"Hot Tub Time Machine" (2010)

In "Hot Tub Time Machine", those hungry for incendiary and organic comedic farce got just what they ordered, perhaps even a little more than expected. To be fair, it's formula-driven in the celebratory depiction of the anarchic male bonding experience that "The Hangover" has previously executed to a slighter better degree. Be that as it may, it remains clever in that the neuroses and groveling of the film's characters freshens the material, fueling their escapades as well as the actors' pitch perfect rapport with its absurdist, gleefully idiotic premise. Through its juvenilia, "Hot Tub Time Machine" - a film with one of the most ambitious working titles of late - serves up a raucous and hilarious parable on living and coping with regret, while grappling with the trappings of modern middle-age crisis in a poignant, yet not too self-serious manner. Am I sure I'm talking about "Hot Tub Time Machine"? Well, yes, I am.

The existence of the film's three 40-something men, Adam (John Cusack), Nick (Craig Robinson) and Lou (a brazenly unhinged Rob Corddry) becomes something of a wallowing, repeated drone. Adam arrives to a message on his answering machine from his girlfriend, presumably one of many who's laid the news on him that, basically, she's through. Nick may have had dreams of music stardom, but they're washed away by his "going in another direction", on a path that starts in abandonment of his young potential and ends in the depths of, um, a dog's behind. And Rob Corddry's Lou, the sort of kindred spirit of "Time Machine", simply can't acclimate to these conditions; his episodes of drunken, wild, raving self-disapproval are the personality of the material, with Corddry practically making the movie his own. Lou dishes out cold, insensitive banter that's probably displaced by the character's own self-loathing, and Adam's 20-year-old nephew Jacob (a quick, dry Clark Duke) straight-mans and sometimes drolly dispels it to casual, cutting effect. Duke has always had talent and a comic sensibility but played it safe in weaker, forgettable dunce vehicles like "Sex Drive", and even on the prim and packaged ABC Family sitcom "Greek". Here he totes some real comedic muscle.

The troupe assembles half-heartedly following a suspicious car accident with Lou behind the wheel. Whether it's a suicide attempt, we're not so sure. We get the feeling that Nick and Adam have known Lou far too long to be at all surprised if it were. Amidst desperation to regain the momentum of their youth, the guys attempt to impulsively break from the norm and head to their old self-mythologized stomping grounds, the Kodiak Valley Ski Resort, "K-Val!" as Lou lovingly recalls. From there, one night in their resort hot tub delivers exactly what the title promises, a campy, vulgar, coarse, but still clever comedy with discernible heart.

I won't give away too many of the plot's details, they're meant to be experienced like a throbbing, delirious headache of the wildly intoxicated expedition these men plow their way through. One running story line with the hotel's bell hop (Crispin Glover, 'Back To The Future''s George McFly), is a gag that creates a sporadic element among some of the movie's best scenes, and Chevy Chase as the enigmatic repair man grounds the film's sense of homage and gives it the goofy edge that makes the actors' initial deadpan so amusing. Director Steve Pink summons his both travestied and adored 80's decade, in a sendoff of just the kind of schlock that the younger mullet, flat top and mop donning versions of its protagonists must have watched over excessive recreational drinking, yearning to recreate the TOTALLY AWESOME times they immodestly depict. I've heard that "Hot Tub Time Machine" was born out of the idea to recreate 1984's "Hot Dog...The Movie", and though I can't quote director Pink on that statement's accuracy, I too felt as though I was watching the vapid, fun-loving spirit of "Hot Dog", "Ski School", and every other teen sex comedy that relished in heroizing 19 and 20 year old guys as the Hugh Hefners of their respective Winter-fests. Mr. Pink seems to be inspired by these films while maintaining just the right tone, and extracting the best parts of even the most low-brow palette.

Ambitious in its ski and skin sexploration and guy-centered fare, many are likely to be offended by how roughly our band of middle-aged retro-starved comrades conduct themselves, as well as question whether many of the gross-out sight gags are necessary. This film is not for those people, although if they were to ride out initial impressions, they might find that those gags do work. The hot tub's function - other than to be a time machine ignited by an illegal energy drink, of course - is to help center the sadness in Adam, Nick and Lou's seasick lives with perspective, and writers Josh Heald, Sean Anders and John Morris' blend of coinciding nausea and comic confidence makes for a film that is, well, nauseatingly funny. Likewise, so is this 80's decade, in its riotous, spandex, hair-metal, drug-induced glory.

★★★☆☆ (3/5)


Cast & Credits
Adam: John Cusack
Lou: Rob Corddry
Nick: Craig Robinson
Jacob: Clark Duke
Bellboy: Crispin Glover
Alice: Lizzy Caplan
Repairman: Chevy Chase

Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer presents a film directed by Steve Pink. Written by Josh Heald, Sean Anders and John Morris. Running time: 98 minutes. Rated R (for strong crude and sexual content, nudity, drug use and pervasive language).

"How To Make It In America": TV Spot

Allow me to preface my routine examination of the show in question with a confessional: I like this kind of stuff. I like it because long after its events and somewhat distilled essence has been absorbed, it gets under your skin. Because it morphs the attitude and lifts the heart in a way a large majority percentage of all the world's motivational speakers or office depot stock inspirational quote posters can't. It provides a window into what it means to be "cool" - if that word ever had any meaning at all - in the face of the fast paced business world, a world full of disapproval, mounting frustrations, and more than a few unsavory and complicated relationships. It's also a reminder that perhaps, through all the hectic, sensationalist hype over self-help and Donald Trump type gurus, success stripped down is ultimately about 99.9% hustle.

Even in an economy plagued by the increasing toughness of job opportunities, even recognition of credible talent, it feels real and accessible because it attests to the warmth of this ideal. Describing the eagerness to pursue the path of ingenuity so cynically compromised in these testing times could be likened to the personal challenge of eating a rocky mountain oyster - trusting of its fine quality and status as a delicacy, yet nauseated, repulsed by the intake of an intimidation that accompanies one's knowledge of its origin. The forging purveyor of the 9 to 5 shift can find solace in its fantasy, and even muster the kind of fortitude that the goal of rising above one's suffocating, sometimes subduing environment necessitates. As a tee shirt created by Ben Epstein warns street weary would-be buyers: "New York City Eats Its Young".

There is a cult of attitude that exists in the frame of mind of the ambitious. It's epitomized by the glamour of dissatisfaction, of enduring friendships, of the thrill of the youthful, unconventional ride. It exists on HBO, and it's become something of a trademark from the perception of Mark Wahlberg, executive producer of the network's latest, "How To Make It In America".

Mr. Wahlberg, who executive produces HBO's "Entourage" (now on the brink of its running seventh season) has developed quite a knack for sharing his affinity for the grind of the day-to-day, where the starving may not be getting rich quick, but they're enamored with persistence. He is no stranger to the come-up himself, though his story - in the wake of Wikipedia and Imdb.com - may be a bit more accessible than that of the characters of his series for those without the luxury of higher cable programming. As "Marky Mark", hip-hop emcee and frontman for the "Funky Bunch", his launching point was based in Los Angeles with brother Donnie of "New Kids on the Block" fame, along with a staunch, dutiful set of confidantes (Eric Weinstein, Johnny "Drama" Alves, and Donnie "Donkey" Carrol, respectively). That boyishly retained inner-circle set the template for "Entourage"'s iconic set of perennially close-knit New-Yorkers turned LA players, who prefer to blaze their paths through instinct and sensibility, rather than the mere terminal desperation to peak in fame.

"How To Make It" is the quintessential hustler story, with Ben Epstein (Bryan Greenberg) and his lightning-quick confidant Cam Calderon (Victor Rasuk) at its center. They're high-spirited and low esteemed. I'd expect their friendship, in a show on HBO about New York, to be somewhat catering to the ego of its viewers and heavily ridden in over-wrought conversational exchanges, much like the kind of deliberate discussion of phallus and plastic packaging of "Sex In The City", or the sexually charged bloodlust of a misdirected, muddled soap opera like "True Blood". It isn't. You can imagine how gratifying it was to learn that this is indeed a show about its characters. Ben and Cam's behavior is governed by the streets they inhabit, rather than the style they think they have. They're not show-offs like Carrie Bradshaw and Samantha Jones, they are what they are. This free-flowing naturalism and ability to step outside self-consciousness is how the show retains its sense of spirit, a spirit that is alive to be examined.

The opening moments of "How To Make It"'s pilot episode have Ben sitting in one of the rooms of his apartment, staring in disapproval at what could have been his break-through - a stack of custom designed skateboard decks he crafted for a native skateboarder named Wilfredo Gomez. That Ben had the graphic designer chops to make those decks sell is not so much the issue as is the fact that Gomez ends up going senile. His talents can no longer push Ben's. As the two friends board the train during the first kick of the day, they catch glimpses of a young, scrappy free-enterprising kid peddling M & M's, admittedly not for any fundraiser, but rather on his own account. "I'm out here hustling for my damn self", he explains. Ben offers a bit of advice: "It's not about money, it's about respect", he assures him, though it's extended more with admiration than with the lecturing or disapproval of an after-school special. The boy's strive is the code they understand.

With "How To Make It", frequent series director Julian Farino retains his voguish status as a one television's finest, a grounded and enduringly hip provider of eye-view with a cool and affable sensibility. Mr. Farino - who's also acting as executive producer on this Wahlberg team's latest, has demonstrated in times past a responsible handling of the brisk, bonafide rapport of such iconic, breakthrough "Entourage" shows as "Aquamansion", "The Sundance Kids", and "The Bat Mitzvah", all episodes that define and explore their characters' layers through the swing of their unfolding events.

With "How To Make It In America", the group introduced in a fun and fast-paced first season is free to to explore and roams with conviction. Its fundamentals are in place, but with an angle and convincing performances that guides its material above stale, post-modern HBO condescension. That rapport and study of communique is as present here in Farino's work as ever, following the jaunted exchanges of Ben and Cam, an almost pitch perfect chemistry that blends Ben's bleak thick-skinned cynicism with Cam's frenetic, off-the-cuff, moment-to-moment lifestyle. There's an element of unpredictability in their journey that could just as soon have them peddling an newly blended, unknown energy drink named "Rasta Monsta" for Cam's ex-convict cousin Rene (played with a fun-loving, quirky novelty by Luis Guzman), as it could find them earning some recognition and landing an opportunity printing shirts for their idol, the Japanese clothing buyer Haraki.


Greenberg plays Ben with a sense of gravity that is weighed down by frustration, and sometimes doubt. He's always innovative with his assets, though has yet to ever see those assets give him pleasurable result. While "How To Make It" is crafted in the same conventions as any pseudo-hip soap opera, with its fair share of love triangles and exploitative romantic twists, there's a core between those arcs that make its relationship dynamics, particularly the one that centers around Ben and ex-girlfriend Rachel so grounded, so bewitchingly smooth - even in its rough patches. Pining over the inadequacies of that relationship, Rachel bluntly explains to Ben why she just couldn't make it work: "You needed to hate yourself", she says. That psychoanalysis would seemingly fit Ben, who thrives not on the headway of his successes, but the scrutiny, the anguish that backhands him in effect of his underdeveloped entrepreneurial schemes. One of Ben's professors at a college he chose to withdraw from tells him, "You had talent, just no follow-through".

But these characters aren't doomed. There's a sense of redemption biding its time to spring from the adversity of those failures, and it reminds us, looking back, that it never really was the "rewards" of the grind that kept us going on in the first place. Unless those rewards were the despondency that comes with defeat, there'd be hardly any resilience on display from people like Ben, Cam, Rachel and the rest of those sharing their dogged camaraderie. The easy breathing wit of a show like "How To Make It In America" comes from the acknowledgement that these people are addicted to their work, their assets, their sense of purpose. The unapologetic nature of each day might bring them to their knees, but they meet it with warm embrace, and an endearing smile.

New York city eats its young, alright. What keeps us watching is the impression that maybe these guys have what it takes to slice their way out of its stomach, and keep right on moving.

Oscar 2010 Recap

2010 marked a year in which publicity and mass marketing momentum alone could have given away the results of the Oscars, and we saw the honors placed in the hands of, well - those we came to expect. The night generated quite a bit of discomfort - first from its humdrum delivery of atypically lame comedic material from co-hosts Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin - and later from its injudicious exaltation of a certain "Best Original Screenplay". Winner of the honor and former Playboy writer Mark Boal's association with Best Picture winner "The Hurt Locker" must have been the only credentials needed to garner him an award in a category in which he was sufficient, yes, but top contender? I digress. The aforementioned, along with the passing over of "Up In The Air" for Geoffrey Fletcher's adaptation of "Precious" were the two more startling upsets of the night. In retrospect, perhaps I should have chosen that very well-done, intrinsically good script over what seemed would be a case of Academy favoritism on behalf of Jason Reitman. In this regard, I'm glad the Academy's verdict did not reflect my projection. At least this much I will admit.

On a relative scale, the results of my predictions proved to fare considerably solid, with the exception of my calling of the few ravaged works that provided the more ignoble and dare I say inglourious upsets. With all due respect - and remember I'm saying it with all due respect - Mr. Boal's screenplay award was based solely on the hype of this film, not the core qualifications of a true recipient. The award is "Best ORIGINAL Screenplay", not "Best Screenplay For A Film That Will Win Best Picture". My final results: 16/24.



*All categories marked with an asterisk are the ones I predicted correctly:

Best Picture

Winner: "The Hurt Locker" - Kathryn Bigelow, Mark Boal, Nicolas Chartier, Greg Shapiro

*Best Director

Winner: Kathryn Bigelow for "The Hurt Locker"

*Best Actress

Winner: Sandra Bullock for "The Blind Side"

*Best Actor

Winner: Jeff Bridges for "Crazy Heart"

Best Foreign Film

Winner: "El secreto de sus ojos" (Argentina)

*Best Film Editing

Winner: "The Hurt Locker" - Bob Murawski, Chris Innis

*Best Documentary

Winner: "The Cove" - Louie Psihoyos, Fisher Stevens

*Best Visual Effects

Winner: "Avatar" - Joe Letteri, Stephen Rosenbaum, Richard Baneham, Andy Jones

*Best Original Score

Winner: Up - Michael Giacchino

*Best Cinematography

Winner: "Avatar" - Mauro Fiore

Best Sound Mixing

Winner: "The Hurt Locker" - Paul N.J. Ottosson, Ray Beckett

*Best Sound Editing

Winner: "The Hurt Locker" - Paul N.J. Ottosson

*Best Costume Design

Winner: "The Young Victoria" - Sandy Powell

*Best Art Direction

Winner: "Avatar" - Rick Carter, Robert Stromberg, Kim Sinclair

*Best Supporting Actress

Winner: Mo'Nique for "Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire"

Best Adapted Screenplay

Winner: "Precious: Based on the Novel "Push by Sapphire" - Geoffrey Fletcher

*Best Makeup

Winner: "Star Trek" - Barney Burman, Mindy Hall, Joel Harlow

Best Live Action Short Film

Winner: "The New Tenants" - Joachim Back, Tivi Mangusson

Best Documentary Short

Winner: "Music by Prudence" - Roger Ross Williams, Elinor Burkett

Best Animated Short Film

Winner: "Logorama" - Nicolas Schmerkin

Best Original Screenplay:

Winner: "The Hurt Locker" - Mark Boal

*Best Original Song

Winner: "The Weary Kind" from "Crazy Heart" - T-Bone Burnett, Ryan Bingham

*Best Animated Feature

Winner: "Up" - Pete Docter

*Best Supporting Actor

Winner: Christoph Waltz for "Inglourious Basterds"

"The Crazies" (2010)

Tell me you've decided to see "The Crazies", and I will introduce it simply like this: Watch at your own risk. Sounds scary enough, right? Well, at any rate, at least I was frightened - frightened of the implications of the brains of its viewers as perceived by its makers, frightened of the dreadful path on which much of the horror-genre is carelessly meandering. Its makers frighten me, in how dishonorably they try to capitalize on the most un-frightening of things. Its scenes, much like countless other incompetent remakes of its kind, relish in the strategy that if you wait long enough in silence, the payoff of a jumpy and startling shot of the enemy's face out of the shadows - or even the hand of the protagonist from behind - will serve in providing some sort of cheap, soulless thrill. If "The Crazies"' intention was to scare me, it didn't. Watch at the risk of lowering your standards of what a gritty, genuine "B" movie like its 1973 original should be, or worse - at the risk of surgically removing any shred of a raw sense of danger in a film that boasts to have exactly that.

From the start, we get a taste of poor David Dutton (Timothy Olyphant)'s shabby, lackluster life. He's killed a man (during a little league baseball game, of all times!) with the gut instinct that that man is drunk and is going to kill him. Later, David's wife Judy (Radha Mitchell) consoles him in obligatory boo-hoo scenes of post murder soul searching. Mitchell's work as Judy is mundane and highly lacking in the kind of sweetness I'd expect in a wife to a man struggling with that kind of guilt. Though, I suppose we must feel sorry for her, after all she is pregnant.

From there, we are presented with an intriguing idea, a paranoia filled premise that attempts to explore the fear of government conspiracy and lack of information available to its characters. That prospect is quickly compromised when writers Scott Kosar and Ray Wright expose us to another upsetting slew of cheaply employed cliches. David desperately implores the town mayor to shut down the town, for fear of its residents' safety. Clearly Kosar and Wright are loving disciples of "Jaws", but they only knew the words, not the music. This is the case here and throughout, an effort scarce in style and really uninspired.

Director Breck Eisner asks us to endure and empathize through a journey with characters we don't care much about. Gas-masked army men separate mothers and their children away from each other in a scene that takes itself far too seriously given its buildup. "Honey, look - there's somebody outside!". Are David and his poor, pregnant wife dead yet? Yes? No? Who cares, at least I can leave now.

Horror, with all of its extremities, has an array of devices it may use to gain rise from its viewers: convincing visual magic, gore, humor, eccentricity, fun dialogue and pacing, observation, methodology, originality, surprise. "The Crazies" is a film which shamefully uses none of these. In fact, its disclaimer, if it had one, should read something like: "Any marketing schemes for 'The Crazies' that possess the uncanny audacity to even mention George A. Romero's name in its ads for this shameful remake principally undermine his likeness altogether. Watch at your own risk". Now, the only worse advertising crime I could fathom would be the usage of those words "Watch at your own risk" throughout its ad campaign as a positive, even if such a warning is warranted in watching.

★☆☆☆☆ (1/5)

Cast & Credits

Sheriff: Timothy Olyphant
Judy : Radha Mitchell
Deputy: Joe Anderson
Becca: Danielle Panabaker
Deardra: Christie Lynn Smith
Bill: Brett Rickaby
Nicholas: Preston Bailey
Mayor: John Aylward

Overture presents a film directed by Breck Eisner. Written by Scott Kosar and Ray Wright based on the 1973 film by George A. Romero. Running time: 101 minutes.Rated R (for bloody violence and language).