Gran Torino, 4/5

Rated R. Click here to view the trailer.

Have you ever seen that old Clint Eastwood flick, The Outlaw Josie Wales? Gran Torino is pretty much the same movie sort of in reverse, complete with Olympic-caliber spitting, gang violence, copious racial epithets and pantomime gunplay. Gran Torino is set 140 years later and Mr. Eastwood has only gotten older*, wiser and more grizzled. Do I have to tell you he’s still mad-dog mean?

Eastwood is Walt Kowalski, a retired Ford assemblyman who recently lost his wife and he’s pissed off at the world. Well, I guess his wife’s death didn’t have anything to do with it - he’s been pissed off since at least the 50s. Walt – excuse me, Mr. Kowalksi – doesn’t take much crap from anybody, so you can imagine that his lazy children don’t have much use for him, and he has even less use for them. He also doesn’t have much use for minorities of any kind, including but not limited to “Wops, Krauts, Eyeties, Gippos, Bubbles, Froggies, Chinks, Yidds, Jocks, Paddies, Dagoes, those dirty, dirty Belgians”** and especially the Hmong that have “taken over” his neighborhood. It doesn’t help matters when Tao – “Toad” as Walt calls him – tries to steal his cherry 1972 Gran Torino Sport. At the insistence of his sister, Soo, Tao will gradually work off the offense doing chores under Walt’s critical eye. Wouldnjaknowit, Soo and Tao also gradually work their way into Walt’s crusty old heart.

The problem is that the old neighborhood has also been taken over by gangs. “Spook” gangs, “Wetback” gangs, Hmong gangs, etc. etc. and trouble is a-brewin'. Luckily, Korean War vet Walt knows how to deal with a bully. He keeps a cool head and a lot his strategy revolves around pointing his finger at them and saying BANG (much like Chuck Norris, who shot down a German plane in a similar fashion). Don't worry, he uses his fists and plenty of real fire arms too. To watch Eastwood walk around being pissed off is always fun, regardless of which variation of tough guy he’s playing, and it’s very fun in Gran Torino. You will root for this loveable racist old codger.

Gran Torino is pretty good. It’s also pretty funny. Marketing for the film hasn’t touched on that aspect of the script, but there are more than handful of genuinely funny moments, not the least of which is a series of scenes in which Walt teaches Tao to “man up.” I also enjoyed Walt’s banter with rookie priest Father Janovich (Christopher Carley): "I heards there was some trouble in the neighborhood. Why didn't you call the police?" "Well, Father, I prayed for them to come, but nobody answered."

So yeah, it’s pretty good, but there’s a reason it wasn’t nominated for Best Picture. It’s no The Good, The Bad or the Ugly or The Outlaw Josie Wales. It’s also not Mystic River or Million Dollar Baby. The script is very well-written (its author clearly had Eastwood in mind) and it never gets boring. Despite many many many racial slurs, the movie is not offensive nor is it overly preachy in its message seeing past racial boundaries. It stumbles a little in Soo’s dialog. The ending is telegraphed from frame one, but hey, it’s a good ending so why gripe?

Bee Vang who plays Tao and Ahney Her’s Soo are fine. Just “fine.” It’s not Vang’s fault, but I very much wanted to give his character a haircut. He kinda reminds me of my cousin, Kyle. But of course, this is Eastwood’s movie. His character is so crotchety it flirts with caricature, but he’s just so darn fun to watch! I’d like to see Eastwood and Samuel L. Jackson in a contest to see who can get pissed off the most in a 2-hour feature.

Did I mention Eastwood sings over the closing credits? Oh yeah. Worth the price of admission right there.


*His old-man pants are creeping higher on his waist as well. Check out the poster.

**I don’t even know what people group half of these slurs are referring to. Where have I been?

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, 4.5/5

Rated PG-13. Click here to view the trailer.

The spiritual sequel to Forrest Gump, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is the best movie I’ve seen in a while. Yeah, it’s very, very long and has an absurd central premise, but to watch Benjamin Button is to enjoy virtually element of film-making at its best. David Fincher’s direction? Masterful. Eric Roth’s script? Epic. Makeup and special effects? Breathtaking. Brad Pitt’s performance? Stellar. Supporting cast? A delight to watch.

Cate Blanchett? The thesaurus and quite possibly the English language do not contain enough words to do her and her screen presence justice. The best I could come up with is: alluring, angelic, beguiling, bewitching, charming, chic, classy, comely, dazzling, delicate, delightful, enticing, exquisite, fair, fascinating, glowing, graceful, hypnotic, intriguing, magnetic, mesmerizing, pulchritudinous (memo to self: integrate “pulchritudinous” into everyday vocabulary), radiant, resplendent, statuesque, seductive, spellbinding and stunning. Oh, and the woman can act.

Based on the short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald (and apparently “based” only means “we took the title and basic conceit then threw the rest out”), the movie opens in 2005 in a New Orleans hospital. A wrinkled, near-death Daisy (Blanchett) and her daughter (Julia Ormond) are bracing both for her death and for the wrath of Hurricane Katrina which is slowing zeroing in on them. (Why the plot needs the added drama/tension of Katrina, I don’t know and it doesn’t go anywhere) Aware that she is on her deathbed, Daisy asks her daughter, to read allow the diary of a curious stranger, Mr. Benjamin Button.

It tells the story of Benjamin (who else?), a boy born as a tiny, shriveled old raisin of a baby. His cheeks were not rosy, and his bottom was anything but smooth. Horrified at his son’s physical deformities and grief-stricken that his wife died giving birth, the elder Mr. Button abandons him at the steps of a nursing home. Queenie (a very good Taraji P. Henson), takes pity on the wrinkled, arthritic Benjamin and introduces the him to the addled old folks as her sisters’ illegitimate child. Says one old woman,"He looks just like my ex-husband." Queenie replies, “Yes, he is going to face some special problems: the poor boy done come out white.”

From there, Benjamin grows up. Sort of. We begin to see a tiny, ancient hint of Pitt as his physical body grows, and his hairline begins to procede as he ages backwards. He meets Daisy, a precocious, red-headed seven-year-old granddaughter of one the home’s residents. They’re both seven years old, even though Button is hunchbacked and still looks looks and sounds the part of an octogenarian with a young boy's urge to play in the dirt. It’s a little disconcerting at first, but any queasiness is soon forgotten.

At 17 – and with the physical body of a 65 year-old man - Button decides sow his wild oats. He gets a job on a tug boat, travels to Russia, shares an old subplot with Tilda Swinton and eventually even sinks a Japanese submarine. Daisy also leaves the nest, dancing her way through New York and Europe. Eventually our star-crossed lovers’ ages will meet (Daisy on the way up, Benjamin on the way down). The intersection of their lives and flawed love is both heartwarming and heartbreaking.

“Heartwarming and heartbreaking” pretty much sums up the whole movie, but there are a few minor glitches. The clock (you have to see the movie) is a beautiful metaphor, but I'm not sure it meshes very well with the rest of the film. Tilda Swinton’s tangent is unnecessary, but she’s such an intriguing actress, it’s not really a problem. Age makeup can often be distracting and unconvincing, but the makeup artists struck a balance between showing the ravages of time and letting the undeniable physical beauty of both actors shine through. Who would have thought it was possible for a 42-year-old mother of two (Blanchett) could convincingly play a character at 17 years, 84 years, and every age in between?

My main qualm is the no one seems all that surprised that Benjamin gets younger and stronger after beginning life looking a miniature Joe Paterno. Other than his father, no one seems the least bit non-plussed. Where’s the team of scientists? The movie takes place just after the birth of yellow journalism, so where is the paparazzi? Where was P.T. Barnum or Robert Ripley?

Whatever small flaws that might exist, Blanchett and Pitt each do yeoman's work. For years I dismissed Mr. Jolie as a pretty boy coasting on his good looks. He may not be the white Sidney Poitier, but he's a top notch actor. As for Blanchett, she has a way to adding just the right touch to her dialog and there is genuine emotion in her eyes.

I mentioned that Benjamin Button is the spiritual sequel to Forrest Gump. It feels much the same and the plot has the same sweeping, episodic feel (Eric Roth penned both scripts). Like Gump, You’ll be exhausted by the time it’s over, but you’ll be satisfied at watching the drama that is a man’s life.

The Spirit, 1.5/5

Rated R. Click here to view the trailer.

I find it impossible to review The Spirit. I can’t tell if it’s a send up of itself or if it is a just a complete and utter failure of a film noir-ish comic book and wannabe-cousin to Sin City. There about an 85 percent chance that I didn't "get" it. In a departure from the normal formula, I’m simply going to describe the plot in detail, and you can decide for yourself if it is a movie you’d like to watch. You might also be interested to know it has a 14 percent freshness rating at Rotten Tomatoes.

Gabriel Macht (Gabriel who?) is The Spirit. He likes cats, wears red ties and runs around in Chuck Taylors. He was once a plucky, idealistic rookie cop who was killed in the line of duty. He is brought back to life and made nearly invincible by the coroner. Whenever he comes close to death, we see Lorelei (Jamie King), a sparkly and blue Angel of Death. That coroner is the Octopus, as played by Samuel L. Jackson. Just so you know, the Octopus only has two arms and two legs. Also, you know that weird brown/black/red “stain” that dogs have around their eyes? The Octopus has those, too.

The Octopus (I keep using his name and not a pronoun because the movie keeps repeating this unexplained moniker) is pretty well invincible too. The Octopus and The Spirit fight in a mud bog. The Spirit punches the Octopus 38 times in a row. POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! The Octopus breaks a toilet over The Spirit’s head. The Spirit pulls a sword out of that was buried hilt-deep in his gut. Later in the movie, the Octopus suffers six gunshots to the head. The Octopus leans over, shakes the Octopus's head, and the bullets fall out. “Smells like scrambled eggs.”

Yeah... I forgot to mention that the Octopus has a thing about eggs. At times the Octopus seems to like eggs, and at other times, the Octopus doesn’t. The Octopus definitely does not like brown eggs. Dirty, dirty brown eggs.

When the Octopus isn’t pontificating on eggs, the Octopus and the Octopus’s assistant, Silken Floss (Scarlet Johansson) are on a quest to obtain the blood of Heracles (Hercules), and apparent immortality. Despite what you’re hoping, Kevin Sorbo does not make an appearance.

Then there’s Sand Serif, played by the exceptionally curvy Eva Mendes. She was a childhood sweetheart of the man-who-would-become The Spirit. She extorts millions of dollars from other criminals, gives the money to charity, then kills them and Her wardrobe was likely designed by Frederick’s of Hollywood. Instead of being obsessed with the blood of Kevin Sorbo, she is more interest in another ancient artifact of ancient Greece, the golden fleece of Jason and the Argonauts. Wouldnjaknowit, Serif has what the Octopus wants, and the Octopus has what she wants.

At some point, The Octopus – decked out in full Nazi garb, jack boots and monocle included – captures The Spirit and sends in a French belly dancer/cutlery enthusiast named Ms. Paris. Her first name? Plaster. Plaster of Paris. Seriously? I'll reluctantly give Sand Serif a pass simply because I love typography so darn much but Plaster of Paris?

Oh, I forgot to mention the Stooge-esque role of The Octopus’s cloned henchmen (Louis Lombardi): Pathos and Ethos and Logos and Huevos (remember, the Octopus has a thing for eggs) and Rancheros and Adios and Amigos and Pogos and Bozos and Matzos and Fatsos… I’ll stop here. I'd hate to ruin one of the true great climaxes of modern cinema. You'd better run out and snatch up a ticket before the lines get to choked with fans desperate to drink of the sweet, sweet cinematic nectar that is The Spirit.