Draft Day casts Kevin Costner as the Cleveland Browns’ general manager on the titular day in which his professional and personal crises reach their boiling points. And 20 minutes before its climax, director Ivan Reitman’s pro-football saga lands on what is simultaneously its most ironic and most perverse moment, which finds a roomful of executives and analysts bickering about a potential trade, and Costner’s Sonny Weaver Jr. ending the squabble with the incensed directive “Just give me a moment of silence so I can think!” The moment is ironic because, to this point, the movie has already been flooded with silence. The moment is also perverse because, after 90 minutes of pause-heavy introspection and hushed build-up – with the audience all but slavering for a scene of biting, fast-paced bickering – now is when Sonny demands some quiet?
Going to the cineplex this weekend? Every Friday morning at 9 a.m. you can listen to Mike Schulz dish on recent movie releases & talk smack about Hollywood celebs on the Quad City Rocker ROCK 104-9FM, with the fabulous morning team of Rock1049.com. The morning crew previews upcoming releases, too.
Or you can check the Reader Web site and listen to their latest conversation by the warm glow of your computer.
Never miss a pithy comment from these three scintillating pundits again.
Friday, April 11, 2014: Discussion of "Captain America: The Winter Soldier," "The Grand Budapest Hotel," and "Veronica Mars," and previews of "Draft Day," "Oculus," and "Rio 2" -- the latter of which boasts a Bruno Mars song that has at least three false endings (one of which Darren totally falls for), each funnier than the last.
Generally speaking, I’m not one to argue for the inclusion of more foul language and bloody violence in a director’s oeuvre, and feel especially awkward doing so a mere week after being bored silly by the endless profanities and exploding squibs in the latest Schwarzenegger flick. But I’ll happily make an exception in the case of Wes Anderson, at least based on his most recent outing, The Grand Budapest Hotel. Like all Anderson efforts, this one, too, could be filed in the “precious comic bauble” category, given its deliberately artificial production design and obsessively controlled compositions and overall suggestion of an improv-free zone. Yet this endlessly inventive and funny new work might boast more interior life than any of the writer/director’s other live-action achievements, and for that I’m afraid we have to thank the forcible removal of Jeff Goldblum’s fingers, and Ralph Fiennes’ tendency to drop the F-bomb into every other sentence.
Like most of you, I’d presume, I’ve known the biblical story of Noah’s Ark since early childhood. And also, presumably like most of you, I’ve always kind of wondered how Noah was able to construct a floating vessel big and sturdy enough to carry “two of all living creatures, male and female” through 40 days and 40 nights of torrential downpours and Earth-engulfing floods. But with the release of Darren Aronofsky’s Noah, the answer to the question of “Who built the Ark?” has finally been provided, and – who woulda thunk it? – apparently we have Frank Langella and Nick Nolte to thank.