Toy Story 3

Pixar, the most artistically and commercially successful studio of the past decade, has a 2-part formula for its films. Part one: an emotionally resonant storyline, frequently involving themes of family. Part two: a jaunty adventure tale, often featuring the protagonist struggling to return home. "Up," for example, gave us an old man tragically mourning the loss of his wife--and fleeing a pack of talking dogs.

This juxtaposition continues in "Toy Story 3". The filmmakers have said that the raison d'etre of the movie is to conclude the toys' relationship with Andy, their owner. College-bound, Andy no longer has a need for his toys. But this cold fact is emotionally wrenching for Woody, Buzz and their companions, who have spent their entire "lives" seeking to entertain him.

This is a powerful storyline, but a Pixar movie needs more. To sell tickets and merchandise, they need an adventure that will rope kids in and recoup the studio's investment. So Woody and the toys are donated to Sunnyside, a seemingly idyllic day care center. The toys are excited at the prospect of being played with once more--until they learn that they will be forced by the sinister toy bear Lotso to play with two-year-olds who seem hellbent on breaking them apart.

The Sunnyside storyline has its charms. It's a witty send-up of prison films like "Cool Hand Luke" that features some very funny bits, such as when Buzz is switched to his Spanish-language version and Barbie falls for Ken. But the escape from the prison and return to Andy inevitably involves extended action sequences that grow old. Particularly unnecessary is a scene in which the toys are sent to a landfill. Does anyone really think the "Toy Story" series would end with the characters dying in an incinerator?

This is the trade-off that Pixar has to make: it must placate children to make its films profitable. Hopefully, as its technology becomes cheaper and easier to use, the Pixar staff can use its tremendous talents for characters and storytelling in the service of a truly great film.

Love and Other Drugs

It'll make you laugh! It'll make you cry! It'll educate you on the evils of the pharmaceutical industry and the tragedy of Parkinson's Disease!

These are grandiose aims for a film. They can only be made by a director as fervently earnest as Edward Zwick. Responsible for such socially conscious but frequently cliched films as "Glory" and "Blood Diamond," Zwick here aims to add heavy doses of sex and romance to his usual formula. It would be nice if he were aiming to expand his range, but he really just seems desperate to get butts in the seats.

"Love and Other Drugs" is not as bad as all this sounds. Jake Gyllenhaal stars as Jamie Randall, a pharmaceutical salesman who pushes Zoloft using his womanizing abilities--along with many ethically dubious gifts to medical staff which are common in his industry. The film functions as a vervy satire along the lines of "Thank You for Smoking". But then Jamie meets Maggie Murdock (Anne Hathaway), an early onset Parkinson's patient. Her condition isn't curable through medication. Can you guess what happens next?

Jamie and Maggie's relationship is more credible than it should be, thanks to Gyllenhaal and Hathaway. They've got charisma to burn, and they both know how to show one emotion while hiding another. But just when the film seems to be finding a new balance as a romantic comedy, we get more jarring tonal shifts. There are a couple of scenes with bawdy sex gags, including one in which Jamie gets an erection lasting...well, you know how long. Meanwhile, Maggie helps seniors go to Canada for medications and sees inspiring testimonials from Parkinson's patients. The film gets so emotionally confused that at one point, Jamie's brother has an epiphany about the emptiness of no-strings-attached sex in between boner jokes.

"Love and Other Drugs" veers so wildly between sex and sentiment that it feels like a very rough first draft of a Judd Apatow film. There are too many themes, too many character arcs and most of all, too many desperate attempts to both educate and entertain the audience. I never thought I'd say this, but the workmanlike Zwick is better off sticking to his old, stoic style. Sometimes a prosaic film is preferable to a manic one.

Frozen River

Independent filmmaking offers many advantages. Free from the demands of Hollywood producers, indie flicks frequently feature realistic storytelling, unconventional techniques and oft-neglected subject matter. But a shoestring budget comes with tradeoffs; all that Tinseltown cash can provide a lot more than pointless CGI.

"Frozen River" is a classic example of the pluses and perils of indie filmmaking. It should be a taut suspense film, but the production values leave it limp.

"Frozen River" stars Melissa Leo as Ray, a mother of two with a part-time job, a husband who just left with all her money, and a bill coming due for a double-wide mobile home. Nearing the end of her rope, she unwittingly befriends a Native American woman who shows her how to smuggle illegal immigrants from Canada to New York via a frozen river. The trade is quite lucrative--and dangerous.

"Frozen River" has plenty of elements that ought to be riveting. A mother struggling desperately to feed and shelter her children. Scenes in which the characters could at any moment drown or die of hypothermia. A climax that forces a gut-wrenching decision on the protagonist.

Yet it frequently feels underwhelming, thanks to a couple of flaws that could have easily been fixed for a few million clams: amateurish acting and a paltry score. The acting issue is a common one in indie films; amateurs frequently can't carry the emotional weight needed for a drama. Leo gives a good performance, but the other players just have no presence. The climax in particular is lacking: we have a hard time seeing the gravity of the situation with such flat line readings.

A strong score is also needed for a film like this. When a car is trapped on the ice, the situation cries out for a rumbling orchestra. Sure it's manipulative, but it also works.

As strong as the plot of "Frozen River" is, there's no way to love a movie this flawed. On the other hand, would a Hollywood studio bankroll a film with no love interest and a middle-aged woman and a Native American as its stars? Not on your life. This movie could only exist as an independent.

So, do we blame this film for its flaws or praise it because it can't help them? Neither. Instead, we celebrate it. Cinema is much richer for smart, original indie films like "Frozen River," money be damned.

It's Kind of a Funny Story

Comedy-dramas are a tricky business. You have to be sentimental but not sappy; funny but not frivolous. It's tough to veer between the light-hearted and the serious.

Indie filmmakers Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck don't just take on this challenge with "It's Kind of a Funny Story"--they up the ante by setting the action in an inpatient facility for the mentally ill. Keir Gilchrist stars as Craig, a privileged teenager suffering from depression over girls and academic pressures. He admits himself to the facility and quickly learns that his problems don't compare to those of the other patients.

Boden and Fleck don't gloss over the patients' ailments, but they are at times able to show them in a mildly humorous light--no small feat. Their difficult balance is best embodied and executed by Zach Galifanakis as Bobby, a depressed patient with understated wit. After seeing Galifanakis ham it up in "The Hangover", it's nice to see him work the lower registers. He provides subtlety to a role that easily could have been played for bombast.

If Boden and Fleck pull all this off, why doesn't "It's Kind of a Funny Story" feel like a better movie? The biggest problem is the trap they've set for themselves. They certainly don't want to trivialize the patients' problems, but they also don't want to make a serious message movie on the order of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest". They have to keep the humor relatively muted, but they also can't probe the emotional depths of the mentally ill. There aren't any uproarious moments of laughter here, and there aren't any unblinking looks at the abyss into which depression and other illnesses can sink you. They have to go halfway on both accounts.

There are other issues as well, principally related to the filmmakers' reliance on some Hollywood conventions. Problems are introduced and resolved in an overly pat way. Craig must of course have a love interest, though fortunately the tryst doesn't overwhelm the story.

Boden and Fleck also achieve mixed results with the fantasy and flashback sequences they employ. A tour through a city Craig draws set to bland hip-hop? No. An over-the-top karaoke rendition of "Under Pressure" by the patients? Yes.

Really, the title says it all. "It's Kind of a Funny Story". It could be worth watching. Maybe.

Songs of the Decades

"Best Of" lists are a dime a dozen. I enjoy them, but they often feel like a fool's errand. How can you possibly rank songs by Pavement, Pulp and Dr. Dre, as Pitchfork recently tried to do with its "Songs of the '90s" feature?

I find it more interesting to think about songs that best encapsulate their time. Songs that are great, yes, but also songs that couldn't be created at any other time. So here is a list of songs that best encapsulate their decades.

1960s: The Kinks, "Village Green Preservation Society"

A weird choice, I know. But this song is at the crossroads of a lot of musical trends from this diverse decade. It's a slightly trippy, utopian tune that worships nature, the sort of pretty pop that earned a lot of bands big paychecks in the '60s. It doesn't bring the noise like Hendrix or Zep, but it's not exactly CSNY territory either. There's a lead guitar part that would sound right at home on a CCR record, and a driving beat that recalls the early days of rock 'n' roll.

1970s: The Who, "Won't Get Fooled Again"

Bloated arena rock with synthesizers was all the rage in the '70s. The Who managed to adopt this sound while keeping their edge. Then there are the lyrics. Nothing says '70s better than a disillusioned lament over a failed revolution.

Also, it fucking rocks.

1980s: Guns N' Roses, "Paradise City"

I'm not much of a GNR fan, but the euphoric chorus and awesomely excessive soloing are hard to deny here. Through sheer chops, GNR was able to transcend the decadent, frequently awful rock of the '80s. They were among the best that an economically prosperous, artistically mediocre decade had to offer.

1990s: Beck, "Loser"

You can't imagine this song in any other decade. The surreal, slacker lyrics perfectly capture the essence of Gen X. The jangly hip hop beat and pseudo-rap cadence reflect the rise of hip hop. The Delta slide guitar foreshadows artists' increasing nostalgia for older styles. It's a tremendous melding of genres in a decade that gave us way, way too many rap-rock acts.

2000s: Gnarls Barkley, "Crazy"

It's tempting to go with "Hey Ya". Although that's a great song, it's relevant here largely for the same reason as "Loser"--it combines old and new in a fresh way.

"Crazy" better reflects a decade that came to be dominated by hip hop and related genres, not to mention sampling. And what better adjective to reflect a decade of relative affluence in which we still felt restless and discontented? A decade where pop culture came to be dominated by "reality" television and celebrity scandals? A decade in which we twice elected a man who failed at every job he ever had, including the presidency? (OK, he cheated once.)

The Invention of Lying

"The Invention of Lying" should be a terrific film. It has a dynamite conceit, an excellent comic star and a cast of ringers. What could go wrong?

The first third of the film flies along with terrific comic energy. Mark Bellison (Gervais) is a fat loser in a world where everyone always tells the absolute truth. As a result, Bellison is frequently told he is a fat loser, in quite funny ways, by a supporting cast that includes Tina Fey, Rob Lowe, and Jonah Hill.

Bellison then discovers how to lie, which naturally leads to certain advantages for him. Things slow in the second third of the film, but then something interesting happens: as Bellison's mother is on her death bed, he tells her there is a heaven. In the universe of the film, this is a lie, but one that naturally draws quite a bit of attention from a populace that accepts everything as truth. Gervais ends up effectively inventing religion along with lying. There are bits of humor here--he writes his version of the Ten Commandments on a pair of pizza boxes. But the film also explores an important challenge for most religions: how do you determine who goes to heaven and who gets sent to hell?

Unfortunately, the momentum comes to a screeching halt in the final third of "Lying". Mark becomes fixated on winning the heart of Anna (Jennifer Garner). Anna likes Mark, but can't get past the fact that he's still, well, fat and ugly. Things devolve into a tedious sermon on inner beauty that would feel cliched to a 15-year-old. Why Mark wants to marry someone who needs this message beaten into her head is a mystery.

Gervais is very, very good at what he does: skewering people's vanity, first and foremost his own. But he isn't good at much else. He can't act in a dramatic scene, he can't write believable characters and he certainly can't direct. His only hope of making a good film is to essentially make a gag reel in the mold of early Woody Allen films. Unfortunately, he keeps flailing to make something more important. It's not a good sign that Stephen Merchant, Gervais' frequent writing partner, recently said they both admire "The Bridges of Madison County".

When I first heard about the sappy final third of "The Invention of Lying," I thought Gervais was making a bid for crossover success with the love story. This seems like a fool's errand: people simply do not flock to see a movie starring Ricky Gervais. He has about a tenth of the charisma and box office potential of Owen Wilson. Much wiser to make a quality film that can find a cult following on DVD, in the mold of "Office Space".

Having seen the film, however, it seems as though Gervais is actually engaging in wish fulfillment. He seems to be speaking to every girl who's rejected him in favor of a better-looking asshole: "WHY WON'T YOU DATE ME?" The reality is that in pursuing an empty-headed pretty girl like Anna, Gervais' character is being just as superficial as the women against whom he's railing. One might expect such hypocrisy and self-pity in a lonely young man; I've been guilty of quite a bit of it myself. But Gervais is nearly friggin' 50. He shouldn't be writing scenes where he laments over his mother's grave, "I'll always be a loser." Get over it.

A Face in the Crowd

"A Face in the Crowd" is justly praised as a classic film. Larry "Lonesome" Rhodes is a two-bit drunk who becomes a massive television star with the help of broadcaster Marica Jeffries. Made in 1957, the film is incredibly prescient on the power of television to create a cult of personality. (Sound familiar?) It also shows how a "down home" personality can help a politician far more than intelligence. (Sound even more familiar?)

"A Face in the Crowd" has other pleasures as well. Andy Griffith offers a remarkably energetic and assured performance as Lonesome in his big screen debut. Director Elia Kazan captures many memorable images: Jeffries buttoning up her blouse upon encountering Lonesome, electric lights demanding "APPLAUSE" as young women embrace Lonesome on air, Jeffries walking down an empty tarmac after being betrayed by Lonesome.

And yet. This is an awfully heavy-handed film. The filmmakers underscore their message in virtually every scene. There is little subtlety, nuance or variation in tone. The film's worst impulses are embodied by a grim-faced Walter Matheau, a disillusioned writer for Lonesome who effectively serves as the mouthpiece for the filmmakers.

In other words, the ideas here are much more interesting than the characters or story. But there is one relationship that saves "A Face in the Crowd" from being a mere polemic. Jeffries is charmed by Lonesome and helps him rise to power, yet she sees the corrupting influence it has on him. Even as he becomes ever more manipulative of his public, she continues to work with him. She seems to still harbor some affection for him, despite his callous behavior towards her. A bit more of this sort of complexity would have turned a very good film into a great one.