WHAT IT'S ABOUT?
The Americanization of Anime. This long-awaited (and long-on-the-shelf) live-action rendition of the popular Japanese graphic novel series by Akira Toriyama is a spectacularly silly laugh-out-loud abomination that begs borrows and steals from a wide variety of sci-fi and fantasy predecessors in telling the “epic” (ha!) story of Goku (Justin Chatwin) a young warrior destined to do battle with the forces of evil in pursuit of seven mystical “Dragon Balls” that entitle the bearer to absolute superiority over the universe. Or something like that. It really doesn’t matter although all the talk about the power of the “Dragon Balls” does yield some hearty laughs — for all the wrong reasons.
WHO'S IN IT?
A lot of actors who probably wish they weren’t. Chief among them is Chow Yun-Fat continuing his unlucky streak in American films. Wearing a perennial smile and a loud Hawaiian shirt he acts as the de-facto mentor for our hero dispensing words of wisdom (in some universe undoubtedly) and occasionally executing some fancy martial-arts moves. Even for Chow’s most ardent admirers it’s not enough. Emmy Rossum (who perhaps should have known better) and Jamie Chung provide some eye candy alongside Chatwin as fellow female warriors while a green-skinned James Marsters growls and snarls as the film’s resident villain the megalomaniacal Piccolo (now there’s a name that’s sure to make audiences shudder). Ernie Hudson’s in it too — and even manages to hold onto his dignity. This is not a film that many if any of the participants are going to be touting on their resumes anytime soon — if at all.
Extremely little. To its (dis)credit Dragonball Evolution does murder time. You’ll never get those 90 minutes back again. If it comes down to seeing this or seeing your dentist keep the latter appointment.
Where to begin? The script … the acting … the direction … the editing. Several scenes have been cut with such frenzied abandon that it’s nearly impossible to ascertain precisely what’s going on. Fans of the original Dragonball series may have a head start — and this rendition may well disappoint or infuriate them — but neophytes and newcomers will have a hard time determining precisely what’s going on. Not that it matters much. Even by the campiest of comic-books standards this is a shoddy effort. The brief running time (under 90 minutes) is a dead giveaway that the studio’s shears were put to work and the timing of its release by Fox indicates that the studio was perhaps trying to make some quick pre-summer coin in advance of Wolverine especially given Chatwin’s Wolv-like coif.
LINES TO REMEMBER:
“The first rule is: There are no rules.”
“Somebody stole my Prometheum Orb.”
“Prepare to eat dirt.”
“Teach me how to be normal.”
“The Dragon Balls are in my grasp!”
LINES TO FORGET:
IT'S NEVER A GOOD IDEA TO ...
Make a movie with “ball” or “balls” in the title — especially if it’s a bad movie.
If you absolutely have to see this movie see it with friends. And please make one of them the designated driver.
Luke (Steven Strait) and Brier (Pell James) first cross paths on a New York City subway before the doors shut on their instant attraction to one another. Of course it is immediately and abundantly clear that they will naturally meet up again before long but where and how? The answers: L.A. and well it's complicated. Each having forgotten about the other Brier a top model in NYC decides she needs a change of scenery and tells her agent (Carrie Fisher clearly in it for the paycheck) she's heading out to L.A. to pursue acting while Luke and his brother Euan (Kip Pardue) decide to move to the West Coast as well. Once there Brier befriends Clea (Ashlee Simpson) and on her first night in town takes Brier to a local dive bar where Luke works as a struggling "musician." Wow that's some coincidence. There is an instant re-connection between Luke and Brier but she refuses to get involved with musicians since her rock-star ex mistreated her. Instead she shifts her focus on generating buzz for Luke. Eventually Luke gets the big recording contract becomes the rock-star jerk he'd swore he'd never become and loses it all. But all is well when Brier decides she can no longer resist Luke's ballads and Metallica-guitarist-circa-'85 hair.
The theme of Undiscovered could apply to its cast. Each of the four leads are on the cusp of being on the cusp and certainly they hope this movie will take them one step closer. For James that might happen. She is a natural on screen and gives a breakthrough performance as the comely Brier. Strait is also a relative newcomer. After turning his debut performance in this summer's Sky High he holds his own in Undiscovered but seems to be relegated to taking his shirt off to make the teenyboppers swoon. Finally there's Simpson who is also making her major-role debut. It's awkward to see her on-screen and yes subconsciously you wait for her to make a noticeable mistake (or butcher a voice-over due to acid reflux). Of course it doesn't happen; she moves along pretty smoothly but is at times subjected to dialogue that seems beyond her especially when she has to words big words such as "banter." And certainly it's not her fault when she describes Luke--a musician best left struggling--as "a cross between Jeff Buckley and Elvis Costello." That's just someone else's words she reciting.
Prolific music-video director Meiert Avis is making his feature film directorial debut with Undiscovered--and his obvious greenness shows. At times the film is more like a music video surrounded by a weak storyline than a cohesive film. His expertise in the rather linear realm of music videos doesn't exactly qualify him for the complexities of a 90-minute film contrived and straightforward as his debut may be. Avis tries to employ every possible clichéd obstacle for the characters to overcome--which reeks of inexperience but could also be the screenwriter's fault. No doubt Avis feels at home with newcomers such as Strait and Simpson who--for all intents and purposes--sing and act but the plethora of singing scenes feel forced. That is forced into the script to showcase the soundtrack when the movie goes undiscovered at the box office.
We've all heard the tale: In 1836 a motley group of brave Texan soldiers aided by American legend Davy Crockett (Billy Bob Thornton) defended The Alamo to their bloody deaths at the hands of Mexican General Santa Anna's well-trained army. That's pretty much the same ground covered by the film so don't expect any surprises. What you can expect early on is some fairly convoluted political back story centering on aspiring nation-builder Sam Houston (Dennis Quaid) plenty of soap opera-quality bickering between leading characters Lt. Col. William Travis (Patrick Wilson) and knife aficionado Jim Bowie (Jason Patric) and a good amount of pompous preening on the part of Santa Anna (Emilio Echevarria). Like Glory The Alamo takes its time (about 90 minutes) to lead up to the pivotal battle using the rest of the time to introduce major characters and conflicts; unlike Edward Zwick's masterful Civil War drama Hancock's epic wanna-be loses the audience's attention in the process.
Poor Dennis Quaid -- all of the good subtle work he's put in over the last couple of years in smaller movies like The Rookie (also directed by Hancock) and Far From Heaven could well be swept from filmgoers' minds in an instant if enough of them remember The Alamo instead. As Houston one of Texas' almost-mythic heroes he blusters orates and generally overacts his way into becoming a living cartoon. Meanwhile Wilson Patric and Thornton are all given one-note characters: Col. Travis is an uptight by-the-book goody-two-shoes (until naturally he gets his one big chance to redeem himself) Bowie is a hard-drinkin' hard-livin' man's man and Crockett is the consummate good ol' boy relying on his aw-shucks demeanor to make friends -- and disguise the true depth of his pithy insights -- wherever he goes. (Thornton does what he can with Crockett but subtlety is lost in this movie.) On the other side of the trenches Echevarria's Santa Anna might as well be Dr. Evil for all of the sense he makes or the respect he earns from his lieutenants. Screenwriters Hancock Stephen Gaghan (an Oscar winner for Traffic) and Leslie Bohem must have taken the general's "Napoleon of the West" nickname literally when it came time to craft his petulant volatile character.
Hancock -- who stepped up to helm The Alamo after original director Ron Howard wisely bowed out -- is a newbie in the realm of historical epics and it shows. For all the time and money that obviously went into the film's costumes sets and effects (the re-created fort is wholly convincing and some of the nighttime battle sequences are pretty impressive) too little was spent developing characters that were equally realistic. Just because people like Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie have become larger than life in the American pop mythology doesn't mean they didn't have their faults (as presented in the movie Bowie's resolutely dissolute lifestyle is almost as trite as the rest of his character). And just because these martyred heroes were so colorful doesn't mean that watching them slouch around a dry dusty fort for an hour before anything really happens can be considered entertainment--even the best true stories can use a little help from the editing fairy now and then. Carter Burwell's heavy-handed Braveheart-meets-Glory score (Crockett's catchy fiddling notwithstanding) just underscores the fact that the movie is trying to bully you into feeling certain ways at certain times; when the music swells you gear up for something exciting only to be left hanging again and again. Looks like the suits at Touchstone Pictures knew what they were doing when they delayed The Alamo's release date from Oscar-bait December to dead-zone April.