Somehow I made it through four years of high school, four years of college, and ten years since without ever reading Jack Kerouac's 'On the Road.' I'm not sure whether that makes me hopelessly unqualified to review the new movie adaptation of it -- because I can't tell you how faithful it is -- or better suited than most because I can judge the film as a film and not as a sacred cow of literature offered up for slaughter to the great, greedy god of cinema. And as a film, it feels like the CliffsNotes version of a great book; sketchy and incomplete. That's probably the film's destiny, too: to be watched by procrastinating teens the night before a big exam in lieu of reading the real thing.
If he hadn't already used that title for another movie, Tom Cruise could have easily called 'Jack Reacher' 'The Last Samurai.' There's a bit of Toshiro Mifune's Sanjuro in this Reacher guy: the masterless warrior who strides into a corrupt town, answers to no one, rights a few wrongs, busts a few heads, and wanders away to find his next challenge. He has no possessions; he owns exactly two shirts and one jacket. All he carries with him is a roll of $100 bills, a passport, a toothbrush, and his inflexible moral code. He would have fit right in back in feudal Japan. Or the Old West, for that matter. He'd make a hell of a Man With No Name.
Some good movies inspire endless repeat viewings. I've seen 'Citizen Kane' several dozen times; I've watched 'Ghostbusters' at least twice that. Then there are other good movies for which one viewing is enough for an entire lifetime. Films like 'Requiem For a Dream' and 'Salo, or the 120 Days of Sodom' are powerful works of art -- perhaps too powerful and too overwhelming in their depictions of death, misery and human cruelty to endure more than once. 'Amour,' the new film from Michael Haneke, falls into the latter category. I am glad I saw it -- and hope I never see it again.
The transition from ‘The 40-Year-Old Virgin’ to ‘This is 40’ has been an interesting one for Judd Apatow. After doing some really personal work on television’s ‘Freaks and Geeks’ -- and getting almost immediately cancelled when no one watched it -- he became a major name in cinematic comedy with the big, broad ‘Virgin,’ a film about a man trying to end decades of sexual starvation. He followed that up with ‘Knocked Up,’ about a young stoner who learns the perils of impregnating Katherine Heigl -- whose sister was played by Leslie Mann, Apatow’s real-life wife, and whose nieces were played by Maude and Iris Apatow, Apatow and Mann’s real-life daughters. While most of the movie was about Seth Rogen and Heigl’s wacky babywaiting shenanigans, there was that small percentage of observational family life comedy with Mann, the junior Apatows, and Paul Rudd, ostensibly playing Judd. It was some of the best stuff in the film, and it pointed the way forward.
His name is Django and as he's quick to point out, the D is silent. It's just about the only quiet part of Quentin Tarantino's 'Django Unchained,' a boisterous, bloody blaxploitation/Western hybrid. What else would you expect from Tarantino, the modern master of genre pastiche, flavorful dialogue, and grossly exaggerated violence? Whatever 'Django''s issues -- and it has a couple -- failing to deliver on its promises isn't one of them. If anything, the issue is the exact opposite.
Matt had just typed out the title of his 'Seven Psychopaths' review, his byline, and the rating (seven -- no, make that eight --out of ten?) when his wife Melissa walked into the room.
"How was the movie?" she asked as she flopped down on the couch and flipped on the television.
"Good. Really good," Matt replied. "Interesting."
"Interesting? Why interesting?" Melissa said. She started flipping channels.
"It's about a writer who writes himself into his work. Colin Farrell plays this struggling screenwriter named Martin -- and the movie was written and directed by this guy, Martin McDonagh, who wrote that play we saw on Broadway with Christopher Walken in it."
"Right. That was weird."
"It was," he said, nodding. "Weird but good. So, anyway, Colin Farrell plays this writer named Martin. He's come up with a title he really likes for a screenplay -- 'Seven Psychopaths.' But that's all he has, the title. He doesn't even have the seven psychopaths. But then these people in his life -- or perhaps these characters he's invented -- are all revealed to be psychopaths, and he gets caught in the middle of this elaborate gangster-slash-revenge comedy with them involving a kidnapped dog."
Melissa yawned again. "A writer writing himself into his work? That sounds like a terrible idea."
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