Sunday, September 02, 2007 Rant Archive
Bean, Bean, the comedic froot. Unfortunately, this movie is not a hoot.
In contemplating this review, I was tempted to pull a decidedly Bean-esque stunt: not see the movie at all, ‘borrow’ a ticket stub for reimbursement purposes and cobble the story together by pilfering random sentences from previously published reviews.
However, I realized this would not only be really annoying (what, with all the plagiarism lawsuits I’d have to endure), but profoundly unfair to the critics who actually sat through the film.
After winning a trip to Cannes in a church raffle, Mr. Bean proceeds to leave a typically Bean-ish trail of confusion, anger, annoyance and mystified looks in his wake. On his pilgrimage to that legendary beach in the south of France, Bean accidentally separates a young Russian boy from his father, is mistaken for a kidnapper, performs a wacky street performance for money when he loses his wallet, inappropriately masticates a ‘fruits de mer’ platter at a swanky restaurant, and eventually winds up at the film festival with Willem Dafoe (whom we haven’t seen so exuberantly and gleefully goofing on his own character since SHADOW OF THE VAMPIRE).
When last we left the rats in a maze known as BIG BROTHER 8, Eric, Daniele, Evel Dick and Zach were competing for the Head of Household. Jessica, the outgoing HOH and Jameka (ineligible to compete from an earlier competition) watched. As the four players raced to fill their giant bowls with liquid three ounces at a time, BIG BROTHER covered them in a steady stream of slick; a golden shower concoction of corn syrup and baby oil. Just to make it difficult for the contestants and whet the appetite of German fetishists.
Strategically, the power alliance of Dick/Daniele & Eric/Jessica looked to be safe with three of the four having a shot of maintaining power and writing evictions for Jameka and Zach. These two have somehow not wised to the fact that this alliance exists which proves how truly vacant the heads are of these players.
Kevin Bacon is like the ranch salad dressing of actors. He goes with damn near everything, and makes damn near everything better through his presence (although even he couldn’t save HOLLOW MAN). Why doesn’t this guy have an Oscar? Hell, he’s never even been nominated, which is one of those mystifying Hollywood events, much like how Uwe Boll keeps getting money to make films. Anyway, he’s headlining the just-released DEATH SENTENCE, now blowing holes in a cineplex near you, and even if you detest strong movie violence or stories about some guy on a retribution kick—both of which are in this film in abundance—you should go see this one. Bacon is surrounded by fine acting and writing, but in the end, it’s really all about him. Be warned, though: It’s dark and grim, wildly effective and too strong for repeated consumption.
Mr. Bacon plays Nick Hume, a well-to-do executive with a lovely wife (Kelly Preston), two normal teenage sons and the picturesque home in the suburbs. Life is grand for Nick, until an unplanned stop for gas and a slushy turns into a nightmare when his oldest son Brendan (Stuart Lafferty) gets caught in a gang initiation and is killed. When a hard-nosed prosecutor explains that there’s no case against Joe Darley (Matt O’Leary) except for Nick’s testimony, and the best he can get is 3-5, Nick decides on a different tack. He tracks Joe to an apartment building and fatally stabs him. Unfortunately, this runs him afoul of Billy (Garrett Hedlund), Joe’s older, smarter and far more psychotic brother. Now it’s an escalation between two men, an exchange of Pyrrhic victories that a sympathetic homicide detective (Aisha Tyler) tries to stop.