Silver Linings Playbook

No Dolby; No Squelch
or
"Hey!!..."

In Silver Linings Playbook, there's a scar above Bradley Cooper's nose that I found myself focusing on throughout the entire movie.  It's not like Harrison Ford's chin-scar that has followed him around from movie to movie; this one is just a line-scab that never seems to heal and I found that apt—the movie's all about a guy, Pat Solatano, Jr., whose lost everything and wants to get it back, despite that losing it might have been the best thing that ever happened to him.  He's undiagnosed bi-polar, but he keeps wanting to return to the halcyon days when he didn't know he was bi-polar and was married to Nikki (Brea Bee), a schoolteacher, and was living a fairly normal life, or as normal as bi-polar can be, undiagnosed or not.

When he gets out of the Baltimore Psychiatric Hospital, he's focused on getting his old life back—he's whipped himself into shape, goes (reluctantly) to a therapist, stays on (reluctantly) his meds, and is determined to make himself the man Nikki wants him to be—there's just that little thing about the restraining order and the fact that he caught her having sex with a school administrator.  And that he caught them making love to their wedding song which was Stevie Wonder's "My Cherie Amour," which sends him into an "episode" every time he hears it.  And there's that focus issue.  He's not kidding himself anymore, but his constant stream of truthiness, socially correct or not, keeps getting him into trouble, with his folks (Robert De Niro and Jacki Weaver), his brother (Shea Whigham), his pal Ronnie (John Ortiz) and Ronnie's wife Veronica (Julia Stiles)—who just happens to still be friends with Nikki.  Pat, Jr. latches on to them to try and make contact with his ex, and to do so agrees to have dinner with them.  Also invited is Tiffany (Jennifer Lawrence), Veronica's sister, who has issues of her own, still grieving from the death of her policeman-husband.

Pat and Tiffany do NOT get along at dinner, and only connect over their mutual history with anti-depressants.  That seems to be enough for Tiffany, as she announces she's had enough family time and asks Pat to walk her home.  They share enough information there for Tiffany to be repulsed by Pat, and for Pat to think Tiffany is crazy.  

But, then, Pat thinks everybody is crazy (except for himself).

And...he might be right (except for the last part).  He's very quick to point out the eccentricities in others, probably because he possesses those traits himself.  He notes his Dad's OCD—he goes through rituals while watching each Philadelphia Eagles game, as he's taken to book-making since losing his job, and has a sports fanatics' passion for football (and probably more so as he's been banned for life from the stadium).  In Pat's mind, everybody is dysfunctional, because Pat's mind is dysfunctional.  While reading the books on Kiki's syllabus, he tosses "A Farewell to Arms" through his attic window for its downer ending.  And his own obsession with his ex-wife becomes a means towards an end for Tiffany when she offers to sneak a letter to Nikki for him—if he'll be her partner in a dance competition.

The director is David O. Russell, who also adapted the book (by Matthew Quick) and did a brilliant job cataloging family feuds in The Fighter.  Family seems to be his forte, mining the mania for subtle comedy while not diminishing the seriousness of the hysteria bubbling under the surface.  And Russell imposes enough energy in his direction and editing that he invigorates the already simmering outbursts the performers put into it.  De Niro we already know can pull a manic act for both comedy and drama and Wilkins manages to keep a look for fret even when happy.  The ones who surprise are Lawrence, who's cute as a button and volatile as a cougar in a surprising performance, and Cooper who has a crazy flame in his eyes throughout.  His outbursts never surprise; it's his semi-even keel that is interesting to watch, and worry about.*

Yes, they're crazy.  But, in Russell's world-scheme, everybody is in the U.S. of OCD, whether the obsession is sports, gambling, love, and competition.  And Russell does a nice job of turning the dark side of rom-coms before the camera, and making decided call-backs to the past for his ending.  Despite our relationships with the past and flirtations with the future, hope still vaults eternal in the perpetual grasping for something better, in the hope of no longer clinging to what was.

One suspects, after the movie is over, that that tell-tale scar will start to disappear.

Silver Linings Playbook is a solid Matinee.

Congratulations to long-time readers "Walaka" and "Otis" on their engagement!

  * In the same scheme of things, Russell has cast Chris Tucker as one of Pat's fellow hospital incarcerees.  It's the best performance Tucker has ever given, subtle, scary and controlled.  Anybody who's seen his other work, knows what he's capable of  and the effect here is like watching Jerry Lewis do drama, but without the self-awareness and ego.  

The A-Team (2010)

"Because Over-Kill is Underrated, My Friend"

I was never a huge fan of the TV version of "The A-Team," still in syndication around the country.  A male version of "Charlie's Angels," with a for-hire team of whack-job mercenaries (that the producers claimed was inspired by the odd-ball cops of "Hill Street Blues") it was a huge hit until it ran out of steam, cycling through the script-library of adventure shows—a kind of manic, cartoon hybrid of "The Rockford Files" and "Mission: Impossible."


Because the source material was rather poor, the news of a big-screen remake was not the sort that would make one hyper-anticipatory. Just the opposite; "The A-Team" sounded like a B-movie waiting to happen, perhaps even falling lower on the alphabetical scale if the creatives involved were as by-the-playbook as the series runners. 

Happily—giddily—the folks making "The A-Team" knew what worked with the old series and have amped it up to the nth degree, even occasionally throwing a TV-trope into the mix to show you they're not taking this too seriously.  It's not Great Cinema—I don't think I can justify paying big bucks seeing it in a theater—but in its looney-toon action sequences, it approaches the manic intensity of child's play with new toys.

It's a sugar-rush.

The old "A's" (Peppard, Benedict, T, and Schultz) were Viet-era grunts, but they've been re-boot-camped to the Persian Punch-Out (and Mr. Cheney says to leave the quagmire comparisons at the door, thanks, and he's got a gun).  But they're still the zany merc's they always were, with their complicated strategems, the MacGyver'd weapons, "you-can't-do-that-in-this-vehicle" stunts, and the "pity the fool."  The cast is shake-your-head-til-it-rattles good:  Liam Neeson, haggard and stogified, makes a great Col. "Hannibal" Smith—it's nice to see Neeson in something a little lighter, the man needs a break.  Bradley Cooper's "Face" has a perpetual shit-eating grin, and no dolby/no squelch for chatting people up (he's worked out and takes off his shirt a lot, ladies).  As John Milius said about Arnold Schwarzenegger, if Mr. T didn't exist, they would have to construct one, and they've done that, shoe-horning "Rampage" Jackson into the role.  Sadly, he doesn't have "T's" fire that smoulders during the drama scenes, but when required to turn it up to "11," Jackson comes through.  But, the curdled cream-of-the-corps is Sharlto Copley as "Howling Mad" Murdock.  Fans of the show loved the certified (and certifiable) pilot played by Dwight Schultz (bless 'im), but Copley (who played the harried Afrikanner middle-management hack in "District 9"—and you liked him in that), takes the role in his teeth and shakes it 'til it squeeks, flecks of mad-foam and scrambled accents flying in all directions.  Let this be noted in the ledger—he is going to be big.  He's that good.  He's that funny.  He's that creative, and this is him playing in the minors.  There are at least two "Batman" villains with his name on them.  Sharlto. Copley.  Learn to pronounce it.  You'll be using it a lot.

They could have put anybody else in this movie and it would be fine, but Patrick Wilson has a field-day with his ghost-in-the-CIA-machine, Agent Lynch.  Gerald McRaney (one of those TV-elements I talked about earlier) manages to rise above the material, and Jessica Biel rocks her wardrobe, plays the straight man, and nails the movie's best line (the laughter went for 30 seconds, I clocked it).

High praise.  Brownie points for that.  And the writers weren't lazy,* the special effects crews sloppily crafty—8 of them, but they spent more time on details and in-jokes than they do on photo-realism and I can respect that.  But the direction (by Joe Carnehan—remember when he was "the next big thing" with "Narc?") is a mess.  At one point, there's a heated conversation in a photo-booth between two people and you'd swear there was three.  There are odd shots during the mayhem that don't show much—and were obviously "C"-roll cameras—but are there, anyway.  And more than that, the cutting scheme assumes we're morons, flashing back to scenes we might have missed adjusting our drool-cup in case we missed "the point." 

They needn't have bothered.  "The point," such as it is, is to keep sharpening before it gets dull, which the movie threatens to do at several points.  During the "drama," one gets the urge to get a Coke, hit the head, or text-message, until the next hyper-action sequence comes along, like the hysterical tank-bit, or the child's mayhem with a cargo-tanker, comes along.

It's entertaining.  And that's a gift.

But, like a sugar-high, it doesn't last, and makes one antsy for the next supply of "rush."

Isn't there a big-budget "Magnum: P-I" scheduled?


"The A-Team" is a Rental.

* Although you will think they were.  At one point, it will be obvious what is going on, and you will (I have faith in you) go "Wait a minute...that's..."—as every member of the audience I saw it with, did, and felt the need to say it aloud.  I'm going to give the writers credit and say it's another one of the TV-tropes I alluded to earlier—the "obvious switcheroo" that Your Aunt Jessye could figure out.

The Hangover

"Stooges...in the 21st Cen-tu-ry!!!"

I'm being perfectly serious when I say that "The Hangover" is a smutty, gonzo version of "The Three Stooges." The Todd Phillips comedy (and it is very funny...in a frattish vein) is about four guys making a road-trip to Las Vegas for a bachelor party. Onboard are the prospective groom, Doug (Justin Bartha), his buddies Phil (Bradley Cooper), a less-than-committed grade school teacher, and Dr. Stu (Ed Helms), a dentist in a relationship that would set anyone's teeth on edge, and Doug's prospective bro-in-law, Alan (Zach Galifianakis), a train wreck of arrested development... in fact he has been arrested, and has to stay at least 200 yards from any school...or Chuck E. Cheese.

The boys make it to Vegas, and after a rooftop toast atop Caesar's Palace, things go black. When they wake up in the expensive suite they've rented for the night, the place is a shambles—Hunter Thompson would throw them out—Stu's missing a tooth, a couch is smouldering, there's a chicken wandering the premises, Phil has a hospital bracelet on his wrist, there's a tiger in the bathroom, a baby in the closet, and when the valet brings up their car...it's a police cruiser. No one can remember...in their throbbing heads...how all this happened.

Oh! And Doug also appears to be missing.

Good thing, too, or there'd be no movie. Estimating that they have a "12 hour window of opportunity" for losing Doug, they begin to re-trace their steps, and the situation and the night's shenanigans get increasingly bizarre. In fact, you could say "The Hangover" may be the Ultimate "Incredible Mess" movie (if "Dr. Strangelove" weren't already there) and, as I say, it might as well be The Stooges as the remaining trio fall into the traditional Stooge roles. Phil is Moe, the abusive authority figure, Stu is Larry the Whiner of the group, and Alan is the off-kilter Curley, the brother-in-law from another planet.

Along the way, they also have to find parents for the baby, an owner for the tiger, and try and get Dad-in-law's prized car back in one piece...paying for the suite would be nice, too. Oh, and Stu—who's on a short leash—can't let his disapproving fiancee know that they went to Vegas, rather than the tour of wine country that he told her.

And...they have a deadline: they have to get back for the wedding (hopefully with the groom).

Lest anyone get the impression that my Stooge analogy means it's rollicking fun for the whole family, no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-noooooooooo! Amidst all the slapstick (a couple people get hit in the head with a car-door... including the baby) there's a pervasive stream of obscenity and extreme tastelessness, just this side of a Kevin Smith movie (hey...Vegas). The good news is Phillips has good comic timing—things pay off very well and the performers maximize the dialogue—Ed Helms has never been this funny—and, as a bonus, they've found a decent role for Heather Graham...who stays mostly clothed!

In Hollywood (or Vegas), that's almost a miracle.

"The Hangover" is a Rental