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BRINGING DOWN THE HOUSE Click for the Official Site Taken out of their element and era, Archie Bunker's antics don't pack much of a zing these days. Funny and possibly even groundbreaking as "All in the Family" was (at least by the conservative standards which have always ruled the content of network TV) in the 1970s for bringing to bear the idiocy and racism of white America, the show always toed that fine line between what's humorous and what's offensive. Whether it was tact or restraint, or simply a solid understanding of what's funny, that show's creators "got" it. Picking up where the Bunkers left off, "Bringing Down the House" attempts its own unfortunate stab at racial yuks with tepid and often insulting results. In this ill-conceived comedy of errors about an uptight, wealthy California tax attorney named Peter Sanderson (Steve Martin), who unknowingly romances an incarcerated African American woman (Queen Latifah) over the Internet, racial stereotypes and bottom-of-the-barrel humor abound. Living in a pristinely manicured, upper-crust suburb that looks like Beverly Hills, Sanderson is shocked when "lawyer-girl," the woman he's been speaking with in chat rooms for months, shows up on his door in the form of Ms. Latifah. Having been sent a picture of a perky blond, the lawyer failed to notice the tiny figure in the back being ushered into a police car, the figure that called herself Charlene and now stands at his front door. After extensive arguing and multiple removals, the Queen lays it out for her honky Internet buddy: she's innocent and needs a lawyer to clear her name. Said honky agrees, only after Charlene continues to show up in places that don't cater to her kind - namely anywhere Sanderson goes from his office, to his country club to his front lawn. As the two lose sight of their misconceptions and become friends, Charlene's fun-loving gal pal in turn agrees to help Sanderson loosen up and woo his ex-wife back.
Not only does "Bringing Down the House" mine the territory of racial misunderstanding with idiotic "Why do you act so black?" questions countered by "Why do you act so white?" ones, it also places its action in a vacuum of grotesquely out of touch and offensive, wealthy old ladies. The first of these comes in the form of Sanderson's neighbor, played by a seemingly ageless Betty White (hasn't she looked about 75 for the past 20 years?), who refers to being bothered by seeing a number of "Negroes" running around his house and not wanting Latinos on the block "who aren't carrying leaf blowers." Ha, ha? For those who aren't moved to laughs by those tasteless antics, more are supplied by Sanderson's main client, a wealthy heiress played by Joan Plowright. In one of the more intolerable scenes in the film, Charlene (who is supposed to be the Sanderson's nanny) is requested to act the part of the maid. While serving dinner, the elderly heiress launches into an old slave spiritual, saying how her maid used to love the song, which chronicles a slave's fears about being sold. Again, is this funny? As mildly amusing as it is to see Eugene Levy attempt to romance Queen Latifah with ghetto speak like "you got me all twisted inside, boo," it certainly doesn't make up for the rash of beguilingly inappropriate material that populates so much of "Bringing Down the House." And, if all the discomforting comments don't leave you uneasy, there's even an ill-conceived catfight to do the trick. When Queen Latifah's tough, ghetto fabulous ex-con has a showdown with Sannderson's obnoxious former sister-in-law (Kimberly J. Brown) in the country club bathroom, homage is paid to the WWF as bodies are tossed across the room, black eyes are given and heads are plunged into toilets. In between all the wincingly bad verbal smackdowns thrown out by this movie, I suppose it's only fitting that it include at least one physical bout of equal taste and intelligence. THE HUNTED Grade: B+
>From the opening lines, in which a verse of Bob Dylan's "Highway 61 Revisited" are solemnly uttered by Johnny Cash, to the country legend's spirited rendition of that song in the closing credits, "The Hunted" is a terse, exciting, bittersweet chase. Recalling the classic and effective camera work which put its director, William Friedkin, on the Hollywood map, the veteran delivers a refreshing action movie that relies more heavily on solid filmmaking than poorly executed, computer-generated effects. Still best known for that lengthy, unforgettable subway chase in which Gene Hackman's gruff New York City cop attempts to chase down the bad guys in "The French Connection," Friedkin manages to bring much of the vigor and excitement of that taut sequence to his latest effort. About an expertly trained Special Forces soldier who becomes unhinged after a bloody tour in Kosovo, "The Hunted" chronicles a simple search and destroy effort with an AWOL officer as the target. The bait is played by a beady-eyed Benicio Del Torro, who embodies the soft-spoken, broken, uber-G.I. Joe of Aaron Hallam with an eerie dose of tenderness and sensitivity. Taught to kill with precision and stealth by a loner outdoorsman named L.T. Bonham (Tommy Lee Jones), who did "contract work" for the U.S. Army, the elder woodsman is called back on the job after Hallam brutally murders two hunters in the Oregon woods.
Not much for subtlety, "The Hunted" trumps various scenarios that depict a seeker moving in on his prey. From Lee Jones' introductory scene in which he tracks down a white wolf that's been caught in a trap, to Del Toro's first taste of illegal blood (which comes from those two hunters, who happen to be in pursuit of a majestic moose), the film seemingly tosses out a variety of promotional material for the ASPCA. And, in the end, the message here is about as deep and blunt as a something that organization might have put on TV: toying with the balance of nature and killing other beings is wrong. Like its sparse and direct message, the film thankfully keeps the chatter to a minimum, letting the action play out in well-crafted tracking sequences. From the lush greenery of the Oregon wilderness to the crowded streets of Portland, Friedkin shows he still knows how to film a damn good chase scene. In one of the most electrifying segments of the film, Lee Jones' tracker tries to chase down a fleeing Del Torro as the elusive soldier escapes into a local fountain, a derelict-ridden park and finally onto a familiar site: a city subway. Pulling from his familiar bag of tricks, Friedkin employs many of the same visual bells and whistles he used in "The French Connection" from terse background music to lengthy, uncut sequences. And while "The Hunted" certainly never grabs hold of you in the same way Friedkin's signature, Oscar-winning, picture did, it does recall an earlier of filmmaking when action was staged instead of merely programmed.
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