ISLE OF DOGS: A Bit Mechanical But Not Without Its Charms

Opening this evening at an indie art house near me:

ISLE OF DOGS (Dir. Wes Anderson, 2018)

In more than one interview, Wes Anderson has specified that his latest stop motion animated film (his second following 2009’s THE FANTASTIC MR. FOX) was largely influenced by legendary Japanese filmmaker Akira Kurosawa, and in a very Wes Andersony twist, those classic Rankin Bass Christmas specials like “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reigndeer.”

It’s a suitably quirky combination for the suitably quirky writer/director/producer, and for the most part it works, but I couldn’t help from thinking that the execution of ISLE OF DOGS is a bit too mechanical to really take hold.

That’s not saying I didn’t enjoy a great deal of the film as it’s well made, has a rich voice cast, pleasing visuals, and some amusing ideas. And I know that the criticism “too mechanical” is an odd one to make as the machinery of Anderson’s style has been detectable from the beginning of his career in BOTTLE ROCKET, but I still found too many beats to be predictable, too many times that gags felt forced, and too many moments that were supposed to be emotional (I think) that made me think ‘meh.’

The narrative, which is set in Japan 20 years in the future, concerns a 12-year old named Atari Kobayashi (voiced by Koyu Rankin) who travels to Trash Island, where all of the country’s dogs have been banished because of a canine flu virus, to find his lost dog Spots.

Atari is helped in his quest by five mangy dogs: Rex (Edward Norton), King (Bob Balaban), Duke (Jeff Goldblum), Boss (Bill Murray, and Chief (Bryan Cranston). You see, an opening title tells us

Cranston’s Chief is the most dominant dog, and has the most interesting back story as he scoffs at the formerly domesticated others as he’s a stray saying things like “You're talking like a bunch of housebroken…pets.”

Meanwhile, in subplot B, Greta Gerwig voices a pro-dog American exchange student Tracy Walker, who has a crush on Atari and leads a campaign against his evil uncle, Mayor Kobayashi (Kunichi Nomura), whilst finding out from Assistant Scientist Yoko Ono (voiced by Yoko Ono – that’s right) that a cure has been suppressed by the dog hating Mayor.

You got that? Well, it doesn’t matter as Anderson treats all these plot points so nonchalantly that they hold very little weight. I mean, that’s fine – everyone hits their marks, melancholy music plays, and it’s all played for maximum cuteness. If you’re a hardcore Wes Anderson fan, I bet this will be like the cinematic equivalent of crack cocaine, but being a more casual fan (I’ve only RUSHMORE once!), it was a pleasant but unremarkable experience. It felt like a great production design, and cast looking for a great movie.

But whatever your stance – don’t go see it for its cast. Sure, one of the most striking things in the trailers, posters, etc. is the sheer amount of its star power – Cranston, Norton, Murray, Goldblum, Frances McDormand, Liev Schreiber, Harvey Keitel, Scarlett Johanssen, Tilda Swinton, Angelica Huston, and Fisher Stevens as Scrap (I so want that to be the new “and Jerry Mathers as the Beaver”) – but beyond Cranston, Gerwig, Norton and a few others, most of these famous folks don’t make much of a mark. I can’t remember a single moment that Murray owned, and I bet Johanssen recorded her lines in less than 10 minutes.

Although it felt a bit off to me, ISLE OF DOGS is not without its charms. The attention to detail (one of Anderson’s strengths) in the animation is superbly presented (despite how dire the landscape of Trash Island), and there’s some earned warmth between a few of the characters. I also loved how there were clouds of flailing limbs popping in and out when the dogs fought like in old cartoons.

It has come under some fire for criticisms of its appropriation of Japanese culture, but it never struck me as being anything but a respectful homage - except for the fact that Japanese-speaking characters aren't given subtitles while a opening disclaimer tells us that all of the dog’s “barks have been rendered into English.”

So his second stab at stop motion animation isn’t as funny, poignant, or memorable as his first, THE FANTASTIC MR. FOX, but Anderson has yet again succeeded in making something that nobody can do as well: make another Wes Anderson film. It’ll more than do until the next one.

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LAST FLAG FLYING Gets Just About Every Last Detail Right.

Now playing:

LAST FLAG FLYING (Dir. Richard Linklater, 2017)

Richard Linklater’s latest is and isn’t a sequel to Hal Ashby’s 1973 cult classic THE LAST DETAIL. The three lead characters’ names have changed but they’re basically the same archetypes as the three military cohorts in the original, with Bryan Cranston’s Sal Nealon mirroring Jack Nicholson’s Billy L. “Badass” Buddusky, Steve Carrell’s Larry “Doc” Shepherd stepping in for Randy Quaid’s Laurence M. “Larry” Meadows, and Laurence Fishburne’s Richard Mueller taking on Otis Young’s Richard “Mule” Mulhall.

In THE LAST DETAIL, Navy lifers Buddusky and Mulhall escort court-marshaled Meadows to prison in Maine for petty theft, and take drunken detours along the way. In LAST FLAG FLYING, our trio are vets who re-unite to accompany Carrell’s Doc to the funeral of his son who was killed in Vietnam.

The film begins with Doc showing up at Sal’s dive bar in Norfolk, Virginia, after decades of non-communication, and after a night of drinking, Doc takes Sal to see their old pal, Richard, who became a Christian priest.

The film takes place in 2003, so there are running gags involving the internet and cellphones being new things, and footage of Saddam Hussein on TVs in the background.

Like its predecessor, it’s largely a road trip movie with a lot of buddy comradery, but in this story that happens after they reach their first destination - Dover Air Force Base in Delaware where they learn that Doc’s son didn’t die the heroic death that the army’s official statement reported. They then take his son’s body to bury in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, first by rented truck, then by train after a brush with homeland security with a lot of lively conversation fueling every scene.

THE LAST DETAIL was famous for having large amounts of profanity – it contained more uses of the f-bomb than any previous film when it was released in the early ‘70s - but it’s no big thing these days for a film to be filled with such dirty dialogue so it’s barely noticeable when it’s used here. Maybe that’s from my being desensitized by many viewings of Scorsese movies or frequent listens of Richard Pryor albums, I dunno.

Alongside the strong performances of the main protagonists, is an excellent supporting cast made up of Yul Vazquez as Lt Col. Willits, who tries to stop Doc, Sal, and Mueller from transporting the body themselves; J. Quinton Johnson stars as Marine Charlie Washington who breaks the news to the guys about how Doc’s son died, and especially Cicely Tyson as the grieving mother of one of their fellow Marines, who died in Vietnam.

Despite its sometimes weary depiction of distrust of the Government during the George W. Bush era, there’s a lot of warmth in LAST FLAG FLYING. Linklater handles the pathos superbly, and gets us to care about these very verbal vets. Its dialogue, co-written by Linklater and Darryl Ponicsan (who wrote the 1970 book, “The Last Detail” and its 2005 sequel that’s the basis for this film) is rich and real feeling.

Cranston stands out as the grizzled, cynical Sal – it’s one of his most fleshed out characters since Breaking Bad – Carrell’s sad sack succeeds in getting our sympathy, and Fishburne conveys dignified grace, that is except for the funny bits where his Reverend Mueller loses patience with Sal and regresses into his old profane self.

Linklater’s loving update deserves Oscar action, but more so it deserves big audiences who no doubt will appreciate its affable yet profound sensibility. LAST FLAG FLYING gets just about every last detail right.

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GODZILLA: Not Godawful Like The '98 One So There's That

Opening today at a multiplex near you:

GODZILLA (Dir.Gareth Edwards, 2014)

When I was a kid I loved GODZILLA movies. Well, I loved laughing at them. 

It was the '70s run of the series, so it was the iconic overgrown fire-breathing creature at its cheesiest. The gigantic lizard (a stunt actor in a rubber suit) was portrayed as a friend to the people who'd save Toyko or whatever Japanese city from an attacking monster, then wave to the cheering masses and head back into the sea. Even toddlers could tell how ridiculous those movies were. 

This new American remake/re-boot/re-imagining/re-whatever wisely acts like the godawful 1998 Roland Emmerich version never happened. Max Borenstein's screenplay neatly builds upon Godzilla's atomic age origin story from the 1954 original, with a  set-up featuring an intense Bryan Cranston as a Nuclear Power Plant supervisor in Japan convinced that there's a cover-up surrounding a massive meltdown that took the life of his wife (Juliette Binoche).

As Cranston's Navy officer son, and the movie's real protagonist, Aaron Taylor-Johnson flies to Japan, leaving behind his nurse wife (Elizabeth Olsen) and young son (Carson Bolde), to bail out his now thought to be crazy father after he was arrested for trespassing in the quarantined are where they lived when the tragic accident occurred in 1999 - hey, that's not far off from when the tragic accident that was the '98 GODZILLA happened but I digress.

Cranston and Taylor Johnson trespass on the property again and are taken into custody to some sort of secret installation where the plant was, which now has an insanely large chrysalis pod being studied by scientists played by Ken Watanbe and Sally Hawkins. Watanbe seems to have only been hired so that he can dramatically say “Godzilla” (or “Gojira”) in his thick Japanese accent.

There's all this layered plotting to get through before we even catch a glimpse of Godzilla, but the build-up has a lot of genuine suspense and Cranston's great emotional gravitas going for it. 

However, once Godzilla finally rears his spiky, scaly reptilian head and roars his trademark roar in an in-your-face close-up (one of the many times I was glad I wasn't seeing it in 3D), the movie is all about the big battle scenes with the human element and the science whatnot taking a backseat.

So a terrifically thrilling first half bleeds into a tiresomely bombastic second hour that apparently has the sole goal of outdoing MAN OF STEEL in the amount of devastating destruction it can fill the screen with.

Godzilla chases the Winged Muto (I think that's right) that hatched from the pod at the plant site across the ocean from Japan so we get to see Honolulu, San Francisco (Jesus, how many times do I have to see the Golden Gate Bridge getting destroyed in the movies?), and Las Vegas get destroyed. Like usual we don't see many people get killed, because this is a popcorn picture and that would bum us out I suppose.

It is a major improvement over the '98 one, and I like that this American film by a British director based on a Japanese commodity takes its source so seriously, but I was bored to tears by the messy, noisy battles. 

I'll give them that they succeeded in wringing some instances of excitement out of CGI creatures wailing on each other, but I think I had more fun in my youth watching men in bulky costumes with obvious zippers slugging it out with tacky backgrounds covered with unconvincing miniatures and models.

But here, the cluttered visuals here looked so much like every other event films' visuals that I kept expecting a superhero to show up.

There's also the attempt at a Spielbergian sense of awe that director Edwards, whose modest low budget debut film MONSTERS was a dry run for this ginormous genre exercise, cinematographer Seamus McGarvey (THE AVENGERS), and thousands of special effects artists just can't pull off.

It could be that beyond the campiness I enjoyed back then, I never really cared much for the whole Godzilla thing. I mean, I appreciate the anti-nuclear subtext of Ishirō Honda 60-year old original - perhaps the only essential entry of the series - but can anyone claim that any of the nearly 30 sequels that followed is quality cinema?

I know, I know - they're not supposed to be high art, they're supposed to be big ass popcorn movies with monsters mashing, buildings being smashed, missiles exploding (or getting eaten), and mass hysteria.

This has all that in spades, so Godzilla fans and audiences seeking mindless thrills will eat it up, but, in my case, I'm going to borrow the words of Butthead (of Beavis and Butthead fame, of course) commenting on a long forgotten video: “Usually, demolition and destruction is pretty cool, too, but I don't know, like here, it's like, here it just, it falls flat.”

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Ben Affleck's Über-Arresting ARGO

ARGO (Dir. Ben Affleck, 2012)

Actor/director Ben Affleck more than tops THE TOWN (which topped GONE BABY GONE) in his splendid third thriller, ARGO, a sure-fire Oscar contender that boasts a stellar cast, and an über-arresting story.

Based on a previously little known story about the rescue of six Americans from Tehran during the Iran hostage crisis in 1979, Affleck’s film casts its way back machine spell in the first few minutes starting with the use of Saul Bass’s classic ‘70s Warner Brothers logo (also used this year in Steven Soderbergh’s MAGIC MIKE). A few minutes later, we see authentic looking footage of the storming of the American Embassy in Tehran.

After burning and shredding every document they can, a group of U.S. Diplomats flea the embassy and take shelter at the Canadian ambassador's home nearby.

As CIA technical operations officer Tony Mendez, Affleck brainstorms a plan involving disguising the escapees as a film crew visiting Iran to scout locations for a sci-fi flick named “Argo” so they leave the country under cover.

It’s a plan so crazy, it just might work, or as Breaking Bad’s Bryan Cranston as a CIA higher-up says to an even higher-up Philip Baker Hall (see what I mean by a stellar cast?): “This is the best bad idea we have, sir. By far.”

To make a fake movie, they need a real producer so Affleck gets Alan Arkin as the fictional Hollywood mogul Lester Siegel, who has some of the best lines as well as the film’s catch-phrase, if you will. John Goodman as make-up artist John Chambers (not fictional) is also on hand, and also good for a few choice lines.

We spend a little quality time with the frightened Americans (Tate Donovan, Scoot McNairy, Clea DuVall, Rory Cochrane, Kerry Bishé, and Christopher Denham) holed up at the Canuck’s makeshift safehouse hoping to avoid detection. They understandably are skeptical of Affleck’s idea, but what choice do they have?

Chris Terrio’s no-nonsense screenplay, based in part on Joshuah Bearman’s 2007 Wired article “How the CIA Used a Fake Sci-Fi Flick to Rescue Americans from Tehran,” doesn’t strain as it keeps each point of the well-crafted narrative in check.

At first, it might amusingly look like ANCHORMAN, with the Jimmy Carter-era hairstyles and fashions, but that quickly fades into the great grainy look of the film in which cinematographer Rodrigo Prieto (BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN, BABEL) suitably evokes ‘70s cinema.

Affleck’s film only falters when the mission is almost aborted before the third act, and our leading man sulks until he gets his mojo back. Throughout ARGO, close-ups of Affleck’s bearded mug dominate the screen, but during this bit they are overly omnipresent.

Otherwise, Affleck has made a great movie that could be seen as a salute to the American can-do spirit, as cheesy as that sounds. But primarily it's a movie made by a guy who really loves movies, and really knows how to sell a story. 

Watching this guy, with his cast and crew succeeding in selling this story makes for one of the most intensely entertaining movies of the year. And not only is ARGO is Ben Affleck's best movie as director, it's his best work as an actor. By far.

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The TOTAL RECALL remake really ain’t right

TOTAL RECALL (Dir. Len Wiseman, 2012)

With its dark rainy dystopian cityscape full of video-billboards, flying cars, cyberpunk people with neon umbrellas, and Asian architecture, one could be forgiven for thinking in the first five minutes that this is a remake of a different Philip K. Dick adaptation: BLADE RUNNER.

But then what little plot there is kicks in and we are stuck inside this big over-caffeinated mess of a movie that’s a much looser take on the 1966 short story (“We Can Remember It for You Wholesale”) than the 1990 Arnold Schwarzenneger/Paul Verhoeven version.

In this one, which takes place in 2084 (the same year the ’90 one was), Colin Farrell plays Doug Quaid, a robot factory assembly line worker married to Kate Beckinsale, who decides to give a memory-implanting service, the Rekall company, a whirl.

Things get all screwy and the secret agent vacation he’s purchasing reveals that he actually is a secret agent named Hauser, a bad ass who didn’t even know he was (see: Jason Bourne) that can kick the asses of legions of robo-cops.

So from there it’s essentially a bunch of high octane fight and chase sequences tied together by the thin thread of what used to be a cool sci-fi scenario.

Breaking Bad’s Bryan Cranston livens things up a bit, but his role as the evil Prime Minister who is after Farrell is as generically written as every other element here. Of course, Cranston has a convoluted political plan to, uh, let’s just say to rule the planet and become the all-being master of time, space and dimension. Yeah, let’s go with that.

Jessica Biel, who obviously has the same hair dresser as Beckinsale, who is just here to add more sexy acrobatics to this only action-minded atrocity.

A major sequence that features a chase through a ginormous elevator system made of accelerating cubicles gets close to being exciting, but the clutter of fast-acting CGI and overabundance of washed out looking backgrounds kept me from being in the moment with the characters.

To be fair, Farrell does a good job with what he’s given. He’s a guy that gets more interestingly nuanced as he gets older - I really hope to see him in something more interesting soon.

The humorless nature of this movie is disheartening because the 1990 original had a satisfying satirical spark to it, and it had the smarts to keep the sleaziness at bay until the second half on Mars.

This one doesn’t go to Mars, but this starts off sleazy - for example the infamous three-breasted prostitute (yeah, no way they could leave her out) is brought out much earlier. Why wait, right?

One of the biggest laughs in the whole movie was in the first few seconds when the name of one of the production companies appeared: Original Film. Yeah, as if!

Never thought I’d laud a over 2 decades old somewhat schlocky Schwarzegger movie so much, but before this new Wiseman-helmed waste - the Verhoeven version wasn’t close to being a classic.

After seeing this though, it sure as hell looks like one.

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LARRY CROWNE: The Film Babble Blog Review

LARRY CROWNE (Dir. Tom Hanks, 2011)

Initially, it's kinda neat to see Tom Hanks as just another average Joe for the first time in ages. He's playing a divorced man who prides himself on being named Employee of the Month repeatedly at the ficticious U-Mart (a Walmart-like big box store) he's worked at since retiring as a Navy cook.

Thing is, Hank's wide-eyed ernest title character never went to college, so he gets told by the store's higher-ups (including Rob Riggle) that they have to lay him off.

Hanks buys a motorscooter at his neighbor Cedric the Entertainer's permanent yard sale, so he can save money on gas, and applies to every retail outlet in the area. He learns over and over again that times are tough. Mainly because folks keep saying that out loud.

Hanks enrolls in community college where he befriends a fellow scooter rider classmate Gugu Mbatha-Raw, and falls in love with his professor (Julia Roberts somehow seeming bored and smug simultaneously) who teaches a class called "The Art of Informal Remarks." No really.

If it feels like I'm rushing through the plot it's only because there isn't much of one. A UP IN THE AIR-type premise about the bleak job situation doesn't go anywhere, and neither do any of the cutesy collection of comic bits that Hanks strains to set up.

Hanks' first film as director, THAT THING YOU DO (1996), was a trivial but highly likable musical comedy, so I had hopes that his second try at helming a vehicle would have something more going for it than what the trailers were suggesting. No such luck.

This flimsy film also features Breaking Bad's Bryan Cranston in a horribly written role as Roberts' no good writer husband who spends more time looking at internet porn than working at home, and That '70s Show's Wilmer Valderrama as MBatha-Raw's jealous boyfriend, which is also a thankless uninspired part.

Only Lietenant Sulu from Star Trek himself, George Takei as a Economics proffesor has a few moments of something slightly resembling funny.

Hanks has blandly assembled a half-assed rom com out of very limited material, stitched together with empty quasi-inspirational sentiment, and Tom Petty songs.

After watching this film I can't answer who Larry Crowne is. Hanks' everyman appeal fades in the first 10 minutes and we never learn nothing about why his marriage ended or why he so loved his retail job before he was canned.

There's nothing interesting about Roberts' character either - she's a jaded educator, that's all I got. So why should we care if they get together?

I can't think of a single reason.

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Serious Series Addiction Part 3: Breaking Bad, Treme, And The End Of Lost,

It's time to talk about TV shows again. As I've said before, though this is a film blog I do from time to time babble about television programs that I've been keeping up with. So let's get to them:

Breaking Bad


I had watched this show off and on before, but became hooked on it recently in its extremely strong 3rd season. 

AMC's intense yet darkly humored drama involves Bryan Cranston, best known previously as the dad on Malcolm In The Middle, as a high school chemistry teacher diagnosed with terminal lung cancer.

To provide for his pregnant wife (Anna Gunn) and his son (RJ Mitte) who suffers from cerebral palsy, he turns to a life of crime: producing and selling methamphetamine.

As a former student of Cranston's living a sordid existence as a drug dealer, Aaron Paul is enlisted as a partner in the dangerous yet highly profitable endeavor. 

Dean Norris as Cranston's crusty brother-in-law just happens to be a DEA agent close on their trail though he is unaware of their identity. There's also trouble with a Mexican drug cartel, along with strife at home and much in-fighting between Cranston and Paul.

Set in the orange hued world of Albuquerque, New Mexico, Breaking Bad has the urgency and scope of many movies. Cranston's performance is a study in edgy power; one minute he's a measured man of reason - the next an exasperated kook, a time bomb waiting to go off. His clashes with Paul, his strained talks with his wife, and his stoical business manner give the show a forceful fluidity as it goes from searing scene to scene.

Bob Odenkirk (Mr. Show) was added in the second season as a sleazy lawyer and he shows up quite a bit in the third season which is a nice funny touch to the proceedings. 

Although one can probably pick it up at any point, I'd recommend renting it and watching from the beginning. The first and second seasons are available on DVD and Blu ray; the third should be soon after it finishes its run on June 13th. 

Treme

David Simon and Eric Overmyer's follow-up to The Wire has many similarities to that seminal series.

It's a web of story threads concerning a complicated culture, it examines sociopolitical themes, and it features a few of the same players: Wendell Pierce and Clarke Peters among them.

But don't get me wrong - it's a very different animal in one major way: music. Treme is bursting at the seams with the rich sounds of New Orleans jazz.
Three months after hurricane Katrina, we are thrown into the aftermath from nearly every angle. The hurting viewpoints of struggling musicians, frustrated restaurant owners, civil rights workers, and outspoken citizens blanket the battered city, but the bands play on.

Along with The Wire's Pierce as trombonist Antoine Batiste and Clarke as a Mardi Gras Indian tribe leader trying to bring his people home, we've got Steve Zahn as a slacker singer songwriter, Kim Dickens as a cook based on famed chef Susan Spicer, Khandi Alexander as a bar owner who is also Pierce's ex-wife, Melissa Leo as cynical lawyer, and John Goodman as Leo's husband - an opinionated college professor and author who has just discovered YouTube in its 2005 infancy as a forum for his anger fueled rants.

Oh yeah, there's also a young couple - Michiel Huisman on keyboards and Lucia Micalelli on violin - who try to make their living from street performances. Treme is absorbing viewing that swiftly juggles all those characters and their scenarios in an intoxicating fashion. 

One feels like they are really getting the flavor of New Orleans through these people and the well chosen locations. It oversteps contrivances and keeps your feet tapping throughout each episode. I'm not sure that it alone is worth subscribing to HBO for, but it definitely deserves a place in your Netflix queue. Happily it's been renewed for a second season. 

Lost: "The End"

As I've documented here before, I began watching the vastly popular island castaway drama Lost in January of this year on Netflix Instant while pedaling on my exercise bike. 

I pedaled though all 5 seasons until I was caught up with the sixth and enjoying it all immensely from my sweaty bikeseat - though there were some dull or tedious patches here and there.

The bike made me feel like I could pedal fast through the stupidity then race on to the next one.

Up until the last handful of episodes I hadn't had the experience of waiting week to week to see what happens like the folks who were there from the beginning in 2004. 

Those seem to be the people who are complaining about the just aired finale on blogs, message boards, or status updates all over the internets. Their complaints being that the mythology wasn't satisfied with a lot of questions unanswered.

I can't imagine how I could spoil it for anybody who hasn't watched the show so I'll just say that it was simply about the characters' fate - principally Jack's (Matthew Fox) - rather than the particulars of their journey.

I would have liked to have some questions answered too - the 4 toed statue for one - but, like the end of The Sopranos did, it's growing on me.

If you have Netflix Instant - it's a great way to watch the show because you don't have to deal with waiting on individual discs. I can completely understand folks being discouraged at the prospect of 121 episodes and the bitching from the online minions about its conclusion, but I didn't find it to be a waste of time at all. 

Maybe though, that's the Dharma Initiative beer talking. That's all for TV for now - back to the movies, that is until the 4th season of Mad Men premieres. Then be sure to expect another post about serious series addiction. 

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