Cars 3

I was hesitant going in to this viewing. After watching the first two in this series, I was ready to pump the brakes, if you will. Mostly, I pressed play to get the movie out of the way and off my to-be-watched list. And early returns—the first hour or so of the story—were not promising, offering only what seemed to be a litany of sports show cliches about the veteran player on the verge of being washed up. And then...something unexpected happened: a payoff came at the climax that was surprising and turned the story into something fresh and, dare I say it, downright noble. Part of the early hang-up comes from the movie’s focus, which is much more tightly fixed upon the milieu of stock car racing in this outing versus the previous installments. That’s not my territory, personally, so the start can be a bit boring here; it gets a little too deep into the weeds, as it were. Speaking of weeds, that is actually another of this film’s strengths: the visuals are beautifully rendered, right down to the blades of grass during Lightning’s backwoods training sequences. The world of the cars has never seemed more real than in the minute details that are shown here. And while the adversaries in this plot are not especially memorable, the characters on the protagonist side are exceptionally well played, including the memories of the late Paul Newman (who voiced Lightning's mentor Doc Hudson) and Chris Cooper filling a similar role as Smokey. It’s hardly perfect, but the ending feels so right that you can’t help but appreciate it. Not exactly an epic trip, but not a wrong turn, either.

Cars 2

Look, I get it: the Mater character is the most unique and identifiable persona from the first flick. But making him the focus of the sequel? Somebody in the Disney headquarters was really desperate to corner the yokel moviegoer market. As a result, we get this wildly uneven outing that drills home the grating nature of the Larry the Cable Guy-voiced character. Mater is a seriously one-note song, practically a drone of deep boondocks stereotyping. (An aside: not only do I personally find the character grating, I am eternally baffled by the character’s name. “Mater” as in Latin for “mother”? He’s clearly a male. Or “Tow Mater” as in a hillbilly pronunciation of “tomato,” ie. “tomater”? That barely rises to the level of “single-entendre.” Gah! The stupid, it burns!) Even if the viewer, in a spirit of generosity, obliges with a laugh or two at the rustbucket’s antics, that collection of slapstick and groaners is hardly an inexhaustible source of entertainment. The bit wears thin quickly, and thus it gets more difficult, as the story moves forward, to stay engaged with the film’s more complex plot (compared with its predecessor). Also not helping, the staggeringly predictable resolution of the story’s mystery (if it deserves such a label); nobody in the audience whose wardrobe didn’t come from Gymboree can fail to figure who is ultimately behind the scheme. On the other, more positive hand, the movie does do a solid job of parodying most spy movie cliches, including the very British agents and the generically continental henchman villain, complete with ostentatious monocle (on its windshield, no less). Another aspect for which the viewer can be grateful: the shift of venue from thinly-veiled NASCAR series to thinly-veiled Formula 1 circuit raises the class level of the racing scenes—a change that incidentally precipitates one of the movie’s real strengths: the CGI location scenery of Japan, France and the UK, including a gorgeous rendering of the French Riviera. The film looks like a couple-hundred million bucks, even if the driver’s seat, so to speak, is being occupied by a ten-cent character. I guess in the end you can achieve much success by relying upon the uncritical sensibilities of children (and their simpatico parents), but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to do better. This vehicle escapes a trip to the impound lot, but just barely. 

Cars

Pixar goes full redneck. One suspects this might have originally been titled “Cars Story” in keeping with its studio forebear, but that extra term in the name might have strained its target audience’s literacy level. For sure, I avoided this movie for a very long time, as I deduced from its upfront story elements—a thinly disguised NASCAR theme served up with a high degree of local yokel hi-jinx in a lot of the plot—that much about this work would not appeal to me from a baseline perspective. On top of that, viewing the film reveals another issue: a protagonist who is so relentlessly unappealing that it is hard to believe through most of the running time that the viewer will ever come about and actually root for him. Add to that some cookie cutter characters—including a few who would today probably fall under the baleful eyes of the identity crowd—and any number of predictable story elements, and it seems like this movie was just destined not to be my cup of tea, or motor oil as the case may be. No matter—the film found a gigantic audience anyway. And, I will admit, given all the above, it comes across as something of a miracle when, in the end, even the most disinterested viewer finds some redemption (and at least a bit of surprise) in the denouement. Add to that another welcome element—the movie gets the history of the impact of the interstate highways on small-town America 100% right—and there’s enough here for this film to earn a qualified recommendation. It’s no work of genius, to be sure, and in stretches it’s even a bit boring, but you don’t have to be ashamed of watching it, either. That’s about the the maximum praise this piece can get from this decidedly citified driver.

The French Dispatch

One of the worst half-movies I’ve ever seen. How bad is it? I watched, stopped watching about a third of the way through, later went back and tried to finish watching it, and had to stop watching it all over again, getting no further than halfway through. Hence, worst half-movie. The second half could rival Casablanca for all I will ever know, but I saw more than enough to make this call. The performances are dreadful all around, the script is an unfunny pastiche of unrelated and uninteresting vignettes, director Wes Anderson’s penchant for meticulous framing and visual design goes far overboard (he can’t even settle on an aspect ratio), and his usual wit—always in danger of falling too far into preciousness—is either well past the limits of tolerable or just outright absent. And all of the above comes from a viewer who typically counts himself as a fan. The over self-indulgence here is just too much, so much so that this can’t even count as a noble failure—it’s simply a disaster, and a waste of everyone’s time. It had better be back to simplicity and honest effort for this auteur, or else this misstep could signal a career that has reached its lovingly crafted denouement.

The Darjeeling Limited

A whole lotta smirkin’ going on. The absurd tone is set very early on, and it never really lets up throughout the proceedings (with the exception of one tragic sequence in the middle). That translates into a mostly enjoyable movie about three alleged brothers--part of the humor comes from the preposterous claim that disparate stars Brody, Wilson and Schwarzmann could possibly be related--trying to find themselves as a family again, against the backdrop of exotic India. Buy a ticket; you’ll be happy you went along on this ride. Posted

Midnight in Paris

A work of singular irony, in that the most retro--some might even say backwards, or stuck in the past--of all filmmakers, Woody Allen, has made a movie that ultimately celebrates forward motion and moving on to new things in life. So much for context. The film itself, in terms of story, characters, and presentation, is fine, maybe even better than fine, though lightweight enough that it has little impact beyond a cute and clever way to kill a couple of hours. There is the barest subtext, fitting for these times, about the awfulness of rich people, and why Owen Wilson's protagonist is better off making the choice he eventually makes--but there's no ringing declaration made here. This is, after all, just a movie--one good enough that you should give it a look, if not an award.

Wedding Crashers

Just sit back, throw up your hands, and let go. Take that attitude and you'll be all right. There's no aim for any "statement" here--they're just going for the cheap laughs. Which is OK--we can't all be Ibsen. So judged by its own standard, this film largely succeeds. There's a bit of unwelcome sappiness at the end, but there are more than enough laugh out loud moments sprinkled throughout to make up for that misstep.

The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou

It's weird. It's absurd. It's deadpan. It's frequently hilarious. Not everyone's cup of tea, to be sure, but those who get it will really enjoy an offbeat adventure. Special mention must go to the wonderfully mocking parodies of Cousteau-style nature films and books; the animation is a wry joy, and the artwork and look are spot on (and riotous). If you've liked other Wes Anderson movies, definitely take this plunge.

The Royal Tenenbaums

It's an odd one; no doubt about that. But it plays its low-key humor very well, and occasionally achieves moments of outright hilarity. Give it time to do its work and you'll be rewarded.

Meet The Parents

Not as good as the hype made it, but still pretty damn funny.

Shanghai Noon

Nothing earthshaking; just standard adventure-movie fun. Jackie Chan lightens up and plays this one for broader laughs, and Owen Wilson provides his typical dose of goofy charm.