Somewhere

Insubstantial and Apolitical
Sofia Coppola Aspires to Narcissistic Frivolity
By Cole Smithey

The awful ennui suffered by spoiled Hollywood stars is the pathetic subject matter for Sofia Coppola's crushingly dull anti-plot drama. Stephen Dorff's bratty Hollywood star Johnny Marco sulks around L.A. in his black Ferrari coupe. This is when he isn't paying for the same pair of pole-dancer twins who set up shop in Johnny's various hotel rooms. He likes to stay at the Chateau Marmont and drink champagne. Nothing much happens. Johnny takes care of his daughter Cleo (Elle Fanning) while his estranged wife checks out indefinitely. Johnny and Cleo bond over things like laying in the sun on their plush hotel's poolside deck. Excruciatingly dull and narcissistic, "Somewhere" is a suspect milieu satire that favors enforced glamour over narrative complexity. This is one of the worst films of 2010. It's so unpleasant that it makes Casey Affleck's Joaquin Phoenix disaster mockumentary "I'm Still Here" seem interesting by comparison. "Somewhere" is an embarrassment to everyone involved, not least of all its unsuspecting audience.

"Somewhere" is an art film without rigor. That "Somewhere" won the Berlin Film Festival, and has been praised by high profile critics such as Roger Ebert and Tony Scott, only spells career disaster for Sophia Coppola. She's been rewarded when she should be punished. Since starting strong with her first film "The Virgin Suicides," and getting very lucky with "Lost In Translation," Coppola took a hard left turn with "Marie Antoinette" under the defense, "You're considered superficial and silly if you are interested in fashion, but I think you can be substantial and still be interested in frivolity." Mercilessly ridiculed by French critics at Cannes when her puke-inducing confection screened, Coppola seems to have resigned herself to making an hermetic film that is as apolitical and insubstantial imagine.

There is a corollary of ego between Joaquin Pheonix and Stephen Dorff's character in "Somewhere." Both are media products who disdain their chosen profession to a point of making a mockery of their personal lives. If there's a hook to hang any sense of emotional outlet on in "Somewhere" it comes from Johnny Marco's encounters with the matching pole dancers he contracts to ostensibly release his heavy load of daily oppression. Forget that the folding "poles" that the girls bring with them  to Johnny's hotel room are fake--no such product exists that would support their weight as they swing around like circus performers. This is pure cinematic illusion. But to what end? There's some shallow pleasure to be taken in the hours of practice the twins must have endured to achieve such synchronized pole-dance moves. However, it's a performance out of context. As Johnny's chosen fetish, the pole-dance thing is so tame it could pass muster in an Archie comic book.

The relationship between Johnny and his precocious daughter is equally artificial, but comes with a similar caveat of poorly feigned mockery. At a time in America when its real unemployment numbers are at "22%" ("24.9" was the figure during the Great Depression), Sofia Coppola's idea of escapism involves inarticulate spoiled characters hiding out in ritzy hotel rooms with an in-room swimming pool. The only lessons Johnny teaches Cleo involve the proper condescending attitude with which to wear her sunglasses or how dark her tan should be. And yet "Somewhere" is too shallow to be even mildly insulting. That Sophia Coppola's name can even be mentioned in the same breath as rigorous filmmakers such as Mike Leigh is where the real insult lies. As for what loving up such cinematic tripe says about the respected critics that encourage it, I'll let you be the judge of that.

Rated R. 98 mins. (F) (Zero Stars - out of five/no halves)

Ken Park

It's ironic that Larry Clark's most cogent treatise on America's embattled relationship with its unwanted children will likely never receive distribution in the country of its origin. California's armpit town of Visalia serves as a breeding ground for suicide and familial abuse. With a script by Harmony Korine, Clark establishes the film's nature with a skateboarder named Ken Park who goes to a local skate park to blow his brains out on the sculpted cement.

"Krap Nek," as he was called by his friends, serves as an associational connecting point for his teenaged pals Shawn (James Bullard), Claude (Stephen Jasso), Tate (James Ransone), and Peaches (Tiffany Limos), whose separately enunciated personal stories point to greater social ills of the community. Shawn is sleeping with his girlfriend's oversexed mother Rhonda (Maeve Quinlan) during the day while her husband is away at work, and her youngest daughter watches soft-core porn in the dining room. Claude clips his pregnant mother's (Amanda Plummer) toenails when he isn't dodging the wrath of his hateful alcholic father (Wade Williams), and hanging out with his pot-smoking skate pals in their clubhouse apartment. Tate is a sociopath who can't conceal his furious contempt for his well-meaning grandparents or his three-legged dog. Peaches carries on a love affair with her well-mannered boyfriend who seems to meet with the approval of her religiously-obsessed widowed father (Julio Oscar Moschoso).

The identifications of social classes are significant the film's theme of endangered children. All of the 18-year-old kids come from lower class homes. Shawn spends most of his time at Rhonda's middle class house as an escape route that he constantly obsesses over. A post-coital conversation between he and Rhonda makes up one of the best scenes in the film because it directly speaks to the disparate motivations of both characters.

Larry Clark's cinema has, if nothing else, very specifically delineated the line drawn by the American court's decency standards under the Child Protection and Obscenity Enforcement Act (generally referred to as "2257"). Without Clark adhering to the code, I could not have screened "Ken Park" at Manhattan's School of Visual Arts as part of their series on art and censorship.

Still applicable in the 21st century is Judge John M. Woolsey's 1932 decision that James Joyce's "Ulysses" was "not pornographic." One idea expressed during the trial, which took place between World War I and World War II, was if the content "made you want to throw up" then it was art; if on the other hand it sexually aroused the reader then it must be "pornography." 

While "Ken Park" is an example of exploitation cinema, it effectively pulls back the curtain on a pervasive aspect of American culture that a film like "Precious" deals with from an African American perspective. The eroticism in "Ken Park"--as when Claude's father molests him while the boy sleeps, or when Rhonda ties her boyfriend up to her bed--is there to explicate subconscious aspects of the characters' inner lives. It is a shocking film, but not one that should be banned.

Not Rated. 96 mins. (B) (Three Stars - out of five/no halves)

 

 

Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps

Oliver Stone Sweetens the Pain
Wall Street Sequel Hits All the High Points
By Cole Smithey

Oliver Stone wages a valiant attempt to stay true to his original "Wall Street's" streamlined storytelling about the warped mentality at the center of the capitalist world. In keeping with the energized rhythms of his 1987 film, when greed was "good" (now it's "legal"), Stone masterfully deploys stylistic, narrative, and character detailing that plunge the audience into our modern climate of economic collapse with a sense of wonder and anger. Continued use of music by Brian Eno and David Byrne transfers an aural continuity of intelligent and romantic pop between the two movies. Michael Douglas, Shia LaBeouf, Carey Mulligan, Frank Langella, and Susan Sarandon fulfill their dream-team roles impeccably. There are moments where the story slips, as with a gratuitous motorcycle race that ends with an abrupt shift in character logic, but overall "Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps" hits its laundry list of emotional and economic touchstones in entertaining ways.

For all the baggage that some audiences might imagine Oliver Stone brings with him about the "moral hazards" of a government that allowed 800 billion dollars of taxpayer money to be stolen by irresponsible banking institutions that had already bilked the country dry, it's refreshing to realize how good the director is at taking them on a super fun ride. There's a surplus of heartfelt cinematic love on display. After hotshot proprietary trader Jake Moore (LaBeouf) gets a million-and-a-half-dollar bonus from his Wall Street mentor/boss Louis Zabel (Langella), Jake kisses his elderly chief on the head and thanks him in a hushed tone. The gestures send a clear message about who each of the men are, and pull back a foreshadowing slingshot of narrative clouds about to roll in.

Jake lives in a sleek Manhattan penthouse loft with his fiancée-to-be, Winnie Gekko (Carey Mulligan). Needless to say, Winnie is Gordon Gekko's alienated daughter, whose lefty politics reflect her disdain for her wrongheaded dad. Naturally, there's irony in her choice of a romantic companion who swims with the same sharks as her dad.

The movie opens with the irrepressible Gordon (Douglas) being released from prison in 2001 after serving eight-years for insider trading. The sequence rings with a fluency of relaxed humor and a longing for an outdated anti-hero who looks like a rank amateur compared with the weapons-of-financial-mass-destruction-creators that brought the US economy to its knees in 2008. We can't help but be charmed by Douglas's white-haired Gordon Gekko. He's probably the only man on the planet who could make a mullet look dignified. Michael Douglas has aged agreeably into the iconic baddie role he created. So it's all the more tantalizing to see how Stone and his keen screenwriters (Allan Loeb and Stephen Schiff) design an especially tricky trap-door subplot for Gordon Gekko to sneak through after Jake gains his trust about exacting revenge against the new face of Wall Street villainy, Bretton James (Josh Brolin). In exchange, Gordon persuades Jake to reunite him with his daughter.

Ever the gamer, Gordon is primarily concerned with furthering his career via his new book. As with the first film, Douglas's charismatic character gets to publicly state his case in a memorable theme-line monologue, this time to an auditorium of college kids. “You’re the Ninja generation. No income, no jobs, no assets. You have a lot to look forward to.”

At the film's heart is the relationship between Winnie--a leftist website author--and Jake, a Wall Street maverick with improbably good intentions. Jake wants to help finance, through any lawful means possible, an energy-producing "fusion" process that uses ocean water to create truly green energy. It's Jake's passion that drives the story, even if it also causes him to make every dumb mistake in the book along the way. Shia LaBeouf brings an earnestness and laser-focus to a role that, while it might not be characteristic of any actual Wall Street trader, gives the audience an utterly empathetic place to invest their emotions.

"Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps" doesn't shout in all caps that Wall Street, America, and the world, are still in the same economic bubble we were in when the 2008 collapse hit, but it does make clear that we are in line for it to happen again. And when it does, there will be no recovery for a very long time.

Rated PG-13. 133 mins. (B+) (Four Stars - out of five/no halves)

 

 

 

The Kids Are Alright

LGBT Goes Mainstream
Lisa Cholodenko's Liberates the Lesbian Family
By Cole Smithey

The mid-life parenting crisis of a lesbian couple (awesomely played by Julianne Moore and Annette Bening) is the narrative cornerstone for a memorable comedic family drama by writer/director Lisa Cholodenko. Together for 20 years, Nic (Bening) and Jules (Moore) raise their teenage children Laser (Josh Hutcherson) and Joni (Mia Wasilkowska) in the comfort of a well-appointed Los Angeles home. Nic is a doctor; Jules is starting her own landscaping business. The couple's teenage son hangs out with a juvenile bully while 18-year-old Joni decides to track down the man who anonymously donated his sperm to their mom Jules nearly two decades earlier. Phone contact is made with their biological father Paul (Mark Ruffalo), and the siblings agree to a meeting. Groovy Paul is a motorcycle-riding restaurateur with a passion for locally grown vegetables and a bevy of attractive women who rotate around him. Paul warms quickly to the idea of acting out his fatherhood fantasies, soon ingratiating himself into Jules's and Nic's family. He even offers to become Jules's first landscape design client. When fireworks ignite between Jules and Paul, the story turns into an exploration of desire, honesty, and loyalty in an unconventional familial setting. Cholodenko's precise plotting, canny dialogue, and spot-on production design compliment solid performances from the lively ensemble cast. "The Kids Are Alright" is a thoroughly cohesive and entertaining movie that celebrates LGBT relationships in a long-term family setting.

Perhaps the most remarkable thing about "The Kids Are Alright" is that there aren't more films like it. LGBT cinema is long overdue for going mainstream. For all of the splash that Ang Lee's "Brokeback Mountain" made, it wasn't a mainstream film. Worse yet, its story supported an oft repeated cautionary tale about gays that Hollywood cooked up a half-century ago. Even great movies like "Boys Don't Cry" and "Mysterious Skin" exist in a dark netherworld of societal cruelty that doesn't enjoy the luxury of domestic adjustment. That's where Cholodenko's film makes a bee-line departure that lives in the kind of nurturing environment that you might imagine sex columnist Dan Savage maintains with his partner to raise their son. In a funny way, Cholodenko has stripped away all of the artifice and bullshit to show a family grappling with multiple predicaments of growth and interaction.

There's a scene in the film when Nic and Jules are getting back to an old favored fetish of watching gay male porn while getting it on. Someone rolls onto the remote and the television volume goes blasting. Their daughter Joni hears it and is appropriately shocked. The scene is rich with affection, humor, surprise, and farcical interaction. We see and hear the subconscious levels of well-meaning people living out their lives with an understated complexity that is intrinsically life-affirming. It's like a moment from a great Woody Allen film, but without the overbearing artifice.

Later in the film, Nic lets loose with an acapella rendition of Joni Mitchell's "Blue" at Paul's dinner table with the whole family as her audience. It's a transcending moment that allows Annette Bening to jump off a cliff with her character, knowing that the safety net of the situation and storyline will catch her. It's breathtaking. So too are the adulterous assignations that Jules and Paul share when she spends her days working on his garden design.

We understand exactly where motivations and objectives get tangled up and confuse the characters because the filmmaker has laid such meticulously layered narrative groundwork. Here are people like us, who want things they can't have because they've made other choices. The decision to have children has created an internal combustion for Nic and Jules. Now that Joni is going off to college, and Laser is defining who he wants to be, the moms are coming up a little short for answers. Paul's influence on Joni and Laser is massive, but his inability to control his attraction to Jules and respect her marriage to Nic, ends up costing him more than he bargained. Next to his work in David Fincher's "Zodiac," "The Kids Are Alright" represents Mark Ruffalo's finest work. It's fascinating to watch him play against such incredibly seasoned actresses as Bening and Moore, who also deliver career-topping work. From an acting standpoint, this is a movie that gives its actors the context and space to run full tilt. You'll like it.

Rated R. 109 mins. (B) (Three Stars - out of five/no halves)

Love Ranch

Desert Pulp
Hackford's Brothel Biopic Doesn't Know Where to Begin
By Cole Smithey

Taylor Hackford, the director who attracted widespread kudos for his 2004 Ray Charles biopic, proves incapable of fitfully exploiting more pulpy subject matter. Based on real-life exploits of the husband-and-wife team (Joe and Sally Conforte) that opened and operated Nevada's Mustang Ranch (the first legal brothel in the country), "Love Ranch" holds the seedy promise of a '70s period piece bubbling over with all the nudity, camp humor, and tantalizing danger of a Russ Meyers' movie. Instead, the film plays it so safe that the only thing holding it together is Helen Mirren's flawless performance as Grace Bontempo, the elegant brothel madam with a showboating husband named Charlie (played by a miscast Joe Pesci). Pesci repurposes the mobster characters he played in movies like "Goodfellas" for a middle-aged playboy with a Napoleon complex. But substituting cowboy boots for Italian suits doesn't go far enough to resettle Pesci into a part that's too suggestive of his former Mafioso roles.

Narrative rubber hits the road when macho entrepreneur  Charlie insists on underwriting a washed-up Argentine boxer named Armondo Bruza (well played by Sergio Peris-Mencheta). Here again, names of the actual persons have been inexplicably changed. Oscar Bonavena was the real-life boxer who's life was cut short in 1976 due to his bumpy relationship with the co-owners of the Mustang Ranch.

Armando is a crass lug of a guy. His ringside introduction to Charlie's dignified wife carries a loaded weight of adulterous potential. There's more than a little "Postman Always Rings Twice"--themed drama brewing. At first repulsed by Armando's sweaty overbearing presence, Grace uncomfortably warms to the boxer after Charlie insists on boarding him in a nearby trailer park the couple owns. Charlie makes a timeless mistake when he makes Grace Armando's manager, responsible for overseeing the fighter's work-out regime in preparation for a big fight that Charlie believes will lead to great fortunes for all concerned.

Screenwriter Mark Jacobosn's stilted script leans hard on the budding relationship between Armondo and Grace, who has recently discovered that she has terminal cancer. However, the movie never taps into the bed-banging rhythms of the Love Ranch milieu as might inform the lustful desires of the star-crossed lovers. Grace's and Charlie's problematic business relationship is clearly spelled out. And yet a subplot about local political pressures against the brothel confuse the story rather than build suspense toward the competing climax situations of Armondo's upcoming boxing match and his romantic fate with Grace.   

Helen Mirren, Taylor Hackford's real-life wife, hasn't worked with the director since they met on the set of his 1985 film "White Nights." "Love Ranch" is very much Mirren's movie up until an obligatory violent ending that's handled with such predictability that it deflates the dramatic suspense and leaves Mirren's character holding the bag. Plot-points take over with such a mechanical force that Grace's voice-over narration that closes the cinematic ceremonies seems like a cop out.

"Love Ranch" is an off-key biopic that doesn't know where to begin or end. What comes between might have moments of emotional truth, but the reality is submerged where it should be heightened and made bland where it should sting. Nothing looks cheap or expensive enough to capture anyone's imagination, not even the poor souls trapped in such a dusty mosquito trap in the middle of the desert

Rated R. 117 mins. (C) (Two Stars - out of five/no halves)

The Karate Kid

Too Much and Not Enough
Big Budget Remake Goes Astray
By Cole Smithey

Adhering closely to the original 1984 "Karate Kid" blueprint that made Ralph Macchio and Pat Morita household names, this Will Smith-produced remake ups the stakes by moving the action to China. Casting Jackie Chan as Mr. Han, a martial arts master (disguised as apartment building maintenance man) who teaches his young protégé Dre (Jaden Smith) how to fight, lends an air of authenticity to the otherwise by-the-book narrative. But not all that shines is gold. At well over two hours long "The Karate Kid" feels bloated while nonetheless managing to leave thematic threads dangling. For instance Dre's mother Sherry's (reliably well played by Taraji P. Henson) grim employment conditions in China, for which she abandoned the economic wasteland of Detroit, go overlooked. Director Harold Zwart ("The Pink Panther 2") burns through the film's giant budget like a sailor yet doesn't dig deep enough into his characters' motivations to make the film resonate with the passion he clearly intends. For all of the time spent on Dre's grueling training (Jaden Smith studied with the film's stunt coordinator Wu Gang to prepare for the part), we never see the learning process take seed.

There's a moment when Mr. Han takes Dre to visit the kung fu studio where the bullies that terrorize Dre learn under China's billboard-advertised kung fu teacher Master Li (Rongguang Yu), a ruthless sifu who demands no mercy from his young students. Mr. Han brokers a deal with Master Li for the bullies to leave his sole student alone while Dre prepares to fight them in an upcoming tournament that will serve as the film's climax. The scene opens a door for the short-tempered Master Li to demand an on-the-spot challenge for Mr. Han to fight him in the ring. That newbie screenwriter Christopher Murphey drops the golden opportunity to show how the humble Mr. Han would handle such a loaded physical contest, flagrantly ignores Jackie Chan's famous skill and does the film a disservice.

Obligatory visits to China's magnificent Wudang Mountains and Great Wall give Mr. Han a chance to instill in Dre some philosophical teachings of kung fu while giving the audience postcard vistas to soak up. But even here the filmmaker lets slip the dramatic arc of the story as it applies to our young protagonist. For all of Jaden Smith's charm, and he is a charming actor, Smith is not yet seasoned enough to pull off such a demanding performance. Ralph Macchio was 22 when he played the younger-looking Daniel Larusso in the original "Karate Kid." Although he was still just starting out as an actor, Macchio had accrued enough life experience to fire your imagination.

Multicultural romance comes in the from of Dre's schoolmate, a young classical violinist named Meiying (Han Wenwen), who nearly overpowers Smith whenever the two are on screen together. The heart-warming subplot gives the story its strongest hook and brings it into its most human terms. Meiying's violin audition puts classical music into the film and elevates the transference of cultural ideals at play.

"The Karate Kid" is an entertaining, if uneven, remake that features a far more advanced level of fighting skills than the original film did. However, the title is a misnomer since "karate" has nothing to do with the wushu style of kung fu on display. Jackie Chan and Jaden Smith fail to connect with each other to the same degree that Ralph Macchio and the Oscar-nominated Pat Morita did, but that's to be expected. The main problem is that this version doesn't come from the heart, but rather from what can be gleaned and exploited. It's an obfuscation that comes not from the performers, but rather the filmmakers who refuse to let the audience experience a simple interaction of emotion. It's a classic example of too much and not enough.

Rated PG. 135 mins. (C+) (Two Stars - out of five/no halves)

The Loss of a Teardrop Diamond

Tennessee's Last Movie is a Minor Chamberpiece
By Cole Smithey

Actress-cum-director Jodie Marshall brings a studied adaptation of Tennessee Williams unpublished and unproduced screenplay that lays bare the material’s less than cinematic trappings. Even as a minor work however, the story retains Williams’s consummate mastery at conveying a Southern Gothic philosophy that was his stock and trade. Set in the era of Fitzgerald’s early ’20s “Great Gatsby,” the story follows poor-little-rich-girl Fisher Willow (Bryce Dallas Howard). Fisher’s ruthless father has earned the scorn of the Mississippi Delta by flooding a levee on his plantation, causing the death of several farmers. Intent on reinventing herself, Fisher hires Jimmy Dobyne (Chris Evans), the stud son of a drunk that runs her father’s plantation store, to escort her to the debutante ball in the guise of the grandson of a past governor. Upon arrival, Fisher loses a high-priced diamond earring borrowed from her disapproving Aunt Cornelia (Ann-Margret) and Jimmy feels wrongly accused of pilfering the heirloom. The drama deflates as Fisher slips from the party to visit with Miss Addie (Ellen Burstyn), the mansion’s bedridden matriarch who begs Fisher to assist in her suicide. Carrying some complimenting bodily heft, Bryce Dallas Howard convinces in the role of Williams’s “mad heroine,” while Chris Evans fails to fill his character’s potentially light loafers.

In her leopard print coat, sequin dress, and bright yellow Pierce Arrow automobile, Fisher Willow knows consciously and intuitively the strict societal limitations that run from the sparkling lobby of the Peabody Hotel to the dingy alleys of Catfish Row. She’s a big fish in a small pond. As an heiress to vast riches, she harbors a dream of ferrying across the Atlantic to engage in a proper upper class European lifestyle that could embrace a modern woman of her particular appetite for sophistication. But more than anything, Willow hungers for love.

Tennessee Williams subscribed to the popular American literary and cinematic convention that painted the privileged few as incapable of ever attaining the one thing that the impoverished masses shared in spades, true love. It’s a mythology that still resonates today. Fisher’s manipulative dressing of field hand Jimmy in a tailored tuxedo and presenting him as part of a political dynasty seems at first a shallow and desperate maneuver. And yet, the guests at the Halloween ball include Jimmy’s old flame Vinnie (Jessica Collins) who is making a running stab at making an unlikely leap from lower to upper class.

For his part, Jimmy is easily distracted by Vinnie’s attentions but he was never able to live up to his end of his bargain with Fisher to begin with. With their financial contract flagrantly broken, Fisher must either choose the lonely path of her moneyed lot and all that it can buy, or follow through on the flawed romantic trajectory that she has designed.

At one point, Mrs. Addie tells Fisher, “Strong people of character like you don’t care about losing a teardrop diamond.” It’s a lie that Addie tells to flatter a young woman who has outgrown everything and everyone around her. Addie too has an agenda that is equally self destructive as Fisher’s. The Old South is built on just such falsehoods, and it’s this cycle of outer and inner deception that Tennessee Williams explored with cunning wit and a jaundiced eye. The impact of “Teardrop Diamond” might not be as potent as say, “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” but it’s every bit as poisonous.

Rated PG-13. 102 mins. (B-) (Three Stars)

The Road

No Future
Hillcoat and Penhall Are at a Loss for Ideas
By Cole Smithey

"The Road" is a one-note road version of "Waiting for Godot," minus Samuel Beckett's brilliant sense of existentialist humor. Based on Cormac McCarthy's 2006 novel, director John Hillcoat makes no attempt to convert screenwriter Joe Penhall's straight-line rendition into a narrative arc. It doesn't help that the characters don't have names. Viggo Mortensen plays "the Man." His 11-year-old son is "the Boy" (played blankly by Kodi Smit-McPhee). After being deserted by "the Wife" (played by Charlize Theron), Man and Boy wander a gray post-apocalyptic America where no explanation of what happed to wipe out most of the country is ever given. Determined to make it south to the ocean, our homeless duo encounter marauding gangs of murderers and cannibals. The baddies are menacing enough, but any attendant suspense is blunted by the movie's lack of narrative structure. The Man has only two bullets in his revolver, reserved for murder-suicide should the situation ever require such desperate measures. Robert Duvall plays the film's most empathetic character, a fellow traveler on the film's road to nowhere.

Of Cormac McCarthy's last six novels, three have been turned into films and another one ("Blood Meridian"--to be directed by Todd Field) is due for release in 2011. While Billy Bob Thornton's laconic directorial effort with "All the Pretty Horses" (2000) went largely unnoticed, the Coen Brothers' 2005 rendering of "No Country for Old Men" shed a different kind of light on the darkly comic filmic possibilities of McCarthy's work. The Coens transmogrified "No Country" into a film that somehow encompassed implacable greed and cruelty with a jaundiced satirical eye that pushed the audience into thinking about America's political influence on its dusty border-patrolled landscape. Indeed, satire is the very thing that's missing from John Hillcoat's prosaic treatment of what should have been an expansive commentary on America's knee-jerk consumerist culture that's driving the Industrial Revolution off a cliff and taking Mother Nature with it.

John Hillcoat struck it lucky in 2005 adapting Nick Cave's wild-and-wooly Australian western "The Proposition," by nurturing a Hitchcock-inspired sense of suspense and unpredictable violence that lent historical meaning to the material. But Hillcoat is on far less stable ground when dipping his toes into an emaciated futuristic environment.

The filmmakers treat McCarthy's multi-layered survival novel as nothing more than a handing off of generational hope into the hands of strangers that seem no more capable or trustworthy than those that came before. Certainly, Joe Penhall does a disservice to McCarthy's text by inserting flashbacks about the wife, seemingly for the purpose of adding Charlize Theron's name to the credits in the hope of attracting a wider audience. "The Road" needed a more worldly hands-on auteur like a Tarantino or a Verhoeven who could craft the script and put it on film with an overarching influence of humor and editorial meaning. If you look at a film like "Inglourious Basterds" or "Starship Troopers" you find yourself pulled into a whirlpool of narrative inertia that's entirely absent in "The Road" because the filmmakers embrace an ambivalent attitude regarding subtext. For such rich source material, the filmmakers have left out the most important ingredient: ideas.

Rated R. 113 mins. (C-) (Two Stars)