The first thing I have to say about the 12 Rounds is that it’s produced by WWE Films. As in, World Wrestling Entertainment. As in, a pro wrestling company. Yes, WWE have started making their own films, starring their own wrestling talent, and now that they have several features of sub-par quality under their belt, one has to wonder why. Perhaps they had a surplus of cash they were desperate to get rid of? Are their talent getting bored with their 2 1/2 days off a year and need something to fill all those lonely minutes? Who knows? But while 12 Rounds marks WWE Films’ 4th strike in a row, it IS an improvement over their previous efforts and the best film from their stable yet…but that’s roughly the equivalent of calling yourself the Carrot Top of Southern Afghanistan. In other words, no one cares.

First off, I’d recommend reading my review of WWE’s last movie, The Condemned, to get an idea of the overall quality you can expect from one of their productions. Of course, you’ve probably already read it, printed it out dozens of times, and wallpapered your bedroom with it, but I thought I’d provide a link to the review just in case. Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, it’s on to today’s review: 12 Rounds, an action movie (were you expecting a romantic period piece?) and the second starring WWE champ John Cena (following 2006’s The Marine).

Directed by Renny Harlin (of Die Hard 2 fame), 12 Rounds is set in New Orleans where Cena plays Danny Fisher, a lowly beat cop who has just moved in with his girlfriend, Molly Porter (Ashley Scott). Why Danny is merely a beat cop is a mystery, since one night he manages to capture “untraceable” Irish terrorist Miles Jackson (Aidan Gillen) by displaying observational and deductive reasoning abilities bordering on the supernatural, not to mention the ability to actually outrun speeding cars for miles at a time while on foot. During the arrest, however, Miles’ girlfriend attempts to run with results less impressive than Danny’s- she blunders straight into the path of an SUV and is rendered DOA. Miles blames Danny for this and swears vengeance, which makes little sense since he not only ordered his girlfriend to flee, but practically shoved her into the truck’s path to begin with. But, it’s easier to blame others for our own shortcomings, isn’t it?

Fast-forward a year, and we find Danny enjoying new-found recognition for collaring Miles, a criminal that had been eluding the FBI for years- he’s been promoted to Detective and given a big raise. However, one day he gets a call on his cell from Miles- and unfortunately, he’s not phoning from prison. It seems that Miles has escaped and, instead of going on the lam and disappearing, he’s decided to throw caution to the wind and return to New Orleans to exact revenge on the officer responsible for the death of his woman. Miles reveals that he has kidnapped Molly, and unless Danny plays 12-rounds of a “game” and follows his instructions to the letter, she will die.

What follows is basically a clone of the movie Die Hard With A Vengeance, with Danny racing around New Orleans (as opposed to NYC) to complete the sundry tasks laid out by Miles, causing destruction and mayhem while fending off the incompetent FBI’s attempts to assist him. Oh, and further mirroring Die Hard With A Vengeance, it’s revealed that Miles actually has ulterior criminal motives for the game in addition to avenging his girl’s demise! It’s probably no coincidence that WWE Films hired the director of a Die Hard movie to helm 12 Rounds- the only thing missing that would have made this a complete rip-off of the third entry of Bruce Willis’ classic series would be a plucky minority sidekick for Danny.

The thing that hurts 12 Rounds the most (aside from its complete lack of originality) is the fact that its star, John Cena, is completely devoid of any personality, charisma, or acting ability whatsoever. In a film populated solely with middle-of-the-road actors giving middle-of-the-road performances, Cena manages to stand out with his wooden delivery and inability to convincingly display any trace of emotion, humor, or intensity. He’s as bland of an action star as has ever been captured on film- there are scenes in 12 Rounds where it’s hard to tell if he’s screaming in rage or sleeping.

It doesn’t help 12 Rounds’ credibility that Cena’s character, Danny Fisher, often displays outlandish abilities that serve to destroy any suspension of disbelief a viewer might be desperately fighting to maintain. At various points of the movie, Danny instantly deciphers complex GPS coordinates cleverly disguised as ghetto graffiti, runs seemingly at over 70 miles per hour, dives head-first out of a speeding car onto concrete and instantly springs up unhurt, and knows instantly which electrical transformer to destroy to knock out power to specific train line. It’s never explained why Danny doesn’t wear a red cape or is shown catching bullets with his teeth, but I suppose we need something left over for the sequel.

As for the movie itself, it’s flashy and fast-paced, with plenty of action, stunts, and fancy camera work, but as a whole it never quite comes together or engages you on any personal

level- It’s just mindless racing from one place to the next, only slowing down enough here and

there to provide some simple exposition of the plot. Die Hard With A Vengeance, the film 12 Rounds wants to be, managed to effectively combine intense action scenes with genuine drama and humor in an effort that seems almost elegant and sophisticated compared to this lame imitator. The fact that 12 Rounds is the best WWE-produced movie to date speaks far more loudly of the lack of quality of its predecessors then it does of it’s own minor triumphs (such as having a beginning, a middle, and an ending).

All the characters of 12 Rounds are standard, stereotypical cardboard-cutouts: the feisty girlfriend in peril; the mean FBI agent with a heart of gold (who is constantly shown playing with a toy car that you know will be revealed as part of his tragic back-story later); the cocky, irreverent partner; the smug, wisecracking villain…not one performance sticks with you in 12 Rounds, save for Cena’s cringe-worthy turn. I’ve honestly not cared less about the fate of any of a film’s characters in years.

Another flaw is that 12 Rounds takes place in New Orleans, one of the most beautiful cities in the world…but precious little of it is shown that most people would actually find recognizable. Sure, there’s a chase scene that takes place in the Business District, and occasionally you’ll see a building with a little wrought-iron on it, but otherwise they could have filmed in Miami or Austin and you wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. One thing stood out to me, however: Several years ago, I took a vacation in New Orleans and stayed at the Hotel Monteleone (located in the French Quarter, a block off of Bourbon Street), and a good chunk of the movie actually takes place there. I personally got a kick out of that, but it’s nothing that would increase the average moviegoer’s enjoyment at all, sadly.

So, if you’ve been waiting for an unoriginal, generic, forgettable, poorly-acted action movie to come along, then your wait is over- 12 Rounds is here! But for everyone else, steer clear and wait for Terminator: Salvation next month for your action fix. No, I can’t guarantee that it will be a great movie, but there’s no way it could miss the mark as badly as 12 Rounds does.

(Long Island, N.Y.) I Love You, Man, a comedy starring Paul Rudd and Jason Segel, came as a complete surprise to me- it was very, very good. Bear in mind, I never expected it to be horrible or anything, but the previews I’d seen had lead me to believe that it was yet another in a long line of lame comedies that substitute forced attempts at being over-the-top and outrageous in place of actual wit and charm. However, this is not the case- I Love You, Man, despite the fact that I feel just a little creeped out every time I type its title, is a legitimately funny and entertaining film with very endearing characters…truly a rare find these days, I’ll tell ya.

Here’s the obligatory movie review plot recap to let you know what this thing is all about: Peter Klaven (Paul Rudd), a real estate agent, has just gotten engaged to Zooey (Rashida Jones) after only 8 months of dating. But hey, they’re happy, so let’s be happy for them, okay? Anyway, Peter is that guy we all know who gets so into his girlfriends that he blows off his all male buddies until he has none left. After going directly from girl to girl without a break for his entire adult life, Peter suddenly realizes that he doesn’t actually have anyone to serve as best man at his wedding. Also, no one with whom to ogle women, trade fart jokes, or drink until he projectile vomits- you know, the time-honored traditions only men can experience with one another.

After overhearing the darling, supportive Zooey and her wonderful friends making fun of his lack of friends behind his back, Peter decides it’s time to change things. No, he doesn’t dump Zooey, but he does the next best thing: he sets out on a quest to find a new friend and potential best man. After several disastrous attempts at recruiting prospective pals at his brother’s gym and blind “man-dates” (another creepy term) set up through his mother, Peter is about to give up on the whole friend thing in favor of concentrating his efforts on selling a house that belongs to D-list Hollywood celebrity Lou “Big Green Man” Ferrigno.

As an aside, in our society women indeed have the advantage when it comes to making friends with strangers of the same sex, as they don’t have to deal with the macho window dressing that men do. A woman can form a life-long bond with another woman over a random conversation about a handbag or a pair of shoes. Men striking up conversations with other men are often simply mistaken as gay (which actually happens to our unfortunate protagonist at one point in I Love You, Man). It’s a bit unfair, but hey, that’s life.

So, Peter holds an open house for Ferrigno’s crib for prospective buyers, and it’s here that he finally meets Mr. Right, so to speak. Enter Sydney Fife (Jason Segel), an odd, laid-back, and extremely blunt investor at the open house just for the yummy gourmet sandwiches offered. The two hit it off and start hanging out, drinking, eating fish tacos (get your mind out of the gutter, Peter’s loyal to his gal), and jamming to Rush tunes in Sydney’s garage. All seems well at first, but as Peter spends more time with his new pal, he starts taking on more stereotypical male traits that were previously absent (like randomly playing air guitar and blowing off exciting evenings watching HBO with his fiancee). Zooey, at first in favor of Peter’s quest for friendship, is now starting to feel neglected (women are never happy!). And while problems start surfacing in their relationship, let’s not forget Lou Ferrigno, who’s getting annoyed at how long it’s taking Peter to sell his house. Hey Lou, do you pay attention to the economy? It’s not a seller’s market right now. Chill.

Anyway, can Peter find a balance between love, friendship, and business, or will his new, evolved lifestyle just mess everything up he’s worked for thus far?

Like I said in the opening paragraph of this review, I Love You, Man is a really good movie. It’s been a while that I’ve seen a comedy that was consistently fun from start to end with no dry spells at all. No, there’s no huge, gut-busting laughs, but I was chuckling and smiling pretty much non-stop the whole time, and I’ll take that over one or two big payoffs amid long stretches of pain anytime. It helps a lot that the cast as a whole are (as also mentioned above) uniformly endearing and mesh wonderfully with one another. Paul Rudd comes across as a very sweet and likable guy, and Jason Segel avails himself as a roguish misfit who refuses to grow up completely. Rashida Jones, meanwhile, does a good job of playing a typical girl…sorry, but there’s not much else to say about her, other than she’d be cuter with a better haircut.

Of the supporting cast, the standouts to me are the awesome J. K. Simmons as Peter’s father and Jon Favreau as the jerk husband of one of Zooey’s friends. I think Simmons is especially underused, and so will you after you see the dinner scene early in the film he completely steals. And a shout-out to my personal friend, Bobby C, for his cameo as a bodybuilder on Venice Beach that almost beats up Sydney after he fails to curb his pooch. I told you that you’d make it, buddy!

I honestly can’t find much of anything to dislike about I Love You, Man, aside from the title of the movie. It’s very well paced without an instant of boredom, it has a somewhat fresh and unique premise (which is especially deserving of credit in this day and age where every film is basically the same), and it manages to be genuinely funny without resorting to lame shock tactics or assaulting you with non-stop pop culture references that will be hopelessly dated in 6 months. If I had to complain about anything, I guess it would have to be the rampant product placement that permeates almost every second of the movie’s run-time, especially when it comes to Apple products. I Love You, Man is essentially a feature-length commercial for the iPhone, to the point where the title could have been changed to “I Love You, iPhone” and no one would have noticed. HBO gets major props as well, with several attempts to awkwardly shoehorn it into the dialogue. But this is just nit-picking, as almost every film nowadays is guilty of this.

So, in closing, I Love You, Man is one of the most enjoyable comedies I’ve seen in a while and well worth your time. Check it out.

(Long Island, N.Y.) I could wrap up this review with less than one paragraph by simply telling you that Miss March is a terrible movie and not worth your time or money. But one paragraph won’t get me paid, so I have to somehow stretch this almost plot-less movie into a full-fledged review. Well, here goes…

Miss March is a comedy (and I

use that term loosely) directed by and starring Trevor Moore and Zach Cregger, stars of the IFC show The Whitest Kids U’ Know. Now I’ve never watched that show, but if Miss March is any indication of its overall quality, it’s safe to say that I’ll be avoiding The Whitest Kids U’ Know forever. Of course, this will only be made easier by the fact that I don’t think that I actually get the IFC cable channel (what does IFC stand for, anyway?). But if I do, it’s gone- any channel giving an outlet to untalented hacks like Trevor Moore and Zach Cregger does not deserve to be transmitted into my humble abode.

Unfortunately, someone on Earth is apparently a big fan of The Whitest Kids U’ Know (how is this possible?), and decided to give its stars millions of dollars to make a feature film while I’m stuck making home videos starring stuffed animals and my pet corn snake. How is life fair?

So, the plot of Miss March goes like this: Eugene Bell (Zach Cregger) is a High School student who has an accident and ends up in a coma on the night he and

his girlfriend Cindi (Raquel Alessi) finally decide to have sex for the first time. Seems they’ve been abstaining for 2 years she’s had enough- or rather, not enough, if you know what I mean. Anyway, the still virgin-ized Eugene wakes from his coma 4 years later only to discover that sweet, innocent Cindi has moved on with her life and become a Playboy Playmate (in that very month’s issue, no less!). So Eugene and his friend Tucker Cleigh (Trevor Moore, seemingly the love child of Jim Carrey and Bam Margera) go on a cross-country road trip to the Playboy Mansion so Eugene can win the girl of his dreams back. There’s a tiny little sub-plot concerning Tucker’s girlfriend, who’s mad at him for stabbing her in the face with a fork. Oh, and there’s a rapper (with a naughty stage name that I can’t repeat here) that is played by Craig Robinson that plays a significant role as well, but for the most part, I’ve covered everything.

This movie is not funny. But it’s not bad either…it’s just boring,

which in my opinion is even WORSE then being bad. At least a bad movie tends to have some inherent humor value, if only for reasons other than what the filmmakers originally envisioned. But a boring movie…that’s torture. Every situation is cliché-ridden and most of the humor is mean-spirited and tries way too hard to be offensive and outrageous. Regardless, almost every joke falls flat and none of the characters are endearing or engaging on any level whatsoever. The only funny element of this film at all is the rap song sung by Craig Robinson’s character, but if a very small segment of the soundtrack is the only entertaining part of your movie, you’ve failed. Miserably.

It’s a shame…I was on a roll lately in terms of the quality of the movies I’ve been reviewing. Taken, Watchmen, Doubt…all good. But with the tag-team of death that is last week’s Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li and now Miss March, I’ve found myself falling deep into the well of mediocrity once again. All I can do to make it through these hard times is to look

to the future and the (hopefully) good films that await me there. Terminator: Salvation starring Christian Bale looks really good. So does X-Men Origins: Wolverine, starring Hugh Jackman. But those are still a few months off, so in the meantime I can only hope that Miss March is the last film we see out of Trevor Moore and Zach Cregger for quite some time. And by “quite some time,” I mean “ever.”

Here’s a sad little story-:While I was watching Miss March, I looked to my left and saw a little old man in the theater, all by himself. He looked lonely and perhaps a bit despondent, and I could only feel massive pity for a person whose only recourse against apparent isolation and ennui was to treat himself to a solo viewing of Miss March.

That poor, poor man. Kids, keep in touch with Grandpa, okay? Don’t make him resort to this.

So, if you couldn’t tell, I’m giving Miss March a negative review. Don’t go see it. While it doesn’t reach the depths of pain that the reigning champion of bad movies (AKA Epic Movie) attains, it’s still a very wise idea to avoid it at all costs.

(Long Island, NY) A comic book being listed by Time Magazine as one of the top 100 novels of all time is quite an impressive feat. But it’s a feat that Watchmen, a complex superhero story originally written by Alan Moore and illustrated by Dave Gibbons, has managed to pull off. Originally released in 1986 as a limited series, Watchmen changed a lot of people’s perceptions of what a comic could bring to the table, especially in terms of depth of storytelling and symbolism. Given how popular comic book-based films are these days, you’d think such a well-regarded tome would have gotten the movie treatment already, but attempts to convert Watchmen to the silver screen were mired in development hell for years. Many directors claimed it was simply UN-filmable due to the deep nature of its narrative.

But finally a Watchmen movie has become a reality, as envisioned by director Zack Snyder (who previously helmed 300). Snyder has crafted probably the most loyal adaptation of Watchmen possible in a film with a 2 hour and 40 minute running time. Of course, things had to be cut (or else the movie would have probably ended up being 6 hours long), and the ending was altered from the comic’s (which, in my opinion, works better), but overall, Watchmen is an interesting and unique film containing beautiful visuals and a wide cast of engaging characters. I myself am a fan of comic books and have read Watchmen- however, while I don’t hold it in as high a regard as some do, I still consider it an important work. That being the case, I’m glad to report that Watchmen makes for a good film, although non-fans of the comic or people with short attention spans might not enjoy it as much.

Watchmen takes place in an alternate America of 1985, where term restrictions on the Oval Office have been lifted (thus, amusingly, Richard Nixon is still President) and masked crimefighters help to keep the public safe- that is, until they are outlawed, forcing them into retirement. The Cold War is still very much alive, and rising tensions with the Soviet Union bring with it the threat of nuclear war. All of this serves as a backdrop for the murder of Edward Blake (Jeffrey Dean Morgan), AKA The Comedian- a costumed hero formally of the team known as The Watchmen, now employed by the U.S. Government for top-secret Block Ops missions. The motive for his killing remains unclear, as does his killer’s identity- his death is dismissed as a the possible work of a long-time rival, but one man has another theory.

Enter the vigilante Rorschach (Jackie Earle Haley), former Watchman and one of the last remaining costumed adventurers still working the streets, despite the aforementioned ban. A borderline sociopath who wears a bizarre mask featuring a constantly shifting inkblot pattern, Rorschach is convinced that Blake’s death is part of a conspiracy to murder former superheroes and starts digging through his contacts for clues. While smacking around the dregs of the criminal underworld looking for answers, Rorschach also takes the time to warn his former teammates that their lives might be in danger. These former crusaders include Nite Owl (Patrick Wilson), a nerdy, Batman-like character who’s growing soft in retirement; Dr. Manhattan (Billy Crudup), a blue, emotionally-detached nudist transformed into a god by a science experiment gone awry; Silk Spectre (Malin Akerman), Dr. Manhattan’s long-suffering girlfriend; and Ozymandias (Matthew Goode), a super-genius who is now a billionaire businessman after going public with his secret identity. All of the Watchmen have sordid histories with The Comedian, and these are all revealed via flashbacks while they attend his funeral.

Rorschach’s attempts to warn his former comrades is generally met with skepticism, as his reputation for being a right-wing paranoid is well known, as is the fact that he’s wanted by the cops for his brutal and often “permanent” solutions for street crime. However, once an attempt is made on the life of Ozymandias, Dr. Manhattan is driven off of Earth and into exile on Mars after he is accused of being a carcinogen(!), and Rorschach himself is framed for murder (at least, the one murder he’s actually innocent of) and sent to jail, the remaining Watchmen start to take him a bit more seriously. The search is on to unravel the mystery of The Comedian’s murder and the dark conspiracy behind it, but the clock is ticking- the only deterrent to nuclear war between the U.S. and the Soviet Union was the near-omnipotent Dr. Manhattan, and with his exile on Mars and growing disinterest with a humanity he shares little in common with, the world is stepping closer and closer to annihilation. Will the Watchmen save the day, or will they usher in the destruction of mankind?

First of all, if you have a short attention span, Watchmen will probably lose you. The film attempts the convey the complex narrative and wide array of characters of the comic as closely as possible, and as a result the story is told through a large series of flashbacks, with the emphasis switching from different protagonists at various points. But, despite the movie’s attempt to fit in as much content from the comic as possible, it does feel as though things are missing-even if you’ve never read it. Believe me, I can appreciate the fact that things are going to have to be left out when adapting a story such as this into a running time of under 3 hours, and I do not lament the loss of many of the minor characters, sub-plots, and back-stories- it’s a fact that these things needed to be stripped (they were the weaker parts of the book anyway, in my opinion) in favor of concentrating on the meat of the plot-line. Watchmen is not about guys in spandex stopping bank robbers- there’s a lot more to it.

Watchmen, more than anything else, is a character study of the heroes comprising the team- their personalities, their flaws, and their relationships with each other and the world around them. However, despite the bare-bones approach to the story and the film’s long length (which, shockingly, I didn’t find to be a detriment), I still got the feeling that it could have used even a little longer to flesh out these characters, which in turn would have helped me to invest more in them emotionally. As it is, the Watchmen film covers most of the the bases, but things feel crammed a little too tightly at times- I especially would have liked Rorschach’s history (especially concerning his wacky mask) explored a bit more, and people really should know why Ozymandias suddenly has a purple horned tiger thingy hanging around with him later in the movie. Still, as I said earlier, I don’t see how anyone on Earth could have done a better job in under 3 hours of running time, so Mr. Snyder deserves a nice pat on the head for a job well done.

Visually, Watchmen is gorgeous to behold. Personally, I’m not one to be impressed by elaborate opening credit sequences (I usually consider them to be a waste of both time and money…if people walk out of your movie talking about the credits and nothing else, something’s wrong), but I’ll make an exception here. Watchmen’s credits are pretty fascinating: a series of slow-motion scenes set to Bob Dylan, depicting major events throughout the years of the film’s alternate history, leading up to the present (in this case, 1985). Snyder backs off on the large amount of green screen work he used in list last film, 300, instead using more sets and locations to stage Watchmen in, which adds greatly to the atmosphere and realism.

You can also tell that Snyder took great care in translating the look and feel of the comic to the screen, going so far as to hiring the comic’s illustrator (Dave Gibbons) as a consultant and using the actual comic itself in place of traditional storyboards. Watchman creator Alan Moore’s name is nowhere to be seen in the credits, however- staunchly anti-Hollywood, he’s apparently been burned by film versions of them going forward. Hey, it all works out well for Dave Gibbons, who gets Moore’s cut of the dough (at Moore’s request).

But despite Watchmen’s loftier goals, at its heart, it’s a superhero movie…and what’s a superhero movie without some action? Well, don’t worry- despite the material cut from the comic in its journey to the screen (which, in some ways, led me to enjoying it more), Snyder left in all the beat-downs, explosions, sex, and violence…and then for giggles, gave us even more. Make no mistake- this film is rated R and pulls no punches. The brutality of some of the scenes in Watchmen can be particularly harrowing- the at-times bright and cheery tone the film is matched by a dark, seedy, bloody undercurrent that at times rises up in a fairly shocking manner. Don’t take your kids to this expecting the Fantastic Four, that’s for sure.

So, in the end, Watchmen as a movie is a triumph in the sense that it takes a comic considered UN-filmable and manages to make a pretty good Cliff’s Notes version of it. While fans may miss the omissions from Alan Moore’s original tale, in some ways the Watchman film is made better than its source material by those very omissions. And while I would have liked the characters expanded upon a bit more, the plot a little less jam-packed, and less clichéd musical choices in the soundtrack, I’ll still give Watchmen a solid recommendation. It’s not the greatest superhero movie ever made, but in the flood of sequels and cookie-cutter garbage we’re subjected to every time we head to the local cinema, any movie that tries something fresh and different is worthy of your attention, and Watchmen is certainly one such movie. Go see it.

(Long Island, NY) Occasionally, I actually go to the movies not just as a critic, but for my own personal pleasure. Saturday night was one such occasion- I finally got around to viewing Doubt, a powerful drama starring Meryl Streep and Philip Seymour Hoffman, set in a Catholic school in the 1960’s. However, my procrastination in experiencing one of the finest-acted films I’ve seen in ages resulted in a bit a dilemma for me: while I’d love to review Doubt and extol its virtues for you all, alas, it’s not exactly timely- it’s been playing in theaters for some time. And that’s a shame, because I can’t remember the last instance where a movie rendered me nearly breathless based on the strength of its acting alone- Doubt is an amazing film, and one you should rush right out and experience for yourself.

Instead, I’m reviewing Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li…a film several orders of magnitude less impressive than Doubt. What did I do to deserve this?

But as luck would have it, this week’s review opens up a unique possibility, a first for my column: today, you’re getting two movies reviews for one (I still get paid the same, but that’s okay). I’ll be reviewing Street Fighter (of course), but if for some bizarre reason you actually still insist on watching it, I’m also presenting you with a review of Doubt. Why? Simple: because you’re going to desperately need something to cleanse your savaged cinematic palette afterwards.

Doubt is a tale of faith, suspicion, and rumors. Meryl Streep stars as Sister Aloysius, the feared Principal of a Catholic church in the Bronx, New York. Rigid, inflexible, and a stern disciplinarian, Sister Aloysius nonetheless only has the best interests of her students at heart, although this can be hard to see given her harsh exterior. Philip Seymour Hoffman co-stars as Father Brendan Flynn, a popular Priest due to his inspired sermons and progressive outlook on the relationship between the Church and its flock- especially when it comes to how they relate to the students of the school. It’s Father Flynn’s unconventional mannerisms that first arouse Sister Aloysius’ suspicions, but while he is her superior and is thus untouchable, that doesn’t stop her from instructing the nuns serving under her to keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary.

Dutifully following her instructions, Sister James (Amy Adams), a young and naïve teacher, takes note of the unusually close relationship between Father Flynn and Donald Miller, an altar boy and the school’s only black student. Already predisposed against Father Flynn for violating the established norms, Sister Aloysius assumes the worst and pursues the matter with the fervor of a zealot, despite having no concrete evidence whatsoever…just her unshakable faith. This leads to a battle of wills between the two, where things aren’t always what they seem and all parties involved have their faith tested to its very core.

Doubt is an adaptation of the John Patrick Shanley stage play called Doubt: A Parable. Written and directed by Shanley, the film resonates with such a strong emotional impact that it admittedly caught me off-guard. The performances were top-notch all-around, but Meryl Streep in particular stands out. I would say she even steals the movie, but that honor actually belongs to Viola Davis, who manages to do it despite only appearing in one scene. Ms. Davis plays Donald Miller’s troubled mother, and the scene in question is when Sister Aloysius confronts her with her suspicions regarding her son and Father Flynn. Mrs. Miller’s reaction to such charges was not only unexpected, but so wrought with emotion and brutal realism that it left me stunned.

Another area where Doubt excels is the presentation- a period piece set 1964, the producers got the look and feel of the era just right, an era where the innocence of the 50’s was giving way to the radical civil change. Plus, given the fact that the director is experienced with stage plays, he seems to know that the primary focus of each scene should be the performance contained within. Not multiple camera cuts per second, not fancy lighting, not an overbearing soundtrack…just ACTING. The scene with Sister Aloysius and Mrs. Miller appears to be one long tracking shot with 2-3 cameras following the action, but it feels like it one long, well-rehearsed scene instead of dozens of cuts stitched together in post-production. It feels organic and real, and more films could benefit from this approach.

Oh, yeah, Street Fighter. I almost forgot about it. Well, where to begin? It’s a movie based on a video game involving martial artists fighting head-to-head. I used to be pretty good at it, back in the early 90’s. No one could stand against my mighty Dragon Punch…why, I remember this one match- wait, I’m off-track again. Anyway, it was very popular, with various merchandising tie-ins, culminating in a live-action film being released in 1994 starring Jean-Claude Van Damme and Raúl Juliá (in what would sadly be his last role before his death). Needless to say, the movie was horrifically bad and flopped hard at the box office, but has endured to this day as a camp classic due to its silly, over-the-top nature.

Someone apparently thought it was a great idea, 15 years later, to re-visit the Street Fighter franchise in live-action film form once again, and we are now blessed with Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li. I have to say that my faith in humanity has been shaken, as I thought it was impossible to make a flick worse than 1994’s Street Fighter- but somehow, somehow…they managed to do it.

Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li follows the character of Chun-Li (in case you couldn’t guess from the title), who is portrayed by Smallville star Kristin Kreuk. The story concerns Chun-Li’s origin and her fight against the criminal organization Shadaloo, headed up by the evil M. Bison (Neal McDonough). Michael Clarke Duncan co-stars as Bison’s henchman Balrog, proving once again that a past Oscar nomination doesn’t guarantee a prestigious and successful film career afterwards. There are other actors in this movie as well, but suffice it to say that I’d be doing them a service by not divulging their names here. Overacting, bad acting, no acting…you name it, the cast of Street Fighter puts on a clinic. Out of all of them, only Kristin Kreuk manages not to embarrass herself completely, aside from the fact that she actually gets top billing for this mess.

Like most martial arts movies, Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li starts with a flashback, where we find M. Bison wronging Chun-Li and her family. A little girl at the time, Chun-Li trains in the ways of Wushu and grows up looking for revenge. What follows is a series of poorly-staged fights, bad dialogue, and amateurish film editing. Say what you will about the first Street Fighter film’s quality (or lack thereof), but at least it had the good sense not to take itself seriously at all. This movie strips out that good-natured fun in favor of a realistic approach, which means we don’t have a movie that’s “so bad it’s good” like the Van Damme movie is. Instead, we have a movie that’s “so bad it goes straight past good and back to bad again.” In other words, it’s boring…the worst crime any movie can be accused of.

I think the overall quality of Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li can be summed up with the hilariously bad line Bison uses to preface the murder of Chun-Li’s father: “Your father has been the milk of my business. But even milk has an expiration date.” It still boggles my mind that people are actually paid to write garbage like this.

If it hasn’t already gotten through to you, let me spell it out as clearly as I can- skip Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li and go see Doubt while it’s still in theaters instead. You’ll thank me.

(Long Island, N.Y.) As you are all no doubt aware, as of late Hollywood is crazy about pointlessly remaking movies that were perfectly good the first time around. While this is partly done with the intention of cashing in on the general public’s sense of nostalgia, it’s mostly due to creative bankruptcy amongst the major film studios. And the genre seemingly at the forefront of this remake blitz is horror, with many of its classic films getting the treatment.

Recently we’ve seen past hits such as Halloween, My Bloody Valentine, and The Fog remade (in addition to many others), with new renditions of Hellraiser and Nightmare On Elm Street due to enter production soon. But aside from the remake of Halloween, most of these retreads don’t match up to their legacies at all, leaving me dreading each new take on a sundry horror film of my cherished youth.

The latest horror flick to be re-imagined is Friday the 13th, the famous series chronicling the hockey mask-wearing, machete-wielding serial killer Jason Voorhees. Stalking the grounds of Camp Crystal Lake (despite the fact that he drowned there as a boy), he keeps mysteriously returning to punish those foolhardy enough to violate what he considers to be his territory. Driven on by the memory of his beloved, long-dead mother, the boy who was once an outcast due to an unfortunate physical deformity has grown into a enormous man with an axe to grind (literally!).

I’m about to compromise my journalistic integrity here by admitting that I’ve been a huge Friday the 13th fan for many years, and this fact will most likely play into the overall tone and demeanor of my review, which will be quite positive. Yes, we’re actually going to

discuss a remake that I’m happy about! But why am I not dreading my favorite slasher series undergoing the remake chopping block, you may ask? Well, firstly, it’s directed by Marcus Nispel, who has already proved he knows a thing or two about re-creating tales of cinematic murderers when he helmed the well-done 2003 remake of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre. Secondly, the script is written by Damian Shannon and Mark Swift, previously responsible for penning 2003’s crossover film Freddy Vs. Jason, pitting the two stars of Friday the 13th and Nightmare On Elm Street horror franchises against one another.

While the movie itself was terrible, Shannon and Swift at least did justice to the character of Jason, which lead me to believe they could portray him correctly in a stand-alone film. And third, the last legitimate entry in the F13 series was 2002’s Jason X, which really found producers reaching by sending the title character into outer space(?!) in an unsuccessful attempt to revive the sagging franchise. Since then, the series has laid dormant, and I’d been waiting feverishly for someone to create a new entry and get Jason back to the basics. A remake gives the public a chance to see a more clear and understandable tale of Jason’s origin (the original series didn’t do the greatest job of this) and to re-introduce the modern audiences to his zany antics. Plus, it’s sure to give birth to a new on-going series, so I personally couldn’t be happier.

I can’t say

what my attraction is to Friday the 13th as a series, exactly. I suppose I find Jason compelling because he is, in some ways, a sympatric character. Picked on as a youth, his only friend was his loving mother. When he was thought drowned as a result of neglect on the part of Camp Crystal Lake’s counselors, Jason’s mother went on a murderous rampage of the camp’s staff that only ended when she was beheaded by the last survivor. Bad move on THAT counselor’s part, as Mrs. Voorhees’ beheading was witnessed by a somewhat annoyed and grown-up Jason (inexplicitly showing up alive after missing for years), who proceeded to follow in Mommy’s homicidal footsteps, starting with the unfortunate teenager that killed her. From there, the series tended to follow the same predictable-yet-fun formula of introducing a new set of teens who arrive at Crystal Lake, have pre-marital

sex, and are butchered by the prudish Jason. One might think, based on this description, that Mr. Voorhees is the very embodiment of evil, but even his ruthlessness was shown to have limits- traces of that innocent little boy remain within him, as evidenced by the fact that he

(usually) goes out of his way not to harm children (unless it’s Corey Feldman, but you really can’t blame Jason there) or animals. Okay, chopping up grown-ups is still a real bad thing to do, but I’m trying to dig up SOME redeeming qualities for the guy, okay?

By now, you have to be wondering, is this a review of the new Friday the 13th film, or a retrospective of the series? Yeah, it’s a review, but my problem here is that we’re talking about a film that, with a few exceptions, doesn’t really break from the pre-established “rules” set by the original F13 series. This is both good and bad. It’s good in the sense that the filmmakers obviously have a great respect for the source material and the character of Jason himself, which they displayed throughout the film. The opening credits did a pretty decent job at setting up the mythology without using much screen-time. Instead, the director opted to jump right into the action, and the body count within first 10 minutes is truly impressive. Jason is first shown wearing a sack on his head to conceal his hideous visage (a homage to the second F13 movie), but early into the film he discovers and dons the iconic hockey mask for the very first time, something they never showed in the first series (Jason originally just sauntered out wearing the mask in the 3rd F13 movie after killing its owner off-screen). This event should have had a more epic feel to it then what we ended up finally getting, but it’s nice that they actually showed the mask go on this time around.

Otherwise, the F13 remake was fairly

formulaic. If you’ve seen any of the previous films, you know what happens: a group of hormonally-charged teens arrive to party in a cabin overlooking Crystal Lake, Jason gets a mite perturbed, and the blood starts a’flowin’ like the mighty Mississippi. As usual, the deaths telegraph themselves from a mile away…here’s an example: kid ventures out to the tool shed alone- DEAD. Friend goes to look for him alone- DEAD. And so on. The teens are played by an assortment of attractive yet completely vapid and interchangeable actors, although some of them do manage to display some degree of charisma at times. That’s not to even be confused for a second as actual character development, mind you, which is a taboo when it comes to most shasher films. It’s shame, actually- if you get the audience interested in a character, they tend to start caring, and that makes the tension of their impending deaths all the more poignant. As it is, each actor is just another log for the fire, so to speak.

Still, the film manages to be a lot of fun. It’s fast-paced and incredibly violent, while presenting moments of genuine humor to give the audience an occasional break to catch their breath. But most importantly, it has an overall grim, dark and gritty atmosphere that the original series typically eschewed in favor of being more over-the-top. The moody lighting and cinematography are highly reminiscent of director Marcus Nispel’s 2003 Texas Chain Saw Massacre remake, which is a excellent thing indeed. A bad thing, however, are the shaky camera and lightning-fast edits that make it hard to follow the action. For once, I’d like to watch a modern movie that requires its actors to perform for longer than 2-second takes.

This new Jason (played by stuntman Derek Mears) does a fine job, although I personally feel he comes up short when compared to fan-favorite and previous long-time Jason performer Kane Hodder (who played him in a record 4 films). Derek sticks to the established basics of the character, but deviates in a few important ways: whereas Jason was previously known for giving chase and catching his frantically running victims by merely walking calmly (which, while fun, is a bit silly), Mears’ Jason now runs, which in many ways makes him more fearsome and intense. Seeing a hulking maniac waving a three-foot long knife barreling down on you with murderous rage in his eye can really cause you to lose control of your bodily functions, ya know? The main difference between Derek Mears’ and Kane Hodder’s Jason portrayals, in my opinion, is that Derek can not seem to match Kane’s overall strength and rage, but does manage to make Jason seem a bit more intelligent. We see that he now sets traps for his victims and even uses them as bait for others,

which is a nice twist. There’s some other deviations from the established character that were interesting as well, but I’ll leave them for you to discover.

I also would have liked a tad more screen time devoted to Jason’s origin, as that’s one of the reasons I like the character. What they gave us seemed rushed, and while it made sense to F13 fans, I’m not sure anyone new to the series would have totally understood what was going on. I guess they would have, but I would have liked to have seen more of Mrs. Voorhees and little Jason interacting, at least. I think would have been kind of endearing- in a sick and twisted way, of course.

By the way, the movie does indeed contains snippets of Harry Manfredini’s classic “ch, ch, ch, ah, ah, ah” score from the original films, but it popped up less often then I would have liked. This is Jason’s creepy theme music, and not having it more prominent negatively affected the feel of the film to a small degree.

As you can see below, I gave the film 3 stars, but please bear in mind that if you’re not a fan of the horror/slasher genre, feel free to subtract at least half of a star…perhaps even a full star, if you’re the high-flautin’ opera-going type. But

for fans of Jason Voorhees, everyone’s favorite psychotic momma’s boy, you’ll be happy with how this new re-boot/remake treats him well. It’s not perfect, but it certainly stands amongst the stronger entries of the original series, and stands out amongst the current crop of horror remakes. By all means, check it out!

(Long Island, NY) If you’re a long-time fan of my reviews here on Long Island Exchange (well, of course you are!), then you know that, in addition to my love of cultured, sophisticated cinema, I am also an unabashed action movie junkie. Such films are best exemplified by speeding bullets, exploding cars, and flying bodies, all typically supplied by a square-jawed hero who never flinches once throughout the sundry carnage.

The heyday of such glorious flicks were the 1980’s through to the early 90’s, after which such fare tapered off in favor of leading men who cry and try to talk out their differences with their enemies instead of gunning them down. I can say with the utmost certainty that the America of today is very different than the nation presided over by Ronald Regan, and the Schwarzeneggers of that era have sadly moved on to bigger things. But, if you ask me, post-9/11 America needs a return to the 80’s, if only so kids today can believe that a lone man with an European accent is capable of single-handedly slaughtering an entire army with a few guns, garden tools, and a steam pipe.

As I’ve pointed out in reviews of recent action movies (such as The Condemned), Hollywood keeps trying to find successors to the heroes of the 80’s, and each attempt thus far has simply fallen short of the mark. This has been going on for so long now that I was really starting to give up all hope, and the fact that 60’s-ish Sly Stallone was called out of retirement to dust off Rambo for one final bloodbath didn’t help. I was convinced that I’d simply have to endure kinder, gentler action movies starring men with real human failings instead of unstoppable killing machines. But, just as despair was beginning to set in, someone has FINALLY stepped up to the plate, and done so in the unlikeliest of forms- that of distinguished Irish actor Liam Neeson(!).

Of course, it figures

that Hollywood wasn’t actually responsible for the rise of Mr. Neeson to the forefront of the action genre- Taken, the movie that has “taken” him there, is a French production, directed

by Pierre Morel from a script penned by the great Luc Besson (writer/director of The Professional and The 5th Element, among others).

In Taken, Neeson plays retired CIA agent Bryan Mills. Exactly what he did for the CIA is never exactly disclosed, but judging by the spying and combat skills he displays throughout the course of the film, I think he did the same think Matt Damon’s Jason Borune character does (in fact, Taken shares a lot of similarities with the Borune film series). His beloved 17-year-old daughter Kim (Maggie Grace) lives with his ex-wife Lenore (Famke Janssen), who has since remarried a rich business tycoon. Bryan’s CIA work was originally responsible both for his divorce and his estrangement from Kim while she was growing up, and his retirement from that hectic and secretive life is his way of mending fences and re-establishing his relationship with his child. Up to now, it’s been working out well, although Bryan at times feels it’s hard to compete with Kim’s wealthy step-father. This is especially true at birthday time- Bryan gives her a Karaoke machine (she dreams of being a singer), and step-dad counters with a horse. Yes, a real live horse. Of course it’s hard to compete with that, but Kim loves Bryan quite deeply nonetheless.

One day Kim comes to dad for something step-dad can’t give her- permission to go on a trip to France with her friend Amanda (Katie Cassidy). Despite his initial refusal, citing the dangers of Europe that he knows all too well, Bryan eventually agrees. However, he soon discovers (too late) that Kim has lied to him and that their actual plan is to travel round Europe following U2, something I can’t see any rational parent allowing two teenagers to do on their own. Arriving in Paris, a shady guy named Peter (Nicolas Giraud) shares a taxi with the girls to the house where they are staying. Once there, Peter phones some accomplices who soon raid the house and kidnap the girls, with the intention of selling them into a sex slavery ring. Kim manages to call her father on his cell moments before the kidnappers discover her and, at Bryan’s behest, shouts out crucial details about their appearance before the mysterious assailants smash her phone and take her away.

From here, Bryan goes into full John Matrix/Rambo mode and the fun begins. He uses his government contacts to cull as much information as possible from his daughter’s phone call and hightails it over to Paris to pick up her trail before she’s lost forever. Once in the most romantic city on Earth, Bryan proceeds to beat, shoot, maim,

torture, and blow up anyone foolish enough to get in his way, even if they cooperate with him. He shrugs off punches, kicks, and bullet wounds while dealing out death and mayhem like there’s no tomorrow. The movie should have been titled “Liam Neeson kills France.” Well, maybe just half of France, actually, but you get my point.

Honestly, I’ve never seen a modern action movie where the “hero” is so blatantly ruthless- at one point, Bryan threatens to do in the innocent wife and children of a corrupt French cop in cahoots with the slavery ring unless he gives up their whereabouts, and you honestly believe that he’s NOT bluffing. From reading this, one might think it’s hard to get behind such psychotic behavior, but when you consider he’s doing it for his daughter, you can honestly believe that you just might do the same thing if a loved one were faced with such a fate.

One thing a bit harder about Taken to swallow are all the coincidences that allow Bryan to stay hot on his daughter’s trail throughout the entire movie- he’s constantly in the right place at the right time, finding the right people, and discovering little clues that consistently lead him to the next piece of the puzzle, stopping only long enough to deliver a karate chop to an Adam’s apple or slamming a random head into a car door. But the film is so fast paced that it doesn’t really give you time to realize the absurdity of it all. I mean, once the ball gets rolling, Taken contains no lulls whatsoever. Another film might have its protagonist get all weepy and maybe find a person to befriend so they could pour out all their feelings of inadequacy at not having been there for their daughter in her time of need. However, Bryan just relentlessly stays the course and continues the slaughter, determined to get Kim back no matter what the cost. He’s like The Terminator, only not quite as nice.

Another thing that stood out to me about Taken was the cinematography and the realism of the locations. Eschewing obvious sound-stages for gritty on-location shooting, the film exposes you to Europe’s seedy underbelly and truly drives home the dire circumstances of Kim’s predicament. All of this is framed expertly by superior camera work, using dynamic angles and well-done hand-held techniques that don’t get too shaky when the action picks up, unlike so many films nowadays. Also, the editing of the various fight scenes was tight without overdoing the cuts, enabling you to clearly see every single visceral blow.

I can’t close my review of Taken without touching on the performances of its cast in a bit more depth. I’ve always been a fan of Liam Neeson, although up until recently he’s been more known for his dramatic work. But it’s that very dramatic background that I think enables him to channel the anger and swift brutality that he displays in this movie. He is truly an actor that sinks his teeth into any part he plays, and in Taken he manages to deliver a surprisingly moving and charismatic performance while in-between killings. Famke Janssen isn’t really given much to do, other than to act coldly to Neeson’s character and constantly complain about how his CIA work destroyed their marriage, although she does show a more tender side once their daughter is kidnapped. Speaking of their daughter, Maggie Grace does a competent yet unremarkable job as Kim, acting appropriately scared and upset when it’s called for, but otherwise it’s really just a cookie-cutter “teen in distress” kind of role. What really deserves mentioning are the actors portraying the criminals in this film, as they are all a very dirty, nasty lot. You really feel like the producers actually went out and rounded up all the real-life degenerates they could for these roles, which says a lot for the quality and believability of Taken. Imagine your daughter in the clutches of these men and you’d probably start gunning people down as well.

So, there you have it- one of the best action movies I’ve seen in ages. I’m giving it three stars, but if you’re a fan of movies where the main character just kills and kills and kills without a hint of remorse or humanity, you can add at least an extra half-star. Highly recommended.

(Long Island, NY) It’s funny- growing up and into my early adulthood, I loved professional wrestling. I can’t say why I enjoyed watching grown men in spandex play-fighting, but eventually I grew out of it. But to this day, I’ll find myself occasionally flipping through the channels only to come across a WWE broadcast, and to my surprise I’ll find myself

actually watching for a few minutes, if only to relive old memories.

Eventually, however, I’ll remember that I’m a mature, cultured adult and go in search of more sophisticated television fare, like reruns of Married With Children or The Man Show. Needless to say, there’s a certain stigma of low-brow cheese associated with pro wrestling, and the last thing I ever expected was someone making a legitimate film drama featuring this sport (or “sports entertainment,” as it’s known today). But lo and behold, I give you The Wrestler, brought to us courtesy of director Darren Aronofsky and troubled actor Mickey Rourke.

I’m not kidding when I say a serious movie about the pro wrestling biz seems (to me) as out of left field as, say, a movie about a stack of steaming hot buttery pancakes being elected President of Honduras. But it surprisingly works, and an important reason why is because there are a lot of real, poignant tales originating from behind the scenes in wrestling. Despite the reputation of the matches being “fake,” the fact remains that these performers are indeed athletes who actually take a lot of legit punishment in the ring, live on the road traveling from gig to gig, make lousy money, work through injuries, and are denied basic things like health insurance and pensions. And all for the honor of maybe one day making it to the big leagues and getting wacked over the head with a steel chair on live TV. But most of these hopefuls never make it that far and end up working the various independent leagues in front of small crowds for peanuts. These are the men who are truly passionate about their chosen profession, and it is here that the tale of The Wrestler begins.

Enter Randy “The Ram” Robinson (Mickey Rourke). Basically the Hulk Hogan of his era (that era being the 1980’s), Randy has fallen on hard times. His heyday long past, his earnings carelessly spent, he now ekes out a dreary existence stacking boxes at a supermarket and wrestling at the aforementioned independent wrestling matches on weekends for extra dough (and a chance to relive his past). He’s obviously lived a hard lifestyle, and every all-night party, bottle of booze, and drug binge is apparent in his weathered and battered face. When not working Randy lives in a trailer park, and his days are focused on the rituals needed to continue rasslin’- mainly doing steroids, working out, tanning, dying the roots of his mane of blond hair, and taking various pharmaceuticals to deal with the physical toll his chosen profession has taken on his body over the decades (he appears to have a pretty serious painkiller addiction).

Outside of wrestling, Randy appears to have few friends, one of which is a neighbor child he regularly coerces into playing an old 80’s Nintendo wrestling video game (because he stars in it, of course- amusingly, the kid is unimpressed and extols the virtues of his latest Xbox shooter to our egocentric hero instead). Another associate of Randy’s is Cassidy (Marisa Tomei), an older stripper working at the local bar he frequents. He regularly attempts to woo her with his white trash charms, but she sticks to her guns regarding her rule about not dating customers (I guess she wants to keep ’em paying for the lap dances).

One weekend, Randy is talked into participating in a “hardcore” wrestling match with an insane sadist for an opponent. What is a hardcore match, you ask? Well, it generally involves fighting with barbed wire, broken glass, staple guns, and thumbtacks. Knowing this, you might ask what the difference is between a hardcore match and walking through the South Bronx at any time of the day or night, but we’ll leave that question to be answered later (much later). Anyway, Randy takes a real beating and is legitimately hurt, eventually suffering a heart attack back in the locker room afterwards. After receiving bypass surgery, the doctors at the hospital inform him that his ‘roid abusing and drop kicking days are over. Randy naturally has a problem dealing with this, as wrestling and taking drugs is all he’s ever known, but his brush with mortality shakes him to his core and he attempts to change his life. Having no marketable skills, he takes a job behind the deli counter at the supermarket he works at, continues establishing a real relationship with Cassidy, and attempts to reconcile with his estranged daughter whom he’s neglected for years. Having little in the way of social graces or any real idea of how people interact outside of the scripted events of the world of pro wrestling, any one of these goals would be difficult for Randy, but he gives it his best shot nonetheless. But does he possess the will and fortitude to tackle the rocky emotional road ahead, or will the promise of a rematch with an old foe from his glory days lure him back to the ring, even if it could mean his death?

Mickey Rourke is receiving a lot of acclaim and praise for his performance in The Wrestler, and deservedly so. But what people are forgetting about his turn as Randy “The Ram” Robinson is that this hard-living, striving for one last comeback-type of character isn’t all that different from Rourke himself. The man has always possessed talent, but his real-life demons have often gotten in the way of his career. What I’m saying is that he’s basically playing himself here, folks. Despite that, it’s impressive to see an actor give such a raw, real performance, despite his own personal situations away from the camera. What also impressed me was Rourke’s physical conditioning- at 56 years of age, the man is in phenomenal shape, and even appeared to have done many (if not all) of his own stunts as well. Needless to say, the man embodied Randy “The Ram,” both physically and mentally, and unlike many actors, Rourke isn’t afraid to look ugly for a role.

His co-stars do a fine job as well. Marisa Tomei gives a gritty performance as a woman who is realizing that life is passing her by and is attempting to get things back on

track. Plus, she shows off a lot of skin, which is never a bad thing. In addition, The Wrestler features many real-life professional wrestlers, although I only recognized one or two of them. But considering the fact that wrestlers are actors in their own right, it’s not a far cry to cast them in a wrestling movie…plus, it preserves the authenticity when the guys are giving each other diving head butts.

But what really makes The Wrestler work, aside from Rourke’s performance and the abundance

of 80’s Hair Metal music, is the harsh realism. Filmed in the ever-popular documentary style (involving lots of hand-held camera work), this film takes you into the world that exists after an athlete exceeds his prime. Be it football, baseball, or even pro wrestling, there comes a time when you just can’t perform like you used to and must accept cruel reality, either moving on or wallowing in despair. There’s a scene in The Wrestler that exemplifies this: Randy is making an appearance

at a small wrestling meet-and-greet with fans. He has his little folding table set up with pictures to autograph and VHS tapes of his best matches to sell, but the turnout is lackluster and he finds himself sitting and staring at the other broken-down relics of a bygone era attempting to trade in on their forgotten legacies for a few bucks. It’s a poignant scene, and it really sets the tone for the whole movie.

The Wrestler is a great film and I recommend it highly. Go see it.

(Long Island, N.Y.) Ah, getting older- it’s no fun. Friends and loved ones pass on, your annoying kids try to ship you off to the old folks home, and the neighborhood you built a life in is slowly changed foreign cultures. At least, that’s what getting older means in Clint Eastwood’s latest film, Gran Torino, a film he not only stars in, but directs as well. It’s a tale of anger, stubbornness, and change, and it’s one of the better films I’ve seen recently.

Honestly, the level of enjoyment I received from Gran Torino comes solely from Clint Eastwood’s character, the role I am now sure he was born to play. Sure, the talented actor/director has portrayed many iconic characters throughout the course of his amazing career, but as he’s gracefully grown older, I now realize that he was merely warming up all that time to play the ultimate grumpy old man- Korean War veteran Walt Kowalski. Walt barely speaks to his adult children or his neighbors, drinks and smokes constantly, loves only his old army guns and his car, and swaps racist jokes with his lodge buddies and the local barber. Quite a colorful guy, eh?

The recently-widowed Walt lives in a suburb of Michigan and the film opens with the funeral of his beloved wife. Walt stands next to her casket, scowling as his disrespectful grandchildren show up for the solemn event wearing belly shirts and texting with their Blackberries non-stop through Father Janovich’s (Christopher Carley) eulogy. Back at home Walt has plenty of other things to scowl at, as his neighborhood has become dominated in recent years by immigrants, particularly those of Hmong descent (for those of you wondering, Hmong is an Asian ethnic group).

Walt’s intolerance to other cultures (especially acute when it comes to Asians since he spent plenty of time killing them in Korea) has left him an outcast among his neighbors, and his mistrust is only amplified when he catches young Thao from the house next door trying to steal his beloved 1972 Gran Torino. It seems that the teen was ordered to do the deed by his gangbanger cousin (nicknamed “Spider”) as an initiation rite to their gang, although Thao truly has no desire to be a lawbreaker. When Spider and his gang return and attempt to force Thao to again steal the Gran Torino, a fight ensues which spills over onto Walt’s front yard. The next thing they see is Walt holding his M-1 army rifle at them, demanding menacingly that they get off his lawn.

Now, Walt only did this because he’s a crotchety old man who wants to be left alone. But unfortunately for him, his Hmong neighbors mistake this as an act of heroism and shower him with gifts, attempting to bridge the gap between them. Walt resists at first, but when Thao’s family insist that the young man replay his debt and regain the honor he lost when he tried to steal the Gran Torino by indentured servitude to Walt, the two eventually break the ice, get to know each other and form a bond. Walt eventually starts accepting and even socializing with his Hmong neighbors, but their new-found friendship is threatened by the return of Spider and his gang, who see no distinction between family and enemy gangbangers on the street. Will Walt turn the other way, or will he stand by his new-found friends and help?

Walt Kowalski is one of Clint Eastwood’s most memorable characters- right up there with Dirty Harry and The Man With No Name. Walt is angry, ill-mannered, and bigoted- a true beacon of light in the fog of overt political correctness that permeates our modern culture. Every other word out of his mouth is an offensive ethnic slur against Asians, Blacks, Italians, etc, and the audience in my movie theater gleefully welcomed every such utterance with thunderous laughter. Not because of any racist inclinations, I’m assuming- I think it’s merely refreshing in our homogenized age to watch someone blatantly cross the line that so few dare to anymore. Walt is an old lion, set in his ways, and resistant to change of any kind. His attitude toward other cultures is born more out of ignorance than outright malice, and he finally learns how to grow, adapt, and tear down the walls of bigotry throughout the course of Gran Torino. Thankfully, however, doesn’t completely lose his edge- he’s still a jerk when all is said and done.

By the way, I must say that Eastwood is in phenomenal shape for a 78 year-old man. Sure, his face has weathered the ravages of time a bit, but it’s actually made him somewhat fascinating to look at nowadays. It’s Clint, only he now looks like he’s been roughly chiseled out of solid granite. It’s frightening. And I’m not ashamed to admit that I believe he could probably beat me up with little effort, even at his advanced age. I mean, it’s Clint Eastwood.

Oh yeah, there were some other actors in this film, weren’t there? The sad fact of the matter is that, if not for the presence of Clint, the movie wouldn’t nearly be the joy that it was. The leading cast is made up almost entirely of inexperienced Hmong actors, which director Eastwood held an open casting call for to ensure the film’s authenticity. While everyone involved turns out acceptable performances, they all pale to Clint’s Archie Bunker with a gun, which is so over-the-top that he simply can not be matched by some nobody who was probably doing dinner theater the week before.

Honestly, I could talk about the plot (which is threadbare), the locations (which are gritty and authentic), the pacing (which is brisk), the underlying messages about racism, ignorance, aging and dealing with change (there’s some nice character development going on, yes), BUT…none of that matters in this case. The fact remains that it’s pretty much Clint Eastwood alone that makes Gran Torino so totally engaging. While most actors in Hollywood do their best to ward off aging and avoid looking “old” by refusing to accept certain roles that paint them as such, Clint has embraced his age, and seeing such humility (and humanity) is oddly refreshing. Of course, Clint does this while sitting in the director’s chair as well, so he rightfully deserves double the kudos. I highly recommend Gran Torino- go check it out.

(Long Island, NY) Welcome back to my humble internet column, one and all. For today’s film review we’ll be taking a look at Transporter 3, an action movie and latest installment in the popular Transporter series starring British actor Jason Statham. After reviewing several of his movies previously here on Long Island Exchange (such as The Bank Job and Death Race), I’m beginning to think that I’m something of a qualified Jason Statham expert.

Let’s see…he’s a tough-guy who’s really good at driving a car. At least, that’s what he played in Transporter 1 and 2. And The Bank Job. And Death Race. And The Italian Job. And Crank. Hmm…I suppose I should give the man credit- in an age where movie stars often walk away from repetitive yet lucrative roles for fear of being typecast, Mr. Statham just delves headlong into each and every carbon copy script he’s handed without a care in the world. Sure, Statham’s movies tend to have some odd little contrivance or plot device to help hide the fact that he’s just playing a tough-guy who’s really good at driving a car, but we (or at least I) can forgive him because the man possesses a certain degree of natural charisma and usually delivers the goods when it comes to action scenes. But does Transporter 3 signal a departure for him? Will he perhaps try being a tough-guy who’s, say, really good at riding a skateboard or a unicycle? Alas, no- he’s (yet again) a tough-guy who’s really good at driving a car, this time around the act is starting to wear a bit thin. But while Transporter 3 is a somewhat weak entry into the series, it still manages to entertain. Read on.

The whole premise of The Transporter series is that Frank Martin (played by Statham) is a no-nonsense freelance driver who delivers packages without any questions, and who abides by numerous self-imposed rules in an attempt to maintain his underground rep as a reliable professional. Frank is actually a stand-up guy, but when dealing with the seedy underworld types his occupation regularly puts him into contact with, he often finds himself the object of betrayal and on the hunt for revenge. Well, at the beginning of Transporter 3, we find Frank attempting to enjoy retirement by fishing with his French Police Inspector friend Tarconi (Francois Berleand, reprising the role for a third time). As if all this excitement wasn’t enough, one evening Frank is enjoying an especially riveting fishing video when a car driven by a mortally wounded associate of his crashes into the living room (couldn’t he have just parked out front and beeped?).

It turns out that, due to his retirement, Frank had recommended this alternate driver to a prospective client seeking his services. Currently riddled with bullets and dead, Frank’s choice for a replacement is obviously unable to complete the job, and now the shady client wants the real deal. Resistant at first, Frank is finally coerced into the job by means of a fairly unoriginal element lifted from Arnold Schwarzenegger’s classic Running Man- an electronic bracelet is secured around his wrist, and if he travels more than 75 feet from his trademark armored Audi A8 W12…well, confetti doesn’t pop out, but the wearer WILL explode into tiny little pieces. That may not be as fun as confetti, but it IS far more motivational for getting your job done.

So, what does the bad guy want Frank to transport? Well, if you guessed an annoying freckle-infested redheaded Ukrainian girl who butchers the English language at every chance she gets, you’d be correct. But this seemingly useless human being is revealed to have a use after all- she’s the kidnapped daughter of the head of the Ukrainian chapter of the Environmental Protection Agency, and is being used as leverage in order to force her father to sign an agreement to allow toxic waste dumping in their country. The plan is for Frank to take the daughter, named Valentina (Natalya Rudakova, in her first and hopefully last role), to Odessa to be reunited with her father once the contract is signed, but along the way Frank’s client proves to be less than trustworthy (note: never trust a guy who straps a bomb to your wrist). This results in several over-the-top fight scenes and high-speed car chases as only our beloved Frank Martin can deliver. Of course, the movie ends at some point, which is to be expected, but unfortunately everything else that happens up until then is as easily guessed at. Transporter 3 makes no attempt to move beyond what it is- a pure action movie. Normally, this would be fine, but there are a few nagging flaws that bog the experience as a whole down.

Transporter 3 contains all the usual stuff laid down by the previous two movies. First, you have complex martial arts scenes involving Frank easily beating the tar out of 10-20 guys at a time, while at some points shedding his shirt Captain Kirk-style so we can see how jacked he is. The fight scenes themselves are solid although poorly edited, with rapid-fire camera cuts that make it hard to follow the action. Oh, and at one point Frank is pitched through a solid cinder-block wall like a Looney Tunes character with no adverse effects whatsoever. That was interesting. Next, the trend of hair-pulling, forehead-slapping, over-the-top car stunts continues. Now, NOTHING can beat the scene in Transporter 2 where

Frank removes an explosive mounted under his Audi by magically corkscrewing the car through the air and catching the bomb on a crane hook (that one still keeps me up laughing at night), Transporter 3 tries its best to come close. From driving on two wheels between tractor trailers to jumping from one train car to another, your ability to suspend disbelief will be tested to its very limits. Transporter 3 is basically a cartoon, but if you go in what that mindset you’ll do alright. Throughout it all, the film manages to remain fairly fun…but then that freckly redhead rears her head and ruins everything. Ah yes, the girl playing Valentina. Supposedly “discovered” by producer Luc Besson working at a hair salon in NYC, he got her an hour or two of acting lessons and turned her loose on unsuspecting moviegoers nationwide.

Easily the most annoying female sidekick Frank Martin has ever had to endure in a series that exclusively features annoying female sidekicks, her poor English (including classic lines such as “I vant to feel sex” and “are you the gay?”) lead to many an unintentional laugh from the audience I viewed Transporter 3 with. At first, her character was all dark and brooding and didn’t want to talk to Frank, and really, who wouldn’t want to talk to Frank? He’s a nice guy. However, I didn’t know how lucky Frank (and I) had it, because once she opened up and started speaking, her dialogue scenes took a fast-paced and somewhat fun film and just ground it to a screeching halt. When Valentina wasn’t charming Frank and the audience by peeing on floors of gas stations, she tortures us with the most inane conversations regarding dinner foods ever recorded in human history (“I want veal…Ukraine have best veal…with carrot…and onion…and celery…and…”). Imagine that little discussion going on forever, and then happening several times over after that. It seriously kills the pacing of the movie. While I remained entertained by the rest of Transporter 3, it would have been much better if no one had bothered talking and a little more action had been slipped into the mix instead, which at times seemed lacking.

So, that’s Transporter 3. If you liked the first two, by all means, check out the third. It’s got most of what made the previous installments successful, but the inclusion of the freckle monster (personally, I like freckles on a girl, but this is too much…her face is like one giant freckle) and lots of horrible dialogue really hurts the film. But still, Jason Statham pulls what’s left through, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see an eventual Transporter 4 one day. Solid overall, but could have been better.