Tag Archives: comedies

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Brand New Bagmen

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Red One

by George Wolf

Do I want to see J.K. Simmons as a swole, supercool Santa? Yes, I do.

That sounds fun, right? It does, so it’s a big letdown when Red One becomes a soggy holiday slog that feels like way too much like one of Tropic Thunder‘s parody trailers come earnestly to life.

It’s two days before Christmas at the North Pole and Callum Drift (Dwayne Johnson) lets Santa know that this will be his last midnight ride. Callum has been Papa Noel’s security chief for centuries, but this year the naughty numbers have finally eclipsed the nice, and he’s had it.

But just when Callum wanted out…dark forces pull him back in, by kidnapping Claus and hatching a Thanos-like plan to reign punishment down on anyone who’s ever so much as sniffed that naughty list.

So yeah, pretty much everyone.

Callum’s boss Zoe (Lucy Liu) turns to Jack O’Malley – the “world’s greatest tracker” – as an unlikely ally. Jack (Chris Evans) has never believed in Santa, is estranged from his own son (Wesley Kimmel) and doesn’t shy away from naughty, but Callum shoots him a steely glare and says those magic words.

“Let’s save Christmas!”

That one moment shows a glimpse of the self-aware romp that Red One might have been, but director Jake Kasdan and writers Chris Morgan and Hiram Garcia bury that promise under an avalanche of exposition and hokey CGI world building.

With Santa under wraps, we get the Johnson and Evans show, and while they’re both likable performers, the odd couple chemistry never quite clicks. Johnson’s uber-seriousness and Evans’s smart-assery both feel forced, while other notable performers (Bonnie Hunt as Mrs. Claus, Kiernan Shipka as the Christmas Witch and Kristopher Hivju as Krampus) are wedged into an already overstuffed narrative.

Any bits of momentum the film can build are undercut by constant speeches explaining the North Pole’s corporate-ready acronyms or Santa’s extensive mythological backstory. Kasdan’s pace is frustrating and inconsistent, with none of the winking fun that gave his Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story and Jumanji: The Next Level their most enjoyable moments.

The third act rallies a bit, as Simmons/Santa gets back in the saddle and requisite Christmas sentiments of human kindness and full hearts are unwrapped in full. But much like Santa for most Red One‘s two hours, the moviegoing joy is missing in action.

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Not So Silent Night

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Christmas Eve in Miller’s Point

by George Wolf

So, what happens on Christmas Eve in Miller’s Point?

Murder mystery? Love triangle? A miracle of faith?

No, none of that. Director and co-writer Tyler Taormina is more interested in an observational approach, just letting the night play out as members of different generations prepare for some major life changes in the coming new year.

The Balsano family is gathering in their ancestral home in New York. Drinks are flowing, songs are being sung and young cheeks are being pinched by relations wondering how this little one got so big!

But the adult Balsano kids (including Ben Shenkman, Chris Lazzaro and the always wonderful Maria Dizzia) are realizing this may be the last chance to come home for the holidays. It just might be time to finally put Mom in a senior care facility and sell the family house.

This is a big decision, but teens Emily (Matilda Fleming) and Michelle (Francesca Scorsese) are more concerned with sneaking out to meet their friends (including Eighth Grade‘s Elsie Fisher) for some Christmas break hang out time.

And then there’s Officer Gibson (Michael Cera) and Sergeant Brooks (Greg Turkington), two nearly silent partners who observe the socializing while a shameless bagel thief lurks in the shadows.

The are plenty of characters here, but instead of arcs, Taormina (Ham on Rye, Happer’s Comet) serves up some terrific production design, visual mischief (watch for a wandering cardboard standup attached to a Roomba) and plenty of throwback needle drops to keep the mood festive.

And that’s how this film is able to work on you, through its total commitment to a warm, nostalgic tone. Taormina dedicates it to “the lost,” in hopes they “find their way home” for the season. Christmas Eve in Miller’s Point makes you feel like you’re already there.

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Pleased to Meet Me

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My Old Ass

by George Wolf

If the assignment was to write a letter to your younger self, keeping in mind the painful mistakes you’d like to erase while illustrating John Lennon’s classic line “life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans” and peppering in some R-rated laughs, then writer/director Megan Park absolutely aced it.

My Old Ass is all of that and more, a smart, funny and surprisingly emotional comedic fantasy that ranks with the best coming-of-age films of the last several years.

In a breakout big screen debut, Maisy Stella (from TV’s Nashville) is completely captivating as Elliot, a restless just-turned-18-year-old more than ready to leave her family’s cranberry farm in rural Canada for the University of Toronto in just 22 days.

But after a wild and hazy birthday party with her besties, Elliot gets an unexpected visit from an old new friend: her 39 year-old self (Aubrey Plaza). It takes some unique convincing, but eventually Elliot has questions…and some weird requests. Her old ass has answers, thoughtful advice and one stern warning.

“Avoid. Anyone. Named. Chad.”

“Chad?”

Enter Chad (Percy Hynes White).

Three years removed from her standout filmmaking debut The Fallout, Park lightens the mood via a charmingly fantastical premise, but keeps the film grounded with a refreshing and authentic voice. There’s so much honesty here about appreciating the journey to finding yourself, and it’s all perfectly fleshed out by the contrast of Plaza’s jaded deadpans and Stella’s enthusiastic naiveté.

Yes, life is about having the courage to make mistakes and find out what and who you really want, but it still wouldn’t hurt to be a little nicer to your brother. One day you’ll appreciate the memory.

Not one moment of either performance feels false, a testament to Stella, Plaza and to the strength of Park’s script and directing vision. While none of the sentiments here may be new or even especially profound, give in to the slightly Twilight Zone setup and the way My Old Ass delivers its life lessons might just knock you on yours.

And bring tissues. You’ll need them for more than just cushion when you land.

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Battle In Battle Creek

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Unfrosted

by George Wolf

Boy, Jerry Seinfeld knows how to get clicks before a new movie drop, doesn’t he?

In case you missed his recent impression of Grandpa Simpson yelling at a cloud, Seinfeld has taken his talents from the stifling confines of sitcoms to Netflix for Unfrosted, his debut as a feature director.

Also writing the script with regular contributors from both Seinfeld and Bee Movie, Jerry returns to the familiar ground of cereal for a silly and star-studded riff on the 1960s space race.

Jerry plays Bob Cabana, top exec at Kellogg’s during their reign as the kings of breakfast. But Bob and his boss Edsel Kellogg III (Jim Gaffigan) are worried about what Marjorie Post (Amy Schumer) and her crew are suddenly cooking up: a breakfast pastry.

As quickly as Jerry can say “xanthan gum!” exactly like “Newman!,” Bob is back together with old partner Donna Stankowski (Melissa McCarthy) for a mission to launch their own handheld breakfast innovation (“Fruit Magoos”? “Heat ’em and Eat Ums?”) before Post can.

Some snappy production design adds to the inspired concept of this Battle Creek, Michigan battleground, which takes off on a Forrest Gump-like history lesson littered with famous faces and absurd antics.

One of the best is Hugh Grant playing Thurl Ravenscroft (voice of Tony the Tiger) as a snobbish master thespian ready to lead his fellow mascots in revolt. But there’s also Christian Slater and Peter Dinklage as members of an “organized milk” syndicate, a group of Taste Pilots that includes Chef Boyardee (Bobby Moynihan) and Jack LaLanne (James Marsden), and a visit from two very well-known TV characters that is better left unspoiled.

And somehow, a couple of dumpster-diving pre teens (Bailey Sheetz and Eleanor Sweeney) nearly steal the whole show.

The Boomer-centric nuttiness comes fast and furious (yes, that is Toucan Sam singing “Ave Maria” at a funeral with Full Cereal honors), and, as you might guess, not all of it lands.

As an actor, Jerry’s still playing Jerry. And as a director, he seems most comfortable with sitcom pacing that’s well-suited for streaming. But Jerry takes a rule that Seinfeld perfected – surround your star with a group of more memorable characters – and pops it in a toaster set to ten. What doesn’t work is quickly erased by another absurd opportunity, and then wrapped with a full song-and-dance finale.

I wouldn’t call it well-rounded, healthy or even balanced, but Unfrosted is eventually able to serve up just enough real laughs for a satisfying plate of silly.

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Caution: Low Flying Poo

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Sasquatch Sunset

by George Wolf

After the completely enchanting Kumiko, the Treasure Hunter in 2014 and the whimsical Western Damsel four years later, you might not expect writer/director David Zellner to next film a year in the life of a Sasquatch family.

And Yeti did.

Sorry, but that joke is just silly enough to fit in with Sasquatch Sunset, if only the movie had any dialog at all. It doesn’t, instead letting the ‘Squatches’ grunts, screams, moans and various other bodily noises speak volumes.

Jesse Eisenberg, Riley Keough, Christophe Zajac-Denek and co-director Nathan Zellner portray the furry family underneath hair and makeup that renders the performers unrecognizable. But we have little trouble catching on to what the family is up to, which often strikes an absurdly funny tone that’s only compounded by this absurd setup that seems sprung from 1970s Saturday morning TV..

They hump, they fling poop, they get high off wild berries and act like idiots, and they are forced to confront the serious consequences of mankind’s intrusion on their habitat.

Wait, are we getting real here?

We are. As the seasons pass, harsh lessons are learned, and the Zellners layer this nutty romp with some thoughtful, touching, and yes even heartbreaking moments. It’s a small miracle that it all works, one bolstered by the fact that you really haven’t seen anything like this before, so rules seem up for grabs.

Why would you cast name actors for roles that hide their faces and don’t allow them to speak? I dunno, maybe these actors have experience marking their territory with urine.

And if you want to make heartfelt points about family bonds and the delicate balance of nature, why surround them with a barrage of bathroom humor?

Let ’em live!

What’s certain is that there is commitment evident in every choice the Zellners make, right down to the wry bombshell delivered by the final shot. So take a load off your big feet, and give Sasquatch Sunset the chance to charm you.

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You’ve Got Hate Mail

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Wicked Little Letters

by George Wolf

Long before you could hide behind a keyboard and avatar, a small English village was scandalized by some expert-level anonymous trolling. Wicked Little Letters tells us that story is “more true than you’d think,” and rolls out a stellar ensemble to elevate the tale at nearly every turn.

It is the 1920s in Littlehampton, England, where unmarried Edith Swan (Oscar winner Olivia Colman) still lives with her parents (Timothy Spall, Gemma Jones). Edith is known to be a dutiful daughter and devout Christian, so town tongues are wagging when she begins to receive hateful and profanity-laced “poison pen” letters in the mail.

Who could be behind such unwarranted vitriol?

Whaddya bet it’s that filthy Irishwoman Rose Gooding (Oscar nominee Jessie Buckley)?

Rose is frequently loud, drunk and vulgar. Plus, she’s a war widow (or is she?) with a young daughter (Alisha Weir from the upcoming Abigail), a “reputation” and a live-in boyfriend (Malachi Kirby).

Throw in the recent falling-out with Edith, and that’s enough for the town Constables (Hugh Skinner, Paul Chahidi), who arrest Rose and quickly schedule a show trial.

But “Woman Police Officer” Moss (Anjana Vasan) isn’t convinced, and she risks her position by continuing to investigate the letters on her own.

Director Thea Sharrock (Me Before You, The One and Only Ivan) and first-time screenwriter Jonny Sweet don’t craft a “whodunnit” as much as they do a “whoproveit” and a “whydunnit.” The real culprit is revealed fairly early on, and the film tries to balance some British wit atop heavier themes of repression, equality, and the sanctimonious crowd who are all preach no practice.

It’s historically interesting and well-meaning enough, but it reveals Sweet’s TV background through a light and obvious romp that’s rescued by heavyweight talent.

Colman, Buckley and Spall are all customarily splendid, each making up for the lack of nuance in their characters with some livid-in conviction and natural chemistry. Plus, Vasan stands out in the winning supporting group as the overlooked and underestimated W.P.O. Moss.

So while it’s lacking in the bite needed to leave a lasting impression, think of Wicked Little Letters as an extended cat video, one just amusing enough to take your mind off of all those nasty comments from the keyboard warriors.

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The Deadest of Pans

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Lousy Carter

by George Wolf

“Lousy” Carter (a terrific David Krumholtz) is a college professor, currently teaching a grad level seminar on The Great Gatsby.

One book? Even his “best friend” and colleague Kaminsky (Martin Starr) is nonplussed.

“Maybe you should teach a pamphlet,” he says with the deadest of pans, underscoring the entire tone of writer/director Bob Byington’s sardonic slice of life and death.

Carter got his titular nickname from being bad at golf, but he’s not exactly ace-ing this life thing, either. Lousy’s students don’t like him, his ex (Olivia Thirlby) calls him a “baby man,” and his sister (Trieste Kelly Dunn) would rather not call him at all. His fellow teachers are embarrassed for him, his therapist (Stephen Root) mocks him, he’s thousands in debt, and he’s sleeping with Kaminsky’s wife (Jocelyn DeBoer).

Great. Anything else?

He just got some very bad news at the doctor’s office.

But hey, he does have a fan in Dick Anthony (Macon Blair), a weird guy who loved the animated film Lousy made “back in the aughts,” and who might be giving off stalker vibes.

If you’re familiar with Byington’s work (Somebody Up There Likes Me, RSO), you’ll be ready for how dryly Byington attacks this clash of narcissism against the merciless march of time. And though you can probably count on one hand the number of times any character smiles, that doesn’t mean there aren’t laughs to be found here.

The biggest may be the “based on true events” tag that Byington hangs up at the start, right before he lets Krumholtz loose on this journey of indignation. It’s not so much an arc as it is a sinking ship, but Krumholtz excels in finding sympathetic moments that draw us in.

And even if this bark has too much bite for you, it’s hard not to respect Byington’s masterly command of tone. His commitment to that tone is unwavering, with Krumholtz leading an unmerry band of misanthropes through a series of events that are never at a loss for darkly funny cynicism.

I mean they’re just lousy with it.

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Freeze Frame

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Scrambled

by George Wolf

There’s an old adage about comedians making up jokes to hide real pain. It’s clear that for writer/director/star Leah McKendrick, there’s a very real struggle at the heart of Scrambled, and her film is better for not letting us forget that.

McKendrick plays Nellie, a 34 year-old perennial bridesmaid who clings to the “single bitches 4 life!” mantra, even as more members of her crew (including SNL’s Ego Nwodim and the always welcome June Diane Raphael) start settling down and getting pregnant.

Nellie has to face up to some harsh biological facts. Her mind and body can remain ready to mingle – but her fertility has a shelf life and the clock is ticking. So while she auditions a string of suitors from “The Nice Guy” to “The Prom King” to simply “Nope,” Nellie consults a amusingly deadpan doctor (Feodor Chin) about freezing her eggs.

Or, as Nellie’s Dad (a priceless Clancy Brown) calls it, “millennial feminist voodoo.”

McKendrick scores some big laughs with the family’s reaction to Nellie’s family planning, but this is an an issue that is very real for the first time feature director, and plenty of women like her. And beneath the jokes about Nellie’s dating habits and her parents’ longing for the return of her ex, McKendrick makes sure we see Nellie in fully formed terms.

She’s a grown ass woman choosing when and how she may want to have children. And in doing so, Nellie’s forced to navigate the social, physical, and financial barriers that can leave her feeling punished for embracing her own journey.

But Nellie moves forward – with both smiles and middle fingers. McKendrick’s recipe for Scrambled finds a nice balance of flavors, and we get a full-flavored dish of empowering humor.

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Merely Players

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The Innocent

by George Wolf

With The Innocent (L’innocent), director/co-writer/co-star Louis Garrel takes Shakespeare’s declaration that “all the world’s a stage” to some clever and literal ends.

Or, he mines madcap laughs from a man trying to catch his mother’s new husband in a lie.

Or, he builds tension from a “sure thing” heist sure to go wrong.

Or maybe he’s just trying to comment on the needless games we sometimes play for love.

Really, the film’s biggest hurdle is keeping the whiplash at bay as it juggles all of these tones for just over 90 minutes. And for the most part its balancing act is successful, crafting a breezy and amusing take at all the untrue stories we tell.

Sylvie (Anouk Grinberg) teaches drama to prison inmates (as Garrel’s own mother did for many years), and falls in love with the incarcerated Michel (Roschdy Zem). They marry, which doesn’t thrill Sylvie’s adult son Abel (Garrel, who you may remember as Theo from The Dreamers), and once Michel is released, Abel sets out to prove to his mother that Michel is still up to no good.

Meanwhile, Abel and Clémence (Noémie Merlant, so good in Tár and Portrait of a Lady on Fire) stand delicately on the last rung of the friend zone, each seemingly waiting for the other to jump off.

Garrel blurs the line between acting and lying (to others and ourselves) with a slyly comical hand, amid pauses to remind us how crucial sincerity is to successful relationships.

Okay, that’s enough, now back to this zany caviar robbery!

American audiences may find The Innocent to be more of an acquired taste than those in Garrel’s native France, but anyone who dives in shouldn’t bail too quickly. Give this splendid cast time to pull all the threads together, and they’ll build a stage big enough for comedy, drama, romance and heart.

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Donna Corleone

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Mafia Mamma

by George Wolf

So a suburban L.A. mom named Kristin (Toni Collette) is handpicked to be the new boss of a mafia family in Italy? Man, that’s crazy. How’d that happen?

“They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

It’s actually surprising Kristin doesn’t say that in Mafia Mamma, a film that’s built on exactly that same type of obvious, forced humor.

Kristin has barely had to time to cry about her son leaving for college when she catches her husband Paul (Tim Daisch) in the act with a younger woman. Then, while her head is spinning about the future of her marriage, Kirstin hears from the mysterious Bianca (Monica Belluci).

Turns out Kristin’s estranged grandfather was head of the Balbano crime family, and was just assassinated by the rival Romano clan. But Kristin (maiden name: Balbano) is only told grandpa is dead, and she must come to Italy to settle his affairs.

As Jenny (Sophia Nomvete), the oversexed best friend (c’mon, you knew there’d be an oversexed best friend) implores Kristin to have an “Eat, pray, f@#k” vacation, she’s quickly juggling suave suitors and surprising truths.

Bianca was General for Don Guiseppe Balbano (Alessandro Bressanello), and she’s committed to carrying out the Don’s last order: that Kristin take over the family.

Fish-out-of-water hijinx ensue, with director Catherine Hardwicke weakly juggling the mob tropes amid some well-intentioned but heavy handed reminders about how workplace culture disrespects aging women.

Collette is likable as always, and Belucci is smoldering as always, but the script they’re given can’t rise above the TV backgrounds of the writing team. Convoluted, nonsensical and never more than mildly amusing, Mafia Mamma is about as lively as Luca Brasi.