Posts Tagged ‘Rated R’

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For a film about, ostensibly, an out-of-control holiday rager, “Office Christmas Party” spends surprisingly little time at the titular soirée.

That’s not to say that the after-work-hours shenanigans aren’t highlighted on screen – they are, in droves – but the festive goings-on are frequently backburnered in deference to a thinly constructed plot that moves from a hail-mary attempt to save a company to a hail-mary attempt to save the company’s boss.

That boss is Clay, played by the wonderful T.J. Miller (Silicon Valley, Deadpool), an amiable man-child who inherited the Chicago branch of his deceased father’s generic tech company, which he manages with the aid of right-hand-man Josh (Arrested Development’s Jason Bateman) and right-hand-woman Tracey (Olivia Munn).

Times are tough but the company is getting by, that is until interim CEO and Clay’s big sister Carol (Jennifer Anniston) orders mass layoffs ahead of a potential branch closure. Clay’s last shot at saving his family of quirky subordinates is landing a big contract, which in turn hinges on wooing a client by charming him at the annual office holiday party.

It’s a rambling setup that takes a bit too long getting to the point: that the company’s future will be decided by the quality of an otherwise benign office mixer. But once that toy is wound, it springs to life with an eruption of energy, supplied by the expansive and comprehensive cast of comedy bit-players, including Rob Corddry, Randall Park, Sam Richardson, Vanessa Bayer and, in particular, burgeoning national treasure Kate McKinnon as a Human Resources director and surrogate office mother.

Act I is all setup, paving the way for an Act II that is a mosaic of barely contained chaos with all the destruction, nudity and tomfoolery you would expect before the final portion abandons the party scene for a chase through the snowy streets of Chicago.

The *twists*, if they can be called that, can be seen coming a mile away — a snow machine that runs on bags of nondescript white powder is a glaring example — and the plot functions less as forward momentum than a guardrail to keep things from flying off track. But once the outline is established, the ensemble provides more than enough justification for the cost of admission.

Grade: B

‘Office Christmas Party’ opens nationwide on Friday, December 9.

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After the aggressively awful Batman v Superman and the frustratingly mediocre Man of Steel, it is no exaggeration to say that the DC cinematic universe is in *desperate* need of a hit.

The traditional marque superheroes have failed, and so the executives at Warner Brothers, like the D.C. bureaucrats in Suicide Squad, have placed their remaining hope for salvation in a ragtag group of quirky villains.

It’s a novel plan, full of cinematic possibilities. But while Deadshot (Will Smith), Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie) and their criminal pals are able to save the day in fiction, in real life their efforts fall with a resounding thud.

Suicide Squad starts with a pseudo spoiler for those of you who didn’t see but still might care about the plot of BvS. Superman is Dead (don’t worry, he won’t be for long), but the potential threat of otherworldly and/or superhuman threats against mankind remains. So the U.S. Government, at the behest of Viola Davis’ Amanda Waller, greenlights a project called Task Force X, a team of beyond-maximum-security convicted criminals compelled to fight for good in exchange for 1) having time cut from their sentences and 2) not having their heads blown off by small explosives injected into their spine.

That team is introduced in a clunky and overly-long sequence of flashbacks that comprises Squad’s first act. We see the capture of sniper-for-hire Deadshot and psychiatrist-turned-cuckoo-bird Harley Quinn by Batman, the creation of The Enchantress (Cara Delevingne) courtesy of a spelunking trip gone awry and a cameo Flash (Ezra Miller, borrowed from the upcoming Justice League film) who zips in to apprehend Captain Boomerang (Jai Courtney) a baddie who likes boomerangs.

Oh and there’s a crocodile man, an unrecognizable Jay Hernandez shooting fire from his hands and Rick Flag (Joel Kinnaman) who is the lone “good” guy on the team and mostly gives googly eyes at Delevingne between scowling sessions.

If you’ve seen the trailers, which are far better than the full film, then you know and have seen all this. But once those machinations are out of the way, Suicide Squad finds itself all dressed up with nowhere to go. Luckily writer-director David Ayer (End of Watch, Fury) isn’t beyond dumping a metric ton of plot contrivances to move things along. No sooner has the squad been formed before the Enchantress goes rogue, resurrecting her discount-Sauron brother, launching some sort of doomsday machine and creating an army of generic, blob-soldiers to provide bloodless, PG-13 approved fodder for Deadshot’s bullets, Quinn’s baseball bat and Boomerang’s boomerangs.

Many superhero films struggle in the villain department — think Malekith from Thor 2 or Doomsday from the aforementioned garbage pit that was BvS — but the Enchantress is given particularly little to work with. Beyond the blob army, which have all the menace of a walking pile of mud, her villainy is largely confined to waving her arms in front of a wall of green screen phantasmagoria that is wreaking havoc around the world, largely offscreen.

But this movie is still 2+ hours long, which means that once assembled, our plucky antiheroes have a good 90 minutes to wander around a decimated city, occasionally punching things and making futile attempts at edgy humor while the incoherent plot barrels through superfluous beats and a veritable slew of flashbacks that do little more than set the stage for movies still to come. Like Ebenezer Scrooge, Suicide Squad is more occupied with the ghosts of other stories than the immediate tasks at hand.

But isn’t the Joker in this? Not really. Jared Leto, as promised, delivers an original take on the clown prince of Gotham but his sub-plot is entirely peripheral. The clown has, maybe, 30 seconds of screen time not shown in the promotional materials, which is spent trying to reconnect with his lady-love Quinn.

For her part, Robbie is the only main character who got the memo to have a little fun. She’s a rare spot of energy in the dour proceedings, but is still cobbled by wooden dialogue and an absence of anything resembling character development.

In each minute, you can feel Ayer straining to break free and lean into the madness of Suicide Squad, only to be crushed by the market demands for a “safe” superhero film. Give the movie a better villain, 30 fewer minutes of screen time and a the go-ahead for R Rated content that would actually jive with how wicked these characters are supposed to be and you might have something worth seeing.

Instead, we have yet another DC hodgepodge of competing interests, and a director tasked with handling too many irons in a fire. It entertains in a shallow, innocuous way that avoids the discomfort of the Zach Snyder flagship films, but the worst offense is who completely it squanders what could have been, and was promised to be, something fresh and original.

Grade: C

*Suicide Squad opens nationwide on Friday, August 5.

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Laughing at the hollow excess of celebrity is always fun, and funner still when celebrities get in on the joke. That’s the comedy essence of ‘Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping,’ which takes the irreverent antics of The Lonely Island and expands their viral-video pattern to fit a feature-length mockumentary.

Andy Samberg stars as hip-hop musician Connor “4Real” Friel, an overt homage to Justin Bieber (whose documentary Never Say Never serves as a rough template for Never Stop Never Stopping) with a backstory akin to Justin Timberlake. Connor rose to fame as part of a boy-band trio Style Boyz, but has since surged as a solo act and is on the verge of launching his sophomore album and a new world tour.

The documentary style allows for winking testimonials by the likes of Usher, RZA and Carrie Underwood, who heap praise upon Connor’s career while making not-so-subtle digs at the vacuousness of America’s music industry. For example, Simon Cowell praises Connor’s decision to place a giant, LED-emblazoned, Daft Punk-esque helmet on the head of his DJ. A similar move, Cowell deadpans, would have allows Zayn to stay in One Direction for years.

There’s a lot of layers to that joke. And the level to which those layers amuse you is a decent litmus test for how much you’ll enjoy the film ‘Popstar,’ which zooms in on male genitalia for several minutes and which includes a song that likens passionate lovemaking to the military efficiency that resulted in Osama Bin Laden’s death.

That the film works at all is a credit to the charismatic charm of Samberg and his Lonely Island partners Akiva Schaffer and  Jorma Taccone. There’s also more celebrity cameos in this film than a Lakers playoff game, used in increasingly amusing ways that deepen the cynicism of a movie that mocks the cult of celebrity.

Grade: B+

*Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping opens nationwide on Friday, June 3.

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