Quickie Review: Machete

Sloppy taco goodness (and yummy M-Rod goodness)

In a year dominated mostly by trash, it's fitting that a low-aiming, Grindhouse fake-trailer-spinoff movie may very well be the best. Wildly inconsistent but never too ambitious Robert Rodriguez provides us an ultraviolent, politically charged, actor-revival extravaganza, which carries a little weight, a little grit, and even gives Steven Seagal his transcendental, J.C.V.D. moment. As the man says, "Back the fuck up and watch." You might just enjoy yourself.

***1/2 out of ****


~ Patrick Fryberger

Quickie review: The Expendables

Looks like Van Damme got the last laugh...

Writer-director-star Stallone not only should've handed over the camera, but he should've let somebody have a go at the script, and even more important, he should've secured the rest of the gang (Van Damme, Seagal, Snipes), even if it took waiting a year or begging them on his hands and knees. The Expendables is a messy, watchable movie that could have been so much more. Cheap production value doesn't help either. You don't just throw something like this together on a whim.


** out of ****

~ Patrick Fryberger

Quickie Review: Scott Pilgrim vs. the World

Broad and self-evident video-game referencing surprisingly doesn't spoil the show

Self-assured, confident direction saves what could've been a hollow or uneven exercise. Edgar Wright's frenetic-kinetic dazzlement sparks up early and often; it's innovative and not afraid to make mistakes, making such all but disappear. Cera doesn't fall into parody, and Wright proves he can do more than just make them. Above all, is the supporting cast: Kieran Culkin, Alison Pill, and Jason Schwartzman steal the show, among others.


***1/2 out of ****

~ Patrick Fryberger

Quickie Review: Inception

It's all on a plane...of reality

A sense of inherent dorkiness runs through Inception, but frankly, it doesn’t give a damn. For once, the spectacle is in the smarts, and the at times underwhelming, other times ludicrous action pieces somehow gel within the mesh of it all. It’s intellectualism paced to perfection. Simply put, Christopher Nolan is keeping mainstream, Hollywood cinema alive. A joy to behold.

**** out of ****

~ Patrick Fryberger

Quickie Review: The Human Centipede

...had me laughing out of fear in the best way possible

An almost classy, end-all sendoff to the torture porn genre, Human Centipede has that great, B-horror quality (stupid characters/dialogue) mixed with some semi-heady ideas and a concept that is pure gold. It's a wonderfully visceral time at the movies... audience members clawing and clasping for the person next to them. If you can't at least recognize it for it's worth, then you don't love movies. That said, I can't say I'll be seeing it again. 


*** out of ****

~ Patrick Fryberger

Quickie Review: Knight and Day

Risky business: Summer escapist fun... can it still be done?

I was reminded of Roman Holiday while watching Knight and Day. Light, breezy, summer escapist fun with a bit of classic Bond thrown in for good measure. Two Hollywood stars, all but discarded in this day and age, prove that they can still get the job done. I even enjoyed the stock European score, I'll be honest. A lightweight that knew its place.


*** out of ****

~ Patrick Fryberger

Review: Shinjuku Incident

 

Pan-Asian? How 'bout Chan-Asian: bringing 'em all together...to fight.

Shinjuku Incident could go down as something of an incident itself. The pan-Asian ensemble crime thriller, headed by international superstar Jackie Chan, is the actor's first real dive into 'gritty' material (New Police Story withstanding). It's also something of a paradox, as Chan (at this point in his career) seemingly has no place in such a film but even then—as it is—Shinjuku Incident would not work any other way.

Chan plays Steelhead (could there ever be a better name?), an everyman Chinese farmer washed ashore in Japan during the wave of illegal immigration in the '90s. Searching for a former fling, he holes up with old friends and neighbors and fellow aliens in Tokyo's Shinjuku district (hence the title). Going from shit-job to shit-job, to run-ins with the police and Yakuza, Steelhead finally gives into a life of crime... In other words, Chan's persona finally gives into the darker side of things. He quickly becomes an effectual leader, his no-bull approach bringing steady, modest prosperity. This further complicates things, however, as he is deeper-ensnared within the Yakuza: nasty scraps with the Taiwanese and even a fellow Chinese. Between the Yakuza, his girlfriend(s), and the causalities of gang war, the only thing that keeps him sane is an ongoing relationship with a detective (Naoto Takenaka), a man of stand-up, old-school honor.

And old-school really is the name of the game with Shinjuku, as writer-director Derek Yee and co. make genre mistakes that are near-inexcusable by today's standards. Crime naiveté, if you will. That said, these missteps are more of the 'unintentional laugh' variety than a frustrating one and ultimately don't detract from the material. Why? Because, after all, it is a Jackie Chan movie, and our humble, oftentimes naive hero makes these bumps in the road seem natural. Maybe an unfair gimme, but a gimme nonetheless. Plus, all the familiar faces are there, giving it that homey, pre-USA Jackie-Chan-movie feel. They may be a little past their prime (Police Story was twenty-five years ago...twenty-five! No more raw intensity, no more wonderfully-choreographed action sequences, etc.), but they still know how to get the job done. Entertainment-wise, at least.

Dramatic acting is not necessarily Jackie's strong suit...he looks confused half the time, more so that he's in the movie to begin with. The long, convoluted story loses weight (and a little blood) with each new twist, and kind of falls flat at some indeterminable time. The filmmaking doesn't help, either; whip-pans are fun, but it's not enough to be called engaging, sorry. The score's inconsistent, if not all out random. And speaking of randomness—random acts of violence—I don't know what's more distressing, the brutality or the sporadicness of it. Seeing Jackie Chan shoot someone in the face was enough for me.

The lost-in-translation ending shows what Shinjuku Incident is all about: the cinematic gathering, albeit a clunky one, of the Asian continent. Showing that Chan, his Americanization and political associations aside, can still bring it all home. Pan-Asian? Nah, this is Chan-Asian.


*** out of ****

~ Patrick Fryberger

Review: Brooklyn's Finest

Say whaa? Wesley Snipes is back?

If this is Brooklyn's Finest, then the rest of the burroughs are in trouble. Overlong, intense, and woozy, its watchability is earned on pure potential, with a letdown that's constantly in the works/woodwork. In sum, forgivable badness shall not be forgiven. I.A. should've been all over this shit.

THREE TALES, loosely interwoven if not connected by default: Suicidal, whiskey-in-the-morning, prostitute-lovin' beat cop (Richard Gere), meets can't-pay-the-bills, sporadically murderous, poor-excuse-for-an-Italian cop (Hawke), meets undercover-too-long, wants to get out, conflicted by multiple loyalities to-be detective who happens to live in a Manhattan penthouse (Cheadle). If you're clichéd out by this point, then you should just get out. If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. When the going gets rough, well... Admittedly, it's kind of neat how we 'ooze' between the trio, but "oozing" could just as well be interpreted as "clunky" with a complete lack of narrative transition on all levels. Flat-tire, ca-lump, ca-lump, ca-lump, but driving really fast. You can practically hear it in that relentlessly-stock score.

A tale of casting: Ethan Hawke, miscast, Richard Gere, miscast, Don Cheadle, typecast, Wesley Snipes, finally cast, director Antoine Fuqua, under-cast, writer Michael C. Martin, not cast. Elsewhere, Ellen Barkin chews up scenery like she'd been starved of it (more or less true). In fact, she may have gone ahead and eaten Lili Taylor's seeing that her fellow veteran actress gets just about none. Vincent D'Onofrio's opening cameo wouldn't have been spoiled if he didn't get shot in the face...whoops, spoiler. And that homeless guy from The Road just can't escape being that homeless guy from The Road. I'm sorry, Michael K. Williams, I really am.

If there's one thing to take away from Brooklyn, it's got to be the valiant return of Wesley Snipes. The part is wonderfully tailor-made: after an eight-year prison sentence, humbled and everyman drug-dealer "Caz" (full name Cassanova, no joke) wants to get out altogether—still street-smart through—giving a great little speech about ethnicity-specific modes of torture. He's just great. So cool.

Somewhere, at some point, there's some mentioning of the word "Tact." The irony of this goes without saying... tactful, perhaps? Great moments are tied down by the block of melodrama that is Martin's amateur-hour script... Literally, imagine for a moment Brooklyn's Finest as a piece of spandex, and then drop a concrete block in the middle of it... naturally, being spandex, it's not going to break, but it's going to bend, alright, ooh, it's gonna get real bent out of shape. I don't care who you cast, or who you have shoot it...Brooklyn's Finest already shot themselves, and it's a damn shame they did.

*1/2 out of ****

~ Patrick Fryberger

Special Review: Universal Soldier: Regeneration

Note: After skipping Legion and From Paris With Love on account of their particularly atrocious reviews, and having to sit through the sequelized-mediocrity of District B13: Ultimatum, I'll admit I'd become a little disillusioned with the action genre of the new year. The standard fare of Daybreakers and The Book of Eli didn't help either, and even DTD releases like The Tournament were more of a relative letdown than not. But lo and behold, as title of the previous post states, sometimes you gotta put in the veterans if you want it done right. Universal Soldier: Regeneration is not only done right, but it's done on a sophisticated, adult level—not only surpassing the iconic original—but it's infinitely more deserving of a theatrical release than anything so far this year; the best thing I've seen since District 9 (Up in the Air, Avatar, and others, included). Anyway...



Soulless but soulful Van Damme meets his existential equal in Universal Soldier: Regeneration

From the opening shot, the opening closeup of John and Peter Hyams' (son and father, director and d.p., respectively) Universal Soldier: Regeneration, I knew this was going to be more than a new model, if you'll excuse the very review-y pun. There was a confidence in the direction, in the filmmaking, and most importantly, in the material, which obviously hadn't touched the lowly series before but even rarely surfaces in the (sci-fi action) genre as a whole... If you took the head of Solyaris, and put it on the body of Children of Men or District 9, then you'd have a frame of reference to go from: this is modern, adult, science-fiction art with two presupposed meatheads coming back for what was technically a fifth sequel. I went in with modest expectations; I wanted to be entertained, and entertained I was. But what I did not expect, was to be challenged. And challenged, I most certainly was.

CHERNOBYL. The son and daughter of the Prime Minister are kidnapped in a swift, brutal strike outside of an art gallery. This act of terrorism is only part of the picture, however, as the insurgents proceed to commandeer the nuclear power plant and site of the infamous 1986 disaster. With a stolen Uni-Sol (Andrei "The Pitbull" Arlovski), or Universal Soldier, on their side, and a scientist who knows how to use him, the ransom and the stakes are simply too high for the Prime Minister not to meet their demands. But there are more sinister forces at play. The Ameri-Russian forces reactivate their own remaining Uni-Sols, including rehabilitating Luc Deveraux (Jean-Claude Van Damme). Power struggles within the compound continue to complicate matters as does the closet resurrection of unstable Uni-Sol Andrew Scott (Dolph Lundgren).

Deveraux is introduced as living anything but a normal life—he is monitored and tutored daily by Dr. Sandra Flemming (Emily Joyce), stowed away in small-town Switzerland. Scott, on the other hand, is introduced as something of a Frankenstein monster: Upon defrostation, Scott questions his plight by not answering questions per protocol, an act which leaves his wily maker Dr. Colin (Kerry Shale) a little unnerved. The subtleties of these two introductions are simply beyond words; taking these two iconic characters (and actors) and the lowly original material in which exist, and somehow making it legitimate, is a joy to see. Fresh off J.C.V.D., Van Damme is at his best; soulless, soulful, and soul-searching, wit's end and then some, he carries the picture effortlessly. And Lundgren, practically stealing the show, affirms his real-life high IQ with his respect towards the character and the small role; he comes and goes as quickly as the villainous-version of HAL. His third-act speech, makes the movie. It's what Universal Soldier is all about.



Many have said that Regeneration, as a sequel, breaks away from its predecessors and thus can be seen as its own entity. I beg, beg, beg to disagree. The biggest part of the film's effectiveness is in its genius reframing of the original's material. It's the seeds, it's the childhood to adulthood that makes one appreciate the full transformation. It's not embarrassed by its past, but rather learns from it, and uses that framework to construct something that much greater and more spectacular.

In the end, who woulda thunk it? Universal Soldier: Regeneration blew me away...the biggest WTF in the DTD market quite possibly ever. There's so much going on, so many great ideas, coupled with visceral, flawlessly-executed set pieces and a setting that's shot to perfection. More art than entertainment, Regeneration is more in the line of the aforementioned Solyaris than anything in its supposed genre. A thinking man's action movie? Yes, yes, believe it so. Both Van Damme and Lundgren have been known to attempt such, but now it can be certified as truth. Much like its characters, Regeneration is a machine coming awake, coming into conscious, combining the best of both worlds of the cinematic medium... Actions speak louder than words, and so do action movies.






**** out of ****


~ Patrick Fryberger

Review: The Book of Eli

"I won't tell you again, she's too hot to be in the movie!"

Post apocalyptica has nearly run its course. The end of the end of the world, is coming soon, but not to a theater near you. Fortunately for us, by opening the Hughes Brothers' The Book of Eli, we may be putting a cap on the genre. A greatest hits of sorts, Eli learns from the mistakes of others and ends the world right—and righteously, at that.

Some 30 years from "the war," Bible-wielding, martial artist and weapons expert Eli (a stalwart Denzel Washington) traverses across the barren U.S. of A with a simple, sole purpose in mind: to "go West." After slaughtering a band of road warriors with his macabre machete, Eli almost haphazardly comes upon a small town, headed by shrewd-thinking Carnegie (Gary Oldman) who has a blind mistress, Claudia (Jennifer Beals), who has a downright babe of a daughter played by Mila Kunis, in Solara (not to be confused with the Toyota luxury coupe). The Bible which Eli holds is a special one, in that it's (probably) the last one on Earth, or at least in the U.S., or at least on the path Eli is taking. Either way, Carnegie wants that shit, and he's going to get it at any cost.

Standing tall in the pocket, Denzel steers the ship with experienced, deliberate charisma. The repetitiveness of his '90s performances has all but faded, and now, well into the new millennium, he just keeps getting better and better. And, trained by Dan the man (Inosanto), he's looking pretty fly out there at 55+. After dabbling in a spree of familial, light-side supporting roles, it's nice to see Gary Oldman back in the fold as the film's main villain. Other than his name, Carnegie's really not much of a character, but as always, Oldman effortlessly rises above generics. Everybody fits—from our biblical hero and crafty villain, to the wily second-in-command (Ray Stevenson) and blind supporting female (Jennifer Beals), to the freakish road warriors, to great cameos by Michael Gambon and Tom Waits, all except Mila, of course, who had my mind firmly elsewhere.

The Washington-Oldman showdowns are easily some of the best moments of the film. Bar none, these two professionals know how to do it; hero actor meets villain actor and the fireworks fly. The Old Western-style standoff feels more like 'Clint Eastwood vs. the Stormtroopers' in terms of gun-slinging capability, but the latter, third-act raid on the house more than makes up for it. Voyeuristic and fun, the Hughes Brothers give special effects a good name. Perhaps, the most ingenius moment of the film is when Eli's name is revealed visually—a portal into his past, if you will—but only for a moment. For this alone, Hughes Brothers, I salute you.

In the end, there is some sunshine in The Book of Eli, which, despite an conventional-yet-unconventional third-act breakdown, manages to come out alright. It's The Road with a plot, it's Terminator: Salvation with a director(s), hell, it's even Children of Men with some humor, and hopefully it's the last of its kind for a long, long time. With that in mind, I only have one question: Who's ready for The Book of Solara?


**1/2 out of ****

~ Patrick Fryberger

Review: Daybreakers

Ethan Hawke wants YOU to see his new movie

Throwback red titles and eerie opening credits perhaps set the bar a little too high for Daybreakers, an ambitious, bloody mixed bag of new tricks, some of which work, and some that don't. It's an original concept thrown into the worlds of Blade, Blade Runner, and 28 Days Later... In other words, it's thrown to the dogs, but some pretty well-trained and likable ones at that.

It's 2019, and obviously, things are bad (where's my utopian "a few years from now" future?). Vampires have taken the stage and humans are hunted and farmed in processing plants that somehow fit in skyscrapers. Edward Dalton (Ethan Hawke) just so happens to be the Chief Hermatologist of Bromley-and-something, the central harvesting organization headed by sleazy-creepster Charles Bromley (Sam Neill). Enter a chance encounter with a Toyota—ironically driven by people who are still human—and Dalton finally acts on his feelings, helping the humans with vampires while they help him become human again. Yeah, yeah, it's all nice.

There's a lot of easy-lay casting going on here...Ethan Hawke as the hero who questions his futuristic plight (Gattaca), William Dafoe as the all-American rebel underdog (okay, no example, but the glove fits too tight, especially the crossbow), and, of course, B-movie showman Sam Neill (Event Horizon) as the big creepy boss with familial issues. The new bro's on the block (twins too), the Spierig Brothers, are definitely raw talents, with emphasis on the raw. Their direction is at times refreshingly unconventional (aforementioned credits) and others strictly anything but. There are so many little brilliant moments—almost too many to remember—but the weak, shortchanged script compliments those moments will countless eye-rollers; at some point in the middle it was literally back and forth: whoa, eye-roll, whoa, eye roll, eye roll, eye-roll, eye-roll, whoa.

For a movie about a lack of blood, there's sure plenty of it to go around on-screen—there were stretches I felt I was in a permanent cringe and that my back or neck was going to suffer for it. And visually, that was really the only thing Daybreakers had going for it: the Spierig's need to get hooked up with ILM or at least in cahoots with James Cameron or Lucas because their special effects are straight outta 1997, where even something like Spawn looks better. It's the kind of bad C.G.I. we've been trained on, but shit, man, it's 2010 and Avatar already happened. Get with the program.

Somewhere near the pivotal, third-act plot twist, someone in the audience muttered, in melodramatic tenor, "The Daybreakers," and I couldn't help but laugh. That sentiment is exactly the problem with this film, it's an A movie's mind stuck in a B movie's body, and stuck in a thick, jammy-jelly sort of way, thrashing about while it can until ultimately embracing its lower bar. But if there were three words that could properly summarize my experience, they would be these: So much blood. Extra half-star for effort.


**1/2 out of ****

~ Patrick Fryberger

Review: Avatar

Hot through the pixels—is Zoe Saldana hot, or is James Cameron? BOTH.

I had this spiel I would give, for a few weeks now, on why Avatar might fail to live up to the hype. What this primarily concerned, was director James Cameron's multifaceted ambition—most notably, to break into the frontier of 3D, to achieve an unparalleled pinnacle of C.G.I., and all the while creating a whole new universe just as epic as your Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, and Harry Potter. Well, guess what, he did all that, and while I wouldn't say my expectations were 'blown away,' I will say they were met. High expectations met with high rewards.

Salvaged from the wreckage of Terminator: Salvation, budding star Sam Worthington heads the epic entertainment experience as Jake Sully, a paraplegic marine thrust into action on the Earth-like Pandora—a lush, vibrantly-exotic world populated by freakish creatures and a humanoid, hunter-gatherer species known as the Na'vi. Yet, this is no ordinary tour of duty. Sully is sent to the science department instead of the kick-ass one, headed by everybody's favorite Biology teacher, Grace Augustine (Sigourney Weaver, resurrected-again!), where he is instituted into the Avatar program. Fusing the DNA of humans and the native Na'vi, Sully is given the means to control another physical body—a fully replicated Na'vi—called an Avatar. The program is meant to facilitate a "diplomatic solution," as explained by supreme-corporate-sleazeball Parker Selfridge (Giovanni Ribisi, playing Paul Reiser's Aliens part on steroids), for the purpose of uncovering some macguffin mineral named Uber-tanium or something. The other option, is war, represented by literally-scarred head of security Colonel Miles Quaritch (a showstopping Stephen Lang). And that's just the beginning, folks.

Shot in 3D, this lavish and complex world comes to life off-screen, but not really on it, if that makes sense. The 3D does seem to detract from the core material; half the time I was so awestruck that I found myself losing track of what was actually happening, almost an alienating (no pun-intended) feeling. And for as smart as a filmmaker (and person) James Cameron is, the world of Avatar seemed a bit slim, not to mention having a simply weak/weakly simple story. Everything was an evident distortion of something we already know; there were no "Whoa" Keanu Reeves-Matrix moments even with the C.G.I. and 3D in mind. It was more of a steady stream of awe. More of an experience than a movie.

The Na'vi, conveniently (i.e. embarrassingly) made up of a bunch of non-white actors (Zoe Saldana, Wes Studi, Laz Alonzo, CCH Pounder) are nonetheless played well, and surprisingly played period. This is where Cameron's delusions of grandeur come strictly into focus. The C.G.I. is like no other, and the performances are there and they're real and they're simply a joy to watch. Worthington effectively holds his own in the lead and doesn't mess it up, not letting the grand scale of the picture get away from him. It's nice to see Sigourney again—never has a role been so tailor-made—she fits it perfectly. As I mentioned, Lang practically steals the show as the main villain, but is kept at bay long enough not to overwhelm it. Ribisi is hammed up to the extreme but at least worth a laugh. Michelle Rodriguez's part feels vastly underwritten; a plot device and nothing more. But it's Zoe Saldana who really comes through. She's the heart and soul of this sometimes soulless epic, and I genuinely think she's worth a supporting look come awards time.

With all the technology, the preparation, the money, the hype, the expectations, everything, James Cameron has really done something special, making his case not only for best of the year, but for the best of the decade, as well. With District 9 still making waves, the ultimate sci-fi showdown since Star Wars v. Star Trek should come to a head this Spring, and I've got my popcorn ready. Each end-of-the-decade entry has changed the cinema as we know it, taking the rest of the genres by the hand and crossing them over into a new frontier. Either way, Cameron's has done it; he's changed things in the biggest and best way imaginable. Colonel Quaritch was right. We're not in Kansas anymore. We're in Avatar territory now.


***1/2 out of ****

~ Patrick Fryberger

Review: Armored

Watching Armored with blank indifference...

Somewhere between the legacies of Reservoir Dogs and RoboCop is Armored, though more 'middling' than in the middle. A simplistic heist makes for a simplistic movie, unfortunately, and instead of going for the gold, writer James Simpson goes for silver and ends up with such: what could've been B+ material ends up being strictly B, nothing more, nothing less.

A young, decorated Iraq war veteran (Columbus Short) returns home to support his only remaining family, in an artistic brother named Jimmy (Andre Kinney). His only other tie, Godfather Mike Cochrone (Matt Dillon), gets him a job as an armored-truck driver, amongst a colorful cast of co-workers (Laurence Fishburne, Jean Reno, Skeet Ulrich, Amaury Nolasco, and an underutilized Fred Ward). After a souful, very blue-collar first act, the group eventually embarks on a self-heist of sorts for a lofty $42 million—which is the first of many mistakes that Armored makes—you couldn't imagine these guys having anywhere near that much money. They should've shot for something smaller, just like in the yarn Mike preaches to inspire the others to get on board.

As the lead, Short stumbles through awkward dialogue stretches the best he can. Dillon tries to hold down the fort but maybe tries a little too hard and ends up coming off bland. Fishburne is not given enough to work with as the most unpredictable of the bunch. Amaury Nolasco's character is near-embarrassing in its execution, simply because, again, what worthwhile character was there to begin with? Jean Reno, get an agent, and Skeet Ulrich, well, he was cool to see again but for no real reason. This throwback cast is a welcome gesture, but it's left to die by an incredibly underwritten script with little or no sense of heist ingenuity.

For once, it's the writer that ruins perfectly good direction, instead of the other way around. Director Nimród (what a name) Antal definitely has talent, but can't fuse the uneven sections. His little visual flourishes and expertise with a modern color palette make me excited for his future projects (i.e. Predators). He's one to watch.

In the end, Armored has little going on under its titular shield. It even feels bottled-up, like they backed off a bunch of things that could've been included to make it more interesting. A few, sporadic moments of wonder ("All you gotta do is open the door," the villain's second wind, the ending) can't hold the picture, and ultimately Armored fails to meet its already-low expectations. The soul of the picture doesn't last long, but one thing the opening gets right is this: The bad economy is everywhere; it almost seems natural/expected now. The last thing we need are bad movies to go with it.


** out of ****

~ Patrick Fryberger

Review: Red Cliff

Tony Leung looking for something more to blow up in Red Cliff.

Note: This is a review of the American release.

Beginning with a mind-numbingly dumb voiceover and frequent subtitle-aids, Red Cliff seems doomed from the start by its embarrassingly-outdated Americanization. Throw in director John Woo's inability to handle drama (evidenced as early as A Better Tomorrow II and Hard Boiled), and you've got yourself one helluva shaky start. I almost walked out, actually, planning on holding for the original, two-part epic. But, fortunately, I remembered the golden rule of any given Woo film: you've got to wait, and then you've got wait some more. As they say, 'good things come'... and in the case of Red Cliff, great things come, very great things.

The story, so mashed and rushed out the door, is nonetheless compelling, especially once you escape the muddy opening. The setup is more or less this: in 208 AD, a war-mongering Prime Minister (and his puppet Emperor) in the North looks to further his power, taking the fight to two clans in the South—one a perennial loser, the other never having fought a battle. Naturally, they come to be allies, and from there, we're off into an adventurous, larger-than-life world of spectacular battle sequences and genuinely memorable characters. Woo veteran Tony Leung proves he's still got that leading-man swagger, carrying the film brilliantly as Viceroy Zhou Yu, while newcomer (at least to my American eyes) Takeshi Kaneshiro has a great role as the wily military strategist, Zhuge Liang. The baddie, Minister Cao Cao (Fengyi Zhang) is kinda lame, but stays classy and doesn't detract from the picture. Also worthy of note is the supporting role of Wei Zhao, in a Miranda Otto-LOTR kind of role that is just strappingly badass.

The John Wooziness (quick fades/dissolves, choppy slow mo, doves) is on full display here, making his valiant return to China a greatest hits of sorts but which nonetheless goes for broke. The action is simply amazing, full of the raw, unhinged energy that made his Hard Boiled-Hard Target peak so invigorating. The contrived battle tactics seem cheesy at first, but after seeing the "turtle formation," you will be hooked, and waiting for what's to come next. This is where Cliff breaks away from Lord of the Rings material and goes above and beyond, really finding its niche in the legacy of the cinematic battlefield. The finale takes on the classical 'Ewoks vs. Empire' mold, but unlike 300, Woo actually makes it believable, cumulating in a solid 45 minutes of EXPLOSIONS AND DEATH with so much aflame that yelling "Fire!" in the theater would not be unwarranted!

Someone should shoot me for saying this, but there's something to be said but cutting out the fluff. Just as the allied forces pack themselves into a turtle, the action packs itself into the condensed material, capitalizing on an iconic director's strengths and ultimately putting on a really good show. I still plan on seeing the full version, hoping for a Ran-like scope, but for now, this pure-concentrated-epic version will have to do. Pure-concentrated-awesome.


*** out of ****

~ Patrick Fryberger

Review: Ninja Assassin

Take it from Shô Kosugi, no, really, that's Shô Kosugi

Even more bland of a title than Fight Club, Ninja Assassin fails to rise above but surely doesn't make any plans to, either. Hearkening back to the '80s and with the modern, stylistic flashes of the Wachowski's, Assassin is shameless B-action to the core, and core is really the right word seeing anything left hanging is cut out and off—for good and for the better.

Cute-faced, international superstar RAIN takes up the titular reigns as Raizo, an ultra-hardcore murdering machine and a man of a few words. A ninja from the cradle, Raizo searches out his tyrannical teacher and Ninjutsu master, marking the vailiant return of Shô Kosugi in Ozunu. Along the way, he finds a partner in strangely-American Interpol Agent Mika (Naomie Harris) as well as a rival in Takeshi (Rick Yune), all the while cutting and slicing everyone and everything in sight. Much like Punisher: War Zone, this over-reliance on ultraviolence eventually becomes numbing, flattening the action sequences to little more than some laughs for the few, actually-excessive moments of gore. But it's the meat of the material (that is, what's still on the body) which makes the movie work. From the opening sequence on, we are plunged headfirst into dangerously cheesy territory (the whole "special heart" running gag is beyond ridiculous), and, fortunately, we're never given a chance to come back up.

Dropping a non-martial artist into this kind of setup is almost appropriate—this is Americanized crap to the Nth degree, but in a very good way—so it is with this that Rain succeeds with flying colors (mostly consisting of a runny, shimmering red). The aforementioned Kosugi is right on the mark as the film's central villain, even having his own little Apocalypse Now-Colonel Kurtz moment in the end. Naomie Harris is great, mostly because how goddamn hot she is (which is even mentioned! Genius!) Action-baddie vet Rick Yune feels underused, though I doubt if that's actually a valid concern. The characters and their cast are a snug fit, showing just how much these simple premises are missed.

In the finale, a great 'Ninja holocaust' takes place, giving the title and the film an entirely new meaning. And, in a way, Ninja Assassin proves to be the swan song of the genre, a true throwback to the cookie-cutter scripts and plot templates that made the B material so much fun. The Wachowski's prove once again that they have something left in the tank, and that the Ninja genre—so lowly and ever-banished—isn't dead, either. Pirates go home.


*** out of ****

~ Patrick Fryberger

Review: Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans

Load up on guns, bring your friends; the Bad Lieutenant is back.

How you can you be badder than Bad Lieutenant? You can't, really, but by dusting off a rusty Nicolas Cage, dropping him in the by-default trashy post-Katrina New Orleans, and throwing in a whole lot of animals, Werner Herzog's fresh, new take on the ultra-gritty original proves an admirable-enough attempt. Much like its lead performance, Bad Lieutentant: Port of Call New Orleans often tries too hard, but ends up with a sort of inverted (and twisted) sense of humor as a result.

Nicolas Cage takes up the reigns as the titular antihero, this time given a name: Terence McDonagh. With the help of his fat, sleazy partner (Val Kilmer, putting the ease in sleaze!), the two investigate the murders of five Senegalese immigrants ultimately perpetrated by a local gangster (Xzibit). Popping along the way are a handful of interesting characters and a handful more of uninteresting; the main focus here is on Cage doing his 'ol' crazy thang' and interacting with a bunch of sometimes-imaginary animals. With so much on his shoulders, Cage hits some of the marks, misses others, but does proves capable of carrying the craziness. A lot of the time you wish he and Herzog could've gone more hardcore (i.e. Ferrara and Keitel), or simply crazier, but it'll do, Cage, it'll do, Herzog.

What doesn't disappoint is the picture-perfect New Orleans casting. The likes of Kilmer (sleazy + fat = wonderful) and freakshow rejects Fairzua Balk, Brad Dourif, and Michael Shannon bring some much-needed grit to the picture, with Xzibit and Eva Mendes adding some modern flair (there's something so mid-'00s about them—it's uncanny!). But even then, the great cast feels vastly underused, as we spend too much time on unnecessary sideplots and characters in an ultimately overlong picture.

Like with David Lynch's Wild at Heart, as I mentioned—the film feels like it's trying extra hard to be crazy, but when you put forth that much effort, something's got to come out a success. And something does, though not everything, in this remake (it is a remake, not a 'retinkering,' not a 'different take' or whatever else you want to call it, but just another remake) of Abel Ferrara's 1992 original with Harvey Keitel. It's as if Herzog and Cage took a look at the source character and said, "[Let's] shoot him again, his soul is still dancing."


**1/2 out of ****

~ Patrick Fryberger

Review: 2012

But it's only 2009!

With the 'disaster movie' reaching the end of its rope, something had to be done. Y2K, global warming, astrology, monsters-aliens-machines, who really cares anymore? Fortunately for us, genre kingpin Roland Emmerich did, foreseeing this (just like Mayans, word), and won't go quietly. The result is just a few years away: 2012.

I won't even waste time with story because the film sure doesn't and would have no business anyway. The first half is disaster upon disaster upon disaster upon catastrophe, with the respectable C.G.I. painting up the end of the world as one helluva show. Taking himself a little more seriously, but not to any detrimental extent, Emmerich has fine-tuned this beast to perfection. The disaster movie is no longer a complete disaster, at least. The blatant stupidity is smoothed out, the one-liners are mostly tossed, villains are made less villainous/heroism is spread around and amongst a diverse cast at that; all that matters here is the disaster and the death count, and man, is there plenty. I've never seen so many people get killed in a movie. It gets to the point where death is actually uncomfortable to watch again.

Textbook disaster-movie casting. John Cusack spends his 2 1/2 hours trying to escape the movie and save his career, whoa-ing and no-no-no-ing his way through the ride. Like with Deep Impact, black Presidents = disaster and this time it's a serviceable Danny Glover. Names like Amanda Peet, Chiwetel Ejiofor, and Thandie Newton (lookin' mighty fine!) are the perfect failed-but-still-recognizable stardom for this kind of dross. Cameos by Woody Harrelson and George Segal are welcomed. Throw in some holdovers from The Dark Knight as well as disaster-movie specialist Oliver Platt and you've got yourself a fine group to kill off and put through hell.

Also worthy of note is the 'escape from L.A.' —one of the most rollicking, balls to the wall sequences ever put to film (as well as the biggest fuck you to L.A. I've ever seen)...little wonder they released it beforehand. Seeing it on the big screen is...well, beyond words. It's the mass waiting at the end of the term "snowballing," except that it's made of metal and concrete and all things loud and big, grinding your conscious with an inconceivable level of excitement.

If the Rolling Stones claimed to be "A Bigger Bang," as in bigger than the Big Bang, then 2012 is "The Biggest Bang," the biggest bang of them all. It's is an experience more than anything, the kind of thing you'd see at an IMAX when IMAXs screened those random science and nature documentaries. Emmerich has always had traces of talent, and here he knows his strengths and exploits them to the furthest extent, taking the world (and everyone in it) down with him. In the end, the fishies had a field day. Oh Fuck This Shit.


**1/2 out of ****

~ Patrick Fryberger

Review: The Boondock Saints II: All Saints Day

The brothers are back, and this time with a Mexican.

"There was one little problem with their plan," Billy Connolly says at the beginning of The Boondock Saints II: All Saints Day, "it worked." Ten years after the fact, Troy Duffy's scrappy, DTD cult hit The Boondock Saints has finally received a sequel, one which comes in the tradition of Die Harder: bringing more of the same and in a good way. After all the fuss with Duffy and Overnight, it's nice to get back to the basics—back to the Saints, who've got a little more in their wallets this time around.

The story opens and we find the Saints (the serviceable Sean Patrick Flannery and Norman Reedus) over in Ireland with their father (Connolly), living the peasant life and looking like Jesus. But all's not well back in Boston, where a priest is murdered in an 'all-Saints way,' drawing them back for revenge. From there, they meet up with an overtly-stereotypical Mexican (Clifton Collins Jr.), as well as the detectives and neighborhood friends that made the original so endearing. All Saints Day lacks that charmingly low-budget feel of the original, but then again, Duffy is an old dog and new tricks are most surely not in order—even the quick, lazy fadeouts have returned, slicing up the action as if they didn't have enough money to finish the scene. Also returning is the prevalent racism, sexism, and every other 'ism' you can think of, which, admittedly, does gets a little old, but it's not like the film is pretending to be anything else. As Julie Benz proudly remarks, "I'm so smart I make smart people feel retarded."

And speaking of Benz—well on her way to becoming an action goddess—is a riot, and admirably fills the gaping hole left by William Dafoe's near-iconic FBI Agent Paul Smecker, playing an agent of her own in 'Special' Agent Eunice Bloom. A lot of the laughs come from her scenes, especially when paired with the holdover blue-collar detectives. Like Dafoe to the original, Benz makes the movie, and is not to be missed here.

In the end, All Saints Day is quality entertainment, nothing more, and at times, maybe a little less. A harmless sequel which, with its nifty conclusion and great parting shot, should invite a few more, and what of it? The brothers are back, and they're looking to cook up some "gratuitous violence." What more could you ask for? It's not rocket surgery, but it works.


** out of ****

~ Patrick Fryberger

Review: Black Dynamite

Let Black Dynamite take you for a ride in his $5000 car (and $100 suit)...

Reteaming after a long ten years, director Scott Sanders and martial arts extraordinaire Michael Jai White have thrown together probably the best Grindhouse-era ode ever with Black Dynamite. A throwback more than anything, many of the scenes could be watched blow-for-blow with the likes of Coffy, perfectly capturing the ambiance and sensibilities of the blaxpoitation genre. As the man says, "Donuts don't wear alligator shoes," and this one's a donut, thru and thru.

The story follows Black Dynamite (Michael Jai White, looking somewhere between Dolemite and Fred Williamson), as he seeks revenge on the mob for killing his brother, not to mention the dealers, the CIA, the Nixon Administration, and some "kung-fu treachery" thrown in for good measure. And, on top of all that, he's trying to win the heart of political activist Gloria (Pam Grier fill-in Salli Richardson-Whitfield) while shoving off "the rest of the bitches" who just can't get enough. All of this cumulates in a triple-dose of a finale—showdowns abound—with quite possibly the greatest twist in movie history (and one that requires two minutes of roundabout explanation).

As Dynamite, Michael Jai White hits all the right notes, including the outrageous kung-fu yells and frequented "Ooohs!" Tommy Davidson's Cream Corn steals the show as a Sammy Davis gone Blaxpoitation—just hilarious beyond belief. Arsenio Hall, always a treat, is perfect as the pimp Tasty Freeze (the names!), as is the gorgeous Salli Richardson-Whitfield, playing the love-interest Gloria. Co-writer Bryon Minns adds ridiculous spontaneous narration and makes a great sidekick to other co-writer White. And though you may not recognize him at first, you can't help but hear Mykelti Williamson's (Heat) signature voice under all that style.

And what style it is! The costume selections (as well as the aforementioned names) make the movie. As co-star Phil Morris said in an interview, "...they had nothing [i.e. a budget], except for crazy suits and us and fros and chops and great dialogue, great music, it's a great style, and it's just done everything they ever could've wanted it to." Well-stated, Mr. Morris.

Do wish there could've been more of Mike Starr—it looks like his scenes were filmed over the course of an hour. The same goes with the underappreciated Richard Edson, who shows up briefer than the briefs he runs his ass out of (though, after all, this is blaxpoitation). And being such, coming with the package are the flaws of the genre: slower sections, lots of smiling/not enough laughing, a lack of directorial flair; as with his previous effort, Sanders gets the most out of White (a must see performance in Thick as Thieves) but really not much else. Though ambitious, he seems to have trouble holding it all together. Considering the material, however, that doesn't really hurt him here.

In the end, Black Dynamite is a welcome blast from the past that comes in the form of Dy-no-mite knockin' three mofos out quicker than you can say "Oooooh!"


*** out of ****

~ Patrick Fryberger

Review: Zombieland

Everybody wants some.

It doesn't take much to figure out what Zombieland is about. More of a good thing, it's a genre romp that follows all the rules (and makes this explicit as possible). And, with heroes Columbus, Tallahassee, Wichita, and Little Rock leading the way, it's Shaun of the Dead gone all-American. An amusement park for lovers of the genre.

The story follows Columbus, named for his hometown (the loserific Jesse Eisenberg), as he travels across the zombie-torn country in search of survivors and survival. Soon joining the party is Tallahassee (Woody Harrelson), a brusque cowboy/zombie-killer extraordinaire with nothing left to lose. They repeatedly encounter a pair of sisters (Emma Stone and Abigail Breslin) with a doublecrossing, every-family-for-themselves mindset. And from there, we're off, into a world of diegetic subtitles, mad Twinkie obsessions, and slow-mo used to its maximum extent.

By fusing such far-flung comic sensibilities as Harrelson and Eisenberg, it's a pretty easy lay and everybody goes home happy. In other words, there are a lot of laughs, and a lot of different kinds at that. Emma Stone feels right at the home in the genre, as does her on-screen sister, Abigail Breslin. All together, they make a pretty good team, hopping around in GM-sponsored vehicles (Hummers and Escalades abound) blasting their shotguns and reminiscing about the times of old. Writers Rhett Reese and Paul Wernick know the genre well; they're not trying to send it up as much as just to make another good zombie movie. And just when you think director Ruben Fleischer's turned the gore, something will get SMASHED and the audience will, as Tallahassee puts it, "nut-up or shut up."

But Fleischer saves it all for the end, a truly worthwhile finale that is balls-to-the-wall and full titties and then some. And this comes after a fun cameo which feels a little cut-and-paste yet is oddly-fitting. The best of Zombieland comes in its second half, naturally, and a scene in a Native-American gift shop is especially entertaining.

With all the dystopian/post-apocalyptic/end-of-the-fucking-world crap coming out these days, Zombieland is a refreshing reprieve—being both lighthearted and ultraviolent—with a lil' bit of soul thrown in for good measure. Fleischer took a simple premise, with a standard set of jokes, and really nothing you haven't seen before (or would expect to see) but handles it with enough grace to make it work. Ending at an amusement park, Zombieland is one helluva ride, a "little thing" to be enjoyed just as the rule says.


**1/2 out of ****

~ Patrick Fryberger