A Key & Peale skit that goes on about an hour and 35 minutes too long, made even more tedious by the immobile camerawork of director Stephen Hawk . . . .er . . . Peter Attencio, whose resume’ consists of . . . directing Key and Peale episodes.

Alternative reviews, considered but rejected–

Kean-poo!

“Keanu tell me if this movie sucks? Yes, I ke-an.”

Tina Fey’s foray as a film lead has been nothing short of disastrous. Other than the tolerable Date Night (where Steve Carell helped with the lifting), her movies have been execrable. Her attempts to re-brand the Liz Lemon character that served her so well for a time in 30 Rock have failed.  In Admission and Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, it was hard to determine what was less convincing: Fey’s stabs at being thoughtful or her attempts to fill the garters of a romantic lead.  For introspection, Fey rarely can provide more than a smirking Hamlet-lite, asking the audience “is this a macaroon I see before me?”  And when Fey is asked to fill the shoes of a sexual being, as she was In This is Where I Leave You (former high school loose girl) and this film (former and current), it’s like asking Richard Dreyfus to play Rocky Balboa.  Some of her limitation is attributable to run-off from the Lemon character, a neutered geek who substituted sex –which she approached as if it were vampirism – with food.  But Fey is many years away from that character, and the fact is, she simply exudes no sex.  Not appeal, interest or even curiosity.  In Whiskey Tango, which is ostensibly a romantic comedy, she could only bed Martin Freeman when she was near wasted, the coupling looking more like two cats in a bag, and the morning after, she looked at Freeman with the disgust of someone who “can’t believe they ate the whole thing.”

Yet, in Sisters, she’s supposed to be the wild, sexually adventurous one.

Oooph.

Fey’s other huge problem is that she is wholly unlikeable.  In 30 Rock, she was parceled out in little bits as part of an ensemble, and she made herself the butt of every joke, which was endearing and at times, very, very funny.  But she’s lost that gift and now, she’s re-presented as a different woman and no matter what she does, she comes off as condescending.  Indeed, Fey as corporate pitchwoman for American Express is damn near insufferable in a 30 second ad (her quippy, snide, self-absorbed shopper rings of the person who is most amused by their own cleverness) and that tells us all we should know about her freshness as a film actress.

It’s not just Fey, however, that sinks Sisters.  The film has no real humor; it’s just a “last party” flick where folks who aren’t even characters say things meant to be zany and hilarious.   The set-ups (drugs that look like sugar!  A glop of hair gel on the floor that will factor prominently later!) are asinine, and when Fey and her film sister Amy Poehler get in trouble, they riff.  The riffing is painful, and frankly, given Fey’s attacks on other comics who do not meet her exacting cultural standards, watching her “do black” (repeatedly) when she appears to be struggling is a strange mix of uncomfortable and satisfying.  I imagine she’ll avoid the pitchforks from the p.c. Brown Shirts, but she should step lightly.  They just took a pelt off of Lena Dunham!

The script, such as it is, has the odor of weak improv. Avoid this dog.

Richard Linklater’s astute command of time and place is forever proven by his masterpiece, Dazed and Confused, which captured a Texas town’s high school circa 1976 in all its bell-bottomed, long-haired, keg-in-the-woods glory. Everybody Wants Some! ain’t Dazed and Confused. Focusing on a young college baseball player’s matriculation at a Texas college, Linklater appears to be satisfying an 80s-era checklist. Mud wrestling. Check. Disco. Check. Mechanical bull. Check.  “Get the Knack!” Check. And while Dazed and Confused gave you insight into the jocks, the stoners, the geeks, the parents, the coaches, the teachers and the townies, Everybody Wants Some! is limited to the hyper-male competitive environment of the baseball team, a group that parties hard, jumps on your Achilles at every opportunity, and challenges each other in all respects, when not dime-store philosophizing about winning, commitment, pot and “pussy.”

Yet, with all its flaws and limitations, I dug the movie. Linklater lovingly recreates the art of male bullshitting, which, granted, is not for everyone; the wonder of all the possibility of college; and the camaraderie of sports, all to an unabashedly “classic rock” soundtrack. it’s an acquired taste, and this is a very light film that at its best is merely charming, but I was smiling throughout.

Semi-compelling in its melding of the English countryside circa 1812 and brain-eating undead, this film has its moments.   In particular, Matthew Smith (an old Dr. Who) as Parson Collins and Lena Headey (Ceirse Lannister in Game of Thrones) as Lady Catherine de Bourgh get the joke, stealing every scene they are in with wink and nod mugging that acknowledges the levity of this venture. Unfortunately, the rest of the cast actually seems to be struggling with the delivery of Jane Austen in the middle of a zombie outbreak and choose to treat the latter as a catastrophe that demands some degree of solemnity. Worse, director Burr Steers finds it necessary to inject the tiresome physicality of a kung-fu movie, which is one ingredient too many for the stew. Still, this is pretty decent fun.

Barton Fink had the Coen Brothers delving into the dark heart of old Hollywood as it crushed the dreams, condescension and verve of the working man’s playwright. The result was a dark and sometimes terrifying comedy that revealed the old film business as an industrial behemoth, plowing over the souls of artists. It is a dour, unpleasant movie, and ironically, so arty and showy that you long for the simplistic Wallace Beery wrestling picture that plagues its protagonist.

It appears the Coen Brothers have lightened up considerably. Hail, Caesar! is a breezy, clever and light love letter to old Hollywood. The studio chief (Josh Brolin) is being wooed by corporate America, and the man sent to Tinseltown to lure him away can’t help but take jabs at the frivolity of Brolin’s work. Indeed, between staging marriages to deal with the unplanned pregnancy of a star (Scarlett Johansson), matchmaking stars to feed to the gossip columnists, squelching rumors about his Clark Gable-esque A lister (George Clooney) and saving that same commodity from kidnappers, it all seems pretty silly. But it is not. It is, as presented by the Coen Brothers, noble work.

This light romp is made glorious by several masterful recreations of old Hollywood scenes, from the massive scale of period pieces to cowboy antics to jaw-dropping swim and song-and-dance numbers. The detail is lovingly rendered, and the humor is always there. This is one of their better films. It prompted Ann Hornaday of The Washington Post to rank her Coen Brothers films, a list that is in many ways beyond stupid. Here is mine:

1. Fargo
2. No Country for Old Men
3. The Big Lebowski
4. True Grit
5. Inside Llewyn Davis
6. Burn After Reading
7. Miller’s Crossing
8. Hail, Caesar
9. Raising Arizona
10. Oh Brother Where Art Thou
11. Blood Simple
12. Intolerable Cruelty
13. Barton Fink
14. The Hudsucker Proxy
15. The Man Who Wasn’t There
16. A Serious Man

**. The Ladykillers (never saw it)