Director Timur (Wanted) Bekmambetov’s Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter should be the type of hoot-and-holler horror flick where my nearest and nerdiest friends can get together and cheer as our 16^th president slaughters droves of the undead. Why, then, did I mostly dislike what I saw? This isn’t a film that has anything insightful to say about slavery or the Civil War, and I’ve celebrated more tacky and tasteless schlock than this (which reassigns some of history’s most significant deaths — Lincoln’s mother, for one — to bloodsuckers rather than bad milk). Based on the novel written by Seth Grahame-Smith (who also wrote the screenplay), the film’s problems can be chalked up to discordant dialogue and problematic plot holes that devalue his promising high-concept.

Admittedly, Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter does offer a gory good time when it showcases both young and old Abe (Benjamin Walker) driving his silver-edged ax into the hearts and heads of socially and otherworldly high-powered vampires. The targets are assigned by his mentor, Henry Sturgess (Dominic Cooper), whose accent jumps from American Southern to Indifferent European (which seems to be a narrative tonal influence). Though his focus ultimately shifts from monster hunting to politics, Abe’s mission never strays far from ridding the South of the eternal Adam (Rufus Sewell) and his vampire army, utilizing the help of his wife Mary Todd (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) and his trusty black friend Will Johnson (Anthony Mackie), both of whom are as mysteriously ageless as the undead antagonists when compared to President Lincoln. Was this commentary on the physical toll war can have on a president, or did the make-up department just run out of prosthetic wrinkles?

With Caleb Deschanel’s effective cinematography edited into a kinetic whirlwind and color-corrected to the point of a vomit-inducing palette, there is a haphazard sloppiness to the production that feels more the result of a workman’s assignment rather than the joy of filmmaking. This obvious lack of love results in an uninspired attempt to blatantly bastardize history. Given the popularity of films like Inglourious Basterds, it lacks the zeal required to skewer American popular culture rather than merely mash it up. I didn’t read the book, but I have a feeling something got lost in translation. If that ain’t the case, than Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter is an example of uninformed readers (and following suit, studio executives) making a mountain out of a rather ineffectual mole hill.

But then, this is a film about Abraham Lincoln hunting vampires — and maybe it’s the best possible version of that story. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t, on the occasion, have a good time.

Prometheus is neither as good or as bad as you think or have heard it is.

The film begins promisingly, showcasing impressive 3D and awe-inspiring visuals as a team of anthropologists and scientists set out to discover the origin of human life. The events in the first hour and a half are as thrilling and chilling as any memorable entry in the sci-fi and horror genres. And then, almost as if rewritten at the last moment, the narrative morphs and changes, becoming as truly unsatisfying a third act as any in recent memory. Prometheus suffers from what I am calling my Will Smith Theory of Devolution — named aptly for the actor frequently featured in films (I Am Legend, Hancock, Men in Black³) that suffer from this affliction — wherein something occurs at some point in a well-crafted narrative that so completely alters our characters such that they do things that are confusing to an audience. If you think of the part, you will hate the whole. If you recall the whole, you may not entirely hate the part.

But when Prometheus works, it works wonders. Only tangentially riffing on his Alien (1979), director Ridley Scott utilizes the finest visual effects and a superstar cast to the peek of their powers. When we come upon The Prometheus, the human vessel headed for a distant moon of a planet in a galaxy referred to only in prehistoric paintings found on several of remote cave walls around our Earth, the crew is being watched over in hyper-sleep by David (Michael Fassbender), an android whose loyalty to utility is only trumped by his curiosity for absolute truth. As the approach the planet, the robot wakes the humans, who vomit, eat, and suit up for the impending planet.

As they descend on the planet, the human crew of The Prometheus quickly stumble upon a massive pyramid, where anthropologists Elizabeth Shaw (Noomi Rapace) and Charlie Holloway (Logan Marshall-Green) determine could be the birthplace of humanity. Corporate bigwig Meredith Vickers (Charlize Theron) is more skeptical. Janek (Idris Elba), the ship’s captain, is more wary. These are actors at the top of their game, but are all out-shined by Fassbender, whose ever-calculated but not calculating David haunts both the ship and the pyramid as if a curious ghost. The android, as written by Damon Lindelof and Jon Spaihts, is perhaps the greatest non-villain ever committed to screen, making moves in a game to which he knows none of the rules but seems certain of the outcome.

As the greatest sci-fi stories have promised, the truest and most visceral horrors await at the edge of space, and the film’s finest moments are in the catacombs of the pyramid, where the sights and sounds at first delight, then horrify, but always creep. Prometheus features a variety of freakish creations, the greatest of which are Gigerian monsters with acidic blood leeching onto their victims and infecting them with something parasitic. Is it a surprise to announce the film features an graphic, on-camera alien abortion? Any franchise so utterly based on alien impregnation had to get here eventually.

But as I’ve already said, while 75% of this movie works so completely well, the remaining quarter of the movie’s elements range from confusing to annoying to downright stupid. Much of this muchness is due to the presence of Peter Weyland (Guy Pearce), the decrepit corporate financier of the mission. We see him early, and we are not surprised when we see him again — always bizarrely written and ever out-of-place. Perhaps this is an inherent result of having a 44 year old actor playing a very, very old man seemingly without reason. While Pearce’s performance is fine enough, his character throws off the motivations of everyone else in the story, and muddles everything up into the film’s frustrating conclusion.

As far as Prometheus being an effective prequel to Alien, and by association, Aliens (1986), Predator (1987), Predator 2 (1990), Alien³ (1992), Alien Resurrection, AVP: Alien vs. Predator (2004), Alien vs. Predator: Requiem (2007), and Predators (2010)? Does it stay in-keeping with all the mythos? I really can’t say. From my memory, I’m pretty sure there are some continuity errors. But I think Prometheus is beyond its prequel trappings, and nearly every element (short of the vaginal design of the creatures) grifted from the original Alien actually plays to the film’s detriment. Everything that sucks about that third act? That’s all franchise crap.

Don’t believe the podcast. Shaun El-Ters is dead. At The Buzzer is in shambles.

Synopsis: On June 3, 2012, an innocent day of skydiving turned horriffic, resulting in the deaths of everyone involved. On June 4, 2012, the footage was discovered.

At The Buzzer and Eat My Planet productions are proud to present the upcoming release of “Hell Dive,” the stunning and exclusive expose of the terror and awe that befell the At The Buzzer Podcast team and U.S. Presidential nominee Shaun El-Ters.

Posthumously directed by Gary Sundt. Prepare for the jump… To hell.

Click the poster for the trailer.

If you didn’t see Alexandre Aja’s Piranha 3D (2010), you missed a fiercely fun horror comedy that struck a balance between over-the-top gore and earnest wit while telling the tale of a Spring Break laid waste by an army of prehistoric piranha. Don’t believe me? Consider that film’s opening – a tongue-in-cheek vignette featuring Richard Dreyfus as a drunken fisherman whose boat is consumed by the monster fish, recalling both his character from Jaws (one of the finest films ever made) and the humble beginnings of “Nature Attacks!”-style horror before taking its own bite out of the genre.  

Let’s juxtapose that with the similarly structured vignette in Piranha 3DD, the sequel that premiered day-and-date in select videos and via most VOD services last week. Gary Busey plays a redneck looking to collect the carcass of a dead cow that has fallen into the river, and is also attacked by the slew of baby piranha currently hatching within the gassy corpse. While Busey is satisfyingly weird (he is known as a bit of a looper, after all), this sequence plays as only aware of its presence within a sequel and its ability to make a fart joke, and less aware of its placement in the pantheon of horror.

It’s a weaker opening, which properly sets the tone for Piranha 3DD, where everything has been comparatively taken down a rather considerable notch. Where the first installment was set in a lake, this film takes place at a poor man’s water park co-owned by marine biology student Maddy (Danielle Panabaker) and her stepfather Chet (David Koechner).

Maddy is a marine biology student who has helped run the park since her mother’s passing, but returns home from school for the summer to find Chet preparing to rebrand the business as the first-ever adult-themed attraction of its kind (complete with stripper lifeguards). To make matters worse, her friends (Katrina Bowden and Meagan Tandy) are either disappearing or getting violently ill, and she has to contend with the competing attentions of a high school crush (Matt Bush) and a horn-dog ex-boyfriend (Chris Zylka). Then David Hasselhoff shows up as a celebrity “life guard” for the park’s grand opening. What is a sexed-up, well-educated marine biologist-in-training to do with so much terror surrounding her?

All this happens before the piranhas get tired of playing second fiddle in their own movie and bite their way up the drains and into the unsuspecting pools, waterslides and swimmers’ faces. Between the boobs of the strippers and blood from their gaping wounds, Piranha 3DD accomplishes some pretty entertaining sequences when the occasion demands. There are some rather inspired moments with the fish, including a sequence where one of the fish swim up a naked girl’s vagina and lays in wait for an unsuspecting penis to latch onto. Just when you thought it was safe to dive back into the wetness, amIright? (Whose got me? Nobody? Well I’ll high five myself then. *slaps own hand sadly*)

But mostly, Piranha 3DD is just lazy. Sure, the original Piranha (1978) was just another of Roger Corman’s exploitation flicks,  but the 2010 remake was better, smarter, faster, and meaner than its source could ever be, and capitalized on the 3D gimmick better than anybody using the medium had done up to that point (and I am including Avatar). To follow up that flick with something so completely bland is to take our hard-earned attention for granted. And for us, the eager ticket buyer, knowing this concept can be entertaining makes it all worse than lame – it’s annoying.

There is a simple truth that terror-on-the-water stories are actually hard to keep compelling, because (as Hasselhoff repeatedly observes), “Everyone will be fine when they get out of the water.” Christopher Lloyd reprises his role as the cracked-out Dr. Carl Goodman (aka The Exposition), and he is stuck with even more junk science to unpack to keep the horror going. But even he can’t explain the film’s more nonsensical elements. Carnivorous fish that live for days inside the guts of a girl without water or any apparent appetite? Decapitating pool ribbons? To screenwriters Patrick Melton and Marcus Dunstan (also of the latter Saw films), I have to say, “Yes, we know this entire concept is ludicrous, but do you have to keep pointing it out? I’m trying to enjoy a movie here!”

Still interested in Piranha 3DD? You must be masochistic. If you must see it, skip the theaters (and the 3D prices) and head over to iTunes, Amazon, or Youtube to watch the film RIGHT NOW from the comfort of your luxurious computer chair.

Consider that last sentence, and then consider I am the exact kind of consumer that Nintendo has railed against Apple for stealing. Then consider my disappointment over the spec announcements for the Wii U at this year’s E3 event, and consider once more that I’m the exact kind of consumer Nintendo doesn’t want alienate any further.

The Wii U sucks. There. I said it. I’m probably not the first, but there it is. And any cool game they can add or any social media platform they can devise won’t change it. The problem is the idea is so completely dated that it’s backwards. In a sense, the Wii U is the cousin-humping South of the gaming industry.

The Wii U is supposed to be Nintendo’s tablet, which was an announcement good enough to make me pay attention. I love Nintendo-style games because of their clever innovations while maintaining fantastic simplicity and vibrant color schemes — like the Pixar of the gaming industry. They make games that I want to play, but merely don’t have the time because I’m always on the go. All I’ve wanted is Mario Galaxy on a train, Zelda on a plane. A tablet that combines everything an iPad or Android tablet can do, but with joysticks and D-pads for awesome gaming I can play at home on my TV or while waiting at the doctor’s office, is the sort of wet dream that could bring me, the convenience-seeking consumer, back to the console fold.

But then there’s the bomb: The Wii U requires you to be attached to a console. This means that is isn”t a tablet at all, really. It’s just another console that requires me to sit at home.

But oh! You say is has a high definition screen? So does the iPad. You say it can run Hulu and Netflix? So does the iPad. In a sense, the Wii U does what an iPad already can do, but you can now take your favorite mushroom-stomping plumbers with you while taking a twosie (just in case of a clog).

This sort of news is equivalent to somebody shouting, “Hey, we have pizza!” Excited, you head over and they say, “Well, we gotta go to Pizza Hut to get it.” And even though you have to travel and even though it will be Pizza Hut, you are still excited to be eating pizza. But then on the way, everyone around you agrees that the buffet will be the best bet due to the number of people in the group, and you consider that the pizza will be stale from sitting under a hot lamp all afternoon. But it’s still f***ing pizza, right?

Then you arrive, and all they have is salad. Nobody actually wants salad at a Pizza Hut. Not even vegans want salad at a Pizza Hut.

That’s what the Wii U is like. Don’t give me the ability to move my gameplay from TV to tablet if I have to put one tablet down and pick up another, more superior tablet when I’m leaving the house. It’s 2012, and we’re frankly better than that.

But maybe the tech isn’t there yet. Maybe I, like so many other non-gamers, are just ill-informed as to what will actually be a revolution for gaming. Like cavemen cursing the rain because it makes us wet, not knowing that it’s actually pretty nifty when we give it a chance.

But then I think about Nintendo’s concern over the loss of customers to Apple, and then I start to wonder if they are really the cavemen here. Painting the walls with bubbly long-tongued dinosaurs and hot chicks in awesome armor, they think their adventures should be limited to the cave. Meanwhile, the rest of us have iPhones and iPads.

I’m sure Sony or Microsoft will figure out the brilliance behind a proper gaming tablet with a disc drive (to ensure that high quality image) that can be thrown up on a TV when the consumer gets home. But I’ll hardly care. I want Super Smash Bros. I want GoldenEye007. I want my Nintendo. And I want it while sitting in a park, surrounding by singing birds and f***ing cherubs playing harps.

On June 4, 2012, the footage was discovered.

At The Buzzer and Eat My Planet productions are proud to present the upcoming release of “Hell Dive,” the stunning and exclusive expose of the terror and awe that befell the At The Buzzer Podcast team and U.S. Presidential nominee Shaun El-Ters.

Posthumously directed by Gary Sundt.

Prepare for the jump… To hell.

Coming Soon. Share Like a Mofo.

Men in Black III

The plot is charmingly simple enough: Despite a change in leadership (Emma Thompson steps in for former head Rip Torn), the Men in Black are still the top secret government agency in charge of monitoring extra terrestrial life on Earth. Agent J is now nearly as respected as Agent K (Tommy Lee Jones), and they are going about their regularly scheduled alien-fighting when Boris the Animal (Jermaine Clement) escapes from a moon-based maximum security prison. Boris travels back in time to 1969 to stop Agent K from arresting him and shooting off his arm, and J has to jump back in time to save him.

The trailers for MIB³ already establish that Brolin does a mean Tommy Lee Jones. The movie’s other accomplishment is Clement’s Boris — a fantastic mix of manic performance and make-up wizard Rick Baker’s worst nightmares, bringing us a franchise-best in the category of “Creepy As F***.”

You can see how this premise was awesome. So what doesn’t work? The person I saw it with expressed that the movie felt half-baked. How right he is. The problems with MIB³ can be chalked up to one thing: the script is sort of a first draft.

The story goes that the team went into production early with only a third of the script was written, assuming they would have the required pages by the time they needed them. But it didn’t happen. Production shut down, and everyone got together to figure out what sort of story they could build with what had already been shot. Rewrites and rewrites on rewrites happen all the time in Hollywood, often at the 11^th hour and usually for the better, but it only works when your film is fundamentally about something (read: Apocalypse Now or Blade Runner). All one really needs is a logline (one sentence synopsis) and a concrete theme to make a good film, and it doesn’t hurt when everyone involved with the production is proven talent and the budget is reportedly a ballooned $375 million.

MIB³ has its logline (“J goes back in time to save K and the world”), but it lacks that much-needed theme. The result? The front half of the movie is played without knowledge of where it is going, while the second half plays trying to make sense of what came before. Most of the dialogue, or at least more than is expected with the talents of director Barry Sonnenfeld and writer Etan Cohen involved, lands with a resounding thud. The script is fun and has promise, but it’s an unpolished and unsharpened knife trying to cut into a highly anticipated steak — often getting stuck on fat along the way.

And oh! the missed opportunities! For a film that takes place in an era that helped define modern science fiction, MIB³ seems curiously devoid of anything alien. The initial appeal of the Men In Black has always been the mix of space-age tech and button-downed simplicity — like Mad Men with UFOs. And while we get a taste of that (the sterile white MIB headquarters look pretty impeccable with typewriters), nothing much feels different from 1969 to 2012. Wouldn’t it have been swell to see them fight aliens with bullets and bouffants?

This isn’t to say that Cohen has (if you will pardon the expression) “gone soft.” Grandma may have liked that quirky train station guard in Hugo, but Hollywood hasn’t made Cohen any less outraged with the world. These guys are pondering the bastardization of both democracy and autocracy around the globe, but never forget to man-handle the decapitated head of a civil rights leader or occasionally splash urine on UN officials. The Dictator is out for yucks, or sometimes merely to make you say, “yuck.”

Cohen stars as Aladeen, the General Admiral of the fictional North African nation of Wadiya. He has a remarkable palace and a depressed population full of brainwashed worshippers, but is seemingly loveless beyond the celebrities he pays to sleep with him (Megan Fox and Lindsay Lohan, among many other Polaroids). Aladeen’s premier Tahir (Ben Kingsley) may love him least of all, and he is actively plotting the overthrow of the General Admiral.

At Tahir’s encouragement, Aladeen travels to New York City to address the United Nations. He is quickly kidnapped by a U.S. Secret Service Agent (John C. Reilly), and is de-bearded before escaping what was going to be a proper assassination. Sans beard, the now-unrecognizable Aladeen cannot get inside to deliver his speech, and quickly learns a new democratic constitution is being drafted for Wadiya by his dim-witted body double (also played by Cohen).

After being confused for an anti-Aladeen protestor, the General Admiral is unknowingly taken in by Zoey (Anna Faris), a feminist, vegetarian lefty who agrees to hire him at her organic food store. He also stumbles upon the “Little Waadeya” neighborhood, which is teaming with people he was sure he’d ordered executed. It is there where he teams up with unsuccessful executee and former Wadiyan nuclear scientist Nadal (Jason Mantzoukas), and the two set out to return Aladeen to his throne.

Along his journey, Aladeen will fall in love with Zoey, but this is neither a surprise nor a reason anyone is watching. In the tradition of many great slapstick storytellers (read: Marx Brothers or the Zucker Brothers), there are flights of fancy that are only tangentially related to the plot. Most of these gags work (due in no small part to the talents of Faris and Kingsley, as well as the slew of A-list cameos), and those who aren’t entertained will likely be repulsed.

Yet despite all the talent, The Dictator left me wanting more. It was funny, but not as funny as Borat. It was bold, but not as bold as Brüno. The previous films from the Charles/Cohen teaming were essentially strung-together improv sketches born out of obscene spontaneity with mostly unknowing participants, and scenes could go on longer because they merely continued the torture of the witless targets surrounding the funny man. The trouble here is that too many of these jokes seem recycled, or just go on for a minute longer than they probably should. A friend of mine called The Dictator “70% funny”, and I’d say that assessment is as accurate as it is fair.

Note: As with Brüno and Borat, Cohen’s flaccid penis makes an appearance. This gives the aforementioned unmentionable more produced credits than most SAG actors, and adds credence to the reality that nudity will always ensure you have a business in the pictures.

This American Life, for those uninitiated, is a publicly produced radio program broadcast weekly on over 500 stations around the country before being posted for free online, where it frequently has the distinction of being the most popular podcast in the country. Hosted by the soothingly precise voice of the invaluable Ira Glass (who could read you to sleep were he not pumping your brain with so much goodness), each episode has a chosen theme that is unpacked over an hour of selected stories of everyday people — most them either heartwarmingly or heartbreakingly true.  Perhaps the best way to understand the show is simply to listen (the most recent episode, #154: In Dog We Trust, is available here), and their website is packed with their expansive catalogue of nearly every program for the price the oxygen and time your consuming at this very moment (though the show is arguably a better use of the latter than anything I’m currently writing).

Hence the distinction “Live!” in the title of this one-of-a-kind theatrical experience, where listeners around the globe can bask in the glory of seeing nerds on-stage in real time in 600 different venues around the country. And this is indeed an event for a crowd, up to and including a specifically interactive performance from Grammy-award winning band OK Go. This Amercan Life has always seemed pointed at bringing people together through experience (shared or individual), and part of the fun of this particular presentation is that it literally accomplishes that expressed goal.

This time, it’s via a shared visual experience. You Can’t Do That On The Radio (YCDTOTR) kicks off, in an intentionally ironic fashion, with a hilarious story from blind Canadian writer Ryan Knighton and the experience of being trapped in his hotel room. The theme of the program is “The Invisible Becomes Visible”, offering the audience stories and performances highlighting those elements in life that are invisible to us at one point or another. Throughout the show, the audience is transported across the spectrums of joy and sorrow and celebration and disdain. When comedian Tig Notaro performs, we laugh. When Snap Judgment host Glynn Washington performs, we laugh, and then we cry.

And YCDTOTR does actually have several features that you just can’t do on the radio. Consider the remarkably visual quality of live readings from prolific writers David Rakoff and David Sedaris. There are also interpretive dance performances from Monica Bill Barnes & Company, which, while not being a connesuire of the art form, are thoroughly entertained, which is the highest endorsement I can give something I don’t usually have a taste for. Another of the night’s highlights was the premiere of a new short film from comedian Mike Birbiglia (whose award-winning indie feature Sleepwalk With Me will premiere in theaters on August 24, 2012), which This American Life has made available for free viewing here.

Check out an encore performance of YCDTOTR in theaters at 8:00 p.m. on May 15, 2012 (Mr. Glass requested at the end of the show to spread the word, and this review is the best way I know how). Because most large theater chains don’t do encores of live performances, there will be only 80 likely-to-sell-out shows (locations of which you can view here). There will also be upcoming screenings on various dates at independent venues across the US, as well as Australia on May 26 and 27. In the meantime, look for those selected elements of the show that lend themselves to radio to appear in an upcoming episode of the This American Life radio/podcast series.

Can’t make it to a theater but still want one hell of a show? Check out the previous performance of This American Life Live! — which included live performances from special guests Birbiglia, Joss Whedon (The Avengers, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Dr. Horrible), Dan Savage (MTV’s Savage U), and Starlee Kine (NPR producer and writer) — available on DVD here.

Case in point: Marvel’s The Avengers. These people couldn’t care less because they either think a) it’s stupid because it’s a superhero movie, b) it’s stupid because it’s popular, or c) it just “isn’t their speed.” Yes, there are obnoxious crowds, high ticket prices, or the unthinkable act of missing that Studio Ghibli retrospective at the local art house theater, but I (and/or those nearest and dear to you) still believe you should go!

Therefore, here are five very good reasons non-fans should see Marvel’s The Avengers in the movie theater as soon as possible.

5) It Has International Prestige!

I know you think saving your superhero chips for The Dark Knight Rises is a much better plan, as it was directed by Christopher Nolan and he made Memento. But The Avengers has been open overseas for just over a week and has already made nearly $300 million. Sure, it’s one of them over-the-top Hollywood films, but people around the globe are swooning — from France (Amélie, The Science of Sleep) to Mexico (Pan’s Labyrinth, Y Tu Mamá También).

These is the brakes, non-true believers: Comic books ain’t for kids anymore (and when you pretend they are, you just sound like an asshole).

4) Didn’t See the Others? Forgetaboutit!

Didn’t catch Iron Man, Iron Man 2, The Incredible Hulk, Thor, or Captain America: The First Avenger? Don’t even really know what those are? Don’t worry, it isn’t necessary.

This is a comic book movie, so it can’t be too complicated for an advanced connoisseur of art like you, right? Y’all have cut your teeth on dense films with lots of talking, and you’ll find the script by writer/director Joss Whedon is pretty cool at catching you up to speed. And everyone involved tends to look their part. Who is the villain? Probably the guy with the giant horns. What is that cube thing everyone keeps talking about? I dunno, but it sure it powerful.

3) It’s Fun! And It’s Funny!

Remember that Joss Whedon guy I was talking about? Well he’s a pretty respected guy in the world of pop culture, having made the critical darlings Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog and this year’s Cabin in the Woods. Maybe you weren’t a fan of one or both of those, but he’s also been featured on NPR’s “This American Life”! Before podcasts were cool even!*

That Whedon fellow wrote the script for The Avengers, and he has done a damn fine job. There’s great banter that plays with the super hero archetypes we all know (and some of us love), and interesting underlying political and psychological themes fueling the clusterf*** of protagonists throughout the story. When the action does inevitably take over, all these characters have so much presence that it’s never boring. And this is coming from the guy who fell asleep in not-one-but-all-three Transformers movies.

 2) All The Sexy!

Let’s go back to why a good majority of people gravitate toward comic books in the first place: EVERYONE IS HOT! And while we can certainly debate the ramifications of comic book gender objectification, can’t we all just agree that we’d rather see Chris Evans in a skin-tight body suit than, say, Phillip Seymore Hoffman? Sexy is sexy, people, and I don’t know too many who can complain about Scarlett Johansson pouting her lips in black leather while beating up bad guys and spouting interesting dialogue.

And to top it off, this hotness is mostly proven talent from films you, the elitist/hipster, love! Johansson (who plays The Black Widow) is on all the magazines, and was in Vicky Cristina Barcelona and Lost in Translation. Robert Downey Jr. (Iron Man) is that guy who played Charlie in Chaplin, and was also in Good Night, And Good Luck and Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. And you’ll know Jeremy Renner (Hawkeye) from his Academy Award-nominated roles in The Town and The Hurt Locker. Samuel L. Jackson was in Pulp Fiction. Clark Gregg (Agent Coulson) is the writer/director of Choke, adapted from the Chuck Palahniuk novel. And Mark Ruffalo (The Hulk)? Well he was in You Can Count on Me, Zodiac, The Kids Are All Right, Sympathy For Delicious, The Brothers Bloom and We Don’t Live Here Anymore.

(Did I out art-house you there? Then I think my point has been made.)

 1) Something to Talk (and/or Complain) About

In point of fact, you come off as an alienating jerk-off when you start waxing on things you don’t even know about. And yeah, you could wait for DVD, but The Avengers ain’t gonna be exactly hopping bar/water cooler talk in 4-5 months. Hell, sometimes the only reason I care about sports is so I have something to say in certain crowds of people (cough*At The Buzzer staff*cough). So see it just so you have an opinion (which I know you’ll have anyway)! Even if you hate it, at least you come off as open-minded enough to qualify as a decent human being.

On the other hand, maybe you like it, and you actually expand your thinking a little bit. Maybe you even grow as a person, and discover a whole genre you never really considered. Wouldn’t that be weird? It’s possible, considering The Avengers is well-told, well-written, and a wholly comic book story with it’s heart dipped in spandex and super-powers.

And for the love of God, don’t pretend you saw it. An anecdote: A girl once argued with me for months that The Dark Knight “wasn’t that good” — until it was revealed that she hadn’t even seen it! She had to eat her words when she watched and discovered that it was pretty great. She and I have sex now.

An Epilogue

Now there will definitely be some people who just straight up don’t care about seeing The Avengers because they don’t really care about movies. Fighting with these people is like yelling at a dog because they are barking: nobody involved understands what the other is so upset about. They are a lost cause, and considering that oxygen is limited due to increased car fumes from people driving to see The Avengers, it is best not to waste your breath.

*Editor’s Note: As of this printing, podcasts are not really cool.

Wait. I think I’m mixed up. “Hate” is the combined feelings of fondness, predilection, warmth, and adoration, right? No? You’re saying that’s called “love”? Are you sure? Positive? Okay, if you say so…

So what I guess I meant to say was I F***ING LOVED THE MOTHER F***ING AVENGERS! (While I sincerely apologize from the mix up, you have to understand that this flick is such an earth-shatteringly outstanding piece of action and comic book filmmaking that my brain is still pulling itself together after last night’s midnight screening.)

This is, of course, the long-awaited culmination of Marvel’s line of feature films that began with 2008’s Iron Man, and continued to build across The Incredible Hulk (2008), Iron Man 2 (2010), Thor (2011), and Captain America: The First Avenger (2011). At a whopping 143 minutes, a film of this genre and audience would be in danger of collapsing under it’s own visual and commercial weight (which I believe unequivocally is what happened to the Transformers franchise). However, in the capable hands of writer/director/nerd-Jesus Joss Whedon, The Avengers is a plucky and vibrant comic masterwork that will satisfy the franchise loyal (among whom I count myself) and the uninitiated thrill-seeking moviegoer (of which there are few given the success of the franchises).

The film begins with the demigod Loki (Tom Hiddleston), who was last seen at the end of Thor drifting through the universe, coming to Earth via an interstellar wormhole courtesy of an all-powerful blue energy cube called the Tesseract (last seen in Captain America). With it, he plans to set the human race “free from freedom”, utilizing a vast army of vaguely humanoid/vaguely reptilian alien machines. Loki is quick to steal the Tesseract from SHIELD director Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson), who, after the destruction of his headquarters, is now manning a giant “helicarrier” (it’s an aircraft carrier and a hovercraft). With a world to save, he uses the interminably determined Agent Coulson (Clark Gregg) to round up the many superheroes we’ve gotten to know over the last few years.

And so the Avengers assemble (which is a line curiously absent from the film). Tony Stark AKA Iron Man (Robert Downey Jr.), the billionaire industrialist with a fancy super suit; Steve Rogers AKA Captain America (Chris Evans), the super-soldier with a powerful shield, remarkable skills, and a heart of gold; Bruce Banner AKA The Hulk (Mark Ruffalo), the mild-mannered scientist who turns into the jolly green behemoth; Thor (Chris Hemsworth), Loki’s brother and the demigod of thunder; Natasha Romanov AKA Black Widow (Scarlett Johansson AKA phenomenally hot chick), the deadly super-spy and SHIELD agent; and (eventually) Clint Barton AKA Hawkeye (Jeremy Renner), another SHIELD agent and sharp-shootist who wields self-made arrows that can take out any enemy or their rather massive flying spacecraft. What are all these mortal men doing fighting with a demigod against a demigod? In some cases, diving into the mouth of monsters; in other cases, protecting the population; and even more cases, sufficiently smashing.

Of course such a team is fraught with inherent pissing matches due to its individuals being self-perceived bad asses. Fans who know these characters from their source will revel in the opportunity to see Steve Rogers and Tony Stark compare cod pieces at 24 frames per second. Many of the films finest moments come from merely watching these characters crack-wise at one another, but I found that Evans and Ruffalo stole the show with mere presence alone.

Behind the camera, Whedon and Co. provide all the goods, proving the writer/director has the meticulous attention required to democratically handle a massive cast of sorted characters with a script that is as dense with plots as it is deft with pace and pop sensibility. The guy has been telling the stories I’ve wanted to hear going all the way back to TV’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and showcases yet again with The Avengers why he deserves such sheer hearting from his fan base.

Final thoughts: I don’t think one can help but bring up the Transformers films when considering The Avengers. Indeed, they are similarly structured (and all have a final hour of nothing but whiz-bang special effects), yet the characterization that comes with great performers pulling from Marvel’s pantheon and the sharp nuance of Whedon’s pen will arrest viewers in a way robots smashing into other robots never could or will. Also, the breathtaking cinematography from Seamus McGarvey ensures an appreciated stability among the well-choreographed chaos and an inviting color palette that even compensates for the dimness factor of 3D glasses (should that be your chosen format).

More Harry Potter

The rumors are true. An official Sorting Hat exists, and any discerning internet traveler may be sorted into one of Hogwart School of Witchcraft and Wizardry’s four reputable houses. There is celebration and derision throughout the webiverse, and a more-than-occasional worry the Sorting Hat is mis-sorting people. “But I’m a Slytherin! How can I get Hufflepuffed??” People haven’t referred to it as “Hufflepuffed”, but they should.

Welcome to Pottermore

I’m talking, of course, about “Pottermore”, the new (and apparently permanent) online home for J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter universe. The site launched officially on April 14, 2012, revealing to those not included in the initial beta test the site that many speculated was a fancy ploy to sell e-books. While there is an already wildly successful e-book selling service, there is far more to Pottermore — and after being granted a rather jejune codename (I am SpiritChestnut23798), the user is transported to the apparently ever-expanding home to Rowling’s musings and notes on character and background details, as well as several subplots that were not included in the novels. The devil is in the details for any discerning fanperson, and every element to every chapter is dissected and elaborated upon to provide sometimes a greater context for, and sometimes a method to the madness of the prolific wizarding world of Harry Potter.

But enough about the words, right? You want to know what you get to DO. Do I get a wand? When do I get sorted? Do I get a #$%^ing owl or what? Indeed, eager nerd, you get to do all this and far more, going step-by-step through the first book while learning spells, brewing potions, and having yourself some wicked wizard duels, all while earning house points for the rather competitive site-wide House Cup. Yes, you get your very own Gringotts account, and your acceptance into Hogwarts apparently grants you a generous 500 Galleon scholarship that allows you to buy all the bat spleens and flobberworm mucus you can fathom. While the majority of this can hardly be described as “universe enriching,” don’t be surprised if your Potter-fanatic colleague (school or work) experiences a decrease in productivity. This stuff is addicting.

Impressions

Yet, with all of this information and interactivity, Pottermore never feels self-indulgent. Since the release of The Philosopher’s Stone back in 1997, Rowling (and Scholastic, the series’ publisher) have aimed to start the HP experience well before a single book begins. With Pottermore, the series will do what it seems all successful media in the interactive age must: live on and keep adding intelligently. This expanded Harry Potter universe is truly a gift to the fans, led by an author who continuously reveals herself as much the visionary we expect her to be.

Currently, only the first book is available on Pottermore, which could lead to some unfortunate fraying of the current crop of over two million devotees. Whether the next chapter’s release is a matter of careful timing or playing catch-up, the excessively interesting universe needs further access to stay ahead of fan’s expectations. Perhaps the Ravenclaws will ultimately make the best Pottermore players, as a certain nerdy patience and precociousness is pretty much required for any long-term exploration of these details. Or maybe I’m just bias because that’s where the sorting hat placed me.

Summary

Regardless, Pottermore exists in a engrossing incarnation whose only flaw is the need for continued adventures. As for me, the great SpiritChestnut23798? I’ll just be wandering the halls of Hogwarts — reading the intriguing yet mostly innocuous details while leaving silly comments about nearly every factoid on the message board — sometimes thoughts, sometimes questions, all usually tweeted as well. My favorite thus far? “@gsundt: On Professor McGonagall: Do you think she ever gives herself baths in cat form, then has hair balls in human form? #Pottermore”

Note: I’m usually a movie critic. But there ARE Harry Potter movies. And I suspect Pottermore is the beginning of a potentially wildly influential trend of true consumer interactivity for both books and movies. Hence, my review.

Graduating from college comes with an overwhelming ennui that leads graduates to believe we are being utterly underutilized in a society that can’t appreciate our over-education. We’re entitled to everything because, after all, we know everything there is to know about life. Tiny Furniture, which won best narrative feature at SXSW 2010, is about learning that we actually don’t know anything except nobody else (including our successful friends and parents) knows anything either.

Dunham is Aura, a recent graduate from a prestigious liberal arts college who returns home to live in her mother’s shwanky loft in Tribeca, New York. She hates living at home, as it contains her artsy mother (Laurie Simmons) and her obnoxious younger sister (Grace Dunham), but knows the arrangement is only until she gets an apartment with her best college friend (Merritt Wever). Until then, it’s job hunting and catching up with peers, who all seem to have their lives on the road to being sorted out. Surrounded by the young, artistic and sardonic, Aura is forced to ponder whether she should be creating, reading, meeting people, or joining the work force regimen. In the meantime, she’d much rather sulk. Her only apparent modicum of comfort  comes from Charlotte (Jemima Kirke), a childhood friend with a maybe-British accent who concerns herself with none of these details.

Aura is not a charmer or seductress in the classic sense, but does manage pull in both Jed (Alex Karpovsky), who has recently ridden a rocking horse to minor YouTube celebrity (literally), and Keith (David Call), a chef at the restaurant where she eventually becomes a hostess.  She does have sex at one point, but it can hardly qualify as satisfying. She wants to be happy, but is perhaps unsure what happiness is beyond knowing that this isn’t it.

But what is the magic trick? Her mother is a famous artist who makes a lot of money selling photographs of miniature furniture sets. Her sister seems genetically superior in every way — taller and thinner — and has the promise of success that comes with youth. Jed, who is roughly her age, is a YouTube sensation, which means he must be famous, right? Somebody must have some answers — and indeed they do, but they aren’t what Aura wants to hear right now.

I loved Tiny Furniture because it is a great film made with the budget required and not a penny more (a mere $50,000). Dunham won an Independent Spirit Award for the screenplay, which is a brutally honest character study with a fantastically unreliable narrator that understands very little on the road to having no answers. “Ain’t no frills here,” as my grandmother never said.These kinds of stories litter both my expansive DVD collection and my own notes for developing film projects, and so it’s fair to say this is right up my alley.

But then again, maybe I loved it because I too am in that strange space between graduation and a solid career — like running on a treadmill and wishing it was a race track. Graduates in the new millennium have been praised and rewarded along the programed course of academic success, only to emerge into the working world where the path is unclear and all routes have walls to scale. It’s like realizing there is no Santa Claus — do you shout it from the rooftops, or do you play dumb because uttering the words may mean presents evaporate? Like its protagonist, Tiny Furniture is perfect in its imperfection, and sensibly sensitive in a world both insensible and insensitive.

Tiny Furniture is currently available on Netflix Instant Streaming. Those who appreciate it there would be smart to check out the Criterion Collection DVD or Blu-Ray (released in February 2012), which includes Dunham’s 2009 debut feature Creative Nonfiction and four short films, all showcasing an early look at her developing skills as a deadpan writer and comedian. Tonight (Sunday, April 22), HBO is airing the second episode of Girls, the excellent new original series created by, written by, and starring Dunham, and co-starring Karpovsky and the oh-so-funny Kirke. Those who missed the pilot can check it out here.

Cabin in the Woods is as smart as it thinks it is. The only reason it isn’t smarter is because its tongue is so self-satisfyingly planted in its cheek that you can practically see the smirks of producer/co-writer Joss Whedon and director/co-writer Drew Goddard on every frame. Horror films are perhaps the easiest to lampoon, but I don’t think the genre has ever quite been skewered this good.

The film opens with two scientists, Sitterson (Richard Jenkins) and Hadley (Bradley Whitford), preparing for what seems to be the annual task of killing five cultural horror archetypes. Why do they do this? Who can say, but the audience takes comfort in knowing this is happening to unknowing groups in various scenarios around the world. Hadley frequently curses Japan, who has apparently had a string of recent successes.

Meanwhile, we have our five stock characters: Curt (Chris Hemsworth), the tough guy; Jules (Anna Hutchison), the slut; Marty (Fran Kranz), the stoner; Holden (Jesse Williams), the nerd; and Dana (Kristen Connolly), the virgin. None of them seem to fit to their roles, but as someone is quick to point out later, “We do with what we have.” After being warned by the creepy gas station attendant that doom waits down that road, the coeds drive deep into the woods for a weekend in a borrowed cabin. And so the game begins. Surrounded by the many monitors and switches in their laboratory, Sitterson and Hadley go about the task of indiscriminately killing off their subjects.

Have I spoiled anything by revealing this detail? Nothing more than the trailer or the Internet. Cabin in the Woods is made for the generation of horror characters (and audiences) who were raised on both Scream and online spoilers, and are very sure they know the rules to this game. Once the horror begins, our characters are to be slaughtered in the ways we expect. Or will they? After all, Sitterson and Hadley have many years of experience when it comes to killing unsuspecting people on videotape.

Perhaps I’ve said too much. The film’s premise is already bold, and it becomes bolder as it goes. Like the greatest of horror films, Cabin in the Woods is about escalation more than twists, the journey more than the destination. The film is smartly acted and intelligently designed, which led me mid-film to pondering the concept’s franchise potential before it ultimately rose above that as well. To be fair, a sequel would hardly placate the audience.

Having said all that, I still haven’t spoiled the film’s surprises. As the closing credits rolled, I was immediately compelled to buy a second ticket just to watch how clever it is without too distinctly rubbing the audience’s nose in it. Even with its big brain, I suspect Cabin in the Woods will play to even the occasional horror moviegoer because the film is so effectively scary most of the time that they don’t need know the tropes (or even what a “trope” is).

But those well-traveled in the genre will have an experience not unlike a box-less jigsaw puzzle, with so many individual pieces to point out and study that they won’t know until their finished that it’s a the picture of a middle finger. Yes, Whedon has called this a “loving hate letter” to horror, and I’d certainly agree. Cabin in the Woods is pretty akin to a long night of roughhousing, only to be thrown out on your ass when the sun rises. Just take comfort in that brief cuddle time.

For more of Gary’s reviews and musings, visit garysundt.wordpress.com.
For more information on Gary’s work as a filmmaker, visit summertimekillersmovie.com.

Hey folks!

I will have reviews for American Wedding and Titanic 3D very soon, but I am currently in Mexico for the Easter holiday. In the interim, I figured my new short would make a fine movie-related blog post.

This is the third installment of “Somewhere in the United States”, my collection of 12 film shorts I’m shooting in 12 months. I started this series back in November, and I will admit that I am a little behind. However, my aim is to get paid to write, direct, and produce films, and somebody once said that producing 12 shorts in 12 months was a good way to practice.

I invite anybody else who dreams of creating something great to do the same thing. Wanna write? Write 12 short stories in 12 months. Wanna be a musician? 12 songs. Wanna make comics? 12 mini comics. Make them presentation worthy. Make them something you’re proud to showcase. Maybe they suck, but I promise you’ll get a little better every time.

All that said, here’s what I filmed while in Las Gaviotas down in Baha, Mexico. It’s the story of what happens in that space between the rock and the hard place. I call it “Rock Doc”.

Jeff, Who Lives at Home

Jeff’s journey begins when he gets a series of aligning signs that begin with a misplaced call in search of “Kevin.”  This ultimately inspires him to leave the basement to buy wood glue at the birthday behest of his mother, Sharon (Susan Sarandon). Not long into his journey, he runs into his brother Pat (Ed Helms). Pat is a case against desire and determination, with a dead-end job and a loveless marriage with a wife (Judy Greer) who slightly winces when he attempts to make her smile. After dumping the breakfast he made for her in response to his leasing of a Porsche (“It’s a great deal!”), she is spotted by Jeff and Pat rolling around town with another man.

Sharon calls both Jeff and Pat for updates on the quest for wood glue, but is distracted herself when she receives first a mysterious paper airplane, and then instant messages, from an anonymous coworker who claims to have the hots for her.  Is this finally the day fate will hit them all over the head with their destiny? Of course it is. Jeff, Who Lives at Home is indeed a tale of surrealist whimsy that wraps up in that bow we recognize to be saccharine yet sad yet satisfying.

The Duplass brothers are funny and talented guys, whose “improvisational filmmaking” has made them minor indie darlings after their excellent work on both The Puffy Chair (2005) and Cyrus (2011). Jeff, Who Lives at Home continues their track record of excellence, as has to it a sort of obvious completeness that marks both narrative growth and complacence. That their preferred camera technique is to arbitrarily zoom and tussle the camera without the grace that comes with meaning points to the continued development of their style. Yes, these guys are still learning, but that doesn’t make their work any less fantastic.

Jeff, Who Lives at Home carries an unrelenting sadness that exists in spite of its comedy. This would not be a funny film in the hands of lesser performers. Segal, for example, uses his entire physicality to immerse himself into his character the way a stoner sinks into the couch after a good bong rip. I was reminded of those friends while watching the film — yes, they’ve raved about the very same interconnectivity of the universe through the very same lens of the very same Shyamalan flick — who may make the mistake of reading Jeff, Who Lives at Home as a championing of their lifestyle. It isn’t, really, but perhaps there is always hope they’ll see it as a sign.

Once in a great while, my career beckons me in a way that incapacitates me ever so slightly. Did I see The Hunger Games? Yes. Did I like it? Definitely. Do I have time to write a full review? Not this week. For this reason, joining me for the review is At The Buzzer contributor and all-around Superman look-a-like Shaun El-Ters.

Both being fans of the novel by Suzanne Collins, we’re going to first take issue with any and all comparison’s to the Twilight films beyond the simple truth that these are popular stories designed for tweens. The trailer for The Hunger Games is, on its own,  compelling viewing, while any clip of Bella Swan (who we most recently saw hungrily eyeing a deer) induces laughter. Both properties are obviously designed to make money, but the expertise in the production of The Hunger Games makes it the sci-fi pulp cult classics are made of.

The Hunger Games presents a dystopian future where the empire of Panem has risen out of the ashes of the once dominant North American nations. The decadent citizens of the Capitol rule, and the remind the citizens of the other 12 districts of their firm grip through the annual ritual of The Hunger Games — where a young man and a young woman from each district must fight to the death in an area surrounded by hidden cameras and endless death traps. The film is never bogged down by the exposition — a feat director Gary Ross and his team of screenwriters and film editors should proud of.

Any further explanation is a mute point when a film grosses $214 million globally over its first three days in release. The cast consists of Jennifer Lawrence as Katniss Everdeen, Josh Hutcherson as Peeta Mellark, Elizabeth Banks as Effie Trinket, Woody Harrelson as Haymitch Abernathy, Donald Sutherland as President Snow, and Stanley Tucci as Caesar Flickerman. If these names mean nothing to you now, they will soon enough. These characters and their motivations are now popcorn history in the veign of Harry Potter, Indiana Jones, Darth Vader and Hannibal Lecter before them.

The Hunger Games doesn’t change much from its best-selling source, but the occasional deviations are effective — but more importantly, cinematic. The explanation of the absence of Katniss’ father and the emotional failure of Katniss’ mother are explored more effectively in this film. The deeper characterization of Seneca (Wes Bentley) provides an interesting angle and gives a perspective to the other side these most horrible of games. Much of the interior monologue that drives Katniss is excised, as are the great stretches of quiet reflections that result from her time alone. But the inspired casting of Lawrence, who delivers another incredible performance as a young person who hates feelings, is what
will raise this entertainment above expectations. As many have pointed out, The Hunger Games could have easily been subtitled Winter’s Bone 2. She still even has her bow in tow.

The Hunger Games aims for entertainment, and it succeeds at hitting that mark. Both the film and its source draw parallels to Ancient Rome, and perhaps our very own televised distractions. Yet any social commentary a consumer gains from The Hunger Games is entirely subjective. Why are these hormone-driven teenagers presenting little reflection in the face of their usually inevitable demise? Why is this society is so docile in the face of such a cruel system? These are questions for another story, or perhaps the forthcoming sequels.

The Hunger Games is, in our respective opinions, the best a movie adaptation of the novel could have been. Is the book better than the movie? As is often the case, the book was better in ways that books are always better—more familiarity with the characters, more time to invest in the world. However, the film captures the constant, underlying tension that made the book riveting and unforgettable, while never glorifying or losing sight of the precariousness of young teens being forced to fight to the death.

Note: Gary gave The Hunger Games a rating of 4 stars, while Shaun awarded the film an unapologetic 5. We have agreed, for the sake of avoiding an argument, on 4.5 stars.

John Carter

Now you may be thinking, “Whoa, Gary, what of the plot synopsis that comes complimentary with every review? Who is this John Carter? What is the overwhelming challenges he must overcome?” Well, the narrative is the size of a white ape complimented with the thickness of a strand of the beast’s hair, but here it goes…

The film is based on the widely influential (but not-widely popular) series of pulp novels written by Edgar Rice Burroughs in the early 20th century (inspiring stories ranging from Superman to Indiana Jones to 2001: A Space Odyssey). There are two cities (Helium, on a mountain, and Zodanga, on a perpetually walking machine) on the planet Mars (referred to by the planet’s inhabitants as “Barsoom”), and they have been in a thousand-year war fueled by technology that ranges from advanced flying machines to swords and guns. The ruler of Zodanga (Dominic West) has recently been handed a super-weapon by the Therns, a mysterious race that seems to have just about the entire universe under its manipulative thumb. Helium’s forces are no match for this mysterious tech, shifting the fight such that it is now Zodanga’s victory to lose.

Cut to Earth. The year is 1868, and John Carter (Taylor Kitsch) is a Civil War veteran who stumbles upon a cave full of gold, is attacked by a Thern and transported to Mars. He quickly discovers that his skeletal and muscular structure in Mars’ lower gravity atmosphere gives him the ability of leaping extraordinarily high heights and punching enemies to extraordinarily deathy death. These abilities are pretty impressive to Tars Tarkas (Willem Dafoe), leader of the Tharks, a green-skinned, four-armed race of primitive tribal aliens that make short work of taking John prisoner.

These aliens are the first of the film’s impressively crafted computer-generated creations, which are fantastically imaged and realistically rendered in a grounded way that the narrative itself never accomplishes. Sure, John Carter becomes bloated with spectacle during its action-packed set pieces in its third

act, but this is a blessing when we consider the film’s script is relatively thin. That the aforementioned set-up doesn’t even begin to address the film’s plot — John needs to save Helium’s princess (Lynn Collins) from a forced marriage to Zodanga’s king — is a testament to it’s unnecessarily overcomplicated nature. I love the details in a pulp epic and don’t mind this film playing to its roots, but never to an extent that the groan-inducing dialogue makes most non-action sequences a chore to get through.

If the script’s aim to play pulp doesn’t necessarily do John Carter any favors, director and co-writer Andrew (WALL-E) Stanton made a good call entrusting his visuals to cinematographer Dan (Star Trek) Mindell and the expert special effects team, who ensure the scenes where characters aren’t speaking are popcorn fun of the highest regard. The film, as well as its human and CGI characters, are never a chore to look at, and the entire cast does a superior job handling the cheese-stuffed dialogue. It’s these details that ultimately will make the film enjoyable to most; much like its title character, John Carter is perpetually good when it’s in the midst of action and adventure.

I wanted to like John Carter more than I did, primarily because Stanton’s efforts at Pixar have in many ways improved the way we watch and consider animated films. To give him due credit, his track record indicates a remarkably sharp storyteller, and perhaps the director is so aware of his subject matter that his aim was to serve his first live-action spectacle with a generous helping of ham. But I’ll also note that as a guy who enjoys his fair share of pulpy movies (King Kong, The Shadow, The Rocketeer, and The Mummy, among many, many others), I think John Carter comes a bit short.

RATING: 2.5 OUT OF 5 STARS

For more of Gary’s reviews and musings, visit garysundt.wordpress.com.
For more information on Gary’s work as a filmmaker, visit summertimekillersmovie.com.

The Lorax

Ted (Zac Efron) is a teenage boy living in the city of Thneed-Ville, a walled off paradise where the only living thing appears to be the people. There is no living vegetation to speak of, and fresh air comes courtesy of the bottled air company run by the nefarious Mr. O’Hare (Rob Riggle). When the cute girl next door, Audrey (Taylor Swift), confesses that she wants nothing more than to see a living tree, Ted finds himself on a mission to make her dreams a reality in hopes of sealing himself a good lip-lockin’ sesh.

At the advice of his wacky grandma (Betty White, of course), Ted seeks out the hermit-like Once-ler (Ed Helms), who explains that the now-barren and polluted landscape was once covered in beautiful “Truffula trees.” The Once-ler determines that the fluffy and fuzzy tree tufts will make an ideal material for the making of “thneeds,” a frivolous yet versatile product with which the green (but not green thinking) entrepreneur plans to build his legacy. He chops down his first tree, and with that logging comes the Lorax (Danny DeVito), a mustache-having fuzzball who speaks for the trees and pressures the young businessman to promise he won’t chop down any more of the orange fellow’s constituency.

But alas, a thneed is a thing that everyone needs, and soon the trees are being chopped en masse, while the Lorax and the other woodland critters see their home ravaged by the production’s byproducts — namely smogulous smoke, gluppity glup and the dreaded shloppity shlop. We know from the start that this will end in the Once-ler being left to sit alone in his ivory tower amongst the destruction responsible for putting him there, and of course it will be up to Ted to bring the trees back in the face of O’Hare and the dimwitted populace who stand by while economies continue to devastate the planet.

As I was watching The Lorax, I couldn’t help but be reminded of WALL-E — my favorite of the Pixar films, and one that sends roughly the same message. Both are CGI spectacles that condemn mankind’s seemingly incessant need to consume what our planet has to offer, but if WALL-E somewhat hits the audience over the head with it’s message, The Lorax does so while explaining in detail exactly how it’s doing it. This adaptation becomes awfully preachy while trying to fill in the gaps inherent in stretching Seuss’ short-form poetry into an hour and a half, making it’s songs occasionally groan-worthy, and it’s last act nearly a chore for the audience.

Similarly, obvious lyrics about “giving trees a chance” reminded me that the families who flock to see this saccharine-colored property will be the same consumers of the brand-name tie-ins that will populate first homes and then landfills over the next several decades. It’s an unfortunate hypocrisy, and one that shines through the gummy smiles of the barbaloots (in their barbaloot suits) and humming fish that populate the film (serving as the Seussian equivalent of Despicable Me’s ever-popular Minions).

Regardless, The Lorax is a fun-enough family film that accomplishes its mission of positioning environmentally conscious entertainment for children. The songs are less good than they could have been, but the kids will be glued to the screen, and the eco-friendly message is one that can’t be ignored anymore today than it was upon it’s initial release four decades ago.

Rating: 3 out of 5 stars

For more of Gary’s reviews and musings, visit garysundt.wordpress.com.
For more information on Gary’s work as a filmmaker, visit summertimekillersmovie.com.

I actually really wanted Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance to be good. I’m a comic book fan, and I had hopes that directors Mark Neveldine and Brian Taylor would bring the same wit, vigor, and panache that they brought to Crank, Crank: High Voltage, and to a lesser extent, Gamer. It takes time and energy to effectively execute remarkable cinematography, and it’s an even bigger challenge to keep your story before your intense visuals. I will acknowledge that there are some neat moments in Spirit of Vengeance, and maybe somebody will be goodly enough to put those moments to rocking music and post it on YouTube one day.

But Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance is a bad film. The screenwriters seem more lost than ever as to effectively translating the complexities of the comic book to the silver screen, and have decided to jam dialogue that manages to be more dreadfully wooden than its 2007 predecessor (not an easy feet, I assure you). This is compounded by a yet-another zany performance from the always-zany Nicholas Cage, which manages to make a laughably unwatchable psycho out of a guy cursed because he tried to save his father’s life. The characters that surround our hero move scene to scene without focus or desire, and the only time the actors know how to respond to the action is when the script denotes that “Ghost Rider is a’ comin’”.

If the script and the acting weren’t atrocious enough, the cinematography is an equally astonishing disaster. The trailers may have promised some cinematographic rule-breaking, but it never indicated the visual confusion of Transformers-like proportions that audiences are to be subjected to in Spirit of Vengeance. Neveldine, Taylor, and director of photography Brandon Troust have brought the very same hyper-kinetic visual style that gave them street cred — without the ingenuity and control to make sure their wild camera resembles anything even remotely watchable. Sometimes it’s like a shaky extreme activities video, sometimes it’s like an iPod commercial — but rarely is it like a film should look.

Admittedly, I sliced my leg open on a random piece of scrap metal courtesy of Santa Monica, CA while en route to my screening of Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance. Yes, I was running late to the theater. Yes, I missed the respective logos for Columbia Pictures, Hyde Park, Magenation, and Marvel Knights (the new “hard core” arm of Marvel’s film production company). Yes, I managed to not see the start of the first nonsensical and confusing action sequence. But I’m pretty positive me being a few minutes late has little bearing on my sheer distaste for Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance.

Rating: 1.5 out of 5 stars

For more of Gary’s reviews and musings, visit garysundt.wordpress.com.
For more information on Gary’s work as a filmmaker, visit summertimekillersmovie.com.

The fancy logo for the new podcast from film critic Gary Sundt and AtTheBuzzerShow.com

Episode 1: The Phantom Critic – Who is the worst character in Star Wars: Anakin or Jar-Jar? Do the characters in Star Wars know they’re speaking English? Is that Terrence Malick playing Chancellor Valorum? All this and more will be covered in the very first episode of Rack Focus, the new podcast from film critic Gary Sundt and AtTheBuzzerShow.com.

In the very first episode of Rack Focus, host Gary Sundt is joined by At The Buzzer hosts Shaun El-Ters and Chris Etling and special guest Jason Hagerty to comment on Star Wars: Episode 1 – The Phantom Menace. This is a podcast that runs in real-time with the film, and is meant to be viewed along side the Blu-Ray release and the version current playing on 3D screens around the country. So download and enjoy!

Credits

Featuring:

• Gary Sundt (Host)
• Shaun El-Ters (ATB Host)
• Chris Etling (ATB Host)
• Jason Hagerty (ATB Contributor)

http://recordings.talkshoe.com/TC-117926/TS-591929.mp3

Hopefully coming soon to iTunes!!!