The Color of Money

"The Color of Money" has disaster written all over it. It's an unnecessary sequel to the much-loved classic "The Hustler," which starred Paul Newman as an ace pool player. This time around, Newman is a mentor to the frequently irritating Tom Cruise. (Here he sports a ridiculous haircut and twirls his cue around like a samurai staff. It's not hard to imagine why he took the role.) Behind the camera is Martin Scorcese, who typically works on passion projects, not studio-hire stuff like this.

And yet "The Color of Money" sings, thanks to the pairing of Newman and Scorcese. Newman is literally the perfect actor for this role, possessing all the poise and self-assurance needed to sell himself to both Cruise and the audience. Scorcese brings his signature verve and energy to the pool hall, turning potentially dull or hackneyed scenes into visual thrills. (Although it must be said that Scorcese's longtime musical consultant/composer, Robbie Robertson of The Band, contributes a dreadful score.)

Beyond the technical stuff, "The Color of Money" works thanks to its unorthodox plot. This isn't your typical sports movie, where a young up-and-comer takes on a longtime champion/asshole. Instead, "The Color of Money" is about the conflict between passion and pragmatism. A born competitor, Cruise is only interested in destroying the competition. But as Newman teaches him, constant winners can't make much money in pool; pretty soon, no one wants to play them. To make money, a hustler has to deliberately lose for a while. Then, once his competitor gets too cocky, he brings his A game to win back his money and then some.

That's a profitable hustle, but it's contrary to the spirit of the game. And that's what "The Color of Money" is about--not who wins, but what the mentality of the players is. It's a sports movie where the outcomes don't matter. Pretty refreshing.

Drive Angry

I'm not usually a fan of the "so bad it's good" argument for films. Don't get me wrong--bad movies can be hilarious at times. But once the novelty of their awfulness wears off, you're just stuck watching a crappy film.

"Drive Angry" is an excellent example of this. The first 30 minutes have plenty of funny moments. Many of these revolve around 47-year-old, balding Nic Cage evidently being irresistible to women. His ridiculous badassery reaches its peak when he shoots about ten men while having sex with a woman. Did I mention he is smoking a cigar while doing this? And that he takes a swig of Jack Daniels immediately after the shooting? And that, just before firing, he tells the woman "I never disrobe before a gunfight"?

After that hilarious scene, though, the movie settles down and becomes a standard bad action movie, with plenty of drivin' and shootin'. There are lots of dumb plot twists. But once we've adjusted to the fact that the director went to the Michael Bay School of Filmmaking, it stops being funny and starts getting dull.

"Drive Angry" reflects a troubling trend in movies: films that are terrible, but get a pass because their creators know they are terrible. This is how "Drive Angry" gets a 45% rating on Rotten Tomatoes despite being one of the most poorly conceived and executed movies of the year.

Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez have spearheaded this trend with movies like "Grindhouse". Tarantino is so talented that he can take a bad movie premise and elevate it to something greater. But Rodriguez and most of his peers just use the "so bad it's good" excuse to churn out crap. The trend has even extended into music, with awful self-aware acts like LMFAO and Ke$ha.

Sigh. I shouldn't have to make this argument, but here goes. If I draw a stick figure, it's a bad drawing. It doesn't matter if I know the drawing is bad. It's quite possible that the director of "Drive Angry," Patrick Lussier, knew exactly how stupid his movie was when he made it. But that doesn't make his film any better. You can't have your cake and eat it too. And you can't make a bad movie and be celebrated for it.

About Schmidt

If you looked at his filmography from the last nine years, you'd never know that Jack Nicholson was one of the greatest American actors. He's increasingly indulged in outsized roles like the villain in "The Departed" and an unrepentant misogynist in "Something's Gotta Give".

These roles require more outward emotions and bravado, which may seem paradoxical; wouldn't an actor slow down as he aged? But in fact, it requires a lot less energy to deliver this type of performance than the sort of subtle, nuanced work he did in the 1970s.

All of this makes Nicholson's 2003 performance in "About Schmidt" so significant--it represents the last time he really gave a crap. It was the last time he actually tried hard, as opposed to looking like he was trying hard. And the results are fantastic. Playing a recently retired executive, Nicholson gives us a man going through the motions while showing his contempt and frustration beneath the surface. He nails subtle details, like the character's slow, lumbering gait. He also flexes his comedic chops, giving some wonderfully underplayed deadpan reactions.

As good as Nicholson is, though, it shouldn't obscure the rest of Alexander Payne's typically wonderful dramedy. Payne moves effortlessly from the mundane to the moving to the hilarious. Schmidt deals with his nagging wife, goes on an educational road trip ("I met a Native American today, and boy did he open my eyes. Those people got a raw deal."), and meets his daughter's wacky new in-laws. (Four words: Kathy Bates' nude scene. Let me assure you, though, that a few seconds of pain are well worth it for a film this good.)

Things happen, but nothing really changes. And that's what makes the movie so heartbreakingly honest. A more standard indie film would have seen Schmidt turning over a new leaf and becoming a better person. But Schmidt is too old to hit the reset button on his life. He's not going to magically change his relationship with his wife of 42 years or his thirtysomething daughter. Payne and Nicholson give us plenty of laughs, but they insist on making us face the awful truth.