Chef (2014)

As much as I love a good big-budget popcorn summer movie, I have the sense that a lot of smaller films are lost amid the explosion-heavy hype surrounding the tentpole franchises and blockbuster features.  Case in point – Chef flew very low under the radar, but those who find it are in for a treat.

Chef Carl Casper (Jon Favreau) faces a midlife crisis after a social media meltdown against a mean-spirited food critic (Oliver Platt).  On the advice of his ex-wife (Sofia Vergara), Casper seeks true happiness by opening a food truck with his son and his sous chef (John Leguizamo) and embarking on a road trip.

That is, essentially, opening shot to closing shot, a complete synopsis of the film, but it doesn’t seem like a spoiler, and not just because the trailers have given away as much.  Chef feels very much like a film that proceeds along a clear path from the beginning, without a need to try to surprise the audience or pull one over on it.  Instead, Favreau – who also wrote and directed – clearly wants to make a very straightforward film with a very simple message.

For me, knowing that Favreau is wearing every creative hat in the film, it seems like a very authorially guided project, Favreau’s own statement about himself.  What’s interesting to me is the way that Chef reads like a treatise on why Favreau isn’t directing Iron Man movies anymore; like Favreau, Casper attained fame quickly for his indie work before settling into a critically derided routine with “the man,” embodied here by an overbearing Dustin Hoffman who demands sameness from Casper’s menu.  Instead of staying with the lovely Scarlett Johansson (in Chef, a maître d’ seduced by Casper’s prowess in the kitchen), Casper/Favreau breaks off and does his own smaller thing, finding greater success and fulfillment than ever before.

Whether or not Chef is a manifesto on why Favreau has left big-budget Hollywood (for now), Chef is exceptionally entertaining, feel-good in the least derisive sense of the word.  I can honestly say that I had an embarrassingly wide smile on my face for much of the film, even between the punchlines.  That’s because Chef plays like a passion project, which makes the food truck plotline feel very metaphorical – one senses that Chef is Favreau’s food truck.  In fact, it doesn’t seem accidental that the man who sells Casper the truck is played by Robert Downey Jr., in one of the film’s funniest scenes; without the RDJ-sponsored success of Iron Man, we might not have a Chef.

This is all very beneath the surface, and I don’t think the moviegoing public at large are meant to focus on the metaphorical content the way I have.  But it does emphasize the degree to which Favreau’s heart is in the film, an emotional investment that carries over to the audience, who can’t help but fall in love with Casper, whether he’s playing sad sack or genuinely content.  While Favreau has that everyman charisma that one would need for this role, he surrounds himself with a fantastically talented supporting cast of scene stealers who all possess a deft comedic timing that sells lines like “You’re trending, bro.”

Chef is a classic story told very well, without the burden of overwhelming ambition or franchised expectations.  It’s both narratively and literally a back-to-basics piece for Favreau, a kind of (appropriately enough) palate cleanser for him and for the audience.  With an emphasis on simplicity and substance, Chef is a sweet dish wholly recommended for anyone seeking a bit of lighthearted fun at the box office this summer.

Chef is rated R for “language, including some suggestive references.”  There are a surprising number of F-bombs (at least, surprising based on the trailer), though it feels organic for the characters.  There are verbal fisticuffs and an occasional crude remark about romantic partnerships.

Machete Kills (2013)

If Grindhouse was an experiment in schlocky double-features, 2010’s Machete was the surprise hit lovechild, embraced as an unapologetic love letter to the B-movie genre even as it managed to make itself enjoyable beyond homage.  The sequel Machete Kills is in a weird place – it’s very much in the same tradition as its predecessor, though it suffers a bit from the law of diminishing returns by being a bit overfull of (for lack of a better term) stuff.

Danny Trejo returns as Machete Cortez, now working on the side of the United States to repel cartel incursions.  To avenge the death of his partner, Machete accepts an offer from President Rathcock (Charlie “Carlos Estevez” Sheen) to track down the mad revolutionary Mendez (Demián Bichir), who’s aimed a missile at Washington, D.C.  But Machete quickly becomes embroiled in a larger scheme involving bounty hunters and villainous weapons manufacturer Luther Voz (Mel Gibson).

If you weren’t a fan of Machete, the door’s over there, because Machete Kills is in many ways more of the same.  Trejo does his “Mexploitation” bit as well as he’s always done, growling and lumbering his way through fight scenes that ought to be beyond an actor approaching 70 (yes, he’s 69).  The master deadpan delivery that made “Machete don’t text” part of the vernacular in the original returns here, with more Machete-don’ts to add to the list.  Trejo may not have become an A-lister, but it’s safe to say he’s a real star.

The rest of the cast is rounded out with the requisite number of fun cameos – perhaps even more so, including a few big names all playing the same role through a neat gimmick that never gets old.  Sheen’s role is essentially the same joke over and over again (what if Charlie Sheen were president?), replete with a “winning” reference, but it’s a fun repetition.  Even more fun are Bichir’s Jekyll-and-Hyde by way of Speedy Gonzalez and Gibson’s scenery-devouring archvillain.  Essentially a comic version of the villain from Moonraker, Gibson turns Voz into an exceptionally entertaining figure, managing to sell excessively cheesy moments like his confession that he’s a big Star Wars fan.

I’ve said so many good things about the film, and there are more to say; Michelle Rodriguez returns as taco trucker Shé/Luz, and she gets an opposite number in Amber Heard’s beauty queen secret agent Miss San Antonio.  Plus Jessica Alba returns, plus we get closure on Osiris Amanpour (Tom Savini) from the last film, plus Sofia Vergara, plus... you get the picture.  Machete Kills is a movie bursting at the seams (an apt metaphor, considering the absurd amount of cleavage on display) with high-concept ideas and big-name guest spots that the movie feels a bit too full, to the detriment of some of the film’s more enjoyable elements.  Alba, who’s finally managing to overcome her early years as a talentless pretty face, is shuffled off-screen quickly – a dismissal, one suspects, made in order to insert more of Vergara’s scantily-clad prostitutes (a disappointing move, considering the first Machete film actually passed the Bechdel Test).

It’s not that anything in the movie doesn’t work – although William Sadler’s one-note vigilante sheriff comes close, retreading ground more successfully covered in Machete.  But there’s so much to enjoy in the film that much of it doesn’t get its proper due.  Bichir’s schizophrenic madman does about as much as it ought to, but I can’t be alone in hoping to have seen more of Gibson as Voz – especially since it’s more “campy baddie” than “career implosion” (can we all agree that Mel’s done his penance?).  In many aspects, Machete Kills leaves the audience wanting more, but not in a good way; it’s closer to dropping the mic than leaving on a high note.

Indeed, the note on which the film ends is a curious one.  After having already seen the trailer for Machete Kills Again... in Space! before Machete Kills (another grindhouse-y touch), the film proper’s last act builds to a climax that might come in the next sequel.  This kind of delay is usually a kiss of death (see the insulting way Prometheus pulled a fast one on its audience), but it almost doesn’t matter with Machete Kills, which is more about the fun you have along the way and the big ideas that don’t get fleshed out.  It might even be appropriate in the grindhouse vein if we never see Machete Kills Again... in Space! (and if box office receipts have anything to say, we probably won’t).

So while it’s no Machete, Machete Kills is fun enough to justify its own existence, even if we know Robert Rodriguez is capable of a little bit better.  Now can we please finally get Sin City 2?

Machete Kills is rated R “for strong bloody violence throughout, language and some sexual content.”  There’s as many bloody gunshots, dismemberments, and stabbings as in the last one, though much of it is done in deliberately cheap special effects that might take the sting out of it.  There are hundreds of F-bombs and scatological/anatomical derogations; aside from one woman in bottomless chaps, there’s no nudity, though plenty of women are seen in the skimpiest and gravity-defyingest attire.  And it’s implied one woman sleeps with Machete, though the visual gag is unlikely to offend (heads-up: don’t complain to the manager when you see it).