TAMMY: The Film Babble Blog Review

Now playing at a plus-size multiplex near you...

TAMMY (Dir. Ben Falcone, 2014)

Although she’s been in mostly mediocre movies, Melissa McCarthy is one of the funniest people on the planet. I’ve witnessed McCarthy’s blustery brand of in your face humor eliciting loud, pure laughter from audiences throughout such throwaway comedies as IDENTITY THIEF and last summer’s THE HEAT (both huge hits), and her commitment to even the stupidest of sketches has made her hosting stints on Saturday Night Live into events.

But even with the low expectations I had going into her latest lowbrow lark, I felt largely let down.

TAMMY, the dream project of McCarthy and her husband Ben Falcone (best known as the Air Marshall in BRIDESMAIDS), who co-wrote and directed, is about a white trashy loser who after getting fired from her job, and finding out her husband has been cheating, goes on a cross country road trip with her grandmother (Susan Sarandon).

Since we’ve got Sarandon’s presence in a summer road-trip scenario involving a robbery and some tawdry living, let’s consider it THELMA AND LOUISE, just not with Louise or the cultural significance.

We first meet McCarthy’s Tammy on her way to work at the fictional chain “TopperJacks” singing along to the ‘80s track “Your Love” by the Outfield (apparently the singing along to the car radio scene in IDENTITY THIEF was such a success that it bears repeating).

McCarthy collides with a deer, and totals her car, but, as if to show us she’s got a heart, she attempts to give the wounded animal CPR. Next, our mess of a heroine gets fired from her crappy job by her slimy boss (Falcone), then comes home to find hubby Nat Faxon having an elegant dinner with Toni Collette as his neighbor mistress.

McCarthy packs her things and walks three houses down to mother Allison Janney’s house (everybody lives on the same street, which is fairly funny) where she decides to up and leave town with the boozing Sarandon, as her grandmother has a car and lots of cash, to go visit Niagara Falls.

McCarthy and Sarandon drink heavily (while driving), McCarthy gets in a jet skiing accident, and they hook-up with Gary Cole and Mark Duplass as father and son at a Louisiana bar. Well, actually, Sarandon hooks up with Cole, but McCarthy comes on a bit strong and scares off Duplass.

More drunken mischief, and a bag of illegal oxycontin, lands the duo in jail with only enough money to bail out McCarthy, so she turns to crime in the form of robbing a “TopperJacks” in order to get the money.

The hold-up set piece, with McCarthy sporting a bag on her head while she clutches her sunglasses wrapped up in another bag to resemble a gun, is for sure the funniest part of the film, no small thanks to the exchanges with the place’s employees Sara Baker (who made a bit of splash recently on Louie), and Rich Williams (guitarist for the band Kansas).

After that slowly heads downhill despite the always welcome Kathy Bates popping up as an old friend of Sarandon’s who’s hosting a lesbian Fourth of July party with her girlfriend Sandra Oh, who I can’t remember having a significant line or moment in the movie. Same thing could be said for Colette and Janney, come to think of it.

At least Dan Aykroyd as McCarthy’s father who comes in towards the end makes more of an impression.

TAMMY feels like a slapdash affair, even though McCarthy and Falcone worked on it for several years. I can’t say I didn’t laugh at TAMMY, but the film has way less than a third of the laughs that 22 JUMP STREET had. 

A lot of gags are lazy, and depend on the lead character’s stupidity like a bit about not knowing who Mark Twain was, or cursing the price of gasoline with the obvious and overdone line “Thanks, Obamacare!”

And in the emotional resonance department, the realizations and lessons about family learned just seem like standard sitcom connections.

Still, TAMMY will most likely conquer the box office this fourth of July holiday weekend. I felt such a warmth towards McCarthy at the preview screening I attended, and I think it’s because many Americans really relate and see themselves in her. That’s especially true here in the south where the film was largely shot.

But the way TAMMY most resembles America is that with this much potential, it really should be better than it is.

Happy Independence Day everybody!

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Redford’s Vanity Project THE COMPANY YOU KEEP Is A Star-studded Dud

Opening today in Raleigh at the Colony Theater and the Raleigh Grande:

THE COMPANY YOU KEEP 

(Dir. Robert Redford, 2013)

Robert Redford’s ninth film as director, and 39th as actor, is polished and moves along briskly, but its tired political themes and its preachiness exposes what it really is: a vanity project. 

Redford’s character, a widowed public interest lawyer living comfortably in Albany, New York, was once part of the Weather Underground, a radical organization formed in the late ‘60s with the intent to overthrow the U.S. Government. Redford changed his identity in the late ‘70s as he is wanted by the F.B.I. for his alleged involvement in a Michigan bank robbery back then which resulted in the murder of a security guard.

The cast is full of famous faces who have gone into hiding like Redford, including Susan Sarandon, Nick Nolte, Julie Christie, Richard Jenkins, and Stephen Root. Intrepid scruffy Albany Sun Times reporter Shia Labeouf makes the connections between them that lead to Redford being exposed as a former antiwar radical and the chase is on.

Redford was ready for this with a stash of fake I.D.s, cash and a baseball cap as part of an ingenious disguise when in public, as well as custody papers for his brother (Chris Cooper) so that he can take care of Redford’s daughter (Jackie Evancho). This gives Redford the chance to restage scenes from THE FUGITVE with him cleverly eluding the authorities at every turn.

Labeouf, who, of course, has to answer to a hard-assed editor (Stanley Tucci), theorizes that Redford is on the run, not just to escape the F.B.I. led by another hard-ass, Terrance Howard, but to somehow clear his name.

The tone is even more self-important and self-righteous than Redford’s last film, the pretentious LIONS FOR LAMBS. Here, instead of Andrew Garfield, Labeouf symbolizes the young generation who Redford can lecture to. The gist being that the children of the ‘60s took it to the streets to protest the government’s involvement in Vietnam, while you kids are more concerned with updating your Facebook profiles as Jenkins, a former radical now a college professor, puts it in a laughable attempt at a meaningful line.

While interviewing Brendan Gleeson as the cop that originally investigated the robbery, Labeouf conveniently comes across indie film darling Brit Marling as Gleeson’s adopted daughter. While flirting with her he figures out her connection to Redford, and while I won’t spoil what it is, I’ll tell you that it’s no exciting revelation.

But then nothing is in this star-studded dud that’s only really about Redford fighting to still be relevant. The man has made some excellent films, among them ORDINARY PEOPLE and QUIZ SHOW, but here he’s treading water while he shakes his head at younger generations for dropping the ball.

I’m not sure what he wants us to do. Go hold up a protest sign on the corner? Join whatever is today’s equivalent to the Weather Underground? What?

When his noble character re-unites with his old flame Julie Christie whose help he needs in a nicely-lit cabin and they discuss old times there is a semblance of dramatic weight, but the phoniness of the dialogue and the predictability of the situation bog it way down. That pretty much sums up every scene come to think of it.

Throughout the film, we see Redford’s porn-stached mugshot from the ‘70s (actually a re-purposed still from ELECTRIC HORSEMAN it looks like to me) as if to remind us that not only was he hot back then, he was a man of major conviction. But then, he always is in every movie he’s made.

Here, our Uncle Redford has made a disappointing film about how disappointed he is in us. Too bad his incredible cast and impeccable narrative skills (I will concede that it’s not boring), can’t elevate it to be anything more than that.

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The Upscale Thriller ARBITRAGE Is Right On The Money

ARBITRAGE (Dir. Nicholas Jarecki, 2012)

Not since “Bonfire of the Vanities” (the book not the awful movie) has witnessing the potential downfall of a financial bigwig been so entertaining.

In Jarecki’s also Manhattan-set “Armitrage,” Richard Gere is indeed what Tom Wolfe called “a master of the universe” in “Bonfire,” and he, like his spiritual descendant Sherman McCoy (a so miscast Tom Hanks in the movie version, which again is terrible) gets into a tragic automobile accident that could derail his wealthy standing.

Gere is great here as the sort of suave investment genius that graces the cover of Forbe’s, and is regularly profiled on MSNBC.

In an early scene, while suiting up, Gere asks his wife (Susan Sarnadon) how he looks. “Regal, wise, and a bit worried,” she responds. This is before the accident, when Gere’s only problem is that his company is millions in debt, and he’s having trouble closing the deal for its sale. Sure, that’s a mighty big problem, but throw in involuntary manslaughter, and you’ve got yourself a clusterfuck of fraud and murder.

After Gere falls asleep at the wheel of his car, and wrecks it killing his mistress (Laetitia Casta), he pulls a Teddy Kennedy and flees the scene. Gere doesn’t phone the police - no, he calls Nate Parker, as the young black son of his former chauffeur to come pick him up.

Soon on the tycoon’s trail is Tim Roth as a slouching scruffy detective, who knows Gere’s guilty.

Roth has a Columbo-ish interrogation style. Take his casual last question “what happened to your head?” as he’s leaving Gere’s office and notices a scab on the man’s forehead. Sure has a “oh, uh, one more thing…” ring to it to me.

As Gere’s daughter and business partner, Brit Marling (“Another Earth”) has a few choice scenes as she is as much on the trail of wrongdoings that Roth is. The emotional tension is palpable when Marling finds out the awful truth about her dad, same with Sarandon, although she acts less shocked. Sarandon appears to have been expecting Gere’s dynasty to crumble for ages.

In what could’ve been a thankless accomplice part, Parker puts in a convincingly stressed-out performance - almost a counterpoint to Gere’s much more expensive stress.

I was reminded not only of Wolfe’s “Bonfire,” but of Woody Allen’s CRIMES AND MISDEMEANORS. The guilty V.I.P. in that film (Martin Landau) suffered more over issues of morality in his dire predicament, yet both films share the bewilderment over what price the wealthy will pay to stay wealthy.

Compellingly plotted, and as sophisticated as the luxurious trappings it depicts, ARBITRAGE signals the beginning of awards buzz season.

Gere has undeniable star power whether you’re a fan of him or not, and here he more than earns an Oscar nomination. The same could be said for director/writer Nicholas Jarecki, whose first full length feature this is.

The ending, I’m sure, may leave some folks cold, but this upscale thriller is on the money and well worth your time.

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JEFF, WHO LIVES AT HOME: The Film Babble Blog Review

Now playing in Raleigh at the Colony Theater:

JEFF, WHO LIVES AT HOME (Dirs. Jay Duplass & Mark Duplass, 2011) 

This is a day in the life of 2 brothers: one’s a slacker, the other a jerk. Jason Segel, in the title role, is the slacker - a jobless 30-year-old pot-smoking lug whose life philosophy is based on the movie SIGNS. That’s right, M. Night Shyamalan’s SIGNS.

The jerk is a goateed Ed Helms as the older brother, a paint-store salesman whose marriage to Judy Greer (last seen in “The Descendants”) may be in trouble.

Susan Sarandon plays their widowed mother who gets Segel’s day going when she calls home from her cubicle in an unspecified office to ask him to get some wood glue.

Actually it’s a phone call Segel got earlier that really sets the day in motion - a wrong number asking for somebody named Kevin. “What if there is no wrong numbers?” Segel speculates, “What if it’s always the right number?”

So Segel leaves his Baton Rouge, Louisiana (the filmmakers' home town) basement dwelling to go get wood glue, but he gets caught up in a seemingly random series of events, most of which are triggered by the name Kevin coincidentally popping up at odd times. “There are no coincidences” I’m sure Segel’s Jeff would say.

While at a business meeting (or so he says) at Hooters, Helms happens to see Segel walking by. Sarandon had phoned Helms earlier asking him to help get his brother moving so, of course, Segel sees this as another sign. Their destinies take a turn when the brothers happen upon seeing Helm’s wife Greer out with another man (Steve Zissus).

They follow and spy on Greer and Zissus (Helms is either too scared or stupid to confront them), ending up at a hotel (after Segel gets diverted by another Kevin sign). This is where the film most successfully balances humor with heartfelt drama. We can see why Greer would cheat on the thickheaded Helms, and we feel Segel’s compassion for his brother’s predicament, as airheaded as it is.

The characters are better drawn and play off each other more believably than in the Duplass brother’s previous films (THE PUFFY CHAIR, BAGHEAD, CYRUS), and the film certainly feels sincere without any cynical snarkiness. Just like Jeff.

I was less annoyed by the brothers’ shaki-cam framing too.

A subplot involving Sarandon and co-worker Rae Dawn Chong trying to figure out who a secret admirer at work is gets a bit cutesy, but it doesn’t detract from the overall charm and likability of this simple story.

Segel’s Jeff loves the film SIGNS because “everything comes together in one perfect moment.”

The Duplass brothers haven’t pulled off perfection here, but this sure is a terrifically unpretentious attempt.

And it’s way better than SIGNS.

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Hey, I Finally Saw...THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW!

For decades the Rialto Theater in Raleigh has presented the cult classic THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW every Friday at Midnight. Despite hearing many intriguingly amusing tales of sordid audience-interactive escapades that would occur during each showing, I had never attended before last night. 

I have seen parts of the movie on television and have heard songs from the soundtrack but knew those don't count compared to the actual experience. However I didn't expect to be branded a "virgin" with a lipstick "V" on my head and forced to do a dance move twist in a line mashed together with other virgins - but hey! If that's the drill then so be it.

After that stupid spectacle, the real stupid spectacle began - the movie started, and a cast of young folks (some looked like teenagers) mimicked the action onscreen. They came dressed like their respective characters and lip-synced their lines, some dead on, some less so. It was loud and chaotic, often indecipherable and yet it was a lot of fun. 

We threw rice, rolls of toilet paper, and playing cards (they sell prop bags if you come empty handed) at the crucial moments while obvious audience regulars shouted their snarky comebacks ("call backs" I'm told) at the screen.

My wife told me that it wasn't quite like the ROCKY HORROR shows she had seen in the past. Some of the "call backs" were new additions with recent references which I'm told on the internets, if applauded, are added to the ongoing repertoire. My wife also said the "underwear run" wasn't a part of any of the shows she had been to before (she had seen RHPS countless times at the now defunct AMC Fashion Village 8 in Orlando, Florida back in the late 80's and early 90's).


You might notice I'm not speaking about the plot (or lack thereof) and that's because it's the least important part of the whole shebang. The premise of a conservative couple (Barry Bostwick and Susan Sarandon - "Saran-wrap" goes one of the "call-backs") who, one dark and dreary evening, find themselves in a castle surrounded by sexual deviants holding an Annual Transylvanian Convention is just an excuse for extravagant musical numbers and outrageous sci-fi shenanigans. Tim Curry's transsexual Dr. Frank N. Furter with his Mick Jaggeresque delivery and slimy charm steals the show, but he has stiff competition from Meat Loaf in one uproarious rowdy rock number.


As a "movie guy" who just moved to Raleigh, I couldn't go much longer without finally taking in the Rialto tradition of RHPS. It didn't disappoint and it was fascinating to find out afterwards that the players call themselves The Low Down Cheap Little Punks - here's their website. If you haven't seen THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW - I bet there's a theater near you that has the same tradition albeit a distinctly different presentation. 

It's impressive that this film that originally flopped and was bashed by critics became the ultimate midnight movie celebrated in cities all over the world every weekend. It's a great legacy for what is, honestly, a weird-ass off-kilter musical. But without a doubt, the outrageous spirit of it all wins out at every show.

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