Two movies open this weekend that couldn’t be on more opposite ends of the viewing spectrum.
Tim Burton brings (extra) weirdness, and his wife (or girlfriend or whatever), to a reimagining of “Alice in Wonderland.”
Note to The Rock: Johnny Depp makes movies his children can enjoy, and they aren’t unmitigated, embarrassing pieces of trash. They’re fun, friendly to most families and make gobs of money. Maybe you should hire his agent? Just a thought.
Another thought: Regular-head Helena Bonham Carter is only slightly less terrifying than big-head homicidal Red Queen Helena Bonham Carter.
Antoine Fuqua, on the other hand, offers “Brooklyn’s Finest,” a grounded, gritty cop drama with an all-star cast, if Wesley Snipes were on the Kansas City Royals. Seriously, wasn’t he supposed to be in jail for tax evasion? What gives? Snipes was sentenced to three years in prison, but his lawyers vowed to appeal.
Maybe he got time-served for his work in those “Total Gym” commercials?
“Obliques, traps, lats, abs ... Am I done yet?”
“No, you’re standing in for the ShamWow guy and then you’ve got a Mighty Putty spot. Do another leg lift!”
Fuqua was responsible for “Training Day,” which in turn was responsible for Denzel Washington’s Oscar. One can’t help but wonder if Denzel was Fuqua’s first choice for Snipes’ role as Caz, the drug kingpin.
How did that conversation go?
“So, Mr. Fuqua, Richard Gere is in. So are Don Cheadle and, of course, Ethan Hawke.”
“Great, great, I’m really excited about this film. Any word from DW?”
Awkward silence.
“Yeeeeaaahhh, about that. Look, Denzel was in, but, ahhh, we just don’t have the budget. You know how it is with these gritty real-life cop dramas. They’re just not sexy.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Who do we have?”
“Passenger 57! Wesley Snipes.”
“He’s not in jail?”
“Funny, we asked the same thing.”
FLICKS OSCAR PICKS
My boss says this is the thing I should do. But the Oscars, like every other awards show, is just a chance for Hollywood to break its arm patting itself on the back. My interest in awards shows died when Aerosmith didn’t win for best album in 1991.
But, for the sake of journalistic integrity, I’ll hold my nose and make a few selections:
Best picture
By process of elimination, I’ll go with “Up in the Air,” because it’s Reitman and Clooney and I hate James Cameron. “Inglourious Basterds” just feels like a bone tossed to Quentin Tarantino fans.
