The Other Guys

Let's face it. As recently as a year ago, Will Ferrell's movie career was in trouble. He seemingly ran his man-child persona into the ground with "Semi-Pro" and "Step Brothers," then followed that up with an embarrassing cash-in, "Land of the Lost."

But then he got his mojo back with "The Other Guys," a film that's just different enough from Ferrell's previous efforts to feel fresh and hilarious. (Interestingly, Ferrell doesn't get a writing credit here, although frequent partner Adam McKay does.) Instead of playing another ignorant, spoiled brat, Ferrell plays Allen Gamble, a mild-mannered accountant for the NYPD. Gamble is so bland that he has six Little River Band CDs in his car and so naive that he unwittingly accepts a bribe to see "Jersey Boys." For extra zaniness, he used to be a pimp named Gator.

"The Other Guys" also doesn't pair Ferrell with a fellow man-child. Instead he gets a genuine foil in Mark Wahlberg. Wahlberg plays Terry Hoitz, a live-wire cop who makes up for his stupidity with energy. (Throughout the film, he's convinced that the accounting scandal they're investigating involves Columbian drug lords.) Wahlberg has a narrow range, but he can do this type of role extremely well: lots of yelling and confused looks. (That's a compliment, I swear.)

There's even a semi-relevant plot! In the wake of the financial crisis, "The Other Guys" focuses on accounting fraud, highlighting the fact that white-collar crime is often far more consequential than the robberies and drug busts we typically associate with police work. (The contrast is drawn with some hilariously over-the-top action sequences featuring Samuel L. Jackson and Dwayne Johnson.)

But really, we're here for the laughs, not the story. Like all good comedies, "The Other Guys" understands this. And so the jokes keep coming, whether it's Wahlberg mistaking a dance studio for a strip club, Steve Coogan mocking the overuse of flashbacks in movies, or Michael Keaton dropping TLC references.

But at the center of it all is Ferrell. Comic actors tend to go downhill really fast. (Seen an Eddie Murphy movie lately? I hope not.) Maybe he won't find material this good again, or maybe he'll stick with big paydays from now on. Whatever happens, he and McKay have given us another gem.

Four Lions

American films tend to deal with politics in a few ways. There are the "up with the people" movies, paeans to the underdog like "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" and Michael Moore-style documentaries that aim to stand up to special interests. (There are few truly even-handed documentaries.) Then there are Hollywood-style entertainments that try to dabble in serious issues. Oliver Stone and Ed Zwick are the major auteurs in this area; their movies tend to shoehorn heavy-handed monologues into conventional "good vs. evil" tales. Finally, there are movies that simply use politics as a vehicle for the plot: think cockamamie political thrillers and comedies with corrupt businessmen for villains.

These films all struggle to deal with politics in an honest way because their first priority is to entertain. (How else will they get funding?) Therefore, they tend to use policy to score political points or make plot points.

"Four Lions," a British film, puts virtually all of these efforts to shame. It's at once an incredibly entertaining movie and an honest examination of an extremely serious issue: Islamic terrorism.

How do you make terrorists entertaining? By turning them into bumbling nitwits. "Four Lions" focuses on five utterly incompetent jihadists. These characters are so ridiculous that the film could be about practically anything and it would still be hilarious. But the humor is taken to another level through the juxtaposition between their deadly aims and their hopeless stupidity. One character insists they must bomb a mosque (the logic is hilariously tortured). Another brings a Prayer Bear with him to Pakistan--pull the string and it gives you a prayer to say! (The al-Qaeda operatives are not amused.) Another invites a girl in to dance with him to Maroon 5 while their explosives are in plain sight.

However, as the film progresses, it slowly and skillfully begins to acknowledge the utmost seriousness of their intentions. It also tackles other issues, like the wide variety of views held by Muslims and the British government's practices of racial profiling and rendition.

The filmmakers can handle this material because they trust the intelligence of their audience. They show rather than tell--unlike, say, Oliver Stone, who probably would have included a scene with some paranoid government official ranting about the danger of Muslims. "Four Lions" is more subtle, and more effective as a result.

Chloe

There are two aspects to making art: the craft and the spark. The craft involves the technical aspects of art: brushwork, story structure, framing a shot. The craft can be learned through education and improved through perseverance. The spark, in contrast, represents those magical pieces of invention in art that captivate us. The spark cannot be taught; one can no more learn creativity than learn how to believe in God.

Different art forms require different proportions of craft and spark. Songwriting requires a great deal of creativity; while songs can be well-played and well-structured, ultimately a song tends to be carried by a tune or inspired lyrics, the kind of thing that seems to emerge from the ether. Narrative writing generally requires a fair amount of both craft and spark. Writing well-constructed sentences and believable characters can be learned, but an inventive plot or a fervent piece of prose comes from one's imagination. Directing a movie can often be almost all craft: a director is frequently akin to a construction foreman. If a foreman is working with a talented architect and contractors, he will be successful as long as he has an eye for what works and knows how everything works together. Likewise, a director working with a skilled cast, editor, cinematographer and screenwriter will probably be successful. Imagination can be immeasurably helpful, but it often isn't necessary.

The craft and the spark are key to understanding artists' evolution as they age. Craft can be maintained, even improved upon, with experience. The spark is a much more fickle element. This is why songwriters often seem to lose their touch. Why couldn't David Bowie write ten more albums as good "Ziggy Stardust"? How did Jimmy Paige pull off possibly the best songwriting run over ten years or so in pop history, then quickly lose his touch? How could U2, the same band that wrote so many inspired songs in the '80s, become a hollow shell of themselves in this century?

On the other end of the spectrum, directors like Scorcese and Spielberg can often be incredibly successful for decades. They're such masters of their craft that they don't need the creativity of their youth, when Scorcese wrote "Mean Streets" and Spielberg orchestrated the incredible ending of "Close Encounters of the Third Kind". Their choice of material may be a bit dodgier now: "Shutter Island" had a rather embarrassing plot, while Spielberg has had increasing difficulties with the third acts of his films. But while both have made bad movies, it's almost impossible to imagine them directing a poorly made film.

Things are a bit hairier for writer-directors who generate their own material. They may maintain their craft as directors but see their spark as writers start to fail them. Over the last fifteen years, Woody Allen's scripts have grown considerably weaker; in particular, his sense of comedy seems to have left him almost entirely. Yet his movies are always well-made; he works with talented people and knows filmmaking like the back of his hand. Or witness the Coen brothers: lately their results are a bit mixed when they work from their own material (witness "Burn After Reading" and "A Serious Man"). But when base their films off the work of others, the results--"No Country for Old Men" and "True Grit"--are spectacular, thanks to their complete command of the technical aspects of filmmaking.

Which brings us to Atom Egoyan. Egoyan wrote and directed "The Sweet Hereafter," arguably one of the best films of the '90s. It had a hypnotic, elliptical quality to it, pulling you in while leaving you unsure about just what was going on. Indeed, the actors were only given their parts of the script, so they were often just as confused the viewer, adding to the movie's cryptic feel. Only in the final frames of the film does the audience learn what really took place.

It's almost shocking that the auteur behind a movie as good as "Hereafter" could produce "Chloe," Egoyan's latest effort. A huge part of the problem is the source material: for the first time, he's directing a feature film he didn't write. Not only is it a lurid, predictable thriller; it explores some Egoyan's previous themes in an embarrassingly juvenile fashion. When two characters chat over Skype, one laments that he cannot see the other in person--see how alienating the Internet is! A high schooler could do a better job exploring the impact of technology on personal relationships.

But all of this could be attributed to the terrible script, which Egoyan didn't write. Perhaps he's lost the spark, run out of ideas. (Or perhaps he just needed money or wanted to make a film and couldn't come up with an idea.) What really makes "Chloe" shocking is the terrible production quality. It doesn't just feel like a late night movie on Showtime; it looks like one too. The cinematography is practically indifferent: paint by numbers master shots, over-the-shoulder shots, and so on. The score is utterly rote, hitting every note you expect at the most predictable moments. The production design is downright drab, with much of the action taking place in tacky-looking restaurants, a far cry from the vivid small-town sets of "Hereafter". And none of this can be explained by money: "Chloe" cost more than twice as much as "Hereafter" to make.

Egoyan doesn't just lose his spark here, he loses his craft. It's mystifying, and depressing given how few quality films are released in the U.S. already. But Egoyan is only 50. Here's hoping he still has something left in the tank.

Carnal Knowledge

Even Hollywood is capable of producing serious films (at least from November to January). Unfortunately, Hollywood also sometimes puts out Serious Films: movies that try so hard to address big issues that they end up having a rather small impact.

"Carnal Knowledge" is an especially disappointing example of the latter because its director, Mike Nicholls ("The Graduate"), is capable of exploring heavy themes with a much lighter, more thought-provoking touch.

Moreover, the first third of the film shows some promise. Jonathan (Jack Nicholson) and Sandy (Art Garfunkel) are best friends and college roommates both dating the same woman, Susan (Candice Bergen). Jonathan is bracingly honest: he only wants one thing. Sandy is much more apologetic about his desires. Susan dates Sandy out of pity and Jonathan out of lust. The premise is a little flimsy, but movies have been made with less. More importantly, there are nice comic moments in the opening scenes that are also very revealing. Sandy's awkward introduction to Susan could have come straight out of an episode of "The Office". Jonathan bellows "Read my thoughts, dammit!" as he bemoans his lack of emotional intimacy with Susan.

Next the film flashes forward ten years. We know we're in trouble right away: Jonathan and Sandy both deliver morose monologues directly into the camera. Technically they're each addressing the other off-screen. But it's a clumsy way to imitate the intimate close-ups of Ingmar Bergman. (Tellingly, Bergman only did these shots with women, whose faces he claimed were more expressive. His theory bears out here.)

From there, Nicholls shuffles us through a couple of totally unnecessary plotlines. Jonathan dates a two-bit actress whom he chiefly values for her knockers. Would you believe it doesn't work out? Meanwhile, Sandy marries Susan, grows bored, and cheats on her. Over the course of an hour, we get a lot of heavy-handed monologues that explore practically every major sexual hangup: jealously, inadequacy, boredom, commitment issues.

The only bright spot here is Nicholson. The actor recently said that he was never able to convince a woman to marry him. Roles like this probably didn't help. The character of Jonathan allows him to do everything in his wheelhouse: Suave Jack, Smarmy Jack and Angry Jack. Nicholson's ability to fly off into a rage while remaining in complete control was unparalleled. Nicholls, on the other hand, lacked the visual imagination and deft touch to carry heavy material. One was capable of being serious; the other could only be Serious.

What Just Happened

"What Just Happened" gets all the details right and the big picture wrong. It's well-written and well-filmed, but it's exactly the kind of movie that Ben, a producer played by Robert De Niro in the film, would not greenlight.

The film shows us two weeks in the life of Ben as he scrambles to deal with issues in his professional and personal lives. "What Just Happened" is very good at showing us the frenetic pace of a Hollywood producer, rushing to put out one fire after another. It manages to demonstrate the cold, hard logic of numbers that rules studio decisions without getting preachy, no small feat. And it gives us the seamier side of LA--using sex to get a film role, abusing pills and so on--in a matter-of-fact way, without rubbing our nose in how dirty things can get.

Trouble is, the three crises Ben is dealing with are slender reeds on which to hang a film. He's trying win back his ex-wife--one of two we meet--but she's sleeping with someone else. He's wrestling with a director, who appears to be based on a combination of Sid Vicious and Keith Richards, over taking out a controversial dog shooting in his new film. And he's fighting mightily with Bruce Willis, playing an outsized version of himself, to shave a ridiculous beard before a new movie begins filming.

"What Just Happened" never really delves past the surface in dealing with these issues. Ben's half-hearted attempts to win back his wife are clearly never going to work. The Willis subplot is particularly undercooked. Ben doesn't even try to negotiate--how about a goatee?--or find out why Willis wants to play the character with a beard. These sins might be more forgivable if "What Just Happened" played as a breezy comedy. But while there are clearly efforts at humor here, they fall very short. There's little effort made at witty dialogue or comedic setpieces. A running gag involving an agent with some sort of hacking cough gets very old.

It's very unfortunate, because "What Just Happened" is a well-made, well-intentioned film with a loaded cast. De Niro plays a variation on his character in the terrific "Wag the Dog," a cynical insider who's seen it all. He doesn't try very hard, but with his talent, he doesn't have to. Stanley Tucci, John Tuturro and Catherine Keener, all capable scene stealers, do solid work. Sean Penn and Willis both play versions of themselves. As one might expect, Penn plays a credible version of himself, while Willis has fun going way over the top as the bearded, overweight diva. Even Kristen Stewart gets to do her usual brooding thing as Ben's daughter.

These characters would all fare well in a grim drama or, better, a zany comedy. But "What Just Happened" is too serious to be funny and too funny to be serious.

True Grit

By now, we know what the Coen brothers do well: deadpan wit, white-knuckled suspense, and cruel twists of fate. But never have they blended their talents as seamlessly as in "True Grit".

Working off a novel by Charles Portis, which supplies much of the dialogue, the Coens spin a wonderfully moving little yarn. Mattie Ross (Hailee Steinfeld) inherits her family's estate at 14 after her father is killed. Far from being in over her head, she quickly uses her business acumen to generate some capital and hire Rooster Cogburn (Jeff Bridges) to avenge the death. Alternately boozy and razor-sharp, Cogburn searches for the killer on Native American lands. He soon meets LaBouef (Matt Damon), a Texas ranger also on the killer's trail. LaBouef is a character rarely if ever encountered: he has a good heart and dogged determination, yet he's frequently incompetent and arrogant as only a Texan can be. The fate of these three motley travellers isn't hard to guess, but the story is so well told that we still get swept up in it.

The acting is uniformly terrific, the score appropriately sentimental. Other than that, there's not a lot of technical brauvara here. The Coens know it's not necessary: they've got a great story, lively dialogue and fantastic characters. They do just enough to make it all sing beautifully. "True Grit" is the best American picture of the year.

The Runaways

The Runaways helped introduce female sexuality to rock and roll. There, I just saved you an hour and 45 minutes.

What's that? You've got some time to kill? Well, I don't recommend wasting it on this film. Actually, it's more of a music video: endless montages of girls playing gigs, taking pills, snorting coke and having sex.

The plot is a "Behind the Music" episode without the interviews. Joan Jett (Kristen Stewart) and Cherie Currie (Dakota Fanning), motivated by a desire to rebel against their irresponsible parents and bland peers, form a band with help from producer Kim Fowley (Michael Shannon, whose terrific intensity is wasted in a role that requires him to constantly exhort the girls to be tough and sexy, then tougher and sexier). The girls break all the rules, refuse to be tamed--until it all comes crashing down. I'm bored just typing this.

There's one consolation: a terrific soundtrack feature the Stooges, the Sex Pistols and David Bowie. Really, the whole film is an attempt to capture the intensity of a song like "Now I Wanna Be Your Dog".

But there's a problem with that approach. "Now I Wanna Be Your Dog" is three minutes long. The hook gets in your head, the beat rattles your bones, and then it's done. A movie, on the other hand, is a world you inhabit for two hours. And it helps a lot to have something to draw people into that world: technical mastery, wit, compelling emotions, thought provoking ideas, something. An amateurishly filmed screenplay about teenagers dicking around that took about as long to write as a Ramones song isn't cutting it.