Grown Ups (2 out of 5)

There’s nothing particularly wrong with Grown Ups exact that there’s nothing particularly right with it either. It’s everything you’d expect from an Adam Sandler comedy: it’s got poo and pee and grown men acting like stupid children, talking about the things that most fascinate those who never quite manage to grow out of grade eight like boobies and tree ropes and shooting arrows into the sky and seeing who is the last to run for cover, etc. It’s all perfectly serviceable and inoffensive, but so what? Why be content on being stuck in middle ground? It’s amusing without every really being funny, nice without ever really being sweet and immature without every really being rambunctious. And then it ends. It's characters go on vacation and the movie goes right along with them.

The film stars all of Adam Sandler’s go to guys: David Spade, Chris Rock, Kevin James and Rob Schneider, who all, more or less, play variations of their go to character. They’re five high school buddies who go back for a weekend at the old cottage after the death of their beloved basketball coach.

Their week, unsurprisingly, will consist of them all sitting around, drinking beers, trading one-liner insults as if they’d been keeping them to themselves all these years and just couldn’t wait for the moment they would reunite for the chance to try them out. Every once in a while, they decide to get up and actually do something like a trip to the water park in which, first one, and then all of them realize that the dye they put in the water to detect pee, well it isn’t an old fairy tale.

Grown Ups does a lot of that. It’ll give you a joke that is kind of amusing and then repeat it again and again as is the case when Spade, while running, trips over a stump to land face first in doo-doo only to, moments later, have it put right back there when Sadler runs over his back. It’s like director Dennis Dugan and his boys need to either make sure they wring it for every laugh it can get or to make sure we understand just how funny they are being. And that’s ultimately the problem. All of these men, at any given moment, are acting as if they are really funny guys. The best comedy happens when it involves people who don’t know that comedy is happening to them. Every laugh in Grown Ups seems to come packaged with a wink to the camera.

Although Grown Ups is a pedestrian movie in which its stars can all play it safe and phone it in, Spade, although never mistaken for a great comedic talent, is particularly lazy playing the freewheeling Marcus who drinks too much, sleeps on the couch, beds anything that gives him a second look and is that crass, bloated moron that no one really likes, but you don’t have the heart to tell. Spade’s been playing that character his entire career and here essentially looks like a man who walked on set, delivered his lines once and went back to bed.

As for the rest of the cast: Rock is reduced to bad puns about his mother-in-law’s enormous bunions, Sandler does Sandler, while James, the most likable of the bunch manages to get off a few laughs here and there. Schnieder however, again not surprisingly, plays right into big caricature as the pretentious, toupee clad spiritualist husband of a much older woman and three daughters, only one of which, of course, is believable as his.

The story has a mild message about how Sandler, not too believable as a powerful Hollywood agent, is distressed that his kids are too lazy to do anything for themselves and spend all day playing violent video games, and wants them to get outside and discover the fun of nature that him and his buddies had when they were young.

The wives of the men are played by Salma Hayek, Maria Bello and Maya Rudolph who bring more star power to an already crowded story. In the end the movie is too bland, the characters all too nice, the comedy all too unsophisticated to really work. The guys seem to be having fun, and that helps, but in the end, the realization creeps in that the premise of five guys sitting around at a beautiful cottage, going over the past would be a lot more enjoyable to be doing instead of watching.

Death at a Funeral (4.5 out of 5)

A reviewer should never be faced with the feeling that their review requires an apology and yet that’s just the sentiments I am faced with over my thoughts on Death at a Funeral. Nothing about this film should work: it’s a remake of a very very minor British film from 2007 that was directed by Frank Oz (the voice of Miss Piggy), it stars Chris Rock, Martin Lawrence and Tracy Morgan, whose names aren’t exactly associated with measures of cinematic quality and it was directed by Neil Labute who is a brilliant director, writer and playwright, but who usually focuses on dark films (often comedies) and shallow, wounded people. This movie has paycheque written all over it.

But here’s the thing: it’s funny as hell. It not only surpasses the original despite being almost an exact remake, but keeps on going until its memory is completely out of sight. Here’s proof that Godard may have actually been on to something when he said that the best way to criticize a film is to make another one.

Here’s the situation. A man has died and it is the day of his funeral. His family is gathering at his home where Aaron (Rock) is hosting. The eldest son, Aaron is worried that his eulogy will not be sufficient especially under the close scrutiny of those who believe his writer brother Ryan (Lawrence) should be giving it. Also around for the proceedings is the boys’ mother, a cousin played by Avatar’s Zoe Saldana whose father hates her white boyfriend Oscar (James Marsden) and would prefer she ended up with Derek (Luke Wilson) who is there with family friend Norman (Morgan) who is in charge of looking after grumpy old wheelchair-bound Uncle Russell (Danny Glover stealing the show). Also around is Frank (Peter Dinklage, reprising his role from the original) as a man with secrets from the father’s past.

See how they all connect like that? So does Labute who, like a brilliant stagehand orchestrates the ongoing slapstick comedy that arises out of the situation like a master conductor. Although the film forges on at full comedic tilt at all times, with several different subplots taking place around the house within the same temporal space, Labute never loses focus amidst the chaos. We always know that Oscar is in the backyard, Frank is in the guest room, Uncle Russell is in the bathroom, etc, with all of the threads building to an equal pitch so that the film not only stays its course, but never loses its momentum either.

The idea behind the film is that of classic screwball comedy. A man just wants to get through the day with as little problems as possible only to have everything go wrong from the beginning. And that’s the essence of the film’s comedic approach: just one damned thing after the other. That’s appropriate. It’s always better when it feels like funny things are happening as opposed to people trying to be deliberately funny. So Labute and his cast take full measures in pushing this situation to the very brink of its comedic potential. There are things in this movie that are vulgar, tasteless and at least one that is just plain wrong, but oh boy are they all ever funny. There’s something about this cast in this situation under the guidance of such an assured filmmaker that everything just clicks. Sometimes films succeed just on the basis that they find that special cocktail of elements and personalities that just go off and magic is born. That happened last year with The Hangover. Here it is again.

Another interesting aesthetic device that Labute employs is that he films many of the scenes in close-ups. It’s as if he understands the actors are funnier than the actions and so therefore focuses on the actors performing them instead of the gags themselves. That makes sense. Labute makes films about people and how they interact and influence each other. Screwball is such a broad generic convention that it can speak for itself, but by keeping the distance between audience and actor an intimate one, we not only focus on the individual, allowing several quick moments of humanity and sweetness to sneak through, but the comedy is played off of the reaction as much as the act itself. Take the James Marsden character, who gets himself into a predicament too funny to even hint at. The situation is inherently hilarious but the mileage that Labute gets off of Marden’s face is invaluable. Anyone could have filmed this same bit (and Oz did) at a medium or long distance and we would have laughed for a moment and then been tired with it. By keeping us close, Labute keeps our interests vested.

And then the film works because of how completely shameless it is willing to be: how far it is willing to go for a laugh and how many it actually gets in the process because of the strange logic every joke follows. Like The Hangover, there is nothing redeemable about this film: it has nothing to say about death, life, society, race, sex, religion, anything. All it wants is to be funny and it succeeds. I used to think that Neil Labute was only good at making Neil Labute films but with this, Lakeview Terrace and The Wicker Man it turns out he can make good films about just about anything, no apology required.

Death At A Funeral (2010)

When I was at the theater on Saturday night to see Up In the Air, I couldn't help but see a large cut-out advertising a remake of Death at a Funeral. The original film of the same name was a minor British comedy back in 2007 and was directed by Frank Oz who is maybe most famous for being the voice of Miss Piggy

I can understand why someone would want to remake respectable foreign language films like say Brothers or Funny Games to open them up to a wider international audience, but Death at a Funeral was in English, came out a mere three years ago and wasn't special enough in my opinion to warrant remaking.

What now baffles me even more is that today I find out it was directed by Neil Labute. Let me write that again. The remake of Death at Funeral was directed by Neil Labute! The same Neil Labute who wrote and directed some of the best movies of the 90s including In the Company of Men, Shape of Things and my favourite Your Friends and Neighbours, with that heartlessly sadistic yet brilliant performance from Jason Patric.

Needless to say Labute has been one of my favourite writer/directors for some time now. I praise the above mentioned films every chance I get, I could get behind Possession, enjoyed the complexity of Nurse Betty and Lakeview Terrace even though he didn't write them and was even one of the sole defenders of his remake of The Wicker Man with Nicholas Cage, but what the hell is this all about?

The film was written by Dean Craig who also wrote the original film and, as a side note, is also writing a script based on Peter Biskind's Down and Dirty Pictures, a non-fiction examination of the Sundance Film Festival and Mirimax Films. That film will be directed by Kenneth Bowser who also made the informative documentary Easy Riders, Raging Bulls based on the Biskind book of the same name. Both books are very much worth reading, but if the forgettable Darwin Awards and What Just Happened? (based on producer Art Linson's non-fiction book of the same name) taught the world anything, it's that non-fiction books lose their appeal when an arbitrary story is laid atop them.

Back on topic. The new Death at a Funeral stars a predominately black cast which includes Chris Rock, Martin Lawrence doing his typical of mugging for the camera, Tracy Morgan doing his typical thing of not being funny, and others including James Marsden, Luke Wilson and Peter Dinklage (who reprises the role he played in the original).

I won't get into what the story is about because if you've seen the original this new one looks like almost an exact remake and if you haven't, the trailer (which you can see here) gives away just about everything anyway.

But what is really the heart of the matter here is my complete bafflement over the trajectory that Neil Labute's career has taken with this entry. I know in my heart that he will one day make great films again, but why would a man of such gifts who specializes in such penetrating and unapologetic dark comedies and social commentaries, be interested in turning what was essentially a British sitcom into what looks like a routine, uninspired African American comedy?

Once upon a time Neil Labute would be ripping films like this to shreds. Now he's making them? I think it's time he stopped whatever it is he is doing and get back to directing his own scripts. Then again, who knows, maybe the thing will be good after all.