Save the Slut, Save the World.

Transporter 3

Release: 11.26.08
Rated PG-13
1 hour, 40 minutes

Matinee ($$$)


The Transporter, Frank Martin (Jason Statham, Death Race), is semi-retired, choosing to be more selective of his jobs. When his replacement 'stops by' his home and 'gives up' the gig, Frank awakes to find himself employed against his will. Fitted with an explosive bracelet that tethers him to his car, his only choice is to follow orders and deliver the package, Valentina (Natalya Rudakova), whenever and where ever Mr. Johnson (Robert Knepper, Hitman) instructs.

Though the director changes (it's now Oliver Megaton) the story stays virtually the same thanks to the writing of creators Robert Mark Kamen and Luc Besson. Like before, a simple job agreed upon under Frank's simple rules doesn't quite go to plan. As one character quips, "With you (Frank), it's always complicated." Transporter 3's stunts are especially complicated and barely plausible. The grandeur of the road chase on two-wheels and the BIG thug fight is instantly familiar as old Bond ploys. The train battle isn't nearly as ludicrous as Steven Seagal, a la Under Siege 2, with his speed-walk escape from the cascading explosion, but it's pretty close.

Even so, my biggest issue is with the premise that Frank's bracelet goes boom if he is farther than 75 feet from his car. I'm thinking that was a metric-to-standard conversion mistake. The intent had to be 75 meters. Otherwise, Frank and his package's arses would have painted the streets red ten times over. But that's the great thing about this series and over-the-top action in general; if you leave your brain at the door and just let the adrenaline rush consume you, it's great.

Dirty Undies
Statham's badass performance as Frank keeps you hyped. As a bonus he somehow manages to go shirtless not once or twice but four times! One of these tattered shirt, rippling muscle moments occurs during an intense fight sequence with Valentina watching. As Frank busts heads, Valentina's cute freckled expression transforms beyond bedroom eyes into fuck-me-raw-on-the-hood-of-your-sweet-ride eyes. At that moment I understood why Rudakova was chosen as Transporter 3's hottie. The action, while unbelievable at times, was still packed with excellently sequenced chases and fights with a smattering of explosions for good measure.

The Money Shot
Since producers are determined to turn Bond into a serious-natured commodity, action fans must turn to films like Transporter 3 to get that quick fix. As the holidays approach and theater screens become inundated with the emotionally heavy, award-hopeful fare, Transporter 3 is that serving of comfort food that helps leave those worries at the door.

Bourne...Jason Bourne - Sorry, my mistake!

Quantum of Solace


Release: 11.14.08
Rated PG-13
1 hour, 41 minutes


Matinee ($$$)



Picking up shortly after Casino Royale, James Bond (Daniel Craig, Layer Cake) brings the villainous Mr. White in for questioning. After an attempt on M's life (Judi Dench, Notes on a Scandal), White escapes and Bond is in hot pursuit. The trail leads to the environmentalist Dominic Greene (Mathieu Almaric, Munich) and his lover Camille (Olga Kurylenko, Hitman). Bond must go rogue, disobeying MI6 orders, to prove Greene is part of a larger conspiracy known only as Quantum.

Bond 22 kicks off like a good Bond film should; with an action packed adrenaline rush that flows into the title sequence. The title sequence, a sandy silhouette of Bond, bullets and curvaceous babes was extremely satisfying for this fanboy. From there, the film continues with an action-heavy front end, though much of those scenes are an unrecognizable blur. One particular fight sequence instantly reminded me of the Bourne series. First, I blamed director Marc Forster (Monster's Ball) for being unable to shoot action properly; having to rely upon a frenetic, indiscernible flurry of shots. Ironically, my research uncovered that second unit director Dan Bradley was hired specifically for his previous Bourne work. Many PG-13 films tend to rely on blurred action to keep the film short while maintaining a faux brutality. Personally, I'd rather have stretched the run time of Quantum over two hours if it meant clearly-shot fight sequences and well framed chases.

Speaking of time, Casino Royale may have clocked in an hour longer, but Quantum felt just as long. The beginning action had to diverge into a lengthy exposition of Bond, Camille and Greene's stories to give the climax the proper umph. Craig still approaches Bond as a no nonsense, unstoppable force of reckoning. Kurylenko played Camille as stubborn, her story tragic, and she pulled off the anger and sympathy while still looking amazing. Dench played the normally unshakable M with a tinge of vulnerability at the thought of a powerful, secretive society right under her nose.


Dirty Undies
Car, plane and boat chases, highlighted by plain ol' ass-whoopings were plentiful, even if the action was a jumbled mess more often than not. Kurylenko was oh so hot, even with the barely explained scarring. My friends would have preferred to have seen more Gemma Arterton (and I assume her character), but Kurylenko was the appropriate fit to match Bond's fixated and hurried pace.

The Money Shot
I like the homages in Quantum; the Universal Exports business card and the Goldfinger scene helped to remind me this was in fact a Bond film and not some Shooter, Bourne or Transporter wannabe. The superb acting, story and the few allusions to Bonds of yore make Quantum of Solace a formidable addition to the 007 history. I, with five friends in tow, went into Quantum with expectations high. When we all exited expressing similar misgivings about the dark direction of the series, it couldn't let it go unmentioned. Bond has been a spy of unparalleled prowess for decades, it's time he starts to act like one.

***

Creative Suggestions
I feel the conclusion of Quantum leaves the door open for the series to see a return to familiar ground. Here's a few things that will make this Bond fan extremely happy:

1) Hire a director that can balance well-developed story telling with coherent action sequences.

2) Get some new writing blood so you can lighten (just a bit) the weighty emotional turmoil of the characters.

3) M needs a Miss Moneypenny, if for nothing more than to give Bond a softer, more playful side.

4) We need a nearly unbeatable henchman. A big, burly mutha that Bond can't smackdown in five to seven seconds. He doesn't need any steel-rimmed hat or metal teeth gimmick, he just needs to present a challenge that can't be removed with fists.

5) Bring back the quips! A Bond is only as good as his banter and ability to laugh in the face of danger. I'm not saying go all "Snowboards and California Girls" on us, but a little fun is acceptable.

6) How about Bond have better gadgets than a cell phone that takes really great photos? Again, the car doesn't have to turn invisible, but can we get a tear gas pen?

AND

7) Major Boothroyd a.k.a. Q must not be absent any longer! Hiring Ricky Gervais or Simon Pegg is a bit of overkill for such a small role. Might I suggest Alan Tudyk of Firefly fame or that naked stand-in from Love Actually, Martin Freeman. A charming fellow along these lines will help soften the rugged exterior of Craig-Bond. This, EON Productions, is non-negotiable.

Eye-Poppin' Fun!

The Midnight Meat Train


Release: 08.01.2008
Rated R
1 hour, 25 minutes

Matinee ($$$)




Leon (Bradley Cooper, Wedding Crashers) is a New York photographer looking to make it into the big league, fancy-schmancy art world. His girlfriend Maya (Leslie Bibb, Iron Man), has this buddy, Jurgis (Roger Bart, The Producers), who connects Leon to art dealer Susan Hoff (Brooke Shields, Blue Lagoon). She encourages Leon to master his fear and capture the real heart of the city. On her advice, Leon begins skulking the streets in the wee hours, finally settling on stalking a rather intimidating man (Vinnie Jones, Snatch). Leon becomes obsessed with discovering whether this butcher-by-day is also a murderer by night.

The Midnight Meat Train is the kind of horror flick you can really get into if you don't scrutinize it too much. It's also the kind of horror flick that relies on smart people doing really idiotic things to put themselves in harm's way. Leon is a very put-together guy whose encounter with the towering mystery man drives him into a compulsive insanity. Personally, if a behemoth of a man like Vinnie Jones catches me following him and shoots me down with his death stare, I'd run the other way and never look back -- after I shit myself out of pure terror. Leon is either made of stronger stuff or has some other deep-rooted issues, neither of which is prefaced by his character's development. Likewise, Maya's missteps and misgivings about her boyfriend's new stalking hobby stray from her previously established characterization. Leon also experiences a few violent dream sequences that seem ill-placed during the continuity of the plot's progression.

Dirty Undies
Enough hyperanalysis of execution and character motivation! Meat Train delivers on its premise and then some. A big bad-ass dude in a dapper suit waits until he and a scant few passengers board the late train; then he pulls out a hella huge stainless steel mallet and bashes their fucking brains in. Blood, brains and body parts splatter the walls and floor of the Meat Train, and the butcher methodically preps naked bodies for Heaven knows what. The climatic encounter between Leon and the butcher is brutal and amusing all at once. The deluge of gore and violence is great sadistic fun.

The Money Shot
With its laughable title, Midnight Meat Train delivers exactly what it promises with little added frills or fluff. It's not a film for the squeamish or for those of discerning tastes, but it is one hell of a ride.

Silky Smooth, with a Nice Sticky Ending

You Don't Mess With Zohan


Release: 06.06.2008
Rated PG-13
1 hour, 53 minutes

Matinee ($$$)




Zohan (Adam Sandler, The Waterboy) is a counterterrorist agent of unequaled skills in the Israeli military. Despite being a "Rembrandt with a grenade" fighting and killing is not his true passion. Zohan sits in his darkened apartment dreaming of the day when he can move to New York and work for the iconic stylist Paul Mitchell. Upon arriving in New York, he finds his dreams of silky smooth hair difficult to achieve. He must not only hide from Middle Easterners who may recognize him, but Zohan discovers the only salon willing to work with an untrained stylist is owned by a lovely Palestinian woman named Dalia (Emmanuelle Chriqui, Waiting...).

For those of you who imagined You Don't Mess With the Zohan to be outrageously ridiculous, multiply that sentiment by a thousand and you're a smidgen closer to comprehending just how outlandish it is. Zohan is an unstoppable fighting machine. He can disassemble guns at break neck speeds, dodge and catch bullets and even do push ups with no hands. If that sounds a little too much to fathom, I'd suggest you give this flick a wide berth. If you dare to be bold, the over-the-top action antics of Zohan is a treat the likes of which has not been seen since Hot Shots.

It’s not all Herculean feats, retro hairstyles and disco grooving; You Don’t Mess With the Zohan sends a message. The story, penned by Sandler, Robert Smigel (TV Funhouse) and Judd Apatow (Fun With Dick and Jane), repeatedly dips into the troubles in Israel and how the conflict needs a resolution. An admirable message represented by the grudge between Zohan and his nemesis, the terrorist Phantom (John Turturro, Anger Management). In fact, for all its indescribable silliness, Sandler, Turturro and Chriquí play it as straight as it comes. The rest of the cast are a mixed bag. Many just cheese for the camera as their lame accents stumble from underneath bad moustaches. Other veteran supporters, like Lainie Kazan (The Big Hit) give it their Method acting standard. Oh yeah, and Nick Swardson (The Benchwarmers) is hilarious, but sorely underused.

Cameo Corner
We’ve come to expect an occasional wacky cameo in every Sandler screwball comedy, but Zohan is the Mecca of cameos. I’m not going to spoil it with a laundry list of appearances, but I will say that Sandler calls in folks from practically every film he’s done, and then some. I promise – no names - but in one specific instance, there is a cameo from someone I thought should never, never, NEVER appear in film again but she shows up and delivers yet another shudder-worthy performance.

Dirty Undies
The film is brimming with beautiful half-naked women, from Zohan’s adoring Israeli fans to Turturro’s gaggle of wives. Chriqui is yummy with her long dark locks and huge…talents. Surprisingly, Sandler is looking kinda tasty; at least, he bulked and toned his physique for the role. I’m not sure if he was confident enough to let it be himself or a butt double for all the nude scenes but, whoever’s keister it was, kudos! Don’t let the film’s action sequences worry you; it’s the thick sexual exchanges between Zohan and the middle-aged women that should really concern you.

The Money Shot
I get the impression You Don’t Mess With the Zohan is the culmination of Sandler’s wacky films. Not saying he won’t do others after this but I believe, in Sandler’s mind, this is his tour de force. I came in expecting absurdity and even I was shocked. Like Zohan’s beverage of choice, Fizzy Bubala, it may not sit so well to those unaccustomed to its unique flavor.

This is SO Our Lives!

Sex and the City

Release: 05.30.2008
Rated R
2 hours, 28 minutes





For Fans: Matinee ($$$)
For Moviegoers: Second-Run Seats ($$)







What started out as a Saturday movie date between my wife and I doubled when two of our female friends decided to join us for Sex and the City. As I stood in line next to several quartets of women dressed in their most stylish summer wear, the irony of my situation did not escape me. After staking our claim on a set of seats, I headed back out for my routine bladder flush in preparation for the two-plus hours ahead. As I opened the door, the very definition of the movie's characters - a Northerner - was entering. Her face widened into a smile as she said to me in her best Samantha-esque tone, "A man. I love it!" Assuming this wasn't my natural musk affecting her and more the idea of a man coughing up the cash for a chick flick, I couldn't help but wonder: In the world we live in today is it wrong for a man to enjoy a film aimed directly at women? Would I be labeled a prick for not tearing up at the tender moments? Should I be offended ladies assume I won't relate because I have a prick?

Putting those questions aside for a moment, let's talk plot. Sex picks up four years after the HBO series ended its six-year-long run. Carrie and Big decide to move in together, which leads to the big M. One really fancy dress, a couple of opinionated loudmouths, two hundred guests and a heap of anxiety later, a plot is born.

For any virgin audience members or those needing a S&C refresher, writer-director Michael Patrick King opens with a brief, scrapbook-style clip show from the lives of Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker, Honeymoon in Vegas), Miranda (Cynthia Nixon, Igby Goes Down), Samantha (Kim Cattrall, Mannequin) and Charlotte (Kristin Davis, Melrose Place). These ladies (listed in order according to screen-time and story significance) are reunited with all the regular supporting cast from Mr. Big (Chris Noth, The Glass House) to Stanford (Willie Garson, Fever Pitch) to Magda (Lynn Cohen, Munich).

Those who watched the series know a follow-up was unnecessary given its tidy conclusion. But hey, when the cow's still producing, don't put her out to pasture. In this case, the cow is King who develops some engaging new material. However, his bloated udders spew far too much story to be completely interesting. Sex and the City has far too many segues and plodding conversations that could have easily been cut for improved story-telling. Were three ad-hoc fashion montages really necessary?! Maybe if they'd been trimmed there would have been more time for equal story development among the four leads.

After six years in these roles would a long hiatus make the actors' reprisals clunky? As someone who has seen over half the episodes, the ladies and company are still true to form. The singular exception is the only new character, Carrie's assistant Louise (Jennifer Hudson, Dreamgirls). This role was not the best follow-up to Hudson's Oscar-winning performance. Further evidence of King's indulgent style, the role was conceived and implemented as a plot device, which gave her little to work with... so I can understand why she didn't really try.

Dirty Undies
For a film titled Sex and the City, the main ingredients have become the garnish. While the stories offer up adult situations, conversations and lots of use of the word sex, only half of the ladies offer up sexually graphic content. Me being a fan of Charlotte and Samantha, I wasn't entirely disappointed.

The Money Shot
Does my less-than-stellar experience prove the age-old adage that men weren't meant to understand women? Will men always view women from our perch atop Mars or can we possibly imagine life on Venus? Maybe we are asking all the wrong questions to all the wrong people. Maybe it's time we pull back that curtain and discover the great and powerful Oz is nothing more than a little man drunk on his own power.

This Ain't No Jean-Claude Van Damme Flick

Redbelt

Release: 05.09.2008
Rated R
1 hour, 39 minutes

Matinee ($$$)



Mike Terry (Chiwetel Ejiofor, Dirty Pretty Things) is a jiujitsu instructor who considers himself a true warrior at heart. After his pupil Joe (Max Martini, Saving Private Ryan) attempts to earn his black belt, a jittery woman, Laura (Emily Mortimer, Match Point), enters the dojo only to shatter Terry's window with Joe's gun. Terry's wife, Sondra (Alice Braga, I Am Legend), sends him to borrow cash from her brother at his nightclub. Terry's sense of honor keeps him from asking for a loan, but it does get him to rescue actor Chet Frank (Tim Allen, Wild Hogs) from some ruffians. Terry's honorable act draws him into a world where the activities of unscrupulous men threaten to tear him apart.

After watching Redbelt, I couldn't help but be reminded of those Jean-Claude Van Damme action classics where he's a skilled fighter always at odds with his moral fiber; what should seem to be a difficult compromise of his beliefs for the protection of a greater good (i.e., a decision which can not be taken lightly) is made in the span of a few slow-motion breaths followed by a wild-eyed explosion of his triple-take split kick to the opponent's head. Remember those moments? Well, Redbelt doesn't have those.

Leave it to writer-director David Mamet (The Spanish Prisoner) to craft a movie about fighting where the major conflicts with the character occur within his psyche and not against an opponent in a ring. Ejiofor is a sea of internal conflict. Mamet captures him deep in meditation in many scenes. Terry is held by his honor to abstain from fighting for competition due to its shallowness, yet needs to pay his debts and feed his family. He's offered the opportunity to win money by competing, though only after his warrior ideals have been compromised by people he gave the benefit of his trust.

Mamet doesn't focus only on the life of Terry. Mortimer's Laura deals with an inner turmoil of her own and seeks answers in Terry's teachings. Even Tim Allen, whose role is minuscule, seems mildly intrigued by the honor code by which Terry lives. Illustrating the amoral perspective are Mamet regulars Ricky Jay (Boogie Nights), David Paymer (State and Main) and Joe Mantegna (Body of Evidence). The beautiful thing about Mamet's scripts aside from their authentic feel is that they are rich in depth of character. On the negative side, some of these characters rich in depth were thin on story. In particular, a side plot involving Sondra disappeared for what I assume was a lack of time.

Dirty Undies
You'd hope that a fight film would have more actual fighting but like I said, this ain't no JCVD film. Redbelt opens with a fairly violent training session at Terry's studio with men twisting and grappling for control of the ring. There are a few other skirmishes, but it is clear that Mamet's focus isn't for the craft of the fight but for the underlying emotions compelling the opponents; great for gripping , intellectual drama but it sucks if you've come looking for carnage.

The Money Shot
Don't let Redbelt fool you into thinking it's a fighting movie. This here's a thinking man's fight, and I admit to analyzing the story's complexity days after viewing. The ending is especially poignant. The film could have been enhanced by more visually stimulating scenes, maybe not massive violence, but the blandness does linger.

A Winning Pair

What Happens in Vegas...

Release: 05.09.2008
Rated PG-13
1 hour, 39 minutes

Matinee ($$$)


Jack and Joy went to Vegas to forget their crappy lives.
Jack got drunk. So did Joy. They awoke as husband and wife.
Like oil and water they part, but then Jack and Joy win big.
Now they're stuck like glue in wedded bliss or 'til one reneges.
Pesky pranks and wacky friends make Jack and Joy so much fun.
Will they commit to life as one or split the cash and run?

Enough with the grade school rhyming! Let's get the skinny on What Happens in Vegas. Billed as Cameron Vs. Ashton a.k.a. Joy Vs. Jack, Vegas begins as a contest to see which actor can out-ham the other. Hand to the heavens, there's even a moment during this battle of the sexes when Ashton winks at the audience. Folks going to see this film aren't expecting exceptionally moving performances; they just want to be entertained through the lowbrow series of gags.

Laugh you shall, due in large part to Jack's friend Hater (Rob Corddry, Semi-Pro). This was a complete 180 from his over-the-top performance in Harold & Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay. Dennis Farina (Get Shorty), Michelle Krusiec (Saving Face), Jason Sudeikis (Semi-Pro) and even Treat Williams (1941) complete the list of talented and funny supporting cast members who sorely needed more screen time.

Vegas is a series of witty, cutting remarks and mean-spirited pranks that almost completely avoids delving into crude bathroom humor to dredge up a laugh. It's an inoffensive shuck and jive, like watching a television comedy sans the laugh track. Not surprising since director Tom Vaughan seems to have done more TV than films.

Dirty Undies
In the Cameron vs. Ashton battle, the winner in the arena of hotness is...Ashton. Cameron had a glistening sheen on her face for much of the film; she looked like a well-worn saddle that had been slathered with oil to prevent cracking. She did have a few F'n Hot moments, but against Ashton's pretty-boy charms and shirtless self it's no contest. Corddry plays the friend you won't claim as he inflicts both physical and oral damage with his uncouth schemes and vulgar ways.

The Money Shot
Technically speaking, What Happens in Vegas... is mostly a mess. If you're interested in this type of flick, it's because you're looking to laugh, not to critique the greatest piece of cinema ever written. Much like the city, Vegas promises cheap, shallow thrills and pays out.

Repeat Bidness: The Number 23

Looking at this week's list of releases I noticed that both Jim Carrey and Rhona Mitra have films opening, Horton Hears a Who! and Doomsday, respectively. It dawned on me that a little over a year ago these two shared the big screen. So for those living the Netflix life, let's take a look at:


Release: 02/23/2007
DVD Release: 08/03/2007
Rated R
1 hour, 35 minutes

Matinee ($$$)


"It Doesn't Quite Add Up"


Jim Carrey (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind) stars as Animal Control Officer Walter Sparrow who, thanks to a last-minute stray dog pick-up, is late to pick up his loving wife, Agatha, portrayed by Virginia Madsen (Candyman). His tardiness prompts Agatha to browse the neighboring shops and find a book, The Number 23, which she buys for Walter. He quickly becomes engrossed in the story of Detective Fingerling and his growing obsession with the number 23 after a brief encounter with a Suicide Blonde. But Fingerling’s fixation soon passes to Walter who feels the author is speaking directly to him. Agatha becomes worried for her husband whose behavior becomes increasingly erratic as he searches desperately for a deeper meaning within the book.

Aside from a few catty remarks, Jim Carrey is in rare, non-hijinks form. Instead of contorting his body into bizarre comical shapes, Carrey instead focuses on portraying Walter as your typical, mild-mannered husband. Walter evolves into a man gripped by fascination and struggling to separate himself from the eerie images the fiction instills within him. Carrey is also called upon to play the role of the surly, jealous Detective Fingerling as the movie steers the audience between Walter’s conscious mind and his uncontrollable recreations of the book’s gruesome events. Carrey does an excellent job at weaving these two characters together as Walter’s persona is infected with the growing paranoia instilled by the author’s details. Madsen holds her own by playing both the role of Walter's doting, concerned wife, and Fabrizia, Fingerling’s bed buddy and erotic thrill junkie.

Director Joel Schumacher (Falling Down) follows Walter’s scrutiny of the novel by interlacing key elements of the story into the larger story of the Sparrow family. These segues into the novel are high contrast scenes. Characters are darkly clad and their surroundings barren and shadowed. The cinematography has a hazy, dreamlike aura that emphasizes the imagined element. Strangely, as Walter uncovers the reality of the book’s hidden nature, the film takes on a more expository form. The final explanation feels like it takes forever, which detracts greatly from a film that would have otherwise completely piqued and thrilled audiences.

I don’t know if I should lay the blame on rookie screenwriter Fernley Phillips or Schumacher for adding several elements into the story that never quite fit smoothly. Just one example is NED, the nasty evil dog whose presence supposedly adds cohesion but instead unravels this tense tale of suspense.

Dirty Undies
The murky, smutty mystery moments provide a wealth of disturbing images. Suicide jumpers, slit throats, and repeatedly stabbed characters litter the screen. The buckets of pooled blood far outweigh the gratuitous sex appeal. Accusations of murder and adultery come tainted with vulgarity you haven’t heard uttered by Carrey in his usual family-friendly fare. Virginia Madsen, Rhona Mitra (Highwaymen), and Kate Mara (50 First Dates) all prance around in some not-quite-revealing lingerie. Carrey dishes out his own shirtless, manly swagger but given his gaunt physique, it isn’t nearly as appealing as the ladies.

The Money Shot
The Number 23 is an intriguing mystery that will keep audiences on the edge of their seats for the majority of the film. Its Achilles heel lies in the execution of its prestige; its lengthy bow wrapping leaves too much time for the detail-oriented viewers to punch holes the size of Mack trucks into a promising story. If you appreciate a good thriller and do not get too caught up in the details, Carrey’s latest film will add up to an enjoyable time.

Thrilling, From Any Vantage Point

Vantage Point

Realease: 02/22/2008
Rated PG-13
1 hour, 30 minutes

Matinee ($$$)

The setting: Salamanca, Spain. U.S. President Ashton, played by William Hurt (Syriana), faces a massive crowd gathered to mark the opening of an anti-terrorism summit. No sooner than he reaches the podium, two shots ring out. Shortly thereafter, an explosion is heard in the distance followed by another, more damaging explosion within the plaza. The Vantage Point of the GNN news crew attempts to follow the commotion under the leadership of producer Rex Brooks, portrayed by Sigourney Weaver (Tadpole). She barks orders to follow the President and his entourage. Just as the events reach their climax, the onscreen images blur to white and rewind back to the event’s beginning. You read that right; the film visibly backpedals, which takes us to...

Vantage Point, Take 2: Secret Service agent Thomas Barnes, played by Dennis Quaid (Any Given Sunday), prepares to guard the President for the first time since taking a bullet for the man six months earlier. Although other agents question his ability to handle the pressure, when the proverbial shit hits the fan, Barnes steps up to kick ass and take names. Seriously, you get the feeling that Quaid’s character woke up with the intention that he will, at any lengths, kill a mother fucker before the day is out. But before he can go all T-1000 on the bad guys, let’s blur to white, queue the annoying rewind visualization and…

Vantage Point, Take 3: Lonely American tourist Howard Lewis, played by Forest Whitaker (Phone Booth), soaks up the atmosphere in the crowded plaza. Being particularly observant, he sees the hackles on Barnes’ neck rise and uses his handycam to find the source of the tension. Further proving the selfless nature of Americans, he places himself in harm’s way to assist the Secret Service, but will he have the huevos rancheros necessary to save the day? A blur to white and a sigh of exasperation from the audience as we suffer through the rewind to…

Vantage Point, Take 4, 5, etc., featuring performances by Bruce McGill (Collateral), Matthew Fox (Smokin’ Aces), Said Tagmaoui (Hidalgo) and other actors whose characters all see stuff and do stuff while the audience picks up a few more pieces to the puzzle. Do all the rewind, rinse and repeat moments make it worth watching? Absolutely. I anticipated some sort of transition to shift amid the eight differing points of view, although I had hoped for a clever segue instead of the elementary, jarring effect used. I cannot say if I was more exasperated by the transitions or audience’s boisterous exasperation with them. My fellow audience members, after the second time it happens you either get fed up and leave or deal with it; don’t be a loud dick about it. But I digress. Transitions aside, the plot grabs your attention and keeps you involved from the ring of the first gunshot.

Dirty Undies
I didn’t always feel like the gunshots and car chases were all that harrowing. If the chase camera had been pulled back I think the action would have been better visualized. But a blurry, erratic barrage of bumpers and tires is the mainstay of modern cinema. Quaid is unstoppable almost to the point of unbelievable, but you’ll eat up every minute of it.

The Money Shot
If you miss the details of what transpires in those opening minutes, have no fear, the film delivers what it promises, take after take. It’s a bit implausible (if the Secret Service were really this inept, the last eight years would’ve been quite different for the U.S.), but few films are without their faults. Quaid fans will relish seeing him in a hefty role. I just hope the success of Vantage Point doesn’t inspire a dozen nauseatingly similar premises in the coming years.