Films in Focus!
With a few rare exceptions, movie sequels are usually disappointing. This is particularly true of summer releases, which often spend more time and effort on marketing campaigns than script development, resulting in effects-heavy, gimmicky movies aimed at the low-hanging fruit of summertime moviegoers -- those with a proven affinity for the original and a lot of free time.
It certainly seems like “Shrek Forever After,” the fourth in DreamWorks Animation’s ever-popular animated ogre series, meets most of these dismal prerequisites, except for one -- it’s just about as fun as the 2001 original. Though impossible to recreate the joy we felt when first encountering “Shrek’s” twisted take on familiar fairy tales, the latest installment comes close, recapturing what we loved about its characters -- Shrek’s reluctant niceness, Donkey’s overeager goofiness, Puss in Boots’ swashbuckling silliness -- and surrounding them with witty banter, pop culture references and kitschy musical interludes capable of keeping kids and adults equally entertained.
As the generally panned “Shrek the Third” (2007) proved, you can only keep a story fresh for so long. This time around, writers John Klausner and Darren Lemke use a little magic to take us back to the beginning -- when the beautiful Princess Fiona (Cameron Diaz), cursed with a spell that made her a part-time ogre, was locked away in a castle tower awaiting the man who could free her with “love’s true kiss.” By now, we know it was Shrek (Mike Myers) who fit the bill and, when the film opens, we see Shrek and Fiona enjoying a sickeningly sweet domestic life with three little ogres and an abundance of adoring friends, including Donkey (Eddie Murphy) and Puss in Boots (Antonio Banderas).
But Shrek’s Happily Ever After is short-lived. With the help of a clever, fast-paced montage, Shrek’s family life is hilariously transformed from domestic bliss to a tedious prison of repetition and boredom. Yes, Shrek is having a midlife crisis, and his momentary yearning for bachelorhood takes him not to a Ferrari salesman, but to Rumpelstiltskin (Walt Dohrn), a diminutive tyrant-in-waiting who convinces Shrek to sign a contract trading one day from his childhood for a family-free day of ogre mayhem. By the time he figures out the catch -- he’d inadvertently given away the day he was born -- it’s too late, and Shrek is stranded in a world where he never met (or rescued) Fiona and oppressed ogres are fighting an underground resistance against their mad dictator, Rumpelstiltskin.
When Shrek learns of a loophole in his contract -- the same “love’s true kiss” -- he sets out to find Fiona. Sounds easy enough, except Fiona, now leader of the ogre resistance, doesn’t know Shrek from any other green guy. And besides, she gave up on that true love nonsense about the same time she stopped waiting to be rescued and escaped from the castle tower herself.
As expected for most of this summer’s big releases, “Shrek Forever After” is in 3-D. While adding little to the experience beyond a small jolt of initial excitement from the kids in the audience, the added dimension avoids being a distraction.
In addition to the regular cast members, “Shrek Forever After” boasts an intriguing list of supporting voices from television hits, including Kathy Griffin (“My Life on the D List”), Jon Hamm (“Mad Men”), Jane Lynch (Sue Sylvester from “Glee”), even “Today’s” Meredith Vieira.
But whom are we kidding? This is Shrek’s show, and the final chapter (one assumes) is fresh, funny and, for once, a sequel worthy of summer blockbuster status.
“Shrek Forever After.” Rated: PG. Running time: 1 hour, 33 minutes. 3.5 stars.
‘Holy Rollers’ is Pure
Movie-Going Ecstasy
Films that heavily focus on drug consumption and trade tend to fall into one of two extremes: gritty or giddy. “Maria Full of Grace” was a dark but spellbinding picture of fragile youths being manipulated into becoming mules. It was an excellent work, but not one that lent itself to repeat viewings. Oppositely, “Dazed and Confused” was quirky and quotable, but ultimately -- pardon the pun -- a little dopey.
So mazel tov to “Holy Rollers,” a cinematic curio ripped from the late-’90s headlines about Hasidic Jews transporting millions of dollars worth of Ecstasy pills across the Atlantic. The film, directed deliciously by Kevin Asch, really nails mixing the gritty with the giddy.
Sam Gold (adorably awkward Jesse Eisenberg) is a pious 20-year-old mulling his future. His bustling family, led by his spunky father, Mendel (Mark Ivanir), is steering him toward becoming a rabbi and marrying into money. Sam finds the matchmaking process insufferable and becomes exasperated with his own poverty. Despite the unrelenting optimism of his temple buddy, Leon (Jason Fuchs), the Golds’ eldest son feels aimless.
Picking up on his wariness, Leon’s scamp of an older brother, Yosef (“The Hangover’s” Justin Bartha), lures Sam into becoming a drug transporter. The prospect of carrying “medicine” from Amsterdam to the United States intrigues the impressionable lad, so he and the reluctant Leon make the intercontinental trip thinking they’re doing a good deed. Yosef and dealer kingpin Jackie (Danny Abeckaser) instruct the young Hasids to “act Jewish” -- polite and unsuspicious -- while delivering the goods and navigating airport customs. Upon realizing their cargo are narcotics, Leon panics and bails, leaving Sam to dive alone into the underground world.
He doesn’t so much dive as fumble into the E scene. And he’s treated less like a mule and more like a puppy for the enjoyment of Jackie and his foxy girlfriend, Rachel (Ari Graynor). In her rolling delirium outside an Amsterdam club, she even marvels at how soft his overcoat is. She teases him with an ecstasy-laced lollipop, like he’s a dog unsure of whether he wants to try people food or not. And in this hellishly cold place, he begins to turn away from Hashem, his god.
From the ear-shattering rave vignettes to the quietude of his New York home, Sam disconnects from all around him, save for Rachel. It’s she who becomes a savior for him, until he wades too deep in the flood of danger engulfing him. Graynor does the “floozy with a heart of gold” quite well, and her chemistry with Eisenberg is a sweet refrain to the garishness of their lifestyle.
The screenplay of “Holy Rollers” is impressive in that it captures the reverie of two worlds that outsiders could dismiss as depressing. Scribe Antonio Macia gives us joyful and appreciative Orthodox Judaism in the incarnation of Mendel Gold. (Ivanir’s portrayal is a palatable banquet of emotions.) Likewise, though thuggish and paranoid at times, even hustler Yosef is presented in a gray-area light.
Humor and humility are the backbone of this story, and this seamless symbiosis is what makes this film stand out as one of the best of 2010.
“Holy Rollers.” Rated: R. Running time: 1 hour, 29 minutes. 4 stars.
No way were they going to put Russell Crowe in green tights.
Now that we’ve got that out of the way, rest assured that’s not the only liberty Ridley Scott and his band of merry men took with their reimagining of the legend of Robin Hood. They’ve swapped the pointy feathered hats and felts with chain mail, metal-militia adrenaline and sly sexual innuendo. And frankly, it works.
It is with the same gusto with which he created “Gladiator” that Scott retells the English myth. Everything feels more epic than the quaint-by-comparison swashbuckling Hood of Errol Flynn’s era.
This “Robin Hood” follows the evolution of the titular character from king’s army archer to vigilante scourge of Sherwood Forest. The plot is immediately plunked into the throes of war, as Richard the Lionheart (Danny Huston) and his warriors sack French strongholds. Robin Longstride, as he is originally known, proves his mettle with his bow, but puts his foot in his mouth when he admits to his highness that God won’t take kindly to the Crusades. Sent to the stocks, he fraternizes with Little John (Kevin Durand), Will Scarlet (Scott Grimes) and Allan A’Dayle (Alan Doyle), and they make a break for it once the battle goes awry.
From here, the story becomes needlessly hard to follow, with subplots flying as wildly as novice’s arrows. Robin and Co. oversee an ambush, where Sir Robert Loxley (Douglas Hodge) is slain, so they vow to return his ornately decorated sword to his father back in Nottingham. Meanwhile, England’s randy, bratty Prince John (Oscar Isaac) copes with inadequacy issues by bedding a French royal (Lea Seydoux) and squabbling with the Queen Mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine (Eileen Atkins). The prince’s associate Godfrey (Mark Strong) plays both sides of the British/Norman dispute. And the historically reviled Sheriff of Nottingham? He’s but a mere afterthought in this busy adaptation. (Even actor Matthew Macfadyen looks distraught over his diminished role.)
Most of the story is grounded in Nottingham, however, as Robin makes good on his word and brings back Sir Robert’s weapon to Papa Loxley (Max von Sydow), a blind spitfire of a man. He urges his newly widowed daughter-in-law, Maid Marion (Cate Blanchett), to present Robin as her fallen husband, so as not to upset the simpletons in town. She protests, Crowe employs his best swarthy-guy seduction tactics, and inevitably, a spark ignites. All this while Godfrey goes rogue and lays siege to the common folk.
Whether it was the intention of writers Brian Helgeland, Ethan Reiff and Cyrus Voris to evoke a “Lord of the Rings” vibe is unknown, but for a hero typically known for donning shapely jade fashion, the makeover is beneficial. It’s not just arrows Robin and his mates are slinging; they’re outfitted with hammers and brute strength. Durand is especially game as the self-proclaimed “proportionate” giant Little John, hoisting lesser men over his shoulders and bringing a genuine merriment to a sometimes-dark film. And there’s much to be applauded for Blanchett’s Eowyn-esque Marion, now framed as a commander in her own right.
Outside of some blatant “it’s cool to hate the French again!” follies, Scott’s “Robin Hood” is a resilient, timely take on a familiar tome.
“Robin Hood.” Rated: PG-13. Running time: 2 hours, 20 minutes. 3 stars.
It’s easy to assume a movie called “Babies,” that truly is about babies, would be, OMG, the cutest thing ever.
And it is. The new documentary that follows the first year of four different babies’ lives is definitely the kind of cute that makes your heart all warm inside.
For 79 minutes, there are nonstop images of infants in Namibia, Mongolia, Japan and the United States sleeping, eating, crying, crawling, playing with toys and having tantrums. Cute overload, indeed.
But the film, directed by Thomas Balmes, is about a lot more than mashed bananas and play dates. Without the use of narration or even much dialogue, “Babies” manages to tell a bigger story of family, society and the world.
Right away we’re introduced to the little stars: Ponijao from Opuwo, Namibia; Mari from Tokyo; Bayar from Bayanchandmani, Mongolia; and Hattie from San Francisco.
Each baby is vastly different from the other. Ponijao, perhaps the most engaging of the bunch, keeps herself entertained with the flies, rocks and fellow kids in her village. Bayar’s playmates are cows, goats and a jealous 2-year-old brother. Hattie and Mari have rooms full of toys and attend scheduled playtimes.
Each home -- whether it’s a beautiful hut in Mongolia or a bohemian San Francisco flat -- is representative of a culture. Yet in such different settings, the babies all experience the same things. They sleep. They learn to sit, then crawl. Eventually they all learn how to walk, too.
It’s never explained how or why the babies or the countries were chosen for the film. Though you can speculate that the visual contrast between a child born in Namibia’s Himba tribe and a baby living in an ultramodern Japanese high-rise is reason enough.
And, as Balmes keeps the cameras focused on his tiny stars, the movie feels like a National Geographic take on the subject. Unlike “March of the Penguins,” a documentary in which penguins were given human characteristics thanks to the narration of Morgan Freeman, the babies in this movie are the ones who are more like mysterious creatures.
Everything is shot from their perspective. If the baby is at a large dinner table, you don’t see family members or food. Instead, you see how the baby reacts to it all. If the infants are nursing, you see breasts, not faces.
Sometimes this can be infuriating. In one scene where Bayar’s family comes over for a traditional Mongolian ceremony, it would be nice to have a wider shot so we could see some details. Like what are they wearing? What are they eating? What are they even doing? Those things aren’t addressed or answered.
There are also many times when Bayar, whose parents are herders, seems to be on the verge of getting knocked over by large animals. And at one point, Mari seems to be alone in a giant park. A quick shot of a parent nearby would help paint a clearer picture.
“Babies” doesn’t give an accurate portrayal of a baby’s life, either. It glosses over or completely ignores things like midnight feedings and never-ending crying fits.
But who wants to watch that, anyway?
Instead, and thanks to four unique families, we get a movie that’s both fascinating and educational. All while being ridiculously cute.
“Babies.” Rated: PG. Running time: 1 hour, 19 minutes. 3 stars.
In these days of Paris, Perez and paparazzi, fame has become the pop-culture equivalent of the penny. With so much of it lying around, how can it be worth anything?
Which is why the new remake of 1980’s “Fame” could have been an entertainment gold mine. What better way to snatch fame from the grubby hands of the Kardashians than with a film about a bunch of fresh-faced kids who live for their art?
Maybe someone will make that film someday. But this “Fame” reboot isn’t it.
When the original version was released in May of 1980, the personal and artistic adventures of a bunch of singing and dancing students from New York’s High School for the Performing Arts seemed both sweetly old-fashioned and terribly exotic.
With the “Let’s put on a show” days of Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney long gone, and the “Everyone’s a star” days of YouTube and reality TV many moons away, the idea that teenagers could write songs and craft stand-up comedy routines and sacrifice everything for that big break was a stirring and beautiful thing.
Written by the late Christopher Gore (who died in 1988) and directed by Alan Parker (who went on to do “Mississippi Burning,” “The Commitments” and “Evita”), the original “Fame” also dealt with the painful, grubby side of show business. Dreams were dashed, youthful ambition was exploited and innocence was lost.
But that was then. What about now? How do you re-imagine “Fame” for a world where Taylor Swift has been cranking out radio hits since she was 17, Disney’s “High School Musical” and Fox TV’s new “Glee” have turned musical-theater nerds into geek-chic role models, and anyone can be famous for doing pretty much anything?
In the case of the underwhelming new “Fame,” the idea seems to do nothing and hope nobody notices.
Using the original as both a template and a crutch, first-time film director Kevin Tancharoen and screenwriter Allison Burnett (“Resurrecting the Champ”) have created a remake that brings nothing new to the table and takes away many of the goodies that were already there.
In the kinetic early scenes, it feels like the new “Fame” team might be on to something. Like the ‘80s version, this one is divided into chapters that mimic performing-arts school life. The first section is devoted to the auditions, in which a cast of many hundreds is whittled down to the lucky members of the new freshman class.
Using extreme close-ups, screenwriting shorthand and jittery camera moves, the audition chapter shows us the drive, dedication and talent a kid needs to make it in a place like this.
And as the aspiring dancers leap and the actors sweat and the percussionists pound away, you can see how the film could make its mark. By emphasizing skill and talent, this remake could reclaim fame for the people who work for it, leaving infamy for the lazy, the crazy and cast of “The Hills.”
Then the film moves into the freshman year, and all that promise drifts away. While the original focused on a small handful of characters -- including Coco, the ambitious singer played by Irene Cara -- the remake gives us a small army of anonymous pretty faces, then does nothing to help us tell the players apart.
Jenny (Kay Panabaker) is an aspiring actress who starts out shy and repressed and stays that way. Denise (Naturi Naughton) is a straight-laced pianist with a gift for R&B singing. Malik (Collins Pennie) is a streetwise kid with a tragic story and a burning desire to act or be a rapper. Marco (Asher Book) is a natural-born performer who grew up singing in his family’s restaurant.
There is also a peppy Asian-American girl, a hyperactive kid who wants to be a director, and an aspiring ballet dancer from Iowa who drops his partner during his freshman year, then disappears for the next two-thirds of the film.
As the film moves toward graduation, somebody gets a job on “Sesame Street,” somebody else has a close call with the casting couch, and someone you don’t really remember will turn out to have a sad lack of talent.
Does any of this impact our students on a personal or artistic level? With only the charismatic Naughton, Pennie and Book getting any real time in the spotlight, we’ll never know. Will any of it move audiences? With look-alike characters coming and going in such weird, random ways, probably not.
“Fame! I’m gonna live forever,” Cara sang in the original theme song. With new crops of talented young people popping up with each season of “American Idol” and “So You Think You Can Dance,” the new “Fame” will be lucky if anyone is still thinking about it next week.
“Fame.” Rated: PG. Running time: 1 hour, 47 minutes. 1.5 stars.
There will be mud.
Any film director tackling Woodstock, the epic 1969 rock music festival that changed popular culture for decades to come, must address the vast expanse of mud that defined this rain-drenched event as much as its budding rock gods musical soundtrack.
Ang Lee embraces the mud head-on in “Taking Woodstock,” his lovingly crafted but uneven cinematic valentine to a festival billed as “3 days of Peace & Music.” He vibrantly depicts the freewheeling young people who walked, fell and ultimately cavorted in the upstate New York mud of Woodstock, transforming what could have been a losing battle with the elements into a primordial triumph of infectious joy.
But when it comes to the music, the enormously gifted creator of such magical films as 2001’s “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon” and 2006’s “Brokeback Mountain” (both Academy Award-winners) ill-advisedly attempts a major disappearing act.
The bands and solo artists who fueled Woodstock -- including Santana, The Who and such soon-to-be-deceased young legends as Jim Hendrix and Janis Joplin -- are nowhere to be seen in “Taking Woodstock.” Neither is the stage, except in fleeting scenes with the film’s main character, a young Manhattan interior designer named Elliott Tiber. More about him in a moment.
One can understand if Lee didn’t want to have pale cover bands lamely attempt to replicate Woodstock’s career-making performances. But with a $30 million budget, he surely could have acquired rights to some of the original performance clips from the Oscar-winning 1970 “Woodstock” film documentary. Given how expertly he captures the look and feel of the festival, in scenes small and eye-poppingly large, downplaying the music seems like a major miscalculation.
Attentive filmgoers will hear snippets of songs -- a little Grateful Dead here, some Country Joe (minus The Fish) there, and a good portion of Canned Heat’s “Going Up the Country,” which served as the theme song in the 1970 “Woodstock” documentary. But in “Taking Woodstock” they are used as background music at an event that could not have sustained its “peace and love” ethos, or drawn an audience of 500,000, without the generation-defining rock, soul, blues and folk that helped unify so many at the time.
Instead, Lee mostly presents a behind-the-scenes story about Elliot and his elderly parents (played by Henry Goodman and Imelda Staunton, whose overwrought, Jewish-mother character is so exaggerated she almost transcends parody).
Elliot is a closeted young gay man who inadvertently became a savior for the real Woodstock festival. He helped locate a last-minute site for the event, provided a crucial performance permit and offered his family’s dilapidated Catskill Mountains motel as a makeshift production headquarters.
Played with way too much nonchalance by veteran comedian Demetri Martin, Elliot drifts in and out of scenes as if channeling an uber-laid-back version of Dustin Hoffman from the 1967 film “The Graduate.”
Given that Lee directed “Brokeback Mountain,” in which the late Heath Ledger’s nuanced, Oscar-nominated character had similar repressed traits, it’s reasonable to expect depth and empathy. Yet, even though Elliot is changed by the beautiful chaos around him, Martin’s wooden portrayal drags the film down, and not just through the mud.
Far more intriguing are Liev Schreiber as a cross-dressing ex-Marine named Vilma and Emile Hirsch as a traumatized young Vietnam War veteran. Other fine actors, including Eugene Levy, Jonathan Groff and Mamie Gummer, shine despite their underwritten roles.
The film’s comic highlights are provided by the Earthlight Players, an avant-garde theater troupe whose hyperactive updating of Chekov is 1969 pitch-perfect. Less winning is a swirling, somewhat sappy acid-trip sequence, set in what may be the largest interior of a VW van in film history.
Like much of Lee’s previous works, “Taking Woodstock” is visually stunning: the bright, heavenly blue sky; the pretty young hippies and down-to-earth townspeople; the rundown motel where much of the action takes place; the slick, brown mud. But the film’s story rings as off-key as the absence of the music that could have elevated it.
“Taking Woodstock.” Rated: R. Running time: 2 hours. 2 stars.
