Mother's Day is the latest in the series of Garry Marshall's films which include Valentine's Day and New Year's Eve. The film follows a group of families in the run up to mother's day. There's Sandy, a single mom of two boys; Bradley who's a single father looking after his daughters and many more. The thing that connects all the different people in this film is that they're all connected by women - or the lack of.
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To launch their new album, the iconic 1970s rock band Status Quo indulges in a spirited action-comedy that might have worked when they were in their 20s. On the other hand, these guys are in their 60s, so it's more than a little strained. And it doesn't help that the writing, directing and editing are utterly inept. Although fans will enjoy the music.
It all takes place as the band's world tour touches down in Fiji, of all places. In between performing gigs, frontmen Francis Rossi and Rick Parfitt entertain themselves by trying to ditch their manager Simon (Fairbrass) and his intern Caroline (Aikman). But they get in serious trouble when they stumble into a back-alley Russian roulette game run by mobster Wilson (Lovitz). As local journalists (Kennard and Heard) try to uncover the story, Simon and Caroline are struggling to regain control of the situation. And Wilson is hunting down Francis and Rick.
Not only does the plot never attempt to make any logical sense, but the filmmakers never bother trying to spark a sense of black comedy amid all the murderous goings on. Instead, director St Paul cuts away from anything remotely morbid, leaving us wondering what happened as he dives into yet another lacklustre slapstick set-piece. The movie has no sense of pace or energy at all, lurching through each scene amateurishly. At least the cast and crew appear to be having a lot of fun frolicking on a South Pacific island. Although St Paul never really captures its beauty or culture either.
Continue reading: Bula Quo! Review
Kevin McKidd, Chris Evert, Christian Slater, David Cook, John McEnroe, Jon Lovitz, Murphy Jensen and Scott Foley Sunday 13th November 2011 Celebrity Tennis Classic at Delray Beach Tennis Center. Delray Beach, Florida
So he's perfect a fit for The Benchwarmers, the latest Saturday Night Live alumni comedy from Happy Gilmore, Adam Sandler's production company. Heder does his spaz routine, gets his laughs, and moves on. The same success applies for Schneider and Spade, two guys who should never shoulder a whole movie unless a studio exec has lost a bet. In The Benchwarmers, Schneider (never the world's funniest actor) plays it straight, and Spade's cutting remarks come at amusing intervals. The result is a movie with a nice number of laughs and an encouraging message.
Continue reading: The Benchwarmers Review
If you're tired of the ugliness surrounding the summer sport, or just need to be entertained, than you should check out A League of Their Own, now out on DVD. Like most great sports movies, League is more than just a series of dazzling feats between the lines. It features laughs, drama, and excitement... in short all of the aspects that make the sports section of the newspaper so captivating.
Continue reading: A League Of Their Own Review
3000 Miles to Graceland is not the realization of that dream.
Continue reading: 3000 Miles To Graceland Review
Little Nicky (Adam Sandler) is the devil's third---and least impressive---son. Bested in brains by his brother Adrian (Rhys Ifans) and in strength by his brother Cassius (Tiny Lester), Nicky finds little joy outside of hanging out in his hell-bound bedroom, banging his head to heavy metal favorites. That is, until his father's 10,000-year reign draws to a close and it's time to name the new ruler of Hades.
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Screenwriter Paul Rudnick (Adams Family Values, In and Out ) is wicked with the one-liners, so zingers abound in his tongue-in-cheek reworking of "The Stepford Wives" -- the creepy, retrospectively campy chiller from 1975 about suburban spouses turned into sweet, subservient, June Cleaver robots.
So ripe for lampoonery that the word "Stepford" has become an adjective ironically slapped on anything deemed too Norman Rockwell-esque, the original picture's concept of anti-feminism taken to a paranoid extreme is fodder for raillery in Rudnick's script.
But he isn't remotely as clever when it comes to plot. In fact, as long as he gets a laugh he doesn't seem to care if his story makes a lick of sense. He can't even decide if the automaton wives in his "Stepford" are robots (impervious to fire and prone to shooting sparks from their necks) or real women (brainwashed with microchip implants) who are capable of snapping out of their halcyon daze if their programming fails.
Continue reading: The Stepford Wives Review
Having now seen "Little Nicky," in which Adam Sandler plays the retarded son of Satan, I have formulated a hypothesis I'm calling the Sandler Theory of Exponentially Obnoxious Returns. It goes something like this:
Adam Sandler goes out of his way to make each gimmick character he plays ("Billy Madison," "Happy Gilmore") more grating than the last, just to see how far he can push it before his easily amused fan base will turn on him.
His most detestable character to date had been "The Waterboy," but that Southern-fried dope was mister congeniality compared to Nicky, the little devil that couldn't. Sandler spends this entire movie with his face screwed up in a hit-by-a-shovel grimace and speaking in a silly, raspy voice like a little kid pretending to be sick so he can stay home from school. There's no joke here. It's just Sandler's version of stretching as an actor.
Continue reading: Little Nicky Review
After a generation on hiatus, the crazy, ensemble-cast chase comedy is back with an MTV vengeance in "Rat Race," a cornball marathon between a dozen second-tier stars vying for a $2 million booty.
The gimmick: To entertain his high-rolling clientele, a Las Vegas hotelier -- played by John Cleese with a slightly insane, toothy-dentured grin -- recruits an oddball assortment of zealous casino tourists to dash across the desert to New Mexico in search of a bus station locker where the loot has been stashed. The runners think it's all a zany promotion for Cleese's resort, but in the penthouse billionaires from all over the world are placing high-stakes bets on who will get there first, just for rich-guy kicks.
The players: Jon Lovitz is an chintzy, unemployed soccer dad who red-lines his minivan while dragging his family along, on the pretense of a job offer so he doesn't get chewed out for ruining their vacation. He catches hell anyway when the car breaks down outside a "white power" roadside attraction and they steal Hitler's limo to complete the pilgrimage.
Continue reading: Rat Race Review
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