Light & Shadow

It’s hard to believe fifteen years have passed since the release of the original Toy Story. I was four when it came out, and all I remember from that first screening is being absolutely terrified by some of the damaged toys. Of course, now that film is more remembered for introducing the public to the style of animation that now dominates the weekly box office and to the studio that so defines that style that their releases have become yearly national events: Pixar. No studio has ever had a role like that, and now, fifteen years and eleven films later, Pixar has looked back to its beginnings to craft its greatest work to date, Toy Story 3. Now, to be perfectly honest, Pixar’s great track record aside, I was worried that this would be another cheap cash-in sequel from Disney, and while it doesn’t cover much ground that they haven’t hit before, it covers it better in almost every way. Toy Story 3 is funnier and more moving than anything Disney has ever released, and in terms of animation, it probably falls just short of the magnificent Wall-E, but is still near the top of the Pixar cannon.

This second sequel takes place ten years after the end of 1999’s Toy Story 2, with Andy on his way to college and Woody, Buzz and the rest of the toys facing a crossroads. Only the core group from the first two remains, with the rest having been broken or given away over time, and while Andy wants to take Woody with him, he decides to leave the rest of his toys behind in the attic (which is probably for the best, I can’t imagine someone with that many toys in his dorm doing too well in college), but a misunderstanding almost leads them to the dump and, angry with Andy for nearly throwing them away, Buzz, Jessie, the Potatoheads, Slink, Rex, Hamm, Bullseye and Barbie decide to donate themselves to a day care center. Woody follows and tries to convince them otherwise, but once they arrive, the group is convinced to stay by the leaders of the toys there, Lots-O’-Huggin’ Bear and Ken (Ned Beaty and Michael Keaton respectively). Woody tries to go home, but the others stay behind and discover that the leaders are sacrificing them to be played with by the youngest children there, who have a shocking ability to cruelly break everything. Once Woody discovers the truth, he has to rescue his friends and get back to Andy before college.

Now, if you’ve seen the first two, this plot should sound at least vaguely familiar, but, as I said, that’s not really the point. Sure the admittedly predictable plot can be a bit annoying and there have been other animated films that deal with growing up and moving on with life, but none have done it with such humor and emotion. After Up, which I found to be incredibly unfunny, I was worried that this type of humor wouldn’t appeal to me anymore, but no, the jokes just had to be funny. A much higher percentage of the humor in Toy Story 3 is aimed at the adults in the audience than the children, and I really think that this film will have the most appeal to people like me who saw the first film as a child. The smaller cast allows for much more character development, especially of the human characters, which has never been Pixar’s strength. Thankfully, the characters they kept are all voiced by very funny actors (with a possible exception for Joan Cusack’s Jessie, who I’ve always found to be somewhat grating), and the writing has matured over time, so the one-liners can just flow from all over the screen.  Unlike Toy Story 2, where many of the new characters didn’t really work, the latest additions to the toy line, especially Ken, are all quite humorous, and the new cast members fit in perfectly. Aside from Beatty and Keaton, who are both fantastic, Timothy Dalton, Jeff Garlin, Whoppi Goldberg and Richard Kind all join the cast in smaller roles. The smaller cast also allows it to reach a greater emotional depth, especially during the film’s final moments, which are easily the most moving scenes in any Pixar film. For the first time that I can recall in a Disney release, there is an actual sense of danger and excitement, and even though you know everyone is going to be OK in the end, there will be moments where you’re so lost in the story that you just can’t be sure. I would also like to point out that the requisite short film attached to the beginning, “Day and Night,” is the strongest Pixar short that I can recall, both in terms of story and animation, and that alone makes the 3-D upgrade nearly worth it. Thankfully, unlike Disney’s last 3D release, the dreadful Alice In Wonderland, Toy Story 3 was meant to be seen with that extra dimension, and the upgrade is handled with much class and subtlety. Nothing pops at you, but the greater amount of depth to the story is reflected by the greater amount of depth and detail on screen.

It was obvious from the trailers that this film would be less risky than the last three from the studio—Ratatouille’s basic premise seemed like it would turn off some viewers, people though Wall-E’s silent first half and anti-consumerist environmental message would anger much of the audience and Up’s more mature subject matter, dealing with death, made it seem less likely to succeed with children—and I’m worried that some will see this as a regression for the studio. So now I think it’s time to remind everyone that you can’t look at a studio in terms of Auteurism. I know I can be guilty of it, but, high artistic ambition aside, Pixar is a business above all else, albeit an extremely successful one. This is the first film Lee Unkrich has ever directed (he edited the previous two in the series), and he can’t be judged according to the studio’s prior releases, even if their worst film (Cars) is still noticeably better than anything rival Dreamworks Animation has ever released. Even with the core group of John Lasseter, Andrew Stanton, Brad Bird and Pete Docter involved somehow in every project, every director brings their own stamp to the work. In Unkrich’s case, it’s an evolved focus on a sort of realism, with more natural colors and many shots showing just how small the toys are in the world, a perspective that was missing from the last two. On the other hand, it’s probably for the best that we treat some sort of animation that way. Until American audiences can accept animation as a legitimate medium and not something just meant for kids and so-called “family” movies, the best stuff will continue to come from Japan and other countries that are using it correctly (I would consider Richard Linklater’s two great rotoscoped films to be their own in-between medium). So no, Toy Story 3 isn’t quite as great as Hayao Miyazaki’s masterworks, but it is the closest I’ve ever seen an American animated film get to that level.

-Adam Burnstine

Toy Story 3 is rated G.

The film opens everywhere, including Imax, on June 18^th.

Directed by Lee Unkrich; written by Lee Unkrich, John Lasseter, Andrew Stanton and Michael Arndt; original music by Randy Newman; directing animator, Michael Stocker; produced by Darla K. Anderson and John Lasseter; distributed by Walt Disney Studios. Running time: 1 Hour 49 minutes.

With: Tom Hanks (Woody), Tim Allen (Buzz), Joan Cusack (Jessie), Ned Beaty (Lost-O’-Huggin’ Bear), Don Rickles (Mr. Potato Head), Michael Keaton (Ken), Estelle Harris (Mrs. Potato Head), Wallace Shawn (Rex), John Ratzenberger (Hamm) and John Morris (Andy).

There is a man lurched forward. His shirt is off, but his striped blue and white pants radiate in the background. The man’s face is emaciated but his expression is without pain or happiness. Where his skin isn’t stained red from blood or bruising, it is a bland pale white. This image is featured on the cover of one of Criterion’s latest release, the 2008 film Hunger. The man is Irish Republican Army member Bobby Sands (Michael Fassbender) during his (in)famous hunger strike in 1981 as shown in Steve “not that one” McQueen’s debut masterpiece.

Sands’ hunger strike was part of a movement in the early 1980s by the IRA to have its prisoners recognized as political prisoners, rather than common criminals. As prisoners of war, they would be able to wear their own clothes, and demonstrate politically. The British government steadfastly continued its tradition of thinking that he I.R.A. as nothing more than street thugs. McQueen sets this situation up right from the film’s beginning in which a speech from Margaret Thatcher echoes on the radio “There is no such thing as political murder, political bombing or political violence. There is only criminal murder, criminal bombing and criminal violence…There will be no political status.” The radio is owned by prison officer, Ray Lohan (in a quiet but incredible performance from Stuart Graham). Lohan begins his daily routine: showering, munching on eggs and ham, checking his car for bombs, and driving to work (the prison) where he beats Irish prisoners. This set up is really the only glimpse of the outside world that Hunger gives; most of the film takes place in the trappings of the Maze prison.

The first act follows Lohan, the next act traces two prisoners surviving in the prison. This beginning half of the movie is notable for a variety of reasons, perhaps the most obvious being its utter lack of almost any dialogue. It is also not really until the film’s halfway point that the audience is even introduced to Bobby Sands. The majority of the film’s dialogue then takes place in a 22 minute scene, between Sands and a priest (Liam Cunningham) that is almost entirely one take. But, none of these plot details really matter, because Hunger is not driven by plot.

Hunger is not like other films, such as In the Name of the Father, that have been made about the IRA. The film is uncompromising in its depiction of the British and the Irish, and also in its faith that the audience will participate in the film rather than simply sit back. This is not the tale of one man’s heroic charge against an evil government, nor is it a prison film in the traditional sense. There is no blossoming male camaraderie. There is no triumphant music. There is no great grandstanding. There are simply people who are put into incredibly difficult, inhumane situations. Director Steve McQueen’s claim in an interview that the audience is “dragged through the process of someone starving himself” is only partly true. Hunger is not simply about a hunger strike, but instead the shades of complexity that exist in prison. As much as the film is sympathetic to Bobby Sands and the IRA, McQueen and co-writer Edna Walsh do not reduce the IRA’s political struggle to a Manichean struggle.

What Hunger is, however, is a fascinating, lyrical and haunting film about the events of 1981. The film is filled with incredible images: the prison walls covered in excrement, prisoners pouring urine into the hallway, Bobby Sands emaciated, almost to the point of death, body. They are never beautiful but always indelible. Even further each shot is meaningful. Precisely because McQueen never idolizes his prisoners, the audience gets a much more interesting view of a day in prison. Just as arresting of an image as those mentioned are the images of the prison guards. McQueen gives the audience a quick glimpse into the life of a young, new prison guard whose only way of dealing with the sheer brutality of the prison is to cry behind a wall as his fellow guards beat the prisoners on the opposite side. McQueen focuses in close up on the man as he slowly falls apart from the new world that he has entered. And yet, it is just as much a part of the prison situation as anything else in the film. When one of the movie’s most brutal acts of violence occurs (the assassination of a prison guard while he is visiting his mother) the film does not linger. It is just part of the story.

Other than Fassbender’s emotional, physical and all-around incredible performance one of the aspects of the film that has received great attention from critics has been the 22 minute conversation between Sands and a priest. Rarely has a static shot been so captivating. While both men are cloaked in darkness and speaking in heavy Irish accents, the obscurity of the situation only adds to the dramatic tension. What begins as meandering babble about cigarettes and life soon becomes a war between the priest, who sympathizes with the IRA but believes that Sands’ hunger strike is a suicidal crusade to get his name in history books, and Sands who is steadfast in his conviction. As Sands blows on his cigarette the air gets smokier and smokier just as the understanding of what is morally correct becomes hazier and hazier. After all the discussion, the only thing left for Sands is action.

If McQueen has one obsession, it is the face. Sands’ face is constantly returned to in the close up, tracing his deterioration and eventual death. Although the doctor who watches over Sands is only shown a few times, his face, a combination of anger, frustration, and sheer sadness, tells a life story. Prison guards’ faces are shown, some seem confused, and others show a certain ecstasy from the violence. Each face is richly textured and it is in the face that each actor delivers an incredibly complicated, complex and deep performance.

Hunger won the prestigious Camera d’or award (for first feature film) at Cannes, and its win was rightly deserved. Rarely has a director seemed so confident and assured in a debut. If Hunger were a more flippant film, I would be tempted to make a silly Pete Hammond-esque pun ending this review (“I have hunger for Steve McQueen’s next film” or “I am hungry to see what McQueen has to offer”). But that would devalue the work McQueen and his actors have done here. Hunger is by no means an easy watch, but its ability to refuse clichéd narrative tricks and hagiographical depictions result it in being one of Britain’s greatest cinematic accomplishments from the last few years.

Special Features:

The film looks stunning. One claim that has been levied against McQueen is that he frames the prison too beautifully, and that the story deserves a grimier treatment. While Hunger is gorgeous it never shies away from the grotesque or the ugly. Criterion has done a great job in the transfer. With a film this dark it’s important to have “deep blacks” and Criterion follows through. While no audio commentary was included in the extras, there is an interview with director Steve McQueen that sheds some light on his approach. He goes into depth talking about how he became interested in Bobby Sands and he also talks at length about the conversation between Sands and the priest in the film. McQueen is clearly passionate and his passion shows throughout the fascinating interview (he makes the polemical claim that the hunger strikes were “the most important event in modern times” for the British). There is also a respectful interview with Fassbender where he goes into what the performance took and how amazing of an experience it was working with McQueen. The way Fassbender’s mental approach to the film seems to coincide with his physical approach to losing the weight is interesting as well. Also included on the disc is a short “Making of” featurette. The piece becomes a bit self congratulatory, and even redundant as much of the information is covered in the two interviews, however any addition is a welcome addition. A trailer for Hunger is also included but perhaps the most interesting supplement is a British investigative news show titled “The Provos’ Last Card?” from 1981. It runs about 45 minutes and illuminates the cultural sentiment towards the IRA at the time. What is perhaps most fascinating is just how much the piece echoes American news shows during the Civil Rights Era. The British narrator uses loaded phrases and repeatedly undermines the IRA movement, describing their actions as a “continuing campaign of murder.” Much of the prison is filmed in this piece and it interesting to re-watch the landscape from the film covered in documentary form here. The great transfer and solid supplements make this a great package overall.

-Nicholas Forster

How many times have we seen this picture of the modern American West: kitschy, raunchy cities naïvely clinging on the edge of enormous, bare landscapes?  The backdrop of Taylor Hackford’s Love Ranch is not unique in the movies; Nevada and California’s mountains and canyons, juxtaposed with a protagonist’s capitalist hubris, make for an instantly recognizable theme: the futility of trying to control one’s fate when the world is so unforgiving.  But if Love Ranch, written by Mark Jacobson, starts off in this well-explored territory, some narratives are worth repeating--especially when the main character is not the little man fighting destiny, but this vain American dreamer’s tragically resigned, clear-sighted wife.

Helen Mirren plays Grace Bontempo, the madam of the Nevada brothel of the title. Her husband Charlie (Joe Pesci--what a co-star for the Queen of England!) co-owns the brothel and benefits from it far more than she does--taking from it 50% of the profits, sexual gratification in its bevy of tolerant girls, and most importantly a sense of self-worth.  Through a combination of violence, political extortion and bargaining, Charlie has managed to force through the legalization of prostitution. He regards this as more than a practical gain; faking a Southwest accent, strutting around a cowboy tycoon--never mind that Grace has most of the brains and does most of the work--he can forget his beginnings as a small-timer “off the Jersey prairie,” as his wife sarcastically defines him.

Grace, for her part, reserves some stern affection for her rowdy girls, and handles the men (her husband as well as the customers) skilfully if without much pleasure. But early on in the film, she learns that she has cancer.  She decides to keep this news from everyone, as always subordinating her own needs to the demands of business.  Mirren shows Grace’s emerging bitterness without sentimental or self-pitying gestures: even facing death, Grace seems to assume that her feelings don’t interest anyone.

Then Charlie adopts a former boxing champion, a long-haired Argentinian named Armando Bruza (Sergio Peris-Mencheta). Charlie plans to invest in him for publicity’s sake and cajoles Grace into being his “manager.”  The film’s publicity has made no secret that Love Ranch is a love triangle, so of course the audience knows that the handsome young boxer will convince sixty-year-old Grace to shed her apathy.  But, thank the lord, the filmmakers depict the future lovers’ awkward first meetings as convincingly as their ardor later on.  With his cheerful roar of a voice and huge grin, Bruza’s apparent clownishness renders the seduction improbable at first, as do Grace’s exasperation and confusion at his shambling friendliness.

Much of the film works this way: it presents us with situations we recognize from other movies, yet uses them as a springboard for genuinely thoughtful and persuasive performances.  It’s as if, by some minor magic, clichés that sagged under thousands of lousy productions are suddenly nourished back to life by some terrific actors and a script that lets them act.  Never mind that we’ve seen the sensitive, self-destructive boxer before.  Love Ranch lets us believe in this one.

Bruza’s presence rebukes American capitalism, which the film associates with masculine bravado and violence.  Americans like Charlie will offer him money, girls and stardom as long as he remains safely in the category of an investment. Not too subtly, the film shows that Charlie treats him just the same as the prostitutes--as flesh, a good “better than gold--you don’t have to get your nails digging for it, and the good Lord keeps making more of it.” The moment Bruza claims something beyond material appeasement--the right to return Grace’s love--his protectors start trying to destroy him.

Peris-Mencheta is so good, he doesn’t have to strain for attention alongside Helen Mirren, who for her part is absolutely free of the “grande dame” syndrome that sometimes overtakes renowned actresses playing world-weary unfortunates. And yes, they do have a sex scene together, one that will please the tender-hearted but not the prurient.

Cinematographer Kieran McGuigan makes the film look great, by turns gaudy, grubby and serene. No one has ever filmed white hooker boots in the mud so offhandedly and poetically. People’s faces look real and expressive--Mirren’s frank and sad, Peris-Mencheta’s warm and ruddy in the outdoor scenes, while Pesci, with his doggy jowls, is sadder and nastier than I’ve ever seen him.

Here is a film that happily plays with the elements of lurid melodrama, only to defy Grace Bontempo’s initial philosophy: “Selling love will make you rich. Just don’t put your heart in it.” Hollywood sells love too, but (on occasion) not without believing in it.

-Julia Zelman

The title "Solitary Man" sounds a bit like "A Serious Man," but the two movies are polar opposites. Whereas the Coen brothers' film is about a good man struggling to keep his life in balance, the 2009 film by Brian Koppelman and David Levien concerns a bad man resolutely tearing his life apart. More importantly, A Serious Man is odd, scary, and philosophically ambitious; Solitary Man seeks nothing better than to titillate people who find Michael Douglas totally fascinating. If this sounds like an exaggeration, go see the film and count how many monologues the script spoon-feeds its star. Consider the midfilm monologue, delivered to the unfortunate Jesse Eisenberg, that begins something like "Lemme tell you a story" and then continues for a good two minutes without a single cutaway for relief. Eisenberg may have been grateful for the lack of a reaction shot, which would have forced him to feign interest. In that sense, he's luckier than Susan Sarandon, Danny Devito and all the other co-stars crammed into the film just to ask Douglas helpful questions.

The solitary man is Ben Kalmen, a disgraced former auto dealership CEO addicted to sex, sometimes with girls hardly out of high school (though to be fair, he's not too picky for a one-night stand with a woman just over half his age).  We don't see Ben in his big shot years or during the scandal that ruined him. Instead we get a brief prologue set six years before the start of the film that shows a still-successful Ben receiving iffy results on his EKG, and then we skip all the interesting stuff to catch up with him as a completely mediocre sexagenarian trying to restart his career. Ben is clearly meant to be a ruthless old lion, able to ensnare brassy young women thanks to a life of sexual fine-tuning. Instead, he's more reminiscent of a good-natured but slightly dim uncle whose feelings you don't want to hurt.

This is a problem for the plot, which requires Ben to bed Allyson, his girlfriend's snotty daughter, while he takes her to meet the dean of his old college in Boston. Lecturing her on how get a man to give her pleasure, he has all the tantalizing allure of a high school sex ed instructor.  I didn't actually realize I was watching a seduction scene until the jump cut to Imogen Poots and Douglas frantically slurping each others' faces--a transition that provoked howls of "What??!" from the audience. Poots had more chemistry with pretty much every other actor who shared a scene with her. Watching her get steamy with Danny Devito would have been less shocking.

While on campus, the old lion also gets his claws into college boy Cheston (Eisenberg) as a way of reliving his own youth.  Having won the young man's affection by barking at him, "You don't get laid much, do you?", Ben tutors him in matters of the heart.  Naturally, Cheston worships his failed-car-salesman mentor and takes him to hip college parties where background extras drink beer and pump their fists for no reason and nothing happens--except for monologues, of course.

Of course, Ben's fling doesn't stay a secret.  Allyson herself declares it to her mother in a fit of pique. Suddenly, Ben's new business venture tanks and everyone recognizes him for the aging sociopath Douglas is supposed to embody. I'm being harsh on the star, but the script is even crueler; it gives him no real chance to develop, only conflicts with characters who appear for one scene just to be nuisances. By the time Susan Sarandon reappears as his ex-wife and prompts him to explain his infidelity in detail (spoiler: it's because he was afraid of death!), it's clear that the screenwriters are in thrall to Ben.  They don't write interactions: they throw characters at Ben so that he can show what a sad jerk he is.

There is one exception: Ben's relationship with his sweet daughter Susan, played by Jenna Fischer, who doesn't even object when he forbids her to call him "Dad" in public. Fischer portrays Susan's love and long-suppressed anger quite well, and Douglas is touching when he finally admits his loneliness to her. If the filmmakers had given more screen time to Susan and less to Ben, they would perhaps have avoided the impression of simply humoring the man's egomania. Meanwhile, there are better films about midlife existential crisis.  Not all of them treat their protagonists as "solitary men."

-Julia Zelman

One of the few good aspects of Saturday Night Live’s long, slow descent into complete irrelevance has been the lack of any films based on the venerable show’s sketches. After eleven releases between 1990 and 2000, of which only Wayne’s World even approached watchability, there were none in the last decade. Jorma Taccone’s Macgruber is proof that this was probably for the best. Basing a film on a mediocre recurring sketch from a now irrelevant TV series that satires a TV series that has been off the air since 1992 never seemed like the best idea, but even I was shocked by how awful the film really was. Macgruber is not simply unfunny; it actually lacks almost anything that I could actually think of as an attempt at a joke.

Will Forte reprises the roll of Macgruber, a retired member of various elite special forces groups who specializes in the use of household items as weapons. Ten years ago, his wife (SNL alum Maya Rudolph) was murdered by Macgruber’s former friend turned arms dealer Dieter Von Cunth. I’m going to stop for a second and point out something about this film. As I said earlier, there are few things here that could even be construed as attempts at humor, and I’m pretty sure naming a character Cunth was one of them. Now, imagine that name being said roughly one hundred times with the same five or six initially unfunny sex jokes being thrown in beforehand. There, that’s it. That is all of the humor that you will find in this film. Dieter is played by Val Kilmer, who has proven to be a great comedic talent in recent years, and when Val Kilmer can go through an entire comedy without drawing a laugh, you know something is wrong. Anyway, Macgruber comes out of retirement at the behest of the military when Dieter obtains a Russian nuclear missile. He puts together his old team (inexplicably made up entirely of cameos from WWE stars), but accidentally blows them up and is left with ditsy Vicki St. Elmo (Kristin Wiig, also reprising her character from the sketch) and straight edge Lt. Dixon Pepper (the always insufferable Ryan Phillippe, whose comedic timing somehow manages to be worse than his dramatic timing). Of course, they have some conflicts and romances along the way, and eventually they stop Dieter from blowing up Washington and Macgruber is able to fall for Vicki and get over the loss of his wife. The film is nothing if not predictable, and if you’ve seen the trailer, it really shouldn’t matter that I just mentioned the ending because I would at least hope that you were able to see it coming.

The generally positive early reviews have all praised the film’s humor, which is why I was so surprised by just how unfunny Macgruber really was. I don’t mind if the humor in a movie is juvenile or crass (I will never deny enjoying the two Jackass films) and parody, despite a weak recent record, can lead to great comedy, but Macgruber’s problems go far beyond that. For a film like this to be funny, it would have to be surprising and original. Is it original to name a character after a dirty word? Of course not. Was it surprising to see Macgruber walking around with a piece of celery hanging out of his behind or killing henchmen by ripping their throats our? Actually, no. Maybe I was just dulled into listlessness by that point of the film, but those last two examples (as far as I can tell, the only other attempts at humor in the movie) seemed like nothing but cheap attempts at shock humor.

The film’s flaws go beyond the type of humor. As a character, Macgruber is a one-note joke who usually wears out his welcome by the end of a 90 second skit and was already completely played out before being used in a Pepsi commercial last year. Forte plays that note well, but it isn’t enough when the story goes beyond the standard skit length. There’s also the fact that this film is a parody of Macgyver, a semi-popular television show that had ended before much of the target audience was born and has no real ironic or nostalgic value compared to other series from that era (even so, a MacGyver film is apparently in production). Combining that with the movie’s SNL basis makes it seem more irrelevant and pointless than anything. And I don’t mean pointless in the amusing way. I simply can’t think of a reason for this film to exist.  Even if Forte, Taccone and John Solomon, the third writer, were simply trying to be as outrageous as possible (which seems possible and is at least a semi-admirable goal), they failed. Macgruber is essentially as safe and tame as the recent seasons of SNL, except with a few extra swears and a bit of blood.  Film is an expensive business, and, in my mind, the worst thing you can say about a major film is not merely that it is an ugly, artistically devoid and humorless piece of trash (all true in this case), but that there is simply no reason for the movie to exist. Macgruber is completely irrelevant in almost every possible way, and I really must ask why it was made in the first place. I still don’t think anything will actually top Alice In Wonderland as the worst film I’ve seen this year, but Macgruber at least proves that something could come close.

-Adam Burnstine

Macgruber is rated R for strong crude and sexual content, violence, language and some nudity.

It opens everywhere on May 21, 2010.

Directed by Jorma Taccone, written by Jorma Taccone, Will Forte and John Solomon; director of photography, Brandon Trost; edited by Jamie Gross; music by Matthew Compton; production designer, Robb Wilson King; produced by Lorne Michaels and John Goldwyn; released by Universal Pictures. Running Time: 1 hour 39 minutes.

With: Will Forte (Macgruber), Kristin Wiig (Vicki St. Elmo), Ryan Phillippe (Lt. Dixon Piper), Val Kilmer (Dieter Von Cunth), Powers Boothe (Col. James Faith) and Maya Rudolph (Casey).