Reviews by PvtCaboose91

Over recent years, it would seem, the mainstream comedy genre has become a breeding ground for male arrested development. With American comedy embracing unadorned masculinity - in all its slovenly, sexist, drunken and often childish glory - with such gusto, it's a surprise that I Love You, Man is perhaps the first modern comedy that actually attempts to explore male bonding. For 100 minutes, this film tracks the protagonists as they sing Rush songs, hang out and give each other silly nicknames, while a shoestring plot lingers in the corner which is occasionally picked up when the rote structure calls for it. There are some amusing moments within I Love You, Man, but it's mostly forgettable, not to mention so formulaic that a viewer will be able to figure out what's coming next even before the film's midpoint.

The story concerns straight-laced realtor Peter Klaven (Rudd) who, at the beginning of the movie, becomes engaged to his girlfriend Zooey (Jones). All seems fine until Zooey starts calling her best friends to tell them the great news, and it soon becomes obvious that Peter has no people to call apart from his parents. Pressed by his fiancée and family, Peter embarks on a series of "man dates" in an attempt to widen his social circle. Following a number of disastrous meetings with various flakes, Peter happens upon Sydney Fife; a part-time investment councillor and a full-time slacker. Sydney opens Peter's eyes to the world of a male best friend, offering advice on romance and a discussion outlet in the form of his self-described "man cave" (a primordial shrine to narcissistic masculinity filled with TVs, instruments, comfy chairs, and even a masturbation station). But as the two grow to be inseparable, Zooey grows concerned, especially when Sydney's influence causes Peter to question his upcoming nuptials.

The semi-love affairs between straight, immature men is the topic the film tackles, and it's fleshed out using standard Judd Apatow-style ingredients: cheerful vulgarity, good-natured charm, sexually explicit & profanity-ridden dialogue, as well as off-the-wall pop culture references. Although Judd Apatow has absolutely nothing to do with I Love You, Man, one could be forgiven for thinking he was behind it. Not only does this film contain a lot of trademark Apatow elements, it also stars two Apatow alumni (Paul Rudd and Jason Segel, both of whom appeared in 2008's Forgetting Sarah Marshall).

Director John Hamburg (who shares a screenwriting credit with Larry Levin) is fairly sly in his construction of Peter and Sydney's story. I Love You, Man cleverly repurposes the standard scenes and conflicts of modern romantic comedies, from the cute meetings to the "getting to know you" montage to the third party which may break them up (in this case, Zooey). However the movie also adheres to the well-worn tenets of the romantic comedy genre, right down to the temporarily break up and last-minute reconciliation. With the characters warmly established and an enjoyable, fluid tone bubbling wonderfully, it's borderline criminal to halt the merriment in order to wander into a formulaic rom-com bear trap. I Love You, Man is flawed in other ways; Peter's awkward verbal blunders grow tiresome, and the unfunny character Lonnie (Truglio) shows up a few too many times.

To their credit, Hamburg and Levin have created a script which manages to avoid some of the more rough-edged clichés of the genre - Jane Curtin plays Peter's mother like a regular parent instead of some over-the-top shrew, and the homosexuality of Peter's brother not reduced to swishing stereotypes. While the movie isn't exactly the side-splitting laugh riot it probably could have been in more adept hands, there are a lot of amusing details and hysterical one-liners (Sydney's observations about male behaviour are quite amusing). Hamburg's direction isn't terribly innovative, but why would one want a director intruding on a character comedy with indulgent camerawork?

Paul Rudd may be in danger of getting typecast as the goofy boyfriend type, but he's turned this sort of role into an art form. Rudd's allure is one of the film's greatest weapons; the wedding proposal that opens the film is winning and sweet, and gets us on his side from the outset. On the other side of the spectrum is Jason Segel who's also known for a certain character (the laid-back, earnest imbecile). For the film, he essentially just plays off Rudd's straight man. Segel's matter-of-fact delivery and likability makes him a great partner for Rudd. The genuine friendship between Segel and Rudd is clear in every scene, and obvious improvisation adds an additional level to their friendship. But one also gets the feeling that they're both better than this material; nothing in the movie can hold up against their brief scenes together in Forgetting Sarah Marshall. Luckily, the two leads are surrounded by a full staff of comedy players. Jon Favreau is a particular highlight, whose scenes with Jaime Pressly are downright hysterical. Rashida Jones is beyond charming as Zooey, and it's clear why Peter would be so smitten with her. Also in the cast there's J.K. Simmons, Jane Curtin and Thomas Lennon (who's especially funny), to name a few.

Despite a clever premise and several laugh-aloud moments, I Love You, Man slightly underwhelms due to a story that sags a bit from overfamiliarity. Still, the accurate portrayal of male bonding and the healthy dosage of comedy makes this "bromance" worth a watch.

6.5/10

The drama-comedy Funny People is Judd Apatow's third outing as a writer-director, and it stars both Seth Rogen and Adam Sandler. This should be a funny movie, right? Of course, the problem with expectations is they occasionally lead to disappointment - and Funny People is disappointing on numerous levels. It has been suggested that this flick is the final entry in Judd Apatow's comic trilogy about sex (2005's The 40-Year-Old Virgin), birth (2007's Knocked Up) and now death (or at least the threat of death). In this regard, the movie is a blatant attempt on Apatow's part to display maturity as a filmmaker, and the product is more of a drama (an uncomfortable one at that) than a comedy. There's one crucial hindrance with Funny People: it's neither funny nor touching - it's grim. Even Apatow and Sandler devotees will find their attention spans challenged, as the film wears out its welcome long before the excessive 150-minute runtime has elapsed.

Central to the story is a comedian named George Simmons (Sandler). After spending his career making asinine comedy movies for the masses, George has become self-absorbed and emotionally stunted. Towards the beginning of the movie, he's diagnosed with a rare blood disease. Upon learning about his impending doom, George basically just continues to indulge in his usual self-centred activities (except with a much darker attitude) rather than embarking on some form of spiritual journey or attempting to right his past wrongs. George eventually stumbles upon a makeshift comedic soul mate in the form of struggling stand-up Ira Wright (Rogen); taking the inexperienced funny man into his life for jokes and companionship.

This is, however, just one half of the narrative. George pursuing his estranged early love Laura (Mann) constitutes the other half. The notion seems to be that Funny People is a two-hander between George and Ira, but George's story eventually overwhelms Ira's. By combining what should have remained two separate stories into one movie of extreme length, a lot of potential is wasted. The relationship between Ira and George was a self-contained narrative in itself, and the first half which explores this is quite entertaining. But instead of concentrating on this narrative thread, the film pursues something more hackneyed, with George trying to reconnect with Laura while Ida is held in reserve. Exploring the deep rituals of the comedy circuit would've also made the film far more compelling.

Judd Apatow's movies (even those he produces) are frequently crippled by their needlessly long runtimes and general self-indulgence. Funny People is no different - it meanders around a number of plotlines before seemingly ending at random; aware it has exhausted its audiences' tolerance for Apatow's trademark excess. Believe it or not, the running time of Funny People exceeds the extended editions of both The 40-Year-Old Virgin and Knocked Up by around 10 minutes, and there's more that could have been added. Some connective tissue appears absent (like the explanation of why Laura, who is irritated and dismissive during earlier conversations with George, agrees to see him upon learning he's dying - and it's a mystery as to how she even finds out about his condition since there's no public announcement). Much like the films of Quentin Tarantino, Funny People is a movie in desperate need of discipline.

Disappointment is imminent on the comedy front. The stand-up sequences, with their poor lighting and an air of flop-sweat, admittedly possess an air of authenticity (the actors themselves even wrote their own material, and it was all filmed in front of a live crowd). But the on-stage routines aren't funny or in the least bit memorable. In fact, some of them are excruciatingly unfunny. Pretty much the only funny parts of the entire movie were shown in the trailers (maybe 5 or 6 lines in a 2½-hour movie), none of which are genuinely hysterical. Unfortunately, too, the dialogue never crackles with any wit. Funny People is an audacious movie that provides a few entertaining moments, but as a whole it's tragically flat.

Adam Sandler as George Simmons is a stroke of genius. The actor is in top form with this low-key performance, and this is perhaps the most lived-in work of his career. Sandler has already proved he's a capable dramatic actor (Punch-Drunk Love, Reign Over Me), and he flexes these chops capably here. Suitably, the character of George Simmons is a famous comedian who has long sacrificed his edge for awful movies made purely for money. With Sandler having starred in a number of awful movies made purely for the box office returns over recent years, it's clear he's having a little fun at the expense of his own career.

As with every Apatow movie, the cast gives the film a class-reunion sensibility, which makes the film a lot more fun for them than it is for an audience. As Ira Wright, a slimmed down Seth Rogen is in familiar territory; playing a poorly-masked version of his usual self. Leslie Mann (Apatow's wife) is also in familiar territory playing Laura, though she's still endearing. As Clarke, Laura's Australian husband, Eric Bana steals the show. Meanwhile the two offspring of Mann and Apatow play the children of Laura and Clarke, and Jason Schwartzman and the agonisingly unfunny Jonah Hill play Ira's wisecracking friends/roommates (a staple ingredient in Apatow films). A bunch of real celebrities (playing themselves) are given small cameos too, and they're fun to watch (Ray Romano's cameo is one of the film's most amusing moments).

In the case of Funny People, there's simply too much here for one movie. The plotting is unruly and flabby, as what seems to be a straightforward tale of morality and redemption becomes bogged down by unnecessary characters, formula and outright schmaltz. This isn't an inherently uninteresting or gruelling film (in fact the first hour is great), but the indefensible length turns a bold experiment into something that too often feels like an endurance contest.

4.8/10

Built on the philosophy that any line of Hasbro action figures will translate to the big screen with lucrative results (à la Michael Bay's Transformers), G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra is exactly the type of overblown, loud, mindless summer blockbuster it clearly aspired to be - a cartoonish actioner of ornately costumed good vs. evil with large explosions, plenty of CGI, very few nuances and some woeful acting. The filmmakers behind G.I. Joe visibly intended to replicate what a 10-year-old boy's imagination might conjure up while playing with his action figures, and the result is an action film highlight reel that's pleasing to the eye but not to any other organ. On this note it's an awful movie by any standard, but it's also a great deal of fun.

For those unaware, G.I. Joe is not a person - it's an organisation (a bit like the X-Men, except the G.I. Joes gain superpowers through technology and training rather than innate ability). General Hawk (Quaid) is the one who presides over this elite unit of warriors. The plot, so to speak, concerns the Joes whose mission is to defend a bunch of cutting edge NATO weapons from an evil organisation. The bad guys plan to steal these weapons and use them to destroy strategic global targets in an effort to (what else?)...take over the world! Of course, none of this detail matters because the whole storyline is an excuse to showcase action sequences that'll just be interrupted by a poorly-placed flashback or a silly joke.

G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra is virtually wall-to-wall action, delivered at such a brisk pace that the lull is very noticeable during brief breaks for exposition. The dialogue is expectedly risible, while the story is at once elemental and incomprehensible; jumping from 1640s France to the near future before zipping to Tokyo 20 years earlier, and so on. The screenplay (credited to five writers) is a clichéd mess of fanboy pandering (the famous "knowing is half the battle" line is of course spoken) which struggles to introduce a cumbersome roster of one-note characters while a world domination scheme unfolds that wouldn't pass muster in the most self-indulgent efforts of the James Bond franchise. The script also spends an absurd amount of time on flashbacks that help establish all the characters in the Joe universe. Half the bad guys were originally good guys, the Cobra back-story is turned into a chintzy soap opera, and the origins tale of Snake Eyes is compressed into a few short flashbacks (usually concerning fights between two kids). Even despite the attempts to offer an origins tale for most of the protagonists, they remain as plastic as the toys that inspired them. Sure, expecting character development in a G.I. Joe motion picture is foolhardy, but tension and excitement in action movies are tied to the viewer's ability to root for the protagonists - and it's hard to root for underdeveloped characters.

On the other hand, G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra is a devilishly fun and entertaining guilty pleasure. Why? Because it gets it - it knows the pedigree it wants to be, and it pursues it. All that's missing from this film is the hands of an 8-year-old on the screen making the characters move. Director Stephen Sommers only operates in one gear; infusing G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra with a blistering pace that makes it somewhat easier to overlook the film's numerous shortcomings. The atmosphere of unapologetic cartoonishness is exacerbated by the eye-rolling overuse of computer-generated special effects, with the pervasive lack of reality reinforcing the film's proud status as a big-budget summer blockbuster.

In any case, this film is far better than Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen - not because it's more creative or thoughtful (it isn't) but because Sommers is a more sure-handed director than Michael Bay. An audience may not have a great deal of emotional investment in the action, but at least it's comprehensible (the camera never experiences a sudden seizure). Admittedly, too, the action sequences are frequently exhilarating, and the inclusion of several better-than-expected set-pieces (like a breathless chase through the streets of Paris) allow the film to be far more fun than it should be. Yet the quality of the CGI is inconsistent (at times bordering on photorealism, at other times embarrassingly phoney), and the climax erodes interest by splicing together a few hundred concurrent battles instead of just one conflict. While far too long at almost two hours, G.I. Joe is at least not as excruciating or unending as Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen.

The only aspect of G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra which does resemble Transformers is the attempt on the part of the filmmakers to have it both ways - to make it as childish and blood-free as possible to draw in kids and obtain a PG-13 rating for maximum profits (though it still underperformed at the box office), while also including enough shooting and violence to keep the older demographic entertained. Like most of Sommers' other work, it's impossible to take the deeply stupid material seriously, and it's therefore jarring that there's a semi-serious tone to everything. It's like Team America minus the winks and overt humour.

Unsurprisingly, G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra features atrocious acting. Channing Tatum is the most glaring offender in the bad-acting department, with a performance that's beyond unconvincingly wooden. Sienna Miller is equally dreadful. An audience should become invested in the relationship between Tatum's Duke and Miller's Ana, but poor writing and lack of chemistry between the leads fails to sell the romance as anything more than a feeble plot element. Christopher Eccleston and Joseph Gordon-Levitt provide a few giggles; they understand they're playing cartoons, and have suitably hammed it up. Marlon Wayans is the film's comic relief, but he's only slightly amusing. Also in the cast is a stale Dennis Quaid, and a few actors from Sommers' The Mummy who are given small roles (Brendan Fraser, Arnold Vosloo and Kevin J. O'Connor).

The subtitle The Rise of Cobra is actually misleading - the Cobra doesn't bother to rise until the last few minutes. There are also loose ends dangling everywhere, which suggest the filmmakers were thinking of a sequel before producing this chapter. The film is therefore not a standalone entity but a tease for future instalments, which makes it an unsatisfying standalone experience before those sequels have been made.

If any film of 2009 has suffered bad buzz and worse marketing, it's G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra. The result is nothing excruciating, but at its best moments it's still entirely forgettable. Then again, the 10-year-old boys for whom the movie is tailor-made aren't seeking Oscar-calibre performances or anything thought-provoking. They want eye-candy and no-holds-barred action, which G.I. Joe delivers at mind-numbing pace. Is it perfect? Fuck no. It's rubbish. But it's still fun.

5.3/10

At the time of its release in 1978, National Lampoon's Animal House was the most successful comedy in history; proving that crude humour could be just as lucrative as space opera and shark action. Additionally, just as Jaws and Star Wars gave birth to the brain-dead blockbuster pedigree, this classic film helped reshape the comedy genre, and influenced future comedies for decades to come (Porky's, Old School, and the American Pie movies, to name a few). Like all the greatest comedies in history, Animal House is timeless. Despite the film being aped ad nauseam for decades, the general style still feels oddly fresh, the main set-pieces remain very funny, and the movie as a whole has stood the test of time.

In terms of plot...well, there frankly isn't a solid plot to speak of - Animal House is simple in premise as it aspires to be one prolonged string of bad-taste fraternity gags which are underpinned by a fun, earnest party atmosphere. Set in the fictional Faber College back in 1962, the film essentially chronicles the rivalry between two student fraternities. The Omegas are rich, arrogant jocks who control the student council and win over all the pretty girls. Meanwhile, there's the Delta Tau Chi fraternity - a bunch of losers with appalling grades who hold court in their dilapidated frat-house and are interested solely in the excesses of rowdy young men (i.e. alcohol, drugs, and, of course, sex). The increasingly disreputable behaviour of the Deltas brings shame to the academic institution, and Dean Wormer (Vernon) will do anything to get rid of them. The Omegas, naturally, are eager to help.

The straightforward premise of Animal House is employed as a launch-pad for a fusillade of comedic set-pieces. There's hardly a dull moment as the film continuously moves from one iconic scene to the next. Such memorable sequences include the toga party and the disastrous homecoming parade. The humour varies wildly, from the delicate (the masterful end credits which reveal the fate of the protagonists) to the slapstick (the golf lesson) and the cartoonish (the virginal Larry, agonising over whether to rape his comatose date, is harangued by miniature angel and devil advocates). Animal House is by no means one long-lasting howl, and a few more juicy laughs would've been beneficial, but it still has its funny moments and it's never tedious. Helmer John Landis offers razor-sharp direction too. Landis had the right sense of humour and energy required to conduct this nuanced symphony of wild college antics.

The only real weakness of Animal House is that the film has literally no direction or purpose, though that's probably what made it work. The cast is a large ensemble with no true lead character or anchor, and the script (more or less comprised of vignettes) was thought to be a total mess. And yet, the film worked. Go figure.

It's a miracle that Animal House actually exists. Back in 1977, director John Landis and writers Harold Ramis, Douglas Kenney and Chris Miller were a bunch of young writers for a popular college magazine with no experience in the film industry. It was Ivan Reitman who eventually gave the boys the big break they needed. And even once the film was given the green light, it was difficult to hire top actors. An ensemble of predominantly unknown actors was assembled instead. Luckily, the film was a success, and it helped catapult a lot of the cast and crew to fame.

In the cast you'll find such names as Karen Allen (years before she appeared in Raiders of the Lost Ark), Tom Hulce (many years prior to Amadeus), and even Kevin Bacon in his film debut. The actors all played it funny, but played it real - they each embodied a character rather than a caricature (though the characterisations aren't that deep). Also in the cast is Stephen Furst as an overweight freshman nobody wants in their fraternity, Peter Riegert as an excessive drinker, Bruce McGill as the in-house biker, James Widdoes as the Delta House President, and Tim Matheson whose character acts like the intellectual backbone of the Delta group (especially when it comes to their ingenious schemes). However it was Donald Sutherland who made this movie possible to produce. Universal had been growing weary of the casting choices, and they were thinking of pulling the plug if they couldn't cast a famous actor of the time. Sutherland stepped in and had his scenes as Jennings (the erotic, pot-smoking professor) shot in two days. And in return he agreed to be paid $50,000 (instead of a percentage of the film's profits - which would have actually earned him a few million dollars).

Without a doubt, the standout of Animal House is the late John Belushi, whose performance here (along with his famous turn in The Blues Brothers) remains a jewel in his tragically brief career. The undisputed heart and soul of the movie, Belushi's scene-stealing, beer-swilling slob Bluto is the immoral hub of the Delta fraternity. Special mention must also be made of John Vernon as Dean Wormer. Vernon is patronising and authoritative; truly one of cinema's most quintessential villains.

In the decades since its release, National Lampoon's Animal House has developed into a pop culture milestone. Its gross-out humour is quite tame compared to its contemporary imitators and the movie is probably more of an exercise in nostalgia, but it remains one hell of a fun, highly amusing ride. And, like all great comedies, it keeps getting better with each new viewing.

8.2/10

Telefon is an entertaining Charles Bronson vehicle - nothing more, nothing less. It lacks brains, it's a tad slapdash and it's an extremely predictable affair, but it's quotable and thoroughly enjoyable as well. With renowned action director Don Siegel at the helm (best known for the first Dirty Harry), Telefon is packed with nail-biting suspense and exciting eruptions of action, all the while threading together an engaging plotline (though it's nothing too deep). With the focus primarily on narrative velocity rather than compelling drama, this is a very serviceable spy thriller supported by an intriguing premise.

The story involves a communist zealot known as Dalchimsky (Pleasance) who plots to sabotage détente by activating deep-cover agents in the United States. Said agents were planted by the Soviet Union at the height of the Cold War but were never utilised, and are primed to execute suicidal missions to blow up key military sites on telephonic phone cue. Military intelligence officer Major Grigori Borzov (Bronson) is recruited by the Soviets to eliminate Dalchimsky before his actions trigger World War III. Oh, and Grigori is accompanied by an American agent named Barbara (Remick). With the continuing political conflict and military tension between America and Russia in the late '70s and throughout the 1980s, it's kinda heart-warming to witness a movie released in 1977 which features a Russian agent and an American agent working side-by-side.

At its most basic level, Telefon is pleasant escapism. The script was penned by the screenwriting duo of Sterling Silliphant and Peter Hyams, based on the novel by Walter Wager. Though the story is considered by some to be beyond the realms of reality, the driving force behind the plot (i.e. activating agents using drug-induced hypnosis) isn't as far-fetched as some of the actual schemes concocted by the overzealous CIA and KGB during the Cold War. The script's only weak spots are in the characters and the construction of events. Initially, Grigori and Barbara are hostile towards one another. An audience would expect these two to somehow end up together, and we get that pay-off, but it seems merely perfunctory rather than natural. Granted, it's probably unreasonable to expect a beautifully-written relationship in a film like this. But if said relationship is unmotivated and naff, then there's a big problem.

Here's the major problem with Telefon: it's entirely without a satisfying final act. At about a hundred minutes in length, the film is fairly long considering the '70s action-thriller pedigree. And during these hundred minutes, there's a lot of building up with very little pay-off. Walter Wages' novel contained an excellent climax which could've become an effective action set-piece in this screen adaptation, but alas the film fizzles out with a whimper. The demise of the main villain is underwhelming, and the story is wrapped up irritatingly quickly. In all likelihood, budget constraints prevented a big climax from being lensed. It's disappointing, to say the least.

Director Don Siegel handles the action competently, but this is not among his best efforts (a few terrific set-pieces notwithstanding, there's some pretty dull filmmaking on display here). Lalo Schifrin also provides a fantastic score which suitably amplifies tension during key scenes. As for the acting...not unlike the sleeper agents of the picture, the stoic Charles Bronson gives a strong impression of deep hypnosis throughout. During his career, Bronson rarely acted - he simply inhabited a film with his particular presence, which frequently played off his infamous Death Wish persona. Donald Pleasence fares a lot better as the main villain of the film. He oozes menace, and is especially sinister while uttering a few lines from the particular Robert Frost poem which triggers a sleeper agent. Lee Remick's performance is impassive, and she's an absurd love interest for Bronson. Also in the cast is Tyne Daly who's embarrassing as the overexcitable CIA computer expert (hilariously, the computers she uses literally have a brain of their own) and whose role feels at once redundant and underdone.

Bronson enthusiasts will almost certainly find a lot to enjoy about Telefon - it's a fun spy thriller with Bronson in Russian Death Wish mode. The film was later parodied in The Naked Gun, and Tarantino used the "trigger" phrase ("The woods are lovely, dark and deep...") in his 2007 movie Death Proof.

6.2/10

The Evil That Men Do is just a Charles Bronson actioner made strictly for the star's unfinicky fan-base. As to be expected from such a label, this film is a violent action-fest with minimal supporting story. And the fact that this particular Bronson vehicle nominally concerns itself with the violation of human rights merely makes the violence juicier. Bronson featured in some of the seminal action movies of the 1960s (The Dirty Dozen and The Great Escape, to name a few), but by the late '70s and early '80s his résumé became blotted with sloppy actioners that basically reworked his Death Wish persona over and over again. Cheap and slapdash, The Evil That Men Do can only muster meagre thrills, with Bronson on autopilot and J. Lee Thompson's direction strictly by the numbers. It's enjoyably violent, but there's precious little else of interest and it's nothing you haven't seen before.

Bronson plays hardboiled former hitman Holland who's enjoying retirement in the Cayman Islands. However, he ends his self-imposed retirement when he learns that an old friend of his has died at the hand of notorious sadist Clement Molloch (Maher). Molloch is known as The Docter, and he's renowned for utilising his skills to torture rather than heal. Accompanied by the family of his deceased friend and a barrage of Bronson-esque weapons, Holland sets out to execute his one final mark.

While The Evil That Men Do has a terrific concept and tackles some fascinating issues, the film is just an excuse for Bronson to violently wipe out foreign-based scum - it's an exploitative actioner which hangs its coat on genuine issues. There are a number of ways the filmmakers could've made this story more interesting. For instance, the film could've highlighted the similarities between Holland and Molloch (Holland is, after all, a contract killer who executes targets for money, much like Molloch who's paid by governments to conceive torture techniques). Holland's revenge machinations could've also been as elaborate as possible. Alas, the film never exploits this potential as it's instead determined to be stripped-down and narratively simplistic.

Obnoxiously poor writing is another critical fault of The Evil That Men Do. Holland initially refuses the assignment to kill Molloch, but inexplicably changes his mind and works for no charge. The character of Rhiana (Saldana) calls on Holland to take action and kill Molloch, but chastises him as a cold-blooded killer when he begins to eliminate his targets. Meanwhile the script's utter stupidity is downright insulting. For example Rhiana's daughter is brought into such a dangerous situation for no real purpose other than to be taken hostage. And (apart from cheap theatrics), there was absolutely no reason for Holland to hang Molloch's chauffeur off a window ledge (why not handle it more discretely and avoid attention?). There's also the matter of the dialogue. Lines such as "He was wearing a bulletproof vest" are idiotic and contrived. More intelligent filmmakers would've found a way to show this rather than resorting to inane remarks like this.

Considering it's fervently a no-holds-barred action film, The Evil That Men Do is pretty deficient in the action department. It's as if the filmmakers attempted to transcend the routine action movie clichés by focusing more on story and character development. But the problem is that neither of these elements truly work. The story suffers from inconsistencies (as previously outlined), and even the simplest opportunities to inject life into these characters are bypassed. The characters instead remain cardboard creations we never get to know or understand. Holland never talks about his inner feelings, nor does he explain what motivated him to become a killer for hire. Rhiana is openly disgusted by Holland time and time again, but later begins feeling affection towards him mysteriously.

J. Lee Thompson collaborated with Bronson for numerous films (most notably Death Wish 4), and his direction here is standard in every sense of the word. The awful music and tawdry production values further undermine his efforts (a very obvious dummy is used in one sequence, for example). Bronson manages to look cool while on the prowl, but his line delivery is flat and he's just playing another thinly-veiled version of himself. Furthermore, there's nothing intense or intimidating about Holland. Joseph Maher as Molloch is forgettable and not sinister enough, while Theresa Saldana is pretty terrible in the thankless role of Rhiana.

Like many Bronson vehicles of the 1980s, The Evil That Men Do is just a turkey shoot with car chases and shootouts executed in a perfunctory manner. At least we're left with a handful of fun, campy moments, including a sequence during which Bronson lures one villain into a trap by suggesting a threesome, and a scene where Bronson hides under a bed while Molloch's sister has sex with her lesbian lover. If you're a Bronson fan who craves more movies of the Death Wish ilk, you'll probably be entertained by this film. If you dislike Bronson, this flick won't change your mind.

3.6/10

The Mechanic can best be described as an investigative character study of a "mechanic" (or hitman, as they're more commonly called). This second creative collaboration of Charles Bronson and director Michael Winner is a tense 1970s action-thriller that excites with tenacious stunt-work and engrosses with a restrained screenplay. It's also a fairly smart motion picture which delves into the sacrifice, methodology and motivation of being a hitman, in addition to exploring the mindset required for the procedural execution of a target and the dangers inherent in the work.

The movie begins with a glorious fifteen-minute sequence that's completely dialogue-free and establishes a cinematic tension that's adhered to throughout. For this opening sequence, the camera observes hitman Arthur Bishop (Bronson) as he strategically carries out the elimination of a mark. Once Bishop's (flamingly successful) mission is complete, the film explores the day-to-day workings of the protagonist. Bishop is a very meticulous contract killer; he approaches each new assignment with detailed precision to ensure the cleanest outcome. Into his guarded, isolated life enters young Steve McKenna (Vincent); the son of his latest target. The mechanic reluctantly accepts McKenna as his protégé, but the mob that Bishop works for is not happy about an outsider being recruited without their consent.

The Mechanic is a steadily paced action-thriller that leisurely develops its characters (mainly through showing, not telling) while offering chest-thumping sequences of confrontation and chase. Director Winner (who later collaborated with Bronson for 1974's Death Wish) was often criticised for his savage staging and vulgar sensibilities. All these decades later, however, these aforementioned elements generate a brilliantly authentic, visceral edge. Winner handles the material with tremendous zeal, staging slick action set-pieces that range from high-speed pursuits to explosive shootouts before the movie eventually culminates in a terrific double-twist ending. In addition to this, the pair of cinematographers (Richard H. Kline and Robert Paynter) pull off outstanding work. The exquisitely-photographed opening sequence is a triumph, and there are several memorable images throughout the film as well. However the movie isn't deep enough to be an effective character study. It delves into the hitman professional adequately, but we remain less enlightened about the man pulling the trigger - Bishop's motivations and desires are too vague. Crucially, there isn't enough action for the movie to be considered a pure actioner. Ultimately the fusion of action and character study is somewhat ham-fisted.

At the centre of the film is Charles Bronson, and he submits one of the best and most nuanced performances of his career. Bronson brings a tough guy physicality and stoic silence to his role, making us believe he can kill targets with ease. Alongside Bronson is Jan Michael Vincent. His delivery may be rather stiff, but he possesses an excellent natural arrogance. One should also keep an eye open for Jill Ireland (Bronson's wife) playing a hooker who gives Bishop an artificial bond which lets him believe he's tenderly loved.

All in all, The Mechanic is a satisfying offering of action and thrills. It's an economic blend of cool characters, great outbursts of action and an intriguing plotline. It falls short of greatness due to the characters being fairly underdeveloped, but it remains entertaining enough. The film was remade in 2010.

7.3/10

Bruce Robinson's Withnail & I is a doped-out British comedy spun from autobiographical threads about two unemployed actors living in London during 1969. This cult classic is devoid of a real plot and is shot in the simple, relatively dull style of a first-time director struggling to find his footing, yet it's a wonderfully-scripted portrait of English living which chugs forward on the strength of its dialogue and primary actors.

Taking place in the late 1960s, Withnail & I is the story of two down-on-their-luck actors: Withnail (Grant) and the "I" of the film, Marwood (McGann). They have an agent somewhere, but he doesn't seem to care much about them. Desperate to escape the tedium of their uneventful lives, Withnail and Marwood head to the countryside, borrowing a cottage owned by Withnail's eccentric Uncle Monty (Griffiths). However, Monty's little cottage is more rustic than expected, and (since they don't have much money) they become short on firewood and food. At various times throughout the weekend, they're forced to deal with inclement weather, a horny bull, and provincial folk who aren't as friendly or hospitable as they had hoped.

Withnail & I is a screen adaptation of Robinson's own novel. Before the novel was published, a copy of the manuscript was passed onto a wealthy friend of Robinson's who in turn paid the writer to adapt it into a screenplay. Robinson was subsequently urged to direct the movie as well (which was in part funded by George Harrison). Withnail & I is largely autobiographical - it's based on real people and events from Robinson's life. The "I" character is naturally based on himself, while the character of Withnail was based on the late Vivian MacKerrell (an eccentric actor with little or no ambition). MacKerrell and Robinson were friends who lived a life together similar to that which is depicted in the film. Uncle Monty is loosely based on amorous Italian film director Franco Zeffirelli, whom Robinson received unwanted attention from when he was a young actor.

In essence, the movie doesn't offer a great deal plot-wise, but that isn't Robinson's point - the writer-director was attempting to evoke a feeling derived from his own memories of being a directionless young man in the late '60s with grand ambitions but no place to go. The minimal plot which does exist merely functions as a framework on which Robinson can create the sensation of the lives of Withnail and Marwood. This is a character study rather than a plot-driven affair. Withnail & I is also a distinctively British movie. A number of expressions used throughout the feature are loaded with typical, irresistible British cockiness.

Thankfully, Withnail & I survived dissention from certain studio executives who perceived the film as an unmitigated disaster. By no means was this film an overnight success, but it has garnered an avid cult following in the decades since its theatrical release (particularly in Britain). Like all the best cult movies, Withnail & I offers line upon line of quotable dialogue. On first viewing, the film is a somewhat ponderous affair about two dislikeable characters. But subsequent viewings unveil something you failed to catch previously. Robinson's rich screenplay (which earned an Evening Standard British Film Award) is difficult to fully absorb with a single viewing. The film's entertainment value lies in its texture - it's an often funny comedy, but it's without discernible jokes and it's short on set-pieces (the dignified exceptions being the urine test, the fishing expedition and a sequence involving a chicken). Withnail & I gets plenty of comic mileage from the rapid-fire banter, the colourfully-drawn characters, and the intermittent Monty Python-esque moments. If there's a fault, it's that it occasionally grows dreary due to the monotonous filmmaking style adopted by Robinson. Pacing issues also stem from this.

Performances across the board are beyond convincing. This was the feature film debut of Richard E. Grant whose wonderfully sharp, witty performance gained him a great deal of attention, and propelled him to fame. Paul McGann (another unknown as the time) does a fine job of playing the calmer Marwood without ever fading into the background. Grant and McGann are an ideal screen couple, and the two seem so immersed in their roles that it never feels like they're actually acting. Richard Griffiths offers excellent support as Uncle Monty, while Ralph Brown also contributes brilliantly as Danny the drug dealer.

Shot on a low budget with a cast of mostly unknown actors (of the time), Withnail & I is a triumph of personal vision. It has a ring of truth to it that most films lack, with situations that are realistic and warm characters that lack exaggerations and therefore feel like people you've met. The incredibly witty script and a once-in-a-lifetime combination of Paul McGann & Richard E. Grant makes this film essential viewing.

8.5/10

The tagline reads "Rock N' Load", the synopsis suggests an '80s-style Die Hard emulation, and the star and director is none other than action guru Dolph Lundgren. With the above in mind, how could you possibly pass up the opportunity to watch Command Performance? Of course, no-one would watch such a movie in the hope of experiencing intelligent plotting, witty dialogue or anything remotely cerebral...this film instead exists to assuage viewers craving action. Command Performance fortunately delivers virtually everything an action-lover is seeking, while also supplying very little of the hindrances one would expect to put up with (there are only minor plot holes, the action is usually grounded, the acting is pretty good, and the dialogue isn't too dumb). This is definitely one of the Dolphster's best movies.

Throughout the lead-up to this movie's release, it was hailed as "Die Hard at a Rock Concert". Lo and behold, Command Performance is precisely that. The story concerns a terrorist takeover of a Moscow charity concert; an event attended by the Russian President (Shopov). The President and his family are taken hostage (along with a number of other important people), and the heavily armed terrorists demand a substantial amount of ransom money. The task of saving the day is left to a heavy metal drummer named Joe (Lundgren) and a young Russian security agent (Baharov), both of whom managed to evade the terrorists' grasp.

It doesn't take long for Command Performance to hit its stride. After barely 10 minutes (in which slender characterisations and requisite fragments of plot are set up), the terrorists take over the concert in the most violent fashion imaginable (innocent civilians are even slaughtered!). In typical Die Hard tradition, the film then proceeds to alternate between bursts of ultra-violence and exposition. The laundry list of Die Hard clichés is also present, ranging from the inept law enforcement officials to the hero who can only endure flesh-wounds when shot, and even the bad guys who are unable to shoot straight. However, to be fair, this is all part of the '80s vibe. Right from the outset it's in full '80s mode: cheesy rock music, frequently hilarious one-liners, extreme violence, one-note villains, hostage situations and snobby journalists. Amusingly, the Russian characters are even given clichéd Russian names - there's Oleg, Mikhail, Alexi and so on.

One thing's for sure: Dolph Lundgren can direct the hell out of an action sequence. But for his previous work, Dolph has relied on irritating visual gimmicks, such as flash, shaky cam and rapid cutting (like Tony Scott, except not that extreme). While Dolph and cinematographer Marc Windon employ these techniques for Command Performance, they're only a mild bother (it isn't as indecipherable as a Michael Bay film). As a matter of fact, this style generates a welcome amount of kinetic energy. For the most part the movie looks very competent (especially considering the low budget) and Dolph has the good grace to ensure a viewer always knows what's going on during the action. The main attraction of Command Performance is, naturally, the promise of bloody violence. And boy, Dolph doesn't disappoint. Throats are slit, blood squibs explode, and there are big explosions. The spirit of the '80s lives on! Dolph is simply one of the best action directors of the 2000s - his films are refreshingly gritty, violent and old-school.

In addition to directing and starring, Dolph Lundgren also conceived the story and wrote the script with Steve Latshaw. The script plays out more or less how one would expect it to - there are laughable contrivances (the security is surprisingly low for a concert being attended by the fucking Russian President!), and the outcome is predictable. It all comes with the territory. However, considering this is a throwback to the action films of the '80s, there's potential tied to the concert setting that's never realised in Command Performance. For instance, there are rock concert clichés which would've made amusing one-liners (some of the more obvious ones are used, however), and there are instruments that could cause a satisfyingly gory death (though Dolph does at one stage kill a guy with a drumstick).

Within Command Performance one will also experience some catchy music - Melissa Smith performs one of her own songs, and Dolph is given a number of opportunities to flaunt his drumming skills (one of the reasons he decided to make this movie). All other technical credits are excellent - Adam Nordén's score is suitably intense and thrilling, while Peter Hollywood's editing is of a uniformly high standard.

On the acting front, there's the Dolphster playing his usual screen persona. Dolph never displays a great degree of emotional depth, but his stoic line delivery works in the context of this type of action movie. He's certainly more skilled than, say, Steven Seagal or Jean-Claude Van Damme. Melissa Smith's acting skills aren't exactly brilliant (she's more of a singer than an actress), but she accomplishes all that's required of her without coming off as grating. Dave Legeno is disappointing as the main villain of the film. His Russian accent is flat, and his performance is instantly forgettable instead of boundlessly menacing. Command Performance needed a stronger villain (after all, Die Hard wouldn't be half as good without Alan Rickman). The rest of the cast fares better - Hristo Shopov is an amiable Russian President, and Zahary Baharov proves a worthy partner for Dolph's Joe. The camaraderie between Baharov and Lundgren gives the movie a nice spark. One should also keep an eye out for Ida Lundgren (Dolph's daughter), who appears as one of the President's daughters (the older one).

Dolph is fully aware of the type of movies that'll placate his unfinicky fanbase, and with strong creative control he has delivered one hell of an awesome ride here. It's a shame that (like the majority of Dolph's recent films) Command Performance bypassed cinemas, since it's one of the purest and most enjoyable action films of recent years. It rocks! (Excuse the pun)

7.4/10

In spite of only earning a mere $43 million at the global box office, 2006's Crank became an instantaneous cult hit. This cult status ensured that writer-directors Mark Neveldine and Brian Taylor would be given the chance to produce a sequel, which has at long last arrived in the form of Crank: High Voltage. This is merely a celebration of action-comedy; a barely coherent collection of stunts, fights, plot absurdities, profanity-laced dialogue and sex...all set at breakneck pace. It's a grindhouse film for the MTV generation, and it's one hell of a rip-snorting rollercoaster ride in which Neveldine and Taylor push their movie to the limit and beyond (with absolutely no regard for restraint or basic standards of common decency).

For those who recall, Chev Chelios (Statham) "died" at the end of Crank - he fell from a helicopter and landed on the pavement several thousand feet below. But in this sequel, he's alive and well. Clearly, the best explanation as to how Chev survived his fall is no explanation whatsoever. The moment he hits the pavement, he's hauled away by a group of Chinese thugs and taken to a seedy laboratory. His heart is removed and replaced with an artificial heart in order to keep him alive so his other organs can be harvested. Needless to say, Chev is unwilling to be a mystery donor. After busting out of the operating room, he embarks on a hunt for his missing heart while killing assorted forms of scum along the way.

This premise sets up another 85 minute of insanity similar to the first film, with Chev engaging in a wild orgy of violence and sex. His trustworthy doctor (Yoakam) is once again on the other end of a phone line, and informs Chev that he has to keep his artificial heart powered in order to sustain his citywide rampage. The electricity becomes derived from all manner of sources - tasers, car batteries, powerlines, friction, and so on. This contrivance also leads to an over-the-top cartoonishness, and any semblance of realism is quickly drained from the material.

Realistically, the only way to follow up on the outrageousness of Crank without creating a pure re-tread is to push the envelope. The envelope isn't merely pushed; it's blown wide open. Crank: High Voltage actually makes the original Crank seem like a safe, studio-friendly venture. Lionsgate evidently didn't set any restrictions for Neveldine and Taylor to obey, so the filmmakers were free to turn the movie into a masterpiece of camera gymnastics and dark comedy. The notion that these films are cinematic video games is pushed even harder (especially by Mike Patton's score), and the movie once again rests on the shoulders of Jason Statham and Amy Smart (who are apparently game for any kind of public debauchery the writing/directing duo can cook up). The phrase "over-the-top" is perhaps an insulting understatement, much like the words "morally bankrupt". Thank God it's also endlessly entertaining, and easily one of the most hilarious movies of 2009.

In spite of my better judgement, this reviewer adores the Crank movies. Crank: High Voltage may even be superior to its predecessor simply because it's even more energetic and inventive. It's also one of the craziest, most ridiculous movies ever made - and that ain't an insult. Just when you believe things can't get any crazier, Neveldine and Taylor take another unpredictable turn. For instance, there are a few newscast segments featuring John De Lancie as an anchorman whose bitingly satirical anecdotes are a highlight. There's also a wonderfully executed parody of the old Godzilla movies (featuring exaggerated puppet versions of Chelios and his opponent) included at the most random time plainly because the kitchen sink had been tossed in and the filmmakers were struggling to find something else. But since Crank: High Voltage is in full excess mode, not everything works. For example, a superfluous dream/flashback sequence with a young Chev and his mother on a British talk show brings the movie to a grinding halt and temporarily hinders the pacing.

Neveldine and Taylor's shooting style is varied and frenzied. The movie looks remarkably good considering its low-budget origins, not to mention the fact that it was primarily shot with consumer digital cameras easily obtainable at your local electronics store. Like the first movie, the handheld shooting style allows a viewer to see the world from Chev's perspective. The editing is rapid (probably about two cuts per second on average) and a wide variety of visual tweaks are employed (freeze frames, comic book-like captions, cartoon sound effects, and even pixilation to "obscure" supposedly graphic sexual acts). But like the original movie, the plot and characters are elementary; the type of stuff found in direct-to-DVD offerings. Also, too, since this sequel adopts a lot the same cinematic techniques of its predecessor, as well as the general template, it does feel derivative from time to time.

Crank: High Voltage works as wonderfully as it does primarily because Jason Statham is so pitch-perfect; merging bona fide action star with genuinely sharp comic timing. Statham is an effective straight man doing what straight men do best - ignoring the silliness around him, and approaching everything without a wink or a smile.
There are a bunch of returning faces from the first Crank, most notable of which is Amy Smart who's terrific as Chev's public-sex-prone girlfriend Eve. Dwight Yoakam is another highlight as Chev's hedonistic, amoral friend and medical advisor. Efren Ramirez also returns, playing the brother of his character from the original film (how clever). The most surprising addition to the cast is an utterly unrecognisable and underused David Carradine, who's hidden under age make-up in a weird, hysterical and brief riff on his old Kung Fu movies. Keep an eye out for Corey Haim as well, who amps up the sleaze for his minor role.

Critic-proof movies are all the rage in this current cinematic climate. Crank: High Voltage is pretty much critic-proof. If you find yourself hating this film (a perfectly reasonable reaction), you're probably not the audience for this type of flick. While this argument could be used for countless other brain-dead summer actioners, the Crank films stand out due to one very crucial factor: they have balls. They're unapologetically R-rated action films which focus on the gore and are low on silly CGI. If you loved the first Crank, you're likely to enjoy this sequel just as much.

Be sure to stay throughout the credits for an assortment of bloopers.

7.5/10