Yogi Bear Review

Before heading into the cinema to see the new Yogi Bearfilm, I am granted the privilege of meeting and greeting the various celebrities in attendance at this gala premiere. I am happy to report that Eamonn Holmes enjoyedMorning Glory and feels (in jest I assume) thatUnstoppable was overlooked by the Oscars, Chico would be most upset if Yogi Bear were to steal some chocolate from a hypothetical picnic basket and that Jackiey Budden, mother of Jade Goody, has her autobiography due out next month.

More importantly however, was the film. Yogi Bear, who made his first appearance in 1958 has been a perennial favourite in the Hanna-Barbera canon ever since. Starring in his first non-TV movie since 1964, Yogi is now voiced by Ghostbusters star Dan Aykroyd and his companion Boo-Boo is voiced by pop star and Social Network player, Justin Timberlake. Anna Faris co-stars, with Tom Cavanagh as the long-suffering Ranger Smith, who finds Jellystone Park threatened with closure, with Yogi’s antics poised either to save the day or ruin it.

The film was preluded by a brief and reasonably amusing Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote skit before we are treated to the live action, computer animated, 3D, Yogi Bear extravaganza. Despite my feelings of nostalgia for Yogi and Boo-Boo, I was initially slow to warm to the film, which lacks much of the charm of the original cartoons, much like the similar live action Scooby Doo films. After a while, however, the pitter patter of the banter between the characters begins to amuse and Andrew Daly’s smarmy mayor in particular raises several smiles. Aykroyd and Timberlake both seem reasonably well suited to their roles and Faris is also rather pleasant as a natural history documentary maker. The colour scheme of the film is also pleasingly cheerful and Jellystone Park looks good.

Beyond the inoffensive cast and occasional flashes of wit, however, the film suffers from a dull ‘save the forest’ eco plot and painfully average execution – you may argue that it is decent enough fare for children, but when such quality films as Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs, Toy Story and last month’s Tangled are all competing for children’s attention, Yogi Bear doesn’t really hold a candle. And despite a healthy predisposition towards keeping the action old-school, there are several cringy moments wherein Yogi dances to Baby Got Back and the seemingly ubiquitous Don’t Stop Believin’, which feel uncomfortably modern for a bear that had his heyday in the 1960s.

So despite not being totally rubbish, Yogi Bear just isn’t quite good enough to stand out from the pack of quality kid’s cinema these days. Still, it’ll keep sprogs happy for eighty minutes and may even charm a few grownups who hold fond memories of this smarter-than-average bear.

Morning Glory Review

The setup for Morning Glory seems promisingly funny, if unlikely to rip up any rulebooks. Roger Michell (Notting Hill) directs spunky television producer Rachel McAdams, who is given a tough break in charge of an ailing breakfast television programme (which, in an amusing coincidence, is called Day Break), to which she manages to lure Harrison Ford’s crotchety and serious newscaster as a new presenter. Ford’s commitment to hard journalism and general misanthropy clashes with the triviality of the show, his co-anchor Diane Keaton and McAdams’s positivity. Comedy, surely, ensues.

It feels wrong to criticise a film that seems to try so hard and has plenty of good things going for it, but Morning Glory is terribly lacklustre, utterly predictable and painfully average. Those good things going for it include an impressive cast – Ford, Keaton and McAdams are flanked by Patrick Wilson and Jeff Goldblum – a buoyant central character and some amusing sparring between Keaton and Ford. The latter is wonderful on screen and draws attention like some sort of cinematic black hole, warping the very fabric of the film around him, to utilise a rather eccentric metaphor. His acerbic comments are delivered very amusingly. Keaton is another charismatic screen presence, but is underused. McAdams’s character is a reasonably decent female role model, but is reduced to waddling around in her pants in a couple of instances. There’s also an all too brief cameo fromModern Family’s Ty Burrell, arguably the funniest man in American television right now (though that is possibly not an argument you would win).

It comes as no surprise to learn that the film’s script is written by Aline Brosh McKenna of The Devil Wears Prada fame. No surprise, as the plot of Morning Glory is nearly identical – a young woman enters high powered workplace and experiences trouble with an older, unpleasant colleague. Eventually, however, she earns their respect and finds success and love. The plot goes nowhere you wouldn’t expect it to and a very false of jeopardy is created by some totally arbitrary deadlines. You’ll also see the final payoff coming a mile away.

The central conceit of Ford’s character – who pertains that the news is scared and under threat from the influence of crass entertainment – is rather undersold too: as McAdams further dumbs down Day Break, its ratings go up, yet there is little indictment of this or any negative outcome, or any real discussion of the issue at all. Surely a film should expect its audience to be able to handle a more complex debate than that?

Ultimately, the film is a disappointment, not really because it is particularly bad, but because it failed to live up to its potential, a true shame given the calibre and talents of its cast and of Harrison Ford in particular. One wonders how closely art imitated life in this film: was Ford unwillingly herded into a fluffy feature that is quite possibly beneath him? A bigger dose of his character’s nasty streak and a curbing of its more sentimental sensibilities would have doneMorning Glory a lot of good. As it stands, the edgiest thing about it is its poorly chosen title.

Season of the Witch Review

As an unashamed Nicolas Cage fan, it was heartening to witness the star’s run of form in 2010. Excellent turns in Kick-Ass and Bad Lieutenant (one of my films of the year) proved Cage to be the go-to-guy for unbridled dementia. The damp squib that was The Sorcerer’s Apprentice may not have achieved such heights, but as a 300 pound Texan once said, two out of three ain’t bad. Hopes were high then, that Cage would continue to impress with Season of the Witch.

The film stars Cage and Hellboy himself, Ron Pearlman, as medieval crusaders, who part ways with their comrades after becoming disillusioned by killing in the name of a supposedly benevolent god. They return to a country non-specific, which they find ravaged by plague. The local authorities deem the plague to be the doing of a young girl they have decided is a witch. Under duress, Cage, Pearlman and a selection of others are tasked with escorting the girl to a monastery for her witchcraft to be undone.

Season of the Witch is either enjoyable nonsense or a total dog’s dinner depending on how forgiving you are of cinematic stupidity, how many beers you’ve had and whether or not it’s ten o’ clock on Saturday night and nothing else is on. If you answered, ‘very’, ‘several’ and ‘yes’ to those three conditions, then you will no doubt enjoy Season for the romp it wishes to be. Otherwise, you may struggle to be impressed.

The film is stuffed to the gills with unoriginality – there’s a spot of the previous year’s Sean Bean starrer, Black Death, a dash of The Last Exorcism’s ambiguity (for a while), a vague air of Witchfinder General and Twilight’s naff CGI wolves to be noted in proceedings. There’s a certain ‘seen it all before’ feeling that mars the film throughout – up to and including a ‘cross the rickety rope bridge over the chasm of doom sequence’. Actions set-pieces are met with audience indifference, the special effects are no great shakes and the direction by Dominic Sena (Swordfish, Gone in 60 Seconds) is workman-like. It’s also a shame Cage doesn’t utilise his British accent.

The film does retain some charm in its occasional scares and its better than average cast, which includes the aforementioned Cage and Pearlman, Stephen Graham (This is England, The Damned United), Robert Sheehan (the gobby, immortal one from Misfits) and a cameo from an unrecognisably plague-scarred Christopher Lee. TV’s Claire Foy satisfies as the witch, but other than that, the cast don’t particularly impress, despite their accumulative on-screen charisma. Sheehan is wasted in a straight role – a crime given how natural a comedic performer he is. You keep expecting his earnest altar boy to crack a few unspeakably rude jokes, but to no avail.

Indeed, a healthy dose of humour could have improved the film no end. Whilst Season of the Witch may have pretensions of seriousness (a prevailing theme being the misappropriation of religion), what is required is a more full-blooded boy’s own adventure, with its tongue relocated to its cheek. There are merely two funny moments, one of which was unintentional (wherein Pearlman literally head-butts a minion of Satan – twice). An expansion of the supporting character’s pasts would also have been an improvement – a history between the accused witch and Stephen Campbell Moore’s priest Debelzaq is alluded to, but never elaborated on. Whilst these things would not have made Season of the Witch a classic, they would surely have made it a more memorable and enjoyable film than the stodgy filler that it is.