On the Subject of the Next Bond...

 

Pandemic willing, the next installment in the James Bond film franchise should see the inside of a theater before there are none left to screen it. And it will also be the last for current torch bearer Daniel Craig; cue the windmill of rumors and speculations. Might as well touch the subject, and not just because of a recent Showdown on this here platform, but because a once-candidate is again trying to throw his steel-rimmed hat in the ring. Superman himself is telling whomever will listen that he's ready to go.

The prospect of the next Walther PPK owner resurfaced this month thanks to Henry Cavill who, doing the rounds for the Netflix franchise-in-waiting Enola Holmes, kept being asked about his chances to put on the tuxedo now that he's a world-renowned name. He was considered for the part back when Casino Royale was being pitched, but the then-22 years old was passed on in favor of 36-year old Craig. It wasn't age though that that tilted the scale away from him, but his size; last year the actor candidly expressed that his weight lost him the part. Who knows if THAT's true; Christian Bale got the Batman part after playing a living skeleton in The Mechanic, but then overdid his weight gain by 100lbs, and STILL got to put on the... rubbers. 

"Why YES, I would be awesome has a young Hagrid!"

Setting aside the REAL reason he hasn't a chance in Krypton for a moment, one needs to argue that his fame and actor's resume work against him, not in his favor. The original Bond, Sir Sean "Hot Shingles" Connery was a complete unknown before Dr No, and Pierce Brosnan was known but not exactly a 'star' thus his casting came with no baggage other than having played a Bond-wannabe in mid-80s TV fixture Remington Steele. Craig Himself had little to brag about before Bond came along, you can't quite blame Timothy Dalton for how badly his tenure stank, and George Lazenby would've Lived & let Die had he kept quiet rather than big-mouth himself off the job (MGM circulated that poor Box-Office returns prompted his dismissal and not the actor getting too big for his britches, yet on paper his only 007 outing was on par with Connery's previous). 

Yes Roger More was already a well-known name when he took over, but when I watch him schmooze Carole Bouquet I still see Simon Templar and not Flemming's licensed killer, which proves my point. Cavill already played an iconic super-spy in The Man form UNCLE (which originally was a Bond rip-off for TV) as well as a super-guy who arguably is the most famous comic book hero of all. Add to that Netflix's global success with The Witcher whom Cavill portrays, and you got a case of casting Jeremy Renner to replace both Ethan Hunt and Jason Bourne: putting an already over-exposed actor in yet another established franchise. Hire Johnny Depp as Dr No and ScarJo as Pussy Galore and you crafted the least inspired spy film of the century. A money-maker for sure, but boring in every aspect.

Back to reality though, Henry Cavill should get himself used to wearing yellow contacts because as hinted earlier, not a chance. Now before anyone call me a Nazi, I don't CARE what gender/nationality/ethnicity/sexual identity the next Bond would be. I didn't care that Zend...whatever her name is, is now Spidey's "MJ", that Wally & Iris West are no longer gingers, that Hikaru Sulu bats for the other team, as long as the part is well-written and the actor being cast brings it around downtown. But it would be hypocritical not to acknowledge the fact that more people would be outraged at yet another white dude to play Bond than at another 200k people dying of the current pandemic. For years now movements, real and astro-turfed, have called for a black stud or a bad-ass lady to flirt with Moneypenny. 

As Dr No-F***ing-Way-Mate, he'd be superb!

Let me be clear about what I previously said of Idris Elba, who was and probably still is a fan-favorite for the famed spy: he's 48. By the time another Bond film starts filming -let alone gets released- he will be over 50. "But Anthony," you say, "Roger Moore was 46 when he made his first Bond". No, he was 45 when he made it then the film got release the next year. Also, producing a movie back then was far quicker and easier; his first 4 outings came out within 6 years. It will have taken 16 to see all of Craig's 5 turns. So by the time Elba reaches film #3 he will have crossed 60, and be getting down with a supermodel who's only 20. We're talking Bond, not the U.S. presidency, for Q's sake.

At this point it honestly is anyone's guess who will take over the mantle of the Master Spy from Daniel Craig, but for my money, if Henry Cavill really needs to play an archaic literary character that many before have put their stamp on, I'd much rather see Netflix go the whole nine on their Enola Holmes experiment and give the big guy a big Holmes film of his own. 

MARQUEE SHOWDOWN #6: Bond vs Bourne

WHY?
Doug Liman's Bourne re-invented the Espionage/Action thriller with it's gritty, fast-paced yet sober cinematography and its surgical fight sequences. So successful was this offering that the Bond reset borrowed those very elements for its own renaissance,  going as far as casting an actor that looks like Matt Damon's incarnation of Jason Bourne (the original one, played by soap-y 70s stalwart Richard Chamberlain, arguably felt lifted from the Roger Moore era of 007). Although I doubt Bourne would be caught dead in those blue trunks that made many a lady fawn for Casino Royale's soaking Craig. But back to the original statement, the 2000s adaptations of Bourne & Bond have an awful lot in common. So let's cage them up together and see who comes out alive.

THE PLAYERS

Jason Bourne : Matt Damon

Matty got his first role, even if small, at 18 in 1988 and on the big screen alongside Lily Taylor, Vincent D'Onofrio and Julia Roberts. 9 years later, after playing bit-parts a-holes and d-bags in a variety of films from School Ties to Chasing Amy, he scored his first huge role in a movie he co-wrote that got him a pair of Oscar noms and a win, among a plethora of other awards. Since then he established himself as one of the most solid and versatile screen actors on the planet, equally at ease playing vile miscreants (Interstellar, Mr. Ripley, The Departed), bumbling pushovers (The Informant, True Grit, Ocean's 11), or classic Hollywood heroes (The Great Wall, All the Pretty Horses, Bourne...). Very few if any of his acting choices were duds, and he never becomes too big-headed to appear in blink and you'll miss it cameos that only the most vigilant of viewer can recognize him for. At 50 he already has his status of Tinseltown Legend secured, acclaimed and respected for his work both in front and behind the cameras; decades from now his name will be mentioned alongside the likes of Redford, Eastwood, Cagney and Fonda.

James Bond : Daniel Craig

Older than Damon by 2 years, Danny Boy got in front of cameras 2 years later as well, but mostly on the small screen, playing bit parts and guest roles in series that no one remembers (Covington Cross, Boon), no one WANTS to remember (Young Indiana Jones Chronicles, the 90s half-hour Zorro) or no one remembers his appearance in (Drop the Dead Donkey, Sharpe, Heartbeat). He started getting noticed in the early 2000s, with small parts in big-bucks movies (Lara Croft, Road to Perdition, The Jacket) and front roles in specialty movies (Sylvia, Layer Cake, Munich). His big break finally came with Casino Royale which in 2006 rebooted the long-dwindling Bond franchise with great aplomb and success. However outside MI6 most of his efforts aren't worth checking out, much less remembering (Flashbacks of a Fool, Cowboys & Aliens, The Golden Compass, Dream House). More recently though, the looming specter (snark) of leaving the Bond role seems to have motivated him to select better projects. Logan Lucky in 2017 was no bank-breaker but got solid kudos, and 2019's sleeper hit Knives Out offered him the chance to create from scratch an entirely new master sleuth worthy of crossing iron with Holmes, Marple or Marlowe. Out of that, a new and interesting franchise could secure his financial future for years.

Advantage:Jason Bourne

RATINGS (on Rotten Tomatoes)

Jason Bourne : Identity sits at  83%, Supremacy at 82%, Ultimatum a whopping 92%, and Jason Bourne a splattering 54%.

James Bond : Casino Royale reigns at 95%, Quantum drops to 65%, Skyfall rises to 92%, Spectre drops again to 63%. 

Advantage:Jason Bourne

BOX-OFFICE 

Jason Bourne

The Bourne Identity: 214,034,224

The Bourne Supremacy : 290,835,269

The Bourne Ultimatum: 444,100,035

Jason Bourne: 415,484,914

TOTAL: $1,394,454,442

James Bond

Casino Royale: 616,501,619

Quantum of Solace: 589,580,482

Skyfall: 1,108,561,013

Specter: 880,674,609

TOTAL: $3.195.317.723

Advantage:James Bond

ANALYSIS

Literature-speaking, there probably IS no Jason Bourne without James Bond; one can even argue the former's initials are an homage to the latter. Credit where credit's due, Ian Fleming's creation was and still is a massively influential one, both on the page and on the screen with 14 books and 26 movies to carry the character forward. However the style, content and characterization of Casino Royale were to The Bourne Identity what every possible film making company were to Marvel Studios after their instigation of the 'Shared Cinematic Universe': "Holy CRA*P let's do THAT!". The 007 franchise had been struggling to stay afloat ever since it was taken to space in the late-70, and despite a step in the better direction in casting Pierce Brosnan to erase the Tim Dalton stinkers (sorry Timmy, they just sucked), the ship was still taking on water; the character was becoming increasingly anachronistic and simply nothing fresh could be squeezed from it. 

Bourne arrived in 2002 theaters like a demolition train through a stale pile of past-due bunt cakes. It was fresh, it was fast, it was gritty, down and dirty, and you just did not f**k with that guy yet couldn't help love him. Sadly by the time the obligatory trilogy was achieved, the studio efforts to copy the copier, pull a Bond and transfer the franchise on someone else's shoulders, felt every bit the milk-to-the-last that it was and failed to generate any interest from critics nor viewers. Having cast as the new lead an actor so over-exposed even 1990s Tommy Lee Jones was rolling his eyes, was maybe not the best move. And when an attempt to back-track to the original star came along, no one gave a shaken Martini anymore. Still, the franchise a s while was a shot in the arm for non-FX heavy action movies and gave MGM an lesson on how to Viagra the life back into an ageing property.

Advantage:Jason Bourne

WINNER: Jason Bourne

TV REVIEW : Des (2020 ITV)

 

There's something invisibly off-putting about ITV's 3-episode series Des right from the get-go, which in hindsight is a stroke of genius because it is also how the viewer is made to feel about its titular character throughout the ordeal: he does absolutely nothing to antagonize you yet he chills you to the bloody bone.

The short show centers on a British serial killer, Dennis Nilsen but please call me Des,  who was arrested in 1983 when the term serial killer had yet to enter social consciousness, and the murders he perpetrated -up to 15 according to himself- had yet to be linked in any way let alone to one specific perpetrator. In fact most of his victims had to that point been marked as runaways or simple disappearances, in no small part due to the fact that "Des" took the time to carefully dismember his victims (in some case with what a coroner describes a surgical precision), then cremate or simply bury the remains in his own backyard.

The series begins with his quick and quite calm arrest; officers are investigating human remains found nearby, he invites them in, they notice the smell and barely need to ask for him to point where the latest victim is stored. And then things only go forward, revisiting the past in conversation only but never in flashbacks. Everybody likes the man it seems, as confirmed by his co-workers who refuse to believe the allegations, and he himself keeps complimenting his own good nature. While willfully discussing how he carefully washed his victims before removing theirs heads to be boiled on his stove top. 

Who else is thinking "Bill Gates bio" right now?

As the central protagonist, one-time Doctor Who David Tennant reminds once again he is one of the most immersive and skilled actors working today, giving not even hope of glimpse to any of previous, maybe more light-hearted roles. Even Good Omens' wicked demon Crowley never snakes his way into our minds while we watch the drowsy-eyed killer discuss the semantics of chronicling his life with his chosen biographer, because why not when you consider yourself "the killer of the century".  Said writer is refreshingly played by an equally formidable thespian, Jason Watkins who criminally never gets named alongside his co-star as amongst the greatest of their generation. Why HE was never cast as the Doctor is an injustice worthy of its own true-crime series.

Rounding the cast is the always affable Daniel Mays, whom here goes against type in playing the audience proxy, a DCI that cannot decide what baffles him the most: the magnitude of Des' murders, the fact he did it incognito for so long, or the fact he happily confessed only to plead not guilty once the trial starts. "Those victims deserve the truth" Nilsen argues, in a gesture that does nothing but stretch his moment in the sun. Because THAT is the driving force of the entire narrative: Des is a "nice guy", but never got the attention and care he truly deserved, the same kind he gave to the corpse of his victims, and all the event portrayed were engineered by him so that he finally gets recognized. If only he had waited 25 year, he could have laid it all out online and be treated as a God by hordes of true-crime devouring viewers of Keeping up With the Komfy Killer. 

That off-putting feeling we get stranded with from the opening minutes to the very last, is that despite declaring our disgust at such a character, we still watch with great intent as well as an attention span we can't even offer our own entourage. So engrossed are we his this story that we forget to care how we never learned anything really about his victims nor do we meet them aside from the one who survived his encounter (revived by Des himself, after having failed to drown the poor lad, because that's how good a guy he is...). That off-putting feeling is the realization that we care more about a truly vile human being than the lives he was allowed to end for so long without being noticed. 

If that irony passes you by with glee, you will enjoy Des, for it is a masterfully crafted series.

REVIEW: Enola Holmes (2020 - Netflix)

 

SO you used to play guitar for the aunts and uncles at family BBQs with the nice wool socks grandma knitted for you, and then someone went and made you famous with a song like nothing anyone has ever heard and the whole friggin planet wants more. Of your socks too. Whaddaya do? How do you keep the pendulum swinging, how do you keep the iron hot to beat it just the right shape? You go with a cover, a song everyone knows, and you add your personal little twist. Hey, it worked for the Beatles, Elton John, even Johnny Cash made a ton of ...cash, late in life, with a career resurrection consisting of nothing but covers. 

God only knows if Netflix themselves knew that Stranger Things would be a global phenomenon, and one of the most iconic TV shows of all time despite having only released 3 seasons so far. But from Millie Bobby Brown, the linchpin of the whole show, big things are being expected. First she went with the sequel to the reboot of an American crack at Godzilla, which.... had its moments... but overall was a not exactly Jurassic Park. She needed a another hit, and fast. I gotta admit I was torn between rolling my eyes at the lazyness, and tipping my hat at the bravery, that her second attempt to De-Eleven herself would be a feminist-twisted riff on the world's greatest detective... who doesn't dress like a bat.

I mean seriously, everybody and their Chevy has done a 'twist' on Sherlock Holmes; Sir Arthur's private eye has been on the screens for pretty much as long as screens have existed, and many a name who put their stamp on it are synonymous with legend. Basil Rathbone, Nicol Williamson, Stewart Granger, Orson Welles, Charlton Heston, John Cleese, Micheal Caine, Christopher Plummer, Ian McKellen, Christopher Lee, even Max-friggin-Headroom himself Matt Frewer! And since everything old is new again, we've recently seen him as a recovering Junkie in NYC, an iPhone-addicted sociopath who lives with Bilbo the Hobbit, and a MMA-practitioning playboy who sometimes hangs with a space raccoon.

Technically it's not a gun, so Checkov won't mind they introduced a bow that will NEVER be used.

So yeah, it's both lazy to go with a -royalty free- literary property that even Hellen Keller has heard of, and ballsy to try and bring an angle new to something that's been rebooted more times than my Acer computer. And it's especially so for young Millie who also produces the whole thing, which smells of franchise. The problem is after my fifth trip to the refill station while watching Enola Holmes, I realized -sitck and stones can hurt my bones...- I don't wanna watch Eleven be a tween Holmesette. I wanna see The Witcher rip Moriarty's head off with with a grunt. 

Mind you, the casting is brilliant. Brown is absolutely charming as the rising sleuth, a trait she thankfully shares with her on-screen brother Henry Cavill who wisely chose to emulate the softly-smiling portrayal of Sir Christopher Plummer in his oh-too-short appearance as the master deductor. But the young lady, despite her abundant energy, is still young. She still needs a director with the moxy to let her know when she sucks -and sadly she does in various moments- as well as a screenwriter who will provide depth for her to plunge in. Here though the focus is clear: decors and period costumes, let the rest take care of itself. And an ancestral 'automobile' that even Jeremy Clarkson would acquaint to science fiction from its sheer ability to... function.

Rounding the cast are Fiona Shaw, whom directors often mistake for a walking pastiche and not the incredibly versatile -and quite frankly gorgeous- woman she is (watch My Left Foot and explain to me why she keeps being cast as a Victorian Karen) , Sam Claffin who buries his chiseled good looks in the most inept Mycroft ever staged, and Helena Bonham Carter who still can't get someone to remember she once stood up to Tyler Durden. Truth be told all I know of Mama Holmes is that she is to blame for her sons' brains and demeanor, but I do know Mycroft is pushover nowhere but in Sherlock's mind. 

"it's Levi-OH-sah!"

In their attempt to bring about a new breed of Holmes, Netflix delivered a family movie that somehow will satisfy very few in any given family. Again the cast is charming and the costumes oh-so delightful, but try as she might to emulate Ferris Bueller, Enola Holmes is not the Walrus. The real bone I need to pick though is that nothing really grates me, no clear failure sends me flying in a rant demanding more than a few swig of the whatever non-alcoholic beverage I pretend to be hot for this week to keep my 17-year sobriety streak unbroken. The young starlet clearly needs directions, the screenwriter clearly needs to read Doyle, and the viewer clearly needs better popcorn, but otherwise no real fault could explain why I was left so apathetic to this latest approach to the source material. 

The one strength of the piece, as well as it's greatest heartache, is seeing what an instantly-endearing and mesmerizing performance Henry Cavill gives as the consulting detective. Never do we feel in his stance the burden of refreshing a character with nothing fresh left to offer, only do we mourn that his role is barely enough to adorn the poster. Where Netflix succeeded the most with this movie, which feels made-for-TV as much as any Netflix film not directed by Scorcese, is in selling us a Sherlock franchise where the erstwhile Superman is the star, rather than relying on the centerpiece of the streamer's best series so far.  I love you Bobby, but if I don't get The Clark Kent of the Baskervilles soon Ima be unhappy.

Still, it was a nice way to kill a quiet Thursday nite. 

3 Burps out of 5.

TV REVIEW: Solar Opposites (2020)

One episode of Solar Opposites, the latest brainchild of deliciously deranged mastermind Justin Roiland, opens with one of the main-cast aliens living on Earth, as he drives through his adopted human city in a frantic manner that wreaks havoc and destruction all along his path, then when he gets home, hurls himself inside the house and anxiously yells to his family "We have no nose!!!" Roll opening theme. The moment is truly hilarious, yet soon feels empty and barely satisfying because of how detached it is from any strong, coherent narrative. That, sadly, is how the entire show goes.

The series concern a family unit of sorts, comprised of aliens from a planet that was destroyed by a giant meteor. Like the Space Goofs of France, they crashed on our planet and must shack up together in a suburban house until they can repair their spaceship and complete their mission of finding a suitable planet to perpetrate their race, because Earth clearly isn't it. The concept of Aliens in a family sitcom setting has been tried many times before with various degrees of success -Mork & Mindy was hit & miss but remains beloved, 3rd Rock nailed it for most of its run, a plethora of others failed too hard to be remembered- but this one failed not for a lack of humor and human observations, but rather from not knowing what it wants to be.

They said Country music, they didn't say which country...

Roiland barely veils the many comparisons his new creation draws to his most famous, pop-culture sensation Rick & Morty. Both shows feature a grumpy genius whose gigantic brain is so perfect a plot device one could easily argue Roiland's double-dipping in that specific pool causes more of a meh than proper giggles. His partner in life and work, voiced by Thomas Middleditch of Silicon Valley, has nice guy routine that nowhere near attracts both affection and disparagement the way Morty does when faced with his grandpa's antics. As for 'the children', they reek of missed opportunities, save for one gloriously predictive episode where they are chastised for their loose school attendance, and in turn proceed to attend without fail every single day... of the summer.

Solar Opposites is what happens when someone with an overbearing mind for vicious comedy like Justin Roiland doesn't have the guidance of a man driven by strong subtlety of narratives like Dan Harmon. A recent episode of Rick & Morty, ironically all about storytelling, used Harmon's screenwriting tools themselves to drive the narrative of the story in what is another prime example of that show's incredible depth and intelligence. Here some of the gags are very clever but lift the cover and you get nothing but the floor, no underlying river of nuance is there strengthening the show and drive it along. The gore and absurdist violence that somehow finds every funny bone on Earth C-137, here feels just mean and desperate. And gets your cup filled quite quickly; after 3 episodes I was debating whether to drop it and watch BoJack Horseman again, or buckle and see the journey through.

Mad Max: Beyond Caring Dome

Along the way a second, background story develops where one of the alien kids starts himself an ant farm of sorts, comprised of humans who crossed him in ways that vary from refusing him a refill at the restaurant to looking at him funny on the street. He shrink them and ‘put them in the wall’ where they have to fend for themselves in a makeshift society. And by the end of the season that story, itself much darker and edgier than the show it is supposed to support, seems to become the main focus, as if along the way the creator, without his firm-handed usual partner, lost interest in the primary story and wished the secondary one was the whole show. Word around the water quantumizer is that Fox, who wanted a Rick Sanchez of their own, lost faith in their shiny new toy mid-way through production, and a good long year went by before a streamer picked it up. Smart money is on the fact that in between, the main man had a change of heart, and left us with a show that struggles to maintain its identity, if it ever truly had one of its own.

Mind you, this is coming from a rock-hard fan of the Smith-Sanchez adventures, so let us avoid the 'for fans only' trope. Solar Opposites is a valiant effort, but ultimately a lesson in how not to let your imagination run too rampant.

 Solar Opposites is available to stream in its entirety on Hulu right now.

After Midnight Music: All Night Long

For those keeping score, I also have a music podcast where every episode I play 5 songs related to one specific topic, and once in a while the songs are actually good because I invite someone else to select them and introduce them.

Check the full catalog of episode at AFTER MIDNIGHT, and if you wanna school me on air about what good music sounds like contact me on Twitter or Facebook!

This week the topic is NIGHT!

The Math of Copyright

Worth reposting!

Next time anyone argues that file sharing is to blame for the downfall of capitalist economies, send them to this 5-minute talk by comedic author Rob Reid on the absurdity of the entertainment industry's crusade.

Thanks to klb9037 for the find

REVIEW: Ant-Man & the Wasp (2018)

Let's make one thing straight right off the needle: if you didn't like the first Ant-Man film, no need to state the obvious about this one. But if so, why are you even reading this? It's a Marvel Studios movie, so of course it follows the MCU recipe for big-screen popcorn munching success. Yes, all their movies slightly try to be their own thing -and on that point I'll stare-contest to death anyone who disagrees that Ragnaork and Iron Man 3 are the best of the lot because they stray more- but they all follow the same guidelines. Unlikely hero rising, plenty of funny banter, a generous splash of CGI, breeze-light tone and a cardboard cutout vilain.

The story picks-up roughly two years after the events of Civil War, where SPOILER ALERT diminutive smartmouth Scott Lang joined the now-outlaw Captain America and fought a losing battle against Tony Stark's Avengers. As explained in one of those condescending plot-exposition speeches, both to a character and to the audience, the American & German governments reached a deal to have Scott extradited back home under house arrest and probation for two years. Meanwhile his wanted “accomplices”, Hank Pym and Hope Van Dyne, are working to figure out if Janet Van Dyne is still alive in the microverse (Miniverse? Teenyverse?). Three days before Lang goes “Scott” free, he receives a mysterious message from the stranded lady, and therefore again joins less-than-happy-about-it father & daughter to try and bring back mommy. Standing in their way is a tech-dealing gangster who looks, talks and acts a lot like Raylan Givens' best frenemy Boyd Crowder, and a masked figure who can walk through walls thus gets obviously nicknamed Ghost.

Little attention is paid to the story, to be honest, and that as much by the viewer than the writers. Plotholes are sometimes so large you could drive a van into them without even shringking it, as long as the van is from Hyundai who clearly paid sponsorship fees through the nostrils. But you barely really notice or care because it allows for a brisk and very well sustained pace, one that may take a little while to take off but thereafter never sets down. And isn't that what going to the movies is all about? If you're gonna pay seventeen bucks to sit for two hours in a cold dark room with smelly strangers, you better have tons of stress-free, unrelenting fun!

Introducing: ANTonio Banderas!

Like almost always in contemporary big spectacle movies, what attention is taken from the story goes to the visuals. With CGI as advanced as it now is, the wow factor from the days of Terminator 2 and Jurassic Park is long-gone, so effects need to be not just realistic but very clever and inventive. Luckily the gimmick of shrinking tech is a perfect playground for animators, and offers chase and fight scenes that for once don't feel like you've seen them all a thousand times before. If Richard Donner's Superman made you believe a man can fly, Peyton Reed's team will make you wish you too could road-rage some shrinking powers into an SUV full of large a-holes.

On the other hand charcters suffer badly in their development. Kudos to the actors for finding ways to remain interesting to watch because they're being given very little to work with. Starting with the vilains, an aspect with which the studio is still struggling since the original Iron man. Hannah John-Lamen may be the breakout star of 2018 (this year alone she was also in Tomb Raider and Ready Player One whle still headlining SYFY's hit show Killjoys) she's given next to nothing after all the fight scenes are done. Her character Ghost is left with a 3-minute bad-guy monologue to explain her backstory, movitation, intentions and state of mind all wrapped in one lazy package. Walton Goggins is spared such a thing but feels like every baddy he's played since Justified, while Morphe.. I mean Laurence Fishburne's appearance should rank just a smidge above cameo.

Unsurprisingly though, two actors manage to pull the right cards and rise above the rest. Paul Rudd, the man who just won't age, plays such a likeable anti-hero that you want to be his little girl and play-pretend a robbery with him. Even though the two films are named after his character, this is much more the Wasp's movie where Scott is relegated to being her comic relief, yet never do we feel Rudd using that as an excuse to phone it in like many a lesser actor would have. But mostly, Michael Pena once again steals the show with the over-caffeinated Luis, who's story-telling skills are cranked up to eleven.

Whaddaya mean not "that" kinda dump truck?!?

Ant-Man & the Wasp will not win over anyone already indifferent to the MCU, nor those afflicted with superhero fatigue after the veritable assault of the genre over the last 10 years. But then again critics have been predicting such a disease since Joel Schumacher swamped the Bat-franchise, and those who still queue for the next Marvel entry wil certainly not miss their money. It has plenty of flaws and fails to avoid predictability at every turn, but damn it if I won't go see it again before it leaves the marquee.

REVIEW: Chef (2014)

Who says a movie needs to be dark and edgy, filled with conflict, heartbreak and drama, to be taken seriously? Sure those can be quite the brain food and a good watch as well (Chris Nolan's filmography comes to mind) but can't a heartfelt uplifting movie with nothing nasty to say reach a spot on the same shelf? Although truth be told, one could read a bird being defiantly flipped between the lines of this feel-good food fest.

High-end chef Carl Casper, divorced without knowing why from a woman he still loves and father to a son he can't find time to raise, comes up to an important milestone in his career: the restaurant he works for will be reviewed by the Nikki Finke of Food named, curiously enough "Ramsey" (a slimmed-fast Oliver Platt) . Being torn apart by words is only the beginning of his end: next he'll discover Twitter, and take his meltdown viral. Now out of a job and unemployable, he finds himself at the bottom with only one way to go: across the country in a foodtruck with his most loyal friend (John Leguizamo), a son he can finally get to know, and a new appreciation of himself.

One thing can't be denied to Jon Favreau for this personal endeavour of his: he mightily challenges Box-Office mammoth Guardians of the Galaxy for best soundtrack of the year.  The Cuban-laced rythms, perfectly fitting co-star Sophia Vergara as the Jimminy Cricket of this tale, carries the tone with a fresh optimism too seldom showcased in a  year so dark at the movies that even goofy lovable nightfuryToothless was turned into a mindless killer. Tito Puente and his contemporaries infuse this movie with such delight that Marvin Gaye might find eternal peace in knowing that someone managed to make an incredibly engaging cover of Sexual Healing.

"Why the f**k are they all pouring ice on themselves? Aren't we in a  serious drought???"

Favreau doesn't shy away from how personal this project is to him, surrounding himself with people he truly wants in his movie and vice versa, even if it means a 90 seconds-only presence for Rob Downey who, let's face it, could in such a short appearance school any given Oscar winner of the last 20 years. Even John Leguizamo, the king of playing it over the top, has the good sense to be a truly supporting actor in a performance that made me forgive him for One For the Money, while ScarJo herself plays... well ScarJo, and why shouldn't she for the man who made her into a powerhouse ass-kicker!

The only thing better than the cast is the food, ever present and so perversive the droll each side of my mouth made my own culinary talents recoil in jealousy. Honestly, weight watchers, stay away. Case in point: Favreau's girth. You KNOW the guy "practiced" a lot before filming...

So what's this about the director flipping the bird? Well... the film concerns Jon Favreau's character who, after being hailed in his debut for his independence and spirit (Swingers, Made), reaches the big time with a splash (Iron Man) but then succombs to corporate droneship which gets him shredded by haters and vitriolic critics (Iron Man 2, Cowboys & Aliens). So he goes back to his smaller, personal roots to do something for himself, something that truly makes HIM happy (this movie). Success of which re-opens the door for bigger yet still-personal projects (The Jungle Book).

"No, Porthos was just a character I played. I wasn't really friends with Charlie Sheen."

Just take that one scene where Carl goes publicly berserk on the mega-critic; "It hurts" the man keeps yelling to his tormentor, as if to remind everyone who turned on him that he made the movie which Marvel built their cinematic empire on (not to mention he had to fight tooth and nails for Downey to be Tony Stark, one of the greater casting decisions of modern cinema).

That being said, seekers of low-brow, high octane entertainment will surely find a bore in this effort from Favreau, but even the most casual viewer won't resist the salsa being served on a smiling platter, both musically and mouth-wateringly. If it doesn't boast an original plotline, at least it serves a full order of sincere hope and optimism, something much needed right now amidst the darkness rapidly covering our entire world.

Final Word: 4 out of 5 Stars

REVIEW: I, Frankenstein (2014)

One of the plot points throughout this movie is a quest for a fabled journal that could spell doom for humanity. The good guys have it, and though it's completely useless to them while the bad guys need it desperately, they decide to do the obviously logical thing: lock it in their vault, instead of, say, burning the damn thing. Which is what they surmize should be done once they lose posession of it. I, Facepalm.

I, Frankenstein is not so much a bad movie as it is disapointing. Even though it's a barely veiled remake of Underwold (both created by mountain-man Kevin Grevioux), the basic premise should've assured it instant awesomness. You have Chis Nolan's Two-Face Aaron Eckhart playing the Frankenstein creature who still lives 200 years later and finds himself at the center of a war between two factions of supernatural warriors. Where can it go wrong??? Everywhere, that's where.

First off it makes it easier to understand why the movie adaptation to teen-lit hit Tomorrow, When the War Began was a complete let down; director Stuart Beattie, who also wrote the script for both films, tried to make them a spectacle but, like the creature, didn't give them a soul. The visuals are interesting and the fight sequences more than adequate, but the tired dialogs and nauseating clichés make it just as empty as the non-stop plot holes.

I did something truly awful... I read the script!

All those things wouldn't be so bad if at least it was fun, an adjective that is resoundly missing from start to finish. Everybody tries like hell to avoid being campy in favor of seriousness, which is the last thing this sad mess needed. If you can't make it good, at least make it enjoyable. But Beattie takes it too seriously and doesn't have the ingredients to deliver that. Instead we get a maelstrom of missed opportunities and microwaved moments that made me pine for someone like Gareth Edwards to cut the fat and give me nothing but a story.

I do however have to give kudos to Aussie bombshell Yvonne Strahovski. After helping make Chuck into a cult show and bringing Dexter back from the abyss of its Colin Hanks storyline, here she completely surpassed herself with a dead-center Kristen Stewart impression, complete with wooden face and absolute lack of interest whatsoever. It might even have been enough to finally have me pay for membership with the Golden Raspberry Foundation so that I can log a vote in her favor.

I, Frankenstein is frankly not as disastrous as other similar genre entries like Stephen Sommers' Van Helsing or Nicholas Cage's post-Las Vegas filmography. But the gargantuan misuse of a great cast and of a promising setting makes it one of the biggest disapointments in recent memory, despite the foreshadowing of it's ominous release date (late January rarely EVER produces good movies).

Final Word: 3.5 out of 10

First Impressions: Global's REMEDY

If CBS had any sense (and seeing as they promoted Nina Tassler to chairman, well...) they would've given Enrico Colantoni's Person of Interest villain Elias a spin-off of his own so much he made that character rich and irresistible to watch. But while the Eye remains happy with putting him on a few minutes here and there, Global made the smart play of putting their new medical show square on his shoulders.

Remedy, Global's answer to CTV's massively popular Saving Hope (NBC may have dropped it after one season, it's still the most watched Canadian drama) stars the Flashpoint vet as Doctor Conner, the head of a medical family all working in the same hospital (and not all of them voluntarily). Nikita Vets Sarah Allen and Casey Dillon co-star alongside Vampire Diaries alum sara Canning as the Conner siblings, with resident Warehouse 13 psychic Genelle Williams and the always-hilarious Martha Burns on board for the ride.

While 'Hope is a romantic procedural with fantasy undertones, Global's latest offers right off the bat a microcosmic look at social classes and standings still very present today. The Star's Tony Wong compared it to Downton Abbey, which is a pretty accurate analogy; one of the main characters, a resident doctor who boasts of having studied for ten years but has little to show for, faces-off against an orderly who clearly knows more than he lets on but remains mum about it due to his position of a simple porter. I was almost expecting Lady Grantham to drop by with a sick burn.

At the center though, Remedy reminds of a heartfelt Edward Burns movie with its looks at a dysfunctional family that really tries to be the nuclear kind, but seems to fail at every turn. Medical shows might be a dime a dozen, this one stands out with such a heart, and at the center of it an already-strong cast that perfectly juggles dramatic turns with impeccable comedic timing. It's all about family, and this team doesn't need to rely on the tired trick of flashbacks to get you in on the clan's history; their demeanour for one another speaks volume, and rewards us for having tuned it to this little gem.

Unlike for our American neighbours, here mid-season shows usually are just as good if not better than the line-up starters, and Remedy is no exception. The production on the whole season had already wrapped before going on air, which gives the show an air of excited exuberance at pushing forward without constantly cringing at ticker-tape feedback. This one truly deserve the moniker of "original" series, and while it would probably flop belly-up down South, over here it could well be the next big thing.

Remedy airs Mondays at 9pm EST on Global.

Being Human put to rest

"This entire season was, from inception, designed to be the last one. All stories are tied up. This was how we wanted to go," Sam Witwer tweeted yesterday. "Wanted to tell a great story from beginning to end. We didn't want to bleed the concept dry. Believe it or not - artistic decision." We see what you did there, Sam.

The story might not be bled dry, but Syfy soon will at the rate their going. The network announced earlier this week a heartbreaking cancellation for their fantasy drama Being Human, which will bow out of the air entirely this spring and make the current fourth season its last.

SyFy has been litterally cleaning house of their genre shows over the last couple of years, with fan-favorites like Sanctuary, Warehouse 13, Eureka and Alphas having all tasted an early axe while reality series and  competitions keep growing in number and season orders. Laura Vandervoot This latest cancellation though is only a first for the cabler's new chief of programming Bill McGoldrick, who took office 4 months ago.

"Cast and crew have done an amazing job bringing this show to life over the past four seasons and we sincerely thank them and the series," the network said in its press release.  “They’ve saved the best for last with the final six episodes".

The show, filmed entirely in Canada and consistently employing local actors and crew, was based on a British series of the same name which suffered a steady decline in ratings and quality after most of the original cast left the show only 3 seasons in, and ended its run last year after 5.

So how WILL the adventures of Aidan, Josh and Sally end? Tune in for the next 6 weeks as the show airs without further hiatus until it's April 7th finale. Tweets Sam, "Next weeks episode?@MarkRPellegrino called it "The best #BeingHuman episode" he'd seen up til then".

In the mean time, let's go back to square one, shall we?

Heaven just got a little funnier

He was a man never seen without a smile, and seldom around people who could resist smiling back at him. He was among his genration's pioneers in the art of making people laugh, pushed the enveloppe for so many others to express their art free of censorship and marked his time with work that will outlast any of us.

Canadian actor, writer, director and comedian Harold Ramis passed away today, and all of sudden Canada feels a lot more sad to live in. Without him there's no Ghostbusters, Animal House, Caddyshack, Groundhog Day, Meatballs & Stripes, No movie career for Rodney Dangerfield and no big break for Rick Moranis, John Candy, Catherine O'Hara and Eugene Levy.

The last 10 or so years were really counter-indicative of the massive contribution and influence he's had, and that infectious smile of his never faded. Heaven will be filled with a lot more laughter now that he's joined too many of his friends, and God forbid Dan Akroyd be taken from us anytime soon.

REVIEW: Drinking Buddies (2013)

Let's be honest right off the bat: Drinking Buddies is the very definition of an independent movie, from hand-held cam tracking shots to the ass-kicking soundtrack to a set of low-to-no name actors clearly having their own personal little blast. It has NO budget, but most of all, No SCRIPT either. Those who DON'T like dialogue-based character pieces where very little happens while Michael Bay is elsehwere in the Milky Way, will certainly NOT like this one either. Unless you're in it for Olivia WIlde's hotness. Which cranks up to Eleven here as she plays a beer-guzzling, couch-slumping tumboy who happens to be really hot.

The story, so much as there's one, follows BFFs Luke & Kate who work together in -of all places- a brewery. If I may slightly segway here and say that if such a place really exists, where you you can freely "sample" the product strainght from the source, I'll apologize to everyone whom I bragged at for having what I thought was the world's greatest job (I mean I'm paid to watch movies all night long, com'on!). Back to our Brewy Bunch, the pair find each other at a somewhat similar stage of life: she's dating a music producer who wants something more, he's dating a teacher who can't wait to get married. The only sure thing in either's life is their friendship. Or is it?

Beer. It makes a buddy look good.

It's a premise we've seen so many times before -can men and women be best friends without blurring the line- but never get any kind of answer for other than "oh just get it ON already". The interest is thus not in what it has to say so much as HOW it is said. The movie exists for the sole purpose of allowing its players to improvise everything from top to bottom with only an outline of what needs to happen. It makes for a tense viewing because the actors are themselves understandably tense, which in the end becomes the most honest viewer-to-viewee experience you can get from a movie. It doesn't thrill and spill and dazzle, but it makes you honestly feel. Period. Like a reality show, but without the scenario.

Jake Johnson, whom I'll forever refer to as Jealous Jesus thanks to Harold and Kumar, offers a fun, heartfelt lead performance that makes it impossible to not want a friendship of our own with this scruffy dude, despite the Billy Carter cap and attitude. The sheer chemistry he shares onscreen with Wilde, probably due to pressure of having to ad lib everything as they go, makes them both irressitible to watch. The gravy, though, is with support players Ron Livingston and Ann Kendrick whose own awkward moment together makes for one of the more touching scenes of the cinematic year.

Plenty will see in this movie a 90-minute bore that just drags on without intent or purpose. And that's OK. But then again there are those who will see in the exercise an echo of the early 90's indie boom spearheaded by Reservoir Dogs among others, which probably explains why Tarantino pinned it in his 10 Best of '13 list. I'm just sayin. *cough*

One thing above all is clear: it'll make you wanna have a beer.

Final Word: 7.5/10

REVIEW: Only God Forgives (2013)

The slogan “art is supposed to make you think” is the doctrine that in part what makes a work of art good or worthwhile is its underlining of some social problem. We are stimulated to think about the problem, to recognize its ubiquity in contemporary society and the harsh effects it has on people. We recognize that some people’s enjoyment is bought at the price of other people’s unmerited suffering. In this lies the emotional experience provoked by the work, an experience involving sympathy for or empathy with others. Perhaps we are, thereby, stimulated to do something about the social problem to which the piece refers.

Such a process is never imbued with attractive values however, and thus to many will appear dull, slow, empty and devoid of an actual story. After all, with distributors charging more than ever a premium for an evening's worth of strong sensory  experiences, shouldn't we be gratified with a few well placed money shots complete with pyrotechnics and some cooler-than-McQueen soundtrack? We have enough depressing matters as it is to deal with in a work week, we deserve an outlet of pure entertainment that won't remind us once again of just how f*cked-up our world has become.

I will not pretend to understand any of the insanity that is Only God Forgives. If Drive was director Refn's answer to The Fast and the Furious, than OGF is an enigmatic response to Tarantino and his revival of the Revenge genre. It is at the core a psychoanalyst's wet dream rolled in Oriental spirituality wrapped around an advisory travelogue. It offers 15-minutes worth of storytelling stretched with non-stop staring contests between the principals (Ryan Gossling has a thouroughly-counted 22 lines in the entire run of the film) and admitedly gorgeous shots of cinematography. And some Inception-inspired baseline music that carries along one imagery within the next. If only someone could expplain to me the deeper implications of Karaoke Night, than I feel my ability to appreciate would greatly improve. Or at least I'd know why I felt it so strangely frightening.

I'm TELLING you, my name is NOT Dinah Lohan!

Gossling, in replacement of original star Luke Evans after that one left, plays the lower end of two drug-smuggling brothers who must satisfy their crime-lord mother's need for retribution when the older sibbling is -quite gruesomly-  dispatched. "He raped and killed a 14 year-old girl" he explains to her as the reasons behind his murder, to which she simply scuffs "He must've had his reasons". Kristin Scott-Thomas, cast spectacularly against type as a Joan Rivers-meets-Nurse Ractched queen of all bitches, walks all over whomever dares try to share her spotlight. As she induces the "Mother" of all Oedipus complexes (she litterally had her son kill his own father...), so does she meet one of the more jaw-dropping ends of all time. Cast as their tormentor, the chill-inducing Vithaya Pansringarm is a name I can't pronounce but will nevertheless keep on my watchlist for sure. He--Friggin-Creeps-Me-Out.

Only God Forgives is an uncomfortable film to watch, with its gory violence and disturbingly slow imagery, but nonetheless a film impossible to dismiss and ignore once viewed. It will no-doubt polarize it's entire audience in complete opposite ends of the appreciation spectrum, and that in itself should be enough to be considered a movie of quality. If not one that can be dubbed "Good".

Final Word: 8.5/10