22 Jump Street (2014)

We were all caught off guard by 21 Jump Street, which led every cynical filmgoer to scoff at the idea of rebooting the silly premise of a late-80s TV show best known for giving us Johnny Depp.  But retrospectively, these being the same directors behind The Lego Movie, perhaps we shouldn’t have been surprised.  I don’t think 22 Jump Street is as good as its predecessor, in part because Phil Lord and Christopher Miller don’t quite – and can’t, in fact – surprise us the way they did last time, though it is enough fun and better than your average sequel.

In a bit of meta-commentary, Schmidt (Jonah Hill) and Jenko (Channing Tatum) are reassigned across the street to 22 Jump to “do the same exact thing” – track down a new designer drug – albeit in a college setting this time.  That is essentially the whole plot; Ice Cube returns with a slightly larger role as Captain Dickson, and Peter Stormare plays drug supplier Ghost with his reliable brand of comic menace.

First of all, I will say that 22 Jump Street is very funny.  It’s not as funny as the first one, but it is funny enough.  In fact, interestingly enough, had the first film not been so good, I think 22 Jump Street might have come off better; that is, it suffers only by comparison, which is paradoxically both unfair and (in this case) inevitable.

It’s a comparison that’s made all the more apparent by the film’s central conceit of “do the exact same thing” – and indeed, it is very similar to the first film despite the apparent self-consciousness at play.  This is a very funny gag at first, particularly in a scene in which Nick Offerman’s police chief stands in for studio executives, expressing puzzlement that the first film/case worked as well as it did before sending Hill & Tatum back to the grind.  I say “at first,” however, because this is a clever gimmick that runs out of steam about halfway through the film, after which the writers continue to introduce it with diminishing wit.  I see a lot of film critics falling over themselves to praise this move, but it certainly grows tiresome by the one-hour mark.

Fortunately, 22 Jump Street isn’t predicated solely on satirizing the sequel.  Instead, it wisely remembers that the big success coming out of 21 Jump was the surprise chemistry between Hill and Tatum, and the two continue to play off each other well.  Tatum in particular gives the break-out performance of the film, continuing the simpleton (self-)caricature from the first film but giving Jenko moments of clarity and self-awareness.  His are some of the funniest scenes in the film, particularly his well-timed delayed reaction to a key revelation, though Ice Cube is still the key scene stealer with his boisterous delivery and clear disdain for the protagonists.

There is, ultimately, not much else to say about 22 Jump Street.  It’s not better than the first one, which is, to be fair, a rather tough act to follow.  It is, however, better than most comedy sequels, which often merely replicate the success of the original.  But I don’t think the difference between 22 Jump and sequels like The Hangover: Part II is simply down to self-awareness.  22 Jump Street is actually quite funny in its own right, even divorced from its predecessor.  It only becomes something less by comparison, and while I’m still not sure if it’s fair to judge a movie “by comparison” I do know for a fact that I had enough fun with 22 Jump that I can recommend it, especially for fans of the original.

22 Jump Street is rated R for “language throughout, sexual content, drug material, brief nudity and some violence.”  F-bombs abound, as does talk about “hooking up” and the like.  The premise of the film revolves around a new mystery drug, which causes characters to “trip” in a very cartoony sequence.  There is gunplay, explosions, and some blood, but I don’t recall any nudity (nor does IMDb’s Parents Guide).

Come back on Thursday for a look at Disney’s latest, Maleficent!

The Heat (2013)

Though she’d been around for a while, Melissa McCarthy was introduced to most filmgoers in 2011’s Bridesmaids.  Ostensibly the breakout star of the piece, it’s no surprise that McCarthy reteamed with director Paul Feig for a film that shows off her comedic talents, excelling in the delivery even if the film itself isn’t terribly innovative.

In pursuit of a drug kingpin and a promotion, fastidious FBI Agent Sarah Ashburn (Sandra Bullock) heads to Boston, where she falls in with the abrasive local police officer Shannon Mullins (McCarthy).  What follows is your standard polar-opposites comedy, juxtaposing the straight-laced Ashburn with Mullins’s more freeform approach, with value added by the fact that Mullins comes from the wrong side of the tracks (including her delightfully shouty mother, played by Jane Curtin).

Anyone who’s seen the trailers already knows whether this is their kind of movie or not, because the trailers do a really solid job capturing the spirit and the tone of this movie – a few explosions and gunfights here and there, with the emphasis instead on rapid-fire banter between Bullock’s civility and McCarthy’s profanity.  The film doesn’t give us much new material to appreciate; for example, once we learn that the top drug lord has never been photographed, you just know it’s someone in the film biding time for that third act reveal.

But what the film lacks in innovation, it makes up in execution.  Though Bullock gets top billing, the film is undeniably McCarthy’s – she speaks the title of the film, she holds your attention rapt, and (potential spoiler warning?) Ashburn becomes more Mullins by the end of the film in an inversion of our expectation that Ashburn will compel Mullins to become more professional.  McCarthy is loud, brash, and unapologetic, perhaps even what might happen to her Bridesmaids character after a life with the air marshal.  Symptomatic of the #yolo zeitgeist, The Heat explores the value in cutting loose and living dangerously, either by leftover cheese sandwich or by grenade (both of which Mullins keeps in her refrigerator).

The real treat in The Heat is the chemistry between Bullock and McCarthy, who pull off the opposing forces of their characters without feeling like they’ve been thrown together by a random plot generator.  Bullock has refined this hard-nosed sweet-yet-stern persona and brings all that to bear in Sarah Ashburn while still imbuing her with just enough pathos (or is the cat subplot even bathetic?).  Better, her epiphany at the end of the film develops organically out of her relationship with McCarthy, whose gentle-giant approach endears while it entertains.  Scenes like the Spanx encounter in a club bathroom or the third-story interrogation work because of how well Bullock and McCarthy play off each other.

Enough said about how funny McCarthy is in The Heat.  It’s a vehicle driven entirely by her, and if you’re looking for a few laughs you may as well go along for the ride.

The Heat is rated R for “pervasive language, strong crude content and some violence.”  F-bombs and actually quite brutal dialogue pervade the film, as do a surprising number of bloody gunshots to the head (I can recall two) and stabbings.  Additionally, the more PC moviegoers may be uncomfortable with the number of jokes at the expense of an albino character.

2 Guns (2013)

It’s hard to say just which of the many guns – both literal and colloquial – are referenced in the title of 2 Guns, but there should be no doubt that Denzel Washington accounts for at least one of them (and if only one, then at least a double-barreled one).  Indeed, without Denzel, I can safely say that 2 Guns would lose a lot of its fun and thereby expose its own flaws.

Posing as small-time crooks with big league connections, DEA Agent Bobby “Beans” Trench (Denzel Washington) and NCIS Agent Michael Stigman (Mark Wahlberg) pull off a surprisingly solid bank robbery and boost $40 million more than they were expecting.  But the two quickly learn that not only have they double-crossed each other by working for rival federal agencies but that they’ve also been double-crossed themselves by their own superiors.  Worse yet, the drug lord they thought they were robbing (Edward James Olmos) and the money’s true owner (Bill Paxton) are both gunning for our heroes.

I’ll say something I almost never say for a movie that I ultimately liked:  2 Guns is a little more complicated than it needs to be.  I know, I know; I’m almost always the guy who wants films to be more complex (cf. Pacific Rim).  But during the film there were moments where the intricate plot meanderings left me behind for a breath, even though the end results were a bit predictable.  Spoiler free translation:  I knew that certain characters would do things, but I wasn’t quite clear on why.  (It’s mostly a question of sequence, of when exactly in the past a few third-act revelations of past misdeeds actually occurred.  Again, without spoiling anything, when did people decide to do certain things?)

But the barest skeleton of the plot – double agents double-crossed – is enough on which to hang an otherwise engaging film, and 2 Guns is at its best when it shows Trench and Stigman putting their plans into action, in scenes that are as fun as they are explosive.  Director Baltasar Kormákur wisely keeps a sense of humor about the proceedings, allowing the elevated absurdity to come to life amid a series of incredibly charismatic performances.

As the villains of the piece, Olmos and Paxton are scenery-noshers in the highest degree, doing “comic book baddie” (yes, adapted from a graphic novel!) without the negative connotations of the term.  Olmos’s is the stronger of the two, in part because I’m already biased (loved him since Stand and Deliver) and also because I would have preferred something a little less showy than Paxton’s tough Texan turned up to eleven.  Peeking in as the handlers, Paula Patton and James Marsden do well enough, though the script doesn’t ask much from them; Marsden does, however, step far enough out of his squeaky-clean stereotype (literalized in both Hairspray and Enchanted) to impress.

But the film really and truly succeeds, even conceals some of its shortcomings that are visible more in retrospect than in the moment, by virtue of the exceptionally disarming performances of Wahlberg and especially Washington.  Wahlberg is still playing a strong mostly-wise guy (a la The Other Guys, minus the comedic broad strokes), though his greatest strength is in keeping pace with Washington, who’s made a career out of stealing movies through sheer power of ethos.  Washington remains fresh, fun, and fascinating, bringing new life to another version of the quintessential Denzel Washington character (that quick-talking guaranteeing charmer straddling the line of the law).

Look, I tried to write a review of this film but really all I wanted to do was write a love letter to Denzel Washington.  So I’ll close by saying that Denzel is, here as always, far and away worth the price of admission, elevating what might have been a C-grade film into at least a high B solely by his presence – which, unlike most actors with so-called “presence,” actually counts for a whole lot.

2 Guns is rated R for “violence throughout, language and brief nudity.”  There’s a lot of bloody gunplay and a generous amount of profanity which includes a good helping of F-bombs.  Additionally, we briefly see a topless woman early in the film (between this and Flight, is that a new rider in Denzel’s contract?).

Don’t change that dial, loyal readers, because Wednesday is the Double-Oh-Seventh of the month... and you all know what that means by now!

The Other Guys (2010)

Let's have a few more laughs and one more cop film before Depp Week kicks off. Here's the movie that dethroned Inception from its perch at the top of the box office. And while I'm certainly not going to suggest The Other Guys is the stronger film, it's got a lot of laughs, and it's a solid choice for a trip to the theater if you've already seen Inception (sorry, Cats and Dogs 2).

Writer/director Adam McKay continues his series of collaborations with Will Ferrell (a series which began with Anchorman and continued into fellow funny flicks Talladega Nights and Step Brothers, the latter two introducing John C. Reilly to the mix) here, with Ferrell as desk cop Allen Gamble. After the spots for "top cop" are made vacant at the precinct (thanks to clever surprising cameos by Samuel L. Jackson and Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson), Gamble and his partner Terry Hoitz (Mark Wahlberg) find themselves in the running to fill the open celebrity shoes - much to the consternation of their stressed captain (Michael Keaton). Gamble and Hoitz find their big case when a scaffolding permit violation leads them to Gordon Gekko-esque David Ershon (Steve Coogan) and an investment scheme that's skimming money from... well, somebody.

It's been MUFMW [(Mostly) Unintentional Food Metaphor Weekend] here at The Cinema King, and so I'll keep it going by saying that The Other Guys is, like many of Adam McKay's other films, a root beer float: two things at once, both tasty and cohabiting without overpowering each other. We have the root beer of a comedy film here but the ice cream heart of a cop film. And if I can stretch the metaphor a little further, the comedy part (the root beer) runs out first; about halfway through, The Other Guys becomes more of a straightforward police movie (ice cream) without losing sight of the comedy roots that make the first half of the film a gutbuster. That's not to say that the second half is less funny; it's just more cop conscious. Perhaps the best example of this divide is Sam Jackson's presence in the early scenes of the film, providing some of the deepest laughs ("Did someone call 9-1-Holy s**t?") but exiting quickly, leaving the film to be something a little more earnestly police-centric.

Fortunately, all the performers are well-equipped to handle the switch. Though Ferrell is obviously more comfortable with the funny stuff, moments when Gamble grows serious are reminiscent of his stellar turn in Stranger Than Fiction, proving that he's a little better than Michael Cera at switching off the "goofy" setting. Wahlberg, conversely, is more at home as the cop, but he wisely draws on his role as Sgt. Dignam in Scorsese's The Departed (which, if you haven't seen it, is pretty much the greatest movie ever made) to create a compelling police character with a prominent funny bone. Though Coogan is finely restrained (a far cry from Tropic Thunder and Tristram Shandy), the master of comedic timing in the film is Michael Keaton, who's already earned high marks from me for his role as Ken in Toy Story 3; Keaton is fantastic as the exasperated Captain Gene, juggling punchlines about a bisexual DJ son at NYU and a side job as a manager at Bed Bath & Beyond without ever feeling forced. I'm not saying this is an entirely compelling character, but Keaton's delivery certainly prevents the character from feeling like a mere receptacle for outrageous subplot after outlandish character trait. (One final note - is it a rule that Eva Mendes can only appear in cop movies? She's plenty funny as Gamble's "plain" wife, but it's a little jarring that I've only tagged her name in posts about cop movies.)

I want to go back briefly and reexamine the root beer float claim. No, I'm not going to strain the metaphor any more (though you'll probably see the phrase come up several times more on this blog), but I do want to talk a little bit about how movies can be two things at once - and do that well; failure to do so is, after all, one of the most frequently recurring complaints on this blog. I claimed that Anchorman, Talladega Nights, and Step Brothers all do this; Anchorman begins as a slapstick frat pack flick but becomes a commentary on the battle of the sexes, Talladega Nights changes gears between egotistical satire and satire on the cult of celebrity, and Step Brothers lampoons conventional sibling rivalries before metamorphosing (or, as the phrase goes, taking the shape of a unicorn) into a thoughtful meditation on growing up. For some, this can be jarring, but I think McKay's screenplays do a decent job of handling the left-hand turns that I've come to expect - and appreciate - from his work. Kudos, then, Mr. McKay, for doing what I've often said might be impossible. Now if you can get Megan Fox to actually act, then we're in business.

Until then, just keep making funny movies; I'll be in the front row until my sides split.
The Other Guys is rated PG-13 "for crude and sexual content, language, violence and some drug material." I thought it was all pretty tame; there are a few lines between Ferrell and Mendes that push the envelope, and a few sexual jokes crop up, but the most omnipresent objectionable content is the coat of cocaine that envelops Ferrell's red Prius.

Training Day (2001)

Before we begin Depp Week 2010 here at The Cinema King, we're going to flashback to 2001 for a look at the performance that netted Denzel Washington a much-deserved Academy Award: dishonest cop Alonzo Harris in Training Day.

The film is pretty much a Denzel Washington performance with a plot and a few other actors around it, but there's a formula to a Cinema King review, so let's remain consistent: It's Jake Hoyt's (Ethan Hawke) first day on the job as a narcotics officer, and he's assigned to veteran Alonzo Harris (Washington), who's got a mean streak and a penchant for dispensing brutal "street justice." Over the course of 24 hours, Jake has to decide what side of the law Alonzo is on - and what side he himself wants to be on.

I really liked this movie - in fact, I fully expected to - so I'm not going to kid around about it. I've never met a Denzel Washington movie I didn't like, and Training Day is no exception. To keep the food metaphors going, it's a little like a steak - I'd been interested for a long time but was waiting for just the right moment; it didn't disappoint but rather is now something I'll be ready to revisit later (just not every day). It's just delicious. If I have a complaint about this movie, it's that there are scenes where Denzel isn't on camera, and when it's a performance this fine we feel cheated when he's not the permanent center of attention. (Of interesting note: an early choice for the role was Samuel L. Jackson; not sure how that would have compared to what we have here, but it makes me long for a prequel crossover between this and Lakeview Terrace.)

I've said before that the hallmark of any Denzel Washington performance is the way he conveys the fun that he's having into the audience. Maybe it's his infectious grin, or maybe it's his discreet naturalism - whatever it is, it's working. Alonzo Harris is fascinating in a way that a lot of crooked cop characters aren't; where most are fairly one-dimensional, Alonzo is unique in that he's deceptively sympathetic. Like Milton's Satan in Paradise Lost, Alonzo is compelling to the extent that the audience might actually begin sympathizing with him - coming from Alonzo, taking drugs and setting up a dealer for a fall all sound like good ideas until we remember that this is the bad guy talking. It's not difficult to see, then, why Jake begins to be seduced by Alonzo's ideas; Hawke's performance doesn't hurt, either, since here he's as good as he was in Lumet's Before the Devil Knows You're Dead.

It's part of the trivia surrounding Training Day that its screenplay was written by one man and one man only, with no team of rewriters - David Ayer, who does a taut job introducing plot aspects and tying together loose ends which seem at first to be disconnected. The dialogue is sterling, too, realistic while still presenting itself as quotable: Denzel's closing monologue is already a staple for Denzel impressionists, and you'll be riffing a few of your favorite lines in the days to come, I'll bet. Fuqua's direction is on top, too, particularly in a grueling scene in which Jake finds himself at gunpoint in a room full of angry gang members.

But the film's greatest strength is turning Denzel loose and letting him work his magic. That alone - the opportunity to see one of the greatest living actors work his magic in a role that isn't exactly the type he's known for. Training Day is a far cry from John Q (the film that introduced me to Denzel), but it's as compelling a performance as any other one he's given... and maybe it's even his best (I'm still enamored with Malcolm X as the topper).
Training Day is rated R "for brutal violence, pervasive language, drug content and brief nudity." Definitely one of the more in-your-face violent movies, without shyness when it comes to gore or intensity; of course there are F-bombs galore and some heavy drug use in a few scenes, as well as an attempted rape and a fleeting scene of out-of-focus nudity.

Public Enemies (2009)

Take two of my favorite actors - Johnny Depp and Christian Bale - have them adapt a stellar piece of history, and throw in Michael Mann, gangsters, and machine guns for good measure. Sounds like a recipe for success. Certainly expectations are high on this one. After all, the true story of John Dillinger is the stuff of legends - the Crown Point prison break, Baby Face Nelson, the lady in red (actually orange).

It took me all of a week to devour the 550+ pages of Public Enemies: America's Greatest Crime Wave and the Birth of the FBI, 1933-34, a top-notch work of nonfiction by Bryan Burroughs. The book focuses on a curious time in American history, when Bonnie & Clyde, the Barkers, John Dillinger, Baby Face Nelson, and Alvin Karpis were headlining the criminal culture - all at the same time. (Think about that: all these "yeggs" running around in the same two years.) At that moment in history, J. Edgar Hoover proposed converting the Bureau of Investigation into a more powerful organization, which would come to be known as the FBI.

The movie limits its scope somewhat, focusing primarily on the escapades of Dillinger (Johnny Depp) and the FBI's pursuit, led by Melvin Purvis (Christian Bale) and bureaucratic brass Hoover (Billy "Dr. Manhattan" Crudup). Following Dillinger from an early prison break through his romance with Billie Frechette (Marion Cotillard) and up to the fateful night at the Biograph Theater. Mann's film is a curious mix of docudrama, gangster/G-man combat, and ruminations on mythologized figures - never quite sure what it wants to be.

The Burroughs book was exactly the same, its principal ambition to set the record straight and postmodernly demythologize the criminal figures dominating our cultural imagination. Yet Burroughs has nearly 600 pages to meander through the story. Mann's got two hours, which he uses to hit the high notes of the Dillinger-Purvis battle though the movie suffers from some heavy Hollywood romanticization. I don't want to be one of those "The book was much better than the movie" people (thank you, Jim Gaffigan, for identifying those irksome folks), and I'd hate to be the kind of guy who nitpicks and condemns the movie for failing to depict verbatim the source material on the screen. Remember, I'm the guy who was okay with the new Watchmen ending (Moore's original ending being something of a grail among literature). But whether you bring it into the theater with you or come out looking for it, make sure you get your mitts on a copy of the source material.

The good news is that Depp and Bale are sterling as ever, though Bale turns it down a notch and wisely allows the picture to be Depp/Dillinger's. Depp is as good as he's ever been, albeit somewhat restrained, with the perfect balance of charisma and anxiety. Crudup simmers as Hoover, suggesting with furrowed brow and impatient staccato delivery the depth of his desire (explored at length in the book) to be a powerful law agency. And Cotillard is drop dead gorgeous (something the real-life Frechette couldn't exactly claim), though a little empty in key points with her native accent slipping through at distracting moments; we can see clearly, though, what Dillinger sees in her - the chemistry between the two is touching, charming, and completely believable.

The film tries to tell all of these stories in a way that only an epic could. This is a very good movie, but like Brokeback Mountain it could have been great. Mann's direction is fine, especially in shoot-outs and heists, but the screenplay (as aforementioned) is a little confused (and, I speculate, could be confusing for novices of G-man lore). There's just something a little bit off besides the sour historical notes. It just doesn't break a whole lot of new ground; it's like The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford mixed with The FBI Story. The documentary feel of the film does exactly what it sets out to do, albeit with a little unnecessary Hollywood glitter sprinkled on. With another half hour to tell the stories more fully, Public Enemies could have been great.

As it stands, it's very good. (Keep reading for a fuller analysis, for those interested, of diversions from fact.)
Public Enemies, predictably, is rated "R for gangster violence and some language." The violence pervades the movie, with blood and guts following almost every gunshot in the film. Language didn't seem too bad to me, but maybe I'm saltier than I'd like to admit.

As for the historical issue, the film's principal "sin" is the romanticization of the Dillinger/Frechette... well, romance. Burroughs doesn't provide the sort of Hollywood "enduring love, never forgotten" subplot the film does, suggesting instead that Dillinger really did eventually let Frechette go. The film also curiously puts the closing act of Purvis's FBI career - the death of Pretty Boy Floyd - in the first reel of the film. Doubtless this is to gussy up Purvis's somewhat lackluster talents as an investigator; the book documents quite a few flubs on Purvis's part while the movie paints him as a more able G-man than perhaps he deserves credit. Like the film, Purvis was good - perhaps very good - but not great. The film also embellishes a Frank Nitti connection with Dillinger's eventual death.

Trailer Park: Public Enemies (2009)

I can't say how giggly it makes me to type "Johnny Depp" and "Christian Bale" in the same sentence. I can't say how much these two trailers - especially the first one - make me smile. I can't say how sorry I am that I'll be out of town and will have to miss opening day for this one by about two weeks.

That said, Michael Mann's true-story-biopic of the highly public rivalry between John Dillinger (Depp) and Melvin Purvis (Bale) is getting a whole lot of play, not just for the fact that Depp traveled to Crown Point, Indiana, to film in the actual prison from which Dillinger escaped (spoilers?). It's a powerhouse duo (accompanied, I'll concede, by recent Oscar winner Marion Cotillard) that is guaranteed to excite filmgoers. The potential for greatness here is high, and with a stellar cast and director (as well as the riveting true story behind it all) it's difficult to imagine it won't succeed.

This is how a trailer should be done - capturing in a heartbeat both the main personalities and the main conflict between them, all without giving away too much. The second trailer (as second trailers do) reveals a bit more of the plot, but since this is a true story fronted by A-listers it's doubtful anyone's buying a ticket solely for the twists and turns of the story.

Public Enemies holds up theaters on July 1.

Lonely Hearts (2006)

Lonely Hearts tries hard, but it's no LA Confidential. Instead of being a gritty period piece (this time modeled on a true story rather than a James Ellroy novel), Lonely Hearts is ultimately little more than a limp cop thriller with a cast that's seen better days.

This was a true story that was unfamiliar to me, but someone out there must know of the Lonely Hearts Killers - Raymond Fernandez (Jared Leto) and Martha Beck (Salma Hayek) - who answered personals ads and swindled WWII widows of their "hero's pay." The film also follows the cops (from right in the image: John Travolta, James Gandolfini, and Scott Caan) on the killers' heels.

I like cop films - the fact that I've reviewed four Dirty Harry movies in less than a month should be testament to that. And I like period films - I'm often nostalgic for a 1930/40s that probably never was, and Glenn Miller's on my Top 100 Most Played in iTunes. And I'm a huge fan of most of the headliners in this movie. Why then doesn't director/screenwriter Todd Robinson's film about his own grandfather (Travolta) work?

Though this isn't Robinson's debut film, parts of Lonely Hearts feel amateurish. There's a lot in here that doesn't work, and the screenplay isn't among the strongest. Perhaps I've been jaded by Brian Cox's stellar cameo in Adaptation ("God help you if you use voiceover in your work, my friends! God help you!"), but I've been so badly brainwashed against the concept of a narrator that even Morgan Freeman is an unlikely-at-best antidote. Gandolfini's narrative is confusing, suffering both from stylized diction and an equally heavy accent that feels like a holdover from the days of The Sopranos. Consequently, most of the important exposition is lost in the squawking swamps of Gandolfini's voice, and so the film can be a touch inaccessible.

Gandolfini's certainly not at the top of his game, nor is Travolta, who I usually enjoy in almost anything. Here Travolta seems weary, as though he's not putting his heart and soul into this one. In fact, one might invoke the old cliche and say that Travolta seems to have phoned this one in. It's almost as though Robinson was afraid to ask too much of his actors. Lynch-muse Laura Dern floats in and out without much consequence to the plot, and Leto looks too much like Zac Efron with a mustache to be truly intimidating. Indeed, the only performance in Lonely Hearts that seems to succeed (other than Scott Caan, who is entertaining but neither is given much time nor seems to fit in at all) is Salma Hayek, who does a more than adequate job of bringing the simmering psychosis of her character to a brutal boil throughout the film.

The film, though, lacks a grounding stability that would have made it feel more coherent. The film isn't sure if it wants to be a cop film or a criminal film and can't manage to strike a happy balance between the two. Near the tail end of the film, things spiral out of control, and the audience's heads starts spinning when characters behave irrationally and the plot starts taking "How did that happen?" turns. Furthermore, Lonely Hearts isn't a terribly good period piece, either; the sets, cars, and wardrobes look the part, but none of the actors really fit into the mold of the late 1940s and so the film feels unsettlingly anachronistic. A few moments look good (Gandolfini in the barn at the end of the film is well-shot), but on the whole the film doesn't feel right.

Perhaps in the hands of a more able director (Michael Mann, perhaps?) with a more coherent screenplay (no one writes crime like William Monahan), Lonely Hearts might have been a better film. As it stands, though, the film disappointingly falls flat despite tremendous potential from its otherwise-golden cast (and the tremendous hope this reviewer had going into the picture).

The MPAA rated Lonely Hearts "R for strong violence and sexual content, nudity and language." The violence is brutal, gory, and sprinkled throughout the film in liberal doses. Nudity is less frequent but still present, frequently surrounded with sexualized situations (as well as unsettling concepts of incest), and the language is standard F-bomb fare for a cop film, albeit one set before I like to believe people talked like that.

Sudden Impact (1983)

Four movies into the franchise and Dirty Harry is starting to run out of steam. Despite being directed by star Clint Eastwood, Sudden Impact isn't as entertaining or as watchable as its three predecessors.

Sudden Impact feels more like a movie with Dirty Harry Callahan in it than an actual Dirty Harry movie. Callahan (Eastwood), after apparently intentionally giving a mob figure (a fun cameo from Michael V. "Frank Pentangeli from The Godfather, Part II" Gazzo) a heart attack, is given an assignment out of town to investigate a murdered man's past in San Paulo. He meets artist Jennifer Spenser (Eastwood's then-lover Sondra Locke) and starts romancing her, not knowing that Spenser is killing the men who raped her and her sister years ago.

Eastwood is excellent as always in the shoes of Inspector Callahan, menacing and grimacing his way through another picture. The film includes one of the most famous scenes in Dirty Harry's career, right next to the "Do I feel lucky?" speech - here, he provokes a hostage taker by brandishing his trademark Magnum at the man and growling, "Go ahead, make my day." This scene alone is worth the price of admission; indeed, the first half or so of the film is all Eastwood's and ends up being the better half. Dodging mafia assassins and bonehead superiors, piecing together evidence ballistic report by report, and even acquiring a dog named Meathead in this one, Callahan continues to do it all.

Yet the film suffers for its unwillingness to relinquish full control of itself to Dirty Harry. Perhaps this is due to the fact that Eastwood is behind the camera for this adventure as well as in front of it, but the fact remains that the film spends far too much time on Jennifer's character and her backstory. Locke, unfortunately, is not an actress cut out to hold 49% of a Dirty Harry picture, which Sudden Impact asks her to do. The film also seems uncertain as to how it should react to Jennifer's crimes of revenge - is she a villain, a victim, a combination of both? Until the film's final moments, when Dirty Harry re-enters the plot and has a chance to weigh in, the film waffles like a long-faced senator from Massachusetts.

The film (according, at least, to Wikipedia) is the darkest and "dirtiest" of the Dirty Harry pictures, and at this it succeeds, so kudos to Eastwood as director for accomplishing this look and feel for the fourth film in the franchise. The film, however, is slowly-paced whenever Jennifer is on-screen - the film seems confused as to who its main character - and ultimately its hero - ought to be. Callahan continues to captivate; Jennifer, unfortunately, muddles this adventure.

While still fun and not the worst movie one could find to watch on a weekday afternoon, Sudden Impact is relatively lackluster when compared to its sterling predecessors - particularly the original, Dirty Harry, which still remains the greatest of the films. Stay tuned to see how The Dead Pool, the final Dirty Harry movie (despite rumors that Gran Torino would be the sixth outing for Callahan), measures up.


The MPAA gave Sudden Impact an R rating, a rating which would stand today for its gritty depictions of violence and of sexual assault, its strong profane language, as well as a brief scene of nudity (what are these types of scenes doing in a Callahan adventure?).

The Enforcer (1976)

With a flamboyantly absurd crew of villains, how does The Enforcer succeed? It's simple, really; make it a Dirty Harry movie and give the bad guys as little screen time as is necessary for a plot to occur.

Director James Fargo (and a good screenplay from Stirling Silliphant and Dean Riesner) saves The Enforcer from the curse of the threequel (which Christopher Nolan recently invoked in his rationale for eschewing a third Batman film - for now) by turning it into a story more about Inspector Harry Callahan (Clint Eastwood) and his new partner Kate Moore (Tyne Daly). Yes, you read that right - Dirty Harry gets a new partner, and this time she's a she. Of course, this isn't exactly welcome news for the traditionalist borderline-vigilante cop, so the movie focuses more on the budding chemistry (decidedly not romantic) between the two inspectors as they try to thwart another city-for-ransom scheme, this time at the hands of the People's Revolutionary Strike Force (a homegrown terrorist group reminiscent of Patty Hearst's abductors, the Symbionese Liberation Army).

Amid hippie terrorists, rocket launchers, and mayoral abductions, it's not difficult for a movie to lose its way, but The Enforcer never forgets that Dirty Harry is the star of the film. Eastwood continues comfortably as the Bauer-esque SFPD Inspector, bearing an irritated sangfroid that makes the criminals cower. Daly holds her own with Eastwood, an excellent straight (wo)man trying to earn the begrudging respect of a partner who doesn't really want anyone around.

The action here isn't too shabby, either. There's a thrilling rooftop chase between Eastwood and a thug who's somehow connected to the bad guys, and though Eastwood never accelerates beyond a brisk jog, there's a sense of urgency and immediacy that's well-handled by the filmmakers. And, over-the-top as it may seem, there's just something damned cool about seeing Dirty Harry wield a rocket launcher.

As the shortest of the Dirty Harry pictures, there's not as much material here for me to cover. Suffice it to say that those who enjoyed the first two pictures will enjoy this one, as absurdist as some of its flaws may be. Because it's all worth it once Callahan, when asked to turn in his badge, calls it a "seven-point suppository."
Like its predecessors, The Enforcer snagged an R rating from the MPAA. There's a brief scene of fleeting nudity as the chase sequence darts through the shooting of a pornographic film, there's brief moments of profanity (only two or so F-bombs), as well as the standard amount of peril, shooting, and resulting blood that one has come to expect from this franchise.

Magnum Force (1973)

A man's got to know his limitations.

Though Clint Eastwood, returning for the first time as Dirty Harry Callahan in Magnum Force, spoke those lines in reference both to himself and to a villain overstepping his bounds, it's a complaint I've often levied against sequels. "Quit while you're ahead," I've been known to yell, "know your limitations."

Fortunately, I didn't have to yell this at director Ted Post while watching his 1973 sequel - the first in the franchise - to 1971's classic Dirty Harry. Though it's not on the scale of The Dark Knight (lest we forget its status as second in the franchise though first in our hearts) or The Empire Strikes Back as far as sequels go, Magnum Force is a worthy successor to the mantle of Callahan.

Back on the force after the touchy situations of the first film, Harry Callahan (Eastwood) is stuck on stakeout duty after boneheaded Lieutenant Briggs (Hal Holbrook) wants him out of the way to ensure a promotion for himself and continued ignominy for Callahan. But after a few scandalous characters turn up dead and a vigilante appears to be at fault, Briggs admits that this is exactly the kind of job that requires Dirty Harry to be so... well, dirty.

Something in this reminds me of LA Confidential, though Ellroy's novel came almost twenty years after Callahan butted horns with Briggs - a trait we see frequently on 24, which I've already suggested might be a descendant of the Dirty Harry franchise. As rivals on the same side of the police force, Eastwood and Holbrook are evenly matched, though the script could do with a bit more explanation for why Briggs doesn't like Callahan; there's fertile grounds in the first film for a superior disliking Dirty Harry, but aside from a brief suggestion of ambition there's not much. The film, fortunately, doesn't rely on this conflict but instead continues to rest its shoulders on Eastwood, who continues well as the gruff and grizzled Inspector Callahan.

The villain here, a vigilante sharpshooter on motorcycle, isn't as compelling as Andy Robinson's skittish dynamo of chaotic cruelty from the first film, but the mystery surrounding the killer's identity allows us to see Callahan in full detective mode. Of course, Callahan gets to flex his shooting muscles, too - with the highest body count in the franchise, there's plenty of room in Magnum Force for a few exciting shootouts and vehicle chase scenes.

Though it's no Dirty Harry, Magnum Force is plenty of fun and a good way to continue the Callahan legacy. I'll be looking forward to the rest of the movies in the series.

The MPAA slapped Magnum Force with an R rating. Violence here is sporadic and somewhat more graphic than in the first film (there's a higher body count, to boot), as well a disturbing and infamous scene involving drain cleaner. A few fleeting scenes of nudity seem unnecessary here, as does a brief sexual encounter. Brief strong language is present as well.

Dirty Harry (1971)

At this point, Clint Eastwood's "Dirty" Harry Callahan is something of a legend, a mythological figure in the annals of Hollywood. An ideological forefather of Jack Bauer, the ultimate archetype of the rule-bending policeman, even the inspiration for a Gorillaz song - Dirty Harry has a lot of hype following him almost forty years after his big screen debut.

Fortunately, Dirty Harry lives up to its hype, aging surprisingly well.

As cop movies go, this is probably one of the most definitive - though I'm going to try to avoid blacking-out pixels in such rehashing of canonically accepted beliefs of Dirty Harry's overall superlativity in filmdom. Sgt. "Dirty" Harry Callahan (Eastwood) is called in on a less-than-routine homicide after sniper Scorpio (a wickedly creepy Andy Robinson) sends a ransom note to the mayor (John "Dean Wormer" Vernon), virtually holding the city hostage. While on the case, Callahan ends up stopping a "211 (robbery) in progress" and having to decide between following the rules or stopping Scorpio before he kills again. Things get complicated when Scorpio kidnaps a young girl and buries her alive - then we find out just why Callahan is nicknamed "Dirty Harry."

That's only half the movie, but I've got to stop the plot summary there because it'd be criminal to give away any further details. Of course, like I said, director Don Siegel's first installment of what would eventually become a full-fledged franchise is something that most people have probably already seen. If you haven't, you should. Maybe it's all this talk about waterboarding and closing Gitmo, but something about Dirty Harry seemed if not timeless then at least timely. It's aged well, like a good cheese or wine, without much to date the piece as nearing its fourth decade.

Despite Roger Ebert labeling the morals of Dirty Harry as "fascist," it's difficult not to root for Callahan here, thanks in large part to Eastwood's gruffly endearing portrayal. The movie is riddled with iconic moments, like the "211 in progress" scene in which Eastwood growls his now famous "Do I feel lucky?" speech, so major props have to go to Harry Julian Fink & Co. as well for a knockout screenplay. Additionally, Siegel has a great intuition when it comes to guiding the eye of the audience (using several innovative camera angles to disorient when necessary) as well as an uncanny ability to play on the imagination, wisely showing us some things and keeping us from seeing others.

And, as far as great Hollywood villains go, Andy Robinson stands right up there with Ted Levine's Buffalo Bill from Demme's The Silence of the Lambs. Robinson sneers his way through the movie, a walking instability that could break at any minute, devising cruel plans to wreak havoc while building his own personal vendetta against Callahan. Robinson has talked about this role as a career killer of sorts, but that's the double-edged sword of pitch-perfect casting. (Ledger's Joker, anyone?). This, pardon the cliche, is one cat you wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley.

Unless, of course, you're feeling lucky. Well, do you?

The MPAA gave Dirty Harry an R, a rating that would probably stand today. The movie is violent without being excessive, indeed looking a little more fake than today's standards. Objectionable language is somewhat sparse, and there's a surprising but not graphic or close-up amount of nudity. Leave the kids at home.

Hot Fuzz (2007)

I've been an unabashed fan of Edgar Wright since taking the advice of a dear friend and renting - later purchasing- his zombie (the Brits call it "the Zed word") spoof masterpiece Shaun of the Dead. So when Wright decided to go for the cop film's jugular, I was more than willing to go along for the ride.

And the team doesn't disappoint, although it's not as inspired a venture as Shaun was. Hot Fuzz is the story of Nicholas Angel (Simon Pegg), a cop who's so good at his job that he's reassigned to a small hamlet for "making us all look bad." There he meets Constable Danny Butterman (Nick Frost, "Ed" from Shaun) and Danny's dad, Chief Frank Butterman (Jim Broadbent, who's as creditable a casting choice as he always is). As a series of grisly murders seize the town, Angel begins to believe that these are not, as the rest of "the fuzz" believes, mere accidents (for instance, the florist may not have actually fallen throat-first on her enormous shears). He finds Simon Skinner (a delightfully suspicious Timothy Dalton), a local supermarket baron, to be Suspect Numero Uno.

Like Next, Hot Fuzz tries to be two things - simultaneously a cop film and a dissection of that genre. Unlike Next, Hot Fuzz succeeds in its endeavor to keep one foot in each sandbox, only it doesn't do it quite so well as its "Zed word" predecessor. Hot Fuzz, you see, certainly leans more heavily toward cop film than satirization. Though that's not to say the film suffers for it - Hot Fuzz is a great cop film; it's just not as funny as Shaun of the Dead. That's my lament. (Look for a parallel observation when I review the Pirates of the Caribbean trilogy.)

The cast is superb, from its aforementioned headliners to cinephile's-dream cameos from Bill Nighy, Martin Freeman (Tim from The Office UK), and even Cate Blanchett (apparently a big Shaun fan). As the exasperated Angel, Pegg does a firstrate job of bouncing between understandable frustration and guffaw-inducing cliche-bashing. Frost is more than comfortable in the shoes of dimwitted but lovable Danny; although at times he seems more like an overeager Ed than a totally new character, he's adorable - and funny - enough that it doesn't really matter.

Wright's direction is showy, calling more attention to itself than I remember in Shaun (maybe it's time to re-view and review?), though again - and here I invoke Jerry Seinfeld - not that there's anything wrong with that. Cop films are often showy spectacles, so why should this one be any different? The editing deftly works with Wright here, delivering an adrenaline shot of chuckles from a well-placed cut.

I've pointed out that the movie takes itself seriously - but fortunately not too seriously. That's why Hot Fuzz works at being of two minds and - oh, let's keep kicking Nic Cage - Next didn't.