AIR INDIA 182
Rating: ** (out of ****)
Director: Sturla Gunnarsson
Screened April 17th as part of the 2008 Hot Docs Film Festival

With the return of Toronto’s popular Hot Docs documentary film festival, now might be a good time to ask: what, exactly, is a “documentary”? It’s a harder term to define than you might think, and while glancing through the Hot Docs festival guide, I started to wonder if any of the festival’s 180-plus films could really claim to be of the same genre.
Most people would point to Michael Moore as the most prominent figure in the documentary genre, but his fast-and-loose treatment of the facts has become the stuff of notoriety. Werner Herzog, whose documentaries have been fictionalized and occasionally completely fabricated, argues that we should look for “ecstatic truth” – a truth “beyond the truth and much deeper than the truth.” Moore’s films obviously fit the criteria. Then again, so does This is Spinal Tap.

Some say Moore is a propagandist, not a documentarian. I don’t think this is true, but it does point out that the line between documentary and propaganda is thin. Is Triumph of the Will a documentary? It covers actual events, but is so skewed that it offers not even the slightest insight into Hitler’s psyche and philosophy, and so dishonest that it fails to even once mention his anti-Semitism.

Can we trust cinema verite? Or do these films lie by trying to convince us that pure, unvarnished truth can be recorded with a camera in the room? The filmmaker Nick Broomfield came to the latter conclusion, and has made a string of films as much about their own making as about their purported subjects. (Kurt and Courtney has a great scene with Broomfield being told over the phone by his agent that his financing has fallen through).

The line between documentary and fiction gets very blurry in Air India 182, the Hot Docs festival’s Opening Night film, directed by Sturla Gunnarsson (Beowulf and Grendel). The film is about the events surrounding the ill-fated plane that, on its 1985 flight from Monstreal to Delhi, was victim to a terrorist attack when a bomb in the baggage carrier killed all 331 passengers. The bombing, Canada’s first large-scale experience with terrorism, only recently made it through the courts, where the chief suspects were acquitted due to lack of evidence.

Gunnarsson makes the intriguing decision to shoot the film as part documentary, part re-enactment, similar to Michael Winterbottom’s Road to Guantanamo. The staged re-enactments of the events leading up to and beyond the bombing alternate with interview segments with airport personnel, families of the victims, and others involved in the bombing.

The re-enactments are shot in a hyper-realistic verite style reminiscent of United 93, but they’re never quite convincing. There’s just something off about everything. The airports look too spare, the extras look to cheerful, and everything looks too clean. Gunnarsson even has trouble maintaining a consistent visual style. Some scenes are shaky-cam reliant, with heavy-handed attempts at aping the verite style (we sometimes see people from outside office windows, partially obscured by blinds). Other times, Gunnarsson uses impossibly intimate close-ups and smooth establishing shots.

Strangely, Gunnarsson has chosen to stylize the interview sequences. The interviewees are superimposed in front of a blinding white background, and Gunnarsson has them fade out when their comments are over, leaving only the white background. A neat effect, but these scenes are disorienting next to the attempted realism of the re-enactments, and their heavy artificiality makes the interviews look staged, and the effect is quite distancing.

That’s the big problem with this film: its failed stylistic touches keep the audience at arm’s length. Here’s a movie that should pack a real emotional punch, but it feels cold and clinical, like a forgettable TV special. There are great individual scenes (it’s hard not to feel choked up during some of the family’s memories), and the topic is so fascinating that it would be hard to make a film completely devoid of interest. But the overall verdict is regrettable: Air India 182 crashes.

THE FORBIDDEN KINGDOM
Rating: ** ½ (out of ****)
Cast: Jackie Chan, Jet Li, Michael Angarano, Crystal Liu, Collin Chou, Li Bing Bing
Director: Rob Minkoff
Opening in wide release on April 18.

According to the Internet Movie Database, Jackie Chan has appeared in ninety-four movies (including bit parts and stunt work), and Jet Li has been in thirty-nine. Together, they are undoubtedly the two most internationally famous Asian actors working today, and the only two truly financially viable Asian actors in Hollywood. Yet astonishingly enough, The Forbidden Kingdom represents their first screen appearance together. It’s the kung fu equivalent of when Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton acted together in Limelight.

Something you should know going in, though: a lot of this movie is about some white kid. The white kid in question is Jason (Michael Angarano), who enjoys going to a store in Chinatown run by kindly old Hop (Jackie Chan, in old age makeup) to buy bootleg kung fu DVDs. Catching wind of this, the local bullies make Jason help them rob Hop’s store, but during the frenzy, Jason grabs hold of an ancient Chinese staff that transports him back in time to ancient China.

Okay, stay with me, because it gets better. In ancient China, Jason meets Lu Yan (Jackie Chan, again), an immortal kung fu master who speaks English, conveniently enough. Lu Yan can only remain an immortal kung fu master, however, if he drinks plenty of wine. Casting Chan (who became a star with 1978’s Drunken Master) as a kung fu master who needs wine to fight is like casting Robert De Niro as a taxi driver. Lu Yan reveals that the staff once belonged to the Monkey King (Jet Li), who has been trapped in stone by the evil Jade Warlord (Collin Chou). The only way to free the Monkey King is by returning the staff. They’re joined on their journey to the Monkey King by another kung fu master, Silent Monk (Jet Li, again).

As stupid as that plot description sounds, it flows fairly well on the screen, in a comic book sort of way. The Forbidden Kingdom is at its best when it’s just trying to be dumb fun. There are some really enjoyable action sequences that, while not exactly thrilling, are at least fun to look at, with their bright colours and heavy use of computer generated effects. The climactic battle scene, which is like an orgy of supernatural martial arts kitsch, is very entertaining. Fans of kung fu movies will enjoy spotting references to older martial arts films, not just Drunken Master but also The Bride With White Hair, the Shaw Brothers canon, and some pop philosophy that I’m pretty sure was taken word-for-word from some old Bruce Lee interview footage. I could have done with a little less of the Karate Kid rip-off shenanigans with Angarano. The present-day bookend scenes feel like they come out of a bad after-school special. (My favourite part was when one of the bullies called Angarano a “pissant”). I assume Angarano’s character was meant to appeal to family audiences, or else he was included to reassure North Americans that yes, this is indeed an American film.

But anyone who’s paying to see The Forbidden Kingdom has come for two reasons: Jet and Jackie. Does it work on that basis? Yeah, pretty much. The two kung fu titans are both “good guys” here, but they do get one Yuen Woo-Ping-choreographed fight together that lasts at least five minutes and generally satisfies the appetite for some Jackie vs. Jet whoop-ass. Separately, both of them remain enjoyable screen presences. Chan in particular is fun to watch here: his performance is reminiscent of the cheeky, rascally Jackie Chan of the 1970s and 80s. The Forbidden Kingdom is not a return to the glory days of Once Upon a Time in China and Drunken Master II, but it’s still Jet Li and Jackie Chan. As far as I’m concerned, that’s worth the price of admission.

YOUNG @ HEART
Rating: *** ½ (out of ****)
Cast: Bob Cilman, Eileen Hall, Fred Knittle, Joe Benoit, Bob Salvini, Joseph Mitchell, Helen Boston, Bob Salvini
Director: Stephen Walker
Opening Friday in limited release.

Young @ Heart is a senior’s singing group from North Hampton of the type you might see in those ‘inspiration’ last five minutes of a news broadcast. The group’s claim to fame is that they sing pop/rock and roll songs, including “Should I Stay Or Should I Go?”, “Stayin’ Alive,” and “I Will Survive,” and have become something of a YouTube sensation with their humorous music videos. They’ve played sell-out concerts as far away as Europe, and now they’re the subject of a documentary being released by Fox Searchlight. Keep in mind that nobody in the group particularly likes rock and roll. When asked about their favourite music, most of the members say opera or Broadway musicals like My Fair Lady.

Before I saw the film, I was worried is would use its geriatric heroes as a freak show attraction (“Ha ha, these people are so old!”). Instead, director Stephen Walker’s film broke down every wall of critical snobbery I had. This film is a real crowd-pleaser

Young @ Heart documents two months in which the group rehearses for a new show, under the leadership of their ever-patient chorus director, Bob Cilman (age 53), who in the film plays the role of patient but exasperated foil to the band. Cilman has selected several songs for the show, including Sonic Youth’s “Schizophrenia,” James Brown’s “I Feel Good,” Allen Toussaint’s “Yes We Can Can,” and Coldplay’s “Fix You.” The latter song is a solo number for Fred Knittle and Bob Salvini, two ailing former members planning to make a brief comeback, and this duet forms the emotional centre of the film. There are lots of funny moments with the group stumbling to wrap their heads around the other rock songs, but there’s also the satisfaction in watching people learn to understand and appreciate music they once dismissed.

Young @ Heart is about getting old, dying, and broadening one’s horizons. The film is a real charmer, but it’s also emotionally satisfying. It’s funny but not snide, and moving but not manipulative. It has the potential to be a sleeper hit.

HAROLD & KUMAR ESCAPE FROM GUANTANAMO BAY
Rating: *** (out of ****)
Cast: John Cho, Kal Penn, Rob Corddry, Neil Patrick Harris, Paula Garces, Roger Bart
Writers: Jon Hurwitz, Hayden Schlossberg
Director: Jon Hurwitz, Hayden Schlossberg
Opening in wide release on April 25th.

You won’t find a movie all year with a better title than Harold & Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay. I actually laughed out loud the first time I heard it. The film is the sequel to the 2004 stoner comedy Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle, in which a serious Asian student named Harold (John Cho) and his slacker Indian roommate Kumar (Kal Penn) get the munchies and embark on an all-night odyssey to find a White Castle hamburger outlet. The film was rude and uneven, but its occasional commentary on the place of minorities in America made it a modest cut above the usual stoner fare.

The reason that Harold & Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay is such a great title is that it ups the ante. There’s a sly, silly anarchy to the title that promises a film fearless in its complete outrageousness – no subject is taboo, no scenario is too implausible. Harold & Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay delivers on that promise: this movie is better than the original in every way. It’s funnier, more ambitious, and completely over the top.

The film picks up right after the events of White Castle, with Harold and Kumar returning from their burger binge and preparing to head to Amsterdam to find the girl Harold has fallen in love with. When Kumar sneaks a bong onto the plane, however, it gets mistaken for a bomb, and after being interrogated by an arrogant CIA agent (Rob Corddry), the pair winds up in Gitmo. Faced with the unfortunate possibility of having to perform sexual favours on the guards, Harold and Kumar escape and hitch a ride with some Cubans on a raft to America. Once there, they head to Texas to find Harold’s college friend (“an Abercrombie-wearing douchebag,” says Kumar) who has a personal relationship with George W. Bush in hopes of clearing their names. Unfortunately, the “douchebag” is marrying Kumar’s beloved former girlfriend.

John Cho and Kal Penn (who was recently put to good use in a rare dramatic role in The Namesake) are a really enjoyable comic team, and Neil Patrick Harris is back playing a whore-loving, drug-addicted version of himself - a character that won him an unlikely cult following after the first film. The biggest laughs, however, come from The Daily Show’s Rob Corddry, playing an obnoxiously racist CIA official. In one of the film’s best scenes, when interrogating two Jewish witnesses, he pulls out a small bag of coins and waves it in front of them. “That’s like, seven bucks,” says a witness.

Like the original film, the new Harold & Kumar is not a masterpiece of plot construction. It’s extremely episodic, and the majority of its comic set pieces could probably be removed without doing significant damage to the plot. The gags are hit and miss, but they hit more often than not. The original Harold & Kumar received some critical praise for the way it touched on issues of ethnic stereotyping, but the new film kicks the political satire up a notch. There’s a strong undercurrent of righteous anger underneath this film: it’s a reaction to an American government that the filmmakers perceive as not caring about different cultures and civil rights. It’s nice to see a commercially viable gross-out comedy that has some political consciousness, intelligence, and, most importantly, teeth.

Before you rush out to see Harold & Kumar, keep in mind that this film is not Jonathan Swift: most of the humour is pretty crude. But if you’re buying a ticket to see Harold & Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay, odds are you’re expecting to see Harold and Kumar, not Wes Anderson or Woody Allen. Rest assured, this is a good Harold and Kumar movie. Part of the reason this movie is so much fun is because unlike so many other gross-out comedies, it knows that disgusting imagery is much less funny than the characters’ reactions to the disgusting imagery. There’s a lot of comedic skill on display here.

SHINE A LIGHT
Rating: *** (out of ****)
Cast: Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Ron Wood, Charlie Watts, Christina Aguilera, Jack White, Buddy Guy, Bill Clinton, Martin Scorsese
Director: Martin Scorsese
Now playing in moderate wide release and in Imax.

The experience of seeing Martin Scorsese’s Rolling Stones concert film Shine a Light proved to be an instructive one, as it led me to the realization that I’m less of a Stones fan than I thought I was. Oh, sure, I like hearing “Sympathy for the Devil” and “Gimme Shelter” as much as anybody, but while watching Shine a Light, I began to wonder why the world is supposedly divided into “Stones fans” and “Beatles fans” – it’s hardly a contest. The Stones are hardly in the same league as the more innovative, experimental Beatles. Shine a Light, which captures the Stones at a September 2006 benefit concert for the Clinton Foundation in New York’s Beacon Theatre, runs 122 minutes. After about an hour, I was ready to go home.

Okay, so we have established that I am only a fair-weather Rolling Stones fan. This does not detract from Martin Scorsese’s achievements with Shine a Light, which are considerable: complaining that a Rolling Stones movie has too much of the Stones would be a pretty moronic position to take. If you’re in the market for a Rolling Stones concert film, Scorsese’s movie is everything you could want.

The film opens with a few minutes of black and white documentary footage about the events surrounding the concert and the film, including footage of Scorsese fretting about the playlist (the band more or less makes it up as they go along) and Bill Clinton introducing the Stones (“One of my birthday presents this year is being able to open for the Rolling Stones,” he says). Then comes the concert, which takes of the lion’s share of the film, and which is comprised of over fifteen of the band’s greatest hits. Interspersed between the songs is archival footage from the band’s nearly fifty-year history. One particularly interesting interview is of an impossibly young Mick Jagger on the band’s third anniversary, marveling that they’ve achieved such success. When asked how long they’ll stay together, he optimistically predicts, “Oh, I think we’re pretty well set for at least another year.”

Shine of Light is a technical masterpiece. Scorsese has assembled a team of ten cinematographers, all of them Oscar nominees or winners, who capture the event with startling immediacy and intensity. Energetic songs like “Jumping Jack Flash” are filmed with frantic zooms and quick cuts, becoming an impressionistic blur of light and sound. Calmer songs like “As Tears Go By” are shot more sedately but no less expertly. There are also three guest stars (Jack White, Christina Aguilera and Buddy Guy), and whenever one of them shares a microphone with Mick Jagger, the camera zooms in so impossibly close that you can see the spit and the sweat with crystal clarity on the Imax screen.

This is one of the only concert films I can think of to have truly memorable imagery. The opening documentary scenes are seen as a small square in the middle of the screen, but when the concert footage begins, it expands to occupy the entire Imax screen, an effect that brings about the same sense of wonder that I suspect audiences must have felt in the 1950s when the movie narrator exclaimed, “This is Cinerama!” Another high point comes when “Sympathy for the Devil” begins and Jagger emerges from the back door of the theatre as a red silhouette against a blinding white background.

After a while, it became sensory overload for me. I left the theatre with my ears ringing and a slight headache. But if you like the Stones, you’ll be in heaven. Shine a Light is the next best thing to seeing them live.

LEATHERHEADS
Rating: ** (out of ****)
Cast: George Clooney, Renee Zellweger, John Krasinski, Jonathan Pryce, Stephen Root, Wayne Duvall, Max Cassella
Writers: Duncan Brantley, Rick Reilly
Director: George Clooney
Now playing in wide release.

Oh, how the 1920s always look so beautiful in Hollywood period pieces. The films are always lighted with rich amber hues and scored to the music of Al Jolson. Everyone wears fedoras and tailored suits; the speakeasies have great jazz singers and fistfights that don’t look too painful; and the cars are shiny and the streets are always clean. The 1920s are the setting of George Clooney’s third directorial effort, Leatherheads. The movie is long and only fitfully amusing, but boy…it sure looks great.

Clooney is Jimmy “Dodge” Connelly, the captain of the not-very-talented Bulldogs football team. The team is on the verge of collapse when Carter Rutherford (John Krasinski), a decorated war hero, emerges as the most popular figure in college football. Dodge convinces his superiors to recruit Carter, who brings in thousands of fans to the bleachers. But there’s trouble afoot beyond the gridiron: an ambitious sports reporter (Renee Zellwegger) has heard that Carter may not be the war hero he’s cracked up to be. Of course, a love triangle ensues.

Clooney, who has appeared in several of the Coen brothers’ comedies, seems to be channeling the Coens’ comic sensibility. He fills Leatherheads will a lot of broad, cartoonlike characters and self-conscious references to past films, particularly the work of Spencer Tracey, Katherine Hepburn, and the screwball comedies of the 1930s and 40s. The humour shifts between aggressively quirky visual gags (one of the football team members is a 300-pound highschooler, ho ho) and aggressively witty dialogue, as when Clooney and Zellweger have scenes of rapid-fire comic banter. Clooney is an enjoyable actor and has decent comic timing, but Renee Zellweger is miscast. Her role calls for a ballsy, Rosalind Russell type, and Zellweger, whose screen persona is usually much more low key, isn’t up to the task. John Krasinski, from The Office, is pure vanilla in a very vanilla role.

Leatherheads runs an ungainly 114 minutes, at least 20 minutes longer than the average screwball comedy. The climactic football scene feels drawn-out, particularly since it comes after the logical climactic scene. When a story has so little substance, is it too much to ask that it wrap up after 90 minutes?

Leatherheads wants to bring back memories of the screwball comedies from the 1930s, but where those films felt spontaneous, this film is posturing. It’s as if Clooney wanted to emulate the older films but also show that he’s too cool for them by constantly winking at the camera and having his cast overact. The insincerity of Leatherheads becomes quite alienating. Light entertainment has rarely felt this exhausting. Yet it’s hard to hate Leatherheads. There is something about Clooney’s screen presence that’s kind of seductive, even in a performance that doesn’t quite work. There’s also something seductive about the film’s hyper-fetishized depiction of the 1920s. Even the mud on the football field looks beautiful. A lot of skilled technicians have done a very good job creating this cinematic wax museum.

MONSIEUR VERDOUX
Rating: *** ½ (out of ****)
Cast: Charles Chaplin, Martha Raye, Isobel Elsom, Marilyn Nash
Writer: Charles Chaplin
Director: Charles Chaplin
Playing Friday (7:00) and Sunday (3:00) at Cinematheque Ontario

“Chaplin Changes – CAN YOU?” asked the ads for Charlie Chaplin’s 1947 black comedy, Monsieur Verdoux. Monsieur Verdoux was the first time since 1914 that Chaplin did not play his famous Little Tramp (or a variation on that character). The film also marked a turning point in his career and popularity. Already reeling from allegations of Communism and an ugly paternity lawsuit, the man who was once the most famous and beloved single person in the entire world was seen as a lecher and a radical. Monsieur Verdoux only alienated his public further, and apart from 1923’s A Woman of Paris (a melodrama that he directed but did not star in), it became his first box office flop.

The story (“Based on an Idea by Orson Welles”) struck an unpleasant chord. Chaplin plays Henri Verdoux, a dapper French banker who loses his job during the Great Depression. Unable to find employment and with a family to feed, Verdoux embarks on a career of marrying wealthy old women and murdering them for their money. In one of the film’s early scenes, Verdoux is on his latest honeymoon. Wandering through his garden, Verdoux saves a caterpillar from getting squished. Seconds later, a neighbour observes, “He’s had that incinerator going all day.” Guess who’s in the incinerator.

In this scene and others, Chaplin contrasts Verdoux’s charm with his inhuman crimes, which Verdoux views with a startling indifference. Disturbingly, Chaplin the director, while hardly glamorizing the murders, does not go out of his way to demonize Verdoux. Rather, Chaplin turns Verdoux from a cold-blooded killer into a sympathetic antihero. In 1947, this was unheard of.

Turning Verdoux into the protagonist isn’t just a sick joke for Chaplin. As in most of his later films, the plot of Monsieur Verdoux is the launching pad for Chaplin’s political agenda. After Verdoux is finally arrested, Chaplin draws parallels between Verdoux’s killings with the killing brought about by war. “One murder makes a villain; millions, a hero,” says Verdoux at his trial. “As a mass killer, I am an amateur.” How many people would have dared say this in a film two years after World War II?

For a long time, I, like the public, was unable to fully appreciate Monsieur Verdoux. I expected something with a greater laugh-to-minute ratio from Chaplin. Verdoux has funny moments, sure – the scenes in which Chaplin tries to kill the boorish and downright invincible Martha Raye are as funny as anything Chaplin had ever done before. But the laugh quotient is lower than in certified Chaplin classics like The Gold Rush or City Lights. Instead, Chaplin spends ample time on drama, political philosophy, and even suspense.

Though I was critical of the film, I was also fascinated, and over the years I’ve probably seen Monsieur Verdoux more times than nearly any other Chaplin film. Looking back, I think my earlier objections have little merit. Who says Chaplin need focus on humour? In fact, the combination of humour drama, philosophy, and suspense make for a well balanced and ultimately satisfying experience. Did I just say suspense in a Chaplin movie? Chaplin has often been criticized as being a pedestrian director, but watch the scene leading up to the off-screen murder of Lydia (Margaret Hoffman): it’s comparable to Hitchcock.

Chaplin’s previous film, the no less controversial Hitler satire The Great Dictator (1940), had moments of bleakness and misery, but its concluding scene – Chaplin’s infamous six-minute speech – was a hopeful one that believed in the goodness of humanity. Verdoux is a darker and more nihilistic film. Monsieur Verdoux falls short of greatness. Parts of it have not aged well: the drama has a tendency to go sappy and Chaplin’s moralizing isn’t exactly subtle, especially in the film’s concluding scenes. Yet many aspects of the film (its pacifism, the jet-black comedy, Chaplin’s magnetic performance) are startlingly effective. If it isn’t as miraculous as The Gold Rush, City Lights, or Modern Times, Monsieur Verdoux still emerges as one of Chaplin’s most ambitious and stimulating works.

RUN FATBOY RUN
Rating: ** 1/2 (out of ****)
Cast: Simon Pegg, Thandie Newton, Hank Azaria, Dylan Moran
Writers: Michael Ian Black, Simon Pegg
Director: David Schwimmer
Opening Friday in wide release.

When interviewed about his show Fawlty Towers, John Cleese was asked why the audience would invariably side with Basil Fawlty, the rude, bigoted hotel owner who was the show’s protagonist. Cleese answered that it was because audiences feel loyalty to the characters that make them laugh. He cited W.C. Fields as another example of an actor who played irredeemable characters yet was still won audience approval.

In the tradition of Basil Fawlty and W.C. Fields comes Dennis, the hero of Run Fatboy Run, played by Simon Pegg from Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz. Dennis is a born loser who five years ago on his wedding day had a breakdown and left his pregnant fiancée Libby (Thandie Newton) at the altar. Five years later, working as a security guard and living in a crummy basement apartment, he mournfully regrets his decision, and pines to be reunited with Libby. But Libby has found a new man in Whit (Hank Azaria), a millionaire and jogging enthusiast. As a last-ditch attempt to win over his former love, Dennis announces that he will run the London marathon, despite the fact that he is completely out of shape and has never done anything so ambitious in his life.

There is no reason to side with Dennis. He did a terrible thing to his fiancée, and it should be obvious that Whit is the better man. But dammit… Whit’s just too self-absorbed, humourless, and, well, perfect. This movie pulls of the tricky feat of making us side with Dennis, the self-absorbed guy who at least makes us laugh.

This movie is like an old Abbott and Costello or Jerry Lewis vehicle where the plot is secondary to providing a showcase for the star. The script, credited to Pegg and Michael Ian Black, makes some halfhearted attempts at spoofing underdog films like Rocky, but falls victim to the same clichés that plague the films it mocks. Things get particularly dire during the final few scenes, a contrived trip to cornytown. Though the film’s Toronto Film Festival pedigree and modest 1,000-screen release would indicate a film with independent/art house spirit, Run Fatboy Run is a popcorn romantic comedy of the most mainstream kind.

But the film has its good points, not least the performances by Pegg, Azaria, and Dylan Moran, from the TV show Black Books, who plays Pegg’s best friend. Also surprisingly effective is the direction by David Schwimmer. Yes, that David Schwimmer. Apart from a few shorts and some episodes of Friends and Joey, this is his directorial debut, and he acquits himself admirably. This type of sitcom material is normally saddled with a pedestrian visual style, but Schwimmer’s relatively gritty handheld aesthetic mixes well with the lower middle class locations that Pegg inhabits. Schwimmer directs the material as if it were drama – a smart move, since we all know the first rule of comedy is not to stress to the audience that the material is FUNNY.

Run Fatboy Run has some good laughs and moves along briskly and efficiently, and in Pegg it has an excellent comic actor who deserves to be a major North American star. What the film does it does competently, and should you choose to see it, you’ll be entertained. But after the ingenuity of Hot Fuzz, there’s a shade of disappointment in seeing Pegg in such a routine enterprise. This film will be right at home when it shows up on TV.