346 - Baby Mama review

“Baby Mama” is a comedy starring the two funniest women on TV that gets fewer laughs in 96 minutes than a “Family Matters” rerun. It’s a miscarriage from top to bottom, without so much as a grain of originality or anything resembling a more than remotely amusing thought.

Tina Fey stars as one of those movie executive women who love their job and have no family as a result. She desperately wants a baby, and in a scene that appears written by someone who has never been to a doctor, is told that her uterus sucks. So she hires Amy Poehler, a white trash nitwit, to be a surrogate for her baby. They engage in sitcom style antics such as feuding over the toilet and who stuck gum under the table, because everyone goes to the movies to wade through a series of trite conflicts and jokes that could be written by a mature 3rd grader, right?

Poehler’s character is straight out of a Jeff Foxworthy book, an insufferable redneck worse than anything I ever saw during my three years in Alabama. It passes stereotyping and becomes just plain snide; you can easily imagine the filmmakers snicker, “Ha, she’s such an idiot, I’ll bet she believes in God and lost her virginity to her cousin and voted for Bush at least once.”

Not content to merely be unfunny, the filmmakers went the distance and threw in banal plot twists, character development with no basis in story or plot, a chemistry free romance with Greg Kinnear, a wasted cameo by Steve Martin, and a courtroom scene just in case we forgot we were watching a movie. It’s as if written by rigidly adhering to formula, but it’s a formula never once used in a half-decent film.

Sometimes I watch terrible films and wonder what the film’s premier must have been like. Did the cast of this film mingle around the bar afterwards and discuss firing their agents? Was everybody depressed and mumbling to themselves when the topic of the film itself came up? I hope so.

Tina Fey is the creator and star of “30 Rock,” the funniest show currently on TV, and yes, I’m aware of “South Park.” Amy Poehler is a star on “Saturday Night Live” and likely the funniest cast member by a factor of ten. Both of them should be able to vomit better material than this, but instead their faces are plastered on posters and billboards, shilling this derivative garbage at the expense of their names.

Scratch what I said earlier; this isn’t a miscarriage, it’s a botched abortion.

0.5 out of 5

345 - The Forbidden Kingdom review

Ever see “Sidekicks?” It was a harmless little 1992 film that saw a loser teen immersed in fantasy, eventually getting to meet Chuck Norris, his hero.

“The Forbidden Kingdom” reminded me of that, only instead of one martial arts icon, you have the martial arts movie icons, and instead of the teen imagining his adventures, the kid really experiences in them. Those icons are Jackie Chan and Jet Li, of course, teaming up in a way that suggests Chinese action stars suffer less hubris than their American counterparts. One big difference from “Sidekicks:” apparently, Chan and Li don’t exist in this teen’s universe, prompting us to wonder what got him into martial arts flicks in the first place (and don’t say Bruce Lee).

The plot: Jason (Michael Angarano) is a Boston teen obsessed with kung-fu flicks. He visits a shop run by Jackie Chan in old man makeup, only end up falling through a portal into some magical word populated by Chinese emperors and magic. Once there, Jason runs into Jackie Chan again, this time looking like an old man on his own and playing an immortal kung-fu master. They soon thereafter run into Jet Li, playing yet another kung-fu master. They both teach Jason to Be A Man and Seize His Destiny, and though it’s routine stuff, I found myself caring about the result.

The paper would have to double my salary to inspire me to write much more about the plot. There are magic powers, lots of potions and things with the word “jade” in front of it, and villains who kill their own henchmen for delivering bad news. There are training montages and battles where two men butcher a battalion of soldiers with their hands and feet. It’s one of those films where despite a dense plot, the whole story could be adequately summarized on a postage stamp.

But it’s a sweet film in a way, unfailingly corny but in a good-hearted way that suggests the key players were at least as interested in making good entertainment as they were about raking in money. Chan and Li participate in some great fight scenes that don’t end several minutes too soon like those in several of their more recent efforts.

The film’s kind spirit and impressive action overrode my cynicism about formula, and even though the dimmest moviegoers should be able to accurately calculate the ending within the first five minutes, I suppose that’s okay. After all, what person goes to a Jackie Chan or a Jet Li movie looking for something new? That the film provides what we want and a little extra makes it worth our time.

Apparently, Gene Siskel to used to ask if a movie was as good as a documentary of the cast members having lunch. When the question first crossed my mind about “The Forbidden Kingdom,” I was tempted to say no, but then had second thoughts. When you’re a screen icon famous for your kung-fu stunts, and you meet your greatest contemporary, what better way to bond than to stage a fight together onscreen?

3 out of 5

344 - Iron Man review

They say clothes make the man. So what does that say about Tony Stark, an alcoholic womanizer wearing a billion dollar suit?

That suit is made of fancy materials that don’t include iron, but earn Stark (Robert Downey Jr.) the moniker “Iron Man” nonetheless. The costume can soak up tank shells, fly miles into the sky at supersonic speeds, and blast bad guys with lasers. Pretty cool, eh? At least much more so than anything you can buy at your local department store.

The film, directed by Jon Favreau, is based on a Marvel comics superhero not popular enough to have been brought to the big screen before characters like Spider-Man or the Hulk. It’s sleek and loud, filled with marvelous (pun not intended) special effects emphasizing the technical wizardry of American military might.

Lost in the muzzle flash of expensive weaponry is a story and a plot, those pesky vestigial organs that big-budget summer blockbusters can often do without. “Iron Man” doesn’t feel so much like a movie as it does a pilot for several more movies.

What passes for an excuse for the four or so action sequences entails Stark, a genius and CEO of a top American weapons manufacturer, being captured by terrorists in Afghanistan. They order him to build a missile for them, but instead he hammers out that suit and blasts them apart. The destruction causes a crisis of conscience for Stark, who then pulls the plug on his company’s arms production. How American forces having less advanced weaponry will save the lives of our soldiers, I don’t know, but it certainly sounds like a trendy philosophy, doesn’t it? Those proud of America’s status as a superpower should fear the day that our weapons manufacturers adopt the political views of Dennis Kucinich.

Meanwhile, Stark’s business partner (Jeff Bridges) begins working with the terrorists and builds his own iron man suit. Why would a filthy rich executive do this? For the sake of the screenplay, of course! Back in the 1960’s, Stark fought the communists, but now, other than a couple of skirmishes with the Taliban, he mostly battles the American military. What, were the filmmakers concerned about the grosses in the northern mountains of Pakistan?

Much of the film’s strength rests in the hands of Robert Downey Jr., whose career has seen a great resurgence lately. He’s undeniably charming, infusing the character with the right amount of roguishness and gravitas, despite being so thinly written. Jeff Bridges steals his few scenes as the sleazy executive who turns evil for no reason whatsoever, while Gwyneth Paltrow and Terrence Howard collect their paychecks as Stark’s assistant and best friend, respectively. Comic book geeks should stay tuned through the closing credits for a pleasing cameo from one of the hippest actors out there.

Viewers desperate for explosions and laser beams should enjoy this silliness. Nonetheless, this film might have a neato suit, but there ain’t much underneath it worth seeing.

2.5 out of 5

342

Sorry for the lack of updates. I've posted two older reviews below, with several more to come soon. Will be reviewing Iron Man for the next Pulse.

341 - 88 Minutes review

Al Pacino has been playing parts that he is 10 years too old for since at least 1998. In “88 Minutes,” a thriller that feels like it was written in less time than that, the 67-year-old Pacino plays a forensic psychiatrist who sleeps with women in their 30’s and does enough running around to wear out a sophomore track star.

It’s another film that you can tell was greenlit by the studio executives solely by the pitch, which likely read as follows: a forensic psychiatrist who helped put away a serial killer begins receiving phone calls counting down to his death, 88 minutes away. Faced off against a criminal mastermind, he must piece together the clues before his time is up.

Sounds fun, yes? Little of that to be found here. The film primarily consists of Pacino’s character and one of his grad students (Alicia Witt) running around with pistols searching for the killer. As a grad student myself, I know that I’d demand extra credit, or at least leniency come May.

The plot seems as if all the elements were poured into a shotgun shell and then blasted onto the pages of the script. There are conversations that don’t go anywhere, innumerable red herrings, characters that probably served a purpose before their scenes were cut during editing, and lots of 20 second conversations stretched to fit two minutes.

Pacino is undoubtedly a great actor, his name functioning as a pedigree harkening back to brilliant performance and piles of awards, but now he seems content to merely collect his paychecks. Not that he’s bad in this sort of role, but there are only two emotions to play: confident and angry.

The film can’t even get itself straight on Pacino’s character. Is he a flawed hero or a blowhard getting his just desserts? There are fewer cinematic sins worse than a film that can’t make up its own mind, and “88 Minutes” hasn’t a clue. Adding to the discomfort is a soundtrack that favors rap music (yeah, Pacino is so rap alright) and jerky edits that bombard the eye. It’s so convoluted that you must wonder if the slapdash appearance of the whole thing was the result of incompetence or pathetically misguided artistry.

All of this leads to a climax which makes no sense, but at least that’s consistent with the rest of it. At 108 minutes, it’s 18 minutes too long. Or 108, if you’d rather look at it that way, which I do.


1.5 out of 5

340 - Doomsday review

Have you ever seen “Escape From New York?” Well, so have I, but now I’ve seen it again, albeit with setting, protagonist, nationality, quality, and title. This time it’s called “Doomsday,” but the similarities to that 1981 cult actioneer are so numerous that even the captions explaining the date are identical.

Like “Escape From New York,” “Doomsday” sees a tough-as-nails anti-hero travel inside a quarantined area to retrieve something of great importance. In 1981it was Kurt Russell as Snake Plissken, in 2007 it’s Rhona Mitra as Eden Sinclair, and though Plissken was undoubtedly the better character. Plissken was retrieving the president of the U.S., while Sinclair is searching for the cure to a plague that caused Scotland to be walled off from the rest of Britain, suggesting further decline for the once great nation. The plague causes quick and hideous death, or it turns people into zombies, the film itself seems as unsure of this as we are.

While both films portrayed shattered cities infested with vicious rag-clad hoodlums, “Doomsday” takes it a step further and throws in medieval knights on horseback. Plissken had an eye-patch, while Sinclair has a computerized glass eye. While Plissken escaped in a shoddy old taxi, Sinclair gets the heck out of Glascow in a shiny BMW. Whereas Plissken sticks it to the man in the end, well, Sinclair must have watched his exploits on DVD. And they both have a had time finding a cigarette. On the other hand, fans of “Doomsday” can find some hope in the knowledge that this film is blantant rip-off of an earlier one; “Escape From New York” had an okay 1996 sequel called “Escape From L.A.,” so if they’re willing to wait fifteen years, perhaps they’ll get another, albeit inferior, installment.

Mitra gets the job done as Sinclair, looking in suitably muscled shape though without anything interesting to endear us to the character. Bob Hoskins and Malcolm McDowell have small supporting roles as a government stooge and the leader of the overblown medieval themed society, but neither part is written well enough to allow the actors to flourish as they usually do.

Writer/director Neil Marshall, who directed the critically revered 2006 horror film “The Descent” gets the action part right, the fight and chases striking a balance between kinetic energy and wince-inducing gore. But where he goes all wrong isn’t so much the preposterousness of the scenario, but the glum attitude draped over the endeavor. The killing parts are exhilarating and fun, but little else. To Marshall’s credit, the film feels shorter than it actually is, although a fair amount of time is spent developing characters and places that hold no interest and offer little payoff. “Doomsday” feels like it suffered massive cuts in the editing room, countless script revisions, or both.

Already lacking originality, “Doomsday” also misses out on the irreverent wit of its spiritual predecessor, which was what made that film a cult classic. Note to filmmakers: if you’re going to copy something, make sure you include the best part.

2.5 out of 5