Showing posts with label will forte. Show all posts
Showing posts with label will forte. Show all posts

December 13, 2013

Nebraska

Wait, is your real name Saul, and is she
driving us to New Hampshire?

Grade: B +
Director: Alexander Payne
Starring: Bruce Dern, Will Forte, June Squibb, Bob Odenkirk and Stacy Keach
MPAA Rating: R
Running Time: 1 hr. 50 min.

Returning to his Midwestern stomping grounds, director Alexander Payne drains the palette but not the poetry from Nebraska, a film’s whose state of mind is more emotional than geographic. Traversing the byways from Billings, Mont. to Lincoln, Neb., the simple road trip comprises complex themes: fathers and sons, regret, detachment from family and one’s past and the decay small town middle America. Like a fine wine, it seeps into your system, its effects lingering far past its content.

Septuagenarian Woody Grant (Bruce Dern) believes he’s won $1 million and can’t stop talking about it. In fact, he takes the directive of a magazine sweepstakes flyer quite literally, determined to trek from Billings to Lincoln in order to collect his winnings. To mollify his old man, who suffers from early dementia and old alcoholism, son David (Will Forte) agrees to take time from off from his big box electronics sales job and wayward everyday to drive Woody south and deflate his foolhardy fantasy once of for all.

A head gash caused during one of Woody’s boozy escapades leads father and son to a layover in Hawthorne, Neb., the hometown of Woody and his wife Kate (June Squibb), a harridan whose foul mouth and churlish disposition mask a caring heart and buried hurt.

The majority of Nebraska is situated in Hawthorne, a dying dustbowl whose residents cling to their ways. Taciturn menfolk sit stoically gazing at the boob tube all day; womenfolk gossip over coffee in the kitchen. But, when word of Woody’s baseless rants about hitting it rich gets out, all the townsfolk—particularly Woody’s extended family—buy in despite the protestations of David, Kate and Ross (Bob Odenkirk), David’s older brother. Their blind belief is triggered by a melange of reasons, from envy-cum-greed to the hope that one of their own would find success in a place where success has been in short supply.

Payne’s characterizations tread perilously close to condescension, but he ultimately avoids it thanks to a rendering that satirical without being sanctimonious. Indeed, while the film eagerly incorporates Payne’s trademark dark humor, its execution and staging are more deadpan and slightly farcical, like a more humanist Coen brothers film. Great credit also goes to Dern, who won Best Actor at Cannes for a performance that lends subtle shadings to a role that could have easily devolved into a codger cliché. On the other hand, Forte is merely serviceable, taking his diffident directive too literally and adding little emotional edge to a role that sorely sang out for it.

Filmed in black and white, the autumnal plains and wide open spaces are their own characters, feeding a milieu of desolation and loss in the heart of flyover country. Nebraska is an elegy—there’s real heartache as Woody ambles around his old haunts and homestead, while David’s interstate lark evolves into an exploration of his parents’ true selves.

There’s no grand revelation or life-altering catharsis in Nebraska. Only the sort of emotional feast that often follows the harvest.

June 14, 2012

That's My Boy

Time to take those SNL training wheels off...


Grade: F
Director: Sean Anders
Starring: Adam Sandler, Andy Samberg, Leighton Meester, Vanilla Ice, James Caan, Milo Ventimiglia, Tony Orlando, Will Forte, Nick Swardson, Ciara and Peggy Stewart
MPAA Rating: R
Running Time: 1 hr. 54 min.

The only thought-provoking part of an Adam Sandler comedy (applying that label very loosely) is deciphering the populist appeal of his vile, irksome blights on cinema. My working hypothesis is his most well-received films revel in skewering the privileged class while uplifting the masses and misfits. In That’s My Boy, the corporate and country club set catch Sandler’s ire (at one point, a character literally expels sundry bodily secretions on a Vera Wang wedding dress), while the heroes are beer-swilling ruffians, strippers and washed-up B-listers playing themselves. Todd Bridges? Like I said, misfits.

Unfortunately, it’s also a movie that opens by glorifying pedophilia for guffaws and ends by doing the same with incest. Years after fathering a child with his 8th grade teacher when he was 13 year old, Donny Berger (Sandler), now an insolvent slob and bastardized Bahston caricature, tries to reconnect with his estranged son, the cartoonishly milquetoast Todd Peterson nee Han Solo Berger (Andy Samberg) on the eve of Todd’s wedding to Jamie (Leighton Meester), the requisite Sandler Movie Shrew™.

It’s all part of Donny’s contrived moneymaking scheme to get out of tax trouble, but in the cockeyed world of Sandler, gobs of carousing and inappropriate conduct somehow point to ill-fitting sentimentality. What’s more, the most slovenly, repugnant cretin is inexplicably welcomed with open arms by buttoned-down blowhards just waiting for someone to help release their inhibitions.

Chronicling the film’s many sins—and flat-lined follies—would require an R-rated review. Suffice it to say you know a script has problems when Vanilla Ice has the funniest lines. That’s My Boy levies a taxing onslaught of racist, sexist and scatological bile, laced with enough celebrity cameos to leave you pondering how many of them had access to the entire script (likely answer: none). If this is what passes for populism, consider me a one-percenter.

Neil Morris