You see, the thing is right, it's not that I dislike Johnny Depp. There's a list (a short list, but a list) of performers who aggravate me every time they face towards a camera, but Johnny's not on it. I just can't get enthusiastic about his films as I find him to be a very lazy performer, both in terms of his tried and tested array of facial expressions, and the roles he chooses to utilise them in. I'm sure he's lovely, but he's like the guy at the party with the acoustic guitar who only knows one song*1.
Anyway, the Enforced British Zaniness of Mortdecai rumbles its way onto our screens early in 2015, because the world apparently couldn't wait for Austin Powers 4. The story (based around one of a set of popular vintage novels) has a 1960s art-heist ethos, but a present day setting complete with high-action and stylised transitions. These don't sit nearly as well together as director David Koepp would have liked, I fear, and the result is a bit of a mess (in much the same way as Gambit struggled to find the same balance). It's not that the film isn't frequently amusing, but it's trying way too hard to be Irreverent™, and I'm left with the feeling that it's doing a massive disservice to a much loved series of books.
Whether it's the moustache-jokes which wear thin after about six minutes but still keep arriving like London buses, or the work of a scriptwriter who seems to have mistaken "balls" as the punchline to a joke (twice), Mortdecai lacks the precision and restraint to be a really effective comedy. That said, even I have to admit that Paul Bettany vomiting onto a windscreen during a car-chase is a highlight. Particularly since Bettany seems to be the only actor employing any level of actual deadpan.
In fairness to the cast though, when your central characters are played by two Americans and a Scotsman, all pulling off flawless Queen's English accents, that is an achievement worth showing off. I only wish the makers had spent more time on the screenplay than they did on the casting.
Warning: Features Paul Whitehouse doing comedy cross-eyes and needlessly resurrecting the comedic corpse of Stavros. It's not unfair to say that with Whitehouse's presence and the plot revolving around theft from stately homes, the film feels a bit like an extended Aviva advert.
Oh, and is Olivia Munn a real person, then? I'd only heard of her and thought she was a fictional character like Nicki Minaj.
Over-written and over-acted, Mortdecai is a casually enjoyable enough art-heist yarn, but this modern impressionist seems to believe it's an old master.
Do you see what I did, there?
I did An Art Joke™.
That's one more than the film does.
I don't think it is, in all honesty.
Unless you're a Depp/Bettany fan, you could probably get away with renting this one.
I'm afraid not (although again, Bettany's comedy-chops are great here).
Not even close.
Nah.
I didn't hear one.
Why, Mortdecai stars Ewan McGregor of course, the Prequel-era Obi-Wan Kenobi.
*1 And no, that's not me. I know loads of songs, although they do all tend to use the same chords. That's not the same thing. No, you shut up.
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.
Chef (PLOT SPOILERS)
Cert: 15 / 112 mins / Dir. Jon Favreau
Firstly, here are the two new additions to the movie-goer's list of advice, rules and etiquette…
1) Don't go to the cinema straight from work without eating to watch a film which - even to a card-carrying non-foodie like me - contains some admittedly awesome looking sandwiches.
2) If you do have to go to the cinema straight from work without eating to watch a film which contains some admittedly awesome looking sandwiches, try not to sit directly behind the guy with the worst B.O. in living memory, who for some reason places his drink of the floor in the aisle rather than in the cupholder provided, so who spends the film continually reaching down to his side and wafting his essence in a five-foot radius.
Because watching the first one whilst smelling the second makes for a very unsettling two hours.
So, beneath the surface (and really not that far beneath) of Jon Favreau's quirky indie-adventure Chef is a heartfelt, if slightly petulant, swipe at movie critics and even at criticism itself. In fact, it wouldn't be entirely unfair to say that the film barely bothers with this artifice at all, since it deals so directly with the creative parallels between culinary and cinematographic expression, that it may as well just be about a stroppy movie director.
But y'know, if you were going to write, direct and star in a film where the hero throws his toys out of the pram after what in reality is an everyday occurrence, and is then basically adored and supported by all the other characters for the rest of the running time (including his original detractor, embarrassingly), would you really leave in all those ad-libbed exchanges with awkward pauses, not knowing when to cut to another scene, and with you and the stars of Iron Man 2 talking over each other? Because quite frankly, it seems that rather than scolding the critics, Chef just hands them more ammunition.
The annoying part is that the story about the disgruntled sandwich maker, Carl, bonding with his son Percy over the course of the Summer works really well, with Favreau and Emjay Anthony sharing a great chemistry. But that pan's left on the back burner and only stirred occasionally while the main course has no real progression. Carl quits his job to do something more stripped-down and real, then he goes and does it. That's it. There's no third-act obstacle or reveal, everything just goes smoothly and everyone tells him how great he is. Then Oliver Platt's critic, Ramsey Michel turns up to offer Carl a metaphorical hand-job, whereby Favreau's self-penned character shows he has the courage of his convictions by immediately going into business with him. The end.
But the absolute worst moment comes at the end of the film, where we see Jon Favreau smiling, teary-eyed, at a greatest-hits compilation montage of scenes from his own film which we're still watching. And if you think I'm being hard on it, you should read Michael Legge's summary, because while I didn't actively dislike Chef, I also can't disagree with a single word Michael's written, either.
Mr Favreau, if you want to send a snarky fuck-you to the people who've trashed your earlier work, please do it by simply making better films. And I say that as someone who loved Iron Man 2.
Despite its pretensions at both ends of the scale, this film isn't soul food; it's a quick sandwich grabbed from M&S on your way through town. If you thoroughly enjoyed Begin Again, Chef is aimed directly at you.
On the surface, the film features a gourmet chef trying to convince the world that there's spiritual value in fast food. And handily, that's also what the film is about, too.
Almost exactly, yes.
I smirked, but nowhere near enough.
Almost exactly, yes.
Whatever.
I will a bit. Not much, but a bit.
Unlikely.
There is not.
During the scenes set in Little Havana and South Beach in Miami, was I the only Scarface-obsessed viewer waiting for it all to kick the fuck off?
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.
