COLOSSAL (2017) **

Gloria (Anne Hathaway) is a perennial screw-up whose propensity for getting blackout drunk hampers her ability to get her life together.  She returns to her hometown and winds up getting a job at a bar owned by her childhood friend Oscar (Jason Sudeikis).  One day, a giant monster storms Seoul seemingly out of the blue.  Gloria eventually discovers she’s in control of the monster, but can she get control over her personal life?

Writer/director Nacho (Open Windows) Vigalondo’s Colossal is certainly ambitious.  It’s an oddball melding of quirky indie comedy-drama with kaiju creature feature.  It’s a promising concept, but it just never clicks.  After a solid set-up, things go off the rails once Sudeikis becomes a vengeful giant robot.  Whatever points Vigalondo was trying to make about the worldwide effect of toxic masculinity are clunky at best.  Also, it wouldn’t have hurt to have better effects for the monsters.  Instead, we’re stuck with some ugly CGI creations that look like a step above your average Asylum flick.

Colossal’s biggest crime is that it wastes a good supporting cast.  Tim Blake Nelson and Dan Stevens are two of my favorite actors working in the biz today.  Tragically, they are given virtually nothing worthwhile to do.  Sudeikis is just fine as the asshole boss who becomes domineering tyrant once he learns he can stomp on buildings thousands of miles away.  It’s a more serious role than he’s used to, and he rises to the challenge admirably.  I just wish Hathaway wasn’t so miscast.  It also doesn’t help that her character is pretty damn annoying.  

Despite all that, Colossal remains watchable, even if it’s overlong and squanders much of its early potential.  It’s not a colossal waste of time or anything.  More like a big missed opportunity.

AKA:  Synchronized Monster.

211 (2018) *

211 begins laboriously with an extended sequence in Afghanistan detailing how an embezzler is ambushed by ruthless mercenaries demanding a million-dollar payment.  Then, there’s a bunch of rigmarole involving an Interpol investigation, which eats up even more time.  This shit is boring and clunky.  Why is it even here?  Because if we didn’t have these long, superfluous sequences, 211 would’ve only been 75 minutes long.

There’s also a subplot about Nicolas Cage losing his wife, his daughter getting pregnant, and his son in-law coming to terms with his upcoming brush with fatherhood.  It takes a good twenty minutes before the REAL story begins to take shape.  A teenager (Michael Rainey, Jr.) gets into a fight at school, and as punishment, he is sent to do a ride along with a crusty cop (Cage) and his partner (his son in-law).  Naturally, they just so happen to be cruising around when the mercs try to knock off the bank where the embezzler dude hid his loot.

All of this helps to keep Cage offscreen for much of the early going.  In fact, it takes ten minutes before we see our first fleeting glimpse of him and by the time he says his first line of dialogue, the movie is already a quarter of the way over.  By the time the heist goes down and Cage, his son in-law, and the kid are caught in the crossfire, it’s hard to care much one way or the other.  Maybe we would feel different if the plot, drama, and action didn’t feel like something out of an old TV pilot.

Needless to say, fans of even the worst of Cage’s DTV output will walk away disappointed from this one.  He only gets one brief moment when he gets to go in full-on Cage mode as he yells, “MY SON IS DEAD!” at his superior, which isn’t much consolation.  Other than that, this is wholly forgettable in just about every way.

In short, the 411 on 211 is dial 911.

AKA:  The Bank Heist.  AKA:  Code 211.  AKA:  211:  Cops Under Fire.

CAM (2018) ** ½

It’s been a long time since I watched a webcam show, but if Cam is any indication, webcam girls are a lot different than they were back in my day.  Either that or it’s the guys who pay to watch the girls that are changing.  Maybe they’re looking for something more extreme.  I mean, five minutes into the movie, our heroine Alice (Madeline Brewer) has to resort to doing a “Suicide Show” in order to bump up her ratings into the webcam girl Top 50 charts, and even then, she isn’t successful.  Desperate for more followers, she continues trying to give her viewers what they want to see, even if it breaks her “rules”.  One day, she finds herself locked out of her account with a doppelganger taking over her identity and… gasp(!) webcam show.  She then sets out to reclaim her life (and her webcam show).

Director Daniel Goldhaber does a good job in the early scenes to establish Alice’s world of sitting around all day in front of her computer and putting on shows for her fans.  Brewer is winning and engaging enough that we root for her and want her to eclipse her dream of being a top tier web girl.  Their efforts help to draw the viewer in and together, the set-up is admittedly irresistible.

Unfortunately, the film is less successful once it shifts gears and becomes a paranoia thriller.  Sure, there are some awkward scenes here, like when Alice’s mom (Melora Walters) discovers her daughter’s profession at a birthday party.  However, Goldhaber never quite ups the ante enough to make the tension truly crackle.  The scenes of Alice watching helplessly as her evil double takes over her show are initially intriguing but get repetitive as the movie wears on.  Goldhaber doesn’t quite stick the landing either, which prevents me from giving it an out-and-out recommendation.  

This is one of those cases where the picture might’ve worked better as a short.  The opening sequence in particular is a real grabber.  Too bad it peters out before the end credits roll.  I guess that’s just like a cam girl for you.  They catch your eye, get you interested, and then brush you off just before the climax.

SONG OF THE THIN MAN (1947) ***

The sixth and final Nick and Nora Charles mystery finds the lush detective couple (William Powell and Myrna Loy) investigating the death of a bandleader aboard a cruise ship.  They do some digging and go undercover on the dime tour of the bandstand circuit posing as musicians.  The couple then go looking for an antique gun that could possibly be the murder weapon.

Directed by Edward (At the Circus) Buzzell, Song of the Thin Man benefits from a fine supporting cast.  It’s fun seeing a young Dean Stockwell as Nick Jr.  He holds his own with Powell and Loy and gets some laughs too.  Keenan Wynn is also amusing as a wisecracking musician who helps Nick and Nora on their case.  Patricia Morison, Jayne Meadows, and Marie Windsor all make memorable impressions as well.

I don’t know if the franchise ever got credit for allowing its characters age believably.  Not only that, they let the character of Nick Jr. grow up a little bit.  The domestic scenes of the three of them (and their loyal dog Asta) together are among the best in the movie and indeed the entire series.  I especially liked the scene where Nora goads Nick into spanking Nick Jr. and he just can’t bear to do it.  (Flashbacks of the kid being born are projected on his bottom.)  

This doesn’t have the feel of the sixth entry in a long-running franchise.  It’s much livelier than any of the other sequels and Buzzell keeps the quips coming fast and furious, with many of them hitting the mark.  (My favorite was when Nick lamented the “death” of his bottle of Scotch.)  Some stretches work better than others, but there’s enough genuinely funny moments here (like when Nick and Nora use a bunch of nonsensical slang to ingratiate themselves with a bunch of musicians) to make this the best entry since the first one.

CLASS OF ’74 (1972) ** ½

The plot of Class of ’74 is simple:  Three free-spirited, uninhibited, sexually liberated college girls take a virginal friend under their wing and show her the various ways to make sweet love.  What’s refreshing about it is how progressive it is.  There’s no slut-shaming here.  The characters champion each other’s sexual conquests as long as they’re happy and having fun with what (and who) they’re doing.  (Of course, if they didn’t, the movie would’ve been a heck of a lot shorter.)  

The positive reinforcement of advocating for a healthy and active sex life is done in a fun and freewheeling way and there’s no heavy moralizing to drag things down.  It’s especially progressive when it comes to portraying its gay characters.  (There’s a scene involving a man being seduced in a locker room by his gym teacher.)  Although there’s nothing explicit, it probably came as a shock to the (straight male) audience at the time of release.

Even though its attitude towards sex is progressive, the film itself is dated as all get out, but in a good way.  There are a lot of romantic interludes and montages (including one in which a character imagines herself as Eve in the garden of Eden) that almost look like something out of a ‘70s television commercial.  The gaudy fashions and outdated slang (“Let it all hang out!”) is good for a laugh too.

Just when the film builds up momentum, it dovetails into overlong flashbacks that mostly act as padding.  Some of these side trips work (like a jaunt down the Sunset Strip) while others flounder. The escapades become increasingly inconsistent as the film goes on too.  The problem is many end abruptly and/or just when they begin to gain some traction (like when Barbara Caron becomes acquainted with a rich married couple), which is frustrating.

I initially chalked up Class of ‘74’s choppy, sloppy narrative to the time period.  (After all, 1972 is the year when the ‘60s REALLY ended.)  As it turns out, it has more to do with how it was cobbled together.  Director Arthur (J.D.’s Revenge) Marks took a hippie skin flick called Gabriella, Gabriella and added new footage to release it on a double bill with his picture The Roommates featuring that film’s stars Marki Bey and Pat Woodell playing the same characters.  He also added additional scenes of Caron in there too, so in effect, it’s a sequel to BOTH films while still being heavily padded with old footage from Gabriella Gabriella.  Confused?  If anything, you have to give Marks credit.  He was doing the whole “shared universe” thing long before Marvel. 

THE NIGHT CALLER (1966) ***

John Saxon stars as an American scientist in England who tracks a strange meteorite to an unlikely crash site.  There’s no crater or point of impact.  It’s almost as if the damned thing just… landed.  Along with some fellow scientists, Saxon performs some experiments on it, which results in the death of his mentor (Maurice Denham).  John then teams up with a Scotland Yard inspector (Alfred Burke) to investigate the disappearance of some local girls that may be somehow connected with the meteorite.

The first half of The Night Caller is gripping stuff.  It was done on an obviously low budget, but the way director John (The Reptile) Gilling manages to milk the suspense from the bare minimum he was given is rather impressive.  Most directors would’ve been hard-pressed to create tension with nothing more than John Saxon, a glowing watermelon, and a rubber hand at their disposal.  Gilling rises to the challenge admirably.

This portion of the film hinges heavily on suggestion.  The monster is mostly kept in the shadows, with Saxon relying on secondhand accounts from potential victims for a description of the beast.  The moody lighting and stark black and white cinematography help to enhance the atmosphere.  Imagine if Val Lewton had directed a Val Guest movie.  If that isn’t enough to make you want to see it, nothing will.

In the second half, The Night Caller takes an odd, but amusing detour.  It’s such a dramatic turn that it almost feels like an entirely different movie in places.  It’s here where things become slightly more lurid as the alien lures unsuspecting bikini models to their doom.  This twist is unexpected and kind of corny, but it’s diverting enough.  (It almost seems like a Hammer remake of Mars Needs Women.)  

It’s only in the last ten minutes does it really fall apart.  That’s partly because the ending is so anticlimactic, but also because Saxon gets less and less to do as the film goes on.  We do get a fun turn by Aubrey (Tales from the Crypt Presents Bordello of Blood) Morris as the creepy bookstore owner in cahoots with the alien, and his hammy antics helps inject a little life into the uneven third act. 

AKA:  Blood Beast from Outer Space.  AKA:  Night Caller from Outer Space.

SANTA JAWS (2018) ** ½

A young comic book artist named Cody (Reid Miller) receives a magic pen for Christmas.  He uses it to draw his latest creation, Santa Jaws, and naturally, the shark (who of course wears a Santa hat) comes to life.  Before long, the shark begins eating his friends and family one by one.  It’s then up to Cody to save Christmas.

Santa Jaws could’ve easily been another dumb SyFy Channel Original, and well… it is.  However, it’s a little bit funnier than you’d expect.  There are enough clever and a few downright inspired moments here to make it worth a look.  Some of the funniest scenes come after the revelation that the shark can only be harmed by Christmas-themed weapons as it gets stabbed with a candy cane in its glowing eyes (which are red, like Rudolph’s nose).  

Let’s be real here.  Santa Jaws is still a SyFy Channel movie.  As such, for every legitimately funny bit, there’s at least one or two cheesy groan-inducing moments.  You also have to put up with a couple of useless subplots that get in the way of fun.  The most egregious being the scenes of the doofus comic book store owner using the pen to make himself a hot girlfriend and cool car.

I can’t help but think that Santa Jaws would’ve been a better fake trailer than an actual movie.  Still, I couldn’t help but chuckle when Santa Jaws grew a sharpened candy cane horn to impale its victims.  I mean the elf kill alone guaranteed it an extra Half-Star.  As far as revenge-themed Christmastime shark movies go, it’s better than Jaws the Revenge.