Hairspray

I sat down in front of HAIRSPRAY with my arms crossed. I was not in the mood for a musical. Two hours later, HAIRSPRAY had me tapping my foot and put a big smile on my face.

HAIRSPRAY is an energetic, colorful, lively, and fun musical that overcomes its jarring elements and delivers a first-rate entertainment experience.

So, let's talk about the jarring elements. First, there's John Travolta. Yeah, the guy's a hell of a dancer (if you can dance in a fat suit and sell it, then buddy, you can dance). But his Baltimore accent was horrible and I never once believed he was anyone other than John Travolta dragged up in a fat suit. Second, there's Christopher Walken. Frankly, I'm tired of Walken's playing against type in comic roles. Creep me out again, Chris! Third, there's the aggressive cheerfulness of the production itself. It's like one of those kids shows that knocks itself out trying to convince its audience how much gosh-darn fun its having.

But enough of that. James Marsden cements his position as one of the most fun to watch young actors working today. Michelle Pfieffer, in her second "wicked witch" role in recent memory has always been one of the most fun to watch actresses in the business. Nikki Blonsky is delightful as the lead, and the whole thing rocks along with a wink and a smile and has so much gosh-darn fun that you can't help but wink and smile along.

What a pleasant surprise.

Mamma Mia!

I took three runs at MAMMA MIA! I was stuck in coach on a transpacific flight in one of those old 747s, the kind with one screen up near the front of the cabin of which you can only see about half. I actually wanted to see this movie because I like Greece, I like the cast, and I liked MURIEL'S WEDDING, which also pushed the Abba.

I made it about thirty seconds in the first musical number before I pulled my headphone jack out of the armrest. But everyone looked they were having such a good time, and the island looked so pretty, that I plugged back in for one of Meryl Streep's numbers, just so I could hear her sing. I think I lasted 45 seconds through "Dancing Queen." Yank.

Then Pierce Brosnan opened his mouth in what appeared to be agony. I plugged back in for his number. I lasted perhaps a full minute that time, but I was done.

MAMMA MIA! is like being dragged to your mom's kaffee klatch during spring break. It's like going along with your wife on a "lunch with the girls" so she can share a part of her life with you. It's like being forced to listen to your sister cry over her latest breakup as you, she, and a friend of hers drive down an interminable highway. If you're a guy, you don't belong. You know you don't belong. Everyone's trying to make you feel like you do belong, but everyone knows you just plain don't. Especially you.

So don't go along. If you're a man, this movie is worse than PLAN NINE FROM OUTER SPACE. It's worse than STEALTH. It's worse than DEATH RACE 2000. Tell your mom to have fun at the kaffee klatch. Tell your wife you'll be having beer and wings with the guys. Tell your sister to drop you off anywhere and tell someone to send water.

Just don't subject yourself to this.

Quantum of Solace

QUANTUM OF SOLACE is an action movie whose action sequences are so incomprehensible as to be outright boring. Seriously. Whoever directed and edited these sequences are terrible at their jobs, utterly unable to string together something so simple as a fistfight without a hundred jump cuts and reaction shots that, at times, had me
wondering who was hitting whom.

The story's fine, I suppose - it's a mystery wrapped in a revenge thriller, with plenty of granola-eating throwaways for the Guilty Hollywood crowd (The next time I hear someone complain about "the corporations," I'm gonna throw my Nerf brick at the screen.). But I didn't care because not only did I not know what was going on, it
became apparent that this iteration of Bond has no fear of death. How can we thrill to the courageous exploits of a man who doesn't need courage because his wiring's screwed up?

Yeah, QUANTUM OF SOLACE is loud and lots of stuff blows up and Bond outflies a fighter in a DC-3, but it just doesn't work. Maybe if I knew what was going on.

Bangkok Dangerous

Since every beat of BANGKOK DANGEROUS is predictable and everything happens on schedule, your enjoyment of the film will hinge upon how much you like Nick Cage and how much you like Thailand.

I like Nic Cage. I like Thailand. I like 'em so much that I overlooked the fact that BANGKOK DANGEROUS is not a very good movie and had a good time, anyway. Yeah, this is the kind of movie in which the hardened criminal kicks things off by telling you his rules of the game. That's just so you'll know exactly which rules he'll break on his way to redemption. And oh, yeah, it's the kind of movie in which the hardened criminal repeats the rules as he's about to break them, in case you walked in late or have poor short-term memory. And yep, it's the kind of movie in which the love interests don't say anything, making them empty vessels for the romantic fantasies of the (young male) target audience.

But it has lots o' great location shooting in the Land of Smiles, lots of stuff blows up real good, and Cage does that thing where he's holding a pistol in each hand and blasting away, a firing technique guaranteed to ensure that the shooter couldn't hit the sky if he were aiming at it. Of course, this is extra fun because Nic Cage is just not a dangerous guy. I don't care how silly his wig is or many weights he lifts - there's something about the guy that communicates that the worst thing he could possibly do to you is shark your wave or bogart your joint. I don't mind - Thailand looks great, the local talent is very talented, and the movie even surprised me when it came to the damsel.

You Don't Mess with the Zohan

YOU DON'T MESS WITH THE ZOHAN is a shocking movie. It's actually funny.

I know, I know. It shouldn't be. The ads made it look like a vanity piece for a suddenly insecure Adam Sandler. It prominently features Rob Schneider. It's vulgar.

But, hey, the first act has several laugh-out-loud moments. The second act is strangely sweet. And when the third act realizes its jokes are getting old, it blows up a lot of stuff real good. Oh, and did I mention John Turturro?

Here's the hook: Zohan is an Israeli superdupersoldier. He tires of fighting, fakes his own death, and moves to America to follow his dream of becoming a hairdresser. From there, the movie is kind of a gentle rehash of COMING TO AMERICA, with equal helpings cultural and sexual humor. Here's the surprise: Sandler actually sells it, making this his funniest picture since THE WATERBOY. His Zohan is confident and insecure, sweet and vulgar, a whole lotta fun.

And Turturro, as his Palestinian nemesis The Phantom, is utterly unhinged. Here's the thing about Turturro: he can be a fine, nuanced actor in stuff like THE LUZHIN DEFENSE; he can also roll into high caricature and chew scenery with the best of them. Here, he's in full caricature mode, creating an antagonist so silly that every moment on screen feels like a great time.

I was not expecting to enjoy YOU DON'T MESS WITH THE ZOHAN, but I'm glad I fired it up. What a pleasant surprise.

Red Eye

RED EYE is a clockwork thriller, carefully plotted and shorn of fat. While some of the elements it uses to generate tension were utterly lost on me (Oooh, turbulence!), Cillian Murphy and Rachel McAdams are sufficiently interesting people to carry a fim on their faces alone. And just when it goes over the top in the third act and you're ready
to throw your Nerf brick at the screen, here comes Robert Pine (Sgt. Getraer from CHiPs, but hey, you knew that) to lend a little goodwill.

Sure, it's forgettable. Sure, it's a throwaway. But it's a well-made throwaway. I liked it.

Body of Lies

The most arresting sequence in BODY OF LIES, Ridley Scott's latest film, focuses on Russell Crowe's Ed Hoffman, a rumpled CIA division director. Crowe is at home, writing a paper by speaking into a dictaphone, carefully crafting an argument about the nature of Islamic terrorism, the gravity of the threat, and the means necessary to combat it. The scene shifts to Crowe speaking the words to two sharply-dressed political types - he wasn't writing a paper, he was rehearsing a talk. He's wearing a "visitor" badge. The politicos look bored and annoyed that he's taking up their time. He's laying it all out, clearly and concisely. He sees another politico enter the room and he makes a quick exit while the people he'd waylaid sit up, smile, and focus on the newcomer.

Crowe is America's leading expert on Islamic terrorism, and the only way he can get a meeting with high-level decisionmakers is to barge in on their schedules, piss them off, and disappear.

The sequence is brilliant because it puts everything else about the film into perspective. All the punishment Leonardo DiCaprio's CIA operative takes, all the low-level politicking between American and Jordanian intelligence, all the death - it's back page stuff; the big dogs have other bones to gnaw.

But what is happening on that back page, anyway? BODY OF LIES is the first GWOT espionage thriller, and it's a fine piece of storytelling in the best traditions of the genre. It features intricate plots and counterplots, players of various levels of trustworthiness, dangerous love, courage, and cowardice. Its local touches feel authentic, and it has the courage to understand that it may not be the most important thing happening in the world.

I liked this movie; I liked it alot. It had everything I could ask for in an espionage thriller, and its creators are top-flight talent. Even if it is about back-page stuff.

Death Race

There are some actors out there who are in it for the paycheck. There are some who are in it solely to explore their art. There are some who explore their art when they can and take the paycheck when they must.

I guess Joan Allen had bills to pay.

I'm tempted to write that DEATH RACE is a bad, bad movie. Its races are incomprehensible agglomerations of gunfire, explosions, and quick-cuts that left me utterly mystified. When a movie's ostensibly about racing, even death racing, shouldn't one be able to tell who's in the lead, or even what's going on, without a ranking board popping up every now and then? Ms. Allen has a climactic outburst of villainy that was so ridiculous I nearly laughed. And don't get me started on the crime to Robin Shou's hair that this film represents.

But 40-year-olds with colds who can't muster the energy to do more than see a bad movie are not the target demographic of this particular film. The target demographic of this particular film is males aged 15-25. I saw this movie at an on-base movie theater at a naval airfield in Japan. The crowd was 100% male, and I'm pretty sure I was twice the age of the next-oldest guy there.

They loved it.

They cheered the explosions. They laughed at the comical kills. They howled at the pretty women. They hooted at the dialogue. Man, they ate DEATH RACE up. It was like their favorite video game come to life. On the way out, they chatted and laughed and high-fived and generally went home happy.

So, hey, if you're a 15-25 year old guy, you'll probably love DEATH RACE. If not, well, you'd better have one hell of a cold.