Tom & Jerry Review

You know you're in trouble when a movie opens to rapping cartoon birds.

It was at that moment when I realized what kind film "Tom & Jerry" was going to be- an unfunny, lousy, and boring one. Unfunny in the sense that not once did I crack a smile; lousy in that the titular critters are an afterthought to petty human drama, and boring in the sense that, while watching, I checked my clock so many times that I realized it was about twenty minutes ahead. It's a wonder I'm on-time for anything.

Based obviously on the Tom and Jerry property, like so many other "animated/live-action" hybrids based on antiquated cartoon franchises, the story here nothing inherent to do with the drawn cat and mouse. Instead the plot centers on "Kayla," played by Chloë Grace Moretz, who lies her way into a temp job at some swanky hotel in New York City. Queue conflict, as the establishment is in the process of hosting a huge wedding, and wouldn't you know it? There is a mouse- gasp! Being the Big Apple, they should be lucky it isn't a rat the size of King Kong. Oh, Tom the cat is also there, but that happens for no reason other to ensure hijinks ensue.

Actually no, Google tells me that "hijinks" can be defined as "boisterous fun," which isn't what we see onscreen. I'd pick another noun, but it probably wouldn't be a nice one.

This rodent has both the owner Henry (Rob Delaney) and the events manager Terrance (Michael Peña) worried. "Hire a cat," pitches Kayla, which the former is for but the latter's against, but under the condition that its existence and theoretical capture is kept a secret. "Can't have the tabloids hearing we have a vermin problem," or so her boss says. This creates what I call a "false plot," where a character in power says "don't do this" only for the main character, and other secondary ones, to do it; they speak over walkie talkies about "catching the mouse," and at one point yell "mouse" time and time again at the hotel bar, easily within earshot of guests imbibing and make small talk in the background.

The other issue Jerry causes is when we hear the groom Ben (Colin Jost) ask the staff for elephants for his ceremony. This creates two outcomes: one with elephants and without elephants. Of course elephants will be involved! Why is that even a question!? Even when bride-to-be Preeta (Pallavi Sharda) objects, we the audience know this is a set up for chaos and would come away feeling cheated if we were denied the chance for such pandemonium.

Ultimately, there isn't much of a narrative here; there is only so much that you can do with a duo who's whole schtick is chasing each other with hammers, or baseball bats, or skillets, or, well, you get the idea. The filmmakers are right in the sense that slapstick can't purely hold a movie together, so it isn't any wonder that the script is about how dreamers can dream their way through life and enemies can work together if they put their differences aside, yada yada yada.

But it's a complete copout that this production isn't any more complicated than a Saturday morning cartoon. The people involved here don't realize that kids are smarter than we often give them credit, and instead pat themselves on the back by producing a product who's purpose for existing is to show bright colors edited together with slapdash pacing to the tune of pop songs. Tom and Jerry are really only up to their usual antics for probably about 35% of the runtime, so even if we were to forgive its general cinematic laziness, it would still fail as a proper representation of what the "Tom and Jerry" series is about. Maybe that's the problem. Or, maybe next time they'll adapt something that has an actual plot.

The Little Things Review

Detective movies all end with one of four different ways: A) the bad guy gets caught, B) the good guy is actually the bad guy, C) there's a red herring, and D) nothings resolved. Those, of course, and the millions of small variances on those basic narratives. We know this, but what keeps audiences involved is the craftmanship of the picture, the performances, etc., but above all else, it's the possibility that things will be different this time. Now I won't spoil what actually happens in HBO Max's latest release, streaming simultaneously to its release in theaters, "The Little Things," but any cinema detective should be able to spot the ending.

I'll admit, I wasn't sure for a majority of the runtime what ultimately was going to happen (I expect my "movie sleuthing" badge to be soon revoked no doubt). In that respect, I appreciated it. For a film to keep me wondering "what if" is a testament to the skill of everything and everyone onscreen and off-scene. I can't base a recommendation purely on that, but for a certain demographic, it's enough.

Or maybe it's not, the more I think about it. Perhaps the reason why I kept guessing is its complicated plot, where revelations come up briefly before scenes change it's onto the next thing. Take for example the reason why Kern County deputy Joe Deacon, played by Denzel Washington, is LA. Having left that city behind him years ago, he ends up back in his old stomping grounds to collect some evidence, ends up befriending detective Baxter, played by Rami Malek, and is soon helping him solve the killings. What, you might be asking, about that evidence he needed to pick up? It's mentioned briefly over a phone call, hope you were paying attention. Deke mumbles "it's the little things" several times here, saying that they'll be what gets you caught. Well yes that's true, but it's also the little things that help keep the story sensical.

Prime suspect is Albert Sparma, played by Jared Leto, a local creep who the film all but confirms is the perpetrator. Evidence all but says so, but it's not enough to convict (isn't that always the case?), but our two protagonists spend most of their time just sitting in their cars outside his apartment. There's only so much suspense that can be generated by watching two guys stalk another man, and the film knows this. Soon enough we'll get a change of scenery (including one or two of them exiting said car and into another) but it does little to alleviate all the false noir elements, its brooding atmosphere that pounds into your subconscious that the color wheel consists mostly of shades of grey and all streets at night are filled with nothing but shadows.

In two days the FBI will take over the case, and the duo, convinced he's the guy, end up in the desert where Al claims a missing girl is buried. This is where the film loses its creditability, and for two reasons: 1) if Sparma was innocent, why would he make such an allegation, and 2) if Sparma was not so innocent, why would he make such an incriminating allegation? Maybe he's just some loon in the wrong place at the wrong time, but it doesn't matter. What happens is purely to service the main character's reasonings, and for a script that has apparently been floating in Hollywood for thirty years, it shows that writer/director John Lee Hancock has spent that time finding funding instead of a resolution.

In its favor, for a flick dealing with the grisly deaths of like a half dozen women, there is a refresh lack of perversion. This elevates this over lesser, repugnant pictures like last year's "The Devil All the Time," which is an endorsement on its own. But I can't recommend it. Not like this. Maybe in another thirty years.

Outside the Wire Review

"Outside the Wire" tackles some heavy issues about artificial intelligence, war, and race (well, in a throwaway line, but hey, it's there), but it gets itself bogged down by mindless violence that, ironically, is what the film is trying to caution against.

Debuting on Netflix, this confused and confusing release benefits from its direct-to-streaming, allowing viewers the luxury of pausing the character's action to try and get a better grip on everyone's true motive. Plot twists can make for a fun time at the movies, but there is nothing here except for ambiguous motivations.

The film opens with a botched mission, where drone pilot Thomas Harp, played by Damson Idris, breaks chain of command by sending in an air strike, resulting in the death of two soldiers. Given a second chance, he ends up, boots on the ground, in action, under the supervision of Leo, played by Anthony Mackie, who happens to be an android. Leo handpicked Harp for his assignment for his ability to "go outside the wire," hence the title. This inherently creates distrust between the protagonists, but also with us, at home and on our couch. Can we trust a synthetic human more or less than a rogue lieutenant? It's a pretty decent setup, but it ultimately settles for the obvious choice without offering any real insight as to why.

Anyway, their job is to deliver vaccines, and then stop Russian terrorist Victor Koval. Characters speak his name, the same photo of him is blasted across the TVs in the refugee camp, and then they just say his name again, and again, and again. It's so tiring!

But he's the nasty guy, in any event. He's after nukes, like all antagonists in cinema, something the Americans want to avoid. There's also the resistance, led by Sofiya (Emily Beecham), who are also working to stop him, and you might be asking yourself: "why don't the two work together and stop their common enemy?" It's a good question, one the film does indeed answer, but it's an unsatisfying answer. There is potential here for some interesting conflict, but the end product ends up bogged down in this nebulous international politics: nothing is any more complicated than "We good, Russia bad." What is this, "Rocky IV?"

No, it's not. At least that film had Ivan Drago, a masterful villain who you loved to hate. The issue here is how little development is made with him, since by the time he does make an appearance in the last thirty minutes or so, he's just some generic guy, with generic body guards and some generic computers (for those nukes, naturally). His car is at least name brand (it's a Cadillac Escalade, in some not-so-subtle product placement), but whatever. He doesn't matter. He poses no threat to the narrative, and therefor, there is no reason for us to care about him (or what happens to him).

That's not the only crippling issue here: Leo is perhaps the most egregious of all. He's not human, that's a given, but what exactly makes him so special? He's faster, smarter, and more clever than us in the flesh, but the specifics are barely established. We see him taking bullets several times, but that's nothing a quick patch won't fix. Arms dealer, protected by three or four men? No problem, he'll just throw some punches while hardly breaking a sweat. He's not invincible, but since most things in the story are no more dangerous than a bullet or a fist, our heroes are never really in any danger, robbing the narrative of any true suspense.

If you can look past its blind intentions, there are some decent qualities: the action is relatively well staged, cleanly shot and edited so that you always knows who's shooting who. The performances are adequate across the board, and you can just tell that the stars and director Mikael Håfström found something special in the script. Unfortunately, screenwriters Rowan Athale and Rob Yescombe don't know what that is.

The Marksman Review

Liam Neeson self cannibalizes his own career with the release of his latest thriller "The Marksman," which debuts just three months after this last thriller, "Honest Thief," which is probably still in cinamas. Imagine the confused movie goer, ten bucks in hand, mask on face, standing in a socially distanced theater, when they ask for the matinee showing of "... the new Liam Neeson film," and the person at the counter, behind the plastic safety screen, says "... which one?"

Neeson plays Jim, a rancher who's widowed, in debt, and seems to have developed a drinking problem. He also lives on the Mexico-Arizona border, when a mother Rosa (Teresa Ruiz) and son Miguel (Jacob Perez) crash through from the border, which he's conveniently driving off a hangover from the night before. Hot on their trail is the cartel, where talk is talked, shots are shot, but the three escape just long enough for a gunshot to take the poor woman's life. Honestly, I think Jim was more upset about the bullet holes in his truck (he doesn't look like the kind of guy who can pay for automotive insurance).

Before passing, Rosa begs for Jim to take Miguel to her relatives in Chicago, in exchange for "all the money she's got, or something to that effect, which in the world of movie making means "bag full of money." The bankrupted marine (because of course he was in the US Marines) drops the boy off to border patrol, cash in toe, only to grow a guilty conscience when he spots the bad guys waiting outside the station. The men, who hilariously use passports of elderly women, manage to make it past the country line after flashing the officer their tattoos. What happens had the gang not been checked by that one bent deputy is the type of question you don't ask here. Anyway, back to what's left of the plot:  Jim snatches the kid and the duo drive off with his dog to the Windy City, cartel not far behind.

As stated in the ye olde "Laws of Movie Clichés" book: the dog must die, the kid must bond with the grumpy old white guy, and gun store owners ignore background checks. All those things happen here- in fact there are so many stereotypes here, from the dialogue to actual plot points, that the next day you'll be talking about this over Zoom to your coworkers, only to confuse major moments with Clint Eastwoord's "The Mule," or perhaps his "Gran Torino," or if you're really into old action movies, something like Charles Bronson's "Borderline" from 1980. The only difference between those flicks and Neeson's latest is how talkative he is, at least compared to the famously silent aforementioned tough guys; even if he does more here than grunt, what he does say isn't all that remarkable.

That, I suppose, and that his face doesn't look like it's carved from rocks.

I'm conflicted here, since the film depicts all cops as corrupt, the government as useless, and all Mexican citizens as gang members with itchy trigger fingers. Yet it's well-made, a polished piece of entertainment with a more concrete vision than most of Liam's star vehicles. He's given some internal  confliction between "right and wrong" to work through (or at least this movie's version of it), and the relationship between his character and Miguel is almost poignant, even if it is, at the same time, forced to service the script. The commitment from the actors is commendable, despite Juan Pablo Raba's performance as Mauricio, the leader of the cartel, is hammy to the point of parody. Director Robert Lorenz, long-time producer of many Clint Eastwood projects, handles the material with refreshing restraint, and combined with some surprisingly decent cinematography by Mark Patten, "The Marksman" almost escapes its relentlessly fraudulent "American Dream" agenda.

I dunno. I don't think anyone goes to see Liam Neeson, during a pandemic mind you, expecting anything else but approximately two hours of approximate distraction.

Wonder Woman 1984 Review

Nostalgia is a powerful thing, particularly in the realm of entertainment and especially in Hollywood; why else would we see so many reboots/sequels/revamps/remakes? Nostalgia also plays a big part in "Wonder Woman 1984," in at least two ways: one, it's a sequel to a film based on the long-running comic book character, but more importantly, it's based in the eighties (hence the title). This allows the screenwriters to again tell a "fish out of water" story, as her love interest Steve Trevor (Chris Pine), is "wished" for, and shows up after dying in the first film. (See, there is this magic relic that grants wishes...) "Oooh," "ahhhh," he says, as he gazes at doohickeys like exercise bikes and break dancers, but they used this joke in the last movie, swapping only the decade.

This narrative cliché is attractive here because it saves the movie makers the trouble of having to create their own world to have a character be out of place in. Why bother producing "Wonder Woman 2084," where you'd need to come up with all sorts of new fancy gadgets and advances in tech, when you can just dig out some roller skates and shoulder pads from the attic and call it a day?

It's not the only copout here. There's a scene where the titular heroine (Gal Gadot) and her boyfriend are flying a plane (stolen from the Smithsonian, lucky they keep all their aircrafts topped off with fuel), and she practices her invisibility power. She's only successfully performed the trick once, on a mug (which she promptly lost. It's a good gag.), before making the entire ship invisible. That's nice for the special effects people- just show some shots of a clear sky, toss in some sound effects and bam, an invisible jet.

No, that's not the biggest problem here: again, it's the picture's half-hearted attempt at making Wonder Woman herself a symbol of women's rights" It doesn't work, again. If she is so powerful, like literally a superhero, why does she need to be saved (at least twice) by a man? Can she not make it without a man in her life? That's the story they're selling, and it's just so frustrating.

Why does Trevor-boy need to come to the rescue? When she wished for him back, she inadvertently traded her most prized possession- her powers. Only they fade over time, so the weaker she grows the more "world saving" he does. She finally revokes her wish (i.e. sending him back to his grave) and bam, she's Wonder Woman again. Can a woman not have a family and a career? What the hell kind of message is that??!!

It's equally annoying that the main villain, Barbara, played by Kristen Wiig, is blinded only by her own vanity. Trading her innocence and kindness to become "just like" the whip-lassoing protagonist, she only wants to be "liked" by her coworkers; why are both female stars here bound by stereotypes?

Anyway, there is another baddie, an oil-hungry tycoon called Max Lord, played by Pedro Pascal, who's appetite has room for wishes as well. Only instead of just using that antique stone to make a wish, he becomes the antique stone, granting other people's wishes for whatever he wants in return. Towards the end of runtime, he's broadcasted on every screen in the world, granting wishes like a corrupt televangelist. His transmission is only in English, yet everyone in the world understands him. That's a logical error, one of several, but hey, this is mass-audience entertainment, why bother scrutinizing it?

Because it's infuriating, that's why! Take Wonder Woman's attire; she wears bullet-reflecting wristbands, yet exposes much of her body in a low-cut top and a mini-skirt? Why not just cover her entire body with the stuff? Only she does do that, in a curt climatic confrontation between her and Cheetah (that's Barbara's alter-ego, or so the internet tells me. I don't recall it ever being spoken here). Draped in gold, complete with wings (though she doesn't need them to actually fly) this final battle finds her appropriately "bullet proof." Another problem: this fight is shot at night, no doubt to hide just how clumsy the CGI fur is on Kristen Wiig. Wasn't "Cats" 2019's problem?

I dunno. "Wonder Woman 1984" is serviceable entertainment. Fans will no doubt be streaming it again and again (or, gasp, seeing it in theaters once or twice). But with so many places in the world on lockdown, the superhero movie genre has some new faces, notably competitor Netflix's "Project Power" and "The Old Guard." Not that either of those films are necessarily any better than this latest DC release, but they offer something it can't: the absence of burden to a franchise. They can be a little darker. A little grittier. A little bit different. A little smaller scale. Here, well, we have mega-budget blockbuster playing on someone else's turf.

I'm giving this two stars because that's what I gave the first one. "Is it just as good?" "Is it disappointing?" Those are irrelevant questions when the studio is already planning on making not only a sequel but a spinoff.

Breach Review

"Breach" is a cheapo science-fiction movie, it's as simple as that. It's something that wouldn't look out of place debuting on the SyFy channel, and for most of it's short hour and thirty something minute runtime, I was on board. Not there was anything original to be seen, heard, or even suggested, but as a lazy midday rental, you get what you paid for, and more.

The "more" comes from the involvement of Bruce Willis, who really isn't the main character, playing a drunk janitor named Clay, but he's in most shots, and his trademark smirk and lethargy to the situation puts the film's tongue firmly in cheek. He never goes as far as "winking" to the camera, the way a lot of these disposable monster movies go for (I'm looking at you, the six-something "Sharknado" flicks), but this secondary tone gives the picture something most discount creature features can't seem to achieve: a sense of fun.

He expectedly yells in quips, in between swigs from his flask, and although they are far (and I mean far) from that pithy quality he's famous for, they're not bad. In his character's final shot, he goes full John McClane, complete with frantic head bobbing while talking to himself about the unwinnable position he's in. It's great stuff, if only to remind you of his better works.

Not to say the one-time action star puts his heart into the role, but he seems to be enjoying himself, the same way other expired heavy-hitters like Gary Busey or Nicolas Cage do. Willis is far more restrained (or less interested) than either of those two bonkers actors are famous for, but standing on murky sets, filled with fog, dull colored lights, and a mutilated body covered in blood, his grin brightens the mood.

It's something, at least, it's something! Because "Breach," previously known as "Anti Life" (a name that remains at end of the credits), is otherwise completely average (and frequently below average). It's something the dork at Blockbuster would recommend as an alternative when they've run out of copies of "Alien." Scene for scene, you know what to expect, save for the ending, where either the script ran out of creative juice, or the producers ran out of money, because it's incoherent and vague. 

To describe the plot would be to plagiarize the synopsis of other movies, but my job as film critic demands it. Whoever said reviewing movies isn't hard work has never tried writing.

*cue announcer voice 

"In the future, Earth has become inhabitable. Fleets of spaceships head out to "New Earth," with lucky passengers hopeful to rebuild society. But when a parasite is let loose on the ship, it begins to take control of its human hosts, and it's up to the surviving crew to save the world."

Phew. What an uninspired mouthful! But I promise things are better than that suggests. It's thanks largely to the aforementioned veteran cast member, as well as a cameo by Thomas Jane as the Admiral and an adequate supporting cast (and actual lead actor, Cody Kearsley as Noah) But director John Suits and his team deserve some recognition for their ability to create a faint sense of claustrophobia and atmosphere on the obviously minimal financial allowances. The monster, which only appears in-full towards the end, is laughably cheesy, but Suits works smartly around this by having those "infected" by the creature represented as zombies. Zombies are an economical cinema villain, because anyone with a gift-card to the local costume shop can make one (or many, if you have enough on that gift-card).

This is where things get tricky. "Breach" is clearly bankrupt of its own ideas and on actual budget, and teeters on the edge of being "bad." Why is that, just because it's derivative? Because of its bargain-bin production values? Those are qualities that are equal part important and unimportant to the art of filmmaking. More important questions: was I ever bored? Not really. Did I have a good time? Well I didn't have a "bad" time.

What am I supposed to do? Two stars is the default rating, so let's go with that. 

Disclaimer: this rating depends on how much you appreciate junk, and how much you appreciate seeing a decent performance from Bruce Willis emerging from said junk.

Greenland Review

The presence of Gerard Butler adds nothing but his fanbase to frequently delayed flick "Greenland." He's good in the role of the reluctant hero, as good as he is in any of his roles, but there is little of his trademark "everyman" superhero archetype on display, and his usual audience may feel tricked into a slightly smarter production absent of expected blood squibs and fisticuffs.

I'm actually not sure when he became an action star, with a career stretching back into the 90's, but he is. An economic actor who headlines films with plots lifted straight out of other movies (like last year's "The Fugitive" clone, "Angel Has Fallen"). Today he digs his meaty hands into the pile of disaster pictures, but the results onscreen are far more timely and intimate than he, the film or the audience deserves. At least for a good chunk of its runtime.

OK you know the drill: a man races to save his loved ones from the end of the world, this time a comet named "Clarke" that is about to hit Earth. Only this one is smarter than that basic plot synopsis suggests, forgoing spectacle in favor of family drama. The best parts involve the family when society goes to hell, an all-too familiar world where armed forces fire at civilians, panicked people pillage stores, and hysteria drives people to stealing, kidnapping and killing. It's simultaneously the right movie for 2020 and the wrong one, and it's these scenes that elevate "Greenland" out from the shackles set by its excessive peers.

There are some moments of sappy sentimentalism, as Gerard's character John Garrity's marriage is on the rocks, but this reconciliation does little to destroy the film's intelligent narrative or contemporary momentum.

A few more political wrinkles appear when John is separated from his wife Allison (Morena Baccarin) and diabetic son (Roger Dale Floyd) at a Georgian navel base. Selected families are being flown to a bunker in the namesake island, but why were they chosen, they wonder. So do their neighbors, and the people clamoring at the gates. Allowed entry after given an identification wristband, the parents find themselves the target of the general population; these wristbands are their one chance at survival, people think, and people act without thinking.

The best thing here is how the action is centered around the characters, instead of just on the action. I read the budget is a modest $35 million, a far cry from the usual blockbuster, and I'm sure that was the reason. I don't know about you, but my eyes were thankful for the optical relief, and my brain was just happy to be invited, instead of being told to stay at the door.

It's a shame, though, that we all watched this from our homes. Yes I know there is a pandemic, but the bombastic score and infrequent effects extravaganza demand something other than your crappy TV. Most of us are lucky enough to have something in 1080p, but fewer are set up with a humongous 4K screen or the appropriate sound system. This leaves several long stretches taking place night to appear dim and incomprehensible. Who's at fault? Is it mine for having a poor cinema setup? Or the filmmakers for a cheap home-viewing conversion? This is why we go to the movies, and it's another reminder of how much this year has sucked.

I do wish it leaned further into this human subtext, as the climax begins to ignore general logic and instead hit all the obligatory "disaster movie" beats. Yet I'm not surprised this happens. After all, the internet tells me filming ended last year, so all the similarities are merely coincidental. Let's just hope that 2020 ends the way "Greenland" does, with a light at the end of a tunnel.