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REVIEW: What If Women Ran the Middle East? Sanctimonious If Entertaining Where Do We Go Now? Has the Answer

It’s dangerous business to begin a movie with a voice-over monologue introducing “a long tale of women dressed in black.” Run, while there’s still time! Yet it’s a testament to director and actress Nadine Labaki’s gracefulness she pulls off this story as well as she does in Where Do We Go Now? , a fable set in a fictional town, presumably in Lebanon, where Christians and Muslims live together in bumptious accord, if not in complete harmony. Actually, the women – those aforementioned creatures dressed in black – get along famously, gathering regularly at the same café for all manner of gossip and chitchat. It’s the men who can’t hold it together: They’re always on the brink of fisticuffs and worse, each group expecting only the worst from the other. Don’t look now, but somebody filled the church holy water fonts with blood – must be the Muslims! Goats and chickens running amok in the mosque? Got to be those pesky Christians! The women are always suffering because of the men: As the movie opens, they stride toward the local cemetery en masse, their procession orchestrated as if it were a Pina Bausch routine, with somber, stiff leg movements and rhythmic breast-beating. The graves – Christians on one side of the burial ground, Muslims on the other – all bear pictures of the women’s lost men, people who have caused them a great deal of sorrow. The problem, as Labaki and her co-writers Jhad Hojeily and Rodney Al Haddad make clear, is that the men just can’t stop fighting. The village also happens to be located in an area riven by violence – it’s surrounded by land mines, which, in an early scene, kill a hapless goat. (The event is played for laughs, not pathos.) Meanwhile, a tentative romance brews between doe-eyed café proprietress Amale (Labaki, a sultry and winning presence) and local handyman Rabih (Julien Farhat), who’s doing some renovation work in her establishment. She’s Christian, he’s Muslim, and their union will be symbolic if it ever gets off the ground. But again, those men! They just won’t listen. The women eventually hatch a plan to keep peace in the village, but tragedy strikes regardless, making their lot even more challenging and wearying. You can see where Labaki is going with all this: If women ruled the world, there’d be no more war. It’s a darling idea, and Labaki does all she can to keep the proceedings entertaining – the picture is dotted with whimsical comedic touches and even includes a smattering of spontaneous Umbrellas of Cherbourg -style musical numbers. It also features an ensemble cast made up largely of nonprofessional actors, and they can be quite charming to watch. For a picture about centuries-old infighting and suffering, Where Do We Go Now? really is pretty cheerful. But its occasional entertainment value aside, the picture is also blithe to the point of being flimsy. This is Labaki’s second feature: The first was the 2007 Caramel , an engaging and visually lush picture set in a Beirut beauty shop, the perfect setting for a very different sort of story about the complications of women’s lives. Caramel is a delightfully fizzy picture, but oddly enough – or perhaps not – it cuts much deeper than Where Do We Go Now? It’s far less sanctimonious, and it defines some of the very real challenges modern women face in the Middle East: Even though its characters feel they’re free to shape their own futures, there are certain restrictions – put in place by men, of course – that threaten to hold them back. One character in Caramel is engaged to be married and has to find a solution to prevent her fiancé from learning that he isn’t her first. You could argue that her plight is nothing compared with massive wars fought on religious grounds. Then again, it’s a man’s pride she’s trying to protect, and she’ll do what it takes to preserve his illusions. Labaki clearly understands the connection between the larger battles and the small ones – it’s just that her ideas come through more subtly and effectively in the beauty-shop movie than in the war-zone movie. She doesn’t need exploding land mines to get her point across. Follow Stephanie Zacharek on Twitter . Follow Movieline on Twitter .

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REVIEW: What If Women Ran the Middle East? Sanctimonious If Entertaining Where Do We Go Now? Has the Answer

REVIEW: God Bless America Chokes to Death on Bobcat Goldthwait’s Nihilism

Comedian-turned-director Bobcat Goldthwait has always displayed an incredibly dark sense of humor in his work behind the camera, from his 1991 alcoholic birthday party performer debut  Shakes the Clown to bestiality-themed rom-com  Sleeping Dogs Lie to  World’s Greatest Dad , in which Robin Williams plays a high-school English teacher whose son’s death becomes a way for him to realize his unfulfilled dreams of being a writer. But no matter how black the comedy, these films had warmth to them, too, and the possibility of things getting better and characters, however painfully, changing and growing. That’s not the case in God Bless America , Goldthwait’s latest effort, an overly bleak film ready to write off the world and go down in a blaze of gunfire, both middle fingers raised. Joel Murray plays Frank, a divorced father and depressed office worker who gets laid off and diagnosed with a terminal brain tumor all in the same day, providing enough push for him to finally load up his revolver and set off on the murderous spree he’s been dreaming of for years. “I know it’s not normal to want to kill,” he muses in the opening voiceover, “but I also know that I am no longer normal.” When making his first hit, of a bratty teenage reality show star named Chloe (Maddie Hasson), he picks up a surprise sidekick named Roxy (Tara Lynne Barr), a smart, alienated high schooler who thinks that what Frank did is the best thing she’s ever seen. The two partner up and Bonnie and Clyde their way along a bloody road to nowhere while working out the logistics of who it is they’re targeting. Frank hates people who are inconsiderate, who are rude and who take pleasure in making fun of others. Roxy hates more specifically — NASCAR fans, people who high-five, Diablo Cody. As for who Goldthwait hates, you get the sense it’s all of the above and more — anyone who watches  American Idol,  anyone who competes on  American Idol,  morning show radio hosts, cable news blowhards, the Tea Party, parents who overindulge their children and people who talk during movies (the last leads to the film’s most rewarding scene).  God Bless America sets these figures up to mow them down, and while there’s a minor satisfaction to be taken from seeing these bloody revenge fantasies brought to life — take that , Westboro Baptist Church! — the film’s judgments come so easily, its targets portrayed as so one-dimensional that it feels like a cheat. The world in which the film is set is so universally monstrous that it deserves to be blown up, but it’s an embittered, exaggerated take, a giant straw-man argument. When Frank flips on the television, all he sees are people making fun of a mentally disabled reality show contestant. When Frank gets the news of his illness, his doctor takes a call in the middle, from his car dealership. And when Frank tries to talk with his daughter about her upcoming weekend with him, she tries to extort a present from him in exchange for coming. It’s only Roxy to whom Frank can relate, with her kewpie doll face and ability to rant about the greatness of Alice Cooper. The scenes of Frank and Roxy hanging out are the film’s only soft spots, their relationship a gentle but precarious mix of paternal and platonically romantic. Roxy eggs Frank on and keeps him going, masterminding their murderous binge, but she’s rarely seems solid in the way that Frank does. She’s a figure of wish fulfillment, a vessel for what feel like the filmmaker’s direct complaints with the world as well as his fondnesses, a teenage girl who loves  Star Trek  and throws herself at our resistant protagonist, who is hypersensitive about being perceived as a pedophile. Visual inventiveness isn’t Goldthwait’s strong suit as a director, but  God Bless America  does represent a step forward there, with stand-out moments including an overhead shot showing just how close Frank is to his noisy neighbors or a failed attempt at walking away from an explosion, action hero-style, without looking back. Goldthwait is best and most brutal at recreating the worst of TV — an early scene in which the insomniac Frank flips through the channels includes savage and dead-on takes on Fox News,  Jersey Shore -style reality clashes, energy drink commercials,  Jackass  and, yes,  American Idol.  Sure, it’s a line-up that would be enough to make you want to shoot somebody, but also those aren’t the only things on air.  God Bless America  only wants to see the worst in people — in fact actively seeks it out in order to be disgusted, and that feels almost as bad as the behavior the film is critiquing. One of the few characters who’s let off the hook is the boyfriend of Frank’s ex, a cheery, dumb and genuinely well-meaning cop who spots our hero waiting outside his former wife’s house and stops by to say hi. When asked by Roxy whether Frank wants to kill the man, he tells her no, “I want him to suffer.” It’s only a sucker who’d stick around to live life in this film, and that’s too bitter a pill to be swallowed. Follow Alison Willmore on Twitter . Follow Movieline on Twitter .

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REVIEW: God Bless America Chokes to Death on Bobcat Goldthwait’s Nihilism

REVIEW: God Bless America Chokes to Death on Bobcat Goldthwait’s Nihilism

Comedian-turned-director Bobcat Goldthwait has always displayed an incredibly dark sense of humor in his work behind the camera, from his 1991 alcoholic birthday party performer debut  Shakes the Clown to bestiality-themed rom-com  Sleeping Dogs Lie to  World’s Greatest Dad , in which Robin Williams plays a high-school English teacher whose son’s death becomes a way for him to realize his unfulfilled dreams of being a writer. But no matter how black the comedy, these films had warmth to them, too, and the possibility of things getting better and characters, however painfully, changing and growing. That’s not the case in God Bless America , Goldthwait’s latest effort, an overly bleak film ready to write off the world and go down in a blaze of gunfire, both middle fingers raised. Joel Murray plays Frank, a divorced father and depressed office worker who gets laid off and diagnosed with a terminal brain tumor all in the same day, providing enough push for him to finally load up his revolver and set off on the murderous spree he’s been dreaming of for years. “I know it’s not normal to want to kill,” he muses in the opening voiceover, “but I also know that I am no longer normal.” When making his first hit, of a bratty teenage reality show star named Chloe (Maddie Hasson), he picks up a surprise sidekick named Roxy (Tara Lynne Barr), a smart, alienated high schooler who thinks that what Frank did is the best thing she’s ever seen. The two partner up and Bonnie and Clyde their way along a bloody road to nowhere while working out the logistics of who it is they’re targeting. Frank hates people who are inconsiderate, who are rude and who take pleasure in making fun of others. Roxy hates more specifically — NASCAR fans, people who high-five, Diablo Cody. As for who Goldthwait hates, you get the sense it’s all of the above and more — anyone who watches  American Idol,  anyone who competes on  American Idol,  morning show radio hosts, cable news blowhards, the Tea Party, parents who overindulge their children and people who talk during movies (the last leads to the film’s most rewarding scene).  God Bless America sets these figures up to mow them down, and while there’s a minor satisfaction to be taken from seeing these bloody revenge fantasies brought to life — take that , Westboro Baptist Church! — the film’s judgments come so easily, its targets portrayed as so one-dimensional that it feels like a cheat. The world in which the film is set is so universally monstrous that it deserves to be blown up, but it’s an embittered, exaggerated take, a giant straw-man argument. When Frank flips on the television, all he sees are people making fun of a mentally disabled reality show contestant. When Frank gets the news of his illness, his doctor takes a call in the middle, from his car dealership. And when Frank tries to talk with his daughter about her upcoming weekend with him, she tries to extort a present from him in exchange for coming. It’s only Roxy to whom Frank can relate, with her kewpie doll face and ability to rant about the greatness of Alice Cooper. The scenes of Frank and Roxy hanging out are the film’s only soft spots, their relationship a gentle but precarious mix of paternal and platonically romantic. Roxy eggs Frank on and keeps him going, masterminding their murderous binge, but she’s rarely seems solid in the way that Frank does. She’s a figure of wish fulfillment, a vessel for what feel like the filmmaker’s direct complaints with the world as well as his fondnesses, a teenage girl who loves  Star Trek  and throws herself at our resistant protagonist, who is hypersensitive about being perceived as a pedophile. Visual inventiveness isn’t Goldthwait’s strong suit as a director, but  God Bless America  does represent a step forward there, with stand-out moments including an overhead shot showing just how close Frank is to his noisy neighbors or a failed attempt at walking away from an explosion, action hero-style, without looking back. Goldthwait is best and most brutal at recreating the worst of TV — an early scene in which the insomniac Frank flips through the channels includes savage and dead-on takes on Fox News,  Jersey Shore -style reality clashes, energy drink commercials,  Jackass  and, yes,  American Idol.  Sure, it’s a line-up that would be enough to make you want to shoot somebody, but also those aren’t the only things on air.  God Bless America  only wants to see the worst in people — in fact actively seeks it out in order to be disgusted, and that feels almost as bad as the behavior the film is critiquing. One of the few characters who’s let off the hook is the boyfriend of Frank’s ex, a cheery, dumb and genuinely well-meaning cop who spots our hero waiting outside his former wife’s house and stops by to say hi. When asked by Roxy whether Frank wants to kill the man, he tells her no, “I want him to suffer.” It’s only a sucker who’d stick around to live life in this film, and that’s too bitter a pill to be swallowed. Follow Alison Willmore on Twitter . Follow Movieline on Twitter .

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REVIEW: God Bless America Chokes to Death on Bobcat Goldthwait’s Nihilism