A slew of film reviews in (and out) of this week's Citypaper: Paper Dolls, a rather aimless doc on Filipino transvestite caregivers in Israel; The Protector, an absurdly relentless distillation of Tony Jaa's Tom Yong Goong; and a Cold Open on Crank, another hilariously dopey, breathless actioner with a jolt of lunk-headed wit. And my review of Toby Keith in Broken Bridges didn't run thanks to its apparent lack of a run in the city, so here it is:
Broken Bridges
CMT Films' first production goes right ahead and reinforces plenty of
stereotypes, though nothing backwoods enough to provide much fodder
for the pansy tree-huggin' types in the liberal media. Toby Keith
stars as a country star fallen on hard times, fond of drink and
writing gloomy ballads rather than singing the "old hits" called for
by the owner of the nightclub where he's holed up. Keith is
surprisingly neutered – no "boot in yer ass" rants and only one brief
beatdown. This is a Hallmark Hall of Fame TV-movie for good ol' boys,
stocked with rednecks who jeer at hippies and Ram Dass but still
advise their beer-swilling buddies not to keep their sadness balled up
inside. Kelly Preston is the small-town girl turned big-city
journalist who heads back home when her soldier brother is killed in a
plane crash. In tow is her cynical teenage daughter, who learns how
much nicer schlocky new-country ballads are than angry punk rock. And
Preston, by virtue of renewing ties with her family and a pat on the
ass from Keith, dumps her career, puts on a cowboy hat, and reunites
with the baby's daddy who ditched her16 years and finally gets to
enjoy some family values.
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