Current Releases
BODY OF LIES Despite Russell Crowe's shared marquee billing, this is really Leonardo DiCaprio's film, as the young thespian handles the part of Roger Ferris, a compassionate CIA point man working in the Middle East under the jaded eye of his ruthless superior (Crowe) back in the United States. Hoping to track down a bin Laden-like terrorist (a menacing Alon Aboutboul) responsible for a series of attacks on America and its allies, Ferris ends up traveling to Jordan and entering into a terse relationship with Hani Salaam (Stardust's Mark Strong), the head of Jordanian intelligence. The film's best scenes are between DiCaprio and Strong, as their characters alternate between working together and keeping each other at arm's length. Better than the vast majority of the post-9/11 terrorist yarns, Body of Lies is both more ambiguous and ambitious than such heavy-handed duds as Rendition and Redacted. Director Ridley Scott and The Departed's Oscar-winning screenwriter William Monaghan (working from David Ignatius' novel) refrain from merely putting Ferris and Hoffman through the good-cop-bad-cop routine: Ferris' idealism isn't always beneficial, while Hoffman might be a prick, but he occasionally exhibits more clarity than might be expected. And even a superfluous romance between Ferris and a Muslim nurse (Golshifteh Farahani) allows for some insight into societal disapproval for such a coupling, as the pair can't even shake hands in public. It's the extra attention to smaller details that gives this Body its necessary heft. ***
CHANGELING Like Mystic River and Flags of Our Fathers, Changeling is good, not great, Clint Eastwood, although as far as emotional resonance is concerned, the latest from the consummate director reverberates more strongly than either of those other features. A true story brought to the screen via an ambitious screenplay by J. Michael Straczynski, this stars Angelina Jolie as Christine Collins, a single mom whose only son (Gattlin Griffith) goes missing one afternoon in 1928. The Los Angeles Police Department, mired at the time in corruption, spots an opportunity to do something right and eventually reunites the mother with her boy. The only problem is that they bring back the wrong child, but rather than risk further embarrassment, a zealous captain (Jeffrey Donovan) decides to drown out Christine's protests by any means necessary, including labeling her as an unfit mother and having her locked up in a mental institution. Eastwood's stately picture slowly extends its reach, as various other plot elements circle the central story; while some suffer in the mix (John Malkovich, as a crusading reverend, could have benefited from more scenes), the overall result is a movie that will disappoint only those who require tidy endings wrapped up in pretty bows. Along the same lines, those who find fault with the brutish depiction of Christine's tormenters fail to grasp the patriarchy of the period (the story takes place a mere eight years after American women were given the right to vote). Jolie, on the other hand, understands this angle and aptly plays Christine as a woman whose frustrations with the system often match her fear for the safety of her child. ***
HAPPY-GO-LUCKY Any movie character who bears even the slightest resemblance to Robin Williams' insufferable Patch Adams deserves no less a fate than being simultaneously electrocuted and beheaded at film's end, yet here's writer-director Mike Leigh bucking the odds by bringing us such a person yet somehow keeping our collective wrath in check. Poppy (played by Sally Hawkins) is the eternal Pollyanna, a 30-year-old schoolteacher so chipper that, upon discovering her bike has been stolen, merely shrugs and states, "I didn't have a chance to say my goodbyes." To her friends, she evokes that familiar line from the theme song to The Mary Tyler Moore Show ("Who can turn the world on with her smile?"); to strangers, she's a baffling figure indeed, perhaps even psychotic. As in many Leigh pictures, including his two best ones (Secrets & Lies and Topsy-Turvy), narrative structure isn't nearly as important as character examination, and here that's a risky proposition, considering that spending so much time in the presence of such a live wire can lead to viewer irritation and exhaustion as much as it can evolve into acceptance and appreciation. But thanks to Leigh's lack of pretense and Hawkins' perfectly modulated performance, Happy-Go-Lucky eventually compels rather than repels, with some poignant encounters (chiefly between Poppy and her grouchy driving instructor, nicely played by Eddie Marsan) adding heft to what otherwise could have been dismissed out of hand as an airy confection. ***
MAX PAYNE Imagine The Constant Gardener after a frontal lobotomy, and that's basically Max Payne in a nutshell. The latest bomb based on a popular video game, this stars Mark Wahlberg as a New York cop who, years after the fact, is still solely obsessed with solving the murders of his wife and baby. It sounds like standard Death Wish fare; the picture even opens with Max luring three drug addicts into a subway restroom, then proceeding to inflict Payne – excuse me, pain – on them. But as in The Constant Gardener, a major pharmaceutical outfit figures into the proceedings, though it's safe to say that Ralph Fiennes never had to contend with winged demons flying all over the cityscape. That's not the case with Wahlberg, whose character also has to deal with invincible super-soldiers, a leggy druggie (Olga Kurylenko) and a career assassin (a miscast Mila Kunis) who's about as menacing as a Scooby-Doo plush doll. Rather than focusing on making a kick-ass action flick (presumably what fans of the video game would crave), director John Moore and novice scripter Beau Thorne dress up their simplistic revenge yarn with various twists and turns – all of which are absurdly easy to predict (if the revelation of the piece's final villain surprises you, you really need to add more mysteries to your moviegoing diet). Yet even when they do get around to the shootouts and fisticuffs, they prove to be flagrantly opportunistic, rehashing both The Matrix and the John Woo oeuvre to diminishing returns. Incidentally, stay through the final credits to see the coda that promises a sequel. My bet is that it will star Donnie Wahlberg instead of Mark and debut directly on DVD. *
NIGHTS IN RODANTHE Diane Lane and the Tuscan countryside prove to be a more dynamic duo than Diane Lane and the Outer Banks, an assertion that immediately becomes clear when placing Under the Tuscan Sun and Nights in Rodanthe side by side. The former made the most of its setting and its star, resulting in a winning romantic comedy whose love-struck spirit rubbed off on audience members eager to lap up its sense of joie de vivre. The coastal-Carolina-shot Rodanthe, on the other hand, starts off well as Tuscan Sun's more serious-minded cousin, but it eventually sinks under the weight of the shameless plot devices thrust upon it by author Nicholas Sparks and adapters Ann Peacock and John Romano. Lane, teaming with Richard Gere for the third time (following 1984's The Cotton Club and 2002's Unfaithful), plays Adrienne Willis, who agrees to look after her best friend's (Viola Davis) beachfront inn at the same time that her philandering husband (Christopher Meloni) is begging her to let him come back. Gere co-stars as Paul Flanner, a doctor brooding over a minor surgery procedure that went tragically wrong. As the only two people stuck at the inn, Adrienne and Paul open up to each other and gradually fall in love. For a while, Nights in Rodanthe works as a mature and even touching drama, but then the melodramatic devices take over with the force of a hurricane. And speaking of hurricane, the second-act emergence of this force of nature is but one of the hoary aspects that sink the production, along with a sour twist that is as expected as it is defeatist. **
PRIDE AND GLORY The award for the year's most generic title thus far handily goes to Pride and Glory, a moniker so instantly forgettable that, in just a few short weeks, folks will be remembering the film as Honor and Justice or Law and Order or Cops and Crooks or, with apologies to Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment. Then again, this snoozy title reflects the picture bearing it, since this is nothing but one more look at police corruption, a subgenre that's become especially threadbare during the course of this decade (Narc, Dark Blue, We Own the Night). What's especially lamentable is that this movie strands yet another exemplary turn by Edward Norton, who once again is superior to the material surrounding him. Here, he plays Ray Tierney, part of a clan of cops: His father (Jon Voight), his brother Francis (Noah Emmerich) and his brother-in-law Jimmy (Colin Farrell) also have NYPD blood coursing through their veins. Troubled by a past tragedy and therefore satisfied to be working a quiet desk job, Ray is reluctantly pulled back onto the streets after four police officers are fatally gunned down in the line of duty. As Ray works his connections in the back alleys and juggles a handful of clues, he makes the startling discovery that the murders are connected to dealings within his own family. For the first hour, Pride and Glory wears its formulaic trappings fairly well, but a movie that refuses to offer anything fresh – watching Farrell go hyper for the umpteenth time in his career certainly doesn't qualify – has no reason to clock in at a strenuous 125 minutes. **
QUANTUM OF SOLACE Casino Royale, the 2006 revamp of the 007 film franchise, turned out to be the best James Bond outing since the start of Reagan's first term, so expecting Quantum of Solace to match it was probably asking too much. And indeed, this second effort starring Daniel Craig gets off to a rough start, simply because the two elements we can always rely on – the opening credits and the theme song – are particularly dreadful. Fortunately, it isn't long before we're again immersed in the 007 mystique. Half gentleman, half bruiser, Craig's Bond is still learning the ropes of his newly designated status as a field operative, and it's up to his superior, M (again played by Judi Dench with the right mix of pissed-off exasperation at the monster she helped create and barely concealed pride at the confident, competent male she's released to the world), to try to keep him in line. In a first for the 46-year-old series, this is a direct sequel to its predecessor: To watch it without having seen Casino Royale would be akin to viewing The Empire Strikes Back without having seen Star Wars. In short, the villainous organization from the previous picture is still operating full speed ahead, and revenge for the death of a loved one remains foremost on our hero's mind. One of the keys to this franchise's longevity is each entry's ability to adapt to the times, and Quantum of Solace is no exception. But don't think for a moment that real-world issues dominate the movie: The stunts are as outlandish as ever, the typically lavish settings allow us to live vicariously through Bond, and fans of the Connery/Moore eras will spot a few neat touches, including an homage to Goldfinger. If I rated with numbers instead of stars, it would merit – dare I type it? – a 007 out of 10. ***
THE SECRET LIFE OF BEES This adaptation of Sue Monk Kidd's novel is the sort of Southern-spun, honey-soaked confection that in the wrong hands could have turned out dreadful. Yet writer-director Gina Prince-Bythewood (Love & Basketball) largely stays away from grandiloquent gestures designed to manipulate audience emotions, relying instead on sound storytelling and accomplished performers to punch across the story's humanist appeal. Set in 1964 South Carolina, this centers on young Lily Owens (Dakota Fanning), who's haunted by memories of her late mother (Hilarie Burton) and ill-treated by her unfeeling father (Paul Bettany). Hoping to learn more about a mom she barely remembers, she runs away from home, dragging her caregiver Rosaleen (Jennifer Hudson) along with her. They end up taking shelter in the home of the Boatwright sisters: patient August (Queen Latifah), suspicious June (Alicia Keys) and sentient (if simple-minded) May (Sophie Okonedo). There, Lily not only finds the answers she seeks but also the family she never had. It's only been two years since I last saw Fanning (in Charlotte's Web), yet she seems to have passed that vaguely defined mark between adorable moppet and self-assured teen. No longer able to count on the safety net of precociousness (not that she ever really did), the 14-year-old is expected to deliver a full-bodied performance here, and she handles the task like a seasoned pro. Her co-stars prove to be equally memorable, and it's especially nice to see Hudson handed a role somewhat more substantial than the discarded-tissue part she had in Sex and the City. ***
W. Love him or hate him, there's no denying that George W. Bush is a remarkably controversial figure. So how is it possible that Oliver Stone has managed to make a biopic that's about as incendiary as Kung Fu Panda? The leftist Stone has been down this road before, when he tried to inject sympathy and dignity into the tale of Tricky Dick in his 1995 effort, Nixon. Yet that feature looks as hard-hitting as All the President's Men when compared to W., which suggests that Dubya's only real character flaw is that he isn't always the sharpest tack in the box. Are we talking about the same president? So much damning evidence has been stacked against Bush that the movie's narrow focus on precious few incidents in his life hardly makes the production of this picture seem worth the effort. The film flashes back and forth between the decades, but it never manages to find time for any mention of, for starters, his ineptitude in the face of Katrina or his paralyzed state during those first fateful moments of 9/11. Stone further decides that every move Dubya makes in his life is to seek approval from a perpetually disappointed father (James Cromwell), thereby reducing this man to a Pop Psychology 101 test subject. As W., Josh Brolin's performance can't be faulted: He tackles the part as conceived by screenwriter Stanley Weiser, providing the proper mix of swagger and insecurity. Playing loose with history is one thing, but when you make Dick Cheney (Richard Dreyfuss) and Karl Rove (Toby Jones), two of the most vile politicians ever to set foot in D.C., appear almost as cuddly as newborn kittens, then something has gone terribly, terribly wrong. **
WHAT JUST HAPPENED From Sullivan's Travels and Sunset Boulevard to S.O.B. and The Player, I've always been a sucker for movies about the movie business, since the inside-Hollywood info at the filmmakers' disposal tends to reach the screen in a raw, uncut form that allows every blemish to be tantalizingly exposed and magnified. What Just Happened, however, is only partly successful in its attempts to wallow in the wickedness of the motion picture industry, as a scattershot screenplay by veteran producer Art Linson (adapting his own memoir) perpetually keeps losing sight of the important targets. Robert De Niro plays Ben, who's experiencing major difficulties with both films on which he's currently serving as producer. The violent drama Fiercely (starring Sean Penn) is set to debut at the Cannes Film Festival, but a disastrous test screening places Ben in the middle of a spat between the studio head (Catherine Keener) who wants to recut the picture and the director (Michael Wincott) who insists any changes will destroy the purity of his vision. Meanwhile, Ben is also having trouble getting Bruce Willis (as himself), the star of his next action movie, to shave an imposing beard that makes him look like Grizzly Adams. Linson's industry jabs are frequently amusing but rarely uncover anything new, and his sidebars involving Ben's family woes add nothing to the mix; meanwhile, Barry Levinson directs with little sense of passion or purpose. There's added (and perhaps unintentional) humor, though, when Willis, the star of Hudson Hawk and Armageddon (among many other stinkbombs), stands around yammering about his artistic integrity. **1/2
ZACK AND MIRI MAKE A PORNO The latest from writer-director Kevin Smith is always likable even if it isn't always inspired. As he proved with Chasing Amy (still the Citizen Kane of his output), Smith can deftly pull off the proper mix of sweet and funny and raunchy; in this case, though, only the "funny" clears all hurdles, as the "sweet" is of the standard variety while the "raunchy" often overwhelms the picture. Seth Rogen and Elizabeth Banks are aptly cast as Zack and Miri, lifelong best friends and present-day roommates who are so broke that they can't even afford to pay their utility bills. After a life-altering high school reunion, Zack hits upon the brilliant idea of making their own hardcore adult film in order to raise significant amounts of green. Initially, the eight-person cast and crew (played by, among others, Smith vets Jason "Jay" Mewes and Jeff Anderson and former porn star Traci Lords) plan to mount a Star Wars spoof titled Star Whores (featuring such characters as Hung Solo, Princess Layher and Darth Vibrator), but after that falls through, they opt to use a coffeehouse as their setting. Rogen and Banks are both utterly winning, and their charisma helps offset the fact that their characters' romance takes off down a disappointingly predictable path (remove the risqué trimmings, and we're left with a Tom Hanks-Meg Ryan rom-com). The vulgar material is alternately hilarious and off-putting, although any movie with the imagination to cast perpetually boyish Justin Long as a gravel-voiced Hollywood gay porn star obviously has much to recommend it. **1/2
OPENS FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 21:
ASHES OF TIME REDUX: Leslie Cheung, Brigitte Lin.
BOLT: Animated; voices of John Travolta, Miley Cyrus.
THE BOY IN THE STRIPED PAJAMAS: Asa Butterfield, David Thewlis.
TWILIGHT: Kristen Stewart, Robert Pattinson.
