Reviews by PvtCaboose91

Schwarzenegger plays Colonel John Matrix (complying with the First Law of '80s Action Movies, this is one awesome name), a retired special ops soldier now living in a secluded cabin with his daughter, Jenny (Alyssa Milano). Matrix believes his old life of violence, gunfire and post-mortem one-liners is over, but a former dictator is unwilling to let him retire in peace. This dictator is Arius (Dan Hedaya), who enlists the help of a psychotic soldier named Bennett (Vernon Wells), who was once part of Matrix's unit, to enact a plan to regain power in the third-world hellhole of Val Verde. They wish for Matrix to do their bidding and assassinate the country's president, and they kidnap Jenny to convince him to comply with their instructions. But there's one thing they forgot: nobody fucks with John Matrix.

Although screenwriter Jeph Loeb originally envisioned Commando as the story of a former Israeli soldier who had renounced violence (with Kiss lead singer Gene Simmons intended to play the character), Steven E. de Souza drastically reworked the script to specifically tailor the movie for Schwarzenegger, a rising star at the time. See, new 20th Century Fox head Barry Diller was desperate to put Schwarzenegger as the lead in one of their movies, prematurely setting a release date, allocating a $12 million budget, and ordering writers to spool through oodles of unproduced screenplays to find the most suitable candidate for the muscular behemoth, wanting to start production immediately. Sensing potential in Commando, de Souza was hired to transform the premise into a goofy, gloriously violent action extravaganza in as little time as possible, with the studio commencing set construction before the script was even remotely finished. Plus, with the filmmakers wanting to compete with the incredibly successful Rambo: First Blood Part II, the body count for the climax dramatically increased during filming, with Arius's security detail growing exponentially. Does it make sense for the incompetent dictator to have so many loyal soldiers? Nope. Does it matter? Fuck no!

Commando works on almost every level, but the script makes it such a gem. Classic one-liners include "Let off some steam, Bennett" (after Matrix impales Bennett with a steam pipe), "I eat Green Berets for breakfast. And right now I'm very hungry" and the classic "I let him go" (after dropping a poor bloke off a cliff). Matrix can also smell enemies coming, and he informs a plane stewardess that his deceased 'friend' (whose neck he just broke) is "dead tired." Gold. Pure gold. These are just some of the many one-liners, puns and badass phrases that characters utter throughout the film, making the consciously cheesy dialogue second in volume to the number of bullets fired during the comparatively scant 90-minute runtime. Speaking of the bullets, the action scenes are a hoot, with Lester showing his unmatched talent for staging enjoyable shootouts and set pieces. The Director's Cut also restores a few violent action beats that should never have been trimmed in the first place. Additionally, Commando has a recognisable visual wit, with its iconic arming-up montage on the beach that is guaranteed to bring a smirk to your face. The original script's climactic fight between Matrix and Bennett involved speedboats, landmines and Naval gunnery ships firing artillery, but with money running out after Matrix killed over a hundred pissant soldiers (in the same mansion where the climax for Beverly Hills Cop was filmed), the memorable skirmish ended up taking place in a basement. Bennett's madness reaches a hilarious fever pitch during this sequence, even announcing, "I'm going to shoot you between the balls!"

The acting is spot-on right across the board. Schwarzenegger is enormously likeable and funny, and he is a tremendous physical presence with his gigantic muscles. Arnie reportedly performed nearly all of his own stunts (including jumping through windows, doing gruelling fights, and hanging onto a plane's landing gear as it travelled at 65 miles per hour), and the price was merely a dislocated shoulder and some stitches...what a guy. Commando is the movie that created Schwarzenegger's action movie persona, establishing him as a wisecracking one-man army. At the time of this movie's release in 1985, audiences knew the bodybuilder and former Mr. Universe as a futuristic cyborg and a loin-cloth-clad ancient warrior, not an action hero. He had already uttered the immortal "I'll be back," and Commando promptly announces its self-aware silliness when Arnie exclaims, "I'll be back, Bennett!" as the villains drop him at the airport.

Australian actor Vernon Wells delivers a classic performance as the flamboyant, chainmail-wearing Bennett. The actor was fresh from Mad Max 2 and Weird Science when he stepped into the role, and he is right at home with the goofy material. The banter between Wells and Arnie is downright iconic. Meanwhile, as the token female, Rae Dawn Chong confidently fulfils her duties, while Milano is easily likeable as Matrix's daughter. Plus, Dan Hedaya, who was starring in the sitcom Cheers at the time, makes for an effective, if not exactly sinister, villain. Even Bill Duke has a small but memorable role as a former Green Beret who works for Arius, and the ensuing fight scene with Matrix - complete with them breaking through a wall and interrupting a couple during an intimate moment - is one for the ages. Another unforgettable addition to the cast is David Patrick Kelly as the sneering Sully, who ends up deeply regretting the things he says to Matrix.

De Souza's screenplay is pitch-perfect, Lester's direction is immaculate, Matthew F. Leonetti's cinematography is beautiful, the editing is sharp, and the score by James Horner is one of the coolest you will ever hear, giving even more power to the film's distinct visual style. Commando is a guilty pleasure, and it is a very well-made and deliriously entertaining one. The action genre reached its pinnacle in 1985 with this picture, and no other movie has been able to nail this immaculate combination of violence, awesome one-liners and absurdity like this vintage Arnie vehicle. Flicks like this are also an endangered species due to the contemporary evolution of the genre necessitated by dismissive critics. With action movies becoming increasingly more complex with fewer action set pieces, Commando is a reminder of a simpler era of moviemaking. Sure, it is a dumb movie, but those who deride it with such harsh words are not approaching the film in the intended spirit. Unfortunately, a planned sequel never materialised despite de Souza writing a draft and Frank Darabont doing revisions on it. However, the script is available online, and it is a highly recommended read.

Do not believe the snobby, self-important film connoisseurs who claim that Citizen Kane is the best and most essential film ever - Commando is the film you MUST see!!!

I love this movie. I love it with an unhealthy obsession.

10/10

Every review of Observe and Report will most likely mention Paul Blart: Mall Cop at some stage. The connection between these movies is understandable since both were released during 2009 and both provided satirical portrayals of mall cops. But while Paul Blart was a genial, good-natured, family-friendly story of a blue-collar schlub, Observe and Report is dark, demented, twisted, perverse and absolutely not for a family audience. Logically, one would think that R-rated content would afford an edge which was sorely missing from the bland Paul Blart: Mall Cop, but Observe and Report is merely smutty for the sake of smut, and it's a far worse film than its PG-rated counterpart. A note to filmmakers: movies about mall cops are destined to fail.

Observe and Report concerns Ronnie Barnhardt (Rogen); a shopping mall security guard who, at the beginning of the movie, makes it his duty to catch a flasher who has been exposing his privates to females in the vicinity. Above all, Ronnie is determined to protect vacuous, slutty make-up counter girl Brandi (Faris). Meanwhile, he barely gives the time of day to a temporarily disabled and good-natured coffee vendor (Wolfe) who takes a romantic shine to the mall cop. With Ronnie obsessively hunting the flasher and desperate to join the police force, he embarks on a campaign of terror...this leads to a date-rape (he has sex with an almost unconscious Brandi who's drunk and vomiting), smashing local kids over the head with their own skateboards, labelling an Asian mall worker 'Saddam Hussein', and some excessively violent - and pointless - showdowns with cops & villains.

Ronnie is a mere clod. How he managed to get the job as a security guard, let alone head of security, is mystifying considering his many psychological difficulties. Ronnie's answer to any problem is to yell, curse, punch or shoot (occasionally at the same time). A number of scenes involve the mall cop attacking people or attempting to single-handedly defeat a horde of police officers in almost surrealistic scenes of obnoxiously unfunny ultra-violence. How the filmmakers thought this Neanderthal was humorous is a mystery. Worse, writer-director Jody Hill made an absolute howler of a decision to position Ronnie as the hapless hero of the hour who gains respect from mall workers and the police force through indefensible actions, which an audience is encouraged to laugh at and enjoy rather than justifiably abhor.

This could have been all well and good, if only the film was genuinely funny. Observe and Report dishes out black comedy and gross-out humour...only without the comedy or humour. At one stage in the movie, Ronnie is being told that he was unsuccessful at getting a job as a police officer. As it turns out, a number of people were listening in as Ronnie received the news. One of these people soon enters the room and proclaims "I thought this was going to be funny, but actually it's just really sad". I can't think of any better words I could use to describe this movie...

It's difficult to tell what kind of comedy that writer-director Hill was aiming for. Observe and Report is a dark, witless dark comedy that appears to confuse acts of violence, racism and rape for humour. Hill also relies heavily on foul language and gratuitous nudity to get a rise out of the audience. Black, subversive and politically incorrect humour can be brilliant in capable hands and with the right purpose (like the brilliant Bad Santa), but here it's offensively bereft of any wit and, at the end of the day, simply unpleasant. Throughout the film's running time, it's hard to tell whether you should laugh or cringe in discomfort. The only positives of this flick are surface-level stuff - the crisp, slick cinematography admittedly makes the film easier to watch, and the film has been assembled skilfully.

Seth Rogen is completely incapable of making Ronnie likeable or even a character to sympathise with. Rogen is usually recognised for his amiable, witty slacker persona, but all of these characteristics are quickly lost amid the wreckage of such an appalling character. Meanwhile Anna Faris is at her one-note limit. Faris is usually likeable in the roles she plays, but there's very little reason to care about her in Observe and Report - she's a drunken bimbo without a shred of self-respect. Ray Liotta is also on hand as a cop who rather bitterly hates Ronnie (at least one character in this cinematic atrocity has a brain), while Michael Peña appears to sleepwalk throughout the film as one of Ronnie's co-workers. Collette Wolfe is the only cast member whose acting is truly heartfelt. She's one of the film's limited bright spots.

It's crucial to note that the creators of Observe and Report didn't set out to emulate Paul Blart: Mall Cop, and the makers of both movies even shared information with each other to make sure they weren't stepping on each other's toes. So why is it, then, that Observe and Report truly is just a version of Paul Blart: Mall Cop for adults? In Observe and Report, Ronnie is useless and pudgy (like Paul Blart: Mall Cop), lives with his supportive mother (like Paul Blart), takes his job far too seriously (like Paul Blart), has a condition which requires medication (like Paul Blart), has a crush on a worker at the mall (like Paul Blart), and dreams of firing a gun (like Paul Blart) but can't actually have a gun (like Paul Blart). There's a crime happening in the mall (like Paul Blart) and solving it will be Ronnie's redemption (like Paul Blart), and even though everyone will laugh at him along the way (like in Paul Blart) he won't give up (like Paul Blart: Mall Cop)...

Observe and Report grows increasingly bleak and ludicrous as time drags on until it ends on a sentimental yet still vulgar note. The climactic chase sequence features an obese, overcoat-wearing flasher running through the mall with the camera fixated on his grotesque equipment for what feels like hours instead of minutes...the fact that several minutes are spent observing his penis in slow motion just about sums up the flaccid quality of this lazy, awful motion picture. Observe and Report possesses all the earmarks of a low-budget indie product trying too self-consciously to be cute, coy, clever, unconventional and groundbreaking.

2.7/10

For Whip It, first-time director Drew Barrymore has crafted a sports flick and a coming-of-age tale rolled together to produce a warm, droll charmer of a motion picture. Shauna Cross wrote the screenplay for the film, which was adapted from her own novel Derby Girl: a fictional story constructed using anecdotes from the author's time spent in the professional female roller derby. While Whip It succumbs to several screenwriting conventions, the energy of Barrymore's direction is able to compensate for the script sputtering, and the actors all breathe jubilant life into this adamantly character-driven film.

The story concerns Texas-based teenager Bliss Cavendar (Page) who resides in the small, dead-end town of Bodeen. She has fallen victim to the narcissistic and nepotistic desires of her mother (Harden) who clings to the glory days of her beauty queen past by forcing Bliss to endure the same type of ritualistic torture. Bored and desperate to escape the tedium of her life, Bliss sneaks out to the roller derby one night where she swoons over the female players with their retro outfits, gaudy make-up and awesomely ludicrous nicknames (Maggie Mayhem, Bloody Holly, Smashly Simpson, etc). From there, Bliss begins training to join the down-and-out Hurl Scouts; the perennial losers of the Austin-based roller derby league. Her speed makes her a standout at the tryouts, and she soon becomes Babe Ruthless - the league's new star.

Since Whip It is a sports movie, everything comes down to the championship at the end. Happily, everything culminates with a humdinger of a climax - a nail-biting showdown infused with cheer-provoking moments and honest-to-goodness tension.

In terms of both teen drama and sports movies, Whip It adheres to a customary formula: girl hates the life she's been forced into, finds something she loves, lies to get it, but must reconcile with that lie in order to truly succeed. During the cliché-heavy narrative Bliss also makes real friends, has her first romance, has a falling out with her best friend, and her parents eventually find out about her extracurricular activities. Additionally, Whip It holds true to the time-worn sports movie convention of an inept team that goes all the way with the addition of a new superstar. But it's only when a movie is limply done that you can virtually hear the gears of its formula grinding into place. When a film is bursting with gusto, heart and charm, however, one can gladly enjoy the experience without being too bothered by the clichés. Fortunately, Whip It falls into the latter camp - director Barrymore and writer Cross have stumbled upon a fresh setting for the formula, and the movie only feels like a retread in hindsight. Best of all, the progression of events feel natural as opposed to contrived - it feels like a naturalistic, non-Hollywood depiction of the monotonous life of a young female.

Unfortunately, the comedy is frequently muted (probably by intention - it wasn't supposed to be a riot); offering only the occasional chuckle but not much else. With Whip It running at almost two hours, a trim would have been beneficial - as would a few more laughs. But Drew Barrymore does deserve credit for her first effort as a director. Having featured in movies since she was a small child, Barrymore has learned from the best (most notably E.T. mentor Steven Spielberg). She acquits herself particularly well during the roller derby scenes; collaborating with cinematographer Robert Yeoman to craft some exciting and fun set-pieces (on top of this, as Roger Ebert noted, Barrymore's supporting role savvily puts her in the position of not asking anything of the actors that she doesn't do herself). Though Barrymore isn't perfectly assured (there are sluggish patches, and not all of the derby sequences are as dynamic as they could be) she hits most of the marks she strived for.

Ellen Page is rapidly becoming one of the finest actors of her generation, and this movie offers further proof of her immense range. Page has received a bit of a rap for ostensibly playing every role the same, but anyone who has witnessed her heartbreaking turn in An American Crime or her gripping performance in Hard Candy knows better. In Whip It, her role of Bliss is a good choice - shy, weary, frightened and unsure of herself. Page submits a dialled down, heartfelt performance, with little reliance on Juno-style dialogue. The rest of the cast offer brilliant support. There are effective performances courtesy of Andrew Wilson (who brings great humour and charm to the role of the Hurl Scout's long-suffering coach), Marcia Gay Harden (who's exceptionally nuanced as the pageant mum) and Daniel Stern (solid as Bliss' supportive father). As for Bliss' team-members, there's Kristen Wiig who's down-to-earth as the captain, as well as Barrymore herself playing the resident badass, and stuntwoman Zoë Bell (previously seen in Tarantino's Death Proof) among others.

Pacing issues, a myriad of clichés and too few laughs notwithstanding, Whip It is a tremendously enjoyable flick. It's a promising debut for Barrymore behind the camera - a slice of heartfelt, feel-good entertainment.

7.5/10

Generally speaking, viewers cut horror movies a little slack - we can overlook nonsensical plots and stupid characters, but in return we want decent scares, an intoxicating atmosphere of visceral terror, and perhaps a bit of blood and violence. The Unborn contains all the elements one would expect to put up with, but without the compensation. Writer-director David S. Goyer's tedious, flat, convoluted, agonisingly dull horror movie ultimately spends so much time explaining itself, it forgets its purpose to actually scare. Think The Grudge meets The Exorcist, as written by an inept screenwriter like Uwe Boll.

The average, well-adjusted teen taking centre stage in The Unborn is a girl named Casey Beldon (Yustman), who is having trouble unlocking the meaning behind her recent dreams. Sensing that a demonic force in the form of a child named "Jumby" is pursuing her (yes, according to this flick, the root of all evil is a one-time foetus named Jumby), Casey turns to the clues left behind by her late mother (Gugino). This leads her to the Wise Old Woman Whose Sole Purpose Is To Provide Exposition (™) in the form of an Auschwitz survivor (Alexander) who turns out to be Casey's grandmother. So instead of acting like a normal teen and paying a visit to the psychiatrist, Casey spends time with granny and is informed that she had a twin brother who died in the womb. Apparently it's this twin brother who's haunting her...or something to that tune. Casey's only hope is to request the services of Rabbi Sendak (Oldman).

The plotline is merely a ridiculous mishmash of Auschwitz, Nazis, demonic possession and twins, resulting in a barely coherent story. One would expect a review of a horror movie like this to state that it simply shifts from one lazy jump moment to the next...but in the case of The Unborn, the "scary" sequences are bridged with 15 or 20 minutes of a teary-eyed Casey seeking the truth. This could've been at least a watchable film, but Goyer provides far too much exposition. As the convoluted babble about twins, demons, the door being open and other such nonsense unfolds, the more preposterous the movie becomes and the less entertainment one can ultimately find within it.

In desperation to market The Unborn as something more substantive than it is, the distributor used the fact that writer-director David S. Goyer was also involved with 2008's The Dark Knight. But, you see, Goyer only helped develop the story with Christopher Nolan, who then wrote the script with his brother Jonathan. For a more accurate representation of Goyer's cinematic legacy, look no further than the Blade films - he wrote all three and directed the appalling third movie. As bad as that film was, Blade: Trinity is still better than this tripe. The Unborn has been directed by Goyer with conventional touches, with set-pieces straight out of the horror handbook. But when the scares are telegraphed so far in advance, do they even qualify as scares? (For instance, when a character is wandering around for 5 minutes in an uneasy atmosphere before the sloppily-formulated "scare moment" eventually happens.) If Goyer deserves any praise, it's for devising a few unsettling images, like upside-down heads and mutilated faces which barely slip under the PG-13 radar. Yet a lot of this stuff seems lifted directly from other genre movies, particularly The Exorcist, and they're only slightly scary.

Goyer also drops the ball when it comes to basic logic; filling the movie with a multitude of plot holes and behavioural whoppers. He appears to make no attempt to establish a coherent set of rules by which possession occurs, with the evil "Jumby" conveniently leaping from body to body, which makes one wonder why it's so fixated on possessing Casey outside of the fact that a character claims it has a taste for her family's blood. On the topic of family, Casey's father (Remar) appears in two scenes before completely disappearing from the story. Apparently he went on a business trip, but it's mentioned that he's supposed to return the following day. And he doesn't appear to. I guess his plane crashed and nobody noticed.

In the dybbuk (as the Jews call it), Goyer found an interesting and little-known piece of folklore around which to form his story...but he had no idea what to do with it. The film is a mess of dead-end exposition and credibility-stretching coincidence. The dybbuk mythology never amounts to a compelling story and it rarely makes sense, even despite a tonne of mind-numbering exposition. And of all the dumb characters, the dybbuk might be the dumbest - Rabbi Sendak is initially sceptical of Casey's claims when she goes to see him, then the spirit decides to intimidate the Rabbi with a show of natural force, thus proving its existence to a guy who can banish it! Without spoiling the ending here, this can be said: you'll see the ending coming a mile away, will convince yourself that Goyer wouldn't possibly pen a conclusion so utterly lame, then either laugh or cry at the realisation that he did it. The film's conclusion is a stunning blend of predictability and hardcore stupidity. No amount of blood or gore could be added to improve this inert horror throwaway that was obviously cut to PG-13 standards (the unrated cut only adds a whole 49 seconds of footage).

In terms of casting, there's Gary Oldman who should have taken a much-deserved vacation instead of taking part in this clunker. How he ended up in this film is a true mystery for the ages - he was probably drunk, bored, or doing someone a favour. Odette Yustman, who was last seen escaping the tentacled behemoth in Cloverfield, is only nice to look at in a deeply generic sense (think Megan Fox). Goyer is completely aware that Yustman looks good in underwear, so he included two scenes in which the camera focuses on the actress' white-cotton-covered derriere. Even the poster takes advantage of this.

There's only one thing of interest about The Unborn: it's not a remake of an Asian horror film, but it certainly feels like one. Not just because it's incoherent and nigh on unwatchable (a common trait of said remakes), but because the plot contains the same basic characteristics; a nasty demon or ghost messing with a poor heroine in sinister but PG-13 ways. Perhaps that's how David S. Goyer got the green light for this movie - by fooling some gullible producers into thinking it was an Asian horror remake. At the end of the day, there is nothing to like about The Unborn. It is not scary. It is not interesting. It is not worth watching. Making a really obvious crack about it being a cinematic abortion is too easy...so I'd rather just belt out a bold, italicised "avoid" and get on with my life. So yeah...avoid! I've warned you. I've done my duty. Let's never speak of this movie again.

0.8/10

The year is 2018, the sky is ashen, machines rule the world, and the only humans which remain (who've undergone a humour bypass) constitute "The Resistance". That's the simplified synopsis of the fourth instalment in the Terminator franchise; a dull, predictable, bloated exercise in CGI overload which could easily be mistaken for a Transformers sequel. While the previous three films offered glimpses into the devastated futureworld dominated by the self-aware SkyNet, Terminator Salvation is the first sequel to be set entirely in that future, which provides the series with a new look. It's a shame, then, that it's merely another trembling step backwards for the franchise, and an appalling buttfucking of a once-great series of time-travelling adventures. With awful dialogue, an uninteresting plot and mostly uninspired performances, the human element has (ironically) been drained from the franchise... The machines have won.

The narrative intentions of Terminator Salvation are simple: John Connor (Christian Bale) has to meet his father Kyle Reese (Anton Yelchin), become the leader of the resistance, and get his scar. Meanwhile Kyle is being held captive by SkyNet, and Connor's superiors plan to bomb the complex with no regard for the human prisoners inside...which means Connor must launch a rescue mission. But the movie is more consumed with a secondary plot strand involving a man named Marcus Wright (Sam Worthington). He's first seen as a death-row inmate on his way to lethal injection in 2003, but is suddenly resurrected in the apocalyptic 2018 with no memory of what has occurred in the years between.

Our brains logically tell us that this is John Connor's story. The Terminator franchise has always been about Connor. So why does Salvation inexplicably focus on the character of Marcus? In fact, Connor is pushed into the background...he becomes the supporting player in his own series (in the original script, Connor had an even smaller role, but the part was made comparatively larger when Bale signed on). Salvation mainly suffers from countless story problems. For instance, SkyNet are shown manufacturing the T-800 Terminators (those portrayed by Arnie in prior sequels) when the human/terminator hybrid Marcus was assembled beforehand... Why would SkyNet begin with the complete package (as in Marcus) and then regress to the inferior Schwarzenegger-style T-800? The terminator models are simply a joke in this film - there are Growlenators (seriously, the T-800s were growling), Throwenators (they just throw everything in sight instead of, ya know, killing their targets) and ready-for-humans-to-hijack Motorcyclenators. Adding insult to injury, there are even enormous machines which resemble the Transformers that stomped around in Michael Bay's cinematic abortion of a 2009 summer blockbuster. Couple this nonsense with the fact that one of these Transformer-type machines at one stage manages to silently sneak up on a group of humans...

Terminator Salvation neglects the cardinal rule of action cinema - introducing human characters a viewer can care about. The film plays out like a video game tie-in to the original franchise, and even proceeds with video game logic. It's set in 2018 when John Connor hasn't become the leader yet... So why has SkyNet been hunting Connor for years? He doesn't smash their defence grid until 2029, which is when SkyNet decides to send a T-800 back in time to terminate his mother. Moreover, how could SkyNet concoct an elaborate trap using Kyle Reese when it's impossible for the system to have any knowledge that he's Connor's father? And if SkyNet knew Reese was Connor's father, why not just kill him? Eventually Terminator Salvation culminates with an exhaustively moronic climax. To begin with, Connor frees a bunch of prisoners and tells them to run for "the transport ship". He has seemingly forgotten that he came alone on a Motorcyclenator and that there is no transport ship. Oops...

The first cut for Terminator Salvation was apparently 30-40 minutes longer than the theatrical cut, and the sloppy trimming is obvious throughout the entire film. This is felt most directly with the character of Blair (Moon Bloodgood) who nonsensically botches her allegiance to the Resistance in order to protect Marcus from justifiable execution after only one day spent together. Screenwriters John D. Brancato and Michael Ferris may have been natural picks for Salvation considering they wrote Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines, but the duo also penned Catwoman and Primeval (that cheesy crocodile feature, not the BBC series). The dialogue is particularly appalling - the characters spout hackneyed action movie speak, while occasionally recycling trademark lines from earlier Terminator movies. For his tirade, Bale should have lashed out at the screenwriters rather than the cinematographer (who admittedly crafted a stylish, good-looking film).

For all of Christian Bale's public insistence that McG is more talented than his moronic stage name suggests, he's still the guy who directed Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle. With not much of a story to worry about and no complex characters, there wasn't much preventing McG from crafting kick-ass action sequences. Except, uh...lack of skill!! As painful as it is to say (well, not really), the explosive, epic battles between man and machine are dull. The future war scenes imagined by James Cameron in the first two Terminator movies were murky, petrifying and dark. 200 million dollars were blown on this movie, but nothing matches Cameron's masterful work (not even the set-pieces in the original film should feel threatened...and they were produced on a $7 million budget). The only positives of Salvation (amazing CGI, great production design) are merely superficial - if a turd is coated in gold, it's still a turd...just a shiny one. The biggest action set-piece of the film feels like something from Transformers, and other highlights feel as if they've been lifted from other films (shots of helicopters landing resemble Apocalypse Now, the Motorcyclenators look like something from The Dark Knight, some shots from prior Terminator films have been replicated, etc... Terminator Regurgitation is a more appropriate title). Bear this in mind as well: Salvation is a Terminator movie directed by a producer of The O.C.... The technological lethargy even extends to Danny Elfman's score, which only reminds a viewer just how terrific Brad Fiedel's original music was.

All the sound and fury of the powerhouse action sequences can't make up for the studious lack of humanity. The characters are one-dimensional ciphers who never evoke passion or enthusiasm. A viewer will only root for these characters based on their appearances in prior instalments (another huge issue, since some consider this a "reboot" of the franchise that's independent from all other Terminator films). Playing John Connor, Bale unleashes his Gotham Growl, but he's sullen and tedious. Worse, he doesn't feel like the kind of guy who would fire up anyone, let alone the remainder of the human population. For his famous on-set rant, Bale displayed more drama, emotionality and variety than anything in the actual film. Worthington, on the other hand, is passable - it's just a shame he's never given a chance to truly test his acting ability. Meanwhile the supporting cast is miserably wasted. Helena Bonham Carter is embarrassing, Michael Ironside is hopelessly flat, and Terry Crews is reduced to...a corpse seen in a single blink-and-you'll-miss-it shot. Arnold Schwarzenegger's much-discussed CGI cameo is hardly convincing; he looks like the product of a below-par Pixar movie.

The unforgivable problem with Salvation is its PG-13 rating. Terminator is an R-rated franchise, and this toned-down, kid-friendly sequel is neutered beyond repair (nothing more unsightly than a man being mowed down with a mini-gun before merely slumping over). The visceral nature of the first two movies generated by heavy violence and profanity made an audience feel that the protagonists were in genuine danger. In Salvation, it feels like the characters are merely going through the motions and are never in real peril. A talented director given a better-written R-rated script and the same budget could have turned this into another classic. As it is...this is Terminator Castration.

Compared with James Cameron's two thought-provoking action classics, Salvation is a powerfully dumb film. The first two movies offered sprawling stories, visceral thrills, deep drama and well-defined characters. This film strains credibility with epic unlikelihoods, and tries to camouflage them with nonstop paroxysms. It doesn't matter how awesomely designed the robots are rendered; without gripping drama, characters to sympathise with or even an ounce of humour, Terminator Suckvation is a dumbed-down, soulless summer offering - the commercialisation of the Terminator franchise which might as well have been Transformers 3. It's also far worse than Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines, which was no classic but deserves a bit more credit than it gets.

3.2/10

Fired Up! might as well have been entitled Cheer Leader Movie or Teen Movie, because those are far more suitable titles considering the bottom-of-the-barrel quality of the film it's concerning. The only thing to differentiate this comedic dud from the likes of Date Movie, Epic Movie and Disaster Movie is the absence of the names Aaron Seltzer and Jason Friedberg from the credits. Instead, there's a first-time director named Will Gluck, and a group of four writers who credit themselves as 'Freedom Jones'. Fired Up! is nothing we haven't already seen countless times - it's a watered-down hodgepodge of several other films, and the result kills laughter rather than triggering it.

Working under the assumption that girls are as stupid as cattle, the movie introduces Nick (Olsen) and Shawn (D'Agosto); two football-playing studs who have used up the reserve of girls at their high school, and are seeking a new lady-killing challenge. The boys decide to ditch football camp in favour of cheerleading camp when they learn that it'll be attended by 300 young women. They worm their way onto the squad and hence into the camp, then proceed to sleep with anything that moves. But trouble arises when Shawn falls in love with one of their team-members.

After a brief opening sequence which establishes the protagonists as through-and-through jerks, Fired Up! embarks on a profoundly unfunny quest to add any sort of non-sequitur to the mix; assuming that conventional absurdity will wash over audiences like laughing gas. The actors are visibly too old for their roles, but the jokes are older than the Bible - the film is a morass of tired, obvious and telegraphed gags, from the mascots who never remove their costumes to the cheerleaders chanting about what they're doing all the time ("We are eating, we we are eating"), and even a scene in which the cheerleaders repeatedly chant "FU!" for Fired Up...because the very notion of the girls almost cursing is side-splitting, of course. The film also relies on the outtakes-during-the-end-credits approach to generate a few cheap, late laughs...but even these aren't even slightly funny. How bad must a movie be to contain a dud blooper reel?! And, despite the presence of talent like Philip Baker Hall and John Michael Higgins, the side characters are never given a chance to make an impact - they have been reduced to one-note caricatures or, in the case of the females, personality-free sex objects. Masochism aside, there are also homosexual gags - primarily a constant suggestion that all male cheerleaders must be gay.

Among the biggest problems with Fired Up! is that it contains absolutely no surprises. With such a totally obvious plot, you'll be able to predict what will happen at every juncture. The minute Shawn takes a shine for his teammate Carly (Roemer), it's obvious they'll eventually get together. But not after she overcomes her Jerk Boyfriend Who Sleeps With Other Girls (™), and the Break Up To Make Up Scenario Because The Protagonist's Disreputable Original Plans Which He Decided To Change Were Discovered (™). See, the two boys wanted to leave camp a week early, but they realise they've grown to care about the team and decide to stay, but their initial treachery is uncovered and they have to prove themselves to the team. Sound like anything new? Combine this with the fact that Nick wants to go to bed with the "unattainable" camp counsellor who's married to an old guy. Care to venture a guess about how that'll pan out? A Frankenstein's Monster of a movie, Fired Up! has three things on its mind: showcasing the improvisatory "skills" of the stars, PG-13 titillation, and cashing in on a cheerleading genre that's already passé. In reality, these intentions add up to a big headache of a movie, with director Gluck highlighting his naivety behind the camera through routine shot construction and a permissive attitude with the cast, who all seem to think they're God's gift to comedy. Nicholas D'Agosto and Eric Christian Olsen (aged 29 and 31, respectively) play the least convincing high school students imaginable, and they spend their screen-time mugging the camera. Neither actor possesses any degree of charisma, nor does the duo have the skill for turning bad material into less-bad material. Crucially, why should we care about these shallow douchebags who try to tap every female in sight?

It would seem that Fired Up! was intended to be a parody of Bring it On (the characters even view the movie at one stage, and recite every single line verbatim), though that's not for certain. See, the concept of a parody implies humour, and there's nothing even resembling laughs within this tripe. Making matters worse, this is an obviously R-rated movie masquerading as a PG-13 (ah, nothing like a smutty teen comedy in which the guys ogle fully dressed women). The emasculation is so painfully obvious that it calls attention to itself: characters wear clothes for skinny-dipping scenes, there are euphemisms for "fuck", and the sexual innuendo is softened. According to IMDb, the movie was submitted to the MPAA a grand total of 18 times before it was finally slapped with a PG-13 rating. A raunchier approach to Fired Up! may not have spawned a superior film per se, but it would've seemed more honest, and there would have been at least some guilty pleasure moments.

There's no checking your qualms at the door and riding along with Fired Up!, as it manages to be unfunny and offensive at every turn. Girls sucked in by the cheerleading theme will merely find out that boys perceive them as dumb-as-rocks sex objects, while the male demographic seeking raunchy laughs will find more original, funnier stuff in the first American Pie movie. If there's something rarer than a great comedy, it's a depressing one that somehow manages to produce not a single laugh (even with outtakes in consideration). Fired Up! is one of those - it's so formulaic, disposable and instantly forgettable, and even if you do find these gags funny, you'll be hard-pressed to justify why you found it at all amusing once you finish watching it.

0.9/10

Throughout My Life in Ruins, a couple of characters are frequently told that they're not as funny as they believe they are. Unfortunately, those watching the film will echo this sentiment as they endure the clichés and predictable scenarios it provides, on top of the forced attempts at humour that wouldn't pass muster for the world's worst sitcoms. My Life in Ruins is a generic romantic comedy that has no clue when it comes to romance, comedy, or above all charm. The "comedy" is based almost entirely on stereotyping nationalities, the story is trite, and the main coupling is devoid of that hard-to-pin rom-com necessity: chemistry! This godawful motion picture merely plays out like an obnoxiously terrible, been-there-seen-that sitcom. "Ruins" is indeed an apt descriptor of this flick.

My Life in Ruins follows a history-professor-turned-tour-guide living in Greece named Georgia (Vardalos). She hates her job, fusses because she's always assigned the second-rate tourists, and finds faults with everything in Greece that isn't a few thousand years old. Feeling the job is beneath her, and having a deep love for Greek history, Georgia tends to bore her tour companions by offering historical trivia when they'd rather shop for souvenirs, grab an ice cream or spend a day at the beach. In a traditional rom-com Character Rehabilitation Journey (™), Georgia attempts to regain her "kefi" (Greek for "mojo") through guiding a group of difficult tourists around Greece.

The core of the story is about Georgia's life view being changed when she falls in love with the tour's bus driver, Poupi (Georgoulis), and her learning a thing or two from the most flamboyant of the tourists, Irv (Dreyfuss). Suffice to say, by the film's dénouement Georgia has transformed herself from boring, inept tour guide into the best that Greece has to offer, and she's beloved by everyone in her group. Georgia also has a nemesis in the form of competing tour guide Nico (McGowan) who wants to torture her into quitting, but he's eventually humiliated and decides to quit himself. There's a bored teenage girl (Stuckey) in the film as well who is at first reluctant about Greece but eventually finds the guy of her dreams... Stop me if any of this sounds familiar... The problem with My Life in Ruins is that this isn't a lively rerun of every rom-com cliché in existence - it's a dreary tour through Clichéville that wouldn't be interesting even if it was original.

The screenplay by Mike Reiss (a sitcom writer, unsurprisingly) utilises the multiple-day tour as an excuse to showcase brainless cultural stereotypes which are as plentiful as they are offensive. The woeful surface-level caricatures range from boorish Americans and drunk Aussie bogans with an unlimited supply of Foster's (who should be deported for treason) to snooty shoplifting seniors from England and sexed-up Spanish cougars. There's a corporate representative thrown in the mix as well, who spends his screen-time making pancake puns. Pancake puns! Surely there were funnier avenues to explore with this plotline - all we get are unfunny one-liners, cheap detours into homophobia, and Nia Vardalos mugging the camera in an alarming manner. Screenwriter Reiss spent a period writing The Simpsons when it was actually good (he even wrote the feature film), so where is that wit?! Rather than wittiness, Reiss conceives characters named Poupi and Doudi... How ironic it is that infantile poo jokes have been used for a turd of a comedy.

At the helm of My Life in Ruins is Donald Petrie, whose filmography is so badly tarnished that it's surprising any producer (let alone Tom Hanks) would allow him anywhere near a project of potential value (his prior cinematic "masterpieces" include Just My Luck and Welcome to Mooseport). Not only is Petrie despondently clueless when it comes to conjuring a ghost of a romantic spark between Vardalos and Georgoulis, but he's also unable to accomplish what should've been the easiest task: gorgeous scenery. Greece is incredibly photogenic, yet this director imbues the movie with a depressingly commonplace look. Even an amateur home video taken by a bunch of tourists would be less dreary than this.

Nia Vardalos is practically a one-hit acting wonder. After My Big Fat Greek Wedding, her career has only spiralled downwards. In My Life in Ruins, there's nothing human about her character - she plays a walking cliché, and her performance is unable to elevate the material. She's slightly watchable, but spending 90 minutes with her is too much.
The rest of the cast is left floundering amid a sea of exasperating stereotypes. It should come as no surprise that Richard Dreyfuss is the film's only bright spot - he isn't enough to make this rubbish tolerable as a whole, but the actor deserves some credit. Playing the character who dispenses homespun wisdom (essentially the Midwestern version of Morgan Freeman), Dreyfuss appears to commit to the moronic antics that are asked of him, which is either the result of terrific professional courtesy or heavy drinking in between takes. His constantly weary expression is most likely a sign of grief due to being coaxed into starring in this crap purely for the money and sightseeing opportunities.

Ostensibly a film about the protagonist's mental transformation, My Life in Ruins is really just a long scenic tour of every rom-com cliché imaginable. It's a profoundly nauseating film that grows progressively more repellent as time goes by... A beautiful place like Greece deserves a far better travelogue than this, and a better spokesperson than the utterly charmless Vardalos. It seems that even with excellent movies hitting cinemas in this day and age (like Up or Drag Me to Hell), awful movies like My Life in Ruins are always lurking around the corner, waiting to pounce upon us and remind us that bad films are just as common - if not more common - than the quality ones.

1.9/10

Sequel-camouflaging title notwithstanding, The Final Destination is the fourth instalment of the now 9-year-old horror series wherein the Grim Reaper eviscerates those who have avoided their predestined death. By this point in the franchise, one would hope for the filmmakers to finally tweak the time-worn formula (perhaps explore the source of the premonitions, or place the action somewhere more exciting) but if someone pitched this idea to the studio executives, they were outvoted...this fourth film follows the formula to the letter without deviation. The sole element that has been changed is the visuals, which are now in 3-D (meaning blood, sharp objects and viscera are thrown at your face). The Final Destination does get credit for cutting straight to the chase; brushing aside both story and characterisation to plunge straight into the delightful gore. But the film is too rote, and it's handled weakly by those involved who were clearly more interested in box office returns than refreshing genre creativity.

For those unfamiliar with the three prior movies (released in 2000, 2003 and 2006), the recurring set-up is exceedingly simple: a group of characters are supposed to die in a terrible accident, but they survive because one of them has a premonition of said accident, and they escape before it actually happens. While this would logically suggest that they've been given a second chance, it isn't long before the Grim Reaper returns to claim the souls of those who evaded his scythe. Thus, The Final Destination commences with a group of four friends attending a NASCAR event. One of them, Nick (Campo), experiences the obligatory vision of a crash so implausibly epic that it causes a series of explosions and results in the death of dozens...including those of himself and his friends. Since his vision was so vivid, Nick is sent into a turbulent panic, and frantically attempts to leave the venue. He and a number of people do so, which leaves a motley assortment of survivors who must now navigate the dangerous waters of life-after-averted-death. The Grim Reaper spends the next 70 minutes of the film re-killing the survivors in meticulous ways.

Inexplicably, the main characters are very quickly able to figure out that the spirit of doom is hunting them - they just know purely because it's in the screenplay (though the word "Google" is uttered by one of the characters in a half-hearted attempt to justify their knowledge). Like its predecessors, The Final Destination does contain vague notions of expanding upon the mythology of the series, but there's minuscule effort on the part of the filmmakers to go through with it.
What was the source of Nick's premonition? Not important enough to explore, it seems. Why does Nick continue to experience premonitions which detail how the next survivor will die? No-one involved had an interest in addressing that either. The Final Destination is virtually a carbon copy of the preceding films, except that it's packaged in digital 3-D and eschews a numerical affix in favour of a definitive "the" in the title to suggest it is the final destination...unless, of course, the cash registers ring hard and often enough to warrant another follow-up.

Director David R. Ellis (a former stuntman-turned-director) makes his return to the director's chair after having helmed the second movie, which was arguably superior to the first (X-Files alumni James Wong co-wrote and directed the first & third instalments). In terms of delivering what the series promises, Ellis doesn't disappoint; beginning the film with a suitably horrific and spectacular disaster that kills dozens of people. And taking the ride in 3-D - which is undoubtedly the most enjoyable way to experience The Final Destination - makes the sequence extremely spectacular. Beyond this opening action set-piece, however, Ellis is unable to electrify the material - he merely ticks off sequences one by one, concentrating more on shock value due to gore as opposed to intoxicating tension. The kill scenes - while enjoyable and occasionally gripping - are still far too elaborate to be believed. Domino effect situations like these are too unbelievable, especially in such bulk. With lack of suspense and with originality at an all-time low, it seems the filmmaker utilised the 3-D gimmick as an excuse to get lazy. At least the film manages to sustain a viewer's attention for its short 80-minute duration - there's certainly minimal downtime between the unapologetically brutal kill scenes that define these movies.

Another problem with The Final Destination is that the characters are flat. Yes, it's incredibly rash to expect decent characterisations in a slasher flick, but the previous Final Destination films at least explored the basic backgrounds of the protagonists. A number of the main characters in this film, however, make absolutely no sense as people - they are apparently post-college and in their mid-20s, yet they don't appear to have a job to fund their comfortable lifestyle...they just inhabit an apartment and try mightily not to get killed. Tension for the most part relies on a viewer's ability to care for the characters, but with personality-deficient people within the movie, who really cares if they live or die? (As a side note, some of the characters in the prior Final Destination films were named after horror icons. This is unfortunately not retained here.)

The acting is expectedly awful. Every single performer is generic, especially Bobby Campo who brings scarcely a modicum of intensity to his premonition-receiving character. Shantel VanSanten and Haley Webb are fairly interchangeable with the previous Final Destination starlets (they're gorgeous, have great bodies, and are instantly forgettable), while David Webb appears as the requisite jerk (who's dismissive of the whole concept that Death is out to get them). Obviously it's daft to expect decent acting when dealing with unfussy horror mechanics, but the ensemble often fails to provide requisite anxiety...they appear to look upon death as a mild nuisance akin to a lengthy red light.

The Final Destination would be a terrible movie (even as far as horror sequels go) if it weren't for its sense of humour, which constantly reminds a viewer that the filmmakers were self-aware of how ridiculous the whole thing is. A scene in which a racist redneck is dragged to his fiery death after attempting to plant a burning cross in an African American man's yard is given an extra touch in the form of the car stereo blaring the song Why Can't We Be Friends? as it unfolds. The climax is set in a movie theatre primed to explode while playing a 3-D movie that features a ticking time-bomb (which is actually footage from The Long Kiss Goodnight).

Whether the "more of the same, only in 3-D" approach to The Final Destination will satisfy you depends entirely on your taste. While this reviewer would have liked to see the filmmakers mine other thematic areas, there's still enough popcorn entertainment here to warrant a watch.

5.1/10

Riding in on the four horses currently plaguing the horror-thriller genre - stylised gore, crude neon lighting, whiplash editing, and compulsive script turnarounds - Horsemen is a strictly by-the-numbers chiller courtesy of Michael Bay's Platinum Dunes production company. If nothing else, Horsemen (alternately known as The Horsemen in some circles) proves that Platinum Dunes is capable of more than just screwing up remakes of classic horror films (such as Friday the 13th and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre) - they're equally adept at ruining original (I use the term loosely) ideas too. In a nutshell, this film plays out like a half-hearted amalgam of about a dozen other (superior) genre films (like Se7en, Saw, Silence of the Lambs, etc) that's composed with an eye towards merging C.S.I. aesthetics with the single-father domestic troubles of a family sitcom. Admittedly, Horsemen begins well enough, but it isn't long before the film derails itself with a one-way trip to Crapsville.

The protagonist of the film is Detective Aidan Breslin (Quaid). He's a single father with two boys, but their relationship has been strained due to the untimely death of the mother of the family. (If you guessed that Breslin has avoided dealing with both his wife's passing and his grieving children by throwing himself into his work - and looking dishevelled in the process - you can give yourself a screenwriting credit.) The main narrative thread of the film concerns a string of brutal murders, and the investigation that's being carried out by Detective Breslin. It's a big case, yet Breslin has next to no help, which only makes the already contrived plot seem even dumber. Anyway, Breslin uncovers something startling during his investigation: the killers have taken inspiration from the biblical Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, and are committing thematically appropriate murders.

Music video director Jonas Åkerlund makes his feature film debut here, and assembles a dynamic aura of panic for Horsemen that, at least for the first 40 minutes, is fairly gripping. The atmosphere is incredibly effective; promising that the film has something shocking up its sleeve that'll separate it from other entries to the tiresome serial killer genre. Alas, Horsemen has no unique plans in mind, and (with very few exceptions) this thriller is devoid of both thrills and compelling suspense. The plot, initially so promising, inevitably succumbs to formula. For the most part, the killers reveal themselves at seemingly random moments to provide a cheap, short-lived shock. The lazy script (written by Dave Callaham...who was also responsible for Doom) attempts to create shocks out of not who the killers are, but how they are revealed. Alas, this objective can be considered failed. Contrivances are another issue - for instance one character appears to turn themselves in for no apparent reason beyond "the script told me to". Most detrimentally, what aims to be a climactic twist is foreseeable from around the film's midpoint. Thus, this is a mystery-thriller with no real build, no climax and no mystery.

Without spoiling too much, the "mastermind" behind the murders decided to kill people simply because of a personal problem many of us have faced. Certainly, it isn't an easy issue to deal with, but gutting innocents is hardly the most effective way to handle it. Furthermore, an audience is actually asked to feel sympathy for the guilty party! It's preposterous. The main killer delivers a cliché-ridden speech towards the film's dénouement, telling Breslin "If you had done this, none of this would have happened". This reviewer thinks differently - this reviewer believes that if the killer had just controlled their murderous impulses despite their hurt feelings, no killings would've happened. On top of all this malarkey, Horsemen carries the appearance of a second-guessed film - subplots seem condensed; there are loose ends; character introductions are short-changed; and psychological strands are cut in half. The original runtime was reportedly about 20 minutes longer than the final cut (not to mention the film went through significant reshoots), so perhaps a number of things were lost in translation. It seems even the distributor knew they had a turkey on their hands - Lionsgate quarantined the film's release to less than 100 theatres in early March 2009 where it scooped up about a million dollars, and then shuffled off to DVD.

To be fair, director Jonas Åkerlund's work isn't too bad. It's just a shame he was saddled with such a damn stupid script. As a result, Horsemen comes off as a B-Grade rehash of a lot classic serial killer movies. The picture looks good, but still simplistic and elementary compared to, say, Se7en. Åkerlund is no David Fincher, and no matter how you look at it, this movie is a lesser version of Se7en - especially in terms of visual appeal, storytelling and above all suspense. Unfortunately, too, the movie is let down by the inclusion of some slipshod filmmaking (for instance bad continuity between close-ups and wide shots). Jan A.P. Kaczmarek's score also merits a mention; it fulfils its function, though it's nothing remarkable.
On the acting front, Dennis Quaid gives it his all, but he's hamstrung by the Frankenstein's monster of a script. Zhang Ziyi (who's given 15 minutes of screen-time despite top billing) is particularly awful - one can only assume her inclusion was to help the film sell in international markets. It's painful to watch Zhang regurgitate the dialogue she was given, but not as painful as the scenes she shares with Quaid in which the actors commit 100% to the material despite the fact that it's utter trash.

All in all, Horsemen works on a very basic level and it's admittedly watchable, but it's ultimately nothing we haven't seen done before and done better - a very simple mental dissection after viewing will cause the film to crumble into pieces.

4.4/10

Pixar Animation Studios has tackled talking bugs, washed-up superheroes, a rat who can cook, and a mute garbage robot in a post-apocalyptic environment, among many other premises. For their 10th motion picture, 2009's Up, the esteemed studio delivers something unexpected: an emotionally resonant action-adventure about a 78-year-old widower, an obese young boy, and a talking canine. Despite looking like an uninviting concept on paper, the Pixar squad pulled off the impossible once again, garnering over $700 million at the worldwide box office and garnering the sort of acclaim that Michael Bay and McG could only dream of. A distinctive and masterful amalgam of comedy, action, and heart-rending pathos, Up again demonstrates why Pixar are the best in the business at what they do, and shows that even the most simplistic story ideas can translate to a masterpiece in the hands of the right creative team.

At the centre of Up is aging, bespectacled curmudgeon Carl Fredricksen (Ed Asner), who tragically loses his beloved wife, Ellie, after decades of blissful marriage. Carl is unable to emotionally cope with the loss, maintaining his cynical senior citizen lifestyle while property developers threaten his house. When Carl is deemed a public menace and a court orders him into an assisted living facility, he senses his last opportunity to keep his promise to Ellie and pursue a life of adventure. Carl attaches thousands of balloons to his house, allowing it to lift off the ground and into the sky, and he promptly begins flying in the direction of Paradise Falls in South America. As children, Carl and Ellie both idolised an adventurer named Charles Muntz (Christopher Plummer), who was renowned for his expeditions to Paradise Falls. Unfortunately for Carl, he has a stowaway in the form of a Wilderness Explorer named Russell (Jordan Nagal), who hopes to earn his "Assisting the Elderly" badge by helping Carl however he can. As they begin to traverse Paradise Falls, Carl and Russell meet an eager golden retriever named Dug, whose electronic collar can translate his thoughts into English.

Written by Bob Peterson (Finding Nemo) and director Pete Docter (Monsters, Inc.), Up is an old man/young kid "buddy film" brought to life through animation - on that note, it is essentially James and the Giant Peach meets Gran Torino. Chief among the film's myriad pleasures is watching this unlikely intergenerational friendship take root, particularly considering its shaky and highly amusing beginning. The vocal performances are top-notch across the board - instead of well-known stars to boost the box office, Up features lesser-known performers who perfectly suit their respective roles. Asner and Plummer are not unknowns, but they are not A-list actors, either. 

Pixar's brilliance lies in their ability to say more in ten wordless minutes than most other films can say in twenty pages of dialogue. Up's exceptional prologue brilliantly demonstrates this trait - the brisk sequence is a masterpiece of economy and could stand as a self-contained short. It tells the story of Carl and Ellie, whose childhood meeting (when they were both adventure-spirited kids) is charm personified. The episode that follows has a certain grace that's seldom seen in a motion picture - it's an emotionally resonant, beautiful montage that exquisitely captures the couple's young love, marriage, hopes, dreams and heartbreaks. But Ellie eventually dies and Carl is left alone in a house rich with memories where every floorboard is imbued with Ellie's presence. It brings a tear to the eye. Furthermore, this is all communicated brilliantly and mutely by the filmmakers who utilise the gift of elegant animation and well-lubed character expressions to lend the audience a glimpse into Carl's stubborn psychology. Through this, a viewer gets to know everything there is to know about Carl... We understand him, and feel with him. His decision to abandon the world and float away seems sensible and right. All the central characters are brilliantly developed; Pixar understands that the action set-pieces are far more nail-biting with likeable characters entangled in the perilous situations.

Every frame of Up is meticulously constructed to the finest detail, with every behaviour (be it dog or human) carefully observed and replicated. The film is constructed with all the required narrative elements in place, yet the functionality is rarely obvious. There's a villain in the film, as well as conflict, but that's all external. At surface level, Up is the story of an elderly man and his boy scout sidekick wandering through exotic jungles and fighting dastardly air pirates. But in truth, this is the story of Carl coming to grips with the loss of his beloved wife and struggling to find a way to move on. The rest is just window dressing. See, above all else, those who constructed the movie never forgot that entertainment is job one. The film itself is therefore a piece of entertainment which can also be appreciated for what it carries underneath its surface.

As always, the animation in Up (a marvellous blend of realism and caricature) is breathtaking - especially in 3-D, which is the best way to experience the movie. Pixar have become so excellent at what they do, it's almost no longer a requirement to stop and marvel their artistic efforts. The filmmakers' attention to detail borders on pathological, from the way Carl's beard subtly grows as the days roll by to the vivid candy colours of the beautiful mound of balloons. There are a number of images here that would be considered amazing in any film (animated or live-action). On top of all this, the stunning visual world is set to a wonderful musical score. Composer Michael Giacchino recalls the lushly orchestrated compositions of cinema's golden age; providing ebullient pieces of music perfectly suited to Carl and Russell's lofty adventure.

One thing's for sure: Up is very touching, but it's also hilarious. There are sequences included here with the inventiveness of a Charlie Chaplin comedy, not to mention an abundance of clever laugh lines with nary a pop-culture reference in sight. One of the greatest pleasures of Up is a bunch of talking dogs. Anyone who has ever spent time with a dog will find infinite pleasures in the spot-on approximations of what might be going through a lovable, slobbery mutt's mind at any given moment. It's comedy gold. Granted, some of the characters feel more like the product of a DreamWorks animation film, but they're grounded with a glorious Pixar sensibility (for instance, if this was a DreamWorks movie, the talking dogs would all carry iPhones and the giant bird would be voiced by Eddie Murphy). In a way, Up does succumb to screenwriting clichés towards the opening of its third act; hatching a break-up-to-make-up scenario that feels alien to the material. Yet this is only a small objection within a film of boundless beauty and gorgeous cartoon buoyancy.

A motion picture like Up makes it clear that Pixar has moved beyond the point where they need to pander children. Unlike DreamWorks, Pixar allows sophisticated themes and ideas to seep into their movies and they don't feel the need to oversimplify everything. That's not to say Pixar creates family unfriendly art films - Up includes plenty of jokes that kid will get, and its appeal is boundless. To describe the pleasures afforded by Up is ultimately an exercise in futility because it wins you over in so many ways - alternating between solid belly laughs to cliffhanger thrills to gorgeous imagery - that one is simply left wondering what they're smoking over at Pixar studios and why more filmmakers aren't smoking the same thing.

8.9/10