THE CH-CH-CH-CHERRY BOMB'S GUIDE TO SEX, DRUGS AND ROCK & ROLL: a review of "The Runaways"

“THE RUNAWAYS” Written for the Screen and Directed by Floria Sigismondi
Based upon the book, Neon Angel by Cherie Currie
*** ½ (three and a half stars)

“...they will ruin rock and roll and strangle everything we love about it….And that’s what they want! And it’s happening right now! I’m telling you, you’re coming along at a very dangerous time for rock and roll. The war is over. They won.”
-Lester Bangs
“Almost Famous”

“…bring me a girl
they’re always the best
you put ‘em on stage
and you have ‘em undress
some angel whore who can learn a guitar lick
hey, that’s what I call…MUSIC!!!”
-Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
”Joe”

Believe it or not, dear readers, there is an art form that your favorite film enthusiast loves even more than the cinema. Its true. When he thinks of all areas of his life, and the very things aside from family and friends that speak to and sustain his soul, this item is the one thing he is unable to conceive of having a life without. That one thing is…Music. I have often gone many days without reading a novel or even involving myself in the soul-filling act of writing. Obviously, I have often gone for days without even watching one film. But, to go for even one day without music is something I cannot fathom. It has been a part of my being and something that my soul has responded to from the very beginnings of my life. If I possessed a certain musical proficiency (and of course, had the resources), I would definitely be a musician or at least, have the tools to create musical soundscapes at will. At least, I have been given the gift of a certain ability.

When I was around six or seven years old, I began to channel whatever was inside of me into learning how to play the drums. I took lessons for many years and by the eighth grade, I was asked to join a rock band in my school. For those that know me best, I am not one to self-promote or place myself out in the open terribly much. It is not my strong suit to publicly display myself too far out of my comfort zone. But, the idea of playing drums seemed to be the safest route as I could express myself (loudly) and exist behind the band members as well as a drum kit. No one was directly looking at me. Even so, there was one thing that made me feel competitive, anxious and itching to reveal myself.

By the time other kids discovered that I was a new member of the band that would eventually name itself Ground Zero (complete with the self-designed nihilistic mushroom cloud t-shirts) there were a few who were skeptical of my talents. Not due to any musical ability. It was entirely because of my race. Being an African American to play straight rock and roll was just too foreign a concept to visualize in 1983 (and in many ways, it still is) and as one kid pointed out to me, “black kids can’t get into the metal.” That one short-sighted statement made me furious as I was a devotee of the many rock drummers who saturated the Chicago classic rock stations, where I would first learn about some of the most favorite music of my life. I studied at the feet of Bonham, Moon, Collins, Peart and Copeland, among others and while I knew I was nowhere within their league, maybe I could possibly visit their neighborhood for a song or two. I wanted to get behind my kit and musically shove my drums sticks down the collective throats of the people who felt that this black kid couldn’t rock. I wanted to blow them through the back wall of the school cafeteria where many bands performed lunchtime concerts. And I indeed broke many pairs of drum sticks and drum heads to prove it.

During my recent screening of “The Runaways,” the debut feature film from music video director Floria Sigismondi, I could not help but to identify with the angst of a teen aged Joan Jett, circa 1975, as she is consistently discouraged and told that girls just don’t play electric guitars. How I immediately latched onto her seething urge for creative self-expression as well as her desire to launch a forceful guitar blast in the face of anyone who would dare defy her. Thankfully, this film as a whole, not only serves as a tribute to the pioneering band of the same name, it carries the energy of that forceful guitar blast and transforms it into a highly entertaining film whose combined power of rock and teen aged female empowerment is palpable.

As “The Runaways” opens, the male driven rock music scene has hit a stylistic crossroads as the androgynous glam rock began to sing its swan song and the dawn of brutal punk rock was just emerging. Los Angeles teens Joan Jett (Kristen Stewart) and Cherie Currie (Dakota Fanning) have discovered their own equal yet separate crossroads as well. When we first meet Jett, she’s a 15-year-old guitar slinger, who frequents seedy rock clubs, like Rodney Bingenheimer’s English Disco, and has just spent her every last cent upon a men’s leather jacket. Nursing dreams of starting her own all female rock band, Jett bravely descends upon the hulking, intimidating glam frame of Kim Fowley (Michael Shannon), famous record producer and impresario, who skulks and scours the L.A. streets for new talent. After a brief introduction to teen drummer Sandy West (played by Stella Maeve), the two girls align themselves and begin to hammer out new raging hymns for their restless adolescent hearts inside of an ancient trailer in the woods. As Fowley continues to assemble the band, which will soon include 17-year-old guitar whiz Lita Ford (Scout Taylor-Compton) and bassist Robin (Alia Shawkat), the search is on for a lead singer to tie all of the pieces together.

Painfully shy yet steadfast in her boldness, we are introduced to Cherie Currie, whom we first see being heckled, as she lip syncs to David Bowie's "Lady Grinning Soul," (wearing full “Aladdin Sane” regalia), in a high school talent show. Cherie’s home life is a broken, sad affair as Dad is an absent alcoholic and Mom has taken up with a new man, with plans to marry and abscond to Indonesia. With only her sister Marie (played by Riley Keough) as her confidant and support, Cherie struggles to discover not only her creative voice, but her overall place in her ever changing world. One night at the English Disco, fate intervenes as Fowley spots the feathered haired cherubic beauty standing alone amidst the blaring glitter rock, introduces her to Jett and invites her to an audition. Arriving without a prepared song to sing, the band composes the now-classic “Cherry Bomb” on the spot, giving Cherie a newfound identity as not only a 15-year-old front woman, but as a jail bait sexual tease for the predominantly male audience. From here, the film details the band’s ascension from house parties and sleazy L.A. rock clubs to endless major tours just as the band’s infrastructure implodes due to inner turmoil, band member jealousies and especially, deep resentment directed at the show business of Cherie’s rising sexual star at the expense of the band’s artistic vision.

“The Runaways,” in large portions, is a strong success as it functions as a coming-of-age film, music biopic, family drama and cultural commentary all in one and deftly juggles all aspects with supreme confidence. Additionally, the film serves as an acutely observed period piece as it displays a strong attention to a time and place that delves deeper than 70's cosmetic window dressing. We are given a dirty, filthy, narcotically enhanced ground level view of Los Angeles where the stars and dreams rise from the unwashed, underfed denizens of the streets. You can almost receive a contact high from the screen. It seems more than fitting that the film’s first shot is of a drop of Cherie’s menstrual blood hitting the sidewalk pavement, as Sigismondi has carved out a raw, wild and unleashed rock drama. For me, this film fits snuggly with other recent 1970’s rock period pieces, like Writer/Director Todd Haynes’ “Velvet Goldmine” (1998) or Writer/Director Richard Linlater's "Dazed and Confused" (1993) and it also feels like the scuzzy, bratty cousin of Cameron Crowe's great “Almost Famous” (2000). It even aligns itself very closely with films from the period, most notably, Director Jonathon Kaplan’s “Over The Edge” (1979) with its depiction of feral, alienated teens.

What worked best for me are the extended tour sequences, including one of Japan, where The Runaways over consume and constantly battle ferociously resentful male musicians along the way. There is not much attention at all given to where and when the band happens to be performing and that particular lack of detail actually works in the film's favor. The endless nature approximates what it must have felt like for these girls (and any musicians, really) to soldier on their particular treadmill. One concert date seeps and bleeds into the next, resulting in one long trip. Yes, the film is loaded with the standard rock and roll excess, including Cherie's severe descent, but it is much less concerned about the degradation and debauchery and much more focused as a portrait of kids in an adult world, forced to make the adult decisions and suffer consequences they are desperately not ready for. It is a dark world where responsible adults are scant, if visible at all. It is the age of latch-key kids, the first generation that had to raise themselves and here are five girls given the keys to the kingdom that is more than ready to eat them alive. We witness the damaging toll it places upon them and within them. Like those fun-loving teens from cinema's Ridgemont High, who had to deal with job pressures and abortions along with their midterms, the girls of The Runaways are indeed living in times too fast for them to handle successfully, and least of all, responsibly.

While Kristen Stewart has thankfully crawled out from the rubble known as her performance in “The Twilight Saga: New Moon,” her role as Joan Jett is more than credible, yet not revelatory. Her performance is most impressive in its rock swagger and physicality, as she carves out a strong persona of a teenage girl with a desperate urge for self-expression, rock integrity, artistry, and a “sleeps-with-my-guitar” mystique to go along with her extremely petulant slouch. Her striking resemblance to the real Joan Jett certainly helps too. Yet, as with most of her film roles, she has been very well cast and her representation of Joan Jett is the latest in her arsenal of sullen, sour girls. Perhaps her lack of dramatic range was evident to the filmmakers as Jett is seen mostly as an observer throughout the film and Stewart is not required to handle most of the heavier dramatic lifting.

Although Stewart may hold the film’s top billing, “The Runaways” is far and away Dakota Fanning’s movie. Fanning has consistently been an actress who has possessed an almost eerie sense of professionalism as she has easily held her own with no less than Tom Cruise (2005’s “War Of The Worlds”), Sean Penn (2001’s “I Am Sam”) and Denzel Washington (2004's “Man On Fire”) with strong, rich performances. For her first major role as she transitions from child to slightly more adult actress, Fanning, (who is currently 15 years old) is pitch perfect as Cherie Currie. And what a tightrope she has to walk.

Fanning is presented and performs as an on-stage sexual tease without ever becoming even slightly pornographic. She is so in touch with Cherie Currie’s overall humanity and vulnerability, which in large portions includes her deep solidarity with her sister and her equally deep need for her father’s attention and love. Through Fanning, we are witness to Cherie Currie’s collection of clashing personas. We see her rapid descent into a messy drug induced downward spiral as well as her aforementioned turn as an alluring pin-up girl who also carries a soft spot for the songs of Don McLean (much to the chagrin of her bandmates). It feels as if we are witnessing a child trying on different costumes: the sister, the vamp, the dutiful daughter, and so on and we wonder if any of these roles are extensions of Cherie or simply roles needed for her emotional survival and acceptance from others. When she does finally take that first step in honor of her own needs, the effect is seismic for the band, as well as herself. Dakota Fanning delivers a multi-layered performance on a level that will definitely make her an actress to be reckoned with as she ages.

As terrific as she is, truth be told, Michael Shannon nearly steals the film out from under both Stewart and Fanning with his performance as Kim Fowley. He is an insane P.T. Barnum, supremely vulgar Svengali taskmaster, sinister businessman and hedonistic exploiter of the teenage girl's nubile flesh all in one man. His grueling band rehearsals, littered with the crudest of verbal abuse, takes on the tone of a rock “boot camp” as he teaches the girls how to deal with the inevitable fallout from male musicians as well as drunken, sexist, horrific audience members who have no interest in hearing a bunch of girls attempt to play hard rock. Most of all, Shannon creates a character that represents the very spot in time when the business began to overshadow the art. For Fowley, it is the concept …not the music of The Runaways that will sell them to the masses and if they happen to carve out strong artistic material while he makes his fortune through their exploitation, then it is a means to an end. Fowley, while shown having a charismatic presence, is not a nice man in any regards. The audience never loses sight of the fact that it is in his best interest to treat these girls as ciphers and commodities rather than musicians or, at least as people! His insidious nature is always the wolf at the door for the girls, if they dare try to exude a sense of independence from him. As with Fanning, Michael Shannon is obviously having a ball with the over the top nature of this outlandish character but it is also a multi-layered performance that gives this film the proper weight and tension.

The film is not without its flaws, however. There has been some criticism launched against the film claiming that for a band that broke new musical ground, challenged rock music's sexual politics and paved the way for the likes of The Go-Go's, The Bangles, Bikini Kill, Veruca Salt, Hole and even Madonna, to name a few, the film's structure is more than a little pedestrian. While I concede that Sigismondi did indeed follow the well-worn path of the "rise and fall" arc, there was much on her mind beneath the surface that distinguished this film greatly from others of its ilk. That said, the film's faults lie in other areas as there is a fair amount of false information presented in the name of "artistic license," and that unfortunately punctures a hole in the film's authenticity.

For openers, I am unsure as to why the film is even titled "The Runaways" as it is obviously more concerned with the dynamics between Jett, Currie and Fowley rather than all five band members as a musical unit. Despite the obvious affection for drummer Sandy West (who passed away from cancer in 2006), the other three band members barely register. Lita Ford only exists as an antagonist and worst of all is bassist Robin, who I do not recall uttering even one (or more than one) line of dialogue, a decision which completely wasted the talents of actress Alia Shawkat, who was so charming in Drew Barrymore's "Whip It." Was the bassist a composite of the band's several bass players during their brief, intense existence and why was The Runaways' primary bass player Jackie Fox never mentioned even once in the film? I couldn't help but to wonder if there are still long running resentments between the former band members that affected the completed work. Whatever the reasons, perhaps "Neon Angels On the Road To Ruin," (or at least an abbreviated version of that song title) would have served the film better.

And then, there's the film's final exchange between Jett and Currie. It is a short sequence I will, of course, not spoil but it is one where the real Cherie Currie has publicly expressed never happened the way it was presented in the film. Why did Sigismondi choose to not present it the way it really occurred? As it stands, this otherwise roaring film concludes on a limp and slightly false note.

Regardless of those critiques, I was hugely rewarded with "The Runaways," as it spoke to a spirit that remains kindred to those shown on screen. Every note I was able to perform with my friends all of those years ago was a blessing as well as a much needed teenage explosion of my creative spirit. These days, I do not play in a band but every so often, I travel to music stores around my city with the sole purpose of bashing away on a set of either acoustic or electronic drums. And sometimes, I'll spot from the corner of my eye, a kid peeking at me. Sensing that they may want to try it out, I'll remove myself, offer the drum sticks and hand them over. I'll take a few steps away to give them their personal space but I have to see that initial moment, the one where their faces burst into a smile of wonderment at the sounds they are able to create themselves. I cannot help but to wonder, as I regard these young people trying out this aspect of their own creative spirits, which one of them may take that amazing free fall into music...and perhaps change the world.

The collective free fall into music and remaining legacy of Joan Jett, Cherie Currie, Lita Ford, Sandy West and Jackie Fox cannot be questioned or emphasized enough and "The Runaways" is a fine testament to their enduring and raging inspiration.

SAVAGE CINEMA'S SHORT TAKES #3: A NECESSARY DASH OF ESTROGEN

After all of the rites of male passage in the last few postings, I felt it would be time to highlight some older reviews that feature women at the forefront...and also to foreshadow a review of "The Runaways," which will hopefully arrive soon...

“BABY MAMA” Directed by Michael McCullers (2008)
**1/2 (two and a half stars)
I had the absolute pleasure of watching the opening skit to the season premiere of "Saturday Night Live" last night, featuring Tina Fey and Amy Poehler as Sarah Palin and Hilary Clinton, respectively, addressing the nation. It was a brilliantly written and performed sketch that showcased exactly what happens when comedic writing and acting are working at their collective peaks. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for "Baby Mama," a sadly bland and generic feature film that tries desperately to skate by on the undeniable talent and chemistry of Fey and Poehler.

Often while watching this film, I couldn't help but to think about Judd Apatow's "Knocked Up," released only last year, and I realized how that film was so right in countless ways and where this film, while not terrible by any means, often took the safe, predictable and pedestrian route. It lacked teeth, the direction was artless and sluggish and despite sparking to life during a few sequences (and any time the shockingly underused Romany Malco appeared), it was simply a film that overstayed its welcome.

I have a strong feeling that if Tina Fey actually wrote this film, either solo or with Amy Poehler, we would've ended up with a film that was a bracing as their terrific opening sketch last night. Let's hope Fey and Peohler continue to collaborate in the future...but next time with a better script and director.

Originally written September 10, 2008

"I COULD NEVER BE YOUR WOMAN" Written & Directed by Amy Heckerling (2007)
*** (three stars)
Don't let the stigma of a "Direct To DVD" release sway you from seeing the latest charmer from Writer/Director Amy Heckerling. Michelle Pfeiffer returns to the screen as a divorced Writer/Producer of a hit teen sitcom entitled, "You Go Girl!" who is also dealing with the politics of feminism and aging in the Hollywood scene. Added to her plate are the travails of raising her daughter, Izzie as she enters puberty. Just when her life could not get any more complicated, she meets and falls in love with Paul Rudd, a 29 year old actor auditioning for her program.

What we have is a smart, breezy, and sharply satirical film that is a showcase for Pfeiffer, who displays a loose, brightly comedic and frisky exuberance not on display in far too long. Rudd also shines brightly with effortless charm but a special treat is the early supporting performance by Saoirse Ronan (from "Atonement") as Pfeiffer's daughter experiencing her first pangs of teenage love.

So why was this film not released in theaters? Thanks to a recent expose in "Entertainment Weekly," Heckerling certainly walked through the fire for her film, which was the victim of several studio collapses and Hollywood politics. This is not a perfect film and it doesn't scale the heights of Heckerling's two classics, "Fast Times At Ridgemont High" (1982) and "Clueless" (1993). It does seem a bit ragged here and there, from what seems to be unfinished color correction and special effects. But, again, it is well worth a look and what a pleasure it was to see Michelle Pfeiffer again!

Originally written February 15, 2008

"SEX AND THE CITY" Written & Directed by Michael Patrick King (2008)
** (two stars)
Before an arsenal of Carrie Bradshaw's favorite shoes come flying my way because of my star rating, let me first say emphatically that I was a big fan of the "Sex and the City" television series. Each time the latest season would be released upon DVD, I eagerly raced to my neighborhood video store and compulsively watched the continuing adventures of Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte for the entire weekend. The thing that made me feel skeptical once the announcement of a feature film version was made was that I was quite unsure as to exactly what they could and would do to make an already explicit series--thanks to airing on HBO--work as a motion picture experience. But, more thematically, for me, the series finale truly felt like a heartfelt conclusion. The story of the series was over and where else could they really go?

Well, at a hefty two and a half hour running time, all parties involved found many places where the lives of our frisky and romantically challenged quartet could continue onward but unfortunately, the proceedings felt trite where the series was insightful, the writing seemed to lack the razor sharp cleverness and always quotable dialogue of the series and once it was completed, I uttered an adjective I never used even one time during the entire run of the series and that word was..."boring."

The movie begins with the engagement and wedding preparations of Carrie and her true love, Mr. Big. From there, we also pick up with the lives and exploits of Carrie's friends, all dealing with themes of pre-marital jitters and commitment, being true to one's own romantic and sexual nature, the issues of maintaining one's identity within a long-term relationship--all compelling material. Yet, for this film, it lacked that "New York minute" level of insight and truth that made the series so beloved. Conflicts seemed arbitrary and their resolutions even more so. At times, I felt that if two characters had just spoken in one scene, we could have eliminated five additional scenes. And did we really have to have TWO sequences of Carrie and friends trying on clothes set to some song included on the soundtrack album? And then, there was the humor. I frequently laughed out loud at the series but not so much during this film where some laughs seemed surprisingly low-brow and cheap. Don't Miranda and Charlotte deserve better than being the object of jokes about unshaven pubic hair and explosive diarrhea?

But, despite the flaws, the entire cast returned to their treasured roles with complete ease and the time away from each other did not weaken their chemistry in the least. "Sex and the City" (the movie) is essentially a film about the solidarity and bonds between these four women and perhaps it was that depiction the filmmakers, studio and sponsors wanted to convey to the target audience as well as the intended viewing experience itself.

When this film was released in theaters, it became a pop-cultural film event targeted to a female audience on a level that had been previously unseen. It was a "mark the date on the calendar" event where women could go out with other women and have an evening akin to the characters in the movie. Certainly that is nothing to complain about and in many respects, in the sexist world of film, it is something to even be celebrated. The strategy obviously worked tremendously as it was a box-office smash. But, I am hoping, with the inevitable sequel that the finely honed and often terrific writing of the series returns.

Originally written September 25, 2008

SAVAGE CINEMA'S SHORT TAKES #2: MORE CUSACK, MORE BAUMBACH

Now that the reviews for "Hot Tub Time Machine" and "Greenberg" have been completed and posted for your reading pleasure, I have decided to make this edition of "Short Takes" devoted to smaller, earlier reviews of past works from John Cusack and Noah Baumbach.


"MARTIAN CHILD" Directed by Menno Meyjes (2007)
*** (three stars)
On a recent episode of Bravo's "Actor's Studio" program, John Cusack remarked to the audience that there was once a time in Hollywood when if one wanted to know something about an actor, all one had to do was to look at the work. If there is any truth to that statement, what can be gained from Cusack, starring in his second of three 2007 roles as a grieving father?

Speculation aside, the quickly dismissed "Martian Child" stars Cusack as a widowed science fiction writer who adopts an emotional traumatized boy, who believes he is an alien from Mars (the wispy voiced Bobby Coleman). The bulk of this film rests on the palpable charm built by the relationship between Cusack and Coleman. Watching them "taste the colors" of M&Ms, playing baseball and performing a strange "Martian dance" together works very well with effortless likability.

While the film often veers close to the edge of "Lifetime movie" cliches, their relationship and the goodwill of the entire cast bring it back from the brink. There is nothing groundbreaking here but after a year of often brilliant and extremely dark fare, it is refreshing to see a film without villains; just a collective of decent people all trying to do right by a child. It is a sensitive, sentimental film without a hint of ironic distance and that makes it an easy target. But the bond between Cusack and Coleman--and their bond to us--makes for a sweet film told with unapologetic sweetness.

Originally written February 15, 2008

"GRACE IS GONE" Written and Directed by James C. Strouse (2007)
***1/2 (three and a half stars)
At last!! After its barely seen theatrical release (it never made it to Madison, WI), I finally saw this film last night on DVD and it was definitely worth the wait. John Cusack has carved out another richly layered and seemingly effortless performance as Stanley Phillips; husband, devoted father, manager of a Home Depot styled establishment and Republican patriot who is crippled with grief upon hearing the news of his wife's death while serving in Iraq. Equally crippling is his ability to inform his two daughters of this personal tragedy so he takes them on a road trip to an amusement park, all the while stalling the inevitable discussion he must have with his children.

While this film is essentially a meditation on grief and loss, it is not maudlin. It is filled with restraint and dignity and it is surprisingly not without humor. Cusack's chemistry with the two young actresses drives this film with Shelan O'Keefe being most impressive as the highly intuitive older daughter whose deep stares at Cusack simultaneously plead, challenge and encourage him to tell her the truth. Strong praise must also be given to Clint Eastwood, who contributes a gorgeously mournful score that binds all passages of this film together.

Again, the highest praise must be given to John Cusack for bringing this film to life. Clearly a "passion project," Cusack, through the sure-handed writing and direction of James C. Strouse, has fashioned a non-partisan story about the human cost of any war and how the tragedies of the battlefields resonate so deep, far and wide. It is a shame this film was so underseen but hopefully DVD will give it a second chance. Now, onto Cusack's other Iraq inspired film"War, Inc."--also probably fated to a life on DVD.

Originally written June 6, 2009

"MARGOT AT THE WEDDING" Written and Directed by Noah Baumbach (2007)
*1/2 (one and a half stars)
Writer-Director Noah Baumbach carved out brilliantly devastating new territory for himself with the microscopically astute divorce story, "The Squid and the Whale." His latest film is just as sharply written and observed but it is meaner, harsher, colder and finally, pointless. It feels like an endless one-act play with a variety of sequences hurled around simply for us to spectate at how awful these people are in full view of impressionable children. It is well acted--all three leads (Nicole Kidman, Jack Black and Jennifer Jason Leigh) give it everything they've got and the young actor who plays Kidman's older son seems to be another strong "Baumbach alter-ego." But, when it is all finally and mercifully over, just what is the use of one more dysfunctional family film if you have nothing new to say about it?

Originally written July 16, 2009

ADRIFT, NOT AT PEACE & BUSY DOING NOTHING: a review of "Greenberg"

“GREENBERG” Written For The Screen and Directed by Noah Baumbach
Based on a story by Jennifer Jason Leigh and Noah Baumbach
** (two stars)

“Can’t pretend that growing older never hurts.”
-Pete Townshend
“Slit Skirts”

I am compelled to begin this review by stating at its outset that I did not like this movie. I didn’t hate it. I don’t believe it to be a bad movie. But, I just did not like it very much at all and I have to admit that my reaction confounded me.

Now that I have begun writing reviews for your reading pleasure and consumption, as well as to continuously exercise my creative muscles, I am purposefully not reading official critic’s reviews until after I have written my own, so as not to be influenced. (Of course, I am aware of reviews general tone and I still cannot help but to watch “At The Movies” but I think you know what I mean.) That said, once I walked out of the Sundance movie theater showing “Greenberg,” the new film from Writer/Director Noah Baumbach (2005's "The Squid and the Whale") and starring Ben Stiller in the titular role, I found myself walking towards the giant sized poster of this film. The life-sized advertisement contained an enlarged version of the complete review from the Wall Street Journal, and I had to stop and skim through it. Upon reading, I again realized that the movie I saw and the movie most critics are seeing were two different films, almost entirely. This was a movie that seemed to travel right up the middle of the alley of my personal interests. The film’s Writer/Director is one I have long admired. The rare dramatic turn from the film’s leading actor is one that had excited me. Most importantly, it was the subject matter that spoke loudest. Ant ultimately, it was akin to having all of the ingredients for a great meal, preparing it as best as possible and nevertheless, it refuses to taste good. “Greenberg” slipped through my fingers as I didn’t connect to it. My mind wandered frequently and I was emotionally unengaged for much of its seemingly stagnant running time. My viewpoint has run in the opposite direction of the general consensus.

Baumbach’s “Greenberg” shares many similar themes with the just released “Hot Tub Time Machine,” and in fact, if you took that film’s whirlwind party animal character of Lou and made a dramatic feature surrounding him, you may end up with a film like this one. The life of Roger Greenberg, at the age of 41, is currently in a simultaneous state of arrested development and emotional precariousness. Recently released from a mental institution after a nervous breakdown, Greenberg has been invited to Los Angeles from his beloved New York by his brother to house sit for six weeks as they take a family vacation to Vietnam. Despite his apparent OCD, intense social awkwardness, severe depression that leads to several verbally violent outbursts, as well as being a prisoner of his own past, Greenberg obliges. After his arrival in L.A., he is reunited his with past in painful passages including, Beth (Jennifer Jason Leigh), the other half of a failed relationship and Ivan Schrank (Rhys Ifans in a performance of precise and tender sorrow), a college friend and former band mate, currently going through the agony of his own marital separation. Greenberg is endlessly sarcastic as best, brutally acerbic at worst and narcissistically nihilistic all of the time. His rage at the world is constantly hurled to all around him including via various acid drenched letters to all corporations that have offended him in some way (a Starbucks, an airline, New York Mayor Bloomberg, etc…). Yet, there may be light, however slight, on the horizon in the shape, form and body of Florence Marr (Greta Gerwig) a 20ish college graduate and personal assistant to Greenberg’s brother’s family, with whom Greenberg strikes up a tentative affair.

At its core, Ivan sums the film up best, when he pointedly states to Greenberg to “embrace the life you never thought you would have.” This is a concept that is also at the core of nearly all of Baumbach’s previous films, especially his 1995 debut feature “Kicking And Screaming,” which featured Eric Stoltz in an exploration of post-college ennui and the trepidation of engaging with the continuous passage of life for fear of its inevitable disappointment. In many ways, Greenberg could be one of that film’s over-educated, sardonic, literate and extremely tenderhearted characters, now at the beginning of middle age and constantly perplexed at how he fits into the world at large when even his pop-culture references do not even contain the smallest level of kitschy glee anymore. Greenberg’s crippling fear is one of becoming obsolete to all around him and it is caged in a wall of nearly impenetrable self-loathing, which of course, forces everyone away. It is a self-fulfilling prophecy that he is forced to engage with during his six week stay as he, like the characters in the aforementioned “Hot Tub Time Machine,” discover that their cherish youth wasn’t much to cherish anyway. Heavy resentments still linger in the hearts of his former band mates as they continue to blame Greenberg for the loss of their one record deal offer. And a feeble attempt to rekindle Beth’s old flame is terribly pathetic. However, Greenberg is a character who does not want to make you stone the screen. This is due to Baumbach’s extremely perceptive writing, of course, but also in huge portions to the performance of Ben Stiller.

Ben Stiller is uniformly and unquestionably excellent in the leading role. With this performance, all is forgiven after toiling for too many years in one painful derivative comedy after another. I have always felt that he is one of those actors that is much smarter than the material he has been given and here is his chance to prove it as he is front and center of material I feel is of equal weight to his talents. He creates much humor and sympathy for a character that otherwise would become frustratingly tiresome and one-note. At times, he reminded me very much of Anne Hathaway’s blisteringly brilliant performance in Jonathan Demme’s extraordinary “Rachel Getting Married” (2008) as he also portrays a person who receives very little and unforgiving support from the people that should understand and forgive most. This is shown mostly in several sequences where Greenberg check in with his vacationing brother, and their phone conversations, most of which surround the care of the brother’s ailing German Shepherd named Mahler, reveal a history of resentment and history of vengeful family roles. Stiller masterfully finds the venom in the humor and the humor in the venom, all the while presenting empathy for a character many of us would walk away from…just like the people in Greenberg’s life. Stiller is remarkable.

“Greenberg,” the film, is not about a story or plot. It is a film of mood and behavior, as well as a dual character study (more on that shortly). I am not always in need of a film to provide me with easy answers where characters are universally transformed and tremendous life lessons are learned. I greatly appreciate and even love many films where characters are more informed rather than transformed. As I watched, I was reminded of films like Jim Jarmusch’s “Broken Flowers” (2005) and even Cameron Crowe’s “Elizabethtown’ (2005), where those films’ deliberate pacing and off-kilter rhythms approximated a certain pattern of how life is really lived and how a person’s progress is always taken in baby steps. As we view the progression (or lack thereof) with Greenberg, we are given a similar trajectory with the character of Florence Marr. The personal assistant to Greenberg’s brother is mousy to the degree where she nearly exists as a doormat. Unsure of her place in the world and also unaware of the tools to monkey-wrench herself into it has led her into a state of being as adrift as Greenberg. Yet, it is their relationship that provokes her (possibly for the first time) to discover what her voice may be. Florence begins to realize what she may want out of her life and most importantly, what she may want to discard by simply saying the word, “No.”

But, here’s where the film ran into huge problems for me and also where the divide between myself and the major critics has run the deepest. Greta Gerwig has been receiving glowing attention for her performance as Florence Marr and I am truly unaware at what the critics in her corner saw, as I did not see the same attributes in any conceivable way. It is not a bad performance by any means, let me please make that clear right up front. She possesses a certain weary, awkward grace along with her inviting, warm smile. She seems to represent that person where the sensation of perhaps, “love at eighth sight” may exist. She grows on you, as she also does on Greenberg, but this is nothing approaching the “star making performance” hyperbole that is being banded about heavily. Gerwig gives a quiet, nuanced performance but she is so nuanced that it is almost to the point of near narcolepsy with her languid, woozy line readings and overall demeanor. Nevertheless, she does what she can as the character felt poorly underwritten to me. For all of her screen time and equal weight to Greenberg in the story, I never, ever felt as if I knew this person. The details, apparent and implied, in Greenberg were just not there for Florence at all. Engaging in meaningless sexual trysts, offering petite mutterings of gratitude to gracious drivers, and jangling along to Paul McCartney’s “Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey” are signs of behavior, not character development. These are things that she does, but they don’t tell us who she is. Even a late-film trauma is something that just happens to her and it does nothing to serve the character at all. This weakness makes her half of a dual character study decidedly weightless.

The film “Greenberg” reminded me of the most was Sofia Coppola’s sublime “Lost In Translation”(2003), which also featured two adrift souls who somehow find a certain profound connection in an alien place. Coppola weaved her film by suggesting that the souls of the characters played by Bill Murray and Scarlett Johannson were destined to become intertwined, if only for a short period of time and it could ONLY be these two souls. In “Greenberg,” however, I could see how Florence’s soul would have been affected by Greenberg’s acidity but I not fathom if Greenberg’s soul had been touched specifically by Florence’s or if he would have behaved in the exact same way with ANY woman. Their relationship was unconvincing and since that is a huge portion of the film, “Greenberg” unfortunately succumbed to a deadly tedium.

Just as I felt the character of Florence Marr was underwritten, I felt this film was decidedly underdirected as well. True, Noah Baumbach is not a visual stylist but his previous films all contained a certain inner momentum. "Greenberg” is too wry and dry for its own good as it seemed to have no momentum at all and scenes just laid flatly on the screen. I do realize that the film’s deliberately laconic pacing and atmosphere is designed to reflect life’s natural rhythms as well as the inner states of Roger Greenberg and Florence Marr’s apathy and melancholy, but I found myself unable to connect as there are too many sequences filled with long, awkward pauses and silences. There are great moments sprinkled throughout the film including a terrific extended party sequence where Greenberg, high on cocaine and desperately wanting to listen to Duran Duran’s “The Chauffeur,” launches into an explosive rant laying waste to all of the 20somethings around him. The same sequence also features the heartbreaking moment when Ivan has to painfully express to Greenberg that it is his own self-absorption and unwillingness to try and engage with anyone other than himself that has stripped him of any lasting connections. That the basis of friendship is a “give and take” process and Greenberg’s method of endlessly taking has become irrevocably damaging. But, those sequences are too far scattered from each other and what remained was an unfocused, undisciplined feature. “Greenberg” begged for some tightening to go with Florence’s much needed character development. As it currently stands, it was an honest attempt that refused to captivate and allure and it finally drifted towards an interminable place I was thankful to leave.

Before I close out this review, I am also compelled to share this short cinematic tale with you. Back in college during one of my film courses, we were assigned to view Francis Ford Coppola’s groundbreaking and celebrated psychological thriller, “The Conversation,” from 1974. Gene Hackman starred as Harry Caul, a surveillance expert, who grows increasingly paranoid and disturbed by his implicit role in a potential conspiracy and murder plot. It is a story and character study that details Caul’s crippling detachment and loneliness and I was bored senseless during that viewing. It was a film where seemingly nothing, and I mean absolutely NOTHING happened. Gene Hackman just paced around in an internally agitated state and that was it. There was even a stage where I nodded off and came to a few minutes later and there was Hackman, still pacing around. I was dumbfounded as to why that film had been so celebrated. But, I have to say that upon that initial meeting, “The Conversation” simply had not revealed itself to me. I would occasionally stumble upon it on cable TV over the years and I would find myself somehow drawn in. At first for a few minutes. Then, for maybe an hour and finally, the entire film. Now, I completely understand its legacy and have joined the choir in singing that film’s praises. It is the type of film that a major studio just would not make today. The complexities, the subtleties, and crucially slow pace which demands an audience’s acute attention is not what major studios want these days and can somehow only be found in most independent features.

Perhaps Noah Baumbach’s “Greenberg” is that type of film. One that needs time to resonate fully. I have not rejected this film completely and would even concede to watching it again once it hits DVD. Maybe if I take a subsequent trip, the film would fully reveal itself.

And then again, maybe it already has.

SAVAGE CINEMA'S SHORT TAKES #1: BOYS WILL BE BOYS

And now, the WORLD PREMIERE of a short new feature. When I began to write reviews, many of them were decidedly tiny and as I found myself wanting to delve deeper into the films and my thoughts about them, the reviews became the ones you see today. This series is designed to further house old reviews I wrote and are more on the brief side.

To begin, I would like to piggyback from the previous review and foreshadow the next full length review by focusing on a few raucous comedies from Ben Stiller and the Judd Apatow factory.

"DRILLBIT TAYLOR" Directed by Steven Brill (2008)
** (two stars)
Is Judd Apatow the new John Hughes? With his now patented mix of the sweet and profane, Apatow is the current "King Of Comedy," with an assembly line of no less than FOUR features scheduled to open in theaters this year. So it seems perfect that Apatow's first 2008 entry is a collaboration with frequent player Seth Rogen (as the film's co-writer) and based upon an original story idea by John Hughes from over 20 years ago. Unfortunately, the result is surprisingly toothless, perhaps hemmed in by its own formula and PG-13 rating.

"Drillbit Taylor" follows the first adventures of a trio of high school freshmen who enter their first day of high school to be menaced by a sadistic bully. Enter Owen Wilson as the titular character, a homeless, Army deserter, con-artist who befriends the boys under the guise of being their bodyguard as well as substitute teacher but who secretly has plans to rob their affluent surroundings. Will the con-artist learn the value of true friendship? Will he find true love with the sexy English teacher (Apatow's wife Leslie Mann)? Will the boys have their coming of age through a confrontation with the bully? If you have never seen a movie before, you will probably have no idea of the answers to these questions. Most likely you have and everything occurs just as you would expect with no surprises, artless and plodding direction, and overall sanitized nature that goes against what has made many of Apatow's productions--from the extraordinary "Freaks and Geeks" through "Superbad" and "Knocked Up"--such an absolute pleasure. There's nothing wrong with a formula movie, but if it doesn't play with its own conventions, the proceedings can come out stale.

That said, "Drillbit Taylor" isn't awful by any means. It has a breezy, non-offensive charm and gentleness due to Owen Wilson's laid back presence. The movie truly seems to like our three heroes and we do wish them victory. But, as a warning to Apatow, what ended up derailing John Hughes from his throne was an amass of increasingly half-baked features that streamed from his assembly line at a rate of two films a year (with 1991 as a high with four films). I don't want that to happen with Apatow, where frequency outweighed quality. Better luck next time with April's release "Forgetting Sarah Marshall."

Originally written March 21, 2008

"FORGETTING SARAH MARSHALL" Directed by Nicholas Stoller (2008)
**** (four stars)
Judd Apatow and his band of merry men are back on track with this painfully observed and performed romantic comedy, this time written by lead actor Jason Segal. By now, the plot is familiar. Kristen Bell plays the titular "Sarah Marshall," an actress on a "CSI" styled television show. Segal plays Peter, a musician who composes the music score for the program but dreams of crafting his "Dracula" themed rock opera...with puppets, no less! Sarah dumps Peter at the opening of the film and to assist with his healing after the mortifying breakup, Peter high-tails it to Hawaii only to find Sarah at the same hotel, now dating rock star Aldious Snow (Russell Brand).

The set-up is prime "rom-com" material, but as with previous Apatow films, the formula is turned inside out with a variety of colorful supporting characters (represented by the Apatow Repertory Players, Jonah Hill and Paul Rudd), fully developed leading characters who continue to reveal themselves well into the "third act" and again, painfully observed moments into relationships as they may seem in real life.

It takes the road where "The Break-Up" (2006) never had the guts to travel. That said, this film is not as funny or as raucous as "The 40 Year Old Virgin," "Knocked Up" or "Superbad." The humor is more minutely presented, thanks to Segal's sharp screenplay. In fact, this film reminded me of an equally squeamish and painful romantic comedy, written and directed by Albert Brooks--1981's "Modern Romance." Enormous credit must be given to Jason Segal who gives an absolutely fearless performance and not just for the full frontal. He is so vulnerable, so wounded, so pathetic and most importantly, so very true, that watching his nearly two hour emasculation may be a bit much for some. At points, you just ache for him and only want his happiness. Thankfully, he is rescued by Mila Kunis, whose breezy and seemingly effortless performance as the woman who lifts Peter's spirits, equally lifts the movie every time she is around. And please forgive the "mash note" quality of this last piece but I have never seen "That 70s Show" and I have no idea who Kunis is. But...good God, she is truly, truly stunning. And as lovely as Ms. Bell is, I would easily forget Sarah Marshall if Ms. Kunis was around!

Originally written April 18, 2008

"PINEAPPLE EXPRESS" Directed by David Gordon Green (2008)
**1/2 (two and a half stars)
With the vintage Columbia Pictures studio logo to begin the film, "Pineapple Express" is a 21st century update of the 80s action comedy. Unlike some of Producer Judd Apatow's mega-hits, this film, co-written by Seth Rogen and directed by David Gordon Green, strives to remain on the fringes and ultimately succeeds. I have a strong feeling that after the initial buzz wears off, the future of this movie will be proudly delegated to cult status and I envision this being screened at many parties on DVD for years to come.

As it stands, it is a ragged hybrid of rambling stoner dialogue, a few genuinely touching moments, wild, improbable and violent action sequences, as well as a healthy serving of homo-erotic humor and I believe that Apatow and his faithful crew wouldn't have wanted it any other way. Unlike "The 40 Year Old Virgin," "Knocked Up," "Superbad" and "Forgetting Sarah Marshall," where the plots contained universal appeal that anyone could relate to (relationships, break-ups, sexual anxiety, the teen years), the greatest success of "Pineapple Express" may rest with those who truly understand what is it like to be constantly stoned (as Seth Rogen and James Franco's characters are from one end of this film to the other) or have at least experienced the sensation. If one hasn't, like myself, some of the humor may be a little lost and for every hazy sequence that works (Rogen and Franco playing leapfrog in the woods) there may be another that just doesn't.

That said, I do have to give great credit to James Franco as Saul the drug dealer. His performance is so charmingly lucid and with subtle line readings, he hints at Saul's extreme loneliness and the disappointment he feels concerning the direction of his life. I almost wished the film followed his character and Seth Rogen's was the sidekick. Yet, they make an effortless team and I give the whole film a mild endorsement.

Originally written August 6, 2008

"WALK HARD: THE DEWEY COX STORY" Co-Written and Directed by Jake Kasdan (2007)
*** (three stars)
Comedy is hard and parodies have to be especially so. For every "Airplane!" there's many films on the level of an "Epic Movie." I have to say that I was reluctant to see this film in theaters because I was nervous that the parody would inevitably run out of steam. Now on DVD, I was very surprised to see how strong the film actually is and it is another success for Co-Writer/Producer Judd Apatow and his compatriots, most notably the talents of Co-Writer/Director Jake Kasdan.

Yes, this film is a pastiche of "Walk The Line," "Ray" and nearly every single biopic and "Behind The Music" program you've ever seen. With the infectious and joyous performance by John C. Reilly at the helm, we are carried through the four decade career of the Johnny Cash-ish Dewey Cox as we witness his tragic upbringing, the birth of his innate talent, the years of addiction and rehab, his redemption and final performance...all the hallmarks of the standard biopic and set to the strikingly well-written songs (the Bob Dylan parodies are a highlight). Every possible convention of the biopic is affectionately slaughtered (one of which is the standard of having the lead actor play the character from teenage years to old age) and while the film does have some misses and slows down a bit in the final third, "Walk Hard" is smart, scathing and highly entertaining.

Originally written Spring 2008

"TROPIC THUNDER" Co-Written and Directed by Ben Stiller (2008)
***1/2 (three and a half stars)
I had all but given up on Ben Stiller. I was so tired of his continuous run as the sexually frustrated nebbish who flirted with disaster and was constantly subjected to meeting parents and being confounded by women named Mary or Polly. It was just too much of the same thing and I feared he was going to go the way of Meg Ryan--more roles that were all the same. Thankfully, Stiller has re-emerged with his satiric teeth bared, extended and ready to chomp with his adrenalized and boisterous satire "Tropic Thunder."

I do have to agree with some critics that some of the biggest laughs occur right at the film's start but that's not to say the film nose-dives the rest of the way. In fact, the characters are so very well drawn, their motivations are precise and clear and unlike the awkward blend of violence and comedy from "Pineapple Express," this film makes everything work together, especially in a couple of "Python-esque" bits of gross-out humor. Nothing is sacred but the target is firmly placed on Hollywood, the powers that be and the Method Actors lost in a madness of their own making.

All of the performances are right on course, with Robert Downey Jr. (on a roll) giving another career making performance as Kirk Lazarus, a five time Oscar winner now portraying an African-American soldier in a bid for one more accolade. What could've been a disgusting return to the minstrel show becomes a razor sharp dig against all of the inner and outer transformations some actors go through for a role--including Downey Jr. for this one! Jack Black does seem to be the odd man out a bit but he gets a gut-busting laugh as his heroin addicted comedy star aching for artistic credibility is shackled to a tree, going through heroin withdrawal, desperately trying to negotiate his release. And then, there's Tom Cruise as the volcanically vulgar and grotesque studio head, Les Grossman, whose litany of expletives and full-on gangsta dance moves have to be seen to be believed. Back to Ben Stiller. I am so glad he's back. His duties as co-writer, producer and director for this are all top notch and I have to say, it makes me more anxious to see his upcoming collaboration with Cameron Crowe.

(2010 SIDE NOTE to this review: As it stands, the collaboration between Stiller and Crowe for a rumored project entitled "Deep Tiki," is currently not happening as both men are eyeing new projects. I do hope, however, that they team up for a project in the future.)

Originally written August 15, 2008

DO I DARE DISTURB THE UNIVERSE? *%@& YES!!!: a review of "Hot Tub Time Machine"

"HOT TUB TIME MACHINE" Directed by Steve Pink
***1/2 (three and a half stars)

Now this is what "The Hangover" should've been!!! Despite that film’s massive pillaging at the box office last summer, Director Todd Phillips’ ode to extreme male bonding (i.e. stupidity), while exerting a decent amount of comic mystery, was unfortunately a not terribly funny affair. In my original review of that film, I declared it to be “coarse, crass, and callous,” and not in a supportive way. What surprised me most about that film was not only how much I detested the three leading characters but I was also stunned that it also succumbed into the worst of creepy throwback attitudes and depictions of women. To add the proverbial insult to injury, after viewing “The Hangover” a second time, what little that had worked initially for me already didn’t hold up very well. Since the comic mystery of the missing groom-to-be and the forgotten pieces of their night of debauchery had been solved after seeing the film the first time, I could not help but to become painfully aware that the film was loaded with several slow-paced passages that limped along from one set-up to the next. It had a lack of energy to go along with its’ redundant, repetitive and much too derivative comedic depravity, which ultimately robbed the enterprise of possessing an original comedic voice.

Now let me turn you to a film which not only knows how to get the job done, it definitely possesses an original comic voice. Life long friends, Director Steve Pink and Producer John Cusack have correctly figured out how to take similar elements of the male driven vulgar comedy and give them all a fresh spin. The resulting film, “Hot Tub Time Machine,” is a raucous, riotous, extremely tasteless, volcanically puerile, and downright hysterical and surprisingly melancholy film, which bests “The Hangover” in every possible way.

The pain and ennui of middle age and lament for lost youth has already settled uncomfortably into the lives of Adam (John Cusack), Nick (Craig Robinson) and Lou (Rob Cordrry). Upon returning home from another miserable day of cubicle drudgery, Adam is dealt a significant blow by the departure of his live-in girlfriend, along with most of his furniture and possessions. Nick is deeply in love, yet not quite happily married as he fears his wife is cheating on him. Nick has also traded his dreams of musical fulfillment for a soulless dead-end job at ‘Sup Dawg, a canine themed pet store/animal clinic. As the film opens, Adam and Nick race to the hospital to find Lou (crudely nicknamed “The Violator” due to his hard partying nature) recovering from carbon monoxide poisoning due to drunkenly singing and playing along to his beloved Motley Crue’s “Home Sweet Home,” in a closed garage clouded with exhaust fumes.

Hoping to cure their ills with one more fraternal blast, the trio-along with Jacob (played by Clark Duke), Adam’s 20-ish, introverted, tech-geek nephew-decide to take a trip to the ski lodge they frequented 20 years earlier, a location which also holds their most cherished memories. However, the years have not been kind to the almost empty and dilapidated resort. Yet before the gang can descend into another round of middle aged disappointment and failure, they step into the suite’s hot tub for an evening of sudsy, alcoholic fun. After a spillage on the electronic controls, the foursome are transported-like Marty McFly in Doc Brown’s DeLorean-back to the ski lodge of their heyday: the Winterland festival weekend of 1986, the exact point in time where all of their lives took dramatic turns for the worse. Realizing their ridiculously unplanned predicament, the group is faced with the chance to either right the wrongs of their past (and risking the potential damage of the butterfly effect) or allow events to play out at they had before. Will Adam choose to break up with his gorgeous and “tight” old girlfriend Jennie (Lyndsey Fonseca), the “Great White Buffalo” of his past, all over again? Will Lou defeat Blaine the rich bully (Sebastian Stan) who once roughed him up? Will Nick chase his musical dreams once and for all? Then, there’s the completely misplaced Jacob, who wasn’t even born in 1986, who somehow runs into his younger and horny Mother (Collette Wolfe). And of course, there is the question of how they will ever find their collective way back to 2010. Perhaps that cryptic repair man, played by Chevy Chase, has all of the necessary answers…

In Rob Reiner’s immortal rockumentary parody “This Is Spinal Tap” (1984), guitarist David St Hubbins (played by Michael McKean) states, “It’s such a fine line between stupid and clever.” Steve Pink and John Cusack have straddled this very thin line confidently as they dole out stupid and clever in equal amounts. While it may not function as everyone’s cup of tea, for me, it worked wonderfully and on various levels as well.

As a 1980’s pop culture satire, it succeeds in ways that the highly celebrated Adam Sandler vehicle “The Wedding Singer” (1998) just did not. I despised “The Wedding Singer” for so many reasons, most of all because it presented a 1980s I never knew and frankly didn’t exist. I lived through the 1980’s. My entire adolescence existed in the 1980s and “The Wedding Singer” seemed to have absolutely no knowledge of that time. It was an 80’s fun house where every sight and sound was depicted as a knowing pop-culture joke. It was tiresome and just not funny. In “Hot Tub Time Machine” however, we do get our fair share of leg warmers, jheri curls, pastels, Walkman cassette players and an MTV that actually showed music videos, but those images do not fuel the film as a whole. In fact, after those sight gags are presented, the 80’s references we do receive are sly and subtle nods to ‘80s movies. We are treated to many mirrored moments that are engineered to remind us of “Back To The Future” (1985), “Pretty In Pink” (1986), “Red Dawn” (1984) and even several films in which Cusack himself appeared (Try to spot the references to “Sixteen Candles” (1984), “Better Off Dead” (1985), “The Sure Thing” (1985) “ and even 1989’s “Say Anything…”). Thankfully, these are all presented without throwing a neon sign on the movie screen and pummeling the audience with easy, obvious material.

Pink wisely gives his film a rapid comic velocity. Paced like a cross between a classic screwball comedy and an underground “hellzapoppin’” mania, the jokes, sight gags, and one-liners are all hurled with unabashed glee. Even the gross–out gags, of which there may a few too many, race by, make their cheerfully nasty point and move on.

John Cusack is the perfect straight man as he is constantly attempting to wrestle some sort of control over chaotic situations. His status as an unconventional and wonderfully convincing romantic lead plays out in a few sequences where Adam strikes up a friendship with April (Lizzy Caplan), a traveling music journalist for Spin magazine, currently on the road with Poison. Cusack and Caplan have a nice, quiet mid-movie courtship sequence where he delivers a sad, grim monologue that rivals, and is possibly a nod to Phoebe Cates’ infamous “Why I hate Christmas” speech from Joe Dante’s “Gremlins” (1984).

Craig Robinson, previously seen in scene stealing smaller roles in 2008’s uneven “Pineapple Express” and “Zack And Miri Make A Porno,” continues his comedic mastery of the deadpan delivery. He raises every scene he is in effortlessly. Clarke Duke is his equal with deadpan remarks, reactions and observational humor and his sweetness is a fine counterpoint to the flailing zoo around him.

Rob Cordrry takes the role of the requisite party animal to epic proportions with his blistering performance of Lou. He is an alcoholic and walking psychopathic hellion. He is the id on cocaine with three remaining and endlessly fighting brain cells at his disposal and Cordrry attacks and embraces this role completely by letting go of any inhibitions, heading full throttle and never blinking.

I must also express how much of a pleasure it was to see Chevy Chase, reminding us all, in just a few sort scenes of why he is one of the greats. And Crispin Glover as a one-armed bellboy is just golden and the center of several brutally funny moments.

Before I go any further, I have to return to “The Hangover” for a moment as I continue to ponder just how that film went wrong for me when “Hot Tub Time Machine” was blissfully right. As I stated at the head of this review, I hated the three leading characters. These stupid, boorish men didn’t seem to know or care how stupid and boorish they actually were…and perhaps, neither did the filmmakers. The film loved these guys and their behavior, the film seemed to be arguing, was justified and deserved. For all of the mishaps and unfortunate situations, nothing really horrible happened to them. “The Hangover” was too in love with its terrible trio and by the film’s conclusion, their supreme irresponsibility was not only revered and justified, it was rewarded. Being a “Bad Boy” gave them everything they wanted, they were unchanged from the experience and why should they be as there were no real consequences?

With “Hot Tub Time Machine,” Pink, Cusack and their collaborators obviously are in love with their characters as well. But, they are knowing of their collective stupidity which enhances the comedy. Yet, it is also critical of their foibles, failures, and fears, which gives the film some dark and unexpected weight. The film has built in a knowing poignancy to the material that simultaneously lets you in on the joke and laugh at these characters as well as understanding how they became miserable middle aged men. Adam, Nick and Lou could be spiritual brothers to the sad men of Ray Romano’s excellent new series, “Men Of A Certain Age.”

Also, in some respects, “Hot Tub Time Machine” reminded me of Director Harold Ramis’ finest film, “Groundhog Day” (1993) which had Bill Murray’s misanthropic weatherman forced to eternally live the same day until he devises a way to get his house in order. “Hot Tub Time Machine” may make a sloppy conceptual mess of the space-time continuum but it has a firm hand on the wheel of time and karma, as the characters are also forced to relive various moments and failures of their lost 1986 weekend in ways that differ slightly from how they remember. Like the brilliant and dizzying concepts shown within the plotting of television’s “Lost,” some events cannot be changed and matters of fate and destiny will remain no matter what you do to change the end results. Moreover, the film is clever and smart enough to depict that their cherished youth wasn’t that much better than their middle age in the first place.

I cannot deny the pleasure of a subversive John Cusack comedy. Their “anything goes” spirit has always been infectious, whether in the aforementioned teen comedies “Better Off Dead” and “One Crazy Summer” (both written and directed by Savage Steve Holland and from 1985 and 1986, respectively), the music industry satire “Tapeheads” (1988) or even Cusack’s own polarizing, raging political satire and passion project, “War, Inc.” (2008).

I have to say that I have never had a desire to return to the 80’s, a decade Cusack’s character Adam refers to glumly as “the time of Reagan and AIDS.” But, with “Hot Tub Time Machine,” I am already looking forward to a return trip.

SAVAGE CINEMA COMING ATTRACTIONS FOR APRIL 2010

It is just amazing to behold how productive this blog has been for me. It is creatively fulfilling and I am honored by everyone who has even taken some time to visit.

For the month of April, I have some upcoming reviews planned for you including...

1. John Cusack's new comedy "Hot Tub Time Machine."

2. "Greenberg," the latest from Writer/Director Noah Baumbach.

3. Let's see if I can get myself to the new rock biopic "The Runaways" as well as the new Judd Apatow produced and Nicholas Stoller written and directed comedy, "Get Him To The Greek," a sort-of sequel to "Forgetting Sarah Marshall."

4. More reviews from the archives will make their debut appearances on Savage Cinema, including a new series of older, shorter reviews entitled, "SAVAGE CINEMA'S SHORT TAKES."

5. And we'll see about this one...I am currently involved in a Spike Lee phase, as I have been pouring through his post "Malcolm X" material, including the excellent "Crooklyn," "Clockers," "Get On the Bus," as well as the engaging misfire known as "Girl 6." I am tossing around the idea of possibly writing about my ten favorite Lee "Joints" but most of all, I am still hoping to view, write and premiere my review of his latest, "Passing Strange."

Life always has its nasty habit of getting itself in the way of any plans we all may intended to pursue but these are the hopeful coming attractions for this month.

See you when the house lights go down...