4 posts categorized "Spoof"

February 09, 2015

KINGSMAN: THE SECRET SERVICE

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Groupthink doesn't live here, critical thought does.ColeSmithey.comThis ad-free website is dedicated to Agnès Varda and to Luis Buñuel.

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Tone-Deaf Spy Spoof
Colin Firth Gets Wasted

ColeSmithey.comThe times have changed. There was an era five years ago or more when director/co-writer Matthew Vaughn’s gloomy deconstructionist spoof of the spy thriller genre would have played better. “Kingsman: Secret Service” still wouldn’t be a good movie, but it wouldn’t have come across as the tone-deaf exploitation of gratuitous violence that it is.

Remember the days when audiences buzzed about how “dark” the Harry Potter series had gotten, and about how wonderfully “dark” Christopher Nolan’s Batman franchise was? In 2015, after the Sandy Hook killings and the Colorado cinema massacre, “dark” is a style than needs to be carefully massaged in order to be successful.

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Without giving away the film’s most over-the-top act of mass murder (which occurs in a church preached at by a racist minister): the scene represents a point of no return for a movie that didn’t have enough going for it before this misbegotten sequence hits you like an air conditioner falling from the window of a Manhattan high-rise.

Part of the problem stems from this film’s shallow origins, in a 2012 comic book series rather than from the more literary form of novels (see Robert Ludlum’s Jason Bourne book-based movies).

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As the screenwriter behind such action fiestas as “Kick-Ass,” “The Debt,” and “X-Men: First Class,” Matthew Vaughn loves gunplay and explosive set pieces. Vaughn’s producing credits on the Guy Ritchie-directed Tarantino rip-offs “Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels” and “Snatch” show you where he’s coming from. His directorial debut (“Layer Cake”) put Daniel Craig up for consideration as the next James Bond. Well done. Still, Matthew Vaughn is no Quentin Tarantino. If you ever blunder upon “Inglorious Basterds” on cable TV, you’ll find yourself unable to stop watching it because Tarantino uses weapon, fights, and brutality in the service of story and character, never the other way around.

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All narrative movement is energized by the opposing (urgent) motivations of Tarantino’s methodically detailed characters. These sophisticated narrative waters are too deep for Matthew Vaughn. He’s not that kind of filmmaker and never will he be.

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“Kingsman: Secret Service” is a relentlessly violent spoof with very few laughs. Samuel L. Jackson single-handedly elicits the film’s much-needed chuckles as Valentine, a villainous billionaire who speaks with a lisp. Valentine has an unconventional plan to correct climate change. He controls politicians and investors with brain chips he implants while providing the public with free cellphone and Internet SIM cards with which he can turn them into killing machines. Valentine envisions a world with a significantly smaller population. The character is really just a revved up version of any world leader engaged in imperialist war (Obama, Putin, etc.).

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During a business meeting with Valentine, Colin Firth’s British Secret Service agent Harry Hart (a.k.a. Galahad) bemoans preferring the older James Bond movies when they weren’t so “serious.” And yet, it is this film’s overreaching attempt at political satire that gums up the works.

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Kingsman agent Hart (Firth) lives with the daily torment of knowing that his failure to recognize an explosive situation in battle 10 years earlier led to the death of a fellow agent whose family now struggles with poverty. The deceased agent’s son Eggsy (Taron Egerton) lives in a South London housing estate with his mom and her abusive boyfriend. A brush with the law sends Eggsy begging for assistance from Harry. A bond forms that leads to a mentoring relationship wherein Eggsy trains for a spot as a Kingsman agent.

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Eggsy’s coming-of-age subplot allows for costume changes into Savile Row suits, and for a get-to-know-your-gadgets-and-guns sequence stolen from every James Bond movie ever made.

Based on the utter failure of tone that derails “Kingsman: Secret Service,” it seems unlikely that we will see the concept transform into a franchise. It has too many strikes against it.

Rated R. 129 mins.

1 Star

Cozy Cole

ColeSmithey.com

October 15, 2009

BLACK DYNAMITE

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Groupthink doesn't live here, critical thought does.ColeSmithey.comThis ad-free website is dedicated to Agnès Varda and to Luis Buñuel. Punk heart still beating.

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Hip, Groovy, Fast, and Moody
Blaxploitation Makes a Comeback
By Cole Smithey

ColeSmithey.comThanks to its crafted use of dialogue, perfectly timed jokes, funky score, and hilarious sight gags, Scott Sanders' lovingly executed Blaxploitation homage had me rolling on the floor.

"Black Dynamite" could be Michael Jai White's ("Kill Bill") big break into mainstream features. White delivers an unforgettable performance as a super-soul brother cut from the same purple velvet as Shaft and Dolomite.

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Blaxploitation plot tropes, deadpan tone, wide lapels, and '70s stereotypes are treated with sublime narrative precision and buttery visual detail. I would love to see Sanders attempt spoof versions of other film genres. He certainly has a magic touch with Blaxploitation.

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In keeping with the all-black-all-the-time Blaxploitation grindhouse films of the '70s (see "Across 110th Street"), plot is a minor inconvenience to set the stage for high karate kicks, endless one-liners, and dastardly rhymed monologues dished out by our hero.

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The murder of Black Dynamite's junkie brother Jimmy, by members of the CIA (i.e. the Man), lights a narrative fuse that burns all the way to an action-packed climax inside Richard Nixon's White House, where a martial arts battle with Nixon leads to Black Dynamite lighting the First Lady's fire.

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Where "Black Dynamite" deviates from predecessors like "Dolomite: The Human Tornado" (1976), "The Mack," (1973), "Superfly" (1972), and "Shaft" (1971) lies in its quick pacing and quicker edits. Sanders condenses the action so that wordplay and smash 'em up sequences of super-fake violence get equal attention.

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Surprising googaly-moogaly sight-gags crop up at various points to bring the carefully formulated homage into the post-Farrelly Brothers world of the 21st century.

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Dressed in the finest turtlenecks that $9.99 can buy, Black Dynamite is a an ex-CIA commando (shout out to "The Spook Who Sat By the Door" ) who carries a 44-Magnum just like Dirty Harry did. His womanizing ways momentarily meet their match with super-soul-sister-activist Gloria (Salli Richardson), whose tough defenses melt at Dynamite's stoic charm sooner than she would prefer.

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From the groovy felt fedoras that the pimps and drug dealers wear to the red headband that Dynamite dons inside his dojo, there's a heartfelt celebration of the attitudes, humor, and rebellious nature of Blaxploitation. That Scott Sanders is able, with the help of a diligent cast and crew, to generate an original-feeling Blaxploitation comedy that gains momentum for an energetic third act is a piece of good fortune.

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Team written by Michael Jai White, Byron Minns, and Scott Sanders, "Black Dynamite" could serve as a textbook DIY how-to primer for what it takes to make Blaxploitation cinema. It may be the all-time best party film next to "Animal House." If this movie doesn't make you laugh, call a doctor.

Rated R. 90 mins. (A-) Four Stars

Cozy Cole

ColeSmithey.com

August 11, 2008

TROPIC THUNDER

Welcome!

Groupthink doesn't live here, critical thought does.ColeSmithey.comThis ad-free website is dedicated to Agnès Varda and to Luis Buñuel.

Get cool rewards when you click on the button to pledge your support through Patreon.

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ColeSmithey.comSearch and Destroy Comedy
Stiller and Company Launch More Than F-Bombs
By Cole Smithey

A heady blend of outrageous Grand Guignol comic set pieces and fast-twitch dialogue, "Tropic Thunder" walks a fine line of dangerous satire that straddles gallows humor and bawdy pop-culture inflected slapstick. In the midst of filming an "Apocalypse Now"-styled movie an overzealous crew squander a multi-million dollar explosion thereby forcing director Damien Cockburn (Steve Coogan) to plant cameras and explosives in an area of a Southeast Asian jungle for the cast to perform a low-budget reality version of the script.

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Action-movie-has-been Tugg Speedman (Ben Stiller), goofball comedy star/heroin addict Jeff Portnoy (Jack Black), Aussie method actor Kirk Lazarus (Robert Downey Jr.), hip-hop pretty boy Alpa Chino (Brandon T. Jackson) and nerdy Kevin Sandusky (Jay Baruchel) make up the cast of war movie stereotypes.

Aside from some scene-stealing by Tom Cruise as a bald and fat Hollywood producer prone to cursing a blue streak, Robert Downey Jr. owns the movie with his comically layered performance as an actor who underwent skin pigmentation treatment in order to play an African American soldier. Downey’s performance will go down in cinema history as one of the most ridiculous yet comically effective experiments of the decade.

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The movie opens with a series of hilarious parody commercials that identify each of the main "actors" involved in the film-inside-the-film. An Alpa Chino blurb for an energy drink called "Booty Sweat" goes so far into hip-hop culture’s one-track obsession for poontang as to be cathartic. A Tugg Speedman segment for his flagging "Scorcher" action movie franchise points up the futility of action flick sequels, and Jeff Portnoy’s fat/fart comedy movie series "Fatties" pokes in the ribs of Mike Myers and Eddie Murphy for their efforts in that area of humor.

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But it’s the sham trailer for Kirk Lazarus’ gay-themed movie "Satan’s Alley," about lust between priests in the Middle Ages, that induces howls of laughter. Tobey Maguire does cameo honors as the object of desire for Lazarus’ character, and narration by movie trailer narration specialist Don LaFontaine provides added punch to the longing stares of passion.

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The satire’s more obvious points of departure comes from movies like "Full Metal Jacket," "Rambo," and to some degree Robert Altman’s "The Player." An ironic use of archetypal war related rock songs shoots daggers at the portentous syrup of Buffalo Springfield’s "For What It’s Worth" that posits "There’s something happening here" as an objective view of a militizia-enforced society at war with itself. The outdated effect of the song is transmogrified into an irreverent post-modern joke.

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It’s a movie about the making of a war movie during an era when all bow at the altar of pop culture celebrity, making interaction between the actors hinge on experiences that are already thrice removed from reality.

The brilliance of "Thunder’s" lampoonery comes across in its deeply woven threads of self-referencing character actors and deceptively offhand narrative touches that combine to form a perfect storm of comic ideas. A finely tooled supporting performance from Nick Nolte as the narcissistic Viet Nam vet on whose autobiographical book the sub-movie is based, bestows a degree of cynicism that effortlessly matches the American media’s abysmal condition.

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The story gets muddled as our team of impromptu soldiers attempt to rescue Tugg Speedman from his incarceration at the hand of a group of heroin purveyors led by a 12-year-old tyrant named Tran (Brandon Soo Hoo). Speedman is reduced to recreating scenes for his captors from his movie "Simple Jack," in which he played a buck-toothed retarded man.

Kurk’s reprimand to Tugg for going "full retard" in a movie as a taboo that he should have known better than commit, arrives with examples from "Rain Man," "Forest Gump," and "I Am Sam." Kurt’s insider knowledge about acting rules and styles throws a bravura wink at the profession that’s wrapped up in the being of Tom Cruise’s incarnation as Hollywood mogul Les Grossman.

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The movie wraps up with Cruise doing a hip-hop-styled dance to T.I’s "U Don't Know Me" that contrasts darkly to his famous "Risky Business" underwear jig. It’s a lasting moment of sheer rebellion that puts a bow on "Tropic Thunder" as a comedy intent on searching and destroying mediocrity. It’s a movie that knows what it’s up against.

(Paramount) Rated R, 106 mins. 

4 Stars ColeSmithey.comCozy Cole

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