dir. Paul Weitz
Opens Fri Jan 14.
Oliver Stone recently blamed Middle America's "raging fundamentalism" for the commercial and critical failure of his latest cinematic debacle, Alexander. According to Stone, Americans are too scared/self-righteous to appreciate a film that even insinuates that Alexander the Great was part gay.
There's a lot more to blame for Alexander's financial catastrophe than homophobia (namely, Alexander itself), but Stone might have a point about how art that deviates from America's newly celebrated, Republican-approved morality can get ignored. While that bodes poorly for daring film, it bodes well for In Good Company, the happily inoffensive, warmly predictable, wholly inconsequential comedy/drama from American Pie and About a Boy director Paul Weitz.
Fiftysomething Dan (Dennis Quaid) is the successful head of advertising at a Sports Illustrated-y magazine. But when the magazine is bought by a monolithic multinational (led by Malcolm McDowell, doing his best Rupert Murdoch), wholesome, old-fashioned Dan is demoted to make room for his new boss: smarmy, slick, 26-year-old Carter (Topher Grace). Carter spouts annoying business catch phrases and views employees as expendable cogs in a moneymaking machine; white-collar conflict predictably ensues. Even more predictably, Carter hooks up with Dan's super-hot daughter (the super-hot Scarlett Johansson), making the discordant father/son business relationship between Carter and Dan a more literal one.
In Good Company's surface-level themes--corporate takeovers, white-collar backstabbing, familial versus professional relationships, fucking people you're not supposed to--could make for interesting conflicts in the hands of a sharp satirist or incisive sociologist. But the increasingly bland Weitz is neither, so there's nothing really motivating here, other than the fact that Grace's geeky charm and earnest sincerity hint that his career might not be limited to his sitcom.
While In Good Company gives lip service to examining those stuck within the corporate business model, it can't escape the irony that it consistently bears the formulaic trademarks of a film assembled by a corporate studio system. Sure, it's bad news for people looking for good film, but if In Good Company makes some bank, maybe Oliver Stone can finally prove he was right about Middle America all along. ERIK HENRIKSEN
The Woodsman
dir. Nicole Kassell
Opens Fri Jan 14.
You can keep your Sean Penn bluster and Tim Robbins eye-bugging; for my money, Kevin Bacon pulled off the most difficult role in last year's Mystic River, that of a regular, decent guy. (The rest of the cast got all of the attention, of course.) In The Woodsman, Bacon gets his chance at reluctant deviancy (and a possible Oscar nod) as a hollow-eyed loner released after a 12-year prison stay for child molestation who (in one of many too-pat narrative conventions that haunt Steven Fechter's script, based on his play) moves into an apartment overlooking a schoolyard. As he attempts to slink back into society, and begins a tentative romance with a coworker (Kyra Sedgwick, not quite convincing as a nail-hard working-class dame), his old urges become reawakened by the sighting of a similar criminal stalking the playground.
Give credit to first-time director Nicole Kassell for not shrinking back from the queasiness of the premise; throughout, Bacon's struggle is rendered all the more compelling by the film's refusal to wholly condemn him. (Her attempts at glossing over the story's frequent contrivances with occasional flashes of '70s surrealism are somewhat less successful.) Thankfully, she shows a much surer touch with handling performances: A seemingly endless moment when the main character chats up a potential victim on a park bench is one of the most harrowing scenes in recent memory, mainly due to how effectively Bacon suddenly comes to life and turns on the charm. As good as he is, he comes in second to Mos Def, who absolutely owns his brief scenes as the mournful detective assigned to his case. If kudos were awarded solely on intent, The Woodsman would be deserving of every critical hosanna in existence. As it stands, however, the combination of stupendous acting and awkward plot machinations ultimately land the film in a strange, frustrating place. It's just good enough that it should be even better. ANDREW WRIGHT
Who Killed Bambi?
dir. Gilles Marchand
Jan 14-19 at the Northwest Film Forum.
The luminous, doe-eyed Sophie Quinton plays Isabelle, a nursing student training to work in surgery. When an inner-ear problem causes her to faint in front of suave Dr. Philipp (Laurent Lucas), he gives her the nickname Bambi, after the Disney fawn who has trouble standing up. Meanwhile, drugs are going missing and patients are waking up during surgery. At first the nursing students are blamed for faulty dosages, but when a female patient disappears during her recovery Isabelle starts to suspect Dr. Philipp is responsible for the malevolent goings-on. Or maybe she just has a crush on him.
As with the Lars von Trier miniseries The Kingdom, the hospital in Who Killed Bambi? seems cut off from the rest of the world. Inside, the sterile white hallways barely contrast the white lab coats of the doctors, who quietly walk around like ghosts. But this is not a ghost story, it's a thriller, and that's too bad. First time director Gilles Marchand is great at creating a suspenseful atmosphere, but the story doesn't live up to its promise. Then again, the title almost makes up for that because, as you watch the movie, you continue to wonder just who would want to kill that adorable nursing student. ANDY SPLETZER
Coach Carter
dir. Thomas Carter
Opens Fri Jan 14.
Biopics, particularly when the subject is still around and willing to do promotions, can be a bit of a slog, often squelching essential complexities for easy stand-up-and-cheer moments. The heavily hyped Coach Carter tackles a worthy, deservedly inspirational story, about a tough-love basketball coach who turned his dead-ender squad into academic winners, but treats its subject in such a neutered, worshipful fashion that it ultimately does the actual accomplishment a disservice.
As the title character, a successful businessman who returns to the hood of Richmond, California, Samuel L. Jackson does his patented eye-flashing speechifying, whether busting ass on the sidelines or raging against the educational machine. He's fun to watch, as always, but the film seems to be too awed by his gargantuan presence to offer up much in the way of challenges. Throughout, the filmmakers seem determined to round off the prickly edges of a main character whose tactics occasionally verge on the totalitarian. (A subplot about his Great Santiniesque relationship with his son on the team evaporates just as it begins to get interesting.) On the way to the big game finale, standard urban tropes such as teen pregnancy and gang ties get dealt with in the blandest way possible.
Before director Thomas Carter moved behind the camera (for a career that includes the worthy Save the Last Dance and Don King: Only in America), he acted in the '70s tube classic The White Shadow. This actually may be the best light to view this film in; as an overextended, proudly square pilot to a mildly diverting series. As you watch, you may find yourself mentally counting down to the next commercial break. ANDREW WRIGHT
Racing Stripes
dir. Frederik Du Chau
Opens Fri Jan 14.
Shit yes! I've got it! I've come up with THE BEST MOVIE CONCEPT EVER! Listen up: It'll be a story about a zebra. A baby zebra who was abandoned by the circus in the middle of the night during a rainstorm, but then picked up by some retired and heartbroken racing horse coach guy who hasn't gotten over the fact his wife died during a horseracing accident. He'll bring the zebra home, his wannabe horseracing daughter with the bad hair will fall in love with it and raise it like a horse and everything.
What's funny, though, is the zebra won't know he's a zebra! Hahaha! I know, right? Since he grew up on a farm around a bunch of racing horses, the zebra will think he too is a racing horse! Oh man! Hilarity abounds! We'll get that smart kid from Malcom in the Middle to play the zebraā¦ what's his nameā¦ that 15-year-old spoiled rotten bastardā¦ Frankie Muniz! Yeah. And I bet we could even rope in Mandy Moore as the "love interest" horse. That crappy cover record of hers didn't do so hot, and her movie career is mildly laughable, so she's probably hurting for some rent money. I bet Whoopi Goldberg would be the perfect voice for the old and wise goat andā¦ hmmmā¦ who should be the not-so-funny, shit-eating fly? Lemme think, lemme thinkā¦ DAVID SPADE! FUCK YES!
This is gonna be big, guys. This is gonna be HUGE. MEGAN SELING