BURLESQUE: Burloody Awful

BURLESQUE is a huge shiny hollow cylinder devoid of texture, interest or entertainment.

BURLESQUE tells a story that was old and cliched when Warner Brothers brought it to the screen almost 80 years ago in the guise of '42nd Street' and 'Footlight Parade' but they at least were smart enough to inject some sparkle, humour and wonderful actors into the retelling.
BURLESQUE is lumbered with pop singer Christina Aguilera whose face is frozen into a sullen pout for much of the film and whose emotions run the gamut from A almost all the way to B.
BURLESQUE is also lumbered with Cher, an Oscar winning actress past her acting prime and sporting so much make-up it's not surprising her face is sagging under the weight.
BURLESQUE panders to these two divas by jettisoning the theme and style of the story to indulge each of them in a (contractually required?) solo number which has nothing to do with the story and adds nothing to it, but probably has everything to do with trying to create a hit single for the soundtrack album.
This cynical move might have paid off if either song had been any good rather than an excuse for a bellowing contest between the two leather-lunged ladies. Both ballads are bland and overblown album fillers, and the rest of the music (with the exception of Marilyn Monroe singing 'Diamonds are a girl's best friend') is little better.
The one saving grace in this dreary musical is Stanley Tucci as Sean, the Cher character's confidant and artistic director of her burlesque show. Tucci is considerably better than the material and his fellow cast members, and succeeds in injecting some individuality into what is little more than a stock gay character.
But Tucci's been good in enough movies (try 'Julie and Julia' or 'The Lovely Bones') that there's no need to waste your time and will to live sitting through this abomination.

HEREAFTER: a leisurely exploration of life after death

Clint Eastwood's latest is a real slow burn.
This tale of three unrelated characters connected by their experiences with death unfolds at such a leisurely pace that I was concerned the 2 hour 9 minute running time wouldn't be enough to allow it to reach its conclusion.
Director Eastwood takes his own sweet time creating fully rounded lives for each of the characters, and that's not intended as a criticism. He immerses us in the world each of the three inhabits, making them and their actions feel honest and organic.

Matt Damon stars as George Lonegan, a San Francisco psychic who views his ability to contact the dead as a curse which has blighted his entire life. Cecile de France is Marie Lelay, a French tv journalist who believes she briefly crossed over to 'the other side' after nearly drowning in the 2004 tsunami in Thailand; while youngster Frankie McLaren plays Marcus, a 12 year old Londoner desperate to contact his twin brother after he's killed in a traffic accident.
HEREAFTER starts from the premise that there is an afterlife but it struggles to articulate just what that might be beyond a bright blurry image of figures standing in a never-ending white landscape. Eastwood wisely steers clear of embracing religious concepts of eternal life but in doing so veers a little too close to New Age interpretations of life after death. The film's sympathies are clearly with Marie but offers little in the way of evidence to support her claims when they are met with understandable skepticism by friends and colleagues.
However it's not the film's standpoint that lets it down but its meandering sprawl. This approach to storytelling is interesting for the first hour while the narrative thrust is forward facing but as it enters the second hour the movement becomes more lateral and the film's hold on my attention began to slip.
Eastwood pulls it all back together for the final denouement but it's only partially satisfying because it leaves too many unanswered questions.Much of the positivity I felt toward HEREAFTER at its midway point had evaporated by the closing credit sequence. I don't regret watching it, I just have no desire to ever watch it again.

HOW DO YOU KNOW: from the stink, that's how

It's been a bad week for film watching. THE TOURIST was a dud but HOW DO YOU KNOW really stinks.
How did I know?
The clunky dialogue, the listless, uninspired acting, and a story which never really gets started.
When did I know?
Within the first thirty minutes it's obvious that this is very slowly going absolutely nowhere interesting.
Reese Witherspoon is the squishy-faced former softball star who finds herself in the middle of a love triangle with oafish baseball player Owen Wilson and harassed, hesitant Paul Rudd. Coaching from the sidelines like a man who's completely run out of steam is a portly, raspy Jack Nicholson, giving his worst performance since his last film, the lazy sloppy 'The Bucket List.'
The big name quartet plays out this dreary relationship drama with all the enthusiasm of an 8 year old boy presented with a plate of sprouts and told he can't leave the table til he's eaten them all.
Writer-director James L.Brooks should be ashamed of the shapeless mess he's created. How it's possible for the same man to make this and 'Terms of Endearment', 'Broadcast News,' 'As Good as It Gets' and write numerous episodes of 'The Simpsons' is a conundrum worthy of an episode of tv's 'Unsolved Mysteries.'

THE TOURIST: a sight not worth seeing

The action moves in slow motion in this pointless and thrill-less thriller which serves mainly to highlight Angelina Jolie's peculiar brand of sculpted beauty.

She and Johnny Depp exhibit zero chemistry as a mis-matched couple on the run from police forces and sinister forces in Venice. The plot's implausibility could be overlooked if it were exciting or generated even a smidgin of tension but it does neither.
The biggest disappointment, however, isn't the story or the acting. It's the direction. If Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck's name weren't on the opening titles I would never have guessed that the same man who created the achingly powerful and moving 'The Lives of Others' in 2006 could also be responsible for this dud.
The only participant that emerges from THE TOURIST with any credit is Venice which succeeds in looking even more alluring than Miss Jolie.

THE COMPANY MEN: a timely tale of middle class misery

THE COMPANY MEN tells a particularly timely and depressing story - that of working men fired from their jobs as a result of the recession which hit in late 2008.

But I think director John Wells has made a mistake in focusing on 3 middle and senior management types who are left to weep in their McMansions after receiving their pink slip from the Boston based shipbuilding company where they've toiled for years. It's tough to summon up empathy for senior sales executive Bobby Walker (Ben Affleck) when he discovers his wife's canceled his golf club membership to save money, or for Gene McClary (Tommy Lee Jones) whose stocks in the company increase in value by half a million dollars a few days after he's fired.
The only character deserving of any of our sympathy is Phil Woodward (Chris Cooper) who's worked his way up from the factory floor and now finds himself the wrong side of 50 and dying his hair to compete with other unemployed men half his age. Phil's life is genuinely devastated by his firing. He has neither the financial nor emotional resources to fall back on so it's little surprise that his tale is the saddest of the three explored.
While none of the m are the Wall Street types who became so reviled after the crash, it still seems somehow insensitive to zero in on their plight rather than that of 3 ordinary working stiffs who - after all - constitute the majority of those who've suffered as a result of the recklessness of bankers and brokers and other so-called financial experts. More of us could empathize with them because it's closer to our own experience.

During the last Great Depression in the 1930s Warner Brothers had the right idea. Their films told stories of ordinary working class families struggling to get by, and those stories resonated because their audience was mostly working class families struggling to get by. When they showed the upper classes it was usually to poke fun at them. Perhaps the problem now is that everybody wants to be middle class so no one wants to be reminded of who they really are socio-economically speaking. Better to be shown the struggles of the wealthy we aspire to be than the wretchedness of the financially impoverished we are or have recently become.
While the material may be flawed there's nothing lacking in the performances of Cooper, Affleck and a particularly world-weary Tommy Lee Jones. Though the story's set in Boston the entire cast mercifully goes easy on the Boh-ston accent, and it's interesting to see 90s superstar Kevin Costner in a subsidiary role as Affleck's scornful brother-in-law. The part's too big to be a cameo but seemingly too small for an actor of his stature; his place in the cast strangely mirroring Affleck's character's fall from grace and eventual acceptance of any job he can find regardless of it's distance from his former status.
Ultimately, what really lets down THE COMPANY MEN is its Hollywood ending. It's here that director Wells finally takes a leaf from those Warner Bros dramas of the 1930s and - unfortunately - his timing is off by 70 years.

HAPPYTHANKYOUMOREPLEASE: anunderratedunderappreciateddelight

I put this film on not really knowing what to expect beyond the brief synopsis on imdb and I was more than very very pleasantly surprised.
First-time writer-director and star Josh Radnor has crafted a sparkling gem with this New York City based comedy drama which more than matches anything that Woody Allen has turned out in recent years. The comparisons with Allen are inevitable given that HAPPYTHANKYOUMOREPLEASE is set in Manhattan, and focuses on the lives and lovelives of three interconnected twentysomething couples trying to figure out their future both professionally and romantically. Radnor's script may not include the kind of sharply funny observations that have graced so many of Allen's best movies (but then neither have Allen's most recent films) but it does feature dialogue that feels fresh and natural and believable.
At the story's heart is Sam Wexler (Radnor), a struggling writer who befriends a young boy when he gets separated from his family on the subway. Rather than turn him in at the nearest police station Sam brings the boy home and lets him sleep on his couch. He assures his anxious friends that he will take the boy to the authorities but finds that increasingly difficult to as an unexpected friendship develops between the two.
While Sam tries to juggle his new found responsibility to the youngster with getting his writing career started and romancing a bartender named Mississippi (Kate Mara) his best friends are facing crisis of their own. Annie (Malin Akerman) is wrestling with commitment issues borne of a poor self image, while Charlie (Pablo Schrieber) and Mary Catherine (Zoe Kazan) are facing a breaking point in their relationship.
If all this angst and emotional turmoil sounds like heavy going it isn't. The personal dramas play out against the surprisingly calming and sunny backdrop of Manhattan's Greenwich Village and SoHo, and the life of this enormous, vibrant city helps keep these personal stories in perspective. They are a big deal to those involved but there's millions more stories just like these going on all around and, for the most part, they tend to resolve themselves without causing the world to end.
As much as this is a story about a group of friends lending one another their support as they each face their own personal crisis it's also about a group of young men and women making a final break with the hedonism of youth and crossing over into the world of fully fledged adulthood with all the responsibilities, pressures and opportunities that it brings with it.

The performances are uniformly excellent, but I was particularly impressed by 9 year old Michael Algieri as Rasheen, the boy Sam rescues from the subway, and Tony Hale as Sam #2, Annie's annoying office co-worker who reveals unexpected tenderness and maturity beneath his irritating exterior.
In 2004 I was blown away by 'Garden State' starring, written and directed by tv star Zach Braff making his big screen debut in these roles. In 2011 I've had the same kind of reaction to tv star Radnor ('How I Met Your Mother') doing the same with HAPPYTHANKYOUMOREPLEASE. By the time the final credits rolled I was very happy and definitely wanted more. Doyourselfafavourandcheckthisoneout.It'sbloodybrilliant!

DEAD MAN'S EYES: spanning the acting range from A to B (awful to brilliant)

It's difficult to imagine Lon Chaney Jr being the object of one woman's affections let alone two but - hey - this is Hollywood and Hollywood's stock in trade is fantasy. Which is how the beefy B-actor finds himself at the centre of a love triangle which leads to murder and eyeball removal.
DEAD MAN'S EYES from 1944 was one of a short series of hour long big screen adaptations made by Universal of the popular 'Inner Sanctum' radio show.
Chaney stars as David Stuart, an aspiring artist on the brink of success who accidentally blinds himself when he washes his eyes with acid rather than the bottle of eyewash which is on the shelf next to the bottle of acid. Some might describe that as an accident waiting to happen, but his sultry model Tanya blames herself for moving the 2 bottles while searching for a tissue. Tanya's also in love with David but he only has eyes for Heather (Jean Parker), the daughter of Dad Hayden, a wealthy man who treats David like an adopted son. Heather's the recipient of unwanted attention from Nick Philips, a drunken playboy, while Tanya's being pursued by Alan Bittaker (Paul Kelly) who's a psychiatrist and David's best friend. Shortly after Heather's father promises to donate his eyes to David when he dies he's found bludgeoned to death with David standing over him, blood on his hands. But did the blind man do it - or was it Tanya or Nick or even Dr Bittaker?
All of this and more is crammed into the story's very short running time and it helps to have a flowchart handy to keep track of who might have done what to who and why.
The plot's too convoluted to guess with any accuracy at the identity of the murderer so the real fun's to be had in watching the exotically named Acquanetta (born Mildred Davenport) as the olive skinned and mysterious Tanya. Her nationality is never mentioned and she doesn't have an accent but she looks foreign enough for the other characters to patronisingly refer to her as "a pretty thing" and other descriptors which indicate she's not one of us. They'd have been on less controversial ground commenting on her severely limited acting abilities. She delivers each line as if she's seeing it for the first written on a cue card held just out of camera range. Her apparent unfamiliarity with her own dialogue means it's all recited with a complete lack of emotion or inflection. She's at her best when she keeps her mouth closed and just stands there looking sultry. And if that sounds patronising, well, it's also the truth.
At the other end of the acting scale is the wonderful Thomas Gomez as Captain Drury, the cop with the thankless task of figuring out who did in Heather's dad. Gomez was a character actor of the 40s and 50s who brought class and credibility to whatever film he played in, and here he's considerably better than both his fellow cast members and the material he's given to work with. 
His performance alone is worth the investment of an hour of your time. Acquanetta's is an unexpected but delightful bonus.

THE MONTE CARLO STORY: it's a bitch not being rich

Let's get one thing straight right from the start. THE MONTE CARLO STORY is not the story of Monte Carlo. It's a story set in Monte Carlo, although most of it was actually filmed on soundstages at a studio in Rome.

The story is of two middle aged people - played by Marlene Dietrich and Vittorio De Sica - who used to be rich but aren't anymore because they gambled away their wealth. Unable to adapt to their new reality they sponge off their considerably less fortunate friends to maintain at least the facade of a lifestyle they can no longer afford.
There's two ways of looking at this story.
1. Isn't it endearing that these two sweet, charming, well meaning people find each other and, with the emotional and financial support of caring friends, are able to transcend their monetary problems and find true love.
2. The boorish, patronising behaviour of these fortune-hunting social parasites is nauseating. They exploit their air of superior breeding to leech off the workers, taking their money and goodwill in return for a space at the window where they can look in at a world they can service but never enter.
I'm no revolutionary but I found the condescending manner of de Sica's penniless Italian Count increasingly infuriating. No one would have seen his predicament as half as charming if he'd been a waiter or taxi driver who'd lost all his money gambling, and refused to get a job to try and help himself because "work is something I have no aptitude for."
The servile acquiescence of his working class friends is sickening. They are continually scraping together a few hundred francs so he can play at being a playboy in Monaco's swanky casinos, but there's never a sense that these people are really his friends. He treats them more as trusty retainers there to respond to his every whim.
Dietrich's character is at least a little more upfront about her gold-digging. She checks in to the 5-star hotel without a franc to her name, trading on her former reputation as a lady of means to get a suite, and the best table in the restaurant. She's far from home so there's no retinue of devoted friends to support her lifestyle. Instead she's forced to exploit a pawnbroker who's lent her jewels to wear to boost the illusion she's still a wealthy woman.
There's precious little chemistry between Dietrich and De Sica. They both appear to be too much in love with themselves to have any real affection left over for anyone else, and they don't do much more than go through the motions of falling for each other with little genuine enthusiasm. Dietrich looks her age - she was 56 when this was made in 1957 - and there's not much left of the magical allure which had made her such a seductive presence on-screen for the previous 3 decades. Indeed, THE MONTE CARLO STORY was to be her penultimate leading role. After starring in 'Witness for the Prosecution' immediately following this film she would make cameos in just 2 more movies before retiring from the screen while her legend was still more or less intact.
Other than the few glimpses it affords of a Monte Carlo that was still surprisingly sleepy and unspoiled despite the recent arrival of Grace Kelly as the new wife of Prince Rainier, there's not much reason to sit through this film. It's slow, boring, predictable and - worst of all - smug.

SWIMFAN: story takes a dive and drowns in its own implausibility

SWIMFAN is actually a pretty decent creepy little thriller right up to the point when the bad girl gets caught.
Anyone film fan with a rudimentary knowledge of the structure of such movies will instantly recognise that this isn't really the end. It all happens too quickly and anti-climactically.
Unfortunately though this false ending leaves the story with nowhere to go but off the rails as it builds towards the increasingly ridiculous and overblown climax.
Jesse Bradford stars as Ben, a reformed badboy and high school senior with a very promising career as a swimmer ahead of him who throws it all away for a romp in the pool with Madison (Erika Christensen) the alluring new girl in school. Ben's overcome with guilt at having cheated on his doting girlfriend and tries to give Madison the brush-off, but she's having none of it, putting the Mad into Madison as she attempts to convince Ben that he's making a big mistake.
Half the pleasure is to be had in watching Madison use what was - in 2002 - cutting edge technology to stalk and harass Ben, but now looks like it belongs in a museum. This was just nine years ago but no one had a cellphone - the coolest kids stayed in touch by paging one another - and Ben's email program  is positively prehistoric.
Imagine a less memorable, teenage take on 'Fatal Attraction' and you'll have a good idea what to expect from SWIMFAN.

FREIGHT: return to sender

FREIGHT is a fright.
This 2010 British thriller wants to be gritty, violent and in your face as it tackles the very real issue of human trafficking but instead falls flat on it's face thanks to an atrociously poor script and some only marginally better acting.
Danny Midwinter as the lead bad tough guy plays him like a stale cliche of every Eastern European movie gangster, endlessly laughing at things that aren't funny and speaking English that's way too good for someone who's just shipped in to the UK from Romania or Russia  or where-ever it is he's supposed to be from (the film never makes it clear).

Billy Murray as the chief good bad guy swaggers around in a leather jacket, followed by his crew of over muscled, mentally challenged lunks who don't even possess enough brain cells between them to recognise their boss is spouting some of the worst dialogue ever committed to film.
The plot is confused, confusing and completely implausible, and serves mainly as an excuse for the cast to fire their guns at each other as frequently as possible without ever once attracting the attention of the British Police.
Considering that FREIGHT is directed by a man (Stuart St Paul) best known as a stunt coordinator there's not even any decent action sequences to compensate for the dire story and acting.
An all-round dismal disaster, with a disturbing undercurrent of xenophobia, FREIGHT is one package you should not accept delivery of under any circumstances.