MY MOVIE SHELF: Wedding Crashers

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 142  Days to go: 96

Movie #296:  Wedding Crashers

Okay, sure, Wedding Crashers is funny in that rude, lewd, obnoxious, manic, crazy way that Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson do so well. It’s flippant and kind of offensive, if you were to think too long on it, but it’s so charming and light you really don’t think about it at all. You ride the wave of happy wedding montages and topless women and Vaughn’s rapid-fire proselytizing and Wilson’s permanent duckface, and it’s all good fun. Rowdy, bawdy fun. There aren’t enough movies like that these days, in my opinion.

However, Wedding Crashers isn’t just your typical frat brothers on steroids movies about dudebros. I mean, it is that, absolutely. But it also has a little bit of depth to it, and interesting flavor not often found in your average dudebro movie, and it comes from the three women characters played by Rachel McAdams, Isla Fisher (NOT Amy Adams, you troglodyte — yes, I am talking to you), and Jane Seymour. (Sadly, the depth these women add to the film still isn’t enough for it to pass the damn Bechdel test, which is sort of ridiculous. How hard would it have been for the two sisters to have a heart to heart before the one’s wedding? Was it in Christopher Walken’s contract that he be portrayed as the wise patriarch and last-word leader of the family or did everyone figure if they were going to pay his salary they might as well give him something to do?)

Now, Jane Seymour’s role (as matriarch Kathleen Cleary) is tiny to the point of almost being insubstantial. Except it’s not insubstantial at all because not only is she the sort of standard cougar-slash-inappropriately-sexual hot older woman who appears in all of these sorts of films from Animal House on through the ages, she’s also — brilliantly, amazingly, astoundingly — the exact maternal, mature version of Isla Fisher’s Gloria. That is, she’s just as oversexed, just as daring, and just as crazy. Once you see it, what a perfect mother-daughter pair they make, it’s simply fantastic. Seriously, it’s so, so great.

Gloria herself is fascinating because she’s really the perfect complement to Jeremy (Vaughn). John (Wilson) throws out this line at Claire (McAdams) early on, that “True love is the soul’s recognition of its counterpoint in another.” Well, Gloria is Jeremy’s counterpoint. Where he’s very hesitant and afraid of commitment, she knows immediately when she’s passionate about someone. When he turns to be kind of tentative about sex after learning she was a virgin, she reveals herself to be bold and unafraid (and not actually a virgin because, like him, she just tells her sexual marks what she thinks they want to hear, to make it easier to bang them). I really like that it’s this relationship that advances further than any other, and that, despite the deceptions of John and Jeremy, no one in the Clearly family objects to its proceeding into wedlock.

Claire, though, is the character that I think is most underrated. It would be really easy to just look at her as the standard prize in a movie like this. She’s the smart, do-gooder daddy’s girl who deserves way more than to be cheated on by her rich, successful, obnoxiously awful boyfriend-turned-fiancé-by-ambush (Bradley Cooper as Sack, which is really this character’s name, even though I always assumed everyone was just saying “Zach” weird, like with a lisp of some kind. What kind of name is Sack?). Only, she doesn’t quite fit that mold. She’s smart, yes, and she has a loving heart, of course, but the defining characteristic of Claire is actually that she’s really awkward and unsure of herself. She flubs her older sister’s wedding speech because she doesn’t know how to read a room or how to really act in social situations. She bites her tongue with Sack all the time because she doesn’t want to disappoint anyone, and she feels she’s “supposed” to marry him, but not even she can tell you whether she wants to or not. I really like that. I like that she’s not confident, that she doesn’t have all the answers. I like that she’s still figuring herself out, just as John is. It’s charming, and it gives the movie a lot more heart than it maybe deserves.

That’s not to say that it doesn’t earn its reputation as a great comedy. It absolutely does. Like I said, it’s funny and rowdy and bawdy and it knows how to mock the wedding crasher lifestyle as much as it lauds it. (Side note: I adore that these two characters are divorce mediators in their actual careers. It lends so much authentic motivation as to their compulsion to spend their weekends in blind celebration, chasing joy without strings or complications or disappointments.) Wedding Crashers is a great, silly, joyfully explicit comedy. There aren’t nearly enough of those these days. Especially not ones that do it as well as this one does.

MY MOVIE SHELF: The Rundown

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 208  Days to go: 145

Movie #230:  The Rundown

My husband has had The Rundown since I’ve known him, and I thought I’d managed to put off seeing it until now. Turns out I’ve totally seen it, only it’s not the one where The Rock comes back to his hometown to kick some ass or whatever. It’s the other The Rock movie.

The Rundown is an odd film, like if the screenplay was written using Mad Libs. For example:

Former Wrestler-Turned-Actor’s Name: Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. Male Singer with only one name: Beck. Euphemism for bounty hunter: Retrieval Expert. Spastic yet kind of funny/handsome/charming actor: Seann William Scott. Tropical location: Amazon rainforest. Legitimate crazy person actor: Christopher Walken. Spanish word for an animal: Gato. Common Weapon (plural): Guns. Atypical Weapon: Whip. Jungle Animal (plural): Monkeys. Sexy yet badass vaguely “ethnic” chick: Rosario Dawson.

And the final result:

Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson stars as Beck, a Retrieval Expert hired to bring back his boss’s son Travis (Seann William Scott) from the Amazon rainforest. Travis is in debt to a man named Hatcher (Christopher Walken), who rules the village with an iron fist, enslaving the locals through force and violence. Beck purchases Travis from Hatcher, but Hatcher reneges on the deal, when he discovers Travis has found the mythical ancient treasure of El Gato, a golden statue worth millions. Beck fights Hatcher’s men, though he refuses to use guns. There is an elaborately choreographed fight scene, which culminates in Beck fighting off a man with a whip. Beck escapes with Travis but they get lost in the jungle, humped by monkeys and are in trouble with the local rebels until it’s revealed that sexy bartender Mariana (Rosario Dawson) is the rebel leader. She strikes a deal to help them out of the jungle if Travis will lead her to El Gato. He does so, but she runs off with it for reasons, probably, before getting caught by Hatcher. Beck has to return to the village to save Mariana, retrieve El Gato, and free the villagers. He has a fierce fight — including a huge brawl with three men with whips — but eventually has to use guns even though he hates them. With Hatcher defeated, Beck and Travis return to the U.S. for Beck to earn his bounty, before paralyzing his boss and allowing Travis to escape. The End.

So, yeah. It’s pretty dumb and extremely thin and there’s just not much to recommend it except for the fact that all these actors are clearly having a lot of fun with their ridiculous roles (except maybe Dawson, who seems a little disappointed). They put on a goofy show, make a lot of dumb jokes, and get you in and out in under two hours no worse for wear. I’ve endured worse evenings than this, is what I’m saying. And I really like The Rock, in spite of myself.

MY MOVIE SHELF: Pulp Fiction

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 167  Days to go: 160

Movie #216:  Pulp Fiction

It was fall 1994. I’d been living in Columbus less than two months, and suddenly there was this whole wide world of independent films available. (When I visited Chicago ten years later, I realized that Columbus had barely a glimpse of the independent film market, but coming from nowhere in the middle of upstate New York, it was a treasure trove.) I became fast friends with a girl who shared my love for movies and the two of us hung out often with my boyfriend and his roommate. I don’t remember who suggested it, or how we got there (I assume my boyfriend’s car?), but we went out to one of the city’s independent venues — there were three all owned by the same family at the time, something of an oxymoron, an independent chain cinema — and stood outside in a line for the next showing of Pulp Fiction. The world was never really the same after that.

When the Oscars came around, my friend was definitely hoping for Pulp Fiction to pull an upset, but I didn’t really think it had a chance, given the Academy. Still, as enjoyable as I find Forrest Gump, there’s no denying it didn’t have the same cultural impact as Quentin Tarantino’s breakout. (Reservoir Dogs came first, but it wasn’t as big, as amazing, or as talked about.)

For one thing, a nonlinear timeline hardly seems notable today, but Tarantino’s fiddling with the sequence of events in Pulp Fiction had people obsessing for literal months, and it’s actually something I still think about whenever I watch: this is happening first, this happens later, this goes back to earlier, etc. In some ways, this structure feels like a novelty — self-indulgent, perhaps and almost certainly unnecessary — but in others, it serves to tell a very particular story in a very particular way. If the movie went from the morning hit, to Jimmy (Tarantino) and the Wolf (Harvey Keitel), to the diner, to the handoff of the briefcase,  to our night out with Vincent (Travolta) and Mia (Uma Thurman), to the fight, to the watch (the flashback featuring Christopher Walken would still be placed in this general area) , to the whole deal with Maynard and Zed (Duane Whitaker and Peter Greene), then the movie would actually feel less cohesive, I think. It would end on the down note of Marsellus (Ving Rhames) having just been brutalized, Vincent dead and Butch (Bruce Willis) leaving the city forever with Fabienne (Maria de Medeiros) rather than the triumph of Vincent and Jules (Samuel L. Jackson) over Pumpkin (Tim Roth) and Honey Bunny (Amanda Plummer). It ties the beginning of the movie with the end, so instead of being simply a series of almost unrelated vignettes, it’s an integrated and complete piece.

Secondly, Pulp Fiction is often touted for resurrecting Travolta’s career. This was certainly true at the time, but it’s overlooked how the movie gave a little boost to Bruce Willis as well, and what it really did was make household names of Samuel L. Jackson and Uma Thurman. (“Uma, Oprah.” NEVER FORGET!) Both had been acting for a while before this movie, and lord knows Jackson especially was in just about everything in the late ’80s in some sort of bit part or another, but this is the one that made them icons. There would be no Kill Bill without Thurman. There would be no “motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane,” (or a hundred other motherfucking somethings, including Capital One ads), without Jackson. These two are icons now, all thanks to Pulp Fiction.

The movie itself is iconic, too. The scene with Lance (Eric Stoltz) and the adrenaline shot is still one of the most exciting scenes in film, and I still jump when it goes in. (And Rosanna Arquette, pierced up to Jesus as Jody, saying “That was pretty fucking trippy” with this gleeful smile is a perfect way to close it out.) Then there’s the gold gleam of the inside of the briefcase, or Mia and Vincent’s dance at Jack Rabbit Slim’s, or the perfect, sad, wistful, intimate kiss he blows her as she walks away. Not to mention how all his crucial life moments are connected to being in the bathroom.  And that doesn’t even go into the dialogue: “Royale with cheese.” “Ezekial 25:17.” “Well look at the big brain on Brett!” “Garçon means boy.” “SAY WHAT AGAIN!” “Zed’s dead, baby. Zed’s dead.” “I’m pretty fucking far from okay.” “Will you give me oral pleasure?” “Catch up.” (I still tell that Fox Force Five joke, and I really wish that show was real.) “Bring out the Gimp.”

These are things that still are quoted and said in conversation and looked at as iconic moments in film to this day. Plus, the entire Beatles versus Elvis conversation is a cultural touchstone now. Are you an Elvis person or a Beatles person? It’s supposedly one or the other, never both. If that’s true, I’d have to go Elvis, but regardless, I am definitely a Pulp Fiction person. As we all should be.

MY MOVIE SHELF: Click

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order, by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 309  Days to go: 298

Movie #64: Click

You have to forgive my husband. His job is such that he spends a lot of time completely isolated from normal civilization and when he has down time (which there is a lot of) there’s not much else to do but sleep or read or watch movies. Not all that long ago, before WiFi and streaming Netflix — before smartphones, really — watching movies during his down time at work meant watching DVDs. So he bought a lot of them — most of them blind. He’d hear about a movie but never get a chance to see it, so when it came out on DVD and he saw it in a Wal-Mart discount bin or wherever, he’d buy it unseen. That is how we came to be in possession of Click.

I can kind of understand why my husband would’ve bought it, why he would’ve assumed it would be a safe choice. Adam Sandler used to be funny. I distinctly remember being at least a little bit in love with him on Saturday Night Live, and my best friend and I saw his stand-up live when we were in high school. He killed, and when we met him after the show, he was charming and adorable. Not long after that, he started making movies — and they were funny movies. He became one of the biggest comedy movie stars around, and even when his humor was stupid or sexist or immature, you could still kind of see the fun in it. Click, however, is not a good movie. Click is not a funny movie. Click is a terrible movie.

Click is a jumble of lame, clichéd tropes that are neither funny nor inventive, and everything else is either horribly sexist or incredibly gross or just plain mean-spirited. Ha ha  ha, the dog humps a stuffed animal! Michael (Sandler) lets his kids believe it’s wrestling for now, allowing his son to find out the truth in 10 years (at 17) and his daughter in 30 (at 35). Ha ha ha! Girls should be sheltered and never allowed to know or learn anything about sex! While we’re at it, let’s make sure his daughter wears a sweater for the rest of her natural life because God forbid anyone notice she grows up and develops breasts. Let’s shame her instead! Yeah!

Also, wives are terrible nagging creatures, so why don’t we just fast-forward through all her whiny bullshit, because she couldn’t possibly have anything worthwhile to say, and we might as well fast-forward through sex with her too because she likes all kinds of boring sensual physical contact. It’d be much better just to get right to it. Ha ha ha!

Fart in your boss’s face, hit a little boy in the head with a baseball, and kick a rival in the nuts all because you’re an infantile little jerk. Isn’t that hilarious? People might argue that I’m being too hard on a movie that is intentionally painting its lead as a misguided fool with rotten priorities so he can eventually see the error of his ways and redeem himself, but I disagree. This is not A Christmas Carol. It isn’t showing him the way things were, they way they are, and the way they might be. According to the film, all of these things are actually happening. There’s no way to go back or to change things. It’s only at the end that — ta-da! — he “wakes up” (another entirely predictable development) and is given a second chance by his “angel” Morty (Christopher Walken). Up until that point, by all accounts, what was done was done and he had to accept it. The end. Not only that, but Click is supposed to be a comedy. Unfortunately, it’s really hard to laugh at a movie when its main character is completely and utterly unlikable, its plot was laid out by a chimp with a typewriter, and its jokes suck. It’s like one day Adam Sandler woke up as a miserable schlub who didn’t know how to be funny anymore — and that’s a pretty sad day for high school me. (I would add that Kate Beckinsale is better than this, but looking at her IMDb page, I’m not sure that’s true.)

Seriously, this movie is awful. Don’t watch it.