Director: Marc Webb
Runtime: 142 minutes
For a movie as jam-packed with incident as The Amazing Spider-Man 2, it's frustrating how little any of it lingers once the lights go up. Coming off of 2012's decently received Spidey reboot, this sequel goes for the bigger-is-better approach, and ends up doing very little. The cluttered script and awkward tonal shifts keep the web-slinger's new outing grounded, despite the barrage of VFX-heavy stunts.
With two sequels already set (for 2016 and 2018), Spider-Man 2 feels like nothing more than empty set-up for future installments. Worse, neither the villains nor the personal drama has any weight to it until the final minutes. Main villain Electro (Jamie Foxx), a timid scientist who is transformed into a being of pure electricity, is as half-baked as they come. Additional villains Harry Osborn (Dane Dehaan) and the Rhino (Paul Giamatti, used for bookends rather than plot), follow suit.
And as much as the writing and directing deserve blame for the failure of the story's villains, the quality of the acting isn't doing the film any favors either. Foxx starts as a cartoonishly mannered nerd (one obsessed with Spider-Man), before evolving into a flashy stock character with a digitally altered voice. The idea that hell hath no fury like an adoring nerd scorned is alright, but the execution here pales in comparison to, say, Pixar's The Incredibles.
Even more disappointing is DeHaan, who doesn't have the right charisma or presence to capture whatever the script wants Harry to be. DeHaan's mannerisms suggest a damaged, yet cocky, emo kid, yet the writing gives him a persona that seems more in line with a WASP-y jock. This results in some truly baffling acting choices that only further the idea that the script had no idea what it was really going for with its characters. As for Paul Giamatti and a cameo performance from Marton Csokas as a German scientist, the less said, the better.
The saving grace, though just barely, are the interactions between Peter Parker/Spider-Man (Andrew Garfield) and Gwen Stacy (Emma Stone), as well as those between Peter and Aunt May (Sally Field). Though Peter and Gwen's exchanges sometimes clash with the drama around them (they often stammer as though in a parody of indie rom-coms), the actors remain charming to watch as they play off of each other. Despite still being wasted as the hero's girlfriend, Stone emerges as the film's MVP, and proves that she deserves better than the mess around her.
Only at the climax does Webb's film really come alive. Despite the heavy reliance on VFX stunts, the final battles are actually engaging, though this has more to do with Garfield and Stone's presence than the conflict between hero and nemesis. In the only noticeable improvement from the previous Spidey entry, the effects and overall sense of movement of the digital action figures has much more fluidity. The big moment at the end also packs a genuine emotional punch, at least ensuring that the film (more or less) ends with its best foot forward.
Yet, like the previous "amazing" Spider-Man flick, the whole enterprise still feels wholly unnecessary other than as a reason for Sony to hold onto the rights to the title character. Aside from one major moment, this bloated sequel accomplishes remarkably. It feels like an attempt to re-do the previous film (the revelations about Peter's parents), while also pushing forward with its own world-building (future villains). It's a film at odds with itself at every turn, and that's something that all of the flashy effects and high-flying stunts can't conceal.
Grade: D+
Director: Roland Emmerich
Runtime: 131 minutes
There have been any number of articles and essays devoted to understanding our fascination with seeing major monuments destroyed for entertainment. Whether the cause of destruction is man made, natural, or extra terrestrial, there's a certain allure in seeing notable builds fall apart, knowing that they'll still be there when we walk out of the theater. Roland Emmerich is one of the few directors out there whose films have covered every aforementioned form of destruction.
The White House seems to be a particular favorite of his. Aliens destroyed it in Independence Day, and an apocalyptic tidal wave (wielding an aircraft carrier) snuffed it out in 2012. Clearly determined to destroy the Presidential abode in the remaining method (and complete his holy trinity), Mr. Emmerich is back with White House Down, which features all hell breaking loose on the grounds of 1600 Penn. in spectacularly moronic fashion.
After cementing himself as a star in 2012 with 21 Jump Street and Magic Mike, Channing Tatum has finally graduated to the status of action movie leading man. Unfortunately, Emmerich doesn't care to do anything to James Vanderbilt's script in order to give his leading man more to work with. The film puts Tatum front and center at the start, and tasks him with saving President Sawyer (Jamie Foxx) after a paramilitary group attacks the White House. Yet there are times when the action jumps to the various villains and worried government officials, and the action stalls for so long, that Tatum's Cale almost seems like an afterthought.
Tatum and Foxx are trying to have some fun with their ludicrous material (the Commander in Chief even gets to fire a rocket launcher), but White House Down quickly fails even as an exercise in dumb fun. Fast and Furious 6 set the bar early this summer, as it blended its intentionally and unintentionally funny pieces together to create a non-stop joy ride. Those behind White House Down are clearly trying to hit a similar target in their execution. Unfortunately, Emmerich's film is totally lopsided in favor of moments that are worth laughing at, rather than with. Every cliche and cheesy thing that's been done before shows up at some point, as though Vanderbilt was simply going down a checklist. Sadly, it's a rather long checklist, and the film outstays its welcome and runs on for more than two choppy hours. Where Fast and Furious 6 created an immediately engaging experience out of its brand of escapism, White House Down never comes together to the point that its silliness becomes truly entertaining.
It's almost tempting to assert that the film is a satire of likeminded films (such as Olympus Has Fallen, with which it shares a basic premise). Unfortunately, this theory is quashed at every conceivable turn. It's all too silly, groan-inducing, and earnest. And even if it is meant to be a satire, it's a satire that fails horribly. Moments that should excite in their insanity (a car chase on the White House lawn) are devoid of legitimate fun or tension. For the most part, it's all just loud (and hilariously complicated in the later stages). Compounding the problem is Emmerich's direction, which smothers his leading men, and ensures that they never have a chance to pop out of the frame like the stars they are.
The rest of the talented ensemble are simply left standing around from scene to scene chasing that fat paycheck. Maggie Gyllenhaal, as a secret service agent, does her best to lend some variety to scenes that give her little more to do than act concerned. Meanwhile, Richard Jenkins is left stranded in a role that mostly requires him to stand around looking blank. Meanwhile, James Woods and Jason Clarke growl and snarl to little effect as the main villain and his chief henchman. The former is saddled with a nonsensical motivation, while the latter is little more than a generic brute. It's a shame, because, as evidenced by his turn in Zero Dark Thirty, Clarke is capable to doing a lot with limited screen time.
The true stand-out from the cast, if there is one, has to be It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia supporting player Jimmi Simpson as an evil and eccentric master hacker. The role is far from being well-written, yet Simpson's performance makes its mark simply because it has a personality as artificial and cartoonish as the special effects. Watching Simpson prance around, play classical music, and suck lollipops in his newfound lair underneath the West Wing is pure insanity. It's also the closest that White House Down comes to being the sort of lunkheaded entertainment it strives to be. You'll likely laugh quite a bit at the film, but even the abundance of unintentional humor is difficult to recommend when the overall package is this drawn out, empty, and cringe-worthy.
Grade: D+
Director: Quentin Tarantino
Runtime: 165 minutes
Moving from one historical horror to another (the Holocaust to American slavery), Quentin Tarantino's Django Unchained has all of the ingredients to be another riotous and incendiary work of film making. Yet what's most curious about Tarantino's latest offering is that, despite so many strong ingredients, the film feels in need of serious reigning in, more so than any of the director's previous work. Perhaps the greatest irony here is that even though Django contains some of Tarantino's most direct dialogue, the film as a whole still comes off as protracted and indulgent. When the various pieces of the film click, Tarantino achieves some furiously entertaining and compelling results. Unfortunately, there's far too much limp plotting in the early stretches that undermine much of the proceedings.
Opening with, as one would expect, credits perfectly recreated from a classic Spaghetti Western, Django gets its plot moving quite soon. German bounty hunter Dr. King Schultz (Christoph Waltz) rescues the slave Django (Jamie Foxx), so that Django can help him identify the wanted Brittle Brothers. Eventually the two extend the agreement. If Django helps Schultz, he'll help Django rescue his wife Broomhilda (Kerry Washington) from sadistic plantation owner Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio).
And, like Tarantino's previous film, 2009's Inglorious Basterds, Django begins by introducing us to Christoph Waltz's character. And yet, from the get go, something feels off. Whereas Basterds began with slowly building tension, teased out by engaging dialogue, Django quickly succumbs to a strange sense of prolonged tedium. So much of the film's moments, even the bursts of violence, are telegraphed so early that tension is defused before it even accumulates. Tarantino has a knack for drawing out conversations in an entertaining fashion, yet here the technique feels tiresome. In an unexpected departure, much of the dialogue (especially in the early portions) is quite straightforward, getting to the point instead of dancing around said point. The great irony of this is that Tarantino's more direct approach to certain scenes feels more tiresome than his diversions.
Even the cast are somewhat let down by Tarantino's less embellished writing. Waltz, who remains a perfect fit for the writer/director's style, seems to get bored as he cuts through his lesser dialogue in order to get to the meat of the part. The same can almost be said for DiCaprio when he first appears. However, once the film settles in at Candie's plantation, DiCaprio truly comes to life, and thoroughly dominates a prolonged dinner sequence that culminates in a soon-to-be iconic speech about a skull. DiCaprio can sometimes falter when he tries to go 'big' with his performances, but here the actor is aces. His slow rise from steady boil to full blown explosion is among the film's acting highlights. It's over the top, to be certain, but the best performances in Tarantino's films rarely veer towards intimate subtlety. The film also receives an unexpected burst of energy from Samuel L. Jackson as a curmudgeonly slave on Candie's plantation. Jackson is both compelling and riotously entertaining in the role, and it stands as the actor's best work on screen in years.
Unfortunately, even though Django is set amid the horrors of the slave trade, two of the most important black characters are among the least interesting. Kerry Washington is given little more to do than look worried and scream. More disappointing is Jamie Foxx. Despite being the titular character, one charged with a desire for bloody revenge, Django winds up feeling more like a cipher. Despite the occasional good one-liner, the character spends most of his time observing Dr. Schultz, who's more of a driving force even though the story isn't his. Foxx brings little to the role other than some sass, though there's not quite enough in the character for him to work with in the first place.
And even when Tarantino hits the sweet spot, he sometimes ventures into overkill. A massive shootout, filled with orgiastic levels of spurting and spraying blood, nearly becomes out of control in its overwrought execution, even by Tarantino's standards. Worse are the more grounded moments, meant to highlight the abhorrent treatment of slaves. The film gets the point across - such as when two slaves are shown fighting to the death for mere entertainment - but the violence is so relentless that it threatens to become exploitative, rather than appropriately horrifying.
Yet perhaps the biggest stumbling block is the film's near-shapeless plotting. After building to what feels like a riveting, albeit vague, climax, the film trudges on for another 25 minutes to a solution we can already see coming. It's hard to know how much of this has to do with the fact that longtime Tarantino editor Sally Menke sadly passed away before the film even began shooting, or if even she could have reined the film in. Regardless, Django is easily one of Tarantino's least consistent offerings, with his indulgences getting the better of him at an alarming rate. Say what you want about his films, but they've never failed to intrigue or entertain me at every turn until now. Yet here there was a palpable lapse in energy from the get go, one that at times allowed me to wander off into tiny day dreams without the slightest concern that I was missing anything. Django may be off of the chain, and rightfully so, but Tarantino needs to be put on a much shorter leash.
Grade: B-
