Movie Reviews: Choke, August Evening, Eagle Eye, Nights in Rodanthe

 
HANK AND MIKE In the misanthropic comedy Hank and Mike, Easter is run by a corporation that employs real-life Easter bunnies to deliver treats to kids. Two such bunnies are horny, drunken Hank (Thomas Michael) and sweet pushover Mike (Paolo Mancini), best friends and roommates who get downsized and must learn to live in the scary human world. Directed by Matthiew Klinck and written by the costars, Hank and Mike puts all its comedic eggs in one basket, hoping that the Bad Santa crowd will love watching dudes in bunny suits smoking, swearing and screwing. Given the thin setup and broad-joke characters, it’s not surprising that the film sprang from a recurring bit on a sketch-comedy show — Canada’s Y B Normal? — and consequently the audience gets an 86-minute reminder of how fortunate we are that Lorne Michaels has stopped unleashing SNL movies on us. There are some laughs to be had at the expense of bunnies behaving badly, but as in the overrated Bad Santa, the repetitive crass humor too often gives way to a misogynistic streak that caters to the meathead contingent. Worse, the filmmakers try to sneak in some heartwarming sentiments near the end — hey, if the jokes are falling flat, they might as well pander to our emotions, right? (Nuart) (Tim Grierson)

 
THE LUCKY ONES Saying The Lucky Ones is the best film about Iraq yet is the proverbial damning with faint praise. Conservative op-ed writers of the world, rejoice: The three soldiers in Neil Burger’s film aren’t raving psychopaths or illiterate hulks, just normal Americans who love eating McDonald’s when they’re on leave. One of them even believes in God. There’s Cheever (Tim Robbins), whose name must be a joke; a suburban homeowner and stand-up guy, he’s about as far as you can get from family abuse and three-martini lunches. Along for an ad hoc road-trip: TK (Michael Pena), a cocky business-advice-spouting dude, and Colee (Rachel McAdams), as nice a gal you’d ever hope to meet. All three actors are excellent — I’d been assuming that Robbins forgot how to underact sometime in the ’90s, but this almost makes up for Mystic River — and Burger’s film works scene to scene. But its hopelessly schematic road-trip arc (bond-fight-reconcile-repeat) grows increasingly tedious. It’s a “well-made” film: Explosive emotional confrontations are deferred, the ending is purposefully unresolved, the camera work deliberately unshowy. Thank goodness for all that — and the fact that a hashed-over war debate gets less time than one character’s ED problem — but it’s finally all too familiar. (Selected theaters) (Vadim Rizov)

Choke

Courtesy of Magnolia Pictures

A Thousand Years of Good Prayers

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MY BEST FRIEND’S GIRL Befitting a Dane Cook vehicle, My Best Friend’s Girl is relentlessly crass, which shouldn’t bother anyone younger than 30 familiar with Cook’s punch lines: He uses “cunt” as often as Henny Youngman punned. Tank (Cook) turns a profit meeting cute with girls, taking them on the worst dates ever, and then sending them back to their grateful fuck-up boyfriends. Trouble comes when roommate/lifelong friend Dustin (Justin Biggs, displaying none of neurotic namesake Hoffman’s charm) strikes out with his infatuation Alexis (Kate Hudson) and asks Tank to do cleanup. Serial womanizer Tank and serial monogamist Alexis, predictably, hit it off. Needless complications ensue. Tank’s whole shtick is taking advantage of stupid women’s desire to live in banal romantic comedies, but the film he’s in is just as bad as any other Hudson movie. Women are easily manipulated and probably skanks; guys either need to get laid or go home. The best thing in the whole mess is the Cars song — played in whole or part some four times. Stay at home and crank it sporadically over 100 minutes and you’ll reap all the benefits. (Citywide) (Vadim Rizov)

 
NIGHTS IN RODANTHE This movie works so strenuously to satisfy its target audience’s every desire that it’s a minor surprise that the filmmakers didn’t provide cashmere blankets, a snuggly pair of slippers and a warm cup of cocoa for everyone entering the theater. Based on sap-master Nicholas Sparks’ novel, Nights in Rodanthe introduces us to Adrienne (Diane Lane), an overworked, separated mother separated who decides to take a minivacation by running her friend’s North Carolina beachfront inn for a few days. Her only guest is Paul (Richard Gere), a divorced plastic surgeon who also needs a break from his life. What follows every step of the way is exactly what you think will happen, with Lane doing her standard feisty-mature-hottie routine and Gere in sensitive-heartthrob mode. The feature directorial debut of theater veteran George C. Wolfe (Angels in America), Nights exhibits a certain amount of integrity in its dedication to being uncomplicated, unashamed romantic goo, but after a while, its self-serious celebration of middle-aged ennui redeemed by screwing a handsome stranger with a full head of hair can’t help but inspire a couple cynical chuckles. Still, don’t be surprised if your mom loves it. (Citywide) (Tim Grierson)