Iron Man

A superhero movie directed by Jon Favreau and starring Robert Downey Jr. and Gwyneth Paltrow? Oddness abounds. I can't say I understand why any studio would bank on this highly talented but commercially moot trio to launch a franchise. But the bravery pays off big time. This team has it in spades. Favreau, working from a screenplay credited to Mark Fergus (Children of Men) among others, sells Iron Man as a surprisingly timely tale of a war profiteer turned moral avenger. Even more impressively, he is not brought down by the impulse to handle this material with a numbing level of seriousness. Downey is as cheeky as ever, making a fool of himself, mocking Iron Man canon blithely, and then saving the world with all the fun and heroism you can want from a comic book avenger.

Tony Stark (Downey) is the foremost inventor of modern weapons of war. He is a self-proclaimed merchant of death and a gossip column staple for his misbehavior and womanizing ways. During an on location trial run, he is kidnapped by a terrorist group whose affiliations are purposefully, and appropriately, left murky. In the end, this is more of a film about greed and corruption than it is about world politics. Tony braves three months in captivity before making his daring escape in a metal suit forged in captivity. Upon his arrival back in the United States, he finds himself reformed. He does not want to contribute to death but instead save lives. He builds an even better suit, after some comically unsuccessful trial runs. With this new technology he sets out to stop those who aim to use his weapons for cruel and violent purposes. He's aided by snippy, flirtatious assistant Pepper Potts (Gwyneth Paltrow) who lends moral support to her wounded, emotionally frazzled boss. Soon enough she's in on the game and helping Tony to stand up to his own corporation, which has fallen under the control of former mentor Obadiah Stane (Jeff Bridges) and lost its way.

As an origin story, the central narrative is understandably burdened by exposition and development with a very minimal pay off in the film's predictable final showdown. But the groundwork for a very satisfying franchise is laid here. And even when we're watching Tony's early trials and other time consuming scenes that are needed to explain the complex mythology of Iron Man, we're treated to the charm and pluck of Downey. Even when left to himself or forced to act against glitching lab robots, he's a winner. He turns Tony Stark into a morally solid but personally iffy character who does what is right but feels no self-righteous angst over the way he betters peoples lives. Most satisfyingly, he is a character who is not shy about acknowledging how cool the events of the film are. Unlike the savvy, jaded Bruce Wayne or unimpressed Clark Kent. Tony Stark hoots and hollers as he takes flight for the first time. His discover mirrors our discover and we're left feeling like there is a very real, very flawed man hidden beneath that metal suit.

Iron Man is not exactly a revolutionary feature in the Marvel filmography but it's a fun and likable launch pad for a very interesting addition to the cinema heroes of our time. It may be an action adventure film, but it's heart is very much in the traditional of screwball comedy. Downey and Paltrow are smart, ultra flawed star crossed lovers struck down by the complications of their circumstances. It's a sharp twist on the formula that allows for charm and comfort alongside stining messages about corporate misconduct and modern violence. Favreau has set the tone for something special that is likely to be a long lasting summer tradition.

Grade:B+

Speed Racer

Speed Racer (Emile Hirsch) is a plucky newcomer to the racing scene. But he is greeted with hype due to his heritage - brother Rex (Scott Porter) was a casualty of race culture and his parents (John Goodman and Susan Sarandon) own an operate an independent race company. Tag along characters which include a girlfriend (Christina Ricci), a mysterious accomplice (Matthew Fox), a nuisance little brother (Paulie Litt), and a monkey also help fill out the ensemble. The need for detailed description of each character is minimal as most are portrayed as stock characters dancing in front of a sugary sweet digital world. The time and place of the story is some magical, unreal future or alternate present in which clouds really do resemble cotton candy and homes appear as digitally constructed as real estate straight out of the SIMS. The reality is nonexistent. The fantasy is cardboard cutout creative at best. This is a film that just doesn't work from the word 'go.'

You have to give the Wachowskis credit for trying. Five years after the completion of their Matrix trilogy, they pick back up with this, a famous family property, against all odds. The attempt to create something decidedly younger, more family oriented is admirable. So is the attempt to recreate "Speed Racer" in all its eye-popping animated glory, despite this being a live action picture. Perhaps the flaws are in the material by nature. The stiff stories of the the campy 1960s cartoon, which enjoyed a winking and nudging resurgence later in the 1990s on MTV, don't stretch well to fit a feature length production. The visual luster of the cartoon is also distinctively more suitable for animated images. The Wachowskis spend much of their film, perhaps too much, chasing the high of seeing Speed Racer whizzing through hypnotic images of neon lights and spiraling pastel beams of color.

In the visually stimulating, plot-lite race scenes, the film does sometimes achieve a respectable amount of sustained energy. The Wachowskis are undoubtedly visual maestros but what they do with the character here is appalling. The sullen, 2-D characters walk around in half-conscious states, announcing their feelings aloud, with no subtlety, and then shrinking back into the scenery and boring us to tears. Nearly every character gives Speed a very long speech at one point explaining to him, in merciless detail, just how wonderful he is and how much they want him to succeed. It's painful to sit through. No shred of truth can be found in the clunkily written material, which should put young audiences to sleep. Worse yet, it makes the talented cast look like rank amateurs. Not even Oscar winner Sarandon can muster enough heart to pull off her wordy, unbelievable lecture. Lead actors Emile Hirsch and Christina Ricci, who came into their own last year in Into the Wild and Black Snake Moan respectively, are downright wooden and unlikable here. So much of the film's first half is bogged down in half-witted chatting and stalling that by the time the film's real story finally kicks in, the audience is in a sour, burdened mood after being spoon fed so much tasteless exposition. Thankfully, the big race finale actually turns out to be quite a pulsing, very satisfying bit of Summer blockbuster excitement. Too bad all that comes before is such a clumsy downer.

Grade: C

DVD of the Week: I'm Not There

In his backdoor biopic, I'm Not There, director Todd Haynes paints a loopy and intoxicating mosaic of elusive rock & roll icon Bob Dylan that reads something like an abstract portrait made for the cinema. Dylan is represented through six different characters that embody different attributes from different periods of his life. None of them is specifically named "Bob Dylan" and hardly any one of their stories contains more than mere pencil sketches of actual truth, but they are each, in their own way, imaginative and emotive mini-masterpieces. I should also state that this is not a film depicted in clear cut segments but rather a montage tone poem that weaves strands of fact with strands of fiction and moments of joy with moments of sorrow. It doesn't really tell the story of Bob Dylan's life. It simply picks up all the shards of Dylan's many shattered public representations, both accurate and inaccurate, and melds them into one grand statement on the way people, particularly celebrities, have not one face but many.

Then She Found Me

The foundation of Then She Found Me, Helen Hunt's directorial debut, rests upon very simple sitcom-worthy principles. However, the execution is a gentle mix of unsentimental drama and unforced character comedy. Hunt stars as April Eppner, a recently divorced school teacher who has been newly bombarded with a glamorous talk show host claiming to be her mother (Bette Midler) and a charming Englishman who may just be the man of her dreams (Colin Firth). The potential for cheap gags abounds as in when April meets her mother, a mismatch of the highest caliber, and finds herself at odds with the chatty, self-obsessed woman. The scene could be entirely about their disparity. April could be the righteous, composed daughter and her mother could simply be the vacuous narcissist she initially seems. Instead the scene breaths extra life into the characters with a soft vulnerability that, like much of this film, adds welcome dimension to familiar situations.

This is especially refreshing in the portrayal of Firth's character, Frank, a father of two whose wife has abandoned him for a life as a world traveling painter. He is neither a sap nor a miser. He has perspective on his situation and yet, in small ways, his bitterness rings out. At times of frustration he fights off callous outbursts of cruelty by walking off his aggression and when this plan fails he delivers blunt truths that reveal he is much more than just a dapper gent who can sweep April off her feet. He is human and thus in possession of his own flaws.

As a director, Hunt is equipped with a easily digestible style that defers to realism when useful and creates moods when necessary. As April is swept back into the arms of her ex-husband just before he leaves for good, Hunt emphasizes romance with foggy, out of focus photography and softly lit closeups. When the pair reunite for an uncomfortable rendezvous later in the film that leads to a tryst in the backseat of April's car there is nothing more scintillating than wide shots of their cramped bodies and the awkward site of entangled legs drooping out of the car door.

As nimble a navigator as she is behind the camera, there is no sight in the film more gripping than Hunt herself in full performance mode. This is probably her first truly rewarding film role since her Oscar winning turn in James L. Brooks' As Good As It Gets. And as masterful and charming as she was there, it was Jack Nicholson's film at the end of the day. This one is hers, through and through. April grounds the film as a restless, vulnerable anchor in the midst of subdued madness. Her transformation from crushed soul to outspoken master of her own fate comes slowly and with superb subtlety. Hunt captures the strength within from the very first frame of the film and then slowly nudges it to the surface, culminating in a delightful, smile worthy finale in which the worn down April experiences the satisfaction she's been chasing all along.

Grade: B

Baby Mama

Tina Fey is extremely funny. Fans of her previous work in film and television know this to be true. That makes it especially important to note that though she stars in Baby Mama, Fey does not share any creative credits with the film's writer and director, Michael McCullers. Anyone anticipating a film as slyly satirical as Fey's "30 Rock" or even as tartly satisfying as her self-penned film debut Mean Girls will be disappointed. What Fey does bring to the table is her sardonic, self-deprecating performance style as a comedienne, a welcome gift, which when combined with the daffy, freak of nature antics of comic foil Amy Poehler makes this hit or miss comedy something awfully close to special.

Fey stars as Kate Holbrook, a professionally fulfilled business woman, craving a way to satisfy her personal needs. She is stricken with a case of baby fever (creepily indicated by a partly hallucinatory montage of adorable infants) and sets about trying to spawn a tiny tot of her own. After discovering the painful truth that she is infertile, she settles on the idea of a surrogate. Enter Poehler as the laid back, rough around the edges Angie who agrees to carry the baby despite her obvious personality differences with the finicky and uppity Kate. The situation turns sour when Angie makes an ill-advised choice to mislead Kate. The odd couple duo threatens to split at the seams as Kate pursues a charming juice maker (Greg Kinnear) and Angie tries to fend off her ex-boyfriend Carl (Dax Shepherd) who is threatening to expose her secrets.

The attempt to create an engaging dramatic thread of suspense and discovery is admirable but ultimately false and distracting. The film rings truest during its most outrageous moments of offbeat camaraderie between Fey and Poehler's unlikely pair of misfits. Each instills simple life lessons in the other, sometimes done with skilled subtlety and elsewhere with the force of a jackhammer. Either way, there is a joy in this goofy moments. The tear in their friendship is a quick and worthy shock to the system but labored subplots involving paternity tests and courtroom drama threaten to compromise the film's human charms and almost do at times. There's also something ugly to be said about the blunt coincidences and predictable turns of events here, particularly a major letdown of an ending that stinks of commercial complacency. The result is essentially a half-baked female response to the Judd Apatow that will likely be best remembered for convincing everyone Tina Fey has the luster to be a bona fide film star.

Grade: B-

DVD of the Week: The Savages

The Savages is a note-perfect movie with pristine dramatic-comic performances from stars Phillip Seymour Hoffman and Laura Linney. As disgruntled siblings John and Wendy savage, the two phenomenal talents forge an unforgettable onscreen relationship that is bolstered by each one’s respective work of dramatic nuance and subtle wit. Linney is the self-defeating dreamer, who mostly just imagines the realization of her deepest wishes. Hoffman is a cold and callous scholar writing a commercially unwanted but personally significant book on the unemotional, all too similar, style of Brecht. They’re both stunned and dismayed upon learning that there father is ill and needs their assistance, a doubly thorny circumstance given how he abandoned them long ago. They both decide to be better people and treat him as best they know how. Their personal journey toward self-discovery coincides with his experience being tossed around hospitals and nursing homes. As he regresses into a self-reliant, near infant, they each expand their horizons and learn to finally mature into adults. Writer/director Tamara Jenkins solidifies herself as one of the of the top talents to watch with this darkly funny and painfully authentic tale of love, loss, and personal redemption.

Forgetting Sarah Marshall

Judd Apatow’s streak as the man with the golden stamp of approval is seriously coming to a halt. While his name was briefly a surefire bet for raunchy yet oddly sincere comedy (Knocked Up, Superbad) his involvement with duds like Walk Hard and this lackluster farce has seriously put his good standing in question. As producer, it’s not fair to put the weight of this film’s failure on Apatow’s shoulders, but it’s hard not to feel disappointed given the super producer's admirable past. Creatively, Forgetting Sarah Marshall seems like little more than a favor to a friend. The very talented and funny Jason Segel (TV’s “Freaks & Geeks” and “How I Met Your Mother“) wrote and stars in this little venture, an intermittently funny but entirely incohesive and boneheaded comedy in which every character besides his own is stiff enough to have been carved from wood.

A misused Kristen Bell (TV’s “Veronica Mars”) stars as the titular Sarah, a big-time TV star who has just dumped Segel’s goofy, unmotivated Peter. To try and recover from the harsh blow, Peter heads to Hawaii for a vacation where he is surprised to discover Sarah is staying at the same hotel as him with her new boyfriend, a cliché laden rocker named Aldus Snow. Both Snow and Marshall crush the thin layer of emotional integrity that Segel seems to be trying to maintain. They’re such emotionally inconsistent characters with unfeasibly ludicrous personas that it’s almost impossible to understand what either one sees in the other. Segel’s screenplay alternates awkwardly between toilet humor and seemingly earnest confessionals, but unlike Apatow’s work, he does not balance the two identities seamlessly. Instead what we get are mindless caricatures that sometimes stop to deliver uncomfortable speeches about emotions for which their behavior offers no real evidence.

It’s not fair to say that nothing works here. There’s enough cheap gags to carry the film along from start to finish without every being truly painful. It’s light and humorous but far from the level of nuanced absurdity that’s become a staple of the Apatow brand. Segel throws himself into his role whole-heartedly, creating a character that’s probably the warmest and most believably human of the bunch. His only equal here is the unexpectedly subtle and likable Mila Kunis (TV’s “That 70s Show”) who makes quick work of her supporting role as a charismatic hotel staff member who takes a liking to the down and out Peter. She has a genuine charm here that’s new to her repertoire and it’s more than welcome in this sea of hammy performances. Apatow alums Paul Rudd and Jonah Hill, who were wonderful in Knocked Up and Superbad respectively, give grating performances in useless roles. And the otherwise lovely and talented Kristen Bell is left sadly stranded in an empty role with few real jokes and hardly any emotional sincerity. She’s at best forgettable and at the very worst downright awful in a role that could have been a catapult for a bigger film career.

Those in search of a passable, laugh-filled good time can skate by with this hit or miss rom-com. It’s far from the worst film of its type this year. But anyone entering with the appeal of Apatow’s earlier work as a producer, writer, and director lingering on their minds will certainly not be pleased.

Grade: C+

DVD of the Week: Lars and the Real Girl

Yes, Juno comes out on DVD this week. And yes, it is amazingly smart and funny. It might even be better than my pick this week: Lars and the Real Girl. But everyone has seen Juno (at least most people have) and everyone has already sung its praises. So let us collectively move on. Lars and the Real Girl is probably one of the best films of 2007 to be A) critically trashed and B) commercially ignored. It stars the once in a generation talented Ryan Gosling as the emotionally frozen and psychologically wounded Lars. Fretting from pressures to pair up with local women and suffering from severe emotional trauma, Lars orders a lifelike female doll from an online website and proceeds to introduce her to his brother (Paul Schneider) and sister-in-law (Emily Mortimer) as his girlfriend, Bianca. Fearing for his sanity, Lars' family sets him up with a therapist (Patricia Clarkson) to get to the bottom of why Bianca has come into their lives. In what's best described as a very human, almost Capra-esque comedy of misfortune and small town spirit, Lars and his friends and neighbors work together toward healing him of his damaging, deluded perspective of the world. Part light comedy and part intensely emotional drama, Lars and the Real Girl offers up something truly original and entirely wonderful to behold. It's a clever comedy with great heart.

Smart People

Dysfunctional family comedies have been making quite comeback lately with unlikely Best Picture nominees such as Little Miss Sunshine and Juno. In their wake, Smart People (co-starring Juno herself, Ellen Page) seems meager at best. It is cleverly written and excellently performed. But somehow that is not enough. It settles into such a middle of the road rhythm of remorseful monologues and biting banter that it ends up being altogether forgettable. Even writing about it now, I’d feel hard pressed if asked to summarize the story with anything greater than sweeping generalizations.

So here goes: a downtrodden English prof meets up with a warm and likable ex-student medic (Sarah Jessica Parker) following a comic head injury. The two strike a romantic connection but their efforts to connect grow complicated. He is still mourning the death of his wife and attempting to raise his two children: a slacker (Ashton Holmes) and an over eager wannabe academic teen (Page). She is uncertain if she should look past his cranky persona and reconsider the decent man within. All this is gracefully set on its head by said prof’s lazy brother (Thomas Haden Church) who enters into the mix with a jolt of energy lacking just about everywhere else in the film.

Truth is, there are more than enough hilarious lines and softly sentimental scenes to make Smart People a more than watchable endeavor. Its characters, prickly though they may be, win you over slowly and comfortably with little surprise of revulsion along the way. But for each well-crafted scene there is a fragmented bit of dialogue or a ridiculously hollow montage that makes the film turn cold. So much breezes by momentarily that you’re left to wonder what really matters deep at the heart of this story and what precisely each character is learning along the way. When the movie reaches its conclusion, it’s more of a slight exhale than a satisfying, expressive release of a film’s worth of tension. Smart People leaves the screen as casually and unremarkably as it enters it, leaving its audience mildly amused but mostly, and quite disappointingly, unaffected.

Grade: B-

DVD of the Week: There Will Be Blood

Paul Thomas Anderson comes into his own with There Will Be Blood, a sprawling American epic that is as intimate and intense as it is grandiose and unstoppable. Having been half-hailed and half-hated for his blissful earlier experiments, including the music fueled melodrama Magnolia and the neurotic Adam Sandler tragicomedy Punch-Drunk Love, Anderson makes his long awaited return with an unquestionable masterpiece that will satisfy his longstanding fans as well as earn him new converts. The story focuses on the devilish Daniel Plainview (Daniel Day-Lewis) who strikes oil in the early 20th century and sets out to become a leading tycoon of the time. His pursuits bring him to a small town where the farms are failing and the people have fallen under the guidance of a young preacher and self-proclaimed prophet named Eli Sunday (Paul Dano). Sunday, a self-interested icon of the town's old ways, clashes with his new competition. The outcome in an utterly devastating visualization of the rise of cruel corporate interest as one of the domineering forces in American lives. This is a true masterpiece that should not be missed.

My Blueberry Nights

Wong Kar Wai makes his English language debut with My Blueberry Nights, a dreamy, visually arresting soul searcher of little consequence. Norah Jones makes her acting debut as the heartbroken Elizabeth who sets out from New York to forget her cheating ex. Along the way she meets up with a charming Brit café owner who treats her to late night blueberry pie (Jude Law), a soul-crushed alcoholic (David Strathairn) and his dismissive hostile bride (Rachel Weisz), and a tough talking card shark (Natalie Portman). Elizabeth lends a sensitive ear to each, but their plenty depressing melancholy monologues don’t equal a complete film. Instead we’re treated to fragments of story, vignettes of each respective lost soul finding their way. Elizabeth is very nearly a sideline character. She guides us through the map of misbegotten souls but doesn’t offer much of her own distinctive reflection. Occasionally the film tries to make meaning out of small tokens, metaphoric keys and bar tabs that equal the keynote of each characters conflict. The depth never sticks, though. And it’s never really that deep to begin with.

A cross between dive bar, fly on the wall no-style style and moody, image bending artistry, My Blueberry Nights often gets caught red handed flitting between its two worlds with anything but smoothness. Distracting uses of slow motion photography, extreme close ups of pie slices that read like high carb abstract art. A mood is not evoked through style but instead stifled. Just as the momentum of the peppery dialogue takes hold we’re sentenced to blunt transitions involving crisscrossing subway cars and the detached expressionistic touch of watching our heroes through a neon painted storefront window. None of this works in service of the characters. They are flights of fancy that most obviously soothe the director’s eager spirit.

Faced with the daunting task of making her debut in a leading role, Jones is likable but fairly blank. She shows potential as a film actress but would probably require a much stronger screenplay to fully realize her charms as an actress. The pack of established performers that back her up here all do their best with the thin material here as well. Weisz in particular creates a painfully truthful portrait of a small town girl struggling to overcome the stasis of a doomed marriage and uneventful life. Her journey toward breaking free of her broken past is a far more realized and satisfying departure than the sad eyed, unmotivated Elizabeth who anchors the film and yet remains agonizingly invisible.

Grade: C

R.I.P. Charlton Heston

The legendary actor and star of The Ten Commandments, Ben-Hur, and other iconic films passed away on Saturday at the age of 84.

Leatherheads

Screwball comedy has also been a genre based on fickle charms. That was true at the height of its popularity in the heyday of the 1940s and it remains true now with George Clooney's loving homage, Leatherheads. With a cast of charmers that includes Clooney himself, Renee Zellweger in top shape, and blooming film star John Krasinski, Leatherheads chugs along comfortably and warmly for its full run. It's also a refreshingly unironic throwback that doesn't tease at old-fashioned conventions, but instead settles into them nicely. Clooney is a well-informed helmer with a great sense of the formula. The only frustrating element of his work is the constant, time-passing complacency of the whole ordeal. It's mostly enjoyable but gets by primarily on the charisma of its stars and classically styled character banter. It's not a comedy of sharp, contemplative wit but of blunt carefully timed barbs that bounce between stars in perfect rhythm. We like them. We like their characters. But we fear not for their futures and we feel not for them as they dabble in melancholic woes. The narrative conflict exists as a stop gap between playful bickering and insincere sniping.

Clooney stars as Dodge Connelly, a washed up pro football player determined to legitimize the league and keep his team together. To do this he recruits Carter Rutherford (Krasinski), a widely beloved college player and war hero. Hot on both their tails is the no nonsense Katharine Hepburn-type reporter, Lexi Littleton (Zellweger). She has intel about Rutherford that suggests his much discussed heroic act during the war might be fabricated and hopes to get to the bottom of the story and expose him as a fraud. Of course all three end up entangled in a complicated dance of romance and miscommunication.

The films charms don't reach far but it's very good in its small way. It doesn't come close to greatness but sometimes good is more than enough. In some ways, it can feel frustrating to see it sink so modestly into slightness. The bottom line, though, is that Clooney and Co. seem primed to make do with small pleasures and the results suit their ambitions just fine.

Grade: B

DVD of the Week: Sweeney Todd

Tim Burton does a great service to the modern movie musical with Sweeney Todd, his utterly entertaining and playfully grim adaptation of Stephen Sondheim's legendary musical. Rather than tearing apart the original score and restoring it in bits and pieces like a highlight reel of sorts, Burton only makes a few snippets and keeps the general structure of a musical - sung interaction with minimal spoken dialogue - in tact. The music is as integral to the film as any adaptation of a stage production in years. It doesn't start and stop, but rather permeates the film in its entirety with few exceptions.The film version is also aided by the quintessential gothic look and feel that Burton brings to nearly all his projects. He creates a grimy, exaggerated London and dresses his characters to the hilt, with paler than pale makeup and mangled looking hair. Johnny Depp's eerie Sweeney looks like something straight out of a dark fairytale. And yet this new version also realizes a vulnerable sense of pathos in the brooding character, a barber by trade who morphs into a throat slitting serial killer by film's end. Sweeney, once Benjamin Barker, is driven to rage after being wrongfully imprisoned by a lecherous judge (Alan Rickman) who lusts after his wife. When he returns from prison and discovers the fate of his lovely spouse and their young daughter, he swears he will have his vengeance on those who wronged him. He teams up with a lonely piemaker named Mrs. Lovett (Helena Bonham Carter), who owns a shop beneath his old apartment. Together they develop a smoothly run business together in which Sweeney slits the throats of men who will not be missed and Mrs. Lovett disposes of the bodies by baking them into her world famous meat pies.

Flawless

Ironic title alert: Michael Radford's so-called Flawless is a stoic, slow-moving caper of the dullest proportions imaginable. Demi Moore walks through the film wearing the same sullen, disinterested expression in every scene. In her blankness, she seems to be hoping to convey a repressed complexity. In truth, she conveys nothing but boredom and apathy. The film, much like her performance, is numb to its core. Its window dressing is an homage to old-fashioned thrillers that rooted themselves deeply in suspense rather than car chases. The gimmick doesn't work though. Resembling greatness does not equal greatness. Nothing here possess even an ounce of creative energy. It simply passes by. Pretty pictures filled with pretty words and not a single idea within them.

Moore plays a moderately high-ranking executive in a London diamond company in the 1960s who has been looked over by her bosses for many promotions on account of her gender and has a bleak professional future. She's convinced by a kindly janitor (Michael Caine) who fears his thin pension will not sufficiently fund his retirement to use their combined knowledge and resources to steal from their employers. He persuades her that they both deserve better and that the only way to get it is to take it for themselves. It turns out that she has access to the necessary codes and he has unsupervised reign of the facilities after hours. Caine turns in a simple, Michael Caine-like performance. He appears mostly bemused and mildly interested but certainly delivers more fully than the lifeless Moore.

Flawless is professionally assembled but emotionally inert. Radford clearly has a skilled eye but not much evidence is provided here as to the caliber of his soul. As polished a piece as this is, it has hardly any merits as both narrative art and commercial entertainment.

Grade: D

Run, Fat Boy, Run

"Friends" alum David Schwimmer makes an admirable directorial debut with this lightweight, mildly affecting comedy. Simon Pegg takes grander, equally impressive strides toward leading man status here as the disheveled and despondent Dennis, a loving father still mourning his cowardly retreat from the altar one year and secretly hoping to reunite with his son's charming mother, Libby (Thandie Newton). Throwing a wrench into his plans is Whit (Hank Azaria), Libby's new exceedingly perfect boyfriend with a remarkably successful job and side passion for running marathons in the name of worthwhile charities. As Whit sews himself more deeply into the lives of Dennis' family, he grows increasingly more motivated to make a change and win them back. He vows to run in the upcoming marathon Whit is competing in and prove, once and for all, that he does have the will and determination to actually finish something in his life.

The film builds stably up from its initial conceit. The humor can often be nothing more than pure sophomoric farce, but the characters, played warmly and realistically by the superb cast, never get dragged down into the gutters with the pranks and pratfalls. Most of the jokes fall into the Farrelly Brother-esque categories of physical grotesqueness and sideshow freakishness. Gags involve tumor sized blisters and the icky fluids they secrete, uncomfortable locker room moments, a thuggish gambling ring, and bra stealing transvestites. Through the weathering storm of bad taste, though, emerges a well realized character, or set of characters really. I give key credit to the actors here. Dennis could have been a one-note Adam Sandler type deadbeat but in Pegg's hands he's a conflicted underdog with subtle strengths. The same can be said for Azaria whose pretty boy know it all character could have easily been given a shallow treatment of pompous elitism but instead squirms through scenes with the believable discomfort of a competitive man with a perhaps too aggressively ambitious nature. Also due praise is Newton, an oft unregarded actress confined in mostly supporting roles until now. Her Libby is neither a demure wallflower or a scathing bitch. She's simply deciding, quite understandably, between a cold but reliably perfect existence and the chance she could take with Dennis in what could be a disastrous reunion but just might turn out to be the path toward bliss.

Solid performances and sturdy direction help anchor the tone-hopping, occasionally juvenile screenplay by Pegg and Michael Ian Black. However outlandish the story may become, there remains some thread of credibility, making the characters feel tangibly alive in ways other gross out jokesters never come near. Still, it's a mixed bag of cheap tricks, fun moments, and sentimental melodrama. At its best, it's a real charmer, but elsewhere it fizzles and dies.

Grade: B-

DVD of the Week: Southland Tales

The slang term "disasterpiece" never seemed particularly functional to me until right about now. Donnie Darko director Richard Kelly's deranged pop art epic Southland Tales is an offbeat nuisance that does just about everything wrong and yet somehow evoked from me nearly the same dizzy, head clouding, gut wrenching sensation Darko did years ago. It's not as complete a vision, but it's certainly grander in scope and ambition. Sadly, most of the elaboration fills our heads with moot points rather than sharper realizations. It's no Donnie, but there is that inescapable fascination we get while watching a brilliant talent fall on his face, and admittedly still coming up relatively unscathed. Kelly is funny, biting, belligerent, insane, and scintillating here over the course of a much too long 145 minute runtime (cut down from an original, less coherent version and not including the 3 part graphic novel prequel series with content that's not essential to understanding the film but certainly helps in parts). Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson is cast here as Boxer Santoros, an action hero with amnesia who may be the harbinger of apocalypse. He's recruited by an entrepreneurial porn star named Krysta Now (Sarah Michelle Gellar) and convinced that he's been working on producing her screenplay which has seemingly tapped into a psychic energy making it quite prescient. Their stories tie into several parallel narratives involving a dangerously advanced government corporation called USident with global domination on the brain, or if not that, something equally as big and cartoonish. They have a curious interest in Boxer as well as the two seemingly ordinary Taverner twins (Sean William Scott in dual roles) who have some inexplicable connection to the big events in America's future. Trying to synopsize the plot further would only make it murkier. Needless to say, it's an elaborate tapestry of pop culture parody, sci-fi suspense, and social satire. It's a mess, but a brilliantly inspired mess with loads of eye candy and dazzling dramatic and comic moments. For Kelly fans there's bound to be a bit of a sinking feeling over the step down he's taken here, especially given how this was prophesized to be his big step up (the hype machine phrase "his Pulp Fiction" stings with particular vigor now that we've seen the final product). Call it trash. Call it a misunderstood masterpiece. I say "disasterpiece" and I'm sticking with it.