Hail, Caesar!

**Spoiler Alert**

Directors: Joel and Ethan Coen/Starring: George Clooney, Josh Brolin, Scarlett Johansson, Tilda Swinton, Alden Ehrenreich, Frances McDormand, Channing Tatum and Jonah Hill

Joel and Ethan Coen have made exceptional films in their careers and some irredeemable time-wasters. One can count a fair number of comedies in their oeuvre but for me, I've always preferred their dramas, which sometimes contain their brand of dark humor. I realize my low opinion of their comedies is in the minority. People insist Raising Arizona, O Brother, Where Art Thou and Burn After Reading are hilarious but they only leave me cold. (I've heard some movie lovers even suggest that The Hudsucker Proxy and The Ladykillers are funny... not to me.) I'm still not wild about The Big Lebowski but I think Jeff Lebowski is a comic master creation. The Coen Brothers' comedies are too self-aware to be truly funny.
That being said, I found their new film; Hail, Caesar to be unfunny, unfocused and unfailingly tedious. I heard one woman laugh through the entire film but there is always that one person in the audience who can be counted on to find every gag and comic situation funny even when they aren't. In spite of the woman's compulsive laughter, the patrons in my immediate vicinity--and in most of the theater--were mostly silent. So it goes; everyone is entitled to laugh; it certainly isn't a crime, but maybe it's a case of sour grapes on my part, who knows?.

The Coen Brothers celebrate/skewer old Hollywood; the characters and genres that ruled the screen and the dramas that raged off of it.

Capitol Pictures' production manager Eddie Mannix (Josh Brolin) broad job description makes it necessary for him to also manage scandals that threaten to ruin actor's lives and derail movie projects. When the film begins, we see him visit a home where an intoxicated, high-profile actress is being photographed pornographically. Mannix, who seems accustomed to damage control of this ilk, manages to keep the situation from becoming headline fodder by pulling the starlet from the scene and paying off a couple of cops who arrive on the scene. When not defusing near-disasters, Mannix tends to studio production business. One film over which he presides is a big-budget, Ben-Hur-like epic called Hail, Caesar, which stars Hollywood mega-star Baird Whitlock (George Clooney).

During production, Whitlock is kidnapped; leaving Mannix to contend not only with a crime, but a situation that could conceivably become a media typhoon. Compounding his woes are the cost overruns Whitlock's absence creates for the the film. And yet another of Mannix's vexations are the Hedda Hopper-like, twin gossip columnists; Thora and Thessaly Thacker (Tilda Swinton, sporting great alliterative names); who skulk about the studio lot, sniffing for scandal and gossip.

But we also meet the film's other dramatis personae, like Hobie Doyle (Alden Ehrenreich), the singing cowboy of the big screen, who Mannix eventually recruits in his effort to find Whitlock and DeeAnna Moran (Scarlett Johansson); an Esther Williams-like star whose personal troubles become studio troubles. We also meet Burt Gurney (Channing Tatum); a song and dance star who later plays a part in the kidnapping drama.

Whitlock awakes in a posh, seaside home and after wandering around, he finds his kidnappers, who turn out to be a disgruntled group of screenwriters who are fed up with the industry's obeisance to the bottom line. The audience learns what it may have suspected all along; the group's agenda is strictly communist.
Meanwhile, Mannix assembles a cash payment after receiving the group's $100,000 ransom note while trying desperately to keep the kidnapping from leaking to the studio, the public and the press.

The film reaches for laughs when Hobie becomes a substitute cast member for director Laurence Laurentz's (Ralph Fiennes) tux and gown drama; a movie for which his Texan accent and cowboy persona are hopelessly ill-suited. The film's most inspired comedic scene is Mannix's meeting with local religious figures to ensure the movie's subject matter offends neither Christians nor Jews. The exchanges between the rabbi and catholic priest are peppered with a few barbed, comments about scripture.

As the mystery behind the kidnapper's intent comes to light, Whitlock becomes an ardent believer in their cause before eventually returning to the set of his movie.

The various secondary character's stories never add up to much, particularly DeeAna Moran's and Hobie Doyle's, who are more representations of old Hollywood types than people.

The Coen Brothers' film seems like an opportunity to poke fun at the anti-communist hysteria of the time. We see a boat containing Whitlock's captors and Burt Gurney approach a Russian submarine, which surfaces near the California shore, awaiting the bag containing the $100,000, which is being offered up as a gift. The absurdity of the scene seems to reflect the outrageous, right-wing, Cold War paranoia that held America in its grip during that period.

I suppose the film will seem funny to those who are attuned to the Coen Brothers' sense of screwball. I went into the movie expecting to laugh but unfortunately, their film fell flat. It isn't the first time I've had that reaction to one of their comedies and it may not be the last.
I'll move on now and hope their next movie will be more fun than this slog.

Magic Mike XXL

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Gregory Jacobs/Starring: Channing Tatum, Joe Manganiello, Jada Pinkett-Smith, Elizabeth Banks, Andie MacDowell, Amber Heard, Adam Rodriguez, Kevin Nash, Gabriel Iglesias and Matt Bomer

If you were expecting Magic Mike XXL, the sequel to Steven Soderbergh's Magic Mike to be a psychological exploration of its protagonist, you might be disappointed. On the other hand, if you expected to see dazzling dance moves and chiseled torsos, then director Gregory Jacobs' film has his finger on your pulse. I must admit, I felt very out of place; the lone male in a distaff audience, but since I had already seen the first film, which I found to be surprisingly entertaining, I thought I'd give the follow-up a go.

For the life of me, I could barely make out a story in this gimmicky flick. The narrative, or what one can discern as one, can be summed up in one or two sentences. Mike (Channing Tatum) is back at his job as a furniture designer, when he discovers his old male revue chums are planning one last show at a stripper convention in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Feeling the urge to spin, grind and strip, he decides to join them. You see; a synopsis in two sentences. How this taffy-thin story was stretched to 115 minutes is a feat beyond my ken.

But, in spite of its very modest ambitions, it manages to be a painless lark. For those who want their fill of stripping males, the film doesn't stint. For those who don't (like myself), there is ample female eye-candy and unsurprisingly, some extraordinary dancing, particularly by Channing Tatum.

Having been a male revue dancer in the past, it was hardly necessary for Tatum to research his role. He definitely came prepared for his dancing scenes and he handled them with professional aplomb. If I may make bold statement, the moves I watched Tatum execute in the film rival anything Gene Kelly ever did onscreen. If that praise seems outlandish and guffaw-inducing, I suggest you see the film for yourself. In an early scene, where we see Tatum alone his workshop, he hears Ginuwine's Pony on his radio, which he can't help but move his body to. The scene is a Flashdance moment and an impressive performance by Tatum, who uses his workbench and work space as an improvised dance stage.

Mike joins the dance troupe as they make their way to Myrtle Beach in the van owned by their DJ, Tobias (comedian Gabriel Iglesias). His former dance partners; Tito (Adam Rodriguez), Big Dick Richie (Joe Manganiello), Tarzan (Kevin Nash) and Ken (Matt Bomer) share the van space. Not much in the way of interpersonal conflict is seen or heard among the dancers. Other than a few moments of bickering, the group interacts harmoniously.

Out on the highway, Tobias loses control of the van, causing a crash. His hospitalization means the dancers will be without his MC services at the stripper convention. Finding an alternative mode of transportation, the guys stop off at a house run by an old flame of Mike's named Rome (Jada Pinkett-Smith), whose place doubles as a male strip club. She also acts as an MC in her own establishment.

Old boyfriend/girlfriend strife between Mike and Rome surfaces and past-grievances get aired out. While the troupe wanders among the rooms, they see ladies lining the walls as strippers dance and gyrate against women randomly selected from the crowd. Before long, Rome challenges Mike to perform, with predictable results. Mike electrifies the female audience, inciting them to rain dollar bills down upon his shirtless body.

As Mike and the troupe set back on the road, they use Rome's connections to coax lodgings from her friend Nancy Davidson (Andie MacDowell; ever-ravishing); a southern belle living lavishly in a palatial spread. When the men arrive and avail themselves of the place, they happen upon Nancy, who is conveniently keeping company with a group of lovely friends. Though the meeting threatens to morph into an orgy, conversation breaks out; which is an occasion for the men and women to trade stories of relationship woe. The setting is also a pretext for Mike to revisit a woman he met in earlier scenes named Zoe (an underwhelming Amber Heard), who just happens to be an associate of Nancy's. Zoe is a drifter who is always one misfortune away from "the pole," as Mike refers to the female stripper's life.

Nothing much happens at Nancy's house though she and Big Dick Richie manage to hook-up.
Later, when the group reaches the convention, they find they have to wheedle a spot on the convention itinerary from one of Rome's old friends; Paris (Elizabeth Banks). Spot secured, the men set about building props and designing costumes for their show. The show itself serves as the film's narrative zenith and allows us to see each member of the troupe perform solo for what is supposed to be their stripping swan song.

I don't know that the film has any message or is really about anything other than male strippers titillating women. The few shoddy back stories and the under-conceived, undercooked romance between Mike and Zoe are feeble attempts at drama or romance or something. The story itself is as flimsy as the cheesy costumes and characters the men affect onstage. Without the dance numbers and Tatum's inspired dance routines, the film readily evaporates like tissue paper in seething magma. Too bad. The first film was able to make Mike's and the lives of his colleagues be about something a a little more than dancing. This film is pure pecs, pelvic thrusts and women in the throes of intense arousal. What could I or anyone else really expect? But it does its job and women looking for a spicy night at the movies can experience male revue without bleeding dollar bills. For the heterosexual male audience (all two of us); well, you have Elizabeth Banks, Jada Pinkett-Smith and Andie MacDowell to ogle. Be content with that.

Don't expect a third installment. I can't imagine Channing Tatum would entertain the idea. But never dismiss the possibility either. You know it isn't beyond some misguided soul in Hollywood to keep all of this going. They haven't tried Magic Mike in 3D. Could it happen? I don't want to know.

Jupiter Ascending

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Andy Wachowski and Lana Wachowski/Starring: Channing Tatum, Mila Kunis, Eddie Redmayne, Sean Bean and Maria Doyle Kennedy

I think the Wachowskis' would like to think of themselves as visionary filmmakers but with films like The Matrix, Cloud Atlas and now Jupiter Ascending serving as standouts in their shabby oeuvre, I think of them more as merchants of flash and trash; writer/directors who spend gobs on visuals but can't write a story that floats or characters with any more depth than a thimble. Their latest follows in that tradition and in spite of said visuals, it is nothing more than junk with a glossy coat of dazzling color.

I expect to see an actress with Mila Kunis' slight acting ability ham about in this mess, but we've just seen Channing Tatum and Eddie Redmayne in Oscar-nominated films, which leads me to ask; what gives, fellas? Did your bank accounts really need the padding?

I'll leave those rhetorical questions to focus on the movie at hand.

And boy, is this film a bore! Cluttered visuals, pointless, vapid action scenes and film frames crowded with bodies that utter ridiculously inane dialogue effectively characterize this movie. Good thing I didn't shell out $16 bucks for the 3D version.

The story, which is kind of hard to follow--not because of a labyrinthine brilliance but rather its busy incoherence--takes place on Earth and in space. The main character, Jupiter Jones (Mila Kunis); the daughter of an English astrophysicist and a Russian mother, earns her name at her birth, where a relative notes Jupiter's position in the night sky. But the name also owes something to her father's interest in astronomical phenomena. He spends much of his time gazing at the stars through his telescope until, for no reason the filmmakers or the characters can explain, Russian thugs break into their home, rob the premises and making off with his beloved telescope. When he tries to stop them, they put a bullet in him, thus ending his star-gazing past-time.

The family is subsequently reduced to cleaning homes to earn an ignominious living, as is Jupiter, who scrubs toilets without complaint.

But elsewhere in our galaxy, we find the family Abrasax; a royal family of considerable power and wealth who rule over their domain with arrogance and presumption. The leader is Balem Abrasax (Eddie Redmayne), the evil patriarch who violently deposed his own mother to secure the throne. Under his thumb are his siblings, Kalique (Tuppence Middleton) and Titus (Douglas Booth), whose lives and roles in the family are no more secure than that of their late mommy.

A large part of the Abrasax power resides in the substance they harvest from humans; one that provides longevity and almost eternal youth. Increasing their supply means controlling the source, namely Earth, which is the cause of many of family squabbles. Balem's plans for Earth involve exploiting its population, which means denuding the planet of any human life; a hostile, destructive agenda he has accomplished with scores of other planets.

And what does our heroine, Jupiter Jones, have to do with all this? Turns out she is the reincarnation of the murdered Abrasax matriarch though she doesn't know it, which naturally makes her the target of Balem's Machiavellian, murderous designs. Jupiter discovers her royal connection the hard way when bounty hunters are dispatched to Earth to cancel her life. But she also discovers that she has a guardian angel of sorts, a genetically-engineered soldier named Caine Wise (Channing Tatum, saddled with a dopey character name) who is trying to redeem his career after a disaster earlier in his career (I have to give the Wachowski's credit for making genetic-engineering of prime importance in the futuristic goings on in space).

Caine's military suit is equipped with hi-tech footwear with its own means of propulsion, which allows him incredible, surfer-like mobility. Caine fights off various baddies who have come to Earth to do Jupiter Jones harm while also trying to enlist the help of an angry former colleague who is residing on Earth named Stinger Apini (Sean Bean).

Are you getting all this? If you find my synopsis wanting or I've carelessly omitted some key plot points, please bear with me; I was trying to keep the story straight while fending off hellish boredom. It wasn't easy!

So the reader (and viewer) can see where all this will lead. Jupiter will try to regain the throne with Caine's help as they become romantically involved while Earth's future hangs in the balance and blah, blah, blah.

I've noticed a certain phenomenon has overcome big budget action spectacles the last ten years or so and it leads me to ask: How does Hollywood (and the Wachowskis') manage to put the audience to sleep with so much ear-splitting noise and carnage on the screen? My head was nearly hanging on my chest before being snapped awake while Channing Tatum surfed around and Mila Kunis fell from great heights and long shots of a planet smothered in orbital habitats and nonsensical flotsam littered the screen.

Needless to say I couldn't wait for it all to end.

The film chokes on its own silliness quotient and believe me, there is a lot of it. I don't know what the thinking was behind Channing Tatum's look, but he resembled a satyr dressed for a night of clubbing rather than a hard-nosed soldier. Mila Kunis' lack of wonder or incredulity just made her seem like a dumb Miss America contestant who can't think beyond her Maybelline. Of course she was cast for sex appeal and her ability to fit into snug, cosmic couture. If there was any real chemistry between Kunis and Tatum, it was squelched by all the commotion onscreen.

Eddie Redmayne was hilariously miscast but he gives it the old college try, though the curious, modulated voice he affects made him seem less threatening than Stephen Hawking.

If you're like me, you might have found the trailer very off-putting, with its brain-frying and intelligence-trying CGI. I hate to say the film is just more of the same, without respite or anything for the mind to feed on. I'm sure I'm overstating it, but this film is a vacuous waste of time.

I invite the Wachowskis' to see Interstellar if they want to know what entertaining, thought-provoking science fiction can be. If their goal was to make a dumbed-down space opera, then I guess they attained their creative goal.

Should I say more? Not necessary. I just hope the Wachowskis' refrain from turning this story into a saga. That would be criminal.

Foxcatcher

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Bennett Miller/Starring: Channing Tatum, Steve Carell, Mark Ruffalo, Sienna Miller and Vanessa Redgrave

I wish I hadn't known about the John du Pont story before seeing Bennett Miller's extraordinary new film Foxcatcher. I followed the developments in the local paper in the mid 1990s'; finding the story compelling for many reasons. But though I knew how the story on the screen would play out, it didn't detract from the experience nor did it make the film any less powerful.

I also found Miller's Moneyball to be equally absorbing but his new film has catapulted him into the dizzying heights of creative brilliance. If that sounds like fulsome praise, then I suggest you see the film for yourselves.

The du Pont family fortune was made substantial by arms manufacturing and its chemical industries, which allowed them to pursue excellence in equestrian sports, for which they were renown.

For reasons explicable only to John du Pont, he developed an obsessive interest in Olympic and world class wrestling. By providing wrestlers with a training facility in which to pursue a world championship or gold medal, he probably felt (as we see in the film) he could attain and experience a vicarious victory; one that might challenge the family's equestrian achievements--at least in his mind.

When the story begins in the mid to late 80s', we meet the two 1984 Olympic gold medalist brothers whose lives became entwined with John du Pont's; older brother David Schultz (Mark Ruffalo), and his younger brother Mark (Channing Tatum). We see the brothers training; grappling on a mat and trying to maneuver with arms and hands to execute moves. Mark's demeanor; angry and brooding, contrasts sharply with his older brother David's, which is more gregarious. Miller lets the camera rest on the two brothers as they exchange throws. The scene plays for awhile as we get some sense of the brothers passionate commitment to the sport and their competitive spirit. Mark eventually draws blood from his brother's nose when he upper-cuts him with his head. Rather than grouse, David merely wipes his nose then resumes practice.

Channing Tatum affects an under-bite, which gives him a neanderthalic appearance and lends his anger extra intensity. We don't understand the origins of his anger but we know years of wrestling have hardly served as a coolant.

One day, as Mark kills time alone in his very modest apartment, he receives a call from one of John du Pont's assistants, who suggest Mark visit the wealthy industrialist on his estate in Pennsylvania. With all travel expenses paid, Mark agrees. Arriving by helicopter, Mark discovers the du Pont estate is located near historic Valley Forge, which we soon learn plays a mythic role in John's life.

The first meeting between John and Mark is very odd. John is phlegmatic and reserved as he watches Mark with the eyes of a carnivorous bird observing its prey. John even mentions his nickname is "Golden Eagle" and suggests to the bewildered wrestler that he go bird-watching on his estate but not without presenting him a book on birding, which he happened to write.

But we learn John's interest in Mark has little to do with birds. With patriotic fervor, he tells Mark that he and his brother Dave should have been better recognized by the country for their achievements in the Olympics. Shortly thereafter, John leads Mark to a building which on the inside is an impressive gym tailored specifically for wrestlers. Stunned and pleased, Mark is further awed by John's offer to allow Olympic hopefuls to train on the Foxcatcher grounds. He also offers Mark a $25,000 salary and the use of a chalet as his residence on the estate.

Also intrigued by Mark's brother David, John deploys the young wrestler as an emissary to lure his brother to Foxcatcher. David asks Mark the very pertinent question: "What does he get out of this?" The deceptively simple question proves to be more complicated than John's "contribution to America" explanation.

Unable to convince his brother to join him at Foxcatcher, John and Mark develop a friendly relationship and become closer as training begins in earnest. In the relationship that blossoms, Mark accompanies John on an inspection of a military vehicle of DuPont industries' design, only to watch him angrily demand a .50 caliber machine gun for the armored carrier. He then sees John slap the clipboard out of the military contractor's hand. We, like Mark, get a taste of John's violent temper, which seems all the more shocking coming from someone so seemingly unflappable and kind.

And we wonder, as David does, what really motivates John to provide so much for a sport his mother (Vanessa Redgrave) believes is "low." It's in the tension between John and his mother where the psychological footprints of his actions are laid bare. The mother's gallery of Equestrian trophies is suddenly sharing space with medals earned by John's Team Foxcatcher at an international competition. Like the sibling rivalry John perceives between Mark and David, we see a similar rivalry between he and his mother; one more subtle and just as fierce. After John sponsors a wrestling tournament in Phoenix for more mature men, he shows his mother his first place trophy, which she recognizes as the sham it is. We see that John has been scarred by his failure to please his mother.

But it isn't only a rivalry John shares with his mother. During a conversation, John relates his lonely childhood to Mark and an incident where he discovered his only friend was actually someone hired by his mother to fulfill the role. In a moment of commiseration, Mark divulges that he too had no friends growing up, which completes the empathetic bond the two men share.

Before John is finally able to draw David to Foxcatcher, we see him slowly become unhinged. He inexplicably (and ominously) visits--with gun in hand--the training facility where the wrestlers are waiting to begin practice. After briefly watching the wrestlers, he raises his gun and fires off a round, much to the shock and dismay of the team. Another incident follows soon after when John visits the wrestlers, who are gathered to watch T.V. at Mark's chalet. When John confronts him about the wrestlers inactivity, Mark mentions giving the group the morning off. What follows is hardly unexpected, as John slaps Mark. The relationship deteriorates soon after and with it, Mark's performance on the mat. After David moves to Foxcatcher to become part of the training regimen, Mark qualifies for the 1988 Seoul Olympics but only with difficulty. Complications arise at Foxcatcher when John's Svengali-like control of Mark is threatened by the brothers troubled but close relationship.

In one of the film's strange ironies, Mark tries to convince David to leave Foxcatcher to coach at BYU, only to be told his brother has no wish to leave.

Mark performs badly at the Seoul Olympics, losing in a first round rout. On his return to Foxcatcher, we see John watching Mark's moving van pull away from the chalet. What follows soon after seems almost tragically inevitable.

Even though I followed the story in the New York Times, I realized how little I knew about the interpersonal dynamics and John du Pont's frail psyche. The film concludes horrifically as we come to understand how one man's brittle self-image and feeble self-esteem could be the catalyst for a grisly, violent act.

In my recollection of the movie, I try to exercise objectivity by identifying the film's flaws but Foxcatcher is nigh perfect (in my estimation) and it easily challenges the year's best for cinematic excellence.

Steve Carell's performance has been heralded by considerable buzz, and I must say he lives up to it. Unrecognizable in his facial prosthetic, he quite simply vanishes; allowing an entity to inhabit his body. To watch Carell gaze stolidly over his upturned nose at those around him is enough to give one the creeps. Behind the veneer of calm seethes something dark and disturbed, which Carell captures expertly in his tour de force performance.

No less impressive are Channing Tatum and Mark Ruffalo. Tatum has been careful, at least in recent years, to guard his career from excessive second-rate Hollywood filmic incursions. Here he balances his physical performance with psychological nuance. His rage-induced mayhem inside a hotel room is powerful and self-destructive, which Tatum executes with emotional cogency.
Ruffalo is excellent as David and again shows what he can do with choice material. And for her brief appearance as John's mother, Jean du Pont, the ever-excellent Vanessa Redgrave is able to convey so much about a mother's disappointment for her son while also infantilizing him.

Miller maintains a somber mood throughout, which is made possible in part by the use of muted colors. Everything indoors and out seems monochromatic and devoid of life and joy. Like the monument to Valley Forge seen earlier in the film, the Foxcatcher grounds seem very much like a memorial rather than an estate, which is echoed in the colonial facade of the du Pont home.

The theme of class difference and its attendant mutual hostilities isn't lost on screenwriters E. Max Frye and Dan Futterman, who have imagined Mark and David to be pawns of a rich man's whims. For all of John's talk about America and his patriotism, and the pride he takes in discussing the sacrifices made by men at Valley Forge, he has few qualms about buying men he deems heroes while regarding them as a hobby.
Foxcatcher will no doubt be on many cinephile's and critics' year's best lists; a distinction it richly deserves. It is a resonant, cinematic achievement and another stop on Bennett Miller's artistic, upward spiral.

22 Jump Street

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Phil Lord and Christopher Miller/Starring: Channing Tatum, Jonah Hill, Ice Cube, Nick Offerman and Peter Stormare

Apparently a movie need not be very good to merit a sequel but here we are with 22 Jump Street, which is just that. The cast from the first movie is back with a sprinkle of cameos thrown in for at least decent measure.

The story merely exists to provide context and something resembling a plot but the movie really is just a string of gags, mostly bloodless and dumb but occasionally something that registers as amusing or funny accidentally happens.

Schmidt (Jonah Hill) and Jenko (Channing Tatum) are assigned a new case involving a drug called WhyPhy, which is making the rounds among the students of Metro State, a local college. The two cops go undercover as college students to find the supplier. The joke of course, like the first movie, is that Schmidt and Jenko look a little old to be students; which is the observation of more than just one student.

A student under investigation who died using the drug is seen in a photo supposedly handing it to another student with a tattoo, which is what Schmidt and Jenko use as a lead. While Schmidt's separate investigation leads to a romance with an attractive student named Maya (an intoxicating Amber Stevens), Jenko strikes up a friendship with a football player named Zook (Wyatt Russell). The friendship threatens the quasi-gay relationship Schmidt and Jenko have enjoyed since the first film. So much of the film is a running gag about the homoeroticism involved between Jenko and Zook and though it is played as something natural and unironic, the joke becomes tired, as does the jealous tension simmering between Schmidt and Jenko.

In one of the movie's (few) funnier developments, Maya turns out to be Captain Dickson's (Ice Cube) daughter; setting the stage for a comically tense situation where both Schmidt and Maya's parents meet for lunch. The scene concludes with Captain Dickson angrily and violently helping himself to the buffet, resulting in food being heaped on his plate and flung about with his hands. Ice Cube shows some comic flare in what is probably (for me) one of my favorite moments in the film. I often found the secondary characters more amusing than Schmidt and Jenko. Nick Offerman's Deputy Chief Hardy returns in this movie and I wished he would have been given more screentime because he is funny in the few scenes allotted to him. The same can be said for Jillian Bell's Mercedes; Maya's hostile roommate and Schmidt antagonist. She is given to making fun of Schmidt's age whenever they happen to be in the room together and her barbs are quite amusing.

If only the movie had been consistently funny rather than just a bundle of infrequent, amusing moments. The content of the first movie was pretty thin material on which to launch a second movie. I wondered throughout if the producers might visit another installment on us in the future but a series of bogus trailers for Jump Street movies (everything from Schmidt and Jenko going undercover in seminary school to an equally absurd dance class) hint that 22 Jump Street might mercifully be the end. Please let that be the case.