Reviews by PvtCaboose91

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

The 1970's television series Land of the Lost was ripe for hilarious parody. If a screen adaptation was produced that poked fun at the series and the low-budget, stop-motion genre, a gem would be imminent. However, as it is, 2009's Land of the Lost is just a lightweight adventure in the form of a standard Will Ferrell movie. Throughout the feature, Ferrell's character runs from things and screams, and between these sequences he's engaging in semi-improvisational speeches designed to make himself look like a moron. One can watch Ferrell doing the aforementioned in literally any movie in which he features, so why would anyone want to see him repeat his same old routine under the guise of a cinematic reimagining of a '70s TV show? From the outset, it's unclear who this movie was meant to be pitched to. Was the aim to introduce the show's campy zest to a new generation of children? Or appeal to the now adult fans of the show with a combination of cheesy nostalgia and postmodern mockery? Unwisely, Land of the Lost tries to be both; peppering the story's juvenile antics with smutty adult humour. That said, it at least makes the cut in the dumb but fun department, and it's still watchable.

In the TV series, a father and his two children on a rafting trip become sucked into a portal which teleports them to an alternate universe that fuses elements of the past (namely dinosaurs) with elements of fantasy and science fiction. This fundamental concept remains in the movie adaptation, but rather than a family of protagonists there's an unlikely trio of mere acquaintances - Dr. Rick Marshall (Ferrell), Holly (Friel), and Will (McBride) - who plunge into an alternate universe as the result of Rick's invention, a "Tachyon Amplifier", which was the cause of his banishment from mainstream science several years prior (following a career-ending appearance on The Today Show with Matt Lauer (who gamely played an extra-glib version of himself)).

Once in this alternate dimension, the protagonists forge a tenuous friendship with a primate named Chaka (Taccone), and encounter the kind of scenarios that the two screenwriters (Dennis McNicholas and Chris Hench) were able to conceive when given $100 million to play with - namely, loosely connected skits tailored to the improvisatory skills and free-wheeling talents of the primary stars. There are rampaging dinosaurs, fast-crawling bugs, a race of lizard people (called the Sleestaks) and an assortment of cultural signifiers from different eras of human history (a Viking Ship, the Golden Gate Bridge, a roadside motel) scattered throughout the desert. Those involved with the production preserve creature designs and locations from the original series, as well as adding the occasional inside joke to please old fans. But the inconsistent quality of the special effects is jarring. The Sleestaks, for example, look very phoney, and the sets frequently look goofy. This is all well and good, since it's an obvious homage to the low-budget origins of the show. So why is it, then, that the dinosaurs were brought to life with state-of-the-art CGI? Early in the movie, Matt Lauer asks Rick Marshall in disbelief "You've spent $50 million studying time warps?". Meanwhile, the filmmakers blew $100 million making this motion picture when it could've been produced for half that amount to better effect.

Contrary to common sense, Land of the Lost is absolutely not for children. Perplexingly, the filmmakers elected the hard PG-13/borderline R-rated route. Sex jokes, abrasive profanities, vulgarities, breast grabs, drug-induced hazes and a few expected bits of rather graphic violence are all incorporated into the film; imparting a darker edge to the material that's foreign to the franchise. It'd be one thing to fully commit to a gross-out, hilariously violent, curse-ridden R-rated send-up of the television program, but the filmmakers seem afraid to pursue this. The alienating approach they end up taking will most likely charm teenagers and young couples who enjoy such films as Anchorman or Talladega Nights, but it will appeal to very few others. Admittedly, there are several amusing moments scattered throughout Land of the Lost. A few one-liners delivered by McBride and Ferrell, which feel improvisational, at least achieve chuckles. The fact that this cast is better suited to a vulgar comedy environment and that the raunchiness affords the best comedic moments is compelling evidence that the filmmakers should have selected the R rating option.

Director Brad Silberling - who was responsible for the 2004 screen adaptation of Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events - serves up a wonderful visual feast, supported by the efforts of production designer Bo Welch. A peculiar universe has been accomplished here, so it's a shame that the movie built around it isn't up to standard. Another key problem with Land of the Lost is that of unbelievably sloppy filmmaking. The editing in particular is simply ghastly. For instance, whenever the Tyrannosaurus Rex is chasing the characters, the spatial relationships are a mess. One moment the T-Rex is within biting distance of the characters...then in the following shot the characters have magically jumped forward about 10 or 20 metres. In a scene towards the climax, Marshall and Will rescue Holly from about eight or nine Sleestaks...they end up dispatching three or four, and suddenly they're all gone. Do the filmmakers assume we're not paying attention?

It's possible to see the flop-sweat of desperation on Will Ferrell's forehead as he battles to mine laughs from this barren screenplay. However Ferrell's ability to play self-deluded and conceited is admittedly somewhat amusing. Danny McBride has his moments and happily pings off Ferrell, while Anna Friel delivers a pretty stoic performance as the scientist incarnation of Lara Croft...which is all the script asks of her. The only other member of the cast worth mentioning is Leonard Nimoy, who is given a cameo.

Land of the Lost has its pleasures - the always-charming Anna Friel in small outfits, a few funny Will Ferrell moments - but it's ultimately forgettable and uneven. It's too schlocky and adult-minded in its humour for a family audience, but too dumb in its broad strokes to appeal to adults. To its credit, though, it's still enjoyable fluff, and it qualifies as one of the trippiest movies of the 2009 summer season - think the prehistoric version of Anchorman as written by Hunter S. Thompson...except it's no-where near as awesome as that sounds.

5.1/10

"Vintage Woody Allen" would be the most appropriate label for 2009's Whatever Works, because that's never been truer. Woody initially wrote this film back in 1977 as a vehicle for Zero Mostel, but the screenplay was set aside when Mostel inconsiderably died before the film could be made. However when Woody's one-movie-a-year output was placed in jeopardy by a threatened actor's strike and he needed a movie ready to go sooner than usual, he resurrected the old script and gave it a quick rewrite. Whatever Works marks the writer-director's return to New York City following several filmmaking endeavours in Europe, and it features a number of his touchstones: the philosophising of Annie Hall, the misanthropy of Deconstructing Harry, and the customary old man/young lover theme present in a lot of Woody's prior films. A familiarity that clouds the entire enterprise notwithstanding, this typically Woody-esque, comical mediation on human existence and love is the filmmaker's most effective and hilarious comedy in years (the fact that Woody wrote this film around the same time as Annie Hall probably has something to do with that).

Whatever Works opens brilliantly with Boris Yellnikoff (David) breaking the fourth wall (a typical Woody Allen technique) as he addresses the camera to introduce his narrative. However this isn't an aside; Boris is doing it in the middle of New York City in full view of bystanders. His friends think he has utterly lost it, especially when he explains that they are in fact being watched by thousands of people in theatres. This technique begins the film with an easy charm; a sly smile in the audience's direction.
Boris is an adamant misanthropist who bad-mouths children, shows little patience for anyone, and even insults the most inoffensive individuals who cross his path (perceiving them as imbecilic simpletons of inferior intellect). He also impresses his ideologies on religion, relationships and the randomness of existence upon anyone willing to listen. But when Boris begrudgingly allows naïve Mississippi runaway Melodie St. Ann Celestine (Wood) into his apartment, his reclusive rage gives way to an unlikely friendship.

Amidst this narrative, there are talky conversations at landmarks and outdoor cafés; all taking place in the New York City that Woody Allen has celebrated throughout his career. The time of separation away from his native Manhattan (during which he worked in London and Spain) has reinvigorated his work - there's a great sense of liveliness and spirit. It's a joy to see the filmmaker back in this territory. However, Whatever Works is far from flawless - in between the one-liners and witty dialogue, the narrative odds and ends of the film feel perfunctory, even resigned. The second half of the movie (full of reunions and subplots to extend the runtime) isn't as well-paced as the blisteringly hilarious, rapid-fire first half. In addition, the movie's philosophy may be about life being full of surprises, but Allen's recent output is only rarely surprising. Whatever Works reinforces the notion that the writer-director's creative well has run dry; his films now either spectacles featuring attractive characters in foreign locales (like 2008's Vicky Cristina Barcelona) or comedic larks in which notable names embody the archetypal Woody Allen role. These criticisms notwithstanding, his latest efforts are still entertaining, and with the comfortable space he's created for himself he can just get on with being Woody Allen without fretting (ironically).

Interestingly, the three decades have been kind to Woody's script for Whatever Works. It's just as funny - maybe even funnier - as it would've been back in 1977, and it feels more audacious and relevant in 2009. As a matter of fact, much of what makes the film seem daring is as a result of the passage of time. The elements guaranteed to startle in 2009 - a ménage à trois, a homosexual awakening, the generally irreligious tone - would be far less shocking to a '70s audience. The fact that Allen presents these in a matter-of-fact, offhanded manner reflects the earlier era, making them more provocative all these decades later. Since Whatever Works is a dosage of old-school Allen, the dialogue is boundlessly witty and there are some killer one-liners. Boris' diatribes are hysterical; the best Woody has written for years (once again coming back to the fact that the material was written in the '70s). Probably the most note-worthy aspect of Whatever Works is that it's one of Allen's most optimistic films about life and love to date.

Curb Your Enthusiasm comedian Larry David is an excellent Boris Yellnikoff. David was a natural to play the "Woody Allen role", and he handles himself excellently; making his character appealing and tolerable without diluting his nasty side. According to Allen, Boris is an extreme exaggeration of his feelings - to that end, David's gleeful portrayal of the unyielding misanthrope is more savage and belligerent than Woody has even been. Boris' omnipotent contempt is nothing new, but the mean-spirited ferocity is. The 74-year-old Allen could have probably pulled off the character, yet it still works with a surrogate. As a side note, there are lines delivered by Larry David that Zero Mostel might have gotten more comedic mileage out of.
David receives solid support from Evan Rachel Wood (previously seen in 2008's The Wrestler), who manages to make her role of Melodie dopey and callow but not grating or obvious. The actress disappears into the role of the Southern dumbbell to the extent that she's almost unrecognisable. Patricia Clarkson (who starred in Woody's 2008 project Vicky Cristina Barcelona) shines as Marietta, while Ed Begley Jr. and Henry Cavill fulfil their functions in the story terrifically.

Curiously, the predominantly negative reviews for Whatever Works gripe about the fact that Boris is "too unlikeable" or "unsympathetic". These critics are missing the point entirely. It's no accident that (as the familiar old record for the opening credits) Allen chose Groucho Marx singing Hello, I Must Be Going; the character of Boris Yellnikoff is the same type of sharp-witted, bitter grouser that Groucho used to portray. Despite this, Groucho was a comedian and, as often noted, a huge influence on Allen. Did anyone complain about Groucho playing a quick-witted con man who insulted everyone in sight? No, because he was funny. So is Boris Yellnikoff. So is Whatever Works to a tremendous degree. While a viewer may be left with a lingering sense of déjà vu during the movie, this is a fun and funny sit-down; a nourishing dose of old-school Woody Allen ladled on top of a New York that, after all these years, still needs him.

7.8/10

Year One looked to be the comedy of the 2009 summer season. Judd Apatow (the King Midas of modern comedy) produced the film for his idol Harold Ramis (Groundhog Day, Caddyshack) who wrote the screenplay with the staff writers for the successful American version of The Office. The two leads of the movie are Jack Black and Michael Cera, who are supported by a bunch of able actors (including David Cross, Hank Azaria and Paul Rudd). It's a colossal shame, then, that Year One is an inexplicably unfunny, hit-and-miss comedy. It's not exactly an abject laugh famine, but with the film boasting such a large variety of comedic players behind and in front of the camera it wouldn't have been unreasonable to expect something far better than this.

The film introduces two cavemen protagonists: inept hunter Zed (Black) who has a tendency to annoy the tribe's more respected members, and equally inept, wimpy gatherer Oh (Cera). Neither of them have much luck with women - Maya (Raphael), the object of Zed's lust, perceives him as an unlikely provider, while Oh's would-be bedmate Eema (Temple) doesn't even know he exists. Zed gets fed up and bored with his life, and decides to eat forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge. Since this is a violation of tribal law, Zed is banished from the primitive village, and Oh joins him as they set out to explore the ancient world.

Director Ramis and his pair of screenwriters employ material from the first book of the Bible in the form of a sketch-comedy akin to Mel Brooks' History of the World, Part I. In fact, Year One treats the Biblical book of "Genesis" not as a chronology of happenings but as a geographical road map instead. The Garden of Eden and Sodom are included, along with Cain, Abel, Abraham, Isaac and countless others - all separated by distance rather than time. The film isn't exactly a satire of Bible stories (it might've worked better had that been the objective) - it's instead a mismatched buddy movie which contains Biblical names and locations. This is not a necessarily bad idea, but laughs are crucial for a shallow comedy like this. It'd be remiss to say Year One never achieves chuckles, as it does occasionally, but these are a depressingly thin and disappointingly intermittent commodity. This could have been the new generation's Life of Brian, but that film had the advantage of a smart, inspired and hilarious screenplay written by the Monty Python troupe working at the pinnacle of their creative powers, and who were unafraid to push the boundaries in order to achieve comedic goals. Hindered by its PG-13 rating, Year One feels like the product of a group of writers having an off night with a paranoid studio executive supervising the process.

Year One plays it frustratingly safe. With little in the way of cutting Biblical humour or mockery of primitive cultures, the movie is crammed with gross-out humour, incest jokes and flat pop culture references. There's a brief scene featuring Bill Hader that fails so spectacularly that Hader himself is seen questiong the script during the end-credit outtakes. Year One might provoke belly laughs from 6 or 7-year-old kids who can't resist giggling at the image of someone farting or urinating on themselves, or someone munching on faecal matter, but what the film sorely lacks is ingenuity and wit. There's even a large orgy sequence which was probably designed to serve as the film's comedic centrepiece, but it's exasperatingly long without being funny or (thanks to the PG-13 rating) even sexy. Hell, the writers were even unable to come up with a single amusing Sodom joke; a task this reviewer could pull off over the course of a quick lunch break. Year One is a stillborn production that merely delivers 100 minutes of laugh-free scenarios.

Judd Apatow apparently has great affection for Harold Ramis, but allowing him to run wild with Year One was an ill-advised decision. The film's failure is almost entirely because of Ramis whose direction is clumsy and half-hearted, and whose sense of comic timing is slipshod. The story simply meanders along, awkwardly transitioning from one scene to the next. Ramis often cuts to the next skit before any real punchline; regularly generating the impression that huge chunks of the movie are missing. For instance, Oh is attacked by both a snake and a cougar early into the movie. But on both occasions, the film cuts to the next scene before we get to see how he gets out of it! Even the final scene ends with the characters just walking away. This is followed by an end-credit blooper reel full of flubs and on-set stuff-ups that allow an audience the opportunity to see just how little anyone cared about the production.

It's almost cruel to witness a procession of marvellous actors failing so miserably here. All these talented performers are unable to elevate the material beyond primary school depth. Furthermore, no-one in the cast pushes themselves beyond their established screen personas, with the respective shtick of Jack Black and Michael Cera - the bug-eyed, over-exuberant fat doofus and the mumbling, deadpan pork - growing tiresome very quickly. Black's comedic liveliness is usually only tolerable in small doses. With him receiving top billing and maximum screen time in Year One, he becomes grating. Cera, on the other hand, merely turns in the exact same performance we've seen him deliver in Superbad, Juno, and so on. The concept of pairing Black's bluster with Cera's reticence may have seemed foolproof in theory, but in practise the results are lethal.
Arguably, the only comedic highlight of Year One (if there is only one) is Hank Azaria's amusing interpretation of Abraham, though his screen-time is far too limited. The rest of the cast is awful, including Oliver Platt who hams it up and merely epitomises an abundance of gay jokes for his role. It would seem impossible to include a bad Paul Rudd cameo, but Harold Ramis is a can-do guy when it comes to pushing quality into the middle of the road - or, in this case, off the road and into a ditch!

Year One admittedly retains some energy, so it's tragic that this energy is squandered on a movie not really worth making. There are a few chuckles to be found here and there throughout the film, but they're so irregular that they only serve to highlight how the rest of it has utterly failed in that regard.

2.7/10

Sometimes there's nothing better than a science fiction thriller supported by an exciting premise that resonates with the present. But there's nothing worse than watching an exciting premise being squandered - and this is precisely the fate of 2009's Surrogates. Adapted from the 2006 graphic novel by Robert Venditti and Brett Weldele, this is a film that wastes a fascinating concept by inserting a generic conspiracy plot that's as nonsensical as it is hard to follow. Director Jonathan Mostow's enthralling visual scheme is not enough to compensate for the cliché-ridden script.

A rapid-fire opening credits montage reveals the technological advances leading to the "now" of the story, and explains how surrogates came to be. Most of the population of the world are now plugged into these robotic avatars (which are more or less just ideal representations of the user) and can go about their daily activities without fearing death from accidents, diseases or any other risks associated with the contemporary world. The crime rate has dropped sharply as a result, and the streets are filled with attractive people (of course there's the inevitable gag of a disgustingly obese man walking the streets as a smokin' hot female surrogate). Those who reject the surrogate culture have been marginalised and now live in ghettoised civilisations.
Set in the not-too-distant future, the film picks up when there's an anomaly in technological paradise: someone has developed a weapon which can kill a user through their surrogate (an action thought to be impossible). When the son of the man who invented the surrogates is murdered in this fashion, FBI Special Agents Greer (Willis) and Peters (Mitchell) begin investigating.

What follows is a twisty, heavily clichéd whodunit tale tagged with a predictable ending. The movie simply jumps from turn to turn in a programmed manner and feels underdone at 85 minutes; suggesting that studio interference was a problem, and the movie was trimmed heavily on its way to cinemas. Surrogates has been pared down to the bare essentials of action and whodunit without a lot of room to breathe, which is highlighted uncomfortably by the clichéd subplot concerning the relationship between Greer and his wife Maggie (Pike). It's a narrative thread that's integral to the overall story, but the melodramatic fragments are all that remain. These flaws notwithstanding, the story is at least delivered at a brisk pace. The narrative problems are brought to the fore only in hindsight - if nothing else, the film gets credit for its entertainment value.

Surrogates can be praised for its riveting visuals. Jonathan Mostow's direction is crisp and the special effects are spectacular. It's a fascinating world that's been created here, with the surrogates being given a plastic-like sheen that differentiates them from the "meat bags" who refuse to plug into the system. However the action sequences are severely undercut by one factor: the PG-13 rating. All the violent money shots are placed off camera and the violence is frustratingly tame. Luckily, though, the action is not marred by quick cutting or indecipherable shaky cam. Mostow's intention was clearly to entertain, and in that regard the director has crafted a perfectly serviceable, paint-by-numbers thriller. Unfortunately, though, the high-octane blips are just that - blips. It's admirable that the film aspires to examine deeper issues, but the script by Michael Ferris and John D. Brancato (the guys who penned Catwoman) is lacking. The filmmakers prioritise pacing over content, when a deeper, longer movie should have been produced.

The script is also riddled with holes. Surrogates would surely cost a great deal, so how would the poor or the unemployed or even the petty street criminals be able to pay for a surrogate and have their protection ensured? It's also hard to believe that virtually everyone on the planet would want to own a surrogate. Is real life truly that awful that we could all consider living life as a robot? There are other aspects which aren't touched upon. Can one eat and drink while using their surrogate? How would sex work? Furthermore, how would reproduction work? The robotic surrogates obviously wouldn't be able to give birth, and everyone seems to want to remain inside their surrogate and avoid contact with actual humans, so how the hell would more generations of people be born? The premise of Surrogates is bursting with narrative possibilities and interesting questions the movie simply isn't interested in addressing.

Bruce Willis starring in a movie is always a good thing. He's the John Wayne or Clint Eastwood of this generation: even if the movie stinks, Willis' screen presence makes it more tolerable and worthwhile. Playing the familiar movie policeman role who must risk the loyalty of his family and colleagues to uncover the truth, Willis does an exemplary job. Once his character of Greer can no longer use his surrogate, he's forced to hit the streets in the flesh. From there the film relies on his performance to allow viewers to experience Greer's system shock of facing surrogate land as a real person and realising just how ridiculous the situation has become. Instead of using flashy camera techniques to illustrate the changing perspective, Mostow focuses squarely on Willis' emotional & physical performance - the actor had to convey the central theme of the movie through his performance, and he achieves this, which is utterly extraordinary.

The filmmakers do a great job of making Bruce Willis look young and handsome. That said, the wig he wears is awful. It's a blessing that Greer breaks from his surrogate about one third into the movie. Most of the supporting cast is shoved to the side due to the brief running time. Radha Mitchell's character initially seems less predestined towards two-dimensionality, but there's no room in the tired murder plot for any back-story or solid characterisation. Rosamund Pike does what she can with the thankless role of Greer's wife, while Ving Rhames makes a strong impression as the leader of the resistance against the surrogates. James Cromwell's role is minor, but nevertheless his performance is assured.

It's clear that the creative team behind Surrogates wanted to deliver an astonishing and worthwhile sci-fi actioner. But the way the film addresses a number of meaningful issues fails to make much of an impact. While it's an enjoyable movie thanks to some quality action, and while it does achieve its goals on a very basic level, the ingenious premise is pushed aside too soon in favour of formula.

6.1/10

Dance Flick is just another in the long line of excruciating spoof films begat by the Scary Movie series. Said franchise also inadvertently unleashed upon the world the writer-director team of Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer, and their creations (Epic Movie, Date Movie, Meet the Spartans, Disaster Movie) somehow managed to earn a fortune at the box office while also being universally despised. These recent spoof "comedies" forget one very crucial thing about the genre: they forget to actually be funny. They're miles away from the belly-laugh miracles of the Airplane! and Naked Gun era. Dance Flick is merely a barrage of pointless pop culture references, ghastly stereotypes and overt spoofing - all of which unite to deter laughter. The film was created by the Wayans, and while they weren't responsible for many of the other dire parodies of recent years, you could be forgiven for thinking otherwise.

Less a baseline story than a platform on which to showcase a series of unfunny, disparate sketches, this is a spoof of (logically) every dance film imaginable (running the gamut from Fame to Step Up 2 The Streets). While there are plenty of movies that fit this criterion, Dance Flick is inexplicably focused on 2001's Save the Last Dance. It adapts that particular movie's plot almost scene-for-scene, probably because the filmmakers couldn't be bothered coming up with something more creative on their own.
To an extent, there is a plot (however paltry). It concerns a white, naïve ex-dancer named Megan (Bush) who moves in with her father (Elliot) after her mother dies in a car accident. She hooks up with black street dancer Thomas (Wayans Jr.) and together they aim to compete in a local contest to scoop some much-needed cash. You see, Thomas needs money to pay larger-than-life gangster Sugar Bear (Grier) - who looks like a cross between Fat Bastard and Mr. Creosote.

As with other recent spoofs, the satirical elements of Dance Flick aren't restricted to dance films. One of the most unbearable failed gags of the movie comes at the expense of Twilight. There are also parodies of Black Snake Moan, Catwoman (WTF?!) and even Little Miss Sunshine merely to get the film up to its barely feature-length runtime. The puerile attempts to raise laughs lack subtlety, skilful direction or any degree of intelligence. Instead, there's a junior version of Ray Charles (with his blindness cruelly used as a launching pad for numerous "comedic" mishaps) and a dance instructor named Ms. Cameltoé (Sedaris). Guess what? Yep, Ms. Cameltoé has a noticeably large vagina...and it even beatboxes!

Dance Flick also contains a large variety of potty jokes, racial jokes and hackneyed gags (for instance the music at one stage overwhelms a character who's speaking, so he turns to the orchestra and tells them to quiet down). All this pushes the film's PG-13 rating to the very brink. The point is not that this stuff is offensive, but that it's so insufferably terrible. Exposition and random skits and mashed together willy-nilly with no concern for making a coherent motion picture, and the end result looks and feels like what one would expect from a bunch of kids screwing around with a camera during a family reunion (considering the number of Wayans involved, this could actually be the case here). There's an unexpected amount of energy here (particularly during the dance numbers), but this cannot excuse the tragic deficiency of laughs and the fact that the whole thing is just plain gruelling.

Recently, so many genre parody movies have been made that they no longer carry a novelty factor, making Dance Flick tedious and familiar. This is the very definition of critic-proof - if you want to view this bottom-feeding cash-grab that caters to the lowest common denominator, you've already made up your mind and no amount of reviews will persuade you otherwise. For those of you who adored Disaster Movie or Meet the Spartans, you're welcome to indulge in this tosh...but please keep it away from the rest of us. You know, some of the worst dance movies actually exist as self-parodies, so what the fuck is the point of parodying them anyway???

1.5/10

Yet again, the folks at Disney have given their Talking Animal Movie Randomiser (™) a spin, and this time it's landed on the action-comedy G-Force - a technically impressive blend of live action and CGI about a gaggle of superspy guinea pigs in Mission: Impossible mode. Unfortunately, this is a film which relies so heavily on its central conceit that it neglects everything else. If the talking rodents were removed from the equation, G-Force would be an exceedingly generic spy adventure riddled with holes - and this is hardly a surprise, given that the screenplay was written by the husband-and-wife team of Cormac and Marianne Wibberley, who also penned Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle and Bad Boys II. This is a Jerry Bruckheimer movie as well, so this sort of thing is standard operating procedure for him.

As one would expect, the protagonists of G-Force are the rodents that constitute the titular group: 3 guinea pigs (Rockwell, Cruz, Morgan) and a high-tech mole (Cage). There's also a housefly on the team who does surveillance. (Believe it or not, not only can this fly understand English, but it has also surpassed its two-week lifespan! Amazing!) The human who heads this elite squad is Ben (Galifianakis), along with his assistant Marcie (Garner). While trying to uncover the insidious plan of electronics magnate Leonard Saber (Nighy), the G-Force is shut down following an unauthorised operation to get evidence. (Oh, that old plot point?) Eventually the rodents end up in a pet store where they're held for adoption, but wish to escape from captivity and take down Saber. From there it's Mission: Impossible meets Toy Story meets Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen.

G-Force clearly feels the urge to present viewers with a sympathetic portrayal of talking animals when potential viewers, both young and old, would rather witness the heroes in all stages of miniature combat and furry teamwork instead. It's quite easy to be taken during the introductory sequences of the film. However, beyond this (possibly in a page count panic), the writers insist on an emotional conflict and heavy exposition, sticking to every hoary screenwriting template that submerges the heroes in doubt so a false sense of triumph can be concocted. The typical "learn to have faith in yourself" plot point eventually pops up out of no-where, and is resolved so quickly that it feels hastily thrown in simply because a clueless producer insisted on such a moment. This all kills the momentum of the picture. It's a mystery as to why movies can't take a page from Pixar, and learn how to have it both ways - to develop characters terrifically, while entertaining and gaining momentum along the way.

The pay-off of the whole story is an action sequence featuring a giant robot comprised of many small appliances. This whole set-piece just seems like a knee-jerk reaction to Transformers and an acknowledgement of the sequel. The clueless producers probably realised how much young boys love watching robots fighting, and figured it'd also belong in a movie about talking guinea pigs. G-Force is backed by a script that travels on autopilot; assuming that an assortment of fart jokes, cheesy one-liners and pop culture references will appease viewers of all ages. There are a few amusing moments, but every good punchline is countered by limp gags (for instance yuks about Facebook and Paris Hilton)... G-Force is just not an overly funny movie.

First-time director Hoyt Yeatman has enjoyed a long career as a special effects mastermind. He has presided over some of Hollywood's biggest blockbusters, ranging from Star Trek: The Motion Picture to Armageddon (he even earned an Academy Award for his work on James Cameron's The Abyss). His reward for all these efforts is the chance to finally helm a feature film of his own...in the form of G-Force. It's logical for Yeatman to be given CG-intensive material for his directorial debut, but he seems too distracted by the technical angle that he doesn't bother with decent storytelling. His misplaced attentions result in some truly incredible CGI work - the critters look extraordinarily realistic (only a few notches below photorealistic, in fact), and the faux Transformer is as impressive as anything that stomped around in Michael Bay's movies. When G-Force is locked in adventure mode, it's an unexpected charmer. The action set-pieces do have an impressive zing to them, backed by Trevor Rabin's fantastic score. But wouldn't it have been nice if such attention was given to the script & story, too? To an extent, the generic nature may be intentional - it's amusing to see action movie clichés re-enacted by guinea pigs. But once the novelty wears off, it's just an ordinary, by-the-numbers spy caper. And due to an action shortage, it's not fun enough.

The most depressing blow is the casting of Zach Galifianakis as the G-Force's handler. The bushy-bearded comedian broke out into mainstream cinema with 2009's surprise hit The Hangover in which he played a uniquely hilarious character. In G-Force, Galifianakis plays a cookie-cutter role; essentially the straight man to a trio of wisecracking guinea pigs. All the human actors - including Kellie Garner, Will Arnett and Billy Nighy - are mere props, and one wonders if the movie might've worked better if their characters were animated instead. The voice work is admittedly better than expected. Nicolas Cage clearly relished the opportunity to have fun with a goofy mole voice. The rest of the voice actors - Sam Rockwell as the leader of the group, Jon Favreau as a chubby, flatulent guinea pig, Steve Buscemi as a vicious hamster, Penélope Cruz as the obligatory female of the team, and Tracey Morgan as a wisecracking guinea pig operative - place forth solid work. Fairly forgettable, but not woeful.

G-Force is a halfway decent action-comedy. It simply doesn't trust itself enough to run carefree and enjoy the wacky premise...it's instead packed with achingly dull scripting and exposition that eats up most of the film. The special effects are very impressive of course, but the filmmakers should have understood that even with great animation, a lousy story is still a lousy story. Like all high profile summer releases, G-Force targets a particular audience and it will undoubtedly please them - after all it's just pleasant, inoffensive entertainment - but it's also pointless and instantly forgettable.

4.8/10