usesoap Blog

Under discussion:

Office Space  (1999)

The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe  (2005)

Night Watch  (2004)

Starter for Ten  (2006)

Borat  (2006)

Day Watch  (2006)

Atonement  (2007)

Kung Fu Panda  (2008)

Wanted  (2008)

This is the “Dilbert” panel I've always wanted to see.

A fed-up office drone, sick of the confines of his cubicle, unleashes holy hell on his condescending superiors and clocks a duplicitous colleague in the jaw with his keyboard and heads out for adventure with Angelina Jolie.

While “Wanted's” lead Wesley (played by James McAvoy) does just that, his character is taken from a different comic altogether. It's comic origins (based on one by Mark Millar and J. G. Jones) are felt throughout the film's reality-relinquishing first hour, until it turns on itself in the final act and decides to play things with a straight face.

If only Cat-bert could have sauntered in to slap some sense into him.

Let's start with the good.

Wesley's life is torn straight from the pages of “Office Space:” a patronizing supervisor takes special glee in the daily ass-chewing she gives the young man, a co-worker enjoys showing Wesley's girlfriend his “O” face (if that line makes no sense to you, please go rent the aforementioned comedy); and his anxiety level is suppressed only with the help of a bottomless prescription jar of medication.

On a particular day to refill said meds, Wesley's found himself in the middle of a pharmacy shootout, aided by a slinky Angelina Jolie.

One fabulously outrageous car chase later (in which Wesley is literally scooped up into her shiny red sports car), the young man is told that he is the son of a recently deceased world-famous assassin and who has been selected to step into his shoes.

It's a cinematic flip-of-the-bird to any and all potential “blockbusters” this summer and, for a while, it revs along at such a high rate of speed that it could mean business.

There are many reasons for this. Primarily, lead McAvoy (a British actor known best stateside in the original “Chronicles of Narnia” and “Atonement,” but whose range is best demonstrated in a little 80s-centric indie called “Starter for Ten”) is such an engaging host to this frenetic freak-out. As someone who starts off with as a whiny Zack Braff clone, he is heartily believable in his transformation into a hitman resembling a young Russel Crowe. In a film that defies all laws of physics, gravity and logic, his performance in an undercurrent of stability.

Jolie takes her second role this month as a tigress – first, quite literally in “Kung Fu Panda,” and here as a felonious feline known only (and quite accurately) as Fox. Sure, it's a role she can do in her sleep, but, honestly, I have no problem watching anything Jolie does in her sleep.

And, finally, step asideBorat. You are no longer the “it boy” of Kazakhstan.

Those honors go to one Timur Bekmambetov, director of this otherworldly fever-dream of an action film.

Lauded in his homeland for the candy-coated action vampire films “Night Watch” and “Day Watch” (and the upcoming “Twilight Watch”), Bekmambetov has come to the states to show that not all Kazakhstanis arrive in the summer sun sporting hideously green one-piece thongs. Very nice! High five-a!

Well, almost.

Once Wesley arrives for training, he's informed by the head assassin (played with the usual omnipotent solemnity by Morgan Freeman) that his pop was part of a group steeped in tradition handed down from ancient weavers. That's right, Wesley is a fruit of the loom. As part of his training, the young lad gets worked over by various other co-workers/thugs with names like “the Repairman” and “the Butcher,” (no sight of “the Candlestick-maker,” though), until he's ready for his first assignment – killing the man who toe-tagged his father.

And while there are some stunning sights of bullet bending, train-hopping and skull-piercing, Bekmambetov drops the pitch-black humor that elevated the first half and shifts the film into a dour-faced, dime-a-dozen climax that runs out of gas far before the carnage-heavy conclusion. (There are only so many different ways to film a bullet being deflected mid-air by another bullet, and the director tries them all, with diminishing results.)

Like all summer action sagas, it's best not to let the brain stew too long on the whole “moral” of the story, as it is one that takes Wesley from zero to hero by his creativity in killing random people for no reason other than being told to do so by an ancient weaving machine (somehow, that dog barking orders to the Son of Sam does not seem so unorthodox).

But for a short while, “Wanted” does engage in some contagious calamity that keeps us locked and loaded for the next round.

Under discussion:

Gandhi  (1982)

Wayne's World  (1992)

Saturday Night Live: Mike Myers  (1997)

Austin Powers [Film Series]  Production Year

The Love Guru  (2008)

Since Mike Myers latest abomina... I mean, character, “The Love Guru,” is rather fond of acronyms for followers in his self-help dynasty, let me sum up his film accordingly. Those expecting even the slightest twinkle of comedy from “Wayne's World” or “Austin Powers” are in for a lot of “Crotch References and Agonizing Puns.”

If you are a big fan of “Funnies from Anally Released Thunder” jokes or a focus on “Woefully Aggrandizing Narcissism Guffaws,” then “The Love Guru” is right down your darkened alley.

In fact, anything below the belt is the go-to source of snickers for Myers here. With the subtlety of a toddler discovering his genitalia for the first time, Myers seems fixated south of the equator, offering more crotch-centric comedy in 90 minutes than Adam Sandler's entire résumé.

Myers star as the eponymous self-help expert with aspirations on becoming America's next top spiritual advisor.

To do this, he must appear on Oprah like his rival, Deepak Chopra. And to do this, he must reunite a hockey player with his estranged wife. It should be noted that the athlete is played by Romany Malco, a black comedian, because, you know, a black man playing hockey is apparently hilarious in Myers comedy playbook.

The team is owned by one Jane Bullard (played with tapioca intensity by one Jessica Alba), who Pitka warms up to in a romantic way.

Pitka lives a comfortable life in his Los Angeles ashram. Pitka an American child raised (for no real apparent reason) by an Eastern guru (Ben Kingley, accepting another role that serves as steel brush to polish that Oscar of his). The master is cross eyed (for no real apparent reason) and his name is Tugginmypudha. If your knees are red from slapping them after reading that last name, again, run to the theater a get your ticket.

Pitka is given a chastity belt (for no real apparent reason) only to serve as a gag involving a clanging sound every time he achieves an erection.

He greets everyone with the mantra (for no real apparent reason) “Mariska Hartgitay.” By the way, you'll never guess who shows up for a cameo!

To Ms. Hargitay's parents' credit, at least her name has some thought behind it (it means “bitter” in Herbrew). Myers, who also co-wrote the film, litters it with less-inventive names such as Dick Pants and Coach Cherkov (seriously, Mike, were you even trying?).

The latter character is played by Myer's “Austin Powers” co-star, diminutive actor Verne Troyer. He's cast for no other reason than for Myers to squeeze out whatever little person jokes that didn't fit in the “Powers” films.

I have stated in my column before that I am no prude and do enjoy an occasional wallow into the muddy waters of crude humor. But, honestly, “The Love Guru” is one school grade away from using a comeback of “doody-head” as a punchline.

Myers' character is tested in that he has to learn to love himself before others, but that does not seem to be a problem for the actor himself. Shamelessly mugging, laughing at all his own jokes and flailing like a sleep-deprived child mid-tantrum, calling Myers a ham would be a disservice to the pork industry.

First-time director Marco Schnabel does little more than point and shoot, allowing scenes (and Myers) to go on much longer than necessary.

The other truly odd vibe of “Guru” is its presumption of intended audience members (boys under age of the PG-13 rating, or adults with an IQ of 13) have actually seen a Bollywood muscial, read a Deepak Chopra book or even fondly remember hair-metal band Extreme's music video to their power ballad “More Than Words” (it's better not to even ask about that last one).

This derision all comes from the saddened heart of a Myers fan — someone who found the original “Austin Powers” and “Wayne's World” hilarious and who still recalls with a smile several of the perfomer's “Saturday Night Live” skits.

But there is little to smile about in “Guru.” For even if you remove all the references to fetid bodily functions, you are still left with a “Totally Underwhelming and Rancid Diversion.”

Under discussion:

Unbreakable  (2000)

Signs  (2002)

The Village  (2004)

Lady in the Water  (2006)

The Happening  (2008)

 M. Night Shyamalan, coming back from a critical and commercial pummeling for his fairy tale “Lady in the Water” that was nightmarish for all the wrong reasons, has attempted to trumpet his return to tension in a new film called...hmmm...what was that title again?

Perhaps I should look at some of the dialogue to help me remember:

• “There is an event happening.”

• “...whenever this is happening.”

• “Whatever is happening is happening in smaller and smaller populations.”

• “Why is this happening?”

• “Nothing's happening yet.”

• “There's something happening in a few states.”

Oh well, maybe it will come to me later.

Touting its R rating like a badge, the film promises to be a darker Night than we are accustomed to, but a few bloody deaths aside (most are shot at a distance), the proceedings are structurally similar to his 2002 outing “Signs.”

The film begins so promisingly creepy, with people committing random acts of suicide in rather horrific ways. Is it a terrorist attack using some strange nerve gas? Is it some cosmic thinning of the herd? Is it pissed-off plants? You won't find the answers in this column (though I long to reveal it to save you the agony).

We are only informed of its broader effects though news reports, as we are sequestered with a small group of survivors – high school science teacher Elliott Moore (played by Mark Wahlberg); his estranged wife Alma (played by Zooey Descheanel), whose range spans from lost to befuddled (or, in a small triumph of her limited abilities – both); and Elliott's fellow teach Julian (played by John Leguizamo) with his little girl in tow.

But even though they have names, walk, talk and furrow their brow, they are not characters. They are plot expositions and descriptions of characters. They are there to merely read the rather stoic, turgid prose penned by Shyamalan.

To wit, before Alma is handed a ticket for a train ride out of town, she proclaims “I'm going to get on the train.” And if you did not pick up that Julian was a math teacher, fear not, for he states “I'll give them percentages, people are comforted by percentages,” and tries to divert everyone's attention as the dead bodies start piling up by giving them equations to solve (given the choice, I say, “Death, where is thy sting?”).

Throughout their journey, the group meets up with various loonies reacting to impending doom with the poise and reserve of Chicken Little. One spoiler that I will provide (that is in no way consequential to the film's machinations) is that Alma is repeatedly interrupted by phone calls from a male friend eager to fan the flames of a one-time lunch date. The voice on the other end of the phone? Director/writer/producer Shyamalan, possibly trying to relay stage directions to her -- “Emote! Emote, dammit!”

Sadly, Deschanel never got the message.

But there is one particular scene in which Wahlberg attempts to earnestly converse with an inanimate object ( no, not Deschanel) that is the not only the film's true low point, but a career one for all involved.

Shyamalan has been branded with many a moniker in his short ten years as a director – a one-trick pony, a misunderstood genius, an egoist of the highest order. It may be possible that is is guilty on all accounts. I believe it is long overdue that Shyamalan the director fire Shyamalan the writer and begin to focus his gifts. For he has an obvious affection and understanding of the language of film, and while his films (with the exception of “Lady in the Water”) can be slapped with countless derogatory adjectives, they cannot be faulted for their staging and cinematography.

But like his leaden-handed efforts such as “The Village,” “Unbreakable” and “Signs,” his showmanship gets crushed by woefully inept storytelling.

And for all its pretty pictures, “The Happening,” his attempt at an environmental thriller, is nothing more than an inconvenient goof.