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REVIEW: Halloween (2007)


NOTE: Review may contain, by necessity, discussion-of or allusions-to differentiations between this film and the original which may constitute SPOILERS. You have been warned.

The reason I don't automatically get bent out of shape about movie remakes is that, when you get right down to it, almost everything is a remake of something else "officially" or not. It's pretty likely that we ran out of "new" stories on the fourth or fifth night of Cro-Magnon campfire tales. Joseph Campbell neatly sorted every story in every culture into one of only THREE seperate stories, Karl Jung apparently got it down to ONE. The plain fact is, almost any movie you'll see is either directly or indirectly "inspired" by other material, and from where I sit after a full century of existance it oughn't be forbidden for movies to add other movies to the list of "stuff to base movies on" next to books, plays, history, etc. This especially goes for the Horror genre: If- as many horror fans continue to insist- Freddy, Michael, Jason, etc. are the modern equivalents of Dracula, Frankenstein etc.; then it shouldn't be a de-facto sin to similarly re-imagine or revamp them in the same way that other monster-mainstays have been... or at least try to.

So, short-version, I don't begrudge anyone merely for ATTEMPTING to, 25 years later, put out a different spin on the Michael Meyers mythos. I especially don't begrudge Rob Zombie doing so, since if you ARE going to demand horror-genre bona-fides he's spent two genre films and an entire musical career establishing his. And while Zombie hasn't exactly made a perfect film he's made a fascinating and noteworthy one, which I'll take any day of the week over what we might've gotten had the producers gone the risk-free hire-a-hack route. Brett Ratner's "Halloween," anyone? Didn't think so.

The plain fact is that the original "Halloween" is just about the perfect example of it's own franchise and genre. No straight-up "slasher" film is better, and none will likely ever be better. Going in to Mr. Zombie's remake, my biggest hope was that it would compare to John Carpenter's original film in the way that the Hammer "Dracula" movies compared to the Bela Lugosi/Tod Browning original: Familiar story and characters but with a total visual and characterization overhaul. Instead, what we have here is a film that resembles no other horror remake so much as Coppola's "Brahm Stoker's Dracula." Both are reboots of an iconic character that place the antagonist in the forefront of the story, both make it a point to delve into a newly-minted "origin story" for said antagonist, both are intentionally prodding the audience's sense of cognitive dissonance by making the viewpoint and story-structure "sympathetic" with an unsympathetic character at the center and both are framed as self-aware tributes to the genre/franchise keenly aware that the audience will probably NOT be able to "forget" the original while watching.

The key difference, and easily the most controversial and "difficult" thing about the film, is that Zombie's take involves a revised "origin" for Michael Meyers that completely reverses the original film's approach to characterization. The 'point' of the original Michael was that he was an empty-vessel for pure evil, sprouted without rhyme or reason in the heart of genuinely good suburban familyland. The "new" Michael is the abused and unloved product of a home enviroment accurately described by one character as the "perfect mix" of forces to turn someone into, well... Michael Meyers. For literally one half of the film, we watch as lil' Michael starts off killing animals (like any good psycho in training) and then moves up to schoolyard bullies and eventually all but the youngest of his vile family members - an act which, as you already knew, lands him a lifetime stint in an asylum. It's not so much that Zombie wants us to "sympathize" with Michael so much as he's forcing us to place our audience-interest in him. To "understand" the why of what he does. The original film was "about" the babysitters stalked by the killer, this one is ABOUT the killer.

This reversal indeed extends to the 2nd half of the film, an abbreviated retread of the original film but this time with greater emphasis on Michael's perspective. Now that it's the killer with all the depth and perspective, the film's victims are the empty, dehumanized ones. The film sees the "good guys" the same way Michael does: As lesser beings, targets, nothing more. They aren't important (well, one of them is, maybe) to Michael, they're in the way, and by extension they aren't important to the movie and aren't ever made important to the audience. We don't "want" them to die because they seem like nice-enough people (Zombie pretty much shoots his 'characters who deserve it' load on the Meyers family in Act I, so the latter half is refreshingly free of 'you stupid suburbanites' cheap-shots) but we're only "invested" in babysitter Laurie Strode for reasons that everyone and their grandma already knows and that the movie barely seems to recognize is supposed to be a twist.

So, yes. 40 solid minutes getting us "inside" the head/world of a savage murderer and a 2nd half that turns him loose on a cast's worth of one-dimensional canon-fodder, from the director of "The Devil's Rejects." And yet, what keeps the film from finally becoming the amoral "root for the killer" epic the prude-set has been warning us about since the original Michael stabbed his original sister comes down to a very deliberate and even MORE ballsy decision by Zombie: The killings aren't fun. There's no Freddy Krueger "funny" deaths, none of Jason Vorhees' improvisational genius, not even much of the original Meyers' "heh. Did I do that?" quizzical head-tilting. The butcherings of this new "Halloween" resemble the kind metted out by "Hotel Rwanda's" machete-wielding Hutus: Brutal, merciless and cold.

The new Michael, re-imagined as a towering 7-foot behemoth inhabitted by wrestler/actor Tyler Mane, is all business: He works fast, doesn't play games, and is so physically powerful he can take out some of his targets just by squeezing their neck really hard. And when the deaths do take longer than a few moments, Zombie purposefully dwells on the victims, not the hardware: Empty characters though they may be, the unlucky citizens of Haddonfield meet their ends with aplomb; screaming, crying, pleading for their lives. It's uncomfortable, it's hard to watch, it's horror-ific. There's not a single "Aw yeah, get 'im Mike!!!" moment once The Shape hits the 'burbs, and it seems to be the key to Zombie's vision: He's let the "slasher" audience deeper into the mind of the monster than they've ever been, but in exchange he's robbed them of the chance to "enjoy" the splatter.

So many of the choices Zombie makes here, and the fearlessness with which he carries it all out, are so fascinating that one wants to overlook or outright ignore some of the more basic and noteable flaws... but in the end that's not entirely possible. Setting up what is eventually a "two-act" structure is an interesting approach, but the fact that "part two" must so closely resemble the original film causes it to feel jarringly seperate: After spending 40+ minutes in the entirely new world of "growing up Michael," there's a genuine "oomph!" in realizing that the NOT entirely new world of the familiar "Halloween" story had just touched down.

More bothersome, the decision to retain (and directly involve) the true connection between Michael and Laurie despite the now much-less-supernatural-like Michael raises some basic logic questions the film just can't properly answer. And on the just-plain-silly side, while Zombie's penchant for stunt-casting genre icons thankfully doesn't get in the way of the movie (the who's-who of grindhouse vets appear in a series of minor roles, do their parts "straight" and move on) a somewhat gratuitous bit of striptease by Sheri Moon-Zombie does. Mr. Zombie, if you're listening: This officially became "showing off" about midway through "Rejects." Yes, you're wife is really, really hot. We're all very impressed. Good goin' on your part. But enough is enough.

I'll give him his biggest credit where it's most due, though (and this is where that SPOILER WARNING comes into play, kiddies): THANK YOU for finding an ending that is A.) as ballsy and brutal as the rest of the "big" scenes, B.) still doesn't let the audience "off the hook" or go for quick catharsis and C.) is an actual ENDING. I won't spell it out, folks, but if this new "Halloween" gets only ONE thing absolutely, spectacularly, perfect right; it's the decision to stand up in full knowledge of the ever-worsening sequels that followed the first film and boldly scream "fuck no!, NOT doing that!" at the very idea. Bravo, at least, to that.

FINAL RATING: 7/10

REVIEW: Balls of Fury

GUY #1: "Hey, who was that lady I saw you with last night?"

GUY #2: "That's no lady, that was my wife!"

The key to "understanding" Vaudeville staple jokes like that is to realize that they were told over and over, night after night, by comic after comic and were still basically funny. Simple joke, doesn't even have to be especially well-told to work. Just has to be, because the audience already knows the joke, thinks it's funny and is endeared to the comic who tells it for agreeing with their sense of humor and expectations. "Balls of Fury" is kind of like that. It's premise gives away the entirety of the film almost immediately: It's a comedy about a secret underground ping-pong competition, staged in the framework and trappings of a B-grade "kung-fu tournament" movie. If you can conjure a basic picture of what that might look like, and it amuses you, so will the resulting movie even though it's obviously not the "best" telling of it's own joke possible.

The advertisements want you to think of it as something along the lines of a "Dodgeball" sports-spoof, but the actual film is aimed best at a smaller niche: Ironic-appreciators of bad 80s U.S. martial arts films. Genre mainstays like James Hong, Jason Scott-Lee and Cary Hiroyuki-Tagawa are onhand in mostly-straight versions of the kind of roles they can do in their sleep. If you A.) recognize Cary Hiroyuki-Tagawa by sight, B.) know who he his by name and not "that one Asian guy and C.) are glad to see him, you will like this movie.

The plot concerns a secret, underground, high-stakes, life-or-death table-tennis tournament overseen by a Triad arms dealer Feng (Christopher Walken in full "It's Funny Because I'm Christopher Walken" mode.) A government agent (George Lopez in the first time I've EVER found him funny) recruits a onetime disgraced ping-pong prodigy (Dan Fogler) for training under a blind Chinatown ping-pong master (James Hong) and his niece (an unspeakably sexy Maggie Q, hotter than any woman that skinny has any right to be) to help inflitrate the contest, which holds dual significance for Fogler's hero: The champ-to-beat is a German rival (the great Thomas Lennon) from his past, and Feng (what else) killed his father.



Fogler is a natural comic lead, the premise easily sustains a movie's worth of jokes and all-in-all it's good for laugh. The Asian actors, Hong especially, seem to be having fun doing deadpan-parodies of the cheesy roles they so often wind up playing in the "serious" films this is spoofing. Granted, Hong has been "in" on subverting Asian stereotypes for laughs since way back in "Big Trouble in Little China," and Tagawa grimmaces with unmistakable "yeah, it's me" conviction. But it's fun to see Lee get to cut loose as a heavy, and Maggie Q demonstrably "gets" both the appeal and the absurdity of the "itty-bitty Asian girl as icy high-kicking fetish doll" routine. And Walken, well... Walken has honed this bit with such expertise that at certain points his "dialogue" consists of a series of improv-ish mumbles and/or strange, suggestive eye movements and somehow it's still funny. (Feng on a pet Panda: "Sleeping... I think. Could be dead... I dunno. Not really sure... what they, y'know, eat. Anyhoo...")

This one's pretty easy, folks. Go watch the trailer. If you laugh, you'll like the movie.

FINAL RATING: 6/10

Michael Bay's "Super Mario Bros."

UPDATED: Now using a video-player with quality that doesn't suck!

What if the director of "Transformers" applied his, er.. "skills?" to movie remakes of OTHER beloved characters? Imagine no more...



Personal Challenge set with this project: Create something that looked and sounded awful from premise to execution but ALSO looked like an interpretation that might concievably actually get made. I think it came out decently, overall.

REVIEW: War (2007)

The best thing I can say about "War" is that it deserves to be better than it is. While I won't spoil it here, what is probably one of the niftier "Gotcha... and gotcha AGAIN!!" plot twists I can recall for the genre caps off what is otherwise an entirely generic, disposable John Woo knockoff action thriller; and has the effect of making the characters, motivations and story points involved so much more interesting and imbued with such greater potential you wish that the actual product was worthy of it.

The film is a two-way "versus" star-vehicle for Hong Kong action legend Jet-Li and up-and-coming British action star Jason Statham. The two "met" previously in "The One," but as it was made before Statham revealed himself to be a kung-fu virtuoso in his own right the film lacked a proper "Hero versus The Transporter" showdown. Unfortunately, despite implications of the trailers, "War" doesn't quite provide this either- the two share only a single brief-but-brutal exchange of fists (and anything else that isn't nailed down) at the climax -but instead sets them up as opposing forces in a large (and largely incomprehensible) Yakuza vs. Triad crime saga that finds each actor playing to darker, angrier places in their skill-sets. Fans can at least rest-assured that, whatever else is going on in "War" the standard "We must fight! Wait, we're actually on the same side! Let's team up to fight the REAL enemy!" hero/hero fight structure is NOT in play.

Statham is an FBI agent who's partner/best-friend was killed, along with his entire family, by "The Rogue," a martial-arts master Yakuza hitman who no one can catch and who surgically overhauls his face all the time to avoid recognition. Three years later, Statham has morphed into the standard-issue divorced/slovenly/bitter cop dedicated to hunting down Rogue... who has just now resurfaced, his face re-cut into that of Jet Li, in the midst of a stateside Triad/Yakuza war over priceless artifacts. What none of the cops realize is that Rogue, for reasons unknown, seems to be pulling a "Red Harvest" on both gangs. Devon Aoki (middle of my blog banner, the one with the snake) is on hand as a Yakuza princess to give us something to look at when people aren't fighting and/or shooting.

It's all rather basic and unremarkable, building to a pair of twist-reveals that succeed in redrawing the map of what you thought the movie was about but don't quite make the first two acts "better." At best, it's enough to make it an interesting action movie footnote.

REVIEW: September Dawn

If you're living near one of the 857 theaters currently showing "September Dawn," I reccomend that you do so. Not necessarily because it's entirely great, or because I believe there's some great intrinsic benefit to it, but because you just don't see one of "these" actually come around often. This is REAL independent filmmaking, folks, a self-made, uncompromised passion project with all the pros and cons that go with such an endeavor: A story that charges forth on the strength of will and conviction, a cast precariously balanced at the intersection of dutiful character actors, varied amateurs and marquee-name showstoppers; and most fascinating of all a tone that careens wildly to and fro between classy historical-dramatization and gut-reaction exploitation. By the time the third act rolls around, it resembles the result of Eli Roth directing second-unit for a Ken Burns piece.

This is an old-fashioned historical melodrama, the sort that Hollywood once pumped out by the truckload. True to that model, it's comprised of two main elements that never QUITE mesh into a proper whole. Part 1: A real historical event (here, the 1857 Mountain Meadows Massacre) boiled down to a simplified Good vs. Evil clash. Part 2: An invented substory (here, a wagon-train Romeo & Juliet hookup) designed to make the clash 'personal' to the audience. It's a difficult and usually ill-advised formula to use in the modern age, even for a period peice, but the execution here is about as good as can reasonably be asked for. It's melodrama, either you can "take it" or you can't.

"Mountain Meadows Massacre" is, along with the Donner Party, one of the grimmer footnotes in the history of the wagon train era. In 1857, a group of settlers en route to California stopped to rest in the Utah territories then occupied by the Mormons and their firebrand leader Brigham Young. Though welcomed to camp in the meadow under assurances of peace, the settlers were eventually decieved, betrayed and brutally slaughtered to the last man, woman and child (only infants were spared) by the Mormons' elite Dannite troops and a smattering of Paiute Indian allies - possibly under direct orders from Young himself as "blood atonement" for the expulsion of Mormons from Missouri decades earlier. The film, who's makers claim a painstaking amount of historical research, takes up the position that Young and the elder Apostles were indeed the masterminds of the butchery; a position that the modern Mormon church officially denies.

The film takes subtle but unmistakable pains to drive home it's welcome - though hardly radical - message that religious fanaticism is a source of great evil, with a special emphasis on the eerie coincidence that the final gory swipe of the slaughter took place on September 11th: In addition to the subtitle highlight of the date (which elicited an audible gasp from the audience I watched it with) and plentiful closeups of the baddies solemnly reffering to Mormon founder Joseph Smith as "The Prophet," a key flashback scene involving early Mormons destroying a critical newspaper's press is "narrated" by a quotation in which Smith's followers favorably compare him to Mohammed and the Koran. Allegory, much?

In fact, much of the raw power of the film (such as it is) comes from this somewhat uncomfortable source: We're USED to seeing "alien" foriegn (or made-up) cultures as evil-incarnate bad guys for movies like this... but it's downright jarring to see the model applied to a group of "all-American" looking frontier folk. For most U.S. audiences, seeing yet another dark-skinned, thick-accented heavy hiss "Allahu Akbar!!" through his teeth while hooking up the detonator on "24" barely elicits even a raised eyebrow. But this film, with it's fair-haired psychopath's solemnly chanting "all Mormons are avowed enemies of America" in Temple or howling "Do your duty to God!!!" while whipping a tomahawk at fleeing female settler, drives the point into infinitely more unsettling territory; driving home a condemnation of fanaticism and fundamentalism in ALL forms as opposed to individual faiths that alone makes the film a welcome inclusion in the long-overdue national discussion on the place of religion in politics and the modern world.

Some have sensed a dark motive at work in this allegory, and while I'll agree it's a go-for-the-jugular approach to contemporising the themes for the audience I'm not positive I see any concrete "bigotry" implicit here. And if it were, I suspect you'd find a rather even disagreement as to whether the film is attempting to smear Mormons with a comparison to Islam or to smear Islam with a comparison to Mormons. Let it be said, though, that casting Bad Guy extraordinaire Terrance Stamp (in full-on "Kneel Before Zod!!!!" mode) as a grave, ranting Brigham Young is just this side of pushing-it. Still, Stamp mainly appears as a framing device or transitional sequence base, while the main villian chores are left to Jon Voigt as the Bishop General who oversees the massacre even while his eldest son is secretly slipping off for chaste romantic rendevousz with a lovely "Gentile" settler girl. Three guesses on whether or not "that's" gonna end happy. Jon Gries ("Napolean Dynamite's" Uncle Rico) in a terrifically underplayed performance as massacre field-leader/scapegoat John D. Lees and Lolita Davidovitch as a lady gunslinger who's "sinful" unisex clothing enrage the Mormons round out the cast.

All this setup and character work (including a welcome detailing of the earlier intolerance and expulsion that helped make the Mormons so distrustful of other Americans) settles the story into a leisurely (and, it must be said, overlong) first two acts carefully laying out the machinations that led to the tragedy and playing-out the obligatory love story with such deliberate pacing that it's all the more wrenching when the actual massacre begins to unfold and the film takes-off (or descends, depending on your point of view) into unappologetic grab-the-audience-by-the-balls-and-twist-till-they-get-it exploitation territory. Whatever else it may be while getting there, the Massacre scenes themselves reveal "Dawn's" true desire to be nothing less than the Pioneer Era "Schindler's List."

The film is staking it's claim as THE dramatic rendering of this event, and the horrors play out as an endless montage of shot, beaten and slashed innocents with special attention to the targeting of women and children along with some of the Mormon raiders creepy decision to go into battle in garish "Indian" costumes. (One main character eventually looks like an escapee from Lord of The Flies, dual-wielding a knife/pistol combo and literally salivating with bloodlust.) It comes just up to "the line" of Mel Gibson-style sadism, (save that none of the Mormon baddies are set up to appear slightly effeminate or Jewish-looking beforehand, of course.)

"September Dawn" is a fascinating, flawed, occasionally grand and deeply troubling film that should absolutely be seen just for the sake of expanding the palette. "The Hollywood System" doesn't put out movies like this, and the film serves double-duty at demonstrating both why that's a shame and also why it's not entirely unwise or unexpected. In the end, a flawed film that gets under your skin is usually more worthwhile than a "perfect" one that evaporates the moment it's over. Reccomended.

FINAL RATING: 7/10

P.S. The "other" story of the film is the now-lingering question of how any focus onto this dark part of the rather secretive Mormon sect's history will effect, if at all, the presidential campaign of Republican and Mormon Mitt Romney. For the record, I think it would be a true shame if people opted not to vote for Romney because they saw this movie. I feel that people should come to dislike Mitt Romney the natural way: By having to listen to him for a few minutes ;)

REVIEW: Stardust (2007)

It's based on a book by popular fantasist Neil Gaiman, but "Stardust" could've come straight from a pre-fab outlet in a crate marked "Instant Cult Classic." It's a loopy, silly, fairytale mini-epic spilling over with ideas that are finally too big for the movie that holds them, executed with an abundance of dry Python-esque satire that seems at least in part intended to make it's core of ooey-gooey "dear diary" romanticism a bit easier to take for audiences who aren't wistful young ladies from the Drama Club. Resembling the offspring of "Somewhere in Time" and "Buckaroo Banzai," it's an agreeable, enjoyably hard-to-categorize thing, and the parts that work will earn it devotees who'll love it fiercely and turn the ignoring of the parts that don't work into a kind of mental kung-fu.

As is the case with most Instant Cult Classics, the "plot" is elaborate and complicated, all the better to reward multiple viewings and detail-hunting: Young romantic Tristan, aiming to prove his love for the vain Victoria, sets off from their tiny village of Wall (the setting seems to be some point in 19th-Century England) to collect a recently-fallen star. This involves hopping over the stone wall seperating, er.. Wall from what the locals believe (but don't seem all that amazed with) is an alternate-universe fairytale kingdom called Stormhold, who's Lear-ish dying King has opted to settle the thus-far bloody succession quarrel among his sons by sending the remaining boys on a quest for a magical object - an act which is responsible for knocking the star from the sky in the first place. Stars, it turns out, have a human shape: This one is named Yvaine, looks like Claire Danes and has something of a sour disposition. Tristan and the wicked Prince aren't the only ones seeking her, either: A trio of aging Witches are aiming to restore their youth and powers by devouring her heart, and have dispatched their leader Lamia (Michelle Pfieffer) to fetch her.

So, what we're ultimately presented with a point-A to point-B chase movie, set in an amusing little world of magic spells, fairytale staples and even the occasional unicorn - and if the prospect of seeing a live-action unicorn is already making you swoon, this is the movie for you. I can also add, treading lightly so as to avoid spoilers, that it offers up a bounty of grand sights and well-observed goofs at the expense of genre cliches: There's some terrifically gruesome fun to be had with the absurdity of the three Witches' entrail-based divinations, and it borrows an ever-welcome bit from "American Werewolf" involving the ever-expanding Greek Chorus of the ghosts of the fueding Princes. Best of all are a truly original final battle scene and the grand centerpiece: Robert DeNiro as the sky-pirate Captain Shakespeare, easily the best comedy turn for the actor in a long time.

For all that goodwill, unfortunately, no film that's asking it's audience to both laugh at the silliness of it's own genre and still get swept up in it's "I Wuv you thiiiiiiiiiis much!"-level romantic dizziness can fully overcome it's more irksome issues: There are some distractingly cheesy special effects, an inappropriately bombastic score and an embarassingly-telegraphed surprise twist. Director Matthew Vaughn, as far away from his breakthrough territory in Ritchie-esque British gangster films as possible, puts in a worthy effort and manages to come up with a movie that's a damn good time in spite of it's own failings. When all is said and done, "Stardust" is too much fun to have much quarrell with.

FINAL RATING: 7/10

REVIEW: Underdog (2007)

"Underdog" basically has three quaint, manageable target audiences with three sets of quaint, manageable "demands" in terms of enjoying it: Nostalgiac fans of the original 60s cartoon show, who're mainly there to see whats been left and whats been lost in the adaptation; small children who are mainly there to see a flying beagle wearing a cape; and folks looking to see a funny, family-friendly new comedy who've already seen everything else. All three should find themselves entertained, though Group #3 may find themselves frequently restless once they realize that the stew is pretty thin outside of "Awww, he can fly!" and "Hey, that's from the show!" In other words, while quite short of a classic, it's probably the best movie you can make out of "Underdog" and still have it be ABOUT Underdog.

The cartoon, a General Mills funded cheapie superhero-spoof featured Shoeshine Boy, one of three inexplicably anthromorphic dogs (heroine Sweet Polly Purebred and gangster Riff-Raff being the other two) in an otherwise human world. When his city fell under attack by villians, most-often mad scientist Simon Bar Sinister, Shoeshine donned a Superman-inspired costume and dropped a power-granting Super Energy Pill to become the superhero Underdog, who spoke all of his dialogue in rhyme.

In the new film, Shoeshine (voice of Jason Lee) is a beagle pup who, after coming up short on his dream to become part of the police department's elite squad of bomb sniffing dogs, finds himself abducted by egomaniacal scientist Simon Bar Sinister (Peter Dinklage.) Bar Sinister aims to use Shoeshine as fodder for the creation of genetically-engineered Super Dogs he can then sell to the (apparently canine-fixated) police force, but the pup escapes - causing an accident that blows Sinister up along with his lab... and leaves Shoeshine with ramped-up senses, the ability to speak to humans and a healthy assortment of standard-issue Super Powers. Adopted by the son of an ex-cop (Jim Belushi,) Shoeshine is encouraged to put his powers to good use: Fighting crime as the costumed hero Underdog. Unfortunately, Bar Sinister has survived as well, scarred and driven to (greater) madness by the accident and thirsting for city-wide revenge. Oldschool fans, take note: The rhymes are here, along with Polly's "where oh where can my Underdog be?" and, surprisingly, even a variation on the Super Energy Pill (an element famously censored from 70s/80s reruns due to ludicrous complaints that it encouraged drug abuse.)

It's a lightweight affair, as befits the material. The filmmakers are accutely aware that they have a winning central visual in the personage of a flying, cape-clad beagle going through the now-familiar beats of Superhero bad guy busting, and they're content to go not much further than that'll carry them. Imagine Richard Donner's original "Superman" if Christopher Reeve was a beagle, and you've got the movie. It shows telltale signs of having been drastically cut for time, with too many plot points being advanced by Lee's voiceover narration, but when it's settled into The Stuff We Came For, i.e. the mandatory 2nd act crimefighting montage, the puppy-love spoof of "Superman's" famous date-with-Lois sequence and the Final Battle with Simon, it's piched EXACTLY where it needs to be. If you can't smile at seeing a superhero-costumed beagle stop an out-of-control car - rear bumper clenched in it's jaws, asphalt flying up in a wave as he digs in his heels - from hitting a busload of schoolkids, I don't want to know what happened to make you so cold.

By far the most (okay, only) genuinely intriguing element of note is Dinklage's turn as Simon Bar Sinister. Dinklage, a tremendously-talented character actor best known for "The Station Agent," is a dwarf and, thus, so is Simon. However, were you to watch the film with you're eyes closed the entire time the matter of the villian's physical size would be entirely unknown to you: It never comes up. Not once. There are no short jokes, no physical gags or even broad references to Mr. Dinklage's size, and the camera typically approaches him either on his own eye-level or from an intimidation-increasing low angle - never in a downshot that would accenuate his stature. No one in the film even brings it up, not even a single "oh, didn't see you there" bit. He's a straight-on mad scientist supervillian, and Dinklage seems to be enjoying playing a full-bore baddie; especially in his just-freakish-enough post-accident makeup which I can attest scared the SHIT out of the younger kids in the theater.

It's a fun turn from an actor who, let's face it, isn't often presented with broad, showy material like this to work from; and it's the first time I can remember seeing Dinklage or any other little-person actor in a role that didn't seem to think the audience required a constant reminder of their size. "Underdog" isn't exactly one for the ages, but it at least deserves it's due credit in this regard. Well done.

FINAL RATING: 7/10
 
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