Another Street Fighter Letdown

On the streets of Bangkok, crime boss Bison instigates a wave of violence in the slum districts, grabbing power and land no matter what the costs to its residents. His ruthless tactics are met by a team of heroes consisting of Chun-Li, a half-Caucasian/half-Asian beauty who gave up a life of privilege to become a street fighter, battling for those who cannot fight for themselves; her kung fu master, Gen, once a feared criminal, who now fights for the forces of good; Interpol cop Charlie Nash, who has tracked the crime boss all over the world, and Nash's partner, gangland homicide detective Maya Sunee in Street Fighter: The Legend Of Chun-Li.

You'd expect one thing out of a movie with the words "street" and "fighter" in the title, and one of the greatest failures of Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li is how very little fighting actually goes on in its modestly convoluted plot about a young woman getting her revenge on a murderous Irish real-estate investor. Though to be fair, it does in fact feature more street fighting than 1994's Street Fighter, and this might be the only thing I have to say in favor of the new film over its predecessor. Both films, as you likely know if you're even vaguely interested in either of them, are based upon the tremendously successful Street Fighter games produced by Capcom. Both of them are also incredibly bad adaptations, even by the standard of video game movies. I don't honestly understand how difficult it can possibly be to write a screenplay for a fighting game movie: there's an underground tournament happening somewhere in southeast Asia, several people show up to take part, some of them are revealed over the course of the week or however long to have vengeful motives on the tournament's promoter. Good God, if Paul W.S. Anderson could do that right, in the 1995 Mortal Kombat movie, anyone with basic literacy ought to be able to do it. But no, in Legend of Chun-Li, we get no tournament of any kind, indeed nothing so much as a cameo from any of the dozen or so classic Street Fighter characters: we get a boilerplate "orphan out for revenge" plot that would function identically in every possible respect save the character names if you cut out the video game entirely. I'll not bore you with the details, but in essence, there's this talented pianist/martial arts fancier named Chun-Li (Kristin Kreuk) whose father was kidnapped many years ago for unknown reasons by a vicious man named Bison (Neal McDonough). Bison is an international criminal who, when we catch up with him in the present, has just overthrown the crimelord of Bangkok. His objective? Something something massive profits for razing the slums. Anyway, after her mom dies of cancer, Chun-Li travels to Bangkok and trains with the martial arts master Gen (Robin Shou), before finally confronting Bison and his lackeys over a MacGuffin that doesn't really follow any particular kind of story logic, but then, it is a MacGuffin after all. I'll cut to the chase: this is a wildly functional crappy action movie in nearly all respects, with a particularly grinding screenplay. The whole "Bison buys up the slums" plotline is a classic example of a screenwriting having the bones of a political idea (bad people want to exploit the poor), but not enough practical knowledge of the system he's describing to make sense of it all (anyone who's seen the film and can explain how exactly Shadaloo - no longer a crime syndicate, but an investment group - is going to make all that money, let me know). And of course there are the usual sprinkling of absurdities, my favorite of which is probably the unanswered question of why, if Bison's Irish missionary parents died when he was a baby, leaving him in a Thai orphanage, does he speak with a rich Irish brogue? And OMG, the other villains! Michael Clarke Duncan as Balrog? Smart. Taboo from the Black Eyed Peas as Vega? Stupid! Any fan of the games will tell you that Vega is a white male with blond hair. BLOND! LOL But, only in two respects does Legend of Chun-Li completely collapse. The first of these is Kristin Kreuk, of TV's Smallville, giving one of the most listless performances I have ever seen onscreen. Watching the trailers, it always seemed odd that Kreuk was never really present, nor did she ever speak; I wondered if that spoke to a reduced role in the film. HAH! The opposite, in fact, thanks in no small part to one of the most unnecessary voice-overs in a long time (one of those "because of what you just saw - which I'll describe in full - I had to go to this place that you're about to see" deals), giving us just about all the Kreuk we can handle. The real reason she wasn't in the advertisements, it turns out, is because she was apparently deceased for the entirety of the shoot, boasting one expression, one tone of voice, and only the most unexceptional ability to fake martial arts moves before her double steps in. The other truly horrid element of the film is the pair of fumbling cops out to stop Bison on their own: INTERPOL agent Charlie Nash (Chris Klein) and Bangkok police detective Maya Sunee (Moon Bloodgood). The "pair of cops working toward the same goal as the protagonist, but poorly" subplot has a long history, and it's nearly always the worst part of whatever film it features in; and yet the adventures of Charlie and Maya is exceptionally awful, as bad as the trope has been since its anti-heyday in the 1980s. This is mostly due to Chris Klein, who actually manages to save Kreuk from being the worst member of the cast. His performance is all oil and slimy charm, as though Nash were a globetrotting crime-fighting, car insurance salesman. Rarely do the movies present us with a putative hero so instantly repellent as this figure, whose very first moments in the film consist of leering at his new partner's ass. Thank all good things in the universe that the cops weren't also the comic relief, for that would have been more than my soul could have handled. The worst part about the film? It's just bad. The first Street Fighter, with a dying Raul Julia and Jean-Claude Van Damme failing utterly to sound remotely like an American, is a marvelous bit of campy fun, the kind of mid-'90s silly action picture that's goofy and idiotic and a breeze to watch (it's almost the equal of another famously wrong-headed video game adaptation, the bad-acid-trip marvel that is Super Mario Bros.). Legend of Chun-Li is just a boring, bad action movie - which, to be fair, means that it's one of the best video game adaptations ever made. Still, I can't imagine that anyone could get any legitimate kind of joy from this slog of a movie, which at 97 minutes feels twice as long, and can't even manage a full martial arts scene that's worth a damn. As a long time fan of the video games, I was highly disappointed. This just barely gets a 2 on my "Go See" scale.

I'm a Shopaholic And I Gladly Admit It!

In Confessions of a Shopaholic, Rebecca Bloomwood (Isla Fisher) is a sweet and charming New York City girl who has a tiny, little problem that is rapidly turning into a big problem: she's hopelessly addicted to shopping and drowning in a sea of debt. While Rebecca has dreams of working for a top fashion magazine, she can't quite get her foot in the door-that is, until she snags a job as an advice columnist for a new financial magazine published by the same company. Overnight, her column becomes hugely popular, turning her into an overnight celebrity. But when her compulsive shopping and growing debt issues threaten to destroy her love life and derail her career, she struggles to keep it all from spiraling out of control--and is ultimately forced to reevaluate what's really important in life.

Making a shiny Hollywood film about the perils of shopping is like sending an alcoholic to buy wine for your party. Here, silks glow, furs rustle and getting in debt is fun and glamorous, which is why most of this film is about the slide into negative equity. Getting out again is drawn-out and dull. Here, it takes about 15 minutes. Still, if you want gritty realism, see an arthouse movie. Or shop in a pound store. As journalist Rebecca, Isla Fisher is silly and adorable – just like this adaptation of Sophie Kinsella’s novel (transposed, naturally, from London to New York). A fashion desperado with more overdue credit card bills than she has little black dresses, she gets a job under sexy Luke Brandon (Hugh Dancy) at his unsexy financial magazine hoping she can claw her way up to the company’s flagship publication, Alette. This is a fabulous alternative reality: editors of fashion magazines drop everything to take rookies shopping and even the debt collector has a sense of humour. And yet there’s reason beneath the nonsense. Rebecca is an addict: she lies and hurts those around her. She doesn’t even look right in her finery; unlike Carrie Bradshaw, she clumps along in her Louboutins like she has no right to them. And of course, she doesn’t. She’s a perfectly packaged product of the last boom, and the film knows so. Not that that gets in the way of having lots of escapist fun with the realities of Rebecca’s own private credit crunch. There’s a lesson there, and it’s not how to accessorise a Prada mini-dress. Mostly, though, "Shopaholic" is about fun. The fun starts with ridiculous costumes (most of the time, the bottom half of Rebecca looks like she's going to the Oscars and the top half looks like she's on her way to a hoedown). Director P.J. Hogan, whose "My Best Friend's Wedding" and "Muriel's Wedding" demonstrate his gift for fantasy-world farce, also keeps things moving at a brisk, bright pace. And he has chosen actors who can, like drops of vanilla, make a big impact in tiny quantities: Kristin Scott Thomas' fashionista is as delicate as a hummingbird, Joan Cusack is sweet as Rebecca's mom and John Goodman is just plain brilliant in a couple of scenes as Rebecca's wise dad. All of it hangs together because Fisher brings so much warmth to the potentially annoying Rebecca. Here's hoping her career goes more in the direction of "Blonde's" Reese Witherspoon than "Clueless' " Alicia Whatshername. Yes, Confessions of a Shopaholic's release in theaters seems ill-timed due to the current disastrous financial predicament we find ourselves in. And yes, this shopaholic's wasteful ways would have been better suited for a film released 10 years ago. But Fisher, under the direction of romantic comedy veteran PJ Hogan (Muriel's Wedding,My Best Friend's Wedding), makes us connect with this film that's ultimately about taking responsibility and admitting your faults. But put aside what it's about, forget trying to interpret the message, and just take Confessions of a Shopaholic for what it is – a goofy, likeable enough chick flick. Even I have a soft spot for chick flicks and this is one of them. A designer 4 on my "Go See" scale.

A Throwback That Should've Been Thrown Back

A spaceship crash in 1957 California leads to the escape of the Ghota, a murderous monster bent on destroying all life forms. In order to capture the Ghota, a benevolent alien named Urp takes over the body of an astronomer (Eric McCormack) and enlists the aid of a waitress named Tammy (Jenni Baird) . But, unless Urp and Tammy are successful, mankind is doomed in Alien Trespass.

Coming soon to a theater and drive-in near you: Alien Trespass, a thrilling sci-fi adventure from three-time Golden Globe winner and five time Emmy Award-nominated director/producer R.W. Goodwin (The X-Files) and brought to you in glorious color! Alien Trespass is a homage to the great science-fiction movies of the 1950s, the post-war boom period when the country was filled with great hope and prosperity and, at the same time, lived under the threat of nuclear annihilation. The story begins in 1957 in the star-filled skies above California's Mojave Desert. It is a special night for noted astronomer Ted Lewis (Eric McCormack), who is preparing a special dinner for his beautiful, adoring wife Lana (Jody Thompson) to celebrate their wedding anniversary. In another part of town, Tammy (Jenni Baird), a waitress at the small local diner with big plans for the future, looks out her window and is excited to see a shooting star, which she takes as a good sign for her dreams. But what Dr. Lewis and Tammy assume is a shooting star, is really an alien spaceship. The fiery ball hurtles toward earth and crash-lands on a butte in the desert. The only witnesses are Dick (Andrew Dunbar) and Penny (Sarah Smyth) who are necking in a nearby lovers' lane. A tall, metallic alien named Urp emerges from the craft unharmed, alarmed to discover that the monstrous Ghota, who was also on board, has escaped. The menacing one-eyed creature's unquenchable appetite could mean the end of civilization as we know it. Urp is the only one who knows how to stop the hideous extra-terrestrial, but to do so he has to take over the body of Dr. Lewis and enlist the aid of Tammy, the only human in town willing to believe and trust in his mission. The local police - including police Chief Dawson (Dan Lauria) and officer Vernon (Robert Patrick) - are confirmed skeptics and offer little help. Together, Urp and Tammy must hunt down the Ghota and neutralize it before it consumes all the local inhabitants and uses the human fuel to multiply and conquer the world! Some snacks, or maybe a stiff drink, might have increased the fun level for Alien Trespass, a deeply silly movie that pays homage to the 50s classics in a way that would be welcome at Disney World. Director R.W. Goodwin and writer Steven P. Fisher have concocted a deadpan homage to the flying saucers of the past, and while it's clear they love this genre a whole lot, there's no telling what exactly we're supposed to appreciate about it. Sure, the overblown dialogue and deliberately bad special effects are fun for a while, but watching the trailer for the original Day the Earth Stood Still would probably give you the same amount of laughs. The production is lucky to have found Eric McCormack to play the lead, jutting out his square jaw and playing both the dashing astronomer Ted and the alien creature Urp, who takes over Ted's body when his spaceship crashes outside a desert California town. But Urp isn't alone-- he's accompanied by a big blue monster called a Ghota, and while the Ghota chews its way through most of the town's innocents, Urp and a clever waitress named Tammy (Baird) try to track him down and save the world. This small town is populated by all kinds of oddballs, including an intense cop played by typically intense Robert Patrick, a weathered cop played by typically weathered Dan Lauria, and a gaggle of fresh-faced teenagers who seem to be giving deliberately bad performances. They and a handful of others are threatened, and some devoured, by the Ghota, and if there are any other subplots beyond that one, I've already forgotten them by now, a few days after the screening. One subplot does stick, being Tammy's desire to get out of town and make something of herself. Either because Baird is so gifted or because Tammy is the only character who seems remotely real, her emotional connection to Ted/Urp sticks with you, and her moment of triumph at the end genuinely sweet. On the other hand there's Lana (Thompson), Ted's sexpot wife, who makes bedroom eyes at the camera and seems shoved into frame directly from a pinup. Alien Trespass might have been able to capture a little more of that innocent monster movie fun if it had stuck with effects more like the Ghota, which is a goofy rubber suit making no attempts at realism. But the flying saucer at the beginning is CGI, as are occasional flames, and the movie's claim of being a "forgotten classic" gets less believable as the effects start looking more realistic. CGI is probably cheaper now than even the worst looking fake blood of yesteryear, but the cheesy special effects were always a key part of the fun. There's fun to be had in Alien Trespass, especially for anyone who's already seen all the old classics and is dying for a new one. But most anyone else would probably be better served watching one of the actual originals. This gets a 2 on my "Go See" scale for just being too damn cheesy for my tastes.

Hurt My Daughter? I'm Gonna Kill YOU!

The night she arrives at the remote Collingwood lakehouse, Mari (Sara Paxton) and her friend are kidnapped by a prison escapee and his crew. Terrified and left for dead, Mari’s only hope is to make it back to parents John and Emma (Tony Goldwyn and Monica Potter). Unfortunately, her attackers unknowingly seek shelter at the one place she could be safe. And when her family learns the horrifying story, they will make three strangers curse the day they came to The Last House on the Left.

Masters of horror Wes Craven and Sean Cunningham revisit their landmark film that launched Craven's directing career and influenced decades of horror films to follow: The Last House on the Left. Bringing one of the most notorious thrillers of all time to a new generation, they produce the story that explores how far two ordinary people will go to exact revenge on the sociopaths who harmed their child. The remake of Wes Craven's notorious rape-revenge shocker is a crowd-pleaser rather than a grim moral lesson about the price of doing very bad things, and as long as the downbeat lead-in doesn't put them off, the third-act payoff will have audiences cheering. Pampered, slightly naïve Mari Collingwood (Sara Paxton), who's spending the summer with her parents, Jack and Emma (Tony Goldwyn and Monica Potter), at the family's isolated lake house, hooks up with her pal Paige (Martha MacIsaac) at the general store where Paige works. City girl Mari is a straight-arrow who channels her energy into competitive swimming, while the small-town Paige is a little wilder and less goal-oriented; when scruffy, baby-faced stranger Justin (Spencer Treat Clark) offers to sell them some good weed, it's Paige who leaps at the offer. Mari tags along in the spirit of being a good sport, and frets when she realizes the rundown motel where Justin and his family are staying is out of cell-phone range—she's the kind of kid who actually checks in with her mom when she says she will. A storm gathers, Paige and Justin party and Mari hangs out gamely, but the fun screeches to a halt when Justin's family comes home early. Justin's fugitive dad is a sadistic sociopath named Krug (Garret Dillahunt), who was en route to a maximum-security prison when his brother, Frank (Aaron Paul), and girlfriend, Sadie (Riki Lindhome), engineered his escape, cold-bloodedly killing two police officers in the process. The fugitives are big news and their pictures are everywhere: They need to get out of town fast and need Mari's SUV, but the girls have to go. Krug and company take off with the teenagers in tow, taunting and abusing them as they drive. Though terrified, Mari keeps a cool head and, after steering her abductors onto a road tantalizingly close to the sanctuary of her parents' house, makes a bold attempt to escape. It fails dismally: Frank and Sadie catch Paige just before she makes it to a busy construction site, and her desperate show of bravado so enrages Krug that he stabs her and rapes the virginal Mari, while Justin watches in mute horror. As Krug and his minions regroup, Mari makes one last break for freedom, diving into the nearby lake and attempting to swim to safety. Krug shoots her in the back and leaves her to die in the water. With the SUV damaged and the storm intensifying, Krug and his bleeding, bedraggled crew make their way to the nearest shelter, which just happens to be the Collingwood house. Jack and Emma welcome them with food, drink and medical attention—Jack is a doctor—but it's only a matter of time before they realize they're sheltering the beasts who brutalized their beloved daughter. What will they do? Well, the fact is pretty much everyone knows what they do, either because they're familiar with the original film or because they've seen the trailers for the remake, which give away the whole plot, right down to the last gruesome fillip that's tacked on to the end like a roadshow square-up reel. So it's no spoiler to reveal that Jack and Emma wreak bloody vengeance, torturing Frank, Sadie and Krug as cruelly as they did Paige and Mari. You can see why Craven got behind a Last House remake. The trouble is that the tweaks and tucks made by the new Last House team—director Dennis Iliadis and screenwriters Alleca and Ellsworth—all undermine the brutal directness of the original. They include the totally extraneous invention of Mari's late brother, Ben (presumably to raise the stakes on the Collingwoods' investment in their surviving child); the fact that Mari has sworn off smoking dope (read: she's an unambiguous good girl) and lives to make her way home (not a spoiler, by the way—it's in the trailer); and the recasting of Justin as an innocent and fundamentally decent kid helpless to resist his domineering dad. Put it all together and you have a film designed to make audiences root for the Collingwoods to give Krug, Frank and Sadie exactly what they deserve, a satisfying thrill ride rather than a downbeat examination of the ways in which violence—even when morally sanctioned—eats away at the souls of the perpetrators. None of which will have much to do with the success or failure of the new Last House: If it can bring in both genre buffs familiar with the original film's reputation but unwilling to watch old movies and thrill-seekers whose curiosity is piqued by the atrocities promised by the tell-all trailers, it should do just fine. This gets a grisly 4 on my "Go See" scale and think about what you would do if someone hurt the one that you love? Oh, revenge can be so sweet!

Pistol Packing Grannie Heads to Jail

After a high-speed car chase, Madea (Tyler Perry) winds up behind bars because her quick temper gets the best of her. Meanwhile, Assistant District Attorney Josh Hardaway (Derek Luke) lands a case that's too personal to handle: that of a young prostitute and former drug addict named Candace (Keshia Knight Pulliam). When Candace winds up in jail, Madea takes the young woman under her protective wing in Tyler Perry's Madea Goes To Jail. 

Well, it's about time. With the exception of a brief tease in "Meet the Browns," it's been three years since moviegoers last saw Madea, the dress-wearing alter ego of writer/director/actor Tyler Perry--and she has been missed. You may not even realize how much until you see her on screen again, bigger than life and happily wreaking havoc. Adapting his own play, Perry has pared the plot way back while giving his law-breaking matriarch more room to run free. She does briefly, and amusingly, wind up behind bars, but it's just another setting in which she can create chaos. (At one point, she proves herself the only woman able to leave Dr. Phil speechless.) Though he plays two other roles, Perry only really cuts loose when he dons Madea's housecoat, turning her into a devilishly funny voice of reason. Likewise, the movie tenses up when she's offscreen, becoming the sort of moralistic soap opera we've seen from Perry before. This time, Derek Luke plays Josh, a sensitive assistant DA engaged to Linda (Ion Overman), a selfish colleague. At the movie's start, he's shocked to discover he knows his latest client—a heroin-addicted prostitute named Candy (Keshia Knight Pulliam). Josh is determined to help Candy however he can, much to Linda's outrage. She considers Candy an unredeemable lowlife, and incidentally far too attractive to be sleeping on her fiancé's couch. Luke fills out his sketchily-drawn character, but Pulliam makes a thoroughly unconvincing hooker--and not just because we still see her as "The Cosby Show's" little Rudy. Like Angela Bassett in "Meet the Browns," she's simply too graceful to sell her gritty role. And she's not helped by Perry's typically broad screenplay, which adds no nuance to her tear-jerking scenes. Even Madea rolls her eyes at one point, upon hearing the umpteenth sob story.  "Good Lord," she sighs, "do I have to listen to this melodrama?" Those who ignore her—Perry included—do so at their own peril. Tyler Perry’s cantankerous matriarch, Madea, continues to roll over anybody who crosses her path in the actor-director’s latest turn in elderly drag. But as in the franchise’s earlier films, the sharp-tongued senior serves as mere comedic fodder for the Christian-fable-like plot. The predictable, even absurd twists that the movie takes to reach its happily-ever-after conclusion are amusing, as are the smart-ass quips and disposition of Perry’s popular alter ego. The film is unabashedly escapist entertainment, and its namesake is none the wiser nor repentant by the end of it. For that matter, neither are we. Crowd-pleasing African-American filmmaker Tyler Perry has been heralded as an entrepreneur, a populist, and an expert on the wants of female audiences, but none of that would have happened if he weren't also an expert drag performer. Mabel "Madea" Simmons, the crazed Atlanta matriarch of his family sagas Diary of a Mad Black Woman, Madea's Family Reunion, and this enjoyable comedy, is quicker on the uptake than any of Eddie Murphy's fat ladies, quicker even than Flip Wilson's Geraldine Jones. Also good for a few laughs is her white-haired boyfriend, Joe (also played by Perry), a hopeless pothead who attaches the ventilator tube from his oxygen tank to his bong. Like all Perry's movies to include Madea (southern for "mother dear"), Madea Goes to Jail interweaves the heroine's antics with a melodramatic subplot, this one especially well acted by Derek Luke, as an attorney trying to save an old friend (Pulliam) from a life of prostitution, and Viola Davis, as a straight-talking prison minister. An hilarious 4 on my "Go See" scale. 

Jonas Brothers in 3D....Meh!

The Jonas Brothers head to the big screen in a high-energy Walt Disney Pictures rockumentary feature film event from director Bruce Hendricks. The film blends excerpts from the Brothers’ red-hot “Burning Up” concert tour, including guest performances from Demi Lovato and Taylor Swift, with exclusive behind-the-scenes footage, off-the-wall segments, a never-before-heard song (“Love Is On Its Way”), swarming fans and lots of JB-style humor—giving fans never-before-seen insights into the lives of KEVIN, JOE and NICK in Jonas Brothers: The 3D Concert Experience.

Not enough D's. And certainly not enough double-D's. Maybe that was my problem with Jonas Brothers - the 3D Concert Experience. Then again, all the dimensions in this or any other universe may not be enough for me to channel my inner tweenage girl. "This movie's not aimed at you," you might say, and you'd be right. Unless it's aiming to stop my heart mid-beat and siphon my life force into a puddle on the theater floor next to a sticky splotch of dried Coke, which, by the way, sounds like you're clapping along when you step on it to the off-beat. Thanks to 3D, you feel like you can almost reach out and touch the Jonas Brothers, grab them by the neck, and strangle the everlasting life out of them. The Jonas Brother, that's Kevin, Joe, and Nick. Unfortunately I was here for Indiana Jonas and he was nowhere to be found. But forget discovering the Ark of the Covenant - the only heroic and adventurous thing these boys did was spray their screaming and crying fans with water hoses during the climax to their new hit, "Girl, you've given me a Metaphorical Orgasm." Ah, the joys of 3D! Does Nick's guitar pick fly off the screen? And can I climb aboard and ride it to a different theater? It's a good thing I was wearing those 3D glasses because I'm that much less likely to be recognized. Too bad they couldn't whip up a 3D mustache and wig, too. Next time I'll just skip the glasses and go for the blindfold, since what I don't see can't hurt me, which is more than I can say for this movie. This concert experience is brought to your good friends at Kraft. Online you can actually purchase Kraft Singles and get a free Jonas Brothers song, thus marking the first time you had to buy cheese before you could listen to it. Now lest you think this movie is nothing more than a stage show, there's also "behind the scenes" footage, because the best way to escape the scenes is to go behind them. Ideally a few miles behind them, but no such luck here. It turns out the brothers themselves are making "surprise theater invasions" across the US, but what's most surprising about this is that I thought these invasions were cut from the Defense Department budget.  So the tweenagers are screaming and yelling and crying and practicing signing their last names "Jonas." I was the only person in the audience who hasn't placed a tooth beneath their pillow in the previous six months, but I did place my 401k under my pillow and was thrilled to wake up and find a quarter.  The Jonas Brothers are a confection whipped up in the Disney lab between the Hannah Montana strawberry-flavored anthrax and the High School Musical laced with sugar-sweetened cyanide. Still, watching a concert in a movie theatre has its limitations. Near the end of one love ballad, the brothers stop singing — live, it must have left audiences tingling with anticipation waiting for Joe to cry out the ending, but on film it's boring and practically signals a commercial break as the theatre audience starts chatting and heads out for popcorn. And where are the endearing behind-the-scenes moments that made us feel like Miley's best friend? The film opens promisingly, with an early wakeup call (the Jonas Brothers getting out of bed!) and a sleepy breakfast meeting where Kevin is all business, Nick is half awake and Joe pulls his favourite childhood prank on a pretty waitress. The brotherly banter is the kind of kidding around every family experiences, and fans can't get enough of scenes like this. Later, the guys will rush offstage to change clothes between sets (Joe shirtless!), but instead of letting us see them freak out a little as they rush around, Mom throws a towel over the lens and we're outta there. For the rest of the film, the "backstage" moments consist of the guys' surprise over the thousands of fans who turn out to see them. Yawn. Bring back the fire hoses. No wonder one of those D's will always be "disappointing." A mediocre 2 on my "Go See" scale.

Didn't I just see this movie with a different title?

Shane West stars as a man who receives an incredible cell phone from an anonymous source. It allows him to win at the casino and helps him do anything he could imagine. But like most smart technology, this phone goes bad, and soon he is more worried about saving his life than saving his wireless minutes in The Echelon Conspiracy. 

Last fall’s “Eagle Eye” concerned the nightmare of a NSA computer system gone haywire, using the deep technological reach of modern society to control the fate of the human race. The Echelon Conspiracy is about the nightmare of a NSA computer system gone haywire, using the deep technological reach of modern society to control the fate of the human race. You see the difference? While it walks accidentally in very recognizable footprints, this latest take on Bush-era paranoia and cell phone alarm might arrive in theaters somewhat dramatically moldy and short-sheeted in the budget department, yet it’s actually a more rewarding sit than “Eagle Eye” if viewed with minimal attention paid to the details. Max Peterson (Shane West) is a computer security analyst who receives a revolutionary cell phone as a gift from an anonymous donor while working in Bangkok. The phone magically texts Max with winning tips on gambling and other life-altering suggestions, leading the tech nerd to rack up major bucks, drawing the attention of a casino security officer (Edward Burns), a FBI agent (Ving Rhames), and a questionably flirtatious woman (Tamara Feldman). However, the celebratory bliss is short lived when the phone’s history reveals a body count, with Max next on the list. Taking the cause all the way to a top U.S. security director (Martin Sheen), Max and his pursuers travel all over the globe to figure out where the phone originated from and how the system behind it can be stopped.  Echelon Conspiracy is a trivial  TV thriller that’s making a pit stop on the big screen for reasons completely unknown. I imagine the feature is much easier to relish at home, with less room offered to observe director Greg Marcks’s total discomfort with complex action sequences and his hesitant guidance of performances. On the big screen, the wobbly condition of the filmmaking is revealed repeatedly, generating a fairly goofy suspense piece that isn’t nearly as self-aware as it should’ve been. It’s an earnest technological thrill ride without the needed elegance to pull itself through, and while the movie benefits from comparison to the rotten “Eagle Eye,” it frustratingly refuses to challenge the genre to persuasive results. Marcks does launch it amusingly, building a riveting air of discovery as Max learns the curious possibilities of the phone. The casino scenes are particularly winning, playing up the universal taboo thrill of the cheat. From there, the film gets lost attempting to compete with better funded actioners, pushing limited performers such as West and Burns painfully past their skill level while using hilariously implausible explosions to keep the audience awake. Marcks is clearly beyond his pay grade with this material, and while his directorial panic is occasionally entertaining to watch, it fails to sustain an entire movie. Discussing themes of national security and Patriot Act consequences, The Echelon Conspiracy feels more dated than it actually is, laying on the Bush’s America foghorn a bit too loudly for such a simplistic, near sci-fi premise. If Marcks wants to shoot up buildings, offer Shane West dramatic scenes to slaughter, and blow up trucks, that’s perfectly fine. However, the mixture of harebrained Steven Seagal filmmaking trappings and weary political commentary makes for a dull movie with a mystifying message. Save this one for a 3am Spike TV airing and the shenanigans will be easy to digest. Spending a full ticket price for the film might result in an excruciating case of moviegoing remorse. A drab 2 on my "Go See" scale. Save your money.