




He ain’t much help without a magic hammer.
In the Heart of the Sea, based on Nathaniel Philbrick’s non-fiction book documenting the events that inspired Moby-Dick, totally needed more big fish-on-man action. What we end up with is a rather sentimental shipwreck movie with one very aggressive, but elusive, sperm whale.
The folks in The Perfect Storm never had to deal with this!
A rare photo of Chris Hemsworth wearing a shirt.
Adonis Creed: Last seen hitting head against wall mumbling the lyrics to Adele’s “Hello”.
You better stop playing that Adele song.
Someone play that Adele song again? Aim low.
Yo Rock, I can still hear that Adele song.
After the CGI douche-theatrics of Furious 7, the pop spectacle of Avengers: Age of Ultron, and the riveting post-apocalyptic reality-based pyrokinetics of Mad Max: Fury Road, the arrival of Tomorrowland seems at its best, quaint. But at its worst, underwhelming and obvious.
Perhaps the lack of surprise and/or the intensity of its sense of adventure is because, bottom line, Disney has made a film for kids. (Vaccinated) kids who will pester their parents to take them to see the real Tomorrowland. The marketing genius even shows in what is likely to be the most easily attainable movie tie-in toy—a lapel pin that gives our heroine a glimpse of Tomorrowland, emblazoned with the letter “T”, approximately $10 on Amazon and perfect for sticking on the outside of a school backpack.
In the film itself, we get flying jetpacks, cute but effectively deadly robots, a gloriously tech-booby-trapped house, and a new use for the Eiffel Tower, but it’s all so blah since there’s no infinity stones involved. Nothing in the conflict quite feels truly at stake. Tomorrowland itself, white and shiny, kinda looks like an Apple store without the employees in t-shirts. This magical realm is actually a parallel universe/dimension/thing where all humanity’s best and brightest gather to nurture great ideas and create and imagine unimaginable feats of technology. A lot of marijuana smoking probably goes on behind closed doors.
“Throw me the fast pass, I throw you the pin!”
Hugh Laurie is on hand as the villain who wants to destroy the “real” Earth since it’s basically destroying itself anyway. That kind of megalomania seems a bit excessive since he’s in charge of the most perfect place in existence anyway but whatever. A plot to revive Walt Disney’s cryogenically frozen body would have been cooler.
Sadly, this may be Brad Bird’s most uninspired movie yet. After his live-action debut with Mission: Impossible – Ghost Protocol and especially his animated efforts, The Iron Giant and The Incredibles, somehow, we just expect more from him. The action scenes aren’t particularly exciting or witty; nothing seems to stay in the memory and the biggest let-down, we catch a glimpse of Space Mountain in the skyline but we don’t get to experience it. (Instead we get It’s a Small World. Don’t ask.) Wouldn’t it have been great if our heroes were trapped in a vehicle chase inside Space Mountain and then everything shuts down and the lights go on and you’re just looking at steel girders? Sorry. I’m still bitter how a certain incident during a childhood vacation ruined the illusion.
This pin? Ten bucks?
And we expect more from George Clooney too, and here, as a genius who was exiled from Tomorrowland a long time ago, he just seems to be going through the rumply, crankily charming motions. Feminists and Black Widow-Gate/Supergirl-Gate conspirators should be thrilled “the chosen one” for the planet’s future is a plucky teen girl, played by Britt Robertson, who is probably fielding offers for a young adult film adaptation at this very moment. The real casting find though is Raffey Cassidy as a young Tomorrowland android that protects the heroic humans and has a genuinely poignant backstory with Clooney’s character. She’s like the Terminator, but little.
At Tomorrowland’s gleaming, wanna-be vintage heart, there is an old-fashioned (too) strong message about going green, saving the environment and how the children are our future. Teach them well and let them lead the way. With $10 pins. Barf.
Tomorrowland is now playing in theaters everywhere.
“You saw me on Letterman. I’ll walk out. Don’t make me.”
Okay fine, I’m not the hugest fan of the series but seriously, while watching The Hunger Games: Mockingjay – Part 1, I was bored. Like, bored out of my skull. And I was in a preview screening so security guards were watching and I couldn’t pull out my phone lest they think I was trying to pirate the film.
Already these movies (and books) weren’t exactly cheerful affairs but with the lack of a Battle Royale in this installment, things are really, really dour. After seeing her do “Live and Let Die” in American Hustle, slinking around as Mystique and calling off her own interview with David Letterman, poor Jennifer Lawrence seems to have outgrown her role as Katniss Everdeen. She’s definitely no Kristen Stewart—J-Law looks like she’s absolutely busting at the seems to do something, anything. Alas, most of her time is spent looking morose and dejected, something K-Stew had no trouble doing.
Granted, the adapted screenplay doesn’t give her much opportunity since it basically cut the final source material in half. Even more so than The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn – Part 2 though, Mockingjay suffers from being a project comprised of only a first and second act. And unlike Peter Jackson, nothing entertaining is made up just to fill in space.
This is Sutherland’s only scene in the movie.
Katniss wakes up on a rebel airship and spends the rest of the time trying to decide whether she wants to become a propaganda instrument against the evil Capitol and it’s equally evil President Snow (Donald Sutherland). She also worries a lot about her buddy Peeta (Josh Hutcherson), who got left behind in the previous film and is now in the hands of Snow, and losing weight very quickly. Hopefully his skinniness was CGI cause poor Hutcherson looks positively anorexic.
A few performers do what they can with what little they have. Elizabeth Banks still manages to be a diva as Effie, the fashionable emcee of The Hunger Games, even though she is now a political refugee in a jump suit. Donald Sutherland appears to be having a good time overacting with his Satanic line readings, but he’s hardly in the movie so he barely registers.
They wish their agents got them more money.
But esteemed actors like Julianne Moore, as the powerful leader of the resistance, is just going through the firm-jawed motions. The saddest though, is Philip Seymour Hoffman. As a member of the leadership committee, he just meekly agrees or disagrees with Moore. Tragic how this is the last role he will ever play.
But then it all must come down to tragedy with this bleak, dystopian series. Even the cinematography has a gray grain so thick that it almost blurs the scenery. Fans, of course, will not care. And considering that the fan base are pre-programmed admirers of the novels, they should be satisfied with this additional entry of loose-ended angst. Other audience members dragged into the theaters against their will might want to make sure their phones are fully charged prior. There’s a new version of Candy Crush to help pass the time.
The Hunger Games – Mockingjay Part 1 is now playing in theaters everywhere.
And the nominees are for Worst Old Age Make-Up . . .
It’s an interesting move to release the adaptation of the Broadway hit Jersey Boys smack in the middle of the summer season, especially if the musical doesn’t star Adele Dazeem. On top of that, the film is about a doo-wop group whose core audience are probably baby boomers, not CGI-craving, catatonic young folks. And it’s directed by a man who talks to furniture. But improbably, it’s June and here we have Jersey Boys, directed by our favorite loony celebrity Republican, Clint Eastwood.
Of course it helps if you’re a fan of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons and the story documents their street thug origins, rise to fame, and their eventual dramatic dissolution. All the hits are also there: “Rag Doll,” “Working My Way Back to You,” “Big Girls Don’t Cry,” and many more.
“Big boys don’t have marbles in their mouth.”
I saw the version in Vegas and as far as I can tell—full disclosure—or as far as my mother can tell, this version was just as enjoyable and true to the background material. In fact, this review is really all about my mother. And your mother. She is gonna love this movie. All those doo-wop tunes were from her time, not yours. During a highpoint, much hub-bub is made about playing “the song.” “Just play the song!” And Valli begins crooning those familiar lyrics: “You’re just too good to be true / Can’t take my eyes off you…” Somehow when we finally hear that hit though, it feels anti-climactic.
But then maybe it’s because I’m a non-objective 80s cinephile who can’t forget Michelle Pfeiffer in The Fabulous Baker Boys bringing down the theater in a…well… fabulous montage sequence of the same song. There’s also the fact that the musical then goes on with one more act with their induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, complete with some truly atrocious old age make-up.
“See? That note right there? Eastwood wants us to talk to the sofa…”
John Lloyd Young, who originated the Broadway role as Frankie Valli lacks a certain screen presence. Yes he has a nice voice and we see female, and even male members of the audience, in rapture with him, but once he’s not singing, he just looks kinda pouty. His performance probably went over better on the stage where he wasn’t at the mercy of Eastwood’s choice of unrelenting Les Miserables-style close-ups.
Only Christopher Walken manages to make an impression as a mobster supporter who, in the end, really doesn’t seem to do much to help them. But the actor manages to bring comic timing to his nefarious dealings.
It’s sad that the movie only truly comes to Broadway musical life during Walken’s scenes and during the end credits that has most of the cast dancing and singing down a street. The movie really could have used more of that energy. In the end, something is just wrong with the tone. At times it wants to be a hard edged tale of boys rising from the mean street of New Jersey and at other times, it wants to be the full fledged musical catalogue of the group’s hits with some slapstick mook comedy thrown in for kicks.
Or maybe I just didn’t get Jersey Boys because, as the movie keeps reminding us, I’m not from Jersey.
Jersey Boys is currently playing in theaters everywhere.
It’s gratuitous but what the fuck, it’s James Bond’s 50th B-day and Skyfall is shaping up to be what critics are calling the best Bond movie ever. (Not that I would know. I’ve been avoiding the reviews like an airborne Moonraker virus due to spoiler-age.) Nonetheless, as a total geek to her majesty’s secret service’s most famous agent, here’s my top ten 007 flicks. And yes, in some of them, I got a lot of justifying to do but I have this funny feeling, the series is like your taste buds: as you age, things change. When you’re a kid, you hate spinach, but now it’s your favorite side-dish at Wolfgang’s. With a martini. Shaken, not stirred.
Yeah this is totally sacrilegious. Goldfinger is supposed to be your favorite Bond movie but if you’re actually more of an Ian Fleming book freak, Casino Royale hued the closest to the source material in spirit. Not to mention, even beyond Sean Connery, blond and all, Daniel Craig most embodies the blunt, yet soulful, instrument that is essentially James Bond. Plus, that Chris Cornell song was a jolt in the right masculine-aggressive direction.
———-
More sacrilegious blasphemy. This isn’t even an official 007 movie, but still… Klaus Maria Brandauer was the best bad guy ever—and yes, that includes Goldfinger. Remember when he kissed Kim Basinger and made that long spit-line before destroying his own precious heirloom which she was holding? See? He’s totally, believably nuts! And that tango with Connery and Kim Basinger? And Barbara Carrera as a ludicrously sexy femme fatale who wanted to shoot our hero in the balls? We won’t see completely Bond-ian moments like these until two decades later with Famke Janssen in GoldenEye.
———-
When it was released, Bond was seriously due for a much needed revision and this entry essentially saved the series. The Nintendo game of the film gets the attention so people tend to overlook how much this movie understood the franchise while at the same time turning it on its head. The opening credits were almost brilliantly phallic with gun barrels in women’s mouths while Tina Turner purred lyrics by Bono and The Edge. Bond finally takes on another 00 agent. The banter with Moneypenny is now conducted with an ironic political correctness. But the sauciness is still there. Xenia Onatopp (how’s that for a villain name?) kills men with her thighs causing Bond to eventually point a gun at her and say, “No more foreplay.” If that ain’t improved re-invention enough, we get our first meeting with the chilly yet motherly Judi Dench as M.
———-
Okay, it’s the classic that started the whole process and established the formula. But seriously, it’s actually pretty slow moving. Perhaps this is because we are all so inoculated with the movements that must have seemed original and thrilling back then; so in a perverse way, Goldfinger doesn’t stand the test of time simply because of the legacy it created. Still, everyone has their favorite moments and there’s so many to choose from. Of course, my preference: “My name is Pussy Galore.” / “I must be dreaming.”
———-
Licence to Kill (yes, they used British spelling) gets all the glory, but TImothy Dalton’s portrayal of Bond in this post Cold War thriller was the closest we got to the original Fleming until Craig. Heck, even the a-ha theme song was pretty farking cool. For some reason, during this era of Batman, Die Hard and Lethal Weapon, the world just wasn’t ready for the most cerebral portrayal of Bond ever. The most under-rated 007 film in the series.
———-
The one and only time Roger Moore was allowed to be something other than a doofus and it’s arguably his best entry. As a direct reaction to the stupidity of Moonraker, we see Moore actually act like a dangerous secret agent. The race on skis down a toboggan route, the out of control helicopter opening, the jalopy car chase, the cold-blooded kick that sends a bad guy off a cliff to his death… Especially after the over-rated The Spy Who Loved Me with Jaws and that underwater car, the cleansing effect is sobering. Extra points for the camp classic Sheena Easton song.
———-
Brosnan’s second entry in the series built upon his strengths as the character. More pathos, this time with Teri Hatcher as a former lover that hints to the possibility that Bond was in a serious long-term relationship, post-Vesper. (No way!) These are all things Craig gets credit for, but the Brosnan films really did try to push the envelope. Tomorrow Never Dies also discovered the best composer since John Barry for the franchise: David Arnold. His techno-flavored score—check out the remote-controlled BMW sequence—dragged the music into the 21st century while still paying the proper homage to the indelible theme.
———-
The second most under-rated Bond film in the series. Yes, it had an invisible car. So what? That’s what we pay to see. (In fact, that’s the one thing missing from the Craig legacy: the crazy gadget-ridden car chases.) The villains were also Asian for the first time, the North Koreans. (Dr. No doesn’t count.) Even the opening titles took a chance, for the first time telling a narrative: Bond’s torture in the prison over the years. Madonna’s decidedly odd song probably didn’t help matters though. And keeping things low-tech, the epic sword fight between Bond and bad guy may possibly be the best edited and choreographed fight sequence ever in all 22 (so far) films. Yes, even better than Connery versus Robert Shaw in From Russia, With Love.
———-
Like Goldfinger, this one tends to be somewhat overrated simply because of the stunning ski jump opener and Carly Simon’s “Nobody Does It Better,” but the rest of the movie is ridiculous. Most fans love the underwater Lotus, but that stretched it a bit for me, especially when Moore rolls the window down and drops a fish onto the beach. It also introduces Jaws. Again, fans love them some Jaws, but a lot about his character is just kinda stupid. But no stupider than a henchman with diamonds scarred into his face (Die Another Day). Even more brain dead is Barbara Bach. Granted, she’s gorgeous but out of all the women in the films, her stare was definitely the most vacant.
———-
And while we’re at the over-rating of the Roger Moore ouvre, A View to a Kill—after over two decades—isn’t that bad. Famously reviled as one of the worst Bond films, it features a balls-out nutso Christopher Walken as a maniacal Nazi experiment and slinky, panther-like Grace Jones parachuting from the Eiffel Tower; classic baddies. Then there was that game-changing Duran Duran song. Granted, the snowboard opening with “California Girls” was cringe-inducing and Moore looked pretty Jurassic by this time, but A View to a Kill is far from guilty of complete negligence.
In fact, all the films, even the worst ones, had its moments. Live and Let Die had crocodile jumping, the rocking Paul McCartney, the luscious Jane Seymour, and an inflatable death scene. The Man with the Golden Gun had Bond dueling Sarumon and that keen dismantling pistol. Even Quantum of Solace had… Well, I can’t think of anything memorable in that one yet. But upon re-watching it, I probably will. And that’s what just plain magical about this series.
What’s your favorite Bond film? Let us know in the comments.
Since Rye has no life, he just sits in his cave and watches movies of zero nutritional value. Occasionally, he’ll feel classy due to a bottle of wine that didn’t have a screw-top and he’ll watch something with subtitles. Here’s his keyboard’s regurgitation of what passed before his bespectacled eyes.
It was pretty much a week for the boys at the movies. Maybe it was a indirect response to The Hunger Games. And a direct response to . . . barf . . . Think Like a Man.
Boy is a charming coming of age tale of one New Zealand boy named…Boy (above right). He lives in a rustic country of old houses, wide open grassy fields and the oceans within walking distance, much like the country parts of Hawaii.
Boy’s only real interests in life are Michael Jackson and his father, who is serving jail time. A teacher, who knew Boy’s father in school, tells the youngster that he has “potential.” This is something Boy will spend the rest of the film trying to unlock, an ambition that becomes complicated when Boy’s deadbeat father, Alamein, is finally released from prison.
Alamein (above) is a pot-smoking, spastic, almost bipolar man in a state of arrested development. Suffice to say, he slowly doesn’t live up to Boy’s fantasies and Boy must figure out who (not what) he wants to be when he grows up. (Alamein modeling himself as a shogun after reading James Clavell’s novel should have been a dead giveaway.)
Taking place in 1984, Boy is quirky, funny, heartwarming, and it even gives off a sense of nostalgia, especially for Hawaii viewers—even if one has never been to New Zealand. There’s something similar about the lifestyles. Director Taika Waititi (who also plays Alamein) has created a fine dramedy, complete with a Bollywood-style dance number at the finish, done with a New Zealand touch. (For that matter, stay till the end of the credits for a little surprise.)
This bus is probably not very safe either.
Speaking of boys, think of Bully as the gateway drug to the epidemic of bullying in schools across the nation. Instead of confronting the school administrators, we just simply get one sad story after another. They are all affecting but it feels more like a primer: “Hey, look! Bullying exists in our schools and our children are its victims!” Uh, anybody with a Twitter account figured that out years ago. Frankly, the beef with the MPAA over the foul language probably helped the film more than hindered it because the actual product is one long PSA for the website TheBullyProject.com.
The filmmakers tell heartbreaking stories but don’t really go after school administrators to see what they are planning to do to stop what is a very real problem. When celebrities making videos on YouTube seem to be doing a better job at helping our at-risk youth, something’s seriously fucking wrong. Go check out that website and perhaps that’s where the real work can begin.
Being around these pirates is definitely not safe.
Also for boys, but of an entirely different thing is The Pirates! Band of Misfits, the latest stop motion/CGI animation effort from the folks that brought you Chicken Run and Wallace and Gromit. If you’re fans, you’re gonna love Pirates. If not, the humor might be too bloody British. There’s a totally adorable dodo bird in it, Hugh Grant is the voice of the Pirate Captain and…well…that’s that.
In all honesty, it does go a bit long though and in the end, feels a bit slight. But kids will certainly love it and parents will get off on the Charles Darwin bashing. Come to think of it, as minor as it feels, this film was more entertaining than the last two Pirates of the Caribbean movies combined.
This man is your best bet for safety.
For the tougher boys out there, someone who probably wouldn’t get bullied often is a burly guy named Snow in Lockout. He’s played by Guy Pierce and his brand-new biceps. (Watch L.A. Confidential again. Where did Pierce get those giant arms? He must’ve spent a lot of time at the gym since Memento.) Anyway, Pierce plays the one guy able to rescue the President’s daughter (Maggie Grace) from a futuristic super max jail in space. And this is the point in my column where I will now refer to Lockout as Space Jail! because I find it much more appropriate and amusing. (Yes, my version of the title comes complete with exclamation point. I’m a whore for punctuation.)
Space Jail! is a fine enough film. Guy Pearce is the main reason to see it. He’s somehow funny even though the script doesn’t really give him a single witty thing to say. It’s all in his droll, deadpan delivery. Grace, formerly of Lost and Taken, does a fine job of once again being took. It’s a fun enough movie and I remember enjoying it, but I kinda forgot what happened already. It’s disposable like that. Like an orange creamsicle you ate. You remember really liking it but the details escape you soon after.
———————————–
Boy is currently playing at Consolidated Theatres Kahala 8 & Pearlridge 16.
Bully is currently playing at Consolidated Theatres Kahala 8.
The Pirates! Band of Fisfits are playing at theaters all across Oahu.
Lockout is playing at theaters across Oahu.
Since Rye has no life, he just sits in his cave and watches movies of zero nutritional value. Occasionally, he’ll feel classy due to a bottle of wine that didn’t have a screw-top and he’ll watch something with subtitles. Here’s his keyboard’s regurgitation of what passed before his bespectacled eyes.
I suddenly have a craving for pita bread!
For all that are dying to know if Gale holds it against Katniss regarding Peeta and just think life is over, I am here to assure you that there is indeed life after The Hunger Games.
The Cabin in the Woods is the awesomest movie ever. (Sorry, Hunger Games fans.) And…umm…that’s all I can really say about that cause there are huge surprises that the trailer, and hopefully the Internet, didn’t totally already ruin. Try not to read any other reviews and just go see it. Even if you don’t like horror, it ain’t that gross and it’s witty, funny, and it’s a fanboy’s dream come to film life. And it’s the first “puzzle-movie” since Inception that rewards multiple viewings. And there’s boobs.
So yeah… That’s the big review for The Cabin in the Woods.
On the film festival circuit, my schedule didn’t work for Spring HIFF this year, but as a gaming dork, I did want to see Ace Attorney. I had to settle for Marley instead. Yeah, how’s that for a subject change?
Anyway, Marley is a documentary on the reggae icon directed by Kevin Macdonald (The Last King of Scotland) and it’s basically the definitive cinematic portrait of Bob Marley’s career. At almost two and a half hours, it painstakingly takes us from Marley’s shanty town beginnings to his succumbing of cancer at a snowy clinic in Germany.
Along the way, we get interview footage from his friends, associates and family (including Ziggy Marley and Jimmy Cliff) as well as moments from the man himself. All paint a portrait of his music and politics, and whether you’re a fan or not, there is no denying the significance of the artist’s contribution to culture.
Diehard Marley fans will probably feel shortchanged on the amount of concert footage and conservative use of his music, but as a biography, Marley is compelling for all. (Appropriately, it opens today 4/20, at the Kahala theaters. Bring a pipe at your own risk. )
Speaking of pipes, while at home this past week, I wanted to catch up on some stuff I missed last year so I made the grave error of watching Take Shelter and Melancholia on two consecutive nights. Both are completely different films about the end of the world, both immensely compelling and undeniably watchable with powerhouse acting performances, and seeing both in such a short span also made me want to slash my wrists. I wouldn’t recommend these two as a double feature unless you got a serious jones for the apocalypse.
Then again, regarding film it seems we’re all just lingering in a sort of cinematic purgatory which I shall name P.A. (Pre-Avengers.) We’re just waiting for those super-dudes to just fucking assemble already.
You must be logged in to post a comment.