On the "Let's Be Cops" Facebook page, this quote is posted: "Thinking is overrated. Get your ass over to the theater and be entertained!" So apparently if I don't think during this movie, I'll be entertained. What a misguided assumption. Perhaps the person who wrote that post was trying to warn us.. Whatever the case, the statement is wrong: "Let's Be Cops" lacks the blissful goofiness that would bring me to the nirvana-like state of the baby giggling at a silly noise or a well-handled fart joke. Instead, its jokes pile on top of each other, desperate for a laugh.
Jake Johnson and Damon Wayans Jr. star as Ryan and Justin, two thirty-year-old un-achievers who attend a costume party dressed as cops. The general public believes the two to be real, and after having a bit of fun with their new power, they raise the stakes on the charade, to the point where they buy a police car, patrol the streets, and get swept up in the middle of an arms smuggling deal.
The short review is this: "Let's Be Cops" is a bore. I openly laughed once. In 104 minutes, I laughed at a 30-second-long joke. (This is 0.48% of the running time, for those wondering.) The movie barrages, eventually suffocating the audience with action and jokes in its first half hour. It feels like the writers tried to cram as many jokes into a scene as possible, hoping one of them would hit. However, there's no time to let a joke sink in, so each impact falls flat.
When the movie does take a break, it slugs through, haphazardly crafting the plot as it goes along. It's as if the authors hadn't planned to do anything with certain locations and characters past the first act, and realizing there was an entire subplot left to go through, they had to tie every loose end together, logic be damned. By this point, I'm fidgeting around in my chair, checking the time. I don't care anymore.
Johnson and Wayans are each obnoxious in their own right. Johnson is more brash, with honking laughter and an abundance of unfocused energy. Wayans is the opposite, going on autopilot, save for a few scenes. He seems comfortable away from the insanity: smart thinking in real life, but I thought "thinking was overrated." When Johnson isn't bringing to mind a bad amateur night at the comedy club, Wayans is barely trying.
To sum it up, "Let's Be Cops" was a waste of time. The deciding factor in most flops this year so far is execution, and it's no different here. Giving power to those who shouldn't or don't have it is always a great source of comedy: look at "The Toxic Avenger", "The Nutty Professor", "Spaceballs". However, the pacing is a mess, the story is ridiculous, the jokes aren't funny, and the final nail in the coffin for "Let's Be Cops" is the cardinal sin of comedy: it's boring, another example of a good premise being done wrong. Just skip this one. Thank you for reading, I'm the Man Without A Plan, signing off.
With the recent passing of Robin Williams, I've been, as most people have, watching his stand-up comedy, to refresh fond memories but primarily, laugh. Willams' energy stunned me. His physicality was wild and unpredictable. His tongue spit debilitating wit at unfathomable speeds. For as boisterous as Williams could be, he possessed the ability to hush crowds. With hundreds of attentive eyes fixed on every word, he told us about our "spark of madness". He breathed life into "seize the day."
However, using "Dead Poets' Society" as an example, Williams never shied away from reality. "Because, believe it or not, each and every one of us in this room is one day going to stop breathing, turn cold and die." He was honest, in a way that was kind. It's so easy to lie with a smile on one's face, so much tougher to tell the truth in the same manner.
So as Williams raved on about alcohol, the history of golf, the Iraq War, Viagra, and the need to fulfill our exploratory, creative desires, we saw a portrait of a man, not a talent. He was someone, whom, especially in his work, was transparent, if we looked hard enough. He valued poetry, imagination, adventure, but most importantly, he recognized the need for balance. I think he realized that because the world could be so scary and painful, he needed to concentrate every kind of comfort and joy into a 67-inch hairy-armed package.
It was a tough calling to take on, but if there was anyone who got the closest to setting the scales right, it was him. Seize the day, my friends, just as Robin Williams taught us how. Thank you for reading; I'm the Man Without A Plan, signing off.
My sense of anticipation is fickle. When anyone mentioned the new "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" movie prior to its release, my reaction ranged from reserved excitement to eye-rolling dismissal. This roller coaster of emotion wasn't stabilized by the flurry of news beforehand. Michael Bay was in the producer's chair; the turtles were planned to be aliens; the fans revolted, filmmakers repudiating the idea; creators Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman were brought in as character writers for the Turtles; the trailers revealed faithful renditions of the brothers, bolstered by high-energy action and well-crafted CGI; Megan Fox was cast as April O'Neil. It's very clear: this whole process was a cluster of madness.
"Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" is a comic book turned TV phenomenon turned movie series, centering around four turtles (Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo) and a rat named Splinter. All are exposed to a mutagen causing volatile humanoid growth, taking refuge in New York's sewer systems. Splinter becomes an adoptive father to the turtles, teaching them the art of ninjitsu, so that when the time is right, they can defend the city from the Shredder, leader of a criminal syndicate of ninjas called the Foot Clan. The turtles' main ally in their battles is April O'Neil, a driven reporter who'll do anything to get her story, even if that means getting captured by the bad guys.
In this movie's origin story, O'Neil is frustrated by the fluff stories she's assigned. Desperate to make her break as a serious reporter, she stumbles across the scene of a Foot Clan robbery, foiled by a hulking, shadowy vigilante. Following the trail leads her to the turtles, who are hesitant to trust her, fearing she'll expose their existence. A few encounters lead to a working partnership and when the Shredder (Tohoru Masamune) arrives in New York, they team up to stop a plot threatening to harm the citizens and seize New York under the name of the Foot.
What plagues the film is indecisiveness. Often times scenes build up atmosphere, whether it be a heartwarming talk between the Turtles or a menacing encounter with Shredder, and suddenly, the scene will slam to a halt for a joke. It's as if the filmmakers decided no scene in a kids movie can exist without some corny humor. Other moments flip the script, attempting to make this all sound plausible, but fall apart as characters make wisecracks, attempting to show the movie is aware of its own silliness. These aren't cute flirtations with the fourth wall; they clunkily interject in the plot, wasting time. There's a time for comedy, action, suspense, drama, and the film shows no restraint, letting it all whiz by.
The plot muddles along, attempting to tie in a genetic researcher/entrepreneur (William Fitchner) with connections to O'Neil's father, her relation to the turtles (told in poorly-edited exposition), and a subplot regarding April's cameraman (Will Arnett) trying to get her in the sack. For a movie about reptilian martial artists who fight crime and eat pizza, there are hefty amounts of dialogue: sprawling exposition and plot reveals that attempt to relay any semblance of story, but go in and out the mind like cinematic mush.
Fox is given an unbelievably dense character, whom after somehow getting a job in a respectable (again, loose use of the term) TV news station, acts as if mentioning giant anthropomorphic ninja turtles won't raise any executive's eyebrows, and has the audacity to whine about getting fired when she spent the previous scene incoherently babbling 'evidence' of said turtles' existence to her boss (Whoopi Goldberg collecting a check). Now, Megan Fox has become somewhat of a poster girl for ditzy bombshell actress/models in recent years, but she didn't write her character. April O'Neil is a bore in this film, spewing exposition and hiding for three-quarters of every battle. She doesn't show any investigative skills exalting her to any status other than smiling in front of the camera. While Fox can be seen staring into space during a fight scene, it's not like the script give her much else to do. She tries to bring some energy in the beginning, but the character just takes up space.
Now, I know the three-star rating is beginning to confuse the lot of you, so I'll switch gears here. The plot is weightless, creating little to no impact. In a strange way, this helps the film. Unlike the "Transformers" series, which equally lacks plot but sprawls on for 150-plus minutes, offending ethnicities and stereotypes, "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" is just bland, a light PG-13 where the harshest word spoken is 'ass': surprisingly easy to sit through. the bad stuff is just mediocre, but when the movie hits gold? It's a surge of nostalgia.
Laird and Eastman save this film. The turtles are faithful interpretations of the originals (who could've expected such a result from their creators, right?), well-acted by the physical and voice actors. As per usual, Raphael's gruff badassery and Mikey's wide-eyed antics steal the show, leaving kids to leave the theater quoting their best lines for weeks to come. The turtles' brotherly bickering brings a smile to my face, especially as they try to stop Mikey from embarrassing himself in an attempt to woo April (all set to the tune of The Turtles' "So Happy Together".) The CGI is well done: not only do the turtles look like they're on the set, but their faces are expressive, bolstered by the actors' range of emotion. Kudos to Pete Ploszek (Leonardo), Alan Ritchson (Raphael), Jeremy Howard (Donatello), and Noel Fisher (Mikey), who capture the spirit of the turtles phenomenally.
Is this a good film? Absolutely not. The plot is a bore, when it doesn't try to cram in subplots and secondary characters. However, the movie portrays the turtles so well and so entertainingly, with riveting action and clever comedy, that I ended up having fun. Fans of the old and new shows will enjoy the turtles' camaraderie and fighting skills. After the rest is sifted away, we're left with an energetic big-budget episode of the Ninja Turtles show, and to be honest, I'm happy with that result. With the sequel already officially announced, here's hoping Laird and Eastman can take over the show and give us the playful action powerhouse the fans desire. Check it out if you're a fan; if not, wait for streaming services to pick it up.
Thank you for reading; I'm the Man Without A Plan, signing off.
An alternative to the six-star rating system I've coined is the John C. Reilly barometer.™ "Gangs of New York", "Chicago", "Step Brothers", "Wreck-It Ralph": they're great movies, but what do they all have in common? The curly-haired funnyman. The number of good films I've seen the actor in has surpassed coincidence, so as an ongoing theory, I claim John C. Reilly to be as strong a beacon for film quality as Kevin Bacon is for networking. This week, I'm testing the barometer once again, and I'm happy to say, the evidence is in my favor. The newest recipient of the John C. Reilly seal of approval is "Guardians of the Galaxy". (Reilly plays a policeman.)
Peter Quill (Chris Pratt) is a thief-for-hire, scrounging the galaxy for treasure as the blaster-wielding Star-Lord (at least, that's what he calls himself). His newest foray involves an orb that, due to its intense power, attracts Ronan the Accuser (Lee Pace), whom assisted by the assassin Gamora (Zoe Saldana), vows to use the orb's power to conquer the galaxy.
Naturally, there's a small legion after Peter. Not only is Gamora after the orb, but a pair of hunters, the raccoon-like berserker Rocket (Bradley Cooper) and giant tree-humanoid Groot (Vin Diesel) are after the bounty Quill's boss (Michael Rooker) has set on his head (Peter's attempts to sell the orb for himself didn't go unnoticed). After a chaotic meeting, the four are captured and thrown in prison. After recruiting Drax (Dave Bautista), whose family was murdered by Ronan, they form a shaky alliance to help one another in their pursuits of money, vengeance, freedom, and redemption.
"Guardians of the Galaxy" is one of the most anticipated movies of the summer. To say so is surprising; the film's one of the more obscure properties in Marvel's line-up. This creates a paradox of expectations: this is a fairly unknown source material, so the general public doesn't know what an adaptation should be like. However, due to the Marvel name, the public expects something fresh and vibrant; the brand, like John C. Reilly, has become synonymous with quality.
"Guardians" is comfortable when relishing in its off-kilter swagger, as Star-Lord uses a rat/lizard hybrid as a microphone to sing Redbone's "Come And Get Your Love", or as the movie explores, in glorious slow-motion, Rocket's assault rifle fetish (a cinematic first, I'm sure). Director/writer James Gunn infuses scenes with witty, playful dialogue; the characters have a blast bantering back and forth, leading to some of the most enjoyable Marvel movie quotes to date.
However, Gunn is no Whedon. Despite some of "Guardians'" scenes resembling "The Avengers", primarily a couple Groot battles, Joss Whedon's light-hearted popcorn film full of punchlines and silly faces takes a couple more risks with Gunn at the helm. A scene in a bar has Rocket and Drax on the verge of a brawl, both drunk and insulted. While the three-way fight between Captain America, Iron Man, and Thor was played for laughs and bombastic action, Rocket and Drax's dilemma comes off as both humorous and pathetic. Gunn and co-writer Nicole Perlman don't show these characters as heroes, but people (I use the word loosely) trying to make the best of their situations. They're violent, desperate, grieving, full of loss and hurt. These characters' vulnerabilities are put on the spotlight, free of any romanticism the "brooding gritty hero" stereotype usually brings to the table. They can be pitiful and pathetic, but they're honest in a way that feels completely natural.
Where the movie begins to falter in its latter half, where its loose, haphazard confidence tightens in the wake of a typical superhero climax. For a movie so comfortable being tongue-in-cheek, almost to the point of parodying other superhero movies, as Ronan's plan nears closer to fruition, the gang suits up and plays it straight. Now, this isn't "The Dark Knight" or anything; we have nuggets of the sarcastic, hyper-energetic first half, just not as much. While I can understand the necessity for a superhero film to follow the cliches of rallying the troops and leading one last stand as part of crafting a more cohesive plot, I can't help but feel disappointed Gunn and Perlman didn't keep pushing the ante and taking more risks, testing the boundaries of what a Marvel audience can take. I found details in the resolution to be sequel bait, and while the climax is huge, it's mostly predictable, in terms of what stages the climax needs to go through (see "Captain America: The Winter Soldier").
Despite a few setbacks, "Guardians of the Galaxy" is impressive. Its humor, characters, direction, and tone make it a unique experience, enjoyable from start to finish. The risks Gunn and team take pay off well, and I hope that with the film's success, later movies in the superhero genre will take even more risks, expanding their artistic horizons. Full of fun and heart, the movie earns a good recommendation.
Thank you all for reading, I'm the Man Without A Plan, signing off.
P.S. I cannot stress this enough. People, this is a Marvel movie. Stay through the credits! There are two after-movie scenes: one in the middle of the credits and one afterwards. Not only do these kinds of scenes foreshadow and give hints to the sequels, they provide an incentive to remain and recognize the work from the hundreds of people whose day jobs go into the entertainment. Let's show them our respect and have some fun while doing so. :)
Sunday afternoon at the Angelika Film Centre in Plano, Texas is packed: the lines reach the back of the door. A pair of college kids split up: divide and conquer the line is the way to go, winner take tickets and bragging rights. As I enter theater number 2, the room is reaching capacity. I need to act fast. I choose the seat in front of a lad wearing spectacles who more than likely puts my 'film nerd' cred to shame. A few trailers whiz by; I make mental notes to check out a few. Suddenly, the jangly opening chords of Coldplay's "Yellow" fills the air. Cue the title card: "Boyhood."
For the first forty-five minutes, my mind reflects on the articles I read prior: Richard Linklater's "Boyhood" is a marvel of production. Following the same group of actors for eleven years, it's the closest a coming of age story has come to being seen in real time. It questions iron-clad understandings of family, growth, and what it means to be a man. Already, "Boyhood" is regarded as one of the best films of the year, the decade, the century.
However, as the movie progresses the articles fade, and instead I follow the lives of the characters. Mason (Ellar Coltrane) remains quiet for the most part, an observer soaking up information like a sponge. He's distracted, doesn't turn in his homework, and rebels against the expected go-to-college, get-a-job path. Samantha (Lorelei Linklater) is his older sister, outspoken but good-hearted. She annoys and irritates her family, but her comments are blunt, hard truths, often necessary to the situation at hand. Olivia (Patricia Arquette) is their mother: single and struggling, not just with finances and the pressures of earning a college degree, but with her identity, as well. In a shouting match with her date, she exclaims, "I was somebody's daugther; now I'm somebody's mother!" There was no time to discover where she stood in the world, exploring who she wanted to be before responsibility was thrust on her. On the other end of the spectrum lies Mason Sr. (Ethan Hawke), the kids' father, a man-child, happy to drive in his GTO, away from responsibility towards any idyllic stress-free success.
The years bring new fads, people, ideas, influences, complications, and freedoms. Texas becomes a perfect melting pot for these events: Mason is exposed to the indie rock, pot-smoking weirdness of Austin, the gun-toting, church-going charm of the country. On the surface, these locations and their inhabitants make us laugh; we think Linklater is satirizing. And while these portrayals are exaggerated, the movie doesn't needlessly take sides. The characters are raised liberally, but it doesn't mean Mason doesn't enjoy going out shooting with his grandfather. The differences are never enough to split people up; they're all just trying to navigate and make sense out of life.
"Boyhood" ends in the desert sunset. Mason and a new college friend sit in a valley, getting to know each other. They talk about their roommates and how much fun college can be. A pause in the conversation leads to the friend questioning the idea of "seizing the moment." In a moment of eternal pot-filled wisdom, she flips the phrase: "the moment seizes us."
We are vulnerable, aware of our own mortality, and absolutely terrified. For how old we get, we are not only unable to forge a path to what we believe to be glory, success, or peace, we have no idea how to. As Mason Sr. puts it, explaining his arrangement of the songs in a Beatles mixtape: "First, it's about the party, then somebody else says 'no, it's about God', 'no it's about love and pain', then the last one just asks, 'Can't we learn to be happy with what we have?'"
"Boyhood" reminds us that for as much as we pump up our importance and place so much weight on our decisions, we all succumb to time. Death is inevitable, but as long as we appreciate the time we do have, we'll be okay. The moment seizes us; mine is currently filled with couples falling in love, friends discussing the Palestinian-Isreali conflict, and a singer-songwriter belting out a soulful melody. Seems like I'm doing just fine.
Thank you all for reading; I'm the Man Without a Plan, signing off.
If this situation can be spun positively, I hope it errs in the direction of the art house. I hate to support the claim critics can't enjoy silly B-movies, but if "The Purge: Anarchy" reveals anything, it's this: movie marketing works like air fresheners. If people catch a whiff of what smells like a good idea, they'll come. Never mind the execution.
The "Purge" series takes place in 2023, where America's leaders set up a national holiday called The Purge, where for 12 hours, all crime is legal. The populace has a chance to release their ill willed desires and as a result, both unemployment and crime rates have plummeted. It seems like a sound idea, but as the movies follow people trying to live through the night, they question if these ends can truly justify the means.
The first film centered around a family defending their house from invasion; this sequel uses three vantage points: Sergeant, a brooding, gun-laden man looking to purge (Frank Grillo), Eva and Cali, a mother and daughter forced out of home by a militant group (Carmen Ejogo and Zoe Soul), and Shane and Liz, a couple on the brink of divorce hunted by a hooded gang (Zach Gilford and Kiele Sanchez). As the night progresses, they cross paths and team up to increase their odds for survival.
There are signs of improvement; the stakes have been raised. In the city, dangers lurk around every corner, from independent gangs to mentally ill snipers, bear traps, and Gatling gun-wielding maniacs. As the group treks through the city, the camera does a nice job sizing up the threat, emulating the feeling of being a rat caught in a maze. These silent scenes build tension: highlights of the movie.
Characters come off less annoying than the original (the androgynous-looking son set the bar for blank-faced idiocy last time around). Instead of excruciating, they're just bland. Sergeant orders the group through gritted teeth, counting how many times the director told him to pace back and forth to seem indecisive about where his loyalties lie. The couple takes up space in the frame. Now, the daughter charms with some jokes and development with Sergeant, but her naivete grates.
Writer/director James DeMonaco attempts to beef up the story, throwing in a plot involving a group of anarchists opposing the New Founding Fathers, claiming the Purge to be a method of eliminating the lower class. While the idea sparks intrigue (and comparisons to the 99 percent debate), the methodology is the same: it's about being behind the winning gun. In the end, power, not justice wins the day; the cycle of history repeats: today's rebels are tomorrow's oligarchs.
The movie paints the Purge as a way to make all crime legal. The statement carries negative connotation, linking to murder, robbery, kidnapping, etc, but what's legal isn't necessarily what's morally sound. If ruled by a government allowing its citizens to commit atrocities, isn't there a moral duty to overthrow it? Does morality take precedence over legality? Does the law favor those in power? DeMonaco chooses not to bother with any of the aforementioned questions. His premise exists solely to whip up a reason for why citizens have Uzis and are allowed to torture and mutilate one another. How quaint. How inspired.
In short, this is a waste of time. Released a year and a month after the original, "The Purge: Anarchy" is a classic example of a sequel being a product, existing simply to draw audiences in, squeeze their money, and bombard them with violence for 103 minutes. Call it the benefit of lowered expectations that I don't hate it like I did the original, but this is cinematic mush. Don't even bother.
Thank you all for reading; I'm The Man Without A Plan, signing off.
"Tammy" is everything I did and didn't expect. The few trailers promised an unapologetic, raunchy road trip, but under the surface lies drama, with more tragedy and introspection than pratfalls and f-bombs. Does it work all the time? I don't even think it works half the time, but regardless, I give props to director/writer duo Melissa McCarthy and Ben Falcone for crafting a strange little flick that feels equal parts familiar and unique.
McCarthy stars as the titular character whose life gone to shambles plays out like Mouse Trap: the deer hits the car, the car makes her late for work, the lateness leads to a termination of employment, and the termination gives her just enough time to catch her husband cheating with the next door neighbor. Hurt and betrayed, she sets off with her grandma Pearl (Susan Sarandon) on a road trip to Niagara Falls to clear her head and find a fresh start.
Tammy is the most clear-cut version of the persona McCarthy has created over the years: a boisterous, combative exterior with a vulnerable interior. She can rage about egotistical managers and the quality of fast food meat with the best of them, but when confronting an unfaithful spouse, trying not to cry, it's hard for me not to do the same.
For all the swearing and aggression, Tammy is innocent. As she approaches men in a bar or robs a fast food restaurant wearing a greasy paper bag (the only proper substitute for a ski mask, am I right?), she does so in the same way a teenager tries to seem "cool" when every expression reveals she's in over her head. Tammy is a simple person with simple emotional reactions, and the movie tracks her progress as she strengthens her emotional intelligence. While this is novel commentary advocating the importance of such skills, Tammy's innocence doesn't translate well to comedy. McCarthy's persona feels diluted, and numerous jokes fall flat.
As a counter to Tammy's innocence, Grandma Pearl is a ball of fire. With beer and scotch in hand, Susan Sarandon breathes life into every scene she's in. She's clearly having fun, shutting down non-muscled dudes in muscle shirts, sparking a one-night stand with a bar patron, performing the Allman Brothers Band's "Midnight Rider", jutting her chin out to catch the low notes. In a movie with little surprises, Sarandon throws me for a loop all the way through: the cause for most of my laughs throughout. Simply put, she steals the show.
Kathy Bates also excels as Lenore, Pearl's cousin, who likes wizards, knows how to dispose of evidence, throws a rocking lesbian Fourth of July party, and partakes in the simple delight of blowing stuff up. (Truth be told, as I reread this sentence, I have to wonder what McCarthy and Falcone's brainstorming sessions consisted of, and what, if anything, was left out.)
"Tammy" is, at best, hit and miss, with more misses than hits. Its worst crime? Aside from the movie's bookends, the comedy is tame. Where Aykroyd and Belushi would push energy all the way through, McCarthy stops the story for awkward, drawn-out conversation. I wouldn't completely dismiss it; Bates and Sarandon delight and Tammy's odyssey towards maturation is kindly handled. I respect the film's off-kilter feel more than I enjoy it; at least it's a break from the "22 Jump Street" and "Neighbors" frat-boy camp. Fans of McCarthy will like it; but I recommend at least waiting until cable picks it up.
Thanks for reading; I'm the Man Without A Plan, signing off.
"Tammy" trailer:
(Author's note: as seen by the graphic above, I have developed a rating system, based off of 6 stars. The system goes as follows:
1 Star - Hate
2 Stars - Dislike
3 Stars - O.K.
4 Stars - Like
5 Stars - Love
6 Stars - The highest of high praise I can give: The Alpha Rating.
The decision to start a rating system is the product of analyzing other critics whom start their reviews with the score. After the reader gets a general idea of the critic's opinion, the writer extrapolates on their ideas, allowed to venture off into other schools of thought, free from having the entire piece be a justification for a rating.)
