The Babysitter review

Netflix’s “The Babysitter” is a horror-tinged action-comedy with a surprising amount of charisma and charm. Surprising because it's directed by McG, best known for hacky schlock like “This Means War,” “Terminator Salvation” and the “Charlies Angels” movies, Here he scales down his budget and the broad scope of his desired audience, and in doing so manages to helm something that feels specific and personal, while also retaining enough visceral hijinks and well-intended snark to keep things entertaining.

The film centers on the relationship between a nerdy twelve year old named Cole (Judah Lewis) and his babysitter Bee (Samara Weaving). Cole is getting old enough to know that he’s probably too old for a babysitter, but Bee is everything a bullied brain needs in middle-school; she’s smart, she listens, she gives great advice and she’s smoking-hot. The only downside is she also happens to be the leader of a teenage devil-worshipers cult. One night, while Cole’s parents are away, he stays up late to see what Bee and her friends are up to, only to disrupt a murderous death ceremony, which kicks off a night-long game of cat and mouse between our worry-wort protagonist and this group of sinister high schoolers. 

This movie mostly works because of the well-established dynamic between Lewis and Weaving. We have to fall in love with Bee just as Cole does, so that when the story reveals her for what she is, we feel the same kind of betrayal. To the director’s credit, he does the proper leg-work with these characters so that the drama is informed and the action stakes are energized. Samara Weaving gives what would normally be a star-making performance as Bee--she’s confident, funny and powerfully sexy, without ever leaning into vacuous objectification. The versatility she displays with this wildly audacious role is better than any acting reel one could hope to cobble together.  Judah Lewis is also good at portraying believable innocents in a film that revels in poppy ultra-violence and subversive fun.  It’s for this reason that the other teens, played by Bella Thorne, Hanna Mae Lee, Robbie Amell and Andrew Bachelor feel all the more underwritten in comparison.

While Weaving and Lewis are fully realized and complicated from the page to their performances, these other roles are far more comfortable existing as basic teen horror archetypes, often spouting sophomoric, unfunny dialogue. But despite the quality imbalance between all the characterizations, “The Babysitter” still knows how to build small-scale action set-pieces with creative kills and effective moments of splattering slapstick.

Besides working well as a violent dark comedy, Brian Duffield’s screenplay also remembers to root everything within the context of an effective coming-of-age arc. As a result, this left-of-center project is without a doubt the most original and heartfelt film to come out of McG’s spotty catalog, and that’s saying something for a picture littered with satanic blood rituals, hangings and indoor car crashes.

Grade: B-

Originally Published in the Idaho State Journal/Oct-2017

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Mascots review

With films such as “A Mighty Wind” and “Best in Show,” actor/director Christopher Guest perfected the mockumentary genre. Since then, television programs like “The Office” and “Modern Family” have utilized this format as a style rather than a conceit, and what used to be a novel presentation for comedy is now a utilitarian way of handling exposition and plot. With Guest’s latest, a direct-to-Netflix project called “Mascots,” he returns to his blissfully ignorant weirdo character archetypes and the niche lifestyles that defined his earlier work. In fact, the film is so firmly designed for this director that it lacks of sense of purpose or comedic drive, occasionally drifting into the waters of self-parody. 

Here Guest takes a winking jab at the world of sports mascots who annually compete for an award called the Fluffy at a convention center in Anaheim. Zach Woods and Sarah Baker play an over-counseled married couple on the verge of collapse, also doubling as a Squid and Turtle mascot duo. Tom Bennet plays the nice-but-clueless Owen Golly Jr, who’s taken on the family mantel as a Soccer playing Hedgehog. Parker Posey plays the head-in-clouds Cindy Babineaux, competing as a modern-dancing Armadillo. Christopher Moynihan plays perfectionist Phil Mayhew (aka Jack the Plummer) and Chris O’Dowd plays Irish bad-boy Tommy Zucarello, a Hockey mascot called ‘The Fist’ who’s been banned from many sports venues for his edgy entertainment style. As one would expect, egos clash and misunderstandings are had at the SoCal convention.

Because Guest’s style encourages and depends on seamless improvisation from his actors, scenes live and die on their performances. The cast is committed to the challenge and they’re all appropriately on the same page, but they’re also too similarly pitched to really distinguish themselves amongst each other in any given scenario. The jokes and one-liners often fall flat or feel forced and the improvised dialogue usually leans on the easiest laugh. The film spends too much of its run-time establishing the characters and their motivations, and once the plot foundation is finally set into place the whole narrative is already winding down to a no-surprises conclusion.

There’s an infectious warmth for this dorky profession and the peripheral performances from Fred Willard, Jane Lynch and Christopher Guest himself—reprising his role as acting-coach Corky St. Clair from 1996’s “Waiting for Guffmam”—infuses this lazy comedy with some genuinely off-beat moments, but the movie’s best sequences come from the well-staged competition routines by the mascots themselves. There’s something oddly cinematic about watching a well-rehearsed physical act and these scenes are competently shot and dramatically informed.

“Mascots” isn’t entirely painful to watch but considering the talent involved in its making, it is painfully ordinary. Perhaps the glut of mockumentary alt-sitcoms such as “Parks and Recreation” have familiarized us with this genre to the point of making it obsolete, and perhaps in our current economic reality the concept of making fun of clueless, low-earning middle Americans who have aspirations for something bigger now registers as tone-deaf. Whatever the problem, something here never here gels comedically and the movie radiates with a sense of Guest and his crew coasting on their reputation.

Grade: C+. 

Originally Published in the Idaho State Journal/Oct-2016 

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The Bronze review

The earnestness of the traditional sports drama has always been ripe for parody. The clichés of the genre (aspiring youngster, grumpy coach, training montage, mean rival, final showdown) are so well ingrained in our cultural consciousness that it provides a perfect structure to hang some jokes on. “The Bronze,” written by and starring Melissa Rauch of “The Big Bang Theory,” is a filthy sports movie send-up with a committed central performance and a lot of funny ideas. This dark comedy aspires to the small-town satire of films like “Waiting for Guffman” and the subversive shock of films like Alexander Payne’s “Election” but the Rauch’s natural humor is too often tampered by director Bryan Buckley’s mismatched, somber tone.

The film is set in everyone-known-everyone Amherst Ohio, where former Olympic gymnast Hope Greggory (Rauch) struts as the town’s queen bee. Even though she was only able to compete once before injuring herself and taking home a bronze metal and a broken ankle, she still’s able to get away with treating everyone like dirt while getting a free slice of pizza from her local mall’s Sbarro. Though Hope seems to lack ambition and has become bitterly beholden to her faded glory days, she is thrown back into coaching a new young athlete named Maggie (Haley Lu Richardson) when she learns that her former coach has passed away and will only release her 500,000 inheritance when and if she can make Maggie a star.

The movie hinges on Rauch’s performance and seeing as she co-wrote the part for herself, she convincingly transforms into this hilariously pathetic, monster of a human being and her raunchy, profanity-laden dialogue, delivered in a thick Midwestern accent, never fails to shock or earn a chuckle. Side performances by Thomas Middleditch as Rauch’s twitchy assistant and Gary Cole as her put-upon mailman father serve to balance Hope’s unrelenting contemptibility and gives the audience a comfortable way into her world.

This comedy contains many quotable lines laced throughout the screenplay and like the film’s tonal reference points, such as “Heathers” and the aforementioned “Election,” the movie revels in its un-PC meanness.  It’s a shame then that two thirds into the story, the film loses its nerve and slides comfortably back into the inspiring sports movie framework, undercutting the subversive edge of its unsympathetic main character.

Director Bryan Buckley lets too many scenes fall flat with simple, hand-held camera techniques and a distractingly mournful piano score that suggest a Sundance seriousness that the movie never really fulfills—nor needs to fulfill. Despite the smaller budget and the specificity of its topic and location, at its heart this is an absurdist comedy with an oafish lead character, not unlike the average Will Ferrell vehicle, and it should have been pitched just as broadly. The choice to present the material with an indie-friendly, dramedy aesthetic is more often than not a huge disservice to the final product.

 “The Bronze” may not be the instant comedy classic it wants to be and many things about its filmic execution leaves a something to be desired, but Rauch shines through as a bold comedic voice and the movie's more outrageous moments, such as a full-frontal gymnastic sex scene and the jaw-dropping opening sequence, should earn the satisfaction of some cult audiences.

Grade: B - 

Originally Published in the Idaho State Journal/April-2016

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Horrible Bosses 2 review

         After the surprise success of “The Hangover,” Hollywood hastily responded with a few high-concept, men-behaving-badly comedies to cash in on the trend. 2011’s “Horrible Bosses,” while not a laugh-a- minute classic by any means, was one of the better copycats.  Though the plot was merely serviceable,  it was at least highlighted by a few uncharacteristic performances from the likes of Kevin Spacey doing his gleefully-mean “Swimming with Sharks” thing, a bald and bug-eyed Colin Farrell, enjoying a break from being the heartthrob, and Jennifer Aniston being completely and unapologetically filthy. The film also reminded us of the comedic prowess of Jamie Foxx, who, after his Oscar success, was scrambling to find his footing again (and has yet to stabilize), and it successfully introduced Charlie Day, of FX’s “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia,” to the big screen.

           “Horrible Bosses 2,” however, continues to prove that comedy sequels usually can’t deliver the oftentimes incalculable chemistry of the first, which isn’t to say that the proceeding film--a little sitcom-ish and sloppy in its execution--was all that effective or original to begin with.  Here, the leading trio of Jason Bateman as the straight-man, Jason Sudeikis as the Vince Vaughn-esque, man-child player, and Charlie Day as the expressive over-reactor, never perform as naturally or as effortlessly as did the first time. Instead, their interactions appear forced and tired, the screenplay is thoughtlessly slapped together, and the movie’s exertion to stimulate laughs becomes increasingly unfunny as the plot lumbers from incident to incident.

           This time around the boys try to make it as their own bosses, creating and mass-marketing a Sky-Mall ready bathroom device called the Shower Buddy.  After accepting a shady deal with a larger cooperation to help fund and sell their product, new boss Bert Hansen (Christoph Waltz) and his petulant son Rex (Chris Pine) steal most of the profit for themselves, as well as the rights to their invention. This then, or course, leads the three dim-wits to go back to their criminal scheming, as they try to enact a complicated and illogical plan to fake the kidnapping of Bert Hansen’s son, using the ransom to buy back their company.

          With our leads now visibly bored and ineffectually improving their way through the entire film, the movie’s comedic success is thrust upon the efforts of the supporting cast, but the screenplay’s 1+?=comedy approach gives none of these actors anything substantial or funny to work with. Barely in the movie, Waltz is totally wasted and serves as nothing but a tedious mechanism for the majority of the film. Aniston returns as the nympho-dentist but is now stripped from the comedic place of power and irony that made her performance in the first film vaguely clever and is instead reduced to the butt of a sexist, male fantasy joke.  Jamie Foxx is clearly still having fun playing the criminal with a heart of gold but he too is chained to a messy script that gives his character a lack of believable motivation.  Chris Pine ends up with the best lines in the movie and the funniest stuff to do here but as game as he is, even he can’t keep this boat from sinking.

          Nobody asked for a “Horrible Bosses 2”, really, so nobody should be surprised that it basically sucks. Evenly-lit and comprised of mostly mid-shots and close-ups, the movie lacks just as much ambition visually as it does narratively. And neither of these problems would be particularly damning if the film could at least deliver the laughs, but, minus Chris Pine doing some entertaining sleaze and a too-little-late gag involving a chain-link fence, sadly, it does not.

Grade: D

Originally published in the Idaho State Journal/Dec-2014

Guardians of the Galaxy review

                  Marvel studios (ever heard of them?) gambled the entire summer on “Guardians of the Galaxy,” a movie based on one of their C-list comic book titles. Not only is this property obscure by fanboy standards, but the film’s two biggest stars, Bradley Cooper and Vin Diesel, are used only to voice a CGI raccoon and a talking tree, while the physically present lead characters are cast from sit-coms and televised wrestling. But it’s the against-all-odds weirdness of this concoction and the risk the studio was willing take on it that kind of gives the entire movie its anarchistic charge and underdog illusion. I say illusion of course because what the success of Guardians really proves is the apparent indestructibility of Marvel’s box-office brand and the strength of their classic studio approach.

                What writer/director James Gunn understands about this material is that the plot can be as simple and as unambitious as it is here, so long as we are on board with the characters and their journey.  Having come from the world of cult-horror and exploitation cinema, such as “Tromeo and Juliet” and “Slither,” as well as low-budget superhero parodies such as “Super” and “The Specials,” he knows exactly where to pitch the difficult tone of this idiosyncratic genre-meld.  As a fan, Gunn celebrates all of the movie’s disparate components—space-opera, buddy-comedy, superhero blockbuster—and weaves them together seamlessly, keeping everything anchored by his love for the characters and the individual comedic textures brought by the movie’s diverse cast.

                Chris Pratt plays Peter Quill/Starlord, a human abducted from earth at the age of nine and raised in space by a group of criminals. While attempting to steal a magic crystal to sell on the intergalactic black market he inadvertently gets thrown into the middle of a political war between the space military and an evil zealot named Ronan (Lee Pace), working for a purple giant called Thanos. Defiant daughter of Thanos, Gamora (Zoe Saldana), a vengeance-seeking warrior named Drax (Dave Batista) and the aforementioned tree Groot (Deisel) and his partner Rocket Raccoon (Cooper) also come along on the adventure to capture the powerful stone, with the hopes to find closure, make some money, and maybe save the galaxy from the god-like tyrant. 

                 Though ripped and 60 pounds lighter, “Parks and Recreation” actor Chris Pratt uses his familiar loveable bone-head shtick and applies it to a type of Han Solo charisma, with very appealing results. Likewise, Batista juxtaposes his stone-faced wrestler physicality with the script’s brilliant dry humor and the kids will no doubt respond to Cooper’s loud-mouth Rocket Raccoon and his amorphous bodyguard Groot who is only able to say the words “I AM GROOT,” while Rocket translates his limited language to the rest of the misfits.  Every actor has a scene or two to steal and the movie breaths enough between the set-pieces to build on their relationships. Unfortunately, Zoe Saldana as the green-painted, super-assassin Gamora doesn’t get  as much of a chance to fool-around as the other boys, and having seen her in space more than we haven’t her inclusion feels considerably less inspired. But by no means does this slow the momentum of this wildly imaginative comedy. 

       The plot of “Guardians of the Galaxy” is elementary, the climax is too big and overly drawn-out for its own good, losing some focus in its overreaching for epic-ness, but the majority of this multi-million dollar oddity is overwhelmingly entertaining; the take away being the ensemble, their interactions and the humor that comes from their uncanny chemistry. Like any competent summer movie, the special effects do their job and most of the action is character-driven, but it’s the movie’s ‘70s soft-rock soundtrack and brightly colored look that perfectly mirrors the enthusiastic energy exhibited by the wickedly talented James Gunn and his weirdo cast.

Grade: B+

Originally published in the Idaho State Journal/Aug-2014

22 Jump Street review

                Phil Lord and Chris Miller have a made a career out of meta-absurdism, first in their short-lived Mtv cartoon “Clone High” and then later with their feature-length animated films “Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs” and  this year’s  “The Lego Movie.” While primarily working on high concept, half-thought adaptations, these guys know exactly how to approach a project with enough creative distance to see Hollywood cynicism for what it is and point it out on screen, while still living up to their end of the bargain. This puts them in the unique position where they can make fun of their own movies and be as subversive as they want as long as they still make a profit.

                Like their animated features, nobody expected a “21 Jump Street” movie to be anything worthwhile, but because of their devil may care self-awareness they managed to wrangle an adaptation of a forgotten 80s high school drama into being a pretty relevant and effective comedy. The sequel—an even harder pill to swallow conceptually— doesn’t deliver as much heart or as much insight into the modern American teenage experience, but it does maintain the first movie’s quick wit and the skewering of its own commercial purpose.

                After a disastrous drug pinch, undercover agents Jenko (Channing Tatum) and Schmidt (Jonah Hill) are placed back into their student personas, now enrolled in University to find the source of a new street drug called WhyPhy. While there, they each find a new niche to fit into. Jenko finds his fit as a super-jock football star, and Schmidt finds love as a sensitive poetry slammer.

                While the plot is peripherally interested in the drug case they’re supposed to be following, the movie tends to focus more on the two’s relationships and the awkwardness of masculine bonding in male dominated crime-comedies. The Lord/Miller meta-humor is prevalent throughout, including many fourth-wall shattering in-jokes about the franchise itself as well as pop-culture references surrounding both actors’ celebrity. However, instead of the perceptive commentary surrounding teen trends that peppered the first movie, this installment delves more into homoerotic tension inherent in cop movies and post-Apatow buddy flicks. As Jenko finds kinship with a dreamy football meathead and Schmidt falls for an artsy creative writing major, the two begin to drift apart, causing jealousies and comedic set-pieces based on clichés and set-ups from American rom-coms.

                 The gay jokes become even more punctuated when Tatum’s character berates a drug dealer for using the three lettered ‘F’ word, in a scene that could be interpreted as a sign that casual homophobia is officially intolerable or that straight Hollywood has to find craftier ways to get away with it. This double-sided suspicion can be read throughout the film’s entirety, but because it kept me laughing and because I am still on board with the unlikely comedic screen chemistry between Channing Tatum and Jonah Hill I am willing to give the questionable social politics within movie the benefit of doubt. Others may not be as forgiving.

                As a pop-corn comedy “22 Jump Street” does exactly what it says on the box, it’s funny, it’s fast moving, and while it’s constantly winking at the camera it manages to surprise with quick plot shifts and mini-jokes hidden underneath the folds of the major set-ups. What it doesn’t do as well is tell a coherent story that moves effortlessly from point-A to point-B. Between the jokes and the character work, the framework of the story is occasionally muddled from too many gags and too many call-backs to the previous movie. In poking fun at the excessive nature of unwarranted sequels Lord and Miller have--maybe intentionally?--created an excessive sequel that, intentional or not, still suffers from the same trappings.

Grade: B-

Originally published in the Idaho State Journal/June-2014

A Million Ways to Die in the West review

                 Seth McFarlane has created a brand of comedy full of endless in-jokes, references, and absurdist asides that have cemented his popular animated sitcoms like” Family Guy” and “American Dad” as the “Simpsons” for the ADHD generation.  Last year his first feature “Ted”, about a foul-mouthed magic teddy bear voiced by McFarlane himself, proved for many that his raunchy non-sequitur style of humor could play just as well in a long-form three act structure. But underneath all his frat-bro bravado and his edgy envelope pushing, McFarlane is a traditional genre enthusiast. Like Matt Stone and Trey Parker of “South Park”, he writes a lot of his own music, he’s a Broadway song-and-dance geek, and the majority of his best jokes owe everything to the classic Hollywood references he liberally pulls from.

                Unlike “Ted”, which I found to be mildly funny when it wasn’t being obnoxiously sexist and homophobic,  “A Million Ways to Die in the West” has a slightly better sense of consistency and engaging storytelling, without having to sell out the dignity of his characters for a joke.  Moreover, it seems to celebrate its comedic influences—specifically the western parodies of the ‘70s such as “Three Amigos”,and even more specifically “Blazing Saddles”—in a way that projects a fanboy-ish glee built from feely-good memories of McFarlane’s youth.  And like an excited fanboy, Seth occasionally puts the minutia cart in front of his comedic horse and struggles to find the balance between his usual bawdy humor and the innocent joy for the genres he’s sending up.

                McFarlane plays Albert, an awkward sheep farmer who feels alienated from the dangerous lifestyle led by the other cowboys during the 1860s wild wild west. His girlfriend Louise (Amanda Seyfried) has just left him for a mustachioed dandy named Foy (Neil Patrick Harris), leading Albert to stupidly schedule a duel with his enemy without having any knowledge of how to shoot a gun. Luckily, his new mysterious friend Anna (Charlize Theron), the secret wife of a traveling Bandit played by Liam Neeson, helps prepare him for the worst by teaching him the basics of gunplay while at the same time unpacking his guarded masculinity.

                From the opening credits, accompanied by an original song by the director himself, it becomes obvious that this film is meant to be a throwback to a simpler style of spoof comedy, and for the most part, as a story, the movie moves easily and without much narrative fuss. Unlike his cartoons, McFarlane tempers his urge to jump to asides and tangents and admirably keeps the story about his characters and their—admittedly cliché—motivations.  Uncharacteristically, rather than trying to build a story around a pile of pre-written jokes, as is usually the Seth McFarlane way, it’s the comedy in the film that’s often forced and, at times, poorly integrated. What results is about a 40% laugh to joke ratio.  Neil Patrick Harris steals every scene he’s in and there are a handful of visual gags that inspire a decent chuckle—that is if the movie’s trailer didn’t already spoil them for you—but just as many gags fall flat and sometimes Seth’s pandering to the  lowest common denominator peeks through, especially in a series sorely unfunny sequences featuring Giovanni Rabisi as Albert’s virginal best friend and his prostitute girlfriend played by a wasted Sarah Silverman, whose making him wait for their wedding night.   

                Though this film will eventually find a life in mid-afternoon cable programming, “A Million Ways to Die in the West” is a well-intended mixed bag. McFarlane’s natural confidence and good looks slightly miscasts him as a believable nebbish, but he has genuine on- screen chemistry with Theron and I would love to watch these two in a classical Hollywood musical parody someday (come on Seth, you know you want to). Ultimately, this comedy is more fun than it is funny. 

Grade: C+

Originally published in the Idaho State Journal/June-2014