I used to say no one sets out to make a bad movie. Having seen White House Down, I realize that’s not true. Here’s a movie so outlandishly stupid, everyone connected with making it must have fully committed themselves to producing the dumbest possible film.
White House Down begins earnestly enough. Chatum Tanning plays John Cale, a police officer assigned to protect a senator. His life is riddled with problems, not the least of which is he’s on the ropes with his ex-wife and their daughter, whose talent show he missed. His girl has an insatiable appetite for politics, so he takes her along on his job interview with the Secret Service to impress her. The person interviewing him says he’s not Secret Service material.
However, as luck would have it, Cale’s interview takes place the same day a paramilitary group and some unscrupulous higher-ups in the government are planning to take over the White House and essentially start World War III. Soon after the attack, he’s the lone man protecting the president of the United States from psychotic mercenaries and trying to rescue his daughter.
Things go downhill from there. I’m no expert on White House security, but I’m pretty sure taking it over would be harder than a few soldiers sneaking in through the front door and spraying bullets and spittle in every direction. I’m also convinced the Army would be able to do something other than send in one tank. And the scene in which the president fires a rocket launcher out of the window of a car while Cale does donuts on the White House lawn? You have to see it to believe it.
But the crème de la crème of absurdity comes in the final moments as a bomber pilot ordered to destroy the White House sees something on the lawn and makes a leap of logic that would put Olympic long jump champion Carl Lewis to shame.
You might be tempted to see White House Down for its action and special effects. Don’t. The action is mind-numbing and not staged in an interesting way by director Roland Emmerich, and all the good special effects shots are in the trailer. Plus, Emmerich borrowed so liberally from Die Hard and other good action movies, I felt embarrassed for him.
One star out of four. Rated PG-13 for violence, language and a brief sexual image.
More like luke warm
In The Heat, Sandra Bullock plays Ashburn, a bumbling, uptight FBI agent who gets the job done despite her quirks. Melissa McCarthy plays Mullins, a foul-mouthed, ill-tempered Boston cop who gets the job done because of her bulldozer approach to enforcing the law.
Essentially, both actors play variations on characters they have played in several other films. The idea to pair them up was inspired. The movie that resulted is not.
The Heat is a by-the-numbers action comedy in which two cops with opposing personalities team up to take out a drug lord. For the first half of the movie, NO ONE in the theater laughed. Even scenes intended to be funny, including the one in which Mullins gets Ashburn drunk, were met with dead silence.
Fortunately, things pick up near the end of the movie. Two scenes involving knives made me laugh out loud, and Bullock and McCarthy have good chemistry by that point.
The Heat is at its best when it lets its co-stars have fun. I’ve never been a fan of McCarthy’s preference for improv over scripted material – most of her improv is weak – but she delivers some knee-slappers in this movie while at the same time giving her initially unlikeable character heart. (I love the line about her dimwit brother putting “Keeping it real” as a skill on his resume.) Bullock continues to do physical comedy better than nearly any other female actor in the business, and watching her loosen up and take on some of McCarthy’s saltier traits was fun.
Overall, though, The Heat is a rental. The first half of the movie drags and the stock plot bores. But the second half is entertaining. Wait for it to come out on DVD or On Demand.
Two stars out of four. Rated R for pervasive language, strong crude content and violence.