2006, Fox Atomic, Dir. John Stockwell - Starring Josh Duhamel, Melissa George, Olivia Wilde, Desmond Askew, Beau Garrett, Max Brown, Agles Steib, Miguel Lunardi, Jorge Só, Cristiani Aparecida, Lucy Ramos, Andréa Leal, Diego Santiago, Marcao, Miguelito Acosta

When my second viewing of Borat was cut short by a long line, I was confronted by a publicity head who asked if I would like to screen a different film across the hall. It was called Turistas, and no one in line seemed to have any idea what it was about. But they were handing out free travel guides for trivia questions, so everything seemed to be just dandy for them anyway. Just as it was for me, Turistas is that lousy other option when the box office is sold out. It’s the first film distributed by Fox Atomic, a new subsidiary of News Corp that coincidentally foreshadows how each of its films will result in a critical bombing. Designed and marketed towards horror buffs and horndog college students, the film is their Brazilian response to Lionsgate’s Hostel: a cut-em-up neo-exploitation feature that leaves one or two survivors for the end. If I had the energy, I’d probably go wild with this review, but it’s the evening and I’ve had a long day of work. The dialogue is pedestrian, the acting is stupendously dry and B-list and the violence remains overhyped by its promotional material. Turistas is a bad movie - unnourished and carelessly written.

So, here goes. Group of knucklehead twentysomethings are on a bus trip through Brazil, led by big brother Alex (Duhamel), little sister Bea (Wilde), sister’s hot friend Amy (Garrett), attractive bilingual acquaintance Pru (George), and two stereotyped Brits - Finn (Askew) and Liam (Brown). The bus swerves because of a deus ex machina motorcycling couple, dives off a cliff, and everybody has to find another route. So the kids do some walking, walk upon some shady yet attractive beach resort, party their heads off, and wake up the next morning drugged and robbed. Uh Oh! Apparently the natives have connections with some evil doctor who lives in a jungle castle, where he cuts open people and sells their organs. Did I just ruin the violence for you? No? Ok. Brazilian native Kiko (Steib, and man, what a name that character has) is an accomplice for said Dr. Zamora (Lunardi), and secretly leads the group to the castle for safety. All hell breaks loose, every man for himself. Now it’s up to you to figure out who gets killed!

Forgiving this movie, I feel Josh Duhamel does belong in the film industry. He has all the qualities of a leading man, but not in such a one-dimensional one like Turistas. He’s the cranky, bitter, and very suspicious brother of the group, but these aspects are more noticeable than any of the other performances. Olivia Wilde and Beau Garrett do their best running around in as little clothes possible, only to hide themselves when the going gets tough. Sometimes I wonder if horror movies are meant to make beautiful women look unattractive under scary circumstances. Askew and Brown, the two British folks, are nothing more than lousy foreign props set up by an uneducated screenwriter, and you can only expect to laugh at their little language witticisms. Miguel Lunardi, who plays the crooked Dr. Zamora, should have been on for much longer. Not only does he exhibit the strongest screen presence, but had his character’s evil motives been explained, then he would have been fantastic. I give him credit regardless, but he does his show and then leaves.

What an ending Turistas has. I shan’t give it away, but let’s just say the audience may have a good laugh at it. Critics would usually have an easy time marking it as preposterous and downright awful, but as I watched those final frames, I wondered how much of director John Stockwell’s tongue was in his cheek. This is a film dedicated to some blood and lots of nudity, no doubt - but I question whether this was meant to be camp. As a horror film, it doesn’t scare, and as a thriller, it never takes a grip on the audience. Predictability has become an impetus for many faithful moviegoers, and movies like Turistas shouldn’t be any sort of surprise experience. Visually, the film has a rustic tint to it, employing many on-location Brazilian landscapes to its benefit. There’s a distinct contrast between the grisly nature of Dr. Zamora and the roaring waterfalls of the jungles. It’s appreciated, but the moments are fleeting.

Is Turistas translated as “tourists” or “terrible”? Hard to really tell. Please, don’t waste your time, your money, your mental energy. See another movie. Read a book. Take heed from the tagline on its poster : go home.

2006, Warner Brothers, Dir. Darren Aronofsky - Starring Hugh Jackman, Rachel Weisz, Ellen Burstyn, Mark Margolis, Stephen McHattie, Fernando Hernandez, Cliff Curtis, Sean Patrick Thomas, Donna Murphy, Ethan Suplee, Richard McMillian, Lorne Brass, Anish Majumdar

Had The Fountain been released in the 60’s, I can only imagine the sort of audience it would have garnered. Trippy imagery, metaphysical discussion, and elements of New Age religion compose a very inquisitive project from director Darren Aronofsky, better known for Requiem for a Dream and Pi. The director describes the film as a “weird” one, and proposes watching the final cut several times to fully understand the story. This is a messy decision. Although some mainstream audiences can appreciate interpretive film, it’s not a wise move to make a film so cryptic that it may detract viewers after one or two viewings. A self-described science-fiction epic, The Fountain is a question without an answer; a puzzle without a solution. Although visually it’s a masterpiece, looks can only get you so far. Quoting Aronofsky, the film is “the most ambitious thing I’ve done to date and the biggest challenge,” but despite this strong drive, the ball doesn’t quite make it out of the park.

It’ll be a task for me to summarize this, but here goes. The Fountain spans an entire millennium - from 1500 to 2006 to 2500. Thomas Creo (Jackman), first known as Tomas, is a conquistador in 16th century Spain. He is sent to the Americas by Queen Isabella (Weisz) to discover the source of life - cryptically known as the Fountain, or the Tree of Life - which is mapped on a Mayan knife found by Franciscan priest Avila (Margolis). Fast-forward 500 years, and Thomas (Jackman) is a scientist searching for a cure for cancer, as to save his dying wife Izzi (Weisz), while at odds with fellow doctor Lillian Guzzetti (Burstyn). Fast forward another 500 years, and Tom is living in a biospheric dome along with the Tree of Life suspended in space, headed straight for a nebula. All three storylines are shaped around a book written by Izzi in the 21st century - entitled “The Fountain” - which she urges Tom to finish. The ending, left to the main character’s interpretation, is as esoteric as it can get.

Whether Brad Pitt stayed on the role that Jackman later accepted, the performance would have been the same. Thomas is a character so driven to discover the justification of life that his personality and development is completely ignored. Perhaps it was the director’s intent to leave Thomas as a neutralized character, but for a one-track audience, that’s not such a bright idea. Jackman is an unsympathetic gentleman, carrying a scowl or a frown with every minute of screen time he gets. His chemistry with Weisz is fleeting, and since his role is larger, he trumps his love interest’s performance. On that note, I am truly tired of watching films with Rachel Weisz. Rarely do I feel the need to rant about the actor over the art, but every opportunity Weisz has to shine, she puts on the same stupid puppy-dog face and whispery voice. She appears as more of an airhead than anything else, and if her marriage to director Aronofsky isn’t saying something, I don’t know what else does.

I commend Aronofsky for straying away from CGI to achieve a more naturalistic feel for The Fountain’s imagery. Using microscopic footage of yeast and other elements, the director crafts a fluid landscape for his galactic scenes. The use of the color gold through the same act is also effective, pulling in the audience with its metallic glamour. The Mayan set designs for the South American scenes are elaborate and simple at the same time, allowing its wide open spaces to bridge open the audience’s minds. If there is anything epic about Fountain, it is Aronofsky’s careful cinematography. As for the story, the director’s screenplay runs itself in circles. I can’t describe how frustrating it can become to retread the same niches and phrases over and over again, trying to fumble together a complete answer about everything discussed. As much as I appreciate Darren’s amalgamation of Eastern religions and the search for the meaning of life, this doesn’t really strike anything except more confusion.

The Fountain is full of plenty of interesting ideas, but desperately wants to be a revolutionary experience for some audience members. Maybe a philosophy degree is a good prerequisite for watching his final cut, but for this ordinary critic, some eye candy was the only thing I caught.

2006, MGM/Columbia Pictures, Dir. Martin Campbell - Starring Daniel Craig, Eva Green, Mads Mikkelsen, Judi Dench, Jeffrey Wright, Giancarlo Giannini, Caterina Murino, Simon Abkarian, Isaach De Bankolé, Jesper Christensen, Ivana Milicevic, Tobias Menzies

Not since 1989 when Licence to Kill premiered has James Bond appeared more human, grittier, and raw than he does in Martin Campbell’s Casino Royale. Here we have one of film’s greatest heroes, a landmark character with such stage presence and reputation, making a comeback bigger than his ego. After Pierce Brosnan departed from the role in the camp-ridden but entertaining Die Another Day, the search for a new Bond garnered more controversy than some daily news, but rest assured that Daniel Craig is not only a worthy choice, he has already made his mark in the franchise. Like Batman Begins, the series deserved a reboot (despite some of my own worries) but the writers and producers have mapped out intricately the double-0’s future with great precision. Casino Royale is not just a good Bond movie, it is one of incredible veneer and passion, fueling itself not only on non-stop thrills but also our favorite spy’s character development. So far it has proved to be the year’s best action movie, and Craig promises an even brighter outlook on his role.

James Bond (Craig) has just been clearance to become a double-0 agent in MI-6, despite protests from his higher-up, M (Dench). After a high-pursuit chase in Madagascar, leaving a suspected terrorist dead and an embassy destroyed, the young spy is on shaky ground with the intelligence agency. M argues that he should stay behind on cases, but Bond has an inkling about a potential terrorist ring growing in parts of the world. As he is shipped from continent to continent, 007 ties these suspicions to a European financier named Le Chiffre (Mikkelsen), who is funding terrorism via airline stocks he continues to shorten. But Le Chiffre is not on steady ground himself with his clients - he’s losing money, which is why he sets up a high-stakes tournament of Texas Hold’Em in Montenegro (at…*gasp*…Casino Royale). Bond is sent by MI-6 as their mole, considering he’s the agency’s best card player. Yet Bond’s reckless attitude and inflating ego seem to cloud his judgement, and it takes a little romance from banker Vesper Lynd (Green) to help straighten him out.

Craig’s performance as Bond is comparable to Sean Connery and Timothy Dalton, combining the former’s droll wit and the latter’s rigid personality. But in essence, his job is so shockingly unique, you’d never imagine that he could be connected to either actor. Perhaps it’s because Casino Royale takes such a jaunting turn on the concept that Craig seems to be so spectacular, but I feel he’s allowing the character to grow onto him in time. He’s not trying to be too different, but he (and the writers, including Crash’s own Paul Haggis) aren’t just aiming to go skin-deep. Eva Green is surprisingly lovely as the tragic figure Vesper Lynd, a woman whose love for James eventually draws a major turning point in the spy’s career, and one that capstones such a vast history. Mads Mikkelsen also drives humanity into his character of Le Chiffre, downplaying former camp in Bond villains and relying on a common terrorist persona. Jeffrey Wright and Judi Dench allow for some quaint comic relief, as CIA agent Felix Leiter and M respectively.

Action fans, look no further. The best scenes of the year are stuffed within the film’s 2 hour and 20 minute frame - choreographed with some grace and tension (quite the combination) that it’ll blow you away. These never feel like the Bond stunts you’ve seen before. There’s a tinge of something funky fresh in every jump, kick, and pull of the trigger that 007 makes. Director Campbell even manages to make watching a poker tournament as thrilling as it possibly can. It is Casino’s dingy, dark undertones that lead to a new dimension of Bond. Le Chiffre has a bit of frightening torture that’ll leave some audience members clenching themselves, and even some heavier violence than earlier films. But moreover, what makes this 21st installment so damned interesting, is how Bond’s vulnerability is tested. For once (maybe since Live and Let Die, or so I really remember), the world’s greatest spy drops his own blood on the job. This is not only a testament from the producers to expose a down-in-the-dirt hero, but one that finally argues that James Bond is only human.

Casino Royale is dark and downright incredible. I was stunned and moved by its ability to rotate a series’ point of view so abruptly, and have such gleaming results. But no matter what year it is, what trouble our world is in, there’s always solace to find within him - who’s last lines Craig repeats with determination - he’s Bond. James Bond.

2006, Columbia Pictures, Dir. Marc Forster - Starring Will Ferrell, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Dustin Hoffman, Emma Thompson, Queen Latifah, Tony Hale, Tom Hulce, Linda Hunt, Denise Hughes, Andrew Rothenberg, Kristen Chenoweth, Keith Kupferer, Rengin Altay

After Talladega Nights, I was worried whether Will Ferrell’s audience appeal would continue to wane. But then a project came his way, which allowed the comedian to reconfigure his shtick, develop a new character, and find new ground in the drama department. Director Mark Forster, whose credits range from the haunting Monster’s Ball to the splendidly magical Finding Neverland, combines elements from both tragedies and comedies to create the whimsical and spontaneous Stranger than Fiction. Sketching a defined line between the two genres, the film takes hold of a genuine idea and makes it interesting from beginning to end. You’ll find much to laugh about, but don’t be shocked if you end up with a box of tissues in your lap. It gives us neither an existential yarn (like I Heart Huckabees) nor a Farrelly Brothers rendition. Like life - whose twists and turns are narrated with great precision - Forster’s film is unpredictable and a fantastic voyage of sorts.

Harold Crick (Ferrell) is a plain vanilla gentleman whose life lacks tremendous spice. He wears the same suits every morning, brushes his teeth in the same pattern, and makes the same commute to his job at the IRS each day - counting footsteps included. Harold doesn’t want to have “fun”, but through some unfortunate events, his wristwatch is going to have some. Crick wakes up one morning only to find his life being oddly narrated by a refined English woman. As he attempts to audit a vociferous yet attractive baker Ana Pascal (Gyllenhaal), the voice mocks his stiff nature and prevents him from doing his job. The voice is that of Kay Eiffel (Thompson), a depressed author who unknowingly used Harold as the main character to her new masterpiece. But Eiffel is stuck with writer’s block, because she doesn’t know how to kill Harold. But when our poor protagonist learns this, he consults literary professor Jules Hebert (Hoffman) for help to find this woman. Just as Crick is learning to enjoy life to its fullest, Eiffel has him marked for his impending death. He learns he must find her before it’s too late.

Ferrell subdues his tangential brand of humor for a low-key role, and the turn is greatly appreciated. This is, to date, the comedian’s deepest emotional work to his record, and enough of an apology for his lame summer spectacle. Despite his character’s obvious differences with the entire cast, Ferrell exhibits a unique chemistry with everyone, ranging from his feeble attempts at romance with Gyllenhaal, and thought sessions with Hoffman. Herein lays the potential for another comedian who can successfully exhibit skills in dramatic pieces. Gyllenhaal is a sweet yet spicy companion for Ferrell’s Crick, exposing feistiness throughout the runtime. Moreover, she is a strong and developed love interest, which is lacking in so many films today. Dustin Hoffman returns to his lovable quirky psyche for the role of Dr. Jules Hibbert, a wise-cracking yet somewhat oblivious professor who wouldn’t seem like the right catalyst for Ferrell. Emma Thompson is underused yet effective as the depressed Eiffel, and Queen Latifah’s role as her assistant seems completely misplaced.

Director Marc Forster constructs his movie much like Harold Crick’s life - adding acute mental visuals into the final cut, as to further explain something much simpler. Every locale, city street, or crowd is cut and trimmed to minimalist perfection, to the degree that is everything is detailed in a very thoughtful fashion. As Harold makes his way to the bus stop, Thompson’s omniscient voice carefully notes the way he ties his necktie, leaving the audience to actually ponder about our own little habits. It’s Forster’s tiring scène work that leaves the final product to be a simplistic blank canvas for us to study. It argues the choices given by life, its drive, and the need to break new ground. Moreover, Stranger than Fiction is a cross between comedy and tragedy, an argument that the story itself tries to understand. After the credits roll, you’ll smile - you’ll get your happy ending. What it is, I won’t say, but it will surprise. Best of all, Fiction’s happy ending not only satisfies, but justifies itself. That, quite simply, justified the purpose of me even seeing the film.

Stranger than Fiction is a short artistic work that never becomes pretentious or too bland, never loses a comedic opportunity, and can hit some heartstrings if you’re willing to open up. Ferrell and the cast please, and I strongly suggest you take a wide open mind into the theater with you.

2006, 20th Century Fox, Dir. Larry Charles - Starring Sacha Baron Cohen, Ken Davitian

Where to start with this one….hmmm. If you haven’t turned on your TV recently, or just don’t know enough about the comedian himself, chances are you’ve never heard of Borat. He’s a middle-aged journalist from the country of Kazakhstan, has a thick bushy mustache, and knows nothing about American culture. He is, to Americans, your average oblivious foreigner. But there’s more to a movie like Borat than just mangling the English language and watching him stumble across New York City like an idiot. Here is a satire - so simple, yet so remarkably sharp - that blows away the comedies of today. The gangly character is the brainchild of British-Jewish comedian Sacha Baron Cohen, better known for the moronic hip-hopster Ali G. Cohen flounders across the country in disguise, with Ken Davitian portraying fellow Kazakh producer Azamat Bagotov, interviewing real American folk and throwing in as much offensive and awkward conversation as possible. But Borat brings out the worst of people - exposing skin-deep bigotry and ignorance - through the miracle of comedy. But you can’t help laughing - in fact, you’re bound to be in tears by the end. Borat is genius at its best.

The plot aforementioned doesn’t really need to be described anymore, and I’d prefer to save as much for you to find out for yourselves. Borat Sagdiyev (Cohen) has been recruited by his government with Azamat (Davitian) to learn more about American culture as to benefit their own country. Trekking out to New York City, the reporter meets several people before learning the miracles of cable television. It is there that he watches a show of such veneer - known to us as Baywatch - and our hero is lovestruck by blonde bombshell Pamela Anderson. But even though Borat is married, he still wants to meet this Pam woman. So in one fell swoop, Borat packs his bags anyway and persuades Azamat to travel cross-country. In their trip, they encounter and interview a great variety of people, all ending in wild consequences. Again, I refuse to tell anymore - the laughs come a mile a minute, and to delve on one could ruin the domino effect. Let’s just leave it at that.

Cohen has created such an elaborate, bizarre world all around Borat. Laced with anti-Semitism and bigotry, it’s no wonder why the Kazakh government has been up in flames over the portrayal of their country. Borat brings up every category of offensive humor possible, jabbing at every race, creed, and language - and whipping out gags involving bestiality, incest, and other scatological tidbits. Sure, you may squint at some the film’s filthy humor, but it’s hard to not laugh. Borat is too lovable - he means no harm to anyone he meets, he’s just not like them. He tries to be as hospitable as possible, even though Americans aren’t used to being kissed as a greeting. It’s hard to really critique Cohen as his character, as he has become a wholly different person in the making. Ken Davitian is in the same boat, as he has become Azamat Bagotov in essence. The two as a comic duo are inseparable, and watching the two communicate is hilarious.

Example: Our suited protagonist enters a gun shop, and asks politely what kind of gun would be best “to shoot a Jew.” The storeowner looks at Borat, and without a pause, suggests a particular handgun. It’s Borat’s un-edited vignettes along his road trip that fire up the social satire, letting the character narrate his stops with sly political commentary trickling underneath. One minute, he will throw a joke about the nature of American government, next minute he’s making a joke involving STDs. The variety of director Larry Charles’ final picture shows surprisingly depth for such situational comedy, and exhibits Cohen’s talent for improvisational humor. Every person we meet is stunned or shocked by his behavior, and most of all, it’s always going to surprise us. Is there good reasoning for some people becoming infuriated with Borat’s casual racism, or is it for the better? I vote for the latter, otherwise the opportunity for good satire is missed. Cohen stresses the uselessness of political correctness through his own humorous displays of rancor.

If you are easily offended by jokes involving race, sex, and other crude acts, then this is simply not your type of movie. But for those who appreciate laugh-out-loud acts of silliness and dirty jokes, as well as poignant satire, Borat has your name written all over it. It is, in essence, the funniest movie of 2006.