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After a mildly amusing opening scene clearly inspired by these guys......
.....Four Christmases sort of staggers along in search of a funeral. The movie is Just OK, 2.5 on a scale of 10. Lots of name actors, none of whom can help this thing out.
Everybody has crazed fam damily, but the absurdity is pushed off a cliff and the characters aren't. Instead they're all monochromatic caricaturizations that don't evoke sympathy or laughs (okay, a couple of chuckles here and there).
Yet another good idea that Hollywood mangled. It could have been a good drama or a good comedy or both. Meh.
And what is it with these so-called PG family movies? This isn't a family movie and you will not want to watch it with your kids.
I Am Legend struck me as Night of the Living Dead on steroids (and in color). Before it was a cult film I mean.
Saw Night of the Living Dead at one of those downtown 1930's movie palaces that even then was well past its prime. It was still a couple of years away from non-stop Spanish language porn films and it would be a decade before eminent domain and the bulldozers rearranged Broadway in Santa Ana into something less recognizable.
My girlfriend lived in Silverado Canyon and after the movie I had something in mind that would take her mind off scary things, but she was ready to go home.
These days Santiago Canyon Road is a commuter highway bordered by upscale gentleman ranches. At least those that survived last year's fire storms. Back in the day, it was winding narrow two lane canyon road that didn't really go much of anyplace, except to Cook's Corners, Silverado Canyon, and Modjeska.
I swear to you, Gentle Reader, there was a hitchhiking Living Dead, backlit by the harvest moon, lurking at the edge of every curve. They were peering at us from the chaparral and Sycamore dotted creek bed and staggaring around behind every granite outcropping on that narrow and desolate canyon road. It was like Disney's Haunted Mansion, except more believable.
And of course, that was one of the nights when her Ma didn't invite me to sleep on the couch in front of the fire. I was dodging Living Dead for an hour before the sweat cooled on my (then) less wrinkled forehead and I caught the cloverleaf at Chapman and the (two lanes) Newport Freeway.
Mr Cool, sometimes known as The Boy, and who TWC occasionally refers to as Moby Grape (he has penchant for purple) loves a good Western and Appaloosa fit the bill nicely. Jake built us a dandy fire, brewed himself some tea, and we settled in for a couple of hours with Mrs TWC's hang-on-the-wall TV.
The girls passed, invoking the chick flick rule. They missed a pretty good movie, too. Good cast, decent plot continuity, and all the divine retribution any red blooded American male could ask for. Plus, Aragon's way-cool Eight Gage double barrel shotgun. Boy howdy, that's gotta kick.
Jeremy Irons was fab as the bad guy. Jake told me he wanted one of those Winchester 1873 saddle guns. Ed Harris is, well, he's Ed Harris. Hadn't a clue it was Renée Zellweger. And Aragon Eight Gage was perfect as the implacable sidekick. Looked like it may have been filmed in Mescal, Arizona. If you like a Western, you'll like the movie. On a scale of 10, it gets 8.2.
Minor Quibbles: Nobody used the Eff Word in 1882. They didn't say not so much, neither. That's Jon Stewart's job. Or was. We never know why or how the Widow French ends up in the mythical town of Appaloosa with a buck in her pocket.
For parents: Typical violence you'd expect from a western. Not a lot of obvious carnage. No splattered internal oragans or brain cells. Some swearing. A little implied roll in the hay (morning after, everybody's dressed). One long distance shot of Renee Zelwegger's naked back side (probably a stunt double) that lasted about ten seconds. Just long enough to realize she warn't wearing no clothes.
TWC was not uncomfortable watching the movie with a twelve year old boy.
One of the ten worst movies I've ever seen. Avoid it like the plague. Scantily clad chicks and Katherine McPhee notwithstanding, this movie was the bomb. Not Da' Bomb, the bomb. For every mildly amusing wisecrack there were 28 minutes of interminable, predictable, ludicrous.....
See, these guys got together over lunch and sketched out this horrible scenario. They drank great wine and had a superb meal. When it was said and done, they each pocketed a half mil.
TWC Rule: If you could get your money back, they'd stop making these crapola movies.
The House Blond continues,
This was the worst movie ever! It stunk like a rotten, smelly shoe! I hated it!
Not to mention that it was highly inappropriate for the HB. PG-13? Well, how about PG-17?
I did not want to watch this movie, but I was roped into it. How-some-ever,Fred Claus turns out to be a lot better than TWC expected. It is entertaining holiday fare, perfect to watch with the kids or the grandkids (or both).
Whats-his-name is pretty good as the guy who constantly lived in the shadow of his younger and more famous brother. Miles from Sideways does nicely as a nominally henpecked, stress monster Santa figure. Kevin Spacey gets a 9.5 as the bad corporate drone bent on, well, I ain't no plot spoiler. Tugs at the heartstrings sufficiently to work as a chick movie (it put a little tear in The House Blond's baby blues).
The Boy is a shoot 'em up fan and he got worried when he heard the word drama used to describe John Wayne's final film.
Dad, are there shootouts?
No worries, son. You'll like it and so will the girls. Dam sure prescient of me to make that pronouncement too.
The Shootist stands the test of time well. A couple of soundtrack bits that define seventies porno and the horse drawn street cars courtesy of Carson City Traction notwithstanding (traction being a term indicating mechanical propulsion), the film has gracefully weathered the last three decades. To be sure, it was helped along by the likes of Lauren Bacall, Jimmy Stewart, Hugh O'Brian, Richard Boone, & Ron Howard.
