Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs 2 (2013)

D-

Call it "Cloudy Animated Feature With a Chance of Anorexia."

There's a standard rule in comedy that a good joke can be used three times, but no more. The repetition of the joke actually heightens the comic effect, but you can have too much of a good thing, hence the rule of three.

In "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs 2," the repeated joke involves the use of the word "leak," as in "there's a leak in this boat," followed by a cutaway shot to a shrieking, personified vegetable whose species shares that word for a name. And yes, people, this is the film's best joke, which is saying something... something that I'll get into soon enough.

By the second appearance of this screaming member of the Allium genus, I was able to let down my guard - my lifelong confusion over the difference between a leek and a scallion notwithstanding - and experience a rare laugh. And I'm sure by now that you're wondering if the third use of the joke was even more satisfyingly comedic. Sadly, however, I can't remember enough to tell you about it, as by this point I had experienced a near-full mental blackout, a last-ditch attempt at self-preservation, surrounded as I was by candy-munching toddlers hanging on the every word of their favorite foods come to life. I exaggerate little when I say that my viewing strategy most closely mimicked a computer rebooting into safe mode. That's how close I was to losing brain cells.

The original film, 2009's "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs," was itself based on an imaginative and charming children's picture book dating all the way back to 1978. The conflict of the book, as extrapolated upon by the original film with rail-jumping embellishment, is that a young inventor sees the good in inventing a machine that can produce food. The production of the food, however, is tied to weather systems, thus making the good he sees in his god-playing insanity on par with that of another famous scientist by the name of Victor Frankenstein. Eventually, giant mutant foods rain down from the heavens, placing into peril the citizens of Swallow Falls. (Hey, all kids films have built-in jokes for adults...is that a porn name?) I'll say it again, kids...there might just be such a thing as too much of a good thing.

The Frankenstein reference is actually a good point of contact for beginning to grapple with the many levels of psychological dysfunction concocted as this sequel, for "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs 2" is a cross between the aforementioned Mary Shelley story, the Christian animated series Veggie Tales (if those much less creepy animated edibles had been binge-watching "Breaking Bad"), and that animated conga line of concessions snacks that used to play prior to the previews at drive-in movies 30 years ago. 

Back for more is young Flint Lockwood, unrecognizably voiced by new "Saturday Night Live" alum, Bill Hader. Lockwood, whose 1940s Hollywood star-sounding name betrays his geeky existence, learns that his food machine has not been completely destroyed as he had once assumed. I would print the name of the machine here, but I'm not going to waste my time. Suffice it to say that it involves a vowel-free acronym, the pronunciation of which generates a joke in the film that most definitely violates the rule of three mentioned at the beginning of this review. If I let my dog type this next paragraph, whatever she would type would be exactly the name of this machine.

Enter into the picture the nefarious Chester V (voiced by fellow SNL alum Will Forte in the film's easiest to detect vocal performance). Chester V is in search of Lockwood's machine. He's also in search of a full last name and a more fully formed lower torso, but maybe that will be explored in part three. Chester V, with his prominent, V-shaped, white goatee and serpentine movements that most closely resemble a twerking earthworm, works as an inventor with a company called the LIVE Corp Company. (How clever are you, people? Did you not just see "Elysium"?) Chester has also been Flint's role model since boyhood, and uses this fact to exploit Flint in an attempt to gain control of Flint's still-in-existence machine, so he can use it to sorry-this-is-where-I-blacked-out-and-I-don't-know-what-he-wanted-it-for.

As Flint is manipulated by Chester, members of his inner-circle begin to bemoan the fact that "he's changed." This includes former bully-turned-lobotomized-poster-boy-for-obesity Brent McHale (Andy Samberg), almost love interest and weather girl (but not the cool kind that sings of raining men) Sam Sparks (Anna Faris) and town law enforcement and stereotypical token black character, Earl Devereaux (Terry Crews, replacing the original film's Mr. T. Yes...even Mr. T, who must surely be hard up for work, passed on this script.) There is also Flint's pet monkey Steve, inexplicably credited to Neil Patrick Harris, who gets his own subplot in a conflict established with rival primate, Chester V's own sidekick, Barb (voiced by Kristen Schaal, though I swore it was Sarah Silverman). Barb is an ape, apparently, though the film's animation department took a dump when it comes to creating something that even remotely resembles such an animal...surprising, considering how convincingly they turn two tacos into a crocodile.

I still haven't mentioned the central twist in the sequel's conflict, the new premise that all of the mutant food blanketing Swallow Falls (heh heh...) has now somehow come to life and has developed emotions and human characteristics, including the most disturbing revelation of all in light of Flint's mission to finally destroy his machine, which is the understanding that the foods are members of loving family units. And so, a menacing, aircraft carrier-sized cheeseburger with french fry legs is merely seeking to protect its young and get its belly rubbed, and a family of marshmallows frolic like limbless albino meerkats. What's a compassionate guy to do?

Before long, Flint's father goes on a fishing expedition with a gang of dill pickles in a scene reminiscent of the one in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" where McMurphy hijacks a school bus and takes his fellow psych ward inmates on a life adventure. Okay, there's not really that much of a resemblance. I'm trying here. And is it just me or was it ironic that the pickles were fishing for a food source that actually already has eyes and a mouth?

Perhaps in the biggest they-must-have-been-on-drugs-when-they-made-this moment of all, Flint and his crew encounter a pumpkin-sized strawberry with large, blinking eyes and a Furbee's coo. I am certain that kids all over America today are begging their parents to buy them a giant freaking plush strawberry, though I did not find the thing as cute as everyone else. In fact, I studied the thing with tense caution, certain that, like a fruity Mogwai, the berry would make contact with water, reveal its razor-sharp teeth and destroy everyone in a Jamba Juice-sponsored deus ex machina. The film had me that on edge...I was anticipating a berry Gizmo.

It's possible that you're wondering why an animated children's film would leave me so disillusioned and disturbed, but I can answer that simply, as I made numerous attempts to rationally debate with my fellow adults in attendance just what, pray tell, a guy's got to eat in this world. Worse still, what options will us parents have for our kids, now that they will surely visualize their produce as having feelings. I'd argue that "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs 2" is a thinly-veiled propaganda piece on behalf of PETA and vegetarianism, were it not for the fact that the preponderance of cuddly and crazy foodstuffs in the film skews vegan. In an act of reverse psychology, shouldn't we befriend the meat?

So if the film doesn't espouse vegetarianism, then what? Anorexia? That's the best I can muster. Don't eat ANYTHING. It has feelings...and family. You sick, uncaring bastard with your basic Maslow's hierarchy of needs.

For the record, the kids I witnessed, including my own, were delighted by "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs 2." And I will admit that I walked in to the theatre braced and ready to be robbed blind of 95 minutes of my life, jokingly referring to the film as "Cloudy With No Chance of This Being a Good Movie" before the first "pear-ot" (get it?!) took flight. In the end, the kids got what they wanted, as evidenced by the film's $35 million-at-the-box-office opening weekend, and I got what I expected, which is, um, not much, unless you include an experience that I can only begin to describe as a bad drug trip without the drugs. Not that I know anything about drugs. I don't take them, because I'm sure they have feelings. And parents. Maybe this film's makers picked the wrong ingestible items to venerate.

Blue Jasmine (2013)

A+

How much sympathy can one of us regular folks have for the stresses that befall a high-society woman who abandoned the completion of a college degree upon discovering that she could instead marry a dashing business investor with mysteriously incalculable wealth? How bad can we feel for her when she's placed in a situation where her skill at spending her husband's money on Paris runway fashion or lavish cocktail parties serves her no benefit? What if she finds out that her whole life was built on lie after lie - that her wealth is pure fiction and her marriage as well?

This is the challenge facing viewers of Woody Allen's "Blue Jasmine," a mostly dramatic film from arguably the living master of cinematic comedy. It's no secret that Allen is my favorite director, and I've been known to say that "a bad Woody Allen film is usually better than a good film by somebody else." And while I was as impressed as I expected I'd be by the lead performance of sure-to-be-Oscar-frontrunner Cate Blanchett in the film's title role, I found myself wrestling with a tough thing. While blown away by Blanchett's profound mastery of her craft in her every printed frame as Jasmine French, I could not bring myself around to feeling sorry for what was happening to her at all. And I have this thing about needing to empathize with, if not like, the main character of a story.

But then, it happened. And I should have trusted Woody. Because in one breathtaking and intense scene, my feelings for her changed, and I carried a newly-revealed sympathy for her through to the end of the film. Once this switch flipped for me, I noticed numerous other places where an unsympathetic audience member could finally come aboard in support of this character. And therein lies just one of the many acts of genius on display in "Blue Jasmine," a film that plays on screen like an expertly crafted short story, a firmly structured work of classic literature based on a contemporary theme delivered by a master craftsman at the top of his game.

"Blue Jasmine" is a wonder of a movie, lean and deliberate, and as intellectually affecting to me as it might be emotionally affecting to the person sitting next to me. And it joins Allen's 2005 film "Match Point" (coincidentally, also a drama) and 2011's Best Picture-nominated "Midnight in Paris" (a late career return to form in the romantic comedy mold Allen has done so well for decades) as his third masterpiece of this century.

Alternating between the New York of her past and San Francisco of her present, "Blue Jasmine" tells the story of a woman (Blanchett) who has already come unraveled in the wake of the undoing of her husband Hal, played flawlessly and with a soulless smile by Alec Baldwin. Allen rarely specifically references contemporary world events, which is probably what gives so many of his movies a timeless quality, and this can also be his downfall when he perpetuates his own style at the expense of expanding his palate, as he is sometimes wont to do. But here, there is little question that Baldwin's Hal is a fictionalized Bernie Madoff, and Blanchett's Jasmine could easily appear on a Real Housewives reality television program, though with Allen's pedigree, the closer reference point and obvious inspiration for Jasmine is Blanche DuBois, from Tennessee Williams' "A Streetcar Named Desire." For fans of "Streetcar," in fact, the "Blue Jasmine" screenplay includes multiple intersection points, from the presence of not one but two Stanley-esque characters to references as finely detailed as line lifts, certainly candy for any audience member with the background to grab the homages.

Left with little more than her Louis Vuitton luggage and designer wardrobe, Jasmine (whose real name is Jeanette but she's changed it herself - one early attempt of many she makes to recreate herself) finds herself on the doorstep of her sister Ginger's apartment in San Francisco. She has no one else to turn to after her husband is imprisoned for his illegal investment and banking deals and her son walks out on both of them in search of a normalcy he can't quite visualize. Her life as she knew it was gone, and she goes on and on about how the government left her with nothing.

Perhaps somewhat predictably, Ginger (Sally Hawkins) is everything Jasmine is not, though Allen is smart enough to recognize this time-worn device and writes a character twist into the script that justifies it completely. Not surprisingly, Jasmine struggles to cope with her new surroundings. Ginger lives in a modest flat furnished bohemian-style with mismatched tchotchkes, and her two young sons always seem to be dismantling it when they're not with their father, Ginger's ex-husband Augie (in the film's most shocking performance because he's played - brilliantly - by the long-faded comedian Andrew Dice Clay). Jasmine never liked Augie. She turns her nose on Ginger's living as a grocery store clerk. She lacks connection with her nephews. And she's even more unnerved by the arrival on the scene of Ginger's new man, Chili (Bobby Cannavale).

The largest wedge between the sisters has to do with Jasmine's having encouraged Ginger and her then-husband Augie to trust Hal to invest lottery winnings for them instead of allowing Augie to open his own business. Of course, Ginger and Augie lost everything, too. Though Jasmine is quick to outwardly deflect blame and shrug off her involvement in the dismantling of her sister's one opportunity for a better life, we know from the beginning that the guilt is not only real, but cripplingly burdensome. We know this because Jasmine is frequently seen talking to walls, recreating conversations to herself, and popping prescription anti-anxiety and anti-psychotic medication like M&Ms, always washing them down with Stoli. In this way, "Blue Jasmine" also calls to mind the 2009 Pulitzer Prize-winning Broadway musical "Next To Normal," as both works take an in-depth look at the impact of profound loss and the far from exact science of the pharmaceutical treatment of a grief-induced nervous breakdown.

Jasmine's mental instability is, of course, what provides Blanchett with the material to create one of the most unbelievable acting performances I've seen in a few years. Her work almost defies criticism and surely rests in a class with Daniel Day Lewis' work as President Lincoln. I don't see how she can't possibly be the front runner for the Best Actress Oscar, and it's not just because the work is showy. It's because Blanchett so completely immerses herself in Jasmine's tumult, vapidity and cloudiness that the honesty of her work rings louder still in Jasmine's more quiet moments. Her performance is brilliant. There's no other way to say it. And if there's any justice, Allen will find that he's coached his first lead actress to an Oscar since Diane Keaton in "Annie Hall," almost 40 years ago.

The film's flashback structure was, for me, part of its great success, as it was advantageous for the audience to reach back to find clarity and context for things happening to Jasmine in the present, rather than watch a straight-linear deterioration. Symbolically, the juxtapositions emphasized the way Jasmine's high society life became her albatross, as she married Hal prior to completing a college degree and never learned skills aside from shopping, decorating, fundraising and entertaining, none of which can provide her with a living now. By structuring the film so that moments in Jasmine's present call to mind moments from her extravagant past, Allen and his production team give viewers some palpable contrasts, their proximity solidifying one's understanding of just how far she's fallen.

Allen's writing here ranks with his very best screenplays, and his direction is not only confident, but in places, surprisingly fresh. I quickly noticed that he did not treat the two cities in which "Blue Jasmine" was filmed as characters in the story in the way that he has in his recent European-set travelogue films. Instead, they are backgrounds that provide depth and insight to the main character's struggles, and Allen wisely cedes focus to Blanchett in what is likely the greatest star vehicle of her career, if not the most prominent star-led film Allen's ever made, given his proclivity toward ensemble pieces. Comedy is also far more circumstantial here than it is the product of a typical line of Allen-penned wit, though a few of those surface, too. And there's far less comedy to be had, barring that of schadenfreude.

There's little I can find wrong with this movie. I read a review from Brad Brevet, my favorite online film critic, in which he stated that "Blue Jasmine" suffered because some of its subplots seemed superfluous. And while I frequently agree with Brevet and respect him for his thorough and thought-provoking analyses, I couldn't be more in disagreement with him on this one. One of the subplots in question involves an altercation Jasmine has with a dentist (Michael Stuhlbarg) with whom she accepts her first menial employment, and without saying too much, this subplot contains the very scene that allowed me to finally sympathize with Jasmine.

Another involves Ginger's flirtations with a character played by the comedian Louis C.K., a sequence of events which challenges Ginger's relationship with Chili. Brevet said that the effect this subplot had on the film was "little to nothing." For me, it reinforced the deepest emotional connections I had with the film as a whole with regards to the nature of from where true happiness derives. Without it, this movie could have been reduced to little more than an acting showcase for Blanchett. With these scenes, "Blue Jasmine" is so much more than a movie about a rich bitch having a crack-up because she can't cope with how the 99 percent live after her well runs dry. That is, to some extent, how I felt after watching the otherwise engrossing documentary "The Queen of Versailles" last year - another "Green Acres"-like story of the falling rich dealing with our average lives and where their remaining jewels fit into it. But I walked out of this movie thinking about so much more, and even analyzing my own relationships.

I think that without these subplots, "Blue Jasmine" would play out as a film with one tone. Instead, the stories add color in addition to support. Just as Jasmine's unpredictable downward spiral appears to be nearing its seemingly inevitable conclusion, she meets a man (Peter Sarsgaard) who will infuriate viewers not because he's inherently unlikable or bad, but because Jasmine gravitates toward him as the only man she's met in San Francisco with the credentials to restore her to the Park Avenue-styled life to which she's accustomed before she's forced to spend too much of her time forging any iron for her spine from the fire of hardship. Jasmine's involvement with her new suitor reveals yet another layer of simply structured complexity to Allen's script, which at this point begins to question the very nature of what is real. Which relationships are real? Is wealth real? Can we recreate ourselves out of the ashes, and if we do, is that new creation "real" or just some manufactured story we tell ourselves to escape our smoldering pasts?

To what extent is Jasmine implicit in her undoing? "Blue Jasmine" certainly clarifies Hal's guilt - repeatedly - but Allen leaves the viewer to ponder Jasmine's. She is most certainly guilty of rampant entitlement, to be sure. And she's maddeningly delusional, not just in the sense of her medically real mental illness but her her maddeningly surface-level plans for getting back on her feet again. Jasmine is broken and condescending. But she was once alive and vibrant, even if only in that plastic, affluent sort of way.

Perhaps the greatest triumph of all is that Allen allows us to pass judgment on Jasmine as we see fit from where we stand in all of these recent financial crises and catastrophes of selfish consumer culture. And then, just to complicate things, he forces us to stare in the face of a once-regal woman laid terribly low, now sitting on a park bench with a few remaining pieces of her once regal clothing, her hair disheveled and her makeup gone completely. And we are able to hit pause on our grass-is-greener longings and see our modest lives as a gift, heading out of the theater to our reasonably-priced compact sedans, the Notorious B.I.G.'s "Mo Money, Mo Problems" echoing its truth in our brains with the same resonance that the song "Blue Moon" worked as facade in Jasmine's life.

...On The Movie's new ratings system

Since ...On The Movie is "a film teacher's reviews of and thoughts about film," I've often contemplated rating films by using a letter rating system, like school grades. This is the system most popularly used by the magazine Entertainment Weekly, and also by Brad Brevet - perhaps my favorite online critic - on his site Rope of Silicon.

Virtually everyone else, of course, uses a star system. Most typically, it's a four-star system, though Rolling Stone sets itself apart from most others with a five-star system. I started my career in college working as a film critic for our newspaper, and then moved over to professional entertainment writing, so the four-star system is in my blood. 

But after much debate with myself, and some wrestling with how to translate one system to the other, I will be revising my system. I am going to switch to the letter grade system; it just make sense when considering my professional identity and my goals for this site, which really combines my former dabbling in published film criticism with my continued aspirations of working in that field, and then rolling in my more than 13-year professional identity as a teacher - and especially a film teacher. 

So how will I now "grade" films? Here's my breakdown to help you read future reviews. (At a later time, I will apply my translation to past reviews.)

A: Films receiving a grade of A will be those that I would have previously given a four-star review to. To receive this rating, I usually ask myself the following questions: "Does it seem that this film accomplished everything it set out to accomplish?" and "Does this film represent the very best of film making within its genre or within the body of work created by its director?" Notice that I try hard not to make it about how much I personally enjoyed it. In fact, many of the films I find myself able to watch over and over again when they play on cable (such as "Ted" or "The Proposal" or "Pitch Perfect") are nowhere near four-star films based on my criteria. Yes, of course, my satisfaction as a viewer in terms of interest and emotional or intellectual connection does factor in to my ratings system. It's just that I allow myself to enjoy things of lesser quality while maintaining the ability to be realistic about that lacking quality to you.

A-: Films receiving a grade of A- will be those that I would have previously reviewed with three-and-a-half stars. These films are films that I find to be "excellent," with only minor flaws or things I wish had been a little different. They almost hold up to yes answers for the questions I mentioned above. Sometimes, I default to this rating when I apply the litmus test of whether or not I can see the film as truly enduring or becoming a classic. That might not be fair because it's impossible for me to predict, but it crosses my mind.

B: B movies are three-star movies. They are solid and enjoyable in spite of their flaws. They are movies I would watch again. They don't feel like a waste of my time or money. They are what I'm hoping for when I go to the movies, and I'm pleasantly surprised when they turn out to be more. I tell my students that in the real world, most people perform at a B level. Exceptional people are A's, and a C is just average. Most of us strive to be a little better than average.

B-: B- movies are two-and-a-half star movies. Under my old review system, this is where I ranked the truly average films - the ones that had clear moments where I enjoyed myself, either in terms of a great scene or a strong performance or some moment or two that stood out. This is my "nothing special" category. These movies don't make me angry that I wasted my time or money, but don't get me excited when I think back on them. Often, they are frivolous entertainments that require none of the deeper-level thinking I enjoy. Many times, they are the "stupid fun" movies that make for enjoyable television viewing in years to come. There's something about these films that makes them a little better than "just okay," but just as much to keep them from being ranked higher by someone with a critical eye.

C: I'll use the C grade for movies that would have previously received two stars from me. This is where I start to get concerned with my new system because I tend to predict whether I will like a movie before I see it. I do this for fun, not for employment, so I often avoid films I know I probably won't like, whereas if I was doing this for a living, I'd be seeing a wider range of titles and probably dispensing the lower grades with more regularity. But a teacher dreams of giving all A's, right? This rating is about as low as I'll go before I really start complaining about a movie. These are films with a few charms but too many flaws to ignore.

C-: A one-and-a-half star film under my old system will get a C- under the new one. By this point, there are probably only a few things about these films that I enjoyed. Maybe it was one actor's performance, or one scene, or something about the concept of the film. But I can classify these films as the ones where I am constantly finding myself thinking about what I think could or should have been done differently to improve it. Since I'm a big fan of a well-written script, these movies almost always have what I consider to be poor scripts.

D: Yuck. D movies are barely worth calling movies. Under my star system, they'd get one star. The number one usually stands out for me when I give a film this rating, because I often give it to a movie that had only one thing I liked about it. As I mentioned before, I try hard to avoid even watching movies that would earn such a rating, but it happens sometimes. And that utter disappointment I feel when it does perfectly translates to this rating.

D-: This is a half-star movie. I give them to movies that are essentially garbage but receiving the benefit of my good humor on the day I review it.

F: You guessed it...this is a zero-star film. Garbage. The ones where I sit in sheer confusion as to how it cleared the studio gates for distribution and am so distracted by those thoughts that nothing at all rises out of the muck to attract and redirect my attention.

+: You might have noticed that I don't have any plusses in this list. But that doesn't mean I won't use them. Movies that receive an A+ will be those rare films that I consider to be as flawless as possible. They will be films that I can't imagine could have been improved upon in any significant way, movies I can imagine becoming classics. Movies that I would nominate for the Best Picture Academy Award if it was within my power to choose those nominations. They will be films I consider to be an example for all films within their genres. Elsewhere, I will use a plus when I find myself stuck between two letter grades. In those cases, I'll try to be clear about why I found myself in that place.

So there you have it. I hope to provide my readers with some cool new updates to my site in the month to come, but in the mean time, I'll start by making this update to the content itself. And, as always, I'd love to hear what you agree and disagree with when you read a review. Add your comments whenever you feel so inclined!

This Is The End (2013)

A-

Enlightenment does not arrive upon request. Nor does it ever seem to visit for as long as one's mother does. And perhaps even more baffling still is the inability to predict the source of our next moment of enlightenment.

As a self-branded "film snob," I frequently anticipate, yearn for, and even predict enlightenment from the earliest possible stages when engaging with films. Search my blog and you will find few zero-star movies. Oh, they're out there. It's just that I anticipate what I'll hate and then avoid it completely. When I'm making my annual year-end best and worst lists, what qualifies as "worst" is often the film that disappointed me the most, rather than any genuine steaming turd of cinema. I go to movies to be moved by them.

In spite of my snobbery, I make valiant attempts to explore the film choices of the common man with regularity, though always stopping short of watching the People's Choice Awards, because the people don't know squat. And yet it was with some trepidation when a dear friend of mine encouraged me - no, make that stalked, badgered and accosted me - into seeing "This Is The End." It's got James Franco in it! Seth Rogen directed it! Its plot is a largely improvised, self-reflexive meditation on celebrity! These were but a few of the film's alleged appeals.

But nothing gelled with my current state of being. Then on the cusp of 40 (I've since hit that mark in the weeks between seeing the film and finally writing this review), I wasn't interested in a mostly improved film. I'm a writer and I value good writing. (Never mind that I'm also an actor who values good improv.) Nor did I give a damn about James Franco, Seth Rogen, or any of their cronies, all men who suffer from colossal cases of arrested development and squander their genuine, young talents through their perpetual public engagement with cannabis and prurient senses of humor. And the actors play themselves? How is that supposed to attract a guy like me... one who revels in the transcendence of a sublime character acting performance? True, I did exhibit a moment of weakness while enjoying Neil Patrick Harris in "Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle," and in retrospect, that performance was probably the prototype for the characters-but-not-exactly-characters in this film. But I digress...

Regardless, I went. I went because my friend had seen the film already and had promised me that I would like it. She even paid for my ticket. She bought it in advance online to provide herself with the trump card of guilt, should I try to back out. And so I went to see "This Is The End," the kind of movie that I tend to avoid like bathroom door handles at truck stops. And I'm still a little bit shocked by what happened to me.

I found enlightenment. 

There, I said it. I'm 40 now, the age where - I'm told - you start caring less and less about what other people think. I laughed and laughed - so hard, in fact, that my friend and I nearly resorted to physical abuse upon each other, no logical physical outlet remaining beyond our spasming diaphragms and gasps for air. I laughed because I was shocked, of course. But I also laughed because there were as many moments of clever in the movie as there were moments of shock. Even when the film went off the rails of good taste, I found myself laughing, and let me say that this film was more or a tetherball to taste then it was on the rails of taste, so frequently did it jump that track. So how did I react to the now infamous scene where James Franco and Danny McBride have a nearly five-minute-long argument over the etiquette of masturbating on a friend's property and with his literature? I laughed harder still.

And that's not even the enlightening part, though it contains a component of it. 

Maybe I should back up here, though there's little in the way of plot summary to mention, and I also feel that the less you walk in expecting, the more engaged you'll be in the film. The movie's loose structure of a story is that Seth Rogen (all actors here are, again, playing versions of themselves) picks up his friend Jay Baruchel from the airport for some quality bro chill time and Baruchel is disappointed that his proposal for videogames and weed is dismissed for a huge Hollywood party hosted by Rogen's "other friend," James Franco. Baruchel is not pleased, as he believes Franco to be a pompous, disingenuous and condescending ass. And not so secretly, he appears hurt that he will no longer have all of Rogen's attention.

Franco's party is filled with celebrities including fellow Hollywood stoner Jonah Hill, and I don't want to give away too many more names because discovering the party guests was one of the film's charms in its opening minutes. It doesn't matter anyway, though, because the party is disrupted by an earthquake. Or an alien invasion. Or an inexplicable, unidentifiable supernatural experience so specific and awesome in power that it could only be...The Rapture?

The first sign of a potentially divine catastrophe is one of the film's most clever conceits, the almost instant decimation of Hollywood's elite, all slack-jawed and ground-bound as not a one of them is offered a tractor beam to Jesus. Rogen, in a state of semi-stoned that seems to be his persona de rigueur, isn't sure what just happened and perhaps feels that his altered state has imagined it. It's Baruchel who first explores the possibility of the end of the world and attempts to convince the few remaining partygoers of their need to do good works and repent, stat. 

The bulk of the film focuses on Rogen, Baruchel, Franco, Hill, McBride and Craig Robinson attempting to navigate post-apocalyptic survival under self-imposed quarantining, with occasional reconnaissance missions outside of Franco's house. As their nerves wear more thin and their personalities increasingly clash, the boy-men begin to sell each other out, their cabin fever erupting in a variety of hilarious interpersonal wars of wit. Meanwhile, outside, a preponderance of evidence that this threat is indeed apocalyptic amasses, and I am not going to be the one to spoil some of the more outrageous moments involved therein, though I will tease by saying that the film has moments of emerging as a live-action "South Park: Bigger, Longer and Uncut."

It's important for me to note that I have little to no patience for weed culture and the personalities that surround it, and so going in, I sat in judgment of what I'd experience. I say this because if I can emerge from "This Is The End" as such a fan of the film given my prejudices, maybe others can, too. And I think it's because labeling this movie as a "stoner movie" is too simple. And, quite frankly, it's simply unfair. 

So this is where that enlightenment thing comes in. "This Is The End" provided me with two levels of enlightenment actually, both in terms of the viewing experience and the film's content itself.

In terms of the viewing experience, I was reminded that genius can sometimes coexist with the profane, and that snobbery can sometimes be the shackles that prevent us from being fully present in our lives. I felt good while watching "This Is The End." Yes, I was disgusted at times, merely shocked at others. I also winced and shook my head at things that others found funny that were just too far over my line. But I was alive during that movie, not just a breathing body in a seat decoding entertainment data. Everything I felt, I felt to an extreme. It was, in short, that true roller coaster experience that so many people go to thrilling movies to experience, the kind of popcorn-movie thrill that I so frequently eschew for academic nerd-outs. 

What might surprise you more about "This Is The End" is that the movie itself, cloaked in fountains of profanity, graphic word play and substance abusing ridiculousness, is perhaps the most spiritual movie I've seen in a year, and possibly longer. It's a movie that would so terribly shock the far Christian right within five minutes that no clean-living Lord lover would make it through to the center of the film's Tootsie pop, which is nothing less than the very primal discussion of heaven and hell and the perceived requirements of the quality of one's character in order to experience a positive outcome in the wake of the end of days. 

I have always believed in God, and in my understanding of the scripture that to each of us is given different spiritual gifts, I've come to realize that mine might just be that belief itself, which has not wavered through profound loss and the senselessness of our times. As a kid, I was required to memorize Ephesians 2: 8-9, which states that we are saved by grace through faith, and that this is a gift from God and nothing we can do on earth in terms of good works can buy that gift. To watch a small handful of admired Hollywood actors - who seem to have lives we all envy - grapple with the potential reality of impending eternal damnation and wonder what they can possibly do to repent before time runs out, was not only a delicious bit of irony but also a reaffirmation of my spiritual beliefs. 

Don't get me wrong. "This Is The End" is not perfect. It's running time is about 30 minutes too long, clear evidence of the self-indulgence of a newbie director laughing too hard at his own inside jokes with his buddies. And the jazzy improvs send the film in almost unsustainable situations from time to time. 

But then here I am again, nitpicking at a movie because it's not "my usual thing." So since the power of 40 compels me (and in that phrase lies an inside joke for those who have seen the film, in one of its greatest dialogue exchanges), I have to step up to the plate, not care what anyone thinks, and tell the truth. "This Is The End" is possibly the best comedy of 2013 so far, and my favorite film of the summer. 

Oh, and did I mention that Michael Cera gives an Oscar-worthy performance? 

Please bear with me!

The time is long overdue for me to update the look of my blog to something fresher and more user-friendly. But doing so has turned out to be a lot more labor intensive than I imagined.

I took a coding class a few years ago, but damned if I remember any of it. And when I download new blog templates, I can't figure out how to change their original elements. Long story short, this is going to take a while.

You might notice any number of crazy looks as you visit the page. Please bear with me. I am hoping that you can simply focus on the reviews themselves, rather than the look of the page. And when I'm actually done, I will gladly let all of you know!

In the meantime, stay tuned for my reviews of the following:

This Is The End (2013)
Elysium (2013)
Lee Daniels' The Butler (2013)

Thanks for reading my reviews!

Despicable Me 2 (2013)

B-

Just a few short weeks after Pixar lobbed the sub-par prequel "Monsters University" into theatres comes "Despicable Me 2," the follow-up to the surprisingly delightful and charmingly wicked 2010 animated hit. And just like "Monsters University," "Despicable Me 2" is 360 degrees of mediocrity, a sequel that abandons the things that made its first film so good. And yet this film makes you laugh a lot harder and enjoy yourself a lot more, because it has one thing that Disney does not...

Minions!

Can they do no wrong? Can these charming, mumbling, canary-colored Weebles generate comedic misfires? Methinks not.

And so, a film with none of the sinsiter bite of its original, in which its main character, Gru (Steve Carrell), literally plots to steal the moon itself, is rescued single-handedly by the pure joy of watching an army of individually characterized yellow pills bounce around a movie screen, plot be damned.

The narrative of "Despicable Me 2" was perhaps doomed to begin with, as it finds the once famously evil Gru now reformed and settled into domestic life (albeit in an Addams Family-sort of way), parenting the three girls he picked up during the first film. His exciting life of crime has been exchanged for more honest pursuits, and while Gru has settled nicely into being a dad, he's found no footing in terms of finding satisfying work for himself.

Opportunity knocks when a woman named Lucy Wilde arrives. She's with an organziation called the Anti-Villain League and has been sent by her boss, Silas Ramsbottom (a guy with a name the minions can't pass up having a joke over whose head looks like the entirety of Jabba the Hut squished on top of a body that looks like an additional Jabba the Hut) to enlist Gru's help in catching a criminal they feel is operating under the cover of a local shopping mall business. At first, Gru wants no part of it, but when his trusted sidekick Dr. Nefario (Russell Brand) leaves him so that he can actually do evil again, Gru reconsiders. And his kids are excited for the adventure because they see mom material in Lucy (played thanklessly by Kristen Wiig at her most aw-shucks and clumsy, with no real breakout moments of humor).

Confict arises when Gru argues with Ramsbottom over which store owner might be producting and hiding a serum that could turn whoever is injected with it into pure evil, which is later evidenced by its effects on the minions, who turn purple and essentially develop attitudes like that of the Muppets' Animal but with rabies.

I'd tell you more about the plot if there was more to tell. Suffice it to say that "Despicable Me 2" attempts to go for a love story and a family message and because of it, the characater of Gru oddly takes a back seat in all of it, nearly becoming a support player in his own story. Yes, there are some moments of genuine heart. Far more, actually, than in the aforementioned "Monsters University." But everything lacks the devilish bite of the original film. The evil isn't evil enough, or fun enough. This film's true villain, El Macho, is comically obese and not even remotely scary. And while Gru uses his experiences to lead himself to El Macho, he doesn't do much to excercise that sinister side of his brain, which made the original film so funny.

Still, I'd be lying if I told you that none of this matters much when you have the Minions. They hold some sort of charm power over me that I can't seem to explain. Whether one is using another as a golf tee, or one is vaccuuming the living room as a French maid, or - most comically - two are serenading Gru with their indecipherable rendition of the early-90s slow jam, "I Swear," I'm kept entertained in spite of myself, laughing harder still when allowing myself to also take in what audience members around me are reacting to and saying about the little guys when they are on screen (which is, mercifully, a lot).

All things considered, "Despicable Me 2" won't be that much of a letdown for anyone who enjoyed the first film, largely because this Minions thing just works. So well, in fact, that Universal Pictures has already greenlit "Minions" for a Christmas 2014 release. And may I be among the first to say I can't wait.

"Despicable Me 2" is truly an average film. You don't have to think very hard, and narrative analysis is futile. And yet sometimes you just want to watch a movie that makes you laugh, the kind you know you're not going to flip past when it ends up on HBO. And thanks to my darling little golden pills of mischief, this fits the bill.

Monsters University (2013)

C

Perhaps no film studio in the modern era has a better track record of success than Pixar, whose every effort has struck box office gold while almost always managing to please not only fans but critics alike. Now fully absorbed into the Disney company (who, like some sort of planet is sucking in things as big as Marvel comics with its gravitational pull), Pixar is made to suffer through conflicting mojos with its parent company, whose track record of sequels is notoriously weak, especially in the animated department, where most sequels have been straight-to-home-video affairs. (Quick, name me your favorite song from "Return of Jafar"! Didn't think you could...)

In the Pixar oeurve, 2011's "Cars 2" is widely regarded as the company's weakest release artistically, a naked ploy for toy tie-ins so obvious that we shouldn't be remotely shocked that a third film - this time using planes - is headed to theatres. Not all sequels, of course, have been missteps for the studio, as the Toy Story franchise followed its landmark opening entry with a strong sequel and even a third film, which I would argue was far and away the best of that series.

So why another "Monsters Inc." film?

Okay, stupid question. This is Disney we're talking about. But in an attempt at something fresh, instead of getting a follow-up to the 2001 film, we get a prequel, "Monsters University." The result, however, is sadly far from fresh. Audiences will enjoy spending another 90 minutes with the likes of the furry blue Sully and the wisecracking green orb with stick apendages, Mike Wazowski, and yes, John Goodman and Billy Crystal both return to authenticate them. But disappointingly, "Monsters University" is paint-by-numbers theft from films ranging from the Harry Potter series to, well, "Animal House."

As an impressionable young whatever-he-is, Mike experiences the scare floor where famous monsters working for the Monsters, Inc. power company work their magic. He dreams of one day joining their ranks but finds, instead, that he is funny, rather than scary. Of course, once this idea is established, the film immediately suffers, as viewers of the first film will understand instantly where this film must be headed.

Mike manages to gain entry to Monsters University, where he's forced to join the loser-est fraternity on campus (the hilariously named Oozma Kappa) and room with a guy who is nothing like him. That guy, naturally, is Sully, a second generation scarer-in-training who plans to ride through college on charm and pedigree and has no intentions of actually doing work. And, in another well-tread plot development, the two strongly dislike each other. Again, if you've seen "Monsters, Inc.," you understand that they have to be friends by the end of this film!

So early into "Monsters University," the audience already knows that humor will compete with fear for talent and that Mike and Sully will become the best of friends. The perils of the prequel, I suppose. The bulk of the film then focuses on the challenge of the wayward frat to compete against more robust organizations in the Scare Games (insert Harry Potter or Hunger Games without the killing), an annual campus event overseen by the Voldemort-meets-the-Dragon-that-got-trained-in-that-superior-but-not-Disney-film, Dean Hardscrabble (played deliciously with dripping disdain by Helen Mirren). Oozma Kappa is challenged with winning the tournament to avoid explulsion from Monsters University for both Mike and Sully. And, again, exit dramatic tension, as of course they will and must win.

Little that happens in "Monsters University" surprises, and some of the film's best lines are sadly looped in television promotions, which is a problem for most movies but rarely a Pixar one. So the only delights and surprises, then, come via the introduction of new characters to the Monsters franchise. Forturnately, a few of them are quite entertaining and memorable. I am partial to two in particular. One is a furry purple U-shaped thing named Art. Slyly voiced by Charlie Day, he gets the film's funniest line (one for the grown-ups, at that), and his physical efforts during the final challenge of the Scare Games are a visual riot. The other pure pleasure is the mother of frat brother Squishy. Ms. Squibbles, voiced by Julia Sweeney, is like an animated Edie McClurg (my fellow 80s TV and film lovers know who I'm talking about), and she gets some of the film's funniest and most unexpected bits.

I have to be hard on "Monsters University," because when compared to some of Pixar's other efforts - particularly "Wall-E," "Up" and "Ratatouille"), this film feels purely disposable, designed for little more than a firm grab for a few hours of kids' attention, aspiring for none of the sweeping human storytelling and transcendent themes of other films in the studio's canon. "Monsters University" looks fantastic, as one would expect. It is occassionally funny (my kids thought it was more than just occassionally funny). And animated films can and usually do fare far worse ("Hotel Transylvania," anyone?).

But let's face it, "Monsters University" is purely average in virtually every way possible. It feels like a tossed-off effort (though a better one than "Cars 2"). It adds breadth to the Monsters universe but no depth. It lacks the genuine passion and emotion of other films from Pixar. And the sum of all of this is that we're left with a solid summer animated entertainment from a studio famous for so much more. Taken in isolation, "Monsters University" is fine. As a piece of a larger history, it's disappointing.