EXPENDABLES 3: THE LAST ACTION HEROES?



SEE?


   If you know me (and most of you do), you know that I went to see "The Expendables 3" in an actual movie theater. I paid for this pain, and I'm not going to pretend that I enjoyed it or learned from the experience, but I will say that I was entertained by the first two installments so I had cinematic precedent behind me. Now, this admission may lower my place in your esteem ranking, but I'm a child of the '80s and that decade was, by all measures, the "glory days" decade for action movies. Unfortunately, these are glory days no more. Weak premise, slow open, flat to non-existent humor, standard stunts and an understandable lack of enthusiasm for the material from the actors (with the notable exception of Antonio Banderas) all make for a rather dreary experience for the audience and the characters alike. Don't get me wrong. This is not about ageism. I would actually prefer it of they didn't try to drag unknown young actors into this franchise. Every time they bring some long forgotten action star out of "has been" purgatory and strap 'em into the old plane for a new adventure, I inhale a scent of deep nostalgia and exhale relief. Sly gives these lost boys the opportunity to flex their muscles and not remain lost in oblivion or stuck in some Syfy shark movie. Frankly, I feel a whole lot safer knowing that they have a dependable franchise in which to appear. (Please don't let me find Wesley Snipes doing the next incarnation of CSI for Pete's sake.)

  That said, I think Sly needs to let go of the writing. I know, I know...he wrote "Rocky". Well, this ain't "Rocky," and Sly's sense of humor seems to have evaporated much like my will to live did in hour two of viewing. Given the opportunity to infuse the dialogue with actual jokes, upgrade the old school stunts and maybe pare down the cast to a size the audience can give a damn about, he may have a shot at making at least two more of these movies. Lord knows, there are still enough former action stars out there who could use a reboot. While I think Harrison Ford was miscast for this role (and seemed a little high for a CIA agent ) and Mel Gibson should have rejected the villain role (really, Mel, the world needs to see you redeem yourself not confirm our suspicions), there is some salvation in the energy Antonio Banderas brought to his role. Still, even that joke grows tired toward the end. Hear me, naysayers, the franchise itself is not tired just because the bulk of the cast is not comprised of barely pubescent vampire-playing hotties. I believe in the action movie! I believe Expendables can be great...er...good-ish again.

EAT.

   When I Googled "Sly Stallone diet," I thought at best I'd arrive at a few magazine interviews with the man over the last few years. I know he's a muscular guy who trained hard for Rocky, but I didn't realize it was this serious until I stumbled upon his website. I should have know something was up when I saw "Bullet to the Head." Stallone has a shirtless scene in that movie that is both awe-inspiring and terrifying (more veins than a gold mine.) He was about 65 when that movie was shot. Men half his age hung their heads in defeat. But never fear! The Sly Stallone diet and exercise regimen is at your fingertips. http://www.sylvesterstallone.com/health-fitness/two/ And, no, I never, ever plan to follow this regimen, but best of luck to you. Here's a little photographic inspiration:

Yeah-I didn't think so.

SHOP.

   Yes-he writes. He acts. He directs. He produces. He paints oil paintings, and he has the cojones to stand beside his work. In public. At art galleries. There is more to this man than meets the eye. Odd diet and exercise regimen aside.

  You wanna own an original? Be my guest. http://imagemakersart.com/sylvesterstallone.aspx. I will pay for a painting before I buy this movie on DVD.

Transformers 4: Age of Diminished Returns

SEE?

   Nope. Not gonna do it. Unless you are the biggest fan of Stanley Tucci on the planet, I cannot in good conscience tell you to spend your hard-earned money on this movie. If you are willing to sit through 2 hours and 45 minutes of jump cuts, predictable dialogue, lackluster jokes, bewildered and under-directed actors, barely legal and barely dressed girls, a half-assed attempt at a mature female character with a brain (serving absolutely no purpose in the movie), a muddled plot overextended through excessive action sequences, derivative black-booted thugs, miracle recoveries (by humans and Autobots alike), blatant violations of the laws of physics and magnetic fields, the confusing accent of an American-born/Irish-raised/Australian sounding actor initially passed off as a Texan (before the reshoots), and the combination surprised/faux angry look of Mark Wahlberg (possible developed while trying to get his agent on the phone during filming) in order to get see Stanley Tucci then by all means lay out the cash.

   Unfortunately, there is not one original cast member left to resuscitate the magic of the original Transformers. (Yes, I liked that one.) In fact, lest I be lumped in with all the other naysayers, let me say, I’m kind of a Michael Bay fan (I’ll forgive the shallow portrayals of women in front of the camera.) Bay mixed music video style, humor (“You know you drive almost slow enough to drive Miss Daisy.”) and non-stop action to glue audiences to the screen in the 90s. The new century has apparently confused him. Even an action film should endeavor to maintain logic, character arc (as my friend pointed out Tucci’s character turns on a dime) and a tight plot. I think we can safely say the plot is looser than the moral code of Kelsey Grammer’s CIA goon, and the editor clearly lapsed into a coma about 90 minutes in. I have no doubt that many people worked very hard (and probably suffered great misery) making this movie. I fear another Transformers sequel will only extend that misery to the audience yet again. Please, Michael, go back to your roots! Let’s roll out The Rock 2 instead.

 

EAT.

   And for our worldwide audience-I bring you the last 30 minutes of the movie set in China for your international distribution pleasure. Do I want you to go grab some Chinese food in celebration of the almost complete annihilation of Hong Kong by an alien bounty hunter? No. That would be racist. Instead, let’s celebrate the city of Chicago getting her comeuppance again. Bay chose Chicago for destruction not once, but twice in this series.  Why does Michael Bay hate Chicago? Who cares? Finally, we West Coasters and our New York counterparts are getting a reprieve! Get yourself some deep-dish pizza and Chicago-style hot dogs, and let’s take the Midwest down! http://losangeles.menupages.com/restaurants/masa-of-echo-park/ and www.viciousdogshotdogs.com.

 

SHOP.

   So you’re on the run. The government has destroyed your life, blown up your house and generally pissed you off and you need to steal (I mean borrow) a few things from your local Piggly Wiggly. Why do people never steal fresh underwear? Seriously! That would be my first stop. Forget food and water. If I have to wear the same underwear for 48 hours straight, someone’s gonna die. Luckily, as long as I can predict my next location (pretty sure we’re going to be destroying China a lot in the future), I can have fresh undies sent to me monthly. Join The Underwear Society (www.underwearsociety.com) and never worry about pesky end-of-the-world scenarios keeping you from slipping on a fresh pair (you can get socks, too). I’m talking about life’s essentials here, people!

GODZILLA. Meh.

SEE?

   The original concept of Godzilla and his nuclear power absorbing flying foe, Mothra, was born out of the suffering, loss and unknown consequences of radiation poisoning after the bombings of Nagasaki and Hiroshima. The 2014 version of Godzilla portrays the nuclear testing of Bikini Atoll in the Marshall Islands as a last-ditch attempt to destroy the monster way back in 1954. The script wastes a perfectly good opportunity to use Godzilla lore to explore the tragic and ironic nuclear merry-go-round that Japan has been riding from World War II to the Fukushima meltdown. Instead, the audience is served a rather unusually accepting-of-the-situation group of characters. I guess after vampires, aliens, superheroes from outer space and the zombie apocalypse we humans take a sort of “whatevs” approach to gargantuan prehistoric reptiles and flying radioactive waste-consuming moths emerging from the Earth’s subterranean netherworld. I mean if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen a hundred, am I right? When explaining the military’s plan for dealing with the giant moth/lizard infestation, one put-upon grunt scoffs, “I guess we’re monster killers now,” as though killing monsters is up there on the army to-do list right after latrine building. Once the military secret is revealed to not be an “earthquake,” the public just takes it in stride. I imagine them thinking, “Ah well, better keep out of the way of that 300 foot lizard that’s demolishing the Embarcadero. Hope I set my Tivo to record my stories tonight.” There is not a shred of disbelief or humor in the cast. Despite ample opportunity for a sarcastic quip, David Strathairn, as Admiral William Stentz, delivers this straight-faced explanation of the acronym for the enormous flying creature awakened at a nuclear facility in Japan. “MUTO-massive, unidentified, terrestrial organism. It is, however, no longer terrestrial. It is airborne.” Kudos to you, David. If ever an Oscar were deserved....

 

EAT?

   I don’t recommend this, but apparently when times are tough, people eat moth larvae and/or caterpillars. Who knew? Anyway, turnabout is fair play. You eat our expensive nuclear weapons (Hey, I’m a tax-paying American, and I paid for that bomb), we eat you. Or something like that. If giant moths and an angry, oversized lizard are ruining your dinner plans by leveling Chinatown, you may have to resort to some nasty survival techniques. Survivalist Karen Hood provides some nutritional information as well as cooking tips to prevent puking when eating bugs of all sorts. So if you’re running for your life on a Godzilla-sized empty stomach just punch up this link on your Ipad for quick meal-on-the-go information-http://www.survival.com/library/articles/bugs/. They’re gluten-free.

 

SHOP.

To be fair to the director and the cast, the most unbelievable part of the movie’s plot was not huge terrestrial and airborne organisms devastating the West Coast. It was the fact that an army lieutenant and a county hospital nurse with a kid could afford to live in a two-bedroom apartment in San Francisco. I can suspend all kinds of disbelief, people, but c’mon! That scenario is not even remotely plausible- http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2115655/San-Francisco-unaffordable-city-country-renters.html. If you’re going to shop for housing in Northern California, try one of these recommendations- http://www.marketwatch.com/story/retire-here-not-there-california-2012-11-13?pagenumber=4. Or better yet, head to the mid-west-less chance of encountering prehistoric creatures who hold a grudge although I can’t guarantee you won’t have a zombie problem.

Joe Gets Drafted.

SEE.


   Yesterday I watched Draft Day and Joe in a double bill that was akin to seeing Death of a Salesman followed by a monster truck rally. Don't get me wrong. I love a good monster truck rally, but if I'm comparing Draft Day to an Arthur Miller classic then the cinematic train has come off the rails. I did not want to see the unnatural Kevin Costner/Jennifer Garner/Football combo on a big screen, but I thought mayhap I would be surprised and I was. I will refrain from ripping Ivan Reitman for casting Jennifer Garner as a love interest for Kevin Costner for two reasons-I could have cared less about their relationship and Rosanna Arquette (wasted in a useless role, but present) appears as his age appropriate ex-wife so there. Women get older. Men just get replacements. I digress. Reitman manages to turn the NFL draft (don't fall asleep football haters) into a chess match with general managers and owners moving the players (and sometimes each other) across the board in a a game of strategy and desperation with ultimate goal of capturing a Superbowl ring.  I honestly don't think it mattered who played Sonny Weaver, Jr., but Kevin Costner brings a bit of grace to an otherwise banal role. The romantic subplot makes the script longer, but, at the end of the day, it seems like a forced diversity program to put women in something other than cheerleader outfits.  The film does make you root for football and a few football players and, given the NFL controversies of late, that deserves it's own award. You may not understand the football lingo, but if you're a human being, you will understand having a dream that rides on someone else's decisions. If you are not a human being, then there is...

   Joe. I wanted to see this movie. Who wouldn't? A man with anger issues befriends a boy with abuse issues and chaos ensues. Nicholas Cage reining himself in and not going all The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call on us. Nick can act, but for those who know that Nick has been spending the last several years in Louisiana, we have to wonder, is he acting? Are any of these people? Sometimes the film comes off as a mishmash of bizarre southern character studies and even more bizarre behavior (if I never see someone butcher good venison with poor technique again, it will be too soon.) It is as though the film crew arrived at some random house or bar with Nick and a camera and said, "There's probably a whole lotta crazy in there. Let's roll camera and fix it in post." (I'm from Texas. I can speak these truths.) Casting leftovers from True Detective aside, Cage delivers a gripping performance (last accomplished when Clinton was in the White House.) Gary Poulter (a homeless man hired for the film who passed away shortly after filming still homeless) and Tye Sheridan are also very good, but not stretching too far outside a world they already know. The director gives the audience enough respect to let us decide if Joe befriends this boy because he has travelled that same road and suffered for it, but in the end too many questions about Joe and his past are left unanswered to truly feel like this was a story worth telling.

EAT.

  So you're having a hard day trying keep your team's salary cap down while wearing 6 inch stilettos and navigating your old enough-to-be-your-dad-but-is-actually-your-boyfriend's emotional minefield, what are ya gonna reach for? Why, potato chips and waffles of course! What sane woman in her mid-to-late thirties wouldn't sit down at a fully stocked cafeteria and have that combo for her lunch? And we all know that you can eat like that and still look like Jennifer Garner so go for it! What you're on a no carb diet? Fine, Nick Cage has the answer for you-butterflied deer steak carved by a man who apparently worked at N9Ne before trading in his knife skills for an ax in the woods. In case, you don't possess Joe's knife skills (or indifference to blood), take a look at this helpful website http://mdc.mo.gov/discover-nature/how/cooking/venison-recipes-0/butchering-and-freezing-venison'. Once you pull your delicately butterflied steaks out of the freezer for cooking http://www.americanhunter.org/articles/best-way-to-cook-venison-steaks will help you cook your steak like a man-a drunk man with anger management issues. They can only help you so much after all.

SHOP.

  What do Nicholas Cage's character, Joe, and Kevin Costner's character, Sonny, have in common? My guess-daddy issues. And what does anybody with daddy issues need? A heart of gold hooker who will listen to all your problems and calm you down with a good bl...no, no, no-a therapist. Just pay for the therapy, boys! Don't work out your issues playing with millions of dollars and the lives of your players or by using your dog as a surrogate to act out your violent desires. Get thee to a psychiatrist! Luckily, the web makes shopping for a therapist a snap. (I'm assuming there is internet where Joe lives, but maybe not.) It's as simple as plugging in your city, state, and issue. Get real help folks. Don't leave it to hookers and your gut instinct to get ya through. http://therapists.psychologytoday.com/rms/prof_search.php

OSCAR EDITION 

     A couple of weeks before she committed suicide, my friend, Robin, called me and left a lovely, supportive message about the blog I had stopped writing 3 or 4 years ago. She encouraged me to get back to writing and told me she thought I was good at it; maybe I could even make some money on it. Every day since I learned about her death, I thank God I called her back when I did. Our conversation was nothing special. I heard no hint of the anguished Robin who found her life too difficult to bear. Instead, we chatted about her new career. She had just finished earning a degree as a Radiologic Technologist scraping her education together by selling possessions and asking friends for donations. She sounded practical about the future as she began to search for a job. Her laugh, a laugh Eddie Murphy would envy, still periodically burst through her pain. 

   We also talked, as people our age do, about the difficulties of dealing with our aging parents. Her mother was suffering from Alzheimer’s as my late father had, and Robin had successfully (and without much help from her siblings) placed her mother in a memory care facility and sorted her finances for her. (In fact, Robin was ensuring her mother would be cared for in her absence.) I thanked Robin for her kind message as I mumbled some excuse about not having time to write because of my demanding job in television. I came up with other lame excuses to throw in the way of simply buckling down and writing. She said she hoped I would find the time, and we said our goodbyes. A few weeks later I learned she had taken her life. Most of her friends were as stunned by her depression and subsequent suicide as I was. After the shock settled, I realized Robin left me a gift-a reminder that I have an opportunity to contribute something of my own, however small, to the world. A reminder to live this life fully. Peace and thank you, Robin. 

SEE.

   Ugh. The Oscar season.  It used to be easy-five elite, stunning cinematic masterpieces carefully crafted in the hopes of earning that little, gold man. Now there are as many films nominated as there are obscure awards shows to honor them. You have to use all of your vacation and sick days to see them, and, frankly, some of them will leave you nostalgic for the snobby Academy selectivity of yore. Here’s my two cents. Good luck to you. 

American Hustle (129 minutes)- Try to remember it’s a comedy, and laugh at the dialogue not the hair. I know people who still rock that hair.

Captain Phillips (134 minutes)-It’s Tom Hanks so you’re required by law to see it. Good on that Somali guy for getting nominated for something. Anyway, you know how it ends so you don’t have to watch the whole thing.

Dallas Buyers Club (117 minutes)-Not a great overall picture, but you have to see Matthew McConaughey and Jared Leto’s performances because they’re gonna win so, suck it up.

Gravity (91 Minutes)-There is not a relaxing moment in this movie so schedule your massage and/or therapy session now.

Her (126 minutes)-Quirky (I hate that word) and unusual. My mother would hate this movie.

Nebraska (110 minutes)-If you live near here or you repeatedly enter the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes, this movie is for you.

 Philomena (94 minutes)-We love Judi. Still, this can be seen on Netflix.

 12 Years a Slave (133 minutes)-The truest “film” of the bunch, but how depressed do we want to be exactly?

The Wolf of Wall Street (179 minutes)-Try to remember it’s a comedy.

EAT.

   Nothing. You may do a juice cleanse if you desire (I certainly won’t label you a douchebag), but no solid food until you squeeze your Barre Method loving body into a size 2 gown (or some similarly small tuxedo).

SHOP.

   I want to introduce you to a product that will tie all of these movies together but I can’t. Judging by the running times, I have determined that the only thing that these films might have in common is that you will spend an eternity in your seat. (The exceptions being Gravity and Philomena. Small comfort.) Total running time for all nine-1,113 minutes. My suggestion is…muscle relaxants. I can’t sit for two hours without my back giving out, never mind almost 19 hours. Usually, you’d need a prescription (unless you’re in Canada), but luckily there is an herbal alternative-Crystal Star Muscle Relaxer. Does it work? No idea. But, after hour two of The Wolf of Wall Street has come and gone, with another 59 minutes left to go, you’re gonna use whatever is handy. Available on Amazon (http://www.amazon.com/Crystal-Star-Muscle-Relaxer-Caps/dp/B0006SVZQY). Yeah, I’d consult your doctor first, and then stock up and get yourself to the theaters before March 2. Let the race begin.