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Review: 'The Baxter'

By Dan Vinson

Even if you haven't heard of a "baxter," if you're a guy, you've probably been one or know one. In writer-director Michael Showalter's film, Brooklyn accountant Elliot Sherman (played by Showalter) is the baxter, or, the guy who never gets the girl. In his narration, Elliot explains that his grandmother coined the term, and ever since, the shoe has always fit.

But, what's this? In the opening scene, Elliot awaits his, yes his, beautiful bride Caroline (Elizabeth Banks) at the front of a lovely church. Then, at that dreaded movie moment (after all, when does it happen in real life?) when the minister utters "or forever hold your peace," former flame Bradley (Justin Theroux) bursts in and proclaims his undying love. What happens next Showalter saves for later, as Elliot recounts what led to that fateful moment.

Somewhat clueless and dorky, Elliot - one of those guys who seems old by 30 - leads a quiet life of old college chums, tweed suits and driving caps. As a coworker offers him tickets to the symphony, Caroline Swann (her father's a client) gets buzzed into his office. He's never met anyone like her. Moments before, he had never met anyone like his quirky, dripping-wet temp Cecil Mills (Michelle Williams). The more aggressive Caroline wins his attention, and they begin dating and living together. Everything is great until a few weeks before their wedding when, at a gathering of Caroline's old friends, the now-hunky geologist Bradley shows up. (With his girlfriend, but still, a reconnection is palpable.) In town for a while, Bradley proceeds to pop up between finalizing wedding plans and various family gatherings; they (mostly Caroline) can hardly avoid him. Meanwhile, Cecil and Elliot have been bonding over the Bradley situation, if not their own mutual attraction, in a strange late-night club where she "sings." As the day grows closer, posturing, mistakes and misunderstandings abound, amplifying that moment in the church. But will Elliot remain the baxter he thought?

The ending and the plot go to obvious places, but in surprising ways. Referencing everything from the wedding hijinks and often the energy of "The Philadelphia Story" to Jack Lemmon's perennial bachelor (named Baxter) and Shirley MacLaine's worldly aura in "The Apartment," Michael Showalter has lovingly updated these classic formulas for the modern world, and the few twists make his own mark. Similar to 2002's "Down With Love," "The Baxter" embraces its arch acting style and dares you to do the same. Ace cinematographer Tim Orr packages things in an early 1960s look that's equal parts ruddy and burnished.

You'll probably recognize Showalter, and many on hand here, from "Wet Hot American Summer" or sketch comedy like "The State" or "Stella." (Paul Rudd, "The Station Agent's" Peter Dinklage and "Stella" pal Michael Ian Black also appear in small roles.) Lovably awkward, even Showalter's hair seems befuddled, while Theroux makes a perfect archenemy. On the ladies' side, Banks flirts and throws great tantrums, while Williams shines as the girl (maybe) waiting in the wings. For the record, one of the year's funniest scenes has to be Elliot, potted plant in hand, running through the streets of Brooklyn, another "Apartment" nod. While "The Baxter" may never achieve the greatness of its predecessors, all involved amass huge points for their charming attempt - further evidence that actual laughter and memorable characters trump projectile vomiting and explosions every time. CV

Review: 'Waiting...'

By Ben Spierenburg

"Waiting..." is an often-amusing portrayal of life as a restaurant employee from first-time writer/director Rob McKittrick. The film follows 24 hours in the life of a corporate restaurant, appropriately named Shenanigan's, where workers alleviate the pain of their excruciatingly demoralizing jobs with the help of the "penis-showing game," which entails tricking the usual cast of misfit coworkers into glancing at exposed nut sacks.
You've dined here before.

Headwaiter Monty (Ryan Reynolds, "Van Wilder") is bored to death but quick with a joke. Mitch is the new guy - a vehicle for getting to know the rest of the crew. Foul-mouthed Naomi (Alana Ubach) has worked at Shenanigan's for too long and has anger management problems. Insecure Calvin (Robert Patrick Benedict) has a shy bladder but still enjoys playing the penis game. Longtime dishwasher Bishop (Chi McBride) offers psychological counseling. Doofus manager and social outcast Dan (David Koechner) urges employees to put the "extra" into "extraordinary," while battling Monty for the affection of sexy under-age hostess Natasha (Vanessa Lengies). And head cook Radimmus (Luis Guzman) gladly mixes dandruff, phlegm and pubic hair into the food of obnoxious customers, demonstrating to moviegoers that they should never mess with the people who handle their food.

The same could be said with inexperienced filmmakers.

Because while it provides some decent laughs, in the end, "Waiting" is merely another ramshackle, haphazard collection of lewd comedy skits slapped together. True it works, because it is what it is. It's just that it's been done so many times before.

"Waiting..." is crude, crass, overly packed with profanity, and pushes the boundaries of good taste to a here-to-fore unknown limit with several gross-out scenes that are sure to shock you into fits of disgusted laughter. CV

Review: 'Two for the Money'

By Rafe Telsch

"Two for the Money" may be the year's most poorly marketed film. The movie, which is advertised as a man's rise and fall in the world of illegal sports gambling, actually tells a much deeper story, giving Academy Award-winner Al Pacino more scenes to brilliantly chew on than he's had since "Scent of a Woman."

Brandon Lang (Matthew McConaughey) was a superstar football player until his last game in college left him badly injured. No longer a candidate for professional football, Brandon takes a job at a small-time 900-number service: horoscopes, celebrities, etc. And when an opportunity opens up for Brandon to start recording a sports-pick service, where he'll broadcast his game predictions each week, he jumps at it.

As a player and a serious sports junkie, Brandon offers excellent insight into every NFL and college football game, and becomes a success at picking winners. In fact, he does so well he catches the attention of Walter Abrams (Pacino), who runs a big-time business selling advice to big-time gamblers. With Brandon's talent for identifying champions, Walter offers Brandon the opportunity of a lifetime: making millions picking games.

And while it's fun to watch Brandon's transformation into his more confident and marketable "John Anthony" alter-ego, the real meat of the movie comes from the relationship between Brandon and Walter, who says from the start he sees Brandon as himself 30 years prior. And McConaughey does his best work since "A Time to Kill."

But make no mistake. This isn't a guy's flick. It's about football, yes. But it's an excellent psychological drama, too, which is where Pacino does his best work. Sure, his tirades may be becoming a little predictable, but damn if they aren't fun to watch. And while it's unlikely most people will flock to the theaters to check out Matt and Al over claymation bunnies or Cameron Diaz in yet another role that allows her to strip down to her panties, "Two for the Money" is far from a gamble of your entertainment dollar. CV

Review: 'A History of Violence'

By Dan Vinson

"Tell me the truth... what are you?" Edie Stall asks husband Tom about midway through director David Cronenberg's latest, most-complete effort yet. The Stalls (Viggo Mortensen and Maria Bello) live in the quiet town of Millbrook, Ind., where everyone waves and watches out for each other. They have two nice kids, Jack (Ashton Holmes) and Sarah (Heidi Hayes), and a tiny restaurant. But some bad men are coming.

In the opening scene, these twisted killers (Stephen McHattie and Greg Bryk) have already committed grisly murders somewhere west, and when they arrive at Stall's Diner, they demand more than coffee. A coffee pot is swung, a gun grabbed and unloaded many times - with laser precision. Tom Stall looks around with the other patrons and staff at his mess. Two men are dead, and he seems to scarcely know how. As if flies on the walls, news crews immediately descend to glom onto this new American Hero and anybody remotely connected to him.

After Tom returns home from the hospital (his foot got stabbed), the family wants to move on (especially humble Tom). But Jack obliterates a bully at school, and shiny black cars keep hovering at their house and diner. Eventually, more men come to harass and goad Tom. Fogarty (Ed Harris), a facially scarred man, keeps calling him Joey - loudly - insisting that he knows him from Philadelphia. They leave, but Tom's afraid they'll come back. And they do. On a shopping trip with Sarah, Edie tells Fogarty off, but not before he plants the seeds of doubt. Could her husband really be crazy Joey Cusack from Philly?

At home, things start unraveling. Fogarty and friends visit and threaten. Tom strikes Jack during an argument. Edie feels betrayed. Fogarty comes back again, this time holding Jack (who ran off after the argument), and Tom quickly kills Fogarty's henchman - with the help of his son. By this time, it's clear that his family (and the audience) suspects that he's Joey, but it's not clear precisely why he deceived them. Without spoiling too much, Tom does go to Philadelphia to stop more men from haunting his life - if he still has one. But if he makes it home again, what can he expect? The final scene, though wordless, reveals enough.

Also revealing is longtime Cronenberg cohort Peter Suschitzky's beautifully composed cinematography, replete with close-to-medium shots that favor emotions and unease over scenery. Howard Shore, the director's longtime composer (this is his 11th score) supplies themes both heroic and unsettling. Among the uniformly outstanding performances here: the fearless Mortensen and Bello, the perfectly menacing Harris, and William Hurt, whose scene is unforgettable.

"A History of Violence," based loosely on the graphic novel of the same name, hearkens back to many cinematic styles from westerns generally to film noir (especially "The Killers" and "Out of the Past") to psychosexual family madness (like "Straw Dogs") to more recent works examining American families and violence ("Road to Perdition," based on another graphic novel - does this mean something?).

Spreading like an infection, the violence here is swift, shocking and unusually gruesome, and a large part of the film, identity mystery aside, is about the reactions to and repercussions of this violence. Edie is at once repelled and allured, and so is, to some extent, Jack. Suddenly, David Cronenberg (a Canadian) has fashioned a powerful social critique looking down the barrel at America's own history of violence. CV

Review: 'The Thing About My Folks'

By Erin Randolph

The thing about "The Thing About My Folks," is that it's the equivalent of a Hallmark card. It can be a bit funny, a bit sentimental and, in the process, a bit trite.

Ben Kleinman (Paul Reiser) is a bit befuddled by his father, Sam Kleinman (Peter Falk). Sam grows wiry body hair in weird, sporadic places, is honest to a point, has a weird obsession with talcum powder and is constantly amused by his own, seemingly uncontrollable flatulence. And on top of all that, Sam and Ben never really got to know each other in the clichèd father-son way: they never went camping, they never went on a road trip, etc. Sam was always too busy with work, trying to provide for his family, to spend the time at home that was necessary to really get to know his wife and kids.

After 50 years of marriage, Sam's wife Muriel (Olympia Dukakis) has left him. He shows up at Ben's door unannounced, which is out of character. And while Ben's sisters attempt to round up their missing-in-action mother, he takes his father on a day trip upstate to look at a farmhouse. When their plans go awry, their day trip becomes more of a road trip, as the two embark on a journey that will teach them not only about themselves, but also about each other. They also finally get to do all the things fathers and sons are allegedly supposed to do: fishing, attending a baseball game, drinking, hustling pool and, um, line dancing.

A little over midway through "The Thing About My Folks," the overall feel turns from a humorous father-son ill communication-type film to more of an aww-shucks romp that's perhaps a little too wet with sentimentality. While Falk adds a great comedic punch to "The Thing About My Folks," it never really graduates from the clichèd generational-gap misunderstandings that have already played out in other films of this ilk. That said, it's still a film worth seeing for anyone who doesn't understand their parents' quirks - and isn't that all of us? CV

Review: 'Into The Blue'

By Lexi Feinberg

After filming "Blue Crush," with its stunning underwater cinematography and hot twentysomethings in skimpy bathing suits, John Stockwell decided to challenge himself with some deeper material. And with "Into the Blue"... Oh wait, he actually decided to use the exact same vehicle as "Crush," with yet another eye-candy buffet and a ton of empty cinematic calories. Sure the scenery is fine. But without a coherent plot or anything in the way of a script, "Into the Blue" would have been better as a silent movie.

"Blue" deals with a group of people in the Bahamas searching for underwater treasure. And while diving down deep, Jared Cole (Paul Walker) and his girlfriend Sam (Jessica Alba) make a startling discovery - a centuries-old Zephyr ship, loaded with ancient jewels. There's just one catch. Next to the ship is a crashed plane, stuffed to its gills with more cocaine than a Kate Moss photo shoot. So the duo decides to pursue the new American Dream: looting money instead of earning it - and trying to steal the drugs to finance their quest to collect goods from the sunken ship.

Complicated? You bet, especially when the caper is in the hands of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit gang. And like that particular issue, "Blue" is nothing but a big tease. There could be something juicy there, but anything good is covered up with ignorant dialogue (Walker manages to say the word "gnarly" without so much as a grin) and a call for the suspension of disbelief (a number of the skin-diving scenes, i.e. no tanks, last up to a half an hour). Then again, when you're this good looking, who needs air?

In the end, Stockwell and "Blue" are all wet. Sure there is a nice action sequence and a shark attack, but no sex, all leading to a campy underwater fiasco - a leftover summer movie that sat on the shelves, and out in the sun, for too long. CV

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