Pee Jokes And References: Paul

This review originally appeared on the San Francisco Appeal.

It's hard to know exactly why "Paul," the sci-fi spoof starring Simon Pegg and Nick Frost, is a failure. Some might argue that since this is the first movie Pegg and Frost have made without their director and co-writer, Edgar Wright, that it is in his absence that blame can fall. I might agree with that if I was a fan of "Hot Fuzz," the last movie the trio made together, but that cop movie parody fell flat for me. But I did like "Sean of the Dead" well enough, and also enjoyed their TV venture, "Spaced." So I don't think I can pin the blame on the lack of Wright, or the presence of director Greg Mottola.

Instead, I'm just going to have to blame this failure on a lack of vision and some terrible laziness. It seems the movie never got much further than the concept phase.

"So, imagine two totally geeky dudes on a tour of UFO hot spots in America meet an alien that looks like what we all think an alien looks like, but he talks like SETH ROGEN, has a bland human name, and smokes pot!"

"OK, great! So what do the guys do with the alien?"

"Oh, you know. The usual trying to get him back to a meet up point with a ship from his home planet while running away from the feds thing."

"Cool! Let's start writing some jokes!"

"How about we just have the guys quote stuff from a bunch of sci-fi movies. That'll be funny."

"But shouldn't the alien say some funny things too?"

"He's voiced by Seth Rogen. That's funny enough!"

"You're right. Let's start filming!"

So, yes, Simon Pegg and Nick Frost play two nerds, who, after a stop at Comic-Con, go on a road trip across the Southwest, and encounter a large number of American stereotypes: Gay-bashing rednecks, small-minded Bible-thumpers, big-haired waitresses, and a little green alien.

As a fellow nerd who has attended Comic-Con, has several boxes of comic books in storage, and can quote "Star Wars" with the best of them, you would think this movie was tailor made for me. Alas, much of the pop culture riffing on display in "Paul" comes off as nothing more than lame pandering. To merely quote "Star Wars" is not a joke. Comedy so often comes from the unexpected, but there is nothing unexpected in "Paul." Anal probe jokes? Check. An appearance by Devils Tower? Check. A bar band playing the music from the Cantina scene in "Star Wars"? Check. Someone quoting "Aliens" at Sigourney Weaver, not to mention the mere presence of Sigourney Weaver? Check and check.

Still, I didn't come out of "Paul" hating life, like I did after watching "Hall Pass." There's a talented cast of co-stars on hand, doing their best to elevate the material. Kristen Wiig's Christian trailer park manager has a few funny, foul-mouthed moments. Jason Bateman does the steel-jawed man-in-black thing very well. Blythe Danner--yes, Blythe Danner--has some surprisingly sweet scenes near the end. And while there is no doubt that the alien Paul is a CG creation, it's well done, and not a distraction.

Perhaps for some, merely being able to recognize all the references, combined with some pee jokes, and the sight of an alien's bare ass is enough for an evening's entertainment. But I was expecting much, much more than something your average Comic-Con fan boy could have cooked up.

Cool As A McConaughey Cucumber: The Lincoln Lawyer

This  review originally appeared on the San Francisco Appeal.

Back in the day, I thought Matthew McConahayhay was the bee's knees. Of course, I can't remember just what movie made me think that, but he was voted People's Sexiest Man Alive at some point, so maybe I was just basing my lust on that. Oh, and how he looks without a shirt, of course.

But then McConaghay started playing bongos in the nude, seemed to exist in a haze of pot smoke, and was basically shirtless all the time, often while doing yoga on the beach. All that shirtlessness just forced me to look at his face a little more, and you know what? Not that cute!

"The Lincoln Lawyer," based on the book by Michael Connelly, stars Matthew McConequy as slick Los Angeles defense attorney Mick Haller, who works out of the back seat of his 1980s Lincoln, for a reason that is never really made clear. A chauffeur, (Laurence Mason),--and former client--drives him around town as he wheels and deals from case to case, cool as a McCouneghy cucumber. And he wears a suit--which means, a shirt--throughout it all. This is a major disappointment since the movie would have been a lot more entertaining if he showed up in court partially naked at least ONCE.

Haller is hired by Louis Roulet, (Ryan Phillipe), a rich kid real estate magnate accused of the brutal assault of a hooker. Roulet maintains his complete innocence, arguing that he is actually the victim of an elaborate plan to get his money via an eventual civil suit seeking damages. But since Roulet is played by Phillipe, an actor who manages to ooze creepiness and sleaze no matter who he's playing, his innocence seems...questionable.

If there's one thing attorneys and detectives should learn after years of noirish crime books and movies, it's that if a rich client decides to hire you, someone not under his usual employ, something is definitely up.

And so, the case proceeds. Nothing is as it seems. A surprisingly well-known supporting cast pops in and out of the story. This includes Marisa Tomei as McConeghough's ex-wife-with-ridiculous-hair; William H. Macy as his equally shaggy investigator; John Leguizamo as a greasy bail bondsman; Michael "Eddie and the Cruisers" Pare and Bryan "Breaking Bad" Cranston as detectives; and most ironically, Josh Lucas, an actor who looks a LOT like McConneghy, as the prosecuting attorney.

McConeguyhugh's Haller goes from smooth operator to despondent, sweaty drunk in the blink of an eye, wrestles with the moral ambiguities of his profession, but remains smart enough to--spoiler alert!--stay alive through the film's multiple climaxes. (Seriously, this movie has so many endings I stayed through the credits just to make sure they didn't tack another one on there.)

I supposed there isn't anything overtly bad about "The Lincoln Lawyer;" it's fairly engrossing and acted well enough. It hits all the marks you want a courtroom thriller like this to hit. But you can also turn TV on any night of the week and watch a TV show about a lawyer, or someone in law enforcement, dealing with a similar case, that is just as good as this movie. With that kind of comfortable competition up against you, you had better bring something extraordinary to a story like this. And a shirted Matthew McConaughey isn't it.

Heavy (Wolf) Petting: Red Riding Hood

This review originally appeared on the San Francisco Appeal.

"Red Riding Hood" is directed by Catherine Hardwicke, who directed the first "Twilight" movie--and was banished from any involvement with the sequels--and it's clearly her attempt to capture some of those "Twilight"-loving tweens looking for the latest in supernatural lust.

Set in a snowy, fairy tale land, at some unspecified, renaissance-esque time, "Red Riding Hood" centers on Valerie (Amanda Seyfried), a young woman reaching marrying age. She is betrothed to Henry (Max Irons), a young man of means, although she is really in love with Peter (Shiloh Fernandez), a lowly woodcutter. See, they've been in love ever since they were wee and used to trap and slaughter rabbits together. (For reals.)

But all is not tranquil in this fairy tale town. For twenty years, they have had a "deal" with the local werewolf, wherein it will not slaughter villagers as long as they leave it a nice bit of livestock every full moon. But when a young woman is found mauled, the village decides they've had enough of this werewolf bullshit, and they're gonna hunt it down and kill it. (Not really sure why they couldn't have come to this decision sooner.)

Now, I suppose all of this doesn't sound inherently stupid. Modern fairy tales can be done well, and "Little Red Riding Hood" has been tackled before, perhaps best in the 1984 film "In the Company of Wolves." But the approach Hardwicke takes renders the film almost--yes, I'll say it-- howlingly awful.

For one thing, this kind of story just feels awkward when American accents are involved. It's hard enough to suspend ones disbelief that the renaissance was full of permed, squeaky clean women wearing expertly applied eyeliner, but throwing the flat sound of American teen-speak into the mix only ups the snerk-quotient. I kept expecting a "The Village"-type ending exposing the location of the town as being present day Tahoe, but alas, that doesn't happen. Even Julie Christie, who plays the witchy grandma, has to mask her British accent. Gary Oldman, as a werewolf-hunting priest, does have an accent, but I have no idea if it was supposed to be German, Italian, or Russian. Whatever he's supposed to be, he does give the wolf a run for the money when it comes to scenery-chewing. (Virginia Madsen and Billy Burke--who also plays Bella's father in the "Twilight" films--round out the cast as Valerie's parents.)

You don't need a degree in Women's Studies to know that the "Little Red Riding Hood" story is full of some heavy Freudian imagery, (RED = MENSTRUATION, people!), but this is a PG-13 movie, and the sex is limited to some heavy petting, and really not much of it. The two guys after Valerie's heart are both generically handsome cyphers; being a werewolf would be the only interesting thing about either of them. Alas, the film follows the "Twilight" example and remains way too chaste, some creepy incest allusions not withstanding.

I'll give the movie this: It's lovely to look at, from Seyfried's ruby red lips, and skin as white as snow, to the Fantasyland-eqsue village, to the swooping helicopter shots over snowy alps; Ren Faire fans will wet their pants over the costumes and the big party scene. And if the "Twilight" crowd does flock to this, rendering it a hit, (lord help us), you can be damned sure there will be a sequel. The ending all but guarantees us "Red Riding Hood 2: Love's a Bitch."

Metaphysical Phooey (That Works): The Adjustment Bureau

This review originally appeared on the San Francisco Appeal.

“The Adjustment Bureau,” loosely based on a short story by Phillip K. Dick, is a strange movie; a blend of romantic comedy conventions, science fiction set-ups, fairy tale cliches, and metaphysical phooey that, ultimately, works in its own little way.

Matt Damon stars as David Norris, an up-and-coming politician running for New York senator. On the eve of the election, the newspapers pick up on evidence of an impulsive immaturity in his recent past, and he tanks at the polls. That same evening, he meets-cute with Elise (Emily Blunt), a ballet dancer with whom he has an immediate and mutual attraction, though she pulls a Cinderella, disappearing without giving him a last name, or a phone number.

Almost a year later, he is rising from the ashes of his political loss when he meets Elise once again. It is around this time that the dandy men in hats who have been hovering around David reveal their true purpose, and the film’s sci-fi set-up: Mankind’s lives are, for the most part, a series of carefully planned events, overseen by Adjustment Agents whose boss is known only as “The Chairman.”

Yes, God is a company CEO, and angels are mad men flipping through moleskin notebooks.

David has, through no fault of his own, strayed from the path set out for him, and this needs to be rectified or else he, Elise, and by implication, the entire world will suffer dire consequences. Should he follow his heart or his fate?

Yes, all of this sounds rather hokey, and the “science” in this fiction is relegated to magic hats and doors. But Damon–who is as affable and funny here as he tends to be on the talk show circuit–and Blunt–who has a natural humor herself–keep the film afloat. There’s no doubt their characters are meant to be together, and they even manage to completely sell the most trite of fairy tale tropes: the magical kiss.

There are not a lot of explosions or showstopping CG effects in the film, and the ads and trailer make it seem a lot more…exciting than it actually is. But that’s not a bad thing. First time director George Nolfi, (he previously wrote “The Bourne Ultimatum” and “Ocean’s Twelve”), seems more interested in character than spectacle, and has cast the film well across the board: “Mad Men”‘s John Slattery plays an adjustment agent not too far from his Roger Sterling character, and Terence Stamp is suitably menacing as a kind of “cleaner” agent. Even Jon Stewart and James Carville make cameos. Be sure, there are moments of genuine suspense and awe to be found in the movie, but this is not this year’s “Inception,” and thank God–or the Chairman–for that.

A Giant Limp Dick

This review original appeared on the The San Francisco Appeal.

First off, let me try and clear up just what the movie "Hall Pass" is, since a friend and I were having some difficulties with that before the film began. It doesn't star Vince Vaughn. Or Adam Sandler. Judd Apatow has nothing to do with it. One thing we weren't sure about was whether Ed Helms was in it, but once it started we realized the Ed Helms part was being played by Jason Sudeikis. (Bro movies have officially passed chick flicks in terms of Hollywood saturation.)

"Hall Pass" is the latest film from the Farrelly brothers. Some might call it a return to form since their last few films ("Fever Pitch" and "The Heartbreak Kid") were relatively gross-out free. I suppose that's true. But it certainly isn't a return to form in terms of funny.

Owen Wilson stars as Rick, husband and father of three kids with wife Maggie (Jenna Fischer). He's got a wandering eye. So does his best friend Fred (Sudeikis), despite a child-free marriage to Grace (Christina Applegate). It is presented that the guys want more sex than their wives are willing to provide, and the wives, fearing a growing resentment in their husbands, take a friend's advice (said friend is played by Joy Behar, and the less said about her performance, the better) to give their guys a one-week break from marriage, the titular "hall pass." (The title is presented about 50 times within the course of the movie, thus reinforcing the fact that this is not an actual thing that exists but merely a movie creation.)

That the husbands are not knee-deep in tail over the course of their week of freedom is the platform for the film's comedy. That the wives actually are is the platform for the film's pathos. Both crumble. The Farrellys built their brand on comedy that is filled with scatological humor, borderline homophobia and its requisite dick jokes, political incorrectness, and all around shock comedy. And at one point, that stuff actually worked. But in "Hall Pass" it just hangs there like a giant limp dick. (Literally: that is one of the film's "biggest" jokes, and for some it is apparently enough to elicit rollicking laughter GUY SITTING IN THE SAME ROW AS ME.)

That the movie falters in ways other than comedy is probably beside the point, but it should be noted that its female characters are mere sketches; everyone in the movie has the same weird, fake tan orange glow; and one of the only laughs I can remember having was at how bad the Photoshopping was during a scene featuring a photo album.

Back in 1998 I went to see "There's Something About Mary" during its opening weekend. The film had rave reviews, and it was a packed house. I was with a bunch of friends, most of them guys, and we were all laughing, a lot, pretty much from the very start of the movie. Well, almost all of us. About 20 minutes into the film my friend Oliver just got up, walked out of the theater and never came back. He met us all in the lobby after it was over and we found out he had spent the remainder of the film's running time sitting outside on the curb, reading the paper.

At the time, I just couldn't understand how he, or anyone, wouldn't think the movie was absolutely hilarious. But in watching "Hall Pass" I finally understood what my friend Oliver must have felt back in 1998: annoyed, incredulous, and, ultimately, a little sad.