The cast getting Mooned.

…and we thought ARMAGEDDON was devoid of science.

MOONFALL is Roland Emmerich’s latest disaster– I mean, disaster movie. This movie has less science in it than THE CORE. And THE CORE has NO science in it.

The Moon de-orbits toward Earth, and only a conspiracy theorist can save the day! Thanks for giving conspiracy asshats a platform, Roland!

John Bradley is the conspiracy nut, KC, whose wildest theories about the Moon being a megastructure built by aliens are proven true, as he garbles his nonsense at astronauts Brian (Patrick Wilson) and Jo (Halle Berry), who apparently are the only two astronauts who can perform this mission – even though Brian was dishonorably discharged from NASA and Jo is a NASA director! See, now that’s how you write Drama, kids – send people who are damaged and unqualified to do your technical tasks.

The nutcase plot continues, as a renegade A.I. within the Moon has disrupted its orbital trajectory, and must be stopped by doing something-something McGuffin bomb switch. So Brian, Jo and KC Nutjob commission an old, disused Space Shuttle and fly up there (because you can do that in times of Moon de-orbits).

Okay, let’s accept the hollow Moon (which is a Dyson Sphere built around a white dwarf star—which is a physics impossibility within a body the size of the Moon, but I said we’d accept it, so let’s move on with our suspension of disbelief hanging by a cat-hair) – but then story elements don’t make sense even within the established rules of the movie: for example, the renegade A.I. (which is simply one of those overdone CGI ‘bot swarms) is drawn to electronics and tech equipment, so Brian smashes the McGuffin switch with which they were going to blow it up, to stop the A.I. swarm from tracking them… but what about the spaceship they’re in that is FILLED WITH ELECTRONICS?! Later, that McGuffin bomb switch is just fully reconstructed and functioning again, with no threat of the A.I. following them because – we’re on page 85 of the script and need to wrap this in 5. No one fixed it. It was just there ready to go. Fixed presumably by some GOOD Moon Aliens. And then these Good Moon Aliens fix the astronauts’ malfunctioning ship. And that’s another thing–

When their only form of transport is destroyed, the three astronauts are ostensibly stranded inside the Moon forever. But they don’t seem all that broken up. And soon their ship is simply magicked back into perfect shape by the Good Moon Aliens. Which begs the question: Why can’t the Good Moonies simply magick the bad A.I. off their megastructure? Too much to ask of magic who cares fuck you?

Just one scene tells us all we need to know about the stellar level of STUPID displayed by co-writer/director Emmerich, once again, going against the very rules he cites. Someone at NASA mentions the Moon’s shrinking orbit will soon be at the Roche Limit, which is the minimum distance a satellite can approach its primary body before being torn apart by tidal forces. They state the limit as 17,000 kilometers (Dr. Becky Smethurst actually works out the math to prove this is an incorrect distance, but let’s say it’s correct for the sake of this argument). Then the Moon starts scraping the tops of skyscrapers – well within 17,000 kilometers, wouldn’t you say? – and retains its spherical shape, not affected in the least by the physics forces of the Roche Limit that should be tearing it into a ring of rocks around Earth (like Saturn). Which proves they only cited Roche because it sounded science-y, not because they knew what it was. Like George Lucas making Han say, “It made the Kessel Run in less than 12 parsecs” not having the slightest idea what a parsec is.

And if the Moon is so close it’s grabbing up schoolkids and buses and lakes, it should just SLAM into Earth at that point, gravitationally drawn to the Earth-Moon barycenter (the center of mass that both bodies are orbiting, a point in the Earth-Moon system that is inside the Earth). Nope. Just children holding onto lampposts to avoid being lifted off the ground like the surrounding semi-trailers and cows. I think Roland Emmerich has confused the Moon with a twister.

When KC sacrifices his life to blow up the renegade A.I. not only are we pummeled with a “christian” ending (where he meets his dead mother and they start their new “life” housekeeping the Moon), but the Moon also floats back up into space, like some kind of helium balloon. Does ANYONE on this production, which obviously has no Science Advisor, have the slightest clue on the staggering amount of energy required to drive the Moon back into its original orbit? Nothing short of a star exploding on the Earth’s surface would give the Moon the required escape velocity… Einstein spinning in his grave after giving us E=mc2, only to have it spat in his face with horrific, bloated, ignoramus pigslop like MOONFALL.

The human interest stories are cringe-able – featuring Charlie Plummer, Michael Peña and Donald Sutherland, to name a few of the actors Roland conned into this movie – the equivalent of watching humans run between Godzilla’s feet as he battles another daikaiju. Inconsequential to two planetary bodies on a collision course, yet, like the idiotic practice of astrology, or the pseudo-science ravings of conspiracy nutjobs, the filmmakers try to con we viewers into believing that planetary orbits actually DO revolve around the insect destinies of humans after all.

Soundtrack is by Thomas Wanker. Yup, that’s about right.

END

Riches and Redemption on the Cocaine Superhighway.

Family’s the most important thing. Don’t do what I did. I put work in front of family. I thought it was more important to be somebody out there, than the failure I was in my own home. I was a terrible father, a terrible husband. I blew my chance. I didn’t deserve forgiveness. This is the last one, so help me God, this is the last one.
— Clint Eastwood, THE MULE trailer.

Underneath the story of the 90-year-old mule for a Mexican drug cartel, is the story of a man filled with regret, trying to reconcile with his estranged family; THE MULE is the story of how that man managed to land back in their good graces, before it was too late.

By becoming a drug mule.

Uh, well, when you put it that way, he’s still not a good man. Just a richer one, who could afford to be a better person.

88-year-old Clint Eastwood is day-lily breeder Earl Stone, a cantankerous 80-year-old Korean War vet, a legend on the competitive day-lily circuit (as silly as I know that sounds – yet there are worlds out there that we will never know exist, fully-formed and spinning in their own universes. For the record, a “day-lily” is a plant whose flowers bloom for one day only). We meet Earl winning a flower competition, while his daughter (played by Clint’s real life daughter Alison Eastwood) is getting married, the family wondering whether Earl will show up, his ex-wife Mary (Diane Weist), resigned to the fact that he won’t. Over a beer with pals after the competition, we see in Earl’s eyes that he remembers the occasion, but chooses to stay at the bar…

10 Years Later…

Forced into foreclosure due to the internet sucking away his Illinois flower business (which he promoted only with brochures and word of mouth), Earl desperately accepts a driving job offered to him by a young stranger, that promises quick cash.

So begins Earl’s life as a drug mule, at age 90, breezily criss-crossing the state in his truck, like Philo Beddoe criss-crossing the San Fernando Valley; all that’s missing is the ape. Due to his reliability, non-descript demeanor, and invisibility to law enforcement, Earl becomes the cartel’s most successful mule. The armed, hard gangbangers who load his truck with shipments become friendly with him, dubbing him “Tata” (Grandfather), showing him how to use cellphones and GPS, for which Luddite Earl only has contempt.

The cartel’s godfather Laton (Andy Garcia) becomes nervous with Earl’s quantities, and assigns his trusted adopted boy Julio (Ignacio Serricchio) to shadow Earl. Ignacio plays the affable, carefree Don West in the 2018 LOST IN SPACE series, so it was a shock to see him rake Clint over the coals, with threats to kill him if his deliveries were late. Eventually, Ignacio’s character would also fall under Earl’s devil-may-care spell. That’s for a Scriptwriter Reason we’ll address later.

CUT TO:

Drug Enforcement Administration Offices: we are suddenly assaulted by the visages of Laurence Fishburne as DEA Boss (directed by Clint in MYSTIC RIVER) and Bradley Cooper as Detective Colin Bates (directed by Clint in AMERICAN SNIPER). Movie’s cool quotient just rose higher than when we saw Andy Garcia as a drug lord! And Bates’s partner – Michael Peña (directed by Clint in MILLION DOLLAR BABY – cool quotient just went through the roof)! They speak of the inordinate amount of drugs being ferried around the state – and how their net is closing in on one particular ferrier…

The drug story in THE MULE is compelling enough, inspired by real life mule Leo Sharp, who did, in fact, breed day-lilies and was a WWII vet (made famous by Sam Dolnick’s 2014 article in the New York Times – The Sinaloa Cartel’s 90-Year-Old Drug Mule), but the layers under the drug story are the film’s real hook: Earl’s whole existence revolves around atoning for his sins in neglecting his family. With the delirious amounts of cash from drug running, he now has the resources for atonement (not only the money, but the free time the money affords, that can be put towards being more present for those he cared about), as he renovates his local Veterans’ clubhouse, gives cash to charities, and pays for his granddaughter’s wedding and attends it.

This atonement element is wholly a construct by screenwriter Nick Schenk to give the story gravitas. Sharp’s motivations were never identified, and he died before the moviemakers could interview him (December 2016, aged 92; arrested in 2011, sentenced in 2014 to 3 years, released after 1 year for failing health).

Yet, the atonement may be inspired by real life – not Sharp’s life – Clint’s life.

After 50 years of playing the strapping avenger, now Clint’s stance is stooped, his pants too high, his arms skeletal, his voice a mere rasp of its former velvet, yet he is having a ball playing this same crotchety, unfiltered Old Man Shouts At Cloud, that he premiered in GRAN TORINO (2008), and followed with TROUBLE WITH THE CURVE (2012). For decades, Clint’s life has been a slew of acting, directing, producing, travel, mayoral commitments, composing, etc., so he can easily be associated with the regrets that Earl might harbor. We know Clint has scattered families from several wives and girlfriends; son Scott Eastwood tells of how Clint never mollycoddled his kids (maybe due to not being there?); of how Scott never got handed a role through his famous father and had to audition like everybody else (which he did under pseudonyms to avoid favoritism) – a measure of Clint’s principles, or just another example of Clint not having the time to attend to his family?

In the film’s trailer, Clint gives that above speech in voiceover, but in the film, the sentiment is the same, though the words are altered, as he sits with Bradley Cooper at a diner, two strangers chatting, neither knowing who the other is. Only Clint knows the price he paid for choosing work over family. Is this film a last prayer for forgiveness?

The most poignant scene is family-related, as ex-wife Mary is put into a hospice to live out her last days. Earl gets word during his drug run, and detours to be with her. Mary is taken aback that he would come at all, and as he sits by her side, we hear Mary’s death rattle; disturbing and tough to watch, she forgives Earl in literally her last breaths. Movie unflinchingly shows every lung-tearing moment of Mary’s passing; driving home the message that we should not take our loved ones for granted.

My mule don’t like people laughing.
— Clint Eastwood, A FISTFUL OF DOLLARS.

I find it amusing that the film goes to great lengths to retain our love for Earl’s initial gang members, by overhauling the Latino cast in the third act. By this time, Ignacio’s Julio had morphed into a “good guy,” with Earl giving him advice on leaving the business; even Garcia’s godfather was portrayed having a heart of gold, welcoming Earl into his party mansion and getting him laid with two bimbos. Well, all these “lovable” Chicanos are overpowered by harder, meaner, trigger-happy cartel cholos, led by Clifton Collins Jr. as the new “evil” godfather. Why? So that when Earl is caught, we imagine the “nice” felons whom we got to know, won’t go down with Earl; rather, the horrible cholos who replaced Garcia and mistreated Ignacio will take the fall. A little taint of Hollywood.

The final scenes give the wrong impression of justice. Since Cooper’s and Pena’s detectives were pursuing this case throughout the movie, it seems like they’ve made a landmark bust when they pick up Earl. Uh, nope. DEA busted the guy ferrying drugs. Not the actual cartel or any kingpins or even capos. They only got the carrier – the guy who literally knows nothing else about the organization that he works for on a subcontractor basis. No matter how the real life situation panned out, in the movie, we never see the horrible gangbangers’ fates, and Earl faces the music alone. But – he’s only a mule, fellas! He never did drugs, he never pushed drugs, he never manufactured drugs —

The worst crime he’s ever committed is wearing his pants too high.

END

The underpaid graphic department at EXTINCTION would like to present this obvious composite picture passed off as a scene from the movie.

When A-Actors B-Film.

A working class family man is plagued by dreams of alien invasion. One day, his dreams come true. And the question becomes: Can he access those prescient dreams to navigate his family to safety? Then we find out his question was answered – in his past!

Movie Maniacs say Wha–?

Set in the near future, EXTINCTION is a dichotomy of disaster-movie tropes and cutting edge story-telling. Movie depends too much on the audience’s love of mindless action to propel it to the very good story reveals after the Second Act. Problem is: if you are a Discerning Viewer, the mindless action might turn you off before the story gets to its grand message. All I could think of when buildings were being blown up and faceless aliens were chasing our heroes down corridors and shooting and missing them, was the unimaginative writing in making the aliens’ tactics so agrarian-era human.

Michael Peña is the family man, Peter. (I love Michael Pena in this straight role! He sells the movie with his stoic underplaying, saving it from schlockfest. Usually cast as comic relief or B-character, EXTINCTION marks another in Pena’s growing list of dramatic leading man roles, where he can showcase his considerable talents.) An electrician in a straightforward job, Peter seeks medical help to account for his disturbing dreams, which are taking their toll on his wife (Lizzy Caplan) and his relationship with his young daughters (Amelia Crouch and Erica Tremblay).

When propped up against the reveals, the action is still mindless: for example, an alien ship is seen blasting a building to pieces, atop which people are screaming, yet in Peter’s building the aliens are sending in ground troops to sweep the apartments and individually kill people. Why? Just BLAST PETER’S BUILDING AS WELL! These invasion scenes are the height of clichéd and unimaginative. We are so used to seeing war movies where ground troops invade a dwelling to sweep it for life that we hardly blink at this tactic which is unnecessary and time-wasting when you have the capability to simply BLAST the dwelling.

This low-budget sci-fi actioner (directed by Ben Young for Netflix) is not much more than its invasion scenes (which consist of ALL the faves: barricading doors, hanging from buildings, enemies shooting our running heroes down hallways and hitting nothing but hallway, child frozen in fear grabbed by parent and carried to safety, hand-to-hand combat, hiding behind things, Pretty Orange Explosions, and people saying, “Get the hell outa there!”) and a good reveal – what most viewers these days would call a “twist” – but it’s not actually – just a very good plot reveal.

Opening with Peter questioning “What are we?” and ending with Peter knowing the answer, EXTINCTION is not as profound as one might hope it to be, but it’s not as mundane as its opening scenes seem intent on making it.

END

Cosplay meets Fetish!

Quantum Cop-Out!

ANT-MAN AND THE WASP cops out on its grandest concept – the quantum realm!

In ANT-MAN (2015), Dr. Hank Pym warned Ant-Man not to turn off his regulator, for fear of shrinking too small and entering the Quantum Realm, “…where all concepts of time and space become irrelevant as you shrink for all eternity.” The key phrase – the most disturbing caveat that plants a tomb-like horror in our breast – is “shrink for all eternity.” Shrinking smaller than a wave of sound or a photon of light (meaning you end up in silent darkness), smaller than an electrical impulse (meaning your brain can’t function); and in that vegetative, sensory-deprived state, you continue to shrink…

That was the fate of Hank’s wife, Janet. The quantum realm was a device so powerful it underpinned the climax of ANT-MAN, and is now resurrected in ANT-MAN AND THE WASP, as Hank suspects Janet “might still be alive down there” and plans a rescue mission to retrieve her…

No Laurence, we can’t just take the blue pill to leave the quantum realm.

And when he gets there… oh, it seems concepts of space and time are not irrelevant at all, but pretty much the same as the normal-sized world, and Janet is NOT shrinking for all eternity – she’s chillin’ at Hank’s tiny size when he arrives in his chariot, with no further shrinkage. (How would Hank have caught her with a 30-year head start on shrinking anyway?). Not only that, Janet has aged quite normally, and looks pretty darn good for someone who should be hallucinating or brain-dead from decades of sensory deprivation (and no food!). Oh, and she’s got super powers now – did we mention that? – where she can transfer energy by touching people… Quantum realm. Yeh, sorry to have made such a big deal; turns out it’s just a place, like Jersey or something….

Movie ruined!

You spineless goons, Marvel! Stick to your own rules! Hank specifically stated: “shrink for all eternity,” meaning continuing to shrink until death! When Hank told his flashback story of the Wasp “shrinking through the molecules” to stop the missile, I remarked I wanted to see THAT movie. Why? Because the stakes were so high! This movie even opens with that scene, because it’s so powerful and emotional! However, by arranging this shrinkable ferry service to and from the QR, retconning it into a bad day in the Fashion District, Marvel has undermined all the emotions of that last movie and negated the stakes in this movie, homogenizing it and selling it to us as Intense Crisis. Thus, ANT/WASP has to become a chase movie to coax any excitement at all from the QR device which, just last movie, was a disturbing fatality.

That’s not the only problem: there’s this “Ghost” hanging around that the screenwriters are trying to insert sideways into the plot as a villain – until they just give up.

If you don’t care for consistency and a story reneging on its own plot points, then you can enjoy ANT-MAN AND THE WASP in the thrall of ignorance; great effects and kinetic action sequences make it a fun diversion. Just don’t expect any tension or even any connection with the characters, as the movie is a constant cop out on all fronts.

I’ll see your Action Girl Hairstyle, and raise you an Action Man Vest!

ANT/WASP is a sequel to 2015’s ANT-MAN (both directed by Peyton Reed), and a “soft-sequel” to 2016’s CAPTAIN AMERICA: CIVIL WAR. We know this because the characters keep alluding to CIVIL with winks to the fanboys. All the principals return, with Michael Douglas as Hank Pym, berating Ant-Man for going off to fight Avengers (wink); Paul Rudd as Ant-Man/Scott Lang, now under house arrest for contravening the Sokovia Accords (wink); Evangeline Lilly as Hank’s daughter Hope, debuting as the superhero Wasp, outfitted with a suit that can shrink, fly, and has frickin’ laser beams attached to its head. Scott is jealous of her thigh-jitsu expertise and she’s jealous that Scott went to Russia without her (wink) – okay, Enough, you guys! We get it! You’re in the MCU! (Marvel Cinematic Underpants.)

Did we mention that Hank’s wife Janet, though trapped in the quantum realm, can also possess Scott’s body for comedy purposes? Well, she can. Because – Quantum Realm!

stakes cop out

The plot is somewhat less than world-girdling: Hank and Hope want Janet back, and Scott enters the equation because Janet is in his dreams. (Now that’s science.) Is any of this important to the world stage? Nope. To stay under the radar, Hank occasionally shrinks his warehouse lab to the size of a suitcase-cube and moves its location; also owning a fleet of shrunken cars to stay incognito. Is any of this necessary if no one’s looking that hard for you? The FBI skulk around the periphery, as they need to ensure Scott stays home with his ankle bracelet; led by clownish Agent Woo (Randall Park – Kim Jong-Un in THE INTERVIEW), who provides THE clunkiest, cringiest, most obvious exposition ever committed to analog and/or digital film in the history of movies; the only thing missing is a title card saying, “This is the backstory from 3 previous films, for newcomers to the Marvel Cinematic Underpants.” And what are the high-stakes repercussions of Scott breaching his house arrest? Well, another court date for sure…

villain cop out

Then there’s Ghost (Hannah John-Kamen) who is sold as a supervillain, but she’s just an unfortunate woman suffering from Special-Effects-itis, who needs Hank’s lab to cure her. Aided by Bill Foster (Laurence Fishburne, who speaks of the “Goliath project” – fanboy cool!), Ghost and Hank desire the same thing – the return of Janet, so why is Ghost fighting against Hank? (Also kids, now that Laurence Fishburne is in the MCU, along with Samuel L. Jackson, you can confuse them more often!) I do like the way Foster is not a sneering bad guy, but a man who doesn’t want to save somebody at the expense of someone else. Ghost, being near death and more desperate, threatens to crush kill destroy anyone anything in her way. And doesn’t. Because PG-13.

Floating amidst this no-stakes circus are Walton Goggins as a black market dealer, Judy Greer and Bobby Cannavale who have literally nothing to do, and the three wombats on Scott’s crew, Michael Pena, David Dastmalchian and T.I., Pena finding his fast-talking stride as the film’s true comic relief, while the other two take up screentime that could’ve been used for showing more Wasp pearbottom.

Abby Ryder Fortson returns as Scott’s daughter, so comfortable and poignant in front of the camera, it looks like she and Rudd are really related.

moral ambiguity cop out

Hank Pym gets his OG Ant-Man suit on! And rescues Janet (Michelle Pfeiffer) from the quantum cop out realm. And Marvel adds to that cop out with another… this time with moral choices: Ghost’s life is fading due to her uncontrollable phasing like a Jimi Hendrix video, and it is proposed that Janet’s quantum energy (whatever that is) can save her. Here was a moment where the characters might have been asked to CHOOSE between Janet and Ghost: there might have been only enough energy for one of them to live – who would it be??!! Think of the conundrums and tears and sacrifice that plot point might have stirred! Nope. Janet just touches Ghost with her super powers and – CURED! But how?? It’s magic who cares fuck you.

There is literally NO EFFORT expended in this wrap-up. Because the filmmakers are drooling just waiting to get to the shocking post-credits scene that shows us just how damn much this movie is connected to INFINITY WAR! See how our Marvel movies are all connected? Do you see? DO YOU SEE? Oh, touch myself savagely!

masks cop out

I need to rub my face on that suit! For science.

Ant-Man’s and Wasp’s masks are now CGI, just like the magic masks for Iron Man or Black Panther, which swiftly disappear, then reappear whenever they need to. I actually like the fact the filmmakers made their masks cover the whole face (unlike the comics suits), because it makes sense that if the suit is responsible for your sizing, then it should cover all your atoms. Yet Ant-Man and Wasp regularly remove their masks at any size. Which means even that element is a cop out. Why use masks at all if you’re gonna go against the rules of what the masks are for?

mass cop out

Hank’s shrinking lab and his satchel of shrunken cars both contravene the very rules that this supposed science fiction movie sets for itself: that when something gets tiny, it still retains its mass… Meaning that Hank is wheeling around a ten-storey building which should still weigh as much as a ten-storey building, and has a bag of 20 cars that should weigh as much as 20 cars. Thus, when Scott goes Giant Man, retaining his same mass would mean he cannot hold back a truck, or manipulate it like a skateboard – because he’s only 180 pounds.

By the time Scott is growing bigger than a ferry and skateboarding trucks, the writers (including Paul Rudd) are paying even less attention than the audience. Oh, is that why Evangeline Lilly looks so tight in that suit?

END

When you’re this tiny, is it really necessary to distribute your weight in the prescribed Superhero Pose?

Ants with frickin’ laser beams attached to their heads!

Who woulda thought OUR IDIOT BROTHER would become a superhero? Paul Rudd is the eminently likable yet totally miscast lead in Marvel’s ANT-MAN, a movie with excitement as small as its titular hero.

Master electrician and not-so-master burglar Scott Lang (Rudd) is recruited by reputable scientist Hank Pym (Michael Douglas) to become the Ant-Man, and steal a super-suit from competing scientist Darren Cross (Corey Stoll), who wants to sell the technology to the highest bidder, and is turning into a cartoon villain right before our eyes. We can see the mustache growing on him, just so he can twirl it and laugh like “Bwohahahaaaaa!” (I love Corey Stoll as an actor, but this one’s a phone-in!)

Cross has not yet perfected his shrinking tech, so to indicate how eeevil he is becoming, he brings in a lamb as a test subject. Someone protests, citing mice as the regular subjects. Cross replies callously, “What’s the difference?” Well, upkeep for one. It looks like you’ve got an inexhaustible supply of lambs back there. Where are you housing them? Feeding them? Recycling their poop? etc. Now consider mice… you get the point. Next – the experiment fails, the “shrinking ray” reducing the lamb to goop. Without one second to check the mix of chemicals, or to consider a different approach, etc., Cross yells to “Bring in the next subject!” Dude, that’s not science – that’s just killing lambs for pleasure. See? Eeevil.

Considered one of the “better Marvel films” (because Marvel says it is), ANT-MAN is so rife with plot contrivances it rides a unicorn into a cliché carnival by the time one ant-man is shooting at another ant-man with frickin’ laser beams attached to his head.

Since when did this effects-ridden pupillary-myocardial-infarction become the yardstick for good filmmaking?

ANT-MAN opens in 1989, with a young Hank Pym arguing with members of his company about revealing the secret of his shrinking technology, called the Pym Particle, “As long as I’m alive no one will get that formula!” (As any comics fan who grew up in the Silver Age knows, Pym is the original and best Ant-Man, who would also become Giant-Man, Goliath and Yellowjacket – but this film opts to sweep all canon off the table and invent a new origin for Scott Lang, the second Ant-Man.) Michael Douglas is YOUNG in these scenes – digitally de-aged to his IN-LAWS period – and his whole face looks like Henry Cavill’s mustache.

John Slattery is Howard Stark in these 1989 scenes, for the Iron Man tie-in (later, Pym will have juicy words of contempt for the “tin suit,” lauding his own Ant-Man suit as superior technology). And Hayley Atwell is Peggy Carter in “aged” makeup, for the Captain America tie-in. Later, Ant-Man will trade girl-slaps with Falcon (Anthony Mackie), Cap’s bottom bitch, in the most obvious shoehorning of a scene ever in cinema, as Ant-Man must get some McGuffin from Avengers HQ, and The Cheapest Avenger flies in as a day-player, speaking on a comm to someone offscreen whom the filmmakers couldn’t afford, with the express purpose of linking ANT-MAN to the MCU (Marvel Cinematic Underpants).

Present Day, and Scott Lang is getting out of jail, taken in by his former burglar buddies, yet vowing never to burgle again for the sake of his daughter. Marvel would like you to think: Oh, family man – Good Guy then. His three accomplices (Michael Pena – who replaced Luis Guzman as the Quirky Mexican Guy in movies – Dave Dastmalchian and T.I.) are written so poorly that the filmmakers don’t know whether to make them incompetent comedy relief or actual Ocean’s Eleven pinups. There is only one gag that really works – when they drive their heist van straight into the midst of parked cop cars and Pena orders offhandedly, as Dastmalchian inches backward casually, “Just back up… juuust back it up… baaack it up…”

We meet Hank’s daughter, Hope (Evangeline Lilly, one of the most desirable women on Earth; here, victim to a godawful “business” hairstyle – Bryce Dallas Howard suffered the same ‘do in JURASSIC WORLD), who harangues Hank to allow her to use the Ant-Man suit herself to pull off the heist (as they all look at the Death Star blueprints for some reason), demonstrating she knows the tech intimately by making Hank’s ants perform complicated tasks. We the audience also wish she would just put on the suit, because, being designed for a man, it would stretch quite achingly across her straining breasts.

Later, Scott gives Hope – who believes Pym is disrespecting her – a poignant reason why Pym wants inept Scott on the mission instead of her: because he’s expendable. Proving how much Pym loves Hope. Surprisingly deep for an ant movie.

Scott’s ex-wife is the lovely Judy Greer (now that’s a sexy hairstyle!), now married to mourning-faced creature Bobby Cannavale, a cop that has a hard-on for Scott. And Scott’s daughter, Abby Ryder Fortson, is a talented young actor who is funny and cute without being annoying – a hard task in a Marvel tentpole movie.

There is one momentous idea in ANT-MAN that outweighs all the big-things special effects or heist conundrums, or the all-too-predictable training montage: Hank Pym tells of his days as the original Ant-Man (hooray!), with his wife Janet by his side, the original Wasp (sexycool!). During a flashback mission, she sacrifices herself for a city, by deactivating her “regulator” to “shrink between the molecules” to get inside a missile and halt its flight, thereby “going subatomic, entering a quantum realm where you shrink for all eternity, where everything you know and love will be gone forever…”

Silence.

Mouth agape in horror.

I wanna see THAT movie! The implications are simply horrifying. Shrinking constantly! When you shrink smaller than a wave of sound, you will be in utter silence; smaller than a photon of light, you will be in complete black. At what point does your brain become too small for electrical impulses to fire? You become a vegetable as you shrink ever further, not even counting that you went insane from the isolation and sensory deprivation long before you reached that point… Janet’s sacrifice and its morbid consequences are a foreshadowing that Ant-Man will face this ultimate conundrum…

And face it he does; a sacrifice for the sake of his daughter that disturbs us to the very core of our jaded souls…

Directed by Peyton Reed (YES MAN, 2008) and written by Joe Cornish and Adam McKay (with Paul Rudd co-writing), the filmmakers try to explain everything about the ant biz and – like all superhero movies – explain nothing.

How does Pym control the ants? He “uses electromagnetic waves to stimulate their olfactory nerve center.” Okay, that’s their SMELL CENTER. You writers know that, right?
The Pym Particle: “I learned how to change the distance between atoms.” I guess when Ant-Man first appeared in 1962 (created by Stan Lee, Larry Lieber and Jack Kirby), they didn’t know that atoms could be compressed far smaller than the size of an ant.
Ant-Man retaining his mass when tiny makes it possible to still punch a guy with full force. So… when Ant-Man runs along the barrel of a gun, is the guy holding the gun also holding up the mass of a 180-pound man as well? And if objects retain their mass, how is Pym carrying around that 30-ton shrunken tank on his keychain?…

I get it: they’re using Paul Rudd’s charm offensive to distract us. The same guy who was slappen-de-bass in I LOVE YOU, MAN now has the three-day-growth to prove he’s a hard guy. And he’s gotten so ripped for the role that Evangeline eye-rapes him.

After things get big and small a lot, and Ant-Man uses armies of ants to do his bidding (including riding a flying ant that he dubs Ant-thony), he fails to steal the super-suit, which Darren Cross dons to become – the villain Yellowjacket. Yes, fanboys, the character has gone way beyond Hank Pym donning the duds as a superhero, and landed somewhere in the dopey Disney future, where Yellowjacket now has a face like Venom and four “waldoes” sprouting from his back (like Iron Spider), that shoot frickin’ laser beams. Obviously trained by stormtroopers, Yellowjacket can hit anything EXCEPT Ant-Man as he blasts arbitrarily in all directions. And by the way, remember how Scott had to do that training montage just to be able to “run big, dive through the keyhole small, and emerge big”? Cross can do absolutely anything as soon as he puts on the Yellowjacket suit! How is he so proficient at it? Has someone been doing a little cosplay every evening in front of the mirror?

Cross shoots a bullet at Ant-Man riding Ant-thony – and we see a solitary ant-wing float down… What? Nooo! It’s almost as sad as the Death Of Wilson… Ant-thony can’t be dead, can he? I mean, how does a full-sized bullet even hit an ant? Preceding air pressure should push the insect out of the way, no? Ah, physics. Use it when you need to sound smart, then don’t use it when you don’t feel like it. It’s magic who cares fuck you.

To save his daughter from Yellowjacket, Ant-Man must disable Yellowjacket’s suit by “shrinking between the molecules” to get inside it. Thus, the best moment in ANT-MAN arrives when Scott Lang must sacrifice himself in that same disturbing manner foreshadowed throughout the movie – go subatomic. One powerful moment amidst a raging sea of stupidity, portrayed ominously, with special effects being used for their intended purpose, lending startling visuals to the ultra-microscopic world as Scott shrinks… shrinks… shrinks…

So, wait – is Ant-thony really dead? I told them you shoulda had frickin’ laser beams attached to your head!

END

Home Alone 6: Kevin on Mars.

Set The Controls For The Heart Of The Scum.

Guess what? Politicians are corrupt. And confidence men act as liaison between politicians and mobsters to secure illegal funds for the politicians. And the FBI cannot curb any of this corruption because they’re fist-in-glove with the politicians and mobsters.

This is American politics. Hell, this is world politics. So are the makers of AMERICAN HUSTLE trying to shock us, mock us, or are they just having a laugh when they open with the title card, “Some of this actually happened”? When? During Nixon’s Checkers scandal? During Reagan’s Iran-Contra? During W’s Savings and Loan? During Jack Abramoff? During Bob “Ultrasound” McDonnell? During Chris Christie’s Bridgegate? Last Tuesday? Constantly?

Director David O. Russell’s AMERICAN HUSTLE doesn’t tell us anything we don’t know, yet is a superbly-crafted, entertaining True Crime exposé based on the FBI sting operation from the Swingin’ ’70s called Abscam, where they used fake sheikhs to entrap politicians with promises of millions to invest in their cities. (I hate to belabor a point, but “based on” means, as always, that facts have been replaced by utter bullshit; HUSTLE is not a documentary about Abscam, it’s entertainment, shot through with humor, turning all its despicable real life-inspired characters into pseudo-comedians. If we knew these people, would we want ANY of them near us? Con artists, FBI dicks, fishwives, corrupt pols, mobsters…)

Cucumber Hustle

In the film, FBI agent Richie DiMaso busts con artists Irving Rosenfeld and his girlfriend Sydney Prosser, making a deal with them that if they help the FBI entrap politicians into accepting bribes, they can walk free in return. (Isn’t this a crime itself – if not legally, then ethically?) Movie also portrays Abscam as the first time the FBI used videotape surveillance to entrap marks. After they used it for homemade porn, we presume, like the rest of us.

Christian Bale is con artist Irving Rosenfeld. As usual, his Method performance is enormous. This time, literally, gaining RAGING BULL poundage to play the dormant volcano with the raging comb-over. It’s a powerful physical statement (that noticeably lends subtleties to his performance, in movement and demeanor). But one wonders: with the excellent prosthetic technology these days, does an actor really need to ruin his body to play a ruined body?

Amy Adams, camera lovingly caressing her shapely hourglass, plays Irving’s partner-in-love-and-crime, Sydney Prosser. They meet at a bikini party where he falls in love with her hourglass and she falls in love with his, uh, confidence. A long montage depicts Irving and Sydney’s courtship poignantly – we actually feel their love-ache. And when she puts on that fake English accent as “Edith” from London, our ache just gets moister.

Seeing Life through the prism of a Long Con, Irving admits to conning himself into not facing his realities: he’s already married – to dissatisfied, loudmouth fishwife Rosalyn (Jennifer Lawrence, who has never been more annoying). He laments that Rosalyn, with her petulant coyness and contrived helplessness, is conning him into staying with her. She would continually get him into hot water, propose a half-baked solution, and then act as if she has done him a favor, capping her shriking with, “You’re welcome!”

Bradley Cooper, all whiteboy Jheri curls and disco beard, is FBI man Richie DiMaso, whose schemes to bust politicians leads to much more dangerous people – the Mob. By the time he and Irving are having a sitdown with Meyer Lansky’s right hand man (an uncredited Robert De Niro, who brooks no shit), they can see they’ve gone too far but cannot turn back.

Superb stunt casting with comedian Louis C.K. as Richie’s boss, who starts telling Richie an ice-fishing story, presumably to illustrate some life lesson. Though we hear more of the story as the film progresses, we never hear the ending or the lesson of it. Like life, never seeming to have purpose or direction, and you never know when it’s going to end or make sense. Louis is still the put-upon doughy guy, but it’s a delight to see him in an actual role, rather than just complaining about stuff. Nice to see Alessandro Nivola in a small, biting role as the D.A. I always imagined the steamy-blond, muscled Nivola would go onto greater successes since I saw him in BEST LAID PLANS (1999); guess his agent just didn’t have the clout to make him the next Brad Pitt.

Jeremy Renner, hair higher than Travolta’s in SATURDAY NIGHT FEVER, is Carmine Polito, Mayor of Camden, New Jersey, who is painted as an honorable man, although I can’t see why. Firstly, he’s a mayor in New Jersey – any wonder he’s corrupt? (cough-Chris Christie!); and secondly, not only does he fall for the fake sheikh entrapment, he leads Irving and DiMaso into Mob dealings of his own volition, not through FBI coercion.

Michael Pena plays a fake sheikh – yes, the casting is as stupid as the idea and the people who buy into it – and Beansie from THE SOPRANOS (Paul Herman) is a mob lawyer!

A hilarious side-story makes us ponder the nature of politics: Carmine gifts Irving with a new-fangled invention called a microwave oven – which he calls a “science oven.” (He warns Irving not to put metal in it, which Rosalyn immediately does, sets it on fire, and then implies Irving should thank her for discovering how dangerous the science oven was. “You’re welcome!”) For helping him get funding for his city, Carmine tells Irving, “I’m giving you a gift, from a friend.” It’s not graft, not bribery, not corrupt. Carmine is sincere about a gift just being a gift. And when that gift is reciprocated – in either money, drugs, women, access to power – who’s to say it’s not a gift back? It might be called nepotism, favoritism, extortion, but this is how the world works: you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. Quid pro quo, Agent Starling. And those people they used to call con men? Now they’re called lobbyists.

Soundtrack works headily to place us in the moment, a brash sampling of 60’s and 70’s rock and disco gems: Don’t Leave Me This Way, Live and Let Die, Jean Genie, Delilah, How Can You Mend A Broken Heart, including rare ELO – Long Black Road (2001) and 10538 Overture (1971). I spilled my jellybeans in delighted surprise at this last track, the thick-as-syrup first song on Side 1 of the first Electric Light Orchestra album! Also: Duke Ellington, Cole Porter, Thelonius Monk, and demi-god Todd Rundgren! And – wait for it – actual soundtrack is composed by dark prince Danny Elfman! What a musical coup this movie is! There are enigmatic camera moves accompanying strange juxtapositions between source music and visuals – been watching GOODFELLAS much, David O. Russell?

Sad to say the movie’s last three minutes ruin EVERYTHING that was driving AMERICAN HUSTLE towards being the perfect piece about hubris and absolute power.  Writers Russell and Eric Warren Singer homogenize the “bad guys”! The last scenes of Irving and Sydney show them as legit art dealers… because the Gutless MPAA will not allow “criminals” to ride out the end of a movie without being jailed, killed, avenged or redeemed. Whether this happened in real life is moot – the dramatic arc of the movie is forced into this jejune trope; Russell could have ended his movie at any point in time he wished, but he chose – or was forced – to make the anti-heroes turn from crime and join the dreary masses.

A worse sin is perpetrated on Bradley Cooper’s FBI agent – no, not that garish disco costume (but he makes it sweat, with hips that remind us of Tom Jones at his salacious best) – he is conned into being the “loser.” He was the ostensible “good guy” so to make his losing palatable to braindead American audiences, there is a whole subplot about him cheating on his fiancé, nearly backdooring Sydney in a women’s dunny. So lemme get this straight: FBI guy sincerely trying to curb political corruption is clotheslined into submission because… sex in a toilet?! Shameful, transparent, lazy screenwriting combined with Gutless MPAA redemption edicts.

Makes me long for the bravery of European movies like TRAINSPOTTING, LOCK STOCK AND TWO SMOKING BARRELS, MATCH POINT, et al. Bad guys win – and continue to be the bad guys we’ve grown to love through the movie. Successful films to boot. And there are no more or less reprobates in society turning to drugs, thugs or murder than there would have been, with or without those other even more dangerous influences on ur-culture, the violent King James Bible or reprehensible Disney children’s movies.

The real criminals here, ladies and gentlemen – are the Gutless MPAA! But there’s more stupidity: with their prosaic rewriting of these characters, the MPAA unintentionally promote the concept that Crime Does Pay. The same thing happened in AMERICAN GANGSTER and CATCH ME IF YOU CAN. If perps would just roll over on their fellow crims, the authorities will let you go free!  Which is totally opposite to the message they’re trying to convey: that crime is bad in the first place. Idiots!

If we’re going to invest our time in unsavory characters, then, like THE GODFATHER, take those anti-heroes to their logical ends – don’t suddenly give them new personalities and pretend they’re as boring as the rest of the humanity we’re trying to escape by visiting this movie! David O. Russell just pulled a rope-a-dope on us! AMERICAN HUSTLE itself is just a con!

You’re welcome!

END

Who knew battle could be so boring?

Extraterrestrial aliens land in Los Angeles and humans battle them. That’s why it’s called BATTLE LOS ANGELES. Creative. Filled brim to barrel bottom with explosions, running, army jargon, and characters we care about just slightly more than the assholes on JERSEY SHORE.

It’s as if SAVING PRIVATE RYAN were directed by someone with all the tools but none of the heart of a Spielberg.

Here’s a sampling of dialogue:
“Shit! Shit!”
“Move! Move!”
“Take cover!”
“Cover me!”
“Go go go!”
“Get the hell in there!”
“Get the hell outta there!”
“Right there, right there!”

So cute how movie takes its time introducing all the soldiers involved in the battle with a title card, stating their name and rank, as they go about their soldierly day before the fracas begins: one retiring, one with pregnant wife, one getting married, one visiting his brother’s grave, one in psychiatric session, one with his soldier boy mates, one a virgin, one newbie officer… We don’t care.

Though the aliens are landing all over Earth, the movie focuses only on Aaron Eckhart leading one squad of green soldiers in an attempt to evacuate Santa Monica before the army nukes it. Pathetic attempts at camaraderie, storyline, plot and especially characterization: there’s the new lieutenant blankly wondering how to lead; the guy breaking down “They’re all gone! They’re all gone”; the guy that says, “Get ahold of yourself!”; the retiring soldier pulled back in for one last battle (Eckhart); the arc of Eckhart’s troop hating him for getting his last squad killed and the teary-eyed reconciliation as he tells them all those dead men are burned into his memory and starts reciting their names and dog tag numbers… Like we care.

Just when we think it can’t get more boring and witless, they find a wounded alien and try to figure out where its heart is by stabbing it everywhere. That would be nice if you were sharpshooting from a bell tower, but you’re pumping giant-caliber ammo and rocket grenades into these things. Does it really matter their most vital organ is “to the right of the heart area”?  Does anyone care?

Pick up civilians Bridget Moynahan and Michael Peña and some kids – devices to protect from enemy fire and make the troops more vulnerable. That’s if we CARED about Pena and Bridget and kids staying alive. Michael Pena dies just to get out of the movie.

Eckhart draws fire away from the squad and destroys an alien craft – makes Bridget Moynahan wet between the thighs. Speaking of which, Michelle Rodriguez is here as a girl-soldier, but she forgot her battle gear, which is a halter top and bare midriff, so she’s clinically useless.

The mothership looks suspiciously like the DISTRICT 9 design. But there’s no confusing that classic movie with this dreck that serves no purpose whatsoever. This movie is literally so shallow that once we find out the aliens are apparently here for Earth’s water, that’s the end of their backstory or connection to anything regarding scientific interest, ancient legends about visitations, or military coverups. The news reporters don’t even seem too amazed that they’re reporting on actual extraterrestrials – we hear more energy from newscasters when mongoloid Sarah Palin writes a Twitter message.

Somebody should burn every DVD and BluRay copy of BATTLE LOS ANGELES, incinerate the original reels, and arrest the writer and director for being bland and lifeless like their movie. I bet if you stabbed them all over their bodies you won’t find a heart.

END

Punch drunk love.

Clint Eastwood‘s magnificent tone-poem of determination, redemption, salvation, loyalty, guilt… oh, and there’s some boxing and stuff…

One Dollar Poffy

MILLION DOLLAR BABY is as much a “boxing movie” as UNFORGIVEN is a “cowboy movie.” That is to say, not at all. (Simpletons: “Say wha–?”) Sure, Clint plays a boxing trainer, Frankie Dunn, in a boxing gym, surrounded by boxers – like bully Shawnelle (Anthony Mackie) and his sidekick Omar (Michael Peña), zealous runt ‘Danger’ Barch (Jay Baruchel), and Dunn’s contender Big Willie Little (Mike Colter); there’s also janitor ‘Scrap’ (Morgan Freeman), and ambitious novice Maggie (Hilary Swank). And while everyone is busy sparring, Scrap also mops the middle background with Introspective Morgan Freeman Voiceover that reaches right to the guts of every thematic riff. (In an episode of INSIDE THE ACTORS’ STUDIO, Freeman admits he is well aware directors hire him for gravitas; enough in MILLION DOLLAR BABY to elevate a janitor to a potent paternal conscience.)

So though MILLION DOLLAR BABY might be misconstrued as a “boxing movie” it is miles above the usual formulaic slugfest precisely because it is NOT.

From stories by F.X. Toole (Rope Burns), screenplayed by Paul Haggis (CRASH, 2005) and produced and directed by Philo Beddoe himself, MILLION DOLLAR BABY is so rife with themes, it is altogether two good movies mashed together to make one great movie.

MOVIE NUMBER 1 (Cue Introspective Voiceover: “Boxing is about respect – getting it for yourself and taking it away from the other guy”): Maggie, a female boxer over 30 (which is apparently gettin’ too old to be in the bashing-people-to-a-pulp biz), is so determined to have facial reconstruction surgery (i.e. be a professional boxer) that she badgers Frankie to unlock her natural talent. Under his begrudging tutelage she makes it into the big ring, only to become the victim of an opponent’s dirty trick that leaves her paralyzed.

MOVIE NUMBER 2 (Introspective Voiceover: “Sometimes you gotta step back to make a punch – but step back too far, you ain’t fightin’ at all…”): paralyzed Maggie fights for her right to make decisions over her own life or death.

In all his movies, he’s been a warrior; in MILLION DOLLAR BABY, Clint steps back from The Warrior to be a trainer of warriors. Frankie Dunn resembles one of Eastwood’s other memorable characters, Josey Wales – a loner with an extended family: his gym charges, his priest (whom he visits every day “to wind up”) and Scrap.

Frankie and Scrap complete each other. His caked-dry banter with Scrap tells us they’ve been friends about as long as the Stones have been making records. (It would be a bromance was it not for the fact the movie is watchable more than once.) They had their shot. They blew it. Now, on the heels of his contender Big Willie defecting to a bigger agent, Frankie and Scrap see in Maggie a jab at redemption. Frankie gives her the Irish nickname “Macushla” (my darling, my blood, my love) and actually takes her to the top – then the movie bodyswerves in a direction which alienates those who came to see blood spurting from temple arteries…

I understand the gladiatorial lust boxing sates in mankind’s bestial limbic brain, but when two boxers enter a ring – we ALL lose. (This doesn’t mean I abhor the sweet pummeling of someone’s face bones if they give you a good reason – Scrap is involved in the most satisfying bout in the movie because he takes down a bully for all the right reasons – I just detest the stupidity of bashing people for entertainment. Crowe in GLADIATOR: “Are you not entertained?!” Nothing’s changed.)

So when Maggie’s boxing opponent steps across a subtle line and becomes her assailant, is it really any wonder? Boxers are wired antagonistic. Or they’re not winners. Fact: Maggie is wired that way too. She just keeps it suppressed better than the woman painted as the Villain here.

As we move into the disturbing hospital scenes, the filmmakers show us that fighting doesn’t have to be about hitting and hurting. Maggie’s family come swaggering straight out of the pages of You Might Be A Redneck magazine – and in her motionlessness, she must fight them trying to legally steal her wealth; she must fight the hospital for the right to make decisions on her remaining life; she must fight her very condition, her only ally being Frankie, as an unconsummated and dire love develops between them that transcends her immobility.

Yet we are also aware of Frankie’s all-consuming guilt in his motivation for caring for Maggie: he never wanted to train her in the first place, and now having brought her into the boxing arena, he is simultaneously responsible for her dreams being fulfilled and killed.

(There’s a certain wide-eyed glare that Eastwood has perfected over the years of playing Man With No Name types. You’ve seen it a thousand times, in the likes of Dirty Harry, Philo Beddoe and Josey Wales (some call it the Clint Squint). In the most unlikely of circumstances, Eastwood suddenly pulls out The Glare at the hospital – throwing it down on Maggie’s redneck brother for making an ignorant comment.)

Cinematography by Tom Stern – beautiful ochre darkness; not since Gordon Willis (THE GODFATHER series) has anyone been daring enough to utilize such stark shadows and blacks. And for good reason.

MILLION DOLLAR BABY rolls toward an almost unbearable tragedy, which harkens back to Dr. Kevorkian explaining the distinction between “causing death” and “ending suffering.” Eastwood once again displays his cinematic bravery in tackling this story at all, and leaves enough ambiguity to keep Christ-ies at bay. And that’s a right turn, Clyde.

Echoing the stark lighting, the naked emotion, the sparse joy, Eastwood composes the simple music theme – single guitar or piano notes – matching his straightforward directorial style, lean and expedient; making him more of an auteur than he already is.

Any which way you try to escape its affecting thrall, MILLION DOLLAR BABY will hit you like a Philo Beddoe roundhouse.

END

Report: C+.

OBSERVE AND REPORT doesn’t totally suck. But I can see how people might think it does. If star Seth Rogen‘s career escalates, it might even turn into a cult fave. If writer-director Jody Hill (THE FOOT FIST WAY, 2008) can fine-tune his meandering storytelling style in the future with a bigger hit, it will.

This comedy is so black, it turns gray – walks that indecisive line between drama and comedy, with Seth Rogen pulling it towards big-dumb-galoot comedy and the script (much like Hill’s FOOT FIST WAY) tripping into self-realization drama.

Ronnie Barnhardt (Rogen) is a mall security guard, in love from afar with a cosmetics counter girl, Brandi (Anna Faris). He sees an opportunity to win Brandi’s heart by nabbing an elusive mall flasher after Brandi is flashed and traumatized one day.

On their first date, we realize how screwed up both Brandi and Ronnie are, as Ronnie reveals he is on bipolar medication, which Brandi takes off him and starts pill-popping like candy, chasing with tequila shots. We also see how psychologically dependent Ronnie must be to pine after a drug-addled alcoholic with baggage enough to fill a 747 cargo bay. He tells her he “accepts her” and kisses her vomit-tainted mouth.

Ray Liotta lost a bet with his agent to appear in this film; he’s a police detective who investigates the crimes at the mall, and is initially there to threaten Ronnie’s masculinity, but that subplot is lost quickly as he degenerates into just a hateful, mean-spirited cop.

We could speculate on how Hill sabotages his own movie in writing lead characters so unlikable, but in the hands of a better writer, these characters might have shone – there are so many funny moments, that someone like Judd Apatow might have forged OBSERVE AND REPORT into a cohesive comedic hammer: the alcoholic mother, the born-again virgin, Michael Peña‘s thug-lisping security guard, the gay cosmetics guy…

An example of Hill not realizing what he’s doing: he shows Brandi driving to work with Super Freek (by Amanda Blank) blaring. Some of the lyrics: “…rough sex…pussy made of gold… grabbing on his dick… I’ll show him mine if he shows me his…”; Brandi exits her car with a skirt so short we forget our breakfast – then she is confronted by the flasher and is traumatized so deeply that “I can’t walk, obviously!” Would be great satire or hyperbole – if it was satire or hyperbole – but Hill has depicted an exact representation of incognizant society today. Everyone is out to attract everyone else, not even realizing they are (push-up bras, high heels, fake lips, eyelashes, tits, pecs, Botox, the Lap Band) – then deny the attractees access! 12-year-olds steal their mother’s makeup and fishnets, not knowing why; parents force their daughters into Little Miss Pageants, making them gyrate and grind as if they know rough sex at age 6. In other words, the same society that exposes itself to sexuality SPAWNS the flasher exposing himself to society. And all the Brandis of the world have the audacity to whine about it.

Danny (“Thug life!”) McBride is hilarious in a cameo as a gangbanger – but only because he is Danny McBride. If this role were transplanted exactly as written and performed as a crime drama, it would sit just as well.

Collette Wolfe, though achingly beautiful, shows off some startling acting talent, as Ronnie’s unnoticed love interest (‘unnoticed’ because she sports a broken leg and keeps her flowing red locks up in her cap – note how Hill avoids the cliché of glasses and hair pulled back?) (And yes, my comment is sexist: beautiful women never display much actual “acting” – because they don’t have to – no one’s going to take them seriously anyway. It ain’t me – it’s the SYSTEM!)

Ronnie does become more likeable as the story resolves, but there is a lot of wasted celluloid getting him there. He is shown to be a crack shot and fearless fighter (taking out five gangbangers singlehandedly with just a nightstick), so we are not surprised when Ronnie beats up a long line of cops who come at him one at a time ineptly, like in a karate movie – until Ray Liotta overpowers him one-on-one. There is no point to this sequence – no expertise on display (as in ENTER THE DRAGON) or any humor (as in any Jackie Chan encounter) – it’s just Ronnie beating cops.

The inclusion of two rare Queen tracks as source music keeps this movie from sinking lower than its five-cucumber rating – It’s Late (from News of The World) and The Hero (a deep-cut from Flash Gordon).

OBSERVE AND REPORT embodies Ronnie’s view of his life: There’s gotta be something better than just not totally sucking.

END