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Movie review: ‘Forgetting Sarah Marshall’

(3 1/2 stars)

Bill Goodykoontz • Gannett News Service • April 17, 2008

Let’s dispense with the preliminaries: Forgetting Sarah Marshall is a hilarious movie, a brilliant deconstruction of the romantic comedy, a film that, assuming you have the appropriate sense of humor, will make you laugh out loud again and again.

Just so you know, “appropriate sense of humor” in this case means that you find raunchy jokes, wacky sex scenes and the sight of a grown man completely naked as his girlfriend breaks up with him funny.

And if you don’t? See it anyway. Afterward, you will. It’s the Superbad of chick flicks, and that’s high praise, indeed.

Forgetting Sarah Marshall is the latest film from the Judd Apatow team, and it’s a fantastic return to form after such near-misses as Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story and whiffs like Drillbit Taylor. It stars Jason Segel, who also wrote the script, and like the best Apatow-produced projects, Segel layers on the raunch over a strong foundation of real feeling - in this case, heartbreak.

That comes by way of Sarah (Kristen Bell), the star of a CSI-like TV show, who dumps her beau, Peter (Segel).

To get over Sarah dumping him, Peter first tries meaningless sex and booze. That doesn’t do the trick, so, at the behest of his pal Brian (Bill Hader), Peter heads for a resort in Hawaii.

There he finds Sarah, with her new boyfriend, self-absorbed rock star Aldous Snow (Russell Brand), staying at the same resort.

From there, it’s mostly Peter trying to get over Sarah.

Indeed, Peter might want to forget Sarah Marshall. But you won’t. R.

source: Gannett News

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 Pathology Movie Review

Some say that Pathology is a window to God. As doctors, they see the perversion and corruption of the flesh by all means unnatural… by violence… by toxin… by madness… to determine the cause of death. As a result they are the experts in all signs of foul play and the best in the field can uncover all means of killing, even those that are seemingly undetectable.

When med school student Ted Gray (Milo Ventimiglia) graduates top of his class he joins one of the nation’s most prestigious Pathology programs. With talent and determination Ted is quickly noticed by the program’s privileged and elite band of pathology interns who invite him into their crowd. Intrigued by his new friends he begins to uncover secrets he never expected and finds that he has unknowingly become a pawn in their dangerous and secret after-hours game at the morgue of who can commit the perfect undetectable murder. As Ted becomes seduced into their wild extracurricular activities the danger becomes real and he must stay one step ahead of the game before he is the next victim.

Director: Marc Schoelermann
Writer(s): Mark Neveldine, Brian Taylor
Cast: Milo Ventimiglia, Michael Weston, Alyssa Milano, Lauren Lee Smith, Johnny Whitworth, Keir O’Donnell, Dan Callahan, Mei Melancon

Release Date: April 18, 2008
Official Site: EnterPathologyLab.com
Distributor: MGM
Genre: Crime, Thriller
Rating: Rated R for disturbing and perverse behavior throughout, including violence, gruesome images, strong sexual content, nudity, drug use and language.

source: empiremovies.com 

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The Forbidden Kingdom Movie Review

By: Robert Bell

The idea of Jackie Chan and Jet Li sharing the screen for the first time will excite many viewers.  Known for the impressive roster of stunt work, audiences will surely expect a bevy of physics-defying choreographed fighting.  With Forbidden Kingdom they won’t be disappointed.  What may be somewhat of a let down to fans of this genre is the fact that this journey is less about the meeting of these screen legends, and more about the maturation of an American kid obsessed with kung-fu movies.

Forbidden Kingdom is a slightly crappier version of The Neverending Story, with bootleg kung-fu movies substituting for old books.  Where Neverending featured genuine emotion, heartache and personal growth, Forbidden settles for scatological humour, repetitive action and oversimplifications.  It is the kind of film that shows shirtless men squatting under waterfalls while a demure Asian woman plays the lute in the foreground.  Whether one finds this image amusing or not may indicate the likelihood of their enjoying this movie.

Jason (Michael Angarano) is a socially inept Boston teen obsessed with kung-fu movies.  He buys bootleg versions in a Chinatown pawn shop owned by a man referred to as Old Hop (Jackie Chan).  When local hoodlums decide to bully Jason into gaining them entry to the pawn shop after hours, a robbery goes wrong, leaving Old Hop shot in the chest, and Jason falling off of a building holding an enchanted staff.

Mid-fall Jason is whisked away to a Chinese farming village, which is being ransacked by soldiers in servitude of the Jade warlord (Collin Chou).  Captured and saved by a drunken Lu Yan (Jackie Chan), Jason learns of the staff’s mystical powers, involving the Monkey King (Jet Li), and empire betrayal.

Identified as “the seeker” and thus destined to return the staff to the stone Monkey King, Jason treks across the desert accompanied by Lu Yan, as well as a vengeful orphan called Golden Sparrow (Liu YiFei), and Silent Monk (Jet Li), while being pursued by a villainess white-haired witch (Li Bing Bing) with ties to the warlord.

Kingdom is gorgeously filmed by Director of Photography Peter Pau.  Impressive landscapes, framed impeccably are really the high point of this film, in addition to the well choreographed action.  Art direction and production design throughout is also standout, as the sheer aesthetic of the film makes it worthy of a big screen view.

Unfortunately, the surface of things is all this film has to offer.  The story itself isn’t particularly original or interesting, focusing a great deal of energy on magical tchotchkes, training montage clichés, and forced mysticism.  This is in addition to some groan-inducing dialogue that reaches a high point only when Jet Li suggests that a crouching tiger stance makes one look as though they’re defecating.

On the other hand, direction by Rob Minkoff is decent.  His main purpose is to capture the action effectively, and he does so with gusto.  The scenes are appropriately taut and quick paced, without becoming unnecessarily frenetic.  This leaves the audience able to enjoy these sequences without artistic distraction.

Overall, Forbidden Kingdom should please the 14-year-old boys that it is geared towards.  The corny humour, decent pacing and solid action keep the film relatively engaging.  It just isn’t anything particularly special or new.  This is bland escapist entertainment at its most adequate.  However, a scene of Jet Li urinating on Jackie Chan’s face should please filmgoers looking for something new.  That’s not something one sees every day.

source: moviesonline.ca

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88 Minutes Movie Review

By: Robert Bell

Shelved for over a year and featuring a fancy new prologue, 88 Minutes hasn’t had an easy time making it to the big screen. There are many reasons why a studio might choose to sit on a movie for an extended period of time. One of these reasons includes the potential marketability of the films star; if they have a television show coming, or a higher profile film coming, they may be able to draw a larger audience at a later time with increased exposure. Some other culprits may be a multiplex crowded with films of a similar genre, or the general quality of the film itself.

It seems that the latter issue is explanation for the delayed release of 88 Minutes. While the film certainly isn’t horrible, being relatively engaging for the first hour, it is somewhat forgettable. Luckily there are discussions of manipulated semen, bizarre lesbian love trysts, cackling villains, and crazy motorcycle driving French-Canadians named Guy LaForge.

Forensic Psychiatrist/University professor Dr. Jack Gramm (Al Pacino) has given an expert testimony that put suspected serial killer Jon Forster (Neal McDonaugh) on death row. Coming up on the execution date, a copycat killer has come to light, using the same M.O. to kill young women.

On the day of the execution, Dr. Gramm receives a suspect phone call telling him that has only 88 minutes to live. With the aid of his reliable lesbian assistant Shelly (Amy Brenneman), and his daddy-issue ridden T.A. Kim Cummings (Alicia Witt), Dr. Gramm uses his forensic skills to try and find out who has targeted him.

Screenplay by Gary Scott Thompson (K9, Hollow Man 2) is mediocre at best. While a great deal of attention is played to the central mystery, throwing in red herrings and clues that are effectively subtle and revealing at the same time, the script eventually writes itself into a corner, leaving the last half hour of the film to strain in credulity. Characters are also underwritten and underused for the most part as well. We’re given a bit of insight into the motivations and goings on of Dr. Gramm, but nothing new or particularly engaging.

Another issue with the script, which also topples over into direction is that pesky sense of urgency. 88 Minutes is intended to be a real time thriller with a ticking clock, yet Pacino has time to sit around his apartment with his horny T.A while she babbles about her feelings. This is in addition to the many hoops the “killer” would have to jump through in order to kidnap, manipulate, and kill so many people in such a short amount of time.

Performances are bland and unremarkable for the most part. Al Pacino does a passable job with his conflicted cop role. He’s played this part so many times before that it really doesn’t require a great deal of effort on his part, but his performance here holds no torch to the one he laid out with a similar character in the far superior Insomnia. Alicia Witt is pleasant and likable throughout, despite playing a thinly sketched and fairly uninteresting role. She’s the kind of actress who will eventually get a part perfectly suited for her and show the world what she’s capable of, but this one isn’t it. Very little is required of the additional supporting cast-members and as such, they all turn in their minimum professional requirements.

Some other issues with the film include lackluster direction, lousy production values and a cheesy porn quality soundtrack.

88 Minutes is a film that starts out with an interesting premise, partially delivering the goods, only to fall into a pit of contrived implausibility. Filmmakers should know by now that extended finales with serial killers explaining their motivations are groan-inducing to an educated demographic.

source: moviesonline.ca

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 Forgetting Sarah Marshall Movie Review

A sort of Hollywood version we’ll refer to here as Naked Boy Singing, just leave it at that, Forgetting Sarah Marshall has the fingerprints of Judd Apatow all over it, enough said. For those of you remaining here and begging for more. let’s just characterize Forgetting Sarah Marshall as a lewd laughathon transported to an exotic locale. And that supremely silly smut king and gross-out Renaissance man Apatow dons his producer’s hat here as followup to his Walk Hard, Knocked Up and The 40 Year Old Virgin creations, and skips town to relocate this major screen mischief to Hawaii.

Directed by first timer Nicholas Stoller, who penned that recession romp Fun With Dick And Jane, Forgetting Sarah Marshall’s script is masterminded by the pretty shocking, uninhibited Jason Segel (Freaks And Geeks), who has written himself in here as tragic leading guy and statuesque doofus un-hunk, Peter. He’s an insecure lanky looser who has trouble hanging on to his clothes or his girlfriend Sarah (Veronica Mars’ Kristen Bell), a small screen crimefighter series celeb and bossy babe who dumps Peter, the show’s soundtrack musician, for a rock star sex machine.

Seeking closure and hopefully emotional amnesia in faraway places, Peter heads for a long overdue vacation at a Hawaiian resort, only to run into the mutually horny pair at the same hotel. Sarah misreads Peter as an unrequited stalker who has followed her there, and Peter does his best to convince her otherwise by pretending to party hearty, when he’s really sinking further into a borderline clinical depression. But not to worry, there’s jolly Matthew the Waiter (Superbad’s pudgy prankster Jonah Hill), a swine slaughtering interlude with an obese chef, a front desk hottie (Mila Kunis), and plenty of hotel booze on hand to lift the sulking tourist’s spirits.

Forgetting Sarah Marshall is fairly standard fare as romantic comedy, spiced up with scandalous intrigue that either buoyantly lifts the proceedings or lowers them into rude raunch, depending upon your point of view in these matters. Suffice it to say that there’s a never-a-dull-moment pace to these outlandish sexcapades that just keeps the surprises, pleasing and otherwise, coming.

Universal Pictures
Rated R
2 1/2 stars

judythpiazza@newsblaze.com
Copyright © 2008, NewsBlaze, Daily News

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 Smart People Movie Review

By RICK BENTLEY

McClatchy Newspapers

Miramax Films / MCT

“Smart People” is a smart movie, but it’s not smart enough. So much effort was put into the snappy dialogue that no one noticed the story falls apart in the final 20 minutes.

The big brain of the film is Lawrence Wetherhold (Dennis Quaid). He’s one of those college professors who is so in love with his own voice he does not realize it has a sleep-inducing affect on students. He’s so disconnected with his classes, he cannot identify a single student by name.

A medical condition leaves Wetherhold in need of help from his adopted, and less cerebral, brother Chuck (Thomas Haden Church). This all proves to be an annoyance for Wetherhold’s overachiever daughter Vanessa (Ellen Page). Either she is in deep need of therapy for her obsession with pleasing her father or she’s just a social jerk.

This new family dynamic unfolds like a French farce. Misunderstandings, thwarted love and tons of too-hip-for-the-room patter move the plot to its eventual demise.

That end begins to unfold when one of Wetherhold’s former students, Janet Hartigan (Sarah Jessica Parker), finally reveals she once had a crush on the socially stupid teacher. Here’s a bonus: Hartigan’s got a destructive personality. That throws one more log on the emotional fire.

Mark Poirier’s script is a series of moments where the characters collide, talk in smug tones and then drift away into their own self-absorption. The witty banter comes across as being far more important than any connections by the players.

And that disconnect drifts off the screen to engulf the viewer.

Quaid does his best in playing the socially inept professor. But there are occasions when he seems like he is channeling his role in “Great Balls of Fire.” Church does little with what has become a safe role for him: a character who is smarter than he looks.

Page is the most effective. Her role is the opposite of her street-smart lead in “Juno,” but Page brings the same power to the screen. It is amazing that an actress so young can command so much attention.

But her performance is not enough to distract from the writing. Poirier starts strong but ends on a sour note with a hackneyed plot twist.

Director Noam Murro doesn’t help as he leaps over what should have been some big moments late in the film.

Had Murro been a little smarter with his direction and Poirier been a little smarter with his writing, “Smart People” would have been an intelligent examination of the emotional pitfalls of life.

SMART PEOPLE

Grade: B-minus

Rated R (adult situations, brief nudity). Dennis Quaid, Ellen Page, Thomas Haden Church, Sarah Jessica Parker. Directed by Noam Murro. Running time: 1 hour, 33 minutes.

Source: MiamiHerald.com 

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Posted Apr 11th 2008 11:02PM by Scott Weinberg

If Steven Spielberg’s Poltergeist opened today, it would almost definitely earn a PG-13 rating. Earlier this year we were treated to a very entertainingly creepy monster movie called Cloverfield — which was also rated PG-13. So we know it CAN be done. Despite what the horror fans have been conditioned to believe recently, it IS possible to make an effective horror movie that’s not rated R.

But it sure as hell won’t happen this week, as the latest no-effort PG-13 remake to lurch off of the assembly line is called Prom Night, and it’s easily one of the flimsiest movies I’ve ever seen. The entire film absolutely reeks of corporatized product, and nobody involved in the flick (from director Nelson McCormick and screenwriter J.S. Cardone to just about every bored actor onscreen) seems even remotely interested in making, y’know, a half-decent movie. No, Prom Night exists for one reason only: To snatch some of that babysitting money from the 15-year-old girls of the planet. (I should know. I sat behind nine of ‘em as Prom Night unspooled, and not one of ‘em was paying as much attention to the screen as they were their cell phones.)

It’s pretty obvious that the schlock-makers over at Screen Gems needed only three things: a trailer, a poster and a title like “Prom Night.” The final product could be one of the worst movies ever made, and it’s still guaranteed to make money — because kids like to go to the movies, period. Basically, to call Prom Night a horror movie is to call chewing gum a cheeseburger. And I’m perfectly fine with the idea of movies being made for a 15-year-old female audience, but it really bugs me when I see so little effort put forth — especially when we’re talking about something that’s supposed to be a horror movie.

Related to the 1980 Paul Lynch slasher flick in name only, the new Prom Night is about a girl who has survived a horrible attack, but (get this) her terrorizer has recently escaped from an asylum, and he plans to slice his way through prom night to get at our lead idiot. Toss in a half-dozen clumsy exposition scenes (courtesy of the two dumbest movie cops ever born), a whole LOT of endless banter that’s supposed to sound like actual conversations, and (finally) a bunch of stunningly inept kill / stalk / scare / loud noise sequences. (Also, feel free to drink a beer every time one of the main characters leaves the prom to visit their hotel room. Seriously, for a minute I thought the projectionist was showing each reel twice.)

The movie is too lazy to dole out even one half-decent subplot, it has no idea how to make its killer come off as scary, it telegraphs every one of its meager thrills, and it’s packed with characters so generic they’d be better off wearing white sweaters emblazoned with “JOCK,” “BITCH,” “VIRGIN” on the front. Prom Night can’t even succeed at the ol’ “enjoy the character actor” game because reliable folks like Idris Elba, Ming-Na Wen and Jessalyn Gilsig are given nothing to do. And the less said about Johnathon Schaech’s performance, the better. He’s a very cool actor, but it takes more than a vacant glower and a black hat to create an effective stalker. The ironic highlight of the cast has to be James Ransome as the universe’s most unconvincing detective. Nothing against the actor, but if you can buy this guy as a hard-boiled authority figure then you’ll buy anything. (Like a ticket to this movie.)

Prom Night knows precisely two tricks: The loud “misdirection fake scares” that come standard in just about every lame-ass horror movie, and the howlingly amateurish “POV cheat.” (This is when the director, using very simple film grammar, indicates that the camera lens is temporarily standing in for the killer’s perspective — but when a different character looks in “our” direction … they see nothing. It’s evidence of a director aping some well-worn conventions without having any reason or skill.) McCormick uses these generic tricks about seven times each, and every time we’re set up for another sadly ineffective jolt, the movie sinks deeper and deeper into the swamp of awfulness.

The bland and generic cast is done no favors by Cardone’s witless screenplay. (The lead girl looks like an Olsen Twin and “acts” accordingly.) Had Prom Night been a spoof, perhaps the ceaseless litany of pre-packaged dialog could be played for laughs. Unfortunately Prom Night is not a spoof; it’s a horror movie with no horror, a listless, lifeless, bloodless slasher flick with a ridiculous villain, and easily one of the most worthless films in a long line of worthless films. It’d be easy to just trash the movie for being watered-down remake crap, but you could do that without having seen the flick. Truth is, they could have thrown in a lot of R-rated gore at the last minute and changed the title to Hotel Prom Masscare — and it’d still be one of the crappiest horror movies in years.

Source: Cinematical

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Street Kings Movie Review

James Ellroy, the self-described “demon dog” of American crime fiction, writes in a baroque, pulp prose style that hurtles along the page like a speed freak in a rocket, an image that I probably lifted from one of his books. In his fiction and nonfiction he rushes forward fast, fast, fast, pausing regularly to do a little scat singing (“a hypodermic full of hyper-hazy, health-hazarding” stuff, from a 1998 short story called “Hush-Hush”), or to blow a hole through the page. He’s a demon dog, all right, with a bite as sharp as his bark.

Other than Curtis Hanson’s 1997 elegant page-to-screen translation of Mr. Ellroy’s novel “L.A. Confidential,” the movies have generally failed to capture the true tone and texture of his dark places. Certainly that’s the case with David Ayer’s absurd if accidentally entertaining potboiler, “Street Kings,” based on a story by Mr. Ellroy, who also shares screenwriting credit with Kurt Wimmer and Jamie Moss. The premise — the existence of an ultraviolent gang of cops operating inside the Los Angeles Police Department and wholly outside the law — has a vintage Ellroy tang, though it also pointedly summons up a host of that city’s authentic police corruption scandals, from the 1930s through the 1990s.

Keanu Reeves plays Detective Tom Ludlow, a prime cut of beef who’s part of a cultish, multicultural wrecking crew run by the silkily smooth Capt. Jack Wander (Forest Whitaker). A loner by violent disposition and tragic (dead wife) history, Tom bursts into the film, breaking any number of laws, and immediately enters a hell on earth (that would be Los Angeles) with bullets, blood, shattered bone and underage sex slaves. Good times! More seriously, and this is nothing if not a deeply serious movie (I think), there are nothing but bad times ahead, with even more blood — smeared, splattered, splashed and sprayed — mixed in with vivid night photography, thumping tunes, boyz in the hood, ornamental women, casual racist insults and a lot of manly shouting.

Mr. Ayer, who wrote “Training Day” and directed “Harsh Times,” invests his work with palpable energy — his films feel urgent and at times, interestingly, close to desperate — but he has next to no idea how to control or channel all that manic intensity. Much as he does in “Harsh Times,” he starts this new film in overdrive and keeps it there all the way to the exhausted, exhausting end, piling violent moment upon violent moment. And much like “Training Day” (in which Denzel Washington plays a swaggeringly corrupt cop) and “Harsh Times” (Christian Bale doing the wigged-out war veteran thing), this film pivots on a man who, having been schooled in violence and rewarded for lessons too well learned, has become captive to his own brutality.

Trained as a pit bull, stripped of fear and almost without any pity (especially for himself), Tom has no sense that he’s fighting for someone else’s gain. Mr. Reeves, his face and body somewhat thickened, perhaps by age or the role or both, looks like a middleweight boxer who’s reached the end of a very hard and long road. (Robert Ryan had a lock on this type in the 1940s and ’50s.) Mr. Reeves’s natural sobriety works well for the part, as does his ability to play it stiff and straight and a touch stupid. Tom’s slow-dawning awareness of the world he inhabits and his awful place in it is terribly obvious, as is his metamorphosis, but neither is it devoid of pathos.

It’s easy to laugh at “Street Kings” for its bigger than big emotions, its preposterously kinky narrative turns and overwrought jawing and yowling, but there’s no doubt that it also keeps you watching, really watching, all the way to the end. The film can be unintentionally, often grotesquely, funny, nowhere more so than during the grandiose finale when Mr. Whitaker — never what you might call a quiet actor to begin with — cuts crazy loose and starts popping his eyes and sputtering the spit. What Mr. Ayer doesn’t appear to have realized — a mistake shared by Brian De Palma in his unfortunate adaptation of Mr. Ellroy’s crime novel “The Black Dahlia” — is that you don’t need to gild a 24-karat lily. It’s plenty shiny already.

“Street Kings” is rated R (Under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian). Blood and bullets.

Source: NYTimes

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