Solaris (IMDB) (Netflix)
What would you do, given the opportunity to correct a tragic mistake and re-unite with the one you love, or at least a re-created version of your inamorata? How far would you go, and what would you sacrifice to get there?
The 1961 classic novel by Stanislaw Lem inspired a highly respected 1972 Russian film (playing now on the Turner Classic Movie Channel and the Independent Film Channel), but this is the first Hollywood version, by director/writer/cinematographer Steven Soderbergh, with George Clooney as the man with the black hole in his life, and Natascha McElhone as the chance to fill it. Although technically in the sci-fi genre, this is really a love story made possible by a writer's imagination, and Soderbergh wisely strips the technology to the bare essentials, keeping the story in the foreground.
The dialog is equally spare, as are answers to tough questions about the power of human longing. Clooney challenges those who think he's just an empty T-shirt, and McElhone impresses as the too-real and increasingly self-aware apparation. Soderbergh's photography is arresting without being too clever by half, which is more than can be said about Jeremy Davies, who might be one of the most mannered performers short of the early Jim Carrey. You might want it to move faster, and you might leave wondering what the film was all about, but you'll also know that you've been somewhere new.
Wednesday, November 27, 2002
Treasure Planet (IMDB) (Netflix)
Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island, animated, plus an assertively dubious interpretation of the laws of physics that my 4th-grade niece and nephew instantly deconstructed. Jim the troubled teen finds a map to Treasure Planet, commissions a voyage aboard a galleon/spacecraft, and does some growing up while searching for the loot and fighting off a ne'er-do-well crew.
There aren't many surprises, but some decent messages about loyalty, responsibility and selflessness. The voicing cast of Emma Thompson, Roscoe Lee Browne and Martin Short, among others, is sharp and the action well-paced. The kids responded well to the humor. Not the next Disney Classic by any stretch, but you could do worse.
Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island, animated, plus an assertively dubious interpretation of the laws of physics that my 4th-grade niece and nephew instantly deconstructed. Jim the troubled teen finds a map to Treasure Planet, commissions a voyage aboard a galleon/spacecraft, and does some growing up while searching for the loot and fighting off a ne'er-do-well crew.
There aren't many surprises, but some decent messages about loyalty, responsibility and selflessness. The voicing cast of Emma Thompson, Roscoe Lee Browne and Martin Short, among others, is sharp and the action well-paced. The kids responded well to the humor. Not the next Disney Classic by any stretch, but you could do worse.
Saturday, November 23, 2002
Die Another Day (IMDB) (Netflix)
The latest in a 40-year string of Bond flicks, with Pierce Brosnan and Halle Berry, who's recovered from her Oscar meltdown and plays an American agent from the National Security Agency (not that the NSA does this kind of wetwork, but no matter). This time the writers are picking on the non-Islamic leg of the Axis of Evil, the North Koreans, and gene therapy makeovers and death rays from space are the plot-enabling technologies. Refreshingly, the fate of the world doesn't even hang in the balance, just a critical piece of it.
As with most action films, this one starts out better than it finishes and progressively gets more conventional. The opening sequence is a doozy that Navy SEALs should check out, and not a throwaway one; it has consequences for Bond that set up the rest of film. All the trademark scenes with Q, Moneypenny and M are there, but they're fresher and even inventive at times. The action is mostly stunt-a-licious, with a couple chases across the Icelandic, um, ice, the plot more inventive, and the dialogue far less smarmy than the Roger Moore days. Also, the women have decent spy chops, reminiscent of Michele Yeoh in Tomorrow Never Dies (Berry's character will be getting her own movie). The final scene doesn't live up to the first 3/4 of the movie, but on whole, a very above-average Bond flick that won't convert the anti-Bond populace one whit but will more than satisfy fans of this venerable genre.
The latest in a 40-year string of Bond flicks, with Pierce Brosnan and Halle Berry, who's recovered from her Oscar meltdown and plays an American agent from the National Security Agency (not that the NSA does this kind of wetwork, but no matter). This time the writers are picking on the non-Islamic leg of the Axis of Evil, the North Koreans, and gene therapy makeovers and death rays from space are the plot-enabling technologies. Refreshingly, the fate of the world doesn't even hang in the balance, just a critical piece of it.
As with most action films, this one starts out better than it finishes and progressively gets more conventional. The opening sequence is a doozy that Navy SEALs should check out, and not a throwaway one; it has consequences for Bond that set up the rest of film. All the trademark scenes with Q, Moneypenny and M are there, but they're fresher and even inventive at times. The action is mostly stunt-a-licious, with a couple chases across the Icelandic, um, ice, the plot more inventive, and the dialogue far less smarmy than the Roger Moore days. Also, the women have decent spy chops, reminiscent of Michele Yeoh in Tomorrow Never Dies (Berry's character will be getting her own movie). The final scene doesn't live up to the first 3/4 of the movie, but on whole, a very above-average Bond flick that won't convert the anti-Bond populace one whit but will more than satisfy fans of this venerable genre.
Monday, November 18, 2002
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (IMDB) (Netflix)
(Warning: this review is rated "C" for Cranky, due a exercise/caffeine/sugar hangover, combined with viewing the film from a front-row seat only 8 feet away from the screen)
Harry's back with all his friends from the first movie, which did $965 million worth of business (#2 all-time), dodging danger and doping out mysteries that elude the Hogwart's braintrust, who seemed less concerned with their in loco parentis responsibilities than a drug-addled foster parent. There's a chamber of secrets that may or may not have been opened by this or that person, kids being petrified, and the school's in danger of closing, and so on.
The audience seemed to like it just fine, although many of the youngsters (and some of the parents) had trouble with the 2:21 running time (why do they insist on doing this for kids' movies?). Due to the chemical imbalance, I had trouble concentrating and it all seemed a lot like the first movie, although the kid playing Harry has traded in his continuously wide-eyed "I'm amazed" expression for something approximating grim determination. The other kid characters have far more personality. There's a new digital elf, Dobby, who's not nearly in the same annoyance league as Jar Jar Binks from Star Wars I & II, Kenneth Branagh debuts as a self-promoting empty cape of a sorceror, and this will be Richard Harris's last movie, but beyond these elements and some improved digital effects, not much new. If you have kids, you're going, so suck it up, and make sure they've had their nap first. And you've had yours.
(Warning: this review is rated "C" for Cranky, due a exercise/caffeine/sugar hangover, combined with viewing the film from a front-row seat only 8 feet away from the screen)
Harry's back with all his friends from the first movie, which did $965 million worth of business (#2 all-time), dodging danger and doping out mysteries that elude the Hogwart's braintrust, who seemed less concerned with their in loco parentis responsibilities than a drug-addled foster parent. There's a chamber of secrets that may or may not have been opened by this or that person, kids being petrified, and the school's in danger of closing, and so on.
The audience seemed to like it just fine, although many of the youngsters (and some of the parents) had trouble with the 2:21 running time (why do they insist on doing this for kids' movies?). Due to the chemical imbalance, I had trouble concentrating and it all seemed a lot like the first movie, although the kid playing Harry has traded in his continuously wide-eyed "I'm amazed" expression for something approximating grim determination. The other kid characters have far more personality. There's a new digital elf, Dobby, who's not nearly in the same annoyance league as Jar Jar Binks from Star Wars I & II, Kenneth Branagh debuts as a self-promoting empty cape of a sorceror, and this will be Richard Harris's last movie, but beyond these elements and some improved digital effects, not much new. If you have kids, you're going, so suck it up, and make sure they've had their nap first. And you've had yours.
Friday, November 15, 2002
Far From Heaven (IMDB) (Netflix)
It's 1957-1958, the International Geophysical Year, when life was simpler and more genteel, a seemingly idyllic time of family values that some wish we could return to. But probably not Julianne Moore's character, who's got an alcoholic husband (Dennis Quaid) trying to "cure" his latent homosexuality, a "colored" gardener (Dennis Haysbert) with whom she feels a special kinship, and scandalized friends who are no help whatsoever.
This is a restrained, thoughtful melodrama that re-creates a period in America when the tension between personal desires and societal norms bubbled beneath the surface, waiting to explode a few years later in the 60's. It's the semi-modern American version of a Jane Austen novel, and tricky stuff that could easily have become clichéd in the realization. Fortunately, the writer-director and actors keep a lid on the material, creating just enough pressure to rattle the pot but not blow its contents all over the ceiling. The Moore and Haysbert characters are a little too saintly, but not so much that you can't feel for their plight, and Quaid's performance is brave without being ostentatious. A film for the thoughtful adult.
It's 1957-1958, the International Geophysical Year, when life was simpler and more genteel, a seemingly idyllic time of family values that some wish we could return to. But probably not Julianne Moore's character, who's got an alcoholic husband (Dennis Quaid) trying to "cure" his latent homosexuality, a "colored" gardener (Dennis Haysbert) with whom she feels a special kinship, and scandalized friends who are no help whatsoever.
This is a restrained, thoughtful melodrama that re-creates a period in America when the tension between personal desires and societal norms bubbled beneath the surface, waiting to explode a few years later in the 60's. It's the semi-modern American version of a Jane Austen novel, and tricky stuff that could easily have become clichéd in the realization. Fortunately, the writer-director and actors keep a lid on the material, creating just enough pressure to rattle the pot but not blow its contents all over the ceiling. The Moore and Haysbert characters are a little too saintly, but not so much that you can't feel for their plight, and Quaid's performance is brave without being ostentatious. A film for the thoughtful adult.
Monday, November 11, 2002
Comedian (IMDB) (Netflix)
Jerry Seinfeld makes his way back to stand-up comedy after his hit sitcom has ended its phenomenal run. The challenge is that he's not recycling old material, but building up his act from scratch bit-by-bit, showing up late at New York City comedy clubs and asking for a few minutes to go on, try out some jokes and get back the funny. There's also a parallel story of still-struggling Orny Adams, who's working the same spots, asking Seinfeld if he should hang it up at the age of 29.
Even with the private jet that Seinfeld now flies in, it's a terrifying and anxiety-laden lifestyle ("Trying out new material is like working a normal job in your underwear"). Neither of these guys are particularly charming offstage, but the commitment they exhibit to the craft and their uncontrollable need to perform are almost endearing. Adams is incapable of being happy for more than a few minutes, and an awed Chris Rock tells Seinfeld how the venerable Bill Cosby still does two 2-hour-and-twenty-minutes shows a day, of new material no less, just when Seinfeld's proud of reaching the hour mark. While more could have been done with this subject (Seinfeld was the executive producer, and presumably had a lot of say over what got shot and the final cut), it's still a compelling portrait of two people driven to succeed, whether they enjoy it or not.
Jerry Seinfeld makes his way back to stand-up comedy after his hit sitcom has ended its phenomenal run. The challenge is that he's not recycling old material, but building up his act from scratch bit-by-bit, showing up late at New York City comedy clubs and asking for a few minutes to go on, try out some jokes and get back the funny. There's also a parallel story of still-struggling Orny Adams, who's working the same spots, asking Seinfeld if he should hang it up at the age of 29.
Even with the private jet that Seinfeld now flies in, it's a terrifying and anxiety-laden lifestyle ("Trying out new material is like working a normal job in your underwear"). Neither of these guys are particularly charming offstage, but the commitment they exhibit to the craft and their uncontrollable need to perform are almost endearing. Adams is incapable of being happy for more than a few minutes, and an awed Chris Rock tells Seinfeld how the venerable Bill Cosby still does two 2-hour-and-twenty-minutes shows a day, of new material no less, just when Seinfeld's proud of reaching the hour mark. While more could have been done with this subject (Seinfeld was the executive producer, and presumably had a lot of say over what got shot and the final cut), it's still a compelling portrait of two people driven to succeed, whether they enjoy it or not.
Saturday, November 09, 2002
Femme Fatale (IMDB) (Netflix)
After an impressive string of box office stiffs (Bonfire of the Vanities, Mission to Mars, Snake Eyes), director Brian De Palma (Carrie, Scarface, The Untouchables, Mission: Impossible) moved to France to lick his wounds, then write and shoot this stylish-but-absurd noir thriller. Supermodel Rebecca Romijn-Stamos is the bad-ass femme and Antonio Banderas the struggling photographer who crosses her path, and as with the recent The Truth About Charlie, there's a McGuffin (Alfred Hitchcock's term for the thing that everyone's chasing after), lots of guns and it's set in Paris, but the movies couldn't be more different.
The upside of the writer and director living in the same head is that the writer's vision doesn't get mucked up during production, but there's also no one to question his thinking. The metric tonnage of coincidences and glossed-over plot holes would strain the suspension cables on the Golden Gate Bridge, so analytical types with high blood pressure are advised to steer clear (there's a twist toward the end that resolves some of the absurdities, but it'll be far too late for these people, or just tick them off further). Banderas has never overwhelmed with his performances, and Romijn-Stamos is still more supermodel than actor, but thankfully she hasn't picked up any annoying scruples about taking her clothes off (wait until the first award nomination, though).
Those who appreciate filmmaking bravado and can check their left brains at the door, however, should give this a shot, because De Palma knows where to put and move a camera, build suspense and cut a film together in ways that few others can.
After an impressive string of box office stiffs (Bonfire of the Vanities, Mission to Mars, Snake Eyes), director Brian De Palma (Carrie, Scarface, The Untouchables, Mission: Impossible) moved to France to lick his wounds, then write and shoot this stylish-but-absurd noir thriller. Supermodel Rebecca Romijn-Stamos is the bad-ass femme and Antonio Banderas the struggling photographer who crosses her path, and as with the recent The Truth About Charlie, there's a McGuffin (Alfred Hitchcock's term for the thing that everyone's chasing after), lots of guns and it's set in Paris, but the movies couldn't be more different.
The upside of the writer and director living in the same head is that the writer's vision doesn't get mucked up during production, but there's also no one to question his thinking. The metric tonnage of coincidences and glossed-over plot holes would strain the suspension cables on the Golden Gate Bridge, so analytical types with high blood pressure are advised to steer clear (there's a twist toward the end that resolves some of the absurdities, but it'll be far too late for these people, or just tick them off further). Banderas has never overwhelmed with his performances, and Romijn-Stamos is still more supermodel than actor, but thankfully she hasn't picked up any annoying scruples about taking her clothes off (wait until the first award nomination, though).
Those who appreciate filmmaking bravado and can check their left brains at the door, however, should give this a shot, because De Palma knows where to put and move a camera, build suspense and cut a film together in ways that few others can.
Sunday, November 03, 2002
Nosferatu (IMDB) (Netflix)
The 1922 German classic Dracula story, with the names changed (Dracula is "Count Orlock"), but this is the original from which all the other vampire movies have sprung. It played at the local art house, complete with a live organist to round out the experience.
Eighty years is a long time to ask a film to stand on its own two feet, so Nosferatu has to be seen as a historical artifact--but an important one. It's a movie that not only defined its genre, it now highlights how far we've come technologically and in the language of film. What was a groundbreaking moment of horror then is often a giggle-inducing cliche now, and the young kids in the audience didn't seem to require counseling at the conclusion. Still, there are some compelling moments, and it's a movie that every horror/vampire film buff should see, so they can give props to whom they're due, director F.W. Murnau.
For a well-done remake from the modern era, try Bram Stoker's Dracula by Francis Ford Coppola, and for an entertaining speculation that Max Shreck, the actor playing Orlock, was so good in Nosferatu because he actually was a vampire, see Shadow of a Vampire.
The 1922 German classic Dracula story, with the names changed (Dracula is "Count Orlock"), but this is the original from which all the other vampire movies have sprung. It played at the local art house, complete with a live organist to round out the experience.
Eighty years is a long time to ask a film to stand on its own two feet, so Nosferatu has to be seen as a historical artifact--but an important one. It's a movie that not only defined its genre, it now highlights how far we've come technologically and in the language of film. What was a groundbreaking moment of horror then is often a giggle-inducing cliche now, and the young kids in the audience didn't seem to require counseling at the conclusion. Still, there are some compelling moments, and it's a movie that every horror/vampire film buff should see, so they can give props to whom they're due, director F.W. Murnau.
For a well-done remake from the modern era, try Bram Stoker's Dracula by Francis Ford Coppola, and for an entertaining speculation that Max Shreck, the actor playing Orlock, was so good in Nosferatu because he actually was a vampire, see Shadow of a Vampire.
Friday, November 01, 2002
Roger Dodger (IMDB) (Netflix)
Roger Swanson (played by George C. Scott's son Campbell) is an ostentatiously articulate ad copy writer with a utilitarian view of relationships (as does the woman in his life) who suffers a blow to his self-esteem. Fortunately, his 16-year-old-nephew Nick (Jesse Eisenberg) shows up looking for advice on meeting the ladies, and Roger can't resist the opportunity to mold Nick to his cynical world view, taking him on a one-night post-doc seduction seminar through the New York City singles scene.
There was a recent indie film on the same topic that demonstrated the pitfalls of this sub-genre and never got out of the one town it opened in, but "Roger" shows that you can teach an old premise new tricks. Eisenberg manages to be simultaneously naive, desperate and charming, and Scott is misogynist, tour guide, performance coach and evolutionary psychologist all rolled into one very entertaining and forceful package. The women (Isabella Rossellini, Jennifer Beals and Elizabeth Berkley, among others) are neither victims or saints, and manage to pull off some tricky sequences with grace. I could have done without the dim lighting and poorly color-balanced photography, but these are minor flaws in a gem that cuts darkly comic glass.
Those who liked "Igby Goes Down" should also enjoy "Roger."
Roger Swanson (played by George C. Scott's son Campbell) is an ostentatiously articulate ad copy writer with a utilitarian view of relationships (as does the woman in his life) who suffers a blow to his self-esteem. Fortunately, his 16-year-old-nephew Nick (Jesse Eisenberg) shows up looking for advice on meeting the ladies, and Roger can't resist the opportunity to mold Nick to his cynical world view, taking him on a one-night post-doc seduction seminar through the New York City singles scene.
There was a recent indie film on the same topic that demonstrated the pitfalls of this sub-genre and never got out of the one town it opened in, but "Roger" shows that you can teach an old premise new tricks. Eisenberg manages to be simultaneously naive, desperate and charming, and Scott is misogynist, tour guide, performance coach and evolutionary psychologist all rolled into one very entertaining and forceful package. The women (Isabella Rossellini, Jennifer Beals and Elizabeth Berkley, among others) are neither victims or saints, and manage to pull off some tricky sequences with grace. I could have done without the dim lighting and poorly color-balanced photography, but these are minor flaws in a gem that cuts darkly comic glass.
Those who liked "Igby Goes Down" should also enjoy "Roger."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)