318 - Music and Lyrics review

Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore are two actors that aren’t stars so much because they’re great thespians but because they can be enormously likeable, even when you’re not supposed to be sympathetic. In “Music and Lyrics” they crank up the charm without going overboard, and I have to say, it worked better than I would have imagined.

Grant plays an 80’s pop star (from a group aptly named “Pop!”) who sees an opportunity for comeback when a Britney Spears wannabe enlists him to help write her new hit. Barrymore is his plant maintenance girl that helps him crank out the new tune over the course of a week. There was much room for this to be screwed up or annoying, but it’s not. In fact, the rapport between the duo hard to turn away from. Grant’s performance is especially magnetic; his washed-up star isn’t a jerk, a hack, pathetic or even a womanizer, but a nice guy who misses the limelight. Though pic has its share of obvious (yet funny) 80’s jokes, there are moments of actual insight, such as when Grant defends the integrity of pop music. His performance here proves that while he makes a good asshole, he’s an even better when allowed to pursue our affection.

Like seemingly all romantic comedies, it climaxes with a grand display of his love for her, but the film plays the convention to its advantage instead of like a chore. This would have made a great date night for me if I’d know it was this good while it was still in theaters!

4 out of 5

317 - Jumper review

“Jumper” is a film that answers that seemingly eternal question that has pestered philosophers for ages: what would men do if they could teleport?

If “Jumper” is correct, they’d rob banks and buy themselves fancy condos. The film fields the idea, plays with it, and even gives us some nice special effects, but it’s strictly goofing off. There’s not so much as a half-hearted attempt to explore just how dangerous or useful a teleporting man could but, just how threatening they are to bank vaults and women seduced by expensive vacations (i.e. all of them).

Hayden Christensen stars as one of these fantastic teleporting men, or a “jumper,” as the title implies. While he could be a superhero (which the film alludes to more than once) or a famous magician or the most deadly terrorist or assassin the world has ever seen, he instead chooses to hang out at beautiful places and sleep with hot chicks. When in Rome, I suppose, something that literally does happen when he takes Rachel Bilson (of “The O.C.” fame) to Rome and sleeps with her.

Of course, there’s a hitch when a group of grey-clad goons led by Samuel L. Jackson (perhaps the most bulletproof actor to cast in anything) begin hunting him all over the place. “You all go bad,” he tells the protagonist while shining his killing knife, a statement that we question since none of the jumpers in the film actually appear to do much besides rob banks and kill in self-defense, but never mind.

Our hero then meets another jumper, this one obsessed primarily with taking down the people hunting him. These are the kind of battles where instead of teleporting around with a machine gun or two pistols, he wields flamethrowers and drops buses into the path of his enemies, because less-effective fighting techniques make for a much more colorful trailer.

The film is directed by Doug Liman, who seems to be gradually reducing the intelligence of his films; first “Swingers,” then “Go,” then “The Bourne Identity,” then “Mr. and Mrs. Smith,” and now this, which makes the others look like they were written by Ingmar Bergman. I often cringe when people tell me they only want to go to movies that don’t make them think, but in this case I can report that the film goes out of its way to not invoke any especially cerebral activity on the audience’s part at all, unless you’re having to write about it later, which most aren’t.

The acting has been pegged as especially wooden, but I though Christensen fit the part well, his general blandness aiding with the whole not thinking thing. Jackson practically plays the bad guy role in his sleep, while Bilson valiantly proves that one need not let a kindergarten Thanksgiving pageant level of acting talent deter them from a career as a movie star. Diane Lane even puts in an appearance as the 26-year-old Christensen’s mother, which should easily depress men like me who remember what her body used be able to melt steel.

At 90 minutes, it’s a breeze, though some might want to think of jumping to another theater. You know who you are.

2.5 out of 5

316 - Charlie Bartlett review

“Charlie Bartlett” is a comedy about a 17-year-old so desperate to be loved by everyone at school that he becomes impossible to like. As the title suggests, pic follows Charlie Bartlett (Anton Yelchin), a filthy rich twerp who gains popularity partly by being nice, but mostly by channeling drugs into the public school system.

After being kicked out of a fancy private school (forgery of government documents, felony), Charlie Bartlett is sent to one of those movie public schools where the kids hang out in easily identifiable groups (jocks, nerds, scumbags).

Charlie Bartlett refuses to ride to school in the family limousine because it would attract negative attention, though he doesn’t bother ditching the prep school jacket and tie. Fans of good films will doubtlessly be reminded of “Rushmore,” which features a protagonist who does the same thing, only the idiosyncrasies of that film’s hero stem from clever character development as opposed to asinine rip-offs of better movies (plagiarism, not a really crime but frowned upon).

Charlie Bartlett wants to be the most popular kid in school, though he spends most of his free time with his self-medicating mother (Hope Davis, bright spot). So in order to achieve all-important popularity, he does the only logical thing: he begins selling prescription drugs to the students (sale of controlled substances, felony). But before handing out the dope, Charlie Bartlett first has a lengthy chat with the students about their symptoms in order to hook them up with the right poison (practicing psychiatry without a license, felony).

Though seemingly hundreds of students are aware of Charlie Bartlett’s multiple felonies, as indicated by a cliché sequence where everyone in the hallway cheers him as if he were Barack Obama at a news media convention, he never expresses any fear of legal repercussions, or that perhaps handing out prescription pills to everyone in school might not be in the best interest of the student body’s general welfare. Yeah, he’s a real sweetheart, alright.

Of course, Charlie Bartlett clashes with Principal Gardner (Robert Downey Jr., more than capable at playing substance abusers), a pathetic bureaucrat who would rather be teaching history than bossing kids around. At home, he gets loaded and shoots his pistol into the family swimming pool (discharging a firearm in a residential zone, felony) and bitterly argues with his daughter Susan (Kat Dennings), Charlie Bartlett’s new squeeze (sexual intercourse, thankfully not illegal yet).

If it isn’t obvious enough that I found the character’s flippant disregard to decency and the law somewhat irritating, my good sensibilities were further tested by the film’s reliance on contrived plot turns and a stereotype-laden high school that should make current and former teens alike balk at the brazen disregard for actuality.

For example, did anyone who wanted drugs in high school really need to struggle that hard to find them? Would kids of all stripes think so highly of this pretentious dweeb and seek out his advice on their lives? Would a single Ritalin pill send high school kids into a hyperactive stupor reminiscent of a cocaine binge or LSD trip (bad writing, a shame)?

Later, when the school puts cameras into the “student lounge,” Charlie aids the protests against the measure (student’s right to privacy in public high schools, nonexistent). “Charlie Bartlett’s” few laughs don’t go far towards remedying the antipathy towards originality, rationality, or even watchability (waste of audience’s time, all too common).

Charlie Bartlett finally does get arrested (assault, misdemeanor), but he gets out in time for the film to wrap up with a student-run play. Oh, that brings up memories of “Rushmore” again (vastly superior to this tripe, without a doubt).

1.5 out of 5

315 - Cloverfield review

The giant monster film, with its silly rubber dinosaurs and mindless destruction of model cities, doesn’t inspire awe or even nostalgic affection in most contemporary American moviegoers, this one included.

But then comes “Cloverfield,” an awesome monster movie that rattles to the core by playing it straight, the creature destruction merging with clever filmmaking and sympathetic characters for an experience the audience won’t soon forget.

“Cloverfield” begins ominously with a disclaimer telling us that what we’re about to see is a document recovered from the area formerly known as Central Park. Uh-oh. Roll tape and we’re watching a video recorded from a hand held camera (of film studio quality, but whatever) documenting the goodbye party for Rob (Michael Stahl-David), recently promoted to a desirable executive post in Japan (get it?). Manning the camera is Rob’s best friend Hud (T.J. Miller), who tapes the party being thrown by Jason (Mike Vogel) and Lily (Jessica Lucas), with the snooty Marlena (Lizzy Caplan) just stopping in to say hello.

An explosion rocks the night. Terrorists, they think? Perhaps, but when the head of the Statue of Liberty comes flying down the street, and ear-splitting roars punctuate the landscape, that scenario seems increasing unlikely. The Empire State building then collapses, the resulting debris tearing the entire street apart. I imagine that this might be a difficult film for many New Yorkers to watch, as I, who sat 9/11/01 out safely in Iowa, was disquieted by the parallel.

The group heads for the Brooklyn Bridge to flee the island, and I probably don’t have to tell you how that turns out. Rob receives a call from Beth (Odette Yustman), his secret lover, finding out that she’s injured and trapped at her apartment building, he sets out to help her, friends in tow over his objections.

I’ll stop describing the plot here, as I’ve likely already said too much. I deliberately steered clear of spoilers concerning “Cloverfield,” and it paid off, because the film’s shocks and surprises are frequent and supremely rewarding. The pleasures range from the awe inspiring, such as when the group finds themselves trapped in an engagement between the military and the monster, or the frightening, like their foot walk down a blacked out subway tunnel which reveals pests more dangerous than rats.

The film’s storytelling device does wonders, as we experience night solely from the perspective of a few civilians caught in the middle. They don’t single-handedly defeat the creature, nor do they even try; rescuing one of their own and surviving is their only priority. It’s simultaneously epic and intensely personal, so we care about Rob and co. while treasuring our window into the big show.

Of course, they happen to bear witness to many of the evening’s more memorable moments, but we mostly see the monster in glimpses that tantalize without frustrating. I left the theater satisfied with what I had seen, yet wanting more, thrilled with the visceral experience, haunted by the ending, and stunned with the fatalism of it all. What a creature this is.

4.5 out of 5