Finally, a 4-star movie; Potter death march

Ryan Gosling in "Drive"

As much as I enjoyed certain summer fare like "Rise of the Planet of the Apes" and "Captain America," this summer's been something of a slog. But Nicolas Winding Refn's "Drive," which I reviewed this week, took me on one hell of a ride. 


"Drive" isn't just entertainment, it's art. Rarely do the two worlds collide, but Refn's managed it here. It's been years since a film left me buzzing with such excitement and, with a 94% Rotten Tomato rating, I'm clearly not alone. I admit that at least 1/4 of my 4 stars (out of 5) are attributable to lust for Ryan Gosling (on top of his tremendous performance). But even the male critics I talked to have admitted having a "man crush" after seeing this film. James Franco, you have been demoted -- big time.

I also must acknowledge a major milestone in my film watching life. As of Labor Day, I have seen all the Harry Potter movies, thanks to the persistence of the Sobering Conclusion's Ian Forbes, who had me on a Harry Potter DVD Death March of sorts during the month of August. The goal? To catch the final installment on the big screen. With a "Deathly Hallows" double feature on Labor Day, I can now say I accomplished something this summer.


I have to admit, I was a little disappointed. Not by the series (though the first two were enough to turn me off entirely, until Ian made his case), but by the indifference of the AMC lobby as we exited the theater having concluded the mission. I'm not sure what I was expecting --balloons, a round of applause, a tasteful awards ceremony--but a desolate lobby on a dark, rainy night just wasn't cutting it. 


What I most enjoyed about the films was how they matured along with the characters and, presumably, the young audience as well. Until Ian inflicted his obsession on me, I'd only read the first book and seen the corresponding movie. While I appreciated the world J.K. Rowling created, I concluded it was one mostly for children. But children grow up and the films (and I've been told the books) take that often difficult journey right along with them in subject matter and tone. While the third film, directed by Alfonso Cuarón, is easily the best of the bunch, I appreciated how each successive film reflected the emotional phases these kids - and I imagine most kids- are going through: facing adult responsibility, isolation, puberty, sexuality, pure silliness. 


While I didn't walk away with any new obsessions (Ryan Gosling wasn't in any of the films, after all), I'm glad I checked this off my list -- even if I am a few years behind the curve.

Celebrity Crush: Chris Evans as Captain America

Here's what I didn't say in my 3-star review of "Captain America: The First Avenger."

Hubba-hubba.

I know. It's a dorky, old-fashioned way to ogle a member of the opposite sex (or same sex, if that works better for you). But it seems entirely appropriate for a movie that takes place in an era when words like "dame" and "gams" are being thrown about.

It's also a reflection of how articulate I felt when I first saw Chris Evans emerge from the experimental sarcophagus as Captain America. OK, OK, he's shirtless in the scene, which is entirely designed to make the women in the audience (and in the scene) swoon, and the men re-up their gym memberships.

But as the film marches on and Evans remains clothed and presumably virginal, he only gets more breathtaking. Or maybe I just like a man in uniform (not the one that involves tights, though he carries that off pretty well too).

Tease Me More, Tell Me Less

We usually don't see previews at advance screenings and I'm usually thankful for it. I generally avoid them, preferring instead to see a movie as close to "cold" as possible in an attempt to avoid any preconceived notions before the lights go down.

But this week's screening of "Hangover 2" (review out on Friday) presented us with two appropriate previews for upcoming comedies "Horrible Bosses" and "Crazy, Stupid, Love." The crafting of an effective preview is an art in and of itself -- at least in the realm of marketing--and these two trailers managed to convince me I should see the movies within the first 45 seconds. Job well done, if only they'd stopped there.

Although the premise of "Horrible Bosses" (premeditated triple homicide) is hard to stomach as comedic fodder, the cast alone could make this movie a winner: Jason Bateman, Jason Sudeikis, Charlie Day, Kevin Spacey returning to his unbeatable "Swimming with Sharks" roots,  a sadistically sexy Jennifer Aniston and, what really wowed me, a nearly unrecognizable Colin Farrell as a smarmy, balding boss.

Enough said as far as I'm concerned. So why, oh why, did it KEEP ON GOING, revealing just about every plot turn and punchline? On its own, it was a fantastic preview; it got me laughing, kept my attention and made me want to tell my friends about it. But what I don't feel like doing is rushing to the theater to see it. Why would I? I already got the gist in the damn preview.

"Crazy, Stupid, Love" went even further, basically storyboarding the entire will they/won't they relationship between Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone. I adore Gosling and am chomping at the bit to see him in a comedic role. And Stone is quickly moving to the top of my list for the everygirl charm that makes her so much more appealing than the cookie-cutter starlets vying for our attention (does anyone else think she stepped right in where the young "Mean Girls"-era Lindsay Lohan should have gone had her parents not turned her in to an unstable addict? Well, I do.)  While I'm still eager to see the movie (it's hard for me to say no to anything with Gosling, or Franco for that matter), I'm resentful that I already know too much.

Perhaps we could just save everyone the trouble and just produce previews instead of full-length feature films? They'd certainly play better online and are probably more appropriate for the youthful attention spans of Hollywood's target market.

Hardly a new complaint, I know. But hey, it's my job to spout opinions.

Watch the previews if you dare. And if you do, tell me what YOU think....

The Greatest Movie Ever Sold: Review (2 1/2 stars), Interview with Morgan Spurlock

I've never been one for approaching celebrities I encounter "in the wild." I mean, really --what could I possibly say to them that would make me any different than some other slobbering fan? "I like your movies." Duh. "You were really good in X." Double duh.

When it comes to interviewing them, it's not even a question. We're both there to do a job. Get in, ask your questions, get your answers, get on with your day.

But when it came time for me to interview filmmaker Morgan Spurlock about his new documentary "POM Wonderful Presents: The Greatest Movie Ever Sold," I threw my point-and-shoot camera in my purse alongside my notepad and had no problem asking for a snapshot of the two of us post-interview.

Why? Well, of course I'm a fan. How can you not be? He's charming, clever, and willing to challenge mainstream thinking. I loved "Super Size Me" but was an even bigger fan of his TV series "30 Days." If this was my only motivation, I'd still keep my mouth shut and go about my business asking questions and trying to get him to say something, anything, he hasn't already said in the countless interviews he's done over the last month.

The reason I happily packed my camera and captured this poolside snapshot? The logo-covered suit of course. He's a walking billboard--and an extremely enthusiastic one at that--and what kind of billboard asks you to respect its privacy?

Here's my interview with Spurlock about his very meta experiment in making a documentary about marketing and advertising by funding his entire film with marketing and advertising. And then find out what I thought the film in my review, out today.

And by all means, go out and enjoy an ice cold glass of anti-oxidant rich POM Wonderful, would ya?

"Hanna": Review (3 stars) and Interview with Director Joe Wright

I wasn't expecting much for my interview with "Hanna" director Joe Wright. Not only was he almost 30 minutes late (a radio interview ran long), but he was clearly exhausted by the time he shook my hand and collapsed onto his chair.

But even through the exhaustion (a one-month old baby and a hefty promotion schedule are the likely culprits), the British director impressed me with his clarity of vision, passion and--most of all--feminist perspective. Not to mention the easy job I had of transcribing the interview due to his British mannerisms full of polite qualifiers and other Hugh Grant-ish verbal fillers. 

Photo: San Diego Union-Tribune/Peggy Peattie

You can read my interview with Wright here. I think you'll be impressed with him too. (I was even more pleased when Wright went public with his criticism of the portrayal of women in the marketing campaign for Zack Snyder's "Sucker Punch," a movie I simply refused to see for that very same reason.)

Then read my review of "Hanna," Wright's fairy tale action movie starring his teenage muse Saoirse Ronan (the Oscar nominated young star from "Atonement").

I also caught "Your Highness" this week, hoping for a much needed laugh. I got a few but not nearly as many as I expected (I could count the seconds in every scene where opportunities for humor were missed). Still, you won't hear too much complaining from me when James Franco and Natalie Portman are on screen - even when they're sharing that screen time with a graphic depiction of minotaur penis. Yes, you read that right. Minotaur penis.

Enjoy your weekend!

"Win Win" interview, review (3 stars); Source Code (2 1/2 stars)

The last two weeks have been jampacked with press tours and I'm heading out the door for yet another, this time with Morgan Spurlock, director of the new doc "Pom Wonderful Presents: The Greatest Movie Ever Sold." That story will run April 22, along with my review of the film.

But in today's paper is my interview with writer/director Tom McCarthy and the teenage wrestler, Alex Shaffer, who stars alongside Paul Giamatti in the new film "Win Win."  Both were a delight to interview and I was struck by the relationship between the novice actor and the director--also a working actor who's known for being tough on his performers. Read the full story here and my review of the film here.

I also reviewed "Source Code" this week, the new Duncan Jones-directed film starring one of my celebrity crushes, Jake Gyllenhaal. Read my review here.

Next week, my interview with "Hanna" director, Joe Wright.

Happy weekend!

Reviews: Jane Eyre (3 stars); I Am (2 1/2 stars)

If you're as emotionally beaten up as I am by the happenings in the world over the last week -- the disaster in Japan, the House's anti-NPR bill, the draconian cuts to education and social programs in California (including my full-time employer UC), and more I can't bring myself to think of -- then the two films I reviewed this week might serve you well.

The dreamy Michael Fassbender as
Edward Rochester in "Jane Eyre"

First, find comfort in the familiar with the umpteenth film adaptation of "Jane Eyre." With so much unforeseen devastation in real life, sometimes it's nice to know exactly who is hidden in the attic. But still, director Cary Fukunaga's version stands on its own and is certainly worth a trip to the theater (Michael Fassbender's jawline alone is worth the price of admission). My full review here.

Director Tom Shadyac (left) and
Archbishop Desmond Tutu in "I Am"

If you're feeling lost, ashamed of the direction this country is taking, or just in the mood to reflect on the bigger themes of life, there's Tom Shadyac's philosophical treatise of a documentary, "I Am." It's not the best or deepest bit of filmmaking I've seen, but the "kumbayah" ideas he brings to the table go down as easy as mom's homemade chicken soup during times such as these. My review here.

Whatever it is you do this weekend, make it a safe and peaceful one.

Oh, Oscar.....

Could it possibly be almost over? --oops.. I mean, almost here? I'm talking about the Oscars of course and, well, I've been sick of them since early November. Not that I haven't enjoyed the stacks of screeners that appeared in Fed Ex packages on my doorstep every afternoon or the....well, that's pretty much all I've enjoyed.

But as someone that actually gets paid to write about movies (a rarity these days), I mustered up some enthusiasm and spouted and speculated along with the rest of 'em, as you'll see in my expanded "No Brainer," "Educated Guess," and "Head-Scratcher" picks from today's paper. (Here's hoping I get my predictions for all of the categories posted before the ceremony starts on Sunday evening!)

It wasn't always this way. In fact, I was obsessed with everything Hollywood all the way into my mid 20s when I actually lived there and became a part of it--albeit a miniscule part that had me making reservations for power lunches instead of actually attending them.

The thrill of celebrity lasted for a year or two but, when I got a job as a junior publicist, I finally discovered that the emperor had no clothes. In my mind, those glossy magazines with movie stars on the cover became nothing but negotiations. All those awards shows were just pageants designed to sell movie tickets and toothpaste during commercials. And everyone was in on it. The magic was gone.

In the dozen or so years since this disillusionment, I've been able to find a middle ground. A place where I can love film, follow industry trends and manage to keep my dignity. But I still have a problem with the whole concept of picking one film as a "winner" over another. How can something as subjective as art "beat" another piece of art in a contest, let alone one with as many arbitrary rules, restrictions and barriers to entry as the Academy Awards? And yes, film is art (or it should aspire to be at least).

As a critic I find the whole thing ridiculous.

As a woman with a borderline disturbing celebrity crush on James Franco, Sunday night is gonna be awesome.

Review: Unknown (2 1/2 stars); Cedar Rapids (3 stars)

Maybe it's the February doldrums at the cineplex, or maybe I just have a soft spot for Liam Neeson, but I found "Unknown" to be entirely satisfactory. Believe me, that exceeded my expectations. If you've seen all the Best Picture nominations and are sick of staying home to watch Netflix streaming (you don't still have cable do you?), then it could be worth checking out for some popcorn-munching fun. At the very least, you'll finally know whether or not January Jones can act in a role besides that of spoiled brat Betty Draper. Or you can just find out by reading my full review.

I also caught "Cedar Rapids" last night, a film starring Ed Helms ("The Hangover," NBC's "The Office") as a naive, small-town insurance agent on his first trip to the "big city" for a convention. The film received mixed reviews at Sundance this year and, for the first half of the film, I could see why. Helms is adorably pathetic in a way that makes you shake your head and smile (if in a condescending, "big city" way), but the well-worn stereotype doesn't exactly make you laugh out loud.

But the movie's sweet-with-a-coating-of-vulgarity sensibility starts to gel by the time Helms settles in to Cedar Rapids and gets a rhythm going with his fellow conventioneers, played by an outrageous sad-sacky John C. Reilly (always good), a straight arrow Isiah Whitlock Jr. (known primarily for his "sheeeeeettt"-spewing corrupt state senator from HBO's "The Wire," a source for several jokes in the film), and an unexpected, red-headed Anne Heche in a role that hopefully means a comeback. As the group romps around the hotel on scavenger hunts, late-night swims in the indoor pool, and trips to the hotel bar,  Helm's shiny-happy view of the world gets stripped away and takes him to some dark places. Sad for him, but mostly enjoyable for us. And his crisis creates a bond between his new-found friends that makes for some aww-shucks sweetness, if not some genuine ruminations on the nature of true friendship.

As my friend said upon exiting the theater last night, that movie was NTS--Not Too Shabby. Yes, she stole that from the movie, but it's all too appropriate.

Review: 127 Hours

No, I didn't review the new Harry Potter movie -- by choice, thank you very much. I figure it will get plenty of coverage by more qualified people who have actually read the books and seen the previous films. I mean really, is anyone going to go see it if  they haven't?

Instead, I opted for the man who needs no first name (at least in my book), Franco in "127 Hours." Though my (edited for space) review is in the print edition of the Union-Tribune today (11/19), it has yet to be posted online (this happens every week, much to my disappointment). So while I wait for them to put it up, I thought I'd share it here, complete with the final paragraph, which urges you to get over the fainting stories and just go see the damn thing. Here you go...

"127 Hours"
Rated: R
Running Time: 1 hour, 33 minutes
3 ½ stars

When outdoor adventurer Aron Ralston emerged from a Utah canyon with one arm and an inspiring --though gruesome--story of survival, many of us took a moment to consider how we would’ve responded in the same situation.  Could I cut off my own arm if it meant saving my life? Just how strong is my will to live?

Here’s what most of us didn’t think: Wow, that would make a terrific movie.

And that’s why most of us aren’t Danny Boyle, the British filmmaker known for taking chances and making movies that at first might seem unpalatable: the highs and lows of the junkie lifestyle (“Trainspotting”), a country overtaken by infected “zombies” (“28 Days Later”), and the injustice of India’s slums in the Oscar-winning crowd pleaser, “Slumdog Millionaire.”  With his latest release, "127 Hours," Boyle takes us deep inside a remote sliver of canyon, where Ralston (James Franco) is trapped, his forearm pinned beneath a massive boulder—and no one coming to the rescue.

Before the fall that made him famous, Ralston is introduced in a mad rush to escape. What exactly is he escaping? Normal life. The daily commute. The rate race. All shown to us in split screen as Ralston tears through his apartment, ignoring phone calls from his family and hastily packing for his weekly solo adventure into the wild.

But once he gets there, he’s hardly the picture of serenity. In fact, he’s whipped into his own frenzy of stubborn individuality, risk-taking and, as he demonstrates when he crosses paths with a pair of female hikers (Kate Mara, Amber Tamblyn), exhilarating cockiness – all of which slams to a halt with one unfortunately placed rock.

Ralston may be pinned in one spot, but Boyle’s camera is anything but, taking us to every place a frantic mind could wander while under such strain: sloshing inside a water bottle as its contents recede, through the lens of the camera Ralston uses to record his desperate thoughts, inside abstract patches of Ralston’s memory-- even under the skin of the doomed arm as his blunt knife cuts its way through.

But Franco is the vehicle that makes "127 Hours" more than just an exercise in claustrophobic endurance. As he’s proven with his oddly ambitious forays into everything from advanced Ivy League degrees to an experimental stint on a soap opera, Franco shows an unbridled willingness to play along and break new ground. And the fact that he
makes this Oscar-worthy performance look so easy, has you wondering what this modern Renaissance man can’t do.

And now the inevitable topic -- the self-amputation, which has led to a few reported cases of audience members fainting. Yes, it is a painful scene to watch, thanks to Franco’s courageous performance and Boyle’s superb assemblage of images and sound (I still can’t shake the nails-on-a-chalkboard chord that struck as Ralston sliced through the arm’s primary nerve).

But the scene is more than just a headline-grabbing gimmick. By the time Ralston arrives at this decision, he’s faced the personal failures that led him to this isolated place. They aren’t grand mistakes, just the small slights we all are guilty of, yet rarely get the chance to meditate upon—let alone rectify. 


But Ralston does get the chance, and by the time we get to the cutting, it feels less like a horrific choice than one more stubborn obstacle to overcome before he can begin life anew. If it were possible, I would’ve ripped the appendage off for him myself.

"Catfish" Bait

I was absolutely enthralled by "Catfish." And I hate myself a little for it.

(I wasn't able to review the film. If you want a summary and "real" review, check out Christy Lemire's  here; )

I've heard complaints about it being exploitative or perhaps disingenuous. I definitely felt those moments and came really close to agreeing a few times. But just when I was about to proclaim the film entirely frivolous and in bad taste, that damn Nev Schulman would do something sweet, or say something adorably charming, or just smile that smile and, well, I was back in it like a pre-teen with an embarrassing crush.

See why I hate myself?


I'm 37. That's not really old (if it is, don't tell me). But in the eyes of an early 20s hipster kid, I'm just some irrelevant 40-year-old or, at best, a cougar (a term I loathe). But I am young enough to relate. To remember when life felt like just one clever joke: fresh out of college with some artsy degree, living in New York City with time to waste, and the absolute certainty that what you and your friends do is interesting enough to document on video at all times.


Just thinking of myself at this age makes the hate grow just a little more. Sort of that "If I knew then what I know now...." thing. But if I did actually know then what I know now, would I  have done something like what these guys did: produce and sell a buzzworthy documentary that's complex in tone, asks relevant questions of a modern lifestyle, and is more suspenseful and entertaining than most fictional films I've seen this year?

Of course, I was also living below the poverty level when I was wandering the streets of Manhattan--something I'm pretty sure this group of guys, with their expensive camera equipment, NYC office (in addition to apartments, I presume), can't claim for themselves. Hence the fruitlessness of regret.


But I hate myself the most because I walked out of that theater with a dizzy-headed crush on a 24-year-old "reality movie" pretty boy just because he showed admirable courage (especially while his filmmaker brother tried to wimp out), followed by an unfathomable amount of compassion in how he handled the fallout. 

Was I entirely duped into believing that Nev actually is all of those wonderful things? After all, a film--any film-- is just a carefully selected and edited set of scenes, usually staged in some way or another. Just because it's called a "documentary," doesn't mean any of the characters' I met were being real. (Uh, "I'm Still Here" anyone?) But it sure is a lot more fun to believe a fantasy than pick apart the lies.

I guess I'm a lot like Nev. After all, he was willing to believe that there really are sweet, sexy, artistic, property-owning, flexible young women living on rural Michigan horse farms, out of reach from any man even close to his league.


Guess we all have reasons to hate ourselves a little. But you should see "Catfish" anyway.