Jackass Presents: Bad Grandpa (2013)

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Is reviewing this movie strictly necessary? By now, the “Jackass” franchise is so well established that people know exactly what they’re getting, when they see previews for the latest Johnny Knoxville/Jeff Tremaine/Spike Jonze Dickhouse production. If you’re interested in seeing “Bad Grandpa” (or not), my opinion probably doesn’t hold much sway either way. You'll see it, or you won't. There aren't likely many who are on-the-fence.

Full disclosure: I find the entire “Jackass” oeuvre manically, incomparably, and almost oppressively funny. I laugh with the glee of a child, every time one of the troupe falls down, gets hit in the nuts, and fearlessly/recklessly leaps headfirst into something painful looking. Even better when it leaves innocent bystanders speechless and incredulous. Like “Beavis and Butthead,” the “Borat/Bruno” films, Tom Green, the Three Stooges, and “Candid Camera’s” Allen Funt, this type of hidden-camera/reaction comedy, mixed with unadulterated buffoonery, fills me with joy. If you’re like me, and find that kind of juvenile humor gut busting, you won’t be disappointed in “Bad Grandpa.”

Notice I didn’t describe the hijinks as “mindless.” The gags are well-thought-out, perfectly executed, and clever. Their timing is spot-on. Sometimes there’s even a thin veil of satire involved. Like “Borat,” the way the unsuspecting witnesses react (and sometime don’t) reveals something about our society. More than once, people act with compassion, and protective intentions.

“Bad Grandpa” is structured like most of the other “Jackass” films: Knoxville and Co. play a number of unimaginable pranks on unwitting civilians. The ridiculous stunts, on their own, are plenty funny. (How can an old man getting caught making sandwiches in a grocery (without buying the ingredients), getting caught red handed, denying the whole thing to the accuser’s face while still blatantly holding the evidence, and finally trying to make a run/walk for it, not be funny?) The bits are pushed even further over the top by the reactions of unknowing passers-by. Their wide-eyed and stunned responses ratchet up the comedy exponentially. Like most of us, these poor saps mostly don’t know how to behave after what they’ve witnessed. Or if they do, they often react badly. It’s all very, very funny.

The main difference between this and a standard “Jackass” movie is that here there’s a sort-of story, which dictates the craziness. In heavy make-up, Knoxville plays crotchety, old Irving Zisman. He's  a close relative of the Alan Arkin character from "Little Miss Sunshine": grouchy, relentlessly skirt chasing, and brutally, hysterically funny. The premise is that his pretend daughter is soon-to-be thrown in jail. Her dead-beat husband is out of the picture, several states away, leaving Irv stuck with their 8-year old son Billy (Jackson Nicholl). Taking care of the kid is the last thing the old man wants to do. After some convincing (involving an unsuspecting mediator and video conference at an internet café), Irving strong-arms the dad into taking the boy back. With no other options, Irv and Billy pile into an old Lincoln, and set off across country.

The road-movie framework provides impetus for Irv and Billy to prank a bingo hall, wedding, funeral, strip club, an estate sale, and countless other settings along the way, in classic “Jackass” fashion.

If I have any complaints, they are that a couple of the bits seemed like they were just about to pay off huge, but they never peaked. The set-ups showed tremendous promise, but the punch lines never bloomed. They felt like denouement, instead of climax. They were still funny, but not knock-it-out-of-the-park terrific. Maybe (because I’ve grown accustomed to the tear-inducing laughter of other Jackass bits), my expectations were a little too high? Not every at bat is a home run.

Still, the vast majority of jokes pay off in enormous ways (especially a couple of genitalia sight gags). I laughed as hard at “Bad Grandpa” as any film in recent memory. Knoxville’s ability to stay in character through it all is miraculous. As Billy, young Nicholl, too, is amazingly quick on his feet, and composed. How, knowing the set up and what’s to come, the pair still manage to pull all this off without breaking into giggles, is astonishing.

The movie’s rated R, which may be right. It’s got some adult language, as well as a couple mature situations/conversations. That said, the gags are so over-the-top, cartoonish, and so well intentioned, its hard to see why even the raunchiest of them might be offensive. The jokes are silly, not lascivious. It’s slapstick-meets-candid-camera.

The “Jackass” creative team realize, in a similar way to Larry David, that basically most people are socially awkward. So much of life is routine that, when faced with something incongruous from what we’re used to, we usually don’t know hot to properly respond,. Add to that the fact that most of us give extra latitude to children and old people, and there’s your formula for comedy. Director Tremaine and Knoxville exploit our quirks brilliantly.

Poop and dick jokes are time-tested successes. As are farts, inappropriate comments, and the ironclad hilarity of seeing someone trip and fall down (ask Homer J. Simpson; he gave the “Man Hit in Groin with Football” short his highest rating, as judge of the Springfield International Film Festival). Are they dumb jokes? Sure. But they’re funny as all get out, too. If you like your comedy more highbrow, and all these adolescent antics aren’t your cup of tea, I can’t blame you. A flaming-bag-of-poop-on-a-doorstep isn’t for everyone. But I’ll be too busy laughing at the undiluted idiocy to disagree.

Nebraska (2013)

Father and son bond on the road.

“You’ve Just Won a Million Dollars!”

Most of us would instantly dismiss any mail bearing this unlikely proclamation. Not Woody Grant (a revelatory Bruce Dern). In Alexander Payne’s quietly poignant new film “Nebraska,” instead this promise of riches lights a fire under the old man. The very definition of curmudgeon, sporting wild, white hair, a weeks-old scruffy beard, and a permanently-puzzled expression, the sweepstakes letter sets the old man off on a quest from Billings to Lincoln, where he hopes to claim his treasure.

At first we find Woody wandering on the side of the highway. He intends to walk to the sweepstakes office. Never mind it’s two states away. He’s too old to drive any more, so if he has to walk to get there, he'll walk. All he wants with the winnings are a new truck (“But wait,” you say. “I thought he couldn’t drive?”; such is the charm of this movie), and to replace his long-lost air compressor. That’s it. But it’s enough to set in motion one of the best films of the year.

“Nebraska” is a father/son road movie. After failing to convince his dad the entire thing’s a ruse, Woody’s youngest son David (Saturday Night Live’s Will Forte, showing considerable dramatic range) reluctantly agrees to drive his pop to Lincoln. Woody won’t listen to reason, so how else to convince the old-timer it’s all just a ruse? Plus, David’s girlfriend’s just moved out, and his job selling stereo equipment is dreary. Some bonding time with dad might prove therapeutic. The pair set out across the vast plains, along the way passing through run-down gas stations, rest stops, cheap motels, and the small town where Woody grew up.

Most of the film takes place in the town. Woody hasn’t been back for years, but all the same people are in all the same bars and restaurants from when he left. When they ask what’s brought him back, Woody’s so confident that he’s won the money, he matter-of-factly tells them without the hesitation good sense would dictate. The news of untold fortune is the first bit of excitement the town’s known in forever. It causes such a stir that the local paper even writes a story about the small-town-boy-made-good. Everyone’s happy for Woody’s good fortune. At first.

However, what begins as the townsfolk’s jubilation and sincere happiness for Woody’s good fortune, soon turns to greed. People he hasn’t seen for decades—acquaintances, friends and even family members—line up, hoping to snag their part of the gravy train. Each has their own crazy excuse, justifying why Woody should pay them. None realize that there isn’t really any money. Part of the fun is watching the depths to which they’ll grovel for something that doesn’t even exist.

The entire trip comes to the chagrin of Woody’s firecracker of a wife, Kate (June Squibb). She thinks Woody is crazy for believing the scam is real, and David nuts for going along on the wild goose chase. Also, Kate has no verbal filter whatsoever. She recounts stories from their growing up years, where inevitably all the other small-town women are “whores,” “tramps,” and worse. In one of the film’s funniest lines, rather than keeping an embarrassing family secret quiet, she loudly outs a nephew for rape. She’s at once acerbic, and terribly funny.

Shot in black-and-white (props to cinematographer Phedon Papamichael), the imagery of the vast landscape is gorgeous. Seeing their little car putter along the highway, across a backdrop of such an expanse, conveys a sense of calm and contentment.

The way “Nebraska” understands small towns, as well as the bonds shared between their inhabitants is smart. It’s always insightful about the grudges and strains amongst family members. Thought I expected it to be a little slow, it’s surprisingly well paced. It’s also funnier than I thought it'd be, as well.

Even though Woody’s goal is a fool’s errand, there’s something worthwhile to be gained from the journey.

The Act of Killing (2012)

After the successful 1965 military coup of the socialist government of Indonesia, paramilitary and gangster groups slaughtered somewhere close to million teachers, union members, intellectuals, landless farmers, ethnic Chinese and communists. Anyone branded an enemy was assumed to be guilty. The accused received no trial, were afforded no human rights, and were immediately and unceremoniously murdered. It was one of the largest genocides in recent history.

Decades later, director Joshua Oppenheimer asks several former death-squad members to re-create their crimes for his camera. Most of the men were low-level criminals, used by the government to eliminate opposition. Extraordinarily, the killers openly dramatize how they murdered countless numbers of their countrymen. The men, now well into their 70s, go into horrifying specifics about the crimes and atrocities they’ve committed. Without shame or remorse, they matter-of-factly boast about the various different ways prisoners were tortured and murdered. We see them describe how they used members of the media to locate their victims, and then brag about raping women, chopping off opponents’ heads. What emerges is the documentary “The Act of Killing,” a harrowing examination of fascism, guilt, crime, and lack of punishment.

The film’s main character is Anwar Congo. He plainly states that he’s killed 1,000 people. He shows us his favorite method: piano wire. He says he was inspired by American gangster films starring Marlon Brando and Al Pacino (apparently “The Godfather” played big in Indonesia criminal circles). When asked about his actions, he says he feels no contrition, but admits self medicating with music, alcohol and marijuana, and other drugs, anyway. Despite what he says, as he begins to open up, we learn he’s haunted by nightmares of his crimes. Try as he might, he can’t escape his guilt.

We’re also introduced to the Pancasila Youth, a three-million strong pro-government group, whose members wear garishly bright neon-camouflage uniforms. Their leaders proclaim the group “defenders of the country,” when in reality we learn they were largely responsible for mass killings of anyone suspected of government opposition. It’s kind of a south-Asian Hitler Youth. We’re shown an enormous Pancasila Youth rally, where leaders speak in impassioned tones, invoking jingoistic language that recalls Adolf Hitler. In fact, many of the film’s scenes recall the Nazis, and Khmer Rouge. Indeed, Indonesia’s then-vice president is shown speaking to the group, hailing their violence as sometimes “necessary.”

Frighteningly, we see current political leaders extoling the virtues of the death squads. And worse. At a dinner, the head of Pancasila is caught bragging about the gang rape of a young girl in a car. Cameras follow another official as he visits various small Chinese-owned business, openly extorting money from the owners. Later, he talks about raping Chinese women. Recounting the sexual assault of 14-year old girls, he says it will be “hell for them, but heaven on earth” for him. Another gang member runs for political office, saying hopes to use his future position as a government regulator to extort money. “Imagine, $10,000 per building,” he says cheerfully. In rehearsal for one of the narrative film’s scenes, the current Indonesian head of Youth and Sport whips a lynch mob into a frenzy, gleefully calling for a village to be destroyed, its inhabitants burned, beheaded, and raped. His rapt audience becomes hysterical.

“The Act of Killing’s” most-powerful scenes revolve around two scenes where paramilitary members act out their crimes: the first is a massacre of a small village, the second an simple interrogation scene in an office. In the former, village men, women and children are tortured, murdered, and their houses burned to the ground. The violence is so realistic that child actors in the scene are left crying. Congo himself is even taken aback, saying “I didn’t expect it to look so real.” So the man who committed the original crime can’t bear to witness its recreation, decades later. In the interrogation scene, Congo plays the victim. What starts out as acting quickly goes very, very wrong for him. Placed in the position of those he brutalized years ago, Congo begins to internalize their fear and suffering, and breaks down. He interrupts filming to try and regain composure. When he admits that he can relate to the torment his victims must have felt, the director corrects him, reminding him that, unlike him, his victims didn’t have the luxury of knowing they were merely acting.

Another heart-rending scene involves a man, whose step-father was dragged from their house in the middle of the night, and killed. He re-enacts the scene, all these years later, along with the actual executioners. During filming, his trauma bubbles to the surface. He suddenly becomes overwhelmed with grief. His torment, expressed among the men who actually committed these horrors long ago, is astonishing.

We’re introduced to several other killers, each with his own twisted justification for the crimes. As the director says in the supplemental DVD materials, the men “seem hollow,” unable to enjoy their lives. Staggeringly, what seems to be entirely lost on them is even the vaguest sense that what they did was wrong. Remarkably, the men don’t suggest even a hint of remorse. Inexplicably, their murders are celebrated as a great contribution to the Indonesian state. The climactic final scene unbelievably shows the ghosts of the murdered, grateful to the death-squad members for killing them, thanking their murders for sending them to heaven. In their tortured regret, the gangsters have concocted this improbable scenario as a means to assuage their souls. Not one of them even so much as describes why it is that the communists were bad for the country. To the contrary, in hindsight militia members now freely admit that they, not the communists, were the real blood-thirsty savages.

“The Act of Killing” is a unique and startling glimpse into a barbarous period of Indonesian history. Think of what ever adjective you like—harrowing, shocking, unsettling—it’s beyond all of them. But it’s also an accomplished and thorough piece of filmmaking (no surprise, since Werner Herzog and Errol Morris receive producer credits). It feels like a “Frontline” documentary, except it lacks any layer of distance from its subject. Usually criminal documentaries show accusers outlining the crime, while the guilty deny responsibility. That the film talks directly to the criminals who carried out untold unspeakable acts—men who willingly and openly discuss (even celebrate) murder the way one might talk about a baseball game or the weather—is unbelievably. It left me incredulous. In the aftermath of the genocide, there have never been any truth-and-reconciliation commissions, no justice for the relatives of the victims, and no one has ever been punished. The fact that the government that spawned these men is still in power, is unimaginable and outrageous.

PS-Even the film’s credits are disturbing. In something I’ve never seen before, countless major jobs are listed as having been performed by “Anonymous,” for fear of reprisal from those in still in power in Indonesia.

The Spectacular Now (2013)

Senior year of high school can be an unusual time. Almost free of the bonds of school, the future only partially defined, hormones and self doubt both raging. 17- and 18-year olds can be mature enough to know a little bit, while still possessing the optimism of youth. The weighty responsibilities of life are mostly yet to bear down, it’s often a reckless, energetic and difficult age. Emotions seem heightened, especially those of romantic love, and loss. 

The main character in James Ponsoldt’s “The Spectacular Now” is Sutter Keely. He’s an engaging, clever, self-assured high-school senior. Never at a loss for words, he carries a sly grin and a flask every where he goes. But are his accessories signs of confidence, or simply his way of deflecting and self medicating? He seems well liked, but isn’t necessarily part of the cool crowd. He’s not an athlete, doesn't date the prom queen, isn’t a good student, doesn’t have college plans, and spends most of his time either working at a men’s suit-and-tie shop, with his pretty girlfriend Cassidy (Brie Larson), or paling around with his kinda nerdy friend Ricky (Masam Holden). So who is he, really?

“The Spectacular Now” is propelled by unusually keen performances by its two leads, Miles Teller (as Keely), and Shailene Woodley (as Aimee Finicky). After being dumped by his girlfriend, Sutter spends a raucous night on the town, trying to drown out her memory with drinks and relentlessly hitting on other girls. As the next day dawns, Aimee’s find him passed out face down on her front lawn, his car no where to be found. He helps her with her mom’s paper route, which begins a tender, honest and intimate friendship. But is he in as much as he seems, or merely happy to find Aimee as a soft landing spot, after Cassidy ditched him? Is it all a front?

As Sutter, Teller is particularly convincing. His portrayal of Sutter as a likeable and decent kid at times recalls John Cusack’s character in “Say Anything.” His confidence, swagger and ingratiating way with words suggests a younger version of Vince Vaughn’s “Trent,” from “Swingers.” Like Trent, he’s funny, charming, and forever the life of the party. He also has the unique ability to at once keep the spotlight on himself, while not really revealing any deeper truths about his own nature. He also has the rare gift to make those around him feel like he’s truly listening to them, and really interested in what they have to say. Because of this, he’s the kind of guy men and women both enjoy being around. It’s a compelling, accomplished, and nuanced performance by the young actor.

Woodley’s “Aimee” isn’t quite as outgoing. She’s a little shy, but not retiring. Aimee’s smart, and while happy to have Sutter’s attention, it doesn’t define her. She’s not dependent upon his affection for her happiness. She thinks about her future, and wants to go to college in Philly, after graduation. In short, she’s smart (both in school and out). She’s well adjusted, kind, and not needy, a stark contrast to the bitchy-girl stereotypes too many high-school films trot out. 

The dialogue Sutter and Aimee share feels so natural and unrehearsed, it seems ad-libbed. It’s is a credit to the screenwriters (Scott Neustadter and Micheal H. Weber), as well as the novel on which the story’s based (by Tim Tharp).

There are important smaller roles in the film, all of which contribute to its success: Jennifer Jason Leigh plays Sutter’s single-mom. She’s a frazzled nurse, struggling to balance paying bills with being a responsible mother (probably doing a better job of the former than latter). The pair are friends, and Sutter talks to her in a way that belies their closeness. His absent father (played by “Friday Night Lights’” Kyle Chandler) is an altogether different animal. The pair haven’t talked in years, much less seen one another. The dad’s referred to in unflattering terms to throughout the movie, so we’re not quite sure what to expect when he finally arrives. Finally, there’s Sutter’s boss (Bob Odenkirk, who’s seemingly everywhere now; originally of “Mr. Show;” of late “Breaking Bad” and “Nebraska”) at the clothing store. He likes Sutter, and wants to help him, but wonders if his efforts may be in vain. 

Think of the best high-school films, the ones that left a lasting impression: the John Hughes films (especially “16 Candles” and “Breakfast Club”), “Fast Times at Ridgemont High,” 2012’s “The Perks of Being a Wallflower,” “Dead Poets Society,” etc… It’s an age mostly not done very honestly in films. So when it is, it stands out. Like those films, “The Spectacular Now” stuck with me, perhaps because it's about so much more than simply the success of young love. It may not rank as a classic, but it is a touching and insightful coming-of-age drama. One that takes its teenage characters seriously. These kids aren’t dumbed-down archetypes we’ve seen a million times before. Instead they’re thoughtful, sensitive, 3-dimensional characters, who feel like people we’ve known (or would like to). I wonder what happened to these kids, as the years passed, they grew up, and life got more serious?

Fruitvale Station (2013)

Big opener: Fruitvale Station is my favorite film of 2013. It won both the Grand Jury Prize (Dramatic) and Audience Award (U.S. Dramatic) at the 2013 Sundance Film Festival. After seeing it, I believe its certainly deserving of the accolades.

(In the interest of fairness, I still haven’t seen “Her,” or “American Hustle,” but intend to. That said, they would have to be exceptional—I mean unexpectedly fantastic—for me to place them above “Fruitvale”).

The film opens with shaky camera-phone footage of the infamous incident at the San Francisco-area BART subway station. (If you don’t know what exactly that is, no matter; you’ll be reminded almost immediately). The grainy footage shows a group of young, African-American males on the ground, surrounded by several police officers. There is yelling, shoving, and some commotion. In an instant, the participants’ lives are indelibly changed.

The entire movie takes place over one day, New Year’s Eve 2009. We meet Oscar Grant, played by Michael B Jordan (HBO’s “the Wire,” “Red Tails,” “Chronicle;” you may have also seen him in trailers for the newest, soon-to-be-released Zac Efron picture “That Awkward Moment”). Oscar’s 22-years old, and works at an upscale, Whole-Foods-esque grocery trying to carve out a better life for him and his family. He’s dabbled in weed dealing before, but is trying to get on the straight-and-narrow. He has a young daughter Tatiana (Ariana Neal) with his girlfriend Sophina (Melonie Diaz, whose face is familiar, but who I couldn’t place specifically; an IMDB search says she’s been in countless films and TV shows, the most prominent of which are “A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints,” and the Jack Black/Mos Def/Michael Gondry film “Be Kind Rewind”). She’s often on him to grow up, and get his life together. He clearly cares about them both enough to try.

We see Oscar do all the every-day things people do: take his daughter to day care, arrange birthday dinner for his mother Wanda (played by Academy-Award winner Octavia Spencer who, along with Forrest Whitaker, is also one of the film’s producers), call his grandma for a fried-fish recipe, etc... In almost every way, Oscar is a thoughtful, kind, normal, middle-class everyman, struggling to make his and his family’s lives better. Except that he also happens to be African American in a country where that, alone, is sometimes enough to raise suspicion.

“Fruitvale Station” is fairly straightforward. Told mostly in flashback, it shows an average day, in the life of an average young father. The specific details of that day all lead up to the fateful moment at the subway station. What elevates the film is that it contains simple, honest, joyous, life-affirming moments, where we connect with its characters. Several times these moments had me smiling and laughing. The fact that the movie opens by showing the harrowing event that will ultimately occur to its characters later in the film, is an interesting directorial choice. During the movie we get to know, and grow fond of its characters, leading up to that dramatic climax. This chronological story-telling decision (to put the ending first) made the inevitable conclusion all the more powerful, and heart-rending.

Some may see parallels between this film, and 1991’s “Boyz in the Hood.” Without question they share themes and dramatic elements. Also, they were both directed by promising, precocious, young (in “Fruitvale’s” case, almost unbelievably young; director Ryan Coogler was only 27 when he made the movie) African-American film makers.

However, “Fruitvale Station” reminded me more of the 2006 Ryan Gosling film “Half Nelson.” They’re both stories about decent young men who, while occasionally screwing up more than a little, care genuinely about kids, and honestly strive for better places for themselves. Both movies might be reduced to being called niche, genre films (“A Black film,” or “Drug film,” respectively). However, each is so much more than that. They’re both about the bonds their characters share, the difficult struggles of life, human frailty and failure (and their tragic results), and finally redemption. Each shows overwhelming sadness but, I think, is ultimately positive and optimistic in its outlook. (Like “Fruitvale Station,” “Half Nelson” was my favorite movie the year it was released).

I implore you, in the name of all things good and true, see this movie. I was surprised by how deeply its pure and sincere performances touched me, as well as how far it exceeded expectations. The fact that it’s based on a real-life event only adds to its appeal. You will recognize other notorious TV headlines in this story. If you’re like me, these reminders will at once make you angry and sad, yet hopeful. It’s a credit to the filmmakers that “Fruitvale” can conjure such a broad range of emotions, so effectively.

PS- I’ve intentionally tried not to give too much away in this review. Which isn’t easy, given that the film examines a national news story. However, even if I have, don’t worry; you haven’t learned anything here that you wouldn’t in the film’s first five minutes. You will enjoy this movie, even if you think you know exactly what’s going to happen.

Eye of God (1997)

The poster could've been better.

How’d I miss this? What a superb, atmospheric, suspenseful, compelling independent film. Absorbing from beginning to end, Tim Blake Nelson’s “Eye of God” is my “overlooked film of the moment.” It’s one that deserves more acclaim than it’s received.

The story’s unfolds in parallel lines: in one, local teenager Tom Spencer (Nick Stahl) is discovered by police late one night, drenched in blood, wide-eyed, stunned and uncommunicative. What could’ve caused this? What did he do?

In the other, 20-something waitress Ainsley Dupree (Martha Plimpton) excitedly waits for her new boyfriend Jack (played by Kevin Anderson with tranquility on the surface, but a palpable undercurrent of menace just beneath the surface) in a coffee shop. The two have never met. That’s because he’s been in prison for an unspecified offense.

Hal Holbrook plays Sheriff Rogers, a small-town Oklahoma lawman, in charge of unraveling the whole thing. He knows Tom, and is sympathetic to whatever awful ordeal the boy’s endured, while at the same time realizing that a crime has probably been committed. But how to decipher the facts when your witness has gone mute?

The less I saw about the plot and its characters, the better. The way the film unfolds is captivating. This is an expertly crafted film. Nelson is patient and thorough in his story telling. The performances, too, are skillfully given. No character feels false or unnecessary.

See this movie. It exceeded by expectations in every way. Thank me later.

Lincoln Lawyer (2011)

Step into my office...

 Would you use an attorney who worked out of his car, even if he wore expensive suits, had a driver, and looked and talked like Matthew McConaughey?

In “The Lincoln Lawyer,” McConaughey plays Mick Haller, a slick L.A. attorney, whose many cases take him from one courthouse and jail to the next, all over town. Thus, his Town Car is his office (hence “Lincoln” lawyer; get it?).

While visiting a client in lock-up, Haller receives a tip from a bail=bondsman friend that a rich kid named Louis Roulet (Ryan Phillippe, alternately seething with menace, and pleading his innocence) has just been arrested for violently assaulting a pretty, young women in her apartment. The kid vehemently denies the charges, and wants his day in court. Quickly Haller recognizes the opportunity for a lucrative pay day.

The guts of the film are mostly boiler plate: We get courtroom dealings in the middle, with attorneys bandying possible pleas and outcomes, stuff we’ve seen a million times, in a million other films. Haller works his legal magic, trying to arrange the best possible deal for his client, all while struggling with doubt that perhaps Roulet is actually guilty. His fears escalate when he realizes evidence from an earlier murder case he settled eerily resembles the current one. Perhaps in hindsight, he sold his earlier client up the river too quickly?

Marissa Tomei is on hand as Maggie McPherson (sounds like a comic-book heroine), a fellow attorney, and Haller’s ex-wife. The two have a daughter, as well as lingering feelings for each other. When he gets drunk in bars, she’s conveniently his ride home (or back to her place). She wants him to be more responsible and straighten his life out, as understanding and forgiving ex-wives in movies are often wont to do.

William H. Macy, Josh Lucas, Michael Pena and John Leguizamo also make appearances, as a private investigator, prosecuting attorney, the incarcerated former client, and bail bondsman, respectively. “Breaking Bad’s” Bryan Cranston, as well as “Boardwalk Empire’s” Shea Whigham are pop up in minor roles, as does country singer Trace Adkins. The cast is estimable, perhaps beyond the story they inhabit.

As Haller, McConaughey is, as usual, very good. He’s believable as the fast-talking, deal-making, always-look-out-for-#1 counselor. McConaughey’s a pro, as comfortable, deft and nimble onscreen as the lawyer he plays is in the courtroom.

Alas, Phillippe’s accused Roulet (“Roulette?”), doesn’t fare as well. His performance is smug, over-the-top, and shows little subtlety or shading. Which in some ways might have been OK, since his character isn’t supposed to be likeable. Still, the film would’ve been more interesting had he seemed at least somewhat capable of displaying the entire range of human emotions, rather than simply malice, entitlement, and rage. We don’t like him, even if he’s not guilty. Roulet doesn’t seem three dimensional, possessing little more in the way of expression than avarice, selfishness, narcissism and a perpetual sneer. There’s little redeeming and “real” about him. He’s the stock “bad guy,” straight from Central Casting.

Much more than I’ve described happens in “Lincoln Lawyer;” I’ve left out many details, and indeed entire characters. But I think you get the gist. This is the kind of movie where, by about half way through, I was pretty sure I knew where it was headed. All that was left was seeing which hoops it jumped through along the way, in order to get there. A few unexpected twists and turns are thrown in. However, most of those felt contrived (one, in particular), the result of an over-eager writer’s imagination. They feel less rational and more necessary, steps that must be taken in order to get the plot its inevitable, tidy conclusion.

“Lincoln Lawyer” isn’t bad; it held my attention for its entire 118 minutes. Problem is, it didn’t make much of a lasting impression, either; I haven’t thought of it since. Even reflecting while writing this review, I wondered “exactly what happened, again?” It’s a lesser version of the type of John Grisham legal-suspense/dramas Hollywood used to churn out by the truckloads, about 20 or so years back (“The Firm” “Runaway Jury,” “A Time to Kill,” “Pelican Brief,” etc…) If you have a couple of hours to kill, you could certainly do worse. But you could do better, too.