My Spy Review

"My Spy" is the kind of movie where the plot is effectively told within the first few seconds of its trailer, the kind of "fish out of water" tale that Hollywood loves to fit bulging men into. It's everything you're expecting when you select a movie like this to wash away two hours of your quarantined life, only more. The "more" can't be traced to any one element, whether its the writing by Jon and Erich Hoeber, direction by veteran Peter Segal, or our ex-WWE star Dave Bautista, but whatever magic potion they used here shows on screen, and shows on our faces as we smile for nearly its entire runtime.

Dave stars as JJ, a personalityless "tough-guy" CIA agent who's career is on shaky grounds after a mission gone awry. Partnered up with an eager tech-wizard Bobbi (an infectious Kristen Schaal), the two are sent to Chicago for surveillance on single-mother Kate (Parisa Fitz-Henley), so that JJ can open up and fall in love.

Actually, they're there since her late husband was involved in nefarious nuclear hijinks, but let's be honest, the ending is telegraphed the second we learn she's a single parent. Only it's more complicated, as Kate's daughter Sophie (a very spunky Chloe Coleman, who shows promise of a great career), quickly discovers one of the hidden cameras in their apartment. She's fast to film the two agents spying on them, using it as blackmail to get her way. (You know, the usual stuff, getting help from bullies, becoming popular, setting JJ up with her mom, and oh yeah, becoming a spy herself.)

The film gets a lot of comedic mileage from these scenes, a showcase of child empowerment as we see Sophie grow out of her shell, and from Dave as JJ, who's character not only grows out of his in the script, but also as an actor. Here he is more than simply tattoos and biceps, although the two are featured prominently here as well. A familiar comedy where the muscle bound star acts as the straight face to all the mayhem, caricatures, and unfairness viewed through a kid's lens, there are few films in recent memory which nail the tone this effortlessly.

Of course, material like this isn't going to win any awards, but it's heart is very much in the right place (wearing its inspirations not only on its sleeves but also its pants legs), and you walk away with a feeling of warmth the world needs right now.

It would be wrong not to mention its PG-13 rating, a fact condemned by some critics, specifically the violence and swearing. They're right, there is violence and swearing here. Those critics must also have forgotten the point of the works by the likes of John Hughes or Chris Columbus, or any such film from the 80's or 90's; just because we have a happy ending doesn't mean we can't have a few bumps along the way. Think of it this way, we could've ended up with something like "Nine Lives." You may now take a sigh of relief.

*Note to readers: I very much was indifferent towards "Nine Lives," but that does't mean I can't make fun of it.

You Should Have Left Review

I read somewhere that actor Kevin Bacon and director/screenwriter David Koepp really wanted to work together again, having previously released 1999's "Stir of Echoes." Why, then, did the two decide to settle on something like "You Should Have Left?" It's not quite a psychological thriller, not quite a haunted house picture, not quite a romantic drama, and by no means any good. It's a messy, clumsy, confused, confusing, and all-around disinteresting direct-to-streaming release that is an absolute waste of the talents of Kevin Bacon, perhaps the most famous but underutilized actor in Hollywood.

He gives it everything he's got, able to show an entire spectrum of emotions with just his face, able to turn on a dime with the slightest twitch of a muscle, but he ends up being an object onscreen. The camera spends most of its time gawking at the gracefully aged actor, twisting and turning as he tries to fill in the blanks left by the leadened screenplay.

In "You Should Have Left," he plays a wealthy retiree married to his much younger second wife, played with appeal by Amanda Seyfried. The couple and his daughter rent a mysterious house in Wales, before she, an actress, must travel for her next shoot. It's established early that he's got trust issues, uncomfortable when he shows up one day to her set, only to find she's filming a sex scene. Later in the runtime they fight, and he throws accusations of infidelity around. She doesn't admit to anything, and he never really apologizes, and they never real make up- it's pointless romantic tension that's built up for a resolution that doesn't exist.

Who's to blame? The film likes to imply that the vacation house is the cause for the chaos. It constantly adds rooms to itself, changing size as they walk down the halls and enter rooms. It's a fabulous looking place, and Koepp stages a lot of shots with a sense of discomfort, as you, the viewer, also don't know which room, new or known, the characters will enter next.

But here lies a critical problem, as you find yourself not confident the movie in front of you; you never know if the family is crazy and the house never morphs, or if the morphing house is making them crazy. Adding to the mistrust is that once everything is out in the open, there is no explanation as to why, not for the residence or the actors. It's focus on ambiguity does not have you wondering once the credits roll, it leaves you frustrated; perhaps a more cohesive execution could have offered a more satisfying reason behind all this.

You marvel at the mansion and praise the performances, but their reason for coexisting is reduced to a bunch of dream sequences, a few jump scares, and a production design team and casting department that desperately deserve a raise.

Becky Review

If "Home Alone" was rated R, then it would play out like "Becky," a new home-invasion thriller about bad guys after a little kid. Of course, the bad guy here are neo-Nazis and the little kid is a teen girl who brutally murders them. Does it work? Does it matter?

It does work, and no, it doesn't matter. But it just barely works, held together by solid performances and it's gusto. It goes for the jugular and then just rips it straight off; this is a very brutal movie, exploiting the inherit shock-value of having a young kid slice-and-dicing people up. All the bloody detail is shown in full, as the camera lusts over the gore, so you the viewer has time to notice the little details, like how the neck bleeds out as a broken ruler is shoved clean through random henchmen #1.

Another area of effective manipulation is the stunt-casting of Kevin James as Dominick, the leader of this miserable band of misfits. In his career's first dramatic role, he is more than up for the challenge, losing his trademark grin and pratfalling. He underplays the character, at least initially, as if knowing the audience would need time to adjust to this role-reversal; by the end, he is- well, no spoilers there, though you won't be surprised once it happens.

What is Dominick and his goons looking for? They're looking for a special key, which was hidden in the lake house Becky (Lulu Wilson) and her broken family are staying at. How the key got there, why it is there, or what it does are never answered. Neither is how the convicts escape prison, but I suppose "Home Alone," the main inspiration, also had plot holes big enough to fit another movie in. (Let's just hope the sequel isn't "Becky 2: Lost in New York.)

But what's the point of all this? Films sometimes strive to make you feel something, to stimulate some emotion. Other times they try to make a point. Other times, they're just trying to entertain, which is, I imagine, the genesis to "Becky." It does entertain, moving at a fast-pace without a lull in its lean ninety three minute runtime. And my eyes were glued at the violence, me leaning forward not wanting to miss just what new line the picture was willing to cross. But everything left me as soon as the credits rolled, leaving no impact aside from a strong urge to watch "Paul Blart: Mall Cop."