On The Aisle

By Tony Macklin

Movies manipulate.

They can get you to identify with a character or root for an action.

Alfred Hitchcock, with stylistic aplomb, was the master of manipulation. Hitch could play on his audience’s expectations. He could even get them to root for someone trying to sink an incriminating car in a body of water (“Psycho,” 1960) or a villain trying to recover a lighter fallen down a drain (“Strangers on a Train,” 1951).

Hitch knew audiences want to root, and so he implicated them.

In “Salt,” director Phillip Noyce uses that concept to buffet and baffle us.

For the first half of “Salt,” we are engaged in a furious action movie — car chases, incredible escapes and other surefire, patented devices of the action genre.

We are well into our popcorn when we hit indigestible kernels that are bizarrely salty. It shocks our expectant taste buds.

Our heroine suddenly seems out of control, killing everything in sight. There’s more than a hint of sadism. The movie’s moral compass is spinning. “Salt” has all the morality of a video game.

Are we supposed to root for Evelyn Salt? We choke on our popcorn. Is she good, bad, amoral or immoral?

Kill all the extras. Collateral damage be damned. Salt goes on a killing spree (e.g., 13 victims in one fell swoop). Salt is a killing machine; if your grandmother was in her way, she’d blow a hole in her.

But just as we’re about to give up, at the end of “Salt,” a semblance of order has been restored.

Noyce and screenwriter Kurt Wimmer know they’re manipulating the genre. They make allusions to past spy movies (e.g., the blade in the shoe of Lotte Lenya in “From Russia with Love,” 1963). But in 2010, friendly fire is our friend.

Australian-born Noyce knows his way around the genre. He put Jack Ryan through his paces in “Patriot Games” (1992) and “Clear and Present Danger” (1994).

He utilizes technical pros. “Salt’s” cinematographer is Robert Elswit, who in 2008 won an Oscar for “There Will Be Blood.”

Veteran James Newton Howard — who has received eight Oscar nominations — did the sprightly music score.

Salt is credited to three editors — Stuart Baird (“Casino Royale,” 2006), John Gilroy (“Michael Clayton,” 2007) and Steven Kemper (“Mission: Impossible II,” 2000).

They have their shears out big time. The movie is only 99 minutes — a good running time. The editors like to cut away quickly, leaving lots of holes in their movie.

How did Salt get out of her cab? How did she get the secure alias Herandez? Can’t the president, when he awakens, identify what happened?

But Hitch once said to me “Logic is dull.” “Salt” is not dull.

“Salt” is dependent on its star. Like Sean Connery, Harrison Ford and Matt Damon, Angelina Jolie seizes and fully embodies her role.

Jolie is a tuning fork of energy. The first image of her is Salt being tortured in a North Korean prison. She is blond, bruised, bloody and whimpering.

She goes through several physical transformations. In one she looks like a kick-ass Rachel Maddow. Liberals unite!

Jolie makes a potent action heroine — willful, vulnerable and lethal. Her stunts are over the moon. As the CIA agent accused of being a double agent, she is a cauldron of vengeance.

Liev Scheiber, as Salt’s CIA boss, brings a little gravity to a film that doesn’t pay much attention to gravity. Chiwetel Ejiofor plays Peabody, another agent who can’t decide whether to listen to Salt or punch her. The audience may share Peabody’s confusion.

Major actor Andre Braugher is listed in the credits but makes a very skimpy appearance. Keep a sharp eye, or you may miss him.

The editors left Braugher on the cutting room floor, or perhaps he fell to Salt’s erratic fire.

“Salt” is spilled all over the place. Angelina Jolie’s latest is a shaggy salt shaker.

After viewing the genre-abuse of “Salt,” we stumble out of the theater pole-axed but relieved.

Hitch might smirk.

Tony Macklin, a former college English and film professor, is still foraging for truth in literature and film in Arkansas, Las Vegas and beyond.

[ontheaisle]

By Tony Macklin

“The Kids Are All Right” is a sudsy soap opera. It’s a concoction of lilac water and spermatozoa with lots of wine and whine.

The story of a contemporary lesbian family, the dysfunction hits the fan when the two children — 15-year-old Laser and 18-year-old Joni — seek contact with their moms’ sperm donor.

The best elements of the movie are the acting and direction. They are “fecund.” The five major roles are well-personified. Julianne Moore plays Jules, the vulnerable, passionate mom, and Annette Bening is Nic, the off-putting, neurotic, controlling mom of the family. Mia Wasikowska and Josh Hutcherson are winning as the siblings.

As sperm donor and free spirit Paul, Mark Ruffalo puts away his patented puppy dog expression for most of the movie, although the writers leave his role in shambles at the end. Go away, Mark, we’ve used your services.

Lisa Cholodenko — whose 2002 film “Laurel Canyon” may have been a better film — directed and co-wrote “The Kids Are All Right.” Her direction is strong.

The lengthy close-up of Bening’s face after she discovers that her partner had sex with someone else is brilliant, as is Bening’s muted, hysterical expression.

The writing by Cholodenko and Stuart Blumberg is not as strong. For instance, although it may have actually happened, a scene with a dog seems contrived.

And after all the high drama, “The Kids Are All Right” settles for a negligible ending. We had to endure all that anguish and self-pity to find out at the end that “marriage is hard”? Maybe the message of “The Kids Are All Right” is that lesbians can use cliches, too.

‘Micmacs’

“Micmacs” is a Gallic mishmash. It’s a sloppy souffle that falls more than it rises. It’s airless whimsy.

“Micmacs” is the sporadic story of Bazil (Dany Boon), whose father was killed by a landmine in north Africa. Bazil himself is collaterally damaged when a shootout, outside the video store where he works, leaves a bullet in his skull.

Bazil is welcomed into an underground family of misfits — a contortionist, a human cannonball and the rest of a motley crew. He finally enlists their help to avenge himself on two arms manufacturers. But the road to vengeance is venal.

“MIcmacs” alludes to other, much superior movies, but when a movie does this it opens itself to further diminution. In a crucial scene, Bazil is watching “The Big Sleep” and speaking the dialogue along with Bogart and Bacall. “Micmacs” even borrows music from “The Big Sleep.” But it’s The Big Snooze.

Some reviewers have compared “Micmacs” to classic silent comedy. They actually have mentioned the sublime BK-I can’t bring myself to mention his name.

If in any way it’s BK-oriented, it’s Burger King, with droopy French fries.

The writing by director Jean-Pierre Jeunet and scenarist Guillaume Laurant is weak.

If you appreciate a character (Remington) who continually speaks in cliches, and a conversation confusing “gaze” and “gays,” “Micmacs” may be for you.

It’s like a home movie that the moviemaker, his family and friends think is a ball. They mug at each other ad nauseum.

Boon is in the tradition of … nothing. Bazil’s “romantic” interludes with Elastic Girl are not in the same species with Bogey and Bacall.

Jeunet directs with coy tenacity and stubborn (not ingenious) emphasis on machines and gadgetry.

While it reminds some of silent comedy, for me it’s noisy plumbing.

Jeunet suddenly changes his tone near the end when he has characters holding photos of children who have been maimed and crippled by weapons.

He follows this with a sequence emphasizing how movies use trickery and artificiality.

Throughout “Micmacs,” Bazil’s patented gesture is smacking himself in the head.

I know the feeling. He smacked me, too.

On The Aisle

By Tony Macklin

“Knight and Day” is a hoot. It’s a doozy. It’s Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote teamed up. By the end, Wile E. has become wily Wonder Woman.

If you think Road Runner cartoons are silly, you probably won’t like “Knight and Day.” If you think the snap, crackle and pop of Rice Krispies aren’t tasty, you may not like ‘Knight and Day.’

But if you like exhilarating, escapist nonsense with personality, “Knight and Day” is for you.

Set in Massachusetts, Spain, Austria and other environs, it’s Planes, Trains and Motorcycles on steroids. “Knight and Day” has an Acme of armament and a billion bodies. But there are only a few drops of blood spilled.

“Knight and Day” is the tripwire tale of Roy Miller (Tom Cruise) and June Havens (Cameron Diaz) who meet at an airport in Wichita, when Roy “accidentally” bumps into June. Twice. It quickly becomes, “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”

June is going to her sister’s wedding, and he is flying somewhere. They wind up on the same plane, mostly empty except for a few scattered passengers.

Those passengers are government agents assigned to kill Roy, whom they think is an agent gone rogue. Roy supposedly is in possession of a valuable, secret product. Hitch’s “Notorious,” anyone?

In a heady sequence, while June is in the plane’s restroom preening herself for a possible romantic interlude with Roy, he is committing mayhem in the cabin outside. It’s a buoyant juxtaposition that should bring a smile to your face. The entire movie is a chuckle.

Then June also becomes a target, so Roy makes yeoman efforts to protect her. Slowly she evolves into an able sidekick, as the duo battles never-ending assaults.

Cruise is at his starry best as the manic Roy. “Knight and Day” is Cruise’s wild ride. Along for the amusement park antics is a sprightly Diaz. As spunky June, Diaz adeptly mixes anxiety and engaging spirit. Fortunately, the two stars collide with infectious chemistry.

Peter Sarsgaard is the agent pursuing Roy and June with a battalion of disposable toy soldiers. Also in pursuit are the minions of Spanish arms dealer Antonio (Jordi Molla). Paul Dano is winning as an eccentric, very vulnerable tech wiz.

The screenplay by Patrick O’Neill is a ludicrous funfest with some charm and an occasional dollop of wit.

Druggings abound. June complains, “You drugged me, Roy,” and he responds, “You weren’t coping well.”

James Mangold keeps the movie bristling with amusing energy, helped by deft editing that cuts scenes short to keep the action in motion.

Mangold, who directed “3:10 to Yuma” and “Walk the Line,” knows that “Knight and Day” has none of their realism. He’s off on an outrageous feat of fantasy. As such, “Knight and Day” delivers.

One’s reaction to lots of his scenes is, “That’s ridiculous.” Quickly followed by, “Wow!”

Mangold’s use of CGI adds to the animation effect. “Knight and Day” has a buffed body of action. And it has the scintillating soul of a cartoon.

‘Toy Story 3’

“Toy Story 3” is a Mr. Potato Heady assemblage of nostalgia, excitement and danger. It flies in all directions, but Woody keeps it pleasurably intact.

Seventeen-year-old Andy is heading for college, and he has to put away childish things. Except for Woody, whom Andy’s taking with him, Andy is sending his other toys to the attic.

But because of a mistake, the other toys are sent to Sunnyside Daycare, where they are abandoned and victimized. Woody has to save them. The intrepid toy leader leaps into action.

With “Toy Story 3,” Pixar Animation Studios still has its flair and passion. Director Lee Unkrich is inventive.

The screenplay by Michael Arndt, et al., is clever, especially putting Ken and Barbie through preening paces, and Buzz Lightyear through Hispanic shtik. It even takes an occasional shot like at Buzz’s Academy.

The familar characters again are admirably served by voices full of personality and verve.

Tom Hanks (Woody), Tim Allen (Buzz), Don Rickles (Mr. Potato Head) and Joan Cusack (Jessie) lead a harmonious cast.

“Toy Story 3” perhaps is the most scary popular animated movie yet. A fire in it is as scary as the fire in “Bambi.” But mostly “Toy Story 3” is enthralling entertainment. It’s fire and Lightfoot.

On the Aisle
By Tony Macklin

Go East, 50-year-old woman. Go East. Director/writer Nicole Holofcener goes back east for “Please Give.” It is an auspicious move.

Her last two movies were set in Los Angeles. “Friends With Money” was dreadful, even if you identify with vapidity and pretention. Holofcener’s L.A. environment produced dull venality.

Holofcener has made four features, two in L.A. and two in New York City, and she directed episodes of TV’s “Sex and the City.” She may be schizophrenic. She has just bought a home in Venice, Calif., but she was born, raised and schooled in New York City. Once an eastern girl, always an eastern girl.

In “Please Give,” her characters are still self-absorbed, but in their eastern environment, they’re at least slightly grounded. Their self-absorption has a universality that didn’t exist in L.A.’s shrill milieu. In “Please Give” there’s a humanity that was totally absent in “Friends With Money.”

In “Please Give,” Catherine Keener — an intrepid veteran of all four of Holofcener’s films — portrays Kate, a character who is a liberal materialist. Kate’s values collide, but she is not strong enough to resolve her conflict; she can barely cope.

The practical side of her, promoted by her husband, Alex (Oliver Platt), buys the furniture of people who have died and left their children with property they don’t value. Kate and Alex then sell the previously undervalued furniture for a profit at their vintage furniture store.

The spiritual side of Kate is a mess. She resists her 15-year-old daughter Abby’s pleas for $200 designer jeans and gives money regularly to homeless people on the street. She tries to do public service, but emotionally she falls apart and can’t function in that world. She wants to have it both ways, but she’s soft-boiled in a hard-boiled world.

Kate, Alex and Abby live in an apartment next door to Andra, a 91-year-old woman (Ann Morgan Guilbert). They have bought the woman’s apartment and are waiting for her to die so they can break down a wall and expand.

Andra has two granddaughters, Rebecca (Rebecca Hal), who dutifully cares for her grandmother, and Mary (Amanda Peet), who disdains the old woman’s selfish behavior. Rebecca is a mammogram technician, and Mary works at a day spa doing facials.

Holofcener is fortunate in her cast. Keener is convincing as the woman whose emotional life crashes on the shoals of caring. Platt adds humanity as the supportive but wayward husband. Sarah Steele is effective as the pizza-faced daughter who is obsessed with those expensive jeans. Her parents, like most parents, are “do as I say, not as I do.”

Hall and Peet are substantial as the two contrasting granddaughters, and Guilbert excels as the cantankerous, aged woman, who shows that unpleasant self-absorption has no age boundaries.

Holofcener was a production assistant on Woody Allen’s “A Midsummer Night’s Sex Comedy” — her stepfather was a producer for Allen. She studied with Martin Scorsese.

Holofcener opens “Please Give” with a montage of breasts being mammogramed; women’s breasts are squeezed, squished and demythologized. Perhaps this is a bit reminiscent of what Scorsese did to shaving in “The Big Shave.”

Both Allen and Scorsese have a distinctive eastern (New York City) sensibility that Holofcener shares. But they are much more incisive than she is. She basically avoids shtick in “Please Give,” although she can’t resist a moment of broken crockery that is much too coy.

Obviously, like her two fellow New Yorkers, Holofcener mines her own life, acquaintances and friends for personal nuggets. Some, especially in L.A., are fool’s gold.

The culture in which her characters flounder is less shallow in New York. In “Please Give” Holofcener’s characters still whine and moan, but their tone is less vacuous. Holofcener’s decision to not judge her characters lets them off with a slap of self-recrimination.

We understand and perhaps identify with the dilemmas a liberal materialist may face. For some, spiritual or “Christian” capitalism is a contradiction in terms.

But until Holofcener realizes that to be human is to understand and to judge, her films will lack heft and impact.

An earth-shaking choice about designer jeans isn’t quite enough … not in L.A. or New York City.

Showing at Fiesta Square.

Tony Macklin, a former college English and film professor, is still foraging for truth in literature and film, in Arkansas, Las Vegas and beyond.