xXx: Return of Xander Cage
The last forty minutes of the movie do come together in a pretty diverting way.
As a techie, I expected more from "Creative Control." The concept of people living in a “near-future Brooklyn” gave me serious pause, to be sure, but I thought those fears would be soothed by the sci-fi promise of technology gone awry. The gadget in question is a Google Glass-like pair of specs that allow you to surf the internet, text and answer your e-mails. If you’re ambitious, they also allow an alternate reality to play out for the wearer. Movies like this allow us to indulge in flights of fancy: What would you do if you procured a pair of these bad boys? I’d love to fly. Or make myself a billionaire. Or see out of my blind left eye again. None of these things will ever occur in reality, which is why I’d get good use out of the Augmenta Glasses seen in “Creative Control."
But, as is custom with these types of movies, anything fantastic is bypassed for the sole purpose of something sexual. And not even freaky sexual, like shape-shifting while gettin’ bizzy or orgasms that make your hair stand up like Don King’s before Roman candles shoot out of your toes. Just plain, vanilla sex that you can get any day of the week without technology, if you have game. Someone in “Creative Control” does have the kind of mind-blowing sex finish I described above, where I believe she saw angels doing the Electric Slide or something, but she used yoga to obtain her boffo finale. Last I checked, yoga was pretty damn analog.
So the technology of “Creative Control” is a bust, which leaves me with the characters and their situations. None of these are original nor entertaining unless you’re the type of person depicted in this movie. I am not, and my real-life aversion to this type of Brooklynite is why I found “Creative Control” insufferable. I wonder if these folks, who ramble and whine about capitalism, third-world issues and first-world problems while growing large beards, man-buns and yoga bodies would even go see a movie like this one. I’m assuming they must, because we get one of these movies practically every other week.
Director Benjamin Dickerson plays David, friend of pervy, serial cheater photographer Wim (Dan Gill) and lover of Juliette (Nora Zehetner), recipient of the aforementioned super-lucky yoga hosing. David is the lead on the advertising campaign for Augmenta, so he recruits Reggie Watts (as himself) to use them to create performance art for the advertisements. Watts’ role is somewhat thankless—he comes off as the Magical Negro that occasionally haunts the fringes of these movies—but he does get a call-back of sorts to the Grace Jones character in the far superior Eddie Murphy vehicle, "Boomerang." Like Eddie in that film, David gruesomely learns the hazards of working with avant-garde brown people.