Jeff, Who Lives At Home (2012)
Dir. Jay and Mark Duplass2 out of 5
Jeff (Jason Segel) is the kind of guy who wholeheartedly believes in destiny. He spends the majority of the Duplass brothers' Jeff, Who Lives At Home trying to convince friends, family, and strangers of the overwhelming power of fate, citing the 2002 M. Night Shyamalan film Signs as if it were a documentary on the subject. But what begins as the charming ramblings of a sweet, anxious slacker turns into a film so maddeningly contrived that the body of Shyamalan references eventually feels less like a punchline and more like a homage. Or to look at it a different way, it's a series of increasingly dubious coincidences masquerading as a complex cosmic farce, all occurring over the course of a single emotionally exhausting day.
The plot is thrown into motion when Segel interprets a cryptic phone call as a sign from the universe (it's actually a wrong number) and steps out into the world looking for an excuse to ignore the errand that his mother (Susan Sarandon) asked him to run. A bit later, Segel runs into his self-centered brother (Ed Helms) who has committed a cardinal sin of cinematic posturing: he has bought a fancy new sports car that he can't really afford. This tweaks his wife (Judy Greer), who happens to have chosen this day to conduct a rather indiscreet extramarital affair. The siblings spend half the movie effectively stalking her, with Helms returning Segel's insistent mellowness with red-faced exasperation. There's also some business with Sarandon trying to identify which of her co-workers is her secret admirer, a silly and inconsequential subplot that tosses in a sensational twist to make it seem worth the audience's attention.
Mumblecore icons Jay and Mark Duplass go to a lot of trouble making Jeff seem like a fresh, freewheeling slice of life, but the film's meticulous plotting consistently destroys that illusion. They end up with a lot of lazy shorthand for the type of intimate dramedy that they were aiming for, including the shaky, indiscriminately-zooming camera and a milquetoast jazz score. Segel brings an unexpected physicality to a role that's essentially an assemblage of twee affectations, but he's powerless against the fatigue that arises as the filmmakers fabricate increasingly labored reasons to push these characters along their predictable arcs. Jeff, Who Lives At Home starts strongly and has the decency to end quickly (a brisk 82 minutes), but it's already lost once it thrusts Segel into a semi-messianic quest to free the squares from their shackles of self-reliance. Imagine what he could do with two days.
21 Jump Street (2012)
Dir. Phil Lord and Chris Miller3.5 out of 5
A title and a loose premise are essentially all that connect the movie version of 21 Jump Street to its inspiration, the late-80s Fox TV series best remembered for introducing the world to Johnny Depp. In fact, it seems pretty unnecessary to establish any connection between a Channing Tatum/Jonah Hill action-comedy vehicle and a dated teen procedural that a large swath of the film's target audience probably hasn't seen. The good news is that 21 Jump Street is often a spot-on parody of itself - or perhaps the film it might have been without a devilishly funny script from Scott Pilgrim vs. the World scribe Michael Bacall - as well as any buddy-cop franchise of recent vintage and dubious credibility. Think Bad Boys or Rush Hour filtered through the sensibility of a smartass movie buff, drawing attention to every lapse in logic and every cliché embedded in the formula.
The film follows two young police officers - a dimwitted meathead (Tatum) and a doughy wallflower (Hill) - whose immaturity gets them reassigned to an undercover unit specializing in juvenile crimes. (Talk about failing upwards.) Posing as high school students, the duo infiltrates a drug ring peddling a synthetic orange wafer that propels its user through several stages of hallucination, exhaustion, and aggression. Tatum mixes up their fake identities on their first day undercover, a nifty little conceit that leads to Hill unexpectedly ingratiating himself with the popular clique to get closer to the main drug supplier, while Tatum sidles up to a geek squad that helps him with wiretaps and AP Chemistry homework. Hill's jailbait-y love interest (Brie Larson) also drives a wedge between the partners, who are constantly chewed out by their unrepentantly angry captain (Ice Cube) for working too slowly even as they deliver an action beat every 20 minutes or so.
Despite its penchant for mocking audience expectations, 21 Jump Street adheres to the same buddy-cop principles that it so often ridicules. That kind of thing has been done before - Hot Fuzz comes to mind as a film that bests Jump Street in both scope and cleverness, as well as the appropriate escalation of tension. The movie's stakes are never established in a satisfying way, and the main villain, once revealed, is kind of underwhelming. But what the movie lacks in originality it makes up with winning comedic performances and sheer prankish charm. What's not to love about a film that features Channing Tatum delivering a deadpan poetic ode to potassium nitrate? 21 Jump Street feels familiar in a good way, a mildly subversive experience that engenders goodwill by inviting viewers to take it even less seriously than it takes itself.
A Cat in Paris (2011)
Dir. Jean-Loup Felicioli and Alain Gagnol4 out of 5
Oscar prognosticators, as a group, are not easily surprised. So it meant something when a 2011 Best Animated Feature nomination for A Cat in Paris was touted by many as a left-field choice, beating out one or two rumored contenders. But to actually see the film is to realize that its nomination was a much-deserved validation of elegant filmmaking, regardless of subject matter or origin. A Cat in Paris is a moody, surprisingly mature cartoon noir that's skillfully crafted to play up its strengths as a comic caper and a thrilling mystery. Though it lasts little more than an hour, there's not a single moment that feels incomplete or rushed. All of its pure, exhilarating energy was harnessed by the pen and put right up there on the screen.
By day, Dino the cat is the loving companion of Zoe, a young Parisian girl who has refused to talk since her father, a police officer, was killed in the line of duty. By night, Dino is the accomplice of Nico (Bruno Salomone), the city's premier burglar, who travels via death-defying leaps across urban rooftops as naturally as others commute by Métro. The naturally inquisitive Zoe - whose mother Jeanne (Dominique Blanc) is also a cop, and haunted in her own way by her husband's murder - suspects that Dino is up to something after he shows up bearing an expensive bracelet. The following night, she follows Dino out her window and stumbles upon a group of dimwitted gangsters led by the psychotic Victor Costa, who chases Zoe through the city with Nico and Jeanne both in hot pursuit.
A Cat in Paris is a playful riff on gritty crime thrillers (a scene where Costa gives his henchmen nonsensical nicknames is a pointed homage to Reservoir Dogs), but there are times when the film takes the idea a little too far. There are lots of loud noises, but not the ones you expect in cartoons: realistic gunfire echoes across an inexplicably harsh Batman-like score. And Costa is a true madman, a character that will legitimately frighten adults as well as children. Even so, the overall tone is more suspenseful than scary, and the film's design references Doug Funnie as freely as Alfred Hitchcock. It is truly an inspired thing for an animated movie to lure audiences with the promise of an animal adventure and instead deliver an invigorating soft-boiled detective story. Don't let the title fool you - there is no judging this Cat by its stripes.
Jiro Dreams of Sushi (2011)
Dir. David Gelb4 out of 5
Jiro Ono, the octogenarian star of the charming documentary Jiro Dreams of Sushi, is known as the best sushi chef (shokunin) in Japan, if not the world. The Japanese government has designated him a "living national treasure." The famous Michelin restaurant guide rates his Sukiyabashi Jiro a perfect three stars - a remarkable achievement considering that it's a ten-seat sushi counter located in the basement of a Tokyo office building. People make reservations a year in advance and pay upwards of $400 for a 15-minute dining experience. Many of them say that they rush to eat their meal because they feel nervous, thunderstruck by Jiro's greatness. They should try being one of Jiro's sons.
Embedded within director David Gelb's examination of what it takes to operate an elite sushi restaurant is a low-key and classically Japanese drama of family and legacy. Jiro's eldest son, Yoshikazu, is a great chef in his own right but, at 50 years old, still lives in the old man's shadow. Other shokunin who studied under Jiro marvel at the trials he put them through in a ten-year training program. His son, they say, should be more than qualified after three decades of apprenticeship. Indeed, while Jiro philosophizes about work and reminisces candidly about his shortcomings as a father, the camera captures Yoshikazu handling many of the restaurant's day-to-day tasks: prepping equipment, buying fresh fish, managing the apprentice chefs. But work is too comforting a ritual for Jiro, who believes that there's always room for improvement. Jiro does not dream of retirement.
This is a film that proves obsession does not have to be a scary thing. Even though everyone - including Jiro - seems to know that his story is defined by an inevitable trajectory, Gelb finds ways to capture the moment with appropriate cinematic flourishes. Life inside the Sukiyabashi is regimented and difficult and endlessly fascinating. The film is less compelling when it leaves that world, but it never strays too far. Jiro is a wonderfully rich character, a workaholic for whom a satisfying result is the byproduct of a perfect design. "You must dedicate your life to mastering your skill," is an example of his practical wisdom. Here's another one: "Always doing what you are told doesn't mean you will succeed." Despite his celebrity status, Jiro knows there is no handbook, no official roadmap to becoming the world's greatest sushi chef. Ultimately, Jiro makes a keen observation about leading a fulfilling life and creating great sushi - both are much more art than science.
Dr. Seuss' The Lorax (2012)
Dir. Chris Renaud and Kyle Balda2 out of 5
Overstuffed with meaningless stimuli, The Lorax is the latest unnecessary embellishment of one of the all-time classics of children's literature. Danny DeVito voices the titular creature - a cross between Wilford Brimley and a misanthropic baby walrus - who descends from the sky to demand Christ-like adoration and protect nature's splendor with nothing but the weapon of shame. His sustainability lecture falls on the deaf ears of the Once-ler (Ed Helms), a young go-getter (today he might be called a "job creator") who chops down the first truffula tree to make a Thneed, a proto-Snuggie that becomes an accidental fashion sensation and sparks a demand that eventually strips the forest bare. This saga is told entirely in flashback to young Ted (Zac Efron), a preteen boy living in a town so polluted that everyone purchases clean air in bottles and all the foliage is made of inflatable plastic. He becomes determined to find the last living tree of the forest mostly to impress his older crush object, Audrey (Taylor Swift), but if he ends up doing the right thing and saving his hometown in the process, well, that's nice too.
The Lorax's lesson isn't all that complex, so to kill time the film invents an ineffectual villain for Efron, a bottled-air kingpin (Rob Riggle) who resembles a stouter Linda Hunt. Also padding the runtime are a bunch of cute animal antics and tiresome chase scenes that have little to do with the story at hand. A handful of the action sequences shift to a first person perspective for the benefit of the 3D audience. They carry all the excitement of watching someone's YouTube video of a theme park ride. Musical numbers are the film's saving grace, and Helms is the unlikely hero. (In an especially puzzling decision, Efron and Swift are exempt from singing.) His song detailing the rise and fall of his commercial enterprise is a surprisingly mature moment, full of a weary ambivalence toward capitalism and destined to inspire more introspection than another unimaginative DeVito harangue.
A major reason for Dr. Seuss' enduring popularity is his brevity - all of the really, really important life lessons can be conveyed in 50 pages or less. It's not impossible for a movie to be as succinct as the good doctor's playful parables, but in many ways the material is simply too slight to form the backbone of a feature-length film. In the impulse to make The Lorax a bigger, better, and louder experience fit for the multiplex, all sense of scale is lost. That's how an elegant, touching story of responsibility and common sense becomes a clamorous delivery system for the emptiest of cinematic calories. Perhaps it's more of a problem with the marketplace than the movie. Earnestness is good for books and stuff, but there's a certain amount of whiz-bang hokum required to make people consent to a big screen sermon. You can decry the way it trivializes a message that doesn't necessarily have to be an environmental one - "Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot..." is a mantra that fits just about any cause - but ultimately The Lorax is a misfire because the medium goes too far in dictating the message.
Wanderlust (2012)
Dir. David Wain3 out of 5
Paul Rudd and Jennifer Aniston are the world's most charming yuppies in Wanderlust, a tale of wannabe one-percenters who are forced to move from New York to Georgia when Rudd loses his job after a federal raid on his banking firm. Looking for a place to spend the night on their long road trip, the couple stumble upon a bed and breakfast that happens to be part of a hippie commune called Elysium. When Rudd finds living with his alpha-douche brother (Ken Marino) unbearable, he convinces Aniston to set aside her city-slicker misgivings and give the freewheeling, sage-scented lifestyle of Elysium a try. Rudd's enthusiasm quickly wanes when he discovers that turning on, tuning in, and dropping out means adopting a set of ideals he isn't completely thrilled about (the commune has some interesting views on bathroom privacy). However, he's most concerned about Elysium's de-facto leader (Justin Theroux), a pretentious Svengali with a thinly veiled agenda that revolves around seducing and bedding Aniston.
It's refreshing to see Rudd and Aniston tackle material that's worthy of their comedic talents for once, a welcome change from the many times we've seen them try to resuscitate a moribund premise with nothing but their considerable charm. Rudd is particularly energized by the reunion with his Role Models and Wet Hot American Summer director David Wain. He plays his character as an interesting hybrid of straight man and nervous wreck - a tricky assignment as the film bets big on his natural likeability, even as he's constantly ridiculing America's Sweetheart for drinking the Elysium kool-aid. But his exasperation feels justified whenever Theroux is involved; Rudd can't even impress his new hippie friends with a Spin Doctors jam without the shirtless guitar hero butting in with interminable flamenco solos.
Strong lead performances aside, it's hard to shake the feeling that Wanderlust isn't as funny as it should be. The warmed-over plot crams in as many tired hippie clichés (nudists, free love, hallucinogens) as possible. Theroux is also more cartoon than character, a stereotypically shortsighted demagogue of the radical left who morphs from mild annoyance to full-on villain with no real explanation. Wain at least balances his class politics with Marino's equally heinous example of a brotastic Porta-Potty kingpin lording over his McMansion. That leaves Rudd and Aniston stranded in a squishy middle ground that isn't terribly different from the bland, unsatisfying normality in which they began the film. Wanderlust is at its best when it deviates from the plot-specific jokes and just lets the cast go for simple belly laughs (Rudd auditioning dirty talk in a bathroom mirror reaches the heights of his epic "slappin' da bass" tangent in I Love You, Man), providing an appropriately shaggy counterweight to the rest of the movie's disappointingly predictable hijinks.
Tim and Eric's Billion Dollar Movie (2012)
Dir. Tim Heidecker and Eric Wareheim
4 out of 5
Picking right up where their eponymous sketch series Awesome Show, Great Job left off, alternative comedy duo Tim and Eric deliver a discursive and disturbingly hilarious satire of pop culture with Tim and Eric's Billion Dollar Movie. The two comedians, playing themselves, squander the outlandish budget given to them by the Schlaaang corporation for producing a three-minute Hollywood romance starring "Johnny Depp," running afoul of bloodthirsty CEO Tommy Schlaaang (a go-for-broke Robert Loggia), who demands that they pay back the immense sum. Lured by the promise of easy profits, Tim and Eric skip town to run a mall that turns out to be a dilapidated mess - strewn with garbage, infested with vagrants, and reliant on strange proprietors selling useless goods. The narrative is interspersed with Tim and Eric's signature parodies of commercials, training videos, and other ephemera from the VHS/public access era, fleshing out the details of the film's uniquely bizarre world.
Tim and Eric's comedic sensibility is based on slow-burning discomfort and short bursts of aggressive grotesquerie, so it's somewhat shocking that it translates at all to the big screen. After a touch-and-go first act that takes aim at the straw man of movie-biz phoniness, the comedians fall back on their onstage personae to create surprisingly compelling characters: Tim's the ambitious but mean one, a ruthless leader and manipulator, and Eric is the myopic optimist, the long-suffering, guileless Lewis to a fiendishly charismatic Martin. The Schlaaang issue becomes secondary to their casually hateful rivalry in romancing a sixty-something shop owner (Twink Caplan). But they're clearly better, and funnier, as a team. Their well-developed rapport forms the basis of the movie's occasional brilliance, like a scene where Tim cajoles a salesman's child to disown his biological father (simultaneously demoting the man to janitor) and become his adopted son while Eric blindly chimes in with his approval.
Despite the film's advertised celebrity cameos - including Will Ferrell, Zack Galifianakis, and John C. Reilly as a sickly transient with a heart of gold who cheerfully blurts out things like "I wasn't meant to live long!" - it was clearly made with hardcore Tim and Eric fans in mind, and little else. That's admirable in its own way, but means that Billion Dollar Movie is not for the uninitiated. It's also the most uncompromising and transgressive American comedy in quite some time, a twisted commentary on modern life that questions all the choices we make, from how we entertain ourselves to the ways we seek spiritual comfort. If anything, Tim and Eric is about the power of pure friendship - a rambling, visionary ode to the rarity of finding someone who's always on the same wavelength as you, sticking by your side no matter what inexplicably weird and repulsive obstacles life presents. (Diarrhea included.)
