Review: The Return Of Captain Invincible

The Return Of Captain Invincible
Cert: PG / 91 mins / Dir. Phillippe Mora / Trailer

Fuck them.
Fuck them all.

Our hero sits in a cold debriefing-room, an open prison cell in all but name. Appearing before a congressional committee has not gone well, although he never thought it would. The usual lines about communism and un-American activities were spun out, but everyone gets that treatment. What made this different was the sheer ingratitude of it all. Captain Invincible essentially won the war for these fucks, basically saved the damned world. And now, less than a decade later, to be hauled across the coals as if everything he'd done - every gesture, every sacrifice, every borderline war-crime - hadn't been flat-out encouraged by the self-same people. Ridiculous. When you've outlived your usefulness, they treat you like trash. Plus ça change. You always knew this day would come, you could see them becoming their own enemy even then.

No, fuck them. Time to make a break, anyway. Time to get the hell out of this city, this country. Sometimes it's better than distance yourself and love the memory of a thing than stick around and watch it burn from within. You can always come back when things are better. That's an option. Besides, a rest will do you good. And if your hunch is right, you're going to need it.

Time to go.

It's a downbeat opening, but fits the tone of Phillippe Mora's 1983 exploration of the superhero perfectly. Bleakly introspective at every corner, The Return Of Captain Invincible proved, somewhat paradoxically, to be box-office Kryptonite, setting back the cinematic careers of its stars Alan Arkin and Christopher Lee by some measure, and relegating its only notable female performer Kate Fitzpatrick to a life of daytime soaps form that point onward. What's more ironic, however, is that the film is so much more than it was given credit for at the time. Appearing to be little more than a wry knock-off of Richard Donner's burgeoning Superman franchise, screenwriters Andrew Gaty and Steven E de Souza instead managed to distill the essences of Watchmen, The First Avenger and Logan before any of those existed, soak the whole thing in gin and serve it up with a bleary eye and a crooked smile. Rarely has a film felt so before its time.

The first act is relatively linear, working through a series of flashbacks as our troubled eponymous hero (Arkin) recalls being selected by the US government for use in the Second World War both as a propaganda machine and an actual weapon. It's shown at this point (although never clearly explained), that Captain Invincible does actually have superhuman powers, and that he was deeply instrumental in the war effort. Society loves and hates celebrity in equal measure of course, and undiagnosed PTSD leads to Cap having a chemically-induced breakdown in the years following Allied victory. A show-trial was held by the notorious Senator McCarthy accusing Cap of being a communist, but the real reason for him being 'dropped' by the authorities was a series of psychiatric reports (carried out too late, naturally) and his continued substance abuse.

Part of Cap's delerium is his continued belief that 'Mr Midnight' - wartime nemesis and second-in-command of Hitler in the supernatural sciences division, played in flashbacks by Christopher Lee - managed to escape death and is carrying out a series of grisly urban murders in the early 1980s, targeting those he deems 'undesirable'...

In the oppressive heat of a decaying city, sirens wail their distress in the distance. The alleyway is filthy, the stained tarpaulin doubly so. Pulled half to one side by the investigating officer and then quickly dropped as he regurgitated his lunch elsewhere, the remains of a body lie exposed to the fetid, stifling air. Flies already attendant as devotees to a shrine, the eyes stare glassily to the heavens - one of the few very features still identifying the mass as being formerly human. A blackened 'M' is branded into what appears to be an exposed organ, although which one - and through which part of the torso it is currently showing - is unclear.

And this, muses Captain Invincible, is the irony. This is end-point calling card which negates the very the point that 'Mister Midnight' thinks he's making. The war-time supervillain has returned like the proverbial bad penny and begun an openly racist killing-spree, knowing full well this is on The Captain's home-turf, baiting him back into active service while continuing the hopelessly misguided aims of the Third Reich. That Midnight was never German never stopped him or caused any impediment to his rise to deputational power. And now, now that his dreams of 'mass extermination' have dwindled down to the evisceration of individual citizens in conurbated squalor... the fact that Midnight's inhuman deeds leave their victims in a state so utterly horrific that their ethnicity cannot even be determined - emphasising the point that humans share far more common traits than those which superficially separate them... well, that irony is lost on him.

A buildup of gases is currently finding a vent from some fold or tear in the... in the meat in front of them, and another officer feigns discretion as she leaves to vomit. 'Okay', thinks Captain Invincible, 'maybe I am back after all...'

So far, so comic-book; a rollicking adventure with admittedly sharp edges. But things take a far darker turn in the present day as we learn that 'Mr Midnight' never existed, being himself a propaganda effort by the Axis powers to mock the Western obsession with comic book culture. However, Captain Invincible has spent so many years - during the war and after it - absorbing nazi and neo-nazi operational literature that an unexplored level of his psyche has embraced it. Cap's patriorism has intensified and turned instead to psychotic fascism, becoming the very thing he's sworn to destroy. The murders of immigrant and ethnic minority citizens have been happening, but they've been carried out by Captain Invincible's alter-alter ego, "Mister Midnight" during a series of blackouts previously attributed to his drug and alcohol dependency.

Again this turn of events feels uncannily prescient, as it not only inspired much of the work of Alan Moore but more soberly presaged real-world politics of the last decade. The Return Of Captain Invincible is a blistering and acerbic exploration of the boundaries of sanity through geo-political war and social unrest. It's a shame therefore that the film jumps the shark in no style at all, cack-handedly underlining its villain's mania by having Arkin's character commit the crimes of his nemesis wide-eyed and in full blackface (hence the name 'Mr Midnight'). This is not acceptable now of course, but it wasn't then either. Such an embedded mis-step couldn't be removed in the editing suite, and so the film was doomed to critical and commercial failure. In fact, its legacy is so toxic that even in our current age of superhero-obsession, no studio will go near it for rebooting. This is, deservedly, Song Of The South for the MCU age...

His head feels like it's weighed down by the soul of every dead body he's seen since this all began, and perhaps it is. Midnight is loving this, his sickening leer splitting his face like a rotting melon full of hate. Captain Invincible tries to straighten, to hold himself proudly, but he knows he's almost spent. This is it. Everything which has happened before has led to this point. This time, there will be no last-minute miraculous escape for either of them, these are the final seconds. But still he has to fight, still he has to try, for where is the dignity in coming this far and giving up?

Mister Midnight observes all this knowingly, wordlessly, understanding the very same with every frantic pulse in Captain Invincible's temple as his world dissolves around him. The wait has been worth it. Come what may, this will be a fitting end for one with such a glorious legacy.

Knowing this action will be the most crucial of his entire life, The Captain summons the last primal reserves of energy from the core of his superhuman being. Most would have died long before this point, he almost did himself, but his eyes snap open in a culmination of will as his hearts pump super-heated blood into his limbs to deliver justice - pure and bloody justice - to the world. His calves, thighs and abdomen tense and unfurl in unison, propelling the hero upward and toward this immortal foe, while his right arm arcs forward the object of his burning enmity; to strike, grab or crush as the moment sees fit.

And in an instant reality crashes down, as Captain Invincible's fist meets a sheet of polished glass...

(Yes, the review above is mostly sarcasm. The actual film is intriguingly crap)

...and if you want to listen to some words about this film which take it far less seriously, are far more sweary and have All The Drink involved, here's a podcast version you might be interested in:

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Review: Dumbo (2019)

Dumbo (2D)
Cert: PG / 112 mins / Dir. Tim Burton / Trailer



On the seafront in Margate, Kent, stands a pub. It is a Wetherspoon's pub. It is not one of Wetherspoon's better pubs. Whereas the company is known for renovating locally notable buildings while retaining a unique sense of character (alongside the corporate conformity, of course), this pub was originally a Victorian building which then served as a large amusement arcade until the late 1990s. As a result, there was comparatively little to 'restore' in 2001, and so it's a modern establishment with little-to-no period detailing, complete with the ambience which is to be found in many (although not all) of the chain's hostelries. The pub is called The Mechanical Elephant.

The Mechanical Elephant is named after an oddity from the mid 20th century on Margate seafront. Serving as a ride-on attraction for holidaymakers and daytrippers, an engineered exo-frame housed an engine/pulley system at the the 1:1 scale of a full-sized elephant. This modern marvel was a great novelty, a fun way to spend disposable income providing the customers didn't think about its macabre origins. An automated facsimile of life, lumbering, repetitive and incapable of genuine emotion. Although it strikes a discordant note, in many ways The Mechanical Elephant is an ideal name for the pub.

And in many of those same ways, The Mechanical Elephant is an ideal tagline for Disney's live-action remake of their animated classic, Dumbo.

WRANGLER

Expanding on the original tale, our film opens in the aftermath of the First World War, with horse wrangler Holt Farrier (Colin Farrell) returning to his travelling home to greet his young daughter Milly (Niko Parker) and son Joe (Finley Hobbins) having lost an arm in the conflict and missing the death of his wife while away. The circus, meanwhile, is in steady decline under the auspices of Max Medici (Danny DeVito), a questionable businessman failing to adjust to changing times. When Max buys a pregnant elephant to inject a bit of tropical variety into the performances, everyone is stunned to discover the baby can actually fly using its outsized ears. Success seems assured.

Word of the novelty quickly spreads, notably to disreputable entrepreneur and next-level showman V.A. Vandevere (Michael Keaton). He's determined to make his own money off the back of the pachyderm in his 'Dreamland' theme park*¹, along with his leading acrobat and confidant, Colette Marchant (Eva Green). Short version: Circus down on luck, elephant flies, bad man thinks 'I'll have a bit of that', drama, salvation, end. All of that isn't new. However, you will believe an elephant can fly. And still somehow find it quite boring.

LEVI

It's difficult to know what's gone wrong other than a general lack of effort all round. Danny DeVito is playing this like it's a script read-through, while Colin Farrell is as lost as that wandering accent of his. Michael Keaton and Eva Green are seasoned scenery-chewers of course, but even they've lost their appetite for deconstruction. And it's a dark day in any casting office when Alan Arkin is hired to play Bellowing Alan Arkin™*².

The story drags its feet considering what a straightforward pantomime the whole thing is, and pretty much all characterisation is telegraphed to the point where there are no twists, corners or even curves down the line. But crucially, there should be an absolute joy in watching an infantilised, anthropomorphic elephant taking to the air in a moment of theatrical danger; instead the spectacle is oddly perfunctory. There's no sense of achievement when Dumbo flies, and the framing feels wrong throughout. We're not in the audience taking in the wonder, but we're not in the air sharing his joy, either*³, we're just 'there' - zipping around from cut to cut without a proper chance to see what's happening. And the sporadic 'Dumbo-cam' which gives us a fleeting phant's-eye view of the aerial world is weird, distracting and completely unnecessary, probably the reason it disappears by the third act.

GEORDIE

And it all comes down to TIm Burton. He could ride out that level of gee-whizzery back in the day when he was selling pencil cases to emo kids, but this mainstream shtick plays like a cheap parody of jaded Americana. It's not even like this is textbook-Burton where we can shrug at having seen big eyes, stripy fabric and soaring crane-shots done before. All of those are present, but it really feels like Tim's just not interested here.

But Dumbo himself is great. There's just not enough Dumbo for a film which is called Dumbo. And ultimately, why make a 'live-action' film when the only endearingly human aspects come from the CGI elephant? The film is difficult to actively dislike, but it shouldn't feel like an effort to enjoy a Disney adventure.

If anything, I'm just disappointed that Dumbo wasn't set twenty years later and had the Michael Keaton character and his wondrous cultural extravaganza turned into Howard Stark's Expo. At least that way Disney could have brought the whole thing under one umbrella…

It's closer to Tomorrowland than Batman Returns, but has heavy-handed elements of both.



If you're going to watch it at all, watch it big I guess.



It's decent Sunday-afternoon fodder, so yeah.



Nope.



Yep.



Nope.



Level 1: That engineer from off of Rogue One is in this.





*¹ Another tie with Margate, and probably kinder than the first one in all honesty. ^{[ BACK ]}

*² His usual role these days, to be fair ^{[ BACK ]}

*³ Credit where it's due, the final shot of the film is great. But in a movie about a flying elephant, having to wait two hours to really enjoy the flying elephant is taking the piss, frankly. ^{[ BACK ]}



DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Review: Going In Style

Going In Style
Cert: 12A / 96 mins / Dir. Zach Braff / Trailer



Come back awards-season, all is forgiven. Here to usher out the end of the cinematic graveyard shift is the latest offering from Zach Braff, somewhat ironically dragging his directorial career in precisely the opposite direction. I can't work out what's more insulting: that this weak, formulaic comedy is a straight mashup of Tower Heist and Last Vegas, or that it's actually a re-imagining of an existing film. Either option is lazy and both are insulting to the audience and industry alike.

So, in the midst of their twilight years, three grumpy old cynics decide to demean themselves by committing an offence in order to get the vast amounts of money they feel is rightly owed to them… and that's also the plot of the film!!*¹ For ninety-six laborious minutes, there are jokes about belligerence and the aches/pains of getting old, the thoroughly insincere disapproval of the capitalist status quo*², and lashings of self-indulgent forced-nostalgia and mawkishness. You've seen this shit a hundred times before, and it probably wasn't even better then, either.

Haha, it's funny because the old men are grumpy!

Normally I'd say that a cast this strong should know better. The problem is, I don't think that's the case, here. With Alan Arkin effectively phoning-in his role from Stand Up Guys, Morgan Freeman having recently partaken in Lucy, Transcendence and Ted 2, and Michael Caine being the kind of actor who routinely appears in guff like The Last Witch Hunter, there's a strong chance that this comfortably paid barrel-scraping is now the default setting for these guys. Christopher Lloyd also embarrasses his legacy in a background role; then again he's doing stuff like Piranha 3D in the 21st century, so that's no real surprise. Collectively, the film feels like the death-rattle of a creature that stopped caring long, long ago.

Haha, it's funny because the old man puts a tin of hot dogs down the front of his pants!

In the film's defence, it had amassed a reasonable-sized audience*³ for a weeknight showing, and they laughed with startling regularity. But they were also hooting through lines which were demonstrably Not Jokes™. I suspect this could have been some sort of autosuggestion-response to going out to see what had been marketed as a comedy film. "I am determined to laugh loudly and enjoy myself throughout, refusing to consciously admit that I have been sold a banger".

Haha, it's funny because there's an old lady and she gets a shock and says the fuck-word!

Everyone's allowed the occasional slip of course, but Warner Bros have put out this film and C.H.i.P.s. in the same quarter. At the rate things are going, I expect Gazza to turn up at 3400 Riverside Drive with some chicken and a fishing rod before the end of June...



Last Vegas. Tower Heist.
Pretty much any Warner Bros/Universal comedy of the last ten years.



No you should not.



No it does not.



Well it's directed by the guy who made Wish I Was Here, and stars people from The Shawshank Redemption, Argo, Get Carter and Back To The Future, so what do you think?



I. Just. Might.



No.



Level 1: The original voice of Darth Maul is in this.





*¹ Yes, I am hilarious, thank you. Although that is funnier than anything in the film, I promise. I smiled once during this, when there was a puppy on-screen (I'm not a complete monster). Although I didn't smile when the same puppy was brought back later. What the hell kind of film hardens its own audience into puppy-fatigue? ^{[ BACK ]}

*² Y'know, that same capitalist system without which the film wouldn't have been financed or made, nor would there be a room-full of people shedding their disposable income to watch the result. The only things this film rebels against are thoughts of cinematic creativity. ^{[ BACK ]}

*³ Although it's noting that this studio-comedy was preceded with trailers for no other comedy films. Instead we got the promo-reels for Dunkirk, Their Finest, Rules Don't Apply, The Sense of an Ending and The Promise. Even accounting for the varying scales of those, they're all period-pieces and 'fogey-flicks'. The UK distributors of Going In Style clearly think that no-one in the audience is going to be under age 50. Although after looking around, they weren't too far off the mark, admittedly… ^{[ BACK ]}


DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Review: Christmas With The Coopers

Christmas With The Coopers (aka Love The Coopers)
Cert: 12A / 107 mins / Dir. Jessie Nelson / Trailer



Oh. Is this where Diane Keaton and John Goodman are at, now? As actual actors? I expect this level of afternoon-whimsy from Ed Helms and Amanda Seyfried (and even The Voice Of Steve Martin™, to be honest*¹), but even so.

Still, I imagine a guaranteed seasonal repeat-fee is a nice little earner, isn't it?*²

As four generations of the Cooper family congregate for their annual festive celebrations, we get an insight into their individual lives; their ups, their downs, their loves and losses. Yeah, it sounds like hard work, doesn't it? Don't blame me, I didn't write the film…

As is so often the case with Hollywood's Portmanteau-Lite™ subgenre of gentle comedy*³, Jessie Nelson spins far more plates than is feasible for a feature film, and only a couple of those feature anything worth picking over. Like any buffet though, you're not really supposed to like everything that's on offer (even though, crucially, you've paid for it all anyway). Like the film's metaphorical progenitor Love Actually, the viewer here can't spend enough time with the individual threads to build the emotional connection that the finale expects. Although you don't have to worry too much as the film will tell you what to feel, anyway.

Stylistically, not to mention narratively, the film is all over the place; barely even a first-draft of a screenplay, more a notebook full of ideas - good and bad - exorcised equally by releasing them onto paper. Only in this case, followed by no further revision process. Occasionally witty, charming and touching (courtesy of Marisa Tomei and Olivia Wilde's respective segments), two minutes later the film goes back to being mawkish, condescending and about as spiritually earnest as the Coca Cola truck…

Oh, and which casting director managed to sneak through the idea of Diane Keaton (69) and Marisa Tomei (51) playing siblings with a six-year age gap*⁴? Don't get me wrong, they're both fine actresses, but when Tomei finally referred to her 'sister' while looking directly at Keaton, I nearly choked on my mince pie. Both actresses look fantastic 'for their age'*⁵, but they don't look the same age. Even cinematographer Elliot Davis has noticed the visual disparity, and whenever Keaton's alone in a shot, the focus is so soft that I thought I'd developed cataracts. Which only insults everyone further, to be honest. And speaking of casting, at least none of the film's exorbitant $18m budget went on those expensive child-actors. Oh, there are plenty of children in the film of course, just not actors...

But despite my moaning (and this is the truncated version, believe me), the film never becomes completely unbearable, but it's an over attentive host making small-talk with all the guests while neglecting the meal they're meant to be serving.

Ultimately, Christmas With The Coopers is probably a passable analogy for the gatherings which fill the holiday season, where you'll tolerate a room filled with fifteen people you don't like just to catch up with two that you do.

Perhaps this is the perfect Christmas movie, after all..?

Nope.



Telly.



*looks over spectacles*



The film doesn't even fulfil its remit to itself, no.



I will a bit, yeah.



There isn't.



This disappointing movie features Olivia Wilde who also appeared in Cowboys And Aliens alongside Harrison 'Solo' Ford.







*¹ And before anyone gets all pissy in the Comments Section about me taking Steve Martin's name in vain, let me remind you that he plays a talking dog in this film. And that's not even the lowest point of his career, okay?

*² Even after you offset it against your credibility. Or dignity. Or soul.

*³ Or so I gather, since I usually avoid them as they tend to involve Ashton Kutcher or Jon Bon Jovi. Or Matthew Morrison. Christ.

*⁴ That's a rhetorical question. Venus Kanani and Mary Vernieu are responsible for the casting of the film, I just didn't want to name them in the main body of the review. Not that they deserve any less admonition than the rest of the crew, mind…

*⁵ And seriously, I feel fucking awful for even using those words, but since the bone of contention is the gap between their ages, it's kind of a necessary evil. Look, don't blame me; I'm not the one walking up to Keaton and Tomei in a bar and saying "why, you two could be sisters!".

*⁶ And hey, thanks for reading all these footnotes. That means a lot. Although if you're reading this one then you've just skimmed down them in one go because there's no corresponding *⁶ in the review above. Which means you've probably read the others out of context, too. Fine. Not judging, just saying…


DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Review: Edward Scissorhands

Edward Scissorhands (1990)
Cert: 12 / 105 mins / Dir. Tim Burton / Trailer



Okay, the biggest problem? How do his hands work? "Because they do"? Really?

You could fuse a whisk onto your Radius bone, that wouldn't make the rotation system self-operating. Without any external mechanics or power source, the moving blades (it's not one Kruger-esque blade per-finger, remember, Edward has fully operational pivoted scissors) would require a musculature system which would make his hands far larger and more unsightly than those in the film, and result in a series of 'open wounds' where the flesh and bone joins to the metal, resulting in the need for constant cleansing and antiseptic treatments (neither likely nor practical considering the squalor he was living in at the mansion). At least it appears that The Inventor used stainless steel, otherwise the rusting of the blades under the skin would lead to blood poisoning in no-time, not to mention the Tetanus risk from all that gardening he's doing.

Most of the above would suggest that Edward isn't biological in the classic sense, but his adoptive family give him food to eat on a regular basis. So what was he eating when he lived in the mansion, how does his digestive-system work, and how is he expected to wipe his arse? If he wasn't inherently organic then he wouldn't have the scar-tissue on his face which isn't in his flashback scenes. And why is Edward so clumsy with day-to-day dexterity when he's never known anything other than his scissor-hands? When the town is such a clear homage to 1960s America, why does Kim's boyfriend Jim say he wishes he was taping the TV show they're watching, since VCRs didn't exist at that time? (Joyce's use of a cassette-deck is equally suspect; not the cassette itself, but the player)

How come Edward not only trims the neighbourhood's scraggy bushes, but also makes them taller and more densely foliated than they were before, too, even on the inside where the leaves and fronds don't grow? Where does he get the blocks of ice for his sculptures?

Why does Kim's father Bill say "You don't know anything about the wonderful world of teenage girls… they reach a certain age, they develop these gland things, their bodies swell up." referring to his own daughter?. Why is Vincent Price being played by Bruce Forsyth?
Who's in charge, here?

And Edward's wearing that leather outfit for the entire film. He's going to stink...

Really. Haven't been avoiding it, it's just never crossed my path.



Absolutely. Burton's always good value for money, even when his films are as archetypal and patronising as this.



Sure, but not to massive cynics who worry about the bio-engineering aspects of fairytales ;)



I didn't hear one, what's up with that?



Edward Scissorhands features Vincent Price (of course), who starred in 1970's Scream and Scream Again (of course) alongside Peter 'Tarkin' Cushing (of course).



Oh, of course I enjoyed it.
That doesn't mean I didn't find it massively troublesome.




DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Review: Stand Up Guys

Stand Up Guys
Cert: 15 / 95 mins / Dir. Fisher Stevens



Every so often, when I rent a movie, I can tell in the first five minutes why it wasn't on at my local cinema. And it's not because they've only got five screens down there. Stand Up Guys has a soundtrack with a leaning towards Tarantino, and dearly wishes it had the script to match. Starring as two 'retired' gangsters, Pacino and Walken sleepwalk their way through a bumbling, plodding script, but at least Chris has the decency to occasionally look embarrassed at some of the lines he has to read. Things pick up at the half-hour point where Alan Arkin appears; his parts of the script are no better, but he looks like he's having more fun delivering them.

Alas it's all for nought, as the main thread of the plot (Walken's plan now that Pacino's out of prison) keeps half-arsedly floating to the surface until it can't be ignored. That aspect of the film is actually quite well executed when it's given prominence, and there's definitely the potential for this to have been a lot more introspective and thoughtful, but it's overshadowed by the film trying too hard to be a quirky black comedy (and with both Pacino and Walken, you've seen that trick so often that there's nothing new here). At times it comes across like a US version of Get Lucky. Yeah.

Oh, and if you've sound-mixed your "noisy bar" scene properly, you shouldn't be able to hear people's footsteps over the 'thumping' music, let alone the banknotes being counted off a wad by Christopher Walken. The best thing about the entire film is the gilt-framed picture of Billy Dee Williams holding a Colt-45 in that same scene.

Stand Up Guys was already on shaky ground, but it loses another point for having the sheer fucking audacity to rip-off the "chew gum / kick ass" line from They Live.
Twice.

Well, the trailer shows some of the laughs, some of the poignancy, but none of the grinding tedium.



Not nearly enough.



Not by a long shot.



This can wait till it's on the telly.



More than likely.



Less than likely.



No, but there is a boot-shot. Which is more insulting, somehow.

If the gangsters they steal the car from are so dangerous, how come they haven't noticed their car's even been stolen for the next five hours and why don't the police trace the plates and/or report the car still at large and why doesn't anyone notice a stolen fucking JCB digging a grave at 4am? Or am I not supposed to be asking questions about the actual mechanics of the actual events in the actual film?

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a 'catch-up' review. I watched this film at home, not at the cinema. I saw the trailer for this at the cinema, and I would have seen the film there too, but they didn't/couldn't show it. So now iTunes, Amazon, Netflix and Blockbuster get to reap the rewards of my local's advance-advertising, and I'm sure they're delighted. Now you may say "oh come on, they can't show everything down there", and that would be a valid point if they didn't do things like running Taken 2 for six weeks. Was it that successful? No, I don't think so. Twilight? Batman? Les Mes? Sure, go for it; if they're pulling the punters in then keep making that money. But Taken 2? I ask you. Anyway, this is essentially a DVD review, but still of a new(ish) film. There. I'm glad that's sorted.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.