Friday, November 18, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Purple Review #1: No Strings Attached OR "Natalie Portman and Ashton Kutcher Stand Around Looking Really Cute Together"
This review will be one in a series of reviews written for the SCHOOL PAPER, Y'ALL. (That's my explanation for its lengthy, non-bloggish-nature.) I'm writing reviews every 2 weeks for the Purple, so I'll publish them here, too, along with my more typical posts. Spread the word about this blog/leave comments/become a follower if you want us to keep this up!!
You probably already know how No Strings Attached ends. Anyone who has seen a movie probably knows how it ends. Like most typical modern romantic comedies, it’s predictable. But predictability has rarely stopped me from loving a movie (Titanic, anyone? We all know how it ends: Ship sinks. Leo dies. Celine sings. Yet watching it is still this gut-wrenching, tear duct-draining, completely cathartic experience. Every. Single. Time.) In the case of No Strings Attached, predictability is certainly not the primary criticism I have. I’m a big fan of rom-com staples like the Meet-Cute, the Big Mixup, and the Pivotal Airport Scene. Predictability isn’t the problem: it’s the fact that screenwriter Elizabeth Meriwether (TV’s Adult Swim) gave the two talented, impossibly charming leads so very little to work with. (And yes, I did just call Ashton Kutcher “talented” and “charming.” Justification will be made in due time.)
In case you’ve missed the ubiquitous, less-than-subtle trailer, Emma (Natalie Portman) and Adam (Ashton Kutcher) are old friends (the word “friend” is used loosely here; the more apt description is that they were once acquainted). They meet at summer camp as young teenagers, lose touch, then bump into each other at a fraternity party with little consequence. Years pass. They bump into each other again and exchange numbers. One year later, Adam calls Emma, a direct result of his daddy-issues-induced drunkenness. It turns out his sleazy father, a D-list television actor played by the potentially hilarious Kevin Kline, has been sleeping with Adam’s ex-girlfriend. Adam decides to call every female in his phone until he finds someone willing to help him get his revenge. He spends the night in Emma’s apartment and they end up having sex the next morning. They eventually decide (or, rather, Emma decides) that they want to continue hooking up with no emotional attachment or real commitment. Emma has a stressful medical career, limited free time, and actual emotion just isn’t her thing, apparently. Adam doesn’t say much about whether he thinks the plan can work; he just seems happy to be hooking up with someone who looks like Natalie Portman. Eventually, though, Adam realizes that he wants more from the relationship, and it’s only a matter of time before Emma will come around and admit that she’s falling in love (sur-priiiiise!)
The plot may not be conducive to “great cinema,” but this could potentially be a solid, hilarious movie in the vein of Judd Apatow or Adam McKay on a good day. There are some laughs here and there, but the screenplay is thin and you get the sense that truly great actors (Natalie Portman? Kevin Kline?) were robbed of worthy material. It’s not because the movie is too crude; in fact, it is not nearly as explicit as you might expect. Clearly, with the movie’s premise, you may not want to bring your grandmother along, but absolute, over-the-top raunchiness is (mostly) absent from this film. Unfortunately, so is actual development of the story, and this cast’s major talents go largely unutilized. Both Portman and, yes, Kutcher, shine (as much as is possible) in their respective roles, but this is partially due to the very unbalanced supporting cast. The always-delightful Olivia Thirlby is endearing as the younger sister and bride-to-be who prompts Emma to rethink her priorities. But her screen time is minimal compared to Greta Gerwig’s, who is bland and boring as Emma’s friend and roommate, Patrice. The inclusion of so many obvious supporting characters, straight from the standard rom-com stock, is disappointing. The Friend from College, the Trio of Bros, and the Sassy Gay Roommate only work when you hire supporting actors who are actually funny; this is a concept some casting directors will never grasp. Instead of including a few strong supporting roles, the film brings in an excessive amount of auxiliary characters without many comic or plot-enhancing consequences. The exceptions are Mindy Kaling (better known as Kelly from The Office) and Lake Bell (It’s Complicated), who rise above their clichéd roles with hysterical results, a difficult task when you’re playing old standbys like the Promiscuous Co-Worker (Kaling) or the Unrequited Lover (Bell). Bell’s priceless performance as an anxiety-ridden ditz with an inconvenient crush on Adam steals scene after scene. Hers may ultimately be the best performance in the film, or at least the one that elicits the most laughter.
A few of the film’s aspects are praiseworthy, or at least refreshing. First and foremost, it’s nice to see a guy (a guy played by Ashton Kutcher, no less) as the one who craves real commitment first. It’s a welcome change of pace from the done-to-death role of the relationship-wary male, and it’s to the writer’s credit that Emma’s character doesn’t morph into an only mildly toned-down version of Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction, as so many female characters in modern romantic comedies do. Second, Kutcher and Portman have a surprisingly high degree of on-screen chemistry; of course, it can’t hurt that they’re both painfully attractive. Kutcher foregoes his usual stoner-shtick a la Dude, Where’s My Car? and slides into his role as a sedately sweet, sweater-clad type with ease. Considering Adam’s deadpan expressions, desire to feel, and the sheer number of hoodies he owns, you might sense similarities to Zach Braff in Garden State. Third, when modern technology is integrated into movie plots, it should be integrated realistically. And in No Strings Attached, it absolutely is: this is not a post-2004 movie pretending that people actually use MySpace post-2004 (paging He’s Just Not That Into You and practically every television show on the CW...!) Emma and Adam have iPhones that actually look like iPhones. They make unambiguous references to wall posts and friend requests, and if they were shown using a search engine, it would probably be Google, just like the rest of the world. (Because, really, does anyone use Bing apart from the cast of Gossip Girl? Doubtful).
No Strings Attached has its moments of genuine sweetness and occasional hilarity, but overall, the movie reeks of wasted potential. Director Ivan Reitman had a phenomenal cast at his disposal, yet many of the comic scenes seem forced and uncomfortable. Watching a class act like Portman and a comedian like Kutcher deliver lines this bland is like being stuck in perpetual flight takeoff—you get the sense that the humor will really shape up and take flight any minute now, but you’re left in anticipation, and the movie never reaches its desired altitude. Even Kevin Kline, a comic great, struggles to rise above the bad writing. In addition, Emma’s reasoning behind initially wanting only casual sex is never really explored or given any validity. Of course it’s adorable that they eventually fall in love; viewers don’t go see this kind of movie to watch love lose the argument. Maybe Natalie Portman wanted a film that required little intellectual energy after all the varied and difficult roles she’s played; perhaps the crazed-ballerina role that earned her an Oscar nod for Black Swan tipped her over the edge of exhaustion. Who knows? This movie is enjoyable enough if you just want some fluffy fare, but with such a great cast, it could have been much funnier—no profound performances or subversive statements necessary, just a wittier script. If you want the gist of the movie, try YouTubing some promotional interviews and just watch Kutcher and Portman smiling and generally looking cute together. Knowing how entertaining the two usually are, the interviews will likely be funnier than the movie.
You probably already know how No Strings Attached ends. Anyone who has seen a movie probably knows how it ends. Like most typical modern romantic comedies, it’s predictable. But predictability has rarely stopped me from loving a movie (Titanic, anyone? We all know how it ends: Ship sinks. Leo dies. Celine sings. Yet watching it is still this gut-wrenching, tear duct-draining, completely cathartic experience. Every. Single. Time.) In the case of No Strings Attached, predictability is certainly not the primary criticism I have. I’m a big fan of rom-com staples like the Meet-Cute, the Big Mixup, and the Pivotal Airport Scene. Predictability isn’t the problem: it’s the fact that screenwriter Elizabeth Meriwether (TV’s Adult Swim) gave the two talented, impossibly charming leads so very little to work with. (And yes, I did just call Ashton Kutcher “talented” and “charming.” Justification will be made in due time.)
In case you’ve missed the ubiquitous, less-than-subtle trailer, Emma (Natalie Portman) and Adam (Ashton Kutcher) are old friends (the word “friend” is used loosely here; the more apt description is that they were once acquainted). They meet at summer camp as young teenagers, lose touch, then bump into each other at a fraternity party with little consequence. Years pass. They bump into each other again and exchange numbers. One year later, Adam calls Emma, a direct result of his daddy-issues-induced drunkenness. It turns out his sleazy father, a D-list television actor played by the potentially hilarious Kevin Kline, has been sleeping with Adam’s ex-girlfriend. Adam decides to call every female in his phone until he finds someone willing to help him get his revenge. He spends the night in Emma’s apartment and they end up having sex the next morning. They eventually decide (or, rather, Emma decides) that they want to continue hooking up with no emotional attachment or real commitment. Emma has a stressful medical career, limited free time, and actual emotion just isn’t her thing, apparently. Adam doesn’t say much about whether he thinks the plan can work; he just seems happy to be hooking up with someone who looks like Natalie Portman. Eventually, though, Adam realizes that he wants more from the relationship, and it’s only a matter of time before Emma will come around and admit that she’s falling in love (sur-priiiiise!)
The plot may not be conducive to “great cinema,” but this could potentially be a solid, hilarious movie in the vein of Judd Apatow or Adam McKay on a good day. There are some laughs here and there, but the screenplay is thin and you get the sense that truly great actors (Natalie Portman? Kevin Kline?) were robbed of worthy material. It’s not because the movie is too crude; in fact, it is not nearly as explicit as you might expect. Clearly, with the movie’s premise, you may not want to bring your grandmother along, but absolute, over-the-top raunchiness is (mostly) absent from this film. Unfortunately, so is actual development of the story, and this cast’s major talents go largely unutilized. Both Portman and, yes, Kutcher, shine (as much as is possible) in their respective roles, but this is partially due to the very unbalanced supporting cast. The always-delightful Olivia Thirlby is endearing as the younger sister and bride-to-be who prompts Emma to rethink her priorities. But her screen time is minimal compared to Greta Gerwig’s, who is bland and boring as Emma’s friend and roommate, Patrice. The inclusion of so many obvious supporting characters, straight from the standard rom-com stock, is disappointing. The Friend from College, the Trio of Bros, and the Sassy Gay Roommate only work when you hire supporting actors who are actually funny; this is a concept some casting directors will never grasp. Instead of including a few strong supporting roles, the film brings in an excessive amount of auxiliary characters without many comic or plot-enhancing consequences. The exceptions are Mindy Kaling (better known as Kelly from The Office) and Lake Bell (It’s Complicated), who rise above their clichéd roles with hysterical results, a difficult task when you’re playing old standbys like the Promiscuous Co-Worker (Kaling) or the Unrequited Lover (Bell). Bell’s priceless performance as an anxiety-ridden ditz with an inconvenient crush on Adam steals scene after scene. Hers may ultimately be the best performance in the film, or at least the one that elicits the most laughter.
A few of the film’s aspects are praiseworthy, or at least refreshing. First and foremost, it’s nice to see a guy (a guy played by Ashton Kutcher, no less) as the one who craves real commitment first. It’s a welcome change of pace from the done-to-death role of the relationship-wary male, and it’s to the writer’s credit that Emma’s character doesn’t morph into an only mildly toned-down version of Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction, as so many female characters in modern romantic comedies do. Second, Kutcher and Portman have a surprisingly high degree of on-screen chemistry; of course, it can’t hurt that they’re both painfully attractive. Kutcher foregoes his usual stoner-shtick a la Dude, Where’s My Car? and slides into his role as a sedately sweet, sweater-clad type with ease. Considering Adam’s deadpan expressions, desire to feel, and the sheer number of hoodies he owns, you might sense similarities to Zach Braff in Garden State. Third, when modern technology is integrated into movie plots, it should be integrated realistically. And in No Strings Attached, it absolutely is: this is not a post-2004 movie pretending that people actually use MySpace post-2004 (paging He’s Just Not That Into You and practically every television show on the CW...!) Emma and Adam have iPhones that actually look like iPhones. They make unambiguous references to wall posts and friend requests, and if they were shown using a search engine, it would probably be Google, just like the rest of the world. (Because, really, does anyone use Bing apart from the cast of Gossip Girl? Doubtful).
No Strings Attached has its moments of genuine sweetness and occasional hilarity, but overall, the movie reeks of wasted potential. Director Ivan Reitman had a phenomenal cast at his disposal, yet many of the comic scenes seem forced and uncomfortable. Watching a class act like Portman and a comedian like Kutcher deliver lines this bland is like being stuck in perpetual flight takeoff—you get the sense that the humor will really shape up and take flight any minute now, but you’re left in anticipation, and the movie never reaches its desired altitude. Even Kevin Kline, a comic great, struggles to rise above the bad writing. In addition, Emma’s reasoning behind initially wanting only casual sex is never really explored or given any validity. Of course it’s adorable that they eventually fall in love; viewers don’t go see this kind of movie to watch love lose the argument. Maybe Natalie Portman wanted a film that required little intellectual energy after all the varied and difficult roles she’s played; perhaps the crazed-ballerina role that earned her an Oscar nod for Black Swan tipped her over the edge of exhaustion. Who knows? This movie is enjoyable enough if you just want some fluffy fare, but with such a great cast, it could have been much funnier—no profound performances or subversive statements necessary, just a wittier script. If you want the gist of the movie, try YouTubing some promotional interviews and just watch Kutcher and Portman smiling and generally looking cute together. Knowing how entertaining the two usually are, the interviews will likely be funnier than the movie.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Quickly: Why Katy Perry Rocks.
You probably already know that "Teenage Dream" is the best guilty (or not-so-guilty, really) pleasure song to come out of 2010 (and possibly the past few years). If you don't end up looking like this when it comes on, then you probably don't know what the word 'fun' means.
When considering the other choices on her new album (also titled Teenage Dream, which is making this kind of difficult to word), the song "Teenage Dream" is currently my unequaled and unrivaled pick for car-jamming, but the video pales in comparison to this (below). The "Firework" video may be the best music video I've seen in years. The song isn't the best on the album (clearly "Teenage Dream" wins), but I do love a good Self-Esteem Anthem.
Boom, boom, boom, even brighter than the moon, moon, moon.
When considering the other choices on her new album (also titled Teenage Dream, which is making this kind of difficult to word), the song "Teenage Dream" is currently my unequaled and unrivaled pick for car-jamming, but the video pales in comparison to this (below). The "Firework" video may be the best music video I've seen in years. The song isn't the best on the album (clearly "Teenage Dream" wins), but I do love a good Self-Esteem Anthem.
Boom, boom, boom, even brighter than the moon, moon, moon.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
make it count. meet me at the clock.
Tonight I curled up for quality time with mi madre and Young Leo. I'm sure any red-blooded female knows exactly who I'm talking about: Jack Dawson, aka 23-year-old Leonardo "Dreamboat" DiCaprio, in Titanic. Dear God, the movie never gets old. And I have yet to watch it without weeping for pretty much the entire second half.
I could talk all day long about how great Titanic is. But you already know that. I will instead tell a little anecdote about my preoccupation with Leo and a little Google fun I had after making a subconscious slip in my typing.
Being the obsessive type that I am, I of course had to scour Google Images for sexy stills of Jack after watching this masterpiece for the bajillionth time. What do you know? I was a little too excited when I was searching and I inadvertently typed "i love jack dawson" into the search bar. You know, instead of just "Jack Dawson" or "Leonardo DiCaprio Titanic" or whatever. I only actually realized that I'd typed this long after "Enter" had been pressed. Only slightly embarrassing, I know.
Terrifyingly, the first page listed in the suggestions was a piece of fan fiction entitled "How I Met My Love: Through Rose's Eyes Only." Oh my. Time to get judgey. Now, considering just how easily I become addicted to shows/movies and just how overly invested and emotionally involved I become with characters, and considering the fact that I sort of enjoy writing from time to time, it would probably not seem too far-fetched if someone assumed I was a Fan-Fic writer. But I'm not. And I hate to say it (okay, no I don't) but ever since I discovered that the genre existed I've always thought it was a little (okay, a lot) sad and ridiculous. I'm all for fandom and creativity, but I'm not too big on an intense combination of the two. Can't you let your fandom inspire you to be creative in ways other than projecting creepy unfulfilled childhood desires onto characters that are probably beloved by many? And coming from me, this is pretty bold, considering I can't watch Ryan Atwood go back to Chino without whimpering or sleep well on Monday nights if all is not well with Chuck and Blair. In short, if even I think fan fiction is weird, you know it must really be weird. And no, before you ask, I did not read the "Rose-penned" piece.
But the next thing on the list caught my attention. A poll (made on that tragic website Fanpop, of course, for hopeless souls like myself) that asked "What is it about [sic] Jack, that you love?" (Please forgive the unnecessary comma.)
This poll's existence is, of course, completely ridiculous, but it made me laugh:
I must say, I'm really enjoying the fact that "I love all of him" has 83% of the vote, which is as it should be (if not 100%). And I really appreciate that "The hair in the eyes" is an option. I could have written these choices myself.
Ugh. Marry me now:
I'm about to go to sleep, but first...riddle me this. How is it that guys like Leo-circa-1997 and Ed Westwick (circa, um, always) can somehow STILL look dead sexy even when their respective wardrobe experts put them in Time Warp clothing that makes them look like 19th century Eastern European peasants? See examples below:
I guess that's something I'll never fully understand. But though I may not get it, I'll...never let go. Sorry. Bad attempt at a Titanic-quoting conclusion.
P.S. Edit. This is a bit unrelated, but sort of funny. While I was watching this, one of my favorite movies, my sister decided it'd be a fun surprise to walk into the kitchen accompanied by 3 people I went to high school with and haven't seen in forever (but I know them well enough that it would've been rude to simply ignore them). Anyway, of COURSE they showed up RIGHT at the kickoff of the infamous Drawing Scene. I was greeted with a "Hey Mary, cover your eyes" and then had to sit there uncomfortably among a bunch of gaping goobers. Not a recommended way to bump into people you haven't seen in a while.
I could talk all day long about how great Titanic is. But you already know that. I will instead tell a little anecdote about my preoccupation with Leo and a little Google fun I had after making a subconscious slip in my typing.
Being the obsessive type that I am, I of course had to scour Google Images for sexy stills of Jack after watching this masterpiece for the bajillionth time. What do you know? I was a little too excited when I was searching and I inadvertently typed "i love jack dawson" into the search bar. You know, instead of just "Jack Dawson" or "Leonardo DiCaprio Titanic" or whatever. I only actually realized that I'd typed this long after "Enter" had been pressed. Only slightly embarrassing, I know.
Terrifyingly, the first page listed in the suggestions was a piece of fan fiction entitled "How I Met My Love: Through Rose's Eyes Only." Oh my. Time to get judgey. Now, considering just how easily I become addicted to shows/movies and just how overly invested and emotionally involved I become with characters, and considering the fact that I sort of enjoy writing from time to time, it would probably not seem too far-fetched if someone assumed I was a Fan-Fic writer. But I'm not. And I hate to say it (okay, no I don't) but ever since I discovered that the genre existed I've always thought it was a little (okay, a lot) sad and ridiculous. I'm all for fandom and creativity, but I'm not too big on an intense combination of the two. Can't you let your fandom inspire you to be creative in ways other than projecting creepy unfulfilled childhood desires onto characters that are probably beloved by many? And coming from me, this is pretty bold, considering I can't watch Ryan Atwood go back to Chino without whimpering or sleep well on Monday nights if all is not well with Chuck and Blair. In short, if even I think fan fiction is weird, you know it must really be weird. And no, before you ask, I did not read the "Rose-penned" piece.
But the next thing on the list caught my attention. A poll (made on that tragic website Fanpop, of course, for hopeless souls like myself) that asked "What is it about [sic] Jack, that you love?" (Please forgive the unnecessary comma.)
This poll's existence is, of course, completely ridiculous, but it made me laugh:
I must say, I'm really enjoying the fact that "I love all of him" has 83% of the vote, which is as it should be (if not 100%). And I really appreciate that "The hair in the eyes" is an option. I could have written these choices myself.
Ugh. Marry me now:
I'm about to go to sleep, but first...riddle me this. How is it that guys like Leo-circa-1997 and Ed Westwick (circa, um, always) can somehow STILL look dead sexy even when their respective wardrobe experts put them in Time Warp clothing that makes them look like 19th century Eastern European peasants? See examples below:
I guess that's something I'll never fully understand. But though I may not get it, I'll...never let go. Sorry. Bad attempt at a Titanic-quoting conclusion.
P.S. Edit. This is a bit unrelated, but sort of funny. While I was watching this, one of my favorite movies, my sister decided it'd be a fun surprise to walk into the kitchen accompanied by 3 people I went to high school with and haven't seen in forever (but I know them well enough that it would've been rude to simply ignore them). Anyway, of COURSE they showed up RIGHT at the kickoff of the infamous Drawing Scene. I was greeted with a "Hey Mary, cover your eyes" and then had to sit there uncomfortably among a bunch of gaping goobers. Not a recommended way to bump into people you haven't seen in a while.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
thanks to a little motivation from gene autry...
Ciao boys and girls,
I've decided to return. I mean, don't get your expectations set too high because things have been really demanding around the house ever since I arrived home at semester's end. Like today, for instance. I had to go all the way to the dentist's office. Yesterday I had to go pick up a pair of shoes for my mom at Reed's. And I even had to help my dad unload the groceries a few days ago. So as you can see, I clearly don't have a lot of spare time to update this blog, and I'm doing all of you a HUGE favor by returning.
In all seriousness, though, I've missed this and will be happy to update somewhat regularly. I will try not to fall into some of the traps that I recently seemed to fall into-i.e. dwelling on the same subjects for too long or including tons of videos/songs that you probably won't watch/listen to. (I will say, though, to the anonymous commenter who requested "less Gossip Girl, more Tuesday Tunes," the only reason I was focusing on it so obsessively for that extended amount of time was because I was doing a weeklong countdown. I'll try not to do too much of the same thing over and over again, but I have to point out that GG is one of my favorite things going on in pop culture right now, so it's definitely going to be prominently featured. Hope you still love me). I'm hoping that I won't get bored, though, and that we can keep this going for a good long while. Oh, how kind...you want to know what you can do to keep me from tiring of this? Leave comments. Tell your friends about the blog. Because the whole reason I stopped updating was because I felt like no one was reading and I was just wasting time. Blogging isn't like therapeutic journaling. Unlike journaling, if you're only doing it for yourself, it's Lame. With a capital L. So just keep things interesting. Become a follower. (Looking over there and seeing a dismal '7' gets me doubting myself and my writing like Dan Humphrey. Sorry, obligatory GG reference. Get used to them).
Finally, I am hoping that my good old friend and fellow goody-two-shoes Anna Margaret will be game for updating every now and then, because she really is hilarious and she was the whole reason I even had the idea to start the blog (it was one fateful night when one of our friends made the mistake of telling us that we were "really funny together." She had no idea that I had just recently both seen Julie and Julia AND discovered Tavi Gevinson and that saying such things to me was dangerous). So, everyone pick on Anna Margaret to get her to contribute. It takes two to tango.
Love and all that,
Mary
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