film reviews, interviews, features | BRWC

Author: Matt Conway

  • Superintelligence: The BRWC Review

    Superintelligence: The BRWC Review

    From boisterous supporting roles (Bridesmaids and This is 40) to movie stardom, Melissa McCarthy has earned every bit of her impressive career arc. Like Adam Sandler and Will Ferrell before her, McCarthy has established herself as a marquee comedic voice for her era, taking center stage for several box office breakouts over the past decade (Spy and The Heat). Also similar to those two funnymen, McCarthy’s comedic tenure has been somewhat of a critical mixed bag, often following up triumphant laugh fests with notable misfires (Tammy and The Boss).

    Her latest project Superintelligence (which is opting for an HBO Max release) relies upon a tech zeitgeist set-up for its numerous pratfalls. While admittedly pleasant, this straight-forward comedy mostly finds itself stuck on autopilot.

    Superintelligence follows Carol Peters (McCarthy), a seemingly average woman whose thrust into a life-changing role when a mysterious superintelligence program arrives on Earth (voiced by James Corden). Based on Carol, the A.I. will decide if humanity is worth saving or not, leaving it to Carol’s good-hearted nature to prevent the end of the world.

    McCarthy’s latest re-teams her with writer, director, and husband Ben Falcone, who has shockingly been centerstage for most of her weakest efforts. That losing streak sadly continues here. Falcone’s talents as a comedic character actor have not transitioned to behind-the scenes-work, relying upon sterile stylistic choices to meet the bare minimum for a visceral lens. The routine “studio comedy” look is particularly frustrating given the premise’s high-concept qualities, as Falcone treats the myriad of tech gags with a level of visual disinterest.

    Frankly, Superintelligence rarely does much with its promising set-up. Similar to last year’s tech dud Jexi, the plot never utilizes its AI elements to ruminate on our complex relationship with technology. While I expect some simplifying from a studio comedy, the script mostly leaves its tech elements in the dust in favor of broad gags. Steve Mallory’s effort views his subject through a superficial gaze, basing most of its pratfalls on tech-inept characters outright clumsiness. Add in a heaping of flat pop culture gags (from Law and Order to War Games, Mallory vomits a bizarre mixture of references) and a simplistic parable about expressing yourself, there’s little about this screenplay that feels creatively-drawn.

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9bRe8sEcOvQ&ab_channel=HBOMax

    Like a lot of McCarthy misfires, Superintelligence frustrates due to its innate promise. McCarthy continues to be affably dedicated to every role she inhabits, while Brian Tyree Henry and Bobby Cannavale add a bright comedic sparkle in their supporting roles. Heck, McCarthy and Cannavale even make for a charismatic rom-com pairing that would be well-served in better material. It’s just a shame that this trio is straddled with murky mediocrity, as Superintelligence rarely finds itself outside of contrived studio formula.

    McCarthy’s next streaming project Thunder Force finds her re-teaming with Falcone in a superhero comedy. As a McCarthy fan, I hope that project utilizes its high-concept premise with more ingenuity than Superintelligence. It’s an unremarkable dud, one that will pass through streaming eyes with mere indifference.

  • Happiest Season: The BRWC Review

    Happiest Season: The BRWC Review

    Like nestling in a cozy blanket on a winter’s day, Christmas films offer a comforting celebration of Yuletide traditions. The great offerings are remembered as iconic holiday staples (A Christmas Story and Elf), while even the cheesy, Lifetime-esque films hold their own guilty pleasure appeal. The latest in the subgenre Happiest Season imbues its traditional formula with a thoughtful lens, with writer/director Clea DuVall crafting an earnest celebration of the seasonal values

    Happiest Season follows Abby (Kristen Stewart) and Harper (Mackenzie Davis), a happy couple who looks forward to celebrating their first Christmas together. When the two travel to Harper’s family (parents played by Victor Garber and Mary Steenburgen), Abby learns that her partner has yet to reveal her sexuality to her parents. Their relationship is put to the test as they’re run through the gauntlet of Yuletide celebrations.

    Like all great romantic comedies, Happiest Season boasts a winning ensemble cast. Kristen Stewart and Mackenzie Davis are an effervescent onscreen pair. Stewart’s subdued, yet deft comedic hand matches perfectly with Davis’ bright onscreen presence, allowing the two to morph their archetype characters into lived-in personas. The stacked supporting cast also has a blast throughout the production, with Dan Levy, Aubrey Plaza, Mary Steenburgen, and Mary Holland (who also co-wrote the script) delivering movie star charisma.

    The inclusive sensibility behind Happiest Season‘s LGBTQ identity is commendable, yet it would mean very little if the subject matter wasn’t handled with a genuine eye. DuVall proves she’s the right voice to tell this story, articulating intimate nuances behind Abby and Harper’s relationship dynamic. Both characters are written from an empathetic perspective, with Abby’s frustration for an open-book lifestyle clashing with Harper’s personal insecurities without judgment towards either side. This choice imbues the typically mawkish rom-com conflict with a refreshing dose of reality, allocating genuine steaks for audiences to invest in.

    That isn’t to discredit Happiest Season’s allures as a romantic comedy, with DuVall and company lovingly leaning into the genre’s well-known framework. DuVall’s sensible style handles the set-up’s innate zaniness without getting too cartoon-y, re-packaging the typically artificial business for a more self-assured comedic voice. The laughs here register without vying desperately for the audience’s attention. DuVall’s handling of the traditional rom-com plot beats is similarly well-tuned. There’s a self-awareness streak that never feels overly-sly, as everyone involved seems well-versed in what makes these genre moments sing.

    Happiest Season renders an infectiously warm glow, eliciting the kind of sweatpants-level comfort that turns films of this ilk into beloved staples.

  • Hillbilly Elegy: Another Review

    Hillbilly Elegy: Another Review

    Every award season delivers a myriad of accomplished films (One Night in Miami and Minari are some early standouts), but each breakout success is often matched by confounding misfires (Ammonite). Several films desperately vie for voter’s attention, but their obvious placating only creates a ringing hollowness. Netflix’s latest awards hopeful Hillbilly Elegy sadly trips into that category, with director Ron Howard’s film merely operating as overworked awards-bait.

    Adapted from J.D. Vance’s autobiographical novel, Hillbilly Elegy follows a Yale law student (Gabriel Brasso plays Vance) drawn back to his hometown after his mother lands in the hospital. While there, he grapples with his family history, Appalachian values, and the true meaning of the American dream.

    Vance’s novel was a massive success, a best-selling work that generated its fair share of controversy along the way (journalists question the accuracy of Vance’s depiction of Appalachian life). Even with the mixed reception, it’s easy to comprehend the work’s dramatically enticing values, with Vance’s canvas delving into his personal pains while breaking down the inherent stereotypes facing his community. Weaving nonlinear storytelling and a subplot on the opioid crisis’s impact in low-income areas, Hillbilly Elegy should be the type of film that speaks volumes about the American experience.

    Instead, Howard’s film takes the work’s tangible values and dials them to the max, playing to the back of the auditorium with grandiose emotional beats. This crowd-pleasing approach drains the material of its innate humanity, turning the character’s personal struggles into melodramatic theater. A melody of over-produced score choices and insincere speeches only add to the lingering emptiness. Howard’s mannered filmmaking identity meshes with the material like oil and water, with the usually accomplished director never tuning in to the material’s frequency. Here’s a film that’s desperately calling for raw emotionality, yet Howard only presents us with contrived and poorly-orchestrated plot mechanics.

    Hillbilly Elegy‘s overdone nature leaves its cast out to dry. Glenn Close and Amy Adams rank among the industry’s most acclaimed talents, yet their abilities are rarely on full display. Close’s take on Vance’s protective grandma gets lost amidst the accent and prosthetics, while Adams tirelessly strains for emotional beats that aren’t well-developed on the page. The stacked supporting cast (Hayley Bennett, Frieda Pinto, and Basso) is left standing on the sidelines, watching the theatrics without having much presence of their own onscreen.

    There’s very little about Hillbilly Elegy that feels genuine. Howard and screenwriter Vanessa Taylor depict the character’s gritty lifestyle with a dispassionate gaze, portraying the Appalachian lifestyle with an “aw-shucks” folksiness that simply feels false. Taylor’s inability to mesh the dissonant timelines only makes this matter worse, with the film aimlessly drifting by without developing either arc in the process. All and all, it’s just a mess, one that isn’t particularly endearing considering its contrived origins.

    To see acclaimed talents coming together for a vapid piece of awards bait is a letdown, and I hope Hillbilly Elegy‘s falterings will only promote filmmakers to explore avenues outside the traditionalist norms.

  • Buddy Games: Review

    Buddy Games: Review

    Male debauchery is a common fixture of raunchy comedies, often serving as the driving force behind success stories like the Jackass and The Hangover franchises. While throwing outrageous gags at the screen may appear effortless when they work, it’s the comedic misfires that remind us how hard it is to construct an assured buddy comedy. That’s where Josh Duhamel’s writing/directorial debut Buddy Games comes in, serving as a well-intended, yet ultimately mean-spirited exercise in crass pratfalls.

    The Buddy Games follows a group of friends (Duhamel, Dax Shepard, Nick Swardson, James Roday Rodriguez, Kevin Dillon, and Dan Bakkedahl) who reunite yearly to play in the Buddy Games. This assortment of oddball challenges puts their skills and friendship to the test, especially when a $150,000 cash prize is up for grabs with this year’s games.

    Delving into male friendships under the guise of crass barbs and hard-hitting pranks is a common trope, yet rarely has this approach rendered such an inauthentic experience. I appreciate the earnest beginnings of Duhamel’s film (it’s loosely based upon a ritual he and his friends participate in), but in an effort to play to the audience’s sensibility, he drains the material of its innate appeal. This celebratory gathering of male comradery morphs into an endless array of mindless gags, negating any authentic connection between our stereotypical leads. The characters only connect when they’re hitting each other in the nuts or delivering ham-fisted speeches, as Duhamel never marries his pratfalls with the sincerity they so desperately seek.

    Comedically, Buddy Games is an instance where the actors probably had more fun making the film than audiences will have watching it. For a film that tirelessly tries to shock its audience, Duhamel and company mostly rely upon tired pratfalls. If you want to see people getting teabaged and drinking semen, I guess this is for you. Otherwise, I think most will agree the comedic sensibility here is more grotesque than it is creative. Some of the actors register some light-hearted fun (Nick Swardson has a blast degrading himself with each ridiculous gag), but most of the cast is relegated to one-joke roles that rarely breathe onscreen.

    Under the endless array of bits, Buddy Games registers with an oft-putting mean-streak that the material can never quite shakes. I understand that the characters’ abhorrent behavior is supposed to reflect their affectionate feelings towards each other, but Duhamel pushes their pranks to a strenuous degree. Whether the characters are relentlessly mocking their peer’s life-changing injury or worthwhile aspirations, these “boys” read with a macho-man streak that is rarely endearing. I love the hangout comedies that Buddy Games aspires to emulate, but the film rarely taps into that finite frequency.

    While watching Buddy Games, I thought of the tweaks that could’ve imbued the material with more heart and authenticity. In other words, I was dreaming of a film that Buddy Games rarely is, with the promising concept only being utilized as a canvas for crass, over-the-top gags. I am curious to see what Duhamel does next as a director, as he may find that his comfort zone rests outside of the comedic sphere.

  • Jiu Jitsu: The BRWC Review

    Jiu Jitsu: The BRWC Review

    Nic Cage, aliens, and jiu-jitsu. It’s a holy trinity of genre campiness that seems almost too good to be true. Thankfully, that’s what director Dimitri Logothetis delivers with his latest effort Jiu Jitsu. Logothetis’ film boasts a plethora of shamelessly over-the-top genre setpieces, more than enough to counter the film’s myriad of technical issues.

    Jiu Jitsu follows Jake (Alain Moussi), a jiu-jitsu warrior who’s suffering from amnesia. This couldn’t come at a worse time, as every six years, an ancient order of jiu-jitsu fighters joins forces to battle a vicious race of alien invaders. When a celebrated war hero goes down in defeat, the fate of the planet and mankind hangs in the balance of Jake and his elite tribe.

    Combining the cat-and-mouse thrills of Predator with a bombastic, midnight movie-sensibility, Logothetis’ direction operates with an infectious reckless abandon. His film takes the kitchen sink of B-movie staples and infuses them into one gleefully silly popcorn movie. This approach works due to Logothetis’ ability to marry a self-aware tonality with a straight-faced delivery, allowing the cheeky elements to operate without being too obvious. It’s also a joy to see Nic Cage, Frank Grillo, and Tony Ja leaning into the dopey genre-sensibility, with Cage being a joy as an unhinged jiu-jitsu master.

    What often goes unappreciated with films of this ilk is the craftsmanship behind them, with Logothetis matching the material’s gonzo style with some creative techniques. Whether it’s implausible POV action scenes (the camera follows the perspective of a character until it’s set down to then watch that character fight) or a heaping of low-rent special effects (comic book pannel transitions are used throughout), Logothetis consistently finds new wrinkles to throw at his audience. While shrouded in imperfections, these sequences display a sincere effort from all involved, as they push their budgetary restrictions to their creative limit.

    I had a blast throughout Jiu Jitsu, but the film can’t quite reach cult-level status. While the supporting cast leans into their campy roles (Eddie Steeples has fun as a timid soldier), star Alain Moussi struggles mightily. His stiff presence makes the archetype role feel like a mere-cliche, with his straight-man role being the least interesting aspect of the busy narrative. I also felt the film’s first half lag in comparison to the chaos that follows it, with some of the script’s exposition dumps failing to engage the audience.

    Jiu Jitsu will likely be dismissed at first glance, but those who can tune into its dopy wavelength will have a blast with this low-brow genre adventure.