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.

Run Fatboy Run (2008)

As part of Sunday's birthday marathon, I sandwiched David Schwimmer's (yes, Ross from Friends) Run Fatboy Run in between Dirty Harry and Pineapple Express, which was probably the optimal placement for the latest comedy (no, his role as Scotty in the latest Star Trek doesn't count as a comedy) starring Simon Pegg (who I'm still calling "Shaun"). [Yes, I'm aware that How to Lose Friends and Alienate People is chronogically more recent, but I haven't seen it and I haven't been encouraged to do so. On with the show.]

It's no secret on this blog that I'm a Simon Pegg fan and have been ever since Shaun of the Dead. It might be a bigger secret that there's no love lost between Schwimmer and me, but it seems my Peggophilia outweighs whatever grudge I bear against "Ross." Plus, a movie title that includes the word "Fatboy" is just too good to resist.

The plot doesn't break any new grounds, so stop me if you've heard this one before. Five years after leaving his beautiful bride Libby (Thandie Newton) at the altar, Dennis Doyle (Pegg) is out to win back her affections now that she's involved with American toolbag-supreme Whit (Hank Azaria). After learning that Whit runs marathons and hinged upon an offhanded comment by Libby, Dennis decides to sign up for the next marathon - with only three weeks to get his self-described "not fat - just unfit" self into shape.

I think it's safe to say that if it weren't for Pegg, I wouldn't have given this movie a thought. When I said "stop me if you've heard this one before," I wasn't kidding. Other than a few choice moments of savory comedy, Run Fatboy Run hits almost every cliche in the "win-her-back" genre. In the hands of a more skilled director or an edgier screenwriter, some of the groan-worthy moments like Dennis's slo-mo training montage could have been beautifully parodic; Pegg co-writes but doesn't bring enough of the biting satire from Shaun of the Dead or even Hot Fuzz. Instead, Run Fatboy Run darts full steam into the predictable traps of every romantic comedy about regaining lost love.

That isn't to say that it's all bad. Sure, it doesn't have many surprises as far as plot goes, and certainly it errs on the side of being trite, but there are a few lights along the way. As Dennis's best friend, Dylan Moran (top Irish comic, co-star of Shaun, and a doppleganger for a young Alan Rickman) is in top dry form, biting one-liners off in between long drags from a cigarette. And for pure slapstick comedy, Harish Patel's role as landlord and assistant coach Mr. Goshdashtidar is tough to beat; I've never been able to keep a straight face when an overweight Indian man chases a pasty British man down the street with a spatula. Actually, I've never seen that before. Chalk one up on the originality column, I suppose.

Ultimately, Run Fatboy Run is fun but forgettable, a good diversion lacking the longevity to be a favorite like some of Pegg's other works.

The MPAA rated Run Fatboy Run "PG-13 for some rude and sexual humor, nudity, language and smoking." Some of the language and sexual humor pushes the boundaries of PG-13, but it wasn't anything that made me cringe. Nudity consists of three instances of male buttocks, and don't even get me started on "smoking." Guess Bogart movies get to be Rated R!

Pineapple Express (2008)

These are the cats that brought you Superbad, the poster declares, and, with much of the same cast and exactly the same sense of humor, it's not hard to believe. It's also not hard to have a great time with a movie that couldn't take itself less seriously.

I'm an unabashed fan of these Judd Apatow "Frat Pack" comedies (You Don't Mess with the Zohan aside, which I couldn't even finish), but something about the premise brought a skeptical Cinema King to the sofa for the DVD run of this one. Seth Rogen plays Dale Denton, a stoner who witnesses a murder and runs to his dealer, played in top form by James Franco, to hide out. The pair end up fleeing into the woods to avoid Ted Jones (Gary Cole, the father of film's Brady Bunch and Ricky Bobby) and his feuding henchmen (Kevin Corrigan [Cousin Sean from The Departed] and Craig Robinson [Darrell from The Office]). Meanwhile, Dale tries to save his relationship with his high school girlfriend (literally, she's 18), played by Amber Heard, though this subplot fades in and out with only a hilarious appearance by Ed Begley, Jr., as Heard's father, to redeem it.

This is another in a famously uncomplicated line of comedies from Apatow & Co., but it's one of the funniest - perhaps even more so than Superbad, which I loved. Pineapple Express takes everything I loved about Superbad - silly characters, rapid-fire dialogue, and a race to... somewhere (Franco says something along the lines of the splendid line, "I wish we could run away to... nowhere.") - and adds things Superbad didn't have, like the inimtable rising star Danny McBride and plenty of gunfights & explosions. If there's one thing I can never have too much of, it's explosions.

I praised the dialogue earlier, similar praise being offered for Rogen and Evan Goldberg's previous screenplay (Superbad, for those not paying attention), especially because this movie really finds its niche in the kind of dialogue that's becoming popular these days - quick, hysterical, and occasionally mumbling. Rogen and Granco in particular do a masterful job of handling their lines, in which their characters frequently find themselves digging themselves into a verbal hole, often ending their scenes with self-conscious reflections like "That was too far" or "I shouldn't have said that, that was mean." It's also a credit to director David Gordon Green that he knows when to cut the scenes and how best to pace them so the laughs keep coming.

There's not a whole lot more to say about Pineapple Express except that it's a lot of fun. There's no heavy message - except maybe something about the nature of friendship (platonic friendship between males being a central tenet of Apatow flicks) - so it's really about having a good time. The movie won't appeal to everyone, of course; there's bound to be accusations of it being a "stupid" movie or condemnations for its drug culture backdrop. But for those who have enjoyed the Apatow train thus far, Pineapple Express might prove addicting.

The MPAA rated Pineapple Express "R for pervasive language, drug use, sexual references and violence." The violence is exceptionally cartoonish and only occasionally bloody, and the sexual references aren't as explicit as they have been in the past. Drug use, though, is all over the film, as is crass language some might not care for.

The Evil Dead (1981)

Sam Raimi's The Evil Dead is without a doubt one of the most disgusting movies I've seen in my life. Yet, for all the blood, gore, and effluvium copiously flowing through the film, I couldn't tear myself away.

I couldn't stop laughing!

It's kind of funny that I'd resume my reviewing duties with a look at a cult classic almost thirty years old, but then I have a habit of seeing these "golden oldies" too late (I'm reminded of the Jim Gaffigan bit where he sees Heat and wants to talk about it, only to find all his friends saw the film six years ago - a plight I'm now in with that exact movie). But after watching The Evil Dead, I'm not surprised that Bruce Campbell and the character "Ash" are cult favorites. After a lackluster experience with Mulberry Street, I was looking for a startling and severely nauseating horror flick, and Raimi delivered.

It's difficult for me, without a thorough knowledge of the genre, to separate what's innovative from what's cliche, so I won't suggest such distinctions. Ash (Campbell) and four of his buddies are spending some time in an abandoned cabin in the middle of some undeniably haunted woods when the spirits are awakened by a tape recording and begin to attack the five youths. It's a simple premise, one that Raimi executes more than adequately.

This is, after all, a horror film, so the acting isn't Oscar caliber; Campbell approaches credibility, but the star acting comes from the "Fake Shemps" screaming and writhing as the epnoymous zombies. As a horror film, though, there's blood -and plenty of it. Deft cinematography and edgy camera angles bring more terror to the film than the admittedly dated special effects could. The first thirty minutes of the movie are not the best; the exposition sputters and dies a few times, delivering a few attempts at jump moments that flop and leading me to question whether I should give up the film before too long. Once the audio tape is found and one of the girls returns from a disorienting encounter in the woods, however, I was on solid ground.

I asked at the beginning why it was this particular film that brought me back to the reviewing fold. Here's the short answer - this is the Pirates of the Caribbean of zombie films. By this I mean that it doesn't take itself too seriously, but you'll take it seriously enough to have a good time with it - that is, don't be surprised if you're cringing one second and laughing the next. I sure did; those in the house with me when I watched it were flabbergasted by my uncharacteristic loudness during the film, groaning in disgust, reeling with nausea, doubled over with laughter. I had a blast with this film. I suppose, by reviewing it, I hope you will too.

The Evil Dead bore an NC-17 rating on its original release, though the DVD is unrated. Brutally gory scenes of zombie violence, as well as some partial nudity early in the film, would probably garner it an R rating today.

I'm Back!

Back by popular demand, The Cinema King (that's me!) will be resuming the Sisyphean mantle of movie reviews ASAP, on the double! Get ready for a whole new slate of recaps, reviews, refreshers, and commentary!

For 2009, I'll be continuing the same popular format as 2008 saw, although I'm adding a little something to the end: a movie poster image as well as a brief parental advisory notice (in the hopes of elucidating reviews like "PG-13 for thematic material"). This should in no way impact your overall enjoyment of the site, but I welcome your commentary.

Also, be on the lookout for more blogging beyond movie reviews themselves - I've got one stewing about the nature of a good vs. a bad review, as well as a revisiting of the "Great vs. To-My-Liking" debate. So please adjust your cell phones for no light and no sound, remember you have free refills on your pop and popcorn, and enjoy the show!

The Big Lebowski (1998)

To say that I'm a fan of the Coen Brothers is something of an understatement: they're among my favorite filmmakers, abundantly entertaining and deftly profuse. So to say that The Big Lebowski is my favorite Coen flick is probably also an understatement (though Barton Fink kind of muddles that statement).

There are two Jeffrey Lebowskis - The Dude (Jeff Bridges), amiable stoner hero extraordinaire prone to swilling White Russians, and The Big Lebowski (David Huddleston), a prime mover in the L.A. region. When the two are confused by a pair of nitwit goons - and one micturates on The Dude's rug - looking for The Big Lebowski's wife Bunny (Tara Reid) and the money she owes to one Jackie Treehorn, that's where the trouble begins. It only gets worse when The Dude tells bowling buddies Walter Sobchak (a perfectly over-the-top John Goodman), a Vietnam vet obsessed with his service and his religion ("Shomer Shabbos!"), and Donny (Steve Buscemi), who can't seem to get a word in edgewise, Walter convinces The Dude to petition The Big Lebowski for rug compensation. After all, "that rug really tied the room together."

That's all in the first ten or so minutes. The rest is a tangled web of mystery, blackmail, kidnapping, Creedence Clearwater Revival, pornography, deceit, and bowling. Eat your heart out, Raymond Chandler. Speaking of Chandler, this is the best adaptation of The Big Sleep since Bogart and Bacall bantered back in the Forties. It's also the most comprehensible, although I'll admit it took me a second viewing to fully understand just what had happened. This is a top-notch screenplay from the Coens, poetically profane and tantalizingly tangled.

Much as Sweeney Todd was for Tim Burton, this is the movie that the Coens have been aiming to make throughout their whole career. It's got all the Coen staples - both plot points and cast members - and it's their pinnacle film. Nothing before or since - not even No Country for Old Men, Oscar-winner though it may be - has matched The Big Lebowski.

The film takes place in a world populated by classic Coen characters, The Dude and Walter not least among them. There's John Turturro as pederast bowler Jesus Quintana, who talks a big game; Philip Seymour Hoffman as bootlicking sycophant butler Brandt; Julianne Moore as feminist artist Maude, who wants The Dude in more ways than one; Ben Gazzara as mysterious smut peddler Jackie Treehorn; Arthur Digby Sellers, a classic TV writer now confined to an iron lung; his son, a sloppy juvenile delinquent; and Sam Elliott as The Stranger, a narrator soothing enough to give Morgan Freeman a run for his money.

It's difficult to say much more about The Big Lebowski beyond "It must be seen." This is a wholly original movie that really escapes description. Relaxed and entertaining, The Big Lebowski is certainly my favorite Coen Bros. picture - and may even land a spot on my irregular-around-the-margins Best Movies of All Time list.

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.

Trailer Park: Disaster Movie (2008)

Continuing with the "God help us all" theme we've seen so far on this blog, I must warn you to stay away from what looks to be another steaming heap of cow... well, you fill in the blank with whatever scatological terminology best suits your moral vocabulary. Disaster Movie earns high marks for being the least funny trailer for a so-called comedy.

For starters, where are the jokes? Iron Man gets flattened by a cow. Um, what? Hulk's pants come off. Hancock hits a lamp post. Miley Cyrus is crushed by a meteor. Sarah Jessica Parker is played by a dude who gets beat up by Juno's baby in an even less funny version of a lame shtick from Adam Sandler's You Don't Mess with the Zohan (oh, trust me, I wouldn't dream of it). It's not that it's in poor taste. It's just not even remotely close to resembling humor. I got more laughs out of the trailer for The Day the Earth Stood Still. (Ha ha, I'm still giggly over that one.) The only time I sniggered was when the princess from Enchanted got hit by a car, probably because I've seen funnier movies where a character was involved in a motor-vehicular collision and was then reminded of them. I could direct this dreck, yet I won't - out of nothing less than pure altruism.

The movie stars Carmen Electra and Kim Kardashian. Do I need to keep going? It parodies High School Musical. It almost wasn't worth even linking to the trailer, although I suspect Disaster Movie is going to be added to several countries' "interrogation techniques" lists. Certainly falls under cruel and unusual punishment to me. Skip at all costs - this from a guy who regretfully sat through most of Scary Movie 4, despite every red flag to the contrary. (Hey, it was in HD, and I have a Y chromosome. You do the math.)

There's one good thing about the trailer. It warns you in advance that the movie you might be thinking about seeing is a complete federal DISASTER.

Disaster Movie limps into theaters on... oh, who cares. If you still want to see this movie, I won't help endorse it any further. Go do your own homework, Mr. and/or Mrs. Tasteless.

Next (2007)

It's almost blasphemous that this movie replaces The Dark Knight as the first article that my readers see when they log on, but here goes.

Next is the film that convinced me that Nicolas Cage has lost his edge. Granted, I had ample evidence - The Wicker Man and Ghost Rider among the most recent - but here I stand convinced that Cage is sadly incapable of making a good movie anymore.

On the surface, Next ought to be a reasonably intriguing movie. Cris "Frank Cadillac" Johnson (Cage) is a Vegas mentalist who actually possesses the ability to see two minutes into the future. Enter Liz Cooper (Jessica Biel), Cris's love interest and the woman who allows him to see farther (further, father?) into her future, and FBI Agent Ferris (the ever-intense - or is she just aggravated? - Julianne Moore), who's out to use Cris's ability to stop a terrorist cell from going nuclear.

If that plot thread seems out of left field, it is. Director Lee Tamahori (who brought us Die Another Day, arguably the least of the Pierce Brosnan Bond movies) tries to make Next two very disparate things; at times a Nolan-esque examination of the fantastic in the real world and at other times a Jack Bauer-style counterterrorist actionfest, Next doesn't really succeed as either by fault of the other. If Tamahori had picked one or the other, the film might not have suffered as it does. Instead, the film waffles between genres without wholly committing.

I've beaten up on Cage for losing his edge, yet it's not as though the other actors aren't pulling their weight. Moore is serviceable as the stereotypical federal agent, making me a little nostalgic for her turn as Clarice Starling in Hannibal. And Biel seems determined to prove to me that she's an actress in her own right, because she seems to be doing more "acting" and less "eye-candying" the more I see her. And an almost-cameo from Peter Falk makes me lament that he's not given a bigger role as the comic relief sidekick. Still, Cage's performance led me to wonder (several times aloud), "Was that supposed to be funny?"

The villains are less than one-dimensional (they're evil, okay? that's all you need to know), but my most significant gripe comes with the ending of the fim. So if you wish to remain unspoiled, best to stop reading here and take away the nugget that I can't in good conscience recommend Next. Essentially, the ending of the film is the largest cop-out since Superman reversed the rotation of the earth back in 1978. Just as the film builds to some really cool stuff and instills a sense of hope that maybe - just maybe - Next is about to redeem itself, SURPRISE! None of it really happened! The last time I felt this cheated by a movie, I chucked a bowl of quinoa at Inland Empire. Thanks, David Lynch - and thanks to Lee Tamahori for completely invalidating ninety minutes of my life.