Student Life Archives

The Forbidden Kingdom

Rating: 3/5
Starring: Jackie Chan, Jet Li
Directed by: Rob Minkoff
Release Date: April 18, 2008

Jackie Chan and Jet Li are together for the first time in the enjoyable, if hokey, “The Forbidden Kingdom.” It is an auspicious pairing, even if the venue is less so.

Director Rob Minkoff has created a “Crouching Tiger”/”Karate Kid” amalgam with entirely unoriginal frames, all of which are shot sumptuously enough that it’s hard to care. There is light-as-air kung fu that, in the hands (and feet, and bodies) of Chan and Li can incite even the most complacent of movie-goers to shadow-boxing in their seats.

Fight choreographer Woo-Ping Yuen (of “The Matrix” and the “Kill Bill” series) devises ever more acrobatic and awe-inspiring ways for the leads to tromp through, in ascending order, a tea house, a temple, a palace and a lovely cherry-blossom garden. Despite the interior and arboreal collateral damage (or perhaps because of it) the fights are invigorating and inoffensive in their violence. Luckily for Chan, the walls in China are made of rice paper, invented to be crashed through.

Michael Angarano is young Jason Tripitikas from south Boston, who picks up a magical staff from the junk shop of an old Mr. Miyagi-type (Chan in prosthetics). The staff transports Jason from present-day New England to a Chinese rice paddy circa 1500, “give or take a decade or two.” Jason meets Lu Yan (Chan), who informs him that the staff he carries belongs to the great Monkey King, imprisoned long ago by the Jade Warlord. Jason, with the help of Lu, the beautiful Golden Sparrow (Yifei Liu), and the stoic holy-man Silent Monk (Li in his first of two roles) must defeat the Jade Warlord and return the staff to its rightful owner. He also must learn some kung fu so he can dust the bullies patiently waiting for him back home.

Chan and Li are masters of their art, which is neither acting nor really kung fu, but a bubbly mix of both. Li, as the Monkey King, is almost dancing as he preens and hoots, aping his way through the role. Chan reprises his “Drunken Master” part, swaying in place and batting heavy eyelids before effortlessly and woozily blocking lethal blows. The two are more than enough to carry a film on their own (they’ve done so separately, more times than I can count) but for some reason, they aren’t permitted.

The movie works hard to get its Caucasian protagonist to fit into a plot filled with gifted Chinese martial artists, set in China, about Chinese-like myths and is probably based off of a Chinese video game (it looks like it could be, at any rate). One of the characters even takes a look at Jason and scoffs: “Why him? He’s not even Chinese.” Why him, indeed.

Perhaps the studios thought they couldn’t sell a movie to young white males if it didn’t feature a young white male. Or perhaps they have placed their own proxies in the protagonist’s seat: They, like everyone else in the theater by the end of “The Forbidden Kingdom,” harbor dreams of one day standing against a horde of encroaching stunt doubles, Jackie Chan and Jet Li on either side, ready to fight through walls.

Forgetting Sarah Marshall

Rating: 4.5/5
Starring: Jason Segel, Kristen Bell, Mila Kunis, Russell Brand
Directed by: Nicholas Stoller
Release Date: April 18, 2008

“Forgetting Sarah Marshall,” Judd Apatow’s latest production, takes the premise of your average breakup movie but infuses it with ingenious witticisms, esoteric characters and five times the amount of sex to create a top-notch comedy.

When his superstar girlfriend, TV crime-fighter Sarah Marshall, dumps him for British frontman rocker Aldous Snow, Peter Bretter runs off to Hawaii to tend to his broken heart. Coincidentally, Sarah and Aldous go to the same resort. Amid an island full of lovers and a constant witness to the excessive PDAs between his ex and Snow, Peter finds not relaxation but rather the realization of his worst nightmare.

Unlike other Apatow productions, there is a noticeable presence of TV actors-Jason Segel, Kristen Bell and “That 70’s Show[‘s]” Mila Kunis-who transfer to the big screen with a natural grace. Jason Segel, also the writer of “Sarah Marshall,” brings to his character such sincerity and certain sensitivity that Peter Bretter feels utterly real and awkwardly endearing.

Most unforgettable, and possibly even iconic, is the first scene in which audiences see Jason Segel in all his glory. Multiple times. Was it necessary? Perhaps not. However, his tangible vulnerability adds a level of discomfort to the scene that simply works.

He is a pleasure to watch, from his uncontrollable sob spells to a one-of-a-kind imitation of lovelorn Dracula, both sung and played on the piano courtesy of Segel. In fact, one of the most unexpected surprises of “Sarah Marshall” is a full-fledged Dracula Muppet musical. The combination of catchy vampiric tunes and the congregation of puppets on stage is uncanny and quite extraordinary.

As the hotel’s front desk receptionist who helps Peter get over his heartbreak, Mila Kunis embraces her character with charisma, maturity and confidence in stark contrast to Kristen Bell’s self-absorbed Sarah Marshall. Yet it is Russell Brand who truly steals the show as Aldous Snow. Whether it’s the English accent, the tight black pants and Edward Scissorhands hair, or his narcissistic, oversexed and slightly effeminate persona, Brand gives potentially lackluster scenes a boost of brilliant absurdity. Ironically, it is Sarah Marshall who is the most forgettable character as she is overshadowed by the other talents.

Fans will be pleased to see supporting performances from the usual Apatow gang, including Jonah Hill and Paul Rudd. Extra points to Rudd for his portrayal of infinitely cool surfer dude Chuck (Hawaiian name: Kunu).

At the heart of “Sarah Marshall” is the exploration of relationships and how four very different people approach them. Segel’s script shows that amid all the complications, misunderstandings and betrayals, there is comedy.

The film does not have the underlying seriousness of “Knocked Up” or the continuous flow of vulgar humor of Superbad. Rather, it reaches a middle ground, taking a mainstream story at a mainstream location and presenting a smart comedy with well-timed crudeness, fluff and hilarious one-liners.

One might call it a mixture of a dude movie and a romantic comedy with intelligence far beyond both types. “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” is a must-see for comedy lovers of all kinds looking for a witty and warming romp. We can only hope that Segel goes on to pen more movies.

Blind Melon
For My Friends

Rating: 3.5/5
For Fans of: Blind Melon, duh. Jane’s Addiction, Nirvana
Directed by: “For My Friends,” “With the Right Set of Eyes,” “Make a Difference”

Thirteen years after the death of singer/songwriter Shannon Hoon, Blind Melon is back with a new singer. Make no mistake: this is definitely still a Blind Melon record. The band did not have to, and has not, died with Hoon, but there is a marked difference between “For My Friends” and their previous albums. Replacing him on vocals was fine because even though new singer Travis Warren’s vocal style is at times unsettlingly similar to that of Hoon’s, the loss of Hoon’s songwriting can be felt throughout the record.

On the day Kurt Cobain was found dead, Blind Melon was the musical guest on David Letterman. They performed the song “Change,” Hoon with a question mark drawn on his forehead. The question mark could be interpreted to mean many things: “How could this have happened?” or perhaps “What am I to do now that he is gone?”

On October 21, 1995, when Hoon was found dead of a cocaine overdose, one can surmise that Hoon’s Blind Melon bandmates likely found themselves asking similar questions.

They decided to not go on without Hoon. Many stayed in music, working on other projects (Unified Theory, Abandon Jalopy, Extra Virgin), but there had never been real reported talks of Blind Melon reuniting.

Last year the remaining members began playing together again, not to reform Blind Melon but to start a new band, and invited 25-year-old singer Travis Warren to lend some vocals. After several sessions they began to feel it was right to reunite as Blind Melon with Warren on vocals, and the rest is history. After posting a few demos on the Internet, they recorded “For My Friends” and embarked on a nationwide tour.

Sounds perfect, right? Well, minus the loss of Hoon’s songwriting, it almost is. However, Blind Melon’s greatest asset was the creativity and sincerity of Hoon’s songwriting.

Even without Hoon, “For My Friends” has its merits. Songs like the title track and “Wishing Well” are single-ready, and could potentially be radio hits. “Harmful Belly” almost sounds like it could have been a progression from Blind Melon’s first album. With Warren sounding especially Hoon-like and guitar hooks abounding, it sounds like it should come from a less psychedelic counterpart to the album which brought them their fame.

All in all, “For My Friends” is a return to Blind Melon’s original alt-rock sound, just with a different singer bringing them back there. Brad Smith, Chris Thorn, Rogers Stevens and Graham were right to resurrect the band made famous by the bee girl and “For My Friends” is a testament to that; however, as everyone, likely including the band, knew, it will never be the same without Shannon.

Scott Bressler

From 1986 to 1987, Black Flag, The Clash, The Dead Kennedys and Hüsker Dü all disbanded-the punk community’s second coming had seemingly peaked. The next generation of bands began exploring new territory, eventually giving rise to everything from the pop-punk of Blink-182 to post-hardcore bands like At the Drive-in.

Hot Water Music entered the mix in 1993 out of Gainesville, Fla., a renowned bastion of both ska and punk and boasting groups such as Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, Less Than Jake, Against Me! and Sister Hazel. Hot Water Music always kept one foot in the sound of the old guard while also turning down the tempo enough to showcase a reliance on a decidedly more melodic approach to punk rock.

“Till the Wheels Fall Off” is a collection of their catalogue, including B-sides, rarities and covers of bands as diverse as the Alkaline Trio and Bruce Springsteen.

As with any compilation, the individual tracks do not form a cohesive whole and are very hit-and-miss. Yet, though the material cannot compete with HWM’s full albums, there are some real gems on this offering.

Many tracks such as “Last Goodbyes” are great sing-alongs, with front man Chuck Ragan howling over razor-sharp guitars and tight snare-bass-cymbal drumming. Typically, the ensemble balances the energy of punk and just enough Offspring-ish “whoa-ooa” choruses with fantastic and focused instrumental work that always bolsters the vocal melody without wandering too far from the song’s form, as with much post-hardcore music.

Other times, like on the acoustic cover of the Alkaline Trio’s “Bleeder,” the band comes up short, but with 23 tracks clocking in at 75 minutes, there’s sure to be something for everyone with even the smallest glimmer of interest in HWM. Heck, just hearing their punk cover of The Boss’ “No Surrender” is reason enough to pick up “Till the Wheels Fall Off.”

Listeners unfamiliar with HWM might prefer to listen to the band’s real studio albums, especially “Fuel for the Hate Game” or “Caution” before picking up “Till the Wheels Fall Off.”

Though there is some great material, several tracks are obvious B-sides and can sound the same after a while. Nevertheless, HWM is a fantastic group which has helped advance punk music, not by fusing it with Celtic music or jazz or something, but by retaining the raw energy and honesty that was always there and building on it. Ragan has re-formed with the band to tour in support of the new album. Hopefully, the arrangement will last and we can look forward to another 15 years of great music.

Scott Bressler

Does it Offend You, Yeah?
You Have No Idea What You’re Getting Yourself Into

Rating: 3/5
Tracks to download: “Let’s Make Out,” “Battle Royale,” “Dawn of the Dead”
For fans of: Hot Chip, Crystal Castles

I’m sure I was ignorant of it because it’s been around for years, but when did trip-hop/dance punk get so huge?

It seems as if overnight, Justice, Hot Chip and the like have taken the airwaves and my friends’ iPods by storm, and I’m not complaining. An art prom full of the Faint, Crystal Castles and Junior Senior is exactly what I’d ask for in lieu of overplayed hip-hop. So when I first put in the new album by Does It Offend You, Yeah? I was excited; it seems Europe knows what I like best when it comes to dancing. Unfortunately, they fell flat with this one.

Not to say the album isn’t good: it is. The problem is that’s about all it is.

It doesn’t shine. It isn’t memorable in any way. If anything, it makes me want to listen to some great dance-punk by another band. The opening track, “Battle Royale,” is one of the best songs on the album, starting off sparse, slowly layers and then loops new pieces together. It grows into a full-fledged dance track at about one minute in.

This song showcases the band’s best abilities, which do not include lyric writing or singing. In fact, the worst parts of most songs are the lyrics. Sure, “Let’s Make Out” is funny, but how many times can you hear that three-word phrase before it’s old? Hint: about four. Ask any semi-attractive blonde at a frat party.

The band doesn’t have the same quirky lyrics or driving instrumentation that could make it as big as other groups from whom they’re trying to steal the spotlight.

This isn’t to say it’s not worth a listen. It’s definitely worth a place on your party mix, and here’s why: Everyone loves “D.A.N.C.E.” and “Ready For the Floor” and “Alice Practice,” but you can only maintain such high energy at a party for so long. Once a lull hits, you don’t want to slip in something which will totally negate the last 15 minutes. Does It Offend You, Yeah? to the rescue! This gives everyone some time to catch their breath, refill their drinks and inadvertently break something you thought you had put away. Then, when “Glass Danse” comes on, the party can continue.

I know what you’re saying: “I have ’80s music for that.” Which is true, and, oddly, also why ’80s dance music has been allowed to continue unchecked for 18 years. Does It Offend You, Yeah? has thought this through and has combated the issue with “Dawn of the Dead.” This track sounds like it was ripped straight from the drum machine synth-rific dance decade. So now you have no excuse.

So does it offend me? Nope. It doesn’t elicit anywhere near a strong enough emotion for offense. The closest it gets is bemusement.

Scott Bressler

I will readily admit I’m a film fanatic. Left to my own devices, I will chain smoke an entire box set of movies without budging for bathroom or cigarette breaks. But I will also admit there is an entire genre of film which, unless it is required of me by my job, I will not voluntarily see.

I don’t mind gory slasher flicks or sappy romantic comedies or even unnerving, experimental films. No, the genre I avoid is much more insidious and widespread. These films can creep into the most discerning of Netflix queues, they can stow away on the most unassuming of marquees. They are adaptations of books that I’ve already read and loved.

So often with these films, it seems the Hollywood machine has rumbled to a yawning start and devoured some bit of beloved novel in order to spit out, Dr. Seuss Sneetch-style, a star-studded but less visionary re-envisioning of the original.

I’m not arguing that no movies should be made from books, nor am I advocating the reading of books in lieu of seeing movies, or vice versa. What I am saying is that to see a film of a book for which you’ve developed a fondness, especially a childhood fondness, is tantamount to librocide-not of the book itself, but of the vision you’ve conjured through the reading.

Witness the recent “Golden Compass,” which I saw under duress. I read the book as a preteen and remember a wild adventure housed in a world so fantastical that it would be impossible to evoke in the crushing confines of a first act. The movie tries anyway, and the result is a muddle of special effects and rushed plot points that don’t do justice to the transcendent adventure of author Philip Pullman.

In my prepubescent, self-interested mind, I knew exactly what protagonist Lyra looked like. (She was a small, scruffy girl with hair like a brillo pad and skin permanently smudged in soot; she would have been beautiful if only you could scrub off some of the grime.) Actress Dakota Blue Richards, while charming, is nothing like the Lyra I imagined. For one, she looks nothing like I.

To be fair, sometimes a film is a beautiful rendition of a book, adding appealing visual elements or presenting a new viewpoint: However silly the recent 3-D “Beowulf” was, it certainly presented something new. But I didn’t read Beowulf until I was in college and even then never much cared for it.

Sometimes, the movie surpasses its source material. Francis Coppola’s “The Godfather” is more nuanced and more starkly riveting than Mario Puzo’s book. I have no qualms with making a film that improves on a lackluster read, especially one so decidedly not appropriate for the younger crowd.

Sometimes, a movie merely meanders in the same mediocrity: “Memoirs of a Geisha” was an entertaining, but ultimately average, book. The movie, while visually stunning in a way a book could never be, falls victim to the same uninspired pitfalls.

Perhaps more authorial involvement in script writing and the final cut would do the trick. “The Cider House Rules” book and film versions were both written by John Irving. The book is an elegiac reverie that takes about three days to read, and the movie is an elegiac reverie that takes about three hours to watch. Unfortunately, the vast majority of films don’t benefit from this extended involvement of their creators, and they suffer for it. But perhaps it isn’t so simple. The change in medium is more than a simple page-to-screen move.

To take a book, especially one as wildly imaginative and personally beloved as “The Golden Compass,” and turn it into a film is to confine it to one single set of visual standards. Every image you’ve already conjured about the written world is dismissed, and your imagination is confined to one picture. The glory of books is that everything looks exactly the way you want it to, even if you mentally put your mother in the evil villainess’ place.

This confinement effectively removes you from your own adventure. I am no longer young Lyra, scrambling over rooftops and saving my friends from religious fanatics, or Harry Potter, scrambling along passageways and saving my friends from magical fiends. I am reduced to an audience member, watching as someone else gets to have all the fun in a world I feel I know much more intimately than they do. And where’s the fun in that?

In early 1996, the American people were ready for many things; a new Alanis Morissette single, a Deep Blue vs. Garry Kasparov chess rematch and another four years of Bill Clinton. One thing they weren’t ready for was “The Dana Carvey Show.”
The ill-fated prime-time sketch comedy show only lasted 7 episodes before it was cancelled. Perhaps it was the poorly planned lead-in; the family based “Home Improvement” didn’t appreciate the first-ever sketch which involved Bill Clinton lactating and nursing puppies. Maybe it was the show’s poor attempts at shoving classic Dana Carvey characters into an unfamiliar format; the Church Lady voice pops up far too often where it doesn’t belong.
But it certainly wasn’t a lack of talent that doomed “The Dana Carvey Show.” The show featured the acting and writing talents of pre-fame Steve Carrell, Steven Colbert, Robert Smigel, Louis C.K., Dino Stamatopulos and Charlie Kaufman. Yes, that Charlie Kaufman, of “Being John Malkovich” and “Adaptation” fame.
But it wasn’t just green talent that couldn’t bring the funny. This show was hilarious. It debuted Ace and Gary, “The Ambiguously Gay Duo,” and featured the classic Tom Brokaw pre-taping Gerald Ford’s death announcement sketch that SNL took word for word when Dana Carvey hosted later that year.
They have a lot of great material that you haven’t seen like Skinheads from Maine or Germans Who Say Nice Things (imagine Steve Carrell shouting, “Mr. Holland’s Opus was the feel good movie of the year!” in a German accent. Hilarious.)
It’s too bad the show existed before cable was a viable moneymaker because this was a brilliant precursor to “Chappelle’s Show” and probably would have been just as successful in a friendly market. The humor is a bit too topical and relies on Carvey’s impression skills to often, but it holds up.
Check out the whole show for free on Netflix.com (if you are a customer) or on hulu.com (free for everyone).

Scott Bressler

Ours
Mercy (Dancing for the Death of an Imaginary Enemy)

Rating: 4/5

For fans of: Jeff Buckley, Bends-era Radiohead, the Cure

Tracks to download: “Mercy,” “Willing,” “God Only Wants You,” “Murder”

Ours is that band you should have already heard of. The subject of a bidding war between the major labels prior to the release of their first LP (the beautifully crafted “Distorted Lullabies”), Ours received significant press due in part to singer/songwriter Jimmy Gnecco’s connection to the late Jeff Buckley and to the similarity of their vocals. “Distorted Lullabies” received decent radio and TV play, but not as much as their label, DreamWorks, hoped for.

Thus, after a little more than a year, Ours returned to the studio in a very different fashion. While Gnecco created “Distorted Lullabies” alone over three years, “Precious” was recorded as single takes over a mere few months. The result was a very different album that received even less radio and TV play, and led to a lot of drama with DreamWorks, causing “Mercy[‘s]” release to be pushed back all the way to March 2008 although it had been recorded in 2005 and 2006 and many of the songs had been written years before.

Ours’ previous works have been most easily defined as melodic goth-rock, and “Mercy” is no exception. In all of their albums, but especially in “Mercy,” the songs’ themes are dark, and are crafted to make that blatantly obvious. Gnecco’s vocal range allows him to sullenly sing lower notes one second and let out a piercing falsetto the next. Many of the drum sections pound through in a tribal-like manner, at levels surprisingly close to the vocals’, while the lead guitar parts primarily work in the realm of long, squealingly high chords and notes that also receive surprisingly high prominence in the mix.

The almost-seven minute title track is by far the best on the album; it starts strong and intensely, building all the way to the breaking point as Gnecco refrains “Mercy for the meek, I won’t let you go, I won’t leave you now!” Another highlight, “God Only Wants You,” is quite different from the sound that runs throughout most of the album. It is a slow, acoustic waltz that Gnecco sings in his most sugary sweet falsetto.

The album is strong throughout with a single exception. Although “Black” has a lot of fantastic elements to it, the spoken word toward the end of the track slows down the momentum. Gnecco’s vocals are unarguably the best part of the band, and thus a 30-second section of him just talking makes for pretty uninteresting music.

It’s been entirely too long since the release of the last Ours album. After high profile opening spots for Circa Survive and Marilyn Manson, and now the release of “Mercy,” one can hope that it won’t be another six years before we see more music from Ours.

Scott Bressler

Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin
Pershing

Rating: 1.5/5

For fans of: Elliott Smith, Jack Johnson, mediocrity

Tracks to download: “Glue Girls,” “Heers”

I have always been bemused by indie pop. It is perfect only for a summer drive in your Prius or a sing-along with your condescending friends (who admit afterward that they will always be too cutting-edge for a sing-along and they only did so for the sake of irony). Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin’s (SSLYBY) sophomore effort “Pershing” does not try for much, content to be pleasing in its poptastic simplicity.

SSLYBY’s debut LP “Broom” sold over 20,000 copies, which made the band the bees’ knees of the indie sphere. (To compare, Mariah Carey has released eight-tracks of bowel movements that almost quadrupled those sales figures.) “Broom” had edge and innovation, and also threw in some commercial pop. The idea that “Oregon Girl” still finds itself absent from some hip tech commercial flabbergasts me. (You’re going to run out of Shins songs soon, HP!) But save a few moments of pep, “Broom” stayed indie (read: whiny).

“Pershing” is certainly more accessible than their first album. The opener “Glue Girls” could be a bona fide mainstream hit, with its catchy, sanguine vocals and snappy bass line. And each song maintains this pattern of annoyingly breezy and carefreeness; they were probably all written on a beach somewhere with an acoustic guitar in front of a campfire. But that formula can only work if each song doesn’t essentially repeat the last. Track after track grow exponentially more uninspired. All somewhat bubbly, but so much so that the band comes off as smug.

For example, I was not impressed that on “Oceanographer” the band could rhyme six different terms with the title. “Schoolhouse Rock!” has more ingenious lyrics, and at least their songs do not disgrace the pop genre. “Boring Fountain” and “Think I Wanna Die” were not only cutesy, forgettable tracks but they could also double as sound bites from potential listeners. On “Pershing” the novelty of “Broom” has been swept away, and in its place is an unthreatening surplus of effervescence.

SSLYBY will alienate their indie following as these listeners become nauseated by the unadulterated, underwhelming sap. The mainstream may enjoy the album for a couple of tracks, but their ADD will kick in after it gets too repetitive. And if the band attempts to tour for a mainstream crowd, their name does not lend itself well for chanting or t-shirts. Muumuus and parachutes, maybe.

The entirety of “Pershing” seems effortless, but only in the sense that they probably exerted no effort in recording it. And only Jack Johnson can find success by writing in such a fashion. He’s crafted just such a carefree career. SSLYBY must have realized they recorded such a mindless release. They shipped pre-order copies out with cherry Airheads attached. A candy, like this album, that I would throw away if given to me free of charge. A poor way to honor a fine president of mother Russia.

MCT

When the trailer for this new pseudo-indie flick from Disney-owned Miramax debuted around Sundance time I noted that by being named “Smart People” the film is automatically marked as a movie for people who aren’t “smart.” Think about it like this: If “Planet of the Apes” were made for the dirty ape demographic, wouldn’t it just be called “Planet?”

The way it is, the movie seems to put “smart people” on display as if they are a zoo attraction. Look at the self-absorbed college professor do the New York Times crossword puzzle in his stuffy, book-lined natural habitat. In our next exhibit, we have his over-achieving, neo-con daughter wearing sweater vests and brushing up on her vocabulary in preparation for achieving a perfect score on the SATs.

A bearded, pot-bellied Dennis Quaid plays narcissistic professor Lawrence Wetherhold. He ignores his students, moves the clock forward in his office to avoid honoring office hours and only seems interested in getting his newest book published. The book, a scathing criticism of the entire history of literature criticism, seems like a book only someone like his daughter might enjoy.

Portrayed with a sufficiently stuck-up, affected, self-important pomp by “Juno” star Ellen Page, Vanessa Wetherhold is the kind of girl who prefers academia to pop-culture and wouldn’t know a party if it was raging in her living room.

When her loser of an uncle, Chuck, played by Thomas Haden Church, sporting an especially loser-like mustache, sneaks her into a bar in an attempt to loosen her up, she ends up drunkenly asking a couple of girls in line for the bathroom, “What’s it like to be stupid?” They astutely reply “What’s it like to sit alone at lunch?”

“Smart People” attempts to be about intelligence and how that gets in the way of relationships. Dennis Quaid lands in the hospital after a botched break-in to the campus impound lot (he’s so self-absorbed he can’t help but park in two spaces at a time). His sexy young doctor reports his impact-induced seizure to the DMV, meaning Wetherhold won’t be able to legally drive for six months.

The role was originally intended for the adorable Rachel Weisz but instead was given to Unsexiest Woman Alive Sarah Jessica Parker. Personally, I have no problems with Parker’s sex-appeal-it’s her one-note acting that offends me. As it turns out, that doctor is a former student who harbored a crush for her Victorian Lit 101 professor and actually lets the obnoxious snob take her out on a date. She’ll have to drive, of course.

For all his other driving needs, Lawrence turns to Chuck, his adopted brother. Chuck moves into the spare room upstairs and immediately starts spreading his smoky, mellow wisdom around a household desperately in need of an enema powerful enough to kill the bugs up everybody’s butts. As Chuck, Church gets all the best lines and generates almost every laugh the movie has to offer. His one-liners are frequent and ingratiating but offer little more than obvious color commentary on the Wetherhold’s sad life style.

I watched “Smart People” with two other Wash. U. students who would fit the descriptor offered by the title. They disliked it much more strongly than I. They pointed out that first-time director Noam Murro obsessively dropped in “intelligence” markers, such as high-scoring games of Scrabble and discussions of William Carlos William’s place in literature as an imagist and a modernist, which added nothing to the plot and simply reminded us that the people we were watching are, indeed, smart. I forgave him this because I think the movie is not intended for the “cultured” indie audience, but for less pretentious and, quite frankly, larger crowds. “Smart People” could be seen as “The Squid and the Whale” for philistines, but marking it as such would be undervaluing the message of both movies.

This is not to say that “Smart People” is a resounding success, or really successful at all. It has some funny moments unconnected to the plot, but has far too may hanging threads and unintriguing characters. I don’t believe that it should be derided for presenting “faux intelligence,” (although it does deserve a black mark for lazy storytelling and characterization) because I think these characters were not supposed to be realistic. Just as Hilary Swank’s boorish relatives in “Million Dollar Baby” were cartoonish representations of low-brow middle-America, the Wetherhold clan are just easily digestible portraits of the academic elite.

This movie’s problems are far simpler and more fundamental. If Hollywood (and don’t let the markers fool you, this movie is as studio as it gets) really wants audiences to enjoy a movie, they should make characters that are at least mildly interesting after they are easily identified. Lawrence comes off as needlessly grumpy at the start and, while Quaid plays it well, the character doesn’t ever open up enough to let us see him as much more than a grouch. In a movie like “Sideways,” which “Smart People” certainly tries to emulate, Paul Giamatti’s character Miles shows his unflinching humanity when he steals money from his mother’s sock drawer. It’s a bold move for the filmmaker, and one that may lose the audience, but a divisive choice is better than none at all. “Smart People” doesn’t ever take any chances and, for a movie that wants so badly to be clever, that’s a pretty dumb decision.