Mad Azn Media - Movie Reviews

Characters battle with 'state of' industry

Wed, 29 Apr 2009 13:12:42 +0700

A fast-paced love letter to an industry now seemingly singing its swan song, "State of Play" lauds investigative print journalism in the same fashion as "All The President's Men" did in 1976 - though with unmistakably more pulp.

The narrative is typical: the emotionally invested newshound is on the trail of corporate corruption with a string of bodies leading to its doorstep. "State of Play," by nature a thriller, indulges in close calls in parking garages and predictable deaths.

Looking past its page-turner mentality, however, the film is arguably a must-see, especially for journalists looking for some sympathy.

The modern-day setting makes "State of Play" a case study of nearly every metropolitan newspaper struggling to cauterize their money-hemorrhaging wounds.

Russell Crowe is the salty, paunchy Cal McAffrey, a mid-career journalist wearing down shoe-leather for the Washington Globe. He's paid too much (i.e. hardly enough), takes too much time on stories and sneers at the word "blog" - a sure candidate for the next round of buyouts.

McAffrey's newsroom competition is the inquisitive Della Frye (Rachel McAdams), a 20-something Capitol Hill blogger and an obvious symbol for the future of journalism.

"She's hungry, she's cheap, and she churns copy every hour!" sharply quips Cal's editor-in-chief, Helen Mirren in her flinty finest.

When a garden-variety homicide on Cal's beat is linked to the suspicious suicide of a congressman's female aide, Della and Cal must begrudgingly put the generation gap aside and pool their resources for "The Truth."

Turns out, the dead woman was working on Congressman Stephen Collins' (Ben Affleck) case against PointCorp, a powerful independent contractor for Middle East manpower that is now accused of committing atrocities. She also was having an affair with the congressman, a fact that conveniently sends Stephen's political career spiraling. To further complicate Cal's intentions, Stephen is a college buddy and Cal had romantic feelings for Stephen's wife, Anne (Robin Wright Penn).

Talk about conflict of interest.

Penned by suspense gurus Michael Carnahan ("The Kingdom"), Tony Gilroy ("Michael Clayton") and Billy Ray ("Breach"), the film keeps the tension high with looming deadlines and billion dollar stakes. That being said, the twist ending does go a little overboard with the melodrama.

The acting is fully fleshed, a particular highlight being Jason Bateman's turn as a sleazy PR agent with answers to much of the mystery. Crowe and McAdams make an unlikely Woodword and Bernstein pairing, but his rapport with sources and her gung-ho attitude resonates deep in my journalism major soul.

Based on a BBC mini-series, "State of Play" touches on every looming problem facing today's reporters: their role as democracy's watchdog, ethical issues, Internet usurpation and the lack of pens when you need one.

But even if you never intend to see your name in a byline, one can't help but feel a little sentimental as the credits roll through a montage of a newspaper getting pressed. After all, who knows how long we will have the luxury of newsprint in our hands?

Old anime dances to worn-out tune

Wed, 29 Apr 2009 13:06:37 +0700

If your childhood was anything like mine, the word "Dragonball" stirs up memories of mindless weekday afternoons devoted to Toonami, Cartoon Network's block of Japanes animation. Images of exaggerated fireball duels between hyper-muscular men with spiky hair come happily to mind.

"Dragonball: Evolution," the charmless live-action adaptation of the popular manga/anime series that hooked many in the mid-90s, will probably have original fans crying foul at the defilement of another cherished childhood franchise.

The film panders to the Spongebob Squarepants generation. So unless you retain a prepubescent mentality, the movie feels 20,000 leagues below any semblance of sophistication. Even looking at it from the perspective of someone who understands and appreciates the far-fetched antics of the anime, the movie is too far entrenched in a maudlin script that bleeds the empathy out of its characters.

Teenaged Goku (an inexplicably Caucasian Justin Chatwin) is a high school outcast who just can't seem to get his dream girl, Chi Chi (Jamie Chung), despite having superhuman martial arts skills. On his 18th birthday, his mentor grandfather bequeathes to him one of the seven mystic dragonballs, said to unleash a wish-granting dragon.

Unbeknownst to Goku, a 2,000 year-old demon named Lord Piccolo (an unrecognizable James Marsters, "Buffy the Vampire Slayer"), is collecting dragonballs in order to destroy mankind, take over the world or maybe order Avon lotion. It's never stated, but character motivation isn't important here. He's green-skinned and evil, OK?

Joining Goku on his race to collect more dragonballs than Piccolo is spunky scientist Bulma Briefs (Emmy Rossum), kung-fu master Roshi (Chow Yun-Fat) and the money-hungry Yamcha (Joon Park), whose contribution to the film I've still yet to figure out.

Opening with the usual "mythic past" exposition (an ominous voice-over with fade-in scenes), "Dragonball" engages in every worn-out plot technique known to fantasy-fiction, going as far as altering Goku's personality from the anime to fit the outcast stereotype. Chatwin is simply too good-looking to be that guy. Pretty people don't get ostracized for no reason at all, especially if said outcast can give you a good trouncing.

Produced by Stephen Chow, who's fueled better tongue-in-cheek kung-fu fare in "Shaolin Soccer" and "Kung-fu Hustle," "Dragonball" plays like an over-budgeted episode of Power Rangers. By the time Goku finally revs up for the signature Kamehameha fireball attack, the 84-minute film already feels drawn out.

Is this a case of a critic being overly harsh on a kid's film, perhaps upset that she has outgrown a beloved set of characters? Possibly. Is "Dragonball" still shoddily slapped together and the script a mere whisper of what it should have been? Most assuredly so.

Verdict: Kamehame-ugh.

Fast & Furious

Thu, 09 Apr 2009 20:03:45 +0700

There comes a time in an aging action hero's career in which he comes crawling back to his tried and true franchise after stardom begins to lose its luster.

Bruce Willis had "Live Free or Die Hard" (fourth in the "Die Hard" series); Sylvester Stallone had "Rocky Balboa" (the sixth incarnation).

And now, albeit at a more tender age of 41, the unflappable Vin "My Face is a Stone" Diesel revisits underground street-racing in "Fast & Furious," the fourth installment spawned from 2001's "The Fast and The Furious." (That's right, they just dropped the articles and called it a new movie.)

Hey, at least it's not "Pacifier 2: Return of the Tough Guy Babysitter Cliché."

Reprising his role as outlaw racer Dominic Toretto, Diesel is joined by original cast member Paul Walker as his FBI agent counterpart, Brian O'Connor. Michelle Rodriguez (Dom's main squeeze, Letty) and Jordana Brewster (Dom's sister and O'Connor's flame, Mia) also poke their heads in for a paycheck, but their presences amount to no more than 15 minutes screen time combined.

It's all about the boys this time around. Dom and Brian are infiltrating drug cartels and traversing U.S.-Mexico borders to bring down a heroin dealer responsible for Letty's murder.

Billed above the catchphrase, "new model, original parts," this reunion was the re-boot the series needed. It met all the requirements: elaborate chase scenes and gratuitous close ups of female assets. Now everyone can forget that "Tokyo Drift" ever happened.

However, eight years is a long time in the world of movies about chicks and cars, and Diesel and Co. appeared rusty at playing hot, young and reckless.

Besides, vengeance rules out all the fun.

Directed by Justin Lin, who helmed "The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift," the film opened promisingly with an imaginative oil rig heist gone wrong. But, nothing afterwards lives up to the initial adrenaline rush. Soon plot and acting take a backseat to screeching tires and pouty models pretending to look relevant.

Though, I am impressed by Vin Diesel's ability to recycle the same facial expression for all four emotions his character can muster.

Adventureland, not so adventurous

Thu, 02 Apr 2009 08:53:03 +0700

As waves of college grads prepare to be beached onto the unfriendly shores of unemployment, director and screenwriter Greg Mottola ("Superbad") offers a sentimental cinematic salve to their anxieties.

Set in 1987, recent grad James Brennan (Jesse Eisenberg, "The Squid and the Whale") dreams of the European summer tour that's supposed to be his graduation gift from his parents. But after a Reaganomic downturn forces his family to scale back, his plans are shattered.

Instead, the gawky intellectual must resort to slaving the season away at a seedy amusement park run by odd couple Bobby and Paulette (Bill Hader and Kristen Wiig, SNL).

The abysmal fall from dignity unsurprisingly turns into the summer of his life as James finds his place among a rag-tag group of outcasts, including a pretty but angst-y arcade girl named Em (Kristen Stewart, "Twilight").

Inspired by Mottola's own college-aged stint at a Long Island amusement park in the '80s, "Adventureland" is a predictable coming-of-age tale played out within a nostalgic time capsule.

"I think there is something character building in terrible jobs," Mottola said in a conference call. "I think you feel like you're in a club when you've had to go through it."

Set in a dilapidated Pittsburgh theme park and synced to a bevy of dated pop hits such as "Rock me Amadeus" and The Cure's "Just Like Heaven," the film paints relatable scenarios of weed-fueled hijinks and halting first time loves.

Jesse Eisenberg embodies the shy, hopeless romantic spot-on. (Michael Cera may have to keep an eye on him.) Kristen Stewart, in a role she filmed prior to "Twilight," works the hollow-eyed, troubled teen look convincingly as well. Regrettably though, she is a one-note character through the entire film. Margarita Levieva, playing the "shallow" love rival, Lisa P., frankly manages to reveal more depth.

Perhaps wrongly categorized as a comedy, the movie's humor doesn't please as much as the drama pains. While there is no lack of groin punching and amusement park-related jokes, elements of financial struggle, extra-marital affairs, broken homes and anti-Semitism weigh down the film's carnival aesthetic. The setting just seems under-utilized.

Though marketed to the "Superbad" crowd, Mottola simply doesn't craft the same creature in "Adventureland." The film isn't as much of an fun adventure as a sobering reality check with a few laughs and a half-hearted happy ending.

I Love You, Man

Thu, 02 Apr 2009 08:50:51 +0700

And here I was thinking that Paul Rudd might not live to see another leading romantic comedy role after "Over Her Dead Body."

After predominantly getting shuttled into best friend roles for the better part of his career, our favorite Ben Affleck look-alike finally gets a starring role worthy of his acting chops - a man too in touch with women.

This time, it is he who needs the best friend.

"I Love You, Man" opens with Rudd's character Peter Klaven, a real estate agent, lovingly proposing to his girlfriend, Zooey (Rashida Jones). Everything about their future nuptials seems picture-perfect until he realizes that he has no male friends to fill out his wedding party, not even a best man.

You see, Klaven is guilty of what most girls dream about. He is too devoted to his woman, too sensitive and nice to mesh with the likes of his brutish peers. Now, he must go searching for his male counterpart.

After a series of failed man-dates set up by his mother (Jane Curtin, "3rd Rock from the Sun") and gay brother (played laughingly straight by Andy Samberg), Klaven finally meets the B.F.F. of his dreams, a schlubby slacker but acute investor named Sydney Fife (Jason Segel, "Forgetting Sarah Marshall").

The man love flourishes. But as the meek Klaven gets in touch with his testosterone, relations strain between him and Zooey.

Screenwriting duo John Hamburg ("Along Came Polly") and Larry Levin ("Dr. Dolittle") rip the traditional rom-com trope of soulmate searching out of its heterosexual context and place it squarely in bromance territory.

The recipe is nothing short of genius, resulting in a film capable of appealing to basically anyone who ever tried to make a friend.

The dialogue is socially conscious, frank and cleverly executed.

Rudd and Segel drive this movie like no other pairing would. The Apatow-approved actors develop a kinship instantly identifiable, highlighted by a laugh-out-loud montage to Rush's "Tom Sawyer."

"I Love You, Man" captures every bumbling phone call and awkward conversation that comes with trying to impress someone. Though the tongue-tied joke is milked for all its worth, you keep laughing because it is oh-so-true.

Grade: B+
Verdict: A refreshing comedy founded on the no-fail principles of awkwardness and man love

Heart of 'Watchmen' remains faithful

Thu, 19 Mar 2009 20:24:22 +0700

Imagine a reverent researcher accidentally spilling coffee onto an original copy of The Declaration of Independence. Sure, the document is now imperfect, but does the stain affect its meaning or what it stands for?

Well, let’s just say director Zack Snyder (“300”) is a metaphorical butterfingers.

In translating Alan Moore’s prestigious “Watchmen” onto the screen, Snyder’s respect for the graphic novel results in a film that lovingly retains the bleak themes of the original.

But whether it was too much enthusiasm or a lapse into “300” mentality, Snyder makes some clumsy visual and aural missteps that leave this tribute forever an ugly stepsister to Moore’s 1986 masterpiece.

At a dense two hours and 43 minutes running time, this decidedly anti-superhero superhero movie will most likely lose newcomers to the finer details of “Watchmen’s” mythology. Fans, however, will appreciate the painstakingly recreated winks in their direction.

In a large nutshell, “Watchmen” paints an alternative 1985 in which the existence of masked vigilantes and one true superhuman changes everything for the worse. The United States wins Vietnam thanks to the efforts of Dr. Manhattan (Billy Crudup), a demi-god with a withdrawn disposition, and The Comedian (Jeffrey Dean Morgan), a cynical sociopath.

The victory garners Nixon unlimited terms and pushes the world to the brink of nuclear war. Masked vigilantes are eventually outlawed and the film traces the dysfunctional lives of six ex-heroes who once banded together under the name Watchmen.

Now, these aren’t your Clark Kents and Diana Princes. The characters of “Watchmen” exhibit some of the worst human flaws. We have the schlubby, meek Nite Owl (Patrick Wilson); the Silk Spectre (Malin Akerman), a vixen with mommy issues; the intelligent and vain Ozymandias (Matthew Goode) who cashes in on his identity and the uncompromising Rorschach (Jackie Earle Harley), a certified psychopath. When it appears that someone is targeting them one by one, these has-beens don their masks again to prevent a larger sinister plot.

The acting talent runs the gamut from dazzling to dull. Wilson’s Nite Owl immediately endears, and Haley’s Rorschach emerges as the anti-hero of the hour with his growling whisper and boiling rage. At the bottom of the barrel, we have a flat Silk Spectre. Snyder’s alterations to her character may be to blame. Her older age and smoking habits made her character interesting in the comic. By removing both, Snyder renders Akerman into little more than a walking fantasy in yellow and black latex.

Opening strong with a trans-generational montage of masked vigilantes to Bob Dylan’s “The Times They Are A-Changin'," Synder does not disappoint with thought-out frames and rich colors. Dr. Manhattan’s transformation, for one, is breathtaking. But the glaringly R-rated tendencies and sometimes laughable music choices, leave much to be improved. For example, how necessary is it to have rampant full-frontal blue male nudity? And Leonard Cohen’s “Hallejuah” for a sex scene, really?

Grade: B+
Verdict: Some baffling slip-ups, but for trying to achieve the impossible, Snyder came out wielding cinematographic nun-chucks

'Street Fighter:' The legend of an awesomely bad movie

Wed, 18 Mar 2009 22:15:55 +0700

I will go on the record by saying "Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li" was thoroughly enjoyable.

With laughable acting and embarrassingly trite screenwriting, this film (based on CapCom's video game) plays like "Snakes on a Plane" meets "Kung Pow: Enter the Fist."

And like a Lifetime movie, it's hilarious because no one intended it to be funny at all.

Kristin Kreuk ("Smallville") plays title character Chun-Li, a concert pianist and part-time kung-fu fighter who abandons her career in search for her father, long ago abducted by a crime lord named Bison (Neal McDonough).

Using Chun-Li's father for his business connections, Bison plots to raze the slums of Bangkok and displace all its inhabitants. Captain Planet couldn't ask for a better two-dimensional villain.

An ancient Chinese scroll and a series of people with web tattoos direct Chun-Li to (where else?) Bangkok. There, she joins up with martial arts master Gen (Robin Shou) and undergoes Mr. Miyagi-style training in order to prepare herself for a showdown with Bison.

Also hot on Bison's trail is Interpol officer Nash (Chris Klein) and Thai detective Maya (Moon Bloodgood), whose wardrobe consists solely of cleavage-baring tank tops. The two serve merely to inject some unconvincing sexual tension and possibly the worst acting I've ever seen in a mainstream release. Expertly channeling Keanu Reeves from his "Speed" days, Klein huskily sneers every line while managing to be wooden at the same time.

And just when you think you can't handle any more ridiculousness, we are treated an unbearably awkward lesbian dance-off between Kreuk and one of Bison's henchwoman, Cantana (Josie Ho). I repeat: a lesbian dance-off and then a fight scene which ends in Kreuk doing an upside down spin kick via badly done CGI.

Directed by Andrzej Bartkowiak, the man behind other action gems such as "Romeo Must Die" and "Doom," and written by Justin Marks, a man of no reputable works to date, it goes without saying that this film was going to be sub-par.

But to reach the point where a film is so bad, so ludicrous that it transcends into this realm of awesomely bad - that, my dear reader, takes certain finesse. And I, for one, am still laughing.

Grade: F
Verdict: F for freaking hilarious

Newest Jason bored of slash series

Wed, 18 Mar 2009 22:13:34 +0700

Last night, I saw a film. As I recall it was a horror film. Jason jumped out and drove a machete into a guy's head, and I spilled my Coke on my pants.

And somewhere in Los Angeles, producer Michael Bay (the money behind recent remakes, "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" and "The Amityville Horror") cackled with glee.

Lazily titled as just "Friday the 13th" (What, no colon?), this 12th installment of the undying movie franchise embodies all that is superficial about remaking classic '80s horror films.

Directed by Marcus Nispel, the plot is basically a rehash of early "Friday the 13th" hits and countless other slashers set in a wooded area.The film opens with a grueling 30-minute prologue featuring the typical ill-fated gang of campers venturing into the woods of Crystal Lake.

Jason picks them off one by one (post-sex scene as tradition dictates), except for one girl named Whitney (Amanda Righetti) who bears a resemblance to his mother at a young age. With no apparent goal in mind, he keeps her a prisoner.

Flash forward to a month later when Whitney's older brother (Jared Padalecki) goes on a one-man hunt to find her while a new group of promiscuous, weed-smoking co-eds decide to spend a weekend in wooded terror. This time, the audience is graced by the presence of two minority characters played Aaron Yoo and Arlen Escarpeta.

Unfortunately, they provide only stereotypical comedic relief and body fodder. Just before getting stuck through the throat with a screwdriver, Yoo's character raises a point about being "the walking cliché." The same could be said about every molecule of the movie.

Alas, even Jason seemed to be losing his bloodthirsty touch halfway through. Whereas the prologue had our momma's boy plotting creative murders such as roasting a girl alive in a sleeping bag, by the fourth kill into the main story, he had defaulted to generic hack 'n' slash. He looks practically bored as he hooks one girl up on a door hanger, as if he's thinking, "maybe I'm getting too old for this."

It doesn't take any directorial or acting talent to scare this film's audience, just simultaneously timed loud noises and sudden movements. And it's not true fear that made this naturally jumpy critic shoot halfway out of her seat, just jerk reaction followed by immediate annoyance and angry note-taking.

In the end, I suppose it did achieve its purpose. I did leave the theater with a half-empty cup of soda and severely damp jeans. And if an evening of cheap scare tactics and gratuitous nudity is all you're looking for, by all means, spend it with the hockey player from hell.

Verdict: Jason should have been left back in the '80s where he belongs.
Grade: D+

'Coraline' a mishap of could-bes

Wed, 18 Mar 2009 22:09:10 +0700

Not since Alice's fall down the rabbit hole has a young girl's curiosity resulted in such bizarre consequences as Neil Gaiman's acclaimed children's novel, "Coraline."

And not since 1996's "James and the Giant Peach" have we seen a Henry Selick directorial piece as visually spectacular as his adaptation of Gaiman's 2002 classic.

That being said, though, two rights don't necessarily make another right. Something got lost in translation. If the novel was a DVD player and the film was the TV set, Selick didn't plug in the audio cable correctly.

The outcome is a dark tale, shot in stop-action animation but emotionally flat in terms of dialogue.It's a shame because, short of Tim Burton, no one was more suited to adapt this cautionary confection than Selick.

Coraline Jones (voiced by Dakota Fanning) is an adventurous, blue-haired girl who believes she could do with a few improved adults. Her workaholic parents pay no mind to her quirky whims and needs.

Coraline's wishes come true when she discovers a portal to a parallel reality where her ideal "other" parents (Teri Hatcher and John Hodgman) exist, ready to appease her every desire for attention and sumptuous feasts. Free from boredom, Coraline is willing to overlook everyone's creepy button eyes.

Sumptuous, creepy and absurdly dazzling are also good adjectives to describe Selick's signature aesthetic featured in "Coraline." A credit to his mastery of color and abstract proportions, the film was shot in 3-D. If possible, gun for a theater showing it as so.

True to the novel's "be careful what you wish for" mantra, Coraline finds a sinister underbelly to this dream world. Her "other" mother is actually a monster determined to keep Coraline a prisoner by sewing buttons into her eyes.

Unfortunately, Selick, who also wrote the screenplay, diverts from the novel in troublesome ways. Saddled with an extra key character (a hunched kid named Wybie who is nowhere to be found in the book) and empty elaborative dialogue, the film falls short of its potential profoundness.

It takes quick-witted thinking and help from a snarky black cat (Keith David) for our young heroine to save herself from her "other" mother's spider-like clutches.It will take a personal re-write from Neil Gaiman for this critic to be completely satisfied with the film.

Grade: A+ for visuals, B- for story
Verdict: A dark visual confection lacking the sustenance of its inspiration

'He's just not that into you' woos viewers

Wed, 18 Mar 2009 22:04:09 +0700

Rife with overgeneralization about love and featuring a buffet of who's who in Hollywood, "He's Just Not That Into You" feels like it should have fallen face down by the opening scene.

Surprisingly, it doesn't.

It doesn't soar either. Rather, the film coyly charms the begrudging viewer with a host of amiable characters until you walk out of the theater pleasantly bemused by the whole affair.

Based on a self-help book of the same name by Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo, "He Just Not That Into You," boasts about five different story lines all interconnecting "Love Actually"-style.

Taking a sample from all walks of romance, the plot deals with everything from cheating husbands to the "why-doesn't-he-call?" syndrome.

To the movie's detriment and success, the cast primarily is composed of extremely recognizable actors. Though their names may draw in an audience for profit's sake, it ruins the believability of their characters. The actors are too pretty for their problems and most have a branded identity. It seems pointless to associate them with their character names.

Ginnifer Goodwin plays a slightly obsessive singleton who can't seem to read the "turn-off" signs. The movie opens with her getting rejected by realtor Kevin Connolly, who happens to be roommates with bartender Justin Long.

Long becomes Goodwin's instructor on "what a guy means," whereas Connolly becomes preoccupied with his on-again, off-again girlfriend, Scarlett Johansson.

She, on the other hand, is entangled with married man Bradley Cooper. Who's the wife? None other than Jennifer Connelly, who happens to be co-workers with Goodwin and Jennifer Aniston.

Aniston and Ben Affleck play a live-together couple who have contrary views on marriage. Oh yeah, Ben Affleck and Bradley Cooper are buddies, and Johansson is friends with Drew Barrymore who also has her own online dating issues.

Staring at the previous paragraphs with eyes glazed and drool running out of your mouth? Don't worry, you have an exhaustive two-hour running time to figure it all out.

With such an intricate plot, the transitions work shockingly well.

Dispersed among all the drama are "real-life" testimonials of everyday people expounding on their relationship woes.

Jennifer Connelly, channeling her "Little Children" role of a cheated-on wife, is by far the most engaging personality to watch.While others saunter around with a generic romantic comedy air, Connelly seemed like she was in a completely different movie, hitting every hurt glance and neurotic voice pitch as if an Oscar were on the line.

On the whole, most characters and much of the script seem underdeveloped. Long's advice to Goodwin, for example, was increasingly humdrum. All in all, it's difficult to pinpoint any one element that made this movie particularly worthwhile. So perhaps it was the whole effect - watching generally likeable people getting by in the game of love.

Suffice to say, I'm just that into it.

Grade: B-
Verdict: The not-as-pretty American cousin of "Love Actually."