Now You See Me

"Sometimes The Magic Works, Part 2"
or 
The Slightest of Hands

Bullwinkle: Hey, Rocky!  Watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat!
Rocky: But that trick NEVER works!

The tagline for Now You See Me, the latest film by Louis Letterier (who brought to you the modern version of Clash of the Titans, a not too bad film, actually, as empty-headed gladiator-myth movies go) is "The closer you look, the less you see," and, even though that's supposed to be saying something about the power of illusion, it couldn't be more appropriate for the movie it's supposed to be selling.  You'll get the most out of this movie if you're asleep during it.*  

Better yet, don't get rooked into it, and do the opposite of the film's title and don't see it at all.  Because there's movie-magic, where you feel the sense of wonder and amazement, and there's the kind that just makes you feel that you've been "taken."  Now You See Me makes me feel like a rube.

And that's the mastery of marketing.  Great cast, with a bunch of actors who've got taste and have done terrific things before...and James Franco's brother, Dave...so there must be something to this, right?  I mean, Morgan Freeman and Michael Caine,** Mark Ruffalo, Mélanie Laurent,*** Michael Kelly, and the Zombieland duo of Jesse Eisenberg and Woody Harrelson.  No slouches there.  

But the movie is such a drab circling-camera edit-fest (it feels like it was shot on a Roomba) that you know you're being misled somewhere, and you're being made to not think about what's going on on-screen, because, ultimately it makes no sense whatsoever.  The point of the movie is distraction, and there the movie succeeds quite well.  It's so busy and flashy, you stop thinking and take in the swirling, swooping actors and camera moves, and let them wash over you...and your brain stops. It's only at the end that you realize that the movie is a white-rabbit and it's disappeared, if it even existed in the first place.  Orson Welles said movie-making is smoke and mirrors, and there are plenty of mirrors here, but the result is pure smoke.

What's it about?  Four street magicians Daniel (Eisenberg) card-sharp, Merrit (Harrelson) a mentalist, Henley (Isla Fisher) escape artist, and Jack (Franco) pick-pocket, all accomplished, all a little larcenous, are recruited by a mysterious presence (who has surreptitiously observed all of them disguised in a hoodie—what, they couldn't see the face?) to form a guerrilla magic team called "The Four Horsemen."  They, after a jump of time, go from nothing to large coordinated shows, bankrolled by an insurance tycoon (Caine).  The first, in Vegas, involves the seeming transportation of a French citizen to his bank in France, that results in the sucking of millions of euros out of its vault, and spraying it throughout the large theater crowd...as if by magic.  This attracts the attention of the FBI in the form of agent Dylan Rhodes (Ruffalo) and Interpol's agent Alma Dray (Laurent), who pursue the clues and try to ascertain how they pulled off the heist.  Along the way, they interview Thaddeus Bradley (Freeman), a magic debunker, who has a vested interest in exposing the Horsemen for a series of buzz-kill videos and reality shows.  He shows the agents how it was done, then stops there, being very cagey about what the next scam will be.  As it turns out, it's in New Orleans, where Caine's insurance magnate tries to buy off Freeman to no avail.

At this point, you're wondering not about the "how," but the "why?"  What's everybody's motivation in this?  Freeman's stakes are relatively paltry—the group has just gotten started, who would care—so you begin to suspect he's behind it all.  Caine's interest in unimaginable, as he's putting out a large outlay of disposable cash for events that have no residual value, and leave him open to accessory and fraud charges.  And the agents' zeal is largely enigmatic (matching those of the Horsemen).  What's everybody in this for, other than to propel the movie?  It's a bit like The Sting (which had the guts to put the motivation up front) only skin-deep and with shallow surface-flash. Letterier and script-writers Ed Solomon, Boaz Yakin and Edward Ricourt provide no fore-thought, but just speed things up and turn on the pyrotechnics, so there's no time for questions and little room for answers, while the actors go through their paces with looks of ambivalence so as not to betray anything.

There's not that much to betray.  Once everything has been revealed (save for the fate of the Horsemen), there's no satisfaction, only a feeling of emptiness and pointlessness ("Really?  All that for that?") and then you begin to question everyone's behavior during the film, which makes no sense given the actions displayed throughout the movie.  One almost thinks that the film might have multiple endings, depending on which cineplex you go to, so tenuous is the resolution and back-story.  It doesn't bear close examination.

But then, we were warned.  "The closer you look, the less you see."

And it has nothing, absolutely nothing up its sleeve.

Now You See Me is a Cable-Watcher.


 * No Morgan Freeman jokes, please...

** Well, Michael Caine, he used to sign up for supermarket openings...

*** ...spent the whole movie wondering where I'd seen her before—Inglorious Basterds.

To Rome with Love

Around the World in Woody's Malaise
or
The Ozymandius Melancholia Gambit ("Turbulence!  My Favorite!")

Far be it for me to suggest that Woody Allen might actually be comfortable in his own skin as a storyteller. but when it has come time for him to do his own "Roman Holiday" film, To Rome With Love, there's not a hint of Fellini in it (Been there, done that—specifically, way back in 1980, when he made his Stardust Memories in tribute to the great Italian film-maker).  Truth to tell, his latest has more in common with the Italian "anthology" films of the 1960's, where directors would tackle similar themes in short personal films.

To Rome With Love has four interlocking fantasias about love and personal dissatisfaction: in the first, a young married couple (Alessandro Tiberi and Alessandra Mastronardi) come to Rome, where he is to be introduced to his new work situation—eager to make a good impression, the wife goes shopping and ends up getting lost and involved with an Italian film-star, and hubby, thanks to a case of mistaken identity, must go to his functions in the company of a pre-arranged hooker (Penelope Cruz); the second involves two architects, one seasoned (Alec Baldwin), the other just starting out (Jesse Eisenberg) who become each other's fantasy figures (of a sorts) when the young architect, already attached to Sally (Greta Gerwig), falls for her best friend Monica (Ellen Page), a self-involved, if fascinating, actress; the third involves a "normal member of the middle class" in Rome (Roberto Benigni) who suddenly becomes "famous for being famous," and is pursued and interviewed by an indiscriminate paparazzi; the fourth involves a former classical music executive (Allen), who discovers a great opera singer (Fabio Armiliato) in the family of his potential son-in-law..with conditions.

The setting is Italian, but the themes are pure "Allen-town."  Each of the characters get a brief glimpse of "life on the other side," gingerly placing their toes where the grass is greener, and find it wanting, but themselves enriched from the experience, survived without harm or consequences paid.   Baldwin's architect gets to play devil's advocate (much the same way as Bogart did in Play It Again, Sam) with a realist's wisdom, as opposed to a romantic's fool-hardiness—a good cure for his nostalgia.  The Italian couple experience romantic fantasies before settling down to domestic bliss, not older but wiser.
Benigni's civil-functionary briefly enjoys cultural significance, with all the invasiveness and dissection of minutiae, before returning to anonymity and the value of a private life, and Allen's retiree gets to witness a fulfillment of his dreams by providing a channel for another, and, having achieved it, returning to his normal life.

Any of these stories could be set anywhere.  Rome provides a nice catalyst for these quick short pieces that summarize the Allen world-view: "Life is terrible, but it beats the alternative."  And it's buttressed by the standard "Volare"...which mean "to fly."  

Happy landings.


To Rome With Love is a fine Matinee. 

30 Minutes or Less

"Zombieland 2"
or
"30 Brain-cells or Less"

30 Minutes or Less is the latest film from director Ruben Fleischer, who had previously been in charge of the movie Zombieland (which was fresh, funny and smart) and I think that in the current movie climate, as damp and soggy (and derivative) as it is, that we might want to re-think the auteur theory—the critical bon mot from the 1950's era Cahiers du Cinema crowd that the director is the true "author" of a film, despite it, by necessity, being a collaborative medium.  You can make a case for it with some—Hitchcock, Kubrick, Welles, Hawks, Ford, Capra, Leone, Fellini, Scorsese, Kurosawa, Spielberg, Woo, Mallick...Michael Bay, Lars von Trier (hmmm). 

Well, for good or ill you can make the case.

Mr. Mason, your witness.  "Call to the stand, Ruben Fleischer..." (and the prosecution then puts its head in its hands).

"Move to dismiss..."

As I said, I liked Zombieland (which, although it had moments when it dragged, was a hilarious take on zombie-movie traditions).  But, I despise to the core of my critical thinking 30 Minutes or Less.  And it shakes my faith, because the guy who brought so much to the former brings nothing to the latter, not even the smarts to know when something's not working and, in so realizing, makes the attempt to change it.  That's what direction is all about, isn't it?  There are the ocassional stylistic fluorishes—liked the pan up from headlights of both the protagonists and antagonists linking the two, and a fire-flash of seriousness there towards the end—but, for goodness sake, scene after scene of this nightmare falls as flat as a two hours old pizza (thin crust), bereft of story sense or any humor, other than a chain-link of easy crudities and a nasty streak of hooting at the flailings of the morons on display.

The plot—such as it is—involves slacker Nick (Jesse Eisenberg, looking a bit lost but doing so at 90 mph), a pizza-delivery boy, who, despite driving like a maniac, seems incapable of delivering a pizza on time.  He crosses paths with two even slacker bone-heads (Danny McBride, Nick Swardson—evidently the next big star of terrible films), who claim to be entrepreneurs—although they seem to have trouble pronouncing the word—even though they have no business sense, no ideas on how to make money—other than cleaning the pool of the lottery-winner-father of the former (Fred Ward, you should be ashamed), and could be considered troglodytes if only they had a hint of hunter-gatherer skills.  They decide to raise $100 grand to hire a hit-man (Michael Peña) to kill off said father—their only means of support—by robbing a bank, or rather forcing someone else to rob a bank by attaching a time-bomb to them, the not-agreed-to heist to be completed before bomb and bearer go boom.  At least, their characterizations are consistent—they don't want to take responsibility for anything or for doing anything.  they should probably re-think starting a tanning business and going into politics.

This is where Nick comes in.  He delivers a pizza to the slackers, they drug him and attach the bomb while he's "out."  In a panic, he must (for once) be on time, or he's dead.  He recruits his pal Chet (Aziz Ansari) to help in the robbery, but, even though they get away with the money, it's a botch-job (no doubt inspired by the making of this picture), then comes the inevitable complications over the money hand-off and a resolution of sorts...lots of explosions that we are to believe people survive, as if this were some kind of Road-Runner cartoon (except those are entertaining).

The whole thing has a slap-dash feel to it, with a lot of ad-libbing between McBride and Swarsdon that comes off as "'Off'-Night at the Improv."  The thing is totally devoid of wit and is just a string of sketch comedy riffs held together by the robbery plot.  It's a movie best seen drunk or stoned or sleeping.  After bearing with the thing for 45 minutes, I chose the latter.

Here's the thing—a variation on this really happened: On August 28th, 2003, a bank in Erie Pennsylvania was robbed by Brian Douglas Wells, a pizza delivery man, who was abducted and a bomb placed around his neck.  Wells pleaded with everyone during the bank heist that he was doing it against his will and begged to get the bomb off him.  Unfortunately for Wells, the bomb squad showed up four minutes after the device exploded, killing him instantly.  Now, just imagine the brainstoming session between the script-writers where someone relates this horrible crime (it was attempted a couple weeks ago in Australia, as well) and said "This would make a great comedy!"  ("Laugh?  I thought I'd die!")

According to Wikipedia's entry on the movie, the scriptwriters, Michael Diliberti—his first screenplay after being an assistant to producer Scott Rudin—and Matthew Sullivan claim that they were only "vaguely aware" of it.  "Vaguely aware" are the perfect words, I think.  It seems that was the state in which the whole movie was developed and made.  It's a bad idea for a movie, badly made.  And now, in a moment of justice, Fleischer, Diliberti and Sullivan have their own "bomb" tied around their necks.

And they're going to have to carry it around for a very long time.

30 Minutes or Less is a Waste of Time.

The Social Network

"Saving Facebook" ("Every Creation-Myth Needs a Devil")
or
"There's Somethin' Happenin' Here (What It Is Ain't Exactly Clear)"

"O wonder!
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beautious mankind is!
O brave new world,
That has such people in't!" (The Tempest, Act V, Scene 1)

Maybe it is too early to make a movie about Facebook (out of MySpace and Friendster) and the ramifications of our Brave New World of cyber-relationships.*  Maybe it is a little too "street-corner sage" to predict The End of the World As We are Sorta Familiar With it (But Not Really...More Acquaintances, Really).  But, it is interesting to see a story about the Frankenstein behind the Monster, if only to see how each reflects the other.

And even though we're secretly rooting for The Monster.

And, at this point in time, there isn't a better team to make "The Social Network" than Aaron Sorkin and David Fincher.  Sorkin, the mad savant behind some of the better TV shows of the past decade and a half, has always written about people and their "issues," and how personality impacts policy.  Fincher has matured from an ILM tech (who was happy to fly cameras through coffee-maker grips**) to an intricate observer of societal pressures on the psyche.  For the two of them to make this particular story is a Friend Invitation made in Hollywood Heaven.  "Accept" it.  But, you can't "Ignore" it.

The movie begins with a date going badly between Jeff Zuckerberg (Jesse Eisenberg, late of many movies with "...land" in the title) Harvard wall-flower, and Erica Albright (Rooney Mara—she'll play Lisbeth Salander opposite Daniel Craig in Fincher's big-budget version of "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo"), an acquaintance.  Anyone familiar with the machine-gun dialogue that writer Sorkin is known for, had better duck for cover—or wait for this on DVD so you can...play...it...slooooowly—for he now has an automatic weapon for a word-processor, and a co-conspirator in Eisenberg who can milk every nuance out of a line, despite hyperventilating it at debate-competition speed.  His Zuckerberg is a "no Dolby/no squelch" type of unreadable conscience, and Eisenberg plays it with a deadness behind the eyes that interprets the world as a problem, if not necessarily a challenge.  He's a bit too candid for a first date, and she stomps off, which sends him on a mission, simultaneously trashing her on his blog (LiveJournal) and culling the pictures of every woman on campus to create a "Who's Hotter" web-competition that becomes so popular so instantly that it crashes Harvard's web-infrastructure.  He becomes both famous and infamous for the stunt, guaranteeing he'll never get a date in college, and attracting the wrath of the college's board, and the interest of two preppies attempting to create an exclusionary social network on the web.  He goes them several steps better, making a system open to everyone on campus that trumps their attempts, and as it gains "friends," expands throughout the college system.

Hindsight is 20/20, and Sorkin constructs the film as a series of depositions after the fact (of Facebook's success) as everyone who thinks they've been burned by Zuckerberg testifies to his vague promises and dealings under the table. *** Of course, they have every right to sue—but they'd only sue if "The Facebook" was a success—and the underpinnings and double-dealings don't resemble a fight for satisfaction, or a Noble Quest, so much as resembling a snake eating its own tail. ****

Which brings us back to Frankenstein and his Monster.  The film itself is expertly done—it is a complicated story of hidden motivations and the presentation of masks before public faces—and Sorkin and Fincher manage to navigate us through the maze of the story, even though one feels there is no cheese at the end.  The experience is a bit hollow, which may be a part of the point.

Because the Facebook experience is hollow, as well.  As hollow as Zuckerberg, as portrayed in this film, is.  While it is nice that one has the opportunity to "re-connect" with old friends in a virtual environment and satisfy everyone's need to (as one friend commented on blogging) "talk about what you had for lunch," one wonders why one has to re-connect at all...especially if the relationship wasn't maintained in the first place.  Not enough time in the world to meet?  Because a "real" relationship takes time, takes effort, "gets messy?"  Facebook provides the illusion of "staying in touch," without actually touching.  Like Zuckerberg's abortive "date," a lot of time is spent broadcasting, but not interacting.  There are, of course, exceptions.  But the fact of the matter is Facebook's cyber-community is not a "Brave New World" at all.  Just the opposite.  It provides a substitute in lieu of commitment.  A panacea in a life thought to be full to bursting and without risk.  The most precious commodity we can give is time—slices of our lives and our selves.  Facebook is a pacifier—a mass-Hallmark card that we can spend a few heart-beats picking out, and send away without a thought and not even sweat the cost of a stamp.

It soon becomes a numbers game—a collection, like the celebration of the 1,000,000th friend portrayed in the film.  But who are those million people?  Facebook doesn't know or care.  It's just a number.  A number of casual relationships, that may lead to something else, but probably won't.  A collection, nice to look at, but more often, ignored.  Trophies, and ones that don't need to be polished or buffed up.

It's a new world of blithely arrested development, in the image of its creator, where love and commitment do not compute, and the only thing close to it is "hope"—translatable as keystroke F5.

"The Social Network" is a self-fulfilling Matinee.  Take a date. *****

* And by the way, Aria, Ridley Scott does bloody well "bury the lead" in "Blade Runner" by insisting that Deckard is a replicant! Nyeeeah! :P

** Except for some dodgy freezing breath-work, the biggest special effect will be invisibe to you until the closing credits.  Nice.

*** Personally, I'd like to get back all those hours spent on "ZooWorld."

**** An image that kept coming to mind every time I thought of writing this review, where it would subsequently be published...on LNTAM's Facebook page.

***** You won't have to interact during it, either.  

Adventureland

"Adventureland" (Greg Mottola, 2008) Nicely done coming-of-age comedy that has the same genial vibe of "Meatballs," or "Caddyshack," where, amidst a cast of eccentrics, the problems of the young leads are really, really serious (really...!).

New grad James Brennan (Jesse Eisenberg) had plans to travel Europe over the Summer before proceeding with his studies, but his family's economic situation means his little entitlement parachute had developed a leak. He has to find a job with no discernible work-skills and a major that doesn't really translate to employment ("unless you're restoring a fresco or something"), so he takes a crappy job—"doing the work of lazy, pathetic morons" says work-pal Joel (Martin Starr)—as a carny at a Pittsburgh amusement park, Adventureland, run by Bobby (Bill Hader) and Paulette (Kristen Wiig).

The park is crap-tastic, and so is the job and its meager paycheck. Plus, there are the kids, their duplicitous parents, the punks, the vomit from the rides, the usual breakdowns in equipment and communication and the intrigues that go on behind the scenes.

But the joys are the usual ones in work-settings—the people can be pretty interesting and take you out of your dull comfort zone and into another dull comfort zone that's initially pretty interesting. James is a geeky virgin (and yes, the main story plays like a more respectful version of those lame teen-deflowering comedies from the time-frame of this film, the 80's), but he has a summer's supply of good weed, he's smarter than your average carny, so he sticks out among the usual loser-drones milling about the place. Folks like Frigo (Matt Bush), James' arrested development neighbor,* Connell (Ryan Reynolds), the mechanic who hasn't quite matured yet, the afore-mentioned Joel—smart as a whip and dull as a doorknob—Lisa P (Margarita Levieva), the self-absorbed knock-out, and Em Lewin (Kristen Stewart), troubled slacker-chick. Brennan and Em start a spastically friendly courtship that spills over into one of those deadly earnest mis-matches that raging hormones have trouble steering clear of. But it's helped that Eisenberg and Stewart are two polar opposites acting: he is quick-silver fast, while maintaining a deadly funny dead-pan throughout; she's unfocused and just guarded enough to make her character interesting.

Because it's semi-autobiographical, it's very male-centric, so that the guys are quirky and nuanced while the women are fascinating unfathomables, pedestaled and superficially drawn. But Mottola gets the work-place vibe right, especially in that first post-curfew touch of responsibility mixed with slacker-freedom that makes one think the pain of growing up might be behind you. It has that sense of "new crowd" work-place tribalism that feels like community until something better comes along. And it's sweetly raunchy without getting too deep in the muck, though it's probably not for the kids. And anything with Wiig and Hader in it is worth watching.

* Did I mention that Mottola directed a few episodes of the late, lamented "Arrested Development?" That helps explain the somewhat dead-pan tone of the thing.