Here is a film before which words fall silent. “The Mill & the Cross” contains little dialogue, and that simple enough. It enters into the world of a painting, and the man who painted it. If you see no more than the opening shots, you will never forget them. It opens on a famous painting, and within the painting, a few figures move and walk. We will meet some of those people in more detail.

The painting is “The Way to Calvary” (1564), by the Flemish master Pieter Bruegel the Elder. We might easily miss the figure of Christ among the 500 in the vast landscape. Others are going about their everyday lives. That’s a reminder of Bruegel’s famous painting “Landscape With the Fall of Icarus,” about which Auden wrote of a passing ship “that must have seen something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky, had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.” Extraordinary events take place surrounded by ordinary ones.

There’s a bitter subtext for Bruegel’s work. The mounted soldiers are not Romans persecuting Jews, but Spanish Ca­th­olics persecuting the Protestants of Flanders. Not that the film explains that. In the Middle Ages painted allegory spoke in terms its audience would understand. Here Christ is carrying his cross through another land subjugated by outsiders for sectarian reasons.

The film is an extraordinary mixture of live action, special effects, green screen work and even an actual copy of the painting itself (by Lech Majewski, the film’s Polish director). The compositions are painterly, the colors Bruegelian. Only three “characters” are named: Bruegel (Rutger Hauer); his patron Nicholas Jonghelinck (Michael York), and his mother, Mary (Charlotte Rampling), who was Bruegel’s model for the Virgin Mary at two different ages.

But other characters are more memorable. In a rustic home, we meet the most piteous: a man and his wife who live in close quarters with their lovable calf. They set off with it to market. They are young and carefree. Spanish troops seize the man, whip him and bind him to a cart wheel. This they hoist into the sky atop a tree trunk we have earlier seen them cutting down in the forest. As his wife weeps below, carrion birds feast on the delicacies of his face.

We never learn what transgression the man was being punished for. Not long after, a young woman (I was not sure if it was his wife) is buried alive. It is the fate of these peasants to be treated so by the Spanish. These events take place on a vast plain, and elsewhere children play, people are on journeys, dogs conduct their doggy affairs.

Towering above is an extraordinary sight: a craggy pinnacle, topped by a huge grain mill, its sails revolving. Inside live the miller and his wife, at the bottom of a helter-skelter stairway that zigzags into the shadows above. Its massive wheels grind.

From time to time we observe Bruegel outlining sketches for his painting, and discussing it with his patron. Certain diagonals are important to his proportions. The mill in the left background stands above the weeping Virgin in the right foreground. Sometimes Majewski, the director, freezes part of the painting while other parts of it move and live. Thus life is transformed into the greater permanence of art.

We regard most of the events from one perspective: the front, as looking at the painting. But the camera sometimes enters into the action. There are many closer shots of the peasants, solemnly, sadly regarding the pain they witness. They are as passive as beasts. Others in the same frame may be engaged in indifferent occupations. At the center is the death of Christ, but it, too, is only a detail.

Here is a film of great beauty and attention, and watching it is a form of meditation. Sometimes films take a great stride outside the narrow space of narrative tradition and present us with things to think about. Here mostly what I thought was, why must man sometimes be so cruel?

 

This movie is so nice. Its hero is so sweet. His sisters consider him such an idiot. His sisters are so correct. He’s an idiot in the sense that he doesn’t lie or cheat. He doesn’t calculate the odds on getting away with things. He trusts people. He always tells the truth. Wasn’t there a study proving that human society would collapse if we didn’t lie?

Ned (Paul Rudd) is sort of a saint. He has a beatific smile, wishes you the best and doesn’t hold grudges. He also doesn’t hold jobs very well. He reminds me a little of Harold Skimpole, the Dickens character who never grasped how money worked, or why it mattered if he didn’t have any. When we meet Ned, he’s selling organic vegetables at a farmer’s market, with a little sideline in under-the-counter weed. And when a uniformed cop says he’s having a bad day and wonders if he might have something to sell him, he slips him a $20 bag with his rhubarb. A uniformed cop.

After getting busted, Ned is released from prison early (he was named a model prisoner four months in a row). He returns to the farm he worked with his girlfriend (Kathryn Hahn), discovers she has a new boyfriend, and just about apologizes to the guy for turning up unexpectedly. Deprived of his home, he begins to depend on the hospitality of his three sisters, who in their three ways are three pieces of work.

This movie wouldn’t work without Paul Rudd. He walks such a fine line. He has to be nice, but not a fool. Sweet, but not saccharine. Honest enough to cause trouble, but always innocently. Not only doesn’t he lie, he never knows when he has been lied to. When the genes were being shaken up in his family tree, all of the kind ones must have fallen into his pool.

 

 Review : OUR IDIOT BROTHER
The sisters: Emily Mortimer, Elizabeth Banks, Zooey Deschanel.
 

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The movie circles with nimble wit through an A-list of supporting characters. Ned’s sisters are Liz (Emily Mortimer), a doting mom married to a filmmaker (Steve Coogan); Miranda (Elizabeth Banks), an ambitious writer who hopes to work for Vanity Fairmagazine, and Natalie (Zooey Deschanel), who may be a lesbian and is certainly in love with Cindy (Rashida Jones). Their mother is Ilene, played by the legendaryShirley Knight, who is one of those rare all-day wine drinkers who can stay topped up and never get hammered. It goes without saying, I suppose, that the Steve Coogan character is a bit of a rat; his characters usually are. But Cindy the lesbian is free of all the tiresome cliches about lesbians in comedies, and daringly plots with Ned to regain ownership of Willie Nelson, his beloved dog.

I know someone just like Ned. She is a woman. She has an uncanny gift for making a statement, looking puzzled when a hush falls upon the room, and saying, “Uh-oh. I thought everyone knew that.” In Ned’s case, his startling honesties seem to be blessed. He seems to cause harm and dismay, but in the workings of the screenplay, he usually ends up doing good, however accidentally.

It’s refreshing, this late in the summer, to find a hot weather comedy that doesn’t hate its characters and embed them in scatology and sexual impossibilities. “Our Idiot Brother,” directed by Jesse Peretz and written by Evgenia Peretz and David Schisgall, is as good-hearted as its hero. I’ve seen Paul Rudd in a lot of movies, but have never realized he could be as lovable as Amy Adams or Mary Steenburgen. Jesse and Evgenia Peretz are the children of Martin Peretz, the editor-in-chief emeritus of the New Republic, and the other day, my friend Margo Howard was tweeting that she’s known the Peretz kids since they were born, “and going back years, he always did used to sit on her!” Twitter doesn’t encourage detailed elaboration.

The film ends with a series of unlikely happy endings that I might ordinarily object to. But since one outcome produces an iron-clad reason why the dog must be named Willie Nelson, all is forgiven.

 

Here’s a bad movie with hardly a bad scene. How can that be? The construction doesn’t flow. The story doesn’t engage. The insistent flashbacks are distracting. The plot has problems it sidesteps. Yet here is a gifted cast doing what it’s asked to do. The failure is in the writing and editing.

The movie takes place in the same Queens police precinct in 1986 and 2002. The opening involves a reference to 9/11, but with no clear purpose. Back in 1986, Jonathan White (Jake Cherry) is a pre-adolescent who is chased into a housing project bathroom by two rampaging junkies, grabs a pistol and shoots them. From what we see, they were asking for it, and Jonathan was saving his own life. His best friend, Vinny (Brian Gilbert), witnesses it all.

Det. Charles Stanford (Al Pacino), Jonathan’s godfather and the police partner of his late father, is early on the scene, covers up for the boy, and tampers with evidence. Now 16 years pass, the adult Jonathan (Channing Tatum) is a cop in the same precinct, and anonymous letters are being sent to the editor of a neighborhood newspaper (Juliette Binoche) alleging that a top cop was involved in the cover-up of two homicides.

What he did when he was young now gnaws at Jonathan. The letters gnaw at his commanding officer, Capt. Marion Mathers (Ray Liotta). Jonathan’s wife, Kerry (Katie Holmes), can see her husband coming apart at the seams. Like all cops in police movies, he won’t confide in her. As the letters continue, Jonathan grows convinced they must come from the only witness, the adult Vinny (Tracy Morgan), and he is willing to consider murdering his estranged friend.

Fair enough. Were you clocking the names of that incredible cast? The ringer is Binoche, who seems oddly cast as the only employee of a storefront newspaper. Of course a woman from France could end up with such a job, but no point is made of her origins, nor do we understand why her paper devotes front page headlines to anonymous scrawled notes. Every paper receives many such messages and has excellent reasons for not printing them.

But here’s another problem. Jonathan was a minor when the deaths occurred. They were in self-defense. A kid his age isn’t likely to go looking for junkies to shoot. The Pacino character knows this, and the right thing to do would be to see that charges are dropped and the minor’s name was suppressed. The only chargeable crime committed is his own — suppressing evidence. Another small difficulty is that if Vinny is the source of the notes, why would he be concerned 16 years later about actions protecting his blameless best friend?

These questions do not find answers. Instead, good actors circle them in a series of scenes that lead nowhere, and the final scenes end everything without concluding anything, if you see what I mean. Moment by moment, “Son of No One,” written and directed by Dino Montiel, seems to be adding up, but its drama and urgency are without purpose.

 

It takes “The Double” less than half an hour to reveal who the double is. That’s if you’re lucky enough to avoid the movie’s trailer, which just comes right out and tells you.

At that point, Peggy Leelyrics went humming through my mind (“Is that all there is?”), and veteran thriller fan that I am, I began to suspect the movie had more than one double. That would be so incredible and absurd that I thought it was possible. Here is a movie constructed from basic parts at the Used Screenplay Store, with a character plugged in whenever one is required.

Still, it is a pleasure to see Richard Gere in the lead. He’s an actor who has been improbably attractive all of his career and now, at 62, has only improved with age. I like the subtle catlike body language he uses, such as moving for a millisecond, pausing, then moving definitively. Or the pause in a head movement, as if we’re being told: Thinking … deciding … acting. He never just flat does something. It’s a form of dancing. He is permanently on poise.

In “The Double,” he plays a retired CIA agent named Paul Shepherdson. In the history of CIA agents in movies, no retired agent is ever allowed to stay retired. He is inexorably called back to duty in connection with a big case from his youth. Given his age, there are no characters seemingly old enough to go that far back, except for current CIA director Tom Highland (Martin Sheen), but he isn’t onscreen enough to qualify.

Under my Law of Economy of Characters, that leaves Ben Geary (Topher Grace), an FBI agent who is 30ish and has a wife, Natalie (Odette Yustman), and child. But he’s way too young. So the movie leads us to assume the big case involves entirely unseen characters. We’ve seen some suspects. The story opens with a group of illegal immigrants being led through the desert into the United States from Mexico by a mule. They are revealed to be Russian agents.

Think about that for a second. If you were Russia and you were trying to sneak a bunch of agents into the United States, would you assemble them in one handy group and try to sneak them past the Border Patrol? When you can buy a plane ticket from Moscow to New York? How many Russian agents do you think have entered from Mexico in recent decades?

Never mind. A U.S. Senator with business ties to Russia has his throat slit in an alley. The method of murder reveals the trademark of Cassius, the CIA’s code name for a Russian assassin. Is he back in the States and operating again? Shepherdson is positive he killed him years ago. Ben Geary has his doubts. The two men are asked by Highland to work together on the case. As Shephardson knows, Geary wrote his Harvard master’s thesis on Cassius and knows whatever can be discovered about him.

At this point, even if we haven’t seen the trailer, we know more. The suspense circles around what Geary doesn’t know, and the possible danger to his life and family. This intrigue now plugs in familiar action-movie tropes, including a vicious Russian named Brutus (Stephen Moyer) with the most decorative scars around his eye I’ve seen in a while. There is also a car chase, and another one of those scenes where two guys split up, search a maze and meet up empty-handed on the other side.

Richard Gere always has a particular screen presence, Topher Grace is a little outgunned, but the story explains why. Poor Odette Yustman is sympathetic and affectionate, but she’s been assigned the thankless and exhausting role of playing the wife of the endangered man, always there to worry about him, be endangered and put the kid to bed.

The movie was directed by Michael Brandt, who co-wrote the script with Derek Haas. Together they wrote a much better movie, “3:10 to Yuma.” “The Double” doesn’t approach it in terms of quality. None of it is particularly compelling. Most of the time we’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. When, very late in the film, the screenplay comes up with a third shoe, that’s going too far.

 

In 40 years, 75 percent of us will live in cities. These vast concentrations of population will provide a home, an environment, a world. To the degree that they’re well designed, they will make their inhabitants happier or not. Living in Chicago has spoiled me; although the city has its problems, several key design decisions after the (perhaps providential) Chicago Fire preserved the lakeshore, suggested the pattern of radiating diagonal streets, inspired the rapid transit system and preserved the central city as a vibrant core. In Millennium Park, a single striking piece of public sculpture now fondly known as The Bean has been the occasion for daily celebration. At evening rush hours on weekends, more cars are headed toward the city center than toward the suburbs.

But more cars are not altogether a good thing, as Gary Hustwit argues in his new documentary “Urbanized,” playing at the Siskel Center. This is his third film, after “Helvetica” 2007) and “Objectified” (2009) to consider the role of design in our daily lives. The first two dealt with details, with the design of the most ubiquitous typeface of the century and with the packaging of consumer objects. “Urbanized” is a fast zoom out to the big picture: The colonies or hives in which we arrange, display and support our lives.

Cities are a mixture of deliberate design, accident, history, geography, and countless small collective decisions by the citizens that impose themselves. For example, it is well known that in parks and public green spaces, people will walk where there should logically be a path, whether one is provided or not. On campus quadrangles, planners give up and pave the way.

The doc argues that the most disastrous city planning decisions have been marred by the grandiosity of the planners. From the air, Brasilia, the capitol of Brazil, built from scratch in the jungle, looks like a magnificent grouping of sculptures. But for whose eyes? Aliens? On the ground, it is apparently not a very pleasant place to live. Robert Moses, the megalomaniac planning czar of New York City, saw organic neighborhoods as an impediment to his vast rebuilding schemes. Venice, by contrast, grew up island by island, structure by structure, in a shallow lagoon, with no coherent planning at all, and today is arguably the most agreeable city on earth, despite its undeniable inconveniences.

In an undertaking on an impressive scale, Hustwit and his team travel the earth interviewing architects, city planners, officials, community leaders and (perhaps not enough) ordinary people. He dramatizes how a stretch of abandoned rail tracks in New York was transformed into a green walkway, “the High Line,” and how a majority of Copenhagen’s residents travel by bicycle. He is silenced by the slums of Mumbai, where there is one toilet seat for very 600 people, but there is this undeniable fact: For all of the misery and health problems of such areas, which are almost beyond fixing, they grew and operate by human decisions, and for the people who live there they have more life and soul than “projects” stacking them into cells.

Hustwit’s heroine is Jane Jacobs, who famously praised mixed-use neighborhoods and “eyes on the street” as the heart of city life. What people like to do is stroll down a street where they know people and shops, there is variety and novelty, and things to look at. My own recent obsession has been with the invasion of soulless cookie-cooker branch bank offices, mobile phone stores and other sterile pests that crowd out shops, restaurants, and ordinary human activities.

As architects draw, so men live. A New York writer observes happily that “Urbanized” closes on a shot of the magnificent Manhattan skyline. Yes, but there is nowhere in Manhattan where you can stand to see it. I recommend that he admire the Chicago skyline after walking out to the end of Navy Pier, or taking a stroll along 36 miles of our beach paths.

 

From the very start, Anna is more in love than Jacob. They meet in a college class in Los Angeles, she leaves a note on his windshield, they start to date, it goes very well, and because she can’t bear the thought of separating, she overstays her student visa and doesn’t return home to London on schedule. Later, when she tries to return to California, she’s nabbed by immigration officials and put in one of those bare white rooms with one table and two chairs.

They will have to be apart — not forever, but for who knows how long? This makes her feel terrible, and we do, too, because they’re young and beautiful. “Like Crazy” depicts them in an intelligent, graceful indie style. It’s not a clunky rom-com; it’s sweeter and more intimate. The question in my mind is, how deeply does he care?

I ask this as a male who brought some cynicism to my viewing. It may be love at first sight and Anna (Felicity Jones) may not have spent a lot of time with Jacob (Anton Yelchin), but she is deep and true and trusts her heart, and she wants to build a nest with this man. Jacob, however, feels sincerely for her, but what’s required is loony love, not sincerity. If you’re in love like crazy, you do what the situation requires.

Anna can’t get into the United States. Jacob can get into London, but he can’t move there because, you see, he designs and builds chairs, and his business is in Santa Monica. Say what? You can’t design chairs in London? You wouldn’t rather live in London with the girl you love than build chairs in Santa Monica? His chairs look ordinary to me. The one we see is a straight chair made of wood. We see him lovingly perfecting a sketch of it. Assemble a dozen second graders, assign them to draw a chair, merge their drawings into one, and they would look like a Jacob Chair. This guy is no Eames.

I discuss these problems because I think they expose a problem. It’s easy to identify with Anna, because the character is wonderfully well drawn and acted; Felicity Jones, a rising star, has a face that glows when she smiles, and radiates her love and sense of loss. She reminds me of Helena Bonham Carter. You may recall her as Miranda in Julie Taymor’s “The Tempest.” She may have only a case of first love, but what love is more urgent and presents a more desperate challenge?

Anton Yelchin has all the tools he needs to play Jacob, but the screenplay doesn’t serve him. He doesn’t seem to be as involved as Anna. And for a man so involved in the design and crafting of chairs, isn’t he on the young side? (He is 22, three years younger than Jones.) There should be a time in your youth when you’re free to act impulsively on signals from your heart.

That said, “Like Crazy” is a well-made film. The scenes showing Jacob and Anna falling in love have a freshness, and I learn Doremus handed his actors an outline and together they improvised every scene. Some of the whispered endearments under the sheets are delightful.

It is probably impossible to film a love story in Los Angeles without the lovers running on the beach, usually within sight of Santa Monica pier. I also understand why young lovers in movies inevitably end up on bumper cars and share ice cream cones. There’s an impulse in first love to re-enact childish pastimes, as if to start anew and grow up together.

It should be noted that both Jacob and Anna, while separated, have transient affairs. Well, they’re not married nor even engaged, and as the song goes, when you’re not with the one you love, you love the one you’re with. Jacob’s affair is more interesting, because it involves his work partner, Sam (Jennifer Lawrence, from “Winter’s Bone”). She is too good an actress to ever fit neatly into the slot of the Other Woman; she emerges full-blown and convincing, even in a small role, and if the actors improvised their dialogue, she created some that’s very good. Anna hooks up with Simon (Charlie Bewley), her neighbor in London, but their dalliance doesn’t have the same weight because she’s not really available.

What am I arguing? That the movie requires a happy ending? It’s not that it doesn’t have one. It’s more that the complications over the visa feel like a contrivance to separate them so we can share their loss. Since one of them, Jacob, is free to do something about that, we have two choices here: (1) they mourn sadly on two sides of the ocean, or (2) he bites the bullet, shuts up his shop and moves to London. That would open the way for authentic grown-up challenges, in which they find it can be harder to make sacrifices and live together than it is to suffer narcissistically while apart. As convincing as it is when it begins, “Like Crazy” tilts too much in the direction of a weepie and not enough in the direction of the facts of life.

P.S. Both of these actors are destined to become genuine stars

 

Here is the sunniest film I’ve seen by Aki Kaurismaki, and he reveals a lot of sunshine inside for a director whose world is usually filled with deadpan losers. His dour films are comedies, too, and baffle some viewers while others grow unreasonably fond of them. Apprehensive loners fail at unpromising enterprises and their hopes are crushed by an uncaring society, but it’s piled on so deep, you’re pretty sure Kaurismaki is grinning. Who else could run, along with his brother Maki, a summer film festival so far north in Finland that the sun never sets?

“Le Havre” is set much farther south, in the French port city where many of the cargoes are human: illegal immigrants arriving from Africa. The police find a container filled with them, and a young boy slips under their arms and runs away. This is Idrissa (Blondin Miguel), from Gabon, solemn, shy, appealing. The cops announce a manhunt. The film’s hero, Marcel Marx (Andre Wilms), is fishing near a pier and sees the boy standing waist-deep in the water, hiding, and mutely appealing to him. He returns, leaves out some food and finds the food gone the next day. And so, with no plan in mind, Marcel becomes in charge of protecting the boy from arrest.

The movie’s other characters are all proletarians from a working-class neighborhood, and in Kaurismaki’s somewhat sentimental view, therefore in sympathy with the little underdog and not with the police. We meet Marcel’s wife, Arletty (Kati Outinen, long the director’s favorite actress), who joins her husband in his scheme. Their dog, Laika, is also a great help. Marcel, probably in his 50s, is a hard-working shoeshine man who knows everyone, including a snoop, a woman grocer (Francois Monnie); a fellow Vietnamese shoeshiner, Inspector Monet (Jean-Pierre Darroussin), and a local rock singer named Little Bob (Roberto Piazza), whose act is unlike any you have ever seen.

Marcel and Arletty are long and happily in love. They cherish each other. Childless, they care for the boy and enlist others in the neighborhood to hide him from Inspector Monet, who perhaps is not looking all that hard. The snoop is a throwback to informers during the Resistance. Idrissa is resourceful and clever, and moves in and out of hiding places like a figure in a French farce. The dog fully deserves its listing by name in the film’s credits.

Early in the conspiracy, Arletty falls ill and is rushed to the hospital, concerned only that her sickness will make Marcel worry. In a priceless scene, she meets Idrissa for the first time when Marcel dispatches him to the hospital on a mission. Note her perfect acceptance of any emissary from her husband, even an inexplicable young African boy. Note, too, the precise sequence of events during which Marcel believes his wife has died and discovers otherwise. Even Kaurismaki’s miracles are deadpan.

This movie is as lovable as a silent comedy, which it could have been. It takes place in a world that seems cruel and heartless, but look at the lengths Marcel goes to find Idrissa’s father in a refugee camp and raise money to send the boy to join his mother in England. “Le Havre” has won many festivals, including Chicago 2011, comes from a Finnish auteur, yet let me suggest that smart children would especially like it. There is nothing cynical or cheap about it, it tells a good story with clear eyes and a level gaze, and it just plain makes you feel good.

 

With a title like “A Very Harold & Kumar 3D Christmas,” here is a film that might be mistaken by the innocent for family entertainment. A better title might have been “A Very R-Rated Harold & Kumar 3D Christmas.” The gang returns in their third comedy with R-rated language, nudity, excrement, pee, child endangerment, cheerfully offensive ethnic stereotyping, sacrilegious portrayals of Jesus and the Virgin Mary, a large (artificial) 3-D penis leaping from the screen, and so much pot smoking that the film could have been filmed using a fog filter.

It’s sort of inspiring, isn’t it?Kal Penn, the son of immigrants from India, and John Cho, born in South Korea, find success in America as the stars of three big movies making jokes about Indians, Koreans, Chinese, blacks, Latinos and Jews. We’re not really melting in the Melting Pot if we’re not making money from ethnic stereotyping. The rags-to-riches story is even richer; in order to co-star in this movie, Kal Penn took a leave of absence as associate director of the White House Office of Public Engagement.

It’s not that I was particularly offended; it’s that I didn’t laugh very much. Ethnic jokes are cutting-edge among slack-jawed doper comedies, but sometimes (as in the first and still funny “Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle”) they had touches of wit and insight. Here the humor is intended to pound us over the head.

I have no idea if this movie was made stoned. Like its predecessors by Cheech and Chong, it might as well have been. One clue: It contains parodies of many film styles and genres. Although I saw it in 2-D, it was easy to tell the big 3-D moments, as in the giant phallus and gusts of smoke blown at the audience. What I wasn’t expecting was a scene simulating Claymation. Or footage using the same style of blended motion capture and animation as in action films.

The plot: Harold ( Cho) has drifted away from Harold (Cho) and become a successful Wall Street trader, where his office is under assault by protestors. Kumar (Penn) has split up with Vanessa and lives in the ruins of a bachelor apartment. Santa (Patton Oswalt) delivers a package for Kumar at Kumar’s apartment. Kumar delivers it on Christmas Eve to Harold’s suburban manse, loaded with Christmas decorations to impress his Mexican father-in-law Mr. Perez (Danny Trejo), who hates Mexicans.

Mr. Perez throws out Harold’s gaudy artificial tree and replaces it with a perfect Douglas fir he has lovingly grown for 12 years. The Perez family (so numerous they arrived in a school bus) leave en masse for Midnight Mass, the package from Santa contains a giant spiff of holiday weed, Harold throws it out the window, it blows back inside and sets the perfect tree on fire, and the two lads have only a few hours to find a replacement tree in Manhattan or face dire consequences.

That’s only the set-up. The movie is about the disastrous adventures of H&K as two treacherous African-American tree-vendors sell Kumar’s reserved tree to someone else, leading of course to a chase scene, an overturned SUV, etc. The nature of the slapstick owes a great deal to Cheech and Chong, but somehow the magic energy between Harold and Kumar has faded.

It’s my suspicion that Penn and Cho have outgrown the characters, but are contractually sentenced to continue doing remakes as long as the movies make money. Both actors have moved on to other things, and we don’t feel the delight of the original 2004 movie or perhaps the (unseen by me) “Harold & Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay” (2008). The movie seems a little tired. It’s one thing to get a laugh with a lot of baby poo thrown at an SUV window. But when the poo is still there an hour later, you wonder how intensely anyone cares.

 

If it had provided me with nothing else, “Tower Heist” would have afforded me the sight of a solid gold automobile being lowered from the penthouse of the Trump Tower with Matthew Broderick dangling from it. Sometimes you appreciate such simple human spectacles. To be sure, Trump Tower has been renamed “The Tower,” and the man dangling from the car isn’t the Donald, but this is an imperfect world.

This isn’t a great heist movie for a lot of reasons, beginning with the stupidity of its heist plan and the impossibility of these characters ever being successful at anything more complex than standing in line. There also is the problem with Ben Stiller being cast as the hero: He was born to play the victim of heists, not the gang leader. He’s going against type. The victim here is played by Alan Alda, who is so loathsome he’d make a dartboard for OWS parties.

Quibble, quibble. The movie is broad and clumsy, and the dialogue cannot be described as witty, but a kind of grandeur creeps into the screenplay by Ted Griffin and Jeff Nathanson. It’s the kind of story where the executives at a pitch meeting feel they’re being bludgeoned over the head with box-office dollars. There is also the novelty that here is a comedy that doesn’t go heavy on the excremental, the masturbatory and symphonies of four-letter words. It’s funny in an innocent screwball kind of way.

The story: Josh Kovacs (Ben Stiller) is the perfectionist building manager at the most luxurious condo skyscraper in New York, which providentially is on Columbus Circle, in the exact footprint of Trump Tower. His team works flawlessly, beginning with the beloved doorman Lester (Stephen Henderson). The penthouse is owned by Arthur Shaw (Alan Alda), a financial wheeler-dealer, whose walls display priceless modern art. His most prized possession is a bright red 1953 Ferrari, once owned by Steve McQueen. It was taken apart piece by piece, he explains to FBI agent Claire Denham (Tea Leoni), and assembled there.

The FBI is on the job because Shaw has been running a Ponzi scheme, and among his loot are the pension plan and investments of the tower’s employees. So dear old Lester and all the others are penniless. Enraged, Kovacs recruits a team to break into the apartment. They’re looking for a wall safe, but then discover Shaw’s Ferrari is solid gold: $65 million is hidden in plain sight. Obviously, this requires stealing the car from the penthouse, where there’s no door or elevator that can handle it.

The team: Lester, of course; Mr. Fitzhugh (Broderick), who is jobless, broke, has lost his family and being evicted from the building, ­and characters played by Casey Affleck, Michael Pena,Gabourey Sidibe (her second film since her Oscar nomination) as a Jamaican whose father would crack safes, and — well, Kovacs decides they need someone more familiar with crime and enlists Slide (Eddie Murphy), a loud-talking dude from the street in his neighborhood. Murphy, in his first role since 2009, is in full Eddie Murphy mode, with comic riffs and astonished double takes.

I won’t describe how they plan to get the car out of the building, especially as the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade is passing directly below. But let me share with you that I suffer from a fear of heights, and the last thing you could get me to do is stand next to an open window on an floor upper of a high-rise and try to reach out and grab a Ferrari. The notion that no one would notice a bright red car being lowered from the tower is preposterous, but realism is not the point. This movie would fall to pieces if it didn’t hurtle headlong through its absurdist plot without ever pausing for explanations.

 

Title: Tekken – Trailer

Director: Dwight H. Little

Cast: John Foo, Kelly Overton, Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa, Ian Anthony Dale, Darrin Dewitt Henson

Synopsis: Watch the Tekken trailer. Out Today!

Genre: Action & Adventure


Tekken – Trailer – Watch more Movie Trailers

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