John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum Review

For such a simple plot, the third "John Wick" film has an excessive name- was "John Wick 3" too convenient? I suppose there is some stylistic choice behind it, as the flick is so packed with style that it's supple, soaked in the thickest technique that it is almost always great to look at, if you can past the absolute excessive violent bloodshed; at one point the title hero shoves then slices a man's neck down a stationary blade- "Subtly" will not likely be the obligatory fourth film's subtitle.

This is the first in the franchise I've actually seen, but why? Well, I don't have a particularly strong reason, except that Keanu Reeves has never been my favorite actor- he probably wouldn't even crack my top 100 favorite actors. But everyone and their dads keep recommending these movies, probably because I'm a pushover for material like this (the plot: whoever kills John Wick gets 14 million dollars, and he doesn't really want to die). So I went in blind, and before I knew what happened, he was pounding a book into some tall villain's mouth (talk about "eating your words"). And wouldn't you know, I had a blast, in a sort of sick, visceral way, one you're not exactly proud of, but give into anyway. This is the best time, in that sense, that I've had at the movies in a long time, rivaled only by "Cold Pursuit" earlier this year, although I found my smile to be a bit wider during that one.

There isn't as much of a movie to review here but more like a serial of fights, all choreographed, all polished, and all grittier than they have any right to be. Whatever the budget was, you'd be sure that more was spent on stunt doubles than acting lessons. There is a healthy mix of swordplay, hand-to-hand combat, and shootouts, although the gunplay is certainly the least interesting of the bunch (even the low-rent actioners can often competently show actors firing fake guns). But the rest is top-notch, starting at "over-the-top" and never going back, playing out like the best James Bond movie if they traded the sex, smoking, and espionage for violence, violence, and more violence.

The biggest regret here is the actual plot, which gets in the way of action and halts the momentum the film is so keen on keeping. There are far more secondary characters than there should be (and I'm not just talking about the various thugs who try to claim the bounty), and any time John puts down his fists (or knife, or sword, or gun, or... ), all the steam is lost. Once words are minced things get just as intense as they were before, but with a plot so oversimplified here, why bother with one in the first place?

But what can I say about Reeves, who has about as much dialogue in the film as a background character? He's convincing in the action pieces, I've read that he does a vast majority of his own stunts, and it shows. Acting more with his face than his words, he's adequate at showing some level of emotion, even if it's the same "ohhh Imma kill you" feeling, aside from one or two showcases of sorrow. Will "John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum" make me want to run out and buy all of Keanu's other works? Doubtfully, but I wouldn't mind checking to see if the first two installments are on Netflix.

Pokemon Detective Pikachu Review

Pokemon Detective Pikachu will only be seen by four types of people:

1. Children
2. Parents who were begged by their children to pay admission
3. Twenty-somethings who remember the franchise from when they were children
4. Film critics

There's the problem, the film doesn't know its audience, which is kids. My theater was packed with mostly kiddos and their guardians, who jumped for joy as they entered the movies but walked without such passion once the credits scrolled. I'm sure they enjoyed it, but I doubt they "got" it. The plot, which I'll get to in a second, was both too familiar and too complicated, and although Ryan Reynolds, who voices the titular Pikachu, got a few laughs with his "PG-Deadpool one-liners," it wasn't enough to sustain any sort of kinetic energy. Kids ultimately will end up liking all the bright colors, but that's all there is.

Oh I'm sorry, there I go assuming everyone and their child knows who Pikachu is, and what Pokemon are. In short, Pokemon are animal-like creatures from the self-titled franchise, and Pikachu, an electric mouse, is their mascot and a main character in this first live-action adaptation. The film acts like a safari, traveling across the damp city streets with dozens if not hundreds of cameos of different Pokemon. I'm sure that will tickle the fancy of children and adult-children, but their "blink-and-you-missed-it" scenes are ultimately inconsequential.

Getting to the plot, we follow Tim Goodman (Justice Smith), one of the few folks in the world who doesn't have his own Pokemon companion, an insurance salesman who's lived with his grandmother most of his life after his mother's death (a terrific theme for a picture opening Mother's Day Weekend). After a phone call, he travels to Ryme City, a sprawling municipal where people and little creatures live in harmony and as equals. But he's not there to sell them insurance! He meets with the local detective (Ken Watanabe) where we find out his father is presumed dead (could have used life insurance), but Tim hides his emotion and goes to close down his dad's apartment.

There he meets Lucy Stevens (Kathryn Newton), a wannabe reporter who is eager for her "big-break" and thinks that his father's death could be it. Why? During the crash that allegedly killed him, there was an explosion at a nearby lab, which has had no media coverage. Once inside the apartment, Tim stumbles upon Pikachu, Tim's father's amnesic Pokemon and partner who is unique in that Tim can understand him, and he can speak English (makes you wonder how the whole "living as equals" thing works when the two diverse cultures can literally not speak to one another, but I digress). Pikachu convinces Tim that his father isn't really dead and that it's a coverup, so the two set out to the streets, where they end up working with Lucy, and quickly are hot on the trail of "R," a sort of drug that is used by people to make their Pokemon go bezerk (which is brilliant anti-drug messaging if I've ever seen it, making kids pay to hear that drugs are bad).

Phew! Some narrative huh? And I haven't even gotten to the bad guy! But that's the major flaw here, the writers mistook multiple, overly-familiar plots for one unique, well-rounded one. There are kidnapping, cloning, government controlling the media, and just about every plot-point a film could hit, only a handful are well executed, the others are just, well, executed. They're either too vague, too adult for a kids movie, or just never followed up on. Even the ending, which I won't spoil, features a twist which is sitcom-level obvious. But the biggest crime is the human characters, who while not unlikable per se, they just exist next to significantly more interesting CGI monsters who receive none of the creative exposition.

Pet Sematary Review

I've frequented Maine a lot in my life, and it's eerie how "Pet Sematary," the second film adaptation of Stephen King's novel, captures that atmosphere, more so than 2017's "It." It's the little things, you know, like the towering trees in every shot, the quaint little towns with approximately the correct architecture, and most noticeable, how far apart neighbors are. So perhaps I'm not the best person to review "Pet Sematary," the film had the home-field advantage and I was on its team. Perhaps that's why I walked out of the theater, disturbed. This most recent of King's adaptations is a gory, unpleasant experience in animal and child death, toying with your innate emotions; I didn't shed a tear, but I knew I'd need a clean shower once the credits roll.

Jason Clarke plays loving father Louis Creed, who moves his family from the fast-paced world of Massachusetts to the small town of Ludlow Maine, a town whose population is just 404 according to my quick research (must be why there are so few pets in the actual Pet Sematary, but more on that later). Him and his wife Rachel (Amy Seimetz) have one boy and one girl, and viewers of the original 1989 adaptation may be surprised to know which one of the children end up carrying that scalpel- wow look at me, I'm getting ahead of myself here. Virgins to the story just know, that their new house rests on a road where eighteen wheelers fly through (and there's a lot of trucks for such a small population), and they never think to put a fence up.

Ultimately it's up to their new neighbor Jud (John Lithgow), a chain-smoking elderly local to warn them about what happens on their new piece of property. Not long after they arrive, the sound of faint drums start playing, where a group of children in animal masks carry down a dead dog into the woods (the same woods which I swear anyone raised outside the city grew up by). There is an animal graveyard in their backyard, deep behind their house, lending itself to the film's title, but that's not all that's behind their new home.

Behind the cemetery is an Indian burial ground, one that does more than simply offer a place for eternal rest. It has the power to bring things back from the dead, not as zombies but not back their original selves, something in between. The first we see is their pet cat Churchill, killed by one of those aforementioned trucks. Jud, who has grown a sort of friendship with the kitty's owner Ellie (Jete Laurence), the family's daughter, doesn't want to see her in any pain and brings Louis to the burial ground dig the cat's grave. He doesn't tell anyone about the power of that place until the next morning when the cat comes back, to the surprise of the parents. He's not the same however, with ratty hair and a bit of a mean streak, scratching the little girl and bringing a nearly dead crow onto young couple's bed. After trying to put the cat down (with whatever doctor's can put into syringes) he finds himself unable to go through with it, and decides to let it out into the wild, far away from his residence.

Of course, this is a movie, and every film since "The Incredible Journey" has taught us that animals will always find their way home. Then, at Ellie's birthday party, she spots Church on the road and, well, this is where the film loses me. Look, I know what happens, the kid dies (the daughter here instead of the son, I suppose that's the producer's idea of a refreshing change of pace), but why? Perhaps it works better on page than it does on film, but there is absolutely no pleasure in exploiting the tragedy this way. It made me squirm in my seat, my skin crawled and I winced in distaste. I suppose it's my fault, I mean, I walked into the theater knowing what I was getting myself into. Hell, I was munching on Jujubes amidst all the chaos. But it doesn't work in using this misfortune for anything but schlocky, cheap tricks.

Pet Sematary is an ugly film, one without much merit in terms of filmmaking outside it's rather authentic looking locales and charming cast of actors (before I get ahead of myself, it's worth calling out that Lithgow is a scene-stealer). Every time the music stops, a character looks somewhere any normal person would (such as within the pitch black crawlspace or behind the doors of a dumbwaiter), followed by cacophonous music cue and a monster jumping at the camera. Is that all it can do for the audience with such sensitive material? A child dies, and what we get is it calling its mom a cow and stabbing people to death? I suppose that would be considered a spoiler, but that's only if I could recommend seeing it.

I give this two and a half stars against my better judgement, because it ended up getting a reaction out of me, good or bad, and I must acknowledge that. And despite all the tasteless bloodshed, unlike "It," I didn't see in bloody detail the disembodying of children (RIP Georgie.)

Triple Frontier Review

Netflix's "Triple Frontier" has the look of the classic Hollywood action blockbuster; trailers that make it look like it could have starred Arnold Schwarzenegger (if released in another decade), an all-star cast, including Ben Affleck and Oscar Isaac, and a simple "ex-special op soldiers rob a mega-rich drug lord" premise. (How many times have we seen that??)

Yet all those explosions shown in the previews are about the only ones we get in the 125 minute running time, and the plot ends up suggesting a lot more than your typical actioner. It's entertaining, for the most part, but I feel mislead. The gunfights are shot with finesse, and what little action we do get is staged professionally, but it all ends too soon; right when you're at the edge of your seat (likely your couch) and your arm is clenching the armrest, it ends. It's all buildup with no climax, no release. That's all fine and everything, but a movie that teases the same thing so often needs to have a plot and characters that we the audience care about. "Triple Frontier" has one only of those two requirements.

First, what works, the cast. Even a paunchy Affleck (playing Tom "Redfly" Davis) convinces me that he can still fire a gun. His four friends, brought out of retirement by Santiago "Pope" Garcia (Isaac), all struggle with life outside of the Army, but are not all too eager to jump into the fire again. Maybe it's the actors lack of enthusiasm for the project, but their bored, somewhat frustrated demeanor works to convey their reluctance of the situation. But there's a chemistry between the five guys, find themselves overwhelmed at the promise, and eventual sight, of so much money.

The plot however, is less than satisfactory. What did I expect though? The five ex-Army guys gear up to take down a drug lord is the general summary, and it doesn't take long for the script to plunge the band of (anti?)heroes into the South American jungle (where all movie-drug lords come from). Everything's planned out, an entry (wait for a large portion of the badguy's guards to take his family to church), a getaway (at first vans, used by the organization to transport the drugs, and eventually a helicopter), and a coverup (burn the building to a cinder), but all that happens in the first half of the run time. Once they trade those vans for the copter, I found myself wondering "what is going to happen now?" That's the sign of a film working, it stirred a reaction out of me, I wanted to see what else the film had up it's sleeve. Unfortunately it was wearing a tanktop.

They quickly discover that they've stolen more cash than the rotorcraft can carry, they crash into a poor village, duffel bags stuffed with money intact, and need to deal with angry natives, unpleasant weather, uneven terrain, all the usual stuff. It's a terrific twist in theory, leaving so much of the film dedicated to the escape, but it's execution is half-hearted and clumsy. One of the members of our ragtag group is shot during the heist. You'd expect this to be a clutch; he'd slow them down, or deal with an infection without the medical care needed, but none of that happens. One scene he's shown checking his bloody wound, and then the next he's hauling bag after bag of money as if he was shot with a spitball. There are some key moments that I won't spoil here, revelations and actions that further the character development, but they're few and very far between. It's this second half of the film that sinks "Triple Frontier," souring the experience with a more "made-for-TV" drama/survival tale than an exciting chase with millions in tow (and millions in the flick's budget no doubt).

Cold Pursuit Review

"The trap is set. The fuse is lit. Liam Neeson's unleashed. Death Wish 6: On Ice"

Or at least that's what it plays out onscreen like. Liam's newest film, "Cold Pursuit," confirms his resurgence is no fluke; he is this generation's Charles Bronson. Take the plot: it's about a man seeking vengeance when his son is found dead on a purported heroin overdose. He ends up getting ensnared in a nearby drug lord's murky plot, and inadvertently leads to the involvement of another nearby drug lord! It's a complete retread of the five "Death Wish" films, as well as a few others for color, and condenses them into a quick and zippy 118 minute joyride. It may be completely unoriginal, but it's a terrific comedic thriller. It's bloody, packed with creative deaths that only occasionally shy away from showing the spewing blood (even if the death's offscreen, you see the splatter of crismon spray onto the nearby snow). There are, naturally, ample amounts of drug-dealers (though no real visible drug use), though a true trashy vigilante flick would have found any excuse to show some nudity; hey, it's big-budget exploitation film, I wasn't expecting anything classy.

We follow Liam's character Nelson Coxman (don't bother making jokes, the film does that for you), who's just been awarded his vacation town's "Citizen of the Year" award. He's just the snowplow guy, he recites during this acceptance speech, living a modest life with his wife Grace (Laura Dern, who has about two scenes before disappearing), and their only son, who works at the local airport before being kidnapped and killed, his death guised as a heroin overdose.

Why his son was killed is irrelevant and passively mentioned once or twice, and serves better as a clothesline of oddball baddies to be shot up by Liam, gang 1 and gang 2. Perhaps the only disappointing thing is how much of the bloodshed is dished out by one gang to the other, Neeson nowhere to be seen, but hey, it's fun trash nonetheless. What's worth pointing out is how every criminal is known by a ridiculous nickname, ranging from "Wingman" to, my personal favorite, "Santa."

Of course, the deaths catch the attention of the local police, led by the curious and spunky Emmy Rossum as Kim and the curiously passive John Doman as Gip. She's eager for some action in the sleepy little town (not unlike Sandra Bullock's character in "Demolition Man"), and makes all sorts of calls to dig up anything she can on the murders. Gip, for no obvious reason, is disinterested in disappearances; I was waiting for a "corrupted cop" moment but alas, no such luck. There's all the obligatory scenes between Coxman and the cops, where right after he drops a body in the river (wrapped in chicken wire, so, he explains, "the fish can eat the flesh off the bones and prevent the bodies from floating... I read it in a detective novel"), only for nothing to happen except to recap the exposition on the police's side of the story.

There's a comedic charge in every bit of dialogue, helped immensely by these humorous monikers, though having the head drug lord "Viking" (Tom Bateman) arguing with his henchmen about the dangers of "high fructose corn syrup" when one of them tries slipping a few cookies in his son's lunch pale, doesn't hurt either. It's bits like this, frequent and always unexpected, that separate "Cold Pursuit" from Liam's previous "The Commuter," as well as the recent "Death Wish" remake and the now two years old "The Foreigner." The sense of humor doesn't always hit its mark, but with actor's unbridled commitment to seriousness, every quip and each goofy death seem to miss deliberately. I laughed, for sure, more so than I probably should have, but the nearly packed audience often chuckled right along side me. It isn't a matter of good taste, because this film is about a far away from that as they come, but it is a good time. A downright slapdash and energetically outrageous good time, this is cinema certainly not in it's finest, but definitely in its most unorthodox and entertaining.

Holmes and Watson Review

Never has a film made it to theaters that is so devoid of comedy that wouldn't be rivaled by the dud "Holmes and Watson," the new high-concept movie that stars Will Ferrell and John C. Reilly. It's not just humorless, but it's a feature length film where nothing happens, nothing interesting at least. It is a total wash, a dry example that having stars who were funny in other comedies does not mean they'll be funny in all comedies.

I laughed two times during it's brief runtime, once out loud and the other on the inside, my self-esteem ashamed to let anyone in the inexplicably packed theater know my funny bone was just ever so slightly tickled. It's not just unfunny, it's spineless, tacky, and being released on Christmas day feels like something The Grinch organized.

The entire experience feels as if no script was written, and the cast were told "hey, here's the plot for this scene, adlib it," and then they took the first take. Our leads resort to screaming lines over and over again, in a desperate attempt to get a laugh hoping that repetition and yelling will somehow make the witless punchline actually funny.

The plot is an excuse for the most senseless sight gags, poor puns, sigh-inducing slapstick, and belated Trump jokes to berate your senses. The one time the unlucky group of attendees heard my cackle was when tertiary character  Millie (Lauren Lapkus) is introduced as being raised by cats, which explains why her eyes are bugged so far out of their sockets. Why I laughed is beyond me, probably a pent-up laugh that my sense of humor prepped when it heard I was seeing a comedy. I would have probably laughed at anything, given how late the chuckle came in the film's running time; I'm just glad it wasn't at one of the many puke or "John C. Reilly is ugly" jokes. But in all seriousness, the actual plot concerns the title two trying to stop who is believed to be Moriarty (a very thankless Ralph Fiennes) from assassinating the queen. Not much in the narrative department.

The problem with a comedy like this is not in concept, it takes a "The Naked Gun" approach to detective fiction, a genre seemingly ripe for riffing. It takes an idea for a joke then goes further, the notion being that "once is funny, 5 times is funnier." But that doesn't work if the joke isn't funny to begin with. Take the scene when Watson and Holmes think they killed the queen (while taking a, sigh, "selfie"), her guards unaware and just outside their door. They try shoving her in a trunk, jumping on the lid when she doesn't fit, and it goes on and on; push and push the duo does, and she just doesn't fit. Funny right?

I'd share another example, but the film so passively escapes from your conscience the second a scene ends that it would require me paying another inexcusable ten bucks to see this trash again, and I refuse. No force on Earth or in heaven could get me to provide the film makers with any incentive, monetary or otherwise, to keep director/writer Etan Cohen working outside the world of also-ran sitcoms or greeting cards.

The Mule Review

Clint Eastwood in his latest film "The Mule" feels like a followup to 2008's "Gran Torino," had that film only ended differently. Both movies play like "Where is Dirty Harry Now" pictures, with Eastwood snarling at the camera, sarcastically swearing at the wrong people, with just a touch of callous but passive racism. In this latest adventure, he plays Earl Stone, a veteran (of course!) and glorified florist, who always put his work before his family. Must be a pretty boring family to put such a focus on flowers.

Starting with a flashback of him in his garden glory days, the movie quickly cuts to him today, his place foreclosed. Packing up his old beat-up Ford pickup, he heads to his granddaughter's pre-wedding party, only to be thrown out by his ex-wife Mary (Dianne Wiest) and his daughter Iris (Alison Eastwood), not before one of the guests catches wind that ol' Earl is in need of cash (to help pay for the wedding). The man promises all that he'll need to do is drive from one place to the next, something Earl seems all too happy to do in his decrepit truck. Turns out, he'll be transporting drugs into Illinois. Good thing we learn he's never gotten a driving ticket. Must be why all old people seem to drive so slow.

At the same time, DEA Agent Bates (Bradley Cooper) is brought over from New York to help curb their city's increasing drug use. Bates spends his time getting information about a new drug mule from flamboyant cartel worker Luis (Eugene Cordero), who's introduced getting a manicure (no doubt putting the man in the name). Of course, this new drug driver is 90-year-old Mr. Stone, and the rest of the film happens naturally and casually. Unfortunately Cooper gives a thankless performance, failed by the screenplay (and possibly the director), one that gives him little to do except look pretty and brush off the several times he crosses paths with Eastwood's Earl character.

The story is predictable, hitting all the major beats you'd expect from a film of this genre (cue character who coughs, but reassures our lead that "it's nothing." Don't be stupid, secondary character, you and I both know it's something). But we all came here for Eastwood, a man who's face has been beaten up and chewed out by time (and no doubt all the tiny cigars he chewed, back in the sixties when he didn't have a name), but is no less enduring than ever.

"The Mule" is a tale only interesting because it's real, or at least inspired by one, and the movie is only worth watching for Eastwood; you'd better believe there would be a whole star missing from that score above had a less prolific aging action actor played the role of Earl Stone. It is terrific to see Mr. Director back to doing what he does best, well, aside from action that is (Eastwood is at least not pulling a Charles Bronson here), relying purely on the dialogue, and delivery, to give the audience what they want. The discourse between him and his suppliers are a particular highlight, where minorly racist and ageist quips are tossed back and forth, with smiles on the faces of both sides. I don't have to agree with it, but I liked what I saw on screen today.