September 16, 2005
I Wanna Be Inside Your Heaven
Reese Witherspoon's image may loom head and shoulders above everything else on the movie posters, but the candyfloss comedy JUST LIKE HEAVEN belongs to her far-less-prominently featured leading man, Mark Ruffalo. With last year's long-in-the-coming mainstream breakthrough 13 GOING ON 30 and now this, indie stalwart Ruffalo has found a nice commercial niche injecting an uncommonly edgy likability to big studio rom-coms. Here he plays a sadsack layabout who moves into the apartment of a not-quite-departed young doctor (Witherspoon), whose spirit still literally lingers around the place and everywhere he goes. It's a cheesy-sounding premise, but leave it Ruffalo to approach it with the right balance of disbelief and sincerity; his eyebrows are raised right along with ours, yet we believe that he can, against all rational thinking, ultimately fall for this ghost. Of course, it's no spoiler to say that the two don't let their initial dislike and the little matter of physical tangibility get in the way of blossoming love; what is a surprise is how easily director Mark Waters makes the syrupy confection go down. Ruffalo and Witherspoon strike a nicely combative banter, and their rapport makes for a convincing transition to lovey-dovey sparks. The supporting cast also does what's required of it--namely, support. Wisely, Waters didn't bow to Jon Heder's NAPOLEON DYNAMITE popularity and needlessly expand his screen time as a spacey book store owner; he, like fellow supporting players Donal Logue (as Ruffalo's best friend) and Dina Waters (as Witherspoon's sister), do their jobs and don't outwear their welcome--except, perhaps, for one closing scene with Heder, but that's only a light bitter aftertaste for an otherwise agreeably sweet entertainer.
I Don't Wanna Be Inside Your Hell
The title THE EXORCISM OF EMILY ROSE conjures up images of heads spinning, mysterious languages spouted in growly demonic tones, and, of course, projectile vomiting. So those fright-minded moviegoers looking for an EXORCIST redux will be in for something even more shocking with Scott Derrickson's film--it's a courtroom drama! Based on actual events, the focus is not so much on the titular exorcism than the trial that takes place after it, as the priest (Tom Wilkinson) who performed the rite is charged with the young woman's mysterious death. While a sober, straightforward treatment of this fascinating story would be completely justified, co-writer/director Scott Derrickson wants to have his pea soup and eat it too. Instead of limiting the bizarre demonic occurrences to subjective flashbacks by the priest and Emily's family members, he also has mysterious creepiness torment the real life of the priest's lawyer (Laura Linney). Thus the final product is something frustratingly confused, with the very talented leads lending credibility to the dramatic material and pertinent questions about the existence of spiritual foces only to be hamstrung by the far less intelligent formula requirements of the genre, with close calls and fake-outs involving things going bump in the middle of the night (or, more specifically, 3:00 AM) and key witnesses disappearing at crucial moments like clockwork.
As Generic as Its Title
Hear in your mind's ear the line "He's my bitch" spoken in the nasally, nebbishy tones of Eugene Levy. Now you no longer need to bother with buying a ticket to THE MAN, as that's perhaps the only halfway funny joke in the entire tired enterprise. Samuel L. Jackson, phoning it in for a paycheck, plays an ATF agent whose big bust goes awry when Levy's chatterbox dental supply salesman unwittingly butts in. The usual mismatched duo antics ensue, with Levy's chirpy goody-two-shoes annoying the crap out of Jackson's no-nonsense, profanity-prone fed--that is, until they against all odds (well, at least not according to screenwriting formula) find some common ground to live up to the "buddy" half of the "buddy comedy" designation. So by-the-numbers is this movie that in hacking the film down to a slight 86 minutes, director Les Mayfield allows basic continuity to fall by the wayside since everyone knows where the whole thing going; at one stage Jackson and Levy turn up in a pool without any explanation as to why they're there, let alone why Jackson is undressed and Levy is fully-clothed. But then anything that spares us any more cheap, desperate gags such as the Levy character's red meat-induced flatulence can only be considered a good thing--and anything remotely resembling relief is hard to come by during this tiresome film.
Next time...
...more reviews. As always, check out my home site, Mr. Brown's Movie Site, for additional reviews.
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