My Sister's Keeper

Bottom Line: A thinking man and woman's weepy.

If you're going to make a weepy, there's no reason you can't make it with intelligence and insight as the makers of "My Sister's Keeper" have done. The audience manipulation -- if one wants to call it that -- comes from your understanding of these people and how this particular family operates in an atmosphere of love and mutual concern. The tragedy that forces its way into their midst is fought with tenacity, and the conflicts within the family are portrayed in such a manner that no one is a bad guy.

A film about a child with leukemia understandably has a small theatrical audience. Indeed, Jodi Picoult's novel, on which Jeremy Leven and director Nick Cassavetes' screenplay is based, might seem more at home on television, where illness, doctors and hospitals somehow feel less alarming. But "My Sister's Keeper" does benefit from a sagacious big-screen treatment: It allows for nuances and takes time to focus this story of an illness on all the people it affects.

The movie begins with a bit of misdirection when 11-year-old Anna (Abigail Breslin) sues her parents. It looks like you're headed into a fascinating legal drama dealing with a thorny ethical issue.

Anna has always known she is a "donor child." When her parents, Sara (Cameron Diaz) and Brian (Jason Patric), discover their first daughter, Kate (Sofia Vassilieva), has leukemia, they choose to conceive another child through genetic engineering who would be a perfect genetic match with Kate. Thus, Anna can donate blood or whatever else is necessary to keep her elder sister alive.

The two girls love each other dearly, so Anna never complains. Then, 11 years into this routine, Kate's kidneys are failing and she'll need one of Anna's. Anna finally says no. She hires a big-shot lawyer (Alec Baldwin), whose face adorns billboards and buses all over Los Angeles, and goes to court seeking her "medical emancipation." But her mom, who gave up a law practice to care for her ailing daughter, will make a ferocious opponent.

The movie isn't about a court battle. The film moves back and forth in time to show how decisions were made and how this illness impacts everyone, including older brother Jesse (Evan Ellingson), who at times feels overlooked because of his sisters' relay team in body parts. The movie reflects back on the joys and sorrows of a family and how love can be just as strong whether the answer is yes ... or no.

The film takes time giving you the background on everyone, and that includes the judge (Joan Cusack) who will decide the issue and a fellow cancer patient (Thomas Dekker) who becomes Kate's love interest.

OK, maybe everything is a little too neat, too perfect. If you're going to be in a hospital, you would want David Thornton's Dr. Chance for your doctor. He's compassionate, honest, smart and -- this element veering into science fiction -- always available for consultation.

You would want your mom to be running over everyone else's feelings in fighting for your life. You'd want a dad who continues to do his job -- as a fireman, no less! -- even though the illness marginalizes him within his own family. You'd want a brother and sister this loving, but would that ever happen?

The ugliness of the illness also is not depicted in detail. Even the vomiting is mostly offscreen. And the ending is dragged out unnecessarily. It is the one occasion where you might legitimately complain about manipulation.

Nevertheless, the actors work with a beguiling earnestness. Diaz goes without any discernible makeup and even shaves her head at one point (so her daughter won't feel "ugly" following chemotherapy.) All the work pays off: This family feels like a family and not an ensemble thrown together in the casting process. When they gather around Kate's hospital bed, the whole things seems very real. Thus, the tears.

Opens: Friday, June 26 (Warner Bros.)

Review: Year One

by Jeffrey M. Anderson Jun 19th 2009 // 9:02AM

Harold Ramis has worked in comedy a long time, and his career has taken many directions. With his work on the Ghostbusters (1984) script and his straight-man performance in the film, he managed to allow Bill Murray room to move and riff within the confines of a visual effects-heavy summer blockbuster. As for the meticulously crafted classic Groundhog Day (1993), I hesitate to call any movie "perfect," but it comes close. But then there were phoned-in hits like Analyze This (1999) and Analyze That (2002) that seemed too tightly wound and too slavishly dependent on plot to be very funny.

Ramis' new film Year One, on the other hand, comes closer to the spirit of his directorial debut Caddyshack (1980). I'm not saying it's quite as funny or as brilliant, but it's in the same spirit. It cares thankfully little about its plot or its character arcs, or historical accuracy; it's a bit flabby and careless, but it's also gleefully stupid, and it has the ability to knock you off guard and make you giggle helplessly.

Jack Black stars as Zed, an inept hunter in a primitive tribe of hunter-gatherers. His best friend is Oh (Michael Cera), a gatherer who forever endures jokes about his girlishness. Zed is in love with Maya (June Diane Raphael) and Oh with Eema (Juno Temple), but neither loser has enough going for him to promise them much. So when Zed eats from the tree of forbidden fruit, he is forced to leave and Oh tags along. (Subsequently, Zed believes he has been "chosen.") On their first stop, they meet arguing brothers Cain (David Cross) and Abel (Paul Rudd), and watch slack-jawed as Cain bludgeons his brother to death. Now more or less fugitives, they continue on, becoming slaves, escaping, meeting Abraham and stopping him from sacrificing his son, and finally venturing into the sin-ridden city of Sodom to rescue their girls.

Year One starts out with a couple minutes of ultra-serious Apocalypto-type footage, with tribal hunters stalking some prey in the jungle, before Zed bungles out and establishes the tone for the entire film. Basically, everyone speaks English, and modern-day vernacular and slang are allowed, even if references to modern-day inventions and developments are not. The eventual goal is for the two boys to become men and earn the hands of their beloved women, but the movie doesn't mind occasionally stopping for laughs in the pursuit of this goal. Unfortunately, if the gags don't work in these stopping places, the stop just feels like a lag, like a bit of fat that didn't get trimmed out. And indeed, we get the usual share of penis jokes, pee jokes and poo jokes that rarely work. (There are few sex jokes; they were reportedly cut out during an appeal to change the rating from 'R' to 'PG-13.') I laughed at one pee joke, but not because of the joke itself; rather, I laughed at Black's follow-up line: "I'm peeing on my own face, too... on the inside."

Black is a good reason why most of this works. (Back in 2000, I was convinced that Black deserved an Oscar nomination for High Fidelity.) Like Murray in Ghostbusters or Will Ferrell in his best films, Black has discovered a way to make it seem as if he's improvising all his lines in his own style. And his style is awfully hard to define; he's cocky and confident, yet not arrogant or overbearing. He's incompetent, but not useless. He's verbose but not obnoxious. His funniest lines can sometimes seem like the creation of an enthusiastic ten year-old or like the creation of a clever and witty playwright. It seems as if many up-and-coming comedians are trying in various ways to copy Black's brand of tubby energy, and failing (Dan Fogler comes to mind).

However, Black is surrounded in Year One by many other able comedians; Cera has a similar, rambly type of comic delivery, but sweeter and quieter, and he's a perfect match for Black. Ramis appears as Cain and Abel's father Adam, and Hank Azaria -- apparently capable of any voice or accent -- is Abraham, who is obsessed with circumcising every male within earshot. Oliver Platt is very funny as the lusty, effeminate high priest, and Cross makes an appealing maniacal Cain. And the great Vinnie Jones (The Midnight Meat Train), with his psychotic, soccer hooligan stare, plays a violent guard. To round out the comedy pedigree, we have screenwriters Gene Stupnitsky and Lee Eisenberg, from the American version of TV's "The Office" (on which Ramis also worked), and of course, producer Judd Apatow, who seems to collect a stable of comedians like a nobleman might collect prize steeds.

In the end, we get a reel of hilarious bloopers, which indicates how much fun the shoot must have been. It reminded me of a few other comedies, specifically things like Three Amigos, The Golden Child and Spaceballs, that critics aren't supposed to like, but somehow provide some guilty laughs anyway, mainly because of the comic energy that radiates from the screen. With all these different types of funny people butting heads all day long every day, something good was bound to come out of it.

Review: The Proposal

I love watching Sandra Bullock, who is enjoyable even in the lamest of films. And sadly, there are so many lame movies starring Bullock, and so few that I would enjoy watching more than once -- Infamous is a rare exception. After I saw Speed, I said that I thought Bullock could be this generation's Carole Lombard, but unfortunately the actress has not yet found her Howard Hawks or Ernst Lubitsch. The Proposal is yet another Bullock-starring formulaic romantic comedy with little to offer except sparkling performances, and not just from Bullock.

Margaret Tate (Bullock) is the terror of the Manhattan publishing office where she's editor-in-chief, and even her charming assistant Andrew (Ryan Reynolds) is scared of her. Her Achilles heel turns out to be that she's ... Canadian, and she's about to be deported for a year due to some visa problems. So Margaret hurriedly declares that she's engaged to Andrew, who's American. You don't have to have seen Green Card to guess the rest of the story.

The "happy couple" meets with skepticism from INS, so to prove their love, they travel to Andrew's family home in small-town Alaska to celebrate his Granny Annie's (Betty White) 90th birthday. Since Bullock is starring and it's a romantic comedy, we know her character will be humbled and tumbled about, away from her native habitat of New York. If only we could vanquish all our power-crazed bosses this way ...

Admittedly, I am so pleased to see Bullock -- or any actress, for that matter -- playing a romantic comedy heroine who isn't "adorably" klutzy or awkward that I'm almost willing to love The Proposal on that strength alone. However, I don't care for the stereotype of the Evil Female Witch-Boss either, especially when you know a comeuppance is forthcoming. At least this character doesn't need an adorable child to become acceptably feminine.

In addition, I don't like humiliation comedy, which is in abundance during the first half of The Proposal. I don't laugh when a character is taken down a peg by being blackmailed onto her knees in public (as in the above photo), or when a male character is embarrassed about being portrayed as a "sensitive guy" around his manly friends. I feel sorry for them, even if they're fictional. I never could watch even "America's Funniest Home Videos" because I always pitied the stumbling bride or clumsy child. I realize I'm in the minority -- a lot of audience members nearly laughed themselves sick over one character being mean to another, or being harassed by Mother Nature -- so use your judgment here about your own sense of humor.

The Proposal does have some inspired comic moments -- I love the waves of instant messaging that flow through the publishing office, signaling that Margaret is stalking the floor or spreading gossip. And being a geek, one bit involving a sound in an Internet cafe made me giggle. Many of the gags, however, were old and tired when Granny Annie was a mere slip of a girl.

Despite the tired and sometimes mean-spirited jokes, Bullock is still delightful to watch. She knows how to portray this type of character and her transformation, and hits every note perfectly. Reynolds doesn't have a strongly written character to work with, but he's charming enough to pull it off anyway. For the most part, the supporting cast has little to do: Mary Steenburgen and Craig T. Nelson are typically parental, Malin Akerman smiles a lot as the cute hometown ex-flame, Michael Nouri sits behind a desk. Oscar Nunez (The Office) and Betty White provide the film's broadest comedy, but I feel like we got a little too much of their forcefully, fitfully wacky humor, which dilutes their genuinely funny moments.

Nights in Rodanthe

Movies like Nights in Rodanthe are beyond reviewing, because intellectually analyzing them cancels out their intended effect. This is a weepie, pure and simple. If you're the type that likes crying at the movies, you'll love it. If you loved Richard Gere and Diane Lane together in a thriller like Unfaithful (2002) but you don't like to cry, you probably won't like it. Me, I found a few things to like and much to loathe.

Diane Lane stars in Nights in Rodanthe as Adrienne Willis, a frazzled single mother with a young son and a teenage daughter; the latter has just begun talking back and expressing her universal disdain for everything her mother does. Adrienne's no-good husband (Christopher Meloni), who, we learn, has had an affair, arrives to pick up the kids so that Adrienne can go help her happy-go-lucky pal Jean (Viola Davis, playing a typical movie "best friend") look after a sexy, beach-side North Carolina hotel during its off-season. Unfortunately, the husband now wants to get back together.

Confused Adrienne arrives at the hotel, which is decorated head-to-foot in all kinds of colored, tinkly bric-a-brac and prepares for its one and only guest. Dr. Paul Flanner (Richard Gere) is a doctor struggling with a dark secret, and who has arrived for an equally mysterious errand. The attractive duo eventually warm up to one another and talk, but their dark secrets get in the way. Meanwhile, a huge storm threatens to blow away everything that isn't nailed down. I guess it's not too hard to guess what happens next. (Trivia hounds: this is Gere and Lane's third movie together. Besides Unfaithful, they were in Francis Ford Coppola's The Cotton Club together way back in 1984.)

Perhaps the most interesting thing about the new movie is how rare this genre is these days. Lately, weepies come attached to some important message so that the picture can rise up to earn accolades and Oscar nominations; they're set during a war, or have something to do with disease (think Atonement or Love in the Time of Cholera). Nights in Rodanthe doesn't require any such pretense. It's about a man and a woman who fall in love, and because we're talking Nicholas Sparks, we're talking tragic results rather than happy ones. And that's it.

Because Nights in Rodanthe is such a pure weepie, it made me recall an influential study done by film scholar Linda Williams, who helped define the "body genres." She named porno, horror films and weepies as the three main genres that elicit physical reactions from audiences. I never agreed with her on the weepie categorization until now. This is exactly the type of movie she was talking about. Like a porno film or a horror film, it has one goal and only one goal. If it affects you intellectually, then it has failed. If it doesn't jerk your tears, then it has failed.

Diane Lane goes a long way toward making the film work. She's perfectly at home inside this material (as she usually is in any material, bless her), and her emotional openness and ease carry us through some of the clunkier passages. However, rookie director George C. Wolfe, who comes from television, fails to direct Gere with the same touch; Gere seems to overshoot his lines, always aiming too high, as if unsure of his character's responses. This split continues across the film; the music selection is good (Dinah Washington!) and the set design seems right, but the tone, the editing and the pacing fall far short of their potential. One scene at a town fish-fry earned unintentional laughs from the audience at my screening.

Then there's the story by Nicholas Sparks, which is what it is. It's pure hokum, totally ridiculous, but the trick is to treat it as if it weren't. And because Wolfe fails half the time, the story begins to show through, more and more frequently calling attention to itself. The greatest weepies ever made are the ones by Douglas Sirk in the 1950s (Written on the Wind, All That Heaven Allows, etc.). Sirk was an artist, and he could shape and design an absolutely brilliant scene around the most hysterical plot; his films almost play more like films noir than weepies. I don't feel ashamed watching them. But perhaps that's the key. As with horror films and porno films, much of the joy of weepies comes from the stupid, guilty pleasure we feel at having been so crassly manipulated.

Which leads me to the major problem of Nights in Rodanthe: the fact that Gere is in his fifties and Lane is in her forties. It's much harder to fool audiences in that age group; they've seen more movies and know more tricks. Younger audiences have greedily indulged in the previous two Sparks films The Notebook (2004) and A Walk to Remember (2002), mainly because they were based on characters in their teens and twenties and the stories probably seemed new. The first Sparks film, Message in a Bottle (1999), was also based on the older generation, and it failed. Nights in Rodanthe exists in a similar void. Younger viewers are not going to want to see an icky romance about (eww!) people their parents' age, while older viewers are going to want to stay home and rent Atonement.

Righteous Kill

Oh, if only Robert Aldrich were alive! The pulpmeister of the horror lollapalooza “What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?” certainly knew how to build a grand showcase for his corrugated divas (Bette Davis and Joan Crawford), while the hapless Jon Avnet hasn’t a clue what to do with his (Al Pacino and Robert De Niro). In “Righteous Kill” these two godheads of 1970s cinema go macho-a-macho with each other — furrowing brows, bellowing lines, looking alternately grimly serious and somewhat bemused — in a B-movie (more like C-minus) duet that probably sounded like a grand idea when their handlers whispered it in their ears.

Mr. De Niro and Mr. Pacino have squared off only once before on the big screen, in Michael Mann’s 1995 thriller, “Heat,” in which they spent most of the film in separate story lines, joined only by the parallel editing and a late-act, disappointingly anticlimactic meeting at a diner. They share far more face time in “Righteous Kill,” playing well-seasoned New York City Police Department detectives and long-term partners who take turns clucking at each other like hens while swaggering around town like gamecocks. True to strut, pouf and wattles, Mr. Pacino’s cop goes by Rooster, while Mr. De Niro is just Turk, which doesn’t appear to be short for Turkey, though it sure does help to pass the time if you think about it.

Time, alas, doesn’t so much pass in “Righteous Kill” as crawl, despite the usual overcutting, which tries to pump energy into the inert proceedings. Mr. Avnet, whose last movie was the clunker “88 Minutes” (one of Mr. Pacino’s worst), is not a natural director, to put it kindly. His handiwork is most evident in the unsteady tone, though to be fair it’s always hard to know who deserves most of the blame for this kind of star-struck, suit-crammed (eight producers, three executive producers, one co-producer) mush. Suffice it to say that everything from the camera placement to the cheap use of the consistently good, lamentably underemployed Carla Gugino is shoddy. (Note to Mr. Avnet: Yes, Ms. Gugino has breasts, but, really, her acting is more interesting.)

Like most actors, Mr. Pacino and Mr. De Niro need a strong hand, some kind of visionary authority to put them in their best light and prevent them from leaning on the tics and tricks — Mr. Pacino tends to turn up the volume, while Mr. De Niro glowers until he looks ready to pop — that now too often mar their performances. “Righteous Kill,” a clutter of recycled cop-movie and serial-killer film clichés (it’s hard to believe that the screenwriter, Russell Gewirtz, also wrote “Inside Man”), is far from their worst effort. And the two have some nice moments with each other and some of the other actors. Mr. Pacino seems to be genuinely moved during his final showdown with Mr. De Niro, or maybe he’s just a sweet sentimental fool.

The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3

Los Angeles (E! Online) – Review in a Hurry: Anyone expecting a typical big-budget Tony Scott action movie should be forewarned—about 80 percent of this subway heist flick consists of close-ups on John Travolta and Denzel Washington talking over an intercom. Fortunately, it's every bit as compelling as if they were shooting guns the whole time. Plus, the other 20 percent? Car crashes.

The Bigger Picture: The third adaptation of John Godey's 1973 novel—Walter Matthau and Robert Shaw costarred in a 1974 movie, while a 1998 TV version pitted Edward James Olmos against Vincent D'Onofrio—gives the material a modern twist. No longer just a mercenary, the subway hijacker known only as "Ryder" (Travolta) is now an evil Wall Street trader, hoping to recoup his losses after going to prison for massive fraud. He's probably the only Wall Street trader with a neck tattoo and perfectly groomed Morgan Spurlock mustache.

Subway dispatcher Walter Garber (Washington) has the bad luck of being on duty right when Ryder commandeers a train full of hostages, demanding $10 million within the hour before he starts shooting. The two develop a peculiar rapport, with Ryder seizing on weaknesses he perceives in his mild-mannered counterpart, while Garber tries to use the gift of gab to talk him down, even as his own flawed past becomes exposed.

Meanwhile, the mayor (James Gandolfini) decides to pay the money, but it has to be swiftly driven across town by what is apparently the Keystone Kops division of the NYPD, who proceed to crash into anything and everything just so ADD-afflicted audience members won't get bored by all the talking.

Scott, to his credit, mostly lets the actors do their thing and stays out of their way. Sure, he tries to juice things up with silly slo-mo/drop-frame cityscapes, but these are mostly kept to a minimum. And Washington does a great job of persuading us he's kind of a put-upon regular joe, despite being one of the most handsome and famous people on the planet in real life.

Consider, too, that, given the setup, most of his interactions with Travolta must surely have been against a blank screen on set, though he absolutely will persuade you otherwise.

The 180—a Second Opinion: The character of Ryder, however, seems to have been written in a more interesting way than Travolta plays him; the actor simply does that tic-filled, twitchy, over-the-top thing he always does in action movies. Fair enough, but could have been even better.

Ice Age: Dawn of the Dinosaurs

20th Century Fox has releaed the the first clip from the third film in the ICE AGE series; "Ice Age: Dawn of the Dinosaurs" starring the voices of Ray Romano, John Leguizamo, Denis Leary, Simon Pegg, and Queen Latifah.

The film is due out July 1st 2009, just in time for the forth of July weekend.

Check out the clip below.

The sub-zero heroes from the worldwide blockbusters "Ice Age" and "Ice Age: The Meldown" are back, on an incredible adventure...for the ages. Scrat is still trying to nab the ever-elusive nut (while, maybe, finding true love); Manny and Ellie await the birth of their mini-mammoth, Sid the sloth gets into trouble when he creates his own makeshift family by hijacking some dinosaur eggs; and Diego the saber-toothed tiger wonders if he's growing too "soft" hanging with his pals. On a mission to rescue the hapless Sid, the gang ventures into a mysterious underground world, where they have some close encounters with dinosaurs, battle flora and fauna run amuck - and meet a relentless, one-eyed, dino-hunting weasel named Buck.