The Visit

This review originally appeared on SFist.com.

The good news is, M. Night Shyamalan has made his best movie in years. The bad news is, it's another damned found footage horror movie.

The divorced mother (Kathryn Hahn) of Rebecca (Olivia DeJonge) and Tyler (Ed Oxenbould) had a falling out with her parents when she left home at 19, and hasn't seen them since. But after receiving a phone call from them wishing to meet their grandchildren, mom has a change of heart and allows a week-long visit. (This time apart also allows her to take an extended cruise with her boyfriend.)

Rebecca is an aspiring filmmaker, and decides to film the entire event and turn it into a documentary — hence the found footage conceit. I will grant Rebecca this: She has the presence of mind to set her cameras up on tripods and other solid surfaces much of the time, so the movie has a little less of the shaky, vomit-inducing camera work of the majority of the genre. As a teenage filmmaker, Rebecca is also pleasantly pretentious as she narrates her footage, (but the less said of brother Tyler's rapping, the better).

At first, Nana (Deanna Dunagan) and Pop Pop (Peter McRobbie) seem nice, if a little distracted. Nana loves to cook, and Pop Pop putters around their farm, chopping wood and trekking out to the shed. A lot. But then, bed time arrives, (at 9:30 p.m. which is simply appalling to the wifi-less kids), and things start to get weird.

The first real scare of the movie is genuinely startling, because it's so weird. But as the movie progresses, Shyamalan tends to rely too much on conventional frights: faces suddenly appearing on screen and images of a long-haired woman crawling across the floor straight out of numerous Japanese and now, too many American, horror movies.

As the visit, and The Visit progresses, it's clear there's something seriously wrong with the grandparents. The film plays up on fears many people have of the elderly, from dementia to incontinence (and hoo boy, does that bit have a disgusting payoff) that, unfortunately, at times borders on a distasteful prejudice. That the kids have some genuine mental issues of their own to deal with adds to the feeling that this is one fucked up family line, and anything could happen.

The twist — this is M. Night Shyamalan, of course there's a twist — isn't as ridiculous as Shyamalan at his worst, and works perfectly well for the story, even if it's hammered home more than it needs to be. While both actors playing the grandparents are great, I have to single out Deanna Dugan's portrayal of the grandmother. She does some really spooky and...revealing stuff in the movie, and doesn't hold back.

This Sunday is, probably no coincidence, Grandparents Day. If you plan on seeing yours to celebrate it, maybe do yourself a favor, and save a viewing of The Visit for some time afterwards. That way you won't get freaked out if grandma asks you to help clean the oven after dinner.

A Walk In the Woods

This review originally appeared on SFist.com.

I read Bill Bryson's A Walk In the Woods right after I read Cheryl Strayed's Wild, and it was the perfect counterpoint: fewer dying moms, more funny moments communing with nature. It's such a funny book it seems like it would be a pretty easy job to translate to the screen, which is something star Robert Redford has been trying to do for about 10 years, originally hoping to team up with his best loved co-star Paul Newman.

Obviously, that didn't pan out. Instead we have Redford paired with Nick Nolte in a movie that is supposed to be a comedy, but fails completely and utterly to be funny.

Maybe the first problem is that the Bryson who originally attempted to walk the over 2,000 miles of the Appalachian Trail was a middle-aged guy in his 40's. Redford and Nolte are in their 70's. Even if they're supposed to be, say, 15 years younger in the movie (ha, nice try, if so), it still changes the tone from "This idea is folly! You aren't in your 20's anymore you know," to "Oh god you're both gonna die." Pratfalls lose their comedic edge when all you can think about is broken hips.

I'll grant that in some ways the casting of Nick Nolte as Katz seems perfect; I can think of few actors who you can take one look at and instantly think: This guy is in no condition to walk across the street let alone two thousand miles. The problem is, it's uncomfortable to watch. Nolte's face is perpetually crimson; he doesn't walk, he stumbles; and his gravelly voice has gotten so rough that at times it's impossible to understand what he's saying. It's like watching a heart attack personified.

Both Redford and Nolte have been in comedies — some good ones! — before. But they have no comedic chemistry at all, and throughout the film, they come off like actors who have zero understanding of comedic timing. Perhaps this is the fault of the director Ken Kwapis, or screenwriters Rick Kerb and Bill Holderman. All I know is two hours of Redford just sitting on screen reading the book out loud would yield more laughs than this movie does.

The Phantom Of The Opera At The Orpheum

This review originally appeared on SFist.com.

Since its premier in 1986, Andrew Lloyd Weber's The Phantom of the Opera has broken records as the longest-running Broadway musical of all time, and has played San Francisco more than once. It returns to the Orpheum for a six week engagement via SHN through October 4th.

This latest touring incarnation has been pared down a bit from the original production, with fewer elaborate props (no giant elephant during the Hannibal scene), and a simpler set. But what's replaced those sets is still pretty neat: a kind of rolling cylinder that can serve as a spooky backdrop, opens up to reveal various inner sets, and sprouts stairs that lead characters down to the Phantom's subterranean lair. And yes, the chandelier is still there, although this time around it doesn't so much threaten to crush the cast on stage as kill the audience below it. (Those orchestra seats will earn their cost in thrills).

So, while smaller, this Phantom is still a spectacle, which is a good thing. It's not the type of show you could give a minimalist Sweeney Todd approach to because, save for the best —
and most popular songs — a lot of the music is just plain boring, and without the elaborate sets and costumes to back them, would likely put audiences to sleep.

The story remains the same: Christine (Katie Travis), is an opera ingenue who gets her big break when the resident diva storms off the set, in fear of the "ghost" who haunts the opera house. This ghost is, of course, the Phantom (Chris Mann, in the performance I saw), the mysterious masked figure who has been tutoring Christine in music. Christine isn't even sure if the Phantom is real, or all in her mind, but she comes to reality once Raoul (Storm Lineberger), her childhood love, enters the picture.

The Phantom is a little younger in this version, so he's clearly meant to be more of a potential love interest than any kind of father figure for Christine. But the love triangle doesn't completely work. I never bought that Christine was ever torn between the two guys, mainly because the Phantom is, well, a total dick, and kind of a creepy drip as well. I wanted to take the guy aside and tell him to just own that mask! Go the Daft Punk route and never take that thing off. Or just follow Mariah Carey's lead, and only allow your good side to be photographed! The point is, Phantom, if you want the world to accept you, don't be the creepy guy who enters the party in a cloud of smoke, with a fancy mask on, basically confronting people with "WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?!"

The show's biggest problem is it blows its wad in Act One. It's this first act that contains the introduction of the Phantom, the boat trip to his underground home, and the two best songs, "The Music of the Night," and "The Phantom of the Opera." Thankfully, orchestration for the latter hasn't changed much since its very obvious 1986 production, complete with synthesizers and electric guitar chords. It's insanely cheesy, and also completely catchy. I still find myself humming it to myself, days later. Act One also ends with the chandelier scene, and the show never again reaches that moment's fun intensity.

As one would gather from the setting, there's also a lot of opera sung. And while it's all in English, it's at times impossible to understand. I'm not sure if this is the fault of the performers, the compositions themselves, (several include three or more people singing at once, but not in harmony), or the sound production. Regardless, large chunks of the lyrics were unintelligible. Still, The Phantom remains a fun, albeit slightly silly show. But, much like the titular character's cursed mug, one half is a lot more fun than the other.

Women Of A Certain Age Rule 'Grandma' And 'Learning To Drive'

This review originally appeared on SFist.com.

Unless you're Meryl Streep or Diane Keaton, good, complex lead roles for Actresses of a Certain Age can be hard to come by. Which is why it's refreshing that we have two movies opening this week, Learning To Drive and Grandma, that don't star either Diane Keaton or Meryl Streep--that are centered on and starring women who said goodbye to their 20's a while ago.

Of course, the other truism is that once an actress hits forty they are no longer cast as love interests and are instead cast as mothers. So, naturally, anything over 50 must means it's time for the grandma roles! Enter Lily Tomlin in Grandma. She plays a lesbian poet named Ellie Reid. Still grieving over the death of her partner of over 30 years, she's depressed, angry, and at times, cruel, especially to her current, younger girlfriend (Judy Greer), who's had enough and is leaving her. An already bad day gets worse when her teenage granddaughter, Sage (Julia Garner) shows up at her door needing $600 to help pay for an abortion she's already scheduled for later in the day.

In a (in)convenient twist, Ellie has just paid off and cut up all her credit cards, and currently only has forty bucks to her name, and neither women wants to go to Sage's mother for help. This dilemma sends the two of them on a Los Angeles-based road trip in an attempt to scrounge up the money by cashing in some old debts, selling some old books, and forcing the jerky boyfriend to pay a share of the responsibility.

Abortion is obviously a controversial topic, but the movie doesn't dance around it, and also doesn't skirt the issue by giving the teenager a convenient miscarriage. Instead, the emotions around such a decision are represented honestly, and respectfully.

Lily Tomlin is simply phenomenal as the very liberal, short-tempered grandma. She hasn't been in a lot of movies of late, so it's easy to forget that while she's best known for her comedic work, she's always been a fine dramatic actress--even garnering a Best Supporting Actress Oscar nomination for her role in Robert Altman's Nashville. And if there's any justice to the Academy's nominations this year (wishful thinking!) she'll get a Best Actress nod for Grandma. I'd also love writer and director Paul Weitz to get some kind of nomination as well, if only because it's seems impossible that a movie like this could from the director of American Pie.

Patricia Clarkson hasn't reached grandma-roles status yet, but she's definitely had her fair share of mom roles, and she plays another in Learning to Drive. (Her daughter is played by Grace Gummer, whose mother is, yes, Meryl Streep. We can't escape!) Like Tomlin in Grandma, Clarkson is facing a difficult situation--a divorce, after her husband falls in love with a younger woman--and deals with it by getting in a car. As a New Yorker, she's never learned to drive, and has always relied on public transportation and her husband to get her where she needs to go.

Enter Ben Kingsley as Darwan, and Indian Sikh who works as a cab driver and a driving instructor. Darwan has some life challenges as well: the every day racism and harassment associated with being a Sikh in America, and his newly arranged marriage to a woman (Sarita Choudhury) his sister picked out for him.

In Grandma, the act of sitting and driving in a car leads to funny, intense, and often revelatory conversation between the women of two generations. But in Learning to Drive, the conversations and "lessons" exchanged by both feel too scripted; life lessons disguised as driving lessons, deliberate and contrived. When Lily Tomlin learns something about herself in Grandma we believe it, and it feels genuine. Learning to Drive is pleasant enough, and Patricia Clarkson is always fun to watch. But when it comes to ladies of a certain age steering their own movies? Grandma's the better ride.

No Escape

This review originally appeared on SFist.com.

The jokes about this movie and its title — "No escape from this garbage!" — are easy, and not entirely true. There is an escape: just don't see it, because it's terrible.

A failed entrepreneur (Owen Wilson, how could you?) moves his wife (Lake Bell) and two daughters to an unnamed East Asian country that borders Vietnam, (the movie was filmed in Thailand), for an unnamed job having to do with the local water supply. While there, a coup breaks out, and masked rebels decide to take out all Americans and anyone else who crosses their paths. Pierce Brosnan has a supporting role as a mysterious Brit who's good with a gun and hand-to-hand combat.

If you watched the trailer, you've already seen the movie's best and most ridiculous moment: Owen Wilson tossing one of his daughters across a rooftop. I'll grant that the movie does have some suspenseful moments. But it's all wrapped up in some murky politics and crystal clear xenophobia that I just felt gross sitting through it.