Where to begin? For starters, The Darkest Hour is one of the most poorly directed movies I have ever seen receive a theatrical release. To be fair, some of it is beyond filmmaker Chris Gorak’s control – it’s clear the production budget was woefully inadequate, and a result most of the special effects and green-screened backgrounds look like they were put together in Photoshop (which is probably not far from the truth). But it’s not just the CGI. From the continual fade-to-black scene transitions to the hideously disconcerting manner with which he frames even the simplest scenes of dialogue, Gorak demonstrates a level of amateurism here that I can only describe as Wiseauian.

The exact same descriptor could be applied to the script by John Spaihts (who, worryingly, has also co-written the upcoming Alien prequel, Prometheus). People frequently utter redundant sentences like “it killed him” or “the sun’s coming up”. At other points the writing attempts to cover up its own ludicrousness – “that makes sense” confirms one character, after someone spouts some theory about how the aliens might be reading their electromagnetic something . No, actually, it doesn’t make sense. As for the aliens themselves, we’re given lots of point of view shots from their perspective, but never any inkling as to their technology or intent. They’ve got less personality than the Cloverfield monster. They’re also far less interesting to look at.

In light of the material they’re working with, one has to feel sorry for the actors. They’re trying their hardest, but no-one, not even proven talents like Max Minghella (The Ides of March) or Emile Hirsch (Milk) come out of this disaster looking anything but dismally unimpressive. The performance from Australian model-turned-actress Rachel Taylor (Red Dog) is a distinctive low point, although her status as a non-American pretty much guarantees you won’t have to put up with her for too long.

That’s yet another problem with The Darkest Hour. Its Russian setting, the one vaguely unique thing about the movie, goes completely and utterly squandered. With an entirely English speaking cast, this mindless mess could have just as easily been set in Los Angeles or New York. Or London. Or ideally, nowhere.

Cowboys & Aliens (Review)

Battle: Los Angeles (Review)

Australian Box Office 28/8/11: Horrible Bosses relates

Australian Box Office 4/9/2011: Horrible Bosses still on top

Monsters (Review)

Melancholia is split into two chapters, each named for the sister from whose perspective that section is told. The first act is named after Justine (Kirsten Dunst) and is set at her wedding reception; a less than successful affair dampened not only by bickering relatives, but also by Justine clear lack of enthusiasm for her husband. Although far too long, there is some pretty entertaining acerbic humour in this chapter, courtesy of Charlotte Rampling as Justine’s bitter old mother.

But the film comes to grinding halt as it ticks over into its second half, where it is now told from the perspective of Justine’s older sister Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg). In the days after the wedding Justine has fallen into a deep depression and is living in the stately home of Claire and her husband John (Kiefer Sutherland). At the same time, a new planet named Melancholia has appeared in the sky, and although scientists remain confident no one is in danger, Claire becomes convinced that it’s on a collision course with Earth.

There is no doubt that Melancholia is at times a visually beautiful film, but it possesses a crippling lack of emotion. By showing the destruction of Earth first, von Trier removes not just tension, but also the inclination to connect with people that, quite frankly, aren’t that interesting or likable to begin with. The handheld camera completely fails to bring us closer to the characters, while the constant blurring and refocusing – although no doubt intentional – comes across as amateurish and annoying. The depressive greys, blues and greens that dominate the screen in the second half only greaten the distance between the audience and everything else that is going on.

The performances are serviceable but generally unremarkable; each actor seems to be playing a slight variation of a character we’ve seen them play before. Kiefer Sutherland is impatient and terse, while John Hurt plays the lovable good humoured old man. Charlotte Gainsbourg lapses into hysteria without the same potent effect it had in Antichrist, although she definitely out-acts Kirsten Dunst.

Watching people struggle when the ending is already preordained is neither interesting nor pleasant. Melancholia is so dull, flat and devoid of feeling that not even the awe-inspiring end of the world sequence registers the slightest flickering of emotion, aside from pleasure that this god-awful film is finally over.

—

Tom Clift is a web-based film journalist from Melbourne, Australia. Visit his website here: http://reviewsbytom.blogspot.com.

You can read all of Tom Clift’s coverage of MIFF 2011 here.

Melancholia (Cannes Review)

The Liverpool Goalie (MIFF Mini Review)

Tiny Furniture (MIFF Review)

Give Up Tomorrow (MIFF Review)

Route Irish (MIFF Review)

If you thought the similarly themed Knight and Day was bad, wait till you see this vacuous spy comedy from The Ugly Truth director Robert Luketic. Killers sees Luketic take a desperate swing at genre after genre in a hope he might eventually strike it lucky, but he does so with the dexterity of a blind swordsman suffering from an inner-ear infection.

The film begins in rom-com territory where the recently single Jen (Katherine Heigl) bumps boobs with the glistening pecks of hunky consultant Spencer (Ashton Kutcher) while holidaying in Nice, France. The two apparently hit it off, but what Jen doesn’t know is that Spencer is really a secret CIA agent finishing up an assignment. Lucky for Jen, it turns out he’s been on the hunt for someone as exceedingly tedious as she is to hang up his gun and bunker down with. Fast forward three years and Spencer and Jen are married, living deep in suburbia and leading a seemingly normal, unexciting life.

Finally, after an hour of painfully dull screenwriting that climaxes with a fart joke, the action plot decides to kick in when Spencer’s best friend unexpectedly tries to stab him (don’t you hate it when they do that?). Before long, most of their neighbours are revealed to be killer assassins, each competing against one another to terminate Spencer. So why does everyone want him dead all of a sudden? Who is the mastermind behind this dastardly assassination plot? And who in their right mind could honestly believe that Ashton Kutcher – the dude who could barely find his car ten years ago — is an elite spy?

One might compare this to the infinitely superior True Lies, but Killers feels more like it has been cobbled together using binned outtakes from the mediocre-but-tolerable Mr. and Mrs. Smith. At the very least, that film stayed afloat thanks to the strong chemistry – on screen and off — between Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. Here, Heigl and Kutcher’s romance has about as much crackle as a bowl of soggy Rice Bubbles. It doesn’t help that  Luketic is clearly inexperienced at directing action scenes, all of which fall victim to lazy staging and chaotic camerawork. There’s something to be said about the fact that I was more unsettled than entertained by the totally humourless ways Luketic violently slaughters off the assassins, perhaps because moments earlier these people were masquerading as Spencer and Jen’s closest friends. Maybe the film was initially vying for a darker, more solemn Truman Show vibe before it made a last minute jump on the action-comedy bandwagon?

Pfft, who am I kidding. Bad movie just bad.

No Strings Attached (Review)

The Ugly Truth (Review)

Red [2010] (Review)

WTF: Angelina gives Brad directions?

Salt (Review)

Firstly, the much-touted 3D is a complete sham. Originally shot in typical 2D, Titans was transferred to 3D in January this year to jump on the Avatar bandwagon and milk a few extra dollars from moviegoers. Rather than enhance the visuals, it has actually managed to make a bad film even worse; the tinting of the glasses make the bleak hues even darker, while the faux-3D provides an unrealistic and off-putting depth to each scene that makes the characters look like cardboard cut-outs placed at varying distances from the camera. Do yourself a favour and avoid the 3D. Do yourself a bigger favour and avoid the film entirely.

Perhaps if it wasn’t so unevenly written and sloppily directed, Titans might have been quite engaging considering it deals with interesting concepts pertaining to Greek mythology. The plot revolves around man’s rebellion against the Gods – namely Zeus (Liam Neeson), King of Oympus, and his spiteful brother Hades (Ralph Fiennes), King of the Underworld – who rely on the prayers of mankind to fuel their immortality. When the prayers start running dry, Zeus grants his brother Hades permission to unleash hell on Earth in order to instil fear in the people and remind them who’s boss. Standing in his way, however, is demigod Perseus (Sam Worthington), the lost son of Zeus who denies his divine ancestry and joins the human resistance. He is tasked with the challenge of killing the evil Kraken, a giant sea monster that will be unleashed on the city of Argos during the next eclipse.

This final battle between Perseus and the Kraken — a creature so outrageously large it’s like Jabba the Hutt’s planet-destroying cousin — is about as anti-climactic as they get, lasting all of a few minutes and bearing about as much tension as a broken rubber band.

The primary problem with the screenplay, which is credited to four people (never a good sign), is that it hasn’t an internal logic. Events occur so arbitrarily, we’re given no grounding sense of what the film considers reality. Giant killer scorpions spawned from the blood of a severed hand? Why the hell not! But don’t fret; a race of freaky-faced sand people arrive just in the nick of time who  are, miraculously, fluent in Scorpion. Phew, that was lucky!

You’d also need a PhD in psychology to understand Zeus’ motivations; one minute he’s smiting mankind for their disloyalty, the next he’s sending down divine gifts to Perseus to aid in his God-killing quest. He backflips so often, he’d give Kevin Rudd a run for his money.

When it comes to the action — obviously the film’s chief selling point — director Louis Leterrier (Transporter 2, The Incredible Hulk) foolishly adheres to Michael Bay’s motto that ‘bigger is better’. Too big, he fails to realise, and things become hard to follow, uninvolving and tiresome to watch.  It doesn’t help that the special effects are far from impressive, some scenes so below Hollywood standards you have to wonder where the hundreds of millions of dollars were spent. Admittedly, much of the production design aims for camp appeal — the sets, costumes and make-up are all  over the top – but because Leterrier’s direction lacks any flair and the script any sense of humour, it all comes across as sloppy and inconsistent.

He looks the part as Perseus, but Australia’s own Sam Worthington — currently the king of the box office after starring in last year’s Terminator: Salvation and Avatar — delivers his worst performance to date. Worthington spits out horribly wooden dialogue like a tree mulcher, so devoid of apt direction he looks straight into the camera on multiple occasions. Making no effort to mask his Aussie accent — you’re in Greece, Sam, not Perth — I half expected his encounter with the Kraken to be met with “Crikey! Isn’t she a beauty.”

Liam Neeson  and Ralph Fiennes  are just as underwhelming in their celestial roles, the former performing far too earnestly given how ridiculous he looks  in a sparkly suit of armour, the latter merely rehashing his role as Voldemort from the Harry Potter series.  In support, Gemma Arterton (Quantum of Solace) serves as love interest Io, following Perseus around like a creepy stalker, chiming in with her vast bank of knowledge when something otherwise inexplicable needs explaining. She keeps busy, in other words.

Man on a Ledge (Review)

The Last Airbender (Review)

The Other Man (Review)

Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time (Review)

Avatar (Review)

The plot unfolds like a candy wrapper with no sweet inside, as Butler takes on the role of an ex-cop turned bounty hunter, with a gambling addiction and a crazy ex-wife, named Milo Boyd. Aniston is Nicole Hurley, an investigative reporter on the hunt for story details – the most important thing in the world – meaning she defies a court summons and is resultantly pursued by her aforementioned bounty hunter ex-husband. Coincidentally, the audience are expected to believe these developments whilst ignoring any concept of characterization for the two; his dignity is ignored by virtue of plot holes that never fill in why or how he handed in his badge, accrued a gambling debt and lost his wife. Nicole Hurley is, on the same wave, as underdeveloped. Playing a physical personification of a walking and whining piece of steak, happy-go-lucky Rachel from Friends is now so muscular and unnaturally brown she should have been cast in Antz, although she still has the same haircut. They each try to out-do the other in order to fulfill their individual desires but resolve to realize they somehow belong together, a conclusion lost on their audience.

Butler hauls on thorough this story as an all-American type, despite growls of his Scottish accent annoyingly poking through his Alpha Yank façade. If this film is to be written AND sold as a Gerard Butler and Jennifer Aniston flick, then the principal mistake here is to have him play himself with a bonus uncomfortable accent. Especially when Butler’s previous success built from his “sexy” Scottish appeal, think P.S I Love You, parallel to the American-Quarterback-gun slinging hero overused in Hollywood, evident here.

Director Andy Tennant has hit previous high notes with sweet movies such as Fools Rush In, Ever After and Sweet Home Alabama. His film Hitch made us all laugh at Will Smith again, and his direction in Fools’ Gold ensured familiarity with a well framed, shirtless Matthew McConaughey at every chance. Here you can see he is working for the money, as there is absolutely nothing that would set this film apart from being just another second rate, direct-to-DVD if it were not for the names Butler and Aniston attached. There is not even a title song worth remembering. Mention goes to SNL’s Jason Sudeikis who supports humorously as the pathetic and overweight co-worker in love with but not good enough for Nicole. This will only annoy any 30Rock fans out there who know him as Liz Lemon’s one time perfect lover. Christine Baranski plays Nicole’s casino dancing mother Kitty, who should have been named Mutton. Funniest scene involves Aniston crashing a golf cart into a pond, because for just a second, it seems they will not resurface. For a version of the same thing that is ten thousand times better, see Tarantino’s 1997 adaptation of Elmore Leonard’s book Rum Punch, called Jackie Brown.

Verdict:
Your parents might like it just because Gerard and Jennifer are unlikely to appeal to younger audiences…but I doubt it.

Adam Sandler persuades Nicole Kidman to ‘Just Go With It’

Just Go With It (Review)

How to Train Your Dragon 3D (Review)

Carey Mulligan signs on for biopic ‘Effie’

Valentine’s Day (Review)

Making immediate use of its MA15+ rating, the film begins with a brutal home invasion where Clyde Shelton’s (Gerard Butler) wife and daughter are murdered by the abhorrent Clarence Darby (Christian Stolte) and his reluctant accomplice Ruper Ames (Josh Stewart). In court, Clyde’s prosecuting attorney Nick Rice (Jamie Foxx) hastily cuts a deal that sees Darby get a measly five-year sentence, while Ames receives the death penalty. Clyde is outraged by the fragrant injustice of the decision; how can Darby be allowed to live when Ames, who took no part in the rape or murder, is sent to death row? And why does Nick seem to consider this a victory? Brewing in his hatred for Darby and the entire justice system over, Clive finally snaps ten years later, enacting his revenge (or justice?) in such a gruesome manner that it lands him in jail.

But the story only begins there for the jaded, not-to-be-messed with Clyde. From the confines of his jail cell, the brainy engineer somehow manages to orchestrate the systematic killing of all those directly and indirectly responsible for botching up his court case. Before his number comes up, Nick engages in a race against time to determine how Clyde’s managing to pull it off. Does he have an outside accomplice? Or is he like Jigsaw from the Saw series and sets up the death traps well in advance?

The answers to these questions, however, are no way near as pressing those the audience will be asking out of sheer frustration: how come bad guys are always unlucky enough to pick on an ultra-intelligent, ex-military super-soldier with an innate ability to perfectly predict character decisions well in advance? Why on earth do lawyers in movies also helm murder investigations? And why would two Oscar winning actors, Jamie Foxx and Viola Davis (who plays the town’s Mayor), willingly sign-up to such nonsense? It’s painful watching such talent go to waste.

The filmmakers seem unwilling to cooperate; Wimmer’s screenplay revels in absurdity while Gray’s direction makes the mistake of maintaining a straight face, causing every intelligent criticism of the lacklustre US justice system to be completely overshadowed by an onslaught of ridiculous narrative junctures. While the power play between Butler and Foxx initially engages as our allegiance fluctuates between them, the film quickly progresses to the point where the choice becomes clear: neither of them. Clyde is a sadistic nutcase who should never have been a father in the first place, while Nick is a narcissistic nitwit who is told by an informant exactly how Clyde thinks and operates, yet does nothing worthwhile with the information. This film is overflowing with moronic people habitually making moronic decisions.

It doesn’t help that neither Foxx nor Butler impress, the latter fairing slightly better with his suitably callous delivery of otherwise garish dialogue.  In fact, the only real talent showcased here is that of cinematographer Jonathan Sela, who makes the most of hard shadows and a muted palate to lend this pedestrian thriller a slick visual edge. Everything else, however, remains blunt.

In another time and place, Law Abiding Citizen could have been an intelligent critique of a flawed criminal justice system. But that’d also be a time and place where provocative and smart movies sold well at the box office. So instead, I present you Gerard Butler, ruthlessly hacking a guy into 25 little pieces.

Salt (Review)

Death Race (Review)

The Final Destination 3D (Review)

Competition: Win tickets to see HARRY BROWN

The Killer Inside Me (Review)

So why is it that Nelson Mandela — a man who served a 27 year jail sentence in South Africa before being elected President of the nation that imprisoned him – gets his Hollywood biopic thrown in with a sports movie? Are you trying to tell me his story wasn’t quite inspirational enough?

Worst of all, Invictus isn’t even a good sports film. Like the pseudo biopic on Mandela, the rugby half is both shallow and generic, qualities echoed by the horrendously mawkish theme song ‘Colorblind’ that is enough to make Invictus seem like a parody of an inspirational film.  It’s hard to believe that the man responsible for this unmitigated disaster is none other than American film icon Clint Eastwood (Million Dollar Baby, Gran Torino).

Loosely based on John Carlin’s book ‘Playing the Enemy’, the film tells of how the South African rugby team, the Springboks, embarked on a seemingly impossible quest to win the 1995 Rugby World Cup in a hope that it will unite a divided nation. Mandela (Morgan Freeman, of course) believed that the racial tensions left over from the apartheid could be dissolved if both blacks and whites were to support the Springboks, a team whose colours, players and fans symbolised past discrimination against blacks. It’s therefore up to Springboks’ captain Francois Pienaar (Matt Damon) to turn his poorly performing side into a team of champions.

Even though Invictus drags on for over two hours, don’t expect to learn anything profound about Mandela or Pienaar. Anthony Peckham’s tortuous screenplay makes it abundantly clear that this movie is less about anyone in particular and more about an entire nation.  It’s about South Africa’s ability to reconcile. A worthy subject indeed, but one that is handled far too superficially by Eastwood’s uncharacteristically heavy hand to make any kind of sincere, lasting impact.

Essentially, the film suggests that the multifaceted socio-political issues that had plagued South Africa for decades were resolved by a game of rugby.  That blacks and whites suddenly became best buddies because they both barracked for the same team.  And, most reprehensibly, that Nelson Mandela did little more as President than show up at each game to shake hands with the players. The film is so blinkered in that regard, it’s almost defamatory.

It’s a shame because Morgan Freeman’s strong performance as Mandela reminds us of what an excellent biopic this could have been. Not only is his physical likeness is uncanny, Freeman nails Mandela’s wise and gentle demeanour. You feel at peace just watching him. Yet he is cast aside for the second half of the film so that Matt Damon’s insipid, undeveloped character can run head first into other male bimbos on the rugby field. Consequently, Freeman’s performance has been limited to showing just one side of Mandela, that being his legendary public persona, where every utterance appears to have come straight out of an inspirational quote book (“I have a very large family; 42 million”, says Mandela when asked about his family, a missed opportunity to delve into the man’s private life).  Perhaps if Freeman was given another dimension of Mandela’s character to work with, he might have finally had his day at the Oscars. Not to be.

The last twenty minutes of Invictus are reserved entirely for the big game — Mandela now reduced to a cheerleader in the stands — and it was during this uninvolving finale that I seriously started to question where the Clint Eastwood of great films such as Unforgiven and Mystic River had gone. So many edits are made on action during this sloppy sequence that we rely solely on cutaway shots of the scoreboard to get any idea of what’s going on. And just when you think the film couldn’t possibly be any more overbearing, the last five minutes take place entirely in slow motion so that each garish reaction shot of that on-the-siren goal is a little more gag-inducive than the last.

Trailer Talk: Clint Eastwood’s ‘Hereafter’

Precious: Based on the Novel ‘PUSH’ by Sapphire (Review)

Matt Damon set to play Robert F. Kennedy in biopic

Red [2010] (Review)

Hereafter (Review)

Maybe I need to be 12 years old, or a childhood fan of the toy franchise, to enjoy whatever it is this film has to offer. It must be said that Sommers’ film is proudly stupid, and in the same vein as The Mummy and Van Helsing, never tries to be anything more than 118 minutes of summer fluff. But whereas The Mummy succeeded in being mindless entertainment, G.I. Joe is simply mindless. It’s essentially an over-long videogame cut scene, where one tacky CGI action sequence would end only for another to begin, leaving it up to snippets of horribly rigid dialogue to try and explain what the hell is actually going on.

What story there is concerns corrupt arms dealer  Destro (Christopher Eccleston), to whom I speculate in the absence of any supplied reason, grew tired being mocked for his  Scottish accent and thus developed a grudge against humanity and a desire to take over the world. Fortunately for him, he has developed the perfect weapon for the job; a warhead that contains millions of metal eating nanobots, which has the power to devour an entire city in minutes. Trying not to raise suspicion, Destro sells the missiles to the US military, before getting his sassy agent, The Barnoness (a sleepwalking Sienna Miller), to steal them back. In order to do so, she must take on the G.I. Joe’s, a top secret US military outfit helmed by the hardened General Hawk (Dennis Quaid). New to the elite team are former US marines Duke (Channing Tatum) and his loudmouth buddy Ripcord (Marlon Wayans), who must stop  Destro from unleashing his nanobots and plunging the world into a state of chaos.

For a seemingly undemanding popcorn flick, Stuart Beattie and David Elliot’s screenplay is unnecessarily convoluted, which comes down to an over-abundance of characters all vying for screen time. When these characters aren’t relentlessly trying to kill each other in the present, we’re provided brief flashbacks of their past, where it turns out they were doing much the same as children; relentlessly trying to kill each other. Maybe I’m missing the point, but I struggle to see how a flashback that merely shows the character doing exact same thing, albeit 20 years prior, helps develop these cardboard cut-outs into something more.

I do admit it’s somewhat refreshing to see a film not take itself seriously, which is a common cause for criticism amongst many other big-budget action films.Yet G.I Joe tends to goes too far in the other direction, desperately trying to point out to the audience just how cheesy it is. As such, the action is exaggerated to the point where a sense of danger is no longer gaugeable, certain costumes and characters are borderline sardonic (a Darth Vader-esque mad scientist deserves a special mention), and the sets look like something out of Disneyland’s Space Mountain.

But it was at the film’s half way point, where the Joe’s can be seen trying to ‘save the day’ in Paris only to leave behind a devastating trail of destruction, that I realised G.I. Joe is essentially a live-action remake of 2004’s Team America: World Police. The similarities between the two are uncanny, the most obvious being that both concern a ‘crack’ team of pretentious American soldiers who span the globe in the pursuit of terrorism, carelessly destroying everything that stands in their way. Aside from the fact that both films feature wooden performances – which you can’t really hold against Team America considering they’re all puppets – the characters are strikingly similar as well; much like the protagonist Greg from Team America, Channing Tatum’s Duke is also the new-guy on the team, who excels at everything he does, yet is haunted by the loss of someone he loved. Then there’s Dennis Quaid as General Hawk, whose performance is perhaps even more over-the-top than that of Spottswoode, a near identical character seen in Trey Parker and Matt Stone’s hilarious satire. It’s almost as if G.I Joe was the very film Team America was poking fun at, despite it being five years too late.

Win tickets to see G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra!

The Expendables (Review)

Dragonball: Evolution (Review)

The A-Team [2010] (Review)

X-men Origins: Wolverine (Review)

Observe and Report sees Rogen play ‘Head of Mall Security’ (because you can’t possibly fuck up his title) Ronnie Barnhardt, who struts around the mall with his posse – sidekick Dennis (Michael Pena) and Asian twins John and Matt (John and Matt Yuan). As if that wasn’t clichéd enough, a pervert (yes, a guy in a trenchcoat revealing himself), along with a string of robberies, disrupts the peace and Detective Harrison (Ray Liotta) steps in to sort it out and make an enemy of Ronnie. Throw in potential love interest Anna Faris and a ‘Fuck You’ swear-off and there’s your film.

Perhaps it’s that Rogen had no creative input in this – that falls to writer-director Jody Hill, whose crudeness is minimal and comedy weak. There are meant to be cheap laughs but they don’t register; sex and violence are just thrown in for the sake of it, while none of the characters are remotely likable. Rogen markets himself as being a lovable arsehole but that’s given no chance of coming across here –Ronnie even acknowledges that his alcoholic mother has nothing nice to say about him! The leading lady doesn’t have much help either, Hill having no competition over Botox, which sadly steals most of Faris’ limelight.

If Observe and Report is remembered for anything at all, it will be the punch-up between Ray Liotta and Seth Rogen. Even this is poorly hyped up (although inevitable), but the altercation is decent – they beat the absolute shit out of each other, probably releasing the frustration of being involved in such a pointless film. The performances aren’t necessarily bad, but Liotta has it over Rogen just a little because he’s at least used to playing the bad guy. There’s nothing holding this film together – the plot wanders as Ronnie ponders his way through the bore that is his life, while the leading man himself is not lovable, but just an arsehole. You feel confused as to who the bad guy really is when you see Seth Rogen kicking some whoop-ass on criminals, not rewarded as you should be for sitting through it, or intrigued because that’s relatively new territory for him.

Verdict:

Shame on you Seth Rogen, this is an absolute cop-out (pun intended).The report finds that this can not be called a comedy because it’s not funny. Avoid.

Observe and Report opens in Australia on Thursday May 14th.

Zack and Miri Make a Porno (Review)

Cinema Releases: May 14-21, 2009 – Night at the Museum 2, Angels and Demons

Zack and Miri Make a Porno (Review 2)

The Green Hornet (Review)

Casting begins on Judd Apatow’s ‘Knocked Up’ spin-off

If you can’t work out what the problem is with that last sentence, then my email is andersw[at]cutprintreview.com. Drop me a line; I’m intrigued to find out what’s wrong with you.

Before you do, let me just clarify; I do get that a film like Paul Blart: Mall Cop never tries to be a genre-redefining comedy, happy to be just light entertainment. Also, I am not shy of admitting that I have enjoyed low-brow comedies in the past; see my review of Role Models for proof. But if I’m squirming in my seat with apprehension when the film is clearly implying that I should be laughing, something has gone terribly amiss.

Mind you, I’m not really the target audience for this film, but that’s probably because no one is.  Mall Cop takes the family friendly slapstick of Home Alone and mixes it with the premise of Die Hard. The result is neither; a little too mature for kids, a little too childish for adults.

Speaking of Bruce Willis’ action blockbuster; Mall Cop may as well be Die Hard 5: Try Harder. If you haven’t read the title, the film revolves around hefty Officer Paul Blart  (Kevin James) whom proudly patrols a Shopping Mall on his Segway mortised scooter. Desperate for a lady in his life, Blart falls head-over-Segway for the Mall’s new stall owner Amy (Jayma Mays).  On Black Friday (the Friday after Thanksgiving, for us Australians), the shopping frenzy is cut short when a gang of organised skateboarding punks (a slight oxymoron) decide to take over the mall, aiming to drain the accounts from all the stores. The only person who manages to avoid being taken hostage is, of course, Officer Blart. John McClane, I mean… Paul Blart goes about taking on each crook one by one, aided by the police force waiting outside, determined to free Amy from her captors and ultimately take back control of ‘his’ Mall. Yippie-kye-aye-punk-robbers…

I might not have minded Mall Cop being a blatant Die Hard rip-off had it actually managed to be a funny parody of said film. Instead, Mall Cop rests the fate of its comedy predominantly on two running jokes; one has to do with the Segway as a mode of transport, the other has to do with fat people. Come the credits, I could count the times I laughed aloud on one finger.

At first, I would have said that Kevin James isn’t completely at fault for the glaring lack of humour, blaming the cringe worthy script instead, as his performance manages to pull ever so slightly on the sympathy strings. Then the closing credits revealed that James actually wrote the script, so it turns out I can hold him responsible after all. Yet by this time, James already has my money, so I’ve really got no one else to blame but myself…

Verdict:

Unfunny, unoriginal and tedious – Paul Blart: Mall Cop is successful only at living up to the standard set by past films that have begun with the words ‘A Happy Madison Production’.

Observe and Report (Review)

Cinema Releases – March 19, 2009

Yogi Bear 3D (Review)

Just Go With It (Review)

Grown Ups (Review)