NO STRINGS ATTACHED- Review

Natalie Portman has Thor and Your Highness lined up this year, so it's a more promising slate than any Best Actress winner of recent years has had after picking up a little golden bloke. Charlize Theron was in Hancock, Halle Berry was in Catwoman, and Sandra Bullock appears to have disappeared off the face of the Earth. But in the same weekend as Portman won, we got No Strings Attached. Er, can you give that Oscar back, please?

Ashton Kutcher plays Adam, an all-round nice guy who's unfortunately discovered that his TV star dad is boning his ex-girlfriend. Portman serves as executive producer here, and also stars as Emma, an old friend who becomes Adam's friend with benefits after he goes on a self-destructive drunken bender to try and find himself a woman. The terms of their relationship are firmly set out- it's just about the sex and there should be no emotional attachment. But then...!

Yeah, you can probably see how this one's going to pan out from the scant synopsis provided. Hell, you can probably tell from the poster. Fuck, even the trailer has some pretty reliable pointers. The most annoying thing about repetitive romcoms, or repetitive horrors, or repetitive films of any genre, is that my subsequent reviews become repetitive as well. For generic and formulaic filmmaking, No Strings Attached isn't as bad as either The Rite or I Am Number Four, but it remains that all three of these films came out last Friday.

My main bugbear with the film is that it's masquerading as a more offbeat and grown-up romcom, but a 15 certificate for strong language and a prurient fixation does not make a grown-up romcom. And you could never really call it off-beat because ultimately, it doth protest too much. Yeah, sex exists in this, unlike in 12A rated, Katherine Heigl-starring, lowest common denominator tosh. Yeah, there's what you might call an unconventional attitude to romance for a film with these stars and of this type. Yeah, you have to look at Kutcher's bare arse at one point.

These are all things that you don't see in your garden-variety romcom, but at the same time, it's too safe, and too conventional. Even though the terms of a sex-only arrangement are perfectly clear, everyone still winds up adhering to social norms, like wanting to get married and find a soulmate. It's more cheeky than risqué, and not really sexy at all. But it's precisely because it's a film with these stars and a film of this type that it can't stray too far from the beaten path. It's weird, because Portman can only be seen as sort of miscast in this one. There are happy-go-lucky moments that seem so forced when she's acting them that they're destined for scary slo-mo edits in the future.

It's real nightmare fuel at times, and Emma's interactions with Adam gradually make her seem at least 70% as neurotic as Portman's character in Black Swan. Just don't expect her to pick up an Oscar for this one. Kutcher is entirely within his comfort zone, because he always plays the guy who's kind of a player, but not in a way that's threatening. In these films, he's always that guy who women want to screw and men don't mind hanging around with, him being so cool and whatnot. The only room for variation seems to be how annoying he is while doing that, and to his credit, that's dialled way down here, compared to something like Killers.

The rest of the casting is a little strange too. I spent quite a lot of time thinking that Emma's boss, a bearded and fuzzy looking doctor, reminded me of Cary Elwes. And then it turned out he was played by Cary Elwes. It's such a negligible role that you wonder what ever attracted him to it. Kevin Kline plays Adam's dad and just seems pretty happy to be back on the big screen being funny again- I like Kline, and don't begrudge him for making me chuckle in this one.

Ophelia Lovibond, so promising in 4.3.2.1, somehow sounds like an American actress doing a bad British accent when she is in fact British- it's almost like she was directed that way. Greta Gerwig and Olivia Thirlby are more interesting and more natural than the leading lady's character, and if this is beginning to sound like a big cast, that's because it is. So big, in fact, that we get the dreaded credits montage that shows what happened to everyone after Adam and Emma's thread was wrapped up. It's an excruciating footnote- from now on, let's end these films when the credits begin, eh?

No Strings Attached is a romcom that is more like than unlike, and it's too familiar to really distinguish it as its own beast. It made me laugh a couple of times, but not nearly enough. In the weekend of its release, its leads won awards- Portman got Best Actress at the Oscars of course, but Ashton Kutcher picked up Worst Actor at the Golden Raspberries. The former cannot elevate the latter, because she's completely out of her element in this territory. And in any case, it's a film that shows his nipples and not hers- Love and Other Drugs broke more taboos than this pretender.

No Strings Attached is now showing in cinemas nationwide.
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If you've seen No Strings Attached, why not share your comments below?

I'm Mark the mad prophet, and until next time, don't watch anything I wouldn't watch.

JUST GO WITH IT- Review

From R-L: Twat, Twat, Surprisingly Good

Consulting the IMDB, I realised today that before Just Go with It, the last time I saw a Jennifer Aniston film at the cinema was The Break Up, all the way back in 2006. For Adam Sandler, same story (save for a Funny People shaped blip) with Click. After seeing Just Go with It, I realise I haven't particularly missed either of them.

Sandler plays Danny, a man-whore plastic surgeon, and Aniston plays Katherine, his hard-working secretary. Danny's trademark ploy with women is to wear a fake wedding ring and pretend that he's in a deeply unhappy marriage in order to get laid. When the ring messes up his chances with a woman he has something more than utter contempt for, maths teacher Palmer, he constructs an elaborate web of lies to cover his mistake, pulling in Katherine and her two kids.

After an experience like this, I often find myself looking for someone to blame. Forgoing Adam Sandler, who should know better after sending himself up so richly in Funny People, and Jennifer Aniston, who is surprisingly the best thing about this film by far, then the prime suspect is Dennis Dugan. He's a frequent collaborator with Sandler, and he's been likened to a neutron bomb to comedy. But then you look at the screenplay credits, and you find Allan Loeb. Loeeeeb!

This man, who reduces me to fits of Shatner-esque screaming rage, has had two credits in the last 12 months that particularly stand out to me. First, on last year's Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps, which subsisted upon risible dialogue like "Greed got greedier." More recently, there's The Dilemma, which somehow subsisted on being fucking awful. If this seems unreasonable, that's because I review films, but Loeb's now been involved in three films I really hated. Focusing on this minute bit of trivia, he's my new nemesis.

I hate to call children Twats, but I will say that there's more than one Twat in this picture.

At his door, I lie most of the blame for the repulsive waste that is Just Go with It, because it exploits an audience's willing suspension of disbelief beyond endurance, just like The Dilemma did. As with that film, I thought of a simple solution to all of the conflict within the film that would have worked just ten minutes in, without us having to be subjected to the following 106 minutes. Instead, no one thinks of my perfectly workable solution of pretending to be married to avoid getting hit on by women who want to shag a plastic surgeon, and so the stakes build up like an enormous Jenga tower made out of Twats.

Sandler's character, as so many of his characters are nowadays, is an capital-T Twat. He's clearly capable of better if Punch-Drunk Love and, yes, even Funny People demonstrated, but he's using his star power for evil these days, it seems. Let's look at some of the other characters' backgrounds- Palmer is a maths teacher. Now, Palmer is played by model Brooklyn Decker, and the film objectifies her just as much as the marketing. No matter how much her character's stupidity is played up, we saw her being a maths teacher, so that's acceptable- she's just a silly woman, after all, right?

Jennifer Aniston, though trying her best with the awful detritus she's given, is even more marginalised and trodden upon during the proceedings, being utterly passive and apparently wearing glasses that made her look so dowdy that nobody noticed until she takes them off that she's actually, well, Jennifer Aniston. Then there's the "comedy" cousin, the "comedy" disfigured plastic surgery patient and the obligatory precocious little twats, one of whom adopts the most grating British accent imaginable because it's a "cute character quirk" that actually makes a real life American version of Battle Royale seem a more endearing concept.

Something happened while I was watching this film that never, ever happens. Something happened that so insulted my intelligence that I had to actually walk out of the screening to gather myself for a minute. It's a joke about a sheep. If you've seen it, I'm talking about the call back, not the first instance. This highlight of comic genius is heralded by the clunkiest set-up ever, delivered by a wooden actress, and it pushed my endurance beyond limits. I returned a minute or so later, but it's a first for me. Shit often stinks so much that I hold my nose, but it's rarely so offensive that I can't even look at it.

How many laughs did it raise? Just one, at a visual gag that would be a minor highlight in another film. That gives a ratio between minutes of screen time and funny jokes of 116 to one. There's no type of bad film I hate more than a bad comedy. Did I mention that this film is far, far too fucking long? I think I've already given the impression that it's effluvient self-indulgence of the basest kind, but it's the amount of time it wastes that really grinds my gears. 116 minutes is too long and yet still apparently not long enough to actually bring a conclusion to the leaning tower of a narrative, which is explained away in a narrated montage in the last two minutes of the film.

"Why can't you be a Twat like the rest of us?"

Weirdly, my new nemesis Allan Loeb has compensated for his earlier efforts on The Dilemma in penning Just Go with It, a film that's even worse! It's so bad that it makes you yearn for The Dilemma, even though it's only marginally less shit. He cannot be allowed to go on doing this- watching this film already feels like your brain is being deprived of oxygen for almost two hours. Blame could be assigned elsewhere, but it's the genuinely horrible script that really puts this film through the bottom of the barrel. The queasiest and most abominable kind of film.

Just Go with It is now showing in cinemas nationwide,
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If you've seen Just Go with It, why not share your comments below?

I'm Mark the mad prophet, and until next time, don't watch anything I wouldn't watch.

MORNING GLORY- Review

Once in a while, somebody cracks the code and puts out a romcom that has likeable characters and a properly funny and talented cast. To be fair to Morning Glory, it's as much a workplace comedy as a romantic comedy, and it's also a satire about breakfast programming, albeit a very fluffy one.

Rachel McAdams plays Becky Fuller, a hardworking and dedicated TV executive of the kind usually played much worse by Katherine Heigl. When she loses her job on a local breakfast show, she finds herself begging for a job nobody else wants on another network, presenting their apocalyptically bad breakfast magazine show, "Daybreak". With six weeks to turn the show around, she begins making changes to get Daybreak up to scratch, starting with hiring veteran anchor Mike Pomeroy to bolster the show's credibility.

The Heigl connection is what's most astonishing to me. This is precisely the kind of film that you can imagine Katherine Heigl ruining, because its lead is exactly the kind of character she plays. Career driven, energetic, klutzy and with apparent self-esteem issues despite obviously looking like a cover girl for some magazine or other. The script itself is nothing that couldn't be overwhelmed by her shrewy and shouty shtick. And so this film's masterstroke, and the thing that turns Morning Glory into something a million times more enjoyable than something like The Ugly Truth, is its casting.

For one thing, it works nicely as a banner for why Rachel McAdams should be a much bigger star than she is now, although it also kind of suggests that she's been wise with her choices. She hasn't been in more of those Heigl-esque films, and thus far she's got a pretty good track record. More power to her, but she proves her mettle here as a much better comedy actress than I had previously thought. The crucial thing about a character like Becky is that she's not annoying when she's jumping up and down and running all around trying to hold this chaotic mess of a professional life together. You actually give a shit about whether she succeeds or fails.

The other nice touch is the pairing of Harrison Ford and Diane Keaton, with Keaton proving to be a reliable foil, as she always has been, and Ford coming to life in a way that we haven't seen in a long, long time. I've been saying for a while that his upcoming Cowboys & Aliens is precisely the kind of film he should be making these days, but this has actually changed my mind. I want to see Henry Jones Jr. in some more comedies. The guy has impeccable comic timing, and we haven't seen that utilised enough in all of those films where his wife and/or family are kidnapped or killed.

As to the satire, it's covering a bit of the same ground as All About Steve. OK, OK, I'm sorry for mentioning All About Steve, but please, let's be selective and remember that the best part of that misjudged horror was the parody of rolling news mentality. And in a nice fluffy film like Morning Glory, that's the most apt comparison. It's not Network, because there are certain characters who don't get angry or shout even once, and it's not Anchorman, because the news was probably the least part of that film's zeitgeist-y comedy. It's important to say though, that the film's sense of humour about breakfast show banality is one of the highlights.

Having liked it much more than I ever expected, I'm eager to avoid exaggerating its appeal. It's not perfect, by a long stretch. The more obvious touches come straight from the romantic comedy playbook, including the hugely obtrusive soundtrack and its tendency to herald funny montages and the like. Similarly, I would have shed no tears at all if the film had ended ten minutes earlier than it did, mostly because this very late point in the film is where they chose to bring in some new conflict for Becky's character and install a false mad dash moment. At least they didn't string out the obvious denouement across the whole film, but even in its minimised form, it still rings false.

Morning Glory is what you'd call the sure thing in cinemas this week. Black Swan's screeching melodramatic horror won't be for everyone, and the only other film targeted at the female audience this week is The Dilemma, the quality of which remains to be seen. On the other hand, you have this film, which is entirely fluffy but also very charming and winsome. So much of why it works is down to the casting. They went for Harrison Ford, not Robert DeNiro looking for a paycheck. Patrick Wilson, not Gerard Butler. Jeff Goldblum, not anybody else but Jeff Goldblum. And most importantly, Rachel McAdams instead of Katherine bloody Heigl. Give it a chance, and you'll be very pleasantly surprised.

Morning Glory is now playing in cinemas nationwide.
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If you've seen Morning Glory, why not share your comments below?

I'm Mark the mad prophet, and until next time, don't watch anything I wouldn't watch.

Old and Noir

As something of a regular disclaimer, it's only my opinion here- others are available. As ever, mild spoilers may occur in the process of reviewing, but never so far as to spoil any major plot developments.

It's a sign of the times when a romantic comedy set in the present day actually looks old compared to a noir thriller based on a pulp novel from the 1950s. Alas, that's the case with Michael Winterbottom's intense and uncomfortable new film, The Killer Inside Me and the latest from romcom arch-bastard Robert Luketic, snappily and misleadingly titled Killers. Hell, both involve killing, so it's all good right? Right?

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So Killers reunites Katherine Heigl with her director on The Ugly Truth, Robert Luketic. The collaboration we were all dying to see this year. She plays Jen, who meets a contract killer named Spencer while holidaying in France with her parents. He doesn't choose to share his past vocation with her once they put down some roots and "hilarity ensues" when his former bosses put out a $20 million hit on him.

There was a time when films provided a real escape from ordinary life for viewers who couldn't afford to actually travel the world, seeing beautiful places and beautiful people. As you'll have noticed, times have changed. Standards of beauty have adjusted and the ability to holiday in France is well within many people's means. Another minor change is that while the premise of this film wasn't great back when James Cameron did it in True Lies, it's even worse now.

The majority of this is just going to be me wailing on Katherine Heigl and Ashton Kutcher, because while they're not the beginning and end of the problems with Killers, they're certainly largely at fault. Maybe less so than the casting department, because the fact is that these two have absolutely no chemistry. Sure, we're meant to idolise each of them, but if you use that logic to say they make a good couple, we're in the same territory as the genetically suitable gag from The Invention of Lying.

Some of that idolatry is just weird though. At one point Jen refers to Spencer as a paragon of "god-like perfection". Really? The Punk'd guy?! OK, there's a certain level of over-statement in some romantic comedies that I can let slide, but Kutcher isn't likeable in this at all. He's not as bad as he was in Valentine's Day, but then nobody in that huge cast has ever been as bad as they were in that film. He's unequal to the task of being an interesting or convincing action hero here.

It doesn't help that he's no James Bond, but he utterly sinks when paired with Katherine Heigl as his er... lovely wife. After her star-making turn in Knocked Up, Heigl downright chomped on the hand that fed by calling it an immature and sexist film and she's had a succession of roles in romantic comedies like these. Casting someone this outspoken opposite an actor as weak as Kutcher leads to her apparently clueless character telling the experienced professional killer what to do. If this is Heigl's idea of a strong female role, it's impossible to see what her beef was with Judd Apatow's writing.

They're not entirely to blame- be assured that the script is routinely awful too. Luketic's direction is systematic and trite, and there's a poor attempt to compensate for the lack of a decent action star in the lead. This involves casting third-tier comedy actors as the sleeper agents sent after Spencer. While I admit that the one smirk this alleged comedy raised out of me was at the behest of that intense Vegas cop from The Hangover, he's no manner of hitman. See also, the woman who does the voice of Lois Griffin in Family Guy.

To be frank, Killers is a far cry from the worst film you could see this year and it's certainly not as bad as last year's Luketic monstrosity The Ugly Truth, but at the same time I can't understand why anyone would like this. It's not funny, it's not interesting and the leads make for the weakest double act since Pierce Brosnan and Halle Berry in Die Another Day. And at least you'd believe they could kill things- you can barely even believe Heigl and Kutcher would be friends.

Killers is playing in cinemas nationwide from June 18th
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The Killer Inside Me follows Deputy Sheriff Lou Ford on a destructive if subtle rampage through his sleepy hometown, Central City. Psychotic and mentally unbalanced by his troubled past, Lou embarks upon violent relationships with stubborn prostitute Joyce and childhood sweetheart Amy, while his colleagues race after him trying to attribute his atrocious crimes.

Director Michael Winterbottom has copped a lot of flak for the violence in this stylish noir-thriller, and to some extent, such a response is justified. I don't know whether or not he set out to offend people, but he's certainly unapologetic for the film's unflinching violence towards women.

He quite rightly says that those scenes are supposed to be repugnant, chiming with a long-held view of mine that the casual approach of killing hundreds or thousands of innocent bystanders in big dumb 12A-rated action films is more damaging than the harsh approach of films like this.

With controversy swirling around it regardless of what you or I think, it only remains to say whether or not it's a good film. On balance, yes it is. It has a compulsively watchable central performance from Casey Affleck as Lou, which makes those violent scenes all the more difficult to look away from. The man has a magnetic screen presence as a psychologically damaged, and therefore unreliable narrator and protagonist.

In any other film, you'd wince at the casting of Kate Hudson and Jessica Alba, two actresses who haven't exactly been setting the world alight with their great performances, line delivery or career choices. Here, they're both more than bearable, and even watchable. Hudson in particular is a highlight as Amy, the brow-beating girlfriend whose early hostility to Lou is possibly what stirs his resentment of women.

It's an intensely unlikeable film that's masterfully put together. As we delve into Lou's past and psychosis, our eyes are drawn to the lavish period detail, our ears to the utter dissonance of the soundtrack with what's going on in the story. I think it's in this that I was most reminded of two other films- American Psycho and No Country for Old Men. Given how the book existed long before either, you have to wonder if they drew from the protagonist and narrative of the novel, or if Winterbottom just recognised a familiar and proven way of telling a similar story.

The major quibble to raise with the film, aside from its uncompromising portrayal of violence, is with its pace. The film fills out almost 110 minutes with a languorous pace- a welcome break from the Boom Bang Wallop pace of other serial killer flicks. The friend I saw this film with declared it to be a pile of shit afterwards, because he was bored by it. I personally got entangled in its depravity and found it to be an intensely uncomfortable experience.

With source material that Stanley Kubrick once called "the most chilling and believable" that he had ever read, and an talent like Winterbottom at the helm, The Killer Inside Me is a genuinely disturbing thriller. The thrills may be scant on account of the pace, but those offended should realise that you're meant to be disturbed by the central character's actions. Being intrigued by this is no less valid than being amused by Killers. Present me one person who likes each film, and I'll tell you who I think is more unbalanced.

The Killer Inside Me is playing in selected cinemas nationwide.
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If you've seen The Killer Inside Me and/or Killers, why not comment on the films or on my reviews below? If you heard Katherine Heigl saying Killers was "a great movie" at the premiere, be sure to get in contact with Trading Standards about false advertising, as I have.

I'm Mark the mad prophet, and until next time, don't watch anything I wouldn't watch.