News for today's 2018

Carrie: Still raising the roof

6:00 PM Tukiyooo 0

<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><b><i>Carrie</i> </b></span></span></span></span></span></span><b>(2013) • <a href="http://trailers.apple.com/trailers/sony_pictures/carrie/" style="color: #27a9c5; text-decoration: none;">View trailer</a></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><b> </b><br /><b>3.5 stars. Rating: R, for bloody violence, disturbing images, blasphemy, profanity and sexual content</b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b>By <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/12885694730612878577" style="color: #27a9c5; text-decoration: none;">Derrick Bang</a> • </b></span>Originally published in <i><a href="http://www.davisenterprise.com/" style="color: #27a9c5; text-decoration: none;">The Davis Enterprise</a></i>, 10.18.13</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>            <br /><div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sissy Spacek was 27 when she starred in 1976’s first stab at Stephen King’s <i>Carrie</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Although she acted the hell out of that role — pun intended — and garnered a well-deserved Oscar nomination for her efforts, she never quite looked or “felt” the part; her residual baby-fat years were a decade behind her. The actresses playing Carrie’s tormentors, all in their mid-20s, also looked too old for their parts ... but that’s how director Brian De Palma was able to get away with all the nudity in the infamous opening shower scene.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj41e-JQj2mXzmXf3l_VR2Ef51HrMa3QE12AEbrsipWEVK9h50u16U1inG3MtaiLSbPPNQVvvbbF9pGulIk78q8tSuOu-lielnSMbJ7V6fjEqqfmx_9hk26d4l_S0SdDc58NoneVHqhSUM/s1600/Carrie+blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj41e-JQj2mXzmXf3l_VR2Ef51HrMa3QE12AEbrsipWEVK9h50u16U1inG3MtaiLSbPPNQVvvbbF9pGulIk78q8tSuOu-lielnSMbJ7V6fjEqqfmx_9hk26d4l_S0SdDc58NoneVHqhSUM/s400/Carrie+blog.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Having made a dress and tried hard to transform herself into a young woman as typical<br />as her many classmates, Carrie (Chloë Grace Moretz) nervously pauses before joining<br />the teens entering the doors that lead to the school prom. Her escort, Tommy (Ansel<br />Elgort), gently insists that everything will be fine ... but we know better.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With respect to age-appropriateness, then, Chloë Grace Moretz’s presence in director Kimberly Peirce’s fresh take on <i>Carrie</i> is a step in the right direction. Indeed, a massive step: At 16, Moretz is <i>precisely</i> right; she exudes the soft vulnerability of a repressed little girl whose horrific upbringing has further stunted her transition to womanhood. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Moretz is terrific in the role: never better than when she displays the heartbreaking flicker of trust over Carrie’s ill-advised hope that maybe, perhaps, she’s about to be accepted by her high school peers. Moretz’s deer-in-the-headlights insecurity, at such moments, wafts off her in palpable waves; we grieve for what we know is about to come.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Every generation seems to demand its own version of <i>Carrie</i>, and no surprise; King really touched a nerve with this story. As an iconic character, Carrie White seems destined for more lives than a cat; aside from De Palma’s original adaptation and this new film, we’ve also experienced lesser entries in 1999 (a sequel of sorts, titled <i>The Rage: Carrie 2</i>) and 2002 (a TV movie with Angela Bettis).<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bullied gay teens may command most of the headlines these days, but there remains no shortage of tormented children of all stripes. Girls can be particularly cruel to the disenfranchised ducklings in their midst, as King knew first-hand, from his early days as an English teacher in Maine’s Hamden Public School.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If anything, the situation may be getting worse. Only a few short days ago, two Florida girls — 12 and 14 — were arrested and charged with felony aggravated stalking, following the suicide, a month earlier, of a 12-year-old classmate. The arrests were made after one of the tormentors posted the following message on Facebook last Saturday: “Yes ik [I know] I bullied REBECCA nd she killed her self but [I don’t care].”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Charming generation, this social media set.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><a name='more'></a><br />  <div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Adding the ghastly IED of social media to the combustible brew already present in King’s 1974 novel is the sole significant contribution scripter Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa makes to this new film. Otherwise, he borrows so heavily from Lawrence D. Cohen’s 1976 screenplay — verbatim exchanges of dialogue, whole scene set-ups — that I’m frankly surprised Aguirre-Sacasa felt he deserved a paycheck.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This update isn’t a slavish, shot-by-shot remake, like Gus Van Sant’s imbecilic 1998 retread of <i>Psycho</i>, but at times it’s damn close. That begs the obvious question: Why bother seeing this new film, when De Palma’s version remains readily available ... and still quite relevant, in all the significant ways?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, Moretz’s performance, for openers. Co-star Julianne Moore is equally riveting, as Carrie’s ghastly mother, Margaret. More subtly — and this will sound odd, given the material — Peirce’s artistic sensibilities are kinder and gentler; she makes a point of protectively cocooning Carrie when the story allows, granting us moments that allow the frightened, emotionally abused girl to show through the rage avatar she’s destined to become.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No surprise, since Peirce’s claim to fame is 1999’s still-extraordinary <i>Boys Don’t Cry</i>, which remains a template for deftly handling a very tough real-world subject.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Additionally — and I’ll acknowledge Aguirre-Sacasa’s input here, as well — this take on the story is more “fair,” in both directions, during the climactic third act. Carrie’s deadly delivery of “justice” isn’t quite as indiscriminate, and she’s allowed a better-defined sense of awareness and mercy.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Alternatively, I always thought that John Travolta and Nancy Allen met their well-deserved doom <i>much</i> too easily in De Palma’s version, and Peirce apparently shared my view. Things are a lot grottier this time around, and — forgive me, but it’s true — much more satisfying.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A fairly pointless prologue delivers some back-story on just how deranged Margaret White is: an unsettling scene that Moore plays with a level of creepy, persuasive authenticity that I’ve not seen since Samantha Eggar licked the blood off her own baby, in 1979’s <i>The Brood</i>. The scene’s ick factor notwithstanding, it doesn't really explain the origins of the warped maternal instinct that later prompts Margaret to raise Carrie in a repressively smothering embrace.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, flash-forward to Carrie’s senior year in high school, where she does her best to fade into the background, whether in class, in the hallways or during gym. The journey to her damnation begins when she unexpectedly experiences her first period in the gym shower, much to the giggling amusement of the other girls, egged on by the catty Chris Hargensen (Portia Doubleday). Only one girl, Sue Snell (Gabriella Wilde), recognizes this act of group cruelty and withdraws.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gym coach Ms. Desjardin (Judy Greer) is furious; her subsequent punishment fits the crime. At the same time, she’s gentle with Carrie, striking an immediate bond and earning well-deserved trust. Greer shines in her scenes: a nice change from her usual overly broad sitcom roles.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Barry Shabaka Henley, on the other hand, is a one-note joke as the impotent Principal Morton: a badly conceived character who doesn’t belong in this film.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The defiant Chris, refusing to accept any responsibility for her heinous behavior, gets suspended and therefore barred from the upcoming prom. Her indignant fury percolates in the company of bad-actor boyfriend Billy Nolan (Alex Russell), and their scheme to “get back” at Carrie — who hardly deserves the additional abuse — is as horrific today as it was four decades ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Chris/Billy dynamic is different, in this update. Travolta’s Billy was a clueless moron, easily led by the sexually teasing Chris; Russell’s Billy radiates genuine danger. He’s the true menace, although Doubleday’s Chris proves a willing acolyte.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sue, her guilt mounting, seeks a way to atone for her sin; she therefore asks boyfriend Tommy Ross (Ansel Elgort) to take Carrie to the prom. The idea is to give Carrie a means to regain her pride, but of course we know — as does Ms. Desjardin — that public targets are easier to hit. Tommy nonetheless goes along with this scheme, and Elgort plays him as genuinely kind and sympathetic: a truly good guy.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And, so, the players are assembled, awaiting events to come.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Moore is thoroughly chilling as the fanatically devout Margaret: a woman who has twisted scripture to her own distorted ends. Aguirre-Sacasa adds self-mutilation to Margaret’s kinks; she’s a reflexive cutter, which gets quite gruesome. Mostly, though, Margaret’s faux-pious rants are the stuff of nightmares, and Moore delivers them with Pentecostal passion.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Moretz shades her performance in a few interesting directions, the most significant of which is Carrie’s curiosity about her emerging telekinetic abilities: a talent clearly linked to her clumsy ascent to puberty. Moretz conveys a level of intelligent awareness that Spacek never quite caught (or De Palms wasn’t interested in exploiting).<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But this, ultimately, typifies the major flaw in Peirce’s handling of this film. King’s novel has the sinister atmosphere of a parable that isn’t necessarily intended to represent reality; it’s a morality play that builds to a Grand Guignol climax with Old Testament-style justice. De Palma understood that, and his film has an atmosphere of slightly trashy exploitation, and is populated by exaggerated archetypes, rather than authentic characters.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">De Palma also wanted to scare the willies out of us, which he absolutely did with his infamous final scene.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By trying to set these events more firmly in our actual world, and by turning Carrie more firmly into an abused girl next door, Peirce works against the tone that powers the core story. The result is more sad than scary, which may have been Peirce’s intent, but it’s also less satisfying.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This new <i>Carrie</i> may be more faithful to King’s novel — particularly with respect to Sue’s fate — but it’s less artistically successful. And that, given the powerhouse performances from Moretz and Moore, is a true shame.</span></span>

Carrie (2013) • View trailer 3.5 stars. Rating: R, for bloody violence, disturbing images, blasphemy, profanity and sexual content By ...

This Is the End: Out with a whimper

8:54 AM Tukiyooo 0

<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><b><i>This Is the End</i> </b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><b>(2013) • <a href="http://trailers.apple.com/trailers/sony_pictures/thisistheend/" style="color: #27a9c5; text-decoration: none;">View trailer</a></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><b> </b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><b>Two stars. Rating: R, and quite generously, for pervasive profanity and drug use, violence, gore, relentless crude and sexual content, and impressively graphic nudity (not all of it human)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b>By <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/12885694730612878577" style="color: #27a9c5; text-decoration: none;">Derrick Bang</a></b></span></b></span></span></span></span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>            <br /><div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The devoutly religious are certain to disagree, but this tiresome vanity production is too stupid to be blasphemous.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtwvrhKvSHVxNU9tbgVW90Vcob0wT3Wqn2i_asP_mqne0L7uHqxd4oZiAOmzyV6It0vDTOPF6RxqzOvR1ZP0lYecqP9fPu8ct_gWvG9GKYmqIRPLfdMTl1N0ip1wVn0q-y8-eFQF6sKpc/s1600/This+Is+the+End+blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtwvrhKvSHVxNU9tbgVW90Vcob0wT3Wqn2i_asP_mqne0L7uHqxd4oZiAOmzyV6It0vDTOPF6RxqzOvR1ZP0lYecqP9fPu8ct_gWvG9GKYmqIRPLfdMTl1N0ip1wVn0q-y8-eFQF6sKpc/s400/This+Is+the+End+blog.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">After Emma Watson re-thinks her ill-advised decision to place her safety in the hands of<br />half a dozen self-centered horn dogs, she mounts an escape with the help of a handy<br />axe. Unfortunately, this may be a classic case of leaping from the frying pan and<br />directly into the fire...</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s relentlessly vulgar, however, in the arrested adolescent manner that we’ve come to expect when Seth Rogen, James Franco and their homies assemble for “something fun.” In this case, the “fun” comes from playing themselves — no stretch there, since most have been doing that all along — and behaving badly when God proves that the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Book of Revelations</i> wasn’t mere biblical filler.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Like so many of today’s limp-noodle, man-boy comedies, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This Is the End</i> stretches a mildly amusing concept far beyond the average viewer’s patience. Actually, we know this to be true, since this film is “expanded” from a 9-minute 2007 short titled <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jay and Seth Versus the Apocalypse</i>. Honestly, beefing up the cast and adding another 98 minutes (!) did nothing to improve the material.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Although Rogen and Evan Goldberg uncork an impressively apocalyptic third act — they collaboratively wrote and directed this case study in wasted celluloid — one must wade through nearly an hour of tedious, contrived and self-indulgent “banter” in order to get there.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Riffing the stoner culture may have been novel and slightly daring when Cheech & Chong made <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Up in Smoke</i> way back in 1978, but I’d like to think film comedy has progressed a bit since then. Rogen and Goldberg apparently didn’t get that message, since they clearly believe that merely showing a baggie of weed is enough to prompt a belly laugh.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By the same toke(n), it’s time to declare a moratorium on the faux homoeroticism that seems to pass for “cool” among some of today’s Hollywood types. When Rogen and his fellow “reality stars” aren’t chortling over how blasted they’ve gotten, they trade barbed comments apparently intended to demonstrate their hip, quasi-gayness, while nonetheless retreating to safer hetero territory whenever the tone threatens to become emasculating.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Safer territory,” in turn, emerges in strained one-liners that make sport of bodily functions: the sort of lowest-common-denominator crudeness that once remained the province of little boys trading bad words behind the woodshed, but now has become something of a badge of pride among today’s lazy comedy writers. It’s apparently shorthand for rugged manhood.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This overworked 21st century cliché hits low ebb here during an ejaculation exchange — merely verbal, I’m happy to report — between James Franco and Danny McBride, which goes on and on and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">on</i> and on. Constant Companion and I exchanged glances, and the unspoken message was obvious: Seriously? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This</i> is what film comedy has descended to?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><a name='more'></a><br /><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Actually, this film is quite obsessed with the anatomical male member that still remains mostly taboo in mainstream cinema, although Rogen and Goldberg stretch that envelope quite impressively, from limp dick jokes to the massively erect phallus sported by a particularly nasty demon with nothing good in mind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hey, I guess if you can sucker a major studio into parting with $30 million in order to film little more than an extended party with your best friends, that’s a pretty good gig. Too bad they had to share it with the rest of us.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In fairness, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This Is the End</i> does manage a few half-hearted stabs at social commentary, as during the opening scene, when Rogen — playing himself, as everybody does here — tries to dodge an intrusive fan with a videocam, who hovers in the hopes of provoking some sort of reaction. That’s life in our world of fame for its own sake, thanks to reality TV “stars” run amok.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It could be said, of course, that this entire film riffs that concept, but I can’t grant much credit for overstating the obvious for 107 minutes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway, Rogen’s at the Los Angeles Airport to collect good buddy Jay Baruchel, a Canadian colleague from back in the day, when both were stars of the under-appreciated 2001 TV series <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Undeclared</i>. That longstanding bond sets up some “tension” in this limp-noodle script, because Rogen’s “new friends” — Franco, Craig Robinson and Jonah Hill — keep insisting that Baruchel is a drag on Rogen’s blossoming Hollywood career.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Which is why Hill doesn’t really “like” Baruchel, while outwardly feigning bonhomie. Such trite, superficial behavior is all this film offers in the way of actual characterization, so don’t set your expectations high.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After a debauched day of weed, alcohol, video games and other wild ’n’ crazy hijinks, Rogen hauls a reluctant Baruchel to a massive party at Franco’s upscale, fortress-like mansion. (That latter quality will prove useful.) It’s quite the happening, with a guest list that includes Emma Watson, Michael Cera, Mindy Kaling, Christopher Mintz-Plasse and even Rihanna.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But it isn’t Baruchel’s bag; he’s not entirely comfortable in this hedonistic scene. (Actually, Cera is the only party guest being truly hedonistic, in an offensively condescending and arrogant manner.) Rosen agreeably joins Baruchel on a trip to the local convenience store, for some cigarettes, at which point All Hell Breaks Loose.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Quite literally.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Baruchel immediately recognizes the significance of the brilliant blue lights that transport numerous folks heavenward, a detail lost on Rogen. They hustle back to Franco’s place, dodging driverless vehicles, spontaneous sink-holes and gouts of fire, only to discover the party proceeding without incident, nobody inside having noticed anything amiss.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Okay, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i> moment delivers a well-deserved laugh.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But the interior calm doesn’t last long, thanks to foundation-shaking earthquakes and the smoke-laden debris that rains down as the entire Hollywood hillside bursts into flame. Amid mindless panic and a huge express sinkhole to Hell that opens in Franco’s front yard, our cast dwindles to a precious few: Rogen, Baruchel, Franco, Hill and Robinson.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Signaling a Monty Python-esque approach to unexpected gore, one of the other party guests perishes in a dramatically gruesome — albeit fully deserved — manner. Accompanied by, yes, a darkly amusing smart phone joke.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That’s the truly frustrating part about this film: Rogen, Goldberg <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">et al</i>do indeed demonstrate an occasional talent for genuine humor. They simply don’t do it often enough.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hunkering down in the manner of survivors they’ve watched in end-of-the-world movies and TV shows, our heroes carefully ration their supplies and settle in for ... they know not what. Tension arrives when McBride joins the gang, having slept through the initial horror but now brought up to speed with a fresh burst of über-violence. Trouble is, nobody likes McBride, whose intimidating, alpha-male attitude interferes with the group’s half-hearted efforts to embrace the bigger picture.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Baruchel also disrupts the uneasy group dynamic, although not intentionally, by citing biblical passages to support his view of what’s actually happening. Nobody wants to hear that stuff, preferring to believe that “rescue” eventually will arrive.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The bulk of the film then settles into variations on a theme of what Hollywood morons would do, if faced with the apocalypse. Naturally, their efforts to get by, from one day to the next, involve their limited comfort zone. Trouble is, that sort of self-indulgent “what the hell” resignation works as a blackly humorous joke only for a few seconds, as Joss Whedon and Drew Goddard understood when they had Kristen Connolly and Fran Kranz exchange a fatalistic look while lighting a final joint in the penultimate scene of 2011’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://derrickbang.blogspot.com/2012/04/cabin-in-woods-ghoulish-and-giddy.html">The Cabin in the Woods</a></i>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Trying to milk such a moment over an entire act merely prompts tedious scenes where Rogen, Franco and the others improvise banal dialogue while trying to kill time (if not each other). Oh, sure, we get some homages to the likes of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Mist</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Exorcist</i> and cannibal-culture horror flicks — the latter including a hilariously surprising cameo — but the material is thin, the parodies clumsily forced.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Visual effects supervisor Paul Linden and the resourceful team at Modus in Montreal deserve considerable credit for their monster-making; they uncork some truly frightening demons, and a few scenes involving these nasties are well-paced and quite suspenseful. That’s actually one of this film’s few genuine treats: Linden and his crew get <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">very</i> impressive results from all their apocalyptic mayhem, on a meager effects budget of $3 million.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the end of the day, though, <i>This Is the End</i> is little more than an insufferably long-winded inside joke. Rogen and Goldberg really should have paid more attention to <i>Cabin in the Woods</i>, <i>Shaun of the Dead</i>, <i>Zombieland</i> and other far more successful blends of self-referential horror humor. This self-indulgently masturbatory twist on “Hey, kids, let’s put on a show!” is nothing but an insult to patrons who worked hard for the money wasted on a ticket purchase.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>