Avengers: Endgame (2019)

The Low-Down: Statistically, the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) has achieved a great deal: over 11 years and 21 films, it has introduced dozens of relatively obscure characters into mainstream pop culture. More importantly, however, the franchise has proven that long-form storytelling can work in a cinematic context – as long as you balance plot with heart and humour, prizing character development over spectacle. That’s no small feat, and it’s even more remarkable that a movie with the gargantuan scale and ambition of Avengers: Endgame doesn’t fall apart beneath the weight of an unwieldy script or great expectations. In fact, this is the MCU’s crowning achievement: a heartfelt love letter to the Avengers, their stories, the actors who play them, and to the fans.

The Story: That damn Snap, eh? At the end of Avengers: Infinity War, Thanos wiped out half of the galaxy’s population with a snap of his Infinity-Stone-enhanced fingers. After bearing witness to teammates and loved ones vanishing in swirls of dust and ash, the remaining Avengers struggle to live with the crippling grief and guilt of surviving the Snap… and of failing to prevent it. Some characters spiral into darkness; others are frozen in place – a few even manage to move on. But hope is rekindled when Scott Lang (Paul Rudd) returns from the mysterious Quantum Realm, where the usual laws of physics, space and time do not apply…

The Great: Endgame is a storytelling triumph – not only does it bring together and pay off plots and ideas that were seeded over a decade ago, it builds solid, powerful, heartrendingly emotional narrative arcs for almost all of the original Avengers. Tony Stark (Robert Downey Jr.) and Steve Rogers (Chris Evans) must grapple with their pasts to figure out their futures, while Natasha Romanoff (Scarlett Johansson) and Clint Barton (Jeremy Renner) find themselves literally fighting to save their families. Thor (Chris Hemsworth) and Bruce Banner (Mark Ruffalo) might provide much of the film’s comic relief, but both characters are also gifted with grace notes, growth and moments of true peace.

The Super-Great: The ability to juggle and create space for multiple perspectives and storylines in one film has been honed to a fine art by directors Anthony and Joe Russo and screenwriters Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely. But their narrative strategy feels virtuosic in Endgame, paired as it is with an ingenious plot device that allows the film to truly acknowledge the staggering depth and breadth of its own history. Suddenly, the emotional and narrative stakes are raised, as beloved characters are forced to re-examine their lives, stories and priorities. You might find yourself in tears and in stitches, frequently in the same scene, and this happens throughout the film – a testament to the Russo Brothers’ genius and their skills at anchoring even the most outlandish of storylines in humour and humanity.

The Not-So-Great: This is emphatically not a film for casual viewers – there is no entry point, no easing in, no exposition, to help you understand what the heck is going on if you haven’t watched most of the preceding films in the MCU. There are also a few logical fallacies and plotholes scattered throughout Endgame that will puzzle you the more you think about them – from the wobbly rules governing time travel to the fractured way in which the too-conveniently hyper-powered Carol Danvers (Brie Larson) pops in and out of the story.

Stan Service: This film, above all others in the MCU, feels like a heartfelt tribute to the very concept of Marvel itself, finding numerous ways to reward and delight true-blue fans. Naturally, it includes Stan Lee’s final appearance in the MCU, while folding in a host of other cameos and callbacks that reinforce the interconnectedness of the entire franchise – of all the stories that have been told before, especially the movie that started it all (Iron Man in 2008). There are even a couple of brilliant nods to comics lore, largely centred around the character of Captain America, that feel like the Russo Brothers are deliberately righting a few wrongs where some of Marvel Comics’ more controversial plot twists are concerned. (See: Nick Spencer’s run on Captain America: Steve Rogers.)

Cast-Iron MVP: Casting outside of the box has always been one of the MCU’s core strengths, with Oscar winners/nominees and character actors regularly popping up to play heroes and villains alike. That canny casting strategy pays off in spades in Endgame – especially when certain characters have relatively limited screen time but manage to make it count anyway. The undisputed stars of the movie, however, are the Avengers who started it all. Hemsworth continues to brilliantly dance along the knife-edge between comedy and pathos, while Ruffalo radiates charm and intelligence through ever-improving CGI as Banner and his not-so-mean, green alter ego: The Hulk. Johansson and Renner are given more to do in this film than ever before, and their combined efforts will shred your soul to pieces. Evans brings great warmth and strength to his stoic role, making it perfectly legitimate for you to weep and whoop for a man who’s – somewhat ridiculously – wrapped in an American flag. Above all, this double-whammy of Avengers films belongs, most fittingly, to Downey Jr. He still effortlessly injects Tony with snark and swagger, but also beautifully conveys every shade and layer of his character’s hard-won growth and maturity – giving us all the proof that we have never needed that Tony Stark has a heart.

Recommended? In every imaginable way. Endgame sets the bar as high as it can possibly go for superhero epics that balance enormous scale and jaw-dropping ambition with actual substance and genuine emotion. It’s the blockbuster movie event of our lifetimes, for very good reason – and it’s worth every minute you’ve invested in the MCU since 2008.

Ant-Man (2015)

For a few brief moments, the unstoppable juggernaut that is the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) looked like it was about to grind to a halt with Ant-Man. Unlike most other films under the Marvel Studios umbrella, this production has been haunted by doubt and dissension. Fans were nervous about the narrative decisions to relegate Hank Pym – the original Ant-Man in the comic books – to the sidelines, while killing off his wife Janet Van Dyne (who, as the Wasp, is one of the founding members of the Avengers). Then came that hugely publicised parting of the ways between Marvel and original director Edgar Wright, who oozes so much geek cred that people understandably mourned his departure from the project after years of development. And yet, the final product – Peyton Reed’s Ant-Man – is a fun, frothy delight, one that proves once and for all that Marvel knows precisely what it’s doing and where it’s going with the most crazily interconnected movie-and-television franchise of all time.

After serving his jail sentence, Scott Lang (Paul Rudd) just wants to reunite with his daughter Cassie and get his life back on track. But he soon discovers that people in the outside world – including his ex-wife Maggie (Judy Greer) and her new cop boyfriend Paxton (Bobby Cannavale) – aren’t particularly kind to former convicts. Beaten down by circumstances, he agrees to pull off one last heist with his eternally optimistic buddy Luis (Michael Pena). It’s a crime that places him squarely in the path of Dr. Hank Pym (Michael Douglas), a retired, semi-reclusive scientist who decides to enlist Scott in his life-long mission of preventing the Pym Particle – a technological breakthrough that allows him to become the super-small, super-strong Ant-Man – from falling into the wrong hands.

Truth be told, Ant-Man gets off to a somewhat shaky start. The tale of an honourable rogue who’s looking for a shot at redemption is a well-worn storytelling trope, one that the film initially seems to embrace rather too eagerly. As we watch Scott soldier through a host of tiny indignities, the dialogue – still credited to Wright and his co-writer Joe Cornish, with rewrites by Rudd and Adam McKay – is uninspired, and oftentimes uncomfortably on-the-nose. There’s no subtlety here, and the sense of fun that accompanies Scott’s attempt to hold down a job in Baskin Robbins feels a wee bit forced.

But the film kicks into higher gear, and stays there, once Scott stumbles onto or, more accurately, steals his second chance. His discovery of the Ant-Man suit and all that entails – working with Hank, meeting Hank’s aloof but eminently capable daughter Hope (Evangeline Lilly), training to prevent Hank’s former protégé Darren Cross (Corey Stoll) from replicating the Pym Particle for sale to the highest bidder – give the story the shot of adrenaline it needs. In the blink of an eye, this superhero heist flick finds its feet, and transforms into a whirlwind of action, humour and heart. Reed’s camera zigs merrily from Luis’ unique method of exposition (brilliant) to Scott’s attempts to survive Hope’s training (bruisingly hilarious), before zagging into the dark, trembling heart of Hank’s troubled relationship with his daughter.

Indeed, what makes Ant-Man work so well is its insistence on respecting its characters and taking their concerns and relationships seriously. This provides the film with an emotional anchor amidst all the madcap chaos and gleeful irreverence. Scott’s overpowering love for his young daughter runs parallel to Hank’s own concern for Hope, and even Paxton – initially caricaturised as the stereotypical brutish new boyfriend – is given layers and depth beyond what might be expected of a film that seems so silly on the surface. This culminates in the film’s best action sequence: one that manages to be utterly ridiculous, as the camera cheekily zooms in and out of a conflict that’s entirely proportional to the size of its participants; but also deeply heartfelt, when Scott makes a split-second decision between life and probable death.

For anyone concerned about Ant-Man subsisting in its own little bubble within the MCU, rest assured that there’s plenty on display here to please even the most diehard of fans. The film features not only a welcome cameo from a very popular agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., but also ties Scott firmly into MCU continuity with a hugely pleasing direct reference to Avengers: Age Of Ultron. The subsequent semi-aerial battle that takes place between Ant-Man and a certain Avenger – whose identity has since been revealed in television ads – proves that this miniscule hero has what it takes to stand proud alongside the world’s mightiest champions. (Stay through the credits, by the way, for two incredibly exciting hints at what’s to come for the MCU in the future.)

As with all the other films and television shows in Marvel’s burgeoning media empire, the cast of Ant-Man is pitch-perfect. Rudd puts his goofy and amiably sexy charisma to excellent use as Scott, allowing us to believe that this one man can be as silly as he is strong, and as serious as he is funny. Lilly gets the big-screen role she richly deserves in Hope, who’s acknowledged at every point in the film as being better, stronger, and more capable than the men around her think she is. Douglas plays a far more palatable version of Dr. Pym (who can be tough to swallow in the comics), and does so with his trademark charm and magnetism, while Stoll gives good psychopath as the increasingly unhinged, patently cruel Cross.

Ant-Man may not edge out the other films that make up Phase Two of the MCU in a straw poll – it does, after all, face some pretty serious competition in what has been an unbroken run of truly excellent superhero films. But it’s an incredibly solid effort: smart, rich, deep and funny, teeming with ideas, genres and the potential for so much more. Now if that doesn’t make for a great superhero movie, what does?

Basically: It’s f-ant-astic.

Anchorman 2: The Legend Continues (2013)

If the Anchorman phenomenon teaches us anything, it’s that cult movies simply can’t be made or planned. They just happen, when a film that bombs at the box office is somehow rediscovered years or even decades later. Over time, said film becomes part of an underground zeitgeist: a phenomenon that gathers steam and adoration far outstripping transient things like ticket sales. It’s a point underscored by the amiable but over-constructed Anchorman 2. Many of the elements that made the original Anchorman such a runaway cult hit have been studiously reproduced, often to good effect. But this follow-up also often feels like it’s trying a little too hard and, as a result, loses some of the sublime, silly shock effect of its predecessor.

Just as legendary anchorman Ron Burgundy (Will Ferrell) seems to have it all, he’s laid low by the loss of his job, his wife Veronica (Christina Applegate) and his son Walter (Judah Nelson). Wallowing in despair and booze, Ron’s hopes are finally re-ignited by the opportunity to be part of a brand-new media phenomenon: a 24-hour news channel. He reunites his old team – Brian Fantana (Paul Rudd), Champ Kind (David Koechner) and Brick Tamland (Steve Carell) – to take on the smug, gorgeous Jack Lime (James Marsden), determined to prove that they can win sky-high ratings even when stuck in the graveyard slot.

At its best, Anchorman 2 radiates the same loose, loopy charm that made the first film such a hoot. Ron’s quest to bring his friends back together is hilarious, capped off by a particularly memorable scene featuring a funeral, a eulogy and the eternally oblivious, frightfully dumb Brick. As Ron comes up with a plan to boost his ratings and please his go-getting, demanding new boss Linda (Meagan Good), there are plenty of gleefully dirty jokes and wordplay to savour, mixed with slapstick, farce and comic misunderstandings. It’s all very raunchy, rude and ridiculous – not to mention cheerfully and unapologetically offensive.

But Anchorman 2 also occasionally commits the odd, unforgivable crime of taking itself too seriously. Nobody’s watching for a plot, and yet, for a while, it actually feels as if the movie is trying to tell us a genuinely important message about how the media has tried to stay on top of the 24-hour news cycle by manufacturing controversies and scandals. At these moments, Anchorman 2 loses a little of its irreverent buoyancy: Ron Burgundy actually learning an important lesson and becoming a better person? Heaven forbid!

There are also bits that are painstakingly assembled with obvious reference to the first film. Just about as many of these tongue-in-cheek gags work as the ones that don’t. The arrival of a love interest for Brick, in the form of the equally socially-challenged Chani Lastnamé (Kristen Wiig), yields some deliciously awkward moments – but also runs the joke into the ground. Brick was a uniquely marvellous creation in Anchorman, but it’s all rather less successful when he’s matched up with an exaggerated version of himself. Some might say it’s too much of a good thing; others will be less charitable and call it lazy, obvious writing.

Nevertheless, Anchorman 2 remains broadly entertaining throughout, due in no small part to its main cast and the entire galaxy of stars who have agreed to cameo in the film. Ferrell struts through the film like a puffed-up peacock, preening and prancing as Ron as wonderfully as ever. As Brick, Carell is moronically delightful, and Rudd and Koechner provide great comic support as always. But there’s just as much joy to be had when Marsden oozes onscreen, beautiful cheekbones and all, or when Greg Kinnear turns up as Veronica’s new squeeze, Gary the psychiatrist (“You can read minds?!”). Best of all is an epic brawl between the city’s news anchors – mirroring Anchorman‘s murderous melee – that teems with unexpected guest stars and is easily worth the price of admission.

For fans of the first Anchorman, there’ll be plenty here to amuse – and frustrate – you. This sequel is clearly put together quite lovingly and with the best of intentions. But that doesn’t mean its well-meaning efforts will always work out: indeed, the film sometimes struggles to recapture the madcap magic of its predecessor, which bore no weight of expectation. Go with the flow, however, and Anchorman 2 boasts much the same sparky, scrappy spirit as you might remember from the first time the heavily-mustachioed, deeply chauvinistic Ron Burgundy walked into your life.

Basically: Inconsistently funny and occasionally heavy-handed, but great fun nonetheless.

Admission (2013)

What do you do if a movie doesn’t fall easily into any of the standard categories, instead flitting from the realm of comedy to drama and back again, with a side helping of romance to boot? If you’re a studio executive, the answer is to take the easiest way out: prey on the die-hard romantic in every female by marketing the film as a fun, fluffy romantic comedy of little dramatic or intellectual consequence. In reality, that would be doing movies like Admission a disservice. While Paul Weitz’s film isn’t quite as polished or quietly perfect as his earlier efforts like About A Boy, there’s more to enjoy here beyond the wacky laughs promised in the trailer.

Tina Fey (of television’s 30 Rock fame) plays Portia Nathan, a diligent, by-the-book Princeton University admissions officer who has spent her entire working life maintaining a professional distance from the students whose case files wind up on her desk. But her life is turned upside down when she receives a call from offbeat teacher John Pressman (Paul Rudd), who introduces her to the quirky, brilliant Jeremiah (Nat Wolff) – a kid who might well be the infant son Portia gave up for adoption when she was still in college.

Anyone expecting a raucous, knockabout comedy would be sorely disappointed by Admission – mainly because there really isn’t all that much to laugh about in the film. Apart from the sillier moments already showcased in the trailer, Admission‘s humour is quieter and more subtle. In fact, it’s probably fair to say that the film stumbles more when it’s trying to go for the funny bone than when it makes a play for the heart (and brain).

On the dramatic front, however, Admission is a surprising delight. Portia’s deepening relationships with John, Jeremiah and her resolutely feminist mother Susannah (Lily Tomlin) are very nicely developed, resulting in a character study that’s a great deal more insightful and affecting than the average rom-com. Fey proves that she can hit dramatic notes as well as she can deliver comedic gold, bringing unexpected (but very welcome) weight and depth to the rapidly unravelling Portia. She’s ably matched by Rudd, who manages to keep free-spirited single dad John charming and sweet rather than annoying and flippant.

If Admission falls somewhat short in the final analysis, that would be due primarily to its rickety plot. The mechanics of the story feel a bit forced, as if Portia is being shoved into a standard sitcom box in which she doesn’t really belong. Tough those moments out, however – because, if you dig a little beneath the glossy surface of this comic drama, you’ll find a character study well worth the price of admission.

Basically: Deeper and richer than a typical rom-com (which this is very much not), though it’s not quite as good as Fey and Rudd deserve.

Written for F*** Magazine

The Perks Of Being A Wallflower (2012)

Logan Lerman hasn’t had the best of luck so far with literary adaptations – it looked like his career was going to go supernova with the Percy Jackson franchise, failing which he could count on the latest blockbuster incarnation of The Three Musketeers to get his name out there… right? Unfortunately, neither of those movies were particularly well-received, and for good reason: they were pretty terrible, or at the least, disappointingly mediocre. Good thing he didn’t give up on bringing characters who live and breathe on paper to the silver screen though, or he’d have missed out on the smart, sweet, emotionally powerful Perks Of Being A Wallflower.

Lerman plays Charlie, a sweet, troubled loner of a kid who dreads starting high school after spending some time away in hospital. At first, it looks like his only friend is going to be his English teacher Mr Anderson (Paul Rudd), and he’ll be an outcast forever… until he meets kooky free spirit Patrick (Ezra Miller) and his charmingly screwed-up, adorable stepsister Sam (Emma Watson). Thereafter, Charlie is inducted into the Wallflowers, a group of misfit kids – boasting such outcasts as punk Buddhist Mary Elizabeth (Mae Whitman) – and the story of his life, including all the history and problems he’s had to live through, begins to intertwine with theirs.

There’s something to be said, it turns out, for having the author of the novel also call the shots on the movie – Wallflower is clearly a passion project for Stephen Chbosky, who wrote the book and the script and directs the film. There can be no suggestion here that, in translating the novel to film, the plot or the characters got lost along the way, as too frequently happens with literary adaptations. Of course, the opposite could happen: Chbosky could be so lost in the details of the novel that he fails to bring out the themes in the film, or creates something that’s little more than a staged reading of his book. Fortunately that doesn’t happen here, or at least not overly much: Wallflower is, for the most part, a rich, moving gem of a film about the difficulties of growing up, the tragedy that is high school, and the power of friendship to get you through it all.

The trio of complicated, broken, very real kids at the heart of Wallflower are a big reason why the film succeeds as it does. A lot of people have looked upon this as Watson’s breakout movie after her own far more successful foray into the realm of turning books into movies. On the strength of her turn here, there’s hope for her yet – she’s not the strongest actress by a mile, but she’s good enough at what she does and doesn’t suffer much in comparison to the real bravura performances in the film.

These belong, of course, to Lerman and Miller. Miller – already so chillingly impressive as the lead character in We Need To Talk About Kevin – completely turns that dark, creepy performance on its head and makes Patrick one of the giddiest, most appealing young teen characters in recent movie memory. He steals every scene he waltzes through, a starburst of life, energy and sass, while still managing to effectively convey the heartbreak and vulnerability that underscores the great love of Patrick’s high school life.

His is the showier role, however, and Lerman actually matches – if not exceeds – Miller every step of the way with his raw, tremulously authentic performance as Charlie. I’d always wondered why Lerman had been talked up to the high heavens as a great little actor who was wise beyond his years by the people who took a chance on casting him as Percy Jackson in a potentially huge kids’ fantasy franchise that seemed to be Harry Potter‘s natural successor. That movie tanked, and I really didn’t see any hint of Lerman’s purported acting prowess in it. I’m happy to say that Wallflower proves that he really is that good. The role of Charlie is a tough one to calibrate: he tries so hard to bury his secrets, rage, guilt and problems that it would be easy for him to appear blank-eyed and sullen. Lerman doesn’t go down that route, instead presenting us with a Charlie who’s tentatively keen to live his life again, who is trying (even if not particularly successfully) to get away from his past and his troubled memories of his aunt Helen (Melanie Lynskey).

There’s a great deal more to savour and enjoy in Chbosky’s film than there are in any number of coming-of-age high-school dramas – the web of relationships he weaves is powerful, sad and real, with Charlie never quite being able to get as close to Sam as he’d like. This helps a great deal in papering over the moments in the film that meander, or which don’t have as strong an emotional impact as Chbosky was probably going for.  Sometimes the film feels clumsy and Chbosky’s direction a mite too heavy-handed, but you’re rewarded with bliss-out moments like a musically-charged drive through a tunnel or faithful, fun re-enactments of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Basically: Don’t judge a book by its cover, or a movie by its poster – this is considerably more thoughtful and heartbreaking than you’d expect from a movie about teenagers hooking up and breaking up in high school. Lerman and Miller are absolutely fantastic.

Forgetting Sarah Marshall (2008)

I hadn’t really expected to love Forgetting Sarah Marshall, or be anything more than vaguely entertained by it – actually, I thought it would be in the vein of grossout comedies that required little thinking, were predictable and immature, but charming nonetheless. So colour me surprised by the surprisingly strong reviews the film was garnering – turns out that FSM became the unexpected comedy hit of the summer. And for good reason too. Written by and starring Jason Segel (of TV’s How I Met Your Mother fame), this off-kilter movie is smarter, wackier and a great deal more romantic than a lot of purported romantic comedies.

Peter (Segel) seems to have everything going for him – he writes music for movies and tv shows, a great job that lands him gorgeous hottie Sarah Marshall (Kirsten Bell) as a girlfriend. When Sarah unceremoniously dumps him for seriously strange and spacey Brit rocker Aldous Snow (Russell Brand), Peter takes the break-up badly. So he takes off to Sarah’s favourite Hawaiian resort in a bid to forget her – and of course, finds that incredibly hard to do when he realises that she’s there having vigorous sex and sexy dinner dates with Aldous. But with every thunder cloud comes a silver lining – helpful, confident receptionist Rachel (Mila Kunis) helps Peter secure not just a room but also a newfound interest in life and love that goes beyond his heartbreak for Sarah.

The story, plot and characters sound… derivative and simple, with little more to offer than any run-of-the-mill romantic comedy that has come off the Hollywood production line in recent years. But FSM is that rare beast, bucking expectations to be something more mature, witty and self-assured than you’d expect. As a writer, Segel has created a set of real, living people rather than paper stereotypes: his Peter is a charming bundle of neuroses, not a Hollywood hunk masquerading as a put-upon, lovelorn ordinary schlub; Rachel is feisty but flawed, a girl with her own issues and backstory that make complications in her fledgling relationship with Peter believable rather than painfully manufactured. Perhaps what is most impressive is that Segel does not villify Sarah the way a lesser film might have done: sure, she comes across as flighty and wilful, especially when she starts getting jealous of Peter and frustrated with the hilariously vacuous Aldous. But Segel manages to ground the character in a very relatable emotional reality – and Bell sells it, in a scene when she tries to explain to the clueless Peter why she did and does actually really love him. That this moment comes across as genuine rather than manipulative is a credit to both cast and writer.

Of course, a romantic comedy – especially one quite as cheerfully oddball as FMS – wouldn’t amount to anything much if it didn’t have a strong, unique brand of humour. And here Segel again infuses great, biting wit into his script. A lot of this is furnished by hilarious secondary characters, like Peter’s brother Brian (Bill Hader), who armchair psycho-analyses his brother within an inch of the latter’s life, or Darald (30 Rock’s Jack McBrayer), the innocent virgin trying to spice up his sex life while on honeymoon. Hotel helpers like aspiring rock star and waiter Steve (Jonah Hill) and truly bad surfing instructor Chuck (Paul Rudd) add to the madcap proceedings. Not to forget, as already mentioned, Aldous – Brand wanders from scene to scene looking drunk, stoned or both, and his quirky charm helps convince when Aldous generously befriends Peter. The pièce de resistance, however, is Peter’s lifelong work: his desire to write a rock opera based on Dracula’s life and loves – starring puppets. Whether he’s forced into singing live in a pub by Rachel, or actually realising this dream of his onstage: those moments are standouts in an already impressive, charmingly funny film.

That the film ends less believably than it starts is a small quibble – FMS remains a better movie than you’d expect, and certainly one of the funniest, warmest of the year, wearing as it does its considerable heart on its sleeve. With this film, Segel truly marks himself out as both a screenwriter and an actor to watch out for.

Knocked Up (2007)

I was hoping for great things from Knocked Up, though I suppose I should have learnt by now to keep my expectations low – that always leaves me pleasantly surprised in the movie theatre. But reviews of the latest lowbrow comedy for adults from writer-director Judd Apatow, following his 2005 smash hit The 40-Year-Old Virgin, were almost unanimous in declaring it an utter triumph. Smart, mature and funny, apparently, with great, intelligent turns from the two leads Seth Rogen and Katherine Heigl. Well, I’m afraid I’ll have to beg to disagree here.

When the movie begins, it’s a great time to be Alison Scott (Heigl) – she’s gorgeous, blonde and has just landed herself a dream gig as an on-air interviewer for an entertainment channel news show. The fateful night she chooses to paint the town red with her bitterly married sister Debbie (Leslie Mann), she meets gainfully unemployed schlub Ben (Rogen) and has an alcohol-fuelled, unfortunately condomless one-night stand with him. When she gets eponymously knocked up, she has to figure out a life for herself, her baby and for the dorky, under-achieving guy she’d never have called back under any other circumstance. So we watch Alison and Ben fall in love after making a baby together – or, at least, they try to do so, even as Debbie’s marriage to her curiously distant husband Pete (Paul Rudd) falls apart.

After sitting through the movie’s 129-minute running time, I have concluded that KU is, by and large, a decidely mediocre film. Not that it isn’t passably entertaining – there are moments, usually involving Ben’s slacker buddies and all the pointless nonsense they get up to as they try to launch a porn website that’s already a few years obsolete, that are quite funny. And some of the movie’s emotional, dramatic moments are quite effective; for example, when Ben hazards a clumsy proposal of marriage to Alison, when he has nothing to offer her but an empty ring box and a promise of a future he didn’t really have until he got her pregnant.

However, a word of warning is in order. What you get out of watching KU probably has a lot to do with what you expected going in. The movie poster would have you believe that you’re seeing a totally fun, silly romantic comedy that’s gossamer-light and over in a tidy 80 minutes; reviews suggest you’re getting an intelligent rom-com laced with gross-out humour but which never panders completely to the lowest common denominator. Certainly, Apatow has quite daringly made his movie a dramedy: the belly laughs are few and far between, and there are some small chuckles to be had along the way, but he chooses to focus also quite a lot on the pure drama angle of Alison and Ben’s situation. Now, this sounds promising, doesn’t it? There are so many ways this could have been played, to produce a movie that’s as funny, sweet, quirky and offbeat as you’d like, while never dumbing itself down. Or so one would think. Unfortunately, KU isn’t half as original as you’d hoped it would be. Aside from an underlying wit that’s a tad more sardonic than one usually gets from straightforward rom-coms, KU devolves into something resembling a dodgy Hallmark movie-of-the-week in pretty short order, as real life and responsibilities predictably force Ben to shake himself out of his childish rut and grow up (all together now: groan!). I’ve seen the same story told a thousand times, and if it’s not matched by characters that are believable and real, it’s difficult to buy into the movie as a whole.

If it isn’t clear by now, Apatow’s attempts at character development are patchy at best. He tries mightily to focus on the myriad emotions his characters struggle with as they experience something neither of them expected – for example, in scenes featuring Alison trying to get sexual satisfaction from an edgy Ben who doesn’t want to accidentally blind his kid, or as Alison realises that Ben hasn’t read any of the pregnancy books he bought in the first flush of enthusiasm for the baby. But when the characters involved aren’t realistic, the audience can’t really be expected to care. Ben is the typical anti-hero, charming in a dorky kind of way, and his emotional journey is probably best charted throughout the film. It’s Alison I have a problem with, and re-reading my Virgin review, I realise that this might be Apatow’s fatal flaw: his inability to write convincing female characters with depth. Like empty cypher Trish (wasting the brilliant Catherine Keener’s screentime, might I add), Alison makes no impact as a lead character. There is nothing in the film – nothing – that explains her desire to keep the child, despite advice from her own flighty mother to abort, and all the other practical reasons she should consider. Such as the fact that this was an unwanted, unplanned pregnancy that could screw up her career. I’m not advocating abortion here, I’m just saying that there should have been a scene, a line, anything, that explained Alison’s desire to keep the baby, other than that there wouldn’t be a movie if she didn’t.

Usually, a rom-com with a lacklustre leading couple makes up for it with the invariably endlessly entertaining second-string best-friend roles. They always perk up the movie, and Debbie and Pete do, for a while. Their marriage is also an interesting study, as she grows to suspect that he’s having an affair, when all Pete wants is alone time from a family he’s not sure he deserves. Weighty ideas there, and occasionally well-examined: when Debbie follows Pete into an empty house, she only finds him coming up with his own fantasy baseball league. But here, Apatow messes up somewhat by turning Debbie into a shrill, controlling shrew. How am I supposed to sympathise with her when I rather understand why Pete doesn’t want to be around her all the time?

KU isn’t, by a long shot, the worst movie I’ve ever seen. It is truly quite watchable, with smatterings of great dialogue (like whenever Ben chats about his life and options with his laidback dad, played by Harold Ramis) and the cast is almost too good for their roles, with Rogen radiating an easy stoner charm that should net him a lot of roles in the kind of pure gross-out movie Apatow is trying to transform. Rudd is reliably good, as always, and Mann and Heigl are fine (though Heigl lacks the spark that would mark her out as a big-screen presence to watch). However, when I’ve been led to believe that what I’ll be seeing is akin to a revolution of the gross-out rom-com, I’d have to say I found KU distinctly disappointing given its groaning predictability and weak characters, not to mention the fact that it’s simply far too long (judicious editing would have done it no end of good). As a summer comedy, KU is, unfortunately, more of a fizzle than a spark.

Night At The Museum (2006)

Tailored specifically for the festive-minded Christmas crowd, Night At The Museum is the equivalent of movie cotton candy – an airy, cheery confection so feather-light that your feelings and memories about it dissolve within minutes… leaving nothing but a slightly sickly aftertaste, if at all. If it’s the kind of movie you’re in the mood for, then you’ll have a great time at the cinema. Thankfully, Museum is a genuinely funny, rather amusing example of its genre. But if you’re looking for artier fare, steer clear of this painstakingly engineered blockbuster; there’s nothing here for you.

Ben Stiller plays professional layabout Larry Daley – a man who’s spent much of his life coming up with quirky inventions that have all categorically failed to catch on anywhere. A disappointment to his ex-wife Erica (Kim Raver) and little boy Nick (Jake Cherry), Larry finally decides to get a steady job as a night watchman at the Museum of Natural History. After he’s shown the ropes by the outgoing trio of security guards, led by Cecil (Dick Van Dyke) and flanked by the scrappy Gus (Mickey Rooney) and slightly odd Reginald (Bill Cobbs), Larry settles himself in for what he thinks is a dead easy job. Unfortunately, the night shift is when everything in the museum, well, literally takes on a life of its own – including statues of Theodore Roosevelt (Robin Williams), Attila the Hun (Patrick Gallagher) and native Indian tracker Sacajawea (Mizuo Peck), and packs of figurines from miniature tableaux of the Wild West and the Roman Empire, led by hotshot cowboy Jed (Owen Wilson) and Roman-era gladiator Octavius (Steve Coogan). Larry spends a couple of frustrating nights trying to settle into his new job… but has he sufficiently figured out the ropes when he’s suddenly pressed into service to save the museum and all its inhabitants?

If you watch this movie as a child, you would very likely be transported by the flights of fancy that form the bedrock of Museum. Stiller wasn’t kidding when he said that he wanted to make a family-friendly comedy that he could finally take his kids to see, because this movie is perfect for the average little tike. Who wouldn’t want to see a T-Rex made entirely of bones whip itself into life and thunder through the corridors of a museum, playing fetch with his own rib? What about a wisecracking Easter Island head (voiced by Brad Garrett), a bunch of grunting Neanderthals trying to make fire or a weeping Attila the Hun being put in touch with his feminine side? It’s all the kind of thing you’d have been transfixed by as a kid – and, to the credit of screenwriters Ben Garant and Thomas Lennon, they pepper their script with enough zingers and in-jokes that adults don’t feel as if they’ve wasted their money accompanying their kids to the cinema. They do also make an effort to ground Larry’s motives in something resembling reality, taking some pains to establish his concerns when he sees his son wanting to be a pencil-pusher like stepdad Don (Paul Rudd).

That being said, there really isn’t anything fantastically new about Museum – it’s quirky, cute and thoroughly amusing, especially when Teddy Roosevelt dishes out his noble platitudes, or when Larry tussles with a monkey to regain possession of his keys to the African nature exhibit in the museum. (Very lowbrow comedy there, I must admit.) But it’s not what one would call vital or important cinema – far from it. The film-makers are aiming, as already indicated, squarely for the pockets with this movie, and I imagine the attendant merchandise is already winging its way off the shelves in toy stores everywhere. Dollar signs rarely translate into artistic merit, and what we have here is a workmanlike, enjoyable family picture that won’t kill you to watch it, but which is unlikely to become part of the yearly Christmas tradition in every household either.

The one thing about this movie that adults really can appreciate, which children are unlikely to notice, is that its cast gathers together a host of some of the greatest comedic talents to have ever lived. I’m not just talking about Frat-Packers Stiller and Wilson, or even Ricky Gervais (who delivers a delightfully acerbic cameo as uptight museum director Mr McPhee). And no, I’m not even talking about Williams, who is great as Teddy Roosevelt – at once oddly presidential, at other times touchingly human for recognising with such clarity just what he is… a wax figure. The real treats to watch here are the triumverate of old comic talents. I profess to having always had something of a girlish crush on Van Dyke, and it’s just a thrill to finally be able to see him get some mileage out of that absolutely spot-on comic timing of his again. Whether he’s flashing his trademark twinkling grin at the flummoxed Larry, or tap-dancing briefly with his mop in the credits, watching Van Dyke on screen is a pleasure. And it’s just as much fun seeing Rooney hurl abuse at the hapless Stiller, or have Cobbs play a doddering, sentimental old fool.

All in all, a fun, happy movie that’s not too taxing on the grey matter – a great way to pass the time with little kids, and what else could you ask for amidst the bustle of Christmas, when all you really need is some time to put up your feet and relax a little?

P.S. (2004)

Oh Laura Linney. Why is it that you are undeniably one of the best actresses working in Hollywood today, and yet you’ve never found that one breakout vehicle that would turn you from a respected character actress into a household name? Cate Blanchett did it, and you certainly deserve it. But no, all you seem to get are little more than star turns in respected indie flicks that practically no one has seen (You Can Count On Me, The Whale And The Squid, Kinsey) and supporting roles in minor blockbusters (The Truman Show, Love Actually). Doing that guest stint on Frasier was probably the most high-profile job you’ve had recently. Oh, and The Exorcism of Emily Rose. None of which are deserving of you! (Except Frasier.)

Okay. I am officially done with my open letter to Ms Linney. But, honestly, it’s a sad, sad state of affairs that not only is this woman not being handed the roles she could so obviously knock out of any park in the world, she’s also occasionally saddled with truly unworthy films like this one. P.S., which seems promising enough on the surface, turns out to be such a mess that even Linney’s scorching performance can’t hold the disparate threads of the story together.

What story there is, anyway: Linney plays the lonely, emotionally screwed-up Louise, a Columbia University admissions officer who’s never really gotten over the death of her high-school boyfriend Scott Feinstadt, shares a dysfunctionally close relationship with her ex-husband Peter (Gabriel Byrne) and has a best friend Missy (Marcia Gay Harden) who is so self-absorbed in her own mind games with her husband that she hardly seems a friend at all to her ‘Wheezy’. When she encounters a talented young artist answering to the uncannily similar name of F Scott Feinhardt (Topher Grace) and who is also a living replica of her dead first love, Louise thinks she’s getting a second chance – except she can’t quite shake herself out of her emotional entanglements to Peter and Missy, and the life she’s lived without Scott since high school.

It really does sound like it could make for a good emotional drama, with hauntingly creepy supernatural tones to give it an edge other over run-of-the-mill, by-the-number angst-fests. And certainly, there are moments which hint at a far better movie – particularly at the beginning of the film when writer-director Dylan Kidd is sketching out the parameters of Louise’s lonely, quietly desperate life. As she proclaims her ex-husband the only friend she has, or listens to Missy prevaricate about her convoluted family life although it becomes clear later that Louise never did like Missy all that much, the fundamental emptiness to Louise’s life is made very clear. And it’s fun to watch as Louise susses out F Scott, trying to decide if he really is the love of her life reincarnated to find her again. There’s also some interesting emotional stuff going on with her husband Peter, whose big revelation of a secret he had harboured throughout their ten-year marriage knocks Louise for a loop. Linney definitely sells the hell out of all these moments, her expressive face charting everything from tentative, puzzled joy at F Scott’s freaky similarity to the boy in her shoe box of memories, and horrified, aching pain at the blame partially attributed to her by Peter for their marriage falling apart as it did.

Unfortunately, none of this promise ever manifests itself in anything more than a few brief scenes… all of which do not add up to any kind of coherent whole. Kidd seems unable to decide just what kind of movie he’s making, much less the message he wants to send with it – the supernatural aspect, so intriguingly and meticulously set up, is brushed aside in favour of an exploration of Louise’s family life (her former drug addict of a brother Sammy, played by Paul Rudd, apparently a metaphor for her inability to accept genuine change in her life) and her bizarre relationship with Missy – none of which is handled particularly skilfully. Louise’s antagonism towards Sammy, though nicely-played, is clichéd rather than affecting. And while Harden is a hoot as the busty, chatty femme fatale still as eager to jump F Scott’s bones as she was his alter ego way back in high school, the dynamic between Louise and Missy is strange and seems to serve little dramatic purpose other than to allow Harden to prance around a hotel room with her impressive décolletage on prominent display. Sure, it’s supposed to show how Louise remains hopelessly stuck in her youth, even with a ten-year failed marriage under her belt… but Missy is such a brash, unsympathetic character that there is no emotional ballast to their eventual reunion.

When P.S. isn’t too busy allowing itself to be distracted by its secondary characters, the camera is trained on Louise’s relationship with F Scott… but produces very little in the way of genuine audience empathy for this couple. Although Linney and Grace have an easygoing chemistry which I suspect is due more to the fact that they’re both competent actors than the script, their characters never connect the way they should in order for the unconventional love story between them to really take root in the viewer’s heart. Neither Louise nor F Scott is particularly convincing in suggesting that they have each found the loves of their lives – Louise seems more intrigued and a little creeped out at F Scott’s similarity to her boyfriend, and seems to be in it for novelty’s sake; whereas F Scott teeters between being a lovesick puppy and a young boy extremely chuffed with himself for bedding an older woman. Without that emotional connection to convince the audience to invest in the movie’s main love story, P.S. suffers from not being able to decide one way or the other whether to treat Louise and F Scott as a serious emotional proposition.

Linney tries her best, and certainly she’s the best thing in a very uneven, frustrating movie. It’s a shame that even her daring, honest performance isn’t enough to salvage P.S. from its own convolutions and lack of coherence. Gotta give her points for trying, I suppose – although one can’t help but wish she would be given roles and films that are far more deserving than this one…