Bridesmaidzilla Vs Bambi

Bridesmaids Straps One On
Review by Tony Freitas 

Bridesmaids ain't a chickflick. It's a dickflick with a strap-on. The women of Bridesmaids shit. They fart and burp and fantasize about balls in their face. The women of Bridesmaids also fantasize about the imagined bliss of being married or the imagined bliss of being single. And they love the challenge of planning a wedding. Bridesmaids is wedding planning as extreme sport on par with male Superbowl frenzy. There's the churrascaria cha chas relay, the bridesmaid's dresses decathlon and the agony and defeat of the bridal shower showdown. And while I'm stuck on this flimsy sports analogy, Bridesmaids just may be the Superbowl film of recent wedding features. And the supposed most valuable player in the sport of film nuptials, Kate Hudson, is nowhere to be found. Kate who? 

Bridesmaids ain't a chickflick. It's a dickflick with a strap-on.

Annie Walker (Kristen Wiig) is a hot female mess of love and bubbling resentments that, despite her best efforts, erupt to the surface and flow like destructive lava when best-friend-since-childhood Lillian (Maya Rudolph) asks Annie to be her Maid of Honor. Annie's personal life is in a disastrous tailspin after her bakery business fails and her relationship becomes collateral damage.  Entrenched in a sexually sizzling but emotionally barren fuck buddy arrangement with Ted, (funny and casually cruel Jon Hamm) Annie's esteem is in the gutter and her heart is in the ICU. Nothing better than her best friend's unbridled joy to make her feel even shittier. And the shittier Annie feels the more we identify... and laugh.

Maybe you've heard about the gross out antics of Bridesmaids. Sure, it's often hysterical and filthy -- in the best possible way -- but Bridesmaids seems to have something else entirely on its mind. The gross out stuff is just to get you in the seat so the film can make oodles of dough. The true potency and strength of the film lies in the relationships between the women. Annie and Lillian's relationship rings true as do the petty jealousies and recriminations. Wigg is a talented comedian. Though I'm not crazy about some of her SNL characterizations --  Please no more of the birth defected singing Dooneese -- here she underplays and a warmth develops that replaces the one note sarcasm she's known for in other roles. Sure there's sarcasm here as well, but it's not casual sarcasm thrown out for easy laughs. It's real world sarcasm that is part and parcel of a close life-long friendship. And while some of Annie's pre-wedding antics seem extreme, they come from a place of love (I suppose that's also been a defense for every other murder committed). 


Bridesmaids doesn't avoid cliche's, it dresses them up in pink taffeta and parades a float down main street: Marriage is the be all and end all. A man can make a woman's life complete. Fat women are over-sexed man-eating sharks (what's wrong with that anyway). But what's missing from Bridesmaids is important as well. The cliche' of women as natural born enemies, of women as victims. Some of Bridemaid's characters might not know what's good for them, but they are the masters of their own domain. Bridesmaids also does a nice bit of humanizing Lillian's other close friend Helen (Rose Byrne). What could have been a stock movie rich bitch is instead an insecure control freak (with stepchildren that hate her) who has her heart in the right place. Wiigs interactions with Byrne rival those with Rudolph for humor and pathos. Pathos? Yes. But the references to bodily fluids still abound if you were worried. 

There's been heavy social critique of Bridesmaids in the past few weeks. What Bridesmaids means to Hollywood. How it will pave the way for more female driven films. How it could turn the red light to green for femme films that have been on pause or stalled in the pipeline.  What it means to feminists and the divided camp of funny/not so funny. Feminist film? Feminist failure?  That's a ton of weight on Bridesmaid's delicate shoulders. One impact you can expect is a slew of poorly made female buddy comedies in the next year and a half. Maybe there'll be a gem in the steaming pile that is sure to come. Hollywood loves a winner... after the fact. 


Ultimately, Bridesmaids is no feminist manifesto nor does it set back women's rights 100 years. It's funny and warm and unapologetic. It doesn't care what your politics are and doesn't play to either side. It is what it is like it or not. Shut up and move on. If it's not what you want it to be, maybe that's what the film makers intended. And Nikki Fink... Please keep your word and leave Hollywood. You DON'T KNOW ANYTHING! Maybe you and Rex Reed can team up. 

Not So Mighty Thor

God Of Thunder Thunderwhelms

review by Tony Freitas

Come on take a ride on my disco stick

I'm not a fanboy nor a comic book geek.  However, I read plenty of comics as a child and in fact oftentimes punishment  for childhood misdeeds included destruction of comic books by angry parents. Favorites were Daredevil, The Flash, Plastic Man, Spiderman The Sub-Mariner and of course The Mighty Thor. I remember making an oversized poster of Thor in 4th or 5th grade for some school project, so apparently I was quite taken with the son of Odin. Unfortunately I can't say the same for Marvel's latest franchise to hit the screen. While there are many things to admire about Thor, it's a lazy film that brings nothing new to the genre.

Thor isn't a bad film by any means - it has a capable script credited to three writers: Ashley Edward Miller, Zach Stentz and Don Payne. The special effects are professionally rendered -  and it's got actor /director Kenneth Branagh. Yet Thor is a vexing exercise in utter mediocrity. All the elements are in place for a promising and fun superhero romp. No such luck.  Thor is pure pedestrianism. Other than the actors -who are uniformly well cast and game for the challenge - there's nary an ounce of originality, daring or showmanship to be found. We've seen it ALL before. 

The first quarter of the film is the Origin Story. The middle - The Fall From Grace. And the final quarter is The Redemption.  Of course these are classic elements of storytelling and comic book hero lore. But Jesus, make them fresh and relevant with a nod to what's going on in the world today. Even the musical score is  nondescript and blasé, a less than rousing version of so many superhero orchestral arrangements that have come before. How about a little Clint Mansell or Phillip Glass for a change up. 

Fangs for the memories...

And then there's the CGI. Can't we change that up too. Nothing to see here that you haven't seen before. The oft repeated grey blue tones of the Bifrost Giants of Jotunheim and their world are like out takes from Lord Of The Rings - The Version You've Seen. An umpteenth version of the Kraken monster - release me from the release of the krakenesque creature that seems to haunt so many films recently - is all fangs and no bite. I'd like to see an original monster that doesn't look like a version of the last 20 CGI movie monsters.

While I'm complaining can we talk about phoniness for a second? The small New Mexico hamlet where most of the action takes place has got to be the phoniest movie town since The Truman Show. It looks like it was built ten minutes ago specifically for the movie.  A cluster of buildings in the middle of the desert do not a town make. Director Branagh seems to be going for a gunslinger showdown at the Okay Corral but what he's ended up with makes Frontierland seems like the height of western realism.

This has got to be the dullest Rainbow Bridge ever. Turn up the wattage would you. Indeed, the entire film could use a power boost.

Also working against Thor is the Earth/Asgard split. While much humor is mined from Thor's earthbound exile, half the film takes place at the end of the rainbow bridge in Asgard. When we loose Thor's earthly connections and the fish out of water aspect, the film's energy dips. And while we're in Asgard can we talk about the rainbow Bridge for a moment. This has got to be the dullest Rainbow Bridge ever. Turn up the wattage would you. Indeed, the entire film could use a power boost.

"A little neglect may breed great mischief"

So now time to say a few nice things. Chris Hemsworth as Thor is a terrific mix of warmth and pomposity. He is an ideal Thor, if not exactly the Thor of Marvel comics. He's a younger hotter version of Frasier Crane without the bumbling. Tom Hiddleston as Thor's angel-devil conflicted brother Loki lends depth that is nearly Shakespearean. And speaking of Shakespearean, Sir Anthony Hopkins who seems to have been slumming through films lately - The Rite and The Wolfman prime examples -  seems invested here as Thor's father Odin. His rich voice and countenance lend Thor needed gravitas.  Natalie Portman is Thor's love interest, scientist Jane Foster. Fresh from her Academy Award win, she follows in the footsteps of Sally Fields in post Oscar film role choices.  This is Portman's Smokey And The Bandit.  And, while not exactly an Oscar worthy performance, she gives a nice light frazzled performance that is slightly more memorable than fellow Oscar winner Goop as Pepper Potts in the Iron Man franchise.

That there will be a sequel to Thor seems a done deal.  That's not necessarily a bad thing. Now that the origin set-up is out of the way, it should free further Thor films to step outside the box a bit. The elements are all there for better films in the future; especially with the formidable Hemsworth and Hiddleston at the forefront. We'll get another taste of Thor in The Avengers film in 2012 that unites him with Iron Man, Captain America, Nick Fury and the Hulk. Perhaps there's still fun to be had the next time we take a ride on Thor's disco stick... er... hammer.

Fast Five - A Cinematic Hand Job with Happy Ending Included

Review by Tony Freitas

Fast Five may be an unintentional lesson in script writing. I wanted to see it on opening day because the screenwriter was someone I used to know. Not like we were bowling buddies at Lucky Strike or taking extended fishing trips while our wives waited at home with boning knives to filet and prepare the fish upon our return, but I'd had several conversations with Chris Morgan about the craft of writing when he was working on a project for the production company I was employed by, and though he'd yet to hit it "big" at the time, he was on his way.

Apparently Chris Morgan is doing something the studios like. First with the script for Cellular, which led to The Fast And The Furious - Tokyo Drift, Wanted, Fast And Furious and now Fast Five, Chris has made quite the ascension in the summer movie franchise sweepstakes.  With his easy-going, non-pretentious and affable demeanor I do a silent cheer every time I see his name attached to a project. Not that he needs my help. He has reached the top 1% in the screenwriting trade on his own and seems to have a beam on the pulse of audience desire.

Fast Five is a lesson in giving the audience what they want. Giving the audience the characters they want and the dialogue they want to hear coming from those character's mouths. Fast Five gives the audience the cars and adrenaline and gunplay and crashes that discerning viewers have come to expect and are paying mightily for at the box office.

While I was rolling my eyes the audience appeared to be eating up the clunky one-liners, laughing heartily and digging on the Vin Diesel vs. Dwayne Johnson mano-a-mano mildly homoerotic smack down wherein the two men are only distinguishable by Vin's matte finish muscles while The Rock goes with a glistening baby oil/sweat muscle finish that makes his beefy 30" arms look like a pair of underground-roasted Kalua pigs. Is that a banana leaf poking from under his arm pit?

Give the audience what they want: A crack team of experts of various nationalities, ethnicities and skills.  Something to appeal to the foreign markets. Give 'em a hot skinny Italian chick who might fall down if she doesn't eat in the next month. Give 'em a yin and yang team of Portuguese explosives experts that interact like Ralph Kramden and Ed Norton. Finally, give 'em a finale set piece that actually thrills for the first five minutes and then like most Saturday Night Live sketches goes on for ten minutes too long.

Fast Five is exactly what you think it is. It won't disappoint, but it won't really surprise either. Well, except for that finale set piece that involves a safe. Think of Fast Five as a two-hour trailer for Furious 6 - Fast Cars in Outer Space coming summer 2013. Give 'em what that want Chris and more power to you.

Hanna And Her Blisters

Introducing Saoirse Ronan as Teenage Mutant Ninja Girl
Review by Tony Freitas

Saoirse Ronan has the wounded eyes and thousand yard stare of someone twice her age. Someone who has known great sorrow, seen too much, felt too much; She's only 17 years old. It's the perfect actor's alchemy for her star turn in Hanna. If only the film served her as well.


Saoirse is 16-year-old Hanna Heller your basic angst-ridden teen. She worries about things like hand to hand combat, the proper way to skin and store a reindeer for the harsh winter months and the best treatment not for acne, but for those pesky blisters she gets from hunting with a cross bow. She also has a strained relationship with her Father-Knows-Best-Father, Erik (Eric Bana). 

It's tough being home schooled by Dad. Classes in honor studies such as chemical warfare, DNA manipulation and advanced chiropractic techniques - can I adjust that neck - have Hanna frazzled, and father and daughter at each other's throats (literally). It's School for Assassins, and the student is on the verge of becoming the master.


Hanna has an interesting premise. Daddy trains ninja girl to avenge her mother's murder. But the film takes Joseph Campbell's heroes journey a little too literally. While some of the set pieces seem fresh and exciting, the story feels like a tired retread of Le Femme Nikita and Run Lola Run with a bit of Gasper Noe's nihilistic despondency thrown in to spice things up. Unfortunately ridiculousness overwhelms the proceedings and the film flails.

Cate Blanchett is villainess / nemesis Marissa Wiegler a sinister covert CIA operative with a deadly connection to Hanna's history. The usually exceptional and sublime actress is, to be kind, not up to the challenge. A terrible and shifting regional accent of unknown origin and an impressive collection of sensible shoes for killing do not a character make and Blanchett never seems to get a grasp on Marissa. It's strictly external theatrics.

All this doesn't mean there isn't fun to be had. Any type of teen empowerment, especially with Hanna's skill set brings me back to those good old teen years of teasing and casual bad behavior. That Hanna can kill you just as easily as she would look at you, sent me on a short mind trip where I rewrote history and kicked some childhood bully ass. And the center section of Hanna becomes a oddly pleasing travelogue of sorts as the teen guerrilla takes up with a free-spirited family vacationing in their motor home. She forges an awkward connection with the family's precocious and outspoken teen daughter Sophie (the fantastic Jessica Barden) and the film's heartbeat flutters and comes to life. Eventually however

Hanna sinks back into its action/revenge roots, the heartbeat becomes irregular and from then on it's variations of anarchy till the end.


Despite some nearly fatal flaws nothing takes away from Saoirse Ronan's haunting performance. Get this young woman a script that's equal to her talents and she'll kick ass and take names. Figuratively, unlike Hanna.





   

Source Code - Jake Gyllenhaal and the Philosopher's Zone

I AM I SAID
Review by Tony Freitas

Much like Duncan Jones' freshman effort, the under-seen Moon, Source Code deals with themes of identity, reality, death and the amorphous nature of time. And like Moon there's an undercurrent of melancholia that is atypical of the action genre. But if you think this cinematic mournfulness has no place in an action movie, you're mistaken.


Source Code maintains a quick pulse throughout and what should have been a bomb-on-a-train early spring throw-away gains depth and heart as a result.


Jake Gyllenhaal is military helicopter pilot Colter Stevens(porno name anyone?). Stevens fades in like a movie wipe and finds himself on a Chicago bound commuter train with no idea how he got there, no idea why the woman sitting across from him seems to know him, and not a clue as to why she refers to him as Sean. The last thing he recalls is leading an Afghani air operation. Moments later a hidden bomb detonates on the train consuming everyone onboard.

Fade to white then fade in again; Stevens is still in one piece, in an unknown location inside what appears to be for all intents and purposes a military industrial complex time machine. On a moniter he sees the face of Captain Goodwin (Vera Farmiga) who tells him that he is inside the source code. Wham bam, say Groundhog's Day three times and Colten is back on the train at the same moment he faded in at film's open. An explosive device is onboard the train and Colter has been tasked to find the bomb...  not to dismantle it, not to stop the eminent explosion from happening again, but to track down the terrorist responsible and prevent the next greater anticipated terrorist event. The train explosion is already a done deal, the passengers but a "ghost memory". So begins Colter's 8 minute investigation before the bomb explodes again, only to be sent back to gather more intel time after time, the same 8 minutes. 

Source Code while occasionally exciting is at it's best in its quiet moments. As more is discovered about Colter Stevens' life and military service, as his superficial relationship with train mate Christina deepens in 8 minute increments, layer upon layer is reveled and Source Code unspools like a whodunit. An emotional bond is forged between Colter and the two women in his life - potential love interest Christina and morally conflicted mommy figure Goodwin - and between the characters and the audience. Colter's given task: to stop the terrorist before he strikes again, conflicts with his personal mission to save the souls on this train who are already dead. And that schism is what keeps the film going. And because we are invested in these folks we want it to somehow all work out. 


Gyllenhaal's soulful puppy dog eyes and telling face create a sympathetic everyman who's easy to pull for. And if the film becomes convoluted as it often does, we're always pulled back by the emotional grounding and the philosophical questions posed as Colter's journey becomes less about the bomb and more about what what constitutes reality and self. 

When I first read about Duncan Jones taking the helm of a studio film after the efficient and moody Moon, I was hopeful he could bring his unique off-center angle to Source Code. And then the trailers began to play endlessly, and the film seemed like another mindless sci-fi romp, with little weight and overblown acoustics. So it's unexpectedly gratifying that a little indie spirit, a ghost memory if you will, remains amidst all the annihilation and mayhem. 

I'm Gonna Get You Sucker Punch

Batshit Outta Hell
review by Tony Freitas

When an artist is as talented stylistically and visually as Zach Snyder ( Dawn Of The Dead remake, 300, Watchmen) you kinda wish he'd add a little depth to his skill set. Sucker Punch is a brain fart that somehow seeped out of Snyder's head onto the screen... and the fumes are noxious.

While Sucker Punch on the surface  appears to be a gamer's dream - visual excitement, hot chicks, and alternate reality high jinks - even the most non-discriminating fanboy will tire of the film's repetitive loop.  It's five levels of estrogenized Warcraft hosted by a troop of emotionally damaged Gossip Girls. And each tedious level offers the exact same song and dance. And let's get to that; the song and dance.  Where to start? Where to start?

Baby Doll (Emily Browning) of bee stung lips and catholic school girl you-know-you-want-to-screw-me skirt, is whisked away to the Lennox Mental Asylum after accidentally shooting her sister while trying to protect the young girl from evil step daddy's sexual advances. Before you can say "toys in the attic, she is crazy", Baby's on the crazy train to lobotomization five days hence.
So the dancing I mention earlier - Okay, so, you see, there's the real world and then there's the fantasy world that Baby's created as a coping mechanism within the asylum (I'm just guessing at this). In the fantasy world the asylum is a bordello and all the femmes/patients are prostitute/whores. And, you see, there's this dance class that the girls attend to escape the horrors of reality/ fantasy.  The dance class is taught by Dr. Vera Gorski (Carla Gugino), psychiatrist, madam, dance instructor and Warsaw ghetto survivor ( her resume and dance card are full to overflowing).

Free your mind and the rest will follow

So, when the women dance it takes them to a world inside where they can escape the pain and horror of life's abuses, even if this escape world is all muddy taupes and grey-blues (and megatron feudal warriors and literal steampunk gas masked nazi soldiers. Hey, that kinda makes me want to see this film. Oh, wait,  I saw it. I guess it's not as good as it sounds). I suppose butterflies and zebras and fairy tales would have been the more obvious choice.

We were talking about dancing. So Baby's first day in dancing class in the cathouse asylum -- Free your mind and the rest will follow. Baby feels the music and, as a light unexpected indoor flurry of delicate snow flakes tickle her  thickly mascaraed lashes,  she's transported to a Japanese temple where she finds The Wise Man/Greyhound Bus Driver (Scott Glen). "Five things to find you must. A map, a fire, a knife and key. The fifth thing, unknown it is, but a great sacrifice it shall be, Luke... er, Baby Doll."

Meanwhile back at loony bin/brothel other scantily clad young ladies of the night/snake pit prisoners/ X-Factor hopefuls including Gabriella Montez, the woman that ruined Reese Witherspoon's marriage, the emancipated minor and a Tri-Pi sister, are mesmerized by Salome/Baby Doll's gyrations of liberation (that we never actually see, though her moves are mentioned in the same breath as Isadora Duncan, The Pussycat Dolls and Charo) and an escape plan is hatched.  If all this sounds so bat shit crazy that it might be fun, I urge you to think twice.

I won't even get into lack of relatable story, characterization or  emotional connection, because there is none to be found. Sucker Punch has the resonance of Final Fantasy VI, and as for female empowerment, it's fathoms below the emotional complexity and dramatic tension of the Powerpuff Girls.

Battle: Los Angeles - Laying Waste To A Promising Premise

If you were to take Armageddon, Independence Day, District 9, Saving Private Ryan and G.I. Jane and stick 'em in a centrifuge, Battle: Los Angeles is what you might find at the bottom of the test tube; A thick, dense mess that contains bits and pieces of the afore-mentioned films (their worst elements) and nothing else.  Beyond the premise twist - An alien invasion from the ground-level you-are-there, war is hell marine perspective - Battle offers nothing original in the way of character, plot or even special effects. I would guess that the studio pitch offered a District 9/Hurt Locker mash-up, but while those films offered compelling well-written scripts, here we're given the same ol' same ol'.

The first 10 minutes of the film offers the expositional prowess of Armageddon-  a grave side soliloquy, a retiring marine called back for "one last mission",  an untested marine lieutenant in over his head,  and the baby-faced virgin green marine fresh from basic.  There are so many cliches in fact, that I'll stop here. I have nothing against a well-turned cliche, updated, refreshed, satirical and properly used,  but Battle: Los Angeles is about as fresh as fetid alien dung.  And worse, it's just plain lazy.


Christopher Bertolini gets a solo screenplay credit, yet B: L A feels like it was raped and pillaged by a carnivorous team of development execs that had to get their grubby little paws all over what might have been an interesting foundation. I tend to bend backward and make excuses for the under-appreciated screenwriter.  Studios with dollar signs in their eyes can grind a writer into bloody pulp in an attempt to drain any trace of originality from a script, so I suppose it should come as no surprise that there isn't even an ounce of originality to be found here. But even if Bertolini was developed into the ground by studio minions, he still must bear some responsibility. I'm sure he couldn't give a shit about my thoughts, he's already cashed that fat 7 figure paycheck. And he shouldn't care what I think. 

Movie making IS a business as Melissa Leo pointed out in her Oscar acceptance speech. But with last year's 100 million plus bonanza for quality films like Black Swan (budget: 13 million) The King's Speech ( budget: 15 million) and True Grit (budget: 38 million) - all scripts where the writer's contribution was immense and respected - maybe the need to beat a script into submission based on a presumption of knowing what audiences want, will take a back seat next year at this time,  and a film such as Battle: Los Angeles, with an exciting premise might be fully realized.

The Dull Drums of Hollywood - Winter 2011

I look online, I look in the Sunday pull-out, I view trailer after trailer, yet nothing cinematic lifts me from the doldrums.  It seems I could always count on something to come along and lift me up, incite or inspire me. Even in the basement season of film releases there's usually a speck of a safe friendly haven on the horizon. Not so this year.  Sanctum ( really, James Cameron) , The Roommate (When A Stranger Calls, One Missed Call,  The Eye,) Just Go With It (Adam Sandler... I like you, but why do you insist on hiring uninspiring Dennis Dugan to direct and irritating Nick Swardson to act. I admire your loyalty, but can't you just pay these guys off so we're not subjected to their mediocrity) The Bieber Movie (what hath the social network. wrought),  Gnomeo and Juliet (bastard cousins to the Veggietales), and later in the month Big Mama Like Father Like Son, Hall Pass and what may be the 7th or 8th film from Nick Cage in the last year or so, Drive Angry(His next movie should be called Pay The Mortgage). 

The only film that seems like it could have some promise is the Liam Neeson thriller Unknown. But unfortunately,  the ads are lackluster and designed to spark remembrance of the surprise February kidnap thriller hit from 3 years ago, Taken. Same advertising campaign, same color palate of muted grays and blues, same over the shoulder gun in hand pose, same editing, same release window. Same stone-faced don't-fuck-with-me-because-I'm-from-Northern-Ireland-where-we-blow-things-up Liam Neeson. Why fix what ain't broke, right? But something is broke because this year's winter of discontent is down in attendance and grosses. And we're talking double digits when it comes to percentages. Is it only movie malaise or something more?


It's nice to see the long legs of holdover specialty division films from December.  Oscar contenders The King's Speech, Black Swan, and The Fighter are all approaching the century mark. (Last year's best pic winner The Hurt Locker another speciality division film  by comparison had accrued a paltry 12 million and change before receiving The Oscar, and then topped out at a disappointing 17 million) Finally some quality films  are making bank.  But all were released in 2010, and while this may bode well for  higher quality films come late fall 2011,  I don't want to wait for October.

In  Winter 2011, The Green Hornet has the distinction of being the most financially successful film of the year thus far with 88 million  Hardly a blockbuster by current standards. And while I haven't seen the film, nothing in the promoting or print ads creates a "must see" feeling, rather I feel a depressing indifference.  


Has there even been a major release since January 2011 that has scored higher than a 60% on Rottentomatoes.com ?  


It's the hair shell Bieber release from Friday (that raked in a hefty 30 million this weekend) with a barely passable 63%.  Reviews and box office aren't the be all and end all, but even an okay film can create heat when it's packaged properly. I suppose Justin Bieber's movie debut has resulted in racing hearts and naughty mysterious feelings "down there" for a particular segment of the population, but it's not me. 

So I am left to drift the rough waters of March where the visually amazing but possibly empty Sucker Punch and the year-delayed Adjustment Bureau with Matt Damon and Emily Blunt loom large. Despite the promo weight behind the afore mentioned films, it's the faux docu Blair Witch in Outer Space promise of Apollo 18 that makes my heart beat a bit faster and reminds me of those low budget sci fi thrillers  of the 70s like Laserblast and Food of The Gods. I always say, just entertain me. Good, bad, but never indifferent. Here's hoping the indifference of January and February gives way to Good Good and Good Bad in the months to come.


****** ugh,  a little side note update.  I just read that Weinstein Company may delay the Apollo 18 release date till late April.  Say it ain't so.  Fading... fading... I...can't...hold... out....................  

True Grit - Oh, Glorious Dust!

review by Tony Freitas
I've never been a fan of the western genre. As a young boy, my brother ruled the roost when the parents were gone for the day,  and Saturdays often consisted of marathon length viewings of dreaded oaters on the old console. I was partial to Godzilla and other films of the nuclear mismanagement ilk, but cowboys were the order of the day, and I was at the mercy of my brother's television whims.   I don't know if my distaste for the genre was there from the beginning or developed over time, but most Saturdays were tv torture. Among those Saturday films were plenty of John Wayne flicks.  I'm sure the orignal 1968 True Grit was screened at one time or another, maybe even more than once, but I don't remember a lick of of it. Maybe I've repressed the memory. Enough of this,  I'll save it for therapy


While the trailer for True Grit 2010 is rousing and arguably one of the best of the year,  my excitement was low level. "But it's the Coen Brothers" I  kept telling myself. Well, finally I broke down and saw the damn thing.  And it is an extraordinary entertainment, even if you have an aversion to the dusty dirt and spur milieu.


The Coen Brothers have fashioned a great entertainment of the kind seldom seen these days,  while retaining their unique askew voice,  evident in every scene and every idiosyncratic characterization. There is still the meanderings and flights of fancy the Coens are partial to, but they've made a disciplined straight-forward film here... and that is not meant as a slight.

For those unfamiliar with the story, 14 year old Mattie Ross's father has been murdered by one Tom Chaney and young Mattie has taken it upon herself to seek retribution against her father's killer. Though advised otherwise, Mattie determines to hire Rooster Cogburn, a drunken, one eyed United States Deputy Marshall, to aid in her quest.  Cogburn may not be everyone's first choice, but Mattie's got a feeling and Cogburn's been described as merciless.  Then along comes Texas Ranger Labeouf, also on the tail of Chaney for a murder that preceded Mattie's father, and the pot is stirred and the Journey begins.


True Grit is an 1880s road movie, closer to Bob Hope and Bing Crosby than Zach Galifianakis and Robert Downey Jr.  Horses replace cars,  and thoughtful monologues replace mindless banter (well there is banter, but not the mindless sort). There's plenty of high jinks and adventure but some restitution too.  Jeff Bridges is Bing Crosby, Matt Damon is Bob Hope and it's The Road To Redemption.  The adage "It's the journey not the destination" is never truer than here.


The films opening scene is a long one by current movie standards: Rooster Cogburn testifies in a trial against a ruthless outlaw, one in a long line of lawless men, and the defense team attacks Cogburn as a trigger-happy (somewhere between 15 and 30 killed) short-tempered throw back to an era of Western law thats day has come and gone. " These here is modern times". It's rare to see an extended scene played out like this, simply, with pages and pages of dialogue, but it sets the tone for the film. By the time Cogburn is finished testifying, you know what the man is about, and have an idea of how others perceive him as well.

Young Hailee Steinfeld as Mattie Ross is terrific. At first I found her precocious nature off-putting, but as the film settles in,  and the hightened non-contracted dialogue flows, I finally relaxed into a different era and was completely transported.  The precociousness in fact is emblematic of the times as opposed to Hollywood inserting mature adult words into the mouths of babes for comic effect (I only have to recall that my Grandmother married at 15 and had her first child a year later).  Steinfeld is a real find. Her Mattie is tenacious, hard-headed and determined; a true match for her older alter ego Rooster Cogburn.  Her feature film debut here is auspicious, and one hopes that future career choices will go in the right direction.


Jeff Bridges' Rooster Cogburn is a humorous, sad, pathetic man.  Essentially a hired killer, he carries the burden of every rabid criminal he's every put down just below the surface of his blase' que sera sera facade (wow Spanish and French in the same sentence). Bridges speaks in a mush mouthed drawl as if he's got a half pound of Skoal in his cheek, but if you can't understand what he's saying at times, his weathered face and doleful droopy eyes convey more than words.

Matt Damon as LaBeouf is priceless. Puffed up with an ego the size of the state of Texas, he deflates with the slightest pin prick only to puff up once more before his balloon is inevitably burst again. I think of Damon's character Mark Whitacre in The Informant! so unlikable: wormy, self-loathing, and brainless. I couldn't stand the film.  The performance was irritating, though the character was fully realized. Damon's Labeouf has many of the same qualities.  But here he's loose and relaxed,  pompous and irritating; it's completely endearing and relatable. Everything the previous role was not. Away from the Clooney/ Soderbergh School of Snark as seen in the "Ocean's 11-13" films and The Informant! Damon soars and scores. He's graduated to the Coen's Finishing School For Actors and the Stetson suits him

Joel and Ethan Coen's screenplay, based on the book by Charles Portis, is a beautiful thing. Verbose and formal in all the right ways, darkly funny and compassionate, the writing falls on the ears like music. You remember the tune, but the long-forgotten lyrics seem fresh and exciting and not quite how you remember.


True Grit is also violent, and bleak sometimes.  Like the Old West probably was, I don't know, I wasn't there. The film feels authentic and the performances, heartfelt. Unlike the Coen Brother's "No Country For Old Men" where evil is seen as an unrelenting, incurable disease, there's a welcome balancing of the scales of Good and Evil.  The Coen Calvrey has come to the rescue and made a True Grit that may one day exceed the fond memories of the 1968 "classic". No need to roll over Duke.