Bearing witness to the scream

THE WITNESS (2016)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia
Reprinted with permission by Steel Notes Magazine

38 witnesses in an apartment complex claimed they saw and/or heard a woman screaming in agony after said woman had just suffered the first of two stabbings in the street below. Nobody did anything, nobody called the police. This became a moral lesson for an adage that is now spoken and distributed ubiquitously: If you see something, say something. In the case of Kitty Genovese, a young 28-year-old woman who was brutally stabbed outside of her apartment in Kew Gardens, NY back in 1964, if you hear something, say something. In the entrancingly disturbing, emotionally draining and very moving documentary “The Witness,” people did in fact hear her screeching screams of help yet, allegedly, nobody saw her. What is most revealing is that witnesses did in fact call the police and someone did help her during her last remaining moments she had left. This is the first of many disclosed truths that were ignored at the time.

Told from the point-of-view of Kitty’s youngest brother, Bill Genovese (a Vietnam Veteran),“The Witness” is a full-throttle attempt to find out the truth, the whole concealed truth of Kitty’s murder. Bill Genovese takes on the obsessive and difficult task of finding the truth to a 50-year-old murder. He is a double amputee riding around in his wheelchair, sometimes at the crime scene and often visiting those who bore witness to the crime during the aftermath (many other witnesses have long passed). It is the work of a top-notch sleuth -- he even goes so far as to interview “60 Minutes” own Mike Wallace (who did a piece on it back in the day); Abe Rosenthal, former New York Times editor (who helped to craft the alleged myth of witnesses’ anomie); Gabe Pressman, an NBC reporter who said the Times, the paper of record, would not be challenged by the news organization, and of course the surviving witnesses. One witness, Sophia Farrar, a close friend of Kitty’s, was there to comfort the dying Kitty in the hallway of the apartment building. We also learn from a witness who knew Kitty as a young boy that the blood hand prints on the walls were not Kitty’s but his mother Sophia’s, the one who was trying to comfort Kitty. New York Times would not hear of it, claiming it was Kitty’s and photographs of the hand prints were taken.

Most fascinating is the coverage of Kitty’s life as a celebrated barmaid who was loved by many, a free spirit who loved life. Kitty was romantically involved with Mary Ann Zielonko and they were roommates in the Kew Gardens apartment they shared. Kitty is also shown in various photographs and home movies as an exuberant, spirited woman who longed to spread love around. In a touchingly tactile way, “The Witness” depicts an angelic presence who was compassionate and possibly empathetic. This makes her murder that much more disturbing -- a life taken away without any justification. The murderer, Winston Moseley (who died in prison in 2016), stabbed her repeatedly without any real provocation (allegedly, Kitty used a racial slur against him), disappeared and then promptly came back to stab her again. It was a vicious crime that should never have happened. This is what drives Bill Genovese’s search for the full truth. Could something have been done to help Kitty sooner? Were the police contacted promptly?

We learn the New York Times’ writer Martin Gansburg may have embellished the truth about the witnesses, and certainly misrepresented the facts which were dependent on the information supplied by police commissioner Michael Murphy (the opening paragraph of the original Times article states that witnesses viewed the murder in its entirety when, in fact, nobody saw the murder in its entirety since the killer walked away and then came back around to poor Kitty. Case in point, here is how the article’s paragraph read: “For more than half an hour, 38 respectable, law-abiding citizens in Queens watched a killer stalk and stab a woman in three separate attacks in Kew Gardens.”) Apathy, however, was not part of the equation on that dreadful night. Bill finds that his older sister’s screams were heard by many in the apartment building yet (despite a couple of crucial witnesses) nobody saw the crime, and calls were made to the police though it is never established how many people actually called in. One certifiable fact is that 38 or more witnesses definitely heard the commotion and some looked out their windows, one even shouted at the killer to stay away from her. Still, when Bill hires an actress to relive Kitty’s last moments by delivering the high-pitched screams that couldn’t possibly be mistaken for anything other than the agony of a wounded, dying animal, you wonder how anyone could think differently and not respond. It is a scene of undeniable power, making us feel more empathetic for Kitty than ever.

Director James Solomon has assembled a riveting documentary that serves as revisionist history, righting the wrongs of perceived anomie in NYC. Of course, if the New York Times article had been rewritten differently with more clarified accounts from witnesses, then Kitty’s name would not mean as much as it does today more than 50 years later. When Bill Genovese goes so far as to interview Moseley’s son, he still doesn’t get real satisfaction considering Moseley's son was unsure about meeting Bill whom he assumed was Mafia-related, hence Bill's last name! The conclusive irony is that Bill arrives at something much more fulfilling -- the Genovese family has finally embraced and celebrated Kitty rather than trying to forget her namesake via a headline-making murder. It is how she lived that spreads joy -- her name has been restored to the loving family member she always was. That is Bill’s satisfaction, and ours. 

Old Hollywood tale sparkles

RULES DON'T APPLY (2016)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

I'd be remiss if I did not state that the opening 15 minutes of "Rules Don't Apply" were uninvolving and a little dull. Sometimes a film can evolve and engage us and I was taken aback by this Howard Hughes bio tale because it did not grab me. Then, something happens and the film got me when it decided to get more intimate with its characters. The intimacy shone like a bright light from the gods of La La Land and, by the end of the film, I was engaged by this entertaining, elegant love letter to Old Hollywood.

Frank Forbes (Alden Ehrenreich) is a handsome young chauffeur for the reclusive billionaire Howard Hughes, a man that Forbes has yet to meet. At the start of the film set in the late 1950's, Forbes drives Marla Mabrey (Lily Collins, Phil Collins' daughter), a Baptist beauty queen from Virginia, to her screen test for a new Hughes film. Also in tow is Marla's mother (Annette Bening), a far more devout Baptist, who sees that Marla and Forbes are smitten with each other and doesn't approve (Forbes is already engaged). At this point, I thought this was going to devolve into some sort of cutesy, syrupy romance tale of puppy love with a loony Howard Hughes (Warren Beatty) only existing incidentally in the background. I was wrong as the film carefully segues, sometimes abruptly (scenes often just stop before cutting away rather abrasively to the next scene) between Hughes's business dealings, the Spruce Goose near-debacle and plane voyages, to Marla's ambitious plans of becoming an actress who eventually sleeps with Hughes after she has already been fumbling about with Forbes! Not such a pristine Baptist after all.

"Rules Don't Apply" works it melancholic charms best when it comes to Warren Beatty's interpretation of Howard Hughes as a capricious man whose wealth defined him and carried him to plateaus that few others could reach. Whether it was flying the massive plane called the Spruce Goose (which he likes to look at while eating a burger) or cavorting with young women, like Marla, or flying to any destination on a whim or requesting all the Banana Nut ice cream that is left, Howard is the megalomaniac whose tastes run hot and cold. He could get anything he wanted, whenever he wanted, at any price. Warren Beatty portrays Howard Hughes like an adult version of Beatty's own unpredictable stand-up comedy character from "Mickey One" from ages ago, making Leo DiCaprio's equally mercurial portrait of Hughes in 2004's "The Aviator" look normal by comparison. To be fair, the hearings over the Spruce Goose are not as invigoratingly portrayed as they should have been, yet everything else (including the controversy over a writer who faked a biography on Hughes, based on the real-life Clifford Irving) is exciting to watch. You'll even be chewing your fingernails during a hectic plane ride to Acapulco where Howard hardly seems to be attentive to his piloting.

Written and directed by Warren Beatty after a 15-year hiatus, "Rules Don't Apply" gets off to a rocky start and its pacing is unwieldy. Still, once it introduces Beatty's uncontrollable Hughes (almost always shown in deep shadows or silhouette), it flies with passion and verve. The love story between Marla and Forbes also gets a lift, as if Hughes' own passions enliven the potential romance between the couple. The finale is about as romantic and sweet as anything I've seen of late, and this is amazing because I did not care for this Marla/Forbes romance initially. "Rules Don't Apply" is a moody and often elegant tribute to Old Hollywood melodramas, in addition to being faintly melancholic over Hughes' later years. Exquisite and original, once the motor gets going. 

2/3 great, 1/3 blood-soaked Ten Little Indians

THE HATEFUL EIGHT (2015)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"The Hateful Eight" represents some of the best and worst habits of Quentin Tarantino. On one hand, it has terrifically framed dialogue scenes inside a stagecoach and a Haberdashery where the characters expound on issues such as the Civil War, slavery and what it means to be black in America in the 1860's. On the other hand, the film can indulge forever in ways that would even make the late Sergio Leone (no stranger to overlong westerns - his "Once Upon a Time in the West" is exceedingly overlong but still a masterpiece) say, "how much longer are we going to be inside that Haberdashery?" It is that aspect of overlength and some grotesque violence that exceeds even my endurance test levels. Though not a complete success like Tarantino's other works, "The Hateful Eight" should hardly be dismissed either.

Tarantino's near 3-hour claustrophobic western has scraggy, scraggly hangman and bounty hunter named  John "The Hangman" Ruth  (Kurt Russell), his murderous criminal Daisy Domergue (black-eyed Jennifer Jason Leigh) whom he wants to hang at Red Rock, going to their destination in the snowy blizzard conditions of Wyoming inside a stagecoach. Along the hazardous journey, they pick up a bounty hunter named Major Marquis Warren (Samuel L. Jackson) who is supposedly pen pals with Abraham Lincoln and carries around a personal letter from the 16th President (Warren is notorious for killing various Confederate soldiers during the war), and a new Sheriff of Red Rock named Mannix (Walter Goggins) who just happens to be wandering the area and is hardly the smartest Sheriff in town. Cut to Minnie's Haberdashery where they serve jelly beans, hot coffee and stewed potatoes. A newly-appointed Mexican employee (Demián Bichir) is taking over for Minnie in this one-room log cabin with one bed, while other people passing by are staying at this remote location. They include Tim Roth as a Christoph Walz-type hangman, Michael Madsen as Joe "Cow Puncher"  who is on his way to visit his mother for Christmas (!) and a former Confederate General (Bruce Dern) who is so racist that it becomes almost spooky. Good luck with Major Warren dealing with this nasty individual.

There is much to savor in "The Hateful Eight" and the tension builds on occasion, especially during a sequence where the coffee poisons almost everyone who drinks from it. There is also one sequence where Major Warren confronts the elderly Confederate General with a tale of how the Major tortured the General's son - it is done in flashback with Jackson's voice-over and is likely to make most viewers squirm and laugh nervously at the same time. That is the underlying beauty of Tarantino and why he rocks cinematically harder than any of his copycats with his pulp revenge tales - when forceful dialogue and dazzlingly powerful performances create a sustained mood of wickedness crossed with black humor in ways that can make audiences unsure of how to react. That is Tarantino's game, playing the audience like a piano. By the end of the gross-out extended climax, he is not playing the audience anymore - it is more like getting your fingers broken in agony while exploding heads, blown-off genitals and an offputting hanging grace the 70mm screen. You are left wallowing in excess gore which means the filmmaker is also left wallowing in it. The late Sam Peckinpah, no stranger in his heyday to stomach-churning, slow-motion ballets of violence, might have vomited while watching this grotesquerie. Ever since the cartoonish aesthetically over-the-top violence of his "Kill Bills," Tarantino has become the victim of what he was once criticized of being in the "Pulp Fiction" years - a director who really loves violence so much that it becomes dangerously close to being the subject of his movie. Let me be clear, the violence does not become the subject but it left a bitter taste in my mouth, almost but not too bitter.

In hindsight, the nasty, unendurable violence of the last third of the film do not take away from the primal power of "The Hateful Eight." It is Tarantino's ode to Agatha Christie's "Ten Little Indians" albeit with characters of excessively low moral repute. I will not soon forget Samuel L. Jackson's duplicitous nature or his discussions of racism in post-Civil War years (he may as well be talking about what is happening in America in the 2010 era); Jennifer Jason Leigh's savage blood-soaked smiles or her moment of grace when she plays the guitar; the shocked looks of Bruce Dern's Confederate General; Russell struggling to get a cup of coffee while handcuffed to Leigh; the entrance door to the Haberdashery that must be nailed shut each time it is opened and, of course, under the amazing lensing of cinematographer Robert Richardson ("Natural Born Killers," "Casino"), the few outdoor mountainous shots of Colorado standing in for Wyoming including an extended take of a Christ statue in crucifixion pose. There is plenty to admire about this western and I still love Tarantino as a demonically talented filmmaker who can still make smart, wickedly funny revenge tales. Yet "The Hateful Eight" is far too long in spots, far too bloody and a little too uneven. It is 2/3 a great film, and 1/3 a nauseatingly blood-soaked "Ten Little Indians."  

Movies can change a country

CHUCK NORRIS VS. COMMUNISM (2015)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Reprinted with permission by Steel Notes Magazine

Imagine living in a Communist country where TV broadcasts only on two channels, 2 hours a day, and it is all propaganda. Okay, so in the United States, we have hundreds of channels and fed a lot of propaganda from two political parties yet it is a far cry from the Romania of the past. Further imagine banned VHS movies making their way into the underground with a Romanian State TV employee serving as the translator. That is the story of “Chuck Norris vs. Communism,” a thrilling, quietly stimulating one-hour documentary that focuses on how art, good or bad, can transcend a whole country.

During the 1980’s, Irina Nistor, a film translator for Romanian State TV who reluctantly worked with the censorship committee, was hired by the mysterious Mr. Teodor Zamfir to dub illegally obtained VHS movies and sell them in the underground to families who had no access to anything except government-controlled television (Romania’s dictator Nicolae Ceaușescu  was a frequent sight on the tube). Nistor’s voice dubbed nearly 3,000 films by 1989, the end of the Communist regime that led to the execution of Ceaușescu, and her voice ironically became the voice of the people. When the latest video party was held in someone’s apartment, it became a moment of awe and wonder, a glimpse and a chance to see the outside world, the Western values that were shielded from Romanian eyes. A country kept in ignorance began to see the glimmer of hope.

Throughout the documentary, we get interviews with various Romanians who watched “Top Gun,” “9 ½ Weeks,” “Rocky” (one man emulated the Italian Stallion’s egg yolk prep prior to running through the city), “Last Tango in Paris” (a woman felt she was struck by lightning when she saw it), and several Chuck Norris flicks especially “Missing in Action.” The Romanian citizens felt that TV was propaganda and, with the influx of these films, they were fed propaganda that was not Ceaușescu’s. An outsider’s view of a world was being shut out thanks to the ruling dictatorship; a dictatorship that sensed that Western influences could lead to a revolution, a change in the country’s political system. The Romanian government couldn’t have been more right.

Directed with care and sensitivity by debuting director Ilinca Calugareanu and instilling an exciting level of espionage through riveting reenactments of Nistor’s secretive recordings, “Chuck Norris vs. Communism” is a most unusual historical documentary that reminds us of the power of images. Movies don’t always change things but, in this case, they changed a whole regime. The implication is that the state secret police were also instrumental in implementing change because they were bribed to see these films for free. A change was coming. 

Living in Oblivion crossed with The Truman Show

BOWFINGER (1999)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Eddie Murphy's newfangled success post-"Nutty Professor" has not exactly been inspiring. Missing from his last few films was the wisecracking Eddie from "Beverly Hills Cop" and "48 HRS." who made us smile with his every maneuver - gargantuan laugh, wide grin, and a rapid-fire exchange of dialogue like a charged-up comic ready to make you howl over with laughter at every expense. "Coming to America" and "The Nutty Professor" were among his finest achievements, and among some of his best acting roles to date. Add his latest film "Bowfinger" to the crop - an often wicked comedy where his sure-handed personality shines thanks to a solidly good script by writer-actor Steve Martin.

Bobby Bowfinger is the name of a low-level producer/director (Steve Martin) with big dreams of making a motion-picture with current action star, the paranoid Kit Ramsey (Eddie Murphy). Problem is Kit turns him down, and now Bowfinger comes up with an inspired plan, he will make a film by secretly filming Kit. He has cameras hidden in bushes outside Kit's mansion, and films Kit having lunch at trendy restaurants by having his actors sneak up to him and deliver the lines. Essentially, wherever Kit goes, Bowfinger will be there making him the unaware star of his film. The catch is that no one in his crew is aware that Kit has not actually been cast.

Apparently, Bowfinger saved over $1500 since his childhood to make his dream project called "Chubby Rain," which has a ludicrous storyline dealing with aliens hiding in drops of water. The screenplay is written by Afrim (Adam Alexi-Malle), a "damn good writer, as well as an accountant and part-time receptionist," assures Bowfinger. In terms of casting, Bowfinger has an experienced drama queen, Carol (Christine Baranski), who's been waiting an entire year for this opportunity, and wants to meet Kit. He's also got Daisy from Ohio (Heather Graham) who walks into his bungalow/office with aspirations to be a star. At first rejected, then accepted for her great kissing scenes, she finds herself sleeping to the top of this low-level group to get more scenes written with Kit. Enter another actor who tries out for a part, Jiff Ramsey (also played by Murphy), a goofy, bespectacled man who not only passes for Kit's double but is also Kit's real-life brother. "I am an active renter at Blockbuster," says Jiff during his audition, who assures Bowfinger that he has had accidents cutting his own hair.

There are two hilarious scenes that had me doubled over with laughter. One is a parking lot scene where an unseen dog wearing heels scares Kit while walking to his car. Another equally funny scene is when Jiff runs across a Los Angeles freeway while evading all traffic and yelling "Hail to God!"

"Bowfinger" does fall short of expectations even with its ingenious premise, a semi-cross between "The Truman Show" and "Living in Oblivion." Steve Martin fails to push the film itself further with comic bang...there are often more whimpers than genuine laughs. He is still a hell of a writer, but he holds back too often. Some scenes as directed by Frank Oz are too flat and lack the pizzazz that they need - a chase after Kit while hiding a camera in a tree planted on Bowfinger's truck leaves a lot to be desired.

If nothing else, most of the actors deliver juicy performances. Eddie Murphy has two great roles - one as the nervous superstar who tries "to keep it together" at a Scientology-type cult led by Terence Stamp as its calm, spiritual leader, and the other as the dim-witted, naive Jiff who for the first time in his life feels accepted. Murphy plays these roles with aplomb, and proves that with a good script, he can flow with comic ease and be funny as hell. His smiles and winks are priceless. Steve Martin is, as always, good old Steve - and here he plays the ruthless and scheming con artist as all desperate first-time directors usually are. He'll do anything he can to make his film, even to the point of stealing Daisy's Ohio credit cards. Morality is never an issue when making a production - desperation is.

The one actor who fails to deliver is Heather Graham as the ingenue Daisy. As in "Austin Powers 2," Graham is lifeless and oblivious - she seems to show little in the way of comic flair or energy. A sad state of affairs from a dramatic actress with a powerful range as she proved to have in "Boogie Nights" and "Drugstore Cowboy." Comedy does not seem to be her forte.

"Bowfinger" is uneven and does not have the breeze or whiz of director Frank Oz's other efforts, such as "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels," but it is full of surprises and contains moments of inspired lunacy. Martin and Murphy make a great team for the world of comedy - let's hope they reunite in the future.

Count Yourself Lucky if you skip it

LUCKY NUMBER SLEVIN (2006)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia (Review from 2008)

Just when you thought neo-noir Tarantino knock-offs were on the way out, they come back in. And just when you thought that referencing old movies in dialogue that sounds suspiciously Tarantinian was on the way out, it comes right back in. Of course, "Lucky Number Slevin" doesn't suffer for those reasons alone - it is also stultifyingly dull.

The occasionally boring, pallid Josh Hartnett plays Slevin, an unlucky guy who gets punched in the face by a mugger and seems to forget that a dress code in the New York City streets doesn't entail wearing only a towel around your waist. Slevin is visiting his friend Nick in New York, except Nick is not home so Slevin lets himself in. Nick's inquisitive neighbor (Lucy Liu) is wondering what is behind Slevin's towel! Oh, yeah, and she loves James Bond movies and can quote them (Tarantino coming in to the mix again). Slevin's lack of luck becomes clearer when he is mistaken for Nick by some hoods. It turns out that Nick owes $96,000 dollars to two rival crime lords, the Boss (Morgan Freeman) and the Rabbi (Ben Kingsley). In the only nice twist in the movie, the crime lords live across the street from each other's penthouses! Slevin's dilemma is worsened when the Boss says he can forget the gambling debt owed if he does a job for him - kill the Rabbi's son! The Rabbi asks for a different favor. But then why the hell is a world-class hitman (Bruce Willis) needed? Maybe because the assassin will kill Slevin whom everyone thinks is Nick. The mind boggles and wiggles and, quite frankly, it is hard to care because you've seen it all before, except not with such a lack of humanity.

"Lucky Number Slevin" is movie that closes its hands at the end and, when you open them to decipher its meaning, it comes up empty. Or maybe it release two flipping birds at the audience. I've seen movies like "Lucky Number Slevin" and two come to mind that are far superior in every respect and are fresher and more introspective - "The Usual Suspects" and "The Limey." "Usual Suspects" had an ending that just barely negated the entire movie you watched - it was pure trickery and sleight-of-hand but it was entertaining and memorably acted. "The Limey" is full of flashbacks and flashforwards and had a powerful ending that enriched the neo-noir, thriller mechanics of its story (and it had Terence Stamp to boot). "Lucky Number Slevin" has...nothing. It is a movie dependent on style and numerous shoot- outs and pop-culture discussions on Hitchcock, "The Shmoo" and James Bond than anything else. Once the plot becomes apparent, the ending (which is technically foreseeable) is not a cheat. But director Paul McGuigan seems to think he is more clever than he really is. All the flashbacks and flashforwards do not indicate anything that you don't already know - it is superfluous decoration. And Hartnett's Slevin is so insufferably inert that it is hard to care about his dilemma, or lack thereof. And when the Rabbi discusses the mistaken identity plot of "North By Northwest," I became very angry, knowing that the filmmakers were trying to link this overproduced mess to a Hitchcock classic.

Hartnett is not someone I would wish for more leading parts in, though he comes alive in the latter sections of the film. Morgan Freeman and Ben Kingsley have seen better days. Lucy Liu is always a sweet presence on screen but she is nothing more than an annoyance after a while. As for Bruce Willis, he is a consummate actor on screen but this is a part that is far below his acting capability. Reliable Robert Forster appears out of nowhere and basically explains the plot (which needs no explaining) in the same way he explained Norman Bates's psychosis in the "Psycho" remake. Talk about references!

So forget the bland coolness of "Lucky Number Slevin" completely - it is a monotonous and repetitive waste of time. Have yourself a grand time at the movies by watching "North By Northwest" or "The Limey" or "The Usual Suspects." You won't mistake them for "Lucky Number Slevin."

Family Friendly with a Dozen Smiles

CHEAPER BY THE DOZEN (2003)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Some family friendly movies I dismiss almost immediately because usually a cornball family movie nowadays, or even in 2003, would be oozing with thick maple syrupy sentiment. I do not mind sentimentality when it comes to a practically pre-sold Steve Martin family entertainment but you may understand where I am coming from. The fact that every move can be anticipated in this movie or any of its other cinematic counterparts is a given - this genre is almost always written by a committee, not a labor of love that had been festering for ages to get made. That said, I was sold by "Cheaper By the Dozen," a genteel, sweet and frequently funny movie that moved me. It is not great art but it is damn fine pop entertainment and the maple syrupy sentiment flows through a sieve rather than plopping on our laps. Ugh, that did not sound right.

A Midland, Indiana football coach, Tom Baker (Steve Martin), has twelve children, a homely wife, Kate (Bonnie Hunt, the ideal Mom), who has written a book about their life raising these kids, and they all live in an isolated rural house. It looks so idyllic that nobody in their right mind would want ever to leave this place. One particular facet about this house that I loved is that the bedrooms seem tiny (including the elder teenager's room, the teen played by Tom Welling, whose ceiling is at a right angle at his bedside). The kitchen looks tiny and definitely lived-in. Anyways, Tom gets the job offer of his lifetime - to coach at his alma mater in Evanston, Illinois. It is his dream job and his wife is on board, but not their kids. Yeah, surprise. The kids all grew up in Midland and do not want to move, especially Welling who does not want to leave behind his girlfriend. Not even more money sways the brooding brood, well, not until they move in to the new house. One kid, bespectacled Mark (Forrest Landis) who feels left out of the family, has a sweet bedroom with open compartments that lead to the basement and outside to the bushes.

Naturally, Tom's ideal dream job and Kate's desire to have a book tour of her optioned book leaves little room and time for family gatherings. Since Kate leaves for a nationwide book tour, Tom is left to care for all the kids and coach the big time football team which means endless hours of work and strategy...well, you see where this is going. When the kids with sour looks on their faces are denied quality time with Dad, well, again, how often have we seen that played out?

I need not remind you that Tom can't handle the chaos of twelve children and that Kate abruptly cancels her book tour, and so on. Yet despite there being no surprises during its calculated plot turns that, not unlike the Time and Motion expert father of the original novel that serves as inspiration for this movie and its original 1950 cinematic adaptation, I still bought this movie hook, line and sinker. The family is likable and goofy (especially Hilary Duff as one of the older daughters), the ongoing chaos of all these kids running into each other is always funny (like the running gag of the falling chandelier) and messy, and even the stereotypically perturbed next-door neighbors are not an unlikable pair of depressing individuals. If one episode laid it on a little too thickly, it would be Mark's dilemma, which includes running away from his family in an Amtrak train and dealing with his pet frog. That last bit at the train station strained credibility a tad - how the hell did the kid get a train ticket unless he stole a credit card or took some cash from Dad? Never mind that flaw, the execution of it was simply too much.

"Cheaper by the Dozen" is just a sweetly innocent trifle of a movie, an excuse for Steve Martin and Bonnie Hunt to parade around and get all family-friendly with a bunch of lovable kids. And I bought it.