THE GOLDEN COMPASS: REVIEW

Now I understand.

When I sit there, trying to explain how unbelievably awesome the movie/book/video game/internet cartoon I am fascinated with is, and the person next to me is trying very hard, but ultimately, just has a blank, pleasant smile on their face. I get it now. I must get something, anyway after sitting through The Golden Compass, which cost some 180 million dollars and is…

Well, it’s hard to finish the sentence. Is The Golden Compass an allegory about religion telling us what to believe? It is a rip-roaring fantasy adventure, with animals that talk and a machine telling us the way? Is it a rip-off of Dune, where everyone’s talking about a certain item (spice or dust) but no one actually knows what it is? Ya got me. All I know is, 2 hours later, I was very confused and 12 dollars poorer.

The Golden Compass is based on book one of His Dark Materials, a fantasy series unread by me but beloved by many. If this sounds familiar, it’s because you can fill in the blank and be talking about Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter or Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Jim Carrey and basically be talking about the same thing. I’ve read none of the above, save Harry 1, and I have no doubt my life is poorer for it. But I’ve seen all of the movies, and loved Rings, admire Harry and scratched my head at Snicket. But with all of those films, even the last one- which did not produce the anticipated sequels and was hated by many who love the books- made some semblance of sense. Cliff’s Notes was not required to appreciate the journey. And if details were missing, the logic of the adventures remained. (Who’s the good guys? Who’s the bad guys? Is that hat talking? Is that Orlando Bloom as an elf? Okay, I got it.)

Here, we are doomed almost from the start, as the movie takes a page out of Dune and tries to explain the entire world in about two minutes. Star Wars has proved the wheel that many have tried to reinvent, with it’s dense text prologue followed by rapid excitement. Who cares if none of the previous made sense, there’s spaceships fighting! Even the Fellowship of the Ring wisely kept it’s prologue to just about the ring itself, leaving the rest of the world for us to discover. Here, we get Eva Green giving us a rapid outline of principles, ideas and character classes, along with which dice we should use when figuring out our characters’ attributes, before plopping us next to our heroes: a bland yet plucky girl and her whiny, rodent spirit guide. I kid you not.

I won’t go into the rest of it- mainly because I do not understand, and to the extent I understand, I do not care- but something must have gone very, very wrong in the translation from book to film. Many characters are introduced, given funny names and intense makeup, only to be discarded. The editing is so clunky that whenever the film tries to build momentum, it suddenly shifts us halfway across the galaxy (or planet, or wherever the hell we are) to tell us some other plot development that obscures more than it reveals. We are told that in this world, one’s soul has the form of an animal that follows the person, but we are not told why. (The book apparently supplies a reason, all I can tell you is that Nicole Kidman’s character’s spirit was a monkey)

There are children being experimented on in a lab, where the lab technicians run around in costumes that seem more appropriate for the later Alien movies. We are not told why (or if I was, I missed it.) There are blimps and old tycoots with guns and huns with swords and electricity, and bland villains who look like Cossacks but sound German and ultimately get slaughtered because, well, the good guys gotta fight somebody.

We are told there are polar bears who are fierce, articulate, and want to be human (or have souls) (namely, the animal souls for an animal) (or whatever). Nevermind the last two parts, let’s discuss the scene where one of these bears fights another. This scene stands alone as effective, not because it makes sense, but because polar-bears fighting to the death is not something you see everyday. We can add the following to the laws of bad-assery: when one creature kills another by ripping off the bottom part of its jaw, it shall be awesome.

Let us also briefly discuss Sam Elliott, he of the mighty mustache and who narrated The Big Lebowski. He’s in this movie, and there is a scene where he speaks with the polar bears, and there is no doubt- whatsoever- that he believes he is talking to a talking polar bear. “You involved in this Turkey Shoot?” he asks, and he probably actually said that line to a ping pong ball on a stick, but, hey, I bought it. Sam Elliott is a treasure of an actor, he should work more, hopefully in better projects than this.

I am told the books are amazing. I am assured that all the contradictions are explained. And I do not care, because the movie left me befuddled, bewildered and be-pissed off. No doubt there is depth, wonder, and a consistency of thought in the fantasy world created by theses novels. But this movie makes Beowulf look competent, Pirates of the Carribean 2 and 3 look clear, and Star Wars I-III look deep. A lesson can be learned here: do not hire the man who created American Pie to direct your 180 million dollar fantasy franchise launch.

To sum up the best parts of the film: polar bears fighting, Sam Elliot’s mustache, and Nicole Kidman slapping a monkey. I just saved you 12 dollars. You are welcome.

Grade: * Stars (out of 5)

P.S. I forgot to mention the Golden Compass itself. The Golden Compass is a device, that, when put in the right young girl's hand, tells the script what to do next. On the whole, it is poorly made and doesn't work very well.

BEFORE THE DEVIL KNOWS YOU'RE DEAD

Now here is an American crime story for the ages. I say American because there are notes here that are particularly those of this country, along the lines of O’Neill, where shame and greed and remorse and randomness all play supporting roles. Only in America could two men rob their parents, only to be struck with guilt that it was mom running the story that day, instead of dad. Oh, and she knows where the gun is, and tries to be a hero. Oops.

Before The Devil Knows Your Dead is as good and depressing as No Country for Old Men, but it has something that filmed lacked. And if I knew what it was, I’d tell you. I thought maybe it was the fact that it was a lack of good men facing evil, like Zodiac. But no, here are men just as bad and doomed and unlikable as No Country, but I find myself more pulled into their stories. Scene after scene, 3 characters walk into a room and you have no idea which 2 of them will walk out.

You deserve to walk in with as little info as possible- I’ve probably already said too much- but suffice to say that Ethan Hawke has never been better, Phillip Seymour Hoffman is batting a thousand between this and Charlie Wilson’s War, and Albert Finney is… well, it’s relatively easy for a sad old man character to be powerful, but hard to make him this specific. The story cuts back and forth between these two brothers and their father, the women who orbit their lives, and where they were before and after a robbery. The robbery goes bad, as many film robberies tend to do, but in a way so simple and so spectacular it’s some kind of genius.

Once it goes bad, things get worse. The brothers needed money before the robbery, and they need it even more afterwards. To quote the last funny movie Chevy Chase made in the past fifteen years: “What I don't understand is... when you owe a bookie a lot of money, and he, say, blows off one of your toes, you still owe him the money.” Something along those lines happens here, as twist after twist happens to screw these crooks. They deserve it, but you feel for them- after all, it sounded so plausible on paper.

There are many virtuoso moments. Hoffman’s monologue after shooting up. The way the camera glides over the table as Finney makes a huge decision. Hawke’s eyes when he realizes that he’s picked exactly the wrong time to lose his driver’s license. And Marisa Tormei, who is naked multiple times in this movie (for reasons both realistic and possibly gratuitous), but is only emotionally revealed in her final scene, where she goes for broke in trying to get a reaction out of her husband. And when she does exit, it goes from pathos to farce, and we’re reminded that it always looks easy to make a Big Exit, but is in fact hard to do without looking silly. Especially when you don’t have cab fare.

I cannot express adequately how this movie moved me in ways that No Country did not. Maybe it was because I wasn’t on a journey in the face of oblique evil, or traveling with a man who didn’t give a shit about anything. Maybe it was because, while these two men were born losers and went out losers, there was that sad poetry I was missing. All they wanted was a bit of money. A bunch of bodies later, they still need the money, but now they’re out of time. You know you’ve been watching a great movie when, near the end, a character has gun to his head, and he says “Go ahead, you’ll be doing me a favor.” The line is not original. What is original is that he means it, he’s right, and yet you still care about what happens to him. And then, man oh man, what happens next. You could have called this movie “Of Mice and Men,” and it’d be accurate. Certainly, it would be more interesting for those 7th graders.

RATING: * * * * * (out of 5 stars)

P.S. Fair warning- this movie starts with a naked Phillip Seymour Hoffman. Theres also a naked Marisa Tomei, but I figured you'd rather know about the Hoff first.

P.P.S. That Chevy Chase movie is "Dirty Work"

MICHAEL CLAYTON: REVIEW

Note: Spoilers.

What a disquieting, great film this is. There is a profound sadness to it, and George Clooney’s performance. But it’s the kind of film that makes you take a look at your top ten list, shake your head sadly and rip it to shreds. It’s that good.

Playing the title character, Clooney is about as good as he’s ever been, which is saying something. Michael Clayton looks like Danny Ocean, talks like Danny Ocean and knows people like Danny Ocean. But lord, is he not Danny Ocean.

Danny Ocean, after all, is the kind of man who would drop anything to pay back someone who screwed his friend, even if the one doing the screwing was Al Pacino. (See: Ocean’s Thirteen) Michael Clayton would like to be that man, would love to be that man, but Michael really only has two friends in this world: his son, and his colleague Arthur (Tom Wilkinson.) And Arthur just took his pants off at a deposition.

Arthur and Michael work for a big important law firm, the kind that usually play villains in big important movies. You know, the kind where an Issue is being discussed, and there’s a lot of money to be made by keeping that issue buried, along with the bodies that start piling up. The pants incident is only the tip of the iceberg, as Arthur goes off of his meds and begins a manic-depressive spiral to undo the wrongs of “20% of my life!”

That 20 percent remark is from a monologue, delivered offscreen in the beginning and repeated onscreen later on. Tom Wilkinson is excellent as Arthur, who manages to bring a doomed, quixotic grandeur to Arthur. Going mad isn’t pretty, but, as he tells Michael without quite saying it, it’s better than trying to remain sane by justifying madness. Populating the edges of this world is Tilda Swinton (who was awfully scary in Narnia) and Sydney Pollack (who was the only good thing about Eyes Wide Shut.) Swinton manages to make an entirely real and pathetic character out of a patchwork of scenes, and Pollack yet again brings a gravity to the kind of character who has seen it all, and will still be at work tomorrow.

But the majority of the movie is about Michael Clayton, and it is remarkable how interesting of a journey it is. Clooney is in much better shape than he was in Syriana, yet looks older, and more tired than he did in that movie. In Syriana, his character had a purpose. Hell, in Ocean’s 11-13, he had a purpose.

Here he has a drive but no target, a bunch of phone numbers but no one to talk to. He can solve everyone’s problems but his own. This sounds trite, but it isn’t. The movie pulls it off. It pulls off explosions, secret agents, cover-ups, powerful men with stern expressions and urgent cell phone calls, even a poker scene, all the trappings of Grisham-esque fiction. It pulls it off because it plays fair, and plays for keeps.

There is a scene near the end where we fear (or I feared) all might be lost. It’s a staged showdown, played expertly by Clooney and Swinton, and it careens dangerously towards the end of one of those big important movies. Is it impossible to have a movie about corruption without a scene where someone is wearing a wire? (Even Wall Street had one of those.)

But the next scene, the final one, is breathtaking. All the man wanted was to save his friend. Instead, he gets a cab ride to nowhere, paid for with money he doesn’t have. Yeah, sure he did the right thing, but so what? What now?

Michael Clayton, the hero. Michael Clayton, the poor sap.

Rating: * * * * * (out of 5 Stars)

P.S. Not only did this movie make me question why the hell I'm in law school, it was my favorite movie of 2007.

OCEAN'S 13: REVIEW

The original (remake) of Ocean’s 11 was good and entertaining without being necessary. Ocean’s 12 was necessary, without being good or entertaining. Ocean’s 13, finally, is entertaining without being necessary or even very good. If you hold your breath long enough, it starts to make sense.

I was a great admirer of Ocean’s 11, which was proved among many things that some of the biggest stars in Hollywood can have some fun and not take it all so seriously. (It was also the last good thing Andy Garcia has done) I was drunk when I saw Ocean’s 12, and I laughed some but remembered little, and never felt the compulsion to see it again. But here at last is the final (maybe) chapter of the silliest trilogy since The Naked Gun movies, and I must report that it is a good popcorn movie, if not a good movie.

The plot, in brief: Elliot Gould, who, as you recall, was The Guy With The Money in the previous movies, is tired of robbing and stealing. He decides to place all of his bets with Al Pacino, who, as you recall- no, wait that was Andy Garcia. Al Pacino is Willie Bank, Steve Wynn-esque builder of Vegas hotels, and he’s a real piece of work. He lets down/screws over Elliot Gould gently, so gently that Gould almost drops dead of a heart attack right on the construction site.

Enter the boys. (The absence of Julia Roberts and Catherine Zeta Jones are dealt with via a single line, repeated three times.) Their dual rationale for dropping everything and spending all their money on revenge is a) This isn’t right and b) He’d do it for us. It’s not much, but on does not attend Ocean’s 13 looking for a revenge plot of Hamlet.

The rest of the movie is basically Movie Stars Screwing With Al Pacino, as they try and sabotage the opening of his new hotel. Some of their escapades are inspired (they manage to start a small revolution in Mexico just to fix the craps dice) and others are routine (the good old fashioned, “that helicopter’s flying away with my safe!”) Whether you enjoy that or not is up to you, I had a wonderful time.

We know that in real life Brad Pitt and George Clooney do very important things, like saving orphans from Canada, so it’s nice to make believe that they’d hang out and watch the Bellagio fountain like any other tourists. Matt Damon does his “No really guys, I can do this” schtick again, which is surprisingly still funny. Less funny is Bernie Mac’s “I’m Bernie Mac” schtick, which gets older all the time. In fairness, they don’t give him much to do, nor do most of the rest of the original eleven, who seem to be there mostly because otherwise they’d have to change the title.

Al Pacino has been Al Pacino for awhile now, but nobody does it better. He certainly does it better than Harrison Ford playing Harrison Ford, or, dare I say it, Andy Garcia playing Andy Garcia. And if he underplays it a bit (or phones it in, you tell me) all the better, since the closer he is to reality, the more he’s a real sonofabitch. Eddie Izzard makes a fun cameo, and Ellen Barkin manages to take a slightly sexist role and turn it right back into outright satire on the movie. The absence of any other women isn’t really a problem, since these movies have always been about a boys club. There is one good line and one great joke, neither of which I will give away here.

That leaves only one thing, and you’re probably still scratching your head: why the second movie was necessary, again? Ocean’s 12, let’s face it, stunk. I was wary when I saw the trailer for another sequel. However, while 12 was a lousy heist movie, it told us more about these characters and firmly established their relationships. In other words, based on the first movie, there’s no way these guys would drop everything to help out one of their own. But after the second movie, where they went to hell and back to save themselves; maybe they would this time. Also, if this movie had been the sequel, it would have seemed old hat- they rob Vegas again? This time, I was thankful, since I knew that would mean there would be an actual heist, and the villain wouldn’t have an impenetrable French accent. (remember, screenwriters: villain is an asshole, good; villain is a douchebag, bad)

Ocean’s 13 is nothing new, but like a burger from your favorite diner, it’s familiar. It’s like coming home, and while Ocean’s 11 retains the crown for number one “if it’s on TNT I will watch it” movie, if this was on after it, I might just stick around.

RATING: * * * Stars (out of 5)

P.S. There is no thirteenth member, and by my count, they lost one since the last movie.

P.P.S. Oh what a BIG MAN YOU ARE!

SURFS UP: REVIEW

When you're going to use pixels to make a cartoon, so the saying goes, or so it should, remember that you're going up against Pixar. They are King of the digital cartoon empire.

Of course, Pixar also has to compete with Pixar itself. And when Pixar’s CARS came out, a movie which I liked but did not love, a lot of people I know pronounced it unfunny and boring.

Pixar regularly delivers some of the best animated films of our time, so when they deliver something less than that, people get pissed. Fair ball.

CARS was charming, funny and provided a trivia answer that will stand the test of time (namely, “What was Larry The Cable Guy’s best movie?”) However, my biggest question was why Pixar had gone to all that trouble just to remake DOC HOLLYWOOD. You remember DOC HOLLYWOOD?

Of course you do.

That was the one where Michael J. Fox, on the way to become a world famous plastic surgeon, gets stuck in a small town for a few months only to fall in love, make real friends, and discover the pleasures of small town life. That was pretty much the plot of Cars, except Marty McFly was replaced by Owen “paycheck” Wilson as a talking car, and they added Paul “what the hell I’m Paul Newman” Newman as the crusty old forgotten veteran for good measure. The main points were the same, though: arrogant hero from the city, turned humble and wise by a small town, which he finds love and does good work. Done.

Now comes Surf’s Up, the latest attempt to cash in on PDA (Penguins Doing Anything), and while you make think the movie is a rip off of HAPPY FEET or MARCH OF THE PENGUINS; it is in fact a rip off of CARS.

Arrogant hero? Check. Amazingly stupid yet stupidly profound best friend? Check. Slightly-independent-yet-ultimately-making-goo-goo eyes-at-the-hero-heroine? Check. Grizzled old veteran who wants to be left alone, only returns to train the hero? Check. Some kind of sporting event that The Hero Has A Lot To Learn About? Check. A fake version of ESPN that involves whatever talking creatures we have acting like they’re sports reporters? Check. Check. Check! A+!

These characters and concepts have worked before and will work again, but not in this movie. Of course, the biggest difference, and the one I’m sure the writers are the most proud of, is the framework that this tired structure is presented in. The entire film is shot in the fake-doc-improv style of Spinal Tap, Waiting For Guffman, and the unfairly forgotten Drop Dead Gorgeous. So you have characters wandering verbally, riffing to the camera about whatever is going on. You get the voices of the unseen documentarians, or in this case, penguin documentarians. You get some funny cutaways, as when the hero steps on a sea urchin, and suddenly we get an interview with Bob the Sea Urchin (“Look at my spines! Broken, broken and broken!!”) You get the standard issue, character says he did A, and we see live footage of him doing B. And so on.

The format is solid, if done well. It has never been done to my knowledge in an animated film, which means it has never been done before. But before we start cashing those originality checks, I must make the following charge:

Quite simply, this movie cheats.

The ‘camera’ crew is there when needed, but forgotten when not. We often see things that there’s NO WAY the camera crew could have seen, and last time I checked, documentary filmmakers don’t use song montages. (I counted at least four in this film) Two characters will chat as if they’re the only people on the beach, and then suddenly the characters turn around and start shouting at the camera crew. Who are these guys? Why are they making this documentary? And who, exactly, is watching it? Who’s watching the fake ESPN network anyway? I don’t recall any TV’s on the island. I realize I’m talking about a penguin movie, but when you introduce a flashy new element, you better have a flashy new reason for it being there.

I mean, seriously. Who is watching this?

Animated films are short for several reasons. In addition to the fact that kids can only sit for so long and theater operators want to have as many showings as possible, the fact is- it’s hard to keep inspiration going for much longer than that. We (and kids) expect more from animated characters. The jokes must be funnier, the plot developments must come faster, the world must expand as vast as our imaginations. And, in order to jump that hurdle from ‘diversion’ to ‘engaging’, the movie must be tightly plotted. Reexamine most of the Pixar films, and while there’s a plethora of jokes and heart you will also find an economy of plot points and wonderful pacing. A minute wasted in animation feels longer than real movies, because we’re actively aware that the world they’re living in is utterly artificial. A real cow moves slowly, an animated cow better move it’s butt or be reaaaaally funny standing there.

I digress. The point is, the Waiting For Guffman docu-style ultimately defeats Surf’s Up, because characters should only be talking to the audience when there’s something desperately important and/or funny that the audience must know right now. By definition, in a fake-u-doc, they’re killing time because they have nowhere else to be, which is the joke. Real people with nowhere else to be can be hilarious. However, without more information on why the penguin surfing documentary must be made, these birds are basically wasting our goddamn time.

Visually, the movie is stunning. The voicework ranges from adequate (James Woods phoning it in) to good (Jeff Bridges riffing on his Big Lebowski character) The penguins are cute if indistinctive, and Chicken Joe (Jon Heder) the sidekick has some great moments. But it all adds up to a profoundly mediocre film that is not funny enough to justify its laziness.

This movie only wants to be loved, surf some waves and make some money. Which is fine. But I’m thinking only the second is going to happen, and even then, the movie doesn’t make a convicing case as to why we should care. Will kids like it? Hell, maybe. But against Pixar, even Cars, this thing doesn’t have a chance.

Rating: * * Stars (Out of 5)

P.S. The less said about the scene where the Jeff Bridges penguin pees on the Shia Lebouf penguin, the better.

SMOKIN' ACES: REVIEW

“Make it make sense!” pleads Ryan Reynolds to Andy Garcia.

Wrong line, wrong movie, wrong person to ask, Mr. Reynolds: Andy Garcia has been in more turkeys than are worth mentioning, and he doesn’t have any answers for you as to what the hell is going on and why you signed up to do it.

Ryan Reynolds is arguably the lead of Smoking Aces, which is writer/director Joe Caranahan’s craptatstic follow-up to his solid Narc. Reynolds and Ray Liotta (also in Narc, and much better) play FBI agents who learn of a plot to assassinate Buddy “Aces” Israel (Jeremy Piven) a drugged-out mob snitch.

Isreal has a floor to himself at a Lake Tahoe Casino, where he spends his days doing cocaine, grimacing at hookers and berating his underlings. He’s about to sign a deal with Andy Garcia (played with dead-on accuracy by Andy Garcia) to give up la cosa nostra, and so the mob decides to sign a deal with anyone with a gun to kill him: $1,000,000 to the man, woman, Ben Affleck or neo nazi who can successfully retrieve the heart of Mr. Israel. I can only imagine what Jon Stewart or Steven Colbert could do with a premise entitled “Bring Me The Still Beating Heart of Entourage’s Jeremy Piven,” and believe me, I’d rather write about it and you’d rather read about it, but on we go.

So the premise is basically, ‘shoot-out at the casino.’ Throwing reality and logic out the window for the moment, this isn’t a necessarily terrible idea. Every quirky version of hit man and violent maniac you can think of leaps at the bait, resulting in carnage and ironic bullets flying every which way. Like Lock Stock or Casino Royale or Ocean’s 11, this movie looks like it’s cobbled out of old parts with new polish, which can be worth watching.

But after the first 20 minutes of set up and one-liners, a deep dread begin to set in, as one realizes that for any action movie to work, you have to at least care what happens to the cardboard cut-outs. Die Hard became a trilogy not because of the big bangs, but because of John McClane. This, on the other hand, isn’t Die Hard. Or Die Hard With a Vengeance. Hell, it isn’t even Die Hard 2: Die Harder

I often thought of 3,000 Miles To Graceland during this long two hours, in the same way that a shark-attack victim would think of Jaws. No, that’s not fair: 3,000 Miles To Graceland had Kevin Costner trying to be cool, which is something I would not wish on my worst enemy.

But Smoking Aces is a carrier of many of the same genetic diseases that plagued Graceland: no control over tone, no sense of coherency in plot-building or action choreography, and no characters worth giving a damn about. They’re all potentially interesting yet disappointingly thin sketches: the quasi-lesbian female assassin team, the three random Boston tough guys (lead by Ben Affleck, natch), two different ‘man-of-a-thousand-faces’ murderers, and the random neo-nazi punk guys. I say random because their accents seem to change at the drop of a hat, two of them keep trying to hump one another and they barely have any dialogue. They do sure like killing though, hyuck.

One by one (or in some cases, all at once) these bad-anime esque caricatures off one another, while Israel does more drugs and the FBI guys run around shouting at people. Oh, and for little to no reason, Matthew Fox (LOST) plays a nerdy security guard who is not long for this world, and a kid who has ADD tries to karate chop one of the hit men in the balls. I mention the kid because, he easily took up about 5 minutes of the movie (complete with three slow-mo shots,) and then we never seem him again. It’s less that we want a pay off and more, what the hell was that about.

What the hell is any of this movie about? If it’s a shooting gallery, why do the action scenes come in such abbreviated clips that it’s impossible to enjoy them, much less follow them? If it’s tongue in cheek, why the almost-serious scenes between characters that are-they MUST be- written by by computer, featuring “You sold us out!” and “This wasn’t part of the deal!” Why the scenes between Piven and his (ha!) entourage where it almost seems like someone is acting, only to be interrupted by jizz jokes? Why do characters sometimes die after one bullet wound, but others take about 15 to die? And if all the bodies and the carnage were leading up to the howlingly awful twist ending, don’t you think that’s what the movie should have, I don’t know, been more about? Why? I’ll tell you why. Because Joe Carnahan is a god-damn genius, and he doesn’t care who knows it.

Smoking Aces is a direct-to-video, masturbatory Snatch rip-off peppered with Usual-Suspect twist pills, so that you feel less jerked around by the time that it’s over. The effect is putting an anti-bacterial bandaid on a gushing blood wound: it ain’t going to help. This movie (spoiler alert, if you actually like pain and plan on seeing this movie) kills Ben Affleck in the first 20 minutes, and it still isn’t enough to make it worth watching.

Actually, truth in reporting: worth watching is one character: the lawyer with no pants, played by Jason Bateman (Arrested Development). I’m not sure what he was doing in the movie, I’m not sure why he had no pants on or why he had half of a bunny suit in his hotel room, but he at least was a loser in an original, painfully hilarious way. “Could you do me a favor?” he asks, “when you find Isreal… could you rape him? Just, just, rape him. God, I hope he resists when you catch him. I hope he bruises easily.” I’m not saying his character was tasteful or even likeable, but at least he was different, at least he brings more to the table than a desire to look cool while holding a gun.

I will say this for Smoking Aces: for all of it’s wretched excess and dumb-dumb writing, I was not bored. I was appalled, I was insulted, I was incredulous, but I was also glued to my seat as a slack-jawed, bug-eyed spectator of liquid horror. This is the sort of movie where, after shooting Ben Affleck in the face and playing his jaw like a puppet, a man later sits on his own chainsaw in the middle of a gun battle. You cannot help but wonder what lows that kind of movie will sink to next.

RATING: * Star (out of 5)