bride wars

“Bridezilla” is a modern term for a woman who behaves in part like a bride, in part like a giant, fire-breathing lizard, in the time spanning from the moment she becomes engaged until the moment honeymoon is over. Nerves frayed beyond repair, spread too thin between work, family, romance, and planning what is supposed to be the single most perfect night of her (or maybe his?) entire life, the “Bridezilla” might kill you if you get in it’s way. It will definitely scream at you.
You know that the “Bridezilla” phenomenon has made it big because there are several reality television shows using it as a basic premise. In shows that follow some of these power-drunk, over-privileged brides-to-be raising holy hell, we learn that being a “Bridezilla” is not only to be expected, but is actually quite culturally acceptable. The way I understand it, it’s like being temporarily insane.
Admittedly, it is fun to see these girls go wild and act the fool on their special days, but Gary Winnick’s Bride Wars sucks the fun out of this trashy guilty pleasure. Here the director lights up the concept with big, splashy stars and the results are far from pretty. The 90 minutes that follow pressing “play” are filled with purely heterosexist wedding-torture porn.
Set to an insipid song score, Bride Wars begins with a montage of best friends dreaming about get married. According to the invisible narrator (Bergen), two mothers, many years ago, brought their daughters, Liv (Kate Hudson) and Emma (Anne Hathaway), to the mythical Plaza Hotel. On this fateful afternoon, a fairytale wedding was taking place and it would forever alter everyone’s lives. To be married, more specifically, to be married at the Plaza became their modus operandi.

.
The little girls grow up to be best friends as adults (gag). Emma and Liv offer up bitchy criticisms at a friend’s wedding shindig, comparing their fantasy to their friends’ perfectly fine affair. But as soon as a bouquet is thrown in the air, they both go completely mental. It just so happens, they both have “perfect” relationships and are about to get engaged at the same time and they both need that bouquet.
Through a convoluted plot device, their mutual wedding planner accidentally books their weddings on the same day, in the same venue. Predictably, all hell breaks loose. War is declared between the ladies and alleged hilarity ensues as they back-stab, talk trash about each other’s bodies, and even engage in a little good old-fashioned cat-fighting, complete with dresses being ripped to shreds. Alexis and Krystle did it much better on Dynasty about 30 years ago, though, and they were not even half as self-serious as Hathaway and Hudson seem hell-bent on being.
Bride Wars amounts to nothing more than artless trash aimed at reaching out to little girls with disposable incomes. Just in case your 15-year-old wasn’t already Tiffany-and-Vera-Wang-obsessed, this film ought to set them straight.
“I’m gonna kill myself,” Hudson says when she thinks she isn’t getting proposed to. Weddings apparently bring out the worst in these gals. “Be careful about any pre-wedding weight gain,” a sales girl says to Liv, who in turn moans to her fiancée: “You don’t alter a Vera to fit you; you alter yourself to fit Vera. What do boys learn in school?”
Clearly, according to Liv, if you aren’t thin or pretty, you can’t wear a designer wedding dress and might not even get married at all. In fact, according to this film, you just don’t (or shouldn’t) exist.
The butt-kissing documentary feature included in the extras gives a perfunctory lecture on the cult of Wang and her reputed “level of taste” couldn’t be any worse. In fact, the only thing it could explain is the use of clothing in exchange for product placement. If Wang’s designs are indeed the barometer of fine taste they are decreed to be, then forcibly inserting them into a farce such as this will no doubt tarnish her legend.
Speaking of tarnishing one’s legend, it’s fairly amazing that Hathaway can go from bordering on brilliance in Jonathan Demme’s Rachel Getting Married (which netted her an Oscar nomination for Best Actress this year, plus a slew of critic’s prizes) to something as pointless as this lifeless portrait of Emma. A supposed “mousy” brunette, she is, of course, a schoolteacher, and doe-eyed and likable. Balancing art with commerce is not an enviable task, and it is one concept that few new millennium starlets seem to grasp.
Hathaway has managed to hold her head high all the way to the box office since the beginning of her career with The Princess Diaries and even recently opposite
Meryl Streep

in the similarly-schilling, aimed-at-girls
The Devil Wears Prada

. A supporting turn in Ang Lee’s Brokeback Mountain showed her versatility and hinted at an emotional maturity that was only recently, fully tapped into in Demme’s underrated movie . Her next role is rumored to be a doozy:
Judy Garland

. Fingers crossed that she at least tries to stay out of the wedding milieu for a bit.
There is always a feeling of “been-there-done-that” when it comes to Hudson’s performances. Though she seems perfectly likable in real life, and a smart, capable businesswoman much in the mold of her mother Goldie Hawn, Hudson, in truth, has very little dramatic or comedic range; making everything she does feel exactly the same. She’s typecast even more than her mother was in her heyday, but Hawn stretched more, connected more, and maximized her charms in a way that Hudson has yet to master.
As Liv, a brilliant, aggressive lawyer (!), the actress is alternately flat, smug, and screechy (“I’m engaged” she shrieks to strangers at a decibel that could alarm the neighborhood dogs). It’s an amateurish turn that feels like a little girl playing dress up, a performance that almost rivals her pitiable, unintentionally funny turn in the misguided supernatural clunker The Skeleton Key.
She can’t, for one second, summon up any even remotely believable, authentic moments. It’s a truly embarrassing performance in every sense. The thing is, Hudson, much like Hathaway, keeps making these bird-brained crowd-pleasers, which means she can open a movie, and since money talks, expect to see a lot more of her bubble-headed antics in stupid movies like this. Sub-par products that virtually define the terms “vanity project” and “star vehicle”.
The result of all of these foul elements is basically the antithesis of everything the film is supposed to be: charming, funny, touching. It borders on petulant and indulgent in its worst moments, with characters existing inside a vacuum-sealed pretend word where apparently no oxygen gets to their brains. “She will be the most nightmarish bride, ever,” cracks a girlfriend. And she’s right on the money.
Bride Wars wants to be Sex in the City Jr., with influences on fashion and a big chunk of box office, but nothing in this film has any edge whatsoever: the music, the clothes, the dialogue, everything is dull. When was the last time you heard “Pump up the Jam” at a hot club in New York City?
The stale, non-descript music and pop culture references are excruciating to sit through (American Idol jokes?). Worst of all, the drama is boring and unbelievable, while the comedy has the polar opposite of its presumed intentions (another recycling of the fey, energetic dance instructor? Ugh.) The whole affair is depressing and bitter.
The aggression

leads, predictably, to a wedding day battle royale, just when you think it couldn’t get any worse. Then, to wrap it up quickly after a masturbatory finale in which the brides wind up writing around on display on top of each other, there is another insipid montage, a quick sing-a-long, and then some more corny narration.
Bride Wars showcases some of the worst behavior from the most over-privileged snots. What it is teaching (indoctrinating?) the young female viewership is that getting married is paramount, screwing over your best friend is okay if it is for your wedding, and that, ultimately, that the four “C”s – cut, clarity, color, and carat, are the most important thing of all. Aside from impossible fairytale romances and ceremonies that cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. You know what this movie will make you want to do? Elope.
The epilogue suggests we haven’t seen the last of these nitwits and that a sequel might have been in the works before the film mercifully tanked at the box office, tossed into the January market like cheap Christmas trash. Thankfully, we will all now be spared the horror show of these two characters giving birth onscreen. They would most certainly be spawning a generation of future “Bridezillas”. I say let’s end this cycle of violence now before we’re overrun with millions of screaming, fire-breathing little “Bridezillas”.

proposal

“The Proposal” is a nice reminder that not all romantic comedies have to crush our souls into a fine powder. If you have talented leads working from a script with sharp dialogue, then you can make for a fine date night flick. While it needs a slightly longer set-up, goes too mawkish in its third act, and relies too heavily on Betty White in the “wacky-granny” role, watching Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds snipe at each other is absolutely delightful and worth the price of admission.
Due to be deported back to Canada for violating the terms of her visa, vicious publishing editor Margaret Tate (Bullock) quickly decides to wed her hapless, long-suffering assistant Andrew (Reynolds) so she can keep her job in the US and in exchange, Andrew gets a promotion to editor. A preposterously aggressive Homeland Security agent (Denis O’Hare) threatens their ruse and so the two must travel to Andrew’s parents home in Alaska for his grandmother’s (White) birthday celebration and learn about each other so that they can pass the examination or else she’ll be deported and he’ll go to jail. When Margaret and Andrew are at each other’s mercy is when the fun really starts. Once they start falling for each other, the fun kind of abates.
Sandra Bullock has become one of the queens* of romantic comedy, but she has a masculine quality that sets her apart from her peers. I don’t mean that in terms of looks, but she conveys a domineering strength that sets her apart and makes her more interesting than other doe-eyed damsels. But Bullock knows how to keep that masculinity from overtaking her feminine side and that balance has served her well in the past and continues to do so in “The Proposal”. The movie does play up her “fish-out-of-water” aspect once she lands in Alaska, but while she’s ruling the business world and making Andrew’s life hell, we still like her and she understands that her character is supposed to be overly-guarded, not predatory.
But she’s only one side of the equation. I hate that Ryan Reynolds has to be so attractive AND funny. It’s not fair.** And yet, as always, I am charmed by Reynolds who, despite his impressive physique, is adorably pathetic when getting bossed around by Bullock and yet, once they make their bargain, he lets his character revel in three years of pent-up aggression towards his abusive boss without ever letting the character go cruel or malicious. It’s in this back-and-forth between Bullock and Reynolds where the two actors know each other’s comic timing and physical idiosyncrasies that “The Proposal” becomes infinitely enjoyable.
Sadly, the film doesn’t really take the time it should in the first act to really let us enjoy their interplay. It does the bare minimum in setting up the premise and a sketch of their current dynamic. Andrew’s revenge would be so much more rewarding if we saw a brief montage of his three years as Margaret’s assistant and it would also grant us a better look at Margaret’s character.
The film has the opposite problem in the third act where the film continues to hammer us over the head that these characters have fallen in LOVE. Perhaps the filmmakers were afraid that audiences wouldn’t believe that two people who felt nothing for each other for three years would fall in love in three days but going overboard with the sentiment doesn’t help the point as much as it drains the movie of humor.
Despite its rushed opening and rocky finish, “The Proposal” is a romantic comedy that doesn’t break any new ground but works well as a date film because of Bullock and Reynolds’ terrific performances. It is ultimately “just another rom-com” but it’s certainly not a bad one.

TAKEN

Pierre Morel, of District 13 fame, has just released his second directorial effort. Like District 13, Taken is a meditation on the immigrant question wrapped in a gut-thumping actioner. Like District 13, Taken throws a lot of sweet sweet thrills at us that can’t distract us from the subtext, for better or worse. And blimey, is that subtext — and dialogue — ham-fisted and poorly written (sorry, co-writer Luc Besson). Taken contains one of the most painful set-ups I’ve ever sat through — it’s Plot for Dummies delivered through Syrup of Exposition that’s spoonfed to us like a pack of waiting ninnies. The whole thing is mindlessly propagandic (not an oxymoron after all), and the editing in the fight and chase scenes is Bourne Ultimatum beserker-esque, and decent actors come off looking like amateurs, but all in all it’s not the worst action movie I’ve seen. It’s cobbled out of clichés, and it’s ridiculous (but not over-the-top ridiculous enough to excuse it), and it will probably wind up on the wrong side of politics, à la Dirty Harry, but it can’t be totally dismissed, either, because its tension and its star, Liam Neeson, grease its clunking mechanisms enough to get it operational.
The trailer and movie poster make a plot summary redundant, but it’s part of the job description, so here goes: Neeson plays an ex-operative named Bryan Mills who retired from service in order to spend more time with his daughter, Kim (Maggie Grace), if not the wife (Famke Janssen) who already left him for a less neglectful mate. Barring contact with a few of his service buddies, Mills is rudderless, lonely, and nurturing an unhealthy daughter fixation that shows itself in his creepy scrap-booking of snapshots of events that weren’t particularly positive. Mills just wants to spend time with his spoiled, clueless kid, who in turn just wants to be spoiled and clueless. He reluctantly gives Kim permission to travel to Paris with a friend, hating to lengthen the tether he’s attached to his kin — a tether that seems to be made of 50% natural affection and 50% unsettling possessiveness. But possession is thematic in Taken; it comes to a head when Kim and her girlfriend are abducted by sex traffickers soon after arriving in France, and Mills is forced to use “a very particular set of skills” to retrieve his own from the takers.
The movie has its moments. Decent sequences include Mills beating and chasing an oily spotter named Peter, who skulks around Charles de Gaulle airport looking for young women travelling alone; Mills nurturing one of the traffickers’ victims in a hotel room in order to press info about his daughter from the girl; and Mills’ awkward interaction with a corrupt Parisian cop who may or may not be in on the crime. I said they were “decent,” though, not outstanding, and not particularly convincing (except for the way Mills wails on Peter and creates a joyous public chaos). And if impressionistic beserker editing is your poison (no action shot lasts longer than a second — many for half that), you’ll probably enjoy the thrill scenes. Some degree of care was put into those, and Neeson is awesome when he’s in Statham mode. In fact, he’s the best thing about the movie (cotton-mouthed American accent aside). It’s always nice to see a substantial actor heavy-lift like a bad-ass. When Neeson isn’t cracking skulls, he’s providing us with believable passion. There’s a moment early in the film when Mills tells his buddies that his daughter has just invited him for lunch; Neeson cracks a smile as he delivers the good news that hits the heart of desperate-daddy love.
It’s a blindingly good bit of acting that only makes the contrast between Neeson’s performance and Janssen’s (for instance) more visible. For every decent moment in Taken, there are two or three that bring the enterprise down. We’ve seen the evidence of Janssen’s abilities elsewhere, but Morel and Besson put Desperate Housewives mannerisms on her form and terrible dialogue in her mouth; action movies don’t tend to overwrite the parts of bit players, but when we notice just how poorly written they are, knuckles ought to be slapped. Maggie Grace, as Kim, is all limbs and bubble-headed flair; there’s nothing in her role or performance to latch onto, which just amplifies how much the movie is about the owners and how little about the ostensibly owned. Wives and daughters and even female pop-stars are positioned like chattel (purposefully — though for what purpose is debatable); the pop-star is a “cash cow” for her managers and the daughters are sold off to the highest bidders. Taken gives us a man’s world where women have zero agency; they live in bubbles and leave homes and homelands at their own peril. Without daddy’s or husband’s arm, they wind up tied to the bed of a rapist sheik. Women-as-property may be a notion borrowed directly from actual culture, but skins will prickle to see it so idealized (never let it be said that action movies aren’t, at bottom, pure romance).
The movie, apparently, is designed to push gender buttons, but it launches off immigration politics, too, and — if you were inclined to — can be read a certain uncomfortable way. It will make some viewers angry; others will pull the “it’s just a popcorn movie” card and shut discussion down. Make of the film what you will — it’s your viewing experience, after all. But it’s all there, mallet-subtle, and Taken doesn’t complicate itself in the end the way (so I’m told — I have yet to see it) Gran Torino does. Morel and Besson have given us a picture that can inspire a lot of “are they or aren’t they?” questions in anyone with a grasp of current French politics, and it can generate a solid thirty minutes of hectic post-viewing conversation for the predisposed. Unlike District 13, Taken is entirely pro-West — no French filmmaker can put what Morel and Besson put onscreen “accidentally” or naively and not know what compatriots will make of it. Not in 2009. It all makes for a picture much more interesting than the sum of its parts — even a picture that seems to have been written for trailer soundbites alone, and built on shocks that aren’t, ultimately, as shocking as designed.

the class discussion about whether animals have power to reason or whether they have that is the instinct. on a personal note i think that each animal has the power to reason. practically, when a lion is hhungry he hunts for his prey and once he is full he stops eating. this clearly shows the power to reason, because when the lion is full he understands and therefore the counter reaction is he stops to feed on the dead carcass.