Movie Review - X-Men: Apocalypse, All Surface and No Substance

If X-Men: Apocalypse was a Bond girl, then her name would be Cliche Galore. She would be an airhead, a simple-minded gold-digger with artificially enhanced looks and virtually no substance. 007 would rather order a martini (shaken, not stirred, of course) than waste his time on her.

To make matters worse, this girl wants to be taken seriously, to be something more than mere window dressing. Given the result, that should not happen. She may dream of something more and convince herself that such a role is possible. Unfortunately for her, however, the people responsible for filling her out and making her seem like a real, full-blooded woman have failed. She's there for surface enjoyment, nothing more.

Gratuitous promotional poster.

Harsh words, perhaps, but make no mistake, Apocalypse is likely the most disappointing installment in the X-Men universe. The film not only fell into one of the oldest traps in show-business, that more isn't less, it also managed to cover almost every cliche in the superhero book. This is true all across the board.

For a breather, let's address one of the few positives in the film: the relationship between Magneto (Michael Fassbender) and Professor X (James McAvoy). The dynamic between the two is compelling because the actors portraying them put in solid performances, easily the best showings in the film. One might wonder how it would have turned out if the focus on them was tighter than the diluted final version.

Back to the bad stuff.

Bryan Singer, the director, obviously forgot the things that worked with First Class and Days of Future Past. Why else would he try to cram in five or six origin stories into an already overloaded film? The two aforementioned X-Men installments had a tighter lens and did not try to do too much, while Apocalypse did. As a result, the movie turned into a spin-off of celebrity spotting (minus the element of surprise). When a character popped-up, got his signature look, or became fully realized the audience would go: "Ooh, look!"

Then there's good ol' Apocalypse (Oscar Isaac), the ancient mutant with a god complex. He rises from an ancient slumber to reclaim the world he believes is his to rule. To do this, he picks out his Four Horsemen, Storm (Alexandra Shipp), Psylocke (Olivia Munn), Angel (Ben Hardy), and Magneto. Also, he has absolutely no complexity, and he is prone to random fits of shouting seemingly bad-ass but pointless lines. In other words, Apocalypse could not be a more cliched bad guy. Simon Kinberg, the guy who got credit for writing the screenplay, seems to have taken the easy way out when it comes to creating an antagonist.

Can you get any more cliched? I think not.

The rest of the writing is also pretty flat. The story is almost non-existent and skims over the most compelling parts to throw in an overblown CGI action sequence that last much, much, much longer than it needed to.

Another thing that gets skimmed over are the performances. For every unnecessary line Apocalypse has, the rest of the cast loses an opportunity to give this film a greater class. This is especially true with Jennifer Lawrence, whose performance as Mystique is essentially ungradable. Nicholas Hoult's Beast, Rose Byrne's Moira, Tye Sheridan's Scott Summers, and Sophie Turner's Jean Grey also fall under this category.

This is the black sheep of the series, thus far.

Interestingly, the movie seems to be aware of its own badness. Alexandra Shipp's pre-film "we hope you enjoy the movie" message was hint number one. The next was a snide little meta-moment, where Jean Grey says, "We can all agree that the third movie is the worst." The characters may have been talking about Star Wars, but the filmmakers know the line is about Apocalypse. It is the third in a trilogy that includes First Class and Days of Future Past, and is undoubtedly the worst of the bunch.

Movie Review - The Nice Guys Runs Riot on the 1970s

Detectives and Los Angeles really seem to go together. Raymond Chandler went to this well repeatedly with his Philip Marlowe novels, James Ellroy made a solid mark in the genre, and so did Ross McDonald. Let's not forget the countless film noirs that are set in the land of near-constant sunshine. Shane Black's The Nice Guys is the latest addition to this memorable storytelling line.

Only, it's different.

If these three look nice, don't be fooled.

In short, the film is a riot. Disco-era Los Angeles becomes a playground infested by clueless detectives and an overabundance of illegal activities. The opening tells you all you need to know. A boy fresh off plundering an adult magazine from his parents' room strolls down the hallway to take it in. Then, BAM! a car comes crashing through the house, startling the boy. Who was in the car? None other than the woman (Murielle Telio) featured in the magazine.

Mr. Black gives no one peace. Private eye Holland March (Ryan Gosling) and beatdown-specialist investigator Jackson Healy (Russell Crowe), the titular "nice guys," do more to aid the chaotic scenes than alleviate them. They are helped by the March's determined teenage daughter (Angourie Rice). The resultant trio is offbeat and ridiculous. A perfect breeding ground for the film's numerous gags. It doesn't hurt that all three leads could not have played their parts any better. Gosling deserves special praise for bringing life to the clueless idiot his character happens to be. His chemistry with Crowe is, to some degree, evocative of Bob Hope and Bing Crosby. Rice takes on the Dorothy Lamour position in the sense that she helps bring balance between the two male leads.

These two have the makings of a solid comedy duo.

The writing and the directing are tight and lean. Everything put into the final cut belongs. There are no extraneous elements or self-gratuitous movie lengthening scenes. Stuff that seems meaningless at first sneaks back in later on and provides a solid pay-off. The lines and the gags, as I have already mentioned, are brilliant. Also, Black's directorial style fits perfectly with his stars. The understatement and irony in his shots elicits a comedic tone when you least expect it.

Mixed into the rampant chaos, of course, is a solid story. Holland March's and Jackson Healy's journey is about redemption. They both have experienced loss and both learn to move forward in their lives. For March, part of his growth is bonding with his mischievous daughter, Holly, albeit in an unconventional manner. The strong story is essential, as it provides structure and substance for the gags, which allows them to work at maximum effectiveness.

Los Angeles, the land of sun and neat detective stories.

Last but not least, the film's 1970s nostalgia comes through solidly. The music is well-chosen and the movie references are excellently timed. Also, making an adult film reel into a MacGuffin is an interesting choice.

Yes, the film is vulgar. However, if you're old enough, the humor is nothing short of hilarious. The Nice Guys may very well be the best comedy of the year.

Book Review - "What Makes Sammy Run?"

Over the years, Budd Schulberg's What Makes Sammy Run? has been given a slew of epithets. Most are derisive, such as lewd, trashy, anti-Semitic, and worst of all, anti-Hollywood. Normally, a controversial book (that isn't overly conceptual and unfilmable) makes great material for a movie. Schulberg's tour-de-force about the rise of one Sammy Glick, however, has a reputation no one in the business wants to touch. Steven Spielberg, among others, believes it should never be filmed.

Interesting interpretation with this cover.

The perception around this novel is bound to change. It's not so much anti-Hollywood as it is anti-Studio System.

What Makes Sammy Run? revolves around the rise of Sammy Glick from newspaper copyboy to a movie studio boss in 1930s Tinseltown. The story is told from the perspective of Al Manheim a columnist turned screenwriter and Glick's personal "Boswell" to put it in the novel's lingo (Boswell was Samuel Johnson's biographer). Glick is ruthless in his self-serving aspirations, stepping on anyone and anything to get ahead.

Manheim, Glick's first stepping-stone, chronicles the whole thing and he can't help but be intrigued behind the titular question: What makes Sammy run? Sprinkled throughout the two principle characters' intermingling stories are clues. Eventually, Manheim discovers Sammy's secret and he sees everything clearly.

Along the way, some very unflattering episodes about the so-called "Dream Factories" that turned out movies in an assembly line process are depicted. Glick is a master brown-noser, and he uses the ego of his producers and bosses to move up. Also, there are multiple asides to the casting couch and "unpackaging a new crate of virgins." Again, something Hollywood loves to keep on the down-low. But the biggest accusation comes through Glick's unabashed re-purposing of produced films and old stories, which he brands as "originals." Show business loves to think of itself as being artistic and creative, and this is a slap in the face. One that happens to have some truth behind it.

There are many, many more escapades, and all of them undoubtedly lead to the belief that this novel is "anti-Hollywood." For this to be completely true, however, cynicism has to win out over the optimism and the Hollywood (appropriate) desire for a neatly wrapped-up and mostly positive ending. That is not the case.

Everyone "gets what is coming to them." All of Glick's victims, it seems, end up with some degree of redemption. Manheim has what he wants. Julian Blumberg, a writer Glick uses, has what he wants. Kit Sargent, another writer and Glick's ex-lover, has what she wants. Then there's Glick, who wallows in the shallowness of his success. One gets the sense that Schulberg is being too nice and too 1930s show business with his conclusion.

Sorry Spielberg, it looks like this story has been filmed for TV back in the old days.

This bow-tied ending ultimately weakens his critique of show business and diminishes the strength of his story as a whole.

Regardless, the novel is worth reading for it's historical value alone. There are some very interesting descriptions of 1930s Los Angeles.

Captain America: Civil War Review - More is Just Fine

Less is more - a phrase so often used to address a film's merits that it has become a cliche. In most cases, the designation holds true. Many products from Hollywood's dream factory could do with some trimming, especially ones involving costumed crusaders. Captain America: Civil War, however, breaks this rule in style.

If the future installments of the Marvel Cinematic Universe are as action-packed, entertaining, and well-conceived as this one, then the series' fans are in for a great deal of excitement and there should be no concern about a drop in quality.

Interestingly, the Hero vs. Hero concept is eerily similar to the failure that was Batman vs. Superman, but Marvel succeeds in every way that DC failed.

Civil War is an engrossing and engaging journey into the grandiose struggles faced by superheroes. When they slip-up, the consequences are large. For the Avengers, that means the public calling for oversight and accountability. In other words, turning them into soldiers rather than autonomous do-gooders with the best intentions.

The tension begins to build. As advertised, Captain America (Chris Evans) believes that no government, not even the United Nations, has the right to order the Avengers around. On the other hand, Tony Stark/Iron Man (Robert Downey Jr.) is with the public. The ties that held the group together are ripped apart. Heroes align themselves according to their beliefs or even their personal motives at the time.

Spiderman gets into the game.

Now, this may seem like a set-up for an intensely personal drama about the limits of friendship and how far one is willing to go for brotherhood. Joe and Anthony Russo, the film's directors, and Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely, the writers, have other ideas. While those aforementioned themes are prevalent, what sets Civil War apart from other superhero flicks is the comic timing. Just when the conflict and suspense-filled action is built-up enough, the gags are thrown in. At this point, Marvel and Disney seem to have mastered the comedy required to create a solid counterbalance to the action and drama in their movies.

Of course, Spider Man's introduction was always going to be a popular move, and Tom Holland does a solid job in this new take on the web-slinging character. The more impressive introduction, however, comes from Black Panther, as Chadwick Boseman gives the vengeful African prince-turned-king the right amount of emotion and energy. The other players, such as Paul Rudd, Anthony Mackie, Scarlett Johannson, and Elizabeth Olsen, also play their parts satisfactorily.

Them cats are quick! Black Panther on the run.

With all of these elements in place, the filmmakers returned to a familiar Marvel premise - one grudge-bearing man (Daniel Bruhl) attempting to get the heroes to start fighting each other. The concept is the launching pad for what could very well be the best movie yet to come out of the Marvel franchise. The story, the conflict, and the execution could not get much better. Perhaps the only hero film to top it, though incomparable in many ways, is Christopher Nolan's The Dark Knight.

High praise, but earned. Here's hoping for more top-notch productions down the road.

The only thing to be said against this film is the first part of the title - Captain America. By no means is this a Captain America movie. It is, unquestionably, an Avengers movie.