Sunday, June 19, 2016

Now You See Me 2: All Flash, No Magic


The most preposterous scene in Now You See Me 2—a movie brimming with preposterous scenes—is one in which a group of magicians known as the Four Horsemen tries to smuggle a valuable computer chip out of a secret facility. Suddenly suspicious, their escort orders the guards to search them. The slender chip is attached to a playing card, which the Horsemen attempt to conceal through sleight-of-hand tricks amongst themselves. As the pat-down continues, the magicians’ moves grow more elaborate. After a few minutes, the card is flying around the room in defiance of all known physical laws—from one Horseman’s hand, to the bottom of another’s shoe, up through another Horseman’s sleeve, down a pant leg, under a collar, into a bra, and so on. It’s like a scene out of a Harry Potter film—but with more Muggles, less fun, and (somehow) less logic.

The sequence perhaps captures everything that’s wrong with Now You See Me 2: Magic is supposed to inspire wonder, even if the audience knows it’s all smoke and mirrors and hidden trapdoors and misdirection. But very little about this hollow sequel to 2013’s heist thriller Now You See Me feels mysterious; its biggest set-pieces will make viewers ask not “Whoa, how’d they do that?” but “Wait, huh?” At the center of both films are The Four Horsemen, a group of illusionists following the orders of an ancient magician’s alliance called The Eye. Their “tests” often involve exposing corrupt businessmen or giving jilted people their money back, which turns them into global heroes and gets them in trouble with the FBI (naturally). The sequel, directed by Jon M. Chu, takes the worst elements of the first—a bloated plot, excessive CGI—and doubles down on them over an exhausting 129-minute running time.


Now You See Me 2 (technically titled Now You See Me: The Second Act) picks up where its predecessor left off. Hiding from law enforcement, the Horsemen have a new leader in Dylan Rhodes, the FBI agent who hunted them for the entire first movie only to reveal (spoiler alert!) at the end that he’s the mastermind feeding the Horsemen their orders, as well as the son of a famed, late magician. Only three of the original Horsemen remain—the pickpocket Jack Wilder (Dave Franco), the surly J. Daniel Atlas (Jesse Eisenberg), and the hypnotist Merritt McKinney (Woody Harrelson)—after its one female member (Isla Fisher) bailed. Here, she’s replaced by a new woman, Lula (Lizzy Caplan), who almost immediately points out the tokenism at work: “I’m the girl Horseman!” (Indeed, it’s a dude-heavy affair—the gender breakdown may be the most authentic thing about this movie).

The action really begins after the Horsemen’s attempt to hijack the keynote event at Octa, an evil Apple-like company, goes horribly awry. The gang is split up from Dylan, whose double-agent ways are unveiled on live TV, forcing him to go on the run. Feeling abandoned, the Horsemen find themselves at the mercy of the wealthy and eccentric recluse Walter Maybry, played by none other than the actor whose face is synonymous with a very different kind of magic—Daniel Radcliffe. Water gives the Horsemen a choice: They can help him steal an Octa-developed computer chip capable of de-encrypting all the data in the world (yes) in exchange for new identities. Or they can die.

Also in the Horsemen’s orbit is an imprisoned “magic debunker” named Thaddeus Bradley (Morgan Freeman), whom Dylan blames for his father’s death and framed out of revenge in the last film. The two begin an uneasy alliance as Dylan tries to locate the missing Horsemen, but that’s about as sensical as their storyline gets. (On the heels of everyone is an exasperated team of FBI agents who barely register as a threat.)

All of which is to say that, despite the film’s constant fourth-wall-breaking dialogue about how “seeing is not believing” and “the eye can lie,” there isn’t actually much beneath the surface. Fascinating themes and ideas hover at the margins—the malleability of perception, the virtues of inspiring awe in a world where technology has ably supplanted magic—but the film mostly keeps them hidden behind a curtain. Even the movie’s heavy-handed populist messages about digital privacy and corporate transparency feel strangely remote, perhaps because Now You See Me 2 is more invested in making every scene look as cool as humanly possible.




Take the absurd card-smuggling scene—only worse than the motion sickness it induced was the sense that the sequence was supposed to be the casual magic lover’s equivalent of seeing Don Draper delivering a brilliant ad pitch. Much of the rest of the film is bogged down by obnoxious slow motion, slick montages, and songs that make you feel like you’re walking into a really loud club (though, the use of Lil Kim and 50 Cent’s “Magic Stick” at one point was easily one of the highlights). The original film was guilty of much of the same, but its plot seems positively streamlined compared to the sequel’s. By the time Now You See Me 2 enters its final act, the audience is prepared for even the most outrageous reversals and tricks (resurrecting a pigeon, transporting people to a different continent, stopping rain) and that nothing surprises.

For the biggest Now You See Me fans, there may be enough to make the sequel worth seeing, though maybe not in theaters. Caplan as the kooky Lula and Radcliffe as the unhinged Walter are occasional comedic delights, despite their thinly written characters. When the film’s story moves to Macau, it has fun playing on the protagonists’ Western-centric assumptions (when one character brings up Chinese food, Merritt remarks, “I think where we are, they just call it food”). But for anyone else, Now You See Me 2 will strain the limits of patience and belief, suspended or otherwise: When it comes to this flashy but empty tribute to the wonders of magic, seeing really is believing.

Friday, June 17, 2016

The Secret Life of Pets: A Clever Canine Caper Could Use A better Leash (Review)



Louis C.K., Kevin Hart and Eric Stonestreet lend their voices to this latest romp from the team behind 'Despicable Me' and 'Minions.'

Fetching up a new twist on the tried and tested talking-animal genre, The Secret Life of Pets explores what happens when we close the front door and leave our dogs, cats and canaries to their own devices. The answer, as any recent CG animation flick could tell you, is that our pets act a lot like us, with their own petty quibbles, indulgences, love affairs, music tastes and desire to do what they please at all times — although a dog is a dog and will still run after a stick if you toss one in its direction.

That’s at least half the story in this latest comic romp from director Chris Renaud and Illumination Entertainment — the team behind the ultra-successful Despicable Me and Minions movies — and it’s certainly the more enjoyable part of a film that starts off impressively but gradually tires itself out with a loud and loopy caper plot, taking a clever idea to mostly familiar places in the long run.
A clever canine caper that could use a better leash

Funny in stretches but capable of making you feel like you’ve dropped MDMA and locked yourself inside Petco for several hours, this big-ticket Universal release should play like catnip for kids starting summer vacation, though it’s unlikely to dig up the massive $1 billion bone of this year’s other anthropomorphic blockbuster, Zootopia.

Set in a fever-dream version of modern-day Manhattan that’s part Vincent Minnelli, part Andreas Gursky, the story (by regular Renaud scribes Ken Daurio, Cinco Paul and Brian Lynch) focuses on a whiny little terrier, Max (Louis C.K.), whose pitch-perfect, apartment-bound lifestyle is upended when his owner comes home with a big floppy rescue named Duke (Eric Stonestreet) and forces them to become housemates.

Unable to accept the fact that he’s not the only loved one in town, Max soon finds himself stranded alongside Duke in the Big Apple, where they’re pursued by dogcatchers and cross paths with an underground resistance known as the Flushed Pets, whose goal is to make all animals undomesticated for good. Their leader, Snowball (Kevin Hart), is the most psychotic furry little wabbit to ever chomp on a carrot, and when he finds out Max is not the stray he claims to be, he brings the ruckus down hard.

Renaud dishes out some decent gags during the opening reels, especially when introducing us to the other pets in Max’s building, including a lazy house cat (Lake Bell), an overzealous pug dog (Bobby Moynihan) and a fluffy Pomeranian (Jenny Slate) who has the hots for our hero. Much of the humor comes from the fact that these animals have extremely human characteristics while remaining adorable little critters, even if not all of them aim to please their caretakers in the way that Max always does.

But there are many more castmembers to come, including a kvetching hawk (Albert Brooks), a Cockney-accented alley cat (Steve Coogan) and a sly old Basset Hound (Dana Carvey) with the most bodacious bachelor pad in the city — to name some of several additional characters that wind up crowding the screen for the sake of a few short laughs.

Like the professional dogwalker who can’t exactly keep count of Max and his cohorts, it feels like the filmmakers are juggling too many chatty creatures at once, while trying to maintain a plot that tends to grow more outlandish as the story progresses. Occasionally all the fuss results in a memorable set-piece — such as a digression into a sausage factory that nods to both Grease and a Busby Berkley musical — but by the time the third act rolls around, the cacophony grows exhausting and the laughs become rarer, especially when all the action-movie antics take over.


On the technical side, there are some marvels here — especially Renaud’s vision of a vertically exuberant New York City, with skyscrapers stretching beyond the frame and fire escapes leading forever upwards into different apartments and different lives, as if we’re seeing everything from the viewpoint of a dog watching the world of humans from the ground. Likewise, all the details of the furry and feathered cast, including all of the fur itself, are impressively rendered by the Illumination team, who have created a lively and colorful palette that recalls Technicolor films of the 1950s.

The same goes for the score by Alexandre Desplat (The Imitation Game), which takes notes from Breakfast at Tiffany’s and other classic Manhattan-set movies, offering up a playful accompaniment to what ultimately feels like a smart but overindulgent exercise in computer-generated puppy love. Or maybe that’s just a pet peeve.  

Distributor: Universal
Production companies: Illumination Entertainment, Illumination Mac Guff, Universal Pictures International
Cast: Louis C.K., Eric Stonestreet, Kevin Hart, Jenny Slate, Ellie Kemper, Albert Brooks, Lake Bell, Dana Carvey, Hannibal Buress, Bobby Moynihan, Chris Renaud, Steve Coogan
Director: Chris Renaud
Co-director: Yarrow Cheney
Screenwriters: Ken Daurio, Cinco Paul, Brian Lynch
Producers: Chris Meledandri, Janet Healy
Production and character designer: Eric Guillon
Editor: Ken Schretzmann
Composer: Alexandre Desplat
Art director: Colin Stimpson
Computer graphics supervisor: Bruno Chauffard
Animation directors: Jonathan del Val, Julien Soret
Rated PG, 91 minutes

From the web

Tuesday, June 14, 2016

Central Intelligence: Could use a little more intellegence

By  Michael Heaton


Low expectations are in order for "Central Intelligence," the action/adventure buddy movie starring Dwayne Johnson and diminutive comedian Kevin Hart.

They play two guys who attended high school together in the class of 1996. Back in the day, Johnson was a chubby, awkward victim of school bullies, while Hart was the popular homecoming king and voted most likely to succeed. Hart extended an act of kindness toward Johnson during his darkest hour.

Flash-forward 20 years, and now Hart is a bored junior accountant, still married to his gorgeous high school sweetheart but feeling unfulfilled and longing for his glory days.

Johnson, on the other hand, has transformed himself into a mountain-sized Adonis and a cracker-jack killing-machine operative for the Central Intelligence Agency. Or is he?

These two unlikely friends are brought together by their 20-year high school reunion, an event to which the emotional core of the movie is rapidly hurtling. Much is made of the difference in the sizes of the two leading actors -- and Johnson's proclivity for leaping headlong into deadly situations while dragging the timid Hart along for the ride.

Johnson is being sought by a team of CIA agents who believe he has gone rogue and has actually become a terrorist who goes by the code name "the Black Badger." Meanwhile, Johnson has his own theories about the identity of "the Black Badger."

The plot and intrigue at the center of "Central Intelligence" are flimsy enough to render the whole story insignificant. And the frequent, cartoonish gunplay seems very inappropriate, given the recent horrible events in Orlando, Florida.

Both Johnson and Hart give good performances in their respective roles. Johnson digs down deep into in his artistic soul to reclaim and ruminate over the overweight, unpopular kid he was in high school. Hart plays the frightened and frustrated accountant with the mix of overblown anger and disbelief that he uses so well in his stand-up act.

It would be easy to dismiss "Central Intelligence" just based on the cookie-cutter "odd couple," buddy-flick concept. But some buddy/action flicks have been brilliantly conceived and executed.
Think of the 1982 "48 Hours" with Nick Nolte and Eddie Murphy, directed by Walter Hill. That movie launched Murphy's glorious career.

Then there's the riveting and hilarious 1988 "Midnight Run," directed by Martin Brest, with Robert De Niro as a bounty hunter and Charles Grodin as his on-the-lam Mob accountant.

Both those movies prove that the buddy/action flick can be elevated to high art and entertainment.

Too bad it didn't work out for "Central Intelligence."


REVIEW

Central Intelligence

Who: Starring Dwayne Johnson, Kevin Hart, Amy Ryan and Aaron Paul. Directed by Rawson Marshall Thurber.

Rated: PG-13 (for language and violence).

Running time: 107 minutes.

When: Opens Friday.

Where: Area theaters.

Grade: C+


From: cleveland.com


Monday, June 13, 2016

Finding Dory: In the ravishing sequel to 'Finding Nemo'



“Finding Dory,” the ingeniously pleasing sequel to “Finding Nemo,” opens with a scene that merges our affection for a beloved character with a bit of a jolt. We see Dory, the friendly blue tang fish from the first film, back when she was a big-eyed toddler with a babyish gurgle, getting trained by her parents, Charlie (Eugene Levy) and Jenny (Diane Keaton), to tell a stranger (any stranger), “I suffer from short-term memory loss.” The thing is, poor Dory really does — she can’t even remember the phrase! It’s no wonder that her parents are aghast with anxiety. In a flash, a character with a singular and beguilingly funny trait — the inability to remember almost anything for more than 10 seconds — comes at us in a whole new way. She’s no longer a daffy amnesiac. She’s a child fish with a serious disability.

Have the creators of “Finding Dory” gone all politically soft and sensitive on us — in response, perhaps, to the memory-challenged community? Hardly. They’ve done something better: figured out how to take an already perfect character and deepen her in an exquisitely satisfying way. Dory soon drifts away from her parents, and not just because she doesn’t know how to get back to them. She can barely remember that she has parents. As surely as the death of Bambi’s mother, this primal set-up rips a small emotional hole in the audience, one that we’re desperate to see filled. “Finding Dory” then leaps forward to one year after the first film, when Dory is an innocent grown-up with no idea of what she’s looking for. To figure that out, she must learn to stop forgetting.

Andrew Stanton and Angus MacLane, the co-directors of “Finding Dory,” have made a beautiful, rambunctious, and fully felt sequel — a movie totally worth its salt water. It’s a film that spills over with laughs (most of them good, a few of them shticky) and tears (all of them earned), supporting characters who are meant to slay us (and mostly do) with their irascible sharp tongues, and dizzyingly extended flights of physical comedy. The images never stop dazzling us with their awesome, tactile sheen ­— their oceanic incandescence. (Who needs 3D glasses? Even if you happen to see “Finding Dory” in 2D, just about every shot in it pops out at you with beauty.) In a summer of tepid and disappointing sequels, audiences from around the world will be grateful to encounter a sequel to a movie as beloved as “Finding Nemo” that more than lives up to the first film’s casually magical charms.




At this point, the Pixar films fall into a few distinct tiers of ambition and achievement. There’s the visionary top drawer: the timeless works of peerlessly witty, mind-opening artistry (all three “Toy Story” films, “The Incredibles,” “Inside Out”). There are the whimsically clever concoctions that may not, in the end, do more than entertain you, but they do it splendidly (“Cars,” “Monsters, Inc.” and its sequel, to name a few). There are the rare overly busy duds (“Cars 2,” “A Bug’s Life”). “Finding Nemo” may be in a category all its own. To this critic, it has never been quite in the top drawer — it lacks that full-on audacity of imagination. Yet it has so much zest, soul, and heart-of-the-ocean visual poetry that it’s still a movie you can cherish as a classic. It’s basically a sentimental odyssey: Can Marlin (Albert Brooks), the grumpy beleaguered clownfish, with the help of the winsomely forgetful Dory, locate his missing son? And that raises a challenge for the sequel. How can it be the same…but truly different?

In “Finding Dory,” our heroine, sparked by a split-second brain flash, remembers — before she forgets again — that she has parents, and that single momentary dislocation is enough to retrigger the feeling that her family is out there. It’s enough to tell her that she’s lost. So she decides to find them, with Brooks’ Marlin — and Nemo (Hayden Rolence) — in tow. If the movie were just one more extended underwater search, it might have played like glorified leftovers. And Dory, for a while, does seem the unlikeliest candidate on earth to be a sidekick suddenly placed center stage. Her epic personality tic threatens to become annoying. But Stanton and MacLane, working from a script by Stanton and Victoria Strouse, execute a minor marvel: Dory’s memory starts firing — not in a false, un-Dory way, but one jaggedly subliminal mind shard at a time, like a series of acid flashbacks. She’s still a fish who can really only see what’s right in front of her, and that, as before, is the beauty of Ellen DeGeneres’ vocal performance — her high-spirited myopic exuberance. Yet each new drop of memory triggers something in Dory, not so much a change in identity as a gain in dimension. She still knows very little, but she becomes someone who knows what she doesn’t know.

Under the sea, 13 year later, proves to be an even more ravishing place than it was in “Finding Nemo.” The swaying stalks of kelp are as majestic as the trees in “The Lord of the Rings.” An irradiated octopus looms like a nightmare Cyclops, and a big old grouchy hairy oyster who speaks in vaudeville rim-shot jokes isn’t all that funny, but check out his ginormous pearl! The gliding schools of fish and pulsating coral reefs glow like creatures out of a psychedelic rainbow fairy land — which, of course, is just what the bottom of the ocean is.


“Finding Dory,” like “Finding Nemo” before it, invites you to dive in with your eyes, which is why these movies are submersive daydreams for children. But it’s when the picture arrives at the Marine Life Institute, a theme-park conservatory ruled over with hilarious goddess-like force by the recorded voice of Sigourney Weaver on the loudspeaker, that the movie takes off as a swim-for-your-life slapstick adventure. Stanton and MacLane use the ocean as a mystic setting, but they use the Marine Life Institute the way Stanton used the spaceship in “WALL-E”: as a fantastical playground. In a laboratory, Dory meets Hank (Ed O’Neill), a scaly-slimy curmudgeon of an octopus who is also a chameleon (he blends into everything from a tiled wall to a metal stair banister to a “Hang in There, Baby!” kitty poster). Hank, for all his quick-change artistry, is a casualty of captivity — he just wants to curl up in a boxy aquarium somewhere. But bonding and redemption ensue, as does a voyage to the park’s ominous inner sanctum, a place where fish are placed into species containers and shipped off to deepest, darkest Cleveland, where they will live forever as joyless specimens. In a Touch Pool, children’s hands come down on the fish like bombs. The fight against the crushing of the spirit is built right into the Pixar aesthetic, and it’s part of what animates Dory. She’s looking to rejoin her parents, but she’s also looking to rescue and liberate them.

At a certain point, it will probably strike you that the title of “Finding Dory” seems like a misnomer (albeit a catchy one), since the story is all about Dory trying to find Charlie and Jenny. But, of course, it’s really about Dory discovering who she is after she gains the ballast of having a little bit of memory. But only a little bit. Dory’s glory is that her amnesia makes her totally responsive to life. She’s living in a pure existential state, unencumbered by the past, and that’s why she gets things done. Her way of solving problems becomes a credo (“What would Dory do?”), and it’s almost poetically funny when she herself adopts the credo. The movie, in the end, is about finding Dory. It’s about how the past, for her, isn’t really so past. It’s just the ability to remember life as we’re living it, one moment at a time

Film Review: 'Finding Dory'

Reviewed at Dolby 88, New York, June 7, 2016. MPAA Rating: PG. Running time: 103 MIN.

Production

A Walt Disney Studios release of a Pixar Animation Studios, Walt Disney Pictures production. Produced by Lindsey Collins. Executive producer, John Lasseter. Associate producer, Bob Roath.

Crew

Directed by Andrew Stanton, Angus MacLane (co-director). Written by Stanton, Victoria Strouse. Story, Stanton, Victoria Strouse, Bob Peterson; camera (3D color, widescreen), Jeremy Lasky, Ian Megibben; editor, Axel Geddes; music, Thomas Newman; production designer, Steve Pilcher; art director, Don Shank; visual effects supervisor, Chris Chapman; casting, Natalie Lyon, Kevin Reher.

With

Ellen DeGeneres, Albert Brooks, Ed O’Neill, Kaitlin Olson, Diane Keaton, Eugene Levy, Hayden Rolence, Ty Burrell, Idris Elba, Dominic West, Sigourney Weaver.

FILED UNDER: Albert Brooks, Ellen Degeneres, Finding Dory.