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Reviews - Public Enemies & Ice Age: Dawn of the Dinosaurs
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Public Enemies is supposed to be the saving grace for summer filmgoers looking for a movie of substance and not merely cars blowing up or turning into robots. Touted as a serious film for the serious film man. The picture is by Michael Mann, who has in his resume such stunners are Manhunter, Heat and The Insider, a director with the chops for flash and drama. So why does it have the same problems so much summer fare bares? Why, like too many action romps, does the picture drag to a halt every time the guns stop going?
Mann’s movie centers on the later years in the life of John Dillinger (Johnny Depp), one of 1930s America’s most famous gangsters. He was notorious for robbing banks and never stealing money from the common man. As J. Edgar Hoover’s (Billy Crudup) FBI stepped into its opening days, Dillinger was a wealthy man, one of the nation’s most wanted, but he was also a man who had reached his peak. Unfortunately, that simple description is all one really gets in Public Enemies. Its script is sadly wafer thin, adapted from Bryan Burrough’s book by a trio of writers - Ronan Bennett, Ann Biderman and Mann himself. The screenplay isn’t bad but empty.
Early in the picture, Dillinger meets a coat-check girl named Billie (Marion Cotillard). The two fall in love, travel to Florida, eat a lot of expensive meals and then do some fleeing. The relationship is the heart of Public Enemies and its a dull one, never developed or particularly gripping. When Dillinger’s not a man of action, he is with Billie and so is the film. Due to the shallowness of the relationship, Mann’s movie grinds to a standstill whenever he shifts to their focus. Why does Billie stick with Dillinger through all the danger? What does he see in her over all the other girls? They talk about their love for each other but you never feel it. Without that drive or ambition, one has nothing to root for or against.
Yet, when Mann and company are playing the bad boys, Public Enemies is a stunning, breathtaking affair that chugs along with an infectious, sweeping nature. A pair of prison breaks are shot masterfully, Mann using steadicam close-ups to marvelous effect, drawing you into the combat, as if we were part of the escape, the danger present in each bullet that goes by. The violence is real, furious and fatal. Shot entirely in digital, the film features a unique atmosphere, far from the stodginess many modern movies carry when shooting the Depression era. The stylish choice has a presence all its own that never rings as false. With cinematographer Dante Spinotti, Mann manufactures memorable images with seeming ease. Dillinger standing alone on a dirty, cloud covered farm. Melvin Purvis (Christian Bale) taking down Pretty Boy Floyd (Channing Tatum) in a thick apple orchard from afar. A raid gone awry in the grimiest, leeriest hotel ever witnessed. Then there is the movie’s crowning achievement, a nighttime attack in the woods, FBI agents sneaking up on Dillinger and his associates. The gunfire’s power is palpable, each round a flash of frightening force, belting the crook’s cabin.
That it takes this long to mention the acting is neither a good or bad thing. Depp’s Dillinger is solid if surprising forgettable, a slick criminal talking in a hushed tone. Bale’s Pervis is better than expected, considering his barely drawn stature. Bale carries himself with a stiff, straight posture, barking orders without being a blowhard. Cotillard, with her dazzling round eyes, is fine but the actress has little to do, minus her excellent final scene. The most fun is definitely Crudup’s Hoover, talking in accent that disappeared decades ago outside of Hollywood. Crudup goes big in his depiction of the cocky, political spinster, but never over the line. His bravado and tone is a wonderful contrast to the introverted stillness of Depp and Bale.
In the end, Public Enemies is that strange kind of disappointment, one that is so rich, engaging and creative, the fact that it misses greatness for such a clear reason is the grandest letdown of them all.
Public Enemies opens wide all across Seattle today.
If you love watching characters fall off cliffs, slide down cavernous terrain or making an oddly large amount of male genitalia jokes for a family film, then Ice Age: Dawn of the Dinosaurs is the film for you. The third in the series, first in not-so-eye-popping 3D, follows standard sequel standards. It is the first two films with more.
The regular cast of characters are here. Manny the mammoth (Ray Romano still moping) is about to be a dad with his lady love Ellie (Queen Latifah). Oddball loudmouth Sid the sloth (John Lequizamo) still rambles on too much, eager to be a parent as well. Former hunter Diego the sabertooth tiger (Denis Leary) is losing his touch, getting outrun by all of his prey. The unlikely herd squabbles and through a series of events, must head down below their snow covered home to a mysteriously underworld, where dinosaurs still roam freely.
The plot is pretty much non-existent, which has always been the case for the Ice Age franchise. Each movie has had the smallest amount of narrative possible. The films work as a long series of gags, bits and beats, switching between each character’s zany adventure. Dawn of the Dinosaurs is the height of that. In one moment, Sid is hiding from an angry Tyrannosaurus Rex, next Manny is swallowed whole by a massive plant, followed by a check up on Scrat, the long-nosed squirrel whose hunt for an elusive nut has always been the bright spot of an otherwise forgettable set of pictures, an element of classic Chuck Jones missed elsewhere.
Dawn all too often relies on the easiest jokes, traditionally themed around prehistoric times. A snarky Manny gives a bit of sass, spouting someone to “Talk to the trunk.” Elsewhere, the old Was (Not Was) song “Walk the Dinosaur” plays, because, well, there are dinosaurs walking. What else would you play? Ice Age has never looked to push even the slightest boundaries and directing pair Carlos Saldanha and Mike Thurmeier certainly aren’t interested in doing so in a sequel to a sequel.
The only character that has any genuine spunk or vigor is the Simon Pegg voiced Buck, a weasel who has gone made living amongst gargantuan scaly neighbors, waking up in bed one morning next to a pineapple, “An ugly pineapple.” Pegg quips with a zing and pop everyone seems to have left behind in previous editions. Buck leads our heroes, overly confident and paranoid about the dangers they must face. In the few moments, and I mean few, where Dawn of the Dinosaurs stops to let Buck be the center of attention, the movie clicks, especially in a sequence detailing how he lost an eye to his arch-nemesis,
The slap-stick nature of the movie will no doubt keep kids amused but with Pixar’s Up still in theaters and a new Hayao Miyazaki picture just around the corner, it would be hard to believe one can’t find something better for kids to do. Add to that Dawn’s string of lines about various creatures being mistaken for the other sex, being turned into transexuals or a caterpillar that “came out,” you get a sense that the script, by a pack of four writers, is mugging, simple minded and thinks that the mere mention of anything mildly titillating is good enough.
Ice Age: Dawn of the Dinosaurs opens wide across Seattle today.
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