Philadelphia Weekly

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Directed by Patricia Riggen
B-

Reviewed by Sean Burns Opens Fri., April 4

Ridiculously manipulative but effective all the same, this heart-tugging saga of 9-year-old Carlitos and his wildly improbable journey across the border to find his mom in Los Angeles is half magic-realist fable, half-social commentary tract. An American Tail for the Lou Dobbs era, Under the Same Moon probably shouldn't work as well as it does, but even hardened film critics can get a little mushy sometimes.

A lion's share of the credit belongs to young Adri�n Alonso, who downplays the cutesiness and keeps Carlitos so grounded and pragmatic, you just can't help rooting for this resourceful tyke. After the death of his grandma in Mexico, our miniature hero sneaks across to the promised land with some dim-bulb amateur smugglers (including the surprisingly terrible America Ferrera) only to find himself stranded in El Paso.

Back in L.A., his mom Rosario (Kate del Castillo) spends her days hustling from one crummy job to another, dodging the INS, crying an awful lot and sending all her extra money home to make a better life for the kid. She's considering scrapping it all and heading back to Mexico to be with her boy--little does she know he's already on his way.

Carlitos' voyage from Texas to California provides an eye-opening, if sometimes strident microcosm of the illegal immigrant experience in America. Washing dishes and picking tomatoes while broke and on the run, our little fellow still has a way of bringing out the best in his traveling companions. The film's funniest moments belong to Eugenio Derbez's Enrique, an ill-tempered drifter who ain't exactly thrilled to have a 9-year-old sidekick. Of course he winds up warming up to the tiny bugger--who could resist this kid?

Ligiah Villalobos' screenplay isn't subtle, but director Patricia Riggen has a knack for undercutting the script's schmaltzier flourishes and shrill speechifying with some good-natured, earthy humor. (The crabby exchanges between Derbez and Alonso deserve a movie of their own.) A climactic four-hanky sequence that could have easily gone way over the top is handled with admirable restraint. Feivel the Mouse would be proud. Lou Dobbs, not so much.

The Grand

Directed by Zak Penn
C+

Reviewed by Matt Prigge Opens Fri., April 4

All enslaved Hollywood screenwriters have dream projects collecting dust in their desk drawers--very few of them are wacky, sub-Christopher Guest improv mockumentaries. One of La-La Land's most prolific blockbuster scribes--his name graces Last Action Hero, two X-Men movies, The Incredible Hulk and plenty more--Zak Penn made a curious directorial sideline with 2004's Incident at Loch Ness, which gamely capitalized on what many of us have long known: Werner Herzog is one funny muthafucka.

The great mad German director returns for a supporting role in The Grand, Penn's tardy send-up of the poker craze, which awards Herzog the best entrance since David Bowie emerged from an electrical field in The Prestige: Herzog (plus posse) strides into a casino to the deafening tones of thug rap.

Arriving around the 20-minute mark, it's the film's first--and only--big belly laugh. Despite talent, or at least recognizable faces virtually everywhere you look (is that Hank Azaria? Gabe Kaplan?), The Grand feels more like a dress rehearsal--the camera never quite catching the actors on their A-game, be they David Cross or Ray Romano.

Set at a $10 million Vegas poker tournament, The Grand clusters together at least three mock-docs worth of lovable (okay, tolerable) losers. From druggie fuck-ups (Woody Harrelson) to feuding cardshark siblings (Cross and Cheryl Hines) to a humorless antisocial type who quotes Dune (Chris Parnell), these characters terminally promise more than they deliver.

Only Richard Kind kills, as an Internet poker nut with no idea how to play in the flesh. But even he pales in comparison to the director of Aguirre, the Wrath of God, who remarks that he likes to start each day by killing a small animal and later unleashes a showstopping German-tongued maelstrom upon Parnell. (The SNL dude should get an award just for not breaking his stoneface and reeling in genuine terror.)

The Grand is largely unfunny, but around the halfway mark something strange happens: The actors, relieved from concocting quirks (Romano likes to come up with weird catchphrases! Michael McKean likes to wear safety helmets indoors!), chill out, and their characters become oddly endearing. It's as if Penn realized he wasn't getting gold and decided if he couldn't get the funny, he'd settle for the vaguely likable. Nice save, I guess.

Not Reviewed

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