12/26/14 (Part One): C’mon, Baby…Let Those Colors Burst

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Abbott and Costello, assassination attempts, Brandon Trost, celebrity gossip, cinema, co-directors, co-writers, comedies, controversy, cyber-terrorism, Diana Bang, dictators, Eminem, Evan Goldberg, film reviews, films, hacking, James Franco, Katy Perry, Kim Jong-un, Lizzy Caplan, Movies, North Korea, Pineapple Express, Randall Park, Reese Alexander, scandals, Seth Rogen, Sony Corporation, tabloids, tanks, The Interview, TV host, writer-director

How’s this for a crazy idea for a movie: a bunch of filmmaking buddies who are primarily known for silly and/or stoner-related comedies make a big-budget, goofy comedy about a rather ludicrous plot to assassinate North Korean dictator Kim Jong-un, which actually leads to a real international incident involving cyber terrorism against a major corporation, threats of terrorist violence against movie theaters and calls for all-out declarations of war. The whole thing is, admittedly, far-fetched but we’ve been asked to take larger leaps of faith in the world of cinema, right? Sounds like the kind of thing that would be perfect for someone like, say, Seth Rogen or James Franco to tackle, doesn’t it?

Unless you spent the last few months in a complete and total media blackout, it would be pretty impossible not to know that this is, of course, exactly what ended up taking place, despite how outlandish and bizarre the whole thing seems. The film in question, of course, is Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg’s The Interview (2014). The very notion of the film’s existence would end up vexing North Korea so much, apparently, that they hacked into Sony Corporation’s computer systems, disseminated oodles of private, corporate information online and even went so far as to threaten physical violence against any theaters that deigned to screen the film. After theater chains folded to the threats, Sony pulled the film from release, only to reverse position and allow a few theaters to screen it, as originally planned, on Christmas Day, along with releasing the film online via streaming agencies.  Almost instantly, The Interview would enter the history books, if only because the situation surrounding the film was unheard of in the past: we’ve truly entered a “brave new world,” as it were, and The Interview appears to be leading the charge.

For all of the controversy surrounding its release, however, controversy which all but assures the film a certain “must-see” factor, there are still some pretty basic questions to ask, not the least of which is, “Is The Interview actually any good?” While any film would be hard-pressed to live up to this kind of hype (after all, how many films have “almost” started World War 2.5?), I actually found The Interview to be quite good: in fact, I actually liked it more than any of the group’s previous work, including Pineapple Express (2008) and This is the End (2013). When the film is good, it’s actually pretty hilarious and strangely heartfelt, in equal doses: when it’s just okay, it’s still entertaining, albeit in a rather dumb, goofy way.

Dave Skylark (James Franco), the vapid host of one of those anonymous celebrity gossip shows that seem to choke the airwaves, ends up scoring the ultimate interview when an off-the-cuff request to North Korean President Kim Jong-un (Randall Park) is answered in the affirmative:  turns out that the dictator is a huge fan of Skylark’s show and jumps at the chance for his hero to fly out and interview him for the whole world to see. After Skylark’s put-upon producer/best friend Aaron Rapaport (Seth Rogen) gets everything set-up, the duo are approached by CIA agents Lacey (Lizzy Caplan) and Botwin (Reese Alexander): turns out that the U.S. government sees Skylark’s exclusive interview as the perfect cover for an assassination attempt against Jong-un and they want the dopey egotist to do his “civic duty” and kill the dictator.

As can be expected, much hilarity ensues as Skylark and Rapaport are put through secretive CIA training before being dispatched to North Korea. Once there, however, Skylark and Kim Jong-un strike up an unexpectedly potent bromance (they really bond over their shared affinity for Katy Perry’s “Firework”) which threatens to derail the assassination attempt. Will poor Aaron be able to get everything back on track or has his buddy thrown a King Kong-sized monkey-wrench into the works? Will Dave realize the error of his ways in time to save the mission? And how, exactly, did they teach that tiger to use night-vision goggles?

Full disclosure: I’ve never been the biggest fan of Rogen and Franco’s brand of comedy. I really enjoyed This is the End, possibly because their take on a horror scenario was genuinely interesting, but I have a real “take-it-or-leave-it” attitude to most of their films. That being said, I found myself enjoying The Interview much more than I thought I would: at times, I actually kind of loved the film, to be honest, albeit not unconditionally.

For one thing, the film is genuinely funny: from the dialogue to certain rather elaborate set-pieces, The Interview made me laugh out loud more often than I think I ever had at a Rogen/Franco film, including This is the End. The scene involving Rogen and the tiger is a minor classic, as is pretty much any moment where Franco is allowed to run roughshod over the material: when he’s “all-in” here, he’s pretty much unstoppable, which goes a long way towards selling the humor. I was actually quite taken with Rogen and Franco’s chemistry in the film, finding them to be a nearly perfect comic duo, ala Abbott and Costello or Hope and Crosby. We’re asked to believe that Aaron would keep putting up with Dave’s bullshit due to their lifelong friendship and it actually works: Rogen and Franco sell the friendship so perfectly (and sweetly, might I add) that it really adds heft to the rest of the film.

Far from existing in a vacuum, however, the leads are given more than capable assistance by a pretty stellar supporting cast: Caplan is great as the CIA agent who’s in constant awe of the duo’s ability to screw things up and Randall Park is absolutely fantastic as Kim Jong-un. Park, in particular, is able to find a rare amount of genuine warmth and empathy in a character that could have just been a cardboard-cutout villain: for a time, Park’s Jong-un is a genuinely likable character and it’s not hard to see how the gullible Skylark could get taken in. Park handles the transition from “reasonable” to “batshit-crazy” with aplomb, handily turning the President into the kind of Bond villain that The Interview’s over-the-top finale demands.

One thing that actually surprised me about The Interview was how exceptionally well-made it is: from the very first shot (a gorgeous scene involving a young North Korean girl singing an anti-American song before a huge audience) to the truly epic finale (the single best use of “Firework” that anyone could imagine, ever), there’s nothing about the film that feels slap-dash or “small.” The cinematography, by frequent collaborator Brandon Trost, is always colorful and expertly staged and the film has one of the best, most effective soundtracks I’ve heard in some time. In every way, The Interview has been fashioned as a “big” film, which makes its debut on VOD even more disheartening: subject-matter and controversy notwithstanding, The Interview definitely deserved to be seen on a big screen.

Another thing that surprised me about The Interview was how intelligent the film actually is: despite a preponderance of low-brow humor (dick jokes abound), The Interview actually makes lots of savvy points, not all of which are aimed directly at North Korea. In fact, U.S. foreign policy and the world’s addiction to celebrity are just as often skewered and some of the observations are spot-on (particularly smart is the bit where Diana Bang’s Sook discusses how the U.S. doesn’t have the best track-record when it comes to assassinating foreign leaders). It would have been the easiest thing in the world for co-writer-directors Rogen and Goldberg to take endless potshots at North Korea and its leader but they manage to spread the joy around, as it were, which gives the proceedings a bit more of an open-mind than they might otherwise have had.

Ultimately, I ending up being quite impressed with The Interview: topical, rather fearless and genuinely funny, the film is also surprisingly dark and violent (the scene where one character gets his fingers bitten off is played for laughs, despite the rather nightmarish details and there’s an on-screen suicide that actually made me jump), finding a nice balance between the disparate elements. When The Interview worked, I found it quite delightful, certainly more-so than any Franco/Rogen vehicle before it. Suffice to say, I’m actually looking forward to the pair’s next outing, although I doubt that it’ll have the “world-changing” potential of this one.

Will The Interview change the world? Probably not, although that would be the ultimate case of art influencing life, wouldn’t it? Is The Interview a sturdy, funny and appropriately cutting action-comedy full of goofy humor and some truly outrageous setpieces? You better believe it. In the end, isn’t that the only thing that we can (realistically) hope for?

1/18/14: The Great, The Lame and the Drooling

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Academy Awards, alcoholism, Alex Shinohara, artists, bad films, bad movies, Best Feature Documentary nominee, Chevy Chase, cinema, Cutie and the Boxer, documentaries, documentary, drama, films, high school angst, Hillary Duff, indie comedies, lazy films, Lizzy Caplan, marriage, Movies, Noriko Shinohara, Oscar nominee, Peter Dinklage, romance, Sean Astin, Snakes on a Plane, Stay Cool, The Last Rites of Ransom Pride, Ushio Shinohara, waste of time, Westerns, Winona Ryder, Zachary Heinzerling

This past (long) weekend began with two terrible films and one great one: not the most auspicious start to the proceedings but better than three terrible ones, I suppose. Here, then, is what happens when you put an Oscar contender in between two Z-grade films: the results are not pretty.

Let me begin by clarifying something: I have absolutely nothing against bad movies. Some bad movies are more ludicrously entertaining than any well-made film could ever hope to be, spewing out more ideas (terrible or otherwise) in a few moments than most films do in two hours. Some, like Snakes on a Plane or Sharknado, even manage to worm their way into the cultural zeitgeist, although I’m not personally a fan of either film. There’s a reason that “so bad they’re good” films are almost as popular as actual “good” films: they take the entertainment aspect of filmmaking and knock it out of the park, offering the kind of fan service that makes it easy to forget that every other aspect of the movie has wandered into the desert to die.

The Last Rites of Ransom Pride is a wretched film, an absolutely miserable waste of what I can only imagine was a lengthy 24-hour shoot. Its sins are many and run deep but some are more lethal than others. For one thing, the film displays the kind of casting choices that can best be described as “suspect”: Lizzy Caplan, most famous for her great comedic turn in Party Down, is a humorless prostitute-turned-gunfighter; Jason Priestly is the hard-as-nails titular gunslinger, Ransom Pride; Dwight Yoakam and his dead animal-pelt toupee appear as an alcoholic preacher/bad hairpiece duo that also serve as Ransom’s father; Kris Kristofferson looks half dead as some sort of Old West head honcho but his voice is still all gravel and asskicking; Peter Dinklage appears as a former circus performer who dresses like a member of one of those “urban vampire role-playing” games and travels in a circus tent with conjoined, opium-smoking twins. This, friends and neighbors, is what I like to call one messed-up goulash.

If the above-mentioned stars seem odd and out-of-place, at least they come off better than the other “actors” in the film, particularly the shrill creature that plays Maria la Morena, a whore/witch/madam/crime-boss that manages to be simultaneously ridiculous and obnoxious. After her second appearance, I muted every other time she popped up on-screen, preferring to miss whatever paltry exposition she might offer in return for my sanity. This is a film where your allegiances lie with whatever actor/actress is currently the least annoying: I tossed my hat in the circus corner, because at least they had Dinklage in wispy velvets, fake mustache and a bit where opium smoke is blown into a tracheotomy tube: yum! If Dinklage and twins had just been the damn heroes, we might be having a very different conversation but no…we get a scowling Lizzy Caplan and a love interest so bland I can only refer to him as Haircut #2.

But it’s a super-low budget Western, you might say: be gentle! Not a chance, bub: if this was big enough to get released and burn a scarlet L into my forehead, it’s big enough to take a little drubbing. Were there but one thing that actually worked, I’d keep my vitriol to myself. What in the hell are you supposed to do with dialogue like “Mexico…my precious and beautiful Hell” or “I was always a lover, despite the killings,” though? Laugh? Cry? Assume it’s some sort of Dadaist statement on the surreality of it all? How about the fact that one of the throwaway characters is named Luis Chama, apparently after John Saxon’s character in Joe Kidd? Is this relevant? Not that I could find, even though I love Joe Kidd: just a weird little bit of parallelism for no good reason.

The opening credits are a twitchy mess and the ensuing film manages to match the aesthetic perfectly. The whole thing is so jittery and spastic that I wanted to prescribe it Ritalin and a dark room: at some points, cuts were so quick and pointless that I actually thought they were using subliminal imagery. Alas, that would have taken more courage and brains than the entire production appeared to possess. And that look…oy…that look. I could be kind and say that the film looks very”digital” but, really, it  just looks crappy and cheap. Even though I prefer film stock, I’ve seen and enjoyed many films with a decidedly digital aesthetic: The Last Rites of Ransom Pride ain’t one of ’em.

Ultimately, The Last Rites of Ransom Pride is pure masochism: I detested the film almost immediately but forced myself to wade through the endless rivers of crap to see how bad it could get. The movie, however, was always up for the task: anytime I thought it had reached a new nadir, something else would come along to dig it down a foot deeper. I have, however, learned a very valuable lesson: fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice and you’re probably a crappy Z-Western starring the guy from 90210. Ugh.

Now this is more like it! After suffering through the tornado of terrible that was The Last Rites of Ransom Pride, I really needed something to reset my brain. What better film than one of this year’s Academy Award nominees for Best Feature Documentary? And so it was that Cutie and the Boxer saved my sanity.

I happen to really like documentaries, particularly those that cast a camera eye on outsider/fringe individuals. More often than not, these tales of life’s lovable losers (American Movie, Best Worst Movie, Room 237) can be bittersweet: these are usually really nice people with absolutely no sense of self-awareness and zero chance of success. It’s refreshing, then, to come across a film that arrives at roughly the same conclusion but manages to imbue it with more hope and potential than the others. There’s a lot of pain and sadness in Cutie and the Boxer but there’s a prevalent feeling of triumph that, ultimately, rules the day.

The film is an intimate examination of the 40-year marriage of Ushio and Noriko Shinohara, their respective art careers and the lifestyle choices that led them to their present circumstances. The two met when Noriko was only 19 and Ushio was the ripe old age of 41. Ushio is an underground artist, the toast of New York city for a few minutes in the ’60s and ’70s. Noriko functions as an unpaid assistant, of sorts, even though she’s also an artist. One of the film’s great conflicts is the dichotomy between Noriko’s roles as assistant and peer: there’s one heartbreaking moment where Ushio scoffs at his wife’s ability, stating that “those without talent must assist those with talent.” It’s a completely unfair assessment, besides being particularly thoughtless and goes a good way towards establishing some of the painful emotions on display here.

Ushio and Noriko, you see, are essentially broke, living in a ratty studio apartment in New York City with their grown son, Alex. Since Ushio never made much money with his art, even when he was popular, the aged pair have absolutely no nest egg or safety, a frightening enough prospect when you’re in your thirties but particularly terrifying when you’re in your eighties, I would imagine. Ushio has also struggled with alcoholism his whole  life, a condition which has left him allergic to alcohol in his old age (a blessing in disguise). Unfortunately, Alex has inherited his father’s (and mother’s, for that matter) proclivity for drink and this has tended to ruin his life, as well. Via home movies, we get to see a younger Ushio and Noriko getting falling down drunk with friends while their young son looks on, eventually tucking himself into bed. It’s a particularly stunning scene, as powerful as the one where a young, drunk Ushio has a breakdown, sobbing and slamming his fists repeatedly into a table. There is no shortage of real emotion on display here and, sometimes, it can get to be a bit much.

Luckily, filmmaker Zachary Heinzerling leavens the drama with plenty of humor and some truly neat animated scenes, courtesy of Noriko’s Cutie cartoons. There’s some nice insights into the New York art movement of the time (a picture of Ushio and Andy Warhol hanging out is pretty swell, indeed). The film’s style can seem a bit pretentious, at first, but Heinzerling quickly shows himself to be a deft hand at wringing genuine emotion and pathos from moments that might be too cloying in someone else’s hands.

More than anything, though, Cutie and the Boxer is a truly beautiful love story, a tale of two fractured individuals who found the love and support in each other that they never found in the rest of the world. It’s not a perfect relationship but no marriages (especially those lasting longer than 20 years, much less 40) are. Like everyone, they have their triumphs and upsets, joys and sorrows. There’s a moment where Noriko states that she and Ushio are “like two flowers in one pot: sometimes we don’t get enough nutrients.” These is a perfectly valid, if inherently sad, way to look at their co-dependent artistic careers. There’s an equally powerful moment, however, where Noriko states that, despite everything that’s happened, all of the joys and sorrows, the crippling alcoholism and crushing poverty, she would do the whole thing all over again. That, right there, is the very definition of love. I don’t think that Cutie and the Boxer will win the Oscar (I’m pretty sure that The Act of Killing has that locked down) but I, for one, will never forget the movie.

Is there anything worse than a terrible film? Yes, by gum, there certainly is: a lazy film. Lazy films may not make the same glaring mistakes as terrible films (say what you will about Howard the Duck but laziness is not one of its sins) but that’s because they lack the courage and conviction to do much of anything. For my money, there is nothing worse than sitting through a safe, lazy, middle-of-the-road film: I’d rather watch The Room on endless repeat than view something that not even the filmmakers could be bothered to care about.

Stay Cool, friends and neighbors, is one massively lazy film. We’re not talking a few shortcuts here and there, a little stereotyping to smooth things over: we’re talking practically comatose, a pulse so flat-lined that you’ve already called the morgue. From the cover art (the pic I posted above is actually much better than the official cover art, which really tells you something) to the lazy voice-over narration (cuz, you know, how else are we gonna know what’s going on?) to the actual story (man-child must return to high school to right the wrongs of his adolescence, having comical interactions along the way), there isn’t one thing about Stay Cool that pushes anything further than a shuffleboard puck on a seniors-only cruise.

But what about all of those familiar faces in the cast list, you may well ask? Let’s see if we can check these off the list fairly quickly, shall we? Winona Ryder collects a paycheck as the romantic lead, Chevy Chase is absolutely awful as the principal, Dee Wallace and Michael Gross are completely wasted as the protagonist’s parents, Sean Astin is saddled with the swishiest cliché of a gay character to appear on-screen in some time and Jon Cryer has what amounts to a cameo. And looks bored in the process, might I add.

It’s hard to single out my least favorite aspect of the film but there’s definitely something that’s easy to peg in my top 5: the ridiculous, juvenile attitude of the lead character. We’re actually supposed to believe that this man-child still acts like a petulant teenager (I don’t mean excessive partying, etc…I mean teenage whining and bitching, ladies and gents), lives at home with his parents and still has the same feud with his former high school principal, even though he must be in his late thirties/early forties and the principal is now in his seventies?! Suspension of disbelief is one thing: calling your audience stupid is something else entirely.

Betcha don’t know where the title came from, do ya? Let’s see if we can puzzle this out, shall we? You already know this is about a guy returning to his high school as an adult so…Yeah, that’s right: the clever title comes from the eternally clichéd quote that his high school dream girl wrote in his yearbook cuz, you know…Stay Cool! Genius! And so true, bro…so true!