Confessions of a Shopaholic
After Wedding Crashers, Definitely, Maybe, and the underrated Lookout, doll-faced Australian transplant Isla Fisher was well positioned to graduate to leading lady. Unfortunately, fellow Aussie P.J. Hogan’s version of Sophie Kinsella’s British book series isn’t the best showcase for her talents as the movie is even more shallow and predictable than it sounds (Hogan got his start with Muriel’s Wedding). Fisher plays Rebecca Bloomwood, a writer with more enthusiasm for accessories than articles. When her employer, a gardening magazine, goes out of business, she tries her luck at fashion bible Alette, but winds up at a dull financial rag instead (Kristin Scott Thomas has glamorous fun playing Alette). Fortunately, her understanding new editor (Hugh Dancy, Ella Enchanted) encourages Becky to develop her own breezy style. Soon, the Girl in the Green Scarf, her columnist alter-ego, is the toast of Manhattan, but the Girl fails to take the same sensible spending advice she dishes out. As her career progresses, her credit card debt increases until a rival (Leslie Bibb) helps to expose her on national television. Everyone abandons Becky, except for her frugal parents (Joan Cusack and John Goodman), until she finds a way to redeem herself. It’s hard to argue with the film’s message, but Confessions wants to have it both ways: to encourage women to shop until they drop while making them feel lousy about it. As with Sex and the City and The Devil Wears Prada, costume designer Patricia Field assembles an endless parade of eye-popping outfit.
The Spirit
Moments of startling beauty punctuate the comic-book action flick The Spirit, written and directed by Frank Miller, the legendary writer/artist behind the reinventions of superheroes like Daredevil and Batman and the creator of the comic books of Sin City and 300. The Spirit (Gabriel Macht, Because I Said So)–once a beat cop named Denny Colt, now a resilient masked crime-fighter who returned from the dead–tangles with his nemesis, the Octopus (Samuel L. Jackson), and a slew of slinky dames along the way (played by Scarlett Johansson, Paz Vega, Jaime King, and more). But the real struggle is the Spirit being pulled between the girl he loved once (Eva Mendes) and the girl he loves now (Sarah Paulson, Down With Love). Miller applies his trademarked hyperbolic tough-guy approach–a perverse mixture of ultraviolence and melodramatic sentimentality–to the whimsical 1940s detective hero created by Will Eisner. Unfortunately, the combination is unlikely to satisfy fans of either artist; The Spirit is a mishmash of cliches and half-baked plots, plucking threads from several of Eisner’s puckish tales but never reweaving them into a satisfying new story. The actresses provide plenty of eye-candy but little substance, while Macht is just bland. But Miller has an undeniable eye; the movie, with its exaggerated artificial visual style, is littered with images that dazzle and ravish.
Push
Complicated to the point of viewer exhaustion, Push is a hard-to-follow and often silly work of science fiction about refugees from a secret U.S. government program simply referred to as “the Division.” Dakota Fanning and Chris Evans play the children of psychically gifted parents victimized by the Division. (She’s a seer, he’s got mild telekinetic abilities.) Neither wants to end up forced to cooperate with Djimon Hounsou’s determined operator trying to create the ultra-”pusher,” i.e., a subject so gifted they can work major miracles with their mind. The odd thing is that the story is set in China, where gang action and general exotica have a way of obscuring the story proper. Things get a little more interesting when the odd pairing of Fanning and Evans is joined by a few other interesting actors (Ming Na, Cliff Curtis, Camille Belle) playing ex-Division types with psychic abilities. For a while, an “X-Men”-like vibe starts to build, but then quickly dissipates in a script practically drunk on upending audience expectations every few minutes. Nearly two hours long, Push wears down one’s tolerance pretty quickly, yet manages to leave one feeling as if the story is unfinished by end credits.
RocknRolla
Writer/director Guy Ritchie bounces back from the subpar Revolver with RocknRolla, proof that all rapidly edited, tough-talking, plot-twisting gangster movies are not the same. Two low-level hoods (Gerard Butler of 300 and Idris Elba from The Wire) try to get into real estate, only to run afoul of a much bigger crook (Tom Wilkinson, Michael Clayton)–who, thanks to the machinations of a bored accountant (Thandie Newton, Crash), runs afoul of some very nasty Russian mobsters. But at the center of this web is drug-addled punk rocker (Toby Kebbell, Control), who unexpectedly proves to be just as adept at violence, scheming, and smartass quips as anyone else. Everyone seems to be having an infectiously good time; the convoluted plot holds together just enough to keep the action flowing smoothly, though when it’s over you’ll be hard-pressed to explain how one event led to another. What’s most curious about the movie is how Ritchie is completely uninterested in women, even as sex objects. RocknRolla features what must be the most perfunctory heterosexual sex scene in movie history, while lavishing attention on muscular chests, tough mugs, and manly banter. RocknRolla is candy entertainment, fun and fizzy while it unfolds, disposable the moment it’s over. There’s nothing wrong with that; if all pop cinema was this energetic and cheerful, we’d be living in a much more entertaining world.
Seven Pounds
The mysteriously titled Seven Pounds stars Will Smith as Ben Thomas, who flashes his badge as an IRS agent to gain entrance into the lives of seven strangers in need. To each, he offers something that will reverse their troubles, seeking to atone for a haunting past mistake. But when Ben starts falling in love with a young woman with heart trouble (Rosario Dawson), his carefully laid plans threaten to collapse. To reveal more of the story would diminish it. Smith is an engaging, charismatic presence, but the impact of Seven Pounds comes from Dawson–she has the kind of emotional transparency that shimmers off the screen. Which is crucial, because Seven Pounds requires considerable suspension of disbelief; some scenes push and pull at plausibility, and you may question a few plot turns after the movie is over. But as the story unfolds, the performances can carry you over these bumps. If you surrender to its gently circling rhythms and its luminous images (including the glowing undulations of a poisonous jellyfish), Seven Pounds will pack an emotional wallop, heartbreaking and uplifting at the same time. Also featuring Barry Pepper (Saving Private Ryan), Michael Ealy (Sleeper Cell), and Woody Harrelson.
Pink Panther 2
“Let me bring you up to speed. We know nothing. Now you are up to speed.” Thus is the bumbling, deadpan persona of Inspector Clouseau, as re-invented by Steve Martin, best summed up. In this sequel to the 2006 remake of the classic Peter Sellers films, Martin gets crisper direction and a smarter script than he did the first time out. Martin, to his great credit, has never been afraid to make himself look foolish or to take pratfalls–and if the viewer finds these remakes to be less satirical than the original Sellers films, he will still be letting our great laughs and chuckles through the course of the film. And what a cast! Martin is joined by John Cleese, Jeremy Irons, Lily Tomlin, Jean Reno, Bollywood superstar Aishwarya Rai, Emily Mortimer, Alfred Molina, and Andy Garcia–all of whom seem to be having a delightful romp–a feeling that’s contagious. The story picks up where the last film ended, with Clouseau’s having saved the precious Pink Panther diamond in Paris. Since then, Clouseau has been reassigned to parking-ticket duty, to keep him off the frayed nerves of Chief Inspector Dreyfus (Cleese). But a band of international thieves is wreaking havoc on the world’s treasures, and, before you can say minkey, the priceless Pink Panther goes missing, again. If plot’s a bit predictable, it’s no matter, since the phun is in the haplessness of Clouseau and the rings of nuclear fallout that surround him. And you may never pronounce hamburger the same way. Evair!
Twilight
The big-screen adaptation of Twilight, Stephenie Meyer’s bestselling vampire romance, is aimed squarely at its key demographic: teen girls whose idea of Prince Charming is a brooding, pale, undead teen who could kill you instantly at any moment. Such a prince is more fascinating than frightening to new girl Bella Swan (Kristen Stewart), who moves to the rainy-gray town of Forks, Wash., to live with her dad (Billy Burke), the local sheriff who’s puzzled by a series of “animal attacks.” On her first day at school, Bella appears to (visibly) nauseate her lab partner, Edward (Robert Pattinson). Turns out the scent of her blood is this vampire’s “brand of heroin,” and his struggle not to kill her causes an irresistible pull toward her. Whether he’s attracted for the normal reasons or because she smells especially sweet to him is vague in the book and even less clear on-screen; nonetheless, Bella falls hopelessly in love with Edward, which sets her on a dangerous path when a few nomad vampires show up in town, one particularly keen on tracking the human. Directed by Catherine Hardwicke (Thirteen), Twilight is full of funny moments–not all of which are intentional–and the casting, from Stewart to Bella’s self-absorbed friend Jessica (Anna Kendrick) is spot-on. The weakest link, unfortunately, is Pattinson. While he certainly looks the part, his Edward could have used an extra injection of testosterone (Pattinson, who is British, used James Dean as a model for his American accent). In scenes where he growls about the temptation to kill those who would harm Bella, or flitting around a forest warning her how dangerous he is, he comes off more like a whimpering puppy than a debonair monster. The good news is, his chemistry with Stewart (particularly in their big kissing scene) is palpable, which, let’s face it, is really what matters to Twilight fans most.
