Halloween (2007)–No Stars

Rob Zombie only makes bad movies. His film House of 1,000 Corpses, an ultra-violent ripoff of the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and his unwatchable follow-up, The Devil’s Rejects, are disasters. But neither of those films can prepare anyone for the coup de grâce Zombie deals audiences unlucky enough to experience his remake of the iconic horror film Halloween.

Zombie’s Halloween is everything a horror film, or any film for that matter, shouldn’t be. It’s unconscionably pornographic, more suited for Grindhouse 2 than for any standard release. It’s written like an anti-social high school sophomore’s creative writing project, with little imagination and less inspiration. Worst of all, it demystifies the legendary cinema icon Michael Myers, a character who was only terrifying when we didn’t know anything about him.

Take the first half of the film. We meet Michael Myers, a kid growing up in a broken home with a stripper mother, her lazy boyfriend, his trollop older sister and a lovable baby sister. He’s even bullied at school. Myers has a tough life and often takes his frustration out on neighborhood pets. One Halloween night, Myers goes a little bonkers and kills his sister, her boyfriend and the guy who sleeps on his mom’s couch.

Enter Dr. Sam Loomis (Malcolm McDowell). The doc recognizes Myers as the psychopath the young man is. He works with the boy who is committed to a sanitarium, but after killing one of the nurses (and quickly equaling the body count of the entire original Halloween movie), Myers goes silent for more than 15 years. Silence, Loomis realizes, means he can’t work with Michael, so he quits, leaving the a very large Myers (apparently they have body building equipment in the Warren County Sanitarium) in the hands of the hospital administrators.

Inevitably, Myers escapes. And a marauding Michel Myers doesn’t leave any person who gets in the way of finding his baby sister Laurie Strode (Scout Taylor-Compton). There’s a lot of blood and a lot of violence and a lot of breasts, but Halloween in all it’s sheen never manifest itself as a film. It’s just one long Zombie music video, with all of his horror film inspirations used to the same end as they are when his music is playing over his visuals: to satisfy his own lust for blood and boobs.

Zombie’s “reimagining” of John Carpenter’s Halloween looks and feels more like Friday the 13th than anything comparable to the rest of the Halloween franchise. It’s so off the mark, it wouldn’t have even made a worthwhile sequel.

Worse, Zombie’s casting is as bad as his directing. When Carpenter made the original, he cast classically-trained actor Donald Pleasence as Dr. Loomis and expected Pleasence to use his talent. In his remake, we get Malcolm McDowell who plays Loomis will all of the energy of an extra in a TV commercial. From casting former pro-wrestler Taylor Mane as adult Michael Myers to loading the film with C-list horror film regulars, Halloween sets itself up for failure from the get go.

The real tragedy may be that Halloween, one of the worst remakes to hit the screen in recent memory, will make enough money to warrant a sequel. With a $15 million budget, Halloween is a surefire profit maker. For the horror genre, which doesn’t have the air of elitism that the can save the rest of cinema from severely tragic remakes, it can only mean that innovation will be stifled, the worst horror films will get remade and, worst of all, Rob Zombie will still have a job.

Exiled (2007)–**1/2 

Johnnie To owes a debt to Sam Peckinpah. To’s film Exiled, which premieres in New York City today, is a more stylish, less substantive update of the Peckinpah classic The Wild Bunch. On first read, that last line doesn’t sound like a solid indictment of the film’s flash-over-substance mentality. For genre fans, it probably never will. What this film needed, however, was Peckinpah’s consciousness, if only to go beyond being simply an above average Asian crime film.

But Exiled is above average. The film follows five friends whose lives have been pulled in different directions. Two of the friends, Blaze (Anthony Wong) and Fat (Lam Set), are hired by the Hong Kong crime lord Boss Fay (Simon Yam) to kill Wo (Nick Cheung). Two other friends, Tai (Francis Ng) and Cat (Roy Cheung), are there to protect Wo.

Knowing that his life will soon be over, Wo decides to do one last job, be it a robbery or a hit, so that his wife and newborn child will have some money once Blaze does what he has to do. The gang of five go to get the orders, which turn out to be killing Macau’s crime boss Keung (Ka Tung Lam) for Boss Fay.

The gang doesn’t know who called the hit, so it’s a surprise when Boss Fay makes an unexpected appearance. And Boss Fay isn’t happy to discover that his own hit on Wo wasn’t carried out. After a severe gun battle, Boss Keung cedes power to Boss Fay in exchange for his life, while the new partners try to find and kill the men who have left them either powerless or wounded.

Exiled is set in Macau just prior to the former Portuguese colony’s return to China. As far as settings go, it fit Peckinpah’s Mexican westerns perfectly. What is missing is a sullenness of an era coming to an end. In all of the flash and elegance of the hyper-violent gun ballets, the setting is taken for granted.

Rather than establishing itself as a strong Chinese western, Exiled comes off as Tarantino-lite. Lucky for To, the film is still worth comparing to Tarantino. While there is much left to be desired in the story of Boss Fay’s Hong Kong invasion of Boss Keung’s Macau, the artistry in the gun fights, the intelligent, methodical choreography, helps Exiled shine.

I’m not inclined to like a straight Asian crime film, but genre fans are likely to enjoy the hell out of To’s film. I am, however, inclined to believe that in the hands of a stronger director, say a Martin Scorsese (The Departed, anyone?), Exiled could still result in a great American remake. Of course, that assumes you wouldn’t care to see The Wild Bunch – the great American original.

Superbad (2007)–**1/2

Superbad is certainly funny, uproariously so at times. In fact, the first 15 minutes of the film are a pleasant surprise, with pop culture references that would make Kevin Smith salivate and just enough raunch to counteract the smart dialogue. Once those 15 minutes are over, however, it’s a long way to the end of the Judd Apatow-produced teen comedy.

The film follows three teen misfits who have spent high school on the sidelines until finally deciding to get in the game during their last week as seniors. But Seth (Jonah Hill) and Evan (Michael Cera) aren’t just looking to get a little bit of action. They are trying to start their summer on a high note, as it will be the last one they spend together before the longtime friends are separated by college.

With the help of the tragically unhip Fogell (Christopher Mintz-Plasse ), who manages to get a fake I.D. (a Hawaiian license with the name McLovin’), the pair plan to provide a party with some adult beverages. Their hope is the girls they want to have sex with will be drunk enough to actually have sex with them. Sure cops, cars and hobos all stand in the way, but the biggest obstacle is the knowledge that, in a few months, they will be going in different directions.

It’s not that Superbad isn’t slightly sweet like the Apatow-directed films Knocked Up and The 40-Year-Old Virgin. It’s not that the film isn’t the immature funny producer Apatow has guided to near perfection in Talladega Nights. Superbad has the problem of being the first Apatow production to strike me as conventional.

The humor goes a long way, but most jokes barely go where no teen movie has gone before. (An exception of course the scene involving a “period stain,” but I won’t elaborate.) Shock value moments get less interesting when Evan and Seth become too bogged down in their own plot. The pair were the funniest when it was just them talking about Seth being the Orson Welles of sex. When they aren’t discussing similar topics, the teen comedy is on the level of American Pie.

Superbad should have been more like the Apatow television show Freaks and Geeks than an of the recent gross outs comedies I thought had been abandoned. Of course, it’s not just Apatow’s movie. Seth Rogen (Knocked Up) wrote the film with his childhood friend Evan Goldberg. It’s a script that they started writing when they were 14, and it has enough penis jokes to prove it. The pair certainly have the knack for comedy, especially writer/actor Rogen, who turns the film’s cop subplot into something funnier than it was written to be. What Rogen and Goldberg establish here is they have the chops to pull off a comedy better than the one we get with Superbad.

Rogen and Goldberg already have another script (The Pineapple Express) being developed for a summer 2008 release. It, too, is produced by Judd Apatow. Without having a whole sub-genre of raunchy teen movies to compare to, that film may turn out to be more impressive than Superbad. Until then, just be thankful Superbad manages to be funny beyond the penis jokes.

Your Mommy Kills Animals (2007)–***1/2 

Near the end of Your Mommy Kills Animals, a stunning thing happens. A lobbyist who speaks on behalf of food companies agrees with grassroots animal activist groups. They both recognize that organizations like PETA and Humans Society of the United States are corrupt, dangerous and greedy money-making schemes.

Sure, the rest of the time the lobbyist is calling groups like the Animal Liberation Front (ALF) and Stop Huntingdon Animal Cruelty (SHAC) a bunch of terrorists, but that moment of shared sanity elevates Curt Johnson’s unfortunately titled Your Mommy Kills Animals to an unexpected level.

The documentary follows the history of the Animal Welfare and Animal Rights movements from their early beginnings in 1820s England to today, where new federal laws allow organizers and activists to be prosecuted under terrorism legislation. Mostly confronting the issues of the contemporary movements, the film provides revelations and information that often go unseen by even an above-average concerned citizen.

Your Mommy Kills Animals succeeds in much the same way the Animal Rights group try to: by making the case that the subject goes beyond mere bunny hugging. One of the first stories we hear about is how, in the early 20th century, the ASPCA (American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals) pushed for legislation that would eventually be used to help abused children, not just animals.

As the film progresses we are told the unbelievable story of the SHAC7, who are prosecuted under the above mentioned terrorism legislation. Your Mommy Kills Animals makes an easy case for supporting the activists on the principle of freedom of speech as they are not the ones doing any sort of illegal action. In the post-9/11 world, the cards are stacked against grassroots activists, making their ability to protest even more difficult. Animal Rights people are good at protesting, as the film illustrates by showing the other groups that use Animal Rights activists’ techniques (Cindy Sheehan, for example).

As I mentioned previously, the film has the unfortunate title of Your Mommy Kills Animals, which has a preaching-to-the-choir feel to it that could limit its appeal. While the name is borrowed from a satirical PETA comic flyer, using the comic and the name in the marketing of this film may be the biggest flaw, one so striking to me that I feel it’s important to mention in a review of the film.

You should see this film if you are a documentary fan, regardless of if the title makes it feel like an in-your-face indictment of all things non-vegan. It does its job and leaves the audience more informed than it was going into the film. Even the food company lobbyist has valid statements that are worth hearing.

Most of all, watch this film for what is says about the big animal protection groups that declined to be interviewed (PETA and HSUS). It may be the most enlightening moment I’ve had while watching a documentary in years.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (2007)–****

The Prisoner of Azkaban, which is arguably the worst film in the Harry Potter series, was the third movie produced and the last one to have remnants of the original two films, Sorcerer’s Stone and Chamber of Secrets. It was the last film to feature John Williams’s original music and the last film with Chris Columbus, the franchise’s first director, attached to it in any way. I blame the transitional nature of that third film for its failure.

With the exception of screenwriter Steven Kloves sticking around for Goblet of Fire, that fourth installment was a completely new vision for the series. Now audiences are treated to Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, which not only takes that new direction to a higher level, but also stands out as the first Harry Potter film that can be considered important.

How could Harry Potter be important? Well let’s make the case for some contemporary political subtext. A complicit media (The Daily Prophet) is helping Cornelius Fudge (Robert Hardy), head of the wizarding world’s Ministry of Magic, funnel misinformation about the return of Harry Potter’s (Daniel Radcliffe) archnemisis, Lord Voldemort (Ralph Fiennes). In the fourth film, Potter witnesses the reincarnation of Lord Voldemort, easily the most evil wizard to ever walk the face of the earth. Instead of accepting Potter’s dire alert, Fudge denies the return and smears Potter, Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore (Michael Gambon) and anyone who would be willing to defend Potter through the media. (Fudge reminds be of someone. Who could that be?)

In order to watch Potter and Dumbledore during the new school year, Fudge installs his loyal crony Dolores Umbridge (Imelda Staunton) in Hogwarts as the new defense of the dark arts professor. Instead of teaching kids to actually protect themselves, Umbridge only teaches defense theory. It’s the wizarding world’s version of abstinence-only education.

Instead of sitting back, Potter, with the encouragement of his friends Ron (Rupert Grint) and Hermione (Emma Watson), begins teaching willing students dark arts defense in the secret Room of Requirement. As his group, called Dumbledore’s Army, begins to strengthen, Umbridge and the Ministry tighten their grip on the school. Potter, however, knows that Voldemort and his followers, called Death Eaters, are planning a large scale war. The group of anti-Voldemort folks, The Order of the Phoenix, will need all the help they can get from the youngest and the bravest wizards.

It’s been a while since I read The Order of the Phoenix, but just looking at the massive novel on my shelf (the longest in the series) makes me know that there were cuts to the story when turned into the shortest Harry Potter film. For the first time, I’m not worried about the cuts or comparisons to the novel. After four films, the series, more so than even the character, has come of age. With its newfound maturity, The Order of the Phoenix looses the sentimentality that permeates the novels and the previous adaptations. Instead we are treated to drama without pretense or pandering.

In addition to drama and political subtext, The Order of the Phoenix boasts what may be the biggest, most colorful cast the series has ever seen. Staunton as Umbridge and Helena Bonham Carter as Death Eater Bellatrix Lestrange are noteworthy standouts. The downside may be that the story doesn’t allow us to delve into the all characters, but the brave, bold adherence to a strict dramatic adventure narrative helps first time Potter director David Yates tell the story without getting lost on tangents. When we finally make it to what can only be described as the epic climax, a battle between Death Eaters and The Order, this fifth Harry Potter film has established itself as the greatest mainstream fantasy film since Empire Strikes Back.

Transformers (2007)–*1/2

I don’t know whether it’s better to be a fan of the original Transformers cartoon or a novice to the series, like I am. Having some sort of emotional investment in the robots may at least make this hulking, soulless Michael Bay epic worth sitting through, if only to finally get to the robots.

Without the dire need to see CGI versions of the classic 80s cartoon characters, Transformers feels a lot like any other hollow Bay flick. Now, with Steven Spielberg hovering over the production, what could have been a sensationally bad B-movie turns into a hybrid Bay/Spielberg blunder. It’s War of the Worlds meets Armageddon, and for anyone who has seen either, that’s bad news times two.

Shia LaBeouf plays Sam Witwicky, the descendent of American explorer Archibald Witwicky. Sam knows his great-great grandfather traveled to the Artic Circle. What he doesn’t know is that Archibald made the most important discovery in the history of mankind.

The discovery has to do with a U.S. Government’s super top-secret project known as Project Iceman. The project is so top secret that even the Secretary of Defense (Jon Voight) isn’t told about it until giant robots start to attack Defense Department communications.

Meanwhile, Sam is buying a new car, one that suddenly appears on the lot without the lot owner’s knowledge. The car turns out to be part of a team of good giant robots called Autobots. Once Bumble Bee (Sam’s car) makes first contact with Sam, it alerts the rest of the Autobots to come to earth. Led by Optimus Prime (Peter Cullen), the Autobots begin to look for an artifact from their dead planet that the Decepticons (bad giant robots who are fighting the military) want to use to create a new world on Earth, minus all the humans.

We don’t get the first real Autobots vs. Decepticons fighting scene until the last part of the film. We don’t get to know the robots as characters until more than halfway through. In usual Michael Bay-style, we are left to spend our time with uninteresting human characters as they deal with a grand threat to all of humanity.

Shia LaBeouf, a young actor who deserves to be considered a rising-star, is entertaining, as he always is, but this young Jim Carrey/John Cusack combo is hardly the person to be a lead in a Bay film. His silly role as a high school hero in the making, clashes with the apocalyptic vision Bay insists on adding to a film that should have merely been silly.

Silly is John Turturro, who plays an agent in the super-secret government agency, known as Sector Seven. Apparently Bay-regular Steve Buscemi wasn’t available for this ridiculous role, so we are stuck with Turturro who overplays his comedic hand.

I wouldn’t have cut Turturro from the film, though. There are so many other moments that should have been cut that it’s surprising to see an editor credit on this film at all. I could have tolerated some of the more amusing LaBeouf moments (arguing with Optimus Prime in his backyard over ruining his parents’ shrubbery), if it wasn’t for the contrasting and wholly uninteresting military moments.

Bay will likely direct the sequel, so I can’t even say that this 144 minutes of sloppy exposition would have opened the door to a better second film. At least next time we can get right down to robots fighting robots. Those battle scenes may be the only things that went right with Transformers.

Ratatouille (2007)–****

There’s a scene in Ratatouille were a food critic is so overwhelmed by the food he eats that it alters his perception. It burrows deep in to his mind finding a moment so personal and pure that the food itself becomes the embodiment of all life’s joys. Anyone watching Ratatouille, director Brad Bird’s follow-up to his first Pixar animated film The Incredibles, will undoubtedly react the same way the food critic did.

I loved Ratatouille. I loved its sharp and superlative animation. I loved its unexpected telling of a rather formulaic story. I loved the moments of slapstick humor and the darker moments of dread. In fact, it’s hard to find a part of this movie I didn’t love.

When we are first introduced to Remy (voiced by Patton Oswalt), a country rat with dreams of making great Parisian dishes and not of stealing scraps, the film doesn’t seem to have a leg to stand on. Yet, the paced progression of his adventure romances us in a ways rarely seen in most studio animations (at least none since Bird’s The Incredibles).

The moment Remy fixes a soup ruined by the garbage boy Linguini (Lou Romano), we are hooked into Ratatouille. The Remy/Linguini cooking team (Remy with the nose for cooking controls Linguini’s hands) end up impressing food critics, the public and a certain female cook with an eye for Linguini.

Of course, Head Chef Skinner (Ian Holm), who is set to inherit the famous restaurant in which Linguini works until he discovers Linguini is the rightful heir, doesn’t like the new guy getting attention. Likewise, the food critic Ego (Peter O’Toole), who brought the once five-star restaurant down a star, doesn’t want to see any revitalization. Just when Remy and Linguini are in a position to take on both Skinner and Ego, Remy’s lowbrow rat family, from which he was luckily separated, finds him and wants to bring him back to the colony.

Sometimes the hardest part of writing a review is describing the story because it often necessitates talking about plot points out of context. Until you see the moments I’ve described, you don’t really get the full picture of the amazing success that is Ratatouille. It’s an unlikely success to be sure, this easily unbelievable story about a rat using a man as a puppet, but Ratatouille works because it does exactly what great movies are supposed to do: it makes you want to believe.

Yes, there is magic in Ratatouille, but its magic cannot be credited to the Pixar brand. Even more so than The Incredibles, the humor and heart in this film singularly reflect what writer/director Bird has to offer audiences as a true auteur of animated film. While the appeal of Pixar’s sensibility has waned thanks to its last two non-Bird releases (Finding Nemo and Cars), Bird has been a refreshing individual voice who can reinvigorate and reinvent what Pixar has to offer. Ratatouille is the best example of this yet. And thanks to Bird, animation’s master storyteller, Ratatouille is also the best film so far this year, animated or otherwise.

Brand Upon the Brain! is a searingly original cinematic marvel from visionary director Guy Maddin, one that can only be better when seen the way it was meant to be seen. When I saw the film, the music, Foley sound effects and narration were integrated into the feature, just like they would be in any other film. Maddin’s vision, one that became reality at film festivals and special engagements around the globe, was to have his autobiographical silent film accompanied live by orchestras, narrators and Foley artists.

Oh, how I wish I had seen this film the way Maddin intended. As it stands, Brand Upon the Brain! is a brilliantly entertaining masterwork. To see it live must be an experience unequaled by anything in movie theaters today or in years.

To some, the live rollout may sound a tad gimmicky. Orchestral accompaniments and celebrity narrators like Geraldine Chaplin and Crispin Glover can easily grab headlines in the major newspapers. The film’s story, however, is Maddin’s personal meditation on his past, and that tale entrances as much as it’s innovative presentation.

We follow the character “Guy Maddin” (Erik Steffen Maahs) as he returns to Black Notch Island to paint the lighthouse/orphanage once run by his parents. The repair job is his mother’s dying wish. As he covers the long-neglected architecture and walks through his childhood stomping grounds, memories of an abusive, unstable mother, innocent friendships and sexual awakenings flood back. In those memories, young Guy (Sullivan Brown), his sister (Maya Lawson) and a fictional celebrity hero named Wendy Hale (Katherine E. Scharhon) attempt to unlock the secrets behind Guy’s father’s bizarre science experiments.

Wendy is a character from The Lightbulb Kids detective book series, which is one of the more inspired additions to a dark and unconventional vision. Her interaction with Guy and his sister is an ingenious manifestation of the adolescent desires that pulp can inspire. The androgynous Wendy, who dresses as her brother Chance to seduce the sister, illuminates a logical naiveté in Guy’s attraction and further complicates things by adding the uncertainty of sexuality.

Guy’s domineering mother doesn’t help matters either. This old woman sitting in her lighthouse spy chair and beckoning her children through the aerophone her husband invented is straight out of an early Jean-Pierre Jeunet film. So too is the mad scientist father who is developing a youth serum from the brains of the orphans. The whole surreal Bunuel-esque spectacle is a marvel to behold and is only amplified with the required visual storytelling of silent film.

Most of my excitement here comes from being a Maddin virgin. I’ve never seen any of his other work, but the effervescent genius behind Brand Upon the Brain! makes me think I should. Before I do that, I must find a way to see a live presentation of Brand. Yes, this version is funny. Yes, it’s entertaining. But this wild, wonderful silent film experience isn’t complete until we see it Maddin’s way—if only for the memories.

For screening information visit http://www.branduponthebrain.com.

Spider-Man 3 (2007)–**1/2

What is it about the third movie in great superhero franchises? From Superman III to Batman Forever to X-Men: The Last Stand, entry number three always pales in comparison to its predecessors. Spider-Man 3 is no exception.

With Sam Raimi again at the helm, Spider-Man 3 didn’t suffer from being handed over to another director like other threequels. Something else went wrong with this one. After making a fresh, exciting superhero film and the big B-movie he wanted to make, Raimi appears to have made a movie he had to make. It’s not without heart. It’s not without action. But for the first time in the series, it is without real passion.

Even Mary Jane Watson (Kirsten Dunst) is losing her passion in this third movie. As Spider-Man (Tobey Maguire) grows in popularity, she watches her boyfriend Peter Parker (also Spidey) receive the attention she wants as an aspiring actress. She begins to push away from the man who spends his time swinging through New York.

As the love goes out, in comes the hate. The son of the Green Goblin, Harry Osborn (James Franco), has reworked his dad’s old toys and goes on the hunt for Spider-Man, who Harry believes killed his father. Parker likewise becomes hate-filled after learning that the man who murdered his uncle has escaped from jail. Toss an alien symbiote into the equation (one that fell from a meteor, followed Parker home and joined with a Spidey suit) and you get an even angrier Spidey. Drama ensues.

Oh, there are two villains in the film, as well, which is two more than the film really needed. One is Flint Marko (Thomas Hayden Church) who also happens to be the guy who killed Parker’s uncle. He’s a bad guy who beats and robs his way to saving his dying daughter. Tear. His molecular structure is fused with sand after a sloppily conceived accident.

There’s also Venom. He’s the result of Spider-Man tearing the symbiote off of his body and the symbiote landing on a rival photographer with a grudge named Eddie Brock (Topher Grace). There’s not much emotion behind Brock’s story except the above mentioned hate.

Between these two villains who serve two conflicting purposes and the Mary Jane/Harry arch, there’s so much to this convoluted third Spider-Man film that it’s hard to either love or hate it. Spider-Man 3 has the summer movie superhero action, no more or less impressive than the average Marvel movies such as Fantastic Four. It has the Raimi humor, with an especially hilarious Bruce Campbell as a maître d’.

Yet, the coincidences and conveniences leading up to all the events are nothing more than dispassionate plot propellants. Alvin Sargent, who wrote the pitch-perfect screenplay to Spider-Man 2, seems overwhelmed by the immensity of the project, so much so that Raimi and his brother Ivan are also credited as writers. As all three pack in the epic Venom storyline into the continuing soap opera that is the dance of Peter and Harry, something finally gives.

Maybe it’s because Raimi’s Spider-Man films, unlike other superhero films, have never aspired to be epics. Just as I wrote in my review of the first Spider-Man, the Raimi films have been about “a boy and a girl, about family, friendship.” Like Spidey himself, they’ve also never aspired to be anything grand, but manage to be blockbusters anyway. Spider-Man 3 betrays that humble ideal and the result is your average ordinary summer movie.

Next (2007)—No Stars

There are certain things that I just don’t believe, even in a Hollywood movie. I don’t believe casino security would be dumber, slower and less connected than the FBI. Nor do I believe that an FBI with enough technology to make James Bond look ill-equipped would waste time and man-power finding a Vegas side show performer when a nuke was loose in L.A.

Most of all, I don’t believe that Jessica Biel would ever get into a car alone with Nicolas Cage. Not ever. Not even if she was drunk. And especially not when Cage’s hair is worse than Tom Hanks’s do in The Da Vinci Code. Still, all these things are reality in Next, a bastardized, lobotomized version of the Philip K. Dick short story The Golden Man.

Dick’s work has been adapted before into cinematic masterpieces like Blade Runner and Minority Report and into travesties like Ben Affleck’s Paycheck. Next is a new low for Dick adaptations. It’s a hollow, hyperactive sham of a film, one that wouldn’t embarrass Dick, but should embarrass the people in it.

Cage stars as Cris Johnson, a Las Vegas magician who can tell the future—his future—but only two minutes before it happens. When a Russian nuke turns up missing, FBI Agent Callie Ferris (Julian Moore) is convinced that Johnson’s ability to do magic tricks makes him the ideal candidate for finding the nuke. Her boss, a fiery, folksy, backwoods sheriff who somehow managed to become a ranking official in the FBI, barely blinks an eye and let’s Ferris loose.

Johnson did see more than two minutes into his future one time. When he did, he envisioned meeting Liz (Jessica Biel) in a Vegas diner. Liz apparently goes for weird, middle-age men with bad hair because she quickly offers to take Johnson out of Vegas when he’s escaping from the FBI. He just wants a normal life and sees Liz as the way to it. The FBI doesn’t give up easily. Neither do the terrorists with the nuke. As he gets closer to Liz (i.e. having sex with her hours after they first meet), Johnson’s new love turns into his biggest weakness.

Cage has had his share of embarrassments, so the flippant, oddly creepy performance is easily disregarded as another action misadventure. I like Cage a lot, but loose respect for him every time he take his talent and uses it to do nothing more than channel Adam West’s Batman. He knows just how bad the scripts are and without thinking parodies the film he’s in. If only everyone took Next as lightly.

Moore is proof that someone takes the film seriously, even if Cage doesn’t. As FBI Agent Ferris, Moore has two settings: angry and very angry. Even when she’s calm, Moore’s hardnosed portrayal makes Ferris appear edgy and insincere. For some reason, Cage’s character ends up trusting her. But there are so many sentences I could start with “for some reason” when describing this movie, I won’t waste more time rationalizing anything that happens.

When the narrative became so implausible that even a five-year-old would roll his eyes, I began to wish someone would have just given the project to a Michael Bay or a John Woo. At least then we could be thrilled by action or effects. With Next there is little redeeming value to the project at all.

Then there’s the ending. I won’t go into the ending more than saying that it’s so lazy and so irresponsible that it forces the sudden realization that you sat through 45 minutes of B.S. only to go nowhere. If I had the ability to see into the future, I would have walked out. Sure I may still have learned how the film ended, but at least I could have saved some time and gone to see a better movie.

You know. Something like Wild Hogs.