The Worst Films of 2009!

Before delving into my Top 10 Worst Films of 2009, I’d like to make clear that this list is not without its glaring omissions. I never subjected myself to All about Steve, Old Dogs or The Hottie and the Nottie. I avoided Bride Wars and Miss March like the plague. I also made sure to not buy a ticket to Planet 51.

I did see New Moon and Transformers 2 but they fell more into the “forgettably mediocre” category than the “unwatchable” one.

So, basically, this list really represents the most unbearable movie-watching experience I did end up enduring this year, the films that either caught me by complete, horrified surprise, or I went in gritting my teeth for.

Anyhoo, onto the list!

1) HALLOWEEN II If Rob Zombie’s remake of John Carpenter’s 1978 original was uninspired and hackneyed, his sequel is an utterly embarrassing catastrophe; a wildly miscalculated attempt at creating an artsy slasher film through hokey pop-psychology, tin-eared humour, migraine-inducing surrealism and chaotically-edited, emotionless brutality. Despite the best efforts of a game, if stiff, cast, the once-promising director drags this project through the sordid muck and grime every chance he gets, producing an excruciatingly ugly exercise in banal cruelty without momentum or a glimmer of intelligence. Halloween II proves that even the formidable Michael Myers is no match for a crazed Zombie.

2) SORORITY ROW I personally guarantee that viewing this mean-spirited slasher picture will leave you desiring a shower well before the drawn-out, tawdry conclusion. Director Stewart Hendler has created a truly hateful, sleazy slice of nasty misogyny with Sorority Row, a mind-numbing murder mystery featuring a band of repulsive, racist, venom-tongued, alcoholic super-sluts attempting to figure out the identity of a cloaked, tire-iron-wielding executioner. Making up his female cast like Hastings Street hookers and eagerly searching for new methods of degrading them, the pervy helmer ignores building intensity or terror in favour of killing their dignities on-screen in as gruesome a fashion as possible.

3) THE UNBORN Intended to be a Jewish variation of The Exorcist, the relentlessly dour and dull The Unborn, written and directed by David S. Goyer, feels like a potpourri of out-dated, recycled ideas. Creepy-crawly bugs? Check. Spooky, wide-eyed children? Check. Nightmarish nocturnal visions of sinister animals? Check. Twitching, sputtering victims of demonic possession? Check. A frequently underwear-clad young woman (possible Real Doll© Odette Yustman) with a mysterious past? You know it. The fact that none of these venerable-if-ill-fitting elements add up to a single memorable moment of genuine fright? Now, THAT’S scary!

4) GAMER Not content to stick to their absurd Crank franchise, creative duo Neveldine/Taylor instead turned their ADD-riddled attentions to this fractured and thin attempt at social commentary, which would be laughable if it weren’t so damn grating. Pulling from their now-tired bag of tricks – which includes random blasts of graphic sex and nudity, dripping gore, epilepsy-triggering action, and general perversity – the directorial dunderheads attempt to viciously criticize their general fan-base while alternately following the adventures of Gerard Butler’s character, a prisoner taking part in a real-life video-game. Light on excitement and fun, long on deafening obnoxiousness, Gamer’s plug should have been pulled during the script-phase.

5) UNDERWORLD: RISE OF THE LYCANS A stale prequel to 2003’s clunky vampires vs. werewolves smack-down extravaganza Underworld, Rise of the Lycans attempts to mine dramatic gold from the Jesus Christ-like sufferings of wolf-leader Lucian (a pay-check cashing Michael Sheen), but draws only snores and the listless eye-rolls. Seemingly shot on a single, small, under-dressed soundstage, the film is a tacky-looking, talky supernatural groaner that forsakes any attempts at creativity in favour of half-heartedly aping Spartacus, Gladiator and Braveheart. By the way: that sucking noise you hear isn’t coming from the movie’s vampires. Nope, it’s the sound of Screen Gems pictures draining every last possible cent from their insipid flat-lining franchise.

6) NINJA ASSASSIN Following the release of 2005’s sophisticated and thrilling V for Vendetta, director James McTeigue looked like a rising star to be reckoned with; a virtuoso talent with genuine action chops and a flair for epic dramatic storytelling. However, after enduring his sophomore effort Ninja Assassin, I think we may need to start re-evaluating our expectations. By attaching his once-respectable name to such an irritatingly humourless, inert martial arts pot-boiler, populated by stony one-dimensional characters engaging in drearily incomprehensible CG-addled fight scenes, McTeigue has committed what can only be described as film career seppuku.

7) STREET FIGHTER: THE LEGEND OF CHUN-LI It takes a pretty major debacle to make 1994’s Jean-Claude Van Damme-led Street Fighter: The Movie look good by comparison, but "The Legend of Chun-Li" does just that. Starring Smallville’s Kristin Kreuk as the titular Chinese(!) ass-kicker, the film pilfers most of its key scenes and crucial plot-points from Christopher Nolan’s Batman Begins, but strips them of technique and emotional resonance. Filled with unintentionally comic dialogue, robotic acting – minus Chris Klein’s side-splittingly atrocious performance as swaggering cop Charlie Nash – and wooden martial arts battles, this second Street Fighter is yet another sluggish video-game adaptation in desperate need of a creative power-up.

8) OBSESSED The biggest sin committed by this trashy hit is that it completely misunderstands the appeal of its inspiration Fatal Attraction. By removing all moral greyness and egotism from male lead Idris Elba, we’re left with a soppy victimized nonentity, devoid of complexity, guilt or inner-conflict, forced to sit impotently on the sidelines while his no-nonsense lioness wife (Beyonce Knowles) heroically saves him - through gloriously campy cat-fight fisticuffs – from sultry, 95-pound stalker Ali Larter. Director Steve Shill also eradicates all erotic charge from the lurid premise, making Obsessed feel as limp as its emasculated protagonist.

9) YEAR ONE Is there anything funnier than seeing Michael Cera and Jack Black stand listlessly around in animal-print loin clothes? Not in Year One, that’s for sure. Apparently written over a weekend by The Office scribes Gene Stupnitsky and Lee Eisenberg, along with director Harold Ramis, the flick feels like an inane artefact of the early 80s; an expensive, high-concept comedicus stupidicus boasting a hard-working, but visibly mortified, cast of improv all-stars (Hank Azaria, Oliver Platt and David Cross, to name a few) frantically attempting to draw the audience’s attention away from their silly costumes. Fortunately, with this pathetic, laugh-free clinker stumbling at the box-office, any chances of Year Two occurring are completely extinct...

10) X-MEN ORIGINS: WOLVERINE Yikes, even Wolvie’s enhanced healing powers may be helpless to restore his box-office vitality after the heavy blow dealt by Origins, a clumsy not-so-superhero blockbuster-in-name-only. Costing $150 million, but boasting bargain-basement CG effects, paper-thin supporting mutants and a script comprised of plot-holes so gaping that the X-Jet could soar through them, the Clawed One’s first solo adventure was so hopelessly bungled that it’ll take more than an amnesia bullet to wipe its crappiness from movie-goers’ minds.

Dishonorable Mentions: NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM: BATTLE OF THE SMITHSONIAN, SURVEILLANCE, NEW IN TOWN, THE FINAL DESTINATION, OBSERVE AND REPORT, THE LOVELY BONES, COUPLE RETREAT.

The Best Films of 2009!

It seems somewhat crazy in retrospect, but, sitting at the tail end of last year – a period which produced some of the most noteworthy films of the decade - the approaching movie year of 2009 was awaited by many with a combination of trepidation and ambivalence. We were warned for months prior that, due to the lingering after effects of the WGA strike, there would be bombarded with a considerable amount of shoddily-written tent-poles and hastily-assembled projects green-lit solely to fulfill the economic needs of the business.
Indeed, there was definite cause for concern.

However, though there were certainly a few clumsy high-profile black marks (such as X-Men Origins: Wolverine, Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen and Year One), 2009 proved, intriguingly, to be the anti-hype year, with the majority of the best film-going experiences thriving on the buzz of discovery, as opposed to pre-sold satisfaction. While massively-marketed blockbusters (like Terminator: Salvation and Angels and Demons) and prestige awards-bait (Nine, Invictus, The Lovely Bones and The Informant!, to name a few) disappointed, startling word-of-mouth hits such as District 9, Inglourious Basterds, Precious, Paranormal Activity and Star Trek (A project which, prior to release, seemed destined to underperform) thrilled and moved ticket-buyers the world over.

Looking over my list, I’m inspired by the staggering originality and craftsmanship of the films on it, and I treasure the unforgettable trips each and every one took me on. These ten – and the honorable mentions, of course – exemplify the intense excitement and stunning artistry of a wonderfully rich year of movie-watching; an ideal close to an often turbulent cinematic decade.

1) INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS If Death Proof occasionally felt like Quentin Tarantino spinning his wheels, this blood-spattered ode to WWII and the liberating power of cinema is like a baseball bat to the head of mainstream filmmaking; a staggeringly grand-scale-yet-intimate effort that you yearn to dismantle just so you can decipher why its disparate parts fit together so flawlessly. From gripping intro - wherein sadistic Nazi Hans Landa (the chilling Christoph Waltz) interrogates a frightened farmer - to nightmarish conclusion, Basterds hums captivatingly along like a brutal, witty, well-oiled machine. Movies this breathtaking, innovation and unique are a dearly treasured rarity, and I’m indescribably thankful to know that – sixteen years in – Tarantino still has enough fight left in him to continue to shock and awe anyone who buys a ticket.

2) THE HURT LOCKER Appearing like an oasis in a sea of bloated political polemics, The Hurt Locker succeeds triumphantly by eschewing the hot-button issues almost entirely. Rather, in drawing us into the white-knuckle day-to-day life of Ssgt. William James (Jeremy Renner in a star-making performance), an adrenaline junkie tasked with defusing bombs in war-torn Iraq, director Kathryn Bigelow adroitly provides a nail-bitingly suspenseful you-are-there experience which, true to the movie’s “War is a Drug” tagline, leaves you feeling shaken and buzzed, yet fixing for more.

3) A SERIOUS MAN Of the numerous original characters that emerged in 2009, none were quite as tragically unforgettable as Larry Gopnik (Michael Stuhlbarg), the beat-down Jewish physics professor battling to escape a suffocating hell of personal, professional and existential crises. Wearing a frazzled expression of woeful hope and, alternately, impotent dread, the bespectacled Larry’s blackly comic descent into damnation provides the bitter center to the Coen Brothers’ challenging and often deeply unsettling 60s-set absurdist odyssey. Utterly uncompromising, A Serious Man is a tantalizing cinematic enigma that attaches itself to your brain and refuses to let go. No matter how nicely you ask it.

4) UP Following in the rusty tread-marks of Wall-E, Pixar’s tenth feature-length slice of animated delight once again proved the studio to be the utmost crafters of emotionally-devastating first acts in the business, with a heart-rending, dialogue-free recap of the romantic life of Carl and Ellie Fredrickson leaving many – myself included – moist-eyed and sniffling. Luckily, Pete Docter’s Up manages to hold its course for the entire duration, shifting from thrilling adventures, to sincerity and broad comedy as buoyantly as Carl’s magnificently soaring home.

5) ADVENTURELAND Criminally under-seen during its release, writer/director Greg Mottola’s lovable amusement park coming-of-age tale deserves recognition alongside the life-affirming works of inspiration Cameron Crowe. A touching tribute to the lazy summer days and nights of low-wage employment, Adventureland, with its marvellous cast - including Jesse Eisenberg, Kristen Stewart and Ryan Reynolds - and impeccable soundtrack, lulls you into a blissful state of nostalgic joy, where even the raunchiest laughs speak to a recognizable truth. This is a movie you want to hug and treasure; a tender reminder of time gone by and of those balmy, enchanted evenings when the mysteries of the cosmos could almost be unlocked by a bright smile or an adoring gaze.

6) HARRY POTTER & THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE Silly me, I was becoming convinced that Harry Potter was beginning to run out of magic dust, following the rather lacklustre Order of the Phoenix. So it now feels pretty terrific to be eating crow, as this summer’s Half-Blood Prince proved to be the very finest of the cinematic literary adaptations. Directed with a true storyteller’s zeal by David Yates, and featuring stunning cinematography and a crackerjack performance by Jim Broadbent, the world of Hogwarts has never been as exciting, perilous or sublimely gorgeous as it is here.

7) FANTASTIC MR. FOX After a string of lukewarm disappointments, it was a dazzling, hysterical treat to witness hipster auteur Wes Anderson rediscover the beauty of his own idiosyncratic cinematic language through stop-motion technology and the sneaky, miraculous spirit of Roald Dahl. In detailing how George Clooney’s wily animal thief extraordinaire leads a trio of callous farmers on a wild goose chase, the gifted director delivers a sumptuously detailed visual banquet of a fable, replete with sharp ironic zingers, warmth and – evidenced best during a poignant encounter with a majestic lone wolf – unadulterated, entrancing wonder.

8) UP IN THE AIR Jason Reitman’s revelatory third effort – a standout in a weak year for studio-produced prestige projects - is a refreshingly adult meditation on the complexities of human connection and corporate culture. Riding confidently on the broad shoulders of George Clooney’s Ryan Bingham, a travelling professional free of personal ties, who takes on a naive protégé (Anna Kendrick) and begins a playful relationship with a similarly-spirited mystery woman (Vera Farmiga), Up in the Air expertly walks a fine line between cynism and optimism, offering plenty of truthfulness and good-natured humour. It further proves that wunderkind Reitman may just be his generation’s answer to Billy Wilder.

9) STAR TREK Jubilantly breaking free from forty years of suffocating continuity, J.J. Abrams whizz-bang reboot of Gene Roddenberry’s iconic science-fiction universe is a truly astonishing sight to behold. Soaring higher than it has in eons, this Enterprise – now staffed by a brilliantly cast new crew of space voyagers, led by the ultra-charismatic Chris Pine – takes audiences on an exhilarating and massively entertaining flight into the heart of popcorn blockbuster nirvana. Now, with a rejuvenated life-force and infinite opportunities ahead, Star Trek’s future has never been brighter.

10) DRAG ME TO HELL Francois Truffaut’s oft-quoted statement on the filmic medium was that “cinema should express either the joy of making cinema or the anguish of making cinema”. Well sir, Sam Raimi’s return to the spook-a-blast genre of his youth falls, goofy and grinning ear-to-ear, into the former; a slime-soaked tribute to the gloriously bonkers world of gypsy curses, moonlit séances and cackling possessed farm-stock. Aided by on-screen co-conspirator Alison Lohman - a good sport if ever there was one – the director unleashes one of the decade’s greatest fright-fest extravaganzas, a goofball exploration of the macabre that delivers jack-in-the-box scares with irresistibly impish glee.

Honorable Mentions: BROTHERS, (500) DAYS OF SUMMER, MOON, THE BAD LIEUTENANT: PORT OF CALL NEW ORLEANS, PRECIOUS, WATCHMEN, SUMMER HOURS (L'heure d'été), AN EDUCATION, THE GIRLFRIEND EXPERIENCE, PUBLIC ENEMIES.

Film Review - YOUTH IN REVOLT

Michael Cera was born to play a character named Nick Twisp. With his unabashedly earnest demeanour, dark, frightened rabbit eyes and graceless, lanky frame - which frequently seems to be trying to burrow within itself – the star has shown a masterful knack for portraying sheltered, neurotic adolescents longing to break out of their awkward shells, but lacking the resolve to overcome their own self-imposed strict moral and emotional boundaries. It’s a winning schtick that has served him very, very well, in comedies ranging from terrific (Superbad, Juno, TV’s Arrested Development) to unbearable (Year One, Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist), and more or less carries Youth in Revolt, a reasonably entertaining adaptation of C.D. Payne’s absurdist novel.

When we first meet Youth’s put-upon protagonist, he’s a sensitive, V-card carrying soul, enamoured with Frank Sinatra music and art-house cinema, living in an insufferable household presided over by his strumpet mother Estelle (Jean Smart) and her pathological liar boyfriend Jerry (Zach Galifianakis). Invisible to his female classmates, forlorn Nick finds his life fortuitously turned upside-down when, during an abrupt family lake-side vacation, he meets the beautiful Sheeni Saunders (Portia Doubleday – walking the thin line between innocent and erotic as tantalizingly as if starring in a Lolita remake), a fellow frustrated teen desperate for companionship. However, when the Twisp clan decides to return home, placing the two not-quite-lovers’ union on excruciating hold, the dejected Nick devises a labyrinthine scheme to reunite with the object of his unbridled infatuation.

Inspired by the flamboyant bad boys of new wave cinema, our wishy-washy hero creates a moustachioed nogoodnik alter ego dubbed Francois Dillinger (who alternately looks to have escaped from the Beastie Boys’ “Sabotage” video), a foul-mouthed anarchist bent on destruction and manipulation in the name of sexual conquest. After one of the doppelganger’s chaotic acts results in arson, Nick, a wanted man, retreats back to his vacation destination, underachieving father George (the oh-so invaluable Steve Buscemi) and 25-year-old trophy girlfriend Lacey (Ari Graynor) in tow, with the intent of continuing his romance with Sheeni – a plan which promptly crumbles when he discovers that she has been sent away to boarding school. So, with Francois once more off-the-leash and running wild, Nick sets out on a single-minded quest to win Sheeni’s hand anew, regardless of laws and consequences.

This feverishly hormonal split-personality odyssey gives Youth in Revolt its novel spark. Although Cera can still effortlessly draw laughs by gawkily muttering verbose non sequitors or attempting to save face when any chance for preserving dignity is long past, his bold portrayal of Francois reveals previously unwitnessed dimensions to the actor. Hiding behind an ever-present cigarette, blue contacts, and tight-fighting wardrobe, and speaking in an octave or two lower than his usual gentle pitch, Cera projects a convincingly monstrous id; a hilariously comedic study in unflappable self-assurance in the face of conscience, logic and reason. He’s a fun creation – one the film would have been better-served utilizing more of – and, when contrasted against wimpy Nick Twisp, there’s genuinely sharp chemistry. It’s one of the better examples of an actor playing duelling roles in recent memory.

It’s too bad that the movie, directed by Miguel Arteta, isn’t working on the same elevated level. Despite being only 90 minutes long, Youth in Revolt’s pace has an unfortunate tendency to flag during the increasingly scattered, overly wacky latter sections. This problem is an inherent flaw in the script by Gustin Nash, which, in attempting to distil Payne’s 500+ page book, often short-changes characters, such as Jade Fusco’s Bernice Lynch, Buscemi’s Twisp Senior and Graynor’s impulsive Lacey, who feel set up for far more than they ultimately pay off. Most grating, though, are the prominent animated segments that, besides not being remotely amusing, feel precious and obnoxious; a thin attempt at drawing in the hipster crowd.

Luckily, even with the obvious under-writing and condensing, the film’s star-packed cast often matches Cera’s strong work, and help to ease out the narrative bumps and diversions. Adhir Kalyan, playing Nick’s new high school friend, almost steals the show entirely during a road-trip section – easily the flick’s strongest detour - where the duo crashes Sheeni’s French-Only boarding school. Equally effective, in smaller roles, are Ray Liotta as a cop with lusty eyes for Mrs. Twisp and Fred Willard, who earns the film’s single biggest laugh, as a nutty, uber-liberal neighbour.

Youth in Revolt is a fairly typical January release; an amiable and breezy watch, with some enjoyable turns, which will probably play better on a lazy night in front of the idiot box than in the multiplex. Although the movie is loaded with the expected sexual innuendos and vulgar language, the tone feels too safe and restrained, reluctant to truly explore the darker avenues that its hero recklessly wanders down. Frankly, I wish Arteta had spent less time trying to emulate genial ol’ Nick and more time embracing his own inner-Francois. 

3 out of 5

*Originally printed in SFU's The Peak: Jan 18th, 2010.

Epi-Cast: Episode 21 - "(Listen to the) Blue Cat People"

Bah, they say 3-D technology is the future of entertainment. We say bull-pucky! Can 3-D offer you up to 90 minutes of lobe-pleasing film discussion with just a hint of madness? The type of discourse that opens up a metaphorical tin of new movies, peeks inside and then rambles on about the contents until the cows come home? I think not. Face it bunky, the Epi-Cast IS entertainment, and nothing will ever be able to change that.

...Other than a strategically placed bomb.

...Or a crashed hard-drive...

Epi-Cast: Episode 21 - "(Listen to the) Blue Cat People"

Cam and Tom ring in 2010 - the year we make contact - in fitting style, putting on dorky glasses and determining whether James Cameron's Avatar is the greatest film to ever grace the screen (Hint: not even close!). They also momentarily turn away from the flash and bang to contemplate just how good Jason Reitman's latest, Up in the Air, is (Hint: Very!). As well, Cam tosses his thoughts on Sherlock Holmes, Nine and The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus into the black void of the internet while Tom battles to maintain his stoic composure while kicking around Terminator: Salvation and Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Plus, as a very special treat, the dunce-tastic duo name their five favourite films of the recently passed decade (Hint: Unpredictability abounds!). So strap on your hover-board, pop your mp3 player into the direct feed link behind your right ear and enjoy the hilarity!

To download, simply right-click and save on the green episode title above. Then you are free to indulge in one of the interweb's very finest wonders.

P.S. We are also available on iTunes! We kid you not! Simply do a store search for "Epi-Cast" and, OINGO-BOINGO!, you can subscribe to our feed and receive insta-dl's (Net speak for downloads). Oh, and we are the "Epi-Cast", not the "Epicast". Avoid those pretentious fools like a pack of flesh-consuming grackels.

Film Review - THE PRINCESS AND THE FROG

It has been more than 20 years since Walt Disney Pictures released The Little Mermaid to rapturous universal acclaim and wide-eyed, astonished wonder. That film, a sumptuous, lovingly-crafted visual banquet, arrived at a precarious time in the studio’s history — at the tail end of a creatively bloodless string of derivative carbon-copy features (Oliver and Company, The Fox and the Hound and The Great Mouse Detective) and flat-out disasters (The Black Cauldron) — and brilliantly re-imagined the seemingly antiquated tropes and archetypes of the Uncle Walt’s Golden Age heyday, making them exciting and fresh once again.

Dazzled viewers found themselves swept away on a bracing fantastical journey into the pixie-dust tinged childhood dreams of yesteryear, a treasured time when richly-illustrated enchanted creatures loomed large and powerful in their impressionable imaginations.

Unfortunately, despite providing Disney’s talented parade of animators and storytellers with a rejuvenated artistic spark — resulting in modern classics such as The Lion King and Beauty and the Beast — the rapidly approaching brave new world of the 21st Century proved mercilessly unkind to the studio. With 1996’s dawn of the full-length CG-feature, in Pixar’s Toy Story, the established Mouse House brand began to fall by the wayside, a victim of rising production costs and escalating audience apathy. By the time the cow-toon Home of the Range limped dismally into the marketplace and collapsed in an exhausted, clumsy heap, the grim writing was all over the wall; that classical hand-drawn Disney motion pictures were fast going the way of Bambi’s ill-fated, tragic mommy.

Now, five years later, the studio has regrouped and embraced their innate mastery for lush, 2D animation anew with The Princess and the Frog, an ambitiously-conceived attempt to replicate the Mermaid effect and lovingly crawl back into the warm, nurturing confines of the ticket-buying public’s nostalgic hearts. However, whereas the former film added a sophisticated edge and more epic sense of adventure to the time-worn formula, The Princess and the Frog too often feels inert and insubstantial; a blandly pleasant family-friendly bedtime story that’s far too similar to the many, many told before.

Set in Jazz Age-era New Orleans, opens on Tiana (voiced as a child by Elizabeth M. Dampier), an idealistic young African-American girl, whose mother works as a seamstress for the impossibly wealthy “Big Daddy” La Bouff (John Goodman), a big-hearted buffoon who dotes endlessly upon his spoiled blonde southern belle daughter — and our protagonist’s closest confidante — Charlotte (voiced as a child by Breanna Brooks and, as an adult by Jennifer Cody). Returning to her modest home after an evening spent enraptured in fairytales with her bubbly friend, Tianna wishes upon the North Star that one day her beloved father (Terrence Howard) and she will be able to open their own homey Cajun-style restaurant.

The film then flashes forward roughly 10 years, and Tianna (now voiced by Anika Noni Rose) is a beautiful and tirelessly hard-working waitress, slowly saving her tips with the hopes of achieving her now-deceased dad’s dream, and too busy for romantic adventures – despite the recent arrival of the dreamy, but irresponsible, Prince Naveen (Bruno Campos). Nevertheless, after the sinister “Shadowman” Dr. Facilier (voiced by Keith David, and resembling the menacing lovechild of John Waters and Little Richard) transforms the goofy Prince into a frog in a bid for power and wealth, Naveen finds himself brought into contact with the impatient young princess-to-be during an moonlit gala at the La Bouff residence, wherein she is inadvertently also converted into a croaking, amphibious state. On the run from Facilier, and in search of a cure, the two hopping heroes escape into the swamps, encountering new friends and foe alike, and slowly growing to realize that their hostility towards one other may be masking something far, far deeper and tenderer.

As a template for an animated fable, there’s nothing wrong with the set-up for The Princess and the Frog. Tianna comfortably follows in the well-worn glass slippers of many of Disney’s more recent headstrong, independent-minded heroines; doe-eyed and graceful, but containing enough of a sarcastic edge to make her an engaging and relatable presence. She makes a good sparring partner for Naveen, who is forced to make the most significant personal changes over the course of the film.

If only writing/directing duo Ron Clements and John Musker — the masterminds behind The Little Mermaid, along with Aladdin, Hercules and Treasure Planet — had mined this winning relationship for more than biting quips, snark and a painfully musty romantic reveal. Even more frustrating is that the two bickering prospective lovers are quickly overwhelmed by a succession of goofy and broad supporting characters, including Louis the trumpet-playing Alligator (Michael-Leon Wooley), old voodoo priestess Mama Odie (Jenifer Lewis) and the Cajun firefly Ray (Jim Cummings), who are all cut from the same cloth as Timon and Pumbaa, Sebastian, Genie, et al., but poorly thought-out, flat and tiresome — like bland escapees from one of Disney’s lesser by-the-numbers efforts — and only serve to instigate dull action beats and witless comedy.

Heck, even the wonderfully creepy villain Facilier — who has a nice unsettling song number, a great vocal performance from David and a superbly wicked and intimidating design — is given little motivation or much to do beyond commit evil for evil’s sake. Compared to hiss-able baddies like Scar, Cruella Deville or Ursula, we never feel the true extent of his menace and his final comeuppance, while appropriately spine-chilling and iconic, feels too extravagant and harsh for an under-developed character we’ve spent so little time with.

And therein lies one of The Princess and the Frog’s biggest weaknesses: it never feels like the filmmakers were able to figure out how to make the film feel remotely involving or original. Certainly, Disney animated features follow a fairly strict story structure, but the best of the studio’s output found thrillingly novel ways of reinterpreting and expanding upon the recognized conventions. This flick hits all the expected beats (Minus one key death that earns a glimmer of emotion, but would be a true powerhouse moment in a more confident work), offers few surprises and is often sluggish and trite. Even the majority of the Jazz-infused Randy Newman-penned songs are instantly forgettable and, as they come fast and often, gradually drag down the movie’s energy level. Only the villain’s aforementioned solo and a fairly rousing, gorgeously-staged number in Mama Odie’s shack come close to quickening the viewer’s pulse.

Although it will doubtlessly entertain really young children, the whole project feels like a stale leftover from the latter days of Disney’s more luminous era, relying solely on the studio’s characteristically striking visual artistry to breathe life into its dusty lungs. At an earlier point in time, The Princess and the Frog would probably be able to skate affably by on its generic colorful sights and brand-value alone. But as a flagship vehicle for the intended relaunching of a historically-important, treasured cinematic art-form, it’s a major disappointment; a film content to halfheartedly hop for an audience yearning to soar.

2.5 out of 5

Epi-Cast: Episode 20 - "Uncaged Road Warriors"

The world may split and fracture into a splintering mass of shattered rock and twisted steel. The seas may run wild and violent, sweeping life as we know it into the bleak, all-emcompasing void of the deep. Our homes and towns may burn in an endless inferno of crackling flames, red-hot cinders and falling ash. But, no matter what, there will always be a new Epi-Cast just around the corner. Take what comfort from that you will.

Epi-Cast: Episode 20 - "Uncaged Road Warriors"

Tired of reviewing up-lifting films, Cam and Tom dye their hair black, put on matching eye-liner and wallow in the misery of the film adapation of Cormac McCarthy's The Road. After that, they reeeeaaally crawl into the muck, Fallout Boy blasting, with Nic Cage's Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans. As well, Cam pummels the living crap out of Ninja Assassin and half-heartedly snickers over The Twilight Saga: New Moon (TEAM JACOB! WHOOOOO!), before the two review a gaggle of trailers including the Clash of the Titans remake, Matthew Vaughn's Kick-Ass, the Nic Cage (Theme!) summer family epic The Sorcerer's Apprentice and the destined-for-Oscar-gold Crazy Heart. It's a rollicking good 90 minutes to listen to while you and all you hold dear dance helplessly into the waiting arms of grim, grim, apocalyptic death! Oh, and it's funny! (Tee-hee!)

P.S. We are also available on tha iTunes! No guff! Simply do a store search for "Epi-Cast" and, LANDO-LOBOT!, you can subscribe to our feed and receive insta-dl's (Net speak for downloads). Oh, and we are the "Epi-Cast", not the "Epicast". Avoid those pretentious clowns like teh aids.

About That DEADPOOL Spin-Off...

Remember when the prospect of a “Deadpool” spinoff movie felt like a fun idea?

That was before April’s super-zero non-event “X-Men Origins: Wolverine” belly-flopped into theatres, figuratively treating the character like Ned Beatty in “Deliverance” and violating him like a parking meter.

Recall, if you will, those sun-streaked, carefree days of yore, when rosy-cheeked, cheery-eyed fans frolicked gaily amongst the spinner racks, lovingly cradling armfuls of crisp, glossy tales featuring a certain jumpsuit-clad soldier-for-hire, blissfully oblivious that a grim, pitiless future would reward their buoyant spirits and dedication with only sewn-up mouths, impractical arm-blades and laser eyes?

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About That Next CHRONICLES OF NARNIA Movie...

My relationship with the “Narnia” franchise has been a rocky and tumultuous one, alternately filled with moments of bitter resentment, fanciful amusement, weary dismissal and heartfelt admiration. Honestly, I can’t think of another major property that has been more disconcerting to determine my definitive stance on than the literary and cinematic adventures set in C.S. Lewis’ creature-filled fantasy-land.

For the record, I’ve never made it the entire way through a single one of the seven celebrated young adult novels. There was a meager attempt made, around the age of 11, to read “Prince Caspian,” but it was promptly aborted in favor of the Hardy Boys and “Tom Sawyer” (to be fair, I’ve never been a fan of fantasy literature, no matter how brilliant. Although I did later undertake and enjoy Tolkien’s “The Hobbit,” “The Fellowship of the Ring” worked on me like a sleep-aid). Likewise, while the stuffy weekly British television program “Chronicles of Narnia” — which aired on YTV here in Canada — was, alongside “M*A*S*H,” at the top of my childhood list of “Most Boring Shows EVER!!!”...

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Film Review - THE BAD LIEUTENANT: PORT OF CALL NEW ORLEANS

Lieutenant Terence McDonagh (Nicolas Cage) shuffles along with a stooped gait, one lop-sided shoulder blade jutting grotesquely skywards. Wearily fighting back the urge to scream from every piercing sting emanating from his chronically injured back and bearing a facial expression that’s twisted into a clammy, rat-like mask, he hides his racked lanky frame under an ill-fitting grey suit which messily hangs open in the front so as to reveal the comically bulky revolver tucked into his belt.

Tasked with leading a team (which includes Val Kilmer, Shawn Hatosy, and Michael Shannon) in discovering the culprit behind a horrific drug-related gangland slaying, McDonagh more closely resembles a brain-deteriorated zombie from a Romero film than an upstanding member of his impoverished New Orleans community. Subsisting on an endless stream of pain medication and narcotics, all he desires is to get high with his prostitute girlfriend Frankie (Eva Mendes) and close the book on the messy homicide case. If only those pesky iguanas would just stop staring at him, he’d be able to concentrate.

And so it goes in The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans, director Werner Herzog’s off-the-wall spiritual remake of Abel Ferrara’s gritty 1992 cult hit (perhaps best remembered for the chill-inducing scene wherein Harvey Keitel sexually assaulted a quivering, teary-eyed pair of teenage girls with little more than cruel, coarse words and commanding menace) that dares to turn its protagonist’s reckless, tortured journey into a blackly funny cosmic joke. The celebrated German auteur isn’t remotely interested in crafting a by-the-numbers procedural, where good triumphs through determination and proper ethics. No, he’d rather follow McDonaugh into the muck, tenaciously observing, without judgment, the junkie lawman undergoing his dismal daily routine; crudely shaking down intoxicated club kids for drugs, betting away his life savings on college football games — much to the chagrin of his frustrated, unpaid bookie Ned (a nicely understated Brad Dourif) — and terrorizing suspects and their families for vital information.

As embodied, gnarled body and crazy soul, by Cage — in his best performance since 2002’s Adaptation — McDonagh is a truly original creation; a man whose demons have been driving him so long that he wouldn’t know what to do without them. In one of the film’s best scenes he attempts, while blitzed on heroin, to shakedown one of his girlfriend’s clients for cocaine. Using his perpetual hangdog expression to its full electric elasticity, Cage browbeats the man with sullen lids, eyes bleary, only to triumph when his opponent throws up his hands in exasperation and, head shaking, exits the scene. Don’t let the massive handgun fool you: McDonagh couldn’t be more impotent, not only authoritatively, when he irately confronts an abusive John (hilarious scene stealer Shea Whigham); but also sexually, especially during a pathetic liaison with a former partner (Fairuza Balk).

Occupying a New Orleans which is perpetually overcast with grey clouds — symbolic of both the morality of the protagonist as well as his consistently down-in-the-dregs mind-set — Herzog fills The Bad Lieutenant’s sad world with ramshackle architecture and dirty little touches suggestive of a crime-infested wasteland, where everyone’s scrambling hand-overfist to feed some sort of addiction. Only the quiet, unkempt country home of Terence’s recovering alcoholic father Pat (Tom Bower) offers any hope for rehabilitation, and even it has its own resident unstable force in the form of Pat’s perpetually drunk, sad-eyed lover Genevieve (Jennifer Coolidge, in a very strong noncomedic turn), who understands Terence’s plight even if she can’t quite form the words to communicate it.

Bad Lieutenant seems intent on testing audiences with its druggy, meandering pace, which operates on the same shapeless, disjointed level as the title character’s psyche. Herzog wants to immerse us in the movie’s corruption and suffocating dreariness, offering sporadic relief only through McDonagh’s jolts of substance-induced energy, which walk a precariously fine line between being amusingly depraved and offensively revolting. When Cage’s character cuts off an elderly woman’s oxygen and hurls malicious insults at her and her caretaker we laugh not at his behaviour, but at the filmmaker and his star’s go-forbroke fearlessness. Similarly, a climactic crack-fuelled, staccato monologue, delivered in the presence of a local crime lord (a suitably imposing Xzibit), where the actor messily spits out an unintelligible volley of seemingly disconnected thoughts becomes a viscerally spellbinding study in the joys of complete, unfiltered performance with a capital “P.”

Although the film has a propensity for merrily flying off the rails in spots (the price of channelling insanity, I suppose) and Cage’s inconsistent accent draws some raised eyebrows, Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans deserves attention purely for being, hands down, this year’s most skilfully chaotic nuts-o gem. It’s a sweat-stained cinematic trip that, with Herzog and Cage proudly on duty, feels dangerous and bracing. So, don’t be too surprised if you feel a little numbed and dopey yourself when the film reaches its brutal conclusion. Just watch out for stray iguanas.

4 out of 5

*Originally printed in SFU's The Peak: Nov. 30th, 2009.

About That INDEPENDENCE DAY Sequel Buzz...

Last weekend the world as we know it ended to thunderous applause as Roland Emmerich’s 2012 decimated the competition, proving once and for all that there are few sights movie-goers desire to witness more than the complete and utter annihilation of mankind’s proudest architectural achievements. (“Take that Sistine Chapel!” “Up yours Washington Monument!” “See you in Hell Eiffel Tower!!!”) And, for the most part, I shared their cackling, borderline-sadistic glee, as who doesn’t love a good fromage-scented Disaster Movie epic, replete with cartoonishly broad stereotypes, vividly rendered, huge-scale destruction, sudsy soap opera storytelling and ludicrous manufactured peril?

The answer appears to be precious few, considering that 2012 opened with a colossal bang, accumulating an impressive $65-million domestically and even more impressive $120 million in foreign ticket sales, practically paying off the flick’s considerable price-tag in a mere three days. Not too shabby, especially considering that it’s the latest work from a notoriously inconsistent director still valiantly attempting to fight his way back to the level of glory and power he held in his pre-Godzilla hey-day...

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Film Review - 2012

Does anyone else remember those petrifying Time-Life commercials that used to run in the late eighties? The ones attempting to hock expensive, oversize coffee-table books and videos about the Mayan civilization by using apocalyptic imagery of lava-spewing volcanoes and cracked land masses while an ominous booming narrator sternly warned, with alarming relish, that the world would come to an end on December 21st, 2012 *Insert deafening thunder-crack here*?

When I was about 9-years-old, myself and my younger sister Janine stumbled across one of those sanity-shaking ads one evening at my Grandparents while searching the dial for an episode of Dog House or Deke Wilson’s Mini-Mysteries. Needless to say, our initial transfixion, gazing wide-eyed at the unsettling cataclysmic visions and absorbing the bombastic chanting choir-from-Hell soundtrack, quickly turned to teary-eyed anxiety attacks, fretful nausea and more than a couple sleepless nights for the entire family.

Those life-long unpleasant memories lingered in the darkened air as I took my front-row seat for director Roland “Master of Disaster” Emmerich’s 2012 - a CG-slathered exploitative attempt to play upon the infomercial-fuelled Armageddon-apprehensions of saps like me – prepared to have my worst childhood fears realized for 158 long minutes (!). And indeed, the film’s early shots, scored to Harald Kloser and Thomas Wander’s low, seat-rumbling score and depicting our spherical, blue homeland lining up portentously with the surrounding planets, seemed to set the stage for a traumatic personal déjà vu experience to take place.

But as soon as Chiwetel Ejiofor’s determined scientist Adrian Helmsley strode confidently onto the screen, demanding answers for the global-warming epidemic from a sweaty colleague played by Jimi Mistry, I relaxed entirely. For, in wide-grinning, goofy spirit, 2012 is nothing if not a through and through spiritual cousin to Emmerich’s previous smash-the-Earth spectacles The Day After Tomorrow, Godzilla and Independence Day; a super-sized cheese-ball epic where the wobbly dialogue and performances are infinitely more tragic than any amount of catastrophic carnage on screen.

With doomsday acting as a clothesline (our planet’s core is being micro-waved by an influx of neutrinos – not those elf-life aliens from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cartoon, but rather energy particles originating from the sun – which causes rapid crust heating and plate destabilization) we’re left with an intentionally diverse, broadly-sketched group of survivors who must undergo soap opera-style character arcs while racing to safety or, more often than not, their own grim demises. Each of these deaths can usually be telegraphed, in typical Disaster Movie style, by separating those who are pure-of-heart and have precocious young children and/or prospects for future importance from those who are just along for the ride.

Besides Ejiofor’s Helmsley, the rag-tag group consists of failed sci-fi writer Jackson Curtis (John Cusack), father to Noah (Liam James) and Lilly (Morgan Lily) and former husband to Kate (Amanda Peet, working in three modes: hysterical, nagging and adoring) – who’s now living with yuppie plastic surgeon Gordon (Tom McCarthy). There’s also a wing-nut conspiracy theorist (real-life wing-nut conspiracy theorist Woody Harrelson) as well as Jackson’s creepy, greasy Russian boss (Zlatko Buric, sounding like Jabba the Hutt after a week-long bender) and his cosmetically enhanced trophy girlfriend (Beatrice Rosen). Lastly, the American government is represented by Danny Glover’s gracious and noble Prez, Oliver Platt’s slimy, wrong-at-almost-every-turn Chief of Staff and Thandie Newton’s first daughter.

Movies of this genre have never been known for their rich characterizations, but the better ones – Independence Day included – intentionally chose larger-than-life charismatic actors to fill in the blanks and inspire an effective, if completely hollow, emotional connection. 2012 is noticeably deficient of these strong A-type personalities, with only Cusack, Platt, McCarthy and Ejiofor – a masterful actor capable of delivering even the most awful verbal swill with complete, authoritative conviction – managing to create any real impression amidst the computer-driven effects surplus.

Obviously the effects are the true star of the film and they are certainly sensational – for the first half of the film. Cusack and co.’s limo escape from the fissure cracked streets of L.A., where houses crumple like gingerbread and cars slide into the yawning abyss, is among the year’s greatest technical achievements. There’s an ugly magnificence to Emmerich’s devastation and one white-knuckle moment, in which a plane takes off from a collapsing runway and soars through a disintegrating office building – you can even see little people clinging to tables – is jaw-droppingly astounding. Unfortunately, the pandemonium grows a tad stale midway through, when the action leaves the U.S.A. and the environments become murkier and more indistinct and a tacked on Poseidon Adventure finale takes over, that is, considering what’s preceded it, a bit of a yawner.

2012 by no means qualifies as a “good film”; it’s too long, stuffed stupid with hoary speeches about humanity and the meaning of existence, and often disturbingly cynical (especially in portraying the unceremonious, cruel deaths of two heroic characters). Yet, as a messy big-screen, big sound experience, it’s strangely engaging. Few filmmakers are working on as gleefully gargantuan a scale as the German Auteur of Annihilation, and he proves once again that no one grasps the earnest ludicrousness and Rah-Rah! camp of the Irwin Allen 1970’s Disaster blockbusters quite like he does. It may be the end of the world as we know it but, with Emmerich in charge of conducting the chaos, I feel just fine.

3 out of 5