David Gordon Green’s latest film, “Prince Avalanche,” seamlessly blends the two seemingly contradictory artistic instincts within the writer-director: It has the unhurried pace and richly naturalistic aesthetic of his early, indie dramas with the comic banter and oddball characters of his later work. I very much enjoyed talking with him for a RogerEbert.com profile about the eclectic, prolific career he’s put together at just age 38.
In MacArthur Park where I interviewed David Gordon Green yesterday. Well, not in it. And we weren’t doing what Seth Rogen and James Franco are doing. But we sat underneath it and had a nice chat about “Pineapple Express,” and his new film “Prince Avalanche,” and the eclectic career he’s put together at just 38. I look forward to sharing it with you on RogerEbert.com next week.
Sony Pictures Classics
Rated R for strong sexual content including crude references, and drug use.
Running time: 95 minutes.
Three stars out of four.
In theory, any new Pedro Almodovar film, even a fluffy, silly one, is better than none at all _ a notion that the Spanish master pushes to extremes in “I’m So Excited!”
His latest film, which harkens to his earliest work, is essentially a gay “Airplane!”; similarly, it has an exclamation point in its title to play up its knowingly over-the-top nature. It’s essentially what “Airplane!” would have been like if all the flight attendants were Johnny, the flamboyant tower employee played with scene-stealing brio by the late Stephen Stucker.
“I’m So Excited!” represents a huge departure from the brooding, serious, melodramatic tones of more recent offerings like “The Skin I Live In” and “Talk to Her.” But it’s also a return, as so many of his movies have been, to several of the actors with whom he’s worked before, including an amusing, blink-and-you’ll-miss it cameo off the top from Antonio Banderas and Penelope Cruz.
So if you’re a hardcore Almodovar fan, will you be satisfied? Not exactly. Tickled, perhaps, but with a longing for more _ because you know he has so much more in him. Still, the craftsmanship and artistry are without question; despite the film’s playfulness, it’s still quite clear that we’re in the hands of a master who takes the work seriously, if not the material or his characters. Almodovar’s lark of a bawdy comedy takes place in a tightly confined space and it not only moves, it radiates color, energy and life _ even as the passengers seem headed for certain death.
Because of a mechanical problem, Peninsula Airways Flight 2549 is circling in the skies above Toledo, Spain, rather than heading toward its destination of Mexico City. So yes, the melodrama that marks so many Almodovar films exists here, as well, but it comes in the form of family secrets and romantic betrayals played for laughs.
Booze, blow jobs and bitchy men fuel the sky-high hijinks: a trio of glib and gluttonous flight attendants played winningly by Javier Camara, Carlos Areces and Raul Arevalo. Their response to this dire situation: tequila shots. Even the seemingly buttoned-down pilot and co-pilot (played by Antonio de la Torre and Hugo Silva, respectively) are more adventurous then they look.
Ostensibly, though _ if you choose to think and dig below the druggy, candy-colored surface _ “I’m So Excited!” also intends to serve as social satire about repression, about class distinction. One character (Jose Luis Torrijo) is a swindling bank executive on the run who laments losing touch with his daughter. Another is a high-class madam (played by the formidable Cecilia Roth) who reportedly has salacious, damning videos of 600 of the most famous and powerful men in the world. These are wealthy people trapped in business class, doing laps in the sky, awaiting their eventual doom. Meanwhile, the hoi polloi in coach has been drugged so they have no clue what’s happening – they’re sleepy sheep being led to the slaughter. Is either of these situations preferable?
Lively as Almodovar’s film is, it also features gags that grow repetitive or go on too long, like the flight attendants’ campy lip sync performance to the Pointer Sisters’ tune that provides the film’s English-language title. (In the original Spanish, it’s known as “Los amantes pasajeros.”) Like, the entire song.
Now if only I could pry it from my brain _ where it’s doing laps, seemingly without end _ I’ll be just fine.
20th Century Fox
Rated R for pervasive language, strong crude content and some violence.
Running time: 117 minutes.
Three and a half stars out of four.
There’s a running joke throughout “The Heat” in which love-struck men approach Melissa McCarthy’s foul-mouthed detective character and beg to know why she hasn’t called them after she slept with them.
They whine. They plead. They open their hearts and make themselves vulnerable to her in ways that are so awkward and sad, you almost can’t watch them head on – you almost have to peep at them through a pinhole in a shoebox. She rebuffs them – politely – every time.
It’s just one gag but it’s a beautiful reflection of the way “The Heat” takes film conventions, turns them on their head and reinvents them. Part of the joke is that this is a reversal of traditional (and archaic) gender roles. But another crucial element is the fact that McCarthy, as a full-figured, brash Boston bad-ass, wouldn’t necessarily seem like a heartbreaker. But she is – and she owns it.
She owns the whole movie, actually, this mismatched-buddy cop comedy in which she and Sandra Bullock inhabit the roles typically reserved for men, especially in the 1980s. Director Paul Feig, whose “Bridesmaids” upended notions of what a raunchy ensemble comedy could be, does it again here with another genre. McCarthy, who emerged as a star from that 2011 smash hit (and received a supporting-actress Oscar nomination in the process) clearly had free rein to play here, to flex her improv muscles. But the first produced script from Katie Dippold gives her a smart, inspired and wickedly funny foundation from which to work, and she and Bullock enjoy gangbusters chemistry with each other.
Bullock is an expert physical comedian; say what you will about the “Miss Congeniality” movies, she gives it her all in them. Here, she plays the straight woman – the uptight FBI agent forced to team up with McCarthy’s wild card – and not only does she get the slapstick right but she also finds the sadness and loneliness that make her character such a misfit.
The two are stuck working together on a … does it really matter? The investigation has something to do with a bringing down a drug lord. From a narrative perspective, “The Heat” is pure formula, and it knows it, and it knows that you know it, too. What matters here is the way in which it explores and refreshes the standard details and beats of the genre.
Bullock’s Special Agent Sarah Ashburn is exceedingly competent and eager to please but can’t help alienating everyone around her. She’s the smartest person in the room at all times and can’t stop herself from letting everyone else know that, too. She’s up for a promotion but her boss (Oscar nominee Demian Bichir from “A Better Life”) is reluctant to give it to her.
McCarthy’s Det. Shannon Mullins is also excellent at her job, and also has a way of alienating people. That includes her family: a collection of bickering, blue-collar boors with wicked hardcore Southie accents. (Joey McIntyre is among them, just to ensure authenticity.) When Sarah accompanies Shannon to her childhood home and can’t understand a word they’re saying, it’s a bit that shouldn’t be funny because it’s been done so many times. And yet, like so many other gags in “The Heat,” it has an energy about it that makes it work.
Shannon is at the opposite end of the spectrum from Sarah in terms of temperament (and hygiene) but has a similar sense of superiority, and a similar emotional detachment. Do you think it’s possible that these two women will not only learn to work together but become friends and actually change each other for the better? The destination was predetermined long ago; the journey there is riotously funny.