Movie Review: Ghosts of Girlfriends Past (2009)

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A tender phrase used by the more chivalrous old-school gentlemen—the kind that still open doors, walk nearest to the street on sidewalks, and send flowers on days other than anniversaries, Valentine’s Day and birthdays—is to call the women in their life their “better half.” However, when it comes to Connor Mead (Matthew McConaughey)—the James Bond who’s all smarm without the charm and Alfie without the accent or Michael Caine’s winning twinkle in his eye—there is no better half.

Despite this, he soldiers on and temporarily fills the void with plenty of one tenths to one fourths in an endless parade of Maxim meets GQ like skanks he manages to nail and drop as if the swinging ‘70s had never ended with the dawn of AIDS in the ‘80s. This all occurs via “relationships” that last anywhere from a few minutes in an airplane bathroom to two weeks at most before he dumps three women simultaneously while trying to shag another one via a video conference call at the start of the film.

Video Clip:
A Break-up in “Bulk”

The closest thing one could consider to be a better half in Connor’s life would be a full one-- a full person that is-- in the form of his younger brother Paul (Breckin Meyer).

Scheduled to be married to his adoring sweetheart (Lacey Chabert)-- unfortunately given the stereotypical role of an anxiety-ridden Bridezilla who freaks out when figs aren’t included on the salads she ordered; Paul is not only everything that McConaughay’s narcissistic classless cad is not but a staunch reminder when the two are next to each other that there’s absolutely nothing to like about our leading man.

Video Clip:
I Can’t Toast This

Of course, a movie about two crazy-in-love kids getting married isn’t the stuff that makes studios instantly green-light a picture—unless of course the bride turns into Bridezilla during the honeymoon as the groom meets a new dream girl (as was the case in the misogynistic Farrelly brothers remake of The Heartbreak Kid) or in two other Ben Stiller vehicles when he gets put through the mill after he's finally brought home to Meet the Parents and The Fockers.

And in—trying to squeeze in every romantic comedy cliché possible—there’s a little of Fockers inspired humor as Robert Forster tackles the role of Chabert’s former marine turned ordained minister father in one of the very, very few bright spots in this abysmal picture as a Korean war vet who just can’t seem to get over the fact that without a wall or a good movie, the only legacy the Korean war had was “a sitcom with Alan Alda.”

Couple this with Chabert’s sultry “MILF” Anne Archer as a woman Connor goes to second base with in a typically aggressive come-on and screenwriters Jon Lucas and Scott Moore seem to be milking the same terrain as their other New Line Cinema produced screenplay Four Christmases which—despite going a bit overboard in family dysfunction screenwriting exercises—had the pleasant bonus of actually making us laugh.

In Ghosts, McConaughey tries to rework the same tired shtick he’s done to better effect in the flawed but amusing How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days (save for the awful final act) and Failure to Launch (rescued by scene-stealer Zooey Deschanel).

The problem is that there isn’t one redeemable characteristic about his character in this film, nor any chemistry with Jennifer Garner, and foolishly the filmmakers chose the wrong plot-line to follow as they decide to center the action on a character we wouldn’t want to spend one second with let alone more than one hundred minutes as he goes through a Dickensian Christmas Carol or Scrooged night of confronting his history with women.

Essentially little more than a sex addict except with what we assume is more self-control than the character that Sam Rockwell brought to life in last year’s Choke-- there is one plot line that does show a bit of promise as the film’s “host” for the ghostly activities is embodied by Michael Douglas, playing a Hugh Hefner, vintage swinging lady-killer who’d schooled the boy in as a youth on how to seduce women.

Of course, what the filmmakers don’t realize despite some great comedic work by Douglas (who incidentally had also worked in Fockers territory with his turn in the remake of The In-Laws) is that—like most of the movie, this particular story has been already made to much better effect in Dylan Kidd’s ingenious and brilliantly written independent film smash Roger Dodger starring Campbell Scott and Jesse Eisenberg.

So by the time you add up all the ingredients from Alfie to Fockers to Dodger-- which should all be rented to avoid paying the price of admission for this film-- basically what we’re left with is an inevitable romantic comedy wherein the cad must come of age, find the error of his ways and win back the girl he’s been hung up on since childhood in Jennifer Garner’s conveniently named Jenny.

Of course, Garner’s winning girl-next-door charm instinctively gets us on her side but there’s absolutely zero chemistry with McConaughey throughout. Sadly, she’s forced to portray a woman he doesn’t deserve and moreover one who would be far better off with another character in the film than the one in which we see in a sequence of supernatural idiocy get nearly drowned by the rain of tears cried by women he’s played, tissues they’ve wasted and condoms he’s used. Yeah--good times --and nothing says “get the saintly doctor Jenny together with the waste of space Connor” quite like a veritable and nauseating rain of condoms.

An all-around ugly and sexist film (to both genders), it's a reminder that one of my previously favored, life-affirming, and uplifting genres—the romantic comedy—has completely hit rock bottom. Films like Ghosts of Girlfriends Past are not only an affront to audiences as we keep getting served garbage like this but they’re also a fervent reminder of the power of an audience to determine the type of movies with which we’re presented if we just avoided works such as the tale of Connor Mead like the plague even though it's salvaged at times by the old-school charms of Forster and Douglas.

And while of course, thanks to the star power of the leads (including the lovely Jennifer Garner who wasn’t paid nearly enough to even be in a single frame) and the seemingly untouchable McConaughey who keeps getting work despite an endless string of disasters—it will make money-- if only because women want something to see in the wake of testosterone-addled summer pictures.

Despite this, my hope is that word-of-mouth will make it vanish like one of many ghosts in the film’s tired plot—already explored in another previous Waters film—Just Like Heaven and screenwriters will have to go back to the rom-com drawing board in figuring out how to delight us once again in films that, when done correctly can live-on for decades like It Happened One Night, The Philadelphia Story, Annie Hall, Manhattan, Moonstruck, and When Harry Met Sally.

House Bunny (2008)

Even Elle Woods couldn’t “bend and snap”
this film into a success.

Director: Fred Wolf

In screenwriting team Karen McCullah Lutz and Kirsten Smith’s big screen adaptation of Amanda Brown’s novel Legally Blonde, Reese Witherspoon taught Jennifer Coolidge (a.k.a. Stiffler’s mom) how to “bend and snap” men into submission by offering them the most flattering view of their figures. However, while Witherspoon’s ditzy character’s transformation from sorority bimbo to Harvard law student garnered critical acclaim and award nominations, in recycling their Blonde script into the far more degrading House Bunny, McCullah Lutz and Smith offer us a film that’s all about the proverbial “bend” with none of the refreshing “snap” of Blonde’s witty dialogue. Although I didn’t worship Legally Blonde as much as most viewers, I still feel it’s a frothy, forgettable, and escapist film that served its purpose brilliantly in making us laugh after the tragic events of 9/11 (when it was re-released specifically for that purpose the second time that year) mostly due to Witherspoon’s undeniable charm.

Cut to seven years later and likewise the similarly themed Bunny benefits from the vastly underrated Anna Faris. She first caught my attention with her scene-stealing turn in Lost in Translation (until I realized that Sofia Coppola most likely modeled her on Cameron Diaz which makes the caricature seem a bit mean-spirited) and later impressed me again as one of the brightest additions to the final season of television’s hit show Friends.

In Strange Wilderness director Fred Wolf’s House Bunny (produced by Adam Sandler’s Happy Madison Productions), Faris is cast as Shelley Darlingson, a Playboy Bunny who’s ousted from Hef’s mansion the morning after she turns twenty-seven. No longer able to lounge around in bikinis at the pool, flirt with celebrities, shop on Hef’s dime or drive the company’s pink Prius, Shelley eventually lands in jail after being mistaken for a prostitute, which offered the writers the first opportunity to gently season their lighthearted comedy with a subtle commentary about Playboy’s objectification of women, yet they missed the mark completely.

Of course, after they’ve turned from ugly ducklings to Spice Girls, Shelley and the girls realize that inner beauty is what counts and in a perfunctory fashion the screenwriters try to work in this message half-heartedly far too late into the picture. Ultimately even the likable Anna Faris can’t make up for House Bunny’s complete lack of respect for the intelligence of its audience and especially its narrow and sexist view of women and men alike.

Let’s just say that McCullah Lutz and Smith may joke via Shelley that they “know what boys like,” but obviously they don’t know what thinking men and women like. And as a feminist who not only adores men but as a film lover — who has a circle of mostly male friends — I’m proud to say that a large majority of both genders will find this ridiculous. However, as a woman and one individual, I can only speak for myself in saying that when it comes to representing our gender, I rank McCullah Lutz and Smith in the same regrettable company as Dr. Laura along with the contestants on The Bachelor, Wife Swap, and America’s Next Top Model.

This is especially unfortunate as Faris, a sunny, guileless beauty who will do anything for a laugh, tries her hardest to make the script work, playing her role as a sort of cross between Marilyn Monroe and Judy Holliday. It’s definitely most notable when we realize that as a Playboy Bunny she’s never actually been on a real date and struggles with coming on first too ridiculously sexy and then as a faux intellectual. For the fullest effect, check out these priceless clips as she tries to win over Colin Hanks’ (yes, the son of Rita Wilson and Tom Hanks) earnest do-gooder over the course of two monumentally awful dates.

Date 1:

Date 2:

And you know it’s bad when Hugh Hefner earns the most audience sympathy in a few choice comedic scenes and our romantic leading man plays a character so one-dimensional, he may as well have just been dubbed “Shelley’s Date” instead of even given an actual name. Although he’s had little opportunity to prove himself in other work, Hanks is likable (it runs in his family after all) so therefore it’s woefully unfortunate that the writers were so compelled to include a romantic subplot that they didn’t even try to offer us anything new, creating yet another one of these bland, interchangeable, asexual, and neutered romantic comedy males (think Michael Vartan in Never Been Kissed or Mark Ruffalo in 13 Going on 30). I couldn’t help but think that the film would’ve benefited from deleting his character altogether and making it solely about Shelley’s Pygmalion-like journey with the other girls as they each begin to bring out the best in one another. Although that wish was dashed from the start when it begins structured like a fairy-tale without a trace of irony with Hef’s mansion as the film’s version of a royal palace and Shelley’s ultimate goal to become a centerfold.

Admittedly, as ultimately a sorority plot-driven film, I knew it wouldn’t be as bold or daring as the Christina Ricci independent vehicle Pumpkin which found her superficial character overcoming prejudice in falling for a mentally disabled athlete. But after viewing these two early House Bunny scenes of Faris and the girls (shown below), I was sorely disappointed that when you have a cast filled with talented stars including both Emma Stone and Kat Dennings, it’s a shame that more wasn’t done with the young women’s storyline other than forcing Stone to go through a humiliating “sacrificing of the virgin” jello lava slide into punch at an Aztec-themed party.

Introductions:

Clubbing:

Therefore, all in all, while Witherspoon’s Elle Woods will never be mistaken for a celebration of sexual equality, compared to Shelley Darlingson, she seems like a modern-day version of Gloria Steinem. And while I have no doubt that some will call my reaction to the film overly harsh and typical of my gender (and I predict, to misquote the title of Paul Thomas Anderson's 2007 epic, "There Will Be Comments"), I must assure you that it has nothing to do with those facts nor that as the same age as Shelley’s character, I’m not upset that the film informed me that I’m fifty-nine in bunny years.

No, instead, I just feel that wisdom should go along with age and no matter how old you are in bunny years, you’ll take it upon yourselves to seek out just what makes something truly funny and heartfelt for both men as well as women. And as Elle Woods might say, may I be as bold as to suggest going for something with much more “snap,” and a bit less “bend?”

The Rocker (2008)

As he says in The Rocker,
"too loud," is not in Rainn Wilson's vocabulary.

What can I say about Rainn Wilson?

Aside from believing he’s phenomenally underrated as the sycophantic Dwight Schrute to Steve Carell’s Michael Scott on NBC’s award-winning The Office, I’ve never really found him that promising as an actor. He seems to be one of those comedians who does one thing really well and then milks it for all its worth… and then some.

After bombing in his hosting duty at this year’s Independent Spirit Awards when no less than Dustin Hoffman ad-libbed the ceremony’s funniest line (which I won’t even begin to repeat here but involved making love to Javier Bardem), Wilson seemed to have suffered the fate of a majority of TV stars in being more or less pigeonholed to his alter ego Dwight Schrute. And this was all the more evident during his squirm-inducing, awfully delivered “Fertile Myrtle,” “That ain’t no etch-a-sketch” brief cameo opposite the Oscar nominated Ellen Page in last year’s critical darling, Juno. For proof replay his performance in a scene that — despite my adoration for the film and Diablo Cody’s writing — I still feel would’ve been best left on the cutting room floor.

So needless to say, when I first saw the trailer for The Rocker, I braced myself for the worst in what looked like would ultimately be a School of Rock rehash, minus Jack Black. But having been a fan of two of British director Peter Cattaneo’s previous films — The Full Monty and Lucky Break -- I wanted to give the movie the benefit of the doubt.

Of course, I was nearly forced into merriment at a screening complete with The Rocker groupies who were coming back for their fifth, sixth, and even seventh screening of the film. If movie characters lived in an alternate universe, no doubt Kate Hudson’s Almost Famous self-described “Band-Aid,” Penny Lane would be proud. In fact, it’s ironic that it called to mind the aforementioned films since as a word-of-mouth campaign I hadn’t seen one this effective since the likes of Juno or School of Rock. And while I don’t think I’ll be coming back tri-weekly and will be able to hold off until DVD for another viewing, sure enough, when the film started, I quickly found myself in hysterics. Additionally, I realized that, while indeed most will compare the film to School of Rock and Wilson to Black, it’s been quite awhile since Jack Black genuinely made me laugh. In fact, the last time could very well have been in School of Rock.

Therefore, I was pleasantly surprised to forgo the advice of “accept no substitutes,” and let Wilson and not Black rock the audience for 102 minutes. Obviously, it helps if one is old enough to remember the '80s as we open via a pitch-perfect flashback in Cleveland, 1986 as Wilson’s overly enthusiastic and extremely sweaty drummer Robert “Fish” Fishman and his hair metal band Vesuvius (led by no less than Arrested Development’s Will Arnett as the front-man) rock their own on-screen audience. On the cusp of a record deal with a major label, Vesuvius discovers that fame comes with a price — namely nepotism — when the one thing standing in their path is Fish, as he’s ousted by disloyal band-mates and an industry man’s nephew is lined up to step in as their new drummer.

In one of several overly-broad sequences that begin with refreshingly wild comedic abandon until becoming the cinematic equivalent of a run-on sentence (as it crosses the line into the just plain chaotic and overly ridiculous), pratfall prone Fish chases down his band’s van. Running with the speed of Robert Patrick in Terminator 2 and attacking the vehicle with his drumsticks, Wilson's Fish constantly battles like a zombie that refuses to stay dead in a horror movie. Similar to Fish’s admission that “too loud is not in my vocabulary,” Wilson never lets a moment go by without chewing every piece of scenery in sight a la Jack Black and Will Ferrell. And while he does indeed garner some laughs, as it continues — quite similar to the way it plays out on The Office — it’s The Rocker’s minor Dwight Schrute-like characters who manage to earn the longest laughs with ironically the shortest amounts of screen time.

The film catches up with Fish twenty years later, in an all too identifiable dead-end-job as a phone-based customer service representative. But after a coworker forces him to listen to the latest smash success album by Vesuvius, Fish snaps, a fight ensues, and a few scenes later he’s out both a job and a relationship when his long-suffering girlfriend Jane Krakowski evicts him from her apartment.

Now stuck sleeping on an inflatable air mattress bed in the attic of his sister Lisa (Jane Lynch) and her husband Stan (Jeff Garlin), Fish gets an unlikely second chance at rock success when his nerdy, awkward M.I.T.-bound nephew Matt (Josh Gad) recruits his reluctant uncle to play in his band, A.D.D.

Hoping to stand for Attention Deficit Disorder instead of “add,” Fish soon fills out the small ensemble consisting of keyboardist Matt along with his post-modern, unsmiling, no-nonsense bassist Amelia (Emma Stone) and the gorgeous but melancholic lead singer Curtis (musician Teddy Geiger). Although Curtis’ perpetual abandonment issues over his deadbeat father comprise most of the depressing lyrics, Fish begins to rock their songs metal-style. The change is made first to their horror but then after they’re boosted to fame via an unflattering “naked drummer” YouTube video starring Fish, soon A.D.D. becomes an overnight sensation.

While the film makes Fish’s buffoon-like behavior the impetus for their success, there’s no denying the undeniable talent of real-life musician Geiger, whose music in the film is so impressive, it’ll immediately send you chasing down the soundtrack.

And while the music does indeed get your toes tapping and there is a similar “car test” scene to hear a demo while you drive, the film never mistakes itself for last year’s amazing art house ode to musical love, Once, always remembering its initial goal is to first and foremost make audiences laugh.

And like the ensemble quality of The Office, The Rocker’s ensemble makes the film a success with great, subtle, flirtatious support by Christina Applegate as Curtis’s hot mom (in a role that reminded me of her excellent turn opposite Ferrell in Anchorman), the under-utilized Will Arnett, Curb Your Enthusiasm’s Jeff Garlin, and Christopher Guest frequent cast member Jane Lynch, all of whom are a joy to comedy fans.

Yet, I was completely bowled over by the hilariously hyper and obnoxious turn by Jason Sudeikis playing the ultimate hype-monger in the form of the endlessly quotable, politically incorrect, and sleazy, two-faced sycophantic industry man, David Marshall. After just a few ridiculously off-the-wall lines penned by husband and wife screenwriting team Maya Forbes (The Larry Sanders Show) and Wallace Wolodarsky (The Simpsons), I found myself looking forward to the next appallingly hilarious thing he would say and as engrossed by his brief screen time just as much as I was during last week’s Tropic Thunder where Tom Cruise played a similarly hammy exec as well.

Hmm… something tells me we’ll be getting a new Will Ferrell styled Frat Pack buddy comedy about industry executives in the near future. And if Ferrell’s busy, possibly they could employ Rainn Wilson and Jack Black. Since, goodness knows that while they definitely are capable of making us laugh, both could use the benefit of superior writing to make them the genuine stars of their own films. However, until then, there are plenty of backstage antics in this film to keep you entertained. So ultimately, to misquote AC/DC, to “those about to rock” I “salute you.”