Reeling Backward: "Ghost Rider" (2007)

"Ghost Rider" came out the year before "Iron Man," which marks the official kickoff of the Marvel Cinematics Universe aka MCU. This puts it in the company of various other superhero movies based on Marvel Comics, which has been feast-or-famine territory.

These non-MCU films include the X-Men series, the first two Spider-Man iterations, a pair of lackluster Fantastic Four flicks and horrid attempted reboot, "Hulk," "Daredevil," "Elektra," various Punisher movies and the Blade trilogy, which has been deeply memory-holed by people still insisting that "Black Panther" was the first black superhero film.

"Ghost Rider" was pretty well savaged by critics but did solid business, enough to spur a 2011 sequel subtitled "Spirit of Vengeance." That did less business but was made for about half what the first one was, so it's not inconceivable that another one could ride again.

Plus, star Nicolas Cage seems to be riding something of a career resurgence. (Though he has reportedly sworn off the character.)

"Ghost Rider" has the reputation of being total garbage, and while it's not very good I would put it more in the trashy category -- meaning it has redeeming values even as it misses its targets, or takes aim at unworthy ones.

Tonally the movie isn't quite a straight-out comedy, which would put it years ahead of the watershed of "Guardians of the Galaxy," but something closer to self-conscious kitsch. Most of the actors seem to realize they're in a goofy movie and play their scenes with a mischievous twinkle in their eye and a "cashing a check" smirk on their lips.

If someone ever set out to make a superhero movie with the heart of "The Rocky Horror Picture Show," they'd get something pretty close to this.

Strangely the one member of the cast who seems to be more or less playing it straight is Cage himself. He portrays stunt rider/pawn of the devil Johnny Blaze with a sort of sullen Elvis Presley shtick. His Johnny has a dead-eye stare and vaguely Southern warble. He spends most of his time cooped up in his garage/apartment in a ratty neighborhood, poring over books on the occult.

Cage doesn't transform into the flaming-skull, hog-riding antihero until one-third of the way through the film's runtime, which largely feels like wasted time. Here we establish the parameter of Blaze's history: son of a low-rent carnival stunt rider, he made a pact with the devil at age 17 to cure his pop's terminal cancer.

Alas, ol' Mephistopheles (Peter Fonda, extravagantly pompadoured and growly) plays dirty pool and immediately has dad killed during his next performance.

Johnny rides on down the road, leaving behind his once-and-only love, Roxanne. Twenty years later he has become the world's most famous stunt rider, known for leaping his motorcycle recklessly over impossible spans and recovering from seemingly fatal crashes on a routine basis.

His only real friend is Mack (Donal Logue), who arranges all the stunts and leads the crew, but keeps getting fooled by Johnny, such as bringing in military helicopters for him to jump over at a football stadium. I'd call Mack his drinking buddy, except Johnny don't drink, preferring martini glasses full of jelly beans or other sugary treats.

As far as lady loves in superhero movies go, Roxanne is pretty much the bottommost drawer. Played by Eva Mendes in full pout mode, Roxanne became a TV reporter who acts haughty but appears to have very little self-esteem. After Johnny stands her up at a restaurant to go hellfire-burnin', Roxanne downs a bottle of wine and demands that the waiter tell her she's pretty.

Woof.

Wes Bentley practically slithers as the heavy, Blackheart, who's supposed to be the rebel son of the Devil, sort of the way Mephistopheles was for God, or something. He's a shrimpy, pale dude all in black whose superpowers are a freezing touch and a totally douche-y personality.

I'm a little unclear on the metaphysics-slash-mythological backdrop. It seems the Devil creates ghost riders via a contract in blood, granting them powers but forcing them to act as his "bounty hunters" to go after people who are also indebted to them.

Apparently an Old West ghost rider named Carter Slade, a sheriff-turned-villain back when they rode horses instead of motorcycles, refused to uphold his end of the deal, stealing a contract for 1,000 evil souls in the town of San Venganza. Blackheart wants it so he can use their power to take over the world, and the Devil orders Johnny to get it back.

Wait, so the Devil... doesn't want to unleash hell on Earth? That seems a little off-brand for him.

Sam Elliott turns up as the gravedigger at a local cemetery where Johnny wakes up after his first transformation into the Rider. He seems to know an awful lot about the Ghost Rider employee benefit plan, schooling him in his newfound super-powers.

It includes the usual strength and durability upgrades, not to mention turning his head into a flaming skull. This is part of the hellfire Johnny controls, which not only burns but can transform inanimate objects into their melty fire-and-brimstone equivalent. So Johnny's high-handled chopper becomes a screaming, twisted machine with burning wheels and a shotgun turns into a damnation-shooting boomstick.

His favorite weapon is a length of chain he keeps coiled around his torso or the back of his bike, which when enflamed he uses to snag and burn his enemies.

The other biggie power is the Penance Stare, wherein the Rider has an evildoer look into his eyes (sockets, anyway) and they are confronted with the pain of all the innocents hurt over the course of their lives. Basically, they die a horrible death while confronting the stains upon their soul. Blackheart doesn't have one of those, but we shall see how that turns out.

The CGI effects of "Ghost Rider" were criticized at the time, but they look fine to me. The biggest downside is that the Rider doesn't look or sound anything like Nicolas Cage, his voice turning into the usual growly thing with a bit of reverberating ghost quiver.

Generally studios don't want to pay big stars a bunch of money and then hide their beautiful faces. "Iron Man" cleverly solved this with a HUD display inside his helmet so we still see Tony Stark. Here, it basically switches between Cage and the Rider.

I thought I caught Rebel Wilson in an early bit role as a punk girl who is saved by the Rider. Brett Cullen plays Johnny's doomed dad, and Laurence Breuls, Matthew Wilkinson and Daniel Frederiksen play a trio of fallen angels who act as Blackheart's lickspittle minions. Strangely, he never throws them at the Rider at once, preferring one-on-one encounters where they are easily trounced.

Mark Steven Johnson wrote and directed "Ghost Rider" after the relative success of "Daredevil," which sold a decent amount of tickets despite despite being not very good. Neither is this one, though I can't say I hated the film.

It's goofy and doesn't make a whole lot of sense, freely violating its own internal logic whenever the rules don't suit. Example: Carter Slade shows up in the place we most expected him, just so we can get a cool traveling montage of flaming motorcycle rider next to flaming horseman. Then he casually rides off, saying he could only "change one more time," bowing out of the final battle with Blackheart.

Really? How did Carter know this? Did Mephistopheles provide him with a handy readout or some such? I gotta say, he fares pretty well: a lawman who betrayed his badge for greed, ran away from the devil, lived an immortal lifespan, trains up his replacement and then goes for One Last Ride without having to actually sacrifice himself in classic cinematic wingman style.

As eternal damnation scenarios go, that's a pretty sweet gig.

Video review: "Jojo Rabbit"

I’ve been reading anonymous testimonials from Oscar voters who said they wouldn’t even watch “Jojo Rabbit” because they found the premise offensive. With the proviso that they should do their job, it is a tough subject matter, especially when you just blurt it out:

In Nazi Germany, a young boy struggles to make his way after his father goes missing in the war, substituting in his imaginary best friend, Adolf Hitler.

Yeah, I know. Doesn’t exactly sound like the setup for a great comedy, does it?

Give “Jojo” a try, because it’s a terrific movie with wonderful performances -- including Scarlett Johansson as the mother, who deservedly got an Oscar nomination out of it.

Jojo (Roman Griffin Davis) struggles to fit in with the other kids in the Hitler Youth club. Sam Rockwell and Rebel Wilson play hilariously inept/cynical instructors putting the kids through the motions. Jojo gets blown up by a hand grenade during training, suffering scars to his face that make him even more self-conscious.

His only real solace is talking to Hitler, played by Taika Waititi, who also wrote and directed the film. Hitler is sympathetic and helpful, but there’s also a clear note of manipulation to their interactions.

Things grow more complicated when Jojo discovers Elsa (Thomasin McKenzie), a slightly older Jewish girl, living in a hidden space in their house. He’s old enough to realize this means his mom, Rosie, is hiding her there and that if he turned the girl in his family would be broken up. So they slowly start to interact, with the start of a friendship and maybe even an adolescent romance growingt there.

Yes, “Jojo Rabbit” has a little bit of a “quirky for quirky’s sake” vibe to it. But it’s weirdly entertaining, and despite the jokes we find ourselves growing quite attached to these characters.

It may seem strange to feel something for German Nazis, but this is a dark comedy that finds a little bit of humanity in everyone. 

Bonus features include outtakes, three deleted sense, a feature-length commentary track by Waititi and a making-of documentary, “Inside Jojo.”

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Review: "Cats"

Welcome to the 15-minute review exercise! That's how much time I have to write this on my lunch break, so you can feel free to compare it to my more studied musings.

First of all, I am a "Cats" virgin. Which is to say I had no experience or knowledge of the stage musical going in. I knew it had people dressed as cats, there was that one ubiquitous "Memory" song, and... that was it.

My understanding is the film version diverges in ways large and small from the Andrew Lloyd Webber stage version. Victoria, who is more or less a sideshow dancer live, is the main or at least the central character here, playing a castaway kitten who is our eyes and ears into the story.

Played by ballet star Francesca Hayward, a film newcomer, Victoria doesn't have a strong character of her own but spends most of the time mouth agape with awestruck eyes reacting to the stuff around her. Her dancing is unsurprisingly magnificent, as if she is not bound to the earth like the rest of us. She also has a great singing voice, like the peal of a clear, pure bell.

Frankly, I much preferred hearing her than Taylor Swift, who is being played up as the star of the movie. She actually has only one scene, a musical number that's one of the weaker in the movie. She isn't even talking about her own character, but acting as an emcee introducing Macavity, the villain of the piece played by Idris Elba.

Indeed, most of the musical numbers are a showcase for one particular cat to talk about their life and experiences. For example, Ian McKellen plays Gus (short for Asparagus), a decrepit old "theater cat" whose soliloquy is basically him relating past greatness. Like a few other non-singers who were cast, McKellen does the "talk-singing" thing that Jimmy Cagney first made famous.

I suppose I need to talk about the cat outfits. They're good... and weird. The film uses a combination of costumes and makeup with CGI for the ears and tails. They don't look anything like cats, just humans playing as cats. Some are better than others. Elba looks way too big and muscle-y for the get-up.

Weirdly, some of the cats wear shoes while others are barefoot, and they look like human feet rather than cat's paws. Some wear people clothing, hats and jewelry, while some like Victoria are essentially nude, which makes the PG rating from the MPAA seem a little incongruous.

Some actors you will recognize, like Rebel Wilson and James Corden, McKellen and Judi Dench. Others are dancers or musicians you may or may not have heard of, like Jason Derulo as Rum Tum Tugger, a capricious show-off.

The story is... straight bonkers. I couldn't make sense of it while the movie was going, and then when I read a summary of it for research afterwards I thought I had stumbled onto the secret Scientology texts or something.

Set in London we follow the tribe of "Jellicle" street cats who are in the annual process of deciding which of them will be picked to make the journey to the Heaviside Layer and be reborn into a new life. It's unclear if this marks their progression between the nine proverbial cat lives, or the end of them.

Each candidate cat performs their story and the Jellicle leader, Old Deuteronomy (a male on stage but played here by Dench), picks the "winner."

Some cats are in the front of the story, while others come and go. There's a tap-dancing "railway cat" who shows up and then leaves. Some cats get zapped by Macavity and imprisoned on a barge on the Thames, and no one notices them missing. There's twin troublemaker cats and a snobbish besuited cat and... well, you get the idea.

The last big part is Jennifer Hudson as Grizabella, a former "glamor cat" who is shunned by the others for reasons that are never hinted it. She gets to sing the iconic "Memory" song in several reprises, which is a lovely tune but when you listen to the lyrics in the context of the story are totally baffling.

Apparently Grizabella was once beloved and now is lonely and she yearns to be touched. (Sounds like my teen years.) Otherwise she'll have to wander among the lamplights and wait for a new day to begin with more ostracism, and singing.

I'm also just going to throw this out there: Am I the only one who was bothered by the copious snot trails coming out of Hudson's nostrils and streaming into her mouth while she sang? I'm sort of gobsmacked that no makeup person or PA on the set handed her a tissue between takes. Or while they were CGIing in the tails they don't wipe that out.

I like emotion in movies but draw the line at people consuming their own bodily secretions on camera.

The parts of "Cats" that work well work really well. I quite liked Laurie Davidson as Mr. Mistoffelees, a magician cat whose tricks usually don't come off very well and thus he has some pretty crushing self-esteem issues. He gets his own big musical number that, other than "Memory," is probably the best in the flick.

The parts that don't work are embarrassing or just boring. Several of the comedic numbers just aren't very funny; Wilson's is a case in point. A lot of the time I struggled to make out the words the cats were singing, other than they all seem to come down to "Hey I'm a cat so I'm doing cat stuff."

The film ends with a musical number that is so incredibly flat and purposeless that I can't believe in nearly 40 years of "Cats" no one has ever shouted at the curtain call, "Cut that last song, it's terrible."

But again, this is all new territory for me. "Cats" is still kinda magical in a goofy sort of way. No disbelief is suspended but it at least gets set aside for awhile.

Review: "Isn't It Romantic"

“It’s like the Matrix for lonely women!”

“Isn’t It Romantic” is a snarky, fairly smart sendup of the romantic comedy genre that still manages to gleefully indulge in every trope and cliché.

Rebel Wilson plays an unappreciated girl who gets conked on the head and wakes up in a romcom fantasy world, where New York City is a happy place that doesn’t smell like doo-doo. Every man she meets looks her in the eye and offers compliments, and at any moment a musical number is in danger of breaking out.

It’s like hell, and she can’t wait to escape.

Wilson has a lot going for her as a star. She’s been playing sidekick roles for about a decade now, and starting to get into a bit of a typecast as the chubby girl who likes to party and get sassy. Now she finally has a chance to break out as the main attraction, and employ her real Australian accent to boot.

She plays Natalie, a young architect who feels ignored in every aspect of her life. She’s got a crummy apartment and a standoffish neighbor, she’s derided and/or ignored at work and feels like no man is willing to give her the time of day because she’s not model-thin and girly.

“They don’t make movies about girls like us,” Nat’s mom chides in a flashback where she’s relishing Julia Roberts in “Pretty Woman.”

Of course, just a few cubicles away sits Josh (Adam Devine), a goofy but loveable guy who would, quite obviously, love to get her attention. But Nat has “friend-zoned” him because part of her can’t accept the fact that a man could adore her. Even having her assistant/best pal (Betty Gilpin) point this out doesn’t convince her.

When a guy flirts with her on the subway, Nat can’t believe her luck. Turns out he was just luring her out onto the platform to rob her, and after a scuffle receives a helluva concussion. When she wakes up, the whole world is changed: every man she meets is gorgeous and attentive. Every street is lined with flowers. Her apartment is suddenly five times as big and chic. Even her dog looks like it’s had a bath and several months of obedience training.

She’s nearly run over by the limo of Blake (Liam Hemsworth), the gorgeous billionaire who she made a design pitch to the previous day, though he blew her off as the coffee girl. Suddenly he’s entranced by Nat, calling her “beguiling” -- over and over again -- and somehow has even acquired his own Aussie accent in the meantime.

They soon begin a torrid affair, but alas! Because romcoms are always rated PG-13, there’s no sex since as soon as they start to get busy it cuts to the next morning. She can’t even curse her frustration because every swear word gets bleeped out by car horns, alarm buzzers, etc.

Meanwhile, Josh finds himself romanced by a gorgeous swimsuit model/yoga ambassador (Priyanka Chopra). And her next-door neighbor has morphed into a swishy gay sidekick (a terrific Brandon Scott Jones) who seems to have no life of his own other than showing up everywhere to support his favorite girl.

“Isn’t It Romantic” bends the satire as far as it can go without popping the bubble of the fact that the prime audience for this movie is those who love romcoms. It’s the sort film movie that has just enough ambition to make fun of a thing while also reveling in being it.

Review: "How to Be Single"

"How to Be Single" is part raunchy sex comedy, and that part's fun, at least for awhile. But it also wants its moments of tenderness and wisdom, and that stuff is just pure death, man.

In addition, it sets up a female protagonist and her off-the-hook wingwoman, and then just as we're settling in with them and their man troubles, it introduces a whole other heroine, and throws in a sister for the first woman to boot. Suddenly we're dickering around with these two new ladies and their romantic contretemps, plus the main gal, and there are so many storylines and random hook-ups with dudes we lose track of who's on first.

The end result is a confused mash-up of "Love, Actually" and "The Hangover." If that sounds like an impossible mix of mutually exclusive tones, that's because it is.

"Single" is based on the debut novel of Liz Tuccillo, adapted for the screen by Abby Kohn, Marc Silverstein and Dana Fox. Christian Ditter directed, and while normally I'm not much of a player in the identity politics game, the use of a male director for a story on dating from a decidedly feminine perspective feels wrongheaded.

The women wind up as feminized versions of male characters, carousing and partying and waking up in bed with people they don't recognize. Except sometimes they show a little regret afterward, whereas the guys wouldn't.

(And considering how much sex these characters have with random strangers, a more credible title would've been, "How to Deal with a Tsunami of STDs.")

Dakota Johnson plays Alice, a sweet girl from Wesleyan University who spent all four years in a relationship with Josh (Nicholas Braun), who's tall and nice and cute but not, y'know, vroom! So she kicks him to the curb when she moves to New York City for a new start. Officially it's a "break," not a break-up, so they can try life as singles to see if they really want to be together.

Alice gets a job in a posh law firm as a paralegal, where she meets Robin, played by the incomparable Rebel Wilson. Wilson always seems to play the same role, yet we never tire of it: the audacious party girl whose orbital confidence wows the boys and divides the girls, who either dismiss her or become her bestie. Alice opts for the latter.

Segue to a bunch of scenes of the pair dancing, drinking, sexing. Alice's first conquest is Tom (Anders Holm), an agreeable bartender whom Robin introduces as the training wheels runway to a new life of debauchery. After their coupling, Tom offers his own pointers on how to avoid emotional entanglements, such as keeping no food or running water in his apartment, so overnight guests have to leave for sustenance.

Then into Tom's bar walks Lucy (Alison Brie), using the free WiFi to maintain her 10 dating site profiles. She thinks she's got this whole mate selection thing down to a science, feeding potential dates into a spreadsheet. Meanwhile, the scruffy pourer across the bar from her might just be her ideal match after all. (When he's not screwing Alice, that is.)

Alice briefly lives with her (implausibly) older sister Meg, an Ob/Gyn doctor played by Leslie Mann who secretly hates babies but even more secretly wants one of her own. She eventually gets pregnant via an anonymous sperm donor but then attracts the eye of a much younger man (Jake Lacy), leading to some predictable prevaricating about the source of her burgeoning belly.

Occasionally the movie remembers to go back to Alice, who's tempted to reunite with Josh, then gets in deep with a slightly older widower (Damon Wayans Jr.) with a young daughter. There's one scene where the guy shows his kid pictures of her mommy for the very first time. It's genuinely moving, but a completely head-whipping changeup from what comes before and after.

I haven't read Tuccillo's book, but to my understanding its protagonist is a publicist pushing 40 who sets off to write a book about what it's like being a single woman in different parts of the world. Which makes "How to Be Single" the latest movie to buy the rights to a book just because somebody liked the title, and throw everything between the covers into the trash.

Review: "Pain & Gain"

Here is a movie that is just one painful-to-watch misfire after another. It's about a trio of lunkhead bodybuilders who stumble through a series of increasingly grisly crimes under the hot Miami sun. And it's directed by Michael Bay -- you know, "Transformers, "Armageddon," etc.? And it's a comedy.

Well, at least in theory.

In actuality, there's barely a titter in this overlong, dull and dimwitted tale. I like to brag that I've never walked out of a movie, but "Pain & Gain" tested my mettle to the max.

I am glad I hung around, because the last 15 minutes or so actually manages to find some kind of groove, where the comedy is mostly intentional and the satire of the 1990s up-with-me movement plucks a few ironical notes. It hardly makes the joyless couple of hours that came before any less tolerable.

Mark Wahlberg plays Daniel Lugo, who sees physical perfection as the answer to a life of disappointment and second-tier status. He spends his days as a personal trainer to the rich and obnoxious, yearning to join them. His sidekicks are Paul and Adrian (Dwayne Johnson and Anthony Mackie), fellow iron-pumpers without a plan, until Daniel supplies a homicidal one.

At first we think this might be a send-up of the muscle craze of the last few decades, particularly the steroid-happy era when bigger was always considered better, not matter what sort of strange chemicals people shot into their bodies to achieve freakishly oversized pecs and biceps.

When we first see Lugo, he's doing upside-down stomach crunches on the roof of the Sun Gym. "I'm hot!" he shouts to himself as encouragement. "I'm big!"

But Bay and his screenwriters, Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely, end up fetishizing the very warped culture they're trying to mock. Wahlberg, Johnson and to a lesser extent Mackie are pumped up to a ridiculous degree, and Bay's camera lovingly caresses every bulge and curve.

Between this movie and "Magic Mike," it's been a banner year for engorged, tanned and waxed male flesh.

Lugo and his crew hatch a plan to kidnap slimy local businessman Victor Kershaw (Tony Shalhoub) and force him to sign over his beachside mansion, big boat and bank accounts to them. Despite, rather than because of, their best efforts they eventually succeed, and find life in the fast lane isn't as advertised.

The actors spend a lot of time doing motor-mouthed deliveries of dialogue that are supposed to be funny but just occupy time and space. For Lugo, his tirades are mash-ups of get-rich motivational gimmicks and sports mumbo-jumbo. Adrian dreams of landing a big, beautiful girlfriend despite the, uh, diminutive effects juicing has wrought on his body.

Paul is the most interesting of the trio, a brutal-looking ex-con who's recently sobered up and found Jesus. He ends up bonding with Victor while purportedly guarding him, which leads to complications when their scheme reaches its only logical denouement.

The most unbelievable thing about "Pain & Gain" is that it's actually based on a true story. The fact that they managed to make a movie based on such a wacky premise so limp is almost impressive in a twisted way.