The Runaways does not avoid these pitfalls. Indeed, it almost embraces them; the film opens with a series of vignettes which are unapologetic in piling on characterization and symbolism. It’s a pretty effective technique, all things considered. By embracing the weaknesses of the genre and acknowledging them right off the bat, the film establishes its methodology early and allows the audience to settle into its universe. Better to get out ahead of the issue.

Floria Sigismondi’s film is filled with similar minor victories. The Runaways follows the young Joan Jett and Cherie Currie as they begin maturation, form the titular all-girl band and embark on a series of tours. The script benefits from a sheen of legitimacy as Sigismondi adapted it from a book by Currie, while Jett’s producer credit suggests some degree of balance in the dramatization. Stars Kristen Stewart (Jett) and Dakota Fanning (Currie) do a remarkably capable job of reproducing the group’s original recordings – watching the normally awkward Stewart growl and bellow into a mic is surprising and certainly evocative – and the performances are engrossing all around. A particularly effective if unsettling technique is the near-exploitation of Fanning, clearly meant for the dual purposes of mirroring Currie’s marketing and selling tickets to pubescent boys. We see the 16-year-old Fanning singing and strutting in lingerie, hooking up with boys and girls, doing copious amounts of cocaine in an airplane bathroom and posing for a seedy pictorial in a Japanese magazine. It’s a bit perverse watching anyone that age do these things on such a big screen, though this film manages to draw the parallels to Currie without truly crossing any lines.

The Runaways isn’t explicitly a condemnation of this exploitation, though. While the responsible party is generally depicted as the antagonist, there is an undercurrent of the Helen Gurley Brown brand of feminism that endorses the commodification of sex. This friction is the meat of the material just as it comes to be the friction between Jett and Currie; while Currie buys into their manager’s belief that her jailbait image helps the visibility of the band as a whole, Jett and her essentially anonymous bandmates argue that it cheapens their music. Of course, Currie is in no state to consent to anything – and Jett ignores the role of sex in facilitating the success of an all-girl band in the first place.

So there is at least a purpose to cramming in all that drama. Despite the tired biopic tropes and some uneven pacing, The Runaways succeeds in engaging the audience and catalyzing genuine emotional reactions. Don’t look here for an inspiring sisters-are-doing-it-for-themselves rock revolution – things aren’t that simple, to the film’s credit. No, it’s much darker and more disconcerting, though thankfully not quite angsty. Currie battles drug addiction and trouble at home while her newfound fame appropriates her identity. Jett’s story, on the other hand, suffers from a lack of attention paid. We see little of her once Currie’s downfall gets underway, relegating the band leader to a backseat role. While Stewart outshines Fanning, Jett is one-dimensional in the end, concerned only with her music and the occasional make-out session. Still, the performances and compelling visuals of The Runaways temper the otherwise clumsy tools of the biopic trade in making for a watchable and intelligent film. It remains to be seen whether history repeats itself with the maturation of Dakota Fanning.

The Runaways –

Through the first listen, I couldn’t help but to be a bit disappointed. Some of the songs seemed to drag, and I couldn’t finger any song as a bonafide single. Chalking it up to expectations that may have been set too high by Ex-Girlfriend, I gave it a second shot, and then a third, and then a fourth. After each listen, I found my apathy towards the album becoming more and more concrete, save a few select tracks.

Where Lambert shined on her previous releases, she seems to falter a bit on Revolution. The ballads are well-written but feel like they are lacking… something, and as a result they seem to get lost in the shuffle. It’s no easy task to keep a listener’s attention over the course of 15 tracks, and I think that is where the problem lies. The album would be significantly improved if it were simply three or four tracks shorter, leaving less of the dragging feeling that starts to creep up around “The House That Built Me.”

Lambert does shine through on certain parts of Revolution, however. Her lyrics on “White Liar” and “Only Prettier” (“Well I’ve been saved by the grace of southern charm / I got a mouth like a sailor’s and yours is more like a Hallmark card / Well I’ll keep drinking and you’ll keep getting skinnier / Hey, I’m just like you, only prettier”) show a witty Lambert that isn’t afraid of picking a fight with anyone, and her stunning voice shines from the beginning of the first verse. Plus, we know that she still loves a good drink or two.

It can’t be easy for anyone to follow up what is hands-down one of the best country albums to be released in a long time, let alone for a 25 year-old. Even though Revolution may be a bit of a let down, it is far from a terrible album. It has its bright spots, but if you are looking for an introduction to one of the hottest young country singers of the last decade, I would start with Crazy Ex-Girlfriend.

Revolution –

But please, don’t let what I’ve written mislead you into thinking that I was the only scared person in the theater. After all, for every uneasy giggle, there were twice as many shrieks. Many contemporary horror movies achieve that reaction only through cheap scares. Not Paranormal Activity, though: With the exception of the last scene (sort of a cop-out, if you ask me, I’ll return to this point shortly), Peli did a brilliant job of creating unique and suspenseful situations without the aid of thundering orchestra hits or other similar devices afforded by big budgets. Even something as humble as a door closing ever-so-slowly was enough to elicit scattered splashes of terrified gasps among my mall-going peers. The story, too, is humble enough: Twenty-something girl claims to have been sporadically haunted by a demon since the age of 8, skeptical boyfriend attempts to document her daily routine so that he can determine whether or not she is lying. Much to his horror, she is not.

The girl, Katie, seemingly occupies her days avoiding sexual advances from the boyfriend, Micah. Micah, when not making sexual advances, is a day trader. This apparently means he sits at a computer all day but finds enough free time to wire the home for ghost surveillance… and to make sexual advances. Things progress without any ‘paranormal activity’ for the first few days; Micah even keeps his camera rolling while the couple sleeps, allowing for some pretty tedious footage. That is, until Night Three, when we see that door close slowly by itself.

From here the film takes off, building a sinister rhythm in which the nighttime footage is made all the more horrifying by the relative calm of day. It is an effective technique that demonstrates just how much can be done with a camera and $15,000. Each scene builds on the last, creating an air of suspense made possible only by the perceived helplessness of Katie and Micah. Up until the not-so-terrifying conclusion, Peli really does utilize his limited resources to their maximum potential, and at some point you have to begin questioning if what you are seeing is in fact reality. There is a genuine sense of desire on the viewer’s part to wish for the best, to hope that everything will turn out just peachy for the haunted couple…

…which leads me to that final shot. Without giving anything away, I will say that at this point in the movie the meathead sitting next to me (who had to have been just shy of 30 – please, god I hope he wasn’t any older than 30) rose out of his chair and shouted, “FAKE!” Indeed it was, but his reaction, like the others’, seemed too self-assuring. After all, it was a movie; even the Average Joe-nas Brother sitting two rows down knew it was fake. Ultimately, though, that’s what Paranormal Activity will do to you: It will momentarily return you to a bygone childhood mentality in which the things that go bump in the night need to be questioned.

Paranormal Activity –

The Audience

At times, “Late Night” seems like an amalgamation of a talk show and “The Price is Right.” Audience members are conscripted for games, sketches and the occasional musical number. Though this doesn’t always make for the funniest segments, it does facilitate some of the more entertainingly surreal elements of the show. I’m not sure I want to go back to a time before “Lick It for 10.” Some of the competitions aren’t quite as compelling – the Bing races and cell phone shootout, for example – but awarding Marissa from New Jersey a box of Hot Pockets for the indignity of having her purse rifled through on television is somehow appropriate. Plus there’s the added appeal of watching cool things happen to people – that’s the reason we all watch game shows, isn’t it? It’s simply fun to watch some girl’s fantasy be fulfilled by throwing her on TV to sing “Dead or Alive” with Jon Bon Jovi.

Watching unremarkable Americans hurl hot dogs through the cut-out mouths of giant famous faces must be the most delightfully absurd manifestation of our new national focus on the celebrity of the common man. In a world where Cory Kennedy is famous and Joan Cusack is Facebook poking indiscriminately, why wouldn’t The Roots write songs about random audience members on the spot? The tools of this individual branding are utilized, too, as is the case with the “Audience Facebook Statuses” bit, which cleverly incorporates unsuspecting attendees into a very public Facebook profile. From time to time the producers happen to pick a person out of the crowd that is entertaining in their own right, and watching Jimmy banter with some 21-year-old attempting to co-opt the show really imbues the whole affair with a certain live attitude missing from competing programs. The show is taped, sure, but there persists the feeling that anything could happen at any moment.

Great audience interaction moments: Audience Facebook Statuses, Beatles Rock Band Scoot Box Derby, Dance Your Hat and Gloves Off

The Guests

The guests on most other shows usually fall into one of three categories: actors, musicians or comedians. Enough of actors. Actors are boring, especially if we appropriately classify the few funny ones as comedians. What is an actor really going to say that’s interesting? I mean really? They predictably show up with an all-too-conveniently prompted anecdote and maybe one or two jokes, then discuss their upcoming release to the delight of no one. And why do actors never have any idea which clip they’re going to show?

“Late Night” offers a wider variety of interviewees and tends to select ones that actually have something novel to say. The above collage includes Dinosaur Jr., infallible producer/director Judd Apatow, Digg’s Kevin Rose, podcaster Alex Albrecht, gonzo wine expert Gary Vaynerchuk, G4’s Morgan Webb, and Ice-T’s well-endowed wife CoCo. It’s a motley crew – one comprising people you’re not going to hear from on every stop of the talk show circuit. Who else would invite both Spocks – Leonard Nimoy and Zachary Quinto – to appear together? On what other show will you see the Dirty Projectors, Amadou et Miriam, or the Beastie Boys? Granted, doing cooking segments with chefs is never all that exciting, and the wacky guy with the animals seems to come around way too often, but Jimmy makes up for it by booking a steady stream of both accomplished and under-the-radar guests. Furthermore, Jimmy occasionally has worthwhile exclusives – in June the show hosted a live demo of Xbox’s Project Natal. You can almost expect something special every time out – certainly whenever one of his “Saturday Night Live” buddies stops by.

Great guest moments: Jason Segel and The Muppets, lesser known John Cena movies, Project Natal demo, Seth and Josh Meyers part one – part two, Tracy Morgan part one – part two

The Effort

“Late Night with Jimmy Fallon” is not a show about sitting at a desk and talking. “Late Night with Jimmy Fallon” is a show about doing. “Late Night” has given us Anna Kournikova playing beer pong. “Late Night” has given us Betty White playing beer pong. “Late Night” has returned to the world our beloved Zack Morris, too long hidden away on reruns of “Saved by the Bell.” Not every guest can handle the burden of continually entertaining Jimmy’s young audience, so “Late Night” wisely gets them off the couch and puts them in situations intrinsically funny in their absurdism. It isn’t simply monkey cheese randomness, though, there are also extended and ongoing bits that feature precise and exacting comedy writing. “Late Night” has gone above and beyond the call of duty by creating entire television series within itself, such as the incomparable “7th Floor West.” And as alluded to before, when one of Jimmy’s friends is on the show, all bets are off. Will Ferrell’s appearance involved what was essentially an entire “SNL” sketch, and Andy Samberg’s recent interview unexpectedly broke out into a fully choreographed musical number, complete with celebrity cameos. For a better explanation than I can provide, I suggest you watch the “Flashback Guy” segment from Amy Poehler’s recent episode. It is the first instance I can recall of time travel affecting the actual timeline of a late night talk show. It’s high concept silliness, perfectly complementary to low concept silliness like Ultimate Mustache Fighter.

Tonight’s episode is said to feature members of Monty Python in every part of the show. If there’s another talk show that’s done that, well, I’d very much like to see it.

Great moments involving effort: 7th Floor West, Andy Samberg proves music is everywhere, beer pong with Anna Kournikova, beer pong with Betty White, Flashback Guy, Let Us Play With Your Look with Will Ferrell, Mark-Paul Gosselaar as Zack Morris

The Roots

I shouldn’t have to say much here. The Roots are the first, the best and the planet’s only hip-hop band. Underappreciated, though, is their ability to rock in any genre. This is never illustrated better than when Black Thought and the gang perform one of the aforementioned audience member freestyles. They’ve done songs in the spirit of Nirvana, Paul Simon and Disney movies without missing a beat. They collaborate with all-star musical guests including – thanks to their influence, surely – artists like Q-Tip, Ludacris and Ghostface Killah. But they also jam with the likes of noted jazz pianist Chick Corea, yacht rockers Michael McDonald and Christopher Cross, Jimmy Buffett, Tom Jones and Incubus. And Iggy Pop. And The Lonely Island. Novelty abounds. And this is to say nothing of “Slow Jam the News” or the often hilarious songs they use when introducing guests. Plus, the fact that ?uestlove and Tuba Gooding Jr. commute to 30 Rock everyday, as though they had white-collar corporate gigs, is funny in itself. Get familiar.

Great moments with The Roots: Christopher Cross and Michael McDonald, freestyling with The Roots, The Lonely Island, many more performances here…

Jimmy

Jimmy’s appeal is hard to define, but it’s undoubtedly present. Central to the success of the show is his amiability and charm, certainly. Jimmy laughs frequently – it works to his advantage here, unlike on “SNL” – and seems eternally happy to be in his position. These aren’t qualities associated with revolutionary comic genius, no, but they are qualities important to producing an uplifting late night show every day of the week. He also possesses a performer’s versatility absent in the other late night hosts, enabling him to go toe to toe with the funniest of his guests. More importantly, if this “Late Night” iteration had a less genuine host it would seem entirely too contrived. The surreal and ironic facets of the show cited above would seem distant and exclusionary rather than spirited if not for Jimmy’s genial nature. Admitted weakness: the monologue. Counterpoint: Monologues haven’t been funny since, uh, ever. Anyway, while some may argue exactly how funny Jimmy, individually, is, two facts are indisputable: he’s funnier than Jay Leno, and that letter-writing voice he uses is hilarious. Sample some.

Great moments with Jimmy: Letters Home, Robert Pattinson is Bothered, U.S. Open ball boy tryouts

Unconvinced? Try the show for a week, I guarantee you’ll see at least one memorable thing. Watching a late night show before bed may be part of your routine but that doesn’t mean the show itself has to be routine. The combination of the ridiculous games, unlikely musical collaborations and unconventional episode structure make for an experience that’s a bit livelier than the other talk shows – and it’s backed up by interesting guests and a lovable but unassuming host. Give Jimmy a shot.

Also, watch “Community,” that show is hilarious and I don’t want it getting canceled. Thanks.

Lesnar is working you. UFC fans hate to be at all associated with the WWE – it is the gravest of insults to suggest their violence is at all similar to the theater of professional wrestling – but Lesnar is using his experience in manipulating crowds to guarantee himself the highest profile in his new career and therefore the biggest paycheck. In the case of UFC 100, we label every viewer foaming at the mouth over Lesnar’s postmatch antics a “mark.” It’s carny parlance, like the victim of a scam. Being anything but entertained by Lesnar shooting his mouth off about Bud Light and his own dominance isn’t much different than objecting to Randy Orton blindsiding Triple H with a chair. Point is, caring in the first place just ensures that the UFC gets your money the next time Lesnar defends the belt, and the “controversy” is the only reason it’s getting extended coverage on ESPN. Were it not for Lesnar’s tantrum, the coverage would have been 10 seconds on Lesnar’s dominance and a minute on the brutality and barbarity of the sport, with ESPN anchors wondering whether shots like the following were late or cheap:

And that, of course,  is the real hypocrisy. Why in the world does anyone give half a damn about decorum or sportsmanship in a sport that’s more violent than boxing and hockey combined? There is some sinister appeal to watching someone lose consciousness on live television, granted, but I’m not a UFC fan because I prefer my violence to be scripted. Is the biggest obstacle to the MMA gaining mainstream acceptance really some guy screaming after a fight, or is it the fact that, as seen above, the ring is stained with liters of blood by the end of every event? Were two middle fingers really the most objectionable thing seen on UFC 100? The company’s biggest television program isn’t much removed from “The Real World,” only the brawls are sanctioned in “The Ultimate Fighter.” Pretty classy.

Keep getting that paper, Brock. I’ll stick with boxing and wrestling.

Where to begin? Up opens with a love story – one that is heart-wrenchingly relayed in just 10 minutes. From here it becomes equal parts uplifting adventure and bittersweet contemplation. Our widowed, geriatric hero takes off with an overweight Boy Scout stowed away and heads for the wilderness. Not for adventure, really, but instead to fulfill a forgotten promise. There are beautiful shots and impressive technical accomplishments throughout – thousands and thousands of balloons jostling, pushing skyward, bathing their surroundings in color – but more important are the slight strokes of animation brilliance that make these computer models human. One of Up’s serious highlights is a talking dog – though it is important to note that he is not an intelligent talking dog – who reacts so vividly to being put in his place by the pack’s alpha dog that I suspect it’s slightly painful for most dog owners.

The voice work is stellar as usual, and there are fantastically amusing bits of madcap comedy as well. I will say I can’t rule fairly on Up’s use of 3D; while Ebert doesn’t like it, I have no such preexisting bias. I did find some of the action hard to follow in that extra dimension, but this is likely because I was forced into the front row of the theater due to a swarm of charmingly clueless tykes. It’s a testament to director Pete Docter’s storytelling prowess that the kids were silent at the most important – well, the most powerful – moments.

The villain here is at first a hero, while our elderly protagonist is occasionally unlikable – though forgivably so. They are truly foils in that they share the same fault: they become consumed by their obsessions. The underlying messages of the film might be the danger of such fixations and the value in living fully, but there are enough other themes here that saying so would be oversimplifying. Like most Pixar films, the attention to detail in Up is remarkable. It’s an imaginative story that’s deceptively simple, but it takes place in a complex world. I can’t imagine old age and death have featured so prominently in any previous Disney flick, and for that alone this one is special. That a movie about a flying house is so grounded in reality is extraspecial.

I’ve always been a big fan of Disney. It’s not that I was especially enraptured with their animated output of my adolescence, but it’s more an appreciation for the philosophy of Walt Disney and its sort of corporate mythology. It’s encouraging that Disney, thanks to John Lasseter and Pixar, is again gifting children with great movies. It’s inspiring that any group of people, like Pixar, can be so good at any one thing that they consistently succeed at such an incredible level.

Up –

P.S. If you like Pixar, you should check out this documentary. It’s interesting and has a bunch of insight on their corporate culture and creative process, plus cool tidbits on the company’s connection to Lucasfilm and stuff.

I have a sneaking suspicion that there is a better film hidden somewhere in these scenes but it was irreparably disfigured by some unfortunate editing. The first act suffers from uneven timing and a lack of urgency, and there are bits of dialogue throughout the film which were clearly dubbed in post-production to account for some deficiency in the original shot. (Aside: I have a theory that the number of lines obviously recorded after the completion of principal photography is inversely proportional to the quality of a movie.) These implied deficiencies suggest some sort of dramatic changes were made to the construction of the first few plot points, or that the production was approached with an insufficient attention to detail. Or perhaps the obviousness of these hiccups simply reflects on the ability of the editing team, which is just as damning.

The lack of urgency in those segments also marred Terminator’s action scenes. While these were undeniably visually impressive and often fun, stupidly-named director McG fails to create any sense of danger or suspense. There is the requisite intensity, though it is often provided only by loud collisions of metal. It’s odd, the first action part in this movie features a very long steadicam shot, as do others. Instead of evoking (fond) memories of Children of Men, however, these sequences reminded me more of a theme park simulator ride. One silly scene – in which the entire human resistance fails to kill two people despite landmines, massive firepower and a strategical advantage – will surely make for a great stunt show at Universal Studios. That’s not a compliment.

McG was simply the wrong guy to helm this flick. He might be the nicest guy in the world, Esquire, but for one, there’s no reason he can’t use his full name. He actually interrupts Terminator after the action has begun by cutting to black and stamping “Directed by McG” on the screen, well after the opening credits had rolled. I laughed. His name alone is going to affect the way people perceive the movie, to say nothing of his track record. I like “Chuck.” McG should be directing a silly movie about giant robots, like Transformers, not this presumably serious one.

Furthermore, while I’m usually a huge advocate of deterministic movies, this one is an example of Doing Determinism Wrong. The fact is, John Connor exists in this film, so we know he is successful in saving the life of Kyle Reese, his father. This is more problematic here than in another movie where it is a given that the good guys win, mostly because of McG’s inability to manufacture a sense of danger. Here, we know the future – or rather, the past? – so it is more Star Wars: The Phantom Menace than new Star Trek.

What is it with time travel movies lately?

Speaking of Star Trek, Anton Yelchin is having a hell of a summer. Yelchin, who you might remember from Charlie Bartlett, was Chekov in Trek and portrays Kyle Reese in Terminator. His part is relatively brief, but he’s refreshing nontheless. Christian Bale, meanwhile, plays John Connor mostly as a steely-gazed soldier whose only notable characteristic is his obsession with his own name. Common is in here, too, playing the same guy he did in Wanted. The cast is rounded out by Sam Worthington as Marcus Wright, who really gets the majority of the screentime. At least he is something new to watch. But he, after all, is a robot, and Bale mostly acts like one. Yelchin gets so little screentime, he’s almost a non-factor. Combine the distance the audience feels from these characters with that absent drama, and you get a movie it’s hard to care about.

There are nice nods to the Cameron pictures – the familiar lines, some sort of impressive digital human cameo, a motorcycle jumping off a bridge in pursuit of a semi – but the better parts are the fun actiony parts. Sadly, this movie refuses to embrace fun. There isn’t a single joke in the script. Rewatch Terminator 1, McG. It’s pretty funny. Your attempt was tragically serious.

Danny Elfman’s score didn’t contribute anything. And I mean, c’mon, how can Skynet be so horribly ineffective? They program treasonous infiltration units and can’t take out a hanger full of enemy planes sitting undefended – although the humans might be stupider still. Connor expends half his arsenal to take out Wright until he is instantly convinced otherwise by, what, three lines of dialogue? Bale also throws in the growly Batman voice for no reason. Distracting.

To sum it all up, there is the unexplained inclusion of a little black girl who never speaks but has an apparently bottomless bag of gadgets. At least her muteness prevents her from being the second coming of Temple of Doom’s Short Round.

I’d rather have been playing Fallout.

Terminator Salvation –

OK. Comes off as Seth Rogen, Mall Cop, right? Some manic silliness counterbalanced by a touch of heart and some indie flick uncomfortability, perhaps? Nope. Observe and Report is something much different, and not nearly as endearing.

“I thought this was going to be funny, but it’s really just kinda sad,” says a character at one point in this movie – but it’s only barely a funny line. This movie is kinda sad, and it’s also unpleasantly dark. Rogen isn’t actually playing the Canadian Paul Blart. In fact, he takes a step away from the familiar persona he channeled in Knocked Up and The 40 Year Old Virgin by playing, for the first time, a totally unlikeable character. Observe and Report’s protagonist, Ronnie Barnhardt, is that somewhat dickish guy with a fetish for law enforcement in your graduating class; he can identify firearms by name and manufacturer but can’t tell you what any of those other amendments are for. What’s worse is that Rogen’s character also has a genuine psychological condition, so there isn’t any funny to be found in his twisted priorities or antisocial behavior. Though Rogen’s familiar delivery and cadence is present – Pineapple Express first exposed his limited acting range, as funny as he is – too often Barnhardt is spitting anger and vitriol.

So this movie is not, as the commercials suggest, a breezy, rebellious jaunt through which one man finds redemption. Rather, Observe and Report is a discouraging chronicling of this guy’s descent into psychological instability. That scene in the trailer where he dishes out pain to a bunch of skateboarding teenagers is funny in the commercial, but in the movie it’s just disconcerting. It isn’t a disenfranchised security guard exacting revenge on his tormentors, it’s an unstable idiot on a power trip beating up a bunch of kids. Same thing when he Tasers that guy. People die from that shit. Unfortunately, we’re been trained to laugh at these scenes as a result of our past encounters with physical “comedy.” The audience I saw the movie with clapped when Rogen punched one of his nemeses in the face (Aziz Ansari, who is absolutely EVERYWHERE lately). But there wasn’t any reason to clap: Ansari was playing an Arabic mall employee that was clearly targeted for harassment by Rogen because of his race. Because it was presented in the film as this big triumphant moment, people were happy to see it.

And maybe that’s the point, on the other hand. The ending of the film – some sort of surreal nightmare that insults the Pixies and genuinely has the potential to make viewers physically ill – suggests the whole thing might be some dark send-up of the genre’s conventions. Maybe writer/director Jody Hill (the man behind “Eastbound & Down,” who at least convinced Danny McBride to pop in for a cameo) is commenting on the potential movies and the like have to influence our perceptions. But because the rest of the movie hyperactively vaults from sophomoric comedy to dark indie episode to the next thing, there’s no telling what was intended. The pacing is off, too. And Rogen basically rapes a girl. It’s just weird.

I am of course being somewhat overcritical because my expectations were so carelessly violated. I understand that the audience for a dark, dark comedy is much smaller than that of Seth Rogen, Mall Cop, and I suspect that this movie might come off better if approached with a different attitude. There are funny moments and funny lines and original ideas, but I think Observe and Report is mostly just a mess. I dreaded the movie ending with Rogen snapping and going on a shooting spree, which – maybe I’m just getting old – I don’t think would have been funny. At least when Ray Liotta calls Rogen a faggot and a retard you know he isn’t playing it for laughs. Anyone with this cast, a mall, and a Queen-filled soundtrack at their disposal can make a theater full of people uncomfortable. I think we’re all better off if we use those resources for good.

Observe and Report –

Only almost as hard because Adventureland differs from bromance flicks like Superbad and I Love You, Man in that it has an accentuated focus on the “heartfelt” part of the formula. Aided by a score by Yo La Tengo and an exceptional soundtrack (especially for a film taking place in 1987) featuring Lou Reed, the New York Dolls and Crowded House, the film’s timbre is appreciably bittersweet and notably more nostalgic than the aforementioned productions. Thanks to the performance of Squid and the Whale star Jesse Eisenberg, playing what is almost certainly a fictionalized version of a young Mottola, Adventureland parries melodrama despite a healthy dose of post-adolescent angst and comes across as authentic.

Eisenberg’s character is James Brennan, a recent college grad with a useless degree in literature but a palpable passion for the arts, who is forced to work a summer theme park job at the movie’s namesake. Through what can only be described as the magic of marijuana, Brennan is soon at home among the amusements, with a stable of friends and a budding romance with Em, played by Twilight’s Kristen Stewart. The plot proceeds as do the lazy days of summer, with previously established relationships, aggressive park-goers and gossiping coworkers contesting the pair’s attempt at an idyllic season. Stewart’s portrayal of a beautiful pot aficionado likely required little acting, but she was undoubtedly compelling. Eisenberg, though, is simultaneously amusing and embarrassing in his awkwardness but never obstructs the audience’s ability to relate, and as a result Adventureland succeeds.

The only misstep the movie makes might be the ending, which is inoffensive but predictable. I had originally taken issue with the maturity level of some of the characters; people born in 1987 are, appropriately, also approaching their first summer post-graduation and might agree that some of the park employees are occasionally weirdly childish and inexperienced. Perhaps it is the point, on the other hand, that at times the same characters are incongruously mature and conflicted on how to reconcile this. Regardless, one can’t argue that the characters and era weren’t handled with the utmost affection. Plus it’s funny. See it.

Adventureland –

Ebert determines how good a movie is by considering not how great it is as compared to every movie ever, but rather if the flick accomplished what it set out to do. Bartlett’s purpose, though, is a little hard to discern. I wonder if the delay was due to some bigwig wanting the film recut in a different mold; I dreaded sitting down and having what I thought would be a dark R-rated comedy replaced by a sophomoric high school romp. There may have been some such element, because as is the movie tries to straddle the line between dramatic adult comedy and something with a broader appeal. It’s a testament mostly to the actors that it’s as watchable as it is.

Because it still is pretty good. Bartlett, the character, is eminently likable. He’s played by Anton Yelchin, born in Leningrad, and he benefits from it. Yelchin is clearly the kind of once-in-a-lifetime spark plug of a person that Charlie is supposed to be, so when he swings for the fences – in a drama audition or hamming it up at a piano – it works, despite how unrealistic it may to expect such theatrics from a high schooler. Expect more from this kid.

Speaking of realism, if you were one of the Negative Nancys that said Juno was too over-the-top, you’d better accept the rules of this world before you watch. It obviously takes place in a hyperbolic and Hollywoodized high school. The teen movie mainstays are less plot catalysts than they are elements of the backdrop. The punk clique assaults others on school grounds and videotapes their antics, while stoners pass joints on the sidewalk just before the bell rings. When Charlie begins his amateur analyses of the other kids’ psyches, the line that forms outside his bathroom office stretches alllll the way down the hall. This would never happen, obviously, so don’t get mad at me when it does.

No, Bartlett accepts its influences and doesn’t purport to be realistic. It’s pop slightly-mature dramedy. There’s a little Ferris Bueller and a bit more Risky Business (am I wrong in seeing Tom Cruise in those sunglasses he wears in that first picture?). Perhaps the liberal application of tropes seen here is laziness or unoriginality, but the direction seems to elevate the story beyond this universe. The soundtrack is a smidgen further out there but serves the mood well. The only recognizable star, Robert Downey Jr., is on point as always. In fact, there are even a few times Yelchin’s features seem to evoke RDJ’s from Back to School.

Also good is Kat Dennings, best known as the daughter of Catherine Keener in The 40 Year Old Virgin. The visuals of the film aren’t necessarily captivating – there are a handful of sight gags and interesting shots but nothing remarkable – but the production design is solid. Where director Jon Poll really succeeds is with the performances and the storytelling, because the transition from smart ass high school caper to the semi-serious conclusion is handled pretty well. The story never leaves its Hollywood high school setting, but it does inject a dose of realism. The scope of the film, as a result, may be a bit too broad. And, Bartlett (as in Yelchin) is so striking that it’s a bit bizarre when his flaws become apparent. Also the riot scene wasn’t nearly riotous enough.

I’m rambling. Point is, it’s a pretty good little story and you won’t feel bad for having seen it.

Charlie Bartlett –

Edit: This blog says the film hadn’t been recut or altered at all since it’s original intended release date.  Interesting.