A Romance That'll Drive You 'Crazy'

by Brett Parker

Like Crazy purports to be an honest look at genuine love pummeled by the hardships of life, but from where I sit, its about a miserable dude who doesn’t know what he wants in life and puts not one, but two beautiful women through emotional hell because of it. And since the one girl poised to be the love of his life is as close to a modern-day Audrey Hepburn as you’re most likely to find, you wonder what the hell his problem is. Perhaps he holds some of the same issues Clint Eastwood highlighted in J. Edgar Hoover? Here’s a movie that wants to hold the final word on young romance in a post-millennial world, yet finding out what exactly that word is turns pretty befuddling pretty fast.

The film tells the story of Anna (Felicity Jones) and Jacob (Anton Yelchin), college students who first meet in Los Angeles. Anna is a British exchange student studying journalism in the states. Jacob is a design student who hopes to design chairs one day. After encountering him in one of her classes, Anna gives Jacob her phone number and the two begin a courtship of infatuation which consists of conversations over coffee, montages at the beach, and plenty of pillow talk. Anna falls so hard for Jacob that she decides to overstay her visa and spend the summer with him before returning to the U.K.

This decision turns out to bring serious consequences to their relationship. Overstaying your visa is a big no-no with immigration officials, so when Anna returns months later to visit Jacob, she is denied entry into the U.S. Anna is so in love with Jacob that she’s determined to find a way for them to be together. So Jacob visits her in England, but seems reluctant to move his entire life over to another country. Jacob tries marrying her into America, but immigration rules don’t exactly make it that simple. Fate keeps tearing these youngsters apart, and the fact that they occasionally fall into the arms of other lovers doesn’t exactly help matters either. Both parties wonder (and so does the audience) if this delicate love is meant to last in the real world.

There are some movies that are such realistic slices-of-life that you wonder why they even bother being movies in the first place. Director Drake Doremus wishes to strip a young romance down to such a nitty-gritty, naturalistic style that you wonder why he just didn’t hire a documentary crew to follow a real-life couple around. Even then, he’d probably get more livelier dialogue out of that couple instead of the one he’s got here. Jones and Yelchin reportedly improvised their own dialogue based on broad outlines, but nothing they say reveals any true wit or imagination. The result is like endlessly watching that lovey-dovey couple you used to hang with in college, and how entertaining is that? The film lacks the finesse and inventiveness of smart romantic fiction.

So the set-up is True Love facing difficult obstacles, but the uneasy realization that Jacob may not be fully-invested in the relationship harmfully contradicts the initial tone of the film, and not in a terribly insightful way either. Jacob is curiously reluctant to say “i love you” back to Anna for reasons that are never made clear. There’s really no tangible reason why Jacob can’t move to the U.K. so they can live happily ever after, yet he quietly dismisses such an idea. Even after getting married doesn’t get Anna into America, Jacob instantly goes running back to his blonde and leggy ex-girlfriend (Jennifer Lawrence) he went to the last time Anna and him were having issues.

The film leaves us clueless as to what makes Jacob so special in the first place. He’s a self-absorbed mope who doesn’t know what he truly wants and doesn’t have the courtesy to inform the women in his life about this realization. He holds no wit, minimal charm, and no emotional stability. The only thing he’s passionate about is his chair-making business, but even that seems like a contrived trait cooked up by desperate screenwriters. The film makes it very clear that Anna is the pursuer in this relationship, but we can’t figure out for the life of us what she sees in this guy. The biggest mystery within the film is how such a humorless downer of a man could pull both Felicity Jones and Jennifer Lawrence into his orbit (life must be so tough, right?). I have nothing against Yelchin, but not even Paul Newman could act like this with women and expect to get away with it.

At least the performances are spot on though, and not even ill-conceived characters can bring these performers down. Felicity Jones proves to be a real treasure here. With a winning smile and a fragile beauty, you can see why any man would cross an ocean for her. In a time when phony screen-love can be dangerous for any action, she completely sells us on deep romantic-yearning, even if the guy she’s yearning for isn’t worth a damn. A scene where she empties her emotions on a phone-call to Jacob, proclaiming how desperately she needs him, truly is gut-wrenching and touching. And for as useless as I found the Jacob character, I must say that Anton Yelchin is more relaxed here than he is in most films. Yelchin has always come packed with a built-in sensitivity that makes it hard not to like the everyman characters he typically inhabits. I must admit that his gifts here make Jacob less insufferable than he probably deserves to be.

Aside from the performances, and some impressive editing by Jonathan Alberts, theres really nothing of any true substance to take away from this film. There are certain arthouse zealots who reject any traces of commerciality in their art and think that true cinema is films that are as realistic as humanly possible without any technical bells and whistles at all (which is sort of a contradiction when you think about it, for movies inherently can never be real life, ya know?). Those people will probably find much pleasure in this film, although Blue Valentine, a more realized and intelligent flick on the same idea, is actually the movie they’re looking for. Believe me, I can appreciate a film that observes the downside of relationships, but when the characters’ actions defy reason, empathy, and true heart, things can be more baffling than insightful.

Getting to Know 'Marilyn'

by Brett Parker

Its not difficult to see how perhaps Colin Clark lionized one of the most noteworthy passages of his entire life. In two of his memoirs, he claimed to have an affair with Marilyn Monroe while working as an assistant on her film, The Prince and the Showgirl. A glamourous movie star cozying up to a low-level assistant is the kind of fantasy only a rabid romantic could conceive of, or perhaps even a Hollywood screenwriter (which can be the same thing sometimes). Watching My Week with Marilyn, the film adaptation of Clark’s memoirs, one realizes that it doesn’t really matter how true his story is or not. For he arrives at the very same conclusions about Monroe that most modern cinephiles have: she was a breathtaking bombshell who concealed a quiet dignity, a crushing vulnerability, and an enigmatic inner-life.

The film follows the events that took place during the 1956 summer filming of The Prince and the Showgirl, a Studio concotion produced, directed, and starring Sir Laurence Olivier (Kenneth Branagh). Colin Clark (Eddie Redmayne), a privileged young chap with a love for the movies, finds his way onto the film’s set as a glorified errand boy, thrilled to be working on a major studio picture. Through his eyes, we see how him and everyone else on the set was entranced by the film’s dazzling star, Marilyn Monroe (Michelle Williams). With her sex-kitten mystique and bouncy charms, its not hard to see how anyone on that set could resist falling in love with her. Yet tensions arrive as Olivier grows frustrated with Marilyn’s notorious flakiness with lines and tardiness. While she undoubtedly held an electrifying screen presence, Monroe wasn’t the most secure with herself as a serious actress and felt intimidated in the presence of an acting legend such as Olivier.

In the midst of Monroe’s increasing vulnerability, Clark finds himself striking up a curious friendship with the movie star. Marilyn frequently begins requesting his presence whenever she’s feeling down, and pretty soon she's whisking him away to her countryside cottage for a getaway. After heavy flirtation and a bout of skinny dipping, Clark starts to convince himself that he just might be the guy Marilyn’s been looking for, in spite of her famous husband, Arthur Miller (Dougray Scott). But pretty soon, the rest of the cast and crew catches on and warns Clark relentlessly that such a movie star will only break his heart. Clark himself also sees the crushing anguish and severe depression that lurks beneath Monroe’s beauty, not helped much by her constant pill-popping. How far can their “courtship” realistically go? Does Clark have what it takes to reach Marilyn as a person?

In telling the story of how a classical Monroe picture was made, My Week with Marilyn slightly takes on a classical Hollywood tone itself. Although showbiz stories can have a certain stuffiness about them, Director Simon Curtis pours a wide-eyed innocence into the tone, completely turning the camera’s gaze into Clark’s giddy own. This heart-bursting romanticism may come as a jolt to an era that knows nearly all of Hollywood’s inside dope, but it sure keeps the plot breezy and snappy. We quickly realize that a more sobering tone could make this seemingly tall-tale more insufferable and take the air right out of Clark’s claims. His sunny optimism absorbs the film’s membrane so much that even if you don’t believe he romanced Monroe, you believe that his situation was spellbinding enough to inspire two memoirs.

Its easy to see how Clark’s gaga naivety could grow corny on a modern audience that knows well enough not to trust a movie star at first sight, so its rather impressive that Eddie Redmayne sells us so much on the character. With a strapping joy that avoids being pathetic, Redmayne brings as much sensibility to Clark’s wild desires as possible, gaining a surprising sympathy as he tries to convince Marilyn, and himself really, that they can run off and be happy together. Another welcome surprise is Branagh’s performance as Olivier, one that superbly showcases the humility and inadequacies within the thespian-god image we remember him for.

Playing Marilyn Monroe seems like such an impossible task because she was such a one-of-a-kind creature (in spite of Tony Curtis’ claims). To dismiss Monroe as a simple blonde is to admit that you’ve been worked over by a magician without noticing any slight-of-hand tricks. She had the curvaceous come-on of a sex object yet possessed an unmistakable feminine independence. She had a bubbly comic persona paired with a self-contained intelligence. Very few actresses with a pin-up body had such precise calculation and exuberant command of the screen. So its some kind of miracle that Michelle Williams embodies Marilyn so flawlessly. Not only does she bear an erie resemblance to the icon, but she nails every single mannerism we remember from her screen image, all while masterfully hinting at the undercurrents of depression that plagued her heart. The beauty here is that you quit that biopic habit of grading the performance with a red pen and just fully accept that you’re staring at Marilyn. Even the most die-hard of Monroe obsessives have to admit that Williams delivers all the goods you could possibly hope for.

Whats ironical here is that watching men fall head-over-heels for Marilyn hints at why most men never really understand most women in the first place. With Monroe, men projected onto her their hopes, desires, and fantasies without really stopping to regard the true human being underneath it all. When you project idealism onto a person, its more a reflection of your needs for the person instead of what that individual actually wants for themselves. Even Clark, who passionately believes he loves Marilyn, maybe more concerned with the idea of being her romantic hero than digging into the depths of her troubled soul. The biggest insight the film delivers is how men so desperately wanted to see Marilyn as a movie star, a sex fantasy, a business product, and a romantic ideal instead of the lost, helpless woman she truly was.

If you consider yourself something of a dedicated Marilyn Monroe scholar, you’ll probably know more about her than the film reveals here. But you can’t help but notice how phenomenal Williams’ performance is and how tactfully the script handles Monroe’s legacy. For average moviegoers, the jolly behind-the-scenes peak at classical studio filmmaking will be damn near irresistible to them. Especially considering how limiting and tiresome a showbiz-weary cynical version of the same story would be. There are virtually no bad reasons to simply regard Marilyn Monroe, a fact Michelle Williams all too wonderfully reminds us of.

A Boneheaded 'Heist'

by Brett Parker

While no one will ever mistake Brett Ratner for Orson Welles, I must admit that I have a certain fondness for the man’s films. The major crimes he’s been charged with by most cinephiles is his broad tastes for commercial formulas and the lack of any depth, or even focus, in his execution. But I find that in his sloppiness, a certain liveliness and color comes shining through in a way that a more serious director would be too self-reserved to let loose. While his empty romps are predictable from start-to-finish, that usually doesn’t stop him from dishing out nifty character bits, outrageous gags, and inspired uses of pop music. With formulaic trash, you have to find the fun wherever you can, and Ratner isn’t without a few treats in his bag.

His latest film, Tower Heist, reeks with crowd-pleasing studio calculation. We’re talking big stars in a big heist film, with a New York City backdrop and working-class timeliness to burn. In this time we call the Great Recession, with working-class protestors occupying Wall Street, Ratner is clearly hoping to dish out a blue collar Ocean’s Eleven, with a big entertainment that speaks to the hardships of the masses. Yet in trying to nail a sociological empathy, I’m afraid Ratner ends up limiting Tower Heist from the cockeyed fun he’s typically at ease with. The film is seriously lacking in comic inspiration and it doesn’t help matters that the film’s big heist is too clumsy and preposterous to stand on its own feet. Of course asking for clever wittiness in a Brett Ratner flick is like asking for no violence in a Quentin Tarantino film, but given Ratner’s adolescent need to please, as well as the fact that the screenwriters here were responsible for some of the finest crime capers to ever grace the screen, we expected a little more than what we’re ultimately given.

The film takes place in “the Tower,” a luxury high-rise residence that bears a thinly-veiled resemblance to the real life Trump Tower. Josh Kovacs (Ben Stiller) is the building manager who looks after all of the staff and rich residents who make up the Tower. The wealthiest resident is Arthur Shaw (Alan Alda), a Wall Street businessman who once helped Josh put his staff’s pension plan into a lucrative investment opportunity. This proves to be a troublesome decision the day its revealed by FBI Agent Claire Dunham (Tea Leoni) that Shaw is being investigated for a Ponzi scheme and all of the Staff’s investments are perhaps lost for good.

Depressed and devastated by his mistaken judgement, Josh grows desperate for a way to make things right for his staff. Agent Dunham lets it slip that Shaw may have millions of dollars secretly stashed away in his apartment. This allows Josh to hatch a plan: he’ll enlist the aid of his disgruntled staff, which includes his brother-in-law (Casey Affleck), the bellhop (Michael Pena), the Jamaican maid (Gabourey Sidibe), and a bankrupted squatter (Matthew Broderick), to help rob Shaw’s apartment. Since Josh’s crew appears to be incompetent as criminal masterminds, he also enlists the aid of a neighborhood criminal (Eddie Murphy) to help teach his staff the art of the steal. With this ragtag group of would-be thieves, Josh dives headfirst into a plot to rob Shaw’s penthouse, yielding outrageous and life-threatening results.

Its obvious this film wants to play on the working class stresses of most moviegoers, as well as the duped enragement of Bernie Madoff victims, to deliver a wish-fulfillment fantasy of sticking it to greedy big wigs. The problem is that the filmmakers play all this up without any insight whatsoever. They keep highlighting blue collar grievances without articulating the mechanisms or personal afflictions that come with such a situation. Nor is any of the characters’ hardships used for significant laughs. Little-people scrappiness and yearnings for revenge can be aptly harnessed for hilarious laughs, but the film does very little to even get a snicker out of this angle.

We at least look forward to the climactic heist scene being a complicated spectacle, but it turns out to be one of the sloppiest and dumbest heist scenes I can remember. Most cinematic swindles are preposterous by definition, since rarely could they actually happen in the real world, but at least most filmmakers create their own precise logic and shrewd calculation to make them feel involving. The big heist here is completely useless, skirting between tired slapstick and vapid burlesque. The details of the heist prove highly vague and implausible, and the main characters, except for one, don’t appear to have any visible skills or humorous personality traits that would serve them in a giant scheme. Of course the film is trying to (ineptly) poke fun at well-calculated heist flicks, but considering that Ted Griffin wrote Ocean’s Eleven, one of the finest heist films ever made, and Jeff Nathanson wrote Catch Me If You Can, one of the finest con capers in film history, its shocking how little brain power they show when they wrote this script together.

The big news with this film is the return of Eddie Murphy in a role that can showcase his edgy humor and allow him to, you know, swear quite a bit. Unfortunately, Murphy’s outing proves to be mediocre at best. His role is a victim of diminished screen time-a lot smaller than advertised-and a lack of powerhouse one-liners. Aside from a hilarious bit about lesbians, Murphy’s role doesn’t deliver the big laughs we expected. I think the problem is that Murphy’s street-wise criminal is made into too much of a zany weirdo where as most of Murphy’s best material pits him as the Smartest Man in the Room who has the stones and resourcefulness to tell off the bozos surrounding him.

Although Murphy fumbles, the rest of the cast skillfully conveys a delicate balance between working world anxiety and comfortable comic charm. Stiller brings a nice tension and weight to his usual shtick of a befuddled fool, although I wish his unhinged zaniness busted out here a lot more. Of course Alan Alda could teach a master class on loathsome condensation and pretty much does so here. Matthew Broderick does his best work in years as a canned-and-penniless Wall Street Insider who masks a lived-in intelligence under a shell-shocked self-pity. Tea Leoni is surprisingly lively as an FBI Agent, proving that she's at her most fun when she works with Ratner. And it must be said that Michael Pena playing a lovable goofball here gets more laughs than Murphy does.

Since Ratner has indulged in a bromance (Rush Hour), a crime procedural (Red Dragon), a star-wattage ensemble (X-Men: the Last Stand), a silly romp (Money Talks), and a heist flick (After the Sunset), even the most bitter cynics could hope that Ratner has grown as a filmmaker and could put everything he’s garnered into Tower Heist and make it an absolute blast. But even a casual fan like myself, who fully braced himself for a mindless romp, can’t help but notice what an empty experience this flick turns out to be. While most audience members may take some pleasure in the sticking-it-to-corporate-greed subtext, too many moviegoers will be rolling their eyes over the action and yearning desperately for more laughs.

'Moneyball' Strikes Out

by Brett Parker

The beauty of cinema is the way it can take ordinary and mundane things and make them more exciting than they appear in real life. What’s curious about Moneyball is the way it takes a fascinating subject matter and drains it of any serious kicks or vibes for the big screen. As far as baseball stories go, this one offers a very complex and meditative reflection on the modern state of the game. It’s just too bad that the filmmakers bog down the story’s perceptions with a tiresome vibe of self-importance.

Moneyball tells the story of Billy Beane (Brad Pitt), the General Manager of the Oakland A’s who was once a promising player but couldn’t buck his talents on the major league fields. Beane once again suffers wounding defeat after his team loses to the New York Yankees in the 2001 postseason. To make matters worse, the Yankees end up buying three of the A’s star players once they go to free agency. At the time, the A’s have one of the lowest payrolls in baseball and can’t afford big name players like the Yankees can. For the 2002 season, Beane struggles to assemble a team that can actually win on a bargain budget.

Beane finds hope in the form of Peter Brand (Jonah Hill), a Yale economics graduate with a gift for mastering baseball statistics. Brand points out that players are better to be evaluated by their on-base percentage as opposed to their position performance. For walks and singles can lead to on-base runs, runs can lead to good numbers, good numbers can lead to high rankings, and so forth. With this newfound philosophy, Beane decides to fill his roster with cheap and flawed players who at least have the ability to get on base. Not only is this strategy unorthodox, but it threatens years of traditional baseball scouting. Can Beane pull off his newfound science in such a rigorously structured institution? Will this crazy new plan actually help the A’s obtain significant wins?

Although its a story composed mainly of stats and numbers, Moneyball is endlessly compelling in the way a traditional system was uprooted and changed on outlandish new terms. Even non-baseball fans can marvel at the shrewd calculation in which this system challenged the big business mentality of its own sport. So it’s a real shame how much this film slugs along, never realizing how lively its membrane could actually be. It’s clear that the film aspires to the system-changing excitement of The Social Network (obvious from Aaron Sorkin’s re-write of this script), but it lacks the wit, energy, and sparkle of that earlier film. Both movies take detailed looks at revolutionary systems of information, but The Social Network had a wicked humor and breathless inventiveness that Moneyball crucially lacks.

Perhaps the problem lies within the direction of Bennett Miller. Miller’s previous directorial effort was Capote, which also examined the bruising emotions beneath an America-shaking story. Miller highlighted such harrowing gloominess within that material, he made a disturbing story even more unsettling. Unfortunately, he appears to bring that same downer attitude to this movie. I noticed there were an abundance of shots featuring Brad Pitt sitting alone in turmoil. Miller sees Moneyball more as a disintegration of a pure game rather than a liberating rage against the cash machine. Too bad his vision doesn’t seem as entertaining as the latter avenue would be. It doesn’t help matters that Miller trucks in doses of sentimental profundity that befalls most baseball flicks. It’s movies like this that make me realize why Bull Durham is the Great American Baseball Film: it understands that baseball is typically more quirky and ironical than it is profound.

To understand that Steven Soderbergh was the original director of Moneyball is to understand the playful inspiration his version could’ve been loaded with. Soderbergh specializes in systems of manipulation and tends to enjoy the rogues and outcasts who get off on playing with them. While being a rebel can be isolating and taxing, Soderbergh understands that it can also be electric and exhilarating. If Beane and his cohorts held the smirking joy of Ocean’s Eleven or the goofball audacity of Mark Whitacre, then Moneyball would truly be a hoot of astonishing uniqueness.

What Miller does, in fact, get out of his version is fine performances from seasoned pros. Pitt always enjoys showing cracks in seemingly golden boys, and he’s superb here at exploring Beane’s wistfulness and desperation to win. Philip Seymour Hoffman is wonderfully convincing as A’s Manager Art Howe, conveying a poker-faced masculine authority thats great to relish. The best performance here comes from Jonah Hill as the shy-but-brilliant statistics nerd. It’s easy to see how Hill could’ve played up his usual geeky-shtick routine to milk laughs, but he instead puts forth a thoughtful performance based on masterful nuances and restraint. A scene in which he must break the news to a player that he’s been traded is a thing of subtle beauty.

The initial story and great performances would almost be enough to recommend this film, but its hard not to imagine the funny and liberating movie lost in translation. As it is, Miller’s Moneyball holds a competent bottom line that tells a complicated story in a thankfully coherent manner. I can imagine die-hard baseball fans getting a significant fulfillment out of this. Yet if the filmmakers were able to recognize the anarchic spirit and bruising humor apparent in the material, this could’ve been one of the finest baseball movies ever made.

A Movie That Needs 'Help'

by Brett Parker

Norman Jewison was the original director slated to take on Malcolm X, but a public outcry from the black community demanded that a black director take on a film regarding one of its biggest cultural heroes. Spike Lee eventually took the helm, stating that black stories should be told by black filmmakers. Indeed, whenever white directors take on stories of minority struggles, it feels as if touches of human experience seem to be somewhat lacking. There’s a certain authenticity that isn’t exactly there. White filmmakers can sympathize, empathize, and preach all they want, but at the end of the day, they’re still going home to a white world. There’s nothing wrong with a filmmaker stepping outside of his ethnic zone, but since there are many talented black filmmakers who would kill for a chance to tell their own stories with a Hollywood budget, why in God’s name would you not let them do so?

I propose these thoughts because they seem to represent the fundamental problem with The Help, a Hollywood-produced peak into racial struggles during the Jim Crow-period of the South. Here’s a movie centered on the hardships of black women thats been directed by a white man. Sure, Spielberg pulled off such a feat with The Color Purple as did Jonathan Demme with Beloved, but director Tate Taylor has only one other feature-length credit to his name (the comic dud Pretty Ugly People) and hardly seems experienced enough to pull of the tricky nuances this material demands. Taylor reportedly got the job because of his close friendship with the source novel’s author, Kathryn Stockett. It’s always great to help out your friends, but thats usually not the ideal way to have your writing translated to the screen. I love my friends, but if Hollywood ever comes knocking for my material, I’ll be begging for Crowe, Coppola, or Scorsese to helm.

The film takes place in 1960s Mississippi during racial segregation. Aibileen (Viola Davis) is a black housekeeper who looks after white families in the town of Jackson. Aibileen notices a pattern in her work: she raises her employers’ children with all the TLC she can give, yet they grow up to become ungrateful and obtuse adults like their parents anyways. Worse off than Aibileen is her best friend Minny (Octavia Spencer), who works for the cruel socialite, Hilly Holbrook (Bryce Dallas Howard). Hilly regards Minny as a soulless entity and heartlessly fires her over some racial nonsense.

Most of the white homeowners don’t regard their black staff as human beings with souls, a fact that catches the attention of Skeeter Phelan (Emma Stone), a young aspiring journalist from the town of Jackson. In spite of opposition from her white peers, Skeeter decides to write a book about the everyday trials of the black maids, exposing their racial hardships to the world. The maids would love to finally tell their story, but they’re afraid it may anger their white bosses to the point of termination or worse. Can the maids vent their anger and concerns without endangering their well-being?

All the materials for a powerful film are staring us dead in the face, but Taylor has no clue how to make them pop with any cinematic energy. To be fair, the screenplay does bring dimensions to the Maid characters and highlights their amorally corrupt dilemmas rather adequately, but the film has a curious lack of urgency in presenting this story. Taylor claims that he grew up in Mississippi and was “co-raised” by black housekeepers, but the film doesn’t burn with the passion of a man who has seen a lot and has an important story to tell. He treats it as a familiar period story that should play out to its natural course with little fuss, as if Brett Ratner were directing a Henrik Ibsen play. Even a made-for-TV version employing maudlin sloppiness would grab a better reaction from us. Perhaps Taylor is trying to avoid racial awkwardness by being subtle, but it just makes the film more of a bore as it slugs along.

Whats telling is how excellent actresses with ace performances to burn occupy the forefront, yet are left hanging by incompetent direction. At a time when actresses complain about a lack of intelligent roles, here’s a bundle of them delivered with fierce independence yet without significant shape. Emma Stone, the patron saint of down-to-earth beauties, has all the pluck, wit, and irrelevance to pull off Skeeter, but too little a point is made of her rebelliousness and resourcefulness. Bryce Dallas Howard, who’s carved a career out of playing fragile sweethearts, excels impressively as a racist meanie, but she is simply drummed up to be a White Devil. Jessica Christensen shows wonderful comic timing in a very clunky creation of a not-all-white-people-are-bad role. Viola Davis shows grace and dignity as Aibileen, but the film only hints at the wells of her resentment and perceptions. The best performance comes from Octavia Spencer as Minnie, allowing the smarts, humor, and resentment of her soul to come shining through in a graceful manner you wish the film understood more.

Whats frustrating about Taylor’s incompetence is the fact that there’s an over-qualified candidate out there who would’ve made The Help way more entertaining than it turned out to be. Her name is Kasi Lemmons, and not only would her experiences as a black woman better serve the material, but so would her affectionate eye for dramatic material and the lyrically superb ways she presents them. Her work on the wonderful Talk to Me serves as a prime example of all the energy and identification she could’ve brought to this adaptation. Talk to Me was also a period piece revolved around black identity that was hilarious, bold, irreverent, insightful, heartbreaking, and enormously touching. These are traits The Help’s screenplay cries out for and Lemmons surely would’ve turned it into a powerhouse dramedy.

Of course the cinema would be a very boring place if filmmakers stuck only to stories centered around their own races and ethnicities. Since empathizing with other people is what cinema is all about, it can be vastly interesting when people bring their point-of-views to other races, pointing out certain specifics we may never have brought attention to. I’m just mystified that there’s a shortage of working female and black filmmakers at a time when great female and black stories are getting their chance to be told (is anyone else bothered by the fact that the Sex and the City movies were directed by a man?). There appears to be a curious double standard at play in Hollywood. No one made a fuss when Taylor Hackford decided to make Ray, but, as Charles S. Dutton pointed out, “if Spike Lee wanted to direct the story of Jackie Onasis, the idea would never make it out of the office where it was proposed.”

At the outset, The Help proposes healthy ideas about racial tolerance and does, in fact, put the audience in another person’s shoes. It’s how it puts you in those shoes that I have a problem with. If you like seeing live-wire actresses strive for great performances, then perhaps you’ll find some interest here, but a more heartfelt and provoking film could’ve come from this material. The most pleasure I took from this film is knowing that it will probably fuel one of Spike Lee’s kick-ass rants in the future!

'Rise' of a Fun Prequel

by Brett Parker

One of the more shrewder business tactics of recent studio filmmaking has been the ideal of a franchise reboot. As Batman Begins demonstrated, if a specific franchise stalls out on creative juices to keep sequels going, all you need is a prequel that takes things back to the beginning to start over fresh. That means any franchise, no matter how preposterous, can be jump-started again to see if audiences will follow it into a new dawn.

Since Tim Burton’s lackluster remake of Planet of the Apes, audiences haven’t exactly been crying out for a new installment in the series Hence when early previews of Rise of the Planet of the Apes surfaced, people suspected they were in for a tiresome CGI romp coasting on a brand name’s mileage. Yet the surprise here is that the film is actually rather good: patient, confident, involving, not without thought, fascinating in its special effects, and with present-day relevance to burn.

The film stars James Franco as Will Rodman, an impatient scientist who is racing to find a cure for Alzheimer’s Disease. He is testing an experimental drug on chimpanzees that he one day hopes to use on his father, Charles (John Lithgow), whose been diagnosed with the disease. A scary lab accident causes Will’s experiment to be shut down, but not before rescuing a baby chimp from being disposed of like the others. Naming the small monkey Caesar, Will decides to take the infant home until he can decide what to do with him.

Years go by and Caesar grows into a teenaged ape being raised as a surrogate son by Will and his girlfriend, Caroline (Freida Pinto). Having his genes altered by Will’s serum, Caesar shows remarkable signs of human behavior, including advanced communication skills and a great understanding of human emotions. But pretty soon, Caesar reveals his animalistic nature through violent outbursts and gets himself placed in an unpleasant ape shelter overseen by John Landon (Brian Cox) and his vile son, Dodge (Tom Felton). The cruel treatment of Caesar by this father-son duo reveals to him a horrible side of human nature he never knew existed.

Caesar decides to use his resourceful intelligence to rebel against his human captors. He creates a bond with the other abused primates at the shelter and finds devious methods to allow his fellow inmates to become as smart as he is. Pretty soon, Caesar and his simian army plot not only an escape from the shelter, but a rebellion against all human kind!

Since this is a plot based on Nature’s Way vs. Man’s Ignorance, you can expect the usual fixings of greed damaging science and the bizarre consequences of tampering with nature. Most of the film’s musings suggest a low-rent Project Nim or Project X. What actually keeps us involved every step of the way is the mesmerizing CGI performance of Andy Serkis as Caesar. Serkis is the actor famous for using motion-capture technology to uncover the tortured souls in CGI characters. From Gollum to King Kong and now Caesar, Serkis had made himself a Boris Karloff of our times by bringing human dimensions to other-worldly creatures. His acting efforts bring an enormous amount of sympathy to Caesar’s plights, blasting startling feelings and emotions into a special-effects concoction. The computer-assisted performance has the amazing effect of making Caesar the most human character in the entire film.

Perhaps Caesar’s surprising humanity is assisted by the one-note simplicity of the human characters. The film’s casting strangely traps gifted actors into wooden characters far below their usual potential. James Franco can be such an imaginative actor that he could play one of the apes with no problem. Yet here he is plopped into a straight-faced scientist role that greatly underuses his talents. His presence probably makes the role more compelling than it deserves to be, for we keep expecting his inherent strangeness to peak out from behind his poker face. Pinto radiates with such beauty and can convey such intelligence that its rather jarring to see her character have absolutely nothing of any consequence to do. The best human performance comes from Lithgow as Will’s Alzheimer’s-stricken father, nailing every nuance the role demands. This is the second movie this summer (after Friends With Benefits) that showcases this disease in a silly Hollywood outing, bringing weight to a plot that might not deserve it.

The diminished human characterizations, however, conveniently make the apes the most sympathetic characters in the entire film (which is why PETA is endorsing the prequel). Considering what obvious CGI creations they are, this is a rather remarkable feat. One of the widespread criticisms of CGI animation is that it makes seemingly-real entities appear way too cartoonish. Indeed, the apes at first glance look about as real as Jar-Jar Binks. Yet the special effects department give such rich detail to their behavioral patterns and expressions that the apes take on a heightened fascination, which makes sense for primates evolving towards humanity. The apes’ movements take on a jaunty, visceral quality thats especially exciting in a climactic sequence where the simians take over the San Francisco Bridge. As the primates swing through the air and attack police vehicles, the scene develops a fierce energy that makes this bouncy CGI ballet good fun to relish. Would real stunt men and puppeteering have made these apes appear more realistic? Perhaps. Would they still be as thrilling and ferocious? I have my doubts.

One of the kicks of good science-fiction is the creative ways it can comment on real world issues within a wildly imaginative realm. I suspect if this film ends up becoming a big hit, it won’t be because audiences just want to see packs of apes running amuck. Present day America has seen the lower and middle classes dealt hurtful blows from the greedy and incompetent politicians in power. So perhaps this tale of powerless creatures rebelling against an oppressive power is providing a release anxiety that’ll hit home harder than most people realize. You’d have to be mighty obtuse nowadays not to get a certain wish fulfillment out of a battered group overthrowing greedy businessmen and a system of harsh conformity. This may sound outlandish, but remember that Conquest of the Planet of the Apes, the most direct influence on this new Apes flick, got its violent imagery from the Civil Rights movement and other social rebellions. I may sound crazy, but you have to ask yourself why this film ends on such a positive note.

But don’t expect this flick to be the deepest societal statement. If you truly just want to see mad apes stick it to human bozos, then Rise of the Planet of the Apes will give you your money’s worth. Perhaps the highest compliment I can pay it is that it does away with any bad memory you may have of Burton’s misguided remake. Planet of the Apes was a franchise founded on curious ideas regarding nature and society, and this new installment doesn’t betray those ideas.

'Friends' Worth Having

by Brett Parker

Friends With Benefits is a romantic comedy that aspires humorously to transcend the conventions of its genre and ends up embodying them at the same time. By calling out the cliches on its own territory, the film shrewdly proves that certain ingredients must be present in order for a romantic comedy to even exist. Yet if other ingredients include a cheerful director, super-charismatic leads, and killer jokes rooted in peculiar human truths, you can have a wonderfully enjoyable time observing such a recipe.

The film stars Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis as Dylan and Jamie, two busy professionals living in New York City who strike up a quick friendship. Both have been jilted by relationships in the past and have grown weary towards the concept of romance. Since both of them are highly attractive individuals who wish to avoid commitment, they strike up a deal: they will have sex every time their hormones demand it without the inconvenience of emotions or promises. So the pair conducts their friendship as they normally would, only now with outbursts of hot and outlandish sex.

Their arrangements seems to be serving both their needs quite nicely, that is until romantic feelings start bubbling towards the surface. The more time they spend together (especially after Jamie meets Dylan’s family) the more they suspect that they’d make a perfect couple. Can the two overlook their jaded views on love to have a healthy relationship? Can their professional and personal lives allow it? Can they just get over themselves and live happily ever after?

Its realized very early in the opening scenes that Friends With Benefits strives for the rat-tat-tat playfulness of classical Hollywood romances (the poster for It Happened One Night doesn’t make an appearance for nothing). The early scenes are so rapidly paced and frantically edited that you wonder if trouble lies ahead for the narrative. You wonder if the film should be allowing more reality-based humanity into the forefront the way Cameron Crowe does. But thankfully, director Will Gluck gets a grip on his tone like a guitarist clamping down on a wild riff. It is then we are able to delight in the old school charms of the whip-smart dialogue and electric chemistry between the sharp leads.

While the film doesn’t achieve the profound insights and bruising truths of (500) Days of Summer, the most superior of recent romantic comedies, it doesn’t stray very far from the shores of modern behavior and does prove to be smarter than the average Hollywood product. For a film based on no-strings-attached sex, the film actually gets a lot right when it comes to rolling around in the sack. Anyone who’s ever hit the sheets will be able to recognize the peculiar quirks and odd detours here that can awkwardly and hilariously occur in sexual activities. It also helps matters that this movie contains one of the funniest oral sex scenes I’ve ever seen.

Whats really a blessing is how the film doesn’t rely on phony contrivances to truck in conflict but finds its complications within the interior of the character’s psychologies. The story accurately observes that when most people are faced with romantic satisfaction, they habitually allow their inadequacies and paranoia to ruin everything. I’m not sure how I feel about a subplot involving Dylan’s Father (Richard Jenkins) who has a condition more serious and grim than a film such as this is prepared to deal with. Still, it adds a genuine, real-world weight to Dylan and Jamie’s dilemma.

Of course a film like this wouldn’t work quite as well without lead actors who are both attractive and hilarious, two traits that don’t exactly walk hand-in-hand with every performer nowadays (whens the last time Katherine Heigl made you chuckle?). Timberlake and Kunis are pitch-perfect in the forefront, making you feel like they’ve been smoking this genre for years. They exude goofiness, sexiness, likeability, and yearning so seamlessly and effortlessly that they seem immune to any contrivance this genre could possibly throw at them.

It helps that Timberlake and Kunis get hilarious assistance from a supporting cast of wonderful comic actors. Instead of employing unknowns in thankless roles, Gluck employs the old-school studio tactic of surrounding the background with masterful comic actors. The beautiful Emma Stone and the silly Andy Samberg make short but effective impressions as jilted exes. Woody Harrelson excels in a role I’ve been waiting years to see: a gay sidekick with more masculinity than most of today’s leading men. In perhaps the film’s funniest moment, Jason Segel and Rashida Jones take a hatchet to rom-com sappiness in an awesomely silly way. And it must be said that even though Richard Jenkin’s character is too serious for this material, he does what the plot requires of him with great tact.

Friends With Benefits is another infectious touchdown for Will Gluck after the enormously enjoyable Easy A. From his filmmaking endeavors so far, it appears Gluck likes to tackle messy and taxing aspects of human experience by shining positive insights on them within the craftsmanship of a studio comedy. His movies don’t quite resemble the real world, but rather those heightened, sunny worlds often found within the Hollywood artifice. Nonetheless, Gluck displays that classical sense of using the artifice to scratch at human truths while neatly sidestepping the discomforts they could come with. The result is a shrewd message on how to deal with life’s stresses, basked in an earned positivity that’s hard to resist.

Friends With Benefits isn’t exactly a deconstructive masterpiece or mind-blowingly original, but it slides a hip freshness into tired cliches and rarely takes a false step. I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun watching a lightweight romantic comedy. I can’t decide if its sneaky or miraculous the way Gluck makes us cheerfully relish age-old Hollywood conventions, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t really like it.

A Mighty Movie For 'Thor'

by Brett Parker

Since the very concept of superheroes was founded from the blueprints of ancient mythology, it only makes sense that a mythical God like Thor would make a perfect fit as the star of a comic book. For superheroes are made up of infinite powers, fantastical back stories, and exploits with otherworldly creatures, something Thor holds in Aces. With his superhuman strength, viking demeanor, and giant hammer that pounds on monstrous nasties, the myth of this Old Norse concoction is so filled with dizzying flights of wild imagination that the comic book reincarnation has an inherent fun-factor thats damn near impossible to diminish.

Of course a movie adaptation of Thor would also have built-in pop treats so delicious that not even Tommy Wiseau could screw it up. However, the big surprise with Thor’s trip to the silver screen is that prestigious director Kenneth Branagh has taken this essentially preposterous material and aspires quite admirably toward theatrical dignity. Branagh highlights the underlying links between the Norse God’s mythical universe and the world of his Shakespearian epics, giving off classical dramatic jolts that could even have theatre snobs rooting for the film. The effect makes the comic material more compelling than you might first imagine. And since Branagh isn’t a slave to mindless action and pop funkiness, the action scenes even have something kind of special about them.

As the film opens, we are introduced to the magical world of Asgard, which is like Mount Olympus re-imagined by the Apple Company. Asgard is a world where the ancient Norse Gods live in their kingdom under the rule of King Odin (Anthony Hopkins). Odin is getting ready to bequeath his kingdom to his son Thor (Chris Hemsworth), the God of Thunder who appears to be a brash, arrogant warrior hungry for battle. At what is supposed to be Thor’s crowning ceremony, cold-blooded villains from a rival land known as Frost Giants are caught trying to break into Odin’s Kingdom but are quickly vanquished. Odin thinks some kind of misunderstanding has happened, but Thor sees this as an early sign of a turf war. Odin forbids Thor from acting on his impulses, but the blood-thirsty warrior ignores his father’s orders and attacks the Frost Giants on their own land, breaking a truce and igniting a heated war.

Outraged at his son’s actions, Odin strips Thor of his powers and banishes him to Earth, where hopefully he can learn empathy and humility among the Humans. He crash-lands literally in the New Mexico dessert and is discovered by a lovely scientist named Jane Foster (Natalie Portman). Jane tries to convince her fellow colleagues (Stellan Skarsgard and Kat Dennings) that perhaps this strange visitor has strong ties to recent solar disturbances, but before she can pull any information from him, it is discovered that Thor’s jealous half-brother, Loki (Tom Hiddleston) is wreaking havoc in Asgard and is plotting not only to take over the kingdom but to wipe out Thor on his newfound home. Can Thor protect himself and his human friends from other-worldly forces without his powers? Does he have any hope in returning to Asgard and restoring peace?

Kenneth Branagh may not necessarily be the first person you think of to helm a superhero picture, yet the more you reflect on the very nature of Thor, the more you realize what a perfect fit he actually turns out to be. A look over Branagh’s directing endeavors reveals a taste for Shakespearean adaptations (five to be exact) on a grand scale. Not only does he give talented actors room to find real depth and feeling within the Bard’s ancient language, but he creates wonderful visual schemes that prevent the material from becoming a talking heads show. It’s this knack for grand traditional drama that Branagh brings to Thor’s old-prose world, so therefore the material rises above pop silliness. Thor’s universe is one of inter-family turmoil, royal complications, and ancient battle glory, something Branagh’s work certainly makes him an expert in. Therefore, scenes on Asgard have a tragic weight and golden grandiosity that draw us in as if Shakespeare himself had written Flash Gordon.

Since Branagh fundamentally will never stoop to Michael Bay tricks to sell an action picture, he also knows how to build action scenes with a nice economy. Even for all the monstrous villains and booming lights that rock the characters, Branagh still keeps the action rooted in the character’s emotional states and therefore the epic poundings never grow boring. But it isn’t just character drama, for Branagh knows how to use that camera to deliver big, alluring visuals. For my money, Thor pounding his hammer away on the giant, rainbow-tinged Bifrost Bridge is one of the great visuals of modern comic book movies and certainly one of their most original climaxes.

If the movie has a failing, its that Branagh doesn’t bring as much weight and attention to the Earth scenes as he does with Asgard. If Thor does in fact learn big things about humility, then we have to take the movie’s word for it because his scenes of human development feel curiously skimpy. Plus I think a lot more laughs regarding Thor’s god-out-of-water situation could’ve been milked from the plot, not only putting us in stitches but giving Thor the grand dose of humanity he needs. I’m not saying I wanted the Old Norse Encino Man, but Branagh establishes such exquisite drama in Asgard that it would’ve been okay to have a few hoots down on Earth. For example, a scene of Thor knocking down pints at a bar is a dud-on-arrival with zero laughs. A million hilarious scenarios could’ve been presented at the barstool considering Thor is occasionally regarded as one of the great boozers in norse mythology.

Not all of the Earth scenes are a waste though, for Branagh manages to squeeze a surprisingly touching romance out of Hemsworth and Portman. Like Downey and Paltrow in Iron Man, the two leads build a romance on subtle gestures of affection that produces astonishing engagement. It helps that Portman has found a role that, not unlike Black Swan, finds wonderful ways to make her waifish femininity surprisingly sexy while Thor interacting with an Earth girl inspires an old-fashioned gallantry in Hemsworth thats a real treat to behold. The two do such a sweet job that when it’s finally time for their close-up smooch, it produces a classic electricity that makes it hands-down the best big screen kiss I’ve seen in many a moon.

At first glance, Hemsworth appears to have the look of that arrogant jock in high school who used to pick on you all the time, but its a testament to his skill that he quickly blows such an insufferable image right out of the water. Thor is Hemsworth’s first starring role after small parts in Star Trek and A Perfect Getaway, and he proves to be an extremely resourceful leading man. Like Christopher Reeve in Superman, Hemsworth knows how to use a chiseled physique and masculine grace like a classical movie star. And whats surprising is that he pulls this off all while serving the macho id of being a Viking God. His layers inspires many layers in Thor, and the role packs great notes of command, warmth, humility, and heroics. The other big find in the film is Tom Hiddleston as the villainous Loki. Playing on a Peter O’Toole-slyness to convey reptilian calculation, Hiddleston works hard to deliciously display the resentment and wounds that pulsate ferociously through his character’s icy veins. He energizes the tragic schemer into being one of the most fascinating villains of the Marvel Movies.

At the end of the day, Thor can’t really elevate it’s comic nature towards grand significance. Like the old myths, it’s simple morals can be truly relished, but its fantastical nature can’t exactly penetrate the human soul. It doesn’t have the hip peculiarities of Iron Man nor does it have the weighty subtext of The Dark Knight, but what it does have is a glowing innocence and romanticism that wonderfully reminds one of the early days of this particular film genre. It’ll gain a beloved mileage not just from its epic imagination, but also because Hemsworth proves he can be a fantastic movie star and Branagh can prove that the drama of a superhero movie could fit in on any stage in England.

A 'Limitless' Supply of Entertainment

by Brett Parker

Whenever our country faces hard times of economical depression, movies about rags-to-riches stories tend to thrive in their popularity. We can always obtain a great fulfillment fantasy from watching ordinary Joes having fame and fortune dropped into their laps. And even if they are threatened to lose it all, important humanist values come shining through in the end, helping us to realize that theres more to life than fame and fortune. Limitless more or less follows this mold, except for the typical moralistic ending. Instead of renouncing fame and fortune, here’s a film that curiously defends it. The hero of this story resorts to preposterously shrewd methods to avoid the repercussions of his actions, commenting deliciously on the relentless ambitions of our culture today.

Bradley Cooper stars as Eddie Morra, a down-on-his-luck struggling writer. With the appearance of a shaggy vagabond, Eddie can’t seem to overcome his writer’s block, financial woes, and the fact that his girlfriend Lindy (Abbie Cornish) just dumped him due to his laziness. Things, however, take a whopping turnaround the day Eddie bumps into his ex-brother-in-law, Vernon (Johnny Whitworth), on the streets of New York. Vernon is a former drug-dealer turned big business consultant who tells Eddie that he has a magic pill that can cure all his ills. If humans can only access 20% of their brains, then this pill can help you access all of it, bringing you to extreme heights of awareness and intelligence thats almost superhuman. Figuring things can’t get any worse, Eddie decides to take the pill.

Almost instantly after ingesting it, Eddie’s brain lights up like a pinball machine and he transforms into a super genius. He finishes his book in record time, he learns to play instruments and speak foreign languages in a matter of days, and he uses new-found mathematical skills to rack up millions in the stock market. Of course these millions help turn Eddie from a broke sap into a suave, dapperly-dressed, good-life-living smoothie, the kind that even wins back Lindy.

Yet going from zero-to-hero overnight is bound to bring an awful lot of attention with it, something Eddie hopelessly draws on himself with dangerous consequences. A financial big shot (Robert DeNiro) grows anxious to find out Eddie’s secrets-to-success, a scary loan shark (Andrew Howard) discovers Eddie’s secret drug and demands more, and Vernon isn’t able to reveal the source of the pill, making Eddie’s supply limited. Not only will Eddie lose all of his intelligence and insights when the drug runs out, but he learns that deadly things can happen to people who’ve abused this pill before.

Limitless is not only a dizzying entertainment but also comments on the way we live now in very peculiar ways. Through Eddie, we can identify with an American need to seek fame and fortune instantly without putting in any of the apparent hard work. Most of us would probably swallow that pill, consequences be damned, faster than Eddie would. Even as it becomes blatantly clear that Eddie’s success and drug-use can cause deadly repercussions for himself and others, his chief concern appears to be the loss of his fortune and entitlement. The obsessive lengths Eddie goes to to protect his lavish lifestyle eerily reflects the relentless American need to protect our egos and assets by any means necessary. Out of the desperation of poverty comes a Machiavellian need to achieve the ultimate success and keep it.

Eddie’s behavior also mirrors modern day people’s mentality of justifying their bad habits. Limitless appears to be one of the few, if only, films that “justifies” drug abuse. From the outset, the film appears to be a zany play on the structure of a “drug addiction” film, for Eddie gets hooked on a pill, is marveled by the way it makes him feel, and crashes into the dark abyss most drugs takes its users. Yet instead of halting to a tragic ending, Eddie finds ways to beat the drug’s side effects and ultimately ends up with a “if you don’t abuse it too hard, it can’t kill you” argument. A drug abuser’s justification fantasy is just one of the loony things lurking within this busy plot.

Despite the dark and despairing depths the film flirts with, director Neil Burger (The Illusionist) plays everything as if it were an energetic hoot, which it more or less is. I admire the way he pushes for visual creativity to express the fireworks show going on inside Eddie’s brain. We’re treated to elaborate zooms that cover a spectacular amount of area, animated numbers and letters that bounce around the screen, and jumps in Eddie’s memory that appear to make the screen bounce. Since Eddie’s brain is whirling with an overload of information and adrenaline, Burger makes the film appear in the same vein. It can feel a bit messy at times, but its never boring and certainly generates some excitement.

It’s good that Bradley Cooper can convey a natural likable quality, for it helps sell us on Eddie even when he's doing unlikeable things. Cooper has a gift for making preening narcissists appear to have a charming soul (something he employed superbly in The Hangover and The A-Team), and he teleports a great deal of sympathy as we go about Eddie’s journey. The big disappointment here is Robert DeNiro’s performance, which is completely phoned-in and half-asleep. DeNiro appears to be coasting on just memorizing his lines and doesn’t even bother giving his character any sinister sizzle, or even any energy. He may be growing older, but there are plenty of aging pros who could relish such a part (I think of the way Michael Douglass kept the juiciness going in Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps). As for Abbie Cornish, she brings as much sweetness as she can to her small role, in spite of the fact that Eddie treats her more like one of his capitalist trophies instead of true love.

Limitless is one of those enjoyable entertainments that asks you “What Would You Do?” The film gets its big kick from the fact that most Americans probably would do it just like Eddie did it. There are endless subplots popping up all over the place to keep you on the edge of your seat, and the script actually finds devious ways to tie everything up. Plus, it’s a true testament to Bradley Cooper that while Eddie isn’t the most admirable of characters, you certainly don’t mind spending two hours on the big screen with him.

A 'Lawyer' Worth Hiring

by Brett Parker

Crime procedurals are a dime a dozen on TV land these days. The big homework assignment of one that finds its way to the silver screen is to be cinematic enough to distinguish itself from just another prime-time episode. The Lincoln Lawyer passes that test mainly due to the intricate plotting and colorful characterizations of Michael Connelly, the author of the source novel, and from the leading man wattage of Matthew McConaughey, a born charmer whose stabs at prestige and fun with fluff shouldn’t skewer the true-blue movie star he is.

The film stars McConaughey as Mick Haller, a California lawyer who specializes in representing the sleaze and low-lifes caught up in their seedy ways. Due to a DUI incident and a need to save on office fees, Haller conducts business out of the backseat of his Lincoln town car while the trusty Earl (Laurence Mason) chauffeurs him around. Haller’s chief clients appear to be bikers and drug-abusers until the day Louis Roulet (Ryan Phillipe) is brought to his attention. Roulet is the son of a wealthy family whose been accused of raping and beating a prostitute after a night of clubbing. Roulet proclaims to Haller that he’s innocent and that it’s all a set-up to extort money from him.

Haller decides to take on the case even though he suspects not everything is what it seems. An old private investigator friend (William H. Macy) reveals that Roulet’s story is full of holes. Haller’s own suspicions leads him to believe that Roulet is lying to him about something. He digs deeper only to find a large web of deceit filled with bending twists and turns. This web not only challenges Haller’s well-being but gets the people around him caught up in elaborate gambits to seek true justice.

Author Michael Connelly has become a hot property with his potboiler legal thrillers, putting him in the same stratosphere of popularity as John Grisham. If his stories are even half as appealing as The Lincoln Lawyer’s big-screen adaptation, then I can certainly see why. This story covers an ocean of compelling characters basked in the California sun, challenging the moralities of low-level players and the lack there-of within the higher class. The Lincoln Lawyer doesn’t get its kicks from big courtroom scenes, but the chess game that happens outside of the legal system, where the heroes’ economy of wacky and valuable acquaintances aids him in elaborate schemes to beat the system and deliver justice in bizarrely existential ways. It’s a testament to screenwriter John Romano (Intolerable Cruelty) that the script gives affectionate time to each of the fun characters while still giving apt attention to the carefully calculated plot, sometimes before we even realize it.

Director Brad Furman (The Take) may not have mastered expert-handling of the camera, but he knows how to make this delicious story pop and sizzle. The weakest thing about the film is the shaky-cam style most of the scenes are basked in, hopelessly stamping the film with the shooting style of gritty-television dramas. It also doesn’t help matters that flashback scenes are filmed like the ones on CSI. Television shows can be dizzying and crude, but movies should be wonderfully shrewd with the camera to create a strong sense of atmosphere and tone. Still, Furman knows enough when to let the camera sit back and regard the behavior of the characters. I’m thankful for the patient observations within this busy plot, and I also loved the soulful r & b soundtrack which helps convey how Haller is a man of the streets, something he cheerfully agrees to. And wouldn’t you know it, Furman even treats us to some good old-fashioned movie sex!

With all the different styles of movie acting out there, it seems we have a shortage nowadays in the Paul Newman department. You know, genuine leading men in the classical mold who ooze with effortless charm and charisma. The kind who seduce the audience with their abilities to smooth-talk the ladies and tough-talk the baddies. The kind who could teach a master class in how to work your way around the barroom and the bedroom. At this point in his career, Matthew McConaughey has proven to be that kind-of-actor. The Mick Haller character gives him the perfect opportunity to show off his rascally charm, likable ease, and tact intensity, and we should all be thankful for a character that allows a movie star to hit on all cylinders. Haller is a man who goes from roguish schemer to moral crusader, and sometimes these traits blend in nicely with each other. Watching McConaughey infuse such a character with his laid-back smoothness is great fun to relish. I hope this character shows up in many more movies.

In the old Studio days, big stars were given great assists by a supporting cast of invaluable character actors who stole the occasional scene or two. The Lincoln Lawyer follows that tradition by employing seasoned pros to make up the compelling characters in Haller’s life. Ryan Phillipe brings a nice ambiguity to a spoiled rich kid, William H. Macy conveys a great lived-in scrappiness as a private investigator, Michael Pena hits very intense bases as one of Haller’s wrongly-imprisoned clients, Josh Lucas wisely ditches pretentious smarminess as a prosecuting attorney, and Marisa Tomei brings such warmth and sunniness to her role as Haller’s ex-wife that you wonder why they even bothered getting a divorce in the first place. From a biker gang to sleazy rich people, Haller is surrounded by a motley gallery of characters, and these experienced actors help bring heart and dimensions to each person we see. We care about these seemingly disposable characters, even when the plot begins to make us realize that they aren’t disposable at all.

The Lincoln Lawyer arrives at the same moral musings as countless other thrillers in this genre and in the end, it can’t transcend its pulp trappings. Still, Connelly’s elaborate plotting and McConaughey’s electricity make this one more fun than most others. The Mick Haller character has appeared in two other Connelly novels I haven’t read, but judging by the enjoyment I obtained from his first big-screen outing, I hope to see Haller’s other adventures find their way to the silver screen. This lovable rascal and the craziness he gets himself involved in would help bring jolts of fun to a tired genre.