"The Change-Up"

Runtime: 1 hr, 53 min.

Rated R for strong crude language, strong crude sexual content, some graphic nudity and drug use

Cast: Ryan Reynolds, Jason Bateman, Leslie Mann, Olivia Wilde, Alan Arkin

Director: David Dobkin

There's an essence to body-switch comedies that separates them from more typical humorous fare.  It's a kind of endearing helplessness.  In "Big," when Tom Hanks, playing a 10-year-old in an adult's body, lets a mouthful of beluga caviar drop from his mouth after abhorring the initial taste, he's not playing it for laughs.  A kid wouldn't know how else to react.  It's that vulnerability that makes his plight both funny and sympathetic.  That essence is missing from "The Change-Up," the latest body-switch comedy about two men whose lives are far more different than their personality types.  As a result, the movie has to strain for its laughs. 

It's no surprise, then, that one of the men is a centrifuge of obscene behavior and the other is so uptight and exasperated with his familial responsibilities that the film opens with a firsthand lesson in scatology during a 3am diaper-changing session.  The better body-switch movies involve actors meticulously having to study the gestures and quirks of fellow actors.  Here, both Ryan Reynolds and Jason Bateman are essentially performing various degrees of schtick, and then swap schticks. 

Yet the movie is at least watchable, thanks to the admirably high level of energy brought to the project.  The flawed approach to the material forces the actors to labor for laughs, though the main players do seem up to the effort.  The end result is a movie that doesn't necessarily sink, but doesn't really take off, either.

The story is set in Atlanta and involves two friends since childhood.  Dave Lockwood (Bateman) is a hardworking, ambitious attorney for a firm that is closing in on an all-important merger, one that would seal his partnership.  He has overachieved his whole life to provide for his family.  His wife, Jamie (Leslie Mann) loves him dearly, though wonders if the day will come when he finally chooses to slow it down.  Mitch Planko (Reynolds) is a spoiled, socially-irresponsible part-time actor and full-time ladies man.  He harbors no reservations about spouting vulgarities around Dave's wife and children, and his antics have contributed to a strained relationship with his father (Alan Arkin).  One night, after watching a baseball game in a local bar, the two friends venture out into the streets as they lament over their respective paths.  Each one wishes for the other's life.  They repeat this sentiment while urinating in a mysterious, magical fountain.  The next morning, they get their "wish" which puts everything in jeopardy, from Dave's possible partnership (not to mention his marriage) to Mitch's varied array of flings. 

Jason Bateman continues to be one of the funniest actors working today, and Ryan Reynolds keeps expanding his acting range, from romantic lead ("The Proposal") to more dramatic fare ("Buried") to comic book hero (the underwhelming "Green Lantern" although that wasn't really his fault) to raunchy comic lead here.  Both actors bring tremendous verve to the proceedings, even in scenes that don't hit the comic mark.  Surprisingly, the sweeter moments seem to strike a more potent chord here, thanks to strong supporting work from both Leslie Mann as Dave's supportive-even-as-it-kills-her wife and Olivia Wilde as Dave's colleague who harbors a crush but remains professional.  Both women fight to give their characters added dimensions in a screenplay where such depth for female characters doesn't seem a big priority.

The director is David Dobkin ("Wedding Crashers").  He and screenwriters Jon Lucas and Scott Moore throw all manner of comic bits into the fold.  Some work.  (I liked the scene where Dave and Mitch try telling Jamie the truth.  Mitch asks her to quiz him on something only Dave would know about their marriage.  She asks their anniversary date and her favorite color.  Of course the overworked, stressed-to-the-bone, increasingly reticent husband gets both answers wrong.)  Other scenes don't work.  (The movie's most awkward bits involve the infant twins.  One bangs his head against the crib and sticks his tongue into electrical outlets; the other has a field day with kitchen knives.  Those moments are more weird than funny.)

I didn't find the movie awful; just not terribly engaging.  The humor was hit-and-miss.  The sentimental scenes were okay, if a bit cliched.  Combining raunchiness and sweetness left me adrift in a sea of mild-at-best interest.  "Crazy, Stupid, Love" combined humor and sweetness with considerably more wit and charm.  That's the one to see.

* *  out of  * * * *  stars

"Crazy, Stupid, Love."

Runtime:1 hr. 47 min.

Rated PG-13 for coarse humor, sexual content and language

Cast: Steve Carell, Ryan Gosling, Julianne Moore, Emma Stone, John Carroll Lynch

Director: Glen Ficarra and John Requa

Here is a movie that is both funny and perceptive not just in equal measure, but often at the very same moments. That's a lot harder than it seems. "Crazy, Stupid, Love" is humorous without being strained and insightful without being self-congratulatory. This is the best of the summer comedies.

The story centers on the romantic entanglements of two men, and branches outward from there. The predominant characters are Cal Weaver (Steve Carell), a middle-aged suburbanite whose wife of twenty-five years, Emily (Julianne Moore) announces regretfully at dinner that she wants a divorce. And Jacob Palmer (Ryan Gosling), a twenty-something Casanova who lives off of an inheritance and is so ridiculously good-looking that he can frequent the same bar every night and leave with a different woman without inviting mockery.

From there, we're introduced to other players in the high-stakes sport of love. Cal has a 13-year-old son (Jonah Bobo) yoked to romantic idealism. He's not shy about professing his adoration toward his 17-year-old babysitter (Analeigh Tipton). The babysitter, meanwhile, holds a torch for Cal, and sees an opportunity after learning of the split. After Cal moves out, Emily appears to want to explore a possible union with a co-worker named David (Kevin Bacon) to whom she engaged in a prior tryst, yet struggles with unresolved feelings. David is charming in his own way though prone to some unwise decision-making.

On the other side of the film's love bracket, Jacob's wanton lifestyle comes to a screeching halt when he falls for a lovely young law student named Hannah (Emma Stone). Hannah rebuffs Jacob's advances, priding herself on seeing through his womanizing ways. Yet her own relationship with a self-absorbed lawyer (Josh Groban) offers no fulfillment. "I need time to process how I feel about you for the long term," he unwisely confesses at one point. If he wasn't the shallowest man alive before that comment, he just managed to siphon a little more out of the pool.

To drown out his sorrows, Cal begins frequenting the same bar as Jacob. They meet, strike up a conversation, and the young stud agrees to help Cal out of his funk. This involves critiquing his entire appearance, from his sneakers ("Who are you, Steve Jobs?") to his clothing ("You're wearing a 44 when you should be wearing a 42 regular,") to his physical attributes ("The skin under your eyes is beginning to look like Hugh Hefner's ball sack.") After several lessons in being a pick-up artist, Cal re-enters the dating scene with a high school teacher (Marisa Tomei) who unleashes a torrent of repressed sexual hunger in one night.

It seems like I've given away too much, but there are plenty of happenings that keep the story moving. Some developments late in the film might be perceived as contrived, yet the movie has reeled us in so tightly by that point that I didn't mind. The film is also perspicacious in regards to love, yet the characters aren't neurotic "Grey's Anatomy" clones who pontificate over feelings to the point of nausea, but seemingly real people, both younger and older, some of who act on what they feel is right, and others who struggle to understand what went wrong.

Steve Carell adds credence to the notion that comedians make strong dramatic actors; he is able to convey so much through facial expressions alone. Ryan Gosling is equally effective. At first, Jacob seems to be taking pity on Cal, yet we sense a tinge of envy toward someone capable of both love and heartache. And Marisa Tomei proves yet again that no one can steal a scene quite like her. (You know how Hitchcock once said that a scene showing a group of men playing cards and a bomb goes off unexpectedly offers little suspense, but if the audience knows there's a ticking time bomb beneath the card table, the tension is palpable? Tomei is like that ticking time bomb. It's only a matter of time before she goes off, and we wait with bated breath until she does so.)

Directors Glen Ficarra and John Sequa ("I Love You Phillip Morris") have crafted a terrific comedy. Some may criticize the ending for being too idealistic. Sure, it's idealistic, but it's hard for a story about unbridled adoration to be too much so. (Just try putting love in perspective.) When a film is this funny and smart, I'm grateful for the idealism. The key to the movie's title is the commas that separate the words. "Crazy" and "stupid" aren't adjectives used to describe love. A comparison is being drawn between the words themselves. Some things in life drive us crazy. Other things make us feel stupid. And some things...

...well, that's just love.

* * * 1/2  out of  * * * *  stars

"Cowboys and Aliens"

Runtime:1 hr. 58 min.

Rated PG-13 for intense sequences of western and sci-fi action and violence, some partial nudity and a brief crude reference

Cast: Daniel Craig, Harrison Ford, Olivia Wilde, Sam Rockwell, Paul Dano

Director: Jon Favreau

Like its title suggests, "Cowboys and Aliens" won't summon a whole lot of middle ground expectations.  You'll either be compelled to see it or you won't.  I was intrigued, as a premise like this seems a springboard to cheerful goofiness. Yet the movie didn't appear to be having the kind of fun I expected. The filmmakers don't seem in on their own joke.

As the story opens, we see a cowboy jolt awake in the barren New Mexico Territory desert. He brandishes no firearm, possesses no horse, and is minus a memory... but has acquired a flesh wound, seems to have inherited a knack for fisticuffs and sports a shiny bracelet of possible otherworldly origins which may or may not be a weapon. This is Jake Lonergan (Daniel Craig), a former outlaw whose only target now is his own recollection. He stumbles into a small mining town, receives medical attention from a local clergyman (Clancy Brown), befriends a kind but oddly curious barmaid (Olivia Wilde) while patronizing the local saloon run by a self-effacing proprietor (Sam Rockwell). When the sheriff (Keith Carradine) discovers that Lonergan is wanted, he arrests him.

Meanwhile, a former war hero-turned-cattle baron named Colonel Woodrow Dolarhyde (Harrison Ford) wants Lonergan for himself, both for stealing his gold and assaulting his perpetually-drunk, imbecilic son (Paul Dano). Just as Dolarhyde is about to seize his opportunity, a surge of bright lights shoots through the sky, attacks the unsuspecting onlookers, kidnaps several of the townspeople and flees into the pitch-black night. Shaken from the encounter, Dolarhyde now offers to work with Lonergan and other townfolk, as his son is one of the captured. They join forces, procure the assistance of rival outlaws and the local tribes, and set out to recover those lost.

While devoid of the kind of cinematic joy I had anticipated, the movie is nonetheless competently directed and does contain some strong elements. (I liked how the aliens attacked and secured their prey... not with a tractor beam, but a cable that shoots from their respective crafts and lassoes their target, as though roping cattle.) Other elements, however, fall short. The alien creatures themselves seem uninspired in appearance and despite a monstrous supporting cast, the team of screenwriters doesn't imbue them with a whole lot of endearing eccentricities. Many of the personalities are as barren as the landscape.

I have a bad feeling the filmmakers sat in their production meetings and asked the unfortunate question: "What might actually happen if a close encounter of this kind occurred?" I think that is the wrong approach for this type of movie. Director Jon Favreau seems wary of his own cognizance toward the concept's welcoming silliness. Someone like Gore Verbinski (the first three "Pirates of the Caribbean" movies, "Rango") would have had a field day with the idea. Favreau, a great director in his own right, appears more intent on remaining true to both the Western and the science-fiction genres than in simply playing up the requisite outlandishness. Remaining true is a noble endeavor, but one that runs counter to the gleeful exuberance a movie like this requires. 

(Or let me put it to you this way: Favreau has said in interviews that he wanted to make a sci-fi "Unforgiven."  I think I would have preferred a sci-fi "Silverado."  Both Westerns were great, but the former reveled in its dark tone while the latter was open to being a little more fun.)

As for the cast, some fare better than others. Harrison Ford comes off the best, chewing the scenery with salivating acerbity as a bitter warrior who answers to no one after the government's perceived incompetence caused him to lose hundreds of men in the Civil War.  Daniel Craig brings the same kind of taciturn approach as he did portraying James Bond. That method works for 007 and would have been terrific in a Sergio Leone Western, but this isn't a Sergio Leone Western.  His reserved demeanor could have really benefited had the movie surrounded him with more interesting supporting players.  And Olivia Wilde stays easy on the eyes while so obviously harboring a secret that it's a testament to obliviousness that she lasts two-thirds of the running time before finally being forced to spill what she knows.

As strict popcorn action entertainment, the movie more or less works, even if it does miss an opportunity to be something completely off the wall and memorable.  The trailer, the premise, even the title promise a zany romp that the film itself falls just short of delivering.  But the film is compentent enough and, despite a few slow spots, offers enough action to satisfy the summer movie crowd. If this seems like your kind of thing, by all means, have at it.

* * 1/2  out of  * * * *  stars

"Tabloid"

Runtime:1 hr. 28 min.

Rated R for sexual content and nudity

Cast: Joyce McKinney, Jackson Shaw, Peter Tory, Troy Williams, Kent Gavin, Jin Han Hong

Director: Errol Morris

The woman is a wind-up machine of histrionics.  A self-promoting Chatty Cathy doll with an equator-length pull cord, if you will. 

Errol Morris' "Tabloid" is a giddy, inventively-accentuated documentary that observes the mutually advantageous relationships between sensationalist rags, those who peruse them, and those who find themselves, either wittingly or unwittingly, the target of their salacious gossip.  It focuses on a story that dominated the British headlines during the late 70s, and involves a woman who has to be seen and heard to be... well, not really believed, but... to be seen and heard, I guess.  Such is the essence of the tabloid.

In 1977, Joyce McKinney earned laurels of notoriety for being a key participant in a tabloid story dubbed "The Case of the Manacled Mormon."  She was arrested on accusations that she followed a Mormon missionary named Kirk Anderson to England, kidnapped him, transported him to a remote location, handcuffed him to a bed and forced him to be her sex slave.  Of course, her version of events were quite different.  In the movie, she presents herself as a doe-eyed hopeless romantic who fell in love with Anderson (and he with her, proposing on the second date) whose own happiness was sadistically interrupted by the Mormon church.  According to her, it was their "cult" (as she described them) that whisked him away to a foreign land to prevent their union.  Her own abduction plot was an attempt to rescue him from Mormonism.  The story was fodder incarnate for the British papers and their readership.  The press couldn't get enough. 

Following her release on bail in advance of the trial, Joyce mingled with actors and pop stars.  Her niche was discovered in the tabloid crosshairs; the woman was well ahead of her time.  Joyce's newfound vacuous stardom took an even more bizarre turn when unearthed photographs revealed she once made a living as a nude model.  Many of the pictures featured her in bondage poses.  Her explanation now?  The tabloids cruelly pasted her face over images of other women.  This is the ultimate love-hate relationship.

Kirk Anderson himself refused to be interviewed for the film, though has insisted since the ordeal that he flew to the U.K. to evade Joyce's obsession.  So, with whose account does accuracy lie?  As far as the film is concerned, it honestly doesn't matter.  This isn't an attempt at excavating the truth.  Indeed, Morris' approach is its own cinematic tabloid of sorts, fawning over a spacey subject all too eager to tell her side of the tale.  The film would be seen as pure exploitation had the key player not been so keen to position herself before Morris' lens.

That McKinney is engaging comes as no surprise.  Oh, she's a flake and we wouldn't trust her any further than an asthmatic weakling could chuck her, but if we found ourselves at a party and wished to be entertained, we'd know where to park ourselves, sit back and take in the unbridled hilarity.  Morris also interviews a British tabloid journalist with an apparent adoration toward depravity.  (As he describes Joyce's method of forced intercourse, Morris interrupts him to ask "you mean she wanted him to inseminate her?"  The man gives Morris a puzzled expression.  "Well, that's a polite way of putting it," he responds, as though politeness were the most alien of concepts in tabloid-utopia.)  Also interviewed is an accomplice of Joyce's, and even a scientist who managed to clone the woman's dog as a means to combat her loneliness later in life.  Why is HE in there?  Why not?  The movie is a cheeky exploration into sensationalism.  What, is he going to wreck the grading curve?

Tabloid journalism is one of those entities that feeds itself while constantly blaming others for feeding itself.  Celebrities lambaste them for printing falsehoods even as some stars need those taradiddles to maintain their level of fame.  Journalists continue shady practices while blaming readers for buying and reading something they claim to detest.  And on it goes. 

Morris has a lot of fun with the presentation, employing tabloid-style imagery to add nuance to the unmufflered scandalous details on display.  This isn't quite up there with Morris' more substantial work ("Gates of Heaven," "The Thin Blue Line," "The Fog of War"), but the goal isn't the same either.  Here, he's merely setting the stage for the most peculiar of yarns, one that will be told again and again so long as the woman telling it has a working breath.

* * * 1/2  out of  * * * *  stars

 

"A Better Life"

Runtime:1 hr. 38 min.

Rated PG-13 for some violence, language and brief drug use

Cast: Demian Bichir, Jose Julian, Dolores Heredia, Joaquin Cosio, Nancy Lenehan

Director: Chris Weitz

Few possessions of the human condition are more personal than dignity.  The retaining of one's self-worth can take on a multitude of forms.  "A Better Life" is about a father and son who attempt to preserve their dignity through harsh conditions, each in their own way.  Conflicting outlooks on life keep them at arm's length from one another. 

That is, until an undertaking brings each individual's perspective into the other's clearer view.  Taking its inspiration from Vittorio De Sica's 1948 classic "The Bicycle Thief," the movie is set in present day Los Angeles and focuses on struggling father Carlos Galindo (Demian Bichir), an undocumented worker who earns whatever pay he can doing landscaping.  He spares no effort in providing for his fifteen-year-old American-born son, Luis (Jose Julian). 

Carlos is thoughtful, hardworking, stoic, and approaches his duties with the utmost sedulity.  His efforts, though substantial, don't net much.  He also longs for more time with a son whom he fears is battling adolescence minus a father.  (In an early heartfelt moment, Carlos wakes one morning, approaches the closed door of Luis' room.  He is about to knock, but stops.  Instead, he gently opens the door and observes his sleeping child for several seconds... the boy is at peace.  Content.  Carlos steps back out, inches the door closed, then knocks.  We see how the father's heart cries out for more simple moments like that.)

Luis is an interesting personality; an embodiment of moderation.  The young man is rebellious without being reckless.  He's stouthearted enough to stave off oppressive forces yet does so without joining other tyrannous entities.  (He befriends members of a neighborhood gang, though displays no visible interest in joining their ranks.)  Luis loves and respects his father's efforts, yet struggles with the man's need to shrink away from any potential danger given his immigration status.  The son sees his father as a man with no dignity.  The father views his son as increasingly hard-hearted following the departure of his mother. 

Carlos makes the risky decision to buy a truck in an effort to boost earnings.  He also hopes to make more time for Luis.  When the truck (and all of Carlos' work supplies) is stolen, father and son come together in an effort to locate the thief and retrieve the merchandise.  Anything less results in destitution.  This endeavor brings the contrasting outlooks into focus.  When they locate the person responsible, Luis wants to punish him verbally and physically while Carlos orders him to refrain and focuses instead on the truck's retrieval.  What's interesting is how the opposite approaches are both born from the womb of self-respect.  The perceptions may be different, but the needs are one in the same.

Demian Bichir is probably best known to U.S. audiences for his role as the corrupt politician/drug lord on Showtime's "Weeds."  Here he earns our sympathy from the start as a man who gauges his self-worth by the degree of respect he affords others, even as his son demands he stop being so trusting.  As Luis, Jose Julian strikes a strong balance between defending his adolescent pride and being cognizant enough to learn from his father.  At one point, he asks "why did you and mom have me?"  This question devastates Carlos, yet it's not asked in a petulant or self-pitying way.  He adds: "Poor people have children all the time.  What's the point?"  The inquiry actually demonstrates his perceptiveness.  He's not self-loathing; he simply struggles to comprehend his parents' decision.

Given the immigration angle, I don't know how much political debate the film will ignite, though socio-political polemic doesn't seem to be the filmmakers' primary goal.  The immigration reform debate will continue regardless.  Here, director Chris Weitz ("About a Boy") has made a thoughtful, deliberately-paced movie that builds to a climax of palpable strength.  (The film only steps wrong once, offering an unnecessary "four months later" epilogue that doesn't impart anything we couldn't surmise on our own.  The real ending was one scene earlier.) 

Still, the movie leaves a mark.  Its greatest strength is its understanding of human values.  The father's finest hour comes not in the love he extends or the life he provides, but in a quiet moment where he sits before a wide-eyed son he may never see again, and conveys in the most emotionally unguarded way exactly why he and and his wife had him.

* * * 1/2  out of  * * * *  stars

 

"Friends with Benefits"

Runtime:1 hr, 50 min.

Rated R for sexual content and language

Cast: Justin Timberlake, Mila Kunis, Patricia Clarkson, Jenna Elfman, Bryan Greenberg, Woody Harrelson 

Director: Will Gluck

I like movies about quick-thinking, fast-talking characters. Romantic comedies are generally devoid of such personalities. "Friends with Benefits" is just what the title suggests... a story about two intelligent, charming, romantically frustrated people who discover that the benefits are the easy part of that kind of relationship.

The premise sounds like something made to be a subpar romcom. (Actually, it was... the concept is quite similar to "No Strings Attached" earlier this year.) Here, though, we're given characters whose happiness we can actually care about instead of merely wait for. The film stars Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis, two gloriously attractive people as exasperated urbanites with hapless love lives. This seems like a stretch yet we accept them in the roles, not for their physical appeal so much as for their likability, comic timing, and rapid-fire verbal exchanges. And because the characters they play do seem genuine despite the story's romcom parameters.

Dylan (Timberlake) is a graphic designer based in Los Angeles. Jamie (Kunis) is a headhunter working out of Manhattan. As the movie opens, they don't know each other. Both are dumped by their respective partners. Their paths cross when Jamie tries to match Dylan with an open managerial position at GQ Magazine. As part of her pitch, she takes him around the city, and eventually charms him into taking the job. They stay in touch, remain friends, spend more and more time together, lament over their unfortunate romantic paths, reveal how much they miss sex, and then one night Dylan has an idea... why don't they just sleep together, no emotional commitment whatsoever? The tricky thing, of course, is the fundamental truth that if you're comfortable enough with each other's personality to engage in this type of relationship, then you're also comfortable enough to allow yourself to become emotionally available to one another, regardless of whether or not you're willing to admit it.

After a wee bit of convincing (and after swearing "no emotional attachments" on a Bible app for Jamie's ipad) they disrobe, assess the physical possibilities ("yeah, I can work with that,") and get down to it. What follows is a barrage of humorous exchanges during their sexual romps, with both participants not the least bit reticent about offering tips toward gratification. Since feelings aren't involved, there's no need to be sensitive to them. Jamie isn't shy about criticizing Dylan's cunnilingus techniques. ("What are you doing, trying to dig your way to China? Slow down!") This relationship of physical indulgence lasts a while, until Jamie decides she wants more; she seeks to re-enter the dating scene. They stop the physical part, but soon learn that the friendship part has become complicated.

The co-writer/director is Will Gluck, who stumbled from the starting gate with the dreadful cheerleading comedy "Fired Up!" but rebounded remarkably well with "Easy A," thanks in part to a star-making performance by Emma Stone. (She also has a cameo here.) With this film, Gluck demonstrates that he's no flash in the pan, one-good-movie-every-ten-years-or-so hack director, but a gifted and (more importantly, I think) confident comic writer. The movie is not just funny, but effortlessly so. The harder a comedy pounds away at the jokes, the less secure the filmmakers are in the material. Gluck and his co-writers are self-assured in their ability to write witty dialogue and stage scenes to max effectiveness. (The film gets a lot of mileage out of flashmobs.)

He's aided by a strong cast that includes Richard Jenkins as Dylan's father, Patricia Clarkson as Jamie's sexually free-spirit mother who pops in unexpectedly when her lack of funds necessitate it, Jenna Elfman as Dylan's sister who detects her brother's moods with remarkable ease (sisters seem to have a knack for this), and Woody Harrelson as GQ's endearingly proud homosexual sports editor who's never at a loss for zingers. ("I live out in Jersey, and I ain't takin' no ferry... unless it's out to dinner and a show. BAM!)

I enjoyed the film more than I thought I would. I entered the theatre bracing for what I figured would be another routine romantic comedy where I'd tap my foot until the final embrace. Yes, the movie does follow convention. We do get that final embrace. But what I didn't expect was that I'd care as much as I did. Not because Dylan and Jamie make good lovers, but because they make great friends.

* * *  out of  * * * *  stars

"Captain America: The First Avenger"

Runtime:2 hr. 4 min.

Rated PG-13 for intense sequences of sci-fi action and intense sequences of sci-fi violence

Cast: Chris Evans, Hugo Weaving, Tommy Lee Jones, Sebastian Stan, Hayley Atwell, Dominic Cooper, Toby Jones

Director: Joe Johnston

This is filmmaking of a high technical order. "Captain America: The First Avenger" isn't at the top as far as comic-book-to-film adaptations go, but it's magnificently good-looking and has a sporty enough pace engineered to prevent boredom. The movie satisfies the expectations of summer popcorn entertainment. It doesn't exceed those expectations, but it meets them.

The reason the film doesn't resonate to the upper tier of comic book movies is because Captain America himself simply isn't as interesting as other superheroes. The most compelling heroes are complex, troubled, and conflicted. Steve Rogers (a.k.a. Captain America) is weak in musculature but strong in spirit. He's noble, pure, true, and appeals to our empathy for the underdog. Beyond that, he doesn't bring a whole lot of character gradation to the table.

And yet that's not a debilitating problem here, as the movie itself operates from a similar hub of innocence. It's the early 1940s. The streets are inundated with posters of Uncle Sam with a protuberant index finger beseeching all eligible passers-by to enlist and fight overseas. A strikingly diminutive kid from Brooklyn, Steve Rogers (Chris Evans) would love nothing more than to enlist. His size, along with an unfortunate litany of medical issues have prevented him from doing so, despite his efforts at forging his application several times over. His determination catches the eye of Abraham Erskine (Stanley Tucci), a fringe scientist who helps him get his foot in the door. "So, you want to go overseas and kill Nazis?" the scientist inquires. "I don't want to kill anybody," Rogers responds. "I just don't like bullies... wherever they come from."

As part of his special entry into military service, Rogers is required to be a test subject for a special serum that greatly inflates muscle mass and boosts the body's metabolism. The experiment works, and the former pushover is now a thewy mass of fortitude. Colonel Chester Phillips (Tommy Lee Jones) still isn't convinced of his effectiveness in the battlefield, so Rogers is relegated to posing for ostentatiously staged promotions to sell war bonds. (This is where the moniker Captain America was picked up.) Rogers knows he can contribute in actual combat, and with the help of sympathetic field agent Peggy Carter (Hayley Atwell) and weapon creator Howard Stark (Dominic Cooper), Captain America hits the war zone itself, freeing a slew of POWs. His next mission is to bring down the insidious German commander Johann Schmidt... aka Red Skull (Hugo Weaving) who is in possession of a cube with otherworldly powers and intends to wipe out half of civilization.

The story arc is noticeably devoid of nuance. The movie seems more constructed like a carnival ride than a sinuously plotted landscape dotted with narrative twists. The marvelously nostalgic visual style is a staple mark of director Joe Johnston's work. (His previous efforts include "The Rocketeer," "Jumanji," "October Sky," "Hidalgo," and "The Wolfman.") There are plenty of special effects in use, but none that feel too terribly overblown. Indeed, the most prominent effect is morphing Chris Evans from a ninety-pound asthmatic weakling to a statue of muscularity. The effect is passable enough, though it will require a suspension of disbelief. I don't imagine this will pose too much of a problem for the target demographic.

Both Chris Evans and Hugo Weaving do what they can, but there isn't a lot of wiggle room for acting range here. (Weaving actually managed to bring more personality to the monotone Smith in the "Matrix" movies.) Tommy Lee Jones is in perfect Tommy-Lee-Jones-mode, playing a personality he can do in his sleep. Yet the hard-driving, fast-talking persona is still welcome. Stanley Tucci adds an understated warmth to the story; I wish he had more screen time. And I liked Hayley Atwell as an agent frustrated with the imposed limitations for women of the time, and finding unique ways to vent said frustrations. (After a bout of mild jealousy, she wastes no time in helping Rogers test his new shield by immediately firing a loaded gun at him. "Hmmm. Seems to work.")

I've already heard a couple complaints saying that the movie is nothing more than a lead-in to next year's "The Avengers." (A trailer for that film is tacked on to this one.) I don't really see it as such. If the movie seems oversimplified, that's probably because the story is set before gray areas permeated the collective American psyche... when good guys and bad guys can be so easily identified with the naked eye. The goal here is to entertain. You want popcorn entertainment? You got it.

* * *  out of  * * * *  stars

"Beginners"

Runtime:1 hr. 45 min.

Rated R for language and some sexual content

Cast: Ewan McGregor, Christopher Plummer, Melanie Laurent, Goran Visnjic

Director: Mike Mills

Strength often lies in simplicity. Take happiness. At one point in "Beginners," a man tells his girlfriend shortly before they break up "I don't think this is how I'm supposed to be feeling." The words supposed to are a choke hold on the rest of the sentence. Seeking happiness can lead to its discovery. Trying to understand happiness can lead to disaster.

Melancholia is interwoven throughout the film, but charm is there, too. The main character exists in a perpetual state of understated self-pity, yet the movie itself does not. Writer/director Mike Mills ("Thumbsucker") has loosely based the premise on his own experiences. This probably explains why the film doesn't feel as heavy-handed as one might expect in this type of story.

(There may be spoilers here, but none to anyone who has seen the trailer for the movie. Still... just thought I'd bring it up.)

Most movies about people who struggle toward an emotional understanding do so from beneath the burden of a catastrophic event or some solitary emotive millstone. It's a little more complicated for struggling artist Oliver Fields (Ewan McGregor). His parents were married for forty-four years. Then his mother passed away. Immediately after that, his father, Hal (Christopher Plummer) admitted to Oliver that he was gay. No fear of the response. No remorse. Just an admission. Oliver is an intelligent, decent man who harbors no judgment toward his father's personal disclosure. He never suspected it, however, assuming simply that his parents had fallen out of love long ago. This has shaped the way he views relationships, resulting in an unremitting state of loneliness. After the admission, Hal wastes no time in seeking happiness as a freshly-out-of-the-closet, proud homosexual man.

Not long after, Hal is diagnosed with stage four cancer. The story ping-pongs back and forth in time, between the months after the diagnosis and the months after Hal's death, as Oliver embarks on a new relationship with a free-spirit actress named Anna (Melanie Laurent) whom he met at a costume party. They share an amazing first night, despite her affliction with laryngitis. Oliver's cynicism threatens the potential for this relationship as well, but there may be some lessons to be learned in simply observing his father's attempt at a similar kind of contentment.

Ewan McGregor's central performance is a balancing act, portraying a man embroiled in his own pity while somehow not trying to earn our pity in the process. He doesn't learn lessons so much as grow in his perceptions of himself in others' eyes. (In one crucial encounter with his father's lover, Andy (Goran Visnjic), the lover asks pointedly, "It's because I'm gay, isn't it? The reason you haven't written or called since he died?" "No," Oliver counters softly. "It's because my father loved you so much.")

As Anna, Melanie Laurent ("Inglourious Basterds") is a perfect counterpart to Oliver's emotional weariness; she has her own demons but remains open to possibility. Christopher Plummer is a delight here; Hal is a wise man dutiful to the end, both in his commitment to his marriage and in his devotion to his own emotional fulfillment after the marriage, cancer be damned. And in a strong performance as Oliver's mother, Mary Page Keller effectively conveys an embittered woman whose resentment is pointed decidedly inward, as she knew what she was getting into and thought she could alter the unalterable.

Despite the semi-autobiographical complexion of the story, the film never feels overwrought. Director Mike Mills is all too aware of the unorthodox nature in this type of situation, and the movie at times takes subtle humorous jabs at itself while never smothering its emotional impact. There are some who may find Mills' style a little too artsy. (Hal's subtitled communicative dog may put off some viewers.) I didn't mind, as at the center rests a sublime notion... that life's truest bliss can't be understood, just accepted. That is, if we possess the courage to begin the journey. There's so much possibility at the starting gate.

* * * 1/2  out of  * * * *  stars

"Winnie the Pooh"

Runtime:1 hr. 9 min.

Rated G

Cast: Jim Cummings, Craig Ferguson, Tom Kenny, Travis Oates, Bud Luckey

Director: Don Hall

Disney's "Winnie the Pooh" rekindled in me a longing for innocence I had forgotten.  Or maybe suppressed.  Wherever and however that innocence left me, this trip back into A.A. Milne's Hundred Acre Wood was a pleasant reintroduction. 

Movies today geared toward children cater to the demographic the way advertisers cater to potential consumers; by grasping at the attention rather than stirring the emotions.  There's a whole lot of loud and a whole lot of shiny taking up residence in theatres each summer, and much of it comes devoid of an interesting story or even remotely interesting characters. 

Top-notch entertainment does exist, most notably from the Disney Pixar and DreamWorks animation quarter.  I greatly enjoy those films.  They, too, work tirelessly to appeal to both younger and older moviegoers.  Make no mistake about it... "Winnie the Pooh" is intended mostly for the little ones, though I suspect older viewers who don't mind a peregrination through a landscape dotted with wistful tokens of a simpler time will get something from the experience. 

The movie has a leg up in that it involves characters we know well.  Much of the joy comes in our remembrance of their endearing quirks.  Voiced by Jim Cummings, Winnie the Pooh's sweet tooth is still in strong working order, evidenced in a scene where he tries to condition himself to NOT think about honey.  (Even the sound of his grumbling stomach is unusually pronounced.  It reminded me of the noise the Smoke Monster made in "Lost."  Yeah, I see the weirdness of that analogy, but that's what came to mind.) 

The sad, droopy but no less lovable Eeyore (Bud Luckey) is featured as well, always with a sour perspective at the ready.  He's forever melancholic, but adorably patient.  (One scene has his friends attempting to help him out of a jam using some pretty bizarre methods.)  And the irrepressible Tigger (Cummings again) brings a bouncing jolt of exuberance to the proceedings.  His zest for adventure knows no bounds, to the point where he conjures up a plan to convert Eeyore into "Tigger Two."  I don't think I'm spoiling it if I say the plan doesn't... you know, go according to plan. 

I won't offer up too many details of the plot, as part of the fun is watching their adventures unfold.  The movie is presented in a kind of storybook format (narrated by John Cleese), and occasionally the scenes shift from full screen to being presented as though on the page of a book.  The characters actually find themselves in physical interaction with the words themselves.  The adventures don't feel like they came from the mind of a screenwriter, but from the imagination of young Christopher Robin (Jack Boulter) himself.  With everything from Eeyore's slight appendage problem to a hunt for an imaginary monster to the unfortunate event that leads all but one of the characters into a deep ditch, and their only hope rests in the hands of (gasp!) Piglet (Travis Oates)... the film is cloaked in innocence and packaged for the young. 

I don't know how much of an impact this film will have amidst the cacophony of summer movie mayhem.  I found it to be a pleasant experience.  It's mercifully short (clocking in at just over an hour) and poses nothing that would give parents reservations.  Its charm lies in its innocence. 

I read in an article once that it's a bad idea for parents to read to their children in bed, as that may cause them to associate reading with sleep, and could imbue in them an aversion to reading.  There may be truth to this, yet some stories seem made for just before bedtime.  They serve as a sweet reminder that we were once of an age when all seemed right with the world.  Sure, we know better now, but accrued wisdom needn't free us from our memory of such an age, as those moments offered the most precious of childhood gifts... pleasant dreams.

* * *  out of  * * * *  stars

"Rubber" (DVD)

Runtime:1 hr. 25 min.

Rated R for some violent images and language

Cast: Stephen Spinella, Jack Plotnick, Thomas F. Duffy, Hayley Holmes, Roxane Mesquida

Director: Quentin Dupieux

I was recommended this movie by a supremely gifted filmmaking friend whose mind houses more knowledge of cinema than my own could ever hope to comprehend.  He loves unconventional storytelling.  I can understand his adoration toward this film.

I admired the irreverence it brought, but I didn't quite love it.  "Rubber" tells the most unorthodox story in the most atypical way.  That's a good thing.  It also came off, to me anyway, as a might too happy with itself.  Little effort seems wasted in patting itself on the back, evidenced by the movie's final shot which appears to be firing the ultimate fuck you-bomb toward any type of Hollywood convention.  I suspect writer/director Quentin Dupieux hails himself as the sole champion of revolutionary storytelling... the life of the heterodox narrative cinema party, if you will... without quite realizing that he is, point of fact, a couple years late to said party.  More on that later.

There was something else I found a little perplexing.  The movie has an inexplicable need to try and out-gimmick itself.  It has a great idea (an inanimate tire comes to life in the desert, rolls around the landscape, discovers it possesses destructive telepathic powers, begins exploding the heads of various people, and develops a crush on a sexy young drifter) that is piggybacked by a so-so idea (a kind of Mystery Science Theatre angle, as a group of onlookers view the events as though watching a movie through binoculars and making comments on the transpiring events).  Both plots are given equal consideration.  I enjoyed the telepathic tire angle, but couldn't quite grasp the desert audience... why not just make a great B-thriller about a tire with telepathic powers?  Is Dupieux seriously telling us that that idea isn't irreverent enough?  What, he felt he needed to weird it up a bit?  Seriously?

But maybe that's the point.  As the story progresses, it becomes clear that the movie isn't really about plot at all.  It's all about the gimmick; the unconventional storytelling.  The entire movie, essentially, is explained by Lieutenant Chad (Stephen Spinella) in an opening address to the aforementioned audience, "Ladies and gentlemen, the film you are about to see today is an homage to the no reason... that most powerful element of style."  Okay, on that strict level, the movie more or less works.  Is it clever?  Sure.  Does it leave an impression?  For me, none that lasted beyond the film's running time.

Director Dupieux does, however, demonstrate skill behind the camera.  The stuff involving the tire works quite well.  Conveying an object's growing awareness of its surroundings is no easy task, yet the movie accomplishes this with surprising skill.  Everything from its groggy first attempts to "roll" itself out of its sedentary position to discovering telepathic abilities to developing an attraction for a female to a fit of rage upon seeing a mountain of tires being burned in a junkyard is handled quite effectively...

Which is why I had a hard time understanding Dupieux's need to muddy his artistry with needless twists and parallel plots.  Yeah, I know he's being unconventional, but let's be honest here... he's not exactly reinventing the wheel.  (No pun intended.)  Many great directors have already bucked the conventional storytelling trend.  Not just from contemporary artists like Quentin Tarantino and Paul Thomas Anderson, but going back to Kubrick, Altman, and others.  Even recently, Terrence Malick molded his own distinct narrative in "The Tree of Life."  Those directors went unconventional at the service of telling their own stories and conveying their own messages in their own ways.  Dupieux, by contrast, is merely pissing on Hollywood convention.  There's nothing wrong with that, but I'm reminded of something Roger Ebert wrote in his review of Tarantino's "Reservoir Dogs"... "Now that he (Tarantino) has proven he can make a movie like this, it's time for him to make a better one."

Hell, I have no idea if anything I've written gives you the slightest sense of what the film is really like.  I suspect, though, that's inevitable.  The fact that I didn't love the movie as much as my filmmaking friends really doesn't surprise me; I imagine those who dabble in cinema artistry itself will profit more from the experience.  My own praise has its limit as films like this, while inventive, don't really engage me to the point of adoration.  But I'll give it its due... the movie is gloriously off-beat and it is, after all, the "Citizen Kane" of inanimate-tires-coming-to-life-and-killing-people movies.

An homage to the art of no reason, indeed.

* * 1/2  out of  * * * *  stars