The Wrecking Crew Review

Eschewing a theatrical release in favor of an Amazon Prime debut, "The Wrecking Crew" asks audiences to suspend their disbelief so many times- not just in the way it depicts a helicopter crashing into a bridge, but in how we're supposed to accept that Dave Bautista and Jason Momoa could be brothers. Well, estranged half-brothers, to be more specific, but that doesn't help make them look any less related.

As the film opens, we see Walter Hale (Brian L. Keaulana) being followed in a crowded Hawaiian street. Knowing he's being tailed, he quickly makes his way to a mailbox, rushing to drop off something before he's killed in a seemingly accidental hit-and-run. Of course, in a movie called "The Wrecking Crew," the cops find it totally normal that the street cameras were not functioning that night and there were no witnesses. The local police must have never seen a movie before. 

As a private detective, Walter wasn't too good a father through the years, so much so that when his son James (Bautista) is called to identify the body, he doesn't want to let his forsaken sibling Jonny (Jason Momoa) know. It's probably for the best: where as James is a tough-as-nails Navy officer, Jonny is a drunk cop, suspended (with pay, much to his own surprise) for excessive force. He's invited and initially declines to attend the funeral, but after the Yakuza attacks him at his home in Oklahoma, looking for a mysterious package, he decides something doesn't smell right. Could be that he used a cheese grater to shred the skin off of one of the assailants, I can only imagine how long it'd take to get that odor out.

James and Jonny are quick to exchange insults, a common element throughout the runtime, but Jonathan Tropper's script seems to mistake four-letter words as clever retorts; by the third dozen or so f-word, it stopped being cute and ended up a distraction. There isn't a single line of creative dialogue- places where someone like Arnold Schwarzenegger would quip like "let off some steam" or something, has been replaced with heavy sighs, burps and expletives. The sacred art of dumb action movie screenwriting is a lost one, apparently.

A buddy-cop genre picture needs two contrasting heroes, and despite having two towering lumps of muscle, to the actors' credit, they are quite different here. Momoa is a slob, his hair looking like it only gets washed when it rains. He's kind of unhinged, unlike the up-tight Dave, who lumbers about with all the physical grace of a late-era Sylvester Stallone.

The local police sergeant (Stephen Root) is dismissive of the two meat-heads unfounded accusations of some larger conspiracy, which of course there is one. This means the two must learn to put aside their differences and stop the boilerplate plot that involves everything from legalizing casinos, the Hawaiian home lands, corrupt property developers and corrupt politicians (and of course the Yakuza); "Double Impact" crossed with "Moana," if you will.

The production values are quite high here, which helps elevate this well-worn material. Director Ángel Manuel Soto has a sure hand behind the camera, which helps keep the 122 minute length feeling shorter with a good number of action set-pieces. The hand-to-hand combat is a particular highlight. It is frequent, creative and well-shot: you always can tell who is punching who and from where, set in locations from a bathroom to a kitchen to a long hallway to a boat dock. I liked it, even if the film never explains why the two brothers know how to fight like this. Isn't Jonny just some disgraced cop? And what of James? Just because he's in the Navy? What is he, one of the Village People? I gotta calm down, here.

There is some shoddy CGI, sadly, one extended chase involving a minivan and a chopper looks unfinished, with characters flailing about without the weight of a real person. Having the scene take place at night, so the not-so-special effects would be obscured a bit would have been a wiser choice than the bright, sunny middle-of-the-day the filmmakers went with. Oh well.

"The Wrecking Crew" isn't great, but I didn't hate it. Bautista and Momoa almost have chemistry, and considering neither of them have been able to strike it rich with a movie that isn't part of a larger franchise, mashing the two together could have been a whole lot worse.

Shelter Review

It's winter, which means it's time for a Jason Statham movie. What's different this time? Well, um, he has to protect a girl. Talk about range.

"Shelter" is mercifully better written and directed than "A Working Man," his stinker last year, but it is missing the gleeful silliness of "The Beekeeper." It occupies a sort of awkward middle ground between the two, which, should satisfy the star's undemanding fans.

Statham plays Mason, a man with so little backstory, IMDB doesn't even list his whole name (which is Michael Mason, for what its worth). Living reclusively on an island lighthouse, his only interaction being a weekly supply-drop by a young girl and her uncle. One particular day, a storm is coming in over the ocean, she confronts Mason, curious as to why they're always delivering to him, who is he is, that sort of thing. He sends her away, and that slight delay is just enough for the weather to turn violent, capsizing the boat. Mason rushes in to try and save them, but only she survives, walking away with an injured ankle and some swallowed water.

The young woman's name is Jesse (Bodhi Rae Breathnach, who wonderfully balances grief, innocence and naivety), and she awakens distraught at the news of the death of her only living relative. But Ward Parry' script doesn't wait around for character development like a normal movie, this is a Jason Statham movie, and once today's equivalent to Chuck Norris heads into town to pick up some medical supplies for her, a camera picks up his face and is immediately flagged as a terrorist, and thus begins what all the middle aged men I saw in the theater today came for. (It takes way too long for the action to pick up, ten or so minutes of fluff a script like this doesn't know what to do with.)

This leads to the core narrative of illegal surveillance, with Bill Nighy as Manafort, formerly high-ranking in MI6 until a "blick and you miss it" scene where he steps down amidt allegations of government overreach, as well as Mason's former employer. A running story element is how all cameras (car, phone, etc.,) can be tapped to spot Mason, a timely but untapped thought that just had me wondering why he hasn't ever heard of a hoodie. But I digress.

Nighy adds some gravitas to the production, but the academy-award nominated actor has less to do than a book would on the set; he leads a cover-up of Mason's defection ten years ago, after he disobeyed orders, and is trying to have him killed. This never really amounts to anything but a clotheline for Statham's rampage to be justified on. And now that Jesse is involved, she's expendable, and the film becomes a rescue mission to get her out of the country.

There isn't much else here, either; Naomi Ackie stars as Roberta, another MI6 official who is immediately suspicious of Manafort, but her involvement and skepticism goes nowhere. There's no closure on this whole corruption plot, leaving us with your standard shootouts and grunts who continue to prove no match for our English action star.

Director Ric Roman Waugh does a decent job filming the fisticuffs at least, but every inspired setpiece (like a nightclub late in the runtime) is followed by a murky fight on a dimly lit dock. He even commits cinema's biggest sin: he lets a dog die! And unlike the film's obvious inspiration "John Wick," it doesn't have any greater meaning on a character's pathos. It's just an unpleasant scene, in which a dog, gets shot. This is one shelter not worth taking.

The Rip Review

Any film headlined by Matt Damon and Ben Affleck should be a lot fresher, wittier and exciting than it is in Netflix's "The Rip." A new crime thriller about dirty cops and a big ol' pile of the cartel's cash, writer/director Joe Carnahan populates the picture with too many red herrings, too much style and practically no substance. 

And that's a real shame, I mean, look at that cast! But instead of character development, everyone has a motive, and it's often just greed. Why is it always money? I mean, in one instance it's revenge, but that's it? It's about as boring as Affleck looks here and in those memes I sometimes see of him on the interwebs.

The famous duo star as lieutenant Dane and sergeant J.D., under investigation when their police captain is killed in the opening scene. We see her gunned down by two assailants, their faces obscured by the night and masks, her just barely getting out a mysterious text before they take the final shot. Her small team is grilled by FBI agents, one of which is J.D.'s brother, and the two exchange expletives as well as fists. The sibling is played by action veteran Scott Adkins, who's wasted here with about two scenes and handful of perfunctory lines; he deserves more and it's high-time Hollywood realizes.

But back to the plot. Right after everyone's shift, Dane announces he got a crimestopper tip on some illegal dough stashed away in some house, and the group heads off for some unpaid overtime. (Where's the union when you need one?) In a messy house smack-dab in the middle of a cul-de-sac, where the entire neighborhood seems abandoned. They trick resident Desi (Sasha Calle) into letting the team in under the guise of looking for drugs, which she claims there aren't any. Well, aside from marijuana, but hey, it's 2026, who cares about the devil's lettuce?

Once inside, sure-to-be-star Wilbur the Money Dog (played by, you guessed it, Wilbur The Dog), soon sniffs something out in the attic. Desi continues to claim she doesn't have any narcotics, until she realizes he's tracking moolah. Dane says the tip was only for a few hundred thousand bucks, but what they find is something just north of twenty million. Something isn't adding up. That or someone is as bad at math as I was in grade school (the age the filmmakers are clearly aiming for).

Things escalate when Dane isn't following protocol and ignoring J.D.'s concerns. Who is not who they say they are? Why do some local badges show up, and why does J.D. recognize one? The film asks a million questions, answering them with more vagaries until the very end when the key players are in an armored truck. Problem is, the scenarios are so standard, and the resolutions so routine.

"The Rip" contains far fewer fisticuffs and gunplay than its trailer would suggest- the camera shrouding everything in a noir-esque shadow, giving the folks at home watching reason to suspect everyone. But films about bent police officers, double crosses and a butt-load of cash are a dime-a-dozen, and this is ultimately just a glossy, not to mention expensive, regurgitation of cliches and stereotypes.

But I am a pushover for material like this! I should be able to look over a flaw or two, but Carnahan seemingly is unable, or uninterested, in challenging either the genre or its audience with anything truly inspired. You'd think a leading cast featuring no fewer than two other acclaimed writers, and one acclaimed director, would have known better.

What's even more strange, while the man behind the camera does know how to make a truly great shot (a garage shootout with hazy green lights is a particular highlight), he can't seem to keep himself from getting all cute with technique and style. The climax, which I won't spoil, is so poorly shot with too much darkness and edited with too many cuts that I could only tell who was punching who because I've seen other films.

Greenland 2: Migration Review

"Greenland 2: Migration" is probably as good a sequel to a disaster film can be: the principal cast returns, (Gerard Butler and Morena Baccarin as John and Allison Garrity, respectively) as does all the family drama, societal disintegration and special effects. Compared to the first "Greenland," seeing the latter on the big-screen mostly satisfies.

Taking place in the bunker from the original, years have passed and supplies are dwindling, the neighboring Earth either destroyed or inhospitable due to radiation from the meteor that crashed all those years ago. The Garrity's live in one of several bunkers throughout the world, so we get the obligatory scenes in a picture like this about where the survivors can possibly all travel to to avoid starvation. In a likely unintentional twist of current events, some of the countries are fighting each other (here over the site of the crash), where Dr. Casey Amina (Amber Rose Revah) believes that life can begin anew, free from the poisons polluting the air. She compares the theory to the time of dinosaurs at one point, which just made me wish a giant T-Rex showed up too, but alas, that never happens.

But it doesn't take long for, ahem, disaster to strike again: an earthquake destroys their safe-haven, everyone trying desperately to escape. Masks are a premium, as the air is eventually toxic, and John has his stolen during this initial chaos as everyone eyes one of the limited escape ships that washed up ashore recently. They dock in what used to be England, a partially flooded hellscape where the military patrols that country's bunker from non-government personnel. One just needs to watch the news in real-life to guess what happens.

The original, released during 2020 in the heat of the pandemic, and yet somehow six years later, scenes of this civil unrest play out far too hauntingly, and unfortunately, relatable. Even the film's title country is in the news.

A lot more happens, including a particularly effective scene where the family needs to cross a gaping valley on makeshift ladders and ropes, but John's been hiding a secret: he's sick, and it's not the kind that's curable. He claims he has just six to eight weeks from the time he begins coughing up blood, and while I won't spoil what ultimately happens to our aging action star, Butler is quite good here. His performance is one of exhaustion, reluctantly putting himself into situations to save his family, but never appearing bored with the role.

His son Nathan, played now by Roman Griffin Davis, remains diabetic like before, but aside from a throwaway line about "packing all the insulin he can grab," it never comes up or interrupts the small group's mission to the crater. There are a few other inconsistencies (like how the scattered survivors never show any obvious signs of radiation), but "Greenland 2: Migration" is consistently engaging, frequently thrilling and occasionally timely.

Primate Review

Horror movies aren't all that unlike the common "feel good" dramas- they're both purely exercises in audience manipulation. And in "Primate," a mad-slasher picture about an evil monkey from Paramount, I was manipulated. Totally and completely. I sat in darkness on the torn leather reclining chair, my eyes glued to the screen, not wanting to miss any of the surprisingly gory carnage.

There is no reason this should have opened in January, the famous "dump month" where studios send out their movies to die an unseen death: this would do some serious damage anytime of the year. 

As the film opens, the titular monkey brutally kills a vet (who visits at night, I guess it's supposed to be scarier at night) and escapes into its owner's house, where deaf novelist and it's owner Adam (Troy Kotsur) has left his daughters (the elder Lucy and the younger Erin, played by Johnny Sequoyah and Gia Hunter, respectively, who are not deaf) and friends alone in his remote Hawaiian house. The little primate has suffered a bite from a wild mongoose, who found its way into his cage, and the poor family's pet (named Ben) develops rabies. 

If you think I glossed over the plot just now, the film's lean eighty nine minute runtime means as does director Johannes Roberts (who shares co-writing credit with Ernest Riera). A veteran of the horror genre, I was impressed with Roberts' work on 2021's "Resident Evil: Welcome to Raccoon City," and he continues to showoff his skills behind the camera here.

A plot like this runs the risk of the audience sympathizing with the animal, but that doesn't happen here: not only does the initial attack really dissuade any ape empathy, but the suddenness of the mayhem that follows means we sit at the edge of our seat at this unexpectedly successful little thriller. What it lacks in narrative purpose, it more than makes up for it in terms of pure movie making. The soundtrack from Adrian Johnston especially, which echoes the electronic simplicity of John Carpenter to great effect.

Lucy, Erin and friends (which starts at two girls and a boy, only to grow to include an additional two males), immediately make their way into the pool, once Ben goes berserk and sinks his sharp, drooling teeth into the leg of the junior sister. Ben stalks his prey from the edge of the water, sometimes finding his paws onto an unsuspecting person, and other times disappearing into the house. The groups' mission is to get a phone that works, so to call for help, but this proves quite difficult when there's an animal killer on-the-loose.

I saw "Primate" in a relatively packed theater, and it's exactly how one should watch this: every time the music cut and a character went somewhere they shouldn't, everyone went dead-silent, only to yelp in surprise at the shadowy figure just barely visible in the background, followed by a light laugh in the back of their throats, directed at themselves for getting suckered in again. I was doing all of these right there with them, and I'm only slightly ashamed of myself.

If you're thinking "Hawaii is the only rabies-free state," don't worry, the film does acknowledge this bit of trivia. It doesn't answer it, but hey, I only noticed long after once my fingers began typing out this review.