Make McDonald's Great Again

THE FOUNDER (2017)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Michael Keaton has a level of uncertainty, as if he is planning on changing something but he doesn't let anyone in on it. From characters like Beetlejuice and Batman to more austere, complicated individuals such as Daryl Poynter in "Clean and Sober" (my favorite Keaton performance) to Riggan Thomson in the unfortunate "Birdman," something gnaws at the viewer when watching Keaton on screen. He has class, elegance and style but he has a creeping sneakiness about him, not unlike Paul Giamatti who, even when he plays a nice guy, serves up with characteristic nuance a level of duplicity. In "The Founder," Keaton is a man unsure of his direction in life and yet very sure when a business opportunity presents itself.

Just in the opening scenes alone you can tell Keaton is uncomfortable with his lot in life - there is something bigger at the Golden Arches. As we first see Ray Kroc (Keaton), he is desperately trying to sell milkshake makers to no avail. Every stop in every new town leads nowhere. Kroc stays in motel rooms, tells his wife (Laura Dern) that business is picking up, imbibes a little from his flask after an unsuccessful sale and then he ambles on to the next town. But when he gets a call from McDonald's founders, a straight-arrow Dick McDonald (expertly cast Nick Offerman) and his sweet, non-confrontational brother Maurice (John Carroll Lynch, always excellent), about orders for milkshake makers, Kroc's eyes light up. When he gets wind of the fast-food restaurant and sees potential in franchise development, Kroc's eyes burn with intensity. Though the brothers are reluctant at first, McDonald's sweeps the countryside and Kroc does his best to get all the credit. And, boy, does he ever get the credit. He works fifteen hours a day trying to make sure McDonald's becomes as synonymous with Americana as homemade apple pie. Milkshakes made of powder to save money? You got it, despite the founders' objections. Lack of a major percentage of the profits? Work with finance guru Harry Sonneborn (B.J. Novak) and own the land these restaurants rest on! Of course, all this is objectionable to the brothers who never intended to make McDonald's a worldwide phenomenon.

As Kroc builds on the company and renames it the McDonald's Corporation, we begin to see a man who sells his soul and his first wife to gain stature as more than a door-to-door salesman. He craves money and greed slowly envelops him and his life, never seeing what it does to him. Kroc needs no justification - he is selling a brand and mutilating it at the same time, taking its family atmosphere that served the needs of small-town America and turning it into mass-produced hysteria. The roots of corporation grow and the film is intrinsically fascinating at detailing how such financial deals emerge, leaving those who created the brand with their own blood, sweat and tears in the dust.

Although the film never quite manages much insight into Ray Kroc and his faithful wife (why he refuses to leave her a slice of the money pie after their divorce is never clear), or why he forgoes a life with her for some dazzling blonde playing piano at a restaurant (Linda Cardellini, virtually unrecognizable, as a restaurant owner's wife who knows a good financial deal when she sees one), "The Founder" exposes the seeds of corporations taking over small business. Coupled with Keaton's powerful performance of immense strength playing a true sonofabitch with few redeeming values, everything about this reminds us of where we are now. If you have a soul, it will make you angry.

Leaves us in the dark

LIGHTS OUT (2016)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

I suppose the one novelty to "Lights Out," a far too short supernatural horror flick, is that the silhouetted ghost can only be seen when no lights are on. Turn the light on, and the ghost disappears. Turn it off, and she is either scratching her name on the wooden floor or is ready to kill with her talons. This novelty can wear thin after a while but it does induce a few solid scares in an otherwise shopworn screenplay that feels undernourished.

Teresa Palmer is Rebecca, a young woman who is clearly into smoking pot and listening to heavy metal records (though the movie neglects to show her doing either thanks to a PG-13 rating. Taking this further, Rebecca has just had sex with her boyfriend after a segue from a horrific opening sequence but she doesn't remove her top. Yeah, right). Rebecca's grief-stricken mother, Sophie (Maria Bello), has a mental illness and claims to be talking to Diana, the aforementioned silhouetted ghost. The estranged Rebecca gets word of this from her younger stepbrother, Martin (Gabriel Bateman), who is scared out of his wits when he sees Diana! Since this event is explained early in the film, then it is clear that Rebecca's mother is not seeing things - Diana is real! Rebecca discovers Diana through old photographs and taped recordings and finds that Diana was a mental patient who was friends with Sophie when they were kids. The rest of the film has Rebecca and her boyfriend trying to thwart Diana and calm Sophie down. Not an easy task when Diana doesn't want anyone getting in the way of her conversations with Sophie.

There are a few good scares in "Lights Out" and Teresa Palmer, a terrific presence on screen especially when I first noticed her in the poignant "Warm Bodies," makes the most of her underwritten role. Maria Bello did not convince me she was suffering through a major ordeal - clearly, she was misdirected as if she just finished vomiting in the toilet. The character of Diana is also, pardon the pun, left in the dark and it only reminded me of the ghosts in the far more enlightening "The Others" from 2001. Diana is depicted as a monster from the start, including her growling voice in a tape recording that sounds more like the umpteenth sound effects outtake from "The Exorcist." Is that the way she sounds when she talks to Sophie? Who knows because no scene is shown of them just talking, which would have added enormously to the horror proceedings.

After the conclusion of the 1 hour and 16 minute mark (and five minutes of end credits), all you will remember are the relentless moments where the characters make sure to keep lights on, including car headlights, light from iphones, etc. It is entertaining enough to make one wish there was more to chew on. Based on a short film by David F. Sandberg, the feature-length film still feels like a short.

Bollocks on Bullock

ALL ABOUT STEVE (2009)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

I cannot fathom what "All About Steve" is trying to say or what it wants to be. It is the classic identity crisis movie where it wants to be everything to everyone, and ends up pleasing no one.

Sandra Bullock plays Mary Horowitz, a very astute crossword puzzle writer for a small Sacramento newspaper. She is knowledgeable on all facts about every town in America. She also lives with her parents and her best friend is a hamster. Her parents have set her up on a blind date with a news cameraman, the charming Steve (Bradley Cooper). Mary is hoping he is not gay and they practically undress in his jeep before even going to a restaurant. Unfortunately, the sexual romp in the hay is cut short when Steve is called in to work at the TV station (of course, he fakes it since he wants out of any entanglement whatsoever. It used to be that a first date would be a date that lasted through the evening. Now, we live in a world where the date is not given half of a chance beyond the first meet cute moment). There are already problems with this scene: A.) It is not believable and hardly sincere. Cooper's Steve is initially taken by Mary, then he loves the fact that she promptly wants sex and then dumps her because she talks too much. B.) It serves as a contrivance to further a plot that makes little sense. How could anyone believe that people behave this way? Well, Steve doesn't exactly dump her but allows an open invitation, albeit insincerely, to his whereabouts. Mary buys it without questioning anything - just because the guy gives you his umbrella doesn't mean he wants you. Oh, and there is that dreadful crossword puzzle about Steve cooked up by Mary that nobody can solve, thus causing her to lose her job.

Mary travels by bus where she annoys the driver so much, she is thrown out. A kind truck driver (M. C. Gainey) is one of the few that puts up with her long enough to drop her off at her destination. Meanwhile, we get a bunch of scenes of an anxious news reporter, Hartman Hughes (Thomas Haden Church) who wants to be anchor and keeps screwing it up. Church's scenes with Steve and Ken Jeong as a field producer are actually very funny and one wishes the movie would be about them. Mixing in Mary into the proceedings, when the movie can never decide if she is a stalker or an insane person or neither, doesn't jell at all. By the end of the film, Mary is just as likely to be misunderstood which is a definite cop-out.

The film is not any worse than its reputation might indicate. Bullock does her best to play a seemingly complicated, good-natured character who is not given many complications except in her sincere desire to be with the supposed man of her dreams. When something out of left field is dropped on us, a manhole that Mary and a group of deaf children accidentally fall into, I wondered what I was supposed to take away from all this. As the film ends, you will wonder something that I do not ponder about after seeing a David Lynch film: What the hell was that all about? 

Ker-Plunk

K-PAX (2001)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Original review from Nov. 14th, 2001)

Do not be fooled by the ads. "K-PAX" will not make you change the way you look at the world for one good reason - you've seen this tale before and done far better. Consider it an "Analyze This" crossed with the haunting riches of "Man Facing Southeast" and you'll see how the melding of different films and tones result in one confused, predictable, highly indifferent movie.

Kevin Spacey is the stubbly new patient at the Psychiatric Institute of Manhattan, having just been admitted as he was found wandering at a train station commenting on Earth's brightness. He calls himself Prot and claims to be an alien from the planet K-PAX. There is a haggard psychiatrist, Dr. Mark Powell (Jeff Bridges), who has the task of determining Prot's sanity and whether or not he is an alien. Prot is persuasive. He is so persuasive that the doctor is convinced the man is not so delusional. Dr. Powell gathers a panel of astronomers to determine whether Prot's supposed solar system, 100 light years away, exists. Prot draws a diagram that has the astronomers astounded in disbelief. It is this crucial scene that had me convinced the man is an alien or he has studied astronomy and is some kind of scientific genius.Why? Because the astronomers are shown to be astounded. If this is not enough proof and Dr. Powell is sure Prot could be mentally ill, then why doesn't he ask a question that bugged me throughout the movie: since when do aliens sport stubble?

These questions would not have bothered me in the slightest if the movie hadn't bored me. Unfortunately, the director Iain Softley ("The Wings of the Dove") finds a rather monotonous tone by delaying the plot for as long as humanly possible, and keeps repeating key scenes with little flair or energy. The scenes between Prot and the doctor should be engaging and fascinating but something is off. Spacey and Bridges seem indifferent and speak in hushed tones that only drove me nuttier than Prot. Bridges is the master of hushed tones, finding a voice decibel level that is often inviting. Not so this time, and Spacey, one of the most electrifying actors working today, is too restrained for his own good. I sense that he was miscast in this role - perhaps someone like Christopher Walken (who looks like an alien) might have cut right to the core of Prot.

And to make matters worse, we have the motley crew of patients that irritate in ways I cannot begin to describe. They just aren't engaging in any way, nothing like the similar group of patients in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" or "Awakenings." Here they seem to be marking time, and their weight is dictated by Prot's ability to cure them of their mental states and his promise to take one lucky patient back to his home planet.

"K-PAX" is one awkward hybrid of comedy and offbeat drama that results in a typical, simple morality tale. Prot teaches the doctor a valuable lesson about family and unity. He seems to say that we must be united and invest time on this great planet earth doing so. I would have expected more from a would-be alien as smart as Einstein.

Belongs in dusty bin from last season

I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER (1997)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Original review written in 1998

I know what has happened to the slasher film genre - it has become limited and uninspiring offering little in the way of novelty or surprise. True, the "Scream" movies revived the dusty genre only because they poked a little fun at it, and brought a self-reflective gaze upon it. But this genre has nothing to offer unless a talented filmmaker can reinvent it and bring some level of humanity. "I Know What You Did Last Summer" is not that film, and it is as idiotic and mind-numbingly awful as you can imagine.

The premise centers on four teenagers who kill a pedestrian on the road at night during a July 4th celebration. They contemplate their dilemma and unconvincingly draw up reasons why they can't tell the police - to protect their futures beyond high school. They dump the body by the docks (though the supposed corpse never seems to be truly dead). A year later passes, and the main teen of the cast (a frail-looking Jennifer Love-Hewitt) arrives home from college to find a note in the mail indicating the film's title. Someone knows, but who? Could it be her ring of friends that night who swore never to tell anyone? Could it be the kid who drove by that night making inquiries? Could it be the backwoods woman (Anne Heche) whose brother committed suicide that same night?

This is a mildly intriguing premise for a slasher film, but all sense of mystery and horror is thrown out the window once the killings and implausibilities set in. We have a body in a trunk full of crabs that conveniently disappears, a killer in a slicker outfit during a hot summer (how conspicuous), a girl's blonde hair chopped off while she's asleep (!), and more and more ridiculous scenarios that will shock you into laughter and boredom.

The actors are bland and forgettable (save for the cute-as-a-button Hewitt), the scares are predictable, the dialogue is sheer rubbish, and of course, there is a door left open for a sequel. Most of these movies ("Halloween: H20," "Urban Legend") are mediocre and thrill-less to being with offering little imagination or raison d'être. Writer Kevin Williamson of "Scream" fame should have known better.

Lester is the Seeker

AMERICAN BEAUTY (1999)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Originally reviewed back in 1999

Watching Sam Mendes's "American Beauty" is like taking a roller coaster tour through suburbia - gleeful yet observant that something awry may be happening in each house of each neighborhood. "American Beauty" is the latest 90's view of dysfunctional families of America, a fascinating, complex, irritating, grandiose and finally (and purposely) uneven satire.

Kevin Spacey stars as the hapless, droll Lester Burnham, a magazine writer for a bland organization run by bland businessmen who seemed to have emerged from the offices of the film "In The Company of Men." He is unhappily married to his frantic wife, Carolyn (Annette Bening), a real-estate agent whose sales have depleted due to the new local hotshot honcho in town (Peter Gallagher). They both have a smug, obnoxious daughter, Jane (Thora Birch) whose sole intent in life is to have augmented breasts. Their new neighbors are not any less strange or threatening to suburbia. There is the intensely coiled former Marine (Chris Cooper) and his catatonic wife (Allison Janney, in an atypical role), and their son, Ricky (Wes Bentley), a video camera freak with a steely gaze in his eyes - he has the ability to see the beauty in things.

There is a dichotomy in the breakdown of these two families. As far as the Burnhams are concerned, Lester and Carolyn (their sexually frustration always in check) listen to dinner music while eating, and Jane (who hates her parents) brings her best friend, a seemingly teenage blonde nymphette named Angela (Mena Suvari), for sleepovers. Angela admits that Jane's father is cute, and claims she wants to have sex with him. Ricky's family has deep seated hatred towards Jews and homosexuals. His Marine father does not want his son Ricky to resort to drugs use anymore, and regularly beats him if he touches his own belongings. Ricky draws more attention to his video camera and films Jane and the rest of her family through his bedroom window - it is his means of escape. And his mother never says a word and seems to live a life of sadness reflected in her endless stares.

By comparison, the Burnhams are living a life with more zest. Lester is drawn to his daughter's sexy friend and has a regressive awakening. He quits his job, starts lifting weights and jogging, and frequently postures and rants about his newfangled freedom. Lester also starts smoking pot, listens to his collection of 70's songs, and tells his family what he really thinks about his life and his marriage. In other words, he is driving them further apart than they were already.

There are many more revelations in the richly designed tapestry of writer Alan Ball's screenplay, and it is unfair to say more because nothing in this film can be predicted. I have been saying for a long time that Hollywood films should take the initiative of relying on character-based narrative to unveil a slice of Americana. Most recent Hollywood films rely on plot to drive the characters forward in motion (see "Pushing Tin") whereas Ball instead lets these characters live and breathe by their passions and hungers - they are not dictated by cumbersome plot points. Essentially, these people are not at all what they seem to be, and slowly other attributes start to evolve in their personalities. Lester undergoes the most thrilling transformation from a jerky, ironic three-piece suit bureaucrat to a t-shirt wearing, posturing, reborn, virile man with lots of attitude to spare, more so than his cheerleading daughter. He is the anchor of the film, and basically underscores all the tension within his family and his next-door neighbors with his rampant, rebellious slant on life.

"American Beauty" scores heavily with Spacey's beautifully modulated, magnetic performance - it is clearly his best work by far. Annette Bening finally has her zestiest, most radiant role since "The Grifters" - here she accomplishes the rare feat of being sympathetic while simultaneously being pathetic and annoying. Thora Birch also does solid work as the cranky Jane (she certainly grew up since her work in those Harrison Ford/Tom Clancy movies). One performance that deserves some recognition is the underrated Chris Cooper as the violently abusive Marine. Cooper also played a dad earlier this year in the gentle "October Sky" and has had decent parts in some John Sayles films. Here he demonstrates an intensity that is nearly unwatchable, and his rain-drenched scene with Spacey will make you squirm. More kudos are deserving of Mena Suvari as the blonde cheerleader friend of Jane's - her role says more about the plight of teenage girls in high school than most teen movies of late. She could give Rachel Leigh Cook a run for her money.

As much as I like newcomer Wes Bentley, his enigmatic Ricky left me unsatisfied, partly because we know so little about him. One critic described him as evil (which he is not) but there is a disarming, almost Norman Bates aura about this kid that is creepily inconclusive. Ditto Ricky's mother who is left in the sidelines, though I imagine we can draw our own conclusions as to why she is virtually catatonic.

"American Beauty" is not perfect or as harrowingly honest as last year's undeniably great "Happiness," but it is entertainingly wicked, insightful and satirical in its unfolding of this slice of suburban life. Once it is over, you will get an urge to drive through the suburbs of any town in America and try to take a peek at what is happening in those family homes.

Bird food for the avante-garde set

BIRDMAN OR (THE UNEXPECTED VIRTUE OF IGNORANCE) (2014)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia
Reprinted with Permission by Steel Notes Magazine

Alejandro Inarritu, an overpraised director who was ridiculously bellied up with raves for the limp "Gravity," has concocted another limp film, a vanity project where the director can show off  his technical prowess. Only his endless long takes burden and suffocate the viewer with portentous characters of little draw or joy, save for the stellar work of Michael Keaton and Emma Stone. "Birdman" is virtually long-take porn and a sad sack character study that is more artificial than all of its magical realism gimmicks.

St. James Theatre on Broadway is the setting. Riggan Thomson (Keaton) is the mediocre actor and mediocre star of a movie franchise that made a box-office killing, Birdman. After "Birdman 2," Riggan flew far away from it all and decided he wanted to be taken seriously. Thanks to sage advice from the late author Raymond Carver during Thomson's early days in theatre, he decides to direct, write and act in his own adaptation of Carver's "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love," which strikes me as an insufferable bore of a play from a writer I do admire, Carver that is (check out the short stories and the sparkling diamond of a film made from it, "Short Cuts").  Riggan's daughter (Emma Stone) is his indifferent assistant who hates picking out flowers for him and seems to hate him, period. The best scene in the film is the most shockingly honest as Riggan's daughter lays down the truth about his stature as an actor and for having adapted a play that only rich people adore.

Such blazing honesty is missing from the rest of Inarritu's Odyssey of Long Takes. I do admire uninterrupted long takes because, for cinematic purposes, they have a sweeping effect of lifting you from your seats and since the film delves into magical realist elements such as Riggan's imagining himself as a flying bird, and sometimes not imagining himself at all, the technical visual strategy is apropos. But it is at a cost to the dramatic conflicts of its characters because what takes place in front of the camera is often inert. "Birdman" has no real pulse, no blood in it, no passion. It assumes the theatre world is full of arrogant dim bulbs (not unlike Edward Norton's own sendup of himself in the guise of a far too technical actor) and I wanted to get away from them as quickly as possible. Even the New York Times theatre critic (Frank Rich would've conked this woman out in real life) is snobbish and can't be bothered with watching the play before reviewing it - she hates everything Riggan stands for.

Michael Keaton is a solid actor but he often mumbles his way through the proceedings. I never felt connected to him -- Bill Murray would've been a wiser choice to play such a dull actor. That is not to take away from several choice scenes Keaton has to play but he often works best when he is restrained (Check out 1988’s "Clean and Sober" for proof). Although I do admire the in-jokes and the atmosphere, "Birdman" is bird food for the avante-garde set - the poseurs.