Al Pacino continues his string of bombast in "88 Minutes," and in "Forgetting Sarah Marshall," another slightly overweight adult male discovers that his fantasies have to stay in his head. Both movies have built-in audience potential, but like oft-traveled roads that seem emptier as the journey continues, these features are just echoes of what's gone before.
Pacino refuses to grow up, not that he has to, but the man is about to be 68 years old. I think it's great that he has the energy to sustain a full-length bout of yelling and screaming, but there are times during "88 Minutes" when you just want the guy to shut up and relax for a moment. Imagine if the entire membership of AARP decided to roar all at once. A tad disconcerting, don't you think. Fun? Sure, but there better be a good reason for the bellowing. Crazy Al seems to be howling because he can. It worked with his chant of "Attica, Attica, Attica" in "Dog Day Afternoon" and it worked with "You're out of order" in "...And Justice For All," not to mention myriad other Pacino films. But here it seems excessive and redundant.
The actor stars as Dr. Jack Gramm, a Seattle college professor who moonlights as a forensic psychiatrist for the FBI. After he receives a death threat claiming he has only 88 minutes to live, he sets into motion a manic hunt for the person responsible for the threat. No dummy, he has the skills and training to narrow down the possible suspects, and here's the rub. The suspects include a disgruntled student (what would you do for an A?), a former lover Gramm dumped without much finesse, and a serial killer who happens to be on Death Row. There may be other suspects -- including, for all we know, the barista at his favorite Starbucks. This is Seattle, after all.
Hey, one look at Pacino and you might want to kill him. His zany, unruly mop of hair is so overly dyed that it looks purple. I thought the rule was to go with a lighter shade. He also has a moustache and goatee that give him a vaguely Mephistophelean look. He dresses like a pimp -- how many professors do you know who wear three-piece suits (a vest is included, for those who have never really owned a three-piece suit)? Of course, there are the gaudy ties. And he sweats. A lot. It isn't pretty. Nor is it pleasant.
"88 Minutes" doesn't have the verve or insider's zing of another movie that tried to compress time -- the much better "Phone Booth" with Colin Farrell. What it does have is the ludicrous notion that Professor Gramm is a babe magnet. He's surrounded by a lot of very hot and very smart women. OK, he's Al Pacino, but they don't know that. Comprising this melange, in various roles too complex to delineate (friend, lover, another lover, student, co-worker, what have you) are Deborah Kara Unger, Amy Brenneman, Alicia Witt, Leah Cairns, Kristina Copeland, Tammy Hui, Victoria Huang, Victoria Tennant, Carrie Genzel, Michal Yannai, Heather Dawn; and LeeLee Sobieski, the female Josh Hartnett -- meaning she's pretty and boring.
To complicate matters even more for the audience, the guy waiting on Death Row, the Seattle Strangler (Neil McDonough), may have inspired a currently active copycat serial killer. And to add more unnecessary weight to the creaky storyline, written by Gary Scott Thompson, there are hints that the copycat nut might be the professor himself.
The movie's violence against females makes the Lifetime cable channel's women-in-jeopardy obsession seem tame by comparison. The sensational killings are ugly and brutal and seriously discomforting. Director Jon Avnet must have decided that as long as Pacino was going to go bonkers, why shouldn't he. Sorry, Jon, there's only one Al, and regarding "88 Minutes," that may be one Al too many.
Oh, by the way, the mess runs 107 minutes.
Unlike the ants that start swarming in your kitchen as spring warmth gives way to summer's heat, moviemaker Judd Apatow refuses to succumb to bug spray.
In his various incarnations as producer, screenwriter or director (or a combination) of such works as "Knocked Up," "The 40 Year Old Virgin," "Superbad," "Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story," "Drillbit Taylor," etc., Apatow is determined to undermine the theory that fat guys, slovenly guys, dumb guys just don't get the really beautiful girl. No matter how quickly he's running out of steam, and he's quickly running out of steam, the guy just keeps on coming.
Apatow is the producer of "Forgetting Sarah Marshall," his new entry in the lazy, messy, obese, stupid guy movie. (You fill in the blank.) In his pictures, women are charms on the bracelet of insipidness. This latest is equally vapid, but there is a bright spot within. The screenplay by actor Jason Segel, of the overrated CBS sitcom "How I Met Your Mother," has some genuine and believable emotion in it. Not to mention some humanity and an understanding of the pain of failed relationships. This is because Segel based his script on his own life's experiences. And he also stars in the lead role of Peter, a happy-go-lucky type who's slightly doughy, marginally attractive and prone to wearing sweat pants and eating snack foods.
The movie opens with the already much-touted scene in which Segel is told by Sarah Marshall, his gorgeous television-star girlfriend (Kristen Bell), that their relationship is over. The scene is being discussed as if it were the Rosetta Stone because Segel is nude during it. He faces complete rejection and total humiliation with full frontal. Of course, this wouldn't be such a big deal if the United States as a country weren't so infantile about male nudity on screen. But it is, and I guess we are at the dawn of a new era in movies. Sort of like the ape throwing the bone into the air in "2001: A Space Odyssey."
So Peter decides to assuage his emotional hurt by going to Hawaii. Alas, Sarah is also at the same resort with her new boyfriend, a handsome sort with a good body and a friendly, witty personality that delights anybody who meets him. As played by British comic actor Russell Brand, both he and the character are the best things in the movie. In fact, it's a film-stealing performance. You're thrilled when he's around.
Sadly, some of Apatow's stable of male stars are also around, including the amateurish Jonah Hill and the now officially wasting-his-prodigious-acting-talents Paul Rudd. Bell and Segel are good, but not good enough to make you forget Tracy and Hepburn or Astaire and Rogers.
Except for Brand and the honesty of small parts of the screenplay, "Forgetting Sarah Marshall" doesn't have much going for it. I don't want to call it unoriginal, but an episode of the brilliant "Frasier" had the lead character going to a resort, only to find his ex-wife Lilith on the other side of a balcony. Or was it Diane Chambers? You know, I think they did it twice. With both former loves of Frasier Crane. Regardless, they did it first and better.
| Niagara Falls Reporter | www.niagarafallsreporter.com | April 22 2008 |