen by a world-wide audience, yet we manage to marginalize women nearly to the point of invisibility. Never before have we been so attuned to the small details, yet so completely ignorant of the big picture…so close to the finish line and yet so very, very far away.

In a World…(2013), the extraordinary feature-length directorial debut of indie writer/actor extraordinaire Lake Bell, probably won’t create any massive kind of sea-change in “the battle of the sexes,” which probably says more about our inherent resistance to common sense than anything else. It’s too bad, really, because In a World…is just the kind of film that could start a bigger dialogue, if given a wide enough audience. A hilarious, sharply written, character-driven comedy that makes its points in the most reasonable way possible and comes to the same conclusion that all of us should have long ago, In a World… politely explains just how fundamentally stupid sexism is and the unfortunate ways in which both men and women keep falling into the same old traps. The solution, as simple as it is, might just shock the world: why not try treating everyone like equals and see what happens?

Carol (Lake Bell) is a voice coach whose main job seems to be helping celebrities like Eva Longoria “not sound like a retarded pirate” for various projects. Voice-work comes naturally to Carol: her father, Sam (Fred Melamed), an impossibly egotistical, massively obnoxious voice-over “superstar,” is about to receive a lifetime achievement award after long being regarded as one of the luminaries in this particular entertainment niche, second only to the legendary Don Lafontaine. The spectre of Lafontaine, who made famous the titular “In a world…” film trailer line so famous, hangs over the cast of characters like a lead weight: he’s the pinnacle that they all aspire to, the ultimate source of envy for jerks like Sam and his protegé, the equally obnoxious Gustav (Ken Merino).

With a new epic film series on the horizon (The Amazon Games, obviously modeled after The Hunger Games), the series’ producers decide that they want an equally epic teaser trailer: for the first time in ages, they decide to use the iconic “In a world…” line and they’re going to need the perfect person to pull it off. Turns out that Carol thinks she’s that person but there’s a hitch: women are completely marginalized as far as cinematic voice-over work goes. Not only don’t any of Carol’s peers, such as Gustav, take her seriously but her own father even disparages her attempts to break into the industry, telling her to stick to her “lowly” voice coaching work. Frustrated, Carol decides to flip off the naysayers and auditions for the trailer…and handily scores the gig! Gustav is furious, unable to handle the news that he lost a plum gig to a woman (even though he doesn’t know it was Carol who “scooped” him) but Sam takes it one step further: he demands to be considered for the gig, even though his daughter has been all-but handed the job already. Since he still pulls weight in the industry, Sam forces the producers to audition the applicants, including Carol and Gustav.

The drama involving the voice-over work is contrasted with a subplot involving Carol’s sister, Dani (Michaela Watkins), her neebishy husband, Moe (Rob Corddry) and the hunky director of The Amazon Games, Terry (Jason O’Mara): they all get thrown into the soup after Carol enlists Dani’s help with some voice-over research (Terry has the dreamiest Irish brogue, dontcha know?) and Dani and Terry end up spending an undue amount of time together. Throw in a romantic triangle involving Carol, Gustav and Carol’s endlessly faithful agent, Louis (Demitri Martin), and you have a recipe for some practically Shakespearian machinations involving love, betrayal, acceptance and the importance of standing up for yourself, regardless of what others think.

As an actor, Lake Bell is known for quirky character performances in indie films like A Good Old Fashioned Orgy (2011) and Black Rock (2012), as well as roles in bigger-budget, mainstream fare like What Happens in Vegas (2008), It’s Complicated (2009) and No Strings Attached (2011). There’s an odd quality to Bell’s performances that marks her as a singularly unique performer: there always seems to be something slightly off about her, something distinctly “out of synch” with whatever she’s appearing in, similar to any of Andy Kaufmann’s various “legit” acting performances. Bell was also part of Rob Corddry’s exceptional Children’s Hospital series, which saw her sharing the small screen with In a World…co-stars Corddry, Ken Marino and Nick Offerman, making her directorial debut a bit of a Children’s Hospital reunion, in a way.

In a World…works on a number of levels: it’s an above-average comedy, thanks to a pretty unbeatable ensemble cast composed almost entirely of comedians (the cast-list reads like a virtual “who’s who” of modern comics); it’s a nicely realized examination of a particularly difficult father-daughter relationship, complete with the requisite “young stepmother” to provide equal comedy grist; it’s a fascinating look into the world of voice-over acting, a subset of the film industry that many casual audiences probably have as little experience with as possible; and last, but certainly not least, it’s a subtle and cutting look at the modern face of sexism and the glass ceilings that still manage to keep women down, despite any number of advances made since the “bad old days.” In a World…manages to be all these things at once, maintaining a delicate balancing act that marks Bell as a formidable talent: much more experienced filmmakers would have dropped at least half of these balls…Bell juggles them with an ease that’s almost supernatural.

One of the most impressive aspects of Lake’s debut is how it’s able to engage on so many levels without ever losing sight of the inherent absurdity of these situations. Carol is exasperated and frustrated by the sexism of her chosen profession but she never gives up or gives in to anger: she plows through, resolutely, determined to prove her worth in the most old-fashioned way possible…by kicking complete ass at the job. For a modern society that prizes innovators and “boot-strap-warriors,” Carol is a bit of a patron saint: she sees something that she wants, ignores the naysayers, busts her ass and goes for it. The whole sexist system is still in place, mind you: the film doesn’t engage in needless feel-good aphorisms any more than it traffics in “revenge fantasies,” ala Horrible Bosses (2011) and its ilk. Rather, Carol’s stubborn refusal to give in and her steadfast desire to be heard makes her something of an Arctic icebreaker, charges ahead despite the endless resistance and pushback she experiences.

Most impressively, In a World…marks Bell’s full-length writing debut: the script is so tight, full of such great dialogue and scenarios that it’s hard to believe she doesn’t have more full-lengths under her belt. I previously called In a World…”Shakespearian” and it’s a comparison I’ll stand by: there’s something about the intricate, brilliant interactions between the various characters that instantly reminiscent of the Bard. By the end, Bell has managed to tie the various threads together in some truly satisfying ways, right up to the fist-raising conclusion that shows how Carol keeps kicking in the door to the boys’ club, finding ways to help women fight the system and find their own voices.

In a World…is that most amazing of constructions, in the end, a “message” film that succeeds as pure entertainment without ever losing sight of the big picture. Bell has lots of things to say here and never hedges her bets but it’s also plainly clear that she wants us to have a good time: there’s no reason that we can’t dance at the revolution, as long as we remember why we’re there. When a film makes you laugh out loud and think, at the same time, well…that’s something pretty special, no two ways about it. Here’s to hoping that In a World…marks the beginning of a brilliant, long directorial career for Bell: the world still has a helluva long way to go but the darkness looks like it’s getting brighter all the time.

10/22/14 (Part One): When History Just Won’t Stay Buried

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31 Days of Halloween, abandoned bunkers, Brett Fancy, British films, cinema, Dead Snow, directorial debut, Dog Soldiers, Enoch Frost, ensemble cast, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, horror, horror films, horror franchises, Julian Rivett, Julian Wadham, Michael Smiley, Movies, Nazi zombies, Nazis, Neil Marshall, Oasis of the Zombies, Outpost, Paul Blair, Rae Brunton, Ray Stevenson, Richard Brake, set in Eastern Europe, soldiers, Steve Barker, UK films, zombies

Despite having seen so few good ones, I’ve always been a fan of Nazi zombie flicks. Chalk it up to seeing “classics” like Shock Waves (1977) and Oasis of the Zombies (1981) when I was I kid but I’ve always had a soft spot for shockers that feature the undead SS, especially when said films tend to take a more serious, dark approach. While Oasis, Shock Waves and Zombie Lake (1981) are all pretty silly entries in this particular subgenre, there have also been real gems like The Bunker (2001), Blood Creek (2009), the hilarious Dead Snow (2009) and The Keep (1983) (although The Keep is a bit of a cheat since it features Nazis and a demon but no Nazi zombies). Chief among these “good” Nazi zombie films, however, would have to be Steve Barker’s creepy, atmospheric feature-debut, Outpost (2007). Making good use of a strong ensemble cast and some genuinely eerie locations, Outpost is a rock-solid horror film that resembles Neil Marshall’s excellent Dog Soldiers (2002) yet manages to have an identity all its own.

Kicking off in present-day Eastern Europe, a fussy bureaucrat by the name of Hunt (Julian Wadham) hires a team of mercenaries to take him into a dangerous no-man’s land so that he can access a long-abandoned World War II-era bunker. Hunt tells the team that he’s after mineral deposits but merc leader DC (Rome’s Ray Stevenson) has his doubts, especially when his team appears to get fired on by unseen assailants. Returning fire with a zeal that should’ve laid a whole city flat, the mercenaries come to find that not only aren’t there any bodies in the nearby woods, there aren’t even any shell casings or signs that anything living was ever in the area.

Things get even eerier once the team descends into the bunker and realizes that nothing is quite as it seems. For one thing, the bunker appears to be an old Nazi fortification, as evidenced by the enormous swastika found in one of the chambers. There’s also an inexplicable room full of dead bodies, bodies which appear to belong to the poor, unfortunate locals in the area. Most importantly, however, the group also comes across a large, mysterious machine that appears to be part combustion engine, part science experiment. This, of course, is the reason that Hunt needed to come to the bunker: in the end, it always come around to some button-pusher’s hidden agenda, doesn’t it?

All hell breaks loose when Hunt powers on the machine and its seems to have the effect of raising the dead, unleashing an army of zombified Nazi soldiers upon the unfortunate mercs and their employer. Unlike the gut-munching zombies of Romero’s classic Night of the Living Dead (1968), these Nazis are the weapon-utilizing variety found in Lenzi’s Nightmare City (1980): in no time, the soldiers are locked in a desperate life-or-death struggle against creatures that shrugged off the mortal coil some time in the past but just can’t seem to stay dead. One zombie in particular, a mute, stone-faced commandant, appears to take charge of the undead legion, leading his troops in blood-thristy pursuit against the living. As DC’s men are picked off, one by one, he must uncover the secret behind the machine and figure out Hunt’s real reason for being there: otherwise, he’s going to be just another body for the war machine to roll over.

Similar to Marshall’s Dog Soldiers, Outpost ends up being an excellent, fast-paced and atmospheric war-horror hybrid that features some fantastic effects work (the makeup, in particular, is great), evocative cinematography and eerie sound design. The bunker location is a truly awesome setting and utilized to great effect by Barker and director of photography Gavin Struthers, in only his second full-length film. The filmmakers wring endless mileage out of the mercs slipping from one dark tunnel to the next, often lit by nothing more than the gentle glow of a light stick: to be honest, it never really gets old, testament to the importance of a good location.

In another nod to Marshall’s debut, the ensemble cast in Outpost is particularly strong, ably anchored by Stevenson’s authoritative performance as DC (in an odd coincidence, Stevenson’s partner-in-Rome, Kevin McKidd, was also in Dog Soldiers). The whole cast is solid, however, featuring reliable character actors like Michael Smiley, Richard Brake and Enoch Frost: their interactions ring true, for the most part, and it’s pretty easy to believe that these guys are not only former soldiers but current comrades, despite their often bristly relationships. Actually caring about the characters is one of the prime requisites for separating “decent” horror films from “good” ones and Outpost has this handily locked down.

While the “zombies using weapons” aspect was initially a little off-putting (I prefer my zombies to be old-school, meaning they shuffle, stumble and chew with their mouths open), it actually fits in perfectly with the film’s “soldier” theme and leads to some truly disturbing scenes, such as the one where the Nazis hammer bullets into one of the mercs. These Nazi are soldiers, first, and zombies second, which is actually kind of refreshing. Despite being more military than monstrous, the Nazis still manage to cut quite the terrifying figures: the scene where they slowly emerge from the woods, surrounded by fog and backlit by a blinding white light, is instantly reminiscent of both Carpenter’s classic The Fog (1980) and Bava’s stylish Demons (1985) and is a real corker.

Ultimately, Outpost succeeds so well because it has modest ambitions and executes them with a sturdy, self-assured hand. While the “mysterious machine” aspect of the film tends to get a little overly complicated (I’m still not quite sure what the logistics of the Nazi plan was supposed to be, although it was obviously nefarious), there’s no shortage of genuine chills and shocks to be found, making sure that the film stays firmly planted in “horror” territory. The ending even leaves the door wide open for a sequel, a promise which Barker would make good on a few years later with Outpost: Black Sun (2012), followed by a further entry, Outpost: Rise of the Spetsnaz in 2013, albeit one not directed by Barker.

And there you have it: a great setting, strong cast, smart script and creative kill scenes combine to make one helluva horror movie. While the early days of the Nazi zombie film might have been overly silly, it looks like Barker is helping to give them a little legitimacy. Here’s to hoping that the Outpost franchise continues to deliver quality chills into the distant future: for this guy, at least, you can never have too many Nazi zombies wandering around.