I am shamefully, woefully, inexcusably late in writing this review (or any review, to be honest). It’s been ages since I was lucky enough to accidentally attend the world premiere of Star Trek at the Alamo Drafthouse. Perfect opportunity for an advance review, right? And yet, procrastination, she is a cruel mistress. 

Here’s how it went down.

We showed up expecting to see a shiny new 35mm version of Wrath of Khan, which is pretty sweet all by itself. But on top of that, the screenwriters of the new Star Trek would be showing a full 10 minutes of the new film. Wicked cool, right? So we’re lucky enough to get into the theater (despite lacking Fantastic Fest credentials) and make it past the metal detectors and Secret Service agents (all this for 10 minutes?). We sit down to watch the writers rave about Khan and kick off the movie. It’s great. We’re enthralled. Until, only a few minutes into the very pretty WoK print, the film starts melting on the projector. There’s a collective groan of frustration. How, after all that buildup, could the Drafthouse eff it up like this? A lone audience member yells “KHAAAAN!”

The screenwriters come back onstage to stall for time. They sing the theme song and start to take questions from the audience. But before the first question is popped, FRIGGIN’ LEONARD NIMOY strolls onstage with a conspicuous film can in his hand. You can watch it happen here. Please note that this video does not by any means fully capture the ROAR the audience made when Nimoy showed himself, or when he announced that we would be seeing not 10 minutes of the film, but the WHOLE THING–six hours before the official premiere in Australia. Apologies for the caps lock Tourette’s I seem to be experiencing, but it was just THAT HUGE.

Speaking of things that are huge, the movie was super awesome. Isn’t that nice? Wouldn’t it have sucked for Paramount if they’d shown a crappy redux to a crowd of die-hard fans? Thank goodness Star Trek didn’t suck; it would have totally killed the mood.

Before I launch into an actual review of the film, I have a caveat: I am not a classic Star Trek fan. I like Star Trek. I’ve seen most of the movies, but not the original series. My soft spot is for The Next Generation; I appreciate the original mostly for its pop culture value.

That being said, I LOVED this movie (whoops, there goes the caps lock again). Maybe it was just the euphoria of the moment, but the new Star Trek felt like a great movie. It served as an homage to the original while still retaining a sense of self. The cast did a great job of evoking the iconic Trek characters without resorting to doing cheap impressions of the originals. Well, mostly.

Rarely have I seen a sci-fi film handle time travel as well as this one did. The plot elegantly makes way for a franchise reboot without spending too much time explaining. The action is just as slick and eye-popping as you’d expect. The bridge of the Enterprise looks like it was designed by Apple. The cameos are really cool. And it’s funny! Even for those of us who consider Star Trek just a casual acquaintence. It made a fan out of me.

Downsides? Uh… it’s silly at times. The liberal revision of Trek history might give certain fans giant aneurysms. I can’t really think of much else. This film had me misty-eyed within the first 15 minutes, and yet I had more fun than I’d had at the movies in a good long while. I will be seeing it again on opening weekend, hopefully at the IMAX. If you have even a teensy iota of nerd in you, I’d advise you to do the same.

Star Trek  stars Chris Pine, Zachary Quinto, Eric Bana, Simon Pegg, Zoe Saldana, Karl Urban and John Cho. And yes, it features a cameo from  Friggin’ Leonard Nimoy.

———————

Shameless promotion time! If you’re as big a nerd as I am, you’ll be attending the Star Trek Private Premiere Party at the Bob Bullock Museum this Friday (May 8th) at 6 p.m. The party is a fundraiser for the Austin Planetarium and will feature Star Trek-themed food and drinks, improv comedy from Star Trekkin’ and music from the Austin Wind Symphony. The IMAX movie screening after the party is currently sold out, but you can buy general admission tickets that will give you access to all the other nerdy festivities.

An IMDB “joint ventures” search reveals that Hollywood powerhouses Renée Zellweger and George Clooney have never once joined forces in a motion picture. This gross error in Hollywood casting history has finally been rectified with the modestly hilarious prohibition-era football comedy Leatherheads.

Which two actors can be so simultaneously suave and screwball? With lightning-quick repartee and chemistry rivaling the greats, Zellweger and Clooney elevate Leatherheads from silly to sizzling. Sure, the adorable John Krasinski does his darndest to melt your heart at every turn, and the reliable Stephen Root is at his Miltony-est–but it’s the film’s two A-listers who make the thing worth watching, even for this football-hating critic.

Once upon a time, college football ruled the world, and professional football was a dying business. When his financially failing professional team goes bankrupt, Dodge Connelly (Clooney) hatches a plan to recruit football’s only celebrity, a war-hero-turned-college-quarterback (Krasinski), to play for the defunct team. The plot particulars are a little bit fuzzy and not entirely compelling, but who needs plot when you’ve got this kind of star power?

Unfortunately, the moment either Clooney or Zellweger saunters and/or flounces offscreen, the lack of direction and rambling pace become apparent. The birth pangs of a sport that is now a ubiquitous nationwide obsession are sort of interesting to watch, but the action sequences themselves left me glancing at my watch, wondering when the movie would quit pretending to be a historical biopic and get back to being funny.

And funny it is, when the film plays to its strengths. Often touted as the heir to Cary Grant, Clooney proves himself worthy of the mantle (working the smirk/raised eyebrow combo like a champ), while Zellweger’s sassy reporter Lexie Littleton more than holds her own against the onslaught of charm that is George Clooney.

Leatherheads is fluff–ridiculous, zany, happy fluff–and the film’s shining moments occur when it lets the actors be their fluffy selves, rather than attempting to be a legitimate sports drama. If today’s NFL was this much fun, maybe you’d catch me in front of the TV on a few more Monday nights come football season. George Clooney for MVP, anyone?

Leatherheads stars George Clooney, Renée Zellweger, John Krasinski and Stephen Root.

Click here for showtimes in Austin, Texas.

It’s not quite a movie review… but kinda!

For this very special “Tangentially Relevant,” we go back in time to the year 1991. President Bush is waging a war in the Middle East, a Clinton is running for the White House, and a brand new video game console is sweeping the nation: the Super Nintendo.

Children across America are foaming at the mouth to get their hands on the brand new console, with its sleek, rounded controller styling and fetching purple buttons. But the real reason for their rabid SNES fervor can be summed up in three words: Super. Mario. World.

Was there a time when visions of mushrooms, gold coins and fire-breathing plants haunted your dreams?

Or maybe laser-shooting swords and pieces of heart were more your thing?

Whatever your poison, I’m pretty sure you’re going to, like, totally geek out when I tell you that the Austin Wind Symphony is performing the music of your favorite video games, both classic and modern, this Friday (March 7) at 8 p.m.! The awesomeness will include music from The Legend of Zelda, Super Mario Bros., God of War, Star Wars: Battlefront, Superman Returns, Medal of Honor, Halo, Final Fantasy, Civilization IV and Kingdom Hearts. Tickets are $8 for regular folks and $7 for student-types.

Also included–free of charge!–is the chance to see yours truly rock out on the flute. What’s that you say? The words “flute” and “rock out” should never be used in the same sentence? I think Ian Anderson might beg to differ! (So there.)

And now, a menagerie of linkage for your edification:
Find more info on the concert and buy tickets online.
RSVP on Facebook.
Join our Facebook group.
Be our pal on MySpace.
Check us out on YouTube.

If you happen to be the proud owner of a male reproductive organ, you may want to think twice before seeing Teeth. Or for that matter, even reading this review.

Not possessing one of the above-mentioned organs, I was able to fully enjoy this campy black-comedy-bordering-on-horror flick. My male friends have told me, however, that even discussing the subject matter gives them a raging case of the willies (pun intended). Maybe that’s a testament to how powerful the myth of “vagina dentata” was for the cultures that invented it–even a modern, enlightened man can’t stand the thought.

Teeth, astonishingly enough, was written and directed by a man, yet relishes its subject matter with a distinctly feminist glee. Dawn, the cherubic leading lady, is cursed (blessed?) with a special power (the aforementioned teeth in the hoo-ha). She copes with her… uniqueness… by shunning sexuality altogether, becoming the poster girl for her local abstinence group. The movie deals with Dawn’s rapid, hormonal swing from one extreme to the other, from holy roller to man eater (in the most literal sense of the word).

Dawn lives in a world of unusually violent, twisted men who, the movie posits, richly deserve the punishment she inflicts. The film has a wicked sense of justice, leaving shell-shocked viewers no time to pity the victims of Dawn’s unforgiving nether regions. Jess Wexler gives a delightfully subtle performance as a young woman discovering her sexuality and the power that goes with it–for better or for worse.

A winning balance between horror and comedy is difficult to strike–see Slither for an introduction, and Shaun of the Dead for a master class. Teeth struggles to find the right tone; rather than establish a mood with staying power, it fluctuates between arty drama, campy comedy and sheer gross-out horror. Each of these is engrossing in its own right, but the movie’s failure to consistently mesh them makes it feel jarring and stilted.

But the sheer audacity of the film’s premise, and its unflinching execution, are reasons enough to give it a chance. Seeing it is practically a badge of honor. If you’re a woman, the “girl power” factor will give you some serious feminist street cred. If you’re a man… you might just deserve a medal.

Teeth stars Jess Wexler, John Hensley, Josh Pais and Hale Appleman. Click here for movie times in Austin, TX.

Is it just me, or has it been a while since my man John Cusack has made a great movie? The guy has some considerable acting chops, so thank goodness he’s finally putting his talent for eccentricity to good use. Martian Child stars Cusack as David, a lonely widower/science fiction writer who adopts a child who is basically himself in miniature. Shy, quirky, socially awkward and reluctant (or unable) to be “normal,” Dennis is an abandoned kid who believes himself to be a visitor from Mars, here to study these strange creatures called humans.

Dennis is played with delightful restraint by 11-year-old Bobby Coleman, who shared the screen with Cusack in the icky 2005 rom-com Must Love Dogs. “He’s like a little Andy Warhol,” remarks Amanda Peet’s character, and she couldn’t be more astute. Dennis wears sunglasses at all times, as well as layers of face-obscuring sunscreen, and protects himself from the harsh Earth sunlight by alternately hiding in a cardboard refrigerator box and underneath an umbrella, Michael Jackson-style.

As David and Dennis get to know each other, it becomes clear they are cut from the same unconventionally-woven cloth. Each, in his own way, is struggling to maintain his identity without falling victim to conformity. The film deals beautifully with what it means to be different (cue “The More You Know” logo and sappy music). In an age of standardized tests, we expect also to have standardized kids; but the fact is, as any parent will attest, kids are weird. Kind of like little aliens, they’re still in the process of learning how to be fully-functional Earthlings (as the film sweetly points out).

Watching Dennis consistently fail to live up to social workers’ and teachers’ standards of normalcy (and David’s parenting called into question because of it), the question that kept running through my mind was, “and what exactly is so wrong with this kid?” The social workers who watch over Dennis’ home life are almost sadistically obsessed with beating the “I’m from Mars” notion out of his head; rather than figuring out why he does it, they use it as a litmus test for whether David is a competent parent.

Despite often succumbing to sugary love-fest scenes (Cusack’s fervent “there’s nothing you could do that would change the way I feel about you”), Cusack’s anti-hero personality and constant air of melancholy tends to temper the overabundance of sweetness. His sister Joan (who, as usual, plays his sister) also proves a valuable sardonic antidote to saccharine moments. It strikes a great balance and hits all the right notes. Like an after-school special for grownups, it serves as a great reminder that differences are meant to be celebrated, and “normal” can mean practically anything.

Martian Child stars John Cusack, Amanda Peet, Joan Cusack, Bobby Coleman, Richard Schiff

Keeping this tidbit in mind, please take my opinions here with a giant block of salt (does salt come in blocks?). I found it extremely hard to focus on Elizabeth: The Golden Age as a work of historical fiction because I was too busy analyzing the film’s historical accuracy–or, in this case, inaccuracy.

/begin nerdy historical rant

While Cate Blanchett pulls off a breathtaking performance (as expected), The Golden Age suffers from a symptom the first Elizabeth also displayed: a belief that the audience lacks the ability to understand nuance. The great religious upheaval of the 1500′s is boiled down to practically a cartoonish level of simplicity; all the Protestants are confident, pretty and carry themselves with a modern-day swagger, while the Catholics crouch in dark corners, speak in a series of hisses and cross themselves every five seconds. Philip II of Spain, the man with whom Elizabeth’s sister supposedly fell in love after only seeing his portrait, is portrayed as an effeminate religious fanatic with a prominent movement disability. Yes, these people were probably less than saintly in real life, but does director Shekhar Kapur really believe the audience can’t spot a kook unless he’s a caricature of the real thing?

Also, Cate Blanchett is 38. When the events shown in the movie were really happening, Elizabeth was 55. Another attempt to make history more palatable to the lowest common denominator. Sigh.

/end rant

Even if you don’t give a rat’s patooty about things being textbook-friendly, Elizabeth: The Golden Age probably still won’t wow you with its entertainment value. It’s a nice enough film to look at; Kapur brings the era to life with lots of gorgeous colors and distractingly flawless updos (the wig budget alone must have topped five figures). It does have some decent action scenes (historically bunk action scenes, but I digress). The supporting cast is fantastic, notably Samantha Morton as Mary, Queen of Scots and Abbie Cornish as Elizabeth’s favorite maid-in-waiting gone wild.

Despite all the melodrama, the movie includes far too many ho-hum scenes in which the actors seem to be posing for promotional photos rather than acting. Shot: Elizabeth marches around regally. Shot: Elizabeth looks at herself in the mirror. Shot: Elizabeth stares at something for an extended period of time, saying nothing. Half the film seems like nothing but a photo op.

In summation, I give you an Austin Audience exclusive: the director’s checklist for “how to make Elizabeth a super awesome success.”

Elizabeth: The Golden Age stars Cate Blanchett, Clive Owen, Geoffrey Rush, Rhys Ifans, Samantha Morton, Jordi Mollà

Tangentially Relevant: it’s not quite a movie review, but almost!

What’s that you hear in the background of this post? Why, it’s the dull white noise of this fall’s primetime lineup! The best and the worst, below…

Pushing Daisies
ABC, Wednesdays at 7 p.m. CST
My favorite new show of the season. Offbeat dark comedy about a guy who can resurrect the dead. Creator and writers worship in the church of Tim Burton. Freakishly adorable leading man and lady. Almost too cute for its own good, but not quite. Please watch this show so ABC won’t cancel it after three episodes.

Chuck
NBC, Mondays at 7 p.m. CST
Dramedy about computer repair dude who inadvertently learns all the CIA’s secrets. Threatens to be mediocre, but has potential. Again with the adorable, geeky hero. Totally on-trend with the nerdy-yet-somehow-cool thing (all the rage thanks to Superbad, Ugly Betty, et al). Thankfully does not succumb to nerd cliches (no pocket protectors in sight).

Grey’s Anatomy
ABC, Thursdays at 8 p.m. CST
McDreamy is so McFiveMinutesAgo. Only sheer hatred of Izzie keeps me watching this increasingly tired show. If you’re not a fan holdout from previous seasons, don’t bother.

Cavemen
ABC, Tuesdays at 7 p.m. CST
File under “publicity stunt for big ad client.” Inane sitcom about effete cavemen living in a modern world. Network keeps encouraging viewers to schedule a “Man Date” to watch this show. If you’ve actually scheduled a “Man Date” for “Cavemen,” please never visit this site again.

Private Practice
ABC, Wednesdays at 8 p.m. CST
Much-hyped “Grey’s Anatomy” spinoff about socially maladjusted doctors at a touchy-feely wellness center. Attempt at replicating “McDreamy” success with a new hot doctor fails miserably, as said hot doctor is an extremely boring individual. Second episode considerably better than the first. Highlight of the show so far: repeated use of the word “midwifery” (pronounced “mid-whiff-ery”).

Ugly Betty
ABC, Thursdays at 7 p.m. CST
One of last season’s hit debuts. Great cast, cute story, awesome concept. Campy, fluffy fun. Would be closer to perfection if it would quit spending so much time on Daniel and Alexis and focus on Betty. Or Mark/Amanda. Really anyone else would be preferable.

Are you offended by the title of my new “movie reviews in brief” series? Well can you think of a better one? Huh, punk???

… Seriously, if you can think of a better one, please leave me a comment. This name is ridiculous.

The Ten

I have to give The Ten credit. Despite its satirically religious premise, despite scene after scene in which characters creatively break each of the Ten Commandments, never once did it occur to me that someone might find this movie offensive for God-related reasons. Perhaps that’s actually a testament to the movie’s toothlessness rather than its comedic acumen. The audience really wants to be offended by The Ten, but the movie can’t quite summon the fire and brimstone.

The story is disorganized just beyond the point of manageable chaos. The 10 parables (anti-parables, really, because those who sin do not always lose out in the end) are connected just enough to make your head hurt a little. The movie features an impressive retinue of absurdist comedy’s patron saints. Despite this, it has hilarious moments, and then it has moments where I thought, “wow, that gag is really clever,” but no actual laugh materialized. And that, for a movie with a cast and concept as great as this one’s, is the real sin.

Becoming Jane

Although I am a longtime Jane Austen fan (Pride and Prejudice‘s Mr. Darcy is my one true love), I had misgivings about Becoming Jane, a fictionalized tale of the author’s youthful romance with Tom Lefroy (James McAvoy). Even in the hands of an actress as capable as Anne Hathaway, I feared that the story of Jane Austen’s real life would pale in comparison to the wit and sophistication of her novels. Austen didn’t lead a romantic life, or even a long one, dying unmarried at age 41. Having loved Pride and Prejudice (the book and the film), would Becoming Jane be a sad letdown?

I was right about one thing — her real life makes for a very different kind of movie. Where Austen’s novels are all decorum and subtle irony, Becoming Jane is full of impolite notions like passion, sex and violence, things the author would have found quite vulgar. Hathaway does a reasonably convincing British accent, though she’s far too pretty to be convincing as a Plain Jane. Although she handles the character decently, her talents are much better suited to comedy. And like all good English films, the real joy is the supporting cast, comprised of such all-stars as Maggie Smith, James Cromwell and Julie Walters. They give the otherwise pretty depressing story some humor and depth, while the two main characters argue and inevitably fall in love against a beautifully accurate backdrop of English society.

I still find Austen’s works of fiction much preferable to her bittersweet life story, but then again, I’ve always been a sucker for happy endings.

Death at a Funeral

Oh, how boring was the beginning of this movie. Epic tales will be told of Death at a Funeral and its yawn-inducingness. It doesn’t help that it was actually supposed to be funny, a fact of which the audience is constantly reminded by the dippy, self-congratulatory music punctuating moments the director clearly found hilarious. Example: several somber British gentlemen haul a casket into a quaint little manor house for a funeral, only to discover — whoops! — they’ve brought the wrong body. Oh, the unfunniness.

But after about 30 minutes this zany Brit comedy picks up significantly. I think it was about the time the fantastic Peter Dinklage, who is amazing in everything, came onscreen. His character, an unwelcome guest at the funeral of an upstanding father of two, suffers more indignities than one would generally expect for a funeral, even a zany Brit-com one. Adding to the mayhem is a repeatedly misplaced bottle of hallucinogens, a belligerent, cane-brandishing great-uncle, and a secret about the deceased that the family desperately wants to keep quiet.

I’ve seen much better dark comedy offerings from our overseas friends. Wait for this one on DVD. In the meantime, rent Waking Ned Devine to see how madcap dead-guy comedies should be done.

By now the opening weekend mania of Superbad has subsided, and hardcore Rogen/Apatow fans have already seen it. I’m sure you know the essentials by this point: it’s a hilarious, ceaselessly offensive teen sex comedy starring several relative unknowns. It was written semi-autobiographically by Seth Rogen (of Knocked Up fame) and Evan Goldberg, who lend their first names to the two main characters. It’s the stuff classics are made of, and this one’s sure to make plenty of VH1 “I love the 2000s” episodes twenty years down the road.

Superbad is the inspiring, heartwarming, hugs-and-puppies tale of two boys coming of age and overcoming obstacles. If you happen to be inspired by puke and heartwarmed by sketches of personified male anatomy, of course. Which I’m sure you are. The story takes place during a single day and night, which is apparently a prerequisite for a successful teen comedy. It’s the epic chronicle of two adolescent horndogs (Jonah Hill and Michael Cera) and their search for booze/”the ladies.” Humorous, yes. Adorable, sometimes. Uncomfortable, always.

Hill does his darndest to steal every scene, but after the initial shock of his relentless pottymouthedness wears off, his constant spew of commentary starts to become white noise. Cera, meanwhile, quietly shines — and has some of the funniest moments in the film (although the trophy for funniest and most inappropriate four-word line has to go to newcomer Christopher Mintz-Plasse). Most of the time Cera’s character was so adorably awkward that I just wanted to give him a big hug and say, “don’t worry, I’m pretty sure you’ll get the girl in the end — and probably learn a valuable moral lesson, too!”

On the road to obtaining booze and getting with chicks, the two boys (three if you count Mintz-Plasse’s Fogell, AKA “McLovin”) encounter an array of quirky supporting characters, including a pair of amazingly incompetent cops, a shady 30-something party crasher, and an inebriated woman whose time of the month seems to have come a tad early, ubeknownst to her.

However much Superbad might play to the lowest common denominator, in the end it never strays from the Teen Romp Handbook, which is actually quite old-fashioned. Some of the cardinal rules include: the underdog gets the girl, friendship is lost and then recovered, and love (not sex) conquers all. The high school comedies of my adolescence all followed these rules — think American Pie, Can’t Hardly Wait, She’s All That and 10 Things I Hate About You. Everyone always learns something by the end of the film and usually has grown up a bit in the process. Superbad is endearing, even sweet, in how earnestly it follows the conventions of these coming-of-age comedies. Even though it surpasses them all in sheer obscenity, it never entirely loses its innocence. No matter how hard the main characters try.

Superbad stars Jonah Hill, Michael Cera, Seth Rogen, Christopher Mintz-Plasse and Bill Hader.