Tag Archives: road trip movies

The Sweet Life

Chris Messina plays Kenny, the world’s saddest ice cream peddler. He mopes around Chicago in his stupid black bowtie, eventually ending up on a bridge that’s perfect for throwing oneself off of. EXCEPT the bridge is a little crowded: Lolita (Abigail Spencer) is also there, and she’s feeling kind of territorial about her favourite suicide spot. But before you know it, they’re bonding over their mutual depression and the crappy therapist they have in common. They don’t call their respective suicides off, but they do decide that no death is complete without one last road trip – and aren’t the bridges in San Francisco that much nicer for hosting one’s imminent death?

So off they drive in a stolen Mercedes. They have a cross-country adventure that only two people determined to die could possibly have: madcap, in a non-urgent way. The script doesn’t feel compelled to follow the usual formula for a road trip movie, so it’s sprinkled with surprising pit stops and hijinks. Kenny and Lolita have nothing to lose, so anything is possible.

I usually find Chris Messina quite charming, but he’s dialed way down in The Sweet Life, playing a man longing to die. It sounds quite grim but actually Messina and Spencer manage to keep things fairly light most of the time, though I’m not sure that’s a compliment. The actors are talented enough to try to convey more than the script itself allows, but the truth is, the movie treats mental illness pretty flippantly, as if suicidal ideation is just a means to a meet-cute. It also sort of implies that their mental health problems are directly attributable to one specific person, and confronting that one person should cure them for good — right?

If you aren’t too concerned about the movie’s messaging about mental health, it’s a quirky little indie dramedy that’s a great character exercise for two fearless actors. Their struggle to connect feels real, the emotional dissonance sometimes a challenge, but The Sweet Life is not as hopeless as it sounds.

Mr. Pig

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Ambrose’s farm is failing. He and his daughter are estranged. He doesn’t have anywhere else to be, so he and his friend Howard take a road trip down to Mexico. We get some solid, buddy-road-trip stuff out of Ambrose and Howard: questionable roadside food cards, cold beers, 000070-26554-16618_mrpig_still1_dannyglover__bydamingarca_-_h_2016 reminiscences. It’s only a little wonky that Howard is Ambrose’s prized pig.

Howard is the last of a hallowed pig lineage, and Ambrose (Danny Glover) is making this illegal road trip to drop him off where he’ll be treasured and treated right, with the son of his old partner. It doesn’t hurt that the son is willing to pay what only Ambrose thinks Howard is worth. But when the incredibly porcine duo arrive, Ambrose finds his old partner’s farm to be thoroughly modernized, and that’s no compliment. It’s a factory farm that treats live animals like end products, so of course Ambrose balks. The deal is off: he and Howard hit the road once again.

This is when Ambrose’s very concerned daughter Eunice (Maya Rudolph) appears on the scene, but she cannot simply drive Ambrose and Howard back home because US customs just won’t allow it (well duh, they make you throw out orange slices for the love of god). So now it’s a father- mr-pig-movie daughter-hog road trip movie, only there won’t be any touching redemption in this minivan. Ambrose just isn’t the type.

Mr. Pig wallows. It’s slow going. Diego Luna directs, and he’s got a fine eye for the beauty of Mexico, I’ll give him that. We see a side of it that we don’t usually glimpse in movies, the less cliched part of Mexico. The character study, however, is extremely low key. Too low key, you might be forgiven for thinking. Both Glover and Rudolph do their damnedest, but there’s just not enough bacon to go around.

Beyond The Grave

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Beyond the Grave (Portos dos Mortos) is a post-apocalyptic indie sensation out of Brazil, where it successfully made the rounds of film festivals. It’s about a police officer looking for a serial killer, more or less. The catch: life is governed by magic and madness in this new reality. The serial killer is possessed. The cop is fueled by vengeance. This is not a tale of good vs. evil, but rather, the bad vs. the very bad.

The cop picks up a couple of teenagers on his travels – a risky thing to do, he knows. But they too are searching for someone who did them wrong. The cop isn’t much of a talker but luckily the boy can provide both sides of any conversation. And the bonus: the cop has a gun without bullets, and the kid has a lone bullet.

During their road trip they pass what look like zombies to me, but low-budget zombies you’d see trick-or-treating at your house come Halloween. It’s hard to embrace horror when the effects are too cumbersome to be scary. There are some genuinely interesting visuals here, most of them blood-soaked, but it’s not enough to make up a frustrating act in story-telling. The quiet serves the story well though, the audience learning much of what we know from a constantly cracking radio rather than any character.

I was a little upset, and by a little upset I mean and I was REALLY FUCKING UPSET when a zombie pulled out a gun. I mean, doesn’t that violate everything we know about zombies? And how do the zombies have guns when the cop’s is useless? I know I just mentioned two paragraphs ago that this post-apocalyptic world is governed by magic, I just didn’t expect the ‘magic’ to be ‘stupidity.’ My mistake.

So I lost interest in the movie quickly after this, especially when some super cheesy music was played over a montage where the teenagers learn to shoot a gun…that has no bullets.

So this movie is probably only to be enjoyed by those who really love zombie flicks – foreign, subtitled, low-budget, fantasy, road-tripping zombie movies with a western twist. Which I can’t say that I am.

The Fundamentals of Caring

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I am having trouble sorting out my feelings for this movie: on the one hand, it’s plump with clichés like an overcooked wiener in a bun of unsubtlety. But that’s no ordinary mustard on this hot dog; it’s the fancy hand-pumped kind I got “on tap” from Maille in Paris, a beautiful mustard with Chablis and black truffles.

Okay, I took that metaphor too far. My point is (and I do have one): this movie the-fundamentals-of-caring hits a LOT of “road trip” clichés coupled with a lot of “my disabled buddy” clichés. And it has Selena Gomez. But it’s still offbeat and oddly charming and yes, this wiener won me over.

Ben (Paul Rudd) is a downtrodden man completing his training in caregiving, where the motto is, “Care, but not too much.” And that’s his plan. This is just a job. But he winds up working for an 18 year old young man named Trevor (Craig Roberts) with Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy. A progressive loss of muscle function means that Trevor’s in a wheel chair with limited use of his arms. The disease has NOT touched Trevor’s razor wit, his mean sense of humour, or his nasty predilection for pranks. This isn’t going to be an easy babysitting job after all – especially when the two hit the open road with a specially-equipped van full of drugs and life-sustaining equipment. Oh the fun they’ll have literally risking Trevor’s life to see some lousy American road side attractions.

Paul Rudd is the fancy mustard. I adore him. 60% of the time, I love him every time. I mean, let’s be serious for a moment. Is there fundamentalsofcaring-roberts-rudd-bovine-770x470 a single person on the planet who doesn’t love him? He might just be the most universally beloved actor that America has ever or will ever produce. He’s adorable. He’s still playing adorable and he’s middle aged!

Writer-director Rob Burnett manages to find a few new nuggets among the usual disability tropes. He’s not afraid of dark humour, but this movie still manages to be fairly lightweight. And I have to give him mad props for finding a way to use a Leonard Cohen song. I could hardly believe my little ears; they turned pink in utter delight.

This is the perfect little movie to accompany a glass of sangria at the end of a summer night – easy watching for easy sipping. Hot dogs are never easy eating for me but I rate this movie 4 gourmet all-beef wieners out of 5. It’s on Netflix right now.

Hello, My Name is Frank

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Laura’s Mom just died and before her death, she promised her mother that she’d definitely DEFINITELY not miss the road trip with her friends the summer before college. There’s just one little hitch: Frank.

Laura’s mother was Frank’s caregiver. Frank has Tourette’s. Some might say severe Tourette’s, both physical and verbal. He’s also reclusive and withdrawn in his spare time. As you 563769162_640 can imagine, replacing Frank’s caregiver proves to be a Challenge with a capital C. Super awkward solution: bring foul-mouthed, 59 year old Frank on a road trip with a trio of recent high school grads. It’s the perfect plan to allow Laura to continue to suppress her grief, undermine Frank’s independence, and completely ruin what was supposed to be a fun and carefree vacation. Everyone’s thrilled.

Garrett M. Brown is Frank, and he manages to do that rare thing where he reflects the humour in the situation without disrespecting the disease or the person who has it. Frank is a very real person and we constantly see beyond his disease until we eventually don’t see it at all.

The movie has the support of the Tourette Association of America who stated “We are proud to support projects such as Hello, My Name Is Frank. This film portrays Frank as an authentic, relatable character and helps the audience see the human being behind the Tourette.” That’s a pretty important endorsement but you and I both know that any movie, no matter how noble, must also be watchable. Does this one pass the test? This Asshole says yes. It’s an indie film with frankshot-gilrs-grave-helmet800 blockbuster-caliber acting. Brown deserves props but the young actresses (Rachel DiPillo, Hayley Kiyoko, Mary Kate Wiles) surprisingly don’t suck. Does that sound cynical? Well, I am. So when I come across fresh talent that actually IS talent, I’m chuffed. First-time feature director Dale Peterson is a little heavy-handed at times but otherwise keeps the actors’ chemistry in focus and lets the movie do its thing. And for a little icing on this cupcake of a film: the soundtrack is solid. Really solid.

Road Trip Movies

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Wanderer’s timing has been spooky lately. The Assholes fly out to sunny California today and will be taking a road trip of our own on Sunday along the beautiful Pacific Coast Highway. Perfect time to be thinking of our favourite road trip movies.

Thelma and Louise (1991)– A road trip to a friend’s cabin in the mountains quickly goes off the rails for Thelma and Louise when Louise shoots an attempted rapist to death before they’ve even reached their destination. The trip goes from vacation to nightmare to something much more as the two realize they wouldn’t go back to their old lives even if they could. Nothing like the life of a fugitive to make you finally feel free.

Sideways (2004)– I made a deal with myself that I would only pick one Alexander Payne movie this week. As much as I love his last four movies- all road trip movies- Sideways was an easy decision, given that we will be doing a Napa Valley wine tour of our own tomorrow. Hopefully we’ll have more fun than Miles (Paul Giamatti), a depressed alcoholic and failed novelist. Sideways is a hopeful but often painful comedy that to this day still makes me feel a little guilty every time I order Merlot.

Due Date (2010)– Director Todd Phillips and star Zach Galifianakis’s follow-up to 2009’s The Hangover was highly anticipated and very disappointing to many but I have always stood by it. Galifianakis’ Ethan Tremblay and Robert Downey Jr.’s Peter Highman are forced to drive cross-country together after they’re both improbably kicked off an airplane. Both stars play off of each other beautifully and the gags mostly work but what I love is how the story is constructed around what’s going on in the lives of these two men instead of around a bunch of setpieces and jokes. Downey is particularly good as his performance hints at a more real pain than he has been able to manage even in his recent “dramas” like The Judge.

The Trip to Italy

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This is really neither movie nor documentary. It’s just two guys, two friends, obviously, who happen to be a little bit famous, taking a road trip, eating some food, and cracking some jokes.

The first one, The Trip, features the pair (Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon) driving all over England and chatting about their excellent dinners while trying to one-up each other with impersonations (the Michael Caine is a personal favourite). In The Trip to Italy, the same is attempted, but this time the food is completely forgotten. Some of the film takes places incidentally in restaurants, and there are a couple of obligatory kitchen shots, but not a single dish is named, and none are commented upon other than perhaps a raised eyebrow if something is particularly good. So if you’re looking for recommendations, look elsewhere.

I love Steve Coogan. I could listen to him carry on literally all day long. I don’t know his parter in crime as well; I think Brydon is primarily known on the other side of the pond. However, it is important to note that they are playing “lightly fictionalized” versions of themselves. I don’t know why, and I don’t care for the device. If you don’t want to incorporate your genuine personal lives, then don’t. Brydon’s Hugh Grant impression is much better than his I’m-having-an-affair impresion. Coogan pretends to bring along his fake son (same fake son for the first one, so at least the continuity’s there) but I’m not sure to what end. These two are comedic talents of the first-rate. They can sit and improvise and entertain each other (and us) like nobody’s business. They riff off each other enormously well, and it reminds me so much of great dinners with my own friends, the whole thing just dissolving into something absurd. Coogan pretends to be an egoist with a superiority complex, and Brydon this time is less the stool and more ambitious for his own self.

There are some prepared bits as well (though there’s no credit for a script) – Alanis Morissette’s 1995 album Jagged Little Pill is apparently the only CD in their Mini convertible, and when they’re not singing along in earnest, they’re coming up with new, improved lyrics for her most famous songs.

I don’t think it’s likely to be just anyone’s cuppa, but I like these films. The Trip to Italy doesn’t quite manage to recapture the magic (but don’t worry, there’s more MIchael Caine) and I did miss actual commentary on the food – because wasn’t that the “fictionalized” point? At any rate, they make with the funny, and they make funny well. And maybe that’s point enough.

Wristcutters: A Love Story

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Don’t worry, it’s not as depressing as it sounds.

This is what I was promised when a copy of Wristcutters was eagerly thrust into my hand at my local video store. I cautiously took her at her word but I was worried. Of all the possible ways for someone to “off themself”, wristcutting is my least favourite- probably because of my squeamishness about blood. So, if this is not only going to be a movie about someone cutting themselves but SEVERAL people cutting themselves (as the title seems to promise), then we’re going to have a problem.

It turns out that all the bleeding happens during the opening credits. Depressed and heartbroken after a break-up, Zia (Patrick Fugit) takes his own life but not before throughly cleaning his apartment. To his dismay, the last thing he sees is one lone dust bunny in the corner of his bathroom. It’s a powerful scene in what I interpreted as the last seconds of panic once it’s too late to go back.

The rest of the film takes place in a strange corner of the afterlife set aside specifically for those who offed themselves (the movie’s words, not mine). It’s not quite Hell. As Zia explains, everything is just the same as before, just a little bit worse. They still have to work, pump gas, clean the apartment etc. Everything looks the same, just a little grayer. And no one can smile anymore.

I was not misled. Wristcutters is not as depressing as it sounds. Wristcutting- and suicide in general- are mostly incidental to the story and the discussion of the topic is limited to a game that people play in this world where people try and guess how someone did it (usually accompanied by a darkly comic flashback). Even this device is quickly abandoned when Zia hits the road with a hitchiker looking to appeal her case and be sent back to the land of the lving (Shannyn Sossamon) and a failed Russian musician with nothing better to do (a very funny Shea Whigham).

Wristcutters is often funny and gets a lot of mileage out of the chemistry between Fugit and Whigham but Wristcutters felt like a missed opportunity. So many of us are touched by suicide and yet most people aren’t comfortable really talking about it. What better way to talk about it than in a comedy with a setting where everyone has this one thing in common. I found myself ironically wishing that it was more depressing or at least more sick, more daring in what it was willing to address directly, and more creative. Apart from the tone, which is more self-consciously quirky than actually unique, we get a surprisingly generic road movie and love story with the tragedy of teen suicide merely providing the context andn eye-catching title.