Who Needs a Fox Anyway?

I was recently talking movie reviews with a friend.  I mentioned that I pretty much write a blog critique now for everything I see.  My friend challenged that I don't like anything and I beg to differ.   Especially this fall when there have been several acclaimed films that I have raved about as well.

St. Vincent.

Whiplash.

Nightcrawler.

So there!  My tongue is being stuck out as I write that.

But then there is Foxcatcher.   It's had a lot of Oscar buzz.  None of those bees, however, are making it to my backyard.   As good as the first three movies were this fall, Foxcatcher was that bad.  A complete and utter mess.

So there!  I just stuck my tongue out again.

What first astounds me about this film is that it's a true story that I somehow missed when it really happened in the late 80s.  I mean, you would think that it would be easy to remember a news story about some crazy billionaire from the Dupont family killing an Olympic gold medal wrestler.  But I had no clue about any of it.  Oh, and if you think I should have just issued you a spoiler alert about what is essentially the end of the Foxcatcher movie, you should have no worries.   If you still venture out to see this film after you finish reading my review, it's your problem.

Director Bennett Miller, whose work was so wonderful with Moneyball, is the main culprit here why Foxcatcher is such a disaster.  The story meanders around so slowly and lethargically that the man in front of me was snoring fifteen minutes in.  Miller puts his tale through the most monotone and flat pacing.  Snails would be bored.   The result is two hours and fifteen minutes of zero energy.  It's akin to lighting all of Times Square with a 60 watt bulb.

If you care, there's this completely nuts billionaire named John Dupont who fancies himself as a leader of men and coach of Olympic wrestlers.  He's a quiet psycho and latent homosexual with severe mommy issues.  He takes on Olympic wrestler Mark Schultz, who's the brother of former gold medal wrestler Dave Schultz.  Dupont trains Mark and is a bit of a psychological brute.  

That's the story.  If you think that's slight, you're obviously paying attention.

It's a plot that hinges very much on the acting leads and, despite what you're hearing in the aforementioned Oscar buzz, the thespians here are not up to the task.   As Dupont, the consistently-overrated Steve Carrell tries once again to tell us he's a competent serious actor.   Note to Carrell:  you're not.  In his role, he sits behind a prosthetic nose that grabs your attention.  Unfortunately, his plodding through the picture does not.  As slow as Miller's direction is, Carrell's performance is a car that never starts.   You can actually see him acting.   

Channing Tatum as Mark Schultz is no better.   The real guy must be a bit of a neanderthal because Tatum tramples through the picture like an angry gorilla.  People are touting him for a supporting actor Oscar.  Really?  If that's the case, King Kong should be pissed.  But, then again, Kong never looked as buff as Tatum does in his countless scenes with his shirt off.

The only actor coming out of the movie with his career semi-intact is Mark Ruffalo as the doomed Dave Schultz.  So, yes, if you don't know, he's the one who gets killed at the end by Dupont.  Did I ruin this film for you?  Trust me, director Bennett Miller beat me on that one.

So, when you're listening to the Oscar buzz, ignore what you hear about Foxcatcher and fly over to those hives which are playing the likes of St. Vincent, Nightcrawler, and Whiplash.

LEN'S RATING:  Thanks to Mark Ruffalo, one half-star.

Dinner last night:  Leftover pasta and meatballs.