Once upon a time in a place called Hollywood, and also places called
Germany, Australia and Canada because, little ones, mo-viemaking is a global
affair, somebody got the idea to deconstruct Cinderella. “Happily N’ever
After” is the result of what turns out to be a less than inspired notion. The
best that can be said of this charmless animated picture is that whether or not
it ends happily — an outcome you’re unlikely to give a hoot about — it
does, happily, end.
The first half is told in flashback, an unnecessarily complicated plot
device for a movie presumably geared toward young children. Cinderella’s wicked
stepmother (voiced with great gusto by Sigourney Weaver, one of several
talented entertainers who attempt to breathe life into lines unworthy of them)
begins with a harangue about the way she, the big bad wolf and others of their
ilk are presented in fairy tales.
She’s interrupted by the narrator, Rick (Freddie Prinze Jr.), who
introduces himself as the guy who polishes Prince Charming’s boots and flosses
his teeth. Rick goes on to describe events leading up to the stepmother’s
tirade, accompanied by extremely rudimentary animation of the Cinderella fable
gone haywire because her fairy godmother and prince fail to behave in
time-honored fashion.
There’s an unintended laugh when, after catching us up, Rick announces, “I
hate to tell you, but it gets worse.” Unfortunately he speaks the truth, as
Rumpelstiltskin and the Seven Dwarfs are dragged into the sorry proceedings,
precipitated by the accidental upsetting of the balance between good and evil
in fairy tales. Following Terry Gilliam’s “The Brothers Grimm,” here’s yet
another grim treatment of the Grimms.
Rick and Prince Charming vie for Ella (Sarah Michelle Gellar), as
Cinderella is simply called. Although Rick gushes about her beauty, she’s
really rather ugly with a bad haircut and features almost identical to her
nasty stepsisters. The prince prances around sporting cleavage, as if in drag.
No wonder his servant thinks he has a chance with Ella.
The movie’s animators have been quoted saying they sought to give it a
classic look. Cheesy would be more accurate.
Gellar and Prinze, who are actually married, convey chemistry through
their voices. They sound as if they belong together. “Happily N’ever After”
could be best experienced with your eyes shut, letting the hard-working actors
cast a spell with their voices that the filmmakers don’t even come close to
matching visually. After a great year for animation, 2007 is starting out
dismally with this ill-conceived mess.
– Advisory: Scary images not recommended for very young children.
– Ruthe Stein
‘Perfume: The Story of a Murderer’
Drama. Starring Ben Whishaw, Dustin Hoffman and Alan Rickman. Directed by
Tom Tykwer. (R. 148 minutes. At Bay Area theaters.)
“Perfume: The Story of a Murderer” has an elusive appeal. It might elude
everyone. It’s the story of a serial killer in 18th century France, driven to
extremes by an overly developed sense of smell and a completely undeveloped
moral nature. It shows his birth, his early career and his eventual coming of
age — as a fellow going around bludgeoning young women, so he can cut off
their hair and capture the scent of their skin.
This isn’t pleasant to watch. Neither is it amusing, intellectually
engaging, whimsically fascinating, coldly satirical or painfully poignant,
though at any given moment in this erratic film director Tom Tykwer might be
trying for one of these conflicting tones. Rather what we have here is a two
hour and 28 minute movie about a repellent creep, and one who’s not even
interesting as repellent creeps go. Jean-Baptiste Grenouille is no Bluebeard
and no Norman Bates. He’s not even Rod Steiger in “No Way to Treat a Lady.”
At the center of the story is the conceit concerning Grenouille’s sense of
smell, which, at least in the movie (it’s based on the novel by Patrick
Suskind) never achieves any allegorical significance or metaphorical clarity.
Instead, it regresses, starting off as a curiosity and ending up as a tiresome
gimmick.
The film’s strong points are visual. France is depicted vividly, as a
place of filth, stench and disease, and Tykwer’s willingness to dwell on the
ugliness — Grenouille’s birth, onto a slop pile of a Parisian fish market,
is especially disgusting — promises something different from the usual
powdered-wig costume dramas. Throughout the film, when it counts, Tykwer finds
ways for the visual to accentuate the drama. The movie’s best shot is of a dead
body being discovered in a bright room. At first the room is too bright, as if
the viewer’s eyes need to adjust, and then slowly the terrible image comes into
focus.
Although Tykwer’s visual panache is without question, he has trouble with
crowd scenes — the extras look like a gathering of modern extras, dirtied up
and acting badly. And he can’t seem to strike the right mood. He has John Hurt
narrate the film in exactly the sardonic, detached way that he narrated Lars
von Trier’s “Dogville,” but it’s a bad match for the story. It suggests a film
in which a worthy but misunderstood protagonist finds himself in collision with
a callous, ridiculous world. But the story is nothing like that. It’s about a
monster victimizing innocent people. Why is that an occasion for sarcasm?
The first hint that the movie is about to spiral out of control comes when
Jean-Baptiste (Ben Whishaw) kills his first victim (by accident). What does he
do? He rips off her clothes and starts sniffing her all over. In that moment,
he becomes even less sympathetic than the child molester in “Little Children,”
but we’re stuck with him. He’s our protagonist and so he remains through a
dozen or so other murders, which take place over the course of 2 1/2 very long
hours.
For as long as he is in the film, Dustin Hoffman, as an Italian perfume
maker, livens up things, but his part is brief. Alan Rickman, in a more
substantial role, brings a lot of feeling and a good sense of the era in his
portrayal of a concerned father, but he can save only individual scenes. The
movie is lost. Finally, Whishaw succeeds in making the repulsive protagonist
thoroughly repulsive, which is probably a testimony to his acting ability. But
it doesn’t make it anything worth watching.
– Advisory: Multiple murders, nudity, perverse sexuality.
– Mick LaSalle
‘Eating Out 2: Sloppy Seconds’
Comedy. Starring Jim Verraros, Marco Dapper, Brett Chukerman, Rebekah Kochan,
Mink Stole. Directed by Phillip J. Bartell. (Not rated. 82 minutes. At the
Castro.)
With a title like “Eating Out 2: Sloppy Seconds,” it’s nearly pointless to
try to review it — isn’t it obvious what you’re going to get? It is, but
here it goes anyway.
A rollicking comedy for the gay niche that rarely rises above the level of
a high school skit, Phillip J. Bartell’s sequel to 2004’s “Eating Out” is
loaded with silliness and eye candy.
There’s a new nude model in town, and this redneck, Troy (Marco Dapper)
can’t decide whether he’s gay or straight. Kyle (”American Idol” reject Jim
Verraros) tries to win him by pretending he’s straight, complete with pal
Tiffani (Rebekah Kochan) as his girlfriend and a membership in a gay-a-holic
recovery group. Marc (Brett Chukerman) goes the traditional route — being
his openly gay self.
This is a reverse of sorts of the original film, in which a man pretends
to be gay to get a woman. In that movie, the role of Marc was played by Ryan
Carnes, who has since moved on to “Desperate Housewives.”
The sequel includes an over-the-top supporting role filled by John Waters
favorite Mink Stole as Kyle’s doting mother.
A big part of the allure of “Eating Out 2″ is the fantasy of a Los Angeles
where everyone is young, attractive and upbeat, having lots of sex but without
the drama, and wearing the latest designs without any visible means of support.
It’s a fantasy that is quickly forgotten moments after the credits roll.
– Advisory: This film contains nudity, sexual situations and language.
– G. Allen Johnson
‘The Aura’
Drama.
Starring Ricardo Darín, Dolores Fonzi, Pablo Cedrón. Directed by Fabián
Bielinsky. (In Spanish with English subtitles. Not rated. 134 minutes. At the
Roxie.)
Seven years ago, Fabián Bielinsky crafted an exquisite little crime film,
“Nine Queens,” whose success owed largely to the director’s loving attention to
intricate detail in unfolding the story of a scam within a scam.
Bielinsky’s latest film, “The Aura,” is in some ways more ambitious, which
may be one of the reasons it doesn’t work as well as it should. “The Aura” is
the story of an epileptic taxidermist who spends his days dreaming up perfect
thefts he never commits and avoiding his wife. At the outset of the film, he is
stuffing a fox for the museum. After he’s stretched the skin over the skeleton,
he opens a drawer filled with plastic eyes, staring up at him. The scene has
meaning up the yin-yang, as we’ll see later on.
A fellow animal stuffer wants to take him hunting. At first, the nameless
taxidermist (Ricardo Darín) demurs, largely because he doesn’t agree with
hunting. After he returns home to find his wife has left him, he changes his
mind. The two men wind up in the middle of a Patagonian forest, staying in some
ramshackle cabins owned by an older man and his significantly younger,
downtrodden wife. A tragic accident diverts the action into unexplored terrain,
and the taxidermist finds himself participating in an armored truck robbery.
Bielinsky’s purpose here is to explore what can happen when an introvert
is offered the chance to make his fantasies a reality. The careful camera work,
beautifully dank cinematography and the quietly nuanced performance by Darín
keep our attention, but in the end, the film’s bigger challenge isn’t its
length, or its deliberate pace: It’s that it’s overly freighted with symbolism
and meaning. The idea of the taxidermist, a man who stuffs dead creatures to
make them seem alive, is too ripe from the start. Then we have that drawer
filled with blind eyes, all staring up at the man, as he’s finishing stuffing a
fox. Later, the wolf-like dog of a murder victim will stare at up him the same
way. The one time that taxidermist has true vision himself is right before an
epileptic seizure, he tells the cabin-owner’s wife. And, of course, we
understand that moments of clarity are rare in his timid existence. The rest of
the time, he watches others live.
The film, which is also Argentina’s Academy Awards foreign film entry this
year, has been gestating since 1984, when Bielinsky was a young assistant
director, recently out of film school. The story and focus have changed greatly
since its original conception, but “The Aura” still has a bit of film-school
earnestness to it, not to mention shades of, by turns, “Being There,” “Key
Largo” and “Deliverance.” How’s that for disparate influences?
– Advisory: This film contains moderate, occasional violence.
– David Wiegand