by George Wolf
Mortdecai
It’s high time we stopped clutching our pearls and wondering “what happened to Johnny Depp?” The man likes just likes playing eccentric characters, so Mortdecai fits the bill.
Eccentric? Surely.
Droll? Quite right.
Funny? Um, no.
Based on the novel “Don’t Point That Thing at Me,” the film finds Depp as Charlie Mortdecai, English art dealer and all-around bumbling scoundrel. He’s part Magoo, part Bean, and once a famous painting goes missing, a heavy dose of Clouseau.
He and and Mrs. M (Gwyneth Paltrow) are living large but deep in debt, when the British secret service offers a possible way out. Someone in America has been secretly deflating footballs right before the big game, and…oh, wait that’s something else.
Mortdecai must track down a priceless masterpiece before it winds up in the wrong hands, and the convoluted plot involves jet-setting, mustache infatuation and multiple instances of “sympathetic gag reflex.” Director David Koepp tries hard to inject some pizzaz, but Eric Aronson’s script feels more like a rough draft than a finished product.
The film’s saving grace (well, besides the casting of Olivia Munn as a nymphomaniac) is, of course, Depp. He’s a perfect example of great timing in search of some comedy, and he delivers a fully realized performance that manages, against some pretty long odds, to give Mortdecai its few moments of charm.
Song One
Song One is a lot like the indie folk music that permeates it: pleasant, well-intentioned, and a bit bland.
Anne Hathaway stars as Franny, an anthropology student working overseas who must rush back home to New York after a family tragedy. Her brother Henry, an aspiring musician, is struck by a cab while walking in traffic, and Franny returns to find him in a coma, fighting for his life.
Searching Henry’s apartment for familiar items that might help revive him, Franny finds concert tickets to see a folkie named James Forester (Johnny Flynn). She attends the show, and waits in the autograph line to tell Forester about her brother’s admiration for him. The conversation sparks a sweet friendship, and James is soon visiting Henry and hanging out with Franny and her ex-hippie mom (Mary Steenburgen).
Will friendship turn to romance? Will James find inspiration to cure his songwriter’s block? Bet you can guess.
It’s the debut feature for writer/director Kate Barker-Froyland, and predictability is not what ultimately keeps Song One from resonating. Yes, the terrain is plenty familiar, but this love letter to the power of music suffers most from contrivance and precious few powerful moments.
Flynn’s performance is tender but tentative, and though is he obviously a talented musician, the original songs elicit little more than the nod you give that guy at a party who suddenly finds a guitar. He’s in way over his head alongside Hathaway, who dials it down but can’t keep her natural talent from casting a big shadow over her co star.
There is some promise here. The film is well shot and Barker-Froyland often seems to sense how thin the drama is, pumping it up with enough good intentions to keep any eye-rolling at bay. When her storytelling talent catches up with her technical skills, then she may have a hit on her hands.
Cake
Jennifer Aniston has spent the last couple years shedding her golden-girl-next-door image with bawdy comedy roles in the Horrible Bosses franchise and We Are the Millers, as well as a handful of indie flicks. Through the journey she’s successfully mined new area in comedy, but her latest, Cake, shows she has unplumbed depths of talent in drama as well.
Aniston plays Claire. Suffering with chronic pain as well as deep emotional scars, Claire is a self-described raging bitch. Acid tongued and brutally frank, she’s not a favorite with her support group. Or with her physical therapist. Or with much of anybody, really, until she develops an unlikely (and highly contrived) relationship with the widower of another support group member (Sam Worthington).
The film, directed by Daniel Barnz (Beastly), wants to meander through Claire’s unconventional journey, allowing events and details to evolve sloppily, as they do in life. But it doesn’t succeed. Instead, it creates a highly unlikely series of coincidences and relies on Aniston’s formidable performance to make the linkages feel both natural and surprising.
He’s treading similar ground as John Cameron Mitchell’s poignant 2010 effort Rabbit Hole, but Cake suffers a great deal by comparison. Barnz and screenwriter Patrick Tobin are trying too hard. Their scenes feel forced, the relationships inauthentic.
Aniston, on the other hand, is as real as she can be. Her performance is unapologetic, as it should be. Grief isn’t flexible. It doesn’t change shape or appearance just to make the people around it more comfortable. Aniston understands this character, what she’s going through and why she’s behaving as she is, and she doesn’t judge her. More importantly, she doesn’t much care if you do.
Her supporting cast is stocked with talent, but only the great Adriana Barraza gets the opportunity to build a real character with a real relationship to Claire. And while even Aniston relies heavily on the words on the page, Barraza can convey everything she needs with a wearied look or a reluctant gesture.
We know Aniston’s cute, but the truth is, she has been proving herself a genuine talent for years. Unfortunately, she made far too many far too safe choices as the adorable romantic lead, and they did not pay off.
Now she’s taking real chances, and though Cake is not an exceptional film, Aniston’s performance is a revelation.
Manny
So, has Mayweather agreed to fight Pacquiao yet? While we’re waiting, which member of the U.S. Congress do you think would be most likely to get in the ring and/or croon 70s yacht rock ballads?
These are some of the questions brought to mind by Manny, a surprisingly rich and entertaining look at the life of boxing champion Manny Pacquiao.
Pacquiao, the only fighter in history to win titles in eight different weight classes, grew up dirt poor in the Philippines, surrounded by constant violence from the civil war that raged during the 1980s. He ran away while still a young boy, lied about his age and started fighting. Fame, fortune, and national hero status would follow.
Co-director James Gast knows his way around a sports documentary, but while his Oscar-winning When We Were Kings studied one legendary bout (Ali/Foreman 1974), here the focus is one eclectic personality. Charismatic and outgoing, Pacquiao has tried acting, singing, and been elected to Congress in his home nation – all while continuing to rack up victories.
The pace is bright and brisk, keeping you entertained with the many facets of Manny, but leaving little time for sidebars even when they’re warranted. Shady promotional practices are questioned, forgotten, then questioned again and..what are Mark Wahlberg and Jeremy Piven doing here again?
Liam Neeson’s narration leans toward the overly dramatic, which ultimately feels right for a film anchored in the hyperbolic world of boxing. It is Pacquiao himself who proudly proclaims “I came from nowhere and now I am everywhere,” and when you see him in a recording studio cutting a version of “Sometimes When We Touch” with original artist Dan Hill, you can’t help but agree.
Read more of my reviews at MaddWolf.com!