Reviews by PvtCaboose91

With 2009's Avatar, visionary director James Cameron proves that there's at least one filmmaker in Hollywood capable of putting a $300 million budget (or was it $500 million?) to good use. Cameron's first feature film outing since 1997's Titanic, this hotly-touted flick has spent years brewing in post-production and triggered fevered discussion about the possibilities of its revolutionary digital effects (developed in part by the hands-on director himself). Up until the mid-months of 2009, Avatar had been shrouded in secrecy (dedicated internet fanboys can attest to this fact), but one thing was made clear: it would be a groundbreaking cinematic event, and the advanced motion-capture technology would elevate filmmaking to the next level. While the storytelling and characterisations admittedly remain stuck in the past, Avatar is visual moviemaking 2.0 in an extremely satisfying and exhilarating way. As long as you're not one of those people who've made up their minds prior to viewing Cameron's latest masterwork (in other words, if you're not one of those who brand the film as a Fern Gully rip-off and criticise the CGI as videogame-calibre), Avatar is a tremendously rewarding, soulful experience.

Set in the year 2154, the Earth is dying and faraway planets are being targeted for strip-mining. In a neighbouring star system lies the exotic-but-deadly planet of Pandora; the source of an ultra-valuable mineral known as Unobtainium. Naturally, a sinister corporation has set up base on the planet and wishes to commence their operation. Standing in their way, however, is the indigenous population of Pandora - the Na'vi; a race of tall, blue-skinned tree-dwellers whose civilisation rests atop possibly the richest deposit of Unobtainium in existence, but have no desire to relocate. Enter the "Avatar" program, which sees people transfer their consciousness to half-human, half-Na'vi hybrids which can be controlled telepathically. It's hoped that through this program, the aliens can be gently persuaded to move out of mankind's way. Soon, a disabled ex-marine named Jake Sully (Worthington) is unwillingly thrust into the situation when his twin brother suddenly dies. Through using his Avatar, Jake is accepted as part of a Na'vi tribe and falls in love with a female Na'vi warrior named Neytiri (Saldana). With an epic battle for the fate of Pandora drawing dangerously close, Jake must choose his side.

Cameron wastes no time before plunging viewers straight into the world of Pandora; not even allowing any time for an audience to adjust to this breathtaking new technology. In a masterfully efficient opening 10 minutes, writer-director Cameron introduces everything one will need to know for the following 2½ hours - about Pandora's climate and population, about Jake's situation, about the ruthless plans of the humans and about the Avatar program. From that point onwards, the film is off and running. At an intimidating 160 minutes, Avatar never feels too long or flabby - there's just so much movie crammed into these 160 epic minutes: the human stories, the Na'vi stories, the bio-diversity of the planet, and above all the warfare, with Jake joining the resistance against his former allies. While things are slowed down for the middle hour as Jake's infiltration operation gestates, it's astonishing how brilliantly-paced the film is. Unlike other CGI-heavy movies against which Avatar will be judged (including the abominable Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen and Terminator Salvation), Cameron's movie is superbly constructed; using all 160 minutes to judiciously build characters and establish relationships before all the strands culminate for an epic, action-packed climax. Since such a perfect emotional connection is built, a viewer will care about what happens to the protagonists and the Na'vi tribe.

In terms of storyline, Avatar offers nothing unprecedented. The plot is reminiscent of the likes of Dances with Wolves and The New World, in which a 'civilised' westerner lives amongst a supposedly backwards society and slowly sides with the noble savages. Heck, the characters are largely predictable too. But in the context of the movie, all these elements come together perfectly. The fact that it all succeeds is a testament to Cameron's skill at working formula and familiar story elements with a skilful dexterity very few can match. Of course, Avatar is not just about spectacle and action (though both elements are offered in spades) - it's primarily a love story. This is hardly surprising, of course, since more or less every Cameron film is a love story at its core (Titanic, The Terminator, etc). The surprise here is the effectiveness of the central coupling, thanks in large part to Weta's staggering digital effects. It's impossible to overstate how real the Na'vi look; every facial movement, and every movement in general seems organic. They may not always appear photo-real, but they do seem alive. The dead-eye problem plaguing motion capture movies for years has been well and truly solved - these CGI characters are imbued with a soul.

James Cameron and his crew created Pandora from the ground up using a mixture of motion-capture techniques and computer-generated animation. As a result, Avatar is an astonishing feast for the eyes, with ethereal, invigorating shots and sequences genuinely unlike anything you've ever seen before. The level of immersive detail displayed in this tour de force is extraordinary. But the true success is in the seamlessness - not a single shot stands out as blatant green screen. Live-action and digital elements are so skilfully integrated that the point where the live-action ceases and the digital effects begin is impossible to determine, which ensures the illusion is unbroken. Pandora truly feels like a living, breathing world, and it's as if Cameron is the planet's most enthusiastic tour guide. James Horner's score, meanwhile, is atmospheric and appropriate; gloriously supporting the exotic beauty of the jungles of Pandora (though it lacks a memorable underlying theme as a hook).

One thing that distinguishes Cameron from young pretenders like Michael Bay and McG is that he anchors his epic visions with relatable emotions handled with utmost sincerity. Of course, it also helps that Cameron remains one of the best action directors in the business. Avatar concludes with a climactic showdown between human and Na'vi forces - it's a battle royale of excitement, thrills and tragedy that's both truly epic and rivetingly intimate. It's a wonder to behold. In a decade where action choreography is constantly masked by frantic editing, Cameron proves himself once again to be the old-school master. Younger filmmakers should also take note of the prudent use of 3-D which is perceived as an enhancement rather than a gimmick. Cameron never garishly breaks the fourth wall since the 3-D is employed to generate a sense of depth - a viewer feels like they're glancing into an open window of another world. Never before has the effect felt so unintrusive; never before has CGI felt so natural, necessary and alive. If you plan to see the film in 2-D via DVD or a downloaded version filmed from within a cinema...there's no talking to you. Avatar is a cinematic experience and an event, not a mere film.

It's crucial to note that, in most cases, cinematic displays of new technology are rubbish. The technology is usually then refined, and applied to a superior movie. But this is not good enough for James Cameron, who has managed to push the boundaries with new technology while simultaneously creating an excellent, full-throttle piece of entertainment. Avatar is also rather reminiscent of the great epics of yesteryear - from Spartacus to Gone with the Wind. Such classics relied on universal themes and enthralling characters to drive their sprawling narratives, and Avatar is no different. It's stirring drama on a vast canvas painted with broad brush-strokes, and the audience is powerless to prevent themselves from being swept up in the action and emotion.

As Jake Sully, Sam Worthington places forth a charming and spellbinding performance (both in and out of his Avatar). His soulful eyes are an asset; a quality that's retained and magnified in his Na'vi form. Zoe Saldana, however, is the standout as Neytiri. For her entire performance she plays behind a CGI face, yet she makes Neytiri into a thoroughly multi-faceted character endowed with a fully conveyed emotional personality. Witnessing Sigourney Weaver re-teaming with James Cameron is a joy (a good omen, since Aliens is one of Cameron's best film). Even if it's only a small part, Weaver's role as the chief scientist is a memorable and integral part of the narrative. Every minor character - no matter how clichéd - is played with gusto and earnestness by the marvellous cast (a group of talented thespians, rather than big stars). Stephen Lang clearly relished the opportunity to play the evil Colonel Quaritch. Also in the cast is an underused but nonetheless extremely effective Michelle Rodriguez as a sympathetic pilot, on top of the endearing Giovanni Ribisi who's pitch-perfect as another corporate scumbag.

In creating Avatar, James Cameron additionally inserts undertones relating to corporate greed, as well as complex questions about what it means to be human. Underneath the spectacle are subtle equivalences to the Vietnam and Iraq Wars, but these are not restricted by any means - the story is broad enough to apply to any indigenous race under threat from superior external imperialist forces. Avatar clearly sides with the Na'vi population, and portrays the Americans as the monsters. Some might find the environmental message of the film too preachy, but it never openly shoves this agenda down our throats; it simply sits beneath the surface, ripe for analysis if we choose to dig further. In spite of its strengths, Avatar does lean slightly towards spectacle over script; the story is no dud, but while discussing the movie you'll be inclined to discuss what you've seen, rather than quote lines (there's no killer banter). Minor script flaws aside, this is a superb blockbuster. It has to be seen on the big screen - in 3-D, no less.

9.55/10

The Polar Express assumes the status of Christmas Classic from the get-go without even bothering to earn it. With Chris Van Allsburg's short, gorgeously illustrated children's book as its source material, Robert Zemeckis' $165-million CGI extravaganza at first seems like a quaint, if technologically savvy ode to the Christmas spirit from a child's perspective, but it soon transforms into a nonsensical, soulless, emotionally-divorced series of blockbuster-style adrenaline rushes that are presented with messy CGI.

The protagonist of this story is an average young boy (Sabara) from an average home in an average town. Everything about this boy is so bland that he is apparently not even worth a name - in the credits he's officially listed as "Hero Boy". Despite this character having the appearance of a 13-year-old, he's apparently in the midst of that childhood period when one begins to lose faith in the existence of Santa. As he settles into bed on Christmas Eve night, an incredible racket has him racing downstairs where he stumbles upon, of all things, a steam locomotive pulling up in front of his house (apparently the noise doesn't wake up his family or neighbours, mind you). The conductor (Hanks) invites the boy onboard to take a journey to the North Pole with many other pyjama-clad children. It would seem that Hero Boy's neglectful parents didn't teach him to avoid rides with strangers... (Seriously, what kind of message is this movie trying to send?)

Once on the train, Hero Boy has a series of adventures with the other children on their way to meet jolly St. Nick and reaffirm their belief in the spirit of Christmas. In other words, The Polar Express delivers the same feel-good message that almost every holiday movie has spoon-fed children for decades. Furthermore, upon arriving at the North Pole it becomes clear the movie is all build-up, no pay-off - Santa's city is mostly vacant in terms of magic. The film's theme also suggests that you better believe in Santa, or else you're not worth it. At the North Pole, Hero Boy can get any gift he desires, and he chooses to receive a sleigh bell from Santa's sled. Hero Boy and his sister can hear the bell ring, but his parents cannot and assume it is broken. It's constantly underlined that only "believers" can hear the sound of the bell. *facepalm*

Director Robert Zemeckis touted The Polar Express as a major technological breakthrough in computer-generated imagery. The most significant development is the "performance capture" techniques, for which actors can perform while covered in computer-readable dots that translate their motions into digitised imagery. But the one hurdle that filmmakers have always been unable to leap for animated movies is the recreation of photorealistic humans. Zemeckis wanted us to believe The Polar Express not only cleared the hurdle, but sprinted further down the track. But it hasn't. Not even close. The technical crew have achieved painterly beauty with the stunningly detailed environments, but the film is drastically sunk by the uncanny creepiness of the CGI characters - they look like wax figures possessed by the devil. The problem is that the technology in its current form cannot capture the human soul, thus the characters' glassy eyes and gaping hollow mouths stand out as shockingly devoid of life. Looking at side-by-side comparisons of the live-action actors and their digitalised counterparts, one thing is obvious: the computers sap the life and intensity out of a perfectly good performance. On top of this, most of the characters never look quite right in their movement, resulting in detailed humans who jerk around and look strange. If Zemeckis allowed real actors to appear in computer-generated landscapes or had given the animated characters a cartoonish appearance to push them into the realm of imaginary, the film might have worked. Instead, the CGI recreations fall into a strange netherworld between the real and the animated; the believable and the unbelievable. They're neither here nor there, which is the source of their unsettling creepiness.

Zemeckis pads Van Allsburg's slim book out to a feature-length 100 minutes using manufactured action set-pieces that grow silly and repetitive. There's an apparent fondness for vertigo-inducing rollercoaster sequences in which the train speeds uncontrollably up and down mountains, hills, or any other excuse for a steep incline. But these types of sequences are easily spotted as what they are: gimmicks to make the most of the technology. Crucially, there's no thrill to the action, which comes back to the hollow animation techniques. To add further padding, Zemeckis introduces forced slapstick comedy, useless digressions (what was the point of the ghost hobo?), and physics-defying goofiness that undercuts the attempt at photorealism. Worst of all, however, are the terrible, terrible, terrible musical numbers featuring horrid, fluffy tunes ostensibly made to grate. The Polar Express would've fared better as a 45-minute television special.

The vocal talent is provided by a diverse cast including such names as Tom Hanks, Tom Hanks, Tom Hanks, Tom Hanks and a formerly unknown actor named Tom Hanks. Yep, the majority of the voices/character appearances are courtesy of Hanks, who sadly proves himself unable to fill the Peter Sellers-sized shoes required of him in the film. The actor tries not to sound too much like himself in each role, but largely fails. And seriously, what was the point of casting Hanks as the body of the Hero Boy when the character bares not a whit of resemblance to the actor and is voiced by a second actor? Gimmick is everything in The Polar Express, and casting executive producer Tom Hanks in almost every major role is the most obvious case in point.

The ultimate message of The Polar Express is not exactly agreeable. The Hero Boy rediscovers his belief in Santa, but surely this can't be the be-all and end-all of the Christmas season... There's a bitter tinge of selfishness underneath the surface of the moral of the story that seems out of place for the season of giving. Isn't there more to Christmas than receiving gifts? The Polar Express is a stiff, aloof snoozer of an experiment that fails on just about every level. It has visual elements worth admiring, but it's overwhelmed by the syrupy schmaltz, the miscalculated action scenes, and the considerably misjudged character animation. A viewer will walk away knowing they've experienced something Christmassy, but they won't have been won over by the holiday spirit. The best Christmas films fill our hearts and make us believe, whereas The Polar Express just makes us shrug.

3.2/10

The storyline of Christmas with the Kranks involves a married couple opting to forgo all Yuletide festivities for one year. You'd almost certainly skip Christmas too, if you had to endure Surviving Christmas, The Polar Express and now Christmas with the Kranks all in the one year. This glut of horrible films confirms that it's far more difficult to craft an effective Christmas movie than one might imagine. Memorable examples of festive movies are rarer than flying reindeer, and the fact that writer Chris Columbus was once involved with one (Home Alone) doesn't guarantee repeat success. Christmas with the Kranks, which was adapted from the John Grisham novel Skipping Christmas (the title was changed to avoid confusion with Surviving Christmas), is a through-and-though dud; joyless, laughless and boring. The nicest thing which can be said about it is that it's at least mildly better than Surviving Christmas, but oh boy is that a backhanded compliment...

Luther (Allen) and Nora (Curtis) Krank are upset over the prospect of spending Christmas without their daughter (Gonzalo) who has joined the Peace Corps. So the two Kranks (Get it? Kranks? What comic genius!) decide to skip Christmas for the year, and use the money they'd normally spend on annual holiday traditions to instead take a Caribbean cruise. For reasons never quite logical enough to work, Luther also decides to "boycott" everything to do with Christmas. This extends to not buying gifts, not sending Christmas cards, refusing to decorate their home, not returning a "Merry Christmas" gesture to a friendly passer-by, and taking absolutely no part in the neighbourhood gatherings or parties. Meanwhile Nora, who lacks any kind of backbone, just goes along with it. That is, until a convenient plot wrinkle ensures everyone will have to pull together and enjoy some holiday spirit, and the film turns all sentimental despite the fact it has not earned the right to do so.

Look, the idea of simply skipping Christmas is fine, and Luther & Nora have a good reason to blow their Christmas budget on something more fun. They don't hate Christmas and their feelings haven't changed...they'll even be celebrating the following year. Unfortunately, the Kranks have the grave misfortune of living in one of those sitcom-type neighbourhoods where everyone knows everyone else's business, and the idea of a house on the block not draining power with an outdoor light display is outrageous. As part of the film's uneven attempt to turn itself into a jolly holiday farce, the neighbours (lead by Vic Frohmeyer - played by Dan Aykroyd as a bullying, Chicago-style ward boss) have nothing better to do with their time, and begin protesting. In other words, the entire neighbourhood believe they know what's best for the Kranks and have every right to harass them to a disconcerting degree, and the movie acts as if their actions are perfectly normal. Why they care so much is anybody's guess.

Once a major plot contrivance surfaces, the Kranks decide they want to celebrate Christmas now. Suddenly the film abandons the idea of Christmas as a shallow, vapid, expensive, cult-like celebration, and instead transforms into a sappy celebration of the meaning of Christmas. Attempts at being funny are dropped, and the film becomes unforgivably lame as it deflates into a confused mess. Christmas with the Kranks can't decide whether it wants to condemn the gift-powered holiday or laud it as a community experience. It alternates between these competing ideologies while struggling to find humour in the overacting characters. Even weirder is the film's final shot which features a waving CGI snowman and the unexpected emergence of Santa in a fucking Volkswagen Beatle being pulled by magical reindeer. The large gaps in logic haven't even been mentioned yet - like why would Luther's neighbour agree to let him "borrow" their Christmas tree overnight? How did Frohmeyer's son get the keys to a set of handcuffs, and why on Earth would he release a detained prisoner so he could grab food at the Kranks' party?

The illogical plot points and lack of realism could be forgiven, if only there were laughs to be had. But Christmas with the Kranks relies on tired physical comedy and badly-written dialogue - it plays out like a series of sitcom outtakes. People get comically electrocuted, carollers slip on ice, Nora is caught in a bikini by a minister, there's the painfully predictable race for the last of a certain food item in stock, and Luther takes a predictable header when he's trying to install a gigantic snowman on the roof. I put the question to you: has Tim Allen EVER been part of a movie in which he didn't fall off a roof? Like TV sitcoms, character development can best be described as perfunctory too. There's no-one in this movie worth caring about. Behind the camera is Joe Roth, the chairman of Revolution Studios, who demonstrates yet again that he should stick to signing paychecks instead of helming multi-million dollar film productions.

The whole message of the movie is to not be so selfish, but it's incredibly selfish of the neighbours to demand the Kranks follow their demands to the letter, and that they try to enforce their demands using any means possible. If one looks deep into the "message" of this movie, one will unveil a more disturbing notion: it suggests that the only way to find peace is to do exactly what your neighbours are doing...to give into peer pressure and don't dare to be different. How fucking lovely.

Christmas with the Kranks also lacks the heartfelt simplicity and sublime truths evident in other Christmas classics. There's no emotional core here - only sloppy excess, random broad strokes, and a decided lack of conviction from filmmakers and performers alike. Both Tim Allen and Jamie Lee Curtis are disagreeable and utterly flat. Curtis in particular goes ballistic with her over-the-top performance. And has no-one bothered to inform Allen that the mugging, one-note performance style that served him well in TV does not translate well to the big screen? It's impossible to feel love in the relationship between Nora and Luther, and there's an inescapable sense that this couple is tired of being together - thus we soon become tired of watching them together. Given that the Kranks' decision to skip Christmas is based solely on economic consideration rather than a sense of self discovery (or desire for heartfelt change), the duo often feel callous and shallow. By the time their inevitable reorientation towards the Christmas spirit arrives, the characters aren't likeable - why the fuck do we care when they finally find enlightenment?

Christmas with the Kranks could've been a satirical condemnation of the commercialism and consumerism of Christmas. It could have been a clever jab at the pressure that communities exert on non-conformists. Or it could have been a hilarious, old-fashioned string of mishaps (a bit like National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation). But this tripe fails on all accounts. There's not enough edge for the satirical elements to work, and the cloying melodrama interferes with the ham-fisted attempts at comedy. This is the sort of film that leaves you thinking that Ebenezer fuckin' Scrooge had the right idea about the festive season.

1.9/10

Vince Vaughn and the Christmas comedy genre don't appear to be a winning pair-up. Only one year after 2007's Fred Claus, Vaughn has decided to take a second swipe at the festive season, resulting in the mirthless, utterly joyless Four Christmases. It's by-the-numbers, instantly forgettable, mysteriously star-ridden and it contains no laughs. Not one. Zilch. Zero.

Like all recent studio-produced Christmas comedies, the premise behind Four Christmases is rather promising. The protagonists - Brad (Vaughn) and Kate (Witherspoon) - have been a couple for three years and are adamantly against marriage. Every year as Christmas approaches, the couple feed their two sets of divorced parents a fabricated story about travelling to a third-world country to do charity work, whilst in reality they jet off to a tropical paradise to celebrate the season in sunnier settings. However, this year a fog rolls in and flights are cancelled, so Brad and Kate have no choice but to spend the day visiting their estranged families.

One would assume that a couple being forced to visit their crazy relatives would result in amusing situations, but the comic interludes here are sitcom level at best. With each subsequent visit, Four Christmases progressively grows less amusing and more tedious. Each home presents its own set of obstacles, most of which are unbelievably predictable. For instance Brad's brothers are cage-fighters who beat the shit out of him, and his father is a cranky old coot. Kate's female relatives are sex-crazed, especially the elderly ones...because there's nothing funnier than a horny grandma, of course. And there's a baby that must inevitably throw up on someone. These unfunny situations are loaded with obnoxiously unfunny jokes, and eventually fizzle into climax-free nothingness. The biggest drawback of Four Christmases is the inconsistent tone. The film is mean-spirited, uncomfortable slapstick comedy for the first three-quarters before dissolving into unearned mush and sentiment for the final quarter. The tonal shift fails because the characters are underdeveloped. Brad & Kate are comedic caricatures, and trying to make an audience care about their circumstances during the final act simply doesn't work due to lack of depth.

Things aren't aided by the fact the protagonists are written as bratty assholes - their cover story of charity work in third-world countries is terrible, and throughout the movie the couple come off as snarky and bitter. Even more insulting is that the characters make hardly any sense. After three years of living together, they haven't once spoken about having children or getting married? Brad hasn't told Kate his real name? Kate never showed Brad photos from her childhood, or revealed any of her big secrets? At no point did either of them mention the nature of their families?

There is one inspired element of Four Christmases: the hiring of director Seth Gordon, who deftly constructed the video game documentary The King of Kong. It's not that Gordon is outgunned here, but there's a distinct lack of authority permeating the mood of the film. It'd be tough to blame the director for the ultimate failure of the picture, since it was doomed from the very outset, but Gordon nevertheless directs Four Christmases as if it were a television movie. Mercifully, the film is quite brief at about 88 minutes, so at least this mean-spirited affair doesn't have too much time to get under your skin.

The level of ineptness also extends to Witherspoon and Vaughn. One would assume the two would be able to carry any screenplay, but the material is so incredibly thin that not even Al Pacino and Meryl Streep could've made it work. Vaughn is usually left to carry the load, which he does by essentially playing the same character he always plays: the slick, cool, fast-talking, know-it-all dude. But it ain't enough. It doesn't work. Neither Vaughn nor Witherspoon exudes much in the way of energy. It's baffling that this pile of crap was sold to these actors. They are both credited as producers too, which raises the bafflement level even further.
The supporting cast is equally hopeless. Jon Favreau is wasted on a throwaway role with very few lines and no opportunity to exploit the well-practised chemistry he shares with Vince Vaughn. Next up, there's the usually brilliant Robert Duvall. His character is even more flavourless than Favreau's role, and it's sickening to witness Duvall being backed into "comical" screaming and yelling. There are also roles assigned to Sissy Spacek, Mary Steenburgen, Jon Voight, Tim McGraw and Kristen Chenoweth. That's a total of five Academy Award-winners in this cast. What on Earth is going on here?

The question that must be asked about Four Christmases is...why?! Why did so many top-notch actors choose to be in it? Did they need to boost their box office cache? Did their agents talk them into it? Did they not read the script? One must also wonder why this film was ever green-lit in the first place, and why it wasn't shut down when the completely humourless dailies started rolling in (especially considering the film's elephantine $80 million budget). If Vince Vaughn wants to ruin Christmas, he's on the right track with Fred Claus and Four Christmases. Another cinematic coal lump could permanently beat the Christmas spirit out of this reviewer. Families - or anyone - seeking holiday fun will not find it in Four Christmases, so look elsewhere (like the liquor cabinet).

2.5/10

Creating an enjoyable Christmas comedy must be one of the most difficult things to achieve in Hollywood, because the late-year appearance of a good one in cinemas is about as rare as a White Christmas in Australia. 2004's Surviving Christmas is another such failed endeavour. The release date was closer to Halloween than Christmas, which gives one indication that DreamWorks did not anticipate the movie ever becoming a beloved Christmas classic. Moreover, the fact it hit cinemas around the time of Halloween also indicates the truly horrifying quality of this motion picture. How bad is it, asks yee? As bad as Jingle All the Way? Or the granddaddy of them all, Santa Claus Conquers the Martians? Forget about these. Surviving Christmas is the new champion; a sure-fire contender for the worst Christmas movie of all time. It's an offensive, unfunny, uncomfortable lump of coal masquerading as a charming stocking-stuffer. It feels like the work of the Grinch.

The plot concerns highly paid executive Drew Latham (Affleck) who lives an empty, shallow life with only wealth on his side. He's dumped by his girlfriend (Morrison) a few days before Christmas, and is faced with the prospect of spending the holiday alone. So he does what any mentally unbalanced, wealthy yuppie would do - he heads back to his childhood home to relive his old Christmas memories, and offers $250,000 to the new inhabitants of the house to be his family for Christmas.

Of course, earning this $250,000 requires complete and utter humiliation on the part of the witless family. Drew forces them to do all kinds of kooky things - Tom must don a Santa hat, they must install a gaudy Christmas tree which would light up the Sydney Harbour Bridge, and read a script that Drew has written! At no point are these situations even close to funny, however...they're just uncomfortable. This concept alone sounds dreadful for a holiday comedy, but the writers (all four of them - apparently it took four paid professionals to write this tripe) don't stop there. They also manage to pile on every conceivable bad idea and moronic punchline into 90 minutes of holiday hell. A game can be had in guessing not which predictable plot points will surface, but when. For instance we're given no warning before Drew suddenly becomes a nice guy and the family suddenly likes him. Crap like this just pops up, with characters changing for no discernible reason other than to help move the plot along. Surviving Christmas is simply a train wreck from start to finish. It's so inept that one must wonder why anybody agreed to take part in it (maybe the fact that a great deal of the film was improvised and shooting started without a completed script had something to do with this).

The inconsistent tone is another lethal flaw. Surviving Christmas can't decide whether it wants to be a black comedy, a fluffy family sitcom, or a dumb farce. Elements of all three are thrown in, and the film bounces between them like a schizophrenic bunny rabbit, to the point that you're almost dizzy from trying to follow the plot. This comes back to the four credited screenwriters, not all of whom were on the same page it seems. There are times when the film seems to set itself up in the mould of National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, but it fails amazingly. The film isn't even close to Christmas Vacation in terms of humour or inventiveness.

The jokes are usually oversold, idiotic, and predictable. For instance the family's teenage son spends all day in his room downloading internet porn (the PG-13 kind, mind you). This idea is merely included to set up a scene in which he stumbles upon a sexy (yet still PG-13) photo of his mother, and teaches the family's hired grandpa to browse for internet porn. There's an early scene during the opening credits that shows an old lady trying to kill herself in a moment of black comedy that fits no-where with the rest of the movie in story or tone. Also included is a joke about how Sonny Bono died. Ah, good times. Eventually Drew's former girlfriend pops up as the ending approaches, which means everyone has to pass themselves off as his actual family (as seen in 50,000 bad sitcoms). Oh, and Drew succeeds in romancing the girl who had been passed off as his sister earlier in the movie. A trio of characters witness them making out, and are unaware of their actual status as non-relatives. Two of these characters proclaim "Oh my God!", after which another character chimes in with "He's kissing his sister!". That's called Explaining The Joke To The Morons Who Didn't Get It, Because We Don't Trust Our Audience To Get Even The Most Obvious Of Lame Gags. A huge collection of classic Christmas songs are sprinkled in among the dialogue too (including Judy Garland's Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas), and they're so badly misused that their sentimental value may be rubbed out forever.

Before appearing in Surviving Christmas, Ben Affleck appeared in such movies as Daredevil, Gigli, Paycheck and Jersey Girl. It's hard to call Affleck a professional actor after this string of bad movies. Throughout most of Surviving Christmas, he looks completely uninterested. Indeed, the snowman on the front lawn exudes more warmth and charisma than Affleck, whose incessant overacting renders him unbearable. This film is also so bad that even superb actors like James Gandolfini, Christina Applegate and Catherine O'Hara wind up looking stunned.

Surviving Christmas landed on DVD a mere eight weeks after its theatrical premiere. The last major movie to receive this short turnaround time was From Justin to Kelly. How's that for an indicator of quality? Despite all the talent involved, this abysmal motion picture fails to raise so much as a smile, let alone laughs and Christmas cheer. Surviving Christmas was the first of three high-profile Christmas movies that headed to cinemas in late 2004. The other two (The Polar Express and Christmas with the Kranks) also ended up hitting my "Worst Christmas in History" list. Is it possible to make good Christmas movies anymore? One should substitute the word "Christmas" in the title with "This Movie", and perceive it as a challenge.

1.5/10

Christmas is a time of many traditions. There's the tree and the decorations, as well as the cookies, the chocolates and the fruitcake. And, of course, there's the time-honoured annual tradition of Hollywood churning out a new Christmas movie every year in the hope that someday it will become a cherished holiday classic (and because it's easy money). Thus, Hollywood begat 2007's Fred Claus. The gimmick of this particular Christmas fare is that Santa Claus has a brother - and while Santa is steadfastly nice, his brother is naughty. The film explores the well-trod "Scrooge" territory by presenting a bah-humbug type who turns his life around by learning the true spirit of Christmas. One cannot complain about the sincerity of the message, but the idea is far too hackneyed and predictable. Fred Claus features a plot that can be foreseen from beginning to end.

Logically, the protagonist of the movie is the titular Fred Claus (Vaughn) who has lived almost his entire life in the intimidating shadow of his brother Santa (Giamatti). Ever since the birth of Saint Nicholas (when he first speaks the words that are nowadays more associated with skanky women), Fred has been unable to live up to the example set by his little brother. Jump ahead many years, and Fred is a fast-talking, genial but self-centred man living in Chicago. Desperate for a $50,000 loan in order to fulfil his dream of owning a business, Fred has no other choice than to turn to his estranged brother as Christmas fast approaches. Nick agrees to loan Fred the money, but under the condition that Fred travels to the North Pole to lend a hand. It's bad timing for Nick to invite his loose cannon of a brother, though, as an expert has been sent in to monitor the operation at the North Pole and decide if it should be shut down.

Many questions come to mind during Fred Claus, particularly in relation to the mythology of Santa which gets muddled when Clyde (Spacey) enters the film. He alleges that "The Board" is threatening to shut Santa down due to financial difficulties. Who on Earth is this board, and who could possibly have the authority to treat Santa like this? Since when is Santa Claus a funded operation? This is the trouble with adapting such a long-running fantasy myth - it's all well and good to explore Santa and his world, but magic is lost if it's over-explained. Additional questions also spring to mind - why make Fred the older brother when it would've made far more sense from virtually every angle if he had been the younger brother instead? It's made clear from the outset that Santa and his family are all immortal, so if Santa loses his job, does that also mean he loses his magical ability to repress aging? Outside of Santa and his immediate family, why is there another full-sized human acting as a project coordinator - is she an overgrown elf or did she just happen to stumble upon an unlikely Help Wanted ad?

Fred Claus is yet another Christmas-themed comedy that dares acknowledge the true meaning of Christmas: forcibly spending time with people you hate. This concept has resulted in more bad films (Surviving Christmas) than quality ones (National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation), so the screenwriters (Jessie Nelson and Dan Fogelman) at least deserve credit for attempting a spin on the genre. It's a pity their inspiration ends there. Despite everyone involved and despite the promise of something fresh, Fred Claus adheres to the cookie-cutter format of family entertainment much like Rudolph on his delivery run.

For a full two hours (two fucking hours), Fred Claus aimlessly stumbles about, alternating between unintentional laughs (Spacey's character has a Superman fixation) and obvious jokes and pratfalls. The movie offers scenes with Fred sleeping in a much-too-small elf bed, Santa and Fred engaging in a snowball fight, and Fred not enjoying his journey to the North Pole as a first class passenger on Santa's sleigh. There's also a subplot involving an elf (Higgins) who's in love with Santa's good-looking assistant (Banks). It detracts from the Fred/Santa dynamic, and merely adds too many gruelling minutes onto the two-hour runtime. Eventually melodrama is thrown in, too, as highlighted by Fred's sappy relationship with a troubled neighbourhood kid. The artificiality of the emotions displayed here are staggering.

Look, Fred Claus isn't a complete disaster since there are flickers of brilliance here and there (like a Sibling Support group scene that boasts cameos from Frank Stallone, Roger Clinton and Stephen Baldwin) and it's occasionally watchable (mainly on account of the delightful soundtrack), but it has more flaws than pleasures. To be fair, the second half is more serviceable than the excruciating first half (which is so boring one can literally hear the gears of the formula grinding into place).

After Will Ferrell's success in the wonderful Elf, Vince Vaughn seemed like a natural successor in the "Christmas movies that adults can enjoy as well" category. But here's the problem: Ferrell's lovable man-child persona translated well to the genre, whereas Vaughn's wisecracking smartass shtick is flat in child-friendly territory. Most of all, Vaughn (who is ideally suited for sidekicks and secondary parts) sputters in a lead role - he's more annoying than sympathetic. When a trio of elves take down Fred, it's tough to prevent oneself from clapping. Vince Vaughn's comedic skills are clearly intended for better-written material.
Also worth mentioning is Paul Giamatti who pulls off a faithful portrayal of the jolly fat man, and is far more amiable and endearing than Vaughn. Kevin Spacey does a solid job as Clyde, while Elizabeth Banks is condemned to suffer the indignity of a one-note character. Oh, and Rachel Weisz has never sounded so incredibly Pommy...

Fred Claus is a fun idea for a movie, but the script sorely needed several more revisions before the cameras began to roll. There are plenty of Christmas movies already out there, and Fred Claus adds nothing new or worthwhile to this stale genre. It's not an entirely bad movie, but it's a decidedly bland one. At least it's better than all those abominable Tim Allen Christmas flicks...

4.5/10

A 75-minute charmer of a motion picture that transcends age, Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas should be part of every household's annual Christmas traditions. Everything that movie-goers expect from Burton's fantastical imagination is presented here in stop-motion form: it's bursting with visual majesty, populated with lovably morbid characters, and filled with charming Danny Elfman compositions. It's an enduring holiday classic that bears the esteemed title of the first feature-length stop-motion animation picture, bringing the age-old technique into the mainstream and paving the way for other stop-motion gems like Chicken Run and James and the Giant Peach. An iconic cult classic that continues to captivate audiences year after year, 1993's The Nightmare Before Christmas captures the distinct Christmas flavour and perfectly blends it with the maudlin imagination of childhood.

The story is based on a simple premise: each main holiday season has a town (Easter Town, Christmas Time, Halloween Town, etc.), and none of these towns knows of each other or their respective festivities. Jack Skellington (voiced by Danny Elfman and Chris Sarandon), known as the "Pumpkin King," resides in Halloween Town, but upon completion of the same old annual Halloween routine for the umpteenth time, he grows bored and disillusioned about his own holiday, finding it unfulfilling. After Halloween night, Jack strolls into the woods and stumbles upon a door leading to Christmas Town, with its cheerful atmosphere and bright colours. Jack is so taken by the concept of Christmas that he takes it upon himself to take over Santa's duties for the year, bringing the idea to Halloween Town to share with his fellow townsfolk.

Following a brisk prologue by Patrick Stewart, the film's imaginative world is established in the first big song, This is Halloween, which efficiently introduces Halloween Town in an energetic, sumptuous musical feast for the senses. The Nightmare Before Christmas contains some of the most ornately detailed and expertly captured shots in the history of stop-motion and of the animation medium as a whole. There's so much eloquence to the film's visual "voice," and each frame is so rich with an almost immeasurable amount of creativity that there's always something eye-catching to keep your interest. Burton's shooting schedule for 1992's Batman Returns conflicted with the long, arduous three-year production for The Nightmare Before Christmas, so he hired stop-motion veteran Henry Selick to oversee directorial duties. Burton may have receded to producer status, but every frame resonates with that distinctive Burton sensibility. As one watches the film and marvels at the visual splendour, one can't help but admire the extraordinary, painstaking way Selick and his team bring Burton's eccentric vision to life.

As it turns out, holiday commercialism is to thank for this film's existence. The Nightmare Before Christmas started as a poem by Burton in 1982, inspired by the sight of a store replacing their Halloween display with Christmas merchandise. The jarring contrast between Halloween and Christmas was all it took to motivate Burton to write the tale of Halloween Town and Christmas Town; two phantasmagorical towns characterised by different colour schemes, attitudes and iconography. (Funnily enough, this movie's iconography is now synonymous with Halloween and is exploited annually during the spooky season.) The Nightmare Before Christmas also showcases one of Burton's primary visual influences: German expressionism. The dark, foreboding sets, high-contrast lighting, and stark angles harken back to German films of the silent era, such as Nosferatu, Metropolis and The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari.

Scripted by regular Burton collaborator Caroline Thompson (Edward Scissorhands), The Nightmare Before Christmas is vehemently a musical, telling most of its story through songs. As this is a Tim Burton movie, frequent collaborator Danny Elfman provides the songs and background music, and he performs as Jack Skellington's singing voice. The music and visuals of The Nightmare Before Christmas are inseparable, with both contributing tremendous flavour to the production. Elfman's first-rate compositions support the visuals in grand style, whether it's a tender moment, a celebratory scene, or a frightening sequence. Fortunately, the songs are both memorable and catchy, and you will likely find yourself singing along to the likes of This is Halloween or Making Christmas. Elfman's singing voice is immaculate for Jack, and you would never guess that Chris Sarandon voices the Pumpkin King during the non-musical dialogue scenes. Another well-achieved role is Catherine O'Hara's honest and sweet Sally, a Frankenstein's monster-like doll who was stitched together by her domineering creator and who yearns to escape from captivity. She serves as Jack's love interest and has a bad feeling about taking over Christmas, and she shows the most human of emotion in Halloween Town.

Parents wondering if The Nightmare Before Christmas is suitable for their children should know that the frightening aspects of the picture are nicely blunted by the tender humour and Elfman's lovely music. Jack Skellington is not the frightful bag of bones that one would assume him to be - he's just a misunderstood hero who's as innately human as any live-action character. There are so many enchanting sights and sounds to behold within this wonderful film that there's not enough room for anxiety and fright. In short, The Nightmare Before Christmas is a delightful holiday romp with something to offer everyone. For the children, it's a fantasy that celebrates two exciting holidays. For adolescents and adults, it's an opportunity to experience good, hearty entertainment while marvelling at the achievements of this team of animators at the top of their game.

9.3/10

At its most basic level, Battle Royale is a combination of Lord of the Flies and The Running Man; utilising the time-worn concept of a group of people who are conscripted, equipped with weapons and forced to kill or be killed until only one contestant remains. It's an idea which dates back to the days of the Roman empire, and has become so beloved by filmmakers that it has been employed for various movies of various genres (from historical epic to futuristic fantasy).

Kinji Fukasaku's Battle Royale (aka Batoru rowaiaru) offers a new twist on this premise. The story is set in the near future when the economy of Japan is on the verge of collapse. Unemployment rates are up, children are boycotting school, and juvenile delinquency is at an all-time high. Fed up with the unruly and disobedient student population, the Japanese government passes the Battle Royale act. In accordance with this act, a school class is selected at random every year and shipped to a remote island to play the game. The rules are simple, as explained on a video by an exuberant Japanese girl: the contest lasts 3 days, and each student has been fitted with an explosive tracking collar that will explode if removed, or if they stray into a "danger zone", or if there's more than one contestant left standing after the 3 days. Each contestant is provided with a bag containing food, water, a compass, a map and a random weapon. Logically, the film focuses on a particular class of teens who are kidnapped and forced to participate. Friendship, love and pacifism all fall by the wayside as the students are presented with the choice of kill or be killed.

One of the greatest strengths of Battle Royale is the realistic portrayal of the adolescent characters who, when placed in a life-threatening situation, still obsess over unrequited love and are unable to let go of their old attachments. The characters serve as a microcosm of any high school class - there's the fat kid, the shy kid, the misfit, the clique of girls, the techno geeks, the young lovers, the kid with a secret, etc - and they all react in varying ways. Some immediately go on a killing rampage (either out of fear or because they are innate assassins). Meanwhile some take the weekend as an opportunity to dish out some payback, and have no scruples about killing those who've bullied them. The protagonists of the film, on the other hand, decide to stick together and avoid killing if possible. Added into the mix are two recent transfer students, who naturally turn out to be the biggest badasses of the bunch. Each death is documented on-screen like a scorecard during a sport event; providing the deceased player's number and name, along with the number of students remaining. However the Battle Royale Act concept is flawed, mainly because there are no spectators. No-one is filming or watching the action, so what's the point of being so elaborate?

Battle Royale is based on the popular novel of the same name by Koushun Takami, and acts as a terrific allegory about the Japanese school system. Japan is well known for its Study-Work-and-Die ethics with rigorous demands within the education and business system. Battle Royale takes this climate and amplifies it, placing the children in a far more desperate situation than working to receive an A-Plus. The targets of satire are numerous, such as the cruel over-expectations of achievements at school (as previously mentioned), as well as the Japanese obsession with authority and obedience, and the obsession with violent anime. The film's soundtrack (largely consisting of booming classical music) affords an epic, Kubrickian scale to the proceedings. However there's one considerable flaw with Battle Royale: the dialogue borders on banal. For instance, there's the overused cliché of characters pledging their undying love to a classmate right before kicking the bucket without a sound or a gurgle...

Veteran director Kinji Fukasaku was 70 years old when he crafted this fine motion picture. Fukasaku previously directed the Japanese scenes in Tora, Tora, Tora on top of a number of Sonny Chiba films, and the rough and tumble series The Yakuza Papers. Battle Royale is proof the director still had a deft hand in the late years of his career. While the violence is over-the-top in its amusing cartoonishness, it's also viscerally disturbing. After all, the only thing more unsettling than watching adolescents die is watching them kill each other. The bar for Battle Royale is set early into the runtime; pulling no punches and keeping the violence coming in a steady flurry. There are two key things that set this film apart from other blood-drenched action offerings: the girls are offed as badly as the boys (action films generally reserve the most horrific death scenes for the males), and the characters are undeniably girls and boys. While Hollywood films try to pass off 30-year-old actors as teenagers, the performers in Battle Royale actually look like adolescents.

Chief among the film's most compelling moments is the closing credits. As the final theme music plays, we are shown a black & white school photograph of the class which has just fought to the death. The various faces of the doomed contestants are focused on; providing a subtle but powerful reminder that these characters weren't mere statistics for an entertaining bloodbath, but in fact normal children who should have had their entire lives ahead of them. This gives the movie a crowning, humanistic touch.

To date, Battle Royale has never received an official U.S. release, but it has become a deserved cult classic on DVD, and the Japanese Academy nominated the film for seven awards (including Best Picture). Quentin Tarantino is an enormous fan of the movie as well (even labelling it as his favourite film released since 1992), and paid tribute by casting Chiaki Kuriyama in Kill Bill: Vol 1. With the great production values, a savvy script and gut-wrenching action sequences that'll leave you in a state of breathless disbelief, Battle Royale is a terrific release, though repeated viewings may highlight the lack of substantial depth.

8.2/10

From time to time, it's great to witness a high quality piece of Oscar-worthy celluloid. But in the world of modern cinema, there are films which exist as slim excuses to subject an audience to a mindless barrage of action set-pieces which defy the laws of logic and nature. When handled correctly, there's nothing wrong with this type of action film. Happily, 2009's The Tournament is an example of a brainless actioner done right. It's no true surprise that this movie was relegated to a straight-to-DVD release, but it nevertheless works as an effortlessly enjoyable 95 minutes of solid entertainment.

The storyline appears to closely resemble The Condemned, which itself was just a version of Battle Royale and The Running Man. Basically, every seven years an event known as "The Tournament" takes place. For this tournament, thirty elite assassins battle it out in a random, unsuspecting town (putting unknowing residents in the crossfire), and the last assassin left alive receives a cash prize along with a prestigious title. Cover stories about terrorist attacks and gas explosions are prepared to keep the tournament a secret to the civilian population. This time 'round, the assassins converge on the town of Middlesbrough, Great Britain (you know, that town which has been voted the worst place to live in the UK). Filling out the roster this year are an assortment of hit-men who use everything from sniper rifles to their own bare hands to bazookas. Complicating the situation is drunk, faithless priest Father Macavoy (Carlyle) who finds himself caught up in the deadly game.

Overseeing the mayhem is a congregation of shady billionaires (is there any other kind?) who watch the entire tournament on a wall of monitors and place wagers on the players. Of course, the entire town of Middlesbrough is wired up with HD video cameras that are part of some network, and two ultra smart computer hackers (who live off Red Bull and talk like they're from a Diablo Cody film) have hacked into the system in order to allow the gambling billionaires to see which contestant is winning. As a side note, it's a mystery as to why this film was written to include 30 assassins locked in combat when almost half of them are dispatched via a standard movie montage. Wouldn't it be easier to just cut down the amount of players?

The Tournament hits the ground running; truly living up to its non-stop action premise. Naturally, there are countless plot holes within the movie which any screenwriter with two brain cells should have been able to close up with ease. For instance, sensors are implanted into every assassin so that they can be tracked, and so the computers can keep up with those who've died. These sensors work on body heat and switch off whenever someone is killed, despite the fact the body actually stays warm for a while after death. Wouldn't it make more sense for the trackers to be paired to a person's pulse? One of the assassins also manages to easily cut out their sensor too, so why doesn't everyone else follow suit? Shouldn't there be a far more effective brand of tracker? Besides, a great assassin shouldn't need the prize money, so why enter a contest with such slim odds of survival? On top of this, the characters have absolutely no depth - they feel like they've been put together using cardboard found in a recycling bin, and they possess no traits to distinguish them from generic clichés one might find straight out of a video game (there's the psychotic shotgun-wielding Texan, a hulking bearded Russian, the Parkour-enhanced French assassin, and so on).

Okay, now that it has been established that The Tournament is illogical, implausible, stupid and shallow...how's the action? It's great you asked, because the action is very goddamn sweet, and the movie as a whole is fun and satisfying. It rises above most others of its ilk due to the fact that it features practically no CGI; affording a grittier, more organic feel. All the action (from the fantastic stunts to the high-octane car crashes to the exciting Parkour) was done for real, and many of the stars performed their own stunts. Director Scott Mann also cleverly intercuts security camera footage into the proceedings (both as part of the action and as part of the television news reporting on the "terrorist incidents" happening throughout Middlesbrough). Furthermore, the acting is actually halfway decent. Robert Carlyle brings great immediacy and intensity to his role, while Ving Rhames is enjoyably badass, and Ian Somerhalder appears to be having a ball. Kelly Hu is nothing but a pretty face, but at least it's a still a pretty face.

Filming for The Tournament initially began in 2007 (in Bulgaria, which has become the go-to place for filmmakers on constricted budgets making straight-to-DVD fodder), but unfortunately the production soon ran out of money. It took so long for the filmmakers to regain financing that the movie had to be re-cast, and filming had to start from scratch. It's good that director Scott Mann stuck to his guns (excuse the pun), because his persistence has resulted in an excellent homage to the Hong Kong actioners of yore. Delivering as much in the action quotient as it skimps in the intelligence quotient, this is not a film meant to be scrutinised for any longer than it takes for the carnage to register in your brain. Take it for what it is.

6.5/10

The idiots responsible for Date Movie, Epic Movie, Meet the Spartans and Disaster Movie should be abducted and forced to watch Black Dynamite so they can see how a good spoof movie is done! While recent spoofs have focused on mimicking familiar film scenes or ripping off celebrities with the idiocy of a 10-year-old boy, Black Dynamite is a nostalgic throwback that simultaneously recreates and celebrates the trademarks of the 1970s blaxploitation genre - the jive pimps in garish outfits, the evil politicians, a funky R&B soundtrack, and dialogue laced with expletives, peculiar slang and ethnic slurs. A gleefully harebrained spoof of all things Shaft and Superfly that plays straight-up stupid with vintage filmmaking aesthetics, this is one of the most consistently hilarious and creative spoofs since the days of Airplane! and its brethren.

Michael Jai White plays the titular character of Black Dynamite; a muscular badass with a lot of guns, an expertise in kung fu and a knack for getting women into bed (or anywhere else that suits him). An evil presence in the city has committed the ultimate crime: they've killed Black Dynamite's kid brother. Dynamite goes on a rampage, tearing up the streets to find the perpetrators. During his quest to serve up payback he also tries to keep kids safe from drugs and protect his bitches from harm. This all leads to the discovery of a terrifying conspiracy against black men.

In tradition with '70s-era blaxploitation films, the protagonist is a noble ass-kicker who spouts odd slang, is very popular with the females and can make villains quake at the very sight of him, whereas the proceedings are coated with a colourful sheen of tacky clothes, crazy cars and hilariously over-the-top fight sequences. Black Dynamite is certainly knowing in its spoofing, but it rarely winks at the audience to signal any sort of self-aware comfort. The film has a fantastic poker face; committing to an enjoyably silly routine of mockery and homage without being too conscious. On top of the high batting average for laughs, the action set-pieces are pretty awesome as well. And, much like all the greatest spoofs in history, one doesn't need a thorough knowledge of the genre being sent up in order to understand the jokes. This is a major asset for Black Dynamite, because, let's be honest, how many '70s blaxploitation flicks has the average person actually seen? In a sense, Black Dynamite is to blaxploitation what the Austin Powers films are to '60s spy flicks. Not many young comedy fans would be familiar with anything like In Like Flint, but that didn't prevent Austin Powers from becoming an extremely popular franchise.

Black Dynamite looks spot-on; as if it were an honest-to-goodness blaxploitation picture that has been sitting in a vault for over thirty years. '70s blaxploitation pictures were low-budget affairs often made without a great deal of technical skill, and Black Dynamite recreates this filmmaking incompetency with astonishing, hilarious accuracy. Director Sanders replicates everything from the colour scheme to the cheesy zoom-ins; from the one-dimensional performances to the obvious editing mistakes. Rather than taking the Grindhouse route of aging the picture in post-production, cinematographer Shawn Maurer filmed on Super-16 colour reversal stock, which generates a high-contrast, richly saturated image that's well-augmented by the excellent imitations of '70s-style clunky camerawork and awkward framing. The sets are an absolute hoot (particularly the wonderfully chintzy White House interiors used during the climax), and the mood is further sold by Adrian Younge's utterly perfect, playful score loaded with funny trills as well as "Dynamite!" vocal hits whenever the titular character enters the room or kicks some ass.

Michael Jai White is pitch-perfect as Black Dynamite; coming across as a credible hero so tough, well-meaning and proud in his embrace of black masculinity that one could easily imagine him being perceived as a point of pride back in the '70s. White manoeuvres through the ridiculous action sequences splendidly, using his extreme physicality to punch villains through walls and brandish phallic weapons convincingly. Similar to the wonderfully obtuse Leslie Nielson (who was a crucial component for the success of the Naked Gun! series), White carries the entire movie and wins you over easily through sheer force of straight-faced absurdity. And that's the key to a great spoof: the characters can never be in on the joke. Black Dynamite nails this perspective with a satisfying consistency, which is particularly laudable when the actor has to deal with the crew's low-budget incompetence (such as a hysterical boom mic joke).

The art of cinematic spoofing has become so degraded by the likes of Date Movie and Epic Movie that it may take several minutes to recognise Black Dynamite as part of this once-brilliant genre. Some may perceive this movie as a simplistic one-joke affair (because it kind of is), and the film does have trouble sustaining its raucous energy, but the solid laughs and inventiveness manage to compensate for the minor blunders.

8.3/10