Generally speaking, Sylvester Stallone the screenwriter has a pretty strong grasp as to what his audience wants. This doesn't always result in high art, but it's usually fun. His latest screenplay that made its way to the screen is Homefront, a star vehicle for Stallone's now-frequent collaborator Jason Statham directed by Gary Fleder (Kiss the Girls, The Express). Though Statham has a helluva time sticking with the accent established in the open, he does get to play the part of the one-man wrecking ball. If there's one thing the audience wants in a Jason Statham movie, it is to get to see him kick a whole lot of ass. Homefront delivers that in spades.
What Homefront also has is a fairly strong supporting cast. James Franco plays the country thug with flair. Kate Bosworth is surprisingly good as a meth-head mom. Winona Ryder, Frank Grillo, and Clancy Brown round out the support.
In the end, though, it's all about Statham, and Homefront is one of the better showcases for his skill-set in recent memory. It may not reinvent the wheel, but Statham can use that wheel to beat the fuck out of you.
I'll open with the obligatory apology for lack of activity on the blog. Sorry.
Now that I've gotten that out of the way, Spring Breakers was kind of a mess. It was ridiculous, James Franco was great, and there were plenty of moments to like*, but ultimately Harmony Korine's new film never really congeals into a cohesive vision, or at least not a cohesive film.
*If you're broken, like I am.
At various points throughout the film, it feels like Harmony Korine is attempting to make a point, to speak to the state that American society finds itself in. Somewhere in the mix, it felt as though he was going to highlight how the bacchanal that is the spring break phenomenon was metaphorically related to Rome at the fall of the Empire, in his own cold, idiosyncratic, exploitative way. There were moments where it felt like that point was going to be furthered, but that path was abandoned without warning.
There were times where it felt like Spring Breakers was trying to represent some sort of truth, a scripted riff on cinéma vérité-informed filmmaking, but then the moments of truth were undercut by moments of absurd, over-the-top acts by characters that tore you from associating the film with the reality that was being established moments earlier. The establishment of the girls' mundane college existence seemed to be an attempt to ground the film. Then they rob "the chicken shack" in a turn that seems to abruptly point the film in the direction of the good girls gone bad exploitation flick, only to go back to roughly half an hour of montage heavy spring breaking, with next-to-zero nudity from the principal cast (the only non-partial nudity is of Rachel Korine, guys and gals) no less. At many points in the film, it feels like Harmony Korine is going to take this film to the next level, advancing and peddling his bizarre brand of shock-and-awe exploitation masquerading as art-house fodder, but then he pulls back.
In the end, Spring Breakers never gets past feeling like a Harmony Korine film was smashed together with an after school special, party scenes from Girls Gone Wild series, and a salvaged but incomplete Michael Mann film. This makes for a particularly schizophrenic viewing experience, one made all the worse by the fact that only Franco and Gucci Mane distinguish themselves as capable actors in the film, while the girls (Vanessa Hudgens, Ashley Benson, and Selena Gomez round out the cast) are simply present while the camera is rolling, hoping that these were the roles that freed them from the ranks of type-cast "good girls." If the film was just James Franco tickling the ivories and singing with the girls, it would have been great, but instead Korine's attempt at inserting himself into the crime drama game is a total clusterfuck. It is fun at times, but that fun is mitigated at least in part by the aimlessness of its auteur.
Tar--the James Franco-produced project featuring twelve of his NYU grad students'* collected and re-edited short films based on poems found in C.K. Williams titular collection--is an interesting filmic experience. Functioning largely as an elegiac meditation on innocence, both a fond remembrance and a lamentation on the loss of it, Tar is enriched with a lyrical, image-driven presentation of ideas and themes.
*It only seems right to give them their due. In credited order: Edna Luise Biesold, Sarah-Violet Bliss, Gabrielle Demeestere, Alexis Gambis, Brooke Goldfinch, Shripriya Mahesh, Pamela Romanowsky, Bruce Thierry Cheung, Tine Thomasen, Virginia Urreiztieta, and Omar Zúñiga Hidalgo are all writers and directors; Shruti Ganguly is an additional screenwriter.
Much like the film that obviously inspired its look and feel--Franco said as much in the introductory presentation--The Tree of Life, Tar is not a film featuring a traditional, linear, three-act structure. For someone who loved The Tree of Life, this is a style of filmmaking that is at least in part appealing. Now there is an element of feeling a bit reductive, and while it is impossible to not be entirely enamored with Jessica Chastain, it is a bit on the nose to cast her as the identical character that she was in the film that so heavily influenced it. There is not anyone better suited to play the part, so one cannot fault the filmmakers responsible for the scenes of Williams's adolescence for jumping at the chance to let Chastain ply her trade. It does, however, make it feel as though they are shouting the influence from the rooftops.
Largely, though, this is a series of connected short films by grad students from a storied program with a star-studded cast including Franco, Chastain, Mila Kunis, Zach Braff, Bruce Campbell, and Henry Hopper. The near-final product--Franco stated that this was not quite finished, though one has to imagine that it is close to done--works for the most part. Tar is evocative, serving the image and C.K. Williams's words well. It is ultimately 75 minutes culled from roughly three hours worth of short films, feeling mostly like a film with a cohesive vision and having averted the potential trap of clashing styles by establishing a visual style beforehand and employing just two cinematographers to better align the shorts to be better able to synthesize a cohesive film from the shorts. As a film, it is captivating if occasionally disjointed. Tar is much better than one would expect for when faced with the prospect of undertaking the viewing of more than an hour of student films. It certainly has its merits, and coming out of the film, there was an interest in seeing how the separate shorts played themselves out on their own merits, leaving me interested in an eventual DVD/Bluray release. Then again, this is coming from someone who minored in film studies while majoring in English lit.
James Franco also fielded questions immediately following the screening, first from the Alamo Drafthouse's moderator and film programmer, Sam Prime, and then from the crowd. Most of the questions pertained to the film we had just seen, and it was interesting to hear how the experience was for the actors (who were getting back to a purer form (read: non-commercial) of filmmaking with these burgeoning directors) and for the directors (who were actually getting to work with accomplished actors for the first time). I didn't take notes because I'm not "that guy," but he seemed to really love having taught the class, and Tar looks to be the first of many of these projects, the next one being done through the UCLA MFA film program, if I remember correctly.
Somewhat predictably, I read this book. After all, I did record a large chunk of the General Hospital run he made. Weird to say the least.
It's been months since I finished this book, but that's just how things have been flowing out here lately.
For those unfamiliar, Palo Alto is a collection of short stories penned by the modern-day Renaissance man set in his hometown of Palo Alto in the early-to-mid-1990s. Set amongst high schoolers whose lives occasionally intertwine in these stories, Franco makes the rounds through different teens' lives, always stepping into their shoes in the first-person. If one subscribes to the notion that teens aren't particularly complex, then Franco is able to convey the alienation and insecurity implicit in being a teen.
His vision/recollection of teen angst is a bit bleak, with his characters routinely exposed to senseless crime and emotionally disconnected sex, but is this really that far off?
Where he does come up a bit short is in the fleshing out of the characters. While the voices do at times seem to come from unique people, their narration does not ring in any meaningful way as stylistically dissimilar from one another. Furthermore, when attempting to take on the voice of a female, Franco has the same issue that many male authors have when trying to embody a female voice in prose: it rings inauthentic. While it is difficult to fault a male scribe for being able to accurately pen the dialogue or first-person narration from a female's perspective, the fact remains that the attempt was made and said attempt was by and large unsuccessful.
While not quite hitting it out of the park, Franco's first foray into the realm of fiction is at least an admirable attempt. Those who are inclined to read this probably will. Those who want to hate this because an actor wrote this probably will as well. Objectively, this is a perfectly readable collection of short stories with at least some merit, if not pulled together completely. There is enough here to at least be curious as to where his literary path will take him.
First things first, this is a David Gordon Green film written by Ben Best and Danny McBride. This means a few things. It will look good. It will be lewd. It will not be possible to have a trailer representative of what the movie is actually like that can actually be played in any theaters that most people are going to. Here's the redband trailer:
Make no mistake, this is a lewd damn movie. If it wasn't, it would just be Monty Python and the Holy Grail*. Not only have we already seen this, but it wouldn't be funny now. Instead, Best and McBride did what they do best, created a hero who is a completely selfish, unredeemable asshole. They then throw the man best equipped to portray this character into the role, McBride himself. He is dragged kicking and screaming along on a journey to make himself better, and while he ultimately ascends to some higher level of honor through battle, he remains largely unchanged. This is what has made Eastbound and Downso great. This is also the part that worked about The Foot Fist Way.
*I know this is heretical, but I really don't see how MPatHG is as revered as it is. It simply doesn't strike me as being that funny and certainly doesn't deserve to be quoted as often as it is.
Your Highness also provides James Franco a platform to act comedically, something he doesn't get to do often enough. Hell, he basically went from when Freaks and Geekswent off the air until Pineapple Express without doing any comedies (unless you count Spider-Man 3), despite the fact that he clearly has an aptitude for comedic acting. Yes, he plays the straight man here, but his comic timing is spot on.
This leads us to the riskier proposition of adding Natalie Portman to the mix. Another actor much more well known for their dramatic turns, Portman's limited range when coupled with the extremely limited range of Zooey Deschanel put Your Highness at great risk of having two actresses ill-suited to hold their own in nearly anything because they have an inability to match the tone of what they are in because they can basically play themselves.
Shockingly, Portman did not bother me. Even more stunning to me was the fact that Portman was actually hot. It's not often that I say that.
As was the case with each of the Best/McBride screenplays brought to the screen, the film was a bit uneven, but this was definitely another step in the right direction. As was bound to be the case, David Gordon Green's hand at the wheel leaves us with a film that looks much better than most of its ilk would. This is much appreciated. Hopefully, this kicks off a slew of Green/Best/McBride films.
Well, it's been well over a month since I saw this one. I guess I've been sidetracked.
I'll keep this relatively short (at least for me). At this point, I'd imagine almost all of the readers here at Inconsiderate Prick have seen this film anyway.
The King's Speech was very good--probably even great. Colin Firth was outstanding, as was Geoffrey Rush. Their nominations were completely justified. Firth, clearly growing tired of always being the bridesmaid, decided to heed the advice Kirk Lazarus gives in Tropic Thunder. He is a great actor outside of this and the award is justified even if I would have preferred that James Franco* had won it.
*I don't give a damn about the bombing as host. While Firth had a stellar supporting cast, Franco carried the weight of 127 Hours on his shoulders. He was in every scene, had to convey the complexity of hopelessness, resolve, claustrophobia, joie de vivre, desperation, and humor, and managed to make a movie that largely happens in space confined to three feet wide immensely entertaining. More of 127 Hours' success was owing to Franco.
It feels like the reaction to the film, however, is perhaps a bit overblown. Yes, it was a great film. It managed to rise above the standard British Oscar trash that appeals to the older voters in the Academy. Hell, Tom Hooper & Co. managed to turn a story about a privileged man with a stammer into a compelling movie. For this they deserve all the credit in the world.
It's just that of the seven Best Picture nominees I saw this past year, I liked four of them more than The King's Speech. I liked The Fighter more. I liked True Grit more. I loved 127 Hours and The Social Network and would have been completely happy if either film had won Best Picture. Now I really liked those four movies a lot. This is no strike against The King's Speech. It just felt to me that The King's Speech was a little traditional. I feel like I've seen the overcoming adversity movie a thousand times over. Yes, the talent involved in this film was of an atypically high caliber, but the heartstrings were pulled in the same way that every other film of its ilk have been.
At the heart of this film, there are two stars: James Franco and Danny Boyle. Their respective imprints ultimately inform the entire film. If you have a problem with either of them, there is a very good chance that you will have a problem with 127 Hours.
Starting with Danny Boyle, there may not be a director out there who uses more stylistic gimmicks than Boyle does. Split-screens. Surreal fantasy sequences. Graphically disturbing gross-out scenes. Fantasy video game sequences*...
*Sadly, there is no fantasy video game sequence. Sorry to get your hopes up.
Despite the fact that yet another Boyle film finds itself gimmick-laden, it works. That's the catch with a Boyle film. Unlike, say, Michael Bay, where style gets in the way of storytelling, Danny Boyle's films all find a way to actually be augmented and enhanced by the tricks that he uses. Sure, they are tricky, but these tricks enable Boyle to actually tap into an extra-narrative means of storytelling that few directors utilize. His films, despite the wide array of genres that he has operated within, are always uniquely Danny Boyle films, and 127 Hours is most definitely a Danny Boyle Joint.
This is a good thing because 127 Hours would be unbearable if there were not a relief from the desperation and claustrophobia. Without intermittent departures from Aron's dire situation, people would probably be having panic attacks. As it happens, the guy next to me (and there was only one person in the theater who did this) had to excuse himself after the much-talked-about scene.
*****LIKELY UNNECESSARY SPOILER ALERT*****
Much has been made of 'the scene,' and the hubbub is probably warranted. After all, we are talking about a man deciding to break his own arm and then cut it off with a dull pocket knife. The graphic scene has been blamed for causing nausea, vomiting, fainting, genocide in the Darfur Region, and the Influenza Pandemic of 1918, but the effect of the sequence cannot be chalked up to just the intrinsically gory nature of severing one's own arm. No, the violent camera work and the abrasive discordant blare of sound that strikes the viewer's eardrum like a fucking sledgehammer as Aron attempts to cut the nerve in his forearm.
And while the direction in this scene is integral, it is not just Boyle who is responsible for its success. The scene and the movie would be nothing without James Franco. From the onset of the film, Franco's work endears Aron Ralston to the audience. He imbues the role with all the affability, self-reliance, humor, and goofy charm that he can muster, drawing the audience into his shoes with deft skill. As we are trapped in the crevice with Aron, our sense of empathetic desperation is all the more palpable because of what Franco has done. With time running out and the chance of rescue becoming increasingly impossible, the stakes are as high as they are for us thanks to Franco. When he finally emerges, everything about his demeanor would lead us to believe that James Franco actually had to cut his own arm off.
This isn't all to say that it is just Franco in the 11th Hour that puts this film over the top. If there is a scene that actually serves as the segment of the film that captures the spirit of the film, it is the faux-talk show he does on his video camera. Aron's self-deprecating humor is perfectly balanced with his self-awareness. While the gravity of his situation never goes away, Aron's resilience cut with his goofy disposition pumps the blood through this film, and at no point is this more evident than in this moment.
I suppose it says a lot about a film in which the beginning of the third act consists of the protagonist*, who has been on screen by himself for much of the film, self-amputating the lower third of his right arm in a rather gruesome fashion, yet that scene isn't the one that I find myself thinking about as I close this out.
*A modern Western hero, as I've seen him dubbed elsewhere.
And as if I needed another reason to love this film (and casting James Franco in a role in which he is in 97% of the film was one helluva start, Mr. Boyle), the selection of Sigur Rós's "Festival" at the film's resolution seals the deal, lifting you up and sweeping you away elated and on the verge of tears with Aron.
In short, Boyle and Franco fucking delivered.
Bonus Franco (and yes, these were on the pre-trailer reel that the Alamo put together, but not everyone can go to the Alamo):
After completion of viewing number one of the newest installment in the Team Apatow catalog, it is hard not to feel like we, the viewing public, are being spoiled by the "Freaks and Geeks"/"Undeclared" alumni films that they've been churning out twice a year. The films that Apatow has produced are not always great (i.e. Walk Hard), but the vehicles for his former TV guys have been consistently great.
Honestly, though, the thing that is most abundantly clear upon watching the film is that James Franco has been wasted in roles that were ill-suited for him pretty much since "Freaks and Geeks" went off the air. For the past few years, he has toiled away in serious roles (either as a lead in what amounted to be a crappy film or a supporting character in films of varying degrees of success while having his talents under-utilized), acting opposite of formerly great actors and never-will-be's in schlock that has been largely beneath him. Luckily, Pineapple Express is no Flyboys, and the great James Franco has stood up to reclaim his reputation in the role of Saul Silver, Dale Denton's drug dealer.
It certainly doesn't hurt that he finally has a great cast, director, and script to work with. Many of the usual Apatow troop are present. There is the obligatory creepy cameo by Joe Lo Truglio. Kevin Corrigan is back to play the odd tough guy. Ken Jeong, Craig Robinson, and Bill Hader have supporting roles and cameos. Apatow mainstay Seth Rogen is obviously also present. Newcomer to the group, Gary Cole is really fun. Danny McBride is funny as shit. The beautiful Amber Heard is hilarious as Dale's girlfriend. Hell, Rosie Perez manages to not be distractingly aggravating, which I was not sure was possible.
Of the Apatow productions, one could certainly argue that Pineapple Express has the most technically proficient director, too. Terrence Malick-approved David Gordon Green gets to take the reigns here, and the result is the best looking film Apatow Productions has released. It is certainly the most demanding. There are chase scenes and explosions and stunts galore. With Green manning the megaphone and guiding the film, there is nothing that is not executed exceptionally. The multiple fight scenes are pulled off without any hitches and successfully balance the look and feel of an action film with the intrinsic comedy of the Rogen/Goldberg screenplay. The car chase in the police cruisers manages to be both insanely funny and dramatically intense at the same time. This is simply a good looking film.
What makes the film, though, is the Franco/Rogen connection. Their energy brings the film to life. Sure, they're mostly bumbling retards who should probably have died about four different times in the film, but their stumbling through their absurd predicament is what makes the film so great. Essentially, the audience is treated to a stoner modernization of the wrong man story Hitchcock was so enamored with in films like The Wrong Man, The 39 Steps, and North by Northwest--the greatness inherent in that being that you've got two people who are absolutely ill-equipped to pull themselves out of the situation in which they find themselves mired. Pineapple Express is not some dumbed down stoner flick like Dude, Where's My Car? or Half Baked. There is an actual narrative that is patently absent in other films of the stoner ilk. Hell, just saying there is a narrative is enough to set it apart from that fare. Dale and Saul's quest is not to find their misplaced car or get to fucking White Castle. Theirs is one of survival. They are thrust into an action film, and the marriage of the two forms is bliss.
As I have said in other reviews of comedies, I will refrain from revealing any jokes, as the freshness of the humor is especially important in my eyes, but it should come as no surprise that just like the action, the comedy in the film works. Franco and Rogen's comedic instincts are superb, and there should be no disappointment in anything in the film from the humor standpoint.
Pineapple Express is another winning film from Apatow Productions and leaves you wanting more. I guess that's all you can ask. They can only make so many films a year.
*. Not only have we already seen this, but it wouldn't be funny now. Instead, Best and McBride did what they do best, created a hero who is a completely selfish, unredeemable asshole. They then throw the man best equipped to portray this character into the role, McBride himself. He is dragged kicking and screaming along on a journey to make himself better, and while he ultimately ascends to some higher level of honor through battle, he remains largely unchanged. This is what has made Eastbound and Down
so great. This is also the part that worked about The Foot Fist Way
.
went off the air until Pineapple Express
without doing any comedies (unless you count Spider-Man 3), despite the fact that he clearly has an aptitude for comedic acting. Yes, he plays the straight man here, but his comic timing is spot on.
And while the direction in this scene is integral, it is not just Boyle who is responsible for its success. The scene and the movie would be nothing without James Franco. From the onset of the film, Franco's work endears Aron Ralston to the audience. He imbues the role with all the affability, self-reliance, humor, and goofy charm that he can muster, drawing the audience into his shoes with deft skill. As we are trapped in the crevice with Aron, our sense of empathetic desperation is all the more palpable because of what Franco has done. With time running out and the chance of rescue becoming increasingly impossible, the stakes are as high as they are for us thanks to Franco. When he finally emerges, everything about his demeanor would lead us to believe that James Franco actually had to cut his own arm off. 
