This film certainly takes the cake for worst title of 2007. No guy would be caught dead buying tickets to see or renting a movie called P.S. I Love You. It is, however, clearly your typical chick flick. You’ve got an American girl Holly (Hillary Swank) who meets an Irish guy Gerry (Gerard Butler). Gerry’s got a cool accent, sings in a pub, drinks Guinness. In other words, in chick flick land, he’s Irish. Holly is fidgety, awkward, and just oh so cute and American. As the film opens they seem to be experiencing a bad case of the 7-year-itch. They get in a big fight about their future and then he charms her and they make up. If you’re able to stomach the initial few minutes, then you might actually like this movie.

The film then skips ahead a bit to where Gerry has just died due to a brain tumor. Holly understandably feels sad and being the jolly Irish man that he is, Gerry has concocted a way of keeping in touch with her after his death via letters in girly handwriting. Hence, P.S. I Love You. Get it, he’s dead, but he still loves her. Amazing stuff indeed.

If you look closely at the actor’s faces during the course of the film, you can see that they know this movie stinks. Hillary Swank is horribly miscast. She’s trying to re-live her 90210 days and was perhaps afraid of being typecast after movies like Boys Don’t Cry and Million Dollar Baby.

Harry Connick Jr., apparently out of his singing gig because of Michael Buble, tries to play a quirky bartender, but it just ain’t happening. Holly’s ridiculously annoying friends are played by Gina Gershon and Lisa Kudrow. Kudrow plays a gold digger who justifies her gold digging based on some kind of warped feminist shenanigans.

Even as chick flicks go, I would urge everyone to avoid P.S. I Love You.

P.S. This movie is awful.

Disclaimer: I am not a fan of the blockbuster. By definition, it’s designed to reach the biggest movie-going audience possible, compromising any artistic credibility. It has to be violent without being too violent, sexy without being too sexy, serious, yet funny, non-offensive, and so on. Most importantly, a blockbuster has to be big, intimidating, larger than life.

Transformers is as formulaic as they come. It feels almost like a study in blockbusterism. First off, you have your paint by numbers launch: Out in the middle of nowhere (desert setting of course) something really weird and bad happens. Luckily, before the proverbial bad stuff hits the fan, we get a chance to meet a few chatty soldier dudes. We hear what they miss from back home, one of them even video conferences with his wife and their baby, who he’s not yet met in person. Even though an evil helicopter robot thing obliterates their entire base, our new friends somehow manage to be in the right place at the right time and escape.

Then we shift to a high school classroom where somehwat-geeky outsider Sam Witwicky (Shia LaBeouf) is making a presentation about this great grandfather. Being the typical teenager, Sam’s biggest priority is buying a pair of wheels and getting the attention of fellow student Mikaela Banes (Megan Fox).

As luck would have it, Sam’s first car is actually a robot, but not one of those bad ones that did bad stuff in the desert. Even better, the car does get him the girl. I mean, brilliant. Life in a blockbuster is unfortunately not so easy. The bad robots are looking for a certain cube and the good robots want to stop them. The location of said cube leads them to Sam. I don’t want to give away any “exciting” details, but I’ll give you a hint: It all ties together.

What follows are a lot of loud action sequences and badness beating goodness, but goodness coming back, and so on and so forth. The robots look great, not doubt. Their infused hip personalities are what ruined it for me. I’ll take robots, no problem, but tone down the attitude. The music by Steve Jablonsky also proved immensely irritating. After literally every minute we are submitted to another sweeping, momentous theme that forces us to realize how important and earth shattering the sequence is. As in all blockbusters, we are also provided with moments of comic relief (painkiller-addicted dog named Mojo, president with cowboy accent wearing red socks, asking a stewardess for a Ding Dong). The music is there to hammer homoe that things are getting heavy again. I’ve never felt so manipulated. Director Michael Bay could really take a lesson from the Coen Brothers and their meisterwerk, No Country For Old Men. There is practically no music in the whole film. I love music, but watching that film was so incredibly refreshing. Watch it and bathe in the silence.

Once Transformers was over, after being pounded with over two hours of the blockbuster experience, I realized several things. One, I had a headache. Two, Shia LaBeouf, who I really liked in A Guide To Recognizing Your Saints, was able to pull off a decent performance in a Michael Bay film; a worthy feat. Three, I’m looking forward to watching LaBeouf in Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, or just Indiana Jones 4, for those who favor brevity. Four, Megan Fox looks like a young Jennifer Connelly after a bath in self-tanning lotion and a serious bout of teeth whitening. (Unfortunately, she doesn’t have Connelly’s acting chops.) And five, blockbusters just ain’t my cup of tea. I’ll watch them, but, afterwards, I almost always feel like I was taken for a ride. Indeed, Transformers was no exception.

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Yikes. Everyone already knows this movie is ridiculously awful. I thought Jim Carrey was pretty good in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and am willing to give him a chance when it comes to a non-comedy genre. This movie starts with Carrey’s character, Walter Sparrow, an animal control officer, trying to catch a dog. Displaying great ineptitude, Sparrow is sidetracked by the the name on the dog’s collar. The dog bites him and gets away, which is a shame, because had it not, the resulting baffling chain of events would have never taken place.

Sparrow’s wife Agatha, played by Virginia Madsen, gives him a crappy-looking used book by an unknown author for his birthday. It is called The Number 23. Ta da! All of a sudden, Sparrow starts seeing the number 23 everywhere, kind of like how boys start seeing boobies everywhere when they start puberty. (Speaking of which, Virginia Madsen does provide some nice cleav action in the film.)

Sparrow starts seeing all kinds of parallels to his life while reading the book. Strangely enough, though he finds the book completely engrossing, he takes frickin’ forever to finish it. This gives filmmaker Joel Schumacher plenty of time to show us stylish shots of Carrey playing the role of the book’s main character, Detective Fingerling. While he’s not stumbling into strangely lit rooms wearing tons of eyeliner, Fingerling is having copious amounts of sex with clothed females. It’s really strange and creepy watching Carrey pump into some lady friend of his. This is clearly a case of miscasting.

At some point in these noir-ish scenes, Fingerling picks up a saxophone and that’s sort of when this movie became a comedy for me. It just can longer be taken seriously. I couldn’t help but be reminded of another universally panned film, The Salton Sea with Val Kilmer. Kilmer actually looked cool in that movie and his narration was dead-on. His instrument to express his pain was the trumpet, and he looked ridiculous fake-playing it, but at least the other elements were there. Carrey’s narration stinks. His voice gets annoying very fast, and again, the movie star Carrey with all his silly antics gets in the way.

It is perhaps worth noting that Sparrow has a kid, played by Logan Lerman, sporting what looks like a toupee. Lerman, 15 when this movie came out (1+5=6+15=21 damn!), is actually quite good and went on to play another solid role in a much better movie, 3:10 to Yuma. (3+10=13+10=23!) The Number 23 is really one of the worst I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen a lot of awful movies.

Buy The Number 23 (Unrated Infinifilm Edition) from Amazon.

The latest pairing of the Farrelly Brothers and Ben Stiller is a loose remake of a 1972 film of the same name — a tale of a honeymoon gone very wrong. In the Farrelly version we have Eddie, played by Stiller, a 40-year-old catching a bunch of slack from his father and best friend because he blew his one big chance at marriage and isn’t getting any younger. Eddie is certainly a bit timid, but it doesn’t help that his dad (played by Stiller’s real father) is somewhat of an old perv and his best friend is a bit of an emasculated married hack. This is the Farrelly brothers, so don’t expect a ton of depth.

Eddie does, however, have what appears to be a stroke of luck. By chance one day, he helps a woman who’s just been robbed. Obviously, this woman, Lila, played by Malin Akerman, turns out be Eddie’s love interest. What follows is a montage of scenes demonstrating the pair’s chemistry and their home town, San Francisco. Hats off, as the scene is pretty funny and, hot damn does SF look good.

What follows is a rushed-into marriage and a honeymoon in Cabo. This is where the film really starts going for big laughs, including the Farrelly’s trademark high cringe factor. Lila turns out to be quite a bit different than the woman Eddie thought she was, resulting in a number of really funny scenes. To make matters worse, Eddie stumbles upon Miranda (Michelle Monaghan) in Cabo, a woman who seems to have all the qualities which Lila lacks. Through a number of misunderstandings, Lila doesn’t realize that Eddie is on his honeymoon and the two of them really hit it off.

Up until the film’s final act, I was honestly surprised at how worthy this film was. Until then, the film stays funny without reducing itself to slapstick nonsense. Ben Stiller doesn’t flex any acting muscle here, but he really doesn’t need to for this fare. He sort of plays a combination of his characters in Along Came Polly and There’s Something About Mary. Stiller is an international star for a reason, and he’s just good at being Stiller. In that sense, he doesn’t disappoint here.

The leading ladies are also both good. Akerman is hilarious and scary and Monaghan, who has grown on me a ton since Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang, is truly adorable. They don’t write in a lot of laughs for her part, but she plays very well alongside Stiller.

If it weren’t for a weak last act and a few overdone Farrellyisms, I would call this a pretty good film. If you like other Farrelly stuff and are into Stiller, you will be entertained. All in all, a decent slapstick flick.

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Being a huge Joy Division fan, I was quite torn when I heard a movie was being made about their tragic story. Or rather, the tragic story of their frontman Ian Curtis. After all, the remaining members went on to fame and fortune as New Order — one of few bands to overcome the loss of a frontman.

Upon hearing that “Control” featured my favorite German “Schauspielerin” Alexandra Maria Lara, and was being filmed by famous photographer Anton Corbijn, my initial icy impressions started to thaw a bit.

The result is a moving, exquisitely filmed story light on mythology and a bit too heavy on realism. “Control” was flimed entirely in black and white, which helps accentuate one of its main characters, the gloomy, industrial city of Manchester, England.

Fortunately, Sam Reilly plays extremely well as Ian Curtis. No complaints here. His wife’s character, equally well played by Samantha Morton, avoids superficial pitfalls which might have been expected. My main complaint is that the build up to Mr Curtis’ tragic end seems to be a bit too simple.

Another problem is the character of Ian’s mistress. Alexandra Maria Lara portrays her merely as someone nice to look at. She barely manages to whisper out her lines, perhaps due to shyness on her part of acting in a foreign language. Aside from obvious beauty, we don’t really see what drew Ian Curtis to her.

All in all, however, “Control” is very solid, with surprisingly good live scenes and haunting cinematography. Recommended.

Walk Hard is a portrayal of fictional music legend Dewey Cox (John C. Reilly). He’s slept with 411 women, married three of them, spawned 22 children and 14 stepchildren. He starred in his own 70’s TV show, befriended Elvis, The Beatles, a chimpanzee, has taken all drugs known to man, and has tried to get off all of them. Thanks to this mystique, or in spite of it, Cox has become a national idol.

Hollywood’s hottest comedy talent of the moment has struck again: this time, hit producer and screenwriter Judd Apatow (“Knocked Up“, “The 40-Year-Old Virgin“) picks apart successful music dramas such as “Walk the Line”, “Ray”, “The Doors”. Top comedian John C. Reilly kicks out the jams in the starring role as a loveable American full-blooded music legend. A number of high profile cameos spice things up. Jack White of “The White Stripes” portrays Elvis, Eddie Vedder of “Pearl Jam” shows up as himself, and Jack Black tries his luck as “Paul McCartney”.

Walk Hard, which also features past and present Saturday Night Live cast members, is much like Cox’s career itself — at times things are looking up, other times they’re dreadful. In my opinion, the finest SNL feature film remains “A Night At The Roxbury” which never took itself seriously, but also managed to be dramatically believable. “Walk Hard” makes the mistake of taking topics which are not satire-worthy like Johhny Cash losing his older brother or Ray Charles his eyesight, and trying to cash in on jokes from them. Admittedly, Cox’s loss of smell does land a few jokes later on in the film, but for a clever man like Apatow, these gutter dunks are unforgiveable.

Though I thought the premise was a bit primitive, I was really looking forward to seeing Reilly in a starring role. I thorougly enjoyed his role as a monologue pick-me-up cop in Magnolia. I would have to say that he ties with William H. Macy as its finest feature. In a way, I can understand the allure of playing the starring role in a big Hollywood production. On the other hand, Reilly should take his fine acting chops to higher ground, and stay away from low-brow junk like “Walk Hard” and the garbage Will Ferrell collaborations (“Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Rick Bobby”, “Step Brothers”).

Buy Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story (2-Disc Unrated Edition) [Blu-ray] or Walk Hard - The Dewey Cox Story (Two-Disc Special Edition) from Amazon.

“The Savages” seems to follow a recent trend of creating thoroughly miserable motion pictures. I mean, who enjoys watching a story about two siblings watching their father slowly deteriorate and die? A show of hands please. That’s right, no one.

Any glimpse of entertainment value is salvaged by the dead-on interplay of the sibling pair played by Laura Linney and Philip Seymour Hoffman. You just know they’re going to be good. Laura Linney shined in “The Squid and the Whale” and here she continues to excel as a quirky, intelligent, approachable female. In fact, “The Savages” passes more than a fleeting resemblance to another sibling movie starring Linney, “You Can Count On Me”. The latter is clearly the better film as it takes you an a journey, albeit a rough one, as opposed to “The Savages” which feels more akin to a plunge into dark water.

“The Savages” also finds Hoffman back on his A-game. I thought his performance in “Before The Devil Knows Your Dead” was a let down. I just didn’t buy it. He was, however, amazing in films such as “Magnolia”, “Almost Famous”, “Owning Mahowny”, and “State and Main”. Here he plays a literature professor who is torn between what common sense dictates and deeper, conflicted feelings.

The few side stories seem to do no more than pad the running time. Linney’s character’s affair doesn’t move the plot one bit, nor does Hoffman’s character’s girlfriend’s visa problems. It was, nonetheless, a pleasure to see Cara Seymour again who was unforgettable as Patrick Bateman’s escort service fodder in “American Psycho”.

As an acting showcase, “The Savages” does pull some weight. I can also imagine it having therapeutic value to those who went through a similar situation with a parent or loved one. I suppose it took a certain amount of courage to shed light on such a dismal story. Watch it if you feel you must. If not, why not spend some time with your family?

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An up and coming public prosecutor with a near perfect record takes on what looks like a cut-and-dry attempted murder case. Only problem is, it’s actually not really in the bag. Even after a hasty confession, the accused has done a great job covering his tracks. The bullet is lodged in his comatose wife’s brain and the gun has mysteriously disappeared. What ensues is a gutsy battle of wits between the attorney played extra tangy by Jake Gosling and his nemesis, played by what I guess is supposed to be an Irish Anthony Hopkins.

This is the umpteenth time we’ve seen Hopkins rehash his Hannibal Lector masterstroke and, personally, I can’t get enough of it. I even loved watching John Malkovitch channeling Lector in Ripley’s Game. Don’t get me wrong, the movie was horrible, but you can’t help but relish Malkovitch snarling, “Hold my watch because if it breaks I’ll kill everyone on this train.” Good times.

Hopkins is the only the good thing about this movie. I couldn’t stand Gosling’s overdone accent. It’s supposed to show that he doesn’t quite fit in with his rich girlfriend, a decent Rosamund Pike, and her people. It’s not all Gosling’s fault. The script doesn’t give him much too work with and the film doesn’t take the time flesh out his character. Then again, I didn’t really care to know any thing else about him. He’s caught in the tug of war between career advancement and doing the right thing. Deep in his heart, he seems more concerned with the former, even if we are shown otherwise.

Another problem with this film is the complete waste of Embeth Davidtz, who plays Hopkins’ wife. Her pre-comatose part is so brief, and yet the her character is left undefined. It’s hard to figure out what she would be doing with a creep like Hopkins and if you’ve got a talent like Davidtz on your hands, you’re a feel to not let her have a bit more screen time.

The sight of a detective played by Billy Burke also gave me the shudders. He also plays in the more recent disaster “Untraceable”, and the guy belongs on a soap opera. No offense, but when he undergoes a rather painful transformation later in the film, it’s hard to really care. It’s as pathetic as his attempt to portray a pathetic character.

If you like all things Hannibal Lector as much as I do, this movie will be worth your time. All in all though, it’s plot starts to wear thin, very fast. In fact, after the film completely runs out of steam, it takes a lame turn, a moment when many people probably left the theater. Fracture is a middling average legal thriller.

Buy Fracture (Widescreen Edition) from Amazon.