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THE LAST SONG Steve McQueen, Sally Field and George Clooney are among the many actors who successfully transitioned from the small screen to the large one (and don’t forget that fellow named Clint), but Miley Cyrus seems more likely to join the ranks of Kirk Cameron, Tony Danza and the Olsen twins, thespians who attempted to make the leap but fell short by about 10 miles. In this adaptation of the Nicholas Sparks novel, the Disney Channel product stars as Ronnie, a brooding teen who’s none too thrilled that she’s forced to spend the summer with her father (Greg Kinnear) at his beachside home (filming took place in Savannah and Tybee Island). Still angry at him for divorcing her mom (the ageless Kelly Preston), she shows her disapproval by turning down acceptance at Julliard, refusing to eat dinner with him, and, well, pouting whenever she’s in his presence (that’ll teach him!). Initially, Cyrus’ character is supposed to be this anti-establishment rebel, but the actress suggests “punk” about as much as Barney the Purple Dinosaur. At any rate, she eventually mellows out after meeting local hunk Will (Liam Hemsworth), a jock from a rich family. From here, the film slogs its way through the usual hoary conventions, including Will’s snotty circle objecting to Ronnie’s lack of wealth and prestige and the sudden terminal disease sprung on one of the principal players. Cyrus isn’t quite ready for her big-screen close-up, as evidenced by her clumsy pauses (as if she expects canned sit-com reactions after her every utterance) as well as her exaggerated enunciation that’s more suited to the boob tube. But let’s not be too rough on the child: It’s hard to put one’s best foot forward when dealing with a script that’s the literary equivalent of cement shoes. *1/2
A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET Lamentably, it’s probably not a stretch to say that any movie at least 15 years old that’s vaguely remembered by the general public is now called a “classic” whenever it comes up in conversation or print (Howard the Duck excepted). But make no mistake: The original 1984 A Nightmare on Elm Street is hardly a classic — it wasn’t even the best entry in the never-ending Freddy Krueger franchise (that honor goes to 1987’s A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors). But it did contain an interesting premise as well as a new horror icon in Robert Englund’s demonic dream weaver, a boogeyman who could kill people as they snoozed. This new Nightmare, in contrast, doesn’t boast of a single thing it can call its own. The latest soulless horror remake from Michael Bay (who’s already pillaged and plundered the likes of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre and Friday the 13th by producing needless rehashes), this film is the ultimate example of making movies on autopilot, with everyone going through the paces merely to plop something on the screen, the sole goal being to siphon lots of money from moviegoers responding to the brand-name recognition. That’s the name of the game, of course — aside from Max Bialystock in The Producers, nobody sets out to make a flop — but couldn’t somebody have had a little fun with this project? As it stands, the movie is dull more than anything, furthered hampered by unappealing teen protagonists (at least the original had a memorable heroine in Heather Langenkamp and a future star in Johnny Depp), clumsy direction by Samuel Bayer, a slack script full of risible moments (such as the clod who somehow falls asleep while swimming laps in the school pool!), cheesy CGI effects and a letdown performance by Jackie Earle Haley as Freddy (he possesses neither Englund’s enervating energy nor his way with a quip). The bottom line is that it isn’t just Elm Street that’s affected; you’ll find a nightmare on any street that’s housing a theater with the misfortune to be playing this monstrosity. *
REMEMBER ME I’m not saying it’s impossible for the surprise ending of Remember Me to work (not to worry; no spoilers here); however, it needs to be attached to a project a lot more distinguished than the one on display here. But because the bulk of Remember Me is clumsy, mawkish and marked by some truly heinous dialogue, the conclusion proves to be staggering in its tastelessness, and one gets the impression that scripter Will Fetters came up with this “gotcha!” moment first and then banged out enough drivel leading up to it in order to have a completed screenplay to shop around. Twilight’s Robert Pattinson maintains his gloomy ‘tude here as well: He’s cast as Tyler Hawkins, who loves his precocious little sister (bright Ruby Jerins), runs afoul of his distant dad (Pierce Brosnan), and still misses the older brother who committed suicide six years earlier. Through labored screenwriting, Tyler meets and falls for Ally Craig (Emilie de Ravin), who’s also been touched by a death in her immediate family. Most of Remember Me is banal and insipid, conditions brought on as much by director Allen Coulter’s inability to stage a scene as by Fetters’ cringe-worthy lines. Pattinson and de Ravin are earnest but never quite connect as screen lovers, while Tate Ellington’s character of Aidan Hall, Tyler’s roomie and best bud, is the most obnoxious sidekick/comic relief seen in many a new moon: The character’s description of his penchant for bedding women of all nationalities — “I’ve planted my flag in every country!” — is particularly gag-inducing. Nothing, however, is more retch-worthy than that ill-conceived climax, which will strike the easily manipulated as deep but will cause most discerning viewers to recognize it for a cheap trick that should come with some sort of trigger warning before it unfolds. *
