Wasn't there a hobbit in that one?

Michael Machosky writes a paean in Sunday's Trib to a particular genre of '80s movie he dubs "Goonie Movies" in honor of "The Goonies." Few of the films Machosky mention stand the test of time, but that's hot his point: They were good popcorn films, with broader appeal than today's focus-group driven blockbusters.

While we may not see another "Goonies" anytime soon (which I don't think is a bad thing), we have witnessed the rebirth of a film genre that reached full flower back in the '80s: The R-rated comedy. I'm not the first person to herald the return of this species, which lately includes "Wedding Crashers", "The 40 Year Old Virgin" and "Knocked Up." Examples from the '80s that come to mind: "Caddyshack" and "Trading Places."

Now, the '90s gave us "American Pie" and "Road Trip", (the latter technically came out in 2000), both very funny, but those films largely were aimed at the same demographic they portrayed -- high school and college students. Today, even an ostensible high school comedy like "Superbad" seems made for people who have let a few years lapse since their last keg stand.

Of course, even some of the most memorable films from the 1980s bear the cheesy hallmarks of the era, like the montage -- "Wall Street" and "Tootsie", two very different films, each featured a split-screen montage -- and the original song that sounded like it came straight out of AM radio. (Not to mention the synthesizer-driven score.) It was indeed a memorable decade -- though not necessarily for the right reasons.

"What's left to hope for?"

I discuss the film "Children of Men" over at my other blog.

"Nobody wants to pay twenty dollars to watch people living next to chemical waste! They can see that in New Jersey!"

Several weeks ago I came upon this collection of cameos by film directors, which included the recently departed Sydney Pollack's appearance in his film "Tootsie." It's inaccurate to refer to Pollack's role as agent George Fields as a cameo -- it was an important supporting role, and he and star Dustin Hoffman shared some of the film's most memorable scenes.

Pollack began his career as an actor and as the director cameo item notes, he had as many acting credits as he did directing credits. Among his other memorable acting roles, in my opinion, was his turn in the under-appreciated "Changing Lanes" as the amoral father-in-law of Ben Affleck's character, and his role as a man struggling with a midlife crisis in Woody Allen's "Husbands and Wives." And let's not forget his appearance in the final season of "The Sopranos." (See my summation of that episode here.)

Rest in peace.

"Don't look for it, Taylor. You may not like what you find."

The New York Times obituary of Charleton Heston noted that reprised his role of astronaut George Taylor in "Beneath the Planet of the Apes", the sequel to 1968's "Planet of the Apes." Heston, however, appeared on briefly in the second "Apes" film (which, in my opinion, was the worst). The protaganist of the second film, cast for his resemblance to Heston, was James Franciscus.

I don't think anyone would ever call Heston a great actor. Others of his generation had far greater talents. But he never failed to entertain, either as Moses or the guy who discovers that Soylent Green is people. That's what it's all about.

Truth, justice and the American way

Over the weekend I watched "Hollywoodland", a stylish piece of noir that examined the 1959 shooting death of actor George Reeves, who portrayed Superman in the TV show "Adventures of Superman." Reeves' death was ruled a suicide, but it has long fueled rumors that he was murdered.

The film mixes fact and fiction, and its protagonist is a fictional private investigator, Louis Simo (Adrian Brody), a publicity hound hired by Reeves' mother to prove that her son was did not kill himself. I give credit to the filmmakers and Brody for giving a fresh twist to the hard-boiled P.I. archetype. Simo is divorced and struggling to maintain a connection with his young son, Evan, who is distraught over Reeves' death. That struck me as something of a contrivance, but the death of Superman is nonetheless an apt metaphor for what the boy is really missing -- his father. Indeed, Simo begins to identify with Reeves, as both men are bitterly disappointed at the direction their professional and private lives have taken.

Simo learns that Reeves (Ben Affleck) was the paramour of Toni Mannix (Diane Lane), the wife of MGM studio executive Eddie Mannix. Reeves is horrified when he discovers that Toni is married to such a powerful Hollywood figure, but she assures him that she and Eddie have an understanding. They soon are dining with Eddie and his Japanese mistress, and Eddie -- portrayed with perfect menace by Bob Hoskins -- can barely bring himself to speak to Reeves. One senses his contempt springs less from jealousy than from the belief that Reeves isn't worthy of his wife's attentions.

By the time Reeves lands the role of Superman -- and the show, to his chagrin, becomes a hit -- he is a kept man, living in a house that Toni buys for him. She is unable, or unwilling, to use her influence to further Reeves' career, which flounders when "Superman" is canceled. (The film perpetuates what is apparently a myth that most of Reeves' scenes were cut from "From Here to Eternity" after a preview audience made derisive references to the actor's role as the Man of Steel.) Reeves ends up leaving Toni for a gold-digging actress named Leonore Lemon, who seems unmoved by his death.

"Hollywoodland" is a gorgeous picture, expertly capturing 1950s Hollywood glamor. It is, however, far too slow out of the gate, and once it gets going, it takes far too long to finish. The film is rescued by strong acting and detailed characterization -- though while Affleck's performance as Reeves is enjoyable, he never really looks the part of a washed-up actor. (Yes, Affleck arguably is a washed-up actor, but if you've ever seen the later episodes of the "Superman" show, you'll realize that he needed to have gained a few pounds to really get into character. Plus, he never seems to age, despite the span of time covered by the film.)

Brody, however, freed from the burdens of historical accuracy, gives a spot-on performance, and in the end, Louis Simo is a far more interesting character than George Reeves. Like Reeves, Simo stares into the abyss, but unlike the doomed actor, he has a lifeline -- his son -- to keep him from falling in.

I liked it better the first time -- when it was called "Soul Man"

Apparently there's a bit of a row over Robert Downey Jr. appearing in black face in an upcoming Ben Stiller film. Of course, the film's conceit is that Downey is portraying an actor who takes on a role written for a black actor:

Downey Jr plays a worthy Oscar-winning actor taking on a role originally written for a black actor, and rather than re-write the part, he goes method.

Clearing anticipating a backlash, Downey Jr told a US magazine: "If it's done right, it could be the type of role you called Peter Sellers to do 35 years ago. If you don't do it right, we're going to hell."

OK, so it could be worse. But while Downey has his gifts, he's no Peter Sellers. (Sellers, by the way, appeared as Asian in "Murder by Death", in which he spoofed the offensive Charlie Chan films.)

That said, I think it sounds rather funny. Stiller, however, seems to have been in a lot of stinkers lately, so I'm not sure if appearing in one of his projects is the greatest career move.

"This is one doodle that can't be undid"

Last night the wife and I saw "Juno." I sat through the first half-hour or so of the film thinking it was far too clever for its own good, with all the one-liners getting in the way of the story. And where were all the hip, witty girls who wanted to have sex with awkward boys when I was in high school?

But the film eventually found its rhythm, in large part thanks to a great ensemble cast led by Oscar nominee Ellen Page. Michael Cera was a delight in "Arrested Development" and his off-beat delivery and timing served him well here. J.K. Simmons (aka J.Jonah Jamison) and Allison Janey turned in warm, finely tuned performances as Juno's father and stepmother.

"Juno" invites comparisons to "Little Miss Sunshine", simply because the latter was last year's quirky, feel-good independent film that garnered major critical acclaim and several Oscar nominations. But "Juno", to me, is the superior film. As my wife noted, the cast of "Little Miss Sunshine" tried so hard to portray their characters' eccentricities that they lapsed into caricature. The characters in "Juno" seemed more genuine, despite the glibness that made unwanted teenage pregnancy out to be an inexhaustible source of shtick.

The film stumbled, however, when it came to Mark and Vanessa (Jason Bateman and Jennifer Garner), the couple who planned to adopt Juno's baby. Bateman got off some great lines (his timing and deadpan delivery are spot-on, which is probably why he clicked so well with Cera in "Arrested Development") and Garner gave a restrained and believable performance as a woman desperate to have a child. Still, they were stuck with two-dimensional characters, and the filmmakers never took the time to develop their relationship. Given the outcome of the film, that was a significant flaw -- though certainly not a fatal one.

Hollywood to New York: Drop Dead

After seeing "I am Legend", I pondered the same question as this New York Times article: Why do filmmakers seem to take such joy in destroying New York City? This seems like the most obvious answer:

James Sanders, the author of “Celluloid Skyline,” about the history of New York in movies, ascribed the resonance of disaster scenes involving New York to the prospects for special-effects shock. “What would be the point of showing a demolished suburban street? You’d get the point but it just wouldn’t have the punch. You take the most familiar, iconic symbol of civic society in the world — a big city, and for Americans, that’s New York — and that’s where disaster is going to be the most powerful.” He added that New York serves as a yardstick — what architects would call a scale — that illustrates the magnitude for a disaster.

(Hat tip to The House Next Door.)

The last man on Earth

On Thursday my wife and I saw "I Am Legend", a harrowing film that features an Oscar-worthy performance by Will Smith. (SPOILERS AHEAD.) Smith portrays Robert Neville, an Army scientist who believes that he may be the last human survivor of a virus that killed most of humanity and turned the rest into savage, vampire-like mutants. Smith spends his days scavenging for supplies in the ghost town that Manhattan has become, as well as hunting animals that now roam free on the island. He has turned his Washington Square home into a well-stocked fortress where, in the evenings, he uses his own blood to develop a cure that will transform the so-called "dark seekers" back into human beings.

Like Tom Hanks in "Castaway", Smith spends much of his screen time in "I am Legend" without another human actor to play off of. Hanks' character had a volleyball; Smith's Neville has a German shephard, Samantha, the family dog left behind by his daughter, Marley, as she and her mother were being flown out of New York as it was being placed under quarantine. (The relationship between Neville and his dog provide the film's most emotionally riveting scene, and some of Smith's best acting.) We learn about the virus and the fate of Neville's family in brief flashbacks; we get just enough backstory to follow the plot, but not so much that the film gets bogged down in exposition.

"I am Legend" is the third big-screen adaptation of the 1954 Richard Matheson novel of the same name, and a quick glance at Internet message boards reveal that devotees of the book are unhappy with the film's significant departures from its source material. (See here for my thoughts on comparing books to their film adaptations.) Some critics also complained that the film lost steam during its third act. The film held my wife and I in its grip until the very end (we sat, unmoving, even as the credits rolled) but we can see where the critics are coming from. There was, for example, a religious element introduced late in the movie that seemed a bit tacked on.

But some concessions have to be made to the film's story, which finds its central charcter robbed of human companionship for most of the film. His chatter with his dog is endearing, and the way he talks to the manequins that he has placed strategically in the abandoned stores he visits is humorous -- but once Sam is gone, we begin to understand that Neville is a man clinging tenously to sanity. His home, which maintains all the trappings of domesticity -- with the occassional newspaper clipping with headlines that fill in key parts of the backstory -- is actually a well-appointed tomb, a shrine to a life he cannot let go of.

It is only when he finally finds another normal person that we understand that Robert Neville has lost much of his own humanity, and it is all that more powerful when, just in time, he gets it back.

HRH

Recently I watched "The Queen", an engaging film that was grounded by the strong, measured performance of Helen Mirren, who was awarded the Oscar for her efforts. The film's subject matter gave it a certain made-for-TV quality; nonetheless, I'd argue that it deserved the big-screen treatment, given how imperiled the monarchy was in the days following Diana's death as well as the larger questions raised by the film -- namely, what place does a monarchy have in a modern, democraticized society?

I found myself, by the time the movie ended, feeling a bit sorry for Queen Elizabeth II, grasping for the proper role to play in modern British life, duty-bound to defend the very traditions that were alienating her from her people. The film was far less sympathetic to her husband, Prince Philip, who was portrayed as arrogant and unfeeling, giving Elizabeth disasterous advice that furthered her isolation. (The late Queen Mother wasn't much of a help either.) Prince Charles came off as somewhat sniveling, wanting to do the right thing by his children and his ex-wife but unable to stand up to his mother and father.

Tony Blair was the hero, the man whose public statements about Diana struck just the right chord and who finally succeeded in convincing the queen to grieve as her subjects wanted. There was something sad about recalling the heady, early days of Blair's tenure as prime minister, given how it ended. Shortly before the film's end, in a meeting a couple of months after Diana's death, Elizabeth warns Blair that the press and the British people might just as easily turn on him someday too.

It's possible that the queen really did say that to Blair. After all, her reign had witnessed nine prime ministers before him, and she had no doubt learned how suddenly political lives can end. But it's hard not to think that the filmmakers threw in that line as a post-script to Blair's career. Blair was there to save the queen from herself. Too bad no one did the same for Blair.

The richest man in town...

Annie Korzen, in an essay that appears today in the Trib, doesn't think "It's a Wonderful Life" is so wonderful after all:

Poor old George takes the tedious job in the shabby loan office, lives in the abandoned old house at 320 Sycamore St. that he always hated and watches life pass him by. Meanwhile, his younger brother, Harry, and his pal, Sam Wainwright, go off and enjoy the adventures he yearned for. When George winds up suicidal, Clarence the angel is dispatched to remind him of the value of his personal sacrifice.

As the town rallies around the long-suffering George to rescue him from financial ruin, he finally realizes that what really counts in life is family and friends. I'll buy that.

But Harry and Sam -- those two guys who left town and became a war hero and entrepreneur -- also seem to have found family and friends. Why must we choose between the two? Why can't we find love and also pursue our passions? (link)

I've always felt that despite the uplift at the end, "It's a Wonderful Life" is a terrbly sad film. Sure, George Bailey gets to avoid jail, go on running the building and loan with his functionally retarded uncle, and learns that the good people of Bedford Falls know how to return a favor. But he's still stuck in the town he longed to leave, living in a musty old house in which he and his family appear to be squatters, hoping that Mr. Potter dies before the old miser finds another way to screw him over. That's why I always enjoyed Saturday Night Live's alternative ending, in which George learns that Potter took the money, and he exacts his bloody revenge. ("You made one mistake Potter. You double-crossed me and you left me alive.")

On the other hand, George has no one to blame but himself for the course of his life, and perhaps that's the true lesson of the film -- that each of us bears ultimate responsibility for the choices we make. After all, it was only his own sense of responsibility and moral obligation that caused George to stick around and take over his father's business, and his own selflessness that led him to release Harry from his obligation to run the building and loan. Those were noble choices, but like all choices, they had their consequences. In the end, George has to live with them.

Bing!

It's been a long time since I discussed something truly important -- television. One of the few shows that I watch regularly these days is "Heroes", and one of the joys of this season -- which has been uneven at times -- is Stephen Tobolowsky's portrayal of the enigmatic and silver-tongued Bob, one of the men who runs The Company.

If you don't watch "Heroes", you'd probably recognize Tobolowsky as Ned Ryerson, the obnoxious insurance salesman in "Groundhog Day" who accosts Phil Connors (Bill Murray) on Connors' way to Gobbler's Knob. ("I dated your sister Mary Pat a couple of times until you told me not to anymore.") I've seen Tobolowsky dozens of times in movies and on TV, but rarely has he been given a chance to shine as he has this year on "Heroes."

It seems that one thing great television shows have in common these days is their ability to craft good roles for character actors like Tobolowsky, or for actors whose best days seemed long behind them. Tobolowsky himself had a nice turn on "Deadwood" as the weasely politician Hugo Jarry. "Deadwood" also featured Brad Dourif in arguably his most affecting role since "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest", as well as Jeffrey Jones and Powers Boothe among others. "The Sopranos" had Robert Loggia and John Heard, who turned in an exquisitely fine-tuned performance as the corrupt and self-loathing Det. Vin Makazian during the show's first season.

Perhaps one of the best examples is Terry O'Quinn's role as John Locke on "Lost". Locke is the show's most engaging character, and O'Quinn is consistently its best actor. And yet, what did O'Quinn do before "Lost"? He had dozens of minor roles in which he more or less disappeared into the scenery, and a lead role here and there in B-movies. (He had several recurring television roles with which I'm not familar.) But on "Lost", he's all but indispensible.

What is responsible for this trend? It could be mere necessity: In addition to five broadcast networks, several basic cable channels -- plus HBO and Showtime -- now have original series, so producers need to rely on a deeper pool of talent than ever before. A lot of these shows are character-driven, with ensemble casts, so they need actors to fill a range of character types.

I also suspect we are seeing the influence of independent film directors like Quentin Tarantino and Paul Thomas Anderson, not to mention the Coen brothers and Wes Anderson. Tarantino is famous for reviving the career of John Travolta and bringing out of hibernation actors such as Pam Grier and Robert Forster. Paul Thomas Anderson has given great roles to Philip Baker Hall, Burt Reynolds, Philip Seymour Hoffman and Luis Guzman. Wes Anderson and the Coens have their own stable of quirky performers who make their films consistently entertaining.

Of course, much of the movie industry remains focused on churning out blockbuster films, which require blockbuster names. Just as some of the best screenwriting these days can be found television, so to some of the best and most inventive acting.

UPDATE: Thanks to the folks over at The House Next Door for linking to me.

The auteur

Earlier this week, the New York Times published an appreciation of Francis Ford Coppola as part of its fall film preview. The writer, A.O. Scott, notes that much of Coppola's career has been overshadowed by his early successes, namely the first two "Godfather" films but also "The Conversation" and the spectacle that is "Apocalypse Now."

Scott points to some excellent films that Coppola directed in the 1980s, which may not be in the same league as the aforementioned classics but which are worthy of mention nonetheless. Perhaps my favorite is the 1987 film "Gardens of Stone", which centers on the soldiers assigned to the honor guard at Arlington National Cemetery during the Vietnam War. The film features strong performances from James Caan, James Earl Jones and D.B. Sweeney. Caan is a drill sergeant and Vietnam veteran who is embittered by the war, and Sweeney is the idealistic young soldier he takes under his wing. It's hard to think of another film that so deftly portrays the camaraderie that soldiers share and that leads them to lay down their lives for one another, no matter what they think of the war they've been sent to fight.

It is, in other words, the perfect film for our times.

God Bless America

Lewis Beale levels the sweeping indictment that most American movies made about the Vietnam War are racist, and one his prime examples is the POW camp Russian roulette scene in "The Deer Hunter". This scene is problematic because it has no basis in fact, and Beale implies that its only purpose is to portray the Vietnamese as inhuman savages.

I don't know why director Michael Cimino chose to include this pivotal scene--Russian roulette also figures prominently elsewhere in the film--but the most generous interpretation is that it symbolized the war's utter futility, and the damage it wreaked on America's national psyche. (Of course, part of Beale's argument is that Vietnam War films show little concern with what the war did to the Vietnamese people.)

I've always liked "The Deer Hunter", in part for the textured performances from its leads, and in part for the portrait it paints of small town western Pennsylvania in decline. (The film's non-Vietnam scenes were set in Clairton.) Those of us who are from western Pennsylvania no doubt find some of the deer hunting scenes laughable: They were filmed in Washington state, which explains the presence of snow-capped mountains.

(Hat tip to The House Next Door.)

Man's reach should exceed his grasp...

I think this writer goes a bit too far in criticizing Steven Spielberg as overrated filmmaker. I have my own problems with some of Spielberg's work, which I discussed recently here. Spielberg is no fan of subtlety, refusing to allow his audience to figure out for themselves his movies' messages. He's got a weakness for sentimentality, and in some of his recent films he seems to be running up against the limits of his talents.

But he is a good filmmaker, and in the post above the writer pans some good movies, including "Catch Me If You Can" and "Munich." Perhaps on multiple viewings I'll develop the same view of the former that I've come to have of "Saving Private Ryan", but the first time I saw "Munich" it left me curled in a fetal ball on my family room sofa. Spielberg was able to illuminate the complex moral issues faced by the Israel--and by proxy, the U.S.--in hunting down and killing terrorists without being equivocal toward the Palestinians' crimes. He also brought out some fantastic performances from the likes of Eric Bana and Daniel Craig.

"Catch Me If You Can", despite its serious overtones, was a rather whimsical film that proved Spielberg is still capable of not taking himself too seriously at times. Leonardo DiCaprio demonstrated his evolving talents, and Tom Hanks turned in a strong performance as well. (Say what you will about his Boston accent.)

I also liked "A.I.", a very strange film when one considers it was originally developed as a film by Stanley Kubrick, and then directed by Spielberg. The only thing stranger, in my mind, than a Spielberg/Kubrick collaboration would have been a Ron Howard/Kubrick collaboration. Many of the film's early scenes were shot much in the style of Kubrick, but the ending, unfortunately, was pure Spielberg. He just couldn't bring himself to end the film ambigiously, with David trapped beneath the ocean, whispering his prayer to the Blue Fairy. That was what Kubrick might have done. Instead, Spielberg granted David's wish: The robots who inherited the frozen Earth gave David one day with the mother he so dearly loved.

On second thought, maybe that was the darker ending. Many of us no doubt would cherish just one more day with a departed loved one. But what would the next day be like?

(Hat tip to The House Next Door.)

The Dark Knight

The best Batman? Christian Bale, of course.

I liked the book better

I spend enough time on this blog talking about movies that I feel justified making this gratuitous link to my other blog, where I briefly discuss book-to-film adaptations.

War stories

I saw "Saving Private Ryan" in the theater, and I was blown away. The movie is well-acted, emotionally wrenching and visually stunning. But the more I thought about it, the more I began to dislike the film, and eventually came to share many of the sentiments of this writer. The film is emotionally manipulative in a way that Steven Spielberg's other World War II opus, "Schindler's List", was not.

The final scene in "Schindler's List", in which the real surviving Jews who Schindler saved place stones, in the Jewish tradition, at the real Schindler's grave, derives its raw power from the fact that it has actually happened. (Though one could certainly argue that this coda is evidence of Spielberg's inability to let the story speak for itself.) The scene in which Schindler is given money to flee the Russians is stirring because we have witnessed the complete transformation of a man from a cynical profiteer to genuine hero.


But the end of "Saving Private Ryan", in which an elderly Ryan tearfully asks his family whether he's lived up to the sacrifices of the men who saved him, is purely mawkish. Spielberg seems determined here to wring a few final tears from the audience, and remind us all yet again just how much we owe to the Greatest Generation. I don't mean to diminish the sacrifice of those who fought in World War II. Indeed, their achievements can stand on their own without filmmakers like Spielberg to trumpet them.

Spielberg, however, doesn't seem to be glorifying patriotism or duty so much as brutality. The movie is relentlessly anti-intellectual; the translator portrayed by Jeremey Davies is weak and cowardly and ultimately commits a feckless, revenge-fueled killing. American soldiers are shown, without remorse, shooting surrendering troops. (That such things no doubt happened during the war is irrelevant; it would be possible to portray them without tacitly endorsing them.) In fact, the entire premise of the film seems to be that if your cause is just than all of your actions are by definition justified. It's not that Spielberg doesn't portray war as ugly--he does. But he also portrays it as redemptive, and that may be the most dangerous fiction of all.

(Thanks to The House Next Door.)

Heaven holds the faithful departed

I saw "The Departed" last night and I was rather impressed. I've not seen any of the other films nominated in the major categories, but I'm guessing that Martin Scorsese will finally get his Oscar. "The Departed" was not his best film but it was a good movie, perhaps even a great movie, and good enough for the Academy to want to give Scorsese an Oscar to make up for the other times he should have won. (Which isn't to say I agree with giving someone an Oscar just because he or she was slighted in the past. Peter Travers recently noted that Kevin Costner has a Best Director Oscar, while Stanley Kubrick, Robert Altman and Alfred Hitchcock never won one. In whose company would Scorsese rather be?)

Scorsese certainly got some impressive performances out of his ensemble cast, but like a lot of people, I'm a bit surprised to see Mark Wahlberg nominated for Best Supporting Actor. His scenes with Leonardo DiCaprio were entertaining, but I just don't think we saw enough from him to justify a nomination even in the supporting category. Alec Baldwin was great fun to watch, but his performance might have been a bit too hammy for the Academy's tastes. (Though no one delivers snappy dialogue quite like Baldwin, and his character was very well drawn. I enjoyed the scene in which he started beating the surveillance technician; it demonstrated that for all the his egotistic bluster, he took being a cop seriously.) Matt Damon gave an affecting performance, though it might have been hard to nominate him (for Best Actor, most likely) without nominating DiCaprio.

"The Departed" put a fresh spin on an old theme--the notion that cops and criminals are two sides of the same coin. Nothing typified this idea more than the film's ending (spoiler ahead) in which Wahlberg's Dignam guns down Damon's Colin Sullivan. It was the only justice left for Sullivan, a dirty cop who had managed to destroy all evidence of his own corruption. As crime boss Frank Costello (Jack Nicholson) had said earlier in the film, there's no difference between a cop and criminal when you are looking down the barrel of a gun.

Are they built for speed or comfort?

I finally got around to watching "Wedding Crashers" and I thought it was very good. Vince Vaughn was something of a scene stealer but Owen Wilson got off some great lines as well.

One of the most refreshing things about the movie is that Christopher Walken was actually allowed to act, and wasn't merely called on to be a caricature of all the creepy roles he's played. The man is capable of doing far more than staring wide-eyed and bobbing his head back and forth. (One of his more noteworthy recent roles was "Scotland, Pa.")

"Wedding Crashers" provided some great laughs, but it also had some good acting, which is more important to comedies than a lot of modern filmmakers seem to realize. I think the success of the Vaughn/Wilsons/Stiller/Ferrell/etc. comedy troupe is due in part to their skills as actors. Another good example is Steve Carell; "The 40 Year Old Virgin" certainly wasn't the funniest movie I've ever seen, but it had some good performances, and that's what makes it hold up on multiple viewings.

I do have a problem, however, with movies like "Wedding Crashers" in which we are supposed to root for the protagonist to steal a woman away from a boyfriend who is obviously horrible for her. The problem (and "The Wedding Singer" is another good example) is that the rival suitor is always made to be such a louse that we are left to wonder what the woman in question ever saw in him in the first place. Sure, we all know someone in real life who has dated or every married a person who is lousy for them. At some point though--unless the relationship is abusive--we tend to lose sympathy for them and figure they've gotten what they asked for. But I don't think that's the reaction filmmakers want us to have.

"Wedding Crashers", as my wife observed, really poured it on thick--portraying the character of Zachary Lodge as not only arrogant and vain, but violent and philandering--because Wilson's John Beckwith was no Boy Scout himself: He attended weddings to which he was not invited in order to have one-night stands with woman who believed he was someone else. He needed a foil even more despicable than that.

It's a small quibble. It was, after all, just a comedy, and a damn funny one at that.