Bridesmaids; Larry Crowne; Kung Fu Panda 2; Beginners
On her Twitter homepage, bestselling author Caitlin Moran sardonically describes herself as "a woman, yes, but still funny", a reference to the widely held misapprehension that comedy is somehow a male preserve. Certainly, the hugely saleable gross-out genre that has flourished in cinemas in recent years has been dominated by cocksure bromances in which women have been required to pay solidly secondary roles. Encouraging, then, that Bridesmaids (2011, Universal, 15) has become a bona fide ballsy comic hit, taking just shy of $300m in theatres worldwide and providing more consistent laughs for audiences (both male and female) than The Hangover, Due Date or any of their endlessly sequelled stablemates.
Key to the film's appeal is co-writer and rising star Kristen Wiig, last seen throwing off the shackles of religion in Paul, excelling here as the former best friend ousted by a pushy new queen bee in the run-up to a wedding. Locked into a downward spiral of increasingly competitive affection, Wiig's dissolute heroine becomes the unintentional thorn in the bride-to-be's side, with unexpectedly poignant results. Scripted (with Annie Mumolo) with wit, insight and often scathing humour, this riotous affair benefits from an accomplished ensemble cast including Maya Rudolph, Rose Byrne, Melissa McCarthy and Jill Clayburgh, all of whom rise to the challenge of serving up both belly laughs and believable buddy bonding. Granted, there are occasions when the guiding hand of producer Judd Apatow seems to be laid rather too heavily on the proceedings, most notably during the now infamous communal pants-pooing sequence, which marks something of a low point. But for the most part this is rewardingly engaging fare, made all the more likable by Wiig's apparent reluctance to answer the inevitable calls for a perfunctory sequel. The triple-play "extended edition" includes deleted scenes and making-of material.
In stark contrast to the success of Bridesmaids, Tom Hanks's second directorial outing, Larry Crowne (2011, Studiocanal, 12), failed to find a foothold in cinemas despite its starry cast (notably Hanks and Julia Roberts), falling firmly between romantic-comic stools. Written by Nia Vardalos, who has struggled to repeat the success of My Big Fat Greek Wedding, this strange mishmash casts the actor-director as a recently unemployed schlubb who makes a middle-aged return to college where he is taught by the world's most glamorous public-speaking instructor. Crazy outings on scooters ensue as our hero wins the hearts of all around him in somewhat inexplicable fashion. Considering the economy and brio with which Hanks directed sparky one-hit wonder That Thing You Do!, it's a real shame to have to declare that this is a peculiarly clunky work – not wholly likable, admittedly, but oddly lacking the everyman appeal that has become Hanks's trademark.
There's equally little to laugh about in Kung Fu Panda 2 (2011, Paramount, PG), a by-numbers follow-up to DreamWorks' digimated hit from 2008. In cinemas this made headlines by virtue of being a flagship 3D release that most audiences preferred to see in 2D. On home viewing formats (where stereoscopy is still a non-starter) this will doubtless ship out in "flatscreen" bulk, although it's unlikely to achieve the kind of hard-rotation repeat-viewing that has made The Lion King all but unremovable from DVD and Blu-ray players up and down the land.
And so to Beginners (2010, Universal, 15), an oddity, to be sure, that dallies all too often with kooky cuteness but manages ultimately to achieve an air of all-but-winning peculiarity. Ewan McGregor is the graphic artist struggling to find emotional fulfilment in an on-off relationship with enigmatic French actress Anna (Mélanie Laurent), then rocked by the revelation that his widowed father (Christopher Plummer) is gay. Throw in a comedy dog that communicates via subtitles and an irritating quirk about "the history of sadness" and the whole things looks set to implode into navel-gazing annoyance.
Yet there's something in this self-conscious offering from Thumbsucker writer-director Mike Mills that redeems it from utter self-absorption. Perhaps it's the performances, with particular plaudits to Plummer, who manages to essay the role of out-coming dad wrestling new love and terminal illness with openness, vulnerability and charm; a scene in which he calls his reticent son to ask what the "insty insty insty" noise he heard at a disco is ("It's called 'house music', Dad") is touching rather than toe-curling thanks to Plummer's infectious enthusiasm.
The fact that much of the film has an autobiographical edge also adds to its impact, with Mills (who has worked as album sleeve designer for Sonic Youth and the Beastie Boys) clearly drawing on experiences that are close to home, particularly in the father-son relationship. While the end result may be slight, it is not entirely without substance.