Last month, my dad was out of town for the weekend and my mom and I had
the house to ourselves, so we decided to indulge in a chick flick
marathon. One of movies we watched was When In Rome, a 2010 movie directed by Mark Steven Johnson and starring Kristen Bell.
In
this romantic comedy, Bell plays Beth, a career-driven art expert who
flies to Rome for her sister’s wedding, where she clicks with Nick (Josh
Duhamel), another ambitious young American. After she catches him
locking lips with another woman, she drunkenly makes her way to the
nearby wishing fountain littered with the coins of those desperate for
love and pockets five of them in a symbolic gesture of her contempt for
romance. As a result, the men who dropped the coins are instantly drawn
to her like a magnet, and once she returns to New York, she has to fight
them off with a stick.
The premise of this movie is very silly,
but it makes for a pretty entertaining comedy. Beth is in the midst of
an important gallery opening, and she has no time for distractions, but
it’s hard to focus on her work with these strange men chasing after her
all the time. Meanwhile, when Nick resurfaces, she finds herself falling
for him but worries that he is only suffering from the same loony
lovesickness that has afflicted her other suitors.
These four fellas are a lot of fun. John Heder of Napoleon Dynamite
fame plays Lance, an offbeat magician who seems to click with Beth more
than the other two young artistic types over whom she has inadvertently
cast her spell. Will Arnett is Antonio Donatella, an Italian artist who
shows his affection for Beth by painting massive murals of her for all
of New York to see, and Dax Shepard is the obnoxious Gale, an aspiring
model who is totally in love with himself. Then there’s Danny DeVito,
who plays Al, a gentle widower who expresses his romantic ardor with
food. Of the four, he is probably my favorite.
Scenery plays a
big role in the movie, with many scenes showcasing landmarks in Rome and
New York. The impassioned pursuits across the city are amusing, while
the fairly standard courtship with Nick is sweet, with some fun twists.
One scene involving Kristen Schaal in full goofball mode as a waitress
in a restaurant specializing in sensory deprivation is patently absurd,
providing both laughs and a squirm or two. There’s slapstick aplenty in
the movie, and I would really call it more of a comedy than a romance,
though the movie is drenched in romance of the superficial variety.
This is nothing but light, frothy fun, but as long as you approach it as such, When In Rome is an entertaining fantasy that deals with the exhilaration and pitfalls of infatuation.
Showing posts with label Kristen Schaal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kristen Schaal. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Carell and Clement Are Endearingly Odd in Dinner for Schmucks
I’ve been seeing a lot of promotion lately for Dinner for Schmucks,
the Jay Roach-directed comedy that opens this weekend, but all those
ads didn’t manage to give me a very clear idea of what the movie was
about. All that really stuck with me was the fact that one of the stars
was a distinctly odd-looking Steve Carell and that based on the quick
clips shown in the previews, it looked pretty stupid. I was much more
interested in Carell’s other movie, Despicable Me, but when my
friend suggested we go see the schmucks, I was game. It turned out to be
one of those movies I’m glad someone else suggested; I wouldn’t have
gone on my own, but I ended up really liking it.
While it is Carell’s performance that really drives the action of the movie, Paul Rudd is the main character here, which I found interesting, since I last saw him in I Love You, Man, in which he plays a man on the verge of marriage whose engagement and life in general become overhauled when he meets the strange man who will quickly become his best friend. In this movie, he’s in a solid relationship, but he and artistic Frenchwoman Julie (Stephanie Szostak) are not yet engaged, much to his dismay. Tim is a clever, resourceful guy who is willing to do his homework in order to get ahead at the office. When a promotion pops up, his initiative and extensive research place him in an ideal opportunity to advance. But then complication arise...
Those complications come mostly courtesy of Carell’s Barry, a sweetly eccentric IRS agent who spends all of his free time building dioramas and scouting out tiny, already-deceased residents to fill them. Like most of Carell’s characters, Barry is endearingly naive, with character quirks that cause him to appear quite moronic. He has spectacles, an absurd set of teeth that cause him to talk strangely and an absolute inability to pick up on most basic social cues. And once Tim dramatically enters his life - in a manner that serves as a blatant warning about the dangers of driving while using a cell phone - he’s stuck with Barry, who is desperate to do all he can to assist his new (and only) friend.
Tim immediately sees in Barry his ticket to that bigger office, since he seems the perfect candidate for the top-secret dinner upon which his promotion largely hinges. The tradition? Each person from the office brings someone with a strange ability to dinner, and by the end of the night, one of them will be awarded a trophy. What the winner will be too clueless to realize is the fact that he and his fellow guests have only been invited so these executives can have a laugh at their expense. As soon as Julie learns of the dinner, she is horrified, and this is the cause of the initial friction between her and Tim. Barry sets off a series of mishaps exacerbating their problems, but it all boils down to the fact that this job has turned Tim into someone who does despicable things.
I was surprised at how much I came to like Julie so quickly. In these types of movies, there’s usually at least some question as to whether the main character might be better off without his current girlfriend. Usually there is a grating side to her personality, but Julie is utterly charming in one of the few straightman roles in the movie. I’d never seen Szostak in a movie before, but I’ll keep an eye out for her name; her radiant performance as the vulnerable but fiercely moral Julie won me over completely.
Also reeling me in was Flight of the Conchords‘ Jemaine Clement as Kieran, the artist whose show Julie is in the midst of curating. Though I’ve found Clement hilarious ever since his run of ads for Outback Steakhouse several years ago, I failed to recognize him in the previews. That’s not so surprising, however, since he plays a completely different character than the painfully awkward version of himself I grew used to seeing on his short-lived HBO sit-com. This long-haired incarnation of Clement bristles with brazen intensity. Julie and Barry both refer to his appeal as “animal magnetism,” and he’s certainly tapped into something visceral by surrounding himself with exotic wildlife at his ranch.
Unflappable and virile, he initially comes across as narcissistic since he is the focal point of every one of his carefully composed photographs, which depict him in animalistic costumes against provocative backdrops, but there’s something very Zen about his approach to the world. He’s an oddball, to be sure, but he’s also refreshingly honest and attuned to the emotions of others, and although he’s a rival for Julie’s affections, I found it impossible not to like him.
Although fellow FotC alum Kristen Schaal never shares the screen with Clement, it’s fun to see them both appear in the same movie. Her role is much smaller than his; she plays Tim’s personal assistant, who desperately wants Tim to make a play for power so she can move up to the seventh floor with him. Carell isn’t the only familiar face from The Office, either; Larry Wilmore, who plays a drab fellow from corporate trying to clean up Michael Scott’s messes in several episodes, portrays an officemate who would horrify that uber-politically correct character. Among the many other minor players, the one who caught my eye most was Patrick Fischler. Here, he’s Vincenzo, a bandaged vulture handler whose control over his bird is less than complete, while I know him as beady-eyed Dharma drone Phil on LOST.
Exuding a sort of smarmy executive charm is Bruce Greenwood as Tim’s boss Lance Fender, who tries to dismiss this young go-getter but finds himself increasingly impressed. While this is a man who seems to delight in the misfortunes of others, his charisma makes Lance’s crass nature harder to see. Same goes for Mueller (David Walliams), the Swiss businessman whose support is so crucial to the future success of the company. Mueller comes across as very sophisticated, and he’s pleased with Tim’s smooth attempts to court his favor, but before the movie is over, we get to see just how undignified he can be.
In many ways, this movie reminded me of the comedy What About Bob?, in which a psychiatrist played by Richard Dreyfuss has his perfect weekend obliterated by the affable patient who crashes his family getaway. This uptight professional on the cusp of the greatest triumph of his career watches in horror as his wife and children become attached to disaster-prone Bob, whose presence poses a grave threat to his big break. Barry is an incredibly sympathetic character, but some of his actions truly are idiotic, and when Tim’s mouth twitches in suppressed rage, it’s easy to understand why.
It’s a comedy of extravagant errors, and the resulting wanton destruction is my least favorite element of the movie. That sort of thing always makes me cringe a bit, whether it’s in Mouse Hunt or Bean. Both of those movies aim at a younger audience; Dinner for Schmucks is clearly for adults, with no characters under the age of 20 and a fair amount of sensuality. There’s also a smattering of profanity, though that’s kept to a minimum; more potentially offensive is a scene involving Barry’s artistic representation of The Last Supper, but everything Barry does is so earnest that while Tim’s reactions bugged me, the initial artwork seems almost reverent.
Barry, for all his eccentricities, is an exceptionally talented artisan. His attention to detail is astounding, as we see in the whimsical opening sequence set to the Beatles’ Fool on the Hill. It may sound a bit morbid to turn taxidermied mice into works of art, but his intricate displays pop with a candy-coated joy that reminds me of Pushing Daisies. This is a lonely man who has not had much success in life, but his ability to see the best in every situation clearly comes across in his artwork.
While I’ve become a pretty solid fan of Carell in recent years, I had serious doubts about Dinner for Schmucks. It’s a gentler film than I expected, and while it does have its crude and painfully disastrous moments, I spent a majority of the movie with a smile on my face. My conclusion? This bunch of schmucks did all right.
While it is Carell’s performance that really drives the action of the movie, Paul Rudd is the main character here, which I found interesting, since I last saw him in I Love You, Man, in which he plays a man on the verge of marriage whose engagement and life in general become overhauled when he meets the strange man who will quickly become his best friend. In this movie, he’s in a solid relationship, but he and artistic Frenchwoman Julie (Stephanie Szostak) are not yet engaged, much to his dismay. Tim is a clever, resourceful guy who is willing to do his homework in order to get ahead at the office. When a promotion pops up, his initiative and extensive research place him in an ideal opportunity to advance. But then complication arise...
Those complications come mostly courtesy of Carell’s Barry, a sweetly eccentric IRS agent who spends all of his free time building dioramas and scouting out tiny, already-deceased residents to fill them. Like most of Carell’s characters, Barry is endearingly naive, with character quirks that cause him to appear quite moronic. He has spectacles, an absurd set of teeth that cause him to talk strangely and an absolute inability to pick up on most basic social cues. And once Tim dramatically enters his life - in a manner that serves as a blatant warning about the dangers of driving while using a cell phone - he’s stuck with Barry, who is desperate to do all he can to assist his new (and only) friend.
Tim immediately sees in Barry his ticket to that bigger office, since he seems the perfect candidate for the top-secret dinner upon which his promotion largely hinges. The tradition? Each person from the office brings someone with a strange ability to dinner, and by the end of the night, one of them will be awarded a trophy. What the winner will be too clueless to realize is the fact that he and his fellow guests have only been invited so these executives can have a laugh at their expense. As soon as Julie learns of the dinner, she is horrified, and this is the cause of the initial friction between her and Tim. Barry sets off a series of mishaps exacerbating their problems, but it all boils down to the fact that this job has turned Tim into someone who does despicable things.
I was surprised at how much I came to like Julie so quickly. In these types of movies, there’s usually at least some question as to whether the main character might be better off without his current girlfriend. Usually there is a grating side to her personality, but Julie is utterly charming in one of the few straightman roles in the movie. I’d never seen Szostak in a movie before, but I’ll keep an eye out for her name; her radiant performance as the vulnerable but fiercely moral Julie won me over completely.
Also reeling me in was Flight of the Conchords‘ Jemaine Clement as Kieran, the artist whose show Julie is in the midst of curating. Though I’ve found Clement hilarious ever since his run of ads for Outback Steakhouse several years ago, I failed to recognize him in the previews. That’s not so surprising, however, since he plays a completely different character than the painfully awkward version of himself I grew used to seeing on his short-lived HBO sit-com. This long-haired incarnation of Clement bristles with brazen intensity. Julie and Barry both refer to his appeal as “animal magnetism,” and he’s certainly tapped into something visceral by surrounding himself with exotic wildlife at his ranch.
Unflappable and virile, he initially comes across as narcissistic since he is the focal point of every one of his carefully composed photographs, which depict him in animalistic costumes against provocative backdrops, but there’s something very Zen about his approach to the world. He’s an oddball, to be sure, but he’s also refreshingly honest and attuned to the emotions of others, and although he’s a rival for Julie’s affections, I found it impossible not to like him.
Although fellow FotC alum Kristen Schaal never shares the screen with Clement, it’s fun to see them both appear in the same movie. Her role is much smaller than his; she plays Tim’s personal assistant, who desperately wants Tim to make a play for power so she can move up to the seventh floor with him. Carell isn’t the only familiar face from The Office, either; Larry Wilmore, who plays a drab fellow from corporate trying to clean up Michael Scott’s messes in several episodes, portrays an officemate who would horrify that uber-politically correct character. Among the many other minor players, the one who caught my eye most was Patrick Fischler. Here, he’s Vincenzo, a bandaged vulture handler whose control over his bird is less than complete, while I know him as beady-eyed Dharma drone Phil on LOST.
Exuding a sort of smarmy executive charm is Bruce Greenwood as Tim’s boss Lance Fender, who tries to dismiss this young go-getter but finds himself increasingly impressed. While this is a man who seems to delight in the misfortunes of others, his charisma makes Lance’s crass nature harder to see. Same goes for Mueller (David Walliams), the Swiss businessman whose support is so crucial to the future success of the company. Mueller comes across as very sophisticated, and he’s pleased with Tim’s smooth attempts to court his favor, but before the movie is over, we get to see just how undignified he can be.
In many ways, this movie reminded me of the comedy What About Bob?, in which a psychiatrist played by Richard Dreyfuss has his perfect weekend obliterated by the affable patient who crashes his family getaway. This uptight professional on the cusp of the greatest triumph of his career watches in horror as his wife and children become attached to disaster-prone Bob, whose presence poses a grave threat to his big break. Barry is an incredibly sympathetic character, but some of his actions truly are idiotic, and when Tim’s mouth twitches in suppressed rage, it’s easy to understand why.
It’s a comedy of extravagant errors, and the resulting wanton destruction is my least favorite element of the movie. That sort of thing always makes me cringe a bit, whether it’s in Mouse Hunt or Bean. Both of those movies aim at a younger audience; Dinner for Schmucks is clearly for adults, with no characters under the age of 20 and a fair amount of sensuality. There’s also a smattering of profanity, though that’s kept to a minimum; more potentially offensive is a scene involving Barry’s artistic representation of The Last Supper, but everything Barry does is so earnest that while Tim’s reactions bugged me, the initial artwork seems almost reverent.
Barry, for all his eccentricities, is an exceptionally talented artisan. His attention to detail is astounding, as we see in the whimsical opening sequence set to the Beatles’ Fool on the Hill. It may sound a bit morbid to turn taxidermied mice into works of art, but his intricate displays pop with a candy-coated joy that reminds me of Pushing Daisies. This is a lonely man who has not had much success in life, but his ability to see the best in every situation clearly comes across in his artwork.
While I’ve become a pretty solid fan of Carell in recent years, I had serious doubts about Dinner for Schmucks. It’s a gentler film than I expected, and while it does have its crude and painfully disastrous moments, I spent a majority of the movie with a smile on my face. My conclusion? This bunch of schmucks did all right.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Art Garfunkel and Alan Dale Enhance Flight of the Conchords' Final Season
Back in 2007, my brother introduced me to Flight of the Conchords,
an HBO comedy about a pair of awkward New Zealanders who come to New
York City in hopes of making it big as a folk duo. Jemaine Clement, a
big lug with a deep voice and thick glasses who starred in a string of
memorable Outback Steakhouse commercials, and Bret McKenzie, whose
delicate features and soft voice landed him a role as an Elf in Lord of the Rings, play fictionalized versions of themselves in this hilarious, albeit sadly short-lived, show.
This January, I bought the second and final season of Flight of the Conchords, which, at ten episodes, is even shorter than the first. I’d previously seen one of the episodes online, but since we don’t get HBO, I counted on catching the rest on DVD. It was a worthwhile investment.
The beginning of the second season finds Jemaine and Bret attempting to manage themselves after their hapless manager, Murray Hewitt (Rhys Darby), diverts most of his attention to his new act, the Crazy Dogs. They soon discover just how much they don’t know about the music business, and the episode ends with the three gaining a renewed appreciation for each other. Darby remains impeccable as the hopelessly naive and ineffectual Murray, who in many ways can be considered a third member of the group.
Season one is stuffed with goofy, catchy tunes, rendering season two a bit sparse by comparison. While Bret and Jemaine, already a band before the show began, had plenty of material to draw from initially, they had used most of it by the end of the first season, forcing them to produce a lot of new material, most of which doesn’t make quite as much of an impression as the earlier songs.
Probably my favorite ditty of the season is Friends, from Murray Takes It to the Next Level, in which Murray decides it’s time to hang out with the guys as a buddy. This mellow, nearly a cappella ode to friendship is upbeat and harmonious, in the style of a barbershop quartet. Along with a great sound, it includes several clever descriptions of what constitutes a friend, and I like it enough to forgive the one crude line.
Unfortunately, low-brow humor isn’t that hard to find in season two. In season one, they mostly keep things fairly innocent, or at least take things no further than awkward innuendo. But in season two, it’s harder to forget this aired on cable rather than on one of the big networks.
On the other hand, Bret and Jemaine remain riotously inept, so their attempts to be seductive generally fail spectacularly, particularly in A New Cup. While this is probably the most risque episode of the season, it’s also one of the best, thanks to an absurd premise that confirms just how unsuccessful these two really are, a zany side story about Murray’s decision to invest the band’s meager funds with a Nigerian businessman who contacted him over e-mail and a tragi-comic conclusion that serves as a metaphor for their lives.
The one episode that I saw ahead of time was The Prime Minister, which I’d highly anticipated because I knew it featured Art Garfunkel. While his actual appearance is very brief, it’s quite amusing, especially considering the events leading up to it - events that involve Bret and Jemaine getting a gig as a Simon and Garfunkel tribute band and Jemaine hooking up with a girl who insists that he continue to dress as Art Garfunkel whenever she is in his company. It includes perhaps my favorite line of the season, to Murray: “So we look like some Simon and Garfunkel look-alikes who don’t look like Simon and Garfunkel?”
Additionally, it introduces the magnificent character of New Zealand’s Prime Minister Brian (Brian Sergent), who is even dopier than Murray and makes one start to wonder whether all Kiwis are a bit daft. While I was disappointed that there were no Simon and Garfunkel-style songs here (just very brief manglings of Scarborough Fair and Bright Eyes), Bret’s random karaoke performance of a Korean love song has some of the funniest (subtitled) lyrics of the season.
Each episode has something to recommend it, whether it’s an appearance by LOST and Ugly Betty’s Alan Dale, adding to his haughty boss repertoire as the Australian consulate leader who bullies Murray, or a disastrous attempt by Jemaine to help Bret prove himself chivalrous to a love interest. Kristen Schaal continues to be uncomfortably overzealous as Mel, the duo’s lone fan, as evidenced in the episode in which she presents the guys with disturbing portraits of themselves. The season - and series - ends in a way that feels very fitting for this saga of these chumps who will never let life get them down, despite a steady stream of failures.
While I’m sad to see the show go, I’m happy to know that Flight of the Conchords lives on, and I hope to catch them on tour one of these days. Until then, I’ll be content to giggle my way through the 22 episodes of their wonderfully quirky comedy.
This January, I bought the second and final season of Flight of the Conchords, which, at ten episodes, is even shorter than the first. I’d previously seen one of the episodes online, but since we don’t get HBO, I counted on catching the rest on DVD. It was a worthwhile investment.
The beginning of the second season finds Jemaine and Bret attempting to manage themselves after their hapless manager, Murray Hewitt (Rhys Darby), diverts most of his attention to his new act, the Crazy Dogs. They soon discover just how much they don’t know about the music business, and the episode ends with the three gaining a renewed appreciation for each other. Darby remains impeccable as the hopelessly naive and ineffectual Murray, who in many ways can be considered a third member of the group.
Season one is stuffed with goofy, catchy tunes, rendering season two a bit sparse by comparison. While Bret and Jemaine, already a band before the show began, had plenty of material to draw from initially, they had used most of it by the end of the first season, forcing them to produce a lot of new material, most of which doesn’t make quite as much of an impression as the earlier songs.
Probably my favorite ditty of the season is Friends, from Murray Takes It to the Next Level, in which Murray decides it’s time to hang out with the guys as a buddy. This mellow, nearly a cappella ode to friendship is upbeat and harmonious, in the style of a barbershop quartet. Along with a great sound, it includes several clever descriptions of what constitutes a friend, and I like it enough to forgive the one crude line.
Unfortunately, low-brow humor isn’t that hard to find in season two. In season one, they mostly keep things fairly innocent, or at least take things no further than awkward innuendo. But in season two, it’s harder to forget this aired on cable rather than on one of the big networks.
On the other hand, Bret and Jemaine remain riotously inept, so their attempts to be seductive generally fail spectacularly, particularly in A New Cup. While this is probably the most risque episode of the season, it’s also one of the best, thanks to an absurd premise that confirms just how unsuccessful these two really are, a zany side story about Murray’s decision to invest the band’s meager funds with a Nigerian businessman who contacted him over e-mail and a tragi-comic conclusion that serves as a metaphor for their lives.
The one episode that I saw ahead of time was The Prime Minister, which I’d highly anticipated because I knew it featured Art Garfunkel. While his actual appearance is very brief, it’s quite amusing, especially considering the events leading up to it - events that involve Bret and Jemaine getting a gig as a Simon and Garfunkel tribute band and Jemaine hooking up with a girl who insists that he continue to dress as Art Garfunkel whenever she is in his company. It includes perhaps my favorite line of the season, to Murray: “So we look like some Simon and Garfunkel look-alikes who don’t look like Simon and Garfunkel?”
Additionally, it introduces the magnificent character of New Zealand’s Prime Minister Brian (Brian Sergent), who is even dopier than Murray and makes one start to wonder whether all Kiwis are a bit daft. While I was disappointed that there were no Simon and Garfunkel-style songs here (just very brief manglings of Scarborough Fair and Bright Eyes), Bret’s random karaoke performance of a Korean love song has some of the funniest (subtitled) lyrics of the season.
Each episode has something to recommend it, whether it’s an appearance by LOST and Ugly Betty’s Alan Dale, adding to his haughty boss repertoire as the Australian consulate leader who bullies Murray, or a disastrous attempt by Jemaine to help Bret prove himself chivalrous to a love interest. Kristen Schaal continues to be uncomfortably overzealous as Mel, the duo’s lone fan, as evidenced in the episode in which she presents the guys with disturbing portraits of themselves. The season - and series - ends in a way that feels very fitting for this saga of these chumps who will never let life get them down, despite a steady stream of failures.
While I’m sad to see the show go, I’m happy to know that Flight of the Conchords lives on, and I hope to catch them on tour one of these days. Until then, I’ll be content to giggle my way through the 22 episodes of their wonderfully quirky comedy.
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