Drunk For Your Amusement (pt 2)

My stomach still hurts from laughing. This weekend I saw Doug Stanhope at the Trocadero theatre, and I got exactly what I asked for- raw truth and bitterness, served by a drunken lunatic.

Here are some of the thoughts I had when I first encountered his work, (from Alterati). They still hold true, and I'm not a fan of regurgitation:

"For years now, I’ve wondered who the next Bill Hicks was going to be. As things grew more and more grim, I wondered if maybe we would have no more ranting, fool messiahs, because the meter was just fucking broke and we’ve all become too whitebread and insecure to recognize the rallying call if it comes. “COMEDY IS DEAD, GO HOME, GAME OVER.”

There are times when being proven wrong is the best thing in the world. The other night I was stopped dead in my tracks by this man. He made me want to pick up three of the bad habits I’d managed to kick, and start up about twenty new ones. Most importantly, he made me laugh. A lot.

Really, we’re all laughing as Doug goes down like a screeching 747, and we will probably laugh when invariably it crashes and turns into flaming wreckage. Maybe it’s like the sacrifice that gets slaughtered every year so the crops can grow- more likely, we’re just laughing at a world that many times seems too fucked to do anything else with but laugh at it.

Society needs its “fool messiahs”, its jesters. Comedy allows us to express thoughts and feelings that might otherwise cause a lot of trouble. Consider what the Daily Show has done for, or to, news and journalism in general. Stephen Colbert lampooned the president to his face. Comedy gets written off because it’s half pretend, but oftentimes we forget that the things that make us laugh are the things that are true. Doug takes this process a step further though. With him, I don’t think there is actually any satire here. There is no ‘pretend.’ He gives it like he sees it at that particular moment in time. I imagine it might be somewhat alienating for those who don’t understand what’s going on, (arguably the title of his most recent DVD, No Refunds, has something to do with that.)

So, I acknowledge that there’s a fair chance you’re not going to be able to take this journey with me, and by the end of this article I’ll be figuratively standing in an empty hall, drunk and naked, ranting while riding a crack-whore bareback across the stage. (I guess in this fantasy I’m wearing a wireless mic.)

All the same that would at least leave me in the right frame of mind to enjoy Doug’s erudite body of work. So come with me on this one, or don’t. Either way- I think we’ve found this generation’s Bill Hicks. Enjoy it before he finds a nice hole in the ground."

He rightly predicted that many of us would go home and blog about the performance, and pre-emptively told us to fuck off. Which isn't to say he won't be ego googling himself at 2am and come here. So in deference to that, "Doug-- I'm sorry, but your reverse psychology worked. Here I am, like a tool, telling everyone to buy your shit because you told us all to fuck off. Honestly, I'm not sure which one of us is the tool here. But you'll get the royalties."

Fuck it. I'm not going to delve into critique. But I will give you a quick litmus test- if your insides shrivel in the presence of bullshit, if you think an ambien, vodka and mirapex binge in Vegas would be a fantastic time, if you are too smart to buy into the corporate brainwash, but too stupid or apathetic to create something better- then welcome! We can all laugh together as we float into oblivion.

Start with No Refunds. But don't end there. Go out, see him, and buy him a drink at the bar.

--James Curcio.

Too Clever By Half

I'd like to share a film with you that I think is, on the whole, highly underrated.  "Too clever by half," as a friend of mine put it. That film is Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang.

But before I discuss the movie directly, let me unpack the idiom. Many people seem to feel that if something is "too" clever, "too" smart, it's an affront to their common sense, an assault upon their salt-of-the-Earth dignity. I don't know if this belief carries across cultural boundaries, but it seems endemic enough in the states that it even determines the results of elections. The Republican party has made this issue a corner-stone of their assault upon the "liberal elite," a fact well recognized and explored by Sorkin's own "too clever by half" drama, The West Wing.

I'm not entirely sure when being witty became a negative, frankly I don't care. Maybe this just makes me another member of the "liberal elite." But if you're not offended by self-aware satire and snarkiness, you'll likely find Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang one of the most entertaining, funny movies you've seen.

The basic structure of the plot is based on a dense collection of noir cliches, but thanks to expert storytelling and execution, this doesn't turn the movie itself into a cliche. In fact, the techniques they employ could make it a worthwhile study on post-modernism narrative: the narrator will stop a scene mid-way, or jump back because he forgot something, or realize mid-stream he was remembering something incorrectly. (Personally, I found it too funny to be  a "study" on anything. But that's just me.)

Yet another reason this film works: that narrator is Robert Downey Jr. Though his acting skills have been well recognized, it's his understated comedic genius that keeps what could be irritating meta-commentary both pity, and often hilarious. The surprising chemistry between Robert Downey Jr. and Val Kilmer also keeps the boat afloat, with Val more than comfortable as the unwitting side-kick, "Gay" Perry.

One of the reasons this film may have lost large audiences is that on its surface it is an action noir, and though these "post-modern" elements I've mentioned are simply used to drive the movie forward, it is anything but an action noir, and the "who done it" is in the end about as important as who the best boy or grips were. (No offense to best boys, grips, or anyone else who are parts of big scary Unions. Really. Don't hurt me.)

Can you tell I love this movie? I've seen it possibly ten times now, and it still makes me laugh. If you haven't had the opportunity, do not pass go, buy it now. That is, unless if you are a salt-of-the-Earth Republican. In that case, get Talladega Nights. And storm out halfway through when you realize that it isn't actually a movie about how awesome Nascar is.

--James Curcio.

Shock the Bottle, Not The Monkey

And so we find ourselves in the second Dead Zone of the year - that odd period when the summer blockbusters are behind us but the winter awards season has not yet begun, and so we have but a tepid smattering of also-rans with which to amuse ourselves. It is, in other words, the perfect moment to go back and get caught up on those smaller summer hits you just haven't had time for. Like Bottle Shock, a charming festival entry that was one of the few films this summer to receive actually independent distribution.

Bottle Shock is being unfairly compared to Sideways. I can understand why people would make this comparison since they're both about wine, but it's sort of like comparing Blade Runner to The Transformers because they're both about robots. Where Sideways was a vicious little meditation on the emptiness of a culture populated by those bereft of soul, Bottle Shock is a feel-good dramady, loosely based on actual events the way I, Robot was loosely based on Isaac Asimov. The central event in this case is the Judgment of Paris, a 1976 wine tasting in France where California wines wound up taking the day.

At heart an underdog story, Bottle Shock spends a pleasant enough 110 minutes lovelingly caressing it's working class heroes in a remarkably authentic late 70s Napa Valley, the rugged wilderness that's just a quick jaunt up the interstate from San Francisco. After introducing us to our struggling band of plucky individualists (lead by an astonishingly ruddy Bill Pullman) who live on the constant edge of financial disaster, we're whisked to Paris, where one Stephen Spurrier (Alan Rickman, as usual oozing equal parts charm and smarm) wants to curry favor with the Parisian wine cartels, and conceives of a blind wine tasting to establish himself both as worldly and a slavish Francophile. By now we know how this story is going to end, even if we don't know the history, but the events that lead us to this conclusion fairly glow with craftsmanship and care.

This leads to the film's one weakness, as it can't decide what it wants to be - part road movie, part love triangle, part working-class-boy-makes good, it bounces between genres like a hyperactive Pong tournament. This tendency to lose focus is softened by the utterly grounded performances and rough-around-the-edges finish of the piece, perfectly capturing the Spartan simplicity of near-wilderness farming that California was known for prior to the age of silicon. As metaphor, however, the film wears its symbols openly and unapologetically on its sleeve. All the villains wear suits; the Napa women wear pants and are named Sam and Joe; and when our dashing young hero finally steps up to do the right thing, it's not out of a sudden epiphany of virtue so much as to avoid being perennially tagged a loser ("Did you realize that Woodstock was seven years ago?" he muses, laying flat on his back in a boxing ring).

Still, at the end of the day these are more tropes than missteps, and if the movie doesn't keep us in the grip of suspense, its lush cinematography and sweeping vistas nicely compliment the bouquet of earnest portrayals. As an exercise in the Commedia dell'Arte of Hollywood, Bottle Shock is well executed and joyful to behold. It won't expand your mind or change your life, but it's fun as a date-night film that will leave you smiling.

–Tovarich

NOTE: Since it is an independent film, Bottle Shock is playing in limited release. Check your local listings!

Ghost Town

(2008, 102 min) While screenwriter David Koepp has built a solid reputation as a reliable hitmaker (Jurassic Park, Spider-Man), he has built an equally solid reputation as a director who consistently fails to live up to his ideas (The Trigger Effect, Secret Window). Even while demonstrating a rarely-seen lighter side in Ghost Town, this film winds up as weak-kneed and cliched as any other middle-of-the-road romantic comedy.

At least he had the good sense to cast three fascinating leads, even if they don't belong all in the same movie. Greg Kinnear plays the straight man, or straight ghost at least, wandering the Earth in a sort of high-concept purgatory. After a near-death experience, the insufferably antisocial dentist played by Ricky Gervais finds (much to his chagrin) that he can see these ghosts, all of whom seem to want something. Kinnear wants him to stop the pending marriage of his ex-wife (Téa Leoni), leading to the usual romantic comedy complications, of course.

Yes, you'd think that with all this fantasy floating about, that it would be used for more than setting up a series of misunderstandings and betrayals that ultimately lead to some sort of offbeat fuzzy ending. With those expectations now dashed, however, Ghost Town at least reveals itself to be an amiable timewaster. It's always a pleasure to see Leoni let loose in a screwball role, displaying talents that have been on the back burner since the days of Flirting with Disaster and "The Naked Truth." And it's oddly rewarding to see Gervais start out in his sardonic "Extras" mode and wind up believably warm and cuddly. The two together, of course, are severely lacking in chemistry, and Kinnear's usual ironic detachment isn't helped by his physical detachment to the other characters. Finally, while I won't spoil Kristen Wiig's part, which seems to have been lifted out of a whole other universe, I will plead for her to leave the stagnant SNL and become a big-screen star like she deserves.

– David Gorgos

© TLA Entertainment Group

Tropic Thunder

(2008, 110 min) While Friedberg and Seltzer are off making yet another shallow Hollywood movie, Ben Stiller steps up to the plate and reminds us all just how funny a good parody can be. Equal parts Hearts of Darkness and Rambo, with the plot of The Three Amigos thrown in for cohesion, Tropic Thunder demonstrates remarkable maturity by Stiller, especially in his enthusiasm to let the spotlight shine on his terrific costars.

That's not to say that, as meatheaded action star Tugg Speedman, Stiller doesn't give it his all. He's remarkably ripped, and Tugg is ready to create his masterpiece: An epic Vietnam movie that will leave men cheering and women weeping. His last movie, Simple Jack, was an epic failure despite his immersive performance. As multiple-award-winning Australian actor Kirk Lazarus (Robert Downey, Jr.) points out, "You went full-on retarded," and you have to only be kinda retarded like Forrest Gump to win Oscars.

Lazarus would know about great acting. He's so far into his character that he's sporting full-on blackface and won't stop talking like Shaft even when the camera is off. The joke of an American playing an Australian playing an African American is perfect enough, but the great Downey, Jr. not only pulls it off on a comic level but also an artistic level. No wonder he gets the most screen time.

The third amigo actor is Fats Portnoy (Jack Black), popular among kids but attempting his adult breakthrough despite his crippling heroin habit. Thrust into the jungle for their epic, things go so badly that they end up battling druglords and don't realize that it's not part of the script. Black has a grand time as heroin addict facing a mountainous raw supply, with typical comic demons in tow.

Remarkably, Stiller also finds plenty of time for Matthew McConaughey to satirize Jerry Maguire, playing Speedman's protective agent (complete with a kinetic Simple Jack standee in his office). Last but not least, the great (yes I said "great") Tom Cruise one-upping his performance in Magnolia as a vile, balding, fat studio head who at one point tells one of the druglords to "take a giant step back and FUCK your FACE!!!" Hollywood has plenty of room for creative vulgarity, and Cruise delivers.

No scattershot comedy is perfect, however, and there are weaknesses: Steve Coogan seems lost as the snivelling director, and Brandon T. Jackson wastes space as the moral compass, seemingly an apologia for the intentionally offensive blackface (and his closeted gay subplot doesn't ring true either). But there's so much good stuff (I didn't even get to Nick Nolte as the hypocritical inspiration for the movie, or Danny McBride as the too-eager munitions expert, or the legitimately frightening druglord played by 11-year-old Brandon Soo Hoo) that you will probably laugh harder than at any other movie this year. And seriously, look for Downey, Jr. at the Oscars this year... for real.

– David Gorgos

© TLA Entertainment Group

Then She Found Me

(2007, 100 min) Helen Hunt's feature directorial debut comes dressed in distinctively indie trappings. The cinematography is intentionally drab and action, at least in the beginning, tends to happen off-screen. It is in these opening moments that play out somewhat theatrically that the film finds its strength. But once all of the setup info is established, the film begins to slip into shapelessness and, worse, sentimentality.

Hunt's Hollywood-seasoned cast makes a valiant attempt to play down the caricatures that they've earned their livings playing up. Matthew Broderick's self-centered manchild lacks the smirking and mugging that he generally lends to similar characters. Colin Firth removes approximately one layer of restraint and adds one layer each of jealousy and rage to his Mark Darcy character from the Bridget Jones series. Bette Midler, while the most expressive character in the film, dulls her brass ever so slightly. Finally, Hunt shows up as the life-scarred, beaten-down type that she's made a career out of playing since As Good As It Gets but removes any semblance of pluck or humor. All of these acting tweaks and character modifications are designed to distinguish the film from the typical sunny romantic comedy that is so fearful of becoming. But, in reality, only two elements successfully separate it. One, at its core, the story centers more around Hunt's desire for a baby and, two, it is not remotely funny. In fact, there may be only one moment in the entire film which will cause viewers to even crack a smile.

Hunt is clearly attempting to put together a precious character study and is all restraint and no risk, but this creates a stifled atmosphere in which none of the characters are developed as well as they ought to be which leaves this film only a mood piece. A mood piece is certainly no crime against cinema, but when the mood that permeates is self-pity then viewers will certainly be excused if they want to turn away.

Even more jarring than the lack of full character development is the atrocious musical supervision. The score often resembles the background music of a self-help video and the song choices (Iron and Wine during a sex scene!) are more than a little cliché. These bad choices betray Hunt's noble attempt to keep the film sparse and render it simply maudlin.

The film is not completely unredeemable. It simply lacks any spark or commitment to its vision, but single women in their late 30s experiencing an identity crisis will most likely enjoy it.

– Daniel Reed

© TLA Entertainment Group

Sour Grapes: Appreciating Larry David's essential bridge between "Seinfeld" and "Curb"

(1998, 91 min) Barely released by Warner Brothers in 1998, it's easy to forget that Larry David wrote and directed his lone feature film between his two popular and wildly overrated TV series, "Seinfeld" and "Curb Your Enthusiasm". Yet while tackling many of the same petty gripes about humanity, the expanded format of the feature film allowed him to fully realize his vision for the first (and perhaps only) time.

Larry David's first stroke of genius was to replace Jerry Seinfeld in what is clearly a Seinfeldian role. This has been done before, most successfully by Roberto Benigni replacing the late Peter Sellers in Son of the Pink Panther (Ted Wass is a close second in Curse of the Pink Panther, substituting ace comic timing for Benigni's manic energy). Seinfeld, who didn't win a single acting Emmy, was wisely passed over in favor of Steven Weber, one of very few actors with the chops to fill the big screen... and he had a Saturn Award to prove it. Clearly, Larry David was watching the massive ratings of "Wings" every Thursday night, and knew that it was Weber, and not the "Seinfeld" coattails, that were driving the Nielsens. Pair him with the comic stylings of Craig Bierko, and even a subpar script would have been elevated; but Larry David was aiming much higher.

In Sour Grapes, he tackles nothing less than the greed of ugly Americans, and comparisons to Von Stroheim's bloated silent epic are no doubt intentional. In place of tragedy, however, David sees comedy, in the form of hilarious shouting matches and zippy one-liners like "I don't know. Roberta's out of town. I'll probably just go home and blow myself." Sick of "Seinfeld"'s everyday observational comedy, David places his characters in the unlikely fantasy world of Las Vegas, fighting over a slot machine jackpot – the unlikely events allowing the audience plenty of distance from the characters, allowing laughter to flow forth unabated by emotional connection.

Apparently, these aspirations were too much for the average moviegoer, and David has not directed a feature since. Relegated to the HBO ghetto, where a tiny audience is enough to generate "hit" status, he has continued to churn out uninspired "Curb Your Enthusiasm" episodes. Here's to wishing he decides to challenge himself, and us, again on the big screen.

– David Gorgos

© TLA Entertainment Group

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Get Smart

(2008, 110 min) Given the history of TV-to-Movies adaptations, it would entirely reasonable for discerning viewers to dismiss this big screen remake of Mel Brooks' and Buck Henry's classic spy spoof as yet another unpalatable slice of Hollywood junk heaped onto a pile of unoriginal garbage. It would be reasonable, that is, until one remembers that Steve Carell is currently the most likable comedic actor working. His charm alone lifts Get Smart far above most of its inferior counterparts. Carell's Maxwell Smart is slightly less arrogant and slightly more self-aware than Don Adams' was, but this, if anything, simply establishes the film as its own entity and not a cheap carbon copy knockoff. Carell begins as an analyst for CONTROL who'd recently lost weight and desperately wants to be promoted to agent, a promotion that no one who isn't named Maxwell Smart thinks he is qualified for. However, KAOS strikes and strikes hard and soon enough Max is tagging along with Agent 99 (a competent Anne Hathaway) on a mission to locate the nuclear devices that the villains have stashed in Russia.

The main strength of the film (outside of Carell's unparalleled likability) is its pacing. It never gets bogged down too much in character development or over-the-top action sequences and keeps things moving at a very sharp (but never overly frenetic) clip. Adding to the fun are the consistently funny jokes. None stick out as moments of sheer, side-splitting hilarity, but very few fall flat and most provoke laugh-out-loud (but not too loud) reactions. Additionally, the action sequences, while never overdone, all entertain and few exceed the normal standards of believability expected from a Hollywood action movie. Adding supporting charm to the mix are Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson, who has nearly perfected affable, acutely masculine self-mockery, and Alan Arkin who plays the put-upon chief to perfection. Even Bill Murray has an amusing cameo as the always-hiding Agent 13 that will cheer up anyone longing for the days when Murray condescended to do broad comedies.

One notable drawback is the relative lack of romantic chemistry between Carell and Hathaway. They can bicker and banter perfectly adequately, but the deeper connection between them is seldom clear. Another drawback comes when the film inexplicably resorts to using flashbacks to demonstrate what the characters are thinking. This classic cheap trick has almost never worked in any film and this one is no exception. These minor flaws don't, however, cripple what proves to be an immensely likable film that instantly leaps to near the top of Hollywood's TV recycling bin.

– Daniel Reed

© TLA Entertainment Group

Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story

(2007, 120 min [Director's Cut]) This fitfully amusing biopic parody attempts to walk the line between outlandish comedy and understated in-character tribute, but comes up a bit short on both counts. Still, there are enough good one liners and surprisingly catchy songs to draw comparisons to Top Secret! and its minor cult following.

Admittedly, the version I viewed is dubbed the "Unbearably long, self-indulgent director's cut," and it doesn't seem to be edited with the care and precision expected of comic experts like writer/director Jake Kasdan and cowriter Judd Apatow. Additionally much of the comedy is of the SNL repeat-a-gag-endlessly variety, which grows old after two hours. A recurring motif is of stating the glaringly obvious, with self-reflexive lines like "This is a dark period!" and "Let's go play machete fight. Ain't no terrible tradgedy's gonna happen today!" Repetitive gags, including the ripping out of sinks and Tim Meadows declaring "You don't want none of this shit" referring to, successively, pot, cocaine, pills and Viagra, also vary in effectiveness.

But the songs are where Walk Hard shines, running the gamut of styles from Buddy Holly to Bob Dylan to Brian Wilson. When John C. Reilly straps on his guitar, you can almost believe that Dewey Cox existed... at least until the gratuitious graphic nudity (from both sexes) shocks you back out of the moment. Then after the laughter comes another quiet, semi-amusing moment and... you get the picture. On the whole it's really not much better or worse than Ray or Walk the Line, but it's slightly funnier, and recommended most of all for fans of rock history.

– David Gorgos

© TLA Entertainment Group

Kenny

(2006, 103 min) Speaking with a mealy working-class accent so thick that it requires subtitles, Kenny invites us into his world of port-a-loos and septic systems with the razor-sharp, self-effacing wit it takes to survive one of the dirtiest jobs in the world. You may find yourself gasping for air between his constant barrage of quotable observations ranging in topic from marriage ("I once heard a wise man say, Find someone you hate, cut out the middleman and give 'em a house.") to his daily routine ("There is a smell in here that is gonna outlast religion."). But the job, coveted by a precious few, does take its toll. "When you spend more time with other people's poo than your own missus, then I guess you gotta pay the penalty." It's so truthful, so genuine, that it's easy to forget that it's all made up. Shane Jacobson, under the direction of his brother Clayton, is so convincing and likable as Kenny that it's a shock when the closing credits remind you that this is in fact a sophisticated mockumentary. Underneath the explosively funny potty humor (who knew there was still such originality to be found in bodily functions?) lie the daily struggles of the proletariat: the need to work constantly, the limiting of one's dreams and the disappointment of elders. As his dad says, "I didn't put you through school to become a glorified turd burglar." But it's men like Kenny who make the world tick, and you'll have a splendidly profane time with him. He's the shit!

– David Gorgos

© TLA Entertainment Group

The Bucket List

(2007, 97 min) Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman are going to die sometime in the next few decades. It's the closest thing to a statistical lock: both are age 70 as of this writing (shortly after seeing The Bucket List) and I'm sitting in the theater welling up in tears as I picture a eulogy for Freeman, one of the great actors of his generation, and knowing that someday soon, there will be no more movies from Easy Reader. There's nothing I hate more than an unnecessary voiceover, and yet he's able to pacify me with that smooth voice and quiet dignity. And what of fast-living Nicholson, always fascinating to watch on-screen, with that devilish twinkle dancing in his eyes? It's beautiful to watch him act his age and reveal another layer of himself, but how long will he last? Again, tears form as the music swells.

It's doubly tragic that none of these emotions were actually triggered by the characters in this supremely manipulative, aggressively formulaic movie. In fact, nearly every line that fell like dead weight out of their mouths only served to heighten the artifice and deaden the emotions. Occasionally, Jack would have one of those Jack moments to suck me back in, like his (possibly ad-libbed) rules about getting old: "Never pass up a bathroom, never waste a hard-on, and never trust a fart." But anyone owning a passing familiarity with Save the Cat and other screenwriting-by-numbers instruction books will feel the machinations nearly immediately, with ruthlessly efficient (and glaringly unnatural) dialogue... when Freeman mentions his love of a certain car, is there any question that he'll be driving it within 20 minutes? Actually, with his "Jeopardy!" obsession, I was shocked that he didn't end up appearing on the show during Cancer Week.

Oh yes, the high-concept plot: Two men from different walks of life find themselves both terminally ill in the same hospital room, and decide to fulfill a list of things to do before they kick the bucket. And thanks to sprightly direction by Reiner and the always-able actors, the film does kick into gear when they episodically start tackling the things on the list, including skydiving and mountain climbing. (For those who think this unrealistic, I tend to believe that anyone who has been through the draining process of chemotherapy could be capable of this when they stop treatment, much like having a weight lifted off your back. Then again, my capacity for suspension of disbelief is legendary, which explains why I enjoyed Message in a Bottle).

Like clockwork, though, the script would clank and whirr and drive everything to a halt, until eventually the little twist ending arrives (thanks to an unreliable narrator) and the atrocious John Mayer song kicks in. After a long dry spell for director Rob Reiner, he at least shows signs of life here, along with his primary actors. But please, guys, pick better material next time. This script isn't terminal, it's DOA.

– David Gorgos

© TLA Entertainment Group

Superbad

(2007, 113 min) I've spent five years now trying to convince my wife that, though possessing a sometimes juvenile sense of humor, I am indeed a mature, responsible, caring, sensitive, romantic and giving guy. All that work went down the shitter when, leaving the theater, I remarked that Superbad may well be the most honest film about the mind of an adolescent male. Good thing the film came out in August, because trust me, that doghouse gets mighty cold in the winter.

In a word, "dick." Seth (Jonah Hill) is obsessed with dick. He claims to be obsessed with pussy, but of course, since he's never actually seen one, he's concentrated on what he knows. His total BFF Evan (Michael Cera) seems to have matured in the years between puberty and high school, and with precious little time before graduation, has his sights set on college... a college from which Seth was rejected.

Enter into this scene a golden opportunity: A popular girl throwing a party, and inviting these outcasts... as long as they can bring the booze. Seconds later, they scramble, finding Fogell (Christopher Mintz-Plasse), an outcast among outcasts, who happens to be wielding a fake ID, famously emblazened with a single word: McLovin. The day sets forth Ferris Bueller style, a series of vulgar misadventures, sex on the brain, and realistically marginal character growth.

Though capably directed by Greg Mottola (his first feature since The Daytrippers), there is no mistaking that this is a Judd Apatow movie. Unfortunately, it seems more bloated than his previous productions, especially surrounding an out-of-place subplot concerning McLovin and two immature police officers. One of those officers is played by Seth Rogen, who cowrote the screenplay with Evan Goldberg while they were in high school, and any guesses about the autobiographical nature of the characters can be answered by looking again at their names.

Yet the outrageous situations are grounded by these very real, very flawed and very open protagonists, with reams of quotable lines such as "You know how many foods are shaped like dicks? The best kinds" and "Nobody has gotten a BJ in cargo shorts since 'nam." As a bonus, the two-disc DVD promises to have even more outtakes that they couldn't cram into the movie. Sure, the movie is too long as it is, but I wouldn't want to miss any of the jokes from this immensely talented team.

– David Gorgos

© TLA Entertainment Group

Aqua Teen Movie: Special Features

(2-disc set) Since I was silly enough to pay to see this movie twice in theaters, it makes sense that I would impulsively buy the DVD and check it out. Surprisingly, this is a somewhat reverent package – no cruel jokes on the viewer, no throwaways, no easter eggs. But Hunger Force fans should be in hog heaven.

The big addition is the deleted 80-minute movie, presumably tossed when it tested badly. None of the animation is finished (no moving mouths, for example), but it does give you some idea of what went wrong. While the basic plot is similar to the finished film, there is entirely too much of it. Everything is linear, and everything is explained. As a result, this cut is missing all the throwaway jokes that make the show (and the finished movie) so special.

Interestingly, fans have probably already seen much of this deleted footage, which was later finished and edited into a TV episode. That episode is included here, along with other deleted and extended scenes which are somewhat amusing but were rightfully tossed. Pacing is essential to comedy, and these would slow things down just enough that audiences would start to think about how ridiculous the plot is.

Speaking of ridiculous, check out the group assembled for the audio commentary: rocker Patti Smith, who has nothing to do with the film; The Onion editor Todd Hanson; comedian Fred Armisen; and Master Shake himself Dana Snyder, who pretty much always sounds like Master Shake. Smith dominates the conversation, throwing pop references and criticism left and right. It's fun but not nearly as informative as "The Thing We Shot Wednesday Night," an exhaustive behind-the-scenes documentary which goes into the script reading, the sound effects, and the animation, which I was surprised to learn is actually all hand-drawn before it goes into the computer.

An excellent photo gallery not only explores this animation process, but also includes most of the excellent CD soundtrack. Fans of the music will delight at the videos and making-ofs included, from Nashville Pussy to Mastodon to the lobby singers. It's a great set, even if it doesn't answer the question, "Where's Frylock?" Carey Means appears nowhere on the soundtrack and only makes a brief appearance in a voiceover segment, and his absence is the only fault of this excellent set.

– David Gorgos

© TLA Entertainment Group

Hot Fuzz

(2007, 121 min) If you think you know what Hot Fuzz is going in, you're probably wrong. The easy answer is to call it a spoof of '80s action buddy movies, but like Adaptation before, it also wholeheartedly becomes the very movie it spoofs... right down to its 121-minute running time, and its creation of an irresistible new catchphrase ("Yarp"). The presence of Simon Pegg and Nick Frost ensures a steady stream of droll British humor, while the direction of Edgar Wright (Shaun of the Dead) leaves plenty of room for shockingly gory violence. Hot Fuzz is simultaneously very familiar, and unlike anything you've seen... and it puts most of the American franchises to shame.

Pegg plays the prototypical tough cop. Perhaps he's a bit too eager to use his gun, but he always gets his man. He's so good at his job that he's showing up the rest of the crew in his London office, and earns himself a "promotion" to the sleepy town of Sandford, where crime is nonexistent. This brings to mind the old adage that the safest place to be is in a restaurant with a mob boss. Surely there's something sinister to uncover; does anyone trust Timothy Dalton nowadays?

The plot is a most elaborate macguffin, a mere excuse to shower the screen with blood and guts at the most hilariously unexpected moments. But like any good buddy movie, the entertainment is propelled by Pegg's pairing with his new portly, dim but action-starved partner, played by the utterly delightful Frost. (Their character names of Nick Angel and Danny Butterman are priceless.) The best aspect of their relationship is their emulation of Point Break... note to reader: this would make a most excellent double feature. Fans of guilty pleasure '80s cop movies should make this a must-see. The question is, after dismantling this genre as well as the zombie movie, what's next for this immensely talented team?

– David Gorgos

© TLA Entertainment Group

Ratatouille

(2007, 110 min) Now this is what filmmaking is all about. One of the most romantic visions of Paris, and one of the most passionate statements about the joy of creating (and critiquing) art, comes in the guise of a computer-animated movie about a rat.

Yes, a rat. Where Disney did everything possible to disassociate Mickey Mouse from his rodent roots, director Brad Bird and Pixar make their hero Remy (voiced by stand-up comedian Patton Oswalt) as ratlike as possible. Remy and his family live in sewers, eat trash, and speak only in squeaks. Well, that's not entirely true... in this anthropomorphic universe, they also understand English and communicate in English, but only to each other. As if that wasn't evolutionary enough, Remy has developed a taste for haute cuisine, demonstrated in abstract animation reminiscent of Fantasia with each flavor hitting a particular color and note.

Remy gets his big break after he's flushed away to Paris (in the type of riveting action scene that Pixar excels at), and finds himself near the kitchen of his favorite deceased gourmand. It so happens another frustrated chef, young Linguini, is also messing around with the soup. These kindred spirits forge an unlikely alliance, leading up to the big night when feared food critic Anton Ego (voiced majestically by Peter O'Toole) sidles up to the table.

In an age when we perhaps take Pixar for granted, Brad Bird seems to be working on an entirely different level. As good as The Iron Giant and The Incredibles are, Ratatouille is his crowning achievement, simultaneously extolling and demonstrating the joy of creation. The climactic kitchen scene, set on a scale of both Griffithian and Lilliputian proportions, will have your mouth salivating at the food and your eyes watering at the technical achievement. And when Ego tastes the ratatouille, you will see one of the greatest, most unforgettable shots in cinematic history. Man, I'm getting hungry just thinking about it. Anyone know a good place in Philadelphia with rats in the kitchen?

– David Gorgos

© TLA Entertainment Group

Hairspray

(2007, 117 min) You can’t stop the beat, indeed. As the title of the closing song suggests, the beat goes on and on in this deliriously entertaining screen adaptation of the Tony Award-winning Broadway hit. From the opening number, a sly, “affectionate” tribute to Baltimore (complete with cameo from John Waters who created the first film that all this is based upon) to the toe-tapping, wanna-get-out-of-your-seat-and-join-the-fun finale, Hairspray is an old-fashioned joyride down memory lane to when Jackie Kennedy was the final word in fashion, big hair was all the rage and social protest could actually make a difference.

This journey all started when cinematic provocateur John Waters made Hairspray in 1988, his most accessible film to date, about Tracy Turnblad, an overweight high school girl (Ricki Lake) who lives to dance. It also had the audacity to star transvestite Divine as a housewife, playing it “straight” as laundry woman and loving wife and mother Edna. In 2002, it was adapted into a stage musical starring one-time drag performer Harvey Fierstein as Edna (who was an absolute knockout on stage). Keeping with the theme, a male performer once again dons Edna’s wigs and dresses, and his appearance here in no small way helps make the film musical Hairspray such a rousing success.

That would be John Travolta, the macho star of the ‘70s who reinvented himself in the ‘90s thanks to Pulp Fiction, and now throws caution, hell, everything but the kitchen sink to the wind to give a performance of such charm as to beguile any and all in his path. This isn’t camp. Just as Divine and Fierstein weren’t camp in the role (Divine in Pink Flamingos is camp; Fierstein in Mrs. Doubtfire is camp; Travolta in Two of a Kind is camp). This is a male actor seriously portraying a comedic woman’s role, and why it’s worked all three times.

Faithfully following the stage musical, minus a song or two and one particularly memorable prison sequence, Hairspray joyously sets the story of being true to one’s self at the time of the birth of the civil rights movement, and here they go hand in hand.

Tracy Turnblad (Nikki Blonsky in a wonderful film debut), a plump high school senior whose sweet disposition is matched only by her love of dancing, anguishes through classes each day with her best friend Penny (Amanda Bynes) waiting to rush home to watch her favorite TV show, “The Corny Collins Show,” a local Baltimore version of “American Bandstand.” It features the nicest kids in town, “nice white kids who like to lead the way, and once a month, (they have) Negro day.” This show’s Frankie and Annette are Linc (Zac Efron) and Amber (Brittany Snow), and like most all the girls, Tracy harbors a crush on Linc.

When one of the regular girls must leave the show (just for nine months), Tracy defies the odds and wins the coveted spot, becoming overnight one of the most popular dancers on the show. This sets her in direct competition with Amber, who doesn’t like the new girl, and an overweight one at that, taking the spotlight away from her. Nor does Amber’s mother (Michelle Pfeiffer as a former beauty queen and now station manager). And to make matters worse, Tracy is now trying to integrate the all-white program. To the establishment, Tracy has to go.

This all leads to more rousing musical numbers, sprightly directed comedy and towering hair-dos. The infectious musical score by Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman defies you not to swing and sway to the beat, and director Adam Shankman (whose work on Bringing Down the House and Cheaper by the Dozen 2 gave no clue as to the talent demonstrated here) opens up the play to great effect and his choreography befits the snappy, lively tunes.

You gotta love the cameos: Jerry Stiller (Edna’s husband in the '88 version that’s nicely played by Christopher Walken here), Lake, Waters, Paul Dooley – they’re all having fun, as is the ensemble, highlighted by Queen Latifah as Motormouth Maybelle, the hostess for Negro Day, newcomer Elijah Kelly who brings down the house in “Run and Tell That” and James Marsden, who displays a wicked grin, a hilariously cynical streak and surprisingly good pipes as Corny Collins.

By the time this all ends, and Tracy has found her dream, and Edna takes center stage (as she should), and all the outcasts have had their day, it’ll be hard to say goodbye to these delightful characters. They were right: You can’t stop the beat. And the way they sing and dance and carry on, you would never want them to.

– David Bleiler

© TLA Entertainment Group

30 Rock

(2006-2007, 950 min) Where did Alec Baldwin come from? Suddenly that magnificent bastard is on my TV every week, smirking and deadpanning his way into my one-liner-loving heart. It’s as if he was in comedy hibernation and has finally come out funnier, wiser and larger.

Ten years ago Baldwin was just a dull leading man who only attracted attention when he was marrying Kim Basinger, socking paparazzi or talking about his Schwetty Balls on Saturday Night Live. And although those bits were hilarious, they were nothing compared to the brilliantly preening alpha male he has brought to life in the first season of NBC’s "30 Rock."

Baldwin’s Jack Donaghy is an obsessive control freak and a high-powered executive who consistently outplays, outmaneuvers and outlasts his competition. Although he is a major player at GE (parent company of NBC) he spends most of his time micromanaging the marginal (and fictional) NBC sketch comedy show TGS and the personal life of its director, the charmingly goofy and antisocial Liz Lemon (Tina Fey). Best described by Salon’s TV critic Heather Havrilesky as “the human embodiment of a bad hair day”, Liz is Everywoman. Or at least, how Everywoman sees herself.

Liz, the kind of person who avoids effort in order to avoid failure, sets her standards early on in the season when she decides to stay with her loser beeper-salesman boyfriend because he is thoughtful enough to buy her a hamburger. She is the embodiment of the sad single lady: awkward, bitter, jealous and willing to settle. As a single lady well on her way to becoming a sad single lady, I heart her. In fact, most people I have encountered who have strong feelings about this show seem to also be women. I am willing to bet a shiny silver dollar that there is a correlation here.

Playing the role of the anti-Liz we have Jane Krakowski as Jenna, the female lead of TGS (short for The Girly Show) who has been abruptly pushed to the sidelines by her new male costar. Jenna is vapid, blonde and desperate for love and attention. Her insecurities cause as much self-destruction as Liz’s do, which makes them a modern-day Betty and Veronica, except neither one gets to go for a ride in Archie’s jalopy. Ever.

Tracy Morgan plays a caricatured version of himself: Tracy “Jordan”. This is as brilliant as it is ridiculous. Tracy fears the powerful cabal known as the “Black Mafia” (chaired by Bill Cosby), pitches a drama to a GE exec about the life of Thomas Jefferson where he plays every character (even Sally Hemmings) and does such a hilarious impersonation of Oprah that I had to rewind it three times. He is goofy and over-the-top and there’s not much more to say about his performance on the show other than it’s comedy at its most basic level. He’s just funny as hell.

To top it off, the cast and writers of TGS (many will recognize the schlumpy Judah Friedlander from Wet Hot American Summer and "Best Week Ever"); wide-eyed Kenneth the Page (who has a Southern accent despite apparently being from Western Pennsylvania) and Tracy’s devoted entourage are all hilarious as well. Look out for scene-stealing guest appearances by Isabella Rossellini as Jack’s ex-wife and Paul Reubens (Pee-Wee Herman) as Gerhardt, the last living Hapsburg.

"30 Rock" is smart, funny and quick. Every episode has left me wishing it had lasted longer than a measly half-hour. I can’t imagine anyone would be disappointed.

– Rachel J. Cox

© TLA Entertainment Group

Knocked Up

(2007, 128 min) Writer/director Judd Apatow, after the consistent brilliance of TV's "Freaks and Geeks," "Undeclared" and the big-screen breakthrough The 40-Year-Old Virgin, may have just proven himself to be the holy grail of comedy. Where Kevin Smith's dialogue is honest, profane yet unnaturally verbose, Apatow manages to make similar dialogue (and the occasional improvisation) sound familiar and organic. Where the Farrelly brothers juggle vulgarity and sensitivity, Apatow melds the two into a seamless whole. In fact, the only reason Ben (Seth Rogen), slacker, underachiever, stoner and slob, is so damn lovable is because he spits out every obscene observation that floats into his head. That same social shortcoming allows him to note his insecurities, vulnerabilities, and understandable inability to approach the gorgeous and upwardly mobile Alison (Katherine Heigl) in a nightclub.

Fortunately his equally baked friends (all Apatow regulars) prod him on, leading to a drunken night of inadvertent baby-making. Alison decides to keep the baby, creating a flip-flop of the conventional romance: The sexual climax was first, and they must almost force themselves to know each other and fall in love. A multitude of supporting characters provides ample opportunity for bouncing romantic ideas around, best displayed in reluctant husband Paul Rudd and explosive wife Leslie Mann. Behind those one-note descriptions are surprisingly deep characters that continually ring with truth.

The knee-jerk reaction to a 128-minute romantic comedy is that it's just too long. To that I ask, what would you cut from this perfectly paced movie? Ryan Seacrest badmouthing Jessica Simpson? The pointed music critcism ("Steely Dan gargles my balls.")? Rogen and Rudd tripping at Cirque du Soleil? The running gag about a beard-growing bet ("See you, Scorsese on coke")? A bouncer explaining the truth about the velvet rope ("I'm only allowed 5% black people, which means if 25 people are in the club, that's 1¼. I have to hope and pray for a black midget just to make quota")? Our best hope is that Apatow gets a development deal with HBO, where he can have the time and the freedom to explore similarly deep, truthful and profane characters as long as possible.

– David Gorgos

© TLA Entertainment Group

Cold Comfort Farm

(1995, 99 min) Do you like English movies? Well, if you don’t, do you at least like making fun of English people? Oh, good. I do, too.

Aren’t English people from the olden days (ie: before 1960) so funny, with their stuffiness and propriety and "tea" being "lunch" and "supper" being "dinner"? With their flats and petrol and lifts, their being permanently flustered (no, Hugh Grant didn’t invent it) and the men all calling each other "old boy"? With their nervous meetings and awkward goodbyes and lack of visible emotion? They’re so charming!

I had the privilege of having read the novel "Cold Comfort Farm" less than a week before watching the film version, so I can tell you for a fact that the movie perfectly captures the book in its entirety. I was extremely impressed. It didn’t make me laugh quite so much as the book did, being that I laughed two times instead of three. It is an old book, you know, not a David Sedaris pseudo-memoir, but it was great all the same.

Stella Gibbons, a moderately successful journalist and book reviewer, wrote "Cold Comfort" in 1932 and it was an instant hit. She went on to write dozens of other books, none of which were as popular. The book has the distinction of being a successful parody of a genre that nobody (especially in this country) really remembers, but it is clearly parodying something, which makes it work. The biggest names to come out of this genre were D.H. Lawrence, Thomas Hardy and the Bronte sisters. Tragedy in the country life was the common thread between them…along with the subtext of nature representing sexual desires. Or something like that. The only thing I remember from reading "Wuthering Heights" in high school was that the moors were a metaphor for Heathcliff’s animal brutality, so that seems about right. In fact, one character, a writer, spends most of his time roaming around the countryside, pointing out how much the hills look like breasts.

The 1995 movie stars a young and surprisingly talented Kate Beckinsale (before she got hair extensions, tanned herself into a moccasin and married an animal-print-wearing Hollywood director), Joanna Lumley from "Absolutely Fabulous", Ian McKellan from X-Men and Stephen Fry from Wilde. They’re good too, except that McKellan could use subtitles. I wouldn’t have understood a word of his dialogue if I hadn’t already known what he was going to say.

One aspect of the book that the film ignores is that it was actually set in an alternate future timeline. Written in 1932 but taking place sometime in the '50s, Gibbons correctly guesses that World War II has taken place already (although she gets the continent wrong) and imagines the everyday use of video phones and personal airplanes. Most recent adaptations overlook this for obvious reasons.

The movie begins when Flora Poste (Beckinsale), having just nonchalantly attended her parents’ funeral and found out about her measly inheritance, decides to find extended family members to take her in. She chooses the Starkadders, despite their obvious backwardness, and goes to live with them at Cold Comfort Farm. The farm is a run-down, gloomy mess where the disheveled bunch is controlled by their matriarch Ada Doom. Ada inspires devotion through her apparent madness, supposedly brought on by a traumatic experience she had as a little girl when she "saw something nasty in the woodshed." Pretty much every Starkadder needs some major personal help. Seth, the aimless local stud whose only interest is the "talkies," knocks up the servant girl every spring; Adam, the 90-something farm hand, washes dishes with a twig; and Elfine, the free-spirited and beautiful teenager, just needs to get the hell out of there.

Flora sets about tackling everybody’s problems in her calm, efficient and orderly manner. She hopes that by successfully changing the Starkadders it will give her enough life experience to write a great novel when she’s fifty.

It’s a charming, quaint little story that’s also really funny. And by funny I don’t mean funny like the 40-Year-Old Virgin or watching Dumb and Dumber when you were fifteen, I mean the kind of funny when you’re not actually laughing but just kind of grinning inside. It’s a nice, pleasant feeling that may be unique to certain types of subtle humor. Or it may be the feeling you get when you realize you’re one step closer to completely forgetting having watched Love, Actually.

– Rachel J. Cox

© TLA Entertainment Group

Aqua Teen Hunger Force Colon Movie Film for Theaters

(2007, 86 min) The "Aqua Teen Hunger Force" universe, like many of the shows on Cartoon Network's Adult Swim block, operates on its own surreal inner logic. Running gags such as the Mooninites' attempted takeover of Earth will be referenced, while the death of one of the main characters in that same episode will be conveniently ignored. The three super heroes (reasoned Frylock, deviously lazy Master Shake and dimbulb Meatwad) never do anything remotely resembling the heroics pictured in the opening credits. And the villains must never actually succeed at anything, despite the ineptitude of their enemies. But unlike shows such as Wonder Showzen and movies like Head, creators Matt Maiellaro and Dave Willis have never developed contempt for either their audience or their characters, and they're always eager to let their fans in on the joke (including the publicity campaign that blew up in Boston).

Keep all this in mind as you watch the Aqua Teen Hunger Force Colon Movie Film for Theaters, especially if you're among the uninitiated, and you should have a terrific time. Barring some sort of comedic miracle, it will finish 2007 as the funniest film of the year, an exhaustive and exhausting exercise in surreal dream-logic and gut-busting one-liners. The plot? Good luck. Something about a disco-playing exercise machine (the Insane-o-flex) that uses hirsute neighbor Carl's energy to lay eggs and take over the world, with assistance from the Plutonians and Dr. Weird, whose NJ lair has been converted into condos. Hell, I've seen the film and that sentence still doesn't make any sense. But that's part of the fun.

Blistering death metal band Mastodon provide the opening tune, an ode by concessions aimed at an inconsiderate audience: "Do not nudge, kick or jiggle the seat in front of you./I'm sitting there!/I am everywhere at once!" Can Mastodon please perform before every movie this summer? You'll easily recognize the Neil Peart (of Rush) cameo, but listen carefully for Tina Fey, Bruce Campbell and Chris Kattan as a burrito, a burning chicken, and a watermelon with manifest destiny.

– David Gorgos

© TLA Entertainment Group