by George Wolf
Dumb and Dumber To
After 20 years, one ill-advised prequel and several false starts, Harry Dunne and Lloyd Christmas are finally back for more moronic hijinx in Dumb and Dumber To, and while the sequel may be dumber, it’s not at all fumber..funner..er, funnier.
The Farrelly Brothers are back to direct and help write the screenplay, and they set the course for another road trip, as Harry (Jeff Daniels) needs a kidney transplant and Lloyd (Jim Carrey) figures the best candidate for a donor is a brand new family member. It seems that years back, Harry got lucky with the town floozy (Kathleen Turner, agreeing to painful jokes about her current appearance) and now has a grown daughter that was adopted by a rich, famous scientist.
That daughter, named Penny (Rachel Melvin) is a chip off the old blockhead and is en route to a convention so she can accept an award on her ailing adopted father’s behalf. So the boys are off to find her, in hopes that Harry can get a kidney and Lloyd can pursue the crush he’s developed since first seeing Penny’s photo. Eww.
Expect plenty of sight gags, toilet humor, bodily fluids, funny faces and butchered wordplay (“that’s just water under the fridge!”) as well as an adundance of overly contrived situations. Though there are a couple solid laughs (watch out for the fireworks and listen hard for Lloyd’s ringtone), most of D&DT doesn’t rise to the inspired lunacy of the original.
Keep in mind, though, that there wasn’t really a call for a sequel until two decades of cable airings made the original Dumb and Dumber a cult classic. The need for a part 3 might take twice that long.
OK, fine, I’ll say it…
So you’re telling me there’s a chance!
Rosewater
It should probably come as no surprise that Jon Stewart has keen instincts for telling a tale about journalistic integrity, witness bearing and global politics. It is perhaps even less shocking to find that he can weave wry humor into the most unexpected places, or that his insights are sharp and his material is smart.
His directorial debut Rosewater recounts journalist Maziar Bahari’s story of capture and captivity during protests following Iran’s 2009 presidential election.
The always wonderful Gael Garcia Bernal plays Bahari with the perfect mix of wisdom, naiveté, fear and courage – sometimes all flashing at once across his face. He’s more than matched by two magnificent supporting turns.
Iranian born Shohreh Aghdashloo (House of Sand and Fog) plays Bahari’s mother with pride, humanity and strength in every gaze, every tear. She’s never turned in a weak performance, but as the world-wearied matriarch of a politically troubled family, she is at her stirring best.
Likewise, as Bahari’s detention “specialist” – the man assigned to his daily mental, emotional and physical torment – Kim Bodnia shines. Like his colleagues, Bodnia says more with his posture and expression than with his lines. He creates a layered and fascinating character of a man most films would cast aside as a one dimensional villain.
There are weird comic moments between Bodnia and Bernal that are thrilling to watch.
Stuart possesses genuine skill as a director, layering performances with sounds, images, even framing that enrich every scene. He details early exposition with lovely, rich imagery that provides more power to the foundational scenes than the voiceover alone ever could.
He writes a pretty mean screenplay as well, adapting Bahari’s book into a succinct, approachable but intelligent tale. He knows how to use a quote from Iranian poet Ahmad Shamloo, sees the dramatic benefit of understated dialog, and recognizes the soothing balm of a well placed Leonard Cohen song.
Rosewater is not a condemnation or a chance for finger wagging – an opportunity that must have appealed to Stewart, whose program The Daily Show had actually contributed to Bahari’s plight. Instead Stewart crafts an image of modern journalism, global politics, and outdated ideology that has a pulse as quick as its tongue is sharp.
Just as Stewart the stand-up comic became one of the most urgent and satisfying voices in American broadcasting, so has this talk show host suddenly blossomed into one of this year’s most relevant filmmakers.
White Bird in a Blizzard
Ready for a pulpy mess of lust and mystery? Gregg Araki’s White Bird in Blizzard serves it up with mixed results, buoyed by another terrific performance from Shailene Woodley.
Woodley is Kat, a 17 year-old high schooler in LA. It is 1988, and just as Kat is blossoming into womanhood, her mother Eve (Eva Green) is withdrawing into a bitter, vindictive drunk. When Eve suddenly vanishes, Kat appears unconcerned, even while her father Brook (Christopher Meloni) is reporting the disappearance to police and hanging “missing” flyers all over town.
Kat’s boyfriend (Shiloh Fernandez), her two best friends (Gabourey Sidibe, Mark Indelicato) and her therapist (Angela Bassett) all try to comfort her during the stressful time, but Kat insists she is fine. Frequent, vivid dreams about her mother suggest otherwise.
Director Araki, who also wrote the screenplay, adapts Laura Kasische’s novel with wildly shifting tones, anchoring the film with the solid portrayal of a sensitive young woman while surrounding her with surreal dreamscapes and over-hyped dramatics.
We hear a marriage described as “a lone drink of water from a frozen fountain,” and watch a character walk slowly away before turning on heel to proclaim, “I will tell you one thing’!” amid set-pieces bursting with kitsch.
And there’s Green, in manic Mommie Dearest mode, vamping it up in skimpy attire for her daughter’s boyfriend, then leaning back to release a condescending guffaw in her husband’s face. Green’s performance is can’t-look-away hypnotic, even as it crashes headlong into her young co-star’s authenticity.
Woodley continues to show the chops of a future Oscar winner, and she makes Kat’s complex emotions ring true, no matter what noir trash is going on around her. As Kat screams “What is wrong with you? Are you insane?” at her mother’s antics, the outburst cuts deeper than it has a right to.
The erratic flashbacks and anticlimactic ending add to a temptation to the label the entire project as simply amateurish, but Araki’s resume (Mysterious Skin/Kaboom) suggests otherwise. He’s got a vision for White Bird in a Blizzard and he sees it through in so many ways, some of them can’t help but feel right.
Beyond the Lights
Don’t let the Beyond the Lights trailer fool you. What looks like a by-the-numbers melodrama about selling your soul for success does follow a familiar trajectory, but it does a fine job with that journey.
Noni (Gugu Mbatha-Raw) teeters at the edge of superstardom: she’s just won a Billboard award for her rap duet with hip hop giant Kid Culprit (a wonderfully sketchy Richard Colson Baker – better known as Cleveland’s own Machine Gun Kelly – in his screen debut), and her first album, releasing in days, is poised to break records. But the troubled star is buckling under the pressures and compromises.
In comes Kaz (Nate Parker), or “Officer Hero” as Noni’s fans come to call him.
Yes, his grounded do-gooder character wants Noni to respect herself, and the big question is whether the pull of fame will tear them apart, which is a wildly predictable set up. But writer/director Gina Prince-Bythewood (Love & Basketball) knows what she’s doing. She certainly cobbles together a familiar frame – part Gypsy, part Glitter, part Mahogany – but somehow the final product feels, if not fresh, at least relevant.
Mbatha-Raw stands out in her second powerful performance this year, after her stunning turn in Belle. She never resorts to clichés. She’s able to craft a character with both an entirely believable public persona as well as a blossoming personality of her own. There’s not a false note in the performance.
Parker’s less effective – in fact, though he’s turned in worthy performances throughout his career, here he’s strangely wooden. Still, the two have some chemistry and Mbatha-Raw is so compelling that you’re hard press to take your eyes off her anyway.
Not that Prince-Bythewood doesn’t offer plenty of reasons to look away. Her camera misses no opportunity to draw attention to Parker’s striking physique.
Minnie Driver impresses as the stage mother, and Prince-Bythewood’s script offers plenty for her sink her teeth into. Threadbare plot aside, the writing is sharp and the direction is incisive. The opening scene confirms that this is not going to be a color by numbers affair, and the filmmaker peppers scenes with strong imagery as she gives her cast room to breathe and create memorable, dimensional characters.
The weakness of the central plot is problematic, and though the filmmaker takes advantage of the trope to draw attention to some gaping holes in our current culture, it still leaves a stale aftertaste. But if the storyline isn’t memorable, Mbatha-Raw is – and she’s worth the ticket price.