Fri. July 5, 2013
By Gregg Shapiro
The Lone Ranger (Disney): If the Walt Disney movie studio was able to transform one of its theme park rides (Pirates of the Caribbean) into a successful movie franchise, why can't they do the same with the politically incorrect The Lone Ranger TV series from the 1950s? A 21st century Western in the tradition of Django Unchained, The Lone Ranger is too long and too violent for its (or the audience's) own good. But, it does have one thing in its favor – Johnny Depp. Transplanting Jack Sparrow's foppish folly to the Old West deadpan of faithful companion/guide Tonto makes for a side-splitting sidekick.
Director Gore Verbinski (aka Johnny Depp's other director), for whom restraint is a non-existent vocabulary word, opens his The Lone Ranger at a Wild West exhibition at a 1933 San Francisco carnival. There an ancient Tonto (Depp) comes to life to tell a little, masked boy in a cowboy get-up the story of how mild-mannered District Attorney John Reid (Armie Hammer) became The Lone Ranger. The tedious tale takes us back to Texas in the late 1800s, where the burgeoning cross-country railroad business is not only a good thing for the transport of prisoners (as in the case of the cannibalistic Butch Cavendish, played by William Fichtner), but also for greedy railroad men (such as Cole, played by Tom Wilkinson).
Over the course of nearly 2.5 hours, The Lone Ranger finds a way to work in the betrayal of the Comanche Nation, corporate greed, military stupidity, the brothel industry (kudos to Helena Bonham Carter for her restrained portrayal of whorehouse madam Red) and brotherly duty. A special effects bonanza, The Lone Ranger suffers from endless fight scenes and a shocking and unapologetic level of violence. Through it all, Depp steals scene after scene, sometimes with just a look, but more often than not with his "Depp-pan" line delivery. When he's not onscreen, The Lone Ranger tends to come to a screeching halt, like a locomotive pulling into a station. Hammer does his best to keep up with Depp, but it's a tall order. At the very least, it's a pleasure just to gaze into Hammer's baby-blues or swoon over the peeks at his hairy chest.
At home
Barbra Streisand and Bette Midler deserve better than what they are handed in terms of film work. Midler's offensive mug-fest Parental Guidance was a career low point on par with Drowning Mona. Streisand's latest comedy The Guilt Trip (Paramount) is only slightly better than what Midler was reduced to. Playing Joyce, the ultimate Jewish mother, Streisand was able to find a few redeemable nuances in the clichéd script by Dan Fogelman (who also wrote the far superior Crazy, Stupid, Love).
Single mom and M&Ms addict Joyce lives to love (and annoy) her adult son Andy (Seth Rogen). Her ability to do so knows no limits. She obsessively leaves Andy voice mail messages, treats him like a kid in front of her friends and is generally inappropriate in practically every situation. But she does so out of love, not malice.
Andy, a UCLA-educated organic chemist, returns to the East Coast to pay Joyce a visit and to embark on a cross country journey in which he pitches the environmentally safe cleaning product he invented to various clients. When, in a moment of honesty, Joyce reveals a story about a man from her past, Andy seizes the opportunity to try to reconnect them, thus the ensuing road trip.
As you might expect, many potentially comedic situations lie ahead of Joyce and Andy, beginning with the fact that they are driving to San Francisco – an eight day road trip – in a subcompact. Add to that Joyce's insistence on listening to her "book on tape" Jeffrey Eugenides' Middlesex, Joyce's persistent unwanted advice, a Tennessee snowstorm, an unplanned visit to a strip club, an unplanned reunion with Andy's now married and pregnant ex Jessica (Yvonne Strahovski), an especially disastrous meeting with Costco, a Texas bar fight, a steak eating contest and a quick visit to the Grand Canyon. Unfortunately, none of these scenes lives up to its comic promise.
Still there is some guilty pleasure to be found. Andy's blossoming at his presentation for the Home Shopping Network and the revelation that occurs in San Francisco almost make this a trip worth taking. Special features on the Blu-ray+DVD+Digital Copy package include a gag reel, deleted scenes, alternate openings and ending, and a variety of featurettes.
Don't feel too bad for Barbra. After all, her 1968 movie debut, as Fanny Brice in Funny Girl (Sony Pictures Home Entertainment/Columbia) not only earned her a Best Actress Oscar (she tied with Katharine Hepburn), but it also paved the way for other non-traditional-looking actresses who, like her, were "a bagel on a platter full of onion rolls." Plus, she got to play the role she originated on Broadway, something that is not necessarily guaranteed.
Funny Girl was one of the last of the old-fashioned movie musicals, complete with an overture played on a black screen and an intermission. Opening with the grown-up Fanny (Streisand) in leopard fur coat and matching hat, greeting her reflection with a "Hello, gorgeous, before taking a seat in the empty New Amsterdam Theater. Then we flashback to a younger Fanny, no longer a little girl, in possession of a golden talent, although she doesn't last long as one of the 8 Girls 8. It's music director Eddie (Lee Allen) who recognizes that Fanny that's no chorus girl, she's a singer and a comic. With Eddie's aid, Fanny gets her big break and her first standing ovation (the famous roller skating number). That same night, Fanny meets Nicky (Omar Sharif), a suave gambler who helps her negotiate a higher salary. Before you can say 42n Street, Fanny receives a telegram from legendary theatrical producer Ziegfeld and scores an audition and becomes a Ziefeld girl.
A smart performer who wants the audience to laugh with her not at her, Fanny tries Ziegfeld's patience the night of her debut (the pregnant bride number), setting the tone for the rest of the years of their working relationship. Meanwhile, Nicky continues to pursue Fanny for various reasons, not the least of which is that he can see that she is a risk taker like him, gambling with her career the way that he gambles with money.
Their courtship begins, but stalls after Nicky leaves town – for a year! Try as she might to resist his advances, Fanny has fallen in love with Nicky. Attempting to balance her professional and personal life begins to take its toll on Fanny. Unable to live without Nicky, who is on an ocean liner bound for Europe, Fanny quits the Follies tour while belting out "Don't Rain On My Parade" on a train, in a taxi and on a tugboat. The classic scene is one of the great moments of late 20th century cinema and Streisand makes the most of it.
Following the intermission, the disappointing and dreary second act of Funny Girl unfurls with a marriage proposal and matrimony. The couple takes up residence in a massive country house and daughter Frances is born. Nicky's money troubles worsen as Fanny returns to work, more popular than ever. The portrait of a marriage on the skids and the way the spotlight on one person can also provide unwanted light on another, the second half of the movie is saved every so often by a scene such as the one featuring "Swan Lake." But it's basically a downer from that point forward.
Regardless, Streisand is radiant, commanding your attention every time she appears on screen. Songs such as "People," "I'm The Greatest Star" and the aforementioned "Don't Rain On My Parade," have become a part of the Great American Songbook and are known by show-tunes queens far and wide. Blu-ray special features include a part of vintage featurettes, Barbra in Movieland (about the filming of the "... Parade" sequence) and This Is Streisand.
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