Movie Hawk

Long before writer/director/producer Judd Apatow collected praise for his mixture of filth and heart in The 40-Year-Old Virgin, writer/director/”actor” Kevin Smith made his mark on the subgenre with his signature blend of foul-mouthed soliloquies and bleeding-heart morals. It almost makes sense, then, that Seth Rogen, current king of the Apatow universe, would make a movie with Smith. The surprising part is how little the resultant work – Zack and Miri Make a Porno – feels like a stunt.

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As an administrative employee at a local university, I am consistently baffled at the idea of a sabbatical; do you mean to tell me that I can promise to do research for a few months and get a whole semester away from the office? Who are these softee professors who can’t stand a full year’s worth of teaching and research? Surely, they could take some lessons from Prof. Henry Jones, Jr., who fought off Nazis and recovered more than his fair share of fabulous artifacts while teaching a full course load. The adventurous academic returns after 19 years in Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, and while Hitler, Marcus Brody and Henry Sr. are long dead, the fedora, bullwhip and sense of fun remain in tact. If only the last half hour of the movie wasn’t so far-fetched.

Warning: Spoilers ahead.

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I guess I missed a major opportunity not writing this review on the 15th of May, considering all the wordplay I could get out of it, but I’ve had thoughts on Horton Hears a Who rattling around my head for a few weeks and haven’t gotten the chance to express them yet. For a while, I was tempted to compare the movie to Seussical, the magical musical that tells the same story (and that I have a soft spot for), or to How the Grinch Stole Christmas and The Cat in the Hat, the two live-action attempts at recreating Dr. Seuss’ material. In the end, though – as with all movies – it’s best to let Horton stand on its own.

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Many people thought the comic book movie renaissance reached its creative peak with 2005’s Batman Begins, a property of comic giant DC. Though rival Marvel had started the upswing with Spider-man three years earlier, it was thought that DC had claimed dominance when Marvel answered Batman with the underwhelming trilogy-cappers Spider-man 3 and X-Men 3: The Last Stand. Add to the evidence that DC is set to release The Dark Knight this summer to a drooling, anticipatory public. But it seems that Marvel had one more trick up its sleeve, and that trick is Jon Favreau, director of the meritorious Iron Man and key to the studio’s bid to remain relevant.

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Though I’m loath to kowtow to the tagline “from the guys who brought you…” in movie trailers, it’s hard to deny the catchphrase’s usefulness in identifying good films when it comes to the Judd Apatow comedy factory. The hitting streak continues with Forgetting Sarah Marshall, written and starring Apatow apprentice and How I Met Your Mother star Jason Segel. And while the big news making the rounds is that Segel shows his man parts during the movie, the more important thing is that he shows a great deal of heart.

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Actor-scribe Simon Pegg has earned himself a devoted fan base in a relatively short time, largely built from Hot Fuzz and Shaun of the Dead, two movies that were produced in a relatively insular world made up of his friends (who are mostly British), and so it was confusing to see in the end credits of his new Run Fatboy Run that the top writing directing credit went to Americans Michael Ian Black and David Schwimmer, respectively. More surprising is that the tone of the movie is less Simon Pegg and more Nick Hornby. Nevertheless, Pegg successfully continues his campaign for mainstream success.

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It’s one of those stories that seems like it came straight out of Hollywood: brainiac students from MIT team with a slimy professor to count cards in Vegas, making a killing. And while 21, the film loosely based on Ben Mezrich’s true story Bringing Down the House, isn’t a total winner as either a “inspired by a true story” movie or as this generation’s answer to Rounders, it keeps viewers at the table long enough to cash in on a deck stacked with pure entertainment.

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With the high-def format war officially over and impeccably digitized movies coming to your home television any day now, the sentiment behind Michael Gondry’s Be Kind Rewind – namely, that the sterilized consumption of movies has ruined mom and pop shops and cheapened the experience of film – is easy to understand. But for a movie that seems so in love with cinema, it would be nice to see a more carefully constructed concept.

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It seems that there’s an ongoing struggle for the consumer dollar between the few smart, well-made movies and the seemingly endless well of total pabulum (sadly, it seems that the latter is winning out). It’s refreshing, then, to be able to find a middle ground in Nicolas Cage’s National Treasure: Book of Secrets, a delightfully absurd historical adventure that’s as fun as it is absurd.

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That Will Smith is a legend in his own time is not surprising; after all, he’s conquered music, television and film in his 40 years on Earth largely based on his winning smile. What’s surprising – and somewhat satisfying – is the success Smith has had in parlaying his celebrity into meatier roles. He finds balance between popcorn and pathos in I Am Legend, an apocalyptic thriller with plenty of soul.

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