In the current pantheon of film directors, I used to think that there was no one as obnoxious and egotistical than Quentin Tarantino, but at least when he’s not spitting on the press he manages to still throw in a few surprises – whereas Wes Anderson has stagnated in the same pretentious white bread cornball storybook shit that he tries to pass off as whimsical and poetic (excluding Fantastic Mr. Fox-thanks to the pure imagination of Roald Dahl). So in his latest ever so precious artistic endeavor, Moonrise Kingdom, we are once again subjected to the same dysfunctional misunderstood lovestruck heartbroken characters that communicate with each other in soundbites bordering on autistic retardation.
The star studded cast comprised of Bruce Willis, Ed Norton, Frances McDormand, and of course Bill Murray are wasted and play second fiddle to the no name kids that populate the movie, sorta like Charles Schultz Peanuts. The difference here is that the Adults unfortunately reveal the rest of their bodies from the waist up and that Charlie Brown and Snoopy are lovable – unlike the young protagonist Sam the Orphan (Jared Gilman) and his bookwormy Girlfriend Suzy Bishop (Kara Hayward), the daughter of lawyers that live on the same remote island, who scheme to elope, and when discovered missing send the island into a tizzy.
As a search party commences, they are hellbent on following some ancient Indian beaver trail and stripping down to their knickers. Though it’s rated PG-13, I promise there is nothing steamy about this love affair – unless of course you think a girl totting around a pair of binoculars is sexy? In fact, the most vulgar atrocity is the murder of the Khaki Scout’s Puppy! Charlie Brown, a child of the Fifties, was an adorably sympathetic loser who loved his Dog whereas these Brats of the Sixties not only stab each other but killed a dog for no fucking apparent reason! Another pet peeve, Wes’s soundtrack. This time around instead of butchering The Kinks he replays Hank Williams tunes to underscore this flight of fancy. But instead of feeling nostalgic like in The Last Picture Show everything just comes off contrived and forced – from the dollhouse that Suzy lives in to the Khaki Scouts campsites, but nothing more so than the acting. And speaking of acting, besides the old fogey in the Dos Equis beer commercials, nobody tries to pose more like a Rhodes Scholar and Renaissance Man like James Franco who glowingly announces to his fellow Huff Po readers that Wes Anderson Rises. But I say, considering my previous review of MIB 3, you’re better off not wasting you’re time by watching this instead –
“I’m a cold Italian pizza, I could use a lemon squeezer.”– The Rolling Stones
What is it about Apes overthrowing mankind to gain superiority of the planet that has captivated moviegoers over the past 50 years? Is it because Man feels inherently bad about mistreating animals? Or is it the notion of the “Survival of the fittest”? Except unlike previous versions these so called “fittest” are monkeys imbibed with a man made potion that enables them to talk jive and go apeshit. The ironic thing is that all these fucking apes are CGI! I guess then it’s only fitting that the good qualities of the human race be represented by James Franco, who not only is a thespian but a lifelong college student. It must be dehumanizing for Franco to be upstaged by the CGI ape, Caesar, who only has a couple words of dialogue (I hope there is Oscar talk for Caesar’s performance as well).
Never for a second did I believe Franco as a scientist with his elementary science kit lingo and his smirk that he wore oscar night when calling the film techies nerds. Also, I don’t care how cute he is, after five years, his Ape Dr. Girlfriend, Freida Pinto, at some point had to notice their pet Caesar was not just your smarter than average Mighty Joe. Talk about being straight from the slums. And while Draco may hate Mudbloods what did those monkeys ever do to him? He is now relegated to rehashing the corniest lines in the movie, “It’s a madhouse!” and “Get your paws off of me you damn dirty ape”. I mean wasn’t it Chuck Heston who uttered those classic lines and not the fucking punkass animal keeper? Now thats what I call a homage fail.
Given that the filmmakers want to make a trilogy, will it finally conclude on the thorny ruins of the Statue of Liberty or will they revive Nova to give a helping hand to one of the astronauts to nuke the planet?
From slacker-stoner humor, quasi method acting, sexually harassing pick up lines in Soaps, to Oscar contending and this years host, James Franco has women swooning over his eclectic choices in dabbling in whatever suits his fancy…and with that charming smirk don’t he know it!
Still, I find him still more deserving of Oscar for Best Actor over Colin Firth. I mean talk about a stuck up, bloody Englishmen! Maybe I’m regressing, but I don’t need to defend Franco (who even keeps my Mom wide-eyed after 11:30pm when hosting SNL) but how can you justify Anne Hathaway’s co-hosting along with him at the Oscars?! Let alone her whole fucking career? Besides Nolan who recently casted her as Catwoman in the next installment of Batman – thereby potentially ruining the series. Doesn’t she just strike you as the overly energetic and obnoxious theater bitch from high school who thinks she’s cute?
After a plethora of award shows that lead up to the Oscars, it looks like by having the dynamic comic duo of Franco/Hathaway to rival last year’s hosts, Alec Baldwin and Steve Martin, they are trying to steer away from sarcastic bashing celeb comedians who traditionally have hosted in the past and avoid the likes of funnyman Ricky Gervais. Maybe the real joke would be if the host won for the first time in oscar history or to rally for Conan!!
The hourglass like poster for 127 Hours is a visually dazzling metaphor that conjures up the desperate race for time vs. Aron Ralston (James Franco) as he hangs in the balance of the reality of man – like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand. Still, it doesn’t hold a candle to Mel Gibson’s new movie poster for The Beaver.
Like Howard Hawks, director Danny Boyle likes to mix it up. Everything from junkies, viruses running amok, Indians, sun worshipping beach bums and astronauts – to a lone narcissistic biker/hiker who records his every thrill (except when he’s about to commit a Pee Wee Herman with his one remaining hand) eventually leading to the real climax of the movie when he cuts off his arm with a dull pocket knife. But as brilliantly shot and edited it is, not to mention Franco’s ability and charisma, I was not left feeling the pain of losing a limb, surviving and gaining humility and perspective, but rather wanting to punch the squeamish mouth breather sitting next to me. I hardly consider Aron married with a kid surviving! I’d prefer having my arm hacked off by a lightsaber like Luke Skywalker. With the guidance of Yoda, just look what he made of himself afterwards – a Jedi Master! Whereas Aron had Scooby fuckin’ Doo!