Tomorrow night the world will meet Ben. Ben is a twice-divorced, down-and-out Hollywood producer who’s fighting to resuscitate his career. Ben, of course, isn’t a real person, but rather the lead character in Barry Levinson’s newest flick “What Just Happened?” – which hits Toronto theatres on Friday.Levinson, whose film wasn’t too well received at Cannes in May, was once told to “Wag The Dog” but now has simply been asked to put it down.
(It makes sense in the context of the plot. Read on.)
Apparently, critics dismissed the picture, even in spite of its obvious star power. We’re talking Bobby De Niro, Sean Penn, Bruce Willis, John Turturro, and Stanley Tucci. None of this Javier Bardem bullshit.
Usually, I like to fancy myself a trendy anti-establishmentarian. I don’t always agree with the Eberts’ and Roepers’ of the world, but after seeing a pre-screening of the flick with Miles this week, I almost considered siding with the enemy.
When HBO’s Entourage first aired in 2004, audiences were immediately hooked on the idea of seeing celebrities play themselves. It was like the reality TV song-and-dance, but without a grossly corpulent has-been (see: Tyra Banks, Mel B., Mario Lopez, et al.) facilitating the drama. Now, billions of people pay an extra $15.49 a month to stay in touch with Vince, Turtle, Johnny and everyone’s favorite Jewish bastard, Ari Gold.
Cluing in to this trend, and robbing Mark Walberg of his [only] good idea, Levinson invites Bruce Willis to play himself, Sean Penn to play himself, and Robert Di Nero to play a role that is quite obviously representative of the [once] legendary Art Linson. All real people. All real funny. Funny, but tedious. Aside from seeing Bruce Willis gain 25 lbs and grow a beard like Stonewall Jackson, there’s just nothing fresh about it.
Sure, I laughed when expected, sighed when assumed to, and gasped in pure horror when a puppy dog takes a bullet to the face only moments after opening credits.
Good for shock value. Bad for agoraphobics. And I’d know.
The story tracks the journey of a film from first screening, to final cuts, and then all the way to Cannes, as the audience watches and waits to learn its fate. Will it dodge the critics’ claws, or will it be canned? And are we talking about the make-believe film within a film, or Levinson’s supposed magnum opus?
Confused? So am I. After considering the inner and the outer, the story inside a story inside a story, and how art imitates life and Bruce imitates crazy, I left the theatre dizzied and beaten, and asking myself, so conveniently, what the fuck just happened?
That said, I’d actually recommend this movie. Bet you didn't see that one coming. In truth, it’s good. It might be a full-length carbon copy of a show we’ve all watched, one $60 box-set-season at a time, but it’s good. And like the old saying goes – there are a few things to consume in moderation, and a good thing (depending on your definition) just isn’t one of them.
Apparently, critics dismissed the picture, even in spite of its obvious star power. We’re talking Bobby De Niro, Sean Penn, Bruce Willis, John Turturro, and Stanley Tucci. None of this Javier Bardem bullshit.
Usually, I like to fancy myself a trendy anti-establishmentarian. I don’t always agree with the Eberts’ and Roepers’ of the world, but after seeing a pre-screening of the flick with Miles this week, I almost considered siding with the enemy.
When HBO’s Entourage first aired in 2004, audiences were immediately hooked on the idea of seeing celebrities play themselves. It was like the reality TV song-and-dance, but without a grossly corpulent has-been (see: Tyra Banks, Mel B., Mario Lopez, et al.) facilitating the drama. Now, billions of people pay an extra $15.49 a month to stay in touch with Vince, Turtle, Johnny and everyone’s favorite Jewish bastard, Ari Gold.
Cluing in to this trend, and robbing Mark Walberg of his [only] good idea, Levinson invites Bruce Willis to play himself, Sean Penn to play himself, and Robert Di Nero to play a role that is quite obviously representative of the [once] legendary Art Linson. All real people. All real funny. Funny, but tedious. Aside from seeing Bruce Willis gain 25 lbs and grow a beard like Stonewall Jackson, there’s just nothing fresh about it.
Sure, I laughed when expected, sighed when assumed to, and gasped in pure horror when a puppy dog takes a bullet to the face only moments after opening credits.
Good for shock value. Bad for agoraphobics. And I’d know.
The story tracks the journey of a film from first screening, to final cuts, and then all the way to Cannes, as the audience watches and waits to learn its fate. Will it dodge the critics’ claws, or will it be canned? And are we talking about the make-believe film within a film, or Levinson’s supposed magnum opus?
Confused? So am I. After considering the inner and the outer, the story inside a story inside a story, and how art imitates life and Bruce imitates crazy, I left the theatre dizzied and beaten, and asking myself, so conveniently, what the fuck just happened?
That said, I’d actually recommend this movie. Bet you didn't see that one coming. In truth, it’s good. It might be a full-length carbon copy of a show we’ve all watched, one $60 box-set-season at a time, but it’s good. And like the old saying goes – there are a few things to consume in moderation, and a good thing (depending on your definition) just isn’t one of them.
Tried, tested and true, I think Levinson's masterpeice might not be original, but it's certainly worth a watching.
1 comment:
Please watch what you say about Mark Wahlberg.
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