REVIEW: The House Bunny (2008)

Anna Faris stars in "The House Bunny"

Written by: Kirsten Smith and Karen McCullah Lutz

Directed by: Fred Wolf

Starring: Anna Faris, Colin Hanks, Emma Stone, Katherine McPhee, Kat Dennings, Hugh Hefner (!), Beverly D'Angelo

Grade: C+/B-

Consensus: Pleasant enough brain-candy as long as you are not expecting anything groundbreaking. The movie pushes the age-old message that real beauty rests on the inside, but it's kinda cool to also be able to flaunt how hot you are. The film ultimately fails because it wants it both ways. In the words of Jesus Christ, "a house divided against itself cannot stand." In the case of this film, those immortal words could not apply more. Faris is the only real reason to see this film.

Buy this film here!

Hey, I wholeheartedly admit it. Anna Faris is a doll. Not only is she an extremely lovely and talented comedic actress, she also is from Edmonds, Washington, just a twenty minute drive from where I grew up. Not only that, she also attended the University of Washington beginning the same year that I was there. Doh! Did I meet her at an Alpha Delta Phi/Phi Gamma-something sorority mixer? Where were you, Anna? I pine, I pine.

Seriously, before I lose all objectivity and risk my keyboard shorting out from excess drool, I'd better gather my meandering faculties. I'll confess, from my standpoint, that as talented as Faris is, she has starred in a whole lot of Hollywood crap, and she deserves better. Her performance in The House Bunny proves this. But the film barely lifts itself above the schlock Faris has previously been forced to slog through (think "Scary Movie" franchise). To her credit, she has had smaller supporting roles in the acclaimed films "Lost in Translation" and "Brokeback Mountain", but has yet to attain true winning leading lady status in a truly winning motion picture. The House Bunny had the potential to do for Faris what "Legally Blonde" did for Reese Witherspoon, especially considering the screenwriters were the same for both films, but the execution of the already seamy subject matter is poorly, well, executed.

The film retreads all of the familiar plot trappings of the girl power genre: (1) lots of pink, (2)awkward self-identities, (3)efforts to change self-identities in order to enlist the attention of testosterone machines, (4)realized failure of true self-authenticity, (5)a final speech and take-home message of being true to your inner self, and, finally, (6) did I mention lots of pink? And the screenwriters, who also wrote the far superior "Legally Blonde", throw in every possible cliche involving the themes of accepting yourself for who you are and not what you look like: a laudable theme, but a very tired one to the point of utterly amazing ridiculousness. In fact, at one point near the end of the movie I wanted to barf. However, the film's misgivings do not mask the fact that it is a whole lot of fun as long as you aren't expecting anything.

The plot involves a Playboy bunny named Shelley (Faris) who has known nothing of the world except what she has learned through the who-knows antics of Hefner's well-conceived pleasure palace known as the Playboy mansion. Unexpectedly kicked out of the mansion for reasons Shelley does not understand, she travels through Beverly Hills and finds a college campus Greek system where she becomes a house mother for a doomed to be condemned sorority housing only seven misfit young girls. The fun ensues when Shelley teaches them what she knows: in order to get enough pledges to keep their house, she vows to transform them into sexy butterflies. Faris is simply a riot, often dressed in next to nothing and doing whatever she can to attract boys to the sorority from scantily clad car washes to wildly permissive calender shoots of the newly-sexed up young femmes. Scenes not to be missed are her two dates with the pleasant enough Mr. Nice Guy Oliver (Colin Hanks) where Shelley tries the sexy Marilyn Monroe approach and indulges a diatribe intended to seduce through desperately advertising the virtues of her "butt". After coming across as Marilyn Monroe on Quaaludes, she furtively commits to learning about world events and collecting an extensive vocabulary (on flash cards) to impress and win back Oliver on their second date. The scene leads to yet another hilarious showcase for Faris's both verbal and physical comedic talents.

This is a film that is desperately searching for heart--and it tries, believe me--but besides Faris's go-for-broke, gloriously ditzy and well-timed comedic abilities, the direction is simply horrible at times, leaving us holding our breath going, "that joke could have totally worked". As a result of the disorganized and scattershot direction, the well-cast young women are underused (Emma Stone is coming into her own as a fine young actress as well), the often well-written dialogue is forced, misplaced, or relegated to "outtake" status, and the poor character development of the girls we want so much to care about creates a "vapid"(a word repeated at least six times at different points in the movie; I am actually grateful for the Sesame Street approach here) atmosphere where emotional ranges are depleted and the "heart" we sense at times evaporates. It is truly a blessing that Faris was cast in this vehicle--had she not have been, this production could possibly have been headed for the straight-to-video vaults.

It is amazing, however, given all of these reasons I have laid out to convince you to not see this film, that I actually recommend it for a lazy Saturday popcorn evening. If anything, many viewers will truly have fun with Faris in the role. If not, well, you have been warned. And, ok, stop tugging my arm. I couldn't help myself but to enjoy it. And I'm still crushing hard on Faris. Man oh man, objectivity sucks.

REVIEW: I Love You, Man (2009)

Written by: John Hamburg and Larry Levin

Directed by: John Hamburg

Starring: Paul Rudd, Rashida Jones, Jason Segel, Sarah Burns, Jon Favreau

Consensus: Hardly groundbreaking and typically vulgar, but pretty funny stuff. If you like the leads, you won't be disappointed.

Grade: B+

Buy this film here!

I was wrong about Paul Rudd. A few reviews back I stated that I doubted his ability to lead a film, no matter how much I think the guy is one of the most hilarious cats to hit the adult comedy circuit. This guy is absolutely hysterical in this film. What's even more impressive is the fact that Jason Segel, another very gifted young comic actor, is unable to upend Rudd's performance in I Love You, Man. The two work together like mellow wine and well-aged cheese, but my newfound epiphany is that Rudd, if provided the right material, can carry a film. And this role is absolutely perfect for him. Oh, yeah, Segel's not too bad, either.

Rudd is Peter Klaven, a sensitive fellow who's way more comfortable hangin' with the ladies than he is the gents. Peter is in fact so socially deficient in the locker room atmosphere that he can't even verbally communicate with other men without awkward stumbling and forced tongue-twisted verbalisms that humiliate him and bewilder his male "counterparts". A somewhat successful real estate agent who's hope is riding on a big score on Lou Ferrigno's Hollywood Hills mansion, Peter also is engaged to his darling girlfriend Zooey, sweetly and sincerely played by cutie-pie Rashida Jones. Can you begin to sense Peter's forthcoming dilemma? Yep, he's got no, nada, zero guy friends, and he needs a best man for his wedding. He tries bonding with his fiance's girlfriends' husbands on poker night, but not only tosses off tired guy-bonding attempts--"Ok, guys--on three--Beatles/Stones? Go!"-- he also can't hold his alcohol and projectile vomits all over Barry (John Favreau), who despises his company in every way without mercy or reason. The animosity between Rudd and Favreau is truly awesome to behold in its rich texture of humiliation and angst.

Peter's situation becomes so desperate that he seeks the advice of his aggressively gay brother (Andy Samberg) who encourages him to check out the online websites where he can meet other males who are lonely like him. Sound weird? It is, and it makes for some undeniably fun but painfully awkward humor. Enter investor Sydney Fife (Segal), a charming and opinionated schlep who is passionately obsessed with the rock band Rush and likes to crash real-estate showings in hopes of bedding divorcees. It is at Peter's open-house showing at Ferrigno's palace that the two meet. They exchange business cards, go get drunk, and start a friendship that survives because Sydney is tolerant and even sympathetic to Peter's painful struggles to find a boyfriend. It's funny at first how goofy and awkward Peter is when he tries to call Sydney on the phone because he can't grasp our 21st century vernacular of DUDE, but this struggle becomes tiresome and overdone. I found myself going, come on, man, you're doing fine, just man up and get on with it.

The fellas' friendship, however, becomes too compulsive, and Zooey finally tires of it and her jealousy of Peter and Sydney's bromance reaches its apex. And yes, as the countdown to the wedding picks up momentum, the two are forced to split up. So who's gonna be the best man? The plot twists and turns a little bit, and then dials down to a tidy little climax.

I love you, Man is funny not so much for the whole of the story but for the jokes in between. For instance, Segal allows his dog to defecate in the middle of the Venice Beach boardwalk so he can instigate the ire of joggers who step in the goods. He then utilizes the opportunity to tyrannize them like a libidinous orangutan before they can even ponder throwing the first punch. In another scene, he takes on Lou Ferrigno and pays dearly for it. He's also great at picking out and analyzing douches who try to impress gorgeous women by bringing them to open-houses in Hollywood to fake offers on mansions they can't afford. But the real hero here is Rudd, who, instead of portraying the cynical, cerebral and overly intelligent smart-ass instead pulls off the lovable and affable poor sod we ache for. It is refreshing to see him in a different character for a change, even if the homo/hetero sexual tension is a bit drawn out and overplayed. And I couldn't get over Jon Favreau's Barry, a gloriously bitter and self-centered goon who is just another example of what carries the film along--well-developed characters, even if they have lesser roles. The film also manages to stay true to its premise: Can't we hetero-dudes just share a good ol' fashioned embrace on occasion without having to check if our jewels have not retracted? Crude, but worth a thought. Or, maybe not.

REVIEW: Quantum of Solace (2008)

GRADE: B+

Written by Paul Haggis, Neal Purvis & Robert Wade

Directed by Marc Forster

Starring: Daniel Craig, Olga Kurylenko, Mathieu Amalric, Giancarlo Giannini, Gemma Arterton, Jeffery Wright, and Judi Dench as "M"

Consensus: Let's just say that IF:

A.) You find yourself desperately wanting to love the new era of 007, but can't seem to avoid the timewarp suckage into a  period  when Bond flirted with secretaries, slapped bimbo's behinds, sported impossible gadgetry and quipped double entendres by the megadose, you will likely be disappointed with this entry into the Bond canon.  An easier way of putting this forward is to ask yourself whether or not you enjoyed "Casino Royale"--and if you did not, the

 likelihood of you enjoying this one is probably

 in the toilet and draining fast.

OR

B.) You love the idea of a film that is basically "The Bourne Ultimatum" on PCP, and you don't mind the idea of James Bond diving further into a psychosis that allows him to kick ass all over the screen, undaunted and fully assured in his role and mission but doesn't have time to toss off cute-sy quips after near-death experiences, then this film is for you.  Or, just ask yourself if you dug "Royale", and if you did, well, I'll leave you to figure out the rest for yourself, but your soul-searching shouldn't take too long unless you are a recovering codependent, in which case you might consider asking someone else to make up your mind for you. However, I'm not sure this Bond would want it that way, or even tolerate it, for that matter.  

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James Bond's

REVIEW: Role Models (2008)

Grade: B+
Written by David Wain, Paul Rudd

Directed by David Wain

Starring:

Sean William Scott, Paul Rudd, Christopher Mintz-Plasse, Elizabeth Banks, Jane Lynch, Bobb'e J. Thompson

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Consensus: "Role Models", although typically vulgar, has a heart to it that cuts through the typical BS hijinks of other films of its genre and somehow holds it all together. This is simply just a wonderfully wedded assembly of film stars who are fun to watch. We laugh because the witty yet edgy hilarity mostly doesn't give in easily to schlocky cliche, and because somewhere in our laughter there are remnants of sweetness. The coalescence of heartfelt tugs and gloriously cheap jokes is one of the reasons "Role Models" was one of the most popular comedies of 2008. Check it out.

Reviewer's advice: Funny and indeed worth a rental.

"Role Models" is one of those frat-boy humored comedies of late in the vein of the Judd Apatow revival and reconstruction of the modern day comedy flick, and yet is one of the latest Apatow-type films not affiliated with the director/producer--and, for some reason, I have enjoyed them all the more for that fact. The latest Paul Rudd/Jason Segal (two of the Apatow pack initiates) picture, "I Love You, Man" (in theaters as we speak), is another example. These films may not be quite as "sharp" or bombastic as as an Apatow-helmed effort, but instead there is more of a subtlety in how the humor is presented. It is still edgy, but toned-down and lacking the brusque and sometimes abrasive crudity of the typical Apatow-helmed picture. In other words, these two films mentioned are a little gentler without sacrificing the cruder elements that we love and hate ourselves for laughing at.

The plot begins when Wheeler (Scott) and Danny (Rudd) find themselves in a world of hurt after Danny self-destructs one day due to the tribulations of a "day that sucks". Trapped in a profession that promises to go nowhere, Danny and Wheeler drive a ridiculously colorful (in both senses of the term) energy drink truck around Los Angeles and speak at school assemblies admonishing teenagers to stay off drugs and "instead drink 'Minotaur'". After Rudd impulsively begs his lawyer girlfriend Beth to marry him (played by the beautiful Elizabeth Banks), he is rejected and the day goes to hell after a subsequent fight with a tow-truck driver. Our boys are then given a choice: 30 days of hard time in prison (Wheeler doesn't want to be "raped") or 250 hours mentoring kids at "Sturdy Wings", a big-brother mentoring program for children, run by the perversely hysterical Jane Lynch, who is in fine form here. Remember her from "The 40-year Old Virgin" or "Best in Show"? The woman has a flair for creepy, sleazy comedy, and she doesn't miss a beat here as a recovering coke addict, alcoholic, etc., etc. 

Our delinquent heroes, of course, choose the "easy way"out, and the rest is a flurry of comedy: some hits, some misses, but always entertaining. Robinson plays the pint-sized, foul-mouthed Ronnie Shields (you won't believe some of the expletives this kid can create; one wonders if he was allowed to write much of his own script), and Augie Farks (Mintz-Plasse), an awkward teenage geek who lives to participate in a weekend Medieval reenactment society. Wheeler is paired with Ronnie, and the two are perfect for each other: after fighting off and sometimes playing into Ronnie's combative behavior, Wheeler finds a way into the recalcitrant kid's heart; the two form a bond within two essential interests: KISS music and breasts, interchangebly. Danny, on the other hand, isn't exactly stoked to be mentoring anybody, let alone a role-playing fantasy nerd in Augie, but his resistance is tenderly melted as he learns new things about himself and reconsiders his sour attitude towards life. This becomes possible in the light of his relationship and blossoming friendship with a teenager who, despite Danny's apathetic failings of him, finds himself slowly coaxing more out of Danny while coming to a a deeper understanding of and respect for himself. This mutuality between the two is a touchingly funny aspect that provides the film a richness that drives it forward and invites us in. The question remains, however: will these two directionless, 30-something men allow themselves to grow with and be impacted by these young kids, or will they blow it again and head for the slammer?

Role Models is so doggone funny because the well-cast characters are allowed to be exactly what their roles call them to be. Sean William Scott is hilarious, though he is still channeling Steve Stifler here nearly verbatim. He's still chasing every skirt for empty sex. If he wasn't so perfect as an ass-grabbing womanizer, this film would have suffered. As good as Paul Rudd is, he couldn't carry this vehicle alone and is not known for doing so in his other comedies. Rudd plays the straight man, and plays it surprisingly well--I love his penchant for pop culture references: in one scene a song that a dorky Sturdy Wings volunteer claims was done by Paul McCartney's 70's band Wings is called out and shot down by Rudd with his typically understated, subtly witty, but always completely devastating humiliations of co-stars who just aren't "thinking men" like him. And Jane Lynch...where to begin? She's creepy, perverse, and simply a blast to watch interact with these two men and the kids. She steals every scene she's in. And Elizabeth Banks is not to be missed as Danny's beautiful but long-suffering lawyer girlfriend.

Rated R for profanity/vulgarity, nudity/sexual content and brief drug use.

REVIEW: The Wrestler (2008)

Grade: A-

Written by: Robert D. Siegel

Directed by: Darren Aronofsky

Starring: Mickey Rourke, Marisa Tomei, Evan Rachel Wood, Mark Margolis, Todd Barry

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Reviewer's advice: Do not miss this film.

Darren Aronofsky's tour-de-force, pugilistic portrait of an aging, "old, broken-down piece of meat" professional wrestler known as Randy "The Ram" Robinson (in an heart-wrenchingly honest portrayal by Mickey Rourke) is as triumphant as it is despondent. Those who understand and are privy to Rourke's personal journey of hell over the last fifteen years of his life and his own tumultuous crawl back from obscurity to a chance to right his film career once again will understand exactly why he was born to play this role. This is a man who has spilt blood for many self-admittedly wasted years and squandered his talent at the mercy of his own self-destruction and inner turmoil. After viewing this brutal, touching, and unrelentingly transparent performance by an actor who does not play this role as much as he literally embodies it, I found it impossible to not experience viscerally (quite literally, in fact) the wounds, the scars, and the aching heart of a man who is walking a razor's edge at a point in his life when his failures and last gasp at reconciling these failures will either save him or plunge him into self-destruction for perhaps the last time. His search for hope, truth, and love outside of the ring makes him one of the screen's great underdogs: an unforgettable character on par with Stallone's "Rocky" or Brando in "On the Waterfront". Yes, Rourke is that good. Watching an otherwise conventional story about a down-and-outer looking for one last chance for redemption should be otherwise tiresome; Rourke makes this utterly impossible. You know a brilliant performance when it lifts an ordinary film premise far higher than its own limited means. Watching this film, Rourke is in fact so commanding in the role that you literally feel you have no right to even think that he is acting--no, this man is living before the camera. Such a performance is so unbelievably rare that it instantly becomes iconic. We are to live or die with this film. Rourke gives us no other choice.

Randy is a professional wrestler who is twenty years past his prime. He uses reading glasses when he has to, his knees pop when he stretches before a match and when he's not in the ring he wears a hearing aid. He is a has-been who lives in a trailer park, can't make rent and lives off of part-time grocery store work and weekend matches against young up-and-comers in small venues. Wrestling has become his identity and his struggles to leave the ring for good interplay with his propensities toward self-destruction and sabotage. The theme of cutting himself in order to wipe blood on his face in the ring is symbolic of this. The opening credits introduce us to the Ram's once-prolific history in the ring via a smattering of newspaper clippings and magazine articles featuring him at the height of his eighties popularity, propelled by a head-crunching eighties heavy metal tune that is to set the tone not only for the film, but for Randy's character himself. Rourke's character is a brutal, bloodletting, and at all costs body-sacrificing brute whose imposing physical presence (Rourke trained for seven months through intense weight-lifting and a low-carb, high-protein diet to prepare for the role) belies a soft-spoken, insecure, tender, but extremely lonely man whose desperate cling to his past legacy speaks volumes of the brutality he faces every day in his own heart, let alone in his aging body. In the ring a man who subjects himself to the physical beatings Randy endures in small-time matches against much younger up-and-comers is not a man who is riding a line of hope for a future--he is a man whose lack of hope is consumed by and buried in his past.

This is not to say that Randy does not reach out for hope's dangling carrot. He frequents a strip bar where his love-interest Pam (honestly and daringly played by Marisa Tomei) straddles a steel bar and performs lap dances for paying customers. For much of the film, Pam is one of two people Randy's road-killed heart reaches out to. Her fears of commitment and mixed feelings about Randy's advances towards her is an emotional tug-of-war but it is at least something better to hold on to than his character would like us to believe he's had, or not had, for that matter. Tomei plays Pam (or Cassidy, her stripper moniker) brilliantly just as she does in her past work; she truly embodies a woman who knows her own bodily abuse as much as Randy knows his, and this similarity subtly bonds the two characters while pushing forward the theme of two people searching for a way out of their respective worlds.

The other important person in Randy's life is his estranged daughter, Stephanie (Evan Rachel Wood). Randy has abandoned her most of her life and she is understandably furious with him and wants nothing to do with him. Randy's loneliness and inherent tender spirit drive him to locate Stephanie after a life-threatening incident propels his life and future into focus. Many of us who have viewed the film's trailer have seen the heartbreakingly real scene where Rourke effortlessly spills tears as his desperate character pleads with his daughter to simply not hate him. Wood is wonderful as Stephanie, and her fury and heartbreak is so understandable to us because of how honestly she plays it. Her simultaneous hatred of her father and desire for a daddy are constantly at war in the chronicle of exhaustion that is revealed on her face. My only real criticism of the film is that I felt that the aching father-daughter struggle between these two could have used more breadth. Wood and Rourke's chemistry made me hunger for more.

The Wrestler's video release date is set for mid-April and is worth seeing for Rourke's fantastic performance alone. He plays the role with such raw power and infuses his wrestling scenes with such brutal and physical intensity that we simultaneously wince and inhale/exhale exhilaration. And beneath the buffed-up hulk of a man Randy is, there is an aching tenderness and profound likeability in his gravelly voice that settles us into our seats even deeper in sullenness because we care for and vicariously live through this man. I found the film oddly releasing; others may find it an emotional bear. Hats off to director Darren Aronofsky for using a semi-documentary style that employs a sometimes shaky camera that follows Randy closely everywhere he goes. Aronofsky was wise to utilize this technique, as it sucks us into Randy's world in concert with Rourke's performance.

We relate so deeply to Randy the Ram because so many of us have simply screwed up so many doggone times in life: we've failed our loved ones, we question our abilities to grow and change past our circumstances, many of us struggle with everyday existential dilemmas of who we are, why we are here, and where we are going, and we question how life got so fundamentally f#@ked up. As this film progresses, Rourke simply gives us no choice but to be pinned (pun intended) to our seats, and as the film nears its climax, we have already cashed in our emotional chips--as we look on, we must come to terms with the fact that must follow wherever Rourke leads us. There is no going back. And therein lies the power of The Wrestler. And it is the reason this film is not to be missed. Brutal and breathless, this is a motion picture to be reckoned with. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome back Rourke. We've missed you, Mick.

Reviewer's warning: This film contains scenes that are not for the squeamish or faint of heart.

Rated R for language, sexuality/nudity, violence, and some drug content