Remember THAT scene in Alien? John Hurt laughs and enjoys a drink with his crew mates, little realising that he has taken part in the sci-fi world's answer to the Deliverance. Suddenly, a fetal alien bursts from his chest to wreak it's acid-soaked wrath upon the surviving inhabitants of the Nostromo. It's one of those cinematic images that melds itself to the frontal lobe, like the shower scene in Psycho or the Statue of Liberty reveal in Planet of the Apes; quite hard to forget. Now, cast your mind back to what Alien did for science fiction heading into the eighties, giving the old Star Wars paradigm a much needed hug in the facial department. Well, the naughties now have their own version of that genre busting whip-livener in the shape of District 9, a rending tale of alien xenophobia set in a post-apartheid South Africa.
The documentary-style narrative follows Wikus van de Merwe, an employee of MNU, which is a private contractor to the South African government. As the movie opens, he is celebrating a recent promotion, having been given control of an illegal alien camp relocation. This is where this version of earth's reality skews of from our own, as the aliens in this camp come from a little further afield than other African nations. They are intergalactic refugees, having been stranded when their mammoth spacecraft stalled over Johannesburg roughly twenty years before the events of the movie. There are no signs of intelligent life on board, and the working-class lifeforms inhabiting the ship need to be cut free and extricated.
Their less than hospitable hosts place the alien creatures in temporary accommodation which quickly becomes a run down slum. The life forms (“Prawns” as they are derisively called – you can see why from the above picture) don't do themselves any favours either. They're generally uncouth; eating raw meat and cat food, and stealing from the local population to fund their prodigious consumption of same.
Now, Wikus is a nice guy. He has a wife (who, honestly, is far too hot for him), and is a pretty happy go lucky chap. But he's under immense pressure to clear the camp from his father-in-law, who got him the job. Additionally, he seems to have little or no regard for the prawns, and treats them with a lack of humanity. All that begins to change though when he is sprayed by a strange liquid during a routine search of a prawn shack.
District 9 started life as a short film, developed by director Neil Blomkamp. He was in the process of developing his first feature film, an adaptation of the Halo video game series with [LOTR-link] guru Peter Jackson, when the project was shelved for lack of financing. Instead, they chose to develop the short, originally entitled Exile in Joburg, into a full length movie.
The film itself draws from different sci-fi and horror tenets. Part Blair Witch shockumentary, with a little David Cronenburg body horror mixed in, it uses small parts of these genres to quickly and compactly build its complex and engaging plot. The first two acts are spring loaded with so much exposition and action that it is a testament to the quality of the script to say that the pacing never feels ragged or jarring as they rapidly unwind.
Sharlto Copley is eminently engaging as Wikus. His initial gleeful mistreatment of the Prawns can be put down to negligent disregard rather than malicious intent, and his arc is perfectly judged, so that there is some real visceral emotion behind his eventual suffering and retaliation. It also doesn't hurt that he sounds like an inner-city Dubliner when he shouts FOOK - copiously - throughout the movie.
The production design and special effects seem to have been sourced in part from another video game, namely the Half-Life series. I would be interested to see what Weta Workshops list of inspirations was, especially for the Prawn battle suit, whose gravity weapon bears more than a passing resemblance to Half-Life 2's gravity gun.
I cannot fault a little cribbing though, because the effect of the Weta treatment is to add enormously to the scale of District 9. I walked out of the movie theatre estimating that the production, with all of it's explosions, alien creatures and giant floating spaceships must have cost in excess of $100 million dollars to make, when a paltry $30 million was the actual expenditure.
It is a sad truth that there will be no major Oscar wins for District 9. Science Fiction films don't tend to go home with many statues. The most it can hope for is a Best Special Effects and Best Original Screenplay nomination and maybe a nod in the Best Foreign Film category. Where this feature will ultimately stand or fall is in the money it makes (already $126 million at the global box office). But, on the evidence of what I have seen here, District 9 deserves to rake in more coin than Raymond Babbitt at a blackjack table.
Having done his version of a heist movie, blaxploitation flick and revenge drama, Quentin Tarantino's latest film is a World War II epic with a difference. A war movie told in the filmic language of the spaghetti western, Inglourious Basterds is a quick return to directing for QT following Death Proof's disappointing reception. But whether it is as good as film's past is a debate I'm ill equipped to lead.
I saw Inglourious Basterds ten days ago. And after ten days of mulling, evaluating and considering, I have yet to form a strong opinion on Tarantino's latest offering. I like it, damning as that sounds, but beyond that tepid sentiment I'm still as unsure as I was when I left the cinema. I know it's not de rigeur for someone who fanices themselves a film critic to say - or type - this, but before I can be more sure about this film I think I'll need to see it again on DVD.
The narrative follows a small group of American soldiers dropped behind enemy lines in an attempt to disrupt and sabotage Nazi operations. Or as Brad Pitt's character, Aldo Raine says “we in the killin' Nazi business. And cousin, business is a-boomin'”. A subplot follows Shosanna Dreyfus, a French Jew who finds herself owning a cinema in Paris after the execution of her family by SS officer Hans Landa (Cristoph Waltz). The paths of these two sets of protagonists begin to coalesce when they find themselves in positions to bring the war to a premature conclusion.
I think the primary reason I didn't get to grips with Inglourious Basterds is that I can't decide whether it crosses the line into self-indulgence. Actually, it's not so much self-indulgence as a lack of tightness in the script. The opening scene is a prime example of this. The scene itself, involving a French farmer and Hans Landa, is stocked to the hilt with tension and suspense, but takes an oh-so rambling route before docking at it's resolution, teetering on the brink of flabbiness throughout.
I would have preferred if the movie concentrated solely on the Basterds, because their initial antics and unveiling was where the movie peaked. No sharp decline follows, but the moody and unenthralling Shosanna segments would have been better left on the writing room floor in favour of more Inglouriousness.
However, the plot does take enough Tarantino-esque left turns to still periodically lift the movie into better than good territory. The final ten minutes are a revisionists wet dream, and when an interrogation scene turns deadly the urge to shut at least one eye is hard to resist. Narrative structure apart, the director's usual calling cards litter the screenplay. Movie-reference studded dialogue (in the form of Leni Riefenstahl name checking and a discussion of Chaplin's The Kid), fetishistic shots of female characters feet, and an increasingly vivid streak of cruelty which the director seems to harbour towards his creations make themselves apparent throughout the production. Never one to hold back on unleashing bodily claret, Tarantino must have felt like he was back on the set of From Dusk 'til Dawn at times.
As usual though, the director's aural sensibilities are faultless. The music is exquisite, and opens up the vista of a movie mostly shot indoors. And even if it a large portion of it shouldn't belong in a WWII-era movie, you're left wondering why it wasn't attempted before, which is exactly as it should be with a Tarantino production.
Cristoph Waltz deserves most credit for imbuing his SS Colonel with the spirit of a devilish Sherlock Holmes, a role which landed him the best actor award at Cannes and a role in the upcoming Green Hornet. Brad Pitt is in usual fine fettle as the leader of the Basterds. It's already been proven, but endlessly worth repeating that he is as adept with comedy as with drama, and can gear change seemlessly between the two. Eli Roth (he of Hostel directorial infamy) is similarly engaging as Donny Donowitz aka The Bear Jew. In a casting mis step, Mike Myers cameos as a British General. I just couldn't take the SNL alum seriously as a non-shagadelic Brit.
Maybe I had a better handle on this movie than I thought. Inglourious Basterds is middling Tarantino; certainly not as good as his early work, but head and shoulders above vast swathes of his contemporaries. Ah, nothing like a good – scratch that, above average – review to clear the mind.
I have begun to become aware that a lot of the movies I review for my blog receive high scores. With the exception of last month's Public Enemies, I generally haven't disliked too many of the film's featured. This is not necessarily because I am a soft reviewer, but more a function of the fact that I generally don't go to see flicks starring talking chihuahuas. Maybe if I were a paid critic (hint hint, any major publications out there) I would be required to watch whatever was voided from Hollywood's bowel in any given week. But until that day arrives, I see what I want. With this in mind, and in the interests of broadening my range of synonyms for the word mediocre, I thought I would review a movie which I have seen recently, one that didn't necessarily line up all the cherries in my mental slot machine.
Son of Rambow is a movie which received positive reviews upon release in 2007, but for one reason or another, I never saw during it's theatrical run. Directed by Garth Jennings (who also helmed the rather spiffing Hitchhiker's Guide), it seemed – not to sound too similar to a film poster - like a good natured romp. The story centres around two boys growing up in the eighties, one a little too bad, one a bit too good. Will's a timid young boy. His father is dead and his family is part of the Plymouth Brethren (which the film portrays as though it were the British branch of the Amish religion). Lee's absentee parents live outside the UK, leaving him and his self-obsessed brother alone most of the year. With no parental controls Lee has devolved into, for want of nicer language, an over-confident little shit. When he decides that he needs a stuntman for an amateur film he is trying to produce (based on Rambo: First Blood), he emotionally blackmails Will into taking a few for the team, and, in time-honoured movie fashion, an unlikely friendship begins to flower.
I almost wish I hated this film, then I would have some feelings towards it. As it is, indifference is the only emotion I feel for this middle of the road, coming of age comedy. Son of Rambow is innocuous, sometimes entertaining screen-filler, but measured against the film's of the late great John Hughes – in the genre which he defined – it doesn't even reach ankle height.
Why so downbeat? Well, film's of this nature aren't too hard to get right. You start off with two archetypal characters, the nerd and the cool kid. Throw them at each other for what audiences like best – conflict. Somewhere in the course of the second act, the nerd begins to become popular, whether through association or his own strength of character – and the cool kid gets jealous. Cool kid causes large event (X) which puts their friendship in jeopardy, in the course of which he learns a little nerdish humility. Throw in a third act resolution of situation X, during which our bespectacled youth gets to show off his new found worldliness and bish bash bosh, you're out. So far Son of Rambow has all the boxes ticked. Oh, but there is one more thing; your film needs to different enough from what has come before to avoid boring an audience to death.
It is at this last hurdle which Son of Rambow not only falls, but suffers a fontanelle-busting arse over head tumble. The story is pure dullsville. There is nothing noxious here to ruin a mildly good time, but similarly no flashes of brilliance to lift the film above mid-table mediocrity. The strict-religion-ruining-a-good-time story line was done a lot better in Footloose and that was over twenty years ago. Here it is trotted out as a faded copy. Most annoyingly though, I have seen the unlikely friends plot strand played out in every film from Fox and the Hound to Rain Man, so if I'm to sit up and take notice of a new entry in the log book, it had better be damn good. That was decidedly not the case here. Lee's hard exterior buckle's under the weight of Will's good natured innocence all too forgettably. I have had more impression left upon my mind by a late-night trip to the bathroom.
The lack of laughs in Son of Rambow is it's next problem and is confusing, as the story provides ample berth for a much sharper, more contemporary sense of humour (even given it's temporal setting). Instead, the film sets up the characters and begins to plough an obvious and unchanging comedy furrow with each. The worst example of this is with the French foreign exchange student character, a good concept, the execution of which is wasted on a plethora of similar gags which quickly become boring, and eventually mind numbing.
Finally, and most damningly, there comes the unengaging plot. This robs the movie of all but a watch-it-out-of-the-corner-of-your-eye-while-doing-the-ironing appeal. The best of this genre of film have a sort of last day of term feel to them, and leave an audience with a palpable sense of relief when the main characters achieve their objective. The third act of Son of Rambow does not steadily build towards a endorphin-releasing crescendo, but instead changes the parameters of the leading character's needs in an unsatisfying way, robbing the audience of their long-awaited payoff.
There is a saving grace of sorts though. The movie's heart is in the right place. The relationship between the boys, while trite, does seem emotionally real. The two young actors playing Will and Lee (Bill Milner and Will Poulter), are to thank for this. They spark off each other to provide some life at the centre of an otherwise barren story.
You could do worse than perhaps catching Son of Rambow on satellite or terrestrial TV when it eventually wends it's way that far, but for now find yourself a dark room, the collected works of John Hughes, and experience the real thing.
I was asked recently to provide content for wired.com in Scotland. If all goes well it may be a regular entertainment segment called (very imaginatively) Purple Monkey Dishpodcast. The one proviso for my first attempt was that I keep the length below five minutes. I wrote the essay below, and on first reading it clocked in at seventeen and a half minutes, so needless to say that most of it had to be cut out due to time constraints. Being the lazy writer that I am though, I thought I would flesh out my copious notes and display the untruncated version for the three people who read my blog. Enjoy.
Why Doesn't Eddie Murphy Make Good Films for Grown-ups anymore?
I have had this discussion more times than I care to remember, with anyone who will care to listen, and after more alcohol than I would care to describe here. The gist of my argument is that Eddie Murphy worked on some great projects during the eighties, which coalesced into a body of work of which any actor would have been proud. He was the edgiest comedian in Hollywood, with a seemingly bright future ahead. But then it all seemed to go bad, and since my teens he has been producing either mediocre comedies or movies which pander to an audience yet to grow pubic hair.
What brought this topic to mind was that I saw Murphy recently on the Tonight Show talking to Conan O'Brien talking about latest film, Imagine That. It's another kids film about... and here I'm going to stop. The plot of, or anything related to, this film do not interest me because I'm not nine, and what's more I'm intensely annoyed that he hasn't produced anything good for fans like me in the last number of years, and so I thought I would put all of those hours of drunken hard work to use and present some theories as to where Eddie Murphy has gone wrong.
Murphy's first big job was on TV's Saturday Night Live. He had come from stand up comedy, as so many of that shows cast do, and was hired to the show in 1980 during Lorne Michael's only absence as show runner. The characters which he created allowed him to rise quite quickly to the top, and he is the only person ever to host the show whilst still a cast member (he began the broadcast by mutating the usual greeting to read “live from New York, it's the Eddie Murphy Show”). Murphy was concerned though about his role as a black comedian in the predominantly white cast. He had followed in Garrett Morris' footsteps, who had been the only African American in the original line up. It is generally accepted that Morris was treated poorly during his stint, playing numerous stereotypical roles, and generally being acknowledged as the token back actor. Murphy didn't want the same fate amd told TV Guide that then producer Jean Doumanian “had tried to Garrett Morris me... turn me into the little token nigger.”
However, Murphy didn't really hang around the small screen long enough for this to be an issue. His first film 48 Hrs, was released in 1982. A buddy cop film with Nick Nolte, it isn't one of my favourite of his Golden Era roles, but it was a competent action/comedy which did good box office and raised Murphy's profile.
Directed by John Landis, Murphy made Trading Places the year after, and starred opposite fellow SNL alum Dan Aykroyd playing a vagrant who has his destiny toyed with by a pair of stockbroking brothers. It's an excellent movie that usually gets replayed around Christmas. It's worth watching again for the third act stock exchange sequence alone. Trivia fans should also note that this is the first time the allegedly hermaphroditic Jamie Lee Curtis gets her boobs out and that the Duke brothers (Don Ameche and Ralph Bellamy would later show up in 1988's Coming to America.
1983 was also the year that Murphy recorded the first of two iconic stand up shows. Delirious is prolifically rude, but also prolifically funny, and lest we get off on the wrong foot, I'm not trying to suggest that Eddie Murphy needs to swear more to appeal to a mature audience. There is no automatic need for good adult humour to be profanity riddled, and in fact I have seen a lot of comedians use swear words as a crutch in order to get a laugh from soft lines. In Murphy's hands though, or on his tongue to be more accurate, the baser elements of the English language become art. I have some criticisms about his style though; at times Murphy's jokes about gay people are a little off colour and tend towards bigotry. Also, whilst Eddie is a stellar stand up, he is at his best when riffing within a structure, like he did in his next film.
Murphy left SNL in 1984, the same year that Beverly Hills Cop launched him into the stratosphere. Directed by Martin Brest (he of Gigli infamy) the first – and best – film in the trilogy sees Murphy as Detective Axel Foley, taking a trip to the aforementioned locale to solve the murder of his childhood friend. Tight scripting and above all the energy of Eddie Murphy are what make this film. The movie was originally slated to star Sylvester Stallone in the lead role. However, when Stallone left due to budgetary constraints the screenplay was heavily rewritten to suit Murphy's comic abilities. Idea's which Stallone had contributed during his association with the project were recycled to make the movie Cobra.
If you have the time you should look into another good film by Martin Brest, made during his purple patch; Midnight Run. Starring Robert De Niro and Charles Grodin as a bounty hunter and a mob accountant, it's a smart, heartfelt action comedy which also features John Ashton from the Cop series.
I distinctly remember the night I saw Raw, Eddie Murphy's second stand up show. It was the first night we got the movie channels, and I was just about to go to bed, when I switched on Sky Movies 25 or Sky Movies ∑, however many stations there were. There's this black guy – I don't think I had seen any of his films then – and he's wearing a purple and black leather suit, walking around on stage like he's James Brown and swishing his microphone cord in his wake. The visual was hard enough to grasp, never mind what he was saying. When I finally did start to process his comedy though, it was mesmerising. I have now seen the show so many times that the lines are second nature. The Bill Cosby story is as funny as anything I've ever heard and, unusually for stand up, it still manages to retain a feeling of freshness every time I see it.
Eddie is not the only member of his family who is gifted at telling funny stories. His brother Charlie Murphy is well-known for appearing on Dave Chappelle's short lived TV show, on the True Hollywood Stories sketches. In particular, look for the Rick James segment, which, if it is still on the site must have registered more youtube hits than Jesus, or Chocolate Rain at least.
There was a two-year stretch between Beverly Hills Cop and Murphy's next movie, Golden Child. In it Murphy plays a social worker who finds himself being deigned as “the chosen one”, selected to secure the return of a supernatural Tibetan boy from the forces of darkness. Again, Murphy was shoehorned into another actor's role, this time Mel Gibson, and the script was heavily altered to make it partial comedy. Critically the movie didn't fare well, but personally I like it. Its hokey enough to be fun without crossing over to stupidity and is like a mystical little brother to the first Cop movie.
The Sequel to the first Cop Movie was next on Murphy's docket. It was directed by Tony Scott, Ridley's little brother, who has still to emerge from the shadow cast by his older brother's work. Tony was popular during this period, having made the first of his two Tom Cruise collaborations, Top Gun (the second being Days of Thunder), but his films, while offering some striking visuals, aren't much more than by the numbers actioners.
The plot, or excuse to move between set pieces, is that Axel Foley returns to Beverly Hills to solve the shooting of Captain Bogomil. The film was nowhere near as good as the first, and critically trashed, but was profitable. The story itself is potboiler thriller, featuring perennial eighties tough girl Bridgette Nielsen, with Murphy's inclusion in the tailor-made script feeling more unusual than the first film. It works for me, but just barely, and Murphy's carrying the load here - the part worth watching anyway. I have to give credit where it's due though and say that the finished product is better than the initial idea, which was Beverly Hills Cop, now note the title, set in London and Paris. Only in Hollywood.
Arguably the last good, grown up Murphy film was Coming to America, in which Murphy stars alongside Arsenio Hall as an African prince searching for an independently-minded bride. Murphy reunited with John Landis who said the stars off screen demeanour had become unpleasant and arrogant since Trading Places. Funnily though, this wouldn't be last time they would work together. Coming to America was the first film in which Murphy played multiple roles, and he also wrote the script, although this was later disputed by Art Buchwald. Buchwald brought Paramount to court claiming that they had stolen his script treatment, and won undisclosed damages.
Coming To America marked a watershed in Murphy’s career. After this movie, Murphy started to spread himself thinner, accepting producer credits, directing in some instances which brings me to ask if one of the products of his downfall has been that he is wearing too many hats on his projects?
After that, Murphy's career went into a slump, which allows me to posit the Malcolm X, Plymouth Rock theory. If you've ever seen that film you'll know there's a scene in which Malcolm X (Denzel Washington) says “We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us”. Could it be then that Murphy didn't abandon adult movies, they abandoned him? After Coming to America, he made a string of bad movies, which still managed to make money; an Eddie Murphy hallmark. There was the sequel to 48 hrs, which was decidedly average, and the sub-par Harlem Nights which co-starred Richard Pryor and was written and directed by Murphy.
I originally saw Beverly Hills Cop III when I was twelve, and I thought it was good, great actually. In fact, I'm pretty sure that when I was twelve whatever film I had just watched was without equal, the best I had ever seen. I have since, on growing up, had to change this wider outlook as well as my opinion of this donkey's nutsack of a film. Not only is it unsuccessful as a stand-alone piece, it fails to work within the paint-by-numbers paradigm laid down by the preceding movies in the series. As of the date of writing, this is Murphy's last collaboration with John Landis and I can see why. It doesn't have the same spirit as the first or second films. All of the grit and comedy is gone from Foley's character and it seems that the reason for this lies squarely with one Eddie Murphy. Apparently Murphy told John Landis on set that Axel Foley was an adult now, and that he wasn't a wiseass anymore. Huh, really Eddie? Surely that’s what the series was built on, Murphy being a wisecracking smartass? Without that the film failed and the series has been in hibernation ever since.
This fuels theory number three. At this stage in his career, Eddie Murphy wanted to grow up as an actor, and take more serious roles. We're not talking Eddie Murphy playing Othello, but rather the kind of roles Wesley Snipes was getting, the full-on, check your comedy shoes at the door parts which he might have felt would bring him more respect than his role as action jester. Whether this is a belief which Murphy truly held is disputable though, given the path his career then took.
1996's Nutty Professor was a remake of the Jerry Lewis classic and resurrected Murphy as a box office draw, which, given that most of the humour is heavily reliant on fart jokes, is no mean feat. Murphy again played multiple roles and although the movie was popular, it's far too odorous – even discounting bowel humour – to provide any lasting appeal. The scenes in which a young Dave Chappelle spars comedically with a not-so-young Eddie Murphy are the film's only saving grace, but even then the subject of the sparring is yo mama jokes, a comedy cliche. Pandering aside though, Nutty Professor started a run of family friendly comedies for Murphy which has – sadly – endured to this day.
So why make Nutty Professor and then continue on in that vein? Eddie Murphy has kids (eight at last count), and so it would seem only natural that he would want his children to watch a movie where he doesn't use the word fuck 230 times, like 1983's Delirious. This makes some sense. Murphy's oldest child would have been about six years old when he made Nutty Professor and he continues to have the things, so why not continue to make movies they can watch with their kiddy friends on a Saturday afternoon, while they're having a play date or whatever it is kids do? Although, I'm sure the monetary rewards of being a bankable star for the pre-adolescent market are none too shabby either.
Throughout this period of his career, the Eddie Murphy movies aimed at those who had undergone puberty continued to falter. Among them were Metro, Life and the horrific Holy Man. Shortly before the release of the latter Murphy was caught with a transvestite prostitute in his car, which was surely not as embarrassing as the film itself which tanked critically and commercially.
All of this brings me to my next theory. It is harder to do comedies like Cop than it was in the eighties. The humour blueprint has shifted since the leg warmer era. All of the stand-out comedy roles these days involve the lead character showing some level of vulnerability. Just take a look at the Apatow film's doing the rounds. In both 40-year Old Virgin and Knocked Up the most interesting and comedically inclined characters are fundamentally flawed individuals. Axel Foley isn't about that. His comedy derives from his suave capering, and always knowing the right thing to say to both get himself into and extricate himself from the next hilarious situation. Getting drunk and falling down just isn't his style.
While the sheer stupidity of Nutty Professor II: The Klumps, put paid to any more sequels in that franchise, Murphy was beginning to mine another profitable seam in the form of the Shrek movies. I'm sure that there are those – of the two of you who have made it down this far – who will argue that it is here where my theory falls. Shrek, you will say, in your high, piercing voices, crosses the divide and appeals to both young and old. Well, to that I say simply, no, you are wrong. Although the quality of the writing means that the movies may pick up the fans in the higher age brackets, the film's bread and butter is and always will be the children who autistically learn all of the dialogue.
It's not all depressing reading for those of us who crave some mature Murphy though. Every now and again he'll pop in a little career viagra and produce something in the adult department worth observing. Dreamgirls managed to garner Murphy a Golden Globe award and an Oscar nom but, because it’s a musical, I haven't brought myself to watch it yet. In Bowfinger Murphy co-starred with the film's writer, and comedy legend in his own right, Steve Martin. It's about the titular struggling director, played by Martin, and his attempts to make a low budget movie. The project is to star Kit Ramsey (played by Murphy with some genuine zeal). There is only one problem, they don't have the money to hire him and so have to shoot footage of Ramsey in everyday life in order to give the appearance of his participation. The film is replete with thinly veiled references. The organisation Mind Head is clearly modelled on Scientology and apparently Martin created the Heather Graham role in tribute to crazy Anne Heche, with whom he had an affair several years earlier.
But, for the most part it was still bad news. Say what you want about Waterworld, but 2002's Pluto Nash cost $100 million to make, and recouped just over $7 million, marking it out as the largest financial flop of any movie ever made. Ever.
Norbit saw Murphy once again corralled into a fat suit for another crack at scraping the bottom of the humour-barrel. Written by Murphy and his brother Charlie, this turkey somehow managed to make over $150 million at the box office.
Murphy may well have said, if he had answered my repeated phonecalls for an interview, Why should I change? He's riding the crest of wave in his career right now, and it sure isn't his adult output which has elevated him. So, why not continue the kiddy films? I suppose I can't really argue with that (imaginary) argument other than to say that I'm selfish, and perhaps a bit childlike in that I want my real Eddie Murphy back, and I'll damn well stamp my feet and pee my pants until I get him. So there.
Ahem. So, all that aside, is there anything on the Eddie Murphy horizon to buck the child-friendly trend and get him back into the 18-35 demographic?
Well, there's the much-mooted Beverly Hills Cop IV for starters, but even at this early stage the omens aren't good. The powers that be have turned the franchise over to Brett Ratner in whom I don't have a lot of faith, given that he ruined X-Men 3. Presumably they think he can re-funny the series which, given the Chris Tucker movies he's made, isn't completely flawed logic. Although, the fact that Jerry Bruckheimer, who produced first two Cop movies recently turned down his option to be involved in the fourth doesn't bode well for the project and I get feeling that this film would be better off staying buried.
There is a small sliver of bright hope on the horizon though, in the shape of The Trump Heist. It’s a story about a group of thieves who set out to rob the wealthy inhabitants of Trump Towers. If this movie gets the go ahead, with the cast currently under consideration, we could be looking at an Eddie Murphy movie I would watch and possibly even enjoy, which is saying a lot. Eddie has already signed on and apparently Chris Rock, Dave Chapelle and Chris Tucker are in talks to round out his gang. With this ensemble I could even stomach the fact that Brett Ratner is also attached to direct this movie.
I cannot finish this piece in the same way as my podcast, which was with a sample of a laughing Eddie Murphy, but I'll go you one better and sign off with a link to my favourite Eddie Murphy piece of standup. Thanks for reading.
