July 1, 2005
Ten Years Ago, on April 10...
...I sent out the very first issue of my e-mail movie review newsletter THE MOVIE REPORT--and in one of those convergences of fate, 15 years ago this week, I put pencil to paper and wrote my very first film review, on the epic known as TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES. Little did I know it would lead to this...
Get Crunk
"Everybody gotta have a dream." That such a banal statement at face value can come to mean something far more profound and inspiring is reflective of the feat writer-director Craig Brewer achieves with HUSTLE & FLOW. In fact, the title pretty well sums up the contradictions that he somehow makes fully functional in his Sundance sensation: taking ideas and material that seem rather forced and contrived on paper and make them flow into a naturally cohesive, rousing, and surprisingly moving whole.
The premise sounds easily dismissible, almost like knowingly preposterous groundwork for parody. A Memphis pimp named DJay (Terrence Howard) in a midlife crisis decides to take up rapping when he happens into the possession of an old Casio keyboard. The plot machinations of the early going do feel like just that as so many things seem to magically fall into place for DJay's transformation--the keyboard; a spontaneous run-in with Key (Anthony Anderson), an old acquaintance and sound engineer who then takes him to a soul-stirring church choir performance--in an almost implausibly pat manner. But from the outset, Brewer holds the trump card--namely, Howard, who lends legitimacy to the character and story from frame one. This marks reliable veteran Howard's first big-league lead, but he wholly disappears into the role of DJay with the chameleonic immersion of a character actor; if the plot circumstances surrounding him initially come off as a bit much, Howard's DJay never comes off as any less than real: his frustration, his desperation, his stalwart ambition.
And that's what ultimately drives HUSTLE & FLOW--those genuine, universal vulnerabilities and yearnings for something bigger and better than the hand one is dealt. If the circumstances setting DJay off on his journey do feel a bit rushed, it pays off in that Brewer is then quickly liberated for the rest of the run time to flesh out not only DJay's pursuit of his goal but also the dreams of those around him. Everybody gotta have a dream, and as it comes clear, everyone in DJay's world has one, spoken or unspoken, earth-shattering or modest. Key has designs on being a big-time producer; DJay's main moneymaker Nola's (Taryn Manning) wants to make things happen for herself for once. While those read as typical movie goals--though in execution they certainly do not--Brewer goes the extra mile in painting the whole spectrum of dreams; resonating particularly poignantly is DJay's pregnant girl Shug (an astonishingly unrecognizable Taraji P. Henson in a revelatory performance), for whom singing the hook on a demo track is far more than anything she could have ever thought to achieve in her downtrodden world.
Such authentic grit and grime also lends HUSTLE & FLOW's tale of improbable dreamers dreaming impossible dreams extra weight. Never once to we get the sense that DJay's world is a glossed-over movie version of the grimy Memphis underbelly. Brewer, operating from the old school, down-and-dirty mind of '70s cinema, admirably doesn't pretty anything up, from the sweaty humidity and the lived-in homes, and the scene is made all the more unforgiving by the grainy 16mm photography by Amelia Vincent. Above all, though, is the acute awareness of the surroundings given off by the characters; whether blatantly through dialogue (as in the case of Nola's character in one pivotal scene) or simply the weary looks in their eyes.
Thus when DJay and his crew lay down their demo tracks in his makeshift recording studio, the sense of hope that comes over them is all the more startling and piercing. Not only is DJay's music genuinely catchy, they convincingly emerge from his life and experiences, and that added cathartic weight justifies DJay's life-or-death drive to get a demo to big-time rapper Skinny Black (Ludacris)--not to mention makes his palpable joy when making music all the more infectious. In a world where dreams appear synonymous with futility, one can strongly feel the weight of many hopes and dreams behind each note, each beat. Young or old, hip-hop fan or not, DJay's raps become the voice of anyone who's ever dared to think larger than who they are.
So goes Craig Brewer's hustle and flow in HUSTLE & FLOW--while never sacrificing any of the hard-knock authenticity and specificity of his characters and their milieu, he has crafted a deeply felt film that can speak to and empower just about any audience. Everybody indeed gotta have a dream, and ultimately the dream is the same for everyone, whether a pimp in Memphis or a moviegoer in a multiplex: we're all waiting for our own Casio keyboard to fall into our lap and set us on our path. (opens July 22)
Get Krump
Youths in the inner city escape their hard-knock environment through art. It's not a tale that hasn't been told before, but with the energetic RIZE, photographer/music video director David LaChapelle shines a spotlight on a form of self-expression that has been flourishing under the national mainstream radar in the tough neighborhoods of South Central Los Angeles: krumping. An aggressive, improvised breed of hip-hop dance that also serves as a violently cathartic release, krumping has become a viable alternative to gang activity, with youths forming their own clown groups (so named due to the face painting that comes with the dancing) and staging their own showdowns and competitions in lieu of crime and bloodshed. To his credit, LaChapelle doesn't look at the krump movement through completely rose-colored glasses. While the positivity is celebrated, he doesn't shy away from addressing the negativity that is still prevalent in the environment; for instance, one exhilarating high point, a large-scale krumping/clowning competition, is brought down to sober reality when one of the key figures becomes a victim of a senseless crime soon thereafter. That said, the film never becomes overly preachy nor pretentious, for LaChapelle is smart enough to realize the rise from RIZE derives from the astounding physical talents of the dancers and their art, the riveting visual and visceral power of which lingers long after the last frame.
Technical Foul
REBOUND will probably go down someplace in the cinema history books, as it is the first film--or television project, for that matter--in which star Martin Lawrence never goes "DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMN!" And that, right there, is the only remotely memorable thing about Lawrence's tedious attempt to make the Eddie Murphy-esque transition from raucous raunch to family-friendly film. If Lawrence set out to make a film as antiseptic and cringe-worthy as those uninspired cash-in vehicles by the sadly defanged Murphy, then he has most certainly succeeded--no surprise, considering the person at the helm is none other than Steve Carr, veteran of the Kiddie Eddie beat with DR. DOLITTLE 2 and DADDY DAY CARE. In this latest BAD NEWS BEARS-ish (itself set for remake later this month) kids sports comedy, Lawrence plays an arrogant ex-college hoops coach who, as a PR stunt, takes over as basketball coach at his old junior high school. The rest is simple paint-by-numbers: the team is a bunch of non-athletic misfits with a pathetic record; Lawrence is initially indifferent to the squad but gradually takes an interest and turns things around; Crucial Big-Time Meeting coincides with the kids' Big Game. But even for a formula picture, the movie is remarkably lazy. While we see the team's record improve via the ever-reliable (cue TEAM AMERICA music here) montage of newspaper headlines, we never really witness them getting better at the game: one minute, they suck; next minute, the headline montage; then they're in the championship final. Laziest of all, though, is the humor, or what passes for it; unlike Murphy's phoned-in family flick performances, Lawrence hams it up as he does anywhere else, and the overselling just further underscores how weak and unfunny the material is.
Befuddled
BEWITCHED proves once and for all that Nora Ephron has no idea what she's doing behind the camera--that is, unless she's pointing it at Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan. While she has directed far worse films than this "reimagining" of the classic televion series (take, for instance, either of her John Travolta starring vehicles), this is probably her most frustrating. If necessity is the mother of invention, then unfounded hubris is the mother of "reinvention," as Ephron takes a perfectly workable, big-screen ready concept and renders it needlessly complicated and barely recognizable.
Contrary to what the title would lead one to believe, this is not a true adaptation of the sitcom centering around Darrin and Samantha Stephens, a normal young couple settling into married life in the suburbs--except for the little fact that she's a witch. Instead, Ephron has fallen into the post-ADAPTATION. meta trend (SEED OF CHUCKY and FAT ALBERT, anyone?), with the show merely serving as a self-referential backdrop/counterpoint to a new and far less interesting supernatural comedy. Jack Wyatt (Will Ferrell), a washed-up movie star attempting a career comeback on the tube with a revival of BEWITCHED. So as not to be upstaged, Jack casts a complete unknown by the name of Isabel Bigalow (Nicole Kidman) as Samantha to his Darrin, but little does he know that she just so happens to be--drumroll please--an actual witch!
Thus Ephron and co-writer/sister Delia set themselves up for a twofold failure. The connection to the television series is so tangential that those drawn in by the recognizable title, to say nothing of the show's die-hard loyalists, will feel cheated; the occasional name-check of characters and the occasional nose twitch are hardly satisfying. So it's up to the Ephrons' new storyline to pick up the slack, and Jack and Isabel's world is nowhere nearly as engaging, let alone magical, as Darrin and Samantha's. The tired jokes about the entertainment business not nearly as clever and barbed as Ephron obviously thinks they are; her big biting zinger appears to be that--shocker--big celebrities can be insufferable egotists! The headlining stars have their moments, with a game Kidman obviously having fun as the flighty Isabel and Ferrell generating the very few decent laughs with his broad (and, I suspect, largely ad libbed) physical and verbal schtick. But the true magic behind the TV BEWITCHED was not so much the low-rent witchcraft effects (pumped up here in true summer movie fashion--yet still looking rather cheap) nor the silly jokes than the bewitching appeal of star Elizabeth Montgomery with either of her Darrins, Dick York and, later, Dick Sargent. The most Kidman and Ferrell are able to create together are nominally convincing friendship vibes, making for a screen pair one is not so eager to see inevitably transform into a screen couple.
What one is eager to see after watching BEWITCHED is more of the original series (now available on DVD), clips of which are seen throughout the film--and putting any of the new material to shame with its simple, effortless spirit and charm. This BEWITCHED is belabored, befuddling, and, ultimately, a besmirchment of a beloved brand of bubbly comedy.
How Do You Measure, Measure a Trailer?
The late Jonathan Larson's stage musical RENT holds an odd significance for me as it marked the climax of my now-long-abandoned aspirations as a performer. Some six years ago, encouraged by my victory at a RENT singing contest hosted and judged by then-unknown local radio personality Ryan Seacrest, I tried my luck at one of the show's famous open cattle calls. Needless to say, nothing quite came out of it though I can safely say I didn't embarrass myself, unlike those frequently featured on a certain reality television series that put Seacrest on the national radar.
So it was with unusually eager anticipation I awaited the premiere of the first trailer for the film version of RENT, which started filming earlier this year for a November 11 release. Although the choice of director--Chris Columbus, he of the schmaltzy, kiddie feel-good--for the gritty and rather risque tale (NYC Bohemians struggle with poverty and disease in the age of AIDS) was enough to make a RENThead let out a Macaulay-esque scream, early signs were unexpectedly promising. Six of the eight principals from the original 1996 Broadway cast were tapped to reprise their roles, with the most notable new addition being the sexy and talented Rosario Dawson. A behind-the-scenes piece that aired on ACCESS HOLLYWOOD in May was even more encouraging, as Columbus's vision for the film appeared eerily close to what many fans had seen in their minds' eyes over the years.
The same can be said for the teaser trailer, in which Columbus displays the slavish devotion to source material that characterized his two HARRY POTTER films--and as such leaves me of a very mixed mind. As a fan of the show, the trailer works as a stunning reassurance. Setting a series of film clips to the signature gospel anthem "Seasons of Love," the teaser takes the ACCESS piece a step farther, serving as a RENThead guessing game of "identify which shot comes from which musical number"--an easier task than it may sound considering how everything--the casting, the costuming, the actions and expressions--so closely mirrors the stage show save for the addition of practical locations. (The stage show's spartan set design primarily consists of tables and chairs employed for a variety of uses.) The newly-recorded movie version of "Seasons," anchored by a soaring solo by the film's other major cast newcomer, Tracie Thoms, makes the familiar tune sound better than ever and fans eager to hear more fresh takes on the score.
But for the more practical purpose as a teaser, to entice any and all moviegoers to want to see or learn more about the picture, it's a failure. Without any prior knowledge of RENT and its LA BOHÈME-inspired story, the teaser plays less like a trailer than a music video, as this slightly edited-down version of "Seasons" still runs for two minutes and thirty seconds, a running time more fitting for a standard trailer. Then certain touches that are lifted directly from the stage version, namely the cast singing the song while lined up on a bare stage, would strike casual audiences as bewildering if not rather lame out of context. So while the trailer makes me a little more optimistic about the final product--though still cautiously so; this is, after all, Columbus we're dealing with here--I cannot help but wonder if instead of offering an early enticement for uninitiated general audiences, this first trailer is alienating them right off the bat. I guess we'll see when the release date comes closer.
At the Video Store
Quite often, the television shows that aren't exactly Nielsen blockbusters yet have a devoted following make for the best DVD sets. Such is the case of SCRUBS The Complete First Season (Touchstone Home Entertainment). Although the show spent a few years as part of NBC's Thursday night "Must See TV" juggernaut, it never hit the upper reaches of the ratings ladder--a tribute to the unconventional wit and invention of the single-camera, laugh track-free workplace (mis)adventures of J.D. (Zach Braff) and his fellow medical interns (including Sarah Chalke and Donald Faison) at Sacred Heart Hospital. The rat-tat-tat dialogue and, most of all, the absurdist visual asides are likely what keep the show from achieving widespread mainstream success, but it's also what makes the show so special to critics and its fans; thankfully, creator/producer Bill Lawrence has never had to cave to more populist sitcom mentality. Lawrence is on hand for six episode commentaries and is extensively interviewed in the documentary featurettes, the most substantial of which is a nice half-hour, interview-intensiveoverview of the cast and crew and how the show came to be. There are are also shorter featurettes focusing on Braff, the show's unusual filming style and set, and the casts' favorite moments. An outtake reel, deleted and extended scenes, and a selection of alternate line takes fill out the nicely-packaged trio of discs.
If you ask me, ER The Complete Third Season (Warner Home Video) marked the beginning of the end of the seemingly immortal series, which will still limp along in the fall sans the last remaining uninterrupted original cast member, Noah Wyle. The '96-'97 season began with what to me is the series' definitive cast of regulars, with Laura Innes and her wonderfully acidic Dr. Kerry Weaver officially joining the opening credits along with Wyle, Anthony Edwards, George Clooney, Sherry Stringfield, Julianna Margulies, Gloria Reuben and Eriq LaSalle. By episode 9, however, Stringfield is gone to ill-advisedly pursue a full-time film career (she'll come running back home the series in season 8), and by the end of the season the series gets the first of what I call "revolving door" regulars, i.e. cast members who come and go within a year or so: Maria Bello, whose Dr. Anna Dell'Amico will be outta there at the end of season 4; and Jorja (then "Jorjan") Fox, whose Dr. Maggie Doyle will hang around for a few seasons and enjoy her own distinct story arcs without ever being added to the official cast roll call. That said, this is the series' prime, as there is some good drama to be savored here, from Dr. Doug Ross's (Clooney) ongoing relationship issues to cocky Dr. Peter Benton (LaSalle) botching a surgery; there are also some memorable guest star-driven storylines centering around characters played by the likes of Kirsten Dunst, Omar Epps and, in a classic single-episode stint, Ewan McGregor. Extras include a pair of epidode commentaries, deleted scenes; a blooper reel; and a pair of documentaries, one on the landmark "Fear of Flying" episode, the other highlighting those underrated recurring players populating the nurses' station.
It's amazing how so much of one's knowledge derives from or is spurred on from childhood television habits. One such strange instance for me was first learning about menopause in 1986 thanks to... an episode of THE GOLDEN GIRLS. That landmark episode, in which slutty Blanche Deveraux's (Rue McClanahan) geriatric pregnancy scare turns out to be "The End of the Curse" (the episode title) leads off Buena Vista Home Entertainment's three-disc The Complete Second Season set, in which everyone's favorite foursome of Miami seniors McClanahan, Bea Arthur, Betty White and Estelle Getty show no sign of sophomore slump--that is, aside from the season ender, which in actuality is one of those annoying planted spinoff pilots following heretofore unseen and unmentioned "good friends" of the main characters. Here the friend is a housewife played by Rita Moreno, who will never seen again on either the show proper or in her own series, and while this rather dull episode would generally not merit a thought, let alone a mention, it makes an interesting footnote in cinema history as it was the original and wildly different concept for EMPTY NEST, whose long run would begin a couple of seasons later as a vehicle for the late Richard Mulligan. That anticlimactic curiosity of a finale sadly caps off a solid year for the ladies, whose highlights include the aforementioned menopause plot, lesbian flirtation, a mistaken prostitution bit, one of George Clooney's early-career, dues-paying sitcom appearances and a cameo by Burt Reynolds. Thankfully, the mother-daughter duo from hell, Joan and Melissa Rivers, are not on hand to make un-asked-for fashion critiques of the Girls as they did in The Complete First Season set; the sole extra this time around is one of those routine set-top trivia games, which per the norm is nothing terribly special--but I'll take that over the Rivers wenches any day.
While the daily serialized drama is a genre on the wane in American television, its limited-run Spanish-language equivalent, the telenovela, continue to be all the rage south of the border and worldwide--and AMOR REAL (Real Love) is a great example as to why the format is thriving. As the title would suggest, this series does feature all of the expected staples of the soap opera: a long-suffering heroine, a torrid triangle, hissable villains, secret schemes, deaths and various close calls, steamy sex, torrents of tears. But not for nothing did AMOR REAL become nothing short of a worldwide television phenomenon, breaking ratings records in its native Mexico as well as in the U.S. (where it aired on the Univision network), eventually becoming the #1 Spanish soap of all time. One of the major reasons for its astounding global success can be answered by a single glance. Set in the 19th Century, the series boasts rather astounding production values that one would hardly associate with your average sudser: massive outdoor sets depicting everything from bustling cities and expansive hacienda estates to island prisons; gorgeous period costuming and hair; and rather impressively-staged, large-scale war combat sequences.
However, spectacle can only take a serial so far, and the key to any successful soap are engaging characters and storylines, and AMOR REAL, for all its epic trappings, has an irresistible basic hook. Rich girl Mathilde (Adela Noriega) is in love with penniless soldier Adolfo (Mauricio Islas), but her aristocratic family marries her off to hot-tempered heir Manuel (Fernando Colunga), whose wealth masks a less-than-honorable heritage: he is a bastard son. From there, the web of drama grows wider and deeper, as equally engaging subplots blossom individually and bolster the main Mathilde-Manuel-Adolfo thread, which takes its own surprising turns. Unlike American soaps, telenovelas have a set episode run, but I cannot help but wonder how much of the writing is improvised along the way, as the distinct initial pro-Adolfo slant slowly but surely turns in favor of Manuel, who is gradually painted more heroically as Adolfo's negative qualities increase in direct proportion with viewers' boredom with him. Was that part of the grand scheme, or was the turn in response to viewers favoring the sizzlin' and smokin' sparks between Mathilde and Manuel over the instant flameout that is the Mathilde-Adolfo coupling? Either way, that story and all the others that comprise the truly epic whole of AMOR REAL remain riveting and involving through all the twists and turns.
The journey is made all the more engrossing by the DVD release, in which the 95-episode run is distilled down to a breakneck four-and-a-half hours. The editors of the DVD release deserve major kudos for not only making this drastically condensed version narratively coherent, but emotionally coherent as well; while much credit for the latter goes to the actors--particularly Noriega and Colunga, who are as skilled as they are charismatic--the producers and editors are to be commended for striking a nice balance between the soapy histrionics and important quiet moments, thus preventing the non-stop, melodramatic stream of events from getting too dizzying.
The story and characters could have been given a bit more room to breathe had the space on AMOR REAL's two double-sided discs been better distributed. The show proper is on one double-sided disc while a few supplements--making-of documentary features, bloopers, a music video, interviews with executive producer Carla Estrada--are stretched to fill out both sides of disc two. The extras could have easily taken up one side of the second disc, thus freeing up one whole side for more savory moments of AMOR REAL. Nonetheless, the taste we do get on this release is satisfying, and perhaps somewhere down the line the entire, uncut run of the show will be released as series of box sets.
Access Bollywood
Bollywood has a reputation for churning out fairly inconsequential, candyfloss films, and while the rollicking romantic caper BUNTY AUR BABLI (Bunty and Babli) indeed proves to be one of those so-labeled "timepass entertainers," it also proves that that doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing. The "Bunty" and "Babli" of the title are actually small-town dreamers Rakesh (Abhishek Bachchan) and Vimmi (Rani Mukerji), a would-be entrepreneur and Miss India wannabe, respectively. When they meet up by chance after both of their big city ambitions quickly come crashing down, they decide to stick it to the powers that be by becoming ace con artists--not so much for the money than the sheer thrill of it. Determined to end their reign of fun is a cop (Amitabh Bachchan, marking the first time he and his son have appeared together onscreen) hot on their trail.
Per the Bollywood norm, it is a fairly thin plot to fill three hours of running time, but also as usual, it's up to style to carry the day, and the sweet allure of this fast-paced confection cooked up by director Shaad Ali (in a far cry from his hit 2002 domestic drama SAATHIYA (Companion)) is no con. Ali keeps the pace light on its feet, and he deftly keeps the proceedings from becoming overly episodic or redundant as the pair move from swindle to swindle. Contributing in no small part to the film's forward drive is the reliably catchy song score by the composing triumvirate of Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy. The film hits the ground running with a rousing opening number that plays like a cross between the classic "Chaiyya Chaiyya" sequence in 1998's DIL SE... (From the Heart...) and a vintage Disney "I Want" song, in which Rakesh and Vimmi relate their dreams beyond and frustration with life in their little towns full of little people. Ali gives each song thereafter equally lively picturizations, including a sultry item featuring a special appearance by a certain Bolly-Holly crossover queen. If some of the numbers seem a bit jarringly extreme--such as a high-energy dance number featuring the normally rather demure Mukerji shaking her groove thang in skimpy black vinyl, fishnets, and fuck-me boots--one must credit the go-for-broke exuberance.
And most exuberant and appealing of all is the toplining pair of Bachchan (the younger) and Mukerji. Last seen together as a most dysfunctional and destructive couple in last summer's gritty YUVA (Youth), the genuine romantic chemistry that made them so heartbreaking in that film easily translates to a far sunnier setting. Playful, sweet, and sexy, Bachchan and Mukerji make this rogue pair an easily loveable one, and individually both obviously have a blast; Bachchan's dancing is far less gangly than usual, and Mukerji's priceless delivery of the line "You BI-ITCH!" is alone worth the price of admission. No, this is not world-changing cinema we're talking about here, but for the shallow summer popcorn season, it hits the spot.
(Special thanks to Yash Raj Films and Naz 8 Cinemas.)
Next time...
...more reviews, including FANTASTIC FOUR. As always, check out my home site, Mr. Brown's Movie Site, for additional reviews.
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