Firestarter Review

During my viewing of "Firestarter," a remake of the 1984 adaptation of the 1980 Stephen King novel, a fruit fly buzzed by constantly. Working alone, or with friends? I don't know, but it's persistence was a distraction I welcomed- this film is a real dud, a failure on its one mission: being scary.

I guess that's not entirely fair- IMDB credits it a "drama" and "sci-fi," in addition to "horror," but look folks, with the original novel's author and production company Blumhouse, yes we expected scares, and there is not a single one here. There's no tension, thrills, or logic either, but one step at a time please.

First, let's address something: I have neither read the book or seen the earlier flick. This allowed me to go in fresh, and what I got in return was stale.

The plot, oh yes, it's so obviously classic Stephen King: a little girl Charlie (Ryan Kiera Armstrong), is bullied at school (in a silly attempt to update things, one of the teases is for "not having Google"), but she holds a secret. A power really, the power to set fire to things using her mind. Her parents Andy and Vicky (Zac Efron and Sydney Lemmon, respectively), who have their own special abilities, are worried that she's unable to control it, and live in constant fear of "bad people." These "bad people" include the vague villain Captain Hollister (Gloria Reuben); she operates a big boring grey building the internet tells is "The Shop," and wants to "study" her. Why? I'm guessing it's because that's where the family's superpowers came from, but I really have no idea, and I don't think she does either.

Really, the whole plot is a riff on King's debut offering "Carrie," although "Firestarter's" director Keith Thomas glosses over characterization in favor of benign dialogue and lots of admittedly impressive fire VFX. There's one scene where Charlie, sorry pet lovers, kills a stray cat for scratching her. It's a dark moment that's tonally incompatible with the rest of the picture, but it stands out as about the only thing I can remember after the credits rolled. 

It's a brief display of something, be it pleasant to watch or not, and the end results are frustratingly boring. The heroine otherwise just makes angry faces while special effects handle the rest of her personality.

Oh, I would be remiss not to mention a cameo by veteran Kurtwood Smith, but he's great in everything he does. Playing Dr. Joseph Wanless, former bigwig of the big bad corporation, he's here to offer doomy warnings about the girl, all while he dumps out Pixie Stix candies. The dude really knows how to make the most with such limited screen time.

Senior Year Review

Rebel Wilson is a natural talent- she has the ability to be funny without doing anything, elevating whatever material she has to work with. In her latest movie "Senior Year," transcends the treacle plot and imbues honesty and care into what is essentially a joke character.

She plays Steph, a woman who's awoken from a coma, finding she's almost forty but never finished her, ahem, senior year of high school. In a most sitcom level narrative, she decides to return there and win prom queen, get popular, yada yada yada. Again, this is all basic stuff with, a hodgepodge of themes lifted from other movies and shows, but we're not here to make a case study on the believability of the script; we're here to laugh, and thanks mostly to our shiny lead, we do and do frequently.

A bit of comedic mileage comes from her adjusting to 2022, from cell phones to language about inclusion, about everything you'd expect, but it doesn't take too long before she's using her "Insta" to get followers. If anything, it reminds me how much I hated high school, and much I hate social media. (Oh and don't forget to "like and subscribe," readers!)

It doesn't make sense how quickly she's adjusted to the new decade, and there was a lot of wasted potential here; it's just an excuse to provide secondary conflict, where she needs to work to get the present comparable to the past, and that narrative copout hurts. 

There's the old rival (Zoë Chao), the former flame (Justin Hartley), the friend who wants to be more than "just" friends (Sam Richardson), all the usual ingredients. And when first time director Alex Hardcastle finds his rhythm, "Senior Year" is really, genuinely funny. But he can't maintain a proper balance between humor and drama.

I mean, "Senior Year" is essentially an underdog tale about "looking forward" and "being who you really are- that's great, and Steph's backstory about her mom's passing to cancer is tragic. But so what? Any emotional weight is constantly undermined by jokes involving, but by no means limited to, dildos, puking, and infidelity (though surprisingly not all at once). Oh yeah, and often in a high school setting within earshot of teenagers.

I'm not adverse to mature comedy, but these scenes are glaring against moments of 1980's coming-to-age sappiness. If you're going to give me fresh jokes, give me a fresh story!

By failing to invest in anybody in the picture, I essentially sat back and waited for the next punchline: a feature-length window dressing to showcase Rebel Wilson's talents. Yet for how good she is here, nobody seems to learn that just referencing something from the past doesn't make it relevant in the present. As for what the future holds? Well, all I can tell you is that, no, I will probably not win prom queen.

Memory Review

Tell me if you've heard this before: Liam Neeson plays a hitman in a new action-thriller.

In "Memory," the Irishman's latest film, things are a bit more complicated than, let's say his previous 2022 effort "Blacklight:" he has early onset dementia. This gives our veteran hero/antihero something meaty to sink his teeth into. Or rather, something meatier than anything he's done in recent memory. (I really hope I'm the first critic who's said that.)

The best action movies all have three basic ingredients: great action, great acting and a great script. The good ones can get by on just two, and we don't really talk about the rest. Director Martin Campbell brings the first point in spades, like he always does. What about Liam? He's commendable as ever, an attractive screen presence who's dedication to every line of dialogue as if it's written gold. The issue with "Memory" is that the screenplay is only OK, and with anyone else in-front or behind the camera, this flick would, ahem, fade from, well, you know.

Anyway, the actual narrative involves Neeson playing Alex Lewis, an aging assassin who's concerned his impairment is interfering with his profession. His next victim is a teenager who's pimping father was recently killed during a sting operation by FBI agent Serra (Guy Pearce), Alex doesn't snuff kids. Good for him (and very good for her), but his employer simply hires someone else to "take care" of what he wouldn't. The remainder is a familiar cat-and-mouse game between the hired-gun and the feds, both working separately to take down the same person. Or is it people? Ooo, the suspense.

If it sounds like I'm picking on the movie, I'm not. In fact, I admired much of it, from its brutal deaths to its commitment to such a serious gimmick, losing me only when I realize that its existence is to make entertainment out of illness and child sex-trafficking.

The whole thing reminds me of 1989's "Kinjite: Forbidden Subjects," as if you wouldn't get a Charles Bronson mention in a Liam Neeson review. Both are well-produced films, showcasing elder action stars doing things their body shouldn't naturally allow for, but this one punctuates its brisk pace with a sad undercurrent about getting older. "Memory" is also far less exploitative, but it's subject matter isn't something that easily makes for cinematic comfort food. This point rears its ugly head every time I think back fondly on it, begging me to forgive its slimy backstory in spite of its technical expertise.

Have it be known that I'm fully aware that underage prostitution is something as common on a network TV crime series as cops; I'm also not forgetting why Neeson's daughter was taken in, well, "Taken." I guess what I'm saying is, "Memory" is R-rated, and without anything but good taste to stop the filmmakers from actually showing what nobody wants to see, I realize I'm not comfortable with this material.

What am I to do here? I can recommend this remake of the Belgian "The Memory of a Killer," which was unseen by me, for fans of the actor. The rest? Well, I'm sure you thought this was "Taken 9."

Corrective Measures Review

It's impossible to review a recent Bruce Willis movie without thinking of the actor's recent aphasia diagnosis. It is a shame too, because even at his worst, Bruce has a screen presence like no other action star. But to my surprise, his "Corrective Measures" is far more entertaining than it has any right being. It's elevated by its script, not wrecked by it, leaving only the shabby production values to remind you that, yes, this is a Tubi Original.

Actually I misspoke there- our "Die Hard" star actually two new movies coming out today, the other being "Fortress: Sniper's Eye," and sorry direct-to-video fans, I passed on that one.

Don't get me wrong, "Corrective Measures" is in desperate need of polish, from what the actors say to where they stand (and how the stand too, but whatever), but writer/director Sean O'Reilly plants the seeds of something far better than what ends up onscreen, and I gotta commend him for that. There is an overwhelming feeling that everyone involved saw this as a chance to tell an actual story and not just to make a paycheck. And it's this a sense of passion here (not to mention a slight sense of humor) that gets the moderate recommendation out of me.

But it doesn't start out well; a clunky fight scene leads to the arrest of Payback (Dan Payne) for murder, and he's soon brought to a supposedly maximum security prison. You know, the kind with like three guards at any given time.

Oh I forgot to mention; it's a prison for supervillains. How's that possible? The "Pulse," if the notes I took are accurate, a nebulous event involving radiation. If there are supervillains, are there superheroes? The film never really answers that, but I guess it also depends on your definition of "hero."

Anyway, as I sat on my couch, wishing for a bowl of popcorn, I sank deeper into the cushions during the opening minutes. Payback is dreadfully uninteresting, and consists of him thrusting his chest high in the air and talking "tough." Fortunately, he is hardly a secondary character; in fact, there barely anyone who'd I classify as a lead.

If I had to, I'd vote that our real protagonist is fellow jail newcomer Diego, played by Brennan Mejia. His reason in the plot is to have a natural way for everything to be explained, prison life, inmate introductions, that sort of thing. But is there anything we're really rooting for with him? I don't think so. He's a wallflower, and someone forgot to water the plants.

Michael Rooker is my only other choice for a lead, playing the corrupt warden Delvin (only he prefers "Overseer"). Most of what he does involves sitting behind a desk, straining dialogue as if that alone makes it memorable. He does give it his all though, washing down popcorn (I was jealous) with alcohol during riots and acting aloof as he plans for his retirement. Looking at some of his more recent IMDB credits, I wonder how it must have felt going from a big Hollywood picture to working on something I'm sure was "bring your own peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch."

What about Willis? He plays "The Lobe," a "most dangerous criminal," talked about by the others as if he's this mysterious figure seldom seen. A sly jab at the performer's famously limited days on set? I'm not so sure. I prefer to think of it as a clever role for a man struggling to cope with his ailment, though it is not possible to say whether or not he was suffering at the time of filming. Picture this reduced screen time as a take on Hannibal Lecter, asking nothing except to provide the occasional cryptic response and looking around bored. He appears fatigued by the cardboard walls caging him instead of being disinterested with the fact that he's in a low-budget production; If I didn't know any better, I'd say it's a pretty decent performance.

There is the infrequent "breaking news" interruption, "PulseWatch," where bland reporters provide vague backstory on life outside of our motely incarcerated crew. There's a touch of humor too, reminding me of "Starship Troopers," only with nibbles instead of biting satire.

Any more on what actually happens in the story would be a spoiler, so instead I'm forced to talk about the production values, which are hilariously low. This is supposed to be where the worst of the worst are sent, but the set looks like leftovers from an 80's sitcom. The gym is less impressive than a hotel's fitness center, and I'm convinced the cafeteria scenes were filmed at my middle school.

Then there the logistical issues, including an inmate breaking off his shackle without nary a concern about cameras or guards looking his way. How is it secure!!? Oh I'm sorry, "nullies," an ankle bracelet that nullifies their powers. How does one crack a piece of seemingly advanced tech? A broken fork. I mean it's no screwdriver but I think that voids the warranty. Later on, all the prisoners are set free, and yet instead of trying to, you know, escape, they roam around and beat up each other.

But "Corrective Measures" remains a hoot, if not always for the right reasons. You can do a lot worse than this, even and especially on Tubi.

Lord of the Streets Review

"Lord of the Streets" is an amazingly low-rent action sports thriller, a combo genre that takes the worst parts of "Taken" and "Rocky" and does them on an obviously shoe-string budget. I've got absolutely nothing against cheapo motion pictures, but the producers would have done more just donating whatever money they had to the shooting location's local film school and actually do something good for cinema.

Anthony 'Treach' Criss plays former MMA fighter-turned trainer Dyson with an estranged family and quite a bit of debt. How does such a one-dimensional character get out of this mess? Well he blows a hand at cards, and owes vague crime boss Kane (Quinton 'Rampage' Jackson) his life unless his trainee throws his next big fight. Some friend he turns out to be- he doesn't lose, so he loses his life. Dyson's still kicking though, until Kane kidnaps his daughter. How does he get out of this bigger mess now?!

To look forward we need to look back, when Damon (Khalil Rountree Jr.) is arrested after beating a robber during a home invasion. How does he factor into the plot? Dyson's gym has a prison program where they teach inmates how to fight. Turns out that was a bad idea (I mean, duh) and the training quickly turns violent, but not before he spots our wrongfully convicted man kicking ass in the inevitable brawl.

So you can probably piece together what happens: Kane gets Damon out on the condition Dyson gets him ready for a fight. Not just any fight, but five consecutive fights. Where exactly is this fight? "Underground," as they say, where a bunch of randomly rich people who have nothing better to do with their money but watch grown men beat the snot outta each other.

There is some phony subplot about a corrupt detective, played by Richard Grieco, only maybe he isn't bent- I don't know. There is so little on display here that isn't blood soaked mayhem that it really doesn't even matter.

I guess I don't get MMA, wrestling, boxing or any of those things. What's the point? Just to win? Or is it fun to be beaten up?

In "Lord of the Streets'" defense, the actual fisticuffs are surprisingly competent, verging on decent and almost approaching thrilling. But without any emotional weight behind the senseless violence, it ends up being just that. The actors do whatever they can with a hackneyed script by writer/director Jared Cohn, only you can tell which among the cast are comfortable in front of the camera. Trench brings a cool disinterest to the screen, but Rampage looks paunchy and out of his element. He spends most of runtime sitting behind various desks holding an obvious prop-gun, spewing so many four-letter words that they couldn't possibly all be in the screenplay.

Or maybe they were? I promise to watch Mr. Cohn's next feature on the condition they work a thesaurus into the budget.

Choose or Die Review

Netflix's "Choose or Die" wants to be "Saw" so badly that it fails to develop its own identity. Sure, it uses retro video games as a narrative impetus, but so what? Video games have been used as cinematic inspiration for decades, and Toby Meakins' directorial debut crashes without a complete call stack.

The film follows Kayla (Iola Evans), an academic dropout living in a rundown apartment with her ailing mother (Angela Griffin), torn from her young son's accidental drowning years back. This sad state of events is all the emotional drive the picture offers, as our heroine is otherwise devoid of personality outside, oh yeah, she's a wannabe coder. 

Their creepy landlord (Ryan Gage) is another problem all-together: present for plot convenience and some hammy acting, there is no mention as to how a man who deals in illicit vices (including but probably not limited to prostitution and drugs) is never reported to the police. He's a tertiary character in desperate need of an explanation, unless it's some vague commentary on today's society. Tsk tsk, if only "Choose or Die" was that clever.

No, instead Kayla and her derpy "boyfriend not boyfriend" Isaac (Asa Butterfield) stumble upon a vintage computer cassette called "CURS>R," one with a "prize for beating it."(Wonder if the 80's cash reward is adjusted for inflation...) Enough money to move her and her mom out from the slummy residence she must think, since she snatches the tape and tells Isaac to meet her at a local diner at 2am. Why 2am? Why a diner? Why not then and now? I dunno, maybe I nodded off from overeating during Easter brunch.

Without spoiling much, the game is cursed (ahem, "curs>d"), forcing the poor player to choose between two options. Are they both bad choices? I dunno, but we see someone eat glass, chased by a giant rat, get their tongue cut out, and more. Yet for how strikingly similar it is to the aforementioned "Saw" franchise, "Choose or Die" is surprisingly light on onscreen gore, instead simply suggesting what happened. Yet instead of helping build suspense or create an atmosphere, it feels like a decision made for budgetary reasons. I don't know how much money the filmmakers had to work with, but this looks no more expensive than your average episode of Full House, and just about as frightening. (The hairspray! The shoulder pads! The horror!)

The Adam Project Review

There's something to be said about a movie you like when watching it. Netflix's "The Adam Project" is one such movie, where I struggled to identify why or what I enjoyed, or what it even's about, once I sat down and my fingers started smacking my keyboard. Perhaps it's the general likeability of Ryan Reynolds (the film's star) the silliness of time-traveling (the plot-device), or maybe it's in spite of all that. I can't recommend something I can't justify recommending, but I didn't hate it, and that, my friends, is not something all film's can say.

The plot, ahh yes I was dreading this part of the review. Walker Scobell plays Adam, or at least 2022's version of him, who's dad, played by Mark Ruffalo, actually created time-travel but passed a few years ago. It's not clear if he lived to see his work in motion, because oh I dunno, you'd think he'd at least peak at what his future holds or, gasp, any of 2020 and beyond, but hold on there, I'm getting ahead of myself. 

This Adam's a wiseass but "uncool" preteenager. You know the kind, the ones where at school, the teachers lunge out of the bully's way as they give chase. I dunno, I thought kids these days just torture each other online. (I mean, it's hard to keep "six feet away" when you're pounding your fists into the face of another student.)

Anyway, his mother (Jennifer Garner) is still struggling with her loss, but Adam shows her no sympathy- not even his sad mom can escape his sarcastic schtick! What does this have to do with time-travel? Well soon Adam is visited by a much older Adam, played by Ryan Reynolds, who's on the run from the ruthless Maya Sorian (Catherine Keener), who in the future, has a monopoly on the subject. Why is he on the run and why is she so cruel? It turns out, she killed his wife (Zoe Saldaña), and he knows it and wants to undo it. How this is all possibly without creating some kind of paradox is never plainly answered, saving us from the usual science-fiction gobbledygook but robbing us from a core of absolutes; what remains is a plot I understand but couldn't explain how it's possible.

But why did future Adam meet up with present-day Adam? His ship was shot down, and had to take a pitstop while it auto-repairs. He's also shot, but don't worry, Ryan Reynolds is so tough that after a few Band-aids and rubbing alcohol and even the plot's forgotten he's injured. The two trade some humorous if obvious dialogue, mostly about how young Adam just wants to "be" like adult Adam, with muscles and a growth spurt or two. It kept me amused while watching but now, hours since the credits rolled, not one line stuck with me. You'd think the four(!) credited screenwriters would have penned something clever.

The narrative isn't satisfied with just two different years, oh no, we need to travel again, this time to 2018, where their dad is still alive and but has yet to formally create the wormhole tomfoolery (in case you forgot, yes, according to Hollywood 2018 looks just like 2022). With all these timelines, we never see the actual future, except from being told what happens and shown a few weapons. Big deal. Talk is cheap but actually designing a logical tomorrow apparently was outside the budget.

The three plan to break into the sire's company and destroy his work, sorta like in "Terminator 2," ending with gunfire and fisticuffs only the action's a lot less interesting. It all wraps up with a nice little bow, a finish far to neat and tidy. But I don't remember it bothering me as I sat on my couch, tummy full of popcorn and store-bought candy. Now, as I type away, I can't for the life of me understand what I enjoyed. Guess I'll just need to wait for time-travel to be invented, so I can pay my former self a visit and ask.